by Flavia Bujor
“You know who I was, before… You know I served the Darkness.”
“I know,” repeated his companion.
“And you don’t hate me? Even though I don’t remember, I have blood on my hands. I’m a criminal.”
“You’re a man. So am I. Who am I to judge you?”
“Before becoming a man, I was a monster! I was a soldier of Darkness!”
“You are no longer. When you deserted, you renounced evil. When you lost your memory, you became someone else: the Nameless One, a hovalyn in the service of good. You suffered. You fought. Today, even if evil is still inside you — for it’s inside us all — it has been vanquished by goodness.”
“How do you know? What do you know about me?”
“I met you several years ago. You ask what I know about you? I never saw your parents, but you told me that they died when you were a child.”
“So they’re dead…” murmured the young man slowly.
“You were living with your grandparents,” continued Gohral Keull impassively. “You never wanted to talk about that time and never mentioned the name they called you by. You left home at sixteen because you were eager to see the world. That’s when I met you, and you possessed a strength and courage that simply astounded me. You wished to fight, to combat injustice, and were not in the least afraid to risk your life.”
Surprised, the Chosen One listened avidly to his companion’s words.
“You burnt so brightly with audacity, with bravery, that all who met you called you Elyador, ‘the one who has been chosen’. You laughed about that and didn’t care a whit for glory.”
The Nameless One no longer knew what to believe. Gohral Keull spoke with great sincerity, but the young man was haunted by the mark on his left ankle.
“Then your path crossed that of the Army of Darkness.”
The Chosen One desperately wished to know what had happened, to discover why he had gone over to Darkness. He wanted to see his past clearly at last, forget his doubts, his questions, and understand what crimes he had committed so that he might be rid of them. But Gohral Keull now mysteriously refused to say another word, as if he dreaded to evoke those shadowy soldiers.
After another day’s riding the two knights saw the mountains where Oonagh lived silhouetted against the horizon and decided to stop, since it had been dark for a few hours and they were worn out. Speaking little, they shared their food, then lay down to sleep. The Nameless One did not dare ask his companion any more questions, feeling that he would continue his narrative only when he wished to, but he wondered if, at long last, he would soon learn everything about his past…
The hovalyns finally reached the Irog range and began to climb the imposing mountain where Oonagh lived. They halted for the night in the dense conifer forest; it was already pitch dark, and both men could sense the anxiety emanating from the birds of prey. They did not fear them, however, for the Chosen One had kept the amulets given him by the Ghibduls. Just as the young man was drifting into sleep, Gohral Keull began to speak.
“Nameless, I have been a coward and avoided telling you this, but tomorrow we will reach Oonagh and I want you to learn everything I know about you.” After a deep breath, he continued hurriedly, “I don’t understand why you crossed over to evil. At the time I was your friend, and we were inseparable. One day we encountered the Army of Darkness. I don’t know what happened to you — you were fascinated by the power of those sinister soldiers. Something drew you towards evil. You had always been good, as you are today — yet you joined that black army. I tried to reason with you. You wouldn’t listen. Why? You were so young, still innocent. Why does evil tempt men so much? Once a man has tasted its power, once he has known hatred, it’s so hard to return to the Light… Darkness carried you off into its depths. I lost track of you.”
Mortified by these revelations, the Nameless One asked in a shaky voice, “If I was good before becoming a soldier of Darkness, it means that evil could still regain its grip on me! If I gave in to it once, would I be able to resist it now?”
“That is a battle everyone fights at every moment. We are never safe from Darkness.”
“Why are you coming with me to see Oonagh?”
“In memory of Elyador, the youth you once were. You are not the Chosen One. But neither are you a soldier of Darkness. Many people know the rest of your story, and it finally reached me by word of mouth. You deserted the black army. Why? Perhaps because you wished to return to the Light. You were caught, however, and as punishment your memory was erased. You then became once more the man you really are, a hovalyn.”
“But how could I make up for my mistakes? Atone for the blood I shed? Will people still trust me when they learn who I was?”
