Luthiel still clutched the Stone but her eyes wandered and she opened her mouth, unsure what to say.
“It was not meant to be this way. Awakening into such a place should be a wonder. But ever since the rise of the dark moon it has become very dangerous,” the sorcerer said. He held his hand out. “I promise you, I will return it after I am finished.”
She nodded, slowly pulling the Stone out of her pouch and holding it before her. “It is dear to me and yet, I cannot tell you how afraid I am for what happened. Still, I remember my sister each time I touch it. Leowin gave it to me for a reason. Though it may be a hard gift, she gave it out of love.”
One of the sorcerer’s eyebrows rose at the mention of her sister’s name. “Did she? Good, very good. That love protects you even now.” He looked away again, as though puzzling something over in his mind.
Then he turned to her with a reassuring smile and gently laid his hand on the Stone. “May, I? It would be an honor to hold such a gift. I do not take your confidence lightly.”
Luthiel nodded and with an effort she let it go.
The sorcerer held it before him and suddenly the light inside it seemed to flicker and grow. In that flash he seemed greater, more than the man that sat before her. The shadow he cast on the wall grew until it loomed like a great storm cloud. Then the light faded and he was only a man once more.
“Methar Anduel,” he whispered. “I have not seen this Stone for a long, long time. I thought it was lost, taken or worse—much to my despair. But here it is.” He smiled, and placed the Stone on her palm, folding her fingers around it. “Now in good hands. Let’s make sure it stays that way.”
He winked at her. Then he stood and walked over to the window, holding his chin and staring out into the night.
His intensity was such that she was afraid to interrupt him. Carefully, she placed the Stone back into the pouch that hung from her neck.
“One night is too short,” he whispered and then “I am rude. I would have told you the first time you asked but I have grown suspicious in this uncertain age. But as I said before, a sorcerer should not be careless with her name.” He turned around and walked back to the table placing both hands on its end and looking her straight in the eye. “I, for my part, have many names, but the one most know me by is Mithorden.”
“Mithorden!” she stammered despite herself. Leowin had loved to tell the tales of Mithorden in the late night, and Luthiel had loved to listen.
Mysterious even for a sorcerer, danger and adventure cropped up along the path of his life like weeds in an untended garden. His name was in a hundred stories, each hinting at a hundred more, and he was old, older than Valkire. But none knew the years for it was said he came to Ithilden during the time of the Vyrl on a ship from some faraway land.
He laughed and the sound was merry. “Don’t start so, you look as though you’d seen a ghost! Don’t be afraid! I am only who I am; no more, no less. Besides, we don’t have any time for stammering and staring, the night is short and I have much to ask you and more to tell. So if you’d be kind enough to finish, I’ll continue.”
“Yes, yes,” she managed. “But, sir, I mean, Mithorden, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions about my Stone.” The way he talked about the lord of the dark moon and her Stone seemed to hint at a danger she couldn’t quite grasp.
Mithorden laughed. “Good, I see that after all I’ve said and all you’ve been through that you’ve kept your wits and your courage. You’ll need more of both, though, before this business is through, Luthiel Valshae. But be brief, if you can. Neither I, nor you, have time to waste.” His eyes glinted underneath his bristling brows.
Luthiel nodded gathering her thoughts. “You said a name—Methar something. What does that mean?”
“Ah, you were listening. Long ago, thirteen Wyrd Stones were made. Each has a name. This one is called Methar Anduel—the dreaming song.”
“Methar Anduel,” she repeated, letting the words roll off her tongue. “So how does it take me to that strange place? And I still don’t understand how you came to know my name.” She said the last part only as an afterthought.
“Now, that’s two questions at once, but I’ll answer the first one first.” He crinkled his brows together. “There is a world very near our own. In that place everything that was ever dreamed of or feared has life. From there come many things. Wonders are born. Strange things that few understand slip over. Or terrible things of want and hunger rend the veil in search of lives to devour. For the dreams and nightmares will sometimes pass into our world. When this happens, it is called Wyrd or, as most say, magic.”
