In The Depths Of Winter

by Bradley Mitzelfelt

  The most popular was certainly the venison. Everyone seemed to partake of it, and there wasn’t a scrap of it left when the meal was done and over with. The bread was delicious. The wine was better than he’d ever tasted. Potent, but with a delicate flavor that left the mouth thirsting for more. He had to drink it with caution. More than once he found himself drinking it heavily without even noticing that he was doing so. It wouldn’t do to get drunk among the elves, and so he’d opted for water after two glasses of the wine, just to keep himself in check. The elves had smiled to themselves when he’d made that request.

  When it was all done, several elves whisked away the dirty dishes and remaining food, noticeably leaving the wine and other drink, while a few others brought out instruments. A lute was joined by a reed instrument that he’d never seen before, and accompanied by the steady beat of a drum as the musicians played a spirited tune meant for dancing.

  “Did you enjoy the food?” Thromiel asked as he moved into a seat beside Dearic.

  Throughout the meal, Dearic had sat beside elves he’d not met beforehand, though he’d learned their names during the course of conversation. They were curious of the outside world since none had left the forest in a very long time. He’d told them of the goings on, noticeably trying to avoid the bad things as he did not wish to upset them.

  “That venison was the best I’ve ever tasted,” Dearic said as he leaned back in his seat. Prior to the meal he’d changed out of his armor into a regular tunic and trousers, so he didn’t have to worry about the armor pushing on his gut. “I don’t know what you did to it, but it was fantastic.”

  “I can’t say myself, I’m not a good cook. Though we often have guests say the same as you. The talk is that you stopped drinking the wine after a while. Several jests have been shared at your expense.”

  Dearic couldn’t help but laugh at this. “It was far too good, Thromiel. If I allowed myself to keep drinking it I would have been a drunken fool before long. Nobody wants to see that happen, I assure you.”

  “Fair enough,” Thromiel said as he watched several couples begin to dance to the music as tables were moved aside.

  “Do you do this often?” Dearic asked.

  “Feasts are an everyday occasion. We find life much more enjoyable if we treat every day as a special one. Considering the consistent attack by Gregor’s forces it keeps the spirits elevated.”

  “So you live in a perpetual state of the celebration of nothing?”

  “On the contrary. We celebrate life. Each day that we awake is another in which we get to enjoy this beautiful world, to marvel at the wonders of the forest and that which created the majesty of each stream. This is not to be taken lightly. Nothing is more beautiful than life, so why not take the time to celebrate it?”

  “If you are constantly celebrating, how do you hold Gregor’s forces, or the Devan, at bay?”

  “Our brothers from under the ground have not sought to attack us for many years. We only need worry about the Orcs and these new humans now. As for how we do it,” Thromiel shrugged, “we simply do what we must. In truth there are a few others villages within the forest. All of us contribute to the safety of the forest. Not every elf was able to be at the feast today. Had they been, something would have been lost.”

  “I see. So, even though you were here celebrating, some of you were out there keeping watch and defending this place. Do you all use magic to do so?”

  “For the most part, yes. Some, like my brother, prefer bows and arrows along with their magic, but we all use it to some degree. Some are more skilled than others, however.”

  “And what of you? How skilled are you?” Dearic asked as he reached for his glass of water, throat feeling parched.

  “Skilled enough to do what I must,” Thromiel said, offering a sly smile. “More skilled than you at the moment, I dare say.” The elf drank some wine from a glass he’d brought with him. “Though that will change soon.”

  “How soon?”

  Thromiel stood, holding his glass in one hand as he looked Dearic over. “Come with me and we will see,” he said before walking away.

  Dearic stood, not wanting to waste any time. Sure the food and festivities were great, especially by human standards, and the elven women were divine, but he still found little interest in them and a greater interest in discovering what his path was in life. For him that meant that he needed to go with Thromiel and discover more of himself.

  The two of them made their way across to one of the wooden homes. With sleek roofs that curved upward to meet at the top, and carved wooden posts that held roofs above porches, the houses were magnificent. They appeared ancient, and yet at the same time they were so well maintained that if they told him it was built the day before he would have believed them. The grains of the wood told a story, polished smooth and well cared for. If this sort of craftsmanship could be found in Brivan, the craftsman would have been richer even than the King.

  But there were no craftsman of that caliber in Brivan. There were skilled woodworkers and carpenters, but they would have been mere apprentices compared to whomever had built these homes. Dearic was led into one of them and found himself in a sparsely decorated room. On one side there were a series of mats laid out with pillows. On the other, a small table upon which a series of small stones was arranged in a pattern. He examined them from afar.

  “They are just stones,” Thromiel said. “Nothing special about them.”

  Dearic suspected that wasn’t quite the case, but who was he to argue with the leader of the Laradain elves? Thromiel walked over to a mantle above a fireplace set into the wall near the pillows and pulled down a plain chunk of wood. There were no seam’s to be seen, and the wood was polished so smooth that one could run their hands over it without ever worrying of getting a splinter. I wonder what that is. Could be some magical artifact but it just looks like a block of wood.

