by C A Oliver
“Considering your current position, one could argue that H’ibans are not so good at striking deals after all. What do you say to that, Lokah? Nevertheless, I note that you have served us well by showing us the way to the Ningy Pool. The treatment you have received in exchange might appear harsh, though it was prudence that dictated such a stringent approach. Hanging upside down for three days, without food and water, in the company of Moramsing snakes, is no small feat. If those odd little movements you are making are anything to go by, I suppose you are still alive. Without question, that would be an achievement… You deserve a second chance, Lokah. And I have dreamt up a simple mission for you, a task that will earn you my eternal gratitude.”
The Man could not respond to the ironic comments of his captor, muzzled as he was by the shadowy serpents that crept around his neck and head. A sudden command from Saeröl released him from their grasp. His body fell from a height of several feet onto the ground. The dark snakes moved away from him, heading slowly towards the big woollen blanket, which now lay on the floor at Saeröl’s feet. They disappeared inside as though retreating into a nest.
A few moments passed before the Man regained his senses. A warm rain fell upon him, washing the dirt from his face and drenching his unkempt hair. His long-hooked nose was bleeding heavily after his fall from the tree branch. The first words he said were to enquire about the safety of his wife.
“What have you done with her? Where have you imprisoned her?”
“Imprisoned her?” Saeröl was surprised at the Man’s question. “Oh no! Rest assured I have not confined her in any way.”
“So you let her go... Is she safe?”
“Oh yes, she is no longer in danger...”
“What do you mean?” inquired the Man, his worry mounting.
Saeröl raised his hand so as to prevent any outburst.
“I killed her… poisoned her, to be precise.”
“No! You miserable murderer!”
“I am not sure ‘miserable’ is the right word, but ‘murderer’ is certainly appropriate. You see, Lokah, I did not know her. How could I tell if I could trust her as much as you? Consider my situation: sentenced to death, banished by fire and water, a mark of disgrace upon my cheek, and so on and so forth… I did not have a choice. It was unfortunate. She may have been a good wife, and probably possessed other valuable qualities. No one will ever know now. She has now returned to the anonymity of her birth.”
“Why did you come to our home? Why capture me, why hurt her?”
“I deeply apologize for the intrusion into your home. I am a fervent believer in the sacred laws of hospitality. But I was in a hurry, and my errand could not suffer any delay. Funnily enough, when I entered your room, I thought I could hear wild animals frantically enacting some breeding exercise… What a surprise it was to discover that humans do not actually make love but rather mate, like savage beasts of the forest! Now I can finally agree with the matriarchs: Men cannot compare with Elves and should be classified as one of the lowest species of living beings.”
“You are insane. I hate you,” was all the defeated Man could say.
Indifferent to his despair, Saeröl continued, visibly enjoying his anthropological musings.
“There is one unifying tendency among Men, though they might have different rites around how they go about it. I believe the Mother of the Islands is right to place the blame upon Men. The fewer that live, the better the followers of Eïwele Llya feel. I agree with the teachings of the druids of her cult: human life is resolutely not more important than any other creatures’ existence. Plants, animals and above all else trees make crucial contributions to the harmony of this world, to the preservation of the Gods’ creations. Men ignore this fundamental law, and instead constantly create chaos… To tell you the truth, I cared little for your wife’s life. Putting an end to it meant no more to me than crushing an anthill with my boot.”
“You are utterly mad,” repeated the Man on his knees, the hammering rain blinding him.
Impervious to doubt, Saeröl continued with his argument.
“Living alone, always hiding from those who hunt you, procures some advantages. One has time to think. It is amazing how you can dedicate yourself to wisdom when you do not have to waste your forces in futile babblings with lesser beings. As a result, I had the time to think about the human problem, and I have reached something of a conclusion. The solution is to trigger a massive war between the factions of Men. One would have to ensure that the forces involved were reasonably well balanced. This war of unparalleled magnitude would have to last a long time in order to rid the Lost Islands of their human surplus.”
Lokah tried to stand in a final effort.
“You are mad. But your ideas of chaos and destruction will never come to be, they are empty, like the cursed words of your songs.”
Saeröl disagreed. “Ah... It just so happens that I have made some rather special arrangements: carefully formulated plans that might just lead to the spectacular denouement we so badly need.”
Lokah remained silent, understanding that his end was near. He was trying to control his fear, making every effort possible to deny the sadistic Elf the spectacle of his complete surrender.
“I mentioned I had a final favour to ask of you, Lokah, before you are dismissed,” Saeröl recalled as he seized his strange flute. “Something is hiding around us. Something very powerful has managed to escape the vigilance of my lynxes. This is most frustrating. So I have thought of a better plan. I thought perhaps that you could go down this little hill to cause a diversion... a noise so jarring that it would force our enemies to reveal their position.”
