CHAPTER SEVEN - ONLY ONE

The Gallifreys smiled benevolently at Ciaran. Thirteen years had changed them. They had twin heads of white hair now. There were more wrinkles around Mrs. Gallifrey’s eyes - “Call me Helen, Ciaran, you aren’t a teenager any longer!”   Dr. Gallifrey’s paunch was a little more pronounced - “It’s still Doc G, Ciaran. Everyone calls me that. Can’t even remember my own first name any more.” But they still moved with health and vigor and seemed just like the bright sparks he remembered.

Ciaran felt a wave of relief go through him as he settled into the almost forgotten rhythm of these people he had known and loved.  Living in Forest Falls had been the best time of his childhood … before the incident anyways . It would not have been the same without the Gallifreys. To have one good thing still be there as it was … gave him a sense of peace.

Or it would have been peace, if he wasn’t hiding an Elf upstairs.  The juxtaposition of this very normal couple being in his home while knowing an ethereal, beautiful, mythical creature was in his parents’ old bedroom, clutching old journals to his chest had him feeling surreal.  But in order to keep the Elf safe, he needed to act normal with the Gallifreys.  So he focused himself on seeming like there was nothing to see here.

“Thank you so much for all the groceries and taking such good care of the place for me,” Ciaran said as he put mugs of strong, hot tea before both of them.

“It’s no bother.  Our hens are laying too many eggs for us to ever eat.  And I enjoy shopping,” Helen said with a laugh.

“Don’t I know it.” Doc G gave an affectionate roll of his eyes.  “I will have to keep working until I walk into my grave to afford her shopping addiction.”

She playfully hit his arm. “You love working, old man. Nothing could make you stop practicing.  My shopping is just giving you cover.”

He chuckled and kissed her temple.  “You’re right about that. As you are about … well, everything.”

Helen leaned her head against Doc G’s shoulder.  “And that shows why we’ve been happily married for forty years.”

“Forty-two.” Doc G grinned.

“Forty-two years together … that’s awesome,” Ciaran said.  

According to Dr. Williams that would be longer than he’d live.  But he pushed that grim thought away. He didn’t feel like he had yesterday: ill and weak and worn out.  Now, he felt so alive. He felt like he could live forever, not a mere forty-two years.  

“It’s flown by,” Helen said with a fond smile at her husband.

“Dad always saw your relationship as …” Ciaran felt his throat grow tight with sudden emotion.  Talking about his parents, and the loved they shared was painful at times. People had told him how they had inspired the idea of true love in even the coldest hearts. But he pushed on, “Well, you guys were the model for what he always wanted with Mom.”

But she didn’t even make it to thirty years old.  Forty-two years of marriage was something she could never hope for.

The Gallifreys looked at him out of sad, understanding eyes.  They had known his mother when she was a girl and teen. She’d come here with her parents.

“Your mother was one in a million,” Doc G said. “From the time she was a little girl she was brave, always sticking up for everyone. Didn’t surprise any of us when she became a police officer.”

“To protect and serve was her motto,” Helen agreed.

Ciaran would never share his belief with them that his mother may have decided to choose a dangerous profession and take extra risks, because she would rather have been killed saving someone else rather than have the disease take her.  He cleared his throat and quickly picked up the dishes and took them to the sink.

As he was scraping both plates clean, Helen frowned, “Are you sure we didn’t interrupt you?  Do you have a guest?”

Ciaran froze.  Had they seen the Elf?  Had the beautiful creature made his way back down?  Did the Elf not understand that he must stay hidden?  But somehow Ciaran knew he’d be aware if the Elf was in the room even if he didn’t see him. In fact, he could sense his presence upstairs.  

“Ah, no, no, it’s just me and Twig.” He gave her a nervous smile over his shoulder as he washed the plates.

“It’s just … there are two plates, dear. You mustn’t be shy if you have a guest.” Helen gave him a tender smile.  He wondered if she knew he was gay and thought he was worried about their reaction to it.  

“Oh!  Oh! These!”  He held up both plates.  Fuck, how do I explain having two place settings?  He saw Twig at that moment trying to eat a stray piece of bacon that he had scraped into the sink.  As he watched Twig crunch down the soapy bacon, the answer came to him. “I set the second place for Twig.”

Doc G gave out a rumbling laugh.  “You set a place for your pet?” He touched the fork and knife that were still on the table. “And you make her use silverware?”

