The Twins (15 page)

The apparition formed of the earth approached Tomas. As it reached him, Cairn was forced backwards, away from the boy. He could not move closer, repelled by the steady gusts pushing him aside as if he were a magnet meeting his opposite pole. The dust and leaves enveloped Tomas entirely, obscuring him from the sight of his companions. But, try as he might, Cairn could do nothing to prevent it. Calyx raised his snout to the air and growled, but even his sound was drowned out by the din of the moment.

Cairn could barely see Tomas’ outline within the swirling mass. It appeared to him as if he was still standing, but it was impossible to be certain. The forest encircling them grew calm and the only motion he could detect was within the orbit of activity that Percepton created around Tomas. For some reason, Cairn was not fearful that harm would come to the boy. Nevertheless, the moments passed slowly, and he was helpless to hasten them. He walked as close to the sphere of motion as he could, but he was unable to see or hear anything that occurred within it.

As Cairn stood watching, impotent and ineffectual, he saw Tomas walk calmly out of the spiraling circle that was the wind creature. Percepton’s crude features assembled themselves once more before them all, and then he spoke.

“I will allow you to depart, and I will give you my blessing too. Take what you need from my lands and may the First guide you and nourish you on your journey. Go now and I will await the trees’ communication.”

The ancient being moved slowly to the side, speaking to himself all the while.

“Yes, they would have told me if they could have. I should have known that myself. You are a very bright young man, my son, and I am getting too old, and my wits are getting dull with time. Shame, shame on me! Go. Do what you must. I have much to consider. I must prepare now. Do not waste my time any further,” he exclaimed, feigning impatience. “Go! The fabric weaves of its own will, but I cannot simply stand by and watch.”

After that final, penetrating remark, the apparition ceased to be, the pieces dropped to the ground, and it was once more dormant as before. Percepton was gone and a pathway had emerged in front of them that led to a clearing. They suddenly found themselves gasping at the sight of a vast expanse of azure blue water that lay immediately ahead of them.

There was a short continuance of rocky shoreline that began immediately at the forest’s edge, upon which they now stood. Facing the lake, Cairn sheltering Tomas directly with his arms and body, happy to have the boy back beside him, steadfast Calyx at their side, vigilant and tense, they gazed out upon their destination. In the distance, they could clearly see the magnificent sweep of the majestic Thorndar mountains beyond which lay the city of Pardatha that harbored Baladar and the boy.

The stars were still shining brightly in the night sky, but Cairn knew that there remained perhaps no more than three hours of darkness before the normally welcome sun would rear its now dangerously illuminating head over the horizon. They still needed to construct a raft capable of transporting them across, and although Cairn was deft at such a task, it would nevertheless use up at least a precious hour of the few that they had remaining. The broken trees lying haphazardly along the shoreline were what they needed to gather, and good fortune had left them an ample supply.

“We must not tarry here!” Cairn warned.

Motioning Calyx to follow him, he grasped the end of a large, straight sapling and dragged it toward the beach. Calyx quickly understood what needed to be done and the Moulant sprang away, half pushing with his enormous paws, half rolling with his strong snout, tree after tree to the area Cairn had brought his to. Tomas, too, ran in search of more trees, smaller but stout.

When Cairn felt they had gathered a sufficient number for a raft that could hold the three of them, he began to wade in the water and pull out the strong reeds that grew upon the muddy shore. Tomas followed along and soon there was a pile about three feet high, laid out lengthwise next to the timber. Cairn meticulously began the task of weaving the reeds through the trees, securing them with a box knot that jutted up through the now forming planks. Looping a new reed through the last knot and tying it down tightly, he continued to affix one tree to the next. Tomas jumped to his aid, and clearly being a quick learner, he imitated perfectly the manner in which Cairn was constructing the conveyance.

In less than one hour, the raft had taken shape. Now, two long poles would be required to push the raft forwards and they needed to be flat at one end as well in order to serve as paddles when the water was too deep to pole them ahead. Calyx was sent to fetch the multipurpose oars, and while he was gone, Cairn took a stick of beeswax out of his knapsack, lit a dry willowtail with a spark from his flint, and melted the wax over each of the knots holding the raft together. Shortly, Calyx returned to the raft with two lengthy pieces of wood in his mouth, suitable for the task required of them. He dropped them at Cairn’s feet and stood waiting for further instructions from his friend.

