Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse)

by Melissa Bitter

  “Who?”

  “The humans, they’ve disappeared, and the High Mages can’t find them,” he responded, searching the crowd for any who might need him.

  “Did they look in the glass?” Andulmaion asked, referring to the large scrying mirror they used only when the need was great. The cost to use it was overwhelming.

  “They did, and found no trace. . . . I’m sorry, I must go.” The young page darted off through the crowd toward a mage dressed in deep violet robes.

  Pages dashed down side corridors, and disappeared through hidden passages, others poured in to receive messages then departed as well. It appeared that all of Mirëdell’s Masters were being summoned to council. Master Mages stood in the midst of the melee calmly directing tasks to be undertaken.

  Analindë noticed a page standing still, hidden halfway behind a pillar, Energy swirled around his twitching fourth finger. Though he did nothing but survey the milling crowd, he struck her as odd. “Andulmaion, Analindë,” a voice pulled her attention from the young elve. Master Therin stepped around a colleague. He radiated calm strength.

  “I have not much time to speak, a grand council has been called, and I am needed to help form a portal so the High Masters from the other cities may attend.” It required enormous amounts of strength to setup and sustain a portal, Analindë didn’t envy him the task.

  Master Therin reached out to grip them both on the shoulder. “Go. Wait for me in the tower. I will be late, but will answer your questions as I may.”

  He turned away to leave, Andulmaion’s question halted him. “What of the humans and their camp?”

  Master Therin glanced back over his shoulder. “Gone. Faint Energy traces were detected. . . . They were elven.” His eyes flicked over to Analindë, then he hastily added, “Do not worry over much. We will find them all.” The words he spoke were contradicted by the stars in his eyes.

  She did not like to see the lie on his face, even though it had been meant to comfort her.

  Master Therin walked briskly away. The guard had been roused and armed elves now patrolled the halls. Pages scurried underfoot carrying messages. Students gathered, spreading the news, anxiously speculating what would happen. As Andulmaion and Analindë slipped out of the hall, Analindë glanced at the empty niche behind the pillar where a page had stood.

  It was rare that a Grand Council of the Realm was held, especially at such short notice. Far-speakers would send messages to the different council members, and they in turn would make plans to travel to Mirëdell in secret. It would be impossible to hide the discovery of the missing Humans, but they would minimize the uproar in other parts of the Realm by moving in stealth to attend the Grand Council.

  A particularly boisterous crowd of students blocked the hall they traveled. They were all talking over each other. “Did you hear? The mages were blocked at the time they disappeared. They didn’t even see it happen.”

  “They’ve been blocked lots over the past several days for long periods of–”

  “–but how could that happen?”

  “–do you think they’ll be found?”

  “Did you hear? Even the mages and leaders of the Northern Hills and Lakes are coming.”

  “They never come–”

  “They are this time.”

  “–heard they are sending scouts to check their camp in person.”

  “The griffons were there. The Council saw–”

  So much for secrecy, Analindë thought as Andulmaion shouldered a path around the crowd. Analindë stayed close as the crowd surged around them. Once away from the rowdy group, raised voices were replaced by hushed nervous ones.

  “Remind me to take a different route when we return to the tower,” Andulmaion said. By mutual ascent they’d gone to the dining hall. Eventually they’d be hungry and they didn’t want to make another trip out of the tower simply to fetch food.

  “I do believe that would be a wise choice.” She looked back at the scattered students, “They’re worried.”

  “Yes, and they should be. For humans to disappear like that . . . it shouldn’t happen. The human wizard couldn’t have cast a portal by himself let alone cast it and cross over.” His fingers played with the cuff on his robes. “The traces of elven Energy that the council found means that they were pulled out.” He stopped and looked down at her. “Do you know what that means? The cost of Energy alone would–” He ran a hand over his face; a calm mask descended. “Let me just say that I would not want to be one of the half dozen mages who cast the spell and pulled.”

