The Curse of the Enchanted Elements

By Gwendolyn Van Den Eynde

Abida has always felt alienated in the human world. When the eldest make a capital mistake, the pieces of the puzzle finally fit. Donovan is a mere survivor, down to earth, no sentimental bullocks needed as far as he is concerned. Then he meets Abida. Their pacifistic mission is reinforced and unfolds in mysterious ways. Who would have thought that the search for something small would result in something so grand?

This is a sensational fantasy story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Feb 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728383651

Gwendolyn Van Den Eynde

The Belgian writer Gwendolyn Van den Eynde (Antwerp, °1981) has a mission: to colour the world with pacifistic, enticing fantasy. Born high sensitive, she dreamt herself an Elven World, accessible only to those who possess the right kind of Energy. Her passion for paraphrasing, combined with the love of fantasy, result in an unforgettable literary sensation. This is her debut, the first of a surprising trilogy.

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© 2019 Gwendolyn Van Den Eynde. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/15/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-8366-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-8365-1 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

Mysterious Encounter

Invitation

Hidden world

Prelude to the Mission

Creatures, Guides and trials

Dolonera

Nissa

Energy

Ariela

Barto

Compass

The Enchanted Elements

Wings

Mirroth

Sucellus

Equitus’ secret

Amymone

Longire

Epilogue

Special thanks to Gilles Vanzeveren, illustrator.

Prologue

I N A PARK, north of Antwerp, a young woman stared at a lake. Tears rolled down her face, when she thought about him. They had been so close. Why did he have to disappear from her life, just when she felt she found a soul mate? Once more, she had to part from someone dear to her. What tore them apart, was worse than death – it was life.

She had a remarkable resemblance to Abida. Pointy ears failed her. She did however feel alienated from earth. Her entire youth, she had been told to be a drama queen: heavily reacting to pain, unable to stand injustice. Bright light, harsh sounds, labels in clothes, a loose hair on her back; these situations upset her. It took her many years to discover the reason for all of this: she was born high sensitive. Turning this curse into a blessing took her a great deal of patience, especially towards herself. If there was anything this young lady lacked, it was exactly that: patience. It stood her apart from the People she felt so familiar to. The spiritual search that defined her life resembled a Mission, though a different kind than the Elves.

Both her love life (remarkable to say the least) and her professional life were a chain of special encounters and events. Linking the two was the lack of normality. She had an amazingly unique way of thinking. Mystic was ever present in her life. Though she was raised in a catholic family, her destiny awaited elsewhere. Elsewhere had nothing to do with other religions, but another world entirely. Another life, a distant reality. Friends and loved ones that disappeared from her life, described her personality as a beautiful, wondrous and mysterious open book. She never thought of herself that way, just as much as she couldn’t deny the forces at work within her. An experience overpowering anything human, to say the least.

The pieces of the puzzle finally fit when she started working in a company she felt she didn’t belong from day one. He had been working there for a longer period already; she felt he wouldn’t stay long either. Intelligent, eloquent, experienced, were words that described him best. Neither of their characters fit in there. Less than a week later, they happened to have their lunch shift together. The conversation soon turned towards the theme of hobbies. She kept her distance, assuming to know where this would end once again. Ever since she was little, mixed feelings emerged as soon as she heard the word hobby. She had been in a gym club, she took up piano. She never got to do what she really wanted: take up musical, write a book. The theme was yet unclear, the action of writing was what she had always dreamed of. She never had the guts to do so. Her poems would remain unpublished. Sporadically, she read them to friends. They were enthusiastic, encouraged her to sell them. In order to take up art, showing it to the outside world, one needs a talent better than average. She strongly believed there was not a single talent where she rose above average. Hence, she vowed to stand aside, listen without participating actively in the conversation.

How about you, what is your hobby?

Sorry?

We were just talking about hobbies, what is yours? There has to be something that arises your interest.

I love both of my children dearly, I take satisfaction in my work.

There is more to life than that. A marriage can be as good as you want, children are indeed amazing to bring up. That doesn’t mean you don’t need anything for yourself. Isn’t there any world that appeals to you? Something you can talk about passionately?

She looked into his eyes, exceptionally. Suddenly, words were born. They emerged from a corner of her heart she didn’t even know existed. The Elven World.

As in Lord of the Rings?

Yes, that’s the one. The landscapes and Elves are beautiful. I have but one problem with it.

Being?

Everywhere Elves are present, it seems violence has to be inherent. Blood, war, fights, as long as it is violence. A noble People chooses the exact opposite as a way of life.

