Where the Sacred Roots Don’t Shine

by Jack Teng

“Lady Got’ah Biithyn, we are honored to be welcomed into the Elven Hall of Sacred Roots,” the old man said, inclining his hooded head — a motion his party copied. Raising his head, however, I could see the old man’s eyes glint mischievously as he flourished his staff, “I am saddened that the Blight has also corrupted your noble halls. The shine of the Sacred Roots is not what it once was. The fruits of our quest may aid you as well.”

Oh, great. There was going to be trouble now. The Lady Got’ah Biithyn hated having her deficiencies pointed out. But the people in front of her were Questers, so she had to treat them with respect. Pursing her lips, the Lady replied placidly without creasing her perfect alabaster skin,

“O, Wise and Knowledgeable Wizard Innon Thaguayme. It is true we Nord’Elves have been fighting the Blight. But you have no need to worry about us.” Lady Got’ah Biithyn waved her thin, ethereal arm as her wispy figure swayed leafily in her throne. “Never fear, we are able to maintain our Purity and Sanctity. It is our mission to fight the Blight alone.”

Like the rest of us suspended in the rafters, I cursed the wizard and wished that the old bastard’s throat be stuffed with the Wild Hind’s golden feces. With his comment, he’d set us up for at least three overnight shifts. It was a fate, however, that I had to resign myself to as a member of the dislocated Sud’Elves. Biting back a sigh, I readjusted my harness and got back to burnishing the ceiling roots with glittery fairy-tallow. It was difficult work, and I desperately wished the questing audience to be over with so we could work without the stifling heat of our invisibility cloaks. Unfortunately though, this particular group had been especially impregnated with the fabulist fumes of the Quest.

His armor rattling and clanking, a shaved and pomaded man bonged his fist against his chestplate and declared breathlessly, “My Lady, you are more beautiful than the legends described! I wish to dedicate my sword in your name! Please grant us a boon!”

“I as well wish dedicate my weapon to you!” a garrulous voice boomed from the diminutive features of a hairy dwarf. Stepping forward and clanging his warhammer against the floor and cracking its recently applied polish, he cried out, “Beautuous Lady Got’ah Biithyn! Please bless us!”

“Uh… yeah! Me too!” piped a fresh-faced teen girl, unslinging her bow and awkwardly holding out before her.

They’d of course been coached on the appropriate forms by their wizard, to which the Lady responded with a slight softening of her eyes and the thinnest of smiles,

“Of course. My dear brave heroes, we are so grateful for your mission. Know that you will not be alone on your quest and you will be aided by my blessings. Please ready yourself…”

The hair on my neck tingled as the Lady gathered her aura together and prepared to cast a few standard protection wards that frankly any pubescent Sud’Elf could cast even before graduating from secondary training. Naturally, the magic-illiterate questers had no idea, and simply lapped up the Lady’s cheap gifts as if it were distilled sap from the World Tree. I had to admit that these Nord’Elves had set themselves up with a cushy racket. I again lamented that my people hadn’t had the foresight to set up a similar arrangement before the Sundering — but then again, we always had more self-respect than that.

“Many thanks for your gift,” the armored man said with a bow. “Trust us now to vanquish the many-faced evil of the Blight.”

“Indeed! I promise we will smite our foes!” the dwarf asserted, again pounding his warhammer on the floor.

“I… ah… uh… I don’t think it worked for me,” the teen stammered, looking quizzically at her hands. Curious, I glanced down and I could easily tell that it wasn’t suprising the girl didn’t feel anything; the spell was a weak, listless one that would hardly protect her from a papercut.

The Lady nodded her head with a tolerant expression. “Dear young lady, the powers of the Nord’Elves are subtle and you may not feel…”

“Never fear! I can help enhance it! The Blight must be stronger that I thought here!” the wizard interrupted with a grin, lifting his staff and causing it glow a dusty auburn.

“No! Wait!” the Lady protested, lifting her gaunt arm too late to stop the wizard’s magic.

