The Elven

by Bernhard Hennen

  Nuramon felt the moment when he crossed the threshold of the Albenstar. Their surroundings changed, the pale stone transforming to reddish brown. Two steps farther on, Nuramon’s face emerged from the stone. In front of him was a passage flanked by two cinnamon-colored walls. They were in a narrow chasm where no more than a feeble ray of sunlight penetrated. The floor of the gorge was sand with a pattern of ripples. At some time in the past, it may have been a creek bed, but no one had walked over it for a very, very long time.

  Nuramon looked around. Alwerich was not with him. Alarmed, Nuramon turned full circle, searching, when, suddenly, a sheepish, grinning face emerged from the rock, and Alwerich stepped out.

  “Where were you?” asked Nuramon.

  “If this is the gate, then I think I was in the guardroom. And I found this in there,” Alwerich said, and he opened his hand. On his palm lay a small figurine of a dragon made of green stone. “It’s a dwarven jade amulet, a lucky charm.”

  Nuramon shook his head. The dwarf, who just a moment before had shied away from the gate, was now moving around in it as if it were a corridor in his own home.

  Alwerich ran his hand over the walls of the chasm. “I’ve never seen rock like this before. Where are we?”

  Nuramon could not be certain. The air was as clear as in the mountains in the world of mortals, but not as pure as in Albenmark. “I’d say we’re still in the human world, but I don’t know for certain.” Nuramon stopped speaking at the sound of something in the distance. He looked up. He heard cries of some sort penetrating into the gorge from far away. They sounded like animal noises. “Wherever we are, let’s hope Dareen is also here.”

  They followed the narrow chasm. Nuramon moved ahead. The sand here was so fine that even he left tracks in it. He was reluctant to destroy the harmony of the fine pattern of ripples as he went, but when he looked back, he realized that his tracks were nothing compared with the deep imprints left by Alwerich’s boots. The dwarf seemed not even to notice what he was doing to the sand.

  Gradually, the path climbed. Overhead, in a blue sky, a large bird circled. Nuramon did not recognize the species, but it was something like a falcon. This was definitely not the Shattered World. There was too much life here for that. It had to be a place in the human world.

  The chasm soon opened into a small basin. On the right, close to the rock wall, was a lagoon, in the middle of which a stone with water bubbling out of it rose above the water. Around the shore of the lagoon grew grass, trees, bushes, and shrubs with star-shaped flowers. On the other side of the valley, in the sheer wall, yawned the mouth of a cave. That might be where the grotto of the stars was, the one mentioned in the song.

  Saying nothing, Nuramon and Alwerich moved closer. They did not want to disturb the oracle unnecessarily. Nuramon looked at the lagoon. He wondered where the water flowed and thought of Noroelle’s lake and the special magic it possessed.

  So this was the home of Dareen. Nuramon had never visited an oracle before, although there were several in Albenmark. Few sought them out, for they had grown remote and taciturn. He wondered how Dareen might look. She might belong to one of the races that still dwelled in Albenmark. Perhaps she was an elf, a faery, a water nymph, maybe even a centaur.

  They had just begun to walk away from the lagoon when an elf woman appeared at the mouth of the cave, wearing a plain sand-colored robe. Raven hair fell in long waves over her shoulders. She stood there motionlessly and watched them.

  In some trepidation, Nuramon and Alwerich approached her. Even when they were standing in front of her, Nuramon did not dare say a word. The elf woman’s eyes, coal-black and fascinating, seemed to bore into him.

  “I see the children of light and shadow hand in hand,” she said in a clear voice. “It has been a long time since you came to visit me. I am Dareen, the oracle.”

  Nuramon looked down at his companion, who was gazing at the elf woman as if spellbound. When he turned back to Dareen, he was shocked to suddenly see a dwarf woman standing before him, although she bore some similarity to the elf who had been there a moment earlier. “I show myself to the Albenkin in a number of guises. I will make it easy for you.” For a moment, nothing happened, but then Nuramon blinked and the dwarf woman suddenly changed into another kind of Albenkin, one who could have passed for either a short, stout elf woman or a very slim dwarf.