“Well, she’s more than just a pet.”  I’m beginning to wonder how much more when she can talk to Elves.  “Besides she has to have her ration of bacon and a plate is more civilized than the table.  Less messy, too. She has a little problem holding the fork and knife but we’re working on it.”

His joking response seemed to have allayed any suspicions the Gallifreys had that there was another person in the house.  His heart though still was hammering in his chest.

“Of course Twig must have bacon!  Oh, you sweet little girl, I remember when Ciaran found you.” Helen extended her hands towards Twig.

The red fox leaped off the kitchen counter and raced to her. With one bound she was in Helen’s lap, presenting her head to be scratched.  Helen obliged and gave her many kisses as well. Ciaran couldn’t help smiling as he saw Twig being loved and loving another.

Just then he caught sight of  Anam out of the window. The Elf’s horse was contentedly grazing in the field.  He wondered if the Gallifreys would him about the horse and what he would say about that. He’d taken up horseback riding?  He’d never been on a horse in his life. Seeing Anam though made him think of other riders, of the black riders. His hands tightened on the plates as he remembered the sword he wield last night.

Those black riders been here before. Twice. Once before my mom died.  And once when I was fifteen. Then there was last night. Maybe those aren’t the only times they’ve shown up.

He turned his gaze to Doc G. “Has there been …” He paused, unsure how he could ask if there had been strange happenings around town - men on black horses - without sounding like a lunatic.  Considering Doc G was the one who had initially treated him after the incident, he really didn’t want to raise the old man’s suspicions that he was having another episode.  “Has there been any strangers around lately?”

The black riders are certainly strange.

It was Helen who answered with a rather startled look, “Why yes!  Some people have claimed to see these women or girls in white in the forest --”

“Now, Helen, Mrs. Beecher is not a source to be trusted,” Doc G reprimanded his wife gently.  “She spends all her days looking through her binoculars into the woods, she has to think she’s seen something or it’s not worth all those hours of her life she wiled away doing it.”

“She’s not the only one, dear, you know that. Mr. Kingsman isn’t exactly one to see things at night, too,” Helen pointed out.  “And the horses --”

“That’s just kids,” Doc G cut her off.  He cast a faintly worried look at Ciaran. After all it had been a giant black rider that was the cause of the incident. Helen didn’t know that as it was doctor-patient confidentiality.  Ciaran had thought that everyone knew what he’d seen and believed him just as crazy, but evidently Helen had forgotten or had never known.  

“Why were you asking, Ciaran?” she asked. Her eyes widened with interest as she asked, almost conspiratorially, “You haven’t seen anything, have you?”

Ciaran felt like this was the million dollar question.  He could say that he had seen three black riders with flaming swords that disappeared when he killed them with what had to be a magic sword.  Oh, and he had an Elf that had been chased by the riders upstairs. But, of course, he didn’t say that.

“I just thought I saw some lights,” he lied, completely and utterly lied.  “But I haven’t been here in so long, maybe there’s been development around here?”

He made the last a question.  His casual tone and attribution of the “lights” to development seemed to put Doc G at ease while it disappointed Helen.

“No, but if you remember, kids are often out there with flashlights.  Playing and such,” Doc G said. “I know it must sound strange to you after all your time in the city, but it's still safe to play out here.”

Ciaran didn’t agree.  The city was likely much safer.  If more black riders appeared they could be hurt or, more likely, killed. He had to communicate with the Elf somehow about the riders and if more would be expected.

It was then that he noticed that the doctor had brought his black bag.  “Are you going on rounds after this?”

Or am I one of your rounds?

“What?”  Seeing where he was looking - at the old fashioned medical bag, Doc G colored slightly.  He wasn’t a good liar. “Well, I am always prepared.”

“In case a patient calls?” Ciaran asked, his chest tightening.

“Doc G, don’t be cute with him,” Helen said as she picked up Twig and headed towards the porch. “He’s always been smart.  Ciaran, we are here for you.  But your father asked Doc G to check on you as well.  But I’ll let you two talk. Doctor and patient confidentiality and all that.”

She went out on the porch, petting Twig. That left the two of them alone.  Doc G was looking at him kindly. He did not get up from the table, but continued to sip his tea.  Ciaran’s arms crossed over his chest defensively. A doctor examining him might pierce the potentially shallow feeling of good health he currently had.  Dr. Williams’ face flashed before his mind’s eyes and he swallowed.  He didn’t want to be reminded of his death sentence, let alone, his illness.

“What did Dad say?  I’m assuming he called you,” Ciaran asked finally, his tone more sharp than he intended.

