Stranger (The Aevyanthis Chronicles, Book One)

Chapter Seven

It took three days to reach what Luke came to believe was called 'Elthron'. He followed Enda as they trekked through the strange forest, watching it slowly become wilder and more overgrown with each step.

Ever since he stepped out from that hollowed tree, he could feel those eyes all around him, and if he listened carefully, he swore he could hear whispering.

"Silvan Enduillin nan u'eth na fidalla," she said on the first day, pointing to him and then to the forest. It sounded like she was warning him about whatever was lurking out there.

Talking was limited, but the silence between them was always comfortable. Enda would occasionally murmur under her breath, but it was always more to herself than to him. Each night they stopped to rest, and he would lie awake, watching the glow of the mushrooms cast shadows around them. The leaves were so large that he could use them as blankets, but he didn't, for the air was always pleasantly warm.

Enda would rub a sweet smelling salve on his broken arm and apply fresh bandages made from leaves and vine. Using the mortar and pestle she carried in her side bag, she would grind the mixture together until it was thick like cream and the color of mud, storing whatever was left in a jar made from a hollowed gourd. The ingredients she would never show to Luke, and it was probably for the best; he had caught glimpses of her nightly foraging, and had quickly looked away when he noticed that something amongst the berries and grass clippings was trying to scuttle away.

Despite the questionable ingredients, he allowed her to work her strange magick on him, and every morning he could feel his arm getting healthier. Stronger. The first day she removed his bandages, he had to bite down hard on a piece of bark to stop himself from screaming. He could feel every moment she ran her fingers over his broken skin and splintered bone, the pain like hot shards of glass. But by the third day, his arm was completely healed.

That morning, Enda stood atop a gigantic tree root, scanning the shimmering forest.

"Kalla! Kalla!" she called, gesturing for him to follow before hopping off the root and disappearing to the other side. Luke clumsily followed her.

"Wait for me, I can't climb as fast as you," he groaned. She tugged at his sleeve and pointed forward.

"Elthron," she declared with a wild grin.

At first he couldn't see anything different. But as his eyes adjusted, a hazy form began to appear before his eyes. A castle of shimmering crystal had been built between – and in some places, from - the roots and trunks of the largest trees, careful as to not disturb the natural surroundings. It loomed over them like a sleeping, ethereal giant; with its strange, fairy-like beauty, Luke entertained the idea that it was not built by mortal hands.

"Seren dalla. A'eth nan Taanyth alla," a voice startled them. A slender elf, as pale as snow, stood before them. His steel grey eyes were that of someone much older, despite his youthful looks. Enda bowed her head, urging Luke to do the same.

"Seren dalla," she repeated back to him. Is that how they say hello? Luke wondered.

"Seren dalla," he echoed.

The tall elf looked as him with amusement in his eyes. "Kalla." He spoke so softly that his words seemed lighter than air, and moved with an elegance that is only faintly mimicked by deer when they leap.

Luke remained silent as the elf led them down, under tree roots and along the thick low hanging branches. He caught whiffs of a soft floral aroma as they followed, and the ground beneath them seemed to pulse, as if it were breathing.