Recycled soul: The White wizard of Hofjar

By dt kellogg

The saga of Höfar continues. In the ancient forest of Höfjar, an ancient society of elves thrive or thrived until would-be conquerors came. Recycled Soul delves into the live of one elf in particular. Her journey is quite unique from the rest of her kind. There she is born a child of privilege, her struggles are both internal and external. Conflicts abound. Then she is tasked to do the seemingly impossible. Who will she become? How will the elves respond?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781257907496

Book preview

Recycled Soul

Recycled Soul

The White Wizard of Höfjar

dtkellogg

Recycled Soul

Copyright © 2021 by dtkellogg

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

Printing: 2021

978-1-257-90749-6

Can be purchased on Lulu Publishing, Barnes & Noble, Amazon,Ingram, etc

TreasureKellogg Publishing

[e-mail]

Acknowledgements

I would like to give thanks to Monique Soileau, Danielle Lynn, Horacio Flores,  Bruce (Michael Broussard),  Doug Kellogg, Denise Hihar-Childs, Mason Soileau, and Lauren Wood. Thank you all for your part of my story.  I love you all. Without your support and pa-tience, I may have never set out on this fantastic journey

Recycled Soul      iii

Once Upon a Dragon      2

I. Long Awaited Delivery      4

II.Tӧnn      7

III. Discovery      12

IV. Archery Contest      18

V. The Naming      23

VI. The Council Meeting      28

VII. Promise Me      37

VIII. West Höfjar      40

IX. Bonding      44

X. Presence      47

XI. At the Beach      49

XII. Dream Island      54

XIII. Friends      57

XIV. Yo-ho-ho      60

XV. Hunting on a Boat      66

XVI. The Captain      73

XVII. Eleanor      80

XVIII. Lessons      84

XIX. Valtis Skatovas      87

XX. Uzeigos      92

XXI.  Alone      96

XXII. Dear Mother      100

XXIII. Meeting Taavi      102

XXIV. Fresh Air      108

XXV. Kusruc      116

XXVI. The Tomb of Romand      118

XXVII. Shuai      136

XXVIII. Storms      140

XXIX. Urgent Matters      142

XXX. Rebel Hideout      150

XXXI. Internalizing      160

XXXII. Lue-yèf      161

XXXIII. Rescue Party      164

XXXIV. Breakfast      169

XXXV. Dragon Slayer      173

XXXVI. Planting Seeds      184

XXXVII. Journey Home      195

XXXVIII. Vetur      209

XXXIX. Dragon’s Call      213

XL. Hithe Haming      217

XLI. The Climb      220

XLII. Neaiskus      224

XLIII. Heimatt      233

XLIV. Orientation      236

XLV. Shukolleig      253

Glossary      256

Once Upon a Dragon

The wrath of The Storm Lord is a terrible ordeal. He is the largest, strongest, and greediest of all dragons. His rise to power marks the end of the dragons reign. He is as white as the Northern snow and just as cruel as its coldest winter. History tells us that he convinced the Napoltimor humans to help him with promises with of riches and power. This is an abhorrent alliance. Together they slaughtered as many dragons as they can find. First in the north then to the south where the elves live, they seek out any who could challenge them.

Oh, how things have changed. Before the dragons laid claim, the elves would gather yearly together. The Höfjar elves or ‘Alfer’ as they like to call themselves meet with the Gmady elves from the volcanic islands, and the Madur elves to the East. Hundreds of years have passed since their last meeting. It is hundreds of years since the Great Storm Lord fell from the sky.

The Napoltimor people seem harmless then they spring up like the Morning Glory, and quickly choke out what they can. Their lands overseas are overcrowded slums with constant power struggles. To the Storm Lord they are disposable minions. Cunning they are, with their own schemes against him as he called forth great storms destroying his own kind they too are stealing eggs and creating an army to overthrow Storm in secret. Those dragons are mere animals, useless fodder. In the end, the elves and the other humans joined the Napoltimor and together they rise against the great Storm Lord.

