An elf lady stood in front of Liv when she opened her eyes. A dazzling silver light surrounded her and she wore a thin dress as white as the first snow of winter. It was difficult to make out her face or determine the color of her hair, yet Liv could tell that she was beautiful beyond belief. Her intuition told her that the lady was not asleep somewhere else, nor was it an illusion or part of her imagination. The lady’s presence was something she had never experienced before.
“Who are you?” she asked in a hushed voice.
A young deciduous forest surrounded them. The air was fresh, and the sun reached the moss-covered ground beneath her feet, despite that the dense trees concealed the sky. The lady walked a few steps to the side and stroked her thin fingers up and down the trunk of a birch.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Her voice was round, as if coming from inside Liv’s mind.
“Who are you?”
She looked sad and shook her head.
“Ask me anything, except for that. I can give you other answers. Answers no one else can provide.”
“What are you doing here? “
“I wanted to see you, and I worry for you.”
“Then help me. In my dreams I’m never safe and when I wake up I’ll be in grave danger.”
The lady stepped closer and studied Liv. Her brown eyes were so deep that they could absorb a universe.
“You are not a girl who asks for help,” she said. Liv stared at the ground, ashamed. Something burst inside her and when she looked up at the lady again, a tear left her eye.
“Now I do.”
“On the other side of the mountain lies a village where the natives of Anland once lived, before the settlers stepped ashore in Southport and changed everything. Go to this village. Saint Rafael is its name.”
“I’ve heard of the place,” said Liv. “The most religious boys from the boarding school traveled there on a pilgrimage.”
“Yes, pilgrims kneel in front of the altar in Saint Rafael’s heavenly chapel to show their respect to the divine,” said the lady. “They come into contact with something they cannot describe, a thing older and purer than themselves, but it is not their God they sense. There are forces in that place, forces that will make you stronger and awaken the elven blood within you. It will help you understand your dreams.”
“What do you mean?”
“Watch the mountains and the valley. Acknowledge what you see and you will understand.”
Something moved in the flourishing forest behind them, and a dull humming vibrated through the air. Liv glanced over her shoulder and when she turned back around the lady had disappeared. The sound of rustling footsteps approached her. She pressed her back against the trunk of a maple and leaned forward to peek. A tall elf with wide shoulders appeared amongst the trees. He wore a black robe and sang, or rather spoke in tones, the same unfamiliar words, over and over again. It was appealing and eerie, like a church choir on a gallows hill. The elf seemed submerged in thoughts, almost in a trance, and did not see Liv as he passed a few strides away.
He stopped, fell silent and sniffed the air. Liv’s heart beat fast as she tried to decide whether to run away and show herself to the elf or just stay hidden. She told herself that she had nothing to fear from him. Maybe he could even help her get to the mountains faster, though she sensed that he was not of the helpful kind. Roads did not exist in her dreams, nor rails or draisines. For several days she had fought her way across rugged terrain, through forests so dense that it was impossible to walk straight for more than a few steps. The coast was now far behind her, yet the mountains were not coming any nearer. She had hiked up freezing rapids and climbed slippery cliffs, but every time she reached a lookout she was disappointed to find out she had lost her bearing. They called for her, those infinite mountains on the horizon. Was there a safer world of dreams waiting behind them? Or did the peaks just appear so impossible to climb she had to try? It mattered not, she would not waste effort pondering over old decisions. She let her instincts guide her instead.
The elf soon started singing again, this time with a louder and brighter voice, and disappeared with long strides amongst the trees. Liv sneaked after him, as silent as a stalking shadow. They moved down the side of a deep valley, through a choppy and dark forest where the trees grew thick and were high as church spires. No light penetrated their crowns. Thick roots and moist soil that loosened under her feet covered the ground. She stayed out of sight, but she could hear his song loud and clear. The elf kept a high pace. She lost her footing several times, but after a short while she always closed in on him, as if he was waiting for her to follow.
Sticky sweat drenched her body, and scratches covered her legs when they reached the bottom of the valley. A river ran there, its water clearer than a winter morning’s frosty air. Downstream it culminated in a wide reflecting lake. It was like standing in front of an inverted sky. Across the lake the surface disappeared midair. Liv strained her gaze and could see further. Small sparkling fish jumped up a waterfall and dove into the lake. Chalk-white birds circulated above them, searching for prey.
She heard a splash, and saw that the elf had stopped at the estuary. He bent down and touched the surface, cupped his hand and gulped the water voraciously. The Being looked calm but troubled. He lifted a stone from the river’s edge and threw it far out into the lake with a furious roar. Then he turned around and pointed his arm straight at Liv. A breath of hot air hit her and carried with it a smell of soot and sulfur.
