“If you have the Levniquenya,” Barlo said, “how did Saviadro carry away his portion?”
“The dwarves helped him,” Iarion said in a quiet voice. He felt he should be the one to deliver this blow to his friend. Although Iarion had always known the story, it was a truth he had never shared with Barlo.
“What?” The color drained from Barlo’s face.
“Saviadro found the best smiths among the dwarves during the Age of Sundering,” Iarion continued. “He tricked them into creating another vessel by telling them it was for some other purpose.
“Dwarves know little of the Quenya. This was before Saviadro’s betrayal, so the dwarves believed his lies and did as he asked. Although their actions were performed in ignorance, it was the first betrayal of the dwarves against the elves. The dwarves were horrified once they realized what they had done.”
“Why have I never heard this tale before?” Barlo said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“It happened thousands of years ago.” Iarion placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “No doubt the dwarves wanted to keep their shame a secret. I had hoped that you would never need to know. I’m sorry.”
“I knew there was some dark reason our people no longer had close relations, but I had no idea…” Barlo’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. You said that was the first betrayal of the dwarves. What was the second?”
“That story belongs to Lysandir and must wait for another time,” Valanandir said. “A messenger has arrived. We thought it best you hear what news he has brought before you depart.”
An elf with red-gold hair and blue eyes stepped forward. Iarion inhaled sharply. The elf had a pair of white and gold feathered wings. Their tips reached the elf’s ankles. His skin was golden like that of the Linadar. He was Sintadain, a Sky Elf.
Iarion had only heard of them in tales. The Sintadar had been created by Valanandir and Iadrawyn during the sundering of the elves. They had once been land-dwelling Light Elves who loved watching the heavens and speaking with birds. The lord and lady had used the Quenya to give them wings so they could help in the fight against Saviadro and his dark forces. Now they served as spies and messengers.
“More groups of the Marred Races have infiltrated the midlands.” The winged elf spoke haltingly in the Common Tongue. “They appear to be scouting parties. Even now, some are prowling the Adar Daran.” Silence filled the glade at this news.
“We will have to muster what allies we can to prepare for the coming battle,” Valanandir said. “We will send Sintadar messengers to Melaralva to let them know of this development. Although I would also like to send messengers to Rasdaria and the Fey Wood, I doubt it would be safe to do so with the Forsworn abroad in the north.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” Barlo said. “But what about the dwarves and men of the midlands? Surely they must be warned.”
“Do you believe they would aid us?” The lord frowned. “Our relations with the other races are strained at best. I fear we have lived too long in isolation.”
“Well, as I understand it,” Barlo said, “this affects all of us. I doubt the foul creatures will pass the rest of us by on their way here. Now I can’t speak for the men, but if you send word to Dwarvenhome, they’ll take heed.” With Narilga ruling in Barlo’s absence, Iarion was inclined to agree.
Valanandir nodded. “Very well. I will instruct our messengers to see that the Earth Elves pass these tidings on to Dwarvenhome. As for the men and women of Belierumar, they regard us as creatures of legend. I am afraid they would shoot one of our messengers out of ignorance. We can only hope they maintain their vigil over the Southern Passage.” Lysandir frowned, but remained silent.
“There is something more,” the Sintadain continued. “I flew to Mar Arin seeking Numarin. The Curusin was missing. I could find no signs of struggle.”
Iarion’s eyes widened. Numarin was the Learnéd One of Air. The color drained from Lysandir’s face.
“Is it not possible he was simply away when you visited?” Valanandir asked.
“That seems a logical explanation, but my heart tells me something has happened to him,” Iadrawyn said.
“We will stop by Mar Arin on our way north,” Lysandir said. “Perhaps I will be able to find some clue to his disappearance.” Valanandir nodded his agreement.
“The movement of the dark forces will only make your quest more dangerous.” Iadrawyn’s green gaze became distant and her voice hollow. “The path before you is filled with shadows. It twists in unexpected directions. Do not be afraid to accept the help of others along the way, but be wary. Betrayal hangs over you like a shroud. Iarion, you will be tempted to drink from the Forbidden Pool. Do so at your own peril.” Her eyes focused once more.
