The girl from the mist

Chapter Four

The Lindworm rose from the mist, a gargantuan, serpentine body which lay coiled upon itself again and again, obscenely. It was in every respect like a serpent, except for the grotesque head, which was like a crocodile's maw, only shorter, and two thin arms emerging from the area beneath the head. Its eyes glittered with evil, and the forked tongue seemed to flitter over the many razor-sharp fangs.
Cassandra cocked her head, looking at it. It really was very nice for a black-and-white drawing.
Master Token was in the basement tending to some experiment or other, and Cassandra had taken the opportunity to visit his study. It was a nice, airy study, filled with assorted knick-knacks from a long life of adventuring. The morning sun fell in through the lead-paned window, making the dust-motes dance over the faded red carpet. She was sitting on the top of a ladder propped up against a bulging bookcase, perusing a bestiary of magical creatures.
Her eyes wandered to the text underneath the picture.

Of all the denizens of the OTHERWORLD, most fearsome indeed is the LINDWORM. It resideth upon a pile of gold, and as the Lindworm groweth, so doth the pile of gold. In its temper, 'tis like its nobler kin, the DRAGON, but it is closer in its nature to its cousin, the WYVERN, for while the Lindworm hath two arms and no legs, the Wyvern hath two legs but no arms. E'er wrathful is the Lindworm, for 'tis no more free than its jailor...

"Well, that was suitably cryptic" Cassandra muttered, and thumbed through the book until she came to the letter P.
A delicate, elven face looked back at her, effeminate, yet clearly male. The figure carried a long, black staff and wore a dark hood, which failed completely to cover the pointed ears. The creature's gaze was sorrowful, gentle, and two of its kind could be seen behind it, apparently working on some sort of portal. This time, the text was on the adjacent page.

Most reclusive of the ELVEN race is the PALE ELF, who elected willing exile in the OTHERWORLD rather than submit to the reign of BLESSED ETHROS. Neither dark nor light, the Pale Elf is shunned by DARK ELF and HIGH ELF alike, and all their lesser kin 'mongst the woods and the sea. Will o' whisps are their servants, and traveller beware, for their magic is mystical, their nature enigmatic.