“But what does all that have to do with my Stone?” Luthiel asked. A tightness and a chill had settled upon her. But now that she was asking questions she wanted answers, even if she didn’t like them.
“If you sat still and listened, you would know sooner.” He glowered at her and fire seemed to bristle in his eyes.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Apology accepted,” he replied. “There are very few things that live in both this world and the world of dreams. Most are gods, angels and demons. The Stone you hold was made by Vlad Valkire the son of an angel and a demon. By the divine blood that ran in his veins, Valkire could see the light and hear the song of creation—if only as glimmerings and whispers.
“Over time, he became aware of the light and the music and as he grew so did his understanding of it. At the age of twenty two, he began his greatest labor—the making of the Wyrd Stones. In them he captured the light and song of creation and by them some of the powers of gods, angels and demons fell into the hands of elves and men. A sorcerer who knows its secret may—like a god, angel or demon—stand with one foot in this world and another within the world of dreams.
“Your Stone is a gateway into the world of dreams, Luthiel. When you sing, it opens and you are, in part, taken there. Others who hold a Wyrd Stone like yours may know when someone crosses into dream. When you sang, I could hear you quite clearly.”
“You have a Wyrd Stone?” Luthiel asked.
“Of course I do! Don’t ask silly questions.”
“But how did you know my name?” Luthiel asked.
“I already told you,” the sorcerer said somewhat irritated. “I heard your song.”
“You heard me sing my name?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“I suppose, but it was very roundabout the way you said it,” Luthiel replied.
“You should learn to listen better,” he said. “You’ll hear more. Now where was I? Ah yes. There are things that would notice you even if they didn’t hold a Wyrd Stone. When you used it, your Stone cast a light that could be seen for many miles in both worlds. On both sides of the Veil there are creatures better left undisturbed. Some you might scare, others you might anger—as a sudden loud noise might anger a beast of the wood. Still others would hunger for what you hold and hunt you.”
Luthiel shuddered, remembering his talk of the dark moon. “What are they?”
“We have already spoken of the enemy. So I will only remind you of him by telling you of his creatures. A few, I know of only through hints and rumors, these I cannot name. Some, I will not speak of. Seven, who are still called fair by some, hold Wyrd Stones that were taken and corrupted by black art. Those who possess them are bent—body, mind and spirit. I will not name them here. Consider yourself warned! Though they have been forced to live in secret for a time, that time, I fear, is now coming to an end. If for nothing else, be wary of using your Stone for them. They are perilous!
“Others are no less dangerous. Some you may have heard of—Vyrl, Widdershae, Dimlock. Indeed, the Vyrl who rules the Dark Forest possesses a Wyrd Stone—which he has bent to his will. All these may have noticed you.”
She sat for a moment, blinking with fear.
“I’ve only heard of Vyrl,” she whispered.
“Widdershae are spiders—wicked, merciless and always hungry. The
y haunt a ruined land called Detheldris—the Paths of Terror. These were the monsters that devoured the mountain elves long ago. It is because of them that the Gates of the East are now closed and that elves have grown estranged from men.
“Dimlock are all that remain of spirits the Vyrl consumed. Stripped of dreams they live in shadow, always hungering for what they lost. In sunlight or beneath the bright moons, they have no form, but in the dark under the black moon they become solid and roam the night—cold killers for a cold season.
“You would be wise to avoid all I’ve mentioned. Don’t think that you are too small a concern. They would hate the light you bear, or worse, covet it, seeking to turn it to darkness.”
“Are Vyrl creatures of Gorthar?” she asked in a voice that to her ears sounded very small.
Mithorden considered her for a moment before answering. “It is a good question. They were once angels, but long ago they fell under his sway. Since then, they have been ruled by terrible hungers. Valkire, alone, was able to soothe the hungers of a Vyrl. For a time, a few of those who followed him recalled their grace. I am afraid, though, that since his death they are once again creatures of hunger and want. With each passing year, they care less and less for their promise to Valkire and for the lives with which they are entrusted.”