Write your own book, without violence.

Me? No thanks, that is not what the world is waiting for.

Of course it is. What are you afraid of, being successful?

I’m scared to do it on my own. I don’t even know where to start.

You could find yourself a partner.

I beg your pardon?

Find someone to embark on this adventure, together with you. A mutual search. A Quest for your place in the world. She felt blown away. She had been searching for years. Here he was, voicing her deepest feelings into words. How could he know about her longing, if they had never met before…?

They vowed to write together; their project of warmth in a cold, harsh world. Their Quest, their Mission. It would be a short, yet loving one. Their love too would prove to be impossible, though not of the assumed kind between a man and a woman.

He had been chosen to help her. He called it to kick you lovingly every now and then in order to keep you moving courageously, finally realising your dreams. A special woman, driven by a special man’s friendship.

Inspiration gives birth to ideas and art. Elves automatically evoke Nature. This noble People gives Nature its capital letter. An iron cast bridge upon a beautifully flowing river, weeping willows and beeches, surrounding a lake with a stunning beauty, a garden filled with roses. The right place creates a magical moment to those of untamed spirit. She had no transport of her own, he had a car. She wore long dresses, he had a camera. Thus, they drove off to the green edge of Brussels, to a place called Ter Hulpe. A forest, woods, the only piece left of a once vast forest stretching from Spain to as far as the Netherlands. An untamed part, not touched by humans, resided in Belgium. It was protected and preserved in its original state. One could feel the ancient forces of nature at work. They walked next to each other without saying a word. They felt a mutual confidence only few people experience, knowing each other for such a short time. Her daughter and her daughters’ best friend accompanied them, so they couldn’t speak too frankly. As soon as the girls were a bit ahead of them, the conversation got to a serious and philosophical point.

The only reminder of him were the pictures he shot that very day. Not the CD he would have recorded for her, filled with inspirational music. Not the photographic session she asked him for. Not one single vast object that reminded her of him. The memory itself caught up with her regularly, emerging fiercely painful in her heart. Every time she entered a piece of inspiring nature, she felt mystics at work. She thought about him straight away…

We are going to prove our point.

What point, moreover: to whom?

Friendship between a man and a woman is possible. Even with a difference in age, between a beauty like yourself and someone like me.

What do you mean by that? You are pretty handsome yourself. Romantically you may not be my type, but you do have a certain charm which leaves no woman indifferent.

That was figurative speech. They started off on a feeling of safety. She had had a traumatic experience with a man in his fifties. The crime he had committed, inspired her to the word of Dolonera. It took her many years to be able to walk through the streets without the constant fear of being followed, looked at, harassed. She thought of him and everything he stood for as repugnant. This was the very first time she met someone his age, since the trauma took place. He had the same age as the one who had almost raped her, yet she felt safe. She confided in telling him that. He blushed of sheer joy. She spoke from her heart. He made her feel comfortable, she felt she could tell him anything. Her being an open book made it even easier, he too told her things he hadn’t shared with anyone before, except for his wife.

Every single walk they took together, the conversations’ subjects varied from their pasts, their marriages, the meaning of life, how they tried to keep magic and mystic alive in everyday reality. Nothing could break her faith in him. He was her rock. She nicknamed him noble knight with reason. It would be the foundation of many stories, sent into the world by themselves and others. Her own nickname was a combination of her first name and White Elve. No one else would be allowed to call her that, other than him. Only he could pronounce her name with a certain awe that made her uneasy in a positive way. He put her on a pedestal, which made her shy. Yet it gave her self confidence. He awoke in her an elegance she never knew she had in her. One day he compared her to Inanna, a strong woman carrying the creation of the world inside of her. She felt blown away by the sheer compliment. He turned her entire world upside down, awakening forces in her that would enrich her life in ways she never thought possible.

Only days before the creation of this very book, he told her he couldn’t do it. He had to let her go, lovingly. She had to tell their story on her own. That is exactly what she did. He asked her to dedicate the book to the person who had inspired her most.

Evelyne, Stefan, Elly, Peter, each and every one of you know exactly why. This is your story. Our story.

Mysterious Encounter

L ADY’S ELEGANCE. A swan’s grace. Feline agility. An old woman’s wisdom, tender as a feather. Which piece of clothing, worn on naked skin could enhance the Elves’ mystical beauty ? The mere thought shattered her ideal image, breaking up in a million pieces under the human’s scorching sun. Was birth given to the words in human language to express the motivation of this lonely designer?

