by Lakshman, V.
Still, there was another thing on her mind and she opined, “Despite Sonya’s confidence, we’ve not fared well against these Aeris. Even with Duncan, Baalor was too much for us in our own world. Though we’re stronger here, we were nearly killed by a small group of giants and that horde of mistfrights.”
Silbane nodded. “Overwhelming numbers are on Lilyth’s side.”
“So we should agree that if we find Duncan, we prioritize getting Arek and leaving immediately.”
“What about Yetteje?” demanded Ash. “I’ll not leave without her.”
Kisan considered that, then offered, “We can do both, Firstmark. My point was we won’t go on some fool’s quest to recover Sonya or help in this war. Any allegiance with the red mage ends with getting the kids safely away.”
“Yes,” replied Ash, somewhat mollified, “of course that’s acceptable.” He kept eating, then noticed the master had not looked away.
In answer to his stare, Kisan said, “I meant to ask, you’ve clearly had training, where?”
Ash cleared his throat, his eyes not meeting hers but instead searching the skies. “My father taught me the art of the blade starting when I was very young.”
Silbane tapped his head saying, “The archmage has many memories, most of which are incomprehensible. Yet he remembers a young Bladesman with the family name of Rillaran.”
Kisan knew the Rillaran line was ancient, one that could name at least one of the lore fathers as their own. She’d wondered back at Bara’cor if his lineage had anything to do with Tempest’s attention. The blade was mercurial and Kisan was beginning to believe, more than a bit narcissistic, but it would look for someone with power. Hearing Ash’s prowess with the blade may come from the lore of Bladesman was not surprising. She’d seen him fight and his skill was undeniable.
Ash must not have felt the same way. Upon Silbane’s comment he shook his head. “They were traitors to the king, banished and exiled.”
“So are we,” remarked Kisan dryly, arching a delicate eyebrow at the firstmark.
That stopped Ash, who dropped his head, his jaw muscles bunching around something unsaid. In silence, he grabbed his pack and started stuffing a few dates into it, then picked up his canteen and disappeared around the small rock wall, ostensibly for some privacy.
Kisan turned to Silbane and said, “Strange reaction. Maybe I offended the noble firstmark.”
“Give it a rest,” he said, sounding annoyed. “You’ve been testing everyone around you without reason.”
A few moments passed in silence while Kisan munched on more of the sticky fruit, then she said, “So much of what we thought is different. It’s a wonder we’ve survived so long. I think we need to be more focused.”
Silbane, ever the one to seek peace with her, said, “Perhaps you’re right.”
Dalliance amongst the adepts was common, but nothing about Silbane had ever kept her interest in him long-lived enough to mean something. Still, she laughed inside then moved a little closer and asked, “Out of curiosity, any spells from Duncan’s memory that you can use to aid us?”
It was said innocently enough, but Kisan had another motive. She wanted to know the extent to which the mindread of Duncan may have given her mentor skills or capabilities. It was her way of cataloguing every tactical advantage they might have, and if need be, a safeguard should they face each other over Arek’s fate.
“I’m sure there are,” he began. To her disappointment, Silbane finished, “But there’s little I can decipher.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Sonya is not what I expected.”
Kisan tilted her head at his sudden off subject statement, her eyes calculating.
Silbane met her eyes and explained, “His memories are muddled and I can’t control what comes into my head. At times I feel his all-consuming love and at others a dispassionate hatred, a desire to destroy all he sees. Maybe I should have killed him.” He was quiet, then quirked a smile and said, “One thing is certain: these Aeris live through two means: possession and what we call Ascension. In the latter, we stay in control.”
Kisan completed his thought: “And in possession, they gain control.”
“Yes,” said the elder master, “but once possessed, that person is gone. They cannot be saved.”
She shrugged. “And?”
The master put a hand to his head again. “His memories… Duncan knew this, yet he’s here to save someone who died with an arrow through her heart. Why?”
“The man is insane,” Kisan said, shaking her head. “You can’t give consideration to his actions.”
