Saving Their Race

. . . Come, enter the grove of the unicorn,
Where the spring is eternal
And enchantment is inevitable.
If your heart is pure,
And your courage unfailing,
You may catch a glimpse of white
Between the trees.
Your life will never be the same . . . (author unknown)

“You’re an elf!” Kala whispers more to herself than to the figure crossing the threshold of the Council building. 'Bronwyn was right, he came,’ she thinks as she untangles her long legs from under her oversized emerald tunic and stretches her silver stockings out gracefully before bouncing to her feet. It takes less than a minute for her to be across the room, staring up adoringly at the male figure that had just come through the waiting room door. A slow smile spreads across his face as he takes in the young girl’s wide-eyed curiosity. She looks him over with a warm smile, as if remembering a forgotten friend.

“Yes, I am of elven decent.” Malik Polaris says cautiously. Surely the almond shape of his golden eyes hadn’t betrayed that much. He lifts an unconscious hand to make sure his ears are still safe under the auburn locks that poke out from under his navy baseball cap. “What are you?” he asks as he continues to look Kala over. “You move like a sprite, but you look more like a pixie.” He looks at his watch. There is still over twenty minutes before he has to meet with the human counselor.

Kala scowls. “A pixie? Hold your tongue.” When Malik smiles, she begins to turn away. “Perhaps you’re not who I need to talk to about the Mereth en draugrim after all.”

“What do you mean ‘who you need to talk to?’ Who sent you?” Malik grips her wrist to keep her from leaving.

“If you want to know, stop making a scene. If you draw a crowd, you will never see me again.” His brows snap together over his thin face as he ponders his alternatives. “I can answer every thing soon enough.” Kala pulls his fingers one by one off her wrist. “Please come with me. You are needed.” She smiles sheepishly and turns, leading him out of the small seating room and down an earthen alley in the back of the building, never once reasoning that he might not follow her. Ivy and other climbing vines seem to spring out of the pavement allowing a few solid oak and ash doors to blend in with the mossy green and gray of the walls almost completely hiding them from the untrained eye.

These are dwarven doors. He runs his fingers in wonder over the nooks in the old wood. This design hasn’t been used in this part of the world since . . . at least the Pixie Dynasty. “Well, what are you? You obviously aren’t human, you. . .”

“Shh . . . You speak too much.” Kala whispers fiercely, without turning around.

“You move too quickly, although I . . .” Kala turns and presses a finger to her lips in a wordless gesture to gain his silence once again. She looks around, cautiously examining the waves of energy around her. After a moment she begins walking again, sure now that no one has followed them this far. A few more steps and they turn into a deep doorway. Malik steps into Kala’s back at the sudden stop, as she fumbles with a pair of bright silver keys on a silver ribbon. He stands against her while she unlocks the nearly invisible door, reveling in the contact of a female that isn’t human. She pushes the door open widely and pulls him inside, his feet floundering for balance.

“Okay, now you can speak.” Kala sighs as she pushes close the door and latches it. Holding the keys up in the dim light, she cautiously drops them back into their resting place between the round globes of her breasts, lost in the looseness of her tunic. Her strawberry blonde hair hangs in a thick braid twined with silver and emerald ribbons. She turns and it swings around, landing softly on her shoulders where she pushes it back to hang against her slender waist.

“What are you? Where did you come from? How is it that you speak like an elf, but you don’t actually look like one?” Malik rambles on, his arms punctuating his thoughts, as he strides across the sparsely furnished room, and takes a seat on a tanned leather chair. A few rather plain portrait paintings grace the green walls around him and all the furniture is cherry and oak. Nothing in the room is exceptional, but each piece screams elvenwork.

Kala snickers and follows him to the tiny carved cherry wood table in the far corner of the room. It was the same room Bronwyn had briefed her mission in last week. Bronwyn had known that Malik would answer a councilor’s summons from the humans, even though he ignored them from his own species.

“Getting him there will be easy,” Bronwyn had murmured. “Getting him home will be your job, Kala.” She pours two glasses of pink liquid from a crystal pitcher and replaces the cork. Yes, it would be her job, and she would not fail. “Pump him full of Elverquisst and then talk.” Bronwyn had told her, and she would obey the High Priestess.

Great idea, Bronwyn. She giggles again at the thought. Quit being such a child, Kala. You’re such a half-wit. Taking a calming breath through the berating of herself she forces herself to smile. Her childish giggles and adolescent braid cover the truth of her actual age, which was closer to Malik’s than he assumed.

“The humans around here don’t like talk of elves and sprites, and they like tales of dwarves and fairies, or as you call them, pixies, even less.” She explains as she settles into a seat across from the older elf and placed a drink in his hand. He can’t be more than, like 120, or so . . . he’s still got a young man’s face. I’d say 110 at most. She smiles at her logic.

“That’s not what I asked you.” Malik argues. “And what do you mean they don’t like talk of elves? Human children love hearing about fantasy creatures, like myself. I never met a human child that didn’t like a great epic about elves and pixies.” Malik crossed his arms haughtily.

“Human children – there’s your answer. The kids love to hear about us – well enough – but their parents don’t want the reality, especially those in the part of the world we are currently in. They don’t want change.”

“Some of my closest friends are human. Ah, you’re just a child anyway, what do you know? You probably don’t know anything about the elven world. For all I know, you could be an eavesdropping kender, who just picked up the words Mereth en draugrim. You sure talk enough.”

