Eibhlin awoke to a mottled green sky. When her thoughts finally caught up to her eyes, she recognized the green as various dried plants hanging from the ceiling. She sat up. It was a small room with two, low windows, one to the east and the other to the west looking out over the familiar meadow and river, letting sunlight pour onto the floor and midway up the wall. Tables sat at either window, and there were a few closed cabinets along one wall and a fountain of water in the center of the room. The water gave the air a cool, sweet fragrance, like the smell of spearmint freshly picked on a midsummer’s morning back home.
Home. Though it had only been a few days since leaving, how long those days felt compared to the blurred memories of routine. And yet, they all felt distant in that moment compared to the golden sunlight, the green ceiling, and the clear sound of water embracing her now.
Yashul came through the door. In her arms she carried a set of white sheets topped with a shallow bowl filled with white flowers floating on water. Approaching Eibhlin, she smiled and said, “Good morning, child. Are you well?”
Though questions crowded her mind, Eibhlin couldn’t find her voice. Instead, tears gathered and spilled down her cheeks. Leaving the sheets and bowl on one of the tables, Yashul pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping the girl’s tears. The cloth smelled faintly of lilies. The lady asked, “Why are you crying, child? Does your wound pain you?”
Eibhlin shook her head.
“Then why?”
All Eibhlin could do was shake her head. She did not know why she cried. Was is fear from the attack? Was it relief? Longing? Sadness? She couldn’t decide. It would be many more years before she would come close to understanding that quiet morning in the elves’ country.
When her tears finally stopped, Eibhlin said, “I’m all right now. Don’t worry. I won’t cry anymore.”
“Don’t be sorry for these tears,” said Yashul. “Indeed, I wonder if maybe you did not shed enough, but all shall come in its proper time. Would you like something to eat, child?”
Eibhlin said yes, and Yashul fetched a bowl of broth and some bread. That simple meal, however it was made, tasted better to her than any she had tasted before. A chill she hadn’t noticed before left her bones, and a soft peace settled in her spirit. Afterwards, Yashul gave her a cup of water from the fountain, which tasted like the sweet drink from her first meal at that house. Then Eibhlin slept.
A few days passed in this way, with much sleep and little else, but her times awake grew longer every day. During those times, Yashul spoke to her. She heard about how the elven guard confronted the invaders with such ferocity that the dark elves fell into panicked disorder and how, despite the healers’ best efforts, a few souls passed beyond the threshold to the Unknown Country. She heard, too, how Yashul and Chensil had returned to find their home torn apart and their children weeping over Eibhlin’s unconscious body.
“When I inspected your wound and felt how cold you were,” said Yashul, “I feared you too far gone. The dark elf’s blade had been made with fragments of moonlight from the Fae Country folded into the metal, and with the Fae in its present state, such material is a fatal poison to children of the Sun, such as men and elves. But Lady Fortune smiled upon you, for the ill enchantments had already been eroded but their use against the door and Shira’s spell. There were still several hours till the poison spread beyond treatment. However, as a child unaccustomed to wicked-ness, the effects on you have lasted longer than most. Don’t worry, though. They shall soon pass.”
And pass they did.
After the fifth day, most remaining symptoms were gone. That afternoon, Shira and Elkir came to visit. With Eibhlin’s recovery near complete, their mother had granted them permission to see the patient. Elkir ran across the room and hugged her while his sister carried over a set of cups, some wafers, and a pot of tea. The drink tasted strange to Eibhlin, like drinking dirt scented with flowers, but she finished what was given to her. The wafers were delicious.
As they ate and drank, they talked about the weather or what so-and-so did yesterday, but eventually the conversation drifted to that night of the attack. Shira’s hands shook, and Elkir seemed to lose his appetite. Since that night, their father had been busy. Other homes along the river had also been attacked, some with victims. Council meetings conferred daily, and their father often found himself pulled out of the house as soon as he got back from one project to work on another. It had been several centuries since the dark elves had last evaded their defenses, let alone managed to break into a home.
“I didn’t know it was such a big deal,” said Eibhlin.
“Father and the elders worry that, in addition to taking advantage of natural weaknesses in our magic, the dark elves might also have a new kind of sorcery that helped them,” said Shira. “Any weapons we retrieved, at least, are being examined for new enchantments or variations on old ones.”
“I see.”
“But,” Shira said, “that shouldn’t keep us from searching for your key. Elkir and I have been looking and asking around while you recovered, but we haven’t found anything yet. Tomorrow, though, you can join us again. I’m sure we shall find it!”
Eibhlin didn’t speak. Except for that first morning of recovery, swimming between reality and dreams, she had entirely forgotten about the key. How many days had she spent in bed, asleep? And she had even forgotten the very reason she had come to this place. Gripping her sheets, Eibhlin stared out a window at the saturated colors of late afternoon. “Yes. Tomor-row, let’s look some more.”
