Adventures of the Ivy Princess

Chapter One

Esmerelda

It was in the summer of 38, 1838 to be exact. My village had been cursed with a particularly nasty plague. People who succumbed to it's effects became glassy eyed and quite murderous. Some say it was the brackish water, others claimed it was in the very air itself, but I knew better. Though few believed in Dragons, Wizards, Witches, Magic, Gnomes, Orcs, Fairies, Mages and Elves I had chosen to believe it all, knowing that nothing unexplained could remain so for long. After all, there seems to always be a bit of truth in every tall tale, fable or story.

I was and continue to be, one who dabbles in natures eternal magic. In our age magic didn't seem to exist, but our history is rich with tales of such magical beings that it would stretch the imagination to embrace them all. I practice a form of magic that is based largely upon those old stories. You see I found magic without looking, as if it had been seeking me rather than the other way round. I am one who speaks to nature and it replies. Not with audible words, but with patterns, ideas and formulas which I then use in my potions. I tend to be a logical man, but logic seems to play no part in what I do. I mix things together that seem to have no sensible connection with each other, yet the result is most often magical in the sum total and combination of the individual parts. I suppose that my friends would call me a driven man, for I often spend hours alone, combining things that the great trees have shown me are needful for our people as well as the animals. Because of this self imposed isolation I tend to lead a fairly sparse social life which makes my circle of friends rather small. Some called me odd while others called me friend. Either way, those who fell ill would always seek me out in the hope that I would provide some relief from their particular maladies. I was not always successful in the attempt but my victories far outweighed my failures.

My name is Malfera and I have possessed no other name besides this one for the entirety of my days. Others posses surnames, nicknames and titles, yet my name was branded into my chest in my youth. The woman who discovered me abandoned in a small wooden crate claimed that my cries reminded her of her long lost pet cat. Those cries are what drew her to me, and she remained my guardian and mother from that day till the day of her death which I will describe later in this tale.

That was many years ago and she has long since died, yet her love, compassion and guidance have shaped me into the man I am today. I no longer hold or claim any special privilege, title position or even fame, though my years have been long extended beyond what even I imagined they would be. Those were the things that existed in my yesterday, and most of those who knew me then no longer exist. Today I endure as an observer. I no longer dabble in the affairs of mankind as much as I used to. I heal no one and provide no potions or cures since I know that whatever I do they too will die someday.

To be perfectly honest my greatest concoction and final brew was the one which enabled me to live far beyond a lifespan I had ever hoped to embrace. Most of my friends and loved ones have long since left this earth and I find myself reluctant to gather more, knowing that they too will also die, leaving me sad and possibly even bitter. All except for one young woman.

But this tale is not about me my dear finite friend. It is about another, who like me endures a life which sets her apart from the short lived, sometimes happy yet often sad mortal existence we all call life. I call her, the Ivy Princess. We have nothing special in common aside from the fact that we are both orphans, and she, as well as I cannot die from old age, though I am quite certain that we both may one day perish from other means common to mortal man. But later in this tale I discovered more about the Ivy Princess than I can reveal at this time.

I call her the Ivy Princess, but friends and family called her Esmerelda Greene. She was a gift and blessing to the Greene family, for she too was abandoned at birth then later adopted. Her laughter seemed to bring joy and happiness to the couple that adopted her. She grew like a weed and nature seemed to love her. When she sang her made up songs even the towns most steadfast grouch would smile.

Her eyes were emerald green and her lips were rose petal red , with hair of the lightest yellow which glistened like spun gold in the sunlight. Her skin was white like the purest Ivory and her smile was like daylight even on the brightest day. Truly Esmerelda was a blessing to all those who knew her and called her friend. But that was before the plague, or curse. Call it what you may.

As I said before, it was the year 1838 and the population of our village was dwindling at an alarming rate. We were all woodsmen you see, and our village was surrounded by some of the oldest trees known to man. We only selected the trees least in age for our lumber work and that wood was felled only for craftsmen of the highest order. The Elder trees were protected by us and no sane axeman would dare lay axe to their bark. While others used modern machinery and noisy devices for such endeavors, we remained axemen, using cold hardened iron man-made axes. The tools of our trade had been passed down from father to son for as long as anyone could remember.

My father was an axeman and a skilled tree feller. His ability with the double bladed axe was envied by many and common to few. I truly admired his skill but had no delusions about my ability to follow in his path. Despite this shortcoming he was never disappointed in me. He was a formidable man, tall of stature as was common among the men of my village and he was as thick as an aged oak tree. His double edged axe head was etched with symbols and runes from a time long before even he could remember.

