by C A Oliver
The temple of O Vaha remained frozen inside an ethereal mist, like a lost warship sailing along unknown shores at the edge of a grey world.
A figure came slowly out of the temple’s ruins. It was clad in purple, the dark colour absorbing any dim light of the moon. In his hand, the Elf held a golden rod, like those priests of Eïwal Lon wield.
Camatael, like a ghost lost in the night, seemed to be searching his way forwards. He was walking silently along the path that led out of the ancient shrine. The young lord seemed to be floating away from the main ruins. His footsteps left no trace on the humid soil.
As he approached the guards stationed motionless close to the compound’s boundaries, he realised they would not see him unless he willed it.
Camatael suddenly noticed a movement to his left. Two figures, faint and small at first, but growing larger and clearer, were approaching. At last, he could see their faces distinctly; Terela and Myryae were speeding towards the wall.
Suddenly, they saw him too.
Visibly surprised by this nocturnal encounter, the princess of Cumberae touched the necklace that hung about her neck with her staff. The figurines of the Two Winged-Lions of House Dol Nos-Loscin adorning the ivory rod came into contact with the crystal upon the chain.
The vision Camatael seemed to experience faded, and he found he was indeed looking at the two Elvin ladies. It was no dream.
The young lord stepped back, surprised by the sudden encounter. Clouds were moving across the night sky. The twinkling of the stars briefly illuminated his gaze, lost in reverie.
“Have you lost your way, Lord Dol Lewin? What has brought you here, when you should be quietly resting with your retinue?” enquired Terela, her voice full of authority.
Seeing his lack of reaction, she lifted her arms and opened her palms towards his face, in a gesture of rejection. Moonlight reflected upon the eyes of the two figurines. The diamonds glittered like gems in sunlight. Camatael gazed at the two-winged lions, as if noticing their black and white colours for the first time. The charm was dispelled. He was released from the strange spell and seemed, at last, to understand fully where he stood.
“What do you wish of me?” Camatael asked in an odd tone. “What are you doing outside the temple in the middle of the night?”
Myryae smiled. Her voice was clear when she returned the question.
“And why do you come to us, uninvited and unwanted?”
The matriarch lifted her hand. From the rune that was marked upon her palm, there issued a greenish light which illuminated the young lord alone, leaving all else around him in darkness. She stood still before Camatael, seeming both powerful and threatening.
Camatael did not step back or resist her. The emerald light faded.
“I had a vision and … I walked out of the temple,” the young lord confided with a gentle voice, both soft and surprised.
The three Elves stood there for a while, unsure of what to do next. At length, Camatael noticed: all was silent around them, all was still, as if the tides of fates had stopped flowing; there was absolutely no noise… no movement…
Terela broke the silence.
“Camatael, I know you are saying the truth. Will you tell us about your dream?”
The young lord did not answer immediately. He was confronting two Elves whose power was greater than his own: a matriarch and a princess who trained their will to the domination of others. Though his sight had grown keener, Camatael could perceive it was of no avail struggling with those that were counted among the wisest of living Elves.
At last, he revealed what he had experienced.
“I saw the face of an ancient, withered Elvin creature. She looked like the statues of the ancient temples in Tios Lluin; like a keeper of souls, or a weaver of prophecies. Ravens were flying around her like messengers, eager to do her bidding. I heard music; some appeasing melody played on a harp. I could also smell orchids… the smell of orchids was all around me.”
“Were her robes grey?” asked Myryae.
Camatael did not answer immediately. At last, he said.
“I cannot tell, for I did not wish to look.”
“What things were revealed to you? The one you saw has the power to show strange and unbidden events,” insisted the matriarch.
The young lord nodded. He realized he was still trembling.
‘Am I trembling out of fear or out of curiosity?’ he wondered.
But before he could reach a conclusion, what he had seen in his dream came back to him. The vision shifted, and he saw them again. With a voice filled with awe, he told the two Elvin ladies.
“I saw wings greater than those of Storm Eagles… wings waving in the wind, descending slowly… not falling but flying with majesty, until they reached the ground.
I counted five of them: winged horses, their coats all different colours, each with a unique shape and size. There were three smaller steeds, which appeared younger: one steel grey, a palomino, and a silver dapple one. Then came a larger winged horse, the colour of its coat was chestnut. At last, I saw it, a white Winged Stallion, the biggest of all, and it seemed its hoofs were made of gems and its teeth were cut from ivory.
Amazingly, I was not paralysed with panic, simply attracted beyond words by the powerful aura that radiated from the creatures. I looked with all my soul, until I saw the cavaliers riding the Winged Horses…”
The force of the vision was such that Camatael felt the need to sit on the grass. He added, looking at the paths leading to an orchard on a lower level.
“That dream was real. I could swear it. I saw the Winged Horses and their riders landing in this very wood.”
Camatael tried to empty his head and let no thoughts enter. The two Elvin ladies looked at each other as though silently consulting one another. At last, they agreed they needed to share the truth with the young lord.
“What you saw in your dream was true, Camatael,” said Terela. “The Arkys of the Secret Vale have come to meet us.”
