Echoes of the Fourth Magic

Chapter 15
Luminas ey-n’abraieken

DEL MOVED OUT from the glade and gingerly started down the invisible stair, leery at first, remembering the trouble he had coming up here in the daylight. Soon, though, he found that the darkness was his ally. The mountain wall remained easy enough to discern, towering right next to him, and his inability to see the invisible steps in the dim light didn’t blatantly contradict his logic.

When he got about halfway down, he heard singing coming from the northwestern corner of the valley. Hundreds of elves, the whole city it seemed, were joined in a singular chorus of celebration. Del couldn’t make out the words, for they sang in the strange enchantish tongue, but the tune and tempo made the emotions of the song clear to him. They sang a joyful melody, yet mysterious, almost supernatural, as if their song was for the stars and the heavens alone to understand.

When he had finally reached the valley floor-and it seemed a long while indeed-he raced to the gathering of the elves, their haunting song still rising in the evening air. He found Billy with Sylvia and Erinel. Mitchell and Reinheiser were there, too, a little way off, talking by themselves.

“Where’ve you been?” Billy asked when Del approached. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“A little business, that’s all,” Del said. “Nothing important.”

Billy didn’t press the issue. The thought of Del going off on some mysterious enterprise seemed perfectly normal to him. Billy was quite sure now that something unique had happened to his friend. Del alone among the remaining crewmen accepted this world with all his heart and soul, and Aielle and its peoples seemed to be returning the welcome. Everyone they met placed Del in high regard.

Sylvia looked at Del with an apologetic expression. “I pray that my father was not too harsh with you,” she said, and Del knew that she was truly concerned. “You must understand that this is a dangerous time.”

“Sylvia,” Del interrupted with an uncontainable grin, “your father is a perfectly wonderful elf!”

“Again you speak that word,” Sylvia protested.

“Arien doesn’t disapprove,” Del explained. “In fact, he, the Eldar of your people, has personally given me his permission to use it. Honest.”

“It’s really not an insult,” Billy added.

“I shan’t argue the point,” Sylvia said with a sigh of surrender, unable to resist their grins. “I suppose that it is the way that a word is spoken that determines its intent.”

“What’s all this singing about?” Del asked.

“Luminas ey-n’abraieken,” Sylvia replied.

Del just shrugged his shoulders.

“Abraieken means celebration, a dance,” explained Sylvia. “And the place to which we shall journey we name Shaithdun-o-Illume.” She sang softly:

Luminas ey-n’ abraieken

Mountain shelf of moonlight

Dance your dance of freedom

Children of the restless night

Sparklings of the mirror-rock

Tivriasis’ endless song

Lift your arms to the silvery orb

May her passage be bright and long

Luminas ey-n’ abraieken,

Shaithdun-o-Illume!

Your light is mine alone!

Sylvia could see that her song had pleased Billy and Del, and that, in turn, brought a smile to her fair face. “We celebrate this festival each month during the three nights of the fullest moon,” she explained. “When the shelf is bright in silver light and feet dance to the song of Tivriasis! You will see, and I promise, you will enjoy.”

The crowd around them went quiet.

“Be silent now,” Erinel said to the three of them. “They are about to begin. My uncle has brought the Staff of Light.”

The whole gathering remained hushed, and all the torches were extinguished. In front of them, on a rock pedestal, stood Arien Silverleaf, barely more than a silhouette in the starlight. He held a crooked staff before him in one hand and rubbed its knobbed top with the other. “Illu lumin-bel,” he commanded the staff. Gradually, the top began to glow, increasing in intensity until Arien was bathed in soft light. Then he clasped the staff tightly in both hands and presented it to the crowd, which responded in unison with, “Illu lumin-bel!” At once the staff obeyed their joined will, its top bursting into bright light.

Arien handed the staff to Ryell. Behind them, on the mountain wall, loomed the blackness of a tunnel entrance.

The Eldar waited for the commotion to die down, then addressed the gathering. “Four guests shall join in our dance tonight,” he declared. “Men who have come to us from a far-distant place.” Predictably, whispers arose throughout the gathering.

