Chapter Eight: Gardd Addoli

The door slammed, startling him, his book dropping to the floor as he heard a familiar voice calling from downstairs. Rushing from his room, he slid into the foyer to see his dad slouched and slurring under the arm of the night deputy.

"Hey Kiddo, mind giving me a hand getting your old man upstairs?" There was a pity in the deputy's eyes that he hated. Sure, his mom had just died, and sure, this wasn't the first time someone had peeled his dad off a bar stool, delivering the grieving widower home since he was too drunk to support his own weight, but that didn't mean he wanted anyone's pity. He didn't need it.

"Sure," He mumbled, slipping under his dads' other arm. He nearly gagged at the smell of alcohol and smoke wafting from his father. Holding his breath, Alwyn focused on getting his father into the upstairs bedroom.

His dad had moved into the quest room since his mom had passed. Their old room still full of her hospice care – the piles of sheets, the endless lines of pill bottles, and various buckets. He had tried to go in there himself to clean it out, but all he could see was his mother's grey skeleton, eyes glazed and unfocused, as if her corpse were still in the bed. He didn't blame his dad for changing rooms.

"Thanks for bringing him home," he said to the deputy as he ushered him out of the door. No doubt it wouldn't be the last time, but he still hoped his dad would listen to him and go see the counsellor his work employed for grief victims. He couldn't watch his dad suffer forever; he couldn't lose both parents.

****

Wherever Wynter was taking him wasn't close. It seemed like hours of travelling before the air shimmered and parted, revealing an impressive metropolis that looked as though it had grown straight from the earth itself.

"Welcome to Alfheim, Realm of the Elves." Wynter stated, gesturing to the stone city around them. Alwyn was in awe, trying to take in everything around them. "Our destination is just outside the city."

"And what is this destination?" Alwyn had been trying to pry that answer from the shifter's locked lips since they left the library; though, however much he hoped his suspense would be lifted, the gleam in Wynter's eyes told him his hope was for naught. Impatiently he followed the shifter, threw the city and out into the backwoods. Just outside, the city turned out to be farther than he'd expected as he trailed after his mate. Finally, they stopped at the edge of a lake.

The water was grey and dingy, giving off a foul stench that burned Alwyn's nose. In the centre was a green landmass. It rose several feet from the water, a pathway winding up the side to a stone enclosure atop it.

"That's our destination?" He asked in disbelief. Wynter nodded with an amused smirk. "And how do we get there? I don't exactly want to swim through steaming swamp water." Alwyn cringed at the thought.

"We aren't swimming, we are going to ask to cross."

"Ask who?" Alwyn was feeling so beyond confused. They were alone in the middle of nowhere. Who was he planning to ask? There were no docks on either side, no boats to ride in. Just decaying plants and floating moss.

Wynter's response was a nod toward the water. Alwyn peered into the liquid, watching with wonder and horror as it rippled and fall away. A strange frog-like creature surfaced from the water; it had webbed wing like arms and a tail that swished behind it as if waiting for a reason to kill. When it opened its mouth, it didn't crock but spoke. The language reminded Alwyn of the trial. But this creature spoke the musical words in a far more guttural tone. Its garbled sound a stark contrast with Wynter's airy reply.

The conversation existed for nothing but a few sentences before the creature disappeared into the swamp. Following its departure, a path of steppingstones rose from the water; they were covered in a vegetation that Alwyn would have called algae if not for its bronze colouring. Hesitantly, he followed the shifter across the pathway, watching as each step vanished behind him.

Alwyn didn't know what he was expecting when they entered the small circular structure, but a glowing crystal staircase was not it. The crystals gutted out of the rock, their octagonal surfaces shimmering with different colours of the rainbow. Some sort of bioluminescence, Alwyn thought to himself as he inspected the railing beside them. Just like Alfheim, it looked as though it had come about naturally – no sign of modern invention, yet the impeccable structure couldn't have happened naturally. The young halfling was in awe, following robotically behind his mate.

At the bottom of the stairwell was a wall of stone that glistened with more crystals. The stone wall was arched, with large opal doors in the center. On either side of the doors, the face of a grandfatherly figure pushed out of the stone. Its beard and hair seemed to be made of leaves, vines and scattered with coniferous seeds. There was something familiar about the face that caught his attention as they passed. The ancient features pulled at a lost memory, the green eye imploring his attention.

Wynter pulled them through the doors, failing to notice Alwyn's distraction. "This is our destination." His mate's voice pulled Alwyn's attention to the scene unfolding behind the doors. All air left his lungs. He had been impressed by Wynter's garden back at the shifter's residence, but this… Alwyn didn't have the words.

An endless assortment of ferns, flora, and topiary were laid out in ways that best complemented their size and colour. Cobble stone and mulch walkways separated the different sections of pants, each with their own stone bench for a tired wander to sit and enjoy the arrangement in such a way that its complete mood was visible. Tiny plaques lined the enclosures, each defining the various vegetations and their spiritual meaning and notes for care and favourite weather. What surprised Alwyn most about the space was the openness of the room. Logically, he knew they must be underneath the lake, but the ceiling and walls looked like the glass of a greenhouse separating them from the endless expanse of a mountain valley. Alwyn had dreamed of a place like this, owning one where he could amass every known and yet to be charted plant life so that he could spend the rest of his days caring for and enjoying their splendour.

