The Evening Tide

by Jeremy Forsyth

  “No,” said Papa. “She is my daughter. I merely wish to stay by her side at all times.” I could feel his grip tighten around my hand.

  The elf in service to the Son seemed to have perceived that, for he reached out his hand to me. His eyes then locked on my father. “None would do her harm in our company. Now. The Son of the Father requests a word.” He looked at me with such intentness I quivered with fear. “Come, my lady,” he said. “Do not be afraid.”

  Reluctantly, I took the elf’s hand. I looked back as I was led towards Wind Tower. There was nothing my mother and father could do for me and so I had to be brave. I had to. I faced forward again and with my gaze cast down to the floor, I ignored my surroundings. I ignored the wondrous contents of the Tower and when at last I was ushered into a dark room that had as its light a burning hearth, I was left there alone.

  “Asharal,” I whispered. “Save me. Save me, please.”

  The door opened and my heart jumped. I tried to keep my hands from shaking but I couldn’t. I kept my gaze to the floor and found that eventually, black gleaming boots had positioned themselves there.

  “Greetings,” came a voice.

  Slowly, I raised my head and found that I was looking upon the Son of the Father, his profile seeming a lot more relaxed and in control now than what it had been outside when presented to all of us.

  “Mmmy… my Son.” I looked down again, unable to supress the fear that was rising deep inside me.

  The Son bent a finger beneath my chin and guided it upwards so that his eyes and mine were locked.

  “What is your name, my lady?”

  He is frightfully beautiful, this elf, was all I could think now. His white hair was doing his fair complexion justice. His eyes were the warmest blue, and in defiance of all reason, I saw in him a great kindness.

  “My name is Elwyn,” I said.

  Epilogue

  The Seer’s screams were unsettling. It was hard not to turn my face away. It was hard not to narrow in upon his suffering with disquiet. But I knew what it would mean if I failed to display an inscrutable expression. I knew what it would look like if people saw me quail at such scenes. I knew that to reveal pity for this Wind loyalist was to jeopardise my reputation as a steadfast loyalist to the Evenings. To the new Father of the Sun.

  My eyes, very slyly, shied away from the suffering elf and focused on those three elves standing exalted upon the podium, Wind Tower’s high walls looming behind, casting dark shadows over the grass of the courtyard and the people who had come to witness how the new Father dealt with his enemies.

  Though I intended to make my glance upon Asharal quick, like always, my gaze lingered, and I cursed myself for it.

  Asharal Evening, the Father of the Sun, stood perfect and exalted, like a true-born leader. His stance was straight and confident, invoking his own strength for all beneath him to see, his white hair falling perfectly straight and at length past his shoulders; the look of immortality agreeing with him more than I had dared to even imagine. He was clad in silver, fine silver, the sleeves reaching his wrists, the ends falling past his waist, his grey breeches tucked beneath newly oiled leather boots that stopped over his shins. At his side, hung Sunrise.

  I took comfort in the knowledge that Asharal would not turn my way and see me staring at him, knowing he was a single-minded elf, unable to be distracted from his resolve which, right now, was to savour the process of the Seer’s torment.

  His was an unwavering focus. Even the opinions of others had little sway over him, and he remained constantly unmoved by the desire to appease the obligations others presumed to set upon him. Rather it was the other way around. He inspired others with the desire to appease their obligations to him. He made all those around him seek his favour. And not because of what magical power he wielded like the Winds had done, but rather because of an inner quality that made people gravitate toward him.

  Asharal was truly incredible. He was incomparable, and ever since I could remember, he was all I wanted in this world…

  He and his siblings watched with transfixed expressions as the Wind Seer screamed in agony. I took note of all three. Asharal’s expression, as could be expected, was as inscrutable as mine tried to be, his brother Sharal’s too, whilst their beloved sister, the lovely and utterly charming Ashara, looked on with a frown of obvious disapproval; either of the way her brother chose to punish the Seer, or because of how disgracefully the Seer chose to live out his last moments on this earth.

