Read Whill of Agora Trilogy: Book 01 - Whill of Agora Online
Authors: Michael Ploof
Rhunis gave Tarren a little shake. “I think with friends like these, anything is possible.”
Everyone laughed, Whill included, though he noticed that Zerafin had not concurred.
You were projecting again, Whill.
Whill’s eyes moved to Zerafin.
Yes, I also believe the prophecy.
Whill nodded, feeling foolish.
I really need to learn how to stop doing that.
Roakore announced that the stew was done, and everyone filled a traveling cup and enjoyed the hot meal. After many helpings Abram sat back against a tree stump and lit his pipe. He looked up at the stars as he patted his belly.
“Ah, Mallekell is bright tonight.”
Both elves looked to the heavens at the elven constellation of Mallekell.
“Where’s Mallekell?” Tarren asked.
Avriel pointed. “There. You see those three stars? They are the center. From there you can make out the arms and sword, and that one there, the brightest one, is the eye of Mallekell.”
Roakore scoffed. “That there, those three an’ that one? That be the stars o’ Ky’Dren, ain’t no elf.”
“For you, good dwarf, it is of Ky’Dren,” Zerafin said. “But to us elves, it is of Mallekell.”
Roakore only scowled and shook his head. “That brightest star there, it’s the gateway to the Mountain o’ the Gods, it is, an’ nothing else.”
Whill knew nothing could be said to the dwarf about his belief, and no more was said on the subject by the elves. Tarren, however, cared not. He had learned already the history of Ky’Dren.
“So who is Mallekell?”
Avriel looked to the boy and smiled at his innocence. “He was the first elf to become enlightened since the ancient years, our first teacher in the ways of Orna Catorna. He gained enlightenment exactly 10,091 years ago. That is when the age of enlightenment began, and the reckoning of years that we use today.”
Roakore seemed jealous of the lad’s attention. “
Our
reckonin o’ years began with the settlin o’ the Ky’Dren Mountains. ‘Tis why it’s the dwarf year 5170. That’s also the human reckonin’, ye know, since ye humans never bothered with the reckonin o’ years till ye met us dwarves.”
Tarren ignored him, so interested was he about the first enlightened elf. “So—ten thousand years ago, eh, Avriel? What is enlightenment, anyway?”
“Enlightenment is a human word for a state of mind seldom reached. The Elvish translation is Orna Catorna. Our written history dates back hundreds of thousands of years, through many ages. The enlightenment of Mallekell ushered in the age of enlightenment, though it is said that we elves had such powers tens of thousands of years before.”
Zerafin took up the telling. “Of the many ages of the elves, there is one called The God Wars. It is written that elves had gained power as had never been seen upon Keye—Keye being the elven name for our world. The ancient elves had grown into two factions, and war had begun, much like what we have seen with the Dark elves and the Elves of the Sun.”
Avriel scoffed. “Exactly alike they are. We are repeating the past as we speak; the struggle of good and evil wages on. While some use the power to help others and advance our people’s quality of life, others only use the power for themselves. But once one goes down the path to personal power, he shall seldom return. The ego is a ravenous beast, and will stop at nothing to gain more.”
Tarren was enthralled. “So who won? Who won the War of the Gods?”
Zerafin bowed his head, a great sorrow showed in his stoic face. “No one. Both sides lost.”
Tarren looked disappointed. “But how can both sides lose? Didn’t good defeat evil? Didn’t the heroes win?”
Avriel shook her head. “No one won. Hundreds of thousands died, cities burned. The age of the Wars of the Gods went on for nearly one thousand years, until there was nothing left to fight for, until all had been destroyed. At the end of the wars less than a thousand elves remained. The most powerful of all elves was Kellallea. She had finally defeated the armies of her enemies. After the final battle she stood before her followers and gave her last order.”
Firelight shone upon her face as she spun her ancient tale. She seemed to Whill like a goddess among men, so beautiful was she. Not only her face, but her hair, her eyes, her smile, her words. Every mannerism was a compliment to her being, every gesture intoxicating. In a panic he did not show, he wondered if he were projecting. It did not relieve his fears when Avriel looked his way as she told her story.
