by C A Oliver
Fendrya began her day with a rich meal. Seafood formed the basis of her diet. She enhanced her breakfast with fruits, berries, wild grains and various tree syrups. Once she had eaten, she wandered along the beach towards a pile of rocks worn down by the sea. Fendrya expertly hopped from one slippery boulder to the next, until she reached the top of the largest one. From this precarious lookout, Fendrya could watch over a small creek, shining with crystalline water.
The priestess felt inspired by her protective divinity to celebrate the beauty of this place through prayer. Soon after coming to Llafal, Fendrya had embraced the vision and values of the deity of arts and love. Developing a philosophy of beauty, which was now her duty as a cleric of Eïwele Llyi, corresponded naturally to her own instinctive beliefs and core commitments. Fendrya began her devotional chanting.
Eïwele Llyi’s beauty is all around me, and for this I give thanks. Its radiance lights up my life and nurtures my soul. I shall find beauty wherever it takes root, and I shall help that beauty flourish, so that all may partake in the joy and happiness it brings. I shall always give shelter to Eïwele Llyi’s creations, for her teachings guide the course of my life.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she dived into the sea from the top of the great rock.
Once below the surface of the water, the young lady swam towards the depths where light was dim. Her senses were keen, especially hearing. Like baleenbaleen whales who navigate immense oceans by listening for the echoes of little clicking sounds, she had no difficulty finding her way among the many crevasses of the rocky shore. The seabed teemed with swaying algae and a wide array of anemones.
Fendrya also possessed the ability to hold her breath for a long time and was quite happy roaming with the crabs and clams.
These rocky shores guaranteed food and provided shelter for a diverse multitude of sea life. Fendrya marvelled at the bright colours and distinctive shapes bobbing around her. The bay’s species had adapted to its sandy seabed, and many could change colour to blend into their environment.
Suddenly, Fendrya spotted an octopus. She had almost missed its eight tentacles and well-developed eyes, as the ingenious mollusc had made itself almost invisible, camouflaged and twisted into a gap in the coral below. The octopus, sensing danger, sprung to life an attempt to escape her grasp. But the young lady was faster still. As quick as any reef shark, she seized her prey with both hands. The creature tried to defend itself with a long-spiked tentacle, but its attempt was of no avail, and soon it found its way into her netted bag.
Every morning, Fendrya spent many hours seeking oysters: not to eat them, but as part of the painstaking process of culturing sea pearls. The young lady was an expert in this field: one of very few Elves who knew precisely where to insert the bead from one oyster into the tissue of another. After this insertion, it would take several years for this second oyster to begin producing the gem. Influencing the colour of the pearls required an entirely different set of rare skills. Fendrya alone possessed the knowledge that ensured the oyster would produce the finest nacre.
The clan of Filweni had named her ‘Keeper of Pearls’ in Mentollà, responsible for distributing the clan’s pearls among the most valued members of the community.
Sea pearls, believed to be gifts that came directly from Gweïwal Uleydon, were the Irawenti’s most prized possessions. No currency was used among the Blue Elves, as barter was the norm.
Members of the clan of Filweni were only permitted to wear their sea pearls on special occasions, such as feasts and gatherings. They relied on the Keeper of Pearls to find resolutions to any disputes that arose out of their bargaining. Fendrya therefore exerted an undeniable authority within her community.
Fendrya’s task that morning was to collect one of these precious natural gems. Since her arrival in Mentollà, she had been farming oysters every day in the hope of creating lustrous pearls. Their brightness ranged from shining white to almost jet-black, and every shade could hold undertones and overtones of green, pink, blue, silver and yellow.
The most valuable were the Piwada Marfewa, due to the uniqueness of their naturally dark tones. This rare sea pearl derived its name from where it was primarily cultivated: the blue lagoons around the islands of Essaweryl Bay. It was believed they had the power to absorb the light of Cim, the holy star of the sea depths, and hold some of its power.
At last, Fendrya made a conscious effort to pull herself out of the water. The sun was already high, the sovereign ruler of a cloudless sky. She crossed the beach with her octopus prey in her bag and one of the precious Piwada Marfewa in her hand. After greeting the other Elves on the beach with a customary Irawenti hug, she retreated to her private quarters inside the wooden hut.
For the next two hours, the young lady carefully studied the remains of the octopus, using a sharp scalpel to dissect and extract some of its most peculiar parts. Fendrya was skilled with her hands and had a natural aptitude for any task that required both patience and perseverance.
She then used a phial of azure glass to mix the mollusc’s remains with source water.
The next step in preparing the decoction involved the black pearl. Fendrya handled the Piwada Marfewa with great care. The Blue Elves prized them highly for their aphrodisiac properties. Seers even held they were a key component for any good love potion. Fendrya marvelled at the sight of her creation.
‘A true black pearl is rare in these waters,’ she thought. ‘It is a gift from Gweïwal Uleydon. Its effects will cure the soul.’