The Storm Lord is whelmed. Even his great mighty magic cannot save him. Alone on an island somewhere north of Javaria I observe him. I delighted in seeing his last struggle to inhale. I don’t linger long as those cold ice eyes still strike my heart with fear.

All seems to go about their business until now. After years have elapsed and people should have forgotten, the Napoltimorians are returning to Höfjar.  Do they return to conquer the Hӧfjar forests? The Höfjar forest is over a billion 'alnire' or cubits. The Napoltimorians have a reputation for stealing land. I don’t know human minds. Perhaps it is the strange creatures that reside only here that interest them. These forests have a way. Some creatures here no longer exist in other parts of the world. Ahh… they may be fearful that these elves are hiding something. Surely they couldn’t know what I know.

It is no easy task to enter the Hӧfjar forest. To fight the Hӧfjarians is to fight the entire forest. I have never seen the like. However, it is not the Hӧfjarians struggle that has drawn me here this day, no. I don’t care about their petty trifles rather a strange presence I sense.  I watch them with great curiosity through the rustling leaves. I take note of their feeble morning chants of battle and consider as they shoot their puny needles.

I. Long Awaited Delivery

Frightfully cold air stirs lowering through the branches and around the trunks of trees in the Hӧfjar forest. It is a lengthy winter night. The wind waits outside as if wishing to creep in. It is such a warm place, this particular tree. It is a giant oak-sequoia alive and lively. The living room is lit by 111 fireflies dancing along the ceiling. It holds as many Hӧfjarians as it can bear making it appear as a busy autumn day with their chatter and warm autumn hair bouncing about. The smell of spices and plenaries delights the elves and the center hearth warms them. 

It is about time! Poor Vetur carried that child 4 months over a year!

Oh would have been better were it not like the Tundra this year! So many plants are dying!

My, don’t forget the poor animals! I have more sickly squirrels than normal and even a raccoon dog and dhole in my tree!

She bears us hope. We need another Builder!

Yes, her blood is strong …and with her sister next to conceive, this may very well be the boon we were looking for!

Do you think she’ll look like her father?

Oh, if only he were here to see!

His spirit was strong! No doubt he is reborn already! Strong souls never die.

All of a sudden a cry from the other room causes the room to fall in silence. All of their eyes are cast around in wonder until a voice brakes in, It’s a girl, a healthy girl!

Cheers bellow from every corner and in the center they rise. Some of the elves pull out their instruments and others begin to sing. Soon the crowded room forgets about the harsh winter outside and all is merry.

Hmmm, wonders the elderly elf with his long thin fingers wiping the vernix from the baby’s head. No color. Hmm so sharp… he says looking at the tiny swaddled bluish ball sleeping soundlessly. His face speaks of history and his eyes dinkum. 

Sumar moves in quickly to give her sister a warm towel as she climbs from the tub, her curly marigold hair flowing like a summer day. She looks so delicate. Perhaps she will get her color later.

Vetur smiles her eyes are tired and heavy as she moves to bed to lie down. Snowflake, she whispers taking her child from the elderly elf.  Her silky rich chocolate hair contrasts sharply against her new born pale skin with white downy hair. 

Consider Tӧnn as her name for now…um…until her proper naming. The elder elf suggests with his eyes distant in wonder and contemplation.

My dear sweet, Sumar chimes to her sister. Her golden eyes are peering down into Vetur’s while she strokes her shoulder gently. Shall I bring you some cake?

Just nectar water. Vetur answers eyes clinging to her infant as if entranced.

Sumar hurries out to order up some nectar water in the noisy room a few feet away.

How long do you need before we show the child, Asks the elderly elf? 

I would like a short nap please, Forfadir. Vetur answers.

Yes, I will let everyone know. Forfadir turns as if having to rip his own gaze from the child.

Sumar returns and rests lovingly by Vetur and baby. She is white as the snow. Sumar marvels. I don't think there has ever been a white alfer born. She is very much a delicate little snowflake. They both smile and see Tӧnn smiling with them.

Vetur and Tönn succumb to sleep with Sumar rest next to them.

Shortly after a young green haired elf comes in carrying a gourd filled with nectar. Oh my! She whispers when she gets close. She is colorless! She announces puzzled. 

