Maehel and Elainah

Prologue

The line that divides truth from fiction, how can anyone truly define it? Perhaps if you were to ask one of the voices within this story, and if they were willing to be addressed by the changed name mentioned therein, they might protest to the events. Or perhaps they would agree wholeheartedly. For is literature nothing less than the works of imagination that can swell into a new truth, more emboldened, larger and more credible than the actual happenings? What is history if not purely the perspective of one observer, weaving words into a situation that may or may not have ever existed. The events herein line up perfectly with other historical records and there were more than one eye witness account to support it. For this reason I have very little persuasion to doubt the tale of a star-crossed Elf and his impossible love for an undead woman.

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In a land driven to accumulate wealth and controlled only by fear, there stands a King, tall and regal to address the masses before his throne. The King is joined by a girl from the streets whose ivory cheeks and moonlight eyes no one recognises. Elainah firmly holds a gentle hand around his shoulder, the other hand clasping a knife at his throat. The shocked King wheezes, trying not to breathe too deeply, as Elainah addresses the crowd. “Speak now to your people oh mighty King. Address them with who you really are. As you sit on your throne consuming ale and fatted pork whilst on the roads a traveller is left to die in their own blood over a morsel of bread. You surround your castle with guards to defend you from a distant threat while your people are afraid to close their eyes in their home. You rule this land as a coward hiding away from a storm. Address your people, tell them of the coward you are.” The King’s lip trembles as he tries to form words but cannot. The girl looks out a window to a figure on the rooftops in obsidian black robes with grey lining. His covered face holds a piercing stare as he slowly nods to Elainah. She slices with the knife and throws the King onto the throne room floor then slips into the crowd like a shadow. Bumbling guards flail swords and cry out “treason” as they scatter the people in a fuming rage. Elainah scampers out of the castle and along the rooftops, stopping beside the cloaked man with her palms out. Pulling a bag of minas from his hidden belt he slaps it into her hands then clamps on to her shoulder with a gloved hand. Elainah opens her mouth to speak but the figure grabs her tongue with his other uncovered hand. Her nostrils are filled with a stench of burning flesh as his rotten tainted hand scolds her tongue. His voice is a growl from the shadows of his hood. “No theatrics. Just do your job next time.” He forces what is left of his thumbnail into the flesh of her tongue, slicing it from her mouth. He releases Elainah and then turns away, dissolving into a funnel of black smoke.

An Elven boy stands solemnly at the back of an empty cathedral, silently begging God for guidance. The city has calmed and the manhunt diluted from the attempted murder only days ago. Maehel places the holy book back in his satchel and walks out of the cathedral into the rain drenched streets, walking towards a bustling tavern by the docks. The night is cold and harsh, the children normally playing on the streets are nowhere to be seen, and the only joy to be found is in the belly of a singing drunken dwarf. Maehel stops near the docks and looks around the abandoned streets, pulling the collar of his jacket higher. He hears the sound again, a light footstep on the wet stone. Scanning the streets he sees nothing, not even the flicker of a shadow. Maehel continues towards the tavern, its dim lights now visible through the thick rain. He hears the sound again and continues walking slowly, this time two steps not far behind him. Slipping into an alley next to a shop Maehel grabs an overhanging awning and pulls himself onto the roof and lays flat against the wood. The gentle footsteps draw closer and closer, stopping at the corner of the alley. Elainah cautiously creeps up the alley, this time careful not to make a sound. She stops under the awning and looks around confused, wondering where the elf had gone. Maehel stands up on the roof and speaks through a whisper “why are you following me?” Elainah’s eyes go wide and she throws a desperate glance at the figure standing above her. She darts away into a darkened street, occasionally throwing glances back over her shoulder to see Maehel still standing on the roof. He jumps down onto the slippery stone path and loses his footing, landing on his bottom against the wet, hard road. Elainah giggles to herself before jumping down into the safety of the sewer.