The young lady started by delicately slicing the black pearl with a small knife, its handle beautifully incrusted with fragments of aquamarine. Using three separate measuring cups, she blended the ingredients, without getting so much as a speck of the liquid on her clothes. At last, she deemed her work for the day to be complete. Fendrya spoke to herself out loud out of sheer joy.
“Siw! This potion would cure any ailing soul in a flash.”
Reaching into a large pinewood chest, she picked out a set of colourful earrings and bracelets from Essawylor. She then dressed herself in simple white robes. The thin cloth proudly displayed the fullness of her form.
Less tall and elegant than her cousin Arwela, Fendrya was slenderer, with a wiry and muscular agile body. Her skin was darker, tanned because of her preference for living outdoors. Against her dull skin, her eyes were light blue, and azure reflections emanated from her long black hair. Fendrya considered herself naturally handsome and, unlike other ladies, she did not feel the need for excessive jewellery. Her clothing was worn for decoration and modesty rather than practicality, because the Irawenti tended to prove highly resistant to the extremes of hot and cold weather conditions. She chose a light dress on that day. This was unusual, for the Keeper of Pearls generally favoured a long white toga in all aspects of community life.
Fendrya looked in her mirror. She felt satisfied with her appearance; after a hard morning’s dive, she had now brought the sensuality of her feminine beauty to life.
With a happy heart, she could now rest still in her hammock until the arrival of the patrol from Mentollà.
*
A few hours later, a unit of Irawenti fighters reached the small beach. They arrived triumphantly, amid applause and shouts of joy, as companions were reunited.
Their cheering became louder until it rang in Fendrya’s ears and she could sense the laughing and playing all around her. The noise woke her from her slumber. An instant later and she was on her feet.
When she came out of her wooden hut, Fendrya witnessed a most unexpected scene. The newcomers were bathing in the sea. Their armour and weapons were strewn across the sand in utter chaos, waves lapping at the discarded helmets and chain mail.
The only items that had been stored with any care were their short bows and quivers, which were neatly leant against the wall of the wooden hut. These fighters were, first and foremost, renowned as expert archers, and the short bow was their most valued possession.
Fendrya recognized
the newcomers. They were part of Mentollà’s elite unit. The community operated a conscription system, whereby all Elves of the fortress had to undergo specialised training in the rudiments of warfare. This group of fighters were the most skilled with the broad sword and the bow.
In that moment, however, it was difficult to believe that they were some of the bravest soldiers on the Islands. They were splashing around in the shallow waters with a dolphin, playing gleefully like children with a pet.
Without asking permission, a first Elf had dived into the sea, and was soon followed by many of his companions. Dolphins were sacred in their eyes. Given their reckless and adventurous nature, the Irawenti did not bow to authority readily, and on this occasion their commander had not even tried to intervene.
A tall Elf, clad in a dazzling armour, came to greet Fendrya. She immediately recognized Roquendagor.
“My lady,” the knight began with laughter in his voice, “you are lucky enough to witness Mentollà’s elite troops, those fearless warriors we trust to defend our community!”
Despite the irony in his words and his friendly attitude, Fendrya saluted him with great respect, bowing ceremoniously. The commander of Mentollà stepped towards her with determination, like entering a battlefield. Clad in his plate armour, the fearsome knight was armed for war. From the look of his garments, one might think that the armies of the Dragon Warriors were drawing near.
Fendrya was surprised by the kindness of Roquendagor’s tone. She smiled back confidently, thinking that her sustained efforts to please him had not been fruitless. The look in her eyes was one of friendship and charm.
Fendrya decided to switch to lingua Irawenti. She could also have spoken the language of the High Elves, but she knew her exotic accent would colour her pronunciation, and somehow it made her feel inferior. Her mother tongue was her favoured idiom, for it was both rich and subtle.
“Siw!” she replied with a smirk. “Trust them? I don’t find that very reassuring… I think I’d rather be protected by the commander of that elite unit. Some say he is both wise and strong…”
Fendrya carefully contemplated her interlocutor. She saw only benevolence and kindness in his face. His body language showed some signs of embarrassment, as though he were not entirely indifferent to her compliment.
Fendrya liked to tease the proud knight. She found him charming and entertaining. Roquendagor had confessed he had known very little of the Irawenti during his time in Essawylor. Despite living by their side for over a century, he had never showed any curiosity for their culture or customs. Sometimes, Fendrya could not believe her ears. Some of Roquendagor’s genuine reactions to what she told him were unexpected and sounded odd coming from a great lord of the High Elves. His quizzical looks had made her laugh on several occasions.
Roquendagor now seemed to be looking forward to spending some time conversing with Fendrya. It was an opportunity to demonstrate his newly acquired knowledge of Irawenti culture to the beautiful priestess. Unexpectedly, Roquendagor recalled an old memory from his days in Essawylor.
