The Evening Tide

by Jeremy Forsyth

  “It is nothing. I… I just…”

  It was impossible. Whilst staring into those alluring eyes of his, words escaped me. Breath escaped me. Everything faded away.

  He released me and emitted a sigh, as if the Wind topic exhausted him. “Do you think that they would give you and all of us a taste of the Eternal Pool?” he asked, extending a sideways glance as if to see if I would answer correctly.

  Deep down I hoped that the Winds would let all the Sun Elves drink from the Eternal Pool, but I knew Asharal believed that they wouldn’t. I capitulated and said, “No,” not meaning to sound petulant.

  Asharal hated the Winds more than anyone I could think of on this island. His rancour for the Father was laid deep within him, and perhaps with good reason. Not only did Asharal not believe that the Winds would fulfil the prophecy that spoke of the Sun’s rise amidst moon and stars, but on a more personal level, I had come to learn that many years ago, the Winds had stolen from Asharal.

  Asharal had been a warrior in the Wind army. His wages were undesirable, to hear him say it. Despite that, Asharal’s ability to discern the odds in a gamble allowed him to win coin enough to invest in land somewhere in the far regions of the island. Over time, the Winds took notice of Asharal’s growing prestige, and soon initiated a scandal that had swindled Asharal of a large portion of the land that he had strived to purchase for himself and his family. Asharal had never forgiven the Father.

  I came closer to him and rested my cheek against the side of his shoulder, hoping he would soften towards me and maybe, just maybe, whisk me into his arms. Instead, he remained firm and rigid.

  “It is important, Dawn,” he said, “to see the Father for what he is. If you and the rest of our people are determined to remain ignorant, how can we ever hope to rise amidst the moon and the stars?”

  “I am sorry,” I whispered, enjoying the smell of him.

  He turned around to face me and guided my eyes back up to his. “I forgive you,” he said. I saw the gleam form in his eyes. Then I saw the slight curve of his mouth. “I have something that will change our fates. I have, at last, acquired an imperative tool.”

  His happiness made me happy. As I watched, Asharal brought forth a long object: the shaft black, preceded by what appeared to be a lengthy grip, like the grip of a blade, though much longer than the blade I had seen Asharal carry.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I call it a longblade,” Asharal told me.

  He took a step back and turned the object full circle before gripping the handle with his right hand, whilst, with the other, keeping a firm grip on the other end of the shaft. He pulled the handle away from the sheath and suddenly the long object grew longer, but this time the emerging shaft gleamed like water, so clear that I imagined I could see my reflection. It was a blade after all, and a very sharp one by the looks of it.

  “It is magnificent,” I gasped, leaning closer to make a more intimate inspection of it.

  “I have named it Sunrise.”

  There was such pride in his voice that I couldn’t help but join him in marvelling at such a tool. But when I considered those eyes of his, I saw something queer and I realised then that this longblade had a purpose. Suddenly, I felt afraid.

  I peered down at it and with a voice of reverence, I whispered, “How could you have acquired such a tool?” I was impressed with the word I used in reference to the longblade. When one spent frequent time with Asharal, one learnt many fancy words, and I hoped he had taken notice of the one I just used.

  “I will not trouble you with such details, Dawn,” he said. “For there are numbers involved. Numbers too high for you to count.”

  “Please tell me, Asharal!”

  I regretted my plea immediately when I saw his expression harden. Asharal never appreciated being nagged. In response, he sheathed the gleaming weapon and returned it beneath his pelt. He turned around and gazed out into the woods again, leaving me feeling foolish and desperate.

  “I bought you something,” he said, solemnly and at great length.

  Asharal twisted his head to look at me, twisting his body to bring something small into the open air. What he presented to me was covered by a strikingly white cloth which I almost felt ashamed to touch with my dirty fingers.

  “What is it?” I asked, excited to be given another gift from him.

