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The Elven

Page 55

by Bernhard Hennen


  Farodin stared at the door that the human had just disappeared through. “He really means it.”

  Nuramon sighed. “Yes. But it will be a rude awakening for him tomorrow. He’ll see Freya’s oak, and the sight of it will open up all the old wounds. You know what he’s like.”

  “Humans are not as loyal as we are, Nuramon. Perhaps he’s over Freya.”

  “The oak is a great symbol, too great. As long as it stands, he’ll remember her.”

  “You’ve come to know the humans very well.”

  “Yes. Forty-seven years. I’ve done a lot in that time. This world makes you use time differently than you normally would as an elf. I’ve seen young men grow old and girls become mothers and grandmothers. As much as I’ve loved these years here, I want to be on my way again, searching for Noroelle.”

  “You’ve changed, my friend.”

  The observation stirred Nuramon. True, he had changed. But Farodin was also not the same as he had been. To hear the word friend from him was a gift that Nuramon had never expected, especially after their unpleasant quarrel in Iskendria. “I’m glad that you are here with Mandred . . . friend.”

  The Power of the Sand

  The young king of Firnstayn proved himself a generous ruler. It took some time, but he had Nuramon’s ship, the Albenstar, properly outfitted, because from the start, it was clear to the three companions that Farodin’s boat was too small and fragile for the journey that lay ahead of them. King Neltor also realized this. He insisted that his bodyguard, the Mandridians, accompany them. And he gave them a heavy chest of silver to take along so that they could stock up their provisions in faraway harbors.

  Farodin was far from certain of the success of their journey. Nuramon set great hope in the picture he had painted and did not want to even discuss how long they might have to search to find the island. How could you travel to a place if you did not know where it lay? But they kept their doubts hidden from the crew. What would the humans say if they knew? Even Mandred, whom they had known for many years now, was restless. He saw to the needs of his Mandridians, but he was afraid they might be old men before their search was at an end.

  Farodin had memorized Nuramon’s picture down to the finest detail. Every day, he tried to use his seeking spell to find out where this place might be. But it was different with the picture than it had been with the grains of sand, and far less definite. With the sand, either he knew exactly where to find the grains or he did not. When he looked at the landscape Nuramon had painted, all he felt was the vague sense that they had to set a course eastward. But was a feeling enough, especially one as indistinct as this?

  They avoided the waters of the trolls, following the deeply fissured coastline of Skoltan for several weeks instead.

  It was a summer morning, and they were camped on a beach beneath white-gray chalk cliffs. Farodin had moved away from the others. As always, he cast the first seeking spell to try to find a pointer to the landscape in the picture. He was looking for more than an indeterminate feeling. He wanted to know which way they had to sail and not merely suspect it.

  Then he cast the spell a second time. This time, he held the silver flask of sand tightly in his hands and went in search of the grains of sand from the smashed hourglass. He sensed one grain, some distance inland. He focused himself and allowed the power of the sand to flow. As a magnet attracts a sliver of iron, the sand in the bottle could summon a single grain.

  Farodin reached out his hand, and soon he felt a very faint touch. Satisfied, the elf added the grain to the sand in the bottle. It was one tiny step, but every one of these steps took him a little bit closer to Noroelle.

  With care, he sealed the silver bottle again. Then Farodin cast the seeking spell a third time. He closed his eyes and thought of the sea. He could also sense grains of sand that lay in deep water, but it was difficult for him to summon them. The constant motion of the water tended to hold them back. A single moment of inattention was enough for him to lose his connection to the grain. It was best to get as close as possible to them, to go out in a boat and catch them as soon as they came to the surface.

  The sea worried him. How many grains of sand might it have swallowed? Grains that he would perhaps never be able to find. And how many of those originally in the hourglass could he do without when the time came to try to break through the queen’s sorcery?

  Farodin suppressed the thought again and focused fully on the spell. He sensed individual grains in the silty seabed and . . . a tremor ran through him. Something strange was happening. The silver bottle in his hand had moved. Something was pulling at it. Farodin was so surprised that he lost his concentration and had to abandon the spell. What had happened?

  For a long time, he sat on the beach and looked out over the sea. What could have caused such a strange phenomenon? Was there perhaps a place where many grains of sand lay together, more than he had gathered in all these years? Or was there someone else, like him, collecting the sand? A collector far more successful than he had been? Was there any way to rule out that possibility? Perhaps he should try to include Nuramon’s picture in his seeking spell for the grains of sand. He closed his eyes again and tried to concentrate. And again, he felt the pull toward the northeast, even clearer than before. An image took shape in his mind. He saw the stone, the very one on which Emerelle had smashed the hourglass. But what did that prove? Couldn’t there still be another collector? And perhaps that collector was there, to the northeast, waiting for them. Farodin dismissed the idea. Their ceaseless search must be affecting his mind. There was also a much simpler explanation. Where else would more sand likely be than near the stone where Emerelle smashed the hourglass? He must have sensed the crossing point to Noroelle’s prison in the Shattered World. He decided not to reveal all this to his companions. Why should he inflict his probably baseless fears on them? He returned to camp and told them they had to set a northeast course, out into the open ocean.

