by C A Oliver
And therefore, one summer Morning, a tropical Breeze carried, the Alwïryan, Bird of the Seas, that same Ship designed by Filwen, the legendary Irawenti shipwright, towards the infinite South. And from the Shore, his Sons, the dyn Filweni, admired the Flight of this Ship which, when the Wind swelled in its vast Sails, rose high above the Waves, surrounded by a bevy of Swans.
At the Stern stood Filwen, who, by his Power alone, steered the Course of the Ship.
At the Bow of the Alwïryan was Gloren, a Harp in his Hand. Legends do recount that the Power of his Songs ensured a safe Voyage, for the two Companions succeeded in avoiding all the Lures and Snares of the Ocean, including, among other Perils, many devastating Storms and pernicious Currents. Last of all they escaped the evil Mist, whence they finally reached the pristine Waters of the Archipelago where the Star had fallen.”
Taking advantage of a pause in Mynar dyl’s reading, Curubor interrupted the tale, his voice shuddering with restrained emotion.
“I’m glad we’ve gathered, Mynar dyl, to recall these memories. The songs that Gloren left to the High Elves are most precious and inspiring. My hope has always been that he would change our fate, undoing the curse of his Father. The path he set for us will shape the destiny of all Elves, or at least those of us who remain true to our destiny on the archipelago.”
Gal dyl’s interest had also been captured by the tale. He was a true Llewenti, those who lived in the woods and dwelt in forest communities. He was a remarkable archer and an expert maker of bows. Gal dyl was more attuned to nature and the company of birds and animals than to ancient history, where his knowledge was somewhat limited. And yet, tonight, he perceived the ethereal influence that these tales of old, these legends of deities and heroes, had upon his material world, indeed upon the very air that he breathed.
“What became of them? What became of Gloren and Filwen once they reached the archipelago’s shores?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
“The Matriarchs of the clan Llyvary tell us that their ship, the Alwïryan, was wrecked off the northern peninsula of Nyn Llyvary. Filwen died; Gloren survived,” related Curubor, somewhat drily.
“The wrath of the angry deity!” added Mynar dyl, with a tasteless fascination in his eyes.
“One particular song recounts that, before disappearing into the waters off the cliffs, Filwen pledged his allegiance to Eïwal Ffeyn, in exchange for the safe passage of future sailors,” revealed Curubor, deep in thought.
“Well, we can safely say that the Irawenti navigator did indeed complete his quest: he found the archipelago, or at least the seabed surrounding it. I suppose that, in death, he achieved his life’s mission...” Mynar dyl added cynically.
“But if Gloren survived, why do we know so little of his destiny?” asked Gal dyl eagerly. Beneath his golden hair, a greenish tinge had overcome his fair complexion, as his curiosity became anxiety.
“That, Gal dyl, is another story entirely, and, if there are any Elves left who could tell it, they have elected to remain silent thus far,” replied Curubor.
“Legends have it,” ventured Mynar dyl, “that it was the power of Gweïwal Uleydon himself that saved Gloren from the chaos of the winds. The waves of the mighty sea god brought him to our shores, for his destiny had not yet been fulfilled, and he still had much suffering and grief to endure. But let us return to this ancient manuscript, a source of much knowledge and wisdom. We may well find answers to these burning questions of yours,” concluded Mynar dyl, with his characteristically cold yet eloquent tone, before he took up the book once more.
“Gloren was not the only High Elf condemned to his Doom by the Curse of the Gods. His House and all his Kind, had likewise left the green northern Plains and taken the Road of Exile. For many Decades did they wander the wide World, descending Rivers, crossing Mountains, traversing Steppes and losing their Way in the Deserts.
The Day came when their diminished Ranks reached the edges of the Forest of Essawylor, whence flows the Estuary of Siàwy Mien. As they set Foot on its Banks to quench their Thirst at the River, they experienced a great Joy, owing to their Success in escaping the Traps of the equatorial Steppes, and in traversing that driest Ocean of Sand and Fire. It had been the greatest Hardship imposed by the Gods that the High Elves had ever overcome.
Soon did they unfurl their red and gold Banners and blow their Trumpets, issuing a fearless Challenge to the World. The western Wind carried their Clamour deep into the Woods of Essawylor, like the Echo of a great Victory, which was heard by the Irawenti far away, whose Hearts did overflow with Awe.
