When Elves Die : Episode One

CHAPTER 6

  Gurkain's widow buried her sobs into Carella's shoulder. Her muffled cries were met with gentle caresses from the princess.

  Thisrath and Walice, two of the recent teenage converts to Zanfire's missionary endeavors, patted the fresh grave with their shovels. Their task complete, they nodded at the cleric.

  He nodded back and stared at the fresh grave. Stoella, Gurkain's six year old daughter, placed a flower in the dirt. Her tiny hands molded the sand around the stem for support.

  Zanfire gazed at the gravesite for several moments. He closed his eyes and prayed to Pegasin to help divine his words. Everyone in the camp stood around in silence, patiently waiting for the cleric to speak.

  Thisrath handed out candles to the group. Walice followed, lighting each one.

  “Blood spills from good elves and bad,” Zanfire said. “That's what we usually say in times like this. But Gurkain was much more than a good elf. He was so much more than mere words could describe. He was the epitome of what it meant to be a strong elf. And friend. He believed in me when no one else did. He stood by me, he encouraged me and he meant more to me than I could ever mean to him.”

  Zanfire looked over at Stoella. Despite her youth the little girl had eyes that sparkled with intelligence and understanding.

  “The book of Arcanscape tells us of a palace. A palace where elves become angels and dance under rainbows. And they wait for us to join them in paradise.”

  Both Stoella and her mother remained at the gravesite long after everyone else dispersed. Zanfire watched them from his tent opening. The mother's face contorted in grief. The daughter looked on without expression.

  He drank deep from his bottle and waited for the buzz. The tickle to his brain that would make his melancholy go away.

  And corrode his gifts.

  Zanfire heard footsteps and saw Carella walking toward him with Iangold.

  He saw that Iangold was looking at the bottle in his hand with self-righteous contempt.

  “We're about a half day away from Carratris,” he said to them, returning his attention to the grieving mother and daughter. “I'll meet with Nerasora. We have had our differences in the past but she can be reasoned with. The elves in that village will be worthy allies.”

  Gurkain's wife wailed in the distance.

  Zanfire took another long swig from his bottle. The need to keep his nerves from jangling now trumped his need to keep his addiction hidden.

  “Quit blaming yourself,” Carella said.

  “I should have gotten there sooner,” Zanfire said.

  “Quit blaming himself?” Iangold scoffed. “How about quit drinking?”

  “I'm not a quitter,” said Zanfire.

  The cleric got up out of his tent and led the couple over to where the killing took place. Flies buzzed around the headless torso of the vampire elf.

  “Killtooths,” Iangold said. “They are after Carella. If they get her in the middle of the forest, she's berries for the picking. Who knows how many more of these are out there? We should have kept her in the castle.”

  Carella shot Iangold an icy stare.

  “I am not going to be kept anywhere,” she said.

  “Do you see this?” Iangold seethed as he picked up the head of the Killtooth. He opened the jaw and showed her the fangs. “These..things...are out for blood. Your blood. They will stop at nothing. There's a whole dark world out there, Carella.”

  The princess turned her back on him.

  Iangold pantomimed the Killtooth's jaw as if it were biting in to something. “They want to kill you. Like they killed Gurkain.”

  Zanfire grabbed the head out of Iangold's hands. He threw it to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot. Stomping on it again and again, the skull shattered into fragments.

  Iangold looked at Zanfire with contempt. Then he turned to Carella. “This old drunk cannot protect you anymore than he did Gurkain.”

  Zanfire took another sip from his bottle, his hand trembling as he looked down at the smashed skull of the Killtooth.

  “Do not listen to what he says,” Carella caressed Zanfire's arm.

  “I give up,” Iangold said, walking away.

  “If you want to go back with him, I will understand,” Zanfire said.

  “I finished the final book of Arcanscape.” Carella watched as Iangold sulked away. “It prophecizes that the entire elven race...All of the tribes. Die off. We become extinct. Exterminated.”

  Zanfire nodded his head. “Only a few people have been allowed to read those passages. But you can't always believe what you read.”

  “But all of the other prophecies came true. The creation of the city of Graceonna. The division of elven tribes. These were all part of the prophecy.”

  “A self-fulfilling prophecy maybe,” he said. “As are the tribal disputes. We cannot fight off the Killtooths and the Dark Queen if we are divided. The Dashfist tribe hates the Moontris tribe. Our own Kevfire tribe has been in constant dispute with the Blackwolf tribe. It is what the King of Darkness wants. It is how he will get power and how he will defeat us. If we don't come together.”

  “What happens if we cannot come together?”

  “The Dark Queen will rule over the entire land. It is written that there will be darkness for two thousand years.”

  Zanfire stared off into the distance. A dark cloud swallowed the morning sun. He heard the low rumble of an approaching storm.

  “Our sister congregation should have been here by now. In fact, they should have been here before us. This was the meeting point.”

  “Maybe they got here earlier and went on to Carratris?”

  “I am worried.” Zanfire pointed down at the smashed Killtooth. “That they may have encountered some of these creatures along the way.”

  “The wife asked you to heal him back there,” Carella said. “You really do not have the gift anymore?”

  “I don't know what happened. I really don't. Pegasin gives and he takes. That is my only explanation. But your spell casting is improving. I can see it with what you did back there.”

  “Yes, I have been studying the Arcanscape whenever I can.”

  “That is good,” Zanfire said. “When we return to Wandacove, you will give the sermon. Your words and your miracles will unite the elven race.”

  “Why me?” she asked.

  “I can't do it anymore,” he said. “These people look to me for answers. And I look for answers in a bottle.”

  “So stop.”

  “You will be a catalyst for a union of the elves. Living together, helping each other, protecting one another. That is the vision I had when I healed you on that day years ago. You are the special one.”

  Carella sighed deeply. Her face contorted with doubt.

  “What if I fail?”