by V K Majzlik
“What is it? What’s the news?” begged Nechan, asking Eilendan to explain.
“The Aeonorgal has returned!” Eilendan was almost speechless as his eyes began to moisten.
“And what of my brother, and of Gomel?”
Eilendan smiled, grasping the shoulders of the boy. “They too have returned!”
Nechan could not believe it. He fell speechless and was forced to take a step back, placing a hand on the platform to steady himself. For a moment, he was unable to breathe, the relief of the news hitting him hard.
The shouts and cries grew louder, eventually chanting in one voice. Nechan began to scour the crowd, looking for his brother, part of him still doubting until he saw the truth with his own eyes.
Then crowd at the rear began parting, opening a clear pathway through to the platform. Finally Cradon and Nilean came into view, still riding their two white horses. Nechan could not move, overcome by the emotion of seeing his brother again. He was unable to fight back the tears of happiness, pressing against his eyes and pinching the top of his nose, trying not to openly cry.
Cradon was in awe of everything around him. They had passed through the mists safely, although he had kept his eyes tightly shut throughout the ride, clinging on to Sonda’s saddle for dear life.
The shouting and cheers of the congregation of Elves could be heard as soon as they passed through the wall. It had taken them several minutes to ride to the centre of Loreandril, during which time the chanting had grown louder and louder.
Cradon’s jaw dropped, taking in everything around him in a daze. He had never seen anywhere so different from home. Even the Kingdom of Ghornathia had a feel of a city to it. But Loreandril was unlike anything he had seen or even imagined. It was so awe-inspiring he had not given thought to Nechan.
Nechan was the first to catch sight of his brother. Nothing in the world could have stopped him running forward shouting Cradon’s name.
The familiar voice calling snapped Cradon out of his stupor. Anxiously he searched the crowd until finally, in the clear pathway before him, he saw the familiar shape of his brother running towards them. He tapped Sonda into a faster trot to meet his brother, and without stopping his horse, he almost fell out of the saddle to hug him.
For a few moments there were no words between them, they just clutched each other tightly. There were no thoughts excerpt relief running through their heads. Finally they broke their embrace and looked at each other, laughing and crying simultaneously.
“You look good. Different! I like your armour!” Cradon rapped Nechan’s breastplate.
“Well, I look a lot better than you! You look awful!” laughed Nechan, wiping his nose with his hand.
“I have had a hard time recently!”
“It cannot have been as hard as what I’ve had to endure!” Nechan exclaimed.
“But, you look like you’ve been living in luxury here!”
“Hey! I mean everything that happened to me before I got here! You have no idea!”
“No idea! You don’t look injured!”
It was as if they had never been apart. Already they were competing, almost bickering. Suddenly they both laughed and hugged each other again.
Nilean left the twins to their reunion, choosing to continue, spurred on by the chanting. The elf arrived at the council platform, and slid off his horse, pulling his saddlebag with him. Bowing, he handed it to Theonil.
The crowd fell silent and all eyes were on the councillor. Slowly, his hands shaking, he pulled back the flap and lifted out a round bundle. Licking his lips, feeling the tension growing, he unwrapped it.
As the last drape of material fell from around the object, the light burst out in an explosion of white fire. Everyone was forced to shield his eyes for a moment.
The elder held up the Aeonorgal high above his head for all to see.
“Aeonorgal en liboni mensi!” The Spirit Star and our freedom! he shouted at the top of his lungs. As one voice the congregation before him repeated the line, chanting over and over again.
Celebration gathered pace when the first dwarves entered. Only the captains and sergeants were brought in, their army being too large for Loreandril to hold. The host greeted them with applause and Elvish cheers. It was as if they had already won the war. Hope was definitely alive once more in the heart of Elvendon.
Chapter 62 – Healing Nymril
“What of our comrade, Gomel, the Gnome?” asked Gaular.