“Why are you following me, human?” He sounded close-bitten and threatening in a way that only angry men speak.
Liv stared at him in amazement. Now that she could see his face up close, she realized how much he resembled Kaan. He was an older and brutal version of her road companion.
“You are Leon,” she said. The big elf answered nothing. “I know your brother, I helped him escape from the Dream Park.”
“Be gone, human.” He started walking towards her.
“I’m a half-blood. My mother lived in the park too.”
She wondered if he might be a monster that had assumed the shape of Kaan’s brother to lure her close. A strange noise interrupted her thoughts. The sound of creaking metal came creeping from the back of her head.
“I said human, be gone,” echoed Leon’s voice. “Run away if you care for your life. I won’t share my dreams with you.”
He bent over to lift another stone from the ground, but when he looked up, Liv had vanished.
*
She awoke by Kaan shaking her until she almost fell off the draisine. They were rushing down a mountain slope toward a dark tunnel. The elf got up and tugged the squeaking brake with all his strength. At best they stopped accelerating. A train stormed out the tunnel with smoke spraying from its locomotive. They could not see the man inside the murky driver’s cabin, but he must have seen them. The train’s horn screamed as he pulled the brakes, sparks shooting from the rails.
“We have to jump!” yelled Kaan and dragged Liv to her feet. A collision was now inevitable. Unable to let go of the locomotive with her eyes, she put one foot against the edge of the draisine and hurled herself into the air.
They rolled down a precipitous moraine hill. Small and sharp stones tore Liv’s clothes and scrubbed her knees bloody. She had no control of her movements and felt like a snowball starting an avalanche. Her mouth and ears filled with soil. The earth disappeared beneath her, and she crashed into the ground. She lay twisting in pain a long time before she crawled to her knees. Though it was not a pleasant start to the day, she admitted to herself that it could have been worse. Every part of her body ached, but her bones were unbroken.
Small trenches had formed in the moraine where they rolled down the slope, two thin scars on the huge mountain side. Kaan lay flat on his stomach further up the hill, coughing up blood. She staggered to her feet and limped over to him.
“Anything broken?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said, smiling. Blood poured from his nose and his lip had a crack in it, but he could move without difficulties. To Liv’s satisfaction, he looked more like a tramp than before. Dust covered his clothes, but his coat and pants were intact. Not even his cap had fallen off him. She tore off a strip of her half-shredded blouse, folded it and told him to press it against his nose to stop the bleeding.
Satisfied that she had taken care of him, she climbed up the slope back to the railway. The train was gone, but a pile of packing boxes had rolled off its wagons as it wrecked the draisine. Liv assumed that the driver was too scared of bandits to stop the train. She went over to the pale fir tree boxes and examined them. The letters SRM were printed in a large font on the lids. One box lay in rubble beside the metallic wreck that had once been their draisine. She found their bags undamaged, but her lute had turned into a jumble of snapped strings and splinters.
Kaan came climbing up the hill. He beamed with joy and hummed a cheerful melody, as if they had experienced a perfect start of the day.
“Over here,” she called to him. “And shut up”, she added, annoyed by his good spirits.
On top of a bed of glass beads lay toys in quantities: tin soldiers, dolls, crushed porcelain figurines and wooden carvings. As she inspected the contents of the boxes, the elf rested on the ground beside her and watched the sky.
“Where do we go now?” he asked.
“Away,” she replied. “People will hunt us. We won’t be safe near the coast. If we walk around the mountain, we’ll come to a village called Saint Rafael.”
“Did you say Saint Rafael?”
“Yes, that’s the village’s name.”
Kaan rolled over and looked at her.
“Leon said we’d go there after we escaped. The elves in the Dream Park come from Saint Rafael. There might still be wild ones there.”
Though she was not sure they should believe everything Leon had told his brother to be true, it was a decent place to hide. If they were careful and had luck on their side, they might convince some Believers to help them. Many religious groups opposed the way people treated Beings in Anland. After a few weeks, they would try to sneak aboard another ship in Southport or Eastport. Or even better, they could spend the rest of her money for a swift ride onboard a freight balloon. Even though the man in the turban had suffered a harsh death, she still dreamed of flying across the sea one day, without wings or sails, quicker than the fastest pirates.
“What does it mean to be religious?” Kaan’s voice pulled her back from her thoughts.
