by JW Baccaro
"Oh—yeah, another thing I wondered…?" Her gaze shifted to the ground and a blushing red swept her face.
"Yes Minevara?" Darshun said, tilting his head down to meet her eyes.
"Who exactly is your strange um…friend Nay—Nayland? What is his past? Have you known him long?” Minevara his sister, definitely shared sharing the same "flaw" Caelestias scolded him for once…Asking multiple questions before getting an answer to even the first.
“Ha, why the sudden interest?”
“Oh, just curious is all. I mean, while he exaggerated about saving me from the enemies yesterday, he did lend a good hand. And he is quite powerful it seems—and a Nasharin at that! Both you and I know there are very few of us left.”
Darshun smiled, judging from her shyness, stuttered words and overly curious tone, accompanied by the looks they exchanged last night during supper—he did notice this—there seemed to be more beyond the questions than just a common knowledge. “Come on, I will tell you about him on the way back.”
When Darshun and Minevara returned all had finished their breakfast except for Kelarin. For there she sat, waiting to eat with Darshun. After a friendly greeting from everyone, he pulled up a chair and ate with his Angel.
She’d made it herself. Hot oat cereal with brown sugar and honey, fried toast drizzled with maple syrup, coffee, tea, and to Darshun’s surprise meat! Knowing he liked meat, Kelarin awoke early and took her brother’s bow and hunted and killed a pheasant. Directly through the heart she got it, as if nothing—the first time she’d ever killed a living creature and it tore her soul out, being a healer. But she wanted to please Darshun dearly.
When Darshun found this story out, he himself didn’t know to whether eat it or cry, knowing how Kelarin could communicate with animals and yet, she goes out of her way and strikes one down for him? Nevertheless, the cooked bird filled with spiced bread made his mouth drool and as usual he dove right in, and she watched pleasantly, silently with sparkles in her eyes.
* * *
Waiting for Darshun to finish eating and for the journey to begin, Minevara stepped outside, meeting Nayland who’d excused himself more than twenty minutes ago for a smoke.
There he stood, finishing his pipe, watching the gorgeous Nasharin woman who wields a deadly hand. Yet, he would never tell her that.
She approached him, her golden locks of hair blowing in a breeze, her eyes catching the light of the sun like bay blue flames.
“Nice morning, is it not she-elf?” he asked, exchanging a bit of an arrogant smile.
“You know, I have a name Nayland.”
"Perhaps, but you never told me it."
"You learned it over the night!" She scowled. She wasn’t happy with him. Learning about his past disappointed her. True, she felt saddened for his childhood tragedy, but never would she have thought he would blame it on Darshun and Mirabel, let alone attempt to kill Darshun! “Address me properly,” she commanded, placing her hands on her hips.
“All right, Minevara! As you wish.”
“I can not figure out why Darshun is allowing you to come along after trying to murder him.”
“Heh, I gather he told you.”
“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes.
“Well, that was then, forgotten history. Times are different now.”
She stepped closer, casting a stern look. “I am not forgiving as he, so be warned. I won't hesitate to cut your throat if any harm comes to him by your hand. Remember that, Nayland Winveil.”
Nayland started to chuckle but it quickly faded when her eyes grew more fierce. “Listen, I won’t harm your brother, he’s an ally now—more than that, he is the Guardian. However…" He clenched his fists, shooting back a glare of his own. "Do not threaten me woman! For you know not what ground you tread.” As he was speaking his eyes grew darker, his voice eerie. “I am not like other Nasharins. My wrath unleashes best upon rage—absolute rage. It would be wise if you refrain from dragging that out. Speak no more words of vanity in my presence!”
There they stood, casting gleams at one another as if a fight were soon to spark. This was the kind of attitude she expected of him, and it didn’t bother her much. In fact, she was rather attracted to the kind who were ‘rough around the edges’ just so long no true evil lurked in their hearts. She just couldn’t accept the fact this individual standing before her almost killed her long lost brother. Just a few months ago! How could he go from extreme to loyal in so little time? She would watch him closely.
“What is the issue here?” Caelestias asked, walking up behind Minevara.
