But she did not seem ready to explain herself, only continued smiling at him in tired contentment.
After a few moments, he gathered her hands up in his and gave them a small squeeze. “I’ll…I will try.”
oOo
“Errance is getting crowned king!” Tellie chanted, dancing around Kelm in a circle.
“Like nobody knows,” Kelm groaned.
“Tellie, hold still, the flowers are falling out of your hair. There, that’s better,” Casara said, reaching out and rearranging a bright starflower.
“You are such a mother,” Kelm said, glancing at the woman with a teasing grin.
“Feeling left out?” Casara said with a raised eyebrow and smile. She reached out, catching the boy before he could run and straightened his collar. She cast a final look over both of them, nodded in approval, and led the way out the passage into the grand throne room.
Swallowing hard, Tellie folded her hands and followed after, trying her hardest to stay straight and exude elegance. Except elegance didn’t exude, drat, it simply was—like an aura.
They stepped out onto the high dais overlooking the grand hall which was already filled with a colorful crowd, blending in a blur voices and laughter. Sheer banners and lush vinery hung from the white pillars and walls all the way down to the far end where the tall double doors were framed by live trees.
From this height, Tellie could see most of the gathering, and she was glad that many faces were already becoming familiar to her. There were those healers who had tended all the hurts of the prisoners. The priest who’d welcomed her so warmly. And there was the old miner, already looking not so old, bashfully holding conversation with a few friendly elves. Her wandering gaze caught on a scowl, and while she hardly could be the reason which had that auburn-haired elf scowling, she suddenly become aware that here on the dais, everyone else had just as good a view of her. Her silly, awkward self.
“Don’t be daunted, you are beautiful,” Tryss said softly from across the way.
There was something comforting about being complimented by someone who knew what it meant to be beautiful. Tryss, swathed in a pale blue dress with her hair unbound, surely had no reason to fear fitting in with the surrounding splendor.
“And what about me?” The Daisha asked primly from where she lay on the dais, her head arching above Tryss’s shoulder. “Don’t I look elegant?”
“Very,” Tellie answered. She winced and placed a hand over her stomach.
“Don’t get sick,” Kelm told her, taking his place beside her. “It’s not like this is your coronation.”
“I’m having sympathy pain,” Tellie snapped. “Augh, I hope he doesn’t take much longer.”
Coren chuckled, and she looked up to where he stood with Zizain on the second level of the dais opposite his mother. “You’ll have to be patient,” he said. “Leoren will do his best not to keep everyone waiting, but you know Errance will drag it out as long as he can.”
“He should just get it over with,” Tellie mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other. She fixed her gaze on the passageway in the wall opposite her at the bottom of the dais where Errance and Leoren would be appearing at any moment. She’d originally thought it would be more exciting and poetic if he walked down the entire hall through the crowd, but now she agreed that would be far too nerve-wracking.
A long silver note of a trumpet rang out, slowly joined by several more, till the great hall was silenced by the sound. The Aselvian guard filed out of the hall first and spread out at the bottom of the dais, their spears strung with banners. Then came Lord Leoren, radiant in white robes. He walked up the steps of the platform and stood before the throne, turning to face the multitude.
Every eye turned to the shadowed doorway, every breath held in baited anticipation. And Errance stepped out into the hall.
His long, fitted coat could have been swept from the fabric of a night sky, all midnight blue and glittering. A shining white cloak clasped to his shoulder, falling in drapes behind him and then catching again at his hip.
Without a glance behind him or to his right or left, he stepped forward and began the ascent of the stairs. No measure of practice or patience could have given one the grace and presence of one who belonged on those steps. One whose heritage and destiny waited before them.
And yet, as Errance drew near, Tellie saw the pallor of his face and the way his hands clenched, almost hidden by the length of his sleeves. Briefly, his hard gaze flickered to Tellie, and she smiled from ear to ear in an effort to ease the fear. It seemed to work, his shoulders relaxed a little anyway.
He reached the top of the stair, but instead of bowing on one knee before Leoren, he turned and faced the people.
For a tense, lingering moment, he simply stood there, and they waited in suspended silence. Then he cleared his throat and lifted his eyes to meet every gaze in the hall.
“I stand before you a stranger. Perhaps there were those who used to know me, and those whom I used to know. Perhaps the years since that time have passed more swiftly for you than they have for me. When I lived here, I did so in innocence but also in ignorance. I did not understand the history of this land’s devastation or the power behind its rebirth. But now I know devastation, and I hope I will come to know the same redeeming grace that runs through your blood and the water of this earth. I see courage and strength that dares to defy the darkness of the world. One that has looked to me and found…worth.” He closed his eyes. “I am afraid I am not what you deserve. But with the grace that has been offered me, perhaps I too can rise and become a leader like my father before me. Everything I have been given, I promise to give to you.”
He turned and knelt before Lord Leoren.
At Casara’s nod, Tellie hurried up to the top to join them. As she looked down at Errance, the elegant little speech she’d written up completely flew from her mind. “Rendar told me to give this to the next king of Aselvia,” she said. “And I’m awfully glad it’s you.” She raised the moon medallion and slipped it over his head. And then, before she could stop herself, she ducked down and kissed him on the cheek.
