Elhyan
Chapter Two: Remembrance
I began to return to some state of consciousness. The pain in my side had vanished, and I was aware of someone kneeling beside me, gently shaking me. I groaned. In any afterlife, someone shaking me awake was not what I had expected.
“Come now, child, wake up,” a female voice called to me, with the exasperation of someone who had been persevering for a long time. I squeezed my eyes tighter, feeling no desire to look around and explore my surroundings until this person left. My muscles were sore, and I longed to move and adjust myself from the awkward angle of my limbs.
“Oh, stop acting so ungrateful,” they said. “I should chosen someone else.” I felt her fingertips grasp my wrist, feeling my heart pulse feebly.
I slowly opened my eyes, the light blinding me. I blinked a few times, seeing nothing but brightness without color that swirled like a mist. Resorting to squinting and peeking through my eyelashes, I saw an old woman hovering over me. Her face was gaunt, but ageless. Her wispy gray hair that framed her face was pulled into a bun. The soft chocolate eyes, filled with compassion, reminded me of the motherly deer that wandered the woods near my home, the mother always surveying their fawns. Reaching out her grimy hands, she placed them upon my brow and muttered a long flowing monologue. I slowly felt more energized, and colors sharpened into focus. As I studied her, my gaze magnetized toward a silver brooch shaped like a dragon that fastened her cloak. I backed up franticly, gasping for air.
“You are an Endrian!” I cried, “Witchcraft and sorcery be gone from me!” Tales and superstitions flooded into my mind. Endrians were an evil tribe of people that stole away children from their parents and slaughtered them during rituals. They performed vengeful acts of cruelty and violence. Soulless creatures, the spawn of evil, whispered my village during the darkest hours of the night. According to the townsfolk, they had instigated the war.
“None of rumors that spread are true!” the old woman said with a cackle, her eyes darkening with anger and her yellow teeth flashing, “Lies! All of them!”
I ignored her, burying my face in my hands. Their mysterious eyes, it was said, would lull you into a trance, making a person broken and useless before an Endrian’s power. “So,” I asked tentatively, “Am I alive?”
She nodded. “Yes, you are. You almost dead, you have died if I not save you.”
I coughed awkwardly, realizing suddenly that maybe the rumors were not true. “Well, thank you,” I said, and then remembered my brother. “Can... can you tell me if my brother, Jaran, is alive?” I stumbled over my words, my voice cracking with emotion.
The Endrian frowned, full of pity. “He is dead,” she said apologetically.
I bit back a cry, remembering the argument we had last night. My heart skipped a few beats as the cold reality hit me. “Really?” I sputtered. The woman nodded solemnly in response. Tears threatened to spring from my eyes, and I screamed in pain, crying to the heavens, “I wish I were dead, instead of Jaran!”
The woman gently spoke. “I am sorry,” she said. “I old, and it been many years since I among your kind. I forgotten how fragile humans are.”
“Why did you save me?” I asked, my voice quivering like that of a frightened child.
“Someone inform the Royal Family of Endrians,” she said, her face turning cold and expressionless. She lapsed into a stony silence, and I realized that she must be suppressing painful memories, preventing herself from even thinking. I spoke again, longing for a clear answer.
“Why me?” I persisted, “why not an Endrian?” Suddenly, comprehension dawned on me. “Are they dead?”
She nodded, “I not go, for reasons of my own. Tell them details of memory I give you – every detail.” The old woman paused, struggling for words. “I extract my own recollection and it be yours to see, never fade, always lucid as day. It be bonded to you, and they unable to tear memory from you. I not want it to fall into the hands of evil. Tell them Amara sent you. They no believe you, no believe the message. Give this,” Amara’s weathered hands shook as she unfastened the brooch and dropped it into my hands. I brought the dragon pin closer to my face, studying it. Up close, tiny diamonds that were embedded into the design were evident, glittering and catching the sunlight. I glanced up, seeing traces of sadness in her face.
“Are ... are you sure?” I stuttered.
She recovered quickly, nodding, “Yes. The only way.” she told me. “Will you go?”
I hesitated for a moment, thinking of my mother and how she would feel if she knew her eldest son was dead, and her younger child, her beloved son, had abandoned her. I imagined her, veiled in black and clutching a handkerchief so tightly that her nails dug into her palm, leaving a red indentation. Like the memory of her sons, the mark would fade away, just as time would heal her pain.
“Will anyone know that I am alive?” The question sprang to my lips, and I instantly knew that my mind was made up.
