by JW Baccaro
“How is that? Once it descends to the ground it will be completely invisible. There is no sky light down here and we will not know its exact location.”
“Oh, but we will.” He grinned. “As I have already told you, the fire that your son sleeps next to is no common fire. It appears so yes, gives off heat indeed, but its flames cannot harm you.”
“Explain this to me,” he asked in a tone sounding more like a command.
“Starlight Fire, an elvish holy fire that absorbs energy from the stars of heaven. Already, it has drawn enough energy to not only burn steady all night but when the Nightwing approaches the fire will illuminate its presence and we shall see its form. At that point, I will send a special arrow through its dark heart. Darshun will sleep through this entirely, for I purposely set the stones to keep him asleep in drawing the assassin.”
Mirabel gleamed a look of anger at him. “I do not like this. He’s a sitting target.”
“Please, trust me Mirabel the Great. I promise no harm will come to your son. Here, my father, in the name of Abidan has blessed these arrow tips. They shall kill it for sure. I give you one.”
Mirabel took the arrow, wondering how a mere blessing from a creature in the name of Abidan could destroy such a wicked form as a Nightwing. He too had blessed things before yet never had such effect. Perhaps this Athanasius was an Elf of great faith—a level beyond what any has ever had. “See you in a little while,” he said and climbed down to hide in another oak.
There they sat—waiting and watching. From time to time, a strong gust of wind would blow, hollowing through the trees, whistling quite eerily, like the elements were setting the stage for the coming attack. Then everything would go quiet—and for a long while quiet; not a sound stirred, no wind not even the creatures of the night.
Rapidly, there came a rustling through the tops of the trees. It seemed faint but sounded like something jumped from treetop to treetop and began to slowly creep down the branches.
As of yet, Caelestias could see nothing but heard the sound of an eerie hissing, like a maddened lion that lost its intelligence…The breathing of the Nightwing. The hissing dropped to the ground. The dark creature landed.
Mirabel could sense the creature lurking around too. Like Caelestias, he held his hand on the bow, ready to strike it down.
Then out of the shadows it came, creeping over to Darshun. The Starlight Fire revealed the creature’s shape. It stood incredibly about ten feet in height with long slender arms, hands bearing razor-like claws, a set of spiked horns over its shoulders, two massive wings and bluish-white eyes with no visible pupils. Though solid, its torso and legs appeared as black mist having no detail or description at all. Standing above Darshun, it extended its claws about ten to twelve inches, like five short swords in one hand.
Sweat poured down Mirabel’s brow, worried about his son. He also wondered why Caelestias hadn’t taken a shot yet. Mirabel aimed, preparing to strike, when suddenly Darshun shifted in his sleep.
This seemed to startle the Nightwing. It stepped away from the fire and could no longer be seen.
Growing anxious, Mirabel tried to focus his senses on the creature, but its presence seemed difficult to pinpoint. Then a rustling of leaves sounded from—behind him! He froze, daring not to move. Without a doubt, it was the Nightwing. He could feel the creature’s breath on his back and hear the horrible hissing as it exhaled. Whether he’d been spotted, he couldn’t be sure as of yet the creature hadn’t attacked. Suddenly, and at the worst possible time, the branch he stood on split, jerking his body and the bow fell out of his hands. The Nightwing screeched terribly and Mirabel jumped down from the tree. The creature swooped after him. Mirabel quickly grabbed a dagger off his girdle and threw it.
The blade passed right through the creature as if it was a mere shadow. It stopped, glared at him with a piercing gaze, then charged slashing at his face.
He ducked, maneuvered around and ran to where he’d dropped his bow. He placed the holy arrow onto his string and turned around to shoot.
The Nightwing disappeared.
Mirabel stepped out of the shadows fast and ran to the fire, knowing it was the only suitable place because he’d now been spotted and wherever he might hide, the Nightwing would surely see him. His only hope was that the Nightwing would come close enough to the Starlight Fire once more to attack. If so, he would see its form and hopefully get in a clean shot—though how likely is that? He scanned the trees, listened for any strange movements, wondering where Caelestias might be. For until now, he’d been completely silent.
