Marcus Pender had no idea why he had been chosen to interview the last remaining Elf. He was only a journalist for a fading local newspaper, and his biggest scoop had been about a minor budget error mishandled by the district school board. It turned out to be honest incompetence, and the perpetrators had suffered no consequences at the ballot box.
Marcus had no bylines in prestige publications. No big following on social media. He was sure his inconsistent blog, begun in college with enthusiasm and abandoned at least a dozen times over the last decade, had exactly one reader – his mom. He had settled into his life of mediocrity, the malaise that brings a form of unearned contentment before the panic of a midlife crisis.
Yet here he was, climbing the perfectly cut stone steps toward the dwelling of the greatest celebrity on the planet. Even after all of the weird occurrences, he still thought everything would be revealed as an elaborate prank as soon as he arrived at the cabin.
Trees crowded the edges of the path but left the way suspiciously clear of all debris. Every sway of the branches overhead sprayed a new pattern of sunlight onto the ornate patterns of the steps. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. Marcus had already stopped twice to catch his breath.
He stopped again when he came to a stone arch with words carved along the top, but he had no idea what they said. He couldn’t read Elvish. Another mark against him. When he passed through it, the skin on his face tightened like over-stretched plastic wrap, then relaxed. His hands patted the rest of his body to make sure it was still present and intact before he traversed the final dozen or so steps.
The cabin appeared plain and normal. It was like any other cabin you might see when planning a vacation to the Smoky Mountains. But as he reached up to knock on the door, he noticed the wood had no hard edges, no cuts. It was like the whole thing had been grown, not built. As he contemplated the wooden door knob with his closed fist raised in the air, the door swung open on wooden hinges.
“Good of you to come, Marcus,” said a deep voice with the ring of youth but the confidence and practice of old age. Very, very old age. The darkened shape moved away. “Do come in.”
Marcus hadn’t expected to be on a first-name basis with someone he had never met, but the familiarity felt natural. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and stepped across the threshold.
The air immediately felt cooler and as fresh as a young spring morning right after a gentle rain. His sweat was gone. Sunlight poured into the room from a few windows but suffused the entire space as if the very air sucked it up like a sponge and glowed. No corner was dark and there were no obvious shadows. Marcus could see no other light source. Other than that, the inside of the cabin was boringly normal. A table against the wall, a couch and a few chairs. And was that a Thomas Kincaid painting on the wall?
A low laugh came from the kitchen area. “It is a bit gauche, I admit,” the deep voice said, “but I have a certain fondness for his earnestness.” The last elf walked over with two mugs of something steaming. He was tall, but not so tall as to force Marcus to tilt his head back too much. White hair framed perfect, unblemished skin and eyes as blue as the horizon just above a calm sea. “Kincaid attempted to capture the lighting of our earthly abodes with such enthusiasm. He failed, of course. But do you not hang finger paintings of children on your own walls and appliances? I have seen such things.”
“I suppose,” Marcus mumbled. “Just a little surprised you have something in common with my mother.”
The elf laughed again. “The first surprise of many, I expect. Please sit.”
They both settled down in chairs and the elf put the mugs down on the small table between them. Marcus sat with back straight, his body refusing to be comfortable. He was an imposter in this place, and his bones knew it. And it wasn’t just that Marcus was a nobody, a mere staff reporter. As far as he knew, no human had set foot anywhere close to this cabin in over fifty years. The coziness and apparent normalness of the room felt only surface deep.
“You are wondering why I chose you,” the elf said, reading part of his thoughts.
“Well…yeah.”
“Perhaps we will get to that. For now, please drink. It will calm your nerves, among other things.”
Marcus hadn’t picked up his mug for fear of his hands trembling. How could he refuse now? The drink, of course, was delicious. A menagerie of floral notes carried on a bed of rich honey. The liquid seemed to spread out from his stomach all the way to his toenails, and Marcus braced himself for the heady feeling one gets after a few shots of good whiskey, but it never came. When he set the cup back down, he was surprised to find it mostly empty.
