The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  Triana bent over Elorin to shade her face from the sun and tried to give her some water, but it was useless. It just spilled out of the corners of her mouth and ran down her face.

  As the shadows finally began to lengthen and the day at long last drew to a close, Andarion’s pacing became more and more feverish. At last he could stand it no longer and swung round to face Relisar.

  “Where is he? Why has he not returned? I must go to find him!”

  Relisar’s opinion of that was unequivocal. “You must not. This is something that only Celedorn can do.”

  His certainty caught the Prince’s attention. “Why?”

  “Because he loves Elorin with a love that is rarely seen on this earth.”

  “But where is he? What can be keeping him?”

  “He will come as soon as he can. We must be patient. We must do the hardest thing of all, and that is to wait.”

  As darkness fell, they risked lighting a fire in order to guide Celedorn back to them. Their anxiety about Elorin was such, that they little cared what else it might guide to them. She lay without moving, her eyes closed, only the steady rise and fall of her breathing indicating that she was still alive. Triana hovered over her, watching her closely, desperately hoping for some sign of returning consciousness, but nothing happened. Elorin slept on, oblivious to everything, still bound by the evil that held her captive. From time to time, as the interminable night wore on, Relisar would come and sit beside her. Sometimes he talked to her, even though he knew she could not hear, and sometimes he held the hand that was still warm with life but yet bore the stillness of death.

  Andarion stood alone, apart from the others, gazing east into the darkness, occasionally watching the stars play hide and seek amongst the drifting clouds, occasionally pacing back and forwards to relieve his fatigue. Like many before him, he watched for the dawn, longing for it and Celedorn’s return with an intensity that was almost physical pain.

  “A day and a night he has been away,” he muttered to himself. “Surely dawn will bring him.”

  As the sky at last began to pale, daybreak found the Prince still at his station, still looking steadily to the east towards the Hill of the Seven Crowns. At last his keen eyesight detected something moving across the mist-painted plain. It was a solitary rider, travelling swiftly.

  His heart began to thud and he looked over his shoulder at Relisar. “He is coming,” he said constrictedly, suddenly seized by the terrible fear that he came empty-handed.

  When Celedorn drew nearer, they could all see that he was guiding his horse with his right hand alone. His left was cradling something against his chest.

  Andarion strode forward to meet him and caught the horse’s bridle as it halted.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded tensely.

  But Celedorn was consumed with haste and brushed the question aside. “I’ll explain later. How is Elorin?”

  “Much the same.”

  Celedorn deftly swung his leg over the pommel and slid smoothly from the saddle, still holding his left hand against him as if he carried something infinitely precious. But Andarion, upon looking closely at his hand, was astonished to see that it was empty. His fingers were lightly curled as if holding something fragile, but his hand was utterly empty.

  Swiftly he crossed to Elorin and sank to his knees beside her. Triana looked at Andarion questioningly, clearly also puzzled. Relisar alone seemed unsurprised. He watched intensely as Celedorn took whatever invisible object was in his hand and touched it first to Elorin’s forehead, then her lips, then laid it gently on her heart.

  “Elorin,” he called softly, “time to awake.”

  For a moment she did not stir. Then the long lashes lying against her cheek, quivered slightly and she opened her eyes. Andarion would have cried out with joy but Relisar flung out his hand to restrain him. She stared blankly at Celedorn leaning over her, as if she did not recognise him. There was a tense silence for a long moment. Then unexpectedly she said: “I remember who I am.”

  Their eyes locked and held. The others might have been a million miles away. “Do you know me?” he asked, a certain edge to his voice suggesting that he was by no means certain of her answer.

  “You are Celedorn.”

  His tension did not ease. “And who is he?”

  Without hesitation she replied: “The man I love.”

  His shoulders suddenly relaxed and he sat back on his heels. “What else do you remember?”

  She frowned, as if she found the act of recall an effort. “The....the ruined city. A thunderstorm. Being pursued by the black cloud and then......and then wakening here.”

