by Candy Rae
“This is definitely a translation?” asked Kirsty, walking over and plucking the parchment out of Aranel’s hands. “Not the original language?”
Aranel assented. “If it was original, it would be written in the ancient tongue. These words are as we write now. Also, the parchment would have rotted away. Father told us that much. He wrote that it was falling apart.”
“Well, when I’ve translated texts from Anglo-Saxon or Mediaeval Latin for that matter, sometimes it’s difficult to get the exact meaning. Word meanings change over time, they always have. Is there anyone who would have been able to translate this old tongue as you call it? A scholar?”
“One of the bards, they might have. I’ve heard my father talk of one, Lanfranc I think his name was.”
“Lanfranc? That was one of the early Archbishops of Canterbury!”
“Archbishops? What are they?”
“Never mind. Do you know where this Lanfranc is?”
Aranel shook her head. “I don’t think he has been heard of for many a long year. He might be dead for all I know.”
“We have to find him.”
“Or his successors,” said Aranel. “We’ll ask the Tathar. I’m sure he must know.”
When they asked the Tathar about Lanfranc however, he told them that he had died many centuries ago.
* * * * *
“So why are there so few Wielders and Whisperers around?” asked Kirsty. Aranel was recovering and she felt able to ask questions about certain aspects of her new world that were troubling her.
“Once there were many,” Aranel began. “Before the Elf Wars when elf fought elf and hardship reigned supreme throughout Alfheimr. Famine was everywhere because only the old and the very young were not fighting. The crops were not being regularly tended and, when they did manage to get them to ripen, the armies would come and take them. It was an evil time for all elven kind. The Wielders? They were the most powerful elves of all, powerful in the old magic. There used to be a seminary on the southern coast somewhere where they were taught. There, young elves with the talent came to learn their craft, how to control it, how to use it. Once they had learned all they could they would leave and attach themselves, swear allegiance to a king or a prince or a highborn lord. They worked for the good of the land and for those who lived on the land. When the Elf Wars came they, having given allegiance to a lord, went with his armies to fight. Wielder fought Wielder on the battlefields until only a few remained.”
“What happened to them?”
“They retreated into obscurity. Wielders were no longer permitted to swear an allegiance, even to a king. It was decided forthwith that their talents must be given freely to all. Never again would they bring down death and destruction on their liege lord’s enemies.”
“Where are they now?” asked Kirsty.
“I do not know. You are worried about your own magical talent?”
“I’m frightened because I don’t really understand it,” Kirsty admitted. “I don’t know how to control it. I don’t know what I am capable of. It’s started to bubble up inside me, I can feel it, and I don’t know what to do.”
“You knew what to do against those Morityaro at the bridge.”
“That was luck.”
Aranel laid her hand on Kirsty’s. “Do not fret. We will find the answers. There are still some Wielders out there, we just have to find them ...”
“They’re like gold dust?”
“What’s gold dust?” asked the perplexed Aranel.
“Very rare metal,” answered Kirsty, “so rare that it is very expensive. And the Whisperers?”
“Whisperers are very few also, the most rare of all. I have never met one. It is as if they have almost disappeared. My father mentioned it. He knew one once.”
The two looked at each other.
“Perhaps they’re not as rare as we think,” ventured Kirsty. “Perhaps the reason they are not around is because someone is ‘collecting’ them.”
“And I think we both know who that someone is,” added Aranel grimly.
“So, King Jegvran, if we’re right and it is the Sea Elves that are behind all this, is gathering together Wielders and Whisperers? What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” answered Aranel, “born not on the mainland perhaps? On one of the islands?”
“Or in my world,” said Kirsty, “a man. The Tathar? Or someone like him?”
The two looked at each other and sighed. It was making little sense.
Kirsty sat down beside her and held the parchment in front of them. “We’re assuming we are looking for ten stones, in groups of three, right?
“Right,” echoed Aranel, who was looking much better now after a good night’s sleep.
“So, that’s three trios and one singleton, and they fit into this circle. I wonder where the circle is or what it is.”
“It could be the Lost Crown of Alfheimr!” breathed Aranel with sudden enlightenment. “Of course!”
“What lost crown?” asked the mystified Kirsty.
“It disappeared long ago and nobody knows where it is.”
“I can make an educated guess,” said Kirsty, “if you are right about King Jegvran.”
“King Jegvran,” breathed Aranel. “It has to be him, it simply has to be.”
Kirsty nodded, slowly, reluctantly. She still didn’t think they had enough evidence to positively associate King Jegvran of the Sea Elves as their enemy but he was their best suspect so far.
“And,” Aranel exclaimed, “in the old language, daughter and sister used to mean the same thing. You and me, and another sister! It must be it! In the old language there was no word for lord, the word leader, it evolved to mean lord. The lord it talks about is our father!”
“We must see the original document,” said Kirsty the scholar.
“But see this, in my father’s hand, he states that the original is no more.”
“I don’t believe it,” declared Kirsty in a firm voice. “It must exist somewhere. Something this important.”
“Do you think the Tathar might have a copy?” ventured Aranel.