  Analindë looked away and reached back behind her to absently trace a sinuous pattern on the stone wall at her back. The design had been stamped on several of the books she’d been studying of late. Tracing the pattern made her feel calm.

  “Do you think you could really find them?” he asked her abruptly. Her eyes jerked to his face. He watched her closely.

  She saw the anxious stars in his eyes and thought of the worried students. Her spine straightened and she felt courage. “Yes, I think I can. I was able to sense them before.”

  The kitchen was in a frenzy of activity as the amount of food they prepped for the evening meal was drastically increased. Visiting Masters from around the Realm would need to be fed.

  Analindë caught the attention of a kitchen apprentice. “Please, is there food we may take for an early dinner?”

  “Yes, my lady, just one moment. I’ll be back.”

  A short moment later the apprentice wove his way toward them, carrying a heavy laden tray through the crowd. Andulmaion stepped forward to relieve him of the burden. They thanked the apprentice and headed to the tower. Steam rose from the covered dishes. Tonight it smelled like bacon and onion quiche and a perhaps a creamy leek soup. Erulissé had been right. They’d switched to serving savory dishes.

  Analindë and Andulmaion had better luck winding through the halls on their way to the tower than they had had on their way to the kitchen. Crowds still gathered to trade the news, but they encountered none so large as before.

  Analindë noticed a Sword Sworn watching her as they neared Master Therin’s tower. She nodded a hello, wondering if she acknowledged that she knew they were watching her if they’d start to leave her alone.

  Upon reaching the tower rooms, Analindë sank down into the couch near the windows. A dense foreboding fog had settled across the valley below, blanketing the view in hazy whiteness. Her earlier anger had dissipated; she now felt focused determination. She’d been able to easily sense the Humans before. Could she still do it? Could she perform under pressure, especially when the need was so dire?

  Andulmaion stood next to her. He also gazed out on the foggy scene below. “Are you hungry right now or would you prefer to eat later?” He lit a few candles on a side table with a glance. They were comforting and she appreciated the gesture.

  “Later,” she replied. “I haven’t tried to find the Humans since my journey here and would prefer to attempt it now. . . . It may take awhile.” She stated grimly; Andulmaion didn’t say anything.

  “Give me a moment to get ready.” She settled down into her favorite spot on the couch, taking a moment to ground and center herself.

  When she opened her eyes back up, Andulmaion nodded and sat in a chair near her, leaning back to wait. “Is there any way I can give aid? Lend you Energy, perhaps?”

  “No, I think not,” she said, then closed her eyes, turning inward toward the void.

  The void was different than it had been before. She couldn’t sense it clearly. It was if she was hemmed in by something. A thick veil was holding her back. She tried to see past it and then to push through it. It gave only a little but still didn’t improve her view. When she tried to shove it out of the way, it felt as if she was trying to move a massive boulder that hadn’t budged in centuries.

  She turned back to herself and opened her eyes. “The shield, I can’t make my way past it.” She sat back, taking deep breaths to steady her breathing. She got up and pou
red herself a glass of water; thirsty, she drank it all down. She filled herself another, taking it with her to the couch.

  She felt a small part of the tower shields drop in front of her, and she sank back down on the couch to ground and center herself once more. She closed her eyes and turned toward the void for a second time. “Much better, thank you,” she whispered.

  Nothing but the unending black abyss of the void stretched out before her. No matter how still she sat or how hard she watched, she sensed no flutters and saw no pinpricks of light. She thought that if she started looking for the Humans where she’d first encountered them, perhaps she’d be able to pick up their trail.

  And so she slowly spun her senses out, searching and feeling her way across the darkness, attempting to mold the darkness into shapes she recognized. Black on black, buildings started to become clear to her. The tower was beneath her, the Healers’ Wing behind her, the gates of Mirëdell in front of her. Ah, that’s the direction she needed to take.

