The Longsword Chronicles: Book 05 - Light and Shadow

by GJ Kelly

  “That elfin was Issilene, Nature herself, in physical form. She walked through the forest, through stream and river, glade, hill and valley, pondering this new mystery and attempting to determine its cause and likely effect. As she walked, Issilene admired her creations, and all the myriad forms of life which had sprung from the centre of the web, all the new strands growing and connecting, changing and evolving into new life, the web constantly expanding and taking on subtle new forms.

  “As she walked and thought and admired her handiwork and all that was springing forth from the first seed, she began to feel, and the feeling was dread, for it was pride. So blinded was Issilene by pride she failed to notice that she herself was being admired, for of course she was beautiful, the most beautiful of all creatures, glowing brightly with an inner light; she was also perfect of form, and, possessing neither modesty nor shame, naked.

  “It was Yargo, finest of all hunters, who admired Issilene, and such was her beauty he was overcome by desire for her. He approached her, and, startled from her reverie, Issilene fled. Yargo pursued her through the forest, through stream and river, glade, hill and valley, enthralled by her glowing beauty and by his own desire for her. And Issilene knew a new feeling, and the feeling was dread, for it was fear.

  “For days and nights Yargo pursued Issilene, and try as she might, Issilene could not evade him, and though all the world was forest in those dawntime days, Yargo was the greatest of hunters. Days became weeks, and still Yargo pursued her, relentless as time itself.

  “Finally, the way ahead becoming rocky and trees thinning, Issilene began to tire, and glancing over her shoulder she spied Yargo’s life-light, far off, still pursuing. In looking back, she stumbled and fell, landing hard, and being naked possessed no protection against the rocky terrain. Her head struck a sharp rock, breaking a tooth and cutting her lips, and she bled profusely. And Issilene knew a new feeling, and the feeling was dread, for it was pain.

  “Hearing Yargo still in pursuit and seeing his light drawing closer, and seeing her own limbs cut and bleeding from her flight through the forest, seeing her own blood streaming down her breast from her broken mouth, Issilene knew yet another new feeling, and it too was dread, for it was anger. The anger rose within her, and then she remembered who she was, and transformed herself into the form of a great white wolf, and turned to face Yargo’s advance.

  “Yargo, dashing through the thinning trees up the rocky slope, saw the immense white wolf, snarling, fresh blood dripping from its maw and staining the fur of its breast. He saw the tracks left by the bare and bleeding feet of the beautiful elfin he had pursued for so long, and he saw the pool of blood on the rocky ground at the end of those tracks, where now stood the snarling beast.

  “Yargo fell to his knees, and believing that his unknown beloved had been consumed by the wolf, gave a scream of rage and horror and loss the like of which the forest had never heard before, and Issilene knew a new feeling, and the feeling was dread, for it was pity. But before she could act upon the feeling, Yargo stood, his face contorted with rage, and he presented his bow, and drew a shaft, and took aim at the great white wolf stained with his love’s blood.

  “He drew a deep breath to steady his aim, letting it out slowly, stilling his pounding heart the better to strike the mark. Then, through the stillness of the aim, he looked into the wolf’s eyes, and he saw the pity of Issilene there, and knew it was impossible, for wolves feel no pity, for they are hunters of Nature’s making. He looked closer still, and saw the brightness of the wolf, and knew that it was no wolf at all, for he was the greatest of all hunters, and knew that nothing of Nature’s making possessed such a light, save for the beauty he had pursued.”

  Elayeen paused then, gazing into the fire, eyes wide, lost in the myth, taking a sip of wine and seeing the hunter and the wolf in the glowing logs in the hearth.

  “Yargo knew then that the wolf was his beloved, and he lowered his bow, and fell to his knees once more, weeping tears of joy that she yet lived, and tears of sorrow that she was beyond his reach. But still Issilene felt pity, and then, seeing the joy in the hunter at her living, knew another feeling, more dread perhaps than all the others combined, for it was love. Issilene rose up before him, elfin once more, and gave herself to Yargo.

  “Issilene bore seven sons, and instructed Yargo to teach them all he knew of hunting. This he did, and they learned well, for they were of his blood. But being also of Issilene’s blood, they, like her, could see the life-lights of all things of Nature’s making, which made them formidable hunters indeed.