My mother was a diminutive woman when compared to my father yet despite the comparison could stare our old draft horse Nelly straight in the eye without much effort. She was an excellent gardener as were most women in our village and her baking skills were second to none. Now that you know somewhat about me and my situation I feel I must explain how it came to be that I met Esmerelda.

Every morning my father gathered with the other men in the village at the break of dawn to head into the forest for the daily tree felling. It was on one of those days that Mrs Greene fell ill. Mr Greene arrived at our cottage just before dawn with Esmerlda in tow. She was nine years old and I was fifteen when we met for the very first time. I would probably have met her sooner had not my studies of nature, herbalism and poultices kept me occupied every day from nearly dawn to dusk.

As I recall, she was quite noisy and precocious, yet not particularly annoying in all of her activities. Eventually she found me in my shanty situated behind our cottage in which I both studied and practiced my craft. I was quite absorbed in my mixing and poultice formulas when she entered and I had no time for childishness since this particular poultice was to be administered to our horse Nelly who had suffered a snakebite the previous day. I had mixed gray clay, Vicka Root, and Yellow Poprice at this point and was about to sift in some arrow root when Esmerelda popped up in the seat next to me to observe.

I was about to ask her to leave when she flashed me a most amazing smile. She said, I'll be quiet Mr Malfera I promise! So I felt compelled to let her stay and watch. I suppose you could say she charmed me, though I don't put much stock in charms or spells. She did as she had promised and watched me create the entire poultice from start to finish. How a child of such an age could be so deathly still and silent for such an extended amount of time was a mystery to me, though I must say, I was quite impressed.

Esmerelda followed me after that as I went to the stable to tend to Nelly the Draft horse. The poor thing was feverish and white eyed and I tried to calm her with coos and soothing words, but she was having none of it. This is when Esmerelda touched her reddish flank and beamed that amazing smile at her. Nelly was suddenly still and compliant, tossing her head joyfully at Esmerelda. I cannot in my memory ever recall her being so jubilant and enamored of anyone as she was of this little wisp of a girl. I quickly applied the poultice and wrapped her limb with boiled sheep skin, taking full advantage of Esmereldas intercession. As I rose I beheld the girl whispering softly into old Nelly's ear. I have no idea what she whispered but the effect was immediate and amazing.

As I stood to leave I beheld the horse eating her straw and drinking her water as if nothing ill had ever befallen her. I was perplexed to say the least, since I knew just how damaging snake venom could be to a horse, and most snake-bit horses had absolutely no appetite whatsoever when in such a state. As we walked from the stable Esmerelda slipped her little hand in mine as if we had been friends for all time, guiding me into the cottage for dinner though I scarcely believed it was time to eat.

But she knew. Esmerelda seemed to be in tune with everything, even time. It was indeed mid day and unbeknownst to me, my gut had been rumbling for quite some time. I must mention how grateful and indebted I felt to Esmerelda for her assistance. For had she not been present, my dear friend Nelly might well have endured much suffering and pain, possibly even acquiring a game foreleg in the process. I knew then that this little girl was far more than she seemed to be at first glance.

As we ate I occasionally looked in her direction, wondering more about what she was rather than who she was. We never spoke after that day for within the next few weeks, more in our village fell ill as Mrs Greene had done and not one of my cures had the least effect on any of them. I had begun to fear that the blame for this plague may soon fall on me since many viewed my art as witchcraft, and some in the village would glance at me suspiciously when they thought I wasn't looking. I decided that day to relocate my study to a safer place.

In times past when trouble, flooding or bad weather came to our village we would move to high ground, having prepared dwelling places in the oldest trees. I decided during this time to move from my shanty at the rear of our cottage to our family safe house in the trees. I gathered provisions of bread, fruit, dried vegetables and venison jerky sufficient to last a month or so. Fortunately for me this tree dwelling was closer to the village than others since our family was one of the oldest generation of settlers.

It was pure chance that my new dwelling-place overlooked the Greene cottage as well as my families own dwelling, and it was during this time that I observed the third stage of the plague. The first stage was much like the croup accompanied by high fever. The second stage was more akin to the what we call the freezing core, which modern man calls hypothermia. But this third stage is a madness, a murderous condition which causes the afflicted to rend, tear and beat any living thing in their path. The victims body is hot to the touch, red like a tomato and the ability to speak or reason is gone.

