by Carol Browne
Quickly, Elgiva raised her hand, her palm towards the tottering giant. “Stop! Don’t drop! Stay in the soil. To land be loyal. Don’t lean at all. Stand straight and tall.”
The tree paused and swayed, creaking with stress. Then, with agonising slowness, it righted itself, and the crowd gave one long sigh of relief.
Elgiva turned to face Vieldrin; her brows were arched, and her dark eyes glittered. “Are you trying to amuse yourself, or me?” she asked him with the air of one who knew she had nothing to lose.
Vieldrin snarled and tore a gem from the sleeve of his scarlet robe. He hurled it at Elgiva. It rolled through the air, becoming a large boulder as it did so.
“Go home, errant stone!” commanded Elgiva, her hands held up before her.
The boulder halted, hanging in the air, and then it cast itself back at Vieldrin. He didn’t have time to deflect it with magic, so was forced to duck to avoid it. The boulder impacted behind him and splintered the planks at the edge of the platform before it rolled away.
Springing erect, Vieldrin hurled a thread of fire at his enemy. It burst against her shield of force, scattering sparks in all directions. The crowd cried in terror and covered their faces, but shackled by their fear of the king, they didn’t dare leave the arena of combat.
Elgiva lowered her magical shield and unleashed a ball of lightning that screamed towards her opponent. With an arc of flame, he deflected it and sent it spinning into the sky. It detonated above the forest and illuminated the tree tops.
And so they continued, fire against fire, until the air was blistered and their bodies drooped with exhaustion. The atmosphere buzzed and crackled with power, and the crowd crouched on the grass, whimpering with fright.
Finally, Vieldrin threw up a wall of force between himself and Elgiva. It writhed with angry red flames. Elgiva couldn’t breach it with her darts of power, and Godwin could tell she was weakening. Her magic bolts grew thin and faint. Clearly, her power was all but exhausted.
Godwin could bear it no longer.
I made a vow to protect her. I can’t let her die like this! Not alone!
He fought his way through the crowd and ran to save his friend. As he neared the front, Trystin looked at him, and the elfling’s thoughts seemed to mirror his own. Trystin broke away from the guards, and together, they made for the platform.
“No!” cried Elgiva, extending her hand.
Godwin felt himself halted by some invisible force. Somehow, Elgiva had wrenched a bolt of power from deep inside herself, in spite of her exhaustion, and it was holding him and Trystin where they stood. He struggled to take a step towards Elgiva, but he couldn’t. His fear for her left him breathless, his heart pattering in its cage of bone.
“You will not sacrifice yourselves!” cried Elgiva.
“Elgiva, in the name of Faine!” Godwin fell to his knees and wept.
“Godwin, I have faith,” she said.
***
Elgiva turned to face Vieldrin. His mouth was twisted into a smirk.
“Distract her, my dark friends!” he shouted.
The fetchen converged upon Elgiva, hissing and churning, uniting their power against her. She threw weak bolts at their fleshless shapes, but her strength was ebbing. Her well of magic had run dry, and her body could stand no more. A cold paralysis crept along her limbs. Her magic guttered and went out.
Vieldrin nodded with satisfaction. “Now the stone shall work my will!”
Bellic buried his face in his hands while Godwin pulled Trystin to his side and turned the elfling’s face away. The fetchen bobbed around Elgiva, their skeletal faces taut with relish, but she tried to stand calm and resolute, squaring her shoulders. There was nothing else she could do.
She needed to look at Godwin; for the last time, she had to smile at him in honour of their friendship, in memory of all he had done for her. His gaze was honest, open, and it reflected the smile back at her. It made her heart ache. Perhaps they could get away. Faine, please let my friends be saved!
***
Vieldrin was glowing with triumph, and yet even in this moment of victory, there was a pang of regret. His sport would soon be over.