  All three of them hated weakness. They detested all who had it, especially if they were of the Sun. In their minds, this should rather bring them pride, which ultimately would produce the strength that would cast out weakness. All three Evenings believed in distinct propriety, integrity, etiquette and, above all else, an iron will to ensure the Sun’s uninhibited rise. Those who were born of the Sun and who could not emulate this were, to the Evening siblings, unworthy to call themselves Sun Elves.

  Such were the Evenings’ ambitions and beliefs for the Sun. And yet, part of me suspected that originally it had been Asharal’s belief and ambition alone; that merely by being the eldest and leader of the Evening Tree, his siblings had quickly adopted his views on the Sun, mimicking him in every regard. For surely, just by looking at either Sharal and Ashara, one could see who it was that presided over them.

  Asharal. Always Asharal.

  Soaking up his profile, I felt despondent, for I was nothing like the Evenings. I was so caught up with my feelings for Asharal that my own character flaws became prominent within me, floating to the surface of my awareness, dictating my speech whenever I was around him, my thoughts whenever I was not. I was weak. And Asharal could see it… and yet…

  I turned to Nimdel, who stood beside me. It amused me to have noticed him stealing glances at the Evenings too. For whilst my longings were aimed at Asharal, Nimdel’s had for years been aimed at Asharal’s sister.

  “Tell me of the elvess, Nimdel.”

  Nimdel cleared his throat and played the oblivious. “Which elvess?”

  “You know which one,” I said with a twinge of impatience. I gave him my most scrutinising stare.

  Nimdel begrudgingly nodded. He faced forward with a hard expression, and began to oblige me. “There is not much to tell. She was a poor elvess, though according to Asharal, possessing some form of education. Credit to her mother apparently.” Nimdel shrugged, before adding, “But her father was a mere fisher, skilful in the catch, yet undesirable in how he sold that catch. Asharal once told me the elf had no mind for the trade.” Nimdel regarded me. “Asharal never liked the elvess’s father.”

  “There are very few elves on this island who Asharal likes, Nimdel. However, I requested of you to know of the elf’s daughter.”

  Nimdel looked towards the Seer as he continued to cry out at deafening volume. “As I said, there is not much to tell. Asharal came across her at Wind Glade once. He had been infatuated with her ever since.”

  I failed to conceal how that wounded me. I looked to the floor and betrayed myself by asking, very softly, “So was this elvess truly that beautiful?”

  “I suppose, though not as beautiful as some.”

  I looked up and saw where Nimdel’s gaze had fallen. I looked from the Evenings back at him and shook my head.

  “You grew up with Asharal, Nimdel. He counts you as his most trusted friend. To seek his sister is to betray him, in his eyes. We all have seen what comes to those who betray him.”

  “I have stood by his side ever since Hurricane Terror took his parents.”

  “And when he discovers how you feel about Ashara, he will believe that you did so to gain her heart.”

  “Unless Ashara makes it seem as if it is she who seeks my heart.”

  I looked at him, my eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” I noticed how his mouth curved.

  “Should Ashara seek me, Asharal would be more displeased if I would reject her.”

  “And how will you get the sister of Ashar
al to look your way?”

  I never got a response however; or at least not in words. The response I wanted I saw on Nimdel’s face. I could see he resented my doubting his capability to appeal to an elvess like Ashara, yet I also saw a glint of pleasure in those eyes of his, almost as if he was aware of something I clearly was not.

  I looked forward again, thinking; So, Nimdel believes Ashara Evening looks upon him with favour.

  I looked towards the Evenings, unable to deduce any sign in Ashara’s body language that would support what Nimdel had insinuated with his silence. She never looked his way, not once. She had also given me no reason to suspect anything during what interaction we had had of late. She was like her brothers, completely uncompromising in what information she let out to the public.

  “Do you believe Asharal intended to make that elvess Mother of the Sun?” I asked Nimdel.

  The elf regarded me. I did not return his gaze, but I felt his on my face, as I could feel the pity spilling from it.

