by C. J. Krüger
It’s time, Duncan Lightheart.
“What did you call me?” I ask aloud.
“Nothing,” Ayda says, her expression twisted into concern. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I tell her, my heart feeling free. Maybe I should be more worried about hearing voices that aren’t there, but instead I just feel at peace. “I’m more than willing to try. I’m ready.”
Her eyes narrow dubiously, but she seems to brush aside the feeling. “Go get some sleep. We have a lot of work to do.”
Chapter Eight
Jonathan Wolfe
(Year 3740)
The weight of the waterfall crashing down around me is refreshing. Every day for the past month, I have come to sit under this fall with the King of the Elves. We don’t talk or do anything except sit in perfect silence. At first I couldn’t do it, for the weight of the water was too much for me to bear. Now, I can sit under the crushing water without trouble. It’s only the silence that bothers me now.
“Jonathan,” Diarmuid says, his voice sharp like a knife.
It is his first word to me during meditation and at first I don’t realize he spoke to me. I open my eyes and see him looking at me with his silver eyes, narrowed and peering through me.
“Yes?” I ask him curiously.
“What have you learned, sitting under the water?” He rolls his shoulders back and places a hand on his knee, looking relaxed, but also ready to stand at a moment’s notice.
“To be honest, I’m not sure,” I tell him, looking across the lake. “I’ve been thinking a lot of my father and his conquest of the Human world. I fear there won’t be anything to save.”
“I’m glad you were honest,” Diarmuid says, his posture relaxing. “But also somewhat disappointed. For a month we have come here every day, and meditated under the crushing weight of water. Has that taught you nothing?”
My brows furrow tightly and I fold my arms over my chest. I dip my head forward and allow the water to roll down my back, breaking its flow with the center of my body, rather than letting it crash against a single spot. “When we first tried this, I couldn’t even sit upright. Now I could do this all day. I suppose I learned even the seemingly impossible is a matter of perspective.”
“A simple take away from this,” Diarmuid says, nodding in approval. “But it’s something. Maybe in another month you’d have learned something a little less obvious.”
“You are a very rude elf,” I tell him, frowning deeply. “You act like I have time to be sitting here doing this.”
The ancient King sighs. “If you don’t stop to think and breathe and rest, it won’t matter if you succeed at a goal. You won’t even be the same man who started.”
I roll my eyes. “More annoying wisdom. I appreciate you taking care of me, but I think perhaps it’s time I go.”
“And do what?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “With your attitude, perhaps I’ll rescind my support. Let the world of Men fall and I will shore up my own land’s defenses. Your father will die soon enough and it won’t be my problem.”
“If he is backed by the Void, there isn’t anything you can do to stop him!” I shout and stand up, fighting the waterfall. I step out of the wall of water and point accusingly at the ancient elf. “And you know he is. We have to strike soon or else he’ll grow too powerful.”
“Maybe,” Diarmuid says, shrugging, “or maybe not. I should contemplate all possible situations. One does not live as long as I have by being brash.”
“As if you haven’t done something stupid in your life,” I say, though I realize I sound like a pouting child. I look down guiltily under Diarmuid’s steely gaze. “I apologize. I just find all this frustrating. The only time I’m not annoyed is when we’re sitting under this damn waterfall. It’s like my mind becomes totally empty.”
“Good,” the elf says and then he stands. His massive form seems to cut through the water, as if it’s nothing but a small trickle rather than a raging river. “If you can empty your mind, then there is hope for you yet.”
“Hope?” I ask, feeling my blood start to boil out of frustration. Damn this elf and all his riddles. “What are you talking about?”
“Magic,” he says, squinting at me. “Something you’re going to need if there is any hope of you defeating your father.”
I blink several times. “Why would you waste time teaching me magic?” I ask incredulously. “Even if you could, wouldn’t it be better to just take the fight to my father?”
“That was my initial plan,” he admits, but looks towards the sun. “But things have changed.”
