by A. R. Wilson
The trees began to thin, and Azredan slowed. He turned hard to the left then paused on a narrow dirt path.
“From here on, you both step exactly as I step.” The dark-haired elf pointed down for emphasis. “Your footprints must land only where you see mine on the ground. The smallest error will add hours to our journey.”
Jurren nodded. Neywan had given him similar instructions back in the Highlands of Orison. Though Jurren had learned to memorize a few of the quick paths, he came to understand there was more to them than simple memorization. Highlanders felt something in the ground, in the air, even within themselves. They could sense the quick paths the same way a blind man could feel the warmth of the sun and discern its location in the sky.
“I will go slowly.” Azredan’s eyes moved from Jurren to Arkose and back. “Keep your eyes on the path and match the footprints precisely.”
Nodding, Arkose took a few steps back. Jurren planted his feet, eyes down, waiting for the elf to move.
Azredan began to walk. Step by step, they marched along the path. Jurren put his arms out to balance himself as he landed toe to heel in each footprint. After a while, he found a rhythm and didn’t need to hold out his arms.
Two hours passed, maybe more, when Azredan stopped at the edge of a valley. A mountain face at the far end threatened to revive an old memory within Jurren. He kept his eyes on Azredan’s feet, hopeful the elf would continue on.
“We are here. It is safe to speak again.” Azredan turned to Jurren. “I apologize for our haste in leaving Chlopahn. Amador keeps many guards and spies lurking in the woods. One of them was coming our way.”
Jurren looked up from his feet. “Will they know where we have gone?”
“Unlikely. Amador and Lord Marvae believe they have driven the Roan Order from Chlopahn. At best they will think you are lost or killed by goblins.”
“What is the Roan Order?”
“Other elves, like myself, who disagree with the Fates. We keep watch over the choices of the Elven Lords and the consequences against the people Einiko governs.”
“To what end?”
“This end.” Azredan gestured toward Jurren. “To bring you to this place at the proper time in the hope you will understand your role in this world.”
Arkose moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jurren. “Where are we?”
“Jurren knows this place.”
Keeping his eyes fixed on Azredan, Jurren struggled to hold back a memory from over thirty years ago. Neywan had taken him through a quick path across the Ellium Bridge. It was a secret place connecting the island of Orison to the outside world. On the other side of that bridge was the place Jurren met his first elf. That elf led them to a city the size of a mountain. Houses, towers, a castle, arches, all manner of architecture carved into the face of the rock with enough structures to accommodate over a hundred thousand people. A dead city, devoid of inhabitants. At the south end was a glowing crevice rumbling that birthed creatures of wrath. A place Jurren believed he would never have to see again.
“Why have you brought me here?” Jurren took a step back, wanting to feel outraged, though his new intuition was already forming the answer.
Azredan put up a hand. “Daiguin and his ilk still patrol the Dead City. You would do well to lower your voice.”
Tremors rippled along the ground for a moment then stopped.
“Jurren, where are we? Who’s Daiguin? What’s going on?” Arkose pulled at Jurren’s elbow to face him fully.
Tilting his head, the elf took a step forward. “You do remember this place?”
A muscle strained in Jurren’s jaw from gritting his teeth. Could the horrors of his past truly be the missing key to understanding Tascana’s disappearance?
He ran a hand over his face, hoping in that brief moment he could wipe it all away. But here it was. The reality of the life he left behind stood right before him. No matter how far he ran from what the Highlanders protected, their secrets had somehow found him.
Across the distant field, that mountain carved into a city stood as a monument to death. If nothing else, Arkose should know why they needed to leave Chlopahn as soon as possible.
“Over there is an abandoned city.” Jurren motioned toward it, keeping the view only at the edge of his vision. “A city built from the rock of an entire mountain. At that end is a cave formed by a warlock. His magic controls those glowing red fires, eternally burning. Fires which can produce goblins, dragons... anything the warlock desires.”
Each word he spoke ignited a firestorm of understanding through Jurren. This is where the horsk dragon was birthed that took his daughter. And this was the connection between Orison and Hess Bren. Though he had traveled for months over land and sea to journey away from his homeland, nothing was truly beyond the reach of the Predator’s Den. The warlock Neywan had hinted about was indeed the halfling Einiko.
A wisp of hope begged Jurren to believe it wasn’t possible. “Neywan said my destiny was tied to a son. Only the firstborn son of a firstborn son carries that fate spoken over me all those years ago. But my first child was a daughter. The line of sons was broken.”
Azredan folded his arms. “All things come full circle.”
“Not if the circle is shattered. My firstborn was a daughter. The line of sons broke with me. It broke because I willed it. That prophecy is lost.”
“And if your daughter has a son?”
The wisp of hope evaporated in Jurren’s soul. Blistering reminders of the destiny tied to his family line twisted like worms plucked out of the dirt.
Azredan paused a few moments before continuing. “You are of the line, the original line from Adjh. Surely Neywan told you the story of the Second Son and how your birthright allows you to wield that sword.”
Jurren blinked. “He told me I was the firstborn son of a firstborn son traced back to the ones who settled Orison. Beyond that, I know nothing of their history.”