Doc G shrugged with one shoulder, not seeming to react to the evident unease that was running through Ciaran. “He told me what I already knew, which was that you were coming out here.”

“And that worried him?”  Ciaran asked it as a question, but he already knew it was true.   His father had been all out lawyer interrogating mode the night before.  He should have known that he would reach out to the doctor. “It’s amazing the things that … worry him.  Most times, it seems like he doesn’t care at all. But now he takes a small, insignificant thing and blows it up.”

“You know he loves you, Ciaran.  Your father is just not a man who shares his emotions easily, but he has them. I think he feels things deeply,” Doc G responded.

“Not about me. He’s stopped allowing himself to care.”  Ciaran could not help the bitterness from seeping into his tone. Seeing that the doctor was about to contradict him, he held up a hand. “I know why you think otherwise. That time we were here - when you knew him best - he was different, but after things happened here … He changed. Or more like, went back to how he was after Mom died.”

Doc G nodded slowly.  “So he called me for old time’s sake?  Not because he cares about you?”

“He just doesn’t like being surprised and me coming up here was a surprise.  He felt my explanation for coming to a place where I’d been happy wasn’t good enough so he hopes that you’ll ferret out the real reason.” And there was a very different reason before, but now … now everything’s changed since I met the Elf.  “He’s using you, Doc G.”

Another slow round of Doc G’s head bobbing.  “That may be one way of looking at it. And you may be right that consciously that’s why he’s doing this, but I’m a big believer in the subconscious motivations of men and women. They are far stronger than we give them credit for being.”

“I think you’re imputing your good nature to him,” Ciaran said with his chin tipped up. “Believe me, I don’t want to believe that about him, but I think that’s the cold, hard truth.”

“I imagine it’s a cold and hard thing to feel,” Doc G answered softly.  He cleared his throat and went on, “I was your doctor, Ciaran, when you were a boy.  But you have the right to say I’m not your doctor any longer though I’ll always want to take care of you.”

Hearing that had Ciaran’s chest feeling tight.  People’s kindness often overwhelmed him, especially when it was unexpected.  

“I’d like to just give you a once over today,” Doc G continued.  “And I’d like your permission to tell your Dad I did, though the results of it will stay between you and me unless you let me share that, too.  I think that would ease your dad’s mind. But that’s up to you.”

Ciaran’s belief in his new found health seemed paper thin now. After all, what if Doc G found something?  

But how can he?  He would need to take blood and run highly specialized tests on it.

“You’re not going to take my blood, are you, Doc G?  I’m sort of sick of being treated like a pincushion.”  He pushed off the kitchen cabinets and went over to the doctor with reluctance.

Doc G had already risen up from the table.  “No, just going to check your heart and temperature. Ask you how you are feeling and if anything hurts.”

“I’m feeling great actually.  And no pain.” That was so true. He wanted to go out and practice his katas after this. It had been so long since he had actually wanted to do so.

“That’s wonderful to hear.”

Doc G opened up the bag and got out a stethoscope and warmed the cold end with his breath before pressing it against Ciaran’s skin.  Ciaran went quiet as the doctor listened to his heart. Doc G nodded and seemed pleased by what he heard.

“Why did you decide to come back to Forest Falls, Ciaran?” he asked as he felt Ciaran’s lymph nodes in his neck.

“I had to get away,” Ciaran answered truthfully though that cut out most of it.

“From what?”  Doc G shone a penlight in his eyes to check his pupil reactions.

The pronouncement of my death?  

“Everything. I don’t know. I just needed a break.  The one thing about Forest Falls is that it’s quiet and peaceful and relaxing.”  

Except for the monstrous black riders and the Elves running out into the road.

He bit down on an inappropriate laugh that wanted to bubble up.

“It is at that,” Doc G agreed with a smile that lit up his face.  “Now, obviously, what I did here is very superficial, but you look … good.  Maybe a touch run down. But nothing a few weeks of rest and relaxation won’t cure. I recommend long walks, longer naps, good food and good friends.  Which means that you need to come to our house for dinner. What about tomorrow night?”

Can I bring a friend? An Elven friend?

Not having any excuse that would make sense or not seem incredibly rude, Ciaran said, “That would be great.”

“Six?”

Ciaran nodded.

“And bring an appetite.  Helen loves to cook more than she even loves to shop,” Doc G said as he packed away his stethoscope and thermometer.

“Can’t wait. I remember she made this cornbread one time when you had Dad and I over for dinner.  It was fantastic.”

