Chapter 1
The Desert of Aguah
Across the sparkling Enchanted Sea sailed a gray ship whose
white sails shone like flames of pure light. Its stature and beauty was far too
great and seldom seen by the eyes of mortals. Beautiful and sad were those who
sailed upon it, bright were their eyes and their locks of silver and gold long.
The company was of elves who belonged to an ancient kin known as the Erathiel.
They were greatly known in their lands as elf-warriors of quick judgment and,
as many of the elven kind, wise and long lived. It was only when the first
lights of evening were being gently kindled upon the land that the ship came to
the harbor; grand but overlooked by those who built it. Who had built the
harbor was a complete mystery for those who sailed and arrived at its care. It
had been heard that near the ends of the world there was a new land, wild and
untamed, so surely it must have inhabitants, they thought. Many had braved the
sea’s might and perished seeking for this new land for a promise of a brighter
path, but there were always some that the Lord of the Sea found worthy and
allowed to pass, almost always at a price. The Erathiel were skilled sailors,
but the journey had been rough and the Lord of the Sea had claimed more than
one life.
On the mast of the ship sat a silver bird who scouted above
and below—its eyes were a penetrating black. It surveyed the land without
movement but with the patience that only those of many lifetimes show; a symbol
of beauty and stealth. Two elves cloaked in gray, each with a thin rope in
their hands, tied one end to the ship and the other to the harbor. To the
untrained eye the rope might seem easy to cut or break, but having been made
with the warrior hands of the Erathiel it could have survived a tempest. Their
eyes looked to the land they had come to and only confusion could be found in
those deep pools of light. The idea of this new land had not been of a deserted
one but of one where they could begin anew, where they could cultivate their
home once more. A significantly tall elf with the build of a warrior, dressed
in shades of grey and green, stepped onto the deck. His eyes fell on the two
that had tied the ship to the harbor and he thanked them with a gentle nod. His
name was Thinidiel, Lord of the Erathiel, keeper of their ancient ways. He had
led them into battle a thousand lifetimes and saved them from death just as
well. He had also led them on this voyage, this search for a new home, not to
wander or be lost at sea, but to search for what they had lost and needed to
have once more.
He looked to the mast where the silver bird kept watch and
like a swift cloud he came down and sat on Thinidiel’s shoulder—the bird’s
wings and its master’s hair the same bright silver light. He seemed to shrink
down to a more domesticated size as he sat on his master’s shoulder. “Silme,”
said Thinidiel gently to the bird as he pulled out from a hidden pocket a treat
to feed him. Silme gave a gentle bow before accepting the treat and remained on
Thinidiel’s shoulder. Thinidiel looked away from the ship to this new deserted
land and with slight disappointment spoke, “Far have we strayed from that which
we had hoped to find, my friend.” Silme looked into his eyes as if trying to
give him comfort, for it had not been a pleasant journey. Just as they had
thought it was near its end, they were struck by a terrible storm that took the
life of many Erathiel, for it had not been only one ship that had sailed to
find a new world but three. The wind and the waves, the lightning and rain, had
separated them. Some lost their lives before the ships had fallen, but some as
they were torn apart. More than one Erathiel questioned themselves as to why
the Lord of the Sea did not claim their lives and why it took their brothers
and sisters’ with such cruelty. He walked past his kin, greeting all with what
energy he could muster. At times he would look away into the sea with a glimmer
of hope in his silver eyes. It was choice that saved their lives and their
ship: the choice of the Erathiel and the choice of the Sea.
There were still many inside the ship, both elves and
animals, mainly horses, tamed wolves, and some hunting birds, and they all
descended while looking about the land, the vast and empty land. Alas, among
the animals arose a majestic white she-wolf, great in size and elegant with
each and every step it took, and behind it appeared two warrior elves, carrying
no cloak or jewel of any kind, though the fashion of their attire and the
confidence with which they carried themselves clearly reflected their heritage.
They were Beleg Camlhach and Beleg Valruin, princes amongst the
Erathiel, the first a great archer warrior carrying his bow and quiver firmly
across his back, his golden hair and eyes bright under the sun and the second
was the mighty master of swords and daggers, whose attire concealed many a
blade in places where they could bring him no harm, his silver eyes and dark
hair contrasted strongly next to his brother so fair. There was not a single
battle they had not fought together or where they had lost; they were their people’s
pride, though they had always been a trio before the storm.
Prince Camlhach had his hand around a gentle rope that was
tied to the neck of a fine mare, black as night and as bright as the stars
above it. This was Tinwe, his animal spirit and a brave companion through his
many years. The great white she-wolf rushed to Valruin’s side and
affectionately rubbed its snout into his chest, “Faana! Peace, peace. It has
only been a few minutes since we last met. Peace, girl.” Faana relaxed at its
master’s touch and looked out across the vast desert, letting out a small whine
of complaint. “Oh, Faana,” sighed Valruin, “There is no grass to rest beneath
you, nor tree to give thee shade.” Tinwe, Camlhach’s mare, nibbled its master’s
shoulder gently as if trying to show support for it had no words to give.
