Druze finds Vash

The real world seemed more dreamlike than her dreams. It was true that in her dreams she could sometimes walk from her bedroom in her father’s castle directly into the hall at Nothelm, and it was true that Malcolm might transform himself into Dunstan right in the middle of a conversation without even interrupting her sentence, but these things were less absurd than the reality she now lived.

Iylaine had given herself up for dead. She thought perhaps she already was, like Druze, only her body had not yet begun to decompose. Even if it had, she was not certain she would notice it: she had breathed so long the odor of the dead elf that she could scarcely smell death any longer. Perhaps she would not be able to feel it either. For all she knew, she would pass – or had already passed – imperceptibly from life to the living death that was the fate of all elves.

The only sudden shock she had felt was that moment when he had snatched her from the front step of her new house. That peek through the window had only been intended to increase her delight at being able to enter into this home of her very own, but it may have been the death of her. Perhaps the creature had strangled her in that first instant, and since then she had been dead. Perhaps these endless caverns beneath the earth were the Dark Place that Kiv had told her about. Perhaps she too was a creature of Hell now. Perhaps it was the fate of all elves.

And yet Druze still told her she could go home when they had found Vash. She did not think they would ever find Vash, but she had not quite given up hope of going home again. She had not yet forgotten how it felt to live. She had not yet forgotten how the warmth of the sun felt upon her face, or what it was to put warm food into her belly that was no longer even hungry now. Though she smelled only death, she still remembered the odor of pine needles and hay.

Or… not hay, she thought, but rather the long stems of dry grass that met overhead and shook before the bright afternoon sky when she lay on her back in a field.

And not even then, but the odor of dry grass in November, when it had been frost-​​bitten but was not yet sodden and black from being pressed flat by snow. Then she did not lie on her back beneath it, but when the milky-​​white November sun shone upon it, it breathed out a faint perfume that was like the meadow’s own memory of those late summer afternoons.

That was what she remembered. That was what she smelled.

And she remembered the warmth of living hands that caressed her cheek and stroked her hair back from her face.

And she remembered the sound of living voices that were not like Druze’s ragged wheeze, but were soft and murmuring and bore a faint, rippling accent – though one could not detect it if only her name were spoken. The voice knew her name intimately, had spoken it a hundred hundred times in a whisper or aloud, and it did not fumble over its sounds.

But when it spoke English, there was something about the th’s, and the way it purred the r’s…

“Speak English, Druze. She doesn’t speak our language. You will frighten her.”

“I found Iylaina!” Druze panted excitedly.

“That’s good, Druze. But she wasn’t missing until you took her, you know.”

Druze was silent for a moment, and then he said with the same eagerness, “I found you – Vash!”

“Vash!” Iylaine whimpered and opened her eyes. That was the odor of pine and grass! That was the warm hands! That was the soft voice!

Vash passed his arms around her back and pulled her up to sit before him.

“Kiv!” she cried when she saw who stood in the shadows a short distance behind.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Let’s not mention Kiv and the others before Druze. How are you feeling, cousin?”

“Did we find you? What happened to you? Where are we? Oh!” She began to sob in relief and exhaustion. She tried to lay her head on Vash’s shoulder, but he kept her at a distance.

“Shhh. How are you feeling?”

“So ill!”

“Did he hurt you, little cousin?” He too seemed suddenly overwhelmed and began stroking her face and head and her arms and shoulders with his shaking hands.

“No…” she whispered. “Except when he carried me, because I fought him. Is he your father?”

“No,” he chuckled softly. “Did he tell you he was? He’s my grandfather’s grandfather. But my father and I are his only living descendents, and he is sometimes confused and calls us his sons.”

“He says he has three sons.”

“No, there are only the two of us alive.”

“You aren’t his son?”

“No,” he smiled. “I have a father who is quite another creature entirely. You will meet him someday. I hope. You will probably find him less frightening, although there are times when I prefer Druze.”

“Vash!” Druze wheezed.

“Just a moment, Druze. Can you stand?”

“But why is he still alive if he is dead?” she whimpered. “And why did he kill all those people?”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. But I was cold and sick and frightened, and sometimes he said things that frightened me, and we didn’t have any food.”

“Druze!” Vash cried softly. “Did you not feed her?”

Druze was silent.

“She needs to eat, Druze,” he sighed. “I know how you feel, Iylaine. I haven’t had much more than a bite of cheese in ten days. Can you walk or shall I carry you? Or would you rather Shus did?” he smiled.

