When he was satisfied that the peril was over, he called upon his men to lift the unconscious Elfin youth carefully and to carry him to the Crest, cursorily examining him to make certain that he had suffered no life threatening injuries during the fray. Confident that he would survive, overjoyed at his son’s return, Treestar likewise had his warriors tenderly transport the young boy who had been laying, unseeing and motionless, beneath the shelter of his son’s slim body. Treestar happened to glance upon the countenance of the lad and he noticed the half-open blue eyes, the sightless gaze, and he was taken aback by the serenity it evoked in him, even amidst the overwhelming carnage of the battlefield. Hurriedly, he urged his men onward to the protection of the Crest of the Dawn, to the shelter of the now steady sun, and forth to the protected heights of Seramour.
Once the small group reached the peak of the small rise, they knew that they were completely safe from further attack should the wolves even attempt to mount a new assault. The Elfin company along with their human friend would be invisible to all below, and any party attempting to reach them from the plain would be easy prey for those watching from above. This was not the way Treestar had envisioned he would be reunited with Elion, but at least his son was safe and alive. He hoped that his bruises were not serious, but he would leave that determination up to his wife and to the other healers as soon as he could place Elion in their care. His companion seemed unharmed, though dirty and spattered with blood as well, and so strangely quiet and serene despite the mayhem that surrounded him, not appearing to be ill or uncomfortable or in pain.
Treestar wondered what disease or spell could be keeping the young man from awakening. He also pondered the origin of the youth, surprised that Elion would lead any stranger not of his own race into the safety of Lormarion. Times were changing, and the Elves were more careful than before, more wary of strangers not of their own kind, unlike the open days of the past when all wayfarers and voyagers were welcome in Lormarion. His son would never risk even the remotest chance of causing harm to his nation and family. Therefore, Treestar thought, he must have a reason for bringing the lad here, and in time he would find it out. Right now, his priority and utmost concern was to get the two of them to shelter and warmth, have their wounds dressed and their health examined and allow them some rest and nourishment.
Once over the highest point of the Crest, a pathway became clear and distinct before the small and weary party. Following it, they shortly arrived at the base of a giant Noban tree, the tallest and broadest trees of the southern reaches. Although not sentient like the Lalas, they were noble in their own right and magnificent to gaze upon. The branches of a full-grown Noban did not begin until thirty feet of trunk rose up straight and tall from the ground. Then, the broad, heavy arms of the trees twisted and wove their growth together to form a mesh of dense and protective platforms upon which the Elves constructed their living quarters. In order to ascend to the heights of even the lowest branches, an elaborate system of pulleys and platforms was devised, and during a normal day one could see them rising and falling continuously, bringing the people and goods of Seramour up and down with ease and comfort.
The forest of Lormarion was large and spread out, but the tops of the Nobans intertwined, making it possible to travel entirely from one end of the city to the other without ever touching the ground. The bark of the Noban tree was dark brown and sleek, not textured and porous like many other forms of vegetation. It was not vulnerable to fire as most wooden things were, due to its ability to secrete a quenching sap in response to heat, as well as to its incredible density. An axe barely left a mark on the trunk of a full-grown Noban even after repeated strikes, and it was almost impossible to drive a spike into its side even with the largest of war hammers.
Thus, the Elves built their homes in the heights of the branches, protected from most everything for centuries. Lormarion flourished and the city of Seramour grew in wealth and size while the Elves prospered. They were a hard-working and good people; honest, true and just. Talk of the unmatched beauty of the city circulated throughout the land, raising the tree city of Seramour to the heights of legend.
The Elves of the south kept to themselves though, and they rarely took part in the conflicts the humans were so frequently involved in. Treestar, the King of the Southern Elves, feared now that their isolation may be coming to an end. His scouts returned with warnings of unrest and illness smothering the southern regions. The evil was spreading, and he was not of a mind to hide in the treetops until it reached even the heights of Seramour.
Treestar was a brave and wise Elf, and he recognized when to be prudent and when it was prudent to be aggressive. He was anxious to hear from Elion regarding the situation in the rest of the world that he visited these past years. He needed to know if the rumors were spreading northward as well and if it was true that the Lalas were dying. He needed to think and plan, and his son would be his right hand during this process. Treestar was overjoyed at his return, although he never envisioned that this would be the manner in which they would meet once again.
