by C A Oliver
Fendrya felt the need to apologize.
“Pardon me, Feïwal dyn, for my inappropriate remarks. It is just, Siw! I am so concerned for our people. I examined the womb of that bird. If I am proved right, if that goose does come from the temple of Cim and was slaughtered by the barbarians of the Desert Horde, it could mean the capital city of Essawylor has been plundered.”
Feïwal did not reply, visibly impatient. He preferred to look beyond the vast sea, which lay at his feet and stretched out for many miles. Arwela looked at him like she needed his approval before talking. The guide of the clan of Filweni generally listened to the wise advice of his elder sister. She was well versed in the lore of the three stars. With a simple gesture of his hand, Feïwal allowed Arwela to speak.
“What you read in the womb of that dead bird is true. The barbarians have killed the sacred geese of the temple of Cim. Essawylor is at war. In all likelihood, after the fall of the northern province a few years ago, the Desert Horde then succeeded in invading the wood of the Five Rivers. Ystanlewin controlled the roads of the North. When it fell and the House of Dol Lewin was destroyed, that city became the key to the kingdom, which the Men of the desert then seized. From that great fortress, an army can launch attacks southward, even to the great shrine of Queen Aranaele.”
“So, the temple of Cim was conquered and Essawylor is at war,” said Fendrya, still failing to figure out what it implied for the clan of Feli and her own family.
“We believe so,” confirmed Arwela.
“But for how long have you been hiding these events from me… hiding it from the rest of the clan?” wondered Fendrya, still upset at having been ignored.
“It was earlier this year,” Arwela replied, “that Feïwal dyn discovered the first dead bird on the beach of Mentollà, during the days of early spring. Since then, other dead birds have reached our shores.”
“Siw! What you are saying, Arwela, is that dead birds washed up on Mentollà beach, in our own creek, as though…”
“…as though the invisible hand of Gweïwal Uleydon had brought the corpses of the sacred geese to our shores,” concluded the seer of the clan of Filweni.
Fendrya looked at Feïwal in awe. She could now begin to understand what he must have suffered since the beginning of spring. The guide of the clan of Filweni had always taken responsibility for the fate of his kin, even those who did not belong to his own clan.
Fendrya believed that he was blessed with the ability to interpret the Flow of the Islands, this raw and chaotic magical energy which provided him with a significant and wide-ranging power over his environment.
Fendrya remembered the night when, from the top of the ruined tower, Feïwal had acted as a focal point for the gusts of power that blew across the peninsula from the Austral Ocean. Drifting energies had been drawn to him, forming a vortex like water in a whirlpool.
As Fendrya looked at him now, she could feel how his abilities had developed. Feïwal was closing his eyes as if concentrating on the sounds and smells of the sea and the caress of the maritime breeze. The waters of Gloren Bay were teeming with mystical energy which drifted the unsteady winds of the Islands Flow towards Mentollà. Surely, Feïwal knew how to interpret the signs sent by the Gods.
“Have you tried to return to Essawylor?” Fendrya enquired, now with a more respectful tone.
Feïwal remained impassive, his eyes still closed.
“Of course, you did…” Fendrya guessed, answering her own question. “I was surprised when you decided to sail the Great Swanship into the open sea. Winter was not completely gone, and I wondered why you would take such a risk. The ocean is dangerous beyond the calm waters of Penlla Bay. Several sailors were lost during that journey, and the Great Swanship came back to Llafal’s harbour after having suffered considerable damage. I remember how you explained to the Council of the Forest that you needed to test the new vessel. But that was untrue.
In fact, relying only on a small crew, you attempted to make another crossing of the Austral Ocean… but this time you failed to cross the Sea of Cyclones. The passage was not granted to you.”
The guide of the clan of Filweni did not utter a word to confirm this assumption, but his elder sister did.
