The Least of Elves Page 4

  “Can I tell the Elf he can be on his way then?” the councilman asked.

  “I’ll handle the Elf,” Sosha said. Toran heard that thread of determination in her voice again only stronger this time.

  Chodah Setah held his hands up. “Fine, fine. Just trying to be helpful of course,” insisted the village leader as he left the yard.

  The door slammed shut and Kelar laughed. “Well Toran, I think Chodah Setah may have done you a favor. Perhaps you’ll marry Mistress Kirowak today after all.”

  Toran breathed a sigh of relief. He would finally be able to make his delivery and return home.

  That afternoon Kelar took him down the main road of the village, yet this time they turned right where they headed for a home which appeared different from all the others. Outside of the home hung herbs of all kinds, drying in the sun. Although most of the homes had some plants drying, this home had a proliferation of several kinds. He even recognized some grown in the Xantish forest, which meant whoever lived here roamed away from home at times to add to their collection and even traded with the Elves.

  Kelar knocked on the door and a woman of middle age answered. It was obvious to Toran she was the collector of the dried creations as a she held out a hand with green-stained fingertips. Dried bits of her current project lay scattered on her grey blouse. When she caught his glance she laughed and brushed them off unselfconsciously as though it was a common occurrence.

  “Blessings of the day. Well, come in, come in!” The woman ushered them in. “Sosha should be here shortly.” They entered the hut and the smells from the varying herbs seemed to have soaked into the very dried mud of the walls. It made his sensitive Elven nose prickle and he tried not to sneeze. Would it be rude to ask for the door to be left open in order to have a breeze flow through? Then he realized he did not know all of the words to form that sentence anyway, so why bother? He would have to find a way to put up with the overpowering smells. Toran took shallow breaths.

  “Toran this is Siphra, our healer, and her son, Keeper Djohn, who’s our leader in all things spiritual. Keeper Djohn walked across the room and placed his left hand firmly on Kelar’s upper right arm. Kelar returned the gesture. The Keeper then did the same to Toran and Toran looked to Kelar for guidance. He had read about the religion in Rhodea — he regretted not studying it more at the moment. Of course Elves had their own god, so Toran did not know if this greeting was meant for followers of Rhava only. Kelar nodded his head in encouragement so Toran placed his hand on Keeper Djohn’s upper arm. Just in case, Toran said a silent prayer to Savandyr, hoping his action had not offended the Elven god.

  “I hear you wish to marry Mistress Kirowak?” Keeper Djohn asked.

  “That is right,” Toran answered eagerly, hoping to finally complete his task.

  “I’ll be happy to help you with that,” Djohn said, smiling at the Elf. “Have a seat while we wait for Mistress Kirowak.”

  Djohn’s tan robe was tied at the waist with a simple brown sash with the hood of his robe resting on his back, revealing a bald head freshly shaven that morning. Still in his early twenties, Keeper Djohn’s beard hung not overly long, yet long enough to be braided in a single braid as was required of a Keeper symbolizing Rhava, or the One God, and tied off at the bottom with a small piece of leather.

  A knock on the door signaled Sosha’s arrival along with Tika. Toran’s eyes widened as he took in Sosha’s appearance. She wore a pale pink dress which emphasized her slender figure. A pink scarf, which coordinated her dress wrapped her eyes this day. Sosha had unbound her hair, except for a small braid going around the sides of her head to the back. Tiny purple flowers decorated the braids. Even her cheeks had color — flushed pink, probably because of the brisk autumn day.

  “Blessings of the day!” Siphra ushered the two women in from the doorway. The addition of two more people made the room feel even more cramped, and Keeper Djohn pushed the table against the wall to create some space. Even with the added area, too many limbs still touched for the Elf’s level of comfort.

  “Shall we get started?” Kelar said. “I don’t see any need to wait longer. Chodah Setah has called a village council meeting. They meet in an hour.”

  Toran remembered the angry man and the argument Sosha had with him. Kelar looked a little worried as he mentioned Chodah Setah’s name. Something was going on with the red-faced man he did not understand.