Abida felt like an alienated creature in the human world. A feeling of utter loneliness overpowered her. This material hard existence was no life for her. Time passing fast and fluid like water, yet slow like oil did not become her. The presence of creatures calling themselves human was too much to handle. They were so focused on their own survival that all true, sincere feelings felt extinguished.

She chose fashion design as a study, then a career. She had her own place she missed so much; yet she had to survive in this cold harsh world. Fashion was the only trade that could build a bridge between both universes. She tried to fit into the human world, though loneliness overpowered her regularly. How does one deal with mortality, when used to infinity?…

Despite of her young age and appearance, a few details gave her away, if one took the time and effort to look closer. The circle of chosen friends was extensive. Inspite of it all, she always kept her distance, with good reason. As it turns out, even Ruben would soon prove to have his own agenda when he was with her.

Abida?

Sorry?

Dreaming again? Abida, what does it take for me to awaken you? For months, I have been trying to touch the bottom of your very soul. We have been the closest of friends, accompanying each other everywhere. I highly value your company and presence near me. We are the best of proof that a man and a woman can be close, inspite of my crescent desire, yet always in the platonic meaning of the word. The plain human existence is fading like smoke when I look at the lady you have become, mesmerizing me from the first time I laid eyes on you. Do present me the honour of knowing what captures your very soul. Allow me a chance to be worthy of your love.

Abida didn’t even think of her answer. Words were born from her mouth before thoughts could take over.

I’m floating across the refreshing lake, adorned by flowers, broken by the fog that smothers the passion in your eyes. Cherry trees grasping from afar can turn out to be holly. I can’t honour your proposal. Desire is fluid like morning dew: crying to make you approach, fading before you can embrace it.

Abida, poetic spirit underneath a cool surface. Not a single creature can reach your heart. Closest for a man to achieve is being a good friend. I am determined to discover the reason for this. An unrivalled lady.

I do have a lot of friends like yourself, Ruben, don’t I?

True. All of your emotion finds its way into the world with enchanting words, admired by many. Peers are reluctant to approach you. Your name evokes strong reactions. Some despise you, others are utterly fascinated. Summoning such extreme feelings is both rare and unique.

Can you define the unique for me please? I fail to understand.

The second we arrive at a park, you transform. The best I can describe it is coming home after a long journey. We joke about hugging trees, you are darn serious about it. When you are standing near a tree, fluently laying your hand upon it, you merge or melt with it, fading away into the trunk. Your company becomes utterly insignificant to you. You behave in a different, softer way. Each element of nature becomes part of your being. Your entire presence triggers questions. The most important question has been lingering my veins for months, awaiting the perfect time to be sent towards you. Are you human?

I beg your pardon?

Don’t pretend to look so shocked, Abida. I will most certainly not be the first one to ask you this. A young lady, striding instead of walking upon wearing a long skirt or dress, is curious to say the least. Thus, people asking questions should not have to insult you. All I have seen you fall in love with, is a gown or fabric.

She was not going to indulge in this little inquiry of his, the ground was getting hot under her feet. Thinking fast was the only way out of this. She changed the subject before he even realised she was doing so.

I remember the last time we went to that exhibition on medieval attire. The man walking past us looked behind him for so long he almost ran into that lady. Remember how cross she was at him for being distracted? We laughed our heads off, that day.

He laughed at the mere memory. It worked.

When she looked at you properly, her entre face changed, like she would have seen a ghost. You were uneasy, I could tell. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were old acquaintances.

Ruben, trust me, she didn’t look familiar to me. She rubbed her eyes, as if to ensure herself being awake. Until this day I can’t comprehend the meaning of it all. I was not wearing anything special, minding my own business. My dress was entirely casual. I don’t understand.

Abida, how many times do I need to remind you? Whatever you are wearing, you impregnate it with magic of the purest kind. You have a gift of raising textile into pure art. Every woman grows uneasy, all men stare at you respectfully. You have a special aura over you, making a human wonder if you are human at all. Every fairy tale needs a spark of you to provide it with elegance.

How does a woman react to this type of love declaration with wit, elegance and diplomacy? She just had to try it.

Thank you for this enormous compliment. I consider myself a very ordinary young woman. You think of me as porcelain, whereas I am present in full carnal appearance. I can take a punch, you know that.

Except on full moon. You are nowhere to be found then. Not on campus, nor in the library, your favourite part. One would say you vanish from the earth. What happens to you at full moon, anyway?

"Nothing, I