Читать книгу On the Edges of Elfland - David Mosley - Страница 11

Alfred woke slowly, barely opening his eyes, too afraid of what he might see. Once they were opened, he was relieved. He was no longer in the forest. He was in what looked like an old cottage. “Good, you’re awake. You gave me a right turn, boy,” said a voice in the distance. This time Alfred was quite sure it was Mr. Cyning’s voice. This, however, gave no immediate reassurance. Alfred’s mind was suddenly flooded with questions: Where was he? How did he get there? How long had he been unconscious? All of these questions he put to Mr. Cyning.

“One thing at a time, boy. Here, drink some of this.” He handed Alfred a glass. It tasted like wine but was earthier and drier than any wine he had ever had before. Alfred drank quietly, hoping Mr. Cyning would answer all or any of his questions. Mr. Cyning went out back, into what Alfred could only assume was his garden. Alfred sat looking around, trying to take in his surroundings. He was on a couch in what looked like the sitting room of an old stone cottage. The walls were lined with bookshelves, there were even books on the mantlepiece over the fireplace. Books of history, philosophy, mythology, fairy tales, medieval manuscripts, old books of theology, even some fiction and children’s stories seemed to be included in this antiquated library.

Whatever it was Mr. Cyning was doing in his garden, he came back in smiling, but there was a concerned look in his eyes. “Well, boy, how are you doing?” was all he said. Alfred’s head began screaming with questions. Again he tried to get Mr. Cyning to answer them. The old man seemed reluctant, as if he wished not to say too much or too little. Alfred looked at the old man, pleading for answers with his eyes. “It’s time you know,” Mr. Cyning said slowly. At last, Alfred was going to get some answers.

“Come with me out into the garden, bring your wine,” he told Alfred. They walked outside, the sun assaulted Alfred’s eyes. “Passing out two days in a row isn’t helping you keep your feet, is it?” said Mr. Cyning as Alfred stumbled.

“I’m fine, just a little weak still.”

“Well, keep drinking that wine.” Mr. Cyning produced a loaf of bread and the two of them sat out in his garden under the shade of a large weeping willow facing Fey Forest. In the distance Alfred could just make out the mountain rising high above the forest. Mr. Cyning produced a pipe, tobacco, and some matches from his various pockets. Puffing slowly he turned to Alfred, “It’s all true, boy.”

“W-what do you mean?” asked Alfred terrified of the answer.

“The dreams, the ancient one you’ve met in the forest, the torches, all of it is true. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true all the same. Faërie is all around us. The world is so much bigger than you’ve dreamt of. It’s like what Hamlet told Horatio, there’s more in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophies.

“Look, Alfred, I’ll be honest with you, elves, gnomes, dwarves, goblins, giants, dragons they’re all real. The ones who are good are better than you could ever imagine, but the wicked are darker than anything. Most people live their whole lives thinking Faërie is just another word for imagination or the supernatural. They never get the chance to see. Ah, we’ve been cursed with blindness for so long now. Not that Faërie has ever been easy to see, far from it, but we weren’t meant to be completely ignorant of it. Arthur knew Faërie, this wood was named after his half-sister, you know. Morgana was, well, she was confused she was. Robertus Kirk, MacDonald, Chesterton, Lewis, Tolkien, they all understood, they believed in Faërie, even if they infrequently got into it, they knew it was there. You’re lucky, well, maybe that’s the wrong word. You’ve been given a gift, you’ve spent your whole life on the edge of Elfland, as it were, and now you’ve stumbled in.”

Alfred did not believe what he was hearing. Faërie? Elfland? Goblins, dragons, gnomes? No. He lived in a world where science had dispelled all those old beliefs. There was no way this could be true. Alfred was just about to say so when he noticed a ring of mushrooms right next to weeping willow. He let out a shriek he would have normally been ashamed of as suddenly an enormous mushroom from the centre of the circle began walking towards them. It removed its cap and wiped its brow, “Told him the truth at last, eh, Oliver? I told you you should have done it years ago. He would have believed you and I could have been left out of it.”

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve been at this a long time, Balthazar.”

“Of course, sir.”

Alfred was still staring, though the horror he felt at first was beginning to transition to curiosity. Hadn’t he always loved fairy tales and legends when he was a boy? It was at university he began to despise them in a fashionable exercise toward popularity. “What’s going on? What, or I suppose I should say who, are you?”

“Balthazar Toadstool, historian and mushroom shepherd, which is to say a gnome, at your service.” The gnome gave a bow.

“Alfred Perkins,” Alfred mumbled out, still somewhat in shock.

“Gnomes are among the wisest creatures in Faërie, Alfred” said Mr. Cyning. “And old Balthazar here is accounted wise even by his own kind.”

“You do me honour, sir,” was the gnome’s reply.

“What I really want to know,” said Alfred, “is what the devil is going on?”

“You’ve been having dreams, haven’t you, my son,” said Balthazar. “Dreams about a wondrous folk in the forest. But your dreams have turned darker, haven’t they? It’s no surprise. Evil never really goes away, we’ll never truly see the end of it in this life. You have been given a gift, my son, the gift of the second sight. All humans can see Faërie, or Elfland as many of us call it. They work at not seeing it. Even you tried not to see it, explaining away your dreams and the two times we have met, but unlike most humans you cannot not see Elfland. More than that, you have dreams of the goings on of Elfland. There’s a darkness brewing, such as we have not known for a long age. It’s been plaguing your world more than our own. All these wars you have been having, the hatred of humans for their brothers and sisters, but Elfland has been left relatively alone. We are the poorer for not having your world interact with ours, we grew static, but we endured in peace. Now, however, the evil plaguing your own world is making its way into ours.