  “What is your true form?” Nuramon asked.

  The oracle laughed gently. “What is your true form, Nuramon? Is it the one standing before me? Or is it the warrior you saw just a few days ago? Maybe it was the body of the first who bore your name. But it may also be that your true form is still waiting for you. So I ask you, what is yours?”

  “I don’t know. Please excuse my question.”

  “Don’t ask for forgiveness. I am here to answer questions. And if I answer with a question of my own, then it is only because by doing so, I might open up your spirit. I do have a true form, but it would seem strange to you and would tell you far less than this body.” She turned to the dwarf. “Come, Alwerich. Follow me back to the star grotto.” But she said to Nuramon, “Wait here. You can refresh yourself at the lagoon.” Then she turned and walked back into the cave, and Alwerich followed.

  Nuramon remained behind. He felt dizzy. He went back to the lagoon and drank a little of its water. It was cool and sent a shiver through his body. The dizziness passed.

  When he looked at the surface of the lagoon, he thought of Noroelle’s spring. He took her pendant from around his neck and dipped into the cool water the almandine that his beloved, through Obilee, had given him. The red-brown stone sparkled there as all the other stones once had in Noroelle’s lake.

  Nuramon looked back to the cave entrance. He wondered what Alwerich had asked. The dwarf had not wanted to tell him anything about it on their journey here, saying instead that he had made a promise to Thorwis to keep it to himself.

  Nuramon, by contrast, had been open with his companion and had told him about Noroelle. Alwerich had clearly been able to feel what she meant to him. The dwarf had followed his wife, Solstane, into death several times to be close to her in the next life. Nuramon wished it were as simple for him. Alwerich had offered to go with him for the rest of his journey, but Nuramon had turned him down. The dwarf would do better to return to Aelburin and live the life he deserved there with his wife. Nuramon had told him about Mandred’s wife, about the time lost, time that had passed for them in just a few steps. He did not want Alwerich’s life to take such a turn, even though he—unlike Mandred—would be born again.

  When Nuramon placed the chain around his neck again and felt the cold almandine against his chest, he wondered what power was hidden in the stone. It had lain for so long, so many years, on the floor of Noroelle’s lake. Noroelle had told him that the gem had been nourished by the magic of the lake. It was more than just a keepsake for her lover. But Nuramon did not know how he could draw whatever special power the stone possessed out of it. Perhaps it was just that the time was not yet ripe.

  When Alwerich came back from the cave, he looked stunned. The dwarf had clearly heard things he had never reckoned with. Stammering, he said to Nuramon, “You can go in now.” Then he sat on a stone by the lagoon and gazed into the water.

  Nuramon did not ask what he had seen. If he had not wanted to reveal his question to Nuramon, he would hardly betray the answer now. The elf left his comrade in arms by the lagoon and, in his turn, entered the cave.

  At first, he found himself in a small chamber from which three passages led deeper into the rock. From one of these, a blue glow emanated, while from the other passages came a gray light.

  Dareen appeared in the passage with the blue light. Nuramon followed her in silence. The passage led straight back into a dark cave. The walls were as dark as a moonless night, but above him curved a starry sky that gave off a little light. The stars seemed so real, as if Dareen had
plucked them from the night sky. So this was the star grotto.

  The oracle stood in the center of the cave, where a glowing blue stone plate was set into the floor. Dareen, her voice full of empathy, immediately began to speak. “I see two desires in you, Nuramon. Of those two, I can fulfill only one. With the other, I can only show you the way. The first desire is that you recover your memory. You want to be one again with your earlier lives. Your other wish is to free the one you love. I can give you back your memory here and now, but I cannot set Noroelle free. I will only help you a little farther along your way. Which do you choose?”

