The Exile of Elindel

by Carol Browne

  “Though you have hair or feathers, claws or beak,

  “Though you be tall or tiny, one or ten,

  “Though you be dead or living, you are weak,

  “And so will fade like moonlight on the fen.

  “No matter what you be or what you seek,

  “Depart from here and never come again.”

  As she spoke, the words provided a base on which to plant her courage, and her voice became stronger, drawing authority from the verse. Her whole awareness centred upon it and upon the enemy before her. Nothing else mattered. The campfire became an insubstantial flicker in her eyes, the encircling night a swart blur of irrelevance.

  ***

  Godwin managed to scramble to his feet. He took his place at Elgiva’s side, but fear overcame him and his sword dangled in his grasp.

  The shendkin appeared to be visibly affected by the incantation, and it listened raptly while its claws raked the air. Frustration shuddered in its shaggy hide. The skin on its snout wrinkled, and its lips curled back from its yellow teeth in a snarl of impotent rage.

  Godwin fought for self-control and turned to Elgiva in supplication. The sight of her hit him like a bludgeon. His friend was no longer a small, frail figure, but appeared to have blossomed in stature and presence. She glowed with smouldering power, and her eyes shone with vehemence. He couldn’t name the force around her, but he felt it all the same. The very air was taut with it; it throbbed all around him like a tortured nerve. The night pressed down upon him like a weight he couldn’t carry, but he fought to stay on his feet.

  The incantation spoken, Elgiva drew a brand from the fire and flourished it at the beast. The tips of the flames flared momentarily blue and echoed the glint in her eyes.

  “Be gone!” she commanded.

  The creature reared for a moment in a last gesture of defiance, then it was on all fours again, watching her with eyes that were surprisingly soft and sad. Their innocence seemed incongruous in such a feral face. Elgiva tensed, the breath catching in her throat. Whatever power she exuded seemed at that moment to gutter and fade.

  The shendkin turned away and loped off into the darkness.

  Terror drained Godwin’s strength, and his legs folded beneath him. He was suffocating with awe. He had seen something impossible, unreal, and its horror still hummed in his ears.

  The violated night was filled with the sounds of howling and yapping. Dark shapes materialised out of nowhere and whirled past the campfire. They were wolves, and they pelted after the shendkin. Hugging his chest, Godwin listened to their snarls and the screams of the creature as the pack leapt upon it and tore it apart. The noise of rending made the gorge rise in his throat. Was this really happening, or had he gone insane? He shot his companion a terrified look, desperate for reassurance.

  “The gods protect us!” he cried. “Elgiva?”

  She placed her small hand on his shoulder but didn’t meet his gaze. “It’s all right,” she said in a trembling voice. Her fingers pressed his flesh. “It’s all over now, Godwin.”

  Weakness overcame her. She covered her face with her hands and swayed where she stood. Before she lost her balance completely, he roused himself and got to his feet, grabbing her by the shoulders. Shortly, she raised her head and her hands fell to her sides. She took a shuddering breath.

  She looked at Godwin, tried to say something, but could only gape at him. Her eyes were mirrors of exhaustion.

  Presently, Greyflanks came trotting towards them and announced his news with joyful barks.

  “He went off earlier, following a familiar scent,” stated Elgiva. Her voice sounded flat and abraded. “He’s found his family. You were right when you thought they’d moved. To the forest over there, in fact. He brought them back to meet us—fortunately.”

  Godwin sighed with relief. He never thought he would be so glad to see a pack of wolves. “They’ve killed that thing, then? They’ll dine well tonight.”

  Elgiva let out a cry of protest. “No natural creature eats the flesh of a shendkin!”

  Godwin’s brow knotted with incomprehension. “Why not? What is it? I’ve never seen its like.”

  “Never mind that now,” she said sharply. “I haven’t . . . I can’t explain.” She rubbed her forehead and screwed up her eyes, as though her head were splitting. “We’re being escorted to the wolf camp. There’s food and shelter there. Put out the fire.”

