The Elven

by Bernhard Hennen

  Nuramon did not let himself be diverted. He went on, “Thank you for the path you have led me along and that now leads away from Albenmark. Farewell, Emerelle.”

  The two companions were about to go when the queen spoke to them again. “Wait! A moment longer. I can’t let you go . . . not without giving you my apology to take with you.” She took something from the folds of her robe. The two elves stopped and stared. It was an hourglass, almost full of sand.

  A murmuring ran through the forest. Nuramon saw that only Yulivee and Xern seemed unsurprised. “Is it the hourglass?” asked Nuramon.

  “Yes. It is the one I used to send Noroelle into exile. I smashed it on the stone. I took a lot of the sand and the broken glass with me back to Albenmark. I hid it deep below my castle, down where you could not find it. I knew the day would come when I would want to give it to you, but until today, I had to be the cold queen so that everything that has happened could do so.” She turned to Farodin. “Give me the sand from your silver bottle.”

  Farodin took out the little bottle, and Emerelle opened the cover of the hourglass. Farodin tipped the contents of his bottle into the hourglass, and the fine sand trickled down. Then he put the bottle away and watched as the queen replaced the cover.

  “A lot of sand is still missing,” said Emerelle. “But you won’t need the rest to open the gate. This will break the magical barrier. The two of you and Noroelle will be the last of the Albenkin in the Other World. Seek the path of your fate, but don’t act foolishly. If you die, you will not be reborn here. But the moonlight is still attainable in the Other World. Strive to reach it. Seek your destiny.” The queen handed the hourglass to Farodin.

  Farodin accepted it from her with trembling hands. He exchanged a look with Nuramon, who still seemed frozen in place. “Thank you, Emerelle” was all Farodin could whisper. He looked one final time to Giliath and Orgrim, to whom he was no longer bound by the desire for revenge. Giliath smiled, and the king of the trolls simply waved his massive arms.

  “Go,” said the queen. “The gates to the Other World have nearly vanished. Go now, or you will have to stay here forever.”

  Nuramon put his arm around Farodin’s shoulders. “Come.” His companion looked at him, smiled, and nodded. Side by side, they stepped into the light. Nuramon had resolved not to look back, but as the light surrounded him, he could not stop himself from looking over his shoulder. They were all standing there, smiling at them: Emerelle and Yulivee, Obilee, Nomja, their clans, and Wengalf. From Mandred’s grave, dignified Xern was watching. Nuramon wanted to remember all of these faces forever. Slowly, the clearing faded behind him, and as it did, all those dear to him disappeared. All that was left was the whiteness of the gate he was passing through. He would never see Albenmark again.

  The Moonlight

  They were waiting for the ebb of the tide. Farodin sat with his back against a tree, Nuramon on the stone on which the queen had once smashed the hourglass. They sat and let the past years wash over them.

  Farodin thought of the last time he had seen Noroelle. She had been so afraid, so fearful that something might happen to them. Who could have believed then that something would befall her?

  Nuramon’s mind was wandering further back, to the beginning of his existence, an existence that had seen so much of life. He remembered being the comrade of the queen, the father of Gaomee, and the friend of Alwerich and Wengalf. But nothing meant more to him than the life he was living through now. As brilliant as the events of his past appeared, they paled when set beside more recent years.

  Farodin stroked his hand over the hourglass that stood next to him. “We were traveling just a few years, but it feels like an eternity,” he said quietly.

  Nuramon smiled. “I waited fifty years for you and Mandred. It was a much longer time for me than you think.”

  “Mandred,” said Farodin, staring into space. “Do you think the queen was right?”

  “I believe that Mandred’s soul went into the moonlight like the soul of a tree. I wish he were here, at the end of our journey. I miss him . . . and I miss his foul mouth.” Nuramon would never forget how Mandred had inflicted axe-fighting lessons on his son, or how he’d monopolized the wine cellar in the library in Iskendria.