These were incredible claims. To the young lord’s reason, they sounded utterly impossible. But to the priest of Eïwal Lon’s heart, they rang true.
The Arkys were considered the most glorious spiritual order in the Archipelago, though their origin was barely known to the common Elf. Many songs told of their legend, and they continued to fascinate the worshipers of the Islands’ deities. Despite their absence, and perhaps also thanks to it, they had become something of a beacon to most Elves in the Archipelago, to those who called themselves the ‘seeds of Llyoriane’.
Priests would preach how the Islands’ deities had shown their favour to the five high clerics by entrusting them with the location of Llyoriane’s tomb in the Secret Vale. There was no concrete evidence of its existence. No Elf had ever entered it and returned. But despite this lack of any witnesses, the Secret Vale remained a major icon in the minds of Elves.
The Arkys had remained hidden for centuries, providing guidance to some and warnings to others, claiming their spiritual superiority as keepers of Queen Llyoriane’s tomb. Always they had relied upon the Daughter of the Islands, the one they named the ‘Arkylla’, to pass on their message to the Elves.
Myryae knew how to interpret their signs, for she was one of the few matriarchs who could consult omens. She looked at the pale light that reflected on the surface of a small pool nearby.
“Priests of Eïwele Llyo revere the moon; it governs their souls just as it controls the ocean’s tides. Their abilities to weave illusions and practice divination are deeply respected by all. Their power must now be at work. They can commune with their deity across the two worlds.”
The matriarch further interpreted the vision Camatael had just experienced.
“What you saw in your dream is nothing less than a premonition. The moon is high and the Arkyllyo is near. The high priestess of Eïwele Llyo must have called upon her deity to summon her evocative power and seed that vision in your mind.”
Terela concurred. “I see this as a
sign… the Arkys wish Lord Dol Lewin to participate in the ceremony. They want him to be initiated into the secret of their return…”
Camatael listened to their words with attention. The veil that obscured his mind had now been lifted, and the discussions between the two ladies had given him enough time to regain his senses.
“I believe your interpretation is true. And now I am glad that I am to march with you. But I will do as you advise. If you judge me worthy of joining you, I will be your most trusted companion. If not, you have my word that I will never speak of this again.”
Terela looked surprised but pleased at this answer, full of goodwill. She smiled gently at Camatael and held his hands.
“Your attitude is full of respect, Lord Dol Lewin, and I now understand better why the Arkys wish you to be at our side. Given the scale of the task, there will never be too many of us concerned with defending the Elves of the Islands.”
All were agreed. Myryae and Terela turned aside and led him towards the northern slopes of the hilltop. The small group exited the compound by going through a breach in the ruined walls. The guards who were posted nearby ignored their passing. They were taken by a deep slumber, as though time were standing still.
The three Elves came to the edge of the woods, where apple trees grew. Through the canopy they could see the light of Cil, shining with all its brilliance on the western horizon. They descended a grassy slope that led further into the woods before reaching a silvery fountain, fed by an underground source. The murmur of an invisible stream could be heard in the silence of the night. The three Elves were entering a deep hollow.
The place was filled with a soft light. Its walls were ruined stone, and its roof was the glittering stars.
Camatael glanced through the branches to the clearing beyond. He stood in the shelter and concealment of a large beech tree. The young lord took a step backward.
Elvin knights stood in the glade in shining armour, their shields emblazoned with coloured symbols, their lances of an extraordinary length.
At the centre of the parade stood the five Arkys of the Secret Vale. They sat on natural seats formed by the gnarled roots of a great tree. Their heads were bent towards the ground, as if lost in thought or dreams.
Something most strange struck Camatael. A circle of energy was gliding around them, just above the tips of the grass. The whiteness of that field was not like any other whiteness he knew of; almost as intense as that of lightning. Its brilliancy was so blinding that it pained his eyes. In awe, Camatael’s breath grew faint.
Suddenly, the white circle vanished.
The wood had been utterly silent until then, as if overwhelmed with the same stillness that comes when a storm cloud darkens a forest. As the circle of energy vanished, the silence burst into the many nightly sounds of the wilderness.
The Arkys rose and stood. They approached the three Elves slowly, clothed in their splendour. Light was somehow dappled across their faces, like rays of the sleeping sun. The Arkys moved forward to meet the envoys of Llymar and Cumberae, like greeting guests visiting their halls. Their refined manners were that of royal sovereigns. Unnaturally tall and slender, they were dressed beautifully with coloured robes cut from the finest silk.
First came the Arkylon, a tall High Elf with long dark hair. Signs of his great age were upon him. It could be read in the depths of his eyes. His great helm had but one opening, which gave him the appearance of having a single eye. His robes were the colour of fiery gold, which any onlooker would immediately associate with the sun. The blade of his lance was made of bronze, and it shone like pure light. The Arkylon appeared like a supreme priest of heaven. He seemed to descend among the Elves to enlighten them with his truth so that they may be imbued with his wisdom.
Then came the Arkyvars, marching at his side, a second in command protecting his lord with the emerald blade of his spear. His eyes were keen as swords in the twilight. Below his greenly robes could be seen an armour made of hide. He had grapes and leaves in his hair, an animal skin draped across his lap, and a soft leather garment to protect his legs.