Cradon was surrounded by the comrades, almost under interrogation, as they quickly walked towards the Lor’natali where Nymril rested. Although it had been the first thing suggested by Eilendan upon the Spirit Star’s return, even he had not forgotten his old friend.
“He’s fine! I left him at home with his family. Although he may well be on his way here by now!” replied Cradon, not sure whom to look at in the gaggle that encircled him.
“You mean you went to Ghornathia?” Nechan asked, almost with indignation.
“Hey, don’t be jealous brother! It took me a long, arduous adventure to get there. Besides, you got to spend so much more time here.”
“I know, it’s absolutely amazing! You would never believe that a few weeks ago we were all on the move. And you should really see…………”
Nechan was interrupted.
“Do you know what happened to Khar, my bird of prey?” She had been an important friend to Jaidan, one that he sorely missed.
“I’m sorry……I really don’t know,” Cradon apologised. “She stayed with us for quite a while. In fact Khar helped us get to safety. I think the mountains became too harsh a climate for her and she eventually left to go her own way.”
“She did not follow you into the Kingdom?”
Cradon shook his head.
“That was her decision. She was always free to go whenever she chose. Perhaps one day Khar will find me again.” Jaidan was visibly saddened and disappointed by the news.
“Eilendan, do you think the Spirit Star will heal Nymril?” Nechan inquired, trying to keep pace with the long stride of the elf. They had followed closely behind the Elders who carried with them the Aeonorgal.
“I have faith in its healing power. But whether we are in time, I have my doubts.”
Nechan and the others were allowed into the hospital, away from the surging crowds, but only Eilendan was permitted upstairs with the Elders to witness the healing. The others could only wait and pray downstairs.
The warm air was filled with a variety of sweet aromas, a fragment melody of crushed herbs, leaves and petals. As Eilendan pushed aside the hanging veils, the only sound was that of the swishing material upon the rush floor. There was an air of intense silence.
Neornil was kneeling by Nymril’s bedside, holding her cold, limp hand. Her slender body, surrounded by a scattering of golden petals and leaves, seemed to have sunk into the bed, and looked almost vacant, as if her soul had already departed. She looked at peace. The only sign of trauma was the black, metal brace around her neck and the scarlet skin under and around it. The metal was like poison to her body, reacting with everything it touched. Even the healers were unable to touch it with their bare hands, their fingertips burning at the slightest of brushes.
Theonil stood on the other side, in line with Nymril’s head and neck, while the other Elders took positions up around the bedside. Watching, in silence, keeping a drape of thin material between himself and them, Eilendan waited. He clenched his fists, feeling his palms grow moist with sweat. Praying, he hoped he would witness a miracle.
The Elders began a slow, melodic chant, their bodies swaying as they lifted their hands calling upon the Earth Spirit and all Ancestral Spirits to find the strength to release Nymril from her bond of evil. The chanting grew louder, building to the final climax at which point the Aeonorgal would touch Nymril’s flesh.
The Spirit Star began glowing brightly, burning inside with a white heat, the light so bright it could not be looked at directly. It remained perfectly cool to th
e touch, Theonil still able to hold it in his hands, but grew heavier. The weight was pulling it down towards Nymril as if drawn to cast out the dark magic that held her body. Theonil’s arms began to waver, his strength faltering with the increasing weight. Finally, it fell onto her chest, depressing her lifeless body further into the mattress.
Immediately the Elders ceased chanting and everyone took a large step backwards.
Upon contact with the Spirit Star, Nimril’s grey skin began to glow. New life was being breathed into her body, the Aeonorgal acting as a conduit between her physical form and the Earth Spirits. White outlines began appearing one by one around the black etchings that decorated her skin. The whiteness began burning into the black, gradually eating it away, until finally they all shone with the same radiance as the Spirit Star itself.
The tension was rising in the room, and sensing something powerful was about to happen, the Elders took another step backwards. Eilendan gripped the curtain before him tightly, his palms now hot with nerves.
