To a Krayn mother, even if the blood running through veins was somehow different, altered, nothing could break the bond with her child, ever. The bonds had tied them together years before when Aerinas had been brought to them as a newborn baby—pure in spirit and surrounded by a magical aura so powerful it made them tremble. She could still remember the day, the smell of the weather, the feel of the ground beneath her feet—every minute detail. It was the day she was granted a child, given the chance to be mothe to one so special.
Now, mothers from across Mynandrias called upon her to visit. They
tried to comfort her as best they could, and she let them, for all their effort spent. But she realized her insincerity in ruing the day her son left in the same way as the others did and only pretended to cry. Foran's mother wept daily, so much so that the other mothers eventually had to take her before the council to have a spell put on her to help her forget. But the visits had to be frequent, and it became costly for her family to keep the spells up. Lynais’ mother had cast herself off one of the high trees, killing herself out of sheer helplessness to do anything about it. Ithyllna didn't have a mother, and her father thought it noble of her to choose to stand and fight. Thus it was in Vrunyn Guard families; their blood ran thick with the spirits of war.
Nimoni spent lots of time in Aerinas’ room, the lone chamber located in the utmost portion of their treetop house. She found old parchments with musical notes scribbled on them—lyre music, she knew. She could still smell the scent of his bath oils on the bed linens. For the first time in all her years, she thought about what he did in his spare time, what dreams he had, what he had learned about the world around him. That's when she found the books between the feather mattress and bed frame.
Apparently, he'd forgotten to return the books to the Library of Songs. She was paging through one, titled The Progeny of the Ancients, when a small piece of paper slid out and fluttered to the floor. Curious, she closed the book and bent down to get the paper. She unfolded it. Scribbled across the parchment were the words: EPATRI EL LUTIEN SINYA, 2112. The text translated into The Planeswalker will arise once more, but the number's meaning eluded her. She leafed through the book, but found no obvious reference to the number or passage. Startled, she quickly rose to her feet, the book on her lap smacking the floor hard when it fell.
She felt confused and silently wished for Tristandor's counsel. Where had her son found that phrase? What did 2112 refer to? Nothing clicked. She had no one to turn to for help. The Library of Songs was her only hope of finding an answer.
Once she entered the library, she promptly secured herself a reading space and candlelight, and set to work. He had to have found this here, she frantically thought. But where? “I know,” she said aloud. She walked to the front desk and inquired of the librarian there.
"Excuse me, my kind sir,” she eloquently addressed the elderly librarian sitting behind the desk. “Where do you suppose I could find information on...” She paused. She had to be careful in choosing her words here, for the Krayn elves were sticklers on known facts and history, and not on topics such as those dealing with theory and magic—those were left to the mages and Elf-Lords. She couldn't mention the word ‘Planeswalker’ and expect to be helped.
"Yes? Information on what, my good matron?” he asked impatiently.
"On religion as it pertains to our ancient heritage, something instructive in the ways of the gods.” She bit her bottom lip as the librarian stared at her a moment, a queer look on his face. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned to a drawer full of thick books, pulled one out, and began paging through it carefully. The pages looked as old as he did, Nimoni silently mused. Finally, he landed on his intended target—she knew because he smiled for the first time since she'd entered.
"This is interesting. Here, take a look at this.” He spun the book around and ran his finger underneath the entry for the book he had found. It was a location in the library, but it was an odd one. It read: AISLE 211, ROW 21, VOLUME 2. “It is an old book and probably will not offer anything useful besides an entertaining read.” The elf looked at her obliquely, then leaned forward and whispered, “That is what it says in the notes here for this book. I really do not know if it is an entertaining read or not, Milady. If it please you, do not mention this to anyone, or else I will be thought an insufficient librarian, and I do so enjoy this job."