  Godwin obeyed and kicked out the camp-fire while Elgiva stumbled after Greyflanks. She had the air of someone fleeing unbearable truths, and until the enchantment pulled him after her, Godwin fought to summon the strength required for forward motion. His head was spinning with hunger and fear, and his recent experience had appalled him. He ached for knowledge or guidance, for anything that would help him come to terms with what had happened.

  But no one was there to help him. A monster that couldn’t exist had attacked them and been chased off by a magical spell. A pack of wolves had swarmed to their rescue. Not even Othere’s minstrel could invent a tale like this.

  The enchantment had him once more between its teeth, and he forced himself into motion, following Elgiva into the brooding darkness.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Godwin held fast to Elgiva’s hand and trusted her to lead him to the wolf camp. Her superior night vision was equal to the task, though they stumbled over tree roots and their progress was slow. At last, they reached a clearing where a den beneath a mound of earth lay half concealed by ferns.

  “We’re here,” she said.

  He set to work and gathered wood for a fire. Hunger, cold, and darkness made Godwin’s movements clumsy, and the noisy greetings of the wolves only worsened his unease. Explaining to their hosts her companion’s need for heat and light, Elgiva went to help him, and they had soon collected sufficient wood to build a substantial fire.

  Once the fire had taken hold, Godwin could see the wolves more clearly. To his surprise, Queen Whitefoot personally thanked him for playing his part in the return of her son. Elgiva conveyed the wolf’s gratitude to him, and he bowed politely—and self-consciously—in the animal’s direction.

  By now, his need to talk with Elgiva was the only thought in his head, but she seemed too busy with the wolves, and he didn’t want to intrude. Completely out of place in this world, all he could do was content himself with warming his bones by the fire. At length, despite his anxiety, he resumed his sleep where he had left it.

  ***

  After breakfast the following morning, Elgiva expressed the desire to be alone and disappeared into the surrounding forest. The wolves also wandered away, and while Godwin was becoming less anxious in their company, pretending to be at ease in the presence of so many sets of sharp teeth had been something of a strain. Now he could relax and take advantage of the opportunity to rest.

  As evening fell, it carried with it a cloying dampness, and mist coiled among the tree trunks. Godwin concentrated his efforts on building up the fire, the only thing that would preserve him from the cold night ahead. He was so engrossed, it startled him when Elgiva appeared from the trees. He struggled to his feet, determined to have his questions answered, but when he saw her hag-ridden features, there was only one he could ask.

  “Elgiva, are you all right?”

  With a weary nod, she sat down beside him and held out her hands to the fire. He seated himself next to her and waited for her to speak.

  “I’m sorry I was away so long. I lost all track of time. Did you mind? The wolves don’t bother you, do they?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t fret about me. Where have you been, Elgiva?”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “Just out there. Thinking.”

  “A lot to think about, I expect.” He rested his forearms across his knees. “Do I have your attention now?”

  She turned her head, one eyebrow arched. “Yes, of course.”

  “Would you care to tell me what a shendkin is? I’ve never seen anything so hideous.”

  “Of cours
e you haven’t. They keep their distance from your kind. Their only aim in life—if life it can be called—is to slaughter elves and eat them.”

  Godwin was horrified. “What are they?”

  “Shendkin aren’t animals. And yet, they are.”

  “Riddles are all very well in the mead hall—”

  “If you think I’d waste my time on riddles, you’re very much mistaken,” she snapped.

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. Please carry on.”

  Elgiva drew closer and folded her hands in her lap. “They’re not true animals. Bellic told me they were some kind of hybrid, corrupted by dark magic. An evil wardain called Smirill created them many generations ago. Royal elves do sometimes go bad, and Smirill dabbled in things Faine warned us against. Smirill lived in Misterell, a strange kingdom shunned by other elves to this day, and he spawned these creatures by interbreeding natural beasts in the presence of black magic. The animals he chose were aberrations and all deeply flawed. In due course, his vile experiments left us with the shendkin. Smirill was mad but believed himself a creator, a genius. He thought he had the right, as a wardain, to pervert the natural order of things, but no one has that right. In the end, he became so corrupted by the forces he wanted to control that, one day, according to legend, he exploded.”

