Forest

Mel clung on to Estrild’s back as their horse picked its way through the forest undergrowth. The bee was not used to riding, and nor was her physiology suited for it; she had to raise her abdomen to avoid it painfully bumping against the horse’s backside. The six goblins were taking the other horse, following closely behind. 

She could not use the remains of her wings to stabilise herself, either, for they were trapped beneath the Cerneish cloak that was now fastened around her collar with a golden brooch. So she was left to hold on to Estrild’s clothes for stability, in a rather embarrassing way. More than once the animal’s movements sent her face into the lady’s neck. Silver hair, that she smelled was freshly washed, tickled her face.

It seemed Estrild had been expecting the worst when it came to the goblins. The adventurers would usually kill the men and older boys. By the luck of the Heavens, it turned out that it was not so bad: there had been no deaths in their band. The men had all been out hunting, and the children had managed to hide in a badger’s burrow just in time. After the attack on the group, it was certain the men and children would return to the main tribal camp, which was where Estrild was heading to now.

“Magic inundates every corner of our world, flowing like a river through the magnetic field connecting Heaven to Earth. Every droplet of water, grain of sand, or burrowing worm is charged with immense power. So, if magic is this abundant, why can only a few humans use it?”

Mel tried to hold still as she replied: “Because only a few are born with the power. The noble families hold their titles because magic flows in their blood. Commoners and abominations like me aren’t descended from elves like you are. Everyone knows this, right?”

Estrild shook her head. “All humans have an organ within their body that lets them channel magic. The thing is, magic is not trivial to learn, and is even more difficult to master. I have heard there are some far-away cultures with oral histories strong enough to train weak magicians, but really, to be a mage one must study in school, and be literate.”

“So you’re saying the aristocracy are keeping the peasants and labourers illiterate in order to preserve their monopoly on magic?”, Mel asked. “I think it probably has more to do with a lack of will to learn among peasants.”

The forest was alive with delicious smells in the late spring. Sweet-scented elderflowers presented themselves on stout trees, while the apple blossom fell. Last year’s leaves had faded into the ground, while strong-smelling cow parsley grew in patches. The horses now walked on bare earth beneath a patch of beeches.

Estrild turned to look back at Mel over her shoulder. Her silver hair, worn down, brushed over her tunic.

She asked, “Are you literate, Mel?”

The bee looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “It isn’t allowed for my kind. We aren’t suited to numbers-keeping, and are only used for labour.”

“So if you could, you would learn?”, Estrild continued.

Mel forced herself to meet the witch’s red eyes. “It doesn’t matter if I wanted to know letters or not, it wouldn’t have done me any good. Anyway, if my kind were free, we wouldn’t use writing even if we could. Those scratches are crude compared to the bond I... shared, with my sisters and mother.”

Estrild looked back ahead, having seen what she needed in Mel’s reserved expression. “So, you do want to learn, you just haven’t had a chance. I can teach you – but back to the topic at hand. I think it is clear to you how literacy is a revolutionary form of power, even to people who cannot use magic. And for those that can…”

“The nobility and temple estate knows the power of commoners if they were literate, which is why they will never allow the population to be educated. This is mainly a temple operation. Their secret police operate in the towns to root out any educators, and in the countryside their temple system ensures they have a firm political, economic and ideological grip on every village. Peasants with any potential either are funnelled into the temple, or eliminated.”

Mel asked, “Is this what Narven was trying to do when he invaded the entire continent? Give people an education?”

Estrild didn’t answer. They came to a valley, and were met with a lovely view. Bluebells carpeted the slopes under the shade of tall trees, giving the affect of an impressionist painting. Lichen and soft moss grew from the tree-trunks, or granite boulders. The rustling leaves let some gleaming sunlight drop down to the bubbling brook at the bottom, which trickled through slabs of pink granite. The witch talked to the goblins for a moment, probably telling them to have their horse follow her exactly.

Every step of the horse down the valley made Mel slip closer to the witch. She clung on all the same, and sighed.

Mel said, “I’m sorry for being such an arse. Honestly, my mother taught us all growing up that we were the descendants of the Witch-King’s army, left alive only to work in penance for the destruction we had wrought. But she was not a hundred years old, and had told us previously that she had never known her own mother. I knew the whole story was made up by our owners.”

