2 THE HARBOR
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cross the sparkling Enchanted Sea, sailed a ship whose white sails shone like flames of pure light. It was great in stature, twice that of a regular vessel, and bore two large masts that overtowered the vast deck like replicas of heavenly clouds. The shape of a beautiful golden maiden sat carved at its head, her delicate wooden arms outstretched towards the sapphire sky. It was a majestic ship but its body now carried the scars of the storm and those aboard did as well. They had been wandering for months searching for any sign of land but had found none. No one had been spared from suffering or loss throughout their journey, but there was one among them who carried the weight of them all. His name was Thinidiel, Lord of the Erathiel and the last Elven King from the land of Eidelvar.
Thinidiel stepped onto the deck of the ship, his deep blue cloak following him like a silky shadow as he made his way towards the foredeck. He looked across the horizon, the viridian sea touching the sky, and wondered when they would finally find land. It had been too long. As he stood there, arms crossed, a gust of wind pulled back his navy hood, revealing his long silver hair. While parts of his scalp were completely shaved, glorious braids adorned his head sporadically, resting behind his pointed ears. He let one of his hands fall on the beautiful silver hilt of his longsword. Thick scars crossed both his hands and arms, but it was his face that had received the worst. A large mark ran from the top of his forehead and down his cheek, where his left eye had been compromised, yet his beauty had somehow been unmarred. His scars were not from the storm.
Three vessels had carried the last of the elves, dwarves, and humans from their land. Sadly, not all had survived the voyage. The elves aboard the ship were renowned in their land as skilled warriors, wise, and immortal. Traits common among the elven kind, but due to their different origins, a mixture of elven races from their land, they possessed skills that were quite unique. They were fierce warriors unlike any the world had ever seen, their sizes and colors varied greatly, and they were not as patient as one would expect an elf to be. They were the last remaining elves. They were the Erathiel.
Thinidiel made a short whistling sound; it was immediately answered by a small silver bird that sat on one of the tall wooden masts of the ship. The bird scouted above and below, his eyes a penetrating black, surveying the land with a patience that only those of many lifetimes show. His name was Silme, the eyes of the ship. He was the Elven King’s spirit animal and like all spirit animals, he was loyal and ever at his master’s side. The bond they shared was that of friendship, magic, and trust.
He looked up at Silme and like a swift cloud the bird came down and sat on his shoulder—his wings and master’s hair the same bright silver color.
“Good morning, Silme,” said Thinidiel as he pulled out a treat from a hidden pocket. Silme gave a gentle bow before accepting and remained on the King’s shoulder as he fed.
“Far have we strayed from our home, my friend,” said the Elf King as he looked across the endless sea. Silme looked into his eyes as if trying to give him comfort; he remembered it all as if it had happened yesterday.
The land of Eidelvar was not ancient, but it had witnessed many years of happiness, hard work, and peace. Yet, in the darkness, there had been someone watching them from the very beginning. His name was Bragolthar and he was an elf corrupted by power and dark magic. His fight against the good people of Eidelvar had been such that very few had survived his wrath and some had even turned to his side, though not all in sound body and mind. When they had a chance to escape and survive, Thinidiel gave the order and they fled from war. He would have thought it humiliating to leave their home in the past instead of fighting their enemy till their last breath, but it was the only chance they had. Nevertheless, woe had not been the only outcome of war.
Dwarves, humans, and elves—once segregated—worked together to survive. The elves had never needed aid before and the dwarves would have never helped them—considering that these two races had always despised one another for being so different. But, the knowledge of the elves and skill of the dwarves, the gracefulness and the roughness of each other, had managed to birth a friendship that helped many survive. In the case of humankind, they had always maintained a good relationship with both and welcomed the help of the two allies with open arms, for out of all the good races across the land, they were the smallest in numbers. War had united them all.
Thinidiel suddenly felt a strong cool wind hit the sails and a dense grey fog began wrapping itself around the ship. Silme was no longer on his shoulder, but he could hear his cry lost in the fog. Everyone on deck looked around, perplexed, searching for its origin, but no one could find it. Thinidiel quickly made his way to the main deck but stopped as he noticed the absolute silence that suddenly surrounded them. Everyone interrupted whatever it was they were doing just to listen. The wind seemed to have disappeared, but there was a sensation that they had not stopped moving. As Thinidiel walked carefully to the edge of the ship, it stopped abruptly. They had hit something. The crew shook. He raised his hand to calm his people as he leaned closer to see what they had hit. The fog evaporated, leaving everyone with a clear view of where they were.
“Land,” Thinidiel found himself saying with a smile. “Land, my people. We have reached land!”
The crew celebrated, some jumped while others danced and extended their palms to the sky. They were free from the sea at last.
Silme came down from the skies and sat on the king’s shoulder once again, but Thinidiel’s attention was immediately drawn to something far beyond peculiar. There was a harbor beside the ship. There was no other structure in sight, just that. A dark harbor. He looked at it and wondered where it had come from.
Its very existence could mean anything and not necessarily something good, he thought. It must be a sign, a sign that someone is near.
When he turned around, he met Captain Nimel’s hazel eyes, she nodded and ordered her crew to make berth, but he descended before they could and stepped onto the dark wooden structure himself. He let his weight rest on it, testing its strength. It would have to withstand the weight of many and not just the Erathiel. It was firm. Whether they had landed in paradise or the very opposite, he suddenly did not care, just for the briefest moment. It was land.