I looked down in horror. By the Blight’s Deepest Septic Baths! What was the wizard doing!?! Surely, he knew that elven wards and wizardry were incompatible! They were sourced from completely different Essences that despised each other and, if not brought together with the proper conciliatory mana, could potentially ignite a nasty blast of miasma. But, I hoped that perhaps the wizard wasn’t nuts and he knew what he was doing. If he’d been admitted into the Hall of the Sacred Roots then he should at least have that basic magical awareness.

“Azeronda juniperous wiggywiggy delapirous…” the wizard gibbered for show. Still the Lady pleaded for him stop, even standing up from her throne; but I could tell the crazy old man had been engulfed in a cone of magical silence.

Stupidly, I had been gaping down at the scene like a half-wit sprite. My co-workers, however, had already reeled themselves in and attached themselves to a more secure position in the rafters. Desperate, I scrambled up to reach the others, but I was over five feet away when the wizard yelled triumphantly:

“Wallawonkawigga!”

A flash of noxious light blinded me, as a plume of magical discharge welled from below, violently throwing me against the rafters.

…I came to with lancing pains in my back, ringing ears and a massive headache. Wiggling my toes and fingers, I was grateful that nothing major appeared to be broken. Maybe I was lucky enough to have been caught by my harness and I was still invisible and unseen. This was clearly too much to hope for. As my hearing returned and I blinked my eyes back open, I was greeted by the unwelcome sight of the questers gaping at me with slack-jawed wonderment, as I lay on the hall floor my invisibility cloak having blown off.

“YOU FOOLS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!? OH, BY THE PURE CLEANLINESS OF THE HOLY WHITE OAK WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!” Lady Got’ah Biithyn looked awful with both hands grabbing thick tufts of her flaxen hair as she teetered on the edge of her podium. Most shockingly though were the cracks and flakes that had appeared on her face and on her arms, as if she was being broken apart by the very Blight itself — as would be explained later; being of among the upkeep staff however, I knew that the Lady’s sudden movements and facial expressions had ruined her layers of thick white paste.

Before things could get worse, a rush of silver-mailed elven honor guard swooped in, their serrated swords drawn. In a few blinks, the Lady Got’ah Biithyn was bundled out of the room, the questers were herded into a corner, and I was dragged onto my feet and my hands bound behind my back.

A lanky, immaculately robed elf walked gracefully into the hall.

“My Lord Mo’Cycraed Thaanyall,” the wizard bowed low, while I inclined my head and dampened my aura, as was appropriate for the Lord of Nord’Elves.

“Wizard Innon Thaguayme,” Lord Mo’Cycraed said curtly. Sniffing the air, he frowned, “I sense your magic, wizard. As well as the Lady’s.”

“Yes… Hahaha… I may have… may have… er… miscalculated,” the wizard chuckled uncomfortably, but noticing the questers staring at him, he quickly said, “It was the Blight. A dangerous occurrence only highlighting the need of our mission.”

The Lord narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Yes. The Blight. A terrible thing.”

“Well! We’d best be on our way! The Lady has already blessed us…” the wizard smiled shakily.

“But what about him? What’s he doing here? Is he an agent of the Blight? I’ve never seen an elf with skin that dark. Should we be killing him?” the teen asked pointing at me, oblivious to the wizard’s glare.

Ah, crap. Knowing this could very poorly for me, I improvised,

“Oh, no, kind and generous Quester! I am not an agent of the Blight! I am a victim of it! Look at how my skin has darkened! But you have rescued me by opening a portal to my prison. Truly, you are the most wonderful and most skillful questers who will defeat the Blight! Please go forth and complete your mission!”

There was a tense silence, as I could see the Lord was weighing his next actions. Thankfully, he continued my story, probably judging being rid of the questers was a higher priority. “Yes. Thank you very much for your service. You have rescued one of our own that we had thought lost. Please welcome home our very own Iai’nt Nohnuttah. He may now be rehabilitated and be cleansed of the Blight. In the meantime, allow me to renew your protective spells before I send you off.”

I sighed in relief as I watched the Lord’s aura gather and be applied this time without the wizard’d interference. That had been close. I didn’t look forward to “rehabilitation” but at least I was still alive.