Amara raised her thin eyebrows curiously, her eyes swirling and becoming a tranquil blue color. “No, no one know. You not to speak of this even after the deed completed, child.”
One final question remained. “How will I get there?”
Amara laughed, her face twisting into a crooked smile. “I tell you, of course. You find city then.”
I nodded, and her voice faded away into darkness, until the light amplified and refocused onto a soldier, his eyes shining scarlet and his face long and narrow. I glanced down at my body, translucent and silver, floating next to Amara, who seemed unaware from me. Around us, soldiers hacked at as the demonic creatures of Galdad attacked him. Their corpses were strewn upon the ground, their blood mingling with Endrians and these traitors cadavers. The Endrian woman stepped with precision, her eyes focusing on the cliff of the mountain.
There, I saw a sinister dragon beat its wings, and slowly descended until it was beside Galdad. The dragon’s scales were a dark crimson, deeper than blood; the color itself exerted a powerful feeling of despair. The hue seemed to have a depth that mirrored all eternity and darkness. Galdad mounted the dragon and collected the ebony reins, bejeweled with silver runes and ancient symbols. The saddle matched the headpiece, adorned with silver against the black leather. The dragon gave a fell scream and fire raged forth from his nostrils. With a lurch, the pair sprang forward, and steered toward the Endrians. When they finally landed, Galdad stepped off the dragon and his steel mail jangled as he advanced on them, his mace gleaming ominously in the rising sun. I backed up, nervously, sinking behind Amara.
With a swing of his arm, men were dealt heavy blows, blood gushing forward. Those remaining cowered in fear, cursing Galdad’s name. The end was looking bleak for them. With newfound bravery and courage, yet no hope, spears and arrows sprang forth. In tandem, the weapons all zoomed perilously toward Galdad’s head. The Dark Lord outstretched his arm, causing the weapons to fall uselessly to the sandy earth, where they clattered and left a despondent silence. As the Dark One exerted a few more strikes, many of the men ran away in fear, and I was not surprised.
“These were farmers, weavers, artisans – peaceful men with no place in war, and never trained with the art of a blade,” the old woman quietly said.
I turned to Amara beside me, but her lips were not moving. I realized that it was her words, analyzing this memory and giving me final insight into what happened. Multitudes of them remained standing and fighting for all they had, with a burning passion and rage flaming in their hearts. Many would consider such an act foolhardy, but after meeting Kalhn, I had a grudging respect for them, and knew that I would have run. Those that stayed, their names never to be known, were wiser and braver than some of the heroes of the ages. They upheld their honor by fighting, and knew that even if they ran, the oncoming storm of darkness could not be stopped. They would be hunted, and eventually Galdad and his followers would find them and destroy them, leaving the cities burning and in desolate ruin. The acts of valor and bravery committed today deserved remembrance through all the ages of men.
Soldiers raged at the new devilry of Galdad. Gathering their courage, they charged at the sorcerer. With a flick of his hand, the Elves were stopped and all tumbled to the ground foolishly, lying prostrate as dust rose and clouded the air. All but one. A lone Endrian maiden stood, her golden hair cascading to her waist. Amara’s eyes never left her, and the old woman whispered nervously, clutching her tiny sword Cloaked in white, the maiden bore no mail or protection from a blade. She carried no weapon, only desperation in her eyes and a small silver ring adorning her right hand.
The woman’s face contorted, emotionlessly forming words of the Ancient Tongue that had lain dormant in the memories of the Elders for centuries. I watched her with a mild curiosity and an increasing feeling of hope deep in my heart. Upon her pale lips, no familiar words known by any of the scholars or magicians were sounded.
With a sudden crescendo in her voice, the maiden’s clear blue eyes burst open. They were steady and unforgiving; the light hue of a day after a bitter frost had passed. Her voice never quavered as she called out to Galdad in the Tongue of Lore, “Vorage, Alnarn. Tergve, Tergve.”
Amara’s voice spoke to me, whispering quietly. “In the Common Tongue of Men, it means ‘Back, Back, to the dark abyss.’”
Stretching out her hands, a diminutive light seemed to gather, centralized into an orb before the frightened maiden. A heavenly glow was cast out upon her, and an unseen wind gathered around her, causing the Endrian’s hair to whip around. My skin prickled as the air flowed past me. The breeze had a foreign and unearthly feel to it. The power grew, until with a great force she hurled the orb towards Galdad. As the blissful light grew on Galdad’s dark mask, he gave a loud curse in the Ancient Tongue. The cry seemed to be nothing more but a trivial shout in the darkest dialects of the Endrian Language. Although I listened for even Amara’s comforting voice, she remained silent and would not reveal to me what it meant. Other soldiers around us seemed not to understand either, as they looked with utter confusion upon their savior.
