by C A Oliver
CHAPTER 3: dyl Ernaly
2708 of the Llewenti Calendar, Season of Eïwele Llya, last day, Llafal
A few days had passed since the end of the storm which had struck Llymar’s shores, and life around the Halwyfal was gradually returning to normal.
After a trek across the hills, two maidens, were heading south to the city of Llafal. The day was bright, and the air felt pure in the light ocean breeze. They strode onwards, their pace quickened by purpose and joy. As the two young Elves passed the Temple of Eïwal Ffeyn, they paused, whispering prayers and performing the ritual offerings required of them. The city of Llafal laid some way down the hill, a few leagues away, hidden by the tall pines of the forest.
“Wonderful! It’s going to be wonderful!” exclaimed Mayile, the youngest, her bright sapphire eyes blazing.
“The Festival of the Islands comes around every twenty years. You will live to experience many more,” Marwen, the eldest, replied in an effort to restore calm, her gait demonstrating her particular nobility.
“True, but this one is special. For the first time ever, it is taking place in Tios Halabron, and the clan Ernaly are hosting it,” the younger replied with conviction. Her blonde hair, tumbling wildly about her head, marked each of her movements with a natural beauty.
“I am unaware of anything that the clan Ernaly can do better!”
“They are the masters of music and dancing. Their festivities are legendary. They will be preparing a marvellous feast, I am sure.”
“Is that right? And I suppose that marvellous feasts are the main preoccupation of Eïwele Llyi’s apprentices?” Marwen questioned.
“They are indeed. We aren’t as boring and serious as those Eïwal Lon[29] priestesses,” Mayile cheekily replied.
“How dare you mock Eïwal Lon’s Temple? If I am successful, I might one day assist Matriarch Lyrine herself. I have a considerable task ahead of me, and I cannot afford to waste my energy on something as trivial as feasting!”
“I understand your ambitions, but I favour Matriarch Nyriele! She does not forbid us from enjoying this life that the deities have granted us! She teaches us of love and beauty, in accordance with my own principles. Now, why do you seem so distressed?”
“My apologies,” Marwen replied, realizing that she had only been chiding her friend in order to hide her own feelings. “You are right. I confess I am worried at the thought of attending the festival alone.”
“Why would he not come?”
Marwen confessed. “It’s been a few days now since the swanships were sent out north into the ocean. Nobody seems to be expecting them back soon. Something unusual is going on, but I do not know their mission. I have asked everywhere but the matriarchs are maintaining absolute secrecy.”
Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by the strange sound of footsteps coming down the forest path, accompanied by an unnatural wind that felt like the very breath of the forest. The plants around them instantly began to shiver, then convulse in a way that they had never seen before. Their path was disappearing, devoured by the sudden growth of the vegetation around them.
Grasses, bushes, even tree roots, twisted around the two young Elves, ensnaring them so that they were unable to move. Trapped, they saw a creature progressing up the hill towards them.
“What could it be? Was it Elf or beast? Animal or Plant?” cried out Marwen.
The creature’s thin body was shrouded in a large robe made entirely of green feathers and foliage. Upon her head were antlers, proudly displayed. Her unnatural eyes were an intense, burning emerald. She wielded in her right hand a long whip of bough, whilst her left gripped a great wooden staff, shaped like a halberd, which she leant upon as she marched forward.
Quickly climbing the hill, the creature ignored the surrounding chaos with sovereign disdain, as though nature’s act of homage and obeisance was owed to her.
Soon she was upon them, and the two young maidens recognized her as a female of their own breed, though inhabited by some mystic power.
“Nase gnally! Nase gnally!” [30] the creature growled aggressively when she discovered their presence.
The two young Elves, struck equally by fear and wonder, struggled against their entanglement but still tried to turn away, in an attempt to show that they would not impede her passage. By the time they regained control of their emotions, the vision had disappeared; the path and woods around them had reverted to their original state.
“Who was she?” Mayile asked, breathless.
