A Day in Elfland (Long Fan Fic, If You Dig It) (619 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 2 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by YellowDragon (View user info) at 2004-02-03 01:44:29 EST
Wrote this a long time ago, polished it, and hope to finish it. I actually have a plotline and other nifty bits; I kinda enjoy this one. Hope you do too. As always, HEAPS of criticism is encouraged.
***
The sun on the shallows of Ulaam-Habar illuminated the lake bottom, revealing steppes and perilous drops into further abyssal deeps. Minnows flitted along under the gentle lap, lap, lapping waves which terminated at the nearby rocky strand. They seemed to come ever closer and threaten the peace of a certain Elf sitting there, next to a nearly forgotten bucket. She sat, wondering. Wondering was the right word—it was too bright a morning to brood, too noisy to ponder. Ulamari the Elf sat, wondering at the tiny hypnotic waves making their futile gestures toward her heels. She shifted her weight backwards to her hands and drew her knees up towards her chest. It was an unnecessary gesture, but one could never be too careful. No, one could not indeed, not in a lake such as this.
She sighed and let her head drop back, closing her eyes and letting the soft sounds of the morning nuzzle into her mind, filter there, stew, percolate, and ultimately come to nothing more than another piece of the great puzzle of nature, revealing more of the picture and more questions at the same time. Losing herself to quietude and fantasy, Ulamari began to dream. She imagined herself far away from here, that the rocks digging uncomfortably into her palms were rubies, diamonds, treasure of the most extravagant sort, and she was...in a galleon, her own pirate galleon, a nameless one of the thousands she had seen working at her father's dock.
She had seen the masts, the endless spires tickling the sky and romanticized them from the start; to her they were escape, they were salvation. Although...they had not meant so much long ago. She had not realized they held such importance to her personally until she began work with her father. Ah, know thyself. In that you have failed. She had heard him say that a thousand, thousand times, in his gruff, chiding voice. She had not taken it to heart until her childhood slipped away into the waters and the rest of her life suddenly traipsed down the gangway. The day she first met a sailor, her first thought was not of him, his appearance, the scent of brine about him, or that he might be a nice man underneath the hoary and wrinkled countenance. She thought of the sails, the sails that blushed shyly in the evening and caught fire in the morning—the same ones that brought grimy, salt-crusted sailors to the shore. They should not be entrusted with something so beautiful, she thought, and apparently they felt the same way about her and her childhood.
So they robbed her of it, or rather, she sold it to them; but it didn't much matter. Countless Men, Elves, Halfbreeds—it made no difference—had shared her bed in return for the promise of a better tomorrow, free from dull labor, the calloused hands and ever-squinting eyes of a working-class dock-Elf. But they were always gone in the mornings, and she was always too tired to care or to cry. Most often, she was left with only enough energy to lick their salt off her lips, vow to never trust them again, and then let the cycle repeat itself. But someday she would recline on jeweled beds, living well and thereby exercising the best revenge.
The Elf eased from her reverie, clenched her fists and hurled them forward towards the water, scattering pebbles which in turn scattered minnows. A break, a pause, and the minnows regrouped, continuing on whatever business they held this close to shore.
It was wise, on Ulaam-Habar, to stay near the shore. It was not so much a lake, as the name implied, but more of a great cove or colossal lagoon fed by fresh water on the east and draining to salt water on the west. From the air, it was said that the land formation looked very much like a crab claw, almost completely pinching off a body of water from the main, as if to take it inland and eat it for supper or distribute it to the vast, arid deserts that lay there.
Waters, no matter how clear, must always hide something in their depths, and Ulaam-Habar was no exception. Legend held that it was a breeding ground for monsters admitted by the narrow sea channel, and that to sail on it or even fall in was to invite doom to eat one from below, without warning, and in as messy a manner as possible. Thus, the Ulaam-Habar was just a pleasant looking-glass, offering a sharper and more enchanting view of the Alamoresh. The channel was, in any case, too small to be of much use to any commercial ships, only to small sailing boats. And given the water's treacherous reputation, Ulamari was willing to bet that the serenity would remain unruffled for centuries.
