Legends

By day the forest was not anything remarkable. It had thick undergrowth and shadowed paths, but this was not unusual. Legends claimed strange, magical creatures inhabited the forest, but most people believed these legends were merely children's stories.

Those who discredited the stories by day, however, still avoided the forest by night. At night, the forest had an entirely different aura. The shadowed paths became pitch black and unearthly sounds emerged from the forest's depths.

The inn stood at the edge of the forest. It was not a beautiful place, but it served as a haven for people who traveled the road between the cities. In fact, the inn was almost ramshackle; the paint was fading and the decoration was limited. Still, it was clean and the roof didn't leak. All that really mattered to the travelers who stopped there was that it offered shelter from the night.

In the taproom, a fire blazed in the hearth. The atmosphere was one of comradeship and celebration, but the night pressed outside, waiting to remind the travelers of things they would rather forget. A traveling minstrel sang a ballad to the accompaniment of a battered lute badly in need in tuning. His thin, watery voice filled the room with the legend of a hero who had entered the forest to challenge an evil at its heart centuries before.

There was scattered applause as the final notes faded into the rafters, more out of politeness than appreciation for the minstrel's talents. The minstrel peered around the smoky room. "Are there any requests?" he asked in a nasal voice.

When there was no answer, he nodded. "My next selection concerns Gareth, Knight of the Golden Cross and his struggle against the evil magic of the Dark Lady of Tharist." He bent over his lute to strike the first chord.

A large man sitting at one of the central tables with a group of his friends called out, "Stop telling us bedtime stories, and sing Wendy the Amorous Wench."

The minstrel looked up from his instrument. "It isn't a bedtime story, it's an epic legend. Everyone knows of Sir Gareth…"

The large man snorted. "Everyone knows of him because it's nothing but a silly tale to amuse small children. Nothing like that really happens."

The minstrel frowned. "That may be, but I have the lute, and I'm telling the tale."

The large man stood. "How would you like that lute wrapped around your scrawny neck?" The minstrel wrapped his arms around the battered instrument and glared at the bully.

Before the large man could follow through with his threat, a voice from the corner called out, "You're wrong. Things like that do happen."

All eyes turned to the stranger in the corner. Enveloped in a black cloak with the hood pulled over his head, the man's only visible features were his hands, wrapped around a mug of steaming herbal tea. The hands were delicate with long, bony fingers. Blood vessels stood out against the pale skin.

The cloaked stranger continued. "The old legends may be exaggerated, but they are -- for the most part -- true. The creatures in them do exist, though perhaps there are not as many as when these legends were new. Elves are real. Dragons are real. Many of the other strange creatures described, good and evil, exist today or did exist in the past."

The large man grunted, his annoyance with the minstrel shifting to the cloaked stranger. "And just how do you know this?"

"There is a story I know that is not centuries old, although its beginnings do lie in the time of Gareth and his companions. It takes place in a forest much like the one that stands outside this tavern."

Heads turned and the inn's patrons looked out the windows at the shadowy trees beyond the path. A wolf's howl echoed through the night. The innkeeper threw the bolt on the door, muttering, "Anyone out there now will just have to stay out."

The stranger broke the silence. "It is a tale of love and hate, good and evil, and magic. It is about an elf maid, her human lover, and his jealous rival."

"Three necessary elements of any fairy tale," joked the large man. He was hushed by looks from some of the other patrons of the inn.

The stranger chuckled. "No, my friend. This is no fairy tale. There is no happy ending here, only sadness. Listen closely. What you hear may surprise you."

The patrons of the inn faced their chairs to the corner table as the stranger told his story.

In the heart of the forest stood an elf village. Humans did not know of it because they seldom entered the forest, much less traveled to its heart. This had been different in centuries past, when elves and men had been allies.

An elf lord named Shelim led the village. He had one child, a daughter named Ralanthula, which means "raven's flight." She was her father's joy, and reminded him of her mother who had died giving birth to the girl.

Like all elves, Rala had delicate features, high cheekbones and finely pointed ears. She shared her mother's unusual raven black hair. Her beauty was unmatched, and as she approached adulthood, she had the finest suitors competing for her attention.

One day Shelim spoke with his daughter.

"Rala, you approach your coming of age," he said. "Have you given any thought about whom you wish to marry?"

"Oh, father," laughed the maid. "My coming of age is still a year away."

Shelim smiled. "I am well aware of that, my child, but this is something you must think about. As my daughter, you must announce your betrothal after your coming of age ceremony. The one you marry will rule when I am gone."

Rala laughed again, a sound like silver bells, and shook her head. "You are far from having one foot in the grave, my lord."

Shelim nodded. "That may be so now, but I am no longer young, and it will soon be time for me to pass the mantle of leadership on to my successor. I must think of the future of the community."

"I understand that, father. But I don't know which young man to choose. All their attention is bewildering."

"I don't see how. You've been paid attention all your life."

Rala smiled. "That is true, isn't it? Nevertheless, it is not a choice to be made lightly."

Shelim nodded in agreement. "I have noticed the Corenth's eldest son, Fortenel, has been paying special attention to you these last few weeks. His family has served the community faithfully for generations. He is thought highly of, and I am sure he would be welcomed as a leader."

Rala didn't answer, but thought about Fortenel. He was a few years older than she was, well-built and handsome with green eyes and long blond hair. He was a proficient tracker and hunter, and an excellent shot with the bow. He was also an adept swordsman, and a powerful speaker. He was second-in command of the militia, and it was expected that he would be given command when the present captain retired. He was in all things ideal, and the girls of the town would sigh as he passed.

