by Robert Day
It was some consolation that both Janantar and Ashaella were not numbered within the gathered force. About a tenth of the Elvin populace had been spared, numbering warriors and Druids also, so they could find refuge elsewhere and spread word of the Demons if it was not already known.
“I would understand it if you did not wish to aid me any more, Janantar.” The recently healed Bladesinger stood at his side, clutching his red eyed sister to him, his own eyes rimmed with moisture. The pain on his face was evident, though he did not show it as much as Ashaella. Both of their parents were among those who would meet the Demons, and Andrak knew both Janantar and his sister would readily have been with them or taken their places.
“The time has come for change, Andrak. For the first time since our creation, we of the Sylvaen are driven from our home. I cannot change that, and though I would like to join my kindred as they battle with the Shadowspawn, I think what we do is in some way linked to a greater purpose.”
“Where will your people go?”
“South. The Zarn have always been more accommodating to us. Hopefully they will understand the circumstances.”
“Some word should have reached Zarn by now concerning the threat, but it is unlikely many outside the court of Zarn will know of it. Perhaps the Lord of Kalidor will know.”
“We will make them listen if we have to.”
“If things take a further turn for the worse, there will always be refuge at Thorhus.”
The weak smile of thanks almost made him decide to change his plans and remain with the Elvin refugees, but the grim reality of the greater picture drew him back. There was a reason for him having to find Kitara; he knew it in his heart, and not only because she was his sister. Likewise, it was necessary he did not participate in the coming battle between Demon and Elf.
“Come, Andrak. We must visit Perthanis before we depart.”
It was a uniquely sad moment where words spoke less than the briefest of fierce hugs as Janantar embraced his sister, while Andrak looked on. He could empathize with the position Janantar was in, with the possibility of not seeing his sister for some time, if ever again, with the Demon uprising an ever increasing threat. He was not surprised to see unashamed tears streaking the Elf’s slender face as he broke from the tender embrace. He did not glance at Ashaella, fearing his own emotions might overflow at the sight of the beautiful Elvin woman weeping.
And then they were gone, torn away by fate or chance, both of them sharing similar thoughts of hope, shadowed by more fearsome doubts that were, for the time being, held at a distance.
Perthanis, whom Janantar described as being a once great Druid but was now as much a hermit as one could get among the Sylvaen, lived to the North at the outer limits of the tree city. The two moved quickly, not only because of their need to be gone, but realizing the sooner they were away from the ambient beauty of the city, the sooner they could shift the weight of guilt that clung to them.
“Perthanis is not like any Elf you have met thus far, Andrak.” Janantar’s wry smile shifted to a frown as he surveyed the now desolate outer city. Where only hours before many Elves wandered as if uncaring about life and what it entailed, now there was but a dry husk. “He was leader of the Druids before my father, and his ways might seem a little eccentric for the unwary, though he is still considered wise amongst our elders.”
“You have mentioned he can help us find Kitara. What is he, some kind of Seer?”
A soft chuckle preceded Janantar’s reply. “Sort of. His powers have always seemed irregular. Such has his peculiarity grown. When Ka’Varel visits us, he and Perthanis often meet and discussed a great many things.”
At the mention of Ka’Varel, Andrak wondered if Tyrun had managed to reach safety with the dying old scholar. He had said they would one day meet again if he had, but as yet the two were nowhere to be found, and already the Demon host was invading. Tyrun had also said that without Ka’Varel’s guidance there would be little hope, and at the moment, he felt as if they had reached that point.
Perthanis’ dwelling proved to be the hollowed stump of what must have been an enormous tree, fully fifteen paces across, but broken away as if from an explosion, forty feet above the leafy ground. Slender windows bore shutters, stained from weather and age, very unlike any other dwelling Andrak had seen, while the door was an arched entry covered with the colorful hide of some creature Andrak could not identify. Of golden hue with patches of white, it was the only thing that appeared clean, as if it had been freshly washed and cured the day before.
