A Twist of the Tale

A Twist of the Tale

  P. R. Glazier

  Copyright 2015 P R Glazier

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

   

  Chapter 1. Emissary from the East.

  A lone wolf stood staring at the lights. Pinpricks of flame shining out from the village that nestled cozily within the trees growing in the valley below. The animal’s lower legs were thick with grime and mud, tinged with dry blood from many cuts and grazes, testament to the long journey it had just made and to the many dangers it had faced along the way. The animal itself was not looking its best, for in some areas the hair was grey and matted. The fur along its back seemed to be falling out in clumps, a sure sign that the warmer, dryer climes within which it now found itself required less dense insulation in favour of a much thinner, shorter coat. Wafts of fur dislodged by the warm breeze drifted upon the air currents. The wolf watched mournfully as one particularly large clump float up and away until it was caught in the tangle of leaves above. The wolf stared at it. Perhaps in response, or perhaps just because it felt the need, the large animal shook itself. More fur floated around the wolf, slowly born away upon the breeze. 

  The wolf hung its head low and continued to pant. It then lowered its large, broad head further and sniffed at the ground. It then lifted one foreleg and sniffed at the paw gently. It began to lick the paw, a red angry soar needed some attention, whilst suffering fatigue from the weeks of travel it had slipped on a loose rock and taken a tumble. It whined, a forlorn sound as it cleansed the wound. Some minutes later seemingly satisfied with the fulfillment of its immediate medical needs and keeping the offending paw raised from the ground, the wolf again raised its head, its light blue eyes shining with an inner light that perhaps conflicted with the rest of the animal’s appearance. It stared once more at the pinpoints of light shining through the gathering gloom of the evening. Trees swayed in the evening breeze above where the wolf stood. The movement of the many leaves made the lights flicker on and off, flashing in the darkening evening sky like so many glow beetles. The pinpoints of light danced in the mind of the wolf. The wolf seemed mesmerised by the sight, yet its eyes exhibited a cool and calculating intelligence deep within. The wolf growled low and long and shook its head, then it limped forward continuing along the well-worn path.

  Its nose twitched continuously. The aromas that permeated the forest were vastly different from that place it called home. Yet its sensitive nose could still pick out the one scent that it sought to follow. Even after all this time this aroma had a familiarity, one of millions of individual scents lodged in its memory bank gathered over a lifetime. But this memory-scent had not been drawn forth from its memorised place in a long, long time; perhaps half of the wolf’s life had passed since it had caught this feint picture-smell. But still the memory remained, the image was there and it knew what it sort.

  People are what the wolf sought. A particular race of people, the T’Iea is what they called themselves. Known as Elves to the human population of the world. The wolf’s own people called them a more descriptive name – long-ears, for that is what their predominant racial feature was after all. He sort one long-ear individual in particular and it had caught her special scent earlier in the day and tracked it to this place. The long-ear village was near, the wolf's inbuilt sense of self-preservation could detect the dangers posed by a people whose survival habits included hunting much like that of the wolf. But that was part of the fascination of civilisation, a likeness, almost kindred spirit in some ways. Yet another part of the wolf’s being wondered if perhaps at last a meal was close at hand and even respite from the long journey of many monthss that it had just endured.

  Ten more minutes of limping along the woodland path and the wolf stood beneath the long-ear village. It sat on its haunches and panted, ears pricked and flicking around continuously, trying to catch every faint sound that travelled on the warm breeze. Cottages high in the trees showed many signs of life, a myriad kaleidoscope of excitement presented to the wolf's senses. Voices talking, cooking aromas, laughing, the footsteps of two legged beings. The wolf almost lost itself in the sensory overload. Yet all of these noises were just the cacophony of domestic activity, exactly what you would expect from a long-ear village, any village for that matter. Could the wolf feel mixed pangs of emotion at the happiness it detected? Was it envy? Perhaps even jealousy? No, the wolf felt just a resigned sadness in a way, but not self-pity, that negative feeling was for weaker beings. Yet the wolf and his kind had missed out on so much, war had seen to that. They were few; they had always been few, for many others had hated them over the countless centuries, hated and hunted them. All manner of excuses had been used in various attempts at eradicating the wolf’s kind from the world. Almost continual acts of genocide had honed their way of life, made them survivors. But now something unforeseen was happening. Another darkness was brewing, yet another war threatened the wolf's homeland, a war that for once did not seek to murder the wolf's kind into extinction, but never the less a war that could trap them between the opposing foes and obliterate them anyway. It was time to act, the time to seek aid from the one race of people that could change the inevitable. The very same race of people that threatened to start the war that the wolf’s people now feared so much.

