by R K Lander
“You never told us about that,” said Ramien, leaning forward as if his physical closeness would make Fel’annár speak quicker.
“I couldn’t. Because I didn’t understand, not entirely. All I knew for sure was that the lady in the tree . . . was Aria.”
Stunned silence followed Fel’annár’s unlikely claim. Carodel broke it.
“So, you’ve been dreaming of Aria your entire life?”
Fel’annár nodded. “I convinced myself that she was simply my way of visualising nature, the way I see the life-force of the land—embodied in a woman. A symbol if you will. I thought perhaps that I saw her because I have this ability with the trees, that it was part of my trying to convince myself that my ability is natural, that it’s good. My way of dealing with the fear I felt for what I’m capable of.
“Again, I was wrong.”
He had expected questions, quick and fast, but there were none, and he thought perhaps he had shocked them into silence. And so he pressed forwards. “Just last night, that dream changed once more, and this time, the lady came down from the tree and stood before me. In one hand she held a roughly-cut emerald, symbol of the Alpines of Ea Uaré, and in the other, the acorn, symbol of our Silvan kin. Her light was blinding, but before it hid her from me, she brought her hands together. The acorn and the emerald merged. And then she called me Ber’anor.”
“Ber’anor. What’s Ber’anor?” asked Carodel, desperately seeking Idernon’s attention.
“Ber’anor is a Divine Servant, an elf chosen by Aria to carry out some duty,” answered the Wise Warrior, but his eyes were locked on Fel’annár. “That is what the Ari claim.”
“The question must be asked,” continued Fel’annár. “I had always believed that Aria was life, nature, not a person with a conscience—with a will to decide. I could not bring myself to believe this, and so I asked Commander Hobin. I’m glad that I did.”
“Wait, Hobin called you Ber’anor when, when Lainon . . .” said Galdith.
“He did,” said Sontúr. “Idernon and I investigated later. We read the Book of Initiates, Ari lore for trainee Ari’atór. You see, Hobin also called Lainon Ber’ator—Divine Protector. If we are to believe the divine nature of this puzzle, then Lainon was charged by Aria to protect Fel’annár, who is charged with some duty he must carry out in her name. Am I right?” asked the prince.
“You are right, Sontúr. You will have to tell me about that trip to the library sometime.” He arched an eyebrow at his princely friend.
“We will, but not now. Go on.”
“I struggled with the concept of a god and yet, after all that has happened . . . I needed to ask questions of someone who had the answers, and Hobin has taken away my doubts—at least most of them. You see he, too, is Ber’anor. He had the same dream his entire life until his destiny was finally revealed to him. His story is mine.”
“But Lainon was . . . is . . . Ari’atór, Hobin is Ari’atór,” said Galdith. Fel’annár turned slowly to face him, and his eyes flashed wide in dawning realisation.
“And so, too, am I—Ari’atór.”
“What? No, you can’t be!” exclaimed Carodel, standing now on his branch. Galadan though, was staring coolly back at Idernon, who returned it with a deep frown.
“Only Ari’atór can be Ber’anor, brothers. If I accept one thing, I must accept the other. Hobin recognised me no sooner he saw me, and he says Lainon too, would surely have known. There must be a reason for my pale skin. Perhaps I was meant to grow in the forests and not in Araria, as I would have done had I been dark.”
“I can’t grasp it, Fel’annár. You are an Ari’atór? You laugh, you joke . . .” This from Idernon, whose legendary control was slipping visibly.
“And I have always been obsessed with fighting, with warfare, with serving . . . ”
“Yes. Yes, you have,” conceded Idernon.
“So, if I am not mistaken,” began Galadan, shifting forwards until he was kneeling, “Aria has charged you, a pale Ari’atór, with a purpose and sent Lainon to protect you. But what, then, is this purpose?”
Fel’annár smiled, and for a moment he allowed his eyes to travel over them all.
“You remember the day Prince Handir called for me, gave me the missive from my father?”
