Chapter 14 | Ravinica

Chapter 14

Ravinica

I WAS CONFLICTED ABOUT Corym E'tar. He was as noble and honorable as they came, yet he had allowed his younger sister and the elder council to bully him into forcing me to stay.

If they had simply asked, rather than demanding, I probably would have agreed without being so aggressive and stubborn. I had a problem with authority.

The way he looked at me . . . it was similar to how Magnus and Grim stared at me. A twinkle in his eye, like he knew something I didn't—like he prayed to know more about me. There was tension between us, an attraction I tried to fight throughout my time with the Ljosalfar, but had trouble resisting.

I considered Grim Kollbjorn and Magnus Feldraug my mates, after what I'd done with them individually and how close we'd become. The silent stoic one, the emotionless scarred one. Both with tragic histories, much like mine, and both unbelievably alluring.

Training with Corym, learning about him and his people, well, I could see him becoming a mate too, if time allowed.

Evidently, time did not allow it. I hadn't had a chance to burrow deeper inside the man.

The sorrow I felt at having to leave the elves was unexpected. When I had come here three weeks ago, I used every bit of savvy I had to come up with ways to escape—to resist for the sake of resisting. Again with the anti-authoritative approach.

Now, I was crestfallen thinking this would be the last time the elegant elf held my hand, as he took me into Elayina's lair.

It was late. Part of me thought the ancient half-elf would be asleep. As we made our way inside, and the luminescent fungi on the jagged walls of the cave came into view, I heard rustling on the other side of a bend in the deep cave.

The neon-blue fungi, mixed with the brilliant butterflies and bugs here that seemed otherworldly, lit our path and brought us to the great hollowed-out tree Elayina used as a throne.

She sat in the same place as last time, as if she never left. As if she was part of the tree. I'd never thought of that before, but with her knotted hair and gnarled clothes, the stench of earthiness ripe in the cavern, it dawned on me that Elayina might not be able to move or leave her post.

The Ancient One had mugs and bowls surrounding her, reaching over to drop spices and herbs into one bowl, crushing them up, and then combining them with another. She hummed to herself as she worked, apparently oblivious to our arrival.

Then her head lifted, the wrinkles on her pale face deep and grooved.

I had seen the elder councilmen of Corym's people. The trio in the command tent had gray hues in their silver manes, yet had the pristine faces of unbroken snow. Elayina, by contrast, looked like a human woman well into her hundreds. Her ears were not as long and pointy. They drooped a bit, likely from age.

Perhaps she hasn't "aged well," in that sense, because of her human side?

"Ah," she muttered. "The child returns. With the visitor."

"The" visitor. Not "a" visitor. Interesting. Does Elayina know Corym?

Corym went to one knee, bowing his head like he was about to be knighted by a queen. "Lady Ancient One, it is an honor to make your presence."

"There are two of you, youngling," she answered in response, giving no indication or acknowledgement of Corym's deference. "I do not like twos."

Corym lifted his head, staying kneeled. "Ravinica Lindeen is a special case. As I think you know, Anvari ."

"Aye. I told her the same thing. Did I not?" She looked at me as she finished her words, tilting her head just so.

I swallowed hard, nodding. "You did, ma'am."

"Have you discovered what it is that makes you relevant, child?"

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shook my head. "My magic is no longer dormant, however. I wonder if you had something to do with that."

"I can draw magic out of people in the same way I can hold the sun. Meaning, I can't."

I had almost forgotten that Lady Elayina, despite her age and status, had a funny way of talking. She spoke in riddles, somewhat, but also had a biting sense of humor or commentary behind her words. She shared the same glinting eyes my friends and lovers did—sly, mischievous, rebellious.

"I will allow it," she said with a firm nod, motioning to the two of us. "Perhaps I am a bored, lonely old hag, as the humans believe."

Corym stood from his knee, hands curling into fists at his sides. He spoke forcefully, jolting me. "You are not, Anvari ! The humans know not of what they speak."

My head swiveled between them. I was surprised it took Corym, a much younger elf, to instill confidence in the ancient half-elven seer, considering how powerful I thought she was. He was propping her up, lifting her out of her self-pity—a trait of hers that was decidedly human, I believed.

"Why are you here, visitor?" she asked him, raising her chin. Her rheumy eyes were slits behind the bulging skin of her eyelids.