“Kellallea ordered her followers to never again practice the ways of Orna Catorna, to abandon all memory of enlightenment. It was argued that only greed and evil had destroyed so many lives, that goodness and love could now thrive. But Kellallea would hear none of it. She had decided what she must do.”
She paused and listened keenly to the night air. The others, who had been so enthralled in the tale, did the same. Tarren looked around behind him, to the dark woods beyond their clearing by the road. “And then what did she do? What did she know she had to do?”
Zerafin took up the telling. “She used her great power to steal from her followers all of the energy that remained within their blades. She stripped them of all power.”
Aviel gazed into the firelight. “She made them dumb to all knowledge of Orna Catorna. They would remember what had been, but not how it was achieved. She said that we were not ready for such power, and maybe never would be.”
“So that’s it?” Tarren asked. “She got rid of magic?”
“That she did, for a time,” answered Avriel.
“She viewed it as a curse, and at the time indeed it was,” Zerafin said. “She and all the others had lost their lands, their loved ones, everything they held dear.”
Avriel continued. “She ordered the survivors to rebuild, to remember, and to find peace with the land and each other once again. She promised to watch over all, and to help the pure of heart, and then…”
“And then what? What happened to her? Is she still alive?”
“Yes, she is,” Zerafin said. “She is the oldest living elf, more than thirty thousand years old.”
Tarren’s eyes widened. “Where is she?”
There was a tear upon Avriel’s cheek. “She was within Drindellia. Those thousands of years ago she used all of the power she had taken and took the form of a great tree. By the time of my father she had grown to the height of a mountain—her branches stretched for miles. She was the most beautiful being under the heavens.”
“She became a tree!” Tarren exclaimed.
Whill smiled. “She became a tree.”
“As big as a mountain!” Roakore boomed.
“She became a tree,” Zerafin concurred. “It was under her great branches one autumn day, within the city of Kell, that Mallekell gained Orna Catorna, or enlightenment, for the first time. He said he had achieved through meditation a state of mind that allowed him to reach the mind of Kellallea within the great tree. He had done what the first of the elves had done, what Kellallea herself had done in that ancient and lost time—he had reached a state of mind in which understanding of the universe came to him in a rush of clarity.
“Kellallea had two choices: destroy him, or teach him what she knew, and revive the knowledge and power that had nearly destroyed the elves.”
“What did she do?” Tarren asked, at the edge of his rock.
Roakore threw his arms in the air. “The elves got powers, don’t they, silly boy? What are ye thinking she did? The lady just told us ’bout the age o’ enlightenment.” Avriel smiled at him, as if appreciating the fact that he took interest in her people as she did his. “Yes, she trained him, and he others, and here we are once again, fighting against that which caused the taking of powers, the fight between good and evil rages on.”
“As it will eternally, as it must,” added Zerafin.
Whill sat up. “Eternally, as it must?”
Zerafin looked at Whill. In the firelight his sharp features seemed, for the first time, alien. “Yes, as it must, eternally.”
“Then this fight—these times, me, us—none of it matters?”
“Yes, and no. We are simply forces of nature blessed—or is it cursed?—with thought. The war that wages in your heart, in my heart, upon the beaches of the world, within the clouds, the storms, the disaster, the growth—it is all the same. It is all a small part of the great being.”
Tarren scrunched up his face once again. “Huh?”
Avriel chuckled. “My brother’s spiritual beliefs are hard for many to grasp, thought they are not new to my people. What he is saying, Tarren, and Whill, is that we are but a part of a larger being, the one being.”
Tarren still looked confused. Roakore patted him on the shoulder. “I’m with ye, lad. They lost me at ‘she turned into a tree.’”
The night seemed to rush back in, the air, the sounds, the sights beyond the firelight. A quiet had fallen over the camp during the telling, as if the world hushed to hear the tale of itself.
In that moment Avriel gave Whill a look of utter serenity and profound joy.
You felt it, Whill, just now, didn’t you? That is what my brother speaks of, that is what you felt. It is our true self seeing itself. I am a part of you, you are a part of me.
We
are an
I.
Whill stared back at Avriel. The connection he felt that night, to his friends and to the world around him, within him, became his own enlightenment.