"Your secret is safe with me.” She smiled at the elderly elf to reassure him and felt a rush in her heart when she thought of the coincidence of the entry. Aisle 211, row 21, volume 2: 211, 21, 2—middle to beginning; my son is a clever one for sure, but part of it's missing. “This seems to be the best entry for a spiritual book. Thanks!” She hurried off, leaving the librarian puzzled and gazing after her. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for: a book titled Epatri Lunelardi—Dawn of the Planeswalker.
The book was gorgeous, she noted, feeling the supple leather and its surprisingly light weight. Elaborate patterns of white lines were etched into the surface, forming an unrecognizable design, with gold leaf hinges on the binding. Beautiful, but now I see why folks are intimidated by it.
Taking another glance at the scrap, she worked ‘2112’ from middle to end and turned to page 112. She smiled when line 2 confirmed the beginning of chapter 12. 112, 12, 2—middle to end. There it was; the scribbled text from her son's note echoed to her from the page. She began reading. The book, though spiritual in nature and thought to be nothing more than ancient mythology of the world, was full of references to other beings inhabiting the realms long before the elves were created. To her knowledge, no other book existed on the subject, and she was astounded that her son had dug so deeply to find it. After all, it was buried in nearly the last section of the library, mostly where books of little use were shelved.
She read on, noting passage after passage on the theory of “Planes” and what they meant to the world of Vaaluna. Most of it was confusing to her, and she wondered if her son understood. The Planes were sentient, she learned, and they had a life all their own. There were only speculations offered, with little in the way of hard evidence, but it was still fascinating. Spiritual encounters with beings near, what was now called Fenduin Lake, herds of horses racing across the land in wisps of cloud, fairy tales of Lyymhorns and other races, evil creatures residing in some of the darker regions of Dunandor and beyond—all were tales told inside the book. Nimoni had no idea what she was looking for, only that she had stumbled upon what was calling to Aerinas. Intuition set in, and for the first time since he'd left, she sensed a grave danger approaching. Suddenly, the pages of the book burst into unnatural blue hued flames, which sent her sprawling to the floor, knocking the table over where she sat.
"Someone get help!” the elderly librarian shouted. A few attendant elves raced through the west corridor, then outside.
Smoke was still curling up lazily from the singed body of Nimoni when the doors to the library burst open. Rungard, Delarias, and Astrigmont were the three who answered the call. They ran to her, scooped her up, and rushed her to the infirmary. Strangely, upon examination of the area near where she was lying, they saw nothing out of place. The table was back upright, and there was a small stack of books on horticulture sitting there. Oddly, the book to which the old librarian had steered her was nowhere to be found. He is imagining things, they thought, listening to his story. No one had ever witnessed a disappearing book. The librarian was fired on the spot and led away.
"I did so enjoy my job,” he muttered sadly.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 6—Secrets
Aeligon hurried across the broken slate sidewalk with the elves close behind. The wizard's blue robes glistened in the crystalline air, touched by the noonday sun. His breath quickened and his heart beat faster, while the gap closed between him and the Shrin'Gala. Anger took the place of fear, resolve over doubt. No crime could be committed to match attacking Arunir's Light, the light holding the Elfstone fragment in its r
ightful place, its protected place. What madness could have driven the Light away? Only an evil force could extinguish it like this. The answers couldn't come fast enough.
Aeligon reached the Temple doors, which had been nearly ripped off their hinges. Black burn marks riddled the exterior of the structure. Holes had been punctured in its roof and walls.
Just like in my dream, he thought.
"Help me,” Aeligon ordered when he began prying the doors open with his staff. Aerinas and Tristandor moved to help, but the twisted metal was too much for them to budge. “Move, then,” he barked. Aeligon held his arms outstretched. A snaking white stream of energy flowed from his left index finger to curl around his body. With a flick of the finger, the energy latched onto the metal doors, and, in one swift motion, they were pulled from their anchored positions as if made of paper.
