Under the Crab-Apple Trees
Of Age

“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.” - Louisa May Alcott

“No, father, I won’t!” screams a red-haired girl, her head adorned by a golden circlet. She runs out of the room, and into the vast hallways of the black palace, not bothering to look back at her enraged father, sitting on his monstrous black throne. She pushes her way past the youngest kitchen maid, who was just on her way to the garbage chute when the princess went and knocked her down.

The girl pays no attention to the fumbling maid, as she pulls up her wretched skirts of a ghastly black so that escape may be easier. She cares not for this palace of darkness, she only wishes to run, far, far, away. Maybe to the separatist land that is giving her father so much trouble, or over the mountains to the far southeast that no one had crossed.

She heads for her tower top room, where she has been stashing food and drink for this very event. When she arrives at the tower room, she throws off the circlet of priceless gold, encrusted with the finest diamonds. Soon, she is armored by some leather leggings, a chain shirt of fine silver, and a helmet shaped like some bird she does not know. She draws a small, slender sword from a chest under her lavish bed. It is made of the purest silver, and its blade is almost as thin as a needle. On its handle is carved a screeching eagle. She sheathes the blade and puts it on her leather belt. She rummages around in the chest, and there her hands close around what she is looking for. Rusty shears that she found in a nearby barn. With one swift movement, she cuts her long hair. All that is left is a shock of red hair that only recaches to her ears in different untidy lengths. She puts on her helmet and opens the tower window. Then she starts climbing down the overgrown vines, and to the rainy courtyard below.

She runs to the stables as the rain starts to pour. She does not mind the rain, for it is her friend. She quickly unlatches one of the stable doors, careful not to wake the sleeping guard. She slips in and leads a chestnut colored horse with a deep black mane out of its stall. She quickly throws on a saddle and a bridle and canters out of the stable. The courtyard is vast, but her horse, Owl, is fast. They speed unnoticed to the gatehouse, where two Wisps stand guard. They have no time to draw their swords, for the girl slashes at them with the sword like a talon that she carries with her. She gallops out of the walls that have imprisoned her for her whole life and jumps like a bird over the murky moat. She is free.

* * *

Erin woke with a start. He had been dreaming of the oddest thing. A girl, running away from a courtyard palace that he had seen in Feony’s thoughts. She seemed to be some sort of princess. The dream slipped like a fish out of his hands. He tries to remember what she looks like, but he can’t. He dozed off to sleep again, undisturbed by the troubling dream.

Erin woke later that morning to the same insistent shaking just as the morning before.

“Erin, wake up!” Wren’s giddy voice came to him as he opened his drowsy eyes.

“All right! I’m coming!” he said, shoving a pillow at the over-excited boy.

“We receive our phoenixes today!” he said. “I’ve been anticipating this my whole life! The ceremony begins in an hour!” he said, practically bouncing off the walls as he did. Erin pulled on the coat Aria had made him, and the two boys rushed outside.

“It snowed!” Erin exclaimed, as his boot hit the crunchy white snow on the platform pathway. He shaped some snow into a ball and hurled it at Wren.

“Hey!” Wren said, picking up a snowball.

They momentarily ceased hurling snow at each other as they climbed down the ladder. “Maybe we can get Feony to give us a sled ride!” Erin exclaimed, hopefully as they reached the clearing. Already a bunch of elves that looked about Erin’s age were gathered around. Erin looked for Aria, and he spotted her talking with Lark. Erin reached out for Feony’s mind.

Hello, he said, finding it near.

This is not the time, boy! Feony said, in a surprisingly harsh tone. Erin dropped the connection, shocked.

“What’s wrong?” asked Wren.

“Nothing, just Feony is acting odd,” Erin said.

“How do you know?” asked Wren. Erin tapped his head. Wren hit him with a snowball. They continued to throw snowballs at each other until they were rosy-cheeked from the cold. Erin aimed a final snowball at Wren, which hit him in the chest.

“Do you know what will happen at the ceremony?” Erin asked, curious.

