The Girl From The Mountain (AC)

[mochagirl]

((Okay...my prologue is rather short, and doesn't really introduce the main character at all--it's more of an introduction to the story, than the people in the story, so I hope that's all right. And I hope the character profile is okay. The story itself is sort of a Chronicles of Narnia type, with a clashing of the real world with the fantasy world.))

CHARACTER PROFILE

Name: Hailey Beekman

Race: human

Gender: female

Age: 14

Home: Chicago, Illinois

Appearance:
Hair: chestnut brown; thick, straight; no bangs
Eyes: dark brown; wide, almond-shaped; thin, short, dark eyelashes; curved eyebrows; wears either contacts or glasses
Skin: pale creamy color, with light smattering of freckles
Features that stand out: high cheekbones; small, even nose; slender but not skin-and-bones model-thin; 128 lbs.; 5’3”

Personality: quiet, shy, introverted; she doesn’t like attention or being in charge; she finds it hard to think rationally when under pressure, though otherwise she is quite pragmatic and steady-natured. She has strong emotions, though she doesn’t express them well, and doesn’t feel comfortable trying; she tends to think before she acts, but acts on emotion more often than reason, depending on the circumstances. She is generally very sympathetic, gentle and caring, and likes to help others in small, quiet ways. She is easily embarrassed, and isn’t very self-confident. She has severe bouts of grief and anger, which she keeps inside her, not confiding in anyone.

History: Hailey grew up in a small town in rural Ohio, but her dad was transferred to Chicago, so her family was uprooted to the big city, a move she didn't like at all. One month after the move, the unthinkable happened, and her mother and older sister (and best friend) were killed in a car accident. Shattering the family, Hailey's father busied himself with work and drinking, and sent his children to boarding schools in the city. Hailey was thus separated from her siblings and her father, and struggles with her grief and her anger at God for letting her mom and sister die. And so begins the story (after the prologue).

 

[mochagirl]

Prologue​

The Legend of the Sword​

Deep within the verdant forests of west Itheladim, there lie a colony of Elves, the Farandir, once known to the world of men, but now lost to their memories. To the Elves it mattered not, however; they lived purposefully in their state of solitude, with only one concern regarding interaction between the other Races and the Elves: the Sword of Orion.

Seven Ages before, Orion appointed the protection of the Sword to one Elf, Entrith the First, and his descendants, and gave to the rest of the Elves the responsibilities of always supporting the Guardian of the Sword, always keeping the Sword safe in its Temple, and always guarding it and never letting it be taken away. For great evil would come if the Sword ever left the Woods of Eternal Spring by any hand other than Orion’s or his appointed.

The Elves accepted this responsibility gravely, and for Seven Ages they kept the consecrated Sword safe and secret in the Everlasting Temple, hidden deep within the silent trees of the Forbidden Woods.

But darkness had come upon the land of the Elves…the Eternal Spring was quickly fading into winter. Amidst great slaughter and destruction, one matter far outweighed the rest and put in the Elves a great fear.

The Sword was stolen.

But not all was lost…there was still hope, small though it be, according to the oldest written records of the Farandir.

Long years will pass, and the Woods forgotten
All will seem right in the Spring Eternal
But darkness will rise with evil begotten
The Sword will be taken and Winter will fall

Hope will stay true, as the Sword lies unbroken
Orion will guide the return of the Spring
Through one from the mountain and one long unspoken
Together they shall fight and the Sword they shall bring

To return to the Temple the Great Sword held dear
’Though battles and hardship they will have to face
To save all the races; to save Farandir
All will be done in Orion’s infinite grace​

All that could be done now was to wait for the two sent by Orion. Their only hope rested on the one from the mountain and the unspoken one. But time could only wait for so long. The fate of the world was held in the balance by the two unknown souls who had yet to rise up. If they failed to answer Orion’s call, the Sword would be lost, and the Woods would never again see the Eternal Spring.

Evil was quickly falling.

 

[mochagirl]

1​

SAD AND LONELY​

It all began when Mom died. Hailey stared into the bathroom mirror, her face set in its usual humorless expression. Mom and Kate both. She put her toothbrush in her mouth and began scrubbing her teeth. That was three months ago…who would have thought life could change so quickly. First moving to this horrible city, and then the car accident, and now…boarding school. I didn’t even think there still were boarding schools nowadays. It’s so Georgian. Or something.

Four months ago the Beekman family had moved from Rittman, Ohio, to Chicago, Illinois. The move alone was enough to permanently alter Hailey’s life: she really wasn’t good in new situations. In fact, she hated them. Only her sister Kate, two years older and her best friend growing up, could boost her out of her shyness.

Her father, Arthur Beekman, had been transferred rather abruptly to his work's main office in Chicago—it was a big promotion, to be sure, but still…uprooting a family was not exactly a kind thing to do. After about a month with their old house on the market, an elderly couple had bought it so they could retire in the country.

Because of the raise in Arthur’s paycheck, as well as the equity they had on the old house, they were able to afford to buy a five-bedroom, four-bathroomhouse, which was nice—Hailey, for the first time in her fourteen years of life, was able to have her own bedroom—but it still wasn’t home. Maybe eventually it would have been, but the transition time was severely hindered by the next big occurrence in the Beekman family’s life—a much, much worse occurrence than merely leaving your childhood home. For it made thinking of Chicago as home completely and forever impossible.

Less than a month after they moved into a suburb south of downtown Chicago, Hailey, who’d been at home watching her three younger siblings while her mom and Kate went shopping, received a phone call from her father, saying there had been an accident…. A semi-truck crashed into the side of their Accord. Danielle Beekman and Kate Beekman were killed instantly. The truck driver, who’d been fighting the wind on the highway, lost the battle and had swerved crazily to the left. He had sustained severe injuries but had lived.

The thing about losing a wife and mother, and daughter and sister, was, not only did it alter the family, in that they weren’t there anymore, but it also altered the people left behind. Hailey changed: she grew even more introverted and timid than before. Her older brother Harrison grew distant from the rest of the family and spent his time out with friends, and a month and a half before went to California to attend college, rarely ever calling. Her younger brother John changed: he was moody and unapproachable, and grew agitated whenever Hailey asked him to do anything. Her younger sisters, Amelia and Sierra, changed: they were more somber, much quieter, and they didn’t ask nearly as many questions as before. Occasionally Sierra, who was barely eight, slipped and asked where her mommy was; then when she realized her mistake, her eyes grew wide and she burst out crying.