Corym put a fist to his chest. "It is time for you to come home, Lady Elayina."

For a long moment, the Ancient One said nothing. She simply tilted her head again, smacking her lips as she mulled over his words. "Is that so? Who has decided this? You? The elven council?"

"Both, Anvari. The wards separating Midgard from Alfheim are weakened."

"I have felt the life of these magics weakening in the wind, aye. Yet they still exist. And human blood still festers inside me."

My throat went hollow as I stifled a gasp, listening to them converse. Is she saying humans cannot go through the portals, even with weakened wards? I supposed that meant my daydream of visiting Alfheim was a nonstarter. It made me sadder than I wanted to admit.

"We have the power to bring you home, Lady," Corym said. "Three wardtracers line our vanguard. Elder councilmen."

"Fools and soothsayers," Elayina spat. She was growing agitated, and Corym had a shocked look on his face when I glanced over at him—not expecting this retort. "Where have the wardtracers and elders been until now, hmm?"

Corym, fell silent, bowing his head. Eventually, he spoke in a low drawl. "Ljosalfar did not have the means to return to Midgard until now, Lady."

"Nonsense, E'tre'arus ! Do not speak to me of means and ability, youngling. Do you know who you are talking to?"

She showed anger and grandeur—a clear sign of her swelling, ancient power. The tree began to creak around her as her temper increased. The room suddenly felt sweltering, as if she controlled the soil and weather in this cave.

Corym saluted again with his fist to his chest. "I do, Anvari . Apologies. I did not mean to offend with my crass words."

The elf was walking a tightrope. Elayina was not as cogent and malleable as he had hoped. She was stern, had a backbone, and believed the elves had not done enough to help her. Her rage seemed well-deserved, to me, an outsider.

When the room fell silent and tense, I held my breath, listening to my heartbeat rattle in my ears.

"Besides," Elayina said, "you have misgauged. It is not my time, visitor. I am still needed in Midgard, unfortunately for everyone involved."

Corym lurched. "Why?"

"To oversee the tragedy that will soon fall. To make sense of it all."

Now she was speaking in rhyme, and it frustrated me. "What does that mean?" I asked, speaking for the first time in many minutes. "What tragedy ?"

She looked over at me like she'd forgotten I was there. "The tragedy of the serpent's shadow, child."

Corym grunted.

My head spun on a turret, looking from elf to half-elf. "What's the serpent's shadow, Corym?"

Elayina muttered, "Recite the pertinent augury for the girl, visitor."

"You believe . . . it could be true?" Corym asked lowly.

I was utterly confused.

"Recite it!" Elayina shouted, the raspy words reverberating through the enclosed cavern and down the winding corridor behind us.

Corym went taut, muscles flexing with surprise. "The serpent's shadow will grow . . . to become greater than the serpent himself."

The words meant nothing to me. I didn't think they were spoken to or about me—they were for Corym to understand. Clearly, like Vikingrune and the humans and our own oral histories, the Ljosalfar had tomes and scriptures of their own, which held outweighed significance to their people.

This wasn't a discussion for me.

"Good," Elayina said, nodding her head. "You have not forgotten."

"No Ljosalfar worth their salt has, Lady."

"Then tell the rest of it to the child."

I furrowed my brow and flared my nostrils. Why is she so demanding of him? "Why?" I asked. "What importance does it hold to me, Lady Elayina?"

The Ancient One said nothing, simply staring daggers at Corym as if he had done something wrong. Or, maybe, as if she was trying to get him to understand something.

"It's a commonly told legend in Alfheim among my people," Corym said, bringing his bright gaze to me. "The prophecy of the Lightbearer—the one who walked, the one who flew. The Winged One."

I bit my lip, staying quiet.

"The prophecy speaks of the ‘enemy of our enemies,' and how the Lightbearer will not just lift us out of the shadows of our conflict with the Dokkalfar, but also rekindle our relationship with the humans so we can focus on common enemies."

I rubbed the back of my neck. I didn't want to offend him, but . . . "Humans have similar tales. Legends. Myths. Whatever you want to call them. They are . . ."

"A farce? Hopeful stories and nothing more? Yes." Corym chuckled humorlessly. "I have been told much the same all my life, Ravinica."

"And yet, here you two are," Elayina interrupted, as if it explained everything.

I was more confused than ever.

Then her voice came out in a deep, arrhythmic chant:

" Fly me to on wings of leather, not feather.

