Chapter 25
WINTERTHORN
After hours of trekking through the frozen forest of blight, we stood before a great castle, no, a gargantuan fortress.
Tall steeples of ice reached up to the sky, melding into the side of the craggy mountain with a grace and strength that used to spell safety for those who resided inside.
Now it seemed like the great bars of a prison, and perhaps within—prowling for six hundred years—the great beast of the mountain; Elden’s grandfather, the first King of the Elves.
Our task was impossible. I expected the castle to be large, maybe even as ridiculously gigantic as Elkhaven, but no. Quite impossibly, the palace of Winterthorn was at least double the size of Elden’s palace.
“How could we ever inspect every room? Turn out all the books in order to find what we need?” Dread pooled in my gut. And if, indeed, a great shade monster roamed the halls, how much longer would Jel’s potion keep us hidden from its prowling eyes?
Elden huffed out a strained breath, his face pale.
“We studied the map of Winterthorn palace back in the library. There is an ancient room carved out of the heart of the mountain just beyond the throne room. It was special to the king and queen. If there is anything of import, that will be the first room to search.”
I nodded as I inspected the wince of a smile Elden pasted on his beautiful lips. He was in pain, though he tried to hide it. Our time was short.
“We must hurry.” I steeled my heart and took hold of Elden’s gloved hand.
He squeezed my hand back in return. “We’ll go through the western entrance there.”
Elden pointed to a tall door set into the mountain to the left of the castle.
It looked to be more of an entrance for servants and deliveries.
I nodded. The entire palace grew out of the great mountain as if the castle sprouted on its own.
I was grateful to be spared the miles-long trek down to the main entrance below.
Together, we pushed our way through the blackened forest toward the side of the castle.
Our feet crunched into the ice that seemed to grow larger and craggier with every passing step, but thanks to Jel’s potion, we did not make a sound as we stomped toward the light blue doors.
They looked to be made of ice, too, but on closer inspection, the entire castle had been hewn from a brilliant light blue rock.
Rivers of amber and white weaved through the stone.
Brass inlays of curving runes and designs decorated the rock, twisting and whirling in otherworldly beauty.
“The entire palace is made of moonstone,” Elden said as he caught me admiring the intricate carvings, many with the symbol of Winterthorn, a unique pine tree. “Father said that the palace looked like one giant ice palace. I could never have dreamed it would be so beautiful.”
Glimmering spires stretched up to the cloud filled sky. A shimmering palace of moonstone among the black barren wastes of the blight.
“It is breathtaking,” I said through a chill.
All was dead and still as if the palace itself were holding its last breaths.
Elden’s grandfather lived here, died here, along with his human wife. I couldn’t help but think about her—her life, her death. Who had she been, and how had she won the heart of the Elf King? Not that I was interested in that knowledge for myself or anything. I shook my head and trudged along.
A large shade monster wreathed in shadow lurked among the shadows here in this land.
We were treading on its very domain. The place where the first blight spread.
It was evident in the decaying ground and the twisted black branches of the once majestic trees.
The palace itself shot out from the blackness like a gleaming pillar of light, untouched by the blight—yet the blackness seemed to spread outward from this very palace. It was the epicenter.
It was the last place I’d ever wish to set my feet, yet the only one in which we could find the answers we sought.
We’d need to be fast and thorough, but I would not leave Elden’s side. He might need to do that shape-shifty thing and take out a monster, and my magic didn’t work that way. The only kind of defensive fight I could put up was whacking somebody with my small saucepan.
I gripped Elden’s hand tighter, and we trudged to the doors.
They alone were a full three stories high and covered in carvings of trees and mountains, but by far the smallest of the entrances.
Icicles clung to the eaves like daggers, each one catching on the mornings light.
The doors had been left ajar for six hundred years, as if beckoning its prey to come a little closer so that it could devour them.
Elden and I shared a tense glance. He clenched his jaw with determination, and I just followed, my heart pounding in my chest like a jackrabbit’s.
Arctic wind whipped at my hair and cheeks, sending my hood back.