But the biggest change was in their father. He hadn’t particularly been the avuncular sort, the type of dad who played catch every Saturday and had regular family days at the park or that sort of thing, but he had asked after them each evening at dinner, and generally left his work at his work. Now, he was even moodier than John, and he was always working late hours, and when he was home he had a hurried, absentmindedness about him and always brushed off any interruptions by the children. Actually, Hailey had noticed on more than one occasion that he came home with a slightly sour smell that she could only suppose was alcohol—and her father had never drank before. Her mother had raised her six children—or at least the older ones—to understand what alcohol and drugs and smoking did to your body; and the thought of her dad drinking regularly made Hailey’s stomach turn. She’d already lost one parent: she didn’t want to lose another. And alcohol could cause him to be lost in so many different ways. Alcohol poisoning, a DUI accident…and there was always the chance—a chance Hailey was beginning to fear was becoming reality—that her dad would become an alcoholic and they would have to endure all the terrors that that would bring.

She kept her fears hidden, for many reasons, the main being the old belief, if you pretend something’s not there, that nothing is wrong, then nothing will be. She knew, deep down, that it didn’t work that way, but she didn’t want to face admitting that. Also, she had been forced to become the surrogate mother in Danielle and Kate's absence. It wouldn’t do to break down with uncertainty and fear in front of Sierra and Amelia.

She had come to realize in the two months following the accident, before school started, that motherhood was an immense chore that teenagers shouldn't have. Having always been homeschooled, she had been a bit relieved when her dad announced he was sending them to school, for the first time in all of their lives; what shocked Hailey and took away the relief at not having to be a teacher on top of being a mother was what came after that announcement. He was sending them all to boarding schools in the city. To stay. Day in, day out. Arthur promised they would be able to come home every few weekends or so, but beyond that the only times they’d come home were for holidays and summer break. And in the month since school started, how many weekends have I gone home, she asked herself silently with bitter sarcasm. None.

The worst part of boarding school was that Hailey was alone. She was the only one of her siblings in high school, so she was the only one at the Martha Gardiner School for Higher Aged Girls. John was at the Robert Gardiner (apparently Martha’s husband) School for Middle Aged Boys, and Sierra and Amelia were both at the Martha Gardiner School for Elementary Aged Girls.

She spit out the blue-tinted mint-flavored foam and rinsed out her mouth with water. I miss you, Kate...we’d be together here if you were alive. If Kate was alive, so would their mom, so they’d still be homeschooled. No early mornings, no strict teachers, no foolish, cliquish girls obsessed with popularity and cool clothes—though they had to wear school uniforms for class—and cute guys and all the other things it seemed like girls were supposed to obsess over. Hailey didn't get it, though. She’d always been the “most popular” girl in her grade before, because she was always the only one. There were no comparisons at home, either in schoolwork or in “coolness”. She had liked it like that. She didn’t feel inferior then—and now…she did. She was shy and antisocial, so she was a loner among the other girls her age. Most of the older girls ignored the freshman in general, but occasionally the meaner ones felt like teasing and did so. Hailey generally ignored them, mainly because she had no idea how to respond and she was too caught up in her troubles to really care what anyone thought, for the most part.

 

[mochagirl]

“Hailey, are you done yet?” Her roommate suddenly yelled through the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there forty minutes. You’re going to make me late.”

Hailey quickly put her toothbrush away. “I’m done. Sorry,” she murmured as she opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. Melissa Cochran brushed past her brusquely, muttering “It’s about time,” under her breath. Hailey pulled off the towel from her head and shook out her wet hair as she stepped over to her dresser. Her eyes landed on the Bible that rested on it, peeking out from under several papers and books and various odds and ends, and a pang of guilt hit her.

Her mother had been raised in a church-going home; she’d always believed in God and Jesus and the whole thing. But after marrying Arthur Beekman, who wasn’t particularly God-fearing, though he did believe there was a God, she had stopped going to church regularly and only dragged the family there a few times a year—always at Christmastime and Easter, and a few times in between. Her parents had disapproved of the marriage, though they never made any of the kids feel guilty, and as far as Hailey could tell, they’d always been welcoming enough to Arthur. But still, the wedding twenty years before had caused a bridge to crumble between them and their only daughter—Danielle had been adopted—and Danielle stopping her habitual church-going only furthered that gap.

Then, about three years before, Danielle had suddenly decided to resume her childhood church attendance and began bringing them all to church. Arthur occasionally opted out of the early Sunday morning, but for the most part he was okay with the whole thing. Hailey had found going to church regularly rather fun, actually, for it opened up a new door of friends, and with Kate next to her she wasn't afraid of meeting the other kids her age. The stories about God were interesting, too, and she figured they were as good as any answer to “life’s big questions”—not that she had ever really wondered about “life’s big questions” before. It wasn’t something most eleven-year-olds thought of, she didn’t think.

Kate, however, loved church, and she really got into youth group and Bible-reading and all. Sometimes she would talk to Hailey about it, about heaven and hell, God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit, the devil, the Bible…the subjects were endless. But Kate had always been that way. She had interests in every direction, and new things were adventures to experience and enjoy.

Hailey had gotten a Bible for her twelfth birthday from her mother, who asked her to try to read it daily, which Hailey did…for about two weeks. Then she started skipping, reading only a few days a week, then a few days per month, until finally, now, it had been probably close to a year since she had last opened the Book and started reading it. Some of it, she thought, was about as interesting as laws of physics. But on the other hand, some of it was cool: Genesis and the first half of Exodus, and the Four Gospels, some in between.

She sighed and pulled the Bible off of her dresser and sat down on the nearby bed, her legs curling up under her bathrobe. She opened it to where she knew would be the gospels, and looked down. It was Matthew, chapter ten and eleven. Her eyes skimmed over the black and white pages for a moment, nothing really sinking in, until she reached the end of chapter eleven. Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon me, and learn of me; for I meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

The verses were familiar to her, and for some reason they stood out to her now. “I will give you rest…learn of me…ye shall find rest unto your souls…my yoke is easy…my burden is light”

She frowned fiercely and swallowed. “A light burden? An easy yoke? Having Mom and Kate die is easy? Having to watch John and the girls when they’re all hurting and I’m hurting and Dad’s all messed up—that’s supposed to be a ‘light burden’?” She snapped the Bible shut and tossed it across the bed. It landed on the edge and promptly fell to the floor. Choking back a sob she grabbed her pillow and buried her face in it.

