Ravenshade

by C S Marks

  Rogond had been frantically searching for Gaelen, but he had not found her in any of her usual haunts. He went to Lord Salastor for aid, and soon the City was united in the search for her. At last she was found in the shadowed alcove by none other than Bint Raed, who despaired at the sight of her, for she was still and cold and would not awaken. Bint Raed covered Gaelen with her own cloak and went to fetch Rogond, leaving two of the citizens to watch over her.

  In the meantime, Rogond and Fima had gone to the library, for Rogond held a feeling of foreboding with respect to Gorgon’s mirror, and he wanted to make certain that it was still safely hidden. Fima led Rogond to his private study chamber, expecting to find his leather jerkin with the mirror secured in the secret inner pocket, but neither the jerkin nor the mirror could be found. When the scholars informed him that Gaelen had taken the jerkin, presumably at Fima’s request, both he and Rogond guessed the truth.

  “It is as I feared,” said Rogond. ‘She intends to use the mirror somehow, to what end I cannot say. Fima…what will it do to her?’

  “I don’t know,” said Fima, trying to subdue his own panic. “But I expect it won’t be good. Nothing is written of such matters—even Dardis, who made the mirror, did not speculate upon them. We must find her before she does something truly rash. With luck, she has come to her senses, and has not looked into the mirror herself. Surely she can feel its dark power! She must understand the folly of such an act.”

  “If she thinks that by such an act she may bring about the downfall of Gorgon Elfhunter, she is gazing into the mirror even now,” said Rogond. “Do you have any doubt of it?”

  “Yet she must realize that Gorgon commands the mirror, and that she may well give herself up to him if she tries to look into it,” said Fima. “That certainly would occur to me.”

  “You voice a confidence you do not feel, my friend,” said Rogond. “Let’s waste no more time—we must find her at once! She is no doubt enraged on behalf of Thorndil. I would not expect good sense from her.”

  Rogond asked the scholars whether they at least knew which direction Gaelen had taken, but they had not watched her go.

  “Don’t worry…she will be found quickly now that the entire City is searching for her,” said Fima. As it turned out, he was right.

  As Rogond looked upon Gaelen’s lifeless form, the mirror clutched in her cold hand, he knew the truth. She was out of the Realm of Reckoning. Where she had gone none could say, and there was nothing he could do now but wait, and love her, and try to hold hope in the midst of his despair.

  Gaelen grappled with Gorgon as he flew at her, and the initial contact between her spirit and his had nearly taken the courage from both their hearts. Gaelen had never before felt the full force of such an evil presence, and Gorgon had underestimated the power with which his small adversary was endowed. Though they had each entertained some of the thoughts and feelings of the other, never had they been exposed so completely to the uncloaked essence of their enemy. They were alike in some ways—willful and headstrong, answering to no one—but otherwise they were very, very different.

  Gaelen’s wrath was grounded in righteousness. She would prevent Gorgon from doing further harm, and she would avenge those already slain. Thorndil’s agonizing death still roiled in her mind, leaving no room for mercy.

  Gorgon’s strength came from his own misguided sense of justice. In his mind, evil was the true power, and he had no desire to turn from it, for he had known no other. Those who had scorned him were weak, and they deserved their fate at his hands. He had been trained well from the beginning to believe that it was his destiny to bring about their ending. No Elf would walk among the living when that destiny was achieved.

  Their diverse energies sparked and crackled and roared like great fires as they wrestled, and the light of them was frightening to see. Yet Gorgon realized, quickly and with some dismay, that here, in this place, size did not matter.

  Gaelen in the physical realm would be easy prey—although Gelmyr would have pointed out that Gorgon had not managed to kill her despite several encounters—but Gaelen in this place…perhaps she was as strong as he! It was fortunate for Gorgon that, although he had lost his left hand in battle with Gaelen, his spirit still retained it. He needed both hands to contend with his enemy, for they grappled as if on the edge of a precipice, each trying to wrestle the other from the circle of light.

