The Exile of Elindel

by Carol Browne

  He hurled the blade aside. It spun through the air with a flash of silver and landed in the bushes. Godwin looked down at her, his expression full of remorse, and snatched her to his breast.

  “Elgiva, forgive me! Am I mad? What in Frigg’s name was I thinking?”

  “It wasn’t you. The forest,” she said, “it’s using you. You must fight it, Godwin.”

  He pulled away from her, studied her face, and then frowned at some inner turmoil.

  “Godwin, listen to me. There are voices whispering in your mind, I know. I can hear them, too. Sly, seductive voices. Ignore them. The trees are making sport with you. Don’t let them use you.”

  But even as she implored him to be strong, the forest’s coercion seized hold of her again. Its madness flooded her mind. She was aware of it now. It was the collective intelligence of the trees. It was their only defence against intruders, but it was also their sport. Together, their warped and savage wills became an awesome weapon.

  She knew herself inferior in the face of such dark power. Appalled though she was, she didn’t have time to wonder what had spawned such unnatural spite. All of her mental resources were needed to try to block out the forest’s will so it wouldn’t discover her weaknesses and turn them all against her.

  But it was a battle she couldn’t win.

  She became aware of Godwin’s lean strength and the way his hair gleamed red and gold in the light from the burning tree. Yes, he was desirable in a way she had never noticed before, but he belonged to someone else.

  What did that matter? She had power. Power to compel, to take, to possess.

  “No one uses me,” said Godwin. “I am free to do as I please.”

  He pinned her down, and while his strength filled her with longing, the part of her mind still her own resisted him.

  “Don’t! The trees will force me to use my power against you.”

  This was what the forest wanted, to drive them both mad and watch them kill each other. She must deny them their sport, but—

  But she badly wanted to hurt her friend.

  ***

  Godwin released Elgiva. Drawing away, he frowned. “What am I doing?”

  Elgiva hooked her fingers in the fabric of his tunic, as though their separation filled her with chagrin.

  For a long moment of anguish, Godwin forgot who and where he was, forgot what act he had planned to commit. He looked down at Elgiva, his heart thudding with panic, and she regarded him with mischief in her alien eyes. Reaching up with her free hand, she ran her fingers down his cheek.

  “Can you hear it?” she said. “The trees are mocking us.”

  He snatched her hand from his face. “That’s impossible! Why should they?”

  She sighed. “Because they can.”

  He stumbled to his feet, and the forest whirled around him. “Those bushes, they’ve moved closer!”

  “Illusion!” Elgiva laughed.

  He dragged her upright and shook her by the shoulders. “By Frigg! What’s going on?”

  She shook her head, as though trying to clear the confusion from her mind.

  “We must leave this place, Godwin,” she said, frowning up at him. “We must leave at once or never leave at all. Can you get our stuff together?” She gave him a crooked smile, devoid of warmth or humour, and he let her go. He didn’t want to look at her, and a shudder ran through him.

  He collected their belongings, a calm as cold as the grave now settling in his bones. He had awoken from a dream, as if some part of his mind had been absent. He hoisted their gear onto his back. Elgiva was searching in the bushes. She reached down to grasp something, and when she straightened, she held his sword. She winced, and he immediately started towards her.

  “Elgiva?”

  She frowned at him. “This miserable hunk of metal protests at being handled.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “What?”

  “It stung me.” Her eyes narrowed in puzzlement and surprise, but then she grew angry. “Whether you want to or not, you will do as I say!”

  She flinched again, and Godwin cried, “Elgiva, for Frigg’s sake, we must go!”

  She turned to confront him and touched the cut on her throat.

  “So you would kill me, would you?”

  “Elgiva, this isn’t you.”

  She ran towards him and lifted the sword. “I have no need of this, wilthkin. I could deal with you as I dealt with that tree, but let’s do it your way, shall we?”

