12.1: Confuddling Contradictions

12.1

Stellina

Everything is so…different. 

The woods are different. There are no silver trees crowned with glistening leaves any longer. They are replaced by brown giants with needles instead of leaves. Nothing is warm about them. They make me feel like a bug beneath their gaze. A bug who is in constant fear of impalement by the sly beasts who have entrapped me in their jagged cage. I ache for my trees. They always seemed like a blessing, a smile from Zela.

The sky is different. It feels like a chunk of it has been plucked away and thrown into the abyss. Although the sun has not yet fallen, I know that when the world darkens, there will be fewer stars in the sky.

The people are different. No humans were residing in Estrasias and now there is a whole town full of them. Even the fae were different; resembling effervescent beings with an attitude either wicked and mischievous or divine and altruistic. Certainly nothing like this strange, halfling-like, monarch-winged fae in front of me. If you can call her that.

The fae, Iridea is her name, is a confusing creation. She is not as short as a dwarf or a halfling and not nearly as tall as a human or an elf. She has a similar shade of skin that is revered in my community but it carries a warmer, rosier tint than ours. I had read that some of the other races shared the dark skin of my kind and the western shadow elves, or the paleness of the eastern shadow elves but fae were not typically a part of this similarity. Her wings, too, are peculiar, as though they were cut from a butterfly, enlarged, and stitched upon her back. But they are beautiful; like stained glass, casting patterns of orange and red lighting when the sun hits them at the perfect angle.

Her face is smooth and rounded, as is the rest of her body which is crafted by large, agreeable curves. Her nose is broad, as are her mouth and eyes which both carry an unusual, orange tint with a characteristic glint; a smirk of the lips, a lazy judging with the eyes. Her hair falls in auburn, curling waves, and bounces smartly just above her shoulders. Her dress, seemingly tailored to hug her body, is open at the back as a space for her wings, revealing an ugly mass of black scars rising from the skin. Besides this feature and the abnormality of her existence, she is not a sight for sore eyes. Although she does not carry the beauty of any elf, I would compliment her with the word ‘pretty’, like a simply constructed, analogous bouquet.

The only thing that remains the same is the mountains. They were always there, looming and ever-present. Though I feel small up close, it is nothing like the trees. The mountains are guardians. The trees: apathetic invaders.

The fae now guides me between these invaders. They encase everything now, and it would be easy to get lost in this forest even though we only just left the quaint human village. Yet, she is careful to avoid their branches, taking a zig-zaggy path that she clearly knows very well.

After a short while, the fae comes to a halt and releases the hand grip we had maintained. She steps forward, her short nose concerningly close to the tree in front of her, and knocks on said tree.

Zela save me, she is out of her mind.

The human village looks suddenly appealing now. Maybe they have maps I can use to get somewhere useful. Or - what is it that humans use? - a wart to get from place to place?

A voice appears out of nowhere. The suddenness of it causes electricity to zap through me, firing warnings through my nerves to my brain. I swivel about, desperately trying to place the source. The phantom says,

“Iridea, you have nothing in your hands except for a confused girl. I hope you’ve prepared an explanation.” It is silvery and refined. It is educated and clear. It is coming from the tree. It is the tree? 

“I’m aware of the lack of materials in my hands and I do have an explanation but you have to let us in first. I’m not going to continue talking to a tree and freaking this girl out, as humorous as that may be to you.” The fae, Iridea, responds to this disembodied voice. She looks up at a place far along the trunk. Am I missing something? Someone? Where are they? Where is it?

“It is rather adorable.” The voice chuckles as if we are all partaking in an afternoon tea about the recent fashion choices of the shadow elf tribes. “Alright, I’ve had my fill of entertainment. Bring her inside.”

The innocent, gaping hole that the tree housed at its base ripples into a doorway with a flower-shaped handle and a stained glass window spreading warm light from the inside. Illusion magic. An excited shock passes through me. This may be the home of a moon elf. They could tell me what happened that night. They would have been the first emergency correspondent. They could tell me what it was that attacked my home. I could not think of anything else capable of illusions besides a moon elf.

