by Sean Rodden
Axennus grinned. “You have much to learn of your guest, Shield Maiden. Seldom does the youngest son of Jophus Teagh go unheard.”
Caelle laughed. The sound was the light of diamonds, or the spiraling descent of winter snows.
“So the elder one has warned me, Ambassador.”
She rose then, flowing to her feet with feline grace, fine and feminine.
“Come, my friend,” she beckoned with the wave of one small hand. “I would walk with you in Galledine.”
Leaving Druintir by way of the marble road, the Shield Maiden and the Ambassador halted beneath the upraised arm of the Colossus of Defurien. There, following the Fiann’s example, Axennus removed his footwear, neatly placing his riding boots beside her sandals at the edge of the river road.
Noticing some discomfiture upon the Ambassador’s face, the Shield Maiden smiled reassuringly, saying, “Be easy, friend Axennus. There is no thievery in Lindannan.”
“My concern is not for my footwear, Shield Maiden,” frowned Axennus, his hazel eyes alight with humour, “but rather for Galledine. The stench of my unshod feet has been known to wilt flowers and wither grass.”
Caelle laughed gaily.
“I know of a place where you might wash the offending appendages, Ambassador –”
“And poison waters.”
“– and failing that, I have with me a blade in the folds of my gown, should amputation be deemed necessary.”
Axennus gulped audibly.
And the Shield Maiden of the Fiannar moved from under the shadow of Defurien and led her guest into the wondrous green wilderland of Galledine.
The Gardens of Galledine were a geological masterpiece, a glacial wake of pitted limestone rising westward in rugged waves of white and grey. Bounded on the north by the Ruil, Galledine rolled southward behind the Dragon’s Head, past the crack of Doomfall, to the Hard Hills at the foot of the Haunted Mountains. And westward, the Gardens climbed leagues of escarpment to the pebbled shores of the Dragon’s Tear, the fathomless lake of glacial meltwaters long misted in myth and mystery.
The sedimentary bedrock had been hewn and fissured by unnumbered millennia of elemental erosion, irresistible forces working the primeval limestone of the land into a petrous eden of crag and talus and rocky rise. But the creviced stone of the Gardens seemed as nutrient as any soil. From the rock rose the green of ancient cedars and noble ironwoods. Stands of supple sugar maple soared skyward, only to sway in the shadow of great groves of hallowed oak. Elm and hickory, there were, and birch and poplar and hoary walnut. The understory was rich with rock sandwort and golden corydalis, and lichen and fern and clinging moss. Where the trees did not hold, hardy grasses flowed over glade and glen, like small seas of gilded green. And everywhere in Galledine did flowers bloom in abundances of kind and colour, nurtured and sustained by songs of spring and stream.
Caelle led the Ambassador along a narrow deer trail that ran beside the thin silver line of a slow-flowing stream. The ground beneath Axennus’ bared feet was surprisingly warm and yielding, more like soft supple carpet than mossy stone and grassed earth. Galledine’s vigour and vitality tingled in his soles, his ankles, his calves, swimming his bloodcourse ever upward into his heart; his eyes glittered green in reflection and absorption of the Gardens’ enchanting light; his nostrils twitched and thrilled with the myriad fragrances of herb and flower; something like the taste of maple sap teased his tongue, as though the very air were flavoured; and his ears were attuned to the underlying melody of breeze and brook and bird of song.
But for all Galledine’s glory and green grandeur, Axennus’ senses were more keenly focused upon the small fine form of the Fiann before him.
The daughter of Eldurion seemed to float along the path with an elegant ease of motion, like a leaf on flowing water, fleet and free. And where she walked, there went also the sweet scent of spring, the ethereal essence of femininity. Her small square shoulders and slim muscled arms spoke of a strength that seldom accompanied such singular beauty. The tied tail of her midnight hair fell between the blades of her fair-skinned shoulders like the darkness between stars, and beneath her narrow waist, her hips swayed to and fro as though in tempo with the beat of Axennus’ very heart.
Caelle smiled inwardly. She could feel the Southman’s eyes upon her as surely as she would the gentle caress of caring hands. But she was neither offended nor affronted by the Ambassador’s attention, for her beauty had ever moved the hearts and minds of men, even those of the dourest of Fiannar. Oft was it whispered that the light of the Athair yet shone within her, for hers seemed not a mortal beauty, not one that flowers and fades and fails in the end.
