A Sea of Cinders

by Adam Bishop

  “Thirty soldiers?” William replied in a doubtful tone.

  “You underestimate the Elves, Will. I speak the truth.”

  “And what of Rhan then? How is it the Braxi were able to win that battle?” William challenged.

  “The Braxi aren’t necessarily considered to be normal men. They are the oldest known human race in Cellagor and are said to be decedents of the Giants of Jotunnmir. They also had an army of five thousand, while Rhan had less than two thousand. And don’t forget about the pyromancer they had with them,” Baldric replied. He was defending the Elves as if he was one.

  “Giants,” William chuckled. “Come on. Surely that’s a myth. Just creatures used in stories to scare children. What are you going to tell me next, that dragons used to roam the lands burning down Kingdoms to guard their treasure?”

  Baldric snickered. “You don’t believe in much outside your own version of the world, do you? What of that giant angler fish you spoke of? Before that woeful night, I’m sure you’d never believe such a beast could exist…um sorry about that. I didn’t mean to…

  “Its alright. I’m at peace with that now.”

  “Right…” Baldric paused for a moment before continuing. “And what about the Malign Oil that burnt down the forest of Rhan? Would you believe that if you hadn’t witnessed it with your own two eyes?”

  William took in a long breath and let out a low sigh. “You make a good point.”

  “Ay. There’s a lot you don’t know about this world. But you’re not alone. Most people choose to look the other way. It’s easier to live the simple life, sure, I can’t argue with that. Yet things aren’t as black and white as they may seem, and the sooner you accept that the stronger you’ll be. Let me ask you something, Will. Are you a religious man?”

  What relevance could such a question hold? William answered anyway. “I believe in the afterlife of The Eternal Gardens, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t follow The Order of Mendax or anything like that.”

  Baldric chuckled, then stopped himself. “Sorry, I don’t mean to insult you. I’m just amused by such a constructed religion. The Order of Mendax—what a bunch of rubbish. It was invented by men as a means of control or “order,” as it states in the name. Speaking of the Gods. Do you believe in any?”

  “Well, I suppose there must be one or two out there. But aside from the sea goddess Myra, my father seldom spoke of such things. I have heard him mention the name Fa Sidil in passing though.”

  “Ah yes, the Goddess of Wildlife and Fertility. You told me your father was friends with King Richard of Talfryn, yes?” Baldric asked, to which William nodded. “Then this does not surprise me at all. Fa Sidil is the goddess worshiped by those who live in Talfryn. It’s a very old religion referred to as Gaelish. She is also highly respected by the Elves—though they have their own Gods dating back to the beginning of time itself.”

  William had never learned much about the other Gods before, but he found himself intrigued. He knew Baldric had probably read about all of them. “The beginning of time, eh? Sounds interesting. Do you know much of these Elven Gods?” he asked, well aware of the answer to come.

  Baldric’s grin was a clear indication. Before he spoke, he flipped open his pack and rummaged through it.

  “There you are,” Baldric said to himself, pulling out a stout bottle fitted with a cork.

  “What’s that?” asked William.

  “Elven Brandy from Rhan. I was just waiting for a fitting time to open her. Being that we’re in the Elven lands, talking about their Gods, I can’t think of a better time.”

  William smiled and shrugged, “I won’t disagree with that.”

  “To Fa Sidil,” Baldric said, raising the bottle in the air. He took a hearty swig and passed the brandy to Will, who repeated the same toast. “So … you want to learn about the Elven Gods, do you?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t have asked just to pass the time.”

  “Very well,” Baldric answered. “Where shall I start?” He stared at the trees above as he took another drink of the Elven brandy. Then he looked straight at William. “Cannad Naas uinn Eambarr.”

  “What?” William guffawed. “Are you drunk already?”

  Baldric laughed, amused by his friend’s assumption. “No, no. It’s Elven for, ‘The Four Corners of Creation.’ There are four Elven Gods, each one having a specific set of qualities that benefits its followers. You see, all Elves are to choose a path or a God to devote their lives to. In turn, this God will bestow upon them a heightened set of required abilities or powers associated with that path.”