“Yes,” said Wren, “First, we will receive our phoenixes, and then—“ Wren stopped for a minute looking dreamy.

“And then what?” Asked Erin, impatient for more information.

“And then each of us go off to our new quarters, not our family houses, which we will use as our workspace. After school, we will begin an apprenticeship to learn a craft or skill, which we will practice for the rest of our lives,” finished Wren.

“What craft would you want?” Erin asked.

“Goldsmith,” answered Wren, “I would love to give life to the pretty little things I made.” Erin did not know what he would like to be. He didn’t even know all of the elven careers.

“What is Lark’s craft?” he asked.

“She’s a magician,” Wren said. “From the moment she started school, she was always the best of her year at magic.”

“I don’t know what I’ll be,” Erin said. “Do they choose for you?” he asked.

“Sort of,” Wren said. “The crafts people choose their apprentices during the ceremony. It’s actually really obvious what you’ll be.”

“What?” Erin asked.

“Hunter,” Wren said and grinned. “That’s what your friend Inyelen is. He’s the best hunter of them all.”

Suddenly, the chatter died down as an old elf leaning on a gnarled staff entered the clearing.

“Young elves,” he said in a deep baritone voice. “Today you have gathered for a very special ceremony.” He whistled, and about twenty phoenixes swooped down. “I am going to call your name, and you will come forward.”

“Aria-Evest!” he called. Aria walked up to him on trembling feet. “Your phoenix has already come to you,” he said, as Arletem nuzzled his head next to Aria’s. “And I want you to be my apprentice,” he continued. “You will find your home, the seventh to the right, fifth floor of the Spice Tree.” Aria and Arletem walked away.

“Gods above!” said Wren. “She got apprenticed to the best magician of this land!” Erin looked shocked as well, but he was glad that Aria got a good apprenticeship.

Erin impatiently waited as the elves after Aria got apprenticeships as knights, druids, and woodworkers. Then the head magician called his name.

“Erindel!” he said. The crowd went silent. “Now, your phoenix was not as impatient as Arletem, but she still was impatient. I’m sure you will be happy to see Elaminla again.” Erin smiled as he felt Ela’s mind.

Hello! she said in her song like voice.

“You are apprenticed to the head Hunter, who insisted on your apprenticeship,” said the old elf. Inyelen walked up to Erin and patted him on the back. “You will find your quarters at the third house to the left of the third level of the Deer Tree.” Erin walked back to Wren, who was shouting with joy.

“I knew it!” he said. “I knew it!” Erin did not pay much attention to the following callings, but when it came to Wren, he was all ears.

“Wren!” the magician called. Wren walked through the sea of heads and to the magician. His legs were trembling with vibrations of anxiety. Erin climbed atop Ela’s broad golden back to get a better view. Wren’s curly blond hair was bobbing through the crowd, and finally it stopped when he reached the magician.

“Ah, Wren!” said the magician. He whistled, and a beautiful silver phoenix the size of a horse swooped down and landed next to Wren. “This is Menervan,” he said. “I hope you will be happy with your apprenticeship as a silversmith.” A slender female elf with black hair like a raven’s feather and eyes as blue as the sky walked up to him. Erin assumed that this must be the silversmith.

“Second house to the left, third level of the deer tree,” said the magician, smiling at Wren. Erin wrapped Wren in a bear hug when he came back.

“Not quite goldsmith,” Wren said gleefully. “But guess what? The silversmiths are rarer than goldsmiths!” The two friends happily chattered about the new life that would begin tomorrow. A lingering worry resided in the back of Erin’s mind. Tyrannel, the hidden princess, had not received her phoenix. She was not free.

The Deer Tree was a large birch, much wider than the tree that Erin had first stayed in. Its ladder looked like it could fit at least thirteen elves going up and down.