Iridea twists the handle and allows me inside this new world. It is a house. One that is circular and cosy with wooden walls and little crannies containing small, inconspicuous items nestled in them. It appears that the illusions do not continue past the front door; the house was evidently carved into the tree.

However, as I look around, my excitement at the presence of a moon elf dampens. The place is kept tidy but the carved furniture and tawny sofa are not reminiscent of a moon elf’s taste in aesthetics. An unwanted thought shoots across my head: what if the moon elves were all dead as well? Taken from this planet like mine, ravaged to the ground? I beat it to the side. I can not jump to hasty conclusions before seeing it for myself. I will not let this small thought plague me. Still, a voice whispers nervously: “What if all the elves are dead? No more children of the Gods to protect Zyrona anymore.”

This thought pattern is shattered when Iridea beside me calls loudly,

“Evelena! You’re needed!” It is a wonder how a strong voice can come from such a small figure. We stand there in silence. No response meets her words. She sighs and turns to face me,

“Give me two seconds, I’m just gonna get the person you’re searching for. Or, at least, someone who can give you the information you need. Stay right here, K?” I nod, resting my hand on the couch. She pauses, mid-swivel towards a curling staircase, “You can make yourself a cup of tea or something. There’s food in some of the cabinets. Take a seat anywhere if you need to.” Then, her small, orange-clad form bounds up the stairs and out of sight.

Food. I feel like I have not eaten in years. Normally, this would be an exaggeration but I realise, with a sinking feeling, that it is probably true.

I make my way behind a wooden countertop with purple lisianthus and black roses positioned in the centre. Lavender peeks from between petals to spread its calming smell across the room. I admire the bouquet with a pang in my heart as memories of working at Rixa’s shop flood back to me. They always said I had an eye for beauty and would let me craft bouquets for the shop while they worked in the garden. My proudest work combined anemones, orchids, and delphiniums as splashes of blue amongst a background of white carnations, hibiscuses, daisies, and baby’s breath. My fingers itch to rearrange the assortment in front of me to how I would have done it. I quickly reposition one of the black roses to satisfy the urge and look away before I can be tempted further.

I have never been in a kitchen, though I once tried to nab a bite of the food the kitchen staff were making. They were extremely efficient in distracting me. Iridea’s kitchen is nice, homely. The countertop is an oval that is separated from a mass of cabinets and drawers. Seats have been placed beneath it to face these cabinets. They each have a different coloured pillow spilling tassels at the corners: Purple and black, orange and red, blue and white. They look like they were quilted together. I have only ever seen these kinds of designs drying outside the homes of my kind, but never in the castle; my mother had a very specific sort of taste. 

I turn to face the mass of cabinets to find a dwindling fruit bowl beside a strange contraption. This thing has blocks of wood in its belly with a window of grey glass to see inside. Normally I would tinker with it to figure out how it works but this is neither my home nor my kingdom. The apples in the fruit bowl call to me, averting my curious gaze. They remind me of the orchards not far away from my city and my last happy memory with Xada. I take one and bite into it, the crunch fills my mouth with sound, and sweet juice trickles down my throat. I almost devour the whole thing before I remind myself to savour this gift. 

To slow my hungry fire, I make for a place to sit, passing a rounded dining table with four chairs encircling it. My eyes are set on the sofa which faces an unlit fireplace that slouches in the middle of bookshelves that take up the entire wall. I find this arrangement rather brave, and not in a good way. Curving to face these shelves is an assortment containing a mismatched armchair and sofa, and a rocking chair carved with flowers and vines. I collapse into the sofa, sinking into its warmth almost immediately, before remembering my manners and sitting up straight.

Iridea is taking a while. Perhaps this leader has to freshen up before seeing me or, maybe, they are looking to the stars for answers to my predicament. Yet again, an unbidden thought blazes across my mind, leaving sparks in its fiery wake “ I have walked into a trap and this is the abode of the monsters who attacked Lumnia.” Luckily, the sparks are not able to catch and cause more useless worries as one glance at the wholesome interior deems this comment doubtful.  Even so, I steel myself with reminders of the few attack spells Xada taught me:

Glacu Kilu for ice: I could use that to encase an attacker, give me a bit more time, or, at the very least, give them an awful cold if they are not an elf. 