“It’s all fine,” she answered, finally turning away from Nayland.
Nayland cast a cold look at the elvish lord. Murderer. He turned aside.
Caelestias said nothing, though more likely he’d read Nayland’s thoughts as was usual for him to do. He seemed to pay no attention to it, acting as though the moment never happened.
* * *
By now, just about everyone ventured outside and when Darshun came his eyes lit up at what stood before him.
At least three hundred Elves—the Aryeh, lined up dressed in dark green cloaks, armed with bows and swords, ready to charge into battle. As soon as Darshun stood in their midst, they bowed down to him in worthy respect. Caelestias, their captain, bowed as well. "We are with you all the way, dear Darshun."
Elves, bowing to me? Darshun became overwhelmed with joy. Tremendously shy, he’d not a clue as to what to say! "Um—eh—thank you?"
Then Athanasius stepped out of Loinnrich Crann carrying a bundle of forest-green cloaks hanging from his right arm. He handed one to each of the Nasharins and one to his son. “These were made and worn by Elves during the First Great War who are no longer with us. Created with special earthen material now extinct. The cloaks not only change color in their environment to blend in, but will help keep you cool during a desert heat, and warm during a glacier freeze; Syngothra can at times become bitterly cold. And as you can see…" He waved a hand toward the Aryeh. "Some of our best Elves shall accompany you on the siege against Valnar.”
"So, it is really true!" Darshun cheered his voice fluttery. "The hatred between our two races has long been forgotten!"
Unexpectedly, a great commotion roared within the city.
“Ours has but not Eldeno’s,” Caelestias announced, clenching a fist. “Father look. Satyrus approaches carrying the flag of peace.”
Making his way through the early morning crowd, and raising the gray flag bearing the image of a beautiful detailed white dove Caelestias mentioned, came Satyrus the sorcerer, accompanied by ten other Elves of Eldeno. The ancient flag represented peace, originally created by the prophet Eldenith, which could never deny another Elf's passage into an elvish city. Satyrus appeared taller than any other Elf Darshun had yet to see, and a bit more slender, almost like a walking stick. His elfish face encompassed hazy gray eyes as he wore shoulder length gray curly hair, dark eyebrows, and a look of dire hatred upon his face. His expression reflected an individual who just hated everything and always felt miserable no matter what. Clothed in a silver robe he and his companions hastily walked over to Athanasius. "Lord Athanasius…" he greeted, allowing the syllables in the words to linger. "A long time…it has been."
Immediately, Darshun didn’t like him—at all! His eerie monotonous tone grated, something about it sounding like he’d arisen from the most vile depths of evil. Not even Abaddon's voice gave Darshun such chills.
“No Elf of Eldeno has stepped foot into Ashhaven for one hundred years,” Athanasius replied. "Why are you here?"
“No introduction? No welcoming?" He spoke to Athanasius telepathically. So be it, I shall cut to the chase. The end times draw near, it is written among prophecy. You know what I speak.
"Say your words aloud, or say them not at all," Athanasius commanded.
Snarling, Satyrus answered, "Why is it you have made council without me?”
“First, answer me how you know a council has taken place,
Satyrus. After, explain why you communicate with Dark Elves; you were seen by a trustworthy source.”
Grinning, he replied, “No Elf of Ashhaven is trustworthy.”
“You say such mockery and yet enter here with the flag of peace?”
“I need not explain my wisdom to you. Let us just say as your people sometimes pass by Eldeno, mine pass by Ashhaven. Needless to say, I think it is rather evident something important is taking place, judging by your army about to march off. In past times, we always invited our neighbors to councils.”
“On my behalf, let us just say I think you know perfectly well why I neglected your presence.”
“Save your vain words for another time. My true reason for coming is to take back what is mine, that which the…" He glanced at Minevara. "Accursed stole from Eldeno yesterday. A sacred crystal."
"I stole no such thing!" Minevara snapped. "Liar! I saw you communing with Dark Elves."
"Oh? Prove it heathen. Where are your witnesses?"
