Surrender

by Rhiannon Paille

  Istar must have seen the disappointment in his eyes because he softened once again. He placed his hands on his desk and nodded. “Right then,” he began, though he seemed to have lost his train of thought.

  “Elder?”

  Istar shook his head. “I have other affairs to attend to, please see Hernadette for your focus training assignment.”

  Krishani frowned and turned to leave, but then stopped. “If I may ask, what other affairs?”

  Istar glared at him, smiling. “I have been called to attend an assembly at the Great Hall, nothing that would interest you. Perhaps you should spend some time in the library reading history as well.”

  Krishani ignored the comment about the library and beamed at the mention of the Great Hall. Adoron had told him a lot about it during his time in Amersil. Their brotherhood had a sworn oath to Tor, the High King. “Will Tor attend?”

  “Aye, it is he who has called the assembly.”

  “Wow.”

  Istar shook his head. “It’s none of your business, Krishani.”

  “Why have you been called?”

  Istar sighed and stood upright. He glanced at the shelves full of magical items. “I have been called as an ambassador of Avristar. I am to state her position on the matters discussed.”

  “What will be discussed?” Istar shot him a glare and Krishani avoided his gaze. “If you are at liberty to answer, that is.”

  Istar took in a deep breath and stroked his beard. “Avristar has been charged with restoring the Lands of Men, you know that.”

  “Does that mean there’s a war?” He wanted to know because of his dreams; it seemed there was no end to the deaths that plagued his nights.

  Istar laughed. “You may be growing, but you are still quite naïve. War will always be, Krishani, whether it is on new lands or old, it will always exist.”

  Krishani thought about his comment. “Tor strives for peace, does he not? Why would war ensue? Can he not attain perfection?” He desperately wanted the dreams to end, but he couldn’t even admit to Adoron that he suffered from them. Telling Istar would only cause more trouble. Istar would make him face the nightmares. He wanted to ignore them for as long as possible.

  A shadow came across Istar’s face. “Aye, however the pursuit of perfection is always that—a pursuit. Perfection will come in accepting that not all things can be perfect.”

  Krishani nodded. “Avristar is perfect.” His thoughts wandered again to the vision of Kaliel at the waterfall, her snow-white hair framing her shy face. He coughed as tingles spread from his torso outward and clenched his muscles trying to control himself.

  “Nay, Avristar is in peace, it isn’t perfect,” Istar said. “No land can attain true perfection.”

  Krishani nodded. Istar always said that. “What will you have me do while you’re gone?”

  Istar smiled. “You said you would do daily meditation, focus training and reading. That will suffice until I can challenge you upon my return.”

  Krishani sighed. The library contained countless volumes of history, tales of those that had gone before him; nothing that stood out significantly to his path. Not a single piece of literature had a shard of information he could relate to. “Are there any volumes you would suggest?”

  Istar laughed. “It’s only history, and it’s ancient history at that. It’s for your focus and development that you would read of the greatness of others. Studying history is a task meant to speed the awakening process. You would be so well to do it.”

  Krishani looked at the ground again. “Aye.” He turned to leave, and heard Istar behind him.

  “Ask Hernadette to prepare you Jessamine tea for your insomnia!”

  * * *

  13-Amethyst Eyes

  Bloom the weed of temptation. Those words pounded in Kaliel’s mind throughout the night. At one point they were so loud she threw off the covers and grasped her ears hoping to block out the sound and find some form of comfort. Why had her energy shifted at the sound of those words? She felt it, a familiar rushing of warmth and buzzing, like her whole body was a bolt of lightning. And it didn’t just happen when Krishani was touching her either, but that didn’t mean he didn’t invoke other warm feelings within her.

  Kaliel reached for the cord in the ceiling and pulled the ladder down. It was made of creaky wooden planks that made her step with caution. She climbed and poked her head through the opening. The tower room was small and dank, but it smelled of freshly-cut herbs; she was comforted by the scent. She pulled herself into the room and huddled on the wooden floor.

