Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

Partings

With a screech that reminded him of steel grating against steel the wight seemed to fly across the twenty feet that separated them. Forcing his unwilling legs into motion, Illeandir scrambled just far enough so the possessed bones of a man long dead missed him by mere feet. The wight screamed in frustration when it hit the ground, brittle bones cracking. Immediately it began clawing at Illeandir's feet, trying to drag him away. Illeandir kicked with all the strength he could summon.

His foot made contact with the wight's hand and the hand flew through the air clattering against a nearby rock. The wight hissed sharply and used its other hand to pull itself closer. Illeandir tried to stand but his legs wouldn't support him and he fell again. His left arm, numbed from the wight's touch, refused to move. The wight inched closer and closer, a malicious grin split its face. White light spilled from the opening, eerie and deadly.

Illeandir knew he had to get away before more Borrow Wights came. Even as he tried to move the fog thickened and the wight's song grew louder as more ghostly voices joined. The sound was at once dry and cold, like a thousand dead leaves on an autumn gale, empty of all humanity but for the words ghostly lips formed. Out of the misty shapes of the night, with eyes whiter than the moon, glided on unseen feet with the arms of dead bodies reaching for the living. Illeandir felt his courage fail as the spell of the Borrow Wights took hold. But even as they descended upon a strange light filled him, beautiful and whole. Pressing the darkness and banishing it. The wights screamed and fled, the fog receded after them revealing the clear, starry sky.

"Run!" A voice whispered and strength flodded Illeandir like a river after the first snowmelt. He pushed himself to his feet and ran. Faster than a horse he sped through the Borrow Downs with the eerie song of the Borrow Wights following him.

"Faster!" The voice whispered again just as cold fingers touched Illeandir's arm for a fleeting moment. Though it seemed impossible Illeandir forced himself to go faster. His hand still gripped his bow so tightly the knuckles turned white.

"Cold be hand and heart and bone!" moaned a wight in his ear. Illeandir jumped to the side to avoid the spirit twisting his ankle painfully. Limping heavily with each step he continued to run. The wights drawing ever closer. How far in had he come?

"Just a little further, young one."

Illeandir sobbed with the effort to keep moving. The light that had filled him had vanished. Only his will to stay alive kept him going. Suddenly the Borrow Wights stopped, hissing and seething behind an invisible barrier that stopped them from going any further. Illeandir noticed that he was no longer surrounded by graves but by a sea of grass, unmoving in the still night air. Past the rasping of his lungs as he tried to catch his breath he heard the voice, soothing and calm.

"You are safe now."

The wights had fallen silent and now watched him with slitted white eyes. One hissed softly and they melted into the fog behind them. As they disappeared the fog thinned until only thin wisps remained. Illeandir shuddered and fell to the ground, unable to hold himself up any longer. He tried to stand but his arms and legs shook uncontrollably.

"Rest young one. You are weary."

T'would be an understatement of larhe proportion, Illeandir thought hazily. Whether it was his imagination, brought on by sheer exhaustion, or not, the air seemed to quiver with laughter. Illeandir felt himself slip into a trance but a single thought jerked him awake.

"The dreams..."

"Will not bother you. Sleep."

As he slept Illeandir was aware of a steady gaze watching him. Beautiful and terrible as the sea with eyes of blue starlight. The face was elven and the voice, both male and female, sang a wordless song achingly beautiful and foreign, yet familiar. Like a memory as real as the stars yet far more distant.