  I quickly unwrapped it. It looked to me like a large pin and after a quick assessment, having no clue of what it was, I glanced up at Asharal. I noticed a slight glint of pride gleaming in his eyes. He enjoyed giving me gifts. That was why I enjoyed receiving them, even though the gifts themselves, most of the time, never really made me feel all that nice inside.

  “What does this do?”

  “You use it to clean the dirt from your fingernails,” he said. He turned away from me and considered the forest once more whilst I looked down at my fingers and, for the first time in my entire life, suddenly felt utterly ashamed by them.

  “Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  “I purchased it from an inventor outside of the Wind Plain.” He looked at me now, his eyes set with conviction. “It is important to keep ourselves clean, Dawn,” he said, adding with preciseness, “We are Sun Elves after all.” He took up my free hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. “It is getting is late,” he said. “I have important matters to attend to this evening. Some of which, I believe, will spark great changes for our nation.”

  I couldn’t keep my gaze from his. When he turned to leave, I watched him until he disappeared. Then I looked down at his gift to me and after a brief examination, I quickly began putting it to use.

  Chapter 2

  I pushed open the doors to my private chambers and there, pacing inside, my lady looked at me, trembling and stricken with worry.

  “My Son!” she cried. “What is happening? Please, I must leave. I ---”

  I ignored her, blatantly, my feet carrying me to the end of the room where she stood, my shaking hands throwing down the containers and scrolls that had been placed neatly on top of the cabinet.

  “Where is it?” I said, heart thumping. “Where is it?!”

  I was looking for the afara jar that the Father had made to contain the waters of the Eternal Pool where suddenly, I was brought around by my lady, who managed to distract me from my desperate search, allowing me, for the first time since arriving here, to recognise that her fear matched my own.

  She hadn’t seen what I had just seen downstairs, but by facing me now and seeing how colourless my face had become, she began to understand that we, mostly I, were irrevocably doomed.

  “What is happening?” she asked, her voice tremulous.

  I opened my mouth, on the verge of answering her accordingly, for her glistening eyes had rendered me heartbroken. But I was prevented from speaking, for just then the doors I had flung open were flung open again. When I saw Asharal and his brother enter, my stomach contracted and very quickly panic gripped me so tightly that I immediately became rigid.

  My lady swirled at the intrusion, gasping. “Asharal!”

  Asharal’s brow was covered in sweat and the look on him was intent and fierce. But when he saw the elvess, I saw doubt in his eyes. Then a hardness twisted his features. The look he gave the elvess rattled me.

  Asharal quickly advanced against my lady, his steps precise, the great gleaming blade in his grasp still wet with blood.

  “You betrayed me!” Asharal flicked his blade-hand upwards towards the ceiling, the tip of the blade cutting into the throat of the elvess. She made a gurgling sound, blood spraying all over the walls. Then her body landed on the floor.

  “Elwyn!” I cried, horrified.

  Asharal stared down at her, revealing a kind of fury I couldn’t quite understand. When that fury was in turn cast upon me, shivers of dread spiralled down my spine, for I knew that just now, unless saved by some miracle, I was about to die too.

  I backed away from my assailant. It was only when I c
ould go no further and was leaning back against the cabinet in which I had believed the Father’s gift to me had been stored, that I realised I could not escape unless it was by going through Asharal himself and then his brother, who waited like an assassin just beyond the threshold of the room.

  “Asharal!” I cried in desperate rage which I hoped, hid my fear.

  When he failed to halt, his resolve to end my life implacably clear in those pale and terrifying eyes of his, I found my courage and straightened, applying all my years of practice in the arts of magic.

  I knew it was my last hope. Even if I was currently armed with a blade, my efforts would prove useless against Asharal, who, by reputation, remained the finest warrior on the entire island, whilst I had always been unremarkable in that particular art. I would stand no chance against him, especially while he carried such a blade as fine as that.

