by Matthew Wolf
“Gray!” Mura called, his voice found its way through Gray’s dark world. Gray opened his eyes, his senses slowly returning, but even as they did, he felt them fading. He saw the others rush towards him, but the hermit was the first. “How?” the man whispered, as if he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Mura…” Suddenly, he was sorry for everything he had said and done to the man, for abandoning him, and for never telling him how true a friend he was, and he opened his mouth to say as much.
“Don’t speak!” the hermit cried.
“Light!” Darius cried at his side. “How did he get here? Dice!”
“He saved us…” Rydel said.
He saw Karil—she was doing something, touching his abdomen. Gray saw Ayva. Still motionless. He tried to speak, to ask if she was all right, but nothing came.
“Stop it!” Darius cried. “Stop trying to talk!”
There was a strange hum and he realized Karil was chanting. Her flawless features made him think of Vera. His sister… now dead because of him. He groaned in pain. Karil said something but the words made no sense. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The Kage’s wicked sword that pierced his stomach suddenly vanished, crumbling into dust.
“I…” he said as the cold embraced him.
Karil’s chants grew louder.
As he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of those around him. And through his fear was a single name. Kail. He remembered the final image on the man’s face, as if the legend knew a secret. Surrounded, by warmth and light, Gray’s vision faded.
Ezrah
SOFT WHITE LIGHT DIFFUSED THE ROOM and Gray squinted.
Before him was a round oak table. Upon the table, sat a board with intricately carved pieces. Though he didn’t recognize the game, he could tell it was in progress. He picked up a wooden piece. It was smooth between his fingers, as if held by many hands. A door he had not seen opened on silent hinges, and a man entered, wearing long brown robes. His white brows hung over his hooded eyes like moss upon a low hanging roof, and his eyes held him like a hawk. Gray knew this man was dangerous. His face was wizened, but not old. Without a word, the man approached and sat at the table before him.
The man calmly folded his hands before him, “Long time no see.” His voice was deep and resonated with authority.
Gray shrugged his shoulders, feeling for the bundled sword upon his back. Morrowil was gone. He leaned forward, looking deep into the man’s eyes. He blinked as something clicked. “You’re the voice within the chambers, the one that offered two choices.”
The man’s keen eyes crinkled as he bowed his head. “I was there.”
“Ezrah,” he whispered and then shook his head, “How do I know your name?”
Ezrah pulled back his robed sleeves, resting his elbows on the table, intent upon the board. “In a dream, you often know many things you can’t remember when awake. In this case, my name. That is why I brought you here. Here you can walk through barriers that have been long standing, and see things you’ve forgotten.”
A dream… his thoughts repeated, understanding why the room seemed so strange now. “I am simply asleep then?”
“More or less. This,” he said, motioning to the dark stone walls and rows of shelves, “is a place between worlds, much like a dream.” Ezrah moved a small piece upon the board. “Your turn.”
He looked to the checkered board. “I don’t know how to play.”
“Yes, you do.”
Seeing no harm in playing along, he grabbed a piece. It was a figure of a woman holding a scepter. He moved it to a black square, adjacent to a colored red pillar, one of the last two on the board. Ezrah made a sound of approval, scrubbing his chin. Gray took the moment to look around the room. There must have been hundreds of books and all appeared ancient. He rubbed his hands across the smooth table. It was familiar and real, as if he’d touched it before. He could scarcely believe it was a dream. “I’ve been here before.”
Ezrah put a finger to the side of his broad nose in thought. He moved a piece that resembled a droplet of water while he answered, “You have. I brought you here because it is familiar to you. Long ago, you and I used to come here. You loved playing Elements,” he said, motioning towards the board, “And you were quite good at it as well. In fact, this was the last game we played. The one we never finished.”
“The game we never finished…” It all made sense. The pieces, the board, even the chair Ezrah sat in it—all of it was the same, as if frozen in time until now. “I touched these,” he whispered, seeing the pieces before him in a different light.
Ezrah looked up, nodding encouragingly, “You remember, then?”
