Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (4 page)

Iarion’s eyes widened as he saw what lay within. The clearing was empty except for a single, enormous tree. Its glowing, golden trunk was so huge, it would have taken at least ten elves with their arms outstretched to encircle it. It reached high into the sky, towering above the other trees of the forest.

Iarion felt himself drawn forward, his feet belonging to someone else. No one tried to stop him. He stepped up to the tree and put his hand against it. The smooth bark was warm to the touch. A large hollow gaped within the trunk. Iarion peered inside. A swirling mass of almost blinding light and shifting color lay within. For a moment, Iarion’s heart stopped. This was the origin of all elven life and magic.

It was the Quenya.

“Can you feel anything, Iarion?” The lady’s voice broke the spell.

Iarion pulled his hand away from the bark with reluctance. “I feel the Quenya’s power.” He stared into the distance.

“Yes, but do you sense anything about your purpose?”

Iarion’s hopes were dashed as he digested her question. “No.”

“You can sense nothing?” Valanandir’s fine, golden brows rose.

“Nothing.” Iarion closed his eyes to hold back the threat of tears. He forced his voice to remain even. “I can feel the presence of the Quenya, but nothing has changed.”

“I had hoped bringing you here would help solve your problem,” Iadrawyn said. “But it seems that is not the way of things.” Her voice was sad.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Barlo spoke for the first time. Although the dwarf was unable to fully comprehend his friend’s problem, Iarion knew Barlo wanted to help him any way he could. “Can’t you just tell him what his purpose is?”

“That is not the way it works.” Valanandir sighed. “Our knowledge of our own destiny, however vague, is part of our connection to the Quenya. Each elf must forge his own path. It is clear something has happened to sever Iarion’s connection. He is unlike any elf I have ever seen, Light or Shadow. I am afraid he is a mystery to us.”

“Well, there must be something!” The dwarf stamped his foot. “You can’t mean that Iarion is doomed to keep on living and living while he watches everyone he ever cared about pass on.”

“Some would see such immortality as a gift,” Iadrawyn said.

“Well Iarion’s already been carrying this gift around for thousands of years and he doesn’t feel that way.” Barlo’s face was getting red. “And from what I can understand of what you’ve said, this isn’t the way things are supposed to be. It isn’t fair that someone like Iarion has to spend an eternity lost and alone!”

Iarion gave his friend a sad smile. “It’s all right Barlo. There is nothing they can do. It’s not their fault.”

“We did not say there was nothing we could do,” Iadrawyn said with a look of sympathy. “Perhaps there is something that could solve your problem, but there is no guarantee.”

“What?” Iarion felt the first stirrings of hope in his chest.

“Although the Quenya is powerful,” Valanandir said, “it is not complete. If the portion that was stolen and warped by Saviadro were rejoined with the rest, we might be able to help solve your problem. Perhaps then the Quenya would be strong enough for you to discover your connection.”

“So you want Iarion to go all the way up to the dark lands and get back the rest of the Quenya for you?” Barlo waved his arms in furious gestures as he spoke. “Wasn’t it stolen thousands of years ago? How is it that none of your own people have managed to get it back if it’s so important? Why do you need Iarion to do your dirty work for you? You’re the ones with all the magic.”

“We have fought two wars for possession of the Quenya already, even before the Northern Wars, where we tried to regain what Saviadro had stolen.” Iadrawyn’s eyes were sad. “Hundreds of
Linadar
died during those wars, their souls lost. Since then, our focus has been on protecting what we still have. We do have magic, yes. But it is not made for battle or killing. The magic of the Quenya is based on life and harmony.”

“What about the land you elves came from?” Barlo said. “I heard you destroyed it to wipe out the dark creatures there. Didn’t you use the magic of the Quenya to do that?”

“We had no choice,” Iadrawyn said. “And we were only able to do so because Ralvaniar was never meant to last. The Quenya gave us the power to destroy because the continent had already served its full purpose. It seems the elves were always meant to come to Lasniniar.” Iadrawyn gave a wry smile before continuing.

“The magic of the Quenya is too powerful to be used for destructive purposes. The land will not abide it. I do not know of another continent we can flee to if we destroy this one, do you?”