“Forget it!” she yelled into the feathery softness, muting her voice. “I don’t want You or Your burden or Your stupid book! I don't want any of this! I want—” her voice caught abruptly and for a moment she feared she would throw up. She swallowed the lump in her throat, realizing tears were streaming down her face into her pillow, and her shoulders were heaving. In a whisper she finished her sentence with, “I want my mom and my dad and my brothers and my sisters back. I want my home back. I want life to be the way it used to be, when the sun shining everyday was a good thing, not a reminder that the rest of my life is going to be spent without a mom and a best friend.”

She stayed there, hugging her pillow as if letting go of it would bring about her own demise, her legs curled up against her in a fetal position, only a slightly itchy towel robe wrapped around her, for a while—she had no idea how long—until the bathroom door opened and Melissa's footsteps sounded from around the corner. Hailey shot up into a straightened position and wiped at her eyes, knowing they would look the same despite her efforts.

“Hailey, there’s a fan in the bathroom for a reason,” Melissa was grumbling. “You know, so I don't suffocate when I have to shower after you. You might want—” she stopped abruptly when she saw Hailey, with her eyes puffy and bloodshot, and her cheeks reddened and damp. “Ah…” she shifted on her feet awkwardly, like all the others did when they remembered that Hailey was “special”—Hailey’s mom and sister died. “You’re still not dressed?” Melissa asked in a falsely bright voice. “First period starts in fifteen minutes. You’d better hurry. Ms. Hoffman hates tardiness.” She ignored Hailey’s response—or lack thereof—and grabbed her backpack and quickly fled the dorm room.

Hailey watched her antics with dead eyes; then forced herself to stand up. “I can’t afford to get in trouble at school on top of everything else,” she muttered, throwing her pillow down on the bed with sudden vigor. She pulled out a pair of charcoal slacks from her dresser—one of the three cardinal pieces of Martha Gardiner’s uniforms, the others being a white linen short-sleeved shirt and a three-quarters-sleeved navy, gray, and white pinstripe jacket—and pulled them on. A vague blurriness in her vision reminded her that she hadn’t put in her contacts yet, due to Melissa’s interruption earlier, but she wanted to finish dressing first. She walked over to her closet and opened it, lifting her hand to grab her school shirt and jacket.

Her arm stopped mid-air.

Her shirts weren’t there. Her jackets weren’t there. Her dresses weren’t there, and her shoes, purses, belts, hats—everything she kept in the closet—all weren’t there. The walls and shelves and racks were missing too.

In their stead—the most difficult thing to grasp, and she certainly couldn’t bring herself to believe it—was a picture of a dusty mountainside, with no trace of grass or trees, just dirt and rock and dust. It was life-sized and the details were so life-like, Hailey almost wondered if it was real—but she quickly brushed the ridiculous notion away. It’s not real, though it looks like it…where did it come from? Am I hallucinating?

Unable to help herself, she slowly reached out her hand to touch the picture…and felt no wall, only hot, dry, still air. As if burned, she wrenched her fingers back, clutching her hand to her chest. She sucked in a deep breath. “What in the world…” She could hear something now, from the picture—the call of some animal, a bird probably, but like nothing she’d ever heard before. It was a shrill shriek that sent a shiver up her spine. I didn’t just hear that—this is all a product of my imagination, brought on by too little sleep, or perhaps severe stress. Or maybe I’m dreaming; that could be—

Interrupting her rationalizing was a hint of movement on the ground of the mountain crevice…pebbles on the ground quivered slightly, as though the briefest gust of air and shook them.

Hailey pulled her robe more tightly around her neck, and her eyes searched the picture. The sky, visible behind the silhouette of the surrounding mountains, was blue—so blue, so bright, that Hailey had to squint against it. No cloud was in sight, only that eye-piercing blue blanket of sky.

For a long moment she only stared into the mountainous terrain, convinced she was dreaming; then, as though something was pulling at her, from the inside out, she felt she had to step closer, had to walk to it. Before the sensation even registered in her mind, she was already taking a step…a baby step, then a bigger one, and a bigger one…until she stepped completely through the closet door and was on the other side of the picture.

Except—she suddenly understood with startling clarity—this was no picture.

It was real.

 

[mochagirl]

2​

THE DOOR IN THE MOUNTAIN ​

She was standing on hard ground. It felt slightly gravelly, but smoother, like dried mud on rock. And she swiftly remembered she was barefoot. She started whirling around. I’ve got to have shoes—I’ll kill my feet walking on this hot ground—no. What am I thinking? I’ve got to go back because I can’t stay here. I don’t want to stay here. I need to go to class.

But all her thoughts died when she finished turning around. Her closet wasn’t there like she’d expected, nor was her bedroom. In fact, nothing was there but the hard, dry, light brown rock of another mountain wall.

“No,” she whispered, as a choking fear snaked up her spine. I just walked through there—it can’t be rock! But as she hit her fist into it, it resounded with a dull thump much like the rocks did at home. Her head was rolling back, the expression on her face capturing how close she was to hysteria, when her eyes caught on something and narrowed. Against the rough mountain wall there was a glint of silver, a few feet above her head, just barely in arm’s reach. She held up her hand and carefully touched it, expecting the same roughness of the rock, but instead she felt a smooth, glossy-like surface. Like those rock-smoothing machines…She ran her hand down a bit until it reached the mountain rock again.

Carefully tilting her head, she kept her hand on the smooth part and slowly traced it down to the ground. It formed a large arch, about seven-feet tall and ten feet wide, much like a wide doorway. At a certain angle in the sunlight she could see the silver stone that formed it, but otherwise it disappeared into the color of the mountain.

“How strange,” she murmured, bemused.

Just then that shrill call of a bird—or something—that she’d heard in her room sounded again, closer this time, and she realized again where she was. I’m in a weird dimension or world or something, and I can’t get back—what I came through is now shut and immovable rock. I have wet hair, bare feet, I don’t have my contacts or glasses on, and I am clothed in only gray slacks, underwear, and a bathrobe. And whatever is making that horrible, blood-curling sound is getting closer to me.

