Her father’s death was still fresh in her mind. With everything that had occurred, Elinor never had the chance to properly mourn his passing. Morbis meant everything to her. Not only had he been a loving father and wise teacher, but he was her first and only true companion. She thought it strange that she was unable to remember Simtoren. Perhaps he was lying about their time spent together? Or perhaps she had been too young to remember him? All that was for certain is that he had been there at her birth. That is if the images she had seen were accurate.
At an early age, Elinor had begun to imagine the day when she and Morbis would no longer have to live in hiding. A day marked by an end of aurora-hunters and the return of light. She often fantasized what that day would look like. From star-filled skies she had never seen before, and the accompanying moon frost that occurred each winter, to fires burning in the open across Lower Lightendom. It was a magical and cherished illusion. As she got older though, her dream of a better tomorrow was slowly replaced by darker outcomes. A child’s delusions turned macabre and were exchanged for what she deemed inevitable; that neither she nor her father would survive long enough to see her fantasy come true. She so desperately wanted to believe light-bearers could change the tide of war that she held on to a smidgen of hope. But when Morbis died, a piece of Elinor died with him. And then she no longer believed in childish dreams.
Elinor had made the lengthy climb to ask Zi if she knew of a way to regain her ability to control fire. Gargans were known to have prolonged life spans and were considered wise in the ways of mysticism. She could bear losing her afterglow, but not fire. A life without light and warmth would lead to madness. She was sure of it. Elinor also didn’t know what to make of Aysgarth’s return. The occurrence in the water had left her shaken, and being in the presence of Zi made her feel safe. She couldn’t stop thinking about the images.
First there was the appearance of a sea wolf creeping through the darkness. Then Aysgarth in the flesh. He had been as real as the scavenger that had pulled her to safety. In the cold water his hand was warm to the touch. And his eyes. They were the eyes of someone highly determined. But determined to do what? She had tried so hard to forget him, along with everything else. Elinor had made the conscious decision to move on with what little life remained.
Since returning home, Elinor could sense something was wrong. With every step taken, every labored breath, she felt the weight of her past bearing down. It was like the tolling of a bell signifying the end of an era and the beginning of another. She felt Death’s cold embrace each morning. Its looming shadow accompanied every waking moment and continued its pursuit even when she closed her eyes. No amount of wishful thinking or childish fantasy could change what was occurring. Death was coming for her.
As she pondered her mortality, her need to regain her ability faded. She realized there was no point in asking Zi about something so meaningless. What good is fire if I’m not here to enjoy it? Elinor figured dying would be similar to living in darkness. The time she had left would be spent without light, or warmth. She concluded it was a good way to prepare for what lay ahead.
Elinor sat back against the tree. Her lantern slowly faded. Peering into the distance with expressionless eyes, she took shallow breaths while recalling her childhood again. She heard laughter echo through the caves where she had grown up. Images appeared as though they were right in front of her. Elinor held a brush in her tiny hand, mimicking her father’s actions by making small strokes. Focused on his own painting, Morbis stood next to her applying black dye around the outline of a wolf’s head. He carefully dabbed around the edge to prevent one color from bleeding into another. Young Elinor stared at the image depicted on the cave wall.
“I see this man in my dreams, little mouse,” replied Morbis to the curiosity on his daughter’s face. “I do not know who he is. Or why he visits me.” He picked up a clean brush and dipped it in a yellowish mixture. Morbis colored the wolf’s head. When the portrait was finished, he stepped back.
A tall and lean man, with salt-and-pepper hair tucked behind his ears, and a hardened gaze, stared back with absolute certainty. Silver eyes and how Morbis had depicted him suggested a fighting man. His left leg was slightly forward. He stood rigid with arms at his side, but if provoked, his hands were ready to strike without warning. Visible over his shoulder was the hilt of a sword. It had a disc-shaped pommel and a gilded grip protected by a curved crossguard. He wore all black except for a sleek red cape and the bold sea wolf on his chest. Around his neck was the same pendant that hung from Morbis’s. Elinor became animated.
“Such a bright girl,” said Morbis. He took Elinor in his arms. “This man gave his light to us, little mouse.” Morbis removed the pendant from his own neck and gave it to Elinor. She felt its warmth radiating against her skin. The longer she held it, the brighter it became. “Yes, yes,” he said excitedly, “see how it reacts to you? There are no teachings of this happening to another. It has chosen you, little mouse. When you are older, it will be your charge to return this man’s light. He seems to want it back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The ancient one was unable to move. She was slowly suffocating as her body expanded. Her testalar was also phasing out of shimmer. Its light was being redirected and enhanced by the presence of crystal formations. The bigger she became, the more intense her pain. A look of horror stretched across her face when she heard bones cracking under the strain. Her eyes bulged and she clenched her teeth, before the agony became too overwhelming. Her mouth shot open, expelling the remainder of her air into a ghastly scream. The testalar activated, emitting a pulse that moved outward in a circular direction. Her mass continued to increase. A crystal shard pierced her cheek, sending blood spilling from her open mouth. She would have cried out again if able to.
