by C L Carr
The road gave him time to ponder on the dream. It was clearly a sign. But what did it mean to him, to this barbarian? It was hard to say. Though he was far more enlightened than other barbarians, his education in things mystic and arcane was limited. He thought it best to visit the wise wizard in Alastrial. Tressnou was a friendly elf, at least to Artirius; Tressnou found him interesting.
“For a human, and not only that, for a barbarian human, you have something about you that makes you unique among your kind, and not in the manner your kind sees. There lies in you something, my young friend…” and on and on he would go. Artirius smiled as he thought of it. It would be soon enough that he would arrive at the elven city, and he would have the chance to speak to him then.
From the east, Artirius first traveled through the mountains tall and majestic; beautiful shades of purple and blue at the top capped with peaks of snow. Some of the peaks were so high they disappeared into the sky. Slowly he wound the paths as the road steadily made its way through the mountains. Before long the path became straighter, and began to decline. On the third day of his journey, the plains opened up in front of him. It was an amazing contrast on the west side of the mountains because it sloped down to a flat plain. There were no hills at all; it was just flat for miles and miles. An ocean of grasses, wild grains, and wild flowers of all sizes waved in the breeze that seemed to always flow. Occasionally, a tree or two spotted the plain. They were more abundant at the watering holes that nourished the land. Herds of beasts roamed in the fields. Artirius saw wild cats rolling in the grasses wrestling for play.
Barbarians found themselves at home in nature, amongst the beasts. It did not matter from where the barbarian hailed; nature was the same fundamentally everywhere. It was fair. If it was respected it would let you pass, let you be. These were only lions, maybe two or three years old, male - the mane gave that away. They looked to weigh four to five hundred pounds apiece. They were small things, nothing like the rialin in the Untamed Isles. Rialins were cats the size of a rhino, with barbed tails and a bite with venom that burned through whatever it touched. Along the rialin’s spine were blades as sharp as steel that lay down when the beast was calm. When it was aroused they would spring up, about a foot and a half long, a sign that certain death awaited. Its claws cleaved trees in single swipes; the only thing they could sharpen them on was stone and even it generally wore out quickly. Artirius recalled the one he tamed only a few years ago. He remembered the purrs. They were powerful enough to shake the very ground at your feet. He missed the beast.
He continued his journey to Alastrial and, as he got closer, the dream seamed to push harder on him. It came on more nights than it had before. It seemed to speak to him as he traveled; it told him he was heading in the right direction.
Nearly a week passed before the plains melded into the great forest Atel, home to the elves of Alastrial. The forest itself was alive. This nature was not that which Artirius was fond of, though it was more his lack of understanding for it that made it seem odd to him. It was the kind of nature that was meddled with. Elven magic coursed here. It was still beautiful. A marvel really to him, but it was still unnatural. It was magnified by the elves. It seemed dressed up, imagined. Nature did not need the whimsical art of the elves to make it beautiful. As he wandered these woods he felt more like he was in a piece of art, which moved and mimicked nature flawlessly. The veins of the leaves on the trees seemed to glow, and the air was heavier than it should be, but in a comforting sort of way. It was as if you were being covered with a blanket one that was scented of your favorite smell. It was different to everyone who came to this forest, to Artirius it smelled like grass. Along the path, wooden lamps with what must have been a magical flame flickered every ten feet or so on both sides of the path, giving off a light perfect to see by. They seemed to float more than hang from the trees. The path itself looked like little more than any dirt path you have ever seen or walked on, but felt softer than it should, like walking on air. Artirius had trouble not getting consumed in all of this. It was easy to do so.
