An Act of Faith

by C A Oliver

  While Mynar dyl appeared reluctant to pay much attention to these warnings, Gal dyl did not seem nearly as impervious; Curubor’s words and demeanour had left a deep impression upon him.

  Gal dyl nervously ran his hand through his long blonde hair before replying.

  “I respect your warning, noble Curubor. Your advice is equally wise and cautious, and I thank you for it. Let me assure you that the three clans of Llymar are as ready for war as the House of Dol Etrond. Should the need arise; we will defend this forest with all we have.

  But my personal belief is that peace will prevail. Let us be honest with ourselves: we might not like it, but the Pact between King Norelin and the Men of the West is a success. The flourishing trade arrangements between them shall guarantee peace and collaboration with the Westerners, and it is the Westerners who control the barbarian tribes with the promise of their goods and the threat of their war galleys. It is a vicious circle from which we’re choosing to be excluded! This has been the case for almost a century. I cannot foresee any of the barbarian tribes breaching that Pact in the name of this bloodthirsty cult. Besides, the druids are becoming ever more influential among men, and those clerics are servants and disciples of the Mother of the Islands. They would never allow the tribes to fall into darkness again.”

  “The Cult of the Three Dragons,” Curubor insisted, “is not some obscure religion embraced only by humble, lowly men, Gal dyl! This you must always remember. The Cult ruled the lives and beliefs of the barbarians for centuries. I do not deny that the Westerners have ostensibly ensured its destruction. But four generations of men is nothing like enough time to erase such a pernicious influence from the barbarians’ sick minds. A threat, no matter how ancient, should never be forgotten…”

  “Certainly not! Ancient threats, rather like ancient legends, should always be remembered,” Mynar dyl, the third participant at the meeting, interrupted unexpectedly. The light smile on his lips showed that he meant far more than he had said.

  Surprised and somewhat puzzled by Mynar dyl’s mysterious comment, Curubor replied with a smile.

  “I, myself, am like an old dragon: in the darkness of Tios Lluin’s ruined palace chambers, I plot and plan… but my only aim is our collective safety. I have brought you updated plans, which include the new fighters we assimilated into our ranks last year. Enclosed too are details of the secret hideouts that I have organized in the west, with lists of the equipment, weapons and supplies which have been prepared there. You will also find information about the one hundred and twelve units of allied soldiers and the fourteen warships that we can summon under our banners. In total, if we were to combine all forces from the three clans and the House of Dol Etrond, we would command more than three thousand fighters.

  “I have included details of the movements, supplies, reinforcements, tactics and plans of attack for each clan, army and unit. With these plans at our disposal, the enemy shall not stand a chance against our army. If the barbarians dare to cross the mountains of Arob Tiude, if they dare move to attack us, they will fall directly into our deadly trap.”

  Gal dyl distractedly leafed through the maps and notes that Curubor had provided him; this cursory glance was enough to confirm that the Blue Mage had clearly laid everything out, leaving nothing to chance. Each commander had a specific role to play, and even contingency measures and alternative back-up plans were described. Gal dyl froze, properly seeing the highly detailed preparations that were laid out in front of him. Was it the thought of what might come to pass? Or was it the reminder of how unprepared his clan had been when it was crushed by the barbarian invasion of Nyn Avrony? Gal dyl was not a cunning or guarded Elf; he chose to speak his mind and express his innermost feelings.

  “You talk of war as though it were imminent. There is something frightening about the obsession you have with possible threats. It’s as though you believe that we should always live in fear. But now is the time for the sacred hunt! In the depths of Llymar, hunters are sweeping the forest in search of the most glorious prey. Soon we will be celebrating Eïwal Vars[36], our Father, with a glorious feast. There will be dancing and music… wine and spirits! The young female Elves will reveal their beauty to attract the best of the males.

  Haven’t we had enough pain? Enough sorrow? We’ve already suffered such destruction and loss. I say we’ve had enough! I refuse to live wracked by worry for the safety of our kind. Let’s enjoy the time that has been granted to us. Let us live freely. Further struggles will be upon us soon enough, to be sure.”

  Mynar dyl gave an acerbic smile at this outburst but chose not to intervene. He looked from the ancient High Elf to the tall Llewenti warlord with amusement, as if the outcome of the discussion was of no consequence whatsoever. Ignoring Mynar dyl’s sarcasm, Curubor replied, adopting a kind and gentle tone.