“I’ll remind her.”  Doc G paused as he caught sight of the mark on Ciaran’s neck. He frowned slightly. “Did you get that mark hidden by a tattoo?”

Ciaran rubbed his neck. “No … it … it spread.”

Doc G frowned. “Can I see it?”

Ciaran nodded.  Though the design was beautiful, it was strange and he always associated it with the illness. It was unique to him like the illness was.  He pulled off his t-shirt and slowly circled for Doc G. The old, soft hands touched his skin and he flinched. The mark was tender.  

“Does that hurt when I touch it?” Doc G asked, his voice cast low.

“Hands are cold.” Another lie. He couldn’t help but lie.  

“Sorry about that.  Bad circulation,” Doc G chuckled.

He rubbed his hands together unnecessarily to try and warm them.  His fingers went back to the mark, which now ran over his right shoulder and down his spine.  The “design” were thin, long half moons with spiky points. It had always reminded him of the language in the journals the Elf currently held.  

“It’s beautiful yet so … unusual. Have your current doctors had any thoughts on this?” Doc G asked finally as he lowered his hands from Ciaran’s back.

“They did a biopsy, but nothing showed up.  Just a freak thing.” Ciaran quickly put his t-shirt back on.  “Mom didn’t have anything like this, right? Dad’s never mentioned it, but he wouldn’t. He doesn’t … talk about her.”

Doc G shook his head. “No, I’m not aware of her having anything like this.  It is truly a mystery.”

“Well, I guess it’s just one more to chalk up about our family,” Ciaran said evenly.

“You mustn’t listen to anything Mrs. Beecher says about this land or your family.  She believes she’s been abducted by UFOs,” Doc G said dryly.

“Mrs. Beecher has stories about us?” Ciaran’s eyebrows rose.

“None worth listening to.  But if you do hear anything around town … ignore it.  We’re all happy to have you back.” Doc G patted his arm. “Remember dinner at our place at 6. Do you remember the way?”

Ciaran did and said so.  He was eager for the Gallifreys to go now. He wanted to see the Elf. He wanted to try and speak to him.  Being in the Elf’s presence was amazing, even if he seemed skittish.

He’s just afraid because everything here is likely new and strange to him. I’ve got to take things slow and it will be all right.

Doc G gave him a nod.  He finished packing up his bag and they both headed to the porch where they saw Helen ensconced with Twig in one of the comfortable chairs.  

“All ready to go?” she asked brightly.

“Indeed we are and he’s agreed to dinner,” Doc G told her.

Helen’s eyes lit up. “Do bring Twig, too, dear. I’ll have something special for her to eat, too.”

Twig’s ears twitched and Ciaran could have sworn she understood what Helen was saying.  Helen got up from the chair and handed Twig over to Ciaran who petted her tenderly.  

When they were halfway down the porch stairs, Doc G turned and asked, “About your father … what would you like me to tell him?”

“That I’m fine and that he shouldn’t worry,” Ciaran said, that tightness in his throat appearing again. “And that I’ll be happy to have you look in on me whenever you think you should.”

Doc G nodded and smiled.  “I think that’s the way to go. It will make him quite a bit happier.”

Ciaran just gave him a faint smile. He watched as they both got into the car and waved as they drove away.  As soon as they were out of sight, he practically raced inside and up the stairs. He only paused outside the shut door to the Elf’s room. His heart was thudding heavily in his chest and his breathing was a little ragged.  He looked at Twig.

“We’re going to see the Elf,” he told her, seemingly unnecessarily.

She chittered back at him as if excited, too.

He knocked on the door and held his breath while he waited for a word from the ethereal being. What he heard was not what he expected.

In English, the Elf called, “Enter.”

Ciaran’s eyes widened and he looked down at Twig. “He can speak English now?”

She looked unsurprised, but eager to go inside.  So Ciaran opened the door and stepped in. The Elf was seated on the bed, legs tucked up beneath him.  He had the journals he’d taken spread out on the bed before him. His purple eyes fixed upon Ciaran.

“Those other humans are gone, I take it?” the Elf’s tone was arch, one used to being obeyed.

“Uh …” Ciaran was too stunned to speak.

The Elf tilted his head to the side. “Is my accent not clear --”

“No, no! I mean, your accent is fine.” Ciaran shook himself. “I just thought … you couldn’t speak English.”

“I could not,” the Elf said.

“But now you can?” Ciaran felt he was sounding like an idiot.

“These journals contain the key for many human languages.” The Elf gestured with one elegant hand towards the green-bound books.

