Ergin the Elf

By Jack Logan

Ergin the Elf is a ray of sunshine designed to illuminate the reader's perception of the ongoing tension between the power of the wealthy and the quality of life of the many. The book does not take itself too seriously and seeks to comfort the reader with a short pleasure ride through the fantasy planet of Bluesney. A read of Ergin the Elf creates a wonderful paradox of fantasy escapism serving up a delicious serving of political reality.
Ergin is a little green fellow who wants to enjoy life.
However, seeing the needs of friends and the destruction of the environment, Ergin sets out on a journey to find answers and do his bit for the people of planet Bluesney.
Of course, there is an evil tyrant and an evil crony trying to point the way to the smoking fire of extortion and political abuse, but the book seeks to remain calm, while suggesting a workable way to carry on.
Ergin the Elf will appeal to old and young; it has an open readership.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781623095826

Book preview

Chapter 1

After a lot of cautionary puzzling, Delitius finally put paid to the furore of the badminton game. He had been playing with Humphrey the Gongolian elf, and they had ended up in an animated argument about the essence of freedom. This had begun to wear down the former, and he failed to display his usual panache and vigour on the badminton court. It ended up that Humphrey stole the match and won the talk on freedom. However, the final straw for Delitius was when a hummer-bird flew overhead and dropped a vomit load of Gigolo juice on his elf evening wear.

Ah! Humphrey, what am I going to wear this evening?! Alicius is a stylish ogling and she will not be pleased if I turn up with a stained Scrabbold (which is the name of an elf’s smart/casual evening suit).

Well, Del, what does that say about the law of freedom that you pursue, eh?!

Smart Hum. Very smart, eh? How free can you be if a hummer-bird decides to offload a pailful of Gigolo juice on your smartest tux?

Yeah I know, Del, but what do you think of her? I mean, is she worth all this worry?

Hmm, thought Delitius, well, I hadn’t really thought of it in such a precise manner, Hum. I mean, she’s an ogling, and I’m a spinover (male elf); and I go with her and she goes with me and...

Sounds like you’re driven by a youthful instinct just to release your Chichiotto. Have you thought lately with your brain nodule, or has it all been, ‘Oh! She’s such a lovely shade of Cracunian green, and her ears reach a part of my elf song that has never before connected to another elf’?

Humphrey. I was made to release my Chichiotto. Why are you trying to ruin this for me?

Sorry, Dely. I just thought that maybe there is another ogling for you. I’ve been naughty I know, but I don’t want you to sell yourself short.

Ok, my Bashwar. I take what you say; I have been ignoring my mind and listening to the jiggle of my Chichiotto too much. But you know what it was like before you married Zaborah. I remember how you told me that your Chichiotto was barking bananas inside you, and you could barely hear your voice of reason...

I know, Del, but I kept listening to that voice even though my Chichiotto was driving me to planet Zarrollo, and you know that my mind agreed with my Chichiotto urge that Zaborah was a suitable ogling for me to trust myself with.

Ok, Ok, Humphrey. I will listen to my brain nodule and listen to some reason. His cackle-nodes then started twitching and he was in a heap of laughter on the sandy floor. Oh, but Hum, he said, between heaving ha-has, she does have the finest elf belly I could ever hope to find!

It was Thursday, and Ergin was baffled by the amount of sea urchins which had begun to mount up on the coastline of the Benevie peninsula. He had heard of some such event, back five folds of the timeline from Zechata. On that occasion he had found out that the lizard Swanoogle race had begun lower-shore mining, about two miles off the coastline. This was highly illegal but gave them access to the rich resource of Feboloil. People were in the habit of paying exorbitant prices for this substance, and the Swanoogle had broken intergalactic rules, which forbid offshore mining to preserve the fragile sea ecosystem. How it happened in that case was that the Skliblana eels became encrusted in the offshoot from the drilling equipment and began to die in their thousands. They were predators of sea urchins, so as their numbers dwindled, the sea urchin increased one hundredfold and were soon covering swathes of the coastline.

This had remained a mystery for three lunar passes and was the real source why the Delta Feboloil company’s profits soared, to make it the second most profitable corporation in the lower galaxy. It was never proven that they were really behind this crime against the galactic council’s legal system and the fragile sea life of the planet, which was called Vendelor. The Delta company had far too clever lawyers and had also employed the Swanoogle lizards to do the mining for them, instead of their own sub-prime workers. When the crime was discovered, Iliafos the lizard-slayer was despatched with a cohort of the elves’ security probe. He and his ‘comrades’ showed no mercy to the Swanoogle and butchered the lot of them. He was bribed extra by the Delta executives to do this, as then there was no evidence to lead to the Delta Feboloil company.