“What things?” I ask, furrowing my brows. The anger in me has faded, and has been replaced with worry. What could possibly make the oldest of all the Elves change his mind?
“I had a vision three nights after your arrival. I’luna tried to deliver it, but I passed it off as a dream,” he starts explaining, and looks down at me with fierce concern. “So her Husband decided to humble me with a waking vision of what would happen if I were to wage war against your father now.”
“You spoke with the Twin Lights?” I ask in awe. “That’s…”
“The Elves have always been close with our Gods,” he says. “You Humans just adopted Them from us when you sailed onto the continent.”
“That can’t be,” I say defiantly. “We have always worshiped the Lights.”
“Trust me,” he says, his voice low, leaving no room for argument. “Are you going to argue ancient history that I lived through or ask about my vision?”
Even though he has a point, I still grumble and mutter under my breath that he is wrong. “Fine,” I say bitterly. “What did the Lights show you?”
“That we’ll win if we take on your father now,” he says gravely. “But that your son will rise in his place and destroy us all. You have to be the one to lead and finish your father. And even then, your son is still at risk of being our greatest threat.”
“My son,” I repeat, my mouth going dry. “A threat? An unborn son of mine will destroy us all if we defeat my father now? There must be some kind of mistake.”
“You want to tell Him that?” Diarmuid asks, pointing up to the sun hanging overhead.
When I look up, I gulp in fear and shake my head. “Forgive me, Indomitable Sun,” I say and bow my head. “I just don’t understand.”
“You aren’t supposed to understand,” Diarmuid mutters. “Look, Jonathan, I know this is hard. But you have to have faith. You have to kill your father, and to do that you’re going to need to learn to use magic.”
A deep frown tugs at my brows. My hands begin to shake and I start to pace back and forth. My son. A monster. Not just a monster—The monster. “What are our chances of victory if I’m the tip of the spear?” I ask, begging internally for good news.
“Not good,” Diarmuid admits. “But if we win, there is a chance for peace. Real peace.”
I let out a sardonic laugh. How could this be happening? “So, you’re telling me, O Mighty King of the Elves, that if I do battle with my father, we may all die? If I win, my son still might kill us all, and if you do battle and win, my son will definitely kill us all?” I laugh again. This is true insanity.
“It’s what the Twin Gods have shown me,” he says solemnly. “I wish I had a better answer for you, Jonathan, but this is our fate.”
“It’s madness,” I counter, and glare at Diarmuid, holding him responsible for all of this. I know it’s not his fault, logically, but I am afraid and angry and blaming him keeps me grounded. With great effort, I take a deep breath and force myself to make a choice. It’s a clear one.
“Teach me,” I tell Diarmuid fiercely. “I will do whatever it takes to stop my father. I don’t know who my son will be, or even who his mother is, but I love them both now, in this moment, will all my heart. No matter what, I will lay down my life to protect them.”
The ancient elf’s eyes flash with an emotion I don’t recognize. Was it pride? Fear? Anger? His features are alien to me
right now, and I think he means for them to be. Without saying a word, he motions for me to follow him. I do as he instructs, and we start heading deep into the Arterian Forest.
I look up into the tall canopy and admire the various animals and birds I see living among the trees. They are all so strange and amazing, and I hope, once all this is over and if I survive, that I can come back to study and observe this place. So little is known about this vast forest except that it stretches for thousands of miles, and it is surrounded with superstition and fear. The Elves guard its secrets closely, and are not known to be hospitable to outsiders.
The true size of the Arterian is unknown to all but the Elves, but I know that in my father’s youth he sent out an expedition in an attempt to map it out. Only one man came back, and he had gone insane. He died shortly after returning, raving about evil spirits and dark magic.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we continue walking deeper into the trees. The light is dimmer here because the trees block out so much of the sun with their thick leaves. “Diarmuid?”
“Quiet,” the elf says sternly. “Do not wake the trees.”
“What? Trees can’t be woken up,” I say incredulously. “They are just… well, they are just trees!”