Gohral Keull did not answer.
With a lump in his throat, the Nameless One stared up at the starless heavens. So the soldier of Darkness had told him the truth. He’d been a criminal, then a deserter. One thing still intrigued him. He took from his pack the casket he’d received from the mermaid at the Lake of Torments and showed it to his companion.
“Do you know anything about this object?”
“No, absolutely not. But ask Oonagh about it, perhaps she can tell you.”
After their conversation, the young man then spent a wretched night, dreaming of blood and violence.
The two knights continued on their way in the morning. When they caught sight of the birds of prey, which looked like scars in the summer sky, they slipped the Ghibdul amulets around their necks and shed every last twinge of fear. Gohral Keull had already consulted Oonagh once before, so he confidently led his melancholy companion into the winding tunnel. It took them more than an hour to reach the wall of light, and stepping through it boldly, they entered the vast grotto of Oonagh.
“Ah! Here’s the youth called the Nameless One,” piped a fluting voice.
The young man turned, and there was Oonagh.
“Help me,” he asked simply. “What is my name? What am I fated to become?”
“So you want to redeem yourself? Very well. Hasten to the castle of Yrianz of Myrnehl. That is where the bravest hovalyns become sorcerers of Light by pledging to fight the Darkness on the day of the summer solstice.”
“But I don’t understand,” confessed the Nameless One. “What will I do there?”
“You served the Darkness. Now, serve the Light. Take the oath of a sorcerer of Light. Fight when the battle so long awaited by everyone takes place. As it will, within two weeks.”
“But the people in that castle — they won’t ever accept me when they learn what I’ve been! They’ll hate me!”
“If you wish to stand up to the Darkness, first stand up to the hatred of men.”
“I’ll go with you, Nameless,” announced Gohral Keull. “I, too, want to fight in the Army of Light. And all those who have the strength for it will join us! Fairytale has been expecting this battle for such a long time… At last the Council of Twelve and the Army of Darkness will be reunited before us. We will annihilate them! On the day of the summer solstice, thousands of people will be there — pouring in from everywhere to fight for the Light!”
“But do not forget that the Chosen One has not yet appeared,” Oonagh reminded them softly. “He is to lead the Army of Light. Without him, I fear that the battle will not take place.”
The young man looked down. He was not the Chosen One.
“Go to the castle of Yrianz of Myrnehl,” repeated Oonagh. “Perhaps you will find the Chosen One there — and perhaps you will find yourself there as well.”
“What does that mean? Will I learn my name there? Or what I must become?”
“I read people’s hearts, not the future,” Oonagh reminded him.
Resigned, the Nameless One carefully withdrew the casket from his pack and held it out to Oonagh.
“I was hoping you would show this to me,” said the magic creature. “A long, long time ago, when you were just a child, your parents sensed that your destiny would be th
reatened by shadows and danger. Guided by their instinct, they knew that evil was lying in wait for you and they feared for your life, so they came to see me to tell me of their plans. I tried to dissuade them, but they did not listen to me. They sought out the deepest part of the forest and found the Lake of Torments.”
The Nameless One shuddered and caught his breath.
“There your parents asked the mermaids, who are powerful enchantresses, to cast a spell they alone may perform. ‘As you wish,’ they answered cruelly, ‘but you will have to pay with your lives.’ Your parents accepted the bargain.”
The young man thought he was going to suffocate.
“What was the spell?” he asked, his voice quivering with emotion.
“The mermaids swore to give you this casket when you appeared at the edge of the lake. Inside the casket they placed your parents’ love for you.”
The Nameless One felt tears spring to his eyes. His parents had sacrificed themselves for him… He took the casket from Oonagh’s hands and caressed it, trembling.
“Whenever you open this casket,” explained Oonagh, “you will be protected by the undying love of your parents.”
“Unbelievable,” murmured Gohral Keull.
“Nameless,” said Oonagh sympathetically, “do not regret the choice your parents made. They are not dead, not really. Every time you open that casket their love will live in you, and they will be there, always.”
