Dark Paths

by Markus Heitz

  ‘What was that?’ cried Tirîgon. I’ve never seen anything like it!

  ‘That is Marandëi’s work,’ Sisaroth commented, unfazed. ‘She is a cîanai.’

  Esmonäe kissed Tirîgon on the cheek. ‘You see? I told you we’d kill them all,’ she said enthusiastically as she rushed off. ‘We’ll meet in the hall.’ She ran along the walkway. ‘I’ve got to see if there are any elves worthy of my sword still alive.’

  Tirîgon was speechless. His mind could not keep pace with events. He may have been utterly exhausted by the fighting and the confusion, but his heart was brimming over with joy at having located his siblings. It’s all coming together! It’s more than I ever dared hope for! Which gods should I send my prayers of thanks to? I’ll make proper sacrifice to them if my sister is restored to health. If they don’t save her life, I shall forswear the lot of them.

  ‘It seems,’ Sisaroth remarked, ‘that each of us has found a treasure here in Phondrasôn: two warriors and a cîanai. They brought us together and gave us Tossàlor. With his help we will get back to Dsôn.’ He gave his sister a tender glance. ‘And then we shall bring death to the slanderers who sent us here.’

  Tirîgon was silent. His train of thought differed from his brother’s. He was thinking about the opportunities that Phondrasôn had to offer.

  With this unique group of gifted people, we could build an empire that is impossible to destroy. He was lost in this dream of grandeur. We would be the unquestioned rulers. No one would tell us what to do. He, too, stared at his sleeping sister. And back in Dsôn, what could we ever achieve?

  Phondrasôn, some time after the 5427th division of unendingness.

  ‘Let’s stay here. Not forever, you understand, but until we’ve found a safe way out.’ Firûsha looked at the expectant faces. I want them to stop talking. They’re going on and on. I can feel the anger rising.

  She passed a hand over the headscarf she wore to hide where her hair had fallen out. Marandëi had found a spell that saved her life. Only time would tell whether the improvement was permanent or whether the ukormoriers’ poisonous touch would win out. She had lost her hair; Firûsha prayed to the gods of infamy that this was the whole extent of the damage incurred.

  The seven älfar were in the palace library drinking a restorative herbal tea that Marandëi had made to help their wounds heal quickly. The cosy book archive was a comfortable room with thick ornamental carpets on the floor and decorative carved wood panelling. The shelves could have done with a few more books, it was true. Perhaps the elves had thrown out some of the works, or the previous owner had had little time for reading.

  Before meeting like this, there had been a great deal of tidying up to do. It took a long time to get all the elf cadavers piled up on the jetty exactly as Tossàlor wanted. He was going to take the best of the bones. He did not have the necessary preserving chemicals here in the palace to keep entire skeletons, so after he collected the pieces he wanted, he’d throw the rest into the boiling glass sea. He had already embarked on retrieving the best material. Firûsha was curious to see what he would make out of it.

  But before they let him get down to work, the triplets insisted on discussing a plan of action.

  They were all washed and changed, after selecting appropriate dress from the old wardrobes. The fabric smelled musty. But they preferred to wear the old robes of the first owner of the palace than to wear anything belonging to elves. There would be time enough to make clothes of their own that were more to their liking and embroidered with älfar motifs.

  Firûsha looked at Tirîgon, who smiled at her gratefully. Her suggestion that they stay in the palace for the time being had placed her on his side. My view is the most sensible, after all.

  Sisaroth did not hide his displeasure. ‘Why?’ He indicated the map that Tirîgon had brought with him. ‘We have many good, possible ways to escape from our prison.’

  ‘But there’s no tried and trusted passage up to the surface. No guarantee of success. I don’t want to do endless forced marches or face hordes of monsters we can’t defeat or wind up at a dead end. We have wonderful headquarters right here. Let’s stay and take our time with our plans. We can explore Phondrasôn and find out its mysteries. And anyway, there’s a bit of the map that’s missing,’ his brother objected. ‘Tossàlor said that he knows tunnels that might lead to the surface but that he can’t be sure.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s the truth.’ The bone-carver crossed his arms stubbornly. ‘I’d really like to get away from here, believe me, but I’ve absolutely no wish to be devoured by monsters when we’re only halfway home – and I’m sure any tunnel going to the surface would be full of them.’

