Chronicles of Atva: The Last Lithuist Book 1 of 3

Chapter 1: The Dawn River

King Erethor of the eastern elves of Erelis was quick with the aid of his horse's strides and swift in the indigo night. Panting, he took the moonlit path through the Broken Wood and along the right side of the Elberon mountains to the banks of the Yire that branched from the black river. The stars were not bright, and the seldom moments in which they gleamed and sparkled only told that they too had heard of the rumors and were anxious enough to spread them. Erethor looked up grimly; the dark could not wholly shadow the moon, but the air seemed denser and the light dimmer.

Erethor stopped at the stream’s murky bay. Writhing like ink, the obscure water that lapped over his silver boots left no mark, and only lured him eerily into the whirlpool. At his motion, Erethor’s steed trotted further into the river. He dropped into the brook a glittering chain and whispered beneath his breath the distinct words ‘Pandora’s Lair. Bring me to your maker’. The horse snorted as it hit the bed of the river whilst the King felt the wind of the night disappear and watched the trees in the meadows whip away soundlessly. Rigid and sensing the familiar distant coolness of River Travel, Erethor felt the uncomfortable pressure signaling arrival push on his chest; and then came the rasping wind again. His ice blue eyes opened once more and his white robes emerged from the water untouched, not even discolored, by the black water.

Emerging from the river, the King galloped for another half hour amongst the brush and forest until he reached the grassy plain that beheld the home of the woman he had been looKing for. The wind danced upon his white-blonde hair as he walked through the meadow.

Before him howled low purple clouds, hanging forebodingly over the battlements of a stone castle. Small puffs of magenta smoke and random showers of golden sparks emitted from the building before the King. The beige brick work loomed over Erethor, his hands loosening from his belt, and his fingers slowly released their grip on his dagger’s hilt. The heavy doors gave way and in the threshold stood a broad shouldered woman, her black curly hair billowing in the breezes and her sharp features shining in the flashing light.

Erethor left the edge of the river and headed towards the bangled lady. Her clothes were much like a gypsy’s except in color; their royal purple tint mirroring wealth and honor. Gold and yellow suns were spun into her long trailing skirt and hoops of encrusted amethyst hung from her rounded witch’s ears.

“Elf King!” she led Erethor into the shelter of the castle and waved her hand, the doors meeting with a sonorous ‘clang’, “It has been too long.” Her smile was sincere but the weariness behind her wise eyes and her wrinkles did not fit well on the young girl’s face. However, a witch can choose which form she takes, and though her slim body told of youth, her eyes thundered age and knowledge. It was the woman he knew, all the same.

“Pandora,” Erethor held her two hands in the both of his, finding them extremely cold, “Little Witch of the West.” He looked her up and down, “I see you have been over doing yourself again. Your little projects are costing you dearly. If the Darkness that has been rumored to be rebirthing, truly rebirthing, then we will need both of our Magic-lore experts in the final battle.” The corner

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of the King’s mouth lifted slightly, but when he chuckled, he laughed darkly, and the humor was hardly there, lost in the castle walls.

Pandora did not appreciate being chastised, but her ally was right. “Well,” she gestured to the smoke coming from one of the higher-up rooms, “They may seem as meaningless projects to you Erethor, but the future of your daughter lies in my hands, and the outcome of my experiments. I am trying to find the proper combination of potions to create something that will cease the magical instincts in your daughter to emerge…at least for the most part of her infancy until she learns how to control her outbreaks.”

The King sighed, “We have talked about this. I came here to collect a liquid that would dim her power, not wipe it out.”

Pandora shifted her footing, “Well, I haven’t found the solution and time is running out, you’ll have to take what I’ve managed or go.”

“Alright, but I want my child to enter the void with the least amount of tampering possible.” the King warned.

“Tampering!” Pandora said, trying to make the King see sense, “I could be very well saving her life.”

“I know but...there have been times when your potions have not done as planned…”

“Don’t worry I’ve made a sample that is much less strong,” Pandora said icily, “Your daughter can try that first if you wish to be so wary.”

Erethor kept bashfully silent until he couldn’t help but speak again, “What will it do to her? The original, I mean.”

Pandora pulled a wisp of hair away from her face, “Seep the magic from her until she turns fifteen. By then the liquid will fade and I will be able to do nothing. Her instincts will overtake and hopefully she will be smart enough to hide her power once she is of a more conscious age.”

Erethor snarled, suddenly angered, “The magic in elflings are for their own protection, she will be defenseless! Have you seen the humans act? Have you heard them speak? They grunt. They are dirtier than the klorns.”

Pandora’s face hardened, “Erethor, you are being despicable.”

“Why?” the King asked with dignity.

“Let me see,” she said, her eyebrows high on her forehead, “You speak of the humans as if they were animals and yet here we are using them as dice with which we gamble Indildris’ life. If you were truly playing this game, would you so easily cast these humans along the board?”

“You speak in riddles to seem wise,” Erethor shot back.

“You speak so plainly that is it obvious you do not think before letting the unworthy words roll from from your tongue.” she hissed.

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Erethor was livid, he put his long fingers together and looked up, “I’d just like to say that whilst you speak of the humans as vital, do not forget my daughter. Right now I see you using her as your betting coins. I simply would like to state that that is an awfully risky thing to do with a King’s child, especially when there is a very...single-minded Queen right behind him who does not easily embrace the empty handed gamer who played his family away.”

“I am quite aware of how Queen Rindis will react to this plan,” Pandora said quietly, her tone almost deadly, “But are you?”

“A fair question, though I’d like to think that I am.” Erethor said.

“You are still too reluctant,” she said sighing.

“You can’t blame me.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I-” the King faltered, “I just wanted to see what sort of ‘potion’ you would be whipping up. I just thought perhaps it might help this time. I see I have mis-

“I’m going to show you something. Perhaps it will render you to see sense,” The Sorceress cocked her head to one side.

Erethor nodded stiffly and followed as Pandora led him to a long spiraling staircase. Together they entered into a small glowing room. At the center of it there shimmered a stone mantelpiece.

Pandora walked swiftly to the back of the room and recuperated a crystal ball from one of her cupboards. She put the glittering sphere into a gold dish and placed the dish upon the stone table. The three items click into place and the ball began to shine. Pandora then poured a translucent liquid over the globe and suddenly an image materialized on it. Four ugly creatures of peach colored skin and matted hair had suddenly flashed upon the orb’s surface.

“Those are humans.” Erethor exclaimed, and then switched his gaze to the empty phial, “But I thought you ran out.”

“Moonlight never runs out Erethor,” she cut impatiently, “Just watch.” she pointed to the mirage and suddenly a burning stake flared on the surface of the ball.

“Are they burning someone?” Erethor snarled with an angry incredibility, “See! They’re barbaric!” He breathed heavily and then sighed. “What is with your trickery? You tell me to respect the humans and yet daunt me with images of their most unrespectable side.”

“To be in total control of things you must be aware of every aspect of them. If you wish to enter and extract Arassel from the Earth world without her encountering danger then you must know what you’re up against.”

“How will this help her?”

“They are burning someone because they are scared. The humans are acting this way because they claim to have seen whoever they are murdering perform acts of magic. When your daughter

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will be young she won’t be able to control herself. At fifteen she will hopefully be intelligent enough only reveal herself in times of great danger or discomfort! But as a child the instinct of practising her magic will be unstoppable unless…” her eyes dart to her messy countertop, “That is why my act of protection is essential, because in the human world your daughter’s power will not be appreciated, it will be punished.”

Erethor put his head in his hands and sighed, “As a King I have always acted for the greater good, but sending my own daughter-”

“You have no choice!” Pandora said urgently, her eyes widening in fear, “We have already spoken and planned for months! You can’t go back now! The prophecy matches the fate and birth time of your daughter exactly. Fourth full moon and the shining of the tenth star. It fits. I checked everything the moment I sensed your daughter’s arrival. Please, I know this is more than I have the right to ask, but please, will you for as much as Indildris’ sake as yours, let her go?”

“Give the potion to me then.” Erethor glanced at the witch’s hands and then added tiredly as if to justify his action, “I will remind you that you have been persistent.”

Pandora nodded absentmindedly and pressed a small phial filled with a blue liquid into his palm. “This is only the sample.”

When Erethor said nothing the sorceress spoke.“You are not losing her.” she comforted, “You are-

“Selling her,” Erethor finished, frustration welling up in him, “I am selling her.” his voice was hoarse and shattered. He then lifted his head and as the light caught on his eyes Pandora noticed the tears that shimmered and danced mournfully in them.

With loss at what to do the Witch takes the King in her arms, “Erethor, the fault is not yours, you are doing nothing wrong. It is me who began this all, I created the river in my anger. The great weakness of mine is my emotions; the dawn river flooded my castle and I cursed it to serve the cities for evermore. And I am sorry, but I plead you not to take the guilt upon your shoulders. You are a strong elf, Erethor, but your great empathy and rare kindness will kill you in the end. You must believe you are doing right or you will destroy yourself: the only one powerful enough to do so.”

The sorceress felt the worry fill her too, and she cursed herself again, wishing with all her heart she were of elf kin, and would not see the death of him or of anybody when the battle would come. When she would fight, she could hurt and feel pain but to die would be rare. She was stronger. She would see the fall of all of her loved ones and would be able to do nothing.

Erethor opened his eyes. His voice quivered and his hands shook as he spoke, “Well, as this is all I came for I must be going, unless you intended, upon your summon, to mention anything more.”

Pandora answered the King by letting him go and giving to him two pendants that she pulled from her cloak, one with an array of pale blue sapphires and one plain pearl necklace, “This is the memory of the prophecy that is currently missing only one bead: the one you heard and will be able to explain,” she gave him the sapphires, “I believe Rindis has the right to know our plans,” she then smiled and handed him the pearls, “The rest you can enlighten for yourself.”

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“But these gems hold the only existing recording of Helwen’s prophecy.” Erethor motioned at the sapphires, “Surely they will prove useful later.” Erethor handed back the jewelry, “And what of this?” he asked, holding out the pearls, “What else are you willing to give away?”

Pandora’s eyes flashed, “Those pearls are a gift to you. They were strung by the dwarves and they radiate protection. You will need them. As for the rest, I am not being reckless; these words will be no longer useful, in fact, they will only make others more eager to change fate. The earlier they are forgotten the better. This way, their last echo can be put to good use, besides, you need to hear the entire prophecy, it is your right.” She looked at her bandaged fingers, “The only thing I ask of you is that you hold back. Not all of the prophecy speaks of a good future for your daughter. You already know this but remember… to try changing fate is the worst thing you can do.”

Erethor felt his fingers clench the beads that were suddenly back in his hands, “What do you mean?” his voice was deadly quiet, “You swore to me no danger would come to my daughter! You swore to me she would never be hurt!” his nostrils flared and his hands lit up with sparks of dark magic.

Pandora’s fingers lit up with a deep violet fire but the moment the King saw her raise her own defenses he buckled. Pandora’s hands darkened once more and the light in the room dimmed back to normal.

“I’m sorry.” Erethor said curtly.

“You are weak.” Pandora hissed, “One does not challenge a sorceress so carelessly.”

The King bowed his head, the weight of his sorrow carrying him to the depths of his anger.

“Very well,” Pandora treated his silence like a thousand words. She then stepped forward and showed Erethor the door, “Keep them secret, keep them safe.” She said grimly, “There are only two who know of the content of this prophecy. By the end of tonight there will be three. It would be best if things were kept that way.”

Erethor stopped in his tracks, “What about Helwen. Won’t she know? She made it.”

“Oracles never remember their prophecies. That is an old rule of magic.”

The King closed his eyes and thought a bit more. Looking for gaps in the plan and searching for reasons to give it up altogether. But he found nothing. Instead he looked up and said, “If you wanted to get rid of the evidence why didn’t you tell me?”

Pandora looked vaguely surprised and somehow cheated, “I-I,” she seemed at a loss of words, her hands shaKing, “She knows.” Pandora said hastily, “The Darkness knows, and she wants to find out exactly. It will be safer with you. Safer in Erelis that is far away from the borders rather than here in Bragolel.”

“How?” For the first time since he had known Pandora Erethor felt a twinge of suspicion in her.

“Rumor. History. The fact that everyone knows it repeats itself…”

Erethor raised an eyebrow.

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“Every major change Fate feels will strike Atva she rallies against with prophecies.” she explained, “I suppose Mersutihiel is arrogant enough to think she will be able to change Indildris someday.”

“Maybe not that arrogant if Fate saw the future and agreed with her.” Erethor muttered darkly.

Pandora clicked her tongue, “Yes, well…”

Erethor’s fist tightened on the necklaces during the silence, “So. What happens if I am murdered tonight?”

Pandora felt tears spring to the corners of her eyes as she caught herself being thoroughly surprised by the question. And by how much it scared her to think about. “I don’t know. Don’t speak doomed words, don’t utter curses.” She stared at anything but Erethor’s handsomely shadowed face, lit only by the candles, “I’m foolish for telling you.” She pushed Erethor out into the wind, “Go, go and don’t turn back. Be fast, be strong.” She held her ringed fingers to her chest, “The more they sense your fear, worry and knowledge the more easily they will find you.”

“You could have brought them to me tonight.” Erethor glanced at the prophecy and phial in his hand, “Why didn’t you?” He asked dangerously.

Pandora’s lip trembled.

“What are you afraid of?” Erethor whipped around and put a hand on the door before Pandora could shove him out the threshold so unceremoniously for the likes of a King.

“That she will find the one way to be invincible. That she will know how to and try to change fate.”

“And this is the only way you could think of fixing things?” Erethor asked with a sad smile.

Pandora ignored him and pointed swiftly at the potion in his hand, “It is just a sample, only to see if Arassel is compliant with the ingredients.” Then she added, “Don’t worry, Fate is on our side.” And that was the wrongest thing she had ever said.

Then, as the sorceress smiled tightly, the doors swung shut and the King confronted the night.

Running through the great plain before Pandora’s lair he reached the trees and mounted his horse. Trotting into the river he was torn away towards Erelis once more. Gasping for breath he felt the air again and then the grass. His elven eyes saw well in the dark, and his whitish hair whipped in the breeze. He lay low for a few minutes before kicKing up his horse and cantering North. For a long time of the way his path was clear but the tell-tale stomps of the klorn Klan’s feet led Erethor to string an arrow onto his bow and stop his horse completely, the sound and flashing of his movements nearly giving him away to the night.

“Five.” He muttered under his breath, “Two with an axe, and two with maces. None, so it seems, concealing knives, the last with rope,” he sighed, “Shh, Oreliel.” He held the reigns of his horse tightly and lay low on its mane. The night was soundless until the distinct shadow of the great race appeared and Erethor’s first arrow embedded itself in the first klorn’s forehead. The great figure toppled and so did its silver rounded weapon. The move was necessary but Erethor

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regretted revealing himself so soon. The moment the arrow whizzed from the notch a tyrannic swinging of weaponry began to break loose.

All at once the other four emerged, their bald heads and muscular build shining in the moonlight. The one with the mace swung at the King whilst the other with the rope lunged to the ground and tied the legs of Oreliel, maKing the horse rear and buck.

Erethor dismounted his mare and dropped his bow, the klorns now at close range. The bulkier one with the swinging weapon grazed Erethor’s fair face with his mace. The golden blood of the elves rolled from his cheek.

The King snarled and grabbed an arrow from his quiver. He leaped forward and stuck the head into the klorn’s chest. He howled and fell to the floor. The faint smell of sweat and mine work filled the air and the King kicked the fallen klorn out of his way. Erethor picked up his bow again and released another arrow into the other mace-wraith’s arm. The klorn dropped his weapon to the ground and in his vulnerable moments Erethor picked a knife from his royal belt and relieved the klorn from his pain instantly in the collar bone. Two were left. The one who was quick with his fingers loosened the horse’s binds and Oreliel bent to the King’s head and neighed.

“Be swift to Erelis, explain nothing, just guide them.” Erethor ordered in the slick elven language, and the horse bolted.

“Catch the donkey!” the klorn with the axe bellowed, his beady eyes and shrivelled ears taKing a second too long to decipher the King’s action, “Its bound for the city!”

The rope carrier scrambled to his feet but Erethor knocked him down and drew blood from the creature’s nose. The klorn howled and then swung his string at Erethor’s feet; his target now changed once more from steed to elf. He yanked on the string and brought the nimble King to the ground. The klorn crawled to be even with Erethor’s face and smiled toothily. He took a dagger from Erethor’s belt and held it to the King’s neck, the last one with the axe laughing menacingly, spinning his weapon around and sticKing it into the mud.

“Where is it?” the one with the rope said, blood gurgling to his mouth frothily, “Tell us.”

Erethor felt the breath leave him as the klorn’s elbow pushed painfully into his windpipe, his scrawny, bent body heavier and firmer than the King had perceived. He tried to push the creature from him but the klorn was too solid in his place; he chuckled and pushed the dagger closer and harder into Erethor’s neck. A second bead of blood came to the surface of the King’s throat and he swallowed, his eyes burning with a sudden antipathy.

“The Miss will find a good use for you if you come quietly.” The last axe-wraith cackled. “Poor elfling, have you lost your bow?” the one with the rope giggled in a simultaneous, mimicKing manner, blood dribbling from his lips and staining the King’s white robes.

“Heave him Gargle,” the axe-wraith said, “He’ll talk once the Miss is finished with him.”

The rope klorn frowned and slowly considered. “Nay, let’s kill him and eat him. I haven’t had good meat for days.” Gargle licked his cracked lips, “The Miss said she wants him dead anyway, and to never bring him to the Razine. Don’t be stupid Bubba; we don’t want the Miss getting

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angry at us.” Gargle looked away from his prisoner. Erethor gasped as the klorn lay off of his neck.

“The Razine...” the King muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Bubba demanded sharply, taking in a breath. Erethor bared his teeth in answer, “That’s right.” Bubba laughed, “You just-

Gargle yelped as his legs caught fire. The ropes around Erethor’s ankles turned to ash and the King’s fingers were full of magic. Bubba came running at him but Gargle got there first. Their weights combined held the King down long enough for Bubba to yell at the panting Gargle to get some kind of phial.

“Look its in his pocket, you fool!” Bubba screeched.

Erethor stopped moving and his eyes widened. “No-

Bubba grinned as Gargle took the small phial curiously from Erethor’s waist. The King tensed and heard a low, grim whistle escape from Bubba’s lips. “What’s this? I thought it was something important.” Triumph played on the klorns’ face, “It’s got ‘sample’ written on it...I expect this’ll stop the firefly lighting up, now, won’t it?” Bubba grinned as Gargle force fed the King the bitter blue potion. Suddenly the light of the moon seemed to disappear entirely and the King’s defiant struggles slacked. With all his movement the once concealed prophecy had slid out from beneath his tight robes.

“Search him.” Bubba ordered, Erethor’s vision blurred and his fingers went numb.

As the King lost consciousness the two klorns easily found the prophecy necklace on his neck. Bubba, the biggest, took the blue jewels and put them on his thick wrist, he then threw a heavy rock at Gargle.

“Stone him.” He ordered, “It should be enough to kill him now he’s so weak.”

Mumbling incoherently, the smaller klorn hit the elf King in the temple and dropped the rock, freshly splashed with gold, near Erethor’s head.

As the klorn’s departed from the clearing, the steadily growing bruise on Erethor’s head turned a brilliant blue before suddenly disappearing altogether. The same happened on his cheek and neck. It seemed that each time a cut was healed a bead on the pearl necklace (that the klorns so foolishly ignored) disappeared too, and instead of fifty beads, there were forty seven when the King finally awoke the next morning among the many faces of the Erelis rangers and hearing the constantly nervous snorts of his horse, Oreliel.

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Chapter 2: Rindis of Melltholl

The following morning, Queen Rindis of the eastern elves of Erelis, heard the blare of the elven horn and the cry of the butler.

“The King is back!”

Rindis awoke suddenly, her daughter sleeping soundly at her side. “Kina!” she exclaimed. A few moments later a ginger maid entered. “What is all this?” Rindis asked, disoriented and seemingly exhausted.

“Rindis,” she approached the Queen, her fingers intertwining with themselves in worry, “The King is ill; he has been taken immediately to the infirmary.”

Rindis stood warily, pushing Kina back as she rushed to her aid, “No, stay with my daughter. Be sure she does not wake. Thank you.” she said, before turning to leave.

Kina cradled the newborn and waved as the Queen sprinted down the stairs and into the sick basket.

“Erethor.” She growled, coming to the King, his body entwined with vines and his head held in an elf healer’s lap as he fed him nectar, “What were you doing?”

Erethor ignored his wife. “Thank you,” he motioned for the healer to leave. As the doors shut behind the elf maiden Erethor finally turned to the Queen, wincing, “Thank god you’re here. Now I can finally speak to someone who will actually carry out my order.” he sighed and then began urgently, “They’ve been taken.” He said weakly, “I need you to send rangers all through the Broken Wood and across the northern Melltholl Mountains. Oh and the Razine! The Razine, it is there that the Dark Lady hides! It is of the utmost importance-

“Erethor!” Rindis’s eyes flashed purple, her hands searching for the bow that usually adorned her back. “You left last night. I want to know where!”

“Please just call to the rangers, this is important, no one has listened to me all night, they tell me ‘rest my King’ but I cannot rest, not until-” he wheezed and held his head wincingly. The initial bruise was gone but he felt a constant pounding in his forehead and his eyes were always blinKing as if the sun were too much for him.

“You are pitiable,” Rindis snarled at him before calling to an elf. She conversed quickly and urgently in a slick tongue until their talKing stopped and the elf left determinedly to signal to the rangers.

“Now...” Rindis said dangerously.

Erethor sighed. Pulling off the vines that held him to the bed, he sat up and handed his wife the forty seven pearls. “Wear them, before I speak, promise to wear them.”

Rindis raised an eyebrow as she pushed the beads away, “Jewels will not pardon your foolishness, Erethor.”

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The King again ignored her scorn and tightened his grip on the necklace, he then continued almost business-like, “I left to speak with Pandora.”

“The sorceress,” Rindis frowned, “You visit her often. At least she is not a traitor like Helwen, but a witch cannot be trusted. I never liked her, even from the start. She is too old, and has too many friends we are not acquainted with.”

“Pandora can be trusted,” the King pressed, “I have known her for many years, and she has her reasons to hate the Dark Lady.”

Rindis sneered suddenly, “The Dark Lady. That is what everyone calls her, but you are a King Erethor, you cannot afford to be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” Erethor said softly, “I am careful. Her name outspoken can be dangerous at times like these.”

“And what of your outing,” she asked, “Was that careful of you?”

“I-”

“You have a very odd way of being careful, Erethor.”

The King closed his eyes, “I did what I had to do, the prophecy was not safe with Pandora and-

“Oh, yes I had nearly forgotten about the trustworthy witch! However, I am beginning to wonder if she had released you off into an ambush!” Erethor looked up to argue but Rindis added coldly, “It doesn’t matter how you wish to phrase it, quite plainly, that is what she did. She gave you the prophecy in order to get it off her hands and then let you leave to be welcomed into the arms of five klorns against one! How will you find an excuse for her now?”

“She was afraid. She felt she knew too much-

“And decided to leave you kindly with the burden of the knowledge she once thought as dangerous,” Rindis paused, “Is that the kind of person you are defending? I find that you have very odd ways of trusting and choosing whom is trustworthy. Hmm, tut tut Erethor, is this the way a King should act? So carelessly, so thoughtlessly! Might I prompt you with the vital memory that you have a family now and -

Erethor’s eyes sparkled shamefully, “Enough of this. Listen closely.” He pointed at the windows, “Shut them, use a soundproof spell.”

Rindis glared at her husband, her fingers itching with black sparks.

“Now!” Erethor snarled, “We don’t have time for this!”

“I will remind you that you have a city to rule, and two daughters to raise,” Rindis slashed at the door and it locked, “You cannot be so reckless anymore!”

“Rindis sit. You haven’t even heard the half of it and already you are angry.”

“Of course I am angry!” Rindis shrieked, losing her wit to disbelief.

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The King cocked his head and sighed resignedly, “There is a lot more. I would advise you to save your energy.”

“That is reassuring news,” Rindis answered, lividly.

“You could kindly take it that way,” the King shot back sarcastically, irked and obviously not expecting her lack of cooperation, despite his false reassurances to Pandora.

The Queen ignored his remark and began slowly, her curiosity getting the best of her, “Well everything starts with something, what does this tale or should I say ‘excuse’ begin with?”

“A prophecy.” Erethor answered grimly, “One made by Helwen many years ago. Pandora was luckily present at the time of the prophecy’s delivery and was able to recall and later record what she had so coincidentally heard-

“Coincidentally?” Rindis interrupted. “Aren’t all prophecies recorded by someone else than the oracle, and if so, why is it so coincidental this time?”

“Yes all that are remembered in history are recorded by another being, but perhaps not all prophecies are recorded in the first place?” Erethor waved his hand airily, “So after Pandora witnessed her sister’s prophecy she spoke the words of which she could recall and enchanted them into the dragon of the west’s sapphire claws, encasing them in the jewels and keeping them for later reference. Is this clear?”

“And what exactly, did the prophecy say?” Rindis asked haughtily, disregarding his question.

“It spoke of the destruction of an evil. Also of great peril and loss.” he looked away, “And evidently, it spoke briefly of sacrifice, as most do.” he said hastily.

Rindis growled, “Briefly, I doubt it.” she stood up, “But of course, you Erethor stepped up for the job!” Rindis began angrily, her mind whirring and her thoughts forming, “Of course, you great generous King stepped up and was prepared to lose all for the world. That is one of your many great traits, I agree, but when it comes to maKing decisions that will put us in danger - then I am afraid I cannot support you. Think about Prayer! You have two children now, one that is less than a day old! You cannot be so kind anymore, not when the world has increasingly begun to become so cruel.”

“When all else is turning evil, should one follow in its footsteps and resign. No, I think not, it is when the bad comes that often the best of the good shines out. You are ignorant if you expect Indildris to beat evil with evil and neglect. I am sorry if my actions will hurt you. They have hurt me too, but I cannot let you expect me not to act at all.” Erethor closed his eyes and then continued, “Now, if you wish to speak of accusations then, first of all,” he said defiantly, “I did not step up for anything. Over the years Pandora noticed that the prophecy could have been according to our family. Only a few months ago, the Witch’s suspicions became confirmed when you were said to give birth to our second child. For a lack of better words, the prophecy spoke to me first, if you will.”

Rindis cocked her head impatiently, “Fine. Fine.”

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“Now, going back to what I had mentioned before - the prophecy spoke about the destruction of evil and Pandora thinks that The Dark Lady; or as you say we should call her: Mersuithiel, is indeed that named evil. Of course, now you are beginning to see how things are tying together?”

Rindis nodded her head, “Mersuithiel’s disappearance from the face of Neteliar, her being sighted in Ibeldurn.” her voice was gravelly and quiet.

“Yes, all that. However, to specify, the real danger is actually where in Ibeldurn, not the sighting in Ibeldurn itself.” Erethor coughed, “If I remember well, then it was among the Eastern ends of the Axe Mountains that Draugwë last took refuge after his servant, Morosauv, died in the last War of Indildris; and if I am not further mistaken then it was also there that Mersuithiel was seen by the monthly scouts.”

Rindis’ eyes widened, “Then it is from he that-

“She learnt her Necromancy. Yes, she had the privilege to be taught by the best. In fact, she learnt the lore from the maker. Which is indeed grave news.”

“But Draugwë of Saridon is gone!” the Queen exclaimed with a delirious laugh, “He was said to have disappeared on the eve of Morosauv’s death.”

“Yes, yes, but the scouts do not lie and he was seen. Plotting, cursing and very much alive.” Erethor explained, “Draugwë never died Rindis, he is too impure, too terrible to be embraced in any way by Death’s arms. He will not die of old age, if he is to be exterminated then it is to be by another’s hand, he must be murdered.”

“And I am assuming this prophecy explains how.” Rindis says tremblingly.

“No, no, not at all. For now, our main target is Mersutihiel. For she is constantly underestimated and very stubborn. She has a shady past which I myself must admit I do not know much of, but those who have little to lose and a lot to take revenge on are very dangerous apprentices.”

“So she left to Ibeldurn, the land of the klorns, to seek the old teacher and take revenge upon the country that never gave her enough power. Is that so?”

“Aye, but you merely forget two things. The first is that Draugwë of Saridon is not just an old teacher, he is the creator of Necromancy and the first elf to move to Ibeldurn. He knows much of the klorns and is wise in how to manipulate them. Klorns are not stupid creatures, they are simply full of hatred and anger towards the elves and those who took luxury and prosperity away from them. They are not to be blamed too harshly.” Erethor took a deep breath, “Secondly, you have forgotten that all of the mortal Lithuists are dead now. All of the light wraiths were killed by Morosauv so now there is only one way to oppose Necromancy. And that way is by consulting Ivlisar, the Last Lithuist. Unfortunately an effective apprenticeship can take longer than the time that we have, but it seems our only choice.”

Rindis sighed, “What you say sounds like a lot for merely two things I had forgotten.”

“That is true.” then Erethor smiled as he noticed Rindis’ dramatic change is expression, “You are not a fool, I see. Fools do not take stories as jokes. These are not rumors, these are facts. Evidence

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of how afraid Indildris should be at present was brought to Pandora after she sent her spies to the klorn Lands. Out of seventy sent to Ibeldurn, only three survived. Mersuithiel is a dangerous woman, though many have come to underestimate her.”

“This seems like a lot for Pandora to know and not share.” Rindis looked suddenly uncertain again.

Erethor glanced at the floor anxiously, “You have to believe me Rindis,” he pleaded.

After long moments Rindis began to feel that for the moment, the least she could do was hear the whole story, “What is there to do? What is there to fear?”

“Well, our priority is stopping Mersuithiel right now.”

“Why is that? Why not Draugwë?” Rindis said.

Erethor inhaled shakily, his patience clearly waning, “Draugwë is becoming old; yes he is all powerful, yes he is practically immortal but the world is sick of him! What you don’t understand is that he has tampered and altered his life so much that now he is old! Simply old! To ever regain his strength he will need to regain his power. He is not able to carry out his own plans because he is too weak. He knows that his magic is far more powerful than any, but in a physical combat he would have to flee. His body is able to contain outrageous amounts of magic but if he were ever to try to channel that magic, it would most likely tire him at a ridiculously fast rate.”

“So we’re ignoring a scarily powerful threat just because he’s old?”

“No, we’re simply addressing the more pressing problem first: Mersuithiel, a young reckless, brainwashed girl who doesn’t know the half of what she has put herself through.”

Rindis thought for a moment before she spoke, “All I wanted to bring up was the possibility that Mersuithiel is Draugwë’s distraction.”

Erethor opened his mouth for a second and then closed it again. He considered this for a a second and then finally shook his head, “I doubt it, though if you had said ‘puppet’ I might have agreed with you. What I think is that once Mersuithiel is done with overtaking Indildris, Draugwë will allow her to live just long enough to finish charming and gaining the klorn’s trust before he will kill her off and rule the two countries of Ibeldurn and Indildris himself. If you look at things in that context, I wouldn’t be sure if ‘distraction’ would be the right word.”

Rindis looked hesitant to agree but eventually nodded.

“He will feed on power and his body will slowly regain its strength from spending more time in the sun rather than hiding away in dark, damp, caverns. The only thing that could be a major setback is Ivlisar.”

Rindis’ eyes widened admiringly, “Ivlisar is definitely something to be worried about.”

“Ivlisar, the last person on Atva who is able to counterattack Necromancy, is something that Draugwë will have clearly given thought to before. However, despite the obviousness of Indildris’ only weapon, I think Ivlisar still thankfully remains and can be still considered as our one

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advantage.”

“So… what else is there?”

“Oh… yes,” Erethor said edgily, “I thought we’d come to this…” he put his fingers to his temples, “Well, there is still to consider the fact that if Mersuithiel gets her hands on the prophecy then she would be very capable of turning the tables… if that should ever happen of c-”

“Unfortunately, on that aspect, you have already very nearly failed...” Rindis said jesterfully despite the evident panic in her voice like a badly hidden innuendo.

Erethor ignored her and swallowed bitterly. “Yes well…”

“What exactly does the prophecy warn her of, anyway?” Rindis continued breezily, a small smile on her lips.

“It’s not that really, it’s just that nobody knows of the prophecy except for us, not even Mersuithiel knew of it’s existence, until recently. That’s why we have to send out Rangers to find the klorns that are to bring the prophecy to her. So far Mersuithiel is only curious of the rumors that are speaking of a prophecy referring to her, she only thinks it might be of importance. However, if Mersuithiel does hear the prophecy she will discover that there are two ways fate can go.” Erethor didn’t take a single breath.

“Two ways?”

“Yes, although this is the first time a prophecy offers two options of destiny, Pandora is sure that every line has separate meanings. One is that the Darkness is defeated by the four races-

“But there are only three.” Rindis interrupted bluntly.

“Three that we know of, one some do not,” Erethor corrected.

Rindis gripped the side of the King’s bed, her knuckles turned white and green and blue fissures popped out amongst the rare paleness of her hands. She took a deep breath her eyes flickering in between blackness and the dim light of the infirmary. It seems that she had gotten over her doubts and pride, and finally she was beginning to see that perhaps there was truth in her husband's outlandish words… until now. “What...I-

After a moment the King spoke, his eyes glimmering with an odd, reflective pity. “You do know of the Dawn River, don’t you, South from Lirhatael?”

Rindis swallowed, “The cursed river, Pandora turned it into a means of travel as punishment for flooding her castle, didn’t she? Apparently, one can give an offering to the water and state where they wish to go and in seconds they will arrive there, or at least as near as possible. It is an old legend though; one Pandora has taken to telling often, and one known by even the oldest in Atva.”

“A legend,” Erethor smiled, “Who said it was a legend?”

“I recall that Pandora herself began to admit it didn’t exist the last times we spoke with her. I don’t understand. How could you know more of it’s existence than her, the creator?” Rindis shook

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her head, “Erethor, where is this coming to?”

Erethor scowled, “If you would let me, I will explain this story fully.”

“Sometimes I think you don’t understand.” Rindis said with tears brimming the rims of her chocolate brown eyes, “Can’t you see? I don’t want to know all this. I didn’t want my questions to lead to all this. I just want to know why you are hurt. Why you are in pain. Inside and out. How you came to this, and how I can make sure it never happens again.” She said quietly, pointing shakily at his chest that was rising and falling with great difficulty. “Look at you.”

Erethor held her out-stretched hand, “Sometimes the truth is the hardest thing to hear. If you want me to tell you lies I would do so gladly if I knew it was for the best. But it is not. Keeping you in the dark would be dangerous for all of us. There are things you must know, Rindis. There is nothing I can do.”

The Queen bowed her head and said nothing so the King took advantage of her silence and carried on.

“Over the years Pandora has told Indildris of her creation of the Dawn River,” Erethor’s tone was lighter now, less harsh, less impatient, “But none believed her. She was a known tale-weaver in her time and so most thought it was simply a new thing she wished to tell to amuse the children. When she began to insist it was true people asked her to prove it, and when she brought them to the black bays, those who said they would bathe, recoiled. The dark surface looked poisoned, and nobody wished to fall into the Sorceress’ trap. When she said she would show them, she simply disappeared into the water. But still none believed her, for witches can become invisible and come and go as they please, so it still remains an old myth; that of the Dawn River. But what if I were to tell you that I’ve bathed in it? What if I was to tell you I’ve been in the Dawn River, and successfully travelled through it?”