“Silence!” Arien commanded them. “The moon will be rising soon; we do not have much time. Shaithdun-o-Illume awaits. Let us find our places!”

With laughter and songs, the elves bustled about into the ritual line that signaled the beginning of the celebration.

“Take my hand, DelGiudice,” Sylvia said, “and stand behind me. And you, Billy Shank, take my other hand and go before me.” And so it went all up and down the group, the elves forming one long chain with joined hands. Arien led the way with the Staff of Light, Ryell directly behind him. There was one break in the chain this time, though, for Mitchell stood behind Del and would not accept Del’s hand, something that Del recognized as clearly childish and unbefitting this man who claimed leadership.

They went into the tunnel with only the staff to guide them. Just a few places back from Arien it was difficult to see, and for those a hundred steps back, or two hundred, the winding tunnel loomed pitch-black. This was a time of joining for the elves, a time of communication and trust in each other. Finding the way around rocks or up unevenly carved stairs depended solely on the person, the link to the light, directly ahead. Just a few feet into the blackness, Mitchell realized the futility of his stubborn anger and grabbed Del’s hand.

The tunnel went only several hundred yards into the mountain, but the slow pace and the winding way made the journey seem much longer. Especially for Del, continually assaulted by Mitchell’s unending stream of grumbles and complaints.

“Shaithdun-o-Illume!” Arien finally called, for far up ahead loomed a lighter spot, and the elves renewed their songs and cheers.

Suddenly the outline of a man appeared at the tunnel exit, and Arien stopped short in surprise.

“Who could it be?” a frightened Ryell asked. Many strange things had happened recently, not the least of which was the arrival of the ancient ones, and Ryell, like so many others, was certain that Illuma was heading for a crisis that threatened the very existence of his people. “No one entered the tunnel before us and there is no other way to the shaithdun.”

“Well, I daresay it’s about time you got here!” came a familiar voice, dispelling all fears. “A bit past time, I should say!”

“Pray no,” Ryell groaned. “The jester awaits.”

“If you wished to join the celebration, you should have come in with the line,” Arien said to the wizard, approaching the tunnel exit. “The customs should not be ignored.”

“Join the celebration?” the confused mage echoed. “Oh, no no, not for that, not for that! I mean, there isn’t going to be any celebration, so why would I come to join it, after all?”

“What do you imply?” Arien asked gravely, his suspicions heightening all the more as Ardaz stepped in front of him, blocking his exit from the tunnel.

“Get out of our way, old fool!” Ryell snapped indignantly.

“The Staff of Light must stay in the tunnel!” Ardaz retorted in a suddenly sober and deadly serious tone. “And there shall be no celebration this night!”

Ryell spouted in protest, but Arien, reading the danger in the wizard’s eyes, silenced him at once. For the Eldar knew well the moods of Ardaz, and turned back to him with genuine concern. “Is there trouble afoot?

“Ungden’s spies are in Mountaingate,” Ardaz replied grimly. “I am sorry, but a party on the shelf would certainly be visible down there.”

“How do you know they are there?” Ryell growled, ever doubting the wizard. “If this is one of your games-”

“I know!” Ardaz retorted, and Ryell was knocked back by the bared power in the wizard’s voice.

“Never before have they come this far,” Arien muttered.

“Never before has Ungden been this determined,” Ardaz replied grimly. He didn’t have to speak his further thoughts, that something far worse and more dangerous than Ungden the Usurper was behind this latest attempt to discover the whereabouts of Illuma, for he knew that those fears were shared by every member of Lochsilinilume.

Obviously distressed at canceling the celebration, Arien was wise enough to nonetheless heed the words of his wizard adviser. “Have this passed back down the line,” he instructed Ryell, handing over the Staff of Light. “Now is the time for our people to make preparations; the celebration will have to wait.”

“Arien,” Ryell moaned, “surely you’re not going to ruin this night on the words of that one.”

“Instruct the people to go back to the city,” Arien calmly and unshakably continued.

Ryell swung around angrily on his heel and started down the line, but Arien wasn’t through with him yet.

“Summon the nine second-born and accompany them to the shaithdun. It is time for a council, I believe.”

