The Missing

by Jeremy Forsyth

I was sitting on a high hill that overlooked the beach below. Though my eyes could not pry themselves from the flying serpents in the distance, I was still aware of how the ocean sparkled vigorously in the morning tide - how the world around me came alive with sunlight. But while beauty surrounded me, my knees drawn up against my chest dejectedly, I continued in my cynical frame of mind, unconvinced that lagones were real, despite the fact that right there before me, they cavorted in the air.

  No Moon Elf would leave Alepion to explore a world filled of Strangers, I asserted to myself.

  Strangers was a term used to describe non-elvin folk. In our world, it was also used derogatively, was debatably more insulting than the term forsker, for it explicitly implied treachery, deceit, what the Strangers of Old had done to us long ago.

  No elf would leave Alepion for the Stranger world. And so, no elf could have possibly seen flying beasts such as the lagone. Therefore, the possibility that one even existed remained highly unlikely.

  And yet, I continued to watch the creatures. I watched with narrowed vision and acute concentration. Their bat-like wings flapped laboriously, their long serpent necks slithering through the air as they lecherously snapped at one another in some menacing attempt to endear the other.

  No, I continued saying to myself. No. It is all a made-up myth. A legend.

  But when one of them suddenly yelled out a massive shriek, like that of a bird though with greater depth in sound, I recoiled in fright, unprepared to have the silence of the morning disturbed in such an abrupt and petrifying manner.

  “They’re real alright.”

  I frowned and turned to the elf sitting next to me. I looked forward again, my face already taking a pouting form.

  “When did you get here?” I asked.

  “I have been here the whole time.”

  I turned my head again to face the Son of the Father, unashamed of how obviously displeased I was to see him again.

  “Do Sun Elves not know when one wants to be alone?”

  “Of course we do,” said the Son, placidly. “But we also can see when it is helpful to disturb that solitude. Are you still angry?”

  “Of course I am!” I said, looking forward again. “Because of you, I have fallen out of favour with the Elder.”

  The Son of the Father chuckled. “Why would that make you angry?”

  Right now, the Son of the Father’s voice alone was making me angrier than I was when I first realized him seated next to me. It wasn’t just his voice - it was his impudence as well. It was astounding! He was so nonchalant that I wanted to throttle him.

  I could concede to the probability that while growing up and being told that you were of higher birth than everyone, it would be difficult to believe otherwise - especially if that sentiment came from one’s own father, who in the Son’s case, was the ruler of the entire Sun Elf nation. But while I watched the Son, uncomfortably aware of how straight his posture was, making him appear taller, I found myself lacking all sympathy for him. Rather, my resentment and envy flared while I continued to stare at him and I realized that I hated being confronted with so fine a being, causing me to become irrevocably aware of how insignificant I must be in comparison. I suddenly looked away.

  “It just does,” I said feebly. “He is the Elder. He is a Great Servant. The greatest of us all.”

  “Back in the Moon Lands, perhaps,” replied the Son, who added with even more impudence, “Not the greatest on this island.”

  I took in a deep breath, trying desperately not to lose my cool again. “You Highborns are full of yourselves.”

  The Son cast me a curious look. “Not at all,” he said. “We are just born with a clearer understanding of the realities of life.” He turned towards the lagones, gestured suggestively before adding, “more so than some, it seems.”

  While he faced the ocean, I regarded him with an intent look of hostility. “Why are you here, Sun Elf?” I asked.

  “This is my land.”

  “Your land?”

  “Yes.”

  “This land… This island, belongs to the Moon.”

  “Maybe once. But now, it belongs to the Sun.” He offered me a debonair smile. “It belongs to the Father. My father.” That smile vanished. In a moment, the Son raised a long elegant finger in the air as if something had just now occurred to him. “I have come up with a potential solution to your dilemma.”

  I looked at him and frowned. “What dilemma?”