Camlhach sighed and spoke as he stepped off the ship with Tinwe at his side,
“Well, if this is to be our home, I shall require lighter attire.” Valruin
uttered the first laugh since their arrival in reply to his brother, strong and
youthful like in his homeland, “And what would you require for this new attire,
your highness? As you can see there is not even a leaf to hide your pale skin.”
Camlhach smiled and pulled out an apple from his satchel to feed to Tinwe, he
looked away into the vast nothingness surrounding him and said, “There’s bound
to be a leaf somewhere out there and you’d better search; otherwise, you’ll
have to see far too much pale skin for your own sake!” At the sound of this,
more than a single elf uncovered a laugh, or a giggle, for the princes were
known to have lightness of feet, but also of heart. Always a team in every deed
as they attacked with such unity and might, that none had ever survived before
their blade and arrow. Of course, it was also Tinwe and Faana who had helped
them on their triumphant quests. Valruin made a disapproving glare, “Mind you
words, Camlhach. We do not wish to stir a fair maiden’s heart, now.” His
brother smiled, knowing that Valruin’s comment was not at all as serious as his
face showed. Yet, he paused for a second, biting his lower lip as he looked
back to the sea in thought. Valruin saw the look in his eyes, the longing, and
quickly looked away.
Thinidiel looked at his sons with a smile, for he admired
their youth and light spirit, a trait not so common among the elven kind, and
soon his eyes met that which was the loveliest of sights in the world. There,
on the deck, cloaked in pure white clothes and sparkling stars, stood his wife
and queen, Tin Nimtar. She smiled at him, as if no harm had fallen upon
them, no loss, and she made her way across the ship and out to the harbor, a
beacon of hope as she passed by all Erathiel, illuminating their hearts as she
held out her hands towards them, healing them with her ancient magic to give
them strength and to take away their tears and pain. Her raven mantle moved
gently with the hot desert wind, a dark and beautiful color uncommon amongst
the Erathiel, for she had not been born among them. Her origin was known only
to the keeper of her heart and he had unveiled it to no one. “My lord,” she
began with the gentlest of voices, “So this is where you escaped to. I could
not find you anywhere this morning,” they shared a gentle kiss as their sons
stepped out to explore the land. “Forgive me, my queen, for I had to be present
at the landing of our ship, but worry not, for with your healing touch I am
well and hopeful.” She smiled as youthful as ever and looked at her sons
entertain themselves with their pets, what joy they brought to her heart. “Our
sons look well,” she said with a gentle smile, “It seems as if the healing has
already begun.” Thinidiel’s eyes darkened with uncertainty, “It seems so, but
how can that be so?” Nimtar’s emerald eyes met with her husband, “It must be so.
That or perish,” she paused only to touch his face, “You know that a broken
heart is not something that I can mend, my love. Cry, as I have cried, but weep
no more. I have yet to study the visions of the future, but one thing I truly
know.” Thinidiel looked at her almost timidly, “And what is that, my queen?”
She whispered back, “That nothing is ever truly lost if it wants to be found.”
With that the king kissed his wife’s hand gently and felt the strength to face
his people, some had been walking about either with their animal or animal
spirit, but they were close to the ship. Taking his wife by the hand, lord
Thinidiel addressed his people, “My warriors, my children, my friends, be not
fooled by this dry land, for beyond this desert vast we shall find our home. I
know your hearts and the sorrow that lurks within for it is also my own, but I
ask you to put aside the pain and to honor the fallen by giving them a home
their spirits may visit though they are far, but not gone.” To this did the
Erathiel agree with cheers and nods, and queen Nimtar finished her husband’s
thought, “Gather your belongings, prepare the horses and provisions for we
shall cross this desert and find shelter by nightfall.”
It only took moments for the elves to assemble their wagons
and have their caravan ready, and without any further instruction, they all set
out, following Silme, who as a silver mantle shone under the bright sun as its
rays came down harsh on the Erathiel, and harsh was the sand against their
faces that the wind so cruelly lifted against their eyes. They had only heard
of such a thing—a desert—in tales, of its beauty and cruelty, but never before
had they seen such emptiness with brown colored sand. Prince Valruin looked at
his brother calmly cross the desert, sometimes riding Tinwe, and at other times
not, but his Faana’s thick coat did not sit well with the sun’s strength, so
her tongue hung dry and shared his water with her, so that she could withstand
the heat, “Come now, Faana. It won’t be long till nightfall and then the night
will be yours. Now walk,” she licked the last tongueful from her master’s hands
and continued journeying.
