The Revenge of the Elves (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

“Sisters! Sisters! Calm down,” Emmeline said to the group. The air in the room was electrified. “Is it so unusual that the Tomes can be interpreted in more ways than one? We’ve confronted worse than this before.”

“Have we, sister? When, pray tell?” Jocasta asked, pacing the floor and clenching her fists. “He’s planning to kill someone and we don’t know who. How can we help then?”

Dahlia’s face was beet red, her button nose hardly visible behind her pursed lips. Rose, with a long face, stood in the corner conversing with Sevilla, whose arms flailed about her as if she was trying to fly. Bethany sat unruffled, her gnarled hands in balled fists on either side of the great book that lay open before her. Gretchen, too, showed no emotion on the other side of the large Noban table.

“What do you make of it, Bethany?” Gretchen’s eyes shifted to the eldest.

“Dark words, dark thoughts,” she grumbled in response. Her wrinkled face looked older than usual. She’d been up all night reading. “When I began last evening, I realized right away that the poem took on a meaning incompatible with that which I ascribed to it in all of my previous perusals.” Her throat rasped. She reached for the water goblet with an unsteady hand. “Forgive me if my mind is not as sharp as it could be.”

“You shouldn’t have worked for so long,” Dahlia scolded.

“I couldn’t rest until I discussed this with all of you. I felt the need pressing upon me…”

“Sister? Why didn’t you call me?” Rose was offended.

“My welfare is irrelevant,” Bethany replied, shrugging off her concern. “Urgency pervades this moment.” She attempted to straighten her back against the hard wood of the seat.

“Indeed it does,” Jocasta said, as she walked back to her own chair and sat down.

“Take your seats, sisters, all of you,” Emmeline requested of the rest. “We must work with clear heads.”

Sevilla dropped her arms to her sides and slipped into her chair, as did the others.

“Read it again, sister, if you feel up to it,” Gretchen instructed.

Bethany frowned and placed a wrinkled finger on the center of the page. She leaned in close to the book and began to read:

“What is this life for?

What path must we choose?

The more that we struggle,

the more that we lose.

We kill to preserve,

We die to survive,

A contradiction in terms?

Yet we are still alive.

Is the battle we wage worth the price of the fight?

If death is the victor, what matters who’s right?

What spirit protects us when day turns to night?

And the shadows that threaten consume all the light?

Who shall guide us? Who will it be?

The deaf cannot hear and the blind cannot see.

Of brothers and sisters, of the captive and free,

of the old and the newborn, of the land and the sea,

of those chosen to lead us, of those who yet disagree,

who will emerge, when our hopes have been dashed?

Are there heroes among us?

Have they the strength to stand fast?

Will they come to the rescue

When the black die is cast?

What harbor protects them?

Who shelters their mast from the foul winds of war?

Will he destroy us at last?”

A tiny drop of spittle escaped from her lips and she brushed away with the back of her hand.

“On the edge of despair we balance and totter,

Is safety the true one, and dare the imposter?

He does not push us,

The choice is our own,

to leap or to stand up to the evil we know.

The choice to accept, the choice to deny,

The choice to consent, the choice to decry,

the choice to be stalwart, the choice to pass by,

the choice to embrace the truth or the lie.

We hold back the night that has darkened his moon.

Pity the chorus that ended too soon,

While the armies of madness march to the tune

of a song gladly sung by this prophet of doom.

His music is rife with sadness and grief

yet he smiles and he prances,

he dances and swoons,

His joy is a bitter and poisonous pill,

tempting the weak and thwarting the will

Seeks he the boy or the man for his kill?”

Her voice broke and she coughed. She reached for the goblet of water, swallowed and placed it back on the table.

“Forsake not the warnings, succumb not to sorrow,

give to the child what he has come here to borrow,

No tower can be as safe as it seems,

A wall is no shield from the violence of dreams.

You provide him a shelter, you lend him the means,

What appears a betrayal, what appears more than fate,

What appears the design, what appears consummate,

What appears to be harsh, what appears to berate,

What appears as an answer too little, too late,

Hides a truth so enormous it cannot be seen,

A thread in the fabric that holds fast the seams. “

The silence hung in the air like smoke in a windowless room.

