by R K Lander
Sontúr scowled. “You will miss the excitement, you fool,” he said seriously, but Fel’annár’s smile only widened.
“I will not. I will find you later, I promise.” He did not say why and they did not ask him, perhaps because although he seemed happy, there was something about him, a quietness that was neither sadness nor worry.
With a nod, they left, heading into the centre of the village, and Fel’annár turned to Lainon. “Will you guard me even here where no one knows me?” he asked.
“Here, anywhere,” said the Ari’atór simply. “Your mind needs to express itself,” he said thoughtfully, and Fel’annár watched his friend carefully.
“So does yours, I think. Would you not rather spend the evening with Tensári?” he asked with a soft smile.
Lainon lifted a dark brow. “She is with our captain; I will see her later, no doubt.”
“Will you tell me what you are thinking?” asked Fel’annár.
“Perhaps. I will find some provisions for us. Wait here.”
Fel’annár wondered if Lainon had been here before, for he walked with a purpose, to where Fel’annár could not say. Turning, Fel’annár cast his eyes away from the softly glowing houses and taverns of the village, over the dark ridges of rock that towered over this place and then out towards the mountains beyond, the lake and whatever lay beyond it.
Away from the barracks now, he navigated a slope upwards and to a rocky outcrop. It afforded him that same lovely view. He would sit here and think for as long as it took for him to iron out his emotions.
The crunch of pebbles behind him announced Lainon’s return. He set his pack on the ground before them, looking down at Fel’annár who now sat cross-legged, perched on the very brink of the rocky ledge, face turned towards where Lainon knew Valley lay.
“Did you find wine?” asked Fel’annár.
“I still have friends in high places,” smiled Lainon, and Fel’annár turned to him with a smile and an arch of his brow.
“Very witty.”
“I have my moments,” shrugged the Ari’atór.
The trickle of liquid and then a goblet was before him and Fel’annár took it in both hands, but he did not turn away from the horizon. “It is difficult sometimes, to lend voice to my thoughts.”
Lainon agreed, but he remained silent as he sat on the ground beside Fel’annár, his own eyes feasting on the skyline he knew well, a landscape his birth right demanded he dwell in. He had turned his back on it. He had only recently come to understand why, but he kept that to himself for now. It was one thing for Tensári to know, Ari’atór that she was, and quite another to add yet another burden on Fel’annár’s shoulders. The nature of the boy’s destiny could wait, at least until their journey back to Ea Uaré.
“Sometimes, it is the lack of words. Others it is the lack of an understanding ear, but oftentimes it is because it is not clear in your own mind. Which of these is your case, Fel’annár?”
A long breath. “Today, I have no such problem, Lainon. Today I know, I finally understand myself, I think.”
Lainon’s eyes moved sideways to his friend, but his head did not move.
“I have always hated my Alpine side. Idernon told me it was because my father was Alpine. I hated him and therefore that side of my blood, he said. I was angry at Idernon for his words. But then Turion told me the same thing and again I was angry. I have always been angry, Lainon. So much of my life has been spent feeling it, repressing it, ignoring it. It was on my first patrol, with you and Turion, that it began to change.” He smiled, fond memories resurfacing. “And yet it is only now that I feel complete, Lainon. I have always said I am Silvan at heart, and yet now, even that is wrong.” He smiled again and turned his head to Lainon. “I am Fel’annár at heart,” he said. “I no longer wish to perpetuate this racial thing, I no longer feel the need. What does it matter? The land of my mother, the land of my father. The colour of her eyes or of my father’s hair? All colours are beautiful, Lainon, given the right context, the right background on which to lay them. It is a question of perspective, I think.”
Lainon watched him, the soft words floating in his mind.
Fel’annár turned back to the horizon. “Ea Uaré, Thargodén’s court. Power and riches, the wish to control dictates the things they do, the people they are. They say there are even Silvan lords there that play these games, too, and the structure of the game is the same in Tar’eastór, no doubt. Power and riches, control, only there are no masses to control here, for they are all Alpine. How do you control a people who are not your own, in the lands you have taken from them?” He huffed and shook his head. “You do it by subjugating them, I think, and what better way than to do so by creating a fiction in which one is weak and the other is strong? One is wrong and the other is right, one is Silvan and the other is Alpine.”
