The Lonely Seeker

by C A Oliver

  “Quick! We are almost there,” Gelros urged.

  He was leading the way; Aewöl followed behind. Gelros never exposed his pale skin to direct sunlight; his face looked almost bloodless. His dark grey eyes gave his gaze a deep, mysterious aura.

  The only reply Gelros received from Aewöl was a low growl. The one-eyed Elf was walking with difficulty behind his companion. He was exhausted and would stop every now and then to rest. Suddenly, Aewöl fell to the ground, his strength utterly spent. He pulled back his hood, revealing his straight dark hair, pale face and single sharp eye. His behaviour showed signs of severe mental strain. His banishment from the army of Llymar had deeply affected him. The injustice he felt was obscuring his thoughts.

  Aewöl had barely spoken since Gelros had found him on the beach after he had collapsed, his heart barely beating. The hopeless and dejection had been all-consuming. Since then, the one-eyed Elf had been struggling to concentrate, and seemed unable to remember details of the past few days. He had completely lost his appetite and was unable to slumber.

  Gelros felt worried for his master. Nevertheless, despite his master’s condition, he needed to concentrate on their current situation.

  “There is an open area stretching approximatively fifty leagues from the beach of Asto Salassy to the borders of Mentolewin forest. Only there will we find shelter,” said Gelros, trying his best to instil motivation in his master.

  As often as they could, they circumnavigated crop fields and pastures, keeping low along their hedged borders, but sometimes there was nothing else but to run across long, open stretches. Thanks to the provisions that Duluin, the knight of the Golden Arch, had given Aewöl, Gelros did not have to worry about finding food.

  ‘We have plenty of bread and dry fruit inside the bag. And we will not die of thirst. The streams of northern Nyn Ernaly provide an abundant supply of water. Still, I will have to go hunting as soon as we reach the forest of Mentolewin,’ the scout was already planning.

  Gelros, when he had rifled through the supplies, had also noticed a small copper ring, encrusted with tiny gems, at the very bottom of the small satchel. He thought it an unlikely place for a jewel, but soon forgot it. Gelros’ priority was to put as much distance as possible between them and the army of Llymar. He also feared unexpected encounters with Men of the tribes who populated the northern stretches of the island. The barbarian territories, a succession of rocky slopes and steep peaks, spread out into the distance. The two Elves scrambled out from the thicket, its thorns like talons. Gelros looked towards that small mountain range to the north. The scout shared his concern with his master.

  “At a time like this, it is instinct that keeps an animal alive. And mine is telling me to reach the protection of Mentolewin forest as quickly as possible.”

  The scout was now using the language of the Night Elves to communicate with his master, which they seldom had the opportunity to do. Gelros was known as a character of few words, not the kind of Elf to get carried away with long speeches. His few companions had always known him as quiet, feeling more at home with the birds of the forest. That day, however, Gelros felt he needed to talk, to talk as he had never done before, in order to hold the attention of his master. He needed to prevent the destructive emotions circling madly in Aewöl’s mind from totally consuming him. Gelros realized that speaking incessantly was a way to keep his master’s head above water and prevent him drowning in evil thoughts.

  “Have you noticed, master, how the Green Elves almost never call me a Night Elf? They simply see me as an immortal High Elf, foreign to them. They are, of course, mistaken. Us, Nigh Elves, are very different to the other High Elves, even though we were originally a subdivision of Silver Elves. We belonged to Nel Anmöl in the starlit woods and, in truth; we are more akin to Gnome folk than other Elves.”

  Aewöl had to stop and sit down for a while. He shivered, not from the cold of the air, but rather the dreadful anxieties chasing one another through his mind. Gelros unclasped his dark cloak and cast it about his master’s shoulders. Aewöl looked at him with indifference. He did not respond. Gelros nevertheless continued his babbling.

  “Unlike all other Elves, in fact, we have never worshipped any God. We trust only in our own skills. To my mind, the Green Elves are at their weakest when they are performing their naïve rituals to those, they call the Deities of the Islands. If any of this was of any use, this supposed last refuge of the Elves would be… a refuge for the Elves.”

  Aewöl kept his head down. They had been trudging for more than six hours when they heard the sound of scavengers’ cries that brought them to a halt. Aewöl could go no further.

  “I must rest.”

  “We must keep moving!” urged the scout, as he scrambled to his feet.

  “I cannot go all the way at a run, Gelros, I do not know what’s come over me,” Aewöl said with grimace.

  Gelros was struggling with his own weariness, but nevertheless he tried to comfort his master.

  “I know exactly what is happening to you! This overwhelming weakness was caused by the pain you felt after that unjust condemnation. You might as well have been stabbed in the back with a poison dagger. This is some wickedness... But we escaped the fall of Ystanlewin, we crossed the Austral Ocean, and we survived the battle of Mentollà. We will get through this ordeal, I promise you,” said Gelros, as he turned to lead the way among the stones and boulders.

  “I can’t go on,” murmured Aewöl. “I’m going to faint.”

  He had drunk from the pools in the vale several times, but he was very thirsty again. Aewöl sat silent, deep in his dark thoughts. Gelros tried to encourage him.

