Dawn of a Legend

by R K Lander

  Idernon scowled and turned to study Galadan’s glowing profile. “Explain.”

  “Do I need to? You who are wise despite your years?”

  “Still I would hear it from your lips.”

  Galadan peered at Idernon with eyes that seemed aflame, and the Wise Warrior suddenly realised what it was Fel’annár had seen in Galadan to baptize him as Fire Warrior. He visibly started when the lieutenant spoke.

  “We skirt around the question, Idernon, but it must be answered. Ber’anor,” said Galadan. “Commander Hobin called him that—you heard.”

  “I did. I even investigated its meaning with Sontúr one strange evening in the library. You already knew what it meant, though, didn’t you, Galadan?”

  “I did. You forget your youth sometimes, Idernon. I know you are sceptical, just as Sontúr is. I, though, am an elf of faith. I know that Fel’annár is charged by Aria to fulfil a purpose.”

  The sudden claim took Idernon by surprise, and he took a moment to steady himself. “Ari lore, Galadan. A belief system based on faith.”

  The fire was still in the lieutenant’s eyes, but he smiled all the same, and a chill ran down Idernon’s spine.

  “You have seen the lights in his eyes, have seen the trees move on his account. You have witnessed the knowledge he gleans from the land, and still you doubt?”

  “I must, Galadan. It is the only road to the truth.”

  The fiery eyes lingered for a while before Galadan nodded. “You see it from the inside, Idernon. I see it from without. I see his skill with nature, I see his ability to command. I see a great warrior who still does not understand who he will become, what he will become. I wonder what it will take for him to accept it.”

  “Accept what?” whispered Idernon, thinking perhaps he knew what Galadan would say.

  “His destiny, Idernon. His destiny as Aria’s Ber’anor . . . for a purpose yet to be revealed.”

  Whether Galadan was right or not, Hobin too believed this, had called Lainon “Ber’ator”, Divine Protector, and then he had called Fel’annár “Ber’anor”, Divine Servant. The possibility that Aria had charged Fel’annár with some purpose was becoming uncomfortably plausible, strangely possible, and yet Idernon did not believe in gods.

  Aria was a symbol of goodness . . . and Idernon was fine with that.

  Eleven

  Shores of Comprehension

  “Fel’annár had changed in many ways since his arrival in Tar’eastór. But that one morning marked the biggest change of all, for he went from ignorance to understanding. From doubt to faith.

  From warrior to Ber’anor.”

  The Silvan Chronicles, Book IV. Marhené.

  Fel’annár shifted onto his side and closed his eyes, the now familiar list of recent events lining up in his mind, begging to be remembered. He had begun to harness his gift on some elementary level through projection. He had become a Kah Warrior, had become close with Gor’sadén, and Pan’assár had finally begun to accept him. And then he had met Llyniel. He remembered the kiss they had almost shared. And then he remembered the dark god that had stood upon the city walls, poised for flight.

  His eyes felt heavy, his mind slowly emptying of its many voices even as his body grew heavier and he seemed to sink deeper into his bed.

  He saw himself performing the Dohai, encased in streaks of coloured light as he moved his arms and legs, and he smiled because the trees copied his movements, moving backwards and forwards as if they danced, or perhaps they were mimicking him. It was a dream, but it was entertaining to watch. He smiled as he passed them by, making for the thicker parts of the forest until he was before the mighty Sentinel in Ea Uaré, the one he had always seen in his dreams. He knew this place, had visited it a thousand times in his mind, and perhaps he would find it in the real world, one day in the future.

  The lady in the tree looked down on him in love as she always had. He was a babe once more, chubby arms and legs paddling in clumsy glee. He knew how it played out. He would smile up at her. She would say his name, tell him he would shine for them all.

  But then something changed.

  His mind blinked, familiar images disappearing only to return—but they were altered. He saw himself before the same tree, somewhere within the Deep Forest. He saw his own hand, almost touching the bark, not with the hands of a babe but those of an adult, a master archer. But fingers did not dare touch though. He somehow knew that if he did, things would never be the same again. But then things never are, he mused, for with every second of life, the future is changed in some way. He needed to embrace it, not fear it.