Unexpectedly, it swooped down from behind, claws out and ready, but a glowing white arrow intercepted striking through its hand. It screeched horribly, waking up Nayland and fell at Mirabel’s feet. In a flash, the creature amazingly jumped into the air, reaching the trees in pursuit of the one who shot him in the first place…Caelestias.
Then there the Elf stood on a branch, glistening with white light—an aura perhaps—and the duel between him and the Nightwing began. It swung its claws while the elvish lord attacked with a sword; interestingly, because of the Nightwing’s wound from the holy arrow, a dim light outlined its shape, so that no matter where it went it could now be seen, making the duel equal. They jumped from tree to tree, branch to branch, sometimes reaching peaks over a few hundred feet, then quickly descending back down the branches, both moving with incredible speeds, especially Caelestias.
How he’d been able to maneuver like that through a cluster of thick trees at great heights, where the slightest mistake meant death, was a mystery even to Mirabel.
Truly he did “move like the wind.” Sword against claws, claws against sword continued, and Caelestias seemed to have the upper hand, causing his opponent to flee away more than once, only to rush back and be slammed hard from another clash—this time shattering a few claws. In desperation, the Nightwing sliced off a rather large branch Caelestias stood on and down he went with his aura of light disappearing. Whether he’d grabbed onto another limb, saving himself from the fall, could not be seen. Then, to get rid of its visible outline, knowing the others were watching, the Nightwing sliced off its wounded hand making himself ‘invisible’ once again.
Stealthily did it move from tree to tree, pausing at one directly above Mirabel and Nayland where it crouched motionlessly. Watching them, as they kept still by the fire it noticed the seven burning stones within the flames. Now it seemed to understand what type of fire burned and how Mirabel was able to see him in the first place. For the creature seemed to be no stranger to Starlight Fire and wouldn’t dare show itself again. Instead, he searched for the dagger Mirabel threw earlier and found it stuck in a branch. The Nightwing pulled the dagger out and tainted it with an unholy touch. The dagger sparkled and grew twice in size. Steadily, he aimed at Mirabel’s heart, hissing or breathing heavily in excitement, then threw it. But a sudden glowing white arrow flew out from nowhere and pierced through the steel of the dagger vaporizing it. The Nightwing screeched, jumped onto a thick maple and scanned around to see who shot the arrow. The trees were empty, not a creature stirring, until he turned around and looked behind him, spotting Caelestias.
It seemed too late to react, Caelestias had him in his sights and let go of his last holy arrow, piercing it through the heart and after an incredibly frightening scream, causing every animal within a five mile radius to flee, it vanished into thin air with only echoes of cries fading into the distance.
“Back into the abyss from whence you came,” Caelestias ordered, his tone a voice of judgment. He jumped down and landed next to the others. “Apologies for the delay,” he said, looking quite impressive in the eyes of both Mirabel and Nayland.
“No need,” Mirabel responded. “Thank you.”
“What was that hideous thing?” Nayland asked, putting away his axe.
“A Nightwing,” Caelestias answered. “Do not worry, it is dead and our travels shall now be safer.”
They all glanced over at Darsh
un who still slept and he kept snoring awfully loud.
“Good heavens!” Nayland scoffed. “How can he be asleep after such noise?”
“Not his doing.” Mirabel laughed, thinking about the time when he and Seth rescued baby Darshun at the town of Arman, and how Darshun slept through the entire battle. “But then again, Caelestias, you probably did not need any spell. Darshun has always been a deep sleeper.
CHAPTER FIVE
ASHHAVEN
At dawn, they once again set off on their quest and after days of traveling through the wilderness, they came upon a stone roadway made by the Elves. On either side of the road—as far as the eye could see like a wondrous painting were a bounty of colossal-sized maples, their leaves varying from green, dark green, red/maroon, purple, and silver with glorious clusters of beautiful flowers. All the stunning flowers known to man: Morning Glory, Bluebell, Yellow Wood Sorrel, Red and White Roses and Flaming Butterfly Weed.
