“This fish stew is amazing,” said Noel.

“Out of this world,” I said as I emptied my clay bowl. The phrase didn’t translate very well so I had to explain that I meant it tasted really good.

“Please,” said elder Kezler Roja, “have some more.”

We were sitting deep inside the cave where the Roja tribe of humans lived. The elder had led us inside a special room in the back, where he insisted we sit for dinner, separated from the rest of the tribe. A pair of green eyes peeked out from behind the wall at the entrance to the room. Elder Kezler scolded his grandson Kesler for ‘insulting the venerable elves,’ but that didn’t seem to faze the young redhead at all.

Elder Kezler was a lively looking old man. He had red hair, like the rest of his tribe, but his hazel eyes that peeked out from under his droopy eyebrows had a certain spark inside them. He didn’t know how old he was, since the Roja didn’t keep track of their age the way we did. Instead, the Roja tracked the order of birth for each member of their tribe, and elder Kezler was the oldest born. If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his early seventies, which made his red beard—which only had a few wisps of gray in it—seem even more impressive.

I snuck a glance at Noel. She was clearly putting on a brave face. I stared at my own feet too, trying to wrap my head around what elder Kezler had told us.

“I hate to keep asking you this,” I said, “but your ancestors met elves who were coming up from the wasteland, right?”

“Yes,” said the elder.

“And you don’t know how long it’s been since you last saw them,” I said.

The elder nodded. “It has been many generations. If we didn’t have the ancestral paintings, I doubt we would have even remembered.” The elder raised a torch above his head, shedding light on the walls of the room around us.

The cave paintings seemed crudely drawn, but my paper on prehistoric societies told me they were actually incredibly complex. The large, powerful looking monsters reminded me of the Altamira and Lascaux cave paintings that I had looked at for my paper. The red and yellow ochre pigments popped against the dull rocks and fought through the layers of soot to create images that captured motion, action, and even abstract concepts like time and death.

But what really stood out were the stick figurines that were etched into the rock and highlighted with red ochre. One figurine, the smallest and most mundane, seemed to be fighting a large bull-like monster. The figure charged against the monster, but the difference in size made it hard to believe the figure could win. However, a handful of floating half-man, half-monster figures floated above the bull monster’s head, and threw what looked like fire, water, earth, and air at the monster.

The paintings reminded me of the famous Sulawesi cave paintings that were all over my search feeds when I was trying to research the paper for my college course. They had been recently discovered and were possibly the oldest cave paintings ever discovered. The truly amazing thing about those paintings, though, was that they broke the narrative about when humans started telling narrative and abstract stories through art. People were excited that we may have been much smarter much earlier than we had initially thought!

But unlike the Sulawesi paintings, those half-man, half-monster figures didn’t look like the human Roja tribe’s ancestors. Instead, the pointy red lines of ochre coming out of the side of their heads marked them as elves. The four types of magic they were using seemed to line up with the elemental system we had introduced to our tribe. I guess it was nice that they managed to go beyond water magic on their own, I said to myself.

“And you don’t know how long these paintings have been here, either?” asked Noel.

“I am sorry, venerable elf,” said the elder. “I do not know.”

I frowned. I could try to invent a type of magic that would help me estimate how old these paintings were. However, developing the ‘knowledge’ and ‘wisdom’ necessary to create carbon dating magic would take an insanely long time, especially since only one of my magic spells was even remotely connected to modern science!

I could also observe the Roja tribe and estimate how old the paintings were by comparing their technological progress, but from what I’d seen, it wouldn’t be very useful. Cave paintings were dated using wide ranging estimates and the level of technological progress varied wildly between different areas. Some places might even go backwards after developing new technologies, and even if they did progress, the changes in technology could be so small I wouldn’t be able to tell how much time had passed since they were able to make the paintings.

“Tell us about the elves,” I said as a thought came to me. “What are the stories your people know about them. Oh, and please turn off the torch. The smoke might damage the paintings and this room is pretty closed off so you might get sick if you leave a burning torch on in here for too long.”

“Yes, venerable elf. That is one of the things the ancient elves told our ancestors!” said elder Kezler. “This was before my people lived in caves. The seasons were changing and our people were struggling to hunt bigger, and stronger monsters, but the ancient elves came out of the wastelands and moved into this very cave.”

“You mean they came here?” said Noel as she looked around. The elder had snuffed out his torch at my request, so we couldn’t see much.

“Well, that’s what the stories say,” said the elder. “But there are other stories that say our tribe moved with the rivers even after the ancient elves left.”

“I see,” said Noel.

“When did the elves leave?” I said, “and do you know where they went?”

“I must apologize to you again, venerable elves, since I do not know when your ancestors left us,” said the elder.

“Family,” said Noel, “they weren’t our ancestors. They were our family!”

The elder stopped. Then he spoke, slowly: “It seems the stories of your immortality were true. My ancestors must have failed to barter for the secret to immortality, but if it can be bartered for the same way we bartered for your magic, may I make you an offer?”

“No,” I said, “we aren’t immortal. We have long lives, that’s all. And there is no secret behind it, it is just the way things are. The way some animals live for only a few days, while other live longer than you do.”

“I see, that does make sense, since we know that elves can die of disease and injury,” said the elder. “Then let me answer your other question. We do not know for certain where the ancient elves went. We do not even know why they left, since our ancestors would have done anything to keep them around. However, as I mentioned before, we know that elves can die of disease and injury. We know this because two elves did pass while they were with our ancestors. The story goes, that one of them was injured while hunting out alone, which is why our hunters must always go in pairs, while the other died after eating a Cora Fish, which is why we sacrifice one over their graves every summer solstice.”

“Wait, you sacrifice it over their graves?” said Noel quickly.

“Yes,” said the elder. “It is one of our holiest sites. Its location is another reason I believe this cave is not the same as the one from the stories.”

“You mean it’s far away?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “but that is not the only problem.”

“What do you mean?” said Noel.

“There is another story,” said the elder, hesitantly, “that says the elves did not like leaving their caves at night. The only exception, was when there was a new moon. Then, and only then, would they leave their caves and set up camp under the stars. The story goes, our ancestors were confused. It was almost as if the great and powerful elves were afraid of the moon. We asked them why they refused to walk under the moonlight, but the elves never gave us an answer. They would not reveal the secret of the moon even for the offer of many fish or even monster meat. Instead, they told us to be wary of the moon, to be wary of the red star, and most importantly of all, to always hide when the two crossed paths.

“And the story continues, that one day, after the elves had left our tribe, our young hunters went outside on a night with a full moon. The red star, which had disappeared for many generations, was back in the sky and the two heavenly bodies glowed upon seeing the young hunters. The young hunters ran to the graveyard of the ancient elves, hoping that would save them, but the moon flashed brightly and clashed with the red star. The red star dimmed and shrank away, but the seas roiled under the weight of the heavens.

“The young hunters and the graveyard were swallowed by the sea. And this story is why we offer sacrifices to the moon and the red star, at least once every summer. Still, we are always afraid on nights with full moons, lest the moon and the red star go to war once again.”