The hovalyn smiled sadly.
“Now,” declared Oonagh, “you must go. Cross Ellrog, go around the land of Death. Not even the Army of Darkness dares go there. Go to Yrianz of Myrnehl. If you encounter the three Stones of the Prophecy, convince them to go to Thaar. The battle they will wage there will be decisive for us all.”
“But–” began the young man.
“Good luck!” said Oonagh abruptly. “Perhaps we will see one another at the battle!”
“What?” exclaimed Gohral Keull, staring at the frail creature. “You are going to fight as well, on the summer solstice?”
“Do not judge by appearances,” replied Oonagh curtly. “Magic is a powerful weapon…” Breaking off, she took leave of them. “Don’t waste any more time.”
The Nameless One and Gohral Keull turned back towards the light.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The King and the Gift
FOR SEVERAL DAYS Rokcdär led the girls towards the far boundaries of Okdhrûl. When the castle of Yrianz of Myrnehl loomed up before them, Rokcdär bade farewell to his charges. After his departure, the travellers washed their hands and faces in a stream, and Amber told their horses to wait for them.
The girls took turns hiding behind a tree to change into the lovely gowns given to them by the women of Amnhor’s town. The gowns suited the girls perfectly, and although they did not know it, the seamstresses had stitched a bit of enchantment into their work so that the dresses made their wearers even more attractive.
Delighted with their elegant appearance, Jade, Opal and Amber walked through the gilded entrance gate on to the grounds of the castle and followed a path of white pebbles across a vast, carefully tended garden. The girls were enchanted by delicately coloured flowers, which gave forth intoxicating perfumes. A few trees laden with ripe fruit stood at a bend in the path.
Forgetting their past perils, the three girls laughed gleefully. Jade looked like her old self again: the daughter of the Duke of Divulyon. She was wearing a long dress of finest Prussian blue silk that rippled and fluttered as she walked. Her black hair tumbled fetchingly about her shoulders, and her jade-green eyes gleamed proudly. And yet, many in her father’s palace would never have recognised her now, for her adventures had changed her: she had lost her haughty air, her pretentious manners. Her features reflected a new seriousness and maturity, although there was still a rebellious twinkle in her eye.
The three visitors knocked on the palace door. The servant girl who hurried to open it was momentarily speechless at the sight of these creatures bathed in glowing light.
“You’re here at last,” she said, smiling in admiration. “The three Stones… Enter!”
She led them to an immense room lit by imposing crystal chandeliers, where hundreds of guests were talking animatedly. They were mostly men, wearing swords at their sides, but there were also magic creatures and even some women who had come to join the Army of Light. Not all the future combatants were there; messengers had been sent to the four corners of Fairytale to assemble the army and lead it, on the day of the summer solstice, to the battlefield designated in The Prophecy. Néophileus had written that the Chosen One as well as the three Stones were sorcerers of Light. The boldest and most renowned hovalyns had gathered in the castle of Yrianz of Myrnehl to pledge to fight the Darkness, and everyone in the castle was hoping that the Chosen One would arrive and that the three Stones of the Prophecy, sent to the palace by Oonagh, would be able to identify him. Jade, Opal and Amber would then proceed to Thaar, leaving only the Chosen One to fight the soldiers of Darkness. No one could take his place. Without him, the battle would not begin…
When the three girls made their entrance, the great hall became quiet. All stood motionless in amazement. Some were dazzled by Jade, whose eyes shone like stars; others admired Amber, dressed in flaming red muslin; still others saw Opal, splendid in white tulle, as the very incarnation of purity. Opal’s once cold and distant air had given way to an expression of regal self-confidence, and the girl who had once kept her eyes downcast now held her head high.
Soon cries resounded through the great hall: “Long live the three Stones of the Prophecy! Long live liberty, and the Army of Light!”