  “But Issilene remembered pride, and fear, and anger, and pity, and love. She remembered how dread those feelings had been, and how dangerous, and so she took these from her sons, and they became the first of the Shimaneth Issilene. To them was given the duty of seeking out all things unnatural, and destroying them, for there can be no light without shadow, and even in those dawntime days, dark powers and demons lurked.

  “Thus were born the hunter-warriors of Issilene, wolves of elves loosed upon the darkness. Even though they were dread, still they multiplied, for they were possessed of bright lights themselves, and few were the elfins who could resist such lights when the Shimaneth succumbed to the need to mate. Issilene, content that her new creations would attend to the task she had set them, then abandoned her elfin form, becoming once more Nature, and in abandoning that form lost all those feelings she had learned, and became again simply what she had been before, which is to say, Nature.

  “In the beginning, all was well. The Shimaneth multiplied, and went out into the world, seeking out and pursuing and destroying the unnatural according to Issilene’s command. But they were cold, bereft of compassion, merciless and single-minded. In pursuit of some foul creature, they would pass all others by, the needy or wounded abandoned to their fate in the name of duty.

  “So cold were they that when they encountered others of the kindred, those others would shiver, and bar their doors. But the Shimaneth cared not, for they lived for their duty and knew neither compassion, nor love, nor pride, nor anger. Pain they knew, for it warned of injury and allowed them to rest and to heal, the better to hunt again.

  “At length, shadows retreated, and lurked in a hidden realm beyond the sight of the Shimaneth. In time, and with no quarry to hunt, the bloodline of the Shimaneth thinned, and as it did, the heartlessness and wolf-like nature slowly faded, until only the life-sight remained in elves as a reminder of the duty which Issilene had commanded of them.”

  Again there was a pause, the logs spitting and crackling in the grate.

  “That is the story of Issilene, and the Shimaneth. My mother taught it to me when I was little, just as her mother taught it to her.”

  “And this Sisterhood actually believes that?” Gawain asked, softly.

  “No, of course not, G’wain, it’s just a story for children. But the Shitheen adopted the name Issilene because of their adherence to and respect for elder ways; it is a name that conjures a powerful image of Nature personified in the minds of all elves. It is why the ToorsenViell worked so hard to banish the Shitheen to the fringes of society. Only in Minyorn do they yet survive, hidden, yet still revered, there even if nowhere else in Elvendere.”

  “And the ToorsenViell?” Allazar prompted, gently. “The words of that elfwizard were most troubling, as were those you spoke in reply.”

  Elayeen nodded, still staring into the flames, as if held entranced by the burning logs in the hearth. “I do not know where many of the words I spoke that day at the farak gorin came from. I do know they were true, though before the voice within me uttered them I understood neither Toorsen’s treachery, nor the depth of the treachery his acolytes and disciples perpetuate in the name of his creed.

  “My mother taught me that Toorsen was an Ahk-Viell of elder times, when the first war against Morloch was fought and all the kindred united in common cause against the dark threat. It was Toorsen, at the end of that long war, who proposed the building of
the roundtower at Ostinath. He said it was to be a bastion of hope, a citadel of elven civilisation, tall enough to look out over the lands to keep watch for the darkness, bright enough to shine a light from elvendom far and wide.

  “In those days, Ostinath and its sparkling springs of purest water was the jewel in the crown of Minyorn, and Minyorn itself was even then one of the oldest provinces in elvendom. In those days, there was no city of stone anywhere in the great forest. Toorsen was trusted, and powerful, and in the aftermath of the war with Morloch, few opposed the building of the Toorseneth; though it is said that the Shitheen had grave misgivings. But in the absence of any doom-saying prophecy from the Shitheen, their misgivings were brushed aside, and the Toorseneth was built. It’s very ancient, but during its construction, it was imbued with the power of Toorsen, and it has survived to this day, as you saw.

  “Once built, it was not long before the Toorsengard was raised, and not long thereafter that the Viell who inhabited the tower adopted the creed and became the ToorsenViell. Slowly, insidiously, they grew in influence and power, proclaiming themselves guardians of elven culture and morality, and with subtle hands began shaping and directing the course of elf kind’s progress. There is no one time in our history we can point to and assert ‘there, there is when the ToorsenViell took the reins of our destiny from us’, so subtle and pervasive were their efforts. That was what my mother taught me.

