Liquid Gold
Fantasy Story
The unicorn’s spiralling horn curled moonlight around itself, illuminating her rider’s sapphire eyes and golden hair. The elf child wore a glistening gown of cobwebs as she sat in silence upon the unicorn’s back, staring at a towering dead ash—charred and lightning-split. From its dark fissure squeezed a bat, which took flight and spiralled towards two moons skimming each other in the starlit sky.
Lariel’s pointed ears twitched as she caught the scratch of tiny claws in the dead ash’s heartwood. Then, far below the bat roost, beneath the roots, she heard the slow slither of adders. Yet deeper still, upon the rhythms of time, she felt the caress of a poem…
O magic riddle true In this dragon love brew Call the one I woo A maiden bathed in liquid gold…
As the bat disappeared into the moon’s umbra, the rest of the poem played through Lariel’s mind. As it echoed through her memory, she whispered to the unicorn, “Pris, I hear a poem… perhaps another song from a forgotten yesterday. I’ll tell it while we search for Eleisha.”
Lariel’s voice, gentle as the morning’s first light, carried the poem as Pris trotted through tangled undergrowth and beneath the swaying catkins of ancient oaks. Streams meandering down ridges and hillocks sang like flutes in accompaniment, and an owl perched high above hooted as the poem ended. Lariel recited the poem again, distracting a wolf as he stalked his prey, a doe and her fawn. And as the wild elf continued riding ridges and hollows, she sang it to feel the dragon’s final lament in her heart.
The unicorn’s hooves fell silent on twigs and soft earth, leaving no mark, until the friends reached a sea of violet-blue flowers in a grassy glade. There, the wild elf saw wisps of light weaving between the pendulous blooms. After dismounting, she knelt and searched the sparkling trails that faded like morning dreams…
“Eleisha!” Lariel said, her eyes brightening as she spotted a faerie balanced on an upturned bluebell petal. “We’ve found you.”
The faerie rose and twirled on gossamer wings before the young elf’s face. Hovering, she bowed her head. “A splendid spring to you, Lariel—and to you, Pris.”
Eleisha waved at the unicorn nipping at the dewy grass. Pris’ nose trembled as she gave a soft snort.
“Why are you here?” the faerie asked. “Don’t you know the Festival of White Oak begins at dawn?”
“Of course we know,” Lariel replied. “But we came to remind you it will soon begin, in case you’d forgotten.”
“Remind me? Why? I drew a picture on a pebble to remind myself. And I even dyed my hair. Do you like it?” Eleisha tilted her head, letting her long copper hair spill over her shoulder.
“Yes. It glimmers and gleams. Though why change it? The last time I saw you it was blue.”
“But it’s spring!” Eleisha said, shaking her head and tossing her hair into a breeze stirred by faerie wings. “I dye it copper in spring to remember autumn. And in autumn, I dye it bluebell blue or buttercup yellow to remember spring.”
“That’s clever.”
“But I wear a bluebell gown in spring,” Eleisha continued, tugging at her dress, “to celebrate spring. In autumn, I wear a patchwork of reds, yellows, and browns—the colours of fallen leaves.”
“And in winter you wear snow white, while in summer leaf green—unless it’s too hot. Then you wear nothing at all.” Lariel beamed. “We have such fun, don’t we, playing with the dragonflies and nymphs.”
“Fun?” the faerie said, puzzled. “You’ve seen me swim?”
“Of course.”
“And you’ve seen me ride dragonflies?”
“Yes! I’ve watched you ride black dragonflies, blue dragonflies, and red dragonflies. Though they don’t look anything like the dragon I imagine. Why are they called dragonflies?”
“Because they do look like dragons, Lariel. Why else would they be called dragonflies if they didn’t look like dragons?”
Lariel arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Have you ever met a dragon?”
“Of course not. The dragons are gone now.”
“Gone?”
“Dead.”
“Dead?”
“Very dead. Not all creatures live as long as you do, Lariel. Not even dragons. Only the elves outlive trees and rocks. I don’t know any squirrels or badgers who’ve ever lived through all the summers there have ever been. Only the elves do that.”
“Oh.” Lariel’s gaze drifted for a moment. “Do you die too, Eleisha?”
“Of course.”
“Then what happens to you when you die?”
“We faeries become the stars. If you look up, you can see my ancestors shining brightly.”
“Stars?” Again, Lariel raised a questioning eyebrow. “All your ancestors are stars? Are you sure? I was once a star, and when the world is old, Illien says I’ll return to the heavens. Elves become stars, not faeries.”
“Do you?” Eleisha said, thinking deeply. “Have I got muddled up? Hm… I wonder what becomes of us faeries when we die?”
Lariel gave a long shrug. Then, smiling, she said, “Hopefully your spirit will visit me after I return to the heavens. At time’s end, we’ll be able to chat about all the things we’ve done.”
