The Wild Man had taught her a great deal about the simple and yet complex culture of the Wild People of Devnóngaron, and Melanina had been the first of the elves to accept the Wild People’s way of life. To achieve this, she had shed her clothes and donned wyvern-skins.
Elves and Wild People went well together. Both races deeply loved nature, abundant silence, and frequent thought; they allowed themselves to be moved by the vibrations of the universe, the earth, and stealth.
The seraphs, Nidra, Tenchi, and Teitú, had found trees as magnificent as those of Lï, although smaller. They had adopted these trees to build homes at the edge of the elves’ new city.
Teitú had said goodbye to Manchego sorrowfully. But the Naevas Aedán had assured him that after so many years suffering together, he needed to begin his own life with his own culture. Manchego understood, particularly because Teitú was a mature Naevas Aedán by then. The parting was a painful one but the two comrades in war knew that the best thing was for Teitú to help to perpetuate his species.
Guryëlla was the name given to the new settlement of the elves. As Marzgarg and Melanina had joined under a single banner, the city would become the capital for both races. It was a time of change for the Wild People of Devnóngaron. Too much had happened, the land had been destroyed, and a new era had begun. They had joined the elves and for the Wild People, this gave a foretaste of a brilliant future.
Nidra, Tenchi, and Teitú were young seraphs and were not too sure how reproduction worked in their species. There was no attraction between them, and they did not feel the warmth humans or elves do when desire spurs them to strip naked and unite bodies. For the Naevas Aedán, it was a mystery. How could they propagate their race? And so it was Melanina told them with a smile.
“The Naevas Aedán don’t use sex to breed,” she had explained one day. The elf was pregnant with Marzgarg’s seed and was very happy about the fact. “You do it through a phenomenon called ayam.”
The Naevas Aedán were fluttering around the elf’s head. Clad in her wyvern-skin, the leader was leaning against the tree that the seraphs had proclaimed as their new home. It was a magnificent one, densely-leaved, covered in green moss, and was home to many other creatures. It was one of the trees that had not been touched by the hatred of the God of Chaos and his evil dragon.
Ayam? Teitú had asked. And how does that work if it isn’t like sex?
“You don’t have genitalia,” the elf had explained. “What you do have is the capacity to combine your souls and create a union called atalán. This union can fuse with the tree, and three months after the union the tree produces nuts, aptly called Teitú Nuts.”
But that’s my name! Teitú! the Naevas Aedán said in astonishment.
“So it is. It’s because the master who gave origin to the nut didn’t know what it was called and gave it the name of where it had come from. But Teitú is the name of the primary line of descent of Tutonticám.”
The seraphs turned purple at the name of the old empire of the Naevas Aedán.
“Listen to the Lyric of the Wind,” Melanina said. The elf-lady closed her eyes and began to sing.
Those who sow with tears
The seeds which in black fire lie,
Through blackened sunset creeping
On the alum, the darkening sky;
A sea with darkness weeping
Summons Thórlimás from the land.
From the land of Tutonticám,
Lost, lovely, remote Teitú,
There walks firmly over the veil
Over ships of white bamboo,
Which on a purple sky sail,
A warrior of the Naevas Aedán.
Times spent in Chaos will pass by him
Over the war of a sadness
Between its mighty supports,
Where its dwelling shone in gladness
Days passed in a peace of sorts,
A place that remains destroyed.
The old Lyric of the Wind sings that he
Who bears the sack of seed with care,
Heavy and somber, bent double,
Will soon shine with joy so fair,
His night disappear from the rubble
And his discontent never return.
The Naevas Aedán took on a rose-tint as they listened to the song.
How beautiful! The Lyric of the Wind, you say it’s called? Tenchi had asked.
Melanina was three months pregnant now. Seated on the great roots of the tree that the Naevas Aedán had chosen as their new home, she watched the tree change, reaching its final stage of growth. The Naevas Aedán had fused three months earlier and in doing so, they had united their soul with that of the tree to reproduce.
The elf-lady smiled, then shed tears as she heard the tree move, then sprout dozens of Teitú Nuts from every single one of its branches. One of them began to vibrate, then fell to the ground. There it would lie for days and nights under the shade and the leaves of the tree, receiving Mother’s love and vibrations, until days later, a new seraph would burst out from it.
Tenchi, Nidra, and Teitú would lose all sense of identity. Their fused souls would become part of the tree. But the elf-lady knew that this was the highest state of bliss for the Naevas Aedán. They matured and united to create a tree from which a new generation would grow.
“I thank you, Ÿ,” the elf-lady said, stretching her hands up to the sky. She closed her eyes and allowed the light of the sun streaming down through the branches of the tree to bathe her from head to foot.
***
“It’s a wonderful world, I can’t deny it. No, no, no, listen to me please, my love. When I speak, I like to be listened to. Aren’t you going to say anything? I’ve been talking to you for weeks and I can’t believe I haven’t stirred some urge to talk back in you. How on earth am I going to create a pegasus in you without even talking? Well, I suppose you’re carrying a foal of mine in your belly. I suppose it could be born as intelligent as his father. I truly hope he has wings to fly with. I wouldn’t like him to miss the joy of flying.”