Three high priestesses followed, walking with grace. A bird was perched on each of their shoulders. With their beauty and nobility, their elegance of movement, adorned with jewels and their hair braided with flowers, they looked like the embodiment of their respective deities.
The Arkyllyi’s colour was white, her flower the jasmine and her bird the grand butterfly. She wore golden jewellery. The Llewenti lady was finely dressed in a silk gown enhancing her elegant silhouette. It felt natural for her to display the beauty of her golden hair.
The Arkylla’s colour was green, her flower the magnolia and her bird the redbreast. She was shrouded in a long robe made entirely of green feathers and foliage. Upon her head were antlers. Her unnatural eyes were an intense emerald. The ancient matriarch of clan Ernaly, who the Elves called the ‘Daughter of the Islands’, wielded a long whip of bough and a great wooden staff, shaped like a halberd.
The Arkyllyo’s colour was grey, her flower the orchid, and her bird the raven. The Llewenti priestess wore a long silk gown so fine that she appeared to be dressed in a mantle of pure stardust. Her face had a serene glow. Her eyes, like the wells of deep memory, were meant to capture attention and to draw the viewer into her mysterious universe.
The Arkys said not a word but looked long upon the faces of their three guests.
At last, the Arkylon, the Elf known as the first to have discovered the Secret Vale, greeted them personally.
“Rimwë is my name. I was born the second son of Nargrond.”
Works of literature had described Rimwë, the younger brother of Rowë Dol Nargrond, as one of the wisest Elves, gifted with a great power to control the Islands’ Flow.
The Arkylon blessed each in turn, with a delicate gesture of his hand.
“Welcome Terela, daughter of Prince Garael, it is the first time we meet, and I am glad your father has conveyed you to us. Major threats are still looming, and the Elves of Cumberae need urgent assistance. Lay aside your burden for a while, for the Secret Vale has answered your prayers.
Welcome, Myryae, daughter of the warlord of Penlla, our gathering is another opportunity to renew our vows of friendship with the matriarchs of Llymar.
And welcome to you, Camatael of the house of Dol Lewin, our unexpected guest. May your presence here be a sign of your ever-growing commitment to the cause of the seeds of Llyoriane.”
When all the ceremonial salutations were complete, the Arkylon looked at them again. Camatael knew this great Elf was the attributed author of numerous passages from the Lonyawelye, composed by the first followers of Eïwal Lon. His output also included proverbs, songs and odes, which had gradually formed the liturgy of the cult to the deity of Wisdom. Such an orator could influence his audience, even by the tone of his voice.
“We come to you, Elves of Llymar and Cumberae, to answer your call for aid, and to initiate you into the mysteries of our Order. We are the guardians of the tomb of Llyoriane, the Queen who opened the way to the Promised Islands. From the heights of the Secret Vale, may our assembly guide you along the paths of victory against our common enemies. The forces of chaos are gathering and, in these last years, the Elves have wandered according to the tumults of history. But all Elvin races are members of one great kin. The seeds of Llyoriane have the same origin and the same destination. It is by means of this core principle that the Arkys reappear today, after centuries of retreat in the Secret Vale, away from the eyes of the Islands’ Elves. We have no fear of terrors and will demonstrate our strength in the struggles to come. Our works will be wrought with justice and balance.”
These were noble words that instilled hope. The Arkylon’s tone of voice and gestures expressed his loving nature. Camatael and Myryae felt compelled to bend their knees, to demonstrate their adherence and submission. But before they made any movement, Terela spoke. Though respectful and righteous, her tone was one of firmness.
“The Se
cret Vale is far away, and each year the mists protecting its location have grown thicker. I bring sour tidings, perhaps the evillest that have been spoken since the Century of War. Spring was full of many grievous deeds in my homeland. The Elves of Cumberae are weary, for danger is closing in around them. Barbarians have entered our borders to wreak havoc within our realm. Our control of the Islands’ Flow is waning, as though the sources of its power are in danger of drying up.”
Terela talked with a low voice, and a certain blame was burning in her eye. Her accusatory gaze seemed to contain all the complaints she had not yet expressed in words.
Meanwhile, the Arkys looked down in grief. To clear the air, the Arkyllyo spoke for the first time. Her voice was melodious.
“Cumberae’s inherent strength has long remained unspoiled. Your lands were filled with the influence of the deities.”
“The forest of Cumberae,” Terela explained, “has always been a place with a strong potential for the Islands’ Flow, rich as it was in natural sources of energy: the ocean’s tide, the strong winds, the plentiful streams and the breath of the woods. Throughout this last century, however, these natural powers have been in decline, and the rate of degeneration has worsened over recent years. My family member Miglor, lore master of House Dol Nos-Loscin, believes the coming of Men to our territories is not the cause of this phenomenon, but rather the consequence. Our control over the Islands’ Flow has waned. This made us vulnerable, and the barbarian tribes merely exploited that weakness. As our ability to wield the Islands’ Flow declined, their campaigns encroached ever deeper into our woods.
