Read Online The Life of Elves by Muriel Barbery, Alison Anderson - Free Book Online Page A

caused her to see that face again, with its dark eyes and sleek, yet thin, features, and golden skin with lips like a splash of blood. She searched for its trace and discovered the little girl at the edge of a plantation of trees, just as a tall gray horse approached. The entire panorama lit up, and superimposed on the frosty countryside was a landscape of mountains and mist. They did not overlap but were enmeshed, rather, like clouds: she saw panoramas coiling together but also weatherscapes merging—clear skies, and snow falling from a storm tossed above a clear sky. And then a tornado funneled into sight. In a blazing vision that condensed action and time Clara could see the great stormy turmoil, the evil whirlwinds and black arrows that rose raging toward the sky, while a little old woman brandished a stick above her disheveled crown. Just as dream tipped into waking she saw another scene, where the little girl was eating her dinner in the company of six adults who surrounded her with a shimmering peaceful halo, and for the first time in her life, Clara beheld, in that halo, the material manifestation of love. Finally everything disappeared and she lay there awake in the silence of the dark room. In the morning she told the Maestro what she had seen in her dream. At the end of her story she added the name of the little stranger, because it came to her in a sudden flash of clarity.
    Gustavo Acciavatti smiled at her for the second time.
    But this time his smile was sad.
    â€œAll wars have their traitors,” he said. “As of yesterday, Maria is no longer safe.”
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    * the hare and the wild boar watch over you when you walk beneath the trees / your fathers cross the bridge to embrace you both when you sleep

V ILLA A CCIAVATTI
Inner Elfin Council
    W ho is the traitor?” asked the Maestro.
    â€œI don’t know,” said the Council Head. “We can no longer be sure about half of the inner sanctum. It could be any one of the ten members. I did not get the impression I was being followed, and my tracks were erased very quickly.”
    â€œI did not see that you were followed. There is after all another bridge and another pavilion,” said the Guardian of the Pavilion. “We must reinforce Maria’s protection.”
    â€œNo,” said the Maestro. “Her powers must grow, and Clara must consolidate their bond.”
    â€œWe have no idea what we are doing,” said the Council Head. “And yet we are transforming our daughters into soldiers.”
    â€œTo say the very least,” said Petrus. “You don’t leave them any time to play with dolls and you don’t help them very much either.”
    â€œYou wrote the poem just after Teresa’s death,” said the Maestro to the Guardian of the Pavilion, “and she found it today. I shall send it to Maria.”
    â€œA poem here, a score there, scarcely a glut of explanations,” said Petrus. “How are they to understand who the hare and the boar are?”
    â€œMaria saw me on the day of her tenth birthday,” said the Guardian of the Pavilion, “the wild boar will speak to her. And her people are cut like diamonds. They have exceeded all our expectations.”
    â€œAnd Clara’s people, what do you think of them?” asked Petrus. “No friends, no family, no mother. An irascible, sibylline professor, and she has work up to her ears. But Clara is the artist on your team of little warriors. You must nurture her heart and her sensibility, and that is not something that can be done by training her like a recruit.”
    â€œClara needs a woman in her life,” said the Council Head.
    â€œWhen Pietro is satisfied that her safety can be guaranteed, then they shall meet,” said the Maestro.
    After a short silence, he turned to the Guardian of the Pavilion and said, “Did you hear her play . . . yes, I know, she’s your daughter, and you heard her