I had absolutely no cure for this condition, and was hard pressed to understand how it manifested in such an awful and devastating manner. When I consulted nature and sought the wisdom of the Elder Trees no answer was given except that this came from the mind of man and the heart of the wicked. It was during my time in the tree cottage that I first saw the wisp. I am quite certain it did not see me though who can say that it even had eyes to see with? I suspect that it had been there all along, though I could only observe its movements between dusk and evening light and morning light just before the dawn.

It didn't require an Aristotle or DaVinci to conclude that this wisp was no coincidence of nature. I finally began to realize why none of my cures were effective, why none of my most reliable medicines had even the slightest effect. This was a curse, a thing conceived in the mind of the most evil of beings. I had no idea how or why it came to be, or why it had decided to attack our village. I was powerless to do anything but observe it's effects.

Some days later as villagers began moving to the trees to avoid the mobs of infected, I happened to meet a man named Osmet who was dwelling in an old Oak a few trees away from mine. He had smelled the sweet fragrance of my Sarsaparilla Tea and asked to join me. I began dialogue by asking if he knew what this wisp apparition may be. It hadn't occurred to me that he couldn't see the thing. He seemed to have no idea what I was talking about but he became nervous the more I entreated him to share his experiences in the forest with me. Finally after much prodding and encouragement he began to tell about an incident which had happened a couple of months before the outbreak.

According to Osmet, who was a trimmer, a crew of four axemen, Jackleg, Percy, Ramadun and Tremens had been felling trees in the northern region of Zlaatblanc grove, the alleged home of old Wizard Zlaatblanc who had perished centuries before by Balefire. Of course no one believed the old stories except children who knew nothing of the real world, and myself of course, but they were entertaining none the less. After all, magic had been practically non existent for centuries, and memory fades with time. So according to Osmet a clearing had been made, and an old blackened tree was exposed. It was standing alone having been surrounded by a perfect circle of fir trees, an oddity to be sure since this wasn't an area in which Fir trees grew.

This was when Old man Tremens, impatient to finish the clearing laid axe to bark and felled that old blackened and shriveled excuse for a tree. And concluded Osmet. That was when it happened. When what happened I asked? That was when the tree began smoking, emitting an awful sulfurous noxious cloud of vapor. What happened after that? I asked Osmet. Well as you know, old man Tremens hasn't been to tree felling for quite some time, since he was the first to fall ill from the plague. Osmet replied. We both fell silent after that, sipping our tea quietly.

As Osmet left and we said our farewells I was forced to admit to myself that this was indeed a curse, and face the possibility that the old stories may indeed contain some truth after all. But how was I to discover the cure? What old magic had infected our village? What evil thing had been trapped within that tree and why were Fir Trees chosen to conceal it's presence? This was a mystery I was determined to uncover, but I suspected that it wasn't my destiny to solve this particular problem. I slept fitfully that night, concerned for the safety of my Father and Mother, determined to coax them into the trees tomorrow somehow.

Near nightfall I was awoken by an unnerving sound, a howling that pierced and chilled me to the very bone. I ventured a glance from my treetop sanctuary and beheld Mrs Greene chasing a small girl. This girl must have been her own daughter Esmerelda for none other would have reason to be outdoors at such an hour. The shriek came once more, but it wasn't coming from the little girl. As Mrs Greene closed in on her I saw Esmerelda dart to the left, fleeing to my shanty at the rear of our family cottage. She quickly slammed the door shut and I heard a wooden thunk, as the bolt slid firmly into place. Breathing a sigh of relief I endeavored to descend from the tree in the hope that I could assist her somehow. That was when I spied the ominous wisp darting from cottage to cottage. I froze in my descent, surprised to see the wisp and fearing for my own life because many other cottage doors were opening and my infected neighbors had begun appearing in their doorways echoing that awful shriek, with a most dreadful look of torment in their eyes.

Fear consumed me as I lay against the tree, gripping the thick ivy circling that old Elm and staring nervously at my old hovel. I dreaded the fate that might await poor Esmerelda. I began traversing nearby trees in a sideways crawl determined to find a path down to the roof of my old shanty to rescue the poor girl, but I soon realized that I was going to be too late to do any good. All too soon others joined Mrs Greene at the rear of our property, attracted by her constant keening and howling. I was startled to see my father bolt from the rear of our own cottage, axe in hand ready to mow down any who stood between him and the little shanty where Esmerelda hid. The little girl had no way of knowing he was coming for her.