He closed his eyes as he held a wooden piece in his fist. His grip tightened and he tried to stoke the frozen memory to life. At last, he set the wooden figurine aside and shook his head. “I can almost see it—it feels so close, as if it were a dream I had just woken from, but have forgotten upon waking.” Then he looked up, “Upon the gates, you said I would forget it all. But you know who I am, don’t you?”
Ezrah didn’t look up from the board. “I cannot answer that.”
His jaw clenched. “Why? At last tell me why I went beyond the Gates. You seem to care for me, or did at one time, so I can only assume that leaving the world in which I was born had to be for a good reason.”
Slowly, the man looked up. His eyes were tight, as if remembering a painful memory. “Were it anything but the gravest of circumstances you would still be here, by my side.” He bowed his head. “However, I was too slow. Perhaps age slowed my wits, but more likely I was simply too confident in my power to halt the tide of events—too foolish to realize what was unfolding beneath my very nose.” Ezrah looked away. “Once I did realize, it was too late…”
“You make it sound like a tragedy,” he replied, prying for more.
Ezrah’s features twisted, as if pained by the memory. “You do not remember because I took your memories away from you.”
“You stole my memory?” Anger and confusion rose inside him.
“You asked me to,” Ezrah stated. “In truth, you begged me to.”
“Why?”
“I will tell you all one day, but we are out of time. Alas, we both must return to the world.” Ezrah rose to his full height, placing his hands in either loose sleeve.
“No, you can’t go!” He said, gripping the man’s robed arm.
Ezrah looked down at him sadly. “If we stay, we may both die.”
Fear and uncertainty flashed through him, but a part of him didn’t care, even with the threat of death. He had to know. “I want to know. Tell me what happened.”
Ezrah raised one hand into the air. As he did, the pendant grew warm on Gray’s chest. Then, as if held by invisible strings, it lifted out of his shirt. The man spoke, “Long ago, I gave that to you. Because of its magic, it has the ability to bring the wielder, and the one who summons it to a place between realities. However, the power of the pendant is limited. It cannot sustain this dimension much longer. It may shatter at any moment. If it does, I do not know what will happen. It is possible we may be killed, or even be trapped for all eternity within this world.”
His grip tightened on the man’s sleeve, “Please.”
Ezrah released a heavy breath, “Speak quickly then.”
“Who am I? And who are you to me?” he asked.
The man touched his hand that gripped him, and his touch was warm, even in the dream. “To the first question, only you can answer who you are, my boy. There is no past or future but the present—and that is who you are. And to the second, you were born within Farhaven just beyond these walls, and then placed in your mother’s arms. And I was the one that put you there. I am your grandfather.”
“Grandfather…” he breathed as the room seemed to shimmer and fade.
“You play well for not remembering. Well won,” Ezrah said, and Gray saw that both red towers were gone, and three of his flames surrounded the wooden house o
n Ezrah’s side of the board. When did I move? He wondered, and then realized he must have been playing the whole while. Ezrah’s face and form distorted. “Till next we meet, dear boy.” The room and all else blurred, glowing a blinding white. Gray reached out, trying desperately to hold onto the image but it was lost as a voice sounded distantly, “I will continue to be with you…”
Motes of Gold
THE LILTING SOUND OF A FLUTE floated into his awareness. Gray opened his eyes. He saw clean white canvas above his head. Where am I? He glimpsed walls on either side of what appeared to be a tent, and through a crack he saw others passing. A ray of light warmed his arm. Midday. “I’m alive…” He sat up quickly, but fell back groaning in pain. White gauze bandages were wrapped thickly around his middle. Where the Kage’s sword had been, he remembered.
Gray took in the rest of his surroundings. He lay on a cot. Blue tufted chairs and a round wooden table crowded the small tent. Vivid green vines crawled up one side of the wall. On a nearby table was a white platter filled to the brim with food.
The pendant lay beside the platter, now shattered.
