A Feather on the Breath of Ellulianaen

by Robert Denethon

  Chapter Twelve

  Mynowelechw Somyaim Cwig

  Vision Of Another Realm

  Chaliom Æthüynyl Æÿifrro

  In the north gryphons and men sought Hwedolyn. Farther south, in the cave of Chalyom, Hwedolyn had gone missing as well, for he had disappeared from Gwendolyn’s sight. She was not the least bit concerned, however, for Chalyom had vanished as well, and Gwendolyn was confident that if Hwedolyn was with the gryphon-crone he was safe, no matter what magic she had performed upon him or whatever had befallen them.

  Hwedolyn himself found that he was in a vision, though he did not know if he was in his body or out of it, for to him it was like a dream of the night, not quite real, and in fact when Gwendolyn told him later on that he had disappeared he was greatly amazed, and doubted her story not a little, thinking that perhaps they had been farther down the cavern or in the midst of the smoke from the fire, and that Gwendolyn was mistaken in thinking he had disappeared, and he wondered if he had imagined it all.

  First he and Chalyom were underwater, yet strangely enough he could breathe normally, which made him feel that they must be in a dream, but it felt real, that was what was strange – he was certain he was not asleep. They were inside a tunnel with walls that were twisted and gnarled like the roots of a tree, rushing upwards inside a large sphere of water. Then suddenly they were outside again.

  Four moons sat in the sky and the stars were different; indeed, he did not recognise a single constellation. Chalyom was crouched beside him with her wings half closed, and they stood before a beautiful hall made of stone more polished than marble and with greater lustre than gold, carved with delicate ornamentation and beautiful images of gryphons, elves, gnomes and men, in a manner Hwedolyn had never before seen. Everything looked both ancient and new, as if death did not reign in this Realm as it does on the earth (for all save the Nomoi Elves). There were columns before him carven with grapevines, with clutches of purple amethysts representing the grapes. He reached forward to touch the columns, but his talon met resistance; an invisible surface was between his talon and the columns, causing ripples to flow along the field of his vision, and he realised they must still be inside the sphere of water.

  Chalyom said, “Your mind formed that image of the tree and the water. It is like a dream, but not a dream. It is your own mind’s imagery of the World Tree and the other ambits, reduced to the four that we usually inhabit – with my own magic I helped guide you here, for my father had the same gift and taught me that much, but it is you that have the gift – I possess no gift of leaping the branches myself! One day you will be able to do this without my assistance. But the single Realm before us, that is real; that is its true appearance.”

  And for a moment he saw everything truly as it was, for the world opened out, as it were, into many lands and realms, composed of many ambits, all at once, each one of them having three ambits at right angles to all the others like our world, but it was too strange, too convoluted and impossible to comprehend, and he blinked and the view resolved itself back into the three ambits he had seen initially; the four moons in the sky, and the beautiful hall.

  An elf stood before them. Hwedolyn did not see him step out, but perhaps he had come from behind a column while he was looking at the carved walls. The elf was wearing a helmet of Elfynn-gold studded with twelve kinds of precious stones and a ceremonial breastplate, carved in the image of a gryphon in battle. He wore no sword and carried no weapons, though strung to his side was an empty scabbard made of leather woven into a pattern that Hwedolyn had seen before in ancient ruins in the far north, in a valley many leagues from his parents’ eyrie. The elf had sandals upon his feet of an ornate design and a single ring upon his finger the bore the image of two gryphons intertwined.

  The elf said, “Welcome, Hwedolyn, son of Halomlyn! And Oracle of Hwendoryllyan! Fortunate indeed are you to be vouchsafed this vision of the Realm of the Other Elves. But this is not your time, for we who await you, Hwedolyn. Your time will come some aeons from now, centuries upon centuries, yet how many years I know not in your realm, for the zomhwúl flows differently in our two lands, sometimes swifter, sometimes slower.”

  The elf’s tongue was like to the gryphon language, but his grammar was strange, and his pronunciation was hard for Hwedolyn to grasp. It was either an ancient version of his native tongue, or one that had changed, a distant branch, a cousin of it, so to speak. Yet Hwedolyn’s mind grasped what the elf was saying nonetheless, as though the elf was speaking to his mind and not to his ears.

