A heavy silence descended on the dark tunnel. Even the wind stilled, and the old priest’s ragged breathing became more uniform. I blinked my eyes a couple of times, but the afterimage of the rows of elfin skulls refused to leave. I could sense Noel standing beside me. She was still holding her breath, perhaps in shock.
I reached for the torch with magic hands, and lifted it back to myself. I lit the torch, startling young Kelser, who seemed to have shuffled quietly forward after Noel in the darkness. I stepped ahead, washing the walls with light.
The skeletal remains were yellow and aged. Many were cracked or broken, with a few pieces of shattered bone sprinkled on the floor near the back wall. Shelves had been crudely carved into the walls, where the skulls and bones could be displayed like a macabre set of cutlery and fine china. The characteristic elongated bone near the ear declared that these were the remains of elves, and the small sunflo beetle resting in an alcove above the priest’s head confirmed that this was the place we had been looking for.
I bit my lips. Sorrow was mounting in my hearts. There was no doubt in my mind who these skeletons belonged to. I forced myself to calm down, since I knew I couldn’t afford to be sad right now. There was somebody else whose world had probably begun to crash, spiral, and burn. At least, that’s how I’d felt when I’d lost my mother. I could only imagine what it must be like to lose so many people.
I gently put a hand on Noel’s shoulder and squeezed it. She was still shell-shocked. I slowly embraced her, but she didn’t move. It felt awkward, being in a one-sided hug like this, but I didn’t know what else I could do. All my comforting would ring hollow. My expressions of empathy or consolation would feel empty and worthless. I still said some things anyway. Repeated mutterings of how I was sorry for her, or how it was going to be okay. The fact that I had said them while knowing how pointless those words would feel, pointed to my helplessness.
“What is it? Is something wrong? Please, ask me your questions and let me down,” came a voice.
I turned my head around while still embracing Noel. The old priest was looking at us with a confused expression. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that young Kelser was trying to console Noel too, by hugging her from the other side. Priest Oxi probably couldn’t see the wall behind him. It didn’t look like he could turn his head at all.
“You want me to ask you questions?” I said, “then tell me, what happened to the tribe of elves that saved your ancestors?”
“They ascended to the heavens,” he said.
“You mean they died?” I said.
“No!” he cried. “They ascended into immortality!”
I scowled. “You know, there is no point in asking questions if you’re just going to lie to me like this!” I shot some fire in his direction, and he shrank back in fear. “What happened to the elves? To the ancient Jora tribe that you claim helped your ancestors?”
“They ascended!” he cried.
“Then why are you strung up on a wall lined with elf skulls and bones!” I shouted.
The old priest’s droopy eyelids stretched all the way up as he became wide-eyed in shock. He tried to wriggle around in his constraints, but he couldn’t get a good view of the wall he was on.
“Tell me the truth,” I said. “We already shared our suspicions with you. Your stories never made any sense. How could the elfin Jora tribe teach you about magic if you couldn’t even understand each other? How did you manage to preserve your history so well without being able to write? And how did your people end up with the name of another tribe, when the word for that tribe doesn’t even fit with the rest of your language?”
The old priest closed his eyes. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke: “Great one, I know I have erred by raising my hand against you. And I know that you do not trust me, because I hid the secret ritual from you. But please believe me. I have no other answer. This is all that I know, all that I have been taught, all that I have learned through my long, painful life.”
I frowned. How could someone be so stubborn? He had to know I didn’t believe him, so why wasn’t he telling me the truth? Did I have to threaten him some more? Just as I was about to step forward and threaten him with some magic, he raised his head and stared at me, resolutely.
“What I have told you so far is the truth, great one,” he said, “but it was the truth as it was passed down to me. From the elders before me, and the ones before them, down through the generations. What I have told you is the story of our tribe in its official, most truthful form.” He took a deep breath. “However, just like you, I too had my suspicions about my tribe’s history. I have lived a long life. I have seen many generations of hunters and warriors pass on before me. Children, merely days old, have passed away in my arms. Entire families have come and gone while the wrinkles on my face have grown deeper and time itself has worn me down in all but spirit.
“Many seasons ago, when I had just become a priest of the Jora tribe, a young girl asked me a question. She asked, why did the Jora tribe have priests while the other tribes did not. I told her it was because the Jora tribe presided over the rituals of Bek Tepe, and many priests were needed for the many different rituals. She asked if she could be a priest. I told her she could not, since she was from another tribe. She could not become a priest, even if she married into our tribe. The little girl got upset, as little children are wont to do. She really, really wanted to be a priest, and asked me why people from the other tribes could not be priests. I did not have an answer for her.
“Before I became a priest, I had a wife. She died many seasons ago, leaving me with a son and two daughters. My son and eldest daughter have grown up quite well. They even have families of their own. But when my youngest daughter had seen only four summer solstices, in the same year that I became a priest, she became deathly ill. I prayed to the ancestors that she may get well, but she grew sicker by the day. I pleaded to the ancient elves, whom our people believed to have ascended to immortality, but they refused to share their secrets with my family.
“My little girl, my precious Tari, passed away in my hands, while I was journeying to a far away tribe, searching for a cure. I buried her far from her home, away from the ancestors that had forsaken her. I did not offer the ceremonial prayers of my tribe over her grave. Prayers that asked the immortal elves for their blessings, so the departed mortal’s spirit would not become corrupted, and she could join her ancestors in looking over our tribe. I believed that if the elves and the ancestors had forsaken my Tari when she was so young, then they would forsake her after death, as well. I was convinced she was not looking over me. And that made me wonder, if any of our ancestors were looking over us at all. Or, for that matter, if the elves were doing so either.
“Great one, I told you that the reason my tribesmen could barely believe you were real when we first met was because they thought all the elves had ascended. That was true, at least for my tribesmen. But the reason I was skeptical, at first, was because I had, by this point in my life, reached the conclusion that the elves of legend were not real. Meeting you was a whirlwind of emotions. I wanted to know if you were real, and if the other elves had really achieved immortality. I wanted to ask you what my ancestors were saying, and if they were really watching over me. And I wanted to ask you why you did not save my little girl, my dearest daughter Tari, when I had been begging you to, all those years ago.
“You said our secret ritual was not meant to honor our ancestors, but to worship an evil god. You are a wise elf, and are more knowledgeable on such matters than I, so I will accept your claim. As somebody who has been skeptical of my tribe’s truth, perhaps I can offer you a guess about why my tribe’s stories do not add up, why our secret ritual worships an evil god, and why I appear to be strapped to a wall lined with elfin bones. It is not my truth, but a guess based on lies. Perhaps my tribe’s ancestors were not rescued by the ancient elves. Perhaps they did not even venerate the ancient elves. Perhaps, my ancestors, with the support of an evil god, met a tribe full of strange, inhuman beings, and proceeded with the most human of reactions: they exterminated the strangers and absorbed their culture, leading to a future where their own children worship the strangers whom they had so mercilessly murdered.”
Erm. That is way too human. /I wasn't expecting this much realism in my fantasy novel. /s
yeah, this is what make it interesting to read.
truth
hahahahaha
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