Rumour of their Coming did spread through the Woods and Rivers and presently did the Elves of Essawylor gather along their Borders, with Eyes full of Wonder. For, although the Lives of the Irawenti, like those of the Llewenti, could span many Centuries, the High Elves were immortal, and upon their Brows and within their Eyes the Fire of Eternity could be seen.
Whilst some did possess the sand-coloured Hair and grey Eyes of the Silver Elves, most of the Troupe was formed of Gold Elves in their thousands, with dark Hair and severe Gazes.
Tall and strong they looked, and their Power and Wisdom knew no Comparison.
Beneath their dusty Garments, one could distinguish their most splendid Armour that had withstood the Desert, their Swords set with many Jewels, and their Helmets assembled of many Colours. And thus did these Spectres emerge from the Desert, and did enter the Forest of Essawylor just as Apparitions from the Isle of the Gods.
In front their Princes did ride, surrounded by their packs of Hounds.
Lormelin, Son of King Ilorm, came first, considered the Greatest and Wisest among them.
Princess Aranaele followed him, and the dark Pride of her Father, King Tircanil, whom none lamented, was inherited by her.
Thenceforth, other great Lords of the royal bloodline closed the march of this great Troupe; but fabled were they to have more Interest in the pursuit of Pleasure, than in the honouring of their House.
Behind the Dor princes, the Dol Lords of the noble Houses did command the Columns of High Elves that stretched for a great length behind them. Amongst that Multitude there thronged Attendants and Mages, Warriors and Captains, Artisans and Blacksmiths, Bards and Hunters, and a great Confusion of Carts and Horses.
The Irawenti did welcome this glorious Procession with both Respect and Fear in equal measure. They served as Guides to the High Elves and their Installation in Essawylor was facilitated by them. In exchange, Opals and Crystals and a thousand other Gifts, such as their Eyes had hitherto never beheld, were received to adorn their Homes. And so, in the Land of the Five Rivers, the two Breeds of Elves gathered and the Knowledge and Skills of the Irawenti were much enriched by virtue of their contact with the High Elves who themselves henceforth eagerly discovered new Lands and a Civilization hitherto unknown to them.
After the passage of three years, Prince Lormelin organized a Celebration; the great Occasion had its place in a vast green Meadow that overlooked the ivory Mountains, where the River Siàwy Lenpi[38] had its Source. There henceforward came many Elves: Dor Princes of the four royal Lines, Dol Noble Lords and their Houses and also many Irawenti Guides of the twenty nine Clans of Essawylor. There were Songs, Dances and multiple joyful Salutations, for all that were present felt Relief in their Hearts and were well disposed to celebrate. Vows of Friendship were thus exchanged and heartfelt Tributes made.
Many were the High Elves who revelled in this happy Time, thankful that their Efforts were at last rewarded, after the Sufferings that they had endured throughout their long Exile. They had sailed the wide World, from its northern Borders to the tropical Shores of this Hemisphere. They foresaw years of Peace and Prosperity.
But some, still tortured by the Curse that haunted them, interpreted Gloren’s progress to Essawylor as a Sign of their Fate: they formulated a Scheme to traverse the Austral Ocean and reach the Archipelago of the Llewenti, their ultimate safe Haven. The Legends of the hidden Islands, whose Vas
tness, Diversity and Marvels ignited their Imagination and sharpened their Thirst for Conquest, fascinated more of them still.
Prince Lormelin was one such High Elf, and, at this great Gathering, did he seize his Chance to convince other Hawenti Princes, and some Irawenti Clans, of the Worthiness of the Scheme. On the third day of Celebrations, with the Dor Princes, the Dol Lords and the Guides of the dyn assembled in Council, one of Lormelin’s Vassals, Dol Oalin, proposed the Argument:
“Let it be known the High Elves did not come in strength from the North to carve new Territories in Essawylor, for the Irawenti are numerous and are themselves capable of preserving these Elvin Lands. Our Destiny is to follow the Path of the fabled Gloren; we must listen to the Words of his Songs and renounce all Ambition for an Existence upon the Main Land. We must endeavour to traverse the Austral Ocean, thus escaping the grasp of the Gods evermore. Doubt it not: we will need the Help of the remarkable Irawenti Shipwrights to build our Fleet, and the Assistance of their glorious Sailors to conquer the Ocean. For this we shall pay handsomely, with Gold and Jewels but also with Arms, Horses and new Territories, at that time when we have reached the Archipelago where the Star fell.”