When Elion first left his home many years ago, the Plain of the Wolves was not as dangerous as it now was. The Elves did not molest the dens of the wolves, and the big animals, likewise, allowed small parties to traverse their lands unhindered. No Elf ever wore a cape of wolf fur and no wolf supped on an Elfin lad or lass. Times were certainly changing and not for the better, Treestar thought regretfully. But Elion, his first born, was home once again and he was no longer without a son to confide in. The strange young man whom he brought with him radiated a compelling sense of hope, and Treestar recognized the auspicious nature of this encounter. Elion would have much to tell upon his revival and Treestar was anxious to hear it all.
Chapter Eighteen
Concordia was a wealthy land. Lying as far to the west as it did, it suffered rarely from the petty, tribal wars and human conflicts that plagued the more populated regions of the south and the east. Even further to the west lay the kingdom of the Alpen Elves of the Ice Kingdom of Eleutheria, a strange and solitary race as different in attitude and lifestyle from humankind as from their southern and northern Elfin brethren. Their lands were frozen over all of the year long, and they built their buildings out of the ice which never melted. They learned to live and thrive amidst some of the coldest territories on the planet. They harnessed the sun, using the reflective powers of the massive sheets of frozen water, and learned how to establish a green paradise in a frozen wasteland. It was a rare occurrence to receive a visit from one of them, as they were so reluctant to open their culture to the influence of any other.
Few ventured into the far hills west of Concordia, not out of fear, but out of an understanding that they would not be welcome. It was not belligerence that made the Elves so apprehensive about contact with humans, but fear that their culture would be changed if they let the outside world in. They guarded their privacy religiously, and very few really knew much about them.
Robyn was like no others in Concordia, nay, no others in the whole of the continent, and he had made his forays into the protected lands of the west. It took him many years to develop a trust among these isolated people, but he persisted and he eventually succeeded. His visits to the kingdom of Eleutheria were ones that he deeply cherished. He learned much from them, and they grew accustomed to him and began to look forward to his sojourns into their lands as well.
He spoke of them to no one, respecting totally and completely their desire for isolation. Never would he have violated it to begin with if he did not believe that he had things of import he needed to pass on to them that would impact upon their own welfare. They were true lovers of the light and the trees in their own solitary ways. They too feared the passing of the Lalas and desired nothing more than to see it brought to an end.
There was one other reason Robyn loved his journeys to Eleutheria; he had developed a curious passion for Alemar, the daughter of the reigning King of the Elves. More beautiful than any human girl he had ever seen, she understood him like no other woman did before. To her, he was not simply a handsome, spoiled son of a noble, but a learned and caring man. He could be real with her like he could be with no others except his own father, and she cared for him for what he was, not what he appeared to be. He dreamed of her at night, and she of him.
One day, he pledged he would return and remain there for a time, when the world was a safer place and his duties were not overwhelming. Now was certainly not the time, and Robyn knew that he would have to be satisfied with his dreams for the moment.
Promanthea understood his passion and his longing, but he remained silent when Robyn asked him his opinion. With his tree, that did not mean anything discernible. Silence was not a sign of approval or condemnation from Promanthea. It was just silence.
Robyn had the luxury of a safe and peaceful homeland amidst which he could study and train. The weather was brisk, being north of the Thorndars, but the land was bountiful and beautiful. The rivers ran clear and strong, and although farming was a necessary livelihood in a civilized society, much of the population’s sustenance came from the waters. Concordians were experienced fishermen and they learned to navigate the rapid waters of the Sirceloc river at an early age. The waters were abundant and the fish were plentiful.
The Sirceloc was a magnificent waterway, deep as the western ocean in parts. Winding and narrow, broad and straight, it had more faces than the many and varied people of the countryside. All the inhabitants learned to respect the water as soon as they became aware of its existence. Sirceloc could be the source of life as well as the taker.
Robyn loved the river. He swam frequently and he learned from Promanthea to venerate the water as he would the blood of life. The waters ran through the lands, feeding and nourishing the parts of the earth it passed through as did the blood of a human as it passed through its veins. When Robyn soaked in the cool waters of the Sirceloc he let his senses melt into the flow, becoming one with the liquid of life, experiencing the vast movement and soothing surge of the constantly moving and yet never depleted entity.