Gathering the pieces, he stared at them wondering how and when it had broken. Perhaps it saved me. But something about the pendant being shattered seemed ominous. He put the pieces back upon the table. It had served its purpose. So much had changed, and he was Gray, not Kirin. He realized he no longer yearned for a different life, content with who he was.
Careful of his wounds, he brought the platter of food onto his lap. The bowl was piled high with steaming rice that smelled of nuts, and strips of roasted yarro root. He wolfed down the meal, finishing with an odd looking purple fruit that had a tart sweetness. With his belly full, and the light warming him, curiosity overwhelmed him. With the help of the nearby furniture, he gained his feet, and stumbled to the tent’s flap.
Outside the world was dazzlingly bright. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to take in the scene. Upon the lush green grass, villagers danced to a trio of musicians that strolled amongst them. Suddenly, from the crowd, a small girl with brown plaited braids ran up to him. She handed him a fistful of wild flowers and he recognized her. It was the little girl from the golden walkway, the one he had saved. Relief flooded him, and an invisible weight fell from his shoulders. The villagers are safe at last. He bent accepting the flowers with a smile, and the little girl ran off giggling.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called out.
Gray turned to see Mistress Hitomi approaching. She wore a long white dress under a turquoise sheath belted with braided gold, and her shiny black hair was elaborately piled on top of her head. He raised a hand in greeting, but without warning she embraced him. Gray struggled to keep his balance, trying not to grimace with pain as she squeezed him with more strength than he anticipated. “So happy to see that the elvin air agrees with you!”
He laughed and rubbed his side. “I’m glad to see you too!” He looked to the villagers. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
She nodded, “Indirectly. One of my books from my library mentioned a secret pathway to the Gates. The same tunnels you took I believe. However, ours was a more dangerous path I believe, but it was necessary. It got us to the Gates swiftly, but the way was not without peril.”
He was curious. What unnamed danger had they encountered on their path that could make a woman like Mistress Hitomi afraid?
She smiled warmly. “On a lighter note, since arriving here in Farhaven I’ve been able to peddle a few of my tomes. I plan to use the coin for a new establishment. There are always visitors who need a place to sleep and a pint of ale.”
“And I’ve no doubt you will build a wonderful inn for them,” he said. “By the way, how long was I out?” he asked, eyeing the many tents. It was as if a makeshift town had sprung up overnight.
“Six nights. The elves did everything they could for you. Your wound, however, was beyond the Queen’s abilities,” Mistress Hitomi motioned to his stomach, “Fortunately, a higher elvin healer from Eldas arrived just in time. Though even with his aid, we were worried for you. There have been some who have sat by your bed and fretted the whole while.”
“Who?” he asked.
“Who do you think? The young man got so underfoot that the Queen finally sent him on an errand.”
Gray imagined the sight and it made him laugh. He looked up as a group of boys and girls ran by, chasing one another. He handed Hitomi the bunch of flowers the little girl had given him. “For you,” he said, “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“Thank you, Gray. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to make arrangements for the new inn. And I imagine you have a lot of people to see. I am sure I will be seeing you soon,” she said with a wink, and walked off.
Still dazed and feeling as if he were dreaming, he looked around. There were more people than he remembered. Their ranks had swelled by leaps and bounds, and he recognized many of the people as inhabitants of the Shining City. Gray wove through the villagers who danced around a large bonfire that burned in the bright midday sun. They moved to the sound of flutes, a pounding dulcimer, and a peculiar horned-instrument. Above the music a familiar voice boomed. Balder stood there upon a box, gesturing wildly with his hands. A captive audience gathered around him listening with wide-eyes. His voice carried over their heads. “You should have seen ‘em run …an explosion to scare the most hideous verg!” Gray grinned at seeing the man who was no doubt glorifying his escapades. He wanted to thank him for his diversion at the Sodden Tunnels, but he veered away. He had more important matters to attend to first. With luck, there would be time for revelry later.
As he went deeper into the camp, he was surprised by the numerous tents, poled lines for tethered horses, well-constructed troughs, and the sounds of blacksmiths’ hammers. He sensed a weight in the air. Something was brewing.