Ignito ta tinte for fire: I have not perfected the volume of this spell so it would either be a nice quick distraction, or it could melt the face off my attacker, no in-betweens. 

Finally, Lawyene for wind: Not really useful for damage but it could hinder someone’s movement or push them into another object… Like a tree with a particularly sharp branch poking out, or some kind of rocky material - maybe off a cliff if one presents itself.

I have thoroughly munched my apple by the time my thoughts are interrupted by the soft creak of two blue slippered feet descending the stairs to my left. Attached to these silk encased feet are two pale, shaved legs which become covered at the knees by a long, turquoise robe, rippling in silk. I do not recognise this robe as a particular elvish faction as it is the same colour throughout. It also has an interesting design choice of having pockets at the waist with a tie just above them. It does not belong to any Elvish tribe and has no cultural significance that I am aware of. The skin is also not like any elf with its pale pallor, not even a shadow elf or the lightest moon elf. Just the lower half of this person confuses me. Who are they?

An ivory white hand, placed gracefully on the banister, comes into view. So do two orange slippered feet with rosy, brown skin following the first figure; one foot planted firmly on each step before the next swings before it, whereas the blue feet walk slowly, toe to heel. This difference could be separated by blood or social class. Maybe Iridea is a servant to this person. However, her intelligence, confidence, and forwardness do not fit the profile of a servant. But the poise and grace of the first mysterious figure fit the stature of someone of high status. Nothing is matching up.

At long last, the person’s full form comes into view. A woman with luscious black hair tied into a tight bun, the roots silvery and glinting off the light of a chandelier hanging beside the staircase. Her grey eyes take me in as she continues down the stairs. Her face is stiff and masculine-like in its rectangularity but carries a feminine warmth with a clever raise of her rounded eyebrows. Her eyes are dark and long, her nose straight. Her face is as pale as the rest of her body, a long-faded scar slashing across her cheekbone. Her ears are rounded; a human.

“Welcome, Stellina. Can I treat you to any refreshments?” The same silvery voice as before floats from her pale, cupid lips. I ignore her offer, although tea sounds like lovely company,

“Are you leader of village? Scholar? Seer? Can you give me information?” At the end of this rambled sentence, I notice that I have left my seat on the couch and my yellowing apple on the small table in front of me. 

The woman chuckles as she glides down the last step. As she approaches me, a faint flowery smell fills the air around her like an aura. It is warm, but somehow refreshing at the same time. Like a wave of pastel-coloured flowers rippling in a soft summer breeze. Iridea clears the last half of the staircase with an opening and closing of her large wings. She alights on the wooden floor behind my robed informant.

“Have you ever heard of a human seer?” The woman answers with a quirk of her eyebrow, “I certainly haven’t. I am none of those, however, I hope to provide you with some information. At the very least, I am a well educated and informed person at your service.” She extends a hand with long, manicured fingers in my direction, “My name is Evelena, Evelena Laudene. Please let me treat you to afternoon tea.”

I shake her hand and bite my lip. It was true, no human had ever been made a seer but for a split second, I had wondered if that had changed. So much was different, I thought it would not be an absurd reach to suggest that humans not only had the capacity for magic but were chosen by the moon goddess to share in her gift.

“Afternoon tea sounds…adequate.” This does not seem like the right word to explain that I would very much like her treatment of afternoon tea, “Um, if you would not mind, can we please not take long with pleasantries?” 

Evelena raises one eyebrow slightly, I mentally take three steps back,

“Apologies, Ms….Laudene, I overstep. I would like your tea, very much, thank you.” I manage to, somewhat gracefully, splutter out. Though, to me, I was royalty only a few hours ago with the ability to command other’s time, here, I am a guest. And, in ways, not even that. I am a desperate seeker for information who reaches their flailing arms at the smallest promise of knowledge. I am pathetic.