  The wolf shook its head as if trying to exile such burdensome thoughts from its mind. It shook itself once more, again dislodging loose fur that flew upon the air and snagged in bushes by the side of the path. Then it sat down feeling a dull muscular ache in its hindquarters, the ache of age. It growled in physical effort as it gathered what strength it still had and with an effort that made it wheeze it sprang upward with its forelegs, a sharp pain from the sore made it whimper, but it stood upright upon its hind legs and swayed slightly from side to side. Others that may have witnessed this strange behavior would have seen it stand there wavering, its legs shaking slightly as if this simple act required some monumental effort. But then the wolf seemed to gather its balance; there was a shimmering of the air around the animal and when the air returned to normal a human man stood up. The wolf it seemed had disappeared.

  The man was long in years and lent upon a wooden staff to aid his passage. His features were pale and his hair tied tightly into a topknot on the top of his head. Thin hemp braiding kept the pure white dreadlocks in place, tying the long length of hair together as it fell down his back to well below his waist. His journey had been long and arduous, but despite his aching body he pulled himself tall with pride. He straightened the well-worn cloak he wore, took a deep breath whilst looking up at the many homes above him. He shook his head and made to walk forward towards the entrance way to the village.

  But before he could take a step he stopped. He had heard voices. They were close and coming from ground level and behind him. At times on this journey unknown beings had tracked him, but he had always managed to lose them. So he left the path and being careful not to disturb or break anything he ducked as swiftly as he was able into some bushes of rhododendrons that grew thickly amongst the trees. He didn’t have to wait for long. Two long-ears, one a female, the other a male strode along the path into view. The female wore expensive looking clothes adorned with trinkets and other excessive adornments, things that did not add any practical value to her garb. The old man frowned at the extravagance. The male however was typical of his race. He walked with a litheness that immediately suggested a soldier. Indeed he had a double-edged broad sword in a scabbard to his waist attached to a shoulder strap and a long ornate dagger clipped to his belt. The female held no visible weapon, but then long-ears in the wolf’s experience did not necessarily require physical weapons to be dangerous
in the extreme. Just when the old man was about to start breathing normally once again, the female held up her hand and the two long-ears stopped. They stood just where he had shifted forms and left the path moments earlier. He cursed himself and his carelessness. The woman, she probably detected the residue from the arcane energy he had expended to accommodate the change. That was the trouble with the long-ears they were very susceptible to the smallest fluctuations in the arcane.

  The female looked around, her gaze lingered upon the place where he hid, yet he was sure that he was not seen; even so he found he dropped his gaze from hers as if this would hide him further. The male gently lowered his hand coming to rest upon the pommel of the sword. The female crouched down on her haunches and stretched out her hand, she took something from the ground. She stood slowly; she grasped something in her fingers. She held a clump of grey fur, she scrutinised it for a few seconds rubbing it gently between finger and thumb. But she laughed and placed her slender hand over her companions staying his hand as he went to draw the sword. Words passed between them but the old man could not hear what was said. The female kept hold of the male’s fist as it gripped the hilt of the sword, she took one last look in the direction of the bushes in which the old man hid himself, she giggled, threw the ball of fur onto the warm breeze and watched as it floated way. Then she slid her hand up her companions forearm to the crook of his elbow, she pulled him forward urging him onward once more along the path. Once or twice the long ear male turned to look back over his shoulder, but the female tugged him onwards each time, encouraging him to keep moving. The old man frowned in his hiding place amongst the rhododendrons and eventually after waiting for several minutes he crept back out onto the path and looked along the way the two long-ears had passed upon.

  Some doubt welled up within his thoughts, but he shook his head once more and whispered to himself as if arguing with someone else, “no, now is the time, of this I am sure,” then he thought to himself as if going over some agreed plan, it was time to meet once again with the long-ear female he sort, it was time to share the news he had with her and her kind, his people’s demise may well lay within the whims and fancies of the long-ear race, yet he was also sure that his last hope lay also with them, for the doom of all was at hand. He chastised himself for his prejudices, born of ignorance perhaps, or of truth, for much of his past involvement with the long-ears had led him and his people into great danger and much woe. He spat onto the soft ground and clenched his fists. He must keep an open mind, after all he sort aid from these people, he must not antagonise them.

  Yet old memories returned, he was greatly troubled that he should see such a time in his life, now of all times, now when he was old and ached not from the exertions of his travels, but more from the passage of the twilight of his years. He stood and after ensuring that the two-long ears were far enough away he regained the path and continued on his way.