“This is true, Fendrya. We could not inform you of this initiative. Do you understand? Your presence at Matriarch Nyriele’s side at the temple of Eïwele Llyi could have jeopardized Feïwal dyn’s plan. Everything you know, everything you may think, might well be figured out by the matriarchs. I do not perceive to what extent my powers can conceal your mind from their suspicions. The wiser course is to keep you in the dark, for you to better exploit your strategic position in Llafal and Penlla.
The Llewenti clans were deliberately kept away from our project. Imagine their reaction if they had learnt that Feïwal was about to risk the Great Swanship to cross the Austral Ocean again. The clan warlords of Llymar have waited a long time for this powerful vessel to be at their disposal. They would never have agreed to risk it. To tell you the truth, we do not believe the Council of the Forest would support any attempt to rescue our people. The prospect of welcoming tens of thousands of new refugees would have appealed to them little. It would give the clan of Filweni the collective strength to shift the power balance in the Islands.”
“Siw! I understand. I do understand. Once again, Feïwal dyn has demonstrated courage and tenacity beyond words. I deeply apologise for my misconduct towards you, my cousin. Can you forgive me?” Fendrya almost begged, feeling deeply sorry.
Feïwal did not reply, but Arwela approached her cousin and held her hand with true kindness. She reassured her.
“Do not feel troubled, Fendrya. Feïwal is the guide of the Filweni but also the shepherd of the Irawenti who came in service to bring hope to our people. He was blessed by the divinities who protect us. You must trust him with all your soul…”
Arwela did not terminate her sentence but Fendrya could feel what was at stake. After a pause, the seer of the clan of Filweni resumed.
“I am assisting him in his task as best I can. The only thing you should know is that we, the dyn Filweni, will deploy all available means to protect our nation, whatever it takes. You hear me… whatever it takes.”
Fendrya considered Arwela’s eyes in that instant. What she saw frightened her and she felt a tremor. There was, in the clan of Filweni, an indomitable resolution that was scary. No wonder the first sailors who had managed to cross the unfathomable ocean were from that bloodline, she thought.
Driven by a mysterious force, Fendrya felt the need to bow respectfully before her guide. Thus, she was renewing her oath of fealty.
Feïwal came close to her.
“Rise, Fendrya, you have my blessing…” he said before recalling a memory aloud. “My father, Fadalwy dyn, told me this once:
‘Do not challenge the deities of the Lost Islands. Rather, if you are seeking enlightenment, beg them for peace and security of passage. And if you do end up setting foot on the Archipelago, then show endurance, for the gates to transcendent knowledge lie in the shadows of their dungeons. Yourselves, and perhaps later generations, will benefit.’
Today, his words ring true.”
Fendrya did not understand Feïwal’s augury. Her mind was still singularly focussed on the consequences of the war against the Desert Horde. She needed to know more.
“Feïwal dyn, what do you think is the situation in Essawylor? Is there still hope for our clans?” she asked, looking for reassurance.
The guide of the clan of Filweni made a special effort to accommodate her concerns.
“We do not know anything for sure, but what we can guess is that the war against the Desert Horde will be long. Despite the laws Queen Aranaele introduced in the kingdom, the clan is still the basis of the Irawenti’ organisation in Essawylor. I expect that the other twenty-eight guides have organized the defence of their territories according to the ancient tactics. If war is raging within the woods of Five Rivers, they would have renounced t
heir loyalty to the four remaining houses of the High Elves. I believe they avoided direct confrontation with the Men of the Desert. They must have fled to the Ivory mountains. This is what our people has always done in the past when it was threatened.”
“But the clans rarely deal with each other,” argued Fendrya. “I have never seen them collaborate, except when forging trade agreements.”
“Rest assured they will come together when making such crucial decisions,” Arwela reassured her.
“After Ystanlewin fell and the House of Dol Lewin was destroyed, I sat at a war council summoned by Queen Aranaele,” Feïwal confirmed. “All Elves underwent weapons training and all those who were skilled at hunting were mustered. Because there was no formal army in Essawylor, the High Elves needed to call upon the clans’ guides and the noble dyn to provide fighters for the defence of the kingdom.