“We can only ask,” her sister replied.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 22
‘To restore the crown follow the path to there and here and then and now and back. Warrior ring shall know the path and warrior blue shall lead the way. Ten jewels to seal and divide. Ten are different and nine are same in twos then one. Three sisters of the line of the leader. Seek the one of the clan of the men to restore the crown with the white. Warrior brave, Wielder true, Whisperer loud. The Sacrifice must be willing.’
(Saga of Enduin)
WISDOM OF THE TATHAR
The day had come. The day he had been dreading was now. The daughter of Arovan had arrived.
However, the event had not happened yet. The event could not be altered but perhaps it could be delayed?
Aranel’s arrival had brought home to the Tathar that his life was, of a certainty, ebbing away.
He was frightened. He was frightened of the unknown, of death.
How could he prolong it without seriously compromising the task of the magic within the T’Quel?
Surely the T’Quel would not begrudge him a little more time. He had served it faithfully for so long.
Perhaps a little delay …
* * * * *
“The words are different!” exclaimed Aranel after Kirsty had read the Tathar’s copy of the original aloud. The old man had insisted that the one Kirsty now held in her hand was an exact copy. He had been most adamant about it.
“So you were right,” added Kirsty. “There is a crown. We were also correct about the fact that some of these jewels might be hidden in the past and the fact that we are sisters is important. What I still don’t understand though is, what are these jewels and why are they scattered around like this? It still doesn’t make a great deal of sense.”
“That is because you were not brought up in Alfheimr. If you permit, I can try to
explain,” offered the Tathar.
“Go ahead,” said Kirsty, settling down to listen.
“A long time ago, the Elven home was one,” the Tathar began.
“The legends say so,” said Aranel.
“The legends speak the truth,” he answered. “I was young, arrogant, so sure of myself and my abilities. I thought I would live forever, that the magic that holds the T’Quel would, like me, last until the end of days. I was wrong. I am sorry.”
Neither girl was quite sure what the Tathar was sorry for so they kept silent. Was he telling them that he had been alive during the Elf Wars? Both thought he was.
“The Elf Wars, so long ago. It was a terrible time and, in part, caused by me.”
“How was that?” asked Aranel.
“The Tathar before me, he had kept to himself at Nosta, the real energy centre of the T’Quel.”
“Is that why it is failing?” asked Kirsty. “Because you are no longer at Nosta?”
“In part, yes, but that is not the only reason. As I said, my predecessor stayed at Nosta but when I became the Tathar I was proud and, I’ll admit, very interested in the world in which I found myself. My duty was to protect and maintain the T’Quel but in my ignorance and pride, I believed I could become a friend of the most powerful of the elves. This I did. I was respected, powerful, and I accepted an invitation to visit King Dinendal’s court. The place no longer stands. What a beautiful castle it was! It was burned to the ground during the wars. King Dinendal was courteous and friendly, about my age I suppose and we became friends. I was often a visitor in the years that followed. The T’Quel was but recently energised you understand, it was impregnable, strong, I did not need to stay at Nosta all the time. King Dinendal had five sons and a daughter. I admit I was half in love with her, she was very beautiful and kind but,” he sighed, “she did not feel the same about me. She loved another. No matter now. It was a very long time ago.”
He turned to Aranel.
“You are an educated elf-maiden young Aranel, you will know the story. Tell Kirsty your version. I will interrupt when you stray from the truth. The chroniclers never did understand the full story.”
“You were certainly not mentioned in the version I know,” agreed Aranel as she settled herself ready to tell Kirsty.
“King Dinendal had five sons and one daughter,” she recited from memory, “the sons were called Taure, he who became King of the Tauredhel, the elves of the woods; Ndor, he who became King of the Ndoredhel, the elves of the land; Menal, he who became King of the Meneledhel, the elves of the sky; Alu, he who became King of the Aluedhel, the elves of the water; Orod, he who became King of the Orodedhel, the elves of the mountains; and the daughter was called Sairalinweila, she who became Lady of the Fortaue and husband of Lord Utinu of the Fortaue, the nephew of King Dinendal. He held lands in the north and in the name of his uncle and was loyal.”
The Tathar butted in.
“I became like an uncle to Dinendal’s children and watched them as they grew up. I also told them who I was, a man, an other-born, and then, to my regret, I told them about the magic and the T’Quel. Dinendal’s children, except for the eldest, Ndor, and of course Sairalinweila, were not as he. Ndor was Dinendal’s heir; he was to become King of all Alfheimr. The other four, they were not to become kings; their future was to hold land and rule wisely on behalf of their father and, in turn, their elder brother but they were ambitious, greedy. Even the ones who remained loyal to their father were greedy to a degree. They wanted more. It was Orod who started it, who decided that he wanted to be a king too and he persuaded Alu and Menal to join with him in rebellion against their father. Taure remained loyal and sided with his father and elder brother Ndor and gave them his allegiance. The war commenced. It was long and bloody, many battles were fought but no side was victorious. It was then that Orod approached me with a proposition. He promised me much. Wealth, power, even his sister, declaring he would kill Lord Utinu to set her free for me.”
“What did he want you to do?” asked Kirsty.