Thus the wonder was small that a man such as Axennus Teagh, a man whose love of the female form approached legendary proportions, might be enamoured of her, might be drawn to her. But he brought with his attentions a sincere respect and unhindered honesty that Caelle found both surprising and refreshing. For all his swagger and showmanship, the young Ambassador was in sooth a man of well-hidden humility, a man in unconscious search for meaning, for enlightenment, for his very self. And apart and aside from these things, Axennus Teagh was not an unseemly model of masculinity, nor was his countenance uncomely. And he was surely a man of intriguing intellect. That he was not of the Fiannar of Lindannan was of little consequence – she knew the truth of his blood. Surely, Caelle of the Fiannar had suffered the unsolicited attentions of admirers less worthy than the Erelian Ambassador.
Caelle’s smile fell and a shadow stole across her sight.
Such thoughts were for other times.
“I would tell you a tale.”
Caelle sat atop an outcropping of rock overhanging a shallow stream. Her arms were braced behind her, her head tilted back upon her fine neck, long hair brushing the surface of the stone. She had hiked her gown over her knees so that she might dangle her legs over the lip of the rock and immerse her small feet in the slow flow of the water. Nearby, a turtle basked lazily on a log, long neck stretched toward the light, small eyes blinking languidly. And closer still, Axennus lay upon the rock, his head pillowed by his hands, his green-glossed eyes peering pensively into Galledine’s sun-dappled canopy. He could not recall having known such peace.
“I would be pleased to listen, Shield Maiden.” He maneuvered himself into a more attentive sitting position at the Fiann’s side.
“Your questions have been many, though not all have been voiced.”
“You perceive much, Shield Maiden.” Then Axennus, too, dangled his legs over the lip of their stony seat.
Caelle closed her lovely eyes, feeling the cool waters wash between her toes. Something like a sigh slipped past her slightly parted lips.
“I am told you are a man well-learned in history, Ambassador.”
“You are misled,” denied Axennus, his voice soft and sedate as he tested the chill of the stream with his own tentative toes. “I am no historian, but only a man of some little curiosity, often intrigued by things found in tomes old and dusty.”
“You have some knowledge, then, of the writings of the renowned Erelian philosopher Omereo?”
“A few words only, Shield Maiden,” replied Axennus, the little rill licking his toes with light liquid tongues. “From his Dissertations on Time: ‘The past defines the present, and the present decides the future’. Long has Omereo been revered for stating the obvious.”
“Nevertheless, I will tell you now of the past, not as we would have it, but as it truly was – our history unglossed by legend, the truth unsullied by rhetoric religious and political. I will tell you of yesterday, that you might better understand today, that you might approach tomorrow armed with knowledge and armoured with wisdom. I will tell you of Light and of Darkness, of joy and of sorrow, of love and of war. I will tell you as I heard it from my father, who heard it from his own father, who heard it from one who was there. It is in their words that you will begin to find the answers that you seek, Master Ambassador.”
“You
honour me, my friend,” said Axennus sincerely.
Absently, he slowly submerged both feet into the rippling water. Disturbed by the man’s movement, the basking turtle abandoned its perch, hurriedly tumbling into the safety of the stream and swiftly disappearing.
The Fiann opened her eyes, sapphire fire sparking in their fathomless grey depths, like blue stars in a silver sky. And her voice was as the trickling song of green Galledine’s very soul.
“Ambassador Axennus Teagh, I would tell you of the making and breaking of worlds.”
“Before Time, before being, there was The One, whom the Athair name Iu, and whom we call the Teller. The Teller looked about him, and saw no beauty, but only the darkness of the Untold. And in his wisdom he thought to tell a tale, to bring order to chaos, and from darkness Light. And so he began the Tale.
“The Teller first spoke law into the Tale, law to which all the Told must adhere, for without law there can be no order, and without order no beauty. The Untold exploded into light. Time began. The stars, of which our sun is but one of countless billions, shone. And of the dusts of the cosmos worlds were formed, though they were but three, and barren. The First Words spoken, the Teller rested.