“I would tell you ‘to rest my King’,” her tone was playfully but her eyes were hard in doubt.

Erethor carried on determinedly to gain her belief, “I was at Pandora’s Lair last night, even on bird-back it would take more than the mere hours of the night to get there; it is on the other side of Indildris. The only way to have gotten there in less than a month would have been by river-travel.” The King took a breath, “I went to the edge of the Dawn River by horse, which we have proof of if you take one look at Oreliel, and then I stepped in the water, gave my rite of passage; the pendant from Lisathuin,” he pointed at his bare neck as proof, “and was whipped away to Pandora’s Lair!”

“You are being cruel, Erethor, if you expect me to believe this!” She tried to sound doubtful but her voice trembled and her fingers were fiddling with her cloak hem. She was afraid. Afraid that all of this could be true. Afraid that all of this would surely lead to so much worse.

She had no idea.

“Speak as you may, but I tell you from my own experience that I the river works.” Erethor continued above her protests, “If what I say is true then it would make perfect sense that nobody knew about it because nobody’s actually used it before except for the sorceress and I. So as the years pass the river is faithful until finally the magic fades off in one section of the river.

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“At first, Pandora was not aware of this until there was word of a sighting; a sighting that Helwen, the sorceress of the east, disappeared into the river, and for all the rangers in Indildris they could not find her until three days after. Pandora, in Helwen’s absence thoroughly searched the place that she had gone and finally discovered that the river had broken free from the curse and was working as a void into another world. A void that instead of waiting for your location, whipped you off into the human lands and took not you’re offering but one that it seemed fit; for example something that was in the water at the same moment perhaps. So say I had a ring that I lost in the water, and at the same exact moment that I had lost my ring, another in the human world had lost a pendant in the river. As quick as the sun sets I would have a pendant and the human would have a ring-

“Wait!” Rindis shouted out, “Wait, please, just, what are humans.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry,” Erethor laughed maniacally, “Humans…” he paused, “Are the fourth race, and they live directly above us, in a separate world which we would not be able to reach were it not for the Dawn River.”

Then that was followed by an endless silence in which Rindis attempted to string enough words together to express, to her satisfaction, the extent of her disbelief.

“It is,” Rindis finally inhaled shakily, “A lot to take in.”

“Indeed,” Erethor smiled wearily, “I thank you, you are listening very well, perhaps not digesting as well as I had hoped, but swallowing, yes. You are doing wonderfully.” He smiled tightly, “Now when Pandora studied the River bed in which it was cursed, she waited the whole three days by the river with desperate vigilance until finally her sister emerged from the river, beaten and bewildered, her eyes wide and her face dirty with soot. On seeing Helwen in such a fashion, Pandora predicted that the sorceress of the east would begin babbling like a mad person, and so she erased her sister’s memory and led her away to her keep, where she would be safe to recover. Unfortunately, two things stayed in Helwen’s mind, and it was in vain that Pandora tried to take them away. ‘Small-klorns’ and ‘Flying-River’, was all that poor Helwen could remember, and as smart as all sorceresses are, it will not take her long to put the pieces together. Luckily, she does not know the full meaning of the plot, but if Mersuithiel takes over Helwen as Morosauv, the Grandfather of Death did; then this information will be dangerous in the Evil’s hands.”

“What information? she barely knows anything.”

“That is what you think, but Mersuithiel has ways of extracting memories from people. She has ways of finding the smallest of traces.”

“And you spoke of a plot. What plot?” Rindis asked coldly, her suspicious glare intense on her husband’s face, “Is there something I don’t know.”

“Rindis,” Erethor felt the blood drain from his face, “You must understand, that-

“Erethor!” now Rindis was on her feet, a black light dancing in her eyes and purple flames decorating her slender fingers.

“The only way to defeat Mersuithiel is to become allies with the humans!” his lips were shaking

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now and he struggled to rally against the droning muttering of his wife. “If she gets there before us then she will be millions and we will still be thousands and all will be lost. That is the second way of the prophecy; her becoming invincible. Pandora called me one evening because the prophecy matched perfectly with our daughter!”

Rindis’ whole body was spasming now.

“We are not enough people; we will need the humans to be enough to be called an army at all!” Erethor tried desperately to calm her, to soothe her, “And I beg you to understand that the only way is to send our daughter into the upper world and switch her with a human. We must introduce human to elf and elf to human before it is too late, please, I ask only-

“Ibea des wilgur fiantra zibon!” Abrupt understanding dawned on her face as she shot dark electric blue flames at Erethor. But he was on his feet now and he blocked them with the swish of his hand.

“That’s enough!” Erethor bellowed.

“No! No it’s not!” the vibrations of her anger smashed the glass on the window panes and sent a green fog to the King’s eyes. Erethor sent a spring of water to weigh the mist down and send it, flaming, to the ground. But that was not enough to calm the Queen in rage.

She threw wind gust after wind gust, leaving the already weak King breathless upon the floor.

“For your children, Rindis!” he yelled desperately and for a second she stopped.

She cocked her head and she let tears stream down from her eyes like rainshowers… then the second was gone and her anger returned - but more halfhearted this time.

“I can’t think like that- I can’t… I never could just… unless-

In his wife's hesitation the King had enough time to duck the last three breezes that were still shooting from her palms of their own accord and mutter his own enchantment. Sighing, he sent a sleep-current towards the Queen and in seconds Rindis was toppling over and losing her anger into slumber.

Erethor rushed to her side and wept, softly, but with tears of silver, streaming and streaming, even without sound. He unclipped the necklace of pearls from his neck and placed it onto the Queen’s.

“How could you take her from me?” Rindis said, with her eyes hard and hateful and yet her voice soft and sleepy, “How could you-

“No,” Erethor said quietly, “I am not taking her from you; I am taking her from us. From us Rindis.”

And the Queen’s head fell limp; her no longer radiant face relaxing, her beautiful features changing from contorted in rage back to calm, her dark hair brushing her cheekbone and her eyes fluttering shutas she was swept into a restless dream.

17

Chapter 3: The Bargain

The King and the Queen stood beside each other, their robes the traditional sky blue in the case of such a ceremony. Before them the royal balcony and the elves of Erelis awaited them and the speech to be made before the bathing.

“I have it all seen by,” Erethor comforted, “Today will be born a Mayor’s son, and immediately after birth I have observed that the humans wash their children, just like elfish custom except instead of a week later they clean them instantly. Beside the Mayor’s home is the void, and we must bathe Arassel at the same moment as they bathe their son, or else all is done.”

“It is funny,” Rindis said softly, dreamily, rocking the baby absentmindedly in her arms as she spoke, “That you should name her ‘Maiden without a Path’.”

The King shrugged, “Your namesake is not your future, but it gives you hope, at least something to follow when finally the time is right. I believe one day she will have a choice, even if now she has been given the opportunity to make none. As for me, Erethor is not my name for nothing.”

“Mmm. I think ‘Uniter’ suits you well,” Rindis does not smile, but her eyes lighten, and the anger that had taken time to leave was finally seeping away, “The Tale familly will have received a beautiful daughter.”

“I think so too.” Erethor looked down at the Queen and sighed, “I do hope Prayothél shall not be tricky with her human brother, she was so glad to hear Arassel would be a girl.”

“I think Prayer will understand. We must believe in her, like we must depend on so many other things and people in this world.”

Erethor nodded and took the blonde and blue eyed baby from its mother, “Come Arassel,” he said softly, “I will see you again.” Despite the sureness of his words, his voice faltered and the sentence ended like a question, on a higher note and peppered with the distinctness of hope.

Rindis felt a tear prick her eye and she let it fall, cool against her cheek. She let it meander down her face like a memory in the action of being lost. Slow, gradual, easy to allow now that you know you have no control over it anymore. “You will have a whole day of feast and song to spend with her.” The Queen smiled through her wet lips.

“Actually I will need to speak with Helwen, so it will be your honor to bathe her in the water.”

“And what of the gifts?” Rindis sighed, “Who will hand her the bow and her first arrow?”

“Pandora has offered to help,” Erethor answered, “As you know I wouldn’t miss this day with you and Arassel for the world, but unfortunately, ironically and typically, it seems that the world is at stake. Helwen knows too much, and unless I ask of her alliance soon, then it will be too late.”

“What of the rangers? It’s been a week now! Have they found the prophecy?” Rindis asked, her face plagued anew with worry.

“I’m not telling,” Erethor smiled, “There is nothing you should worry about, today.” The King said, then he swooped down, kissed his daughter on the forehead and took his wife’s cheek in his hand.

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Just as he turned to leave the looming figure of Pandora emerged from the threshold.

“Ah,” Erethor said as he saw her, “Is there something you wish to-

“I’m sorry.” she said, her eyes glistening pleadingly, guilt ebbing through her olive skin, almost visible it was so strong.

“I am safe.”

“For everything.” she continued quietly. “I also came to give you this.” she added hastily as she rummaged through her navy cloak and then pushing yet another phial of blue liquid into his hand.

“The fourteen year restraint.” Erethor took it briskly, “Thank you.” And then he pushed passed her to go and meet Helwen where he had asked of her.

Rindis peered through the door suspiciously, Pandora looked away bashfully in answer to Rindis’ cold stare, and then the witch disappeared.

* * *

“It is indeed an honor, my lord,” Helwen’s green cat-like eyes and hazel brown hair shimmered in the sunlight of the Palace Gardens. She looked around, always scrutinizing always suspecting, her distrustful glare masked by a nearly generous wonder, “If there is something you called here me for I pray of you to proceed.”

Erethor laughed, “Why so tense innocent cousin?”

Helwen laughed silkily but her answer proved to be quite cold, “When chosen a sorceress, the blood of the elves disappears from our veins and our ears are rounded and bodies bolder. I am not your cousin, Erethor. Do not forget it.”

“Fair enough, it is often said ‘a witch is always right, by pride or by purpose’.” Erethor said lightly.

“Yes,” Helwen agreed frostily, “What a curse. Now, about this ceremonious calling that has been so unfortunately planned on the eve of your daughter’s christening?”

The King sighed, “If it is of that you wish to speak so soon- he stopped abruptly and then continued slowly, “- then I should suggest we move inside.” He showed Helwen the door to his study and walked in after her. “A sound-proof spell, please.” Erethor spoke stiffly and urgently.

“What did you see?”

“Only a shadow and a shake in the trees.” The King laughed at himself, “We can only be too careful these days, but perhaps I merely shook off a bird.”

“Robins are merry things, but with dark magic they can be easily taught to relay messages.” Helwen pulled the curtains closed and muttered under her breath. “I daresay that should keep much more than the common bird from nosing.”

“Then all else can be left unattended to, I doubt a klorn with it’s keen listening ears could enter

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my boundaries unseen. At least I hope it.” Erethor said grimly. He turned towards the sorceress and offered her a seat, “You are aware of all the turmoil spilling through Indildris and Ibeldurn at present I am sure. And you are also aware of the rumored rise of Mersuithiel, are you not?”

“Of course, but I have never been sure what ‘rise’ means.” Helwen pondered, “Mersuithiel is just a poor girl who wished to leave Indildris and learn of Ibeldurn. She then accidentally met Draugwë of Saridon on the way and was taught Necromancy. Not all Necromancers work for the negative.” Helwen cocked her elegant head to one side.

Erethor put a hand under his chin in thought, “You know much, and you defend her, is there something you wish to deny me. An alliance perhaps?” the King asked coldly.

“I did not say so,” Helwen’s eyes turned to slits, “But your accusation was a quick one, I observe the old division between me and the rest of the world has not yet crumbled. But let me tell you something. If you do not trust me, then why should I trust you?”

“But this has always been the question, Helwen,” Erethor pointed out, “Trust is a fickle friend, but once it sets, it sets like the stone in the heart of the mountain. That you have never understood. My father’s death was an accident, I believe you to that extent.” Erethor clenched his fists, “Perhaps your self-exile and extensive improvement on your castle saftey borders was a wise move at the time… but I cannot say I believe you when you say you loved my father or that when he abandoned you as future Queen the eve your gift of sorcery was given to you you had felt as if some line of trust had broken in between you… because I don’t think that a true trust had ever set.”

Helwen’s mouth changed from its indifferent line of silent fury to a slightly surprised, barely open, state. “You don’t-

“My father was scared like any other.” the King continued, “Witches are special races, a scarce one with incredible power and goodness, but when put to the wrong use, witches are dangerous. He trusted you but he did not trust the witch inside.”

“You can’t try to justify your father’s infidelity and then expect me to-

“Actually, yes. I can.” Erethor had no interest in sounding arrogant but he was too busy trying not to scream. Not to cry. It was her fault in the end… it was all her-

“You were so torn by his decision to leave you and to marry another that you swore never to trust again.” Erethor waited for her to answer. To defend herself. But she said nothing. And that made it so much harder to hate her. She almost looked sorry…

“Thus, when he asked for your help in the war of Morosauv, you never really trusted. He asked for aid with their barricade on the borders of the Broken Wood. You offered a tempest of weapons.”

The sorceress nodded.

“One that rained swords, hailed arrows, snowed bows and threw spears of lightning.” Helwen looked away, the tears in her eyes glistening with shame, “It was a great work of magic,” a small,

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awkward smile leaped to her lips, the amazed and fascinated smile of a witch, one that sees beauty not in death exactly, but the way of it, “I labored at it for weeks, and finally when I got it right I couldn’t call it to rain.”

There was a deadly, deadly quiet.

“Your father ran under the storm, trusting it to protect him and,” Helwen’s smile faded.

“And…” Erethor had heard this story countless of times but he knew that to crack the regrown the shell of the sorceress he had to put pressure on the old fault lines.

“And I called again, somewhat knowing that the weapons would fall on the wrong party. But still I called and sang until finally the first sword fell and implanted itself in the chink above the neck of your father’s armor. He fell and his horse sheltered him from the arrows that followed. When the tempest died down, the klorns, aware with the storm now, were careful running through, and soon the forest was taken over and King Esdilvor was breathing his dying breaths.” Helwen’s green eyes flickered a defiant grey, fighting with shame and the sadness like a tigress, “I heard him. He didn’t say my name, he said yours. And I could swear to you he glared at me beneath the dead legs of his horse before falling on his knees and leaving for the stars.”

“Pandora gave me a gift some weeks ago.” Erethor, upon hearing the word ‘star’ remembered of something he’d been waiting to ask Helwen for days. A theory of his.

“Mm…”

“A silver horse. She said it was a gift from my father. I took it. He was beautiful, and besides there was something about that mare. He ran faster than the others, and shone brighter than the other white horses. In fact, he reminded me much of the morning star, the legendary sun of the King. I named him Oreliel. I believe you gave my father this horse a long time ago?”

After a deep breath she answered,“Yes.”

“This is just a guess but… knowing you are the sorceress of the sea and the sky - I was wondering if you had originally made him from ocean foam… ” The King tilted his head to one side in question, “It is just a guess though.”

“A fine one,” Helwen answered, “And you’re right, your father received Oreliel from me what seems like ages ago. The horse died with his master and I made him a star. My sister, Pandora, did some of her own more extensive research on Necromancy as a young witch and was able to recreate Oreliel from his death as a star spirit. I don’t know how she did it, but according to you it seems she managed fairly well.”

“So it was my father’s horse.” Erethor leaned back in his chair.

Helwen’s eyes twinkled, “It looks like.” She confirmed, “Now. What am I really here for?”

The smile on Erethor’s face did not disappear but his eyes darkened. He wasn’t surprised by her question and so he gave her the answer slowly but openly. No innuendos. No white lies. Trust.

“Your alliances have always been for your own benefit,” He started carefully, “All of your previous

21

friends have offered you something. Gold. Freedom. Power. Love… But I offer you choice. Something you’ve never had the luxury to experience before. A choice that will certainly change things but not hurt you. You have complete freedom in answering.”

Helwen doesn’t know how to react. So she says and does nothing. Only staring with wide, guiltily curious brilliant blue eyes.

“Slight warning.” Erethor flashes a grin, “I will not pay you, I will not give you reputations, and I am in no position to offer you power but… but I will give you my trust and my honor if you choose to be my ally. To be the ally of all of Indildris. The dwarves, the elves… and soon,” the King took a breath, “the humans too.”

Helwen’s eyes widened and she burnt the ebony armrest of her chair with a purple fire that began to fly from the edges of her fingers, her hand grip was tight and white.

But Erethor carried on as if nothing on the witch’s beautiful face had changed. “I will give you the right to fight for what you believe in. I ask you to join the elves, the dwarves and the humans in the rumored war. The war I will take the liberty to call, the battle of the Four Races.”

And it was then that it seemed as if a roll of memories began to shoot through Helwen once more. Her eyes widened and turned a violent shade of blood-red. Her face became contorted and her hair began to blow as if caught in an inexistent gust of wind. “Humans,” she muttered to herself, “Humans, humans, humans.”

Then she looked up, her crimson pupils dilating wildly, “I see you know more of me than you have let on.” She whispered icily, “And here you amble about, preaching to me about trust.” She paused, “So I will ask you again. How can I trust you if it is clear you will never trust me?” she stood, as if ready to fight or flee.

“Helwen,” Erethor’s fingers were dancing dangerously close to the dagger at his belt. He did not carry his bow around with him inside the house. It was the only weapon he could ever hope beating Helwen with. Magic was out of question and so his accuracy against her distracted madness was something he was willing to banter with. His hand curled around the kife’s hilt and he waited. Try talking to her first, he said to himself, Trust.

“Helwen I demand you sit and let me explain.”

The sorceress sneered.

“Listen to me!” The King was getting desperate. “I only learnt of your trip to the human world recently. Pandora told me of how you nearly got burnt on a stake, but let me tell you; not all humans are like that. And if you ever wish to dream of seeing this world in the claws of Mersuithiel then leave, leave and do not listen to me if you think you know better!” The King was harsh, his eyes menacing and his patience on the very verge.

Helwen said nothing. She only sat, deathly pale, once more on her charred chair, her face full of the most difficult emotions to explain and yet the clearest to see, thus the hardest to look at.

“Thank you.” Erethor showed no relief on his face but his shoulders relaxed and his hand

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retracted from the inside of his cloak and away from his belt, “I have not been spying on you. I have only realized that this war will be harder than the many others we have fought and that the citizens of Indildris will need more than the many elves and the fierceness of the dwarves to survive this.” He let out a low sigh, “I believe that each sorceress of the sea and sky is also an oracle?”

Helwen nodded. Her eyes had lost their terrible shade and were now a soft amber. Glowing softly.

“And that you would not remember the content of your prophecy even seconds after making it yourself.” The King said, this time not waiting for confirmation, “On the fourth full moon Pandora recorded your prophecy and caught your words in the sapphire claws of Epquedral, the dormant dragon of the western mountain. Your sister kept the prophecy for years, unable to understand it at all. Then, one night, she came to me, and crushed one sapphire before my eyes, mingled with moon’s milk. That sapphire only held a fraction of the prophecy, so only one knows truly the full context of it, but I heard enough. I heard enough to finally see that after my first daughter Fate would bless and yet curse me with another. A daughter that I will be unable to love or have with me, a daughter that will have to be sent to the humans through the accidental portal of the Dawn River, the one you discovered, and be used to bring the two unacquainted races together, in order to overcome Mersuithiel.”

“You are brave. Far barver than I will ever be. Sacrifice is perhaps the bravest thing to do.” Helwen acknowledged grimly, “But there must be a way to soothe the pain. A bit. Couldn’t you send her at a more mature age, at a time when she is able to have been explained the way of the plan? It would be more logical too.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Erethor said, “The more I come to know Arassel the harder it will be to let her go. Besides, the older one is the easier to have less pity for. I doubt even the barbarism of the humans would go as far as to burn a baby. Anyway, the point of this is to grown trust. The humans must raise Arassel themselves or the plan will never work.”

Helwen frowned, “This is not right.”

“It is happening.”

“But-”

“Your answer.”

Silence.

“Allies?” Erethor pressed.

There was reluctance and wariness in her voice as she replied, “Allies. For now.”

The King stood, only being able with great strain to hide his relief, “I must get rid of you then before you can possibly change your mind.”

“The sea and the tide have not yet married,” Helwen reminded with a sleek little laugh, the texture of satin; smooth and slippery, “There is still yet to come and yet to change.”

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“You’re right, but as long as things do not change of your own accord then all should be well, for I am convinced Fate will lead you along the proper path.” Erethor smiled and waved the sorceress out, her eyes flashing golden and her lips seeming fuller than before.

***

Down by the void, the Dawn River rushed and clashed. The only portion of the entirety of Pandora’s creation that had managed to defy the witch’s curse seemed like a raging fire in the midst of a raining sky. The one hundred meters of chaos gushed and flourished in the feisty disorder and then past the angry boundaries re-flowed in an orderly manner, calm and serving, thin and trickling.

Beneath Queen Rindis’s feet this stream ran and her eyes became overcome with fear and foreboding. “It is here, fair Erelis!” she called, her eyes flying over the crowds of elfling children and the twelve members of council, traditionally invited to the cleansing of the royal newborns. “It is here that my King and I have chosen our daughter to bathe.”

The Kings and Queens of Indildris glared skeptically at the water but said nothing.

Relieved by the quiet, Rindis bowed and began to introduce the council, as was custom, “King Lethuin of the Southern Elves of Saertiel,” she waved at a silver haired elf, tall, lean, and dress in emerald green robes embroidered with leaves and vines of oak as the fabric intertwined with shimmering threads. The elf adjusted the golden crown that lay low, strung across his forehead and glanced kindly at Rindis.

“Queen Erymes, wife of the wood,” Rindis smiled and indicated briefly in the direction of the other southern ruler, “Welcome to Erelis.” The lady’s blonde straight hair hung on her shoulders and though she was beautiful, she seemed frail and weak beside the strength of the other royals. Her pale hands crossed over the belt of her white and green dress, her girdle made of intricate leaves of gold. Before her stood a little girl; the top of her head reaching only the waist of her mother.

Erymes nodded her thanks.

“And Princess Eve.” Rindis smiled down at the little elfling and put a swift hand to her cheek before turning.

“King Tithofaer of the Western Elves of Willow’s Keep,” Rindis spoke, pointing at a serious faced elf, his eyebrows oblique and dark, his hair leaf brown and his eyes the color of amber. His robes shook in the wind, their hues those exactly of an autumn day’s, the red and yellows brighter at his shoulders. “Lady Sashryn,” Rindis took the hand of a severe looking woman with mountains of rich red hair, curling largely at the ends and decorating her sour little figure extravagantly. The Queen of the West bent her head slightly and then motioned to the patiently waiting royals of the North.

“King Hindor of the Northern Elves of Neteliar,” a muscular elf looked up, his black long hair 24

braided at the center-back, his judgmental looks wise and fierce. “Queen Avalon,” a limber elf-lady dressed in dark robes of black and purple shouldered her bow and walked forwards. Her hair was less dark than her husband’s and she looked a significantly similar to Rindis. Chocolatey brown hair. Strong jaw. High cheekbones. Maroon eyes.

“Young sister,” Avalon took Rindis in her arms and then pulled away as quickly as she had come.

“Pandora of the West, sorceress and advisor of the council,” Rindis nodded, her glance firmer and more meaningful than it had been to the others. Though she despised the sorceress for an inexplicable reason, jealousy perhaps, Rindis needed her this time.

Pandora nodded discreetly in encouragement, “Thank you, your hospitality is forever granting.”

Rindis tilted her head and moved along quickly searching for Helwen’s thunderous face, but none of her striking features were found. Finally the Queen looked away, remembering her husband’s warning, “It seems Helwen is absent this day, but I would like to honor her membership of the council all the same.”

Pandora smiled and piped up, “On her behalf I would like to greet all of the travelers, for this is her side of Indildris, and I am certain she would welcome you to the Eastern parts with the same warmth as I intend to substitute her with.”

The elves muttered and nodded and then turned back to Rindis, awaiting her call.

“Last but not, and never to be, the least,” Rindis chuckled, “Our dear old friends, the dwarves of the Miresghalel Mountains, the one clan of their race still to remain in Indildris. We welcome you again, King Thiralas, Queen Bronwyn.”

The dwarf King bowed, his rotund middle clad and decorated by the ornate works of the greatest miners in Atva. Pearls gleamed and crystals shined on the belt of the dwarf, his fiery blue eyes and red hair singled him out. Beside Thiralas a slightly taller dwarf-lady stood, her hair golden and her face fair, yet merry; her chestnut eyes crinkled in gladness, her full cheeks red and bright. She looked much like the elves but slightly rounder and much less stern and forever intimidating.

“We have yet to introduce the noble coming of the King of Kings Ivlisar, before we begin the bathing, ruler of Indildris itself. King of the many, advisor of the gods, and oldest creature to be known,” Rindis put her knees to the ground and watched the crowd follow her lead until only one man stood.

“It is long since the citizens of Indildris have come together to talk of birth and new life. Not death, but creation.” The silvery haired man’s eyes twinkled, their ancient light the only thing to mark him as old among the immortal fair faced elves and beautiful Bronwyn. “I thank your mighty welcome and may Arassel grow to be as beautiful as her mother and strong as Erethor, elf of the East.” Ivlisar bowed and motioned, “All stand, and let the bathing begin.”

Rindis blushed at the King of King’s thanks and started to speak, “Arassel, born on the fourth full moon of the year is hereby dipped in the waters.” She placed the princess into the Dawn River and waited, expecting a swap or a sudden flash of light. Noting happened, only seconds existed and the long weariness of time. The Queen searched for Pandora in the crowd and raised an

25

eyebrow. The witch shrugged and nodded, “Carry on.” She mouthed.

Rindis pulled out her daughter from the black stream and waited once more. Then, finally, she placed Arassel into the waves again and the second she touched the water she disappeared, an ebony colored child writhing in her place.

The black skinned baby shook its fists at the Queen and its long cries became gurgles as the water overlapped the child’s mouth.

At first the Queen was confused, “Is this what the mayor’s son is to look like?” she muttered to herself. From the corner of her eye Rindis saw Pandora take a step forward out of the crowd.

“My Lady…” the witch said softly.

But Rindis ignored her and leaned down, a new wonder sparking in her eyes.

Many whispers flew around the crowd and the elves cried words of caution and fear. Soon, the child was in Rindis’ arms and the Queen was rocking the baby to silence.

“Be careful,” Sashryn said, “This child is different. Where has it come from?”

“I don’t know,” Rindis lied, “But she is beautiful.”

Pandora stepped back and frowned, the crease in her brow draped in bewilderment.

“Let us call her jewel of the river!” Rindis exclaimed after long moments, “Let us call her Nemeriel, gem of the waters!”

***

Approximately fourteen elf years later

Chapter 4: The Elberon Mountains

Nemeriel watched the horizon, her emerald eyes bright and her dark skin shining, reflecting an orange glow. “When is the council?”

“At the dawn of the first moonlight, we’ll need to leave earlier if we want to be at the Elberon Mountains on time.” Prayer closed her frosted blue eyes and put her head on her knees, her long black corkscrew locks draping over her legs, “Wait a few more hours at best.”

“Wait? Can’t we sleep till then?” Nemeriel pleaded, “We’ve waited so long.”

“You can rest; I’ll wake you up later.” Prayer took her into a hug and watched her eyes flutter and then close shut. Smiling she gazed down upon her sister’s slender face.

Nemeriel’s eyelashes were long and jet black. Her hair was of a hazel color, long and curled near the ends. Her mouth was small and red. Prayer waited for her breaths to slow and her limbs to fall limp before pulling away.

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Nemeriel dropped against the pillows and stirred. Prayer looked away and pleaded the sunlight to stay a little longer, the night arrived swiftly and the moon steadily encouraged Prayer’s eyelids to droop but on seeing the white orb she remembered.

“Get up,” she said softly, “Wake up! Quickly!”

Nemeriel rolled over and slipped on her silver boots, “How long will it take for our horses to get there?” she spluttered wearily.

“Two hours and a half at best, but don’t stop and stay close to my horse,” Prayer advised as she led her sister down the winding cold staircases. As they reached the stables they quietly stepped passed a night guard. The elf turned quickly but the princesses were quicker.

Prayer trotted up to the gates and called with a whistle. A guard looked down and then smiled. “I could get sent to Prospero for this!” he called out before opening the gates.

Nemeriel grinned, “How did you do that?” Usually the guards were quite stern, despite their playfulness and fondness of the daughters of the King.

Prayer winked, “To be honest, I never thought it would work!”

The princesses kicked their mares and dived into the night, their quick movements flying through the brush.

The moon finally began to rise and at its fullest and at last the southern far away peaks of the Elberon started to loom up, closer and closer. In the last half hour of their journey the two princesses rode faster than ever before and eventually reached the mouth and the only entrance into the mountains from the North. The sisters tied their horses to the neighboring trees and slinked into the long abandoned mines, their footsteps hardly heard but their ears keen to interpret the council.

“Be still, you know what to do with the shadows,” Prayer warned. Nemeriel nodded and followed her sister’s lead, melting, almost as if by magic, into the darkness. Down a winding path they crept and finally to the opening of a large cavern breaKing off from the dark tunnel. Bursts of candlelight struck the princess’s eyes and Prayer leapt back, stifling Nemeriel’s shouts of wonder. In the center of the cave a round wooden table was laid with light and sweet fragrances. Thirteen ebony chairs circled the table, each seat but two adorned with the shimmering robes of one lord or lady or another. Helwen and Pandora sat on either side of Ivlisar, their serious glances jumping to Erethor, whom was currently speaKing. The royals of the west sat by Pandora, and Rindis sat on the left of Helwen, her husband at her side. The Northern Elves and the Southern Elves had been seated together, their clashing dominance breaKing the uneasiness.

Each member of Council listened with utmost patience to Erethor who was in the instant holding up a thin piece of parchment. Even Ivlisar, King of Kings was silent, his piercing eyes turning to Erethor with rapt attention.

Finally, stopping the King’s flow, Sashryn, Queen of the West interrupted the King frustrated, “I don’t think you understand Erethor, our people need us! Willow’s Keep is at war! Tell us what we need to hear and let us be gone, for the hours are short and by morning the city will awake ruler

27

less and defeated! It is a miracle we left, and a miracle if we shall return unscathed!”

“Please, patience,” Erethor pleaded his weariness showing and his own calm at the brim too, “I understand the gravity of your situation and that Mersuithiel attacKing from the Western borders was an unexpected piece of trickery, but that is exactly why I needed you as members of the council to be here tonight. The dwarves have sent many of their women, and children up to the Miresghalel Mountains so as to be prepared to fight with you. Thiralas is preparing his troops for battle this instance and Bronwyn is in the Miresghalel shepherding dwarves through to Erelis by the second. Indildris is at war, not only Willow’s Keep! Not only Khebeldur, but all of us!”

“What is your point, Erethor?” Lethuin raised an eyebrow. “Not meaning any disrespect but this meeting is becoming to seem pointless. If what you say is true and Indildris is really at war, and then shouldn’t all of us be preparing troops, not only speaKing about doing so?”

Erethor sighed, “My apologies for not explaining,” he looked at Rindis and she took his hand and stood with him.

“What my husband is trying to say is that all of us are under this terrible wrath now, so all of us must attend this council, and all of us must be aware of the dwarf’s valiance. This comment of honor brings us thus to the matter of Thiralas and Bronwyn’s children; Baldor, Taûn, Kithwen, Debuli and Hasthril, princess and Princes of Khebeldur. They have recently arrived through the mouth of the Elberon and staggered famished and tired to the fort of Hellboar where they found a group of hawk rangers. The five royal children were carried straight to Lirhatael and nursed to health by our elven doctors. They were sent by their mother and had travelled many days through the Miresghalel to find refuge here. They arrived with a letter written by the Queen of dwarves herself.” Rindis sat and motioned to Erethor.

King Erethor lifted the piece of parchment in his hand to the light and began to read,

“Erethor, Rindis, King and Queen of the East, take my children, keep them safe, it is all I ask, a great burden perhaps, but something I will be very grateful for when this is over and if I am alive to repay you for it. Bronwyn was desperate, that is all it seemed she had the time and energy to write.” Erethor puts down the paper and claps his hands, “Children of the dwarf city, come forth.”

Four dwarf men, each clad in bright beards decorated with gold trotted to Erethor’s side. One lean lady of gold-white hair and blue-grey robes glided behind them. All of the dwarflings seemed as if handsome and beautiful once but their eyes were sunk and their knees shaKing. Nemeriel closed her eyes, sickened and horrified.

“What thinks the council?” Erethor asked gravely.

“I don’t see the danger of keeping the children.” Pandora stated, her eyes dancing around the room, examining each councilor with curiosity.

“I am with my sister,” Helwen added. She looked at Pandora and nodded. “They are scared and tired, keeping them would be the most merciful thing to do if not the most practical.”

Erethor bent his head in acknowledgement and turned to Hindor who began to speak.

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“I think you have been generous Erethor,” Hindor’s deep voice echoed through the cavern, “The dwarves should feel in great debt to the elven Kingdom-

“As we do!” Baldor, the eldest dwarf son spoke, his eyes fiery and his words passionate. When his brothers were finished murmuring and nodding their heads in asset he stepped back into the shadows and out of the pressing light of the candles.

“As Hindor was stating,” Erymes said smiling at Baldor, “You have been kind. I have nothing against these five fair children, but Bronwyn asks the elves to carry a dangerous burden. The dwarves are a rich race and I hear rumors that the klorns are too many and their money too scarce; for their weapons are declining. Kidnapping one of the dwarf children would certainly be on Mersuithiel’s mind right now, and apart from gaining gold from this, she could start a quarrel in between the elves and the dwarves which would prove to be a catastrophe and a weak point in our defenses. If one single dwarf child comes to harm, Bronwyn and Thiralas will have our throats.”

“Well said,” Avalon piped in, “The children are nothing but trouble.”

Sashryn stood, “Yes but what choice do we have, either way Bronwyn will be angry. If we send the children back they could die of exhaustion.” Little Hasthril’s eyes widened with fear at the Western Queens comment. “But if we keep them, there could be a change of plan and an ambush directed straight into the heart of Lirhatael.”

Hasthril stepped forward and whispered hoarsely, “If you please kind maiden of the west,” she turned to Sashryn, “I shouldn’t ever wish to travel through the mines again. Days we went without water, days we travelled with no light; I believe I would die if I go again. Have mercy.”

Rindis stood anger in her eyes, “Come young lady,” Hasthril surprised and worried she had said too much stumbled towards the Queen; however, it was not with the dwarf princess that Rindis was in disagreement, but with Sashryn. “Now good cousin, have consideration,” Rindis said composedly, taKing Hasthril in her arms as the dwarf child came to her side. “These poor children have been through terrible things these last few days. I have children of my own and never will the dwarfs be sent through the Miresghalel again if I live to see the day of it!” Rindis sat down again, Hasthril standing behind her as if to support her judgment.

“I meant nothing of the sort,” Sashryn defended herself haughtily as her husband nodded behind her, “but please, let us be rational and make a decision quickly so I may return to Willow’s Keep and protect my own people.”

The Eastern King sighed and rose from his seat, “Those in favor of keeping the dwarf children please stand,” Erethor bellowed.

Hindor and Avalon stood, Erymes and Lethuin stood, Pandora stood, Helwen stood, Ivlisar stood, Rindis stood and Erethor, who was already standing did not sit.

“Nine out of eleven, the majority has voted for the children’s safety and keeping in Erelis, the dwarf royals stay!” Erethor exclaimed, “now, I would like a confirmation from all that should Erelis come to harm or word spread of the dwarves’ location, each of your realms will be willing to host these valiant travelers in your home, providing them safety, food and drink to fill their

29

stomachs. Should any object to this confirmation please rise.” The council fell silent. After long moments Erethor sat down again and eyed the other members of council curiously.

