Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1)

by Smith, Jacquelyn

  Barlo returned to the guest hut to find Linwyn facedown on one of the fur bedrolls, sobbing. The dwarf lowered himself to the ground beside her and patted her back awkwardly, comforting her in the same way he would his daughter.

  Linwyn snapped her head up, wearing a horrified expression. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and gave him a haughty look. “What are you doing here?”

  “I saw the look on your face when those two elf women showed up. I followed you to make sure you didn’t do anything rash.” Barlo sat back on his heels and took a bite out of some roast as though nothing were wrong. “Would you like something to eat? You left in a bit of a hurry.”

  For a moment, Linwyn seemed to struggle to contain herself, but Barlo just sat there, looking at her. She dissolved into tears once more, abandoning the facade.

  “No one has ever seen me cry, except Golaron.” She looked miserable.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.” Barlo shrugged. “For example, today was the first time I ever saw an elf dancing naked.”

  Linwyn choked out a laugh around her tears before turning serious. “I know you tried to warn me about this. I didn’t want to listen. I just didn’t think it would be like…like this!” She scrubbed her damp cheeks with her sleeve.

  “Iarion told me the stories of his past and even I wasn’t prepared,” Barlo said. “It’s a different way of life here. Iarion was a different person when he lived with these people. It was a long time ago. He ran away from here for a reason.”

  “Well, they seem to have forgiven him.” Linwyn’s voice was bitter. “I think they mean to persuade him to stay.”

  “Shame on you for not giving Iarion more credit.” Barlo wagged a finger at her. “Iarion is the Lost Wanderer. He has spent thousands of years searching for meaning! He thought maybe these people knew the answer. Once he realized they didn’t, he moved on.

  “Don’t get me wrong, he probably had a good time while he was here. But he’s not going to stop to dally with these people now, with his answers so close at hand. This quest is what he lives for. Each day that passes, I see it consume him a bit more. I’m not saying this to give you hope, because I don’t think there is any where the two of you are concerned. Maybe once this quest is over… I don’t know. But for now, Iarion lives to reunite the Quenya in the hopes it will give him the answers he’s seeking.”

  “So you don’t think Iarion will decide to stay,” Linwyn said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Barlo pulled a tartan handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “This part of his life is over. There are probably many elves propositioning him right now, but he’ll turn them all down. The call of the Quenya is too strong.”

  “Well I suppose that’s something.” Linwyn gave a small smile.

  “Don’t forget what I said about getting your hopes up. If you pin your sights on Iarion, you’re only asking to get hurt. He won’t even realize he’s the cause of your pain.” Barlo hoped she would see reason.

  Linwyn made no promises. “Thank you for coming after me.” She eyed his plate. “Is there enough to share? I really don’t want to go back to the feast.”

  Barlo placed the plate, still heaped with food, and the second goblet on the floor between them and gestured for her to take what she wished. Now that Linwyn had let her guard down, she seemed relaxed and in good humor.

  They spent the next several hours swapping stories of their homelands and making each other laugh. It was good to see the young woman enjoy herself for once. She was normally so aloof and serious. Long after the plate was empty, they went to sleep.

  The others must have returned during the night. Barlo was a heavy sleeper and did not wake until several hours past dawn. He was still the first of his companions to rise. He was pleased to notice Iarion sleeping soundly on his bedroll. Barlo left the guest hut and went outside to stretch. It was a beautiful morning. Other than the birds singing in the trees, there wasn’t a sound to be heard. Barlo went to the spring and splashed some water on his face, shaking the droplets from his beard.

  “You’re up early.”

  Barlo whirled to find Falan standing behind him.

  “Galrin’s beard! Give a dwarf some warning next time you come creeping up on him.” Barlo tried to regain his composure.

  “My apologies.” Falan made a mocking bow. “I come to tell you the lord and lady will meet with your group in an hour’s time to discuss your quest.”

  “It’s about time,” Barlo grumbled under his breath. His stomach growled, reminding him it had been several hours since his last meal. “Where do you get something to eat around here?” he asked the elf.

