The Lonely Seeker

by C A Oliver

  Trying his best to walk with confidence, Aewöl progressed like an Elf who did not know where he was going. He took a narrow, deserted alley that ran for several hundred yards and ended at the back of the former gardens. He had to climb several steps to finally reach a higher viewpoint. The place was surrounded by wild plants of great size, and it offered a magnificent view of the strait. Shady alleyways rustled with pilgrims’ cries, along with traces of music and joyful singing.

  Young Elvin maidens walked the driveways, their feet covered with the dust of the paths. Artists and poets attempted to seduce them with improvised verses of burning passion and rhymes of delicate conception. This fair scenery impressed Aewöl beyond measure. Leaving behind him the violence and dishonour of the last few days, he tried to feel the full benefits of this completely new atmosphere.

  ‘It is as if I just crossed the ford of a magical river and reached a wonderland where all is elegant beauty and divine music!’ he wondered, completely taken aback.

  Aewöl stood silent, his hands on the rusty iron railing above the cliff, looking at the ocean in front of him. Waves sent rolls of white foam crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Though his weak eye could not see it, he could imagine the shores of the Mainland, twenty leagues away, hidden by the mist of the sea.

  Aewöl’s air of extreme pensiveness and his great pallor gave him a sinister look. The memory of burying the corpse of Voryn dyl in order to conceal it irremediably, was still in his mind. His sole black eye was, at present, animated by an expression of the deepest sadness. The loss of Gelros was cruel. Nevertheless, Aewöl did not remain idle long, for he needed action to avoid being driven to despair.

  ‘What if Gelros managed to flee into the cave? Maybe I did not find his corpse because there is none to find,’ he hoped.

  An idea came to him. Aewöl set about making a nest for blackbirds. Cutting a narrow young trunk with his sword, he tried to clear it of its branches to make a long pole. After several unsuccessful attempts to fix an improvised bird’s nest at its tip, he gave up realizing that Gelros’ expertise in such matters had been precious. Feeling weary and downhearted, Aewöl decided to sit down and eat some food.

  “Duluin’s supplies are growing thin,” he noted.

  Aewöl heard footsteps down in the garden’s alley. An Elvin lady was coming to greet him. She had an ingenuous look in her eye. The one-eyed Elf held his breath for few moments. He had normally few dealings with females, and always felt uncomfortable in their presence.The newcomer looked charming and beautiful, her hair as dark as a crow’s wing, her soft skin delicately tanned: unusual for a High Elf, but nonetheless beautiful. She immediately offered him a pipe stuffed with delicate herbs.

  Aewöl declined her offer without even a smile. Her carefully sculpted mess of hair made her look very seductive. Her elegant lace dress and gloves of the finest silk left little doubt that she was a member of the higher circles of Elvin society. Indifferent to her interlocutor’s cold attitude, she lit the pipe herself and, after contemplating the first smoke rings being dispelled by the ocean breeze, she spoke in an enigmatic voice.

  “Quite the scenery for what is to come!”

  Gold and silver adorned her neck, waist and hands. Her robe was pure white, as befitted the formal attire of her cult. She looked like the priestesses of Eïwele Llyi that Aewöl had already seen in Llafal. His discomfort grew. There was, in the lady’s manners and languorous poses, a formidable seductive power. He felt terribly attracted. Aewöl had never felt any love in his heart, but he knew the sensation of lust, a primitive force that could take control of the mind. Carnal desire was a force with which his will was often fighting. Apparently unaware of the inner turmoil her arrival had provoked, the lady continued.

  “May I help you? I could see from a distance you were having some difficulty with that pole. What is it you were trying to achieve? It looked as though you wanted to set a nest at its tip.”

  “That is correct,” Aewöl replied, somewhat bluntly. “My servant used to take care of such tasks.”

  “What an odd place to try to attract birds: on the top of the cliff, out in the open, exposed to the ocean winds. No bird would want to settle here. That being said, I am no expert with falconry,” the lady admitted in all candour.