Artirius continued on; crossing the Brook of Alastrial, the outer limits, so to speak, of the great city itself. At first the high trees were spotted with guard towers, or what men would call guard towers. They were fortified structures mingled among the trees that would act as the first line of defense should anything unwelcome manage to pass the forest. Though Artirius passed without harm befalling him, things of a malicious nature would find themselves constantly diverted and turned out of the forest. If they managed to get closer then great magic would come against them, the likes of which would destroy most intruders. The exact details of this magic Artirius did not know. They were secret, the property of the elves alone. If the magic was overcome, then this is where the elves would meet their intruders. With bow, magic and sword combined with skills so eloquent that it was just like their forest, art.
Inside these defenses was the first ring of homes. They all worked themselves into the trees and were part of nature itself. If one wished to enter all he had to do was ask for the forest to let him in and a way would open to the dwelling. Perhaps a branch would drop to you and carry you up to it, or stairs would slide out from the tree spiraling upwards. Or still, perhaps the leaves themselves would surround you and lift you in a great funnel, though a gentle one. The forest chose its own way and it was never the same for any place, it was always what the forest chose to do.
Ahead, along the path on the ground level, were a variety of shops, taverns and inns. There was an amphitheater off to the right where the elves were busy at work. They loved putting on shows. In the entire world, no one could sing like an elf. Their voices were naturally melodious, warm, and welcoming. They were simply enchanting. Other barbarians would not have understood them and would have found themselves hanging upside down from a tree in the forest. Most likely after a drunken tirade at one of the taverns, or perhaps not even the drink was needed to entice them. After all, conflict was the way of the barbarians and these elves would look deceptively weak to the average barbarian. Artirius was not average and knew of their great abilities. Elves were not to be trifled with without the respect they deserved.
Art was not something a barbarian needed. Artirius, being an oddity among his people, found it intriguing. It was like the forest they created, but because he was not attuned to it, he could appreciate it more than the great forest. Dancing, singing, acting; these things seemed just wonderful to behold. The tribes of the north had their form of art of course; generally a form of singing that was magnified by the consumption of large quantities of alcohol. To be honest the songs of his people were not bad just not as airy as the elven ones. The songs of his people could make you remember. They could remind you of something that had happened, of a battle on some long lost battlefield, of the great warrior, the great beast that plagued the land. It could remind you of anything it wanted to. The elven songs did more than that. They put you there. They set you on the battlefield. You were the great warrior. The beast was ravaging your country. You could feel the heat of its great breath. You watched as it killed your friends and your family. The elves could place you wherever they sang. It was as if you were in a dream of some sort, as if you were sleep walking. It was the most amazing thing that ever was. Artirius on his last visit had been so enthralled in his first experience with elven song, that he thought he had been married to a desert princess, in a land he had never been to, heard of, or seen. He could not believe the experience.
The closest thing to the art of the elves would have to be from the east, and only their women had any ability with the art of song and dance. The men were trained for war. Of course they had craftsman, shopkeepers, farmers, and all the lot a people needs to sustain itself. The difference was that all of their men also were prepared to fight and knew how, thanks to years of tradition and teachings. If any man were a match for an elf in combat hand to hand it would be one from the east. Six Swords was someone that Artirius would not have wanted to battle.
Six Swords would have been able to kill an elf.
Done reminiscing, Artirius continued through town. He came to the second ring, which was essentially the same as the first fortified ring of the city. Here it was a bit heavier and denser. The magic that guarded it was far more potent. How any attack would make it to this point was beyond him, but nonetheless the fortifications were there and must be impossible to defeat. After passing this barrier the heart of the city opened up. He was in the center of the forest metropolis. The buildings here were huge, created from the oldest and largest trees in the forest. Large doors were wrought in the center of trees with windows, chimneys, roofs, and even eves and downspouts, but the dwellings, as much as they looked just like any other home you had ever seen looked just like any tree. The melding of the two was seamless, a marvel as always with the working of elves.
