by Rex Hazelton
The guests cheered their approval and returned the shout, “Inheritor!”
Exhausted, the young Woodswane sat in his chair and watched the banquet regain its momentum. But before he had time to calm down, a Candle Maker approached him. “Illumanor desires a meeting with you. Will you come?”
The Master Candle Maker's revered name turned Jeaf's thoughts to the light blue candle his mother had given him, a candle he knew was somehow tied to his own life and, if he were to know it, a candle that would soon shine light on the destiny awaiting him.
One task is done. Now it is time to complete the other, Jeaf told himself.
Returning to his room, he had his escort wait outside while he changed back into his Woodswane clothes and collected the pack that held the gift his mother had asked him to present to the Candle Master. Not long afterwards, the two men were standing before the heavy doors leading to the School of the Candle. While his escort continued knocking, the young Woodswane smiled realizing these were the same doors his father stood before on the day he demanded to see Elamor.
Relishing the memory of his father's story, he hoped something good would be waiting inside for him, as well.
Chapter 6: The Master Candle Maker
The young Woodswane's guide stood at the door leading to the Candle Maker's counsel chamber. Hands folded and head bowed in patient contemplation, he waited for his master's arrival. Jeaf was impressed by the discipline he displayed. Though the man knew he was Elamor's son, and that he had come with a gift for the Eagle King, he did not try to pry out any information for himself.
As Jeaf waited, he looked about the room laying beyond the open doorway. It was austere. Yet, the stonework was done in an eye pleasing mode as highly polished as the other buildings in the Eyrie of the Eagle. Cleanliness, which spoke of how the Candle Makers were given to detail, was in evidence. An eclectic collection of books and scrolls, sitting on shelves protruding from one of the longer walls, revealed the scope of their quest for knowledge. On the opposite wall, a long table, whose top was covered with glowing candles, paralleled the impressive array of literature.
With the stories his mother had told him about the school coming to mind, Jeaf was soon submerged in the awe he always felt each time Elamor recited this place's historical litany. This was no less than the fabled School of the Candle and home of Nyeg Warl's beloved priesthood, a priesthood that dispensed hope and health to all who dwelt under the shadow of its benevolent wings.
Blessed with an inimitable connection with the Warl's Magic, the Candle Makers likened this union to a wick, a thing living in two places at one time. While anchored in the candle's waxy form, the wick protrudes outward into the surrounding firmament. Likewise, rooted in the mystery of he Warl's Magic, the Candle Makers viewed themselves as those who helped make its glory manifest. By all his mother had told him- and a thing many others believed- Jeaf had learned Nyeg Warl's fate might well lie in the hands of these kindly wizards, these servants of the light.
Jeaf was just about to strike up a conversation with his companion when he noticed how the Candle Maker's posture changed. Assuming a more formal stance, he turned his head, first to the young Woodswane and then, once again, down the hallway leading to the room. Then bowing his head, he intoned, “Master.”
As Illumanor swept into the council chamber, he spoke to Jeaf's guide. “Thank you Rawn for the service you have provided me this evening. Now go and leave us alone.”
Illumanor didn't look as old as Jeaf had anticipated. Appearing to be his own height, and only slightly heavier, the impressive figure of a man wore the traditional Candle Maker robe: it was all white, except for a red and golden hood- woven to look like fire- draping across his back, revealing his closely cropped gray hair. One sideburn, growing long enough to reach his chest, was braided. An impressive golden medallion, hanging from his neck, was the only thing Jeaf thought might reveal his rank.
Illumanor's fluid movements carried him over to a tall chair where he sat down before a heavy oak table. Motioning for the young Woodswane to join him, the two were soon studying each other.
Jeaf's brow furrowed as he reached out with his Powers of Intuition, probing, searching in an attempt to size up his host. I sense deep waters residing in this man. Yet, they are not calm. The feeling that something troubling would soon emerge from the unfathomable depths of the Candle Maker's soul, pressed itself on the young Woodswane's thoughts.