“We knew you held something back,” said Idernon, eyes searching and finding confirmation.
“He spoke to me of a plan, a plan to restore Ea Uaré to what it once was, to rid it of the taint of the powerful Alpine lords who seek to perpetuate discrimination and racism to their own gain. He spoke to me of Lord Band’orán and his desire to take the throne from King Thargodén. Lainon had this dream, one Handir shares together with Captain Turion and Councillor Aradan. They four devised a plan to bring the Silvan people back onto the side of King Thargodén and thus confront Band’orán. They think I can help them do this. But I couldn’t see it. I told him that I needed time, to understand what a young and inexperienced warrior could do in such a lofty plan. And then last night, I dreamed of Aria. I saw the emerald and acorn come together in her hands—Silvan and Alpine living as one people, in harmony.”
Silence followed, and Fel’annár’s hand smoothed over the branch below him. He felt the torrent of energy, allowed his mind access to it so that he could show them his gift was no longer uncontrolled—did not always set his eyes to glowing like some demon, did not always evoke the wrath of the trees. He felt that energy and then projected it into the twilight. He had not been sure what they would see, and he smiled because fireflies blinked into existence, glowing a soft orange, flitting here and there and leaving tiny trails of light behind them. They seemed to chase each other around the gaping elves who watched in wonder, open-mouthed and shocked to silence—except for Carodel.
“Fel’annár?” asked Carodel softly, watching the lights as they reflected in his friend’s eyes.
“Peace, Bard Warrior. ’Tis a game we play.”
“Can we all play?” asked Sontúr with a curve of his brow.
Fel’annár glanced at him. Could they? he wondered. He opened his mind a little more, and Ramien gasped and then chuckled, holding out his massive hand to a spark of light as it flitted past his face. Galdith’s eyes crossed as another light hovered a little too close to his nose, and Idernon stared on in awe, waving his hands softly before him, wondering if they would follow it.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.
“It’s magical,” added Galdith, his fingers following the frolicking lights.
“It’s not magic, Galdith. It’s a part of nature, the life-force that we take for granted every day—only that today you can see it. It is always there, though. It joins us all together, joins the land with the sky and the sun, binds us to everything . . . even those that have taken the road. They are in that light somewhere, far away though they may be.”
Fel’annár thought of Lainon and Lássira, Galdith remembered his soulmate and his infant daughter and Sontúr saw his mother’s brave face.
Utter silence. Even the fireflies stopped their incessant zig-zagging, hovering now before them, around them, poised on the boundary between the visible world and the natural world that Fel’annár had conjured to show them it did exist, even though they could not see it without his help.
Idernon’s breath was loud, and the lights blinked out, simply gone.
“Fel’annár,” began the Wise Warrior, “if you accept this duty, you walk into even more danger than you were already in. It is clear to me that Band’orán sees you as a danger, seeks to eliminate you because you are a threat to his plans. This shows us it is not only Prince Handir who believes there is something you can do.” Idernon turned to the others. “Fel’annár is Silvan—he is their prince, Lássira’s child. He can rally them, should he choose to, and Band’orán cannot rule if the Silvans will not subject themselves. He knows this and so do his allies here in Tar’eastór.”
“And there you have it, brothers,” said Fel’annár. “I am already
a threat. By undertaking this task, I am stepping into the light of an already existing danger.”
“And making yourself visible to all that seek to harm you,” said Galdith.
“Someone has to do it, brother, and the gods know I have no idea how to do it. But Aria has placed this before me, and I have chosen to accept. Besides, I won’t be alone in this, will I?”
The question was now before them, spoken plainly. It was Idernon who answered first.
“This goal that Prince Handir speaks of—we all want that, even the Alpines, the good people,” said Idernon. “As a warrior I say there is no better cause. I have always followed you, Fel’annár, even when I had no teeth.”
Ramien and the rest chuckled, but the laughter soon died and Ramien spoke. “Aria has chosen Fel’annár, has shown him his path, and I will walk it with him . . . to whatever end.”