It was unwise indeed to be careless on the Lake. But the Mother Waters, away to the west... ah. It was getting too late, and father would be wanting his breakfast soon. Ulamari pushed herself to her feet, leaned forward and scooped a little water into her hand. She inspected it, and then splashed it on her face. Delicious... the inland waters here could best any on the continent, she was told. Despite its proximity to the Western Gaulaan, Ulaan-Habar's pristine water was fresh and invigorating, fed by no less than six streams and rivers emanating from the mainland, from the heights of the Alam-Goresh range. Ulamari paused to savor it once more...delicious.
The Elf who, from the outside, looked girlish and innocent picked up her nearly forgotten bucket, threw it into the lake, and reaped the sparkling reward. As she climbed the hill towards the cottage, the water in the bucket became diamonds. She dipped her hand in, paused, shut her eyes, and imagined...
Father had wanted his breakfast all right, in the worst way and sooner than expected. Taking no time to finger the tender spot on her cheek, Ulamari hastily cleaned the pan, the kettle, and the two small ceramic plates. She was tall, strong, and (so she reasoned) beautiful, but her father was larger, intimidating, and could make her feel as inferior as a Halfbreed. The morning wore on, the sting on her cheek dulled, and by noon, all was forgotten. Or, at the most, filed away under "unimportant incidents."
To have one's vessel searched first thing in the morning was a punishment the gods reserved for the worst offenders. A whim, a clap of thunder, and it was done. Such were the musings of a captain, his crew, and quite possibly of the dreary cargo of caged Pala birds, destined for the next significant port. Rubbing his bleary eyes and then hastily strapping on his saber over his bedclothes was the vessel-in-question's captain. Standing before him, in full dress, was a Bluecoat, a Northern Turntail. A Federation officer.
"You, Halfbreed," smirked the uniformed officer, obviously the one who wore the pants in the outfit.
"It's Captain, thank you." The retort was ignored, and the officer continued his questioning.
"Where did you pick up this cargo?"
"Approximately ninety leagues to the north-northeast, but my nautical measurement is quite rusty.' The officer gave a start and glanced behind him to see a Pala bird giving a beaky semblance of a grin.
"By the stars! They're smart, aren't they?" He said to the Halfbreed captain.
"Yes, by the stars, but I just told you my nautical measurement is faulty at best," replied the bird.
"Look," interjected the captain, "all we have is this load of birds and thirty crates of cured meat in the hold," and a crate of four hundred Kalartan fighting daggers attached to the hull, but who's counting?
"Sailing so close to the mainland? In a flat-bottomed boat? Sounds more like shoreline raiders than honest merchants to me." He ordered two soldiers who had just boarded to the stern to search the galleys.
"Sounding and being are two different states. We're within sight of the blessed land!" It was his own fault, of course. Even in his sleep-blurred mind, the captain distinctly recalled the order to drop sails and anchor the day before, planning to enter port...later... and all of a sudden he couldn't remember why he had chosen not to land sooner. Of all the damnable luck, to be stopped so close...
"Precisely! So close, and in such a nice three-masted boat. Fast, nimble, and not flying any flags, either."
"All that means is that we're unattached merchants! We don't put much stock in guilds." The officer glanced at
the captain sideways, and for a moment the silence was breathtaking.
"You watch yourself in my ports, clear? You look like trouble." That was a far better reply than the captain had expected, and he let his smile say so. He was just seeing the officer and his crew off when the dull, monotonous voice of a Pala bird sounded behind them—
"Don't bother to ask about the knives."
Damn, damn, damn! Were the captain's thoughts as he reached the mainland in the bulkhead of a Federal frigate, bound at the wrists and ankles.
