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  Immortals

  -A “Trusting Darkness” short story-

  Copyright 2015 Eva Fairwald

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Immortality is at hand, but elves don’t want to share their blessings.

  What happens when human soldiers find the Sacred Garden and its magical apples?

  Find out in this short story, which narrates the bleakest memory of Elvish history.

  The event is mentioned in the novel “Trusting Darkness”, where you’ll meet again Harold Svarthar, the Sorrowful Prince.

  This e-book also contains the first chapter

  of the dystopian/sci-fi novel “Trusting Darkness”.

  The leaves flickered like amber jewels under the rising sun and the fragrance of the ripe apples delighted Iðunn’s nose. A new day for her people, one more possibility to live and prosper endlessly in the richest Elvish kingdom of the Eurasian continent. She breathed in and smiled; her body was filled with vigor, every single cell radiated full conscience of her luck. Her gentle hands stroked the trees and dozens of juicy fruits levitated from the branches into a basket placed on a marble table. Each apple glistened brighter than any diamond, wrapped in a veil of pure magic, letting its power shine through the golden skin. She had cultivated every seed with all the affection she was capable of and the apaldr of the Sacred Garden had grown healthy and strong. She walked barefoot on the grass and the soft soil massaged her toes, as if the earth itself showed its appreciation. Subtle strings of energy caressed her ankles, curling around her legs like glowing roots, creating wings of light on her shoulders and spreading in a dance of sparkles. Even the flowers crowning her head absorbed that magnificent goodness, passing it on to her long hair and transforming it in a vibrant mane.

  Of all the mystical places on the planet, the Sacred Garden was the most powerful of all. Groups of apaldr, the supernatural apple trees of elves, hummed together the sweet anthem of life. Their sap was liquid immortality and one apple a day was sufficient to keep anybody fit and alive beyond imagination. Elves knew no sickness and death was a pale stain in their luminous memories of joy. The air was soaked with harmony and enchantment in the Sacred Garden, granting instant peace and happiness to any open heart.

  “They’re even more beautiful than yesterday.”

  Iðunn turned around, she knew that voice and cared for its bearer like a mother. She had seen him become adult, fall in love and lose his sleep.

  “What troubles you, my prince?”

  “My wife… as always.”

  “Hedda is a free spirit. She will never sit still where you can find her.”

  “I know. I only wish…”

  “She gave up the forest for you, Harold.”

  The prince lowered his head and the black hair slid on his torso. A shroud of defeat dulled his eyes and his voice lost conviction. He felt the energy of the Sacred Garden trying to infiltrate his thoughts, but he wasn’t ready to let it inside. He couldn’t drown his problems into that lake of positivity, he needed answers and relief wasn’t the way to a solution. Everybody else was blind and refused to observe the present for what it was. It wasn’t a state of suspension anymore, they couldn’t float in their dreams any longer; something terrible was going to happen and Harold Svarthar had been the only one who had wanted to read the signs.

  “It wasn’t safe there, our idyllic existence is over. Men are attacking any elf known as witch and I am not able to protect her. I’ve just learned how to use a sword and I’ve never wounded anyone. How…”

  Iðunn smiled, she had found her tranquility in the garden, but not every elf was the same and who was born in the woods, rarely adapted well to another kind of environment.

  “Hedda can take care of herself. It’s you we’re all concerned about, my prince.”

  Harold unsheathed his blade and saw it capture every glare, like a treacherous mirror. He knew it had been forged for blood and it craved its true nourishment. He felt the desires of the steel vibrating in his hands, murmuring a speech of justice and punishment. It was only a matter of time, before it would turn into a crimson brush. Was he going to write his story with human ink? Or was he going to succumb and doom his people to the same end? He had been left alone to wonder and his mind was tired of roaming with no rest.

  “I fear the future,” he said.

  “Your soul is true and brave, fear is beneath you.”

  “Nonetheless, it’s very real and right in front of us. Human soldiers march on our lands as we speak, demolishing the foundation of magic and threatening our lives… and Hedda just rides away like in the old days, as if nothing had changed.”

  “Hedda loves you and she will be back without a scratch.”

  “And yet, she despises our home and rides as far as she can almost every night.”

  “She needs the stars above her head and the wind through her hair, nothing will ever change that.”

  “Death would,” he sighed, putting back the sword and hoping it could stay sheathed forever.

  “Why do you let these feelings poison your brain, my prince?”

  “Someone has to, if we expect to endure the danger.”