Fel’annár startled for a moment, for the simple explanation that Ramien offered was one based on faith alone. Fel’annár’s tense face slowly relaxed into a smile, and he nodded.
“And I will follow you—if your path leads to the freedom of my people, if it will rid my forest of the enemy amongst us,” said Carodel. “If it will bring back our songs and our dances, our stories and our myths, if Silvan music will be played at court once more, I will be there to play it.”
“And I am with Ramien,” said Galdith. “I believe in Aria, believe she has chosen you, Fel’annár. It’s too late for my village, for my soul mate and my child, but I can stop it from happening to others. I need no other motivation than this.”
Fel’annár nodded in respect, and then his eyes slipped to Galadan. “And you, Lieutenant? What would you say?”
Galadan smiled, and Galdith mirrored it, so rare a treat it was. “I am old, as you know. Perhaps my turn has finally come to shine,” he shrugged. “I will follow you, Forest Lord.”
Fel’annár struggled to contain his emotions, for they said things to him that he had never dreamed of hearing. He had always been so occupied with defending himself, proving himself, hiding and then accepting the truth of his lineage. He had never stopped to think what others thought of him—other than the friendship they bestowed upon him. He was seeing himself in a totally different light, and for all that he tried, he did not recognise himself at all.
“And you, Sontúr. Will your father agree to free you of your duties here?”
“I cannot say. I must speak with him. Crown Prince Torhén should be home soon enough . . . I will find a way, Fel’annár. You are not doing this without me.”
He smiled then. Each of them had their own reasons for following him on this dangerous path. For some it was faith, for others it was brotherhood, or remembrance of those beyond the Veil. But there was one thing that bound them, a unifying factor that defined The Company, that would keep them together, to whatever end.
It was love.
“Then from now on, brothers—now that I know you are all with me—I will tell you everything. I will need you all in this endeavour to remind me that I am a soldier first and foremost. I am not a politician or a diplomat, and I will not be made one. I do this as a warrior.”
“What of our prince, Fel’annár? Can you trust his intentions? What of his animosity towards you for your mother’s part in all this?” asked the Wise Warrior.
“He is genuine in his beliefs, Idernon, you heard him the other day. But I don’t think we should reveal the divine nature of our duty. The prince may see that as a threat of some kind. He may think I have designs beyond that of a warrior.”
“I agree,” said Sontúr. “We follow his dictates for now, Fel’annár. I am not sure how you think this thing can be achieved, but perhaps he does.”
“I don’t know either,” said Fel’annár. “We do as he says for now, as you say, but if there ever comes a time when I think he is wrong, I will not hold back. I think perhaps we need to return to Ea Uaré and once we are there, the path forwards will become clearer. For now, we have much to learn: I have much to learn of lordship and courtly manners.” He smiled ruefully at Sontúr. “And if we do this thing, brothers, if our land is restored and the Silvan people given back their place, perhaps Galadan here will become captain and I may become lieutenant.”
“Ahh!” roared Carodel. “A song is coming to me, the words appearing before my very eyes . . . Captains Galadan and Fel’annár and their loyal warriors of The Company!”
The others laughed and batted at Carodel’s loose auburn hair, and Fel’annár watched them, eyes momentarily catching those of Idernon. The Wise Warrior smiled and nodded, and that was all Fel’annár needed.
All that was left to do now was to speak with Handir, accept his part in the plan, and then ask him what he intended to tell Pan’assár. The commander would surely need to know, would surely play some pivotal part in the Restoration, as Fel’annár had come to think of it.
Lainon’s presence swelled in his mind, and he smiled through the warm haze of love and unconditional support from his Ber’ator, and for a moment, his vision blurred. He knew what it was now. It was Lainon’s guiding light, his presence across the Veil manifesting itself in his eyes.
Lifting his head, he listened to the growing chorus of leafy voices. They sung a herald to the forest lord, and of a sudden, that feeling of impending doom lifted. This was what he had sensed, this moment in which he came to know himself, just as Golloron said that he would on the eve of his departure from Lan Taria. The Ari Spirit Herder had referred to this moment in which Fel’annár finally understood he was Ari’atór, Ber’anor. Golloron had known.