With the doors tossed aside, Aeligon entered the Temple with a purpose. Tristandor and Aerinas exchanged concerned glances, but followed obediently. Once inside, they found Aeligon kneeling before an altar in the center of the room. The chamber was square and not as large as it appeared from outside. Strange symbols adorned the floor and ceiling. Elaborate wall tapestries had been reduced to singed and torn rags, their motifs obliterated. The pillar of light had been destroyed, its sanctity reduced to nothing. Overhead, a gaping hole had been ripped open; debris was strewn about the place.
The Elfstone fragment was missing!
Aerinas looked around the room, his mind working. “It appears it was attacked from above, which accounts for the hole in the roof and the destroyed pillar. Whatever did this was trying to make the job easier for whoever took the fragment the Light was guarding."
"Interesting observation, young Aerinas,” Aeligon said wearily, standing back up. “I have come to the same conclusion. Whatever attacked this city had the Caran tribes and the rocs in an uproar. It was powerful enough to devastate the city in this manner, which allowed for the true culprit to come in and steal the fragment. The hole for the Light to escape through to the skies above has been replaced with unsightly ruin."
"This is most disconcerting,” Tristandor said, shaking his head in dismay. “How could anyone have stolen the Elfstone? Even if they could, what would they hope to accomplish by doing so?"
"I wish I knew!” Aeligon looked around the room at the rest of the damage. “Whoever did this knew what they wanted, and the possession of the Elfstone by evil hands could mean devastation to all. We have wasted enough time already, and whatever enemy this is has been three steps ahead of us. We're losing time mulling over the loss. It's happened; now I must find out the true purpose of the Elfstone. Ashinon kept its secrets hidden from everyone, or so he thought. Come.” The wizard turned and rushed out of the Shrin'Gala, leaving Tristandor and Aerinas standing there, wondering.
They joined him back on the terrace sidewalk. Aeligon was talking with Pux, but they ceased when the two elves came nearer. “We need to go below. I want you two to stay here and keep watch while we are gone. Help Farrin and the others if you are needed—there's little to guard here now. Pux and I must do this alone. The levels below ground are sacred and restricted. They can never be entered by anyone outside the Order unless permission is granted. I just hope whatever happened here didn't carry into the depths of the city."
Aerinas and Tristandor nodded and watched as Ithyllna tied one of her knives to the end of a long rope, which Farrin threw toward the roc carcass in hopes of snagging its leg or wing. They kept trying.
Meanwhile, Aeligon headed down the long spiraling staircase running through the middle of the inner sanctuary of Lunathar. At regular intervals, the staircase opened onto a flat balcony with openings to either side offering entrance and exit to each particular level. They were numbered from one to twenty-one, with floor one at the top and the twenty-first floor at the very bottom. The levels below the twenty-first were restricted to all but a few of the most trusted members of the Order. Pux and the wizard spoke together during the descent.
"What's on your mind?” Pux asked after a time.
"You know,” Aeligon answered. “If you don't, then you haven't paid as much attention as you ought to have."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think I understand."
"Ashinon had a secret library in the restricted levels, but I could never find it, even after I was granted entrance to the area when I was inducted into the Order. All those long years I was his apprentice, and never once did I set foot into his private library. Oh, rumors had wings back then. Some said it's where Sheevos, in her true form, was hidden from the world. Others claimed he conducted secret magical experiments on his political enemies there. The rumors were all so exaggerated and silly."
"What do you think he was doing down there?"
"I don't know for certain, but I remember his obsession with finding the secret method for unlocking the Planes. I found one of his notebooks lying around one day and made the mistake of leafing through it. Though I can barely recall what the pages contained in full detail, I remember sketches of rotating orbs and of work I believe he titled ‘The Elderon'."
"The Elderon? What in the world is that? Sounds like a home for elderly wizards.” Pux chuckled.