  Dareen’s words came as a blow to Nuramon. He was standing here just one question away from recalling his past. Here, now, he could retrieve all his earlier lives. Maybe that recollection would help him in his search for Noroelle. Still, he did not want to take that risk. Even the smallest clue about where to find Noroelle was worth more to him than the memory of his earlier lives. “I came here with the intention of asking you about the place where the woman I love is a prisoner. And I hope to be able to leave with an answer. My memory will one day return of its own accord.”

  “A wise choice, Nuramon. I see in you all that has happened. And I will tell you things that will help you. I cannot tell you everything, because if you know too much, things won’t happen that have to happen. What I can show you is there.” She pointed to the ceiling directly overhead.

  Nuramon looked up. Beneath the stars, a landscape appeared. A large lake, or perhaps a bay by the sea, with forests along the shore. Beyond the forests, far off, he could see a range of mountains. Not far from the shore lay an island with a small grove of trees.

  “This is the place you are seeking. If you find the way from this island to the Shattered World, then you will reach the woman you love.”

  “I will find this place, if I have to search for centuries,” said Nuramon, unable to take his eyes off the landscape above his head. He burned the image into his mind. He would never forget it. He literally had his goal before his eyes. And the image was very revealing. It seemed that the gate to reach Noroelle lay somewhere in the northern parts of the human world, or perhaps high up in a mountain range. He need search no longer in the desert or on its fringes or in the barren kingdom of Angnos.

  Without warning, the image faded and vanished. The island, the water, the shore, all of it dissolved. Nuramon continued to stare at where it had been. He had memorized every detail.

  “I will tell you something else,” said Dareen. “There are only two things that can break the spell. The hourglass or an Albenstone.”

  Her words nearly knocked him over. That the hourglass and the grains of sand actually did represent a way to reach her meant less to him than her mention of an Albenstone. He had left to find a path that was easier than Farodin’s, and now he had to accept that his path was perhaps much more difficult. He shook his head. “But how am I supposed to find an Albenstone? I only know that the queen has one. But she—”

  “She will never give it to you. You must search for another Albenstone if you don’t believe in the path your companion Farodin is following. But whether you decide for this one or that, you should first reunite with your companions. Settle your dispute. There are no wrong paths. Each does his part to reach the final goal. Go north and wait for your friends in the city of the mortal. Be patient. Wait in the elven way.”

  “I will.”

  “Then this is all that Dareen has to say to you. Farewell, Nuramon.” She stepped into the shadows and was gone.

  Nuramon waited to see if she would return, but it seemed that she was truly gone. He thought about what she had said. She had shown him the place where he could find the gate to reach Noroelle’s prison. But why was it so important to reunite with Farodin and Mandred? He had thought often of his companions and the foolish argument that had sent them down different roads. He missed them. And Dareen’s words urged him to make peace with them.

  He would travel to Firnstayn and wait there for Farodin and Mandred.

  The Book of Alwerich:

  The Parting of the Comrades in Arms

  The oracle’s words changed everything. You see things in a different way, especially your comrade in arms. He behaves indeed as he did before, but the knowledge you learned from Dareen makes you see even Nuramon in a new light.

  On your journey north, he told you that Dareen had offered to give him back his memory but that he rejected the offer for what he could learn about his beloved. This act moves your heart, and your thoughts turn to Solstane. For her, you would have done the same. And now you can finally understand why Nuramon doesn’t want you with him on his search. You already have everything that matters to you. And yet you ask yourself if it might be worth one life to stand by the elf.

  You set off on the return journey and avoid the eyes of suspicious humans. They think nothing good of dwarves and cause nothing but trouble. In the time that has passed, you have grown used to Felbion, but you turn down the offer to learn to ride. That would be overdoing things. You like the horse, but to sit alone on his back is not something you feel inclined to try.