  “Thank goodness,” breathed Relisar. “She does not remember.”

  He meant that she did not remember where her soul had been during the missing hours, but misunderstanding him, Elorin sat up and turned towards him. “But I do, Relisar, I remember everything. My name is Lissoreth and I live in the village of Peridor in southern Serendar. My stepfather owns a fishing fleet there. Both my real parents are dead, but I know that on my father’s side, I am a direct descendant of Tissro the Wanderer.”

  Everyone gasped, but none more so than Relisar. “Of course,” he choked. “It was almost inevitable. The piece of the puzzle that would not fit is now explained. When Tissro appeared to me in my dream in the library in the Kingdom of Adamant, he told me to save his kin. At the time I thought that he was speaking spiritually and meant us all, but he did not. In fact he meant only you, Elorin, for you alone of us are his kin.”

  But Elorin was not really listening to him, for she was looking with compassion at Celedorn. “You look so tired,” she said. “In fact, utterly drained, as if you had been tested to your limits.”

  Andarion, unable to contain himself any longer, asked the question that had been tormenting him: “What did you set upon her? What did you touch her with?”

  Celedorn looked at him in surprise. “Did you not see it? I touched her with a chalice flower.”

  “You found it! You actually found it! Yet.....yet I could see nothing in your hands, just - just empty air.”

  “Ah!” exclaimed Relisar. “You must remember what I told you. The chalice flower cannot be seen with the eyes. Celedorn alone could see it because he looked with his heart.” He turned to him. “Is it still with us, my boy?”

  Celedorn shook his head. “No, it vanished the moment Elorin awoke.”

  Triana’s eyes were shining like stars. “What did it look like?” she asked eagerly. “Please tell us, Celedorn, for no one but you has ever seen one.”

  “It is just as it is described in the Book of Light. Its petals are clear as crystal and shaped like a cup or tiny chalice. Its stem is of purest gold and its leaves as bright as emeralds. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He turned his gaze lovingly back to Elorin and his voice sank so low that only she could hear him. “Almost.”

  In reply she reached up as she had done once before and tenderly traced the outline of his face from his cheekbone to his chin.

  Sensing the atmosphere, the others considerately moved away to give them a moment’s privacy.

  Triana sighed sentimentally. “Miracles still happen, Relisar.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, “but the greatest miracle of all happened months ago in Ravenshold.”

  “How did he ever find the flower of legend?” asked the Prince, still slightly overcome by events.

  “We will ask him in due course, but first I must find out more about Elorin. You see, I have always blamed myself for robbing her of her past. Now I must know all about her.”

  “I cannot think of her as Lissoreth,” Triana complained.

  Elorin heard her and turning from Celedorn’s embrace, called: “I will always be Elorin, because I have been happier as Elorin than I ever was as Lissoreth. I may remember my past but I have no wish to reclaim it.”

  Andarion came and sat on the blanket beside her. “Tell us about your past, Elorin, about your life before you a
ppeared in the stone circle.”

  She smiled mischievously at him. “Why certainly, Your Highness, but could I have something to eat while I do so, because I am absolutely starving.”

  Triana jumped up as if stung. “What am I thinking of! You have not eaten since Korem, and come to think of it, neither has Celedorn. We will celebrate Elorin’s awakening by sharing a meal together.”

  Elorin made to rise but found herself pushed back onto the blankets. “I need no help. I have learnt from you how to do these things, so this time you must allow me to wait on you.”

  “Do you realise,” said Andarion, “that if you are truly descended from Tissro, you are of better birth than any of us? Tissro was of the royal line of the High Kings. Even the kings of Eskendria cannot claim such a lineage, for we are descended from the noble family who were governors of the province of Eskendria in the days of the Old Kingdom. The Lords of Westrin are much the same - descended from a family whose rank was noble, but not royal, in the days before the Fall. Until now it was believed that all those of the royal line had perished.”

  “How do you know of your descent?” Triana asked curiously. “It is, after all, many generations since the fall of the Old Kingdom.”