Blushing bright red at the chuckles filling the hall, she hurried down to her place. Kelm crossed his eyes at her, and she pinched his arm. Quite possibly, she thought with a stab of regret, she’d gone over Errance’s boundaries. But when she glanced up, she could see the elf trying to hide something that looked very much like an amused smirk.
Leoren turned and took the crown from Casara’s hands. Its craft was like no other: three crescent moons arching like bridges over the back and top of the head, shooting stars sweeping back from the brow and temple. “Errance Celestrum, son of Rendar and Cerene Celestrum, heir to the throne of Aselvia, last of the Celestial blood on this Lower World, redeemed by the One…I now declare you king of Aselvia.” He lifted the crown, the light reflecting off its silver surfaces with stunning brilliance, and set it down upon Errance’s dark hair.
The assembly erupted into cheers of adoration and excitement. The air was filled with the choir of their voices, the silver ringing of bells, and the toss of flower petals. Tellie took Kelm’s hand, swinging it back and forth, and ran across to hug Tryss and The Daisha, who flapped her wings and trumpeted to the rooftop.
The world was filled to the brim with full, happy hearts all joined together in celebration, and it was in those moments that heaven came so much closer.
And out over Aselvia the sun descended behind the mountains and the stars began to shine through the rosy veil.
It was late into the night, but the celebrations continued long after the feasting. Songs rose to the rooftops and ancient tales were told anew, mesmerizing all over again no matter if heard for the first or hundredth time.
When Errance slipped away from the sight of his people, he left in the company of his aunt and uncle, and few noticed their quiet exit. As they went deeper into the heart of the palace, the sounds of gaiety faded away into a calm serenity. Not even the whisper of turning le
aves or the sparkle of water stirred the silence of those halls. Even footsteps were quiet and muted.
At last, the small company of the king halted at the end of the dark passage. There a door waited and every shadow receded under the gentle light haloing the door’s surface.
“May you find comfort,” Casara said, touching his arm in hesitant affection. “Your father and mother always found it a haven of rest and renewing.”
“We will leave you to your solace,” Leoren said at length when no response came. He took his wife’s arm, and together they slipped away, leaving the new young king quite by himself.
Errance had come to this door many times throughout his childhood. Either just to gaze and wonder and dream, or to sit and wait and sulk until his father’s return. He never saw his father use his inner light much, but the shimmering shield across the door was one example of its power. His father’s light had not crafted like others of his kind, but was a tool of warfare, for defense, for attack, and for healing…and this shield only suffered those who carried the light within them to pass through.
He’d never been allowed to go in, his father gently telling him it would not be wise until he was older.
Standing there alone, he could hear the ghosts of long gone voices still echoing in the hall. “This summer, when you come of age…would you like to come in with me to read it?”
“I…don’t know, Daava.”
His father had stared at him, unable to believe what he’d heard. When he spoke again, there was no hiding the hurt. “Errance…I thought you were waiting for this.”
“I’m sorry, I know…I was. But…I was hoping you might let me travel out into Orim as my gift for coming of age.”
There was a long and sad silence.
“Oh…I see.”
Errance released his breath in a shuddering swell. “I’m here now, Daava,” he whispered. He reached out, grasped the handle, and opened the door.
He looked into a small haven of well-loved and well-worn comfort and beauty. A window high above let in a prism of light, resting on a couch covered in pillows with a blanket thrown over the side. A stand of burned candles stood beside it, and before it was a low table upon which rested a book, an empty glass, and a plate with a stale piece of bread.
Errance stared, entranced. His father’s chambers had been well cleaned by servants before he’d ever arrived, so while memories of his father had still lingered, it was still so…organized. But this. This was left exactly as it had been. Lived in. Prayed in.
His feet made no sound on either the cold, marble floor or the soft, dusty carpet. He sank onto the couch and stared down at the book on the table. Or rather he stared at what was on top of it. An envelope. He slit it open with his finger and startled as two cold rings dropped into his hand. He lifted them into the shaft of moonlight for better inspection, and his heart clenched so hard it hurt.
The rings of his father and mother. One wide, elegant, and strong, the other delicate and immensely complex. His father had left them here for him instead of taking them beneath root and soil.
Holding them tight in one hand, he turned to the letter inside the envelope.
My dear son, I can only hope you read this someday. I know that will mean you are saved, in all ways. I wish I could have been there to share this moment with you, but I share this instead. Through my brightest and darkest days, I have come here. To think, to pray, even sleep. And the book you are about to read has always helped comfort and counsel me. Or rather not the book, but the person who writes from the other side. I have not told you of them before, for I did not think you would understand the separation. Perhaps I was wrong to wait. But I hope now that you will come to love them as I did, and find the same comfort and joy.
You are forever in my heart.
Errance read it over a few more times, and then he did what he’d been dreading for so many long years. He looked down at the book.
He looked upon the Moonscript.
