The wood elves had built their homes on the branches of trees. Rope ladders and bridges led from one house to another. The wood elves led the crew of the Swift Retribution to the central hall, a huge structure supported by ten trees. John was a little scared that the hall would be blown off by one gust of wind. His worries were needless. When he walked into the hall he realized that, though it didn’t have a proper foundation, it was sturdy enough. Two hundred high elves and one human silently followed the dozen wood elves into the hall without any problems. There would have been a tremor at least if the structure was going to collapse. John felt tempted to jump just to test the sturdiness, but quickly controlled his impulse.

“This hall was built during the height of our civilization. Now, it is rarely used,” said the old chieftain. “I still remember a time when it was filled with our people. Only five hundred of us are left now.” Five hundred? From the number of tree houses he had seen there should have been at least double that number.

“What happened?” asked the leader. “Why are you so few?”

“Nature took its course,” the old chieftain said. “Enough with these melancholic thoughts. Today is a day for celebration. Rest awhile. We shall prepare the refreshments and entertainment in the meantime. Tomorrow we shall lead you to the waygate. It is nearly dark now. There is no point in examining it at this late hour.” Would there be meat? John missed meat. It was his primary diet when he’d been stuck on his lonely planet. He’d learned to season it with wild herbs and honey. He was quite an accomplished cook considering the lack of ingredients he had at hand.

“We have lights,” said the leader. “Moving in the dark will not hinder us. Why don’t we go to the waygate now?”

“Even with torches, the forest is treacherous at night. Though you are armed and armored, why risk it? The chief was a prudent man. Why take risks when there was no need? John found himself nodding in agreement.

“Very well.”

John and Sor Al sat down cross-legged near the back of the hall. “Will you teach me how to weave fire now?” he asked Sor Al, eager to learn. He imagined spraying a jet of fire out from his fingertips.

“Fire weaving,” said Sor Al, “is the simplest yet most dangerous elemental weave. It can take a few hours to learn but a lifetime to master. Watch the weaving carefully.”

John activated his perceiver circuit. He saw a tiny whirlwind of energy escape Sor Al’s fingers and rotate in the air. The threads of aura erupted like the discharge of a Tesla coil John had seen in his past life. A bright orange flame appeared in the air.

“Did you see?” asked Sor Al.

John shook his head. He hadn’t been able to see the weaves carefully enough. Sor Al demonstrated again. “Do not try this weave here,” said Sor Al. “You might accidentally burn the hall down. I shall send you my notes and illustrations once we’re back on the ship.” Sor Al showed John the flame a few more times and then began to meditate in silence.

A little while later a high elf John hadn’t met before sat beside him and smiled. He was dressed in a blue robe, with arcane symbols in silver embroidered at the hem and the edges of his sleeves. “You must be Wild Child,” the elf said. “I have been meaning to meet you for a long time.” His voice had an otherworldly quality to it, soft and distant. Only Sor Al and Lianel her servant used his name. John didn’t mind people calling him Wild Child but he’d much prefer ‘John.’

“My name’s John, but you can call me Wild Child if you wish.”

“Jehun. I am Tin Ar, the navigator of the Swift Retribuiton.” Why couldn’t any of these elves pronounce his name correctly?

“Navigator? Do you know of a planet called Earth?” He had asked Sor Al this question earlier and she had told him to ask the navigator. He was suddenly filled with hope.

“Erth,” the navigator thought for a moment. “No. Why do you wish to know?”

“I heard about it from the holocube the Astari left me,” John lied. He didn’t want anyone to know about his reincarnation. They might think he was crazy and lock him up somewhere. They might even think he was possessed by a demon. High elves believed that the souls of the dead were absorbed by the light of Rahl, their chief god. John did not believe in gods or goddesses. They were anthropomorphic forms of nature and the various facets of civilization.

“The Bright Ones knew of many planets and systems that are unknown to us,” the navigator said. “They explored the universe with much greater success than any other race.”

“The Bright Ones built the waygates,” Sor Al interrupted the conversation. “Perhaps we may find artifacts in this place. The chieftain can give us some clues.”

“Perhaps,” said the navigator. “Let us go and find out.”

Saying that, the two got up and walked out the hall, leaving John all alone. He joined Karamen’s group, listening to them talk and laugh about people and places he didn’t know. They mostly talked about their homes and the lives they had led before boarding the Swift Retribuiton. John could tell that Karamen was very melancholic when he talked about his past. It was strange seeing him like this. A little later, wood elves entered the hall carrying trays of fruit, bread and wine.

“Ah,” Karamen closed his eyes and sniffed, “a veritable feast. Come Wild Child, let us whet our appetites on these apples.” He tossed an apple to John. They weren’t like the regular apples on Earth. These were full of loops of pink on the red outer skin. They were also much smaller. Karamen popped one of the apples in his mouth and spat out the seed into a bowl kept for the purpose. “What troubles you? They are not poisoned, if that is what your questioning visage seeks to convey.” He poured himself a cup of wine and drank with a loud gulp. “Refreshing for both the throat and spirit. Come, have some.”

“Better not to. I’d rather keep my wits in check,” said John.

“This brew is not enough to intoxicate even a rabbit,” said Karamen. “And I Karamen can out drink rabbits with ease.”

“Most people can,” John snorted.

“You have not seen the rabbits on Tharax,” Karamen shivered. “I did in fact have a drinking contest with one of them once.”

“Aren’t you afraid of catching infections? They can spread through food and water.”

“Elves cannot catch infections that way. It is the very air around us that is our main enemy. Eat. The food is pure. I can tell.”

John refused a second time. He wasn’t going to risk it. Besides, he wasn’t hungry. If there was meat he might have been tempted, but the wood elves were vegetarians.

Music began to play in the hall, a troupe of wood elves plucking lutes, turning the cranks of hurdy gurdies, beating drums. They played traditional tunes that the High Elves knew, tunes from Ayrelar before its destruction. A circle of dancers frolicked in the midst of the hall, wood elves pulling up more and more partners from their guests. Karamen stood up and began to clap in time to the music.

“Let’s join in the fun,” Karamen dragged John to the dancing circle.

John, being the shortest person in the group was not very noticeable. He had to dodge often, avoiding any collisions with the merry dancers. The celebrations ended a few hours later, the crew of the Swift Retribution arranging resting places for themselves within the hall. It was not a cold night, so they had no problem lying on the floor without bedding. Finding rooms for so many guests at once was impossible for the wood elves. The leader, realm mistress, navigator and a few others however, were given separate rooms to lie in.

John tried to sleep but found that he couldn’t. The sense of there being something wrong with everything kept him awake. Karamen stirred beside him.

Karamen nudged John and whispered, “My instincts tell me that there is something infernal afoot. Shall we investigate?”