After the knots were securely fastened with the wax, and the strength of the vehicle was tested by both Cairn and Tomas, together, the boy and the man slid the bound wood into the lapping water. Cairn grasped Tomas’ hand and helped him climb atop, following closely behind without hesitation. He then motioned to Calyx to join them, as the Moulant, although clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of leaving the solid shore, leapt aboard too.

Cairn dug the long pole into the soft mud of the shoreline and then propelled the small raft out into the dark and forbidding waters, as the two human travelers gazed expectantly ahead. The damp chill of the evening air caused the fog of their breath to billow ominously from their mouths and their skin to prickle in an anxious response.

Chapter Seventeen

Elion woke with the first rays of sunlight and hastened to gather his belongings together, not wanting to waste any time before he began his journey home. Glancing at the sleeping boy, he felt reassured once again that hope was not lost, that right here lay a key to the puzzle surrounding their recent losses. And, suddenly, he was overcome with a feeling of concern, a wariness that crept over him compelling him to be cautious and prudent in his travels to come. He could not just leave casually now and continue to travel openly and without fear. The lands he had traversed so far, though strange and foreign at times, were relatively safe. He encountered nothing more than concern on the part of the townsfolk and villagers he had occasion to befriend during his long trip.

Elion did witness the passing of a great Lalas, and the memory haunted him still, causing great anguish whenever he allowed himself to dwell upon the recollection of that day, sending him into a deep depression that he had to fight to rid himself of. That event he would tell of when he finally arrived home, and the thought of that eventuality weighed upon his soul. There would be no avoiding it though, as his father needed to know that such things were taking place among the human population as well. But, as far as witnessing the evil one’s minions, he had done no such thing.

Talk of Trolls and dark lords and black sorcerers was rampant among the country folk, but as far as he was concerned, it was only talk. He had seen no evidence of Caeltin D’Are Agenathea, or Colton, as the human race pronounced it, nor his retainers anywhere within the vast lands he navigated. Although the Northern Elves heard the same stories that he heard time and time again, they too neither witnessed anything directly nor indirectly. But, the tales were increasing in frequency as time passed. Voyagers returning from the south had strange and disturbing stories to tell of creatures they observed, changes in the normal weather patterns, occasionally even decimated villages whose inhabitants were left homeless and adrift, and other happenings more terrifying than any spoken of further north.

Something was definitely wrong, and it was only a matter of time before evidence of the evil manifested itself among his own kind. Heretofore, even the Elves were disorganized, forsaking their ancient methods of communication, allowing their defenses to slacken. When the Lalas flourished, no people needed to fear, and therefore, they grew complacent in the face of prosperity and safety. But now, as they withered and died more and more frequently, Elion felt that soon none would be safe. The entire world was in jeopardy, and all the good people of the earth would forthwith suffer. He shuddered just thinking about the possibilities and how vulnerable his own kinsmen were. They had relied so heavily upon the trees, what would life be like without them?

Stop it! Stop thinking this way! We are far from there yet. And with this boy…
He gazed at Davmiran
… there is hope still!

Elion laid the lad once again on his cape and he used his Elfin sight to scout the immediate vicinity for any evidence of danger before venturing outside of his shelter. When he was comfortable that no menace lay in wait, he moved down the small hill.

Elion and the young boy traveled for two days and two nights unmolested. The woods were dense and quiet, as they encountered nothing more than a few small tree mandalins, as well as some scattered ferrins and foxes. Nothing hampered their progress. On the third day only after many hours passed, Elion allowed himself the luxury of a short rest during the daylight hours. The terrain was more open now than before, and although he and his precious companion were never fully exposed, he felt more insecure than when hidden by the trees.

Concealing himself and the boy behind a large boulder, taking advantage of the shadows cast by bright sun, he again provided sustenance to his prostrate associate. Downing a bit of invigorating fluid himself, he moved on with renewed determination.

He was making good time, and by late afternoon he began to scout for a safe haven wherein they could spend the night. As he traveled deeper into the southern lands, getting closer and closer to his home, he was also leaving the safety of the north where the preponderance of the Lalas still remained, and until he reached the northernmost outskirts of Lormarion, the Crest of the Dawn, he would be particularly imperiled.

