Terry Brooks - The Elves of Cintra

He crosses the grasses in the direction of her voice, not yet seeing her, but knowing she is there. His staff reclines against the seat inside the Lightning, next to where he sleeps. He never goes anywhere without it, but on this night he has given it no thought; her voice is that compelling. Remembering his oath to keep it with him always, he feels a twinge of regret at his failing. But there is nothing to fear. When she calls to him, he knows he will be safe in coming.

"I am here," she says.

She is standing right in front of him, an ephemeral presence, an exquis–ite radiance. Her gown flows from her like a thin sheet of water down a bridal falls, gathering in a pool that stirs restlessly beneath her feet, even though she herself does not move. She hovers in the air, slightly elevated from the grasses through which she comes, ghostly white save for the dark pools of her eyes. The long sweep of her hair falls beyond shoulder length and ripples like silk tossed in the wind.

It is the first time she has appeared to him since sending him to Hopewell and his meeting with Two Bears. As always, he is stunned by the simple fact of her, and without thinking he drops to his knees.

"Brave Knight," she whispers, "you have done well."

He cannot imagine why she thinks so given the mess he has made of things. It seems to him he has failed on every front. But her praise gives him fresh hope that somehow he has misjudged the success of his efforts.

Again he tries to speak, and this time he manages to do so, although his words are weak and halting. "If you think so — "

"Why would you doubt me, Logan Tom?" she asks, cutting short the rest of his protestation. "I would not say it if it were not so. You have done well at the task you were given. You have found the child of wild magic, you have given him the bones of his mother, and you have helped him discover the truth about himself"

Her voice soothes his doubts and eases his discomfort. It makes him want to believe.

"The boy?" he whispers through the sudden dryness in his throat. "Is he safe?"

She moves slightly to one side, gliding on the air as if sliding on ice. The city glows faintly behind her, its fires still burning in the night. He can see bits and pieces of their hazy light through the pale shimmer of her body, as if she were as transparent as clear water

"He rests in the arms of another servant of the Word, Logan. He gath–ers his strength for the journey ahead. When he wakes, he will come north to find you and the rest of those he will lead. You must go to meet him."

"Meet him where?" he asks, confused.

"On the banks of the Columbia. He will come there to begin his jour–ney. He will have many with him. All will need your protection. You must give it, brave Knight, no matter the cost to yourself"

No matter the cost. He supposes he has always known what that means, what it might eventually require. "I will do my best."

"Another Knight of the Word comes to stand with you. She will bring the Elves. They will bring the magic of their Faerie past, which shall be the magic of humankind's future."

Elves? He doesn't think he has heard her right. He can't have heard her right. There are no such things as Elves. She has said something else and he has misunderstood.

He starts to ask for an explanation, but her hand lifts and stays his voice. "Be careful how you go, Logan," she tells him then, her voice soft and cautious, as if someone might hear "There are dangers waiting for you. The demons are coming. They hunt the boy. They will destroy him if they can, even without understanding the nature of the danger he poses to them. It is enough that they fear him for reasons they cannot put a voice to. He is a gypsy morph who has embraced the Word, and that is enough to convince them that he must die. You must prevent that."

Her hand lowers slightly as she pauses. "You must not fail me in this. You must not fail the Word. You must do what is needed to keep the boy safe and to help him reach his destination. Beware. There are known dan–gers, but unknown dangers will threaten you more. Some reside in the out–side world; some reside in your own heart. Watch carefully for these. Keep them at bay."

She begins to fade, to disappear back into the night. He tries to stay her going, calling out to her. But his voice once again has no sound. He tries then to hold her back by sheer force of will, but it is like hying to hold back mist with your hands. Nothing he does can touch her. She watches him without expression, without any hint that she understands his need. Per–haps she doesn't, or perhaps it simply doesn't matter He has been given a task; he is expected to fulfill it.

"I will come to you another time, brave Knight," she promises. "You may rest now. You will be safe this night and until you wake."

Then she is gone and he is alone. He has a moment of recognition, real–izing that it is a dream and he has not left the AV and his bed and that her presence and her words come from inside his own head.

Then he sleeps.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK you are doing?" the voice re–peated.

In the deep sub–basement of the Belloruus home, surrounded by the histories of the Elves amid layers of gloom and shad–ows, the disembodied voice was a wraith without a presence. Neither Kirisin nor Erisha could see anything of the speaker, and neither could decide what to say or do in response to the question.

"Cat got your tongue?" the speaker chided.

"Culph!" Erisha said finally, just as Kirisin had decided they might really be in danger. "You don't have to scare us like that!"

The elderly keeper of the histories moved into the edge of the light that sat on the plank flooring between the Elven girl and boy, hands on his skinny hips, body bent like the trunk of a gnarled old tree. He was short and withered looking, an elder of indeterminate age. His wrinkled face was shaded by what appeared to be a halfhearted effort at grow–ing a beard and was dominated by a pair of huge ears.

"You haven't permission to be down here, missy," he declared, extending a bony finger at the girl. "King's daughter or not. And you," he added, moving the finger over to Kirisin, "don't even have permission to be inside this house?"

"I invited him?" Erisha snapped back, no longer afraid, starting to bristle at being spoken to like this by anyone who wasn't family.

"Did you?" Culph gave her a sharp look. "Asked him over to do a lit–tle late–night reading, is that it?"

Even in the pale wash of the torch's poor light, Kirisin could see that Erisha was losing her temper. "I asked for her help," he said quickly, drawing the other's attention. "I wanted to see what the histories had to say about the Ellcrys."

The old man crouched down next to them, his sharp eyes flitting from face to face. "Oh, is it more of that business about the tree asking the Chosen to use the Loden Elfstone to keep it safe?" He nodded soberly, and Kirisin, who had been trying not to reveal too much, was reminded that it was pointless to be circumspect with Culph since the King had already set him to work on researching the matter. "I know all about it, you know," the old man declared.

Kirisin decided to take a chance. "Well, the King doesn't believe that the Ellcrys spoke to me. But Erisha does because the tree spoke to her, as well. So we decided to see what we could find out."

"Not accepting that what I did was sufficient, is that it?" Culph said almost teasingly. "What could an old man like me know about such things, you might have asked yourselves. Probably couldn't even find the right book, you might have said."

"That is not what we thought," Erisha snapped, jumping back into the conversation. "We just wanted to see for ourselves." She hesitated. "The truth is, we didn't know what you might have found. My father doesn't want me involved in this business for reasons he won't reveal. He was very insistent that I not do what the tree asked of me. He was adamant. So I can't be certain that what he told me is the truth. Or even that he told me everything he knows. Maybe there's more." She gave him a hard look. "Is there?"