Ivlisar, whom had been silently listening for the entirety of the council finally stood. “You have more to say, Erethor. You know Bronwyn well and there is clearly something on your mind.”

Erethor, surprised by the King of King’s comment sighed, “I must admit, the years have gone by, and the elf’s immortality and dwarf’s long life has created bonds between us all. You are quite right, I have known Bronwyn since my early years as a boy and something brings me to guess her next move.” Erethor breathed, “The Miresghalel Mountains are a direct, easily protected and concealable road to Erelis. The dwarf men who are to fight may need the room of the mines for their own troops in the future; I am expecting Thiralas to order half of the dwarf population be sent to Erelis in a few days’ time. Even he sees that the mountains will be an advantage. He will ask politely by letter, I am sure, but I can feel he has already sent some hundred to confront Lirhatael at its borders.”

“The scoundrel, the dwarves have always been selfish creatures!” Avalon exclaimed, “What will the poor man do when you refuse.”

“I will never know,” Erethor replied icily, “I do not intend on refusing to aid an old friend and a trusted ally. We have all agreed to help each other in times of trouble, have we not?”

Hindor spoke, “The Eastern King is right,” he turned on his wife, “we have all signed, and all pledged, the dwarves and the Western elves,” he bowed to Sashryn and Tithofaer boldly, “are the ones in the most difficult position at present; if I were to travel to Laure right now, I’m sure I’d see no blue banner, or green flag-

“Or Black emblem, for that matter!” Rindis said peevishly, “You mean well, Hindor, but I believe what you are trying to say is that Willow’s Keep is at war, then why is not Erelis too, or Saertiel? I thought that if the Western elves are at war, then Indildris is at war and that respectfully includes you!”

Hindor said nothing in response.

“Mm,” Tithofaer hummed quietly, “The dwarves have been our closest allies for years, they have been generous and Thiralas and I are good friends.”

Sashryn nodded. “Thiralas has a brave heart and a good will. He will do what is right to keep our city safe!”

“Then why can we not gain the same ranKing among his people?” Erethor stood; a light was in his eyes, “I will send fifty men!”

“I will send seventy!” Lethuin smiled, “Seventy Rangers, twenty of them shall be on horseback!”

“You will see a black emblem in Laure after all,” Hindor stood. “Ninety men, I will send them down west by morning!”

Tithofaer bowed, “You are generous and I assure you a respectable repayment will come in due course-”

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“I really doubt that,” Rindis said softly. “We will all be dead by then for sure. The war is coming and help will be shared out in every moment. To repay all your debts would be to sell Willow’s Keep to the dwarves! It will be impossible!” the Eastern Queen rose and called with a mighty voice, “We all must work on receiving gifts as much as we do on giving them. Fifty men will go the Laure this night, fifty men. And not one need be returned!”

Hindor began to stand in disagreement but Avalon took his arm and rose instead. “Neteliar thinks Rindis speaks fairly!”

“Good,” said Lethuin nodding his head.

“And what were you saying before, Erethor?” Ivlisar exclaimed his voice loud and clear, “I believe this council was called for more than the cases of the dwarf children and Laure, am I right?” He let the question linger.

Erethor turned a questioning eye towards Ivlisar, “All I meant to say, that Lirhatael cannot host all of the dwarfish population and still be organized and ready for war at any moment. We need help.” He turned to Erymes and Lethuin, “I would prefer that Saertiel be the one to aid me in this case, for it is close to Erelis and a safe place to keep refugees.”

Lethuin stood and repeated Erethor, contemplating his words, “You are saying that Erelis will need help... You are suggesting that Saertiel take in dwarf families as well as the Eastern Elves will.”

Erethor nodded, “It is the only way.”

Erymes’ chair grinded along the stone floor, “When we signed the papers of Las, Saertiel was expecting to fight alongside of its allies. But it seems now Erethor is asKing something more. The Mighty King of the East wants my Kingdom to let thousands of dwarves take refuge in Alsra!” A long silence gnawed at the air and it was not until Erymes laughed that the tension broke. “Very well! We will do what we must Erethor! You are lucky I trust you enough and think you wise enough to make your own plots without our knowing.” She held her gaze for a moment and then resumed her seat.

Erethor sank into his chair. “Thank you. Thank you very much, Erymes.”

“That is all well, but Erelis is known to be a very wooded area and though it may be rough, dwarves will be able to set camp all over the Broken Wood, so how is it that Erethor speaks of not having room?” Hindor turned to the Eastern King and bowed.

“Just a moment,” Erethor said and then turned to Rindis and whispered in her ear, “we cannot explain now…”

Rindis shook her head curtly and Pandora locked eyes with Erethor, sending him her train of thought. “What about the Elberon Mountains? Have you thought of keeping the humans there?” Pandora’s voice echoed in Erethor’s mind. The King shook his head stiffly and discreetly channeled these words back to Pandora, “Not after the location of this meeting.” “It may be our only choice.” She answered.

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“Then where will the dwarves go, they will not like being kept on the outskirts of the forest.”

“That is why Erymes has offered to help, you can keep most of the dwarves along the river and the rest can go to Alsra in Saertiel.” Pandora said and then cut the telepathic connection only witches could conjure.

“What about the Elberon, you can send the dwarves there and surely they’ll be enough space that you won’t have to ask Saertiel for any help at all.” Avalon suggested.

“It’ll be too crowded,” Erethor said as he drew himself back to the present. “Besides, if Saertiel ever comes to be attacked, they’ll have dwarves, who are valiant fighters, on their side as additional troops.”

Lethuin stood and smiled, “Hush Avalon, we’ll be glad to help and grateful also for the help, our city is big but with the dwarves, we will be close to unstoppable.” The Southern King sat and the conversation closed.

“Very well then,” Erethor said, “Once again my apologies, but this meeting was essential, even if calling all of us together was a little inconvenient.” Erethor nodded his thanks and then waved his hand to the council, dismissing them like school children.

The royals all stood simultaneously and bowed to Ivlisar and then Erethor before flying into the night, their cities each at bay their minds all troubled with the calling of war.

Soon Erethor, Rindis and Ivlisar were the only ones left, and of course, Nemeriel and Prayer whom were still concealed behind a large rock, hidden from and yet in earshot of the cavern.

“It seems that humans are a more complicated race than expected,” Ivlisar said, a twinkle in his eye.

Erethor was about to answer when his face became awe struck and Rindis gave a little yelp. “Here, here, tell me what you do King Ivlisar to find all our little secrets?”

“That’s the thing,” Ivlisar smiled. “I am ubiquitous. I make it my job to know everyone’s buisiness. How else do you expect me to rule everything? Being the oldest of creatures is often an underestimated power, but you of all should know, that when in doubt, I will always be here.”

Erethor put his hands on the table and leaned wearily, “‘Here’ is a slightly inaccurate address is it not?” the King grinned and looked up at Ivlisar expectantly.

“Yes it is, isn’t it, however, I like living nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It makes me seem more mysterious. Gives a better aura, better impression.” The King of King’s bowed and walked to the mouth of the cave, stopping only to say one last word, “But if you really want to know, I like it where the birds sing and the clouds fly. You may call it favoritism if you wish, for I’ve always found Helwen the sweeter of my two daughters. You see, Pandora being so wise makes me feel like I’ve got no place with her anymore. The sea is too chaotic, but the sky, oh the sky, it calls to me, even now.” Ivlisar took one more step towards the door and stopped right in front of the place in which the two daughters were concealed, their breaths held and their eyes shut. “Oh and, I meant to say, when the time comes, you will send your daughter to me before she

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does anything else. The time of the Last Lithuist is over. She needs to learn.”

With that the King of King’s dissipated into the wind and was lost to the world.

Rindis squeezed Erethor’s hand and sighed, “We can trust him, and he is righteous and wise beyond all ages. He will do what is right for us, for even if he has seen so much suffering through Atva, he knows it is the little things that count. This secret is Indildris’ fate and freedom, but it could also cost us our honor, and though that is a mere thing, Ivlisar will respect it until the end, until the moment when all will have to be revealed.”

“I dread that moment so much, you know. I do not want to be disappointed by my kin,” Erethor said and then took a breath, “Though I sense it is time. The Western party of our elfish people is under attack and though everything feels as if it is going slowly, hundreds of elves are dying at the front line right now.” The King led Rindis to a map on the table. “See here,” he pointed at the Western elves, Willow’s Keep lying just behind the horrendous mountain range - the Dawn Sun, “Once the klorns have taken over the western elves, they will then move forward and swipe out the dwarves, a strong but weak-in-number race. Mersuithiel, I am guessing, is then planning on retreating behind the Dawn Sun Mountains and filtering our troops through the Alps, causing harder transport and major protection. Without the dwarves, we are nothing in the mountains; elves have little experience without them.”

“You are learning,” Rindis glanced at her husband and tilted her head, “Years ago the words, ‘helpless without the dwarves’ would have been poison for your proud lips, and yet, now you say things such as if they were honey.”

“Losing my daughter cost me, and also taught me, that when the time comes, the pride of the elfish race will kill us all. The prophecy is more accurate than I had expected, and now, it is as if I am seeing the past repeat itself as I watch the foretold future slip through my fingers. It’s like an odd dream, a déjà vu that I can’t help seeing again and again. Pandora is right, changing fate is like trying to change the landscapes. I have done what I can to change myself on the inside, but I do not know if I will be able to change all of Indildris.” Erethor rolled up the map before him and tucked it into his coat sleeve. “Now that we can safely assume Mersuithiel knows about the first part of the prophecy, the second round of the it shall begin. Nemeriel will have to learn of her kin and where she has truly come from. The human world is waiting.”

Nemeriel gasped and Prayer stifled her cry with her hand, pulling her sister back and whispering to her desperate comforts.

Erethor stopped, his ears perked. He looked around and peered carefully at the cavern entrance and then looked away, somewhat satisfied.

Her back pressed stiffly against the hard rocks, Nemeriel breathed heavily tears already flooding her cheeks and blurring her vision. She didn’t know why she was so surprised. She had always known she was different. Her skin color was one example and her lack in instinct was another. She had often heard songs or stories that retold her birth. She knew she had come from the river but that it should come to this, that it should come to the roots of a different race, she had never expected. She had always been slower, less intelligent and shorter than most and yet hearing the truth outspoken at last led her to almost break in two.

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Prayer pulled helplessly on Nemeriel’s arm, trying in vain to bring her sister out of the mountain and into the clear night.

“Come on.” Prayer whispered, tears catching on the lashes of her own eyes. “We need to leave. Please, we have to go!”

Nemeriel staggered and Prayer caught her, dragging her desperately through the caves. Together they crawled through the passage and into the night. Prayer pushed Nemeriel onto her horse and smacked the steed’s thigh. The horse reared and galloped into the night, Nemeriel weeping on its mane.

Erethor’s suspicious glance turned to stone. “A listener.”

Rindis laughed nervously, “Never! Simply Ivlisar leaving or perhaps a late-leaving council member who just now emerged from the rocks.”

When Erethor looked unconvinced Rindis’ eyes flashed and she sighed, “Erethor, you have to trust them. You bid them goodnight, the council was over, none would have stayed.” she paused, “You know the truly dishonorable thing is that you suspected them.”

The silence treaded on like ice.

“We were saying,” Erethor murmured.

“You will see her again, just as you wished,” Rindis said as she turned to look at the King, “But I am afraid that, that will be the most painful of all.”

“Indeed.” he answered bitterly.

Chapter 5: The Escape

The following morning was bright, the sun was cold and the clouds were thick. Nemeriel heard her sister Prayer muttering, in the same state as she was the night before.

For a moment Nemeriel felt quite normal, as if the council had never occurred and that she had 34

never eavesdropped, but the troubled look of Prayer’s blue-green eyes told a different story. The cold regretted memories that took place in the Elberon Mountains flowed in and Nemeriel lay back on her pillow again, her eyes blinKing and her face trembling.

Prayer turned at the sound of her sister’s movement.

“I have a message for you,” she said, “From father for when you would awake.”

Nemeriel shot up and wiped her face with the back of her hand, “He was here?”

“Last night he came to speak to me. I was foolish to not blow out the candle before, but when he saw the flickering light that shouldn’t have been flickering... well, he came straight away and asked me why I was up so late. I did not lie nor give the truth, at least not until he asked. I told him we were only curious and tired of being shut away from the things of the world. He asked me how much I knew,” Prayer gulped, “And I told him what I think he believed was everything.”

“Did you mention me?” Nemeriel asked hopefully, hoping to avoid speaKing of anything to do with her past as long as possible.

“I tried very hard not to, but your boots were still on, your cheeks were stained with tears and your cloak was thrown across the floor instead of hung up as it had been a few hours ago.” Prayer’s eyes fluttered hard, “He knew straight away.”

“What did father want to tell me after that?” Nemeriel’s voice broke.

“He wanted to tell you that he loved you very much. That the world is a cruel place and that love can be the only savior. He asks of your forgiveness over all. He asks you to meet him in his study. He says he wants to tell you the truth. Mother will be there.” Prayer stood slowly and then walked to the threshold of their room, “You’ll find the truth can sometimes be the hardest thing to handle, but you are a strong girl Nemeriel. You have the heart and soul of an elf, no matter what lies your body tells.”

“Eht ho di ledifor Estrella sin,” Nemeriel bowed and smiled as she watched her sister leave the room, her dark hair swishing along her back and her robes grazing the floor. The elvish words she had spoken were not in thanks of the compliment however, they were a farewell.

Finally alone in the guttering light of the old spare candle Nemeriel mercifully pressed her damp fingers to the fire and the wax received rest at last. The sun was up and the extra illumination was unnecessary, besides, Nemeriel could not stay a minute longer. She raced to the dresser and pulled away a slick blue hunting cloak. She stretched her fingers out into the cold and cringed. She tugged a robe of glittering green and white over her head and on top of her nightgown; she flung the cloak over her shoulders and lifted the hood. Dancing into the cold Nemeriel slung her bow over her nipped ears and shouldered the quiver with twelve arrows of elven make.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear it anymore, not now anyway,” she said half to herself and half to the beckoning threshold. She ran down to the grounds and took Madildra, her horse, from the stables.

Then Nemeriel rode for hours into the daylight, her steed breathing white mist and the wind

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whipping through her layer of clothes.

She didn’t really know where she was going but soon the Elberon shadowed her and the wind subsided at last. It seemed the mountains were a good place to hide away for some time, a good place to regain peace of mind.

As Nemeriel walked towards where the mouth of the cave had once been, she noticed that it had been magically sealed again as if it had always been that way before. Stepping off Madildra, Nemeriel patted the young horse’s mane before leaving it to graze upon the green grass of the Sten River Meadows.

Climbing the tumbling wall Nemeriel watched the ground leave her feet. Soon the opening of Maze Quake Valley shifted in the light and became as visible as the sun in the blue sky.

Nemeriel gazed, her face bathed in yellow rays and the distant neighing of Madildra ringing in her ears.

She stepped forward and hit the rock face in frustration, groping at the walls as if trying to capture the light through her fingers. The minutes passed but just as she walked to the stone wall to strike again the rock exploded into minuscule pieces and sent Nemeriel flying off of the ledge. She scrambled to find a foot rest as she hung onto a protruding shard so as not fall to the ground. Madildra looked up from her feeding and cantered back a few paces, startled by the noise and quickly trying to avoid the raining dust falling from the mountain.

Sharp pains shot through Nemeriel’s arms and she cried out straining to lift herself to the flatness of the ledge. Peering over the mountain-side Nemeriel’s eyes turned to slits with pain and so the image she saw forming before her flinched and flickered as she blinked and twitched. The dark shadow of a stout dwarf holding an axe in his hands appeared and stepped towards Nemeriel, her cries calling to his attention.

“Who goes there?” he cried, “Baldor son of Thiralas son of Bronwyn stands brave before the rightful threshold of the dwarves. Be gone, or be dead!”

Nemeriel growled and somewhere found the strength to cry, “Be gone or be dead!? I’ll be both of them soon if you fail to step nearer. I hang by the ledge, fool!”

The bewildered dwarf looked over the mountain and rushed forward to Nemeriel’s help. He stooped and hauled her with surprising strength to the ledge and let her gasp and rub her shoulders in her own time as he stared at her and gaped.

“Is it you then who spoke?” Baldor asked finally.

“Who else could it have been!” she retorted, “The Mountain is empty, or so it should be. Either way, if I were to find life here amongst the rock I would not expect to find a dwarf!”

Baldor stood and puffed out his chest. “Here, here, are you saying that I am not welcome in my own realm.”

“Not at all,” Nemeriel said carefully, her breath back, “But one must be in great trouble if willing to do that unto one’s realm.” She pointed at the broken doorway. “You have been harsh to the

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mountain.”

Baldor glanced at the shards around his feet and grunted, “Custom is the hacKing of rocks to the dwarves. Though for us it is not considered destruction but discovery, and allowing the stone to reveal its greater beauties. We call it mining young elf, but if you truly wish to know what my brothers and I are up to perhaps sitting down in the darkness of the cave would be a far more fit place to do so. Come, meet the children of the city Khebeldûr.” He beckoned to Nemeriel and she stood quaKing, her legs shaKing and her knees buckling beneath her weight. As she fell to the ground the floor loomed up at her and she cried out in fright.

Baldor frowned in worry and carried her into the cavern instead, “You took quite a fall,” he said quietly, “I’ll lay you down for the time being.”

DucKing so as not to hit his head, Baldor walked into the cave and lay Nemeriel by a crackling fire. Surrounding the flames, three other dwarf boys and one dwarf maiden shivered, their bodies’ thin and less round than was normal for a dwarfling child. Nemeriel gave Baldor a questioning look and he suddenly adopted a fearful glint in his eye. “They’ve gone days without light.” He whispered, “This fire’s all they’ve had. Their bound to it and yet so afraid it might bite them. They’ll be alright soon, but it’ll take a while to lure them into the daylight itself.”

Nemeriel’s lip quivered and she leaned forward into the circle, handing the dwarf-maiden her extra cloak. The dwarfling flinched but accepted the gift thank fully, wrapping herself in the garments. Nemeriel turned away, “It’s horrible.”

Baldor nodded, “Watching them turn this way was the most painful.”

“How are you so well, so fit?” Nemeriel asked.

“I kept them in mind each time I staggered, each time my stomach rumbled. Aye, I am well and fit because the image of their healthy faces has fed me to remain so.”

The princess smiled tightly.

“And what may I name your fair face, young elf-lady?” Baldor asked, attempting vainly to lighten the mood.

Nemeriel sighed and glanced up from the saddening faces of the dwarves she hardly dared look at for longer than seconds, “My name is,” she hesitated, “I am Kina,” she said at last. It was a common elven name, therefore not suspicious nor attention-calling. As for her skin, she hoped the dwarves did not know too much about Drïm Sickness, for it turned your skin dark blue and not black.

Baldor nodded suspiciously and pointed at the second oldest brother, “This is Taûn, and here is Kithwen.” The two men bowed their heads, and then began to stare once more to the fire.

“And here is Debuli,” Baldor gestured towards a dwarf with flaming red hair, “He is the youngest before Hasthril, my sister.”

Hasthril had long white hair and big blue beautiful eyes that reflected the dancing light of the fire, but even amidst their beauty there was pain.

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“Your name is not what you say,” was all Hasthril said.

Baldor raised an eyebrow at Nemeriel and opened his mouth to speak. However, yet again Hasthril interrupted.

“I saw you at the council,” she cocked her head, “You were hiding behind the rocks with your sister. Besides, I recognize you from the times I visited Erelis when we were both small. You’re Nemeriel.”

“By god!” Baldor exclaimed, “I wished not to be rude, I thought your skin had a sickness of the east, but no, you are the jewel of the river!”

Nemeriel blushed, “I did not want to call so much attention. But now I suppose that you know me then I must admit I know who you are. You are the dwarfish royals, I saw you at the council too. However, why are you still here? I heard my father say you’d be brought to Lirhatael as soon as possible.”

Baldor fidgeted shamefully at the name of the King Erethor, “Well, you see, King Erethor hasn’t been here for days and my brothers and I were thinKing of...well, leaving. It’s not that we wish to be disrespectful but we wish to fight alongside our father. The only reason I hadn’t turned back before with Kithwen and Taûn is because I didn’t think Debuli would be able to handle taKing Hasthril safely to the borders on his own.”

Nemeriel frowned, “That is no excuse. You are ungrateful things! It is for your safety my father is keeping you!” then she stopped, “However, it is nothing like my father to leave you here and desert you in such a way.”

“Oh no, he hasn’t abandoned us at all!” Baldor exclaimed, “He simply is biding his time. You see, Mersuithiel might or might not know about our refuge. And before Erethor wants to transport us to Lirhatael, he must wait to find a time when nobody is upon our path. He doesn’t want us to be taken you see, and he doesn’t want to give us lots of protection or that would be too obvious and Mersuithiel would know what is going on even if she doesn’t already.”

Kithwen, the third oldest, stood and spoke for the first time, his voice deep and yet well-meaning, “We’ve been put into a trap. The only way out is through the mountain. My elder brothers and I are willing to travel again, but my sister and younger brother are too weak and afraid of going back. I do not blame them but now that you are here, I would be grateful, and so would the rest of Khebeldur I am sure, if you took this news back to your father. Tell him not to go after us. We have made up our mind and we wish to help our father in battle. If he tries to stop us we will fight the elves like we would fight the klorns. Tell him also that my two younger siblings are still in the mountain and without us they will die soon. If you are quick, perhaps all will go well.” Kithwen walked over the fire and pushed past Baldor.

He stopped in front of Nemeriel and handed her a sapphire necklace with two or three beads missing that glimmered in the firelight, “Our rangers were patrolling the Gador Road one evening a long time ago, and we found two klorns stained with the golden blood of the elves and carrying this token. My father gave this to my mother to give to me. My mother told me to give this to Erethor. She did not tell me what it was, but she explained that Erethor would. He will

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understand our apologies for not returning this pendant sooner. Now ride well and do not fail us.”

Taûn then stood also and left with his brother and Baldor. However, before leaving the eldest dwarf took Nemeriel’s hand and muttered quickly, “This is a terrible burden we have unkindly put upon you but let me add one more weight to your shoulders,” he pleaded.

Nemeriel nodded, “Keep them safe, keep them together, and don’t let them linger here too long or they will drive themselves mad!”

Nemeriel smiled weakly and took the dwarf’s shoulder, “I will do what I can.”

The dwarf nodded in gratitude and lifted his axe from the ground, following his brothers and parting on his way.

“Farewell,” he cried to his siblings, “Be strong, be valiant!”

And as his voice left so did his burly figure, his shadow finally disappearing behind the curb of the great mountain.

Chapter 6: The Prophecy

As she took Madildra’s reigns Nemeriel felt free once more. The wind caught her hair and the sun

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shone on her skin. Back at the cave Nemeriel had put out the fire to the children’s great disgust. But with time they began to see sense and their heads cleared. They asked Nemeriel where they were and where their brothers were. She had explained everything and they had listened with great intent.

Finally they assured her that they felt safe on their own and Nemeriel vowed she would return if her father did not. They bid her farewell and she rode into the afternoon light.

Soon Lirhatael was in view and as Nemeriel stole into the city Madildra snorting behind her she rushed immediately to her room to confront Prayer after a quick detour to the stables.

Sprinting to the chambers Nemeriel found her room empty. She swiveled around to run back down the stairs and into her father’s study when she found a teary eyed Prayer and a livid Queen Rindis glaring down at her.

Rindis wiped her eyes and fell into Nemeriel’s arms whereas Prayer stood stonily at her mother’s side, her icy look boring into Nemeriel’s head.

“You fool!” she whispered, “We thought Mersuithiel had taken you! We thought you were ambushed by klorns! You fool, this is not the time to go fun-hunting! Not when the war is on and the world is at stake! You fool of a-

“That is enough!” Rindis cried her voice shaky and frail, “That is enough, Prayothél! Go find your father and tell him his daughter is safe. He can call off the hunt and pay the rangers. The matter is finished. And you,” Rindis turned on Nemeriel and snarled. “You are in big trouble!”

“But-”

“You have no excuses to make! You selfishly put your whole family in worry all for-

“Listen-”

“No you listen! I am the authority here; I order you to come down with me to your father’s office and put away that silly bow for it has done you no good!”

“I WASN’T HUNTING!” Nemeriel yelled, “Just listen to me for once!” she was breathing hard and her eyes were stinging, “I rode to the Elberon. Perhaps it was fate, I do not know, but I mainly went to mountains to...to run away...from things and then suddenly-

“You went to clear your head then,” Rindis said quietly, a droplet of guilt somehow finding space in the anger dominating her voice.

“You could say so,” Nemeriel answered, “I waited for a while and as I was saying, suddenly the rock blasted apart and I was flung to the side. For some minutes I was hanging by my arms on the edge of the cliff and-”

Prayer who had stayed a minute longer to hear the conversation had turned suddenly, her eyes widening and her attempt at pretending she couldn’t care less disappearing entirely.

“You what?” she asked.

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“It was nothing,” Nemeriel answered wearily, “But soon enough Baldor had come to help me and it was alright,” she added hastily.

“Who?”

“Baldor!” Nemeriel cried, “The dwarf prince!”

And so went on the conversation until Rindis was feeling far more sympathetic towards the matter and Prayer was no long glancing haughtily at her sister.

“Right, well you best both go to Erethor now,” Rindis demanded, “He’ll want to hear what you have to say.” She looked at Nemeriel pointedly.

***

“And what is it Kithwen gave you?” Erethor asked, his fair face sagged and tired.

“This,” Nemeriel handed her father the sapphire necklace.

At first the King said nothing and then his eyes widened and he began to take deep breaths.

“Where did Thiralas find this, and when?”

Nemeriel answered and then stood suspiciously, “Why? What are they?”

Erethor looked away and put the sapphires in the folds of his robes, “They’re nothing.”

Nemeriel nearly let this lie pass when she suddenly stood, knocking over the table in between her and her father, “I heard the council last night! I am not blind nor deaf nor brainless. I understand the elves are the fairest and the smartest and the bravest! But whatever I am I am not an elf, and even then I am able to do and to think. I know I am not like you, but you have treated me like a klorn! All these years lying and pretending! Jewel of the river! What nonsense, I am a replacement and one you bitterly resent!”

Erethor sank deeper into his chair, “I know that you overheard. But I have never lied, or pretended, I have only kept; kept the truth from you because I loved and love you still. If you want the truth I think you are ready to have it, but it will hurt and you must be strong.”

Rindis stepped forward and held back her husband’s arm but he pushed her away.

“No more hiding. The child is right. It is now or nothing will resolve itself and this, all of this, will have been useless.”

“Give her time,” Rindis pleaded.

“No! Time. What is time? Time is one of the biggest lies of the universe and I will tamper with it no more. Time is gone, time is passed. She needs to know.”

Nemeriel looked between her father and her mother several times.

“You will be brave,” Rindis said forebodingly, “I know you will, but try to also be forgiving, even though it will require a whole new different courage.”

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Nemeriel said nothing. It didn’t sound good.

“We will start with the prophecy; it is time we get rid of it once and for all.” Erethor said.

He plucked the remaining sapphires from the necklace and dropped them into a bowl filled with a clear shimmering liquid.

Prayer leaned in, her face reflecting white in the eerie light of the liquid. “What is that?”

“Milk from the moon,” he muttered as he glanced at the beaded pendant.

The necklace seemed incomplete, the sapphires that were missing had already been used in the past by Pandora and Erethor yet there was still one that was truly gone, one that had not been used, one that had been ripped roughly from it’s clamp. As the King and Queen noticed this absence they suddenly became consumed with fear.

Rindis and Erethor looked at each other, “You don’t think-

“It’s only one bead it can’t make such a diff-

“I would not be so foolish to bet on that though.” He sighed and then tried in vain to comfort himself, “She can’t know, or she would have entered the human realm already. The bead is most likely lost.”

Rindis was unconvinced but she stopped trembling and then became silent when the echoing of a foreign voice rebounded off of the chamber walls.

Erethor then crushed the sapphires and watched, just as mesmerized as his children as they mixed with the substance, the colors melting and stirring into each other. Suddenly an image flashed and harsh, abnormal words echoed through the room. It seemed as if three voices were speaKing at the same time.

The prophecy began at the center and it seemed as if it skipped several lines in the middle. Finally, when it was finished the whole room fell awfully quiet.“I am a human.” was all Nemeriel could utter, “I am a human.”

She was left awestruck on the ground. Her mouth was slightly parted and her eyes were large and batting at her father and then her mother with disbelief. Prayer was silent.

The quiet moments ticked and Nemeriel’s crazed face and wild breaths slowed and melted into confusion.

“What-what is a human?” Nemeriel asked suddenly.

“A being, or a race, that lives above Atva in another world. Humans are capable of having different colored skins, where elves are not, nor dwarves, or any other race I know of apart from faeries. It seems that you indeed, are one of these humans.”

“And are we all this color?” she glanced down at herself, for the first time wondering what it would be like to see another human, just like her.

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“No,” Erethor answered, “Some are like us, some we have probably never seen before.”

For a moment the princess said nothing and then, “I just want to know what I have to do.” Nemeriel said finally, “What has this all been preparing me for?”

Rindis pulled Nemeriel up and helped her stand.

“You must go to the human world and convince them that there are wonders beneath them and that with their help, the elves can defeat evil and save lives.”

Erethor marveled at how the touch of the Queen was able to calm Nemeriel so efficiently. He smiled at her tenderness and the simplicity with which she explained the situation.

“Without us, the humans have no access to Atva. Once we show them how to use the portal they will be transferred to Indildris and we must teach them and show them the advantages of our world; endless beauty, places for crops and old teachings. Magic… etc. We can offer them land or gold or anything, as long as they fight at our sides. You must bring them here and they must be welcomed, yet how Indildris will react to this when they find out, I do not know. For some time we will have to hide the humans and train them so that they will seem worthier when displayed to the elves. The dwarves will be easy to convince as long as the western elves are in agreement. You will have to start in the west if you wish to get anywhere. The northern elves will be the hardest to waver but if all of Indildris is in sync they will see sense I am sure.”

“Whose job is it to convince the Indildris population?” Nemeriel asked slowly, “When they find out I am of a different race they will not trust me anymore.”

“It will be Arassel’s job,” Erethor answered, “My daughter, and your’s, both of you must learn to work together. You will of course have my help and my influence, but above all, the help of Ivlisar. Which is what brings me to mention your first task if we all wish this to be a successful defeat.”

“What is it?” Nemeriel demanded, “I want to help, I want to do something for once, something that is worthwhile.”

Rindis looked afraid but Erethor held up his hand as if telling her to wait.

“Go to Ivlisar and ask for his council. He will give you advice worth listening and knowledge that you will use until your death. He will train you in combat and many other aspects. He will be your mentor for six months.”

“Six months?” Nemeriel exclaimed, “All of Indildris could be underway by then! What about time?”

“Ivlisar is our only chance, besides, Mersuithiel hasn’t shown any signs of new attack yet.” Erethor said.

“Will I have a companion?” Nemeriel asked, glancing at Prayer thoughtfully. Then she chastised herself for being so thoughtless and cowardly.

“It is your choice, but the moment you enter the Sky you will have to do so alone.” Erethor answered.

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Nemeriel began to think of going out into Atva all by herself and having to speak with the King of Kings and not even having Prayer at her side who was never anywhere else.

“What will I have to do, where will I have to go I don’t even know what-

“Shh,” Rindis said, taking her daughter into her arms, “Shh, I know, we all know how hard it is. We all know everything’s changing, I mean for example, this time it’s not even your fault,” she chuckled, “But you will have to be strong. Don’t worry, we’ll tell you everything you’ll need to know.”

“To get into the sky you’ll have to ask for a right of passage. Helwen, the lady of the sky will be the one you will need to ask permission from.” Erethor nodded.

“She is kind and fair,” Rindis said, “She will see sense and let you through.”

“With no doubt,” Erethor agreed, “Just follow your instincts.”

“They’re nearly always right,” Prayer added with a watery smile.

Nemeriel felt so grateful and helpless all at the same time that she just let Rindis rock her softly for a long time.

Finally Nemeriel sighed, “Do I have to go now? Straight away? I want to have more time, time to think. Can I have-

“Of course,” Rindis said softly, “Anything.”

Nemeriel swallowed, her small dainty figure hugging her mother and giving her father a quick kiss on the forehead.

Her grimly shaped lips and yet bright, spritely eyes dappled with old tears hardly fit together, and yet the face was Nemeriel’s and the sigh she gave was in her sweet voice. She turned away and disappeared through the threshold.

Prayer smiled sadly and followed her sister out of the door, her last glance an image of Rindis’ arm around Erethor’s shoulders, the King and Queen ragged and torn in between pride and sorrow.

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Chapter 7: The Travelling Elves

The days dragged by and finally Erethor was able to bring over the two remaining dwarf children. Hasthril and Debuli were taken to stay in Ithilwen, a far off city near the Balthazar Mountains and heavily guarded on its easily accessed angle by the Northern Elves. Even though Nemeriel agreed that it was the safest place to put them, she wished that they could have lived closer so that she could see them every day or at least once in a while.

At last when the dwarves were safe Nemeriel acted as if she had no place in the world, as if she had no reason to be anymore. She stopped working and rebelling as she usually did and became quite quiet.

With time Nemeriel began to feel smaller and smaller. Her eyes and cheeks were often wet and her eyelashes never dried. The feeling of alone and emptiness grew inside of her and she seldom smiled or became excited. The weather itself started to darken and the rain of the Autumn moon lashed harder and harsher than it had for many years now. The clouds stayed white but their strong color made Nemeriel dizzy and recoil. She felt like Hasthril back in the cave, shut up for weeks and weeks with only the dimness of a sputtering fire to keep her company. The daylight seemed too much for her now, only the flicker of the fireplace or the deep lanterns could soothe the princess.

One day, when Prayer thought she had seen enough, and was worried to her neck she decided to speak to her sister.

“Two fortnights have now dared to pass and still you stay.” Prayer said slowly and confidently, “The white clouds may soon bear snowflakes and it is a known curse to travel during Winter, it would be a foolish act on your part to not leave this minute before the cold can catch you.”

Nemeriel looked up from the dancing flames, “I do not fear the cold.”

“You very much should!” Prayer chastised, “The cold is not merciful and the more you try to strike a fire the harder the wind will blow. Do not be silly, you are who you are and you cannot change that, but now that we have told you how you can change the lives of others, why will you not take initiative as you have so many other times before, especially when it was not permitted.”

Nemeriel sighed, “I don’t like living anymore.”

Prayer was about to laugh, but the way Nemeriel said it had such sorrow and defeat in it that Prayer suddenly became afraid of what her sister might do next.

“Well then, perhaps you should think to yourself that if you die, so will all the other many people in Indildris and in a much more painful way I assume if at the hands of Mersuithiel, that is.” Prayer smiled, “You are the tree that holds the many, many leaves, and yet why do you feel weak when each leaf weighs but the mass of a hair. You must fight the wind, or each leaf will fall, easily cut by the gust. You have no choice, for without the leaves you are nothing. You are ugly and you are, in the end weaker. I promise that if you will be the tree I will never cease to be the roots underneath you. As always.”

