Yet, even as he wished that she could heal from this ultimate ill, he knew it was not true. Still, each time there was a knock on his door, each time he saw a shadow in the woods, each time he caught the faintest whisper of her heartbeat on the breeze, he turned, hoping against hope to see her again.
They tried to cheer him up. They brought him empty food and emptier news. Perhaps he was ungrateful to them in his time of need, for they tried their best. Their best was not going to bring her back. Nothing was.
At the end of a year he had gone searching again, even as his hope started to dim. This time, it was less to find her than to set his soul at ease. His trip accomplished neither task. Yet, when he returned things were different. Gradually he adjusted to normal life again, while he feared she continued to be slowly tortured inside.
Chapter 6: The Prophecy of the One
The rest of the trip to Deguz was uneventful and short, and Tarthur was glad for it. He was relieved that everyone was once again together. It was even more than relief. He had not seen all of his friends together in one place in such a long time. Actually, he mused, many of his friends were not there. Yonathan was in Freeton, and Yan was…
He quickly pushed the idea from his mind. With any luck, Yan would soon rejoin the world of the living. There were just so many questions to be answered. Worry over Yan had been pushed to the back of his mind as the new problem of the dark elf attacker had surfaced. Someone had intentionally targeted his family, someone very strong. What had they hoped to gain? If the prophecy referred to Tarthur, were they trying to control him through his family? What did they stand to gain from entering the Vale? He pondered the questions constantly. Fortunately, the day-to-day business of traveling helped calm him somewhat. Tarthur had gotten to know the rest of his companions, although with his volatile mood he was a long way from liking them.
Derlin greeted them at the gate. Tarthur saw relief spread over Derlin’s face. “Tarthur, good for you! You were able to rescue them!”
Fientien spoke with a grunt. “Oh yes, it’s a good thing that Tarthur was there. What would we ever have done without him?” Tarthur wasn’t sure, but it seemed like the dwarf was becoming more sarcastic and odorous by the day. He had seemed almost normal when they first met, but Tarthur could have been mistaken. Now he was just a typical dirty dwarf.
Derlin either didn’t hear the comment or chose to ignore it as he rushed forward to embrace his friend, sidestepping a steaming pile of horse manure. The smell wasn’t overpowering, as the stables were kept clean by a staff of hard-working boys.
There was little time for delay. After the stable hands wrapped the warm, supple leather of the horses’ reins around the dark wooden hitching posts, Derlin immediately motioned towards the library.
“Come, they are waiting for us inside.”
Tarthur turned to look at their party. Yvonne and Alahim’s clothes were ripped and filthy. Their faces had layers of grime and sweat mixed together. Yvonne’s blond tresses were matted to her head by dried salty sweat. The guards looked only slightly better, and somehow the dwarf had managed to step in the pile of manure that Derlin had avoided.
“The others can go wash up at the inn and come to meet us after we have finished,” Tarthur suggested.
“Well,” Derlin replied, avoiding Tarthur’s gaze. “The guards and the dwarf can go. As for Addyean, Alahim and Yvonne…I think that they should come with us now.”
Tarthur seemed slightly puzzled, but unconcerned. “Very well, they will wash themselves later. Let’s proceed.”
Fientien broke in. “Not so fast—as a representative of the dwarves, I have every right to be involved in this council.”
“It’s not an issue for dwarves, or any other race for that matter,” Tarthur gently rebuked him. “What we’re discussing is only an issue among a group of old friends.”
Fientien would not be put off so easily. “Whatever you’re discussing, I’d bet a dragon’s egg that it has something to do with the reason skull knights are chasing you. You and your wife both owe me for saving your lives. We lost four good dwarves to bring you here, and now you better be able to prove to me why it was worth it!”
Tarthur looked like he wanted to counter the dwarf’s arguments, but before he could say anything Derlin acquiesced. He seemed anxious to get the meeting started. “We thank you for aiding Yvonne and Alahim. You may accompany us, but the council will have the final say who is admitted.”
