Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf)

by A. E. McCullough

  Making sure his hood was up, Graytael carefully moved down the hillside and hopped in the back of the line. The young elf in front of him turned around and looked at him but did not speak. Judging from the lack of conversation, he guessed that conversation was forbidden or seriously frowned on. Even his ghost companion was silent, so he waited and watched. When the first rays of morning touched the Elder Tree, the yellow and red leaves reflected the light and looked like molten gold. It was breathtaking.

  Once the Elder Tree was completely illuminated with the morning sun, the line began to slowly move forward. Eldath finally spoke. “When you reach the Beriadan, keep your head down and move quietly to the trunk of the tree.”

  Gray noticed that the ghost had used the Elvish name for the Elder Tree and pronounced it ‘bear-ee-ah-dahn.’ Roughly translated it meant ‘Defender of the People’ but outside of that, he had no idea what to expect.

  As if he could read his mind, Eldath continued explaining. “But don’t approach her until the initiate in front of you has completely left the shelter of her boughs. Once you reach the trunk, place both palms on the trunk and clear your mind.”

  “What happens next?” whispered Graytael.

  The young elf in front of him twisted around and smiled at him. “I see you weren’t told much about this ceremony either.”

  Graytael blanched when he realized that he had spoken aloud. “No, just that it was important for me to attend this ceremony.”

  The dark haired elf grinned. “No worries, my uncle has told me all about it. The Beriadan will do one of four things when we present ourselves to her; ignore us, which seems to be the most common. Wave her branches overhead, which indicates a blessing and seems to be the next most common result. Occasionally, she will lower her branches to the initiate’s shoulder and bestow a special boon. And rarely, present the initiate with an extraordinary acorn which you then plant in a special grove nearby.”

  Eldath added, “He speaks the truth.”

  Graytael nodded. “Thanks.”

  The young elf smiled and held out his hand. “Tûrin.”

  Graytael shook hands and answered. “Isengrim.”

  “Half-elf?”

  Graytael nodded. “My mother was a Feredir…”

  He used the elvish title for hunter. The Feredir are a specialized form of warriors in the Elven community that tend to range far and wide, rarely returning to Elfholm. This would logically explain the rest of his false back-story.

  “…and was severely injured by Orcs. My father was a simple woodsman. He found her and nursed her back to health. As my uncle explained it to me, they fell in love and had me. Unfortunately with the coming of the next spring, the Orcs returned. My parents sacrificed themselves to protect my escape with a family friend.”

  Anasazi had constructed the history for him and it was close enough to his own history to ring true. Sadly enough, there had been enough incidents like those that he told for it to be believable. It should also quell any odd questions he might receive about his lineage or lack of knowledge about this ceremony.

  Tûrin seemed to accept his story and turned his attention back to the line of initiates. Nearly half of the elves had made their way through. Of that, most seemed not to get any sort of blessing from the ancient tree but twelve received the special blessing of the Beriadan’s waving branches overhead. It was a strange thing to watch the faces of those select few as they walked from the grove. The only word Graytael could use to describe it was dumbfounded.

  Finally it was Tûrin’s turn. The young elf walked calmly to the base of the Elder Tree and placed his hands on the trunk.

  Graytael glanced from Tûrin to the rest of the waiting initiates. They were all watching also. When he looked back, he could see the branches of the great tree waving. If there had been any wind, he would’ve dismissed it as that but since there wasn’t even the hint of a breeze, it had to be the Beriadan. Then, ever so slowly one of the great branches which was as large as his leg, bent in an unnatural angle to touch Tûrin on the shoulder. He had received the special boon and had the same astonished look as he departed the grove.

  If Gray did not know better, it seemed as if Tûrin was glowing slightly when he joined the others. Then, it was his turn. Following Eldath’s directions, Gray kept his head lowered and hood up as he moved slowly under the immense boughs of the ancient tree. A peaceful, soothing feeling came over him the moment he stepped within its radius. Reaching the vast trunk, he placed his hands on the bark and noted that it was warm and dry. As he cleared his mind, he was shocked to hear a faint voice deep inside his head.

  “Greetings Chosen One, I have been expecting you for many, many years.”

  Shocked, Graytael whispered his answer. “You know who I am?”

  “Yes. You are Graytael, the son of Tatianna Amarth and Kamots Hawkeye. You have the blood of heroes and gods in your veins, yet you do not know your true strength.”

  “I’m sorry great one. I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Of course not, you are a mere mortal while I am eternal. I have seen hundreds of thousands of sunrises and sunsets. I have been here since the beginning of the world and I will be here at its end. I was but a sapling when Terra awakened me and explained my destiny. I stand here as a silent sentinel of her will.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do not worry seedling, you will…one day. Know that the fate of the world balances on the edge of a blade. Your actions will influence the destiny of everyone on Terreth, be he or she as small as a snail or as large as a dragon. Even though it is true, fate is not yours to decide. You are naught but the seed, the Nine will be the tree. But without the seed, the tree cannot come into being.”

  Graytael had no idea what the tree was talking about but tried his best to absorb the message.