  Fel’annár stepped closer. His entire body tingled and then seemed to move forward even though his legs did not. Something popped at the back of his neck, and then she was back, not up in the boughs of the Sentinel as he had always seen her but standing before it, upon the dry land, and yet she seemed to float under water, hair dancing around her inexplicably beautiful face, eyes like blue fire through water. She smiled.

  “Aria . . .”

  He felt so cold; his stomach clenched, and yet hot tears swam in his eyes. He heaved another breath, and then he saw himself surrounded by shimmering lights of green, purple, and blue, his features almost impossible to see behind the sparking energy that he knew connected everything. He stood staring for a moment. He had only ever seen this a handful of times: once when he had first come to understand he had a gift, again during the fire of Sen’olei and then when Lainon had died. Just recently, he had seen it when Gor’sadén had taught him the Dohai. Now, though, he could see himself as his own light danced with the shimmering, pulsing power around him. It was beautiful.

  “Aria.”

  Had he said that? The sound had seemed whispered into his own ear.

  Fel’annár, Green Sun you are named, for you shall shine for us all, Ber’anor.

  Ber’anor—the word he had turned his back on. His knees felt weak, but he knew that he stood now upon the shores of comprehension. He’d had this feeling before, in the waking world, the surety that something was coming, that something transcendental would change everything.

  He remembered the dark god upon the walls, saw him turn and stare back at him over his shoulder, strange paintings upon his face.

  Fel’annár looked up, into the watery pools of Aria’s eyes. She knew the answers to his questions, and only then did Fel’annár realise that perhaps he too had always known them. He straightened, eyes widening. This was about Lainon’s plan—his own part in it.

  She smiled, sensing, perhaps, the moment he had understood.

  Ber’anor, she had said, Divine Servant, and suddenly, his own light became blinding. He felt his body suspended, held rigid even though his own knees would have failed him. Aria, still before him, slowly held out both hands, palm upwards. In one was a single acorn, and in the other a broken emerald. She smiled wider and then brought her hands together until there was nothing but blinding light and he could no longer see her.

  The power was suddenly gone, and he felt himself crumple to the ground, chest heaving wildly as he struggled to accept what now seemed inevitable. Lainon had masterminded a plan to restore the king, Handir had embraced it, had asked Fel’annár to help him.

  Aria demanded it of him.

  The emerald, symbol of the Alpines of Ea Uaré—the acorn, symbol of the Silvan people. He was both.

  “Wake up!”

  With a long, involuntary cry, consciousness slammed back into him, and he opened his eyes wide and sat up, only to come nose-to-nose with Idernon, who jerked backwards just in time to avoid Fel’annár’s head.

  Idernon lay sprawled upon the floor, the anxious eyes of Galadan fixed upon him, helping him up, but Idernon was too distracted by Fel’annár.

  “What happened? asked the stunned Wise Warrior.

  “A dream.”

  “But no ordinary dream, your eyes are . . .”

  “It cannot be,” said Fel’annár, shaking his head slowly.

  “What, F
el’annár? What cannot be?” asked the Wise Warrior, slowly rising and then sitting on Fel’annár’s bed and placing one hand on his friend’s heaving shoulder. It shook beneath him.

  There was no easy way to say it. His own mind was in a mess, incapable of engineering a coherent sentence. The woman in the tree was Aria—this he already knew, just as he knew the Sentinel he saw her in was in Ea Uaré, somewhere in the Deep Forest.

  “Aria has answered my questions,” he blurted out, breathless. He didn’t want to talk, but he needed to say it so that he could truly believe it.

  “What—what questions?”

  “Who am I . . .”

  “Who?” Idernon shared a worried glance with Galadan and momentarily startled when he caught the lieutenant’s intense stare.

  “She’s always known, tried to make me understand . . .” He was speaking to himself, remotely aware that he didn’t want to explain, but the words slipped from his slack mouth just as his tears streaked unchecked down his face. The words sounded stupid, infantile, naïve, and yet his brain would not cooperate.