“Tell me, Elamor's son, why have you asked to see me?”
Responding to the question, Jeaf removed a package from the pouch he carried, the same package his mother had asked him to give to Illumanor.The Master Candle Maker took the parcel out of the young Woodswane's hand, unwrapped it, and placed the ornate blue candle upon the oak table sitting between them. Illumanor nodded knowingly as he gracefully waved his long fingers above the candle; a clean flame, blue and orange in color, exploded from its wick. Rising from his simply-crafted chair, he went over to the table covered with candles and extinguished their fire with another wave of his hand. This left a single flame- sitting on top of the large blue candle- as the room's only source of illumination. Pulsating seductively, it danced atop its paraffin perch, filling the chamber with a mystical undulating light, a light whose flame, imitating a fiery finger, beckoned Jeaf forward.
Looking past Illumanor, as he went about the room, the young Woodswane watched a shadowy processional swaying about on the wall behind him, one mimicking the Master Candle Maker's movements. Then lowering his eyes, focusing on the solitary flame that cast the ethereal menagerie upon the polished stone, the young Woodswane's pupils adjusted to the change of light, and as they did, his Power's of Intuition caught sight of a shadow pushing upward against the surface of the vast reservoir of accumulated knowledge and experience he sensed was stored within the Master Candle Maker's soul.
Indeed, he is a man of wisdom, Jeaf surmised. I sense this strongly. And, I think I would like him, if it weren't for those things I can't see in him, things that trouble me.
Gathering his robe about himself as he returned to his chair, Illumanor posed another question. “What do you know about this candle?”
The young Woodswane anxiously wiped his forehead. “Nothing really, other than for as long as I can remember it sat unlit in the corner of our home... At times, I'd ask my mother about it. But she would only say, 'Not now Jeaf. You must have patience. One day, you'll be told all.' When she asked me to bring it to you, I again inquired about it, thinking, at long last, she would explain it to me. But again, I was put off by being told the answers I sought would be found here, in the School of the Candle.”
Pleased by what he had heard, the Master Candle Maker continued his examination. “Tell me, Elamor's son, did she give you any clue about what prompted her to send you on this errand?”
Feeling the shadow that lurked in Illumanor's mind trying to push its way into his own, Jeaf pondered whether he should be making a retreat. But at that exact moment, his mother's thoughts reached out and spoke to him, soothingly. Be calm, My Son.
Elamor's voice, moving through his mind, startled Jeaf. Could she be listening to our conversation? This made the young Woodswane wonder about those things he didn't know about his mother. Does she, regardless of the many leagues separating us, have the power to hear us?
Then a subtle movement caught his eye. The tiny blue and orange flame, sitting atop the solitary candle, seemed to be leaning toward him like it was trying to hear what he was thinking. This conjured up a strange notion. Is she listening to us through the flickering flame? Does it have the power to link her mind with those who look upon its light?
As Jeaf mulled over this mystery, Elamor again reached out of the flame to cajole his troubled spirit. Do not fear this man. Listen to him. He is the key that will unlock the door to the secrets you need to know.
This time, the young Woodswane was not taken off guard. But mother, something troubling hides within him! Jeaf's inner voice replied.
&
nbsp; As he passed these thoughts on to his mother, Jeaf realized Illumanor couldn't hear the conversation he was having with her. His Powers of Intuition told him this. They also told him his mother must have placed an enchantment on the candle, so she could be close to her son at such an important time.
Yes, I can feel it pressing against your mind. Elamor's words remained resolute. But it's nothing that should concern you so much you won't listen him. Please… do what Illumanor asks!
Comforted by his mother's presence, Jeaf explained to Illumanor, “I think she sent me on this errand because of a dream I had.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
Go ahead, tell him all, Elamor said spicing her thoughts with a good measure of urgency.
