Chapter 18: Cyrithasylantis (Part 2)

“Okay, that’s well and good, Cyrith sil…lanis,” Uzari said, shoving her way between the two of them. “You have your sword now. You can be on your way.”

The elf’s eyes sparkled, the corner of her mouth curling upward. “Humans tend to call me Cyrith,” she said. “You may call me such. Tell me, are you two bonded?”

Giddeon froze, caught off guard by the question.

Uzari, however, didn’t hesitate. “Yes—yes, we are bonded. Very much so. We bonded a couple of days ago, and I plan on bonding with him many, many more times.”

Cyrith smiled wryly. “I respect a woman with such resolve.” She turned toward the rest of the group. “I wish you all the best of—”

The air suddenly filled with a low, resonant hum.

Giddeon’s ears twitched as the sound of the rushing stream faded to a distant whisper. An unnatural chill rolled off the water, carrying a warm mist that swept across the bank, dampening the campfire’s embers.

Movement in the river drew everyone’s eyes to its center. Its surface churned, defying the natural current as watery tendrils spiraled up into the air, coalescing into the translucent, shimmering form of an ancient elf.

The figure stood effortlessly atop the water, both hands leaning heavily on a smooth wooden staff that rippled like glass. An immaculately trimmed beard descended to his chest, and his long, translucent hair cascaded down to the middle of his back. The elf’s ears, while similar to Cyrith’s, were significantly longer and slimmer, less human-like. Liquid robes were draped over his form, undulating like waves of the sea. Favoring his right side, he peered toward the bank.

“Golden Watcher, there you are!” a raspy, resonant voice echoed cleanly over the water. His nose wrinkled as his eyes scrunched close together. “Who are you with? Are those humans?”

Cyrith’s whole body immediately went rigid, her chin dropping as she bowed respectfully. “Elder Protector. I was in the midst of battle with two assassins when these humans came to my aid. They are unlike the other earthling clans. I assume these passed through or descended from heaven recently. Why have you sought me out, Protector?”

The ancient elf eyed the crew over before his gaze returned to Cyrith. “A fortnight ago, the Council received reports concerning a large group of humans camping on Boktra’s Shores. Their activity was deemed harmless, and a couple of scouts remained back to keep watch over them. A week ago, our scouts on the border reported a large force of Griwoks leaving the Untamed Lands, heading in their direction. Shortly after, we lost all contact with the scouts at the human encampment. Then there’s…” the elf hesitated before falling silent.

“Speak your peace, Protector,” Cyrith said after a long pause.

“Ahem,” the elf cleared his throat. “Making matters worse, we’ve just been informed the High Priestess has left the Dead Zone. If she knew of this…”

“She’d head there herself,” Cyrith finished his line of thought. “Thank you, Protector, I’ll be heading there now.”

The elf shook his head. “There are too many Griwoks—at least fifty strong. Head back to Espilon and lead the Golden Watch. You’ll need them.”

“I can handle myself just fine,” Cyrith countered. “Besides, I’m closer here than I am to the city. Send the Watch to meet me at the human encampment.”

The elder shook his head again. “Cyrith, I’m not asking.”

At this, the deadly elf stamped her foot and shook her fists like a child throwing a tantrum. “But Grandfather!” she blurted. “I’ve proven myself more than capable of taking on several Awakened at once! I want to head there myself! I don’t want to wait for the Watch!”

“This is an order, Golden Watcher. Bring your friends along. They may aid you again if they wish or take refuge in our city if they are in need of shelter.”

The watery image dissolved into thick droplets which plopped down into the river, completely vanishing.

Everyone stood still in awkward silence. The only sounds to break the quiet were the renewed gurgle of the rushing river and a single, persistent bird chirping away from up inside the canopy.

“My grandfather’s like that too,” Eddington spoke up. “Minus the whole water projection thingy. And the robe thing too—that was a pretty rad robe. But yeah, my grandfather’s a scary man.”

“Ed,” Orion groaned.

“Yes?”

“You need to learn how to read the room, man.”

The chubby man’s eyes lowered, his face flushing red. “Probably,” he murmured.

Cyrith suddenly whirled around, her lips set into a thin line as she recited in a flat voice, “You are hereby officially invited to the most glorious city of Espilon as honored guests. Follow me if you would like a tour of our majestic capital.”

Without another word, she turned and stormed off, marching north without so much as a glance behind her.