  “Your father is…”

  “Hiding. Refusing to accept that, even if we abhor violence, it will still find a way to us; we require a defense strategy. We have to prepare ourselves.”

  “Harold, please. Keep the negativity outside or let the harmony of the Sacred Garden cleanse your doubts.”

  “I have stopped hesitating. I speak of certainties. ”

  “And death.”

  “Yes, Iðunn. It exists. It does not affect us, but it will and no golden apple can cure a bloodthirsty blade. My spies saw what men do. They burn whoever practices magic and behead who shelters them. War awaits us and we are completely unskilled.”

  “There’s darkness around you and your words are cursed,” she said trembling.

  Iðunn closed her eyes; the sight of her friend’s bitterness was unbearable. She wasn’t used to it, nobody was, for anguish and anger were unknown in the Elvish realms.

  “Better grim than lifeless. You have to listen to me, Iðunn, gather the apples, take the apaldr away and save as many seeds as you can.”

  “Don’t be unreasonable, my prince, the trees need their garden.”

  “You’ll create another one. Further North or, even better, across the sea. Vinland is not as populated as Europe, we might have a chance there.”

  “I will not do such a thing, Harold, not without your father’s approval.”

  “The king does not comprehend, but you… why don’t you even try?”

  Iðunn shook her head and a tear framed her lashes; she heard the trees muttering a comforting melody, but was it enough?

  “It is not sympathy you seek, my prince. You demand I follow a path of insanity.”

  “Foll
y is the first step of survival; the world is moving forward without us. We can either fight for our place, here and now, or we can fly and look for new lands. Either way, we cannot wait any longer.”

  “My prince, please, let me help you.”

  Iðunn stepped closer and held his cold hands. Harold looked at her and fell on his knees; her wings quivered until a haze of golden flashes surrounded them. The particles landed warm on Harold’s skin, melting down like soap petals and transferring Iðunn’s unpolluted energy into his body.

  “Madness is the ability to watch what others are too afraid to see,” he whispered. “It’s not an illness: it’s an opportunity, a natural security mechanism.”

  “Accept my gift, Harold. Let me heal you, please.”

  The prince was almost giving in to the power of the Sacred Garden, when the thunder of galloping hooves interrupted the spell. The wooden gate slid on its hinges and a white horse rushed in, panting and lifting clumps of dirt above its rider.

  “I knew you’d be here!” Hedda shouted before reaching them. “They’re coming, at least twenty of them! They’re armed and…”

  “Did they touch you?” Harold asked, jumping on his feet.

  “No. They saw me, but my horse was faster.”

  “Men know where the Sacred Garden is, they’ll find us!” wept Iðunn.

  “We have to go back to the city and warn everybody!” Hedda said caressing her animal, ready to ride again. “Harold… you were right, you’ve been all along and we’re all fools! Forgive me!”

  Harold nodded, his jaw was tight and his gaze lost somewhere else. For once, he wished he’d been wrong, that none of his nightmares were turning into reality. Hedda’s news had broken the symphony of the garden and that was only the beginning. The leaves throbbed with panic and nothing was beaming anymore… nothing but the sword he held in his hands. Was he capable of taking a life and to willingly hurt another creature? His questions were going to find an answer and he wasn’t sure he could handle the result.

  “You have to save yourselves. I’ll remain to slow them down,” he said.

  “They’re too many, my love, don’t do this, don’t leave me!” Hedda said.

  “I am accountable for my people. I’ll do what’s necessary,” the prince said.

  “Take all the apples, trees and seeds you can carry and run!” Iðunn answered, losing her wings of light, as the terror breached her clarity. “They’re our most precious treasure and I’m staying.”

  “You’re unharmed, they’ll murder you!” Harold said.

  “I’m nothing without my trees, they’re my children and I will not let them fall into their laps! We will die together, or live together. There is no other way.”

  “Please, my stallion can…” Hedda whispered.

  “I have magic. We’ll meet again. Go, now!” Iðunn ordered.

  “We’ll send more warriors,” Hedda promised, getting off her mount. “We won’t abandon you!”

  Hedda gripped the apple basket and the small pots with the newborn plants, using her long blonde hair like ropes to secure every item to her own body and to her mount.

  Harold seized Iðunn’s arm and spoke to her ear, he didn’t want Hedda to realize what he already knew.

  “You won’t survive this. Can you keep your composure with the touch of steel on your throat? The energy level has already diminished, we all noticed. Your focus is weaker and the trees are frightened. No enchantment will be enough to save you or the apaldr. You cannot operate when in distress, none of us ever trained for this kind of emergency. Be realistic.”