“The Deer Tree is probably the second largest tree in Ysterra,” Wren said, as he climbed up the vine rope ladder. “It would take you almost a whole day to walk around. It’s lucky that we got the third floor, for it might take hours to climb to the top level.” They passed the first level, which had a sign reading: Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Level 1

School of Syta

Blacksmiths

Goldsmiths

Silversmiths

Armor-smiths

“Looks like that’s where we’ll be going to school,” Erin said, looking at a large vine structure, with small gaps like windows without glass. Erin could hear elven voices inside, and the scratching of quills. There were small green ivy leaves growing out of the structure.

“Yeah!” Wren responded. “It’s one of the best schools in all of Ysterra!” They climbed up and up and found that the second floor advertised some of the tastiest restaurants in Ysterra, and finally, they reached the third level. The quarters were pretty much the same as the one that Erin had stayed in, except that they were decorated with birch bark and beautiful green leaves with intricate spiraling veins of a most impressive golden color. The tops of the houses were lightly dusted with snow. Erin was worried that his dwelling would be cold, for the long to Ysterra had chilled him, and he would not like to encounter that cold again.

“How are the homes heated?” Erin asked Wren.

“The vines are enchanted to give off heat,” Wren said. “Most elves our age don’t sleep in their quarters. I for one am going to stay in my family quarters, and use this as my workspace.”

“Well,” Erin said. “I might as well sleep here. I have nowhere else to go.” He opened the wooden door and stepped inside. A thick layer of soft green leaves carpeted the floor. A table of white birch wood sat in the middle of the room. Erin sat down on a stool by the table. On the table was a quill, ink, and a stack of soft white paper. Erin picked up the brilliant lapis-lazuli blue quill, and wrote on a sheet of paper; I am Erindel. Suddenly, words started appearing on the paper; Good morning, Erindel. What would you like the name of your quarters to be? Erin paused before he wrote back. A wonderful idea blossomed in Erin’s mind. Under the Crab-Apple Trees, he wrote. As if by magic, a bronze sign appeared on the door. It read: Under the Crab-Apple Trees: Number Three, the Deer Tree. Erin smiled, recollections of his entrance into the magical world flowing through his mind. He thought it was perfect. As he put down the quill, the words faded from the paper, like a tide going out. There was only one other room in his dwelling where a patchwork hammock of greens, blues, and golds hung. The light snuck in through the smallest cracks in the woven vines, but no snow or cold could penetrate the knotted mass. He walked out of the small home and saw a small sign hanging on the outside of his quarters that hadn’t been there before. It read the name of his quarters. He saw one on Wren’s door reading; Bird’s Nest.

“I’m starving!” Wren said as he opened the door to his home. “We should go try out some of those restaurants on floor two!” So the two joyfully climbed down the ladder and to the second floor, looking for brunch.

It was about midday when they finally decided on a restaurant. The restaurant was precariously perched on the end of the street. They walked through its birch door which was engraved with the words: Alley’s Drop: Best Food in Ysterra Since Anyone Can Remember! They were greeted by a friendly hubbub of melodious voices. All kinds of elves were sitting at tables, eating exotic foods, and laughing over jokes Erin could not hear.

“We ate here once for Lark’s birthday,” Wren said. “They do truly have the best food in the world. Well, they have anything you can think of!” Erin saw what Wren meant, as an elf looked at his plate, and muttered, “Lykæn eggs with stew.” There, in front of him appeared the eggs and the stew, steaming as if freshly cooked by the magic.

“Brilliant!” Erin exclaimed, smiling at the wonderful enchantments. They took a table near a glassless window, where the golden sun was warm and comforting.

Erin stared at his plate. He boyishly grinned. He was as hungry as a bear. Then, a thought crossed his mind that hadn’t before at the other restaurants. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it.

“Wren, do we have to pay for this?” he asked. He had not noticed anyone paying for their last meal, but he was still concerned.

“Pay?” Wren asked, between mouthfuls of what looked to be some foreign pie.

“Yes, Wren, Pay!” he said, emphasizing the last word.

“Oh!” Wren said as he gulped down a whole slice. “ You don’t have to pay for food. The government pays for the cooks’ wages and supplies the food for the restaurants.” He hungrily commanded the plate to give him more pie.