We stepped through the blue stone doors and entered a dark hallway that stretched on into an inky abyss.
A frigid breeze wound through the corridor, causing my jacket to fly up, allowing a bit of the cold air to bite into my side.
I brushed down my coat as a chill rolled through me.
I wouldn’t survive more than a couple minutes out here without my enchanted coat, yet the castle was already starting to warm.
Elden said the castle was enchanted to stay warm all year long.
Did that magic still hold true after six hundred years of abandonment?
Within the next few steps, warmth hit my face like an open oven.
Apparently, yes.
Elden pulled out his glowing gold citrine gemstone to chase away the shadows of Winterthorn. Its eerie light illuminated his tense lips and straining eyes. “Stay close to me, Little Baker.”
I pressed into him. He didn’t have to tell me twice.
“But the light. Won’t the monster see it?” It was as good as a lure to the great beast.
“It is as dark as pitch in here,” Elden replied. “We will have to risk it.”
“Doesn’t Jel have some special poultice or something to disguise it?” I pressed.
A slight smile lifted Elden’s lips, “Even elvish magic has its limits. There cannot be light if it is obscured from view.”
Right.
Elden’s sword shone in the golden gemlight, casting strange shadows onto the gilded walls. Every step into the black hallway caused my heart to leap at each wide alcove, every pillar, every figurine made of marble. Stone columns stretched up to a curved ceiling inlaid with bronze runes.
We walked through the darkening hall, ignoring the arched hallways on either side, heading instead to the heart of the palace where the throne room and center of Winterthorn lay.
The snow on my coat melted as we continued on, leaving tracks of water where we tread.
It wasn’t long before we removed our enchanted wolf-lined coats and left them tucked away behind a pillar.
I wrapped my arms about myself, though I was not truly cold, and followed closely behind Elden. The blue stone of the exterior gave way to a white stone inlaid with bejeweled mosaics and painted murals.
The light of the citrine gemstone bounced off the art, causing images to pop out in the darkness. Some kind of magic worked in this mural, causing the images to change as we walked, as if it were telling a story. The images shifted from one scene to another, then back again.
Elves in flowing gowns enjoyed a picnic by a large lake.
The water was a deep green, the grounds a strange pink and amethyst. The sky shone with oranges and pinks as well.
Blues and gold. An ethereal star glowed in the heavens above.
This land did not seem real to my eyes. But here, the elves lived among giant jungles with strange animals.
Nothing I’d ever seen, even in my storybooks.
As we walked, the star fell from the heavens, crashing onto the ground with pillars of flaming fire.
I stared in both horror and awe. Though the murals were well over six hundred years old, they shone with a bright newness that could only mean one thing—some kind of enchantment had preserved this art for centuries. Awe enveloped me as I peered into the past, into the art of one thousand years ago.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” I breathed.
Elden shook his head, his mouth slightly open. He reached out toward the mural as if to touch it. “I have never seen a true depiction of my people’s home world. There are so many plants that I do not recognize. I will have to study this later. It is breathtaking.”
Whoever had created these murals was a true master. Every detail was intricately and lovingly rendered. I noticed a strange signature on the bottom. The artist had signed their work with an ‘E’, a sword running through the capitalized letter.
We hurried to the next panel, and a spike of fear ran through me. Elves ran from an enormous fire that erupted all around them from the falling star.
“The star of Elandir,” Elden whispered reverently.
The ground tore in large patches, the sky bled a deep red, ashes falling and obscuring their two suns. Their world was dying.
My breath caught in my throat as the image morphed. The elves stood in numerous circles, all grasping hands, weaving together some great and ancient magic in song.
Elven runes and magics suffused the paintings in a golden glow.
In the next panel, the elves stood at the foot of a large frozen lake surrounded by snow-covered trees. A purple mountain loomed in the distance. Winterthorn. Somehow, through their magic, the elves traveled here to my world. Here to Winterthorn.