  What am I meant for? she wondered, fearing she would always be plagued by the very real controversy of her parable. She tried to feel inside herself for it, but it had vanished again, just like the times in Evennses when the stars sang. She thought back to her home but it seemed a lifetime ago. She hadn’t expected Krishani to be in Orlondir.

  Temptation. The thought pushed at her. She hugged her knees again. Images. She had seen something. What about that? She closed her eyes and desperately tried to conjure them again. A parchment. It was blank in her mind. Symbols, drawings, there was something. She tried to force it, but vertigo set in and the tower swayed underneath her, like the currents of the lake were pushing and pulling the tower in every direction. Stop! she thought frantically as the movement made her nauseous. The crashing didn’t stop. It turned into swirling and she felt like she was being sucked under by the tide. She held onto her knees and let her head sink between them. Please, she begged again.

  You wished to find me?

  Aye.

  What do you want to know?

  Who are you?

  I’m you.

  The voice faded as Kaliel was pushed by another current. She held her ears as a high-pitched ringing pierced her temples. She heard the door open from below, and scrambled to open her eyes. The person who entered said nothing, waiting. Kaliel saw the faint light of dawn billowing through the hole in the floor. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself.

  I don’t understand, she thought as she descended the ladder.

  “Good morrow,” she said as she hopped off the last rung. She turned to look at the dark-haired maiden in front of her with black eyes and a content smile on her face. The woman didn’t respond. When she motioned with her hand to follow, Kaliel frowned and reluctantly trudged along behind her.

  The silent lady led Kaliel to the lower west wing towards a room she hadn’t seen during the tour. The night before weighed on her as she thought of the kiss she had shared with Krishani. She fidgeted in her ivory maiden’s gown as she shuffled along the plush carpets. The room was at the far end of the hallway, the door looking like it would lead to a dungeon. It had an iron handle and a small window in it with bars across it.

  The lady that led her was from the Sisterhood of Araraema in the east of Avristar. Kaliel recognized the symbol on her gown. Kaliel assumed she was undergoing silence training. It wasn’t something she was familiar with. The maiden stopped at the door and motioned towards it. Kaliel nodded, afraid to speak out loud in front of the woman. She frowned as the woman opened the door and ushered her in. Kaliel smelled sandalwood as she stepped into the dimly lit room.

  “Greetings, Kaliel,” Atara said. She stood in the center of the room clad in a rose-red linen gown and black robe, the hood pulled over her head to conceal her expression. The room, from what Kaliel could see, was a working room; dank with cobble-stone flooring, an empty wooden table on the left. In the corner was a cabinet with various items used by the older apprentices back when there had been older apprentices. To the right was a large, oddly-shaped mirror. It wasn’t square; the edges zigzagged unevenly along the glass. The mirror was large enough to cover most of the wall. Kaliel stared at it for a moment, unsure of its place in the room.

  “Greetings ...Atara.” She was still getting used to the name of her mentor and was nervous about the first lesson the lady would teach her. Please don’t ask me about my first night.

 
“Your mind isn’t focused. Did you sleep well?” Atara inspected Kaliel closely and then turned to the mirror.

  She gulped. “Aye, it was pleasant.”

  Atara measured her response and Kaliel thought the lady knew it was a lie. “You cannot see in yourself what the Great Oak sees, and it is affecting you. I will show you this first so you may understand.”

  Kaliel nodded and stepped forward. She was apprehensive about this practice; she had never learned meditation in Evennses.

  Atara put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and led her to the spot in front of the mirror. She pulled out a small glass vile containing a yellow liquid and popped out the cork. “Drink this. It will help you relax.”

  “What is it?”

  “Dandelion tonic. It will help quiet your mind so you can focus on what I am going to show you,” Atara said.

  Kaliel cautiously took the vile and downed the liquid. It tasted extremely sweet; she coughed involuntarily. “Now, look at yourself in the mirror.”