****

Perhaps, death would have been preferable. As I held the finely crafted wooden bucket in front of me, I idly thought how the other races viewed us elves: to them, we were the slender, pale-faced pointy-eared people who lived in trees and survived on light and air and love. What nonsense. True, we did have pointed ears and we had the innate ability to control the Essences, but with regards to everything else, our bodies and skin varied as much as any other creature born by the World Tree.

Yet, considering what these Nord’Elves presented to the others and enforced upon themselves, it was no surprise that other beings would never have thought that a fat, dark-skinned elf could possibly exist. Indeed,

“Hrrruuuuuuuuuhhhhhh! Hrrruuuuuh! Hruh!” Lady Got’ah Biithyn purged again, two fingers jammed as far as they could down her throat. For a half hour, she’d been undergoing her ritual purification ceremony that the Nord’Elves submitted themselves to daily. No wonder none of the Lady’s attendants were willingly there, but were being rehabilitated like myself.

I winced as I watched the Lady gasp over the bucket, her eyes bloodshot. Much to my surprise, I wanted to beg her stop, to tell her that no one cared if she still had a few crumbs of “impurities” in her stomach — even though seeing her suffering should have been a good thing, given that she was the unmitigated Maniacal Evil Queen of Crazed Cleanliness who terrorized all of us Sud’Elf laborers. But I knew the Lady couldn’t stop. Given her lofty position and the expectation for her to be the very embodiment of the forest, she underwent purification at least a half-dozen times a day.

“Water, my Lady?” I offered.

“Yes, thank you, Iai’nt,” the Lady wheezed, as she straightened and stumbled to her chair. With the white paste scraped off her face and arms, she no longer appeared the scary powerful Lady of the Nord’Elves — but a sickly elf with mottled, pock-marked skin whose frail boniness had been hidden under her billowing robes.

“My Lady, I apologize for what happened in the Hall,” I began, hoping to be absolved.

Lady Got’ah Biithyn waved a tired hand, “It’s alright, Iai’nt. It wasn’t your fault. It’s that damned wizard. He’s been trying to renegotiate our arrangement with him and causing trouble to get his way.”

A loud voice from the doorway rang out, “Too true! Too true! Much as I’ve been saying to the Elder Council, Wizard Thaguayme has been causing more problems for us than usual.” Lord Mo’Cycraed Thaanyall strode in, flanked by two wild-eyed rangers. In contrast to the Lady, he still retained the thick cosmetic paste over his features. “I’ve been advocating to stop these questers and seal our borders. This last incident makes my case. I expect you’ll agree with me now!”

“No, Mo’Cycraed. I will not agree with you,” Lady Biithyn scowled. “Welcoming questers has been our way to share with the other races. Our relations with them have always been mutually beneficial. I do not share your fear of interacting with them.”

“Ending our charade with them has nothing to do with fear. How could we Elves ever fear the backward, primitive races?” Lord Thaanyall sneered. “No, my objections have to do with two things. First, practicality. We have few resources to protect ourselves from the Blight, but we’re wasting them on fool’s errands. Second, it’s unnatural and against the very principles of the Holy White Oak for us to be polluted by the lower races. Our borders must be closed for the sake of the Elves!”

Lady Biithyn clapped slowly and deliberately. “A fine speech. I believe I heard it last week. Have you been repeating it all this time?” The Lady snorted as she produced a distinctly un-elvish fart. “Practicality? What about the tithes that would be lost from ending the questing? How do you propose to replace that income?”

“No need to replace it,” Lord Thaanyall grinned. “We’d no longer be paying for the upkeep of the questing areas. What? Do you think I didn’t know that maintaining the quests have been bleeding our coffers?”

Lady Biithyn narrowed her eyes. “And how then do we propose to pay the upkeep staff? The quests create employment for the Sud’Elf refugees…”

“None of whom have a place here,” Lord Mo’Cycraed interrupted with a chop of his hand.

“Our kin? You would render our brothers and sisters homeless?” Lady Biithyn asked softly.

“Let us be honest, shall we? They may be distantly related, but they are not our kin. Only the Nord’Elves were selected as the True Bearers of the Holy White Oak Flame,” Lord Mo’Cycraed proclaimed, as the two elven rangers drew themselves straighter and prouder, probably having identified themselves as that chosen people.

