I know nothing of my birth. I know nothing of my parents, siblings, neighbors. I do not know what day I was born, nor the name or location of my first home.
I do not know because when I was an infant, raiders attacked my hometown. They burned all the buildings, and killed all the people.
Somehow, I survived.
My parents’ house had a secret room in the basement—a cellar where they kept their fine elven wines—and my mother hid me there. When the house was set on fire, the debris fell in front of the cellar door and blocked it. I lay down there, or so I was told, wrapped in one of my mother’s traveling cloaks, crying.
The day following the raid, a stranger to the village rode into town alone and searched the rubble. He later told me that when he found me, a single, smoldering chunk of wood lay beside me—a piece of a ceiling beam that had fallen—and it had missed me by mere inches, but had kept me warm. I was alive, awake, staring at him. I even smiled at him, he told me. He smiled back then gently lifted me and carried me away from that ruined place.
We rode hard for a day and a night to the south, into the High Forest. His horse ran tirelessly, swift and surefooted even as night fell and the darkness of the old forest deepened.
The man delivered me into the safety of a small cave, into the arms of a skilled healer. Elbeth, she was called, and she was a caretaker of the forest—a druid. The man delivered me then rode away, and Elbeth never spoke a word of him again.
From that day on, Elbeth fed me—mostly the fruits and berries that grew wild throughout the area—and she kept me clothed and sheltered. She taught me to speak, and showed me the ways of the forest animals.
“Lucky child,” Elbeth called me. I had no real name, and she had no inclination to give me one. A name did not define a person, she said. Instead, it merely marked things for recognition, like the beasts and the trees, and she needed no help to recognize me.
The anniversary of my arrival in the forest served as my birthday. The sixth of those days dawned dimly, the skies overcast with dense clouds. The rain began about noontime. The skies grew darker and darker as rumbles of summer thunder rolled through the trees.
Lightning pierced the sky as a figure strode to the mouth of our little cave, the brilliant bolts illuminating his silhouette, revealing his elf features. His skin was the golden red of an oak leaf in the early autumn, his hair the black of a raven’s wing, long and silky and whipping in the rising wind. He moved with grace, and when he spoke his voice was soft and kind. But his eyes betrayed the lie behind that softness. They were dark, and hard, and empty of life.
“You cannot have him,” Elbeth said before the strange elf could speak.
“That is not for you to decide, witch,” he replied.
“I did not decide,” she said. “He came to my door, and I sheltered him, and he needs my shelter still. So here he will stay. You cannot have him—you may not take him.”
The elf’s hand moved to his shoulder—toward the hilt of the sword sheathed against his back.
Elbeth laughed. “You wish to fight me, do you? Here, now, in my grove, in my home, you think you can defeat me?” She laughed again, and there was weight in her voice.
A flash and a tremendous burst of thunder shook the cave. I jumped, so startled that I tripped over my own feet and landed hard on my backside.
The elf scowled, again reaching for the hilt of his sword, and again stopping short. He started to speak then looked down at a spot on the ground less than five feet in front of him, blackened and charred where the lightning bolt had struck. In front of him—inside the cave.
“The next one does not miss,” Elbeth said, her voice steady.
Still scowling, the strange elf turned on his heel and strode away from the cave.
As soon as he was gone, the wind whipped into a furious gale and the downpour began.
Elbeth turned to me. “Let’s have some supper, shall we? It is your birthday, after all.”
“Who was that?” I asked.
I wanted to ask about the lightning as well. Elbeth had told me lightning prefers to hit the tallest object in an area, yet we were in a cave at the base of a hill surrounded by tall trees and the bolt had found its way through. But she seemed not to worry, so I took comfort in her confidence.
“He is none of your concern,” she answered. “Just an old acquaintance.” She waved her hand, spoke a few words, and suddenly the stone slab that served as a table was covered with a feast— sweet, sun-ripened fruits from the forest and a rare treat: heavy, sugared cream.
I dug right in. Elbeth stood at the mouth of the cave for a few moments, singing to the forest rain before she came to join me.
Despite the rain, the air was warm, and as always, the company was pleasant. Elbeth had a warm smile and hearty laugh, and our friends— small woodland creatures—joined us whenever we had a feast. I especially loved the chipmunks and squirrels, little rodents running up the sides of our cave as if gravity did not effect them. One particular chipmunk loved me too—or at least loved the berries and nuts I would save from my meals to share with him. He grabbed a berry off our stone table then ducked into a corner to nibble on it. I laughed at his boldness and tossed him a few more.
As darkness fell, with the rain continuing as hard as ever, the food ran out—though we were all long since full—and the animals cleared out to find their own shelters. I settled into my soft goose down bed to sleep.
When I awoke, I could not tell the hour. It was night and the rain continued, perhaps even more heavily, and the fire inside the cave had been doused. Elbeth crouched by the doorway, looking out into the forest. Something was amiss—I could tell instantly.
The forest was far too bright. Orange light seemed to pour in from every direction, despite the rain and the late hour. I pulled myself from my bed and crawled to the mouth of the cave.
The sight that greeted me was the most frightening thing I had ever seen. Sheets of flame rose up against the downpour. In all directions, the forest was ablaze; howls of the woodland creatures pierced the air. I took Elbeth’s hand, but the cold sweat that covered it did little to comfort my fears. I looked at her face and saw, to my surprise, that her eyes were closed.
Not sure what to do, I closed my eyes, too. I focused on the sounds, and after only a moment I heard what Elbeth was listening to: a voice.
“Come out of your cave, witch,” said the voice— the same voice I had heard earlier that day, the voice of that strange elf. “Come out of your cave, and let us see who is the stronger. Or sit and wait and let me burn the whole forest around you.”
I opened my eyes and looked at Elbeth. A blue jay landed on her shoulder, chirped out a few notes, then swept back into the drenched forest. Elbeth turned to me, an unfamiliar expression on her face—fear.
“Come, Lucky Child, we must fly from this place.” She cast her cloak over me and gripped my hand. Together we raced out into the downpour.
The storm intensified. The lump of fear that had formed in my chest from the moment the stranger had arrived filled my whole body. My arms felt numb with cold but the muscles in my legs burned as Elbeth pushed me to move faster than I had ever run before.
Once in a while, I tugged on her hand. “Please—can we stop for a moment and rest?”
“Not yet,” Elbeth said, and she urged me to run faster, deeper into the forest.
After what seemed like hours, suddenly and without explanation, she slowed and veered off her course to a pine tree overgrown with vines.
She pointed toward the sheltered boughs. “There, Lucky Child. Now you rest.”
I heaved a sigh and flopped down upon the pine needles. I bent over to rub my aching calves.
Above my head, Elbeth moved her hands in a circle, slowly chanting. As she finished, I felt my skin go prickly. It changed color, turning darker and rougher until it matched the hue and texture of the tree’s trunk.
“Do not move,” she said to me gently. “And do not cry out. Tomorrow, find the road and follow it. Someone will find you. The animals will help.”
I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “But you’re coming back, aren’t you?” I said, trying not to cry.
“If I can.” She smiled. “But you are Lucky Child, remember? Everything will be all right. Everything always works out for the best.”
Her smile faded and she turned back to the forest, toward the fires. I imagined the elf’s voice echoing all around us.
As she moved away, I saw her crouch down on all fours. I saw her limbs thicken and lengthen, and her clothing melt into fur.
Soon, not a woman but a great brown bear was striding into the woods, roaring angrily, challenging the strange elf to face her.
As Elbeth raced away, I finally allowed my tears to fall. But only for a moment. Then I did as I had been told: I ducked under the boughs of the pine tree and soon drifted off to sleep.