Her former master looked frustrated when he replied, “So why does Sonya not join us and add another lore master to our ranks?”
He looked pointedly at Kisan, who suddenly felt as if her mentor was testing her again, as though she were still a student.
Her anger flared and she said, “I don’t care about Sonya or Duncan.”
“Then care about saving Piter. Duncan’s actions speak to his belief that the dead can be raised.”
Kisan glared at him then. “So now you believe Piter’s story?”
The elder master shook his head, “No, I think the best lies are hidden within truth.” He met her gaze directly and said, “Do not challenge me, Kisan. You still have much to learn.”
She heard the iron in his voice and found a retort ready on the tip of her tongue, but something in his expression stopped her. It was as if his test of her reasoning hadn’t finished yet. He’d asked her another question, something she was forgetting.
Then she had it. “Why would Duncan come back for someone dead?”
Silbane nodded. “Only two simple possibilities to start from: he knows, or he doesn’t.” Then he added, “If she’s alive, he could use the gate to return to Edyn with her, and if she’s dead he need only find another body for her to possess.”
Kisan leaned back, Silbane’s point becoming clear. “And if he needs a gate or a body for his wife’s spirit, who would best help him?”
“Lilyth,” Silbane said, as if they’d finally gotten to his point. “Perhaps she promised something like this in return for destroying the fortresses of the Altan Wastes.”
“You see this in his memories?” she inquired.
The master shook his head. “Not yet. Perhaps in time but I cannot hold onto them long enough to sort through it all.”
She nodded at that, understanding. Then another question came to mind. “Do you think that was really Sonya?” Kisan’s voice came out a little higher than usual, and she knew she probably looked like a girl swooning over her hero.
Silbane shrugged, “Impossible to know, but she certainly seemed real, and distraught.”
Kisan laughed and said, “I would be too if I had to endure that man again, but what other woman could Duncan be arguing with here?”
Silbane let out a small laugh and looked around, “It’s certainly a big world to find someone to disagree with at random.” He was quiet for a moment, then he moved over and laid a hand on Kisan’s shoulder and squeezed, “Perhaps you were right,” he conceded, “and I should not have released him. I made an error in judgment.”
Just then, Ash reappeared with everything stowed away. “Let’s get moving. The kids are in more danger the longer we sit here.”
Kisan saw Silbane look at her in askance then nodded back she was ready. It was her only concession to let him know she’d appreciated his apology. The man was hard to decipher, she thought, and harder still not to like. He could be infuriating, yes, but in times like this his good-naturedness always won her over.
Another bolt of pain lanced through her head, causing her to wince. “We need to get rid of these,” she said, her anxiety replacing the pain. Yet she knew making headway to rendezvous with Duncan was paramount. They could both purge their memories there while Ash stood watch. She therefore was not surprised at Silbane’s lack of an answer to her comment. He knew as well as she did their tactical priorities.
The elder maste
r got up, facing the direction Sonya had indicated, and squinted. Kisan, standing behind him, could imagine seeing the Way as it flowed. What a beautiful sight it must be. Contrary to what people thought of her outward stoicism Kisan did appreciate the ebb and flow of nature, something Thera would never have guessed.
A sudden intake of breath caught her attention. She turned to Silbane and asked, “What?”
“A flash.” His faded eyes narrowed as he looked at something Kisan couldn’t see. “An eruption of negative power sucking at the Way.”
“Where?” asked Ash, coming to stand beside Silbane.
Silbane pointed and Kisan followed his finger, seeing a ravine in the distance.
“Along that ridge, not far from here,” he said.
“Is it Arek?” she asked, her eyes searching the ridge line. Even with her vision enhanced by the Way, the distance was still too far to pick out any details, much less a person.
Silbane gave a hesitant nod and said, “I fear whatever power Arek wields may be growing stronger.”
“What do we do?” asked Ash, now clearly torn by the two objectives, situated in almost opposite directions.