  Tika glared at her husband and slapped him on the arm. “There’s no rush, rocks for brains. Let’s do this right shall we? Now I understand our own wedding day a little better.” She harrumphed at him and then turning to Sosha she smiled and asked, “Are you ready, dear?”

  “I suppose so,” Sosha said.

  “Good. Then you stand over here,” Tika shuffled Sosha over in front of Keeper Djohn, “and you stand over here,” she grabbed Toran from where he was sitting and stood him next to Sosha. Tika clapped her hands together and declared, “Okay, Keeper Djohn we are all set. Go ahead!”

  Toran looked around him confused. He had still not met anyone matching the description given by Master Kopu and the boots were still back at Sosha’s hut, yet the man Keeper Djohn said he would help him. He felt lost as to what was happening at the moment.

  “Kelar, where boots?” Toran asked.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get them,” reassured Kelar again, not looking Toran directly in the eyes.

  Keeper Djohn drew Toran’s attention back when the religious leader began talking rapidly. The confused Elf struggled to understand the words. He thought he caught a few such as man, woman, deliver, and help. Toran was concentrating so hard on trying to translate in his head he did not immediately notice Djohn had stopped talking and stared at him — waiting. Djohn repeated his last word to Toran, “Agree?”

  “Yes,” Toran agreed. (Of course, he thought he was agreeing to a delivery.)

  Djohn turned his attention to Sosha and repeated the same words. This had Toran intrigued. What had Sosha agreed to? Was she also delivering something? Keeper Djohn then had them both drink from a cup (which Toran was prepared to do having been warned by his master Humans like to eat and drink when making and receiving deliveries). Djohn asked Toran to sign his name in a registry. Toran also expected this, having been told by his master that for many Humans a verbal promise is not enough: Elves have honor, Humans have contracts.

  The wind rattled the window and Toran glanced over as he was bent over the book halfway through signing his name. No ordinary wind blew at the window, however. Tiny wind faeries spun and danced, wearing long sleeve shirts, vests, and thigh‐high boots over top of their pants. He knew the faeries moved too quickly for Human eyes to see.

  Returning his gaze to the book in front of him, Toran finished signing his name. As he straightened up and set the writing instrument down, a strong gust blew the door open and one of the faeries spun into the room. As Sosha signed her name in the book the faery flew past Toran’s ear and sang in a small twinkling voice, “Congratulations!”

  He spoke wind faery fairly well, so he felt fairly confident he understood her felicitations.

  “Congratulations on what?” he asked.

  “On your wedding, of course!” She circled around him and flew away, while still more flew in to offer their congratulations.

  It was then he noticed the wind faeries circled him and Sosha. She smiled at their words and nodded her head. She could not see and yet she knew the faeries flew around her. Somehow the only Human in the room aware of the faeries was the blind one.

  It finally donned on Toran what had happened. What had he done?

  Looking back on that day it was more than honor which kept Toran wed to his new bride. More than the fact they were both different, both outcasts, more than helping Sosha keep the mill out of Chodah Setah’s hands, the truth was, he had felt a connection to her. He had felt a rightness to his path. Some might call it, a step towards his destiny.

  Toran quickly settled in
to life with Sosha and the village, and fall turned into winter which then shifted into spring. The Elves would have disapproved of him to adapting to Human life as swiftly as he did. He was even mastering Human speech — well — understanding it better.

  The needs of the village and his new responsibilities at the mill had prevented Toran from returning home in person to explain his newly married status. He did, however, send a message with a faery so his family would not worry. He had left behind a family in Xanti and created a new one in Kipra Village.

  He was finally home.

  Five

  Corsyn suppressed a sigh of relief as he journeyed home towards the Elven city of Xanti. In the satchel slung over his shoulder he carried a sealed letter from Ambassador Heylann to Queen Lindra. These days not many Elves were willing to courier outside of Xanti, traveling in the Human lands. It was a hazardous job to be sure, yet Corsyn had his Gift to protect him, and he hoped by serving his Queen and the Prime Council it would put him in their good graces.