I hear a loud, angry groaning and look around, feeling my hair stand up on end. There is a growl behind me and I turn to see nothing there. A strong hand clenches my shoulder painfully and I let out a muffled yelp.
“I said, Do not wake the trees,” Diarmuid says through clenched teeth. “The forest here is very much alive and all the unrest outside our borders has caused them to stir. They won’t appreciate a human being here.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice a hushed whisper. “Do they also hold grudges?”
“Yes,” he says simply and releases my shoulder. “Your people, when they first sailed over the sea, wandered into our forest. Not knowing anyone else lived here, your ancestors burned and tore apart hundreds of acres for timber and farmland.”
“What happened then?” I ask, feeling very curious and somewhat fearful. Every strange creak or groan puts me on edge, and I wonder if one of these seemingly sleeping trees will spring to life and kill me.
“The Great Ones awoke and started to slaughter the humans,” he says, frowning deeply. “Not since the Great War has so much blood been spilled in this forest. We intervened and saved your kind, and negotiated a treaty where the Great Ones would go back to sleep in exchange for humans never again setting foot in this forest.”
I nod and nervously glance about. No wonder that man came back insane and the rest died. The very forest may have killed them. “Before I was born my father sent men here.”
Diarmuid grunts. “I remember,” he says, sounding somewhat bitter. “But if you’re wondering whether we or the trees killed them, the answer is no. They found something else entirely.”
“What?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Ask me another time,” the ancient elf says gravely. “For now, we’re going to focus on your training. There was something else in my vision.”
“Why not tell me before?” I furrow my brows critically. “It has to do with me and my future family. You—”
“Silence,” Diarmuid says rebukingly. “Don’t get all self-righteous on me, human. I invented self-righteousness. I’m that old.”
I turn away sheepishly and frown. “So what else happened in your vision?”
“The moon will eclipse the sun in roughly a year,” Diarmuid says. “When the Twin Gods’ astral bodies become one in the sky, your son will have to be conceived. On the day of his birth, you will kill your father and seal the Darkness inside your infant son.”
My lungs stop working, and my vision becomes blurry. “No!” I say in horror. “I won’t.”
“You have to,” Diarmuid says urgently. “It will happen regardless of your wishes, but if you do as I say we have a chance. Your son will have a chance.”
“I could just not have a child,” I say like a petulant boy. “That would solve everything.”
The ancient elf shakes his head. “I wish it were that simple,” he says, his voice shaking. “But I fear your father awoke something. He’s not just working with the Void—he’s brought it into our world through himself. If we kill him, the Darkness will spread over our lands like a plague, leaving nothing but ash. You must sacrifice your son and pray to the Gods that he is strong enough to handle this burden.”
Eternal Lights, I beg, Please don’t make me do this. I close my eyes, blocking everything out and reaching out to the Gods with my heart. Please, give me another way. You say I will have a son, and I already love him. He will have a mother and I already love her, too. I will do anything but this. I stand in deafining silence, hoping for an answer but nothing comes. In my heart, I know I must obey, but every instinct I have compels me to turn away.
“Diarmuid,” I say, my voice croaking out painfully, “I will obey, though the thought is agonizing to me. If this gambit can save my son and our world, I will do what must be done. That is what it means to be a king.”
“If your father wasn’t evil, I’m sure he would be proud of you for saying that,” Diarmuid says, his lips pulling up into a faint smile. “So in his stead, I will say it. I am proud of you, Jonathan. Now,” he says, pointing ahead of us to an opening in the earth. “Step into the cave.”
Slowly, I nod and walk towards the cave. Each step feels as if I am carrying the weight of the universe on my back, and each breath feels as if I am pushing against an ocean. I approach the mouth of the cave and step through. The darkness slowly starts to envelop me as I walk deeper and deeper.
“Listen to me now and remember,” Diarmuid says, his voice low and grave. “When you think you are about to break and the Twin Gods have forsaken you, pray and They will make you whole.”