  Kaliel turned to the mirror, but there was nothing much to see. She was a couple inches taller, standing almost five feet now. The ivory maiden’s gown hugged her chest and fanned out near her waist, hanging down to her knees. Her skin was a pasty white, soft and smooth like silk. Her eyes moved from the floor towards her face. Her green eyes stared back at her; they held insecurity. Her soft white hair flowed around her shoulders in curls and waves. She held her hands at her sides and noted nothing in the background of the mirror was unexpected. She saw Atara standing behind her, and the table on the opposite end of the wall, along with the soft glow from the torch resting on its post above it. She looked at Atara. “Am I doing this right?”

  Atara nodded. “Continue looking into your eyes, and ask to see what others see.”

  I want to know what Krishani sees in me. She tried to push the thought of him away, but her heart began to thrum and her palms began to sweat as the thought of the Great Oak bitterly cut into her daydream. She looked at the mirror and swallowed hard, trying to stare into her eyes once again. What does the Great Oak see in me? She forced herself to focus.

  Moments passed as she waited for something to happen, but she only felt more delirious from the drink. Her eyes unfocused and drifted towards the black pupils of her green irises. She wanted so badly to close them, to sit down, to sleep, but then a thick root presented itself from the bottom of the mirror, and on the right side a garden formed—Desaunius’s garden. She recognized it and the trees, the sunlight shedding an unnaturally bright light on the flowers and plants.

  Her eyes drifted from the brightness towards the other side of the mirror. It showed a different scene. The ground was charred black and the trees were limp and bereft of leaves. Kaliel noticed a figure standing in the shadows, and at first she assumed it was the reflection of Atara standing behind her, but as she stared at the mirror longer she noted the figure was larger than her elder.

  Kaliel dismissed the visions in the background and moved her eyes to the center again, wanting to concentrate on them, but they were no longer her own. The white gown stayed, her hair still draped around her shoulders, her skin soft and white, but her eyes, they weren’t her eyes. She stared back as fear and anxiety crept into her limbs. She blinked twice, but nothing changed. Her eyes shone a brilliant amethyst. She incredulously stared at herself as the eyes stared back at her, full of wisdom and strength she didn’t know she possessed.

  The affects of the dandelion tonic wore off and her head drooped towards the ground as fatigue set in. Her vision blurred as she looked at the bottom of the mirror. Her feet were surrounded by violet light, which seemed to extend from her body, but she was too weak to stay with the vision. Her eyelids drooped and her body went limp as Atara caught her by the arm, pulling her back to reality.

  “There, there, careful now.” Atara sucked in a breath as she helped Kaliel to a chair tucked into the corner beside the cabinet. Kaliel sat down hard, her head spinning, her thoughts muddled. “Take a moment before answering. Did you see?”

  Kaliel shook her head. “There’s something hiding in me.” She didn’t understand the amethyst eyes or the light that surrounded her form. It seemed so familiar, but she didn’t know why.

  Atara frowned. “Nay, it is you, your potential.”

  Kaliel shook her head again. “No, I’m the same.”

  Atara shot her a spurious frown. “I am certain the meditation worked. I saw you enter the trance. What did you see?”

  “Myself, no different than I am now,” Kaliel whispered. She was afraid of the affliction she had seen, the shadowy figure and the amethyst eyes. She assumed those things were hallucinations from the tonic.

  Atara’s expression turned hard and unreadable. “Very well then, the lesson is over. You should rest now.”

  Kaliel took her hand and carefully rose from the chair. She was spinning from the tonic, but Atara held onto her and led her back through the corridors towards her room.

  “The background changed,” Kaliel said when they were near the fountain.

  Atara turned, surprised. “How so?”

  “One side showed my elder’s garden, the other side was … barren, dead? I don’t know, it was too dark to see anything.”

  Atara grimaced. “Good, that is progress. You will sleep on it and discover more.”

  • • •

  Istar moved quickly through the golden corridors of the Great Hall. He descended the golden stairway, entering into the lower levels. He found the docks for the boat, gargoyles were awaiting his return. He took a last look back at the golden stairs, and then nodded for the gargoyles to push off through the clear turquoise waters towards the mists. The boat moved slowly, the mists curling around them, and soon, it was as if the Great Hall vanished. All that was left was the dead open sea shrouded by fog.