“I give you the Levniquenya.” Valanandir handed Iarion the vessel. It was surprisingly light in his hands. “I charge you with its safe return, along with the missing portion of the Quenya. May fortune smile upon you all.”
“Please, provision yourselves well.” The lady gestured to several other elves that had arrived bearing supplies. “Valanandir and I would like a moment to say farewell to our daughter.”
Iarion wrapped the Levniquenya in some spare clothing and stowed it at the bottom of his pack. The elves bore dried travel rations, new arrows for Iarion, and extra blankets. It would get colder once they were in the north. The elves also provided healing supplies. Lysandir fell into a deep conversation in Elvish with some of those who recognized him. Iarion stole a glance at Silvaranwyn and her parents and caught Barlo doing the same.
“I understand she is their daughter and they want her to be safe, but why were they so shocked at her wanting to come with us?” Barlo asked.
“I don’t think she means to come back.” Iarion continued to watch as the family embraced. Two other elves had arrived—one male and the other female. The family resemblance was undeniable. They must be Silvaranwyn’s siblings.
“Why wouldn’t she come back? This is her home.” Barlo frowned.
“The Quenya has told her something.” Iarion felt some of his bitterness creep into his voice.
“She’s not going to die, surely?”
“Perhaps, if it is her destiny.” Iarion shrugged. “But I don’t think so.”
“Then why are they acting like she’s dying?” The family was now weeping openly as they embraced Silvaranwyn.
“In a way, I suppose she is going to die.” Iarion looked over at his friend. Barlo’s shocked gaze met his. “Linadar cannot be apart from the Quenya for prolonged periods of time. It changes them. It is what changed the rest of us into Goladar.”
“What will happen to her?”
“Over time, she will fade from Light Elf to Shadow Elf. Her coloring will darken and her magic will wither. And unlike the rest of the Linadar, who live forever unless killed, she will become mortal, and eventually die once her purpose is fulfilled.”
“Then why is she coming with us?” Barlo’s expression was aghast.
“Because she must.”
“Why? Because some mystical presence has planned this out for her?”
“It’s not only because it is the path that’s laid out for her.” Iarion sighed. “It’s likely she knows our quest will fail unless she comes with us.”
“And why is that? Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. Because the Quenya told her.” Barlo rolled his eyes before taking a good look at his friend. “Wait. You’re jealous, aren’t you?”
“Of course, I’m jealous!” Iarion hissed. “I would give anything to have the connection to the Quenya she has.”
“Even if it meant almost certain death?”
“At least I wouldn’t be wandering around, wondering why I’m here.”
“Why not? That’s the way the rest of us live, and we get by just fine.”
“I can’t believe this.” Some of Iarion’s hurt crept into his voice. “From the way you were talking yesterday, I thought you understood.”
“The First Father knows I’m tryin
g.” Barlo sighed. “I’m sorry, Iarion. It’s hard to understand when I see a family like this one being torn apart because it’s the will of some glowing light. Why would you want to be like them anyway? Look at what this has done to them.”
“They are sad, but they are at peace, knowing this is the way things should be. Their lives are shaped by a sense of certainty. All I have is a void where that connection should be. To have a connection with the Quenya is what it means to be an elf. I am the only one of my kind without one. Although they are sad now, they have never known the despair that comes with being lost, perhaps for all eternity. There are times when I have even contemplated taking my own life.”
“Iarion!” Barlo’s eyes widened. “What stopped you?”
“I couldn’t do it. No elf has ever done it before. Then again, no elf has ever had reason to.” Iarion shrugged. “I suppose a part of me has always believed there must be a reason I am the way I am, and that there must be an answer out there somewhere. This could be it.
“So if I seem cold about what Silvaranwyn and her family are going through, it’s only because I know they can see the path that is laid out in front of them. They know more about what is happening than they let on. I, on the other hand, am embarking on a potentially fatal quest and I might as well be blindfolded.”
