The Village at the Outskirts

“This is where our paths part.”

    Duxie turns to face us. All around, the landscape is at odds with the verdant valleys we crossed. Bold are the tussocks that grow here and there on the dry, compact ground.

“Can’t you guide us until the frontier?” Tyffeon asks. “These lands are not a place it is good to stray through.”

“I regret, though I can’t afford to be away from Oweynagat for too long. Besides…” She pauses to take a look at me. Our eyes meet, and we gaze at each other for a while before she resumes. “…I think you’ll be fine.”

    Tyffeon doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but still he knows that there’s nothing more to say.

“Thank you for bringing us to this point, Duxie.” I say.

    She’s already a few metres away from us, heading back to the valleys as we turn around to continue down our own path.

    Though at that moment, she stops and turn to us.

“Saintess.” She pauses until I glance at her. “If you ever come to the point that your task is complete and doubt the place that is yours, then know I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Huh?” I turn fully to stare at her silhouette.

    What does that mean?.. I want to ask. I want to, but Duxie already turns away.

“Let’s not stay there for too long.” Tyffeon recommends.

“Mmm, yes. You’re right. We still have a way to go.”

    On these words, we walk further into the outskirts.

***

    I don’t know for how long I’ve been staring at the tiny form in my arms. He has made almost no move since I retrieved him. After I took a while to check his wounds, I found nothing more concerning than the bruises the Daoine Sidhe have caused.

    To be honest, his thinness concerns me far more. He’s so skinny that I can feel his bones against my fingers. The only thing holding them back together being his rumpled, rippled greenish skin. The brown rag somehow covering his silhouette spares my eyes from an even more unnerving sight, I believe so. A slight tremor shakes his body, his glowing eyes following suit. Simply said, there’s no bright word which can be used to describe him. He’s akin to the lands he inhabits.

“Amako, I…”

    Tyffeon’s voice startles me. We hadn’t shared many words since the recent event.

    I wait for his next words, but they don’t come.

“Uhh… Yes?”

    A pause. An obvious one.

“About earlier, ughh…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “…The magic I was born with never brought me anything good. When they understood I wouldn’t be born in Spring, my parents left Tír-nan-cnocc so they could be able to hide the season of my birth. A Daoine Sidhe without Lignum magic is doomed to be despised, at best. And not only did I get another kind of magic, but it had to be Ignis.”

    Not willing to disrupt him, I listen silently. Anyway, I was too dumbfounded hearing him speak so openly to do otherwise.

“While Lignum is related to the wood, the forests… Ignis is to fire. To destruction. The quite opposite of what Lignum represents for us. So I had to hide it all my life along, and yet it wasn’t enough. This magic… It is something I have come to hate. I can’t rely on it.” His words are filled with resentment. “What I try to say is that… Don’t expect me to use it. Unless… Absolute necessity.”

“Mmmm.”

“What?” He glances at me, a hint of embarrassment visible.

“Nothing. I was just surprised to see your forwardness.”

“Tssk.” He averts his gaze. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Though, I can’t see why you should despise it.”

    Almost instantly, he snaps back at me.

“Didn’t you listen to a single thing I just s-”

“It is beautiful. Your magic.”

    He widens his eyes, taken aback. A smile shows over my features. I won’t miss a chance to continue.

“Fire isn’t necessarily destruction. It may bring warmth, something that is much needed in both our worlds. To my eyes, flames are a source of life, of rebirth.”

    We keep walking as we talk, and the faint squirms of the tiny goblin I hold save Tyffeon from further torture. I turn my blue-green eyes to behold what appears to be a goblin village.

    Our pace slows down until we come to a halt.

    Many huts of the same kind, if I can call them so. In reality, they are simply domes made out of earth, sorts of makeshift potholes bulging here and there. As if the ground was covered with pustules.

“Is that your village?” I whisper to the tiny goblin without lowering my gaze.

    Stepping forward, I intend to cross the village when I feel a hand gripping my shoulder.

“Amako! Stay here, we can’t go through that place, it’s enemy territory. Let’s skirt it.”

    Glancing back at Tyffeon, I consider him for a while. Not saying anything. Of course, I haven’t expected him to act otherwise. That’s what any Daoine Sidhe would have said.

“Don’t worry.” I mid-close my eyes, holding his gaze. “They won’t attack us.”

    On these words, catching a glimpse of Tyffeon’s bewildered expression, I focus back ahead of us, resuming my walk.

    An old elf turns a crank on the side of the box, allowing a childlike music to accompany the moves of the marionettes.

    Some of the domes are covered with cracks, the ground being too dry to keep form. As I take a look on my left, I notice the remnants of one of the domes, recently collapsed. Although I would have preferred if the greenish hand protruding through the rubble did not hint so.

“…Curious of going beyond the village’s walls despite his parents’ warning, the young boy crosses the city walls,”

    A nauseating odour stagnates in the air.

    Despite his reluctance, Tyffeon now matches my pace. Even though he keeps his hand over his hilt, the expression on his features betrays his astonishment.

“he strolls through the forest, grabbing some berries, running after a rabbit, too happy to explore it to notice the creature lurking.”

    As we progress through the village, a lonely figure stares at us, his hand leant against one of the domes.

    Another marionette the size of the elven child appears, his skin greenish, his eyes bloody, ears pointy.

    The rags he wears do little to conceal the salient bones tracing his chest. Observing us from afar, there’s a spark in his crimson eyes.

    A spark of fear.

    …As the little one is about to get killed, a gust of wind seems to trip up the monster, and another marionette appears. His axe beheading it in a single blow.

    To the lands devoid of crops, to the outskirts of the verdant kingdom, they have fled in search of a place that would bear their existence.

“Tyffeon, tell me, where are the bloody monsters your folks are so proud to fight? Where are those who deserve to be hated, to be beheaded?”

“I don’t understand…” He mutters. “What’s going on there… They don’t resemble what-”

“What you have been taught to hate?” I finish.

    All the children gathered applaud at the end of the spectacle.

    They must have sensed the smell of the creature I hold in my arms, because one after the other, goblin silhouettes dare to slowly risk a look out of their dens.

“There is a reason why your kingdom, in the same way as the others, is endangered by the Taint. Do you think Erlkœnig would have been affected in such a way because of a single crime? That you’re all punished for his sole fault?” I pause, mid-closing my eyes. “For decades, for centuries, these lands have been soiled, they have amassed the weight of your folk’s misdeeds. And now that it permeates the world, this grim magic asks for release, threatening to consume it. …Did you guess, by now, what your kingdom’s sin is?”