Prophecy

‘The Älventree is dying,’ Söröña beseeched the council, ‘you have all seen this. How can you sit here and do nothing?’ 

’And what more, pray tell, would you have us do, child? The Grand Älfa replied, narrowing his eyes. ‘Our song has never yet failed. I see no reason why it should do so now.’

’But Father, it is failing. As is our strength and immortality. With every leaf that falls. You know what will happen if the tree dies. Even you, the strongest of us, grow weaker.’

Her father rose from his etched, silver-birch chair. ’Weak!’ he said, nearly trembling with anger.‘You forget yourself.’ As he glared down upon her, a unanimous intake of breath came from the ring of council members. She searched the gathered faces for any sign of support. Of course they dare not disagree with him. All knew the Grand Älfa’s capabilities, and all feared them.

Söröña bowed her head. ‘Forgive me, Father, I meant no impropriety.’

His shoulders relaxed as he sat once more. ‘Leave us.’

She opened her mouth to protest, but clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay silent. I have tested his patience enough for one day. She strode out of the circular room, burying her frustrations.

She huffed with exasperation as she left the chambers, lost in thought. Entering the vast, winding halls ahead, each one woven from the bark and vegetation of the forest, she became aware of a presence.

Her brother stood, leant nonchalant against the trunk of an oak-tree, taking a large bite of a golden apple. ‘The gathering did not go well,’ he said. A statement, rather than a question.

‘Father refuses to listen to reason.’

‘Has he ever? Now if I had been present…’

‘You think you would be permitted to enter the council chambers after what took place last time?’

‘I spoke out against one of Father’s decisions, just as you have.’

‘You were less tactful than I.’

‘And where did your tact get you, dear sister?’ Söröñem teased. ‘We both know how stubborn he is. Much like yourself. I did advise against requesting an audience.’

‘That is of no assistance, Söröñem.’

Her brother twirled the stem of the apple between his fingers. ‘Then how do you intend to proceed? Am I to be included in your plans?’

‘I shall visit Melaela.’

Söröñem scoffed. ‘She is older than our Father. Almost as aged as the trees themselves. Her mind is not what it used to be.’

‘She is our greatest librarian,’ Söröña scolded, ‘and our last hope.’

‘Melaela hasn’t spoken a prophecy in years, if that is what you would seek.’

‘Perhaps not, but maybe there is something in the Älven Library that can be of assistance. Every memory of the forest lies within those roots.’

‘Maybe,’ Söröñem said, ‘though it would take years to go through them all.’

‘I will not sit idle whilst Älvenhame wastes away.’

’I agree, we should not. But as you say, time is of the essence. There must be a faster way of acquiring answers.’

Söröña frowned. ‘I know of no other way.’

’Melaela may know where best to look. Any history of past tragedies, something.’ Söröñem banged his fist against the walls. ‘The dwarves could be to blame.’

‘You sound like Father, always blaming the dwarves. Do you really think they are capable of such a feat?’

‘They killed our mother,’ Söröñem snapped, ‘I believe they are capable of anything.’

She flinched at the venom in his voice. ‘If both of our races could let go of our hatred for one another—’

‘I will never forgive them. Neither should you.’

It is that kind of hatred that blinds our Father.

‘Your accusations may not be baseless,’ Söröña admitted, ‘but it does not heal the Älventree.’

The fire in Söröñem’s eyes died as he conceded. ‘You must away to the library and seek out Melaela. I will try and talk with the other Elders. Those that are not of the Council. In the hope that they may not agree with Father’s complacency.’

‘Thank you.’

Söröñem nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Let us hope we find what we are looking for.’

Söröña made her way to the very centre of the forest, where the majestic Älventree stood, tall and proud, watching over the realm like a loyal guardian. Fleet-footed and urgent, it did not take long for Söröña to approach it, and she despaired at the amount of dying leaves littered on the ground.

How can this be? Only a few moons ago you flourished. ‘Why is this? What is to become of us?’

