The Elfowl Saga: Part Iii:
The Stones of Gralich

By Barry J. Hoffman

The ruling family scatters, reverting to their old ways. Dragging close associates with them, they drain the resources of the realm in search of personal objectives. Exploring distant lands they stumble upon a coastal kingdom and run headlong into formidable obstacles. The only road home passes through a desperate foreign war and the malignant devices of its perpetrators.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 16, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469761183

Barry J. Hoffman

Barry Hoffman formerly specialized in establishing training programs. He has a Master of Fine Arts from California State University, Sacramento and is especially interested in the development of myth in literature. Mr. Hoffman currently resides in California's gold country where he pursues his dual interests of writing and sculpting.

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All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Barry J. Hoffman

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Contents

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 2

C H A P T E R 3

C H A P T E R 4

C H A P T E R 5

C H A P T E R 6

C H A P T E R 7

C H A P T E R 8

C H A P T E R 9

C H A P T E R 10

C H A P T E R 11

C H A P T E R 12

C H A P T E R 13

C H A P T E R 14

C H A P T E R 15

C H A P T E R 16

C H A P T E R 17

C H A P T E R 18

C H A P T E R 19

C H A P T E R 20

C H A P T E R 21

C H A P T E R 22

C H A P T E R 23

C H A P T E R 24

C H A P T E R 1

Even though Joshua had thought he knew just what to expect when he stepped across the half-buried stone in the field, he was still shocked when he found himself standing on the sidewalk beside the delicatessen. It was as if the open fields of Draca Maldinor and the wrenching sight of Alindra watching him go had become a dream in just a blink of an eye. All around him were the modern streets and buildings of the world that once he had thought was home, but which now seemed foreign and unpleasant. His mind reeled as he quickly took in the scene before him, essentially unchanged since that moment many months before when he had left it, and yet, now appearing just as hallucinatory as Gardon’s world had looked that fateful day when he had stepped across the magic threshold in the other direction.

He still held the glass owl in a tight grip, and he knew that if he took just one simple step backward he could erase the view before him and once again be in Draca Maldinor. Alindra would still be standing there waiting for him, his friends would still be in Agan-dir, and he could spend the rest of his days at peace in that wonderful world.

Not for the first or the last time did he wonder if Gardon could have been right about the necessity of his returning to his own world. What possible purpose could such an unpleasant exile serve? Surely it could not be of benefit to Draca Maldinor where an extra pair of hands to help in the restoration work would be of real value. And certainly, there could be no value in unnecessarily causing great emotional distress for both Alindra and himself. With Gardon dead, no one remained back in that idyllic place to reprimand him if he disobeyed this one painful order. With one small step backward he could ensure his happiness. It might seem faithless, but he was convinced that no one would condemn him.

All of these doubts swept over him in just a few seconds, but the agony of the uncertainty made it seem much longer. Would he do what he had been commanded to do and had solemnly promised his dear and respected friend, or would he cast such cares aside and instantly bring great joy to himself and the one woman in his life who had finally brought him the love he had always desired. Only with great effort was he able to tear himself free from the internal conflict and force his feet to take the first few awkward steps forward. He had decided, but he was miserable about the choice.

Around the corner he caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the plate glass window of the delicatessen and he was appalled. Any thought that what had passed in recent months had been merely a dream was driven from his mind once and for all. He had known, of course, that he would look out of place here in his old world, until he could change into different clothing and once again take on the familiar trappings of this existence, but what he saw was worse than he had imagined. Even taking the precaution of changing into the tan garb typical of Alindra’s domain, thinking it less gaudy, and, therefore, less likely to attract attention, now seemed a wasted effort. However, the strangeness of his attire was nothing compared to the shaggy hair, the unkempt beard, and, most especially, the deep scar. The face reflected in the glass screamed at him to get off the streets and into the safety of his own apartment as quickly as possible.

