“Thank you, Lunara. You have given me my life back. If ever I can repay you, I will.”
Avriel woke with a start. She had suffered one of her nightmares again. In it, Whill sat upon a throne littered with the skulls of the dead, and his eyes glowed with a hellish blue-green light.
“Is everything alright, my lady?” asked one of her handmaidens from the doorway. “I heard you call out.”
Avriel looked to Abe and Arra, who slept in a wide basket beside the bed. “Everything is fine, thank you.”
“Yes, my lady,” said the maiden. She turned to leave.
“Awren…”
“My lady?”
“Have my breakfast brought upstairs. The children and I will be spending the day on lookout.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Avriel rose from bed and nursed the twins. She tried to shake the remnants of doubt left behind by the disturbing dream. She tried to have hope. But it had been over six months since Whill left for Drindellia, and worse yet, three months ago she had felt the gift of Kellallea torn from her. Gone was the memory of Orna Catorna or the ability to use magic, which could mean only one thing—Whill had upheld his end of the bargain. The goddess had not contacted her, however, which bothered her. She had taken up residence in the tower at Queen’s Landing overlooking the coast, where her mother had spent countless hours watching the sea and waiting for Verelas’s impossible return. Avriel had been keeping a vigil for a month now, but the ships had yet to crest the horizon.
“Perhaps today is the day,” she told the twins happily, as she did every day.
Arra cooed, but Abe was too entranced by his nursing to respond.
The winter day was mild, but still a fire needed to be built to keep Avriel and the twins warm high in the drafty tower. She spent the day as she always did, playing with the twins and singing them songs. She spoke often of Whill and their adventures together, promising them that he would be home soon.
She often feared that she was lying to them.
Nighttime came, and the wind howled against the walls of the tower. Abe and Arra had fallen asleep in Avriel’s arms by then, and so she moved them to their cushioned basket and put another piece of wood on the fire. She went to the window and watched the moonlight on the water for a time before deciding that she should get some sleep as well.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” she told the night and began to turn from the window.
Something caught her eye far off on the horizon, and her heart skipped a beat. She had often gotten herself worked up, teased by the fishing vessels returning to the harbor. Avriel waited with pensive breath for the ship to get closer. She stared at the faraway ship until her eyes hurt and began to water, but still she could not make out the sail.
Then suddenly an explosion went off above the distant vessel. It was high in the sky and multicolored, cascading out in all directions and blooming like a flower—her favorite flower.
“Whill?”
It had to be, for no other had the ability to perform magic but he, and this was surely spell work that she was seeing.
Another brilliant explosion went off, followed by another.
“Whill!”
Abe and Arra stirred, and Avriel turned to them with watery eyes.
“My lady?” Awren asked at the doorway.
“The ship coming into harbor, did you see it?”
“No, I—”
“It was glorious, there was an explosion of light like a flower. Hurry, bring the children, and wake Tarren!”
“Is it Whill?”
Avriel looked to her, trying to hold back her emotion. “By the grace of the gods, it might be. Come, hurry!”
Avriel didn’t trust herself to carry the children in her state, for she flew down the stairs and shot out the door and raced down to the coast with reckless abandon. The lightshow still emanated from the ship, which was much closer now. Avriel recognized the sails and redoubled her efforts. Other elves had seen the display as well, and they too raced down to the beach to see if indeed Whill had returned.
Tarren soon caught up to her, pulling up his trousers as he neared the docks.
“Is it Whill!” he called to her breathlessly.
“It is his ship…I don’t know…I don’t know if he is on it.”
They stood on the beach, holding their breath, watching with anticipation for the vessel to settle in the harbor. The darkness and sliver of a moon made it hard for her to make out the figures boarding the rowboat that had been lowered to the water. It seemed an eternity before the small craft was moving to the shore, and Avriel fought to see if Whill was onboard.
When the boat found shallow waters, a lone figure leapt overboard and began rushing through the water toward her.