Erin curiously stared at the plate, wondering how it worked. Then he made up his mind and grinned.

“French Toast!” he said, jubilantly. Four beautiful slices of french toast appeared, dusted with the perfect amount of powdered sugar. Erin smiled and dug into his feast. The food tasted real, even though it had appeared out of thin air. Erin thought it was a wonderful way of providing food.

The two friends walked out shortly after, stuffed full of sugar packed food that they would never have eaten under the watchful eyes of parents. This was their first taste of freedom. They both had broad grins on their faces. Erin said farewell to Wren, for he had to fetch his things from the old room so that he could put them in his new quarters. When he reached the room, he heard a sobbing noise coming from Aria’s room. He peeked in and saw, to his astonishment, Aria crying on her hammock.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Aria glared at him through her tearful eyes.

“Haven’t you heard?” she asked. “The Lady is going to be executed.”

“What?” Erin asked, baffled. Aria turned away from him as she spoke the remainder of what she knew.

“Apparently, after our mother went missing, the Lady went mad. She ran away, and that is a serious penalty against the elven law. If an elf is caught and interrogated, the location of Ysterra could be revealed. Therefore, no elf must leave Ysterra, except for the Hunters, the druids, and the knights.”

“But couldn’t anyone just walk into Ysterra?” he asked. Aria rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Duh, no! It is protected by magic that only the most powerful magicians could relinquish. The Lady was one of them, and she could have been forced into relinquishing Ysterra’s power.”

“Oh,” Erin said.

“There is also something else…” Aria trailed off. “It is deeply disturbing, but an army of Un Dalen are approaching and they shouldn’t have gotten past the tree line, but they did. The first protections are by the tree line, and they think The Lady put them down.”

“She wouldn’t have!” Erin said, outraged at the foolishness of the suspicion.

“I know,” Aria said sorrowfully.

Erin stormed out of Aria’s room and fetched his armor, bow, and Zelynda. He strapped the armor onto himself and slung his quiver on his back. Zelynda was strapped to his side as he walked off. Elves parted before his formidable figure, for the only thing elven about him was the blue eyes peeking out from the large helmet. Little did Erin notice a darkly cloaked figure racing through the crowd, with dark hair swishing behind her. Erin reached his quarters and placed his belongings on newly installed shelves that had not been there before. He sulkily sat down on his bed to pout.

* * *

She was racing through the countryside. The girl had been riding for a night and almost a day now at full speed, and she had almost reached the forest. She had heard fairy tales when she was young of elves in the wood, hunting with bows and riding phoenixes. She had never believed them, but into the forest was where her mother had gone when she escaped.

“It’s always the eyes that give a creature life,” her mother had said that when she had peered over Evelyn’s shoulder to look at her masterpiece. It was an owl, flying away from dark mists of fear, but it had no eyes yet. Afterward, she had painted them a beautiful blue, like her mother’s eyes.

She was approaching a town, she could see the distant church spire now. The town was edged by some forlorn birch trees, which she would ride through. She must not be seen, not yet, not ever. Owl thundered off the worn track at her command, and they galloped into the shade of the sorrowful trees. They wove their way through the wood like a spider weaving its web. A fox sprinted across the path of Owl, and to the other side. They jumped over a log and as they passed the trees, she noticed that the trees were thinning. Soon they could see the nearby cottages whizzing by, lit by the sunset, their roofs thatched with the most golden straw. She pushed Owl on, for she needed to get out of the small forest before anyone saw her. But someone had seen her. Little Gregory Hillsdale was out gathering mushrooms for his family’s supper in the forest. He had been minding his own business, when low and behold! A young man (it seemed) on a horse jumped over him! That night he told his family about the vicious stranger, but no one believed him, for little Gregory often made up queer tales, involving things much more fanciful than the knight in shining armor that he had seen. The girl had not noticed the young Hillsdale, for she was focusing on what was ahead, not below. When the sun set and the stars came out, she was safely away from the village.

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on G𝘰𝘰gle to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.