Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches

by William Robert Stanek

  “Seven days ago, my father had two important visitors in the night. One was Keeper Martin, head of all Lore Keepers. The other, Father Jacob, first minister, head of the priesthood. Keeper Martin brought grave news from the Far South.”

  “Really?” asked Emel, “You’re not jesting are you?”

  “Do I look like I am? By the Mother, I tell you it is the truth. You didn’t know this, did you?”

  The thought of lying outright crossed Emel’s mind, but the truth was that he didn’t know. As far as he knew no one had been told of this, though he was admittedly extremely curious.

  “No,” he said truthfully, definitively.

  “I heard the whole plan,” said Adrina. She was lying and vowed to repent later, if it worked.

  “How do you know? I wasn’t even told, and I am a Sergeant at Arms.” He made the title sound lofty.

  “And I am the king’s daughter, aren’t I? I am privileged to certain information that you aren’t.”

  Emel was taken aback by her words, but believed her. Possibly she really did know, he thought. “All right, but you have to tell me everything.”

  “Of course, first you must tell me the reason we travel to Alderan. Then if you tell me the truth, I will tell you what I know.”

  “We travel to Alderan to meet a ship that sailed from Wellison in the South three days ago.”

  “Thank you.” Adrina spurred her mount on.

  The two moved across the pristine green of the open parade grounds at a slow trot. Emel purposefully reined his mount in despite its urge to race away and chase the wind. He wanted to find out what Adrina knew, for then he could ride off, leaving her behind without a care—or so he hoped.

  “Well. Aren’t you going to tell me something?” asked Emel.

  Adrina wasn’t about to fall for this ploy. “Yes, I’m going to tell you, just not right now. Only if you talk to the ridemaster. Is it a deal?”

  Flustered and confident he’d never find out what Adrina knew, also sure she would chase him down even if he charged his mount out the gates, Emel waived his better judgment. He agreed to her wishes. Anyway, he knew the final words of approval were not his. Maybe if King Andrew said a final no, Adrina would tell him what she knew anyway—if he stayed on her good side. Emel said, “I’ll talk to the ridemaster.”

  Chapter Five:

  Realization

  The hours passed slowly in the peaceful hollow Vilmos had retreated to, its gentle serenity carefully lulling him into mindless complacency. Thoughts of returning home seemed so distant, so very distant. After all, he could dwell in the valley forever, couldn’t he?

  There was a finality in the thoughts that frightened him, and it was only this that ended his feelings of complacency and propelled the urge to return home to the foremost thought in his mind. With one last look down over his valley, Vilmos turned and walked away, leaving the peaceful vale far behind in a few powerful strides.

  Strange though it seemed, the return trek was never as easy as the initial folding of thoughts one on top of the other that it took to get to the peaceful vale. No, the trek home was a long and arduous journey through a darkened land. Vilmos had to pass along the little country path that parted the dark wood and run for some distance veiled from the sun, with a perpetually icy wind at his back. He had to cross the distance from the woods to the village.

  The next step of the journey was to enter the quaint country home that was his father’s. His face set in a heavy mask of personal anguish, he did so on his tiptoes, moving slowly and quietly. He crossed to his room and closed the door without a sound. Approaching the bed, his bed, he sat down unaware of the gaunt, still figure already present. A moment for adjustment taken, Vilmos opened his eyes and retreated from his special place—the place he could have retreated back to with a simple folding of thoughts but which never relinquished him without first warning him that the world was a cruel and callous place.

  That he would remain in his room throughout the rest of the morning was already a given. He found contentment by idly sitting on the edge of his bed where he could gaze out the clear open window and think of nothing in particular. And when he finally did venture out of his room, it was not until the midday had come and passed.

  Upon cursory inspection, Vilmos discovered his father had already departed. On Seventhday, which was today, his father met with the Three Village Assembly. He was sure they would discuss the recent bear attack. Goose bumps ran up and down his back. He could have ended up just like the girl from Olex Village—and only Lillath would’ve cared.

  A cherished notion to run away vaulted from his mind. There was work that needed to be done. Helping his mother, Lillath, brought Vilmos happiness, even though he considered “housework” a woman’s chore.

  Whistling a little tune, quaint and cheerful, he diligently started. Sweeping the floors was an easy task, so he tackled that first. He swept out the kitchen and the long, oblong floor of the visiting room in a matter of minutes. Bedrooms and halls were next and after them, as always, the porch. He was sweating now and the cool perspiration felt good. It was “honest work” he did, or so his mother said.

  He paused for a time, though not long. Wood blocks still needed to be split and piled by the wood shed. His room needed to be cleaned. The bed made. His few belongings gathered and placed back into the wooden chest that lay at the foot of his bed.

  After several hours of continuous labor and an examination by his mother, Vilmos was finished. Joyfully, he scrambled into the kitchen to sneak something to eat, yet as always it was his ill-fated luck to be caught.