Giddeon shrugged. “It appears to be in the direction we’re going anyways. Oomah, Eddington, grab the others and hurry after. She doesn’t appear to be stopping. I’ll try to slow her down.”

“Uzari, help me, please,” Hinelin said, causing Uzari to pause as her fingers were mere inches from grasping Giddeon’s sleeve. “We need to erase all evidence we camped here, just in case.”

Johnny, boost my Speed a bit please.

A surge of momentum kicked Giddeon off. He kept his stride at a casual jog, though the wind whipping past his ears reminded him that to everyone else, he looked like he was running at a dead sprint. In seconds, he caught up to the still-stomping elf.

“Hey, the others are still packing,” he picked up conversation, taking long, easy strides beside her. “Care to slow down?”

The elf acted as if she hadn’t heard him, though he noticed her slim ears twitch. Her fast-paced march continued unabated upriver.

“Can you hold on a second?” He paced her, half expecting her to pause. She never did.

“Hey! Just listen.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist.

The elf ground to a halt as his boosted strength was enough to stop her, though he felt the surprising strength behind her deceivingly small frame. Whipping around, she glared down at his hand with an expression that promised he would lose it if he didn’t let go immediately.

“Wow, she’s pretty—and pissed,” Johnny commented. “I dub it pretty pissed!”

Giddeon ignored the childlike humor of his talking chip as Johnny devolved into uproarious laughter. Releasing the elf’s wrist, he stepped back.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he said smoothly. “Very well, in fact. But there’s more than just Lannister and Azazel back at the camp. Many more. I don’t know if this Golden Watch of yours is as powerful as you, or how many they number, but from what I’m gleaning, you’re pretty unique, even amongst elves.”

The elf’s face softened as he spoke, her cheeks changing hues from golden-tinged skin to slightly rosy.

“I’ve no doubt you can defeat several at once, which is an impressive feat by anyone’s standards,” Giddeon continued. He arched one eyebrow. “But fifty? We were lucky our group only faced two of them, or we’d probably all be dead. All I’m asking for now is five minutes for everyone to catch up. I may not be the best fighter, but I can help if you’re going to our camp.” He bowed his head. “Please.”

“You are more than capable,” she replied in a soft voice. “I sense that which is within you. You are no ordinary Awakened. If you personally accompany me to your settlement, I will wait on the others.”

“Deal.” Giddeon held his hand out.

Cyrith stared down at it oddly. “Ah!” she exclaimed after a moment. “Gary did the same thing. A greeting, correct?”

“It’s used like that, yes, but in this case, it’s meant as a promise between two people.”

“A contract with hands,” she said, reaching out to grasp his. Surprisingly, her skin was extremely soft, devoid of any calluses one would expect an accomplished swordswoman to possess. “I like that.” She smiled coyly, her eyes locking onto his.

As they waited, Giddeon tried to pry more information from her. “You mentioned earthlings. How do you know of Earth?”

“From Gary,” she responded. “He told me a lot about Earth: the magical mirrors called tubes that scry on others, the mounts named automobiles, the ice cream that is food fit for the gods, and much more.” She sighed, her eyes glazing with a flicker of distant memory. “I admit, it was a while ago, and I have forgotten some of it.”

Giddeon shifted his weight, mirroring her stance. “I’m curious about this man you met. Who was he?”

“Just some earthling I encountered roughly three-hundred years ago,” she replied. “He came through one of the Mist Gates, not like you or the other earthlings that hail from the heavens. He spent many years in our village, learning of our people and of life on Enivia. He found even the smallest aspects of our lives fascinating.” Cyrith shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her. “He was constantly writing everything down; kept a book even.”

“What’s a Mist Gate?”

“Hmm, it’s similar to a Moon Gate.”

Giddeon smiled wryly. “I’ve no clue what either is.”

She tapped her chin, pondering how to translate the concept. After a moment, she held her hands out opposite one another.

“Moon Gates are like doors,” she explained, raising her left hand. “They instantly transport you from one spot to another, but they’re limited in distance and only work in their own world.” She raised her right hand. “A Mist Gate can travel much further. It can transport you across realms, like where you’re from. They’re extremely hard to locate, though, and come and go whimsically—at least as far as I can tell.”

Giddeon leaned in closer. “Do you remember the title of the book?”

Cyrith’s brow furrowed, her gaze becoming distant. “He had several, but…oh! It was something like…like…A Compendium of Monsters. He called them volumes.”

“I see. He sounds like a historian.”