  ‘We’ll never have a total guarantee of safety,’ Sisaroth snorted. ‘Look around you. We’ve got excellent warriors and a cîanai. Our fine little army ought to be able to make it!’

  ‘But it’s a large army we need,’ Tirîgon said crossly. ‘Hundreds of warriors afraid of nothing, who can take our enemies apart as easily as Tossàlor does his cadavers.’

  ‘Are you looking to start your own Dsôn here? A third Dsôn?’ Sisaroth pointed at the ceiling, meaning the surface. ‘Have you forgotten why we landed in this maze of terrors and dangers in the first place? Our parents are waiting for us up there and our revenge awaits us; we have to retaliate against those who accused us. You were the one that followed us of your own free will to help bring us home. What ties you to this place all of a sudden?’

  ‘Nothing. But I am against risking our lives unnecessarily after we’ve been through so much to survive so far.’ Tirîgon hurled the words back at his brother.

  Crotàgon, Tossàlor, Esmonäe and Marandëi kept out of it.

  Firûsha understood them only too well. They don’t want to join the argument and are waiting to see how it ends.

  They had already voiced their opinions: Marandëi followed Sisaroth’s line, as she was in his service. Crotàgon and Esmonäe wanted to go back with Tossàlor, but they wanted the same certitude that Tirîgon was demanding.

  I can’t watch this happening. They’ll end up in a feud! That would be the worst possible outcome Firûsha could imagine. She got to her feet. ‘My dear brothers, let me suggest a compromise,’ she said, her voice quiet and calm. ‘We come to an agreement right now about the length of time we remain here in the palace, regardless of what we discover before that point – but if we find a safe passage exists, we travel back to Dsôn immediately.’

  Sisaroth nodded in agreement though he seemed not totally sure. ‘I concur, as long as the departure point is not too far in the future.’

  ‘But also not too soon,’ countered Tirîgon aggressively.

  They are like shadow-wolves fighting for supremacy in their territory. ‘This is getting us nowhere. If we are not capable of reaching an agreement, we shall have to leave it up to the gods of infamy.’ Firûsha spoke hastily to prevent the next confrontation. She asked Tossàlor to select an elf bone from his collection. She did not meet his eyes because she found his cold stare unpleasant. He always gave the impression he was assessing her for her usefulness as material. ‘Not too small a bone.’

  He rustled about in his shoulder bag and brought out a long thigh bone that had been thoroughly cleaned. It shone white in the light. ‘This one is good.’ He laid it on the table.

  ‘Now Crotàgon, strike it with the flat side of your spear,’ directed Firûsha.

  Tossàlor objected to destroying the beautiful bone but he was overriden.

  ‘Shouldn’t have given you such a good one,’ he grumbled. ‘May this dead elf serve our unity of purpose.’

  ‘Thank you. Off you go, Crotàgon. The number of splinters from his blow will indicate the number of tenth-divisions of unendingness that we remain here.’ Firûsha regarded her brothers in turn. ‘Do you two accept these terms and agree to abide by them?’

  ‘I don’t know if this is a good –’ Tirîgon began, but Esmonäe placed her hand on his thigh. He said nothing more.


  Marandëi saw what happened and her eyebrows shot up. It did not escape Firûsha’s notice that Esmonäe gave the cîanai a challenging look. What does that mean? She groaned inside. Not another quarrel in the group?

  ‘I call on Inàste, Samusin and the gods of infamy! We ask you, gods young and old, to send us a sign, a decision.’ Crotàgon struck the bone.

  The table shuddered with the force of the impact and the bone shattered into dozens of pieces. Tirîgon and Sisaroth counted them assiduously. Seventy-seven. Neither of them was pleased.