And there stood his opponent. She was defeated, but still she regarded him with anger and defiance, her beautiful face flushed with emotion. Her stubborn determination to oppose him had sparked both his hatred and his yearning. Never again would he have such a foe on whom to unleash his might. He desired her. He should have ravished her before this final battle. Now it was too late. Soon, she would be a pile of ash. A memory.
Well, no matter. He would be supreme in Elvendom and finally free of these disturbing emotions. Elgiva’s death would purge him of such perversities.
He held up the Lorestone with both hands and showed it to the crowd. “Behold, this is the Lorestone,” he cried, “and its name is Peronel!”
A gleam lit up inside the stone, and all eyes were drawn towards it.
Vieldrin bent his whole being towards the use of magic, his body trembling with both exertion and excitement. And then he began to chant.
“Destroy Elgiva; shrivel her.
“In fire and torment swivel her.
“Wither her; deliver her
“From life and body. Break her.
“Let breath and soul forsake her,
“And all her friends, and any who
“Opposed my will, or thought to do.
“Grant me power ten times more
“Than any wardain gone before.
“Sole master make me of this land;
“Put awesome power in my hand,
“And make me with one single spell,
“Heir to Faine’s magic, Peronel!”
A sound like distant thunder rumbled over the clearing. The ground shook. The trees quivered. Every leaf vibrated.
“Behold!” declared Vieldrin. “The might of the Lorestone is upon you all!”
The opal began to glow in his hands.
It became a pulsing sphere of scarlet, like a bead of blood in the wound of the night.
Then the stone was a globe of amber . . .
A tiny and perfect sun . . .
A ball as blue as a summer sky . . .
An orb of deepest indigo . . .
A jewel of lavender.
One by one, the colours changed, and then the stone was a vivid green. It filled the glade with a rich, warm light and the smell of green, growing things, and it throbbed like the anger of Nature.
Vieldrin felt sated with power, intoxicated with it. He locked his gaze upon Elgiva. He wanted to savour every moment.
But why was she smiling?
And then the colours appeared together, and a rainbow shot from the heart of the Lorestone and arced across the glade.
***
Lightning exploded in the air and screamed across the cloud-locked sky, and a deafening boom of thunder cracked above the forest, knocking its inhabitants off their feet with one huge detonation.
The might of the Lorestone flooded the glade, hurling the darkness aside. All eyes were sightless before it, all ears were deaf, all mouths were mute, and raw, untrammelled magic rode the night, like the spirit of vengeance.
And as he lay sprawled on the grass, numb to the core of his being, Godwin was aware of nothing—nothing but Taranuil, as it keened in its sheath in fellowship with the Lorestone’s awakened power.
Its wordless song was like the laughter of metal.
CHAPTER FORTY
“Be at peace, Elgiva. All is well.”
Elgiva opened her eyes and searched for the source of the voice. “Where am I? Who are you? Where are you?”
“You are out of your body. You know who I am, and where we are is of no importance.”
Elgiva stood wrapped in a pearly mist, and she couldn’t see beyond it—perhaps there might be nothing to see. A figure slowly approached her, a young male elf in a long white robe, his black hair falling down to his waist. His large eyes glittered like stars.
> “Did you like my trick? The rainbow? I thought it would give you hope.” The elfling laughed.
“First-Father?” wondered Elgiva.
He nodded with delight.
“But you’re so young,” she exclaimed.
“Not really, my child. I appear to you as I did in life, when I was at my happiest. It is the custom in spirit. You see me before I discovered magic, before all my burdens came to me. But perhaps you need me older and wiser.” In an instant, he changed, becoming middle-aged and grey-haired.
“Why am I here?” she asked. “Am I dead?”
“You are very much alive, but I brought you here so we could talk.”
“What’s happened to my friends?”
“Fear not. They are all quite safe.”
“And Vieldrin?”
“He is friendless now, for the fetchen are once more entombed in the earth. As for Vieldrin himself, he is somewhat changed.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will see, my child.” A smile spread across his face. “The Lorestone contained good magic and could only be used for good. Would I leave such terrible power to chance? Once awakened, it searched for evil and, having found it, acted upon it and righted what was wrong.”
