The Aftermath
Part Two
Cheipar and Bluestar brought food and drink to the elves of the Wild Hunt. “It’s highland tea,” Bluestar explained when Teir sniffed at the hot brew. “It’s what we all drink at the Egg.”
“I remember,” Teir said. “Cheipar… how is your mother?”
“Resting. We… need to talk.” He gave a little sideways nod, indicating the need for privacy. Teir hesitated a moment, then took his cup of tea and followed his nephew into an adjacent room, leaving Ember and Bluestar alone.
Ember was in the process of binding a wound to her wolf’s foreleg. Bluestar sat down beside the massive beast, studying it carefully. The wolf was larger than Lucky or Starjumper, but its muzzle was oddly shortened, more foxlike than wolf-life, and its paws seemed misshapen. The long toes on his forepaws seemed almost like fingers…
“He’s one of Kimo’s Children, isn’t he?” Bluestar asked.
Ember nodded. “It’s always a roll of toss-stone, what happens when a wolf mates with an elf. Timmorn Yellow-Eyes could walk and reason like an elf. Starjumper is a wolf who does not age. And Moonstrider here…” she stroked his black fur. “Teir always liked to say that he was meant to grow into a second Timmorn, but he saw what elves were like and decided wolves had it better.”
Bluestar looked at the other wolves all lying around Ember. He counted ten: some more lupine than others, but all larger than pure wolves. Ember saw his intense study and explained: “Moonstrider and Silence are the only surviving sons of Kimo. Memory is the one daughter, and the rest of the pack are her pups. The grandchildren live far longer than ordinary wolves, but they age and die all the same.”
“But there were other Children, weren’t there? Father said Kimo sired three litters as a wolf.”
“After his lifemate died, Kimo had no reason to remember he’d ever been an elf. He sired twelve pups in all. But only five survived their first year. Joy died of a long illness… and Prosper fell at Howling Rock.”
Bluestar knew this wasn’t the right time. All his good sense told him to hold his tongue. But he was never good at listening to his better judgement. “What happened at Howling Rock?”
“Your parents were there. Didn’t they tell you?”
“The humans tried to take over the Rock. A human chief – Kargref Djun – he broke the Pact. There was a big battle… lots of elves died.”
“Yes. Many more than needed to.”
“But we won in the end. Rayek drove the humans away from Howling Rock. He made it so they could never settle there again.”
“Do you know how he did that?”
“Magic.”
Ember’s lips twitched in a grimace. “Magic. One word… it can mean so many things. You must have a lot of magic, cubling.”
Bluestar shrugged. “I’m pretty good at sending,” he said evasively.
“I never really understood magic. What little there is in my family seems to have skipped over me.”
“Your brother’s a healer. I met him at the Evertree.”
“Did you? Then you know they have no great love of magic at the Evertree. It’s the same on the Plainswaste. Oh, it can be a very useful tool. But it should never be your only tool. Never your first choice of weapon. Magic alone won’t keep you alive on the Plainswaste. You have to learn to use all your gifts.”
Bluestar nodded.
“When the humans first started settling near the Rock, they were only two families. Hunters, forever on the move. Just like the Wild Hunt. Few of the Plainsrunner clans keep a permanent Holt. We saw no harm in letting them use our hearthfires for the winter. But they didn’t leave come the newgreen. More came that summer. And more the year after.
“We could have chased them away. We were a tribe of twenty elves. But I wanted to keep the peace. Many other clans had found a way to live alongside humans, why shouldn’t the Hunt? Teir and I agreed – the humans could stay as long as they kept to the north of the stream. They polluted the stream and then built their wall along the very foot of Howling Rock. They called their new fort Djaar Mornek, and they tore up our grasslands for their crops and their cattle.
“Every eight years, all the clans came to Howling Rock for a Gathering. But how could we with the human nest sitting on our tent grounds? Most of the clans chose to meet further north. But my granddaughter Bruma came to the Rock, with her hundred warriors and five hundred ponies. She walked right up to that human chief and told him to leave if he valued his skin. She showed him human scalps, so he would know what her warriors did to Pactbreakers. Bruma… she was a Go-Back through and through. Bold and reckless…”
“The Djun-chief left. But he returned a year later, with an army from the closest human hive, and a fresh litter of settlers. He fortified the walls and expanded the farmlands. He brought out a shaman to quote parts of Savin’s Doom of Threksh’t, the words he said proved humans had a fair claim to the Plainswaste. We could have left. We could have let the humans have the Rock. But I chose to stay. I still thought we could chew this out. Elves and humans live in peace all over this world. Why not at Howling Rock? I even called your parents down; they’ve always been the ones to keep the peace up in the Painted Mountains. Your mother warned me: ‘Djaarlanders aren’t Longriders.’ But I wouldn’t listen. When the Djun-chief Kargref called me for a parley, I went inside the walls willingly.”
