Director Arthur Greene ladled sugar into his teacup and laid one leg on top of the other. He was a middle-aged man whose hair had recently transformed from a thick golden mane into something sparse and dust white. The director was no longer the strong young man he once was and underneath the suit protruded a round belly, yet it was too early to consider him fat. Everything from his gleaming shoes and the golden chronicle in his chest pocket to the vast shiny desk in front of him, showed that he was a rich man. Noble men considered his style excessive, but they were careful not to insult the influential director and kept their opinions to themselves. He had taken over the Dream Park from his mother, whose family founded the park outside his hometown. His older brother had inherited most of the family’s fortune and bought a large estate outside Frostport. Arthur Greene’s only inheritance was the Dream Park, but he had a mind for what people were willing to pay for and he was a hard worker. When heavy debts broke his brother a few years later, the director bought back the estate. Through his good grace, he let his brother stay in the backhouse, a generous gesture he thought had been going on for far too long by now.
He noted that it was a warm and sunny day, and it cheered him up tremendously. Not because he planned to go outdoors and enjoy the pleasant weather, but because the number of visitors was higher than usual on such days.
Footsteps approached from outside, and the door slid open. Professor Charles Mendel, Anland’s most acknowledged biologist, stepped into the spacious office.
“Welcome, professor. Come in,” Arthur Greene said without rising from the chair to shake the professor’s hand.
“Thank you, sir. How do you do?” The professor was a small gray figure that attracted no one’s attention. Even if you studied the man for hours, you would not find a single characteristic feature. He had a thin man’s voice, squeaky but weak.
“Good, thanks. My wife is with child again, and we are hoping for the best. Before we start, do you need a drink to strengthen yourself?”
Arthur Greene rang a small bell, whereupon the door swung open and three waist-high red-haired gnomes tiptoed into the room. With their arms stretched straight upwards, they carried a huge tray filled with bottles of every shape and color. The professor shone up and pointed at a decanter containing a clear liquid. A gnome filled up a small glass to the brim, the two other gnomes becoming red-faced by the exertion of lifting the entire tray by themselves. As soon as the professor had received his glass, they disappeared out of the room.
“This time I’m certain luck will be on your side. May it be a son!” Professor Mendel raised his glass, then sat down on a small wooden stool across the desk.
“This drink is precisely what I need. It clears my head in the morning and makes me think better,” he said after he had emptied his glass, doing his best not to cough. “In Frostport I met a peculiar doctor. He taught children in their suburban tent villages how to read and do arithmetics. Do not ask me what good will come out of educating that scum, the poor people’s brains are not suited for literature and science. The children, rowdy dregs as they were, paid no attention to their teacher. This doctor discovered that a sip of liquor calmed them. It had to be brandy or stronger. Ale just made them fall asleep.”
“So that doctor thinks we should waste both education and spirits on scum?” said Arthur Greene and laughed. “What’s next, should we give the trolls a slide-ruler, and teach the naiads how to ride a horse?”
“True, but keep in mind that we can turn his learning into something practical and use it on our own children. You should inform your governess to give your daughters a strong drink before they do their homework.”
As soon as the professor had finished his sentence, an unavoidable silence filled the air. Neither of the men enjoyed small talk. Arthur Greene sipped his tea as he summed up the latest profits generated by the Pleasure House and the Arena in his head.
“How was the symposium in the capital?” he asked once his thoughts returned to reality.
“It was very rewarding, thank you for asking. There are so many skilled scientists and clergymen in Anland that there will soon be nothing left to discover. My theory on creatures as close descendants to the southern apes and my talk on creatures’ inability to appreciate divine phenomena both received massive praise. The last day I sat between two visiting biologists from Norma. My research fascinated them and we had an interesting discussion regarding the existence of magic and why that is theologically impossible. They spoke of the situation in Norma and the problems caused by creatures there, especially elves and naiads. You know, they kept on referring to them as Beings. Apparently the word creature is demeaning. I told them their lawmakers should visit the Dream Park to see how people and creatures can live together in harmony.”