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“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Don’t,” Nemeriel said suddenly, her smile vanished, “Promises are like glass, they’re transparent and thin, easy to break. At first, you think you know and see everything as clear as crystal and then the glass shatters leaving a broken image that had always been marred underneath. Always held a secret under its skin only to be revealed if properly taken aprt. Bit by bit.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I wouldn’t say this if I believed the plan would work. This switching, this changing, this lying.” She looked grim and faithless.

Prayer gave Nemeriel a funny look, “I promise.” She said firmly and stood to leave.

***

One more day went and it began to rain again. Nemeriel watched the sky for another night until the clouds finally cleared and a pale blue heaven was finally visible. The sun was a feeble yellow and yet gave light enough and spirit to last Nemeriel the week it would take her to travel to the edges of Prospero, Land of the Villages.

“You should take a rest at Hellboar fort.” Rindis advised as they stood at the edge of Lirhatael, “There are always guards standing on that tower; tell them who you are and they will surely give you a new pack of food and let you sleep the night there.”

“Don’t stay more than two days though; you don’t want to come too late into Prospero.” Erethor added, “I’ve already sent Helwen a message in advance through the river, she’ll be waiting.”

“Why can’t I travel through the Dawn River, father?” Nemeriel asked, “It’d be so much quicker.”

Erethor flinched, “You will not enter those waters until you absolutely have to.” He said firmly, “Besides, I - the River can sometimes dissipate the travelers soul when he or she passes through it’s realm. It’s an old tale but one Pandora can neither confirm nor deny. She doesn’t know for sure.” he paused, “And, considering you’re human, I don’t know how much worse the effects could be since you don’t have a natural magical lining to protect you.”

“But I’ve been in the river before,” she protested.

“Yes. I know. But what would happen the second time?” he turned, “I’m not willing to take the risk of finding out.”

Nemeriel looked away and shouldered her bag of beaten leaves. She held the sack by the vines coming from it as handles and hung the weight over Madildra’s back. The horse did not bend but it snorted ungratefully.

Nemeriel sighed as she put a consoling hand on the mare’s muzzle, “It shouldn’t be too long.”

Madildra paced nervously and Nemeriel mounted. The sun had already come way into the sky and before she could change her mind Prayer had whispered something in Madildra’s ear and the

46

steed was off, cantering into the brush of the Broken Wood.

The journey was a long one and Nemeriel did not stop her horse from cantering for many hours. Finally Madildra halted on her own account and bent at the banks of the River Sten, her tongue parched and her belly rumbling. Nemeriel climbed off of her horse and watched Madildra graze for some time. Soon the sun was setting and Nemeriel felt her own stomach rumble. Standing to fiddle with the vines, she pulled apart her bag and opened the sack of leaves. Inside lay neatly packed elven Swell Wine and corn crackers. Three bottles of a pale pink liquid swished and frothed beside twenty seven corn breads. Nemeriel sighed and picked three crackers and one of the bottles from her bag.

“This is it Madildra,” Nemeriel said sadly, “Only the finest food of the elven race…” she sighed and took a long drink from the bottle of Swell Wine. Suddenly her eyes sparked brighter and her toes and fingers flooded with warmth. The liquid was filling her mind with strength once more and yet it took Nemeriel one look at the sorry horizon for the fright to surge back into her veins again.

Just before her the sun had gone and the moon was rising. Nemeriel tugged on Madildra’s reins and led her into a more protected part of the brush. She hid behind a circlet of trees and pulled down leaves and pine needles to shade her from view. Suddenly a great noise like a twig cracKing caught Nemeriel’s attention. She stroked Madildra’s mane nervously and waited. Soon the sound of footsteps began to clomp, louder and louder and Nemeriel’s nimble fingers quickly toyed with the strap holding down her bow to the saddle of her horse.

She cursed and finally the binds broke loose. Nemeriel picked an arrow from her quiver and her grip tightened on the bow handle.

“Light a fire,” one voice said distantly.

Nemeriel held her mouth shut and breathed in and out through her nose. Madildra made no noise and Nemeriel reached out to pat her cheeks so as to reward and encourage her silence.

Madildra shook her big head and then kept still once more.

“Don’t be stupid, what if a klorn catches us?” another said loudly; almost too loudly, as if to lure Nemeriel out. To reassure her they were on her side. Foolishly, the princess crept out, if they were against the klorns then that was enough for her.

She exhaled and dared to turn her head. Just beyond the third tree she saw two shorter elves converse in the distinct accent of the Gallworth people. They were simply travelers, and yet something held Nemeriel back. It was almost as if the voice speaKing of their fear of the klorns was especially loud, especially alluring. Almost a trap.

“I’m chilled to the bone and we’ve finished our Swell Wine. Just light a fire and we’ll fight off what comes at us.” the other answered.

Two faint sparks emitted from the trees and then suddenly an explosion of light cast Nemeriel’s shadow into view. She jumped back but it was too late, the elf on the left had seen her and had already strung his bow and gotten to his feet.

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“Who goes there?”

Nemeriel said nothing.

“I said who goes there? Speak!” there was excitement more than warning in the elf’s voice.

Madildra, startled by the fire could take it no longer she began to pace and then suddenly emerged from the trees, knocked down the elf and bucked at the one near the fire.

Nemeriel skipped over the fallen elf and held an arrow at the face of the one sitting and shielding his face from Madildra’s hoofs.

“Put out the fire!” Nemeriel screeched, “Put it out, fool!”

The elf who had been hit was groaning upon the floor, his chest badly bruised.

Finally Nemeriel threw her cloak over the flames and the light went out.

The three travelers were in the dark once more. Nemeriel felt around to find Madildra and took her horse’s face in her arms. She stroked the steed’s nose and soon Madildra began to snort in content.

“You can relight it now.” Nemeriel said shakily, “I’ve calmed her. Just be more careful.”

“Who are you?” one voice said again.

“Just please, light the fire again will you!” Nemeriel said urgently, the darkness tingling at her and maKing her nervous. She didn’t care if they saw her, she wanted to be rid of the blackness. “Please,” she felt a tear prick her eye and she gulped.

The elf heard the fear in her voice and pulled away the cloak, throwing it at what he guessed where Nemeriel’s feet were. Slowly, he struck a steady fire. Soon the three elves were able to see each other quite well in the light.

“My name is Erduoin,” the elf by the fire said. He had long auburn hair and his eyes were bright. He slowly stood and walked around Nemeriel who swiveled her head immediately so as to keep the elf in view. “This is my brother, Orin.”

The elf on the ground groaned as Erduoin lifted him and dragged him into the light of the fire. Orin’s face seemed already scarred but the old wounds were nothing compared to the large cut on his chest. His grey eyes dodgily moving and wide open, which was odd for one in pain. His hair was redder than Erduoin’s but overall the two men looked a lot alike.

“My name is Nemeriel,” she said, knowing a fake name could never hide her rare color as she had learned in the Elberon with the dwarves.

Nemeriel found Erduoin’s following calmness oddly unnerving.

He smiled with relief, his grin wide and eager. “I thought so, what an odd place to find a princess.”

Nemeriel blushed.48

“I’m sorry about your horse by the way; we didn’t mean to frighten him.” The elf clasped his hands together to keep them warm.

“Her, it’s a girl actually,” Nemeriel corrected, she suddenly began to relax, “Not to worry, I should be the one who is sorry, I never would have thought Madildra was capable of such a strong kick.”

“He’ll be alright.” Erduoin said nervously glancing at Orin, “I’m sure it’s just a bruise.”

Nemeriel bit her lip, “I have something for him if you’ll let me.”

Erduoin looked up, “Of course, anything if it’ll help.”

Nemeriel went to her bag and took out the second bottle of Swell Wine, “Here.” She poured the liquid down Orin’s throat and he sighed. His eyes flickered open and the bruise upon his chest went down and stopped bleeding. A thin white scar remained topped by a pink vibrant rash. In his pain he clutched the arrow in his hand and Nemeriel noticed fleetingly the fact that the feathers along the stick was black. Erelis bowmen always had blue feathered arrows, and yet Orin had not a single sign of indigo in all the twelve of his quiver.

Nemeriel looked up and saw Erduoin frown briefly at her suspicion, “Thank you, we just ran out of that two days ago. It is lucky you were not an enemy.” a gleam caught in the elf’s eyes as he watched Nemeriel bow.

“Do you have any food?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact my brother and I have always been scarce on food and out of custom we have managed to save quite a lot over the days.”

Nemeriel peered through Erduoin’s sack and gasped, “How long have you been travelling?” she asked.

“Six days exactly.” Orin answered his voice much deeper than that of his sibling.

“I’ve been travelling for one day only and I’ve already had quite a bit of my savings.” Nemeriel looked sullen, “I wish I could save food like you, I’m sure I’ll be through my Corn Bread by tomorrow.”

Erduoin shook his head, “Not if you stay with us for a while, where are you off to?”

Nemeriel hesitated, “Hellboar first and then Prospero, Land of the Villages.”

Erduoin glanced at Orin, “We’re going to the Ravonbern Marshes to meet old friends of ours, but if I am correct I believe Prospero is on the way.”

“Nobody lives in the Ravonbern!” she laughed, “Who on earth are you meeting?”

“Friends,” Erduoin repeated coolly.

Nemeriel looked from one elf to the other, “We could journey together until the borders of Prospero.” She offered.

“That is not a bad idea,” Erduoin exclaimed, “Besides I see you are quick in stringing a bow.”49

Nemeriel looked away bashfully, “Practicing with my sister is a hobby and something my father insists on for defense. I’ve become quite excelled for my…kind.”

Erduoin did not ask so Nemeriel didn’t elaborate but inside she felt a flint of pride light up. However, Nemeriel did not want to show off. She liked these Gallworth travelers, they seemed to understand her. They asked little and they gave little in return. They did not marvel on her royalty and did not treat her differently.

“That will be useful,” Orin said, “My brother and I got little training from our parents, they died when we were young.”

Nemeriel bowed her head, “I’m sorry.”

“We appreciate your condolences...” Erduoin said, “But they’ve been gone for many years now, it has been long since we’ve mourned. Besides, it was their death that rendered us upon the streets of Gallworth. If it were not for them we would still be ignorant. My brother and I have taken to roaming the roads and seeing the sights. We have made many friends all over Indildris and many around Atva know us better as the Travelling Elves than by our true names.”

Nemeriel pondered over her first experience out of Lirhatael overnight and alone. These two lone travelers have lived in that way for over ten years. She did not know what to say, although deep down she wanted to ask why they liked being out in the harsh wind all the time.

Instead she said what she thought was most fit, “Tell me some of your stories, two elves like you must have some things to tell, am I not correct? Anyway, are we not sitting around a fire in a cold forest on a cold night? This is the perfect moment for tales.”

Orin grunted, “We have many things to share, but half have never been uttered before, even among ourselves.”

“Some of our journeys have been hazardous and sorrowful, but for the most part bright and adventurous, we like this life though, this life of unexpectedness and surprises.” Erduoin smiled, “If you want a story or two I’m sure Orin would love to tell, he is quite the story maker of the family whereas I am the one starring most of his dangerous plots.”

Nemeriel laughed, “I seem to quite agree, even if I barely know you. It looks as if Orin is the more quiet and modest elf of you two.”

Erduoin’s cheeks burned red as he agreed, “I have always been much the risk-taker.”

Nemeriel laughed and then asked again, eagerly, “Well, why don’t you start with the first story of stories then? The first place you went and the very first thing you did. I want to hear it all!”

Orin coughed and Erduoin leaned back, a distant satisfied smile playing on his lips, “Father had just left with the many elves of Erelis, his armor tight and farewells harder and harsher than expected. Morosauv, the last dark lord we’ve had in a while, had made one threat too many and where his King would lead him, our father vowed to follow, even into the depths of the Axe Mountains in Ibeldurn or the parched desert of Norawarth.” Orin leaned into the clearer light of the fire and warmed his hands, “Our Mother, alone with three children, for we had a younger

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sister, worked day and night to earn our daily bread. However, despite our help she soon fell ill of exhaustion and died a year later. Erduoin and I were distraught but we kept working and laboring because our elfling sister, Elestel, had to eat - besides it would kill us both if she died. Despite all our efforts we had to make Elestel work also when she turned twelve. She was a cleaning maid at the home of a rich elf man and his wife who claimed to have robbed a dwarf cavern in their time. They had no children and had become exceedingly fond of Elestel. We did what we could but it would soon be time to give her up. We were invited one day to the man and his wife’s home and they offered us gold for our sister. We did not want to make Elestel think we were selling her so we asked her if she wanted to stay. She knew it would be the only thing to do if we wanted to keep her alive, so she has been raised by them ever since. We left with good money and decided we would have to travel and eat from the free trees if we wanted to live long and well without worry.”

Nemeriel had tears in her eyes and she hastily wiped them away. Her thoughts were painfully on Prayer, “Do you visit her? Elestel I mean.”

“Of course,” Erduoin said sadly, “Every year we try at least once or twice. However, the Restrings do not like us to stay too long; they don’t think much of us at all. We sold her, they bought her, and now Elestel belongs to them.”

“You should bring her to Prospero; there they accept all races, all people. It is the Land of the Villages that you should take her to.” Nemeriel said desperately and then, “I’m sure you could find a way to live with her there.”

“But we’d have to get her back first.” Orin said darkly.

“What does that mean?” Nemeriel asked Erduoin quizzically.

“It means that we’d have to either pay the Restrings enough money to buy our sister back or steal Elestel one night without paying our debts.” Erduoin paused.

Nemeriel said nothing. She just waited - silently being torn in between not knowing if she wanted to hear what they were about to say and on the other hand being endlessly curious, as always.

“It also means we don’t know whether she actually wants to come with us anymore.” He finished with a sigh.

“In which case you-

“That will be all for tonight.” Orin stood and put out the fire.

Nemeriel wondered if she had said something and suddenly felt the darkness wrap around her and bring the fear back again. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, not wanting anyone to hear.

“Orin loves his sister very much.” Erduoin answered unexpectedly, “There is nothing to be sorry for. Sleep now, I expect he will keep watch, he won’t be resting for a long time now.”

“What will he do then?”

“He will think.”

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“About what?”

“About how he can get her back.”

Chapter 8: Hellboar Fort

Nemeriel woke suddenly. Her first night deprived from her usual castle comforts had gone poorly. The dew had dampened her cloak and her spirits, for not even her undergarments were dry. Her fingers were chilled to the bone and even though she had slept with them close to her heated breaths their slender figures were bent and crippled in the cold.

The sun had come out and Nemeriel was glad to have it bathe her frozen nose and cracking lips. It rose high and then dropped beneath the leaves again, its rays covering Orin and Erduoin next. They stirred and seemed to smile; their feet both close to the dead embers of last night’s fire.

Nemeriel blushed as she remembered her silly insistence of light. It had been foolish of her to suggest lighting the flame once more. But the dark had been so intense and the pressure of the unknown and the unseen infuriating. She did not have the same advantages in the dark as the true elf did, even if her practise of the hunt in the eve was extensive.

The ashes blew in the wind and scattered leaving a slight and safer trace; briefly re-lifting the familiar smell of the hearth causing it to linger in the air.

Sighing, she lifted her aching body and trundled to Madildra’s warm side. The horse woke sleepily and snorted warm puffs of hot air into Nemeriel’s face. She laughed and carefully lifted her right leg over the saddle. Shifting her weight, Nemeriel leaned forward to untie Madildra’s reigns from the boughs of a neighboring oak tree.

“Come on,” Nemeriel patted her horse’s side and urged her into a steady trot out of the clearing, “If we can find some dry branches or mint leaves to go with our Corn Bread I’ll call our meal a proper breakfast.”

Madildra whinnied and cantered east, the light of the sun emblazoning the early periwinkle blue sky.

The two companions roamed the Sten river banks and the southern part of the Broken Wood for little over half an hour. The morning was long and by the time Nemeriel had returned to the edge of the clearing she had gathered a generous amount of Elfish Herbs, despite that she could not see a single dry twig in all of her passage.

As she just entered the sight of their nightly bonfire she gasped, her leaves falling to the ground. Orin and Erduoin had gone and so had their sacks and packages. Their bows were absent and Nemeriel failed to find a single arrow much less a quiver.

“Why on earth have they gone?” Nemeriel cried.

Madildra nuzzled her mistress and then began to pace, grazing every once in a while to relieve the silent moments.

Circling back with Madildra on her trail, Nemeriel checked where she had already travelled that

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morning. Finally she heard the distinct voices of the two brothers. Then she heard their footsteps and finally felt an arrow whizz past her ear.

Nemeriel screamed and buckled. She rolled into the grass and fumbled with the bow she had foolishly tied once more to Madildra’s saddle, expecting to travel easily that day with the brothers on her side.

Finally the bonds broke loose and Nemeriel picked a blue tailed arrow from the quiver, stringing and shooting in the blink of an eye. Orin’s deep voice cried out and Erduoin’s dark figure dropped.

“If they won’t pay a pretty price for your fingers, then they’ll pay for your head!” Orin growled, “Where are you?”

Nemeriel’s breaths quickened and her head and body felt like lead. Why had they turned against her? She knew they couldn’t be trusted from the beginning, but now it was too late.

She risked a glance over a delusional piece of brush and Orin and she locked eyes. Orin, quick in aiming stopped and then held back. He knew Nemeriel was the more skilled bows-man and quicker and nimble in avoiding his shots, so he grinned toothily and aimed at the horse. Nemeriel cried out, “No!”

But it was too late, Madildra’s thigh was pierced and she reared cantering forward and trampling the elf beneath her hoofs.

“Stop!” Nemeriel cried, “Stop it!” her voice was shrilly.

Madildra ceased and turned around her limps leaving blood trails on the grass of the clearing.

Orin’s low groans were able to be heard and as much as Nemeriel wanted to turn away she slinked forward and took one last look at the brothers.

Erduoin’s heart was pierced by her own arrow and his eyes were glassy and white. He was so still...

Orin was lying three feet away from him, his face badly bruised and his arm gone completely saggy.

Nemeriel coughed and felt tears of anger and self-guilt rise to the edge of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she choked her hate and disbelief gone with the quick sweep of guilt and remorse.

Orin turned his terrible head and said sadly, “Mersuithiel wants you. We wanted Elestel. We had to buy her back. A princess for a sister, is it not all the same?”

Nemeriel looked away half disgusted and half tears and hiccups. “Elestel deserves better than you!”

“You didn’t know her!” Orin shot back, wincing. “You don’t understand...how much I - I miss her. I miss her. I miss -” Then he yelled and rolled over, his breaths becoming painfully ragged and then finally slowing to a convincing halt.

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Nemeriel sniffled and turned away. “Come on!” she said softly, “Madildra let’s go!”

The horse bent under the elf’s weight but Nemeriel wouldn’t stop. For many hours Madildra kept trotting on until she could no more. Finally the horse toppled over and Nemeriel leaped off so as not to get her legs crushed beneath the weight. Rolling to break the fall Nemeriel rubbed her arm as she groped back to Madildra’s fallen figure.

“Please, please!” Nemeriel pulled out the arrow from her thigh and examined its tip. “Poison. Filthy Gall’s men!” she cried into the night until her voice cracked with pain and fatigue.

Fumbling through the sack of food and drink Nemeriel picked one of the bottles of Swell Wine and poured the whole thing down Madildra’s throat.

The horse coughed and her eyes lit up again. The wound closed but a big bruise stained Madildra’s white coat.

“You need to stand!” Nemeriel said through clenched teeth, “You have to.” Her voice faltered and then Madildra’s legs quaked and then lifted her body up. Nemeriel took Madildra’s face in hers and laughed, “Thank you, thank you, Helwen, Queen of the Heavens, Queen of the Sky!”

Madildra coughed and sneezed but she kept going into the darkest hours of the night until her knees buckled and Nemeriel felt the darkness envelope her too. The two of them fell into deep sleep, their combined body warmth the only thing to keep each other alive until the next morning.

***

“Princess?” The sweet voice of an elven woman sung out into the early air, “Princess?”

Nemeriel’s eyelids fluttered and an armored lady stood over her, her hand on her shoulder and her long golden hair tickling Nemeriel’s face. She had the fair features of the common elf but her head was clad in silver armor and plumes of peacock hues danced above her. She held a warm cup of swell wine in her hand. She looked slightly foreign.

“My name is Caradhras,” she said softly, “We found you and your wounded horse a few minutes from Hellboar fort. Your father the King sent us a message weeks back; he said you’d come. You’re safe now; my fellow guards and I have been taking care of you.”

“Is Madildra alive?”

“Your horse?” Caradhras asked, “I’m afraid the fact you gave her swell wine worsened the problem, you sealed the poison inside of her and now we are forced to cut her open if we wish to extract it again. We’re starting on her tomorrow, right now our priority is you.”

“But I’m not hurt- Nemeriel sat up in protest, speaking through clenched teeth and wincing at her sudden movement. Defeated, she lay back down again and sighed miserably. “Will she ever heal?”

“We’ve tied her legs and she won’t be able to walk for two weeks, but yes, she is alive, and she will survive the poison if she’s lucky.”

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Nemeriel sighed, her eyes brightening and the crease in her brow faltering.

“There is a good chance she will live through this, especially with the medicine a friend of mine from Saertiel has recently sent me.”

Nemeriel looked up surprised. It was not often that Saertiel’s healing skills were so freely shared. “How-

“I am originally from Saertiel, my father from the south my mother from the east.”

She was a two-feathered one. How curious that she should choose to be faithful to Erelis.

“I know I should not be so persistent,” Nemeriel said wearily, “But I was expecting to be in Prospero in the next few days.”

“Well, rest and good nutrition might make you strong enough to walk to Prospero, as I believe your horse will have trouble recovering as quickly as you. However, I expect you’ll be fully healed in the next few days. Your arm is badly hurt but with some Swell Wine and Sea Powder the bruises will be gone by tomorrow.

Nemeriel smiled and frowned again remembering the horrible sight of Orin and Erduoin’s white eyes and glassy expression. Bruises. Blood.

The elf maiden turned and read Nemeriel’s expression, “Sometimes it’s better to talk about it.” Nemeriel nodded, “How did it happen then?” Caradhras asked.

“I don’t know.” She said honestly, “I gave trust where there should not have been any and it bounced back on me. Two brothers, the Travelling Elves they called themselves, they tried to take me to Mersuithiel so they could buy back a sister from the Restring family in Gallworth. I expect they’re both dead now.” She said solemnly.

“You killed them?” Caradhras asked bewildered, “You must be a very skilled archer if you could take down two grown elven men on your own.”

“I had Madildra’s help,” Nemeriel said, wincing as she moved, flashes of Orin sloshing through her head.

“Her hoofs were stained in the elfish golden blood. I was very surprised to see you were attacked by your own race at first.” Caradhras sighed, “Well, you should rest; there is Swell Wine on the mantel piece if you are thirsty. My brothers of the fort will come and tend to you as well if you are feeling ill.”

“Thank you.” Nemeriel murmured, for she was too weak to speak any more and far too tired to do anything else than close her eyes.

That night Nemeriel saw black and blue and purple, and golden blood and heard whinnies and felt stabs. She awoke, screaming and covered in sweat, her hands shaKing and her wet body cradled in someone’s arms. She lurched forward and her stomach emptied itself ruthlessly.

“Prayer?” Nemeriel whimpered softly.

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“No,” came Caradhras’ calm voice, “No, no, my dear, but you’re safe, they’re all safe. Hush now.”

She felt the drowsiness take her again and she sunk into her slumber once more.

The next morning Nemeriel felt terrible, her eyes were sunken and her body weak and lanky. “You threw up last night,” Caradhras said quietly.

“Have you been here the whole time?” Nemeriel asked groggily.

“I’ve had some shifts,” she said humbly.

“When can I leave?”Nemeriel asked.

“I expect you’ll be alright in another few days.”

“I wanted to start walKing tomorrow; I can’t wait for Madildra to heal much less myself-

“That’s enough!” Caradhras said firmly, “I will not let you leave under these conditions. Look at you! Your father made me promise that you would be safe, so you are to stay-

“He also told me not to linger at Hellboar, I need to move, I don’t have much time and neither does Indildris!”

Caradhras looked at Nemeriel suspiciously, “I don’t know what you are doing or why you are going wherever you wish to go, but you seem to think that it is all very important. It might very well be but you are only an elfling of fourteen, I will not let you leave until you take a day’s rest and Swell Wine stocks with you when you leave. I don’t think you understand, but your wit is on the line, you are edgy and jumpy, to leave now could drive you mad. You need to recuperate.”

Nemeriel was about to argue but she realized that Caradhras was right. “Fine,” she leaned back again on her pillow and closed her eyes.

The next day was long and weary, but it was also the first time that Nemeriel had stood up and walked around Hellboar to discover its surroundings and how distant it was from the edge of Prospero Village.

The stone fort was grey and dull, but the flag that whipped in the wind above its pillars of broken rock was blue and bright. Two guards had the tagging tendency of following Nemeriel everywhere she went their steel eyes and silver armor shimmering and more attracting than concealing or protective, contradicting its general intention.

“I think I can make my way from here,” Nemeriel had once said haughtily. But the guards stood fast and did not blink, they only said, “We have been told your safety is essential to the future of Indildris. We shall not go.”

Nemeriel for the next three days continuously felt the burning glare of the cautious guards. The nights were slow and painful but with the swell wine and Saertiel’s supplies her recovery was quicker than expected.

By the fourth night Nemeriel remembered Erethor’s words and could not help feel she had overstayed. Her limbs were strong now and there could be no more excuses. “I want to leave by

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midday tomorrow.” Nemeriel confronted Caradhras with a packed bag of leaves and two bottles of swell wine.

The elf maiden gave her a contemplating look and then finally nodded.

“You are a clouded child, full of sorrow and determination not worthy of your age,” Caradhras’ yellow hair shimmered as she spoke,“You are too mysterious for one so young. Secrets can be heavier than they look at first.”

Nemeriel looked at her quizzically and then let the world wrap her in darkness that last night one more time. After a sufficient breakfast and a quick gathering of meats and herbs she was ready to leave by the time the sun had met the center point of the sky that following day.

The goodbyes were unceremonious, or at least Nemeriel had thought they had been until she had reached the foot of the door.Before stepping away from the threshold of Hellboar fort Nemeriel was caught by the trembling hand of Caradhras once more. “Here,” she said, “Take it. The poison can be reused within a fortnight.”

Nemeriel frowned, “What is it?” she took the black phial in the palm of her hand and gave Caradhras a suspicious glance, “It looks like-

“Magpie's blood, I extracted it from the thigh of Madildra, it is still intact.”

Nemeriel’s face contorted and she dropped the glass to the ground though it did not shatter, “What do you mean by this? I won’t use the poison that nearly killed my only companion against others! That is not the way of the elves and I don’t want it!”

“You need it.” Caradhras said quietly pressing the instrument back into Nemeriel’s hand, “You can apply it to your arrows, it will keep you safe.”

For a moment the two stood side by side; and then Nemeriel stepped away from the door, the phial still in her hand, as Caradhras swung the gates shut.

Chapter 9: The Tale of Woe

For hours Nemeriel walked and yet the horizon came no closer nor the far off sounds of civilization any louder neither the great looms of wall and rock that lined the edges of Prospero city any bigger. But it was there, Land of the Free, land of all races, at least it was still standing.

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The day became shorter and the night arrived quickly so that Hellboar Fort was in vision again due to it’s bright lantern lighting, intimidating location and large towering make, created to be useful as a look out base and warning to other enemies.

If they’ve already ordered guards to the forts then war must be coming. Nemeriel thought, But Willow’s Keep has been able to hold up and the dwarves have been valiant in their aid. Why would they be so cautious? The war is on the other side of Indildris. On top of it, rumors have it that the battle is won now anyway.

Then Nemeriel shook herself, Whatever rumor has; you clearly do not. As has been proved for me, a lot can happen in nine days, and I wouldn’t know it if all of Neteliar had been burnt to ash.

Afraid and uncertain of her darkening surroundings; it took Nemeriel a lot of courage to repress her yearning of light and want of striKing a fire. The late hours passed and the moon came out but it’s light did not suffice. Finally she lay down and forced herself into a restless sleep.

SNAP!

The crackling of twigs and heavy feet awoke her. Nemeriel felt the same cool air brush her face until a treacherous wind of blistering heat scorched her face, its maker coming from the North. Nemeriel look up and stifled a scream, Hellboar Fort was on fire, and despite her dreary, sleepy vision, the fact was clear.

Flames jumped up the walls and consumed the poisonous vines and surrounding forest to nothingness. Already the smoke of the chaos was consuming everything in it’s way. Hellboar was no more, and yet its stubborn brick walls still fought against the turmoil of the destruction. And it was then, as Nemeriel squinted to see what else had occurred, she noticed men, seeming small at their distance and round at the middle, hack at the stone and throwing torches into the already raging fire.

The wind made her eyes water and the smoke that hung on the evening cloud bore down on her like a drugged cloth pressed to one’s dry lips. TaKing her bags in her arm and gluing herself to a tree she held her breath as her mind circled back to the loud noise of footsteps that had wakened her from her slumber

Klorns! she blinked as the hot air caught on her eyelashes. The wind came again and Nemeriel whimpered at its callous hand. She shielded her eyes but the breeze came strong.

Faint cries and coughs were audible from the fort and suddenly so was the rearing of a horse.

“Madildra!” Nemeriel screamed, unable to contain herself, the thought of her still being alive caught her by surprise, and it was not until then she discovered how worried and full of desperation and foreboding she was. She suddenly felt guilty at how sure her mind had become of the death of her companions and saviours back at the fort. “Madildra,” she said softly again, but this time, though the utterance a much dimmer sound, was unfortunately heard.

The snapping of twigs stopped for a second and whispers of a foreign language filled the sounds of the night like metal on rock.

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“Eht hano vil gasperi,” one said.

“Nah, nah, quebato, fi je bork, qui bana.”

Nemeriel prayed and swore that henceforth she would never ever utter a sound again, but it was too late. The bulky shadows of two klorns filled the spaces in between the trees and blocked out the moonlight.

“Hello pretty,” one said in a choppy version of the elven speech.

“Looks like we’ve found, her.”

“Mm, it does.”

And the first swung its axe with the mercy of the raging fire back in Hellboar. His aim stuck in the bark but he was so strong it took him only second to retrieve it from the tree. He swung again but this time Nemeriel had noticed the arch of his back when he aimed and the vulnerability of his chest. She lunged forward and struck him in the ribs. He faltered but didn’t fall.

Behind her the second klorn was busy with a gladius. He took a blow at her leg and as Nemeriel leaped to one side she still couldn’t escape a graze that was aimed at her chest but only reached her forearm. The pain was hot and quick but the cut shallow and short. The throbbing agony of poison had not reached her yet. Their weapons were clean.

But mine arent, she thought, it’s my turn to play dirty.

TaKing one of her arrows from the quiver that was slung over her back she aimed at the sword-wraith’s neck, the only place without armor, and released. The bow shot true and her aim was fast.

The first klorn fell, clutching his throat and gargling with blood and froth, a side effect of the drug. The second snarled and swung again, he missed only by centimetres. Finally he realized she was too quick for the heavy instrument and dropped his preferred weapon, trading it for the fallen gladius, it’s master inches away from death. Nemeriel’s eyes shone with a new fear and the klorn laughed, “You’re only an elfling Princess. You won’t escape again.”

She swallowed and slotted an arrow into her bow; she felt the wind pass her face and dance with her hair and then she let go. The arrow was released as the gladius was swung, and neither was prepared for the other to act simultaneously. The klorn fell with an arrow in his forehead whilst Nemeriel yelped as the gladius caught in her heel.

She screamed and cried and winced, for the pain was excruciating like no other pain had touched her before. She waited for death to take her, or sleep or unconsciousness, but nothing did. She just waited.

The night began to fade and wind started to turn into a ruthless and cold thing. The moon seemed to lose it’s light entirely and the fire that still fought with the fortress’ determined structure seemed dim and insignificant. Nemeriel’s breaths became ragged and her coughs sent stabs of pain to her leg. Her heel throbbed, but to be frank, the pain in her lower-limb was gone. Completely gone, and that was what scared her the most.

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Finally a change in the never ending moment passed. She could hear the beating of her heart get louder and louder until the noise hurt and shook the ground. Surely she was dead, or dying. The noise was surely the noisy pocketwatch of Death himself as he watched it ticKing...ticKing away.

“Stop!” she whispered. “Please.” She did not want to go, despite everything against her, she still had Prayer, mother and father. But then again, how easy it would be to let go, how easy it would be to just drift into the endless, painless river of death...

Tick, tick, tick. But it was not her heart she could hear, it was not her dying heart taKing it’s final beats in haste and desperation, thank the heavens! It was the sound of hoofs. It was the sound of life hope and memory.

“She’s there!” one echoing voice said weakly.

“Caradhras!” Nemeriel said softly.

The large shadow of a horse and two elves loomed over her head and one elf dropped down to the ground.

“Are you Nemeriel?” the soft voice asked.

“It hurts.” she found the strength to answer, her whimpers shrilly and pierced by sudden exclaims of intensive agonies caused by the strength of the wind and the movement of the elf. She could hear Caradhras chuckle relievingly from behind her and that was the first time she noticed she was slung over Madildra’s back a if she was hurt.

“What’s wrong with her?”Nemeriel asked hoarsely.

“She got badly burnt, I will do what I can.” the man answered.

Nemeriel felt her face wet with tears and hadn’t even noticed she was crying. The pain of her heel got worse as the elf lifted her and the sadness that had taken over her mercifully, finally set her to rest. So it was done, so it is finished. There is no hope, and now there is only memory, she thought as the night enveloped her and took her deep under. If only i don’t wake, if only the pain would just stop.

In awaKing Nemeriel realized she was alone with the brother of Caradhras, one of the guards from the fort.

“You need to sleep,” he said without looKing, “I’ve bandaged your heel. You will be fine.”

“What’s wrong?” she immediately said, the thickness of his voice terrifying her.

He turned to her and tears were streaking his face. His hands were worKing nimbly on her cast but she pushed him away. As she sat up she saw the distinct figures of Madildra and Caradhras lying on the grass, unmoving and pale.

“Don’t tell me. Because they’re not. And you know it because they’re not… she’s not, she’s not...” Nemeriel began to cry despite her attempts to be stubborn and brave. She began to cry like a baby, like the old Nemeriel. She was sick of having to seem so strong. Because she wasn’t, not

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anymore. The pain did not strengthen her, it only made her easier to crumble, easier to render to sorrow. To tell the truth, Caradhras hadn’t known her for more than five days, and Madildra was on the verge of death anyway, the pain that she would have had to go through would not have been worth it. What really was rending Nemeriel to the state she was in was the fact that so many deaths and so many brutal deaths at that had happened in such a little time. And all because of her. She didn’t know how to handle it all, or understand it or anything!

“They both died in the night.” the elf said, “I tried, very hard. Your horse was brave and stronger than any other horse I had ever expected to meet. She was so afraid by the flames that her instinct led her to standing and standing led her to walking. She wasn’t supposed to be able to do that for another three days. But she did, and she was able to hold two weights on top of her. I think she could smell you on Caradhras’ collar; she was comforted by the familiarity. Once we had left Hellboar and found you I knew she was dying quickly, she was weak because of the fire, and weak because of the poison. So I let her go in the least painful way. With a sleeping draught and some swell wine.”

“What about-

“Caradhras wanted to see you, but i couldn’t move either of you without putting one or the other in terrible pain. She told me to tell you how she was grateful. Grateful for all you are doing for Indildris. She said that she wished she could have done more, could have been braver; like you. She then died of severe burns, there was nothing I could do.”

