when alveric understood that he had lost elfland it was already evening and he had been gone two days and a night from erl. for the second time he lay down for the night on that shingly plain whence elfland had ebbed away: and at sunset the eastern horizon showed clear against turquoise sky, all black and jagged with rocks, without any sign of elfland. and the twilight glimmered, but it was earth's twilight, and not that dense barrier for which alveric looked, which lies between elfland and earth. and the stars came out and were the stars we know, and alveric slept below their familiar constellations.
he awoke in the birdless dawn very cold, hearing old voices crying faintly far off, as they slowly drifted away, like dreams going back to dreamland. he wondered if they would come to elfland again, or if elfland had ebbed too far. he searched all the horizon eastwards, and still saw nothing but the rocks of that desolate land. so he turned again toward the fields we know.
he walked back through the cold with all his impatience gone; and gradually some warmth came to him from walking, and later a little from the autumnal sun. he walked all day, and the sun was growing huge and red when he came again to the leather-worker's cottage. he asked for food, and the old man made him welcome: his pot was already simmering for his own evening meal: and it was not long before alveric was sitting at the old table before a dish full of squirrels' legs, hedge-hogs and rabbit's meat. the old man would not eat till alveric had eaten, but waited on him with such solicitude that alveric felt that the moment of his opportunity was come, and turned to the old man as he offered him a piece of the back of a rabbit, and approached the subject of elfland.
"the twilight is further away," said alveric.
"yes, yes," said the old man without any meaning in his voice, whatever he had in his mind.
"when did it go?" said alveric.
"the twilight, master?" said his host.
"yes," said alveric.
"ah, the twilight," the old man said.
"the barrier," said alveric, and he lowered his voice, although he knew not why, "between here and elfland."
at the word elfland all comprehension faded out of the old man's eyes.
"ah," he said.
"old man," said alveric, "you know where elfland has gone."
"gone?" said the old man.
that innocent surprise, thought alveric, must be real; but at least he knew where it had been; it used to be only two fields away from his door.
"elfland was in the next field once," said alveric.
and the old man's eyes roved back into the past, and he gazed as it were on old days awhile, then he shook his head. and alveric fixed him with his eye.
"you knew elfland," he exclaimed.
still the old man did not answer.
"you knew where the border was," said alveric.
"i am old," said the leather-worker, "and i have no one to ask."
when he said that, alveric knew that he was thinking of his old wife, and he knew too that had she been alive and standing there at that moment yet he would have had no news of elfland: there seemed little more to say. but a certain petulance held him to the subject after he knew it to be hopeless.
"who lives to the east of here?" he said.
"to the east?" the old man replied. "master, are there not north and south and west that you needs must look to the east?"
there was a look of entreaty in his face but alveric did not heed it. "who lives to the east?" he said.
"master, no one lives to the east," he answered. and that indeed was true.
"what used to be there?" said alveric.
and the old man turned away to see to the stewing of his pot, and muttered as he turned, so that one hardly heard him.
"the past," he said.
no more would the old man say, nor explain what he had said. so alveric asked him if he could have a bed for the night, and his host showed him the old bed he remembered across that vague number of years. and alveric accepted the bed without more ado so as to let the old man go to his own supper. and very soon alveric was deep asleep, warm and resting at last, while his host turned over slowly in his mind many things of which alveric had supposed he knew nothing.
when the birds of our fields woke alveric, singing late in the last of october, on a morning that reminded them of spring, he rose and went out of doors, and went to the highest part of the little field that lay on the windowless side of the old man's house toward elfland. there he looked eastward and saw all the way to the curved line of the sky the same barren, desolate, rocky plain that had been there yesterday and the day before. then the leather-worker gave him breakfast, and afterwards he went out and looked again at the plain. and over his dinner, which his host timidly shared, alveric neared once more the subject of elfland. and something in the old man's sayings or silences made alveric hopeful that even yet he would have some news of the whereabouts of the pale-blue elfin mountains. so he brought the old man out and turned to the east, to which his companion looked with reluctant eyes; and pointing to one particular rock, the most noticeable and near, said, hoping for definite news of a definite thing, "how long has that rock been there?"
and the answer came to his hopes like hail to apple-blossom: "it is there and we must make the best of it."
the unexpectedness of the answer dazed alveric; and when he saw that reasonable questions about definite things brought him no logical answer he despaired of getting practical information to guide his fantastic journey. so he walked on the eastward side of the cottage all the afternoon, watching the dreary plain, and it never changed or moved: no pale-blue mountains appeared, no elfland came flooding back: and evening came and the rocks glowed dully with the low rays of the sun, and darkened when it set, changing with all earth's changes, but with no enchantment of elfland. then alveric decided on a great journey.