* * * *

That terrible moment had occurred nearly a year ago and now as Joshua glanced up at the elaborate calendar displayed prominently over his desk, showing all the months at once, he could see that 361 days had been carefully crossed out. He reached up and with a black marker neatly crossed off still another. It had only been a few weeks after his return when he had thought of maintaining such a calendar, and he had made one to exactly fit the odd year he was so carefully measuring. It had made him feel good, seeming to give him a slight degree of control over his exile. He had been especially pleased on the day when he had first created the calendar because he was able to cross off the first twenty-two days all at once. Much later he would wonder if the year would have passed more quickly if he had paid less attention to such details.

It no longer mattered, however. In three short days the year would be complete. Even so, he would wait one more night after that and leave early on the morning of the three hundred and sixty-sixth day to be sure he had complied fully with the requirement specified by Gar-don. After all this time, he was not going to take the chance of jumping the gun and fouling up. The dire warnings were foremost in his mind.

All that remained was to wrap up all the loose ends as Gardon had directed a year earlier. His notice on the apartment had been given a month earlier, and that day had provided a sense of exhilaration, like the opening notes of the horn at the races. Humdrum as that action would have been under different circumstances, in this case it meant that he had truly begun the final days of his exile. He could see the end at last. A year earlier he had often wondered if he would be able to tolerate the wait, and there had been times when he felt that he could not, but somehow he had managed, and a significant action like giving notice on the apartment had brought the reality of the imminent ending into focus.

Tomorrow the dealer who had agreed to purchase all of his furniture would come in the morning and take most of his worldly possessions away. There was some sadness in that. It was hard to imagine discarding all traces of his life. Once his furniture was gone, however, he would move into a motel for the last few nights before his departure.

The change of residence would help cushion the transition for him and at the same time mask his sudden disappearance.

On the last full day he would close the bank accounts, which in recent months he had slowly reduced to small amounts so that no one would give it any thought when he asked for the remainder in cash. The cash that did remain he would simply give away. He had given that considerable thought and it had seemed hard at first to think of a way to give away cash without leaving a trail. Eventually, he had realized that he only needed to put it in a large envelope and send it to whomever he chose. He picked a local orphanage, finding some fitting symbolism in that choice. His credit cards and driver’s license he would cut up and throw away once he had paid for his motel room.

Once again he looked at his check list. It was a long list, taking up several sheets of notebook paper. When he had begun making his notes he had been struck by how many things had to be done just to make a clean break with the world. It had seemed to him that it should be easy to just walk away without a care. He could have done that, of course, but Gardon had been adamant about not leaving a trail or raising suspicions. Since he did not have a co-conspirator remaining behind to handle matters this time, the process involved in this second departure was much more complicated than he had anticipated. At times he would smile to himself, thinking that for all his love of books, there was no reference book in the library that covered this subject. He would have been the one to write that book, but, of course, that was not to be.

He wandered around the room, touching things, and in a sense saying good-bye. He had little regret in letting go of the big items, the tables and chairs, the desk and such, because antiques had lost their meaning to him. It was precisely where he was going that had destroyed any romance in items whose only real distinction was in being old. Rather, it was the memory-charged flotsam and jetsam that was the hardest to leave behind: the little things he had collected over the years, the things that in some sense defined his life. He had to remind himself that he had collected these things because he longed for an exotic life he could not have. By leaving those things behind now, he could go and actually experience the life he had dreamed of.

He dropped down into his favorite reading chair and looked about him, absently contemplating the possessions that soon would vanish. As he had done so often in recent weeks, he wondered if he dared to bring anything with him. He wished he had a better understanding of the rules, and he frequently wondered how Gardon had acquired his knowledge. Was it possible that bringing something could be allowed? He suspected it was not, that it probably unbalanced things in some dangerous way, although it was hard to understand why people could move back and forth while objects could not. Trying to apply logic to the problem was of little use. He had a theory, however, that people like himself would be forced to adapt to new surroundings or perish, while objects that did not belong might change the entire environment and create havoc.