In the center stood a massive tree, ancient beyond the knowledge of any elf who lived and breathed. This was the center of elven activity in the southern portion of the continent. Known as Alastrial’s Heart, it was home to the king and queen, some notable royalty among the elves, and housed ambassadors, dignitaries and guests from kingdoms far and wide. This was not the destination of Artirius. While he had spent time in the halls of the Heart, he was here to visit the wizard and he lived in a home just inside the second ring. It looked simpler on the outside then the rest of the homes in the downtown area. If anyone who did not know of this place were to walk by it would look like nothing more than an average one-room elven home found elsewhere in the lesser parts of the forest. But Artirius knew what it really was. The letter “T” was carved in the center of the square door, the only special marking to be seen. Artirius approached the door and knocked.
As he rapped for the third time the door swung in revealing the interior. Though humble on the outside, the dwelling swelled on the inside, clearly with more area then was possible for its size. It was an enchanted space. The main door, now open, revealed a large elegant foyer. It looked as though it could have been a castle made of trees. The floor was paved with wooden flagstones, the walls laid with wood shaped like stone. It was a private joke of Tressnou’s. He found the human castle an excessive use of stone. For all the mass of stone that was used, it was simply a matter of taking away a few keystones and the walls would fall to the ground. Few human structures were very well designed, but what could be expected of them? The room did not have a candelabra, as was common in most grand entryways, but instead many candles floated around the room, all of them white and the same size. They burned with an ever-burning flame, which let off a cool enchanting light. On the first floor a large set of French doors was front and center with two doors to either side which were smaller and divided the wall evenly. On either side of the foyer, two staircases spiraled up to a second floor hallway, with a large main door centered on the wall and the hall disappearing to the right and the left. Tapestries hung from the walls depicting battles, stories of the creation of Alastrial, and other things such as a tale of romance between two lovers who did not belong together, but needed each other so much that they risked their lives sailing away. Tragically they died at sea while trying to elope. In the end both families blamed each other and ended up feuding. In the end both families were wiped entirely out in the fighting. It was a tragic story all around.
It was wondrous watching the tapestries as the scenes moved. It was like watching a play captured on paper. Leave it to the elves to make things so captivating to the senses. Artirius had seen these stories many times over but they never got old. He enjoyed them more each time, he thought.
As much as he admired the works, he did not have time to toil. Tressnou knew he was here; otherwise the door would not have opened for him. Tressnou was most likely in the study to the left. Artirius moved to the door and knocked.
“Come in my human friend,” Tressnou called as the door swung inward.
Artirius stepped into the room, a large den with shelves of books reaching to the ceiling. In the center of the room was a table with a map of the world, most of which Artirius had never been too. From his time with Tressnou he had learned that they were merely on a large island, known as a continent to some, on what was actually a large plane. The name given to the island they lived on was Norta Massa. It was one of nine continents which formed a ring around a great sea. It was said, that in the center of that great mass of water, demons occasionally broke through the barrier separating the planes. No one ventured there, for fear of what might lurk in the depths of those waters.
Off to one side of the room was a rectangular table with eight chairs. This area was meant for meetings and such. Many great people had sat at this table including kings of men, dwarves, and of course elves. Tressnou had advised many on issues spreading far and wide. From battle plans to peace treaties, he had been involved in most of the major events in the recent history of Norta Massa. The table was nearly one thousand years old. That number baffled Artirius. He would be lucky to see one hundred years.
On the other side of the room was a fireplace with a smaller table. On either side of the table was a lounging chair. In the one on the left sat Tressnou. He was buried deep in an ancient tomb, as usual. Without looking up he said “Artirius, my friend, how are you doing these days?”
“Well old elf, well.”
“And the purpose of your visit?”
“To seek your wisdom, my friend. I have seen something that puzzles me.”
At that Tressnou looked up, closed the book, and turned to face Artirius. “Please then, sit with me a while.” He motioned to the empty chair beside him.
Artirius sat and looked to Tressnou, “It started when I returned to the east. At first I thought it was the drink causing it, but slowly I realized it was not. I had a dream.”
