Elves

A Story by Tweedledee

A horse, pure white, galloped furiously over the hills, his rider, Patrick, urging him on to go faster. Patrick’s blonde hair was flying behind him in the wind and his blue eyes flashing against the icy morning air. The horse’s hooves left deep, muddy imprints in the ground, the sound of them like thunder slicing the air around them. As the horse and his rider neared the summit of the Green Hill by the elven wood, the horse shied suddenly and the knight was thrown from his back, there was a huge thud and a clatter as the unfortunate knight crashed to the ground.

As he slowly and blearily sat up he noticed a small movement in the trees, blackness shifting upon blackness and got the feeling that someone or something was watching him. He slowly walked toward the edge of the forest, curious to know what it was, and then, as he got closer he tripped over something, he looked down, and there, gazing up at him, was a tiny green elf.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ it said. ‘Follow me.’

As if under a spell, Patrick followed the little creature deep into the woods where animals fled in fear and tiny eyes seemed to be peering out at them from behind every tree trunk, leaf and woodland flower. As they went deeper and deeper in, Patrick began to feel uneasy, for although the elf kept up a constant stream of irritating chatter, there were no other sounds in the black and gloomy forest. ‘What is your name?’ asked Patrick at last, ‘Saesajj,’ said the elf quietly. ‘Where are we going?’ He asked and immediately wished he hadn’t for his voice sounded thin and unnatural in the heavy silence. ‘You have to come with me,’ it whispered. ‘And what if I don’t?’ asked Patrick. ‘you will die.’ Said the elf simply. ‘Of course I’ll help you!’ said Patrick brightly, ‘what else?’

Several hours later they reached a small clearing in the forest, the elf turned to him and said, ‘do I have you word that you will help me?’ ‘Yes.’ Murmured Patrick, bowing low before him.

The elf sat on a stone and began to talk. ‘A long time ago my people ruled this land, we would ride over the hills laughing and singing, without a care in the world. Every day we would swim in the rivers and dance round fairy circles at night. It was the best life anyone could wish for. And then the Red Elves came, suddenly our days of dancing were over and we spent all our time fighting and we fought bravely, but it was not enough, there was nothing we could do to stop them. They took our land and our homes and destroyed our palace; their king Morsqarn took our elven queen away and drove us out of the elven wood. We have been hiding away for years now, waiting for someone to save us, and save our queen Aisling. And that someone,’ said the elf bowing low to Patrick, ’that someone is you.’

‘W w w why m me?’ stammered Patrick. The elf smiled and said, ‘because you are the chosen one.’

For many tiring days and nights Patrick and the elf travelled through the forest searching for the base of the Red Elves. The forest was dark and nothing was there except endless trees. He thought there were eyes upon him everywhere but there was nothing to my seen. The elf kept talking non-stop, insisting on telling Patrick his complete family history: ‘first there was Zeezee I, then he married Elzatcha II and they had three children called Sorphe I, Ferastlst III and Teralsion II…’ According to the elf, word had travelled through the forest who they were and what they were doing. No animals came near them and birds stopped singing at the sight of them. Then at last they came to the gateway to the Red elven world.

As they stepped towards it, invisible hands seemed to push them away. But Patrick pushed on giving strength to the tiny elf behind him. Flames roared up around him but he didn’t flinch, small red-winged birds pecked at them and tiny red animals tore at their feet. But then at last they were through, into the angry redness of the Red Elf hideaway.

‘We have reached the temple of fire!’ cried the elf. At the sound of his high and babyish voice the earth beneath them began to rumble and shake, the very air they were breathing seemed to move and become heavy. Scarlet dust fell from the ceiling and ruby smoke came billowing towards them. Then, through the thick clouds came the sound of thousands of marching feet, and voices crying, screaming, yelling, through the smoke the sounds of their voices chanting, ‘kill, kill ,kill.’

They were surrounded.

‘RUN!!!’ yelled Patrick at the top of his voice, and, grabbing the elf, sprinted into the oncoming hoards of elves. Except they weren’t there. As the smoke thinned there was only emptiness around them, nothing but a small hole in there wall from which the fearsome chanting marching sounds had come from. ‘It was a trick,’ muttered the elf.

Warily peering around they walked down a long red corridor that had appeared in the wall, looking back, they saw the doorway had vanished. Now silently sweating in the rapidly increasing heat they were struggling to stay awake, the elf fell to its tiny knees almost crying in the heat. Patrick simply picked him up and slung him over his shoulders and carried on, stumbling now and then, faltering in the heat.

Suddenly a group of bright red elves rushed out with swords and pitchforks to rival those in Hell belong to the devil. They struck at Patrick again and again swarming over him, seemingly multiplying every few seconds, he fought back, struggling wildly, thrashing his arms and feet until he fainted with pain and shock as they overcame him and dragged him away. But nobody seemed to notice the little green elf in the corner, so covered in blood that he seemed to be one of them…

When Patrick woke he was in a small dark red room, so dark that it was almost black. He stood up glancing around him, making sure nobody was creeping up on him. They weren’t. Then the screaming started, so loud and terrified, the sound of someone in pain. Patrick leapt up and ran at the walls, beating them with his fists, screaming as well, crying in sympathy with the poor tortured soul. Then the wall vanished and Patrick was left dangling by his scabbard from a knife, then he blinked. He was in some sort of torture chamber where the walls were covered in knives and the floor was a roaring inferno of crimson fire and scarlet sparks, cerise smoke was billowing up and the sharp smell of burning stung his nose.

He shut his eyes and tried not to panic, saying over and over to himself, ‘there is nothing there, it doesn’t exist, I am imagining it.’ He started saying it out loud, louder and louder, shouting it and yelling it. ‘THERE IS NOTHING THERE, IT DOESN’T EXIST, I AM IMAGINING IT!’