Two elves dressed in gray, each with a rope in their hands, came down from the ship and tied one end to the harbor and the other to the vessel. They looked like young men entering adulthood, but their eyes and scars proved their struggles and years. Thinidiel thanked them with a gentle nod of the head, they bowed deeply and returned to the ship, but to him it was as if they had never left. He knew their faces, their names, and worst of all, the ones they had loved and lost. The storm had been brutal, the voyage as well, but what they had lived on ground, in Eidelvar, had scarred them too deeply. He was glad to have found land, but all the hope it meant filled him with dark memories of what his people had gone through before. He walked to the edge of the harbor where wood met sand and kneeled down to grab a fistful.
“Never again,” he whispered gravely to himself as his grip tightened. “Never again will my people be tormented, enslaved, or slaughtered. I swear it, never again.” He rose to his feet; the sand in his fist falling little by little back to where it had come from, every grain holding a promise to the new land.
He made his way back to the ship, greeting all with what happiness he could muster. He knew he had to help them by standing strong, by encouraging them to look towards a brighter future and the hope of the lost ship returning to them. Only few mortals had escaped the wrath of the wind and waves—Bazur and Nurunn, a brave dwarf couple, and a human child, the Elven King’s adoptive daughter, Telwen. Thinidiel was studying the land when he turned around and met two familiar shiny gray eyes. They were Telwen’s. She did not seem to be looking directly at him or anything at all. She looked pale and uncomfortable, although the elven traveling attire she wore had never brought her discomfort before.
She looks so fragile, he thought. To think that she is the only human left. War took far too much from us all.
Telwen’s mother had died in childbirth and her father in battle. Unfortunately, her mother had been the last mortal woman in Eidelvar, leaving Telwen with no one of her race to look after her. King Thinidiel and his wife had taken Telwen in as their own and raised her with dedication and love—in all ways was the Elvish Royal Family hers.
Telwen looked up at the Elven King, his height immense in comparison to her own. She was paler than usual and dark shadows bruised the skin under her eyes. Thinidiel approached her and kneeled so that their eyes met. She did not look well and in his fatherly heart concern awoke. She lowered her eyes from his silver ones and hugged her arms, avoiding his.
She is acting as if she has done something wrong, but that cannot be the reason behind her discomfort, he thought.
“Good morning, dearest. You are shivering. Are you not well?” spoke the king softly, leaning forward.
Telwen still looked away as she answered with hesitation, “I do not know. I just feel cold.”
“That is not well. May I look into your eyes?” he asked gently.
Telwen had never been so distant before. She hesitated once more, but slowly began to turn her face towards him until their eyes met. He looked into them with deep concentration.
She does look ill, he thought. It must be the cost of sorrow and weariness. She does not deserve this pain. Isilen’s unknown fate must burden her, too.
“You are only exhausted from the journey, dear. Please rest in one of the wagons with your mother when we part and eat well. You will be better soon, I promise,” said Thinidiel giving her a warm smile as he rose to stand once again—his silver braided hair moving gently along with him.
“Thank you, Father,” replied Telwen with a weak smile not seemingly convinced. “I will.”
“And since you are cold,” added the Elf King, untying his navy cloak and wrapping it around her, “take this. It will keep you warm.”
Telwen’s weak smile turned bright as Thinidiel placed his hand on the back of her head, leaning forward to hug her gently. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his embrace before they parted ways.
Whether they stood above or below, they all wanted to step out and walk on the new land they were about to make their home. Some shared kinship, while others were strangers brought together by the same goal. There were still many inside the ship, including animals—tamed horses, wolves, and hunting birds. One by one, beast or not, they came up to look upon the new land. They stopped once their eyes witnessed the landscape: it was an endless dry desert.
There were mountains afar, but there was no grass to walk upon, no trees or flowers as far as the eye could see. They were all in shock and, for a moment, they forgot everything and were filled only with a terrible sense of defeat. King Thinidiel noticed the disappointment in their faces and decided to draw their attention by standing on the railing of the ship, above them so they could all hear him speak.
“My people, my friends, do not be discouraged by what lies ahead. Yesterday, we had no land to walk upon, but today, we have the chance to walk once again. The journey has been hard and most wearisome, but it has not been in vain. We have made it; we have reached land at last. Think not of this desert as the end, but as the beginning of our greatest adventure. I ask you now to take courage and to not let your hearts falter. We will make our new home.”
The Elven King’s words mesmerized the crew, even the animals, they looked hopeful now. Among them stood an elf of lesser height than some, cloaked in robes of silver and white. Her eyes were a beautiful emerald color, while her skin was light and had a glow about it, like moonlight. It was Queen Nimtar. She had been walking among her people, seeing to their needs and their hearts. She had a special touch, for by simply holding one’s hand she could take away their greatest sorrow if only for a little while. Whether she stored this or if she simply eliminated it from the world was unknown to her people, but she always seemed strong—even when facing a loss of her own.
“And so it shall be,” spoke Queen Nimtar. “We shall walk upon this earth, we shall search and we will find. Do not fear, for you are not alone. Together, we can do this.”
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