  “You should have an obsession for survival.”

  Aewöl managed to utter a few words back, barely audible.

  “I am tired and weary; let us stay here a bit longer...”

  He seemed utterly devoid of hope.

  “That would not be wise. I will carry you on my back. We must go,” urged Gelros.

  But Aewöl threw off his cloak and unclasped his light chainmail.

  “This weight is too cumbersome for me,” he complained, shivering again, though the temperature had not dropped.

  “Let us stop and have a rest then. We will move a little farther once we’ve had something to eat. Take a bite of that bread. It will give you strength.”

  Gelros reached into Duluin’s satchel and broke off a piece of bread for his master. Aewöl chewed it as best he could. A sea of grey clouds coming from the ocean started to form a striking backdrop behind the mountains. The hawk that had been following them all day was still circling above them, high in the sky.

  After a while, they started off again. The light of day was now low, and the hills were once again covered with clouds. Through the grey dusk, they could just about see they were emerging from a valley between the hills. It sloped down towards the west, and a lively stream traced its way through the valley’s centre. Beyond its course, they saw a path that wound around the foothills. After much wondering and searching, they found a safe route they could climb down. Below them, at the bottom of a ravine of some four hundred feet, was the valley stretching away to the gloomy borders of a vast forest. Far to the south, some thirty leagues away, they could still see Eïwal Vars Lepsy’s peak, its thin finger rising to a great height, its pointed tip swathed in cloud. They had not gone far when Aewöl paused again. Daylight was growing weaker.

  “I did not know you were so well versed in the history of the Night Elves. Only my mother’s bloodline was Morawenti. My father was a Gold Elf. I felt closer to him. That is to say until he was found dead... in my early youth,” Aewöl said.

  Gelros’ spirits were sinking. They were not making much progress and, again, Aewöl needed to stop. He looked at his master anxiously, wondering how he could convince him to push on. Finally, Gelros dropped the idea, and sat down on a boulder. What Aewöl needed most, perhaps, was conversation.

  “Your mother taught me a lot,” admitted Gelros
.

  “That is a surprise. I didn’t know that,” Aewöl replied.

  This sudden interest in Gelros’ past animated him somewhat.A mist seemed to clear from his eye. Satisfied with how their dialogue was picking up, Gelros continued.

  “Before you were born, your mother dedicated significant time to my education. It’s because of her that I know the history of our forefathers.”

  Aewöl was hearing one surprise after another. He passed a hand over his aching head.

  “How could that be? She never said a word to me about our history! I know nothing of her heritage. Indeed, I have no knowledge of my Morawenti origins at all. It’s as though I was raised as a High Elf of pure golden blood.”

  “She did what was best for your future, I suppose,” said Gelros.

  “I doubt it,” replied Aewöl, before deciding to entrust his companion with something of his miserable youth. “My mother was cold-hearted and stern. She never showed any kindness to me, obsessing only over my future. My father had been one of the founders of the Crystal College, a distinguished scholar holding a prominent position at the court of Essawylor. My mother always insisted that I should benefit from the same privileges. Wherever we dwelled together after my father’s death, she sought to dominate other guilds in Essawylor, using my rare abilities as a craft master for her own benefit. Her overall goal, I believe, was to accumulate as much wealth as possible, by exploiting any opportunities she could find in all kinds of trades.”

  He realized this was the first time he had told anyone of this painful memory.

  “Whatever you might think, your mother was acting in your best interests. You are a true Night Elf, though you may not consider yourself to be one. Our hearts are dry, and we are impervious to love. The feudal tie to our own community is the only bond that matters. Night Elves see parenthood as a duty to perpetuate our kindred. We do not believe that there is life after death. What we want most, therefore, is to create a material legacy for the generation that survives us. We have a cautious nature. The life of the Night Elves is dedicated to accumulating wealth, which can then be traded off in times of peril. We pursue this obsession without dignity. So, whatever you may have felt at the time, in your mother’s eyes, you were the person who mattered most.”

  “If that is so, why was I raised like a pure Gold Elf? Why would she put so much effort into erasing my Morawenti origins?”

  “Back in Essawylor, under Queen Aranaele’s reign, the few surviving members of the Night Elves were considered gloomy. We were barely tolerated by the other High Elves, for they believed our nature to be treacherous. But some of us were exceptionally adept at learning, mastering great crafts as smiths, alchemists or rune masters, hence they managed to preserve some influence among the kingdom of Five Rivers. But, regardless of their bonds to the guilds of Essawylor, they owed their true allegiance to your mother.”

  “They owed their true allegiance to my mother? What is that supposed to mean?” inquired Aewöl, now paying very close attention.

  “Morawenti rulership has always been dynastic, since the earliest days in the starlit woods, when Sindöl was our undisputed prince,” said Gelros.

  “I do not understand. What has this to do with my mother?” asked Aewöl, agitated.

  There was a long silence. Gelros looked at the trees in the vale, thinking. The scout pondered whether the time was right to reveal to his young master what he knew about his origins. Finally, he spoke.

