The Demon and the Elf (Book 1)

Chapter Ten pt 1

CHAPTER TEN

Many, many years ago, a smaller Eial walked along the cobblestone paths of an elven town, his long, forest green cloak dragging behind, scraping the debris below. His face was just high enough to look at the display on the street carts, but his large hood covered half his vision.

Walking past the scents of warm bread and herbs, his footsteps stopped. He turned and pushed past heavy curtains and into the room filled with warm smells. Reaching into one of the pouches tied to his waist sash, he pulled out a few bronze coins. As he set them on the flat counter, they clinked together and announced their presence.

A tall elf with light brown hair walked forward with a kind smile. What would you like, young sir? she asked. When the little elf pointed at a round loaf with a criss crossed pattern carved on top, the tall elf looked to the side where another brought in a fresh batch. With the grace of a butterfly, she gently packaged one of the fresh loafs in a loose wrapping and handed it over to the small elf whose eyes sparkled with anticipation. Chuckling, the lady elf turned back to grab a small pastry and offered it to the smaller Eial, to which he joyfully accepted.

On his walk out of the town, Eial tore the flaky pastry in half. Setting one half into a basket he placed the bread in, he bit into the other half with glee.

Up and up, his feet skipped merrily. When he felt he was far enough away from the town, he shifted his hand down, hugging the basket with the other, and drifted in speed with a sheet of air under him until he reached the tree he called his home. Surrounding him were the greens of leaves and grass and the browns of bark and mud. Flowers and berries of many kinds littered the fields in various colors.

Rustling lightly on the mud paved path, Eial approached a small entry where the ground bulged and a hole carved an opening. "Mother!" the high pitched voice of the small elf called out. "I'm back!" When there was no response, he quirked his head curiously and went inside the opening into a lived underground hut. When no one was present, he looked at his basket in disappointment. Hope she comes back soon while it's still fresh.

His mother had left on occasion to gather ingredients for her spell work or foraging for their meals. Usually, he'd be informed before she left, but he didn't think much of the lack of notice. He just kept mumbling, Hope she comes back soon while it's still fresh.

A day had passed, but there was still no sign of her return. He continued to stare at his basket. She must be bringing a lot. She should have waited until I could join.

Two days passed, Maybe mother became lost. I hope she finds her way.

Three days, Where is she?

He leapt out of the burrow and gathered some berries and edible flowers from his surroundings. Bringing them back in, he continued to stare at his basket of untouched bread and half a pastry. He ate his berries patiently as his dangling legs moved back and forth.

When the snacks settled in his stomach, his eyes darted cautiously around and his mind filled with empty thought.

Outside the hut, on the tree, on the ground, in between bushes, Eial looked for any notes his mother may have left him, but returned with nothing. No scratches, not a single branch misplaced. Inside, all her experiments and lidded bowls of herbs were completely intact.

On her bamboo bed lay a perfectly knit quilt made of wool, wrinkled and thrown just as it had been a couple days ago. Eial walked over to her bed and covered himself with her blanket, staring at the basket, unmoved.

Days turned into weeks, each day with Eial murmuring to himself in wait, What if she returns today?

The pastry had molded and the bread had dried, but he kept them untouched. However, looking at the green on the once beautiful pastry, he finally threw a tantrum.

His mother had been disorganized, but organized in her own way. None of her ingredients or recipes could be moved without her permission or else it would have been lost.

He hopped to where her items were, examining each one, until— he opened a lid and grabbed a handful of dried green herbs and threw them into the air. As soon as he did, he looked around nervously and waited. Then, he took her scrolls and disarranged them, moving them to improper shelves and throwing some scrolls on the ground. After the clanks had silenced, he waited.

Just like that, he continued, moving, throwing, crushing, ripping. Following each round, he would pause and wait, staring over where the entrance was. When he had no more things to throw, he finally looked at the horrible spectacle around him. Broken jars, shredded papers, and herbs layered the floor. The beds and other furniture were torn and crumbled. The only things in tact were a lantern hanging on the ceiling, dimly lighting the room, and the basket he had been looking to share.

He fell down hard on his bottom and kicked the debris with frustration, left foot, then right, then left again. Until finally, after months, a thundering wail left him.

Hours and hours, tears bled from his eyes and his voice called out for his mother until his throat was sore. By the time he had just begun to hiccup, he had managed to drift to sleep.

Unknown of how much time had passed, Eial woke up on the floor to the bright sunlight seeping into the opening of the burrow. Huffing out a slow breath, he slowly made his way outside. With a pushing motion of his hands, the bulge of the opening flattened into an even layered floor of soil, hiding their home underneath. He walked a little while to find a beautiful green flower, plucked it, and came back to where the entrance of the hut was. He stuck the flower at the area and shifted the surrounding soil and rocks to hold up the flower. Palming both sides of the mound, earth magic sifted what was under to create a concrete structure that held the flower.

Using a ball of water magic, he washed his hands and face. Shaking himself out, his small legs started walking, seeking the chance that he would run into his mother somewhere. Every town he visited, he tried to find gossip about a demoness. Every tree he left after taking shelter, he placed a green flower in front. He would create a barrier around him in his rests. A barrier allowing no one but him and his mother.

As the years went by and he grew older, somewhere in his heart, he knew a truth he didn't want to face and blindly kept moving forward. However, on one very bright day, he walked by a bakery in a small town. Looking into the curtainless windows, he saw an elf take out a freshly baked batch of bread with a criss crossed pattern on top. A hesitant step. The moment the warm smell wafted in his senses, a force crashed his chest. The cracking of his heart was almost audible, and the hollowed depths of the truth hidden inside had crumbled out before him.

After then, he had stopped laying flowers. He had stopped searching for gossip. But the barrier he had made remained the same, unconsciously holding onto hope where hope was none.