“Splendid, we should attract more foreigners to the park,” cheered the director. Then he lowered his voice and continued: “We had problems while you were away. Two elf males, that big aggressive one who has caused us trouble in the past, and his brother cut through the fence and tried to escape. The big one ran off and is still missing.”
The professor scratched his short beard as he digested the news. “He will never get far,” he said, his voice thick with doubt. “The elf spent his life in captivity and is unlikely to survive in the wild. Plus, I assume they sent the hounds out to track him?”
“Wilder gave the order, but the hounds didn’t pick up his trail. In fact, no one found any trace of the creature, and now rumors circulate that he used magic to disappear. I made it clear that we won’t tolerate such nonsense and that anyone spreading lies will be dismissed.”
The professor nodded in agreement. “What happened to the other elf?”
“An officer shot him in the leg and Wilder's men did what was necessary. He won’t last long.”
Outside the room, the gnomes pressed their ears against the door and listened to every word. They looked forward to spreading the gossip to their friends in the Gnome Yard.
“Did you hear how worried the professor became when he heard about the great elf’s escape?” whispered the eldest of the three who had taken the best spot closest to the keyhole. The other two nodded in agreement.
“The professor doesn’t know much,” said the smallest gnome. “A hound would never dare hurt an elf.”
“Nor does he know what I put in his drink,” said the eldest. The other gnomes giggled and ran away. They did not want to find out what punishment awaited them if the director caught them eavesdropping.
Meanwhile, Professor Mendel and Director Greene set to work.
“This is the updated text on gnomes you asked for,” said the professor, and pushed a paper with thin, curly letters across the table. “I have rewritten it myself to make it less scientific and more accessible to our visitors, as requested. For example, I removed the paragraph on the anatomy of gnomes and the physiological cause of their quick aging. I replaced it with a piece of their combat ability, which — if I may say so myself — is completely non-existent.”
Arthur Greene slipped his tea and skimmed through the text. After a few moments, he tore the paper in two.
“Boring and scientific, just as before!” he whined and slapped his palm on the desk in frustration. “Don’t you understand that we’ll put this on a sign to entertain our visitors, not to educate them! I want an exciting text that makes people turn their pockets inside-out before they leave the Dream Park.”
The professor’s gaze fell to the shiny floorboards and his straight posture collapsed, like an ashamed dog failing to obey its master’s command.
“My deepest apologies, Mister Greene. I will try to make the piece more interesting. It’s just that gnomes — well, you know — gnomes live short lives and work hard. They are no fascinating creatures.”
“I’m well aware that gnomes lack entertainment value, that’s why I’m telling you to come up with something. For example, write that they hate being poked with sticks, and that the visitors are forbidden to do so. Then children will poke them and their families will laugh when they see how annoyed the little creatures become. We give the parents a fine so reasonable that they’ll even think it was worth it.”
“Brilliant idea, sir, you are the most skilled businessman ever born,” said Professor Mendel with no trace of mockery in his voice. “As a scientist, however, I must point out that no one appreciates being poked. Humans included.”
“So neither do gnomes,” snapped Arthur Greene. “Go on then, start writing.” He signaled to the professor to leave and dived into his paperwork, paying no more attention to the scientist.
*
It was a sunny morning and the Dream Park was filled with visitors. Kaan jumped off his stone and walked over to the fence, up to the miserable figure that was his brother. Volt lay wrapped in white bandages with his head against a rock. He wheezed as he breathed, the sound of leaking lungs. Half of his left leg, from the knee and below, was missing and the bandage around his thigh had turned into a blood-red muck. In two days his pale face had faded to gloomy gray and his eyes had gone blank. The once vigorous elf now resembled an old cripple. Pain is the driving force behind aging and the one-legged elf had suffered more pain in the course of a few hours than most people endure in their entire lifetime.
