It took another ten minutes of jogging, including a detour to rescue my abandoned backpack before the bellows and roars of frustration from Cedric faded away into the distance. We slowed down to a walk, both breathing heavily.

Apart from the sound of breathing, and the rattle of my pans, we walked in silence. The last, rapidly fading gleams of the sun cast long shadows on the road in front of us as we left the town behind. Geoff cast no shadow although I could hear him walking and humming behind us. He always had hummed when he walked but, in all the time I’d known him, I’d never been able to make out a single tune.

“Where are we going now?” I had been scanning the fields over the top of the drystone walls lining the road but had seen no sign of any group of mythological misfits as we had progressed.

Zinrel headed to a stile breaching the wall, climbed up and pointed toward a group of trees a mile distant from the road. “Our camp is in the copse yonder, in a small clearing hidden from prying eyes, half-elf. You should ready yourself for what you are about to see.”

“Why, what am I going to see?”

“The kings and queens of the Elder races of Dunrealm. A gathering none of us has witnessed in our lifetimes and are unlikely to get the chance to look upon again.” I made a kind of half-laugh, half-snort noise as she jumped over the stile and I climbed up, ready to follow. She was standing in the field, hands on hips, waiting for me. “I’m glad you find such talk amusing.”

“Well. Seriously? Ghouls and Goblins in the secret forest? It’s like something out of a fantasy novel .”

“What is this novel you speak of?”

“It’s like a story but written down so anyone can read it.”

“You mean like the tales I listened to at my father’s knee when I was nothing but a child.”

“Yeah, but written down so everyone gets the same version.”

“Where is the joy in that? The taleteller’s skill lies in moulding the words he speaks to suit the melancholy of his audience but at the same time revealing the true meaning of the tale.”

“Jesus, everyone’s a critic.” Geoff said as he landed next to me.

I tried to ignore him although it did force a smile onto my face.

“But seriously, Zin. All this stuff you are telling me about. Is it real? Or are you just taking me somewhere to commit unspeakable acts of sexual depravity against my weakened body.”

She looked at me for a moment with one eyebrow arched, a look that both made my tingling start again, and scared me half to death. Maybe it was a bit early for the sex talk. I glanced across at Geoff who had one bony hand clapped across his forehead shaking his head. The curls on top bounced around in time.

“Follow me to the trees and you will find out.” She set off across the field at pace, seeming to glide over the rough ground at times, and it took all my strength to try to keep up. Even then she managed to pull away from me. I realised just how tired I was even though that day I had probably only walked a couple of miles to the town and spent another hour running around and walking to the field.

A few weeks ago, I would have walked that distance in under an hour but, truth be told, recently I had been neglecting myself. I hadn’t eaten right, well as right as you can when the fresh food is all spoiled, rotting on the shelves. There was still plenty of other food available, all I needed to do was walk into a house or a shop and take it. I hadn’t though, not from some misguided notion that I shouldn’t but because I think I had started to give up.

Give up faith.

Give up on myself.

When I thought back to how my reflection looked in that shop window, it was shocking and more so because my starvation was entirely self-inflicted.

I slowed down knowing I would never catch Zin. As I watched her skip across the field I realised that I was feeling what I’d seen in her eyes when I first stopped Cedric.

Hope.

“Come on.” Zin flitted away along a path that seemed to run around the grove of trees and I followed behind, although she seemed incredibly nimble along the rutted track. After a while she veered off into the trees, bidding me to follow.

A trodden down path headed in from the track and I hurried to keep up so I didn’t lose her in the gloom of dusk. The canopy of leaves that even now had started to change colour in line with the seasons made the dusk, duskier.

Zin had stopped in front of a large tree trunk. It might have been an oak, it’s not as if I’d know, or much care.

“The clearing is just past this tree. Be careful as we enter the camp, they know who I am but they might think you’re a spy.”

“Why would they think I’m a spy? Who would I be spying for and why?”

“Because they don’t know you and I would imagine they would think you are spying for Malvine.”

“Who’s—?”

"I’ll explain later, come on and step slowly and carefully.”

She stepped around the tree and headed for a gap between two large bushes and disappeared.

I followed quickly not wanting to lose her in the trees now the sun had all but disappeared. I pushed my way through, my backpack and its assorted add-ons catching on the thorns of the bushes. I pulled the pack, swearing, trying to release the grip the bush had gained and when it suddenly came loose it propelled me into the clearing, stumbling forward until I lost my balance and tumbled without any air of style or grace, flat on my face against the grass.

I could hear Zin’s voice.

“Father. Father. Look.”

All hell broke loose.