Now it was the elf’s turn to blink. “He never told you why the first settlers of Orison sought for isolation? What of Threnody and Adkin? Surely they told you why the wife of Adjh hid one of her twin sons with those on the island.”
Shaking his head, Jurren glanced at Arkose. Although the secrets of the Highlanders poured hot coals into Jurren more than any other decrepit thing in this world, the time had come to stop having secrets with at least one person in his life. But only to the extent that it would help him find his precious Little Mally.
“Threnody never trusted me.” Jurren sighed, realizing he had started in the middle. He turned his gaze to Azredan “How much do you know about Orison? Have you crossed the Ellium Bridge?”
“No, but a close friend of the Roan Order has.”
“Then you know of the kros spell?”
Azredan nodded.
“The school for Highlanders on Orison? And the Mistress of Knowledge?”
More nodding, slower this time.
“I had difficulty sensing the quick paths while in the school for Highlanders. Because of this, I learned a few secrets before my time. I stumbled upon many places not intended to be found until I was much older. Neywan, my mentor, frequently chastised me for ending up where I wasn’t allowed to go.”
“I am so lost right now.” Arkose gripped the sides his head. “Who exactly is Neywan? What kind of a place do you come from?”
Jurren clenched a fist, though he could not fault his friend for needing clarification. “I was born on an island several months travel to the east of Bondurant. An island hidden from the world and surrounded by sea serpents. No one comes and no one leaves save a select few. It is a life very different from the one I’ve come to know in Hess Bren.”
“And the people on that island made a cave that can produce goblins?”
“No, Neywan and an elf named Daiguin monitor what comes out of the Predator’s Den. Somehow, that faraway island is connected to this land.”
Azredan gave a nod, signaling for Jurren to continue his previous narrative
.
“Though I excelled at other areas of my training, I hated the Highlander way of life. Their many secrets, both from the Lowlanders and from each other. Eventually, I learned the sole purpose of the Highlander school was merely a twenty year test to determine whether a student knows how to keep secrets. Long term secrets from multiple people and for multiple people.”
Glancing at Arkose, Jurren saw the man relax. The sight brought a wave of relief to Jurren. The only thing more painful than reliving these stories was the possibility he might lose his friend in the process.
Turning back to Azredan, Jurren continued. “One of my accidental adventures took me on a path to discover the Silver Willow. It told me the kros spell, the source of eternal youth on Orison, wasn’t a spell at all, but an antidote. Apparently, the people who first settled the island were immortal. I didn’t understand how any of that was possible, though.”
Taking a deep breath, Jurren paused a moment. “My part in the discovery of that oracle made me an outcast among the Highlanders. Neywan, Threnody, Adkin, and several other elders sentenced me to a twenty-year banishment. They cast me out because I believed the Lowlanders had a right to know the truth of what the Highlanders were hiding.”
Memories swarmed like wasps in and through Jurren. For so many years he had kept all this bottled up and buried, hoping that leaving Orison meant never again being a part of their lies and secrets.
Another tremor rippled along the ground. Jurren looked in the direction of the distant glowing crevice. That chasm massive enough to house an entire army. Whoever once lived in that desolate city had been driven away by the creatures loping out of the still-glowing crevice. Jurren furrowed his brow, concentrating his gaze. There, across the valley, upon on a ledge safely out of sight of the tiny forms leaving the cave, stood a figure in a dull-gray robe. The elf Jurren met all those years ago.
Pointing to the glow, Jurren turned to Arkose. “The tremors mean something is being birthed from the Predator’s Den. You probably can’t see them, but goblins are crawling out.”
Arkose shuddered, taking a step back.
“Fear not, my friend.” Azredan held out a hand of caution. “These will not come our way. Every batch for the past few dozen years has headed north.”
Jurren watched the tiny figure up on the ledge. Daiguin! His mind twisted the two syllables into a curse word. That arrogant elf counted the goblins marching out of the Predator’s Den as though there was still nothing to be done about it.
Azredan followed his gaze and nodded. “Yes, Daiguin continues his sentinel watch.” He turned to Jurren. “Were you taught anything else about your lineage? Anything at all?”
Tearing his gaze away, Jurren answered. “Thousands of years ago, sixteen couples sought out the island of Orison.” Jurren stumbled on his words and had to take another long inhale.
“Anything more?”
He shook his head. Technically, it was a lie, but Jurren was done talking about that place.
Azredan put a hand on Jurren’s shoulder. “You need to learn the story of at least one of those families. Almost 4,000 years have passed since the wife of Adjh learned her husband desired to increase his innate aptitude for magic. The gift would transfer to the eldest son and grow as their lineage grew. You are of the lineage of Adjh. The firstborn son of a firstborn son all the way back to that first family.
“When twin sons were born that fateful night, the wife of Adjh convinced the midwife to say only a single son had arrived. The first son was taken away and hidden by a group of brave souls who understood the consequences of pursuing magic. But intentions can become lost with time. Many things changed on Orison when their descendents began worshiping the Fates.”
Jurren shifted his gaze to Daiguin.