Lainon drank from his goblet. “You wax philosophical tonight.”
Fel’annár smiled, for Lainon was right. “It is beautiful here. How could I ever have been ashamed to be half Alpine? Look at this place, Lainon. It is sublime in its dizzying heights, its quiet nobility. This place is in my blood, as much as the Deep Forest. I will no longer call myself Silvan in anger of my father. I will call myself Silvan, and I will call myself Alpine.”
Lainon turned once more, this time with a smile on his face. “How far we have come, you and I. I wonder what the future holds for us, for I cannot see it,” he said, the smile faltering.
“Who can say? I know it will not be an easy one, but with you by my side...” He shuffled upon the ground and then took a sip of his wine.
“With me at your side?” prompted Lainon.
“I wonder. I wonder if this is what it is like to have a true brother.”
Silence extended between them until Lainon broke it. “I think—that brothers, that family, may be chosen, Fel’annár. It is not, perhaps, always a question of blood. I choose you as a brother, if you would have me,” he said, and Fel’annár turned bright eyes to meet Lainon’s fierce Ari eyes. Fel’annár smiled then, a wave of deep emotion lending a soft glow to his pale skin. The green of his irises shimmered oddly as it sometimes did.
“Aria moves within you, brother,” said Lainon and then sat back, as if his own words had surprised him.
Fel’annár turned to face Lainon, shifting his body so that he knelt before him.
“The energy in the trees, you believe it is Aria?”
“I know it is, Fel’annár. I am Ari’atór. I recognise the light of Aria, it is in my blood to do so; Tensári sees it, too. The power that created this world, that holds it all together, the light you see in the trees, that others only see reflected in your eyes—it is one and the same thing. That light is good, Fel’annár; that is the good power, it is Aria. It moves through you for a purpose.” He paused and chuckled breathlessly. “I sometimes use to wonder why you had not been born Ari’atór, until I realised that, had you been, you would have travelled away from the forest and I do not think that was your purpose at all.”
Fel’annár’s eyes were distant even though he listened. The tree, the vision of beauty that looked down upon him with protective eyes, the dream that had accompanied him all his life. That face and the light in his eyes—was that the key? Were they one and the same thing? This one question evaded him; it was the last step towards unravelling the mystery that shrouded his early life, the one he could not remember.
“There is purpose to your gift. It is not arbitrary, Fel’annár. On our return we must find a way to seek help. Vorn’asté is a skilled intellectual, well versed in anthropology. Take advantage of your time here.”
“I mean to, although I have no skill amongst lords and kings, Lainon.”
“Handir will help you.”
“The prince wants nothing to do with me, Lainon,” smiled Fel’annár in absolute certainty.
“Leave it to me. I am close to Handir, Fel’annár. He, too, calls me brother.”
Fel’annár’s head shot ba
ck to Lainon, surprise clearly written on his face. “You know, Gor’sadén is trying to convince Pan’assár to allow me to train with him.”
“What? Why did you not say? That is a mighty thing.”
“I know. We spoke of it recently, but it seems our commander has not been moved to accept, at least Gor’sadén has said nothing about it. I live in dwindling hope, Lainon,” he smiled ironically.
Reaching for the bottle of wine between them, Fel’annár filled their goblets and held his own up to Lainon’s face. “To brothers, then,” he said with a smile, and Lainon returned it.
“And to nostalgic commanders,” said Lainon.
“Will you tell me of Tensári?” asked Fel’annár after a while.
Lainon smiled and let out a long, soft breath. “I found my Connate many years ago, Fel’annár. It is a wonderful thing, something not all Ari’atór achieve in their lives upon Bel’arán; some must wait until their final journey to Valley—there are many lost Connates there...”
“Then why were you not together?”