Slatted vents purged the interior of a dark smoke, giving Andrak cause to fear the dwelling was aflame from within, but Janantar assured him with a chuckle, such was not the case. An acrid scent permeated the air, probably carried within the smoke, making Andrak wonder, not for the first time, if this was a necessary stop off.
They were barely four paces from the ‘hut’ when the hide flap parted wildly and a figure appeared amidst a swirling of smoke. Startled, Andrak’s hand shifted to the hilt of his sword even as he wondered if Janantar had been wrong about a conflagration, but the figure appeared non concerned. Indeed, he stood unmoving, arm raised to hold the hide, head cocked awry as if curious.
Janantar’s mentioning of eccentric seemed an understatement as Andrak took in the Elf. He appeared small and frail at first glance, but a closer inspection revealed a crookedness of frame that belied his shortness, though he would not have been taller than either he or Janantar if straightened. His clothes were tattered and unclean as if he had been wearing them for weeks on end without wash, which was a possibility judging by his blotched skin. Like the hide on the hut, only his stark white hair appeared clean, though unkempt, appearing much like a ‘spike tree’, a plant Andrak had seen growing in the castle grounds as a child.
Neither Elf spoke, with Janantar remaining as impassive as the stranger, whose dark eyes bore into Andrak from beneath his bushy brow. As if to mark the moment, no breeze stirred the trees, nor did any of the usual animal sounds drift through the silence.
“We are after…” began Andrak, when it seemed as if no other would speak, though the Elf’s unblinking stare caused him to falter. “Ah, that is to say, we are looking for-”
“And you have found him, Lion son. Fear not, I have been expecting your arrival. Come! Enter!” He shifted with a mocking bow to the side, still holding back the hide flap, motioning into the dim interior of the hut. Andrak paused momentarily, but knew the time for indecision was past.
“Welcome, Oathbreaker!” This was aimed at Janantar, who ducked in behind Andrak, the words sounding mocking and accusatory, yet when Andrak looked back, Janantar wore a scowl of impatience rather than anger and Perthanis wore a teasing smile, like a young boy taunting a friend.
“You know of why we come, Perthanis.”
If the old Elf was offended by Janantar’s growled words, he did not show it as he swept around the two and into the murkier interior of the room. Andrak gave a start at the haphazardly arrayed paraphernalia, which seemed both messy yet uncluttered. Books and scrolls lay in disarray, while jars and bottles sat amidst tools and other equipment. A central forge like fire heated the room, and provided the thick cloud of smoke as well as dim light.
From somewhere, the distracted old Elf produced a dented silver flask and three equally dented mugs, seemingly of tarnished copper but without the grime or dust Andrak would have expected from anything buried amid the cluttered contents for any amount of time. Whatever the flask held, there was no smell over the acrid aroma already permeating the room, but the dark contents was not reassuring as the Elf meticulously poured three equal portions, making sure the stopper was replaced firmly before setting the flask aside.
“A toast! To the end of the world as we know it!” Cackling laughter could only indicate the words were meant in jest, or at least Andrak hoped as he tentatively took the tankard from Perthanis. As he did, he caught his first real glimpse of the old Elf’s eyes, and realized there was litt
le by way of madness in him. Like dark wells, they unblinkingly studied Andrak, weighing and searching.
Janantar accepted his own mug with a grudging acknowledgment of thanks, taking a leaning position against the wall near the exit. He caught Andrak looking at him and indicated he should drink, doing so himself without discomfort. Slightly reassured, Andrak sipped the dark liquid as he watched Perthanis busying himself, searching for something else within the room, his own tankard emptied with a mighty gulp and a satiated sigh before wiping his mouth with his shirtsleeve.