  “Your fall out with the Elder. What if I got you an audience with my father? So that you may enquire as to how to get back into favour with the Elder. Seeing as my father is also a ruler, I remain convinced that he will have insight that could be helpful to you.”

  I faced forward again, my eyes cast down in thought. He made a good point. Perhaps the Father of the Sun could lend me some advice. Yet how was I to get it from him? I am a Moon Elf after all.

  “You would need to earn the right to an audience,” the Son was saying now, more to himself than to me. “One does not simply ask for the Father’s wisdom and expect to gain it without paying some fee.”

  “Then how would I ----?”

  Again, the Son raised a suggestive finger in the air, this time in clear indication that he desired me to keep quiet while he spoke.

  “I assume you have no coin. Or at least not enough to merit the Father of the Sun’s intrigue. However, if you could perhaps defeat me in single combat, coin would not be needed.” The Son put his finger down. I saw his eyes narrow in contemplation. Then his head nodded slightly. “Yes. If you could manage to defeat me, my Father would see you. He would see any who could triumph over his heir. During the wars against one of your golden elders, he would have granted an audience to that blademaster, if of course the blademaster had desired it.”

  “Is that how you received your scar?” I asked.

  The Son of the Father turned his face towards me. The scar I referred to now, which drew a direct line down one side of the forehead and passed his eye to the cheek, became a warning to the ignorant and a declaration to the enlightened: He was an experienced warrior.

  “Indeed,” replied the Son. “In your lands, the blademaster who gave me this scar was named the Destroyer. In my lands…” He smiled, “In my lands, we call him something different.”

  “Why didn’t he request an audience with your father after he had defeated you?”

  The Son shrugged. “He didn’t want one, obviously… but he got one none the less.” “He got one?” I was now confused. “An audience with the Father?”

  “Indeed. But it was my father who requested an audience with him. He wanted to meet the warrior who had defeated his heir in battle. My father wanted to size him up. Perhaps he meant to determine whether he could defeat him or not. Who knows? What I do know is that my father has never forgiven the Destroyer for shaming me.”

  I looked forward, suddenly saddened. “If I defeat you, he will then never forgive me either.” For some odd reason, I didn’t want that to happen. I was already out of favour with the ruler of the Moon. To be out of favour with the ruler of the Sun would add to and complete my disgrace.

  “Never,” concurred the Son, happily. “But he is your enemy, if you recall, so what does it matter?”

  It was as if his words had broken some spell that I was unwittingly under. For just now, I shook off the last remnants of it and said with some emphasis,

  “Yes! He is my enemy. And so are you!” I got up immediately. Facing him, I drew my longblade, willing the smirking Highborn to get up and face me in combat.

  He did, slowly, his grin obvious and his motions proclaiming an overconfidence in himself that I meant to use to my advantage.

  “Just remember, crescent,” came the Son suddenly, drawing an elegantly forged blade, one that took my breath away over its sheer beauty. “If you defeat me, I will inform the Father of the Sun. And you will get your audience.”

  “You swear it?!” I asked, finding myself once more sceptical. “Swear
it!” I then demanded.

  The Son bowed his head and closed his eyes. His blade hand went to his breast and he said, “I swear it.”

  I came across the battle in the late morning of the day, when the sun was ascending to its highest point, banishing shadows and remnants of the morning chill, therefore filling the hills and valleys with golden rays that made one shy away their gaze.

  I stood beneath some trees, protected from the glare of the sun and what I saw, was the brutal reality of war, intensified in this case by those who were just now engaged in ferocious fighting.

  The lines on both sides had smashed together in shuddering impact. Shields depicting the Alepion moon and the three Darkmoon stars rose high against those that boasted a field cut in half by the flaming sun of the Sun Elves and the silver Crown of the Highborns.

  Longblades were thrust into the gaps of the shield walls, some finding their mark to no avail, piercing mail and plate, while some indeed were hurled with the needed force to spill out a crimson rain.

  “Your people fight well.”