  “When the Darkness returns from whence it was banished and the Gods are helpless to act, look to the north for the Chosen One; a being of no race and all races, part black, part white, a creature of the balance, a true son of the Dhyana. He will lead the Nine against the One in the final battle for the fate of Terreth…for only he can unlock the secrets of the past.”

  “I have heard that prophecy before.”

  “I would hope so since it is about you but have you ever thought about who are the Nine? And what secrets the prophecy is referring to?”

  “Yes Great One, I have…many times. Do you have any hints?”

  “Just two pieces of advice… trust is earned, not given and do not judge a tree by its leaves.”

  Before Graytael could ask any more questions, he felt something come out of the bark and push itself into his right hand.

  “Take this. Follow the directions of the Wardens. With luck and the blessings of the Dhyana, I will see you again. Farewell Chosen One.”

  Graytael opened his eyes and walked from the clearing. Everyone was watching him, including three grim faced elven warriors in green tinted chainmail armor and silver wing-swept helms.

  Tûrin slapped him on the shoulder. “Isengrim, are you okay?”

  Graytael cocked his head to the side and finally looked down at his hand. Tûrin followed his gaze and inhaled sharply when the half-elf opened his fist to reveal a golden acorn. Judging from everyone’s actions, it must have been a rarer event than Tûrin had led him to believe.

  Even the three Wardens seemed shocked. One of them stepped forward and reached for the acorn.

  Graytael reacted out of instinct, closed his hand and jerked it away.

  “Where did you get that half-breed?”

  “The Beriadan gave it to me.”

  The loudmouth Warden looked over at his fellow soldiers and laughed. “That’s impossible. She hasn’t blessed anyone with an acorn in over a hundred years and never a half-breed.”

  One of the Wardens stepped forward and confronted the braggart. “No Jactatör, I know what I saw. The Beriadan gave this young man her blessing and we must do our duty.”

  “But I
auron, he’s a half-breed.”

  Graytael’s defender shrugged his shoulders. “It is not my place to question the Beriadan but to watch over her and guide those she chooses.”

  “But he’s not a true blood.”

  Iauron stood tall and calmly reached over to the loudmouth’s armor and pulled free a small pin of a golden oak leaf. “Jactatör, you are hereby relieved of your duties to the Beriadan. Report back to the garrison for reassignment.”

  The rude warrior looked astonished at first but then anger filled his eyes. “You can’t do that.”

  Iauron simply turned his back and said over his shoulder. “I just did. If you have any problems with my decision you can take them up with Commander Khlekluëllin.”

  Graytael nearly flinched at the name. Even the elf’s fluid speech seemed to trip over the odd sounding name. He had pronounced it as Klik-kloo-el-uhn. He knew from stories Rjurik had told him of his parents that Khlekluëllin was one of his mother’s twin brothers and a great friend of his father’s. He’d questioned Anasazi several times about his uncles and had been warned that he was not to meet with them if at all possible in fear that they might recognize his true heritage. However, the threat of confronting his uncle must have been enough for the rude Warden. He stalked away muttering to himself after shooting Graytael a dark look.

  The polite Warden did not watch him leave but turned back to the young half-elf and his face softened. “I’m sorry about that Isengrim. Jactatör has never been a true believer and only took this post to further his political future.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been called worse.”

  “I can imagine.” Iauron gestured for him to follow and began walking.

  Gray matched his stride, subconsciously aware that ten of the initiates and the ghost of Eldath fell in behind.

  “You must understand those the Beriadan doesn’t talk to find it hard to believe in her power.”

  Gray looked up quickly. “It talked to you also?”

  Iauron gestured to those around him. “Yes, several decades ago when I presented myself to the Beriadan and received her blessing she spoke to me.”

  Graytael looked around at the young elves accompanying them. He made a mental note that Tûrin was among them but no one else was holding a golden acorn. “And this?”

  “No, I am like those around you. I received the blessing but not the gift. Her acorn is very rare. The last initiate to receive one that I know of was our Commander.”

  “Khlekluëllin?” Graytael did his best to pronounce it correctly.

  “Yes. I see that you pay attention. That’s good.” Iauron smiled and turned off the path but stopped at the edge of a small grove of saplings. “This is the Nemeton, the Sacred Grove. It is for you to enter, not us.”

  “But what do I do inside?”

  Iauron smiled. “Listen to Terra. Even though her favorite daughter Aurora is trapped she will still speak to you through her other children.”

  More confused than before, Gray took a step inside and felt an overwhelming sense of peace flow over him. The ghost of Eldath walked with him but kept silent. Gray weaved in and out of the trees until he came to the center of the grove. Standing there was a beautiful red-tailed hawk. Instead of flying off, it chirped at him and scratched the ground with its talons.

  Eldath finally spoke. “Listen to the hawk. Let it guide you.”

  Gray moved forward slowly and knelt down beside the beautiful hawk. It looked up at him, screeched and once again continued to rake at the ground. The only thing that he could fathom from its actions was that it wanted him to dig a hole. With a shrug, he began moving the dirt aside. Once he had a hole that was nearly a foot deep, the hawk screeched at him and Gray stopped digging. An overwhelming urge to plant the acorn came over him and he dropped in the seed. Before he could pull his hand back, the hawk reached out and bit him.