Addyean spoke up for the first time. “Garseon may come as well. The rest should head to the inn and wash up.”
The soldiers didn’t need to be told twice, and quickly disappeared from the room. Solemnly, Derlin lead the rest to the library.
They did not go to Artholeus’s private study. The small room would be far too cramped for so many. The library had three large meeting rooms. Deguz often played host to various conferences of academics and historians. Derlin lead them up a spiral staircase and into one of the larger rooms.
The room’s stone walls were rough around the edges but covered with warm tapestries depicting historic events. A polished oaken table took up fully a quarter of the room. The light from half a dozen smokeless torches reflected eerily off its surface, flames twisting and writhing in frustration at the wood that they could not consume. There were no windows, and the ceiling was low. The chairs were dark brown, and looked hard and uncomfortable. Whoever had set up the room had probably believed that the mind could not retain its sharpness while the body slid into comfort. Empty suits of armor stood in two corners of the room. Several figures were seated around the oval table, and wore a slightly guilty look, as if they had just stopped talking about Tarthur a moment before he walked in.
Zelin was seated at the head, looking rested but betraying no emotion. His long gray beard flopped down onto the table and his wizard’s robes hung loosely from his shoulders. Artholeus was seated to his left, an eager smile on his lips that was not reflected in his eyes.
King Dalin sat on Zelin’s right. Of everyone in the chamber, Dalin seemed to have aged the most since they had last met. His hair had started to gray around the edges, and the haunted look of an insomniac hid at the back of his deep, understanding eyes. Still, his body was strong and toned, and the nobility of his bearing was apparent to all.
Valena occupied the chair to Dalin’s right, looking stunning as always. There was just simply no other word for it. She wore a soft tan leather jacket with black beads hanging from the threads. Her matching pants were loose-fitting and met her dark riding boots in the middle of her calves. A silver crescent moon pendant hung on a nearly invisible chain draped around her slim neck. Every time Tarthur saw her, he marveled at how she held her youth. True, motherhood had dulled some of the sparkle of her dazzling beauty, but the change had not been unkind. The sharpness of youth had mellowed the girl to a woman, and she fit her new role well.
The family resemblance was apparent in the figure seated next to her. Fourteen year old Lily’s deep chestnut hair was lighter than Valena’s, and the joke growing up was that she was fortunate to have inherited much more in the way of looks from her mother than her father. Although, Tarthur thought, perhaps it was because her mother still dressed her. Pressed silver pussy willow down ringed her boots and her leggings were made of a soft red felt. A brown overtunic fastened with a black belt completed the outfit. She wore several colorful beads in her braided hair, and directed a short but excited wave to Alahim when he entered. Her distinguishing elven features were decidedly muted—her ears were more of a stretched oval than a point, and her brow was slanted only slightly. With a simple disguise, she could easily pass for a full human.
Tarthur, Addyean, Garseon, Yvonne, Alahim, Derlin and Fientien all pulled up chairs and sat. The newly arrived guests looked ragged and out of place compared to the other fine gowned and rested figures seated at the table.
Artholeus noticed the apparent discomfort and extended his frail arms in welcome. “Thank you very much for coming. We ar
e all relieved that you were able to join us safely. Our accommodations here are simple, but I will have some food, water, and lodging prepared for you for later. I see in your eyes that you crave information far more than material comfort. Two servants waiting at the door caught the meaning of his words and left, closing the doors behind them.
Zelin took over the meeting. “Introductions must be first, as there are some here who I do not know. My name is Zelin. I am a student of the ways of the world, and have been for many years now.”
The rest introduced themselves, although with a little less humility. Still, each was cautious and no one revealed much about themselves. Dalin was last, and after giving his name and background, added one thing more. “Some here are unknown, and some are children. Before we say anything more, we need a guarantee that what is discussed here will not be spread to those who would hurt us.”
“The walls are thick and sturdy, and each man can give his word,” Artholeus placated.