While his speculations provided no conclusions, it was still one of his favorite pastimes to challenge his imagination in an effort to decide what he would bring if he could bring just one thing from this world into the other. Of course, the owl could not be counted. However this mysterious process worked, the owl was a magic talisman that had to make the journey or there would be no passage between worlds. Clearly, it had passed back and forth without causing harm. But, if he could bring something else what would it be? Money and similar items of exchange would clearly be worthless in that other place. A gun, of course, would have been of enormous help against all of the enemies he had encountered during his first journey, but it did not require much thought to see how completely something like that would upset the balance, and just the thought of modernizing the conflicts deeply offended his notion of why he was going in the first place. Still, it seemed that there must be some device or invention that could benefit him without disturbing the order of things too much.

He searched his memories of his stay there, trying to remember everything he had missed at one time or another. It seemed easier to think of the few things he had not missed. In actuality, however, he had acclimated to that more primitive society quite rapidly, and he had accepted the rhythm of its days and the special characteristics and limitations that went with it. It had not taken long before he had found himself thinking in terms of what was actually available when facing a problem, rather than wasting time wishing for things he had left behind. Even so, knowing what he knew now, and fully aware that there would never be another chance like this one, it was difficult not to be both frustrated and perplexed.

He tried to remember Gardon’s orders on that day when he made the transition. Gardon had insisted on taking his wallet and keys, and his watch from him. But that was because he would be a stranger and Gardon did not want him to raise needless suspicions. He had been able to take his clothes, rather than going naked, and that had done no harm, other than make him look ridiculously out of place. As he thought about that day now he examined the calendar watch on his wrist. It also was a timer and a stopwatch, it had several alarms, it could indicate what time it was in other time zones, and it could survive in water at two hundred meters below the surface, even if its wearer could not. It was certainly small and useful, and at least during the early days he had often missed it. How many times had he glanced at his bare wrist and been disappointed not to find the correct time there? But that was merely habit. Just how valuable was it to know exactly what time it was in a land where no one else knew or cared? If everyone else has to reference the sun and the seasons then you do too, even if you carry quartz precision on your wrist. He smiled to himself and was about to give up the game for the moment when the watch made him think of something with a similar appearance: a compass.

It was easy for him to imagine how useful a compass would have been. Crossing the mountains to the Valley of Vapors, searching blindly for the Lost Path, or even more so when he had been set adrift in the swamp. A compass would have made an enormous difference in all of those situations.

He jumped up out of the chair and immediately went to a shelf on the nearest wall. He picked up a small, flat circular object about the width of a silver dollar. It was made of metal, olive drab in color, and inscribed on the lid were the letters: U.S.M.C. With a push on a small, almost invisible button the lid popped open and inside there was a plain but detailed compass. The needle rocked gently and then settled down pointing toward the closest wall. That the wall faced north was not a piece of information he cared in the least about at that moment, but in another context knowing that direction with certainty could be a powerful aid, possibly the difference between being lost or not, maybe even between dying or not. He would definitely have to think about it some more, but in the meantime he snapped the lid down and slipped the small object into his pocket where it would be impossible to forget.

The next morning the used furniture dealer took almost everything in the apartment, leaving only clothes and small miscellaneous items, most of which ended up in the trash receptacle behind the apartment building. Joshua stuffed most of his clothes into large plastic bags which were picked up by a local charity later in the day. Then he stood for a long moment contemplating the small nylon sports bag which lay open on the floor near the window. It contained his shaving kit, a few shirts, and most importantly the bundle of ragged clothes from Draca Maldinor. For all of the past year that clothing had remained hidden behind some boxes in the back of the closet like a forgotten Halloween costume.

Realizing that all that remained of his life in his current world reposed there in that one small bag filled him with a strange sense of melancholy. He shook his head, then quickly zipped up the bag and hurried from the empty apartment without looking back. He roughly threw the bag into the trunk of the car he had been renting since selling his own the week before. He slammed down the trunk lid, jumped into the front seat, and, with a little too much speed and a little too much noise, he drove out of the parking area and headed for the motel just a few blocks down the street.