“I can tell you for certain that King Narven did not employ your race as warriors, since he was culturally an orc, and his army consisted only of the orcish tribes”, Estrild replied. “You’re a surprisingly talkative person, by the way.”

That made Mel quiet. She couldn’t think of anything to say until after they had stepped over the stream.

“I’m a monster. I’ve found no pity wherever I go. They holler for the police before I even have a chance to speak. It’s been very lonely, especially for someone of a species as communal as mine. I didn't even have a name...”, she said quietly.

“Don’t be anxious about me. I have no prejudice towards monsters, and by the way, I do not consider you an abomination. Anyway, I like you”, Estrild said in reply. A smirk crossed her lips, invisible to the woman behind her.

The horse started climbing, and Mel slipped back. She cried out in surprise, wrapping her arms around the witch in order to avoid falling off. She clung on for dear life until they they reached the top.

“Sorry”, she said sheepishly, shifting back.

“It’s fine”, Estrild said gaily.

“By the way, Estrild… How old are you? You’re a witch, but...”, Mel asked.

“Twenty-Five.”

Mel was shocked. That was ridiculously young for an elf-like!

“No, you can’t really be that young”, she protested. “I heard that it takes a lifetime to become a witch, and that they can live for a thousand years. You must be very talented, if its true.”

Estrild shrugged. “It is. Becoming a witch is based on exercising your magical organ. But it is not talent that brought me here. Narven is an exceptional teacher, though I have not seen him in a while. I have spent every year of my life undergoing the most severe training, and… Well, you’re not the only one who had to leave something behind.”

“What was it you ran from?”, Mel asked quickly.

“Don’t you think that’s a little nosy?”, Estrild said, smiling to herself. “I’ll tell you that one day. Oh, but I should say what my master fought for, and what I will too once the battle for magical education is won, and slavery is abolished.”

“We’re going to bring the age of Elves back. They all left for Heaven ten thousand years ago, and humanity has been in a wretched state since. But everything they left has a reason, including the ‘monsters’. When everyone can practice magic, and harmony is restored, they will come back, and we will all be elves.”

Mel thought it sounded like wishful thinking, but she now respected Estrild too much to voice her opinion. Instead, she just said, “Well, it's hardly a villainous motive. Though, I would still be worried about my own safety in the mean-time.”

Perhaps Estrild would have spoke further, but then a pigeon cried out close-by, and came fluttering down towards them. Mel cowered, while Estrid laughed and raised a hand for it to perch on. The woodland dove landed on it, and began to squawk very loudly into her ear.

She nodded thoughtfully, and handed the pigeon a seed to eat. It rested with them for a minute, before taking back off and heading in the way it came.

“That was Regina, by the way. She’s a good bird”, Estrild explained.

“A loud and smelly one too…”, Mel trailed off. “What was it?”

“Good news and bad news. Gruffudd, son of Celyn, has arrived at the Goblin’s camp with… well, only fourteen warriors. A lot less than I’d hoped, considering he’s a prince...”

“A prince? Of where?”, Mel asked incredulous.

“Of Cerne, of course!”, Estrild said. “He’s like a brother to me. Anyway, we’ll have a lot of talking to do this evening, because our operation is tomorrow night!”

She’s going to attack a fortress of a hundred adventurers with only fourteen warriors and some goblins, thought Mel.

“Well…”, the bee sighed. “I’m actually starving, since I’ve just been eating roots and flowers for the last month. Could you spare any of those seeds you were giving to Regina?”

“Mel, that’s bird feed”, Estrild said in mock disgust. “Anyway, the ladies will want some if they see you eating. We’ll have a hearty meal tonight, don’t you worry.”

“My diet might be a little different than yours…”, Mel complained, but there was no budging on the food.

It would be several more hours until they arrived at the camp, at which point the sun had set beneath the horizon. Amazingly, it was the first night of the magic season, and spectacular auroras danced along the terminator. They were their most powerful to the West, at the space between Heaven and Earth. Mel had remembered watching the phenomenon many years ago, from the small, barred window of the barracks. She had wondered what the greens and reds smelled like.