  The elf continued, “We do await your coming, but not of this sort! We await your coming in the days to come, to open the gate of Hwendoryllyan, the door between our two realms.” Hwedolyn had no idea what he meant by this. “But, Hwedolyn, danger yet stalks you, though you think that you are the one stalking this elf-mage, yet truly it is Lyfrahothrynn who stalks you, for vengeance oft wreaks ill upon the avenger, and you have neither might nor powerful allies yet. Take Gwendolyn to be your bride, at the right time, for can ye not see that she loveth you, even as you love her? This is your destiny, the will of Ellulianaen, from this day forth. That ye make an eyrie, a home, in the distant reaches of the earth, and dwell there in peace, forgetting the elf-mage and the grief of your loss for now, and wait for strength and wisdom to come to you. In time Ellulianaen himself will avenge your cousin; you need do nothing now. Have you not heard of the deeper magic, the magic of Ellulianae? Such magic is the power whereby his servants forego vengeance. This is a greater power.”

  Hwedolyn said, “How is it that you know everything about me?”

  “We watch and wait. Ellulianaen has set the times and dates, yet there are many things we do not know, that only the All-Father knows. Some claim that not even the Gryphon-King knows all things, but we believe he is one with Ellulianaen. Will the Gryphon-King know all things, when He walks upon the earth, or is that only given to the All-Father and the Breath of Ellulianaen who searches all things, even the deepest heart of the elf, the man, and the gryphon? But you are one whom we know of, Hwedolyn, and we see something of the destiny that awaits you, something of the battle that will befall you, not now, but when you least expect or desire it. From our land we watch and wait, for we glimpse glimpses through the curtain of Hwendoryllyan that separates us from you, though we cannot yet cross over. We await your coming of age, the time that is yet to be, when you will do the deeds we speak of.” Then the elf turned his fixèd gaze upon Hwedolyn, and said. “But it is surely Ellulianaen’s will that you cease your quest for vengeance!”

  Hwedolyn replied, “I made a solemn vow. I cannot forsake my quest.”

  “Ah. Do you not know the Atmedlalin scrolls? Foolish vows need to be renounced. A vengeful heart can not be united with the will of Ellulianaen. Perhaps you risk the very destiny that will one day call you, and possibly even the future of all gryphonkind.”

  Hwedolyn said, “How can that be?” And he decided to change the flight-path of the conversation – “You appear to know many things. Tell me, elf, if there be any way I can defeat the elf-mage?”

  The elf said, “Defeat the elf-mage? – You will not, gryphon, at this time! Ellulianaen may well defeat the elf-mage, but this will not be his final defeat. That time will be later.”

  Hwedolyn said, “But I must defeat him. I am going to.”

  The elf said, “You will not.”

  Hwedolyn said, “What help is there for me?”

  The elf laid his hand on Hwedolyn’s shoulder and said, “I can give you one piece of advice, gryphon, that might help you at the opportune moment. Be aware of your astrognomy. There will be an eclipse. Think on the seasons. Remember the movements of the single moon that circles your world! This comes from Ellulianaen, for he would have you protected despite your stubbornness, but be aware that you will grieve your choice.”

  Hwedolyn had no idea what this meant.

  As the elf spoke, he took his hand from Hwedolyn’s shoulder and the world appeared to stretch, bu
t then Hwedolyn realised it was the surface of the water-drop they were in, stretching then contracting. “We have no more time,” said the elf, and his movements slowed to a stop as if he had been suddenly frozen.

  Then Chalomlyn flapped her wings and said, “The Llaiyllanyhil lines stretch to breaking point; this window between the worlds closes. If we stay here any longer, the time-lines will break, and you will return ere-long, aeons later than when we left and the World-Tree will be changed from what it would have been otherwise into something else. That this should happen is not the will of Ellulianaen.”

  And behold! Straightaway they were back in the cave, and Gwendolyn was there, cooking a meal in the black pot above the fireplace. Chalyom greeted her and bade Hwedolyn to seat himself upon his haunches and ready himself for his supper.

  The meal was delicious.

  As they ate, it was all Gwendolyn could do not to ask what had befallen them while they were away.

  The gryphon-crone perceived her eagerness and encouraged her, “Come, cub, you wish to ask. Ask.”

  Gwendolyn asked, “Where did you go, Hwedolyn?” Her eyes loomed as large as the rising moon, staring at him expectantly in the dark cave, and he thought his heart would break.

  Hwedolyn replied tenderly. In that moment he became a hero to her, a gryphon-warrior from the time of Horanathnllyn the Mead-drinker. “It was another land, with four moons in the sky, and there was an elf. He was not one of the elves of our realm, who sneak and snivel, but of a different, nobler sort of elf, and he wore ornately decorated armour, forged in the ancient manner of the kings of Arganoth. He told me many things. Some I did not like to hear, others I very much wanted to hear.”

  And though Gwendolyn queried him, gently, many times that night, Hwedolyn said very little more than that, for he felt that he should not mention to Gwendolyn what the elf had said about making an eyrie with her, and about the elf’s attitude towards his quest to fulfil his vow he had no wish to say anything.