“They say angels, gods and goddesses look down on us from far above the clouds. We show them reverence and live our lives according to their rules,” she answered while she continued digging through the boxes for items of value. “The priests promise the rule-abiding Believers that they’ll feel good when they die, if not before that. Sinners will suffer in the afterlife.”
“I’m glad I’m not human,” said Kaan.
“No one has seen any trace of the divine for hundreds of years and many believe that it’s just folklore and superstition. My father says that religion served a purpose once, but the wisdom has long been lost and that the rules don’t make us better people anymore. He says we only remember the things we mustn’t do. You know, my father doesn’t approve of the rules of religion, they’re too vague for him. He worships the law instead, but that’s just as bad. I won’t live by any rules, whether they make me a better human or not. I’m not a human to begin with.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Liv gasped for air as she finished talking. Thinking of the law and the rules of men had triggered her temper and unlatched her tongue.
“In the Dream Park, Professor Mendel forbade us to talk about the supernatural,’’ said Kaan, “but that some kind of Beings live above the clouds doesn’t sound strange to me. Too bad you never saw them.”
“Do the elves believe in gods?”
“No, we have no gods, but we have an afterlife. Before we leave this world, we dream our last dream, and in it we reach the Fields. When we cross them, we enter the realm of death and the dead come to greet us. For the first time you are not alone in your dreams and no longer need your friends in this wretched waking world. Many elves in the Dream Park search for the Fields every night without ever finding them.”
“You long to die,” muttered Liv. “Not to live.”
“I too was seeking for the Fields, and the search gave me hope. Until I met you.”
He handed her a porcelain sculpture depicting a stalk with a rosebud and prickly thorns on it. As she twisted the stalk, it grew longer, and the bud unfurled into a dark-red flower.
*
Paul stood with clay up to his boots’ edge, urging his tired old ox to move.
“Don’t just stand there. I won’t let you rest until we’ve plowed this field, so you might as well do it right away. Please,” he begged. The animal annoyed and disappointed him, but not enough so to make him angry. After all, it was his best friend. He grabbed it by the horns and pulled until his arms ached. The ox was weak and clumsy, and Paul was strong for his size. The animal gave in and took a reluctant step forward, then another. Behind it, the plowing machine’s cog wheels screeched and began rotating.
“The worst ox for the finest plow. Still, I love you more than any machine,” he muttered and patted the ox on the cheek. There was nothing in his life that other people envied, except for the machines he built to harvest his small field. Had he been another man, one that was able to approach strangers without scaring them off, he would have made a fortune by selling plows and threshing machines. But it was too late to change his path now, too late to become someone he was not. His isolated life served him well, yet he wished the world had more to offer.
He lived in a strange little timber house built into the earth. After plowing the field, Paul led his dear animal into the vestibule, watered it and patted it on the head in praise of the day’s work. Then he poured the mud out of his boots and headed over to the pond.
There he stepped so far into the water that he drenched his already wet boots. He grabbed a branch that rippled on the surface and rolled up a rope attached to it. A net filled with rattling fish appeared. He dragged it with him to the muddy shore and began taking care of his daily catch. It was his landowner’s pond, and he was only permitted to keep the small fish that were full of bones. He sat on the grass and broke the fishes’ necks, one by one. Their teeth were sharp and their fins spiky, yet he did not hurt his fingers, nor did he tear a single mesh in the entangled nets.
“You there!” A broad-shouldered man walked down the path with long and easy strides. His feet were bare, and he wore ragged clothes, but did not look as a villain or a layabout. He was clean and handsome, straight-backed and carried the authority of a military general. Paul stepped closer to the water and fumbled for the knife he used to have on his belt, only to find he was not wearing it.
“I don’t mean you any harm.” His manner of speaking showed that it would be a terrible idea for Paul to run.
The man held out his hand. He had long sinewy fingers and his palm was as smooth and blank as an unwritten sheet of paper.
“My name is Leon and I’m an elf. I have escaped from captivity to take this land back to its true owners.”
“I want nothing to do with that,” said Paul. “Leave me alone.” It was not the first time he said so to a stranger. People who walked the twisting path to his farm always arrived with bad intentions.
Leon grabbed his hand and held it tight. “I thought you would at least introduce yourself. You are Paul and you are the son of a lord. You are taller than I expected. Tell me, is that your house? ”
Paul tried to pull back his hand, but the elf did not let go of his grip. He scented trouble and considered calling for help, but gave up on the idea. No one would come to his aid.
“Yes, I’ve lived here for ten years.”
“Built it yourself?” Paul nodded. “How old are you?”
“I just turned twenty if I’m not mistaken.”
