Elfish by Julie Steimle (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📕

“Do you even know whom you are seeking?” Robin asked, with a side look. He held his cup in his hands, pausing.

Biting his lip, thinking on it, Daniel slowly nodded his head. “Peter added it up. I did further research on it. We’ve told no one else yet—but she is not just an elf who played god once. Her name was once Shamsiel—”

Robin sapped a hand over Daniel’s mouth. His tea cup nowhere, as if vanished. Daniel’s cup knocked from his fingers. Peeking around them, he shushed Daniel. He whispered. “Don’t say that name out loud!”

Blinking, Daniel nodded.

Robin removed his hand, his smell lingering in Daniel’s nostrils. The guy had always given off a scent that was cross between tree sap and wet leaves and moss, but at this moment there was a tinge of some sort of berry odor. It wasn’t so much what Robin handled when making his teas, as his mood. He smelled like a forest often, though he also had the scent of British hedgerows. Daniel was never sure why this struck him so, until now. It was like speaking, yet with smell. It was a memory of a place through scent. He was almost saying where the Elf was, without words.

“Is it forbidden?” Daniel whispered, glancing at the ground for a broken tea cup that wasn’t there. There wasn’t even spilled tea.

Robin shook his head. “No. But names have a power. Surely you must know this as one of the Seven.”

Thinking on it, Daniel slowly nodded. Silvia had said this. It was why she insisted that he never sign his name without a certain mark within his signature. It made it so no one could scry for him. She also said that calling for a demon by name was the easiest way to summon it—and therefore not a wise thing to do. It was her explanation back when they were kids when they argued about the book Harry Potter about why saying ‘He who must not be named’ was not as superstitiously stupid as he said it was. 

“So… if I were to say her name, she would come?” Daniel asked, glancing once more for his broken tea cup. He noticed both cups were on the counter in the mobile shop. He wondered what kind of magic the hobgoblin had used to do that.

Gravely, Robin shook his head. “No. But it would rattle her. She does not remember who she is. She is at peace. To invoke her name would upset her and bring back lots of bad memories. I like her the way she is now. She is happy.”

Daniel nodded, feeling shivers go down his body. “I see.”

“So you understand now why I am reticent to tell you her location?” Robin inquired carefully.

Daniel nodded more. “I do. But I think it is wrong.”

Moaning, Robin moved to close up shop. He was done. That would be the end of the conversation. Except…

Marching after him, Daniel opened his palm, showing Robin the burning mark—one which he had already shown the hobgoblin to convince him he was one of the Seven. “I never finished telling you about how I got this mark.”

“I don’t care—”

“I told you about me getting sucked into another world, the same as my friends. But I don’t think I impressed upon you the rest, and I think most pertinent part. I also lost my memory of my past life on earth.” Daniel followed him as Robin secured the locks to the windows. “I was living my wildest fantasy at the time. I was a hero in the service of a king. A knight.”

Robin rolled his eyes, securing another lock. He brushed Daniel off. Daniel noticed the tea cups were not on the counter anymore, but in the tiny sink.

Following him to the driver’s side of the mobile shop, Daniel put a hand on Robin’s arm to stop him. “I would have died there, leaving my grieving family—my poor father who had already lost my mother who had died giving birth to me—if it were not for Jessica, the Chosen One. She woke our memories and brought us back. And believe me, coming back was not fun.”

He felt a shudder go through Robin. His elvish eyes turned on Daniel as he gazed back in earnest.

“But it was necessary,” Daniel said, more earnest than he could express. “I know it is going to hurt for her to remember her past. I know it. But I also know she needs to. It is time.”

Robin’s breathing went shallow. He stared, with agony in his eyes, meeting Daniel’s gaze. He whispered, “If you must wake her, do it gently. Make friends with her first. She does not trust easily. Her memory is not entirely blocked. Just the deep, deep past. She remembers the recent centuries with clarity. Just not… you know, pre-betrayal.”

Daniel nodded, wondering what kind of betrayal had happened.

“The town is called Wells, near Glastonbury. She lives on a small loop on a small road in what you would consider a quiet neighborhood. For an elf, it is quite noisy,” Robin said, barely even whispering. His eyes flickered glassy obsidian black as he spoke, invoking a mental image in Daniel’s head of the place. “There are a few trees there that are hers. It is what is left of her forest, surrounded by Reakes Cl. off of Balch Rd. New trees. She has an apartment at Fredrick Court. If you can find it, you can find her.”

Shivers went all through Daniel’s body. Finally. And more, he realized from Robin’s gaze that if he did not treat her well, the hobgoblin would come after him and gut him. Daniel nodded. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Extremely gentle,” Robin Goodfellow warned gravely. “Even nuclear bombs look peaceful before they explode.”

Daniel nodded again.

“She goes by two names these days, depending upon her mood,” Robin reluctantly said. “Heather Wood or Rowan.”