Kaan preferred to stay away from the road and avoided the fence when there were humans nearby. It gave him a small area to move around in, but he loathed the visitors’ stares and comments. For some reason, everyone stayed away from his brother as he lay there. Perhaps the sight of Volt was too macabre even for the kind of people who visited the Dream Park. Or maybe a dying elf was not bloody enough to attract their attention, and they went some place they found more entertaining. It didn’t matter. More important things were on his mind.
His brother was sleeping as Kaan crouched beside him. Volt’s bloody stump of a leg had rotted and smelled sour. Dried blood and vomit colored his clothes brown-red. A mixture of sweat and saliva dripped onto his bare torso. It hurt Kaan to see his older brother suffer. Volt had been indomitable, but now he lay there, pitiful on the brink of death. You can never say that someone will not die, anyone may stumble and break their neck or be crushed by a burning stone falling from the sky. But that someone will die soon can be a fact. Such was the case with Volt.
Kaan patted his brother on the cheek. Volt awoke and squinted at him, his eyes sparkling. With or without legs, he was not defeated. His determination to break free was still there.
“I saw the fields,” he said in a fragile voice.
“You did?”
Volt nodded. “Before you woke me up, I was there, on the edge of my dreams.” He ruckled and his entire body trembled like a broken baby rattle. After a wheezing breath he continued, “Did you ever wonder what the green plains look like? Once you see them, you know where you are.”
Kaan considered his words. They needed to hurry if he was that close to dying. An officer came patrolling along the road. He slowed his pace and glared at them, but did not stop.
“I will leave the Dream Park soon,” said Kaan once the officer was no longer within hearing distance, “but I need your help.”
“Be careful, Kaan. It won’t be as easy as last time. The guards are more cautious now and a painful death awaits if you fail, trust me on that. Will Leon come back and help you?”
Kaan realized that Volt was still hoping for their brother to rescue them and bring them to the free countries across the sea. He wanted to believe that too, but deep inside he knew their brother better than that. Leon had not fled for freedom. He had fled for revenge.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“This time is different,” he said. “I will have the power of sacrifice.”
Volt closed his eyes and leaned back. He realized that it was over for him.
“I only have one leg and cannot climb over the fence. You don’t have to ask. I’ll cross the Fields for you.”
A tear of heavy saltwater ran down Kaan’s cheek and landed on the bandage.
“The power of the sacrifice or not,” he said, “I can’t kill you.”
“You must,” said Volt, his voice fading into a whisper. “Be strong and do it without hesitation. Like Leon would.”
*
That night the park’s evening activities were in full motion. The day time visitors had gone home and now shiny coaches poured in through the gates, containing wealthy men who had come to enjoy themselves. Many drove up towards the beating sound of drums that emerged from the Arena. There they would shout and gamble, and make Arthur Greene an even wealthier man. Some guests came on foot and walked over to the Aquarium to watch underwater hunting. Others rolled up to the Lookout Point for a delicious meal cooked by gnomes. Exhausted horses dragged a few coaches up to the Pleasure House, a villa at the Dream Park’s highest point.
Joseph Wilder walked his usual round to supervise the evening activities. It was a formality to make sure that the officers maintained order. He knew he could rely on his men, they were the best out of hundreds of applicants to his squad. Everyone had the physique of a soldier, and their loyalty to him was almost touching. They loved their work for various reasons. Many did it for the generous salary and others because it allowed them to enjoy the Dream Park’s entertainments themselves. The worst kind became officers since they believed that the right to exercise violence made them powerful. None of this interested Joseph Wilder. He sometimes asked himself why he did not pursue a more prestigious career in the army or joined a city guard somewhere, but never came up with a satisfying answer. It might have to do with his family. He was born to guard and protect, as were his father and brother. It was a job that needed doing, and he was good at it. And in the Dream Park, he was in control. No man could ask for more.
