The Enduring Flame Trilogy 001 - The Phoenix Unchained

by James Mallory

  “I see you,” a voice out of nowhere said formally.

  Tiercel stopped with a hiccup of surprise. He’d been staring off to the side of the path at a particularly strange looking tree; its bark was silvery-white—though it looked nothing like the birch trees he’d seen—and its long slender leaves were nearly black. The thing was, when you glanced at the whole forest together, it looked like a perfectly normal forest. It was only when you started looking carefully at the trees that you realized you’d never seen anything like any of them before.

  “Hello?” he responded cautiously. He wondered if the stranger had been invisible until he’d chosen to reveal himself. After the events of the past day, Tiercel thought anything was possible.

  Besides, he was an Elf.

  He was about Tiercel’s height—which made him an inch or two shorter than Harrier—and his skin was nearly as pale as whatever material the portal that had carried Tiercel and Harrier here had been made of. He was wearing a hooded tunic and close-fitting leggings in a dull green that blended in with the leaves of the forest—and both tunic and leggings were embroidered with an elaborate pattern of spirals and lines in a thousand shades of brown and grey and gold. The long hood of the tunic was pushed back to expose his waist-length hair, which was elaborately-braided with strips of cloth in greens and browns that matched his clothing. High soft boots in dull fawn suede, stitched with a pattern of green leaves, completed his outfit. A delicate hand-held crossbow was balanced at his hip, and he held a quarterstaff in his other hand. His black eyes gazed at Tiercel and Harrier without expression.

  “Perhaps it would be good to be gentle with the human for whom Father has been waiting, and not simply kill him outright for his presumption in speaking to you,” a new voice said.

  This time Tiercel was staring right at the first Elf as the second one appeared right beside him, and he still wasn’t sure what happened. One moment there was one Elf standing in front of him. A moment later, there were two.

  Like the first one, she—he was pretty sure it was a “she”—was dressed in a soft heavily-embroidered green tunic. She, too, had long black hair in a beribboned braid. The only difference between the two of them that Tiercel could see was that her crossbow was slung over her shoulder, and not pointed at him.

  “We do not know that this is he,” the first Elf said.

  “It would make good hearing did you share with me your knowledge of the many other humans whom Ancaladar has brought through the Doorway to Karahelanderialigor in recent years,” the second Elf said, and though she did not raise her voice in the slightest, and though her tone was completely courteous, Tiercel had the impression that if this were back home in Armethalieh and they were human, the two of them would already be yelling at each other at the top of their lungs—and not politely.

  “Uh, hey? Excuse me? I’m Harrier Gillain and this is Tiercel Rolfort, and this Ancaladar sent us this way, but I think we might be lost,” Harrier said, stepping forward.

  “It would be difficult for you to lose yourself, did you properly follow Ancaladar’s direction,” the woman said, preparing to turn back to her argument.

  “Well, you see,” Harrier plowed on stubbornly, “that’s the thing. He said we were supposed to end up at Kara-Hela-Dragon-Lore, or some place like that, and all we’ve seen is this forest, where we’ve been wandering around for about a bell and a half. Now it’s a great forest, but do you think that maybe—”

  “Harrier!”

  Harrier regarded Tiercel with stubborn irritation. “Tyr, it’s either too late or too early to watch a couple of Elves stand around and argue about whether or not you’re who you are. I mean, Elves. They’re supposed to be wise and all-knowing, right? So either they can be useful, or I figure they aren’t really Elves.”

  Both of the Elves were now staring at Harrier with identical expressionless faces. It gave their features an eerie correspondence; that, combined with their identical mode of dress, made them look more alike than twins.

  The male of the pair bowed, very slightly. “I greet you, travelers, in the name of Leaf and Star, and welcome you to the lands beyond the Veil. I am Rilphanifel and this is Elunyerin. We see you.”

  “That’s good,” Harrier said cautiously.

  Elunyerin seemed to stifle a sigh. “Greatfather will know what to do,” she said to Rilphanifel. “He has known many humans.” She turned and walked off.