This nonsense wasn’t unknown to me. How could it be? I heard it every day from practically every Nord’Elf in one form or another throughout the day. Occasionally, the whole chosen people ballyhoo was spoken in hushed tones around me, but much more often — especially recently thanks to the Lord’s efforts — it was spoken of casually and openly as if it were a matter of fact. And what could I or any of the Sud’Elves say? How could we protest when we were the homeless refugees from the Sundering?

“Surely, you don’t believe that foolishness? It’s been disproven numerous times,” Lady Biithyn said dismissvely.

“Disproven? Aren’t our differences obvious?” Lord Mo’Cycraed cried out, splaying his hands. Taking a quick stride toward me, he thrust his hand in my face, “Look at this one! Isn’t it clear he isn’t one of us? Look at his eyes. Do we not say that the Holy White Oak demands that we retain our purity? Yet his eyes are dark, faded, as if the aura was taken straight out of it. Clearly impure.”

The Lord grabbed my ear, pinching it hard. “And where is the occipital bone in his ears? Just weak flesh here instead. How dare they call themselves True Elves?”

Now poking my cheek with his finger, he said, “Their features simply repulse me. Disgusting. How can we tolerate having this in our midst. Thankfully they spend most of their time under invisibility or I’d simply have to undergo purification thrice as much as I do now!”

It was clear that I should stay silent, let the Lord finish his venting and be on with my business. But I simply couldn’t. Batting his finger away with a free hand, I said sharply,

“Lord Mo’Cycraed Thaanyall, I would point out that your words are inaccurate.”

“Oho! It speaks! I forgot these Sud’Elves were literate and even spoke our language!” Lord Mo’Cycraed laughed.

“Iai’nt, do not be involved in this…” Lady Biithyn said to deaf ears.

“I certainly do speak your language, basic as it is,” I snarled, taking pleasure in seeing the so-called Lord’s anger rise. “How quickly you forget your history. You Nord’Elves were chirping in the trees when we found you. We shared with you our great civilization. We gave you your language. You were so backward we had to teach you to wipe your asses with leaves when you were content with smearing it on tree trunks. So yes, I do speak your language.”

Lord Mo’Cycraed’s face took on a pleasing reddish hue through his paste, as he said furiously, “How dare you! You… you… menial servant! You know nothing!”

“Nothing? I was trained at the University of the Elven Acka’dime! I have mastered all six forms of the Essences! You barely know one!”

“You dare challenge my mastery of auras? I will have you thrown out! I will have you lashed!”

“You have no right! Your pact with us forbids it!”

“That will be changed! You and your people are nothing! You have no place here!”

“We have every right to be here! You bigoted gas-sack!”

“What? You dark-skinned animal! I’ll show you!”

“Don’t push me! Don’t touch me!”

“I’ll touch you if I please! I’m the Lord of this domain!”

“Oh, yeah? Take this you Lord!”

And, in the midst of the escalation, I threw Lady Got’ah Biithyn’s Purification bucket straight into Lord Mo’Cycraed Thaayall’s face.

****

As I sat in the raft, waiting to be expelled, I reflected on the ways my confrontation with Lord Mo’Cycraed could have ended better — even though seeing him covered in vomitous bile had been so very satisfying. It was obvious now that the bastard had been taunting me, trying to get a reaction, so that he could use it as evidence that Sud’Elves couldn’t remain. In that case, I suppose my only regret was that the bucket didn’t include the contents of the Lady’s Enemic Purification.

“Getting tossed out too, huh? What did you do?” the elf squeezed in beside me asked. The raft was stuffed with Sud’Elves who had broken some arbitrary rule or another — a trend I imagined would increase.

“I threw vomit at Lord Mo’Cycraed,” I replied.

Clapping and whistling appreciatively, the elf said, “Good one. I’d loved to have a chance to do that. I ‘accidentally’ added some Andurian chillies to their nasal cleanse solution.” Noticing I was trying to get out of the binds around my wrist, she shook her head and sighed. “Don’t bother trying to loosen those. These Nord’Elves may not have much of an understanding of the Essences, but being the woodspeople they are, they know how to make rope and tie knots.”