Puzzled by the Master Candle Maker's interest in his fickle dream, the young Woodswane consented. Explaining how he had fallen asleep on the roof of his home while his mother was cooking the noon meal, he described the dirt hill and the odious creatures living within. He was careful to explain the various emotions he felt throughout his experience. Elamor's training had taught him that these things sometimes contained meaningful information.
Once he heard about the ruby encrusted crown and the voice that had spoken to Jeaf, the Master Candle Maker nervously adjusted himself in his seat, and as he did, the young Woodswane felt Illumanor's mind reach into his own- but not to probe as he had suspected. Instead, Jeaf sensed that he was trying to place suggestions into his mind, suggestions compelling him to ask the great man to become his mentor, so he could explain his dream and other mysteries to him.
At last, what has been hidden is now revealed! This man has vested interests in the things I have said, and because of this he seeks to control me.
Perplexed, Jeaf began to wonder whether his mother knew this would happen. Do you want me to stand in the ranks of the Candle Makers? He asked his thought question, looking directly at the wavering flame as he did.
I adjure you, don't stop now, is all Elamor said in reply.
When Illumanor heard how Jeaf's mother believed the Singer was the one who had spoken to him in his dream, he nodded his head in agreement. No longer able to restrain himself, the Master Candle Maker blurted out, “Throughout all of this, you didn't see a ruby hammer that was the crown's match?”
Illumanor's question reminded the young Woodswane about the vision he had while the bard sang in the Great Hall of the Eagle King. Not being able to entirely resist the Master Candle Maker's magic, he told him about this as well. Seeing that he showed such intense interest, Jeaf gave as many details as he could remember, especially those parts dealing with the ruby-adorned hammer.
The scene where the fireball blasted the hammer from the young Woodswane's hand appeared to disturb Illumanor. Upon hearing this, he stood up and began pacing through the room. His flowing gate, passing through the flickering light cast by the single flame, made him look like one of the forest spirits Jeaf had heard about as a child.
Finally, the young Woodswane asked, “Sir, what does this all mean?”
Illumanor continued pacing for awhile longer, but eventually returned to his seat and looked across the candle's flame at Jeaf. “Do you know about the Prophecy of the Candle Maker and the Forger of Steel?”
“No Sir, I don't.”
“Few do,” Illumanor quietly replied while caught up in a moment of reflection.
Clearing his throught as he retreated from his reverie, he leaned closer to the candle's flame as he began to explain. “In the prophecies of the Hammer Bearer there is an obscure passage about a Candle Maker and a Forger of Steel. I dare say, even the Order of the Candle Makers would have overlooked it if the words Candle Maker were not included in it. This is what it says.
Hammer and tongs will one day appear,
To seal the breach and cast out fear.
The maker of candles and the forger of steel,
Will one day marry and the wound will heal.
A burning coal will burst out of the flames,
To set a fire on the wind-swept plains.
A song will be sung and a voice will have spoken,
And the age of darkness beneath it be broken.
Hammer and tongs, sword and song,
A prophetess will sing and right every wrong.
Tongs and hammer, song and sword,
Across the river to Parm Warl they'll ford.
“Jeaf, we believe that the maker of candles will be one of our own, one who will wed a blacksmith or forger of steel. Then once married, the two will give birth to the Hammer Bearer, he who is destined to usher in the Age of Parm Warl.”
The Master Candle Maker paused. Then he nodded his head like teachers do when prodding a student to come to the conclusion their lesson had intended them to reach. This made Jeaf uncomfortable.
Seeing the look of consternation crossing the young Woodswane's face, Illumanor continued. “Son, your mother is one of our Order and your father is a forger of steel. Neither of them was aware of this prophecy until after your birth, not until I came to your forest home.”