She sank to her knees, scooping up a handful of the bronze, unblemished leaves. They crumbled in her hands. Söröña sobbed without restraint, for the first time since her mother had been slain.

‘Hush, little one,’ a kind voice said behind her. ‘Do you want to scare away every creature in the forest?’

In a bid to steady herself, Söröña placed her hand on the rough, flaking bark of the tree trunk. Raising herself to her feet, she turned to face the one who had spoken.

‘Melaela!’ Dipping her knee with respect, she wiped away her tears with embarrassment. ‘I was searching for you.’

The elderly elf let out a soft chuckle. ‘And here you have found me.’

‘Melaela, our tree is dying. Few seem to be as concerned as they should. Do you see this also? Do you sense our power weakening? I have many questions. With your knowledge of the Älventree, I had hoped you would grant me the answers.’

‘I share your concern.’ Melaela ran her forefinger along one of the low, drooping branches. ‘It is as though the trees suffer from some unknown illness.’ Her face darkened, as though a storm had passed across it.

‘Is there nothing you can do?’

Melaela shook her head, sorrowful. ‘If only I could be of more help to you. Alas, I have nothing to offer. I have tended this tree all my life, watched it grow as I would a child. And now…’ Her voice faltered.

Söröña’s heart constricted at the expression of anguish on the Elder’s face. ‘No fault lies with you,’ she murmured, ‘I just wish I knew the cause of this. I wish the council would see things the way I do.’

’It is true. The council has grown complacent.’

‘That is indeed an understatement. They still believe they can heal the Älventree with a song, but anyone can see it is to no avail!’

‘Do not despair.’

‘How can I not? What hope is there? What hope can there possibly be?’

‘There is always hope.’ Melaela stared upwards, to the highest of the branches. ‘I used to climb this tree, when I was younger. No matter how high I ventured, she never let me fall. Trust in the trees, Söröña.’

‘It is not easy.’

‘We have endured difficult times in the past,’ Melaela comforted, ‘Älvenhame will endure. This I believe with all my heart.’

Söröña followed her gaze. If only I shared your faith.

‘Come,’ Melaela encouraged. ‘Come into the library. That is why you are here, is it not?’

‘Yes.’

Melaela placed her hand on the tree trunk, and at once a gap appeared. Without hesitation, she made her way through it, beckoning Söröña to follow. Downwards they travelled through dark tunnels and winding staircases, lit only by the faint pulse of the many fireflies that dwelt within. This opened up into a small chamber, from which a labyrinth of roots surrounded them, glowing with an ethereal green light. The library.

Hesitantly, Söröña reached out to touch one of the numerous roots. An onslaught of memory flooded her. The dwarves marching the forest, hacking away at the trees with their primitive axes. Turning tail as the branches began to choke them. She removed her hand as though she had been burned. Her eyes stung as she gasped.

Melaela looked at her with sympathy. ‘Not all Älvenhame’s memories are pleasant. But in order to find what you are looking for, you know you must persevere.’

Söröña took a deep breath and nodded silently as she felt drawn to another. The glow emitting from it seemed…different, somehow. Brighter. She ventured deeper, grabbing a firm hold of it. Completely unprepared for a second barrage of images.

She and Söröñem on an Älven ship in a turbulent and unfamiliar ocean. The image shifted to a strange, long-haired human, knelt on the floor of a foreign wood. Cupping a wet, slimy, bird-like creature in his hands. Then, a plethora of humans and elves alike, her Father included, gathered in what seemed to be a throne-room. She herself placing a golden crown on the head of the strange man.

Söröña’s eyes widened with shock as she lifted her hand once more.

‘Well?’ Melaela questioned. ‘What did you see?’

’Myself…and Söröñem,’ she stammered, ’And a man.’

‘Man?’

‘It is the strangest thing I have ever seen. Always have we feared the realm of men. I have been told many evil things about them. I do not understand what I was shown. Now I have more questions than ever.’ Söröña looked down to see her hands shaking violently.

‘Melaela, I am afraid.’

‘This sounds like no memory.’

‘That is because it was not. Melaela… I think…that was a prophecy.’