Ergin paid special tribute to the urchins and wandered on, perusing what might have occurred this time round. He was not in a hurry to find out but he was concerned and decided to discuss it with the elf Balaandosan. This aged elf was renowned for knowing the movements of the coastal shore, as much as he could feel his own elf pulse. He was different from most of the younger elf generations, in that he still lived in the traditional elf tree-hut and continued to listen to the chit-chat of the Urglebrinc-chatter-woo-waa, which is a three foot tall eagle type bird whose claws fell out when it learnt to sing the dana-gabugu song which caused the Zimon trees to drop their fruit, the taste of which far outweighs the gribba-terrapin, which the Urglebrinc-chatter-woo-waa used to eat. Now they were smitten with this hard to reach fruit and, once having eaten a satisfying portion, would proceed to sing songs as they no longer had to spend many hours hunting as in generations before.

Ergin sat down with Balaandosan and immediately knew from the look on his weathered, noble face and twitching ears that the old elf was not happy.

Mischief, mischief I tells you, mi’ Ergin. Pain out in the deep water of the veremoth whale. People moving far out from land in the dark hours of the night. Bad smells rest on the shoreline. There is trouble, Ergin.

Ergin did not reply and there was silence.

Balaandosan lived in the Eliad swan forest. It was a forest of friendship. Swans were its gatekeepers and protectors. Over the previous three years, five of the vendorf elf tribe had been killed by swans on patrol. You may ask, ‘Where is the friendship in that?’ but you see, the swans worked on two levels, evidence and insight. Theirs was the duty to protect the friendship of the forest, and they could tell the darkness of an intruder’s motives, and once evidence of denigrating the life of the park was found, they would summon cautions, shrill the swan savannah wail (which is like having a cannon let off next to your ear and can leave an elf with hearing loss for up to eight turns of the Berrybar equinox), and if neither of these stopped intruders from reoffending they would sometimes, if required, give one riff of their majestic wings to bring a finality to the destructive whosoever. The swans were to be respected.

Ergin proceeded to enquire about the effects of the loss of equilibrium that he had witnessed in the last day.

Well, Ergin, the sea urchins that you saw are just an outward sign of a vast change which has been happening, I would say, for about three halves of Scordal (that’s about three weeks). Other things I have been witness to: The platted white-sea bird has been resting with the swans, confused and disorientated. It appears that the old tranquil places, which they are used to resting in, have been eaten into by large sea trawling ships.

‘Oh dear,’ thought Ergin. He knew that over the sixty lunar turns of Undaaka’s dictatorship, there had arisen less and less respect for the earth life in Bluesney. If it could be exploited and money made, then the cherished ecology of Bluesney would be raped and plundered. The sad thing was that whatever people tried to do to prove the madness of destroying the very environment that they lived in, there was an undercurrent of opinion, though none spoke openly of it, that if elf prosperity was being achieved, it did not really matter what happened to the world around them. That was just a part of the madness of the Elf. The commentators in The Pointing Cone Express wondered why the Greebok nymph was no longer seen amusing the elflings on the sand dunes of Eloklok; intellectual philosophising societies from the hills of Agua to the seas of Shollock pondered as to the decline of the hammer-ham fly, even as noble Beartribe elves’ ears reddened under Undaaka and Primazaron’s torture techniques as they had tried to lobby the now largely powerless gathering ground of Engedion where the learned elves of the land used to gather to make decisions of governance and plural democracy. Power was in the hands of Undaaka, and he had found allies in large profitable industries which supported his corrupt rule and made themselves, and many other elves, rich through the plundering of the land and elf heritage. Yes, elvish brain nodules throbbed and buzzed as to what could be the answer to stop the destruction of the land, and yet they failed to listen to their once tender elf hearts which knew that the despair of Bluesney was because they had fallen under the spell of Undaaka’s sale of prosperity and power.

Certainly you could say that Balaandosan was backward-minded, or that he was trying to cling onto nature when really there are more important things such as national wealth and the economy. I am not sure myself, but Ergin certainly cared for the urchins and the life that made Bluesney rich, not with paper money, or Chingk elf money for that matter, but the richness in all that moved and sang and wailed and developed and ate and died, as a little one was born again.

Ergin left Balaandosan, sure that something was amiss. He was not going to overly trouble himself with it, though do forgive him. His belly was aching and he was not thirty echto-strides, which is about three miles, from Chorie, the old overseer of the Dronton forest. Now, this district used to be like the Eliad swan forest, some twenty turns of Saturn past Guberhugh ago, but did not sit under the swans’ protection.

