At the Final Creation, the Wood Elves were among the servants of Anruwan. They came about through the union of a Sun Elf and the Lord of the Forests himself, Dara. The she-elf is held in high regard as a matron saint among the Wood Elves to this day, even though these events took place well before the Crossing.
-Fennorin’s Guide to Elven History, First Ed. UE 2342
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MELLARK
Mell sat before the dirt-traced pentacle, eyes closed, humming the final verse of a chant. The insects hummed and screeched in discord against her, but they could not disturb her focus. She centered her thoughts on the question: “Be it well, Lorthen, to sleep here before we depart?” Opening her eyes, she tossed three small, square rods into the center. She leaned forward. A quick reference to the book at her knee revealed the meanings of the symbols which had landed face-up on the copper sticks. “Peace,” one read. “Hope,” another. “Storm.” Two major positives and a minor negative. Better than she had hoped for.
“The results are ‘Well.’ We should be able to rest up.”
It was as if the whole group let out a collective breath. Mell plucked up her sticks and book and hauled herself off the ground to set up a tent. In their wearied state, the process dragged on. Even when it was done, her business was not finished for the day.
Dusting red dirt off her aching knees, she dropped her hammer by the final tent peg and turned to Gale where she was crouched by the packs returning their rations after dinner.
“Gale, if you could wait a moment before bed, I’m overdue a word with Syrdin.”
Syrdin stopped where zhe had been about to duck into zheir tent. “Now?”
“Yes, now.” Mell gestured into her own tent. “Come on.”
Syrdin sighed but followed. The moment the tent flap swished closed behind them, zhe snapped, “Whatever this is? Make it quick. I’d literally kill to take a nap.”
Mell huffed a half-snort. Her back ached, her feet felt afire, and she was drained of every energy from mental to magical. If she had thought this conversation could wait, it would have. “So would I, but I have to ask. What’s your angle? What are you after?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Syrdin began to pick crusted dirt off zheir glove, leaning heavily on one leg.
“Yes, you do.” Mell crossed her arms. “I mean the Faeworld. Your reason for following us here, for wanting to find the Watcher. What are you after, Syrdin?”
Zhe lowered zheir hand and sniffed. “You worried?”
Worried is an understatement. She had come to trust Syrdin, despite zheir affinity for secrets. She even found the sarcasm endearing. But now Syrdin dodged questions like they were a spray of arrows. When combined with zheir egging on the drakeman and the constant harassment of Galendria, it did not bode well. “Yes, Syrdin. Very worried.”
“I’m touched,” Syrdin put a dramatic hand to zheir heart. “No one has been worried about me in such a long time. Arsdark, I might even cry.”
“Syrdin!” Mell hissed. “You know damn well this is about what you might do. Not of your safety, but of the others.”
Zhe let out an exaggerated gasp. “I’m wounded. Only the Etnfrandians and their pet Captain matter now?”
Manipulative little dastard! I ought to pull off zheir cowl and march zhem outside for Fenn and Gale to see. Mell took a deep, centering breath. Fenn already knew. It would only create more drama for him to handle–which really meant it would be for her to deal with. “Syrdin, the quicker you answer, the sooner we both go to sleep.”
“Fine,” zhe took on more dramatic gestures and a mocking tone, “I’m in search of the Faerie gods to pay homage on behalf of my people and beg the oh-so-nice pantheon to save them from themselves. Do you like that answer?”
Mell gaped, unsure what to say.
“Or,” zhe squared zheir shoulder and took a gruff voice, still quiet so no one outside could overhear, “I’m here to destroy the Etnfrandians and their gods once and for all.’ That one makes sense, yeah? Because I’m a Night Elf?
“Ooh, I could even be here–haha get this,” zhe pretended to push glasses up zheir nose, “to rediscover the history of my people. Wouldn’t that be a great reason to come and die in the Fae? As wise as the ageless mountain or some Etnfrandian crap. Hilarious.”
Mell felt the sting of that one. She could see the anger of a child lashing out behind it. “Why are you pushing me away,” she whispered, “when I could help you?”
Syrdin scoffed. “Please. If I told you the truth, would you even believe me?”
Mell wanted to believe she would. But if she were honest… Would I know the truth when Syrdin spoke it? “I hope so. I’d like to think that I know you.”
Zhe went rigid. “If you are so smart and know me so well, then figure it out. You say you trust me? Then trust that I won’t hurt your little friends and that my plans have nothing to do with their safety. In fact, I might just be doing them a favor.” Zhe turned to go.
“Then I do.” Frowning with frustration, Mell clasped her hands in front of her stomach as she had been trained to do when holding back emotions. “I believe you won’t hurt them.” She had seen zhem fight and kill. She had seen zhem rend the guts from goblins and slit the gullets of bandits. But she had also seen zhem lower zheir dagger when one pleaded for his family. She had seen zhem hold a bag for a mother so she could carry her toddler. She knew that Syrdin could be ruthless. But she had seen that Syrdin had a heart. Whatever reason brought zhem here, it was not a cold, unfeeling reason. “You’d better not make me regret that trust.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Syrdin’s cowl turned from the entrance of the tent toward Mell. Zhe took a sharp intake of breath, but hesitated. “If you ever come to regret it, just know that it won’t be because of me.”
