Night had fallen.

Lysander lay in a bush not far from the entrance to the salamanders’ cave, just down a small slope and right next to one of the wooden shacks they stored firewood in. Two torches blazed on either side of the cave’s mouth, shadows dancing upon the rocky cliffside, and further in he could see the light of even more torches illuminating the cave walls. Two salamanders lay curled up at the edge of the firelight, a yellow and an orange one, sleeping away without a care in the world. A shadow darted across the cave wall and he craned his neck, searching for Alaric, but was disappointed to see nothing.

He had snuck into the cave for what he called a “quick peek.” That had been some hours ago, and now Lysander was getting uncomfortable. His hiding spot was good – the bush was dense but not overly so; just enough to obscure his prone form, but not so that the branches were constantly poking and prodding him. He hadn’t, however, realized that this spot was near where the salamanders split firewood, and now had a dozen splinters sticking into his stomach and arms. Not to mention holding the same position for hours on end was making him sore.

A spider crawled across the back of his hand and Lysander hastily swiped it off, shuddering.

“Ok, that’s enough, time to move,” he muttered, slowly starting to crawl back down the hill – only to freeze in place as movement drew his eye. He held his breath for a brief moment, eyes scanning the cliffs and ground in front of him. Where was – there he was. Alaric crawled across the ground on his belly away from the cave, sliding across the ground like a snake. Lysander moved to follow, Alaric only looking his way once to make sure he was.

Neither spoke until they had climbed back up the cliffs to look down on the cave entrance, the torches still burning away merrily. Lysander kicked his feet over the edge, lying on his back to look up at the starry sky, a singular cloud drifting across the crescent moon. Alaric sat next to him, a pensive look on the man’s face that had Lysander burning with questions.

“So, what did you see?” he asked, unable to bear his curiosity.

“Not much. I got stuck in a corner while a patrol wandered by, that’s why it took me so long. Turned back as soon as I could – from what I can tell, a lot of those salamanders sleep in the tight tunnels. They clearly have some sort of language though, and it looks like maybe a writing system based on what I’d seen carved into the walls. Maybe Fyra had better luck than me with that secret entrance or yours.” Alaric explained, talking about the little hole-in-the-cliff that Lysander had first tracked the salamanders to. That his mother had decided to go crawling in there was…well. If he was honest, he expected no less from her. “I’ll go into more detail when she gets back; no point in explaining it all twice.”

With a nod of acceptance he closed his eyes to wait, drifting into a light slumber. It wasn’t until he felt the sun on his skin that Alaric kicked him awake, a thrill of panic shooting through him that had him bolting upright, glancing once at Alaric then again at the surrounding trees – the pines in the early morning light standing tall and dark. Where was his mother? He hadn’t meant to sleep that long…

His worries were almost immediately put to rest, however, as said woman came wandering out of the trees, a small smile on her face as she toyed with a strand of her black hair. She looked none the worse for wear.

Actually…she might look even older now. He realized, forcing himself to relax. There were a few lines on her face that hadn’t been there before, and even more grey had cropped up in her hair. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He watched her as she approached, seeming to sway slightly as she sat down right in front of him, sucking in a deep breath through his nose.

“Anything new?” Alaric asked, sitting down beside her. Lysander hesitated for a brief moment, then followed suit.

“I learned quite a bit, actually. The shortcut opens up into an enormous cavern, stretching far, far below. They’ve built a proper little village down there, carving holes into the walls and building small wooden huts. It was…oddly beautiful. Little blue rocks everywhere that glowed like stars in the night when the fires were put out.” She said lifting her gaze toward the horizon. Dark storm clouds brewed over the far mountains, promising heavy rain.

“How many were there?” Alaric asked.

“Over two hundred. Oddly enough, only a few of them seemed to actively talk to spirits – the others treated these ones with reverence. I tried not to stay down there too long, though; I was agitating the spirits and being underground was…stifling.” She said. “What did you find out?”

“Nothing like you. The front entrance had too many in the tunnels, I couldn’t slip by undetected. The biggest question I need answered is how new everything seems. It could be a result of shoddy workmanship, but nothing seems like it’d been in place for longer than a few years…I’m not sure what to make of it.” Alaric admitted. “If nothing else, this just confirms that what Lysander said is true. These salamanders are intelligent creatures.”