Cyrith snorted, shaking her head. “That is what I thought at first, but nothing of the sort. Shortly after I helped Gary find his way back through a Mist Gate, other earthlings arrived.” Her mouth turned downward. “Everyone talked about our planet like it was a game from then on—I suspect it had something to do with Gary. He was good for one thing, though.”

Shifting to her side, she presented her curvaceous hip and thigh. “Look,” she said with a glowing smile, pointing down.

Giddeon, a smidgen red-faced, tore his eyes from her body to her footwear. A supple leather boot, rising to mid-calf, hugged her leg snugly. His eyes narrowed, peering closer at the stitching and laces.

“Are those…from Earth One?”

She looked confused. “Earth One? Are there several Earths?”

“No, but the Triumvirate founded a new planet after 2097 when Earth was destabilizing and there were—” Giddeon trailed off when he saw her expression. Her eyebrows were scrunched together so tight they nearly touched. “Forget that; I’ll explain it later. Are those from Earth—the one you know of?”

Cyrith beamed. “Best boots I have ever had. He fixed my favorite pair after I tore them fighting off a Gillick, and he gave me these wonderful laces! They are so comfortable I even paid a mage fifty platinum just to enchant them with a preservation spell.” She turned this way and that, proudly displaying her boots from every angle.

“Well, it’s confirmed,” Johnny piped up. “She’s a woman.”

Most definitely.

“Do you have a collection of purses as well?” Giddeon asked, chuckling to himself.

“Purses? Why would I need more than one money purse?”

“I concur,” he agreed, receiving a perplexed look in response. “It’s an Earth One thing—well, Earth Two, really,” he clarified. “Women love collecting purses and shoes.”

“I have plenty of shoes at home, but only one pair of boots,” she replied jovially. “I do not collect purses, but I do collect blades.” Her eyes came alive, a glow suffusing her cheeks as she unsheathed her sword, staring at it like a child admiring a favorite toy.

“A little disturbing, but I can relate,” Giddeon remarked. “So, you paid to enchant your boots? Is platinum a form of currency on Enivia?”

She nodded. “Yes, it is a high standard of payment.”

“They’re fine boots; they look good on you,” he complimented her. “Sounds like Gary was a good man.”

“He was a really nice fellow,” she replied. “One of the first earthlings I ever met.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why’d your speech change? You were speaking all medieval before.”

She gave him a blank stare. “Medieval?”

“You know, before you passed out you were all thee’s and thou’s. And again when you spoke of quenching your blade and snuffing out candles—that stuff.”

Cyrith’s cheeks burned, doubly noticeable against her golden skin tone. “T-that’s just my, my w-warrior talk,” she stuttered defensively.

“Oh, I see. Well, I liked it.”

Her blush deepened. “Really?” The elf’s tone softened, taking on an intimate warmth. She smiled shyly, locking her hands behind her back and twisting the tip of her boot into the dirt.

Uzari was the first to arrive, breathing hard as if she’d run the entire way. “What have you two been talking about?” She exhaled, her icy tone contrasting sharply with her smile.

“Cyrith’s agreed to wait for us,” Giddeon told her. “There’s some more information as well, like Moon Gates and Mist Gates.”

“Oh, so you spent your time becoming close, then?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it getting close,” Giddeon replied carefully, seeing her broad, fake smile remained on her face. “Becoming acquainted would be more in line with—”

Cyrith stepped close to Giddeon, her eyes locking onto Uzari’s. “If I wanted to be close to a man, I would simply take what I wanted.” She whirled on her heel and strode to the edge of the river, staring into its depths. “Luckily, men find me irresistible. I’ve never had to take what was always freely offered me.”

“How long have you lived?” Uzari questioned.

“Three-hundred and seventy-two years,” Cyrith replied proudly.

Uzari smirked, stepping beside Giddeon, her eyes boring into the elf’s back. “I guess you’ll just have to brace yourself for disappointment, then. Because you’re not being offered anything here, and whatever he needs, I’ve got it in spades.”

“Spades?” Oomah’s faint voice could be heard just south of them.

“Oh, I love spades!” Vessa’s voice followed. The two women walked casually, each carrying a thin, wooden spear skewered with several fried fish. “It’s one of my favorite games. One of the few I was good at! Wish we had a deck of cards.”

Shortly behind them trudged the rest of the team. As they all gathered around Giddeon and Uzari, Cyrith abruptly turned away from the river, facing the group.

