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

He had peculiar dreams along the way. Most vague. In his mind’s eye he was in a forest. He was traveling through it with a beautiful, yet filthy woman who was always hiding her face from him with either a hood or her matted hair. As he tried to get peeks at her face, she evaded him more. Her eyes were changeable, shifting in colors and even shape. Sometimes they were elvish glassy with no irises at all, but pure shiny black like obsidian. Other times they were a mixture of cat’s eyes, falcon eyes, and owl eyes. And her matted hair had flowers growing in it, as if her long curls were the roots. For some reason he found that entrancing. She often spoke to him, calling him Sir Knight, which he had not heard since he had left the other world. And when he woke with the jostling of the bus, he felt an excruciating longing for her as if he had been separated from her for ages and was finally going back to her.

When the bus arrived at the Wells station, he staggered off into the dim light, feeling achy. Yet, as he managed his feet, Daniel still appreciated that it was a bus he was riding and not a horse. Though he was fond of horses, he was not so insanely fond of them as Eddie to forget the piles that had formed on his rear from the constant riding they had done as knights. Or the bow-leggedness. The bus was also a smoother ride. One could not sleep on a horse. Yet, it took a bit to get his feet—and he was glad to be walking again.

Daniel had already booked a room at the White Hart Inn, following the GPS on his phone to get there. In the dark, he walked down the roads towards the old cathedral where he saw an old stone arch. The hotel was across from it. He checked in. And as much as he desired to crash directly in his single bed, Daniel went downstairs to get something to eat first.

 It was a quaint place. It had simple old world character which he was sure made tourists happy. Yet when he sat down at a table, Daniel’s hand felt warm, stung almost. He casually looked around as that meant that indeed an elf, or some other supernatural being, was near. He was on the right track at least.

But he was too tired to go searching yet. It was best to get comfortable and take in the lay of the area. Besides, the Elf—if she had sensed him—might approach him if he remained a non-threat. That would even be better. It certainly would save him time.

As soon as he could get a menu, Daniel asked for whatever was being served that evening—which in this case was steak and kidney pie. The waitress was pretty, but not an elf. And for that matter, the strength of the burn had ebbed. If the Elf had been there, she had left. His hand had gone a dull warm again.

 Daniel watched the waitress return to the kitchens with his order, wondering how to go about his search in the town. He had done only a tiny bit of research on elves connected to Glastonbury. He had found one report that occurred ages ago, long before he was born, but that was it. He would have to talk to the mayor or the town council to find out if any of the stories were true, and how well the Elf was hiding herself. Some elves never let on what they were. Others were local legends that only got whispered among locals. She seemed the latter for some reason. 

“You,” a man sitting at the bar said, gesturing to Daniel, “S’not tourist season. What brings ya to Wells?”

The man had the look of a potato gone bad. Under his straw hair, he had lumps and bumps on his face, wrinkles, and little growths coming out of him. He had all his teeth, though they were yellow with receding gums—a possible heavy smoker or a guy who just did not understand flossing. Daniel looked around to make sure the man was talking to him and not someone else. A romantic couple sat in the corner at a table, but that was it. Everyone else had gone.

“Sorry?” Daniel said, “I didn’t get that?”

The man lifted up his glass of beer and carried it over to Daniel’s table, setting it down as he scooted into Daniel’s chair. “I said, it s’not tourist season. What’cha doin’ ‘ere?”

Blinking at him, Daniel shrugged. “Uh, I’m a student researcher in mythology and mysticism. I heard a rumor about an elf in this vicinity, and I’ve come to find how much truth is in it.”

“Ah…” The man shook his head, the lumps up close, his breath like beer, though his body odor was akin to a cistern, and rotting moss. And a tinge of hedgerow berries. “You can do better than that.”

Shuddering, Daniel grabbed the man’s ear. “Robin!? What’d you do? Follow me?”

“OW! Leggo! I knew where you were goin’ now didn’t I?” the old mossy, lumpy man protested, smelling less bad, but only just. It was all that faerie glamour, and Robin Goodfellow was an expert. “I sent you ‘ere.”

Letting go, Daniel huffed. “Alright. But I thought you wanted to keep out of it.”

“I changed me mind,” the elf in disguise said, rubbing his sore ear. “But this certainly isn’t the way to start, is it?”

“What?” Daniel protested. “Getting dinner? I’m famished.”

Moaning, the lumpy shape of Robin Goodfellow slumped in his seat. “Fine. Order me some too then, would you?”

Chuckling, Daniel did, looking for the waitress. There was no point in starving an elf.

The waitress had shot the lumpy smelly form a disgusted glance as she walked away with that order, and also when she came back. Daniel winked at her when she left again. 

As they ate, mostly in silence, Robin whispered to Daniel some details he had left out previously—details about the Elf’s recent life from that past century.