Barlo shook his head.

“So now we come to the crux of the matter,” Valanandir said. “After all these years, Saviadro has become powerful enough to threaten Melaquenya. We have already tried to regain what was stolen from us by diplomacy and force. Our attempts have been unsuccessful. If we can seize the Stariquenya—the dark portion of the Quenya—through stealth and reunite it with the rest, then Saviadro will be powerless. Iarion, it is possible you need the Quenya to be whole to find the peace you seek. Only an elf may handle any part of the Quenya and live.”

“Even if they are not
Linadain
?” Iarion asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Valanandir nodded.

“What?” Barlo whirled to face his friend. “Iarion, you can’t seriously be considering this. It’s suicide! Even if you manage to survive, who knows if they’ll be able to help you?”

“You are correct,” Valanandir said. “But we believe it is Iarion’s best chance.”

“Give your friend some credit, Barlo,” Iadrawyn said. “He has traveled the lands of Lasniniar for millennia. If anyone has a chance to infiltrate Mar Valion, it is Iarion.”

“Why not one of you?” Barlo crossed his arms. “Why can’t one of you go?”

“Our place is here, with this part of the Quenya,” Valanandir said. “The
Linadar
are the last line of defense once Saviadro makes his way here. We cannot allow him to gain the rest of the Quenya, or he will be unstoppable.”

“I will go with Iarion.” An elven woman with golden eyes and red-gold hair stepped forward. Her beauty was such that everyone in the glade stopped to look at her. Her features were an echo of Iadrawyn’s.

“How long have you been listening?” Valanandir frowned.

“Long enough.” The woman’s voice was soft and lilting.

“Please forgive us,” Iadrawyn said. “This is our daughter, Silvaranwyn.”

“You cannot mean to go on this quest,” Valanandir said, turning to face Silvaranwyn.

“Oh, so it’s all right to send Iarion into the dragon’s den, but not your daughter, eh?” Barlo stepped forward. Lysandir tried to hush the dwarf with a threatening glare.

“Father,” Silvaranwyn said, “this is what I was born to do. This is my purpose. I have seen it.” She stood with her chin raised, holding Valanandir’s stormy gaze.

“You are certain?” Iadrawyn asked, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Silvaranwyn nodded.

The elf lord’s voice turned grim. “You know what this means.”

“I do,” Silvaranwyn said. “But it must be done. I will go with Iarion if he chooses to accept the quest.”

The three
Linadar
turned to face Iarion. He had not spoken for some time.

Iarion took a moment to look at each of them in turn. He already knew his answer.

“I will go to Mar Valion.”

“Well if you’re going to persist in this madness, you’re not going without me,” Barlo said with a sigh. “Narilga would probably kill me if she found out I let you go alone.”

“I will also accompany you, if you will have me,” Lysandir said. “As you know, I have intimate knowledge of the dark lands.” Barlo shot the Learnéd One a suspicious look.

“Thank you both.” Iarion struggled to speak past the lump in his throat. “You don’t have to come. I know the way will be dangerous. Still, I can’t say your company wouldn’t be appreciated.”

“It is settled then,” Valanandir said, his voice hollow. “You will need to rest before you set out. We will show you where you can eat and refresh yourselves until tomorrow morning.”

–
Chapter Four –

Finiferia

Barlo’s head was spinning. Nothing was turning out the way he had expected. He had thought all it would take was a trip to Melaquenya and the Light Elves would solve Iarion’s problem. Now they were going to travel north into the heart of the dark lands on an almost hopeless quest to save the fate of Lasniniar on the slim chance it might help Iarion. Barlo knew it was madness, but he couldn’t abandon his friend.

At least they weren’t going alone. Both Lysandir and the elf princess had magic, which would no doubt be useful. Still, Barlo could not bring himself to trust the Learnéd One.

Lysandir had been raised in the dark lands under the influence of the Fallen One. Now he was going to lead them back to his childhood home and help steal Saviadro’s source of power. Barlo thought it much more likely that Lysandir was returning to his foul master to tell him of the Light Elves’ plan. Barlo resolved to keep a close eye on him.

