by Rex Hazelton
Galloping along a game trail, Jeaf was surprised that he felt just as spry as he had the morning he left home to travel to the Eyrie of the Eagle. He guessed that his meal of the prior evening was responsible for this, so he gave thanks for this fare, and as he did, each and every taste he had experienced the night before returned in full force.
Studying his traveling companions, the young Woodswane thought they looked like brothers. Both had lightly bronzed skin. The wavy chestnut-colored hair covering their heads dropped down until it lightly touched their shoulders. A garland of oak leaves crowned their heads and silver bows, with sheaths filled with colorful, thread-thin arrows, lay across their backs.
Later that day, when the sun reached its zenith, the young Woodswane and his elven guides stopped to eat their noon meal. This time, they ate a bread roll filled with salty meat, washing it down with cool spiced water.
Jeaf broke the silence. “Where has Alynd gone?”
“Alynd?” Silvamor looked puzzled.
“Yes! Alynd. The man who sang last night,” the young Woodswane replied.
“Oh, Mystlnor!” Shalamor quipped with a voice as melodic as Silvamor's. “He's gone on ahead to Mystlkynd.”
“Why do you call him Mystlnor?” Jeaf inquired.
“Because that's the name we know him by.”
“Did he tell you where to find me?” Jeaf probed.
“No,” Silvamor explained. “We were with you when you met Mystlnor on the river.”
“Oh, I see. Elves were responsible for the music that accompanied Alynd... I mean, Mystlnor and myself as we floated down the river.” Jeaf spoke to himself, more than to the elves.
“Yes,” Shalamor added. “We were never far from you… until Laviathon came. Then we had to leave.”
“Why did you have to leave?” The elf was making no sense to Jeaf.
“Mystlnor must explain this to you. It is not for us to say.”
Shalamor's response mystified the young Woodswane, so he redirected his question. “Were you responsible for the guitar music and the singing I heard after my battle with Laviathon?”
“Guitar music?” Silvamor shook his head. “Maybe… but I don't think so.”
If the elves weren't responsible for the music… then who was? This gave Jeaf food for thought that made the day pass quickly.
For two days, the strong little ponies either galloped or trotted along, with hardly a break, except for when the riders ate, or slept. From time-to-time a great stag could be seen trotting alongside, not far off in the trees. By coincidence, or on purpose, the magnificent animal seemed determined to travel with them.
Passing over rolling hills and crossing laughing streams, they passed beneath the boughs of the deep wildwood. On-and-on they went, and as they did the woods became wilder, stranger.
Even the smell is different here, Jeaf thought. It was older, richer, and possessed a captivating panoply of unusual scents like those that rise up from a forest floor after a heavy rain, but it hadn't.
On the third day, the ponies approached a large rise in the ground, one consisting of a series of round hills covered with a broader variety of trees than the young Woodswane had ever seen growing in one place: giant redwoods, blue spruce, and pines of all kinds, along with huge, gnarled oaks, majestic elms, maple trees, and nut trees of a variety.
“Behold, Mystlkynd!” Flashing a smile as fresh as a spring day, Silvamor exclaimed.
Perusing the massive tree-topped rise in front of him, Jeaf couldn't find a single trace of a city anywhere. Though he could feel magic emanating from among the arbors, his searching was in vain.
Puzzled, the young Woodswane asked, “Where?”
“Come.” Shalamor encouraged the young Woodswane to follow as he led him towards one of the giant redwoods.
Approaching the massive tree, Jeaf could see a tunnel boring its way through the huge trunk, a tunnel wider than a wagon was long. On the other side of this opening, elves were walking, to-and-fro. Scratching his head in astonishment, he realized that he would have passed by the elf-city of Mystlkynd, if he had been by himself.
Trotting through the redwood's massive trunk, a magnificent city unfolded before the young Woodswane's eyes: a system of roads wound their way around the huge trees growing on the hills; some, much like the passageway leading into Mystlkynd, bore their way through the larger arbors; exotic cottages lay like mushrooms, scattered across the forest floor; doorways, cut into the tree trunks, opened to stairs that wound upwards, high above the ground, where more homes had been built on huge branches. Looking up, Jeaf saw an intricate lattice work of walkways and bridges, interconnecting the bigger trees. Later, he was to learn that Mystlkynd was built on five different levels.