A Federal frigate! Out here, in this season! Ulamari allowed herself the luxury of a mid-afternoon thought, even the chance to be taken aback, though her father would soon reprimand her if she idled too long. It was easily worth the risk, though. After all, soldiers, professional sailors, were good. Good news for her, considering the latest Federation decrees on military marriages. Squinting against the sun, she gazed at the fading blue emblem on the mainsail; they had been away from friendly ports for a while. More good news.
Port Habar was unofficially neutral, a "nobody's-business" seafaring town, filled to bursting with fishermen,
castoffs, and down-on-their-luck privateers. News of a Federal frigate would perk ears among the latter group, but not stir up any action; it was dangerous, too much risk with too little payoff, to take a Federal frigate. Unless, of course, there was a third party involved. And out here there often was. The bottom line, however, was that a good-looking Elvish girl could probably find a way out of port if she found the right vessel and its willing captain.
Ulamari flexed her arms and tightened a mooring rope that had gone slack in her grip. She hitched it to the wharf and turned to see her father fuming towards her from the shoreward end of the pier, his face cast a violent shade by the midday sun. He pointed an accusing finger at her and, turning his hand palm-upward, made a 'come here' gesture. She obeyed quickly and quietly, knowing that the heat made her father's temper easier to ignite. He was a Far Southern Elf at heart, despite decades of acclimation to more Northerly provinces. It still showed in his queer accent and mannerisms, especially his dislike for heat. When other families scrambled for firewood, Ulamari and her father sat comfortably in their unheated house, wearing at most a long cloak over their daytime clothing.
Perhaps the fact that she was habitually sparsely dressed made Ulamari more appealing to sailors—but there was little time to contemplate that as she followed her father inside the main office.
"Stupid girl, you did not write out a receipt for the yacht that was here."
"Yes, Father."
"Be more careful next time, you little fool."
"Yes, Father."
"My humblest apologies, m'lord," he spoke to a customer who had leaned himself in the doorjamb. He was wearing expensive skins with a small insignia over one shoulder, probably that of some aristocratic diplomat or independent alliance member. Port Habar was just inside Federation patrol territory but nearing the southern border, and thus outside Federation authority. There remained, therefore, much of the old "kill-or-be-killed" mentality, albeit with a thin veneer of civilization over it.
Ulamari turned to face the customer, lowered her eyes and smiled in that coy way she knew males enjoyed seeing, at least in her. He remained unmoved, and did not smile until her father walked toward him with a receipt signifying that he was clear of any debt. Even then it was a cold, expectant smile, full of greed and moneylust. He nodded curtly and turned on his heel.
When the Elvish dignitary had left, Vladimir turned, sighed, and allowed his features to soften as he faced his daughter.
"Little girl, when will you learn? Now, go wave down the Federation frigate. If you land them, return quickly and wash up. Governments are good for business."
"Yes, Father."
"Good girl. Go."
Ulamari left obediently, but with the knowledge that the Federation ships preferred to moor northward and away from commercial docks. They were good for business, yes, but business was already good. Even as she unfurled the gray and red flag at the end of the pier she saw the ship veer portside, off to her right. It was useless, of course, but Father needed to be satisfied that they had done their best to attract customers and let militaries know that their door was always open. Vladimir's at Port Habar had served more than a few insubordinates and revolutionaries, and the operator knew better than most that military favors were not quickly forgotten.
Coming from the Far South, Vladimir knew war. He knew hunger, he knew pain, he knew want, but most of all he knew how to rid himself of them. So he left, abandoned his beloved Kalartan with his bride, in search of peace and plenty. After a year's journey, he found them on the Western shore of the Gaulaan, or "Mother Waters" in the local tongue.