  “We’re not finished. There’s always hope, I can make them change their minds and…”

  “Hope is the worst form of blindness. Farewell, Iðunn.”

  “I’ll make it, you’ll see, my prince.”

  Harold frowned: Iðunn couldn’t be persuaded and there was no time left to argue. He straddled the horse behind Hedda and they rode away, as a cloud rose out of the forest and the enemies dashed toward the gate.

  Iðunn walked to the center of the garden and hugged the first apaldr she had ever planted. She felt its vigor reaching out to her, trying to calm her down, but she was too restless to receive its support. Harold’s truth cut through her, obstructing her stream of faith and optimism. He had always been so talented when reading others and, as much as she wished to be bold, deep down she couldn’t deny what she refused to accept.

  She didn’t dare to peek behind the leaves, but the noise and the voices couldn’t be mistaken. Humans had arrived. She was the only one left to protect the Sacred Garden from those creatures ruled by ferocity and unbound ambitions. They couldn’t possibly become immortal and destroy the world with their battles and peaks of cruelty.

  “Playing hide and seek won’t help you,” someone said laying a blade on her neck. “We now own this place and everything in it… even you.”

  “Nobody can own nature and people,” she said turning around.

  The man laughed, showing a line of yellow teeth buried in a dark beard. He moved the weapon down her cleavage and grinned.

  “We are going to be eternal now. Nothing can defeat us and everything belongs to us.”

  “Immortality is not something you can just take,” she said trying to dominate her anxiety and gather some strength. “It has to be earned day by day, it’s a great responsibility. We can teach you how to…”

  “How to eat an apple? We’re good, thanks.”

  He grabbed a fruit from the apaldr and bit it; the nectar ran down his chin and made his lips sparkle with golden glitters.

  “Living forever means taking care of the world. Please, let me explain…”

  “Enough, witch,” he pointed the blade to her chest and his companions plucked other apples.

  Iðunn wanted to cry. They weren’t going to be reasonable, there was no hope, she had been lying to herself and there was no way out. She did her best to collect every bit of energy, accumulating it inside her body, waiting for the right moment to let it burst, but it was so difficult. The trees had sensed the danger and had stopped communicating with other living creatures, closing themselves in a state of frozen observation. Iðunn, alone and stunned, couldn’t feel the tingle of magic on her fingers and, in that exact moment, she made her decision.

  “We can find a solution together, an agreement,” she said, in a last, desperate attempt to buy some time.

  “It’s too late for that. You should have given us the fucking apples when we asked nicely.”

  “Asking is not a synonym of receiving. There are important reasons to consider before making immortality ordinary for anybody.”

  “You talk too much,” he said pressing the steel until a drop of blood stained Iðunn’s dress.

  The elf freed her mind. There was nothing left to do, besides unchaining her soul from her own body in a final gesture to win the fight. She only had one chance to ensure that no human ever tasted her apples again.

  “Put your sword through my heart and live forever, if you think you’re worthy. Steal the apaldr, choke on the golden apples until there will be none left. Kill me, I’ll be the last immortal you’ll ever see.”

  “Die, bitch!”

  The man pushed the blade, crushed flesh and bones, penetrating her heart and laughing at her misery with his friends.

  Iðunn screamed. She had lived an existence of cheerful harmony to devote her last thoughts to an overwhelming plan of annihilation. Everything burned inside her and she didn’t know if it was the grinding message of the sword or her spirit demanding its vengeance. The blood, warm and thick, flooded her mouth and muffled her voice. The scarlet tide trickled on the metal, as the man drove the weapon away and she fell back against her beloved apaldr. The echo of her cry, instead of vanishing, grew stronger and stronger, turning into an excruciating high-pitched torment.

  The men covered their ears, but they exploded anyway, washing Iðunn’s death with human blood, until they all collapsed on the soft grass, with
the undying assurance of being gone forever.

  Iðunn’s lament flourished and reached the devastating power of a hurricane. Every apaldr and every single fruit blasted in a prodigy of fireworks, saturating the air with a mist of golden particles.

  The Sacred Garden perished with its mother, sacrificed in the name of a greater cause, honored by elves, cursed by men and forgotten by no one. The memory of the apaldr lasted through the ages, finding its place in legends and religion, shaping the everlasting memento of an ancient past made of abundance and magic: one apple a day…

  Want to know what happened to the Earth after the elves lost their immortality? The adventure continues in “Trusting Darkness”, a dystopian/sci-fi novel!

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  READ NOW CHAPTER 1 IN THE NEXT PAGE!