  “They obtain powers?” William replied. “Can humans pray to these Gods?”

  “Why of course you can, my friend. But since you are still human, the most you’ll obtain is respect,” Baldric concluded. “Here, have another drink. I too was disappointed when I first learned this.”

  William took the brandy. “You could have just said no.”

  “Yes, but there’s no fun in that,” Baldric prodded.

  Will shook his head, the hint of a smile on his face. “What are these four paths you speak of?”

  That signature grin appeared on Baldric’s face once again. “There’s the Artist, the Warrior, the Sage, and lastly—the Mind’s Eye. Four different paths and four different Gods … Those who follow the path of the Artist pray to Ariadin, and they excel in several different areas ranging from building Kingdoms—like the one we saw in Rhan—to forging weapons or composing music. The path of the Warrior … well, I’m sure you can guess what their specialty is. Yet, unlike the other three paths, a Warrior can only die in battle. Their life will never expire. In death, they're buried in the Crimson Gardens of Gwyn, where the Bleeding Willows grow. Their God is Artorias.”

  “And what of those who follow the path of the Artist … in death I mean?” William handed the brandy back to Baldric. He found himself captivated by the lore of the Elves and was eager to hear more.

  “Oh yes. My apologies,” Baldric said. He swigged the brandy and placed another log on the fire. “You remember that grand hallway we walked through in Rhan? The one with all the stone carvings lining the walls?”

  William nodded.

  “Each carving depicted a past Artist of that Kingdom. Those who follow the path of the Artist may live until they grow tired of their lives in this world. There’s no limit to their years—they can live to be five hundred or five thousand. Although, it is said that grief or stress can cause aging. However, once a follower of the Artist has passed on, they are then etched into the Wall of Ariadin, and their ashes are placed behind the stone.”

  “So they live on as art itself?” William said, hoping his presumption to be correct.

  “Precisely!” Baldric said, jolting the brandy forward in salute. “It seems you're starting to understand the Elves. One might even say you’re beginning to take a liking to them.” He smiled as he guzzled more brandy.

  “Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” William replied.

  Although he hid it well, Baldric could tell his friend from the seas was beginning to understand the Elves for who they really were. He knew William was a fair person—free from the stubborn and ill-natured petulance that consumed most humans in Cellagor. He had known this since their first encounter in Rhan. “You don’t have to admit it just yet, but I know it to be true,” Baldric spoke as if predicting the future.

  “What about the other two paths?” William asked, attempting to change the subject.

  Baldric swirled the liquor around over the light of the fire to gauge how much was left. “Well, there’s the Sage and the Mind’s E—” He stopped mid-sentence and jerked his head to the left. “Did you hear that?” he asked staring out into the darkness.

  At first, William thought Baldric was baiting him for a jest. But he soon realized the concerned look on his friend’s face was genuine. “What … what is it?” William whispered. “What did you hear?”

  “Quiet,” Baldric muttered under
his breath. Both of them sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. William’s eyes darted back and forth in search of something, anything. All he saw were shadows.

  Baldric sat still as stone. He knew what he had heard was no animal. Someone or something was watching them, but the solid darkness of the woods hid any answers that might have been.

  “It was probably nothing,” Baldric said in a low tone. “Just my ears being paranoid,” he added.

  William took a moment to answer, almost ignoring what his friend had said. “You’re sure?”

  “As sure as a blade out of its sheath,” Baldric replied, cutting the tension as his analogy intended. “I believe I left off at the path of the Sage, no?” he continued before William had a chance to reply. “Those who strive to master the art of sorceries or alchemy pray to Logan, otherwise known as the Sage. Wizards, philosophers, scholars, healers—they all follow this path. Though I doubt you’ve heard any of the legends?”

  “What about Lord Ammith … or Almmoth, I mean?” William asked, trying to remember the correct name. “The Wizard you told me who was responsible for the birth of Mount Abyss,” he concluded.