  “Much later, they openly opposed Thal-Marrahan, but he was mighty, and some say he himself possessed more than a few white hairs. It was Thal-Marrahan’s dream to advance all elfkind, and though in all the long centuries after the first war with Morloch elves had become elvish again, Thal-Marrahan held the teachings and philosophy of the Ahk-Viell Arristanas in high regard. You remember Arristanas, of elder times?”

  “Yes,” Allazar said quickly, hoping not to spoil the flow of Elayeen’s tale. “Master Arramin spoke of him, at the city in the south.”

  “Calhaneth,” Elayeen whispered, and drew her knees up under her chin again, wrapping her arms around her legs as if chilled in spite of the warmth from the fire.

  “We have heard the tale of that city from Arramin,” Rak said quietly.

  There was a long pause then, the name of the city and the crackling of the flames in the grate holding the three of Raheen in a grip that was difficult to release. It was Elayeen who finally broke the thrall of the memory of that dread ruin.

  “Calhaneth was the end of Thal-Marrahan’s dreams. It was the end of Thal-Marrahan’s rule, his dynasty, and even of Thal-Marrahan himself. The ToorsenViell opposed all his progress, all his plans for building a new civilisation based on reason and enlightenment, and when Calhaneth was destroyed, they had the excuse they needed to impose their will, blatantly, on all elvendom. Not only did they end the era of progress Thal-Marrahan had ushered in, but they succeeded in reversing it…

  “I’m getting ahead of myself,” Elayeen said, taking another draught of wine. “Before Calhaneth, Thal-Marrahan fired the imagination of all. At that time, of course, the province of Minyorn had been pushed further and further south. The stronger the ToorsenViell became, the fewer the number of elves of Minyorn who wished to dwell near the Toorseneth. It didn’t take long for the followers of Toorsen to tarnish the Shitheen; even later, Thal-Marrahan, with his dreams of an age of reason, only added strength to the ToorsenViell’s denigration of the sisterhood of Issilene. Seers and prophets have no place in the philosophy of Arristanas. Enlightenment admits not the mystic. And that’s also why the ToorsenViell opposed Thal-Marrahan.

  “Later, when Thal-Marrahan built the great road that is the Threnderrin Way, and began construction of the great water road, Ostinath grew. With so much stone for the canal arriving from the quarries in the west, it didn’t take long for Ostinath to become the stone city whose remains you saw, and it became home to all those elves who worked at the creation of Thal-Marrahan’s marvels, and their families. Thus was Minyorn pressed even further south.

  “After Calhaneth, though, and when the ToorsenViell became more… vigorous in enforcing their ideals, Ostinath was simply abandoned. Not even the most ardent and zealous of traditionalists advocating new elvishness would wish to live near to the Toorseneth and those who dwell within the roundtower. You saw the wizards of the ToorsenViell in my brother’s province, G’wain, when I cared for you there. You saw the strength of their influence.”

  “I did,” Gawain whispered, remembering the fearful glances the two whitebeards had inspired from all others there, even from Gan-thal. “They condemned you to death, twice; once at the Circle of Faranthroth, and again at Far-gor. They began it all, by refusing to allow anyone, even you, to tell me what the black strands in your hair signified.”

  Elayeen nodded, transfixed by the flames. “They say ‘elf does not kill elf’, but that has never really been true. The ToorsenViell have always found ways to achieve their ends. The saying is more one of hope than of fact. My mother told me that the Shitheen believe it originated in elder days, when all elves possessed the life-sight; a hunter could not possibly mistake another elf for game or for an enemy. But that sight faded, and now we know why. It was the ToorsenViell who laboured long to remove it, and there can be only one reason they did so.”

  “To give Morloch an advantage, on his return,” Allazar whispered.