For a moment Nemeriel was silent and then, “Who told?” she asked bitterly, “Whoever told I will kill them!”

The elf looked troubled by her hate but he answered, “On that matter be ready to be disappointed. The klorns were saying something about a dying man. He was badly bruised on the face but he was able to tell where you were heading in his last breaths.” he raised his brows “It seems they were close on your trail if the klorn’s are talKing about the same men you had dealt with. However, I wonder why they waited so long. Perhaps they wanted you alive…” he looked up again suspiciously, “I think they waited for you to leave; then set the place on fire to drive you back in and then catch you like fish to bait. We were your bait.” he said distastefully. Then he sighed, “I do not blame you for the woe you brought on my family, for a long time my sister and I have been dealing with problems of our own, but I believe I deserve an explanation...do I not?”

“That is something I cannot do,” she said slowly, “I told one man where I was going...I didn’t even mention why or what...I just said ‘Prospero’ and now look what it did. No, I am done with trust. Trust is fickle and trust is stupid! I won’t tell you and don’t expect me to change my mind. Life has taught me things that won’t waver for years now. Trust. You cannot trust it at all, besides, trust is for children.”

He looked at her, surprisedly, “Children? And may I ask how old you are?”

“Experience should determine your age,” she answered bitterly, “It makes more sense.”

“Most people experience things with time, with years.”

“Time is nothing.” Nemeriel repeated her father’s words, a maniacal laugh escaping her lips.61

“You speak wisely, but with such pain, and hate. What did these evil men do to you if you will not say what you are doing yourself.”

“They made me look like a fool.”she snarled.

“You killed them both I believe, matters of honor are passed now.”

“That’s not the point!” she put her head in her hands, “They cut me and parted me with what I thought I knew. It was for the best and I learnt of the many sides of this kaleidoscopic world, but it was not the best way of finding them.”

“I agree…” he hesitated, “Perhaps another time I will explain how I learnt the ways of this world. Perhaps you’ll agree with me, perhaps you’ll understand that you are not the only one grieving over deaths or grieving over how much grief you have been through.” he looked at her pointedly and then tied up the loose strings of her cast and left.

The next time she saw daylight was when the guard was shaking her awake, his voice urgent and pleading.

Nemeriel’s eyelids fluttered and she looked up, “What is it?”

“You wouldn’t wake!” he said with a long sigh of relief, “You were so still.”

For a moment something scared her, something terrible inside her woke up, and the fear of just floating in to another world frightened her so that she blurted out suddenly, “I would never leave you,” she said, “I will never go.”

“I know that. I know you are afraid. I sometimes wonder if she was afraid.” The elf smiled, “You are brave, determined, everything she was too,” he looks over at the mound of earth that covered the two fallen maidens, “She liked you very much. She thought you were very important and so she wanted to feel as if she made a difference to Indildris by saving you. By keeping you healthy, and strong-

“She did.” Nemeriel said hastily, “She did, and she made the bigger difference than i’ve ever made!” the tears were dried out by now, but Nemeriel didn’t feel like crying, she didn’t feel as if she should be crying anymore. It was done, and it was finished.

“She’d love to think that, to hear that...to believe it too,”he looked away, “I’m so-

“Who are you?” Nemeriel said suddenly.

The elf laughed, “Caer, I’m Caradhras’ older brother.”

“But you don’t look like her,” his dark hair and long face was that of an Erelis-elf.

“I take after my mother, Caradhras looked much like the Saertiel folk. Fair hair, beautiful and good with medecine. She didn’t like the city. So she and I made a compromise. We did most of our trading in the Prospero square and she was able to gather herbs and everyday foods out in the forest. We loved it, she and I.”

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He said it with a sad tone though, and he spoke painfully and obviously in the past-tense.

“You love it still.”

“Aye, and I wish to go with you. To take you to where you think you’ll be safe. I want to finish what my sister started.” he said it carefully, almost knowing Nemeriel would protest before even asKing.

“You can’t-

“I don’t want to go with you all the way...just to Prospero. I’ll settle in the Villages and live off of trading. It’ll be good to change.”

“Why don’t you go back to Saertiel, have you ever been?” Nemeriel for instance hadn’t before, but she liked the idea of the greenness and the things she had heard of the place in the songs of the Chortlers.

“Oh, I was born there, but I don’t remember a thing, only how warm it was in the summer and how bright the sun would shine.” Caer clicked his tongue, “But no, I don’t plan on going back, ever. It is a merry place for merry people and I don’t think i could pretend to be merry anymore anywhere, besides I like the Prospero people. They say little and expect little. They all have their own tales of woe and understand each other in the sense of not asKing. I think you would like the place too.”

“Caradhras wouldn’t,” Nemeriel said softly, “She would have liked Saertiel.”

“She belongs in Saertiel,” Caer said, a lump in his throat, “She was so much like the southern people that she almost suggested moving there. But we were in Erethor’s debt and I refused to leave-

“Might my father have anything to do with your story...the one you spoke of yesterday?”

“It may. But it is irrelevant to what i say right now,” he said sharply.

Nemeriel studied him carefully, “It seems to me you have more than one tale of woe, Master Caer.”

The elf smiled grimly, “They say in the end there is only one, and that is that you refuse to forget them and will never leave the depressing state in which you count them and revive them in your minds.”

“Though people seldom think of things that way, the saying is somewhat true,” Nemeriel nodded her head, “I will never forget your sister...but then again, she probably wouldn’t want that. I doubt she has never been included in anyone’s tale of woe.”

“She was lovely.” Caer agreed sullenly, “She was perfect...and I lost her. I, who spent years studying the arts of medicine. I, who descend from the people of Saertiel, I who have saved countless lives before could not, couldn’t even bring myself, to save her. And so there, that is my tale of woe, whether she wishes to be in it or not, I cannot forget her like you.” his eyes were dotted with tears, but not those of sadness, but of anger, disappointment. He wiped his eyes with

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the back of his hand, “There it is. My story. The tale of he who let his sister die at the mercy of his hands.” Caer looked up, “Everything, essentially depended on me, and I couldn’t do it. What I’m saying is I wonder if her death saddens you, or perhaps if it is the fact you caused it...or that you have caused deaths in general in the past.”

Nemeriel knew he didn’t mean to so obviously state he thought it was her fault that Caradhras was dead, but still the accusation bothered her.

“I did not tell you to save me that night Madildra and I were huddled upon the forest floor. Yes, I agree that what you did was the right thing and that I am grateful, but do not blame me for killing your sister. I am a princess, and it doesn’t take a fool to realize that I would be a far more dangerous guest than a common traveller, and since my father had already sent word of my coming, you knew well that I could not be one.” Nemeriel sniffed. “Not with the royal crest on my bow, not with the color of my skin, not with the roundness of my ears. Do not blame me Caer, for I could do nothing for her.” She stood, her face paling with every movement and sweat drenching her brow each time she winced. She reached out for the support of a tree branch and then as she relaxed again, Nemeriel ripped the bough from its home and used it as something to put her weight on. “I plan on walking to Prospero. And what about you?”

Caer lifted himself slowly, Nemeriel watching enviously at how easily he walked to her side.

“Well, a maiden would be unwise to travel alone.”

“Not this maiden.” Nemeriel shot back, but Caer ignored her.

He lifted her bags of supplies and set them on his shoulder, “Come now, the day won’t last forever.”

Chapter 10: Prospero, Land of the Villages

Caer walked slowly at Nemeriel’s side, and every step was agony for her, but she kept going and she refused to yield. This went for hours, and even as night fell she said, “A little further, for in another few minutes we’ll be there.”

It was true, the lights of the village seemed closer and the noises of the market louder, but Caer knew a few minutes wouldn’t bring them to Prospero. Finally he set her down and disagreed to help her walk any longer.

“We cannot stop now, we’re so close!” Nemeriel protested.

“That’s what you think, but your tired eyes are perceiving things inaccurately, and as a matter of fact so are mine.”

“But-

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“We’re both tired, its clear to see, why don’t we just sleep and re-start in the morning?”Caer started searching the clearing for moss and smooth rock ledges to lean on.

“I can’t wait that long.”she answered, her voice shaking.

“You’ll hurt yourself. You’re weak. If you walk any farther you’ll faint and who knows what could happen to you during your slumber.” Caer said, a distant fear glinting in his eye.

She was about to retort again but suddenly Nemeriel’s frown disappeared and her tone became less sharp and less insistent. “Did she die that way?” Nemeriel asked softly.

“Yes. She did.” And that’s all he needed to say.

Nemeriel nodded and put her hand under her head. She closed her eyes and waited for anything, anything but sleep.

The morning felt crisp from the moment it touched Nemeriel’s face. Snow had still not fallen though it looked as if the sky was seriously considering the change in weather. The wind was soft and the cool air pinched her reddened cheeks as the sun let her bask in its warmth. A smile spread on her lips and she sat up.

She reached into her bag and took out the last bottle of Swell Wine. A pack of corn crackers still remained but she decided to leave those for later. She took a swig of the pale pink liquid and then set it back in its place inside of the sack. Looking up and around her she saw her companion still asleep beneath the oak tree opposite her’s.

In the corner, Caer was still resting, his long graceful limbs curled in a ball, his hands wrapped tightly around the wooden carvings of his bow. Beneath his belly lay the quiver of arrows. He obviously believed the klorns to still be on their trail.

“Caer.” She shook him and watched as his dark eyelashes fluttered, “Caer, lets leave now. Come on!” She said as he lifted his upper torso and stretched his legs.

“God, Nemeriel,” he said, his face suddenly sharp and weary again, “Don’t make such a noise, we’ll leave in a few minutes like you say, but first we’ll have breakfast.”

“I already did,” she said, “There’s swell wine for you and crackers in the bag over on the tree boughs.”

Caer stood and took a long examination of Nemeriel’s leg. “Its fine.” She said irritably.

He nodded and took the crackers and swell wine into his hand, drinking as they went. “I’ve been to Prospero as you know, I’ll show you the way to a known friend who’ll be sure to take you in. After that,” he gave her back the bottle of wine and finished off the last cracker, “You’re on your own.”

Nemeriel smiled quickly. Now that the separation was happening it felt easier and lighter than she had thought it would be before. She at first detested those moments alone with Madildra in the Broken Wood, but now, she felt safer. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

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Caer shook his head solemnly.

Nemeriel readjusted her weight on the tree branch the lent on, opening her mouth to press the matter when she jumped in surprised, “Who-

“Oh! how she danced and how she sung, she made the moon smile, and the sun-

“Get down,” Caer hissed, and shoved Nemeriel into a tree covering her with his emerald cloak as he seized a branch and pulled its twiggy seams in front of his face. For a moment the singing kept going until the stomping of hooves and trundling of wheels began to accompany it. Suddenly, Caer’s grip loosened on the twig and it flung back into its place. He pulled off his cloak from Nemeriel’s body and lifted her up with one arm.

“Brimleer!” He exclaimed, jumping in front of the wagon and confronting the large man with an outstretched hand.

For a second the singing stopped and then there was laughter, hearty, loud laughter.

“Boy! Boy, my boy!” The great dwarf jumped from the carriage and leaned against its wooden walls for support as he shook Caer’s hand vigorously, “Wherever have you come from and why have you been away for so long?”

The dwarf shook his big head and frowned. He had a long brown beard that shadowed his face and a round middle, adorned with a golden belt. Upon his shoulders was a long cloak of midnight blue, the clasp decorated with sparkling stones. His boots were loud and clunky and as he spoke he waved his fat arms and wiggled his large red fingers. His eyes were wide and his nose round, red and veined. The dwarf seemed one that was of a merry soul and a merry life.

Caer’s face fell, “I’ve been at Hellboar like I usually am, but this time...” he looked back at Nemeriel and she shrank again under the shadows of the tree. “Caradhras-

“Isn’t here I gather,” he raised an eyebrow, “And where might she be?”

“With Helwen.” he said, his voice cracking.

Brimleer gasped and staggered back against the wheel of his wagon and shook his head more eccentrically than before. “But this cannot be! This cannot have happened!”

Caer said nothing.

“Klorns eh?” The dwarf growled, his anger making him shake.

“They set fire to the stables, the rest lit on its own.” Caer rubbed his eyes with a sigh.

It took the old dwarf a few moments to recover, he was shivering and blubbering, “Aye, us folk here heard of the fire too, and we also heard that klorns was sighted in Erelis, and that, is a terrible thing to hear.” He squinted and his eyes thinned to slits.

Caer nodded, “The good thing is,” he said quietly, “There hasn’t been any declare of war yet. However, before we get into that, my friend and I would very much appreciate a ride to Prospero and a long talk of exchanged rumors over a nice cup of cooled Swell Wine.” Caer looked up

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expectantly.

“Your friend now, and who might that be?” He squinted again and Nemeriel got the impression that he had very poor eyesight which was rare amongst the dwarves.

“Yes,” Caer said, “She’s over there, in the trees.”

Brimleer looked up and began to chuckle, “And why on earth are you in the trees little elfling?”

Nemeriel stepped out of the brush carefully and silently. She then stole forward and leaped into the back of the wagon. “To Prospero please,” she said and tossed him a coin.

Chapter 10: Prospero, Land of the Villages

The trundling path and fallen trees upon it led the ride to be harsher and more agitating than expected. Every bump, every crevice made Nemeriel grimace or exhale. Caer watched her tentatively, never saying anything but his eyes flinching too with her every whimper.

Finally Brimleer spoke, “So tell me, child,” he looked over his shoulder and left the reigns unattended to, “What is your story?”

Nemeriel shrugged, “I have a long one.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Brimleer shot back.

Nemeriel scowled.

“At least tell me how you came to be with Caer then. Besides, long stories are the best.” He chuckled and turned again, facing the trotting backs of the cart-horses.

Nemeriel hesitated. She wouldn’t be able to tell the entire story without lying and furthermore, Brimleer didn’t strike her as one of the usual Prospero folk. He asked questions, he smiled, and he scrutinized her. This was not the common way. “I can’t tell you. It’s just-

“We’re tired,” Caer suggested, “We’ll talk later. After she’s had her leg looked into.”

Nemeriel nodded exaggeratingly, like a silent thanks to Caer. Brimleer stroked his tangled beard and frowned through his small beady eyes, “It is quite clear you have been having a rough past few days,” he glanced at Nemeriel’s cast, “So I will wait. But tomorrow morning I expect a full account.” He smiled gruffly, “You see, there is something about you that reminds me of the days in which I used to live in the mountain. I like the memories you bring. The sense of adventure, and freeness. Now I have none of that. And so, I ask of you only one thing, in return for my hospitality, you will tell me your story, that is all I will offer.” He turned away again and Caer began to shuffle his feet.

“He is a tricky man,” he said softly, his voice carried away by the din of the approaching village, “Brimleer is mysterious in his own ways as well. Even I don’t know why he left the mountain.”

“Perhaps he did not enjoy the mine works?” Nemeriel said quietly.

“Good god!” Caer said loudly, “Not every dwarf mines, how ignorant you are!”

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Nemeriel shrugged again and looked away to hide her burning cheeks.

For the rest of the journey the princess of Erelis slowly realized how uneducated her royal knowledge was. It is fine to be an excellent bows-man, and it is great and honorable to know the entirety of the Melltholl and Lindsor family tree but what is to teach her of the history of others and the sorrows and the true happinesses of others and not just of herself.

Life. Life will teach her. She thought quietly, and it was then that she began to feel small and dim-witted.

The day became hot and the sun started to leer at the people of Prospero. The wagon was finally at the edge of the Land of the Villages, and so was Nemeriel. She leaned out of the cart and stared at the markets, her eyes taking everything in as she passed and disappeared among the tumult of the crowds. Men and women were dancing, their dirty work-hats on the floor, glistening with golden pennies and silver coins.

The dusty streets were littered with wind-swept spices and fallen grains. Boxes and crates full of wines, elder flower essences and ripe cherries trundled in front of Nemeriel’s eager face. Her ears resounded with the loud noises of speech and song. Musical instruments peppered the pavillion and it seemed that she was the only quiet one in all of Prospero.

By the time Brimleer’s wagon had reached the end of the main-road, it turned a left and even more people filled the sidewalks. Only when they had needled their way through millions of thick patch-works could they find generous quiet and somewhat peaceful environments.

It was well past lunchtime when the wagon stumbled to a halt. Its great weight lurched and sent Nemeriel’s neck back, giving her a startling jolt as it went. Finally Brimleer skipped off of the driver’s seat and patted his two horses, warbling as he did, “Come off now, come off, for the journey is done.”

He unlatched the cart from the steeds and pulled them into the comfort and shelter of two out of some twenty stables that were lined endlessly in a row. The horses snorted and paced until they had found fresh hay sacks in the corners of their homes and began to feast.

“It has been a long day for the two of them,” Brimleer said good-naturedly, casting a relieved glance at the retreating stables.The jaunty dwarf bounced slightly for a moment led them in side.

Nemeriel followed hesitantly. Ducking under the threshold, she trudged through the old home and looked around. The walls were lined with pots. Sweet fragrances filled the rooms. The floor was just plain dust like the streets of Prospero, but the eerie candle-light was the most curious of all.

“What is this place?” She said quietly.

Caer stopped abruptly and then spoke, “I believe, if indeed Brimleer brought us correctly to the right location, that this is the home of Kimso the witch doctor.”

Nemeriel suddenly felt cold as half of the candles sputtered to a merciless stop. The darkness intensified and then as light flickered back again the sight of a tall lady shimmered before

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Nemeriel’s face. Her eyes seemed an illuminous grey and yet dark at the same time, her hair was black and frizzy; sections of it shaved off upon one side, near her right temple, where other hair fell atop the sheared spot in little waves. Her lips were bright red and her lashes long. The overall effect as odd as it was, proved to be quite beautiful.

Nemeriel screamed and then as her knees turned weak they betrayed her to the ground. The lady bent down slowly and took Nemeriel’s hand. The witch's touch was cool and electric. She chuckled softly and then spoke, “Did I frighten you?” She cocked her head to one side, the bangles on her ears shaking as she did, her black robes swaying with her movement.

“That’s enough.” Caer said warily.

But she ignored him. “I expect I did. My name is Kimso. I am a witch-doctor. Is there anything I can help you with?” When Nemeriel said nothing, Kimso finally spoke again out of impatience, “What is your name.”

Nemeriel opened her mouth to speak but the witch-doctor cut her off, “Your real name.” she laughed, “Honestly, don’t even try me with a fake one, your skin is an awful give away.”

The princess gritted her teeth, wondering why the lady was asking if she clearly already knew, “Nemeriel.”

Kimso’s eyes flashed grey and she let go of Nemeriel’s wrist, her long nails no longer pinching her skin. “Now, answer me or I will kick you out for wasting my time. What can I help you with?” she repeated out of mock politeness, though it was hardly worth asking the question because it seemed Kimso was already glancing thoughtfully at the princess’ leg.

Nonetheless, Nemeriel looked up, “You cannot be a witch, and yet you seem to do magic. Elves cannot teleport, and yet you just did. If there is one thing I need help with, it is knowing what you are?” Nemeriel did not stammer, it was something she found so cowardly, but her eyes wavered and her fingers weren’t at rest.

Kimso smiled toothily, “But isn’t it clear, I am the mistress of illusion, Queen of Perception and source of all Deceptions. Everything you see is a trick.” She snapped her fingers and she disappeared. “But I am still here.” Her voice echoed.

The lights turned out again and as they returned she was standing, quite plainly where she had been just a second before. “It is only tricks,” she leaned forward, “But tricks are good for money and money is good for buying medicines, which brings me back to you, my dear!”

She clasped her hands together and took a good look at Nemeriel.

“I know just what you need.” She concluded and took the princess’s arm, reeling her away into another room. “This will sting, love,” she said urgently as she set Nemeriel down on a long wooden board.

She then went to the cupboards that lined the walls and pulled bowls of pastes and cups of herbs from the shelves and drawers. Coming back to her patient she first pulled off Nemeriel’s cast. The cut was deep and oozing yellow liquids. Thankfully the blood-flow had long stopped with Caer’s

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basic treatment, however, Nemeriel felt a different kind of trust in this witch-doctor. A trust in someone who truly knew what they were doing.

“It is infected.” Kimso said finally.

“How bad?” Nemeriel asked through clenched teeth.

“Nothing I can’t fix,” Kimso answered breezily and began mashing the paste with a grinder and adding leaves and petals to the solution as she went. “Hand me the water bowl.” She said, and watched as Nemeriel stretched up for the basin of liquid above her head.

“I can’t reach-

“It doesn’t hurt to stretch.” She interrupted, “Good. Nothing has spread farther than your calf, your upper body is clean. You can lie down again.” And she stood and got the water cup herself.

“What-

“Be quiet and I will do what I can.” Kimso said, a sort of finality in her tone. She put her fingers into the paste and put a small portion of the mix on the cut. The moment the two made contact a putrid smell came from Nemeriel’s leg and her mind became like led. The pain was so harsh it was almost numbing. Smoke began to rise from her ankle and finally when the reaction stopped Nemeriel could unclench her teeth and loosen her jaw.

“I warned you,” was all Kimso said as she stood to cut a new cast from the cloths on the shelves. When the wrapping was done Nemeriel felt only an odd freshness and a sharp soreness. Everything else was in too much pain to be significantly different enough to be noticed.

“It will keep hurting for another twenty four hours. Heed it no attention and the throbbing will start to become unnoticeable. You will sleep here tonight.” And then she left the room, leaving Nemeriel on the floor, cold, with beads of sweat lining her forehead and no blanket to cover herself with.

The morning was terrible. Her head hurt, her eyes were watery and her leg refused to move.

Kimso was already in the room and preparing another concoction so it seemed when Nemeriel awoke.

Without turning the witch-doctor spoke, “I have sent word to your father, I am expecting good money for your full recovery in return for my work, but there is another thing I ask of you.” She spins on her foot and sits down by Nemeriel’s makeshift bed. “I had heard, as one does, of a princess coming to Prospero. I heard even more interesting rumors of klorns pursuing her. When I came past this information I immediately guessed you were hurt. I, as a witch-doctor, make less money than you would expect. I am good at my trade and I like to do my work as a healer, but the truth is I have always wanted to be a Sorceress.” She said this with the tone of a hopeful child, and it was that that brought Nemeriel’s attention to it’s fullest.

“When I wasn’t chosen the year that Lira died, I waited for Helwen to meet her death at the hands of an angry elf wanting revenge for the death of their King, but she didn’t spill a drop of blood. With time, I went from twelve to sixteen, which means I have only two years to learn and two

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years to be chosen. I know what you will say when I explain to you that I am curious in Mersuithiel’s case. She was only an elf of basic magic and yet managed to learn so much that she became nearly as powerful as a sorceress herself.” She paused, “Do not be disgusted.” Nemeriel sighed and watched almost deafly as Kimso formed her next words. “ I heard that you were coming here, but I knew that the likes of you wasn’t merely running away from home. You are off to see Helwen.”

Kimso awaited a reaction but Nemeriel held fast. Her eyes widened slightly but she did not speak.

“I know this because the only next place on the map of Indildris one would want to travel here in the east is Helwen’s Keep. Prospero sells goods, that is all, what would a princess like you be doing buying the groceries.” Her eyes twinkled as she sneered, “All I wish is that you will let me go with you.”

“You ask for a lot more than you think, I have my own things to take care of and they are not for every ear to hear,” Nemeriel said quietly, “You are already to receive good money from my father, why ask of me even more? Besides, why couldn’t you go to Helwen before I came along. Why wait? What do you need me for?”

“Helwen will have lessened her defenses. I know she will be expecting you. This may be my only chance,” her eyes suddenly were plagued by fear and disappointment, “But you are right, in return for my personal request, I will give you my dress. It is a charmed robe and it will hide you.” She smiled crookedly, “Your skin is slightly obvious, but this cloak will hide it all.”

Nemeriel considered. She had been needing something to hide her dangerous difference for ages. “Very well.”

Kimso’s face brightened significantly as she spun on her heel to leave, “Perfect.”

She walked briskly out of the room and as she returned, she wore a plain stained garment. The shimmering dress in her arms, she handed the robes to Nemeriel, a sad look in her eyes.

“It used to be my mother’s. But it is a necessary precaution for you and I have very little other to offer that would sway your answer.” She sighed, “There is a cloak that goes with it.” She leaned forward and added a heavy black hooded robe to the pile. “Quickly. Dress yourself, by tomorrow you will be healed and by tomorrow we must leave.”

“But where are Caer and Brimleer?”

Kimso hesitated, “It was not by mere chance that you were found by Caer’s old friend. It was I who sent Brimleer to look for you in the forest. I payed him well to play the part of innocent and nonchalant. As for Caer, he is gone now, I shooed them both.”

“Why Brimleer? I don’t find him trustworthy.” She remembered his questions and how intrigued he was with her story.

“I know, but he was the only one who knew Caer enough for the boy to trust him with a ride. I’m sorry if the dwarf was persistent,” she smiled, “But I am a very lonely woman and ask rarely to see people on my own account. They come to me, I heal them, they leave. That is all. However,

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this time, Brimleer saw that something else was going on. I expect he was simply curious as to my behaviour and intrigue in meeting you.” Kimso explained.

“Well what about Caer? I wanted to say goodbye,” Nemeriel said, “Why didn’t you let at least him stay?”

“He is curious too, and nosy,” she said, cocking her head, “I didn’t think you wanted him to know about your planned trip to Helwen.”

Nemeriel nodded her head in agreement, “Trusting men is horrible.”

Kimso flung back her elegant head and laughed, “You are right,” she said putting a hand on Nemeriel’s face, “You are very right indeed.”

And for the first time in a long time Nemeriel felt safe and comfortable. There was something in Kimso that reminded her of her mother. Rindis had always been a mysterious woman, strong, beautiful and tender. Nonetheless, there was something about her that Nemeriel could never quite put her finger on. Perhaps Rindis had a passed-sorrow, or perhaps a passed freeness, a passed happiness that she lost and missed. Perhaps it was a dream, a dream just like Kimso’s, a dream to be heard.

Shaking her head, Nemeriel suddenly felt a wave of fatigue hit her, despite the fact it was mid-morning. Her sorely tried bones began to take their toll and she fell into a slumber deeper than the cut on her heel.

“Wake up!” Kimso said suddenly. The room was completely dark and only the outline of the witch-doctor was seen. “Put on the dress and cloak and we shall be off, for the horse I must offer you is not mine and neither am I fit to pay for it.”

Nemeriel stretched out her legs and gasped, “I feel no pain whatsoever.” She looked down, “Nor do I see a cast!” she laughed.

Kimso smiled, “It is not completely healed so I stashed some extra medicine in your carrying bag. You must apply it every night for as long until you no longer see a scar. Once the cut has visually disappeared then you must drink this brown liquid for the next three days to regain strength and muscle in your leg. By which time you should be in no more pain or suffering. It is all I could give you for now, especially since there is little time to prepare much else. But I took extra ingredients to make medicines on our way if I need to.”

“This is perfect, thank you,” Nemeriel said quietly, the rustles she made as she put on the dress echoing off the walls.

“Stand up,” Kimso ordered as Nemeriel declared that the dress and cloak were on.

Clicking her fingers, the common purple fire of the trained elf leaped up, creating an eerie light to see from. The dress had shrunk magically to Nemeriel’s size, its sequenced fabrics shimmering in the luminosity of Kimso’s hands. The neck of the dress hung just on the edges of Nemeriel’s shoulders and the cloak hooded her long mane of hair snuggly. The black camouflage cloth

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covered most of her face and it almost was impossible to identify color of skin or even basic facial features. The princess Nemeriel was invisible, her obvious figure turned into the stealthy one of a witch-doctor.

“You look...like me,” Kimso grinned and clenched her fists quenching the fire. “Now come, there are horses waiting for us.”

Nemeriel smiled and said to herself, “It’s good to have a companion.”

Kimso took the princess’ hand and pulled her out into the darkness .”Your’s is the black one,” the witch-doctor said quietly as she swiftly mounted a chestnut mare.

Nemeriel readjusted the satchel on her hip and then gripped her mare’s reigns. Once she was seated Kimso whispered, “Your’s is called Tide, he’s a strong horse with a quick pace.”

Nemeriel nodded, “Shall we leave now, South-West is our quickest bet.”

“You lead.” Kimso said as she smacked Tide’s thigh. The horse went rearing down the quiet streets. The journey to Helwen’s keep was just about to begin.

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Chapter 11: Through the Undergrowth

For many hours the two rode on, their horses panting into the early morning and their warm breaths stirring up fog storms and veils of mist. The cold of dawn finally faltered and as the sun began to rise the two set down their satchels upon the plain’s high grass surface. Once they had escaped the sleeping city the elves had found themselves at the edge of the Endless Meadow. Legends say the grassy plains went over the horizon and all around the world. Others who had experienced the long paths say it takes around four days to cross the whole land. Kimso and Nemeriel were aiming for three days, or at least three and a half at their best.

Nemeriel turned to face Kimso and began to think of Erelis with a slight heart-ache, “Where did you live before Land of the Villages?”

“Hmm?” Kimso said suddenly.

“Everyone has lived somewhere before Prospero.” Nemeriel said hesitantly, “What about you?”

“I don’t know?” Kimso answered stiffly.

“What about your parents, where did they come from?”

“I never knew my father. My mother was from Neteliar though.” Kimso sighed, “What do you mean by this?”

“I have lived in Erelis all my life, but the passed few weeks have gone so quickly that I haven’t felt any pain about my family until now.” Nemeriel thought before speaKking again, “I just wondered if you truly believe you’ll ever see Prospero again. I certainly doubt ever returning to Erelis. After I...well I probably won’t have time before I’ll have to go somewhere else again.”

Kimso smiled crookedly, “Stand up, quickly,”

Nemeriel jumped up from the high grass curiously.

“You see that,” Kimso pointed North, “See the greenness of the Broken Wood, do you see the edge of the tree-line? Well, just beyond that brush, there is a travel of around eight days at most. After eight days you are at the foot of the Elberon, and by then there are only three hours to go and you’ll already be able to see the outskirts of Lirhatael.”

Nemeriel felt tears prick her eyes and she looked away, a grin spreading all over her face. “I do hope sometimes...”

“Hope is essential.” Kimso said softly, “I wouldn’t have lived this long without hope.”

“What about you? What about Prospero?” Nemeriel asked after sitting down again.

“I hope, unlike you, to never return.” She said with surprising bitterness, “I lost everything there. I don’t ever want to go back. ‘Back’ is full of regrets.”

“But your stories must have other things than regret in them.”

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“Oh, no. Not for a long time anyway.”

Nemeriel cocked her head to one side, “I don’t believe all you have to tell is all the times you made mistakes, even I, who was sent on a journey I didn’t even know the purpose of is not full of regrets. Sadness yes, pain certainly. But regrets are seldom because half the time I didn’t know what was happening to me and even less why it was happening.”

Kimso shook her head, “I’ve made conscious mistakes Nemeriel, they are the worst.”

“Well, there’s always room for the happy things.” The princess looked up hopefully, “I don’t mind hearing bad things if there are also the good moments.”

The witch-doctor suddenly stood, “I’m not an interesting person, alright? There’s nothing to tell,” Kimso snapped, “Mount your horse, we’ve got a long way to go.”

And she took the brown horse’s reins and trotted away, her body tense.

Nemeriel watched her for a while and then gripped Tide’s saddle and lifted herself onto his back. She shouldered her bag and galloped after Kimso.

The rest of the day was cold and quiet. The two didn’t speak for a long time, until finally night was clearly falling and Kimso and Nemeriel made a silent agreement to rest.

There was little protection along the plains save the long grass and the pitch black nights, so the elves had to force their horses to lie down so that they wouldn’t be seen. Soon the meadows became awfully quiet and it didn’t take more than the wink of a star to pull Nemeriel into slumber. Kimso, however, slept fitfully that night and was awake sitting up and staring at the sunrise long before Nemeriel had even stirred the slightest.

Finally the princess woke and on seeing Kimso’s motionless body she creeped forwards and took the witch-doctor’s hand in her’s.

“When you see Helwen, and suppose she agrees to mentor you, what will you ask to learn from her?”

Kimso blinked. “I-I, nothing. She is the true sorceress, she’ll know what to do.”

Nemeriel was unconvinced, but she had not expected her to give her a straight answer anywya. “One day you’ll have to specialize in something like-

“And when the time will come for me to choose I will do so.”

Nemeriel smiled resignedly, “So be it.”

“Indeed,” Kimso grumbled and stood, brushing her cloak off and shaking her dew damp hood. She then lifted her skirts and walked to the warm side of her pacing horse.

For the next day endless travel occurred, and when nightfall returned Nemeriel was grateful to drop her things in the high grass and finally sleep well; feeling safe.

However, as the night dragged on Kimso violently awoke Nemeriel, putting her hand to her

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mouth to stop the princess from screaming. Nemeriel’s stiffled cry echoed only slightly. As Kimso let go she put a finger to her lips. Her eyes were wide open with the familiar reflection of fear.

“klorns,” she whispered, “Up north.”

Nemeriel nodded and lay her head on the grass and started to count her breaths and her heartbeats. 116, 117, 118…

“They’re gone.” Kimso’s voice brought Nemeriel abruptly back to reality.

“No they’re not.” She finally answered.

A temporary bitter-sweet relief had flooded her veins but she knew that the klorns were still on her tail and still close and still hungry.

“You’re right,” Kimso muttered as she raised her arm and carefully placed it around Nemeriel’s shoulders, “They never will be.” And she tightened her embrace pulling her closer and shielding her like a mother would her vulnerable child.

Nemeriel tensed, but the night was cold and the touch was tender, genuine and well-meaning.

“Thank you.”

But Kimso was already asleep, or so it seemed.

“Another day of riding west now and the keep should start to come into view.”

“Isn’t it surrounded by the Gaming Forrest?”

“Yes,” Kimso pointed south-west, “But by Helwen’s Keep I mean the general area. It’ll begin to appear around there round about midday. The forest is huge considering it only holds one inhabitant and it will be easy to find.”

“Will we be able to get in?” Nemeriel glimpsed in the distance.

“I don’t know, Helwen often has defenses of some sort up, but I’m guessing she know’s you’re coming. Sorceresses know everything.” Kimso said awkwardly, her voice prideful and tinged with persistence.

Nemeriel raised an eyebrow quickly and then looked away, “What makes you want to know everything?”

“I only wish to learn witch-lore, it’s not like I intend on being a sorceress.” She answered icily.

The last day was through and as the blood-red sun began to make its steady sink towards the meadow’s surface, another great image bobbed amongst the light of the horizon.

“The Gaming Forest.” Kimso breathed.

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“I thought so. Why is it so black?”

“Wards off enemies, I suppose,” she shrugged, “Helwen was never the welcoming type.”

The two horses rode further and further until the wood was no longer distant and the horizon held other beautiful shadows of mirages.

Gnarled branches and black boughs twisted and vined over each other. Grey leaves fell thickly on the ground surrounding the wood’s borders. Despite the gaps in the vining twigs, only darkness shone through the holes. Nemeriel couldn’t see farther than a second layer of vines and then everything turned creepily obscure.

“I don’t think...this is the way in.”

“It has to be,” Kimso pressed firmly, “The forest goes on like this for hours, we can’t afford a tour around the whole thing looking for portals.”

“What if-

“We’ll just have to cut our way through, the stories say her palace lies at the center. I’m sure we’ll find her there.” Kimso picked a dagger from her belt and tried to cut one of the tree branches.

“I don’t think she would really appreciate us literally cutting down her defenses,” Nemeriel muttered but Kimso ignored her and continued to hack at the brush.