“You may call me Cyrith,” she said kindly, stepping up to each of them and reaching out to shake their hands awkwardly. “I have promised to safely escort you to the city of Espilon, which is a task I do not take lightly. I seal this promise with a shake of the hand, as is the tradition of the earthling people.”

A few of them couldn’t help but smile at how the elf turned a casual greeting into a formal ritual, finding the interaction endearing. Others, like Eddington and Kilner, shook her hand with straight faces and firm nods.

Cyrith paused when she reached Orion, her eyes brazenly roving over his features. “Be vigilant when in the city,” she warned him in an ominous tone. “The women there favor young men.”

Orion grinned, taking her hand and giving it a firm shake. “Do the women there look anything like you?”

Cyrith’s chin lifted. “No woman looks like me. But yes, elven women are renowned throughout all Enivia for their beauty.”

“And modesty, too,” Uzari muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

Giddeon reached out and gently took Uzari’s hand, squeezing it. She squeezed back, a quiet smile touching her lips.

“I’ll make sure my brother doesn’t do anything stupid,” Oomah assured Cyrith. “It’s been my full-time job.”

“Best you do that,” Cyrith said, turning on her heel to lead the way north. “Lest he end up bonded to three elven maids overnight,” she spoke offhandedly over her shoulder.

Eddington frowned, trailing near the back. “Three? Why would he be this bonded thing to three elves, all overnight?”

Oomah, following just behind him, patted his shoulder. “Shhh, I’ll explain when you’re older.”

A chorus of chuckles rippled through the group.

“Older? Wha—” Eddington suddenly clamped his mouth shut, a deep red climbing up his neck as realization finally landed. “That’s…that’s too many,” he stammered out.

Orion’s grin deepened. “Would be my first time with three,” he said, his mood brightening. “With women, that is,” he added quickly, holding his hands up. “I’ve never been with an elf, obviously. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Would is the keyword here,” Oomah emphasized. “And what the heck do you mean by ‘not a real’— You know what, never mind that, I don’t want to know.” She shook her head. “We’re not here to play around. You’ll be with me the whole time.”

Orion’s grin vanished into a deep scowl.

“You seem familiar with the area,” Giddeon said, walking beside Cyrith as the group traveled in pairs up the riverbanks. Behind him, Uzari’s eyes burned holes into their backs. “Is this elven territory?”

The elf considered the question before replying, “Elves do not seek to possess territory—not in the human sense. But yes, many elves have traveled across the breadth of this forest.” She gestured broadly at their surroundings. “This wood used to crawl with foul beasts and devilish creatures. The kind that give most nightmares for the rest of their lives. The High Elves settled here over eight hundred years ago, sending out their warriors to train in the wilds. Over time, these forays extended, and most of the forest has been tamed. That is, until the earthlings descended.”

Giddeon leaned closer to her, his eyes reflecting a sudden, intense interest. “When was this?”

“Eight years ago. And again, five years ago, then once more, a year and a half since—not counting your people.”

“I can tell you more about Mist Gates and Moon Stones if you’d like,” Johnny suddenly offered, interrupting his conversation.

You’ve been quiet for a while.

“No way was I sticking around for all that. I may be dead, but I clearly remember: never get in between two women butting heads. Even my analytical, digital side screamed at me to run.”

That was ten hours ago.

“I got as far away as I could.”

Compartmentalizing yourself, eh?

“I prefer to call it a well-timed nap.”

The rest of the journey was long, arduous, and full of sweat as Cyrith led them north, then east, crossing the river at one of its shallowest sections before cutting north again. Gradually, the oppressive presence of the ancient forest began to ease. Towering trunks grew sparse, the tangled underbrush gave way to rugged paths, and small hillocks and rocky terrain broke through the soil.

Suddenly, they pushed past one final tree line, and the forest simply ended.

After days of shadowed gloom, the open sky was a physical shock. The sun, long hidden by the thick canopy, blazed high and unobstructed, forcing Giddeon to narrow his eyes against its blinding glare. Heat radiated off exposed stone along a sweeping slope leading down into a vast basin. Below, a jagged mixture of flat land, deep hollows, and rocky knolls dotted the expanse. Checking the horizon, he gauged an hour remained until sundown.

Cyrith halted at the edge of the ridge, a dry wind blowing her braids back. She raised a hand, pointing toward a massive, weathered hill on the far side of the flats. Nestled deep into its rocky side was a gaping fissure—a dark pit tunneling straight into the stone.

“Through there,” she told them, her voice carrying cleanly over the open terrain. “Espilon awaits.”