Incredulous over the amazing sights he saw, the young Woodswane asked, “How is it possible to hide such a large city from the rest of Nyeg Warl?”
Shalamor's melodic voice contained a note of excitement in being able to talk about the land of his nativity. “Few people have entered our homeland, and fewer still have passed by our city. Over the centuries, we have dealt with man in a way that has kept him from using Forest Deep, either for commerce or pleasure. Let me explain. If there were those who tried to blaze a trail through our land, by cutting down trees and removing the undergrowth, we would follow behind, replanting as much of what had been lost as we could. Then using the magic residing in Mystlkynd, we would make the saplings, ferns, and underbrush reach near maturity in just a matter of weeks so that when the men returned to use their road, it would have already vanished.”
“Since elves rarely travel outside of Forest Deep during the daytime, few men have ever seen our kind.”
A mysterious air crept into Shalamor's words as he explained, “Yet, even if someone were to penetrate into the heart of Forest Deep and stand beneath Mystlkynd itself, they would never know it was there. You yourself can bear witness to this fact.”
“Mystlkynd's magic covers the city with a veil of secrecy that only the most powerful magicians can dissolve. But those experienced enough to know how to use such magic, if they were good, would not want to expose us to mankind's whims, and if they were evil, would not dare challenge our might, not here.”
“But what if someone walks straight into the middle of Mystlkynd?” Jeaf quizzed.
This time Silvamor responded. “Hammer Bearer,” the matter of fact way the elf used the profound title to address the young Woodswane, startled him, “even if a person who knew that our city stood directly in front of them, made a concerted effort to reach the top of Mystlkynd Hill, our magic would break their resolve and redirect their thoughts. Though they would start to climb, fully determined to finish their task, we would plant contrary ideas into their head, and in the blink of an eye, Mystlkynd's enchantment would compel them to change plans and shift directions.”
Once Silvamor finished, Shalamor jumped in. “Hammer Bearer, let us take you to your quarters. It's needful for you to be rested for the evening that awaits you.”
Reaching the largest hill, located near Mystlkynd's heart, the elves entered another towering redwood. Climbing stairs that spiraled up through the tree's broad trunk, passing a second doorway, they continued on until they came to the third floor. Taking leave of the stairs, they stepped out onto a walkway, hanging far above the ground. As they went, they passed homes constructed on huge boughs growing out of the redwood tree, made possible because each of the branches was larger than most of the trees Jeaf had seen growing in the part of the warl he lived in. While they walked on the highway in the sky, Shalamor explained that they were on the third of Mystlkynd's five levels.
To Jeaf's utter astonishment, the trees increased in size the closer they came to the city's heart, and the magic, his Powers of Intuition felt, grew accordingly. Curiously, he noticed how various bridges and walkways, they passed over, groaned under his footfalls, but didn't make so much as a peep whenever the elves strode across them. This was perplexing, for even a group of elves, m
oving along together, made less noise than the young Woodswane did all by himself. This phenomenon made him wonder how much an elf weighed. Fighting the temptation to reach out and lift one of his guides up off their feet, he assuaged the impulse by promising himself that, given the right opportunity, he would indeed snatch one of the woodland folk up.
Moving through the third level, Jeaf studied Mystlkynd's numerous mechanisms. Most interesting of all was an elaborate system of pulleys, buckets and funnels that transported water throughout the city. Just as he was about to lean over a railing made of silver-colored rope, to get a better look at the magnificent feat of engineering, Silvamor informed him that they had arrived at his quarters.
Entering a small home, resting between an oak tree's ancient arms, the young Woodswane was pleasantly surprised by the elaborate floral arrangements that awaited him. In addition to flowers, a bowl of fruit and a flask of water sat on a table in the center of the room. A small bed, covered in golden blankets, was positioned on the far side of the living quarters, near the fireplace. Neatly folded forest green-colored clothes lay at the foot of the bed along with a wide leather belt died the color of star's blood, a garland of oak leaves, and a pair of large elven slippers.
