Luthiel's Song: Dreams of the Ringed Vale

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  Finally, she stood. Rushing frantically back and forth, she grabbed things at random throwing them into a pile on the floor. Slowly, she sifted through it considering each object carefully before she chose it or discarded it. Soon she had a pack from this corner and some shoes from another, a wind charm from her windows and a water gourd from beside her bed. A small coil of rope—light but strong, and plenty of socks soon followed. Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember all the things Lorethain took when he traveled.

  When she was halfway through, she noticed what a horrible mess her room had become. So she started meticulously putting everything back in its place and from that point on, she was careful not to disturb her loft. It seemed almost a sacred place to her now that she would likely never see it again. She didn’t want to leave it ransacked. So she was careful and when she was finished, her bed bundle was tidy and all her things were in order.

  As she looked her loft over one last time, she ran through what she’d packed in her head. Two pairs of boots, a nice thick bedroll, a spare cloak, three tunics, socks and more socks, rope, enough food for two weeks—mostly nuts, cheese, dried fruit and almorah cakes—two wind charms, good for keeping the rain off, and her best map were all stuffed into her pack. With them were some of her birthday presents—a vial of honeywine from Lorethain, a knife from Hueron and her Wyrd Stone, which rested in the pouch around her neck.

  On a second thought, she pulled the knife from her pile. She was going to strap it to her belt when she noticed the sheath—made of blued steel—was warm to the touch. Curious now, she drew it.

  The blade, a little more than a foot in length, cleared the sheath with a low chime. It was a bright metal, highlighted with tints of red and blue. Its single edge ran down the blade in waves and just above the hilts a round stamp, textured like the face of a moon, was pressed into the metal.

  Wanting a better look, she held it close to her face.

  She could feel heat against her skin and through the hilt upon the palm of her hand. A thin line of smoke rose from it. In the metal stamp and along its edge she could see dancing flecks of red and blue fire. Her eyes were drawn at last to the stamp. It was round like a moon but it looked like a—

  “Dragon eye,” she whispered. “Of all moons save Gorothoth, I fear you most. Cauthraus dragon eye.”

  Everything, the heat, the smoke, the shape of Cauthraus stamped on the blade told her one thing.

  Hueron has given me a blade made of metal from the red moon—Cauthraus.

  It was a very valuable gift. But it was a weapon, and very grim. It made her feel ill at ease as she strapped it to her belt.

  I may need it where I’m going, she thought.

  Satisfied that she’d thought of everything, she walked over to the shelf beside her bed. On it rested her journal. On the journal’s cover, in silver letters, was her name—Luthiel Valshae.

  Valshae was Luthiel’s adopted last name. Her first name was given by her true parents who had written it on a note. The note, which was fastened to her carriage when she was abandoned in Flir Light Hollow, read Please care for our Luthiel as if she were your own. At the bottom of the note was the letter M. in common script beside its equivalent in the high speech:

  The note was still folded, yellowed and dew smattered, into the inside front cover of her journal.

  For a moment, she considered taking it with her. With a sigh, she decided not to. She’d leave it, something for people to remember her by. She turned to the first blank page, grabbed a quill from her shelf and wrote:

  First Summer

  Leowin, Lorethain, Mother, Father

  I could not stand the thought of losing you, any of you. So I’ve left for the Vale of Mists to take the place of Leowin. You’ve treated me better than I deserve—as one of your own—and I will love you always.

  Luthiel

  P.S. If I do not return, please give this journal to Leowin.

  She considered it for a second longer and then tucked it beneath the cushions of her bed.

  “It will have to do,” she said, giving her room one last look.

  She hefted her pack and glanced at her reflection in the basin again. She looked a little better. Her eyes were clearer, less afraid. But she felt stretched and strained. With a curt nod to her reflection, she turned on her heel and bounded down from her loft. Kindre was waiting for her. She stopped to give him a hug and tousle his ears before hurrying out the front wind hole.

  “Good-bye Kindre,” she said, trying to keep her voice from catching.