In a flash there was an odd blowing sound. Kimso fell clutching her fingers that seemed to be drawing blood muttering, “The twig...it lashed out, it cut me. The thorns, they cut me!”

At first Nemeriel ignored Kimso. Something had moved behind the undergrowth. Something had made that noise. And then she realized, “Kimso,” she said shakily, “Where’s your dagger?”

“In my ha-

She glanced at her empty fingers and began to search the graying grass around the wood.

“It must have fallen, I’m sure its here.”

“No,” Nemeriel said, “No it’s gone. Its gone through the wood. Its in Helwen’s Keep.”

Kimso frowned for a moment. Her sharp eyes squinted and she stood still. Suddenly her face lit and a thought dawned on her, “Do you mean to say I dropped it-

“And it entered through the portal-

“Which is-

“Right in front of us.” Nemeriel finished.

“We found it.” Kimso smiled broadly, “We found the door to Helwen’s keep.”

“Actually, I believe that if we walk round the entire wood the whole place is covered in portals. We would be able to enter from anywhere.”

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“Why would she do that?”

“Because you were right. Helwen’s been expecting us.”

And with that Nemeriel lifted an arm and let herself fall through the vines, trees and thorns and through the Undergrowth.

There was a sudden awkward tugging sensation until the darkness covering her eyes fell away and a dazzling light replaced it. Before her enrolled the longest stretch of the most beautiful nature Nemeriel had ever seen. She turned around but behind her was only another extensive line of forest and trees; as if there had never been a before and only an after. Suddenly Kimso appeared at her side, surprised and yet in complete marvel.

At the tip of a lengthy marble stone path that cut through trees and berries and flowers was a tall palace of the most brilliant white. Despite the evening dark in the real world here in Helwen’s keep it was still daylight. Nemeriel let out a low gasp. Before her a flock of birds had exploded from the ground and clustered in the sky. A circular lake adorned with swans and the bluest water shimmered right before the twelve stairs of the palace. A bright sun shone above the castle despite the fact that outside it was nearing winter and the clouds weren’t nearly as fluffy and scarce.

Rushing through the paths she reached the wide doors and saw an intricate door-knocker with the detailed face of a horse on it. Above the threshold a series of runes and elfish scriptures were carved into the stone. ‘Sorceress of the seas and the skies.’

“Helwen.” Nemeriel murmured. She then leaned forward and touched the knocker. A sonorous boom shook the forest greens and the smallest crack broke through the door’s flanks.

Nemeriel could hear Kimso’s bated breaths. She could feel the excitement and the wonder seeping from her quivering body.

The seconds passed and finally the door creaked and a shimmering gleam of blue and dark indigo shone through the sliver of light.

“You are welcome here ladies,” a silky voice drew the elves into the home of the witch, and as the bright scenery darkened to gray stone walls and cool temperatures Helwen came into full view at last.

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Chapter 12: Helwen’s Keep

Her eyes flashed green, and purple, blue and then green again. Her hazel-colored hair was long and swept gracefully along the sequenced back of her robes. The dress she wore reflected the many states of sky; night, day, dawn, dusk. The tints were vibrant and the hues variously ranged. Her thin lips were drawn and emotionless, but her eyes...they shone with curiosity, they shone with happiness and knowledge.

“Come in.” she put her hands behind their backs and led them into a separate room. “I am sure you are eager to hear of what is going on.” Her voice was brittle, “Especially you my dear,” she looked pointedly at Nemeriel, “I know what travel can do to oneself. But don’t worry, I’ll fill you in soon enough.”

Nemeriel sighed in relief, her thoughts jumping to Lirhatael and her family. “I do have many questions.”

“I’m sure.” She answered curtly, “And what about you Miss Anduor?”

Kimso said nothing at first, her eyes wide in surprise, “I...I do not remember introducing myself.” She said rather weakly.

Helwen ignored her mercifully and turned to Nemeriel again. “So,” she said, “When did you last leave Erelis?”

Nemeriel shrugged, “Three weeks ago, and that’s just a rough guess. Probably longer I’d say.”

Helwen nodded intently, “Well we’ll start with the main points. Have you heard of the dwarf King Thiralas?”

Nemeriel’s heart throbbed as she thought of the dwarf princes running off to fight with their father, “Is he alright?”

“There are rumors he’s dead,” Helwen said emotionlessly, “What about Willow’s keep? Any news on them?”

Nemeriel shook her head miserably; shocked at how casually Helwen had transmitted the news.

“Well, they’re fighting valiantly but they’ve had to ask Saertiel for help. The dwarves are straining. They won’t last for long is what everyone thinks.” Helwen sighed, “Erelis is safe but they’ve got armies on stand by. Mersuithiel hasn’t said anything official yet but Erethor says he’s expecting a war declaration on all of Indildris soon. Until then, he’s keeping his armies back in case this is all a trick. He sent Saertiel men because he wouldn’t let Willow’s Keep die out so soon but more than that and he will be vulnerable. He believes Mersuithiel is trying to draw all of the elves’ men into Willow’s Keep so the rest of Indildris is weakened. Erethor does not like to be the bait, you see, no matter how well of a friend he is to the fish. ”

“Is it bad?” Nemeriel’s voice faltered.

“I don’t know.” She answered, “Nobody does.”

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Kimso leaned forward, suddenly interested, “What about Neteliar?”

Nemeriel remembered their conversation on the plains. Perhaps there was family she cared of back in the north.

Helwen smiled grimly, “The first time in the previous war Morosauv tried to attack from the North. Ever since borders have been harder and harder to cross. If Mersuithiel had even tried to come in by boat that way, she would have been crushed immediately. I’d say the Northern elves know what they’re doing.”

Kimso nodded satisfactorily, “That’s why they took the western wing. Willow’s Keep is weak and small in number.” Kimso sighed, “The plan was then to take the dwarves, another small and easy conquerable city, but also probably because the klorns have a score to settle with them.” Kimso saw Nemeriel’s puzzled expression and explained, “Before leaving Ibeldûrn to Indildris the dwarves were smart. They took their gold, or as much as they could carry with them, before fleeing to the shores of Neteliar.”

Nemeriel frowned, “I have heard of the dwarves living in Ibeldûrn at first but I never knew that the klorns had any sort of history with them.”

Kimso shrugged, “There are many things people don’t know about the klorns. They are odd creatures and new to this region of Atva.”

Helwen stood up suddenly, making Kimso jump. She rose to put hot water in a red kettle. “Tea?”

“Yes please,” Nemeriel said absentmindedly, her mind on many, many other things.

“I gathered some herbs on the plains whilst crossing them,” Kimso offered, “Take them, they’re scented and will be nice with something warm.”

Helwen took the bag of petals, “Are you sure you won’t need them, being a witch-doctor and all, especially when travelling it is better to-

“By the end of today, hopefully not.” Kimso said tentatively.

Helwen looked from one companion to the other.

“You have things to tell me?” She smiled and cocked her head.

“We both do.” Nemeriel blurted out, “Perhaps Kimso should go first.” She was beginning to feel sick. What if Helwen said no? What if the prophecy was confused? What if Nemeriel’s world had been turned upside down for nothing? This was all wrong…

Kimso glanced questioningly at Nemeriel and a small hint of distrust clouded the witch-doctor’s strong face. “What do you mean? Can we not go together?”

“I...yes, its just,” Nemeriel took off her black cloak and draped it over her arm, the heat in the room suddenly stifling, “I thought you wanted to do this alone.”

Kimso’s features relaxed and her cheekbones lowered. “Of course.” She smiled quietly and Helwen looked from one to the other expectantly.

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“I’ll go first.” Kimso confirmed and followed the sorceress into another inner room.

Nemeriel felt her hands sweat and she turned the door knob behind her; the one that led to the hallway. Nothing happened. She must be locked in.

Nemeriel cursed and sat on the floor her head in her hands.The worry sent her mind on a dangerous adventure and a train of nervous thoughts began to chugg. Finally, when the ringing subsided from her ears and her mind began to clear she realized that Helwen’s voice was loud and due to the echo’s of the house, very hearable. What could make the serene Helwen raise her voice like that. She seemed so joyful just a moment ago.

“...I just thought-

“You thought wrong, I don’t do that!” Helwen’s angry tone was surprisingly frightening, “A long time ago a girl just like...I can’t do this. Not again.” The sorceress’ voice dropped from aggressivity to helplessness.

“I don’t understand.” The fear that plagued Kimso’s soft words made Nemeriel squirm. What had she listened in to?

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Helwen snapped.

Suddenly, a cold hard determination swept over Nemeriel. She stood and tiptoed her way through the hallway. Kimso did not ride three days with her to receive a rejection. She pushed open the dining room door and walked into the tense scene with her hands clenched in fists.

At first the two women stared at her and then Nemeriel spoke.

“Please Helwen,” she said quietly, her voice shaking, “Can you not teach her? What would it take...why can’t...

Helwen first stared, a mixture of annoyance and confusion on her face.

Slowly the expression of disbelief hardened and Helwen stood up, “No. I cannot teach her. It will do no good. Now leave.”she stared at Kimso coldly, as if nothing was between them but thick, tense air.

The icy silence was long. Kimso stayed in the threshold staring at Helwen with a crushed frown. Finally she made her move and turned around.

“Thank you.” Helwen said as Kimso left the room, her witch-doctor’s eyes full of fury and confusion.

Nemeriel felt tears catch on her lashes and she felt her hands shake. There was nothing she could do, except do what she came here for and forget the witch-doctor. Yes that was best, forget the mysterious witch-doctor and her silly dreams and her silly hopes with her pitiful regrets. It was all to be finished soon anyway.

“I came for a very different reason than that of Kimso, Helwen.” Nemeriel said, her voice finally steady and composed.

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Helwen nodded wearily, “Go ahead.”

“I need to see your father. I need you to give me rite of passage. Into the sky.” Nemeriel breathed in nervously and waited.

Helwen’s eyes grazed past Nemeriel’s face. “I understand that… and I will help you…” Helwen turned and clumsily arranged the cups on the wooden table between them, “I just need you to understand that I will need something in return.”

Nemeriel’s eyes widened. She had not expected this. Of all things she had not expected Helwen to ask, but just to reject. Nemeriel knew how to convince how to persuade, her stubborn manner and simple human mind made sure to that, she thought. But never had she imagined Helwen to comport herself this way.

“I… -Nemeriel exhaled, her own eyes firing up, “Why can’t you just-

Helwen stood up, “Because people have told me that too many times. ‘Trust me’ they say and then once I’ve given all, they run away. I’m sorry but the world doesn’t give and give and give. There must be take...you will give me something first. And then….and then I will take you.”

Nemeriel sat down again. Her mind was whirring. This wasn’t fair. However, she needed to get to Ivlisar, and nothing Helwen said could stop her, not after coming this far, not after braving so much. Flashes of Caradhras’ face and Madildra’s whinnies caught her breath like a fishing hook. She choked.

“Ask me then,” her voice trembled, “What do you need.”

“Nothing,” Helwen did not sit, “I don’t need anything from you.” she said this haughtily, proudly, but with a shred of dishonesty that Nemeriel couldn’t help but notice, “But I want to know the prophecy, however. My prophecy. I understand Pandora gave it to Erethor a long time ago. It was not her place. But my sister often can get away with things like that. No matter, you’ll tell me now.” Helwen looked at her expectantly.

Nemeriel sighed, “I can’t give that-

“Fine.” Her voice was sour and yet still waiting. There was no finality in her tone yet. She needed the prophecy.

“What makes you want to know the prophecy anyway?” Nemeriel shot quizzically.

Helwen stepped back and spread her arms out wide, “Doesn’t the world want to know the prophecy? Didn’t you? Mersuithiel is sure to declare war at any moment, and if the fate of our people is in the hands of a noble, weak-minded King and that of a petty elfling then there definitely is no hope for Indilris. Not this time. Not ever.” Helwen was shaking with rage and frustration but Nemeriel’s anger was beyond clenching her fists and batting her eyes. She simply stared.

“My father is not weak minded. And as for his nobility, it seems to have done him quite a favor. All of Indildris is willing to follow him to the death and you, here in your corner sits and waits for somebody to tell you what’s going on! Well maybe its time you walked out of this Keep and found

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out yourself!”

Helwen sat down again, her eyes broken in a thousand pieces, each shard holding a different shade of sadness and helplessness and shame and shyness, “I- I, I need you to tell me. Erethor won’t, Pandora certainly won’t, but you, you’re here and you’re not going to judge me. You’re my last hope.”

Hope, there goes the word hope again. It is a despicable word and only lets you down. Forget Lirhatael, forget 8 days and three hours. Nemeriel thought to herself, forget it all.

And yet something inside her could not forget. Not ever. Nemeriel thought for a moment and then an idea came to her.

“I have a proposition.”

“Yes.” Helwen looked up wearily.

“I’ll...I’ll only tell you the prophecy if you swear on the Mindiruin to teach Kimso your lore.” Nemeriel paused and then spoke, cutting Helwen’s protests short, “That is all I have to say.”

Something in Nemeriel’s mind began to sound an alarm, what was she doing. She was giving up Indildris for this girl. ‘I was only joking’, Nemeriel wanted to say, to pedal back. But something told her it was too late. Far too late.

“We cannot work together this way.” Helwen said simply, smashing the cups down on to the table in a silent rage with herself, “You tell me the prophecy or you leave.” The two women glared at each other. Nemeriel was reluctant to cracking first and when she had a determined intention, she was stubborn as a bull about it.

So finally Helwen spoke, “I have been used so many times that if you wish to get something from me for free, it will be because I truly want to give it to you. Because I care for you. You will have to gain my trust, Nemeriel. Do you know how long that takes? No, you don’t. Now, it’s years of acquaintance and a passage for free, or the prophecy.”

“No it’s not; it’s Kimso and the prophecy or nothing.” Nemeriel felt sure of herself now, she felt as if this could work. She knew now how much Helwen needed to know it now. She had found a chink in the sorceress’ armor.

Helwen sat down on the wooden table and her fingers turned to flame. Afraid, Nemeriel jumped back and with the speed of lightning she strung an arrow but the sorceress was finished. Her fingers had gone out and her eyes were tired. “Done.” she stuck out her hand and Nemeriel stepped forward, putting away her bow.

They grabbed each other’s forearms and put their foreheads together. “Swear.” Nemeriel pressed, “Swear by the Mindiruin.”

Helwen was quiet, only their breaths could be heard until finally she spoke. “I swear.”

The two pulled apart.

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Moments passed and Nemeriel’s brow crinkled more and more as they did. “I cannot remember it too well but memorizing it was important, so I made sure I did before leaving home. There is a part my father told me from memory and one part of the prophecy that is lost.”

“Tell me all and everything you know.”

And so Nemeriel began,

“A life will give, a life will get,

the dark will find the numbers fret,

until the world is added by two,

a life will give, a life will get,

Atva earns a mortal threat.

Then when the babe has turned fourteen,

The clock will strike and the babe must leave,

Then one shall enter into the realm of worlds above,

And learn the ways of older than old,

The child must seek her long lost twin,

Then bring through the doors her long lost kin,

To avoid the clash of equal prides-

The rest of the verses are lost, unfortunately no one knows where nor to whom they have been lost to...” Nemeriel stood and Helwen finally sat down.

“Is that all you need from me?” Nemeriel asked with hostility.

The sorceress’ brow was furrowed and she seemed deep in thought. She did not answer but she did remember her promise, thinking it was that Nemeriel had spoken about, “Ah, of course.” Helwen leaned forward and took the princess’ head in her hands. Her thumb came in contact with Nemeriel’s forehead and the castle of Helwen’s keep disappeared. Bliss clouded Nemeriel’s mind and she thought of nothing.

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Chapter 13: King of Kings

The darkness that had so suddenly put sleep to her eyes just as quickly fell away. The imaginary blind-fold disappeared and light seeped through her tired thoughts. Clouds whirred around her and beneath her feet had been built a firm marble pathway. The sky around her seemed dark, distant and incessant. The moon and stars were equally far and gave just light enough to see the wonders of the night. Before her, a vast Kingdom of silver stone glittered like a star itself.

Nemeriel stood shakily and then took a tentative step forward. Slowly the castle came closer and closer. Despite Nemeriel’s sequenced steps the surrealness of the palace led her to thinking she wasn’t moving at all. Finally the dark doors faced her and she waited. There was no knocker, nor bell.

Her boredom getting the best of her Nemeriel turned on the spot to pace along the hardened clouds when the gravelly echo of an old man’s voice caught her off guard. She jumped and spun on her heel.

“Little princess!” Ivlisar laughed, “You have been away from home too long. Never mind that, my hospitality will help you regain trust and comfort.”

Nemeriel, relieved and stung at the same time, gave Ivlisar a quirky stare. He had a clean shaven mouth and no beard despite his age. His hair was white and glowing. His face was bright and his eyes a brilliant blue, but something inside of him was so dominating that it shut her off. She suddenly blushed and answered, “I am here on account of a prophecy, I believe you are aware of this.”

“Indeed.”

“Can you teach me?”

Ivlisar smiled, “Lithuism is a long, hard branch of magic, but if you are determined and strong not only in body but in mind...it is always possible. I have enjoyed being named the last Lithuist for a long time but that time is over, you must bring to the world what I never could. You have the power to change fate. I do not belong in Atva. I only live to watch and to keep. I am the last resort, but now, I think that through you I can bring some good into Indildris; perhaps a little more discreetly than Fate might allow.”

“I’ve heard of Lithuism before….what does it do? Truly.”

“Let us discuss that inside.” His eyes shimmered and he led her into a wide room.

Nemeriel looked around only half listening to the King of Kings’ answers.

“Now, what does Lithuism do...well, it uses the light in others or from the sun or stars or moon as a defense mechanism and with that light you are able to control its matter. It can shatter like a spear or burn like mist, it can sprint like a wave but you must learn first, and that will take time.”

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Nemeriel sighed and then followed the King of King’s beckons, “What a nice cape by the way, I believe I have seen it before.”

Ivlisar’s face shone as he took the cloak from Nemeriel’s grasp and placed it on a hook, “You won’t be needing it however.”

Nemeriel’s mouth opened in protest but she closed it quickly, “Yes sir.”

“Oh you won’t need to call me sir, Nemeriel. I think Master will do.”

Nemeriel snorted nonchalantly but stopped suddenly as Ivlisar gave her a hard look, “Yes Master.” she said hastily.

“You will begin training tomorrow.” he said sharply, “In your room there should be a pair of black dress robes. They are all you will need for the next six months. If you please,” he pointed upwards and Nemeriel followed him.

Climbing a long spiralling case of stairs she finally reached another floor. She peered down the hallway and found one door open. She pushed through and took a look inside. There was a large elf-made bed and a small window. The windowsill however, was long and wide.

“This will be your room, I hope I chose well. You see, I thought you’d like the view.” He then spun on his heel and walked away.

Nemeriel sat down on the bed and looked at the robes on the sheets. They were jet black and covered her entire body except her face and her hands. Protruding from the waist was a thin skirt of wide space for leg movement. The black cloth basically looked like a tight dress. There were two robes. One seemed to be the undergarment and the other a cloak to wrap around the dress. She picked up the fabric and frowned, “What is this?” she said to herself.

The material was firm but soft. It did not seem as if it were made from the ordinary loom. Nemeriel picked up the two dress robes and began taking off the black dress Kimso had given her. Although the cape was gone she still had the dress. Nemeriel looked once more at the black sequences and smiled. They shined surprisingly bright for a black dress. Like gems almost. She took off the warm garments and replaced them with the skirt. She then slung the cloak over her shoulders and ran down the stairs again.

“Ivlisar.” She called, “Master?”

Ivlisar glided in through one of the many doors that lined the circular hallway that held the foot of the staircase. An archway loomed over him and he stepped away from beneath it’s shadow. He was wearing a shimmering white robe with golden designs along the hem and he looked purely magical.

“Nemeriel.” He said shortly, “It is good you changed but it was unnecessary, we are not starting until tomorrow. First we shall dine, then you shall sleep, and when the first dawn breaks we shall train.”

“Yes master,” she followed him into a long room with a polished wooden table. She sat in one of the chairs and looked down at her hands, an odd glow seeming to protrude from them. Perhaps it

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was a trick of the light.

“Now. First we shall dine.” Ivlisar repeated and clapped his hands. Glistening plates were brought in by odd cloud-looking servants. They lay the cutlery on the table and then came back with the hot steaming food. There was a bowl soup in front of her and bread on either side of her plate. In other times she would have been surprised at how little she had been served but she was hungry; hungrier than she had ever been. She reached for the spoon and then began to eat. Ivlisar however, spoke, his appetite clearly lesser than that of Nemeriel’s.

“To understand what you are to be taught, you must understand its counterattack: in this case Necromancy.” He looked up and then continued, “Lithuism began when Draugwë, the first Necromancer created Necromancy. Of course you know this, but a quick History lesson won’t hurt you will it? ”

Nemeriel gulped, the soup scalding her throat, “I-” she said breathing heavily, “I, well, actually, I never learnt that.”

Ivlisar frowned, “I see. Well I do hope you know who Draugwë is at least.”

Nemeriel nodded.

“And who is he then?”

“He was a Northern elf from Neteliar and decided to go and visit Ibeldûrn because-

“Give me facts on Ibeldûrn, child.”

Nemeriel coughed, “Well, Ibeldûrn used to belong to the dwarves but when the klorns moved in from Northern Atva, they were pushed into Indildris.” She remembered what Kimso had said, “The elves made room for them at the heart of our country where it was the most mountainous. However, as much as the dwarves are grateful, they are also full of revenge and longing. They wish to return to Ibeldûrn.There are still many ranges that have not been mined and the Axe Mountains have long been used by the dwarves’ great grandfathers. The Khebeldûr klan wishes to go back someday and finish their ancestor’s work.”

Ivlisar nodded, “Very good, carry on.”

Nemeriel was confused by the quizzing but she went along with it. She knew these things and wasn’t too worried. “Legends say Draugwë moved away from Neteliar and into Ibeldûrn because he felt like he didn’t belong in Indildris; amongst the elves. He left and never returned. As he began to learn more about the klorns he realized that Ibeldûrn was far larger than Indildris in population and in geographic size. If Draugwë brought in his army of klorns to Indildris the elves wouldn’t stand a chance.” Nemeriel looked up to see Ivlisar smiling satisfactorily, “He then hid himself amongst the klorns for nineteen years and during that time adopted their secrets and created Necromancy, the art of using the powers of the dead and the dying.”

Nemeriel paused to check if she had made any mistakes.

“You are right,” Ivlisar said after a while, “But that is not all Necromancy can do.”

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“Well I didn’t learn-

“Carry on.”

Nemeriel gulped and began speaking once more, “On the twentieth year Draugwë was already an old elf of one thousand and forty. He had not strung a bow in years, he had not seen light in centuries and nor had he stretched his limbs so that he was no longer capable of leading any sort of army. That is all I know, as I said, not much of my teachings have revolved around Necromancy. It would be a dangerous topic to learn.”

Ivlisar nodded, “Well, not bad. However, no history lesson could have taught you what you just mentioned, and yet without any background information it would be impossible to relay such a vivid story. Who taught you this?”

Nemeriel hesitated as she thought of several verses that spoke of the Necromancer and his tale. “Songs.” She answered finally.

“Ah,” Ivlisar said, “I have long forgotten the way of the elves.” He chuckled, “But it is true their songs are far more effective than any other lesson.”

Nemeriel smiled and yet felt sorrow circling in the chamber, “You miss the real world, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Ivlisar said without thinking and then hastily returned to the topic at hand. “But anyway, let me fill you in where you are slightly rusty… where was I?”

“Draugwë was waiting for Fate to change itself and heal his tired eyes and old legs.” Nemeriel injected eagerly.

“Yes...now. Finally, ten years later, a wandering elf song awoke him from his sleep. Draugwë seized his chance and took the elf into his cave. Morosauv was his name. Draugwë convinced him to be his apprentice and for years they worked together when at last Morosauv was stronger than any god.” He said this slowly, his tongue lingering, and his tone full of bitterness.

“I did not know gods were truly real,” Nemeriel said more like a question. Curiousity burning inside of her.

Ivlisar smiled, “Yes well, there are many things you do not know.”

Nemeriel did not answer to that.

“So, the elves got word of a magic so dark that only light could beat it,” He continued fluidly, “Hence the southern elves got to work and began to create Lithuism. The western elves busied themselves by gathering troops and the dwarves were occupied with weapon making. The Northern elves already had enough work to do by protecting the borders and the eastern elves conducted as they always do.”

Nemeriel smiled as she listened.

“War was coming and all could sense it. There was word that Helwen had been sighted in Ibeldûrn but none were sure. Dark days passed during which time nobody knew whom they

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could trust when at last the sound of war deafened the ears of the elves and they all left their cocoons and joined each other in battle. The war of Morosauv was tough but at last the seven Lithuists caught him and deprived him of his power. Proud and angry Morosauv was determined not to go down without a fight. With his last breaths he killed the seven Lithuists, bringing his death like a hammer upon all of them. But he had fallen as well. His final strength spent on killing the Saertiel elves. Finally the war was done and the klorns, with no leader left in fear and cowardice. The next ten years were quiet and vigilant but soon Indildris’ old greatness gradually returned and our people haven’t heard of Draugwë since.”

“But…” Nemeriel said expecatantly.

“But, I say that he is still lurking. His grey dirty beard still quivering in anger and in thought. Draugwë is not finished, and I say that he is the one who brought Mersuithiel into his apprenticeship.”

Nemeriel took in a breath, “He is not dead then.”

Ivlisar shook his head and then stood, “Certainly not.”

“So-”

“It is late and tomorrow will be tiresome. You must rest.”

Nemeriel glanced down at her bowl of soup which had gone cold and stood slowly from the table.

Her spoon chinked against the ceramic plates. She smiled behind her before leaving, only to find the room empty. She then walked away from the table and up the stairs to her room.

***

The morning was bright and orange. Nemeriel’s eyes hurt from the glare of the sun through her window and as she stood to pull a rag over the glass she noticed how unfair it was that beautiful things could only be looked at for seconds until they hurt you, one way or another.

Power, the sun, love...all so beautiful, or at least some people thought. Her mind jumped to Mersuithiel and she wondered what the Necromancer was doing now. She wondered if the dwarves were still holding out or if Erelis was under attack yet.She thought back at what Helwen had said. ‘The dwarves have been at war for months now, and there are rumors that say Thiralas is dead.’

Poor Baldor, and Kithwen and Taûn and Debuli. Poor Hasthril, poor Bronwyn. One death and so many people’s lives ruined.

When would life stop being a hypocrite? When would Nemeriel be able to stop looking at all this suffering? When would the beautiful things be less bright, less alluring and more pure, more incredible? Why was it that only the terrible things lasted?

“I don’t know. It all seems awfully unfair though, doesn’t it?” Ivlisar said.

Nemeriel jumped wondering how on earth he had known what she was thinking. “Yes.” She said

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finally.

“Hmm,” He looked around, “It’s dark in here. Ah,” he glanced at the window, “I had forgotten, your eyes are not yet accustomed to the sun. No matter, soon, once you are a practised Lithuist, bright lights won’t bother you anymore.”

“Why’s that?” Nemeriel asked.

“Well,” Ivlisar suddenly laughed, “I’m actually not quite sure, but what I think,” he continued in a lower voice, “is that there is more to Lithuism than power. There is understanding. One day, you’ll be able to look at that sun, realize how beautiful and how powerful it is and not want it. That is why, at least I think so.” He smiled and looked away. “I shall see you in the dining room then. Shall I cover the windows?”

Nemeriel thought about this. She didn’t know why she had to give the question so much thought but for some reason she did. At last she said, “No. No thank you Master, I’d like them open this morning.”

“Very well.” Ivlisar’s eyes twinkled and he walked out.

Nemeriel smiled to herself and dressed into her training robes. Standing up to leave she took one last look at her room and then running forward she pulled away the cloth covering the glass and then ran out again, down the stairs and into the dining room.

The hallway’s stone floor gleamed blue that morning and various statues of white marble glistened amongst the black doors. Nemeriel swivelled and took the door on her right. As she opened it, a bright yellow light caught her eye and she squinted.

Ivlisar was already seated at the head of the table just like he was last-night. Nemeriel took the chair on his left and smiled.

Ivlisar nodded and spoke, “Today we begin with the Initiation and then Channeling. You probably won’t succeed the first few days, and you will learn little during that time. However, once you have mastered the channel of light, then we can commence the teachings of the many branches of Lithuism. We will begin with Light of course, then the forming of light, then light-stealing, or extracting light from your surroundings and then finally the absence of light. In other words, performing Lithuism when you have no light source around you and must find light within others or, if you are the last resort then, indeed, yourself.”

“But wont taking light from others hurt them? Tire them out?” she asked.

“Not necessarily,” Ivlisar answered, “The light is simply there and not exactly needed. If you take it from them, the only thing that will change drastically is their mood.”

Nemeriel nodded and then glanced at the plates that appeared in front of her. Her stomach was churning and the excitement of the morning had gone. The light of the sun behind her and bathing her back began to give her a headache.

“Master I don’t mean to be doubtful-

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“But you are very doubtful Nemeriel. I shall accept that the first ten days, but by then you should be accustomed to the work I shall exert you with and the main basics of Lithuism. After those ten days, your complaints or doubts will be in vain.”

Nemeriel rubbed her hands together and frowned, “Yes Master.”

“Very good, now eat, or you won’t have any energy to practise at all.” Ivlisar pointed at her place-mat and she found a steaming cup of herbs and water before her. She looked up again and saw Ivlisar emptying a bowl of liquid gold with a small silver spoon. He then pushed his chair back and scraped the stone floor. Deducting finality in his manner Nemeriel hastily took a long sip from her herb tea and grimaced.

“That will be your morning meal every day, Nemeriel,” he said chastisingly, having noticed her expression, “You better start appreciating it. Now if you are ready...”

The princess glared at Ivlisar’s elegant back and then followed him into a separate room. As they walked out into the many-doored hallway again Nemeriel observed how the color of the stones had changed. They were pale green and the statues were now made of silver.

“Does the-

“- room always change like this?” he finished her question, “No, only when I feel like a little variety in my scenery. It gets quite plain up here.”

Nemeriel thought of the slums in Prospero and the shared stables. ‘Plain’ clearly was not the word for this castle.

“Where are we going?” Nemeriel asked finally as they took another turn through another door.

“We will start in the Lone Chamber and then after lunch we shall descend into the grounds.” Ivlisar said briskly, “Keep up.”

Nemeriel trotted behind him, his long strides counting for three of her’s.

Finally the King of Kings halted before a large white door encrusted with silver swirls and a princely latch. Ivlisar picked out a bar of metal from his robes and then muttered, the metal transformed into an intricate key. He fitted the key into the keyhole and smiled, “Come in.”

Nemeriel pushed open the door as Ivlisar stepped back to let her get a good look. The room was huge; at least as big as Helwen’s garden. The walls were lined with burning candles. Along one side was a row of purple, black and electric blue flames and on the other a long stretch of orange yellow and red candles. The smell of scented wax filled the room just as a certain coldness brushed over Nemeriel.

“We won’t be needing those today.” Ivlisar said as he waved his hand. The black candles disappeared. The warmth of the room dropped again. “Nor these.” Nemeriel watched helplessly as the merry yellow fires went out. Once Ivlisar was done, only one light remained. At the center of the room was the whitest fire Nemeriel had ever seen. It glowed silver and the flames that licked at each other writhed like living creatures. The light seemed pure and yet its odd movement so dangerous.

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“Aldröm, the first light.” Ivlisar said quietly. “When the sun was born its first rays were caught in stone. Years after the dwarves mined and in the heart of one mountain they found Aldröm. A gift of peace they said as they handed the magic to us elves, but we knew not its true power then. Only when the time came did we find use for Aldröm, and when we did, he was the greatest light of all. Seven men of Saertiel asked me to release it from my keeping. I gave them Aldröm and with it they created Lithuism. They gave it back in good time and my curiosity led me to learning Lithuism myself. Today I shall teach you the first lesson of all.”

Nemeriel’s fingers moved nervously, “Yes Master.”

“You must pick up that light. You must pick up Aldröm.”

Nemeriel did not step forward. “But Master doesn’t it burn?”

“You shall see.” He pushed her forward and she stumbled to the center of the room. Reaching out into the chamber she touched the very edge of the flame. At first she felt cold then scalding hot and then pain beyond anything. She screamed and then fell back behind the fire and held her fingers; Ivlisar’s distant voice was saying something but the darkness enveloped her and sweet slumber took her suffering away.

“Nemeriel,” her head was throbbing and her fingers began to burn again, “Nemeriel.” Stop, she wanted to say but her mouth wouldn’t move. “Get up, try again.”

A hand pulled her from beneath her arms and she was suddenly on her feet. A fuzzy view of the Lone Chamber loomed in front of her.

She turned and there was Ivlisar staring down at her in worry.

Nemeriel looked down at her fingers and realized that a hard, tinged gold callous had grown over them, however, the pain was completely gone.

“Again,” he said softly.

Nemeriel spun around and glared at him in disbelief, “Again? Iv-Master I can’t? I...I just need time, maybe after lunch...more time-

“Will six months not be enough for you?” He shook his head, “You must try again.” Ivlisar raised his voice slightly and the light in his eyes flickered.

Nemeriel shook her head, “Master-

“Tut, tut,” he waggled a finger, “I must admit I am truly disappointed in you. It is your first day of training and already-

Nemeriel pushed passed him a shadow over her face. She bit her lip and closed her eyes and then reached forward with two dark hands and placed them upon the Aldröm. She clenched her teeth and her wrists tensed. She curled her toes inside of her elf-made boots. She felt sweat pour from every inch of her and felt it drench her and make her shiver. But she still held on. The pain was lesser but she finally felt an odd wind catch her breath and throw her to the ground.

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She was not unconscious so much as heavily dazed. Ivlisar stepped forward but she stood up before he could touch her. Looking up at his face she saw amazement and admiration. Her glower softened and she stumbled back in front of the Aldröm. Scowling at it she muttered to herself, “Again,” and placed her shaky limbs along the curve of the fire ball. At first the cold, then the hot and then pain, she prepared herself, listing the things it would do in her mind so as to be ready; ready to clench her teeth.

Then the cold, then the hot, she said to herself and then as Nemeriel awaited a sharp rod of iron to pierce every piece of her it did not come. Instead, she opened her eyes and saw a flash of an unearthly image before her. For only the fraction of second there appeared a lady in white whose features were none and whose body was none and yet there she was; hovering and then disappearing as quickly as she came. Running her fingers over her arms Nemeriel found little goosebumps, “What was-

Nemeriel blinked and then felt hot inspiration bubble inside of her; the Aldröm soared from her fingers and catapulted itself into the furthermost wall of the Lone Chamber.

Nemeriel stared, stunned with awe. She listened intently to the footsteps of Ivlisar with every pace he made to reach her shoulder.Though Nemeriel did not turn she heard the smile in his voice, “Pick it up, put it back on the stand and I will see you at lunch when all of the candles on the left side of the room are relighted. Without elf magic. Without flint.”

Nemeriel opened her mouth and then closed it again.

“Hmm,” Ivlisar said approvingly, “You have managed to successfully been given the permission to become a Lithuist. The Aldröm allowed you to channel any emotion or power through it, thus, you are ready to begin without its guidance.” The Aldröm shook upon the floor at his words, as if disagreeing with him, “As am I.” Ivlisar finished quietly. Nemeriel walked a few steps and then stopped, “Wait, watch,” she said and she stood still, stretching out her arms. The ball bobbed and then shot at her, landing just in her hands. Grinning, she replaced the ball on the stand and watched Ivlisar as he stared intently at her.