Iarion trusted Lysandir, which would usually be enough for Barlo, but he suspected this time his friend didn’t want to see what was right in front of him. How Lysandir had managed to fool the Light Elves was anyone’s guess. Barlo would have to stay vigilant if he was going to keep Iarion safe.

The lord and lady led them to another clearing. This one housed a large pavilion of green silk. Their daughter had disappeared.

“You must be tired from your journey,” Iadrawyn said. “We do not often have guests in our wood. I must apologize for your rustic quarters.”

“You will find food and drink within,” Valanandir said. “Take rest while you still can in safe surroundings. We will meet you tomorrow to help plan your course and outfit you with provisions. Sleep well.”

Barlo’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food. He poked his head into the pavilion to see what was inside. The interior seemed impossibly large. Beds of twisted wood seemed to grow right out of the ground. They were topped with thick mattresses and pillows, as well as some blankets. But what caught Barlo’s attention was the long, wooden table that stretched the length of the tent. It was heaped with food. The scent of fresh bread, tubers, eggs, and soup filled his nostrils, while bowls of berries and honey promised a satisfying dessert. Several flagons of wine waited to be opened.

“Where’s the meat?” Barlo asked.

“The
Linadar
revere all life,” Lysandir said. “They do not eat meat. Not even fish.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Barlo sighed. “Looks good though.” He stepped up to the table and began to fill a plate. Iarion and Lysandir followed his example.

All three of them took their meals outside. A cluster of tree stumps made comfortable seats. They ate in silence.

The sky was beginning to grow dark, but a ring of silver-wrought torches surrounded the clearing, keeping it lit. After a while, Lysandir stood.

“I am going to get some rest,” he said. “I suggest neither of you wait too long before doing the same. We have a long journey ahead of us. Good night.” He smiled and headed back inside the pavilion.

Iarion sipped his drink and sighed. “It’s good to have wine again.”

“It’s not bad,” Barlo said. “But I still wouldn’t mind some ale.” The wine had a clean, fruity taste that tingled as it went down. “Are you sure you want to do this, Iarion?” He turned and looked at his friend.

“I must.” Iarion raked a hand through the unbraided portion of his long, silver hair. “This is the best chance I’ve ever had of discovering my destiny.”

“We could die, you know. Well, you could die. It would take a lot to kill me. You’re lucky I’m coming along to protect you.”

Iarion laughed before turning serious. “I know it will be dangerous. But it’s a chance I have to take. If I don’t survive, at least I will have died trying to do something meaningful.”

“Who knows, we might even manage to save the world! I suppose that would be worth sticking out our necks.” Barlo chuckled.

The two friends sat together, enjoying each other’s company. A few moments later, a strange, sorrowful voice drifted into the clearing. It was a woman singing in Elvish. Her haunting song sounded like a dirge. Goosebumps rose on Barlo’s arms.

He and Iarion sat still as the elf woman appeared between the trees. Her long, white hair floated on the air behind her. Barlo shivered. Impossibly blue eyes looked right through them as she gazed in their direction. She wore an ethereal-looking gown that leached the color from her golden skin. She drifted between the trees as she continued to sing, oblivious of her audience. After a few moments, she disappeared. Her voice faded into the distance.

“What was she singing?” Barlo asked Iarion in a hushed voice.

“She was looking for someone. I think she might be Quenya-touched.” Iarion used the euphemism for someone who was not considered of sound mind. He took a long swallow of wine before standing. “I think I’m going to get some sleep.”

“You go ahead,” Barlo said. “I’m going to stay up a while longer.”

“Good night.” Iarion went back into the pavilion, leaving Barlo on his own.

Barlo sipped his wine and contemplated what he and Iarion had agreed to. How would he explain this to Narilga? He knew his wife would understand his need to accompany Iarion. Sometimes his journeys with his elf friend lasted for months. She wouldn’t worry if he didn’t come back right away.

But she would be upset if he didn’t come back at all.

Still, he couldn’t go home when his best friend was going on a potentially fatal quest. He also knew if he went home to tell his wife what they were up to, it would be even harder for him to leave.

“You are a good friend.”

Barlo was startled from his conflicting thoughts to find the elf princess, Silvaranwyn, sitting next to him. He leaped to his feet.