  All at once they both grew exhausted and broke contact. Gorgon’s last thoughts before they broke apart had been speculations that Gaelen’s power might match his own, and he was filled with doubt.

  Gaelen watched, fascinated, as the long-dead face and voice of Gelmyr appeared, changed back into Gorgon, and then back again, all the while talking to itself.

  She has drawn you to a place where she can defeat you. You were taken unaware! See the fire around her? This is the fire that will consume you, O Misguided Disaster. If you don’t believe me, wait and see!

  You know nothing of such matters, Èolo! You were taken easily enough. I have prevailed over her until now, and I am delighted that I shall finish her at last. You are wrong again, even as you have always been.

  Then why do you allow me to appear, O Wavering, Woeful Warrior? At this, Gelmyr smiled. I like the sound of that.

  Wavering, am I? Did I waver before those fools attacking the City? I cut them down like wheat! Did I waver when I inflicted pain upon that pathetic old man? I think not.

  Yet they were not Elves, Elfhunter! Now there is one before you…why don’t you just swat her as you would a fly? You have sworn to do so many times. Go on then…it’s just one small Wood-elf…she is surely no match for you. Let’s see the power of evil unleashed! I’m waiting…Ha!

  Gorgon knew that as long as he doubted his own ability to prevail, Gelmyr would torment him. He could not afford to allow himself to be distracted from his task, and he called upon the strongest part of his spirit, his features transforming into the mask of cold beauty that sprang from his mother’s kin, and met his enemy once again.

  This time Gaelen was hard-pressed to defend herself, for the spirits of the Èolar were the most powerful among all the free peoples. She resolved that, should Gelmyr appear again, she would not stand in fascination, but would cast the vile creature into the dark void, even as he debated with himself.

  Gaelen had been taken to the Halls of Healing and laid in the very same chamber where her friend Fima had fought for his life not so long before. The people of the Citadel were greatly dismayed and confused, for they did not know of Gorgon, and Gaelen was now counted among their most respected and beloved heroines. Eventually they would carve a likeness of her, together with Rogond and Eros, that would stand in the Courtyard of Scholars. But it was unknown at present whether she would live to see it, for she was as cold and lifeless as the stone from which it would be made. There was no aid that anyone could give her, though the healers tried, until at last Fima grew unhappy with their ineffectual poking and prodding.

  “Forgive an aged Dwarf,” he growled, “but it’s obvious that your efforts, though well-intentioned, are not having any effect. Leave her in peace and let her friends aid her if they can. Her trouble is not of the body…there is nothing you can do.”

  Gaelen still held the mirror, despite Rogond’s contention that they should take it from her hand. Fima was afraid that if they did so, she might not be able to return from whatever dark place she had gone, and he was reluctant.

  “We don’t know enough to act with surety, Rogond. I must think on it awhile.” He sighed and shook his head. “I do wish she hadn’t taken such a drastic measure. She is definitely in uncharted lands now.”

  “Here, there be monsters,” said Rogond softly. He had seen those words once on a map of an imaginary place where terrible creatures were said to live. Rogond had read and enjoyed the story as a young child. It had occurred to him even then that men feared and imagined monsters because they represented things that were not known or understood. “Now I know this
is justified, for Gaelen has gone to a place I do not know, and she faces an enemy not truly understood by anyone.”

  “Eh…? What’s that?” asked Fima, for he had not heard Rogond clearly.

  “Nothing…I was just thinking that there is at least one monster in the place where she has gone.” Rogond took Gaelen’s hand and encased it with his own.

  “Such was undoubtedly her intent,” said Fima, “but we cannot know whether the creature was drawn to her. She may be wandering alone and lost, trapped in some dark place. The mirror was not hers to command. It may be that Gorgon has taken his vengeance already.”

  Rogond did not think so. “Gaelen possesses unique insights, and she has gone into this realm before. She is not lost…not yet.”

  He looked up to see Nelwyn entering the chamber with Galador. Evidently he had returned, and his grim, sad face told the tale—Gorgon had not been found. A pity, thought Rogond. If we had come upon the creature, I expect he would have been taken easily. It’s likely that his malformed and misbegotten soul stands upon the same distant battleground.