Suddenly two other Axemen appeared to his right as my father Gregor ran towards the shanty. I watched in horror as the two men tore him in half as if he were no more than a thin sheet of parchment. Never had I seen such a display of sheer brute strength before that day and the macabre vision of my father dying in such a brutal and terrifying fashion didn't register in my thoughts for several seconds after that. As he lay dying I caught his eye. Even in death he managed to signal me to stay back though I felt compelled to do something to help him. Indecision gripped me as I clung to that tree. I glanced back at the shanty and noticed a small hole appearing in the thatched roof as Esmerelda began tearing at the tightly packed waxy straw.

Go I whispered! You can do it Esmerelda. Get out and climb the nearest tree before it is too late! First her head appeared then her arms. She surprised me though, when she levered herself to the roof then promptly sat down cross-legged. Why wasn't she climbing the tree? She should be trying her best to escape! This is when she did something most unusual. As I gripped the second tree closest to the shanty she began singing the most haunting melody. I swear I could feel it more than hear it for the tones of her song resonated far beyond sound. I could tell this surprised her more than it had surprised me and she halted mid-note. She began again as she heard the mob below, viciously tearing at the walls of my little shanty attempting to get to her. As she sang this melody, the tree I was gripping began to sway gently.

At first I assumed that this movement was the effect of the wind, but there was no wind and not even so much as a subtle breeze. My gaze was transfixed upon the impossibly calm and peaceful little Esmerelda. Then I turned to watch as the mob below continued to tear at the shanty with amazing strength, pulling down timbers larger than the stoutest man. Then it happened. Vines began appearing from the forest, vines of every sort of Ivy. They began encircling the mob, trapping them like ropes of steel.

I rubbed my eyes certain that I must be hallucinating, but there they were, rustling and writhing with impossible life, moving like a thousand snakes. They wrapped the infected in an ivy cocoon and began squeezing the mob in a constricting, vise-like fashion as each of the afflicted tore at the growth with superhuman strength. The howling became an ocean of tormented chorus as the fury rose in each one of them, yet the little girl sang on, with an unusual serenity emanating from her countenance. Then is when I saw the tree nearest her moving, not the roots mind you, just the branches. Slowly, gently the lower branch closest to Esmerelda descended to her position as the smaller limbs wove themselves together beneath her, creating a basket, lifting her up and away from the danger below.

It was during this time, as Esmerelda continued singing that the mob entered my Family home and dragged my mother through the damp evening grass in back of the cottage. They proceeded to tear her apart as they had my father, snapping her limbs like dry kindling as she screamed her final scream and drew her last breath. This is when the mob looked up and saw me, for I too was screaming in pain, furious at the macabre landscape before me. Others in the village had begun screaming as well, and fortunately for me that sound drew the mob away since they seemed to be easier prey than I was. The infected moved toward that sound, intent on tearing more people limb from limb. I beheld old familiar faces who, until that day had been friends of my family. But these people weren't the friends I remembered. They were something else. Something evil. That is when I descended from my tree, consumed by rage, revenge on my mind. Fear was gone, to be replaced with determination.

I spotted my fathers bloody axe and laid hold of it in haste, never quite realizing just how heavy it really was. I saw the words engraved in the head and three of those words stood out, shimmering a brilliant red. They read Malfera Odinista Pelioso. So I chanted those three words not knowing what the effect would be if any, but I was desperate. The more I chanted, the lighter the axe became and the calmer I began to be. I approached the mob silently and began attacking them from the rear. The axe was as swift as lightning and bright as a falling star as it tore through bodies, searing flesh as it performed its bloody task. I slashed, tore and rent one part from the other as I attacked the mob, yet not one of them looked back at me as I continued my bloody work. It was as though they accepted me as part of this madness which had gripped them all. I wondered as I decimated the mob if any semblance of the people they once were remained intact. Maybe they were grateful for this release from torment. One thing guided me that night. The assurance that this curse would be lifted from my Village once and for all.

It seemed like hours later when the light in my dead fathers axe subsided. Even then I could tell I had been far too late to save those in my village who had been unaffected by the curse. Those who had survived the carnage reacted with terror at my bloody visage, assuming that I too was one of the frenzied mob. There was no heroes welcome, shouts of victory or slap on the back as I retreated from those few survivors, and I didn't expect any. There was only blood, death and desolation. So I returned to my home to bury the only people in the world who had ever loved me without compromise. The very people who had accepted me for who I really was, but would never be again.