Nodding more, Daniel’s heart pounded against his ribs. It was really was finally happening. He had found her.

“She is Heather if you see her as an adult, and she is the more reasonable of the two incarnations,” Robin explained, making sure Daniel understood it. “Rowan is a little troublemaker and likely to wreak havoc if annoyed. I like both, but I have not hung out with either since way back when I used to help William write his plays.”

Daniel smirked at him, still not sure if Robin was serious about that. He teased a lot and was often hyperbolic.

“Did she know Shakespeare?” Daniel asked with an up-jerk of his chin.

Grinning widely, Robin replied, “The man or his plays?”

Laughing, Daniel nodded. He backed from the van. “Thank you. You have saved me a heap load of trouble.”

“Oh no,” Robin said, shaking his head gravely as he climbed into the driver’s seat, closing the door. “I’ve given you more. But… despite my lapse in sanity… I think you can handle it.”

Nodding, Daniel secretly agreed. He turned to go.

“Beware,” Robin called out as he started his engine. “Upsetting a fallen angel is not wise. You don’t want to meet her original incarnation—at least not without the rest of Seven with you.”

And he drove off.

Shivers went through Daniel. He had been right. Shamsiel. He had done his research. When Peter told him that name kept coming up in all the archaeological sites related to their Elf, he had decided immediately to see what stories lingered in common record about that name. And everything he had discovered back then, he had shared with Peter.

“From the apocrypha. Book of Enoch. Some say the stories in it are fiction and therefore unreliable,” Daniel had explained back then, just when Peter had joined him in England. “However, Shamsiel is an angel under debate. Some regard Shamsiel as a fallen angel who ended up being worshipped as Shamash, the Babylonian sun god. While others say he was the cherubim with the flaming sword who was assigned by God to guard Eden after Adam and Eve were expelled.”

“She. We are looking for a she-elf. And cherub, not cherubim.” Peter had given Daniel an incredulous look, as he was a stickler with language. The word cherubim was plural.

“Don’t let the word fool you,” Daniel had said. “And Shamsiel was said to lead three hundred and sixty five legions of lesser angels before then. He—in the legend—fought on God’s side in the War in Heaven.”

“And yet this angel became an elf who played god in Egypt,” Peter muttered. “How do you know the Elf did not just go back to playing god?”

Daniel had shuddered at the thought. It was why they had gone back to their research. The thing was, they had also called Mr. Jones, who was quite sick at the time, near his death bed, for some clarity on their Elf—long before they decided to search the Elf out in England.

That conversation had been over two years ago. Since then, Peter had scoured stacks and stacks of Egyptian papyri for evidence of Shamsiel—or for that matter, any Egyptian god that may have inexplicably vanished or diminished. And what he found was indeed a goddess.

His mind returning to present, Daniel texted Peter on his way back to his hotel: *I think I’ve found her*

He rushed down the roads at a quick pace. He needed to map out his journey and get some train tickets. He figures would have to head north to Birmingham before he could go south to Glastonbury—at least that was what he figured from looking at his transit map.

Peter texted back: ~Fantastic! Where is she?~

Grinning, Daniel replied: *Possibly a small town called Wells, near Glastonbury*

Peter’s text came after a couple seconds. ~Should I meet you there?~

Thinking on it, Daniel shook his head and texted as he crossed the road. *Not yet. I was warned to proceed with caution. You know elves. But Puck seemed to describe her like a nuclear bomb, if she really is ours.*

~That sounds about right~ Peter replied. Then he added: ~Be careful then. Text me if you need me. I am more than happy to skip these lame lectures on Merlin.~

Daniel smirked as he read that. As much as Peter was quirky, he understood the dangers of the supernatural better than anyone. Innately, really. Daniel sent one last text.

*I don’t know how long I will be there. I need to make friends first and scout out the area. I’ll keep you up to date.*

He got back: ~Ok ;) ~

Once back at the hotel, Daniel went onto the internet and researched best travel routes to Wells from there, purchasing tickets for trains as soon as he was sure. It would take him three to four hours to arrive, giving him time to formulate a strategy of approach. Elves were, on the whole, territorial. This one would most likely sense him coming.

Bag easily packed, Daniel checked out of his hotel.

The train ride from Stratford-upon-Avon to Birmingham took less than an hour. He had to walk twelve or so minutes from Moor Street past a shopping area to get to New Street where he caught the CrossCountry Plymouth train which had three stops along the almost-hour-and-a-half trip. Most of the trip was along forest to the east, and a river. Daniel slept through most of it, the rocking of the train soothing yet also keeping him from a full sleep. He finally got off at Bristol where he walked off his grogginess on his way to the bus station at Temple Meads. Once the bus pulled in, they loaded on. He found a seat near back where he could be comfortable, as it would have 47 stops along the way and he would not get off until he arrived