  Head cocked to one side, Kindre watched as she walked away.

  She found the shortest road out and then skirted Flir Light, careful to choose the paths that weren’t well traveled. When she was some distance away, she turned around taking a final look at the lights twinkling through the trees.

  “Good-bye,” she said. Then she turned and started making her way into the woods of Eaven Vole. In the east the sky was starting to brighten.

  Into the World

  of Dreams

  As Luthiel walked, worries began to gnaw at her. How long would it take the werewolf to reach Flir Light? How would she find the Vyrl? What if she became lost? The more worried she became the faster she walked. Presently she broke into a jog. Her pounding limbs, her breathing, the slight burn in her muscles all helped. But the sense of anxiety hung with her.

  She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she nearly ran headlong into Marl. At the last instant, she turned aside. Still, her shoulder brushed him and she spun, trying to keep her balance.

  Marl grimaced at her touch, as though it had hurt him, then glared down at her.

  She froze.

  Though an elf, Marl looked more like a creature of nightmares. He stood a head taller than most elves; his limbs were long, ungainly, ending in massive hands and feet. But by some defect of blood or birth, his bones were overgrown. The tips of his finger-joints penetrated the skin, sharpening into claws. His elbows clove through his flesh in wicked spikes and his mouth was a nest of long teeth.

  While still only a child, Marl had lived alone, away from the other elves who feared him. But a family from Flir light had pitied the deformed boy and took him in. For a time, besides the occasional taunt from other children, Marl found acceptance. But that was before Marl got into his first fight. Armed with spines like knives, Marl left the bully badly cut and bleeding. Winowe, even with her gift for healing, was barely able to save him. After, Marl’s horrified parents sent him to live with Elag. To Luthiel, it seemed that being Elag’s ward had only made Marl more aggressive. But there were no further instances of violence to prove her misgivings.

  Elag’s other ward, Vane, was never far from Marl and her heart sank as she heard his voice.

  “Where are you going Luthiel?” Vane said as he stepped from behind a tree. Vane was the older than Luthiel by almost two years but unlike Marl, his features were perfect in every way. His skin, his golden hair, his light-blue eyes. He was almost too perfect, like a flower locked in ice.

  “Ralith, go! Tell Elag we found her,” Vane said over his shoulder.

  A third elf, this one tall and long limbed, sprang from the tree line.

  “Strangeling’s in real trouble this time,” Ralith said as he rushed by Luthiel and back toward Flir Light.

  ‘Strangeling’ was a name Vane had given her years before. Many of the other elves, who thought her odd, had picked it up. Just hearing it made her stomach ball up into knots.

  He’s gone to find Elag!I’ve got to get away from them!

  With a growing sense of dread, she turned her eyes back to Vane.

  Vane Rauth was another rarity—a prince from a noble family in the southlands of Rimwold. It was said that a Rauth who did not demonstrate talent for sorcery could not become a lord. Vane had failed to show talent. So his father Tannias sent him to Flir Light to study under Elag.

  For Vane, it was exile. In the Rimwold, he was a prince; here he was barely an apprentice. Vane loathed his ex
ile, but Tannias, who was a skillful politician, was grooming Vane to be his heir—should he show even the barest touch of Wyrd. From time to time, Tannias would visit Vane while on one of his trips north, lavishing his son with extravagant gifts.

  Vane jealously guarded his family secrets, which Luthiel only knew about because of Leowin. The way Vane took charge, you’d think he was Elag’s chief apprentice—and half of Flir Light did! Vane, not one to show his soft underbelly, disliked Luthiel and Leowin even more for what they knew about him.

  She recovered her composure and sidestepped around Marl who fell into pace with her. He frowned as he walked, flinching with each step. She found it difficult not to feel sorry for him.

  “None of your business, Vane,” she replied as she kept walking.

  “Elag told us to keep an eye on you and to let him know if you do anything strange.” He said the word without emphasis, but it jarred her nonetheless. “A good thing too, because last night we followed you on your chase. You remember, with Leowin?”