Emmeline’s nails tapped the table. “There is much here for us to decipher. These words are not new to us. Come, come, sisters, don’t look so glum. We must remain hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” Rose asked. “I get the chills each time she reads that poem. What is hopeful about any of this?” Rose’s cheeks flushed a deep red.

“The Tomes are meant to make you think, sister,” Bethany replied. “Yes, these are just words. It’s the meaning that lies within their juxtaposition we seek.” She peered at the big book through glassy eyes.

“But thinking alone is not enough,” Emmeline agreed. “The poem is emotional as well, but it’s not the stirring of the emotions that makes this passage meaningful.”

“Choices, choices, choices! Constantly we’re reminded of our choices!” Jocasta said, shaking her head. “As if they are really ours to make.”

“Is every moment of your life not rife with choice, sister? I’m overwhelmed sometimes by even the simple ones,” Rose said. She was the most indecisive of them all. Each determination she made was painstaking.

“Yes, but we can’t possibly be expected to mull and ponder over every one of our actions,” Sevilla said. “We would never get even a moment’s work done. Rose, you worry too much. These days if you let it, even the slightest action seems to take on new meaning.”

“I worry too much? I don’t think you worry enough,” she replied, and blushed behind her hand.

“It’s the big choices the passage is referring to. Not the mundane ones. We all know when those loom before us,” Dahlia said.

“Most of the time, we do,” Jocasta agreed.

“There are times though, when we do not even know we are making choices,” Gretchen said.

“Have we control over those moments?” Rose asked. “I have a hard enough time when I do know.” She twirled a lock of hair between two fingers.

“Some responses are instinctual, others are learned,” Emmeline replied. “We hope we have learned over time to instinctually behave concordant with our moral and ethical beliefs. We are doing so now by harboring the heir and his teachers,” Emmeline added, though she didn’t need to remind them of this. Their admittance to the Tower was a daring move. “It’s right. We know it’s right.”

“Exactly, sister,” Gretchen agreed. “Our thoughts travel down similar paths. It wasn’t a conscious choice on our part to afford them shelter. It was natural. We made a choice, though we didn’t discuss it, nor did we seek a verbal consensus.”

“You think this passage relates to that?” Dahlia asked. “To the options we face here in the tower and the choices we have made already? To the heir and his teachers?”

“Does not the tower seem ‘safe’ to him and his friends?” Gretchen continued on the same track. “The question is, what has he ‘come here to borrow’, if it’s the heir these words are referring to?”

“Surely it must be. He is here for our knowledge, perhaps? Or his safety? Could that be it?” Rose suggested.

“Anonymity?” Dahlia proposed.

“Time?” Sevilla said. “A respite.”

“Certainly not the map any longer,” Jocasta said. “At least I hope not.”

“We must question him regarding his dreams,” Bethany said. “Perhaps then we will understand what advice we should provide. If indeed he came here for the map, he would tell us.”

“And then what? It’s gone already,” Dahlia said, an absence they all felt.

“I agree with Bethany,” Rose said. “What harm could it do? Just as we reason our way through words that often seem confusing, so must we reason our way through their actions.”

“Reason? We haven’t reasoned through anything,” Bethany said, and Rose blanched. “We have come to no conclusions. We know we have choices to make. We know the Dark One seeks to confound us whenever and wherever he can.” A fit of coughing interrupted her words. Dahlia started to rise but Bethany glared at her and it subsided. “What more can we add to our guests’ knowledge by virtue of this passage? Think, sisters. Think.”

“‘Of brothers and sisters, who will emerge’,” Emmeline repeated.

“Of the twins and us?” Rose asked. “Is that what it means?” she sunk lower in her seat.

“That seems most logical,” Emmeline replied. “Of the captive and the free? Premoran?” she asked. “He is free once more.”

“Of the old and the newborn? Could this be referring to the Lalas and the youngling?” Gretchen suggested.