Yes, agrees Sumar taking the gourd from the elf child. 

The infant shifts and turns up to look at the two peering at her.

The young elf eyes widen as she gasps, Oh is she blind!?

Humph. No, child. She passed all of the tests to perfection. Her eyes are just a very pale shade of blue. They may brighten as she grows.

Ha blue!? Can we have blue eyes!?

She does and the proud new member of the Húsasmi family. Sumar replies in a pompous tone.

Yes, yes ma’am, forgive me. Hamana… I have a lot to learn yet. Amana… I hope my questions didn't offend our newest alfer.

Sumar pauses and studies the young girl’s sincere manner, her eager clothes and hair carefully layered in a bun like nestle of early

pine needles. Her annoyance fades replaced by understanding, No child, what is your name?

Eowyn, she says eagerly.

Well, Eowyn, could you return in 30 minutes to help Vetur and I get ready for Tönn's first presentation to north Höfjar.

Vetur opens her eyes at the noise.

Oh. Thank you Lady Sumar, Eowyn says bowing repeatedly while walking backwards to the door.

Sumar starts gently petting her sister and Tӧnn again, I feel like I know her.

I know what you mean, but whom? Vetur agrees having woken in their exchange. 

Remember that little boy always bringing us flowers as we descended school?

Oh, Epli-lieu, Vetur laughs for the first time that evening. He would tell me I was the most beautiful in Höfjar then tell you the same.

Oh that rascal, but he was a charmer, wasn’t he?

Yes, he was. I kind of liked him.

As did I... I can’t forget that gay smile he always wore. What ever happened to him?

He died along with our husbands’ sister. He became the best marksman in all Höfjar army and was assigned to defend my husband when he went to help yours. I am surprised I did not mention it to you.

You might have, I just don’t remember with other issues pressing down on me.  Vetur touches Sumar’s belly with the tips of her fingers.

I hope she is greeted well, your little snowflake. Sumar expresses before gazing down at her own belly. Her cousin is due in two months.  They will be like siblings. We will tell them of the great deeds of their fathers. Deemada Napols! Our family will always remain strong.

II.Tӧnn

In an alcove interspersed with hanging vines and saplings are luminescent orchids at the foot of a proud looking elf warrior statue. The deep sluggish fragrance of the foliage is thick in the air. Sitting next to it is Tӧnn. Her eyes are drawn up and her face wrinkles.

Father, I want to be like you, but… She sighs. I am not strong. I’m not even like mom. I cannot make plants grow. I am like nobody. She mutters disgruntle. I am too white to hide properly. I’m a freak. I bring shame to the Húsasmi name. No one really likes me… Well, Mother loves me… Aunt Sumar… maybe Vian, but he can be a jerk! Mr. Palo…perhaps… Her face lifts up with excitement. Oh, he says I am to become one of the council members! I’ve read most of our books here, just the ones they hide I haven’t read…. and… and next year I can go study with the West Höfjar Alfer! She stops suddenly with a quizzical expression. Why can’t all the alfer go to school? Did you go to school being adopted? I really like to read and learn history. She continues rambling. I don’t think I want that life just sitting around with all the humans invading our land. I want to be in the action fighting! No, she corrects herself. I want to lead it! Her eyes are drawn down as she adjusts herself. Deemada, no one will teach me the bow. Oh they all laughed when I tried to use a sword. Humph, one day I promise you, I will be much feared. I will avenge you. Her pale blue eyes are stern with conviction when her words pass her lips. She stretches out her skinny arms examining them then quickly opens her large satchel and pulls out a recurve with ends that resemble snowflakes. Momma made this. She announces to the statue holding it out. It is the most beautiful…." She stops short. Her ears twitch as she catches a sound. Without hesitation she throws her old battered satchel over her shoulder and scurries away across the thickly grown foliage into a short clearing.

