Chapter 7: The Elek-Orosim

Night had fallen while they had talked, and the stars shone like diamonds scattered across the blanket of the sky. The moon cast a silvery glow over their little caravan, chasing away the shadows. Caren was nowhere in sight: Spirit knew they must be miles away by now. All traces of civilization were gone, save the buttery pools of lantern light spilling out from the wagons’ canvas confines. They had stopped for the night in a clearing off the main road, and had turned the wagons into a circle, forming a kind of wall that shut out the sounds of the forest around them. On the edge of the forest, several horses had been tied to some trees, and they munched happily on the grass beneath their hooves.

 The rest of the elves were already setting up camp as Spirit and Bellirn hopped out of their wagon, and they all turned to look as the pair stepped into the light. As they stared in obvious surprise, Spirit was able to look at each one in turn.

There were only five others, three men and two women, and all of them shared Bellirn’s thin hands and angular faces. Thanks to Bellirn’s counter-spell, Spirit could see all of their ears clearly, and the first thing he noticed about their appearances was that all of the female’s ears were much longer then the males. While the men’s were little more than a human ear with a rounded tip, the women’s protruded half-a-hand farther up the side of their heads, tapering to a sharp point.

Unlike Bellirn, the two men had short brown hair the color of fallen maple leaves. The women wore their hair with two braids circling from the crown of the head to the base of the neck. The woman on the left had hair so fair, it practically shone in the moonlight, while the other had tresses blacker than midnight.

All of this Spirit was able to see before the camp erupted into a clamor of voices, screaming and shouting.

“Who is that?”

“What was he doing in your wagon?”

Bellirn raised a hand, as if to deflect their volley of indignant questions. When they shouting continued unabated, he frowned with annoyance. “Quite!” he yelled. Somehow he had magically amplified his voice, and it cut through the babble like a razor sharp sword. Immediately they fell silent, still staring at Spirit with apprehension and, in some cases, barely concealed hatred.

“Thank you.”

Leaving Spirit, he strode forward until he stood directly in front of the others. They looked at him expectantly, and Spirit realized that Bellirn must be the leader of the caravan.

Bellirn looked at one of the men, taller than Bellirn and with slightly longer hair. “Lilten. You first.”

Lilten started in surprise, then asked, “Why have you brought a human into the camp? And how did he come to be inside of your wagon?”

“I brought him here because he is, to put it simply, special.” He looked at the other elves. “And he was in my wagon because I found him there.”

At this the elves began shouting again.

“Why did you let him stay?” Lilten groaned.

“Why did you not clean his memory and throw him back into the street?” The fair-haired woman shouted this over the others, and they all stopped and nodded. Bellirn smiled.

“A fair question. At first I had planned to clean him and send him on his way, and was preparing to do just that. But something stopped me.” Here he turned to Spirit and gestured. “Spirit, come here.”

Shyly, aware of all the other’s eyes upon him, Spirit shuffled up to stand beside Bellirn. The tall elf man looked at Spirit kindly.

“If it’s alright with you, I want to show them your birthmark.”

“Ok.”

Spirit rolled up his sleeve, exposing his arm. Beneath the glow of the lanterns, his skin turned a pasty white. But the little flame stood out as livid as before, seeming almost to dance upon his shoulder.

A collective gasp rose from the assembled elves. Then they moved forward until they stood in a ring around Spirit. Their silence made him nervous, and the fact that even the women stood several inches above his head didn’t help much. Lilten had knelt to examine the mark, and was thankfully now a little lower than Spirit’s height. His brown eyes were filled with curiosity, and they shone out of his tanned face, staring at the mark. He reached out a slim hand, then stopped. “May I?” he asked Spirit.

The boy nodded. Slowly, almost reverently, Lilten brushed his thin fingers across the livid red skin. A glow seemed to emanate from underneath Spirit’s skin, a fiery brand of orange laid across his flesh. A curious tingling coursed through his body, and he felt warm all over. Unbidden, the great beast he had felt at the party rose again in his chest, but this time he did not shrink away. Instead, he reached out towards it, curious. What are you, he asked hesitantly.

A strange bubbling filled his mind. It took him several moments to realize that the thing was laughing. Then, suddenly it began to fade, leaving with it a final impression, a picture of sorts. Confused by what he saw, Spirit pleaded with it to stay, to explain what it had said. But it was already gone.

Spirit became aware that he was being shaken by the shoulders, and he shook his head to clear his vision. The elves were still gathered around him, their faces filled with concern. Lilten was the one who had a grip on him, and he was staring desperately at Spirit’s face. When he saw Spirit’s eyes focus on him, he sighed with relief and let his arms fall to his sides. “Thank goodness. I thought for a moment… never mind.”

Bellirn leaned over Spirit as well, worry written on his face. “Are you all right Spirit?”

Spirit nodded, more confused then ever. “I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you sort of passed out.”

Spirit stared at him for a moment, then let out a humorless laugh. “That seems to be happening more and more lately.”

“How do you mean?”