  “A late breakfast will be served at your audience.” Barlo groaned at the delay. Falan laughed as he disappeared into the trees.

  Barlo went back into the hut to wake the others and pass on the news. Linwyn was the only one he managed to rouse without complaint. Iarion looked tired and pinched. Silvaranwyn looked even worse than the night before. Golaron had dark circles under his eyes. Lysandir was in a foul mood, mumbling curses under his breath when Barlo shook him awake. Hidar was second to rise, only after Linwyn. He was quick to get over his annoyance at the early summons, singing as he dressed, drawing even more grumbles from the others.

  After making themselves presentable, they went back to the meeting glade. This time a smaller table was set with Numadil and Salimarawyn at the head. Eggs, wild boar bacon, honey, and berries waited to be served. Barlo was quick to take a seat and fill his plate.

  After a few moments of comfortable silence where everyone ate their fill, the lord cleared his throat to speak.

  “Last night, Iarion informed us of the details of your quest. We understand its importance and wish to aid you in your journey.” Barlo was surprised Iarion had managed to stick to business with all the distractions.

  “We will give you supplies and horses from our herd.” The lord paused, allowing his words to sink in.

  Iarion’s eyes widened. “A generous offer,” he said with a nod of thanks.

  “We suggest you travel the Wild Lands to the Mountains of Wind,” Numadil continued. “That area is still under our protection and has yet to draw the interest of the dark creatures. If you journey to Dwarfwatch, perhaps the dwarves there can help you pass the Mountains of Fire into the dark lands. They have kept watch over that area for centuries and know it better than any other. Thus you can avoid Nal Nungalid and the Forsworn One that abides there.”

  “Your counsel is wise,” Lysandir said. “And what of the battle to the south?”

  “I am afraid that is where our generosity ends,” the lady said. “We are still safe here in our wood, and take little part in the affairs outside it. We will not send our people to be slaughtered. The alliance you speak of, of dwarves, elves, and men in the midlands, is good news. I doubt our aid would make a difference.”

  “You have not seen the army we are up against,” Lysandir insisted. “We need all the help we can get. Will you not reconsider?”

  “Our decision is final.” The lady’s voice was firm.

  “When the rest of Lasniniar has fallen and Saviadro finally turns his gaze upon the Fey Wood, your people will wish they had died fighting when they at least had a chance of success.” The Learnéd One’s flinty gaze held the lord and lady’s for several moments.

  “Perhaps you are correct,” Numadil said. “But such is our choice. We would not normally allow outsiders to even enter our wood, never mind feeding them and supplying them with our precious horse children. We do this only because Iarion is with you. Do not press for more than we are willing to give.”

  “I believe Beliriel has one last gift for Iarion,” Salimarawyn said.

  Her daughter stepped forward and smiled at Iarion. “When you left our wood, you left your wildcat, Beliorom, behind.”

  A large, gray lynx with green eyes and gold and silver markings padded forward. It was lithe and powerfully muscled, its thic
k coat sleek and shiny.

  “Beliorom!” Iarion uttered a cry of joy.

  “No.” Beliriel shook her head. “Iarion, it has been many years since you left us. Although our children are slow to age, creatures such as Beliorom are not. This is Sinstari, a wildcat sired by Beliorom before he died.”

  For a moment, Iarion looked sad at the news of the cat’s passing. Then he went to Sinstari and knelt. The wildcat approached him curiously, circling and sniffing, his tufted ears pricked forward with interest. Iarion spoke softly in Elvish. Once the cat had completed his circuit, he rubbed his whiskered face up against Iarion’s hand and sat before him.

  “Sinstari has been raised in our ways,” Beliriel said. “He is quite intelligent and understands most of the Elven Tongue. Luniwyn and I raised him in the hope you might return someday. He knows you are his hunting companion. I hope he can help you on your quest.” She gave a sad smile.

  “This is a wonderful gift,” Iarion said. “Thank you.”