“I do not know, and yet... she resembled a character from the tales of old… the Daughter of the Islands…” replied Marwen, as stunned by the encounter as her friend. “Lore was her name,” she continued, “a matriarch of clan Ernaly who was granted an unnaturally long life.”
“Let’s follow her!”
“No! This could prove dangerous! We have no idea how she might react!”
“Do as you wish, I shall go,” the younger maiden obstinately replied.
“Stop! The power of the Daughter of the Islands is drawn from the earth; Eïwele Llya[31] herself is her ally. She is dangerous and powerful. We cannot imagine her wrath if she knew she was being followed!”
But Mayile was too excited to listen to these wise words of caution and respect. She turned back, seizing her chance to track the legendary creature. Marwen had no choice but to follow at a distance. Despite herself, she could not deny the overwhelming excitement that had also taken hold of her.
The two Elves broke into a run, heading back up the hill, stopping and starting as they negotiated the path’s twists and turns. But they had been too slow to react, and their efforts were in vain. When they reached the top of the hill, the two friends found the glade surrounding the Temple of Eïwal Ffeyn to be deserted. Only the sounds of the ocean wind could be heard as it frantically rushed among the colonnades. From here, the two young Elves had a direct view of the Halwyfal basin and the dangerous passes to the ocean beyond; the vista was like an unspoiled image of the island in its infancy. They could not help but burst into hushed, excited conversation about what had just happened.
At the noise of their chatter, a great, grey hawk took off out of the shelter of the temple, spiralling upwards into the air. Soon it reached high altitude and beat its wings rapidly, before the momentum launched it on a smooth, graceful glide with the wind. Its large wingspan carried it quickly over the magnificent landscape: the vast ocean, the tiny islands, the rugged coastline, the white shores, the sandy beaches, the golden dunes and the infinite woods of Llymar.
The great forest extended from the northern shores of Nyn Llyvary to the slopes of Arob Nisty[32] in the south, from the ravines of Arob Tiude[33] in the east to the strait of Nyn Llorely in the west. Two hundred square leagues of a variety of conifers and trees made up the ‘green sea’, as the Llewenti also called it. The dominant species by far in this vast area was the maritime pine.
In the centre of the forest, there laid a smaller, natural area of woodland which had survived even the glacial Early Age. There, pines coexisted with other species of tree, chiefly oak, alder, birch, willow and holly. It was in this direction that the great hawk had chosen to set its course, heading southwest as it left the Halwyfal and the ocean behind it. From high above, it observed with pride how the other birds darted away from it in terror, seeking the forest’s protection. The hawk was known by all manner of creatures to be a violent predator. With its sharp vision and calculating mind, it was seen by the Elves as the most intelligent hunter, and the deadliest.
In less than an hour the great hawk had crossed more than ten leagues. Apparently reaching its destination, it plunged out of the sky down to what looked to be a green mountain at the heart of the forest. But this was no common hill: it was a grove of sacred essence known as Tios Halabron. Long ago, the Llewenti had settled within this thicket of holly trees, building huts and shacks upon platforms high in the branches. The gigantic trees here gave their name to their city. Their height could exceed
two hundred feet. Their scale was colossal; their roots spread out wide and deep underground, sometimes emerging at the surface like monstrous sea snakes. They were sacred to the Llewenti, who considered them to be servants of Eïwele Llya, ‘The Mother of the Islands’ and divinity of fertility and nature.
The giant trees transported the pure air above the canopies down into the depths of the Islands, where Eïwele Llya dwelt. They were called Eïwaloni[34], or “divine trees” in the language of the Llewenti, for the power of the archipelago’s deities had raised them from the earth a long time ago, before any Elf had ever set foot upon the Islands. The tree city of Tios Halabron was built largely beneath nine of these gigantic conifers: the biggest at the centre, surrounded by eight others. The central trunk diverged into various branches that grew out horizontally to meet the encircling trees. It was on this broad foundation that the main platform of the city had been built.
Spreading its large wings and lifting them upwards, the great hawk quickly decelerated before diving down into the thickness of the sacred grove. It headed first towards a large wooden cistern, full of water, located at the top of the central tree. Pausing for a while, as if wary of some unexpected danger, the hawk carefully surveyed its surroundings. Only the sound of the gravity-fed water system could be heard distinctly. The tank collected rainfall and supplied the fountains further down in the city.