Ulamari reflected upon this as she watched the Federation frigate recede and meld with the horizon. It stirred her inside to know that that ship was her chance at salvation, her only chance, apart form escape to the skies. Flying contraptions were mostly Goblin territory, though. Elves were creatures of the sea; ever-changing, yet constant, reliable creatures. Goblins were, well... flighty. Each creature must act upon its nature, she mused. Then she mused again: so why haven't I? I wish more than anything to leave here-- if wandering is in my nature, why have I not acted upon it? It was a question unanswered, unanswerable.
She thought so, anyway, but did not have time to question herself further. Father was not a patient Elf.
"Pardon, dock wench, but have you a message post nearby?"
"Down the street, on the left." An officer in uniform. No good. His polished demeanor spat disdain at land-Elves, even if they were dockhands accustomed to seafaring folk. He strode off to the post, making no noise in his soft boots. Ulamari turned around and noted, much to her surprise—nobody. She could have sworn that the man in chains walking down the gangway was her father. On closer inspection, it turned out to be nothing more than a Halfbreed. Still, the resemblance was remarkable.
She turned it over in her mind and decided against alerting her father. He would call her a silly girl, tell her to clear her head before speaking. But the Halfbreed definitely carried Far Southern blood, of that much she was certain. They—that was, the Halfbreed and her father—shared the same angular cheeks and jawline and
short, beautiful nose that seemed so out of place on the rest of the face.
He was being hurried into town, towards the jailhouse. Ulamari pretended to pay him no mind, trying instead to look appealing to the unshackled sailors milling around. Apparently, though, the Halfbreed had seen her, and just before he passed out of earshot he cried, "Southblood!"
In her surprise, Ulamari dropped the bags she had been carrying under the pretense of shopping for dinner and hesitantly turned towards the voice. She saw the Halfbreed being dragged away with great urgency; if he had a message, he would have to speak soon.
"Ask your father if he would fight again for his homeland. Ask him about the last time he saw a true blade!" And with that, he was pulled roughly around the corner.
Ulamari gathered her parcels together and made her nervous way back home, mind and breast aflutter.
"Kick the dust from your boots, boy, and state your business!" A Man messenger, no older than thirteen, stood before Vladimir's desk and gazed abashedly down at its surface, holding his hands behind his back and shifting nervously from foot to foot.
"Beg pardon, sir, but the Honorable Captain Pushett of the Federation Navy requests an interview with you in person, on his ship, in no less than half an hour, sir." Vladimir's skin turned a clammy cold as he thanked whatever celestial power was watching over him that Federation ships favored the northernmost docks. Had they moored here... he shuddered as he drew six silver pieces from his vest pocket and extended them to the boy.
"Listen, lad: do you know what I'm doing?"
"No, sir."
"Then listen carefully, because this will serve you well later in life. Take this money, and return to Captain Pushett. Tell him we never met, that I was not in, and that you have no idea where to find me, eh boy? Will you tell him that?"
"Aye, sir, I can do that," said the boy, stashing the silver in an inside pocket.
"Good lad—you know where to keep that, don't you?"
"Aye sir."
"Good. Off with you."
As the boy left, Vladimir sat heavily in his chair to think. He reached instinctively for his pipe, but caution stayed his hand. Best not to risk it, he thought, rising to blow out the candles. He hastily tidied up as though leaving for a long journey. Who knew? It might turn out that way. Perhaps it was best to not even spend the night at home.
Slipping quietly into the all-too-warm night, Vladimir, a Southlander and warrior by nature, planned his next step. It was time, he thought, that he fought once again for his homeland. It was time he saw a true blade.
When the pieces are set, the game waits for no Elf.
***
Well, that's it for now. Whaddaya think, hm hm hm? Thanks for reading!
Regards,
YellowDragon
User Reviews
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2004-02-03 14:16:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm sorry, I have the attentionspan of a goldfish, but i liked the portion that I read :)
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2004-02-03 07:51:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
::smiles and approves::
Submitted by Tom (user info) at 2004-02-03 02:06:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I dig it, fool.