The queen’s sole power is to coordinate the efforts of the guides. Note that the armies of the Dol houses directly serving Aranaele operate on their own, without comingling with their allies. Thus, the defence of Essawylor is based upon a disciplined, heavily armed Hawenti block, surrounded by many mobile Irawenti units able to strike at any moment before retreating as fast as they came.”
Arwela added to her brother’s reasoning. “We think the armies of the four remaining Dol houses defended the temple of Cim. But we believe our clans fled and survived. They would never get trapped in a helpless siege.
As we speak, the banners of the great houses of Dol Linden, Dol Amrol, Dol Morlin and Dol Armin, have most probably been removed from the temple’s bannisters and replaced by the red snake, the vile standard of the Desert Horde.”
Fendrya felt less overwhelmed with worry now that she was no longer in the dark. Seeing her calm restored, Feïwal and Arwela saluted her with a bow and resumed their walk along the parapet, leaving her alone.
Fendrya looked around admiringly at the shores of the Sognen Tausy woods. From this high viewpoint, she could see the coastline, a series of peninsulas and bays radiating out from a centre dominated by the Arob Tiude hills. The Llewenti suggested that its shape stuck out of the west coast of northern Nyn Llyvary like a lobster's claw ready to snap. Everything on that coastline was subject to the sounds, smells and spray of the sea.
At last, Fendrya’s gaze lingered on the parapet’s wall behind her. Paintings represented Eïwal Ffeyn as a winged Elf, wandering the vast, stormy ocean, with only his long blue hair to protect his modesty. His flag was a trident struck by lightning upon a dark azure background. The deity of winds, divinity of freedom and rebellion, was viewed by most Irawenti as a distant threat, a source of destruction and wreckage that inspired dread in the hearts of sailors. He had claimed the life of many Elves over the years.
Fendrya remembered the songs she had heard in Llafal, legends that claimed Eïwal Ffeyn had been confined to the Sea of Cyclones by the power of the High Elves. Feïwal knew the fate of the deity of storms. He had sworn before his clan that his mind and soul would henceforth be fully devoted to Eïwal Ffeyn.
*
Fendrya had already taken her leave when she remembered the reason, she had returned to Mentollà in the first place. The succession of events the day before had completely destabilized her. Instead of using the tower’s stairs to descend to the courtyard, she retraced her steps along the narrow parapet. She struggled against an intense sense of vertigo. The keep sat atop three huge stone arches, that interconnected to form this wide, fortified walkway. She walked by the many ballistae which threatened any vessel seeking refuge in the creek below. Finally, she reached the platform of catapults, whose heavy projectiles could crush any attackers from land. Feïwal and Arwela still stood there, in the open, conversing quietly despite the strong sea breeze. Fendrya faced her two cousins once again. Her tone was somewhat embarrassed.
“Siw! I forgot the reason I came back to Mentollà in the first place.”
Feïwal and Arwela looked at her with interest, eager to know more.
“I have spent the last few weeks in Llafal,” Fendrya began, “rather than Penlla, as the city is bustling with activity ahead of the music festival. The shrine of Eïwele Llyi is very much in the public eye, for the main celebrations and performances will take place in the white temple.”
“I have heard that Curwë is preparing a Muswab of rare originality. Many of our musicians and dancers have left Mentollà to take part. The Irawenti will undoubtedly win,” rejoiced the delighted Arwela.
Fendrya tempered her enthusiasm. “I am not so sure. The truth is that Mynar dyl’s ballet is receiving much more public attention, and rightly so, for many guilds of the city have been involved in preparing the scenery and costumes.”
“I doubt that you returned to Mentollà,” Feïwal intervened, “to update us on the odds of who will be crowned at the music festival.”
“No, you are right,” Fendrya agreed. “Though what I must tell you is closely related. You know I have certain duties at the shrine of Eïwele Llyi. I have been assisting the other priestesses in their preparations for the music festival. One night, as the white temple was emptying, I overheard a conversation between Mynar dyl and Gal dyl. I was drawn to them because their voices were raised; it seemed that the two clan warlords were having some kind of altercation. Many were those Elves who kept their distance. I did the opposite. I managed to sneak into an alcove where I could listen to their dispute without being seen. Much of their conversation was lost to me, including the initial reason for their quarrel.”