Saeröl started to play his wind instrument. Suddenly, Lokah felt his chest tighten, and a sudden giddiness seize his arms. With each step, his uneasiness grew, which soon turned into nausea. If he had been able, he would have fled into the forest, despite the tumbling rain and rolling thunder. But then he imagined an infinite number of shadowy creatures, circling around the grove in the night, watching him from their hideouts in the branches and in the thickets, ready to strike him at the slightest stumble. Each of his movements became more painful. The scout did not understand what was happening to him. The music produced by Saeröl’s flute emitted an intense, corrupting force that filled him with utter terror. He suddenly felt incredibly cold and broke out into shivers, before finally opening his mouth to scream like a mad Man. But as hard as he tried, he could make no sound.
At that moment, a bolt of lightning struck so close that the entire vale was illuminated with brutal electric light. Then thunder, loud as a thousand drums beating to the march of absolute chaos, made the hills’ very foundations tremble. Saeröl hit the Man with the flat of his dark blade, then forced him backwards towards the cliff edge, which overlooked the river’s banks.
“Lokah,” taunted the Night Elf, “you have demonstrated a distinct lack of judgement. In the face of such weakness, I, Saeröl Dir Sana, like a gardener for the Gods who aims his silver crossbow at a trespasser in their divine orchards, have but one answer: let the miserable thief go back to where he came from.”
The heavy shower, which carried the warm spray of the Austral Ocean, poured down from the heavens as if to cleanse every creature and every plant of their impurities. Saeröl, soaked, his eyes fixed upon the sky, let out a wild laugh as the storm continued to sow its electric seeds farther away, its white fire already reaching the distant Chanun Mountains. He played a few piercing notes on his flute; the sound was confusing, full of distress. With a final silent scream, Lokah threw himself from the top of the cliff, crashing on the rocks a hundred feet below, before his lifeless body rolled to a stop upon the sandy soil of the riverbank.
Drismile carefully approached the cliff edge. She looked carefully out at her surroundings, scrutinizing every rock, branch and tree. Nothing stirred. After a long, still moment, she turned back to Saeröl. A simple flick of her hand told him that the two Elves were utterly alone in that wild place.
“My prince,” said Drismile, “if each of us were given the opportunity to choose the way we died, we would choose what is painless. I believe Lokah had better luck than most…”
“I agree,” said Saeröl.
For the next hour, the two Elves sat in silence, waiting for the spectacle below to commence. The rain ceased. Dawn came, and the first rays of the sun reverberated on the silvery waters of the cascading river. Suddenly, the silhouette of a great stag appeared right in front of them, on the other side of the Ningy Pool, at the top of the western cliff bordering the final Hageyu Fall. The powerful cry of the majestic animal reverberated through the earth, sinking deep within the mountains, the hills, even to the bed of the coursing river.
As if responding to the formidable creature’s call, hundreds of birds came down from the sky like arrows raining upon a battlefield. Hawks and falcons were darting wildly about the entire area, all engaged in a violent, frenzied hunt for any enemies that might be lurking in the forest.
Undetectable and undetected, the two Night Elves remained seated in the shade of a tall pine tree, appreciating the grand spectacle of the birds’ wild dance in the sky. Then, as the whirlwind of hawks moved away into the forest, Elvin silhouettes appeared at the top of the cliffs bordering the waterfall. Clad in green cloaks, these Elves were hardly visible, but after a mere few minutes, they had established a great construction site. From the two opposite banks at the top of the cascading waterfall, dozens of Elves started to build a complex scaffolding structure, whose parts had already been assembled in the cover of the trees.
After a few hours, the two sides of the structure met, creating something of a bridge just above the cascading river as it disappeared over the waterfall’s edge. The first bold Elves set about scaling up the structure, more than a hundred feet above the pool’s seething waters at the bottom of the fall. They worked tirelessly to set up a system of pulleys and ropes at the centre of the structure, like as many sailors working the high masts and long beams of a warship. Looking out at them, Drismile could not help but wonder if that structure, which looked so flimsy, had been put together properly.
“I understand,” she whispered, turning to Saeröl. “They are going to lower the boats down the waterfall one by one, from those improvised winches they’re setting up now.”
Saeröl did not respond. His gaze was fixed downwards, towards the banks of the Ningy Pool. After a while, Drismile realized what was causing his concern.
“The corpse of Lokah... it’s disappeared.”
“The river has taken it, Drismile. This day might not be as calm as we had thought.”
Meanwhile, indifferent to the two Night Elves’ musings about the muddy waters of the Sian Ningy, the clan Ernaly’s fighters were making good progress. The first small ship was lined up just upstream of the structure, held back against the flow by Elves grasping ropes on either side of the river. Saeröl and Drismile could distinguish the tombstone’s edges protruding from the sides of the boat. A chief was coordinating their manoeuvres from a commanding position on top of the cliff. Saeröl recognized Mynar dyl’s voice as the warlord of Tios Halabron shouted instructions to his brother.
“Voryn dyl! Take half a unit down to the pool. We start with Rowë’s tomb; I am not sure this scaffolding will hold for all the boats. Make haste. There is still much to do.”
The youngest of the dyn Ernaly was not one to challenge orders, and he was soon on his way, descending the steep cliff with a few chosen fighters. Unfazed by the danger and impervious to the raging elements around them, his troops abseiled down the taut ropes and, when they neared the bottom, jumped into the pool. When they had all surfaced, Voryn dyl announced that his group was in place and ready to receive their precious cargo.