Marcus cleared his throat. “So, umm…should I call you Mr. Shoemaker?”
The elf smiled. “If you wish. Though you may also use my real name. Druindar.”
Marcus paused while pulling out his notebook and blinked a few times at the ageless face. No elf in known history was ever known by his or her real name. They had always, at their insistence, been referred to by pseudonyms taken from the jobs elves performed in human myths and fairy tales. Shoemaker. Toymaker. Ringsmith. Treekeeper.
“And I….I can use it…” Marcus licked his lips. “I can use this name in the publication? Mr….” He worked his mouth open and closed a few times like a goldfish. “Mr. Druindar?”
“Just Druindar,” said the elf. “It is a first name. We had no need for additional distinctives.”
“Ok then. Druindar.” The word felt wrong in Marcus’s mouth, like his tongue was too thick to properly pronounce it. “Why share it now?”
“Names are powerful, and those with nefarious purposes could have used an elven name to do great evil. By the time your article goes to print, however, it will no longer matter. I will be dead.”
“You’re dying?!” Marcus spat the words out like too-hot soup.
“No. From the day of his Becoming, every elf knows the day and hour of his death. That is the first truth you should know about us.”
Marcus stared unmoving at the blue eyes as he attempted to get the words to settle into his mind. He wasn’t sure how long he stared, but he jerked in surprise when he realized it and his pen clattered to the floor. No doubt this would be the first of many revelatory moments that left him gaping, open-mouthed, so maybe pen and paper wouldn’t suffice. He reached toward his bag again. “Mind if I record this?”
“Not at all. Though there is no need. The tea you drank will maintain your memories of our conversation until you write them down.”
Marcus sat up straight again and glanced at the almost empty mug. Half joking, he asked, “Could I get that recipe?”
Druindar chuckled politely. “There are many things I wish to share, but that is not one of them. And even if you could understand it, you would not have the craft required.”
“Of course.” People had been trying to crack the secrets of Elven “magic” for centuries. Men much smarter than Marcus had made about as much progress as a turtle on a treadmill. He straightened his back again and tried to inject his voice with the gravitas the moment required. “How do you feel about your approaching death?”
“How I feel is not relevant. It simply is. We all knew we would taste of the curse before we were gathered to our people once again.”
“So you have no remorse? No regrets?”
“No more than you would have passing another landmark to your destination.”
Marcus leaned forward. “There is something after death?”
“Of course. None of us would have agreed to this mission if we were facing the Void.”
“Are you talking about Heaven?”
“There is more than one, but yes. Though it is far different from human imaginings.”
“And you know for sure that’s where you’re going?”
Druindar lifted an eyebrow and gave Marcus a long stare, with eyes that appeared old enough to have witnessed the birth of every star in the night sky. “Even after thousands of years, I will never cease to be amazed by you humans. And exasperated. All of the wonders you have seen, and you still won’t take me at my word?”
“It’s been a long time since there were any wonders done by your kind. Not in my lifetime.”
“That you know of.”
Marcus mulled on that for a brief moment. If the elves were still performing magic, that would be more big news to come out of this interview. He sat back. “Even so, I haven’t personally seen anything.”
“But you have seen the proof. Read the stories. Your entire history is predicated on certain truths of what my kind have done.”
“Stories can be embellished.”
Druindar laughed a deep laugh that filled the room like music. “‘Oh ye of little faith’ really is a descriptor of your entire race.”
“It’s not foolish to require evidence,” Marcus said, though he hated how petulant he sounded.
“I did not say it was,” Druindar said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “But your standard of evidence is absurd, a truth my kindred and I have stated over and over again, in many different ways, for hundreds of years of your recorded history and thousands of years before that. You claim to have never seen magic when you just drank a tea with effects that defy all of your naturalistic categories. Though no doubt you are thinking there must be some normal, mundane scientific explanation for it.”
Marcus bit the inside of his cheek. Yes, he had been thinking that in the back of his mind, even while remembering that the smartest people on earth had tried and failed. Over and over.
