Wood Sprites(47)

Jillian was swamped with rewriting the play to more modern English and planning on how they were going to do the complex sword fights and flying scenes. Louise needed to design the sets, create a work schedule for the stagecraft period, and create a blocking mockup on the floor of both classrooms and the fifth grade hallway so actors could learn how to move around sets that didn’t exist yet. They also found themselves managing the other kids, who had never tackled such a large project before. They needed to help Zahara with the costumes, Reed with props, and Ava with the advertising.

With every minute of their time at school eaten up, they had no choice but to wait until stagecraft started. At that point, Louise could slip the magic generator into the work schedule. It required her to design decoy equipment into set designs.

Jillian hated the idea. She wanted to start trying out the multitude of spells in the Codex. They hadn’t found anything that resembled basic magic lessons and Louise was afraid to experiment blindly. Louise pointed out that their goal was to save their siblings, not blow up the neighborhood. Reluctantly Jillian agreed.

Since Louise’s evenings were being taken up with finalizing the conception art for all the sets and costumes, Jillian handled the translation for the next few days.

Jillian plowed onward through text peppered heavily with completely unknown words. Dufae’s story unfolded in awkward bits and often incomprehensible pieces. Such as: I miss the moon spinners and the dark-eyed widow. And: I feel like a duck with a puddle. At least it keeps the house warm. And: What is this obsession with stone people? And: He shapes stone with coarse hands, rough as rock, unyielding.

It was another day before they could translate another large section into something understandable and not a song. (At least, they thought the odd sections with what might be musical stanzas were songs and had nothing to do with magic. Maybe. Rough sketches of a kitten also started to appear in the margins, growing on each page to slightly pudgy cat.)

I am so very lonely. Why do they put so much importance on the count of years? It disregards that some will never grow out of childish spite and others, like myself, leap to wisdom at a very young age. If they had recognized me as an adult as I know myself to be, I would have been allowed to take as Beholden those whom I could trust completely. I would have had more options than to run and hide. The irony is that I have succeeded this much because I am still a child in their eyes. I was allowed freedom to do what no adult could—to move unwatched and unchecked through the very camp of the enemy. I worry now that my actions might have brought danger down on my parents. I can only hope that their true ignorance of my actions will guard them against attack. That I hope this in vain eats at me at night.

“I wonder how old he was.” Jillian made notes on the page and indexed it. “Not how many years old, because elves take forever to grow up, but you know, was he the equivalent to our age? Or was he older, like a teenager? He did get married and have a kid, but he could have been on Earth for years and years.”

“I don’t know, but whoever he was hiding from—they’re probably still alive.”

Jillian looked surprised, and then her eyes went wider as she realized the truth. “Elves live forever.”

“What he was working on might still be dangerous,” Louise said.

“Oh. Oh!” Jillian said. “His parents! They’re probably wondering what happened to him.”

It felt as if reality had shifted around them. Dufae was no longer an old person who died hundreds of years ago, but a child who should still be alive, still young, still with his loving mother and father. On Elfhome there were people who knew his face and the sound of his voice, who probably missed him horribly and were praying in vain he would come home safe. Or worse, what Dufae feared had happened, and the people he was hiding from had killed his parents.

“We need to be careful,” Louise whispered. “This is dangerous.”

* * *

“Oh! Oh!” Jillian leapt to her feet close to bedtime. “Listen to this!” She paused to find her place again in the translated Codex and started to read. “I still think that I might need to open one of the nactka.”

“What’s a nactka?”

“I don’t know, this is the first time he mentioned it. But listen!” Jillian went back to reading. “It stands to reason that since I can’t set up a resonance, opening one should be perfectly safe. If I’m cut off, the spell surely cannot trigger. Logic prevails that I should delay opening a nactka until I fully understand the nature of the spell but I’m not sure I can grasp the spell without fully studying one.”