On the next day, day three hundred and sixty four, he went to the Open Sky Stables in Jansen Park for one last ride on his favorite horse, Rimfire, a large chestnut mare which he had grown very fond of and thought of almost as if it was his own. Riding along the trail early in the morning he could be alone with his thoughts, and he realized how much enjoyment riding had given him during the past year. When he was a child he had always enjoyed riding, but as he had grown older it was something he had done only sporadically. During the past year, however, it had become something of an obsession, allowing him to spend long stretches of time outdoors in the fresh air. On some of the quieter trails that wound through the enormous park he could even pretend that he was back in the open country of Draca Maldinor. In many respects that had proven to be the most satisfying of the various ways he had found to spend the time during the long wait.

Gardon had generously padded his bank accounts, providing him with enough money so that there was nothing he needed to do but keep himself amused and wait. That had not prevented him from spending many of those early days feeling sorry for himself and suffering deep depression. Television, movies and other such entertainment, while momentarily novel again, had done little to relieve the ennui. It was only when he had begun to exercise seriously that he had started to take back some control over his life. After only a matter of weeks he had noticed with considerable disgust that his hard won physical shape developed in the rigors of Draca Maldinor was turning to flab very quickly. He had reacted by filling the living room with expensive exercise equipment and putting himself on a rigorous program.

A short time later, the inspiration to take up horseback riding again had proven to be an excellent tonic. Since one of the trails in the huge park where he rode passed by an archery range, it was a logical progression to take up that activity as well. He purchased a bow and became a regular at the range. He had known that he could not keep his hand in on all of the skills he would need when he returned to Draca Maldinor, but this was one he could practice without raising the slightest bit of suspicion. Archery, however, also embroiled him in a disturbing emotional conflict.

At the archery range he had met Kelly McGuire. He was an excellent shot, there was no question about that, and his almost daily exhibition of unusual skill had brought him to the attention of a local club, The Arrowstars. Kelly was the member who had been given the assignment of recruiting Joshua into the organization, flattering him to such an extent as to sincerely hold out the possibility of trying out for the Olympic team some day. That dream might almost have hooked the fish until he had realized that the next Olympics were two years away. He backed away, but she remained persistent, and even when it became clear that he had no intention of joining the club, it was not so obvious that he was not interested in her. At the same time she was certainly intrigued by him. Soon they had settled into an easygoing casual relationship that never went beyond meeting at the range to shoot together, having a lunch or dinner, or occasionally going to a show together. It had not been that much, but during that period of time she was the only friend he had allowed himself. He had made a point of staying far away from anyone he had known before.

In his mind the exclusiveness of the relationship had seemed to magnify the closeness. He always enjoyed her company, and her companionship had unquestionably made the time seem to go by faster. At the same time, he had felt guilty about spending so much time with her, doubly so because he found her very attractive. He had quickly realized that she was interested in him and that she wished their relationship would develop further. There was a side of him that felt the same, but he had known with certainty that he could not allow that to happen.

Eventually, there had come a time when he had felt that his inability to respond to her hints and overtures seemed rude, and yet he could explain nothing, and he had had to continue to keep her at arm’s length. Finally, in a faltering speech, handled in a manner which he would always regret, and which hardly reflected the amount of rehearsal that had gone into it, he had broken off their relationship, such as it was. Even though they were only friends, he could easily see that it had hurt her. He had berated himself for that because he knew he could have avoided all of it if he had been stronger in the first place. He had terminated the relationship fully six weeks before the end of his year of exile. One reason was so that he would not have to do any explaining about going away, but a second reason, which betrayed his lack of confidence in his own will and character, was so that he would not be tempted to do something stupid at the last minute.