  “Elgiva . . . what . . . ”

  She swung the sword at Godwin while he, taken by complete surprise, made a desperate attempt to avoid the blade as it slashed towards his head, but it caught him on the shoulder. The sword fell from his attacker’s hand and landed on the grass.

  He staggered under the impact, but there was no pain, just disbelief. His shoulder must be cut to the bone, but it didn’t concern him. Elgiva flitted away, like a shadow among the trees, and he knew only that he must follow her and he must catch her; she had to be stopped.

  As he ran from the clearing, his sword lay behind him, forgotten, on the grass.

  ***

  Elgiva ran, laughing, through the trees. Magic pulsed in every vein. She was invincible, capable of anything.

  She stopped in a broad glade flanked by ancient trees, and the moon’s mottled face looked down at her from a ragged patch of sky. The trees faced her in their silent ranks, pale and leprous in the moonlight. Her elven sensibilities reached out to them and were appalled by what they encountered. The trees were unable to have what they most desired: the ability to walk the land, doling out pain to blot out their own. Rooted in helpless, seething anger, their malice towards Elgiva was so mordant, she sobbed when she remembered oak-lord Derryth’s wholesome consciousness and gentle concern. She shrank back inside herself. But soon, her madness resurfaced.

  “I know what you want,” she cried. “To turn my power against me, but you can’t. It’s mine, and now it’s going to teach you all a lesson.”

  Turning in a circle, she called up her powers, but there was no answer to her summons. Exhausted, she sank to her knees. Clawing clods of soil from the earth, she threw them at the trees. “Curse you, you ugly, unnatural spawn of rotten fruit! You think I’m weak, but all I need is practice. Then you’ll know what fear is. Stop laughing at me, you monsters!”

  ***

  Godwin dashed out of the shadows into the moonlit glade. He stopped to catch his breath and listened as Elgiva shouted at the trees. He didn’t know what to do.

  A quickening breeze had started up and fanned the flames of the burning tree. Fire gnawed its way towards them. They had to flee the forest.

  Seeing the childish behaviour of his friend, concern for her well-being chased away the last of the forest’s enchantment, and he felt sane once more.

  Elgiva glared at him in protest. “They dare to defy me, but I’ll show them.”

  Godwin strode towards her and dragged her to her feet. “Be reasonable, can’t you? We’ve more important things to do than waste our time on these sad, old sticks of firewood. For Frigg’s sake, come to your senses! The forest is alight.” He grasped her shoulders and shook her firmly, but his words were gentle and soft. “Can you understand what I’m saying?”

  She blinked at him, clearing the tears from her eyes, and then nodded, and he released her.

  “Forgive me for what I did to you, for what I would have done,” he said. “I’d never, never hurt you. It was the will of the forest. At least, I have to believe that.”

  She shied away from his gaze and clawed the strands of hair from her face. “Godwin, listen, I . . . ” She looked about her, as though bewildered to see the shards of her reason scattered at her feet. “I fear the trees haven’t finished with us yet. I think we’d better leave.”

  He grabbed her hand and they turned to run, but to their horror, a mass of brambles reared up in their path. The underwood, stealthy and silent and rife with barbs, had crawled towards them. On what had been an o
pen stretch of ground, there now stood a tangle of thorny shrubs.

  “By Frigg, it’s impossible!” Godwin cried. “We’re trapped. The forest has trapped us!”

  Wherever he looked, their path was blocked by shrubs and briars and weeds.

  “It knows it’s going to die,” cried Elgiva, “and it’s making sure that we die with it!”

  “We have no choice, Elgiva. We must get through these brambles. Look, it’s thinnest here!”

  He pulled her along. Behind them, he could hear the fangs of the fire devouring the old, dry wood, and it increased his sense of urgency, but at a gasp from Elgiva, he pulled up short.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  “The trees, the trees! They’re helpless. They’re screaming! It’s all my fault.” She sobbed, and her legs began to fold beneath her.

  He seized her and dragged her along. “There’s nothing we can do about it. And why should we care? Would the forest have cared about us?”