Shalamor- cordially pointing to a bar of fragrant soap, a large bowl of water and a towel- explained, “You can clean up after you've taken your rest. On the bed are clothes that have been tailored to fit you. Please put these on for this evening's banquet. You'll be joining Mystlnor, Queen Alegramor and her husband Ramskynd, King of the elves of Forest Deep.”
“Thanks to you both for the gracious help you've given me.” Jeaf lowered his head as a sign of appreciation, as he spoke.
After bowing in response, the elves quietly left the room, shutting the door behind them as they went.
Once alone, the young Woodswane removed the clothes from the bed. After laying them on the table beside the bowl of fruit, he fell asleep in the golden blanket's comforting caress. It was the first time he had slept in a bed in more than a week's time, and as he slept, he dreamt he was standing in a great ship's crow's nest, high up on a mast made of redwood. Gazing upon colossal waves, dark as blood pumping through a man's heart, those that crashed upon a nearby shoreline's rocky cliffs, he spotted a woman standing upon a towering pillar of white crystal- all alone. Lifting up a seaman's spyglass, Jeaf beheld the loveliest creature he had ever seen. Basking in the vision of beauty, he noticed that tears were running down the woman's cheeks, tears that vexed his soul. It broke Jeaf's heart to see her so sad. So, he lifted his voice, trying to be heard above the tumultuous waves' incessant roaring, and prophesied.
“Don't cry fair maiden, for I've come to dry your tears.
Don't cry fair maiden, for I've come to dash your fears.
I see your heart's been broken by those who do not care.
But soon I'll sail beneath the cliffs, to climb the rocky stair.
And with the hammer's magic, I'll shield you from the fight.
Until our love, like feathered wings, lifts us far above the night.”
Chapter 24: The Feast of Brosantaney
A knock at the door awakened Jeaf. Shalamor had come to make certain he'd have enough time to prepare for the evening's festivities. Thanking him, the young Woodswane rose, bathed himself, and put on the forest green clothes that he discovered fit to perfection. After slipping on his elven shoes, he donned a garland made of oak leafs he guessed he was supposed to wear. Leaving his sword and bow in the corner of the room, Jeaf took only the Hammer of Power with him.
Stepping outside, his breath was taken away by a myriad of lights, twinkling among Mystlkynd's trees. The lattice work of bridges and walkways were ablaze, glistening like sunlit dew clung to them. The backdrop of night made it all the more amazing. The flickering lights, spreading out above as well as beneath him, made Jeaf feel like he was standing among the stars.
Shalamor and Silvamor, after greeting the young Woodswane on the walkway, stood with him for a long while, allowing him to enjoy the brilliant spectacle engulfing them, before they escorted him to the banquet.
Winding their way through trees growing on a large hill, they headed for the city's center. The farther they went, the brighter it became. In time, the young Woodswane caught sight of the biggest oak tree he had ever seen. It was so massive and gnarled, he thought it must be the oldest tree in the warl.
“By all that is holy!” Jeaf exclaimed.
“That,” Silvamor enjoyed the wide-eyed expression showing on the young Woodswane's face, “is Shar'At, the mother of all oak trees, she who was birthed by the Warl's Magic, the one who did not spring from an acorn. Come! That's where we're going.”
“Indeed,” Jeaf replied, “she must be the mother, since Shar'At's the largest oak tree I've ever seen, and I've seen quite a few. But none of them would look much bigger than a rose bush if they were to be uprooted and planted next to her.”
Shar'At's trunk was so massive, that a dozen portals were cut into her side. Entering one of these, Silvamor led them up to the city's fifth level that only reached half way up the huge tree. Here a great roofless hall opened before them, one that could easily accommodate a thousand or more elves. A throng from the woodland community had already arrived. More were on their way.
Shalamor, directing Jeaf through the crowd of elves who bowed as he passed by, took him up to a dais where Mystlnor sat beside the king and queen. From this vantage point, the young Woodswane could see that Shar'At grew on the edge of a great precipice facing Mystlkynd's southern reaches.