Just beyond are trees for miles as far as anyone can see from this low point. She crouches down moving along the tall grass into the trees scanning everything with her eyes while grabbing handfuls of dirt and rubbing it on her skin and in her hair. She adds some thistles to her long braids before she climbs a thick pin cherry. Sitting on a branch she strings the recurve and waits.  She watches cardinals and warblers flutter then squirrels scurry about until they scatter suddenly. Twisting to her right she spots a curious bobcat.

Go away. She whispers. The bobcat comes closer clawing then leaping a little further up. Tӧnn regards it. Her eyes’ delving into its eyes as it continues undeterred. 

Go…..away. She repeats more intent.

The bobcat pauses considering then carefully it climbs back down the tree in reverse.  Tӧnn follows it with her eyes as it disappears between the birch trees. Sometime later her stomach begins to grumble but she finally catches site of a mule deer. She suppresses her hunger gripping her bow up steady with the arrow notched. She struggles to draw back the string. Her lips purse as she draws in her breath tight. Her arms tremble. With all her might she takes one last tug and lets it go. It soars straight but falls just short of the deer. Her face is painted with disgust.  She climbs down the tree with a countenance of defeat. ‘It’s always the same’ she thinks reaching the bottom. ‘Short. Always just short…’

Low, she changes direction. She is heading home. In her path just a mere 30 feet (9.14m) unaware of her presence is an ample sized elk.  Tӧnn smiles seeing the prize. She pauses drawing a few arrows discreetly. She positions her body with the recurve and arrows notched.  She withdraws her breath. Her hands tremble then with an exhale she loosens an arrow then another. The elk jerks then jumps. Its pose is circumspect as it searches for its foe a moment. Tӧnn is already pulling back for a third shot sure this time she will strike it, but the elk darts towards her. They are nearly in face-to-face before it makes a quick left leaping past her. Startled she drops her recurve sending the arrow into a hornbeam tree top as she falls backwards. Her adrenaline is pumping too fast for comprehensive thought. Agilely she springs up mind bent on the elk. She runs after it forgetting her wits. It proves too fast. Harder she pushes her legs as rapid as she can. Tears of frustration fall as the elk becomes smaller in her view. Between the birch and tulip trees she runs thinking to cut it off, but she trips and falls. Eyes fixed on her goal she neglects to brace herself. With outstretched arms and fingers, she speaks in her descending. Words from a found memory spill forth from her lips.  El din gar!

White streaks with a bluish hue shoot out from her finger tips in long irregular patterns. The sound is of a sizzle. The area is lit suddenly bright light. It scorches the bushes in its path and the elk when it greets it. She hits the ground with a hard thump.  Her chin and belly receive the cruelest blow. She is unaware of her aches as she momentarily stares at her hands. The elk whaling in pain grabs her attention. She raises her head to see it hobble away. Guilt and regret set in as she heaves herself up.  The beautiful elk image stays in her mind coupled with the white energy that came from her fingers. A burst of excitement comes and she repeats, el din gar. Again the white energy in irregular streaks emit from her finger tips.

Ugh. I am sorry. She says aloud to the elk that is nowhere to be seen. Suddenly she feels tired. On her hike back home her conflicted mind replays her memory of the episode and the elks cry echoes in her brain relentlessly. Her stomach grumbles again as daylight dwindles.  ‘Deemada,’ she curses to herself knowing that her mom will be upset if she misses dinner again. Physical exhaustion is taking hold and she cannot ascertain why.  She denies her thoughts to linger on it and pushes forward. 

A smile creeps across her dirty face as the thought occurs to her. ‘I don’t need a bow if I am a magus.’  She contemplates all the books and tales that she has read of the great wizards of the Madur and the fire mages of the Gmady Alfer. What does this mean? She wonders to herself. 

It is dark when she comes through the door. Her mother’s eyes are sternly studding her. She lowers her head and mumbles, Sorry. Her jaws clench and her face tingles uncomfortably as she proceeds to the sink. She thoroughly washes her hands and face seemingly under a microscope. All is quiet, agonizing quiet in the duration as she takes her place at the dinner. The minutes are drawn out. The table appears still. Her family’s places are cleared and only cold food and her empty plate remains.