“And for a time he was content, but he soon longed for companionship, for he was alone in his creation, and there were none with whom he might share his Tale. So he spoke of spirits, and there came into the Tale beings of such beauty and light as to defy description. The mightiest of these he named the Hiathir, and though they were powerful, they were few. The greater number of the spirits he named the Athair, and they were many. The Hiathir and the Athair gave the Teller companionship and listened to his Tale. And again, for a time, he was content.
“But soon the Teller became restless, for the spirits had no will of their own, but were only extensions of his own thoughts. And so he gifted them with free will, that they might no longer be as slaves, that they be bound to him by love not law, that he might listen to tales other than his own.
“However, of free will came choice, and of choice came rival good and evil. And not all spirits chose to love the Teller, for there were those that were envious of his power, and coveted his throne for their own. Mightiest of these dissenters was Ilurin, brightest and most handsome of the Hiathir. Ilurin whispered against the Teller, naming him undeserving of devotion, speaking the first lies to come into the Tale. And many listened, for Ilurin was beautiful, and his voice persuasive.
“But the Teller was not blind to Ilurin’s machinations, and he called the seditious Hiath to him, and chastised him for his pride and envy. Fearful of the Teller’s wrath, Ilurin prostrated himself before the throne, begging forgiveness, swearing eternal fealty. But the Teller heard deception in Ilurin’s voice, and he cast the wayward Hiath and his followers to the darkness at the Edge of the Untold, there to remain until their repentance became sincere. Peace returned to the Tale, and the Hiathir and the Athair that were loyal to the Teller rejoiced. But Ilurin dwelt in Shadow, brooding, nursing his anger, plotting his vengeance.
“There came a time when four who were mighty amongst the Athair approached the Teller, saying that for too long had the Three Worlds been barren, requesting that these places be made beautiful. And the Teller saw the innocence of their desire, the nobility of their intent, and he knew they wished only to beautify the Worlds and not possess them. And so he granted them their request, and thus it was that Life was brought to the Three Worlds.
“And the four Athair gave a name to these Worlds, calling them the Earths: The First Earth was a place of magic and eldritch power; the Second was a place where magic and nature co-existed; and the Third Earth was a place of nature alone.
“The Athair saw the beauty of the First Earth and came again to the Teller, requesting they be permitted to leave the Light and abide there. And the Teller was pleased with them, and granted their desire, though he decreed that they must take physical form. He warned them that he would not influence the fates of the Three Earths, that the Worlds were beyond the reach of the Hiathir, that the Athair would be alone in guardianship of First Earth. And though they were to remain powerful and immune to Time, they would be susceptible to death by sword or sorrow, lest some among them become as Ilurin, and seek dominion over the Earths.
“To these things the Four Kings agreed, and they came to First Earth with a great host of their followers. Micyll, proud and strong, took residence with his people in the North, a place of mountains and ice. Yriel, lover of living things, made the East his and his people’s home, great plains broad and free. Asrayal, dour and deep of thought, brought his people to the South, a land of silver rivers and fertile marshland. And Gavrayel of the Golden Voice went with his folk to the West, where the forests grew tall and mighty.
“The peoples of the Four Realms lived in peace and nurtured the Earth, making that which had been beautiful even more so. And the Teller saw the ways and works of his Children, and he was pleased.
“But Ilurin also saw. Great was his rage and hot his hatred for the Athair of First Earth. However, his hatred of the Teller was the hotter, and with such great numbers of loyal Athair removed from the Light and dwelling upon First Earth, Ilurin deemed his enemy to be weak. So gathering his forces at the Edge of the Untold, Ilurin brought war into the Tale, and moved to usurp the Teller from the throne.
“But Ilurin had misjudged the strength of his enemy, and in a fierce battle the traitorous Hiath’s armies were broken, and he was taken by Cothra, who is known now as the Hiath of War, and chained, and brought before the Teller. There Ilurin humbled himself, and he sued for mercy. Cothra spoke against him, as did many Hiathir, and they counseled the Teller to douse the fire of Ilurin’s spirit, to remove him from the Tale. But Ilurin shed tears of gold, and the Teller took pity upon him, for Ilurin had once been much favoured, as he was the brightest and most beautiful of all the Teller’s Children.