First, he went to the Aquarium, a large water basin where they unleashed naiads to hunt. A high stand stood next to it, half-filled with commoners of Sommerfort. Small gnomes ran between the benches and served cider in huge pitchers. Joseph Wilder did not pay any attention to these spectators. They were meaningless and just there to make their affluent guests feel special in their private lounges.
He disappeared down a wide staircase in front of the stands. Two junior officers guarding the entrance to an underground corridor greeted him and straightened their backs as he passed. Along the corridor were doors which lead to lounges where well-dressed men sipped the Dream Park’s acclaimed whiskey out of crystal glasses. Outside every door waited a young lackey, ready to take orders from the guests. Down here the servants were not gnomes as in the rest of the Dream Park, but ordinary townsfolk. Despite the little creatures being cheaper and better workers, a human servant made the rich visitors feel richer, and thus they paid more.
Once at the end of the corridor he opened a door and stepped inside a room reserved for Arthur Greene’s guests of honor. It was twice the size of the other lounges. The remote wall comprised a wide window showing the illuminated basin. Heavy crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and glittered in kerosene light.
Everyone was in an excellent mood and stared in wonder at a muscular naiad wrestling a dolphin on the other side of the window. Blood poured from a bite in the Being’s leg and whirled around him as he danced around the basin. It seemed the dolphin wanted to finish the match and chased after the naiad, snapping its sharp teeth. The Being swirled aside and latched out his arm. A knife flashed through the water faster than a harpoon and cut into the dolphin’s abdomen.
The first officer felt no excitement. He knew that the fish would soon bleed to death and that the naiad would drag its prey through a dark canal out of the basin. The spectators believed the male fed the meat to his family. The dolphin’s heart strengthened his first-born son’s courage and its eyeballs prepared his daughter to watch over their family. Joseph Wilder allowed himself an inward smile as he thought of the simple tricks Arthur Greene devised to deceive the visitors. Males and females stayed in separate pools, or the water would overflow with naiad spawn. In truth, the naiads did not even hunt big fish. He remembered the professor telling him that a dolphin was not actually a fish, but what did it matter? They swam in the park’s pools all the same.
Professor Charles Mendel sat half-sleeping in an armchair with a grin on his lips and an empty glass in his hand. He grabbed the thin man by the shoulder and shook him. The professor flew up and dropped his glass to the floor.
“The mayor’s in the Arena and Mister Greene wants you to entertain him. Go there now.”
The scientist rubbed his eyes without saying a word, then burped and shuffled after the first officer.
“The visitors sit in their glass cages, the Aquarium is red with blood and the famous Professor Mendel can’t walk straight. Everything here is in order,” he said to the nauseous-looking man.
Applause from the drunken spectators in the Arena rose to the sky as two trolls collided in front of their eyes. One was a gray-skinned muscular male who was huge even by troll standards. With a crooked nose and a body covered in scars, he was an Arena veteran. His brutality and raw strength made him a favorite among the evening guests. Many had put heavy bets on his victory and therefore deafening cheers broke out as he launched his fists against his opponent. He faced a chubby female two feet shorter, whose sparse hair slashed across her face like thick laces as she circled him. Females normally did not duel, but the director wanted to test if he could use them for more profitable activities than mere breeding. It turned out that this female was a fantastic fighter. She dodged every blow and wiggled out of her opponent’s grip when he got hold of her.
Sweat flooded the male’s body. He was an explosive wrestler and unused to long fights. In a final effort to end the battle, he threw himself at the female. She stepped aside, but he caught her by the hair and jerked her close. His fist thundered into her stomach with the power of a battering ram hitting a wall, each blow strong enough to shatter the intestines of any man many times over. She shuddered with pain and coughed blood. After a few more punches, she ceased to struggle, and the audience held their breath as the male gathered his strength for a final decisive blow to her head. The female lashed out her arm, a motion surprisingly fast for such a large Being, reached in under the male’s loincloth and twisted her hand. The big troll roared in agony and fell to his knees. He tore off a tuft of thick hair, but she maintained her firm grip and twisted further. A loud bang, as deafening as a thunderclap, echoed through the Arena. The female, sensing victory, had slammed her head against the male’s. His eyes went blank, and he fell to the ground. She summoned what remained of her strength, then stood up and wobbled around the fighters’ circle. The troll nearly lost her balance as she raised her thick fists to the sky.