Private dwellings occupied multiple isolated platforms high in the trees. The woven mass of wood and leaves formed natural ceilings and walls, with openings here and there, windows which overlooked the entire Forest of Llymar.
The largest, intermediary level of the city was built on a platform of planking and intertwined boughs, five dozen feet above ground level. Smaller branches and offshoots grew up through the flooring, serving to brace whatever structure lay above, or occasionally forming the corner post of a house or shop. The ceilings of the Llewenti dwellings were made of branches, either woven or shaped into planks, and thatched roofs protected them from above.
The large hawk steered its course with ease, gliding between the branches and through the foliage, skirting around the numerous huts, nets, platforms and rope ladders that formed the magnificent city in the trees. Light was scarce, but the bird of prey knew the place well, and descended towards the ground with speed, raising little attention from the numerous wardens positioned at guard stations. Many Elves were busy hauling up cargo, by the block and tackle winches powered by some invisible means.
Most of the merchants’ trading, however, was conducted at ground level. Hidden among the gnarled roots of the tree trunks, were a series of small shops, taverns, inns and artisans’ lodges. In these parts, visibility ranged from near darkness to a dim twilight. Just above the ground, ramps, rope walkways and wooden buildings formed an intricate maze. Out beyond the trunks, but still beneath the broad canopy of leaves, were the weavers’ and spinners’ workshops. It was there that the famous cloth of Tios Halabron was manufactured.
Despite the apparent chaos and disorder of the place, it did not take long for the hawk to find its habitual shelter. It landed half way up the northern tree trunk, near the very heart of the great tree. It explored the thick bark for a while until it found the knot which formed an opening, a hole into which it jumped before flying down through the trunk. The dive was short; soon it extended its wings to slow the fall and come to land.
The giant trees of Tios Halabron guarded, within their trunks, vast, excavations which were used as shelters. The ability of the Eïwaloni to guard against the elements was an indispensable lifeline in extreme conditions. The hawk’s nest was in one such haven.
But it was not alone. Other birds rested quietly upon branches high up in the immense cavity, close to its natural ceiling. The arrival of the great hawk instigated a great panic among the other birds, until it reached its resting place on the highest branch, thus marking its dominion over the nest.
The noise of this commotion briefly interrupted the discussion which was taking place below, at the very bottom of the cavity, where a larger area was organized. The room was furnished with tapestries, carpets, precious furniture and refined crockery, giving the place a most hospitable atmosphere. Musical instruments, ranging from a great harp to zithers and flutes, stood upright against a large bookcase crowded with antiquated works of literature.
Three Elves had gathered in the shelter of the Eïwaloni.
The first of the three Elves was a High Elf: pale, old and severe, with thin lips and cold eyes. His hair was combed with the greatest care and was an unusual snowy white. He wore gloves and his azure gown, cut from the finest silk, was almost free from embellishments. Only a coat of arms, depicting a golden arch, was embroidered upon his left shoulder. His name was Curubor and he came from the House of Dol Etrond. He was also known as a scholar of exceptional skills who most Llewenti called the ‘Blue Mage’. Even among the immortal High Elves, he was considered ancient.
After his family’s territories had fallen under the dominion of the human barbarians, Curubor had chosen to settle in Tios Lluin, an antique city of the Llewenti, whose ruins were at the heart of the Forest of Llymar. The matriarchs of the clan Llyvary, owing him much honour, had accepted his coming. Assisted by numerous enchanters and artisans, the Blue Mage had resolved to restore Tios Lluin to its former might.
Curubor Dol Etrond was at home in Llymar.
The two Elves who sat in front of him were both Llewenti: one robust and upstanding, the other thin and hunched over.