“Do you wish anything else, my lord?” Ryell grumbled with pouting sarcasm.

“I do,” Arien retorted sternly. “Have my daughter and Erinel bring our visitors. This trouble may concern them as well.”

Arien waited at the exit to the tunnel to greet the others as they arrived. “Our council may be grim,” he said to Del and Billy, “but at the least you have come at the right time to see Lock-sh’Illume, the Moon Pool, at its height of beauty.”

The pair stepped onto the shelf and saw that the Eldar had not exaggerated in the least. They stood on a flat ledge of a bowl-shaped gorge surrounded by high mountain walls of mica rock that funneled out wider to embrace the evening sky as they rose. The walls below the ledge remained vertical, though, dropping straight down for hundreds of feet to a deep, cool mountain pool. A stream rushed out from a hole in the rock face a few yards to the left of the tunnel and dove headlong down the chasm. This was Tivriasis, ever singing her haunting notes that conjured images of heroic adventures and mystical lands as she danced across the rock walls on her journey to the darkness of the water below.

The southern side of the gorge showed the only break in the mountain wall, starting as a crack down by the pool, but widening as it rose so that all of the southlands opened to the viewer. In daylight, Mountaingate and Avalon were clearly visible, but in the night, only the shadowy forms of the southern mountain range and an occasional light on the wide Calvan plain beyond could be seen.

No torches were necessary on the shelf except on the darkest of nights, for even by the stars, the abundant mica reflected enough light to see by. On a night such as this, with a clear moon rising, the ledge gleamed bright with ghostly silver.

As Del stood mesmerized by the beauty before him, an old man came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. At first Del didn’t recognize the man, for though he wore a hat and robe similar to those of the wizard Ardaz, he had a long white beard, bushy eyebrows, and flowing white hair that trailed well below his neck. A large raven perched comfortably on his shoulder. It was Ardaz, of course, as Del realized when the wizard pointed to his beard and winked.

Astounded, Del gave the beard a slight tug, and the wizard cackled with amusement and twirled away to greet the others as they exited the tunnel onto the shelf. Del gave a laugh of his own and followed, glad that Ardaz had come, and wondering what manner of magic the wizard had used to gain the ledge before them. Perhaps he had been a bird, like the one now perched on his shoulder. Or maybe he had a broomstick, like some witch of old Halloween tales.

When the last of the council group had exited the tunnel, Arien sat down with his back against the mountain wall and bid them all to sit in a semicircle about him. The Eldar hardly noticed as the others sorted themselves out, his eyes transfixed on the southern gap in the mountains and his mind drifting back across the centuries. He had been the firstborn of the second generation of Illumans, the first elf born of elven parents, and the first child born in Illuma. He remembered the time when he had stepped out onto the shaithdun and first viewed Loch-sh’Illume. Through this same gap in the mountain wall, young Arien Silverleaf had also seen the wide southlands that day and had realized that there was indeed much more to the world than Illuma Vale and the Crystal Mountains surrounding it. His father came to him then and told him of mighty Pallendara, the city the elves call Caer Tuatha, and of wondrous Avalon, Clas Braiyelle, and of all the wide lands in between.

Shaithdun-o-Illume became a special place to Arien. So much so that when Tivriasis, his wife and the mother of Sylvia, passed from this world, he found his solace here. The song of the stream caught Arien’s soul that night, its joyful melody so akin to the notes that had guided the life of the elven maid who had been his mate. Thus Arien named the stream in her memory, and on that same night he began the tradition of Luminas ey-n’abraieken.

Arien smiled as he thought of the times long ago when he, Tivriasis, and Ryell had stolen out of Illuma and journeyed to the wood of Avalon or to the northern fringes of the Calvan plains. But those were safer times, the days of Ben-rin and his heirs. Now, with Ungden the Usurper on the southern throne, no Illuman dared leave the mountain refuge.

The smile left Arien’s face. Calvans, Ungden’s scouts, had camped right on their doorstep. Even beautiful Illuma, Lochsilinilume, sanctuary of the elves of Aielle, was threatened. Sanctuary, Arien pondered, or prison? He turned to Ardaz, who had sat down beside him.

