Landsbyen -Into the North- An Epic Poem 13

“Are there many Fairy Folk other than the elves?” Joulupukki queried. “Not so many as before the humans took control of the world. The ones left behind in Erin included the Green Ones, as we called them. I believe they call themselves Leprechauns now. Once elves themselves, they are now a cousin to the elf. Their magic has changed, the source coming from the ancient land of their island, the scattered misshapen trees and copses that now are covered with fungi and mushrooms that feed on the lingering magic surrounding the long dead forests like the rings of misty bogs that they have been pushed deeper and deeper into by the humans in their endless need for land to cultivate. The magic, twisted and darkened, is no longer pure like that in the Village.” “What of dwarfs and trolls and ogres?” The Elder Elf took a moment to ponder this question, sweeping is hand down his long gray beard. “The dwarfs hide in the their caves in the dark northern mountains, always searching for the riches the earth holds, and building great underground fortresses to guard against the onslaught of the humans as they believe will someday come. They are,” his voice trailed off for a moment, “a crotchety, unpleasant sort. Short but heavily built. Very strong for their size with long beards and very hairy bodies, hair that has adapted for living in the cold underground. Their eyes are large and support thick brows. The trolls are quite similar to the dwarfs but much slower in wit and larger in stature with bulbous bellies.” He slowly rubbed his own round mid section and smiled. “Luckily, there are few trolls left in the north-land. They are very bad tempered and are easy to anger but are also very easy to distract with a few magic tricks.” “And the ogres?” Joulupukki prodded. “Ogres,” DynDoeth chuckled, “are a human invention, as if there are not enough strange creatures that already exist in this world. They are not real, nor are the sea serpents or fire breathing dragons or mermaids; although,” he glanced quickly around to be sure no one listened, “I wouldn't mind meeting one of those.” He smiled. “They were made up by your story tellers, but I must admit, I have to admire their creativeness. I listened to Aisling, many years past, as she told great tales to the children of the Village and I was enthralled by her heroes and their feats, feeling as if I were there with them. The human imagination is unfathomable and I could listen long to their stories.” Joulupukki had many more questions for the elf but they had been talking for hours and he could see the weariness in his companion's eyes, and hear the roar of his stomach. He also noticed how hungry he had become as well. When DynDoeth suggested that they take up where they left off in the morning, he did not object, looking forward to a nice meal and a good night's sleep. As he slept, the questions of his father kept plaguing his dreams. Erlenkönig, his mother had called him. He wondered about the name as his father's deep blue eyes stared into his. His mother, standing to one side, cooed and spoke gibberish to him, then breaking into a lullaby, 'sleep, come sleep, come sleep my son, sleep do hasten to my child's weary eyes, in morning you'll awake to a bright sunrise rock my child, rock him rock him to sleep in a manger of gold let Mani keep him safe in his hold sleep come sleep my son' then wrapping her arms around his father, she said, “The spitting image of your own me thinks, my nydelig en.” Strange the way she spoke in his memory. He had forgotten the unique pattern of her words when he was young; how, she corrected him when he spoke like her and how over time her own speech became generic, yet her voice still beautiful in its lulling tone. He remembered his father shushing his mother whenever she let her brogue develop in its full richness as she playfully bantered with him. “Please, Aisling, someone will hear you, and they will find you and take our child.” She would always become quiet and hug him tightly, then promise to be good. He remembered the smile that would crawl across his fathers face as they hugged, his head pressed tight against her cheek and shoulder and his hand stroking her hair. This memory was new and seemed to come from a different place inside of him, a much older place. A place in a room behind a door that had been locked away from him. A door who's key had been lost for so many years. Now, found again, the door, now opened, and these memories flooding into the light to live once more.