  The day of departure comes. At the foot of the mountains, you go your separate ways. You climb down from Felbion for the last time. Nuramon goes down on his knee to look you in the eye, and he lays his hand on your shoulder. You will never in your life forget the words he says: “Thank you, Alwerich. You were a good companion, a true comrade in arms, but the time to part is now.” He looks up at the mountains, then speaks again. “Say thank you to Thorwis and Wengalf for me. And give Solstane a hug in my name. You have told me so much about her that I have come to know her.” To this, you reply, “She will be sorry that you don’t come back with me.” Nuramon nods and says, “Tell her about Noroelle and my search.” Then the elf stands and says, “Farewell, my friend.” Nuramon holds out his hand to you and suddenly seems uncertain, as if he fears you might reject his offer. You take his hand and say, “Until we meet again, my friend. Maybe in this life, probably in the next. It may well be that we meet again in the silverlight.”

  Nuramon smiles and replies, “We will meet again. Maybe we will even remember past meetings that we have no inkling of.”

  The elf does not know how truly he speaks. He never asked me if we had met before in another life, but as we stand there, we know that things that happen are repeated. Friends find a way to one another, even if it takes several lifetimes.

  Nuramon mounts Felbion and looks at you one last time with genuine appreciation. Then he rides away, and you stand and watch him go. You think of the oracle. If only you could prepare him for what is waiting for him. But Dareen insisted that you say nothing to him about it.

  The elf rides out of sight. You have only a short way to go to get back to Aelburin, and you set off, to put that distance behind you and take Solstane in your arms again.

  NEW HALL OF THE CHRONICLES, VOLUME XXI, PAGE 156

  The City of Firnstayn

  Nuramon looked out across the fjord. It was winter, as it had been when they had set off on the elfhunt. This is where everything began. Up there, at the stone circle, Mandred had battled death. Here was where the Devanthar set his game in motion.

  He remembered how strange and foreign this world seemed to him at the start, but he was used to it now. He could estimate distances, and he knew how far it was from where he stood to the mountains. But one thing had not changed: the human world was a raw place. The journey here had proved that. It was a particularly hard winter even for the human realm, and it was as painful for him as it was for Felbion. Sometimes, this world was too coarse for an elf.

  Below him, Firnstayn lay beside the frozen fjord. What had been a village had become a city. Of course, humans did not live long, which made it all the more important for them to procreate. Still, it amazed him that a settlement could grow so much in such a short time. He thought of the warnings of the faun oak. Perhaps he had
become a victim of time. It was true that he had only traversed a small number of gates, but in Iskendria, he had had a strange feeling.

  The city below, with its stone walls, proved that more than a few years had passed here since the last time he had stood at the stone circle on top of the cliff.

  “So it’s true,” said someone next to him.

  Nuramon drew Gaomee’s sword and spun around. At the edge of the stone circle stood Xern. He wore his massive antlers like a crown. Abashed, Nuramon returned the sword to its sheath.

  “You actually came,” Xern said, his large amber-colored eyes glittering.

  “But not to go home,” said Nuramon. “Though it is good to see a familiar face.”

  “What brings you here?” Xern asked.

  “My search is not yet finished. I’m going to wait down there, among the humans, and meet my companions again.”

  “That is very likely a mistake, Nuramon. The queen has not forgotten what you did. She doesn’t speak about it anymore, but you should have seen how furious she was when she discovered that the three of you were gone. Few have ever ignored her command as the three of you did.”

  “Are you here in her name?”

  “No, in my own . . . and because Atta Aikhjarto told me you would come. You know his roots reach far. And Emerelle’s senses are no less far-reaching. She will see you if you stay near here. Even Firnstayn is too close to the gate.”

  “I can’t change that. I am here because of the counsel I received from the oracle Dareen. And I trust her word.”

  “Dareen. A name from the days of magic. She left Albenmark because the human world is a realm of change.”

  “She was right. The city down there is proof.”

  Xern stepped to Nuramon’s side, and they looked down at Firnstayn together. “Alfadas’s legacy . . .”