Druindar continued. “Look around you and see with new eyes, and you will perceive that you see magic every day. Everything is magic.”
“Isn’t that like saying everything is a miracle? If that’s true, then nothing is.”
“Not at all. Just because something is common and repeatable and you can dissect it and label its parts and name it does not mean it is not magic. If I had said my intelligence would be instantly uploaded to a distant server on another planet after my death, where I would continue to live in a different type of body, you would have no trouble accepting what I said as truth. Such a process sounds like technology, which is something your race believes it understands and controls.”
Marcus sat there, wanting to come up with some snappy answer on behalf of all mankind. He didn’t know why. Even though Druindar was thousands of years old, Marcus still didn’t appreciate being lectured like a child.
The elf held up a conciliatory hand. “It is not wrong for you to seek to understand and name things. That is the prerogative of all descendants of Adam. But along with his birthright, you also inherited his hubris. Someday, the latter will be gone, and you will have true understanding.”
Marcus sighed and picked his mug back up before remembering it was still almost empty. He tightened his grip on the handle and decided to change the subject. “So the rest of your people. They really did die? They didn’t just leave or go into deeper seclusion?”
“Indeed,” Druindar said, and turned to look out the window. “Once I am gone, your race will be alone for the first time.” A small bird of some kind alighted on the sill and chirped, and the elf smiled. “Well, alone of the ensouled to walk this sphere.”
Marcus had about fifty different threads he could pluck at, his head swimming with the possibilities. It seemed that Druindar was verifying the existence of a soul. The revelation that the rest of the elves really were gone would send shockwaves across the world. And what about the Void and the mission? Marcus bounced his gaze from the bird to Druindar and picked a path before the silence grew too awkward.
“It sounds like you’ve been on our planet for far longer than you’ve let on. From past statements, at least.”
“We have never spoken a lie. We have left certain truths unsaid or let you stew in your own deceptions, but no lie has left our lips.”
“That’s a bold statement, considering your lifespan. And you’re speaking for eleven others.”
“Do you doubt my word?” For the first time, Druindar’s voice had an edge. “I thought we had already covered this ground. Perhaps this interview is pointless. Perhaps I invited the wrong person.”
“No.” Marcus spit the word out as fast as he could. “No. Just…hard for me to believe. It’ll be hard for readers to believe it, too.”
“I very much doubt that. Your kind have believed far stranger things about us.”
Marcus nodded to grant him the point and took a slow, deep breath to calm his nerves “So we have never been alone. Does that mean you have been here since…” He had almost ended with since humans evolved from apes or since the first cells had crawled out of the primordial ooze. But he remembered all elves were creationists of a sort and took such statements as insults, so he kept it vague. “You’ve been here since…the beginning?”
“Since the Fall. We are servants of the Dancing Fire.”
Marcus remembered from Sunday school something about a sword of fire placed at the entrance to the Garden of Eden. Was it related? “This is the mission you mentioned before? The reason you came to earth?”
“Indeed. We are boundary wardens.”
“What boundaries?”
“Between the spheres. Between realms.”
“Do you mean planets?”
“Yes, but not limited to them.”
“So there is other life?”
Druindar spread his hands as if presenting himself and smiled. “Did you not already know this?”
“I mean other lifeforms besides you. Besides what is on this planet. Aliens.”
“Yes, but again, not as you imagine.”
“And you…protect us from these lifeforms?”
“Some. But most of them, we protect from you.”
Marcus took a moment to process this. He had to clear his throat a few times before he was able to speak again. “You’re telling me Earth is a prison?”
“More like a quarantine zone.”
“We’re contagious?”
“Greed. Covetousness. Idolatry. We have already spoken of your hubris. Must I explain sin to you, Marcus? You have seen what humans do to each other. That level of corruption would ravage the cosmos.”
Marcus sat straight up in the chair, looking at Druindar in a new light. At all of the elves in a new light. Common wisdom for centuries had treated them as benefactors, but had they really been prison guards? His exposé would shatter all known history. All would be dissected and reevaluated.
The beginnings of his first article swirled in his head, along with something else.