Caelestias promised the road would take them to Ashhaven and after another thirty to forty minutes of travel his words proved true, they finally arrived.
What a gorgeous place, far more exotic and different than any other city Darshun had ever seen. Instead of wooden or stone houses, like Humans and Nasharins often build, the Elves lived within the trees. Amazingly, the trees stood a few hundred feet tall and were at least fifty feet thick! They wore different colorations—both bark and leaf; some were fuchsia, dark purple, golden orange and light blue; others burgundy red, lilac and different shades of green and yellow. One in particular looked white with a tint of silver-blue in places where the sun shined brightest. It sparkled with such beautiful majesty and seemed a little taller and wider than the others, appearing to be an elvish castle.
At first, no one seemed to notice them. Elves were walking to and fro of the city and the children were playing within the trees, jumping and swinging among the large branches, singing songs. When the arriving party walked further into the city—they caught everyone’s eye. The Elves especially stared at Darshun.
Feeling shy, he would seldom look upon them.
“To Loinnrich Crann, the white tree we must go,” Caelestias announced. “Lord Athanasius is waiting.”
“Lord Athanasius?” Darshun asked.
“My father. And obviously, Lord of Ashhaven.”
Upon entering Loinnrich Crann, Darshun immediately noticed the inside looked just as magnificent as the out. White candles burned, having unusual dark blue flames filling the room with delightful smells like a summer’s eve. Statues of what must have been great elvish heroes stood aside a long wall. Each figure had an inscription of a date upon its sculpted cloak, going back to ancient times, the first age even. This reminded Mirabel of the Hall of Heroes the Original Loreladia once possessed. Paintings of Elves, Wizards, Men and other types of creatures, that Darshun later discovered to be Centaurs and Dwarves, hung on the walls across from the statues; some taking place in battle, others a beautiful pose. There was even one of—to all their disbelief—Mirabel, painted to perfection, down to the last bodily detail.
“Father look!” Darshun pointed.
Interestingly the image of Mirabel was in Transformation; even the bright yellow and citrine colors were done immaculately. The expression of his face looked stern, confident, looking off at perhaps an opponent, ready for battle.
Mirabel turned to Caelestias, eyes widened. “Without a doubt you have laid eyes on me before.”
“Aye. The Loreladian / Barbarian war you led had to be watched from the outskirts of our land. The outcome effected the entire east.”
“But your people—you never approached us—myself?”
He shook his head. “It was war meant for the Loreladians, not the Elves, not yet. You handled it courageously, and gained our respect.”
Mirabel bowed his head in appreciation, though admittedly a little overtaken. “I suppose you won’t reveal the place you witnessed me, will you?”
Caelestias passed him a quick smile, then ventured forward, ignoring the question.
They came to a stairway which ascended in the shape of a spiral. From the high peaks came the mystic voice of a woman singing. The melody sounded breathtakingly sweet and Darshun recognized the voice at once. “Can it be?” He hurried up the stairs, nearly pushing Caelestias out of the way. He stepped off the stairway, entering the room where the singing came from and there she stood, facing an open window, brushing her long honey-brown hair while a gentle warm breeze blew in, his Angel Kelarin.
She took time to finish her song and then faced Darshun. She wore a long white dress, a silver belt wrapped over the waist, and little silver high heel shoes sparkling in the sunlight. Stationed around her wrists were two fiery colored leaf-like bracelets and a black necklace baring the image of an autumn blooming scarlet maple hung to her chest. With naturally orange-red lips and breathtaking gray blue eyes shining at him.
Her beauty captivated him. “Kelarin!” he said kneeling before her.
She walked over and gently touched his face, trailing a hand over his burn scars. A white glow began to shine around his presence, a soothing warmth filling his body and within moments the scars disappeared.
The inner pain he’d been feeling since pierced by the sword of Abaddon vanished also, and fatigue became a memory. He became instantly healed, fully! “I never asked for such a favor,” Darshun said lowering his head. “Thank you ever so much. I am forever in your debt, my Angel.”