  “I do not expect any bird to settle here. I merely want one to deliver a message,” explained the one-eyed Elf.

  Aewöl started to realize that he had reached a place of civilization. He was emerging from what seemed like a long nightmare. After all, there were Elves on this island that you could speak to, even ones who might want to help you.

  “Do you know the art of communing with birds? I have heard the Green Elves of the ancient clans are very skilled at that.”

  It seemed that nothing would stop the lady’s joyful chatter.

  “My servant... did,” answered Aewöl briefly, still looking at his interlocutor as if she were a wonderful apparition from the isle of the Gods.

  “You keep referring to your servant. Why is he not with you?”

  Aewöl hesitated. He examined the beautiful priestess of Eïwele Llyi, still on his guard. Defeated and lost, the one-eyed Elf now had very little of his former strength. But, after weighting up the risks and benefits of his situation, he finally decided to be honest.

  “My servant and I were ambushed as we entered Mentolewin forest. We were separated in the fray. I managed to flee. Since then, I have received no news from him,” he confided, still marked with the seal of unhappiness.

  The lady immediately showed compassion.

  “It is as painful as it is sad to hear that pilgrims of Eïwele Llyi have been attacked on their way here!”

  Aewöl felt encouraged to explain his objective further. “Since the ambush I have heard nothing. That is why I started to make this nest. If my servant has survived, he will try to send a blackbird to Mentolewin. I hoped it might see that nest in the open and be attracted by the lure I will place there.”

  “I understand. What a sad story!” she deplored. “But why did you travel on your own? Did you not know that these northern parts of Nyn Ernaly are full of danger? Barbarians roam these woods and I have heard tales of druids leading entire tribes of those savage Men. You should know that the white pilgrims travel in large groups, under the protection of priests of Eïwele Llyi and knights of the Jasmine Flower. They always have done.”

  “It was not Men who attacked us. It was an Elf, a renegade...” said Aewöl, his tone now bitter.

  “Was he an outcast without rune, one of the wild Elves? I have heard of their reputation back in Gwarystan. How sad, that one of our kin should threaten us! Let me help you then, for we must do everything we can to establish contact with your servant. He might be seeking your assistance as we speak.”

  As good as her word, the lady started to put together a comfortable-looking nest. She added small branches and a pile of dry twigs. Soon after, she was halfway up the long pole Aewöl had made to plant her nest. Her robes slipped as she climbed, exposing her breast.

  Suddenly, Aewöl saw that the lady had a small copper ring hanging around her neck. It hanged between her breasts at the end of a long necklace with three butterflies-shaped pendants. The lady noticed Aewöl’s sudden interest in the jewellery. Once the nest was secured, she climbed down and opened up her robe from the front, along a seam running down the middle that was invisible when closed. She took the small copper ring and showed it to Aewöl.

  “This is my favourite piece of jewellery. It brings protection and good fortune. It is a gift, from a powerful mage who lives far away in the forest of Llymar. His name is Curubor of House Dol Etrond, but many simply call him the Blue Mage.”

  Aewöl looked at her with suspicion. Ignoring his searching gaze, she went on, eagerly describing the ring.

  “See the fragments of gems that decorate it. There’s sapphire, which is the gemstone of Gweïwal Zenwon, the amethyst of Gweïwal Agadeon, the aquamarine of Gweïwal Uleydon and
the ruby of Gweïwal Narkon. They are the four main elements which compose the Flow. Do you know what? I believe my ring is magic.”

  “What makes you say that? Is it one of a kind?”

  “Oh no! There are many other Elves in Gwarystan who were given rings like this by the Blue Mage. They are magic, though I doubt their power will change the course of history.I believe they provide comfort and fill one’s heart with hope. Some even believe they have the power to summon Blue Bards, those evanescent illusions that sing tales of distant lands and provide wisdom,” explained the lady.

  His curiosity now piqued, Aewöl changed his attitude, leaning forward and speaking with emphasis.