Elion knew that he would have to cross the Plain of the Wolves under the cover of darkness, risking exposure to the nocturnal threats, rather than in broad daylight where the keen sighted animals would be upon him in an instant. His superlative skills would aid him in his navigation during the dark of night, and there would be no moon tomorrow eve to illuminate his small party. He had good fortune to thank for that. Timing would be everything, and he would have to move quickly once out in the open. He knew that would not be an easy task while dragging the boy behind him, and he hoped upon hope that the wind would be still and that the breezes would not carry his scent into the dens of the wolves.

Once across the plain, he’d find safety upon the Crest. If he timed it right, the rising sun would obscure anything that moved on the ridge, and then the final approach to Lormarion would be an easy one. The Crest of the Dawn was so natural a wonder that no magic could have made it a more perfect defense for the Elves. From the heights of the city, one could see anything that approached during the morning hours, or almost anytime during the day, in fact. But should anyone be observing from the north, the breaking of dawn upon the Crest concealed anything that moved, bathing the hill in bright sunlight and veiling all activity.

This phenomenon had served the Elves well. During the Troll wars twenty-eight tiels ago, the armies that amassed in the plain to lay siege upon the city were devastated by the Elfin warriors. Under the cover of the rising sun, the greatly outnumbered forces left the city and seemingly appeared like magic before the unprepared invaders, suddenly becoming visible to them only after it was too late. Frightened and disorganized, the startled Trolls ran amok, trampling their own forces in their frenzied and scattered retreat, easy prey for the skilled archers on the Crest. The slaughter was historic and no invader had attempted a southern approach since. Elion took heart in that memory. He need only carry the boy across the plains and he would be home, and this he intended to attempt two hours before dawn, for he reckoned that it should take him no longer than that to cross if he was able to do so unhindered.

After walking a bit further, he discovered a shallow gully ringed by short but thick perridon trees which were well past their fruit bearing age. He feared not that they would attract any hungry prey of the flying type or other, being no longer desirable as sources of nourishment. Here, he and the young boy could rest in relative safety until just before daybreak. He was only a short distance from the edge of the woods, but he could not risk sleeping past the appointed hour.

He made himself a strong mixture of ground Lalas leaf and spring water, basking in the invigorating feeling that overtook his entire body and mind upon drinking it, whereupon he sat down only to rest his weary legs and gaze upon the countenance of his companion.

Hope flooded him once more as he contemplated the approaching sunrise. Soon he would be home. Soon he could begin the painstaking process of preparation. If his family did not already know of the danger that was imminent, he would so advise them. Together, they would find a way of reviving his companion, and thus they would take the first steps toward halting the approaching darkness. Elion was confident. The world would be young again and his people would live in peace and safety once more. The trees would flourish and new Lalas would be born. The Evil One would be turned back, his minions vanquished. Just looking upon the calm face of the young man under his protection invoked such feelings. Yes, Elion was confident and soon he would be home.

The valiant Elf focused his eyes upon the eastern sky. As soon as the moon faded from sight just above the horizon, he knew that he had only approximately two and one half hours of darkness left before sunrise. Swiftly securing the hood of his cloak to his belt so that he could pull the boy behind him, leaving his hands free, he began the final journey to the wood’s edge.

The air was still and the sky was dark as pitch. Luck was with them. Breaking free of the final line of trees, Elion with Davmiran in tow, stepped onto the grassy edge of the plain. Swiftly crossing the perimeter, he began to pick up speed until he was jogging across the smooth grass, carefully choosing his path so as not to jar the boy following behind. He deftly sidestepped the rocks and small gullies without breaking his stride, counting on his agility and keen sight to prevent any serious harm from coming to his companion. One false step and they could both be in sincere danger. Darting from left to right, Elion proceeded at a fast clip.

Although he could not see it yet, he knew that the Crest of the Dawn was fast approaching, as he had already been on the plain for about an hour. Half the distance was already crossed and nature had been kind to them so far. The wind was barely detectable and he sensed no evidence of a single wolf. The eastern sky was beginning to brighten somewhat, and Elion was tiring now, the previous night’s vigilance, lack of sleep and sheer physical exertion finally taking its toll on his body and mind.