  They’ll be coming up with objections, trying to outdo each other. They’ll find excuses for not keeping to the agreement. I’ve got to make peace here. We need to stay strong, all of us. ‘We hereby swear a solemn oath,’ Firûsha spoke in ceremonious tones. ‘Let us swear that none of us shall harm another of the group for as long as we remain here in Phondrasôn.’

  ‘What’s the point of that?’ Esmonäe had been taken by surprise, but she immediately realised her objection made her look suspicious so she tried to make light of things. ‘I mean, of course we’ll all support each other, won’t we?’

  It was evident from the sour expression on Tossàlor’s face that he had planned to acquire some of their bones. Apparently elves were not enough to satisfy his artistic cravings.

  What a splendid, united community we are, Firûsha thought in quiet despair. Does every single one of us have a different agenda to pursue? The sense of community that had upheld society in Dsôn did not exist in Phondrasôn.

  Crotàgon supported Firûsha’s motion. ‘It seems like a sensible oath to swear. It might give us more protection than we may at present think we need.’

  ‘As if some oath could give protection against a traitor’s blade,’ scoffed Tirîgon under his breath as he turned away to study the books on the shelves.

  Marandëi struck the ground with the end of her staff. ‘I know a way to give the oath more power. A little ceremony: each of us selects one of the splinters. A small one.’ Her peaceful voice carried through the room.

  The assembled company did as she had suggested. Some were obviously just going through the motions. Esmonäe’s scornful expression made it clear she thought this a childish trick of some kind.

  ‘Now hold them up and let them touch.’ They did this and the cîanai intoned a magic spell.

  Suddenly a blackness enveloped the united bone fragments and each splinter took on a dark hue, crackling and fizzing, as if roasting in some invisible fire.

  ‘They’re . . . heating up,’ said Tossàlor in surprise. ‘And they’ve gone dark as the night.’

  ‘There is a death curse on them,’ Marandëi explained with a sly smile. She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Whosoever discards his fragment or harms another of us will be overtaken by it.’ She was the first to take her own splinter out of the circle; she stowed it in her pocket. ‘If I were you, I’d make sure you look after them extremely carefully.’

  Esmonäe stared at her incredulously. ‘Are you mad? You told us it would be a ritual, not some lethal spell, you crazy witch! Remove the curse at once!’

  ‘It can’t be done, impetuous älf-girl,’ the cîanai retorted. ‘I would only be able to break the spell when at least one life has been lost to it.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘Why are you so upset? Have I foiled some secret plan of yours?’

  Esmonäe was furious, but said nothing. Tossàlor dropped his gaze and put his sliver away.

  ‘Why did you not warn us first?’ Sisaroth was exasperated. ‘You’re supposed to be in my service . . .’

  ‘You would have refused,’ Firûsha broke in, taking the sorceress’ side. The curse was not what I had in mind, but at least it should prevent us trying to kill each other.

  ‘But what if I lose mine or someone steals it?’ Esmonäe was not giving up. ‘I’m not dying because of some stupid accident.’

  ‘Then mind you look after it.’ Crotàgon nodded at Marandëi. ‘I would never have agreed to the curse being imposed on the oath, but I’m starting to think it’s no bad thing. It makes us safe. All of us.’

  Firûsha felt slightly guilty. It was she who had suggested they all take the oath and Marandëi had shamelessly exploited the idea. Why is she looking at Esmonäe like that? Is she afraid of her? She decided to speak to the cîanai alone after the meeting.

  ‘We can’t change it now. Let’s get to work.’ Sisaroth stood up. ‘Friend Tossàlor, let us inspect the places you thought might lead up to the surface. We’ll take paper, pen and ink to fill in the missing parts of the elves’ map.’ The artist nodded and got to his feet. The two of them left the library together.

  The company drifted apart. Tirîgon went with Esmonäe. Marandëi had removed a book from the shelf and went to a seat by the window to read.

  Now we are united. But there can be no joy in this. Firûsha looked out of the window at the sea of molten glass and the jetty with its rows of elf corpses.