  “I have heard of this Blue Mage. He lives in Tios Lluin, at the centre of Llymar Forest, where I myself come from. Have you personally met other Elves who’ve been honoured with the Blue Mage’s token of friendship?” he asked insistently, willing the truth to emerge from within.

  The lady seemed particularly excited to meet a resident of the fabled forest of Llymar.

  “Is this true? You come from Nyn Llyvary! Elves far and wide sing the praises of the ancient clans who dared to defy the king’s authority. I do indeed know Elves who received gifts from the Blue Mage. Most of them suffered persecution in Gwarystan. King Norelin and his human allies, the Westerners, are responsible for widespread injustice. So many Elves are persecuted for their faith. Most fear what the future holds.”

  “Is that what happened to you?” enquired Aewöl, curious as ever, “Were you persecuted in Gwarystan for being a priestess of Eïwele Llyi? Is that why the Blue Mage gave you one of his gifts?”

  Aewöl wondered if these were truly the questions on his mind, or if he was looking for the story he wished to hear.

  “Oh no!” she laughed. “I am no priestess of Eïwele Llyi! I wish I was… but it takes a lot of devotion to enter the white temple! What made you think I was? You honour me greatly with your kind words.”

  Aewöl was utterly captivated by her deep eyes and radiant beauty.

  “I suppose, well, I thought, I assumed, looking at your ceremonial clothes…” he said, stammering a little.

  It was obvious from the way Aewöl looked at her that her delicate features and charming attitude possessed a power of their own. Feeling comforted by the obvious charm she exerted, the lady revealed a little more of her own story.

  “Unfortunately, the truth is very different. This is actually my first pilgrimage. I had my doubts about the undertaking. I longed to visit Nyn Ernaly, I think, in the same way one longs for a faraway, unknown land. That is why I came with the white pilgrims to Mentolewin. And reaching its shores has not diminished its charm. With each step I take, a new vision appears, just out of reach, something extraordinary which calls me onwards.”

  Aewöl was becoming more and more fascinated by this encounter.

  “I have heard that the Elves of Gwarystan have abandoned the old cults of the Islands’ Deities.”

  “That is quite true. But the remnants of the old faiths have proven difficult to eradicate, even for those whose alliances and actions have defiled the ancient traditions. Any Elf of the kingdom, whatever their allegiance, must, at least once in their life, watch with their own eyes the manifestation of Eïwele Llyi’s power. Many are those who say it is the most beautiful sight in the world. That is what most of the pilgrims are here for,” the lady explained.

  Aewöl, intrigued, asked, “So if your faith was not the cause of your misfortune, what bold deed earned you the support and the gratitude of Curubor Dol Etrond?”

  “I am not sure it is something I should be proud of. You see, I used to be a lady-in-waiting at the royal court. I served the noble Elves of Gwarystan, living amongst them in a permanent atmosphere of luxury. Sometimes, the temptation proved too great, and extra gold was always welcome...”

  “Do you mean to say you had some side trade of your own?” guessed the one-eyed Elf.

  “I did,” she admitted, “and I can tell you it proved rather lucrative. I would smuggle out bottles of ancient Nargrond Valley vintages, the favourite nectar of the lords... But eventually I got caught and, of all my secret customers, only one helped me: The Blue Mage of Tios Lluin...”

  “Now I understand why you wear that ring so... beautifully...” and for the first time Aewöl smiled.

  “Now you know my story... and now I am alone. I do things by myself and for myself; No longer do I live my life for the comfort of my mistresses! Besides, they never gave me the attention I deserved. Now I walk freely, where and when it pleases me.”

  The lady gave him an embarrassed glance, as though she had revealed too much of her past life. Aewöl was feeling better; it was as if the dark days he had lived through recently were finally coming to an end. For the first time since his degradation in the hall of sails, he allowed himself to relax. As enthusiastic as ever, the lady suggested.