  “Please, sit,” Thromiel said as he sat amongst the pillows, leaning on them.

  They were comfortable, though he found sitting on the floor in a pile of pillows to be somewhat odd. Normal people sat in chairs, or on benches, not on the floor. Where he was from, the floor was reserved generally for children, so that they could scoot around and play without falling out of chairs.

  Thromiel held the block of wood out to Dearic, so he reached out and took it. He held it gently, running fingers over the wood so smooth he could feel no grain. All he felt was a sort of soft hardness. As he’d noted from afar, there were no seams so how could it be anything other than a block of wood? He was curious as to why it had been given to him to hold if there was nothing special about it. There had to be something.

  “Is it just a block of wood?”

  “No,” Thromiel replied. “It’s a box.”

  The elf reached out a hand and touched the top of the box lightly. Something clicked within and the box slid open to reveal a bunch of stones. Nothing special about them as far as he could see. They all appeared to be simple stones that one could find in any river or stream in Amarand. Some looked like good skipping stones as well.

  “They look like ordinary stones to you, I’m guessing,” Thromiel said.

  Dearic looked up and nodded.

  “They aren’t normal stones. They are sight stones. In ages past there were a few of us that could perform magic without the use of controlling words. Not many, but there were a few,” Thromiel said as he reached in and picked up a stone. “At first they all thought there was nothing different about casting spells without controlling words. It wasn’t hard for them and they had no reason to believe otherwise. Magic was only thought to be harmful when cast in a manner meant to be harmful. This was before we learned the effects of Dark Magic, as well.

  “These elves, experimenting with this power, began to feel strange side effects as a result of their actions. It wasn’t long before they began to bleed if they tried to use magic at all. The blood would come from their mouths, eyes, or nose. It started as just a trickle at first.
None thought anything of it, other than it could be simple strain from using magic to do too much. Most of them took some time to themselves to adjust. Several days, weeks, even months for some. But it wasn’t enough to solve the problem.

  “As soon as they went back to using magic, bleeding continued. It got worse and worse the more that they did, until eventually they used magic one time too many and they died. You see, they had nothing to focus that power through. The words we speak are a focus, drawing it out of us and sending the magic on its way. Without that, the magic grows within us before being sent outwards, which harms our bodies. Yes, we have inherently strong magic within us, those that can use it, but only when it is called upon for action does it become active. The rest of the time it lies within us, doing nothing. As it swells it becomes harmful to us. The words keep it from destroying us.”

  Thromiel held the stone up and Dearic looked at it closely.

  “To you this is but a mere stone. It is probably not the right stone for you,” the elf said. “But something like this can also be a focus for the abilities which you possess. No doubt you have already seen bleeding as a result of magic. You are close to killing yourself with it, and there is no way to heal the damage done. Without the proper one of these, the proper focus, you will die and be useless to this world.”

  So there was the inevitable drawback to his power. There had to have been something but he didn’t expect it to actually be killing him. Why would a gift like magic be so destructive as to cause death? The more he thought about it, the more he guessed that magic itself was destruction. They who cast it were creating something out of nothing, thereby destroying the natural order of things. Or perhaps it was simply the responsibility of God to have created such a great gift, but given it drawbacks in an effort to curb its usage for evil purposes. Leave it to those of this world to find a way to twist it and take control of it.

  He stared at the stone that Thromiel held in his hand for a moment longer before looking down into the box of them that he still held. These stones are supposed to help me focus? I don’t see how. It’s just a rock. He rummaged through them for a moment and then grabbed one at random and held it up, examining it. There really was nothing special about them that he could see.

  “I don’t understand how this is supposed to help me focus. They all just look like lumps of stone.”

  “They will all be such until you find the right one,” Thromiel said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a similarly shaped stone, though this one appeared as if it were made of polished glass, not rock. “This is mine. Because I hold it, and use it, it appears as what it truly is. To everyone else it’s just a stone unless it’s in the possession of the one who uses it to harness their power.”

  A flick of his hand sent the stone hurtling through the air to land in Dearic’s hand, since he moved to catch it while dropping the wooden box in his lap. When he looked at the stone he’d just caught, he was surprised to find that it looked exactly like the other stones in the box.

  “How does it know when you are holding it or not?” Dearic asked, turning it over in his hand.

  “Once you’ve used it to cast magic, a part of that magic is forever trapped within the stone. Magic is inherently tied to the one that uses it, and it will recognize your presence by touch.”

  That was curious. The stone almost sounded like it was a living thing. If it was living that would cause a whole other set of potential issues that he wasn’t sure how he would deal with. He didn’t think that was what Thromiel was implying, but it did sound as if that was what he was saying. He shook his head and tossed the stone back to the elf.

  “So how do I know which stone is right for me?”

  “Any of them will work. You just have to pick one. When you use it, you will imprint yourself upon it and be the only person able to use it from then on.”