Cassandra read the text, then studied the drawing again. There was no doubt: Granted, there was only so much you could do with an ink drawing, but what else could the thing be?
She closed the book, and stared into space for a little while.
So not only was there a lindworm on the loose, there was a pale elf resting in the pantry. She didn't know if bringing her here was a good idea, but whatever she was, the girl was hurt and cold as ice. Of course, that might just be the regular temperature for a Pale Elf (assuming there was such a thing as heat and cold in the Otherworld), but being unconscious probably wasn't a good sign.
Nor, frankly, was the fact that there was not one, but two creatures who had escaped the Otherworld. That rather put to death the idea that someone had summoned and lost control of the lindworm, which meant that they were coming in on their own. This meant the Wards were weakening.
Which, in turn, meant death to them all.
She drummed her fingers on the cover of the book.
Well, whatever had happened, what she had now was an unconscious elf on her hands. The most pressing question was probably whether she should tell the others.
She had a brief vision of Howard strangling a prone elf to death with his bare hands, and dismissed the idea. Probably best to take the matter up with someone who had a brain larger than a chicken's.
This left Master Token, but Master Token was in the basement with his experiments. Of course, she could just go and see him, but that was inadvisable: The last time she'd disturbed his work, she'd accidentally stepped into a magical circle and had been turned into a small, polka-dotted aardvark for two days until the wizard could find a cure. Very embarrassing for all involved, although Vance had nearly wet himself laughing.
No, the best thing to do was wait, she decided, and replaced the book. The elf was unconscious anyway, so what difference did it make? She slid rapidly down the ladder, and got started on the day's chores.
A wizard's apprentice is always kept busy, if not with occult affairs, then certainly mundane ones. The floor needed to be scrubbed, the eggs had to be gathered from the chicken coop, and clothing needed to be washed. She often bemoaned publicly that master Token wouldn't let her use magic for such affairs (he'd never explain why), but secretly, she was pleased. First of all, she wasn't all that good at magic, and secondly, she rather enjoyed it. There was something satisfying about working with one's hands. She enjoyed reading, and was thrilled whenever an opportunity arose to read some new book on magic or alchemy, but the idea of snapping her fingers and making things happened on their own just seemed so... Unsatisfying.
Around midday, when the kitchen was sparkling clean, she checked on her guest in the pantry. The pantry was large and reasonably comfortable, presumably an old storage room. The only window in the room was high on the wall, letting in a glimmer of sunlight to illuminate rickety shelves filled with bags of flour, containers of spices and jugs of oils. Dried hams dangled from the ceiling, and sacks of potatoes where piled in one corner. She'd placed her guest on them, reasoning that they were the softest things available, and covered her with a white sheet. The elf was still out cold, but she was breathing easier now, as if she was simply in a deep sleep. Cassandra would have felt better if she had gotten some colour back in those thin cheeks, but then again, that was probably a bit unlikely with a name like a Pale Elf.
She picked up some flour, and closed the door just as the sheet twitched, gently.
Vance came to see her when she was baking.
She glanced up from the dough she was kneading, and looked at the youth without much interest. He still wore those ridiculous leather pants, but at least he wore a jacket today. He also wore an unusually sombre look.
"What's eating you, peabrain?" She asked, returning to her baking. For once, he did not rise to the bait. Instead he looked uncomfortable, and scratched at the wooden surface of the bench.
"I heard about what happened last night" he said, shifting uneasily.
She raised her eyebrows, amused.
"Vance, there are three people on this farm. Four, if you count the eagle. How could you avoid knowing."
"Yeah, yeah, I suppose" he said, sheepishly. He coughed. "You... You don't appear all that shaken?"
"Why would I be?" She asked. Then she remembered the blood-curdling horror that had tried to kill her yesterday. "Oh, right. No biggie. Your father was an ass about it, by the way."
He flushed.
"He's just worried" Vance muttered. "Anyway, that's what I'm here about. I talked to him this morning."
Cassandra had reached for the salt, but stopped, frowning. She looked at him.
"You talked to your father about last night?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
He straightened up, and looked her in the eyes.
"And I want to make it right. I told him as much."
She stared at him in amazement for a moment, then smiled. She whipped her hands on her apron.
"Vance, that's- I don't know what to say! That's very big of you."
He broke into a boyish grin.
"You think?" He said excitedly.
"Sure!" She said enthusiastically. "If you can really make him apologise for what he said, that's a feat in itself!"
He looked puzzled for a moment.
"What? No. No, what he said was totally justified. You really shouldn't have been out there. No, I'm talking about the monster. It won't get away with this!"
Cassandra looked at him with dwindling hope and rising realisation. In this twilight of emotion, she put a hand over her eyes in exasperation as Vance launched into his usual speech of upcoming valor. She wondered if he ever heard himself.
"Vance..."
"...or monster shall threaten you while I still..."
"Vance?"
"....it isn't heroics as much as a duty of...."
"Vance!"
He stopped his pontificating for a moment to look at her. She found herself breathing heavily.
"Vance, there is an Otherworld dragonkin loose in the woods. What, in the name of Ethros, makes you think you stand a snowball's chance in Hell?"
He met her gaze with what he probably though was steadfast resolution.