“And so, against Cothra’s grave counsel, the Teller forgave Ilurin his evils. But he reaved the rebellious Hiath of his beauty, and dimmed his brightness, and cast him and his minions forever from the Light. These ethereal entities floated across the astral plane, lost and forgotten for centuries, millennia, their rage seething, their hatred growing as they gradually gathered to themselves dusts and detritus of the universe and became corporeal beings, however base and corrupted. And in time, their path intersected that of First Earth, and they showered down upon the dark side of that world, unnumbered fugitive fires falling from the sky.
“So it was that evil first came to the Earths.”
The Ambassador smiled.
“An interesting tale, Shield Maiden, but disturbingly like the teachings of the Recitors of the Tome in Hiridith – small-minded men of hypocrisy, immorality and falsehood, bold deceivers who grow fat on the faith of the people.”
The Fiann smiled, and touched Axennus’ shoulder.
“Though the vulture be winged, Master Ambassador, he is not forever aflight.”
Caelle’s words played in Axennus’ quick agile mind, and in little time his countenance brightened with understanding.
“Ah, I see,” he said appreciatively. “Even the most dishonest man is not always lying.”
The Fiann nodded, withdrew her hand.
“The Recitors might misemploy the Tome of the Teller for their own selfish purposes, Southman, but such profanation does not make the Tale therein less true.”
Axennus stared into the blue-starred grey heavens of Caelle’s enchanting eyes.
She smiled sweetly.
He inclined his head.
“Pray continue, Shield Maiden.”
“Ilurin came to First Earth and took his abode upon an island in the seas east of the lands of the Athair. There he sat in silent wrath, suckling his hatred, and scheming. The Athair had seen his coming to First Earth, a great blazing star falling from the firmament, a wail of crimson fire in its wake. And the Four Kings took counsel, for they knew of the war in the Light, and they knew of the Teller’s decr
ee, and they were worried for their world. And so they sent emissaries to Ilurin, becking his presence, that he be given opportunity to ease their concerns.
“Ilurin smiled unto himself, and he came to the land of the Athair in the guise of a repentant. And though his brightness had been dimmed, his face was yet beautiful and his voice as silk. Weeping, Ilurin bowed before the Four Kings, claiming madness had taken him, but was passed, and he swore oaths of peace and fraternity. And the Four Kings took pity on the Hiath, though some doubted, and they granted Ilurin his island in the sea. And Ilurin smiled, and promised knowledge in return, that together the Athair and he would make First Earth as beautiful as the very Light itself. And smiling like a serpent, he returned to his isle to plan and prepare.
“Of the Four Kings, Micyll was mightiest, and had little cause to fear Ilurin. Gavrayel lived far to the west, and his forests were as an impregnable fortress, and he had Seven Princes of great power to ward his land, and felt assured of his security. Asrayal, ever in quest of erudition, had been moved by Ilurin’s promise of knowledge, and not intimate with the true nature of evil, he willingly gave Ilurin his trust.
“But Yriel, who dwelt nearest to Ilurin, possessed the instincts of the beasts that he so loved, and he gave little credence to the covenants of the Hiath. Defurien, who was Yriel’s confidant and closest friend, warned the King that Ilurin was false, that he was making designs upon First Earth. Trusting in his own wary heart and in the words of his friend – for Defurien was ever an Ath foresighted – Yriel fortified his land, and he raised a great fortress on the cliffs by the sea, and amassed a mighty store of arms and armour. And Defurien, once a student of Cothra, trained the people of Yriel in the arts of war, in sword and shield and shining spear. And the first army of the Athair came into being.
“Ilurin saw the defenses of Yriel, and he laughed, for the seeds of his machinations had taken root. He came to the court of Asrayal, who had befriended him, and he whispered into that sullen King’s ear words of suspicion and misgiving for Yriel’s newfound militancy. For Asrayal had profited much under the tutelage of Ilurin, and had learned to mine and mold the glittering metals and precious stones of the Earth, and his land had become the most wealthy and lovely of all the realms of the Athair. Ilurin warned Asrayal that Yriel had become envious of his wealth, and would have it for himself, by force of arms if not freely given.