  “My family possesses a very old copy of the Book of Light, so old that it predates the Fall, and in it there are records of all the births and deaths occurring in my family since the time of Tissro. After Tissro disappeared and the Destroyer began his invasion, Tissro’s wife fled south across the Harnor to Serendar and there gave birth to a son - a child who never knew his father. They settled in southern Serendar, but in her haste to escape from Korem, Tissro’s wife left all her possessions behind and found herself in difficult circumstances. How she survived is not recorded, but when her son was ten years old, he was apprenticed to a scribe, learning to copy out editions of the ancient texts. He excelled in his profession, and put behind him his grandiose lineage. As the years passed, he prospered as a merchant and scribe. He took over his master’s business and began to produce texts, beautifully illustrated in gold and silver, which became much sought-after in the region. Except for the notes in the Book, the family almost forgot their origins, as the Old Kingdom began to sink into legend. They grew to be respectable, well-to-do Serendarian citizens, with the business passed from father to son. However, when I was only two years old, tragedy struck my family again. One night, one of the young scribes who had been working late fell asleep and the papers he was working on caught fire. Soon the whole building was alight. When neighbours saw the flames, they sent for my father. Even though by the time he came, the building was ablaze, my father risked entering it to try to save the young scribe. While he was inside, the building collapsed and he was killed. I don’t really remember my father - I was too young, but I do remember my mother’s grief, how she used to cry during the night. Once again my family had lost everything and in order to provide for me, my mother, who was still a young and handsome woman, married again. Ever since my father died, she had been pursued by a local man who owned a fleet of fishing boats. He had long admired her, but she felt nothing for him except a slightly contemptuous tolerance. He was a coarse man and she considered him beneath her. She also despised his three sons, left motherless when his first wife had died some years previously. Any pity she might have had for the boys, soon dissipated when she discovered that they were cast very much in the mould of their father. Of course, it didn’t take him long to discover how she felt and he resented it bitterly, losing no opportunity to humble or demean her. Being of a somewhat sadistic turn of mind, he soon discovered that the easiest way of hurting her was through me. I was to be made aware that all my noble ancestry counted for nothing. I was a servant, of the lowest position in the household. I must be made to realise that I was in his debt for taking me in - another man’s child. I was not to be educated or go to school. I was to cook and clean and wash clothes for him and his three horrible sons. Being much older than me, and much bigger, the sons never missed an opportunity to torment me. For example, they would lounge around, watching me wash their clothes and then as soon as I had hung them on the line to dry, they would cut the line, laughing fit to split their sides when the clothes fell on the dirty ground and I would have to wash them all over again.” Her blue eyes grew dark at the memory and her hand tightened into a fist. Looking up, she caught the distressed expression on Relisar’s face and shrugged off her anger. “However, before my mother died, there were some good times. It was not all bad, you know. She and I would disappear off into the marshes together and hide amongst the tall, golden reeds. There she would teach me how to read and write, how to translate the texts from the old language and often she would read to me the thrilling stories from the Chronicles of the Old Kingdom. She also taught me to hunt with the bow, bringing down the wildfowl as they came in to land amongst the reeds. Sometimes I would be allowed to go out on the boats with the fishermen - wonderful days, when the sea was blue and the spray dashed over the deck. They were always kind to me, showing me how to steer or to bait a line.” She sighed. “Then, when I was sixteen, my mother I think decided that she had done all she could for me and just quietly let go of life. They said she was ill, that she had a fever, but I know that she had decided that the time had come to leave. She gave me the Book of Light with our family tree in it and warned me to keep it well hidden from my stepfather, then she gave me what little money she had saved. After that, she simply closed her eyes and was gone.” She drew a shaky breath and felt Celedorn’s hand sympathetically gripping her shoulder. “There was not much happiness after that. For nearly seven years I continued with my base existence, then matters came to a head one day, when the younger son cornered me in one of the barns and explained that he considered my duties to be.....er.....a little more extensive than just cooking and cleaning.”