“Now my barbarian friend, don’t be afraid of dreams, most humans have them. Now as for barbarians, well-though it is uncommon…”
“Please don’t patronize me. No, it was a vision. I was at a place high in the mountains and I saw a constellation, one I had never seen before. It seemed magical.”
Looking intrigued Tressnou asked, “Was it of a woman and man bound in an intimate lock?”
“Yes,” Artirius was surprised.
“So Artirius, you have seen the sign.”
“What do you speak of wizard? Explain it to me, please. I must know what it means.”
Tressnou stared off blankly past Artirius. “What do you know of elves Artirius?”
Artirius looked whimsically at Tressnou not sure of the meaning or the aim of the wizard. “I know they are immortal, lofty, and wise. They live underground and in the forests. Some are said to dwell in the deep oceans and waters of the world. Some thrive on mischief, tormenting the lower races and sometimes even the dwarves and the humans that cross their path. They do tend to be innocent in nature, not actually wishing any real harm. Some study, and thrive on wisdom. Then there are those who hate and kill all that is not like them. You are a diverse people indeed.”
“Oh, Artirius, you do not speak as a barbarian would, you never have. You are too eloquent for yourself. These dreams you speak of may help to explain why. Your father was descended from titans. It explains much of your physical side and your prowess. You never ail and are immune to some magic, it explains much about you. But, there is something underneath that you notice much less, for it is like all diamonds in the rough, covered by layers of time and debris. Your speed, your tongue, and your mind are connected to something else. What do you know of your mother?”
“Little, she left when I was young and my father rarely mentioned her while he lived. No one, for that matter, knows much of her. ‘She was a lofty one,’ they said ‘a pretty little thing.’ ‘She was not a desirable mate.’ ” Artirius pondered grasping for more. “Little was ever said of her, my gypsy mother.”
A knowing smile crossed the face of the old wizard. “The sign, I have not seen it for many years. Which child, which offspring? It must have been of Sylvia. She was
an airy woman. One of her daughters perhaps. They all lived very long. It is hard to tell. Humph.”
“Wizard, please. Speak sense to me, not to yourself. What do you know?”
“Oh young human. You are very well versed in our people. Elves are found all over the great world and are so diverse in their ways that no two are alike. But there was once a tribe of elves, a northern tribe. They are little known even among the other elven tribes. They were considered perverse. Taking human wives and husbands; mingling with mortals in unclean ways. Then a great elf, one of this tribe and my teacher many lifetimes ago, left us to join them. I was so young then, not quite two centuries of age. That was over a millennium ago. The vision which you see is a sign of that tribe, one that shows their nature. Though beautiful to your sight, it is an abomination in mine. What it means, is the tribe is calling you.”
Artirius began to grasp some of what Tressnou had muttered to himself earlier though not in its entirety. “So wizard, you are telling me that I am loosely descended from elves? Who is this Sylvia and who is your mentor, old wizard, and why do they want me?”
“Your human side, your prominent side that is, it always intrigues me. Forgive me young one, but humans always remind me of something we lose as we age. When we are young, and knowledge is not, well, not known to us yet, we elves attack things with your ferocity and demand answers with so much intensity. We lose sight of this as we age, though it is not fair to compare. You and your kind are almost all destined to live little more than an hundred years so what is to me youth is in actuality longer than a man can hope to live.”
“As much as I enjoy your whimsical banter, please give me the answers I need.”
Tressnou sighed lightly, “You ask these questions out of order. Firstly, Sylvia must be addressed. You see she is most likely as you humans call it, your grandmother how distant I cannot easily say.”
“And your teacher?”