Without warning, her body began rising from the bed, and the flesh beneath the black brace turned white. Finally, with one sudden, intense burst of light the evil, metal choker fractured. The small, black fragments spun out from all sides, her body no longer tolerating their presence. They hung in the air briefly, spinning in the light, before dropping to the floor in a plethora of dull thuds.
Nymril’s body sank back into the bed, and the Aeonorgal lost its radiance and rolled off. Theonil caught it before it toppled over the edge.
Neornil was the first to touch Nymril. He held her hand tightly again, stroking her innocent face, carefully brushing the golden strands of hair back. The etchings on her skin still glowed slightly, glinting in the candle light like tiny hot embers. She was already becoming a healthier shade of pink, the soft lips turning ruby once more. Life was returning to Nymril, and suddenly she breathed in deeply, her chest nearly lifting off the bed. She sank back down into the soft mattress and took a few, short nervous breaths.
Her mind was blank. Although her eyes were still closed, all she could see was whiteness. There was a new energy running through her body, almost tingling as it went. A smile spread across her face as she took another deep breath. Tears began to glisten in her father’s eyes. He clutched her hand tightly and kneeling over her whispered her name.
“Father? It cannot be!” A single, silvery tear ran down the side of her face, becoming lost in her hair.
“Yes, Nymril, I’m here.”
It all started flooding back to her: the last few events she could remember, covered by a murky memory of choking. Breaking out of her daze, the elf sat bolt upright with her eyes still closed, as her hands groped her neck feeling for the brace. “Is it gone?” she whispered.
“Yes, my daughter, it is gone.” Her father sat on the bed next to her and kissed her forehead, sensing the residual fea. It was enough to make her cry, and she fell into her father’s arms like a small child after a nightmare. Still sobbing, she finally opened her eyes and looked into Neornil’s kind, familiar face.
“How?”
“The Aeonorgal was returned to us!”
She trembled at the joyous realisation it had not all been in vain. “What of my friends?”
“Always thinking of those around you!” He smiled at his daughter, and she sat huddled in his arms, pulling him close for reassurance.
“We are all fine. Including the two young clansmen!” Eilendan came towards the bed, the group of Elders parting to allow him through.
From behind her father she recognised the voice, and as if doubting what she heard, looked up at her father, who nodded.
“Eilendan?” she whispered nervously, peering around Neornil. To her relief it was not a dream. There he stood, dressed in his white and silver armour. Tears in both their eyes, they hugged, breaking only to take another look at one another again.
“I thought I had lost you!” he cried, stroking her soft hair, taking in the warm smell of her skin.
“I’m sure you have a lot to do with my being here!”
“I only delivered you to your father. I was not the one who returned the Aeonorgal, and that was what healed you.”
“It broke the neck brace?”
Eilendan nodded, and showed her a fragment lying on the rush floor. The Aeonorgal had not completely destroyed its evil. Its powerful black magic was still potent enough to burn into the floor. Small holes were left where the fragments once lay, some still visibly smouldering. Nymril shuddered at the thought of it pressed against her skin.
“I am sorry to push you, Nymril.” The voice of Theonil interrupted the happy reunion. “War is at our doorstep. Are you strong enough to fight?”
Neornil was infuriated at the question. “How can you ask that now, at this moment? She has barely opened her eyes!”
“Forgive me, Neornil, I know she is your only daughter, but you of all Elves know what strength lies within her.”
“Yes! A strength that has been fighting for survival!”
“Father……please.” The gentle, light voice of Nymril soothed the anger in the air. “Father, he is right.”
With some help from Eilendan, she now sat on the edge of the bed, her feeble frame barely looking like it had the strength to sit up, let alone stand and fight.
Neornil turned to her and sat on the bed beside his daughter. “I have only just got you back! I can not bear the thought of sending you to war and stand the chance of losing you again.” He placed a loving, pleading hand against her cheek.
