He dismissed the distressing confession with the back of his hand.
“Which is why bridges are so important,” he said. “And please bear in mind that it is not up there. Elves do not live in the sky. It’s crowded enough up there as it is.”
“Do you mean with angels?” said Jesús. “Have you ever seen any?”
Petrus smiled, amused.
“The only traffic jams in the sky are those of the sky’s own fictions,” he said.
He took a swallow of amarone and let out a long sigh.
“This is the best I’ve ever drunk,” he said, “And under these favorable auspices, I will begin at the beginning.”
Jesús laughed.
“Now that I know there are no angels in the heavens,” he said, “you can begin wherever you like.”
“Ah, but there are angels on this earth,” said Petrus.
He caressed his glass lovingly.
“The bridge that connects the world of mists to the world of humans leaves from a sacred place on our earth we call the Pavilion of the Mists. By order of the guardian of the pavilion, the bridge makes it possible to reach any point on the earth of humankind. Its arch is shrouded in thick mist, in which the traveler immerses himself, the guardian fulfills his task, and the voyager finds himself where he wanted to be. Elves can come and go as they see fit, but this has always been impossible for humans. However, a few days ago, four of them crossed over for the first time.”
He poured another round of amarone.
“There is a war on now. You know all about it: the fronts are endless, the battles, too, and no one seems able to carry the day. The Confederation, who were on the verge of victory two years ago, have now become bogged down in absurd tactics. As for the League, they have been worn down by the length of the conflict and the deadly violence of the cataclysms.”
“Tell us about these cataclysms,” said Alejandro.
“Elves cannot fight in your world,” said Petrus. “Rather, to be more precise, they lose most of their own powers there, and it becomes impossible for them to kill. But we know how to make use of natural elements, although ordinarily we do not allow ourselves to go against nature. Unfortunately, there is a very powerful elf in our world, the one who started the war, who doesn’t care about that prohibition and has been causing the climate to go off kilter, using it as a weapon.”
“The war was started to by an elf?” said Jesús. “I thought it was Raffaele Santangelo’s intrigues.”
“The president of the Italian Council is an elf,” said Petrus.
Jesús’s chin dropped.
“But Santangelo is just a lackey,” continued Petrus, “who came into the world of humans to support the aims of his master, the cataclysmic elf who stayed behind in the mists. I’m sorry to sound so melodramatic, but that is more or less the true story.”
Probably to cure himself of melodrama, he poured a third glass of amarone.
“Does he have a name?” asked Alessandro.
“We call him Aelius,” said Petrus.
“Is ancient Rome in fashion where you live?” asked Jesús.
“Unlike humans, elves are not in the habit of using names handed down through their lineage. As it happens, one of us, a very powerful elf allied with the League, lives in Rome, so that is where we went for inspiration.”
He gave a big grin.
“As for me, I made a point of combining Roman empire and French vineyard.”
He simultaneously reassumed his air of gravity and took a long sip of wine.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that Santangelo hasn’t won?” he asked.
“Everyone thinks it’s strange,” said Alejandro. “No one can figure out his strategy.”
“You’re a strategist and a member of the high command of the League,” said Petrus.
Alejandro looked at him, thoughtful.
“I think Santangelo doesn’t want to win,” he said, “he doesn’t want a victorious side busy dressing its wounds. He wants men to die, all men, no matter which side they’re on. I’ve said this many times, but no one wants to believe that after the last conflict there could still be people who want total war. In spite of this, I’m convinced that is Santangelo’s intention. Why? I have no idea.”
“There is dark smoke over parts of occupied Europe,” Petrus said. “Your aircraft detected it. What do you think it is?”
“Massive fires,” said Alejandro. “But what are they burning, there?”
Petrus fell silent, his expression and gloomy.
“So that’s it,” said Alejandro.
“Never before has the human race been so passionate about exterminating its fellows,” said