Haul my sunken soul to the gates of the gods.

Drag me forth from the darkness, Lightbearer.

And leave me dying in my rightful resting place."

It was a dark, grim stanza that meant nothing to me. Yet when she chanted the words, Corym's eyes glistened, and he nodded along reverently.

It was a short, solemn tale. Clearly, it meant something to Corym E'tar. I was sure it meant something to all Ljosalfar.

I only wished I had some understanding of what it meant, why it was told to me. With a mention of "hauling a soul to the gates of the gods," it sounded like a tale of the valkyries—the shield-maidens who flew down on winged steeds to bring warriors slain in battle to Valhalla, where they'd feast with the gods for time eternal and partake in endless wars.

Perhaps it is two conflated legends?

When Elayina was finished, Corym clamped his jaw tight. His chin dropped to his chest, before rising. "A tale that has never come close to being actualized. A story, Anvari , told to us as whelps."

Elayina smiled, her face twisting from her shifting wrinkles. "And who will bring us this light, visitor?"

"‘The blood belonging to both and neither.' More nonsense."

The hell does that mean? What is "both" and "neither"?

I ran a hand nervously through my hair, twisting the ends.

Corym noticed my confusion. "It's a phrase that has been debated for eons by scholars and seers. It means nothing, and that's the point."

I could tell he was angry about all this, how this was going.

Clearly, Elayina was trying to make a point. "The girl you have beside you is both and neither, is she not? Both elf and human. Neither elf nor human."

I gasped.

Corym tightened his body and thrust an accusing finger at the Ancient One. "Don't do that, Ancient One, I beg. That is just one interpretation of the prophecy. If you're trying to say Ravinica Lindeen is the Lightbearer, then say it !"

"I cannot," Elayina answered with a sigh. She clasped her gnarled, skeletal hands together in front of her. "It is not my job to dissect and actualize the prophets. It is simply my duty to make you aware of the possibility, visitor. If you do not search for the truth, you can never find it."

Corym put a palm to his forehead.

I felt the same way. Elayina was exhausting with her riddles that didn't seem to lead anywhere. "Truth is unwavering, ma'am," I said. "It is found, not stumbled upon. It is learned, not felt. It is discovered, often through reason, deduction, trial and error. I was taught that as a whelp."

"Then you had a fine teacher, child. Yet there are many ways to see the same thing. I cannot say you are more special than you are, because I do not know. I don't have the power of foresight. I am no prophet.

"However, I am staying in Midgard because my work is not finished here. Cruel, dark magic has kept me here, binding me to this land. Now that it has let up, and I have my first chance at retaliation, I am to flee? Nonsense, child." Lady Elayina shook her head firmly, closing her eyes.

Finally, moving on from the prophecy—now grounding herself in reality—she was starting to make sense.

And the truth of that reality astounded me. Cruel, dark, binding magic? Was it from the humans? Good gods. That is why she is stuck in this damned tree-hollow?

"Then you will die, Lady Elayina," Corym said simply.

"So be it. I should have died ages ago, boy."

"You are too important to the Ljosalfar—"

"I am a memory!" Elayina screamed, forcing me back a step. "A wraith plaguing your stories! Undue importance has been placed at my feet when I never asked for any of it. Do not tell me what I am, visitor!"

It was a tale as old as time: a leader, a visionary, who wanted to be neither. As I'd been taught, often the most resistant leader made the best one.

My heart sped up, slamming against my ribs. The sweltering heat in the cave grew more intense. Sweat beaded my brow. I went into a reflexive, defensive stance.

She abruptly calmed, lowering her hands to her lap. The room chilled. " The blood belonging to both and neither ," she repeated, then nudged her chin in our direction. "Go out and discover the truth, children. Or don't. It matters not to me. The Ljosalfar abandoned me ages ago, for all I care to think."

"It's . . . not true," Corym grunted, though his voice had lost its bite. He sounded hopeless, defeated.

"There are many ways to see the same thing," she echoed from before, and I thought she threw a wink at the elf beside me.

I felt awful for Corym, who seemed so determined. But Elayina was old, had seen enough, and was resistant to change after staying so long in this place.

How long has she actually been here? I wondered.

I didn't feel it was my place to ask.

She flicked her wrist, shooing us. "Go," she said. "Transcend the serpent's shadow, and find your own truth within the tragedy of ancients."