  Just pick one? That seemed simple enough. There was no way of knowing if any specific one would have an impact upon him more than the others. If he picked one, would it work better than one of the others? Or did they all work equally well? He thought about asking, but given all the questions he’d already asked, it would kind of feel like he was being an annoyance. In fact, he already felt like one. Thromiel had a lot of patience to be dealing with him the way that he had so far.

  The decision was much too great. It threatened to overwhelm him even though all he was having to do was pick a rock out of a box. Instead of trying so hard, he closed his eyes and stuck his hand in without even thinking about it. The first rock he touched on the bottom of the box was the one that he settled on. Opening his eyes again, he pulled his hand free clutching a smooth, ovular shaped stone within his fingers. It looked unremarkable, but if it would do the trick, and end up looking like the stone that Thromiel had, then he didn’t care.

  “The choice is made then,” Thromiel said, leaning forward to take the box from Dearic.

  “How do I use it?”

  “Hold it in your hand, or have it touching your skin in some fashion without being effected by clothing.”

  Thromiel held his in his hand and it began to pulse with light. Dearic watched with wide eyes as in front of them materialized a basin filled with crystal clear water. In the water was only a reflection at first, but then Thromiel reached down to touch his finger to it. He was suddenly surprised to find himself looking at the Valley of the Mists within the water.

  “You know this place, but you don’t know its importance.”

  The water became bubbly, as if it were being heated to boiling, and then smoothed out once more. Now he could see Aiyana amongst them all, but only her face. Those golden eyes seemed downtrodden and sad. He didn’t understand how this worked, how he was seeing these things, but he also didn’t see why she was sad. He’d told her they weren’t going to be together and she’d accepted that, after all.

  “You see someone in the mist, don’t you?”

  Dearic looked up at Thromiel, startled. Could he see them too?

  “Yes, but how did you know? Can you see her as well?”

  “No,” the elf said, touching the water again and the image vanished. Only a basin of water remained. “But I could see the surprise on your face. You recognized something startling enough to cause a reaction. I surmised it was a Mist.”

  “It was. Her name is Aiyana. I met her briefly before we were attacked by a magical creature sent by Gregor to kill myself and those who traveled with me.”

  “This place, this woman, is important to your future. There is only one thing that we have time to teach you while you are here. Everything else will come to you in time, but this is a very important spell that you must learn.”

  A spell he must learn and he’d just been shown the Valley of the Mists. He was beginning to suspect that Thromiel was deliberately not telling him things beyond what his future held. Mostly he felt that the elf knew more of what Dearic had done and seen than he let on. In some respects that irked him. It almost seemed like Thromiel had been spying on him, watching him.

  “What spell?”

  “The spell to make a Mist whole.”

  Well that settled it. Dearic narrowed his eyes.

  “Have you been watching me from afar with this basin of yours? I don’t like the idea that you’ve seen everything I’ve done.”

  Thromiel shook his head.

  “I’ve watched bits and pieces of your life, but I have not followed all of your exploits, no. Besides, does not your god see everything that you do? How would it be so different if I had?”

  The elf wore a grin on his face as if it had always been there. Dearic was left at a loss for words because what he’d said was true. There was one difference and only one. Thromiel is here and God is not. I will not have to atone for things until I die. But Thromiel is here and now. He could criticize my every move if he wished. He sighed and shook his head.

  “Never mind. Let’s get on with it, then, since you already knew I made a promise.”

  “You made a pr
omise to the Mists?” Thromiel did look surprised now. “That’s interesting. I just thought it was something you needed to know, not that you intended to learn it.”

  Dearic shrugged and waved his hand at the elf. He was starting to feel a little impatient.

  “Right,” Thromiel said before he stood and went to put the box back on the mantle. “The spell itself is not overly complex, and truthfully, the hardest part is the incantation, which you don’t need to know because you don’t need to use them. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  The elf left down one of the small halls and disappeared from sight. Dearic looked back down at the stone he held in his hand. He was going to have to find a way to utilize it that didn’t require him to constantly hold it. Holding it would just get in the way of his ability to fight. Perhaps he could tie it within a string of some sort and wear it attached to some part of his body. He just didn’t know where. His arms and legs were out, and Thromiel had said it needed to be exposed. His neck was an option but that seemed impractical as well. Perhaps he could wrap it around his hand?

  Thromiel returned shortly after leaving with several things in a small pouch. The elf settled down gracefully and emptied the contents of the leather sack out before him.

  “These are the items you will need. The hair of an elf, donated by me, blood of a spider, one piece of nutmeg, the essence of a Blood Knight, and snow melt.”

  “That’s a strange list of items. And how do you get the essence of a Blood Knight without getting killed?”

  “You can’t unless you get lucky. I don’t have any of it here either. It’s the only ingredient that I cannot give you. You will have to find that on your own.” The elf motioned to the items. “Minus the essence this is what you need. When you are prepared to do the task, you combine all of the ingredients within the flask of snow melt. Normally you would speak an incantation over it. The general essence of the incantation is that you are asking for these items to combine together to form a new life giving liquid. If you succeed, the contents of the container will turn into an amber liquid. Have the mist drink the entire vial and then you wait.”