  “If you want to celebrate the apparition of the Deity of Love and Arts, you should be in the right clothing! Didn’t you bring traditional white garments with you?”

  “No,” mumbled Aewöl, before he came up with an excuse. “I mean, we did, but we lost everything in the ambush.”

  “How sad! I do not blame you for being embarrassed. Perhaps I could lend you my robes? The weather is mild, and my dress beneath will do. They will not cover your travelling clothes entirely, but at least you will blend in with the crowd. By the way, I must admit I took a couple of those bottles of Nargrond wine with me, hoping to trade them during the pilgrimage. But how about celebrating our new friendship instead, perhaps at the performance in the amphitheatre? The crow’s nest is now in place, and we need only wait for news from your servant. Have you ever tasted Nargrond Valley’s ancient vintages? You need something to restore joy to your heart, after what you have been through.”

  The offer was tempting. Aewöl hesitated, feeling guilty about Gelros’ sad fate. A few moments later, however, he decided to accompany the lady. There was nothing else he could do for his companion anyway, except waiting for this message which may or may not ever come. He decided he would return to the crow’s nest at nightfall. It was also important that he seized all opportunities to make new allies. He was now an exile, with no resources or influence.

  The two Elves started to walk along the alleys, enjoying the views. They crossed the vast garden where citrus trees and orchards grew along the sandy paths. The scent of orange flowers mingled with the jasmine. They met with many groups of joyful Elves. One was the Gwarystan revellers, a band of twenty violins. They played a merry tune to welcome the two pilgrims.

  “You should have been here a few days ago. The celebrations were on an even larger scale. Many pilgrims have now gone. We heard rumours of war in the east of Nyn Ernaly, and just yesterday there was a duel between two bards. A lot of pilgrims believe that, after such bloodshed, the Deity will not reveal her presence,” said the lady.

  Aewöl was intrigued. “A duel? What happened exactly? Why would Elves fight in the middle of this celebration dedicated to Eïwele Llyi?” he inquired.

  “It surprised everybody. It started in the amphitheatre with a challenge between two marvellous musicians, who both amazed the crowd. It ended in the ruined temple of Eïwele Llyo where Dyoren, the fabled bard, was found dying. Fortunately, the priests of Eïwele Llyi tended to his wounds. His life is no longer in danger. The other duellist fled.”

  Aewöl was puzzled at this news. Absorbed in his thoughts, he did not notice that, just a few hundred yards away, a raven had landed in his improvised nest. The two Elves were making significant progress as they talked, and they were now coming up to the ancient fortress’ compound.

  The lady led them to the main gate of Mentolewin dungeon, the gate of supreme vigilance. Many Elves were wandering in the area, waiting for the afternoon’s musical performances in the amphitheatre to start. At the gate, the remains of a large sundial could be seen in front of the entrance. This particular piece featured a round, white marble dial with
graduations carved on both sides, an iron gnomon, which was still upright, and a square base supported by four stone pillars. Seeing that Aewöl was paying a special attention to the large device, the lady shared what she knew.

  “The architects placed this sundial here on purpose, so that it faced the kingdom of Gwarystan. It symbolized how, long ago, the Lord of Mentolewin granted time to all Elves in the Islands, as he was their first defender against the threat of Men.”

  With a smile, she added, “I did not work that out by myself. A priest of Eïwele Llyi explained it to me. Wait here, I will be back in a moment, with a bottle of the precious nectar.”

  The lady disappeared into the ruins of the great fortress dungeon. The remains of its ceilings reached surprising heights. The vast entrance room was split down the middle by broken stairways of white marble, which granted access to the lower levels.

  Aewöl stood alone in the open, looking at his surroundings and breathing in the ocean air. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket for his own copper ring. He brought it up to examine it further. The one-eyed Elf could identify the same fragments of gems that decorated it: the sapphire of Gweïwal Zenwon, the amethyst of Gweïwal Agadeon, the aquamarine of Gweïwal Uleydon and the ruby of Gweïwal Narkon.