“You shall, cousin,” she smiled in return. “Can we go home?”

“I shall take you to your father at once.” He stood and pulled her to her feet, and he held her up when her unsteady legs threatened to let her drop.

But there was nothing he could do when all her thoughts were suddenly unbalanced by the realization that her home was not with her father but with Malcolm. She did not know how to tell her cousin so, and she did not know why.

“Vash!” Druze whined.

“Just a moment, Druze,” he murmured, though his eyes were on Iylaine. “Do you know, cousin?” he whispered. “I think your nose has come to reach just about the level of my chin.”

“And I think you are slouching to make it so.”

“And I think you are, too, because your nose is afraid of my chin.”

“I’m not slouching,” she mumbled, discomfited by the sudden proximity of his mouth, if not of his chin. “I’m only very tired.”

“That’s true. Shall I carry you? I want to get out – ”

“Vash!” Druze panted.

“What is it, Druze?” Vash sighed.

“I found you!” Druze grinned.

“That’s very good of you, Druze,” Vash said with a weary smile.

“Iylaina found this place!”

“That’s good.”

“What is this place?” Iylaine asked.

The cavern had not grown rougher as they had descended into the earth, as she had expected. Instead, the light cast by the stones that Druze had rubbed into a blue glow had revealed walls that were straight and finely carved and painted. However, everything seemed very old, for the walls were crumbling and the carvings thick with dust. In many places the pale, gravelly earth had come pouring through the cracks, as if there were not solid stone behind, but only this lifeless soil straining to burst out from behind the walls.

“I do not know,” Vash said.

“Iylaina knows!” Druze said. “And look!”

“I don’t know,” she whimpered. “He thinks I know. He said I had to help him find you, and he didn’t believe if I said I didn’t know. So I told him to turn left and right and left and right,” she blubbered, “and we came here…”

“Shhhh,” Vash soothed and hugged her tightly at last.

He did not hug her as Dunstan did, or her other friends, but wrapped his arms around her back and squeezed her, pressing her body all against his. If Dunstan had ever tried such a thing, he would have found himself with a wildcat in his arms. Only Malcolm ever hugged her in that way, and so this seemed very wrong. It also seemed strangely right.

“Look! Vash!” Druze panted.

“He wants to show you his scroll,” Iylaine said softly and squirmed out of her cousin’s embrace. “He found it far back there somewhere, and he keeps opening it and grinning over it and closing it up again.”

It was the scroll more than anything that had softened her heart towards the dead elf. He had the same gloating affection for his scroll that one saw on a three-​​year-​​old child for its dolly. She had indeed begun to think that Druze was often “confused,” as Vash had said, but this realization had robbed her of her last remaining hope of finding either Vash or her home again. 

She had developed a certain despairing affection for Druze once she had realized that, if she did not want to die alone, she would die with him, and his livid face would be the last she would ever see. But now that she had found Vash, she overflowed with tenderness for the poor creature. 

“Show him, Druze,” she said. “He wants to see.”

Druze smiled broadly at her and then went back into the corner where he had been sitting with his scroll when she had fallen asleep the last time.

“What did you find, Druze?” Vash asked, though his interest seemed genuine and not mere indulgence.

Druze took the scroll reverently from the box in which he had found it, and which he now carried under his arm everywhere they walked.

“I found a scroll,” Druze wheezed.

“You did? What does it say?”

Druze held the scroll to his ear and pretended to listen.

“Druze!” Vash laughed. Iylaine heard an amused snort from Kiv behind them.

Druze turned back to them and squirmed in silent, panting laughter.

“That’s Druze!” Vash said. “If there’s a way to twist my words, he doesn’t miss it. I would have thought I was safe speaking English.”

“Not with Druze,” she giggled.

“It is for you,” Druze whispered and held the scroll up to Vash.

“Thank you, Druze. Did you read it?”

“It is not – to be read.”

“He said he can’t read it,” Iylaine said. “I don’t think he even knows which way to hold it so it’s not upside down.”

Vash said, “We shall have a look at it later, Druze, when we go home. Shall we go?”

“I found you,” Druze said.

“Yes, Druze, you found me. And now we shall try to find the way home. Shall we? We have hours of walking ahead of us, my cousins.”

“My son!” Druze smiled. “My daughter!”

“Yes, Druze. Now let’s go home.”