  “Vil-MOS! What are you doing?” Lillath asked. She tried to hide laughter with her hand. “Never cease eating do you?”

  “But I am hungry.”

  “Go ahead. Don’t eat too much. We’ll have an early dinner. Don’t forget today is Seventhday and we’ll all go to the service, won’t we?”

  Vilmos frowned, then replied, “Yes, mother,” but in his mind, he wished they would not go. He hated the long sermons, during which he often fell asleep, which got him into even more trouble.

  In a moment Vilmos knew that without fail he would be told to review the history and as he didn’t want to do that, he gathered up his bread and cheese and tried to leave.

  “Not so fast. Hold on a minute Vilmos,” Lillath said, “forgetting something?”

  “No mother. I put the bread back into the box, honest.”

  In a blur he was out the door and headed toward his room, sanctuary one solitary step away when the voice reached him.

  “Mustn’t forget to study your history. Someday you’ll fill your father’s position. Even with your faults.” She added the last part in jest, but Vilmos didn’t catch the false sarcasm in her voice immediately.

  “And what faults are those?”

  Lillath tried to hide her smile with a shielding hand. “I’m only joking. Go study the Book.”

  Vilmos lifted the heavy book from its resting place. Usually the Great Book would lie before him the remainder of the day, but mostly his mind would wander. Vilmos turned back to his mother and asked, “Mother, are there other books? I mean, surely all knowledge cannot be contained in one book.”

  “Don’t ever let your father hear you talk like that.” Lillath paused and stared at the boy. Her tone became milder. “Books are a rare, rare thing in the land. It takes years, lifetimes, to pen a single tome. And only a true book smith can press scrolls into such a leather binding as befits the Great Book.”

  Vilmos smiled. He opened the book about midway, and then set it down. Normally he would have turned away immediately and stared out the window. But today the book seemed to want to open to a particular pair of pages, a group of pages shuffled and he was staring at a new section of the book. Thinking fondly of what his mother had said, he mumbled his way through the inscribed words.

  With the simple lives of children, the story began…

  Thousands of years ago wars ravaged the lands, spread by the slo
w incursion of the race called Man to the brother races until it seemed that humankind would not endure.

  Great-Father had not intervened until this time, he had spread his gifts thinly out to each of the brother races, imparting each with but one simple gift, but even the wise and the great could not have foretold the coming of the scourge of evil spread by a maligning of those same simple gifts…

  Time eternal evolves in great circles and the All-Father knew and understood this only too well. So as the evil scourge was finally defeated and the First Age came to an end, he planned carefully for the future by selecting and gathering a few of those last children and imparting upon them greater knowledge and wisdom than most. Some he taught how to outwit time itself. Some he conditioned as watch-wardens to look for the signs of the next Coming, the next Age of humankind. Others he cast into the never-ending circle of time itself so that their spiritual forms could wind their way through its realm. These were the lost children and he appointed a single guardian over them all…

  To balance it all, there was one who was both good and evil, fated by destiny to become part of time itself…

  Vilmos frowned and stopped reading. He’d thought he had read, or had had read to him, every page of the Great Book at one time or another, but he had never read this page. It puzzled him, and he reread it. What did it all mean? What was the lesson?

  Confused, he closed the book and stared at its cover. Later he opened it to a different section.

  Vilmos’ father did not come home until late that evening. Vil had been delayed in a special advisory session. Apparently a series of bear attacks had taken place in Two Falls Village a day’s ride to the north, and huntsmen and trackers from the surrounding villages were preparing to track down the great black bear. There would be no one allowed to travel outside the village until the bear was caught.

  Vilmos, who had been listening intently at the door to his room, suddenly found he had an entire evening to do as he pleased—that is as long as he didn’t venture into his father’s eyesight. He thought Great-Father was truly smiling down upon him.

  “What luck!” exclaimed Vilmos as he jumped onto his bed. “What to do? What to do?”

  With final commitment, he closed his eyes and retreated to his special place. The vale was a beautiful place toward evening with a red-pink haze held in the darkening sky spreading outward into the heavens in striking hues of orange and red. The hunter eagle was gone from the sky now so Vilmos contented himself by sitting on the very brink of the high cliff he had chosen. Occasionally he would throw a rock up in the air, catch it midair and then let it lazily float down to the ground like a feather.

  Suddenly tired, he yawned. His vision began to fade out as slumber entered his thoughts and within minutes he fell asleep. Lulled by his fatigue, he was caught in the quasi-world he had created. Sleep for him was always accompanied by dreams, although unlike others who often forgot their dreams upon waking, Vilmos remembered his.

  The dream began. It was a strange and frightening dream, the only dream that had played out before him the whole of his life as far back as he could remember.