  “Aria has spoken to you?” repeated Idernon, frantically searching for Galadan’s eyes. A sinking feeling was replaced by a slowly rising panic he struggled to quash. He frowned deeply, eyes stinging.

  “What did she say, Fel’annár?”

  Fel’annár shook his head again, but his eyes were wide in shock. He looked around himself, as if he searched for something.

  “Ber’anor.”

  Idernon blinked. “You know its meaning?” he murmured, eyes searching those of his friend, whose gaze turned away from infinity to meet his own.

  “Yes . . . yes, I know.”

  Idernon raised his chin as the cogs of his rational mind began to turn. He startled when Fel’annár took his forearm in a steely grip.

  “Don’t tell anyone, Idernon, Galadan.”

  “Why not?” asked the Wise Warrior.

  “Because—it is not the time. There is important work to be done and I would not have it jeopardised by questions of faith.” He ran a shaking hand through his loose hair. “It’s hard to believe, Idernon. Yet still, I don’t understand why I do not doubt.”

  “Fel’annár, you are making no sense.”

  The dream and its implications were playing havoc with Fel’annár’s capacity to speak . . . and to react. His problem, now, was that Aria’s message proclaimed him Ber’anor, Divine Servant, to carry out a destiny he now understood: Lainon’s plan, the unification of Ea Uaré, the union of emerald and acorn—the restoration of the Silvan people.

  But how could that be? he asked himself. Aria was nature, existence, the physical power of the world. How can it choose an elf and give him a purpose? He had never believed Aria was a conscious entity as the Ari’atór did, but that belief had slipped further and further as his powers had unravelled. He had once chosen to see the lady in the tree as his own portrayal of nature, not as a real, living entity and yet now . . .

  It was preposterous.

  It was the truth.

  Idernon and Galadan had finally left him alone but Fel’annár had found no rest, in spite of his assurances that he would and as the darkness of night began to lighten, Fel’annár took stock of himself.

  His eyes burned and there was a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. He felt ill, exhausted, his own internal battle playing havoc with him. He was charged by Aria, and he knew why. He finally had the answer to the question of whether he could help Handir—because he knew what he needed to do, even though he couldn’t imagine the how of it.

  She had shown him the two sides of himself, the emerald of the Alpines of Ea Uaré, the acorn of the Silvans; the two sides of himself must bring together the people of Ea Uaré.

  But how could such a thing be achieved? What exactly did Handir plan to do?

  His stomach lurched. He had been chosen by a deity, one he had never really understood to be a physical being. He had always understood Aria to be the force of nature, to be respected and revered but not a person. He had always thought the lady in the tree was his own representation of that force that unified everything, a face he chose randomly to make it more understandable. He had been wrong, and it frightened him.

  He sat up in his bed and raked a hand through his locks. Tiny speckles of light sparkled here and there, over a wall, off the pommel of his blades. They were everywhere, like fireflies under the light of day. He needed to see himself. Rising, he padded into his bathing area and looked into the mirror. He forced himself to watch as his eyes shimmered blue, green, and purple, and all the while, his stomach hurt, as if he had been punched.

  He threw on his undershirt and breeches and then picked up his cloak. Throwing it over his shoulders, he pulled the hood up. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out and into the living area where he knew Idernon and Galadan would be.

  “Here, Ramien has brought us tea,” said Idernon, turning to greet Fel’annár and then stopping dead in his tracks. “Why are you wearing your hood?”

  Fel’annár stepped closer to the fire, knowing Galadan watched him from the corner. He sank down onto the floor before the hearth, crossing his legs and enjoying, for a moment, the warmth. But it did nothing to quell his anxiety. He just didn’t know what to say. Aria was a goddess, existed as a living, conscious entity, and she required him to restore harmony to her land of trees. What was he saying?

  He was sinking, drowning in the enormity of it.

  “Talk to us,” said Idernon as he knelt beside Fel’annár.

