Broken Wings – Chapter Three

Sitting at the massive oval table, the elven Elders on one side, the Forest Lord’s Council to the other, Razakiel tried to block the pain of his memories and concentrate. “The devil I’m looking for is what we call an erines. They are hideous parodies of beautiful women, winged with feathers as black as the evil in their hearts. They prefer to wield longbows, showering arrows down upon the heads of their earth-bound enemies.” He could see the elves nodding, and knew they recognised the type of fiend he was talking about.
      The Forest Lord spoke, “we have not seen anything like this in our lands for hundreds of years, but we may know where you can start looking.”
      ”I would be most appreciative Lord,” a lance of hope struck light through the darkness of his painful memories.
      ”There is a cavern, far to the north,” the Forest Lord continued. “We do not know how deep this cavern delves into the earth, our best infiltrators have been beaten back by the fetid stench and demonic sentries they found there. Even the dwarves, who started so much deeper, were unable to plumb its depths; they say that the cavern reaches all the way to hell.”
      Razakiel pulled himself up stiffly, “I will travel to hell itself if it is required of me.”
      ”We will offer you a steed, maps, and supplies,” the Forest Lord hesitated.
      ”You are exceedingly generous Lord, what do you require of me in return?”
      ”We ask only that if you discover anything useful regarding our situation, that you return the information to us, post haste.”
      ”It would be my honour.”
      ”If you find the tengluk itself,” the elf continued, “we do not need to instruct yourself in what should do.”
      Razakiel’s solemn nod was his reply.
      ”We also ask that you remain in our company for a few more days, observe the young girl; we will prepare everything for your departure.”
      He agreed readily, “anything to repay your kindness.” The Forest Lord nodded, and he understood himself to be dismissed. He thanked the gathered elves and took his leave.

* * *

Razakiel wandered aimlessly amongst the trees. Despite the lateness of the season, the ground between the trees was still thick with flowers. They were mostly white, but scattered about were beautiful pastel colours in blue, purple, and pink. Butterflies danced between the blooms and at the far reaches of his vision, he was certain that softly glowing pixies were playing hide and seek.
      Drawn by the sound of laughter, he discovered a group of children playing a game of tag amongst the trees. It was a rough and tumble game as the children happily threw themselves about in innocent abandon. Standing out amongst the young elves was a massive silver wolf, and his owner, laughing freely with the children.
      She was not participating actively in their game, but raced about with them, encouraging and spirited as she watched over them. She was wearing a light blouse of coarse white silk and a matching skirt that floated about her legs with every movement. Her silver hair, faintly bluer in hue than her blouse, was loose about her shoulders, a wild abandon of curls. She was bare foot like the children, and looked just like a faerie capering amongst the flowers. Carefree, she ran with a fluid grace only elves possessed.
      When she was exhausted, she collapsed in the flowers, watching the children dash about her with their endless energy, wrestling and chasing, and she laughed for the joy of their tirelessness. Straightening her skirt, she settled her legs out in front of her, and dropped onto her back, looking up to the canopy of trees above, her pale hair scattered amongst the flowers, catching the light that filtered through chinks in the leaves above.
      A few of the children joined her, and Lyari shook some of the most insistent children from his long fur to lay by her head. Her soft laughter could be heard above the excited chatter of the young elves. Razakiel watched, remaining as quiet as he could; physically an elf’s childhood did not last long, and with only a few turnings of the seasons, all of these children would be grown.
      Somewhat reluctantly, he turned a critical eye over the elf. In the golden autumn sun, he could not discern anything wrong with her. Had he not witnessed her transformation, there was no way he could have been convinced that this elf was possessed by a spirit most evil. Her delicate skin was pale to an almost porcelain white, brightening the colour of her ruby lips and sapphire eyes by contrast. He settled in the grass, his back against a broad tree.
      She watched the sky awhile, until the children grew restless and began their games again. While they were distracted, she quietly slipped away, Lyari at her heels; another elf watched quietly from between the trunks, keeping a motherly eye on the children.
      Razakiel rose and threaded between the trees, aiming to cross her path. When he intercepted her, she smiled uncertainly. He bowed deeply, “well met Maiden of the Groves.” She nodded shyly, uncertain of how to address him in return. “I am Razakiel Lightreaver, Sentinel-Templar of the Church of Hope’s Light,” he bowed again.
      She returned the gesture in the manner of the elves, moving her whole body in a half-curtsey half-bow with her hands folded before her, “well met e’lord,” resorting to a generic term of respect. She smiled innocently, her face lighting up. Her sapphire eyes sparkled with flashes of emerald, turning them a stunning aqua colour. Razakiel knew it would be rude to avert his eyes from her curious gaze, so he tried to study her without staring.
      Over the right side of her face, above her eye, a tattoo of three elongated half-diamonds crossed her brow. The central line is the longest; cutting across her eyebrow and into her hairline. On the inside is a shorter vertical line, toward her temple was a shorter line again. As all of her kin, her facial tattoo represented her chosen path, that of the druids.
      The three lines marked her as having considerable natural talents. Through testing, each applicant to the Druidic groves was marked in this manner: the single central line for one of sufficient power to be accepted for training, two lines indicated one of moderate power, all three representing a druid of great latent power.
      When he did not say anything further, the young druid offered him another bright smile and turned to continue on her way. He wanted to say something, to stop her from leaving, but his mind was blank and she disappeared between the trees. As he made his way back to his room, Razakiel wondered what, exactly, it was the Elders wished him to observe.