"It attacked you. I cannot let that stand!"
She raised her eyebrows, sardonically. She returned to her dough.
"I can. Let it go, peabrain."
"I can't!"
"Why?" She asked, exasperated.
"Because I can't stand the thought off you being hurt!"
Her hands froze halfway to their task. She turned around in amazement. He seemed a little uncomfortable with what he had just said, but stood his ground. Despite herself, she was a little touched.
"Vance..."
He threw up his hands, disarmingly.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm not in- Well that is to say, it's just, well, I have to protect you, don't I?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
If he picked up on the tone, he didn't show it. He scratched his neck, awkwardly.
"Well, it's just, you know, since you're not all that good at ma-"
The salt jar struck the wall just above his head, spilling white crystals and shards of pottery everywhere. With fire in her eyes, Cassandra grabbed the sugar jar and pointed at the door with a shaking finger.
"Get out" she whispered, her voice shaking. Foolishly, he tried to argue.
"It's not all that important" he wheedled. "After all, you cook well, and-"
The sugar jar struck closer to his head than the salt jar had. With an unusual speed of mind, Vance dodged smartly, and ran towards the door under a hail of crookery.
"Get out get out GET OUT!"
                                                                             ---
The door to the pantry slammed shut behind her, so hard that the hams hanging from the ceiling danced on their hooks. Cassandra fumed, muttering to herself as she passed the shelves containing large wheels of cheese and the pile of potato sacks with the white sheet next to them.
"Who's bad at magic?" She muttered to herself. "Me? Hah, that peabrain couldn't draw a sigil if his life depended on it...."
She located the sack of salt, and jabbed the metal spoon into it, forcefully. She tried to imagine it was his face.
"I ought to turn him into a toad next time" she mused. "That'd teach him. Worse than an aardvark even. I'd make it a really nasty curse, too. Won't help with a princess kissing THAT ugly mug..."
She stopped, and leaned her forehead against the wooden shelves. They creaked ominously, but she wasn't bothered. She knew what they could handle.
Why was she so bad at magic? It didn't make any sense! She'd practised since she was old enough to hold a wand, but somehow, it just wouldn't work. Her enchantments fizzled out, her wards were like spiderweb, and no matter how much she stared into water with ink in it, scrying eluded her. Nothing she put her supernatural mind to ever worked. And that was absurd! She knew the spells by heart, she could do the motions in her sleep, it just... Didn't work. It was the one thing she was supposed to do in her life, and she wasn't any good at it.
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Perhaps she should just go. Find work on some other farm, go to the city, maybe. Anywhere where she wasn't constantly reminded about what a failure she was. She was smart, after all. She was a quick learner. Observant.
She opened her eyes, still leaning against the shelf.
Speaking of which, hadn't that sheet been...?
She turned her head gently, and looked towards the corner. There she saw a white sheet lying on the floor next to a pile of potato sacks. On top of the potato sacks there was a noticeable lack of elves.
She licked her lips. Alright. The door to this room was locked. That was why she had chosen it, because only she had the key. The window was high on the wall and rather small, so even if the elf was rather thin it was unlikely that she had climb out there. That meant...
"Hello?" She called out timidly, raising her head from the shelf. She looked around herself, but didn't see anyone. The poor lighting in the room made every corner a hiding spot.
"Elf? Are you there?" She asked, walking about a bit. There was still no reply, and she felt herself breathing heavily. Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the spoon, more of a talisman than a weapon. There were plenty of shadows behind her, and before her, but there were few places someone could hide. Behind the barrels in the corner, underneath those spare rugs, but most conveniently behind...
She bent down to remove a sack of flour that stood in front of the shelves, and light fell on a thin, pale creature.
Both of them screamed at once, Cassandra with a deep, throaty fear, the elf with a high-pitched shriek. Cassandra, who had been sitting on her haunches, fell backwards, brandishing the spoon like a weapon. The elf, in turn, tried to squeeze itself farther into the corner. Her eyes were red, Cassandra realised with a pang of fear. Red like blood in a face as pale as winter.
The second thing she realised, once her heart had stopped beating quite so hard, was that they were terrified eyes, focused on the spoon. Cassandra followed them, nonplussed, then realisation dawned, and she lowered it.
"No, no, I'm sorry, I didn't think- here."
Without taking her eyes of the elf, she threw the spoon away. It clattered across the smooth stones with a clear ringing sound. She'd heard elves didn't like iron, but she hadn't actually believed in it until now. It was like a fairy tale. But then again, where else would you find elves?
"It's alright" she said, soothingly. It wasn't that she wasn't terrified by the creature in the corner, but her feelings were alleviated by the fact that it seemed as frightened as she.
"I'm not going to hurt you" she said, slowly and clearly. Then she placed a hand on her chest. "My name is Cassandra."
The creature stared at her. With iron gone, it seemed less panicked, but no more trusting. She was beautiful. Even with the red eyes, she was the most beautiful thing Cassandra had ever seen. But she didn't say a word. The human girl furled her brow, and looked at her.
"Are.. Can you talk?"
The lack of response was answer enough. Cassandra leaned her head back with a sigh, suddenly tired.
"Well, in this house that's probably a step forward" she said wearily, and got to her feet.