  “Your words are most touching, Gal dyl, and in your raw emotion I recognize the most admirable qualities in Llewenti’s nature: your thirst and pleasure for life, and your primal passions, natural urges passed on to you by your deities. Unfortunately, the nature of the evil that threatens us is such that the ways of your deities will not be enjoyed for much longer. I am afraid to say that an objective analysis of our situation calls not for peace: it rather demands unhesitating confrontation. While we celebrate Eïwal Vars with sacred hunts, Eïwele Llyi with lascivious dancing, and Eïwele Llyo with spicy wines and colourful smoke displays, men are multiplying in their thousands, and the threat of war grows ever greater.

  Think of it this way: as we celebrate each festival on these islands, a new generation of barbarian warriors is born, and they grow up nourished by stories of their ancestors’ heroic conquests against the Elves.

  For every Llewenti birth, how many humans, do you imagine, come into existence? Three? Four? Perhaps five?

  Gal dyl, the reality is very different from what the so-called Pact with our enemies set out to achieve.

  We, the Elves of the archipelago, will never know true, lasting peace, until the day that we expel all men from these islands for good. This great responsibility falls to us: the dyl of the Llewenti clans and the Dol of the Hawenti houses.”

  Despite Curubor’s kind manner of speaking, Gal dyl realized that, once again, he had shown weak naivety in debate. Displaying one’s true nature would never be advantageous when meeting Elves such as a Dol Etrond sage and a dyl Ernaly warlord. Seeking to divert attention from his own faults, he turned to the other meeting’s participant, who had so far remained almost silent.

  “What about you, Mynar dyl? I am surprised; for once you’re keeping your thoughts to yourself. You aren’t seizing the chance to push some agenda of your own. It is most strange. You were the one who summoned this secret council. What is the purpose of this meeting? And what, exactly, is this ancient book, that has seemed to absorb your attention since we arrived?”

  Mynar dyl Ernaly was unusually calm and peaceful. In that moment, his composure was one of true serenity. It was clear that his mind was wandering, contemplating some far-off opportunity seen only by him. Alarmingly, his attitude was frighteningly like a predator who knew that its prey had no hope of escape. Carefully arranging the grey hawk feathers that identified him as a noble scion of clan Ernaly, Mynar dyl finally spoke.

  “You talk of possibilities. You talk of the future. I prefer to focus on the present.”

  Gal dyl seemed puzzled, almost stunned, by this. Curubor, stolid as ever, ventured a guess at Mynar dyl’s meaning.

  “It seems that you know something we do not, and that this little secret of yours is cause for some excitement. I would go so far as to say that you look happy, even though such a trivial emotion never held much value for you. Have I hit upon it?”

  “Out with it then!” ordered Gal dyl, making his discontent clear. “Let us hear what you have to say, so I can finally understand what was important enough to interrupt the sacred hunt of Eïwal Vars.”

  His host’s temper did not impress the most influential Elf of t
he clan Ernaly. Still smiling, visibly enjoying each and every detail of the exchange, Mynar dyl opened the ancient book before him, selected a page with great care, and began to quietly read a passage in lingua Hawenti.

  “Before the Dawn of the Second Age, those territories bordering Essawylor belonged to that race known as the Llewenti, and these same Llewenti did dwell along those Shores, and they did repose beneath those Stars, and in time they did prosper; the Llewenti cultivated Language and Custom, feeding themselves from the Bounties of the Seas and the Forests. In the Hearts of these Elves bloomed a profound Love for the Ocean, and ere before long had they mastered the art of navigating the open Seas.

  But, in this remote Region, hitherto preserved, presently there arrived the Troubles of the World beyond.

  Tha wicked race the Men, that hailed from those vast equatorial Steppes, did mount an Invasion and a most profound Fear spread forthwith amongst the Llewenti. At the sight of that aforesaid Invasion, variously the Elves hid, fled, or resolved to fight. And yet their Skill lay in the Hunt; their Cunning did not know Warfare. Little is known of those early times, but the ancient Chants recount how Llyoriane, She with the Golden Voice, revived the Hope that had expired. Among her Kind, she was the most wise in the ways of the Seas. When Llyoriane’s fair Voice rose above the Waves, the Winds are believed to have calmed, the Foam of the Swell is supposed to have turned to a most pleasing Silver.