  Brambles tried to snare their legs. Elgiva stumbled and couldn’t get up; the sharp thorns dragged her down. Godwin tried to wrench her free, and the cruel barbs ripped their hands and faces.

  “I can’t do it,” she wailed.

  Godwin tried to calm her, but his throat was clogged with panic. The fire was raging behind them. “Don’t give up. Wrap your cloak about you tightly. Protect yourself from the thorns.”

  He succeeded in hauling her upright. He pressed her body close to his and guided her through the briars. Their progress was slow. Smoke stung their eyes, and rain hissed like malice in the canopy above.

  It was hopeless. The forest had won.

  A brave hope flickered in his brain, one that he hardly dared voice. “If only I had my sword, perhaps I could hack a way out of this mess.”

  Elgiva clutched at his tunic. Her large eyes gleamed in the ochre-tinted darkness.

  “Perhaps, perhaps I could,” she said. “Why not?”

  “Could you?”

  “I have to try. I know I couldn’t clear these brambles, but retrieving your sword . . . there is need.” She gulped down several lungfuls of air. “I must find some words to help me focus.”

  ***

  Elgiva stood in silence for several moments, her eyes closed and her body trembling. Then she spoke.

  “Sword of steel, hear what I say,

  “Hie to your master without delay.

  “Leave the place where now you sit.

  “I have spoken; so be it.”

  Elgiva opened her eyes, and in that moment, there was a thud as something heavy fell at Godwin’s feet. He stooped, touched the object, and instantly recoiled.

  “Ow! It’s hot!” They both laughed with relief. “Thank the gods I sharpened it. When it’s cool, I’ll make short work of these bushes.”

  Elgiva looked down at the glinting weapon. “That was easier than I expected,” she said, wiping the sweat from her eyes with her sleeve. “Too easy.”

  “Strong magic, then,” suggested Godwin.

  She shook her head. There was something odd about this blade. Should she share her suspicions with Godwin? In the end, she merely said, “The sword wanted the summons.”

  Godwin was clearly puzzled by the strangeness of her remark and unable to respond.

  Elgiva turned to him. “I’m sure it’s cool now. You can pick it up.” When he hesitated, she touched his arm. “Trust me.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A golden sun peeped over the horizon and daylight illumined the dim, grey land. Godwin was lying on open ground, where exhaustion had left him the previous night. He sat up slowly. He had no idea where he was. His face and hands were covered in scratches and his clothes were torn by brambles, but his sword was in its scabbard and his knife was in his belt. Their pack lay next to him on the sodden earth. It seemed all he had lost were his wits.

  Beside him, Elgiva sat up, stretched, and yawned as Godwin got to his feet.

  “I’m soaked,” he complained.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and scanned the landscape, as though seeking a friend in a roomful of strangers.

  “I suppose I should apologise,” he said. “What happened in the forest was my fault. We shouldn’t have crossed it so late in the day.”

  “Do you think it would have been safer at any other time?” Elgiva shook her head and got to her feet. “I think we should forget it. We survived, didn’t we? Let’s put it behind us.”

  He looked back at the forest, and to his surprise, it was now transformed into naked, black, and smouldering spars, where once, whole trees had stood. Some of them had survived on the margin, but the heart of the forest was gone.

  “A blaze like that would have been visible for miles. We couldn’t have done a better job of announcing our arrival. I mean, we’re close to Misterell, aren’t we?” Godwin scanned the landscape ahead. “Northwest, Kendra said. We’d better get moving. We’ll have to skirt round that hill, past those clumps of willow. But we should have some breakfast before we go.”

  Elgiva followed the line of his gaze, while he knelt on the ground and rummaged through their pack. “What clumps of willow?” she asked.

  He straightened up and squinted at the hill. “I could have sworn . . . ”

  “Perhaps my great-uncle’s not an old fool after all, unless you’re both prone to seeing things.”

  He handed her a chunk of bread. “Elgiva? I know you said to forget it, but . . . ”

  She turned to face him. “What?”

  “What happened in the forest. Did it really happen?”

