Moonshadow (30 page)

This was a mistake—I just want to go home.

The coach jerked forward, killing all notions of running away, and Diana looked out the small window to her side to see the surrounding environment of the ranch steadily moving away. When they reached a certain amount of speed, the carriage lunged diagonally and Diana’s belly filled with the familiar butterflies of takeoff. The ascent was surprisingly smooth, much more so than that of the airplanes Diana had experienced.

Gazing out the window to see the miles of trees and farmland shrinking below, Diana marveled at the experience. She desperately wanted to ask Darien to explain the magic of it, but the persisting awkward silence held her questions at bay. She defiantly didn’t want to be the first to break it by being the dumb human girl asking a bunch of dumb questions. Resigning herself, Diana continued to stare out the window and contemplated the possibilities on her own.

—

The silent flight continued on for what felt like days before Diana felt the carriage begin to make its descent. In that time, she had watched the rolling landscape from the view of her small window and reached the conclusion that magic had likely made the coach lighter than air and that the sharifons simply pulled it along through the skies. It was certainly a more logical explanation that the faerie dust and Santa Claus scenarios she had ruled out about an hour ago.

They had been flying over the less than exciting waters of what Diana determined to be Lake Erie for quite a while, so she was ready to finally see their hidden island destination. Disappointment hit her like a brick when she saw only more water.
Will this flight
ever
be over?

The disappointment quickly turned to panic. They were descending way too fast, about to crash into the waters below. Diana’s fears quickly melted away when the carriage passed through a magical barrier and began circling around the island that had suddenly appeared from out of the misty water.

Only a few miles in diameter, lush forests dominated half of the island while the other half held the port city of Lay’Volas. The architecturally uniform buildings of the city were all constructed of the same tan stone and most were topped by domes made of a bronzed metal, aged blue-green over time. The city itself sat high atop a sheer cliff face with three rivers gushing into cascading waterfalls that flowed into the lake below.

How can a port city be on top of a cliff?
From her vantage point, Diana couldn’t see a harbor or any boats upon the waters, save for what appeared to be a few small fishing vessels.

As they closed the distance, Diana began to see the buildings in greater detail. Though containing familiar aspects of many cultures—such as the pillars of the Greco-Roman world, the domes of Islamic buildings, and high bell towers akin to Gothic cathedrals—the ornamentations of the buildings were purely elven and contained elements Diana could only think to describe as
organic
. Lintels, doorways, windows, and balconies of tan stone or aged bronze, fashioned into fluid, twisting, vine and tree-like shapes, looked as if they had been grown rather than formed by the hands of skilled craftsmen. Many of the building designs also seemed to be defying the laws of physics—as Diana thought she understood them. Some buildings had small lookout towers or turrets attached to them by nothing more than flights of spiral staircases. It looked impossible, but what hadn’t been bending Diana’s sense of reality lately? Again, Diana kept her questions and comments to herself.

The carriage soon touched down on a cobblestone landing strip within a stable complex near the gate of the city. Once stopped, Diana and Darien let the rude man and his wife disembark first. Once they were out of the coach and on their merry way, Darien kissed Diana lightly on the forehead and then helped her descend the carriage steps.

She had stepped from the coach into a world beyond her imagination and expectations.

In movies and books, elves always live in houses fashioned from giant trees or in tranquil sanctuaries deep the forest, bestowing their wisdom on the foolish men that journey into their lands from their villages and cities. In stark contrast, Lay’Volas bustled with an urban life that rivaled any human city. Diana saw Naphalei men and women, as well as humans, going about their business and daily lives without any notion that their culture was any more wise or tranquil than that of mankind. In just a brief scan of the immediate area, Diana could see shops and boutiques lining the streets, horse drawn carriages pulling passengers to their destinations, and even little Naphalei children playing merrily in a nearby fountain while their mother yelled at them for acting shamefully.

Intrigued by the style of the mother’s dress, Diana scanned the square surrounding the stables, growing fascinated by the Naphalei sense of fashion. For some reason—again, most likely attributed to typical media portrayals—she had expected elves to wear beautiful, flowing, robes and dresses, but was more than exited to find her assumptions to have been misplaced.

Darien had been right to describe their fashions as “classic” in nature. The majority of the men wore clothes similar to Darien’s—looking as if they belonged in a Colonial Period reenactment, but with a unique and otherworldly flare. They wore breeches tucked into knee high riding boots and coats and jackets of various styles, many of which buttoned up to the collar, similar to military uniforms. Some jackets had tails; some were longer in the front while some higher; quite a few even had elaborate embroidery along the button lines and collars. Many men wore metallic shoulder ornaments, seemingly militaristic in design, engraved with a variety of different sigils and symbols.

The Naphalei women wore elegant dresses with an old world sense of glamour that hadn’t been known in human lands for well over a century, and each appeared to share a few traits in common. Not one hem came above the calf, the skirts all had a degree of poof to them—possibly from petticoats—and most dresses contained a built-in corset that drew the immediate attention of the eye. Most of the women also wore a variety of stylish and well-adorned hats and no two were identical. Some were decorated with flowers or berries, looking very much like a bushel sitting atop the head, while others contained metallic embellishments with lacey elements that cascaded down the back, giving one the impression of wearing a wedding cake. Some even sported feathers from colorful exotic birds. Many of the hats looked quite elegant atop the ladies’ heads, while others looked particularly ridiculous.

Diana began to feel very out of place in her sweater and jeans and it only grew worse when she noticed a few snide looks cast her way from the people in the area. Only then did she realize that many of the elves had likely never left their lands before, and most certainly hadn’t experienced the fashion styles of 21
st
century human women.
The fact that I’m wearing pants probably makes them want to burn me at the stake.

