Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Chapter 10: On the Brink of the Wasteland

Spirit’s days of traveling with the elves began to blur into each other, each day as bright and colorful as the last. After him and Elissay’s conversation, the other elves began to open up to him, becoming more friendly and inviting. Evidently, the fact that Elissay had forgiven him had encouraged the rest of the group to do likewise. Bit by bit, they started to lower their guards, and gradually Spirit got to know them.
Kelken turned out to be quite a lot like Conor, with his jokes and constantly energetic attitude. His hands never stayed still— one minute he was whittling a block of wood, the next braiding two bits of grass. Each elf had their preferred weapon, and Kelken’s was Spirit’s personal favorite: the throwing knife.
The second day of their travels, while helping Bellirn start the cooking fire, Spirit had heard a rhythmic thumping outside of the circle of wagons. Curious, Spirit had investigated and found Kelken behind his wagon, hurling his knives into a stump. Such was his concentration that Spirit stood there for over a minute before noticing Spirit was there. Grinning, he had begun to show Spirit the basics of knife throwing. By dinner Spirit had hit the stump three times, and Kelken had agreed to give him lessons once a week.
Bella was a master of alchemy. All of the elves dabbled in it, but she was the undisputed expert. Her wagon was filled with thousands upon thousands of tiny glass beakers, crystal vials, and wooden mortars and pestles. Claws, feather, skins and other various magical remains hung on the wooden ribs of the cart walls, and dried plants filled a large cupboard beside her cot. The interior was a riot of odors, each more exotic and fascinating than the last.
Spirit loved sitting in the wagon while she worked. Occasionally, she would ask Spirit to fetch an ingredient or two for her, and he quickly memorized the magical properties of wormwood leaves, virrin claws, primrose petals, and may more besides. Every once in a while she would teach him a new brew she had discovered, and soon the pair were staying up late into the night, hunched over steaming experiments. Spirit learned quickly, and only very rarely blew things up, a fact that Bella applauded.
Lilten was a scholar, through and through. His wagon was filled to the brim with books, maps, scrolls and manuscripts, many of which were magic. Spirit had thought Bellirn’s wagon was bad, but that clutter was nothing compared to the complete mess that was Lilten’s wagon. His precious books covered every surface, sometimes even including his bed. In fact, the only surface that seemed to be regularly clean was his desk. When he wasn’t reading, Lilten was writing. He had kept a journal of his travels, which he transcribed onto several rolls of parchment. Oftentimes, he was the only one who stayed up with Bella and Spirit, his little lamp burning bright in the darkness.
When his nose wasn’t buried in a book, Lilten began to instruct Spirit in the history of elves and magic. “If you’re going to the islands, you need to know everything you can about them,” he often said. Magic, Spirit learned, required intense focus and the correct words in old elvish. As long as you had enough concentration and willpower, you could cast any spell you wanted to. So domestic charms were the easiest to cast, seeing as there was nothing to keep you from concentrating. But attempting to cast spells in combat was an entirely different matter. “Imagine trying to think of absolutely nothing but a flower petal for two seconds while an enemy is trying to disembowel you,” Lilten had said dryly when Spirit had asked what the level of attention was. Having heard that, Spirit was even more impressed that the elves used magic on a day-to-day basis. No wonder human magicians are so rare, he thought to himself. The strength of will needed to use magic is superhuman!
In addition to the more arcane lessons, Lilten instructed Spirit in the basics of elvish mannerisms and courtesy. He learned that putting your hand over your heart and bowing was an old elvish greeting reserved for someone you respected deeply. Lilten also began to teach him the elvish language. Although the alien words baffled him, Spirit started to improve, stumbling over difficult words and phrases less and less. Oftentimes, while they all sat at the campfire during dinner, the other elves would converse with Spirit only in elvish, forcing him to improve if he wanted to talk.
And finally, whenever Spirit had a free hour, he would run off to a secluded area and practice his elemental control. He was always careful, never letting the blaze get out of hand. Gradually his abilities grew, until he could hold a blaze the size of his head in his palm for over a minute, throw small fireballs reasonably accurately, and even juggle for several seconds. The elves gave him privacy when he practiced, a fact he appreciated. The practice helped calm him and allowed him to collect his thoughts.

The weather began to grow hot and dry as they neared the plains. Spirit was excited about crossing the vast, featureless expanse. He’d heard tales about it from almost every merchant that had passed through Caren: it started with dry, grassy plains around the border, but the center was choked by sand and dust, devoid of any living thing. Some of the merchants claimed that Death lived in a valley in the center of the wasteland, emerging only to prey upon those whose time had come. But Spirit had scoffed at these tales, laughing with Zarn at the wide-eyed traders gesticulating crazily about black-skinned devils with hounds bigger than a full grown horse.
Slowly, the training with Kelken stripped all the fat off of Spirit’s body, leaving him lean and muscular. His mind grew sharp from his lessons with Lilten and Bella. Soon he could speak elvish almost as well as any of the others— albeit with a bit of an accent.