  As brave as the Mandridians were, after three weeks out of sight of land, they started getting worried. Even Mandred, whose courage was beyond question, told them one morning that he was afraid they might reach the edge of the world and plunge into nothingness if they didn’t change course soon.

  It fell to silver-tongued Nuramon to allay their fears. They trusted him. He was so skillful with his words that he soon had them laughing along with him whenever he spoke to them. But all his honeyed words couldn’t erase the staleness of the water in their barrels, and drinking the stuff took courage. Their remaining provisions were also running low, but they would soon reach their destination. Farodin had to hold tightly to the silver bottle to stop it from being physically pulled from his hand whenever he cast his seeking spell.

  On the thirty-seventh day of their journey, they reached land. They ran the boat ashore and lost two days because nothing in the world would keep the Mandridians on board the Albenstar a moment longer. They searched for water and hunted, and even Farodin enjoyed the taste of fresh spring water again. But it was hard for him to keep a cool head, for he knew how close they were to their goal.

  Once they had replenished their supplies and the Mandridians had recuperated somewhat, Farodin set their course northward along the coast. The oppressive days they had spent on the high seas were forgotten, replaced by the almost euphoric mood with which the Mandridians had begun their journey at the side of their illustrious forebear. Even the humans seemed to sense how near they were to their destination.

  On the thirty-ninth day of the voyage, the coastline curved sharply to the east, and they turned into a wide bay. Fresh wind filled the sail, and they were making good headway when Nuramon suddenly let out a sharp cry. “The mountains! Look at the mountains!”

  Farodin, too, recognized one of the mountains from Nuramon’s picture. Everything seemed to match. The trees growing along the shore, the colors of the distant mountains. Although they were sailing at a good rate, the Ma
ndridians leaped to the oars and hauled hard, driving the boat forward even faster.

  Farodin and Mandred stood feverishly in the bow. The stiff breeze tousled Farodin’s long hair. Tears stood in his eyes, and he was not ashamed of them.

  “Do you feel that?” Nuramon asked. He pointed beyond a peninsula extending far into the bay. “There are many Albenpaths here. They all gravitate toward one point . . . it has to lie over there, on the other side of that forest.”

  When they finally rounded the peninsula, Nuramon let out another cry of joy. He danced on the deck of the ship like a man possessed. The Mandridians laughed and exchanged a few crude jokes at Nuramon’s expense. They could not appreciate what this moment meant for the two elves, thought Farodin. He was not able to give free rein to his feelings like his friend. His own joy was silent, but he was no less stirred inside. In front of them lay a small island with a rocky shore and a grove of trees. It was the island in Nuramon’s picture.

  The Mandridians went back to rowing as mightily as they could. The ship with its large, blue sail shot across the water like a loon. They had to change course, though, as gray reefs churned the water ahead of them. They were no more than a hundred paces from the shore, but there was nowhere to land here. They would have to round the northern tip of the little island and look for safer waters on the lee side.

  Farodin looked at Nuramon. His companion understood what he was thinking without him having to say a word and grinned mischievously. Then both of them leaped overboard into the sea. The water only came to their chests. Half swimming, half wading, they made their way to shore as the boat sailed on northward.

  Now Farodin, too, could feel the lines of power that marked the Albenpaths converging toward a star. The elves moved southward onto the tidal flats, now hidden under the high tide. Soon, they were standing at the junction of the paths. At high tide, it was hidden beneath the waters, but they did not have to see it to feel its power. Everything around them matched with Nuramon’s picture. There could be no doubt at all that they were in the right location. They had found the place from which Emerelle had sent the woman they loved into exile in the Shattered World.

  Stirred by an incomparable sense of joy, Farodin embraced his companion. Their search was finally at an end. Now everything would be good again.

  A Spell at Ebb Tide

  It was morning, and Nuramon sat at the very stone on which the queen had once destroyed the hourglass. They had found many grains of sand there, and Farodin had told him how, in the queen’s dressing chamber, he had had a vision of this same stone.

  Nuramon still found it hard to believe that they had actually found the place that the oracle had shown him. It was low tide. The sea had drained away, leaving a rippled mudflat between the island and the mainland. The tidal landscape reminded Nuramon of the path he and Alwerich had followed to the oracle, how it had resembled a dry riverbed.

  Only about twenty steps away lay the Albenstar. The outgoing tide had laid it bare. The star was clearly visible by the shellfish that had collected at the spot.

  It seemed almost a miracle that they had found land so far to the east. Beyond the island stretched what looked to be an entire continent, a land that the people of the Fjordlands and of Angnos, Drusna, and Fargon knew nothing about. Untouched land.

  “He’s ready,” said Mandred, slapping Nuramon on the shoulder. “Farodin’s all set.” The human looked tired. He had spent the past few days in the little tender, rowing Farodin back and forth across the bay, looking for scattered grains of sand.

  Nuramon just nodded.

  “This time it will work.” Mandred’s attempt at encouragement helped little. Nuramon had tried too many times already to open the gate to Noroelle, but each time, he had failed miserably. First, he had tried it at high tide, but the water seemed to weaken the spell, and to open the gate to reach Noroelle, he needed all of his power.