Luthiel shivered. The flir bug light suddenly seemed too dim and the shadows at the corners of the room hid too much.
Mithorden, noticing her distress, made a broad gesture.
“Lumen” he uttered and five golden flames appeared in the air above the table, chasing away the shadows.
“Here, drink some of this.” He held her cup to her lips and she gulped the honeyed liquid down.
The cool, sweet drink refreshed her somewhat and the golden light warmed her.
“How do you feel?”
“Better. For a moment there, it was as though a shadow fell over me. But it’s gone now.”
She took the Wyrd Stone from around her neck and held it before her. The thoughts of the enemy and his creatures of nightmare still swirled in her mind. But they still seemed remote to the immediate danger of the Vyrl.
“Here. If Leowin knew, I’m certain she wouldn’t have given it to me. Take it; I will have little need of it. Tomorrow, I leave for the Vale. I—I probably won’t return. You should give this to someone who is better able to bear its danger.”
The sorcerer stared at her for a few moments. The Stone swung from its string between them. Then, he snatched the Stone and hung it around her neck.
“No, Leowin chose well. The Stone is yours—it is a part of you. Unless you are broken or killed, it cannot be taken from you. Even if you cast it away, it would return to you. For good or ill, it has bound you to the world of dreams. It is best that you learn to accept it and live with both its dangers and its blessings.”
“Leowin would have probably said the same thing,” Luthiel said.
“She sounds like she is very wise.”
“She’s always known much for her age. Now, I think I’ve learned a few things that even she doesn’t know, though I wish I hadn’t.”
“It is always easier to deny the things you fear,” the sorcerer replied “But there is always something to be gained in facing it. We only have tonight, but I will try to help you on your dark and lonely journey.”
“Help?” Luthiel whispered the question. She’d grown accustomed to the idea of having to face the Vale alone and without aid. Loneliness and despair gnawed her, becoming more unbearable with each passing day. Now a hope and longing rose within her. “Would you please come with me?” she asked. She wanted help but more than anything she didn’t want to be alone.
The sorcerer put a hand on her shoulder. “There now,” he said.
“So you’ll come with me?”
“I would, if other matters were not so urgent. Tuorlin of Ithilden has sent for me. My meeting with him must come first. Yet even if I were to go with you, I doubt I could do more than deliver you safely into the hands of the Vyrl. No matter what I do, you will still have to face them alone.”
“Oh,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Luthiel. But there is other help I can give. There is still more for you to learn about your Stone and I know a thing or two about the Vale of Mists that may also be of use. In turn, you could help me. It would be very useful to know how your sister found the Stone and you could satisfy an old sorcerer’s curiosity by telling him why you are traveling to the Vale. So you see, even a sorcerer needs help sometimes.” He smiled at her.
She sighed and did her best to compose herself.
“Well, a little help is better than none at all. I just thought that I might have a chance if you’d come with me. It is hard to think of things as being inevitable, especially bad things. I guess I’ll just have to get used to it in the little time I have left.”
The edges of Mithorden’s mouth turned down and a sad look filled his eyes. He took her in, then stood up and walked to the corner of the room—staring out into the night. For a minute, he stood there with his fingers thrumming on the chair’s back.
“It is true,” he said, “that what lies ahead of you is dangerous. I don’t know why you have decided to risk the journey. But if, for your own reasons, you’re determined, don’t resign yourself to an end that hasn’t happened. There are entire races that lack elfin immortality. But instead of giving in to despair, most find hope in life even when it leads to death. You have more hope than they for your end is not so certain.”
“I understand the sense in what you say, though it gives little comfort. Yet I will listen and do what I can,” Luthiel said.