  Elayeen nodded, and sighed. “With the destruction of Calhaneth came the end of progress. The ToorsenViell even went so far as to use some of the teachings of the Shitheen to reinforce their insistence that elves turn back time to simpler days, and claimed that the destruction of Calhaneth was the inevitable consequence of slavishly following Thal-Marrahan’s path of ‘reason and enlightenment.’ Progress not only stopped, it was destroyed. What records, plans and knowledge Thal-Marrahan bequeathed to all elvendom were sealed. Work on all manner of things simply ceased. It is why that miserable soolen-Viell could not operate the Wheel of Thal-Marrahan; until the wizard Arramin showed him how, there were none in all Elvendere who could. The knowledge has been lost from the minds of elves, and the books in which it resides proscribed, stolen, and forever sealed in the vaults below the Toorseneth.”

  “Then,” Allazar announced, bereaved, “The works of Thal-Marrahan were the last wonders of Elven engineering.”

  “Yes,” Elayeen sniffed, and wiped her eyes again. “G’wain was right, when he spoke to the Ahk-Viell Serat, on the Morrentill. Elves are now but pale shadows of our shining forebears, and where they did indeed soar like eagles, we now flit like moths, daylight shades in the gloom of the forest.

  “That is the treachery of Toorsen and his creed. They robbed all elvendom of the life-sight, and destroyed all progress, to keep us living in the trees, to keep us from advancing beyond Morloch’s ability to destroy these lands, and all who dwell here. And all of us, save perhaps the Shitheen and their followers, blind to that betrayal.”

  oOo

  4. Stumbling

  “Then, the thalangard and the wizard who blocked the Threnderrin Way against us were of the Toorseneth?” Gawain asked, gently.

  “Yes.”

  “And our last encounter on the Morrentill, the weasel whitebeard Serat and his force?”

  “Yes. The guards wore the same symbol you saw on the pennants and carriage, at the battle-camp.”

  Allazar nodded, and templed his fingers beneath his chin. “The taw, a letter common to the alphabets of Cerneform, runiform, and Elvish. I did not notice it, except when the contingent arrived from Elvendere down there at the far-gor.”

  “Nor I,” Gawain grumbled, “And I should have. Then that would-be assassin, Yonas, was also of the Toorsengard? They serve even in Elvenheth?”

  Elayeen nodded, and drew in a deep breath. “They serve everywhere, Gawain. In all provinces.”

  “Then it’s likely that the ToorsenViell were the victors in the aftermath of the Viell’s in-fighting which prince Gan alluded to at Ostinath,” Allazar mused aloud, “Or at least are able to exert a m
ajority now.”

  “I do not know, Allazar,” Elayeen admitted.

  “It was to them that most glanced before and after speaking in the Thallanhall,” Rak asserted, “Though I did recognise the one called Pahak, still in Thal-Hak’s entourage and still apparently loyal.”

  “The Ahk-Viell Pahak was not of the ToorsenViell, though he was one of three who served on the Council of Sek. He is loyal to my father, or rather, to the crown. It is why my father named him First of Elvendere. And that is just another reason for the ToorsenViell to despise my father and our family.”

  “And your mother?”

  “My mother is of the family Seraneth, of Minyorn. It’s an ancient family, older even than the family Varan, my father’s bloodline. Make no mistake, the bile spewed by that decrepit traitor A’knox against both families’ honour would have earned him a rabid dog’s death alone, never mind his part in the treachery of Toorsen. But in truth, G’wain, I did not know of that treachery when first we met. That insight was new, and came from our time in Raheen.”

  Allazar drew in a breath, pondering. “But what about this Shitheen, this sisterhood? Surely they know that the loss of the Sight of Eldenelves was brought about by the denizens of the Toorseneth?”

  “If they do, they have never said so. You must understand, Allazar, what I know from Raheen is fading quickly from memory now, and all else I learned was taught to me by my mother. She is of Minyorn, and so knows the old ways, and learned the tales and lessons at her own mother’s knee.

  “In one thing alone, the traitor A’knox was correct; my father disobeyed the Thallanhall and the ToorsenViell, and married for love, not for politics or to strengthen provincial alliances, and not in subservience to edicts from the Toorseneth. Many were quietly outraged that he did so. Thanks to the denigration of the Shitheen Issilene and those who still respect elder ways, and thanks to fear of the ToorsenViell, most people regard the province of Minyorn as a rustic backwater, a relic of bygone times.”