The Elves at the top of the waterfall began the manoeuvres they had so carefully planned. Those on the banks slowly loosened the ropes which were holding the small ship back just before the waterfall’s edge. As the boat neared the void, it was carefully attached to the beam that jutted out over the waterfall, and then slowly released so it could move over the edge of the cliff, all whist staying level. The small watercraft was now suspended above the void.
Three Elves upon the makeshift bridge then took to the winches and started operating its dangerous descent. The boat and its reflection soon blurred together in the wild water’s spray; it looked for a few tense moments as if it had been totally submerged and destroyed in the elemental power of the cascade. However, the boat reappeared near the bottom of the waterfall, intact but seriously flooded. It was becoming dangerously heavy; the Elves had not accounted for so much water being taken on. The scaffolding above groaned and rattled under the strain. The Elves still positioned on the structure to manoeuvre the descent sensed the imminent danger and hurried towards the safety of the riverbanks. They were too late.
Under the weight of the flooded boat, the entire structure split apart at the centre. Its joints disintegrated, and its parts broke off into pieces before disappearing into the wild flood of the torrent and hurtling down towards the pool below. The boat dropped and sank into the waters before immediately resurfacing some distance away, spat back out by the awesome power of the waters. The tremendous noise of the wreckage was followed by a profound silence. There was no sign of the three Elves who had fallen with the structure from its great height. Finally, the voice of Mynar dyl sounded out across the canyon.
“Voryn dyl! Get aboard the boat and confirm whether the coffin is intact.”
Answering his brother’s call, Voryn dyl, the first of his group to recover, started to swim towards the drifting boat. The current of the Ningy River was strong, and the small vessel was quickly gaining downstream momentum. With powerful strokes and sheer determination, Voryn dyl managed to reach the boat and pull himself aboard. A few moments later, he was joined by another strong swimmer. But Voryn dyl was no longer responding to his brother’s command. Rather, his gaze was fixed upon a shadow beneath the water, which seemed to block the way just downstream of the boat. As Voryn dyl leant forwards to get a closer look, his breathing stopped. He was seized with panic and could not even let out a cry.
“Watch out!” a warning was lost in the wind.
Some monstrous marine creature was surging upwards from the depths of the Ningy Pool. The beastly leviathan was armoured with turtle-like scales; its head resembled a Dragon’s. Its shell was almost exactly the same colour as the waters around it, and it glistened with reflections of the heavenly bodies above when it broke the water’s surface. The back of its neck and tips of its limbs seemed guided with gold. As it reared up high above the tiny boat, it became clear that the beast was over thirty-foot long.
Atop this monster was a Man, clad in scale armour and wielding an enormous war hammer. His head was entirely covered by what looked like a gleaming white octopus with snakeheads at the end of its legs. The freakish mask completely covered all features but his mouth, which now emitted a furious roar as he started swinging his impressive weapon from his golden gauntlet.
The Dragon Turtle he was riding ignored Voryn dyl and the boat, and instead let out several deep exhalations, of scalding, venomous steam, in the direction of the clan Ernaly fighters who were still swimming after the boat. Its breath was devastating; many of the brave swimmers did not surface again.
Meanwhile, the knight of the Golden Hand faced Voryn dyl and his companion. Voryn dyl was finally recovering from the surprise. Just as he was moving to seize the powerful bow strapped to his back, the war hammer flew through the air with tremendous force. It hurtled downwards and struck Voryn dyl’s companion on the side of his head, barely slowing down as it crunched through flesh and skull alike, before continuing its course and taking some of the poor Elf’s brain matter with it. The dreadful weapon continued upon a curved path through the air before landing back in its master’s golden gauntlet.
Voryn dylstood frozen, paralyzed at the utter horror of the attack, as his companion’s corpse collapsed i
nto the water. The Dragon Turtle continued wreaking havoc with its powerful claws, sharp as scythes, among those swimming Elves who had not yet succumbed to its venomous breath.
The knight sorcerer threw his war hammer again, which emitted a horrible screeching noise that tore through the air with it.
Voryn dyl only just avoided the missile’s fatal blow. Now feeling utterly desperate, he jumped into the water to gain what little protection it offered. The war hammer once again circled back to its master’s gauntlet. The battlefield now cleared of his enemies; the knight of the Golden Hand ordered his monstrous mount to drop him aboard the small boat. The Dragon Turtle’s shell seemed almost impervious to the many arrows raining down upon it from Mynar dyl’s troops above; with no way to descend quickly, they were trapped, and all but a few of their projectiles ricocheted off the monster straight into the water.
“Fire your bows! Kill that monster!” yelled Mynar dyl, like one possessed
Saeröl had been witnessing this scene with the cold rationale of an Elf who has looked upon many battlefields in times gone by. As the knight sorcerer began directing the boat downstream, fleeing the Elvin arrows’ reach, Saeröl reached for the woollen blanket beside him and withdrew his black sword. Drismile was terrified; she could not remove her gaze from the bloody struggle raging between the Dragon Turtle and the clan Ernaly’s archers. The marine monster was blocking the way downstream, facilitating the flight of its master. Saeröl uttered a few quick words to Drismile.