  Everyone else observed a murderous look creep into Celedorn’s eyes at that point, but Elorin continued, unaware of it.

  “Upon finding that I didn’t agree, a scuffle ensued and only ended when I caught up a pitchfork and stabbed it into his thigh. He screamed like a stuck pig, making enough noise to be heard at Sar-es-Marn, but luckily the others were out in the boats and there was no one else to hear him. I knew retribution would be terrible, so I ran to my room and grabbing my few belongings, fled into the marshes behind the house. I had nowhere to go, no real plan. All I knew was that I had to get away. I also knew that no matter what happened, I would never return. Then, just as I was making my way between the reed beds towards the causeway that led to the road, suddenly I began to feel dizzy. I thought it was reaction to the fight with my stepbrother, but the whole scene, the open stretches of water, the reeds, began to whirl around me, then it all went black. When I awoke, I was lying in the stone circle with two complete strangers bending over me.” She smiled faintly at Relisar. “The most remarkable thing, is that all this time I have been desperate to remember my past, to remember who I am and where I come from, and now that I do, I find that it matters surprisingly little to me. This last year is the only past that I need or want. The rest means nothing to me.”

  Andarion directed a quizzical look at his cousin. “If I correctly interpret Celedorn’s expression, I would guess that your stepfather will receive a very unwelcome visit from the Scourge of the Westrin Mountains in the near future.”

  For the first time since she began her tale, Elorin took heed of the dark look on her husband’s face.

  “No, Celedorn. I have no desire for vengeance. I am happy now, so the past doesn’t matter anymore. At one time I thought that life could offer me nothing sweeter than the chance for revenge - but I was wrong. It would mean nothing to me now - although,” she added with a touch of mischief, “it would be interesting to see the expression on my stepfather’s face when he realises just who he has acquired as a son-in-law.”

  Celedorn smiled with the others at that sally, but she noticed that there was still a certain rigidity about his cheek muscles, which she knew me
ant he was not entirely convinced.

  She leaned forward and laid her hand insistently upon his. “Do not take this upon your shoulders, Celedorn.”

  “I have a vengeful disposition,” he replied, half joking, half serious.

  “A little, I must admit, but vengeance never healed any hurt. If I am prepared to let the matter go, then so must you.”

  She stared into the slate-grey eyes, holding them for a long moment, awaiting his answer.

  “Very well,” he conceded, “if that is your wish. You are a much better person than I am.”

  In response, her impish smile flashed back. “Only intermittently.”

  He laughed aloud at that, and she knew, with a sense of relief, that she had won him over.

  “Now tell me,” she added, to change the subject. “What happened at the Hill of the Seven Crowns?”

  His smile faded. “That is no easy thing to explain - indeed, I am not even certain that I can.”

  Relisar leaned towards him eagerly. “Please try, my dear Celedorn, I must know. Indeed, I must.”

  “When I reached the hill,” he began slowly. “I found its sides so steep that I had to abandon my horse and ascend on foot, actually, on my hands and knees for part of the way. When I reached the top, I discovered that there was a broad, grassy rim encircling the edge of the hill upon which grew seven ancient oak trees. Their trunks were gnarled and split with age but their branches were densely covered with leaves as yet untouched by autumn. Within the rim, lay a shallow depression like a saucer. The branches of the trees met right over this area like a roof, rendering the light within, dim and greenish in colour. In the exact centre of the hollow stood three ancient standing stones, uncut, unsculpted, they might almost have been natural, except that a fourth stone was placed across them to form an altar. The whole place had.....had an atmosphere that I was acutely aware of the moment I stepped into the circle of trees. A strange sense of peace and tranquillity, yet mingled with a sense of expectancy - as if something of importance was just about to happen. I instantly did as Relisar advised and began to search around the altar for the flowers, but unfortunately, at first I paid no heed to the rest of his instructions and looked amongst the grasses using my sense of sight, as if I was looking for a coin I had dropped. I searched and searched, going over the same places many times. I even extended my search up amongst the trees, but I found nothing.