For the first time during the entire fight, she turned her yellow eyes to the crowd. Her gaze was full of murder and hunger, the look of a predator watching its prey. At first the spectators stood in stunned disbelief, then a lonely cry of victory cut through the silence. A man had prayed to the higher powers for a miracle and bet his last savings on the female. He was now a wealthy man. Words of profanity spread like wildfire through the Arena and a group of drunken men on the upper stands fell into a brawl. Armed officers stepped out from the shadows behind them to intervene, but it was too late to prevent the row from escalating. Another group of officers ran into the fighter’s circle to face the troll. They had to stop her from injuring the male troll further. It was bad enough that he would be unable to fight for many weeks. They wanted the female to know that although she had displayed her courage, she still ought to fear humans and their weapons.
Joseph Wilder and the professor stepped into the Director’s Lounge where Arthur Greene was having a deep discussion with two merchants from Tarum. In front of the window stood the puff-cheeked mayor, drunk and with his wig at an angle. Joseph Wilder disliked the man. He was incompetent but had close friends in the Frostport parliament and had been Sommerfort’s most powerful man much longer than anyone had wished for. It was his first evening visit to the Dream Park, and it was important that the mayor enjoyed himself, but that did not seem to be the case. The mayor’s face was red with rage and he swore to himself loud enough for everyone to hear. He had lost a considerable amount of money on the fight and now behaved as if someone had conned him into doing so. Which is not far from the truth, Joseph Wilder wanted to say, but excused himself and left to oversee the escalating riots on the upper stands.
Professor Mendel remained near the doorway, trying to look invisible. In a corner of the room stood a bearded gnome and served brandy out of a bottle half his size. The professor signaled to the little Being to come over and pour him a drink, which he washed down in one gulp. The gnome recognized that he was in a drinking mood and refilled the glass before he had time to catch his breath.
“Professor Mendel!” Arthur Greene’s blustering voice attracted the attention of everyone in the room. The director excused himself and shoved his way to the scientist.
“Good that you’re here.”
Professor Mendel cleared his throat. “You asked for me, sir?”
“Follow me,” said Arthur Greene and dragged the thin man with him towards the mayor. “I need the mayor in an excellent mood. He’s lost a lot of money tonight, on the last duel in particular. You need to convince him he was unlucky and explain that our creatures will multiply in the upcoming years. The Dream Park needs more space and the town owns fifty acre of land on our eastern border that I wish to buy.”
The director tapped the mayor on the shoulder and pushed the professor forward to face him.
“Sir, I believe you are familiar with the renowned scientist Professor Mendel? He is our expert on Beings and conducts much of his research here in the park. His science has made our town famous for more than just its factories.”
The mayor muttered a sentence of anxiety-filled profanities to himself without noticing them.
“You asked why we only allow trolls to fight in the Arena,” the director continued.
The mayor nodded. “It is strange that you won’t let the elves come in here, seeing that even female trolls fight.” A stench of spirits oozed from his breath, so terrible that the other two men turned their faces away and gasped for air. Arthur Greene elbowed the professor, wanting him to answer, then sneaked off to cheer up a group of noble patrons who had also placed unfortunate bets on the male troll.
“You are not the first one to ask,” Professor Mendel said to the mayor. “Most of our creatures have fought in the Arena, but none are nearly as entertaining as the trolls. The gnomes are cowards and too small to fight, and they are of no use in our workshops if they break their arms or fingers. The naiads are skilled warriors, but their true element is water and thus they only fight in the Aquarium.”