  Gray reacted out of instinct and pulled his hand back close to his body. The hawk screeched at him. Gray looked up at Eldath and asked, “What? What does it want?”

  “The acorn needs three drops of your blood to become attuned to you and to complete the ritual.”

  “Oh,” was all he could think of saying and squeezed out three drops.

  The hawk must have been satisfied because it began pawing at the ground to fill in the hole. As Gray reached out with his un-injured hand to help, Eldath stopped him.

  “Wrong hand. Let your blood mingle with the dirt. It will strengthen the pairing.”

  Gray was unsure of what the ghost was exactly referring to but he still complied with his directions and soon the planting was complete. The magnificent bird winked at him once and launched himself skyward. Gray watched it fly off with the wide-eyed wonder of youth. He had heard the stories of his mother’s affinity to this particular bird, enough so that her tribal name when she had been adopted into the Highland Nation was Red Eagle.

  He was about to turn away when he noticed a perfectly formed tail feather lying in the dirt. Both of his parent’s cultures put great stock in natural omens. It was a sign from Terra and one he could not ignore.

  Gray picked up the feather and studied it for a moment. It was awe-inspiring to hold something so fragile and so beautiful at the same time. With a grin, he tied the feather’s shaft onto his hair tie that was holding his ponytail in place as was the custom of the Highland people. Once that was complete, he replaced his hood and followed the ghost of Eldath out of the sacred grove.

  * * * * *

  Anasazi had two rabbits cooking on the campfire when Graytael returned. The ancient shaman did not even look up as his adopted nephew walked into their campsite. “And how was your visit with the Beriadan?”

  Gray paused to try and find the right word. “Interesting?”

  “And…”

  “She spoke to me.”

  “I would’ve been disappointed if she hadn’t but understand this, whatever she told you is between you and her.” Seeing him nod, he turned back to the roasting rabbits. “Anything else?”

  “She gave me an acorn.”

  Anasazi nearly dropped the spit. “That…that is remarkable and totally unexpected, so tell me about your trip to the Nemeton?”

  As Graytael launched into the complete story of his day, Anasazi pulled off the rabbits and began slicing up the roasted conies. When Gray had finished eating, he felt overwhelmed with exhaustion and curled up to take a nap.

  Anasazi just grinned and moved back to the fire. He was not surprised when the ghost of Red Crow appeared across from him.

  “Are you sure about the path before him?”

  The ancient shaman shook his head. “No, but I did not choose the path…it was chosen for him. It is the will of those more powerful than either of us that he must journey through the coming darkness.”

  Red Crow looked down on the sleeping youth. “I just wish that we could warn him of what lies ahead. He has already been through so much. He should know that there’s a reason for the impending doom.”

  “I’m glad that you still see the reason in the madness, many times I still find it cloudy. However I ignored a certain warning once before, I will not do so again.”

  Red Crow looked at his oldest friend once more. He always knew that there was something special about the ancient shaman even while he was alive but never could figure it out. Even now, he seemed to know more than anyone about what was coming, including the two ghosts who could peer through the veil of time. Although even with his vast knowledge Anasazi seemed determined not to interfere directly, only guide those involved. And the spirit that was Red Crow found that…odd.

  * * * * *

  It was an hour before dusk when Anasazi finally awakened Graytael.

  The half-elf had been surprisingly exhausted after his brief meeting with the Beriadan. Of course, the old shaman knew why but did not tell him. Graytael’s peculiar physiology was still adapting to the tuning ritual he and the ghosts had used on him. Although Anasazi was forbidden to interfere directly with w
hat was coming, his little modification to Gray’s connection with the Weave could mean the difference between the half-elf’s life and death. Even though he could explain it to the young half-elf, the ancient shaman felt it would be best if Graytael discovered those benefits on his own.

  Gray suspected that something was wrong. He was never this tired. It had taken everything he had to tell Anasazi about his day and eat something before he fell asleep. Then, he had had the most unsettling and vivid dreams. He could not remember everything about his dreams but he knew they were dark, full of blood and death. Actually, the most disturbing aspect of the dreams was that he was unfazed by the scores of creatures that died under his blade. Men, elves, orcs and minotaurs all fell to his flashing swords. Gray even remembered the coppery smell of blood as he beheaded a vaguely familiar elf in silver-green chainmail armor. He even imagined the stickiness on his hands as the elf’s lifeblood ran down the blood grooves on his blade and splashed over the hilt to coat the leather wrapped pommels of his swords.

  Of course, he didn’t mention any of this to his guardian. This was not the first time he’d had dark dreams, just the latest. These had just been so vivid…so real.

  He even had the bitter taste of blood in his mouth. Rolling over, Gray spit and saw red. He must have bitten his tongue during the night. Grabbing his water flask, he rinsed out his mouth and turned his attention to the ancient shaman. “So, what’s in store for tonight?”

  Anasazi poked the fire with a stick to stir up the hot coals and it flared back to life. “You will journey to the Shrine of Luna and commune with the Spirits of the Wild.”