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Alyran,” said Nimdel. “I don’t know. Asharal sent me to her family’s hut once to deliver the elvess a message. I am not fool enough to have pried into what that message said. But yes, I do believe it was one filled with affection and perhaps a promise. As of now, we will never know.”

  Nimdel left my side to assist those who were sent to fetch the dead Seer. I watched the Evenings leave the courtyard, disappearing inside Wind Tower whilst a great score of warrior guards followed in their wake. Once, those warriors had been referred to as the Wind warriors. Now, Asharal was pleased rather to have them be named the Sunblades.

  I was one of those Sunblades. I was one of Asharal’s first Sunblades, and I was proud of it. And yet… Looking across the courtyard, narrowing my focus upon the charred skin of the Seer, there came an unexpected sense of sorrow. I was struck by the wave of nostalgia that was so naturally inspired by this place and that Seer.

  Verid had been responsible for my rise beneath the Wind banner. If not for that Seer, I would still be begging for scraps or, most probably, dead. Furthermore, because of Verid, the Winds took me in and trained me. Ironically, it would contribute to their doom, for had I not been instructed by Asharal, I might never have sought to betray them as I had. In fact, I knew I wouldn’t have, for deep down a part of me felt guilty, for the Winds had done me no harm… But then why had I allowed Asharal inside Wind Tower? I knew why… Because I was incapable of refusing him anything. I would sooner fall on my own blade than displease him. If he wished, I would slaughter every pitiful Sun out there in the courtyard, who were currently being ushered out of Wind Tower by the other Sunblades.

  Presently I sighed. Why did I sigh? I wasn’t quite sure, not until I searched my heart and when I did, I realised that it was because I felt so burdened, so weighed down.

  Today was a day to be thankful for, as would be all the days to come now that the Winds were no longer in power. Asharal Evening would set this country right. He would make the Sun rise. No more would the Sun wallow in poverty. But… Here I was, unable to celebrate. Unable to rejoice as most had done.

  I turned my head towards the podium where the Evenings had stood watching without flinching as Verid was cooked by the flames, and I realised that part of me had hoped that once all was said and done, after Asharal saw my loyalty to him and the measures I took to ensure his victory over the Winds, he would express his gratitude to me in more ways than the mere formal and public acknowledgement. This, of course, he had done during his coronation and anointing as the new Father of the Sun. I had been very excited to be honoured by him in front of multitudes of Sun Elves, yet when it was all concluded, I felt hollow, for I wanted more than just to be publicly honoured: I wanted his love. I wanted his affection. I wanted him to call me up to his side and crown me as Mother of the Sun… I wanted him to kiss me, to hold me. I wanted him so desperately to want me.

  I cast my head down, shaking it, cursing myself once more for a fool. Asharal would never have done such a thing, even if his feelings towards me were like mine for him. Public displays of affection was not something anyone could expect from Asharal. Then I looked again at the focal point of today’s event, flinching in memory of Verid’s screams and I thought, This entire day has been a display of public affection from Asharal. All this was done for Sharal, his brother.

  Verid died such a gruesome death because he prophesied Sharal’s death. Today was Asharal’s way of showing his love and affection to Sharal. Knowing this, knowing how drastic today had been, I was almost touched by the sentiment, but deep down, I wished today hadn’t been so. I wished Verid had received a quick and painless death, for surely his visions of moons were all nonsense? Surely Asharal could see that? Surely Sharal didn’t truly believe a moon was going to fall on his head? Hadn’t Verid prophesised something similar to me, all those years ago, when first Verid started seeing moons?

  Verid had come to me in secret and told me how I would one day come down on a mighty moon. He told me that I would crush it.

  “Listen to me, mightiest of elvesses. Believe my word. You will face this moon. But this moon will be different. I don’t know how. But where before I saw full moons, this moon was a crescent moon. You will face this crescent moon and you will overcome it. And because of it, your name will be remembered forever.”

  I turned my head away from the elves within the courtyard below and headed back inside Wind Tower, where I had grown up, where I had been trained and raised. This had been my home for longer than I could recall. Then why did it not feel so anymore? Why did everything feel different? Why couldn’t I rejoice?