“Her duty lay in Valley. Mine lay in the forest, although my explanations at the time were fickle at best.”
“Why?” asked Fel’annár, drinking deeply from his wine.
“Because I did not know myself. Duty called me to the forest. At first, I thought I should be a Herder, but fighting is in my blood. That was not my destiny. I could not explain it to myself, and of course, Tensári could not understand it. We were sundered, until now.”
“And yet she was in the city, not in Valley.”
“Yes. Too much battle, Fel’annár. You will understand that one day—the need to distance yourself and find your path anew.”
Silence stretched between them, and Lainon smiled softly into the horizon. “I will not leave you, Fel’annár.”
Fel’annár startled, a wave of utter relief invading his body. “Why? You have found love, Lainon. How can you not follow her?”
“You are not the only one to encounter difficulties explaining things at times, Fel’annár. I simply know where my path leads, although I would surely ask Aria to be more explicit in her dictates. I wonder, though, if Tensári may follow me,” murmured Lainon.
“What is it like—to love someone in that way?”
Lainon’s lips twitched. “I think love is one of those things. I am no poet, I am a warrior, just like she is. I do not think I could describe it to you, brother. Carodel, perhaps, might come close,” smirked the Ari as he drank.
To Fel’annár, Tensári was quiet and forbidding; he was not sure it would be so easy to convince her to leave her homeland, in which case Lainon would be forced to leave her once more. He felt selfish in his utter relief.
They drank in thoughtful silence, and all was serene once more, eyes back on the power and majesty of the Median Mountains and what life meant to each of them. For one, a road was opening before him—a path of learning, of understanding, albeit the end of it was yet as shrouded as Valley itself. For the other, the road had been taken; his destiny now lay unveiled in all its stunning magnitude. Lainon closed his eyes and felt the power of Aria roll through his body, a single pulse of pure energy.
He was right, he had always been right. He finally had his answer, the reason he had abandoned love, the reason he had returned to the forests of Ea Uaré. Aria, in her grace, had finally answered his question.
The following day, Comon’s patrol headed out, on foot this time, towards the lake and the mysteries that lay beyond.
Deviant activity was at a high. Newly created individuals, or Incipients, had been reported in the foothills and further up the mountain, and that was now their destiny, their mission—to seek them out and then destroy them before they could turn. Incipient Deviants were guarded by the more mature specimens, cared for until they could come to terms with what had happened to them, comprehend how their bodies would begin to change. They would be lost in confusion, grief even, regret that they had dared to act on their dream to live forever. It was an irreversible process, but during this period of metamorphosis, the Incipient was vulnerable, would be easy prey once their Deviant guardians were destroyed.
“They say it is easier to kill a mature Deviant. It is already a monster, rotten and evil, but a newly formed Deviant is not yet turned to bitterness, still retains much of its human form,” said the Wall of Stone. “Is this true?” he asked, his eyes a little too wide.
“True,” confirmed Galadan who marched beside him. “To kill one requires much strength of spirit, Ramien. Its death is considered an act of mercy,” explained the lieutenant.
“So why aren’t the Ari’ator here, to kill them?”
“Maybe they are, or maybe they are too far away, busy protecting the Source, who knows?” shrugged Galadan. “The lands we travel are still too far south of Valley, I believe.”
Fel’annár and Lainon walked just in front, while the rest of The Company were behind, but all of them were listening. This was unchartered territory for all of them except Lainon and Galadan, for in the Great Forest, it was only ever Deviants they battled. The Incipients would already have turned by the time they reached those lands.
“Whichever the case, should we find Incipients, the veterans will deal with them; they have their specialists. And then we have our Ari lieutenants,” said Galadan with a cock of his head.
“Who are the experts?” asked Ramien, wary eyes travelling over the Alpine warriors around them. Some of them must have heard the conversation for they smirked grimly at the young Silvan, however much they remained silent.
“I don’t know, and pray we do not find out,” confessed Galadan.
Fel’annár turned to Lainon for answers, but the Ari’atór remained silent. Fel’annár knew that he knew; Lainon would see it in their eyes.