  Traveling also allowed Corsyn time to think and ponder. He wanted to eventually gain a seat on the Prime Council like his father and knew this required a great wealth of knowledge (as well as skill) in evaluating evidence, reading between the lines, debating sides and winning the opinions of others. He knew he lacked the charisma of others, as it was not his Gift to gather friends and acquaintances. Therefore Corsyn would have to make others come to him by gaining a superior knowledge and ability to handle difficult topics and situations. Being a courier gave him freedom to think and study, albeit in an unconventional way.

  Corsyn was a couple of weeks into his journey back to Xanti from the Human city of Travanne. Having already travelled along the Murra River for a few days, he kept close to its muddy banks as Pheru, his toah companion, enjoyed flying down from the sky to catch fish in the murky water. Now they travelled in the gold-ripened western grasses of Rhodea. Corsyn’s ears caught even the smallest sounds in the grass — the black cricket, the striven beetle (who scurried along gathering ants to feed it’s young), the keening brown bird (known for its mournful call), and the clicking jika spider. A few faeries had even breezed past him giggling and causing the grasses to sway and shush.

  The early spring sky shone down comfortably, not too warm, although with a hint of a cool night to come. It did not matter to him really as he could withstand extreme temperatures well; unlike the Humans. White puffy clouds dotted the sky and he watched as Pheru dove from the heights above to snap up a small rodent from the tall grass for her dinner. She shook her head to swallow it down whole even as she flapped her brown wings, ascending back into the sky to follow Corsyn west to Xanti.

  Before reaching Xanti, however, he had to stop in Kipra Village to see his brother again. His brother.

  This time a sigh did escape — of disgust. As he walked, Corsyn thought about his most recent encounter with his only brother Toran. He never enjoyed having confrontations with Toran — of which there had been many throughout the years. Although to be fair, they were not so much confrontations as they were Corsyn berating Toran for dishonoring their House. Toran would hang his head every time and promise to try harder.

  This last time had been different, however. Toran had shown no shame; had even defended his behavior! For the first time the bumbling younger brother had stood up to Corsyn without backing down. Astounded at this change in his brother, Corsyn worried at what it meant. How could he explain to his parents, the Prime Council, and the Elven community Toran had married a Human? And to make matters worse, they were expecting a child!

  It was disgusting.

  Corsyn still had a few more days left to ponder this dilemma. What to do?

  Still a few days shy of Kipra Village, Corsyn kept a steady pace through the tall grasses. Wind faeries rushed by periodically, laughing and teasing one another. As usual Pheru ignored them. Most creatures know faeries taste terrible and those that do not quickly spit them out unchewed.

  Corsyn strode through the grass, his long blond braids blending in with the golden tops. He wore Elven i’ahfis — supple leathers which molded to his body. His ivory face and hands stood out in contrast to the gently undulating grasses, a face women and girls sighed over in Travanne during each of his visits, despite the centuries of fear of all things magical left over from the Giddrian War.

  Even though Corsyn’s people fought side by side with the Humans, the fact that an Elf had led the war against them using magic as a weapon, destroying millions had not been forgotten. It was strange though the Humans did not believe Mortan still lived. How could they? Elves had long lives, and no Elf lived that long save two he knew of. Mortan and Queen Lindra.

  Pheru cried a warning moments before a sand tiger growled fifty paces off to Corsyn’s right in the tall desert grass surrounding him. Corsyn traveled quietly by habit; however, that did not mean the sand tiger or others in its pack were not already aware of him. He stopped and gently drew on his Elven Gift to conceal himself from the tiger and the rest of the pack he assumed must be close by. Corsyn stood quietly, his glittering silver eyes watching and waiting. The gentle breeze created a shushing sound masking the slow, careful approach of the sand tiger through the grass.

  Within moments the grasses parted just five paces away to reveal a young female sand tiger with a golden brown pelt and thin black stripes across her back. She paused close to him, her shoulders equal to Corsyn’s shoulders, and a deadly tooth as long as his lower arm protruding from either side of her mouth. She sniffed suspiciously in the air, and he used his subtle Gift to gently prompt her to move on. She sneezed twice and then continued on without even looking in the Elf’s direction. A few seconds later, a mature male sand tiger with thick black stripes, a wide face and golden eyes passed by on the other side, again, not even paying attention to the courier. The mature tiger padded by, with tongue lolling out and stomach swaying from side to side.