  Luthiel kept her pace, pretending to ignore him. But her heart quickened.

  Vane and Marl continued to walk beside her in silence for a few moments.

  “I think it’s sad what happened to Leowin. You always hear about Chosen, but you never think it would happen to someone you know. I don’t know how the lords decide these things, but if I were Tuorlin, I wouldn’t just choose at random. No, I’d choose unwanted people first—like girl orphans. What do you think about that?”

  Her ears burned and she glared at Vane.

  Careful, she cautioned against her rising anger. He’s as polished as a rill-adder and just as treacherous.

  She took a deep breath and kept walking.

  Vane studied her, eyes glinting like smooth stones.

  “You and Leowin took something that doesn’t belong to you,” Vane persisted.

  “So you followed us. Doesn’t surprise me at all. A couple of stalkers like you wouldn’t think to respect a person’s privacy,” she said hotly.

  “We saw you Luthiel,” Vane said softly. “We know what you stole from Elag. Something old and precious. Theft of such a thing, I’m certain, would carry a heavy penalty.”

  Luthiel stopped, turned toward Vane and glared up at him. Vane smiled back at her.

  “It was mine, Vane. It was with me when I was a baby and Elag took it then. I’m just claiming what was mine!”

  “I don’t think Elag will see it that way.” He grinned, but his eyes flashed dangerously. “No, he’s not at all forgiving, is he Marl?” Marl gave a short laugh and ran his tongue over his teeth. There was blood in his mouth and Luthiel wondered if he’d bitten himself. “You know how unkind he can be, don’t you?”

  “He keeps cruel company. You would know better,” she said.

  Vane’s perfect face suddenly became very cold.

  “You’d find out if we took you to him,” he said. “But I’ll offer you better than you deserve. If you give me what I ask, I’ll let you go.”

  Vane reached out as if to touch her. She backed away stumbling as she rushed.

  “Woah! See how she starts!” Vane and Marl both laughed at her. “All I want is the Stone and—“ his eyes seemed to take on a distant, glazed look. “And one lock of your hair. A small price to ask in return for my silence.”

  Luthiel involuntarily touched her hair. “You’ve asked me this before. But you never told me why.”

  “Why? I have shown you kindness you do not deserve and you bother me with questions. Luthiel, it is a small price. And the Stone— whatever Leowin told you was a lie. What would a girl orphan be doing with a Wyrd Stone?” He laughed. “Can’t you see? It’s absurd!”

  “They are mine, both of them. You won’t have anything from me, Vane! No hair, no Stone. Go away! Having you around is price enough!”

  Vane flexed his hands. “If you don’t hand it over, we’ll have to take it from you. I would like nothing more.”

  She stood there paralyzed, looking from Vane to Marl, not sure what to do. Both were taller than her and much stronger. She was sure, given a chance, that she could outrun them. But they were too close to her now for her to just run off.

  She didn’t have time to think long, though, as Vane stepped closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “So what is it, then?” he said.

  Luthiel nodded her head slowly. She reached for the pouch at her chest and began undoing its strings.

  Vane’s eyes flashed with alarm.

  “Don’t take it out!” he snapped. “Just give us the bag!”

  Vane’s grip tightened. Her skin crawled underneath his fingers.

  Don’t take it out? She was surprised by the alarm in his voice. Is he afraid of it?

  Ignoring Vane, she pulled the silvery crystal out of the bag and held it before her. Beside Vane, Marl eyed her warily, wiping the blood off his mouth. Something about the way they shrank from it made her skin prickle.

  “Just put it back in the bag,” Vane said slowly and with force.

  Luthiel’s heart pounded in her ears. It was going all wrong. She didn’t believe they would let her go, even if she gave them the Stone. But the way the Stone seemed to give them pause gave her a faint surge of hope. In desperation she thought of Leowin—trying to remember. What had she said about the Stone?

  “If you want to use the Stone, just sing to it but also think of someone who loves you very much. You could think of me! Understand?”

  Use the Stone? But what did it do? Make light?