“I can already feel my strength returning. I feel stronger with every minute that passes. Besides, I can not and will not stay here while those dearest to me go to war.” She looked at Eilendan.
“Nymril……” implored Neornil, holding her hands against the warm metal of his armoured chest.
“Nymril, I think he is right,” Eilendan joined in.
“No! You need me to fight. We all know what evil they will bring with them. I have spent so long trapped in nightmares about the black beasts they conjure.” Nymril looked past them all, as if staring into some distant vision. “We must fight the darkness with light, and to do that you need what lies within me.”
She pulled her hands out of her father’s grip, and used them to help push herself up. Her head swirled for a moment, her knees nearly buckling, but she steadied herself, shaking off the help Eilendan and Neornil tried to offer. Slowly, she took a few small steps, crinkling her toes on the soft, rush flooring, taking pleasure in the sensation against her soles. It had felt like an eternity since she last walked. She turned around, walking back towards the bed, determined to prove her strength was growing stronger with each step.
“I would be grateful if someone could fetch my armour and weapons,” she announced politely. Nymril was not going to take no for an answer. “Father, perhaps you could update me on our defensive and attack strategies. I need to be prepared.”
Her father shrugged his shoulders, sighing in response, knowing it was futile to argue with her. His daughter had always been headstrong and wilful. Besides, in his heart, he knew that Elvendon needed her power if they were to stand a chance of survival.
Eilendan nodded, taking a step towards her. “If you are sure?”
“I am!” she replied.
He smiled, pleased to have Nymril back, apparently recovered from her ordeal. Eilendan sprinted down the stairs and out of the hospital to fetch her things as requested, almost bumping into Jaidan and the others. He pushed passed them, mumbling something about having no time to stop and talk. They followed him, hoping to get some answers.
“Well, what happened?” asked Jaidan.
“How is Nymril?” continued Gaular.
“Did it work?” begged Nechan.
“Yes! Perhaps too well!” Eilendan replied, still going at a fast pace, quickly reaching the abode of Neornil where her items had been taken.
“What do you mean?” Jaidan pulled his elbow, stopping the elf as he began looking th
rough several chests and drawers.
“I mean, she is preparing to go to war with us.”
Jaidan let go of his arm, struggling to make sense of his friend’s words. Eilendan found what he was hunting for, handing things to the others to carry.
“How can that be? She has been on her deathbed for so long,” continued Jaidan, shaking his head in disbelief.
Eilendan picked up the last few items to take to Nymril and finally paused. “I understand how you feel, Jaidan. Your thoughts are the same as mine, but she is determined.” He pushed passed Jaidan, leaving him standing, stunned with disbelief.
By the time they returned, Nymril had already made her way downstairs, despite the requests of the Lor’nata. Her hands shaking, she accepted help to dress in her armour, and taking her sword and shield, holding her head high, walked slowly from the Lor’natali. There were gasps of astonishment as the crowd parted, allowing her to pass. Eilendan stayed close by her side, ready to offer her an arm if her strength failed.
Upon reaching the central arena, Nymril decided to address the troops to encourage them that her miraculous healing was a sign of the strength and power that the Elves still had. They might be weaker in numbers but they had Earth Magic fighting for them. She was accompanied onto the platform by the other two Aeon Elves.
“Who are they?” Nechan and Cradon both asked.
“On the left, is Githean, and the elf on the right is Ninithel. They are both Aeon Elves, like Nymril,” replied Eilendan, without taking his eyes off the stage.
“Are they as powerful as Nymril?” Gaular enquired, remembering how her Dragon Spirit had defeated the uzgen.
“They have their own powers, but perhaps not the strength of the Dragon. Githean holds the spirit of the Eagle, and Ninithel, that of the Griffin.”
“I didn’t think Griffins existed?” Nechan remarked.
“They do in the Spirit Realm.”