Whatever it was, it felt cool as Andrak took a sip, tasting slightly of sweetened apple or some other fruit. It was not until he swallowed that a fiery heat began to grow in his throat, building to a crescendo as he tried to simultaneously draw breath and cough. The result was a wheeze that thankfully passed quickly, and on retrospect, was not entirely unpleasant. He did not look at Janantar, but guessed the light hearted Bladesinger would be enjoying a smile at his expense.
“A’car’us! Roughly translates to mean ‘Dragon’s Fire’. Warms the blood, eh?” Perthanis rounded a cluttered table to stand before Andrak, who was surprised to find had found a seat atop a wooden stool. “Seen worse, the first time, haven’t we Oathbreaker, or are you the Seeker, now?”
“I seek only rest from your nonsensical drivel, Perthanis. Was it not bad enough you filled Llewellyn’s mind with false prophecy, now you continue with me? We are a people at war, as you may see if you walk in the real world once in a while.”
Almost choking on his second swallow, and not only for the first reason, Andrak expected some harsh reaction from Perthanis, but instead the old Elf bowed his head as if chastised. He was whispering some barely audible words, however, of which Andrak heard only ‘the Harbinger’.
Whatever was spoken, he raised his head after a time, and a trail of tears crept down his pale face, open pain visible in his carriage.
“I know of my son, Janantar, and however much you think what I speak as nonsense, he believed as much as I, and knew there was little he could do to escape his destiny. He did not try and flee it as you think, but walked to accept it. And yes, I know we are at war, as I have forewarned many times, but it seems even we of the Sylvaen can be as mistrusting and naive as humans. ‘Not seeing the forest for the trees’ has somewhat of an ironic twist here, don’t you think?”
“Ah, why is it you are not leaving with the others?” asked Andrak testily, still at a loss to decipher the sudden turn of the conversation. Was Llewellyn this man’s son? If so, was he some sort of scholar, as Ka’Varel appeared to be? If the two had met before, perhaps Perthanis really did know a little about what was happening. He guessed the bad blood between the two Elves here was something he should not get involved in, thus his intervention. They had too little time to be wasting it, especially after he finally agreed to meet Perthanis.
“Why?” The old Elf became detached again, his eyes searching the room as if there were things he needed, but he made no other move save to turn slightly towards Andrak. “Why not? I am too old to run, Lion son. If Solantholas is successful, I will be safe. If not, then what need is there for me to survive?” The wistful expression that suddenly crossed the old Elf’s face passed quickly, but it left his eyes softened and his mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “There is nothing I could offer the rebuilding of our people. I am old even for our kind. It is too long since I returned to the Pacific Realm.”
From knowledge, Andrak knew the Pacific Realm was the fabled birthplace of the Elves, where it was reputed all Elves returned at the time of their passing, unless their death was a result of less than ordinary means. That was what made the fight against the Demons all the more valorous for those who went, for Death at the hands of the Shadowspawn meant obliteration of the soul rather than return to the Pacific Realm, for Demons feasted on the essence of life: the soul. Cowardice was not a word used among the Sylvaen, but there were many who chose to remain with the re builders who could have fought, but did not have the courage to face potential, if not probable destruction.
“There is something you can offer now, though,” interceded Janantar pointedly, if not harshly, obviously still bitter at their previous words. “We have need of your abilities, if you are still capable?”
“Capable I am, son of Clovinius, but whether willing is the question. Why should I help you now, when not before have you asked and still openly question my beliefs?”
“This is not about my belief, but what you will do about yours. You can stand there and preach, and say ‘I told you so’ even as the Demons break down our homes and yours, or you can bring life to your beliefs. This is what you have lived for, and if you think I am the Seeker or the Oathbreaker, help us, so at least it may come to fruition.” Pleading was not the way to describe Janantar’s words, for there was concern and pain there. The logic of it failed on Andrak, but the intention of Janantar was clear, and he watched the old Elf hopefully.
“I will help!”
Andrak’s expelled breath sounded loud against the tense silence. Janantar merely nodded and took a long drink of his Dragon’s Fire.
“Tell me what you need?”