A rumbling noise reverberated from below. Vibrations caused by rock grinding against rock accelerated the slow fracturing spreading around her as a result of the testalar’s release of energy. Like a stake sharpened to a point, another crystal impaled her leg. The ground trembled. Then it crumbled beneath her. The ancient one dropped into an open space undergoing transformation. She fell hard but landed against a flattened surface. Barely conscious, she peered through hazy eyes.
Around her the space was shifting. Surfaces moved from side to side, up and down. The area she occupied, however, remained untouched. But it seemed like she was descending. She came to a sudden stop, and then was propelled forward. Or what felt to her as headfirst. As far as the ancient one knew she could be moving backward. There was no way to tell her actual direction. Perhaps she was not moving at all and only the surfaces around her were? she thought. The atmosphere was highly disorienting. And immense pain was affecting her ability to reason. Her only relief came from mild light radiating from crystals that covered the moving surfaces. It helped soften what otherwise would have been dismal darkness. But she soon realized she had a far greater problem than her current state. Her testalar was weakening.
The ancient one didn’t know how, or why. All she knew was that if her testalar was drained she would not last long in her current condition. Without its power she would be unable to heal, or shimmer. In a slow, painful crawl, she pulled herself across the ground. Her staff had landed two body lengths away. She needed to get close enough to the testalar so she could dissolve it. Once in element form, her plan was to store it inside of her until it could be re-formed again, safely. But she was too feeble to continue. Instead, she raised her hand and in a strained voice that was barely discernable, mumbled, “Ash—”. She paused to suck air and then tried again. “Ash-car—” She was unable to finish as she choked on blood.
Staring at the testalar’s diminishing glow, the ancient one saw a blurry image emerge from the backdrop of darkness. She went rigid, fearing Ka΄Phar had found her. There would be no escape for her this time. Her desire to correct the imbalance that she helped facilitate by remaining idle as Kalloire was drained of light would go unrealized. Worst of al
l, the collective would die with her. For that was their way. The one chosen to remain behind was entrusted with awakening the others. Without the One, the rest would remain in stasis, unable to free themselves, and eventually would be consumed by the testalars they were entombed with. That is why the ancient one had been so reluctant to act. Not only because it was their nature to not interfere, but by doing so, she had put the entire collective in peril.
The approaching silhouette appeared haggard and helpless, not graceful and menacing like Ka΄Phar. Whatever was coming for her required support from the wall to stand erect. It slowly moved toward the ancient one who remained incapable of defending herself. Instead of seeing a vibrant dress with extravagant flair, the entity wore a drab cloak. There was no stolen afterglow visible from underneath the hood covering its face, or malicious words spoken, as was Ka΄Phar’s way; she enjoyed tormenting her victims before killing them. The sounds of dragging feet and labored breaths suggested something else. If not Ka΄Phar, then who?
When the presence emerged into light emanating from the crystals that were draining her testalar, the ancient one’s eyes widened. She focused on a deformed face that clung to exposed muscle and bone, with black horns protruding from the forehead. Tawny eyes that leered with hostility were recognizable as those belonging to her own kind. As the stranger hovered over her, the ancient one sensed the same presence that had been with her in shimmer. Young energy vibrating from one extreme to another. She also sensed something else within the vibrations. A tremendous feeling of rejection and loneliness. This other ancient one was an individual, not part of the collective. It was that distinction that finally identified who had approached. The ancient one felt her upper body being lifted off the ground. A familiar command, but not of her tongue, was her last recollection before she lost conciseness.
“Ash-car-ah!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Morbis placed young Elinor back on the ground. With his back to her, he took several steps and then spun. His afterglow deepened, becoming so intense that the Elinor in the present, who was still leaning against the tree, had to shield her eyes from its immense glare. Ragged clothing that had been too big for his small stature fell away, replaced by the iconic red-and-black attire of a light-bearer. Morbis extended his polearm weapon. Bolts surged from the ends, striking cave walls, and releasing a thunderous crack. Elinor felt vibrations from the powerful display ripple through her chest. She locked eyes with her father.
“In times of war, you must learn when to fight, and when to run,” he proclaimed. “You must know when to strike, and when to lie down.” Morbis’s tone was stern, but the love he possessed for his daughter was apparent. As he spoke, his eyes glistened, and the contours of his face remained tender. “Are you done taking it, Elinor?” he continued. “Are you tired of running all the time? Have you had enough?” There was another torrid crack.
Elinor stared in disbelief. “Poddy,” she asked. “Is it really you?” Flashes of light flickered off his shiny head. His polearm twirled and then came to rest by his side. He used it like a walking stick as he approached.
“Why are you still here, little mouse?”
“I have nowhere else to go.” She swallowed hard. “Oh Poddy, I’m dying.” Her lower lip quivered. “I’m so scared.”
Morbis knelt by his daughter’s side. “Elinor,” he said with a brilliant smile, “remember who you are. Light will guide you. You must use it to banish this darkness.”
“I lost it. I lost the fire, Poddy. I have no light.”
“My brave little mouse. Light comes from within. The darkness I speak of is not the one above. It resides inside of you.” He elaborated. “None of this is your fault. Not my death. Not what happened to you in the sky. And most certainly not Light Fall.”