“You aren’t the only one, Iarion,” Barlo said. “Try to remember that.”
“Thank you, Barlo.” Iarion gave his friend a small smile. “You’re a good friend. I’m glad you’re coming with me.”
“As if you could leave me behind!”
“Are you ready to depart?” Valanandir asked. Silvaranwyn had stepped back from her family and was brushing tears from her cheeks. Iarion, Barlo, and Lysandir joined her. They were packed and ready to go.
“It grieves me that we did not meet under better circumstances,” Iadrawyn said. “Melaquenya is not usually a place of sorrow. Perhaps when you return and the Quenya is made complete, we can share a happier visit.”
“Good luck on your quest.” The lord smiled before turning serious. “All of Lasniniar hopes for your success. Farewell!”
The three companions bowed to the Lord and Lady of Melaquenya, thanking them for their hospitality. Silvaranwyn stepped forward to lead them from the forest. With heavy reluctance, Iarion turned and left the glade of the Quenya behind.
– Chapter Six –
A Dark Past
As their group left the golden and silver trees of Melaquenya, Iarion felt the comforting presence of the Quenya fade. He hoped he would live long enough to feel it once more.
Once Silvaranwyn led them out of the forest, Lysandir resumed the lead, taking them through the Rolling Hills to the west and north of Melaquenya. They wanted to stay under cover for as long as possible before crossing the open grasslands of the Adar Daran. They made camp that night within the northernmost border of the hills.
Silvaranwyn had been quiet all day, and fell asleep after the evening meal. Lysandir sat by himself with his back to the campfire, looking out into the night. Iarion and Barlo sat together by the fire.
“Iarion, what is the Forbidden Pool?” Barlo asked after a long silence.
“What?” Iarion looked up. He had been lost in his own thoughts.
“The Forbidden Pool. The lady said you would be tempted to drink from it.”
“Oh.” Iarion shrugged. “It’s a magical pool.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s beyond the Mountains of Fire in the dark lands. It is fed by the Nightrush River.”
“Why is it forbidden?”
“Well it’s not forbidden, exactly,” Iarion said. “It’s just very dangerous to drink from it.”
“Why would you want to drink from it then?”
“Because it gives insight to those who taste its waters.”
“Yes,” Lysandir said, “but at a great price.” Barlo looked up, startled. The Learnéd One joined them by the fire.
“I drank from it once, a long time ago.” Lysandir’s silver eyes looked past them.
“And what did it show you?” Barlo asked. His expression seemed torn between curiosity and dislike.
“It showed me many things. Some of them true, others false. Even the things that were true were warped and twisted to seem dark and terrible. The Forbidden Pool can grant insight, but it will take away all your hope if you let it.”
“Why did you drink from it?” Barlo persisted. Iarion was surprised at Barlo’s daring.
“I drank to find a way to escape the dark lands without Saviadro’s knowledge.” Lysandir held Barlo under his gaze. “I believe you wanted to know earlier about the second betrayal of the dwarves. I will tell you.” The dwarf shifted, but did not flinch.
“Valanandir and Iadrawyn foresaw the need for people who could be a link between the Linadar and the rest of Lasniniar; people who could use the magic of the Quenya without having to be near it, and without the risk of fading. Three of us were bred by crossing the best of the Linadar, dwarves, and Greater Men, with the help of the Quenya.
“Numarin, Feoras, and I were born. We were raised in Melaquenya by the lord and lady themselves. They taught us the ways of the Quenya so we could manipulate the three elements most elves do not concern themselves with: air, water, and fire. We were created as a counterbalance to the Forsworn, who had begun to roam the lands.”
A look of pain crossed Lysandir’s features. “Saviadro learned of our existence and decided he wanted one of us for himself. We were still young and corruptible.
“There was a dwarf named Hilgur. His wife was part of the breeding program that produced the Learnéd. Saviadro had his forces abduct Hilgur’s son, Bilrugo. His creatures told Hilgur he would only see his son again if he delivered one of the Learnéd in exchange.