he returned to the cottage and told the leather-worker that he needed to buy much provisions, as much as he could carry. and over supper they planned what he should have. and the old man promised to go next day amongst the neighbours; telling of all the things he would get from each, and somewhat more if god should prosper his snaring. for alveric had determined to travel eastward till he found the lost land.
and alveric slept early, and slept long, till the last of his fatigue was gone which came from his pursuit of elfland: the old man woke him as he came back from his snaring. and the creatures that he had snared the old man put in his pot and hung it over his fire, while alveric ate his breakfast. and all the morning the leather-worker went from house to house amongst his neighbours, dwelling on little farms at the edge of the fields we know; and he got salted meats from some, bread from one, a cheese from another, and came back burdened to his house in time to prepare dinner.
and all the provender that burdened the old man alveric shouldered in a sack, and some he put in his wallet; and he filled his water-bottle and two more besides that his host had made from large skins, for he had seen no streams at all in the desolate land; and thus equipped he walked some way from the cottage, and looked again at the land from which elfland had ebbed. he came back satisfied that he could carry provisions for a fortnight.
and in the evening while the old man prepared pieces of squirrels' meat alveric stood again on the windowless side of the cottage, gazing still across the lonely land, hoping always to see emerge from the clouds that were colouring at sunset, those serene pale-blue mountains; and seeing never a peak. and the sun set, and that was the last of october.
next morning alveric made a good meal in the cottage; then took his heavy burden of provisions, and paid his host and started. the door of the cottage opened toward the west and the old man cordially saw him away from his door with godspeed and farewells, but he would not move round his house to watch him going eastward; nor would he speak of that journey: it was as though to him there were only three points of the compass.
the bright autumnal sun was not yet high when alveric went from the fields we know to the land that elfland had left and that nothing else went near, with his big sack over his shoulder and his sword at his side. the may trees of memory that he had seen were all withered now, and the old songs and voices that had haunted that land were all now faint as sighs; and there seemed to be fewer of them, as though some had already died or had struggled back to elfland.
all that day alveric travelled, with the vigour that waits at the beginning of journeys, which helped him on though he was burdened with so much provisions, and a big blanket that he wore like a heavy cloak round his shoulders; and he carried besides a bundle of firewood, and a stave in his right hand. he was an incongruous figure with his stave and his sack and his sword; but he followed one idea, one inspiration, one hope; and so shared something of the strangeness that all men have who do this.
halting at noon to eat and rest he went slowly on again and walked till evening: even then he did not rest as he had intended, for when twilight fell and lay heavy along the eastern sky he continually rose from his resting and went a little further to see if it might not be that dense deep twilight that made the frontier of the fields we know, shutting them off from elfland. but it was always earthly twilight, until the stars came out, and they were all the familiar stars that look on earth. then he lay down among those unrounded and mossless rocks, and ate bread and cheese and drank water; and as the cold of night began to come over the plain he lit a small fire with his scanty bundle of wood and lay close to it with his cloak and his blanket round him; and before the embers were black he was sound asleep.
dawn came without sound of bird or whisper of leaves or grasses, dawn came in dead silence and cold; and nothing on all that plain gave a welcome back to the light.
if darkness had lain forever upon those angular rocks it were better, alveric thought, as he saw their shapeless companies sullenly glowing; darkness were better now that elfland was gone. and though the misery of that disenchanted place entered his spirit with the chill of the dawn, yet his fiery hope still shone, and gave him little time to eat by the cold black circle of his lonely fire before it hurried him onward easterly over the rocks. and all that morning he travelled on without the comradeship of a blade of grass. the golden birds that he had seen before had long since fled back to elfland, and the birds of our fields and all living things we know shunned all that empty waste. alveric travelled as much alone as a man who goes back in memory to revisit remembered scenes, and instead of remembered scenes he was in a place from which every glamour had gone. he travelled somewhat lighter than on the day before, but he went more wearily, for he felt more heavily now the fatigue of the previous day. he rested long at mid-day and then went on. the myriad rocks stretched on and slightly jagged the horizon, and all day there came no glimpse of the pale-blue mountains. that evening from his dwindling provision of wood alveric made another fire; its little flame going up alone in that waste seemed somehow to reveal the monstrous loneliness. he sat by his fire and thought of lirazel and would not give up hope, though a glance at those rocks might have warned him not to hope, for something in their chaotic look partook of the plain that bred them, and they hinted it to be infinite.