  “Haven’t we the wounds to prove it?” She lifted her chin and bared her throat. Across the smooth, pale skin was a shallow cut, covered by a crust of dried blood: the work of Godwin’s sword.

  “Elgiva, I could have killed you!”

  Realisation widened her eyes. “And I you!” She clapped her hand to her mouth in sick horror.

  Godwin touched the wound on his shoulder which, until this moment, they had both forgotten. Nauseated at what he might find, he explored the site of the injury, and the colour drained from his face. Elgiva snatched his hand away, but what she saw clearly bewildered her. Although the fabric of his tunic was slashed, the skin beneath it was unmarked.

  “I don’t understand,” she cried.

  “Elgiva? How?”

  “I don’t know, Godwin. But I know it happened. All of it did. I hit you with all the strength I could find, though it shames me to admit it. I should have taken off your arm! And look, we’re covered in scratches. It must have happened, but why I’m injured and you’re not, I can’t explain. If we’re close to Misterell, I’m afraid weirder things might happen yet. We need to doubt everything we see.”

  “Including the evidence we leave behind us?” He nodded towards the forest.

  “Can we believe what our eyes tell us in such a place as this?”

  “It’s hard not to,” he replied. “How else will we know what is and what is not?”

  “Our hearts must guide us, as Bellic’s guided him when he sought the kingdom of Misterell.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “I sometimes wonder if it isn’t all an illusion. Life itself, I mean. Do you ever feel that way?”

  He took her hand. “I may have lost my bearings, but I can’t doubt reality or the fact of my existence. I have substance, and so do you. Last night . . . ” He paused and tried to recall their ordeal. “It can’t all have been illusion. Something we shared was real. I know that as surely as I know my own name.” He checked himself and frowned. “But I don’t really know that, do I? It’s not easy for me, Elgiva. This world is so unlike the one I know.”

  “And mine. Magic has always frightened me, but now that I know I’m a wardain, there’s something that frightens me more.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve no real proof that I have any magic. If what happened in the Forest of Shades was all a trick, then perhaps the power I used was also an illusion.
But if my magic is real, I still have no hope of learning how to use it properly.”

  “Whatever the truth is, it won’t come to us,” said Godwin, feeling decisive. “We must seek it out.”

  ***

  For the rest of that day, they travelled on with grey clouds and grey thoughts for company. On the second day, the sun warmed and burned off the clouds, and the landscape around them glowed with new vigour. Woodland plants stretched out their soft, new leaves and danced in the haze beneath the trees. The air was vibrant with the sounds of spring and heavy with its perfume.

  As they emerged from a wooded area and crossed a sun-filled meadow, they saw two figures some way ahead. One was a dun-coloured pony, the other an old man in a dirty, grey robe who sat on the ground beside the animal. As Elgiva and Godwin approached him, he rubbed his ankle with arthritic fingers and muttered to himself. He seemed to be frail and harmless, and Godwin ventured to speak to him.

  “Hello, old man. What’s amiss?”

  Startled, the man’s eyes widened in fear. His thin white hair, standing stiffly on his skull, gave him an air of distraction.

  Godwin approached him with care. “Can we help you?” he asked.

  The old man grinned at him, revealing stained and broken teeth. “Oh, what a blessing to see you, lad. Yes, indeed, what a place to be lost in,” he said, his voice hoarse with age and distress.

  “Are you hurt?” asked Elgiva.

  “Ye gods! An elf!” exclaimed the old man. He made to rise but fell back with a grimace of pain.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Godwin said. “You’re safe with us, I promise.”

  “By all the stars! A Briton and an elf! Strange company for an old Saxon to fall in with. An’ I’m safe, say you?”

  “I promise you,” said Godwin. “Now, what’s wrong with your foot?”

  “Fell an’ twisted it on some rocks. By the ancients, but what I’m doin’ out here, the gods themselves don’t know! An’ this ole pony be no use nor ornament. Stubborn, that’s what she is.”