“Kidnapped?” Daniel finally gasped between bites, enthralled over Robin’s almost graphic-novel level of description. “How long ago?”

“Oh… I dunno.” Lumpy Robin shrugged, going all cockney in his act. “A few decades ago. The eighties, I think. That’s a blip in time for an elf, ‘ardly even a second ago. Before that, it was a lousy university that exposed ‘er existence, put ‘er life in danger and nearly destroyed everything. She ‘ad to rebuild and really only ended up with a couple of trees. The incident is all sort of hushed-hushed now. They pretend she’s not ‘ere, but just a regular pleb.”

“Which is why she won’t like strangers,” Daniel murmured with a nod. He then eyed Robin. “So… why didn’t you just let her go wild on me, and just sit back and laugh? I know you’d find it funny.”

“Wouldn’t.” Robin stuffed more steak-and-kidney pie into his mouth, chewing with enjoyment. Daniel always found it interesting that elves were not vegans, or even vegetarian. Not that he was, but it blew away some modern tropes that were being pushed in the world about being eco-friendly. Elves did not abuse nature. They thrived in it. But they loved eating meat.

Daniel smirked. “Oh, come on. I know you like a good joke.”

Yet Robin shook his head again, pointing his fork at Daniel. “A good joke, yes. But her attacking you would not be a good joke. Rather, it would be a bad one.”

Daniel colored. “Because of who I am?”

Robin shook his head, digging into his steak-and-kidney pie again. “Because I like you. And there are very few mortals I like these days. I’d hate to see her kill you.”

Something in Daniel’s stomach seemed to drop. He knew elves messed with people’s heads, and this could be Robin’s revenge for getting him to reveal the Elf’s location in the first place, yet Daniel had a feeling Puck was being honest here.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Robin nodded, smirking. That look again made Daniel think of Tom Brown.

After a few more bites, finishing off the steak-and-kidney pie, Robin said, “So, Mr. Speedy, you’ve rushed ‘ere and you intend to quickly maike friends with my friend. Is that yer ‘ole plan?”

Daniel shook his head. “I had a more delicate plan intended. I had intended to do a student inquiry like I’ve always done. Speak with the locals. Talk with the magistrates if I have to. But I’m getting the feeling these people won’t be as helpful as my previous contacts. Do you have a suggestion?”

Dirty, cockney-Robin nodded. “Yeah. I introduce ya to ‘er.”

Daniel perked up. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

Robin shook his head, leaning back in his chair, dropping the cockney. “No. I’d do that for her.”

His whole body felt warm. Daniel just hoped it was not an elvish prank. “Alright. First thing tomorrow?”

Robin shook his head. “No. You do your scouting first. Play it your way, as maybe they won’t want you disturbing an elf they have been placating. Besides, I haven’t been back in a while, and she might even be angry with me. I gotta test the waters first.”

Daniel thought on this for a moment. Of course, Puck could also be going ahead to warn her. He could not rely on this elf really.

“Ok, Hasty Harry?” Robin asked, watching him carefully.

Nodding, Daniel agreed. “Alright. But, uh, the name is Swift.”

Robin Goodfellow laughed, grinning wide.

Chapter Four

“Merlin’s eventual downfall was due to his insatiable lust for a woman. The woman was either Niviane, a daughter of the king of Northumberland, or the Lady of the Lake herself,” Prof. Birtwhistle lectured magnanimously from the bottom of the room, his PowerPoints full of fascinating imagery and facsimiles enough to keep even the most bored student interested.

He had already discussed the story of the grail, its validity and variants in the previous class, and had avoided Peter’s research questions despite the ‘American footballer’s exhausting persistence’. Peter was starting to believe Prof. Birtwhistle was Prof. Moriarty, or at least a projection of. Either way, after all that, Peter decided instead to let the law of harvest take its course with the arrogant man. He kind of wanted to see which faeries or goblins would mess with the professor. He was even thinking about Daniel inviting over Puck to do the honors. It would be fun to watch.

However, after sitting through the third lecture, Peter could see why Prof. Taylor thought this proud man was a degree macabre rather than just a fool messing in the supernatural. He noticed the man wore various symbols Peter had only seen among the Middleton Village witches—symbols connected to their craft. It occurred to Peter that maybe prof. Birtwhistle was a witch. It certainly explained the man’s mocking hostility, not just to him, but to the SRA who hunted for witchcraft evidence to end dangerous covens. With this in mind, Peter attempted to see what the professor’s interest in Merlin and elves really was about. Perhaps he wanted to become a Merlin, or to have his power.

“During Niviane’s stay in King Arthur’s court,” the professor pontificated, “Merlin fell in love with her. It is said she was frightened of his power. She believed