“Don’t forget the candles.” He said sharply.

Nemeriel frowned; waiting for him to help her, to give her a hint. But he said nothing.

Sighing, for the first time she looked up at the candle brackets and wondered how she was going to light them. No elf magic. No flint. Then what was she to use? There seemed to be no other alternatives. Shrugging she tried the first thing that came to her mind.

Closing her eyes and concentrating she imagined the light of the Aldröm seeping from her fingers. She imagined it sparking upon the candle and rendering it to flame. As she opened her eyes her face fell. She tried again and again and then finally she sat down with her head in her hands and groaned, “We haven’t learned this yet Ivlisar.”

“Master,” he corrected and then walked towards her, “Now, now, try and be creative. Think of another way if the one you’re trying is not working.”

“Like what? You haven’t told me anything of what’s been going on. The only thing you’ve given

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me is that white ball and I don’t even know how you think the Aldröm helped-

“The Aldröm is the only existing remnant of Fate.” Ivlisar said, “It determined whether you would be to learn Lithuism or not. Of course it also gave you the starting power to trigger the flowing system inside of you-

“What? Stop referring to fate like it’s a person. It’s very confusing.” Nemeriel closed her eyes, “Fate is nothing. Fate is what people depend on; it is not real.”

Ivlisar’s eye twinkled, “In that you are very wrong Nemeriel. Fate is in fact the white lady. She is the ultimate creature that lives inside of everything. Like in the sun for example.”

Nemeriel thought of the apparition of the white lady as she was holding the Aldröm, “Ivlisar,” she squinted pensively, “When I channeled the Aldröm, well just before that; I saw a lady just like you describe. Was that Fate?”

“I believe it was.”

Nemeriel frowned, “But how did Fate help create Lithuism?”

“By changing fate Draugwë invented Necromancy, a magical power that completely opposes the rights of sorcery. So Saertiel did the same. They changed fate back, if you see what I mean. They created something that would put Fate right again; something that would successfully fight off Necromancy. They created Necromancy’s equal.”

Nemeriel let her neck fall back as she looked up at the ceiling of the room. “I still don’t-

“What about lighting those candles, hmm?” He said edgily.

For a second Nemeriel stared at him quizzically and then she said, “Yes Master.”

“Channeling involves self-belief and you have very little of that right now. To channel correctly you must use the power you just sucked from the Aldröm and re-channel it into the form of light-fire. Direct your power at the brackets and surely you will manage to light at least one candle.”

“How do I turn it into fire? How do I direct it anywhere? How do you think I can control this? I honestly doubt-

“Nemeriel, as long as it is not in yourself that you doubt then all should work as planned. The magic will not fail you.”

“I don’t doubt myself, I doubt Lithuism.” she retorted.

“Excellent,” Ivlisar answered, “Now, let us begin. Feel the Aldröm in your veins. Feel it. Now in a quick breath get rid of it.”

Ivlisar stepped forward and held out his hands as if he were praying, palms facing the sky. He breathed in and then as he exhaled a faint glowing light played around his fingers. Nemeriel watched and then breathed in and out again. As she glanced at her hands she saw the daintiest wisp of pale smoke and then nothing.

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“Again,” Ivlisar said, “Again!”

She closed her eyes, breathed in, out and then...another wisp of smoke.

“It was bigger this time, with all due respect.” Ivlisar whispered bleakly as he looked over her shoulder.

“You do it then.” Nemeriel demanded haughtily.

Ivlisar smiled and suddenly sparks of red flame caught on his hands. He blew the fire off of his fingers as if he were blowing a feather. The sparks scattered and lit three candles all at once.

“Your turn,” he grinned, the wrinkles at his eyes shining.

Nemeriel nodded.

“Yes Master.” Ivlisar insisted.

Nemeriel ignored him and concentrated on the candles.

As she thought of the Aldröm she felt an odd heat touch her fingers and on opening her eyes she saw little waves of pure white light cascading off the palm of her hand and the tips of her fingers.

“You did it!” Ivlisar exclaimed. He took her hands in his and extinguished the light. “Well done!” He shook her by the shoulders, his face glowing, “Again. But this time… fire.”

Nemeriel breathed in and then out, but this time imagined the redness Ivlisar had produced last time. Her fingers felt the heat again and as she opened her eyes she saw the debris of a weak little red light.

“Again.” And Nemeriel could feel the faith in his voice.

She kept her eyes open this time. With a sudden urge her fingers caught fire and in her surprise she blew out the first three lighted candles that Ivlisar had made before.

“You’re right Nemeriel, I did say you had to light every candle,” his eyes gleamed and he slowly walked away and out of the room, closing the Lone Chamber’s heavy door behind him.

Grinning to herself, Nemeriel lit the candles one by one, running around the room and dancing around the Aldröm’s eerie light.

Finally when all were done she left the room but before closing the door she thought of something. Her thoughts lingered on the White Lady she had seen as she wondered. Didn’t Fate know everything, didn’t she know the future? Nemeriel pulled off a boot before she could change her mind and lose her nerve. She then placed the shoe in the crack of the door and stood up slowly.

“There,” she said quietly, “I’ll be back.” Her eyes lingered curiously on the Aldröm and then she left.

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Chapter 14: Fate

Ivlisar was already sitting at the dining table, his eyes searching the room, deep in thought, as if something was bothering him.

“What is it, Master?” Nemeriel sat down quietly.

“Ah, Nemeriel! I presume all the candles are lit.”

“Yes.”

“Master,” he reminded habitually, “Let us have lunch.” He clapped his hands as Nemeriel looked down sullenly at her bowl of soup.

She coughed and glanced up at Ivlisar’s far away look. The King of Kings jolted and once having grabbed his attention she spoke, “Does Fate...can Fate tell the future?” She wanted to be sure before she asked.

“She very well could. But no, Fate never speaks of the future. To tell the future is the oracle’s job. To know it, is Fate’s.”

Nemeriel bit her lip, “But you say that Fate knows everything.”

Ivlisar squinted in thought, “Listen, Fate is the past the present and the future. She has lived all times and all moments. She knows all and sees all and has watched life several times. She is the one who gives the words that form prophecies. She is the one that lives in Helwen. She is merely the balance, there when all else fails, or for example, when Necromancy, something that should never have existed, comes along. Fate will be there to shed light and to help make Lithuism. Fate knows, oh yes, but she will never tell. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Nemeriel smiled, “I understand Master.” She bent over her soup to hide her disappointment and began to drink from the bowl. The broth was sweet and at the perfect temperature. “What’s the rest of the plan for today.”

“Practise.” Ivlisar leaned back on his chair and placed his hands on his stomach, “You didn’t think you were done did you? There is still much to do and much to re-do. Channeling is a hard concept, it will take you more than one morning to perfect. However, you have surprised me in doing exceptionally well on your first day.” Despite the fact that the words of the comment were quite kind, the tone the compliment was delivered in was slightly surprised instead of admiring.

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Nemeriel stared at her fingers. Was it so hard for him to make her feel good about herself? She blushed and suddenly stood from the table. “Do I have to be anywhere this afternoon?”

“Yes. There is more work to be done.” He smiled.

“Can I have a br-

“You hardly did anything this morning, come now, Nemeriel, I thought you had more back bone than this. Did the disciplined elves teach you nothing?”

“I am not an elf.”

“That was a rhetorical question,” Ivlisar shot back, and then after a second, “I believe you lived in Lirhatael for the fourteen years of your life, that much time spent with the elfish customs would leave anyone a mark. That is what I meant, at least.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Sit down.”

Nemeriel ignored him; glared at him, “Where shall I meet you next?”

Ivlisar sighed, “In the Grounds would be nice, but I think it would be easier on the both of us if I came to get you at the front door. The ways of this castle are countless and only I know all of the paths. To be safe, I will see you in the main-hall.” He said slowly, and then, “Nemeriel sit.”

“What?” she asked haughtily.

“Sit first.” She sat. “Is there something wrong?”

“No.” She answered, her face burning.

“If you thought this would come easily then you were wrong.” He was quiet for a long time until he stood and left her scowling at the dining room floor and thinking over and over what on earth he meant.

When she finally left the table herself she pushed back her chair and the remainder of soup sloshed over the edges of her bowl, staining the brims and setting the rectangular place-mat askew.

*

“Simple building blocks,” Ivlisar’s voice was drowned out by the droning of the afternoon wind, “Are what I am going to teach you. Simple but effective.” By his feet was a collection of the black fires from the Lone Chamber. The grounds were vast and windy but it seemed the flames could hold. “Here,” he handed Nemeriel a candle and said, “Scoop it up and throw it at me.”

“What is it?”

“Necromancy.”

“Did you make these?” Nemeriel asked suddenly stiff.

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Slowly, Ivlisar nodded.

Nemeriel blinked and then looked down. She grinned toothily, her suspicion replaced by curiosity. She placed her hand beneath the glow and watched, fascinated, as the black-blue fire crackled in her palm. The light felt dangerously attractive and she almost heard whispers, whispers of agony coming from the ball. Her glazed look disappeared and she took her eyes off the ball in fear and disgust.

Looking up she saw Ivlisar gingerly place a blindfold upon his forehead. When he was done tying the edges Nemeriel threw the flame in her time.

Though her toss was quite gentle, the fire whizzed from her fingers with surprising speed, as if of its own accord. As it neared Ivlisar’s head a loud bang emitted from his figure and before him shimmered a glowing pale yellowish-white shield made of what seemed like solid light. Nemeriel hadn’t even seen him raise an arm; he was quick, quicker than she had expected.

Ivlisar pulled his hands apart and the shield disappeared.

“Channel it.” He roared over the howls of the breeze, “Channel your power and the magic will come naturally. Use your instinct and your reflexes. I am faintly aware that you are fairly good at following and using both.” Ivlisar said this as he untied the blindfold. “Your turn.” He said. “First we start without the eye-piece.”

Nemeriel stopped reaching for the cloth, nettled, even though she could never have handled the task blindly. “Yes Master.”

Ivlisar showed her the breaking movement with his hands and as she copied him a faint yellow light flickered in between them, like a glass panel that was badly made.

“Very good, but stronger next time.”

Nemeriel nodded, “I think I’m ready for those.” She pointed at the box of Necromancy fire. It raged within the cage but did not burn the wood nor dissipate into the wind.

Ivlisar raised an eyebrow at her.

“No more doubting Ivlisar. I’m ready.” Nemeriel smiled hesitantly.

The King of King’s looked her up and down and then laughed, “Very well. Now stand back,” he leaned down to grab a handful of flame and ‘whizz’! The fire looked faster now it was coming at her. Its menacing spin through the air froze her body and it was too late to scream when the fire hit her chest. Her cries were muffled and as Ivlisar bent to pick her up from the grass she saw a faint smile on his lips.

“What?” She groaned as she sat up, rubbing her ribcage.

“There is a slight difference in between precaution and doubt, dear Nemeriel.”

The princess growled and then stood up, wincing.

“It’ll be gone soon. The pain I mean,” Ivlisar examined her carefully, “It shouldn’t last long.”

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He was right, in a few minutes Nemeriel was up and willing to try again. The Necromancy was weaker and less strong than it would be in battle. If she wanted to survive, then she needed to learn.

“Are you sure.” Ivlisar said warningly.

“I wasn’t ready last time, now I know how fast it comes, this time I’ll have the time I spent on being surprised spare for thinking.”

“Good then,” Ivlisar readied himself with another handful and scooped the fire.

Quickly it soared again but Nemeriel stretched her hands and a thin shield loomed before her. The flame was deflected but at its touch the shield shattered instead of withstanding like Ivlisar’s.

“Well enough.” Ivlisar said contemplatingly, “But you can do better.”

He threw another and another, each time the shield shattering at its wake. However, on the last remainder of spark Nemeriel closed her eyes and timed her bated breaths. Each one counted…

Though she didn’t see the flame fly she felt its heat approach her shaking fingers and as she drew the shield in the air the same bang that had emitted from Ivlisar’s shield came from her’s. The sound was loud and shook Nemeriel’s eyes open. Slowly she stopped squinting and realized her shield was still intact. Looking up and grinning Nemeriel began to speak,

“Ivlisar, look! I-

But Ivlisar was gone, only a wisp of his cloak and an odd white light was left, until that too disappeared as the two tall figures turned the corner back into the building.

“Where-

Nemeriel asked, her voice faltering. As her heart dropped so did her defenses. The shield disappeared with a pop and the burning flames around her were all that was left from that afternoon’s practise.

As she trudged back to the castle Nemeriel passed the Lone Chamber. At first her breaths stopped, from the angle at which she was standing the door looked locked. But as she approached it she realized it was still propped open by her boot. She sighed in relief, then smiled slyly, and walked on; however as she began to slip away she couldn’t help notice that the white light of the Aldröm was shining through; as if it had been turned on.

Shrugging, she climbed the spiral stairs and for the first time since that morning Nemeriel dropped onto her bed and sighed. She curled up on the sheets and before she could remind herself dinner and a hot soup would be waiting for her in an hour, she dropped off and didn’t awake until late that night.

Her white face flashed again and the low whistle of a pipe blasted into a scream. The white lady’s image faded in synchronization with the crack of thunder and lightning from outside. Nemeriel sat up in cold sweat. Her eyes were dizzy and her head heavy. Climbing onto the windowsill next to her bed she wrapped her hands around her knees and let the tears seep from her face. It was

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so cold and so dark. The loud sound of the drips of rain stampeded Nemeriel’s splitting head.

A sudden memory reached her, its pang catching her breath. It was a long time ago, when Nemeriel was only nine. She had had a bad dream and Rindis had heard her screams in the night. Seeking warmth and reassurance Nemeriel had stumbled to her parents room in fright. The dark endless maze to the King’s chamber was long and wearisome but at last Rindis heard the knocks of her daughter. The Queen had stepped into the hallway and had taken Nemeriel into her arms. The heat of her breast cradled Nemeriel’s little head and soon she was asleep again.

But this time, no hands would hold her. No arms but her own would cradle her sore body. You’re on your own now. Nemeriel thought resignedly, wondering why it had taken her so long to realize she missed them. All of them. Prayer, her Father her Mother, the warmth of Lirhatael. Everything was gone now.

The tears cascaded faster and faster on her cheeks until finally she remembered. The boot was still lodged between the door and the Lone Chamber. Her plans had been to leave after dark but it seemed her slumber had brought the excursion to a later hour.

Jumping numbly down from the windowsill, Nemeriel put her one boot upon her coldest foot to keep it warm. The marble floor was freezing and even Ivlisar’s cloak could do little to fight the harsh winds that tended to pass through the open windows. Nemeriel’s mind flashed to Kimso and the cloak she had given her. She thought of how it had kept her warm upon the plains. Sighing, she wondered where Ivlisar had put it.

Climbing soundlessly down the stairs Nemeriel recalled what Ivlisar had said, ‘Did the elves teach you nothing?’

Yes, Nemeriel thought to herself, they did. They taught me stealth and how to view things with the mind of a predator.

And as she creeped through the hallway she snaked around the castle until finally finding the Lone Chamber’s signature threshold.

Sneering, she leaped forwards and gasped. Her shoe had been kicked to one side and coincidentally another boot blocked the doorway. Or perhaps not so coincidentally. A white, silver boot; Ivlisar. Peering into the room she saw the eerie shine and figure of the white lady. The Aldröm had been turned on.

The lady that had so inconsiderately ventured Nemeriel’s dreams that night bobbed slowly.

In front of Fate, there stood sure enough the King of Kings, his stout body slightly lopsided due to the fact that he only wore one shoe.

Nemeriel cursed under her breath and then reached forward to retrieve her boot. Replacing it onto her foot she felt the warmth partially return to her body.

Then she sat still, her back against the door and her brow furrowed in anger. Finally Ivlisar spoke.

“It is common knowledge Fate, you cannot blame me for explaining-100

“Common knowledge! I think not. You yourself admit that she said she didn’t know Fate is living until we met.” A silky voice rose shrilly through the air, “Listen Ivlisar, you have lived your life. You have pledged yourself to the sky and to me, that is the only reason you live...so well. So now you keep your promises. You have already spent your time in Indildris, your age is over. Now you must live just to live because otherwise you must face death-

“You shall not threaten me in my home.” Something like thunder resonated in his voice that night, and nothing had ever heard him yell that way.

“Your home?” Fate shrieked, “If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t be alive. You wouldn’t have a home, or garden nor fountain! If it weren’t for me there wouldn’t be Indildris, nor Atva nor anything. Nothing would exist, nothing would have existed and certainly nothing will be! Without me the only thing that would live on would be time, and if that ever happens, you of all things that will be left behind by my merciless hand, will feel the strike!”

“I do not live because of you.” Ivlisar said suddenly, “You cannot pretend you own me.”

“Ah, yes I had forgotten.” Fate tried to sound haughty but she only sounded scared now, “I only wish I had killed the previous Fate earlier. What a fool he was.”

Ivlisar fell quiet for a moment, “I only meant well.”

“You always mean well,” Fate sneered, “You have been warned several times Ivlisar not to mess with Fate. You never learn your lesson do you? I allowed you to teach the girl Lithuism, that is my final straw! You don’t understand, each inbalance in life is a painful wrench at my scale. Each inbalance shoots searing pains into my back. It is always I who must run in and pull good down again.” she took a heavy breath, “Any other attempts to meddle with things and I shall be here, at the stroke of midnight to face you.”

A loud crashing noise filled the castle walls and the light of the white lady was gone. No shaft shone through the door and Nemeriel found herself in total darkness.

Ivlisar’s tired footsteps, uneven by the loss of his shoe, marked how much closer he came to Nemeriel’s hidden body. Though she had slinked to hide behind another wall she knew that to run would be risky but that her disguise wouldn’t suffice. She was stuck.

Closer, closer. Thump, clunk, thump, clunk.

The noises became a pattern in her head, anything to divulge her mind from the fear of being caught that plagued it.

Thump, clunk, thump, then there was a pause and then, clunk, clunk, clunk.

Ivlisar stepped into the moonlight and his haggard expression lodged itself in Nemeriel’s throat; never had she seen his respectable face seem so defeated nor bitter.

“Nemeriel,” he said quietly, “Nemeriel its alright.”

The princess’ eyes widened. Rindis’ voice echoed in her voice, Nemeriel, she had said, Nemeriel it’s alright.

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Nemeriel stood up and crawled out from her hiding place. She was about to open her mouth to explain when Ivlisar cut her short, “What are you really down here for?”

Nemeriel looked down at the floor, “I don’t know.”

“You know.” His temper was short that night and his tone sharp.

“I-I...I thought Fate could tell me...tell me something about my family. About my father.” Her mind jumped wincingly to Thiralas. “Its just...I’ve heard about the dwarf King and I- the future… it’s just-”

Ivlisar turned around and pointed at the door, “You cannot come here again without my permission. As you may have heard, Fate is not to be meddled with.” His eyes burned as he said this and with great difficulty, he smiled. “Good night.”

Nemeriel nodded gently and walked away. She could feel his icy stare dig into her neck but she did not turn around. She didn’t the whole way back to her room, her fingers clenching and unclenching unceasingly. Finally as she opened her door she peered down the hallway from her chamber and closed her eyes. She knew if she looked too long she’d begin to imagine shadows. Blinking suddenly she snapped the door shut and coughed and sobbed on the corner of her bed longing and injustice clawing at her heart.

Chapter 15: The forces of magic

The next morning was silent and cold. Nemeriel had decided she would not grieve anymore, but with that vow to herself there had to come strength, and she had none. She did not speak the entire time that she sat in front of her bowl of herbs; glaring at it.

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Ivlisar remained quiet also, but his eyes were pitying and deep. When he eventually stood from the table, he watched Nemeriel intently.

“We’re at the Lone Chamber this morning, princess.” He said curtly and then turned away.

As his footsteps fell amidst the noises of the wind, Nemeriel finally left the table. She did not want to work that day but as she thought of her family she also thought of Indildris. They depended on her, even if they didn’t know it yet. She needed to learn the counterattack or no one would.

Trudging on through the hallway, which was incidentally yellow and bright that day, she turned the corner through another door and finally came face-to-face with Ivlisar.

“Good, we can begin.” He pulled her into the room and sat her on a chair. Near the back of the chamber there still glinted the Aldröm, the only living piece of Fate the world has.

“There is something I must explain.”He said softly.

Nemeriel glanced at the white lady’s light again and frowned, “Are you allowed to tell me this?” She paused and added tentatively, leering, “You’ve got to be careful you know.”

Ivlisar raised an eyebrow, “Do not interrupt me. Now, listen closely.”

Nemeriel glowered at him, “Yes Master.”

He sat back in his own chair and looked up at the ceiling, “Because you are a human, you do not have the magical core of an elf. If you would have had that light inside of you from the start then Lithuism would have surely come quite easily to you. However, I had to find a way of inserting a place from which you could channel your power. You did not have any magical properties, you were not practised in any more that basic magic and so I decided I had to brand your soul with something. The Aldröm ball gave a sort of permanent light inside of you. It made up for the magic that was never there... It also was another test. Fate needs to give you permission to learn. It is her ‘branch of magic’ as she likes to call it, she doesn’t want to share it so freely. She invented an initiation. The pain of the ball, the determination of the apprentice.”

“What about you? She needed to give you permission to teach, didn’t she?” Nemeriel shot back.

Ivlisar stared at her coolly, “As well.” He admitted, “Nonetheless, now you know why this will be difficult. Now you know why nothing will be fair to you for the next six weeks. Now you know that to carry out the process of learning Lithuism you will have to be something more than Nemeriel. You will have to become Nemeriel the Lithuist.”

The frown disappeared from the princess’ brow and the retort she had ready melted on her tongue as she nodded, “I know.” She said quietly, biting down on her lip. “But maybe if I had more time-

“There is no time. Besides, I know you can do this. You are intelligent for a human, you have the advantage of having lived with the elves. Your reflexes are quicker your senses more practised. You have been chosen in a prophecy Nemeriel, that can only mean that your destiny lies in Lithuism. I’m not saying that the power of the prophecy will ever be able to propel you through

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life alone but encourage, yes, and strengthen you beyond the extent of others, certainly.”

“Look Ivlisar, I know you think that you’re helping but you’re not. Explaining things hurts. It just reminds me that everything I do could have a negative consequence if not done the proper way.”

This time it was Ivlisar’s turn to be surprised and curious, “What do you mean?”

Nemeriel took a deep breath, “My father told me that there are two ways this prophecy can go-

“But that’s impossible, prophecies have one meaning, only one. Perhaps Erethor meant that there are a lot of ways of interpreting it or maybe that-

“I know what he said,” Nemeriel spoke confidently but something in the elfling tone in her voice had changed. Her words shook and her eyes began to harden. “If I don’t learn Lithuism in time and if I don’t bring the humans through the dawn river before Mersuithiel finds out there’s another race...Atva will be in the clutches of the Necromancy Queen.”

Ivlisar sat dumbstruck on the chair that he had placed in the Lone Chamber before. He was wringing his hands and continuously frowning at the floor.

***

The rest of the morning was a blur. Ivlisar’s determination seemed to have spread like fire within him. He was harsher, expecting quicker reactions and quicker success. His eyes didn’t stop contemplating Nemeriel’s every wrong move. He didn’t praise he only pointed out what could be done better.

Light after light, Necromancy after Necromancy, her hands were shaKing by the time lunch time arrived.

“You must feel, Nemeriel! You are always angry at my criticism but instead you must feel this anger and regenerate it into power. Channel! You know this Nemeriel!” Ivlisar walked around her glaring. “We have gone over this countless times and yet-

Nemeriel felt her hands light up, of their own accord and a smile creeped up her face, “Ivlisar,” she said hoarsely, “I- I I’m maKing white light! It’s white Ivlisar!”

The King of King’s turned, his hawk-eyes glinting with curiosity. “What?” he said suddenly.

Nemeriel’s hands were shining with the most brilliant white light she had ever seen. It shimmered in between her fingers. Grinning she looked up at her master.

“Throw it at me.” He said softly.

Nemeriel frowned, “Pardon-

“Quickly before it goes out!”

Nemeriel glanced at her forearms and then sent the white ball of light in Ivlisar’s direction with a relieving force.

Ivlisar with a surprising speed caught the ball of light in his hands and slowly, whilst muttering 104

under his breath, turned the sphere into a black one, radiating dark magic.

“Necromancy,” he said softly, and threw the ball at Nemeriel.

Bringing her hands out in the form of a shield Nemeriel replicated the spell she had learnt the day before. The two magics struck and the white barrier turned half of the ball to its original luminescent color. It then spun to the ground and rocked, its black and white sides fighting as if the sorcerers were still at war.

Ivlisar held his breath, squinting and scrutinizing the ball with his utmost attention. Although unsure to what he was looKing at Nemeriel nonetheless followed his lead.

Then, just as her eyes clapped with the small sphere she saw the white overcome the black and the ball turned ivory colored again.

“Amazing…” Ivlisar whispered, “Impossible almost, unless…”

The princess would have complained; saying Ivlisar never believed in her to do it and that it was nothing amazing and that it was just practise, but the smile on her face was growing and she simply let her success fly.

“Just like magic.” Nemeriel grinned and put a knee to floor. She scooped the ball into her hands and waited for Ivlisar to say ‘again’ or ‘relax’, but he just frowned and made to walk away; however the princess called out to him before he could leave.

“Come back here,” she said hotly, her smile gone; vanished into thin air, “Come back,” she stomped, “You always go. But I have questions and I need you to understand-

“You’ve got a gift.” Ivlisar stated simply.

Nemeriel sat quietly, her jaw twitching.

“You want to know how you are channeling so successfully. Well, I think that Fate may have been generous in giving you her power.” Ivlisar said this more to himself than anyone. “You think Fate is a neutral creature, fair and full of balance, but she’s got her interests…” the King of Kings grumbled spitefully.

The princess looked up, only one thing caught her ear, “What power? Fate can do magic? I thought she was magic?”

“Yes but…” Ivlisar shook his head disbelievingly, “You’ve just made the Dothrul, a ball of light that scalds. It took me months to complete that exercise.”

Nemeriel blushed, “I asked you a question. Answer me!” she bashfully changed the subject.

Ivlisar looked up.

Nemeriel, glad she had regained her audience from his stupefied mumbling state, continued, “What is magic? For me to carry out Lithuism I need to understand its each and every aspect, don’t I? I mean, I’ve been worKing and worKing at something that I don’t even know a single thing about. I don’t know what works and how it does so, I don’t even know why Fate could help

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me channel or why I can do the things I can.”

After a while the King of Kings replied. “It’s all magic.” Ivlisar smiled toothily.

“I know,” Nemeriel said testily. “But if you could-

Ivlisar nodded despite the fact Nemeriel was not expecting his agreement and assent to clarification so quickly. She knew that knowledge hurt when not bent and used and distributed properly but something nagged at her. Her curiosity led her to the darkest of places sometimes but she needed to know, and this time she had a good excuse to find out.

“Fate is magic. Fate can do magic. Both your questions were properly guessed.”

Nemeriel waited for Ivlisar to elaborate. “Master?” she said when he hadn’t spoken.

For a second Ivlisar frowned and then, whilst twiddling his thumbs he began to talk.

“You’re right, I have been too delicate in giving you information. Now I see it is essential for you to know everything. It is all fine for Fate to aid you and give you a particularly large amount of magic, but when I tweak chances the slightest I am punished.” he stood and began to pace the room. “Power is a poison to anyone who likes the first taste of it and Fate was unfortunately particularly drawn to it. If she would have ruled any longer then life would have changed for the worse. Years of being exiled has turned her into a cunning woman. Her thoughts have turned from how to make the world balanced to how to make to the world hers. She has in her hands years of knowledge. She knows she has enough power to bring herself back into Atva again, she just doesn’t know how, and if we give her long enough to ponder it, she will discover means, believe me.”

“What would happen if she returned, wouldn’t all her power be left behind to…” Nemeriel faltered.

“To whom? Nobody, because in order for Fate’s wielder to change, Fate would have to be killed. She who kills Fate becomes Fate, it is an ancient law. But if nobody kills Fate then I assume, as I believe she does too, that the power of her position would travel with her to the Atvian world, giving her an alien amount of strength and dominance. Fate could bring what was once balance into chaos.”

Nemeriel shook, “What does this mean then?”

“It means that you must learn Lithuism to your best ability,” he answered curtly, ending the conversation. “Back to work.”

“But I want to know how Fate has power and what magic is.”

Ivlisar sighed, “Fate has always been...in spirit. I was the first live soul to live. I am called the Eldest or the First, but let us first establish that Fate has always, always been, even before me. Now, as for how Fate holds magic, that is because Fate has a different magic from me and the sorceresses. Fate holds the magic of the future and the magic of knowledge. Fate is magical of her own accord and that is why I wanted Fate to give you her magic instead of you taKing magic from the world. An Element wielder is only as powerful as his or her surroundings. I didn’t want you to

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depend on anything, or at least not so much. Fate’s magic is the strongest because it is her’s and her own. She takes from the source of herself, she takes from the source of her knowledge, which is endless, so she is evidently the most powerful. Luckily, ancient rules have kept her strapped to the sky and in this domain. She cannot rule unless...she finds a way to get to Atva.”

“Whereas you…” Nemeriel questioned.

“I take my magic from six main sources. Fire, water, air, earth, light and dark. Each source is an element, and elements began as runes. Runes are said to have been the beginning of magic. Since I have lived through that time I can confirm that indeed the runes were, the first time magic ever had reached reality. The runes were said to be a way to connect the power of our universe and latch it to Atva. All that empty space wasted, all that power lost. So, people named runesmen began to draw pictures, pictures that had the power to call to the outside magical worlds. For a long time the inhabitants of Atva remained familiar with these runes but with time the alphabet was lost and a huge portion of our world’s magic was gone in the blink of an eye. However, four drawings stayed imprinted in our lives. The first runesmen must have crafted a very particular order of letters so that the magic should remain eternal. Either way, now those four elements carry infatigable power and magic. Before magic, earth, water, fire and air used to be things - nothing more. Now they are sources.”

“Weren’t you alive during the time of the runes? Can’t you just-

“I’ve been sworn to secrecy, another boundary Fate has put against us, however, this time I am on her side. Fate is right to ban the bringing back of the runes. They were fascinating things but terrible when wielded by the wrong hands. Elements are limited sources, which is why they are not as dangerous, but before, there were other powers that were sucked straight from the atmosphere. As you can imagine, those sources were infatigable.”

Nemeriel nodded, “What about the elements, how do you draw power from them.”

“As King of Kings I was given full power over the elements. The previous Fate trusted me with that power, she knew I would distribute it well. I decided to cut the burden in half to two sorceresses to flank the edges of Indildris. One sorceress got the ability to control fire and the earth, the other to control the sky and the sea. As you know Lithuism and Necromancy was only created recently so it is not necessarily a decided trait for sorceresses, more a branch to study, only. Together, the two sorceresses carry all of the magic that Indildris holds, their representatives chosen by me every time a witch shall die.” Ivlisar glanced at Nemeriel, “You know what happens of course.”

“Yes, the child must be of age, sixteen or above, and in times of death, she or he will be chosen to be the next sorceress. She or he is granted immortality unless killed in battle. She or he is chosen as a baby but does not know it until the time has come.” Nemeriel smiled tightly.

“Precisely.”

“But what about the elves, how come they have magic?” Nemeriel’s thoughts flitted to Prayer’s magical apprenticeship that year.

“Elves are born with their own microscopic magical core. Of course their power is tiny compared 107

to elemental magic or Fate’s. But they can still improve their magic, therefore, put to the right work, an elf can become exceedingly powerful. The reason they are born with magic is because one of the ancient runesmen was indeed an elf and he branded himself with the power of the runes. He was so strong that the magic carried on down to his children and so on. It took me many years to track him down. Many years to put a stop to his power.”

“How did you do it? Stop him, I mean.”

“I captured him in a rock. In a slate. I runed the boulder shut and with him, all the power and knowledge of the runes was closed into a huge mountain. He was an element wielder, but favored in fighting with air. Trapping him in earth was so as to make sure he was preserved. He was very wise and held many keys on his fingers. It would have been foolish to kill him. He could still come of use.”

“You let him live?”

“I did. He still is living; though as a half soul, as a dying soul, one that would wither in the light. He still is stuck in the Slokah. Still waiting for someone to crack the stone and release him.”

“What was his name?” she asked quietly.

“Requiem.”

Nemeriel nodded, changing the subject, “What about dwarves, do they have magical properties?”

“Yes, like me they are able to draw magic from the elements but they are not as efficient in magic-wielding for it takes time and effort to find a source when it is not in you, whereas an elf can concentrate wholly on the outcome and not the income of the sorcery.”

“So that’s why you chose to brand me with Fate’s light instead of teach me how to draw from the elements.”

Ivlisar cocked his head to one side, “Yes and no. I knew Fate’s light would give you more power but since you don’t have the magical core the elves do then you wouldn’t be able to draw from the elements anyway. You have no magical tie with them, no pure core that intertwines you with the rest of Atva’s society. You can be taught Lithuism because it’s source is the sun, and the sun is a component of both my and your world. The sun is actually a reflection of Fate and the world’s well-beings and happiness and that also is a component of both worlds.” Ivlisar twiddled his thumbs absentmindedly, “The fact that you could carry out small flits of magic before being branded at all is because the elves are able to incorporate magic into objects by giving a fraction of their core to support a bow or to make an arrow fly lucky. You must have been touching and using objects like these for years without knowing, thus picKing up dusts of magic throughout your life.”

Nemeriel’s eyes widened, “What about my bow?”

“Oh, I’ll have to take a look at it before I can say its power but I am sure that yes, your bow probably has some sort of trace in it...you know, it wouldn’t be wise to mention this to the elves…” Ivlisar smiled and his eyes crinkled, “But for hundreds of years they have been forging bows and

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are exceedingly good at it, don’t get me wrong, but to use such a meticulous weapon would require strength and miraculous accuracy...and with a string so tight as braided Layar hair, well it would be almost impossible to shoot far, straight, with good aim and with class…” he chuckled, “Without a tiny bit of magic...don’t you think?”

Nemeriel glared at him. Bows had been the elves’ specialty for years and just because the make of them was so complicated doesn’t mean they weren’t skilled enough to use them. However, a tiny voice told Nemeriel in her head that this was probably true and that for years the skill she had taken pride in (especially since she was a human) had been forever maimed with magic.

“What about Fate, how is there magic stored in her?”she asked stiffly.

Ivlisar continued to grin but answered the question all the same, “Fate is not the ultimate power Nemeriel. She is merely a reflection of the years that have past and the years to come. That is one mighty power you are correct but Fate herself does not hold this power, her body and form does, thus she herself is only as strong as her weakest era, and right now, Mersuithiel’s bad actions and spread of evil and calamity is probably dimming Fate’s light. Between you and me I think that Fate’s true reason of allowing her power to be channelled into you is not for balance but for herself, so she can become stronger.” Ivlisar sighed a little and looked into the distant, “Don’t you see, her light is not the light of the sun, but the light of the years! The light of our people’s good deeds. The sun is not the element, Fate’s channel of goodness is. The sun takes energy from Indildris’ elves and dwarves and perhaps even from the klorns. So it is not the sun our fifth element, but generosity and happiness and love and care.”

Nemeriel inclined her head slightly.