Thus spoke the Vassal Dol Oalin. But Aranaele, Daughter of King Tircanil, the most arrogant and violent Scion of the royal Bloodline, directly retorted in most rude Exclamation.
“Dol Oalin! Who has granted you Permission to speak on Behalf of the High Elves? Is it your Liege, Lormelin? Does he consider himself our King? It cannot be so, for a King must have a Kingdom, and I do not see this Prince ruling any Land. Without doubt, he is of royal Bloodline, but we, the Dor Princes, are one and all Descendants of Kings; the Blood of the mightiest Elf flows equally in our Veins.
I say the High Elves must remain in Essawylor and settle here. Cim, Goddess of the Irawenti, issued forth from the Waters to announce our Arrival. The Deity will give her Blessing to the birth of this, our Kingdom: so great a Realm that even our Cousins in the North will envy us. The foolish Design to traverse the Ocean could only have sprung forth from the Minds of Cowards, weakened by decades of Withdrawals, Evasions and Concessions.
It may be true that Gloren survived the wrath of the Gods, but he did so at the price of abominable Renunciation and great Dishonour.
Shall the High Elves follow such a Path forevermore?
To speak truly, I see this Proposal as the ultimate and most desperate Manifestation of the Curse that haunts us. Prince Lormelin is a mere Instrument of the Gods, and his ruinous Blindness shall lead only to the Oblivion of the last Remnants of our Race in the Depths of the Austral Ocean.”
Thus spoke Aranaele, admittedly a great Orator, and forthwith did her Words arouse much Rage and Hatred among those that were present. Lormelin, his Mind obscured by devastating Anger, did leave the Gathering, accompanied by his Vassals. However much the other Princes attempted to exploit this disharmonious Exchange. The Hearts of the Irawenti brimmed full with Fear, as now they had beheld the Madness of the High Elves.
And thus, the great Rupture of the surviving High Elves came to pass. To prevent further risk of Dispute or Confrontation, Prince Lormelin and his Vassals did hurriedly leave. They descended the River of Siàwy Lenpi and reached Essaweryl Bay, near the Territories of the clan of Filweni. None of Lormelin’s Lords had failed him.
However, the other royal Houses hesitated, delayed to see which way the Balance would lean, resolving to load the Winner with the full Weight of their Vassals once that Victor was known.
Conversely, Princess Aranaele exhausted no such time, for she was cognizant that only the Irawenti Clans could offer her the Crown of that Kingdom that she aspired to found, and forthwith did she employ all Means at her disposal to rally them. She was the richest among the High Elves, her Father King Tircanil having drawn vast Wealth from his Trade with the Gnomes in the North.
She was quick to distribute her Treasures amongst the Clans to honour their Guides and Priests, and when such Bribery did not have the desired effect, she issued Threats and employed Blackmail, for she was equally treacherous as she was cruel, and her Ambition knew no Bounds.
It was when Aranaele donned the Garments of the High Priestess of Cim that she did make the Irawenti fully submit to her Power, for her wily Insight had shown her the Advantages to be drawn from such an Office. The Irawenti, although cunning and advanced in their own Ways, were nonetheless gullible and superstitious. The Advent of Cim had provoked most profound Changes in the Bay of Essaweryl; its Waters did become much enriched, with Algae, Seaweed and many Plants of unknown Qualities, which brought forth the most unfamiliar Fish, of which new Species arrived with each new Moon. Whales now swam along the Coast, and a new Age of marine Hunting had begun. The Sea seemed to offer all its Richness to the Irawenti and guarantee its lasting Abundance.
In time Aranaele had a vast Temple, on a Cliff overlooking Essaweryl Bay, constructed, and the Light of its highest Tower could always be seen from the Clan Filweni’s Territory on the other side of the Bay. Servants of Aranaele roamed Essawylor and did summon Elves from all around to come and pay Homage to the Generosity of the Goddess of the divine marine Light. And, thus, The Cult of Cim was born.