I nod and take a deep breath. The last rays of the sun fade, leaving us in the black. My skin crawls and my chest starts to hurt. The outside seems so far and I fight the instinct to flee. For my son.
“Do not fear the darkness,” he says, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze, “for it will show you the light.”
Chapter Nine
“Jonathan,” Eldatha says, her voice soft like honey. “It’s time to wake up.”
I groan and turn over. Everything hurts, especially my head. For six months her father has been stressing my body and mind in an attempt to unlock my magical ability. Day after day we run in the forest or spar with blades or fists until my body feels dead. Then I meditate until my mind goes blank and I attempt to move a rock with my mind. But nothing. Not even an inch.
“I’m never going to get this,” I tell her softly, turning my head to look at her. She is standing by the door with her arms crossed. “It feels hopeless, Eldatha.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she says sternly. Her eyes flash with what I think is sympathy, but that doesn’t stop her from lightly kicking me. “Father wouldn’t be teaching you if he thought it was impossible. Now get up.”
“Fine,” I mutter and throw the blanket off me.
“Oh my,” she says, her green eyes scanning over me appreciatively. “Your body has really developed.”
Tired and groggy, I blink in confusion. “What?” I ask, and then look down and see that I slept naked. “Turn away, woman!” I say, my cheeks turning a dark shade of red. I stand and wrap the blanket around my waist, tucking the fold so it stays on by itself. “Have you no decency?”
“Silly human,” Eldatha says, her tone teasing. “Afraid to show a little skin?”
“It’s just not proper,” I say defensively, my ears burning. “A man and a woman shouldn’t see each other naked unless they are wed.”
“Who made that rule?” she asks, her brow arching high. “It’s just skin.”
“The Lights,” I tell her firmly. “It’s written in the Tome of Ancient Light. The words given to the prophet Samuel.”
“I think there may have been a few mistranslati
ons, my human friend,” she says, chuckling. “I knew Samuel and he didn’t get the words from the Lights. He stole it from us.”
Grumbling, I reach for a pair or pants and pull them over my legs and fasten the ties around my waist before letting the blanket fall away. “Then enlighten me, princess,” I say, more snidely than I intended. “What did Samuel mistranslate?”
“You really don’t have time for a theological upheaval right now,” she tells me firmly. “Father is waiting on you in the forest.”
“No,” I tell her, putting my hands on my hips. “I’m so tired of always hearing how I’m wrong about my own religion. I’m a devout man, and I’d like to know what I am really believing in.”
She sighs and sits down. “It can’t hurt, I suppose. It’ll be impossible to compare every detail between the way we believe and the way you do, but I can at least start with this whole nudity thing.”
“I suppose that’ll do for now,” I say, taking a seat across from her. “Tell me.”
“The Sun and the Moon aren’t really our Gods,” she explains, “but the physical embodiments of them. The star we see in the sky and the rock that illuminates our nights are just that—a star and a giant rock. The Twin Lights are real, in a way that is so much more than anything we can imagine. To make it easier on us they named the Sun and the Moon after themselves and told us to pray to them.”
I nod, following along. My first instinct is to argue the opposite, but since I did ask her to explain, I keep my mouth shut.
She pauses for a moment, gauging my reaction, and then continues. “They wandered the Great Nothing, searching for one another, their hearts bound yet their bodies separate. When they did find one another, eons ago, their union birthed the universe. They are our heavenly parents.”
“This I know,” I tell her, my voice gentle. I’ve heard this before, yet I find myself entranced by her words.
Her lips part and lift into a smile. “Good. Now this, apparently, is where the disconnect is,” she says, reaching out to touch my chest. “They, who birthed us with Their love, decreed that everyone has a soulmate they must wait for. They are not to be with anyone else, save their true mate, and when they find that mate, they become one flesh. Separate yet the same, just as our Heavenly Parents are. Your prophet took that to mean anything at all to do with sex, including nudity.”
