Kyndra Prietzel

Period 6

The Älva and the Finding of the Lost Guider

Kärna hurried about filling fine goblets of water of health. Those sick, and groaning she
attended to. Her sisters did as she asked, and never questioned her authority. Kärna knew how to
tend to those feeble souls of the dead; those that were pure, but have suffered so much grief that
they could no longer take a step forward and excel to Himmel, the eternal land for purified souls
of the dead. Their hospitality was beyond their comprehension, and some believed her to be a
goddess. Kärna’s kind, the älva (the elves), were immortal beings who helped wounded souls,
and guarded Himmel from any pressuring force. They were a mere stepping stone to the heaven
above, but uneducated mortal creatures did not understand. Their land is Fästning, a mountain
fortress on a hidden island unknown to mortals. It was their home.
Kärna helped a soul graying, dimming in light from frightened pain. She quivered at her
touch as she brushed her fingers through her strangled hair.
“I do not know Himmel,” the soul quaked. “What will happen to me there?”
“Happiness, and relief...Let me help you. Once you are able to stand you can enter there,
and all previous pain and suffering will diminish like a blackened glass that will be cleansed.”
“All will be good there?”
“Yes,” Kärna calmly assured.
“Promise me?”
Her teeth caught her tongue before speaking. As Kärna pondered she realized she has
heard tales of Himmel, but has never entered into the heavenly realm. She doesn't know what
occurs there.
Before she can speak the tone of the chief guard averted her attention. “Kärna, more souls
will be coming, do you have enough area?”
Standing, she gave a nod. “We have room for more...A few hundred left early.”
“Good,” he nods.
Vakt, was the strongest of all the guards. He was tall with learthering armor that squared
his shoulders, and broadened his chest. His stormy gray eyes could see the farthest from their
borders, and he was never afraid of what would come.
A guard rushed into the infirmary almost tripping over an ill-struck soul. His blue eyes
were bright, and his bunned golden hair was beginning to fall loosely on his prespired neck.
He bowed, “Sir Vakt, the souls...they are not here.”
“Impossible, the message sent by the Guider specifically said they were to be here on this
hour.”
“They are not.”
Vakt pushed past the guard, barreled down the stony corridors until entering outside to
the stormy beach side of Fästning. The icy waves of the sea thickened in the chilling wind, and
the guards standing on the blackened sand looked as lost as their forgotten souls.
With fury and desperation Vakt ran down the mountain steps as Kärna followed close
behind. Once he stopped at the touch of water he turned his eyes on the mystic fog that hid them
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from the world beyond. He felt confused, and did not understand the delay. His men stared at
him with wonder, and anticipation as Kärna did the same.
“Well?” one guard questioned after a moment. “Can you see them?”
“I thought...They were…,” Vakt’s strain of words caused everyone to sweat. He then
looked above to the gray sky, and breathed, “Even the chariots are not here. How can this be?”
“Perhaps they got lost-’’
“Not on the Guider’s watch,” one piped up. “He leads those of innocent souls here...all
the time. Never has he been late. He would not have led them to Helvete, that blackened inferno
of wickedness.”
“Even if he did,” another guard remarked. “They would never have gotten past Under.
Those jättar, trolls, and dvärgar would never have let them through to Helvete.”
“Come,” Vakt grabbed Kärna’s arm unable to hear any more of this conversation.
They journeyed through the halls of the mountain until entering into a desolated room
with vases of herbs and seeds that were stacked among the walls.
“I do not understand,” Vakt scratched his head. “Ciceron has always been on time. I fear
something must have gone wrong while he ventured here with the souls...Or my reasoning of
having a mountain man be the Guider has finally come to light.”
“I fear something is not in place, Vakt,” Kärna said with fright, her heart thumped in
terror. “I have known Ciceron for a long time, I might be able to find him and-’’
“No, your place is here. You are the Healer of Hearts, The Heartwarmer...perhaps at
times The Heart Listener, but not well enough to hear Ciceron in a world filled of mortality.”
“Who says he is still in the mortal realm,” she argued. “Let me find him...If gone my
sisters can attend to the wounded souls. You can at least confide in The Soul Builder and his
brethren to help those in need.”
He scoffed, “Do not tell me I confide in Byggnad, The Soul Builder, he is a rough alf that
puts no thought into any action.”
His eyes shifted on Kärna for a moment, mumbled something under his breath, and then
slantered away. He was frightened, but did not know what else to do.
She called after him, “Where are you going? What we will do?”
“I am going to call the Gudlig,” he called over his shoulder. “They assigned Ciceron, and
now I wish for them to replace him.”
“No,” she barely whispered.
Kärna knew Ciceron’s heart. He was a good, and gentle man. Though he was bred in
mortality, and given endless life from the Gudlig he was still important. His heart beated purely,
and with passion. He loved his duty, standing watch on the tallest mountain peak awaiting for the
dead to flock to him so he could guide them. He had found it helpful, and meaningful. Ciceron
may have been a man, but he like the älva had a heart...and Kärna could hear it.
As she turned around she caught notice of the glittering, copper tether that she used to
help souls remember the good in their lives, and happiness. However, she knew it could be used
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for another meaning. Grabbing ahold of the tether, Kärna pushed her way out of the corridors
with determination to help Ciceron, who remained in Under.