  Istar stood on the boat as it glided through the water. It was nearing nightfall on Avristar. The light of the sun faded into shades of pink, but none of that comforted him on his journey. I must stop this. Istar closed his eyes and remembered the old times, a time when the Valtanyana held power and reigned chaos on the Lands Across the Stars.

  The boat docked in Nandaro and he began trekking through the forest to Mallorn the Kiirar’s cottage. The Kiirars were the lorekeepers of Avristar, many of them eons old. Mallorn was a hermit, a former warrior in the Lands of Immortals. Whenever Istar returned from the Lands of Men, he would lend him a horse to return to the Elmare Castle. This was such an occasion. Istar came adorned in the finest garments and his anxiety was high. He had ignored the gargoyle’s keep located at the docks. What once provided a homeland for over ten thousand gargoyles now housed a mere two hundred. Avristar believed in providing protection for the Lands of Men and thought herself bereft of any chance for war. Therefore the armies had been lent to those who could use them.

  The forests waned as Istar saw the cottage atop the mound. A small barn was on the west side of the cabin. He approached from the east, taking care not to falter and step into the creek. Inside, the fire burned brightly, smoke escaping from the chimney.

  “It has been a long time, old friend,” Istar said. He heard Mallon shoot up from his tea, startled. He thought about the inside of the cabin, the fireplace, the books on the end table, on the shelves, on the desk, and on the kitchen counter. It was a mess, but an organized one.

  “Ah, for an elven who lives alone you certainly know how to startle one!” Mallorn hollered as he opened the door. “Have you been to a celebration, my friend?”

  Istar laughed, looking down at his clothes: a deep burgundy tunic lined in gold hung to his feet, a red velvet cape with a fur collar adorned his shoulders and he had his champion sword at his side. He shook his head as he entered.

  Mallorn had served as a mentor to the Children of Avristar many years ago, but he preferred a life on his own, to understand the meaning of it. He spent most days rifling through books, correcting and perfecting the record of knowledge he held, learning history of othe
r lands.

  Mallorn went to the kitchen and poured Istar a cup of tea. “What has you returning so late?”

  Istar frowned and took the tea. He perched on the wooden chair in the living room and stared at the fire. “An assembly at the Great Hall,” he said.

  Mallorn shook his head. “That cannot mean good things.”

  “No, the Lands of Men are not the only realms in need of aid any longer.”

  Mallorn looked shocked. “Istar, do you mean to say that the Avrigard quadrant has succumbed to corruption?”

  He sipped his tea and nodded. “Aye, the lords seemed very agitated by it.”

  “They should be!” Mallorn shook his head and began gathering his reading materials. Istar knew he was searching for references or something, but he didn’t know what good it would do. “The Lands of Immortals in Avrigard have not seen war since the Valtanayana—” Mallorn stopped, apparently noticing the mangled expression on Istar’s face.

  “Aye.” It was the exact thoughts that had come to him during the assembly.

  “Has Kemplan confirmed it?” Mallorn gave him a stern glance.

  Istar shook his head. “Kemplan says they are sealed in Avrigost, no means of escape.”

  Mallorn let out a breath. “So Kemplan was at the assembly?”

  “No, he didn’t find it worth his time to leave the Great Library. He sent a Scrye.”

  Mallorn relaxed. “Aye, no reason for worry, then.”

  “Perhaps.” He wasn’t convinced.

  “Be plain with me, Istar. What are you thinking?”

  “Avristar would not survive a blow.”

  Mallorn sat back in his chair with a long hum. “Nay, I will not believe it. Until you have proof of his return, you shall disregard this. Treachery can build for a number of reasons.”

  Istar gave him a cold stare. “Any other you could propose?”

  Mallorn paused; it looked like he was scanning his vast recesses of knowledge. “Nay.”

  “Then you understand why I am concerned.”