Offense.
Offense on behalf of the whole human race.
“You are thinking,” Druindar said, “of your coming fame as soon as you publish these revelations.”
Marcus tried to spin some indignation into his voice. “You’ve been treating us like children for thousands of years.”
“Because you still are. You had no issue accepting the benefits of our stewardship before, but now that you know you have no exclusive claim on our concerns for your welfare, you begin to act petulant.”
“All under false pretense!”
Druindar spread his hands again. “As I have said, we have never lied to you. It is not our fault that you always ask the wrong questions. And still, you fail to pull on the obvious thread.”
A dreadful thought popped into Marcus’s mind. “Have you sabotaged us? Our efforts to reach the stars? Improvements in technology?”
“That is the wrong thread. But since you asked, yes. Nothing too drastic, but enough to confound and dull the sharpest of your minds. A note misplaced. A name forgotten. A lens smudged at the right moment.”
Marcus stood up, his notepad falling to the floor. “You had no right.”
“It was part of our sacred duty, given to us by one whose authority is supreme. We had every right.”
Marcus looked around the room, searching for anything toward which he could direct his anger besides the infuriatingly calm face of the elf. Some picture. Some flaw. Some sign of opulence or pride he could focus on to drop the elves down a level in his own mind, some hint that they had acted above their station.
There was nothing. While everything was clean, neat, and perfectly crafted, it was mostly wood and had the air of humility and restraint. He settled for crossing his arms and clenching his fists as hard as he could.
“Would you like some more tea, Marcus? I have a different brew that will…”
“I don’t want tea!” Marcus paced a few times before stopping and grabbing the back of his chair. “This will ruin your reputation.”
“I care not. I will soon be gone, after all.”
“You said death is not the end. You won’t peek in from time to time? To see how the entire human race now hates you?”
Druindar offered a soft smile. “That avenue will be closed to me. Even if I could, I will be far too busy with a new work. Why would I put my hand back to the plow, so to speak?”
Marcus crossed his arms again. “And the rest of your kind? They left as heroes. You’re turning them into villains.”
“I look forward to reuniting with them again and telling them all that has transpired since their passing. Do sit down, Marcus. We must still get to the main point of this interview.”
“No thanks.”
“As you will,” Druindar said, tipping his head forward. “But in your indignation, you have jumped over the stream you should have stopped to inspect.”
Marcus almost said, “I don’t care,” but even in the single-mindedness of his anger, he knew it would sound childish. And it would only serve as another data point to solidify the elf’s justification in treating humanity like children. He took a deep breath and glanced out the window. The bird had flown away.
“Your work as boundary wardens isn’t all about holding us back.” Marcus swirled some poison into the last words to make it clear he was still angry. “You said ‘some.’ You protect us from something.”
Druindar tilted his head down in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”
“Hostile aliens?”
“Of a kind. The word that would describe them most accurately would be ‘demons.’”
Now Marcus felt like sitting down. Still, he refused. “What type of demons? Intradimensional? Cthulu? Lovecraftian stuff?”
Druindar chuckled. “They wish they were so grand and powerful. No. But in many ways, they are much worse.”
“So not only have you kept us in the dark, handicapped us, but you’re now going to leave us defenseless against these things?”
“Our work has been minimal since the Ascension. The way has been shut. The door sealed. The demons are locked away in dark, watery places until the consummation of all things.”
Marcus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and finger. This was getting weird way too quickly. The pages he colored growing up in Sunday school had not given him the vocabulary to sort through all the claims slapping him across the head. The elves had never been shy about their beliefs when asked, but Marcus, and a large portion of the rest of the world, had shrugged it off as an eccentricity. Like Einstein’s hair or Tom Cruise’s Scientology. To hear the certainty out of Druindar’s own lips, however, was something else entirely.
“Jesus,” Marcus mumbled under his breath.
“Precisely,” Druindar said.
Marcus opened his eyes and cleared his throat, embarrassed. “So what’s the problem? It sounds like everything’s fine.”