“Avriel!”
“Whill!” Tarren cried.
Avriel’s voice caught in her throat as she tried to respond. With much effort, she cried out his name and raced into the water. She saw finally that it was indeed Whill.
“Whill!” she cried out again as they reached each other and embraced in a fierce hug. “Avriel, my love, I have missed you so,” he said, holding her face and kissing her deeply.
“The gods have returned you to me,” said Avriel. Tears of joy streamed down her face and mingled with the saltwater. She turned to her handmaiden and relieved her of the twins. Whill kissed them both on the forehead and embraced his family, pulling Tarren in as well.
A silver hawk landed nearby, and Roakore dismounted and sauntered over to greet Avriel as well. “It be a good thing to see ye two together again. The man ain’t spoken about nothin’ but ye and yer young for the last three months,” he said, offering her the sign of dwarven respect.
Avriel laughed and hugged him fiercely, which reddened his cheeks.
The rowboat reached the beach, and a call went out through the watching crowd. “The king has returned!”
Avriel turned to see Zerafin striding proudly through the shallows. “Brother!” she yelled, handing off the twins to Whill and rushing to embrace her brother.
“Greetings, sister,” he said with a smile.
“Come, you must meet Abe and Arra,” she said, leading him by the hand.
Zerafin smiled at the sight of Whill holding his children, and he reached out to take Abe. “Well look at this one. Abe, I presume,” he said to the sleepy babe. Little Abe cooed and smiled, and then grabbed a hold of one of Zerafin’s long, pointy ears. Zerafin inspected the child’s ears as well and gave an approving nod. He accepted Arra and introduced himself to her as well. She seemed less interested in his ears, and instead snuggled up to him and fell asleep.
“Ah, Roakore, ye sweet, sweet dwarf,” said Arrianna, noticing the tears in his eyes.
He gave an indignant “bah!” and weakly swatted her hand away as she wiped at his eyes. “It just be the saltwater is all.”
Whill and the others laughed, and Roakore waved them off. “Alright, alright. Let Uncle Roakore have a turn with the little ones.”
Zerafin handed him the children and turned to address the crowd that had gathered, which now numbered nearly a thousand. Word had spread quickly, and a bell tolled in the nearby city of Cerushia.
“We have returned from Drindellia victorious!” he told the crowd, and they erupted in hearty cheers. “Eldarian has been defeated, and the mantle of darkness has once again been secured by the gods.”
Whill came to stand beside him, and the cheering became fervent. He raised a hand to quiet them. “As many of you may know by now, it was I who was tasked by Kellallea to defeat Eldarian and take his place on the dark throne. It is true that I defeated him in battle, but I could not take up the mantle. It was one of your own who sacrificed herself so that you may live.” He glanced at Avriel and offered her a sympathetic smile. “It was Lunara who took up the mantle before I could. She sacrificed herself for the greater good. It is by her grace that I was able to return to you today, and I would honor her sacrifice with a gift, one that I would not have been able to
return to you had she not so selflessly given herself. In tribute to her, I will give back to you all what was taken by Kellallea, the false goddess and architect of this entire ordeal. As it is in my power to do so, I will give to you the lost knowledge of Orna Catorna!”
Tears of sadness were replaced by those of joy as Whill spoke the promise. The elves fell to their knees, not in reverence of Whill, but in honor of Lunara. They spoke her name as one might a goddess, and reached to the heavens to offer thanks.
“Tomorrow the restoration will begin,” said Whill. “Tonight, sleep well and know that you are safe. Finally, we will know peace.”
Chapter 45
The Gift of Life
Whill and Avriel followed Zerafin back to the city through crowds of cheering elves. The going was slow, as Zerafin and Whill took the time to shake many hands along the way or graciously receive offerings pushed upon them by the adoring group of jubilant elves. Soon, guards and Avriel’s ladies in waiting had to take up the growing burden of gifts. The twins stared curiously throughout it all, cooing and smiling despite the ruckus. Roakore and Arrianna and even Ragnar were welcomed as heroes, and the streets of Cerushia were bathed in flowers as the group made their way to the palace.