"Were your skirmish little Dark Elf friends' still alive," she commented with a satisfying smile, "They could be my witnesses. But as all vile which confronts me, I sent them to judgment—"
"Where are your witnesses?" he asked a second time, his voice overpowering Minevara's.
She said nothing.
"Exactly, nothing except mockery and conceit spring forth from your mouth. Typical of the 'accursed.' However, these ten sons of mine saw you mingling through our city, enter our temple of worship and take our sacred object, our Golden Crystal. I want it back."
Athanasius looked to her, as if to judge poor Minevara. After all in old elvish law, when a crime be committed, one definite proof to justify an accusation would be having two or more witnesses, which favored over the individual having none. And all these ‘sons’ of Satyrus did indeed have truth in their eyes, honesty in their spirit. But Athanasius was no stranger to Satyrus' trickery and knew perfectly well, the whole approach on the sorcerer’s part must be deceptive.
Using trickery, or rather logic Athanasius countered, "That golden object…Is it not the same object of evil you falsely accused the prophet Eldenith of keeping and now you yourself are asking for it back? Thousands of lives were lost in that civil war…A war which never should have happened. If you would have spared your mind games on these dear ones who innocently obey you, they might recall that era."
His ten sons glanced to and fro of one another, looking confused.
Laughing, Satyrus scoffed, "Ridiculous. Such a waste of words. I am here simply to get back my belonging. The object I search for is mine, you all are a band of thieves and… nothing good comes from a city which welcomes Nasharins."
“How dare you come into our city and approach my father saying such things!” Caelestias roared.
“I speak the truth. It is because of these four accursed that the earth even suffers." He glanced to them, amused at their perplexed expressions, wondering how Satyrus had known their origin. "That's right. I can sense all of you are Nasharin filth. Tell me, which one keeps the temple crystal?" He pointed to Mirabel. “Is it you? Or is it the accursed half breed she-elf?”
Minevara clenched a fist, desperately trying to hold back. Especially being called, ‘she-elf’ once again by yet another rude individual. Nayland was enough, the title clearly is meant to insult, as if she were a mere inferior creature—as though the Elves of Ashhaven were inferior creatures. Not only that, but Nasharin blood flowed through her veins also.
“I know what you truly seek," Darshun interrupted, "and it is I who keeps it."
“You? Ha! Your nothing but a boy, no older than thirty.”
“Twenty four, actually.”
Satyrus laughed. “Do you even know what you are doing, accursed one?”
“I do, Dark Elf! Though I did not ask for this task.”
“Then relieve yourself from its burden and return me the crystal.”
“Is it not true you made war over its very presence, calling it a tool of evil?”
Inexplicably, Darshun heard Satyrus' voice inside his head. “Does not matter, boy. The crystal was entrusted to my forefather, Eldenith, two thousand years ago. And I want it back!”
“But it was not entrusted to you, Satyrus the corrupter.”
Sensing a familiarity about Darshun he began to study his face, recognizing features he’d seen before. “Your face, it's nearly identical to my sister.”
“I am the son of Meyanna, Darshun Luthais. But you may remember me as 'Windtros Abdias.' ”
Widening his eyes, Satyrus couldn’t seem to believe it. This boy was the son of Meyanna his sister, meaning he was–his nephew! Not only that, but there was no denying it was he carrying the Golden Crystal. And that can only mean one thing—the child of prophecy! His eyes began turning bloodshot, though whether from anger or disparity no one knew. “Be it so,” he continued, trying to keep his tone calm, “I am your elder and you have what is mine. According to the old elvish law, my father's heritage belongs to me."
"Yes," his sons spoke in unison. "You wrongly keep what is his. Give back the belonging, we then abandon here, leave this place, no dispute made. Be honorable. Obey the laws, respect the codes. Eldeno has spoken…"
All of them sounded like mindless puppets controlled by a ventriloquist; they slowly began to move, spreading out, encircling Darshun and his companions, their hands resting in their cloaks.
Something wasn't right and Caelestias and the others prepared for it…hands atop of weapons.
"They’re like puppets!” Darshun balked, upset over their enslavement. “How your wickedness has blinded them all. None of your people sound truly free. Deceiver!"