  The words of the Great Book that had lain before him most of the day came to mind, corrupted by the evil of the dream…

  The creature of darkness descended to the earth from the heavens, wreaking havoc across the land’s face, once more reclaiming that which was his, that which he was denied.

  Look weak creatures! Look what you have let loose! Look what you have freed to provide for your demise! I am what you most fear! I am He. A name cursed for all eternity. I possess the forbidden name, never spoken lest it invoke the greatest of all evil. I am that evil. I can speak its name. Do you know what that evil is? What does humankind fear so very much?

  You fear yourself. You fear that which humankind was, and still is. You fear the darkness of your soul…

  The boy, who was Vilmos as he looked in upon his dream as if from a distance, saw the evil one and looked into his eyes. The darkness within was well known to him. Its origin of rebirth was known. Held entranced by its call, he moved his hand forward to help it but was stopped by a sharp, stifling pain that shot through him. The shock and ache made his small body writhe as it carried him away.

  Unconsciousness befell him, yet the images and the agony were still clear in his thoughts when he awoke some hours later crying out into the darkness, huddled in a cold, sweated corner, his body clenched and trembling.

  “No!! No!! It will not be!” screamed Vilmos, perspiration dripped off his forehead.

  “No, no, no,” he continued through the sobs, unable to block out the lingering picture of the shadows in his mind, especially the evil, mocking grimace that laughed a deep, hideous laugh and the cold jet-black eyes that seemed to haunt every corner of his mind.

  This was the worst dream he could recall. For a time the dreams had stopped completely, then they had returned with renewed fervor. Each night the vision came. Repeatedly it played, relentless. Each time growing worse, because each time it became more realistic. Now it was as if the Dark One was in the very room Vilmos occupied.

  Normally he would have simply escaped to his private point to stare out across the vast expanse below, feeling more at home and at peace there than he had ever felt in his own home. However, this night Vilmos did not want to return there. Something was wrong, though what, he didn’t know. Content to remain in his room in the dark, staring into nothingness, desperately trying to remember something that he knew was important, his mind raced in a million different directions.

  Throughout the night he lay gazing into the darkness, searching for something that appeared to be just beyond his grasp. His concentration was so great that he had not moved in the entire time and when the sun rose bright and beautiful into a clear sky, he did not enjoy its beauty. His mood only turned from pensive to dreary. The new day brought him only misery, as he knew it would. His body, stiff and sluggish, moving with the aches and pains of one well beyond his years, did not respond well to his desires and again it was a long, slow process to coax stiff muscles into movement.

  After eating breakfast and methodically performing his perfunctory chores, his thoughts filled with dread. The tutor would come this day. Weary and fatigued, Vilmos trudged back to his room, slumped onto the bed, all his energy spent. Utter exhaustion played out on his face, though he didn’t understand why.

  The instant eyes closed, consciously or unconsciously, he drifted away to his special place. It had been calling to him in the back of his mind all that morning.

  A chilling breeze blew through the vale. A wind that had never before been cold. Today something felt different, as if he were not alone. Worriedly, he scanned the little vale, its steep slopes and its large open floor. He was indeed alone or so he hoped.

  He became a great silver eagle, fearless and swift. The dive from his favored cliff was accomplished in one powerful leap. Wings sliced the air and made it sing. Down into the vale’s depths the eagle swept, with great speed and agility. The silver eagle’s keen eyes had instantly spotted its prey and now it raced toward the unsuspecting valley hare.

  This was the intruder in his domain, thought Vilmos. He would crush the life from his prey and then would indeed be alone.

  He swept up the valley hare in razor sharp talons. The warm and fleshy hare writhed pitifully and cried out for escape. The eagle did not heed its cry, but a part of Vilmos did and he forced the great eagle to release the hare.

  “Do you know what it is that you are doing?” beckoned a voice into his mind.

  Vilmos was startled.

  “N-no,” he replied warily. The voice was somehow familiar.

  Momentarily the vision of the eagle faltered. For an instant Vilmos stood on the high, raised cliff staring into the cold northerly wind. Then he was propelled back into the razor-taloned, silver eagle.

  “It is called non-corporeal stasis, an out of body experience,” said the other with evident wisdom.

  “What are you s
aying? What does that mean? Are you here to take me away?”

  Vilmos ceased being the eagle altogether, yet the cliff was not the place he returned to. Instead, he stood in the middle of the valley and searched in all directions for the source of the mysterious voice.

  “Look. Look about you. What do you see?” commanded the voice.

  Vilmos did as bid.

  “I see the valley and nothing else.”

  “Yes that is correct, now look beyond the valley. Extend your thoughts and open your mind. Now what do you see?” The voice flowed with warmth and again Vilmos sensed a familiarity in it.

  “I see only the valley,” Vilmos replied.

  “No,” said the other with vehemence, “Look, look again. Search beyond the valley. What do you see?”

  Vilmos didn’t like this game and clenched his fists in anger. “I see nothing.”