Golden rays of the morning sun break through what is left of the cloud from the night before. Maehel leaves the inn and walks towards the sounds of raised voices in the market district. A fight over prices has broken out and two rather small men hurl abuse at one another. A small crowd begins to gather in the square in anticipation of a fight. Maehel looks up at something catching his eye to see his crimson cloaked follower gracefully bounding over rooftops. He watches, mesmerised as she skips across gaps and swings from chimneys to find a clear view of the action below. Seeing his opportunity, Maehel runs up a wall and leaps towards the adjacent rooftop, pulling himself up. He moves swiftly along the rooves to the other side of the market and slowly walks up behind the girl. “You followed me because you were bored.” Elainah breathes in quickly, remaining completely still. Maehel continues, “remember? It was only last night?” Elainah slowly turns towards him and in the morning light Maehel can clearly see her hauntingly beautiful face. Her eyes, icy blue like the reflection of sky on a snow topped mountain, told tales of loneliness and betrayal. Long, black flowing hair covered half of her face which underneath the signs of decaying flesh could be made out. Her lips, rich like the blood of a rose, pursed into a cheeky smirk as she remembered the elf she had followed. In an instant she begins a dash across the rooves, leaping with a practiced ease. Maehal starts after her, desperately trying to keep pace while herding her towards the church district where the buildings are farther apart. Elainah stops on the edge of a roof where she can go no further. She turns and faces Maehel, hissing violently, her hand clutching a dagger tucked into her robes. The elf stands with his hands open, showing that he carries no weapon. Elainah stops hissing but grips the dagger tighter, watching him closely. Maehel cautiously steps forward speaking humbly, “I just thought if you were going to make a habit of following me, perhaps I should know your name.” Elainah is taken aback, shocked to be met by someone without an agenda. She sheathes the dagger and takes a small step forward while lifting the sleeve of her robe up. Maehel observes the letters scratched into the skin of her forearm, a fresh looking wound. He nods and smiles at her, “Elainah.” Stepping forward to greet her, Maehel stretches out his hand to shake hers. She looks at him puzzled then smiles a mischievous toothy grin, slapping his palm with her fingertips before pirouetting off the edge of the roof into a fountain below. Maehel runs to the edge to see her cheekily waving from the water as she seemingly dissolves into it, diving to the depths below.

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Wet crunching footsteps and a voice echoes through the stinking dingy sewers. Having been a year since they first met, Elainah has worked up the trust to bring Maehel to her makeshift home in the city’s underground. “Is this everything?” Maehel looks at the assortment of items on a dirty towel: a tattered book, a male’s suit of armour with a royal emblem, half a loaf of bread and an old ragdoll with half its face scratched off. Elainah nods pleasantly and then notices the ragdoll and hides it under the towel. “You don’t have to stay here, I’ve rented a room in town but I sleep in the trees. You could live there if you like.” Elainah shakes her head, pointing up at the sewer’s ceiling and then down to the dirty floor mouthing “safe.” In the time that they had spent together Maehel had become proficient in reading her attempts to communicate and had grown to cherish every painful attempt she made at speaking. He looks again at the possessions, “you don’t have a change of clothes?” Elainah shrugs and avoids further questions by wading further up the sewers to a ladder. Maehel follows her up and onto the roof of a small shop. Almost on cue a streak of lightning crashes across the sky a small distance from the city and sends blasts of thunder and fear through the streets. The people start shouting and madly running in all directions, but the two figures on the roof remain eerily still. Elainah points towards the lightning wilfully and motions to Maehel that he should stay right there. Before having time to make an answer, Elainah flips off the roof and sprints through the gates as they start closing. Maehel falters in thought before chasing after her, running hectically through the crowds of people fleeing in the opposite direction.

A small way out of town Maehel had caught up to her and, getting close enough to speak softly in her ear while running, says “you don’t have to go to them, you can stay here with me.” Elainah stops suddenly and stands rigid. She keeps her eyes hidden, but seems emotionally torn. He walks up to her, trying to look into her eyes, “don’t choose this.” She stands motionless as lightning continues to crash around them, then, without looking up from the ground, buries her fist deep into Maehel’s stomach. He hunches over in pain as Elainah sprints down the road, never at any moment looking back, her footsteps laden with tears that freely flow down her face. Maehel watches Elainah become smaller in the distance as he desperately sucks in air. Fighting against the pain he begins to run after her, but a shadow falls across the path. The shape of something evil, someone he had met years ago. The ground bursts forth with half dead creatures whose moans of agony pierce his compassionate heart. Maehel watches helplessly as foolish men who had come to be heroes are quickly surrounded by the hordes. He looks farther down the road, knowing that Elainah would be immune to the flesh-eaters, but concerned none the less. His anger now dissolved, knowing that she had saved him by preventing him follow, Maehel languishingly returned to his home with the elves. His gravest concern now was that he may never see that face again, nor hear the joyous raspy laugh, or feel her inquisitive fingers tracing the lines on his palm.