"You ask too many questions and make light of something he took very seriously, my jesting apprentice. His obsession, I promise you, was no laughing matter. The greater the rumors, the more I wanted to know about his secret work. None in the Order knew. I doubt that our silent enemy knows either. If we can find out Ashinon's carefully-guarded secrets, perhaps we will obtain the edge we desperately need right now. We're very close to losing this quiet war. The purpose of our little band was to rouse the armies of men, giants, elves, and any other races willing to fight, but I fear we are running out of time."
"I'll help as much as I can, Master,” Pux offered, reverting to his serious tone.
Aeligon nodded and moved past the twentieth floor to the twenty-first. “The last floor. Ashinon's chambers are this way.” Quickly, he moved down another dark flight of stairs, which emptied into a narrow hallway. His boots made echoing clicks on the polished marble floor. He missed the hustle and bustle associated with the city, even in this section. Finally, he made it to the end of the eerie, deserted corridor where Ashinon's office was.
The natural light produced by the hanging crystal lamps was lessened after years of magical neglect, but it was sufficient for the wizard to work. Using his Feel spell, his fingers became magical extensions to move about the empty wall space, prodding and probing to find the hidden lock invisible to the naked eye. Ashinon prided himself on teaching his pupils well; to be able to find even the most hidden of objects was thought trivial. Aeligon's learning was unequaled. With a quick twist of his wrist, the lock whirled and spun. A seam formed in the wall, and the door to the mighty wizard's chamber opened. The pair stepped inside.
"You're just too good,” Pux laughed.
They were surprised to find it empty: no desk, no bookcases, no implements of magic—nothing. Only four blank walls stared at them, defying their presence. At first, Aeligon was befuddled.
"Um, what do we do now?” Pux asked.
"I can sense the magic at work here. It's subtle and nearly undetectable, but I can feel an incongruity here. I need a Dispell stone."
"I've got one here somewhere. Hang on, be right back.” Pux's face disappeared from the staff, but he was back in a short time. He had a small black stone in his mouth, which he promptly spat into Aeligon's hand. “Yuck, I hate the taste of those. I don't know why they don't flavor them. I guess the request form I put in the suggestion box upstairs went unnoticed."
Aeligon set about working the Dispell stone. He closed his hand around it, clenched tightly, then, after rotating his palm upward, opened his fist. The stone had been crushed into powder. One quick puff of breath sent the dust flying into the air, sparkling. Through the particles, Aeligon could see the illusory section of wall. “Linusia Rispellae!” The illusion whisked awa
y like a cloud in the wind, and before them was a passage, a stairway leading down into darkness.
"I don't like this,” Pux jittered. “I don't like this."
"Don't fret, Pux. This hasn't been much of a challenge so far. I don't think this part is the secret at all. We'll soon know; we've merely entered his office."
"More tension, just what I need! I'm going away for now.” Pux's face disappeared into the staff. His essence was always there and could always hear Aeligon, but he could choose when to hide his eyes from the outside world.
Down into the depths of Ashinon's lair they went. Cold, dark steps wound endlessly toward an unknown destination. Many secrets lay hidden there, Aeligon suspected, but how many and the severity of them was even more a mystery. The years after Ashinon's death were painted with doubt and fear at what might happen to the integrity of Vaaluna. The Order of Arunir's Light remained in power long after his reign had ended and had kept the peace over the entire world. They carefully guarded the Elfstone fragment, which some thought contained the entire spirit of Sheevos. The annual pilgrimages never ceased after Ashinon's death. In fact, they increased in frequency. Most believed Ashinon's spirit now dwelt with Sheevos', sharing the Light of Arunir's power together in the Afterlife.
Nothing puzzled Aeligon more than the knowledge suggesting someone had actually pulled off the greatest theft in recorded history: the theft of an Elfstone. Even the greatest of thieves and sorcerers knew what power an Elfstone granted its rightful guardian. An Elfstone was vastly different from any other enchanted stone because it was bestowed upon the heir by a god or goddess directly. Only then could it be charged with the magical power necessary to resist all evil attempting to claim it.
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