She rowed her boat out as far as she could manage. Then looking down into the murky,
cold water she knotted the tether to the anchor hold, and dropped the other end over the side of
the boat. Peering down into the dark waves a knot similar to the one she tied formed in her
stomach. With courage she grabbed the tether, and jumped off the boat into the deathly chilling
water.
For a moment Kärna could feel the icy chill of the waves, but then it dispersed as a
different chill tingled her skin. After opening her eyes she looked around to find herself deep
underground in a sickening tunnel made of black stone. She swayed the end of her tether that
descended from the stone ceiling, and could still feel the sway of the boat in her hand.
With might she walked away to come towards a glowing feast of trolls. Listening to
Ciceron’s heart she knew he was deeper underground, and so taking a breath she pressed forward
with pride. As Kärna came upon the creatures they blinked, and questioned her existence.
One, a green fellow with a hunched back, eyed her. “Wha’ ya wan’?”
“I have come looking for Ciceron.”
Their bulging eyes blinked until she continued, “The Guider...He came this way did he
not?”
“We go’ a few souls,” another troll spoke. “But it ain’t none of our business wha’ da
Guider does.”
“I need to find him,” Kärna took a step forward. “Souls are lost and-’’
“Ya an elfling!” A grundy troll yelled. “Ya ain’t dead...Go! Be gone with ya!”
Sighing, she looked into their hearts and found there is only one way to get past them.
Kärna needed to soften their hearts, and she knew she had to do it with flattery.
“What a lovely drinking horn you have,” she admired while staring at the carved horn. “It
must be so valuable.”
“Eh?” the troll turned. “Wha’ ya say?”
She gasped, “And that pipe...It is so beautiful.”
The troll holding the old, musical pipe created a baffled expression. “This ‘ere? Ya must
be foolin’?”
“No, no...They are so exquisite...So fine...So prestige,” her pronunciation caused the
troll’s hearts to flutter. Knowing she could do better, she continued, “And this wonderful cavern
you live. You must be so proud. How fortunate you all are to surround yourselves with such fine
things.”
The trolls began to arise in a daze, and proudly puff out their chests. One troll gulped
down a drink from the horn with the liquid spilling out of his mouth onto the cavern floor. Then
they began to brag, and boast about themselves and where they lived. As their hearts began to
become blind of all else Kärna took notice of this chance to escape. Slowly, and silently she
slipped past them while still hearing their uproarious gloats.
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She ventured deeper feeling Ciceron’s heart becoming louder. Kärna could feel the beat
of it, and knew she must press forward. As she journeyed she slipped on an unusual rock
formation, and stumbled. Then sharp crackles, and screeches occurred until the ground
underneath slipped away. Screaming, she fell to what she assumed was her death, but then
landed on a black wooden table that seemed aged.
Kärna looked up to find herself in an underground inn with tables and chairs so those
who inhabit them could drink merrily and converse. Her limbs froze as a frightened cold swept
her body. Those who inhabited that seating were the ones staring at her. They looked like man,
but weren’t as tall. They all attained a rather large belly with proud shoulders. Everything about
them was hairy, unkempt, and disturbing.
One, with so much hair on his face Kärna could not see his mouth, stomped towards her.
“Who, in Helvete, are you?”
“She’s an älva,” one breathed on her neck.
In fear she turned to the creature so close to her she was surprised she hadn’t noticed him
before. Then turning back to the others she gasped as they all surrounded her just as close.
“Long curly hair,” one creature picked up one of Kärna’s blonde locks. “Leathering
attire, pointy ears, and eyes that resemble a moving water...She’s an älva alright.”
“You are,” she breathed in disbelief. “dvärgar...The stealthy, secretive creatures of
Under.”
“That is the advanced term of us, love,” one spoke with haughty breathe. “Here we go by
dwarves.”
Standing up she tried to find space from the dvärgar that surrounded her. Each came to
her shoulder, but Kärna felt as if they towered her.
“I come looking for Ciceron,” she firmly stated.
They all stayed silent while blinking at her. Kärna thought about when the trolls blinked
they blinked in confusion, and doltishness. When the dvärgar blinked it was sign they were
determining whether to kill her or not. As she stared she noticed how dark haired most of them
were; all almost blended with the dark walls behind them. Their glares pinned Kärna against
such a wall while she quivered at their scowls.
“I saw him come by these paths,” one spoke. “He wasn’t alone...there were some souls
with him...What about him?”
“Well, he is The Guider, and we-’’