“Interesting,” said Leon and reached out his left hand to touch his head, but he dodged the elf’s fingers. His hair used to be coppery red, but was now as gray as foul weather, and he was not particularly proud of it. “You look old enough to have grandchildren. Does a half-gnome, half-human not inherit the long lifetime of men?”
The question stung like a snake bite. It paralyzed him and rendered him defenseless.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said and shrugged.
“Liar!” snapped Leon and Paul staggered backwards as the elf released the grip of his hand. “You may fool the humans around here, but I sensed your presence from afar. Who was a gnome, your father or your mother? ”
The little man felt a jolt of terror as the elf drilled his gaze into him, straight through his soul. Paul dared not lie.
“My mother,” he muttered. “She worked in the kitchen at my father’s estate.”
Leon scowled. “The lust in human males is destructive. Their females are less weak and don’t breed with other Beings. Where are your parents?”
“My mother died after I was born so I grew up working in my father’s stables. After the plague killed him, his widow forced me to leave. No family member nor the other gnome servants stood up for me.” His eyes watered as he allowed himself to think of the past, of all the hatred and violence, of the cruel jealousy and the cold expulsion.
“If I were you, I would keep none of this secret. I would be proud of what your mother was: a gnome, creative and dexterous like no other. I’d renounce the heritage of your father, a human — a meaningless oppressor, a parasite that drives the magic out of this world.”
Leon kneeled, bringing his head level with the half-gnome.
“Join me,” he said. “To me you would be irreplaceable. When I move amongst people, I risk being put in chains and executed, but do not. This is your opportunity to make a change.”
“No thanks, I need to stay here,” said Paul. “If you want to, I can help you lease a small field for yourself to harvest. It’s a simple life, but a decent one, you’ll see.”
The elf rose and stared at him with black eyes. “I won’t submit to anyone.”
“They’ll catch you and hurt you. Hide here instead. It’s better than being on the run.”
Leon grinned and let out a bitter laugh as joyous as the memory of pain.
“They already have, yet here I am. Don’t misunderstand me, I have no intention to escape the rule of humans, I challenge it. Our kinsmen are prisoners, and they need our help. There are more like you, forgotten outcasts living in the dirt and shadows. When the revolution comes, I will count on them, just as I’m counting on you now.”
The sound of hoofs approached from beyond the house, and Paul suddenly remembered.
“The landowner is here to collect his share of the harvest.”
A bushy man on a dark horse appeared behind Leon. The half-gnome bowed without hesitation.
“Who is there? Say your name and state your business,” commanded the rider and stopped at a stone throw distance.
The elf gave no reply and did not turn to face him.
“Answer me,” demanded the landowner. “Who are you?”
The horse reared and threw the rider to the ground. It stomped on the man several times before scampering off, leaving the beaten body behind it in the mud.
“The landowner will bother you no more. I know you won’t mourn him.” Leon spoke as if nothing noteworthy had happened. “Don’t you want to give your mother justice? Join me and I’ll help you.”
Paul remained quiet. He looked at the lifeless corpse with his eyes wide open, then he shook his head in bewilderment. “He was my brother.”
Leon glanced at the body and shrugged.
“You disappoint me,” he hissed. “There are two sides in the upcoming revolution and if you don’t follow me you choose the side of the oppressors.”
The elf walked away along the edge of the pond and disappeared into the woods across the water. Paul remained standing on the beach, sobbing for himself. The landlord’s death did not sadden him. Knowing that he could never again exploit him for money came as a relief. Making people angry and disappointed nauseated the little man, yet it was a familiar feeling he had experienced every day of his upbringing.
“He’s dead. He is dead!” he screamed, but could still not believe it. “I should have known better. He should have known better.”
“Wait,” he shouted and ran after Leon.
Paul was human by half, and lonely men do anything to feel part of a community. Thus the first recruit joined Leon’s rebels and the elven uprising began.
*
They had spread out their jackets on the ground and lay on top of them. There was a large opening in the tree crowns above their heads, revealing an immense black sky. Kaan was no good at numbers and had long since lost track of how many shooting stars he had seen. Liv was better at counting, but her human eyes could only see a fraction of the white twinkling dots.
Another day had passed since they threw themselves off the draisine. They had hiked for hours on a green moss mat through a dark and quiet forest. The hilly terrain was challenging. One moment they descended rocky slopes and the next they wrestled their way through dense spruce trees or waded across wet swamps. Kaan took off his shoes and sighed with relief as he walked barefoot again. Around noon he started singing. She soon realized that the singing was a distraction that made him walk slower, and she found it annoying beyond measure. Though the song was beautiful, she shouted at him to be quiet and move faster. The elf fell silent and took a few deep breaths, then started singing once again, this time even more beautiful.