  “Your mother belonged to the bloodline of the Dir Sana, the princes of Nel Anmöl. Until the day that she perished in the flames of Ystanlewin, when the northern province fell, she was secretly considered by all Night Elves of Essawylor as their rightful sovereign, their absolute ruler.”

  Aewöl remained quiet. Somehow, though he could not explain it, this revelation did not surprise him.He had always wondered what had caused that bitterness within his soul which, throughout his youth, had propagated only indifference and mistrust towards others. The one-eyed Elf now understood that it was never too late to find answers.

  Aewöl often wondered how he had escaped so many perils, how he had developed such a distinct aptitude for survival even as he despised life with such ferocity. For a long time, he had thought that his blood, his origins, were the cause of his fate. He was born a High Elf in the kingdom of Essawylor. It should have meant that a life of influence and power would open up before him. No such thing had ever come to be, for the blood of his mother flowed in his veins and he had always been considered a Night Elf by the elite in the kingdom of Five Rivers.

  A grim, tragic history had befallen House Dir Sana and, likewise, the fruit it had borne to the world of Elves. But Aewöl had never committed any crime, nor betrayed his brethren, nor caused any mischief. Nevertheless, he too had suffered the fate of his mother’s kin: ostracized and unwanted by other High Elves because of his ancestors’ deeds and reputation. His companions’ malevolent behaviour, their snobbery and hypocrisy, had gradually consumed him. His anger had grown and threatened to push him into darkness.

  But Aewöl was considered a talented alchemist, and a great caster of spells. He had taken refuge in his work as a scholar and earned the confidence of House Dol Lewin. Now that he was aware of his true heritage, he felt fortunate to have benefited from the protection of Roquendagor’s family. House Dol Lewin had helped him find his way. Aewöl looked at Gelros with compassion, his spirit rising a little.

  “Your attitude towards me has always shown great respect, a mysterious devotion.”

  “I have dedicated my life to your service,” Gelros confessed, “and every single one of my actions has been guided by the orders your mother gave me. Even now, as we speak, as this unjust condemnation separates us from our companions, my loyalty remains with you.”

  “And to think… I had always believed I was protecting the lonely Gelros, guiding him to excellence among House Dol Lewin,” Aewöl smiled. “I always thought you owed your achievements to me, and that you were dedicating your life to your benefactor’s service. But I see now I was mistaken. You have chosen a life of duty, Gelros.”

  “There was no other life available to me. I am a pure Night Elf, dedicated to my kin.”

  “Has it all been worth it?” Aewöl asked frankly.

  “Do not worry about me. I am not one of those who live in the past, consumed by regret. I do not care much for the turmoil of the mind. I worship no God; I am inhabited by no particular faith. I reckon I am closer to animal than to most Elves. I find happiness in the simplest of situations when I am communing peacefully with nature. I suppose that, now we are outcasts, I will come to enjoy many more of those blessed moments in the wilderness.”

  Aewöl and Gelros gazed out in wonder at the beautiful landscape of Nyn Ernaly. Between them and the Chanun Mountains, all seemed green and fertile. It was a large plain of rich meadows and fruitful orchards. As far as their eyes could see, trees collected in small groves, or immersed themselves in larger woods. Far away to their left, an abandoned wide road ran from the Chanun Mountains to join the northern range, and along it several dark shapes were hurrying.

  “I do not like the look of things. Unless my eyes deceive me, those are Men running along the old road” said Gelros, “if we go now, we might reach the borders of Mentolewin forest by nightfall,” he pressed.

  Aewöl had by now regained some measure of strength.

  “We will depart, do not worry! But before that,” he asked, “I want you to tell me what you know of my family: the truth that has been hidden from me until now.”

  Gelros initially refused, crying, “That would take so long! Our history goes back to the council of the elder kings, almost five millennia ago.”

  “Tell me what you know,” ordered Aewöl, now utterly insistent.

  His uncompromising stance demonstrated that he would not leave their hideout until he had learnt what he wanted.

  “I am no scholar,” Gelros winced. “My memory can hardly keep hold of details of those a
ncient times. What’s the use of it, anyway?”

  “Tell me what you remember,” repeated Aewöl with a softer voice.

  Gelros remained silent for a while, hesitant as ever. Finally, he nodded, understanding that his master would not change his mind. He might as well provide him with the knowledge he sought.

  “Your mother read me passages from the manuscript of Sana, the book which tells the history of the Night Elves. Long ago, along with the High Elves of the surviving royal houses, the Night Elves traversed the Anroch Desert. Finally, they reached the edges of the forest of Essawylor and were welcomed by the clans of the Blue Elves. The royal houses of the High Elves ultimately divided and waged war against each other during the war of Ruby and Diamond, until King Lormelin led the majority of the High Elves across the sea. Most Night Elves accompanied Lormelin the Conqueror, on his journey across the Austral Ocean. Only very few Night Elves remained behind in the kingdom of Essawylor and entered into active service under the sovereignty of Queen Aranaele. Egalmöl, the second son of Princess Sana, was counted among them.”

  “I know that name. Egalmöl was the first master of the Crystal College in Essawylor. If I remember correctly, my father was once his apprentice,” said Aewöl.