Kärna fell short as she stared down at a patch of mushrooms that grew from the cracks
of the cavern. Frozen, she stared at the ring of mushrooms.
“That is the ring of älva,” she pointed with unbelief. “Where is the älva? What happened?
What have you done?”
“She is gone,” a dvärg leader growled. “As will Ciceron be.”
The dvärgar noticed their leader, and seeming they should leave him alone went back to
their drinking, laughing, smoking, and betting.
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In annoyance, Kärna stepped forward. “What do you mean? Who are you? What do you
know?”
“I am Mixer, leader of the dwarves, and what I know is not of your concern.”
“Mixer?” Kärna quietly mumbled. The name sounded familiar, she was sure she heard it
before. “You are The Potion Master, The BoilerMaker-’’
“Yes, I go by many names.”
“Where is Ciceron?”
“Long gone I presume,” Mixer grumbled, but then his mischievous ways tingled his
tongue, “There were myths why he came...He led the boats and chariots of the sea and sky. Then
one boat with a female soul turned, he left his post, and lost control of all the souls. He came
here with her.”
Kärna, desperate to know the answer, asked, “Why?”
Mixer shrugged casually, “Don’t know...Who cares, let the Gudlig find a new Guider.”
“Ciceron was specifically chosen,” Kärna declared. “There can be no new
Guider...Besides, you should care. What will happen when your master, Jäkel, King of Helvete
and all Death does not get the souls he thought he would. Who knows how long it will take for
the Gudlig to find a new Guider, or if they ever will. He will rain chaos, death, and despair on all
lands, including yours...Plus, this might redeem your soul-’’
Mixer gasped in frustration, “My soul! Why how-’’
“When souls venture through Under you give them a potion to forget all happiness, hope,
and love. You make them only feel misery, and filth.”
In fury Mixer grabbed Kärna’s shoulder and yanked her down to eye level. She could feel
his hot breath on her face, and realized how much anger he held in himself.
“Don’t think yourself so high above us, elfling,” he breathed vigorously. “What about
that tether you use...Heartwarmer. You may think you do good by letting those souls remember
love, and happiness. What about despair and grief? How do they know love when they can’t
remember grieving after their lost ones, or being sorrowful? How will they remember their pain
led them to a better future where sorrow exceled to faith and hope? What about remembering
frustration, and determination? Many of these feelings can lead to greater happiness, but those
souls will never know that. You’re just like us.”
Yanking her arm away Kärna stepped back. She felt unsure of herself, and something
new growed in herself that she didn’t understand. Was this shame? Pity? Sorrow? Her heart bled
from the words, and suddenly she came to accept that they were true.
“I love all souls,” she calmly said. “Even yours and your brethren.”
“If you care so much then why do you rip away a part of them. You steal a part of
themselves they can never get back.”
“Forgive me…,” Kärna spoke, and then she could feel the hearts of the dvärgar and
understood that through all the greed, and stealthiness there was goodness. “You are all good
folk. I know your hearts are-’’
“Don’t use your illusionist magic on us, Heartwarmer,” Mixer spat. “I know what you’re
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capable of, but your magic is draining as we speak. You won’t last long here, and I won’t be
caught up in your spells...‘the elves are dancing in the mist’ gents, but we won’t get lost in their
fog.”
The dvärgar cheered in reply. They felt pride in their people, and despised anyone else.
However, Kärna did not understand, and became desperate in her cause.
Her heart began to weigh heavy in her chest. She knelt down and began to plead, “Please,
I beg of you, tell me where he is, how I can find him.”
Mixer, unsure of the elfling licked his lips that were covered over with hair. Nevertheless,
he knew Kärna had been right in a way, and he had a small determination that she shouldn’t end
up like her lost sister. When he looked into her eyes he felt a pity that she came so far to receive
so little.
“He’s in Helvete,” he said tightly. “Follow the corridors of black, and you’ll get there. He
and the other souls are waiting for Jäkel to accept them. You might be able to reach him in time.
However, to press forward you must drink The Potion of Pestilence, plagued by misery and
grief...Oh, and remember you have been forewarned about the jättar, the giants. They are strong,
and stubborn, but have no real intention to kill. The real threat you must stress over in Helvete
are Jäkel’s dogs, Take Hold, Tear, and Hark. Hark will hear you first, then Take Hold will either
crush your bones, or you will die by being ripped apart by Tear. This potion, I hope, will help
cause the dogs to think of you as only a late entered soul.”
In relief, Kärna tentatively reached out to him. “Bless you and your kin.”