  “It would be fortunate did you choose to follow us,” Rilphanifel observed, as if speaking to the empty air. He turned and followed Elunyerin up the trail.

  Tiercel looked at Harrier. “Um, I guess they are Elves,” he said, and hurried after the pair.

  NEITHER of the two Elves gave any further indication that they noticed Tiercel or Harrier’s presence, though Tiercel noticed that for all their pretend-obliviousness, they were careful to remain in sight. Dressed as they were, it would have been easy for them to vanish among the trees, so obviously remaining visible was a deliberate choice.

  Unfortunately, as Tiercel realized, he didn’t know as much about Elves as he’d thought he did. After the Great Flowering, Elves and Men had lived closely-connected for a century or two, as Elves had taught Men their ways and Men—so Tiercel realized now—had slowly given up the High Magick. Then the Elves had withdrawn Eastward in the wake of the Great Flowering’s spread across what had once been the Scoured Lands, and after their departure, Men had claimed the ancient Elven cities for their own. All that remained in the West was the memory of the Elves as being kind, powerful, mysterious, warlike, obsessed with perfection and beauty, and a very ancient race. One that, apparently, didn’t want to talk to them.

  Another hour’s walk—at a brisk pace, this time—brought them to the far edge of the forest. Imperceptibly, as they had walked through the forest, the path they had been on had become broader and more well-established, until by the time they left the forest it was edged with large round white stones and wide enough for Tiercel and Harrier to walk upon it side-by-side. At the edge of the forest, the trailhead was marked with two smooth posts of the same white stone that edged the path. Beyond that lay, not a meadow, but a park: the grass was short-trimmed and velvet smooth, and not intermixed with wildflowers as the meadow with the Doorway had been.

  Tiercel hadn’t realized how dark it was under the forest canopy until they stepped out from its shelter. While they’d been beneath the trees it had gone from dawn to mid-morning, and shapes and colors were bright and sharp in the afternoon sunlight. He blinked in the sudden vividness.

  “Do you think we’re supposed to walk on it?” Harrier asked uneasily, staring at the grass.

  “They are,” Tiercel replied, shrugging. The two of them followed the Elves.

  “HERE we are, brother, in the midst of Karahelanderialigor, about to arrive at our Greatfather’s house,” Elunyerin observed.

  “Indeed, sister, that is so. And we shall arrive soon upon our doorstep. And were there anyone accompanying us—but alas, there is not, for no one has seen us—we would offer them the hospitality of our father’s home and hearth. It is indeed sad that no one accompanies us,” Rilphanifel answered, gazing off into space.

  “Most sad,” Elunyerin agreed. “I see you, and you see me, and that is as it should be. For the rest . . .”

  “I see you, Rilphanifel. I see you, Elunyerin,” Tiercel said, finally getting the idea. “Ah . . . do you see me?”

  Both Elves stopped and turned around. They regarded each other for a moment, then looked back at him. “That is very bold speech on such short acquaintance,” Rilphanifel said to his sister. “It is possible that there might be cause for reflection on the advisability of leaving foundlings in the forest.”

  “Equally, one might contemplate the notion that there are more races in the land than Elves, and they are not all alike. Indeed, we do see you,” Elunyerin said, answering Tiercel at last.

  They waited expectantly.

  “My name is Tiercel Rolfort. This is Harrier G
illain.”

  To Tiercel’s surprise, Harrier bowed—well, anyone who spent half their life on the Armethaliehan docks would be used to dealing with foreign ways and customs—at least, once he got over sulking about them. “I see you,” Harrier said.

  Both Elves seemed relieved.

  “We greet you once again and this time in full measure, Tiercel and Harrier, in the name of Leaf and Star, and welcome you to the lands beyond the Veil. Stay as long as you will, and when you go, go with joy. I am Rilphanifel and this is Elunyerin. We have come to escort you to the House of Malkirinath, jewel of the city of Karahelanderialigor, where Tiercel has long been awaited, and where his friend is welcome.”

  “Okay,” Tiercel said slowly. He really wasn’t sure how he felt about having been “long awaited,” especially by Elves, but now that he was here there really didn’t seem to be a lot of point in making a fuss.

