I grab her backpack.

 “Give it to me. No, no, I'll carry it! Enough, enough. I'll take myself!”

 “What have you got in there? Why are you afraid that I will take it from you? Kattia's head?” I chuckle, “Svartalf, leaving the jugs aside, l'll carry your backpack, and it's final. You'll have to give me a very good stallion when it's time to pay; I'm not that young as I used to be.”

 After a second of hesitation, she lets go of the strap of her backpack.

 “Good girl.”

 “I'm a woman, witch. I'm not your lapdog to call me a good girl. It's humiliating. Give it back to me! Now!"

 “Fine!” I angrily throw the backpack at her. Elfia catches it, leaning backward from the weight.

 Without hesitation, I stove the shawl into my pocket and run out of the cave after her. I know that even if someone is following us, these people are still far away. We had a head start. If they wanted to kill us, they would have done it long ago. Nevertheless, to kill us at a distance, one need to have very strong magical abilities, and there are very few sorcerers with such extraordinary power. I don't think anyone from the council of seven will be interested in us. It's even ridiculous to think that the strongest sorcerers from three continents will be chasing me and this young revolutionary idiot.

 It is hard for her to carry the backpack: unlike me, elfia did not sleep.

 “Let me help you. I won't call you a good girl, I promise, I'll call you an adult woman.  Don't be so stubborn." We are mounting rather quickly in pitch darkness. The path is illuminated by my little pale pulsar; like a firefly it slightly dispels the darkness.  Svartalf forbade me to use powerful spells so as not to attract the attention of not only pursuers with my magical power, but also possible creatures that may lurk in the darkness of the mountain. The scariest thing is that sometimes I can make out the terrible silhouettes of crows in the gnarled undersized trees.

 “Just keep quiet! We will soon reach our destination. No spell can reach us there.”

 “Do you doubt that I can protect you from your pursuers? You don't even trust me to carry your precious backpack. You are tired. What if we have to run at the moment when your strength is running out?” The last thing I want to do is drag her luggage, but I'm even less interested in dragging a wounded or killed elf up the mountain.

 “I hired you for my protection; you are my bodyguard, not my loader. Do your job and keep the pulsar alive."

 “How can I do my job if you don’t want me to use magic to its full potential? Maybe these people aren't after us. Maybe it's just a coincidence.”

 “You are an impenetrable fool like all humans. Do you really think that this is just a handful of tourists who decided to wander around? Everything that was connected with the heir and his location was classified under the threat of death, and now the ideal plan for his return is teetering and tumbling down like a house of cards.”

 “Great elves are fond of talking their tongues out; they blurt out secrets, but when dirty business has to be done, they hide their pure-blooded elven asses in their cozy and super protected areas, sending disgraceful but loyal bastards like you on failed missions.”

 I feel like she wants to say something. Even in the dark, I can see how tense her back is, but she fixes the straps of her backpack, resolutely keeping up ascending.

 No sooner are we able to travel half-life of a church candle distance, when I start to feel weird. I had similar incident only once in my life many years ago, and it passed: I forbade myself to plunge into it again. I've closed myself off to feeling anything for anyone or anything, and I was fine, but right now I feel like I can't handle it anymore. It's hard for me to breathe, but not because of the rapid uphill. I try to breathe, but my lungs don't seem to be satisfied. My palms and feet are becoming ice cold. The little trembling is assailing my body. Fear and panic pierce me: I want to run, but I don't know where to hide.

 Unable to take it anymore, I stop and fall to my knees. I cover my face with my hands trying to count my heartbeat. A small magical source beats nearby, making its way in a thin, barely noticeable stream between the stones, but as if out of spite it does not give me strength, but worsens my condition.

 Through my fingers I see Svartalf drop her backpack and run up to me. She falls to her knees next to me.

 “Don't give in to this, please! I'm with you, don't leave me here alone, witch, I need you!"

 She tries to get my palms away from my face, but realizing that she can’t do it, she hugs me tightly. “You are stronger than...”

 But I do not hear what she says: I am drowning in my misery. 

“Malva, Malva,” I don’t need another woman, I don’t want Svartalf. I need only my Malva.

 

“Wake up, Eden, wake up. It's a bad dream."

 With tears in my eyes, I am desperately clinging to the awfully and painfully familiar body. If I died and the afterlife exists in the kingdom of the heavenly mistress Amixantra, then I was in vain to stay alive for so long. Gradually, I realize that it was a bad dream. All ten years was just a nightmare. I shyly find Malva's lips with mine, kissing her smile.

 “How are you feeling? Have you fallen ill? It seems you have fever: you are trembling, love.” Her voice is mild and tender. She has always had an amazingly feminine voice that could wrap you in warmth and love the moment you hear it.

 “Malva, love, is it really you?” I ask her, unable to stop trembling. I scoop her dear face with my hands, drowning in her blue star eyes. Just a few minutes ago, in my terrible dream, they seemed as far and unattainable as stars in the sky.

 “I will order the servants to bring you some herbal tea...” She wants to get out of bed. The young woman is wearing only a translucent peignoir, which exposes all her feminine charms and curves rather than hides them. Malva has always been naturally sexual, as if she was born to be loved, and I was born to love her.

 I desperately grab her wrist. Fear runs through my body. I’m convinced that if she leaves, disappears from my field of vision, she will vanish like a morning mist. Malva looks at my fear-contorted face with surprise and concern.

 “I beg you not to go. I beg you...” I can’t hold back my bitter tears. I break down sobbing as I relived the scariest nightmare.