  My melancholic mood changed dramatically, however, when one of the Evening’s Sunblades came looking for me. “Commander Alyran. The Father requests your presence beneath the shadow of the Sunchair.”

  My pace was brisk. I flew to the throne room. Whenever Asharal called, I came. I delighted to do so. And when I walked inside, I saw him raise his beautifully refined face and for a moment, our eyes locked. Only for a moment. He looked down again at the current petitioner. Asharal was holding court.

  “Great Father of the Sun,” choked the kneeling peasant, head bowed before the Sunchair and he who sat it. “Whilst the late Father Wind ruled us, I fell into his disfavour because the land where I harvest had once not yielded crops. I failed to pay tax. As payment, he took my son and forced him to become one of his Wind warriors. My son now fights those blue elves across the sea.”

  “What is it that you ask then of the Father of the Sun who sits before you?” Sharal’s voice was low and almost contemptuous.

  My eyes fell to the petitioner for his response. “To have my son returned to me. Unless he has been killed, his service I believe has paid my debt to the Sunchair.”

  Asharal leaned forward and I almost held my breath. The hall was silent in preparation for his voice. It was as if the entire world stopped and I suddenly became aware that, unconsciously, I had entered in anticipation of hearing him speak.

  “Whether your debt has been paid or not, it has become irrelevant. Your debt was to the Winds, not to me. Seeing as your creditors are no more and cannot demand anything of you, you should consider yourself free.”

  The petitioner looked up and nodded in relief. Then Asharal leaned further out of his chair. “But do not consider yourself free for long, faithful Sun. Your new Father will not tolerate neglectful subjects, for we have a civilisation to raise up high.”

  The petitioner nodded again. “Yes, my Father.”

  Asharal nodded in turn. “Good. Look to yourself then, see that you give the Sunchair what is due the Sunchair and I in turn, will give to you and all the Sun Elves what is due to you. A peaceful realm. One which you can take pride in and thrive under.”

  The petitioner looked up and, at length, he stared at Asharal, almost as if disbelieving his words. Asharal leaned back in his throne and gestured with a flick of his hand for the petitioner to leave. Yet as he got up into his feet, Asharal spo
ke again. “As for your son. I believe those Wind warriors fighting the blue elves will soon return once they hear their Father has been defeated. If your son is among them, he will seek you out.”

  The petitioner got up and bowed his head three times, walking backwards towards the end of the throne room and when eventually he was far enough, he turned and left the room, allowing another petitioner to enter.

  I frowned at this one, for he was a youngster. He approached the throne with clear excitement. He almost skipped to the Sunchair. When he bowed before the Father, he spoke in a loud, youthful voice.

  “Great Father of the Sun! Great Asharal Evening the Mighty! My name is Velandyn Spark and I come before you humbly, eager to serve you to whatever end.”

  “In what way do you perceive you can serve the Father of the Sun?” said Sharal.

  The youngster looked up. “By staying utterly loyal to his cause and to his person,” the youngster declared.

  I looked at Asharal and I could see through his mask of stone that the youngster had his attention.

  “Poor is my family, and young am I. Therefore, I have lacked the means to train as a warrior who would lay his life down in service of the Evening Tree. But whilst lacking in skill, I have not been idle. I have grown strong in resolve; I have become disciplined of mind. And if you would permit me to join your Sunblades, I will train and grow, until eventually I prove my worth and you, Father of the Sun, I do hope, will recognise me and acknowledge me as one of yours.”

  Asharal didn’t waste time. He flicked his hand like one would at a fly, and the youngster appeared stunned at the gesture. “Submit yourself then to Commander Alyran. Let her assess you and decide your worth. Now leave.”

  I watched the young elf depart. Part of me toyed with the idea of following him so as to have him know who it was that the Father had sent him to find; yet the better part of me would not leave until it was time to leave, for I took great pleasure and pride in watching Asharal conduct his responsibilities up there on his throne.