Camlhach walked ahead with Silme circling above him,
scouting the land, and Thinidiel’s eyes did not abandon him, for though the
prince was mighty he was still his son. “Camlhach, what lies ahead?” “Only sand
and dust, my lord,” he replied sliding down from a small sand dune, Silme
behind him. Behind the king walked another group of elves and among them an
elder, as hard and tall as a mountain, spoke with a sigh, “This wretched sun!
It’ll make my skin look like a dwarf’s.” With this, more than one elf joined in
laughter and then Turion, an elf of sturdy build but light of feet,
answered, “It would suit you well, you greedy little blossom,” at
this many giggled and others held their tongues for his name meant none other
than ‘noble blossom’ in elven. “Lothar, you fool! Lothar is my name and it
would do you well to remember that there is nothing about me that is as
delicate as a flower,” replied the elderly elf with anger. Turion laughed once
more and replied, “Nay, I would have a flower’s name if I were a fool.” This
only infuriated Lothar further and he wrestled with Turion as the rest watched,
entertained by their tomfoolery. Queen Nimtar’s eyes looked far away from the
others, and Thinidiel noticing this approached her wagon, sat beside her and
waited till she spoke. “This new land is new, full of magic and power,”
she paused, “I can feel it as I walk into it.” Thinidiel held her hand, “Nothing
to be concerned about, my queen?” She did not look at him, for a while as if
she were listening to a distant voice and was suddenly brought back down to
earth, “We have yet to see, my king. For now it would be best to be on guard,
for I fear this power might be too great.” Thinidiel’s eyes seemed to flash for
a second as he nodded and abandoned the wagon and made his way to the front,
towards his sons who had bravely been leading most of the expedition down the
desert.
Nightfall was nigh and so far nothing had stopped their
pilgrimage. Valruin looked around and Camlhach with him till they found a cave
not far from where they stood and Silme went out to inspect it. “A cave!” cried
Camlhach, “There is a cave not far from here. We can set camp there.” Valruin
used his keen eye to measure the landscape, “It is far enough from the sea to
not be bothered by the tide and not too far in to be at the desert’s mercy.”
Thinidiel nodded and replied, “Then we shall rest there,” though they were not
truly and completely tired, but needed to rest their minds as most elves do,
“Let’s walk on.” Valruin smiled with a spark in his eyes as he jumped on
Faana’s back and raced his way over to the cave, a ghostly shadow moving over
the sand. Camlhach cried out, “Cheat!” as he mounted Tinwe to catch up with
him, “You only do this because you know I’ll reach it first,” he continued.
“Nonsense,” cried Valruin as Faana galloped her way towards the cave, “I only
cease opportunity when presented before me.” The rest followed and as the king
did on horseback he noticed Silme had not returned. Something didn’t feel
right. Queen Nimtar sat up alert, closed her eyes and cried out to her sons,
“Valruin! Camlhach! Halt!” but before she could stop them, a dark cloud fell
before them, as if it birthed from the sky and ground, and from it emerged
creatures, wild and vicious. The Erathiel drew sword and arrow to defend the
princes as they began to attack. The princes braced themselves for battle in
seconds and were soon falling upon what seemed to be the enemy. Faana ripped
all she could to pieces as Valruin pulled out his daggers from his sides,
slashing into his enemies like a tempest of flashes of silver light, jumping
off his wolf’s back as he landed flat on top of the creature’s chest, killing
it with a single strike. Camlhach shot arrow after arrow, occasionally using
his own bow to strike, as he rode on Tinwe’s back, she circled the enemy with
valor in her heart as Camlhach pierced the enemy’s hide. They were not men, not
elves, or like any foe they had once encountered. Their skin was covered in
scales and their faces deformed with yellow eyes and sharp teeth. At times they
would blend with the sand and appear right behind the Erathiel, but their
reflexes were also fierce.
Silme stroke from above fiercely as a silver shadow of
death; twisting and turning, shaping and reshaping into the smallest bird in
sight and into a large silver cloud that covered the sky, wrapping up the enemy
in a cloud of silver fire. Queen Nimtar descended from the wagon as a cloud of
silver and might, and appeared before the scale-skinned foes, setting them on
fire, freezing an electrifying their flesh, striking them with her staff, her
husband at her side destroying the enemy with the strongest of blows. She was a
furious and beautiful sight to behold. King Thinidiel held in his hand a great
longsword that shone with a white light and pierced through the enemy’s skin,
not allowing their wounds to heal, for it had the magic of his queen. His
height and strength enabled him the most catastrophic blows of all.