It shrieked again, and Hailey saw a faint shadow on the mountain slope above her. Somehow, instinctively, she knew that whatever is was, it was not something that she ought to stick around to meet. It’s not friendly…it’s a monster. A monster bird.

She gulped, trying to contain her rising fear; then she carefully started walking down the rest of the mountain, refusing to look back, her steps getting quicker and quicker. The hill was, luckily, not too steep—it reminded her of some hiking trails she’d gone on during various family camping trips—and she didn’t lose her footing at all by the time she reached the next ledge. The next slope she needed to take was steeper, maybe a fifty-five or sixty degree incline, but she saw something beyond the next mountain—which she figured she could walk around—that drove away the bit of anxiety the steep slope caused: trees. Trees grown thickly together with patches of green still but mostly brown and gold and red, like it was at home, in the fall.

So is it autumn here, too? But it’s so dry and hot and—arid—here, on the mountain. It feels like the peak of summer.

Another shrieking call spurred her to keep moving, and she abandoned her musings and began her climb down the slope. Her first step was hesitant, but she found her footing fairly easily, and took another—then promptly slipped onto her rear end and began sliding. The longer she slid, the faster she went, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to withhold a scream. She hated things like this—going down slides, riding roller coasters with steep hills, bicycling down hills. And this was worse yet, since every few seconds she hit a rock and felt it tear into her legs or backside.

Ee-ah-ai! The eerie cry sounded again, much closer than ever, and as she reopened her eyes she saw the shadow of some flying creature circling down with her. The end of the incline was coming, and all she would have to do was run around the other mountain and race into the trees. Her arm hair stood up on end with goose bumps despite the heat and she forced herself to concentrate. Don’t think about the bird, she told herself. Five yards…three…one…now!

She hit the bottom of the mountain and did a somersault at the impact, then shot to her feet and ran for all she was worth, ignoring the pain in her back, neck, and legs. The bird’s cries muted in her ears as she focused solely on the next step…the right foot—nor the left—now the right…around this corner—now this one—there—the woods are there—they’re getting closer—I’m going to make it—I’m going to—

“Oomph!” Five yards to the edge of the trees her ankle gave out and she stumbled to her knees, her hands scraping against the rough ground. Suddenly all the aches and pains in her body began screaming out at her, begging for relief. She heard another shriek, bringing chills to her spine, but she no longer had the stamina or the willpower to get up and keep moving toward the trees. Tears coursed down her cheeks by their own volition, and she pulled her legs up to her chest, attempting to make herself look smaller to the bird. Don’t see me…please don’t see me.

The shadow came closer, and she heard the power of its wings. Ee-ah-ai!

This is it. This is the end. I’m going to die at the talons of some huge, otherworldly bird in a strange other dimension, so no one at home will be able to find my body.

Only one thought caused her spirits to lift. Maybe I’ll see Mom and Kate again.

But even that hope died quickly. She knew she wasn’t going to see them again. Ever.

Oh, God, please help me—

She could feel the wind from the wings, they were so close, the talons outstretched—

“Hey! You! Get away from that!”

Hailey was so surprised she started, her limbs flailing, and she felt the velvety smoothness of feathers briefly before the bird shrieked with unmistakable anger and flew away.

She didn’t move again as she heard the footsteps come near and stop next to her. Her heart pounded. She had escaped—barely—from the monster bird, but who was to say her “rescuer” wasn’t some psycho himself? She had no idea where she was, and until a minute ago she’d had no idea if anyone –any human—lived there. She had no idea whether whoever did live there were decent sorts or if they were as creepy and evil as that huge bird.

A hand touched her shoulder gently. “Are you all right, girl? He didn’t start to get you, did he?” A distinct bleating noise erupted from nearby before she could answer, and it was so surprising she turned around, pain slicing into her back as she rolled on the hard ground.

A man—at least, she thought he was a man; he had two pointy knobs of flesh sticking out of his dark curly hair near his temples which were weird, but otherwise he looked human—was crouched down next to her, dressed in green and brown clothing that looked straight out of a medieval museum, and he wore pointed-toe boots of some brown material. He had a somewhat shaggy beard, his mouth barely visible underneath, with a straight, even nose and the most piercingly bright green eyes she had ever seen, in person or in a picture. Around and behind him were about twenty or thirty sheep; that, along with the staff he held in his hand, made her assume he was a shepherd.

She swallowed, realizing how thirsty she was. “Wh—who are you?” she managed to ask, her voice dry and quivering slightly.

He smiled kindly down at her, almost fatherly-like. “I am called Intridoinn. But come, we must get you out of here before the griffin comes back with a friend or so. With that blood all o’er you, you’re an easy target.”

Hailey blinked as he helped her to stand to her feet, wincing at the weight on her ankle. “Griffin?” she repeated numbly as he steadied her. She had seen an animated kid movie once with a griffin in it—it had been an ugly overgrown hawk or eagle-like thing. But although it had been the bad guy’s pet, she didn’t recall it ever trying to eat people during the movie. And that thing before—it had most definitely been trying to make a meal out of her. And it would have succeeded if not for Inti—Intra—whatever his name is.

The shepherd clucked his tongue grimly as he helped her cross the distance into the trees. “Aye. Nasty rogues they are. But they ne’er come into the Woods, don’t you be worrying about that—the trees are too thick for them to get into. They stay in the mountains mostly, and go south to the Halifircird Plains to hunt. You can usually chase one away with a spear or long stick, but if you stay in the same spot too long, it’ll come back with a friend or so. The real danger of the mountains, though, isn’t the griffins—it’s the dragons. Be glad it is still sunlight. The dragons come out at dusk—and there’s naught that’ll scare them off.”

Hailey gulped. How picturesque. I’m magically transported to another world and end up practically in the sitting room of dragons and man-eating mythological flying creatures.

They were now in the thick collection of trees, the difference in temperature a welcome relief—it was around twenty or thirty degrees cooler. They were following a faint path, the shepherd guiding his sheep in front of them, his one hand always on Hailey’s arm, supporting her. She cleared her throat. “Um, Mr. Shepherd, can you tell me where I am?”