“How long shall I live, my friend?” he asked softly. “Shall it be long enough to enjoy the day that I might visit Pallendara? Or swim, perhaps, in the sea?”

It brought a tear to the wizard’s eye, for Ardaz, above all others, understood Arien’s frustration. The question was rhetorical and unanswerable, for Arien was the eldest of the elves, the first of his kind that the wizards had blessed with the gift of longevity. At this moment, propped as he was against the mountain wall, Arien seemed very old indeed to Ardaz. Since Ungden had assumed power, Arien had been under a terrible strain, and like a caged animal, he was losing his spirit, slipping slowly into a state of lethargy that Ardaz knew would bring about his passing. Even Luminas ey-n’abraieken brought only temporary relief. Other elves showed these symptoms of mortality as well; Ryell, ever walking a line of rage and frustration, perhaps foremost among them. Oftentimes Ardaz would sit at the entrance to his tower home of Brisen-Ballas, looking down upon the secret vale, crying for the Children of the Moon. They deserved a better fate, this kindly race that offered nothing less than true friendship. They could bring so much to the men of Aielle, enrich their lives so. If only…

“If only they would give you a chance,” he mumbled to Arien. The Eldar, preparing to address the council, didn’t hear him.

Although it was Arien’s place to open the council, an angry Ryell spoke first. Impatient and hoping to preserve at least part of the celebration, the volatile Illuman wasn’t waiting for anyone.

“How do you know of the spies, old man?” he snapped at Ardaz. “Or is this another joke of yours?”

Arien did not scold his friend, for he understood that Ryell desperately needed to feel the freedom of Luminas ey-n’abraieken. As with Arien, dancing on the shelf in the moonlight was Ryell’s greatest joy, a release from the constant pressures of the enemy to the south, and he didn’t like having it taken away.

“No joke,” the wizard solemnly answered. “Though truly I wish it was, I wish it was. No, no.” He pointed at Del. “Just after you left, I began to summon a whirlwind to clean up the mess. Of course you know that Desdemona here, trusting me implicitly as always, flew right off.” He gave the raven a sarcastic snarl, and Del sat confused, for he had met Desdemona as a cat. “She zipped away and I called up the whirlwind. No problem.” He snapped his fingers indignantly at the raven; then under his voice so that only Desdemona could hear, he added, “The leaves will grow back.”

“Now where was I? Oh, yes. As I was putting my clothes back on, Des came flapping back in a frightful tizzy and told me that there were Calvans coming through the southeast pass into Mountaingate.”

“A bird!” Ryell cried. “Our celebration has been stopped by the cackle of a bird!” He jumped to his feet and looked south to the blackness of Mountaingate. “I see nothing down there, old man. Where is the fire of their camp? Do they enjoy the darkness?” But even as he spat his sarcasm, the light of a campfire sprang up on the dark field. Ryell nearly tumbled from the ledge when he saw it, and the others jumped up, gasping with astonishment. Only Arien, never doubting the word of the wizard, was not surprised.

“It seems you owe the bird an apology, Ryell,” the elf-lord said coolly.

“They have never come this far before,” Ryell said, his tone now subdued. “What does it mean?”

The Eldar, determined to maintain a calm demeanor, answered grimly, “It means that Ungden has a clue to our whereabouts, for he certainly believes that Illuma is more than a legend. Or it means nothing at all. We cannot be sure.”

“Oh, yes, we can be sure, Arien,” Ardaz said. “Des here listened to them. They search for us and they know we are nearby.”

Del studied the wizard carefully. Something about him had changed. He had seen the wizard’s serious side once before, when they spoke of Brielle earlier in the day, but this was something more profound. Before, Ardaz had been energetic, almost frantic, yet despite all of his jumping around, he seemed a fragile old man. Del had even worried that he would hurt himself. Now that fear was gone; the wizard emanated strength, an aura of supernatural power about him. Before, Ardaz had seemed foolish, but now there was no mistaking the knowledge in his eyes. Deep knowledge, understanding beyond what a mortal man could know. Suddenly, the truth about Ardaz, and the implications of Calae’s fanciful tale, dropped their full weight upon Del. This man before him was a wizard, one of the Four trained by the Colonnae in the first days of Ynis Aielle. This man had been alive more than twelve centuries, and had known that other world before the holocaust! In the shock of his revelation, Del nearly blurted it out loud.