Perófias fell silent and went on studying the mare in front of him. The wild horse he had fallen for was a beautiful mare with a black coat like his own and her body, oh, her body! He had named her Onyx, although the mare had not responded to the name.
Perófias sighed with boredom. He had flown all over the world in search of something to entertain him for long enough. From talking to Sokomonoko to visiting Meromérila’s growing empire in the Old World, the pegasus had found no peace until he had seen a herd of wild horses from above, and on joining them, had met the mare of his life: Onyx.
Soon he realized the mare did not speak nor would she ever. But what a body she had, and that was what kept him by her side. He missed his fellow pegasuses from Farwas, but there was not much he could do about it. There was no way back.
Soon the foal would be born. He hoped he would have the ability to speak and fly or at least the ability to speak. That way, he would have someone to talk to.
“I hope someday you’ll understand me,” Perófias said. He thought he saw a different reaction in Onyx’s eyes. Could it be that she understood? “I believe you were listening there, weren’t you?”
Onyx snorted and went on grazing. Perófias smiled, convinced that she was beginning to understand his words.
***
Turi had found it hard to believe it when the Queen of Gardak, his wife, had announced that she was going to try to create New Gardak in the Old World.
“That land belongs to me,” she had said vehemently. Turi did not have much power over her. He was simply the consort and she the queen. He tried to dissuade her, but the queen gathered together all the living Mílikin, asked for Yumbala’s help and the presence of the Dakatak, and planned the journey back to the Old World.
The bitter memory of Mórgomiel’s attack seemed nonexistent when the Mílikin returned to the Old World. Three weeks of travel were enough for them to gather strength, and when they came to the
Old World, they performed a ritual of closure and renewed the project of creating New Gardak.
It was late evening, and Turi was still reclining in the tent where he was camping with his wife. Meromérila was asleep, her hands folded over her belly where their child was growing.
The eyes of the queen’s consort were fixed on the awning of the tent as he played absent-mindedly with her hair. He had changed so much.
Sometimes he found himself missing the Dungeon of Thieves. Sometimes he missed his conversations with the Baron. It had been the Baron himself who had encouraged him to establish a lasting relationship with his wife and to migrate to the Old World to create an empire out of the ashes.
Turi suspected that the Baron wanted to involve the thieves on the other side of the world. He knew that many of the Mandrakian volunteers who had come with the queen to help build her new empire were spies of the Baron’s whose aim was to keep him informed at all times. The Wand of Lis had not yet been replicated. The Baron had promised that the mages in Maggrath were deeply involved in the task of generating a similar artifact. With Sokomonoko’s instructions, he knew that the enterprise would bear fruit sooner or later. With the Wand of Lis in the hands of each empire, the rulers would be in constant communication thanks to magic.
Turi got up. He put on a robe and walked to the entrance of the tent. The field where the new palace was being erected was under the peaceful cloak of night, and there was a soft wind from the north beyond anywhere anybody had ever set foot or eyes in the unexplored regions he would one day come to know.
“Everything’s changed so much,” he said to himself as if he were speaking to the wind. “I’ve changed,” he corrected himself.
Although he missed the corridors of Háztatlon, being the king’s squire, and getting together with his cousins to steal things for fun, part of his soul was telling him that he was on the right course and that this was his purpose. He might be young, but the soul is like steel, it can be forged. Turi knew that his soul had never been too soft or rigid, and, as a good blend of strength and intelligence, he knew how to adapt to any and every situation.
He was the queen’s consort and the queen was going to build her new empire. When the empire was on its feet, he would wield significant power. His son or daughter would be a prince or a princess and his legacy would be so much more than that of a mere thief.
“We’ll make history,” Turi said as he gazed at the sky with its horizon spotted with endless planets, suns, life, desires, souls, and passions. Sometimes, he could not believe that he had been a member of a group called the Interworld Committee. He had traveled to other worlds and met great characters, other races and species, and his feet had roamed foreign lands.
“Is everything all right, my love?” the queen asked from their bed. The swarm of the queen’s court came from nowhere to attend to the leader of Gardak.
“Yes, my dear,” Turi said, smiling and breathing the outside air. “I was just admiring the sky.” He smiled to himself and went back to the warmth of the bed.
***
Azuri, Limleiyón, and Hiz were gazing eagerly into the magic orb.
“It’s the new empire of the elves!” Azuri cried.
“It’s a very green empire, as young as the seed of a Ÿ tree,” Hiz said.
“But like the Ÿ trees whose seed takes a long time to sprout,” said the Spellcaster with a smile. “The tree grows greater and stronger than any other.”
“So the elves are going to create a colony on a planet,” Limleiyón said. “Perhaps we should join them. It’s high time the elves came out of their hiding place and went back to roaming the universe. Don’t you think so, Praise?”
“I think you’re right,” Azuri replied. “Would it be possible to mobilize Allündel and fuse it with the Meridian? Perhaps we could plant Allündel in the human world. I say, wouldn’t it be wonderful?”