“Ah, may their blighted ears rot off,” I swore, as I dropped my hands back into my lap. “At least, we’ll be going home. It’ll be nice to feel the heat on my skin again instead of being cooped up in the forest.”

An ancient elf in front laughed mirthlessly, “You’ll be waiting a long time for that, greenling. We’re not going to our homeland. Though you might say we are returning to our Roots.”

“What?” I frowned at the cackling old elf. “We’re being deported back to the SouthLands aren’t we?

“Quiet. Don’t make a fuss,” the elf beside me hissed. Jerking her head above us, she said, “Look up. Do those rangers look like they’re about to escort us home?”

I glanced up at the trees above us and immediately knew the only place we were destined to go was to the dark embrace of the Shadowed Forest. It wasn’t unusual to see the elven rangers running around and laughing in the branches, but their trilling, uncontrollable glee matched with their wide, darkened pupils were clear indications that they had drunken deeply of the Horn of Aum’Fetamyne. We Sud’Elves only rarely partook in it except for festive or medicinal purposes, but the Nord’Elves were well-known to use the Horn before they went into battle; for, how else could they perform their amazing feats of parcouring acrobatics without the fear numbed out of their senses?

“By the World Tree…” I whispered, desperately looking around for any way out.

“You said it,” the old elf agreed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I’ve contaminated their water supply so their privates will shrivel and blight off. Not that those bony amped-up freakers ever use them much, but at least they can’t breed now. Oh look, off we go. It seems they’re ready to ‘send us off.’”

Indeed, the raft lurched sharply as we were pushed off into the river. Another quick look at the rangers revealed that they were giddily unslinging their bows and notching their arrows. I had no desire to die, especially not on the waters and so far away from my family’s lineage-tree, but it seemed I didn’t have much choice. Like most Sud’Elves I’d never been spiritual — but like the others in the raft, I bowed my head and intoned the mantra to the World Tree, intending to at least die with dignity.

“May the Gnarled Roots of the World Tree embrace me in… Arrrgh!” the old elf died and fell over as an arrow lodged itself in his back.

“…the Shadowed Forest. May we find peace on the shores of… Aaaah!” the elf beside me screamed as an arrow pierced her neck, and was silenced when another landed in her eye.

“…the Limpid Lake of Reflecting. May we find our destiny and our fate and our…” I paused as I waited for my arrow, but when none came I and the other survivors looked around wondering why we had been spared.

I had to blink a number of times to make sure I wasn’t having a vision.

“FREEDOM! VICTORY TO THE OPPRESSED!” the armored human quester shrieked, as he barreled through the elven rangers, cutting them down with his huge sword.

“EQUALITY FOR ALL! WE SHALL OVERCOME!” the dwarf quester hollered in turn, swinging his warhammer and splitting skulls.

“DOWN WITH TYRANTS! FREE THE DOWNTRODDEN!” the teen quester yelled, releasing a flurry of arrows from her bow.

In short order, the elven rangers were heroically routed by questers; though the task was likely simplified by the fact that the rangers had orders not to harm the questers — a detail that I was willing to overlook. Soon, the raft was drawn back to shore, and we were helped off and released from our bonds. Standing tall and smiling widely, the questers accepted our thanks graciously.

“Please! No need to thank us! We’re just happy that we were able to save you from the injustices of the Blight,” the teen quester said earnestly. “If there’s anyone to thank it must be Wizard Innon Thaguayme who thankfully saw the corruption in the Nord’Elves.”

With perfect timing, the wizard appeared bobbing his head seriously. “No need to thank me! I am but too honored to have helped the noble Sud’Elves in their time of need.” The wizard stroked his beard, as his eyes assessed us with obvious delight. “I see here such fine members of your people. Perhaps you would like to join our quest against the Blight? We have need of a Sud’Elf in our questing party, and the tithe is small and affordable. Together we can accomplish much and defeat the corruption!”

I had to keep myself from rolling my eyes, but with a sigh I stepped forward, volunteering my services. Oh, by the Blight, if it’ll stick it to those bastard Nord’Elves, why not?

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