  Godwin couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing. Elgiva frowned at him, clearly a little hurt and angry.

  “I’m finding this impossible to believe,” he said. “Well, the bits I understand.”

  “Don’t blame me,” retorted Elgiva, thrusting her pert nose in the air. “It was you who wanted to hear it.” She turned her back on him indignantly. “As I was saying, Smirill exploded because the pressure of the evil within him was too great for his flesh to contain. The forces he thought to master merely rebounded upon him. So, he was no more, but the evil lived on in the things he created. They are few in number, I’m glad to say, and they don’t seem able to produce young. They’re slow and elusive, but they don’t die like natural beasts. A strange power sustains them. Some part of the dark might Smirill invoked is still at work, defying mortality.”

  Godwin shivered. “At least they can be killed, like other animals.”

  “By a pack of wolves, certainly,” she agreed, “but many an elf, caught alone by a shendkin, hasn’t had the good fortune to have a pack of wolves to hand. We, indeed, were very lucky.” She paused and shook her head. “You know, for a moment I doubted my eyes, Godwin. I was as shocked as you were. I’ve never seen a shendkin before, though I’ve heard all the tales. I suppose I didn’t really believe them. It’s hard to believe in something you’ve never seen, and the shendkin rarely come close to our forests. They prefer to pick off lone travellers, and an ordinary elf, lacking magic, is helpless.”

  “But,” he said, “you weren’t helpless.”

  “Bellic taught me the incantation. He made me learn it by rote from something he called The Book of Weirds, and he made certain I had it by heart. He said there was power in the rhyme, enough to hold a shendkin at bay, so an elf can escape. Shendkin are slow, clumsy things, easy to outrun.”

  Godwin wasn’t convinced. “So, why didn’t you run?”

  She lowered her eyes evasively. “Well . . . I wanted to.”

  “You didn’t stay on my account?”

  “No, Godwin, you were always safe. You’re not a shendkin’s idea of good eating.”

  “Is that a compliment or not?” he asked, trying to lighten her mood.

  “It’s a very good thing for you and your kind.”

  She fell silent, clearly reluctant to continue, but Godwin’s curiosity had yet to be satisfied.

  “Tell me, then, Elgiva, if these things were created by some mad old elf, why do they want to eat elves?”

  She thought for a moment and toyed with her hair. “Revenge, perhaps? Who knows? I feel sad when I think of them, Godwin. Even more so since we were attacked by one.”

  “Why so?”

  “Did you see its eyes? A hideous face, yet it had disturbingly beautiful eyes. It all felt so wrong, somehow. There was a pleading look in those eyes, and I wanted to do something about it. You don’t understand, do you?”

  “You may be right about its eyes,” said Godwin, “but I was terrified, Elgiva. I just wanted it dead.”

  “It’s not their fault, though. The shendkin are abominations of nature, the work of madness. Surely they can have no peace.”

  “No, perhaps not.”

  “This is what happens when we get above ourselves and think we can defy the laws of nature, Godwin. Bellic told me the wardain are well-schooled in such matters and know there’s a natural limit they mustn’t go beyond.” She hesitated, and a frown creased her brow. “Schooled or not, I wouldn’t want the responsibility of such power. I mean, it must be a temptation to see how far you can go . . . I dare say.”

  She changed her position again, to sit hugging her knees with her back turned towards him, as though she were closing the door on his questions.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” he said.

  She looked round at him sternly, unsure of his meaning.

  “Why didn’t you run?”

  “There was no need,” she replied with a shrug. “The incantation sufficed.”

  “From whence came your courage?”

  She frowned at him, puzzled. “The words gave me courage, and I—I had Siriol.”

  “I thought you said Siriol doesn’t work.”

  “I—I don’t know. Look, you didn’t run, either. So what? Let’s be honest, shall we? We were both too scared to move.”