  “I can’t,” he murmured and then turned his head a little, enough for Idernon to see the lights. The Wise Warrior was on his feet in seconds.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” Galadan tensed beside him.

  “I am changing. I am changed . . .”

  Idernon frowned and shared a concerned glance with Galadan.

  “I need a Spirit Herder . . .”

  “I’ll go,” said Galadan.

  “Galadan, don’t let anyone else in,” said Fel’annár.

  The lieutenant nodded and was away, not before first issuing explicit orders to Ramien who stood guard outside the door. The Wall of Stone had frowned but nodded, knowing Idernon would tell him what was going on as soon as he could. The rest of The Company had arrived, but Ramien would not let them pass into Fel’annár’s chambers, so they sat and talked quietly of what may have happened and why they were being excluded.

  Sometime later, their conversation ceased abruptly and they stood, bowing reverently from the waist in spite of the chills that ran down their spines. Supreme Commander Hobin was a force of nature, as imposing as Fel’annár in his altered state. Galadan shot them an apologetic gaze and then knocked on the door. Idernon opened it and then swayed backwards, questioning eyes turning to Galadan. But then he, too, bowed low and then opened the door for Hobin. He stood indecisive for a moment, unwilling to leave Fel’annár alone with the Supreme Commander, but logic told him there was no threat, so he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Idernon turned to Galadan. “Hobin?” asked Idernon in confusion.

  “I found him simply sitting cross-legged on a bench outside.” A shiver ran down Idernon’s spine. “He called out to me as I passed, must have recognised me from the battle when we lost Lainon. It was he who insisted on seeing Fel’annár.”

  “What is going on?” asked Carodel with a deep scowl.

  Idernon breathed deeply and then met the gazes. “It is a question of the soul, brothers. Something only a Spirit Herder can handle. We must wait, and then, perhaps, Fel’annár will tell us.”

  Hobin stood quietly on the other side of the door, his eyes fixed on the cloaked figure sitting cross-legged before the newly-stoked hearth. He saw the hunched shoulders, the head that was fractionally turned to one side.

  “You seek guidance, child?”

  That voice, deep and beguiling. It reminded Fel’annár of Golloron and Narosén. It was a voice he had heard before. It was the
voice of the one he had thought a dark god.

  “Commander Hobin?”

  There was wonder in his voice, for this was the Holy Commander, leader of Araria. He wanted to stand, uncloak himself, and bow low. But he couldn’t, because his eyes were blazing. All he could do was listen as Hobin drew closer—until he was standing beside him. Fel’annár’s eyes focussed on the Ari’atór’s boots. He saw runes that ran their way around the upper rim, runes he did not understand. Further up his black leather tunic, more runes could be seen along his belt, his vambraces, Ararian script he suddenly wished he could understand.

  The silence stretched on, but strangely, Fel’annár did not feel uncomfortable; indeed, he realised that he could speak to this stranger, that he trusted him, because however strange his own words would sound to anyone else, this supreme Ari’atór would not judge him as a freak of nature. He breathed deeply. It was time to reveal himself.

  He stood, turned to the commander, and then slowly, he slid back his hood.

  Hobin’s face was before him, painted with some black pigment, only slightly darker than his own skin. Three half circles down his forehead, three wavy lines from the middle of his nose to the middle of one cheek and down his chin, a line from his bottom lip and on either side, three circles. His eyes, though, were blazing pools of liquid azure, and Fel’annár wondered how much of that light was his own, reflecting in the Ari’s eyes. Hobin hid his surprise well, but Fel’annár saw the subtle widening of his slanted eyes, the momentary slackness to his jaw.

  “What am I?” asked Fel’annár softly.

  Hobin’s face was rigid, as it almost always was, but his eyes were open gateways to the Ari’s soul, a swirling cauldron of emotion and thoughts. Everything he thought and felt seemed to be reflected there. It had been that way with Lainon, too.

  “You are Ber’anor, Divine Servant.”

  “Yes. She has shown me at last. She has shown me for years, as many as I can remember, but I never understood.”