He was Lord of Aria’s Forests.
Twelve
Revolt
“A king returns, a councillor stands, a prince emerges.”
The Silvan Chronicles book IV. Marhené.
The two Kah Masters and one disciple wound the Dohai to an end as the sun bathed them in a light that was slightly warmer than it had been just weeks ago. It reminded Fel’annár of the turning season—and that it would soon be time to return to the Forest. His stomach lurched at the thought.
He was back to training after the assassination attempt, and it was his first day as Ber’anor, albeit only The Company and Hobin knew. He needed to speak with Handir about Lainon’s plan; he needed to ask if the prince would speak with Pan’assár on the matter, recruit his help if they could. And then there was Gor’sadén, Llyniel . . .
Yesterday he had felt stiff, but today, his wound hardly pained him at all, and he had trained well—even Pan’assár had joined them in the Dohai. But the streaks of light were always there, wispy and dim, a reminder of what lay dormant inside him, of the power he could not entirely control. Fear of the limits of his ability was holding him back, because he could feel it, coiling and writhing beneath the surface as soon as he projected his energy into his moves, as Gor’sadén had explained. It was like some caged beast, frantically struggling to bend its bars and escape.
His mind was a half-open door, and he stood in the middle of it, not sure whether he should open it completely. Fel’annár knew that Gor’sadén could see his hesitance, that he suspected the reason behind it.
“A Kah master is proficient in three weapons, Fel’annár. What will your third be?” asked Gor’sadén from where he sat, taking a long swig of water from his flask. Fel’annár had no doubts about his answer.
“A double-edged spear.”
Pan’assár froze where he sat, just beside Gor’sadén, their shoulders almost touching.
“Nobody wields that weapon any more, not that I am aware of,” said Gor’sadén carefully. “Why not the scimitar or daggers?”
“The spear has range. It can be used over a certain distance or in close quarters. It requires the skill of a sword and the agility of hand-to-hand. It’s versatile . . . and it fascinates me.”
“Your grandfather had a measure of skill with the spear.” Fel’annár turned to Pan’assár and held his gaze for a moment.
Nodding thoughtfully, he
turned back to Gor’sadén. “Are there any spear masters left?”
“There are, although admittedly not many. But come, we must press on. Your projection skills are progressing well in hand-to-hand but not so with the swords: why do you think you fail?” asked Gor’sadén, and Pan’assár’s eyes narrowed as he turned to listen.
Fel’annár knew why, but could he admit it?
“Well?” prompted Pan’assár.
“I’ll try harder.”
Gor’sadén glanced at Pan’assár, and both commanders stood, walking towards the centre of their training area.
“I want the ten blade stances and I want projection. See the move in your mind, apply the power you have built up with the Dohai, project it into your blades as you perform the moves.”
Fel’annár breathed deeply. Perhaps if he allowed just a little of his energy to filter through to his hands, then nothing would happen. And so he began, under the watchful gazes of the two commanders. Lifting his two blades, he saw the faint wisps of light that chased after them as he performed the stances, and when he had finished the first set, Gor’sadén was shouting his orders.
“Again!”
Fel’annár initiated the sequence once more, opening his mind just a little. The wisps were back, stronger, and he closed his mind to them.
“Again!!” shouted Gor’sadén, louder this time, his irritation finally seeping into his words.
He performed the sequence again, and then again, and every time the light began, he would stop it—he had to. He let out a long, sonorous rush of air, frustration because Gor’sadén would not let it go.
“Do it again. Don’t hold back.” Gor’sadén was circling him, and even Pan’assár was watching closely, following after his friend.
Fel’annár wanted to scream. He couldn’t open his mind entirely because he knew that whatever happened, he would not be able to control it. And yet he could feel it, all the pent-up energy pooling in his gut, setting his fingers to tingling, his scalp prickling.