Hiz cracked his knuckles and flexed his arms as if he were going to fight. “With all due respect, Praise, it’s a very bad idea.”
“We should consider it,” Limleiyón argued. “But let’s keep an eye on what it turns into, this new empire the elves are forming with the Wild People. It might be a disaster.”
“Or the miracle the elves need to rise again as an outstanding species. Call the other counselors. We’ll have a meeting now.”
“So be it, most worthy Praise!” said Hiz.
Chapter LXVIII — Back To The South
Luchy had broken a promise. She had sworn to herself never to make love until she was joined under the light and blessing of the Gods. For her, the classic, time-honored form of matrimony, being united under the Décamon, and then escaping in a cart to the new home to unite soul with soul, flesh with flesh, had been a longed-for dream she had looked forward to ever since childhood.
But after the killing in San San-Tera, the creation of the Cursed Pit, the war in Kathanas, the battle in Háztatlon, and more recently, the effort of traveling to other worlds and going to rescue Manchego, her way of looking at the world had changed.
Dreams are one thing, but reality has its own way of revealing the events of life, Luchy had thought the night she had made love with Manchego for the first time in Kathanas in the middle of a military camp where someone must surely have seen them. But she did not care about that in the least.
It was true. She had broken her promise to stay chaste. But just as her dreams had been brutally destroyed, so the promise she had made was meaningless now that things had changed so much. She would have wanted her mom to be present on her wedding day, and it was clear that this would not happen. Just as her mom, dad, siblings, and many of her friends would not be at her wedding, so she had broken a simple childhood promise to gain the value of a unique experience that offered itself at a special moment. Gathering together all the factors for that moment to be repeated would be impossible. That was why she had broken the promise.
Because if Luchy had learned one thing, it was that the value of the moment does not depend on your dreams, your promises, or the ideas and preconceptions you have about the moment in question. The value of a single moment depends on whether or not your mind is ready to live each instant. If your mind is lost in considering preconceptions or dreams, those moments add up and, before you are aware of it, they vanish.
Luchy sighed. Her eyes, green as the most beautiful emeralds, pierced the horizon. She was moving at the pace of the horse she was riding. Manchego held the reins in his hands, encouraging the horse to keep walking while she rode behind him with her arms around his waist.
Leandro had begged them to stay and not go south straight away so that they could take part in the ceremony when the king was to hand out eulogies and trophies to those who had fought valiantly. But neither of them had been interested in attending those events and had set off to the South immediately to see if the village of San San-Tera had survived the attack of Mórgomiel and his sea of orcs.
They rode by night and rested by day. The poor horse was overwhelmed. Several times, they were forced to take a break at some unpromising settlement or village, risking their safety. But the dangers seemed to be lessening now. As for the Deserters, they seemed to have disappeared. Perhaps the orcs had hunted them down or they had migrated to some other part of the world. The fact was that the world was in shock after such a conflict. Although Leandro had warned them that they would see bands of orcs in search of easy prey, so far they had seen no trace of them.
The dangers had been nil. Manchego was, in some way, protected by the God of Light. At least, that was the impression Luchy had, as the days in his vicinity seemed sunnier than the rest of his surroundings and the nights were never lonely. Perhaps he had kept part of his demigod’s strength, even though he had explained to her that he had separated from Alac Arc Ángelo.
They had time in abundance to weep, laugh, and weep again. Mostly they wept or turned somber as they told a story. Luchy had plenty of opportunities when Manchego preferred to remain quiet to tell him about h
er adventures. She told him about Flóregund, how Lohrén had given her the bracelets she was still wearing, and how he had declared his love for her. She told him about Mojak and, in particular, she spoke of the mysterious mute Wild One as much as she could, telling him how incredible he had been and how big his hands were. When she spoke about him, she could not hold back the tears and she longed with all her being that the Wild One could still be alive. But she knew that if Mojak had not given his life to open the portal, nobody would be alive now. So after lamenting, she could only be grateful for the sacrifice.
At times, they spoke about Teitú. They had both shared the seraph’s mind and it had broken both their hearts that the Naevas Aedán had left them behind. But Teitú was a mature seraph who had lived through a great deal and grown up in the process. It had been time for him to make his own way. With Nidra and Tenchi, he had left with the elves to create a new world where the seraphs could flourish once more. Manchego longed for the opportunity to meet him again. All the same, something told him that when they had said goodbye, it was goodbye forever. In this life, everyone has to choose their way, Manchego had thought. Teitú could not stay permanently rooted in the lives of others.
Manchego had spoken about his mother in detail and the memories he had kept of her after their meeting. It seemed unbelievable to Luchy that Mother had shown her to him, and at times, she doubted whether he had really met her. She decided to believe him and had also decided to believe that he had no father, but that he had been engendered by the Beings of the Celestial Divinity instead. The mystery of his origin worried her. She did not know whether their children would be born humans, human-demigods, or what. But she knew one thing, that she loved Manchego and that whether or not they were married formally under the light of religion, as far as she was concerned they were united by a force far greater than the words of any ritual.
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