The water lived and breathed and spoke, and Robyn learned to hear with his tree’s ears the language it spoke. It told of another side to life, a different sense of time, of motion and of birth and death. When Robyn was near the river, he was never alone. As the Lalas communicated through their network of roots spanning the earth and their intimate relationship with the soil, so too were the rivers all intertwined, feeding into and out of one another eternally.
The whole of nature was a wonder to Robyn, and his powers derived from the elements and his understanding thereof. His ability to become one with the organic was what made him an extraordinary wielder of the earth magic. The elements listened to him and they respected him as he respected them.
Upon leaving his father’s side, Robyn chose to mount his horse and follow the river southeast toward Pardatha, staying close to the waters he cherished so much. Kraft learned not to fear a raging river or a waterfall, but to respect it too. Robyn taught his trusted mount to flow with the water, not to fight it, and thus, to swim like no other horse in the land. They were a formidable team, and together they would journey quickly to their destination.
Leading Kraft deftly into the shallow water, Robyn guided him toward a deep flow, eased him slowly into the clear, cold liquid and encouraged him to relax. They began to run with the current, nimbly avoiding any protuberances and picking up speed as the moments passed. Kraft tucked his sturdy legs under his belly, and Robyn lay his head on his companion’s neck while resting his own legs high on the stallion’s back. They traveled in this fashion for a number of hours, making tremendous headway with little exertion.
As the river widened, the water slowed and Robyn spurred Kraft back onto the solid ground. The air was chilly and a fine rain began to fall from the clouds that were suddenly accumulating more thickly in the skies above. The sun had fully set, and the new moon was bright in the clear sky, poking its face in and out of the rapidly coagulating cumulus. If they followed the river for the next two days, they would be directly north of Pardatha before the water veered in the other direction. Two more days of hard riding through the Delphan hills would leave them no further than a day’s easy canter from the city gates. But for now, they would need to rest.
Robyn found a grassy knoll near a bend in the river. There he dismounted and let Kraft nibble on the sweet blades beneath his feet. Searching for a comfortable place to bed down for the night, he espied a moss-covered expanse not far to the left. Leaving his mount to join him at his leisure, Robyn wandered thoughtfully to the chosen area. He was saddened by the pain his father felt at his departure, and something reminded him of it at just that moment.
He sat down to reminisce and rest, allowing his mind to relax in the safety of the river and the trees. Robyn was invigorated by the prospects for the future. Promanthea had instilled in him the need to find a way to halt the approaching decay, and he truly felt deep within his soul, that his ‘calling’ was the beginning of that process of discovery. He had journeyed often in the past, at times at Promanthea’s request, at times of his own free will, in search of some speck of knowledge, some insight or method he had heard of somehow, somewhere, that might help him in his quest to prepare against the Evil One and his hoards, always learning, always absorbing, always growing in power. He had yet to be truly tested and that he knew only too well. The time was coming for that and he would not hasten it. Each day brought him more insight, and Promanthea’s great patience steadied his soul.
Robyn lay back upon the soft moss and closed his eyes, allowing his body to refresh itself and his mind to relax and absorb the strength from the earth that so softly enveloped him, to help him prepare for what was soon to come. His deep relaxation evolved into a calm and refreshing sleep, as the night wore on. The woods were quiet and peaceful, the water ceaselessly flowed, life ended and life began, but the darkness was approaching and its shadow was spreading northward already, engulfing all in its destructive path, reversing the natural cycle of rebirth and rejuvenation and blighting the land with its evil intent.
Robyn slept on, but his dreams grew restless. The calm evaded him as the dawn approached and he tossed and turned uncharacteristically, waking Kraft whose own trepidation increased by the minute. The big stallion nuzzled his master softly, hoping to ease his apparent distress to no avail.
With a violent start, Robyn’s head rose from the mossy earth. A sharp pain burst within his mind and a burning sensation quickly spread throughout his entire being. His fingers constricted into tight fists involuntarily and his toes cramped up painfully. The hurt was so severe that he feared he was dying, never had he experienced anything so acute. Before he had an opportunity to steady himself, he was overcome with a monumental sorrow, so deep that tears cascaded down his cheeks in rivulets, uncontrollably.