  Vane’s fingers dug into her shoulders. “Give it to Marl!”

  Instead, she thrust the Stone out, almost striking his nose. Vane grabbed her wrist, trying to shake the Stone loose. But she held firm. She was trying to think of Leowin. As she struggled, she began to sing the song Leowin made her. She was afraid and shaken and her voice cracked as she forced the words.

  “Stop singing!!” Vane commanded.

  With his other hand, Vane latched onto her elbow, which he wrenched in an impossible angle. She tried to keep singing and barely managed. The pain was so intense, her eyes started to water. Vane wrenched again. Fire shot through her arm and she feared that it might break.

  This is it, she thought. If he does it again, I’ll scream. But despite the fiery pain shooting up her arm, she sang and thought desperately of her sister.

  “Marl! Stop her! She’s trying to use magic!” Vane yelled as he twisted her arm a third time. It felt as though her arm was breaking. She clenched her eyes shut. Pulling deep, she sang with all her strength.

  Then, suddenly, it was as though a cool blanket fell over her and the pressure on her arm subsided. Her lips moved and somewhere, far away, she heard singing, but she could only half-understand the words. She opened her eyes. Silver light was gushing from the Stone. Everything the light touched wavered like seaweed in a strong current. There was a rushing in her ears like the sound of water or fire. Vane stumbled backward and he held his hands in front of his face to shield his eyes from the light. At first, he looked no different. But as she watched, he seemed to change. His eyes became sunken and a green light shone in them. His body seemed to grow thin, the flesh stretching tight over bone—his skin like polished rock. With one hand before his face, he leaned into the light as if it were a gale. With his other hand, he grasped at the Stone. Before he could touch it, he jerked back. His hand fell limp at his side. She heard him cry out, but the sound came to her as over a great distance.

  Still, those green eyes stared at her.

  “It is beautiful,” Vane said with a hoarse voice.

  Afraid that Marl would grab her from behind, she lurched sideways, looking over her shoulder. When she saw him, she froze for a moment in horror. She could see through his flesh and beneath the skin she saw where his bones stabbed him each time he made a step toward her. He moved slowly, pushing against the light.

  Terrified, Luthiel stepped around Vane and fled.

  She ran and the forms of trees, wavering
and elongated, passed on either side as she rushed down the trail. She ran hard but she barely felt her legs move. Blurred forms of trees flashed past her. She rushed on, afraid to look back and see Marl and Vane behind her, terrified of this strange world she’d entered. In the silver light, her legs seemed tireless and she fled for an unknown time. Overhead, the suns seemed to climb, impossibly fast, into the sky.

  Finally, she came to the shore of a river—broad and fast flowing. Still afraid she was pursued, she glanced over her shoulder. But she saw no trace of Vane or Marl. Still, she looked around her in every direction, not trusting her senses.

  Above her, the suns and moons gleamed with eerie brilliance. Everywhere there was light save for the western horizon, which was blanketed in a curtain of darkness. For a moment, she wondered at it. It lined the whole rim of the western sky and no light escaped it. It seemed to her that even though the suns stood at mid-sky, night had returned and was now eating the edge of day.

  Shivering, she tore her eyes from the blackness. In her hand, the Stone blazed like a beacon, illuminating even the undersides of clouds. She felt suddenly exposed.

  How far away can I be seen? she wondered even as the fear inside her grew.

  Even as she thought this, the western darkness rippled and was pierced by a great mote of shadow, blacker even than the darkness that surrounded it. Knifing through the sky, it cast its cold arm over the day, dimming the suns and eclipsing a moon. It sliced back and forth, as though searching.

  Fear became terror, and she threw herself on the ground, shielding the Stone with her body. Still the shadow searched, licking some of the taller treetops.

  She had to get out. She tried to stop singing. But she had the odd sensation of not being entirely in control of her voice. It was as though something compelled her to sing. Her lips moved, she could feel them, but the song was far off. It seemed to issue from the air around her and not from her mouth. She tried again, and for a moment she thought she had succeeded but the singing kept on.