“Now there is another thing you must know.” the King of King’s continued, “Necromancy and Lithuism, the two factors of life and death have proved themselves to have the equal power of an element. Fate’s channel is the source for Lithuism, as you know and we have already established that Lithuism or the power that channels it is another element. However as we discovered the fifth rune we also discovered the sixth. Necromancy. So, when you use Lithuism, you must know that you are using a part a life, so feel it. Whilst Necromancy feeds off of death and hatred and vengeance, you must know that you are using the happiness of the people before you and turning it into a beacon. You must know that every laugh, smile and helping hand is not to be wasted.” Ivlisar nodded encouragingly, “Feel the magic. You need to understand that magic is not a bow. It is not something you can physically work on, you must also exercise your mind and this will prove to be a challenge.”

“I am not dumb, nor slow.”

“Did I say that? No, but you are lazy and too curious for your own good.” Ivlisar’s eyes gleamed, “Now….again!”

Nemeriel heaved herself from the ground and relaxed her shoulders. Feeling her body buzz, she let the magic roll from her fingers and ignite her palms like shivering stars.

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Chapter 16: Again

Lunch was cold by the time the two Luthuists had reached the table.

“Soup.” Nemeriel said sarcastically. “What a surprise. You intend to please me Ivlisar with your cuisine!”

“Master Ivlisar,” The King of King’s chuckled as he corrected her.

Nemeriel’s grin faltered just the slightest as she began to feast on her concoction, her hunger getting the best of her.

“Now, we have already branded you with a light of your own, thus our source-snag has been successfully unsnagged, but there is still the fact of channelling. When you channel Nemeriel, you have this odd habit of seeKing outside sources when you know you don’t need to. The Aldröm’s light was put inside you so that you could use it.” Ivlisar watched Nemeriel’s frown intently, “This afternoon I will look over the method of self-seeping with you.”

“I know how to channel i just forget to find the source properly sometimes.”

Ivlisar grinned, “Very few times has the white light of the Aldröm shone on your fingers.”

“It’s happened twice at least.”

“Twice is not enough. Most of the time the fire is of a yellow, realistic tint. You must know, that it is not because the Aldröm’s light is far more powerful than a candle’s that I press the manner of correct channeling upon you, but because outside when you will be fighting Mersuithiel other people will be around most likely, and if you treat them like candles…well they will most likely die..”

Nemeriel’s stomach clenched as she stopped listening. She closed her eyes and tried helplessly to push the thought out of her mind. Fight Mersuithiel? Is that what it was all supposed to come down to. How could she had not thought of this? Well, she had, just never out loud, never said as if it were final. Breathing in sharply the princess looked up.

“Do you understand?” Ivlisar’s voice was fuzzy and out of place.

She nodded hastily, not caring if she needed lie. All she wanted was to leave the room. She waited painfully for Ivlisar to dismiss her from the table. Slowly the King of King’s glanced at Nemeriel’s empty bowl and nodded.

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The princess fled from her chair and, surprising herself, instead of going out into the ground, or to her chamber she sprinted all the way to the Lone Chamber. Something in her wanted to fight and then something else told her that she was but fourteen against a fully grown elf who excelled in dark magic and who had certainly had more that six weeks to train. Sighing and coughing back the tears Nemeriel stood in the eerie light of the Aldröm ball and closed her eyes. TaKing deep breaths she heard Ivlisar’s voice in her head. Again, again!

Grasping her frustration and filtering it as light Nemeriel held out her hands and finally breathed out again. The sound of a small ‘puff’ echoed across the room and then all the candles went out, leaving Nemeriel in a part-darkness. All was black except for a ring of a raging fire in the palms of her hands. The flames licked her skin with no effect, the callouses the Aldröm ball had made maKing her immune to the heat. Cursing, she watched as the clearly yellow flames caught the shadows on the walls around her. Then in surprise and partly curiosity, Nemeriel threw the ball to the ground and watched as it skidded across the floor.

Smiling she beckoned to the flames that still shone bright and revolved just above the ground. It seemed as if the light was a compact ball. As Nemeriel waved her arm the ball flew to her shins again and bobbed.

ThinKing suddenly, an idea suddenly came to her. Nemeriel remembered the time when she had converted the ball of Necromancy back to the white light she had at first conjured. CocKing her head Nemeriel wondered if turning her own fireball into an Aldröm replica would work.

Breathing in shakily and then holding her breath Nemeriel thought of her source. She imagined plucKing from a stream of silver rays and soon she felt the ground beneath her shake. Laughing she saw her hands light up with a pure white light. However, soon a pain began in her chest and black spots started to cloud her eyesight. Frowning in confusion, Nemeriel felt her knees give way as she swayed on the spot. Failing to stay standing, the princess fell to the floor and coughed out a white substance. The liquid dripped from her mouth to the stone floor. Disgusted Nemeriel screamed.

“Prayer! Prayothél! Pray...er-

***

A bright light flooded Nemeriel’s vision. Squinting painfully, an image slowly formed itself before her.

Five shimmering maids were tending to her almost robotically. Mumbling slightly Nemeriel noticed a short jab in her chest when she moved. One of the maids jumped back suddenly and then motioned for another to leave. For a while all was quiet. The remaining four maids all seemed awestruck by Nemeriel’s existence.

LooKing around Nemeriel saw a room that very much resembled the infirmary back at Lirhatael castle. The walls were lined with oxygen vines and the stained glass windows causing cascading colors of light to lift the princess’s spirits the slightest. Slowly Nemeriel’s gaze returned to her bed and she found herself be uncomfortably examined by the curious owl-like maids.

“Do- you- live- here?” Nemeriel asked, her voice gravelly and her words choppy. She had noticed 111

the cloud people before, but she had never thought they would appear anywhere else than at the table.

One of them shuffled nervously, her eyes constantly bowing to the ground.

Finally Ivlisar’s voice was audible through the hallway. Nemeriel sighed knowing that he would fix things for sure.

“Master she’s awake now-

“Out! OUT!” Ivlisar burst through the door and sent a ringing noise through Nemeriel’s ears. Wincing, she wished solely that he’d stop shouting. “Out! Out! Out!” he bellowed.

He clapped and the maids ran off, some of them disappearing like smoke. Nemeriel’s eyes widened and then she turned to Ivlisar for answers. However, his eyes thundered and his face was red.

“You are an idiot!” he said at last. “You are an insolent tree-hugging, curious, inexperienced, ELF! And you should darn well know it by now!”

Nemeriel shrunk slightly beneath the covers of her sick-bed. The ringing had finally subsided so she was eager to keep his anger at bay.

“You are so infuriatingly curious!” he carried on, “I wish you would just-

Nemeriel said coldly, “I don’t know what I’ve done but I assure you I’m very sorry for it.” she rubbed her ears angrily. “Everyone’s been shutting me out. Those maids of your’s...I-I didn’t know anyone else lived in the castle in fact-

“Of course somebody else lives in the castle!” Ivlisar snapped impatiently, “Who did you think cooked your dinner every meal? Anyway, they’re just cloud spirits, quite dimwitted if you ask me but very good at house-work and certainly very cheap. I make them myself.” He added quietly.

Nodding, Nemeriel felt her back contract and she closed her eyes painfully.

“Ah,” Ivlisar said more softly, “I’ve tried my best but it seems you’ve earned yourself three days off.” he sighed, “You are so...such a child. I’ve forgotten what it is like to have children, Nemeriel. I understand it was an accident but that doesn’t mean it’s not your fault. I suppose that is why I got so angry, because something silly like that and you could get yourself killed.”

“What?” Nemeriel asked.

“Killed. Infact, you should be dead.” He said this with an icy tone, one of a sour old man, “I don’t know how you could have survived it if it hadn’t been for...something extremely powerful.”

Nemeriel’s mind visited fleetingly her bow, her rings, her sister’s pendant...none of which seemed of anything special.

“No matter, perhaps it was just a stroke of luck.” Ivlisar blinked hesitantly, “Anyway, you ought to know what happened-

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“Yes.” she said frostily.

“First rule of any Magic.” he grumbled, “Never fight yourself. In other words, never try to overcome your own magic. If you do this, your body will explode and your mind won’t be able to pick the stronger incantation if you are fighting equally hard for both sides of you. Never.” he sighed. “Lesson learned, I hope.”

Nemeriel nodded stiffly.

“Good. In four days we begin to train.” Ivlisar’s eyes softened, “You are going to be weak for the next few days Nemeriel, just relax and the pain will subside. I’ll give you as many medicine variations as I can but until then the healing will have to happen on its own.” He looked as if he was going to add something, but then he left, leaving Nemeriel alone in the infirmary with a pounding head and a throbbing back.

The next day was calm, slow and boring. Ivlisar tended to her determinedly but only for short periods of time. The hospital room was often empty save for Nemeriel and she found the hours extensive and hot. The following morning was just as bad. However, when the last day finally clocked in Nemeriel’s movements hurt far less and she could walk without any pain or fatigue.

On the dawning of the fourth day Nemeriel awoke in her own bedroom and dressed not in white sick-robes but in her usual black ones. Her skin seemed to shine less than in the hospital which was the only change she found the most odd from the transfer; not being able to make shadows on her arms. Perhaps it was just the bright windows in the room that had made her luminescent, perhaps it was just the magical consequences of the infirmary.

Standing to leave her room she now made it a habit to leave the window uncovered so as to let the light stream in every morning. She smiled and then ran through the door and down to the breakfast table.

“Good morning!” Ivlisar smiled, “Glad you are well. Now, today I shall teach you something slightly different. Slightly more difficult too.”

Nemeriel sat down slowly, “Yes Master.”

“We are going to practice overtaKing.”

Nemeriel’s eyes widened, “But isn’t overtaKing like possessing and isn’t possessing a component and skill especially required for the use of dark-magic?”

Ivlisar nodded hesitantly, “But today we are not going to be possessing anything. You know that overtaKing is something very different. It is the tool we Lithuists use to counter attack possessing, a skill that will be essential and definitely required if you wish to excel in Lithuism.”

Nemeriel smiled, “Where to first?”

“I thought the Lone Chamber but then I decided on the grounds for today we will not only work on overtaKing but also on physical improvement. I believe you are an advanced Lithuist enough to start worKing with your bow again.”

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Nemeriel grinned, “Perfect.”

After finishing, the two walked down to the grounds but instead of going down one more flight to the lower land Ivlisar led Nemeriel up a winding staircase. Halfway through the journey the King of King’s recuperate a box that wouldn’t stop shaKing but said nothing to hint what was inside.

Finally they arrived upon a glassy see-through floor than looked as if it was the border of the sky.

“Endibildùr.” Ivlisar said quietly, “The highest point of the heavens that a mortal or any being in fact has ever walked or visited before over the many courses of history.”

Nemeriel watched her feet as they walked and were supported by nothing. Clouds of mist and pearly reflections dotted the landscape here and there but the rest of the atmosphere was a deep azure like a night sky despite the bright blue day that was dawning in the real world.

Ivlisar had started to unbuckle the box’s restraints already and was yelling at Nemeriel to step onto a cloud.

“Step on a cloud?” Nemeriel asked unconvinced, “How?”

Ivlisar glared at her, “Quickly,” he said as he struggled to keep the box shut.

Shrugging, Nemereil put her foot on to the cloud and felt the whole world swoop beneath her. Everything was less clear and it was so hard to keep her balance.Gradually, she centered herself and watched as the sky stopped spinning and as Ivlisar became one image again.

“You ready?” he asked, and before Nemeriel could nod he let go of the box and a flaming white ball of light exploded from the top of the container. It whirled around in one spot energetically and then slowed to a halt. It began to bob and then Nemeriel recognized it.

“I made that?” she said hoarsely.

Ivlisar nodded, “Through maKing this you got rid of alot of your energy. Now what I want you to do is take it back.”

Nemeriel frowned, “How-

“Concentrate on it and bring it to you.”

Nemeriel closed her eyes and then beckoned. She felt a gust of wind catch her and the ball was before her eyes when she opened them.

Startled, she stepped back and nearly fell of the cloud.

“Focus.” Ivlisar cried from below her.

“I am.” she said through gritted teeth, but she hadn’t spoken loud enough for her to hear him anyway.

Exhaling she put her hands around the ball and quickly breathed in. A cold stabbing pain reached her chest as if a knife had been pulled out of it. When Nemeriel had unstuck her clenched fist and opened her screwed up eyes she noticed the ball was darker red and much less white. Smiling

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through her agony Nemeriel stood again and inhaled suddenly.

The ball exploded into millions of pieces before her and it remains had turned black, a color they had never been before.

As Nemeriel searched for Ivlisar’s face she noted a silent smile of his lips. Feeling slightly dizzy she jumped down from the cloud and waited for the King to say something.

“I...I,” he muttered, “Well done.” he said finally.

Nemeriel felt his compliment surge through her veins and she stood up suddenly.

“You don’t need to practise that so much anymore. But you do need to know that if you are to take power from other people when you are tired it would be sensible to take from many in moderation than from one person. It is very dangerous to overtake but sometimes necessary. You could kill your victim if you are too greedy, but when practised and good at controlling the amount you take, it is a very useful skill to have. Of course Mersuithiel will know how to do the same with bad experiences. She in fact has the advantage that during war there is fear and suffering, and those two components are what she feeds on.” Ivlisar smiled, “But you did well, very well.”

Nemeriel laughed, “Thank you, but what about overtaKing? How do I know when it is safe to stop? How do I know when I need to overtake and when it is best to channel from my own source?”

Ivlisar put a hand on her head, “Well, when you are about to kill someone your body reacts. Depending on how you feel upon the matter of the magic, your body will either try to shut the process of the spell down or, try and carry on seeping the life from your victim. The only way to successfully overtake is if you have no interest in killing them in the first place. Now of course you will think this is easy then. You won’t believe that you would ever want to kill someone innocent but amidst battle you will have the adrenaline and anger all warriors do and then you will accidentally channel your anger and not the light and power of the Aldröm.” Ivlisar raised an eyebrow at her and she nodded for his continuation, “You must understand that overtaKing can be dangerous from all aspects. You must also understand that you have shown an amazing performance just a second ago. the average elf wouldn’t have managed to ace that so soon.” this time Ivlisar did not say so with pride but more with disbelief, “Which is why I believe that you can overtake without extensive practise. However, you must know that every time you overtake you are putting yourself in jeopardy because you are fighting against your own will; to kill or not to kill. You can only avoid this if you do as I said before, overtake merely for the interest of boosting your magical energy.”

Nemeriel sighed, “There are so many things I must know.”

Ivlisar frowned, despite the fact how lightly Nemeriel had spoken, “Don’t be so lazy, the world’s outcome is in your hands. You know this don’t you?”

Nemeriel felt a lump in her throat, “Yes, I know.” she snapped.

“Good, then let us continue.” he pointed at the cloud again, “This time you will be worKing with

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your bow. There will be moving targets and I want you to use your magic at times and incorporate your skill to bend the track of the arrow and manoeuvre it after being strung.”

Nemeriel didn’t like the idea of cheating. Despite what Ivlisar had said about the elves, she never remembered using magic during bow-practise herself in any case, but she carried out his will reluctantly.

“Yes Master.” and stepping onto the cloud she strung an arrow and waited with bated breaths. Her stanza was slightly shakier than usual due to the cloud’s jumpy surface but Nemeriel managed to steady herself in time.

Ivlisar clapped his hands and countless dark figures the size of klorns began running and Nemeriel from all sides. Stringing two more arrows into the already loaded bow string she then, at the same time, flew three arrows at once.

Three klorns dead.

She then whipped around and used an arrow as a knife. She recuperated her used ones as her eyes caught on the figures that had gotten shot. All the killed klorn-mirages were disappearing after having been wounded.

Ivlisar seemed nowhere to be seen but Nemeriel didn’t have time to search for him. One klorn after another. One dead after the other.

The time passed so quickly and as the last klorn fell Nemeriel didn’t even have flushed cheeks nor a pant in her regular calm breaths.

“Your magic.” Ivlisar said harshly, “Where is your magic?”

“I-” Nemeriel had forgotten about that.

“Again.”

The klorns re-appeared upon his call and the whole process re-winded, however, the second time Nemeriel influenced five of her arrows and managed to kill ten klorns with the same shot, her arrow whizzing from place to place. She used the speed and energy of light to propel the arrow tip.

“Better,” was Ivlisar’s congratulations at the end of the course. “To dinner I should think.”

“What about lunch?”

“My dear princess,” Ivlisar said silkily, “You do not think it is still midday do you?”

Nemeriel frowned, “How long-

“A long time. Now, take a bath and change into your second pair of black robes for dinner,” the King of King’s said, “Quickly.”

The two parted at the hallway and when Nemeriel had finished cleaning up and getting dressed it was already pitch black outside.

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“Your soup.” Ivlisar said, a small smile on his lips, “Dig in.”

Nemeriel picked up the silver spoon by her bowl and began to eat.

***

Each and every day, each and every week, for six weeks, was long and hard. Nemeriel studied concept after concept that rendered her mind to be filled with thoughts at night whilst her body yearned to sleep. They didn’t practise the bow-work again but Nemeriel often sat up late in the evening enchanting her arrows to swerve in the air. To describe the days as productive would be an understatement. By the last week Ivlisar seemed finally satisfied, and he believed that all that needed to be taught had been done so.

Chapter 17: Indirïs di Andûor

It was on the evening of the last day of the sixth week that Ivlisar called Nemeriel to his study. Nemeriel never knew he had a room of his own and she had never actually thought of it at all. However, in the letter she had received after returning from the baths stated clearly that she was to meet the King of Kings in his study.

Sighing, Nemeriel dressed in her black robes and descended down the spiral staircase. She glanced at the directions she was given and then followed them to what seemed like a dark corridor. Keeping down the path she turned left into a cool white marble door. The arch of the door was tall and strong and there was a small lion’s head knocker upon it. Disregarding the knocker, Nemeriel reached forward and pushed the stone, entering into a brightly lit room of thousands of candles.

Grinning, the princess stepped in and examined the chamber..

Golden walls and silver swirls upon them decorated the room. Ivlisar sat, gleaming on a long red 117

velvet chair that was positioned beneath an ebony desk, it’s intricately carved legs laying upon a heightened carpet of many blues and greens. Little fountains and stone sculptures of elves and dwarves darted across the far end of the room and just beside Ivlisar there glowed an iridescent globe of white. Just above his head, peppering the ceiling, there were stars and galaxies that shone dimly in the bright light.

Ivlisar stood up slowly, “Before you leave, there are things you must know. These things I assume you have not been told yet...I must say it is extremely lucky that the person who gave this cloak did not tell you what it truly was at first.” Ivlisar pulled Kimso’s cloak out from behind his desk and laid it out on the table-top.

Nemeriel, out of confusion, said nothing.

“Your knowledge would have thickened the klorns’ scent and they would have gone straight for you upon that plain instead of waiting for a clearer signal. Their eyesight is minimal as you should know, and they only saw you and your companion’s shadow. I will say it again, you were very lucky that night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talKing about,” Nemeriel said softly. She was sick and tired of hearing from people that yet another surprise was to be thrown into her abnormal life. She was so angry at everything that people called Fate that her hands began to tremble.

Ivlisar nodded, “I know, but I think for you to find out now would be wise.” he stood up and began to pace the room, “Do you recall us talKing about the beginning of Indildris and the creation of both Lithuism and Necromancy?”

Nemeriel nodded.

“Then do you also recall the name of Draugwë, and that it was he who started it all? Good, then I shall begin with the famous man Morosauv, Father of Death. He was of the previous war, a few hundred years back.”

“The war my grandfather died in. Well not by blood but-” Nemeriel corrected herself.

“Indeed. Now,” Ivlisar’s silver beard shook, his facial hair the only thing that distinguished him from the clean-shaven elves, “As you know, it is Fate that dictates prophecies. A part of her lives in my daughter Helwen, so you can guess that I would know each time a prophecy is made. Thus, not a few decades ago, Helwen recited your prophecy. Upon hearing of it I became very anxious; it seemed my suspicions had been confirmed, and that Morosauv’s disappearance did not account for that of Draugwë’s.”

Nemeriel’s glance sharpened, “Do you mean to say that you knew the Necromancer wasn’t gone. Do you mean to say that the Council spent decades without this knowledge. Without the warning that could have saved Willow’s Keep from the destruction and war it has endured?”

Ivlisar looked away from Nemeriel’s glaring eyes, “That’s not what I said. You are so driven by

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your emotions Nemeriel, perhaps you should just listen for once.”

Nemeriel gave him another glowering look.

“Very good. So, we were speaKing of Morosauv...to fully understand the future one must have a thorough idea of the past. One must also know that to understand somebody, one must also understand those around that person, for those we spend time with often shape the most part of who we are and what motivates our actions. The dear wife of Morosauv is a perfect example.” Ivlisar nodded at Nemeriel’s awestruck face, “Indirïs di Andûor was a most beautiful creature. An elf of the North, she was, strong and well practised in her trade. She was a weaver from near the wilder borders of Neteliar and as she grew older she met a young elf named,” he inclined his head, “Morosauv, the very same.”

Nemeriel nodded, saying nothing as the King of King’s continued.

“It was on an Autumn day, the time of year in which most of Indirïs’ clothes were sold. She had traveled through the Melltholl from her lonely cottage in Brodwin all the way to Horonduin, the capital. She would accustomly stay there until the end of September, selling cloth and cloaks and clothes and carpets to the busy elves of Neteliar. However, that year, she met someone who would keep her in Horonduin slightly longer than she had expected. Morosauv had been walKing through the markets one evening when his eye caught upon a most fair elf. Curious, he walked to the stand and thus Indïris met the Father of Death barley before his wake. The two elves, upon their meeting, formed the fate of Indildris simply by catching glances, without knowing it.”

Nemeriel seemed puzzled, “How do you know this? It happened such a long time ago.”

“You forget how old I am princess. You ask how I know these things, and I’ll tell you that living amongst the stars guarantees a rather satisfactory view of the world in Atva, I am proud to say with no lack of modesty intended, that I know all, see all and hear all that happens through this realm. Do not forget that, it seems that too lany already do.” he said almost bitterly.

Nemeriel did not answer.

Continuing fluently his previous conversation as if he has said nothing in between, Ivlisar spoke, “Morosauv, later that evening, asked for her hand in marriage. The weaver consented to his offer and over the years, moved permanently to Horonduin, bringing her trade with her to the busy city and the constant sale. For the most part, the couple were happy, they had even borne a baby girl whom they named Annes, until Morosauv was sent as a spy to Ibeldurn one day. Sometimes these excursions could take years instead of months and proved to be very dangerous

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assignments. Indirïs had begged Morosauv to stay and reject the errand but he refused to let down his people. Proud and loyal as he was, the elf left the following morning, leaving Indirïs alone with her new-born and full of sorrow.

“As we have discussed earlier, Morosauv met Draugwë in the mountains whilst watching the klorns and was easily overpowered and manipulated to do the Necromancer’s bidding. Now, since we already are informed on Morosauv’s story from then on, we shall return to Indilris for a moment and retell what Indirïs had been doing during that time.

“It is so that the lovely maiden waited, indeed she waited until finally the year had passed to five whole years. In despair and resignation, Indirïs returned to Brodwin with her elfling. She weaved there for another five years until the sale became hopeless and her work less and less attractive; sucumbing to the depths of her sadness. At last she moved to Prospero; the only place she thought would welcome her.”

Nemeriel sat rigid in her chair, her usual questioning demeanor gone, a sharp sense of attention replacing it.

“There Annes grew up, living her years of youth with the amazing freedom every child wants. However, there came a time when Indirïs became very ill. She had heard the rumors that said her husband had been in league with Draugwë though she refused to believe those who said so for a long time, she finally accepted the truth and was driven so mad by it that she stopped eating and drinKing in protest and despair. Annes tended to her mother until she died one fateful evening, an evening that proved to be a moment of great importance in the future of Atva. The moment in which Indirïs gave her only daughter the cloak of Andûor.”

Nemeriel pointed at Kimso’s cape and shook her head disbelievingly. Ivlisar glanced at her pityingly and continued.

“It seems she had started weaving it in secret ever since she had heard of Morosauv’s betrayal. The cloak apparently contained traces of ancient magic which weavers have been accustomed to use for centuries in their lore. A magic that enhanced beauty and the speed of the fabric’s maKing.”

“What else, there had to be something else? Why would she make a cloak like that? Why do I have it?”

Ivlisar’s bright blue eyes shimmered as he spoke, “She made the cloak out of the hope of retrieving her husband’s warped mind. Out of the hope that the kind, vulnerable, gullible knight she had met one evening would return to his amiable state. She hoped that through this cloak Annes would be able to reconquer her father.”

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“But how…” it just seemed so helpless of a wish.

“By incorporating memories into the fabric. Indirïs was a bright elf, her weaver’s background only the surface of her knowledge. You see, at times traders tend to have a broader, more wide range of education than those who are schooled. They hear things, they learn from experience, which can be more effective than learning in an offhands studious manner.”

“Through songs.”

“Exactly. I presume that many travellers had passed through Brodwin road throughout her life and many of them sought hospitality in her home. Coming from a kind good-natured family, the travellers would more than often be welcomed, and through the bonfire and the midnight meals little Indirïs learned of tales and history that even I am confident in saying I probably have never heard of.

“What I am maKing a point of is that not all magic is given to the sorceresses. The rune-wraiths are long gone and the knowledge of dragon-taming an old lore, but the witches, once every few decades, were known to take an apprentice under their wing. These were rare events, but when they took place, it was usually kept a secret. You see, a witch may have an apprentice but it is against the laws of magic for a learner to have an apprentice of their own. Think of what would happen if you began teaching Indildris Lithuism. Magic would no longer be the Common-secret but the Common-knowledge, and that could lead to far more terrible things than Draugwë’s death.”

“Are you saying Indirïs went to Helwen…”

“No, Indirïs came to me.”

There was a moment of stone silence. Nemeriel sat in awe.

“I remember vividly, Fate did not like it.” he smiled grimly to himslf, “She thought I was trying to use the girl to return to life. Fate thought I would take her as a hostage. How very hypocritical of her…now that I think of it.” Ivlisar cocked his head thoughtfully.

Nemeriel didn’t know what he meant but chest suddenly began to churn and sting.

“Of course, you can guess, I taught her how to wield flame, how to work the soil, how to manipulate the wind and how to drown with water. I taught her everything I knew, even Necromancy and Lithuism-”

“How do you know Necromancy?” Nemeriel said suddenly, her voice cold and sharp.

“Once a sorcerer always a sorcerer. You see, the thing with magic is one never stops learning. I was indeed a Sorcerer of the East in my time and I am guessing that my profession never left me in death. The true meaning of a Sorcerer is a means of storing all magical achievements in one body and into the next. So, when Necromancy was invented, I awoke one morning with another element in my hands.”

He reached out his arm and smiled, “One for each finger,” and his thumb began to shoot tendrils, his pointing finger emitting gusts of wind, his middle finger raging with fire, his ring finger like a

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spring, sending water across the room, and lastly his pinky, dark and light at the same time.

“The shortest finger for the youngest magic.” he clenched his fist and the elements were gone.

“What happened next?” Nemeriel asked, trembling.

“Indirïs returned to her daughter, taKing her back into her arms after a year of training, and began immediately weaving, using her magic of old to weave the magic she had learned from me into the fabric itself. From what I know, she was and is the only elf to have ever been in the knowledge of all of the elements. At the time she did not know the extent of her power, but when she weaved this cloak, she weaved all of humanities secrets. She weaved a cloak that would be strong enough to kill Mersuithiel, a cloak strong enough to kill Draugwë and a cloak she thought would be strong enough to kill Morosauv…”

“But why? She loved him, did she not?”

For a moment Ivlisar was quiet, until finally he said, “You know, love can make people do terrible and wonderful things; in a way Indirïs thought she was giving Morosauv a second chance. You must remember that death does not end where most people think it does. I believe that Indirïs was planning on meeting Morosauv in the after death. Peace and quiet was what she wanted and of exhaustion and despair that is what she got in the end.”

Nemeriel’s lip was shaKing and her hands too. Her eyes were red and angry, but in the way she cried was so soundless that she did not seem in any rage at all. Slowly and continuously, tears cascaded from her face and reached her neck.

Watching her, Ivlisar felt a wave of recognition and pride. This girl had reminded him so much of what he had forgotten.

“In the end Annes was given the cloak. Indirïs died before she could explain and for two generations, this cloak went from the most powerful object to a quiet servant of those who wore it. Annes, had two daughters and raised them for a time in Neteliar until she decided to move back to Prospero. The lady you were traveling with, Kimso I believe, is the descendant of Morosauv.” Ivlisar looked up suddenly, “You know there are rumors that say the cloak of Indirïs di Andûor once was as colorful as the rainbow, the power stored in it containing all the hues of the elements. But with time it turned black, however, if worn by one learned in one of the powers of the elements it will regain it’s tint… perhaps, upon your back it will be white….”

Pulling the cloak from the table he stood and placed it on Nemeriel’s shoulders. At her touch the fabric slowly illuminated to a blinding ivory. The white that she made when practising Lithuism. The white light of the sixth element. The princess gasped.

“I made you wear black so you would not notice the changes in your skin.”

As Nemeriel looked down she saw that her arm was glowing.

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“I did not recognize the cloak at first when you arrived, but with time I realized it for what it was. However, it was not until you rendered that light ball back to white that I knew the cloak had already founded its allegiance in you. I thought perhaps that it was still neutral, but it would be impossible for you to become so powerful without it.”

Nemeriel was still watching her cloak with awe as she listened to him speak. Then suddenly a burning pain caught her arm and she yelped. Upon looKing down at the underside of her forearm she saw a mark being scalded into her skin.

“Ivlisar…” she said tremblingly, “What-

“Ah yes, the sign of the Lithuists.” He pulled away his sleeve to reveal the same part of his body. On his skin a tattoo seemed to have been inscribed into his arm. It was in the shape of an arrow piercing a circle.

“What does this mean.” she said finally.

“It means you are now a Lithuist. It means this cloak is the key to Indildris’ victory. It means this cloak is your new-

A loud crash shook the castle. Nemeriel screamed and Ivlisar took her hand and pulled her out of his study. His eyes were blazing but his face seemed calm and composed. A sudden change leapt into his somber figure; a look of determination. He no longer looked, old , frail and ancient, but wise, strong and powerful.

Another crash made the entire floor crack and with a bellowing voice Ivlisar yelled, “To the Grounds!”

He let go of her hand and began to sprint, leading the way.

The stone around her was crumbling and the only thing she saw was the blindingness of her cloak and the light that it shed on Ivlisar. She devoted all of her concentration on following him but soon his quick strides were rending her to fall behind.

“Come back!” she shrieked and then as she looked up a pillar fell just beside her. The shards of the stone caught in her arm and she pulled the cloak over herself. As the rest of the building crashed upon her she noticed fleetingly the way that the cloak deflected the pieces of stone.

“Run!” Ivlisar’s shadow was franticly beckoning. Finally Nemeriel felt herself stumble upon his waist and as he pulled her up she was so dazed she fell again.

Dragging her onto the grass Ivlisar stepped into the night. “Keep the cloak on.” was all he said as he marched forward towards the light that was dancing, tauntingly in front of him. Despite the light was white like Nemeriel’s cloak, it was of a different shade, of a different aura; more sinister, mysterious and painful to look at than that of the cape.

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Chapter 18: Fate

“Ivlisar.” a silky voice called.

Nemeriel looked up blinKingly to find herself one hundred meters away from the most beautiful face she had ever seen. The features were perfect and the dress as long and as brilliant as moonlight. She made the sun look dim, the night look sullen and all things but Ivlisar cower in fear.

“Fate,” he answered quietly, his voice echoing, “I wouldn’t lie in saying ‘it’s good to see you’.”

The woman clicked her tongue as if chastising, ignoring his acknowledgement, “What have I told you Ivlisar about little children that cheat? That’s right. I knew what you would do, I knew that you would be foolish enough…”

The King of King’s drew himself higher as he spoke, “You are not the only one in on the game, Fate. She knows, and she will leave untouched.”

“We shall see.” Fate said nastily.

“Whilst she is on my grounds she is safe. She will leave untouched.” Ivlisar repeated.

“Sometimes I hate that woman who let you live, sometimes I wish I would have killed the other Fate earlier,” she said bitterly, “Fine, the girl leaves here untouched, as for what happens to her later, that is up for fate to decide.” the lady laughed and then lashed out suddenly.

A thin wisp of gray smoke flew from her fingers; Ivlisar caught the magic and blew it from his fingers, translating its power into one of the elements. A bright fire danced through the air and caught upon the hem of Fate’s dress. Sneering, the lady stepped forward, stamping out the flames.

“Tut, tut, don’t play with fire,” Fate lifted an arm and a flash of black light exploded in Ivlisar’s direction. Bending to the floor and ducKing away from the spell, the King of Kings made the grass upturn. Soil began to engulf Fate, vines started to tie her to the ground. Fate’s eyes grew a dangerous look as she coughed a red liquid that looked awfully like blood. The vines snapped and deteriorated at the liquid’s touch. Grinning through bloody lips, Fate stood and advanced on Ivlisar. She kicked him in the chest and threw a blue bolt at his head. Rolling aside Ivlisar caught a gust of wind in his hand and blew the lightning aside. He tried to stand but Fate pushed him down again.

“Take the cloak!” Nemeriel said suddenly, but her voice was too hoarse to be heard, “Take the cloak!” she said louder, she began pulling the fabric from her shoulders but Ivlisar sent a gust of wind at her that threw her back to the floor and rearranged the material so that it rested once more upon her back, as it had before.

A blast of black came from Fate’s fingers again and this time snagged on Ivlisar’s leg. Crying out in 125

agony he threw a wave of water at her face which swallowed her and made her splutter and cry out.

He then pulled on her long, long hair, dragging her to her knees.

She screeched as he clapped twice. A small storm fell from the sky and tormented her, it’s purple clouds shaKing with rain and lightning. Though Ivlisar finally had the upper hand his knee was limp and his breaths ragged, like that of an old man’s.

Nemeriel watched in disgust as the lady coughed and gasped for air.

“Stop it!” something about this wasn’t right, “It’s killing her!”

Ivlisar looked back at her and in that moment of his inattention Fate escaped the storm and threw a white gash across his chest. The King of Kings smiled sadly and then dropped to the floor.

Grinning and panting Fate brushed herself off and swiveled into nothingness, the black envelopes of the sky taKing her away.

Nemeriel felt the world stop spinning.

“Master?” she said softly, but she knew it was no good.

Crawling on all fours to his side she found him breathing raggedly.

She coughed in relief, “Ivlisar, I’m so sorry...I-

He hushed her and reached out for her forehead.

“Do not be sorry. It is I who should…” he wheezed, “You know what this means don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, it means you’re going to be alright, it means you’re alive, I just have to get you to-to Kimso or-

“I cannot leave the sky unless invited Nemeriel,” he rattled a sigh and then turned his head, “This means,” he continued softly, “That you-you must become more than Nemeriel now...do you understand?”

“No.” Nemeriel groaned through her sobs, “No, I don’t and I don’t care.” she almost wasn’t listening anymore.

“You must become the last...the Last Lithuist. You must finish…everything I started. Last Lithuist…Queen of Queens. Promise me…” he took a shuddering breath and pressed his thumb to her forehead. The castle around her began to melt before her eyes as she felt something pull at her stomach. Just as she felt the world being swept from beneath her she saw the King of Kings die in mid-blink. Still, quiet. He looked like he was sleeping.

“Ivlisar!” she screamed and in the blink of an eye she was back. Back in Helwen’s Keep.

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