“All the things we’ve done?” Eleisha zigzagged back from the elf’s face. “Besides riding dragonflies and dancing in flowers, what else in the world is there to do?”
“Plenty, Eleisha.”
Arms akimbo, the faerie asked, “Like what?”
“Well, I can tell you all about my adventures after I leave tomorrow.”
Eleisha blinked, her brow scrunching. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes. You drew a picture on a pebble to remind yourself, remember?”
“Er… oh yes. But where did I put it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how am I supposed to remember you’re leaving? Really, Lariel, you’re no help at all.”
The elf child giggled.
The faerie let out a long, fluttery sigh. As she hovered on the fragrance of bluebells and dew, she said, “So when you leave, where will you go? What will you do?”
“During the festival I’ll become Queen Lariel. Then I’ll travel to a far-away land, where I’ll seed a new forest with the sacred acorn of White Oak. Hopefully the wild elves and other forest creatures will be very happy there. Hopefully a dragon will come and live there too.”
“A dragon? There are no more dragons. I’ve just told you that. Why do you keep talking about dragons?”
The young elf shrugged. “I remembered one—sort of.”
“Remembered one? How can you remember a dragon you’ve never seen?”
“That’s because I’m an elf,” Lariel said matter-of-factly. “Illien says they chose me to lead the new clan because I remember things from before Aetheron plucked me from the heavens… and things that haven’t happened yet.”
“Remember things that haven’t happened yet? Can you really remember tomorrow?” Eleisha asked, puzzled.
“Yes, of course.” Combing her fingers through the grass, feeling the cold earth, Lariel continued, “Sometimes I glimpse things in Singing River when Morishel’s and Lumnus’ light dance across it. I hear the voices of my ancestors in the stars… and dream of wonderful things from long ago—and from the long tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Eleisha scratched her head and smiled. “Well, if you remembered a dragon, why don’t you know what it looks like?”
“I’ve never seen one, silly, but I heard a song about one this very night as I watched a bat take flight towards Morishel’s light. Well, it’s more a poem… a rhyme. But you can sing it.”
The faerie flew to the elf child’s ear. Holding the ear’s point and placing her feet on its lobe, she whispered, “You heard a song? I love your songs, Lariel. We all really, really—really love them.”
“Do you?”
“Will you sing it?” Still holding Lariel’s ear, the faerie swung from side to side. “Sing us the song about the dragon.”
“You’re tickling me!”
“Oh, sing it to us.”
“All right, all right—get off my ear and I’ll sing the tale of Celdemar the Gold.”
Into the air Eleisha leapt and spun a backward loop. “Lariel is going to sing a song about Celdemar the Gold!”
Eleisha’s kin ceased their curious search of the fragrant flowers and flitted about the elf child’s head. Some clung to the threads of her spider‑silk dress, while others played hide and seek in Pris’ mane. All listened as Lariel sang joyfully—until grief hollowed her voice.
O magic riddle true In this dragon love brew Call the one I woo A maiden bathed in liquid gold O wind blow wild Deep in flesh beguiled Seed a dragonkind child A boy born of liquid gold O mountain quake Hear laughing Drake His innocence awake A spirit shaped in liquid gold O Singing River Ask fortune to deliver Drake wisdom’s sliver A truth wrought of liquid gold O rhythms of time Let his riddles entwine Paradox and divine Magic woven with liquid gold O my love grows old Body buckle and fold Forever shivering cold Wrapped in loving liquid gold O—grim—dark sky Drake’s mother does die No riddle reveals why In silence drowned in liquid gold O death so dread I fall on desert bed My broken heart has bled An end begun in liquid gold
The faeries remained transfixed when the song ended. The forest itself fell quiet, like a child lulled by a soothing’s voice. A shrew—watched by the owl perched high above—paused mid-clamber through the leaf litter, and a procession of ants carrying their queen’s eggs to another nest halted, their antennae wavering in the air. A doe and her fawn, grazing in a nearby glade, stood motionless, their ears pricked. And the wolf who had stalked them lifted his gaze to the moons, longing for his lost mate.
“Again…” Eleisha broke the silence. “Sing it again!”
Silvery lights crisscrossed the glade as faeries spun, danced, and waltzed together.
A tremor passed through Lariel as the song faded into the forest. Quietly, she said, “Again?”
“Please,” Eleisha said, hovering before the young elf’s face. “It’s so sad when the dragon’s love dies and he weeps tears of gold.”
“Then why do you want me to sing it again?”
“Because it feels so sad.”
Lariel’s heart welled. “I would sing it again, Eleisha… but the festival’s about to begin.”
“The festival? Er… oh… the one where you become queen?”
“Yes, that one.”
“But surely you still have time.” Eleisha gazed with hopeful eyes at the wild elf. “Sing it just once more, and I promise to listen twice as hard…”