"What is this place?" The awe in Alwyn's voice was exactly as Wynter had imagined it. The happiness in his face as he took in the garden was worth the hours of listening to him ask over, and over, and over again, 'where are we going?'

"It's the Gardd Addoli, a place built in tribute to the Elves' father, the Green Man. It's run by the original family of Earth Fae, it's a very sacred place to them. Do you like it?"

Alwyn looked around him, tongue feeling heavy as he tried to think of a way to describe what he thought of the place. "Like it, Wynter I –"

"Eirian?" a voice called out to them, so full of broken hope and elation. Alwyn was pulled around as the stranger yanked on his shoulders. "Oh, dear Eirian… oh my I'm sorry I thought you were…" The stranger looked to be around the same age as Alwyn's dad, but was much taller, with an aura around him that spoke to an ageless existence. His expression had fallen into despair as he realized the young man in front of him wasn't who he'd thought it was. He recognised the expression from his own experience; when his mother died, he'd felt like he saw her everywhere. Each time she turned out not to be her, it was like she had died all over again.

"It's alright," Alwyn placed a hand on the grieving man's shoulder in comfort.

"You just look so much like my son,"

"My father used to say the same thing about my mother when she passed. Sometimes when he was too tired or drunk, he'd mistake me for her. I think we just crave their presence so much that sometimes we project their image onto others who hold similarities."

"I think you might be right, you're wise for one so young. Who is your family?"

"Um…" Alwyn passed looking to Wynter. "I don't actually know." Surprise showed in the elder's face. Alwyn wasn't sure if it was that he felt sorry for the man who was torn over the death of a child or if it was something else, but he felt compelled to explain himself to the gentleman. "I'm not actually from here, though we've been trying to figure out who my ancestors are. The council found us. I caused some disturbance when I crossed over the borderlands, and now they are gonna kill us if we don't figure it out. But we've hit a wall in our studies. Wynter brought us here. He knows how much I love plants, he's actually the one that stopped the council from killing me on the spot and figured out that I come from some sort of earth family. Wynter's really…" The word vomit was taking over his tongue. Alwyn could feel it bubbling even as he held his teeth clamped shut.

The old man smiled knowingly at him. "Why don't you two join me for dinner this evening, we can talk more about this heritage you're looking for. Perhaps I'll be able to help. My records should be more up to date than your Gwyllgi's library. And should you need to test any theories, I can help."

Alwyn turned to Wynter; the shifter could see how much his mate would love to take the man up on his offer. He knew the man talking with them was the head of the original family and owner of the gardens. The access to his resources and knowledge would help their search more than any book in Wynter's library would; he couldn't say no. "I'll just have to call my sister, make sure she doesn't expect us till later." Alwyn's eyes lit up as he smiled up at Wynter.

At the rear of the gardens was another doorway and stairs that lead further down underneath the lake. Alwyn wondered if all Fae enjoyed living underground. It seemed Wynter's home was the only place he'd been so far from that had been primarily above ground. Not that they miss the sky and sun with all these enchanted ceilings. He thought as he watched the sun setting around them.

The hallway opened up to a large seating area that was mainly done up in red velvet and maroon wood. Splashes of green foliage kept the place from becoming too dark, and Alwyn thought that the place was exactly the living area that he would have expected the elder gentleman to have. He could envision him in some black robe, with a pipe sitting in an armchair, a leather-bound book resting in his lap; like some rich grandfather from one of his dad's black and white movies.

"The phone is in here, you're welcome to use it. The kitchen is right through here." It felt strange to Alwyn to leave Wynter in the sitting area and follow the old man. It almost felt wrong to leave the shifter's side at all, even if he felt a kindred type familiarity with their host. So, he hesitated at the edge of the room, looking for some sign of what he should do. Wynter noticed his mate's indecision and gave him a reassuring smile, nodding for him to follow their host. Elves were known for their short tempers. If this one was as powerful as was said, they didn't want to chance scorning his favour.

The man led Alwyn to the dining room. A room taken up with a long mahogany table and matching wooden chairs. Along the walls were photographs and other memorabilia. Alwyn inspected them, his eyes catching on a photo of the older man and his family.

He was much younger in the photo, his grey hair jet black, his stone-grey eyes held more of an edge, even his skin seemed to hold more prominence than he did now. Next to him, a pretty woman with chestnut brown hair and matching eyes smiled proudly, a hand on either shoulder of the teens in front of her. The male teen was Alwyn's spitting image, the only difference lying in the square sharpness of the others jaw and the eyes, where his were brown, the others were stone. But what really caught Alwyn's attention was the males twin, the female teen sat there smiling up at the camera with the same smile that had told him everything was going to be fine the last day he'd visited his mother in the hospital before she died.

"Ah, I see you've spotted a picture of my family. That was always a favourite of mine. We had gone camping as a family before my son graduated from the academy. He was stellar at shaping magic, though his sister always had him schooled when it came to the plants." Alwyn could barely focus on the man's light tone. It felt like his world was teetering on the edge of a sword. They'd suspected his mother was from Annwn. They had been searching for proof of it, but until this moment, he hadn't fully believed it was true.