  She began retracing the path she’d come to know just a few short months before. The void was like feeling your way across a strange room when surrounded by velvety darkness. She could get a sense of shape; however, she could also pass right through those shapes. So she crept her way across the landscape, feeling her way as she went. As time passed it became easier for her to feel her way, and instead of focusing on a specific path, she widened her perspective and created general contours in the inky blackness before her. This way she could cover vast distances at a time.

  She sensed the mountain peaks surrounding her and formed the darkness into their likeness as she passed beside them, the rivers beneath as she crossed over, and the trees bordering the path. It was difficult work. Yet she still saw no shimmer of light in the distance nor sensed any flutters. When the Humans had tracked her before they had been so close, that they shone like beacons in the night. There was no sign of them now. She wondered if it was because she hunted them instead of them hunting her.

  Of course finding the Humans couldn’t have been as easy as her looking in the void and saying, ‘Look, there they are!’ She had hoped a little bit, but that kind of hope was best left for people who didn’t know any better. She tried not to feel too disappointed.

  By the time she reached Lindënolwë, much of Analindë’s strength had been used and fatigue had set in. She bobbed around in the air above her home as she rested. No need to form the valley into its likeness; she knew exactly where everything was despite the inky abyss. She took a deep breath and took stock. What to do?

  Her senses were stretched thinner than the finest of gossamer silken strands and floated accordingly. She wasn’t sure how much further she could go. Perhaps she could try again tomorrow? See if she could use Lindënolwë as a starting point? But there really wasn’t any time for that. The Humans were on the run. They could be blasting more elves away even as she sat there in the void. She paused a moment to regain her bearings; the Humans had been heading for the Mountain City. She was good with maps . . . she could do this. She turned in the correct direction and started off again, forming the outlines of mountains and valleys before her as she went.

  Halfway to the Mountain City, Analindë felt the last of her strength leave her. The power from her source was still strong, but her physical energies were all but gone.

  She hadn’t found them yet. She couldn’t quit now; a sob welled up out of her. She twirled around, searching the distance for any spark of life that hid in the void. She saw nothing.

  Determined to try once more, she gathered the last bits of strength to herself. This time she stayed still and fanned her senses out around her, stretching, reaching over the landscape in front of her hoping to sense flutters or catch sight of those pinpricks in the dark. If only she could reach far enough.

  Nothing.

  She stretched out even further and teetered on the brink of collapse, but she only found more inky darkness.

  And then she began to drift.

  It felt nice to drift.

  It didn’t require any effort at all.

  She hadn’t realized there were currents in the void. She’d always thought of it as an airless space filled with soft black velvet. No movement. No motion. But she’d been wrong. There were currents. This one moved east. Slowly. East.

  Bobbing motions relaxed her as bits of her curled and fluttered. It felt luxuriant, this drifting. Memories slipped from her. No purpose, no demands on her time, nothing to worry about. Worries? What did she have to be worried about? The void didn’t answer.

  Something snagged at one of her wisps and it pulled at her, tearing.

  It hurt.

  Another part of her snagged and she cried out. This part of drifting was not pleasant.

  The void had snags!

  Determined not to get caught on any others, she decided to condense herself into a smaller space. She wondered why she’d thought to flatten herself out like this in the first place. She shrugged. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was to avoid getting snared and hurt.

  She told herself to reconnect.

  Nothing happened.

  She grasped two strands of self floating nearby and pushed them together, hard. She told them to meld. They didn’t.

  With a cry, she yanked at bits of herself, pulling them together, but they billowed haphazardly and remained unconnected. Frantically, she grasped at the wisps spread out over the landscape and started bunching them together. A blurred numbness dropped down upon her and she lost focus.

  Everything faded from mind except a pressing desire to gather herself together. It was difficult. She liked drifting better. But there were snags, and she needed to pull herself together. Slowly and painfully she pulled in a wisp here and a wisp there. She reeled the strands of self together and tied them in knots when they tried to drift away. Little by little she amassed the bulk of herself together, lassoing the stringy parts around herself when she had the chance. By the time she had finished, she resembled a mass of yarn piled together, bulky with no shape. Odd parts hung out in wrong places; she was a lumpy, airy mess that refused to find its form or purpose.