Instead, elves such as Chorie had presided over the upkeep of the forest, and they had their own way of doing things. Firstly, people could drain water from the turtle-worms’ pools, if they could make it profitable to the overseer to allow them to do this. Elves used to call this corruption but they soon developed a new name for it to make it more permissible and easy on the elf conscience. The name that Mordic, who was Chorie’s predecessor by three elf generations, came up with... was lobby. Thus, what had once been wrong in the lives of elves was now acceptable, and all because worldly-wise and profiteering elves came up with a new name for it. Chorie also developed her own ways to keep control of Dronton forest, to suit her own pursuit. She had betrayed and warped the minds of the Warkins wombats and they had, for twenty lunar turns, been enslaved to her instruction. They spied the forest for her, and kept her informed of all the goings on; who was coming, who was going, who was sleeping, and who was eating. Some, on hearing of this way of Chorie, declared it to be terrible and that she ought to be stopped in this despicable behaviour; however, they were too scared of the Warkins wombats to do anything about it themselves. Others found Chorie to be good company. She would serve out hummus and turtle-worm pie to them, and talk about mysteries she had discovered about Undaaka's personal life through the spying Warkins wombats. However, this amiable personality would change like electricity if anyone tried to suggest that she change her way of thinking, and she would make violent threats to send her wombats to terrorise them and make their lives intolerable.

So, the friendship of the Eliad swan forest and the protection they afforded its life and essence was lacking from Dronton. Animal life was sparse, but it was the atmosphere that was really sick. Depression hung like curtains in the wood and panther-moths flew around like poison gas. An aged elk moved slowly around the forest. She remembered the times of plenty and friendship in the forest, before the corruption of the overseers. She gave mournful cries out, which in itself led people to believe that Dronton forest was cursed.

Ergin was not afraid of Chorie, or her Warkins wombats. He was fond of her, though he was upset at her handling of the forest. He knew how to treat her; singing songs and telling jokes, he could almost be the son that she had never had. Then he would make a comment about the politics of Dronton and she would find herself in a near uncontrollable rage, but then... there would be Ergin, smiling serenely at her. Why did he not become scared and submissive like the rest of the elves she encountered? Why was he not afraid?

On arriving at her cottage, Ergin gave Chorie a warm hug and gave her a quick rendition of a chatter-warb bug dance which he used to watch great Papa Shondi do when he was a swaddling-elfling. Chorie was amused, though she would not let her inward laughter show on the outside because she had become proud through years of deceit and control. ‘Why is this man elf so sincere to me?’ she thought. ‘Is he after something? Perhaps some of the Sashana of the Geoloku pass. Hmmm, but I have already sold that onto Pataka, the Swanoogle leader. Surely he can’t like a crooked elf like me...’

I love you, Chorie... said Ergin, seemingly reading her thoughts.

Chorie turned elf orange and beamed. Ergin had never seen Chorie smile before, and it was quite an awkward moment for Chorie as she realised that she had not shared her true smile with another elf for many a passing lunar turn. Music was playing in the depth of the outer-delta fringe. Near her left hand, Chorie turned the oak handle of the corn grinder. She was preparing soda gumberry sauce to accompany roast pine kernel and rose gatur. ‘So life can still sparkle,’ she thought, and squashed a stray ant-scorpion which had decided to invade her kitchen.

Time and again, people sought Chorie to get achieved some selfish scheme. They would offer her what they thought she wanted, in return for what they wanted. As this took place they would probably mention politics, weather, and the state of the Glocko economy; but they were never really interested in each other, just what they could get out of each other. Some years before, Chorie decided that she wanted to join the APL trust. This was a group of elves committed to the removal of crime from the rainforest contingency of the Leopold region. APL stood for Action of Persons Legion. However, she soon found out that the vice-president, Simon Towelfut, was more corrupt than a bag of towfish bones and had no interest in the preservation of integrity in the Leopold rainforest. However, she also had to consider that she was only involved in it to give her a certain amount of prestige as an overseer of Dronton forest and to try and get rid of some of the allegations of corruption which seemed to follow her around. She concluded that most people in authority, that she knew about, were in it for their own rewards and were willing to break the rules which they themselves were implementing. She actually found it encouraging that others were corrupt as it made her feel more vindicated in being part-criminal herself.

Now, onto another point about Chorie. She was so used to allowing herself to control people, with her anger and threats, that she had grown used to people not liking her. Indeed, she felt convinced that people would not want to visit her and eat her food if they knew what she was really like. She had grown accustomed to having people come to her to get what they wanted from her. It might not have been ideal, but it meant that she was not alone for too many long periods of time.

