by Alon Shalev
“I think he’s never seen an elf,” Shayth said, and Ilana relaxed. She beckoned him forward and, taking his hand, directed it to her ear. He touched it gently and looked closely. He turned to the older man who had rebuked him and clicked. Then he faced Ilana and put her hand on his own round, hairy ears.
“Thank you,” she said with regained composure.
Another man came forward with water in a bowl. He undressed Ilana’s wound, carefully cleaned it, and then put some leaves in his mouth and chewed hard.
“Is he–” Ilana glanced at Shayth. He shrugged his shoulders, doing a terrible job of not grinning.
The man laid the chewed leaves on her wound and rolled another bandage around her arm. He clicked at her as he worked, making continual eye contact. Though they understood nothing, Shayth was sure the man was trying to reassure her.
Shayth finished eating and walked over to the horses. They were with the hunters’ horses and he was pleased to see that they, too, were being well cared for. On his way back to Ilana, he saw an old man, his hair gray and his beard thin and white. The others treated him with great deference and he held an air of reserved authority.
Shayth saw that the man was watching him and walked over. He extended his hands to his sides with palms facing the man and bent his head in deference. When he raised his head he said “Thank You” slowly and clearly. The man wouldn’t understand the words, but Shayth wanted him to understand the intention.
“You…very…welcome,” the man replied. His voice was quiet and the words clearly did not come naturally.
Surprised, Shayth pointed to the rock next to the man. The man nodded and he sat down.
“Who are you?” Shayth asked. “You and your people?”
The man took a moment to speak. “Not easy speak your way. Me Targs, people are Tutan. I no know how say. We people from desert,” and he pointed to the south.
“I don’t think I have ever heard of a people who communicate this way,” Shayth felt guilty not telling the truth, but wanted to keep the conversation focused on the Tutan and not his past. “Is your home far? Are there many of you?”
The man laughed showing a mouth full of yellow teeth.
“What’s so funny?” Shayth asked.
“So many askings,” the man said. “Northerners always need know. Why? Why? Why?” Again he laughed. “I come north long time before. Work in city with silver tower? Name hard to say? Long time before.”
“Galbrieth?” Shayth suggested and the man nodded.
“Galbrie…yes. Work as horseman. Take care of horses, make food for big man. Was nice before army. People think I stupid. Is good. Leave stupid man alone.”
“Why did you leave?”
The man chewed on a stem of a plant. “Want home, want people. When army come to Gal–”
“Galbrieth.”
“Yes. When army come, no good. We no fight here. Hunt meat, no people. Very bad in city. Very sad. Soldiers see stupid man, no good. I leave. I go home. Many of my people, no come home. Killed by soldiers.”
“How many Tutans are there?” Shayth asked.
“Here, you see,” and he extended his arm before waving toward the south. “Home, many, many. Live in desert. Live as one with desert. Desert hide and protect us.”
“Why have we not heard of you? Don’t you trade anything?”
The man shook his head. “After big meeting many killings. We no want be near you people. Sorry, but some very bad, want only with swords.”
Shayth nodded. A few of Targ’s men had come and sat on the ground to listen and watch, though they could not understand the exchange. Ilana and the young boy came and sat together, though he seemed more interested in her and her ears, rather than the conversation.
The man clicked to those seated and then turned to Shayth and explained. “Tell them what we talk of.” Then he continued. “We no like fight. Here people angry, we talk. Tutans help each other. There, no so quick with help. People good in family but no more. We no want fight. You understand?”
Shayth nodded. “So you wanted to get away from the men here and your people went deep into the desert?”
The old man nodded. “Happened, yes, when I young. We tell stories. Once all live good. Was man and elf. Also…” he mimed a shorter creature with his hand. “Go under earth.”
“Dwarves,” said Shayth and the man nodded again.
The young Tutan with Ilana rose on his knees and clicked. He made a flapping movement with his arms and snorted from his nose. Others clicked at him and laughed.
“Aah yes,” said the old man with a big smile. “Also big flying, with fire in nose and tail like many sword.”
“Dragons?” Shayth raised his eyebrows. “You don’t believe in dragons, do you?”
The old man looked at him, surprised. “Oh, yes. They live, and they no happy for what man do.”
“Dragons are a myth,” said Shayth. “Humans don’t believe it. What about your people, Ilana?”
“The elves have stories that we tell around the campfire,” she said. “But they don’t exist, do they?”
“Yes, yes,” the man raised his voice. “They live. I see. Like us, but hate other men.”
“Wow,” said Shayth. “I wonder…” But he kept the rest of his thoughts to himself.
Twenty-Seven
Since there hadn’t been any signs of soldiers, Mhari and Seanchai hiked in the mountains. Building stamina and long conversations were the order of the day. Mhari spoke of the history of the land and lectured him on ethics. Seanchai treasured these times and as his endurance grew, he loved even the most strenuous hikes. With his sharp elf eyesight, he could see in the distance another snow-capped mountain range and a long valley with a bright blue river winding through. It was beautiful and only lacked, in his opinion, a forest. He guessed he would always be a wood elf.