“On their side of the door, the way is locked. They may still be invited in by the descendants of Adam and, despite our warnings, many do offer such invitations.”
“Who would invite a demon?”
Druindar gave Marcus a look of incredulity. “Anyone craving power or wealth or knowledge. My kind have been offered bribes for such things, and when we refuse, the supplicants turn to other sources. Many are unaware they are summoning demons through their efforts, though the danger is still the same no matter their intentions.”
“It can be accidental?”
“Their actions are never accidental, but they are often misinformed.”
Marcus finally sat down again, but remained tense with his hands on his knees. “And when you’re gone, things will get worse?”
“Possibly. Whether that happens or not depends on you, Marcus Arindar Pendragon.”
Marcus blinked. “What?”
“We come to the real point of this interview. You were wondering why I chose a beat reporter who is unknown to all but his immediate family to get the scoop of the century. You know enough to make your choice, I think.”
The words bounced off Marcus’s forehead with all the effect of a ping-pong ball on the Great Wall of China. The names Druindar had used still filled his head and ears, tugging something out of his chest that had long lain dormant. “What did you call me?”
“The names of some of your ancestors. You come from noble stock. We have kept track since Merlin was put to rest.”
“Merlin.” Marcus was glad he was already sitting down. “Like the wizard. From King Arthur.” His head now felt like a balloon wobbling in the wind.
“Not exactly like that, but your myths are close enough for our present conversation.”
Marcus didn’t even know what the present conversation was about. “Merlin was real?”
Druindar smiled. “And a good friend, but that is not relevant. When I am gone, someone must continue our work, and it is time for humanity to assume that mantle. Or at least, a single human. You, to be exact.”
“Woah.” Marcus held a hand up. “Woah.” He almost said “woah” a third time, but clamped his mouth shut before it spilled out. He swallowed, and it was like forcing a baseball down his throat. “Can we slow down a bit?”
“Of course.”
“You want me to fight demons?”
“With your powers, it won’t be much of a fight. I want you to banish demons and possibly save souls in the process. You have the opportunity to do much good, Marcus. Far beyond the bounds of your current occupation.”
“I don’t even know if I believe in demons.”
“That matters not. They are real, whether you believe in them or not. But since my word is not enough…” Druindar stood and held out a cupped hand. “Let your eyes be opened, Marcus Pendragon.”
Marcus opened his mouth to object again.
He screamed instead.
He had been sitting in a comfy chair, in a comfy cabin, and now everything around him pulsed and swirled. Energy flowed through the wood and the floor and the woods outside burned with an emerald glow that dug deep into the earth. In the sky above, for he saw through the roof as if it were the clearest glass, there were wings of fire and chariots of flame that rivaled the shining sun in their intensity.
Closing his eyes did nothing. The visual barrage continued as if his eyelids had been burned away. There was no escape. Drowning in colors and light. His fingers clenched the arms of the chair until they ached, but he dared not loosen his grip lest he be lost forever in the storm raging around him. He gulped in another breath to continue his screaming.
“Marcus. Look at me.”
Marcus focused on the voice of Druindar. The elf still stood before him, luminous and somehow more solid and corporeal, but still mostly the same.
“Breath, Marcus, and rest your gaze on my eyes.”
Marcus obeyed and was glad he did so. Druindar’s eyes acted as an anchor. The world went wild around him, but the steady presence of the elf gradually calmed his terror.
Marcus swallowed and winced at the rawness of his throat. Rasping, he asked, “What have you done to me?”
“You currently see a portion of the reality behind reality. Do not worry, I will veil your sight once more. But first…” Druindar pointed downward. “Look, and remember that I am here.”
Marcus kept his eyes locked on Druindar’s face because if he glanced again at the writhing world at the edges of his vision, his stomach might leap to his throat and then drop to his ankles.
“I can’t,” he whispered. He felt a tear trace a line down his cheek.
“You must.”
“What will I see?”
“The reason I have brought you here.”
Marcus took a few deep breaths while Druindar watched him with steady eyes. The light of life rushed around and above him, and he felt the first twinge in his stomach of motion sickness.