"You would be wise to obey them. Now, give back my crystal or I shall take it by force!” His hazy gray eyes lit up a bright red and he stepped hard toward Darshun.
An emotion of fear started to befall the young Nasharin. Darshun felt it in his entire body and couldn't quite grasp where it might be coming from, because there seemed nothing to fear. Satyrus? Highly unlikely! A mere pebble to him but still, the fear grew, causing his body to tremble. Satyrus' black magic indeed. Normally, the spell would have taken much more effort to inflict, but being Darshun was a sibling the magic proved easier.
All Satyrus needed to do was grip the crystal into his hands and his people would ignite what they hid beyond their cloaks, Transportation Candles, tools invented by the ancient blackened arts used to cheat time and distance, or flee rather quickly, just as Talvenya used the night she killed poor King Adeleric and stole the Wizard Crystals of the Elements.
With the Spell of Fear dawning, Darshun reached for his necklace.
Kelarin pushed his hand away and stepped in front of Satyrus.
Growling, he rose a hand to smack her but Caelestias intervened, stepping in between them, bow drawn, arrow ready, gaze fierce.
“What’s happening?” Darshun asked, a little out of it. “My hands, they won’t cease shaking. The fear, it is strangely strong.”
"Look into my eyes Darshun," Kelarin spoke, soft and gentle. "Focus on me, my voice, my touch." She began to lovingly caress his back with her little smooth hands, taking his mind astray. "Everything is going to be all right."
“Out of my way, worthless scum!” Satyrus shouted, fearing not Caelestias’ defiance. “Those who protect thieves are put to death!”
“Enough!” Athanasius’ voice trumped and in that moment a strange gust of wind blew out of nowhere and thunder roared in the sky. There were neither clouds nor lightning. Then Lord Athanasius’ eyes flashed a bright white and a terrible power ascended out of him, too terrible to describe. Not like the power of a Nasharin, Wizard or Sorcerer, this seemed different…Holy, frightening.
Satyrus backed away and so did his Elves.
“The great task is set, Satyrus,” Athanasius said, his voice sounded like a trumpet. “You have no part in it. You do not fool me. I know the hatred you have against the Light. It is only a matter of time before your own people r
ealize this along with your secretive black magic. Now leave Ashhaven at once or I will have to get angry!”
Nearly cowering to the ground Satyrus fell back; rage swept his face. “This isn't over,” he snarled and then abandoned the city at great pace, his ‘sons’ trailing behind.
“Are you all right Darshun?” Caelestias asked.
“Yeah, I’m—fine. Just felt kind of strange, you know—for a moment.”
“Satyrus’ doing.” He glanced over to Kelarin while she rubbed Darshun's shoulders. He nodded in appreciation for her aid. She answered in return with a smile.
“My, what a predicament that turned out to be,” Minevara scoffed. “I would love to sever his head.”
“Father, shall I send scouts to watch Satyrus?” Caelestias asked.
“No, leave him be.”
“But Eldeno cannot be trusted.”
“I know which is why you all must be off at once. Too much time has already been spent.”
“As you command."
Darshun reached up and took Kelarin's hand, stopping its motion along his shoulder. Holding it, he faced her. “I am uncertain what has just taken place, everything happened so fast. But whatever you did, I thank you again, my Angel." He knelt before her, finding it difficult to stand back up.
She gently stroked his head, enjoying the feel of his soft honey brown hair and of course, its scent of cinnamon. She then helped him to his feet.
"I will miss you. Until our next gathering, farewell dearest Kelarin.” He kissed her palm.
“Farewell—Darshun.”
“Worry not, I will bring him back in one piece,” Minevara vowed.
Kelarin smiled and glanced down, feeling somewhat shy.
"May Abidan be with you all," Athanasius bid them.
"And also with you," Caelestias, the Aryeh and Minevara answered together, as if the saying was custom.
Then they abandoned Ashhaven, Kelarin never taking her eyes from Darshun until he disappeared into the forest. Gazing now at the trees, a few teardrops strolled down her cheeks.
Sensing her thoughts Athanasius said, “Daughter, you must not dwell upon the future. You know looking into it only leads you to sorrow.”