It was not long before the Princess did reap the Rewards of such omnipresent Fervour. It had not yet been three years before a Council of the Irawenti Guides recognized her as Sovereign of Essawylor. She thence did sunder her Domain into Provinces, and did order that the deserting Princes, who she believed had led her Kind into Perdition, be pursued. Aranaele wished to prevent their dangerous Expedition and to rule over all Hawenti Houses and Irawenti Clans. To realize such Ambitions, she was prepared to wage War.
But such dark Designs were most reminiscent of the recent History of the High Elves in the north, and the Wounds sustained in those turbulent years were not yet healed. Moreover, many of them feared the growing Power and Authority of the Queen and the blind Devotion that she inspired in scores of Irawenti. For the High Elves worship neither God nor Star, and they spurn the Teachings of all Cults, leaving such Exaltation to others; verily, ever since they broke their promise to the Gods, their Instinct had been to trust only their own Wisdom and Powers, and to abhor the Unknown and the Tyrannous.
The other Hawenti Princes soon understood that there would be no place for them in this new Kingdom. Having sought to negotiate a compromise in vain, forthwith did they renounce the newly crowned Queen and abscond, followed by their numerous Vassals.
All defected to the side of Prince Lormelin.
Thence did thirteen noble House and three royal Bloodlines unite to recognize Lormelin as King of the Hawenti. This was an unassailable Majority and, in accordance with ancient Laws, it promised him and his Heirs the Crown of the High Elves henceforth.
Among even the Vassals of Aranaele, most fatal Schisms soon began to arise in all Quarters. The House of Dol Lewin tore itself asunder after cruel Disruptions, as the Lord of the House cast out his younger Brother, ignominiously accusing him of Conspiracy and Betrayal. Blood was shed, until part of that noble Family chose the road of Exile, following Lormelin, who they judged to be their lawful King and Suzerain.
Thus, it came to pass that the greater part of the Hawenti rallied to King Lormelin Dor Ilorm.
He most prudently chose not to succumb to the belligerent Impulse of some of his Dol, for he sensed, amid the growing Hostility between his own Hawenti Majority and the Multitude of Irawenti that supported his Rival, the Beginning of a long, bloody War. Indeed, his Purpose was not to conquer Essawylor, but rather it was to rally a Fleet and sail to the lost Archipelago of the Llewenti.
Thereupon did he direct his Efforts to the construction of Ships, in preparation for the great Migration, combining the Expertise of the Shipwrights and Sailors in the clan of Filweni. Ever since their arrival in Essawylor, the Elves of that Clan had gathered Books and Maps. They had become the wisest among the Irawenti in the ways of the sea. Their Reports and Communications had been recorded in the Clan’s a
rchives as they organized expeditions in order to perfect the art of Shipbuilding. Ancient Naves that were commanded from the quarterdeck without a bridge, incapable of shipping more than thirty Sailors, had been replaced by high-edged Vessels of more than three hundred tons, able to hold off the Sea in heavy weather whilst remaining the fastest in the Austral Ocean. The clan Scholars had developed their occult powers to become Masters of navigation, literate in reading the Stars, and experts of declensions, calculations and meridian tracings. The sea held the preeminent place in their Songs.
As Lormelin’s Armies did defend themselves against the incessant Attacks from Essawylor Troops inland, these Irawenti of the clan of Filweni, great masters of Crafts and Artisans built, in a mere few years, the most formidable Fleet ever witnessed in that part of the World since the very Departure of the Llewenti.
Afterward, with the glorious Dawn of Spring, the majestic Vessels were finally ready to depart and to set sail towards the lost Archipelago where the Star had fallen. Sitting atop the Ships’ Masts, flowing in the morning Wind, were the Colours of the noble Houses: the royal Red of the Dor Princes, the dark Green of the House of Dol Nos-Loscin, the midnight Blue of the House of Dol Etrond, along with many other prestigious Insignia, which all signified the Challenge that this Fleet did issue to the Austral Ocean, and their Ambition to conquer a new World. It was in that solemn moment of Departure that, at the front of the great assembled Fleet, King Lormelin, Son of Ilorm and rightful King of the High Elves, resolved to swear an irrevocable Oath. He swore, in the name of Cil, the bright Star of the West, that he, and his future Heirs to the Throne of the High Elves, would never forgive those who betrayed him upon that day, and that they would hence wage War with any of that Ilk if they dared follow him across the Ocean. The Oath that Lormelin issued forth to the Waves was thus.
Be he Enemy, Rival, Usurper, or Traitor most impure,