  “Perhaps once your quest is complete, you will return and show us your gratitude.” Beliriel grinned. “My sister and I were disappointed you turned down our offer last night. There were many others who also would have enjoyed your company.” She pouted. Barlo noticed Linwyn smiling at Beliriel’s words. Barlo met her gaze and winked.

  “As I said last night, I need to focus on my task. I cannot afford any…distractions.” Iarion blushed as he trailed off.

  Beliriel sighed. “I know. We understand. But consider our offer and return to us. You were happy here.”

  “I will think about it,” Iarion promised.

  The lord and lady stood to say farewell. “It has been interesting to have such a group visiting our wood,” Salimarawyn said. “Iarion, it was very good to see you again. Please do not keep us waiting so long for your next visit.”

  “Falan will take you to be resupplied and show you to the horses we have provided for you,” Numadil said. “Please do not think unkindly of us for not helping you in the way you had hoped. We must do what we think best for our people. We all wish you luck in your quest.”

  “Thank you,” Iarion said with a bow. “For everything.”

  Barlo couldn’t help but notice as the group took their leave that Lysandir looked less than pleased.

  – Chapter Nineteen –

  What Comes After

  Falan led the group to the northern edge of the wood. With a trilling whistle, he summoned six horses and took his leave with a wink and a wave once the companions were mounted.

  Iarion was reluctant to turn his back on the Fey Wood. It held so many memories. Even though his need to fulfill his quest pulled at him, it was difficult to leave a place that had made him feel so welcome. He stifled a sigh. That part of his life was over. Iarion knew in his heart he would not return.

  Now they rode across the Wild Lands, heading north for the Mountains of Wind and Dwarfwatch. Sinstari loped beside them. Although the lord and lady had not acceded to Lysandir’s request for military aid, the horses they had given were fine beasts. Bred by the elves, they were much more intelligent than others of their kind.

  Barlo had not been thrilled with the idea of riding again, but time was of the essence if they were going to retrieve the tainted portion of the Quenya and reunite it with the rest before Saviadro conquered Melaquenya. The dwarf rode with Iarion. The only thing that had stopped his grumbling was the mention of Dwarfwatch.

  As they moved farther north the air grew chill. The Wild Lands were a large expanse of trackless grassland that spanned from Sky Lake and the Sunset River in the east, to the far west. Even Iarion could not see where they ended. He sometimes saw herds of the Beliadar’s horses in the distance, but they kept well away from the strangers who crossed their territory.

  They rode in silence, trying not to notice Nal Nungalid across the river to the east. Black smoke rose from the human city. Iarion was glad they did not have to pass within reach of what had become an enemy stronghold.

  They rode until the sky grew dark before setting up camp for the night. Lysandir refused to risk a fire. They settled on their bedrolls under their blankets, leaning against their horses for warmth. They ate a cold meal of nuts, berries, and smoked meat from the Beliadar. Silvaranwyn refused the meat. Sinstari ate her portion. As the night grew colder, Lysandir relented and lit a small fire in a deep pit cut from the turf.

  “So I understand you want to take away this bit of ‘Quenya’ from the Fallen One to reunite it with the rest in the south,” Hidar said as he ate. “But you still have not explained what it is. Is it a weapon of some kind? How did it get separated?” He frowned.

  “You do not know of the Quenya?” Linwyn’s voice was incredulous.

  “Lesser Men do not have the connection with it the other races have, being the youngest,” Lysandir said. He looked at Hidar and paused before continuing. “The Quenya is the magical force many of us believe created this world and everything in it.”

  “Is it a god then?” Hidar asked.

  “Not in a sense that you would understand.” Lysandir tried to explain. “It is not a single entity, but a higher level of a collective consciousness. It does not manipulate mortals or dictate their fate in the manner that a god might. It is a raw force of pure energy. But for those who can maintain a connection with it, the Quenya will help them realize their true path in life. To choose to follow that path is to grow closer to the Quenya. Many, such as the elves, believe to reach one’s highest potential and fulfill their ultimate destiny will allow their soul to reunite fully with the Quenya.”