  “Nice to know I’m welcome,” Harrier muttered.

  “Come,” Elunyerin said, beckoning them onward.

  A few minutes later Tiercel realized not only that he was looking at a house, but that he’d been looking at a house for quite some time.

  Elunyerin and Rilphanifel had said they were taking the two of them to a city, but he’d seen no signs of one. The first thing he’d seen that looked man-made—or Elvenmade—was what he was staring at now, and for the longest time, his mind had insisted on telling him that it was not a house at all, but a copse of trees. Then suddenly everything had somehow shifted right before his eyes: trees had become pillars, random boulders had become foundation stones, and between one heartbeat and the next he was staring at a house, and could not imagine how he had ever seen anything else. The house was built on a low rise of ground, and rose up out of the earth as if it were an extension of the forms of the earth. The wood of its walls was silvered with time, and the low sloping planes of its roof was thick with moss. While the houses of the Nine Cities were straightforward and up-and-down, this house seemed to . . . swirl, as if it were somehow in motion, like a drift of leaves caught by the wind.

  For all its size—and the house was not small—it had an airiness to it. The walls were pierced by long windows that echoed the shapes of the trunks of trees. They sparkled with light—and had added to the original illusion, Tiercel imagined, that this had been a grove of trees and not a house, but no matter how hard he tried, now, he could not un-see the house and see the trees again. The whole illusion—however it had been created—was disturbing in a way he couldn’t quite articulate to himself. Things should be able to appear and disappear this way in twilight and fog, his mind told him, not on a clear summer morning. But the house had appeared before his eyes where a grove of trees had been only moments before, and now he could not decide whether the trees had ever been there at all.

  “Harrier, do you see that house?” he asked, pointing.

  “Sure,” Harrier said after a moment, sounding puzzled.

  “Did you see it before?”

  “Before when?” Harrier asked, and Tiercel gave up. It was a house. It had always been a house.

  “BE welcome in the House of Malkirinath, in our home and at our hearth,” Elunyerin said, stopping and encouraging them to step in front of her.

  The house had a deep portico—it was hard to see it until you got right up close to the house itself—and the actual door of the house stood in a pleasant shade. The door was made of a single slab of wood as pale as bone, delicately and elaborately carved with a swirling pattern of dragons in flight, and Tiercel would have liked a chance to look at it longer, but it was opened almost immediately.

  The Elf who opened it looked enough like Elunyerin and Rilphanifel to be yet another twin, though she was dressed far more formally, in a gown, underskirt, and long sleeveless embroidered overvest in three harmonizing shades of blue. Her hair, as long as theirs, was coiled neatly at the nape of her neck by a number of small enameled pins, and long sapphire drops swung from her ears.

  Harrier cleared his throat nervously.

  “I see you, Elunyerin. I see you, Rilphanifel,” the woman said.

  “We see you, Farabiael,” Rilphanifel answered. “Here are Tiercel and Harrier, travelers from beyond the Veil, guests of this house.”

  “I see you, Tiercel. I see you, Harrier.”

  “I see you, Farabiael. I thank you for permitting me to enter here,” Harrier said, bowing. On his best manners, Tiercel thought in relief.

  “I see you, Farabiael,” Tiercel echoed.

  “Come, then, and be welcome in the name of Leaf and Star,” Farabiael said, stepping aside to allow them to enter, “Be welcome at our hearth and in our home. I do wonder that you have made it here alive, having been hurried through the Doorwood without thought for food or rest by these foolish children.”

  Both boys stopped just inside the door of the house staring at each other. They’d thought they were used to the ways of Elves, but apparently they were not.

  “It is quite true,” Farabiael continued, “that though I raised them myself, there are many who believe they were left in the Flower Forest to be raised by Fauns, though no one would be so uncivilized as to mention the fact. Nor do I feel that either Ancaladar or their Greatmother has formed their characters in the fashion that would have been seen when the Nine Cities lay in the West.”