“This is the history of my people,” Elden whispered and held his hand up to the tall elf male with white hair who stood regally in the circle of the elves. “That is my grandfather, King Theronvere, The first King of the Elves, at least here in this realm.”
“Your world must have been destroyed by that falling star,” I said through a constricted throat.
“Yes. It is as my father said. We are not from this world.”
We hurried to the next panel where a group of humans dressed in thick fur coats met with the elves. They stood in fear and awe, holding nocked bows and swords at the ready. Elf King Theronvere waved his hand and runes swirled about them all.
In the next panel, the land thawed, and a beautiful spring burst forth with green grasses and trees, flowers blossoming in all variety under foot. Many of the humans smiled, seeming very happy with this magic, while others looked on with wary expressions.
We rushed to the next panel, where fire and smoke lit up the sky. Human and elf fought in the mud and dirt with gritted teeth, malice and hate gnarling their faces. They fought with sword, arrows, and magic, all peace forgotten. The once-beautiful lands lay scorched with a bleak desolation.
The next panel showed a death-strewn battlefield with both human and elf lying dead in bloody piles.
In the center of the battle were two figures.
A beautiful young woman with anger in her eyes, and the Elf King.
The young woman’s hair was swept up into a messy braid, a fierce look of death on her face as she held her sword to the heart of the king.
The king’s white hair was coated in filth.
He held his sword, now Elden’s sword, out to the side as if he’d been disarmed.
They stared at one another over the carnage of the battlefield.
Both looked willing and ready to kill the other.
Then a golden light emanated from their hearts, much to their own surprise. Their eyes widened with shock, then they looked at each other with softened, though guarded expressions.
The woman dropped her sword, and the Elf King stepped back in shock.
We hurried to the next moving panel. Some time must have passed between this mural and the last because here, an older woman who looked to be a leader among the humans and the Elf King sat across a large table from one another as they signed a large document.
“The treaty.” I pointed.
There it was, the treaty that granted lands to the elves. And they, in return, granted magic to humans. Maybe if we could find this document, we could discover how to reestablish this peace, and restore magic back to the human lands as well.
The young woman from the battlefield and the king were wed in the next panel, their hearts glowing a bright gold.
They looked at one another with a tender love that brought tears to my eyes.
They were both beautiful, resplendent in their marriage robes.
Both human and elf surrounding them in fine clothing rejoiced.
Snow fell around them, alighting on their crowns like halos.
Ice sculptures and plates of food, hot drinks, and cakes were being enjoyed by elf and human alike in the panel.
Holly berries and green garlands decorated the tables and chairs.
A band made up of both human and elf played their music with cheering and adoring expressions.
“The first queen of Winterthorn, Queen Elayna and King Theronvere, my grandmother and grandfather,” Elden said in wonderment.
We stood and soaked in the joy of that moment for a while, both Elden and I. Elayna and the king met on a battlefield, their own people dying at their feet, and yet, they fell in love.
“How?” I marveled aloud.
Elden shook his head slowly. “There seems to be more to this story than we were told.”
But as we continued past, the picture shifted, showing four enormous gouges through the Elf King’s face, distorting his features.
Twisting them. As if a massive beast had raked claws across his beautiful face.
I reached up and touched the wall, feeling the deep trenches beneath my fingers.
A breeze blew in with a mighty roar, ruffling my tunic and sending my hair billowing about my face.
I flinched. It sounded like a growl from some mighty beast–from a shade monster.
I grabbed Elden’s arm as we reached the end of the hallway.
Beyond two massive gilded doors, tall columns reached up into the black abyss of a ceiling beyond.
Everything beyond a few massive pillars were obscured by darkness, our only light the citrine gemstone in Elden’s fist. Wind whistled around the columns as we walked fully into the space, entirely exposed from all sides.
Elden gripped his sword tightly, sweat glistening on his brow.
We’d reached Winterthorn’s colossal throne room.
An eerie feeling crept over me. The chill of an imagined clawed hand raking down my spine. Then a roar and huff of breath sounded from somewhere nearby.
We were being hunted.