He pushed himself forward, finding his second breath, knowing that the home stretch was soon to be underfoot. As he kept going, nimbly evading the pitfalls that would trip up any ordinary Elf, he thought he could make out the approaching ridge, marking the beginning of the Crest of the Dawn. As Elion ran with renewed determination toward his home and safety, the sun inched its way over the far skyline. The rays of light streaked out, illuminating him only slightly, as a subtle wind began to blow from behind.

With only a few hundred yards left to navigate before he reached the safety of the hill, his worst nightmare materialized before his very eyes. Darting to the left to avoid the specter before him, he saw another great, dark shadow fast approaching. Zigzagging across the remaining yardage, Elion sought desperately to outflank the gathering pack of wolves. He stopped only for an instance to hoist the boy on his back, hoping to increase his ability to maneuver without causing him harm. That moment of interruption proved to be his downfall. The circle was closed and Elion no longer had an open path to the Crest. Whichever direction he looked, he now saw the looming shape of a great wolf.

Laying the boy down and straddling his prone body protectively, Elion pulled his longbow from its sheath. Quickly notching an arrow, he pulled the bowstring taught. Hoping to be able to down the wolf directly in his path and dash for the Crest as the sun came up, he aimed and let loose his first arrow. The massive wolf collapsed in a heap, the shaft having penetrated through its large left eye. Elion hoisted the lad on his back once again and sprinted for the opening he just created by dispensing the wolf, but he was too late. Two others sprang from the shadows, obstructing his path. Not willing to relinquish hope, he drew his dagger from his belt with his right hand, all the while holding tightly on to the boy with his left, awkwardly reaching back to do so. The imbalance became too great and both he and Davmiran tumbled to the ground.

Within a moment’s time, the wolves were upon them and Elion threw himself over the boy to shield him, with his dagger still in his hand. He lashed out in all directions, frenziedly striking home time and again, drawing blood he could now clearly see glistening in the light of the sun suspended in the eastern sky. His strength was ebbing quickly now and his vision was obscured by the blood and gore all around him. He could not determine how many wolves had gone down in the melee, but he knew that whatever the numbers, they were not nearly enough. They kept coming at him, becoming more daring as he weakened.

This is no way for it to end
, he thought sadly.
I have come so close, so close.

The wolves seemed to back off for a moment, perhaps to gather for a final and deadly attack, when Elion saw what he thought was an Elfin arrow rip through the neck of the raging wolf before him. Another and another, as if in a dream, the wolves went down, howling and spurting blood from massive wounds.

Elion lay over the boy by now, his dagger still clutched limply in his right hand, blood obscuring his vision and fatigue impeding his thoughts. He fought to remain cognizant, his last vision was of a charging Elf with wild white hair flying all about his wrinkled and tanned face, an undulating scream coming from his wide open mouth, piercing the now startled wolves repeatedly with his sharpened Elfin sword, his blood rage out of control.

“Father?” Elion queried as he lost consciousness. “Is it you? Is it really you?”

Sheltering his eldest son from any additional onslaught, Treestar, King of the Southern Elves, observed warily as his small band of armed warriors dispatched the remaining animals. The First must have been watching out for him or he never would have happened to be atop the Crest of the Dawn this morning. Something warned him, a feeling of concern came over him last evening, compelling him to arise before the sun and post a lookout on the hill. Strangely though, the concern was apprehensive, brimming with expectation and not simply with fear. And sure enough, his instincts were correct. Just as the morning light broke over the city, Treestar witnessed a gathering of the wolves at the base of the ridge. He then saw a glinting light, as if some man-made object were reflecting the rays in warning. That light turned out to be Elion’s small dagger, thrusting back and forth, side to side, in his chaotic effort to protect himself and his young charge from the overwhelming enemy. Rising to the call, unaware at the time whom he would be aiding, Treestar rallied his small band and attacked.

Once he was able to discern exactly who was in danger, he was overcome with rage like nothing he had ever felt before. Perhaps it was because he missed his son so much after all this time. Perhaps it was simply because he loved Elion so dearly and the thought of losing him was too much to bear. Whatever the reason, nothing was going to stop the Elfin Lord from his goal of rescuing his issue and bringing him back safely to Lormarion, to the comfort and security of Seramour, to the warmth and shelter of his home.