“What did you hear, Fendrya?” Feïwal asked with impatience. “This might be of considerable importance in the events to come. We need to understand which side the Protector of the Forest favours: Curubor and the house of Dol Etrond, or Mynar dyl and the clan Ernaly. There are currently two main currents of thought at the Council of the Forest, each in direct opposition to the other: one is expansionist, which favours the integration of the repentant houses from Gwarystan into Llymar; the other is far more isolationist.”
“I was only within earshot at the end of their conversation, once the two warlords thought they were alone in the shrine. Things had calmed down by then. I happened to hear the terms of a very special bargain… a bargain that sounded rather like blackmail to my ears…”
“What do you mean?” Feïwal insisted.
“Mynar dyl said he would return a small, ancient scroll to Gal dyl, apparently the ‘least important’ of a number of texts he mentioned, which used to belong to an old priest of Eïwal Vars.”
“What was the contents of this message?” Arwela suddenly asked. “I know priests of Eïwal Vars play a specific role in the army of Llymar, due to their special affinity with animals, and particularly with small birds. The Llewenti commanders use them to convey messages of confidence between their units.”
“I do not know what the message said,” confessed Fendrya. “But it must have been very important, for Gal dyl looked terrified at the prospect of Mynar dyl making it public. This small, ancient scroll, the ‘least of messages’ as Mynar dyl put it, must have been something that would threaten the integrity of the Protector of the Forest. I would not be surprised if Mynar dyl had proof compromising enough to send Gal dyl before the Council of the Matriarchs.”
Feïwal approached his cousin nervously and kissed her forehead.
“Fendrya, you do not realize how crucial this piece of information might prove. May you be praised for what you have done, may you be saved from the wrath of Eïwal Ffeyn! May you be blessed by Gweïwal Uleydon!”
Visibly the guide of the clan of Filweni lacked the words to congratulate her for her findings.
“That is not all,”, confided Fendrya with a smile. “I heard what Mynar dyl demanded of Gal dyl in exchange.”
“What was it?” asked Arwela and her brother at the same time.
“Mynar dyl solemnly promised that he would return the precious scroll only once Matriarch Nyriele is pregnant with his child…”
There was a long
silence, which Feïwal eventually broke.
“May the wrath of Eïwal Ffeyn descend upon Mynar dyl for his evil deed. He blackmails the father to gain access to the daughter’s bed. What a vile act!”
Arwela was looking out at Cil, a bright star that had begun to appear in the western sky as darkness slowly fell around them.
“Mynar dyl is looking to unite the three bloodlines of the true Llewenti,” the seer of clan Filweni assessed, “those clans who have always remained faithful to the Islands’ deities and never bowed in front of invaders. He knows Matriarch Nyriele’s child could become the ruler of the Llyvary, the Avrony and the Ernaly. He probably sees himself as the regent of this future realm. But his treacherous course has no guarantee of success. The matriarchs are sole mistresses of their destiny. No matter what influence Gal dyl may possess over his daughter, no matter what means he uses to persuade her, in the end the choice will rest with Nyriele.”
*
Fendrya finally exited the ruined tower. She walked through its door, an immense iron structure covered in pentacles, with two guards of the Unicorn in their purple garb stationed on either side.
When the young lady emerged from the great keep, she felt the need to watch life as it went by, slowly, under the murmur of the ever-present parrots from Essawylor. It was still spring time, and at sunset one could often see mist emerging from the Bay of Gloren. The sunshine of the late afternoon had nevertheless brought a comfortable warmth. Summer was getting closer. Large coastal trees bathed the ancestral stones of Mentollà in purple shadows, as the light streamed down through their greening leaves. The Elves’ existence was quiet in Mentollà, bathed by the waters of the tower’s creek.