  Though none of the three Elves had what Tiercel would actually consider an expression on their faces, he really had the impression that Farabiael was scolding Elunyerin and Rilphanifel and that they were more than a little embarrassed about it. He didn’t think their behavior had been out of line, though. Humans and Elves had lived apart for centuries. He and Harrier must be as strange to them as they were to him.

  “Despite this, I am certain that now they will wish to conduct you to a place where you may bathe and rest and eat and garb yourselves in more suitable clothing before you are asked to consider matters further. You will rejoice to know that the teas of summer are exceptionally fine this year.”

  “Thank you,” Tiercel said.

  “Come,” Elunyerin said.

  THE house was large, and ought to have reminded him of his uncle’s country place—which both Tiercel and Harrier had always found to be very formal and somewhat intimidating—but it actually reminded Tiercel most, of all the places he’d ever been, of Harrier’s house, though on the surface it had nothing in common with it. No matter how exotic, and, well, Elven, House Malkirinath was, it still seemed like the sort of place where people raised children and children ran through the halls.

  “Here are the rooms that have been prepared for you,” Rilphanifel said, stopping before a closed door. “I believe you will find all within that you may require—and, as Farabiael most properly reminds me, you will wish to recover from your journey. I shall return later so that you may come and drink tea with our Greatfather, for perhaps you will find that he is the goal of your long travels.”

  “Ah, perhaps,” Tiercel agreed, not really knowing what else to say. Behind him the door began to open, though neither of the Elves had moved. He turned toward it, distracted, and when he turned back again—he had more questions, like “when are you coming back” and “what if we need something”—both Elves where gone.

  “Did you? . . .” he asked.

  Harrier shrugged in answer, a sour look on his face. Obviously he hadn’t seen them leave either.

  However it had opened, the door shut in the ordinary way.

  “I’m taking my boots off,” Harrier announced immediately, sitting down on the bench just inside the door. “These carpets may be ordinary to the Elves, but I know what they’d cost back home, and I just can’t walk on them in muddy boots.”

  Tiercel looked down at his own feet. He’d scraped off most of the muck from the forest trudge walking across the lawn and the portico—the surface of the terrace might almost have been designed for cleaning muddy boots—but looking at the lush patterned carpet, he didn’t want to go tromping across it in dirty boots either. He sho
ved Harrier sideways and began pulling off his own boots and socks.

  “That feels better,” Harrier said with a sigh. He wiggled his toes. “Hey, food.”

  Tiercel sighed. The treasures of the Elven Lands—things that Men hadn’t seen for centuries—were spread out before them, and Harrier wanted breakfast. Tiercel’s stomach rumbled. Well, maybe Harrier was right.

  The room they were in was obviously a sort of sitting room. Low deep benches lined two of the walls, and in the center of the room were several comfortable chairs set around a large octagonal table inlaid with the green and white squares of a shamat board, the pieces already set up for a game. In the far corner was a large standing harp with a stool beside it, and hung upon the wall behind it were several other instruments; Tiercel recognized a gittern and a flute. There was a small glass-fronted case of books as well, on the wall opposite the windows, but though he longed to explore it—what sort of books did Elves read?—his immediate attention was claimed by the table beneath the windows, where Harrier was already lifting the covers off of dishes and exploring the contents of baskets.

  “Everything’s cold,” Harrier announced through a mouth full of cheese, “but there’s a lot of it. Come and eat.”

  Tiercel did as he was bid.

  THERE was indeed a lot of it; either the Elves had known Harrier was coming, or they were simply excellent hosts. Some of it Tiercel recognized—bread and cheese and jam were pretty much the same everywhere—and a lot of it he didn’t. None of the fruits were familiar, though they were certainly fruit, and all delicious. He wasn’t quite sure what sort of smoked cold bird he was eating, or what it was stuffed with, or, considering the size, how the cook had managed to get all the bones out, but he ate three of them. And he had no idea what the little pastries were stuffed with (fruit? vegetables? meat?), or what the other meat on the platters was at all. Fish? Pork? But it was pink and tender and he grabbed two slices of it before Harrier ate all of it, because the one thing he was certain of was that nothing here would poison him.