* * *

He spent most of the next few days aimlessly wandering the elven city, hoping to catch sight of Aura, pausing to watch her whenever he did. During this time he learnt little of any value. She was skilled in many crafts, as were all of her race, and she filled her days with arts, sparring, meditation, and playing with the younger elves. She could weave, draw, paint, and sculpt; she was practiced with the longbow, rapier, dagger, scimitar, and staff. Though logic demanded otherwise, as far as he could fathom, she was a perfectly normal elf.
      During the languid afternoons, the youngest of the elves played rough and tumble games of tag and hide and seek, while those in their long adolescence preferred challenging games of the mind. Razakiel watched for many hours as Aura sat with the growing elves, expanding their eager minds with puzzles and board games with complicated rules. Every where she went, Lyari was close at her heel, protective and loving.
      One day he approached her as she wandered the forest floor, supervising the youngest elves in their game. The chore to watch over the youngest of the children was not a rostered one, but was carried out cooperatively by whoever was available. The children were scattered through the trees, searching for something. Slowly their numbers dwindled, and he wondered what happened to the children and why Aura did not seem concerned. “May I walk with you awhile Maiden of the Groves?” using the formal title of a druid.
      She turned her sapphire eyes on him, glinting with flecks of colour like a gem caught in granite, her voice was soft and lilting, “certainly, the company would be appreciated.”
      They wandered in silence awhile, her alert gaze shifting between the trunks, always aware of the children around her. He frowned thoughtfully to himself when he realised that he could not see any of the children anymore. Without warning, the children burst from somewhere between the trees and the forest was immediately filled with them and the musical sound of their uninhibited laughter. A young girl was declared ‘littlefish’, and the rest sat together, counting softly as she darted away between the trees. At one hundred, the children leapt up and scattered into the forest, apparently searching for the girl.
      ”Maiden, I do not understand this game the children play.”
      Smiling, “it is called littlefish. The children choose someone to be the littlefish, and that child goes to hide in the forest. When the other children have given the littlefish time to hide, they go out into the woods and search for her.”
      Razakiel tilted his head to one side, “that does not seem too fair, many searching for just one.”
      ”Perhaps not, Sentinel-Templar,” she continued in her gentle voice, “but should one of the children discover the littlefish, they do not call her out, nor bring to anyone’s attention their discovery. Instead, they sneak into the littlefish’s hiding place and hide as well. The last child to discover the hiding place becomes the littlefish for the next game.”
      His face broke into a smile as comprehension dawned, “where does the name come from?”
      ”It is named after the brightfish that live in the streams. They are small, perhaps only four inches long or so, but very tasty. They only live in fast running streams to escape predators. However, to escape the current, especially when they are small, they must cluster close together in sheltered places.”
      Razakiel’s smile widened, “and in this game the children hide in the same place like little brightfish.”
      ”That is right,” she smiled at him, her eyes sparkling in approval and Razakiel felt strangely off-balance. They continued to wander through the forest, watching the children play until they tired of their game and began to chase each other around and wrestle in small groups.