Elgiva frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t understand this at all,” she said. “This means that Vieldrin couldn’t win?”
“It is evil that could not win,” said Faine. “Had Vieldrin used the Lorestone to benefit Elvendom, he would have prospered by it. He would have been Elwardain, and his name would long be remembered with love in the annals of our people. He would have been my heir, and he would be standing here, not you.”
“So I wasn’t the chosen one?”
“You were because you chose yourself. You were true to yourself, my child. You resented the burden placed upon you, but even so, you accepted it and you never abandoned it. In your heart, you knew what was right.”
“So the prophecies were wrong,” she said.
“The prophecies were not wrong, as you shall understand.”
“But they told me I was ordained.”
“No one was ordained, my child, only the time of evil. I knew how and when my gift would be found, so balance could be restored, but everything else was left to the choices of those involved.”
“But they brought me up as a servant. A slave!”
“And had they not done so, you, my child, would not be who you are. And you have proved yourself worthy, because of your integrity, your struggles, and your faith—and most of all, your love. When you faced what you thought was certain death, you made sure your friends could not intervene. You put their well-being before your own, and your last thoughts were of them. And even to the very end, you still had faith in good magic. In me. It was always a question of faith.” A broad smile lit up his kind, wise face. “And tell me, had you been the one to unleash the might of the Lorestone, would you have killed Vieldrin?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Another reason why you prevailed. You would have found another way. Your heart is good, little elf.” He reached out and touched her on the brow. “They who persecute evil shall prosper and come to their inheritance, and you, who are most worthy, inherit my power, child. For a twelvemonth only, I give you this gift, so the balance is preserved.”
Warmth flooded Elgiva’s soul, and it filled her with strength and vigour.
“You are supreme in Elvendom, and I know you will use this power wisely and act for the welfare of all. There are things you need to do. Go now, Elwardain. It is done.”
“Will I see you again, First-Father?”
“You see me now because of the Lorestone. It was a link with my spirit. When it was awakened, it called to me. Now the Lorestone is no more, but yes, you will see me again one day. And then we will have time to talk. All the time in the world.” The grin returned once more to his face, and he was again an elfling, his large eyes twinkling with laughter. “Believe it, and it shall be so—and that, my child, is the first rule of magic.”
***
Godwin lifted his head, the cool night air restoring his senses. Something warm was lying beside him. He forced his gaze into focus. It was Trystin. Both of them were uninjured, but to Godwin’s amazement, Trystin’s bruises had gone and he himself felt whole and well. In fact, he had never felt better.
Then his heart lurched into his throat: what had become of Elgiva? He scrambled to his knees and stared at the platform, fearing what he would see.
There stood Elgiva, robed in white, and her eyes were like embers that smouldered with power. Her pale complexion was flawless and her body gave off a pearly glow, as though she were a creature of moonlight. Her hair fell shimmering down to her waist, and when she moved, it crackled with force.
Godwin stumbled to his feet. What had become of his frail young friend with her bruises and her tattered shift? Now she was a being of fire, Elwardain of all Elvendom. Should he approach her as a friend or as a humble subject, a mere creeping thing in her shadow?
He grasped the hilt of Taranuil and begged it to give him the strength to fight the awesome enchantment that flooded his senses. Then he staggered forwards to where the fallen crown lay glittering in the fitful light of the many abandoned torches. He plucked it from the grass. Elgiva’s gaze followed him as he carried the circlet towards her.
She frowned, and he stopped in his tracks, compelled by her gaze as if she had uttered a verbal command. Her eyes were terrible wells of power, and he felt his legs would melt beneath him, but her soft mouth curved into a smile, and the warmth of it filled him with joy.
“Don’t be afraid, my friend,” she said, “but I don’t think you should touch me yet. I think I might burn you if you did. The power has not quite been absorbed.”