Kisan thought about it for only a moment, then declared, “Better to go where we think Arek is than the red mage. Duncan is a means to an end, but if Silbane sees the end…” she trailed off, looking at the elder master.
Silbane looked at them both, then said, “I agree. I must see if that flash was Arek.”
Despite Sonya’s warning, it was only a moment before two winged shapes clutching a third arrowed for the ravine, followed by nothing but the siren’s song of lost love and hope.
Avalyon
You cannot unsee what you have seen,
Unhear what you have heard,
Nor untangle what you have said, so pay heed.
Age is the promise of replacing impulse with decorum.
- Rai’kesh, The Lens of Leadership
Niall felt the shocking sudden cold as the henge gate opened around their small company of survivors. He was pressed into the middle of the knot of warriors, their shields interlocked and facing outward. Then, just as suddenly, a sickening sensation of falling started—and it stopped and they were on solid ground, their journey through the gate complete.
A moment passed, then Gabreyl tapped one of the men on his shoulder. The silent command passed amongst the elves, who stood and slowly fastened their shields to their backs before assuming a parade rest, a stance Niall thought eerily similar to those of the soldiers of Bara’cor, with the right arm behind their backs and the other across their chest.
“Where are we?” he asked the elven commander.
Gabreyl turned and said, “Avalyon, Your Highness. I apologize for the haste of our departure.”
Something in his eyes, a profound sadness if that made any sense, caused Niall to hesitate. The armsmark hung his head, then gestured to be followed and turned away. The soldiers surrounding them parted and Niall could see now that they stood upon a dais in a small chamber, perhaps twenty paces in every direction.
“Armsmark,” Niall began haltingly, “…is everything all right?”
Gabreyl didn’t turn, but his voice echoed back, “I failed the highlord and our family.”
The misery radiating from the man was palpable. Clearly the highlord—a Galadine, he reminded himself—wasn’t someone you wanted to disappoint. Knowing how he would feel if he had to face his own father, Niall found himself sympathizing. He walked down the few steps to stand next to the elven commander and said, “You rescued me.”
That thought made him wonder how his father fared. They had not seen each other since… His mind did the quick calculation and was shocked. Had only a few days passed since Arek’s arrival at Bara’cor? It felt like an eternity.
“Come, the highlord will want to see you immediately.” Gabreyl gestured to a set of double doors, ornately carved with leaves and branches making up the arch and sills.
“Will you get in trouble?” Niall asked, worried. Gabreyl’s attitude caused him to question if “punishment” would be more than a stern word.
“Trouble?” Gabreyl asked with a shrug. “Is my failure not enough?” He did not wait for a response but moved to the doors with Niall trailing, followed by the squad who, despite having left a good portion of their companions behind, did not break discipline. No banter or loitering… it was clear they had not been released from duty. Instead, they formed up with the precision of a royal escort for the two, and Gabreyl took the lead. They exited the room and into a hallway unlike any Niall had ever seen before.
Tree branches stripped of any leaves wove between each other, creating a tall arch of interlocking limbs through which sunlight shone. The light wood gave off a gentle fragrance that recalled honeysuckle and jasmine, yet somehow also more earthy. He could see other hallways open up at each end, yet they were clearly outdoors. A light breeze wafted through, bringing with it the coolness of springtime.
It was both peaceful and beautiful, and Niall found himself standing in place, just staring at the golden yellow shafts pouring in through the roof and pooling on the ground, the branches creating cells of sunlight and shadow.
“The scents of home,” Gabreyl said, putting a hand on Niall’s shoulder. “You are most welcome here, Prince Galadine. Please, follow me.” The armsmark moved down the hallway with Niall, guiding him quickly and expertly down one passage and into a wider one that began climbing. As they ascended it left Niall’s head spinning as he looked left and right through the walls, catching glimpses of other tube-like tunnels crisscrossing each other.
Niall looked at the man and said, “You’re Gabreyl Galadine.” It was not a question.
“I am, Your Highness,” Gabreyl admitted.