* * *

Late morning on the fourth day, Razakiel sat at the edge of a group of young elves sharing puzzles. He was pretending to be interested in the word games they were playing, as they took turns in trying to stump the rest of the group with clever questions of lateral thinking. The gathering was not a formal class, aimed at expanding each student’s intellect, but a joining of like-minded individuals enjoying shared company and shared wisdom.
      Truthfully, his attention was focused on Aura, the implicit leader of the group, though she seemed no older than any of the elves whose rapt attention she held with her soft voice. It was difficult to gauge an elf’s age, they aged at a much slower rate than humans; and the longer they lived, the slower the process became. An elf who looked like a adolescent, ready to take their first steps into adulthood could already be older than the Sentinel-Templar by decades.
      Gatherings like this were commonplace in elven cities. The elven people were largely ungoverned, they held no jobs, paid no taxes, conducted no schools or universities. Farms, or indeed any kind of industry, were largely unheard of in the elven forests. The elves harvested freely of the bounty of the woods and rivers and surrounding plains. Over the course of an elven lifetime, most managed to pick up a vast and extensive array of knowledge; given so much time, very few elected to simply ignore opportunities for learning.
      From even a young age, the pressure that humans felt was non-existent in elven society. Their Lord – though granted the power to enforce his will when necessary – his council, the Elders, even the clerics of the elven churches, viewed themselves as advisers and mediators to their people. Elven society existed on a cooperative, yet strangely independent basis. If an elf wanted something done, the did it; if they wanted something built, they built it. They could unquestioningly rely on the assistance of others, as that was a given. The elves tended towards selflessness because they believed ultimately in the selflessness of their kin.
      Seeing no need, elves had never even developed their own currency. Amongst their own kind, barter was considered bad form, and goods were freely given so long as they were not needed. When they traded with the dwarves or humans, they took payment in gold, silver, or iron. Always open to barter, they were nimble-minded and hard to cheat; but they were generous, a weakness in the eyes of the hard-nosed merchants of the younger races. Tales were common, in the inns and taverns where boastful merchants had a few too many drinks sometimes, and told all who would listen how he had fleeced a naïve elven trader out of goods worth twice what they had been paid.
      Elves placed little value in worldly things. They were creatures of emotion, of sentiment, far more inclined to place value in the dagger sheath gifted to them by their father, or the bow they received when they came of age, than abstract tokens of metal. No cheated elf ever felt hard done by, so long as their clipped coins could buy them a drink at a friendly inn, for a ‘fair price’ to an elf was likely a lot lower than that of the merchant whose only love was wealth.
      His wandering thoughts were lazily captured by a glimmer of copper, shining like a new-minted coin. One of the elves had pinned their long hair away from their face with a delicate claw of sculpted metal. From this angle, Razakiel was not sure if the elf was a he or she, their long and straight locks a shimmering strawberry blonde, picking up subtle highlights from the copper.
      “If your statement is false,” one of the elves was saying, “you will be chained to a tree infested with sugar wasps.” The speaker smiled as a number of the elves winced, being stung by one sugar wasp was bad enough. “In order to confound the Mudcap King into releasing you, what will you say?” the elf finished.
      The elves murmured quietly for the longest time as they considered the consequences of various statements. Eventually, he leaned towards the group slightly, “you tell the King that he will chain you to the tree.” A few of the elves looked confused, but most understood immediately
      It was Aura who rewarded Razakiel with a glowing smile that made his heart flutter unexpectedly, “that’s absolutely right.”
      ”I had heard that riddle before,” he explained, awkwardly trying to deflect her praise, and embarrassed for having intruded.