“Yes, Atriel was his name. He took Sylvia as his wife, long ago. The fact that she was a human was his slap in the face to the rest of the tribes of elves. He felt that nothing was wrong with mating with humans as long as it was love that drove it. He mated on a few other occasions, both before and after marrying Sylvia, with humans, but those children most likely died due to the circumstances of the time. That is neither here nor there. Sylvia became part of the mountain elves from the north and haven was given to her there. Her children most likely lived on there and continued to marry elves, though do to the nature of half elven children and the mixing of bloods it is hard to tell how much elven blood runs in your veins. A true half human half elf can hope to live about the same length of time as a dwarf, though due to their origins, few do. People hate cross breeding, whether human or elf. The northern barbarians are actually the second closest people to the mountain elves of the north and it is likely that the gypsy woman came down from her people. She may have been one of the original children of Atriel and Sylvia, or it is possible that was one of their grandchildren, it is hard to say. One way or the other, it was the brood of Atriel most certainly.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, Artirius, I am. Only one elf could send a message that far. Though I am powerful I would have been taxed to send the message to you from here. He is twice the distance you have already traveled, plus many leagues more. Only the tribe of the north can send that sign, and only to beings linked to them.”
“Linked, you say. What do you mean by that?”
“Well, let me make this simple to you, for the ways of our magic are actually quite complicated. An elf is linked essentially to those of his or her tribe, the one they mate with, if not of the tribe, and any being who shares their blood. Also, it is possible to link oneself with an intelligent living creature if one chooses. So, because you are not of the tribe, and most certainly not linked to any elf of the tribe, which you would know, the message could only have been sent to you by someone of your blood. No northern elf travels far from that home, with some slim exception, so it most certainly means that an elf of only the greatest power sent that message. So with simple reasoning, only Atriel could send that message that far, your grandfather as you would say it.”
Artirius let all the information sink in. It was no wonder he was so much different from everyone around him. He was not just a human with traces of titan lineage. He was more. He was unique in a way only a few, if any others, could relate to. The question that he pondered the most was still not answered. “Then that leaves my last question Tressnou, why?”
Tressnou looked at Artirius, “That is a question that I do not know the answer to friend, not yet.”
“Why do your people hate it so much?”
“Hmm, what is that?”
“Mating with humans.”
“Artirius, we live forever. To watch the one you love die then to live on for centuries, millennia. It is unfair to yourself, and the thing that is created from that union is wrong, an abomination. They would be scorned and mutilated, tortured. Immortals do not have the right to trifle with the dying.”
“For such a wise elf, for such a wise people, you lose the point friend.”
Cynically, “Well then enlighten me, o’ wise one.”
Shrugging off the elvish comment, for he was used to them Artirius began, “Love, friend, is something greater than life or death. Let us also say this. If an elf were to marry an elf, and one died in a great battle or a tragic accident of some sort, what then? Would the one left behind not have the opportunity to live for millennia as well? To use immortality as a crutch, my friend, is a weak move for an elf. As for the offspring, it would still have the love of its parents, would it not? And why do elves, or any people for that matter, think that they are stronger than love. It can be toyed with using magic, spirits, potions and the like, but tell me, do you have any real control over who you love. No matter how great or powerful or, and this is the point for elves, how wise, love happens sometimes by chance… by fate… by things far more powerful than any being can control. And I am only 35 years of age, what excuse do you have?” Artirius jested with his friend.
Tressnou looked past him, deep in thought. “Humans,” he muttered under his breath. After a brief pause he continued, “For now let me ponder on the conversation we have had this evening, and take the time to contact a few people. In the mean time why not stay at the Leaf, you know where it is correct?”
“Yes, the tavern down the street.”
“Before you arrive there I will have made arrangements for you, in fact it is being done as we speak. I will call on you tomorrow.”
“Very well friend. I will have to see about a pint or two while I am there, not much beats the elven spirits. By the way, what about what I have said, what do you think?”
Tressnou smiled slightly, “Let us consider the debate open for the time being. You never cease to amaze me. Until tomorrow friend.”
“Until tomorrow,” Turning away Artirius smiled, his life had gotten a little more interesting.
Chapter 3