The Candle Master looked upward like he was gazing past the ceiling as he added, “The moon was in its fullness the night I gave them the very candle that burns between us. It was then that I explained the prophecy to your parents and told them of our hopes.” Placing his hand on Jeaf's shoulder as he reached past the candle's flame, Illumanor spoke with a voice filled with quiet confidence. “You see… your dream and vision only verify our assumption.”
Inhaling deeply, as if he was enjoying the fragrance of a bouquet of freshly cut flowers, the Master Candle Maker lifted his hand off Jeaf's shoulder and reached for the large golden medallion resting upon his chest. Clutching this, he said, “If our interpretation of the prophecies is correct, and if our assessment of the times and seasons are right, you will become the Hammer Bearer.”
When Illumanor's eye shut, a flood of imploring thoughts rushed out. You must join us, Elamor's child! For this you were destined. For this you were born. Your mother knows this to be the truth. That's why she sent you to me. Turn to no other, for we of the School of the Candle will groom you for the tasks that lay ahead of you.
“Me… the Hammer Bearer? No!” Jeaf blurted out. “I'm but a Woodswane who has little knowledge of the affairs of kingdoms and the people of Nyeg Warl.”
You underestimate yourself, young Oakenfel. I've heard of the wisdom you displayed in abating the king's anger over your father's letter. Not many young men can just step out of the forest and pull off something like that.
Illumanor sat back in his chair, opened his eyes, and let out a long breath of air. “When or where the Warl's Magic will bestow the mantle of Hammer Bearer on you, I can't say. But the recent events would indicate things are stirring; the boulder, so to speak, is already rolling down the hill.”
“If this is true, what am I to do?” As soon as he asked his question, Jeaf regretted asking it, knowing Illumanor's magic had compelled him to do so.
The Master Candle Maker lowered his head while considering his response. “Did you ask for either the dream or the vision?” Then lifting his head back up and looking Jeaf square in in the eyes, he answered his won question, “No! They asked for you! So, for now I would simply add, keep your heart pure and I believe one day soon you will see the hammer.”
His words sound good. Good water. Deep water. But something running contrary to his advice swims in the pool, something duplicitous and self-serving, I think.
Lifting his hand, pointing his graceful finger at the young Woodswane, Illumanor's demeanor changed, becoming sterner. “BUT BEWARE!” The candle's flame lengthened, reaching above the Master Candle Master's head, responding to his magic. “In your vision, you lost the hammer. If you allow us to train you, I believe this won't happen. You see, oft times, dreams and visions tell us about things that may be. They serve as invitations; act as doorways of opportunity. How things really turn out depends on the choices we make, and we here at the School of the Candle
will help you choose well.”
Assuming a more formal posture, Illumanor continued. “As Elamor's son, you are a child of a Candle Maker. That makes you important to our order. Since we believe the Hammer Bearer will become the greatest Candle Maker of all, he must embrace our teachings and spread them across the Warls.” Stay Jeaf! You must become one of us! “If you are destined to be our greatest light, it will be necessary for you to join us as soon as possible so we may guide your steps to assure they will not slip or go astray.”
Son, heed his word, Elamor's thoughts cut into Jeaf's mind like they were a well aimed arrow.
But mother, I sense he's not really interested in me as much as he's concerned about those things that I can add to the order he rules. Somehow, I think this is wrong.
Silence followed, and in that silence, the flame tilted toward Illumanor, then back to Jeaf. Repeating this movement several more times, the flame finally leaned closer to the young Woodswane and disseminated Elamor's thoughts once again. Son, I can't fully understand what's troubling you. But if this is what you think, then so be it. Follow your own heart. If you do, all that should come to pass, will.
A sharp rap at the door cut Illumanor's words off. Responding to this intrusion, the Master Candle Maker blew a blast of air toward the host of candles that stood upon the nearby table top looking like an army of soldiers patiently waiting for orders. As quick as a man snaps his fingers together, they burst into flame. Then turning to the light blue candle, he extinguished its fire- and Elamor's presence with it- before placing it back in Jeaf's pouch.