“Bilrugo was Hilgur’s only son. In those days, dwarves entered Melaquenya freely, and his wife still lived there. I was the first child he found.”
Lysandir’s eyes closed. “Hilgur told me a surprise was waiting for me outside the forest. I had always wanted to see the outside world, and I trusted him. Young and untried, the dark creatures overpowered me easily. They gave Hilgur his son and fled north with me in their custody. Saviadro was very pleased. He wanted to raise me as his own pet Learnéd One. At first, I resisted. But no one came to rescue me.
“Eventually I reasoned if I pretended to go along with Saviadro’s plans, I might be given enough freedom to escape. It took a long time for me to earn his trust. I spent hundreds of years in Mar Valion at his side before I was able to slip from his grasp. Even then, I had to turn to the Forbidden Pool to find a way out of the dark lands.”
“Saviadro didn’t try to stop you?” Barlo asked.
“He did not realize I was missing until it was too late. I never fully communed with the Stariquenya, so he had no link to track me.”
Barlo frowned.
“I know what you are thinking,” Lysandir said. “I have seen that look many times before. Did Saviadro allow me to escape? Am I a spy? As I fled for Melaquenya, I was met with those same questions as people realized who I was. I was shunned. Only Iadrawyn and Valanandir were convinced of my story.
“I spent the next few hundred years wandering the lands, making up for lost time. When I didn’t immediately betray the Free Races to the Fallen One, some began to think perhaps my story was true. But I am still considered an outcast and potential traitor by many, all because of Hilgur.”
The only sound that answered Lysandir’s words was the occasional crackle of the campfire. Finally, Barlo broke the silence.
“What happened to Hilgur?”
“He tried to return to Dwarvenhome with his son, but the dwarves had already learned of his folly. He was banished. The elves closed Melaquenya to all outsiders and communication with the dwarves ceased. He and his wife and his son traveled on what is now called Traitor’s Road. They went to Dwarfhaven, to live in exile.”
“And they were welcomed there?” Barlo’s expression was
shocked.
“For a time.” Lysandir sighed. “But the machinations of Saviadro went deeper than Hilgur suspected. While Bilrugo was held hostage by Saviadro’s creatures, one of the Forsworn had corrupted him. In Dwarfhaven, he began to sow discord among the dwarves while creating his own, loyal faction.
“His actions led to the Dwarven Wars, where the clans battled over the legacy of Hilgur and Bilrugo. Saviadro’s plan was successful. He had managed to turn some of his enemies against one another. After many years, the clans who supported Bilrugo were wiped out and the history behind the wars was conveniently forgotten.”
“I had no idea.” Barlo gave himself a shake. “We’ve had no contact with Dwarfhaven for generations, but they’re still considered traitors. I’ve heard hints and vague mentions of those names, but they were always hushed up.”
“With good reason. It is the dwarves’ secret shame.” Lysandir watched Barlo’s response. Several moments passed before the dwarf spoke.
Barlo straightened, his expression resolute. “This is a story that needs to be told. When I return from this quest, I will hold a clan meeting and bring this out into the open. I will tell this story to my children. For years, I’ve wondered at our rift with the elves. I can’t believe the lord and lady let me into their wood!”
“The Linadar listen to the voice of the Quenya,” Lysandir said. “Do not count on getting the same reception from other elves.”
“Iarion, why did you never tell me this story?” Barlo turned toward his friend.
“It was Lysandir’s story to tell.” Iarion lowered his eyes. “And to be honest, I couldn’t bear to tell you. It didn’t matter to me anyway. I’ve lived longer than any Goladain. I’ve learned not to hold one person accountable for the guilt of a nation over something long forgotten.”
“Now you see how rare your friendship with Iarion is,” Lysandir said. “And now that all your impertinent questions have been answered, it is time we got some rest. We have a long journey to Mar Arin tomorrow.”
Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) Page 4