“He wanted me to tell him the deepest secrets of the T’Quel and more than that, he wanted to control it, to harness its power so that he, Alu and Menal could win the war against his father, Ndor and Taure.”
“What did you do?” asked Kirsty.
“I refused. I thought that would be the end of it. I was secure in my tower at Nosta. I thought it impregnable. But Orod, Alu and Menal gathered their armies and marched on Nosta. I gathered together the seven stones I had in my possession, the orb, the talisman and other sundry necessities, and called for help. Help arrived and the dragons flew me away.
“What happened then?”
“The war went on,” he answered, “it seemed that it would never end. The effects of the war began to spill over Alfheimr’s borders and into the lands of the dragons, the unicorns and the gryphons and others. It was decided that the war must be stopped lest it destroy the whole world.”
“It was Sgiathatch the Dragon Lord who sent messengers out and called for council to end the war,” interrupted Aranel. “It was decided that Alfheimr should be divided among the five sons of Dinendal. The brothers swore eternal friendship and the war was over.”
“What happened to King Dinendal?” asked Kirsty.
“The story didn’t say,” Aranel answered and looked at the Tathar.
“He died not long after the peace conference,” the old man said, “some said of a broken heart but he was just plain worn out.”
“Did you go back to your tower?” asked Kirsty.
The Tathar nodded.
“I did, but I took counsel with Sgiathatch who was very wise and it was decided that the jewels that have, shall we say, a base here in Alfheimr should not remain with me at Nosta in case in the future another would seek dominance over the T’Quel and come to Nosta, overpower me and take them. It was decided that they should be given to the children of Dinendal for safekeeping, and that is what happened. Problem was, we didn’t realise what effect time would have on memories. I did not walk in Alfheimr often after the war. I made no friends amongst the elves, so over the years, centuries and generations the war receded from memory and even the royal families forgot the import of the tarna jewels. It became nothing more than legend then even the legend was forgotten.”
“I thought elves were immortal!” exclaimed Kirsty,
The Tathar was amused. “Now where did you learn that?”
“Everybody knows that,” the confused Kirsty replied. “It’s in all the stories, ‘The Lord of the Rings’, and all the others.”
“Elves are not immortal,” explained the Tathar. “Their lives are longer than most humans, I admit, but they die like you or I. As I was saying, the jewels became just another heirloom, another jewel in the treasury. You Aranel, are the descendant of Sairalinweila and Utinu of Fortaue although your family name is now Cuthalion. Sairalinweila and Utinu received the round, blue stone, the one that now rests in your ring. If I remember correctly, it was given to the Lady Sairalinweila to keep. It was her grandson who set it into the ring, the better to keep it safe.”
“Where does this one come from?” asked Kirsty, holding out her ring with the round, dark red ruby.
“It went to Taure, who had the stone set into the ring.”
“This ring?” queried Kirsty.
“The very same.”
“But how did it come to our family?” asked Aranel.
“Through marriage. As I said, as the generations passed, the elves forgot what the jewels were, what they represented and what they had been, in ancient times, before my time, in the time of my predecessor. The third round stone, it is green and was given to Ndor. It also came to your family through marriage some generations ago. Your mother Aranel, was descended from Ndor’s line. Thus were the three most powerful of the six given to those who had been loyal to Dinendal. The other three were partners in colour but diamond shaped and they went to the three sons of Dinendal who had rebelled against him.
Where they are now, no one knows for certain although your father suspects where they may be but has no proof. Arovan Cuthalion knows what the tarna jewels are, what they stand for and, most importantly, how they must be used.”
“How did he find out?” asked Aranel.
“He didn’t realise at first, then he became aware that questions were being asked. Someone was looking for them.”
“A descendant of Orod?” ventured Kirsty.
“He did not know, no one knows, not even me.”
“The tenth stone the rhyme talks about?
“The dragons have that in their custody. They have not forgotten. It is safe with them until the time comes, when I will die and the T’Quel is re-energised.”
“So all ten stones are needed to re-energise the T’Quel?” asked Kirsty.
“That is not precisely accurate but more of that later. The main problem is that we know the exact location of only two, the red on your finger and the blue in Aranel’s own ring.”
“There are several ‘somethings’ I still don’t understand,” said Kirsty. “First, what exactly are the jewels for? Why are they so important? And, who are you?”
“Together, the jewels will rejuvenate, restore the T’Quel, but they must be together to do this, and the largest stone, the white, the seventh of your father’s message,” said the Tathar, ignoring Kirsty’s last question.
“The dragons have that.”
“Yes, and they will keep the pearl in the meantime. Your task, your quest, is to find the others. The three in Alfheimr you must forget about. You must look for and find the others. Now, I am tired and need to rest lest my strength leaves me. I have very little stamina these days. You too must rest. We shall speak more of this in the morning.”
With that the Tathar sat back on his chair and, to all intent and appearance, fell asleep, his head resting in the cup of his right hand.
“Poco a poco, as the Spanish say,” said Kirsty. “I don’t think we’ll get any more out of him now. Let’s get some rest ourselves and perhaps think over what he has said, try and work it out. Wait! Father’s book, I’d almost forgotten. We’ll take it with us, see if it can shed light on this.”