It was a thing most amazing to behold, for the Erathiel are
as mighty as they are artistic in their fighting, though amongst most elves
seen as too passionate in their style. The mighty Lothar, who actually did resemble
a dwarf in fighting spirit, struck the enemy with bare hands, cracking back and
neck and refusing to draw blade to fight. “We are proud, aren’t we?” said
Turion to Lothar whilst he fought, “As daring as a rose’s thorns, sweet Loth,”
he said while he finished slicing off a head with no effort or regret
whatsoever. Lothar raged at this mockery, which only led him to carry on with
no weapon, save his limbs, to defeat foe after foe, “I-am-not-a-fl-ow-er!”
cried Lothar as he crushed two enemy skulls into each other, receiving a small
gesture of clapping from Turion who had not refrained from his self-amusing
mockery. Though it was a battle, they had nothing to fear, for much worse had
they seen in their old home. Still, they could not let their guard down and a
good fight won was always appreciated. Soon, they had eliminated all but one,
whom king Thinidiel held at his mercy, “Who are you? Why did you attack us?” he
asked with authority. “We serve only the Dark One,” choked the villain, “We
kill all that is bright and,” he paused as he looked over to the elven queen,
“good.” Thinidiel’s blood boiled and he asked with a blade at his scaly neck,
“Who is your master? Who is the Dark One?” The villain let out a horrible laugh
as he shoved the blade deep into his neck before the king could stop him.
They let the body hit the ground and when they looked upon
the fallen they saw that their faces and skin no longer looked as they did
before, for they appeared as gentle as human or an elf’s face. Their hair, skin
and eyes were all of different and beautiful colors and they no longer seemed
wicked, but forsaken by whatever madness had possessed them. It brought a
little sadness into their hearts, but only the queen knew that death was their
only cure, for such conviction was driven by a force too strong. “They look as
you and I,” said Valruin as he approached the bodies with Faana at his side.
Camlhach shook his head, “Aye, but they were not so, but a moment ago.” Lord
Thinidiel put his blade away as Silme lowered to sit on his shoulder. He fixed
his eyes on the last that drew breath, his face most serious as he spoke almost
as a whisper, “They were possessed.” The queen lowered herself to look upon the
same eyes as her husband’s, for the villain had become a boy, just entering
adulthood, “Their birth was not a wicked one. These children were all corrupted
in time; something very powerful changed their hearts,” she spoke no more and
closed the boy’s eyes with fear in her heart. “We must not leave them like
this,” she said. Some Erathiel that had been wounded looked at her in surprise,
but not in contradiction. “Regardless their intentions, regardless their
actions, we must let their souls be at peace. They were children, lost
children.” Thinidiel agreed with his wife and replied to all, “Our queen is
right. We must burn their bodies so that they return to their land. We can all
forgive these,” he paused for a second as he saw a small red-haired girl
looking towards the sky, “children.” He closed her eyes gently, whispered something
and looked to his wife. She let silver fire appear in her staff, raised it only
a few inches, and as it touched the ground the silver tongues of flame found
their way to the fallen, setting them ablaze under the pale moonlight.
Night had fallen and the cave awaited them not far away. It
was then when something seemed to appear before them; a mountain that had been
there the entire time, but only now appeared. Had it been the moonlight or
something about the fight, they never knew, but it appeared. The mountain was
tall, majestic, and a chain that continued down the land as far as the eye
could see. Queen Nimtar walked towards it with staff in hand and as they
reached it she traced an entry with the tip of her staff and these became
doors. Before opening it she placed the staff at the center of it and whispered
something in the dark. A small wave of sound was given off the tip and the
doors opened. As they did, the Erathiel found that it was more than just a cave
inside. She had made a place to rest where little by little grass began to grow
inside, trees, fireflies, and all sorts of plant life that twisted and turned
to give them places to sit and rest, illuminating the cave with little lights
of their own, for their plants from home all held light. Queen Nimtar sealed
its doors with her magic to protect all inside and continued to make it so that
it appeared like their home. The elf children sat around a mystical fire that
had no smoke, only light and warmth, as an elder told tales of their ancestors’
great deeds, their obstacles and how they had overcome them in the past. It
made the children proud and hopeful for a bright day.
Valruin and Camlhach sat on the grass their mother had
grown and leaned against a tree trunk to look through the cave’s enchanted
ceiling to seize the stars with their eyes. “They all look the same to me,
although I know they are not,” said Valruin. “A lot of things look the same to
you,” said Camlhach with a laugh but it faded as he saw a figure in the sky
that made his heart sigh. “It won’t be long till sunrise,” he continued, “And
something tells me we’ll make new friends again.” Valruin scoffed, “Friends?
Honestly, brother, but I understand what you mean and I also think so. I just
hope not so young again,” he said remembering having sparred with his little
sister and accidently cutting her in the process. They were both silent, lost
in the same memories, both holding the same fear in their hearts. They had
walked near the sea all day and not a single ship had been in sight; they both
knew each other’s minds. “It’ll be alright,” said Camlhach looking at his
brother, “some things never change.” Valruin smiled and looked at the stars
until the sky grew dark and only dreams filled the sky.