  I began manoeuvring my hands around each other, as if I were knitting, whilst uttering the words which would ignite the spark that would fan the spell. I could feel an electric force zapping at my fingers and when Asharal drew too close for comfort I glared at him openly and, with a cry, shot out my hands towards him. I saw a great wave of blue light appear from my forearms, spreading across over my hands and then beyond, shooting out until it hit a red and purple force that, up until now, I hadn’t seen was surrounding Asharal, rendering him unscathed by my spell of obliteration.

  In a split moment, I glanced at his brother at the end of the room, who had his own arms stretched out as mine had been. Suddenly, it became clear to me how Asharal, who was known for his abilities with blade and not with magic, had been able to come this far on his path of destruction.

  “Your father unleashed a similar spell,” mocked Asharal, confident as ever.

  I could see him readying his blade-hand for a swing at my body, so I scrambled to the side, desperate to create distance between us whilst I again attempted the spell that I had just tried to use.

  It was a spell that the Father was most fond of, for it had the capacity to utterly obliterate anything it touched, and until now, I had honestly been convinced that no spell was powerful enough to stop it. When my spell again hit the red and purple force that surrounded Asharal, I glanced at his brother anew and faced the reality that whilst Sharal remained, Asharal could not and would not be harmed.

  I swiftly turned to face Sharal and after motioning in the manner which I had done twice since Asharal had killed Elwyn, I shot out the Father’s most powerful spell; but with a quick raise of both hands, Asharal’s energy shield shot up around Sharal from the floor, just in time to have my spell explode upon it, dealing zero damage to its intended target.

  “Your father was not as perceptive as you, my Son,” commented Asharal, adding, “He spent countless attempts aiming his blue spell at me and only after I had thrust Sunrise through his putrid heart, did it occur to him that all the while my brother was the key to my victory.”

  “Asharal, please!” I begged, scrambling away from him as he reached me.

  Asharal followed me like one whose victory was already secure, and it was in his overconfidence in himself that I relied upon for my survival.

  Though I kept my gaze upon him, I scrambled in Sharal’s direction, hoping to get close enough to catch him off guard and deal out to him his own death so that I could then easily obliterate Asharal.

  I clambered over Elwyn’s lifeless body and when I had Asharal’s brother in my vision, I was dismayed to see that he had backed away in accordance to how close I had tried to get to him. I began to despair, for I was dealing with calculated minds. Each action I took was foreseen and immediately countered by these cursed brothers.

  Desperate, I kept pleading. “Please, Asharal. Have mercy. I know you were wronged. I know we took from you. I can now give it back. I can give back tenfold. Just tell me what it is that you want.”

  I had a frightful feeling, however, that I knew what he wanted, besides obvious revenge. He wanted a sip from the Eternal Pool. He wanted immortality. Yes. I could see it in his eyes. Asharal wanted to be immortal. Hadn’t the Father warned me? Hadn’t he told me that soon, our power would be coveted by not just enemies living here on the island, but abroad as well?

  “They will all come, soon, son” the Father had said. “Everyone will want a taste of eternity. And we shall give it to them. We shall give it to them indeed.” The Father had leaned in close as he always did when revealing the depths of his most nefarious schemes before whispering to me its pinnacle: “At a price.”

  But when Asharal spoke, he did not mention immortality but like I had guessed, revenge was certainly one of the chief reasons that had motivated him to bring such calamity down upon my family.

  “I do not want much,” he said, without slowing his advance towards me, as I continued to circle my way around the room, hoping for an escape, a weak spot in Asharal and Sharal’s imposing defences. “All I require is your life.”

  Asharal spoke with such eloquence and discipline that it was hard to register the true implications of his words, for it was as if he were speaking to a friend; someone from whom he was requesting casually a drink of water, or a plate of caught fish.

  I kept trying to persuade him even as sweat drenched me all over beneath my clothes. My heart raced so wildly that I thought my chest would implode, leading me to my own death without the help of Asharal’s gleaming blade.

  “PLEASE!” I begged. “Asharal, have mercy on me. I beg you!” I could see how angry my pleas made him.

  “How pitiful you are,” he sneered. “Son of the Father. You fail in one attempt to save your life, and already you give up. Already you give to me my victory. You do not deserve to preside over the Sun Elves.”