“This will stop after I look down?”
“I promise.”
Marcus nodded and dipped his head.
Where the sky was a field of fire, the depths were a dark desolation. His vision pierced through the floor and went down, down, down until he perceived something solid. There was no light except the occasional flicker and blink of blood red. Anger. Menace. Despair. A desire to devour. These intentions hit him like a gust of hot, rancid air, the final gasp of a sickly, rotted corpse.
And there was movement. Constant movement and twisting and agitation and slithering. Marcus saw the pits of the earth filled with black worms, with no room to crawl but crawling still. Pushing and climbing and scraping against one another, like the constant churning of waves in a deep, dark sea. The red he had glimpsed before were the eyes, shown briefly as one crested to the top and then was buried. An odor of decay and death flooded his senses and his stomach churned and a headache flared deep in the center of his skull.
And then it was gone.
Marcus stared at the solid, wooden floor. Sweat and tears beaded down his face, but with every breath, his headache subsided and his sense of dread calmed.
Druindar was sitting down again, wearing a mild look of concern.
“That pit,” Marcus said. “That is what threatens us? All the time?”
“In a global or cosmic sense, no. They are no more threatening than a single moth is to the whirlwind, and they will be crushed as easily as you could crush an earthworm under your heel. But before that happens, they can cause much unnecessary suffering and heartache.” Here, Druindar sighed and glanced out the window. “Yes, much heartache.”
“But only if we invite them?”
“As I have said. But there are many fools and scoundrels, and they will always be with you until the end of time.”
Marcus blinked a lingering tear out of his eye and wiped his forehead with a sleeve. “You mentioned a choice.”
Druindar smiled. “Now we come to the point. It is time for a Pendragon to again assume the mantle of power and protection, though your task will be greater than Arthur’s.” His face took on a graver look. “It is a mantle not assumed lightly, and it is not a choice I can make for you.”
Marcus waved his hand toward the floor. “Obviously, one choice is to fight literal demons and be on the brink of insanity for the rest of my life.”
Druindar nodded. “Though I give you a boon before I go. You will know all the craft I can teach you, all the secrets of our art that man has longed to know. It will be yours.”
“But there’s a catch.”
“You perceive correctly. If you assume this mantle, all knowledge of my kind will vanish from the earth. There will be no memory of us, no written records. For the sons of Adam, it will be like we never trod this cursed ground. Only you will know the truth.”
Marcus gaped. “But why?”
“It is the way it must be. That is all I can tell you.”
“But that means…” Marcus looked around the room as if the perfect solution would be sitting on a shelf somewhere. “That means no one will believe me. I’ll be alone.”
“I can promise you, Marcus, you will never be alone.” And Druindar’s words had the certainty of deep roots that could crack the foundations of mountains.
Marcus closed his eyes. “And if I refuse?”
“After I am gone, you may do as you wish. You are a good enough writer that your interview with the last elf will likely bring you fame, and if you are savvy enough, fortune. You will rise from journalistic obscurity to the heights of your profession, as you have always wanted. It is the noble life you have always dreamed of.”
“All while demons will run around unchecked. How much damage can they do?”
Druindar steepled his fingers in front of him. “A single man can do much damage, even without the help of a demon, so do not think everything is on your shoulders. However, if there are no more boundary wardens, there will be much additional suffering that would otherwise not happen. Though of most of it, you will be unaware. That is the balm of the second choice. A lack of full knowledge.”
“That’s not much of a choice. It feels like emotional blackmail.”
“Marcus, no matter what you do, the demons lose. Their future is written. Their fate is not on your shoulders. However, the stories that happen between now and the consummation of all things are still important. You are being entrusted with the power to write a different kind of story. Or not.”
“When do I need to make my decision? How long do I have?”
“You have no need for more time because you have already made your choice.”
Marcus pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew that Druindar was right as soon as the elf uttered the words. Infuriating.
Druindar stood up and clasped his hands behind his back. “What do you choose, son of Adam?”
This would make a fantastic book trilogy!
Enjoyed it very much!