I spent the previous weekend at Based Con, a charming and small convention in Michigan. I had the wonderful opportunity to read aloud the passage I wrote the night my mother died and never was able to read to her. I think it was well received.
I wish I could have had hard copies of Book Six, but, alas, they are not ready yet. Soon, though.
Now I am home again, and I realize that I missed an event in the Year of Rachel. On Thursday, June 14th, Rachel met the Elf, Illondria, the daughter of the Dryad of the World Tree. Illondria gives Sigfried special herbs to make his elixirs extra special, and she gives Rachel a Rune that protects her memory so it cannot be changed under any circumstance.
Out from the giant hollow stepped a being. Its face was turned away, but the shell-like ears that poked through the long fern-green hair ended in delicate points.
An elf.
But not any earthly elf.
The elf stood seven feet tall, more glamorous and voluptuous than any mortal. Her skin was a luminous gray, like the smooth bark of a beech. Her eyes glowed warm as polished wood, and starlight shone where mortals had pupils. Her features were upswept, high cheek bones, slanted eyes, and fern-green brows. Long, fern-green hair floated about her like a leafy mantle.
Rachel had seen earthly elves. Once, she had accompanied her parents to a Moth wedding. The Moth family kept in contact with their supernatural kin. During the ceremony, doors had opened in the hillside, and the fey branch of the family had glided forth to join the festivities. Somber and gracious, yet filled with spiteful glee, members both tiny and tall had danced with the guests and given blessings to the happy couple. The next day, the cows throughout the county produced purple milk.
But Lord Moth’s kin, as amazing as they were, had not been like this woman. They had not had hair the color of ferns. They had not glowed, as if standing in moonlight. They had not had stars instead of pupils.
The Elf does this despite the request from the Raven—the Guardian of the world, of whom it was whispered that he was the Doom of Worlds—that she not do so. But Rachel’s humility and desire to help so touches Illondria’s heart that she gives it to her anyway.
This was the first time Rachel and the Raven spoke to each other.
She also turned in the whip she had stuck in her pocket during the battle on the 8th…only to have the proctors distrust her and insist she go through the Spell of True Recitation again, to make sure she was not hypnotized.
Only it is this time that Rachel learns that her perfect memory makes her immune to that kind of spell. (This turns out to be of utmost importance later.)
*
Rachel undergoing the Spell of True Recitation: