Bladeborn

by Clayton Schonberger

  Bladeborn asked Vingral, “They were on their way here to begin with? They are not all the belongings of the Elves of Foresti, who died when the Pyramid crashed?”

  Vingral replied, “Some were the personal items the Elves of Foresti. But the Kingdom of the Elves on Foresti is much more powerful than ours is here. Many of the items were meant to be given to us as a gift from the Foresti King, as I understand it. And those of our warriors who died on Foresti left ashes… these should be among your possessions.”

  “Your warriors were on Foresti?” Bladeborn said. “How did they get there, and why did they go.”

  Vingral struggled for words a bit, finally saying, “There was a time within the last one hundred fifty years that a battle for control of Kingship took place on the shores of the Pristine Lake. The Mother Tree was barren and near death, then… It was a time for change. Many of those who were…defeated by the victors…were sent to Foresti. They were banished to there by King Mahjulah’s father, who had led the rebels.”

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Bladeborn said, thinking that he had asked Vingral the wrong question. “If you don’t want to discuss it, it is all right.”

  Vingral said. “It was a dark time in our recent history. I must search for the words to explain the events… The knowledge of the events of our past is open to you. After Mahjulah’s father, King Klunajahan died, Mahjulah became our ruler, and since then, the greenery of the Mother Tree has returned and our land has prospered. “

  Bladeborn nodded in understanding. Bladeborn doubted there was any trace of necromancy among the people of the Mother Tree, as King Rosen had warned him about. From what he had seen there were no such evils among the Elves—they seemed to be a genuinely good people. He thought, perhaps, King Rosen’s fear of them was misplaced.

  As Bladeborn painstakingly began removing the items from his sack of endless space again, he asked, “How long was the trip between Foresti and here via the Pyramid?”

  “About six months, I was once told,” Vingral claimed. “It moves at a very high rate of speed in the space between the worlds, but our solar reach is vast. The void between Draconia and Foresti is millions of miles.”

  He hoped the Elves would not ask him for the sack of endless space itself… to him it was the item that seemed to be the most valuable of them all. But Vingral did not ask for it. The paintings and sculptures were among the first things Vingral bargained for, along with hundreds of gem-encrusted vials, which contained the ashes from the banished warriors who went to Foresti. These things were the last items that Bladeborn would have kept. Most of the other items the Elves wished to have repatriated to them were things Bladeborn didn’t raise an eyebrow about. But he wished to keep the weaponry and precious metals.

  Bladeborn claimed he didn’t expect the Elves to pay him anything at all for most of it, because it was theirs to begin with. All he asked for from the Elves in return for the items were the Elvin Longbows that he thought could help his army. When they realized that he wasn’t greedy, the esteem the Elves held for Bladeborn grew.

  Cataloging the items took days. Bladeborn was very interested in the meaning of each of the items, to Vingral’s great surprise and delight. Every so often, Mahjulah himself would join the two of them in their efforts, and they would discuss the finer points of Elvin art or history. The things Nightslayer had told Bladeborn of Elvin legends helped him to better understand their lore.

  “Nightslayer, why didn’t you tell me that the Elves were so noble?” Bladeborn thought to the Sword. “All I had to go on, other than your language lessons and brief anecdotes, was the warning of King Rosen. These Elves are peaceful and filled with the joy of life.”

  ~~It is not always so, Bladeborn. Every culture goes through various periods of growth and decay, and swings between joy and decadence. In the time of Eshumé, these same Elves were warlike, and they despised all but their own kind. You heard them refer to the bloody revolution King Mahjulah and his Father were involved in~~

  Bladeborn replied to Nightslayer, “It seems Mahjulah and I have that in common, although his revolution was successful, whereas the one I fought in at Fortress City was not.”

  ~~Do not assume so much, Bladeborn! You don’t know what is going on in Fortress City now, and you still know very little Elvin history!~~

  “So, you think I can still trust these Elves?” Bladeborn asked the Sword.

  ~~Right now, under the leadership of Mahjulah, the red sun Elves are as they seem—peaceful and welcoming. Make the most of it while you can. Learn from them, and make them your allies!~~

  Bladeborn was told that there was a legend about a Sword like Nightslayer in Elvin lore. They even had a name for the Blade, calling it “Starstrike.” Bladeborn asked Nightslayer if what he heard was true.

  ~~I do not remember ever being around too many Elves after the time of my coming here, Bladeborn~~

  “It is odd,” Mahjulah said. “the Sword—Starstrike—had a long history on the planet Foresti.…”

  ~~Odd indeed~~ Nightslayer said.

  Bladeborn was the first human to come to Elfland in almost two hundred years. He fit in quite seamlessly with them. He asked his hosts if they could find the time to give him instruction Elvin magic and metallurgy. He asked pointed questions of his educators and truly began to feel at ease in the gently swaying boughs of the Mother Tree.

  Every night there was a feast, where the finest food Bladeborn had ever tasted was served. The Elves took a great deal of pride and care preparing most delectable meals, spending much of their waking hours working on it. After feasts under the greenery of the Great Tree, they exchanged stories and drank fine wine, then went to sleep in their rooms within the tree, or in the thousands of tent-homes that surrounded it.

  The company Bladeborn kept during this time was also special. Elves of age and wisdom from all regions in red sun Elf Land wished to talk to Bladeborn about the rest of the world and his personal experiences and knowledge. They questioned him at length about the Rhinolon and how he had fought them.

  But each night, as Bladeborn fell asleep his thoughts always were with Deocarla. The Heartring still glowed, but for how much longer? He knew that he would have to cut his stay short.

  Bladeborn also worried about the humans of the Realms, Spe, and particularly King Rosen, who awaited his return. He had many concerns…Did the Silver Regiment lead the Rhinolon to his army? Had the Rhinolon legion starved last year? Were the other Five Valley Realms safe?

  As these concerns weighed heavily on him, Bladeborn got out of his bed and began to remove things from his sack of endless space.

  That morning, when Vingral arrived, Bladeborn told him, “Take all of this. I must go—very soon. My duties call me.”

  “You make me sad, and yet I understand. Mahjulah said it may happen. I will tell him your decision at lunch today, and we will try to hurry things along.”

  ~~He knows something he has not told you Bladeborn, Yet I cannot understand it~~

  “Tell me when you find out, Nightslayer,” Bladeborn said.

  After dinner that night, Bladeborn was summoned to an area outside the camp. Vingral led him on a long, slow walk into the Forest. They talked about Bladeborn’s past—his earliest memories, and what he knew of his parents.

  When there was a pause in the conversation with Vingral, Bladeborn thought to Nightslayer, “They must be planning something out here in the woods…”

  ~~No, Bladeborn. This is a sacred place. Something unique is about to happen~~

  Vingral left Bladeborn with Mahjulah, and several other, very old Elves.

  “There is to be a ceremony high above in the Elvin forest,” Mahjulah said, smiling gently. “Our elders are the participants selected for tonight. It will take place in a grove surrounded by thousand-year-old trees in the mountains.”

  “What is this ritual for?” Bladeborn asked.

  Mahjulah replied, “It is meant to reach the souls of the ancestors, and see into past lives. Come, we i
nvite you to participate.”

  The magical culture of the Elves had fascinated Bladeborn since he arrived, and he was enthusiastic to participate. “I would be honored to be included, Mahjulah,” Bladeborn said.

  An Elf Priest said, “We do this in memory of our ancestors, since their bones rest uneasily in the hands of the Rhinolon at the Necropolis. We Elves are close to all who have come before, and the memories of them carry us forward. For nothing ever truly disappears from the world… it only changes form. It is the nature of Essence.”

  Bladeborn and the elders climbed a long line of stairs set into the rocks in a pine-forested mountainside. The trees were of immense proportions…Bladeborn could see that, even in the limited light.

  They stopped to rest for a moment. Mahjulah said, “This sacred ritual is why the Five Wards are so valuable to us. Even the Elves of Foresti envy our ability to do this, for the ritual can take place only on Draconia. Although the Wards can no longer be used to control the Pyramid, they have a powerful function. I believe you will be the first outsider to take part in this ceremony, ever. A very old and venerated Elvin Priest of Arlen, the same priest who had the vision telling him that the Wards were being returned to us, spoke with me recently. We ruled that you are a ‘unique personage,’ so we will allow you to take part.”

  Bladeborn, slightly confused, continued going up the stairway with them. He and the chosen Elves walked the final miles through a place glowing with magical light.

  Mahjulah said prophetically to Bladeborn, “I think you will be surprised at what you will find here, Bladeborn. Welcome to the Grove of Eternity.”

  Bladeborn asked him to elaborate, but he would not. Trees with massive trunks extending upwards surrounded them, their lowest branches lost in the clouds. A white mist hung near the soft, mossy ground.

  The Elves and Bladeborn gathered in a circle, touching fingertips. The Five Wards were placed in a circle around them. They turned their faces upwards, and closed their eyes.

  The vision began in a place where the sun was YELLOW. It was a planet of red sand, and a nation that lived on a huge oasis beneath an outcropping of rock in a vast desert. Bladeborn’s vison focused on a thin Elf, dressed in finery that was gold, silver, and bright stones, sitting and deeply meditating. There were many other Elves of the same kind, with ruddy skin, rather than the pale skin of Mahjulah’s people, meditating at the foot of the leader-Elf.

  Bladeborn realized that HE was this leader-Elf in a past life. He was the King of the desert Elves, worshipers of the yellow sun, on a planet that could only have been Sand World, farther out in the solar reach from Draconia and Foresti. His people lived as he did, meditating in the oasis beneath the rock. There were thousands of Elves who were his subjects, and they, like him, chose to worship the yellow sun.

  In a way, Bladeborn felt proud to be so certain that in his past life he had been a noble King of Elves. Yet there was something about it that made him feel—ashamed!

  Somehow, he could feel himself die and be reborn. His dream was unlike any he had ever experienced. Three lives, he died and was reborn, each time as the same Elf King.

  In his first three lives as King of the Sand Elves he saw droughts that killed off many humans of Sand World.

  The human Kings of Sand World came to him, begging for his people to help them. But Bladeborn, in these past incarnations as King of desert Elves, told his people not to speak to them, not to show them their oasis or help them in any way. His orders were to ignore them.

  Having done nothing of value to the world, nothing to change it, the Judge of the Dead sent him BACK…

  So, he was reincarnated, life after life, in his same position, never to attain Heaven. Always, Bladeborn was sent back in the same position.

  What Bladeborn had heard from many sources during his current life was that to be allowed access to the Heavens by the Judge of the Dead, one had to make a difference in the world. In his life as a King, and in the orders that he gave as leader of his people, nearly their entire race had no effect on others, and no lasting effect on the universe of any kind. Bladeborn and his people followed on through, life after life, in one banal incarnation after the other. Thus, he was not being granted access to the Heavens upon his death.

  He saw Elves from the Elvin home world of Foresti, then other Elves from Draconia, come to Sand World on several occasions. They came through the void in their great, Flying Pyramid. They asked for assistance from their kin in the terrible wars against the Draconians, which all other races in the solar reach were contributing to. Yet Bladeborn, in the arrogance of his past life, did nothing. He ordered his people to ignore the cry for help.

  In Bladeborn’s next life as King of the Sand World’s culture, a disastrous war raged on Foresti, against the Darkling Trolls, an ancient race of Demons. Again, he did nothing. These wars were not simply fought by mortals. They were conflicts fought by the gods, also. Yet he did nothing, and ordered his people to follow his example.

  Then it dawned on him… perhaps somehow his people had hoped to “cheat death” so they could be sent back to their previous life on Sand World upon rebirth—as themselves. Could it be possible?

  Seventeen times he was reborn. This truth seemed shocking to him, a moment of deep clarity. Bladeborn had always wondered about the blessings the gods had given him. It was made clearer now.

  His soul was indeed a mighty one: for 17,000 years it had gone on, never reaching the afterlife, never touching the infinite. During that time, perhaps the gods had gifted him with rewards in hopes that he would lead the Sand World Elves to a different life—to change things for his people or for the people of a different land. But it had never happened, and when the water dried up at the oasis beneath the rocky overhang, ALL his people had no hope. Every one of them DIED.

  For this, perhaps, Bladeborn’s soul had been sent to the lowest floors of Fortress City…a place where the sun never shined. He felt it was his destiny to be a sacrifice for Zipzorag…But he had survived…

  * * *

  The vision was ended. Now returned to reality, Bladeborn looked around, seeing unbridled joy on the faces of Mahjulah and the other Elves assembled in the grove. They all seemed to be basking in energy from a wonderful, soulful trance.

  Yet Bladeborn felt welling up inside him a terrible, rueful force, and he uttered an outcry heard all the way back at the Great Tree.

  “WHY!” Bladeborn blurted out, a sound driven by inner pain. It was like he asked his past incarnations as the Elf King of Sand World how he could have failed to help other nations when they needed it.

  Alarmed, Mahjulah asked, “What did you see, Bladeborn? It has… disturbed you?”

  Bladeborn said, “Yes… good King Mahjulah… please, it was very difficult…”

  “Can you describe it to us?” Mahjulah said.

  “I was on Sand World…Many lifetimes ago…” Bladeborn sighed.

  Mahjulah took Bladeborn’s hand and said, “Not everyone sees something they wish for in the Grove of Eternity, young human. I am…sorry. Come, let us return to the Mother Tree.”

  The morning after the ritual in the Grove of Eternity, Bladeborn attempted to learn about Sand World from Vingral and the Elf wise men of the camp. Vingral knew only a little about the planet.

  “There is nothing there, Bladeborn,” Vingral said. “It is a barren rock, once teeming with life, now empty. All races that lived there are long gone or forgotten. Once Elves were there, but there are few records. I know little else…”

  That day, Bladeborn made use of maps Elven cartographers had of Draconia. The map of the red sun side showed that the wasteland North of the Spiral Mountains was incredibly vast. He knew there would be no way for the people of the Valleys to cross it without most of them dying.

  He also found a key chart—one made hundreds of years earlier by the Foresti Elves when the Pyramid City still flew. It was of the yellow sun side of Draconia, and it showed many small human kingdoms on one central land mass. Th
ere were many notations in Elvish which Vingral translated.

  “Apparently, there are three land masses and thousands of islands on the yellow sun side,” Vingral said. “There are notations saying the central land mass has warring human states. It also speaks of a lost Kingdom of Elves—those in a place called ‘Glacierland.’”

  “Could your cartographers make a copy of this map for me, Vingral?” Bladeborn asked.

  “Absolutely, Bladeborn. I’ll set them to work on it today.”

  Bladeborn would go very soon, and so he was entrusted with the precious Dwarven map pages.

  Mahjulah handed them over, and said, “These are writings of great power. Be cautious with them.”

  He tried to read them, but their notations were in the Dwarven language. The writing one each page changed as they were spun about and folded.

  Bladeborn believed that the people of the Valleys could flee into the center of Draconia and travel to the human-ruled yellow-sun side. Bladeborn hoped that King Vimtan would keep his word and send clerics with them to translate the maps. Once on the other side, he would buy the people of the Valleys a plot of land on which to start anew.

  Bladeborn finally asked if he could be teleported to back to the dormant volcano where he had left the Spe.

  “I know of your responsibilities, Bladeborn,” Mahjulah said. “Know that you will always have a home here.”

  The magic involved in each teleportation spell was very complex, but the scroll for it was already prepared, so Bladeborn would leave right away.

  Thus, along with the Elf Wizard who had inscribed the necessary scrolls involved, Bladeborn was returned to the dragon’s side via teleportation. Spe was sleeping beneath the lip of the extinct volcano’s crater, out of the red sun’s light. The dragon saw Bladeborn approach, and seemed to smile.