There was no grand feast that night, for it was well past midnight, and Whill wanted only to spend time with his family, a family that he had thought he would never see again. In their private quarters, Whill told Avriel all that happened during the long and danger-fraught journey. At the mention of the ghost of Verelas, Avriel covered her mouth in shock and cried tears of joy.
Whill explained how he had beaten Eldarian with Kellallea’s help, and how at the last minute Lunara had taken up the crown that held the power of darkness and death. He tried to explain to her the nature of the power that he had absorbed from Eldarian, but he found himself at a loss for words to articulate what he now knew. In truth, he realized, he didn’t want her to understand, for he did not yet understand the implications of his secret knowledge.
Whill’s new power was that of a god, and he felt that it was a limitless power, as if it was fueled by the universe itself. He knew that he should be excited by the prospect, but on the contrary, he was terrified by the implications. For the gods were said to be immortals, and if that was true, it meant that Whill might be also. He thought briefly of living until the end of time, and again, he was terrified. For that would mean seeing everyone die. Everyone that he loved, everyone he knew and would ever know, would pass on to the other side, whilst he would endure, year after year, century after endless century, he would endure. He would see the mountains fall and rise again. He would see the lands taken by oceans, only to be born anew. Kingdoms would rise and fall, yet he would remain, cursed with the power of a god but robbed of their empyrean home, trapped in the physical realm for all time.
In that brief moment of absorption, Whill had also gained Eldarian’s knowledge, a complete understanding of the eternal battle between dark and light, and the secrets and rules that governed life and death. He understood the nature of death, and he knew how to undo it. This, too, frightened him. When the inevitable time came of Avriel’s death, and that of his children, Roakore, Tarren, and Zerafin, would he be able to let them go peacefully and naturally? Or would he give in to the inevitable urge to undo what had been done to them? And if he did so, what might they become?
“What is it?” Avriel asked, looking concerned.
Whill realized that he had been staring off at nothing, entranced.
“Nothing that I wish to speak of now,” he said, and offered a reassuring smile. “I just want to lie here with you and the children and not think about anything.”
“You have earned it, my love,” she said, kissing his forehead and nuzzling up against him and the children sleeping peacefully on his chest. “Rest now. It is over. Finally, it is over.”
The following day, Whill met with the council of elders. He had promised the elves that he would restore the power that had been taken by Kellallea, but he had no intention of working with every elf individually. Instead he restored the knowledge that had been taken from the council members, and gave to them the knowledge of how to then do the same to others.
“Kellallea might have been right to take the power and knowledge from certain elves, but I do not think that all of you deserved it,” Whill told them. “I will leave it up to your good judgement to restore the sacred knowledge to those whom you feel worthy, and I trust that you will be fair in your choices.”
They thanked him heartedly and made their promises, ensuring him that he had made the right decision. He left the temple, not entirely sure if he had done the right thing. Surely elves of evil heart would rise up, elves like Eadon and Kellallea, who wanted power above all things. There would be war, and there would be death, but deep down he knew that there would also be enlightenment, peace, and love.
There was celebration in the streets that day, and Whill found himself ducking through alleys with hood drawn so as not to be seen. He spent a quiet day in the palace with Avriel and the children. They had grown so much in his absence and were nearly walking, which Avriel said was not unusual for elf children. Abe’s dark hair was curly like Whill’s had been when he was a young child, while Arra’s blonde hair was straight like her mother’s. Their ears were both the same size, which was slightly shorter than most elves, and their features were a balanced blend of the two races as well. Whill thought that they were the most beautiful children he had ever seen, elf or human.