  A sudden tiredness overtook Hwedolyn, and he realised that he had not slept in a comfortable eyrie for many nights. He politely excused himself and lay down and slept for many hours.

  The following evening Hwedolyn and Gwendolyn determined that they would set out together after they had eaten, to hunt, for she said to him, “Between us we have eaten all the stew that Chalyom had in reserve, and we need to get her two goats, so that she has something to eat for the next month. It was I who ate most of it.” He wondered why she said this, for he knew that he himself had eaten the greater portion.

  As they stepped out onto the ledge at the mouth of the cave, Hwedolyn gasped, for in the sky hung the blank face of the new moon, blotting out the stars in a circle in the centre of the sky. He said, “How can this be? It is the new moon! It was waxing gibbous when last I gazed at it only two days ago. But what has happened? Have I gone mad?”

  Gwendolyn said, “Do you not realise? Three weeks have passed since you disappeared with the Chalyom and it is now the new moon. Why are you puzzled at this? Were you not away for that whole time? That is why I ate Chalyom’s stew, for I waited for your return in the cave.”

  Hwedolyn was amazed. He said, “We were there in the other place for but a moment, where the four moons shone. Was it a vision? Was I in a trance or a dream, for many weeks? Have I slept and didn’t know it? What a strange and troubling thing, that moments should pass while I miss out on many weeks… You would not lie to a fellow gryphon, surely you would not, Gwendolyn. I know you would not.”

  Gwendolyn said, “You disappeared from my sight when you went into the realm of the noble elves.”

  He puzzled about this later in the day as they flew above the forests together, hunting for a goat or a sheep for the old gryphon-crone’s meals.

  Then as he flew, other thoughts began to crowd in. He silently began wondering how far ahead of him the villainous elf-mage was now, and whether he would ever find him, and how he could defeat him, and what the noble elf had meant when he had said that Hwedolyn should be aware of the phases of the moon. All his ruminations gave him a pain in his stomach, for a doubt about whether Ellulianaen was guiding his quest had now added itself to all the other fears that he felt.

  ‘Is Ellulianaen not just?’ Hwedolyn asked himself, ‘Is he not good?’

  Hwedolyn had believed that justice was on his side before this, and he still believed that, but now he feared that Ellulianaen was not, and he could not ignore the fact that the noble elf in the other land had known so much about him, though he had never met him before. He wanted to think it was all just a dream, but the peculiarity of the difference in the passing of time made it more likely that it was true, for many of the old tales tell of Other Realms, where time passes differently. He tried to stop thinking about it, and cast the vision from his mind, forgetting as well as he could.

  As they flew Gwendolyn was silent, yet still he found her presence beside him awfully comforting, in a terrifying sort of way. Then she began to joke and laugh about the fact that they had still not caught any goats, so his mood improved somewhat, and, perhaps to show off to Gwendolyn, he swooped down upon a goat, terribly fast, but did not take it, then slipped up into the sky and found a warm current to drift upon in a deliberately nonchalant fashion.

  Gwendolyn pretended not to notice his antics, thinking herself for a moment above such foolishness, but she could not ignore him and soon began to guffaw softly in that peculiar way that gryphons do, a sound somewhat like a lion’s growl and an eagle’s cry combined. They both burst into gryphon-laugher, and swept up into the sky encircling one another. Then Hwedolyn said, “I’m going to chase the dark moon.” And they soared up into the clouds, following the dark shape of the new moon as it bobbed up and down with each flap of their wings. The starry sphere of the sky wheeled about them as it was joining in their dance, and they ascended jubilantly into the upper reaches of the aerial dome that encircles the earth.

  Then far below, they espied three goats, marked them for their prey, stalked them softly from above like gliding tigers hiding in the clouds, then plummeted down. Hwedolyn gripped the large billygoat in his talons, skilfully avoiding its sharp horns, with which it was slashing at him trying to slit his belly. He knocked it senseless with his beak, for a frightened animal can often taste worse. Gwendolyn gripped the other two goats in her talons, and they flew into the sky and returned to Chalyom’s eyrie, where they cooked a lovely stew for the old gryphon-crone.

  Just as they began to eat, Chalyom went to the very back of the cave and brought out two large barrels of mead. “I’ve been keeping it for a special occasion,” she explained. “Well, actually, I have a store-cave in the back with one or two more barrels, too. Gwendolyn, should I die, you should know that I have bequeathed all my mead to you. And anything else you may find of value here in my eyrie, my pots and pans...”

  And the three of them had such a lovely meal – the stew was the best they had ever tasted, and the golden mead flowed like honey, which of course is what gryphon-mead is made out of – and the talk was full of solace and companionship.

  And on that happy night Hwedolyn almost forgot why he had left his parents’ eyrie in the first place.