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Trees set ablaze by hellfire from above. Elves frantically try to extinguish their burning homes. The air is thick with smoke and lightning and the cries of fatherless children. The elves are quick to respond, reaching for sword and bow to fight an enemy they cannot see. Maehel stands on a treetop unsure of which side he should be fighting for, or whether to fight at all. In an explosion of smoke three cloaked figures appear in the sky, each with a different trim signifying the horrors they are prepared to unleash. The forest is bathed in darkness as foul beasts, some too horrific to envision, descend upon the elves. Maehel stands alone on a high branch staring intently at the three figures: one he recognises as Hegrak, one he does not know, and one the girl he lost long ago. Elainah spies him through the leave the sadness of these last lonely years returns. Recognising the frailty in her eyes Maehel stretches his hand toward her beckoning her to return to him. She dares not move closer to him, lest the others see him also and attack. Their eyes remain locked. Then the voice comes. Bubbling up from the depths of darkness, raspy like stones grinding together; Elainah’s eyes go black as the voice of a banished daemon speaks through her. “This world is mine. You will all be brought to me or be crushed under my wrath. Choose your end, worthless mortals.” She painfully clenches her eyes closed and attempts to shake off the shadow in her mind. When she opens them again the ground is speeding towards her. The moment of her possession had faltered her balance upon the small platform, and the trees now raced by as a blur as she plunges down. Her eyes are clenched closed again, this time praying the dark voice would return and rescue her.