“Then we are lost,” moaned one of the other elves above the grumbling.

“Nay,” retorted Arien sternly, and the group was silenced by the firmness of his tone. “We are not lost. Even should the Calvans discover the tunnel entrance, they will never find the passage through the underground maze.”

“But if they do find it,” Ryell said in a grim voice, “we have barely three hundred spears, while Caer Tuatha alone can raise thousands.”

At the far side of the gathering, Hollis Mitchell listened with mounting interest, intrigued by the thought of a war. Given time and the proper opportunities, he would rise to power over these primitive folk, he believed. His knowledge of weapons alone could determine the victor in this sword-wielding world.

“Must there be a war?” he asked, entering the debate with characteristic impatience.

“A war or a slaughter.” Ryell muttered.

“If Ungden finds us,” Arien said, “he will destroy us. His anger is rooted deep in his past. In his eyes, because we are different, we must die.”

“Sounds familiar,” Billy whispered, and Del offered him a resigned nod.

Mitchell rose and strutted to the center of the council circle. “You are not lost!” he proclaimed loudly, throwing up his hands as if he was some savior sent to deliver the Illumans. “In my world, we had ways and weapons with which a few could defeat many!” He paused, awaiting their enthusiastic cries for him to continue.

But he didn’t get what he expected. While most of the second-born sat stunned, Ardaz’s face went white with horror and Arien leaped up in a burst of rage.

“Silence!” the Eldar commanded. Mitchell stood a half foot taller than Arien, and was twice the slender Illuman’s weight, but in his anger the Eldar towered over the captain. “There is no place for your weapons or your ways in Aielle!”

“Let him speak!” Ryell demanded. Arien spun on him, his face twisted with disbelief and renewed fury.

“Perhaps there is some value in what he has to say,” Ryell said, not backing down.

Arien remained unblinking.

“We face extermination!” Ryell roared, as if that alone was justification for his position. “A tyrant is Ungden! We are more worthy to walk this land than he and his miserable humans! What of our birthright?”

Arien glanced around, well aware that this speech wasn’t for his benefit-Ryell knew well that he would never sway him on this matter-it was for the ears of the other second-born, who were as fed up as Ryell with hiding in fear. Lochsilinilume was no dictatorship; the will of the council could force concessions from the Eldar.

Several conversations began all at once and it quickly became apparent that the council would be hopelessly divided by Mitchell’s hinted proposal. Arien looked to Ardaz for advice, and the wizard returned a stare, resolute and uncompromising, confirming Arien’s instinctive feelings and fears.

“No!” Arien declared flatly. “And I’ll hear no more of this. I shall not start a war. Nor shall I bring back the ways of man before e-Belvin Fehte! Have you forgotten the tales of horror? We are morally bound by the simple fact of our existence, by all that Aielle is supposed to be, never to repeat those errors.”

“If we are found,” offered one of the second-born.

“Then we will do what we must!” Arien snapped.

“Then it will be too late,” Ryell muttered.

Mitchell backed away from Arien’s anger and rejoined his companions.

“Captain,” Del gnashed through gritted teeth, trembling with a rage of his own. “We weren’t brought here to start a war.”

“No,” Reinheiser interjected, “but have you considered that perhaps we were guided to this place to ensure that the right side emerges victorious? The conflict seems unavoidable.”

Though honestly concerned that Reinheiser might be correct in his observations, Del was even more worried about which side Mitchell would consider “the right side.” The captain’s goal, he knew in his heart, would be personal gain, and not the welfare of Ynis Aielle.

And, despite his reservations, Del remained convinced that they could find a better way. He detested war and all the evil and pain it wrought, and understood at that moment, the greatest moment of crisis in his entire life, that if he couldn’t stick by his principles and ideals in this dangerous time, then they were nothing more than useless rhetoric. Del believed-after witnessing the devastation beyond the golden sheet, he had to believe-that reason, and not violence, was the only useful step toward resolving a conflict.