Mhari drew maps on the ground with a branch and described the lands and people. Later, she would ask Seanchai to relay the information back. This improved his ability to retain knowledge and taught him that everything she told him was a lesson.
During breaks, they practiced their exercises. Seanchai had also begun calisthenics to complement his running and energy training. This resulted in a rapid improvement in his poses as his body adjusted to the physical aspect, allowing Seanchai to focus more effort on gathering energy.
They often stopped to examine herbs and trees. Mhari would explain properties and applications; what herbs could be used in a combination; and how to make a tea, salve, or poultice. Next time they came across the plant, she would ask Seanchai to relay this information back to her. From then on, Seanchai was expected to point out the herb when next they passed it without prompting. At night, they mapped the stars, refining the rudimentary understanding that Seanchai had gleaned during his childhood.
At the end of the third day of one particularly grueling hike they reached the snow line. Seanchai had never seen snow and was excited until he felt the cold, penetrating wind that kept the snow from melting.
He was relieved when Mhari led him into a cave and they began to descend inside the mountain. There were long, noble stalagmites and stalactites some almost meeting each other, like lovers stretching to touch fingertips.
“They are so close,” Mhari said. “Yet it’ll take several more centuries for them to join together.”
“Wow,” Seanchai said, as he gazed into the cavern.
Their lit torches revealed shiny, diamond-like mineral deposits in the rocks. The air was chilly in the caves, and Seanchai could smell the moisture all around him.
He lost all track of time and direction, though he could tell that Mhari was navigating a specific route that took them at once through tightly squeezed tunnels and then into great echoing caverns. When they rested, he asked how she knew the way.
“I have been here before,” Mhari replied. “This mountain contains a great source of power and I want to share it with you. It’s quite honestly far too early for this, but we don�
�t have time to wait. We’re nearly there. Hold your questions for now.”
Seanchai reflected on how much and how quickly he was learning as they continued deep into the mountain. Mhari was pushing him to gain physical strength and build an energy reserve inside his body. He enjoyed learning to use herbs to heal and strengthen, and remained convinced that it should have been his vocation. Here under the mountain, he even discovered several varieties of mushrooms. Mhari told him that they had grown unusually large from the rich mineral deposits, but there was no time now to study them.
“I would love to be able to spend more time with you,” Mhari said, in what was becoming a mantra for her. “There’s so much I could teach you. But out of necessity, we must remain very focused.”
On this hike, Mhari had concentrated on teaching stealth. She constantly tested her student and almost, though not always, found him. A forest elf grows up learning how to walk silently, and Seanchai had applied many of the techniques when he had gone hunting. When he succeeded against his teacher, he felt a wave of satisfaction.
“You’re proficient, Seanchai, but you need to know how to avoid being noticed by those seeking you out. This is very different than stalking an oblivious deer or rabbit. If you can perfect such techniques, they might prevent you from having to fight and kill people.”
Many times, despite the acquisition of these practical tools, Mhari did not provide explanations on why she was teaching him certain things. Seanchai was learning to acquire energy, for example, but not how to use it. He had so many questions for his teacher: How much would he learn, and what for? Where had his talent come from? And maybe the biggest question: Who was he and what was his destiny? So far, Mhari had refrained from answering his questions.
Seanchai came out of his musings when he realized he was sweating. Mhari had stopped and, after drinking some water, folded her cloak into her bag. Seanchai followed suit. When he finished, Mhari was smiling at him.
“We are almost there,” she said. “Come, we will stay in this place for a few days.”
Soon, the steep path began to flatten out. They turned a corner and walked along a ridge. Seanchai could not see down through the darkness. At the end, Mhari stopped where two rocks stood parallel with what seemed like a very narrow corridor.
“Wait a moment, Seanchai,” she said, holding out her hand. “This is your first test. You must seek out that warm energy with which we fill our bodies. You must do this now and do it well. Only when your body is full of the energy can you enter the cavern beyond. Let us begin.”
They both assumed the first position. It felt natural and he began to feel the familiar sensation resonating though his feet. The elf directed his breathing up his legs and channeled it into his stomach. He imagined storing it there and then summoned more. Intuitively he began to direct it into his chest and arms. His whole body vibrated as the energy coursed through him and he involuntarily sighed. Mhari spoke softly.
“Hold the ball, Seanchai.”
Seanchai’s hands moved in front of his chest, and he directed the energy to his fingertips. Then he imagined the ball and, in his mind, it began to appear. In his expanding state of consciousness, he could clearly see the ball though his eyes were closed. It was in his hands, against his chest and in his head.
“Now, holding the ball, open your eyes. Keep the energy around you.”
Mhari was several feet in front of Seanchai, beyond the narrow corridor. When she spoke, her voice carried with gravitas. “Step forward, Seanchai of Morthian Wood, and enter.”
Seanchai entered the cavern, and his life changed forever.
Twenty-Eight
It seemed to Shayth that the Tutans genuinely enjoyed hosting Ilana and him that night. They were generous with food and drink, and as it got dark they passed around a sweet, rich liquid in a large horn that was held over expectant mouths with great reverence. There was also drumming on hollow wood of all shapes, covered with animal skins, and other forms of percussion.