Spirit shrugged. “Oh, just passing out, weird trances, and other-worldly meetings. The usual.”

Bellirn looked at Lilten with growing alarm. Lilten however was focused on Spirit, a frown creasing his forehead. Spirit held his gaze unflinchingly, wondering what was going on behind those dark eyes. After a few seconds of awkward silence, the fair haired woman stepped forward.

Of the entire group, she was probably the smallest, standing barely above Spirit’s head. Her hair tumbled down her back like a waterfall of liquid gold, and she moved with the grace of a dancer, her actions careful and controlled. Her leaf-green eyes regarded him impassively, and her cherry-red lips were pressed in a thin line. She flicked her hair expertly over one shoulder and spoke in a lilting voice, “Where did you get that mark, boy?” Her tone was not unkind, but neither was it friendly.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had it since birth, but it only started to actually light up within the past week.”

She nodded, as if he had confirmed a suspicion. “I see. You do know that is an elek-orosim yes?”

“What’s an elek- ore… whatever?”

She smiled slightly. “The elek-orosim is the elvish name for the elemental’s mark. All those gifted with the power of the elemental have one.”

“I knew I was an elemental, but I didn’t know my birthmark had a name.”

She frowned slightly. “You did?”

“Bellirn told me.” He jerked a thumb at the sheepish elf. Bellirn raised a hand and grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

A thoughtful expression came over her face, then she addressed Spirit again.  “Can you show us?

Spirit shrugged. “Sure.”

He let his eyes wander about the unfurnished campsite, searching for a suitable prop. He was already a little strained from his stunt in the wagon, but one more trick wouldn’t tire him out too bad. Soon his gaze alighted upon one of the lanterns.

Striding over the lamp, Spirit opened the little glass door and peered inside. A small tongue of fire winked back at him. Carefully, he reached a hand into the confines of the lamp and pulled the little flame out. As he pulled, he allowed some essence of the fire to stay anchored to the wick, and so when he closed the lid, the light shone just as bright as before. Turning, he bowed, presenting his flame to the assembled elves. Whispers broke out again, but this time it seemed they were not directed at him as much. Something like hope began to grow in Spirit’s chest.

The whispers died down after a moment, and the fair-haired elf stepped over to Spirit. At first she just stood there, staring at him. Spirit waited, knowing from past experience it was better just to wait for an adult to talk. Then slowly, the words came. “You are an elemental, of that there is no doubt. And a powerful one at that, to be able to do so much with no training.” She stopped and continued to examine him as if he were a very interesting book.

“Thank you.” Spirit said shyly, struck suddenly by how beautiful, and yet vastly alien she was.

But she seemed pleased by this response, and turned to Bellirn. “Are we to take him then?”

Bellirn nodded.

She nodded with him, then turned to the other three. “Does anyone object to this boy traveling with us?”

The clearing was, for the first time in many minutes, silent. Spirit could hear the crickets chirping in the forest, the hooting of owls beginning their nighttime excursions, and the water gurgling softly in a brook nearby. It was all, he reflected, quite peaceful. The thought did little to calm his suddenly pounding heart. If they refuse to accept me… no. I won’t think about that.

But one by one, the elves shook their heads. “A boy graced with the power of the Creator. Who are we to refuse him anything? ” Lilten said pompously. “Even if he is a human,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Spirit resisted the urge to jump for joy. He was doing it! He was traveling with a party of elves to their nation’s capital, to practice elemental control! If he had been happier than this in his life, he sure didn’t remember it. But his joy was marred by one thing that kept coming to the forefront of his mind: he was leaving all of his friends, everything he had ever known, and going off to someplace he knew absolutely nothing about.

The joy that only moments before had filled his mind was now buried in a pile of doubt. Was he really doing the right thing? Could he trust these people? Might it just be better to take his chances at home? All these thoughts and more filled his head as he and the elves bustled about setting up camp.

Supper was a quiet affair, consisting of stew and a small loaf of bread. The bread was unlike any Spirit had ever tasted, with each bite revealing a completely new flavor. Even the texture changed, from pleasantly crunchy to soft as silk. Normally he would have been amazed, but instead he was smothered by a blanket of uneasiness, his thoughts unable to drift from the final image the thing inside his head had left him.

Once everyone finished, they all trooped to the nearby stream to wash out their utensils, then vanished into the wagons. Bellirn and Spirit were the last ones in, Bellirn pausing to put out the fire.

Inside the wagon, Bellirn took the bed and Spirit laid out a few blankets upon the floor. After several moments, Spirit voiced the question that had been on his mind all evening. “Bellirn,” he asked cautiously, “Why is it the others seem to hate me?”

 Bellirn was silent for so long that Spirit almost thought he had gone to sleep. But then he said slowly, “I think that’s something you should ask them Spirit.”

Spirit nodded, but his mind was already elsewhere. Unbidden, the memory of his conversation with the beast rose to the forefront of his consciousness. Grimacing, he turned over and tried to go to sleep. But that final image burned bright in his mind, unavoidable, unmistakable— an image of himself.