  Nuramon sighed and stared into the water. “I’m afraid. What will be waiting there for us?”

  “I don’t know,” Farodin replied. “I can only hope that Noroelle has not suffered too much and that the place beyond the gate flourished for her being there.” He had tried many times to imagine how Noroelle lived in her tiny shard of the Shattered World. No doubt she had not waited for them to come and save her, but had learned to cope with her situation.

  Nuramon gazed at the shells and thought of the last time the two of them had been there. They had failed miserably against the barrier’s power, but now nothing would stop them.

  “Low tide,” said Farodin as he stood up.

  Nuramon nodded. Together, they crossed the rippled sand to where the shells gathered, and they stood there in silence for a long moment. Now that they had come so far, they felt no need to cast the spell in haste. For Noroelle, more than a thousand years had passed. What difference would one calm moment make now?

  Finally, Farodin looked at Nuramon, and Nuramon at Farodin, and they set about their task. Farodin placed the hourglass inside the circle of shells. Then he asked, “You or me?”

  Nuramon, in response, reached out his hand to his companion.

  Farodin nodded. They would open the gate together.

  They closed their eyes, and each in his own way saw the Albenstar. The path that led to Albenmark was erased forever. As they wove the spell between them, they sensed that Emerelle’s barrier had disappeared. They had opened so many such gates that this one presented no difficulty. But it was not the same. All these years, all they had been through, had been for this one gate. Now there was nothing separating them from their beloved any longer.

  When they opened their eyes, they saw the portal of light before them. And again, they hesitated.

  Nuramon shook his head. “Such a long, hard road. Can it be that one step is all we need to take? One step to reach our goal?”

  It was the same for Farodin. “Then let us take it together . . . as friends.”

  “Yes . . . friend,” Nuramon replied.

  Together, they stepped through the gate. They had a sensation of falling, then felt the rippled seabed underfoot. But instead of water, they were standing in ankle-deep fog. In front of them lay a green island surrounded by the sea of mist. On the island was a forest, its trees overgrown with moss. The gentle twittering of birds reached them where they stood, out where the tides came and went. A greenish light lay over the forest; it seemed to waft among the treetops like a thin veil.

  Slowly, the two companions approached the island. Their feet splashed through shallow pools.

  Nuramon breathed in deeply. “This air.”

  Farodin knew immediately what Nuramon meant. It smelled like the air at Noroelle’s spring. “She’s here,” he said.

  The moment they stepped onto the sandy beach, they heard a voice lilting a dreamy, melancholic song. Noroelle’s voice. How many times had they laid in the grass, under the stars, and listened to their beloved’s song.

  Although they knew that Noroelle was close, they did not walk faster. They moved slowly, deliberately, step by step, looking around as they went. They had heard birds singing but could see none. Wisps of fog drifted down from the emerald light overhead, draping the forest in an aura of mystery. The trees here stood so close together that their roots were intertwined. Gnarled and knotted, they bulged from the earth.

  They were getting closer and closer to the singing. When they came to the edge of a small clearing, they stopped midstep. In front of them sat Noroelle on a white stone. She had her back to them and seemed to be gazing into the little pond at h
er feet. Her dark hair fell far below her shoulders. It had grown since Farodin and Nuramon had last seen her.

  Farodin stood enthralled. In his ears, the song had changed. Her voice was the same, but she sang the melody as Aileen used to when she thought herself alone. She sang a verse or two, then hummed just the melody.

  They were finally there. This moment by itself was worth all the effort and hardship. The burden of a lifetime lifted from Farodin’s shoulders.

  It was Nuramon who dared first to speak to Noroelle. He said, “O hear me, fairest Albenchild.”

  Noroelle started. A voice that she herself had not conjured? She listened, but heard no more. She sensed that someone was there. She stood up from her stone. And when she turned around, she did not trust her eyes. “By the Alben. Is this an illusion? Something conjured from my longing? Oh, sweet longing. What a gift.”