  “Ah yes! Lord Ammarth. My mistake, Will. It seems you do know one of the legends, and probably the most famous one at that, even if his reputation was tainted that day. All misfortune aside, he was a great wizard, and one can’t help but ask himself, ‘did he save the Elves that day?’ It’s an age-old question, yet you’ll never hear an Elf speak a word of it.”

  “What about you? Do you think he saved the Elves?”

  The question caught Baldric off-guard. He had never spoken about the Elves with anyone before. It had always just been a conversation in his head—no one ever to debate with. However, he knew the history, and so he delivered his answer confidently. “From what I’ve read, I feel there is only one proper answer to this question. As you know, Roald Braxis had united every human Kingdom in Cellagor for the War of the Fallen … this was something the Elves weren’t aware of,” he added, slowly shaking his head. “When the Elves met Roald and his army on the battlefield that day, what they saw were a few thousand Braxi staring back at them—nothing more. Yet, shortly after the battle commenced, the remaining human armies emerged. They flanked the Elves from every angle. To say the Elves were outnumbered would be an understatement, and it became just a matter of time before their army fell. Ammarth recognized this. He watched as the Elven numbers slowly dwindled under the endless force of this colossal army. So, he did the only thing he could. He read from the Book of No Quarter. The survivors were few, yes. But at least there were survivors. So, to answer your question, Will — yes, he did save the Elves that day.”

  “Fair enough,” William replied. “I’m not about to question your historical knowledge. If what you say is true, I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if I were put in such a situation.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Baldric said. He leaned back, tilting the bottle to the starry sky above.

  “As will I … if you don’t finish 'er off, that is.”

  “Don’t you worry, my friend. There’s more than enough left. Catch!” Baldric said as he tossed the brandy. “It’s all yours. If I drink any more I’ll regret it come sunrise. Besides, I still have two more paths to tell you about, and I’d like to finish before I start slurring my words. Now, where was I?” he whispered.

  “You were telling me about the Sage,” William answered.

  “Right, Ammarth, the legends. The legends … Yes, I could tell you some of the tales … but we’ll save that for another night. Much like those who follow the path of the Artist, the followers of the Sage pass on once they feel they’ve fulfilled all they can in this life. In death, their body is brought to the crypt archives beneath the Kingdom, where their tombs are then surrounded by their life’s work. I tried to find the crypt archives in Rhan, but the entrance was caved in.”

  “So every Elven Kingdom has a catacomb filled with hundreds of books?” William asked.

  “Hundreds? Try thousands, my friend. It depends on which Kingdom you’re talking about.”

  The idea fascinated and alarmed William. His understanding of a crypt was that it was a dark, damp, cave-like ruin of brick and dirt—though he was certain the Elven crypts would be architecturally stunning and probably look more like dimly-lit libraries than subterranean graveyards.

  Baldric poked at what remained of the fire. They had run out of the firewood they’d gathered earlier, and soon only the pulsing glow of embers would remain. The forest was calm. A light wind rustled the branches above, but the breeze wasn’t strong enough to induce a shiver. “Our fire is near its end,” Baldric said. “And so are my ramblings. I’ve one more path to tell you about, and then we should get some rest.”

  William crocked the brandy and set his attention on his half-shadowed friend.

  “The Mind’s Eye,” Baldric continued. “This path is special. Unlike the others, one must be born of this path. You either have the gift, or you don’t, it’s as simple as that.”

  “Gift? What do mean?” William asked.

  Baldric yawned and stretched his arms above his head. “You know, all this talking has made me tired. I think I’ll finish telling you about the Gods come morning.”

  “What!” William snapped. “You can’t stop now! What about—”

  Baldric burst out laughing, cutting William off. “Sorry, Will. I couldn’t help myself … You should have seen your face,” he said through his laughter. “So, are you still going to deny that you’re beginning to favour the Elves?” Although an unimpressed look painted William’s face, Baldric was sure he could detect a hint of restrained amusement. “Alright, I’ll leave it be. All in good time, my friend.”