Diana had never before felt so embarrassed about her clothes.

Darien stood in front of her, blocking several repulsed faces, holding one of his smaller bags in his hand. “Are you alright?” he asked, surprised by the troubled look on her face.

“Yeah, I just feel out of place,” she replied, looking down to her feet. “That jerk on the coach made me self-conscious. I’m going to be treated like that everywhere we go, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps,” Darien said, finally noticing a few of the dirty looks thrown Diana’s way. He returned them in kind. “I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a certain degree of prejudice towards humans.”

“Obviously,” she said with a slight smirk. “You weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy about humans when we first met.”

“Yes—well, unfortunately not all of us have had the privilege of getting to know you, as I have, Diana.”

“You could have at least warned me to dress a little more—modest.”

“Honestly, the thought never occurred to me,” Darien apologized as he took his silver pocket-watch from his jacket’s inner pocket to inspect the time. “We have quite a while before the ship departs and I have arranged for our luggage to be taken to the quay.” His warm smile was remorseful. “Come. Let me show you around the city.”

He held out his arm for Diana to take, and the gesture made her smile, but didn’t ease her self-consciousness and rapidly growing apprehension. She took his arm and they began making their way from the sharifon stables and into the heart of Lay’Volas.

Walking down the busy cobbled streets, surrounded by the otherworldly architecture of a magical race, Diana’s mind was more than occupied enough to ignore her growing sense of displacement. Each time a pompous Naphalei shot a dirty look her way, Darien would take her thoughts to a building with a rich and ancient history, a commemorative statue of some Naphalei hero of the past, or some other fascinating tidbit of elven lore. Each time, Darien’s eyes lit up at her enthusiasm as she asked him further questions until Diana all but forgot that she wasn’t truly a part of the world around her.

Regardless of how the other elves treated her, Darien had made Diana the center of his world, and his was the only magical realm she cared to be a part of.

“Ah, here we are,” Darien declared.

“Where is here?” she asked, looking up to the wooden sign above. It was adorned with a painted rose in the center and golden elvish letters below.

“
The Gilded Rose
,” he replied with a pleased simile. “Madame Kelda is the finest dressmaker south of Qir’Halzereth.”

“Is that so?” Diana’s spirits reached new heights at the word dressmaker. “I’ve always wanted a Steampunk dress.”

“A
what,
now?” Darien asked, looking confused. “What in the Seven Gates is ‘Steampunk’?”

Diana chuckled at the indignation in his voice—he sounded appalled.

“It’s a little hard to explain,” she replied, trying to think of an adequate description. “It’s a fantasy genre—but also a style of fashion—inspired by Victorian England. It also usually involves a lot of steam-powered vehicles and clockwork gadgets.” Diana just shrugged, not entirely satisfied with the explanation she’d given.

“Our culture is definitely not this
Steam
-Punk,” Darien replied with a raised eyebrow and a flabbergasted half-grin. “That’s absurd.”

“Okay, so it’s not—my mistake,” Diana relented to keep him happy. “I’m just excited to have some new clothes to wear.”

Her enthusiasm for dress shopping appeared to soften Darien’s incredulity.

“I’m sure we can find something that compliments your natural grace more so than jumpers and trousers,” he said with a grin as he opened the door for her.

The Gilded Rose
was a cute little boutique unlike any of the clothing stores Diana had frequented in the past. Racks of clothing did not line the walls and no tables of accessories could be seen, tempting the buyer into extra purchases. Instead, the entire store consisted of various pillared niches in which mannequins displayed dresses in front of exquisitely painted frescoes of different detailed environments, no doubt meant to give a sense of occasions to those browsing. 

In the center of the room, two Naphalei women—who looked to be customers—sat on green upholstered reclining coaches merrily conversing with each other while partaking of some fruit refreshments. When the door shut behind Diana and Darien, the bell attached rang the announcement that new customers had entered the shop and the two women glanced in their direction. When Diana locked eyes with them, the women abruptly stopped talking, glanced at each other with brows arched in disapproval, and then left their refreshments to take their business elsewhere, saying nothing. As they passed by, Diana felt their unspoken revulsion grip her heart and crush it like an aluminum can meant for the rubbish heap.

As they existed the boutique, Diana instinctively hung her head low, feeling ashamed for no reason at all.

A moment later, someone entered into the front room from a back storeroom and Diana lifted her head to see an older elven lady, holding tailor’s tape in her hands, seeming perplexed to find a different set of customers in the boutique. Looking to be in her early fifties—by human standards—she had graying black hair, with a handful of pins poking out of her high, medium-sized, bun. Her simple maroon dress looked much less opulent than most of the others Diana had seen, and save for the golden embellishments on the cuffs and collar, it reminded her of something Marjorie would wear. Though startled by the sudden change in clientele, the woman appeared to know Darien and looked pleased to see him.

“
Ah, Laevanas’kon, tol’dora,”
she said politely in the Naphalei tongue.

“Good afternoon, Madame Kelda,” Darien replied with a warm smile, in English. “My lady companion requires day and evening wear.”

“Forgive me, miss,” Kelda said, addressing Diana warmly. “I was unaware that you could not speak Vanicar.”

“It’s okay,” Diana replied with her own smile. “Though, I could tell you were happy to see us—which is nice. You’re the first person to actually acknowledge my presence since I left home. And please, call me Diana.”

“Pardon our people’s rudeness, Miss Diana,” she said. “Not all of us harbor ill feelings towards the Secondborn, I assure you.” Kelda quickly closed the distance between them and took Diana by the hand. “Come—let’s see what we can find for you.” She turned to Darien as she pulled Diana towards one of the pillared niches. “Lord Stoneheart, if you would be so kind as to close the shop, I would like to give this lovely lady my undivided attention.”