So, what have you been up to? Vetur asks politely with knowing eyes.  Sumar and Vian watch in silence. Her seat becomes uncomfortable.  She readjusts herself as they continue to stare. Finally Tӧnn glances up looking back at them one at a time. 

I saw an elk. She says in attempts to be forthcoming with her eyes fixed on her plate. He was beautiful. I was unsuccessful in my attempts. She says hurrying the last sentence rushing to fill her plate with the cold momos and chutney. She wants them to begin talking like they do when she isn’t the center of attention, but she knows that is unlikely. 

The family now takes a break from their stares and regards each other with brevity. 

Better luck next time… Tönn adds giving herself an extra helping of nasturtiums and greens on top pleased with the short breath of relief from their suffocating focus.   

Where is your recurve? Vetur inquires smoothly. Her eyes jab at Tönn’s surprised expression. 

Tӧnn gasps remembering. She recalls her steps of the event in her mind. Blood fills her face realizing for the first time that she had dropped it in the chase.  I lost it. She says examining her plate. Sorry momma. Tönn’s eyes meet Vetur’s. No need to make another. I am no good at it anyway. She says before shoveling food into her mouth. ‘Careless idiot,’ she thinks to herself.

Vian giggles then makes oink oink noises. His curly hair bobs about like little pig tails all over his head.

I don’t believe this IS my niece. Sumar expresses looking at Vetur in disbelief. 

No, returns Vetur. My Tӧnn is very diligent…stubborn. She would never give up on anything. She regards Tӧnn curiously. So what really happened?

Yes, yes, do tell! pips in Vian gaily.

Sumar shoots Vian a disapproving look. He lowers his head in response. Drekanum watches jealous of him, and how he resembles his mother.

Tönn’s mind is relentless somewhere on the forest floor sits her recurve but all she hears and sees is the howling elk and the white streaks. It is an evil rerun her guilt plays denying her access to the location of the fallen recurve. ‘Kill quickly, mercy,’ she can hear Palo say and she did neither. I dropped it. Sorry. She tells them sullenly. Her appetite vanishes replaced by sudden inquisitive thoughts. How do you speak to plants? How do you make the trees and vines grow as you please? She inquires with her eyes searching theirs. 

Honestly. You sing with your emotions. Vetur replies in earnest.

Sumar shakes her head in agreement, but her eyes delve deep into Tönn’s dissatisfied.   

You don’t use the energy? She asks them.

What energy my child? Vetur asks with her eyes darting to her sister’s as if exchanging thoughts. 

Well everything has energy and… Tӧnn says matter-of-factly then stops short thinking it better to not say what she knows.

Energy? Sumar asks. My voice is song to them and they love me so they listen as if I were their mother. What are you speaking about dear?

Oh nothing, Aunt Sumar. I may have misread a book somewhere. Tönn examines her mother a second. May I be excused? I had a hard day. 

Yes. Vetur says returning the examination of her demeanor. Only on the condition that you spend an hour in meditation, Vetur says shooting Sumar a quizzical expression.

Tӧnn nods. She cleans her area diligently, and hurries off to their shared bedroom.

That night Tӧnn is fraught with strange dreams that cause a great deal of tossing and restlessness. In one vague memory of it, there is a giant white mass hovering above. It is not quite clear as to what form it happens so quickly, but she is immediately immersed in flames only to wake up freezing in an ice storm. She isn’t exactly awake however, just transported to another hazy foreign place where the hovering white is clouds. She sees the great mountains of the North beyond Deeoft Svartur. The dream is lost to her subconscious except for a lonely tree on a small island. The tree is clear, the only thing clear in her dreams. She begins to yearn for the North overseas.

III. Discovery

Mr. Ayrshire, Tönn calls out meekly. I really do like it here, but I need some free time to myself.  Is it possible for me to just get out and explore the forest?

Ayrshire studies Tönn. His suspicious eyes delve deep into hers. Yes, you are moving too fast for the others. You should try making friends. Try smiling more it will serve you well. He takes a deep breath. You have earned it. You may leave after your work is done each day. He says tilting his head and squinting his right eye as if it to help him peer into her mind. I strongly suggest that you socialize more with your peers. Ahem. Report back to my tree at sundown, no later. Understand?