Whatever had been uttered was understood by the woman, whose eyes blazed with a fierce power. She began chanting, her words blurring together in haste. But it was too late. The Endrian girl crumpled and fell to the ground and around her the earth slowly gave way to a dark crater that ensnared her and Galdad. Amara gave a whimpering cry, inching toward her. As her body slipped into the darkness, I sprinted, clawing at her arm with my vaporous hand, my ghostly self mesmerized, attempting to grasp her. I watched as a silver wisp left her mouth and she descended through the crevice, my heart ripped with pain and regret. Despite the rare gifts of destroying Galdad, her identity was unknown, the nameless savior of her people, and I wondered who she was.
The spirit of the Endrian maiden materialized, her shadowy eyes searching for Amara, the wise sage who had led her.
“Her last breath was a mark of her sorcery - she was a powerful witch. There are some powerful dragon-blessed Endrians who can cling to the earth for a few moments, but the strain of will and mind is difficult. Already branded for death, only their ethereal soul remains, veiled from the physical world,” my healer commented to me.
The soul rushed toward Amara by sighting her. The Nameless Endrian had precious little time to convey her message; the rebelling against the seductive pull of the Beyond was growing weaker in her scared face. Mastering her mind, she attempted to hide her fear, she had to reach Amara. Not even her teacher could understand the Dark utterances of Galdad.
“I slowly discovered more about girl as she received my instruction. In life before she found me, the maiden’s learning lead her to Darkest scrolls of magic. At first, she been innocent, with strong lust for the secrets of the Dark. Thrill echoed through her soul as she gained knowledge and accessed the secrets of the ancient devilry. Many terrible things woke during her time, should not have come to existence, malevolent things were stirring. So she delved deeper into Dark to discover to stop them. In doing so, she evolved into the only one who stop Galdad.”
“Amara,” she cried, “This is not The End!” Amara spotted her, and stared at the silver figure with dumbstruck astonishment, this sorcery beyond even her grasp. The spirit opened her mouth to say more, but the Other World gave another strong tug, and she finally consented. The translucent wisp floated toward the heavens, and her mind was cleared of all earthly frivolities.
A soldier lay beside Amara. “Victory!” he whispered, his rasping voice gasping for air. He feebly continued, “May those traitors that fought against us be cursed for their treachery.”
Amara nodded at the man, tears shining in her face. She crossed his limp arms, and softly murmured, “Yes, yes. Sleep now.”
With their master descending down the dark crevice of the earth, the
demons and Hithradin men were leaderless. The spirits and demons faded from sight, while the thieves and bandits ran from the battle like the cowards they were, towards the faraway sheltered mountains to the south.
I gave a small smile, but secretly worried, questions swirled through my head with surging speed, clouding all other thoughts of joy and triumph that the Dark Lord really was gone. I saw Galdad fall into the pit with his own eyes, so how could he have lived? Where was that maiden from? What was her name? How had she accumulated such powers? Her golden hair also added to her mystique, a feature that was a rarity among the Endrians, whose normal shades of locks ranged from russet to ebony. Such a trait was linked to dark sorcery, my village had often said.
Amara straightened, from kneeling beside the dead soldier. I surveyed the battlefield, stained from the war. “Please, Amara, tell me about this girl.” I silently begged, looking around eagerly for her as if I could summon her voice again.
“The maiden live in Anstayl, old city rich in wisdom and lore. This prophecy in an old Endrian legend, has been forgotten:
‘Out of the darkness shall come anew,
One who can the sorcerer slay.
Dark is the hour, late is the day,
The many shall fall to the few.’
Other prophecies call this person the Redeemer of Esrydil, ‘The Lone Star’. Whatever their name, all prophecies speak of a darkness that will cover the lands before the appearance of ‘The Chosen One.’ I am certain that the prophecies speak of another, and the Nameless is just a foreshadowing. For the last few months, I have been had darkened dreams, ominous signs.”
I slowly repeated the names to myself, “The Lone Star. The Redeemer of Esrydil. The Chosen One.” The rhythm comforted me as I returned to where I had lain dying. Searching among the bodies, my eyes scanning the horizon, I could not see who I looked for.
Amara had disappeared.