Several weeks after he joined the group, they stopped at a small town near the edge of the plainst. Already Spirit’s lips were cracking from the lack of moisture, and the sun beat relentlessly down upon the motley assortment of shops and houses. Cacti surrounded the village, their sharp spikes grim previews of the grit and determination needed to cross this barren desert. The wooden buildings were covered in sand, the tiny grains eating away at the decrepit walls. The town had an almost forlorn feeling to it, and it made Spirit nervous.
They had set up camp on the outskirts of town, near a small oasis. A tiny copse of trees concealed a small spring-fed pool, and there was enough grass for the horses to have a final, hardy meal before they entered the scrub grass of the plains. Bellirn and the others were inside the general store buying what supplies they would need for the trip across the desert, and Spirit leaned against the porch railing, waiting for them. Scanning the horizon, he sighed. No matter which direction he looked, the view was the same: flat, featureless scrub as far as the eye can see.
“A bit daunting, isn’t it.”
Spirit jumped and spun around to find Bellirn standing behind him, arms crossed..
“How did you do that?”
He laughed. “I never tried to hide. You’re just distracted.” He stepped forward to lean against the rail beside Spirit. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” the boy said quickly, looking away.
Bellirn turned his head to look at him, his brown eyes full of concern. “You can’t hide it from me. Something is bothering you. It’s written all over your face.”
Spirit sighed again. “It’s nothing big,” he began haltingly. “It’s just… I get the feeling something bad is going to happen. Like there’s a huge storm on the horizon headed straight for us, and as hard as I try, I can’t avoid it.”
Bellirn draped his arm over Spirit’s shoulder and gave him a rough hug. “It’ll be okay Spirit. All of us have journeyed through the desert at least once. We’re going to be fine.”
Spirit nodded and leaned back on the railing. The sun was setting over the bleached earth, casting splashes of rosy color over the tiny village. It sat on the land like a great big ball of molten gold, shining in the light of its own radiance.
After several minutes of brooding silence, Bellirn reached into the pocket of his jacket. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”
Spirit looked over, interested. “What is it?”
Bellirn produced a piece of folded paper and held it out to Spirit. Excited, the boy opened the paper and laid it against the rail. “It’s a map,” Bellirn explained as Spirit gazed at the winding roads and magnificent lakes. “It shows a bit more detail on the Isles of Parmeia then any human map would.” He reached out and touched the map with a slender finger. “This is the village where we are now, and we’re going to travel across the desert—” He drew the finger down, straight through the heart of the plains. “—like this. The journey across is going to be rather long and hot, but we should be able to make it in a little over a month.”
Spirit studied the route Bellirn had indicated. They were on the north-western edge of the plain, so they would proceed in a more south-easterly path until they hit the heart of the desert. Then they would skirt around it, cutting through the tail end to arrive practically on the shores of Lake Luchina, where the Islands of Parmeia were. Spirit nodded to himself, attempting to allay his fears. The plan was solid, and if they met any wild beasts, the elves could surely handle them.
He looked at Bellirn and forced a smile onto his face. “This is awesome. Thanks.”
Bellirn smiled a concerned smile, and something told Spirit his deception hadn’t fooled the keen elf. But Bellirn just ruffled the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry Spirit. I’ll make sure you get to Parmeia safely. That’s a promise.”
Spirit nodded halfheartedly. Behind them, the doorbell jingled as the elves exited the general store. “Okay Bellirn,” he said quietly. Then they all began walking up the lonely street, back to the caravan.