And the fire vanished.

The knife gave way and Patrick fell to the ground. The moment he touched the floor he ran, ran as fast as he could. He ran down endless maze-like corridors, twisting round bends, sliding at corners, his emerald green armour clashing with the bright red of the walls making him so very obvious. At last, Patrick, too tired to run any more, sank down in one small darkened red corner and slept deeply, too tired to watch out for attackers.

He was woken some hours later by a small red elf tapping on his shoulder; Patrick immediately jumped up and edged away. ‘Do not worry!’ the elf squeaked, ‘it is I! Saesajj! Have no fear for I am here!’ he was jumping around clapping his tiny hands and acting as though he had gone out of his tiny little mind with happiness. ‘What’s happened S…s…searsla? He whispered loudly, ‘Saesajj,’ said the elf disapprovingly, ‘and what has happened is that I have found the way to the banquet hall where you will fight a duel with the Grand High Master of Red Elves!’ ‘And you’re telling me this now?’ groaned Patrick. ‘When else?’ said the elf briskly and clicking his fingers strode out of sight down the hallway. Patrick hesitated then followed.

What seemed like hours later, walking down endless identical corridors, Patrick and Saesajj reached a pair of doors. But these weren’t just any doors, these were the BIGGEST doors Patrick had ever seen, they were intricately carved in gold and jewels depicting the Red Elves victory and conquer over the Green Elves.

Patrick shivered. The figures seemed to move and glare down at him. ‘Here we are Patricky my friend,’ almost sang the elf. ‘Lucky me,’ said Patrick sarcastically. Pushing open the huge doors, shivering in apprehension, Patrick went in.

It was like a huge amphitheatre and Patrick could well imagine other people coming here shivering at the sights that beheld them. There were thousands of red elves with sharp pointed faces and cruel glowing eyes, sitting in row upon row. Golden flames rose up in ginormous pillared columns and fireballs rained from the sky then hung suspended in mid-air. But the most terrifying thing in the room was right at the very end, sitting on a flaming throne, holding a sword of ruby fire and glaring down at Patrick was an elf who couldn’t be anyone but the Grand High Master Red elf.

High above them, struggling in an angry red cage, tears streaming down her beautiful cheeks, was Aisling, queen of the green elves. It was hard to believe it was her though for she was dressed in red rags and was dirty, her beautiful white blonde hair was tousled and her emerald eyes were rimmed red from years of unhappy tears.

A fierce anger at once rose in Patrick and tossed all thoughts of fear from his mind. He was here to save the queen. Marching up to the throne he yelled up at the master elf, ‘the duel if you please for there is no time to waste.’ The master elf sniggered and glared down at Patrick. ‘Who is this feeble mortal who dares to challenge me a duel?’ ‘’tis I, Patrick the seventh, ruler of the green and heir to the castle of Granadia. So, a duel if you will.’

The elf raised himself up in his seat. ‘So be it mortal.’ ‘Patrick is my name you monster. Use it and cower in fear from it for in years to come you will crouch in fear when you hear it remembering the fateful day when you were beaten by a mortal human!’ Hissed Patrick, ‘now, En Garde!’

The elf leapt from his seat and they began to duel, the clashes of steel rang high in the air and the elven queen raised her head in hope. Patrick and Morsqarn circled each other in a deadly dance, they struck and ducked and weaved, each able to do nothing more than scratch each other. This was the play of two master swordsmen and they were equally matched. Suddenly Patrick stumbled, he fell and Morsqarn raised his sword for the kill and laughing now brought it crashing down on Patrick pausing only to spit down on him in contempt. But Patrick had found new strength; he rolled between Morsqarn’s legs, stood up elegantly then thrust his sword through the black heart of his opponent.

There was a silence, no-one moved, there was hardly a breath of sound in the air. Then the wails of the Red Elves began, so loud they could burst ear drums. Patrick fell to his knees but as he did so the wailing stopped. The elves had vanished. He was alone apart from Aisling and Saesajj. He had won. Saesajj rushed in crying: ‘the curse is lifted! We are free!’ the cage above them burst open and as it did so the redness from the whole palace vanished and was replaced by a warm glowing green light.

The doors burst open and thousands of green elves came rushing in, they surrounded Patrick and lifted him off his feet. Patrick begged to be put down but they wouldn’t, they were too happy to put down their hero just then.

‘Silence,’ came the low musical voice from the stage where the fire throne had stood. Everywhere was quiet again as Patrick was put down and everyone turned to the stage. There was a gasp as everyone saw Aisling, their beautiful, magnificent queen her elegant wings were spread in a fine mist of silver and her eyes were sparkling. There was a small rustle and everyone, including Patrick sank to their knees. ‘You may rise,’ came the lovely voice again. Aisling motioned to Patrick to come forward; he did so and stood next to her on the stage.

‘Patrick, you did a brave and wonderful thing today, you saved my people and myself from the reign of the Red Elves. Now that reign is over and they are banished to the challenger’s hills until they prove themselves worthy of the green Kingdom. I know you must return home but we shall grant you one wish as a reward, what shall it be?’

Everyone looked at Patrick, he swallowed, wondering if he dared ask, then he took a deep breath and spoke. ‘Elves I thank you for your kindness but there is only one thing I could wish for now and only one person could give that to me.’ He turned to Aisling, and said: ‘Aisling, I could never love another human as much as I have fallen in love with you, I can no longer return to the mortal world, so I ask you, will you be my Queen?

There was silence as Aisling turned her eyes on Patrick. The look in them was hard and his heart sank, then it softened, and when she smiled at him with her golden smile and beautiful eyes, Patrick knew that he was finally home where he belonged.