"What happened to your family?" His tongue felt like lead as he asked a question. He was certain the other would rather not answer. But asking was the only way he could to assure himself that the strange young woman was not his mother.

The old man inhaled a deep breath. Face fallen, eyes haunted, he answered. "It was my fault. I was foolish and power hungry; and overindulged in the magic we'd been given. I found uses for it that corrupted its original purpose. It didn't take long for the gods to become furious with me..."

****

The skies darkened around them, the ground rumbling with the descent of the gods. He'd felt the warnings in the resistance his magic had been giving him, he'd seen them in the patterns that the magic weaves into his creatures. But he'd continued on his path anyway, he'd been arrogant. The humans worshiped them as minor gods, and he had the power to rival those who challenged them. He could imbue objects with his will, he could build armies of earth and stone, build a fortress to bask in the tribute given to them.

War and tyranny were not the purpose of the powers he had been given. His powers were to heal and provide. To shape the land and encourage its growth so that it may continue to thrive without the god's direct involvement. But he had ignored the warnings that he'd been given and continued to corrupt the magic he'd been blessed.

Now as the gods split the earth, and he heard the horrible howl of the Nukelavee. A creature of burning flesh, and fiery eyes, unstoppable and driven with the single purpose: hunt and destroy all sources of corruption. His family was scattered about, his wife with their cousins in the city, his daughter on her exploration for a class, and his son had joined the Fae in their war with the Cwn Annwn. There was no way for him to warm them, to hide them, to save them.

He felt his wife go first; the sudden severing of their bond drove him to his knees. Pain ripped through his chest. He cried out in grief and agony. The skies open up then, a steaming acidic rain burning the surrounding ground, sizzling where it contacted his skin; but he could hardly feel the pain over what already coursed through him.

The sound of the creature's powerful strides and howls as it caught onto his scent brought him back to the present. He was tempted to sit there, to take his punishment and be with his wife, but the sudden pull of his senses as one of his children made a soul bond fought back. He had to survive, at least long enough to warn his children, to do anything that might save them from dying of his deeds.

So, he ran, feet sliding in the mud as the earth seemed to grab onto him. He fought on, ignoring the pain of his burning skin. He needed to think, how does one stave off the Nukelavee? How does... water. Legend stated the Nukelavee couldn't cross water. If he could find a river or a lake, he might buy himself enough time to warn his children, if the legend was true.

Ahead of him, the trees thinned the forest, opening up to reveal a large body of liquid. It wasn't quite water, if the steaming grey colouring was anything to go by, but with the sound of the Nukelavee steadily gaining ground on him, he had to chance it. Even if he could make it to the small island rising from the centre, he could send out something that would alert the others of the impending doom.

****

"It worked. The Nukelavee stayed on the shores. It glared at me as it waited for me to leave the island, but I had no intention of moving. I sent out my warning, but I got no reply. After three days, I woke to the sensation of losing my son and the next morning I could no longer focus in on my daughter. I climbed outside and the beast was gone. It had killed them all, but it never came back for me. Perhaps the Gods figured losing my family, living on without them, was punishment enough to call off their hound."

Alwyn stared at the broken man, reliving the worst moment of his life. He'd mentioned feeling the death of his wife and son but only losing track of his daughter. Perhaps he'd lost track of her because she's gotten stuck on the human side of the border after the fae closed the gates between worlds, maybe that saved her from that terrible creature and maybe years later she'd become his mother and died giving him her life.

"My mother died when I was young. Doctors said it must have been cancer but couldn't find any evidence. I just knew she was slowly fading away. She taught me about plants, how to care for them. I was studying to work with plants before all this happened. Wynter said she probably got stuck on the wrong side of the barrier when the war ended." He hoped to pull the man out of his own flash back, and hopefully have him connect with his. If he could just remember something that they could use to confirm his theory that this man's daughter and his mother were the same person.

Wallet! The exclamation broke through his puzzling as he remembered the old picture his father had given him the day he graduated. It was of his parents' first date; he'd put the picture in his wallet and always left it there. The man would surely recognize his daughter and he'd be able to compare the teen on the mantle and the photo of his mother.

The picture was worn a heavy crease down the centre. His mother was smiling brightly in the picture, brown eyes looking down at the flower in her hands, brown hair cascading down her shoulders. She lacked the elongated ears and strange earthy parlour that the teen's features held, but it was without a doubt the same person.

Alwyn held the photograph out to the distant old man. "This was my mother; on her first date with my father. He'd shown up with a flower, said it was like everything in her lit up when he gave her the bud." The old man's features clenched, then softened, his hands shaking as he processed the photo in his hands. He was both giving the man proof that his daughter was dead, but that she hadn't died because of his youthful mistakes.

"I think you're my grandfather," he said as the old man looked up at him. Stone staring in disbelief into oak.

Wynter froze at the entryway. Alwyn, the grandchild of the original Earth Elf, a man with so much power he waged war with gods and came out a survivor. Could it really be possible?