Liv was well on her way to slap him when something rushed towards her from behind. She threw herself to the ground and felt a sharp claw scratch her cheek. The figure of a mighty black bear, taller than a horse and heavier than an ox, flew past her and stormed toward Kaan. Saliva dripped from the bear’s drooling jaw and the ground shook underneath its paws. A warm and comforting rage and a lust to fight rushed through her. The bear slowed in front of the elf and rose to its hind legs. It lifted its enormous paw and stretched out its razor-sharp claws. It was just going to attack when the elf raised his hand. He started singing again, louder and with more determination than before, drowning the roar of the bear. The beast went down on all fours and sniffed his face. He tickled the bear behind its ear and it licked his chin in return.
Liv took the gun out of her bag and sneaked up on them. She pulled the hammer back and took aim. Kaan saw what she was doing and fell silent. The bear trudged back the same path it had arrived by and disappeared through the trees.
The elf explained that the bear was the king of the forest and the last of its kind in these mountains. He had sensed its presence and called for it with his song. His favorite elven legend told how one of their ancient ancestors tamed the first king of the forest with his bare hands. Ever since, elves and forest animals were connected, just like the naiads became the guardians of all water life after their ancestors tamed the ruler of the sea.
“The king will stop any pursuers who come this way,” he added as he noticed Liv’s skepticism.
They continued in silence for the rest of the day. Liv felt uneasy after their encounter with the bear, while Kaan had never been more at ease. Long after the sun descended in the west and the first stars were lit, they stopped in the glade to eat the last of their food. Kaan cleaned the wound on her cheek and muttered strange phrases in a language none of them understood.
“I think that’s enough stargazing for tonight,” she said.
“Yes, it’s been a long day and now we should sleep,” said Kaan, yawning.
“We took many breaks today for you to take a nap. Consider how tired I am, I can’t fall asleep during the day.”
“Elves need to sleep often,” he said and pulled his jacket over him. “Safe dreams, Liv. I hope we see each other tonight.”
The elf lay on his side facing away from her. She grabbed hold of his collar and rolled over on top of him, pushing him to the ground. Their faces were so close to each other that what happened next was inevitable, their lips so near that they shared the air they breathed.
“I decide when you get to sleep,” she whispered.
*
Farman opened his eyes. It was pitch dark in the room except for a thin streak of moonlight, which made its way through a gap in the curtains and struck his blanket. On his chest stood a troll figurine. It rotated on a small pedestal and moved its mechanical arm to scratch its butt. Behind the troll, a golden pocket watch oscillated back and forth. The hour hand showed they were deep into the night. Tick-tack, click, sounded the clock and the figurine. On the backside of the watch were two lines of curly engravings. He distinguished the letters SRM above a smaller text. Farman recognized the item. A nervous little fellow had bought one from him the previous day. The troll stumbled and let out a metallic sound as the wind-up feather inside the toy lost its tension. A man materialized beyond the foot of the bed.
“Make a noise and I kill you.”
From what Farman could discern in the dark, the man’s ears were pointy and his forehead had a peculiar shape. At once, he understood what kind of visitor had sneaked into his bedroom.
“Tell me about the items you sell,” commanded the elf. “Where do they come from? Tell a lie and you lose your mind.”
Farman was a man who never struck a deal which could cost him money. He avoided risks when possible, and he believed that the stranger in the dark was not just pretending to be tough, he was dangerous for real. Without hesitation, he told him everything he knew about the factory up in the mountains, even though he had promised never to utter a word about it to anyone.
When he finished, the elf walked up to the side of the bed and pulled out a knife from his belt. He bent forward, his silhouette shadowing the moonlight. Farman trembled and bit his lips. He could not help himself as he drooled and cried with fear.
“Please,” he whispered.
A short figure with the battered hands of a farmer or a craftsman stepped out from the shadows. Farman recognized him as the buyer of the watch. The little man pulled the elf away from the bed.
“No blood,” he said.
The looming elf pointed the knife at his short companion and gestured with it in front of his eyes.
“It always ends with blood,” he hissed.
Before the sun rose, Leon and Paul hiked up a muddy country road, Mount Domedus towering in the distance. Farman dared not leave his house until it was dark outside. He did not intend to contact the police. Even if they believed him, he did not want them to know what questions the elf had asked him. Instead, he took a coach to the post office and sent a letter to his old friend Arthur Greene. He urged the director to be on his guard and told him he had come across the escaped elf.