“There must be some other way,” Del said to the council. “An envoy to show Ungden that we pose no threat to him and are willing to live in peace with Calva.”

“Not a chance, my boy.” Ardaz replied. “No, no, that would never work. I knew Ungden’s ancestor, and he was just as unbending as this stubborn fool. The Usurper’s mind cannot be changed. I was in Caer-hu, Pallendara the night Ungden stole the throne. I bear witness to the blood of his methods and the evil of his heart. Believe me in this, there is no chance for peace as long as Ungden rules in the city.”

“Indeed, Ungden has proven himself a serpent with every act,” Arien agreed.

“And there may be an even greater evil behind his throne, I fear,” Ardaz mumbled under his breath.

The uncomfortable silence that followed remained unbroken for a long, long while. Arien weighed his thoughts carefully, for he knew that all of Illuma would depend on him for guidance.

“Sylvia, and Erinel,” he said finally, “lead our guests back to the city. Quarter them in my house, and there,” he instructed the men, “you shall remain. The debate before us is for the ears of the council alone. We may not return before dawn.”

The six stood up to leave. They all had questions or suggestions on their minds, but Arien had made it clear from the tone of his voice that it was not their place to speak. They all bowed, except Mitchell, and turned toward the tunnel.

“There’s a torch for you within the tunnel,” Ardaz said. Sylvia nodded.

Perplexed, Reinheiser stopped and studied the wizard. The physicist knew his own prowess in observation, and he knew there had been no torch in the tunnel other than the Staff of Light. That staff had gone back to the city with the line of elves, and no one had been near the entrance since they all arrived on the shelf.

Yet when they entered the tunnel, a torch was indeed lying on the ground in front of them. And when Erinel picked it up, its tip magically burst into flame.

Del wasn’t surprised.

The private council began as soon as the group departed, with much talking and bickering, for there remained two very different viewpoints on what course of action to take. Ryell and his supporters wanted to listen to Mitchell’s plans and waylay Calva’s forces quickly, defeating Ungden before he could truly organize against Illuma. The other view, championed by Arien, held to the hopes of avoiding war for as long as possible at any cost, hoping for relief from within Calva; perhaps an uprising against Ungden. A heated and angry debate ensued, but in the end very little was resolved. Finally, as the sky brightened with the approaching dawn, Arien called an end to the discussions.

“It seems we are divided,” he said. “Hopelessly divided, for the present, at least. Therefore, as the Eldar, it is my decision that we shall stay hidden and wait until we know more of the situation before us.” This brought grumbles from Ryell’s group. “And none,” Arien continued above the murmur, “save those sent out on missions for this council, shall leave the city.”

“And what of our guests?” Ryell prodded. “They are men, after all, and I do not trust them.”

Ardaz shifted uneasily and stroked Desdemona, who had transformed into a black cat again.

“Yet you would trust the one called Mitchell to lead us against Calva,” Arien replied sharply.

“I wanted only his plans to defeat Calva,” Ryell retorted, “that we could study and learn from them. I would not entrust him with leadership.”

Arien closed his eyes and sought the feelings within his heart. He felt that he must bide his time and react to things as they happened, for he simply did not know enough yet to act boldly, and a rash decision certainly could destroy them all.

“Of our guests,” he commanded, “they shall be given all the comforts we can provide.” The grumbling began again. “But,” Arien added to quiet the complaints, “they shall not be allowed to leave their rooms, and guards shall be set outside their doors.”

He looked around the council, his eyes alone showing him to be set in his decision, and at the same time begging approval, relief from the tremendous pressures of leadership.

“Agreed,” the others answered.

“It is a wise decision,” Ryell added.

Ardaz thought so, too, except that he knew a voice from a wood called out to the one named Del. The wizard feared the voice, for he did not understand why it beckoned so, and he knew, too, that its call would not go unheeded.

“Then, as we are agreed, let us end this council and return to the city,” Arien said. “And let us hope,” he added grimly, “that the Usurper’s eyes remain blind to our home.”