“Not Promanthea? It cannot be!” he shrieked aloud.
Fighting to calm himself, to maintain his sanity, Robyn thrust his fingers deep into the soft ground beneath him, attempting to draw power and sustenance from the earth, searching for a connection, a link, to his bond-mate. Initially, he recoiled from the shock, wanting to retract his fingers and break the chain that would bring him the news he craved or the news he feared. But, he endured the pain and he fought the urge to regurgitate, as he steadied his thoughts and continued to explore the sediment for a pathway of communication, though the torment never let up for a minute.
His fingers struck a root tendril that had wormed its way to him from the surrounding vegetation, and as it wrapped itself around his hand and wrist, he began to receive scattered images of a great tree, a beautiful and ancient Lalas, shuddering and decaying in its final death throes, even as he watched. The horrifying scene made him recoil in outrage at the beauty and goodness being forsaken and lost. The tree so resembled Promanthea that he reeled from the nausea this possibility generated in him, but he persisted with his observation. He had to know!
Struggling with the waves of pain that washed over him, he sent out his thoughts with as much clarity as he could muster under the circumstances. The visions in his mind were unclear and blurry, the link was not strong, but Robyn would not release it. He held on to the faint indication of sentience that he vaguely felt amidst the images he was perceiving. If Promanthea was dying, he would die too. He could not live without him! But, something told him that it was not his tree, his bond-mate. Something, an inner strength perhaps, mercifully allowed him to keep hoping and searching for the coupling that would give him the answer he craved and dreaded.
His mind-cries were shooting in all directions, reaching out in search of his friend or another with knowledge of him. No reply was forthcoming, only the spreading anxiety that the death of a Lalas elicited throughout the countryside. He felt it acutely now, and his mind was ready to burst, his vision was blurring in reaction to the pain and anguish.
Depression overcame him in violent waves, but he struggled on, maintaining all the while the bond that would ultimately bring him news. Deeper into the soil he thrust his hands, breaking his nails and cutting his skin, not wanting to lose the connection he had established, fruitlessly hoping that he would encounter a stronger link further down in the earth, when he knew instinctively that the small tendril would be sufficient if there was news to be had. Desperate for relief, Robyn gathered his thoughts with superhuman effort, and utilizing what strength he had remaining, he sent out a final plea. Alas, his efforts were met with nothing more than silence, an ominous silence suffused with loss and trepidation. In despair, he relaxed his will and was overcome with heartache.
I am here.
The words filled his head with an inexplicable softness, a mellowness that could not be compared with any other feeling he had ever experienced. The relief was enormous, just to hear his soothing voice, just to know that he was alive. Nothing could have sounded more beautiful, more sonorous or heavenly as Promanthea’s voice at that moment. Robyn lay his head back, exhausted, but unwilling to relinquish the link that he had so painstakingly established.
Thank you!
he sent in thought,
Thank you so much! I could not bear not knowing your fate any longer.
Fear not for me, Robyn, though my ultimate fate is yet to be determined. But another of my kind has fallen, a great and dear friend. All the land will suffer from this. The fabric tears once again, the stitches loosen and the seams rip. I must prepare. Continue on your way and let nothing stop you. Nothing! My reach is being constricted and I will require your eyes in order to see as far as I must. Be strong, my friend. Never lose heart! I will be safe, and you must remain so too, at all costs.
With that, the coupling was shattered, the root encircling his hand shriveled away and he was left bereft of any further knowledge, yet tremendously relieved by the information he had been able to receive.
Promanthea was safe!
he rejoiced while still suffering from the shock and sadness any Chosen felt at the loss of a Lalas. But, it was not his. At least it was not his tree! He was ashamed of himself for that thought, at the selfish nature of it, but he could not deny the existence of the feeling.
By now, the sun had risen above the eastern tree line and although the sky was cloudy and grey, the air was crisp and no precipitation fell upon him. He would be able to travel quickly, now more anxious than ever to reach Pardatha. Robyn, riding securely atop Kraft, made good time following the river southeast and encountering nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that caused him undue concern. The weather, although usually a bit warmer this time of year and usually brighter, was not too bad.