His eyes shot over to hers with a searching gaze. “You are in the Farandir Woods, girl, in the country of Itheladim. But you are not from here.” The last sentence was matter-of-fact.

Hailey gave a small nod. “No…I’m certainly not from here.” She paused, debating with herself momentarily, and decided to be completely honest. Maybe walking through pictures into monster-infested mountains of foreign worlds was common here. “I’m Hailey Beekman, and I’m from—Chicago, Illinois.”

She coughed once and continued. “This morning I went to my closet to get a shirt for school and I found myself staring into a picture of those mountains back there—except, they weren’t really a picture, because I walked through it for some reason I can’t begin to understand myself, and found myself up on a mountain ledge. I turned around and found that I had apparently walked through a mountain—though after further looking around I noticed some sort of silver arch-thing engraved into the rock, that you can’t see all the time, only at a certain angle, that apparently was the door or portal or whatever that I walked through, even though the inside of it now is just rock and I have no idea how I’m going to get back home. I have to be late for school already, and Principal Hopkins is going to give me detention or some other horrible punishment when I get back, which will be yet another instance of my life where nothing goes right.”

She stopped abruptly, and flushed bright red—she could feel the color warm her cheeks and neck and ears.

The shepherd didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment, but nodded ahead to a strange looking clump of tree and bush. “We will talk more in Intridoinn’s house, Hailey-Beekman of Chicago-illinoy. But first I must take care of my sheep.”

 

[mochagirl]

As they drew closer Hailey began to see that the mass of plants really was a house, just a very camouflaged one, and that there were several more of the dwelling places around them. “It’s a village,” she whispered.

A gust of wind rustled the trees and caused a shiver run up her arms, and with her spare hand she tightened her robe around her neck, feeling once more like a complete idiot at her whacked-out array of clothing—gray cotton pants, now hopelessly wrinkled, torn, and tattered with dirt, and her knee-length mauve-colored bathrobe.

Intridoinn seemed to shake at the wind, and she glanced at him with concern. His jaw was set firmly and he appeared to be sweating slightly on his forehead. Her eyes caught on his ear, and the epiphany that it brought made her gasp. “Are—are you an elf?” The little knobs that she had noticed earlier weren’t strange growths, but the tips of his ears, the rest of them mostly covered by his thick hair.

Intridoinn looked down at her—he was about a foot taller than her—and smiled faintly. “Aye, that I am, Hailey-Beekman. I am honored to be one of the Farandir, the keepers of these Woods. Do you have Elves in Chicago-illinoy?”

Hailey’s mouth stretched faintly with amusement. “Oh, no. Not at all. There are just humans and regular animals there—no griffins or dragons, thank goodness. There aren’t any Elves, either, except in fairytales. But they’re not real, just imaginary.”

Intridoinn looked amused at that. “No Elves at all? Hmm. ’Tis a strange country you live in.”

Hailey looked away, feeling moisture sting her eyes. “I could say the same about this place, Intridoinn. But despite the differences, they do have some similarities.” Like death...whether by monster birds and animals, or horrible accidents that rip apart families.

Intridoinn didn’t respond, but led her inside a strange, moss-covered door into his house, and told her to make herself at home while he takes care of his flock. As soon as he disappeared out of the door, she looked around the small but cozy room, curious despite herself.

The furniture was all wood, but instead of being cut up and nailed together like at home, the wood was still growing, as though it had been planted to grow that way. Almost everything else was made of leaves or moss or some other type of plant—the cushions, the curtains, the dishes—and while nothing was particularly grand or elegant, Hailey thought it was all very quaint, out of a fairytale, and momentarily she forgot her fear and uncertainty.

“Dragons and griffins and Elves—I wouldn’t be surprised if this forest was enchanted, too, and the trees could talk,” she said in a soft voice, then let out a small but sincere laugh. “If I’m near water, maybe I’ll see a Mermaid. Maybe there’ll be a handsome Prince Charming that will sweep me off my feet and magically return me home.”

The reminder of home—whether offhanded or not—abruptly dampened her spirits, and she quickly limped over to the couch and sat down, surprised at its comfortableness. The horizontal tree trunk was shaped like an “L”, so it had a connected seat and backrest, and overlaid on the actual bark were two long, moss-covered cushions that were stuffed with what felt like leaves. But even so, it was squishy and not the least bit crunchy, like how the fallen leaves at home got as they dried out and died. She carefully felt the cushion under her, and, again, was surprised, for it wasn’t moss that covered it—at least not earthly moss. This moss was as soft as velvet, and springy like the finest carpet.

She looked around the room again, taking a more careful note of everything. The couch was situated next to an end table and a recliner; a window was directly across from it, and only a bit of the outside light peeked through the leaf-woven curtains. Next to the window, in the corner near the front door, was a small bookshelf. A spiral staircase, also completely “natural”, was in the far left corner, next to a closed door. A small round table stood in the middle of the room, with two chairs next to it, all growing up from the ground. I wonder how they build houses, and furnish them, Hailey thought with puzzlement. Do they have seeds, or something, that plant “table trees” or “couch trees” and stuff? If so, let’s hope you never want to redecorate or rearrange the furniture.

Knock. Hailey started at the thump on the door. Was that Intridoinn? Why was he knocking?

“Halloo!” came a cheery female voice. “Intridoinn, are you home yet? It’s mid-third quarter and you’re always home by now. Come and let us in.”

Hailey’s heart slowed its beat a little when she realized it was probably just neighbors. But still…should I answer them?

To her relief, she then heard Intridoinn’s voice say from a bit further away, “Alinavil, Carriana, what brings you to my door this evening? Shouldn’t you be home caring for your wee ones?”

Two feminine laughs sounded. “Oh, really, Intridoinn,” the first voice said, “are you trying to play a trick on us? I could have sworn I saw someone inside your house, and here you are, fresh from your pasture.”

“You must be seeing things, then,” Intridoinn replied, stepping closer to the door. “Now what did you want to speak to me for?”

A second voice spoke then, lower and breathier than the first, “We were wondering what you thought of still having the Eighth Moon Festival, in light of”—her voice lowered to a mere whisper—“the horrid business with the Temple.”