Zerafin called a feast that night, inviting only Whill, Avriel, Roakore, Arrianna, and Ragnar. They spoke of the future and nothing of the past, for a new age was upon them, and they were all quite excited by the prospect of peace and the joint settling of the new land. Roakore in particular was beside himself with excitement over Velk’Har, and he spoke at length to anyone who would listen about the ancient dwarven home. Whill sat with his children, enjoying the company and feeling overwhelmed by nostalgia. It all seemed too good to be true. He thought of Lunara, as he often did, and once again thanked her for her sacrifice, honoring her with many toasts.
Roakore and Arrianna left early the next day, and Whill saw them off from the high tower that housed Zorriaz’s perch.
“I would be with you when you bring your people to Velk’Har,” said Whill. “When do you plan on setting out?”
“As soon as possible, if I be havin’ me way,” said Roakore. “But there be much preparin’ to do, and things like this shouldn’t be rushed. Me be thinkin’ a month at most.”
“And then another three months at sea.”
“Aye, we should be gettin’ to Roakore’s Landing in Drindellia by the beginnin’ o’ summer, gods willin’. Will ye be sailin’ with us?”
“No, I have…other means. I intend to create a portal, much the same as the gates of Arkron.”
“Ah,” said Roakore with a raised brow. He looked Whill up and down, no doubt wondering of his friend’s power. “That be convenient indeed.”
“It was nice to meet ye, Whill o’ Agora,” said Arrianna.
“And you as well, good queen,” he said, offering the dwarven sign of respect.
She deftly climbed up onto Silverwind’s saddle, and to Whill’s surprise, Roakore hugged him. “Ye did good, lad. I done told ye that it would all work out in the end. It be too bad about Lunara, but she knew what she was doin’. She loved ye, there be no doubt about that, and she wouldn’t have wanted it any different.”
“Thank you, Roakore. That may be true, but it will not stop me from trying to find a way to free her.”
“Aye, just be careful, lad, be careful. Look what Kellallea did to free her beloved.”
Whill nodded, knowing that he should indeed heed the warning.
“May the wind catch your wings,” he said as Roakore climbed up to the saddle.
Silverwind’s feathers changed from bright silver to the gray of the stone around her, and she gave a squawk. “Until we meet again, Whill o’ Agora!�
�� Roakore yelled as Silverwind reared and leapt off the ledge. She turned light blue against the sky, and together with the dwarves, disappeared.
Whill watched with mind sight as they flew west until the horizon swallowed them up.
He turned from the north and stopped dead, for before him stood Gretzen, shimmering and twinkling like a star on a clean winter’s night.
“Gretzen?”
“You are a quick one, you,” she said with a laugh.
“But…how?”
She raised her arms to the world. “I am of the spirit world now. You see spirits. Naturally, you can see me as well.”
“But…why haven’t you moved on?”
“I have. But it seems that I can move back and forth. It is perhaps a benefit of my trade in life.”
“Gretzen,” said Whill, having been considering how to put his thoughts into words. “I…learned things from Eldarian, things that I cannot unlearn.”
“I know, child. Once again you carry a burden that no man should carry. But know that if there is any who can carry it, it is you. I know enough about you to understand that you have only ever craved a simple life. But a simple life you shall never have; you must realize this. I have seen it in your stars.”
“Can’t one’s stars be changed?” Whill asked.
Gretzen considered this at length and then smiled. “Anything is possible, Whill of Agora. We have proven that.”
Whill laughed. “You speak a lot like the Watcher. You would have liked him, I think.”
“I knew him for a time. I spent nearly two hundred years here with the elves, you know.”
“I should have known,” said Whill.
She reached out and put a hand to his shoulder, pulling him in so that she might kiss his cheeks. She laid her hand aside his face as a mother might and smiled. “Thank you, Whill, for all that you have done for my people. You are truly a good man.”
“I thank you as well, Gretzen Spiritbone. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
The Mantle of Darkness: Whill of Agora Book 7: Legends of Agora Page 22