To be sure, it was no ordinary book. It was made by the same unknown craft as the moon medallion, and he remembered something about his father saying the artisan had been one and the same. The cover was intricately woven of a substance not quite cloth, leather, or metal. The pages glowed faintly at the edges.
When he opened it, the pages appeared blank at first, but then they came to life under his eyes in a bright script that faded to blue ink. He fluttered through the pages to see how many were written in, and a sudden realization tilted his reality. The pages were infinite. He could turn as many pages as he liked and neither amount on either side seemed to change.
It was too much to consider, so he kept flipping the pages, noticing the exchanging handwriting. One was his father’s, the other unknown. He wanted to read them all, but that could take…well, years, since his father had lived so long. But he most wished to see whatever had last been left, and so he came to the first blank page. He turned back to see the last letter written.
The hand belonged to the stranger. His heart stood still.
Errance, it began. My beloved nephew…
41
oOo
The sky above the land of Aselvia was filled with a splendor of stars, more magnificent here than from any view in all Orim. Perhaps the beauty of it came from a blessing of the celestials or perhaps the stars themselves understood the significance of this night.
Tellie wandered out onto an open and lonely terrace, glad for a cool wind that washed through her gown and across her skin. She was flushed from the dance and becoming a bit dizzy with the exhaustion of staying up too late. Here in the open air, surrounded above and beyond by beauty, she began to understand how elves found their rest and sustaining endurance. This quiet under a sparkling night was a balm to the soul, a place where one could go alone and find—
Only she wasn’t alone.
She started to back away so as not to interrupt, before recognizing the face in the candlelight that stretched out from the distant hall. “Oh,” she said. “Do you mind if I stay?”
Errance shrugged. “I don’t suppose I can refuse since you’re officially my cousin now.”
She eagerly sat beside him and nudged his shoulder. “Just like Coren.”
“Which makes him your brother, I suppose,” Errance said, tilting his head into his hand. “And I hear Zizain is to become family as well. Quite the odd bunch we’re becoming.”
“And then there’s Tryss,” Tellie said.
He pulled back rather sharply. “What about her?”
“Well, she’s moving into the forest, so close by. I’m awfully glad she came along. She’s very pretty. And very sweet.”
He looked down at her, face blank in the shadows. “Cousin, ha,” he said with a small smirk in his voice. “You’re much more suited to the role of a scheming little sister.”
With a nervous laugh and swing of her legs, she gripped the sides of the bench and managed, “Would you mind? If I was like your little sister? Not scheming? Well, not always scheming.”
He did not answer at first, perhaps taken aback. “I don’t suppose I would.” He paused. “And anyway, it would be an honor to have a powerful Walker of the Unseen as a sister.”
She muffled a small cry behind the hand she flung across her mouth. “Who told you that?”
“Mm, someone like my father and the Creator of worlds.”
“You met them!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “I knew you must have met the One, but your father as well? Oh, Errance!”
“He spoke quite highly of you.”
Heart hammering, she looked at the ground. “I never thought you’d know,” she murmured. “About me, that is.”
“I suppose I knew all along. Or rather had a vague impression that someone was fighting battles for me.”
In a supreme effort to remain humble, she said, “Well, I’m sure it was mostly your father. I can still hardly believe I was chosen for that role.”
“Says she whose days were known before they began, who faced Da
rkness alongside an elven king of old in an effort to rescue a soul lost to the shadows,” he remarked dryly.
“You almost sound like a proper elf there,” she parried, before wondering if that was an insensitive jest.
“Why, thank you,” was his only reply. He said no more for the next several moments and in that quiet only a waterfall could be heard rushing down a wall and an undulating trill of a bird sweeping through the night.
“What I can’t believe,” he said, voice low as he began again, “is that I should be saved after all these years. I who had accepted Darkness even as I strove to fight him. How is it that even after all this time I could be saved and given the chance to read the Moonscript in freedom?”
Tellie gasped, whirling towards him in amazement. “You read the Moonscript?”
“Only the most recent entry.” In the faint light, his eyes filled with tears. “It was a letter,” he said. “A letter to me. From my uncle. An uncle I never knew I had. My father’s brother.”
“You never knew?” she whispered, eyes rounding. “Why not?”
“It was always painful for Daava to speak of the past. And he hesitated glorifying the celestial realm lest I try to seek it and endanger it in my reckless, foolish youth.”
It made a little sense, in a painful way. She couldn’t even imagine the feeling of discovering one had a hitherto unknown relative. “What was his name?”
“Erran.”
“Oh,” she breathed, clasping her hands together. “Oh, Errance. How wonderful…your namesake…”
His words were thick with tears. “He wrote to me with wisdom I am still trying to comprehend. And he thanked me, Tellie. Me, who bitterly had resented them as naïve and uncaring of my suffering, who had even blamed them as the cause! I am such a fool!” He buried his face into his hands, elbows braced against knees.
Tellie sat frozen, unsure of how much to comfort in the face of this unhidden emotion. A slight rustle of wings drew her attention to the balcony railing where the magpie landed and gave them a curious look. “Well,” she said slowly. “I think we all have an inner fool. In the same way, I guess we all have a chance for forgiveness.”
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 47