  And Llyoriane did traverse the Lands, to pay visit to those scattered clans of Elves and goad her Brothers in Exile.

  Her Words were thus: Woe to us if we remain on these Shores in the hope of escaping an inexorable Fate. Our Destiny will be found southward, across the Austral Ocean, where the Star fell. There, upon certain disparate isles, we shall make our Home, where we shall remain until the World falls and the Reign of the Elves comes to an end.

  And her Voice had such Power that those Warlords of the Llewenti, whose Clans had hitherto never bowed to any Sovereign, recognized her as their Queen. The Llewenti prepared for their Voyage, and they did build such a Fleet as will never again be seen in this part of the World. Thousands were the Longships that sailed as they made their Escape, away from the most ominous Clouds, which marked the ruins of War and obscured the Night Sky. That southward Voyage across the Austral Ocean was long and difficult, and many were the Elves that were lost forever to the Waters. But we know of Legends that tell of how the Song of their Queen opened the Gateway to the hidden Islands.

  The Shores of Essawylor and their surrounding Forests were too precious to be left to the despicable Men. Other Elvin tribes sought to reconquer that most precious Realm. The Irawenti descended down the Ivory Mountains, sailed along eastern Rivers, and reached its Shores. A most pugnacious kind they were, having survived the Ravages of many Wars. They reclaimed the former Dominions of the Llewenti, repelling the Invaders back to the equatorial Steppes. The Irawenti kept for their new Realm the ancient Llewenti name of Essawylor, the Wood of the Five Rivers, as their distant Kinfolk had so named it. They discovered Relics left by their Predecessors and thus did the old Legends of the Llewenti come to enrich the Songs and Fables of the Irawenti.

  Several Centuries then passed, and the Irawenti preserved their new Land, in spite of the many wild and bloody Invasions of Human Tribes who tried supplanting the Elves in those Regions of the World.

  Their Civilization flourished and their Art grew; thereupon their Influence extended throughout the Wood of the Five Rivers, and yet their Fascination for the Flight of the Llewenti remained.

  A wise Elf among the Irawenti, the noble Filwen, fought with much Determination to preserve these Legends. He chose not to reside among his Kin in the Shadows of the tall Cypress Trees, for in his Heart he did suffer a most perturbing Unrest, and thus did he elect to settle, with all his Family, upon the Beaches of the Bay of Essawylor, where he henceforth lived, delighting in the Heat, the Barrage of the Seas, and the scorching Sun. He avoided other Irawenti Clans and evaded their Struggles and Quarrels, for this Elf instead preferred the Company of marine Birds. It is said that he learned to converse with such Birds, and that they taught him the Secrets of the Seas and the Winds.

  As this Friendship grew, between Elf and Birds, he sought to accompany them farther away, to follow their habitual and natural Migration beyond the Austral Ocean, and thereupon did he learn the Art of Navigation and hence did he invent novel Techniques for the Design of his Ships. Filwen was not truly esteemed by his own Kind, and yet History has proven that this he was no simple Fisher, but rather an Elf of significant Powers, whose blue Gaze reached beyond the farthest Horizon.

  His Object was thus: to traverse the Austral Ocean and discover the lost Archipelago of the Llewenti.”

  Taking a breath and marking a pause with all the surety of the excellent reader and speaker that he was, Mynar dyl glanced at his small audience. Gal dyl was listening intently, though he appeared to be having some difficulty understanding the Hawenti language of old which the dyl Ernaly mastered as a distinguished scholar.

  Suddenly, Curubor intervened, almost instinctively.

  “I wrote this book... I remember... I wrote this book a long time ago, a very, very long time ago…”

  “That is correct,” answered Mynar dyl, evidently satisfied with the reaction that he had provoked. He went on. “The book dates from the Year 651 according to the Llewenti’s reckoning, which corresponds to Year 143 of the Second Age in the High Elf calendar. It was written in Ystanetrond[37]. The title is rather ambitious: A History of Elves.”

  “But this is more than twenty centuries ago! How did you come into possession of such a relic?” asked Gal dyl in disbelief.