“But … but you’ve only had them for like thirty minutes!” Ciaran protested, still too stunned to think on anything else.

One of the Elf’s eyebrows rose up. “I only needed a tenth that time to learn your rudimentary language.”

“Rudimentary?  Uhm, most people think English is hard, because it’s so weird in ways.” Ciaran blinked. “And I’ve never heard anyone being able to learn it in thirty minutes let alone ten.  I mean, I believe you, but … but that’s just … it must be an Elf thing.”

The Elf merely stared at him for long moments, which caused Ciaran to shuffle awkwardly.  

“You are an Elf, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I am a Valore, which is a type of Elf,” the Elf answered. He looked slightly quizzical as if he hadn’t expected Ciaran to ask, as if it should have been readily apparent.

“Oh, God, I’m so stupid.  We don’t even know each other’s names.  I’m Ciaran,” Ciaran awkwardly pointed to himself and then down to Twig, “And this is Twig though you called her Violine.”

“She is a Violine,” the Elf said, and, again, there was this sense that he was puzzled by something.

A Violine?

“She is … oh! Violine is the Elvish word for fox?”

“No.”  The Elf continued to study him with those piercing purple eyes.

When he said nothing more, Ciaran swallowed and shuffled again.  “So … what’s your name?”

The Elf seemed to straighten as he said, “I am King Aethaden Undriel.”

Aethaden … what a beautiful name!  It sounds almost familiar.

“You’re a -- a king?”

So he hadn’t just found an Elf - a Valore Elf - but also a king?  He couldn’t believe it.  But, while Aethaden was the only Elf he had ever seen, he could tell that there was something regal about the man.  His name though was still pricking Ciaran’s mind.

“Surely, your master has told you of the Undriels?” Aethaden asked.

“My master?” Ciaran repeated, not sure he had heard correctly.

Small furrows appeared between Aethaden’s eyebrows. “Perhaps that is not a word you would use?  Your lord?  The Blade that you are bound to serve?  The Riven Elf?”

Ciaran shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ve got things a little mixed up. I don’t serve any lord or Blade or whatever.  And you’re the only Elf I’ve ever seen. Elves aren’t … aren’t even thought to be real.”

Ciaran was certain that if there was a group of Elves around here, he would know. People would have found out. It was remote in Forest Falls, but not that remote.

“That is impossible and obviously a lie!” Aethaden’s eyes blazed.  

“Hey! I am not lying to you!” Ciaran stood up straighter, anger tinting his voice.  “Why would I lie to you?”

“The one who wrote these journals is a Royal Blade, a Riven Elf.  Where is he? I must find him. If he has put you under some vow of silence or secrecy, you must break it. I command you to break it,” Aethadan said.

Electricity seemed to fill the room at that moment. The hair on Ciaran’s arms and the back of his neck stood on end.  Twig chittered nervously and hid her face in the crook of Ciaran’s elbow.

“The one who wrote those journals is my ancestor,” Ciaran answered, hoping the use of the word “ancestor” would key the Elf in that this other Elf was dead.

My ancestor was an Elf?  That’s … that’s crazy, but then again, maybe it isn’t.

Aethaden waved a hand through the air as if to dismiss the existence of Ciaran and all his other family.  “He was alone here. Exiled. I am sure he did what he had to do for comfort.”

“Excuse me?” Ciaran’s temper was no fully asserting itself. “What are you saying?  Wait, it doesn’t even matter, because he’s long dead so if he didn’t care about --”

“Dead?” Aethaden went ashen faced.

Ciaran immediately regretted his cruel words.  But my ancestor died ages ago so why would it affect Aethaden so?  But then again maybe Elves are truly immortal so death isn’t a normal thing for them to think about.

“A long time ago.  In a war, I think?” Ciaran searched his memory for the snatches of his mother’s family history.  “He was a great warrior. He went into battle and was killed. I’m sorry that’s all I know.”

Aethaden swallowed. “Then I must see the other Riven Elves. There must be another Royal Blade here --”

“There are no Elves here.  There are none on Earth,” Ciaran interrupted him, not wanting him to get his hopes up. “You’re the only one.  Like I said … people don’t even believe you exist. You’re only in fairytales.”

Though Aethaden was seated, he swayed as if he was going to collapse.  Ciaran made a move to go to his side, to help him, but the Elven king steadied himself, even though he still looked as pale as chalk.

“Then …” Aethaden got out, “Then there will soon be no Elves here at all again. For without my Blade, I shall die, and my people with me.”

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