With the meal done and clean-up finished, everyone settled into their respective bedrolls for the night. There was still a chance of ambush, and Rhunis wanted all up before the dawn to begin a long day of hard travel. He took the first guard, disappearing into the brush without a sound. The fire now burned to coals, and the stars above shone bright. Avriel and Zerafin had laid enchantments around the camp, or so they said, for Whill knew nothing of such things. Talk had shifted to the many different factions of elves, which enthralled Tarren and Whill alike.
“So you mean there are a buncha different elves? With different powers?” Tarren asked from his bedroll. He lay on his belly, propped up on his elbows and face cradled in his hands.
“Yes, there are many different schools of study for us elves. But not all of us achieve mastery over even one.”
“Not all are like you and Avriel?” Whill asked.
“No, not at all, we have many among us who have not yet excelled in any study of Orna Catorna. Those who have never mastered Orna Catorna number five times the number who have. A course of study in one faction alone can require more than one hundred years.”
Tarren yawned. “So not all elves even have any powers.”
“They do, but not all are masters. Basic teachings are a part of any elf’s childhood education: levitation, psionics—the art of what you call telepathy and the like—healing, and many more.”
Whill was enthralled. He had read nothing about these things in the books he had read. “What are the different schools of study?”
“Hmm. Well, there are healers who”—Whill perked up—“can heal as you do. But not like these creatures. The greatest of healers can heal dozens of others at once, from great distances. To attain such abilities takes hundreds of years of intense study.”
Whill thought of Avriel and must have projected. “Yes, like my sister, who healed you from hundreds of miles away. She is most proficient in healing. As well she might be, with over three hundred years of study.
“There are also the Ralliad, or druids, I suppose you would call them. They are lovers of nature, worshippers of Keye. Once called upon by the ways of the druid, many take the form of animals. They are guardians of nature, and as such they live within it, seldom seen, some never.”
“Gosh,” Tarren said dreamily.
“Then there are the Morenka, or monks. These elves study and worship existence alone, and care not for the petty dealings or wars of the rest of us. They believe in no enemy, for they see everything as one.
“The Krundar, or elementals, are masters of the elements, and of them there are four factions: wind, keye, fire, and water. With the rise of the Dark elves there came a need for a warrior faction, masters in the arts of battle. The monks argue that warriors only add to the problem of violence, even in self-defense. But we warriors remind them that they would no longer have a life to ponder lest we kept them from harm.”
Tarren rubbed his eyes, fighting to stay awake. “So what are you and Avriel? What have you mastered?”
Roakore piped up from his stone pillow. “Sounds like he’s a mix o’everything, don’t it, lad? A mutt, ye call it, don’t ye? No offense, good elf. I should call it as the humans do, a jack o’ all trades. Though I ain’t seen no druid in ye yet.”
Zerafin laughed. “A little, though Ralliad is not my most proficient of skills. If I may, good dwarf, you seem to be a Krundar, an elemental, with a proficiency in the power over Keye, or earth. That is what my sister was getting at earlier.”
Roakore scoffed and rolled over. “Bah. I be a master of me dwarf ways, call ’em what ye want.”
Tarren had fallen asleep at last, and nothing more was said that night. Whill lay back, his mind racing, thinking of the different factions and arts to study. How would he really learn anything but the basics in just a year with the elves?
T
he cool night air blew softly, the scents of spring lingered. The sky was black, but the night was not. Soft orange light emanated from the city and faintly illuminated the clouds above. From their perch on the hill, the companions took in the extraordinary sight.
Kell-Torey was a city built during war times, when borders and boundaries were uncertain. Thus it boasted a fifty-foot wall, thick and strong, which circled its entirety, more than four miles from end to end. Every five hundred feet along the wall there stood a watchtower, which loomed more than twenty feet above the wall. Though the wall stood fifty feet high, it did not obscure the view of the surrounding world completely. Not being within a flat valley, the city enjoyed many views of the wider world. Thus, from their viewpoint, the companions could see many buildings beyond the city walls, including the immense, breathtaking Castle of Kell-Torey, which sat higher than all others. Though Whill was still many miles away, he could guess its enormity. Its size was not due to the royal family’s greed but rather to the fact that the castle acted as a fortress in times of war. It could easily house tens of thousands of citizens, and sustain them comfortably for months.