  “I gave it as a present,” Curubor answered. “I offered it to one of Mynar dyl’s forefathers though I cannot remember his name.” His fingers stroked his thin and delicate nose, as if such an action could help him unearth that ancient memory. “I am glad it was neither lost nor destroyed, despite all the disasters that the clan Ernaly have suffered since that heroic time.”

  “The clan Ernaly is known for its bards and its scholars,” Mynar dyl explained proudly. “Dedication to the preservation of knowledge is a tradition for us as it is a part of our nature. But, if we may, let us return to the story of Filwen.”

  “Upon a particularly clear morning, Filwen paced about the Creeks of Essawylor’s Shores, and presently he discovered a mighty High Elf, to wit, none other than Gloren, the fabled Prince, lost in a most contemplative Exile. Tall and sturdy was he, as was the Constitution of all his Kin, and his Hair was as dark as the very Night. From his pale Complexion issued a divine Light, and in his grey Stare he appeared to hold the Wisdom of the World. His Appearance was of a lonesome Demigod, wandering the Coast, singing to the Waves of his Pain and his Guilt. Filwen observed him at length, filled with Devotion and with Love, fascinated by the Beauty of that Hawenti Voice which mingled with Songs of the marine Birds. Then, to his Astonishment, he did perceive that the verses declaimed by the great Elf had provoked a mighty Change in the Depths of the Ocean. A powerful Force of Light and Brilliance had come into Being. A Deity had been summoned.

  He named the invisible Goddess Cim, She who fertilizes and illuminates the Seas. Cim was to the Seas what the Sun is to the Earth, the Source of Life itself. From the Depths of that clear and tropical Sea, She shone most like a Star, absorbing all Light and transforming it into most unusual and luminous tones of Azure. The Bay had become a Fragment of the Greater Gods’ creation, a Vision of the World’s very Beginning. And Filwen called it: Essaweryl, the Gift to Essawylor.

  Stunned as he was by the Power of the great Elf, directly did Filwen run to him and bow at his feet, and he did swear upon all the Stars to convey the Sincerity of his Devotion. But, to the surprise of Filwen, Gloren raised him up, his Eyes full of a certain Sad Bitterness. And thereupon did the Fate of the two Elves become irrevocably bound.

  Though the Hawenti Language remained too complex for the Irawenti Sailor,

 
; Gloren was quick to adapt to the Dialect of his newfound Companion. He learned much from Filwen, of Essawylor and of Irawenti Legends, but, above all else, was he fascinated by the Ode of the Llewenti, the Song which celebrated their Voyage beyond the Ocean, that Filwen sang with more Skill and Conviction than any other Elf. Neither Gloren’s own mournful History, nor the fearful Events in the North that led to his exile, were mentioned at that time, owing to the most profound Grief that did still lay heavily in his Breast.

  Rumours of the great Elf’s coming, and of the Advent of Cim, were soon spoken widely throughout the woods of Essawylor, and afore long a great Pilgrimage was underway; Elves from far and wide travelled to the Lands of the Clan Filweni to show their Devotion to the Great Elf of Light as they had so named Gloren. But Gloren had been Prince among the High Elves and, more than any other, he knew the Weight of Kingship and the Burden of Oaths once pronounced. One Night when the Moon was fair, he confided to his Irawenti Friend.

  “There are no Gods but those that we are willing to accept, Filwen. But if these Clans do solemnly believe that a Goddess dwells in the Depths of the Seas, it is my most heartfelt Hope that such a Belief will bring Peace and Prosperity and keep Tyranny at bay. My Fate is no longer to worship the divine Light, and I fear that the Curse that haunts me shall affect you in turn. The Wrath of the Gods is much like the head of the Lava of a dormant fiery Mountain: once inflamed, it can never be extinguished. Forthwith I renounced my Heritage, that which made me King among Elves and the Heir to the most glorious among them, for now I seek only Peace and Redemption. And so, if I may have your Accordance, I shall accompany you in your Voyage across the Austral Ocean, I will assist you in your Quest to seek the Archipelago of the Llewenti, where that fateful Star once fell. May my contribution be of some Assistance to you and your Kind,” thus pronounced the Hawenti Prince his resolution to Filwen.