As he entered a stand of low-lying tents of forest hues, he slowed to a halt. Here, elves moved with purpose, with little to no humans in their midst. Each nearby tent bore the mark of a leaf. He thought of Maris and his throat tightened. A tall elf glided past. He took in the elf’s green-plated armor that appeared molded to his skin, while a shiny gold fragment was pinned on his chest. His long yellow hair fell around his face, highlighting his strange golden eyes and pale skin. Gray reached out and grabbed the elf’s arm. The elf threw a hand to one of the slim blades that swung at his hips. But as he looked to Gray, the elf immediately dropped his hand from his sword.
“Excuse me, I need to find…” he said and then paused. She was no longer simply Karil, he remembered. “Can you tell me where the Queen’s tent is located?”
“It’s you,” the elf whispered and fell to one knee, placing a fist upon the grass as he bowed his head.
Before Gray could speak, he looked up and saw the eyes staring at him. The sudden silence thundered in his ears. Recognition spread across the elves faces, and one by one, they dropped to one knee, their armor rustling.
“Eminas al servius,” they said as one.
Gray worked his mouth, but nothing came out. “Rise,” he said at last. None moved. He knelt before the golden-haired elf pulling him to his feet. “Please rise. You do not need to bow to me.” The elf rose. Gray had a thousand and one questions, and he didn’t know where to begin. First, he needed to find Karil. “Where is the Queen’s tent? Please, it’s urgent.”
The elf’s pale lips curved. “Of course. She is waiting for you,” he announced. “I will take you there.”
They moved away from the kneeling elves, and Gray felt his damp brow. Behind he heard the ring of hammers resume. As they wove deeper into the thicket of tents, more elves moved about, striding with urgency. They carried maps, baskets of food, and bundles of supplies, and they all wielded weapons, curved bows, and silvery swords. Gray looked at the elf beside him, “You said the queen was waiting. How did she know?”
“Ah, the queen is young but wise,” the elf said, “just like her father, a great leader, one who I served for many
years. She knows the Eminas will play a part in the coming battle. It is prophecy.”
“Prophecy…” he cursed under his breath. Of course, and yet it was the very reason he sought Karil. The elf raised a curious brow. Gray had forgotten about their heightened senses. He changed the subject. “What’s your name?”
“Temian.”
“I am—”
“Gray,” Temian interrupted. “A strange custom you humans have, that of exchanging names. It is not done with my people. We believe that individuals should be able to communicate who they are without a name, but for the Eminas, I would tell my birth name.”
He frowned, “Then why have names at all?” He pretended not to hear the elf’s title for him and it seemed a contradiction.
The elf shrugged, “At birth, truthfully, we all look alike. We feel names should be like secrets, a precious thing, like a polished stone held deep inside that only those deserving should know.”
It was a beautiful concept, Gray thought, and all the more intriguing in light of his struggle with his own identity. “Then, is it still all right if I call you Temian?”
The elf raised a brow as they walked, “Yes, Eminas, you may.”
Again, he refused to ask what this Eminas business meant. And as they moved through the tents, closer to his goal, he could not help but feel as if he was willingly trudging deeper into the lion’s den. All the more reason, he thought resolutely. No longer will I be controlled, not by the prophecy, not by anyone. “Temian, you mentioned that you served the queen’s father. What happened to him?”
The elf tensed with anger in his normally placid features. “King Gias was murdered over one month ago, in the middle of a great meeting. Before his death he called a meeting with the nations to discuss the brewing strife. When during the Exchanging of Cups, he choked and fell dead before all. The High Councilor, Dryan, assumed the throne as the false king.” Temian took a deep breath. “What is more, the king’s death was only two weeks after our beloved queen, his wife, was taken from us in the final moment of prophecy. It was almost too much to bear for our people. From there things only worsened. After Dryan seized control he found no need for the rest of the High Council’s advice and swiftly disposed of them. He even killed those who had nominated him, as well as any and all who whispered dissent. Thousands died.” Temian’s voice was hollow.