He had added insult to his own self-inflicted injury when in the aftermath of this debacle he had realized that he regretted being so hasty because he could no longer go to the archery range for fear of running into her, and, even more selfishly and dangerously, he lamented denying himself more of her companionship. Frequently, during those last weeks when he would catch himself wishing that he could see her again he would grow furious with himself and wonder how he could be so weak and indecisive. He asked himself if it was possible that he could really be that shallow. Was this the kind of thing Gardon had been trying to warn him about? Could he really be so sure he belonged in that other place? And, the greatest heresy of all; was it possible that Alindra was not the only woman in the world?

When the last morning finally dawned he sat up in bed with a jolt even before the alarm went off. There was a maelstrom inside both his stomach and his head. A chill ran through him, although the room was comfortably warm. He was facing the most dangerous moment of his life. There was no one to talk to, no one to share it with, and no one to prop him up, encourage him, or tell him he was doing the right thing. He was excited and scared in a way he had never felt before. His problem was that he genuinely believed what Gardon had told him; that if he returned this time he would never have to go back, and, more importantly and more ominously, he never could go back, even if he changed his mind. What if Alindra had not waited for him? What if he had given up Kelly, and then found that he had no one waiting for him in Draca Maldinor? What if all of his friends had gone off somewhere and were giving him no thought at all? What if after all this time no one actually cared whether he came back or not? Did it make sense to give up a comfortable world he knew? He had had some fun rediscovering television and movies, and the beauty of the music that flowed from his expensive stereo, and the forgotten freedom of speeding down the road in his car with the radio blasting. His bed had been comfortable, and there was something to be said for central heat and air, running water, and refrigeration. He had even learned an invaluable lesson in how to get away from the sterile modernity of his life by spending time at the stables and on the archery range. If he wanted to he could take vacations on real ranches and spend time in spectacular open country. And finally, he felt fairly certain that if he called Kelly and gave her some reasonable explanation for his strange behavior they would be able to get back together again.

You are a moron and a coward, he said aloud as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. After counting every day for a year you come to this?

He looked at the alarm clock, noting that the sun would be up in about half an hour. He thought about how nice it would be to have one more special breakfast at the delicatessen near his old apartment. Well, tough luck, he thought, chastising himself for even thinking of such a petty matter. You’ll just have to hope they’ll feed you when you get there.

He quickly dressed in the clothes he had worn on the day he departed from Draca Maldinor one year and one day earlier. What meager belongings he still possessed he threw into the sports bag. He put the small glass owl, his passport, in one pocket and at the same time reflexively touched the pendant that Alindra had given him and which he had never taken off, even when sleeping or in the shower.

Finally, he held the old military compass in the palm of his hand and stared at it. He had been carrying it for a couple of days, debating all the while whether he could take it or not. For one last time he argued with himself, and then he slipped it into the other pocket. Only one more thing would he take. Throughout the year he had kept the letter from Gardon that he had found in his desk on the day he had returned. Other than the owl, it was all he had left of the dear old man, his friend and guide and mentor. He could not part with it. Perhaps someday it would help someone to understand what had transpired, but, in any case, it was simply too valuable to him to either destroy or leave behind. He unfolded the letter and read it one more time:

Dear Joshua,

If you are reading this letter that means you survived your survey of my lands and have returned home safely. I will be bold enough to assume we won the day. I hope I survived too, although I must be honest and tell you that I have always doubted the outcome. If I was not standing at the end then I hope I acquitted myself well and died with some honor. My biggest regret will be missing your friendship. We did not have enough time together, but what we did have I will treasure even beyond the grave.

But enough of these maudlin thoughts, it is a sign of my dotage, I’m sure. If we won, and you are back, then that is enough for me to declare success in my plans. I have taken a few liberties in your absence which you should know about. I have forged your name on your checks and paid the rent each month. I thought that would be less suspicious than me paying your rent for you. No reason to arouse our hefty landlady’s already well-developed curiosity any more than necessary. I certainly didn’t want her having the authorities searching for you or looking into my dubious background. Anyway I also paid the utilities in the same fashion.