After drinking the potion Kärna started on her way. At first she felt as she always did.
She began to believe nothing could go wrong, and then a dizzying began to shake her mind. Her
footsteps felt like she were walking backwards. A crazed panic entered into her as she began to
desperately claw at the walls.
Then she blinked and in a foggy daze of despair she looked up at a jätte dragging her by
the feet. He was so large Kärna had to blink twice to make sure he was real. Long black hair fell
over his shoulders, and his thick ears were pierced. He looked over his shoulder, and humphed at
Kärna thinking nothing of her. Her heart felt like heavy lead, and the sorrowing grief she felt
made her slip back to darkness.

A hard shaking awakened Kärna so she could look up at the man she had been looking
for. Her heart fluttered with hope as she straightened with a smile.
“Ciceron,” she breathed with complete happiness. “You are alive. You are here. I found
you...Why are you here? What happened?”
“Why are you here?” the mountain man asked. “Kärna you can’t be here...I came here
because of...my wife.”
“Your wife?”
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“She died, and I thought I could live with that knowing she would go to Himmel...When
her boat turned to this place, however, I lost all control...She is a fair woman, Kärna, why would
she be here?”
She looked around her at the open cavern with dark blue light that seeped through the
cracks of stone. Some souls were there lonely, and grieving in pain. Kärna then saw the poor
woman whose heart held nothing in it...not even the remembrance of her husband. However, as
Kärna looked deeper she could see the anger and resentment that the woman held. She held it for
her lost husband, that he left for a bargain to save her against a plague that would have killed her
at a young age. However, all she could remember was the anger, and she did not understand
why. For so long her heart had been blackened with fury that it sent her to Helvete.
“I have watched her, Kärna,” Ciceron said. “I have seen her actions. She is a good
woman. Why is she here?”
In grief, Kärna lowered her head while a tear dripped off her face. “You have seen her
actions Ciceron, but I have seen her heart...She is a lost woman, wallowed by grief, pain,
confusion, and resentment.”
“Save her,” he pleaded. “Save her Healer of Hearts.”
“I cannot, my abilities wane here I-’’
“Yes, you can...I beg of you. It is not right she is here. It is not right that most of these
souls are here.”
Kärna began to take notice of the other souls. Some were elderly, and some were young.
Children were even present. Their little hearts had been scarred to hatred from their upbringing.
It was not their fault, and so fearful they were they shuffled on their feet while crying. The elder
had done actions in their youth that were entirely wrong, but all of them had changed at some
point. They were all good souls, but with small past wrongdoings that had damned them to Jäkel.
They could not remember a time of happiness, or love. As Kärna looked into their hearts she
could see that their hearts were heavy, scarred, and blackened through pain, and frustration.
However, most of those feelings came from love. Love wanting to protect, or kill, or resent.
She thought on it, and in her heart she could feel it. Souls must come with both love and hate.
“Let us save them all,” she whispered.
Together, älva and man, looked for a rope. After a heart pounding, heart wrenching
search they found a blackened rope that Kärna wrapped around her wrist, then tied around
Ciceron’s wife’s wrist.
Power raged inside of her as Kärna focused on love, and remembrance and tried to force
it to the soul. A rumble began in the cavern shaking the stone as loud barking echoed in the
distance. Jäkel was coming.
“Quickly Kärna,” Ciceron drastically said.
Closing her eyes Kärna focused on the love, and happiness as the female soul sat in
silence. Her abilities began to brighten the tether and feather touch the emotions of the soul.
Another rumble emerged from the cavern followed by growls, and a sickly snarl. Kärna began to
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perspire and shake as she poured her heart, all the love, hope, happiness into the soul. A bright
light illuminated the area, but not before the sensation of the Devil sunk into everyone’s heart.
“No!” Ciceron yelled. “You cannot have her!”
Kärna concentrated harder on the soul while whipping of dogs, and a stench of filth filled
the air. Ciceron stood in front of his love wanting to protect, wanting to kill for her. That very
emotion in him so strong connected to his wife, and finally she awakened from her sorrowful
slumber. The light burst, and the dark sickness that lived in Helvete died by the power. Hatred
and love combined.

