for the supreme calling, for each one of them was followed by a number of other hares as well as imposing wild boars. The elves in the escort had the bearing of their respective high-elfin houses, an accentuated gravity to their gaze, and a way of moving that implied excellence—but this, already striking, was nothing in comparison to the allure of the two hares at the head of the procession. Ordinary elves move about the world, thought Petrus; but the world adjusts to the movements of those two. As they came forward, they quickly turned into their constituent species, and it was troubling to see how much their animals resembled one another. The hares’ fur was ermine-like, until they turned into horses with a white robe glinting with bronze. The muscles beneath their skin caused the velvet robe to ripple, and now and again it shimmered like a landscape of hills in the distance. At other moments, the cloak seemed made of pure silken snow, and one could really believe that the two candidates were brothers by blood.
Everything changed when they took on their human appearance. The taller one had thick white hair despite his age—three hundred years or more—brooding gray eyes that flashed like thunderclouds, a hard face with marble features, a hooked nose, high eyebrows, and prominent cheekbones. Given this face sculpted in hard rock, he seemed both young and old at the same time. His demeanor was nonchalant, but haughty, his gait fluid and controlled, which suggested strength and will—an elf like this can carry the mists on his shoulders, thought Petrus. He turned to look at the other elf and felt his heart leap. Oh, love! There can be no lovelier creature in this life! he thought. A mane of copper hair flew from the creature, his ice-cold eyes sparkled, and his milky complexion gleamed in an etching that roused trembling and desire. One couldn’t get enough of this mixture of crystalline purity and fiery heat, a vision that was both frightening and warming. Unlike his competitor, he seemed insolently young, and Petrus, dazzled by the fact that so much beauty and vigor could be concentrated in a single being, told himself that he must be the head of the Council gardeners. His porcelain skin reminded Petrus of the elfkin they’d met during the crossing, but he walked with a feline self-confidence, the suppleness of a predator destined for combat. To be honest, there was something warlike about him that was surprising in an elf who devoted himself to the noble practice of gardening, and bit by bit his initial bedazzlement faded and Petrus was overcome by the same sensation of danger he’d felt with the piglet. The group drew level and Petrus’s gaze was drawn to one of the boars in the retinue. Sweetness welled up in him like a stream with impetuous currents of youth, wiser than ancient rivers, and Petrus was almost more intimidated by the depth of his silver gaze than by the aura of power of the two hares.
This was the first encounter between Petrus and the elf who would soon become the greatest Guardian of the Pavilion ever known in the mists and who, one hundred and twenty years later, would father an extraordinary child called Clara. At that moment, the wild boar exchanged a brief glance with the storm-eyed hare that attested to an enduring friendship. Then they walked past the foursome and disappeared onto the veranda. After a moment, passersby on the veranda whispered among themselves, then returned to their business.
“What a shock,” said Paulus.
“You were lucky to see them,” said their guide. “This was the last council meeting before the start of the campaign, each one of them will now return to his stronghold.”
His brow creased with concern.
“There has never been a more fraught election,” he said.
“Who is your champion?” asked Marcus.
“Champion?” echoed the elf. “Are you for the garden? Their partisans use that term.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Marcus. “We are from the Deep Woods, we know little about what goes on here.”
“The distribution of the professions of faith will only start tomorrow, that’s true,” said the hare. “You will have a better idea of who is in the running once you’ve read them. As for me, I’ve been serving the library for five hundred years. I know who my candidate will be.”
“So it’s Katsura against Ryoan, the library against the garden?” asked Paulus.
“What garden, I do wonder,” said their guide. “That which shines does not