  “Is that what elves believe will happen when they die?” Hidar frowned.

  “Elves believe in a cycle of rebirth,” Silvaranwyn said. “We are reborn several times based on our performance in our previous life. Shadow Elves like Iarion are eventually reborn as Light Elves, who live in the light of the Quenya. It is important we live according to the call of the Quenya. When our fate in each life has been fulfilled, we die to be reborn again.

  “But if a Shadow Elf is killed before they can achieve their destiny, their soul is lost. This is why it is so important for elves to have as close contact with the Quenya as possible to understand their place in this world.” A few moments of silence followed Silvaranwyn’s words. It was the most any of them had ever heard her speak.

  “And what of the Light Elves?” Hidar asked. “What happens to them if they die without fulfilling their destiny?”

  “That is not known.” Silvaranwyn’s face grew sad. “None have returned. Some believe they rejoin the Quenya, while others believe they are sentenced to oblivion, or are simply waiting for the right time to be reborn. There are even some who think they are perhaps reborn as Greater Men.”

  Hidar turned to the twins. “What do your people believe happens when they die? Do you also believe in this Quenya?”

  Golaron scowled at the question, but Linwyn answered. “We believe our souls rejoin the light of the Quenya. Those who follow a dark path are sentenced to oblivion. We also believe that sometimes, the souls of those who are deserving and needed come back.”

  “And you, dwarf?” Hidar turned to face Barlo.

  “My kind believe the souls of the good join the First Father in his great hall, to feast and drink with him until the end of time.” He gave Hidar a curious look. “What about your people?”

  “Our spirits join those of our ancestors to watch over the living. We often send prayers to them for guidance or protection.”

  “That is probably enough of such talk,” Lysandir said with a frown.

  “But you have not answered yet,” Hidar said.

  Iarion stepped in to avoid a potential confrontation. “He has not answered because he does not know. There are only three of his kind and none of them have died.”

  “Many Linadar believe the Learnéd will either be reborn among our kind or among the Goladar,” Silvaranwyn said in her soft voice.

  “Now it is definitely time to get some sleep.” Lysandir sc
owled. “Hidar, you can take the first watch, since you seem so awake.” The Learnéd One lay down with his back facing the rest of the group.

  No one decided to comment. Once the watches were sorted out, the rest of them settled down to sleep. All the talk about the Quenya and the afterlife only served to remind Iarion of the importance of the quest. They were getting closer to reaching their goal. Although he was grateful for the companionship of the others, he was still considering leaving them to complete the quest on his own. He knew if they entered the dark lands together, the odds of them all escaping alive were slim at best. He didn’t want any of the others to die needlessly.

  After some serious thought, he decided if the opportunity presented itself without his interference and their group became separated, he would leave the others. He didn’t know whether it was the will of the Quenya, but it felt right to him. He would probably have to take Barlo along. The dwarf would be difficult to abandon. Iarion smiled to himself. His decision made, he drifted off to sleep.

  It was almost midnight when Iarion found himself waking to sit bolt upright. The fire had burned down to embers and the darkness was almost complete. Iarion sensed more than saw a huge shadow flying overhead. The now familiar feeling of terror crept in. It was a Forsworn One.

  Lysandir snuffed out the embers of their small fire with a word. Iarion had difficulty making out the outlines of his companions in the blackness. He reached out to where he knew Silvaranwyn was lying. The Linadain was shivering with fear. Sinstari uttered a low growl and stood in a crouch, hackles raised. The horses were on the ground beside their riders trembling, their eyes and nostrils wide with fear.

  Everyone was awake, but no one spoke. The shadow above flew a circuit over the Wild Lands, seeming to search for something. No one moved.

  After several long, breathless moments of silence, the shadow completed one last sweep and flew off to the east. Everyone relaxed. Silvaranwyn’s shaking slowly stopped.