  Corsyn kept an eye on the toah in the sky and Pheru finally called out the signal for him to proceed. Elven couriers often travelled with toah for the birds made great scouts (when not focused on their stomachs), and should anything happen to the courier the birds could be relied on to deliver the message. On their own toahs were also great observers. Extremely intelligent birds, they watched and relayed their observations efficiently.

  As the sun began it’s decent and the sky turned the scattered clouds shades of red and orange, Corsyn approached his anticipated destination — a series of giant red rocks jutting out of the ground. They looked out of place rising up out of the grass, like a giant buried in the ground with only his teeth exposed. Corsyn had found a cave in one of the rocks a few years back and had established a shelter inside with simple provisions and supplies.

  A sudden silence fell around him. No birds chirped. No insects buzzed. No faeries giggled. All was quiet. Not even an approaching sand tiger created this level of stillness.

  Corsyn motioned for the toah to scout around and she quickly heeded his signal. With his senses alert, Corsyn’s eyes rapidly scanned the area, yet he saw no apparent enemy.

  The silence was deafening in its warning.

  Something was wrong and Corsyn’s skin tingled as he perceived a gathering of nearby magical energy. What was it? He felt as though he should recognize it, and yet the energy seemed wrong somehow. Like drinking stale water. Corsyn slid his sword out of its sheath. His knives sat easily accessible on his belt at his waist. His hands at the ready, the Elf proceeded forward slowly, yet continually looking around in all directions, ready should something attack.

  Corsyn’s eyes scanned the grasses around him and so he was caught by surprise when the blow hit him on the shoulders from above. As tall as an Elf with a wingspan three times as wide, the foul-smelling creature hovered over him with its talons digging into his right shoulder.

  Corsyn twisted quickly so the skrewk’s other set of talons only grazed his left shoulder. He knew given the chance the bird would try to lift him up
high into the air and drop him to the ground. Once incapacitated or dead the creature could feed on him at will.

  Although in great pain, Corsyn switched the sword to his left hand and brought it up to slash at the talons which held his shoulder. The bird screeched in pain, and reflexively dug in further. He could not let the beast overcome him, or all of his dreams for the future would come to naught.

  Corsyn slashed again, all the while trying to evade the giant bird’s flailing left leg with its razor-sharp talons. He heard another squawk, a familiar one, and the flap of smaller wings followed by the skrewk’s cry of pain. Pheru cried out triumphantly as the skrewk abruptly let Corsyn go and flew off holding its injured leg close to its body, with blood dripping from its eye and leg to land on the parched earth below. The Elf had never heard of a skrewk flying this far south before.

  The shoulder wound was deep, and the four punctures made by the talons were bleeding badly. Even though Corsyn’s muscles had already begun mending, it would take a couple of days for such a terrible injury to fully heal. He could hardly move his right arm.

  Corsyn assumed the nearness of the skrewk had caused the desert creatures to be silent, yet even as he knelt to get a bandage out of his pack, he saw approaching silhouettes coming from the direction of the giant red rocks.

  Whoever approached must have hidden behind the rocks during the attack — using the bird as a diversion to allow them to approach. And here he sat, injured and outnumbered. Yet Pheru had scouted the area and did not report their presence. Odd. No time to consider that — he quickly wrapped his wound to staunch the bleeding, and called Pheru over quietly.

  Corsyn drew the letter out of his pouch and tied it to the toah’s leg as a precaution. Pheru would know to take the letter to the Queen immediately. The bird pranced nervously on the ground. Corsyn sent Pheru off, giving her careful instructions — the bird understood for she hopped along through the grass and would do so until finding it safe to take to open skies. The Elf then drew on his Gift to protect him from the strangers, keeping his left hand at the ready, prepared to wield his knives in close combat.