  I looked to my side and when I faced forward again, eyes set once more on the killing and the struggle, my expression was apathetic.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Same as you,” said the Son of the Father. “I came to watch this glorious battle between our great people.”

  “Well you should be standing here alone,” I said bitterly, adding, “I am meant to be there, fighting with my fellow crescents.”

  “So, why aren’t you?”

  I looked at the insufferable Highborn incredulously. “Because of you! Because I am out of the Elder’s favour!”

  The Highborn’s smirk made me narrow my eyes at him. “You threatened a Highborn. What did you expect?”

  I looked forward again, distractedly watching as a crescent of Alepion was pulled behind enemy lines. Amidst Sun Elf ranks, I couldn’t see what the warrior did to defend himself. All I saw above steel helms was a score of blade hilts rise and fall continuously.

  “You said you would tell your father I defeated you.” I looked intently at the Highborn. “I did more than defeat you!”

  The Son of the Father folded his arms and nodded, appearing pleased. “I have told him. He is the Father of the Sun and just now,” jerking his head towards the raging battle, “he is busy. Once he has annihilated your Elder’s army, he will make time for you. That I swear.”

  I turned my head and concentrated on a certain Sun Elf who was aggressively attacking a dazed crescent. I tried masking the flinch I made when I saw the Sun warrior succeed in driving his blade past plate, mail, leather and into flesh. The agonised gasp that the Moon Elf made when impaled gave me sickening scruples.

  “Then will the Father give advice on how I am to regain favour with the Elder?”

  “He will indeed,” conceded the Son. “I told him it was your aim. He is bound by honour to oblige any who can defeat his heir.”

  Though the Son of the Father was my enemy, I found myself trusting in his word somehow and so hope dawned in my heart, for I eagerly looked forward to what advice the Father of the Sun had planned to offer me. I only hoped it would be in time. I hoped this war wouldn’t be over by the time I was in the Elder’s favour again. I wanted desperately to kill as many Sun Elves as I could. I wanted to see them die - defeated by mine and my fellow crescent’s blades. Most of all, I wanted to see their Highborn rulers driven from the island like they had been during the reign of the second Golden Elder.

  “It appears the Moon has won…”

  I briefly glanced at the Son, who remained as nonchalant as always. But then I looked again from the refuge of the trees to the battlefield and I saw to my amazement that the battle was indeed over; the floors stricken with dead Moon and Sun warriors. Those still standing, were revelling crescents in their black mail and dark green armour; their black cloaks tattered and torn. They removed their helms, revealing sweat stricken faces, were cheering as they thrust longblades into the air.

  I smiled and looked to gloat at the Highborn but when I turned to face him, the Son of the Father was gone.

  Good.

  I turned again towards the aftermath of the battle. The Elder had triumphed over the Sun Elves and so I knew that he would be celebrating at camp! I turned and ran, desiring now to honour the ruler of the Moon Elves, even if it meant facing his scorn in front of my fellow crescents. I didn’t care. He deserved honour. The Elder deserved respect, even by those who shamed themselves in front of him.

  But while on my way, in the heat of the day, I glanced to my left where the sea met the shoreline and there I came across someone I did not recognise. He was far away - while I remained on the top of the hill and he was standing upon the beach, waves crashing behind him so beautifully that I was suddenly struck by a tangible peace I couldn’t quite comprehend.

  Compelled by some invisible allure, I found that I had turned away from my course and was now descending the hill, unable to steal my gaze away from whoever it was that appeared to be waiting for me.

  During my approach, I noticed that the stranger was wearing white robes undulated in the cool breeze of the afternoon. He had long hair and a long beard, as white as a Highborn’s, but when I eventually stood before him, to my eyes, he looked queer, for he was no Highborn… nor was he an elf.

  “Who are you?” was the first thing I said.

  My voice was low. I was caught up in some unexpected awe, for there was something magnificent about this person. His robes had a glow, his hair too and in his kind and perceptive eyes, I could perceive a wonder that shook me pleasantly.