The words chilled the air, and for a moment, Mell expected to see her breath. Syrdin disappeared into the warmth of the sun.
The tent flap had not yet stilled when Galendria pushed through. Ah, I need to talk to her about her heritage. Mell scrutinized her as she prepared for bed. Worry fringed the rapid working of her fingers as she pulled off her boots and weariness weighed her as she settled onto her bedroll, but there was no despair.
Mell sank next to her. “Gale, I reckon we ought to rest now. But when you are ready, you and I need to have a chat about your being a Wood Elf.”
The girl stiffened, her wide, green eyes finding Mell’s. “What do you mean? I’m Etnfrandian. Fenn said it wasn’t likely.”
Mell measured Gale’s reaction and found it wanting. But it’s possible she truly doesn’t know. She pushed away the thought. “Another time, sweetie. But I just don’t see another option.” She started the work of pulling off her clerical robe. She hoped her underclothes would finish drying from pond water. They were starting to chafe.
“Have you said anything to Fenn?”
Mell pulled the robe over her head and turned on the Etnfrandian girl. She was staring a little too hard at Mell. “No. He seems to think you forged your connection another way.”
She nodded. “But you don’t.”
It wasn’t a question. Mell answered her with one. “Your mother doesn’t look like you, does she?”
Galendria shook her head. “She’s paler and has hair colored like the oats at harvest.”
I knew it. I knew it. Mell nodded coolly. “Another time.”
“There’s a good explanation.”
Despite her weariness, Gale’s agitation seemed to drive her to speak the truth now. Mell inwardly groaned against the idea of a long chat. “And if you’d like to share, we can talk later. For now, sleep well knowing that I won’t tell Fenn. But you do need to tell him. If for no other reason than you will throw off his research.”
“But it’s really not that complic–”
“I’m tired, Gale.”
“My mom was barren, and there had been this att–”
“Goodnight.” Mell laid back and turned over, indicating the conversation was over. She made a tired, triumphant fist in front of her. By Lorthen, I knew it! Galendria had always been more than she seemed. She closed her eyes, content to be on her way to unlocking the mysteries of both this place and her companions, even if Syrdin still eluded her.
“Beautiful dreams,” Gale whispered.
Mell was asleep before the rustling of Gale’s blanket had settled.
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SYRDIN
Zhe swept the perimeter with zheir eyes as zhe limped across to zheir tent. Zhe should have been satisfied with the conversation. Mell had committed to trust in zhem without zhem having to reveal any information. Yet something in zhem felt unsettled, pressed from within as though trying to escape.
Their surroundings, at least, were at relative peace. Sure, insects rattled their wings and the yuka-shoth screeched in a petty squabble nearby, but there was no longer an ominous gaze following them. Zhe could sleep to that.
Syrdin ducked into the tent and found Fenn leaning over his notebook scratching short lines. Isn’t he supposed to go on watch? Zhe sighed and lowered zhemself gingerly onto zheir bedroll.
“Is your leg alright?” Fenn’s question took zhem by surprise.
As if he cares. “Doing just lovely. Like flowers in spring or something.” It was a jab at their silly Etnfrandian sayings.
If he understood the joke, he ignored it. “I have some glowmoss if you're interested.” He spoke without looking up. “It’d be a bit old now, maybe twelve years, but I hear it gets more potent with age.”
Glowmoss. It was a species that grew in the Darkcaverns–zheir home. Zhe could not imagine how Fenn had come by some. Is this some kind of test?
The scratch of his graphite stick across the page filled the tent.
“What’s glowmoss?”
The scratching was replaced by thoughtful tapping. “Ah, it has pain-relieving properties and is used as a medicine by the people groups underground. If you burn some, it can knock you right out. Would you like to try it?”
He was correct about its uses, of course. He was more knowledgeable than zhe had originally guessed. Syrdin wanted to ask how it had been preserved; whether it had been dried and sealed, or kept alive with moisture. But to ask would be as good as to admit zheir race. “I’ll be alright. Save it for an emergency.”
“I can do that.” More scribbling.
Syrdin rolled over and tried to ignore the sound. Just as zhe began to nod off, he spoke again.
“You got a better look at the Flotymus, do you think this is a fair representation?” Syrdin heard some rustling as he profferred the book to zhem.
Flotymus? Zhe propped up on an elbow to look, grabbing the edge. It was the pond-scum monster, and an incredible likeness, too. “The jaw is bigger and the legs thicker compared to the body.”
“Really?” he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’ll have to adjust it.” He began to pull the notebook back.
Syrdin snatched it away. “On second thought, it’s perfect.” Zhe snapped the book shut and tucked it under zheir arm. “Now go on watch!”
The lad let out a distressed gasp. Syrdin had turned back over, but zhe could tell by his breathing that he had trouble calming himself, though the rustle of cloth told zhem that he was standing to go. Is he that afraid of me?
He was clearly suspicious of zhem. Or perhaps he was hiding something in that notebook of his. Zhe would have a look in the morning. There was a wealth of information there: everything he and Mell had discovered about the artifacts, their conjectures and theories on this place, and any hints on the locations of the gods. It was information zhe needed to know.
But now, deeper than the throb of zheir ribs, zhe felt the call of sleep. Zhe let it enwrap zhem in that peaceful shroud of nothingness, praying the dreams would not come.