                                    *                      *                      *

Bellirn and Lilten were cooking a brace of pigeons they had caught earlier that day over the fire, and Spirit decided to use the time to take a quick bath. Grabbing a towel from Bellirn’s belongings, Spirit headed off into the tiny grove of stunted trees.
A pool sat at the center of the grove, surrounded on all sides by the ever-present grass. The only reason you couldn’t see the pool from the campsite was the thick grasses and reeds, which in places grew above Spirit’s head. As Spirit entered the shade of the trees, he sighed. The heat, which had been so oppressive all day long, seemed to melt into nothingness under the shady boughs. The wind rustled through the tall reeds, brushing softly against his face. Shards of light fell through the canopy, illuminating the ground at his feet. With light, easy steps he glided between the yellow stalks until he came to the clearing in the center.
The pool was surrounded by short, feathery grass, shockingly green against its brown and gold backdrop. Kneeling, Spirit pulled off his boots and slid his feet into the water. He groaned happily as the cool water caressed his hot and aching feet. He sat there for a little while, just enjoying the peace and time to think. To his surprise, he had found himself missing his friends and family less and less the more time he spent with the elves. He felt as if he finally belonged somewhere, and that somewhere was right here. During the past few weeks, he had found purpose, and he was enjoying it. I still wish I could see them all again though, he thought. Maybe when I’ve finally mastered my gift, I can go back.
Pleased with this thought, he finished disrobing and sank into the water. The cold liquid lapped at his neck, sending goose bumps rippling up his arms. Before his teeth started to chatter, Spirit ducked his head under water. The cold hit him like a blow in the face, but he quickly got used to it. He surfaced for breath, then went back under and opened his eyes.
The bottom of the pool was a muddy world, to be sure. Tiny little fish darted about, nuzzling each other on the side before zipping away. Small plants waved lazily up at him with their leaf-like fronds. Occasionally one of the little fish would swim down to the bottom and dive headfirst into the mud until he was halfway in, his tail wriggling madly. After a moment, he would pull himself back out, already swallowing some poor insect that had burrowed beneath the surface.
Spirit watched their antics for awhile, enjoying himself, then rose to the top again. He breached like a whale, gasping for breath. They have no clue what is going on outside of their little pool. I doubt they even realize there is more to the world.
He swam about for several more minutes, then clambered onto the bank and toweled himself off. As he pulled on his shirt, he caught sight of his reflection in the water. Surprised, he knelt for a closer look.
His face was more tanned then he had ever seen it, even after a month of working in the fields. His muscles rippled across his arms and chest, stripped of all body fat. Evidently his workouts with Kelken had paid off. A grin spread across his face. He barely even recognized himself anymore. Gone was the helpless little orphan boy that Rixar had beaten up with impunity. A new man stood in his place, a man who could defend himself, make his own destiny. After several more moments of examining his reflection, he stood and continued to dress.
He was just picking up his shirt when the reeds rustled, then parted and Elissay stepped out holding a large staff. Spirit jumped, instinctually clutching his clothing to his bare chest.
Elissay looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” She turned to step back into the reeds.
“No, wait.” He lowered his arms, letting them dangle at his side. “You’re fine.”
Slowly, she turned back to face him, leaning the staff casually against her shoulder. She had changed out of her usual dress, and was wearing a tight-fitting shirt and pants. Her blonde hair was pulled back behind a headband, and her cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment.
Spirit found a heat rising in his face as well, but he did his best to ignore it. “What were you going to do?” he asked, indicating the staff.
She looked relieved at the distraction. “The staff is my preferred method of defense, just as the throwing knife is Kelken’s. I was coming here to practice. I didn’t know you were…” she paused, her blush rising.
“Right,” Spirit said, fighting another wave of heat and failing. For some reason, all he could think about was the way that little strand of golden hair was falling over her rosy cheek… Whoa Spirit. Calm down, he told himself. “Well, don’t let me stop you,” he said, pulling on his shirt.
She stood there for a second with a thoughtful expression on her lovely face, then she started slightly. “Stop what?”
“Your practicing,” he said slowly.
She giggled softly. “Ah. My mistake.”
He shrugged. “No big deal. I’ll see you back at the campsite then.”
She nodded and swung her staff back into her hands.
Spirit strode back into the tall grass and let out a long breath. Well, that was a bit awkward, he chuckled. Unconsciously, he glanced back over his shoulder at the clearing. He started to walk away before what he had seen registered in his head. Turning, he peered through the rough stalks in amazement.
Holding the sturdy length of wood in both hands, Elissay whirled across the small clearing, swinging the staff over her head to bring it down on a rock with a resounding crack. Whipping about, she spun her body like a top, driving back an invisible horde of enemies. With a quick jab, she knocked one off of his feet then leapt into a backwards somersault, landing just in time to smash another in the skull. Then she was off again, spinning and leaping across the clearing. Back and forth, up and down, each blow laden with deadly precision.
Spirit sat down, the tall grass shielding him from her gaze. Despite the waving stalks, his eyes never left her twirling form as she danced across the grass. Each movement was a graceful as a swan, yet swift as a striking snake. Spirit couldn’t help but stare in slack jawed amazement.
After what felt like an eternity, she gradually slowed until, with a final strike, she stopped. Sweat poured in waves down her face, her chest heaving from exertion. Straightening, she twirled her staff one last time, then began to walk towards the campsite. Grinning uncontrollably, Spirit jumped up and hurried over to her.
“That was amazing!” he exclaimed.
Elissay whirled around. “You stayed and watched me?” she asked, surprised.
Spirit’s grin, if possible, grew wider. “Yeah, and it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! Can you teach me? Please?”
She seemed taken aback by the request. “Are you sure? The art of the quarterstaff is not nearly as popular as swordplay, or archery. Bellirn or Bella could teach you either of those.”
Spirit was already shaking his head before she finished. “No. I want to learn to wield a staff. It just seems more…” he searched for the right word. “Original.”
Elissay blushed again, but a hint of a smile crept onto her lovely face. “Well, if you truly wish to learn, I will not stop you. We can begin our lessons after we enter the plains.”
Spirit let out a whoop. “Thank you!” He grinned again, unable to help himself, and pulled back some the gently swaying reeds. “After you.”
Smiling, she inclined her head and stepped into the opening. Spirit followed close behind her, and together they wove their way towards the slowly rising stream of smoke.

1 comment:

  1. Again, I laughed at...


    "Woah Spirit. Calm down."

    How many times I say this to myself! XD

    ReplyDelete