No doubt, Jeaf surmised, if one were to see this place from a distance, it might be mistaken for a green cloud resting on a mountain top.
Rising to greet the young Woodswane, Queen Alegramor lifted an elegant hand.
Taking it in his own hand, Jeaf politely bowed.
Unlike his wife, Ramskynd cast off formality and eagerly embraced his guest. “Welcome to Mystlkynd!” The King of the Elves roared out his greeting. “It's an honor to have you in our blessed city.”
“Sir, the honor is all mine,” Jeaf replied, surprised at the king's casual ways.
Waiting until the royal couple had welcomed their guest, Alynd strode forward and clasped the young Woodswane's hand with his own before pulling him close. “Well if it isn't Laviathon's bane! It's good to see you're well, My Friend.”
“I'd say the pleasure's more mine than yours, minstrel,” Jeaf responded with a measure of incredulity. “It's good to see that you weren't roasted as I had feared. How you escaped Laviathon's kiss is beyond me. I'd swear I saw the flames swallow you whole.”
“Indeed! You saw the flames, but not me since I dove into the Eyrie River before Laviathon's kiss could reach me. Besides, the amber light was there to help me.”
“What became of you, then,” Jeaf asked earnestly. “Were you knocked unconscious by the fall or did you nearly drown, only to pull yourself out of the river far downstream?”
“You're wondering why I didn't try to rejoin you.” Figuring his friend must be feeling confused by his disappearance, Alynd tried explaining, “Jeaf, I had to leave, so you could face Laviathon alone.”
“But why?”
“Whistyme told me to do this.”
“Whistyme?”
“Yes Whistyme! He came to me on the same night he came to you and told me about the ordeal awaiting you. I was instructed to not interfere in the test you would face that day and in the days immediately following.”
“It was a test?”
“Yes!”
“One that could have killed me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, did I pass, or not?”
“That's not for me to say.” Alynd's voice revealed his frustration over his inability to give Jeaf the answers he needed. So, he changed the subject. “Come. We mustn't ignore our hosts.” Escorting his friend to a chair on the dais, Alynd sat down beside him. Following his lead, Silvamor and Shalamor took seats next to Alynd.
Lookin
g out at the hall, the young Woodswane watched the rest of the elves taking their seats. Only a few wore traditional forest green clothes, like those he had on. Instead, most had donned tunics made of shimmering gold, silver and bronze-colored cloth. Still the traditional woodland style of clothing was well represented, but instead of being exclusively green in color, they were red, blue or orange. Everyone wore garlands made of oak, hickory, laurel, holly, ash, elm and maple leaves. Mistletoe, ferns and flowers were included. The king and queen wore tunics of shimmering gold with garlands of resplendent light adorning their heads.
Standing to his feet, the elf-king lifted a chalice made of pure star's blood to begin the feast with a toast. Following Ramskynd's lead, everyone in the hall rose to their feet. After lifting their own goblets, each fixed their eyes on their lord. A thousand pair of brown, blue, silver, amber, gold and green eyes, sparkling like the surface of a sunlit lake, waited for the king to speak.
“Hail, Hammer Bearer!” Ramskynd shouted out. “We of Forest Deep proclaim you to be Brosantaney and Hammer King.” The elves cheered and emptied their cups when they heard their king bestow a title on the young Woodswane that meant Elf-Friend in their ancient tongue.
Calling Jeaf forward, Ramskynd asked for his magical weapon. After studying it for a moment, the king lifted it high above his head and shouted with a voice as rich as the soil Shar'At sunk its roots into. “Behold the Hammer of Power, Vlad'War's Child, and evil's bane!”
A thousand voices repeated the king's words in resounding unison.
Removing the young Woodswane's garland made of oak leaves, he replaced it with one made of light like his own before proclaiming, “Behold the Son of the Candle Maker and the Forger of Steel, Brosantaney, the Hammer King, the One Who Will Heal the Breach and usher in Parm Warl!”