“Like the traps, tools, and a week of observing them act like actual people didn’t prove that point besides.” Lysander scoffed.

“Now comes the real question. Do we try and talk to them?” Alaric asked, ignoring him, and Lysander furrowed his brows. What kind of a question was that? Of course they were going to talk to them. But Alaric wasn’t looking at him, his gaze locked onto Fyra as she fiddled with a pebble she picked up from the rocky clifftop.

“Don’t look at me. This is a problem for the younger generations.” She said. Lysander’s heart skipped a beat and he sat up straighter, resisting the urge to demand further explanation. She shot him a sad, tired smile, and continued. “I will offer advice if it is asked for, but no elf can tell another what to do. I learned long ago to be careful in what I say. My words have too much weight to them.”

“Then we should return and talk with the other elders. This cannot be a decision for us to make alone,” Alaric decided firmly, standing up.

“Hold on,” Lysander said, rolling over and pulling himself up into a squat away from the cliff edge, so he was facing both his mother and Alaric. “You know how long that’s going to take. It could be twenty turnings of the seasons before a decision is even close to being made, and I’m not the only elf that likes to wander, especially this close to home. A lot of people were vocal about wanting to build a village in the twin lakes area; it’s a beautiful spot, and I can name at least three elves off the top of my head that like coming over here. Your cousin Geovrick among them.” He reasoned, gesturing vaguely where the twin lakes should be, in a northwesterly direction.

“That is true,” his mother mused, nodding.

“I’ll forbid travel over here.” Alaric said firmly. “My word does carry weight, especially amongst those who like to traverse the mountains. They’ll listen to me.”

“Didn’t you just here what my mom said? You can’t tell anyone what to do – and that wasn’t because no one will listen. They will. But do you really think Sybella, Geovrick, or a dozen other elves won’t be curious as to why you’ve put this mountain off-limits and coming looking? The moment you try to tell an elf what not to do, they’re going to want to do it, I promise. We need to contact the salamanders sooner than later, before they’re stumbled upon by someone else. Someone who’s not me, with the sense and caution to stay hidden. Someone who might, oh, I don’t know, try to hunt the giant brightly colored lizards that can shoot flames before knowing what they really are.”

Alaric stared into Lysanders eyes, crossing his arms. His eyebrows knit together, the stern-looking man clearly weighing what Lysander had to say.

“We don’t know enough,” Alaric said slowly, deliberately. “Something about this is putting me on edge, boy. You’re right, this mountain is close to home. Too close. Do you know how often I’ve hunted this river? These mountains? My first mountain lion was next to that lake down there, I killed it with little more than a flint knife. So why haven’t we seen these beings before? And to top it off, I’ve heard rumors of strange things further north, toward the plains. Rumors that hint there might be more beings like these…salamanders, popping up everywhere.”

This time it was Lysander’s turn to pause, weighing Alaric’s words. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, that question had been bugging him too – why hadn’t he noticed the salamanders before? Why hadn’t anyone? That they lived underground could only be an excuse for so long. With how long elves lived he wouldn’t be surprised if someone hadn’t tried to explore the mountain caverns. And now he was being told there might be more intelligent beings? He rocked back on his heels, chewing his lip and looking at his mother for any guidance she might have to give.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

She was silent, listening to them talk with a suspiciously blank expression.

“You do raise a good point, though. We can’t have anyone wandering over here and doing something stupid. Which is why you will stay here until the time comes and we are ready to decide what to do.” Alaric said with a sharp nod. Lysander cocked his head to the side, not sure he understood him at first. His brows furrowed. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, then indignation rose up in his chest and he nearly shot to his feet.

“Calm, Lysander,” his mother said. “Listen to what he has to say.”

“Fine. Why me?” he asked with a huff. “And does this include winters?”

“Because you already know of their existence and because, as you yourself said, you had the good sense to keep yourself hidden and seek advice on a situation that is over your head. Over all our heads. We lack information, and as you know, that is the key to any successful hunt.” Alaric explained, uncrossing his arms and setting them on his hips. Lysander scowled and looked over his shoulder at the lake, glittering in the sunlight. Only now were the salamanders getting up and moving, a late morning for them, their brightly colored bodies weaving through the marshes and trees.