“My grandfather was Gabreyl Galadine. I saw a picture within our great hall,” Niall said, hoping the elf would admit to his subterfuge.
Gabreyl arched an eyebrow and said, “Then I owe that artist thanks.”
Niall didn’t believe him. Gabreyl was somehow his grandfather and he was about to meet a man who owned this city, also a Galadine? Certainly a ruse, keeping him alert to any other machinations these elves might try.
The tunnel they were in switched back on itself and opened to a platform upon which half a dozen other passages emptied. Above him was nothing, and for the first time Niall saw Avalyon spread out before him in all her beauty. Nothing prepared him for the sight, and for a moment he could only just stare.
“Breathtaking, is she not?” the armsmark said humbly, for his words could not do the sight justice.
Niall stood upon a platform lit golden by an orange setting sun. Above, below, and around him spread Avalyon, a city built within the arms of a forest of trees that floated above the clouds, a floating forest in the sky.
The trees stretched as far as he could see. It was as if it had grown and then interconnected until an entire land had formed, then had detached itself and floated away. Sunlight shone through this living woodland, lances of light that hit verdant foliage and brown timber, and gave the impression of a place forever trapped in the cool crispness of a rare cool summer afternoon. He smelled apple, and looked at the archangel askance.
“Applewood,” the elven commander responded looking at the wood surrounding them, “is but a hint of all that’s good here.”
His smile could not match the heady fragrance of this city, made from the very substance of what seemed like Niall’s dreams. Small motes of pollen floated by, peaceful in their journey to wherever. Every smell reminded him of summer and his family, together on warm autumn days, enjoying the sun as it lanced through the green trees to cast long orange shadows.
Tunnels made of interwoven branches joined other platforms like the one he stood upon now. Roads made of wood connected massive trunks, with vines acting as guidelines, stretching to and fro. It was an entire city built in harmony with nature. Niall stood dumbfounded, not knowing what to say.
Gabreyl seemed to understand and
came closer, pointing up. “We will meet the highlord there.”
Niall followed the armsmark’s finger, his eyes tracking a massive trunk up so high he had to squint to see. It climbed through the canopy until it pierced the top, and there Niall saw a hole of blue and something that hinted at a massive shape like a sphere formed out of the interlocking branches, a smooth ball of wood that stood alone in the blue sky, the sun’s fire glowing off its polished sides as it commanded a view of everything. Niall did not see any roads leading that high and looked nervously at the armsmark, and the hole did not give him full view of the sphere he’d seen. Still, it was easy to understand the majesty of this place.
“The Citadel of the Phoenix.” Gabreyl smiled and spread his wings. “We will make our way there together, Your Highness.” He turned to his men, who saluted fist to chest and then stepped back to wait near the way down the passage they had just come from.
“You can carry me?” Niall didn’t mean to sound doubtful but it was a long way up, or worse, a long fall down. Looking out over the edge of the platform brought a sudden sense of vertigo, as there was nothing but open air crisscrossed with what seemed to be hundreds of enclosed tunnels, bridges, and platforms. He turned back just in time to notice the squad of elves depart at a run, with a surefootedness he’d never seen before, as if they adhered to the wood with their every step.
“The city grew here for us, built by the highlord’s will. He will never let us come to harm,” he said, smiling reassuringly, “for we are all family here.”
He seemed so sure of himself, it gave Niall a small measure of confidence. He looked back down over the edge and asked, “The entire city floats?”
Gabreyl nodded. “Avalyon is no different than any other isle in this realm, and yet it is still one-of-a-kind. You survey your birthright, most noble-born.”
Niall took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He looked up and the distance seemed to grow with dizzying speed making it feel even farther. He tipped back and looked down quickly, squeezing his eyes shut, nodding before he changed his mind. He felt the elven commander move behind him, grabbing him under his arms in a strong but firm hug, like armsmaster Talin did before wrestling training. He missed them all—Jeb, Ash, Tej, but most of all his father and mother, and a choking feeling knotted his throat.