Evelena nods graciously before gesturing to Iridea silently. Together, they prepare tea, weaving in and out of each other’s space like a well-practised dance. Here, Evelena swipes three plates from a high rack. There, Iridea plops an assortment of pastries and condiments on each plate. Left, Evelena places tea bags in a clay pot adorned with beautifully painted roses and marigolds. Right, Iridea fills a metallic object with water from a tap, jutting from the wall, and sets it upon the strange, wood-in-belly contraption. She then strikes a match and throws it into the cluster of wood. A fire glows slowly, and then fiercely as the dry bark succumbs to the flames. I stare and see white trees and silver leaves bright with flames.

A sharp stinging in my palm brings my eyes away from this imagination and glides them to an inconspicuous knot on the wooden wall. The present threatens to fade away but I force myself to continue observing the two strange people in front of me as Iridea continues to sprinkle glances between her actions in my direction. She does this in a way that suggests she is attempting to be subtle but fails drastically with the brightness and uniqueness of her flaming orange eyes. They burn like embers against her warm, brown skin. 

At last, although it has been less than ten minutes, Evelena leaves her place from behind the mini kitchen island and escorts me to a seat at their dining table. She gives me the seat which is warmed by a bland, white pillow with little divots in the making of it but no fun, spilling tassels like the pillows of the other chairs. She takes her seat across from me with a cushion sporting a mirage of blue, cascading along the fabric. Iridea lays plates in front of our spots, each with savoury and sweet food laid decoratively upon the clay face. Soon to follow is the clay pot with steam rising from a small opening in the lid. Iridea sits down with a thump in the orange and red collaged pillow next to Evelena. With the two of them sitting across from me, an innocent afternoon tea suddenly turns into an interrogation. Trying not to look impatient, I slice a soft slab of cheese into little cubes on my plate. I am careful not to allow the metal of the cutlery to damage the clay plates. 

After a few minutes of silence, accompanied only by the clicking of utensils and pouring of tea, Evelena finally speaks,

“What is it you would like to know, Stellina?” I take a deep breath, which releases itself more like a sigh. Where to begin? How much time has passed? Are there any more of my kind left? Where are all the elves? Are they still alive? What is going on with the fae? The humans? Who killed the star elves? Where are they right now, this second?

Before these thoughts spill out in a torrent, I attempt to bring peace to my rambling mind. As Rixa taught me, I let it focus on other things, letting my thoughts gradually filter out until I reach the most important one to ask. I cut bread with a knife and fork, blow on my tea slightly, and place my cut cheese atop my cut bread, all the while thinking and staring at Evelena: is this human qualified for the information I want? She knows nothing of my kind, surely, there is no way. Could she be deceiving me? Her appearance suggests a kindly and hardworking scholar who has seen the front lines of battle but even appearances can hold lies. With a swallow of my bread, I ask,

“How can I trust you?” Evelena answers immediately as she handles her food delicately,

“I know only of your culture and history through the words on a page. However, I hope not to help you understand your kind and your past, but the present day. As I live in the present day and have heard of accounts of current happenings around Zyrona from a variety of sources. I believe this could be quite helpful to you if you are, indeed, the Star Elf that has been sleeping or whatsoever for many years. You can determine yourself how reliable that is to you.” Her words are clever and carefully chosen. She knows, of all the people here, I know the star elves the most. And, perhaps, I know the most about the attack as well. She can only give me reliable information that is housed in her past and present day. Although this is true, and somewhat reassuring of her character, disappointment can not help but filter its way into my mind.

“Your words are helpful to me. Are you aware of number of years that passed between attack on my kind and today?” As I ask this, fear grasps its cold hand around my heart. I do not know if I even want the answer to this question, but I must know. 

Iridea glances at Evelena, already a bad sign. Fear laughs into my ear. Evelena swallows, though she did not put food in her mouth. They know. They know and it is not going to make me happy.

“It has been four hundred and three years since the attack on your kind.”