“The time when a stranger’s word was good enough ended the day my father was murdered,” the elf king responded softly. “No, it will have to be better than that. Something must bind us, or we must reduce the members of this council.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. Tarthur heard only the soft rise and fall of his own breathing.
Fientien was about to get up and leave when Zelin let out a sigh. “Very well, there is something we can do. There is a spell that will bind us all together, so that none of us may speak of what is discussed here to any other person, for any reason. If any one chooses to do so, their body will immediately be transported back to this very room.”
“It seems too harsh,” Derlin replied. “We may need the aid of others as we continue our search. What then?”
“We can modify the spell,” Tarthur suggested. “Make it so that you may not speak of what is discussed here unless at least two other council members are present. That will prevent any dangerous leaks, and still allow us to solicit aid should we need it.”
The figures around the table nodded in agreement. Zelin explained the terms. “We must all enter into this sacred pact by our own free will, or else the spell may not be cast. Therefore, if anyone wishes to leave, let them do so now.”
Alahim looked very much like he wanted to leave, but one glance at the iron resolve of the people around him told the boy that he had better stay. Tarthur saw that Alahim was glad for Lily’s company. His son did not know her well, but had always looked up to her. She flashed him a confidant smile that told him everything would be okay. No one could argue with a smile like that.
Everyone joined hands and Zelin began a low chant. As he did so, Tarthur felt the magergy building up within him and pulsing through Yvonne and Derlin at his sides. He felt a piece of each person’s life-force, blending together and coming to rest inside of him. Almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. The seal was in place.
They sat back down, a stunned look in their eyes. Lily was perhaps the most stunned. Alahim was the youngest, but he was often exposed to powerful magic at home. If Fientien felt anything, he did not show it on his calm exterior.
“Now,” Tarthur began. “Perhaps we can get along and figure out exactly what it is I am supposed to do.”
“Tarthur…” Zelin spoke softly, pain coming out in the word.
Tarthur felt a hole open up in the pit of his stomach. It was growing slowly, but he would not allow himself to be worried until he knew exactly what the old wizard meant.
It was Artholeus who broke the silence. “There is another line to the prophecy. We were looking through other manuscripts for hints when I found another copy of the original text. Once I saw it, I remembered that some years back I found this scroll checked out and not accounted for. I thought nothing of it at the time but now it seems to all make sense…someone wanted us to believe that you were the One that the prophecy referred to, but actually…”
Upon seeing the confused looks of most in the room, Zelin held up a hand to silence the excited librarian. “Let me start at the beginning. Well, it is very hard to know where the true beginning to anything lies. Let me start with the prophecy.”
Tarthur wished that he would finish, at the same time dreading the answer. If it was not him, then who could it be?
Zelin swirled his hands in a fluid motion over the table, and a black cloud spread over the smooth surface. The cloud gradually mixed with the reflected torchlight until it coalesced into a set of silver letters. The font was narrow and the strokes of the letters sharp, ending in points that looked like oversized, multi-barbed fishing hooks.
When the powers of life shall be implored
For he that was lost to be restored
Water forged into a gate stronger than steel
To open the way, but One may reveal
A child born, three swords he must wield
“One must always be careful trying to interpret prophecies,” the old wizard warned. “Many meanings can be hidden in a single line. Yet, here is what I can make out. ‘He that was lost’ refers to the missing shapeshifter Yan. In order for him ‘to be restored,’ the ‘One’ must pass through the Wall of Glass separating the Eternal Vale from the Lands of Daranor.”
The letters gradually faded and new ones took their place.
With the elemental power he will banish the dark
From this you may know him, for he bears no mark.
“The only man who has used ‘elemental power’ to ‘banish the dark’ is Tarthur,” Zelin continued. “So, originally we assumed banishing the dark with elemental power was what ‘this’ referred to—that is to say, how we will know the One.”
Everyone around the table looked like they would have drawn the same conclusion. However, they were waiting for what was to come.