  Nuramon stood up.

  The crew came and gathered by the shore. They did not want to miss the spectacle, even though there had been little to see so far. Farodin was not with them.

  The island they were on might well have an identical counterpart in the Shattered World. Just a single gate on the Albenstar, that was all they needed, and they would be with Noroelle. Nuramon could not believe that they were so close to the woman they loved and yet could not reach her. It was impossible to open a gate at the Albenstar under their own power. The queen’s barrier was too strong.

  “Farodin’s found every grain of sand here,” said Mandred.

  His companion’s words could not hide the fact that they probably still possessed too little of the sand and that the queen’s magic was superior to their own.

  Finally, Farodin joined them. He seemed relaxed and said in a calm voice, “Keep in mind, Mandred, that you and the others must not try to help us, whatever happens. In the end, the spell would miscarry because of your concern.”

  “You have my word.” The other Firnstayners chorused their agreement. Then Mandred clapped Nuramon on the shoulder. “Remember your heroism in Luth’s cave.”

  Together, Nuramon and Farodin walked down to the Albenstar. The shells formed a circle on the Albenstar and radiated some way out along the Albenpaths as well, creating an image of the sun. Right in the center of the small circle, some of the shellfish formed a pile. It seemed the sea was too weak to wash them away. The Albenstar held them in place.

  They took their positions inside the circle of shells.

  “What’s the matter, Nuramon?” Farodin asked.

  “We are so close to her, yet—”

  Farodin interrupted him. “I will draw the power from the sand. That’s what I am good at. And I will pass it on to you. Like that, we can call up all the power we have between us.”

  It calmed Nuramon to know that Farodin wanted to help him as much as he could, but his companion had no idea how powerful the queen’s barrier was. Mandred’s comparison with the Cave of Luth was not absurd. In his attempt to break through the barrier the day before, Nuramon had suffered terrible pain. Farodin, too, had attempted to open a gate, but he had failed at the start and had not felt how strong the magic was that they were pitting themselves against. They had to summon far more power to reach their goal. Fate seemed to take pleasure in throwing insurmountable tasks in their path. Nuramon thought of their battle with the Devanthar. They had been just as poorly equipped for that as they were for the queen’s barrier. But if they were able to rise above their own limitations just once, then maybe it would be enough to rescue Noroelle.

  “Ready?” Farodin asked.

  “No, I’m not. But I want to get to her.” Nuramon took hold of Farodin’s hand and held it tightly. Then he closed his eyes. He focused, and the Albenpaths slowly appeared before his eyes. Three ran parallel to the ground, and one came up directly out of the earth, penetrated the Albenstar, and traced a line skyward. This was the path that would lead them to Noroelle. It was black, shot through with veins of green light. Nuramon could feel the queen’s barrier, but he could not see it. It formed a kind of crust enveloping and blocking any access to the path to Noroelle. Like a sieve, it seemed to let only a fraction of the power of the path come through. The crust was harder than anything Nuramon knew of. He decided now to attack it directly and not, as previously, to approach the barrier with caution.

  He began to weave the spell, preparing himself to launch a ferocious attack that would break through the barrier and open a wound in the Albenstar. Like a sword, his magic slashed at the barrier. But before it struck home, Nuramon felt something gather in front of him. Suddenly, it reached out for him physically, and searing pain shot through him.

  He broke off the spell when he could no longer feel his own body. Then he released himself from the barrier, and the pain instantly disappeared.

  Nuramon opened his eyes and let go of Farodin’s hand. He sighed.

  Farodin lo
oked at him in sympathy. “You used none of my power.”

  “I didn’t get that far. This barrier is stronger than the iron entrance to the kingdom of the dwarves.”

  “Do you want to give up?” Farodin asked. “No one would call you weak if you did.”

  “Noroelle is on the other side. I’ll try again.”

  He took hold of Farodin’s hand, closed his eyes, and refocused his energy. He had to work faster. At the moment the power of the barrier gathered to hurt him, he already had to have broken through the crust. He went through the spell one more time in his mind. Then he tried again. His own power hit the barrier, this time penetrating it like a sword slicing into the body of an enemy, and still he was unable to break through the magical wall before the pain grew too much for him. It was as if he had pushed a blade into his own body.

  Suddenly, he felt Farodin come to his aid with his own magical power. The grains of sand gave him great strength and helped Nuramon withstand the pain. He tried desperately to puncture the barrier, but his progress was very slow. And the more he put into breaking through the queen’s magic, the greater the pain became.

  Nuramon heard a cry. It was Farodin. The pain seemed to have attacked his companion as well. Nuramon sensed that they were now sharing the pain. This gave him more strength for his own spell, and he pushed deeper into the barrier. But with every tiny advance, the pain grew, until finally, it was so strong that Farodin’s cries of torment seemed unending. The pain was everywhere. As he had in the ice cave, Nuramon gradually lost all sensation in his body, but his magic was still moving him forward. The protective barrier was almost torn through. Any moment, he would be able to start directing his power into the dark Albenpath to open the gate. Bit by bit, he was coming closer. Soon they would be with Noroelle.

 

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