Azredan’s head tipped forward, pulling Jurren’s gaze back. “Einiko is the descendant of the second son. There is so much history lost from Orison. In the days ahead, I hope to fill in every gap. But for now, you must understand the current threat the Predator’s Den has for the peoples north of here. Those goblins,” Azredan pointed to the city. “This species, capable of infecting man, has built a bridge. From one side of the Great Barrier to the other. An army has grown in secret, preparing to launch when the time is right.”
“The secret is out!” Jurren walked a few paces away. “The people of Bondurant are already under attack.”
With a sad grin, Azredan shook his head. “If you think a few infections are proof of being under attack then you have no idea what is coming. Einiko implored the Fates for over two centuries in hopes of learning everything he can about how to join with the magic in the sword. To be one with his power. Each piece the warlock gathered brought him closer and closer to this day. To you.” He approached Jurren. “Once your daughter has served her purpose, the goblin war for the north will truly begin. The birth of that son, the final joining of the two lines of Adjh, will empower Einiko to spread his control there too.”
Jurren took a step back. It’s a lie! He dug his nails into his palms.
“Surely you see the truth by now. Though you look as one who belongs to the race of Men, it is not their blood that flows through your veins. Elves settled Orison to serve as a sanctuary of hope should the line of the second son grow too powerful. Some may have abandoned that purpose, seeking rather to enjoy the status of a Highlander, but the potential of Adjh still resides within you.”
You lie!
“You are one of the few who possess the right to wield the sword. If you find a way to destroy it, then hope remains for the full power of Adjh to be destroyed as well.”
“I am not of the elven race! Look at me! Do you see even a hint of that filthy blood anywhere on my face?” Jurren tightened his jaw against the quiver in his voice. “But I will destroy the Sword of Einiko, and I will do it without your help.”
“The toxins on Orison did more than cause aging. That is why the kros spell —”
“Your words are as useless as your insistence that I revisit this cursed land.”
“You need my help if you want to cross the barriers between Chlopahn and Einiko’s castle. A great labyrinth awaits beyond —”
“Nothing stands before me worth trusting an elf as my guide. Your entire race lies as if it were a principle of life. I will never trust you to help me find my daughter.”
Azredan’s face softened. “All of the elven race live in lies? Tell me, did you ever inform your wife about your homeland? Does your daughter know her father’s origins?”
“That is different. I withheld the truth to protect them.”
“Do you not believe Neywan did the same with you?”
“He didn’t just lie to me. He lied to everyone on that island who died of old age. If he shared what he knew, everything would be different.”
“Won’t Tascana think the same of you? It is the birthright within her blood that Einiko seeks.”
Jurren threw up his hands and walked several steps away. “No.” The syllable caught in his throat. No. He put his hands to his face. More worms slithered through his mind, forcing awareness of Tascana’s purpose in the warlock’s plan. The potential for a son. The joining required in creating a son...
“Take us back to Chlopahn.” Jurren pushed the words past the lump in his throat.
“I have more to show you if you are going to survive the journey through the labyrinth.”
“Take us back! A seer has given me a vision. I am fully capable of finding my own way to Einiko’s castle.”
“Is this seer a servant of the Fates?”
“No.”
Azredan’s mouth curved into the hint of a grin. “Then search your vision. I am certain you will find I am worthy of your trust.”
Never! Jurren narrowed his gaze. “Prove your worthiness by taking us back.”
“You need to see —”
“Take us back!”
“As you wish.” Azredan spread his hands.
Another tremor. Jurren glanced over to see Daigui
n continue his sentinel duties. How many goblins had come forth today alone? Were they all destined for Bondurant?
He turned to follow Azredan.
It seemed to take longer on the return journey, but perhaps that was due to the nightmare brewing in Jurren’s mind. Had the desire for a firstborn daughter cursed Tascana into a fate worse than death? His precious Little Mally. The one and only child Heluska was ever able to conceive. Tascana shouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of his former life. It wasn’t fair. She deserved better than this. Heluska deserved better. Yet here they all were in a race against time with a warlock and his goblin army.
Azredan stopped at a narrow place in the trail. “I must leave you here. The trees will listen to you and guide you back to your accommodations.”
Jurren gave a single nod and stepped onto a tree root.
“Will you allow me one more word?”
Jurren rubbed his palm against his forehead and called out over his shoulder. “The vision the seer gave me led me safely this far. Nothing in what she revealed shows anything about following you.”
“If that is what you wish. I promised you would be free to choose what happens next. However, should you change your mind, the quick paths will guide you back to me in a matter of moments.”
Pulling up the hood of his cloak to shroud his face, the elf stepped away.
“Where are you going now?”
Azredan gave an impish smile. “That’s no longer your concern, is it?”
The instant his back turned to leave, he was gone.
“Jurren?” Arkose held a hand at the back of his neck. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“I have been your friend and countryman for almost twenty years. I’ve seen how you live, and your actions have shown me what you truly value. You’ll always be a man in my eyes. No matter what some elf says.”
Jurren gave a small laugh. “That is the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”
“We’re going to find Tascana. And no matter what might be waiting for us back in Hess Bren, we’ll do it together.”