Rala, however, was not fond of Fortenel's cold, steely precision. He seemed to be courting her not out of love or physical attraction, but out of the power and position that she could bring him and his house. Her expression darkened at the thought.

Shelim noticed the change in Rala's eyes. With concern in his voice, he asked, "What's the problem, my dear?"

Rala shook her head. She was afraid to voice her concerns before her father, who thought highly of the young elf. She looked at him and said, "I don't think I could marry somebody I don't love. I know at the moment that I don't love any of those who seek my hand at present.

"But," she added hastily, "that may change as the time of my decision draws near."

Shelim nodded. "Your mother felt the same way when she was your age, but she came to love me, as you will come to love Fortenel, or whomever you choose."

Rala nodded, her eyes lowered. She knew that her father would likely not approve of any but Fortenel. She also knew that she could never love him.

Several days later, Rala was walking in the forest, gathering flowers to decorate the house for the midsummer festival. She traveled farther than usual, seeking out a rare flower that augured good fortune in the coming year. She found the flower in a quiet glade. As she was picking, she heard a moan from the bushes nearby. Curious, she set down her basket to investigate the sound.

Lying in the brush at the edge of the clearing was a young man in an outfit of tanned hides. Rala stared at the stranger. She had never seen anyone like him before. He had short, curly brown hair, solid, square features, and his ears lacked her own fine points. His eyes were clearly not the delicate almond shapes that marked an elf, nor was he as slender. Blood stained his clothes and skin and he moaned in pain.

When she had recovered from her initial shock, Rala knelt at the stranger's side and examined his injuries. They were serious, but not immediately life threatening. Apparently a wild animal had attacked him. Rala removed her cloak and began cutting strips from it with her belt knife. She bound his wounds with the cloth, and then washed his face with water from her flask.

Rala searched the forest nearby for dead branches and brought two long ones into the clearing, constructing a crude litter with the remains of her cloak. She carefully moved the stranger onto the litter and began the trip home, her basket of flowers forgotten.

She stopped to rest and check on the stranger several times, so dusk had settled over the forest when she finally returned. She placed him in the spare room and gathered fresh water and clean bandages.

Shelim heard her return and entered the spare room. Rala turned to see him standing in the doorway, a look that mixed anger, hatred and fear on his face.

"What's wrong, father?" she asked.

Shelim trembled, his voice tight. "What is he doing here?"

"I found him in the forest this morning. He was injured and needed help. He would have died if I hadn't brought him here. Why?"

Shelim looked at his daughter. "He's a human. We haven't had contact with their kind in decades, and for good reason. They brought the Dark Lady to the land centuries ago and broke the alliance. After the war, we turned our backs on the world of men and kept to our forest strongholds. I have heard that men think we are legends, much as they think tales of the Dark Lady are myth. We still remember. My grandfather told me stories of the war and the destruction humans brought to this world."

Rala looked at her father. "What does that have to do with him?"

Shelim shook his head. "Most people feel we should not have any contact with their world at all. There are those, however, that believe humans should be killed to spare the world. I am afraid of their reaction when they learn of this human under our roof. The anger towards humans is still too close to forgive them for what they did."

Rala crossed her arms. "I don't care what other people think. This is someone who needs my help, and I intend to help him. It doesn't matter what his ancestors may have done a thousand years ago."

Shelim could tell she would not be persuaded to change her mind. "Very well," he sighed. "He is in your care. You are responsible for him. He may stay until he is well, and then he must leave."

Rala nodded and turned back to her patient. Shelim watched for a few moments and then left, closing the door behind him.

Shelim was right about his people's reaction. When they learned of the human's presence, they demanded he be turned out, or even put to death. Shelim's advisor, Corenth, was one of the most vehement in his protests.

"My lord," he said one day. "Are you sure you're making the right decision by allowing the human to stay under your roof? There's no telling what evil may befall our community because of his presence! Humans are a threat!"

"That was centuries ago, Corenth," snapped Shelim. "I do not see one wounded human as a threat. He is an unfortunate traveler who needs our help."

"But is it wise, my lord, to allow the Lady Ralanthula to tend him? If his fever should break, how do we know he won't ravish the girl on the spot? Humans are dangerous! If you will not turn him out, at least place him under someone else's care."

Shelim glared at his advisor. "Are you questioning my judgment?"

Corenth bowed his head. "Not at all, my lord. I am merely..."

Shelim glared at his advisor. "Rala has been taking care of herself -- and me -- for years. I don't think we need to worry about her around the human. I consider the matter closed. Do not bring it up again."

His head remained bowed, but inside Corenth fumed. "Yes, my lord."

Rala spent nearly all of her time tending to the human. She often slept in the room so that if he woke up, she would be there. Every few hours, she would bathe his face with cold water, hoping it would help drive off the fever. This continued for nearly three weeks until one morning Rala awoke to find the human sleeping peacefully, the fever broken. She watched him throughout the day and into the night, but he didn't awaken. She fell asleep at his bedside, exhausted.

She woke late that night, movement rousing her. She saw the human looking at her, his eyes still fogged with sleep. He opened his mouth to speak, but she put a finger to his lips whispering, "Sleep now. You're among friends. You'll be all right."

The human smiled and closed his eyes. Rala breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he would be well before long. She went to bed herself, and slept soundly for the first time since finding him in the forest.

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