Yes sir! Tönn exhales as if a burden is released. How long she wonders has it been since she had time to practice any of her magic. ‘What a weirdo.' She thinks to herself before a perpetual grin takes over her face. She even finds herself humming gaily as she works.

The midday sun on Tönn’s skin is relaxing. The fresh green and earthy scents are stimulating. The light breeze swishes her hair triggers pondering.  She strolls along aimless at first but when she spots a small river she follows it. Long a hard she focuses.  Tönn’s thoughts are bent on a spruce tree. Her eyes trace the outlines as she places her hands on its bark. Gradually her hand browns. She moves her hand and it takes the impressions of the branches and leaves. It fades in and out with her white silhouette visible. She sighs after grueling hours but her mental fortitude remains strong. Tönn’s shuts her eyes tight remembering the frequency emitted by each tree. She peeks with one eye to see if she is successful, and indeed she is. She laughs aloud pleased. She continues moving along keeping the trees energy signature in her mind. This proves a difficult and taxing endeavor. Her movement seems to disrupt her tree appearance not to mention the energy she alters seems to drain her own. Drekanum isn’t really sure where she concocted the idea that she can become invisible. It could have been Forfadir’s remising or books Palo allowed her to read, but she is sure beyond doubt that she can.  She is determined to prove it then read the forbidden books the council has stored away. The thought excites her as she edges over the water to take a quick drink.

Leaning over she begins to have a strange sensation. It feels a bit as a tingling in the back of her mind though it is less physical and more a mental. She has trouble discerning exactly what but the sensation grows further down the river. The more she follows the more it the familiarity increases. It is as if it is something she should know, something she has forgotten. At first she makes her way towards whatever it is while practicing her invisibility. She moves silently past a group of foxes and a raccoon like a specter. In no time though, she becomes worn down. The sun soon reclines. Fear, fatigue, and hungry threaten her. 

Oh, Mr. Ayrshire will be so upset with me. She says aloud with her eyes darting around at every ruffling leaf and breaking branch. She can’t stop now though, the burning desire to know trumps everything. It drives her on. 

Tönn forces herself along only to collapse upon a knoll covered purposefully with moss. Laying her head down her eyes half close when she catches a glimpse of some berries. Feebly she crawls as an infant and hurries them into her mouth no longer able to reason much more than her base needs. It is at this point her resistance fails. At-tempts to keep her eyes open is futile. 

Tönn doesn’t sleep long though, only a half an hour lapses. When she does wake, she immediately starts examining the mound in the dark though her eyes are of no design to see well at this hour. Hӧfjarians are day creatures thriving best when in the rays of the sun. Determined, she pushes on with her fingers fumbling about with eager anticipation. Indeed, there at the stay on the far end is a soft spot.  It is soft not as silky or downy but rather lacking of base, tender. To her finger tips it is of weaved wicker she assumes by the texture. 

Aha, a door! She exclaims forgetting herself. Delicately she tries pulling then pushing the flexible but sturdy door, but nothing. She continues diligently until finally her fingers find a latch. She prods and pokes it until it opens. Slowly she opens it her but anticipation is hindered by fear now that the moment is upon her. The hatch opens out. She pokes her head in peering into a hollow darkness. The dark seems to mock her. She is afraid to create light, but more afraid to enter without.  She rubs her hands together like she is washing them. Lurt. She mumbles.  As the word flows a small light appears between her hands. When she spreads her hands apart a bubble of light rests between them.  She gives it a tap and it moves forward in a light airy manner. It emits a luminescence that dances along the walls. It itself does also seem to bounce as if a bubble floating on some unfelt breeze lighting her way. Cautiously she climbs down. It is a small narrow passage caverned into the ground. The steps are well worn most likely from heavy use. It is also damp and narrow leading, spiraling down unlike any Hӧfjarian construction. The idea of what may lurk down below brings a prickling to her delicate skin, but the sensation is undeniably potent as is her nerve to continue. She slinks down tapping the bubble further ahead until the passage comes out into an opening. There is a honey