  On seeing the dead bodies she was reminded of her own fight against the ukormoriers. She would never have survived without Sisaroth, Crotàgon, and Marandëi’s intervention.

  I have criminally neglected my weapons training. Fate had decreed they were going to be spending nearly eight divisions of unendingness in Phondrasôn and there was certainly going to be fighting involved.

  We need every arm that can hold a sword. Tossàlor could not be relied on. He was only concerned with his art and was probably looking forward to the first älf dying so he could use their bones.

  Firûsha knew that she had the build for a warrior and that she was nimble enough. I must work at it.

  When the giant älf stood up to go, Firûsha called to him. ‘Crotàgon?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have not told my brothers how you treated me when I arrived in Phondrasôn. I think you owe me for this.’ She looked at him determinedly. ‘Teach me to fight properly and I’ll sing you all the songs you want. I want to outdo my brothers in swordsmanship.’

  ‘Why is that?’ Crotàgon was intrigued.

  ‘Because I might have to keep them from hurting each other. Sisaroth is impetuous and Tirîgon is stubborn and although they love each other, there was a lot of brawling back home in Dsôn. I can only stop them from fighting if I can take their weapons. I need to be able to beat them both.’ Firûsha saw Marandëi smirking into her book. She doesn’t think I can do it.

  Crotàgon nodded with a smile that spoke volumes.

  Second Book

  The Tested Ones

  Time went by

  and the siblings pursued their aims.

  The centre of all their endeavours was the island in the sea of molten glass.

  Inaccessible for any enemy and completely impregnable,

  unless the enemy could fly.

  Sisaroth, Tossàlor and Marandëi tirelessly explored

  the caves and tunnels of the underground region

  and discovered the secrets of the deadly labyrinth step by step,

  constantly expanding their field of enquiry.

  Tirîgon followed his brother with Esmonäe for company.

  They searched for any älfar who might have been banished here, or lost.

  All should be won for their cause: community was everything.

  Each of them was under a deadly curse,

  welding them together with an oath.

  Firûsha was schooled in combat

  and trained her voice in the concerts

  she gave for Crotàgon and the others on the island.

  Her voice held them together

  and furthered unity and harmony in the minds of the älfar.

  Her singing was like a drug for their immortal souls.

  They could never have enough . . .

  As exploration continued

  their älfar numbers grew.

  Buildings were constructed on the island to house the newcomers.

  An immense stronghold grew up round the palace,

  and the fragi
le walkways were replaced with solid bridges.

  The scattering of warriors became a fearsome army

  and the original refuge became the centre of an empire.

  Beasts and monsters hid away

  on hearing the älfar bugles.

  Óarcos paid tribute,

  warlords bowed their heads to the Triplet Siblings,

  and whole caverns surrendered to their rule.

  But one thing plagued them still:

  no exploration brought them to a path

  that led back home.

  The success of these Young Gods

  caused envy and malice

  in Phondrasôn’s other rulers

  who had held sway and had felt safe.

  ‘The Beginnings’ from the epic poem Young Gods

  composed by Carmondai, master of word and image

  Chapter I

  Name me a weapon

  more lethal

  than the sharpest of blades.

  You choose duplicity?

  You are nearly right.

  The sharpest weapon

  you can use

  is reason.

  Blessed is he

  who knows how to use it,

  for many people

  confuse duplicity

  with reason.

  ‘Aphorisms’ from the epic poem Young Gods

  composed by Carmondai, master of word and image

  Phondrasôn.

  Sisaroth stood lost in thought in the library of the palace that had once belonged to Marandëi. The cîanai had relinquished the palace to the siblings, wanting the young rulers to have a suitable home. The floor-length robe Sisaroth wore was equally appropriate to his station in life: a high collar and black embroidery stitched so densely over the entire garment that its original light grey was hardly visible.

  Sisaroth studied the map he was building. It extended over the surface of an entire library wall. Records of other explorations were to be seen on the ceiling, the floor and the other walls.

  There was still no end in sight. He would need a separate map room soon.