Jade, Opal and Amber smiled. It was then that two figures appeared in the doorway. The first was a knight who looked rugged and valiant; the second, a young man with an aura of mysterious power. The youth gazed solemnly around the assembled throng, and yet he seemed not to see them. His brown hair was dishevelled, his clothing untidy. There were deep scratches on his careworn face, which seemed ravaged by some hidden pain, and there was an infinite sadness in his eyes.
A hovalyn who had come from the manor of Tivann of Orleys recognised him and shouted, “It’s the Chosen One! That young man is the Chosen One!”
Another knight who had also witnessed the ritual of the Ring of Orleys called out, “Long Live the Chosen One! I will fight beside you!”
In the ensuing tumult, cries of joy rang out, but one voice was raised in dissent.
“That man is not the Chosen One! He’s a soldier of Darkness!”
In the sudden pall of silence, all eyes were on a magic creature with pale blond hair, black eyes and silvery skin. It was Elfohrys who had spoken, and now he addressed the Nameless One.
“Tell them who you are! A murderer…”
Everyone expected the young man to deny these accusations.
“It’s true,” he admitted. “I belonged to the Army of Darkness. I was a murderer. But I no longer am. I have changed. And I would like to become a sorcerer of Light.”
“And you think we’re going to trust you?” cried a hovalyn, his voice full of hatred. “How can we tell if you’ve really changed? You can’t go from the Darkness to the Light! You have shed innocent blood!”
“And now it’s your blood that ought to be shed!” someone else yelled.
The crowd began to shout at the young man, heaping abuse on him. Jade joined in, yelling insults, and Opal felt the same way, although she remained silent.
As for Amber, she pitied the young man. Pale and dignified, he said nothing, made no effort to defend himself, and simply stared wretchedly at the angry throng. Then his eyes met Amber’s: they looked at each other, and immediately understood. They felt as if they had always known one another, as if they had lived only in the expectation of finding each other again someday. The Nameless One no longer saw Amber in her fiery red dress, he saw further — he saw her heart. And he realised that she would possess his own. There was only one word to describe what he was experiencing
. In fear and trembling, he considered that word. Impalpable, stronger and more maddening than any other emotion, the word lay in his golden casket as from now on it would lie in his heart, and in Amber’s eyes: love.
From the shadows will come the Chosen One
To unify the Realm
Amber could hear Oonagh’s voice…
From the shadows will come the Chosen One.
Amber lowered her eyes and reflected: this young man — if he really had shed blood… Of course, he had changed — he must certainly want to forget his past, atone for his misdeeds. But, still … Was he truly a murderer?
One will recognise the King.
She heard Oonagh’s voice…
“From the shadows will come the Chosen One,” murmured Amber, almost without thinking. Then suddenly she understood, and shouted, “From the shadows will come the Chosen One!”
Her cry silenced the astonished crowd.
“Are you feeling all right?” asked Jade.
Amber ignored her, and went to the Nameless One. Then she addressed the crowd.
“The one who was chosen, Elyador, the King, whatever you wish to call him — this is he. This murderer, this deserter whom you so despise. It is precisely because he comes from the shadows that he is the Chosen One.”
Jade and Opal stared at her open-mouthed. Amber was transformed, with passion in her voice and fire in her eye.
“It’s impossible,” called out Elfohrys. “A soldier of Darkness can’t be a sorcerer of Light!”
The crowd muttered in agreement.
“It’s written in The Prophecy. ‘From the shadows will come the Chosen One’,” repeated Amber. “This man belonged to the Army of Darkness, but he had the strength to leave it. Who among you would have been able to leave the shadows to go towards the Light?”
The assembled throng remained doubtful.
“This man deserves your admiration, not your insults. He has dared to come here to join the Army of Light. He did not try to lie to you: he admitted that he once served the Darkness. He knew that no one would trust him, that you would hate him. But he came anyway. Who here would have done as much?” After a pause, Amber continued gravely, “Those who have always been on the side of the Light are good. But those who have known the shadows, who have suffered, who have endured the contempt of others yet have continued to walk towards the Light … they are truly great.”