“What about the elves? I’m willing to pay good money to see a score of elves give that troll bitch a proper beating.”
“The elves are too ruthless. Believe me, if our average elf was to stand against our best troll in the Arena, it would not be a fight. It would be a slaughter.”
“How come?” the mayor asked and raised an eyebrow.
At last the professor caught the man’s attention. Professor Mendel liked how the liquor loosened his tongue and how it made him an expressive narrator. Now was the perfect time to prepare that text on gnomes for Mister Greene.
“A few years ago, we let our young elf males practice wrestling and prepared them to face each other in the Arena,” he said. “The first occasion was at a special event held for a minister from Frostport. He too had asked to see elves in the Arena and Mister Greene never misses an opportunity to please a parliamentarian. When the battle began, the slender elves were a delight to watch. However, the loser often died of his wounds or became crippled for life. Unlike us, elves do not value their lives as a holy gift and behave as if death is just a means to an end. I believe it is due to their lack of intelligence and their unholiness. What was I saying? Right, it takes a long time for elves to reproduce and I did not want too many elves to die young. So I convinced the director to put an end to their fights. As a compromise they faced trolls instead, but it turned out the elves had been merciful to each other.”
“What happened?”
“The clumsy creatures were defenseless against the cunning and agile elves. What occurred made the audience nauseous. I remember well the last time we had elves in the Arena. Most of that night’s spectators never returned to watch another fight. Three brothers faced five trolls. The trolls were many times larger than the youngest elf, yet all of them soon lay beaten in the dust. None of the three brothers even had a single bruise. But the biggest one was not satisfied, so he picked up a knife that he had smuggled into the Arena and dissected the creatures. No officer dared to intervene, and the spectators stared in terror at the scene. Blood drenched the sand and the stench of troll intestines filled the air. To make things worse, the elf lifted the knife and…”
Professor Mendel lost track of his words as he realized something important. Those violent elves should have been executed, but he spared them for breeding. Three brothers, one fled and one was shot in the flight. What happened to the third?
“Tell me, have you visited the Pleasure House?” The mayor answered that he had not. “I recommend you to go there and acquaint yourself with elves. Do not worry, we only have harmless females and castrates there. Allow me to fetch a lackey to show you the way.”
He had not mentioned the land Mister Greene wanted to buy, nor would he. The professor did not appreciate the director giving him orders. He was a professor, not a businessman. Nor was he a salesman, but he had spent enough evenings in the Dream Park to understand that he could exploit the mayor’s interest in elves. The director should see his request granted in due time, of that he was certain. As soon as the mayor left the room, Professor Mendel hurried away to the Dream Park’s archives to study the elves’ genealogy.
Meanwhile, Joseph Wilder had left the Arena and was heading up to the Lookout Point. He paused for a moment and peered up at the Pleasure House. It was the only part of the Dream Park he had not visited tonight. He despised the place. Many of his officers volunteered to go there in his stead, so he avoided walking up to the villa when possible. A coach rolled past him up the hill behind a worn-out horse. The first officer noted that everything was as normal and decided to quit working for the night. He turned off the main road towards the Lookout Point’s restaurant where they served the country’s best meals, cooked by gnomes. A church bell rang in the distance. It was an hour before midnight. Down in the valley glimmered the luminous windows of Sommerfort. His mistress waited for him inside the restaurant. Joseph Wilder smiled to himself.
*
Across the valley, on the northern slope where the sun only shone in the summer, Leon stood and looked out over Sommerfort. Above the houses he saw the twinkling lights of the Dream Park. He was not afraid of any pursuers and knew that they would never bring him back to the bosket alive even if they caught him. The escape to freedom was an adventure he and his brothers had longed for their entire life, yet he felt more discontent than he had in captivity. He took a deep, hissing breath and thought of the evening activities taking place across the valley. The flight was just the beginning. He turned around and disappeared into the dark forest. That was where he belonged.