She said nothing more for a moment. Picking burrs out of her wolf’s coat seemed to distract her. Impatiently, Bluestar asked, “So what happened?”
“Kargref didn’t want a parley. He wanted to show his people he didn’t fear elves. He had me chained. He paraded me around his city like a captive beast. I could have sent for help. But I didn’t. I forbade everyone from summoning the Palace. I still thought I could sort this out myself. And then the Djun-chief showed me how little I understood humans.”
She turned her face to the side, brushing her hair away from the left ear. Bluestar couldn’t help the pained hiss that escaped him. The entire point of her ear, and half the shell, had been sheared away with a blade.
“He did it in the center of town, to a cheering crowd. He said he would take both my ears, then my nose, then a finger, each day until my kindred abandoned the Rock. I should have been stronger. But I was afraid and I called for help. Not loud enough for the Palace to hear – I was never a skilled sender. But enough for my family to hear.
“My daughter Halcyon sent for the Palace. But Bruma wouldn’t wait. She led her warriors in a charge over the walls. Kargref’s men outnumbered them three-to-one. But Bruma’s clan fought like true Go-Backs. Eights upon eights were cut down on both sides before the Palace arrived. By then the walls had been breached – elves were spilling into the city, humans were storming the elf camps. Your parents helped round up the lifebearers, the cubs and the crafters. Rayek himself flew down and plucked me off the Djun-chief’s scaffold. But the warriors wouldn’t withdraw… not even as the humans drove them into the narrow lanes between huts and hacked them to pieces.” She closed her eyes tight. “Poor Bruma… Halycon’s wild lass…”
“I’m sorry,” Bluestar stammered. “I – I shouldn’t have asked – I-I’m always sticking my snout where it doesn’t belong. Everyone says–”
“Shh. There’s no blame, cub.”
“You don’t have to say any more.”
“But I haven’t told you how it all ended.”
Bluestar chewed his lip. “Well… how did it end?”
“Rayek, Swift and Weatherbird were trying to rescue a band of elves, hemmed in against the walls. They were the last survivors – the last hold-outs. Your mother was doing that… thing she does – letting a spirit use her body. A Glider – I don’t know which one. A strong one. She was floating the elves up just as fast as Rayek. And then a human’s arrow found her.”
Bluestar’s eyes bulged. His mother had never told him that.
“The spirit left her. She fell. Rayek dove to save her… but his magic couldn’t hold them both and the two elves he had been floating.”
“And they fell?”
“The fall didn’t kill them. But the humans did. Rayek brought your mother back up to the Palace. And he looked out at the burning human city… I remember the hatred in his eyes… and I could feel the power he was harnessing. I saw it happening, but I didn’t understand at first. Why did he need magic now? It was too late for that. I remember looking around: Halcyon was tending Weatherbird’s arrow-wound. Sunstream was at her side. Rayek asked him if he sensed any more elves below. He said no… still I didn’t understand. And then Rayek flew out over the city, and your mother was awake enough to realize what he was about to do. Swift was there, in the open doorway. Weatherbird said ‘Stop him!’ And Swift said, ‘No.’”
“What?” Bluestar pressed. “What did he do?”
“He used the Palace… all its power… and he burned Howling Rock. Not with fire. But with a light that turned everything to ash. Every human – the war-men, the crafters, the lifebearers and the children – all dead in an instant. And not just the humans. Every living thing burned to a cinder for a full half-day’s ride in all directions.”
Bluestar waited for her to continue, but it seemed Ember’s tale was over.
“He waited until the elves were all safe,” Bluestar said at length.
“And that makes it right? All those other lives. Not every human took up arms against us. Most didn’t. Most were simply… trying to make a life under their chief’s stern fist.”
“They took your Holt!”
“Yes, but…. Have you ever seen woodbiters eating a tree?”
“Y-esss…” he said skeptically.
“Eventually, they eat the tree’s heart, and it falls. Does that make the woodbiters bad?”
“They are for the tree!”
“Yes, but that felled tree feeds the soil of the forest floor. It helps grow new trees. And what looks like a bad thing is sometimes exactly what you need. Even humans… with all their messes… some are cruel, wantonly so. But most… they’re just woodbiters. They leave a mess in their wake. But they aren’t good or bad. They just are. And they don’t deserve to be thoughtlessly destroyed… anymore than the woodbiters do.”