“But I attacked.” Elinor paused. “You were right. We should’ve run. If I had only listened to you, you’d still be alive. I had become so angry at being forced to run all the time that I never saw the hunter coming from behind. You gave your life to save me. Then when others needed me, instead of fighting I chose to run. Because I was a coward, they too died.” The number of deaths she felt responsible for was too much for her to accept. Tears dripped down her pasty face.
“Possibly, for another moment, another day, or even another moon frost, yes. I along with others may have lived. But eventually death comes for us all. What matters is not how we depart this place, but who we choose to be while we are here. You chose to be a fighter.” Morbis touched Elinor’s cold cheek. She leaned against his hand, embracing his affection. “There is no greater responsibility of a parent then to ensure their child’s survival. With it comes great sacrifice. A sacrifice I would gladly make again. As the last light-bearer, your sacrifice is not to trade your life for a few, but to protect the many. And in doing so, restoring the balance. If Kalloire dies. All will die. I understand this is difficult to accept. But it is the only way.” Morbis begun backing away. “What you faced at Brim Hall was an impossible situation. If you had taken a stand, you too would be dead.” He looked to the horizon. “The time has come for you to forgive yourself. Harness the power given to you. So, I ask again. Have you had enough, little mouse?”
Morbis’s afterglow merged with flashes produced by an immense thunderhead approaching the temple. His image faded. Elinor’s attention was drawn skyward when Zi released a grumbling moan. Her mouth opened wider as she craned her neck and released a distressing call that roared across the lake. Zi slid from her perch and dove for the surface. Elinor managed to get to her feet to see Zi spread her wings just prior to striking the water. Waves moved across the lake as she powered forward. Her fluke whipped through the air. Out of the corner of her eye, Elinor saw movement along the shoreline. As she watched Zi rapidly fly in the opposite direction, she knew the woman had come for her and any hope she had of a peaceful death evaporated.
Huddled along the shoreline, masses of aurora-hunters squealed. Grinding mandibles rose in volume. Their ranks parted. And then she appeared, the woman in red with Elinor’s stolen afterglow shining brightly. Elinor glanced back to watch Zi quickly moving toward the coming storm. She was fleeing and leaving her to fend for herself. Elinor couldn’t believe it. Again, she had been abandoned. Her father’s words hung in the air like a heavy mist. Have you had enough? Well, Elinor had had enough. Enough disappointment to last a lifetime. If her time had come, the least she could do was pay homage to her father’s memory, and that of all light-bearers.
Her blanket dropped from her shoulders. Using the lookout’s railing as support, slowly she proceeded into the temple. Elinor had no idea the extent of the woman’s power. The bridge had been destroyed so she suspected it would take some doing to get aurora-hunters across the water. Although limited, she still had time to prepare. Her eyes blinked while she quelled her emotion. She took steady breaths. Elinor had only one destination in mind. But it was far. Her only wish was to make her final stand as her formal self.
Even inside the tree’s dense trunk she could still hear the ongoing commotion outside. Wails of hungry aurora-hunters merged with the roar of a storm that was quickly bearing down. Elinor half expected that at any moment the woman would miraculously appear to finish her off. But somehow, she kept going, through dark passageways and down winding stairs; across outdoor walkways and by way of cramped air vents. She emerged into a dining hall. With its spacious area and centralized firepit, Elinor had been meaning to clear debris from the room as a gesture to its former grandeur, but somehow never got around to it. She tripped over an aurora-hunter skeleton concealed under overgrowth and fell against an overturned table. Desiccated entrails dropped from the table’s cross bracing onto her lap. Elinor scurried away.
She heard heavy footfalls stomping across a layer of decayed leaves and rotted furniture. Elinor reached for her weapon, but she had forgotten to bring it. She was relieved when the blockish shell of a scavenger appeared in the doorway. It lumbered over with its head lowered, sniveling and str
oking its snout.
“I need your help,” pleaded Elinor. The scavenger gazed at her oddly by tilting its head and blinking its eye. “Take me to my bedchamber.” She clarified, “You know the place. Where I rest.” The scavenger kept staring. “My hole. My burrow. The place I lie. Where I keep my things. I need you to help get me there.” Still, the scavenger stared inanely at her.
Elinor was desperate. The sounds of chaos were getting louder, and she was becoming weaker. If it couldn’t understand words, perhaps the scavenger would respond to a different kind of communication. She grabbed a piece of wood from a rotted bench, but it crumbled in her hand. She searched the area, using her hand to remove a layer of rot covering the floor. Her hand swiped across a metallic object. Elinor reached for it. In the muted light, she was still able to recognize the item. A belt buckle worn by a light-bearer. It was severely tarnished and broken in half, but Elinor could still make out a portion of the Eternal Tree.
Quickly she cleared away another area. Although the floor had been tempered during construction, she was still able to apply enough pressure to make an etching. Using the buckle to form deep gashes, an oblong image took shape. The scavenger’s eye became lively when Elinor finished. She pointed at the floor and then proceed to mimic the act of placing something over her head. Elinor patted her chest. “My pendant,” she stated. “Take me to the place I keep the pendant.”
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