Today, Helvete is not as it was, nor is Himmel. They have disappeared by the power of
the ones in charge of death and souls to create a new upbringing. All creatures live there, but in
peace to help the souls that enter. It is a place of harmony, but also risk. It is a place for all dead
souls, good and bad, for souls are made of both. There is no wholly wickedness, but no holly
heavenliness. It is the place where the älva live, and the dvärgar, and all things. It is an
underground safe haven for souls and all mythical creatures. It is beautiful, and yet devastating.
It is shining gold, and blackened stone. This place is Den Mellan, The Between, for it is all good
and bad. It is here for all souls so they can never forget their love nor their loss.
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From Swedish to English

Älva (elva)- Elves (female)

Alf (elf)- Male

Byggnad (big-nod)-Building

Ciceron (sis-er-own )-Cicerone/Guide

Den Mellan (den-mel-lawn)- The Between

Dvärgar (veir-ar)- Dwarves

Dvärg (veir-ar-ee)- Dwarf

Fästning (fast-n-ing)- Fortress

Gudlig (good-league)- Godly

Helvete (hel-ve-ta)- Hell

Himmel (he-mel)- Sky

Jäkel (zh-a-kel)- Devil

Jättar (zh-a-tar)- Giants

Jätte (zh-a-te)- Giant

Kärna (sh-aun-a)- Core

Vakt (v-ak-t)- Guard