  For Farodin and Nuramon, seeing her beautiful face again was like being struck by a bolt of lightning. She had not changed. She still looked as she had the day they parted, when they rode away to hunt the manboar. She wore a white dress, and around her throat a necklace of braided grass in which she had set an aquamarine.

  “You are mistaken, Noroelle,” said Farodin in a soft voice. “It is really us.”

  “We’ve come to set you free,” Nuramon added.

  Noroelle shook her head in disbelief. That was not possible. The queen had made it clear all those years ago that there would never be any hope. And now the men she loved had found a way to reach her after all? She moved toward them, fearful somehow, then she stopped and stared at them for a long time before reaching out to them with trembling hands. She touched their faces and held her breath. Her eyes moved back and forth between her hands. She could not believe that she was truly touching the faces of Farodin and Nuramon. She ran her fingers through the white strands in Nuramon’s hair. He had changed, but Farodin looked just the same as he had back then.

  “What have you brought upon yourselves to get here?” She took a step back. “What horrors have you left behind to rescue me?” Then she started to cry.

  Nuramon and Farodin took hold of her hands but did not risk a word. They just stood and looked at her, and it hurt them to see her in tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ve come to me, and here I am crying as if it were a tragedy.” She forced a smile. “But you must know that I never, ever . . .”

  Nuramon laid one finger gently to her mouth. “We know what you mean, Noroelle.”

  She kissed Nuramon’s hand, then Farodin’s. Then she smiled truly. “Take me out to the Other World, my dearests. Finish it.”

  Farodin and Nuramon took Noroelle between them, and together, they walked back slowly through the woods.

  Suddenly, Nuramon stopped.

  “What’s the matter?” Farodin asked.

  Nuramon looked into Noroelle’s eyes. “Our search is at an end.” Slowly, he drew Gaomee’s blade. “I have worn this sword ever since we rode out on the elfhunt. It has been with me every step of our long road. But now a new journey begins.” He stabbed the blade into the earth. Then he returned to Noroelle and Farodin, and they went on, back toward the Albenstar.

  Noroelle kept looking from one to the other. So much time had passed, but it felt to her like yesterday that all three of them had sat together in the shadow of the linden trees by her lake.

  Nuramon could hardly believe how happy he felt. After all these years, to again touch the woman he loved, to hear her voice, see her face, and breathe in the scent of her. Though he had always believed he would find his way here one day and experience those things again, that it was actually happening felt like something from a dream.

  Farodin tried to keep in mind how differently he and Noroelle had lived through this time apart. For him, it had been just a few years. For Noroelle, it had been centuries. He would not have been surprised to find that she had changed. But to his surprise, he felt that she was still the same Noroelle that she had been back then, before they had ridden out on the elfhunt.

  They left the island, crossing the sea of fog to the Albenstar. Nuramon and Farodin were about to open the gate when Noroelle stopped them. “Let me speak the magic.” She remembered the last time she had done that. Back then, she had fled with her son into the human world.

  Farodin and Nuramon stepped back. The faun oak had told them a lot about Noroelle’s skill, and now they watched her as she prepared herself.

  She looked up. There was no sun here. She was on her own. She closed her eyes, saw the Albenpaths, and let her own magical power flow into their streams. She could feel the magic spread out around them along the paths. Then Noroelle opened her eyes and smiled.

  Farodin and Nuramon watched in amazement as the world around them transformed. The light became brighter, the fog vanished, the ground underfoot changed its form slightly. In the distance, forests and mountains emerged from the darkness, and the island swathed in green light became the island in the human world. The sky turned dark blue, the light dimmed, and the stars came out. Nuramon and Farodin could only watch and wonder at the power of Noroelle’s gate spell.

