Rotten Heart

Arialin didn’t wait long for his mysterious host. The supper came, fruits and vegetables mixed with traditional elvin sauces, which made the boy weep from joy. He never truly had a chance to taste traditional elvin cuisine, aside from times where a good elf family or lone elf ranger shared their meal with him. He always felt guilty to eat those, though the elves didn’t have a lot and they shared their portions with a cursed unknown, tormented by shadow, which could kill them for their hospitality.

Do not eat it, it’s poisoned, he heard in his head, only I can truly feed you, only I can truly warm you.

Arialin shook his head, more annoyed, than scared. Shut up. Shut up. I will eat and ask for more.

He caught himself observing the fresco on the walls, pondering who could allow his host to paint the walls both with elvin historical events and humans’. It was almost a blasphemy.

Humans were ruthless in removing all signs of elvin culture from their society. It was almost madness to own them. Was no human allowed in this room? Or some powerful spell worked here, blinding invaders for the sight of all of this?

“The keen observer who would look at these paintings for long enough, could see hidden evil that resides in human hearts” he heard a voice. He turned his head quickly and saw a child, standing in open doors.

The child had a serious, almost frightening expression, when he approached a stunned Arialin and pointing at a fresco with a destroyer of the northern forests, he waved his hand at him.

“Come closer. I will show you.”

Arialin stood up and came closer indeed, there was something mesmerizing in the way the boy spoke, like his voice could hold secrets unknown to others.

“His heart was rotten. My painters put a small detail in his imagery. Look deep, Arialin, very deep.”

Flabbergasted elvin boy looked deeper, til his head started to hurt. He wanted, after a few good minutes to reply, that he sees nothing, but then, a shadow inside him screamed, almost tearing his ears from inside, and he saw a rotting heart in the eye of the human conqueror, filled with crawling vermin. Arialin fought an urge to take his head in his hands and scream too.

He backed off, scared, pained. This was blasphemy! If they find out, if humans find out…!

The child laughed at his reaction, it was not a pleasant laughter. Then, he took a flask and a chalice and poured wine into it. Sipping it slowly, he sat in the same comfortable chair Arialin was laying on, putting one leg on the knee of the other and looking at him with a serious curiosity.

Arialin shook his head. There had to be some explanation, it couldn’t be that this small boy is his host, the lord and royal adviser! It would be ridiculous, if it wasn’t in some way… frightening.

“Less keen eye could see your confusion” the child said, moving with his chalice. “But everything in it’s time.”

“Are you… Lord Rhuitaure…?” managed to say Arialin, still not believing in what he says.

“Lord Rhuitaure, yes. Raithea, for those who are close to me” his eyes narrowed dangerously. “… that means no one.”

Memories flashed through Arialin’s  mind. Raithea Rhuitaure. He knew that name. He had a book, elvish stories about long gone times. And there was Raithea Rhuitaure. Birch Lord. Nightingale, the Master of Lilac Clutches and owner of the key to the Garden. The last elvin mage, who led a heroic attack on human forces. But he was… he was…

“… you are dead” Arialin almost choked on these words.

The boy grinned at him, this time it looked like a wolf’s grin, looking at an especially innocent lamb.

“Death… What it is, Arialin? We could both be called dead. Because darkness eats us alive, it drills our bodies and souls and will not stop until we are hollow. But we breathe, feel and… eat,” he pointed at the finished supper. “There is nothing in us that can be called alive. But we live. Isn’t it… a miracle?”

Arialin involuntarily sat on another chair. Raithea’s words hit him deep. Is he dead? Will the shadow consume him in the end, tear his soul apart? The darkness of the room, which was lit only by a few candles, didn’t seem scary at all. It was inviting, touching his shadow self with tendrils of delight and relief.

Is it not better to be dead, than live in this awful, tormented world?

“When you laid before the king’s window, I thought you were a fool, a lamb that wants to feed the predator, which doesn’t even need to hunt for it” these words stung Arialin, but he didn’t say anything. “You know already, probably, that you were in grave danger. If any guards found you, you would be executed. The king is afraid of darkness. He feeds it on his own chest. But I wonder most, what brought you into the heart of the human empire. You, a darkling, who’s mere presence is a sin in human understanding.”

Arialin shook his head. If he knew. If he even knew.

The shadow was with him since he remembered and led him already in many places, dangerous places, sick places. And he couldn’t do anything about it, because fighting it was like trying to empty the river with a spoon.

“Now,” Raithae observed him from his shadowed chair. “Now you will tell me everything that you know about yourself. Birth, family, story of your life. And then, I will be in a good position to help you. Nothing goes for free in the human world, though. I will help you, but you will be useful to me, in another way… in another time.”

Arialin opened his mouth, but quickly closed them, not knowing what to say. It was a strange deal, as strange as this situation was. As strange as ten-years old royal adviser, who was mentioned in elvin fairy tales. As strange as fact, that they both could be dead. Nothing was too strange then, if the world stood on its head and opened its core. He inhaled deeply and…

… started to tell his tale.

What did he have to lose?