“You’re worried about the danger they pose,” he mused, narrowing his eyes. “But what could they do to us? They’re like children out there, no idea what they’re doing, bumbling about blindly.”

“Careful, son. Those are arrogant words.” His mother reprimanded. Lysander flinched, immediately regretting his tongue. She was right, of course. And arrogance was what led to injury – many a hunter grew overconfident and picked on a beast they couldn’t handle, or stumbled into a situation that got them killed or worse. Maybe Alaric was playing it cautious, but…he was right, in a way.

“I don’t like it.” He grumbled.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll force the others to make a quick decision, too – no more than a few years. All we’ll need you to do is keep an eye on the salamanders, and warn off any other elves you see. I’ll do my best to keep them away, but…well, some will still come.” Alaric said. Lysander made a face at that, running a hand through his hair. A few years…he had a long life ahead of him, but he didn’t really have any desire to stay in one place that long. Let alone winter in these mountains, outside of the caldera and the Sacred Mountain. Just because he could survive out here with few-to-no supplies didn’t mean he wanted to, and the winters were harsh.

…although, this was one of the most interesting things he’d ever found. Indecision wracked Lysander for a few moments and he rubbed his forehead, hating that he wasn’t entirely opposed to this idea. He glanced at his mother in askance, and she nodded softly.

“Fine. Just for a bit, though, if I need someone to take over, you need to have people ready to help me or something.” he said with a sigh. “But I’m not eating travel rations for that long. I’ll need bread, fruits, vegetables, something.”

“That’s reasonable,” his mother said. Alaric scowled at her.

“We didn’t always have the luxuries he has. I’ve stayed out here longer, without someone bringing me food,” he grumbled, shaking his head. Lysander just raised an eyebrow at him, not feeling the need to explain himself. Arguing the point would likely lead to him losing. Alaric had far more experience debating than he did, and was far more stubborn to boot. So he wouldn’t let it turn into an argument. This was a demand, not an option to discuss. “Fine. Fine! I’ll see what I can do about getting you supplies, you spoiled brat.”

“And about winters?” he pressed.

“Do they hole up in the winter, or do they wander? They can produce fire from their bodies. You at least need to find that out.” Alaric said with a glare, though there was no real heat to it. Lysander grimaced but nodded nonetheless, wracking his memories for a good place to shack up nearby – but not so close the salamanders would notice him. What I wouldn’t give for Sybella’s ability to sing a home into shape right now. He shook his head, even as he continued to hash out the details with Alaric, his mother occasionally chiming in.

Well, if he wanted the practice, there was no time like the present.

----------------------------------------

Fyra ran alongside Alaric, deep in thought. The salamanders posed an interesting issue – one she had not expected to deal with, yet shouldn’t have been surprising. There were other gods out there besides the creator gods and Astraea, the elves’ divine parent, and now that the elves’ original purpose had been completed – to help the spirits grow accustomed to a physical world and promote the spread of life – it made sense that other divine beings would want to add their creations to the mix. She just…hadn’t realized she would still be around to see it.

Her blood thrummed in response to her thoughts, fire coursing through her veins, urging her forward, that her time here was nearly done. That she was almost ready; her ascension was near.

She sighed heavily. The burden that weighed on her shoulders was immense, and none save for Old Xi and her lover, Aegir, knew what it was like. She and the other first elves were so different from their children it was almost like looking at another species sometimes.

“Those are heavy sighs, Fyra,” young Alaric said, leaping over a fallen tree as he kept pace with her. She didn’t immediately respond. The trees around them blurred past as they raced away from Bite Mountain, as her son lovingly called it, back to their homeland, and she took a moment to admire the scenery. Then she looked at him. She didn’t see just a well-built, red-haired elf, so much like his parents. She saw him. Dedication to their people sat like a stone in his chest, heavy and waiting, firm and strong, hiding passion beneath it. Both qualities to be admired, if needing a bit of temperance. “What are you not telling me? Are you worried for Lysander?”