“How dare you call me a kender! Maybe you’re not one of the people we need after all. You can leave now, Mr. Polaris.” Kala stands and abruptly downs the rest of the potent floral wine. With a snort, she turns to face a non-descript painting with her back turned toward him, waiting for him to get up and leave. She knows he won’t; He’s too interested. As she predicted, Malik helps himself to another glass of Elverquisst.

“Wait a minute. How did you know my name? Who the hell are you anyway? I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

“Curb your assumptions and I will tell you what I know. Do you think you can handle that?” With a simple lift of his dark brows, Malik accepts her challenge and motions for her to return to her seat. Silence reigns between them for a pregnant moment before Kala begins to speak again. “You know what Mereth en draugrim is, I assume?” Contempt flairs to life in her voice, because he is the last person she wants to trust with the spell’s power.

“Of course I know. Mereth en draugrim is the feast of wolves. It represents the slain enemy in battle. Any real elf knows that.”

“You’re right, and it’s this year.” Kala has his attention now. There are no more questions of her knowledge. “The istalindar have given the call and the time is the Faradome. We don’t have much time. There will be a war; there is nothing that will stop it – instead we must limit the feast.”

“Faradome? The summer solstice is in less than 3 months. How does the council plan to handle such an uprising in such a small amount of time?” Malik drops his feet to the floor and leans forward onto his knees. “There are preparations to undergo to stop such an insurrection. I must speak to the Amandilis.”

“They are doing nothing. Bronwyn knows they are refusing to see the danger, and there is nothing she can do to stop it. It will happen as they plan.” Kala refuses to show any type of remorse as she lowers herself further into the cushions of her chair.

“Nothing? They are refusing to do anything? They can’t just let something like this happen.” His golden eyes darken in thought. There must be something. Anything at all. Why can’t I think of something? ANYTHING!

“Because there is nothing you alone can do.” Kala blinks her large purple eyes, easily reading his thoughts. He looks up in surprise, but her thoughts are too guarded for him to even hint at. A strawberry strand of her hair escapes into her eyes, so she blows it back. “They will do nothing, so we must wait. There is a way to stop the slaughter, but it must happen after the solstice passes. If not, the wolves will feast on the rotting carcasses of all of our race before we even have a chance to counter it.”

Malik let the weight of his decision hang in the air for a few seconds. “I still don’t know who you are.”

“It’s not really important to your decision. I will be of little help, but I know someone who can help you.” A small smile rises on Kala’s lips. “I am called Kala. My job is kiirar ni rauko – sorry, I’m the lore keeper for the demon world.”

“The demon world? Then why did you have to find me for this?” Malik finished his wine and stood to get more. “Surely there are others.”

“There is no one left. The council has forbidden most of those prepared to fight from contacting anyone. The numbers on silent quests have been rising for several months now. Last count, there were only seven left to stop this war.” Kala’s face begins to fall. “The remaining ones must be found soon, or it is all in vain.”

Bronwyn’s final words echo in her head. “I don’t care how . . . just bring them home.”

“Are you going to help me, or not, Mr. Polaris?”

“What can I do? I don’t know lore or spells. How in Ansalon am I to stop them without the knowledge of what I’ll be facing? I was only a boy at the time of the last Mereth en draugrim. You’re a keeper, what happened?” Malik starts to pace the small room. The quest would be far more dangerous than the last one. He felt it in his bones. The last time the council gave no knowledge of the loss, only the gain. How many before me have had to make this same decision? How many wrong answers?

Kala silently wished she could smile. There will be another time for smiles, another time for the peace of Ansalon. What he must be torturing himself with. “Malik, sit down. The ones before you don’t matter now. They won’t matter later either. All you have to decide is the now. The future does not wait for you to make up your mind.” She could feel his pain radiate from his aura. I wish I could do more. “Please, sit down. Here, I’ll fix you another glass of Elverquisst. It will help you relax.” And sleep, she thinks as she adds a few drops of her own Elven honey to the glass. “Here drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Malik lifts the glass to his lips and pours most of it into his waiting mouth. “Thank you. Who am I supposed to meet for this training? If the council is against fighting, how am I supposed to be trained?” If there is no one left to train me, how will I face them? I will die.

Yes, you will. Trained or not, there is nothing left in this world for us. Kala closes her eyes and smiles, wishing she could help, wondering why she can’t do more. When he wakes up, he will hate her for this deception, but there is nothing left. Round up the last of our kind and get them out of the human world. Bronwyn said they must come home to Ansalon. At least she didn’t say they had to come willingly. “You will receive your training at the risk of the master’s life. If you are caught, he will lie. Trust no one.” Malik just nods. Not even me.

Danger is coming and I must save our people from the end of our kind. Malik’s eyes began to droop as he decides a little nap wouldn’t hurt before he started his training. I think I’ll just lie here for a moment. I hope she doesn’t mind.

“You can come out now, Thranduil. He’s asleep. Bronwyn wants him at the docks before dawn, and you have just over an hour before he wakes up.” The large centurion elf steps out from the shadows. Thranduil bends and hoists Malik into his arms. “Be careful.”

“Yes ma’am. He will be there. Good luck with the next one, Kala.”

“Thank you, Thranduil.” Kala pulls the door behind her. Let’s see. Manhattan Blvd. One down, six to go. Here goes nothing.

As Kala said, one down six to go. I will add more. . .eventually as will all these pieces. The only ones that are actually finished are Bad Rap, Evil Muse, and Moving On. There is no more of those stories to tell.

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