Setting a hand under his chin, she lifted up his face to hers, eyes catching his. “Please stand.” Her tone as humble as ever.
“I thought you’d been sent away to Syngothra—to be killed!”
“Blessings be to my people. Seen by a witness, word of mouth of my transport spread and before long, the Aryeh tracked the enemy down and rescued me. It is by blessing that my brother managed to escape Syngothra unharmed.”
“Your brother?”
“Caelestias, leader of the Aryeh.”
Darshun’s jaw hung open. Caelestias—Kelarin’s brother? How unlikely he would be a sibling. Their attitudes differ as night and day. Still, I just cannot contain myself with all this emotion. It is too much. Kelarin, my Angel, she is alive and standing right here before me. Overjoyed, Darshun’s eyes began to fill with tears causing his steel blues to glisten. Stepping forward, he threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly, cutting off a little bit of air.
“There there now Darshun,” she said with a chuckle, gasping for a breath. “Rejoice. Everything is going to be all right.”
“For the first time in my life, I am finally starting to believe that.” He let go of her, taking a moment to simply look upon the splendor of his Angel.
Kelarin stared back, caught in a daze.
“Darshun did not come here to see you, sister,” Caelestias admonished, causing her to look away. For his comment sounded more like a scold. “He came to see father.”
Raising an eyebrow, Darshun spun around on a heel.
Beside his companions stood an Elf—elder in years. He looked tall, had long white hair and a silver gray beard, his appearance strikingly similar to a Wizard, not counting the high pointy ears. He wore an auburn robe strapped with a brown woven rope belt and his spacey maroon, teal speckled eyes were captivating. “Welcome Darshun Luthais, son of Ariel Abdias.” He glanced over to Mirabel. “And of Mirabel Luthais.” His smile seemed warming, his voice like a soothing rain, far different than Caelestias. It seemed difficult to imagine the irritable elvish lord could ever be related. “I am Athanasius, the Lord of Ashhaven.”
Darshun bowed.
"May the peace of Abidan remain upon you. Blessings be to this day, Darshun Luthais."
"Indeed my Lord. You summoned me here, didn’t you? To show me the way north?"
“Aye. Come come, I will give all of you food and drink, then discuss the path you must take to accomplish this quest.”
“As you wish.” Darshun nodded.
They ventured up another flight of
stairs leading to the highest peak of the tree and entered into a large room. The room consisted of a fireplace where a kettle of tea was steaming, two loaves of bread baking, and a cereal consisting of oats, wheat, barley and other delightful smelling ingredients cooking within a pot atop the cast iron oven. The oven heated by a cauldron of burning wood nestled and controlled beneath. There were bookshelves stacked full with books, reminding Darshun of Olchemy’s lair, and a great round table with twelve chairs.
There was also something else odd, another room having two long dark-green curtains—a door and Lord Athanasius stepped through for a few minutes. When he returned, something seemed different about him—his face looked radiant like he’d been in the bright sun for far too long and he smelled like frankincense.
Darshun noticed this smell on him before but it suddenly seemed magnified. He wanted to ask about what might be behind those curtains but something told him to refrain, at least for now.
Athanasius, Caelestias, Mirabel and Nayland were seated and Kelarin served them the tea, insisting Darshun take his seat also, for he tried helping his Angel but quickly got shot down by her dominant stare. Darshun did see this look before, back in Castle Volborg, when they were arguing over who would sleep on the floor and who would take the bed. Obviously, she got her way…again, and he sat down beside his father feeling restless.
Kelarin brought over a large wooden bowl of triangular cut juicy sweet watermelon, cantaloupe and honeydew melon. The freshly baked bread and the hot cereal stuffed with raisins and almonds looked delicious while drizzled with golden honey.
Darshun believed he sat in paradise when slurping a spoonful of the cereal. The spices of vanilla, nutmeg and cinnamon mixed with the oats, raisins and honey drove him into a frenzy of hunger. He dove right in so vigorously he even licked the plates clean with his tongue before realizing everyone stared at him.