“Fair enough. Now listen to what I have to say about your Stone. Though it is dangerous and should be used only when in great need, it is still a very useful thing to have. When used, the Stone takes a part of you into the world of dreams. To those in this world you become ghostly—both less substantial and at the same time filled with light. The transformation has certain effects. First, it makes you less susceptible to harm of all kinds. What would kill a normal person might only be a scratch to one under the spell of the Wyrd Stone. Fatigue and hunger are of no concern.
“As you are, in part, within the world of dreams, you perceive more. People are revealed as their true selves—their hurts and ambitions become plain to see. Wyrd is also easier to learn and use. Simple spells are as natural as breathing, difficult spells become simple and enchantments undreamed of by sorcerers who cannot touch the second world are within reach. The Wyrd Stone is a powerful aid to any who wish to learn sorcerery and even you, though still a novice, may discover how to use simple enchantments.”
“But I’m not a sorcerer,” Luthiel said.
Mithorden only laughed. “Using a Wyrd Stone is sorcerery. If you didn’t have the talent, your Stone would be of no more use than any other pretty gem.”
Luthiel blinked. “But I’ve never done anything before.”
“That is no matter. Sometimes it takes many years for the talent to develop. Now, if you’re quite done with this silliness, I’ll continue.”
Luthiel nodded still not believing what she was hearing. How could I be a sorcerer? she asked herself.
“When using a Wyrd Stone,” Mithorden continued, “there are many dangers. One, we have already discussed—you might draw attention to yourself. But there are others. Moonsteel is tied to both worlds and it will hurt you. Dimlock, Widdershae, Vyrl and other spirits or creatures of nightmare are as deadly in dreams as they are in the world. And while in the world of dreams, you are subject to all enchantments that affect spirits. So have a care when dealing with strange sorcerers!”
“Why are you telling me all this? I said I wasn’t going to use it again.”
“You might change your mind. Your Stone may become very useful in the Vale. Its Mists cannot harm you in the world of dreams.”
“I could use it the entire time?” she asked.
“Indeed, you could. But this brings us to the last danger of usi
ng a Wyrd Stone.”
“I thought you told me everything already. It draws the attention of dark things, sorcerers can influence you, moonsteel and other spirits can harm you. Isn’t that all?”
“Not quite. The world of dreams was not a place meant for the conscious minds of men or even elves. By their nature, they live in one world only, not in both at the same time. The longer you are in contact with the world of dreams, the more difficult it becomes to leave. Some have been trapped there and can never again return. They are forever doomed to wander the boundary between worlds as lonely spirits—never fully belonging to one place or the other. More than an hour is risky and no one who has stayed for longer than a day has returned.”
Luthiel remembered her struggle the last time she entered the world of dreams, how she had to exert all her will just to get out.
“I must have stayed for many hours. I didn’t know,” she said. “Time seemed not to pass at all while I was there.”
“Your sense of things is altered but if you pay attention to the suns and moons it will help you. They still move in the sky and will give you a good idea of how much time has passed. Don’t fixate. It is easy to become fascinated by things while in contact with the world of dreams. In order to return, you must remain aware of yourself.
“So, it is wise to enter for short periods. You will attract less attention. Also, if you sing quietly your Stone will cast less light. It is like tip-toeing.”
Luthiel nodded. “I think I understand.”
“Very good, now something about Vyrl—though many mystical creatures covet Wyrd Stones, the Vyrl above all desire them. If your Stone is open, it is likely that they will discover it and then try to kill you so that they can claim it.”
“Oh I wish I could be rid of it. It is more trouble than it’s worth,” Luthiel said.
“Don’t be so hasty. It may prove useful yet. It has already gotten you out of one tight place, though at great risk.”
“But if the Vyrl kill me for it, of what use will it be to me then?”
“These Stones were carefully crafted with the Vyrl in mind. If you wish to close the Stone all you must do is utter the words Nin Alhandra. It will appear to be little more than a normal crystal and even if the Vyrl were to discover that you carry it, they could never use it until you opened it once more by singing your name. You should try closing it a few times, so that you will remember when you have need.”
Luthiel's Song: Dreams of the Ringed Vale Page 9