  Upon that battleground, Gorgon and Gaelen were locked in desperate conflict. Gorgon had called upon the strongest part of his spirit, striving now as a tall Elf-lord who would have been beautiful were it not for the cold malice in his eyes.

  Gaelen’s strength was waning. Her confidence had been shaken with the appearance of this powerful manifestation, and she knew that she must divert Gorgon from it lest she lose the struggle. She had thought to cast his soul into the Void, but now it appeared that such would be her fate, and she could not imagine a worse fate than that. She would never see her beloved Rain again; she would never see anyone or anything at all, drifting in the endless blackness until it took away her reason and her courage. She would scream then into the dark, but no one would hear and no one would aid her. She knew these things, and her enemy knew them, too.

  Soon I will be rid of you once and for all, said Gorgon in a deep, menacing, purring voice quite unlike his usual oily growl. I must say that you have undone yourself this time. Earlier, I simply would have killed you, but now you will be doomed to darkness, even as I promised long ago. You were a bit too clever for your own good, Vixen. You should not have meddled in affairs too great for you. His handsome face curled into a sneering smile, though it was taking all the effort he had to remain focused. If she distracted him, his form would change.

  Where is Gelmyr? I thought you had vanquished him…did I not see him earlier?

  Gaelen had indeed seen Gelmyr, appearing much as he had when they had found his ruined body near the Great River. It seemed a lifetime away. She felt Gorgon hesitate as she spoke of Gelmyr, drawing back just slightly, his smile fading. She twisted from his grasp, backing away as fast as she could, as he charged after her, trying to regain his hold.

  Gaelen leaped aside, trying not to let her enemy know of her vulnerability. She managed even to laugh at him as he turned back toward her. You may appear Elven, but it is plain that your abilities are lacking. Where is Gelmyr? Perhaps he can give you some lessons, and aid you in conducting yourself more gracefully. You may wear a fair face, but you move like an Ulca! And no Elf ever wore such evil in his eyes…you are deluding yourself. I have seen what you truly are.

  You are trying to divert me, but it will not work, said Gorgon, with a confidence he did not feel. He could sense his resolve weakening already…his features were beginning to change. Yet you are right in that your people are unworthy of the powers of Darkness. Your feeble spirits cannot bear the weight of evil…you are too weak! Even Aincor Fire-heart, who thought himself so mighty as to be invincible, and who brought about great misery because of it, crawled back to the Vault of Eternity upon his death, where he no doubt now cringes and whines in some corner, plagued with regrets over his misdeeds. How pathetic!

  You speak of things you do not know, nor will you ever know them, said Gaelen. She could see that her enemy wavered, and her confidence grew. I expect Aincor never cringed from anything in life or in death. He was the cause of great suffering, but he had courage. That is something you cannot understand, as you have none yourself.

  You are trying to buy time—you have no more strength, said Gorgon, his face literally darkening as it broadened and flattened back toward its typical configuration. This process still fascinated Gaelen, who found the shift from evil Elf-lord to misshapen monster particularly disturbing. I have only been toying with you. In a few moments I will rip you from the world as I would a tick from my scalp…you have been no less annoying. Then I will crush you and fling you from me. You are undone!

  Idle threats, said Gaelen. Will you miss the sight of the stars, Dark Horror? There are none in the Void. And when I have vanquished you, I will destroy the mirror. You will never behold beauty again. When I go at last to the Far Shores of Elysia, I will seek out your poor mother and speak words of comfort, though I know she will weep for you and your dark fate. Our people will forget that you ever existed, save for those whose lives you ended. They will rest better knowing of your doom.

  She meant to enrage him, for then he would be unbalanced and she hoped that she could best him. She would try to lure Gelmyr back out. It truly is not your fault that you are evil, for you have known nothing else. I’m not surprised that you actually believe the power of Darkness is stronger than that of Light, for you have never truly felt light upon your face…you cannot even bear the sight of it. I shall tell this to your mother in the hope that it will help her understand.