Sometime, after a long session of looking at the fat gongolan cow outside Chorie’s house, Ergin decided it was time to ask some profitable questions to Chorie about the sea urchins which had begun to wash up on the Benevie peninsula.

Chorie, I have noticed that a large quantity of sea urchins have been washed ashore on the Samba beach on the Benevie peninsula. What’s going on?

Chorie turned a flush of elvish orange and momentarily turned away from Ergin, to avoid his intent gaze. That, my young elf friend, is business that I would rather not talk about. Though, I assure you that many young elfling mouths are being fed because of what is going on there.

Ergin’s internal organs turned over inside. There was often a sick justification to the wrongs which were being committed on Bluesney, and they were often difficult to argue against. Chorie, please tell me the full story here.

Ergin left Chorie’s territory an angry spinover. He had discovered that there were two direct lines being put down into the Qualufu reef-bed as a large expanse of feboloil had been discovered there. There were two hundred workers going there each night to carry out the illegal activity, and it seemed quite straightforward that this was offsetting the delicate ecosystem and the urchins were overproducing and being washed up onto the beaches in vast numbers. This was a thorny business, indeed.

Matters of conscience were a distraction from Ergin’s earthly preference of socialising and listening to the sounds of nature and freedom, but he had learnt that if he ignored his conscience that the other wonders and affections of Bluesney would fade and crack, and seem not to exist anymore as they once had. His conscience was like his compass to life and he found that when it was ignored, he would find himself lost, and Ergin never liked to be lost.

Moreover, he had been thinking recently of the bearings of the Undaaka regime. He could see that things were spiralling out of control. There was overdevelopment, with not enough time to grow into what already existed. There needed to be different seasons, growth followed by consolidation. The system was so rooted in greed that it had thrown common sense out of the Lunilap skyline. How the elves once cared for their community, but now they only cared for profit and gain, and not for each other.

Ergin knew that if he tried to gather public support to stop the offshore mining projects, it would fail. People were generally so used to the illegal destruction of the environment, and the government’s willingness to let it continue, that they had been deceived into thinking that they could do nothing about it, or were just too lazy, or did not really care about Bluesney. Ergin would have to find a different route.

Undaaka had begun a round of discussions with Orluka, the king-knight of the Swanoogle lizard kingdom. You might ask what Undaaka was doing fraternising with the elves’ arch enemies, the Swanoogle. He did himself hate the Swanoogle, as he did most other creatures, but mutually corrupt people invariably find ways to bridge differences, and even hatred, for a season to see their dual goals of corruption come to pass. In this instance Orluka was proposing that Undaaka allow his people to pump their sewage extract into the elves’ fiery lake of Vomush, which was currently a holiday resort for the poor people from the lower valley region of Elshion; it’s almost always the poor who get oppressed. In exchange, the elf mining company Jacharta would be allowed unlimited access to the hilltop area Erchortez which is found oozing with priceless gem stones, worthless on the Swanoogle wish list but of great value to the elf purse. However, the Erchortez is an ancient burial ground for the Swanoogle and sworn to be kept sacred to respect the memories of the dead Swanoogle.

Undaaka and Orluka exchanged unpleasantries as they stood upon the so-called ‘rock of ruling’ in the heart of elf lands. How they despised each other and contemplated the day when they might see the other lain in a pool of blood, but still they smiled and gestured and exchanged gifts. Yes, they would both become richer and in some ways more prosperous, but so their kingdoms would decay, shrink, and whither away. This they were blind to as their only fixation was their next pleasure and latest vision of greed. Their people meant nothing to them.

Have you ever considered becoming undivided and certain in the pursuit of a dream, which you know is what you exist to create and enter into? There were certain elves who had suffered torture at the hands of Primazaron, and his henchmen and women. They had endured much pain and internal anguish as they had protested against the error that was being used to divide and ruin land and community in the name of profit and control. There was not one set of their ears which were not in some way jaded, lacerated, or having had the tip cut off; an elf’s ears are their pride and joy, their most sensitive part, and are the most painful bargaining chip for an elf when being put through torture.

Some time back, Sholak had challenged the ruling police about the propriety of keeping in step with protecting the people of the elvish from the control of improper government, rather than becoming an agency of corruption for the Undaaka regime. The ears of a considerable number of the elvian police group twinged with conscience, but none would stand and be counted to follow Sholak’s rallying call. He was a good elf who saw a need and was willing to lay down his ears and soul for