Janantar explained the circumstances relating to Kitara’s kidnapping and their desire to find her, only whatever traces there might be of her kidnappers would be cold and difficult, if not impossible to find. Perthanis seemed only slightly stunned at the news of Ka’Varel’s injury, but assured Andrak without extrapolating, that the old man was most likely safe and well. At story’s end he was silent, thoughtfully running a hand through his silken hair before moving to once again sift through the room’s contents, all the while muttering incoherently to himself.
“What you will require is a Reverie.”
Bemused looks between Andrak and Janantar prompted the asking of what a ‘Reverie’ would entail. Perthanis’ answering tone made him sound much like a teacher who was describing something for the second or third time, though he continued searching as he spoke.
“Relationship between people creates a bond dependant upon the type of connection, along with other things such as the closeness of those involved in terms of love or respect or friendship, while others of a similar nature such as Elves or Dwarves have an affinity with each other that goes beyond friendship or blood. This affinity manifests itself in several ways, which can be controlled if you have the knowledge.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” admitted Andrak bemusedly.
“Have you ever spoken the same thing as another very close to you, at precisely the same time, or known without being told what somebody was thinking? How about seen somebody you think you recognize though they could be a perfect stranger? Or have you ever dreamed of those you have never seen, but known to exist, only to find when you meet them they are exactly as you dreamed them?”
Andrak could only nod to each example, but still did not know how these could be used to his benefit.
“Depending on the strength of your link, your subconscious and that of your sister’s might be enough to manifest itself into an image or a sign, which may help you deduce where she is. Stray thoughts such as what she sees in the distance, or if she smells the salt of the ocean, can all be captured if you have the power. It is not without dangers, however, nor is it undemanding and easy. Aha!”
With a cry, Perthanis upturned several small cane baskets to reveal a leather case about the width and breadth of his hand, and half as high. A small silver latch secured the hinged lid, and as he swept junk from the nearest table and sat it down, the faint sound of glass clattering together could be heard within.
“These are herbal potions, specially designed to calm the mind and create a state of Kenja far beyond that which Janantar or other masters of the Bladesong can attain. With it, sense and knowledge are as grains of sand to the wind, manipulated with the slightest of ease.”
“I will try!”
Perthanis nodded, as if knowing what Andrak would decide. Springing the latch and opening the case
, he revealed sixteen slender glass tubes about the size of Andrak’s thumb, eight containing a yellowy liquid and the rest a pale blue liquid. One of each color he drew out and rested atop the case as he closed it and secured the lid.
“There are some things you must know before we start. That which we enter is a far different realm to which we live. There, nothing is as it seems, and what you see is always reality. This enigma is the essence of the Reverie. Also, depending on your strength, many forms of communication will assail you in the Reverie, and you must sort through these to reach your goal. Under no circumstance must you let yourself be overwhelmed by these, or you will lose your mind and never return to your normal senses. When you have what you seek, drink of the blue vial and you will return. Understood?”
Not truly confident but determined, Andrak took up both vials. Perthanis directed him to a chair crafted of bamboo, clearing it of junk and bade Andrak sit. “Drink and relax. Remember to control your thoughts, or you will not return to us.”
The stopper yielded reluctantly, and an acrid stench assailed Andrak as he lifted the small vial to his lips. He could feel Janantar moving to behind him, so he could not meet the Elf’s gaze before continuing, but he trusted in his feelings and closed his eyes to drink. Not that he expected to be poisoned or drugged, but the dangers Perthanis had explained sounded even more ominous the more he thought of it.
The liquid was unexpectedly cool but bitter tasting, oozing down his throat with the essence of lemon and honey, which may have led to its coloring, but there was the definite tang of other ingredients he did not recognize.
He had no idea what to expect from the dose, other than sleep was more than likely, yet it was a surprise to find a slow build up of senses coming to him, like wakening in a garden and trying to sort through the various smells, yet this became even more profound in that all of his senses were involved.