The tall one wore dark beige and brown hunter’s clothes. His stockings were splashed from some recent errand in the woods. He had an abundance of blonde hair which looked almost mane-like and a handsome, slightly tanned face, with shining eyes. He held himself in such a way that demonstrated an undeniable force and his haughty bearing clearly exhibited his noble origins. His name was Gal dyl, from the clan Avrony, the sixth and lowest clan in the Llewenti hierarchy. He was the last in his lineage; no other had survived the barbarian invasion which had led to the fall of their island.
Gal dyl was a survivor, a refugee who had found asylum in the Forest of Llymar. Scorned by the noble dyl of the clan Llyvary, he nevertheless held a prominent position in the forest, having won the heart of their most prominent matriarch, Lyrine. And from the union of these two noble lines, Nyriele had been born, the most beautiful lady of her time, revered by all as the worthy descendant of Queen Llyoriane. Gal dyl had experienced many disasters, many defeats and many losses. But fate had thus far spared this witness to a forgotten world.
The final member of this secret council, the smaller of the two Llewenti, had a lustreless complexion, a finely drawn mouth, and hawk-like eyes. Fierce beauty radiated from his features. Three white feathers hung from a dark green cloth tied around his brown hair and his tunic was a beautiful emerald green. His name was Mynar dyl Ernaly. He too was an important figure in the Forest of Llymar, the most powerful dyl of the clan Ernaly, and the true master of Tios Halabron, ruling over more than three thousand Elves in the city of trees. He too was a refugee, as were all of his kin. Long ago, the barbarian tribes had conquered their homeland, the island of Nyn Ernaly. Mynar dyl was a stubborn fighter; he was the last of the Elves to abandon his territory, cross the Strait of Tiude[35] and seek refuge in the Llymar forest. A life of wandering through hostile territory had built his fierce character. He was known throughout the Forest of Llymar as a ruthless, unforgiving chief. The clan Ernaly’s struggles during the barbarian wars had been crucial for the survival of the Llewenti. As a result, the clan Llyvary had handed over command of Tios Halabron to them, where they now dwelt and watched over the sacred trees. Mynar dyl was their warlord. No one questioned his authority.
The sun was setting in the west; it was still daylight under the tall trees of Tios Halabron and dappled light streamed down through the forest’s foliage. But it was dark within the Eïwaloni; the meeting was illuminated solely by an enchanted mirror. The light reflected off three runes of silve
r which formed a triangle in the corner of the room.
In front of Gal dyl Avrony laid a jug of cider and an ancient book sat in front of Mynar dyl Ernaly. Chalk, ink, parchment and an array of maps lay before Curubor Dol Etrond.
The ancient High Elf resumed his speech after the unexpected interruption from the hawk’s nest.
“You seem unable to comprehend the threat that lies before us. Many times, did I warn you about the dangerousness of this Ka-Bloozayar, and now four years have passed since he reached the western shores of Nyn Llyvary. Allow me to be perfectly plain: this is no ordinary man. He is an authentic Dragon Warrior, a barbarian chieftain from the Mainland who has survived the ritual of fire, ice and darkness. Undoubtedly, he has been entrusted with sacred authority to reawaken the forbidden Cult of the Three Dragons. Since arriving, he has accrued considerable influence among our enemies beyond the hills. He cannot have any other aim but to start another war.”
“Curubor, every year for the last two decades you’ve lectured us about the threat of war,” replied Gal dyl, visibly annoyed at the ancient Elf’s didactic tone.
“Believe me, Gal dyl, when I say that Dragon Warriors are no small threat. These men are not priests. They are not kings. They have no interest in bolstering their number of followers, or in gaining new territories. They are fanatics who have nothing but scorn for the concept of diplomacy. They are weapons that have been created by the Cult of the Three Dragons for one purpose: mass carnage. My contacts are many across these islands. Friends from afar have given me information pertaining to other Dragon Warriors who have been witnessed on the archipelago. One such barbarian chieftain, named Ka-Blowna, has already gained legendary status among the tribes of the southern island.”
Keeping his cool, Curubor, was proving particularly insistent, his cold blue eyes fixed scathingly upon his two Llewenti companions. The ancient High Elf uttered each word with a deep, calm tone, taking care to mark each syllable’s importance.