  She looped around searching for something, something she’d forgotten while drifting, but couldn’t remember what it was . . . Ah, home. It came to her at last, but where was it? There was no anchor to grasp, to pull herself there. No trail to follow.

  Lost.

  Panic welled within her as she realized she didn’t know where she was. Confusion clouded her thoughts as she tried to remember what she was supposed to be doing in the abyss let alone how was she going to get out.

  A snatch of song came to her mind and left just as quickly; weariness settled deep within her. She contemplated letting herself continue to float, the enticing forgetfulness beaconed to her. She was so utterly tired; it wouldn’t be bad to rest for a moment, would it? She felt the last flashes of alertness beginning to dim.

  No! She jerked her straying thoughts back together.

  There was something she was supposed to be doing, someplace where she needed to return. She looked around the inky blackness. Nothing was familiar; nothing jarred her memory.

  It was so much simpler to let go. Maybe if she just rested her strength would return. Then she’d figure out what to do. Analindë settled back to rest and felt something new. . . . No, heard. What was it? Analindë strained to listen, to understand.

  It came from a far off place, . . . a song, . . . she focused intently, concentrating on the sounds. They were beautiful; it reminded her of wind rushing along the surface of the sea, the salty spray of the ocean, the strength and power of currents. The music gave her focus. Entranced, she drifted toward it. . . . It was speaking to her.

  She couldn’t quite make it out so she concentrated harder; fear and weariness melted away as she grabbed hold of the song with vigor. She could almost make it out, then faintly she heard.

  «Analindë.»

  «Analindë!»

  «Come back. Listen to me, stop! You must
come back.»

  «Analindë!»

  The sounds of the ocean continued on, but they held no meaning. Weariness edged back in again; she didn’t have enough strength to figure it out. Maybe if she just settled back to rest, understanding would come.

  «Analindë!» A shout, louder and greater than the others before it, jerked her back to attention. Something was familiar about the sound, comforting. It offered refuge from the nothingness around her. Trusting in the rushing salty breeze, she pulled herself toward it.

  «Analindë, come back!»

  The voice, yes that is what it was, a voice, sounded familiar as if she knew it well. Analindë, wait. . . . That was her name. The realization dawned on her; she felt happy. And the voice?

  Andulmaion?

  «Analindë, you hear me. Finally.» She felt his relief.

  «Andulmaion?» A vague image of an elven man came to mind; he would help shelter her from the nothingness.

  «Andulmaion, where?»

  «Here. Analindë, you must come. Right now!»

  Analindë looked toward the voice and a light flared brightly in the distance; she headed directly for it. Safety resonated and was promised within that voice and place. She would rest there and be content.

  Once she had the destination fixed in her mind it took only moments to make her way to it. As she approached, the words she heard became less frantic and more soothing. She had not sensed the urgency behind the sounds before, but she felt its absence as he became calmer. As she neared the light, she saw that it encircled a dimmer light. But Analindë headed for the brighter light; he was the one who had promised refuge.

  «No, Analindë. Over here.» The voice indicated the dimmer light.

  «But I don’t want . . . »

  «Analindë, here.» She heard the strain in his voice as he firmly rebuffed her entrance, directing her to the dimmer light next to him.

  «Okay,» she sighed, drifted toward, then settled herself within the dimmer shape. It was almost a perfect fit. Large wispy bits of self hung over the edges, but that was okay; the space felt familiar and safe. She couldn’t quite tuck the rest of herself into the shape, and so she lay there peacefully without moving. It was nice. Comfortable. Not as comfortable as she had hoped since she couldn’t quite fit, but she decided the ocean breeze had been right. It did feel safe, and there was a rightness to the space she filled.