Intridoinn didn’t reply for a brief moment; then he said, in a tone that spoke of his ardor, “Orion set our festivals in place; until he commands us to stop having them, then I believe we ought to obey him still, lest we arouse his displeasure further.”

The first voice trilled, “Oh, I feel the same way, Intridoinn. It is such a pity that all those Warriors were killed, especially my Adiron, but what is there to do about it now? Nothing can bring them back, so we might as well get back to doing things normally. Of course the Elder is set on retribution and all that, and he plans to say as much at the council meeting next moon. I think—”

Intridoinn coughed loudly, cutting her off. “Oh, I’m so—cough—sorry—cough.”

“Oh dear,” the second voice said. “That is a wretched cough. You ought to go drink some gollifly tea. You haven’t been loitering in those wretched mountains again, have you? The Elder warned you about that. It just isn’t right for an Elf to leave the Woods. Now, you go take care of that cough immediately; we’ll come back to talk to you some other time. If you’re not feeling better on the morrow, just tell me and I’ll have Eustid watch your flock. He’s shaping out to be a fine Farmer.”

Another couple coughs ensued, with Intridoinn managing “Thank you, She-Elves,” in between, then the door opened and he hurried inside. Hailey frowned at him, and asked, “Are you all right? That was a nasty sounding cough.”

Intridoinn smiled broadly at her. “I am fine, and not a bit ill, mind you, Hailey-Beekman.”

Hailey’s brow cleared after a second and she grinned. “Oh, I see. Getting rid of the ladies, were you?”

He put a finger to his lips, and tilted his head, as though listening to something. “Shh.” Hailey strained her ears, but couldn’t hear anything. She looked at him expectantly. For a moment he remained where he was, completely still, then he relaxed and walked over to her. “Well, that was close. I was afraid they’d hear you; I’m not supposed to have a guest, and the Elder would most certainly hate my bringing a Human to my house.”

“What’s an Elder?”

Intridoinn studied her clinically as he replied, “Each village has a Low Elder, who governs the village. The Low Elders have the responsibility and honor of attending the Council of the Elders twice a year, in the second and eighth moons.” He turned and went to the closed door across the room, through which he disappeared for a moment; then he returned with a tray that had several jars, some cloth, and a teapot on it. He set the tray on the table, murmured a few words, and then helped Hailey move to the recliner. Once she was seated she jumped in shock, for the table was walking—moving on its own, despite its roots, closer to the recliner.

Intridoinn grinned at her reaction. “Don’t be alarmed, Hailey-Beekman. The trees know things, and they understand us. If you ask them kindly enough, they will do as you wish.” He sighed sadly. “Once upon a time there were Talking Trees, but they have disappeared, at least in the Farandir Woods. There are legends, though, about a great forest on the Continent where the Talking Trees have taken root in. It is a dream for all Elves to meet and speak with one.” He shook his head slightly, and grabbed a jar filled with a pale yellow powder. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the Councils.” Deftly he mixed a small amount of the powder with some water in an empty jar. “The Councils are overseen by the High Elders, of which there are five, one for each caste: Royalty, Warrior, Merchant, Farmer, and Servant. The King is the Chairman. Past High Elders are also present, but they are the only non-Elders that are allowed to witness and partake in the Council meetings.”

He handed Hailey the jar of paste. “Rub this on all your scrapes and cuts.”

Hailey clutched her robe with her free hand again, staring at him, aghast. “But—you’re—I can’t—”

Intridoinn inclined his head. “If you would like, I can mend your ankle first, then you can go into the kitchen for privacy.”

“Could you?” Hailey said with a rush of relief. The moss cushions were gentle on her backside scrapes, and her ankle was her worst injury. She couldn’t imagine him being able to do much for it, especially if it was broken, but maybe he had some sort of painkiller on that tray that would ease it some.

Intridoinn turned back to his tray and picked a different jar up, this time one with a darker, almost black-colored substance in it. It was already a pasty substance, from which a strong bitter smell came as soon as the jar opened, and he wiped some of it onto the cloth he had. He then picked up her bare foot and wrapped it quickly in the pasted cloth. “Thorgroot,” he said simply. “Breathe it in; it will work better then.”

Although inhaling the pungent scent was the last thing she wanted to do, Hailey obeyed, taking a deep breath, her eyes watering at its potency. “So, what were those two women talking about, with the festival and warriors and temple and all that?” she asked, not completely interested, but needing a distraction. Anything to keep my mind off of that horrible smell—it’s worse than inhaling ginger ale fizz.

Intridoinn grew grave as he poured some steaming water into another jar. Hailey vaguely wondered how he had gotten the water so hot in the less than a minute that he’d been in the kitchen. “One moon ago, the Woods was attacked,” he answered, dumping a spoonful of another powder into the water. “It happened quite a ways from here, near the western shore, but its effect was no smaller here or there or anywhere else in the Woods.”

 

[mochagirl]

He gave her the jar and told her to drink all of it; she did so while listening intently as he continued. Indignation grew in her mind at the injustice of his tale: soldiers clothed in black and gray uniforms had come from the shore and attacked the Elves’ Everlasting Temple. They slaughtered the Warrior Elves who were guarding it and those who came to help fend off the attack, and ransacked the Temple when the Elves were all killed. The Elves’ priceless Sword was stolen, and its guardian, an Elf lady named Elívere was kidnapped. By the time the Elf King, Lucadric, arrived with the last of the Warriors—a force of only a couple dozen, which couldn’t have done much against the horde of soldiers anyway, Hailey privately thought—the temple was in ruins, and the soldiers had disappeared entirely from the Woods, by way of ships on the coast.

When he finished with that information, Intridoinn said, “Is your ankle feeling better, now?”

Hailey was a bit surprised at the abrupt change in subject, and even more surprised when she realized she felt no pain at all in her ankle—and her scrapes had dulled to a faint throbbing as well. “I don’t feel any pain at all in my ankle! Did that drink do that?”

Intridoinn smiled. “No, the mallothax tea was to relax you, so the thorgroot would work faster. I will leave that bandage on your foot another day, so it will soak in more of the thorgroot, but by the morrow it should be healed.”

Hailey blinked. “How in the world did you manage that? At home, it would have taken me at least two weeks for my ankle to heal, and you did it in mere minutes,”

“Elves are friends of the trees and the plants: over long years we have learned the secrets of healing that the plants have to offer. But you must remember that you are in the Farandir Woods: outside the Woods, your recovery would take longer, closer to a week.”