“One of my most striking memories,” he began assuredly, “is when I was back in Ystanlewin, riding my horse along the banks of the Siàwy Lenpi on a summer’s morning. I came across a lonely Elf, who was busy launching a small boat into the river. I remember how old he looked, which was so unusual for an Irawenti. He had grown weary of the world, and it showed. I asked him what his destination was but could not understand what he meant by his reply. He told me that he was sea-bound, that he was heading to the Gates of Sunrise. I knew nothing about those gates, though I remember thinking that they certainly sounded a long way off. For a start, Ystanlewin was nowhere near the sea. I wondered why the old Elf would embark upon such a long journey without equipment or supplies. Before setting off, he said that where he meant to go, neither the size of his boat or the treasures it carried would be of any avail. At the time, I thought that the old Elf was mad, and I paid no further attention to his fate.
Only recently did I learn the significance of his words. Arwela kindly explained them to me.”
Fendrya was pleased. “Siw! This is a touching story. I am glad you sought the answer to that riddle. It is true those Irawenti who reach an advanced age will one day hear the ‘call of the sea’. From that time forth, they will become increasingly obsessed with their last journey. When the time comes, they set out in a small boat, sailing their way down the rivers, eventually reaching the sea. As the old Elf told you, their purpose is to reach the Gates of Sunrise, the entrance to Gweïwal Uleydon’s realm. Their fate beyond that is unknown. It is commonly believed that the Greater God of Oceans reincarnates them into dolphins.”
“So Arwela said. You must understand, to me these superstitions… apologies, I mean these beliefs, are somewhat esoteric. The Irawenti faith in the God of Oceans is so… different, if not contradictory, to what Hawenti Mythology tells us…”
“Perhaps it’s time to reconsider what you were taught,” Fendrya suggested with a smile.
During his days in Essawylor, Roquendagor had been raised according to the strict principles of a high-born Dol education. He used to consider Irawenti, for the most part, as mere Wenti, ‘Free Elves’ or even ‘Simple Elves,’ a joyful and adventurous people. They lived shorter lives than their Hawenti brethren, usually less than five centuries. Due to their carefree nature, they did not age in appearance, always looking like beautiful, careless youths. To his High Elf eyes, this essential difference contributed to an inevitable distancing between the two races.
“There is truth in your words, Fendrya…” Roquendagor acknowledged, nevertheless.
Since his arrival in the Archipelago, his dealings with the Irawenti had become common, and through this frequent contact the tall knight’s haughty views had already somewhat changed. It was now his firm belief that the Irawenti possessed a wisdom of their own. There was a lot to learn from them. They were at their most skilful when aboard ships, and Roquendagor truly admired that courage.
“You should know that I have made considerable progress,” Roquendagor resumed, eager to make his point very clear. “Since we moved to Mentollà, I have had the honour of commanding Irawenti troops directly. I now fully understand how important it is to take the beliefs of those who fight under my command into consideration. I have always felt responsible for the lives of my fighters, even now that I know our arrival on the Archipelago’s shores serves a higher purpose.”
Roquendagor’s gaze was fixed on the horizon. The knight was inspired with a sense of duty to others and a love for his new community. Fendrya was deeply impressed.
In the distance, his troops were demonstrating their exceptional connection with the sea. They were swimming out and back again with surprising speed, diving from the rocks, and leaping out of the water: they were enjoying all the pleasures the beach had to offer. Indifferent to this apparent lack of discipline, the two Elves continued their conversation.
“Siw! Your words are full of wisdom, Roquendagor, and do you much honour. Allow me to offer you some further advice.
Make sure you respect the customs of your fighters! Do only this, and they will remain loyal to your standard to the last. You must observe their funeral rites, for the Irawenti belief in the afterlife is profound. Even the souls of those who suffer a violent death will be summoned by Gweïwal Uleydon.
Make sure the bodies of the fallen are returned to rivers or the sea and perform the appropriate offerings. The Greater God of all Waters will call them to the depths of the Eastern Ocean, beyond the Gates of Sunrise. Gweïwal Uleydon will transform the dead fighters into marine spirits. Cil, Cim, Cir! they will thereafter roam the oceans at his service.”
An incredulous Roquendagor stared at her, smiling confusedly. Fendrya could not help laughing. Although he must have thought these beliefs naïve, she did detect a certain amount of curiosity on his part. She feared that, despite his current friendliness and innate kindness, his smile betrayed a certain irony. Roquendagor mu
st have thought that the Irawenti were no more than a collection of idealistic nomads: simple fishers and gatherers, of no interest whatsoever to a great knight.
Fendrya decided to challenge Roquendagor. Not only did the High Elves had all kinds of preconceptions about her people, they also had arrogant beliefs about themselves. Despite sharing a destiny for several centuries in the kingdom of Essawylor, she knew the relationships between Hawenti and Irawenti had always been mired in ignorance, mistrust and prejudice.
“You smile, but what do you know about the history of my nation?” Fendrya asked with a challenging tone.
Roquendagor’s reaction was defiant. “I know a lot, young lady, more than you might expect…”
Fendrya remained silent and impassive, waiting for what would come next. When the haughty knight began to speak, he was like a respectful student before his master.