I felt two people leap onto my back and something cold and sharp touch the back of my neck. Whoever it was, one of them was shouting. “He’s a spy, I’m going to run my sword through his scrawny neck.”

“Is this true, my Zinrel? Is he a spy? Did he capture you, torture you, and force you to lead him to our camp? What did he do to you my sweet daughter?” I worked out, despite the increasing pressure on my neck, Zin’s father had just spoken. He sounded a touch melodramatic for my liking.

With my face pressed hard against the ground I could only mumble. “I’m not a spy.”

A voice, with bad breath, muttered in my ear. “You would deny it wouldn’t you. No spy is going to admit to it, at least without some,” the point of whatever was sticking into the back of my neck was pressed even harder, “persuasion.”

“Well I’m hardly going to say I am a spy when I’m not am I?”

“You are a spy then?”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“What? No, that’s what I’m saying. I am not a spy.”

“You would deny it though. No spy is going to admit it.”

At this point I had an overwhelming sense of deja-vu and I could relate to how a witch on a ducking stool might have felt. I was feeling sick from fear and I was bloody starving too but Mr. Halitosis and his friend had me pinned down.

“Zin,” I tried to look over to where she was standing but all I could see were her boots,” can you tell your father and whoever is on my back, that I am not a spy. Tell them what happened. Please.”

“What happened, Daughter? If this man is not a spy he deserves to be allowed his freedom.”

“He is not a spy, Father.”

The pressure on the back of my neck eased slightly.

“Then what happened, why did you bring this person to our camp?”

“Cedric happened, Father.”

“Cedric? That dirty, stinking troll who threatened to … threatened to …”

“Yes, Father. That Cedric.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Did he …?”

The unspoken question hung in the air for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, until Zin spoke again.

“No, he didn’t. He ripped at my clothes but The Wanderer stopped him and helped me escape.”

“Where is this man, The Wanderer?”

“That would be me,” I mumbled through the grass.

“You?” Zin’s father’s boots turned to face me.

“Yes, me. Look, is there any chance you could call off the hounds, please. I can stand then and we can talk man to man, well half-elf to elf at least.”

There must have been a signal of some sort because suddenly the weight of two people was lifted and I found myself being hoist to my feet by my rucksack. When my head stopped spinning I could see Zin heading toward me, dimples, flashing smile, great rack, and all. She held out her hand, which I obligingly took, and she tugged at me to follow her, which, given the events so far, was about the only thing I felt safe doing.

A man was standing, watching us as we approached. He was about as far removed from my mental image of what an elf would look like as it was possible to be. He was a bit taller than me, I had to look up to him, he was bald with salt and pepper hair around the sides and back of his head, and he was . . . how best to describe it … chunky.

He looked a lot like an English teacher, careworn, but he didn’t wear a jacket with mock leather elbow patches. He did have a top of the range, bright red, Berghaus waterproof jacket on, walking trousers and the hiking boots I’d seen earlier. If the Rambler’s Association needed a stereotypical rambler for an advert they should have called him.

“The Wanderer.” He inclined his head in my direction and fjust to be polite, I found myself doing the same in return. “I, Zinfell, King of the Elves, am indebted to you for the virtue of my daughter, for defeating the scourge that is Cedric and returning my sweet Zinrel back into the bosom of her family.”

I looked to my right to see Zin trying to stifle a knowing giggle when her father said ‘bosom’. At the same time, I heard Geoff over my left shoulder sniggering at the same word. He always did have a childlike sense of humour.

“You’re welcome.” I said. I couldn’t, for a moment, think of anything else to say, transfixed as I was by his mundane appearance. “You’re the King of the Elves?” I eventually managed.

“Indeed I am.” He bowed again, stiff, and formal.

“But I thought Elves were all tall and ethereal, you know, pointy ears and all that.”

“Some indeed are but you are seeing me and no doubt all of my fellow travellers in our human forms.”

I risked a quick glance around the clearing and saw nobody that didn’t look like a person. I nodded as I turned back to face the boss man. “When you say your human form …” I couldn’t at that moment think of the right way to phrase the question so my words faded away.

“We all have human forms to enable us to live among humans.”

“Why? I mean I thought all of the stories had you living in massive mansions out in the wilds somewhere.”

“Many years ago we did but once humans became so populous, that became impossible. I blame Tolkien for forcing our hands with having to look and act like humans to fit in though.” A murmur of agreement, not entirely friendly, arose from the assembled group at the mention of the name.

“Why, what did Tolkien do? He just published a few stories, didn’t he?” The murmur rose again and I distinctly heard several expletives at something louder than a mutter.