Hailey couldn’t help but grin at that. So I am in an enchanted forest after all. But she quickly sobered. “Intridoinn—why are you doing this? Helping me, and telling me about your people and your Everlasting Temple? Why do you care?”

Intridoinn met her eyes, once again reminding her of how green his eyes were. They’re like…emeralds. They even sparkle like a jewel when he smiles. Is that possible, that his eyes are really made out of emeralds?

“I am helping you, Hailey-Beekman, because Orion always helped those who were in need, and I do my best to be like Orion. I am helping you, because you are lost in a world you don’t know—this is obvious—and I have compassion for you. And I am helping you, Hailey-Beekman, because you said you walked through the mountain.”

 

[mochagirl]

3​

THE FARANDIR​

"I walked through the mountain?” Hailey repeated, her forehead creasing. “Why is that…significant? I mean, besides the obvious.”

Intridoinn stepped away from her, and one of the table chairs moved over to where he was. He sat down and folded his hands. “The Farandir have many legends and prophecies, from Ages past, and all Farandir are taught them, regardless of their caste, during their childhood. They are a vital part of our life and culture. In Farandir Castle there is an entire wing of libraries, where all the written records are kept, including legends and prophecies.”

Hailey didn’t like to consider herself the dense sort, but she could not for the life of her tell where this was going. When he paused and looked at her expectantly, she half-smiled and gave a short nod. “Okay.”

He resumed. “I told you about the Everlasting Temple and the desecration it has gone through; but I told you little about the Sword that the Men of black and gray stole. That Sword was the Sword of Orion. Seven Ages ago, Orion himself put the Sword in the protection of the Farandir, and it was our duty and honor to keep it safe in its chamber in the Everlasting Temple.” He quoted soberly:

“The walls will never fall for long​

As the Sword is safe will they be strong​

But should e’er the Sword break under the Sun​

The walls will forever be undone.​

“The walls of the Temple have fallen; so the Sword is in danger. But if the second part comes true, then life will no longer have meaning, for our Woods will be lost forever, and evil will reign.”

Hailey rubbed the back of her neck, massaging the slight ache that she could feel. “I don’t…I don’t understand, Intridoinn.” But she knew that whatever he meant, it was important. But she had a sinking feeling that somehow, in some way, it involved her, and for a moment she wished he wouldn’t explain.

He looked away, toward the window. “In seven days, the Eighth Moon will come, and the Elders will meet together for their Council.” He met her eyes again. “Will you go to it?”

“Me? Why? I—I don’t know anything about Elves or councils or swords or temples. I thought you said only Elders were allowed at those Councils? I’m no Elder. I’m no Elf. I’m not even from this world!”

“Please,” he said, his face expressing his plea better than his voice. “I would not ask if I did not believe it were important. You—you came from a mountain.” He shook his head. “You still don’t understand the importance of the Sword of Orion; I understand this, for you are not of the Farandir, and few outside the Farandir know of the Sword. The Sword is a very powerful object, Hailey-Beekman. Its exact power is not understood, even among its Guardian and keepers, for Orion said to know its power would be a temptation no mortal could withstand for long, and as we were to be the Sword’s protectors, you can understand why we were not told. But we do know it has power; and great power at that. Our main duty as Elves has been to protect and keep secret that power and its source—the Sword—ever since Orion put it into our protection. Our way of life was completely altered by this responsibility, and for Seven Ages we fulfilled it; but now, we have failed. The Sword of Orion is taken, and it will only be a matter of time before it is misused, or worse: broken. We know not who our enemy is, nor whence he came from.”

Hailey let this all sink in slowly, and for once she was grateful for the responsibility that had been heaped onto her shoulders three months ago. She would give anything to keep her mom and Kate from dying, but the experience of it, and the duties that had been required of her afterward, had matured her, more than she’d realized. Four months ago, she would have heard Intridoinn’s voice, but she wouldn’t have listened, and grasped his words at all. She still didn’t completely understand, but she knew that whatever the Sword of Orion and it being stolen meant, it was important—even vital—to the Elves, the Farandir. I still have a long way to go to fully get it all, though. She took a deep breath. “And…my coming through a secret door in the mountain—it pertains to this all somehow?”

Intridoinn nodded. “Because of another part of the legend, or prophecy, if you will:

In your time of need, when all seems lost,​

One will arrive through the mountain;​

Of the race of Men, but not of this world.​

​

The Sword of Orion will not be returned​

Without the stranger being willing to serve​

With the Elves will the stranger find allies:​

​

Two from low castes will rise to help​

Though Orion needs but one willing being​

To accomplish his will and his plan.”​

 

[mochagirl]

A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed, but it didn’t diminish. “So…so you think I’m—the stranger, the one from the mountain? The one who will return your Sword?”

“I do. I have ever since you first explained how you arrived in the Indoniel Mountains,” Intridoinn replied. “Your story matches the prophecy: you came through a mountain, from another world. How can I not believe you are the one from the prophecy?”

Hailey fingered the jar she still held in her hand, absently tracing the top of it with her forefinger. Then her hand quickly stilled and clenched into a fist. “Do you suppose…if I am the person you need, and I help you, and it all works out—do you think that I’ll go home then?”

Intridoinn inclined his head. “I think that Orion sent you to help us, and that you have a responsibility here that you can either accept or decline. If you decline, then I think Orion will send you to your home immediately. But I also believe that he chose you, first, for a specific reason, and that you will miss out on something far greater than you can imagine if you leave now.”

Hailey digested this, then asked the question that had been bothering her ever since she heard the name: “Who is Orion? I thought he was the guy who gave you the Sword however long ago that was. Is he an Elf? A man? Something else entirely? In any case, how could he have control over my life when I live in an entirely different world?”

Intridoinn spread his arms out wide, motioning around the room. “Orion is the Creator of all: these trees and plants, the Woods, the streams, the rivers, the seas, the land and countries. This entire world is under his control. He is an immortal and all-powerful being who cannot be understood completely by anyone, even the oldest, wisest Elf, or the most cunning Dwarf, or the sagest Centaur. He is, simply, our Lord and Master.”