* * *

That very night, Razakiel was summoned before the Forest Lord, his council notably absent. “Everything is prepared Sentinel-Templar, you can be ready to leave on the morning.” He nodded his assent and the Forest Lord unrolled a large map on the table. “We have supplied a smaller copy of this map with your gear,”
      Leaning forward to examine the map, Razakiel murmured his gratitude.
      The Forest Lord indicated to a small, many-pointed star on the map, it was surrounded by a massive expanse of forest and a river snaked by, heading for the ocean; “we are here.” He delicately tapped another point on the map, a cave marked in the face of a hilly area to the north, “this is the cave. If there is any sign of a demon in our lands, it will be here.”
      Razakiel nodded solemnly, “I will tear the very earth asunder to find them.”
      The Forest Lord murmured his approval, “will you return to us once your task is complete?”
      ”Yes, and I will bring news of whatever I have found there.” The Forest Lord nodded and bid Razakiel good night. Dismissed, he left the council chambers quietly.
      Back in his room, he slowly laid his possessions across the large bed. His clothes had all been cleaned and repaired, some of the items replaced entirely. He did not unfold them to examine the elven workmanship, but simply packed them away neatly. He was down to only two waterproof vials for salt, which he had refilled from the communal kitchens, he made a mental note to purchase a new vial upon his return. The vials went with his mess kit, and was also packed away.
      With his things packed and ready, he placed the load by the door and moved over to the armour dummy where his elven plate stood waiting. He had taken extra time to buff the inlaid plates, the articulated joints and leather straps freshly oiled. One of the armoursmiths had carefully cleaned the dirt from the knees, and the whole suit glimmered as new.
      Razakiel cast about restlessly, not ready to sleep, but finding nothing to occupy his hands nor distract his mind. He was glad to be moving again, he quickly found himself feeling stagnant when the scenery did not change. As enjoyable as life was in the church or with the elves, it all too quickly grew repetitive, and he found himself seeking out new interests to keep his restless mind busy.
      Eventually, he kicked off his leather boots and stretched out across the bed. Physically, he was exhausted, his day had been full. Mentally, his mind chased itself in lazy circles, refusing to fall quiet.

* * *

Waking with a start, not realizing he had fallen asleep, Razakiel blinked hard a few times in the darkness. No sunlight struggled from behind the curtains just yet and he let himself relax slightly. Rising, the lounging suit he had fallen asleep in barely creased, he stepped onto the landing and looked out across the large and well spaced trunks the made up the elven city. The faintest hint of the sun’s first glow could be seen above the trees, dawn was not far off, and already there was movement within the city.
      A young girl with hair cropped in a short, pixie-like style brought him a tray of breakfast. The bread was still warm from the oven; there was a creamy and mild cheese, a fat smoked sausage, and a frothing tankard of cold ale. The weather was still mild enough that the ale was refreshing, but as the colder months took over breakfast would be served with warm and spicy mulled wine instead.
      He took the platter inside, leaving the curtain pulled back as he ate. When the food was gone, and the tankard drained, he dressed slowly. His armour pressed on his shoulders heavily, and Razakiel was disappointed to think that he could have lost his good form so quickly. He had little call to wear the heavy plate within the bounds of the city, unlike home where events, functions, or simple guard duties called for ceremonial dress most days of the week; and already the weight felt odd.
      He flexed slowly through a sequence of movements taught to him by the wood elves, tensing every muscle and concentrating on keeping each movement slow, controlled, and perfectly executed. His muscles responded fluidly, and when he is done, he resettled the breastplate on his shoulders and smiled as the armour sat in that familiar way again. Satisfied, he left the inn for the last time and made his way down to the forest floor.
      The Forest Lord was waiting at the foot of the ramp, behind him a young elf holding the reins of a chestnut stallion and a white mare. The stallion was the deep, rich colour of red chestnuts, a spatter of white “raindrops” falling across the hindquarters and down the horse’s flanks. The Forest Lord handed Razakiel a rolled map, “Silentsky will guide you as far as the borders of the forest, from there you will need to find your own way.”
      Bowing respectfully, “I am eternally grateful Forest Lord; I pray I can repay my debt to you one day.”
      The Forest Lord looked solemn, “bring us any information you find, that will be enough.” Razakiel nodded and the Forest Lord held out his hand. Grasping the elf’s forearm, Razakiel shook the Forest Lord’s hand firmly before taking the proffered reins of the chestnut stallion.
      ”His name is Raindance,” Silentsky informed Razakiel, patting the stallion’s neck. Razakiel held his fingers out to the stallion, who snorted and pranced a few impatient steps. The young elf mounted the white mare, watching Razakiel intently, waiting without any hint of impatience. Razakiel slipped the rolled map inside his scroll case.
      ”Farewell, and eternal thanks,” he addressed the Forest Lord, “may the Light always guide your path and your words.”
      ”Farewell Sentinel-Templar,” the Forest Lord replied, “Light guide you feet and heart.” Putting one armoured foot into the high stirrup, Razakiel smoothly pulled himself into the saddle, feeling the stallion’s muscles move liquidly under his seat. Razakiel nodded to Silentsky, squeezing his thighs slightly.       Raindance responded to the lightest touch of the rein, wheeling to follow Silentsky into the forest, away from the city.

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