The further upwards they travelled, the colder and thinner the air became, and the trees grew spindly and skewed. There was an isolated copse of pine and birch which would afford them a modicum of protection from the frigid breeze, and Captain Comon gave the order to set camp for the night. There was a cluster of boulders that would do nicely for their sleeping area, and so, with their chores clearly outlined, they set to work. Some gathered water and others lit fires while the rest stood watch.
Soon enough, The Company and Sontúr sat around one of many fires, warming their hands and sharing stories of their mischief from the night before. Lainon, though, sat behind Fel’annár, weaving Ari twists into the hair around his crown, only this time, he explained as he worked so that Fel’annár might one day be able to do this for himself.
“Ai Carodel, but for a woodland melody and your sweet voice,” sighed Ramien.
“My lyre is gone, remember? Some Deviant stepped on it and broke my heart.”
“No doubt you will write an ode to it,” smirked Idernon.
“Boy.”
Carodel looked up, into the eyes of an Alpine warrior. In his hand was a wooden flute. “Can you play?”
“Yes,” he smiled. Eyes silently asked for permission as he reached up slowly and took the instrument reverently in his hands. Playing a quick scale to test the sound of it, he smiled at the mellow tones of a well-played woodwind. “Well? What will it be?”
“Take us to the Deep Forest, Bard Warrior,” said Idernon. “Just for a moment.”
A slow melody emerged, husky base notes that soon sent the camp into expectant silence. A tune began to evolve, whispering at first, wind-like upon the mountain breeze until it deepened and grew stronger, pitch rising until those that listened began to feel what Carodel was expressing.
He wove a tale of woodland beauty. Of fluttering leaves over damp loam, whimsical blooms in cosy glades, woodsy mist floating amidst the welcoming boughs of oaken Sentinels.
Idernon’s eyes were lost to infinity, and Ramien smiled softly. Galdith’s face was sorrowful, and Galadan watched him, recognising the mists of grief in his friend’s eyes. Lainon’s face was pensive, and from time to time his eyes would seek out Tensári, who
sat with the captain, listening from afar. Fel’annár’s eyes swam with so many emotions Sontúr could not quite fathom. There was longing there, longing and sadness. What would his own eyes reflect? he wondered, although he thought perhaps he could guess. But could they see it? Something had clicked in Sontúr’s mind after his last conversation with Fel’annár. Could they see his new-found purpose? Could they see that this Alpine prince’s path had been chosen? Could they see that his mind struggled to understand the unfathomable surety in his heart?
The melody weaved around them, drew them in, their thoughts and fantasies floating before them like a child’s new toys. Then it wafted away to the Alpine warriors that sat at their fires close by. Passion and pain, joy and grief, a chromatic journey to the Deep Forest of Ea Uaré.
Carodel blew the final notes into the flute and then bowed his head as he rested the instrument in his lap. It was many moments before a heavy hand slapped his shoulder and squeezed. Ramien.
Conversation began slowly, and the Alpine warrior was back, a light in his eyes as he reached for the flute with a smile. “Your land is surely a place to marvel at. I shall journey there—one day,” he said.
“Then you must seek out The Company and share wine in the boughs of my home,” replied Carodel with a smile.
When he had gone and Carodel turned back to them, the fire had been stoked, illuminating their smiling faces while casting their bodies into shadow. They missed their home, and Fel’annár was no exception, save that these noble mountains, these stone pillars of icy majesty had called to his soul, stirred his Alpine blood, and he had answered.
He loved this place, but he would never love his father.
Chapter Fourteen:
TRANSCEND
“Destiny demands to be embraced, and the Ari’atór must follow, wherever it leads.”
Calro: On Elven Nature.
This was the mountain proper. The steep, treacherous slopes demanded all their strength, all their precision, for one false move and the entire patrol would plummet to their deaths. This, in itself, was enough, but the air was thinner here and their breath came hard and fast. The Alpine warriors watched the Silvans closely, remembering their first sojourns into the higher planes of Tar’eastór.
