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The doorway unfolded before me over and over again, like some great alien flower blossoming in endless iterations, until finally it swallowed us up, and we passed through, leaving the world behind.
And so we came to the Sundered Lands, the Land Beneath the Hill. The world the elves made for themselves, when they left the Earth behind. No one’s really sure why. The elves certainly didn’t leave for the good of humanity or because they recognised any human authority over our world. Some say we just outnumbered them, crowding them off their land, because we bred so much faster than the long-lived elves, and their pride would not allow them to take second place. Some say the elves fought a war against someone or something they still won’t talk about. They fought a war and they lost, so they ran away to somewhere safer . . . And some say the Droods found that safe haven for the elves, which is why they still respect and hate us.
They say a lot of things about the elves. Believe what you will or whatever makes you feel most comfortable. The elves don’t care.
I armoured down. The Hope Street was sailing a whole new sea now, beneath a pale pink sky with three huge moons hanging low and a sun too bright to look at directly. Long slow ripples spread out from the boat as we chugged steadily towards the simple docks straight ahead of us. The water was thick and viscous, almost syrupy, with half a dozen vivid colours swirling in it, like a painter’s palette. Far, far below, huge dark shadows swam in great slow circles around the Hope Street, escorting us to shore.
We passed between massive elven ships, standing tall and graceful in the multicoloured waters. Old-fashioned three-masters with great billowing sails and delicate metal hulls, thin as foil, dainty as petals, strong as eternity. The sails were made from ta
“They’re more like works of art than working vessels,” said Walker. “Like the dream of a ship in the designer’s mind . . .”
“They’re real enough,” I said. “Their sails are made from the stretched skins of vanquished enemies.”
“Including humans?” said Peter.
“Most definitely,” I said.
We all stood very close in the cabin, watching the docks approach. A simple construction made up of thousands of bones, neatly fitted and locked together. On either side of the docks stood two huge elven statues carved from a dark, green-veined marble. They towered above us, sixty feet tall and more, like the legendary Colossus of Rhodes. At least, I thought they were statues until they slowly turned their great heads to follow our progress.
Beyond the docks lay vast stretches of green land. Not exactly grass or moss, but close enough to pass and of a shade so sharp and vivid it almost glowed. And striding across these peaceful green-lands, their feet slamming down in perfect lockstep, came the elves. Thousands of them. They finally crashed to a halt at the very edge of the land, all around the docks, standing straight and tall in perfectly set out ranks. Thousands of elves, standing impossibly still, watching the arrival of the Hope Street with cold glowing golden eyes.
They were fine, tall, and noble, and far more dangerous than the broken-spirited elves I was used to seeing on Earth.
The Hope Street slid expertly in beside the docks, and then we all jumped just a bit as the engine shut down without us telling it to. We all looked at each other, and then we left the cabin and went out on deck. None of us made any move to step out onto the docks. Having a whole army of elves studying you, silently and implacably, is enough to give anyone pause. I could have armoured up, just to show them who I was and who I represented, but I didn’t. Encasing myself in protective armour might have been taken as a sign of fear or even weakness. And no man can afford to be thought weak when dealing with elves. Up close, they looked almost painfully beautiful. Some have sought to dismiss this as mere glamour, protective illusion, but that’s not strictly true. The elves can be, or seem to be, anything they choose. Especially here, in the world they made for themselves.
“What is that they’re wearing?” said Walker very quietly. “Some kind of armour?”
“Made out of porcelain maybe?” said Honey just as quietly. “Though how it hangs together . . . The pieces seem to be moving independently . . .”
“They’re shells,” I said. “Up close, you can hear them rasping against each other as they move. The creatures inside those shells are still alive: stitched together, constantly suffering. That’s the elven way.”
“How do you know that?” said Peter.
“Because I’ve been here before,” I said. “Let’s go ashore and say, Hi! Can’t have them thinking we’re afraid of them.”
I led the way forward across the bone docks. The bone ridges were soft and polished under my feet, worn down by long use. The elves made no move as we approached, standing impossibly still, utterly silent. They looked more alien than ever up close. Unbearably glamorous, burning with an intensity no human could ever match. The sheer passion of their presence beat in the air like a fast drumroll. I could feel the weight of their massed gaze, and there was nothing of surprise in it. They were here because they’d known we’d be here. Elves don’t have the same relationship with time as everyone else. They treat it like a pet and make it do tricks for their amusement.
“Anything else we need to know about this place?” Honey said urgently, murmuring the words right into my ear.
“It’s dangerous,” I said. “This is the world the elves made, and we have no place in it. Have you noticed, there are no birds flying in the sky? No animals anywhere, not even any insects? When the elves first came to this place, they killed everything that lived here. Right down to the last of every kind and the smallest of species. The only things that live here now are the elves and the creatures they brought with them. Or made. They always did like tinkering.”
“The light hurts my eyes,” said Peter. “It’s too bright . . .”
“It was never intended for human eyes,” I said. “Look down; we don’t even have any shadows here.”
“Now, that is disturbing,” said Walker. We came to a halt at the end of the docks, and he looked out over the massed ranks of assembled elves, his gaze impressively cool and calm. “Which one is Mab?”
“She wouldn’t come here to meet us,” I said. “She’s the Queen of all the Elves; we’re nobody. So, we go to her.”
“How?” said Honey. “They’re blocking the way.”
“They’ll make a way for us,” I said. “When they’re ready. They’re great ones for protocol and intimidation.”
Honey sniffed. “I’m American. We don’t bow our heads to foreign royalty.”
“You do if you’re a diplomat,” I said patiently. “Our only hope for surviving this is if we’re perceived as representatives of greater powers. And . . . I think we’ve stood around here far too long already. We have to put on a good show, or they’ll never respect us. So follow me, and whatever happens . . . don’t let it get to you. The elves love to see us afraid.”
I strode forward off the docks, heading straight for the nearest rank of elves. They stood firm before me, an implacable wall. I still didn’t armour up, but I did lift my chin just a little, so they could clearly see the torc around my neck. At the very last moment, the elves stepped gracefully to one side, leaving a narrow gauntlet for me to walk through. I kept my face carefully calm and composed, as though I’d expected nothing else. I could hear the others hurrying behind me and hoped they were putting on a good show. There were limits to how much I could hope to protect them in this world.