“What happened, Elgiva?”
“I’m different now, Godwin,” she said. “My old self is no more, but it’s right and necessary. I feel great magic flowing through me, and it doesn’t hurt now. It will never hurt again. Look.” She pointed towards the other platform, now a heap of blackened planks.
There before it on the grass, Godwin could see the Lorestone, no longer opalescent, but black and neatly cracked in half. A thin wisp of smoke issued from the core.
“Its power is now mine,” said Elgiva.
A sudden movement caught Godwin’s eye. Beside the stone, its forepaws raised, a tiny creature sat, twitching its nose. “By Frigg, a mouse!” he said.
The creature squeaked and ran away.
Elgiva laughed. “That must be Vieldrin.”
Godwin stared at her.
“The First-Father doesn’t approve of killing, when there’s another way,” she said. “Vieldrin will find it very hard to rule all Elvendom now! And he’ll soon know how his victims felt, when he’s living in fear of hawks and owls.”
She smiled at him again, a smile of knowledge and consummation. He knew she was still his friend, still Elgiva, and she smiled for him alone. As he watched, her fire faded, and it seemed as if she absorbed the power. Soon, she stood before him, complete and in control, the magic as much a part of her as her flesh and blood.
She dropped to her knees and sat back on her legs, folding her hands in her lap. As she bowed her head, he placed the crown upon it, marvelling at her beautiful hair.
He reached out and stroked the gleaming tresses. “Faine returned your sacrifice.”
She nodded, taking both his hands in hers, and it pleased him to be the sole object of her attention. He glanced to his left, and the affrighted faces of many elves stared back at him, not daring to intervene.
“You’re wearing Queen Gilda’s colours,” she said.
“I’m her adopted son.”
This bald explanation seemed to suffice. The questions could wait for another time, but for now, they just wanted to look at each other and share the success of their quest.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The day of celebration neared. The royal hall was festooned with garlands, new g
owns received their final stitches, ovens sweated in the steam-filled kitchens, and the boughs of trees were heavy with lanterns.
In his hut some distance from the hall, Godwin grimaced at his new attire. The tailors had made him a gold-braided tunic, slim-legged trousers, and a billowing cloak. They were kingly garments indeed, but they were elvish, and he wasn’t. He felt he should represent his race, but instead, the elves had absorbed him, as if to make him respectable.
Outside the hut, Grimalkin was surrounded by giggling elves who capered away as Godwin approached. The craze for decoration had gone a bit too far. The pony’s mane and tail were plaited with ribbons, and on her head was a green felt hat, with two holes cut out for her ears and roses round the brim. Godwin laughed and thought he might never stop.
Grimalkin snorted and tossed her head, and the hat slid over her eyes. “Now we both look ridiculous, Brit,” she said.
Godwin gave her a pained look and pushed the hat back into position.
“We don’t belong here.”
This observation unnerved him, but he decided to ignore it. “Have you met the other guests yet?”
“Who could see anything stuck out here?”
Godwin agreed with her. It had hurt him to be given quarters so far from the royal hall, but of course, he was a wilthkin and would never be truly accepted here, no matter how many elven queens adopted him as their son. At least the pony had kept him company.
“I did hear dogs yapping,” said Grimalkin. “Yap, yap, bloody yap, while I was trying to sleep. What use are dogs, eh? Stupid things. Howling and scrapping and pissing up trees.”
“They’re wolves, not dogs,” snapped Godwin.
“Same stable, different horse.”
Godwin strolled up and down on the grass for a while, his scabbard slapping against his thigh. He wanted to ask her a question, but was concerned not to seem too needy. “Have you seen Elgiva?”
Grimalkin peered from under her hat. “She’s too busy to bother with us. Lots to do, I’ll warrant. Don’t fret. It only seems like she’s forgotten us.”
“Right. I’m going to look for her. Try not to get into mischief while I’m gone.”