  He watched her steadily. “Yes, let’s be honest, Elgiva. It was you, wasn’t it?”

  She glared at him as though he had hit her, and then she scowled at the fire. Her rigid posture told Godwin not to question her further. He knew nothing about elves or incantations and even less about shendkin, but one thing he did know: when Elgiva spoke the potent rhyme, the force he had sensed came from her, not the words. How he knew this was yet another mystery. He had hoped his friend would explain it all to him, but now was not the time. Her confusion seemed to equal his own.

  “Talk to me, Elgiva, please,” he said.

  “Something is happening, and it makes no sense,” she said. “My life in Elindel left me ill-equipped to deal with all the things I’ve been through since I left, so how shall I talk about it?”

  “Tell me how you felt.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you used the incantation.”

  She shrugged. “Strange. Hot. Dizzy. Sick. And it’s happened before. When I used Siriol to defend myself at the settlement, and again when I defended myself outside Joskin’s cave. But Godwin, when I used Siriol to change my appearance, I felt nothing. And it didn’t protect me from that arrow, did it? I wish Bellic had told me about magic, about this wretched amulet. It frightens me.”

  She took Siriol from around her neck and clenched it in her fist. There were tears in her eyes.

  “One thing I do know for certain. Siriol can’t be trusted.” A frown of determination seamed her brow. “I can’t use it again. I won’t.”

  She drew back her arm, but before she could hurl Siriol at the fire, Godwin seized her wrist.

  “No!” he exclaimed forcefully. “By Frigg, there may be purpose in it yet. Wasn’t it the gift of a friend?”

  “I used to think so, yes,” she sobbed.

  “So is there any wrong in it?”

  For several long moments, her dark eyes opposed him, then she relaxed and he loosened his grip on her arm.

  At length, she said tentatively, “I just don’t know what’s happening. Godwin, I feel different.”

  With that, she stumbled to her feet and dashed towards the forest. He didn’t know the right words to use to call her back, nor even if he should. He was left, once more, with only his thoughts for company, and the doubts and fears he harboured began drifting to the surface of his mind.

  Now that
Greyflanks was back with his family, was this the end of the adventure? Moreover, this shendkin business was frightening. It was all outside his ken, weird and unfamiliar. And now his friend had grown distant and strange, and he didn’t like it at all.

  This isn’t my world. None of this has anything to do with me.

  But he couldn’t be parted from Elgiva. Some prohibition he couldn’t name made it impossible. And what of the threat from that unknown wardain?

  Wardain. Even in his thoughts, the word sounded strange.

  He drew out his sword and studied it. There was something reassuring about a sword, even if one lacked the skill to use it. It was real and irrefutable, something to cling to when everything else was fear and illusion. He pressed the flat of the blade against his overheated forehead. The touch of the cold metal was soothing.

  An instant later, a cleansing wind blew through his mind, scattering his muddled thoughts like chaff and leaving reality behind it, all fresh and painfully exposed. He sat up straight, as though he had sprung out of a trance. What in Frigg’s name was he doing here?

  He must go home, but he had no idea where it was, or where he was. This realisation panicked him, and tears sprang unexpectedly into his eyes at the thought of Rowena and his daughters.

  He had to go home, and yet he wanted to honour his vow to his friend, but he couldn’t be in two places at once.

  What was he going to say to Elgiva?

  ***

  Godwin was still agonising over the future and his role in it when Elgiva returned in the early hours of the following day with roots and herbs for them to eat. He was more than glad to see her, having resolved to confront her with the fact that he was determined to go back home.

  But once again, when he looked at her face, he found himself lost for words. She had a peculiar glint in her eyes, a glint he had seen there before. It was disconcerting and elvish—and strangely appealing—so he dumbly accepted the food she offered and waited for her to speak.

  But the chance for discussion never arose. There was a sudden commotion beyond the trees. Howling and yapping rang through the forest as the pack swarmed into the glade. Their tails were thrashing with excitement, and they chased each other about.