“The dwarves first alerted us to it. They heard them in the deep recesses of the mountain, digging, coming in from goodness knows where. The dwarves, crafty as they are and even knowing the mountain as well as they do, cannot tell where they are or if they have come out. Your dreams tell us one thing, however, they are coming and they will bring destruction with them when they do.”

Alfred sat in rapt attention. “Who is coming?” he asked, breaking the ominous silence.

“Goblins.”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say goblins?”

“Yes, my son, goblins. Some of the fierce stand most wicked creatures ever to cross the face of the earth.”

“What are they? I mean, I remember reading about them in books, but they’re usually small mischievous little creatures, lesser demons or imps, awful for sure, but not this menacing.”

“Yes, well did your books tell you that mushrooms were cared for by gnomes?”

“No.”

“Then I would not use them as your guide through Elfland. That’s what I’m for.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Mr. Cyning, what does he mean, he’s my guide through Elfland? If there are goblins in there and they’re as bad as you say, shouldn’t I stay out of it altogether?”

Mr. Cyning sighed heavily. Alfred in looking at him began to realize how very old, even careworn, the eccentric old man of Carlisle was. It was as if he was looking at him for the first time and rather than an old man, it was a wizard, a sage, druid bard sitting next to him. “Alfred,” he began slowly, “Carlisle sits in a perilous place. While Faërie may be all around us and everywhere, there are some places closer to it than others. As I told you, you are quite lucky, having grown up on the edge of Elfland and being given a glimpse. A glimpse, however, is not all you’ve been destined for.

“Carlisle, because of its proximity to the major home for elves and dwarves, the elf kingdom and the lesser dwarf kingdom have their thrones in Fey Forest, has often known great beauty and wonder. Alas, it is also known more grief and woe.”

“And caused more as well,” said Balthazar quietly.

“Too true,” replied Mr. Cyning. “Alfred, trouble has often come from Elfland and attacked Carlisle, trying to find entrance into the world of men and overthrow it. The goblins especially hate humanity. Do you remember the story I told you about St. Nicholas’s?”

“Only a little. Didn’t you say something about goblins then?”

“Indeed I did. They tried to burn down the church on Christmas Eve over a thousand years ago. They were beaten back by the villagers, with the help of the faeries, and the flames around the church were extinguished.”

“Why did they want to burn down the church?”

“Suffice it to say that they hate humanity and wanted to do them harm. The whole village was inside at the time, as was the custom, and they thought to bring the whole town to ruin. From there they could have spread into the rest of the human world.”

“Why do they hate us so much? And why do they have enter our world through Carlisle?”

“Those are complicated questions. Balthazar, would you mind answering the boy?”

“My pleasure. You see Alfred, goblins were not always goblins. Some say they are men mixed with elves who have gone bad. Others that they were elves once, but they turned their backs on their own. Still others say they were dwarves who lost themselves in the mines they worked for the elves and when they finally emerged it was with a burning hatred of the elves. Whatever the truth is, they were not always evil and they did not always look as they do now. The reason they hate humanity is because the Elfin King and Queen protect you. It is because of them that goblins and other wicked creatures cannot come into your world unless your civilisation is physically close to our own. Because humans have moved away from the forests and the wilds of the world, even from the beginning, this happens rarely, but there are still pockets. In most places there is still silence, in some evil has won out, but here in Carlisle there is ever a tension. The greater and lesser kingdoms being here means both a greater chance of mutual benefit and a greater chance of mutual harm.”

“So where do I fit in to all of this?”

Balthazar and Mr. Cyning looked to each other and then both turned to look at Alfred. Mr. Cyning spoke first, “Faërie is always better when connected to humanity. The separation between the two is unnatural. When evil like this comes forward is important for Faërie to find a human with the second sight to help. What your proper role will be, cannot yet be told. This is why Balthazar is to be your guide. Whatever part you are called to play, it will be a great one, lad, I can promise you that.”

“Come along, my son,” Balthazar said to Alfred.

“Wait, I’m leaving now? What about my family?” Alfred exclaimed.

“There’s no time, boy. The goblins will come and attack the village. If you don’t go into Faërie now, there may be no Carlisle to return to. I know its hard. I had hoped to better prepare you myself, but there we are. Alfred, the goblins are ruthless, their king hates humanity more than most. He comes from a long-lived goblin line and was part of the attack against the village when they tried to burn St. Nicholas’s. He will stop at nothing. He’s been biding his time far in the North, for they were banished from England for a thousand years, all that time to foment and plan for his revenge. A young villager caved in part of his face with a mattock, and since then he has vowed revenge against humanity for the loss of his eye, not to mention a fair few of his teeth. He will have trained his goblins to be ferocious, cruel, loving to give pain. You must go, and now.”

Alfred remembered the music from his dream, he thought of how much he loved his parents, his village. He was confused, about so many things, but one thing was certain, he trusted Mr. Cyning, everything he read about Faërie, all of it incidental, taught him to discern good from evil. He knew evil must be fought, even in the face of defeat, which he hoped it would not come to. Without realising it, he found himself resolved to do whatever he could. He could think of nothing that made him special, that made him worthy, but this too he knew so often essential in fairy tales. It was not about him, but what needed to be done.

“Alright,” he said at last, “I’ll do it. Lead me where you will Balthazar.”

“Into the forest then, my son.”

“Good luck, Alfred,” called Mr. Cyning. “The hopes of Faërie and England rest with you.”

Alfred looked changed, as if the air of Elfland had already begun to flow in him. His walk became more determined, less that of a listless twenty-something, as he entered the forest, being guided by the small gnome, not knowing what his fate would bring him.