Bluestar mulled it over in silence a moment. “Is that why you and Teir went away? You didn’t like what Rayek did?”
“No… I didn’t like what I did. All those deaths – human, elves, animals, right down to the last ant. They’re as much on my head as his. If I had been wiser… if I had called for help sooner… or if I hadn’t called for help at all…”
“If you hadn’t you’d be dead! And all the others would probably be dead too. They still would have gone to war with the humans, to avenge you!”
Ember nodded. “So Teir tells me. It’s wise counsel.” She returned to finger-combing her wolf’s fur. “But Howling Rock’s taught me I’m not made for this new world. I was made to hunt, howl and run free. There’s little freedom left in a world filled with humans.” She sighed. “I’ll hold to the Now as long as I can. Keep to the forests and the high plains… the lands the humans have yet to claim.”
“You don’t miss your family?”
She looked at her wolf fondly. “This is my family. I am the Wolf-mother… the pack is where I belong.”
* * *
“No…” Teir breathed. “It can’t be…”
“I’m sorry,” Cheipar offered.
Teir’s gaze turned inward. “The singing… oh High Ones… I always thought it was just a nightmare.”
Cheipar frowned quizzically.
“‘Make the singing stop,’” Teir murmured. “That’s what she said to me… that’s what she always says to me in my dreams. And I always walk away.” His face had turned deathly pale. “All those years – she was calling for me, and I never listened!”
* * *
“We need to form a search party,” Swift announced. “Not all the Firstcomers went back into the past.”
“What do you mean?” Timmain asked. Rayek held up the bloodstained wrapstuff.
Sunstream took the wrapstuff and tried to make a connection to the elf who had shed the blood. “I can sense a mind – but I cannot reach it. Pain… terror… a soul screaming so loud it cannot hear me…”
Timmain frowned. “This isn’t right… this can’t be! My friends… they are all here, within the Palace in spirit form. No one is missing.”
Skywise ignored her. “I’ll call Starjumper. He can pick up the trail.”
“Aurek, you remain here,” Rayek ordered. “Finish collecting the shards. You as well, Sunstream. One of the masters needs to stay with the Palace. The three of us will bring the High One home.”
“Four of us,” Savin said sharply.
Timmain turned back to the Scroll and concentrated. “No one is missing,” she repeated, dazed.
“Did you know all the Firstcomers personally, Grandmother?” Aurek asked.
“We travelled together for spirals of time. I moved among them all – all save the Navigators of course – oh!”
“We might need a healer.” Swift turned to Weatherbird. “Do you mind?”
“Winnowill?” Weatherbird asked the ceiling. A slight shudder was the only sign that the spirit had possessed her body again.
“We must move quickly,” Rayek declared. “I can carry Swift. Savin and Skywise will ride Starjumper. Can you keep up with us on foot, Winnowill?”
Weatherbird’s face registered uncertainty. “I… you mean, running?” She said the word as if she could barely understand the concept. “I… I don’t know.”
“She can’t,” Swift said. “And Lucky’s no good for riding. We’ll need one of Ember’s wolves.”
“No, you will not.” Timmain was already reaching behind her back, tugging at the drawstrings of her moth-fabric gown. It slithered free of her shoulders as her features began to change.
The white wolf stepped out of the gown and wagged her tail. **I will carry you, granddaughter.**
“Oh… good,” Winnowill said, voice dripping with skepticism.
* * *
Lesser Moon was already setting when the Mercenary reached the village at the base of the mountain. Behind him, the flames continued to burn across the mountain’s eastern flank, but no one in the watchtowers had sounded the alarm. Asleep at their posts, most likely. It didn’t matter. By the time the fires reached the farmlands, he intended to be long gone with his bounty.
The bundle he bore in his arms continued to struggle from time to time, but the darkness of the horse blanket seemed to keep the creature calm. As he reined up alongside the two-storey house at the outskirts of town, the creature began to thrash again. “Quiet!” the Mercenary barked, giving the Hidden One a light tap on its pointed head.
He dismounted and made for the front door, moving as softly as possible. Only the smoldering remains of firelight glowed inside his neighbours’ windows, but he meant to take no chances with his treasure. He easily carried the creature under one arm while hefting his longaxe in his free hand; the sprite was all but skin and bones, and weighed less than his scrawny daughter.
He kicked open the door to his house. “Woman!” he hissed, as loudly as he dared. “Get your lazy bones out of bed and tend the fire! Threksh’t has marked me for riches!”