  “Join me for some food,” the Stranger said, smiling, gesturing towards the modest fire that he had built in the sands. Just now, he was roasting some fish caught from the sea and when I gathered myself to sit, I saw that this person was barefoot.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  We ate in silence. It was an incredible silence. I was at peace. Contentment cradled me. I hadn’t a concern in the world, nor any question to pose from some gnawing curiosity. All I could do was be - and it was freeing.

  But when we finished our meal I suddenly became aware that the time to talk had come at last, but it wasn’t me who broke the silence.

  “Why are you afraid all the time?” this person asked.

  I frowned, “Afraid?”

  “Why do you even know what it feels like to be afraid?”

  I didn’t know how to respond.

  “Why do you doubt your worth? What did I do for you that you should continue in life timid and without direction? What did I do for you that you lack self-control and remain dominated by a depraved perception of yourself? Who are you listening to? Who do you really follow? What pulpit proclaimer has led you astray?”

  “I ---”

  “Who told you that I am a narcissist and that I need money to bestow my love and blessing upon you? What power do I really have, if you go about life in constant struggle, constant fretting over deeds I no longer count against you?”

  I felt ashamed, though I did not know why. And so, not knowing what else to do, I bowed my head and offered pardon.

  “I am sorry… I do not understand…”

  I looked up and saw this person smile at me. I felt an incredible amount of assurance in that moment.

  “It is not for you to understand,” this person said, his tone transformed to a placating one, where before, it had been filled with an earnestness, a great concern in which I could feel came from a deep sorrow. “It is not for you to understand because you’re a Moon Elf and these questions are not meant for elves who enjoy my freedom.”

  I was relieved, “Who are they for then?” I asked.

  “Man.”

  I frowned. “What’s man?”

  “They are my delight. My greatest delight.”

  The Elder’s camp was made up of rows and rows of crescent tents; its sheets silver fields for the dancing shadows cast by multitudes of lofty lamp poles, and it
was all situated on the northern slope of the well-known Valasian Slopes of the Nunes, back on the main lands of Alepion.

  I found that observation queer seeing as we were on the Athana Island of the Middle Islands.

  Night reigned and it felt as if I had been floundering through many fields and marshes; my feet ached while I wondered how it was that the Elder and his entire army had made it back before me.

  Passing tents on both sides, advancing on soft earth, my fellow crescents watched me in silent judgement, none of them speaking to each other or to me, and I could feel the burning gaze of all those I passed boring into the hide of my head. But when I came across a youngster I knew to be a servant, I beckoned him to me.

  “Why is the Elder’s camp back in Alepion?”

  “The Elder thought it a fitting location for his victory today,” the servant said, shrugging, “for it was close by.”

  I frowned at that, was in complete disagreement over that logic, for in Alepion, the Nunes was on the western side of the Auless River, the Valasian Slopes near its western shores, was at a great distance to any who lived anywhere east of Auless. We were not even in Alepion, but further east on Athana! How then could the Elder deem the Valasian Slopes the closest location to commemorate his triumph?

  I was incredulous when I said so to this servant, did add with a touch of annoyance, “How much time would be wasted now getting back to the island?”

  “Adonai will find a way for us,” was the servant’s reply.

  I scoffed at that, unable to respond to such a mundane response, even though it was unsurprising; the close-minded Adonai worshipper always reverted to some form of illogical piety when met with a question they could not give a logical answer to.

  I shook my head, turned around and continued towards the Elder’s pavilion, had already forgetton the young servant while I prepared myself to stand before the ruler of the Moon Elves, trying as I might to suppress my annoyance at the Elder’s bizarre move in leading his army so far away from the enemy.

  “No,” came a voice. “The Moon is the enemy.”

  I glanced to my right and once more found myself in the company of the Son of the Father, who was cloaked and hooded this evening, as if that could hide who he was. Already, those crescents around us were gasping at having a Highborn in their midst.