“I used to worry for him,” she said softly, thinking back on her son as she stepped around a fallen tree. He had been a surprise to both her and Aegir; neither had intended to have more children, and neither had expected him to be who he was. And true, she did worry for him at first. His wandering seemed aimless, and an aimless elf was doomed to die before their second century. But Lysander made it through his second. Through his third, and fourth…and by the time he hit his fifth, she understood. His purpose was something different, something…flexible, yet unbreakable. And only he could know what it was.

Now she worried about him for a different reason.

“Thank you, for doing what you did. I know you’re worried about him, but don’t be.” She continued, nodding to Alaric. It was rude to think of him as just The Builder’s child anymore. The man grunted, frowning as he continued to run, gripping his spear so tight his knuckles turned white. “He has more purpose than you or I realize. You’re trying to guide him to a Path, and for that I will be forever grateful. However he has already found his, though he may not yet realize it.” Alaric grunted, rolling his shoulders as he darted around a scrub oak bush.

“I almost didn’t think he would do as I asked.” He admitted. “Thought I misjudged him.”

“I believe you have misjudged him. Of all elves, Lysander adheres to the teachings of Astraea the most; he is free to do as he wishes, but out of respect for you, he did as you asked.” Fyra explained patiently, casually stepping over a six-foot ditch. The land blurred beneath her feet, distance meaning nothing as she appeared on the other side, turning back to see Alaric still midair.

“Respect for me.” Alaric scoffed as he landed, the snapping of a single twig beneath his bare feet the only indication of his movement. “That will be the day.” They ran in silence for a longer moment, Fyra comfortable with her own thoughts while Alaric stewed in his. She could see the indecision fluttering in his chest like a dying flame, but such was his passion. Coals that smoldered, waiting for one little bit of fuel to burst into a roaring fire once again.

“What troubles you?” she asked. Alaric stopped running, his feet slamming into the ground and sending dirt and pine needles flying as his momentum was abruptly halted. Fyra came to a stop as well, turning to face him with a carefully neutral expression.

“The gods are playing games with us,” Alaric said after a long, tense moment, expression severe and eyes cold. “I can feel it in my bones. Whoever is making these creatures either recently put them here, or intentionally made us miss them. Even if they spent all their lives underground, we should have seen some sort of sign.”

Fyra said nothing in response, not really having the full answer either. She had her theories, though. The winds of change had been blowing recently, and it hadn’t simply been because of the elven children being born with exceptionally inquisitive minds. No, something had changed and was changing drastically. But it could be that they hadn’t appeared yet because this world wasn’t ready for them yet.

“Fyra, I am going to have to ask you to go back to the Sacred Mountain and inform the others on your own. I need to go check the plains; I have a bad feeling about all this.” Alaric said. His expression was firm, sharp eyebrows knit together in concern and anger. She studied him for a while as if debating something, trying to let him burn off some of his impatience, before nodding once.

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do, but if I may offer one piece of advice?” she asked, just as he was about to turn and start running off. “Don’t approach this in fear. Remove your expectations and worries, or it may blind you to the truth.”

“I am not afraid.” Alaric denied. “Though he said it with arrogance, Lysander was right. These things are like children compared to us – barely able to make a functional trap, let alone perform spirit magic. But I will keep your words in mind, Elder Fyra.” And with that he darted off as little more than a red blur through the trees. She watched him until he disappeared over a ridgeline, then resumed her own journey at a far more sedate pace, strolling leisurely through the forest. These young ones, always in a hurry to get everywhere. Impatient is what they were.

But her thoughts soon returned to her son, and the salamanders. They might be like children, but even she could be surprised by the ingenuity of children. She couldn’t blame either of the young ones for their arrogance though. They had never fought anything more dangerous than a magical beast – there had hardly been a malicious spirit in millennia…

Fyra frowned as a sudden thought occurred to her, eyes scanning the trees. The dark timber closed in around her from all sides, obscuring view of the surrounding mountains and looming almost ominously. She was tempted to open herself up to the spirit world, to truly see all the magic in the air, but stopped herself at the last moment. Surely, even children would know better than to consort with a demon…right? Even a newborn elven child was wary of demons, so the salamanders and any other intelligent beings should be the same.

She resumed walking, confident in her own assessment. Such would be foolishness of a new degree.

The thought plagued her all the way home.