A shadow stirred. It stumbled across the room to kindle the coals in the fireplace. “H-husband?” his wife stammered. “I… I did not expect you–”
“So what mischief of yours did I interrupt at this time of night, eh?” he laughed harshly.
“N-nothing,” she whimpered, prompting another laugh. He was fond of his woman, homely wench that she was. She was as obedient as any man could wish, yet she always flinched in fear when he raised his voice, even in jest. In a more clever woman, he might take the habit for guilt. But he knew it was just the submission of a well-broken animal.
A woman ought to be afraid. That was the problem with their daughter, he had decided long ago. Nothing seemed to frighten her.
“It’s just… your captain… won’t he…?”
“Dead! The Djun too, or Threksh’t take my eyes! Pactbreakers, all of them, and they paid for it. That headstrong brat of ours was right – the Hidden Ones defended their mountain with magic and fire.”
“Then, how were you spared?”
“Because Threksh’t favors me, you stupid cow! Why else? And how else could I have found this!”
He heaved his prize onto the table, unrolling the horse blanket. His wife gasped in alarm at the sight of the creature, a tangle of milk-white limbs and torn sprite-silk.
“Oooh, wonder! A blessed spirit under our roof!”
“Aye! And he’s our key to riches beyond the Djun’s wildest dreams! Where’s the little brat? She ought to see this. Shuna! Get out here and see what your papa brought home!”
His wife’s face seemed to wither into the grimace of an old crone. “Shuna… is ill.”
“What? Woman’s troubles? She’s a little young for that, isn’t she?”
“No… I fear it’s… the Rot.”
“What?” He leapt up from the table. “And you let me walk into a sick house?” He backhanded her, drawing blood from her lip. “Curse you, woman, why isn’t there a plague-mark on the door?”
“But there is, husband! Perhaps… you did not see it in the dark?”
“When? How?”
“The fever started three nights past. The blisters rose yesterday. I’ve fed her feverbane and I am washing her in vinegar as the healers say–”
“Wash the floors in vinegar! I swear, if I catch so much as one blister from your carelessness, I will beat the skin off your back!” He raised his hand again, and she cowered, clutching her jaw.
The creature stirred at the sound of raised voices. Limbs curled up into a fetal position, and the mouth opened in a low moan, like the wail of wind through a cave.
“P-perhaps the good spirit can heal her?”
“Paugh! He can’t even heal himself!” He seized the creature’s arms and pried them apart, to show his wife the scratches made by the brambles, the forearm broken by a fall. The creature howled in agony. “But you will bind his wounds! You’ll nurse him back to health. And when the time is right, I’ll sell him to the highest bidder. Augh! We’ll never keep him under wraps if he keeps making that that noise! Fetch me some rags.”
She brought him a rag smelling vaguely of animal fat, and protested weakly when he balled it up and wedged it in the creature’s mouth. “Oh… be gentle, husband…”
“Quiet, unless you want the same. Now get over here and help me set this bone.”
They made a crude splint out of piece of kindling and more rags. The gag absorbed the worst of the noise the creature made as the Mercenary shoved the broken bone back into line.
“He doesn’t look like an elf is meant to,” his wife murmured, as she tied the splint in place. “Or a troll. I’ve never even heard of a creature like this...”
“I reckon he’s a sprite. He was all wrapped up in sprite-silk when I found him… like some kind of cocoon!”
“But I thought sprites were little winged things… like butterflies?”
“I’ve heard songs of a giant sprite-lord. Adiir-something. Some sort of moth-man, with an army of sprites at his command. Steals pretty maidens out of their bedroom windows.”
“He has no wings.”
“Maybe he hasn’t grown them yet. Maybe sprites cocoon themselves to grow into moth-men.” He smiled, proud of his reasoning. “Imagine… when he’s healed he can spin sprite-silk for us! We’ll be rich!”
The sprite had fallen still again. “Good. Now, we need somewhere to hide him. Go pry up the floorboards to our root-cellar, woman. This sprite’s like a bird – he settles when he’s in darkness.”
“Husband, no! An honored spirit should lie in a proper bed–”
“What, Shuna’s? And have him catch the Rot? And I’ll be thrice-cursed before I let this creature in my bed! Now, woman! I’m losing patience.”
She scurried over to the loose floorboards, dog-like in her obedience. The Mercenary smiled: a good woman, despite her wagging tongue. He put that down to grief over the girl. Typical of Shuna to choose now to die of the Rot, on the eve of her father’s triumph. Ah well. His next child would prove a better investment. Now that untold riches were within reach, he could afford as many brats as he wanted. Sons, hopefully.
Elfquest copyright 2015 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2015 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2015 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts.