Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  It was a beautiful spring evening. The stars shone brilliantly up above in a cloudless night. Just before reaching the top stair, Coriander glanced to the end of the procession of ships and saw a strange orange glow emanating from the deck of the black ship filled with priests of the comet.

  The sight unnerved him.

  "General, I must give praise where praise is due," Rophilborn said as he greeted him at the top of the stairs. "If there have been any impediments to our leaving I was not aware of any of them."

  Coriander bowed another time.

  "My commanders are top notch, your Excellency," he said. He was being honest. Finore and Evelyn had worked tirelessly to ensure this journey would be flawless for their emperor.

  "I see you put your faith in the right people," Rophilborn said as he turned from Coriander and began to walk to the other side of the upper deck. Since it was night, there were very few elves up on deck. The captain retired to his quarters, his first mate, a plain but gifted sailor was at the helm. She bowed her head at the approach of the Emperor and saluted Coriander. After this, her eyes remained straightforward and her mind appeared fully fixed on the task at hand.

  Reaching the other side of the boat, Rophilborn put a hand on the railing and looked at the landscape that was dimly lit by the light of the full moon.

  "I hope I have done the same," he said in a tone that sounded more like reflection than a question or observation.

  "Your Excellency?" Coriander asked, not following his leader's train of thought but joining him at the railing all the same.

  "I hope I have put my faith in the right people," Rophilborn said more resolutely. "I'm the oldest living of our people, though none who see me could tell. Some venerate me as an object of worship.”

  This was an understatement, Coriander knew. Many elves did worship the emperor. Not as a god, but simply as the most praiseworthy elf on Gilia. Such a title was not lightly given.

  Rophilborn continued as he stared off to the horizon.

  “While I do not attempt to stop them, for I value their loyalty, I do not know if I deserve their praise."

  Coriander was caught off guard by this statement and did not know how to respond. He simply stood next to his emperor and said nothing.

  Rophilborn noticed the silence and he turned to Coriander. He smiled as if seeing him for the first time.

  "You have served me well," Rophilborn said as he looked into the eyes of his general. "There have been many who have led my armies in my lifetime, but none who have done so quite as well as you have. Under your leadership we have united the elves of the south under our banner. None before you were able to accomplish such a task.”

  Coriander's chest swelled with pride.

  "Thank you your Excellency," he said, overwhelmed.

  Rophilborn turned back to the rail and his attention to the skies above him. Coriander took in the sight himself with a new sense of appreciation.

  "Are you familiar with the legend of Therenor the First, mightiest of emperors of Enoth?" Rophilborn asked.

  There were many legends in fairy tales Coriander had heard in his younger years and quite a few he had told himself to encourage his men in difficult battles. These were of warriors and kings long ago who fought valiantly and lived well.

  But Therenor the First was not a story he was familiar with.

  "No, your Excellency," he said trying to remember every tale he had ever been told. "I'm not familiar with that one."

  The emperor let out a long sigh, as if reminiscing.

  "The legend of Therenor goes beyond even the founding of our great empire," Rophilborn began.

  "He was the one who first united the elves of the south and it was he who split from those who worship the trees. He finally understood that it was the right of the elves to use the land, not venerate it."

  Such tales Coriander was familiar with.

  The splitting of the elves and the establishing of the empire. These were stories he had grown up with. But the name of the elf who had become the first emperor was never told. Most elves just called him, “The Emperor.”

  Some even believed that it was Rophilborn who had founded the empire in his youth.

  Coriander knew that had to have been impossible.

  Rophilborn was the oldest of their race, but even he was not truly eternal.

  "It was Therenor who founded five of our great cities,” the emperor continued. “Including the Imperial Palace on whose throne I sit. It was also he who discovered the secret to not just long life, as our race has been blessed with, but an everlasting existence."

  Rophilborn turned and faced Coriander for the first time since beginning his tale.

  "I am called Rophilborn the Eternal, but that is only my dearest hope and aspiration. It is told that Therenor the First never died, but willingly gave up his throne. I desire that life. I need that life. Death must never touch me."

  Rophilborn looked back to the stars above and Coriander wondered at what the emperor was telling him.

  "That is the true purpose of our voyage. There are secrets to this land that only Therenor has uncovered. I desire to know what he knew and attain what he had. I desire to be an eternal one, just as he was before me."

  Rophilborn put a hand on Coriander's shoulder.

  "Make sure that the faith I have placed in you and your leadership has not been in vain. For greatness always comes with sacrifice."

  Coriander looked into the eyes of his emperor. He saw warmth and light, as he always did whenever he met his gaze. But this time there was something new. Something that he had not seen before.

  A fire.

  A burning passion.

  A driving and resolute force.

  After a moment, Rophilborn removed his hand and began to walk down off the deck, nodding at the first mate still in command of the wheel.

  "Rest well tonight, general of the army of the elves. Tomorrow will be a new dawn."

  With those parting words, Rophilborn retired to his room.

  Absentmindedly, Coriander walked over to the wheel and stared ahead, unseeing.

  He didn't know how long he stood there in silence before voicing the question swimming inside his head.

  "Do you fear death, sailor?" He asked the first mate.

  With a breath and a slight adjusting of the wheel, the female elf considered it.

  "No more than I fear the sudden storm,” she replied stoically.

  Another moment passed before she added, “or an untrustworthy captain."

  The two elves stood in silence for several long moments before Coriander himself retired to his room, many thoughts in his mind.

  14

  Practice

  Beside a bubbling spring that ran through a clearing in a patch of very young trees, a brown and white spotted horse was tied to a sapling. Next to it there were several items that had all the trappings of a family picnic. A basket of food, a laid out blanket, and some various jugs that contained water and other drinks.

  The horse, whose name was Snowy, grazed lazily at the grass it could reach while stretching the limits of its tether.

  Were it not for the circle of floating pebbles that hovered between the halfling and teenage girl who sat on large rocks opposite each other, the scene would have looked quite normal.

  In his hand the halfling held a beautifully crafted metal rod with a glowing red orb affixed to the end of it. It had been a kingly gift from a dwarf lord in his home land far away.

  He looked calm and controlled. Soft muttered incomprehensible words escaped his lips.

  In stark contrast, the girl was panting hard and perspiration ran down her neck and forehead. She held a rugged looking piece of green stone, a metal claw that was fashioned around it was connected to a simple band of leather. The red orb glowed with a bright and steady light. The green necklace hardly flickered at all.

  A small pebble began to lift off of the ground and erratically moved toward the floating circle of rocks.

 
Then the girl let out a great gasp and the rock fell back to the earth. Gently, as the music fades from a room when a musician stops playing, the hovering circle of rocks glided down to the ground. With a great sigh of exasperation, Blume fell onto her back into the cool grass.

  “I hate everything, Jurgon,” she said as she stared up at the evening sky. Anger, frustration, sadness and feelings of helplessness all swam around her. “Why can't I do it anymore?”

  Less than a year ago, Blume had healed those who were at death's door, caused trees to fall onto her enemies, and single-handedly defeated a demon possessed madman who appeared to wield all the dark forces of evil at his fingertips.

  Now she couldn't lift a pebble three feet into the air.

  Ravenous, she reached over into the basket they had brought and took out two strips of dried meat. One she took for herself, the other she threw to her halfling friend.

  Jurgon nodded his thanks and began to modestly chew on his piece. He casually resumed flipping through the pages of his two books, both from his hometown. Blume greedily devoured her own strip. She was exerting way more energy than Jurgon appeared to be.

  Speaking, the art of causing rimstone to bend the elements to the speaker's will, was a draining art. A speaker must take breaks and replenish their energy often, lest they risk doing themselves irreparable harm. Food, water, and rest were the only things that could replenish a speaker after they had performed a portion of magic more significant than their training could handle.

  Her teacher at Lone Peak, the small and withered Dexer, would be aghast to know how hard she was pushing herself.

  Ever since coming to Irradan, Blume had been under his instruction. A lot of good it had done her. Jurgon was continuing to hone his own skills, while she struggled to perform even basic magic.

  She felt like she was making excuses and retelling the same story to Dexer every session to compensate for her lack of ability.

  Whenever she would tell him what she had done in the past he simply nodded his head, patted her shoulder, and said “That's nice dearie,” in his gravelly whisper of a voice. “Now don't try too hard.”

  Blume had the distinct impression that he didn't believe a word she said about her past deeds or how well she had done at her previous school and was more concerned about her passing out.

  Something which, unfortunately, she had done very frequently due to over exertion at the beginning of her training.

  So while she was making excuses and blacking out for hours at a time, Jurgon was growing in his skill. Had he been anything other than himself, she would have been jealous.

  But since Jurgon proved to be such a wonderful listener and hardly ever disagreed when she wanted to get in extra practice when she had told others she was out riding, Blume felt glad for his company.

  She wished she could have said the same about Ealrin.

  Blume wasn't quite sure when it started. Perhaps it was when she began riding instead of going to her lessons. Maybe it was when she wanted to wander around the shops of Lone Peak. Whenever it began, it was annoying Blume.

  Ealrin had been acting more like a father than a friend.

  He was suggesting someone always accompany her, or that she report back every hour to him. He wanted a guard of the city to escort her on her rides. Or, worse, he sat worrying on the wall of Lone Peak, doing nothing but staring out into the hillside and watching for Blume to come back.

  Didn't he have better things to do? Weren't he and Holve trying to solve some great mystery about the tree they were looking for? Blume didn't need a father.

  Her family had been killed by a merciless army of thugs and raiders. For a year she had gotten along just fine without parental supervision. Though it pained her and she missed her mother, father, and brother greatly, she had grown accustomed to being much more independent. It felt like Ealrin was trying to take that away from her.

  Worst of all, he kept telling Blume to wait for her magic to return.

  Just wait.

  Blume wasn't good at waiting. She wanted to work as hard as possible to get her abilities back. And she was going to do it even if she had to pass out every single day.

  “Where's that dumb book...” Blume said absentmindedly as she rolled onto her side, looking for the stack of books that they had procured from Snowy's saddle bag.

  Finding the large red volume, Blume opened “Rimstone Basics and Rudimentary Speaking” and scanned the pages.

  She had read this book so many times now she had nearly memorized the entirety of it. The theory of rimstone seemed anything but basic to Blume and she wondered who could possibly have written this thinking novices would understand it.

  “The connection between the speaker and the stone is best described as water is to a waterfall,” Blume read out loud while Jurgon chewed away on his dried meat and flipped a page of his own book. Her food was already gone.

  “Once the connection is established, magic flows from the speaker as water tumbles over a cliff.”

  She reread the sentence twice and then put her hand over her eyes in frustration.

  “Ugh!” she moaned. “That doesn't even make sense!'

  She looked at her halfling friend who was draining one of their containers dry of its contents. From the smell of it, Blume was fairly certain Jurgon was not drinking water.

  “Do you understand what this guy is talking about?” Blume asked him, pointing at the book in exasperation.

  “Nope,” Jurgon hiccupped as he retrieved his rimstone wand from where he had laid it down and twirled it in his hand.

  Blume thought eventually Jurgon would warm up to her and say more than “Yup” or “Nope.” Then again, that's all he ever said to Jurrin and they had grown up together.

  “Can I try with yours?” Blume asked as she stared at the beautifully crafted wand and then glanced down at her own sad looking necklace.

  Surely it couldn't be some object of ancient might and power if it had run out, right?

  Or maybe, Blume had run out of magic herself?

  Whatever the case, she was almost convinced that if she could use Jurgon's wand successfully, she would just give Holve the necklace for safekeeping and find another, a better rimstone to speak with.

  Jurgon was hesitating. He fiddled with his dwarven gift for a few moments before looking up. Blume could see the battle going on in his mind.

  A speaker's piece of rimstone was their most valuable possession. Through it they could channel all of their magic. If the large red book was hard to grasp, there was at least one thing it said that made sense.

  There was a special connection between a speaker and their stone. Blume considered her own request a moment.

  “What about your old one?” she asked quietly. She knew he loved both wands but, in recently days, he had favored the newer dwarf made wand over his own crude rimstone piece on a stick.

  Another moment's hesitation passed, and then Jurgon nodded and let out a faint “Yup.”

  He grabbed for his own pack and, after putting his two small books away, produced from within it a small dried stick with a blue piece of rimstone attached to the end of it with a strip of leather. In ways, it seemed very similar to her crude necklace.

  Blume fingered the wand for a moment, feeling the oddness of it in her hands. She was so used to her necklace hanging around her that to have the rimstone separated from her on a stick seemed more than strange.

  She took a deep breath, letting herself reach out to the stone and connect with it.

  “Let's try again,” Blume said, her eyes closed and her mind resolute.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Jurgon in front of her, sitting on his rock and calmly speaking the magic that made the circle of pebbles rise and hover in midair. They flew around gracefully, keeping the middle of the circle always in the same position.

  Blume admired how far Jurgon had come with his control over his magic. She looked down at a stone on the ground and concentrated on it with her full mind. A faint g
low turned into a dazzling light and for an instant, Blume thought she was about to gain back her abilities.

  From the rimstone wand in her hand, a blue ball of energy exploded and landed in the exact spot that stone had been. Pebbles, rocks and earth flew in all directions. The graceful circle of rocks fell to the ground as Jurgon was forced backwards off his rock.

  Snowy neighed and whinnied, pulling at his restraint, attempting to get away from the explosion that had just occurred. Blume was blown off her own rock by the sheer force of the blast and, tumbling backwards, saw that there was a small crater where the rock had been just moments before.

  Dirt rained down on them and covered her blonde head. Panting heavily, they both sat on the ground for a moment, considering what had just occurred.

  “That's not what I was trying for...” Blume said ashamedly.

  It was at that moment she noticed two things at the same time.

  The rock on the end of Jurgon's stick had split into two.

  And they were surrounded by foxes wielding spears and walking on two legs.

  For a few moments, Blume stood still.

  Then one of the creatures barked menacingly and she began to look all around her in a panic. She counted at least twelve of the beasts. All of them were breathing deeply, their eyes conveyed their hunger.

  Some of them started to growl.

  “Jurgon,” Blume said quietly. He had stood to his feet and was also looking around them at the approaching foxes. Every one of them was taking a measured step toward them.

  “The city is north. Up the stream, right?” she said as one wolf came within a few steps of her.

  Jurgon nodded, his wand grasped tightly in his hand.

  She hoped he understood what she meant, because at that moment, she threw her red book at the closest beast and sprinted for Snowy.

  Several things happened all at once. An explosion to the north of where they stood erupted and Snowy bucked high into the air. Several yelps and barks split the air as Blume grabbed madly for the rope that held Snowy to the tree and pulled it free.

  Jurgon was at her side in an instant, breathing hard. His magic had cost him precious energy.