  Noroelle filled her lungs with air. “It is beautiful,” she said. She saw the hourglass set within the circle of shells. She picked it up and led the way to the island. At the stone, she stopped and looked back to the Albenstar. “The queen stood here. From here she opened the gate and sent me to the Shattered World.” She smashed the hourglass on the stone. The glass broke, and the sand scattered. “Now this circle, too, is closed.” She pointed to the forest. “Over there, at the small clearing, Emerelle told me to give up all hope. I would lose everything, even the moonlight. And she said it so tenderly, as if she were not the one who had condemned me. Let us go there.” She went ahead, and her two suitors picked up the bags they had left at the edge of the forest and followed her.

  They came to the clearing on the other side of the island, where a long time ago Farodin and Nuramon and their companions had set up their camp. No sign of it remained.

  “Come sit here with me,” Noroelle said. She took them by the hand, and together, they sat in the long grass. “Tell me everything you have been through. Everything. I would like to know.”

  Nuramon took two barinstones from his bag. Wengalf had given them to him the night before, and now he laid them in the grass. He looked questioningly at Farodin, who nodded. Then Nuramon began by saying, “As we passed through the gate close to Atta Aikhjarto and came into the Other World, I realized how different these realms were from our homeland. The air was murky, and when I looked around I found no harmony in the things surrounding me. We found the tracks of the manboar, and when night came, we camped in a forest. And there, the disaster began.”

  Farodin listened to Nuramon’s words and was soon under their spell. His companion had a storyteller’s voice beyond compare, and Farodin envied him a little for that. Nuramon did not shy away from telling the events or terrors of that night in grim detail. In Noroelle’s face, Farodin could clearly see how deeply his companion’s words went. She gripped the aquamarine that was woven into the necklace, and again and again, she gasped and had to catch her breath. The story of healing Farodin made her tremble, and Farodin felt his own heart beating hard. He had never heard the story told that way, from the mouth of his companion. When he talked of their return to Albenmark and about Obilee and their meeting on the terrace, Nuramon asked Farodin how he remembered the moment. From then on, their story passed back and forth between them.

  Noroelle hung on every word her lovers said. And they soon picked up each other’s thread so smoothly that it was like they’d spent every day for centuries learning a great saga by heart. When they narrated their and others’ sufferings, tears stood in Noroelle’s eyes. When they told her about Mandred’s escapades, even the bawdiest of them, using words that would probably have shocked them before, she could only laugh. They told their sto
ry until very late in the night.

  Nuramon finished, saying, “The queen told us that we three would be the last Albenkin in the Other World. Then we stepped through the gate. The path to Albenmark dissolved, and when we then passed into the Shattered World, our search was over. And that is the story of Noroelle, the sorceress, of Farodin, the great warrior, of Nuramon, the old soul, and of Mandred Torgridson, the mortal.”

  They were silent then, all three, for a long time, and did no more than look at each other.

  Noroelle wished that moment could last forever. She let all the events described by her lovers wash over her again. “I wish I were able to say thank you to Mandred. I saw him for such a brief moment, but your words have made him a companion of mine as well. Perhaps it’s true that mortals can go into the moonlight, too. And you, my men, you have done more than anyone could ever have expected of you. I gave you the stones to protect you from the Devanthar, but I never thought that you would search for me and set me free.” She swept a strand of hair from her face. “It makes me happy that you will be remembered forever as heroes in Albenmark. I am especially happy for you, Nuramon. You have found your memory, and now you know what I always sensed in you, that you are more than you appear to be. In all the years I spent in my little world, I learned to look inside myself. And I am more than I appear to be, too. I also carry the soul of a fallen elf inside me.”

  Nuramon had not expected that. “You remember your past lives, too?”

  “Yes. I used to be called Aileen,” Noroelle said. “Like so many others, I died in the troll wars at the Shalyn Falah. Dolgrim, a prince of the trolls, struck me down.”

  Farodin avoided Noroelle’s gaze. The woman he loved remembered her earlier life. Then she had to remember him.

  Noroelle stroked Farodin’s cheek. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? Why didn’t you say that I have Aileen’s soul in me?”

  “I didn’t want you to love me because of an old obligation.”