  My mother was as evil a creature as ever drew breath, growled Gorgon, his voice returning to its usual character.

  Why? said Gaelen, who honestly wanted to know. Because she could not love you?

  Gorgon laughed as his chaotic, multicolored aura flared and swirled about him. Love, Elf-whelp? Love? I have never been tainted by love. That’s why my power grows with each passing year. I have never been confused or distracted by love—never torn by it. You cannot say the same, can you? Guard your own fragile heart, She-elf. Love is a weakness I do not suffer, and I am glad of it! I’m weary of words. Let us rejoin our dance, and see whether love prevails. For my part, I will place my wager on a much different emotion.

  If I could love you, I would, said Gaelen, for it is a grievous wrong that any creature should live by hatred alone. Love is the true power, but of course, you cannot know it. Alas that I must now muster my own hatred of you, and meet you on your terms. You will receive no love from me.

  As if I would wish it, said Gorgon, laughing. Muster your hatred, then! Without another word he leaped upon her, and the battle resumed. Gaelen’s words belied her thoughts. She knew that only the powers of Light would allow her to prevail. If she held only rancor as a weapon she would surely be lost, for she could not hope to overcome one whose entire life had been devoted to hatred.

  When his energy met with hers, the experience was most unpleasant for both of them. Gorgon felt as though he held on to a blazing firebrand, his hands and arms thrust into flame, the heat coursing through him as if to wither him away. The pain was intense, but he called upon his long experience and pushed it aside. If he could bear it long enough, the fire would die.

  Gaelen’s experience was vastly different. When she grappled with Gorgon, she felt an oppressive, rotting darkness that seemed to pervade her with cold hopelessness, drawing her energy and smothering her light. The pain she felt was that of terrible grief, of devastating and crippling loss. She had experienced such pain only once before…when her beloved Rain had called to her as he died in flames. She had felt that kind of loss then, but she had also felt the presence of the great Evil that had claimed her beloved. She felt it now, too, in the soul of her enemy. Gaelen had spent much of her life subduing the pain of that loss, but she could not vie long with Gorgon, for he had lived much longer and with far greater pain than she.

  Gorgon’s touch was revolting. Gaelen longed to cry out for aid, but she knew that she must not lose her focus or he would defeat her. They
glared into each other’s eyes. Gorgon wore his usual semblance, his pale gaze surrounded by dark, scarred flesh. Gaelen summoned up the images of Thorndil as she had known him—a brave but gentle man, much like an older version of Rogond. Then she remembered his unspeakable ending, and the terror and pain she had seen in his dead eyes. She searched back for the memory of her friends in the Greatwood, and of Gelmyr, Belegund, and Gorgon’s other victims. Oddly, the memory of Tibo, the harmless little dwarf who so loved the Elves, enraged her the most in that moment.

  Her rage fueled a burst of flame from her being that nearly engulfed her enemy, and he tried to release her, for the pain was too great for him to bear. She held on, screaming with effort, but he twisted away from her, becoming like smoke in her flaming hands. Gaelen’s fire died back almost at once. She had spent much of her energy in the assault and now appeared to glow only faintly. Her head swam for a moment, and she sagged onto the dark plain.

  Gorgon had taken great hurt in that last encounter, panting hard as he crawled backwards from her. He wished more than anything to escape this conflict and return to the physical realm, a realm where he held the mastery. But he knew that so long as Gaelen held the mirror, he was trapped with her. He took hold of his resolve and slowly emerged as the tall Elf, knowing that this form most disturbed her. The Elf smiled a sinister smile, for his enemy was weak. He could feel it. She had spent herself, and now he would have her.

  Many hours passed in the Silver City, though it had seemed only moments to Gorgon and Gaelen. Rogond sat with Hallagond, Estle, Nelwyn, and Galador in the Healing Halls, trying to recall the counsel of Lady Ordath when they had last faced such a trial in Mountain-home. “Do you think she will hear me if I call to her?” he asked Nelwyn.