When she opens her eyes again she doesn’t see a fiery pair of eyes staring into her soul, but the compassionate face of Maehel tenderly holding her in his arms. The emotional turmoil of those agonising years and his continual questions now dissolved in the instant that he beheld her crystal blue eyes. She brushes him off and stands up, buckling slightly from the broken bones in her knee. Pulling her hood down to cover her decaying skin, Elainah glares hatefully at the elves surrounding her, expecting at any moment for one to strike at her. Maehel speaks up, forgetting the crowd and the on-going battle. “You spoke.” Her replies comes without eye contact, and she absent-mindedly scratches at a bloodied tattoo on her hand. “He saved me. He gave me a voice.” Maehel grabs at his satchel and rummages through it for something he had held on to for almost a decade. Elainah periodically glances at him with curiosity between vile glares at the crowd of elves. He pulls out an elegant blue and ivory dress of fine linen and holds it on display for her. Elainah’s composure shifts as she examines the flowing evening gown, the little girl she had tried to forget was depserate to be let out. Maehel affectionately smiles at her, “I thought you might like something pretty to wear. Made by a princess for-“ he stops himself from completing the sentence, unsure of what her response may be. Elainah's breathing becomes laboured as she gradually steps closer to him, reaching out a hand to touch the dress. Maehel tries to pass it to her but she forces it back into his hands, turning away as the broken child within utters “no, much too beautiful.” Elainah endeavours not to look back as she hobbles away from the crowd of elves, but after a few steps her leg gives way and she crumples to the ground. Maehel rushes over to her and picks her up in his arms, “I will take you.” Elainah growls and writhes around in his arms then sinks her teeth into his shoulder. He cries out in pain and drops her. She lands violently on the ground and rolls onto her side. Attempting to ignore the stabbing pain in her side she stands again, hissing once more at the crowd of Elves. They shudder and remain distant as she begins shuffling away. Maehel wipes his blood off his arm and makes to follow after her, but Hegrak steps out from the shadow of a tree in his bloodied robes, raising his arm to block Maehel his pursuit. The elves recoil in fear at the sight of him, but his focus is only upon the Elf he once knew long ago. “You cannot go with her.” Maehel's gaze doesn't break away from the fragile figure in black robes hobbling painfully across the beach. “I do not care. I can help her get there.” As he attempts to follow Hegrak raises his voice in reply, “You cannot go where she is headed.” Maehel protests, “I don’t care where she is headed, I need to help her.” Hegrak grabs his shoulder with a gloved hand, demanding Maehel's attention. Searching the eyes of the Elf, his voice is softer with a veiled hint of compassion. “It is better for both of you if you let her go.” The Elf exhales, closing his eyes as a tear forms in his lashes. The crowd of elves tremble as the cloaked man abruptly turns and walks after Elainah, leaving behind him the charred remains of their destruction. Maehel slumps to the floor holding the dress tightly against his body, staring vacantly after them. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Maehel's mortal body grows tired as they journey through abandoned townships and across broken walls. Occasionally Hegrak looks back over his shoulder, checking if the elf is still keeping up. Finally they come to it. A burned and ruined village that looks like so many others before it; but the ground is warm beneath their feet and the sky above is permanently blanketed by thick black clouds. Hegrak waves his hand towards a dishevelled building and speaks over his shoulder, “you are a fool, but a brave fool.” Maehel drops his pack on the ground and takes a moment to recover his breath. Hegrak turns and looks him in the eye, “I did notbring you here.” Maehel nods, looking past him into a shattered window frame that reveals nothing of significance about the building. Hegrak leaves the elf alone, his footsteps making no sound as his robes seemingly glide over the shrivelled grass. Maehel swings his pack over his shoulder and creeps towards a decrepit doorframe, looking back at Hegrak in the distance. “Thank you.” Hegrak stops and waits for a moment as though considering something, then shrugs and strides away, never looking back at the elf or the forsaken village. Inside the building Maehel cautiously descends a stone staircase, noticing the foreboding scrawling on both walls. Some are warnings carved into the stone, others the mutterings of doomsayers scribbled in blood. The subject of these writings becomes obvious in the lower room, lit by an ominous dark light from a mysterious doorway. Maehel breathes in deeply, staring through the swirling shadows at a hellish realm of fire, blood and endless pain. He steps through the doorway, pushing away all trepidation about abandoning the world behind. Maehel is dragged through darkly paved corridors and expansive passages by two cloaked men, drifting between consciousnesses from a bloodied blow to the head. He is thrown like a sack on the stone floor of a dark cathedral. The two men bow low to something and slink away into the darkness around him, leaving the elf seemingly alone. His head bleeds from a deep wound by blunt instrument and the blood drips on the temple floor, become lost amidst the endless puddles of dried crimson. He holds the side of his head and examines the large room, a creeping feeling as though a presence is watching him rises in his soul. The shadow of a very tall man falls on him, but there is no figure to whom it belongs. Maehel looks into the space where the man should be as a voice reverberates from the cathedral walls into his own head. “Why have you come?” Maehel’s eyes flutter as he attempts to control his consciousness. He licks his dry cracked lips before responding, “looking for someone.” The voice roars in anger, “MORTAL, WHY HAVE YOU COME?” Maehel stares deeper into the darkness to seek the voice “I have come to trade.” Flames spontaneously erupt around him and in the short moment of light Maehel observes that there is no form for the voice. It speaks again, “What do you expect to have that is of value to me?" Maehel drops his gaze to the floor, speaking boldly in reply, “my soul for hers.” A bitterly long silence washes through the room. Fires cease to burn and all light sources in the room grow dull amidst a thick cloud of dread. The stillness is broken by a diminutive laugh that begins in Maehel’s head. The chuckle grows to a dark cackle, echoing around the high roof, then morphs into a deep booming laughter that simultaneously boils Maehel’s blood and chills his soul. Eventually the laughter subsides and Maehel takes the stillness as an opportunity to submit his plea. “She is rightfully yours; I cannot take her from you. But you enjoy the suffering of mortals, and she is far from mortal now. Instead, take my soul and do with it what you desire. Make me suffer for your amusement and let her go.” The room is bathed in fire. Pillars of shadowy flame surround Maehel as his frail body is stretched in every direction, his mind screaming out in infinite pain. A body steps into the light of the fire with robes as black as the void, his body remains hidden under the cloak, his eyes of flame piercing Maehel’s soul. The voice speaks mockingly in Maehel’s head. “Hegrak was right. You are a fool. But I will enjoy your torment.” Maehel cries out in anguish as a dark hand is forced into his head. He tightly clenches his eyes closed as his soul is ripped from his body. The horrible booming laughter echoes through the chapel again. Maehel opens his eyes, glaring defiantly into that dark face as tears of blood flow down his cheeks before closing them again for the last time.

Elainah wakes to see tall snow peaked pine trees. She lays in a bed of snow in the forests of her youth wearing an elegant blue and ivory dress. The rising sun brings the warmth of a new seed to the snow-clad .forest. The bloodied tattoo on her hand is healed and only a faint circle remains in its place. She stands up, dusting snow from her sides, then for the first time in decades pulls her hair back and ties it up, revealing the soft porcelain skin of her now blemish-less face.