Hailey swallowed. He sounds like—like God. Can that be? It’s ridiculous, right? God doesn’t use magic. And that door was magic. Wasn’t it? “I know you want me to say yes, that I accept all this, that I’m your stranger sent to rescue your Sword, that I’ll go to your Council,” she finally responded, “and after all you have done for me, it’s only right and fair that I do. But—I’m no adventurer, Intridoinn. I’m no hero, or heroine. I hate new situations; I’m timid, and shy, and I freeze under pressure. I don’t know anything about this place, or the Sword, or anything, and I know even less about who could have attacked this place. How could I possibly be the person you’re looking for?”

Although Intridoinn didn’t exactly frown, she could tell he was disappointed with her answer. He gave a slow, pensive nod then said, “You are wrong about yourself, Hailey-Beekman. If you had frozen under pressure on the mountain, you would be in the belly of a griffin right now. Yes, perhaps you don’t know very much right now, and it may be a long time before you understand it all, but know this: Orion will not fail you. He will show you all you need to know; and when you need to know it. He would not abandon his chosen one. He will send you help, at least two companions that we know of from the prophecy.”

Hailey smiled, but her eyes were sad. How can I say no? But how could she possibly say yes, either? “You are—persevering, Intridoinn. You don’t ever give up, do you?”

“Not when it is about something I know is true and right,” he answered, watching her carefully.

Unnerved, she looked back down at the jar. “How—how about I go follow your instructions with this paste, and stick it on all my cuts in the kitchen, and think about all of this?”

“I cannot ask for anything more,” Intridoinn replied, standing in synchrony with her. She was once more amazed at her ankle’s recovery, and she fingered her robe, letting out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “I don’t suppose you would have any clothes that’d fit me, huh? I promise you, people don’t normally wear things like this together at my home.”

Intridoinn smiled. “I was a bit curious, for that is undoubtedly the strangest clothing I have ever seen one wear. But do not worry; I shall find you appropriate clothing—but they will be Elvish.”

A slight tingle ran up her arm, but she shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. “That will be fine. Thank you.” Elvish clothing? This is so straight out of a fairytale! If only there wasn’t the whole Sword of Orion dilemma, and the soldiers who stole it, and griffins, and dragons, and prophecies of doom and destruction if I don’t save the Elves’ Sword…

Her thoughts trailed off as she shut herself in the kitchen. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting out of the yellow paste, but when she put some on her left palm, what happened certainly surprised her—possibly more than how the thorgroot and mallothax did wonders to her ankle. As soon as the paste touched the blood- and dirt-encrusted scrape, it disintegrated into her skin and the dirt immediately fell to the ground; but the scrape itself stayed. She carefully touched it, and found it felt like any other scab she might have had, but it didn’t hurt at all, no matter how hard she pressed on it.

When she was finished with all her cuts—at least a half-hour later—she pulled her robe back on and picked up her half-shredded pants and went back into the front room. Intridoinn wasn’t inside, but lying on the couch was a plain but richly-colored gown that had short sleeves and a sash to go around the waist. On the floor in front of the couch was a pair of boots, much like Intridoinn’s but a bit smaller and more feminine looking. She brought them all back to the kitchen and quickly changed into them, finding with pleasant surprise that the skirt was actually two layers, the bottom being very loose pants with a thin layer of the fabric as an overskirt. She figured the fabric was some otherworldly kind, but it was the softest she had ever felt, like a mix between silk and polyester, but thicker. Instinctively she knew it was versatile and strong and would hold up well under a lot of use.

The gown fit perfectly, as did the boots, and for a moment Hailey let herself imagine she was a princess in some enchanted kingdom. Far, far away, and once upon a time…

______​

Hailey abruptly looked up from her self-examination—however difficult it was to do without a mirror—when the front door opened and Intridoinn came inside with another Elf near his age.

“Ah, you are dressed, Hailey-Beekman. This is Miligeth, my brother. Miligeth, this is she of the mountain, Hailey-Beekman.”

Miligeth’s eyes pierced hers with the bright green irises identical to Intridoinn’s. He bowed his head slightly. “Troubled times have fallen, Girl of the Mountain. Your coming brings great hope.”

Hailey offered a faint smile, her earlier fantasies of fairytale princesses vanishing immediately. This is no fairytale—remember that—and you’re most definitely not a princess.

Intridoinn watched her response carefully and frowned slightly. “So, Hailey-Beekman, have you thought it over?”

She hesitated, and looked up at the ceiling. Come on, make a decision. You’re in a different world, and you have the chance to explore it and maybe even save it from obliteration; are you really going to give up this amazing adventure?

The thing was—she was no adventurer. She was a homebody who much preferred the comforts of home, no matter how boring or repetitive, over the unfamiliar and unexpected.

But you wouldn’t even be going home, anyway; you’d be going back to the boarding school, surrounded by reminders of why you’re there at all. Mom’s death and Dad’s incapacitation.

Memories swarmed her mind then, threatening to overwhelm her with her grief, and she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists at her sides. “I’ll do it,” she whispered.

“Pardon?” Intridoinn asked, with the faintest incredulity lacing through his voice.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, a flash of determination unlike any she’d ever felt before seeping through her veins. “I’ll do it; I’ll go to that council meeting; and I’ll try and save your Sword of Orion.”

Intridoinn studied her for a silent moment, Miligeth following his brother’s example and also watching her. For a stifling moment Hailey felt like she was being considered for the slaughter like some farm animal, only in this case the slaughterhouse held much more in store than simply presumable death. A twinge of regret was already making its way through her mind, and she shifted her weight on her feet uncomfortably. Finally, Intridoinn gave a slow nod. “I believe you will do much good, Hailey-Beekman. Much more than you believe of yourself.”

Hailey narrowed her eyes and gave a deprecating shrug. “I think your faith in me is overrated, Intridoinn.”

“Faith is never overrated,” he replied gravely. “Faith is what binds us to life. But that is enough of that for now. We must prepare for departure immediately. The Festival is in seven days, and it takes three to get to Milthoniel City. I should like to leave on the morrow, early, before anyone else is awake to ask questions.”

Hailey wondered briefly as she nodded why it was so important no one ask them questions, but she decided not to broach the subject. If they were to be traveling for three days, there would be plenty of time for questions on the journey.