“I had not thought of that,” Bethany said. “Hmmm. Of course! It must! Good. Good, Gretchen. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Her face brightened.

“What of the land and the sea? We are all of the land,” Dahlia asked, confused.

“There are those who live across the oceans,” Sevilla suggested. “Could it be that they may join the fight?”

“The oceans are vast. Perhaps a hero will be swept unto our shores,” Dahlia said and her eyes lit up.

“We have the heir in our midst. Need we wish for more saviors?” Gretchen replied.

“Not every sentence can make sense to us at once,” Bethany wagged her finger. “It is obvious to me, though, that this passage is of major importance. It can’t be mere coincidence we find relevance in so many of the lines.”

“What, though, must we make of the word ‘betrayal’? Who among us would ever betray the boy?” Rose recoiled. The thought astonished her.

“It states, sister, ‘what appears a betrayal’. Not what ‘is’ a betrayal,” Bethany corrected her. Her voice lacked the strength it usually had. “Someone has made a choice that seems unusual. Someone has done something that does not coincide with what is expected of them. It appears to be a harsh action, or a mean one…” Bethany continued.

“And it conceals the truth,” Gretchen added. “But from whom?”

“Yes, from whom? It is clearly a truth that is of great consequence. Enormous,” Emmeline repeated the word from the text.

Bethany concurred.

“‘Those chosen to guide us’ can only be the bonded ones,” Rose said.

“What of the Queen of Avalain? Or the Elfin Kings?” Jocasta suggested. “They are leaders worthy of being acknowledged.”

“They were not chosen really, though they do lead and they do guide their people,” Dahlia pondered.

“We were all picked. What about us?” Rose suggested, then immediately tucked her chin into her chest and went silent.

“Hmmmm,” Bethany replied. “Perhaps…”

“I believe we know who the boy is. But, what of the man? Is it Robyn dar Tamarand, do you suppose?” Sevilla asked.

“We’re not even sure Davmiran is the boy the passage speaks of. He has a brother, if you recall?” Jocasta reminded her.

“So we know very little, other than that what seems to be is otherwise, and what seems to be is masking something incredibly important!” Dahlia summed it up.

“We must question our guests. There is no other alternative. If we are to advise them, we must understand more. We have that right,” Gretchen concluded.

“And we have the obligation,” Emmeline added. “We should not waste another moment.” She smiled warmly at the elderly sister. “Amidst the thousands of pages, you have discovered the one that is most relevant. I will approach the Chosen and arrange a meeting.”

Bethany closed the great book and stiffened, her face unsatisfied.

Gretchen walked to her side and placed her hand upon her shoulder.

“Are you feeling alright?” she whispered into her ear.

“Yes, sister,” she replied. “I’ve been a little weary of late, and I’ve not been sleeping well.” She cupped her hand and spoke below a whisper. “This passage has been in my dreams, yet when I feel I’m coming near to its meaning, I almost feel the presence of the Dark One intrude upon it!” Bethany lay her hand atop the Tomes as if seeking comfort in its touch. “It must be that winter is approaching. As I get older, I find it more difficult to contemplate the cold weather.”

“I remember the days when we all frolicked in the snow,” Gretchen said, though her concern for Bethany became far more acute when she mentioned Colton. “Do you recall the winter when the snow fell for days and days on end? As soon as we cleared the paths, they were covered over again,” she said, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Those were such innocent times,” Rose sighed.

“Do I hear regrets?” Emmeline asked. She could not let them despair. Her shoulders bore many things in the past, and even more now.

“Not regrets, sister. I doubt any here regret the part they must play in what is occurring today. But we’re no longer the innocents we were,” Jocasta said.

“No. That is certain. Our responsibilities are greater now. We must face them accordingly,” Gretchen replied. “But, we mustn’t impose too much upon our eldest. I fear we tire her out with our demands.”

“Do not fret over me,” she said. “I may appear to be weak, but this is my life’s work! If you did not call upon me now when the need is so strong, I would be quite upset. ‘What is this life for?’,” she echoed the first line of the poem. “I need a good night’s sleep, that’s all.”