The room was deadly silent as eleven sets of lungs all held their breath.
“Yet, ‘this’ is actually referring to the next two lines,” Zelin said.
Tarthur could almost feel the suspense killing him from inside as the letters swirled and faded again, giving rise to the last two lines. When he saw them, he felt his legs become weak and he was glad that he was sitting down.
The son of the man with the ultimate power
by his name may he save him, at that fateful hour.
The words echoed loudly and mockingly in Tarthur’s brain. The son of the man- by his name may he save him. By his name—Alahim.
Derlin reached out to steady Tarthur, who was speechless. Yvonne gave a muffled gasp but said nothing. Alahim either didn’t understand or was in denial.
“I’m sorry, Tarthur.” Zelin spoke with compassion. “But it looks like the prophecy is very clear.”
Although even the most dim-witted of the council grasped the meaning of the words by Tarthur’s reaction, Zelin explained it anyway for the benefit of those that were not familiar with Tarthur’s family. “’By his name’ here has a double meaning. Alahim means shapeshifter in the ancient tongue of wizards. It is both the name of the one who is lost and the One who may save him. The first part of the prophecy, that of using ‘elemental power’ to ‘banish the dark’ does not have to refer to something in the past. It may mean that this is something Alahim must do in the future.”
“Someone knew,” Yvonne said, having recovered from the initial shock. “It was Alahim that they were after all along. They wanted him because he is the One, not because they wanted to use him and me as leverage to get Tarthur. That’s why the attack came after Tarthur left.”
Tarthur still didn’t want to believe it. Things had turned around so quickly. He could see risking his own life to save Yan, but he could not risk his young son’s life. Alahim didn’t even know anything about magic! He could not survive the power of the Wall of Glass and the Eternal Vale.
“It may be that a child has a better chance against the Wall of Glass anyway,” Artholeus mused. “They have learned less in life, and thus have less to unlearn. They have not had as much time as we have to form misguided
opinions.”
“We cannot send him,” Tarthur objected. “At least, not until he is ready. He must know what he is doing, and he must make the choice of his own free will. I will not ask it of him.”
Fientien glanced sideways at Tarthur, giving him a look that questioned if some of Tarthur’s negative reaction might be due to hurt pride at not being ‘the One.’ Tarthur wasn’t sure if he caught the dwarf’s meaning, but returned a glance that suggested the dwarf was prying far too much into his family’s private business.
“There is just so much at stake….” Artholeus mused. “Not only the return of Yan, but let us not forget the Power of Air as well.”
“How can that be balanced against the life of a child?” Yvonne struck the table with her palms and stood up, visibly upset. Tarthur knew she had been through so much to get Alahim to a place where she believed he would be safe, and now it appeared that the danger was just beginning.
“It is not just his life he may lose, but his sanity,” Dalin remarked, oddly detached. “Those who wrongly try to enter are forced to live tortured lives.”
“Tarthur,” Addyean reflected. “I know that it is a terrible burden to ask of Alahim, but you and Derlin were not much older when the same was asked of you. You were eager for the chance to recapture one of the four elemental forces thought lost to the world.”
“Yes,” Artholeus prodded. “It is only fair that Alahim have the same chance.”
Tarthur hadn’t considered Addyean’s point before, but it was ludicrous all the same. He and Alahim were so different from each other. Why could no one else see it? “Fair? I don’t think anyone here is idealistic enough to think that fairness has anything to do with the way the world works. He is barely eleven. I was four years older than he was. Besides, the situation was so different….” As he trailed off, he realized that perhaps the situation wasn’t so different after all. The only change was that back then he had no idea of the dangers that the world possessed. He and Derlin had been young and naive. Would he have acted differently if he had been aware of just how cold the stone in Marhyn’s palace was? Maybe it was because he had no parents to watch out for him. If he had, would they have forbidden him from ever setting out to visit the merfolk? Would he have listened?
Lands of Daranor: Book 02 - ProphecyQuest Page 11