  His voice was riddled with disdain and disgust. As always, when confronted by Asharal’s disapproval, I immediately felt shame rise inside me. I wanted so desperately to show him that I could live up to his, and the rest of my people’s, expectations. I wanted to show him, by killing him, that I was worthy of the Sunchair.

  I began waving my hands together with new resolve, and I attacked. Again, my spell hit the force protecting Asharal. Then again, I aimed it at Sharal. I saw that Asharal had noticed my determination, and so his own grew in turn. His advance towards me started picking up pace.

  I tried a new spell, one which would buy me the needed time as I focused on removing Sharal from the confrontation. I bent down, uttering new words with my palms facing the floor. Then I quickly began raising them up and when my back was straight, a scrawny figure swathed in wind and dirt stood before me and was filled with my desperation and my pride.

  Without a word, my spell attacked Asharal as I turned my sights on his brother, who now looked grey with fatigue, telling me that he was growing weary; that the magic he was exuding was taking its toll.

  I proceeded again to exert my original spell, anticipating that Sharal wouldn’t be able to protect both himself and Asharal with his red and purple force-shield. It was my hope that no matter who Sharal covered with his protective spell, the other would be vulnerable to either the spell I prepared in this moment, or the spell I had unleashed upon Asharal, the dirt and wind spell, who I liked to call Windy.

  Sharal cocked back his head like one possessed and with a frightful moan, brought about a great sound like thunder and when I shot my father’s favourite spell at him, it once more exploded upon his force-shield. I immediately turned, hoping to see a vulnerable Asharal, but instead, all I saw was Windy, looking utterly lost and oddly out of place. When I faced forward again, Asharal appeared behind his brother, his face twisted in sheer anger as he strode back inside the room with eyes set upon me. I backed up quickly, wanting Windy to remain between me and my intended killer. Barely did I manage this before Asharal’s blade swooshed near my face as my spell moved to injure him whilst I fell back onto my rear.

  Asharal slashed at Windy. His blade went through its body and came out with no profit. Frantically I got back onto my feet with a
n idea in mind. I initiated my original spell, uttering the needed words as quickly and as softly as I could and when the spell was ready, I aimed my hands at the roof, wanting it to collapse on Sharal’s head. Parts of the roof crashed down, and I noticed Asharal jolt back as if sensing that his protection was gone. But he was wrong… Sharal kept his spell over Asharal and when I heard Sharal’s voice called out, “Finish it, brother!” I realised that he lay beneath the rubble of the roof and was, for the time being, out of the fight.

  I began preparing my next attack but then I saw Asharal come running. He charged Windy, gritting his teeth against its swirling profile and I found myself backing away, recoiling towards the end of the wall.

  “For my father!” I shouted, seconds away from unleashing the blast before Asharal could reach me. Something hit me… something hard and swift, right through the chest, sending me shooting backwards against the wall behind me; it caused my hands to part from each other, my concentration on my spell disrupted.

  Slammed against the wall, I looked down and saw the hilt of Asharal’s blade. I saw how it was fused with the naked steel that now merged with my body, its tip thrust into the wall behind me, pinning me to it.

  When I looked up, I noticed three things: the first was that Windy had vanished, clearly due to my disorientation at the impact of Asharal’s hurled weapon. The second was Sharal, who was struggling to get out from beneath the rubble of destruction I had caused to topple him.

  The last was Asharal.

  Out of breath, Asharal approached me. His long golden hair flowed down past his face, strands of it stuck to his forehead and jaw from the sweat caused by his efforts on this terrible night.

  Asharal’s face was flushed and his anger flared from his gaze so explicitly that I knew right there and then, if ever there was a glimmer of hope before that he might relent and show me mercy, that hope was now completely gone. My fate at last perceived in its entirety, tears began to build until one finally fell and slithered down my cheek. I felt ashamed that of all the elves on this island of ours, Asharal was the one to see me in this state.