  “Yes, all in good time,” William repeated as he shook his head “The gift then … was that part of your ruse?”

  “No. I wouldn’t dare mock the Gods. The Mind’s Eye is nothing to laugh at. The brandy must have got the best of me. Those born into the path of the Mind’s Eye possess the ability to read minds. They can see the future and even enter someone’s mind themselves! It’s a rare gift, yes. Few possess such power, but those who do are capable of things we couldn’t even imagine. Though, it is said that some followers will have abilities that far exceed those of others of this guild. I guess this could depend on the power of the forest,” he added as if asking himself.

  “The forest?” William questioned. He had heard many stories regarding the Elven forests, but none had ever spoken of the forest possessing powers.

  “Yes, from the God Oaks,” Baldric replied, as if this was general knowledge. “Let me explain. When a follower of the Mind’s Eye uses their power, it ages them. It’s very slight of course, but nonetheless, it’s still aging. The length of their life is said to be determined by how they use their gift. Say they abuse it, use it daily for their own amusement or pleasure—then they will age much quicker. Followers of the Mind’s Eye are to use their gift respectfully, for a purpose greater than themselves. Keep in mind I’m no expert. I only know what I’ve read, but this path is by far the most complex of the four … Anyhow, I’m straying off-topic. As I said, they draw power from the forest, and in doing so, they slowly start to become one with nature itself.”

  “What do you mean … one with nature?” William asked. He was unsure of where the story was leading.

  “I mean exactly what I said. They become one with the forest. Thin branches start growing in their hair. Roots begin growing within them, and eventually they grow out from their skin and wrap around their bodies. Their skin will even start to resemble bark. In death, they are buried in the forest. There their body will act as a seed, and finally they will grow into one of the God Oaks I mentioned earlier. These trees are said to secrete magic—the more trees, the stronger the forest becomes. So, I’m assuming that could have something to do with the extent of one’s power.”

  “God Oaks,” William whispered, staring into the heart of the fire. “Did you see any wh
ile we were in Rhan?”

  “I may have, but I don’t know what they look like. So even if I saw one, I wouldn’t have been able to tell. And I don’t know if you remember, but almost every tree had been turned to ash.”

  “And what about their God? Who do they pray to?” William asked.

  “Goddess,” Baldric said, correcting William. “Her name is Alvina. It’s believed that she is responsible for the visions seen by her followers.”

  William took a moment to let this all sink in. His entire life, he’d seemingly mistaken the Elves for who they really were. Clearly, there was a complexity to their way of life, which stretched far beyond the minimal complexities of humans—especially those living in Havelmir. The fact that neither he nor Baldric had been attacked since they entered these so-called forbidden lands made him question his beliefs even more.

  “You may be right about this grand manipulation,” William said. “Everyone has told me that Elves hate humans. They described them as a barbaric race, living in the woods like wild animals. I’ve been told stories of sailors who have been shot from their boats for sailing too close to their shores. Yet from what I’ve seen thus far, their Kingdoms are beautiful and rich with history. Their craftsmanship is unrivalled by any. If anything, they make those who live in Havelmir look like barbarians. And as for killing humans—I’ve yet seen a single arrow.”

  “Ha! Yes, it’s like I said, my friend: all in good time. You’ll learn to see the truth for what it is soon enough, I promise you that.” Baldric said. He was thrilled to see William’s blossoming sense of wisdom. “Let’s say we end on a good note, eh? Get some rest before we wish the sun would sleep in.”

  “That brandy has made my eyelids heavy,” William confessed.

  The two travellers quickly fell into slumber. The calming glow of the remaining embers pulsed steadily, as if speaking to the starlit sky above.

  For the first time in a long time, two human outsiders slept peacefully in the Forbidden lands.

  ***

  William woke to the pleasant smell of butter and thyme. He felt his stomach growl as he sat up to see what was cooking over the rebuilt fire.