“He blew the whole thing wide open and worse still, he popularised the races of Dunrealm so much that we could no longer live in peace. Every time we were spotted or a human stumbled upon us it was just one question after another and always a stupid impression of Gollum to go with it. For the last seventy-five years, all the races of Dunrealm have abided by a decree issued by the Council,” he swept his arms around the gathering, “to only use our human forms in human company. Since then those damn books and lately technology has meant that it has been increasingly difficult for us to be who we truly are. Everybody has a camera, Google means there is nowhere hidden any more. It’s a living bloody nightmare to be truthful.” I noticed him slipping into less eloquent, more earthy speech. “And all because of one man. Tolkien.” The murmur was loud and prolonged this time. There were threats of all kinds made against his name. I’m sure someone called him a wanker.

“Hang on a minute. Are you saying that everything in his stories is true? Elves, Dwarves, Ents, all that Tom Bombadil stuff?”

“Not entirely. Some of the stories were based on truth but most of the races he mentioned were real. A lot of the stuff he wrote was his own imaginings but he wrote the races almost off pat. I know Tom and he was pissed off at being portrayed as a prancing idiot and his wife? Suffice to say she is no Goldberry.” I heard a couple of sniggers from around the camp.

“How did he know about them though. I thought he made it all up to entertain his son.”

Zinfell’s face broke into a smile. “You believed that load of old rubbish? Propaganda is all that was. Spin, as they call it now, or called it. How do you think he knew?”

I stood looking at him, mouth open, I may even have dribbled slightly but that just added to my generally pungent facial hair. My brain wasn’t working at its quickest and it wasn’t helped by Geoff making the noise of a ticking clock and humming the theme music to Countdown over my shoulder.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not at my best right now. How did he know?”

“Because he was one of us.”

“Tolkien? An Elf? Are you being serious?”

“Not an Elf but he was of a Dunrealm race. How else would he know all that stuff?”

“He invented it, didn’t he?”

“You think? All that history, all those songs, how many different languages? No man could have done that. Anyway, he wasn’t an Elf.”

“Dwarf?”

“God, no.”

“Hobbit?”

“No, they were completely made up.”

“No hobbits? I thought you said all the races were real.”

“All except the hobbits.” He looked at me suspiciously for a moment. “I mean come on. Hobbits? How could you even think they could be real? A long-lived half-size human with hairy feet that lives in a hole in the ground. Really? How likely is that?” Hoots of derision and laughter arose around the clearing. “I can’t believe you thought they were real.” Zinfell was laughing too now and the sound of Geoff howling with laughter behind me didn’t help. I felt the colour start to rise in my cheeks, embarrassment at my mistake but then hobbits had always been my favourites. I said so out loud and, as though it had been cut off by a guillotine, the laughter stopped dead. All apart from one voice behind me that kept laughing until a stern look from Zinfell shut him up. Even Zinrel’s grin had disappeared to be replaced by something that looked a lot like disappointment. Seeing her face like that made my insides lurch.

Zinfell looked at me hard, taking one step toward me, pointing a finger into my face.

“Those little bastards…”

“Father, try to stay calm, think about your blood pressure.” Zinrel said, stepping over and putting a hand against his chest. “Breathe. Be calm.”

Zinfell looked at his daughter with fury in his eyes, fists clenching and unclenching until finally he let out a sigh and relaxed.

“Those . . . creatures ruined our lives, even though they weren’t real. That wily old fox Tolkien knew what he was doing. He might as well have had cute little puppies as the heroes. They were the reason the books became so popular, why we had to drop out of sight. Bastards.” The sentiment was echoed several times by others around the fire.

Zinfell took a couple of deep breaths with his eyes focused on the ground, then he seemed to calm before lifting his head again and looking at me. His eyes were violet just like Zinrel’s but those eyes were lined by wisdom and the pain of a lifetime of having to pretend you are one thing when you are another.

“I see from my friend over there that dinner is ready. The Wanderer, would you join us so we may talk further. It will give me a chance to introduce the others and to find out a little about you and your half-elf history. It is the least I can offer for the way you helped Zinrel today.”

I looked around me at the rest of the group and to be fair, there was not one single friendly face until I got back to Zinrel. She was nodding, her eyes wide with excitement. My insides lurched again, this time I was sure it was because I was famished. Although . . .

“I would be honoured to join you, Zinfell.” I said, giving him my sincerest smile. Thoughts of Elvish delicacies I’d read about flashed through my mind. “What do we have to eat?”

Zinfell looked over my shoulder and lifted his chin.

“Spaghetti Bolognese,” a voice said from behind me.

“Mmmm. My favourite,” I said.

Just another of life’s little disappointments.