Targs was the only one who could talk with them, but it didn’t stop the ear-infatuated youngster from trying to tell Ilana many things. She smiled at him and spoke warmly even though they did not understand each other.
“My people not like this far north,” Targs explained. “Like deep in desert. Only scouts come and see what happening. But this year buffalo and cow herds not come south and tribe send us out for track and hunt.”
Shayth noted many bundles that he assumed to be dried meat or skins. There were also carts and a tall, thin breed of horse that he had never seen. Though he could discern the animals’ bones, they seemed muscular, efficient, and hardy.
Targs pointed to the shiny horn being passed round. “Drink little, very strong,” he warned. The liquid burned Shayth’s throat and he coughed, causing the Tutans to laugh.
Ilana, saw how Shayth had reacted to the strong liquor and was relieved that he laughed along with their hosts. She declined to drink when it reached her, but the man who had dressed her wound clapped his hands for silence. He clicked to Targs, who turned to Ilana.
“Healer says you drink. If bad inside body from wound, it kills. Drink please, but only little.”
Ilana drank and everyone cheered her. She shivered and let out a small burp, which made them all laugh again. A little while later as there was a lull in the drumming, Shayth turned to the leader.
“Targs. Can you show us the best route to Galbrieth?” When the old man frowned, Shayth continued. “We don’t want to go there, but we must.”
He nodded and began drawing a map in the sand of different routes to the city. Ilana interrupted him.
“Targs. We’re only interested in the shortest route. We have a friend, a good elf, in terrible danger and need to get there quickly.”
“Fast way, most dangerous.”
“I don’t care,” she said with conviction. “Please show us the fastest way.”
Targs shrugged and drew a line and, as he did, some of his people began to click and shake their heads emphatically. Targs responded, pointing to Ilana. One man got up and took the stick from him. He drew two people by the path, indicating Shayth and Ilana. With his boot, he rubbed them out.
Targs turned to explain, but Shayth spoke first. “That was pretty clear.”
“Often fast way not fast way if want reach end way.” Targs replied.
“We understand,” Shayth said, nodding to the man who had drawn and erased their figures in the sand.
Then the young boy who had attached himself to Ilana stood. He took the stick and drew first two figures and then a third, pointing to himself. A cacophony of clicks erupted from around the circle. Shayth rose and walked over. He patted the boy on the shoulder.
“That’s very nice of you to offer,” he said. “Thank you.” Then he erased the third figure.
The ensuing conversation among the Tutans was accompanied by hand gestures and frowns–they were arguing. The boy rose again and drew the third figure. Shayth sighed. He did not want to start jumping up and down in a weird children’s game.
Then another man stepped forward and added a fourth figure. Now the argument was more measured. People looked stunned, but neither Shayth nor Ilana could follow the discussion. Another man rose, took the stick, and then there was a fifth figure.
Shayth turned to Targs. “You must stop them. They don’t know what they’re headed into. This is a fortress. You’ve seen Galbrieth. These soldiers are brutal. They will show no mercy for your people and you said Tutans don’t know how to fight.”
Targs looked at him and frowned. “I say we no like fight. I no say we no know how fight.” He sighed and turned to his people. A long discussion began, and Shayth felt his frustration rising.
Ilana rose and quietly left the Tutans to their discussion. Shayth followed. She took a skin of water and drank while Shayth paced in front of her.
When she finished, she said, “I don’t think these people are as delicate as you think, Shayth. As Targs said, the fact that the
y choose not to fight does not mean they are not able to. To survive and thrive in the desert, you must be tough. To live there, you must value life. I don’t think they will act recklessly or impede us.”
Shayth was not pacified. “It’s crazy. I’m used to working alone, not looking out for others.”
“But you work together with Seanchai, Rhoddan and myself.”
He nodded. “But that’s different.”
“How?”
He didn’t clarify, but continued pacing and passing his hand through his unruly hair. “People don’t put themselves in danger like this unless there’s some serious personal gain or they’re simply idiots.”
“The Tutans are not idiots,” Ilana snapped.
“No, no, I didn’t mean to imply they were.”
“Listen, Shayth. Mhari asked me why I had requested from Uncle to accompany Seanchai. I told her I felt strangely compelled from the very beginning. She said that it wasn’t strange; that good people with a strong sense of right and wrong will often be attracted to someone special like Seanchai. Look at yourself–”
“Ha!” Shayth spat. “You think I’m a good person.”
When she spoke, Ilana’s voice was firm and measured. “I don’t care what you were, Shayth, I only see who you are now. You’re drawn to Seanchai, Rhoddan and me because of friendship. It’s striking a chord deep inside of you. So you’re ready to put your life on the line for us.”
Shayth looked at her. Would she still feel that way when she discovered his past? “You’re a good pers…a good elfe, Ilana. You really are. But I’m…”
He heard footsteps approaching and stopped. Targs and the young boy joined them. The boy’s face was flushed, and he looked at the ground as Targs spoke.
“We decide. Three men go with you to Galbrieth. The three they um…they want go. They show you good way, fast way. They go in city, they not go in city, they choose then. They not go, it good. Yes?”