I told our dear Mrs. Zahn that you had to rush over to Germany to be with your terribly sick brother. Personally, I liked that touch. Since you were always complaining about not having any family I gave you one. Anyway your brother is in the army and came down with some strange foreign disease that laid him up in a hospital in Munich (I always wanted to visit Munich, but never made it, so you’ll have to make up your own details). Then to add to your string of difficulties you were in a serious automobile accident. That’s how we explain that subtle little mark on your forehead.

You will be pleased to know that you no longer have a job at the bank. You always said you hated that job. I told them that I was your uncle (more family) and that you had been detained indefinitely in Europe. Now my anxious, young friend, before you panic about money you should know that I have placed a sufficient amount in your accounts to allow you to live quite comfortably for a year. If at the end of the year you decide not to return home then you will have to face the prospect of finding another job on your own. However, I’m afraid your newer skills will not stand you in good stead unless the life of a mercenary interests you.

Let’s see, what else? I ran your car weekly or whenever I remembered, whichever came first. They tell me that you should do that to keep it in good order. I guess that’s about it. If you decide to return home at the end of the year then you must close all accounts, liquidate all possessions—except for the owl, of course, and disappear cleanly and discretely, if you take my meaning. It is my greatest hope that you will choose to return, but perhaps as the year passes you will come to understand why it had to be such a clear choice and why I had to subject you to such a painful test. I hope you forgive me for making you wait. However, do not return until the entire year elapses. Not one day earlier!

In the meantime, do not be hard on yourself, Joshua, no matter how you feel or what you decide to do. No man can be held accountable for knowing the future or knowing how he will react to it. As I write this I am looking forward to seeing you in a very short time and I hope that we may share a great future together.

Your caring friend,

Gardon

Every time Joshua read the letter it made him sad, but this time, just

as he was setting out it was particularly disturbing. What he would find

regarding the others he could not predict with any certainty, but this was one reunion he knew would not take place. He folded the letter and put it in the same pocket with the owl.

Outside, the air was cool, and it was still dark, with only the faintest glow on the eastern horizon. The office of the small motel was closed, not to re-open until 8AM, the street was quiet and empty, and a quick glance about indicated there was no one in the vicinity. Joshua strode quickly to the large trash bin near the back corner of the parking lot and tossed the suitcase in. He grimaced as it struck the metal bottom and gave off a clanging sound that seemed to reverberate throughout the neighborhood. Hurriedly now, he drove down the street toward the delicatessen and parked at the curb beside the empty restaurant.

For a moment he remained in the car, hesitating to reveal his strange appearance to anyone who might suddenly pass by. Tapping on the steering wheel nervously, he hoped that the powers that be would forgive the one loose end of abandoning the rental car there. He had sent a letter to the agency telling them where they would find the car and had included a check for more days than he owed. He just did not think that he should be seen that last day walking around in strange garb and carrying no identification. If he were stopped there was no telling what would happen.

After looking around in all directions a final time and still finding the streets empty, he got out and walked toward the spot alongside the building where he knew he was supposed to find the hidden portal. He took a deep breath to calm his highly agitated nerves. One more time he revisited his recurring nightmare that the passageway would no longer be there. Then he reached into his pocket, gripped the owl tightly, and stepped forward.

C H A P T E R 2

When Joshua stepped through the portal that connected his former world and the world of his friend and mentor Gardon Elfowl, he instantly left behind the noise and congestion of the modern world with its bank careers, sleek apartments, restaurants, automobiles and television, exchanging them for the primitive world of Draca Maldinor that was characterized by its magnificent stone castles, its sweeping panoramas of open country, but also its fetid swamps, its volcanic eruptions, and its high, dangerous mountain passes. He left behind the anonymity of a crowded city where acquaintances passed for friends and the plethora of mindless amusements did little to relieve his loneliness. In contrast, the world he was now entering held true and dear friends who would risk their very lives for him, and challenges that repeatedly tested his character to its very core. It was the place where he had found the one true love of his life. But it also contained all the dangers and terrors that could be found in the wildest of places, along with fanatic Malisorian warriors and ferocious slurgs.

Joshua stepped through into the other world carrying the baggage of all the