Elu had not got over her
surprise when suddenly the sound of voices came to her from down the
alleyway. Sitting up straighter she
recognised them as being Azuril and Nim’s.
“The city guard say she’s been taken
to see Morçant himself.” That was Azuril’s voice, speaking in the gruff tones
of Grinda.
“But why in the name of Badan would
Morçant want to talk to a spy?” Nim’s voice, incredulous.
“I don’t know, but I have grave
misgivings about this whole business.”
The voices trailed off into the
distance, leaving Elu to leap up and chase after them. She followed the path out into a main
street, and looking round the corner she saw the backs of Azuril and Nim as
they walked away from her. Not wanting
to draw attention to herself she picked up a nearby rock and threw it at
Nim. She later told herself that it had
been her intention to hit either one or the other, even though Nim had not
believed her. The stone hit her
squarely in the middle of the back, and the woman turned with a loud curse, her
expression fierce; then she noticed Elu’s peeping round the corner, and her
face was full of amaze. Seeing Elu
press a finger to her lips, Nim silently turned to stop Azuril and whispered
softly in his ear. With a look of alarm
he followed Nim back to the dark alley where Elu was safely ensconced.
“Elu!” he exclaimed when they had
both rounded the corner, “How did you manage to escape?”
“It’ll take a while to explain,” Elu
whispered back. “And I’ll tell you soon enough. But first we must escape from this city. Morçant’s soldiers will be looking for me.”
“There is a place in the southern
district where we may hide,” Nim offered but Elu shook her head swiftly.
“No, we must leave the city,” she
cut in urgently. “We cannot stay.”
The warning look on Elu’s face was
enough to communicate the seriousness of the situation to them. Nim looked thoughtful.
“If the king’s guard is looking for
you they’ll know who and what to look for.
Wait here a moment.”
She passed round the corner without
another word. After she had gone Azuril
looked Elu up and down, his expression one of concern.
“What happened to you? How did you escape the guards?”
Elu hesitated. She wanted to tell him about the strange
encounter with the wolf that could speak to her, but she remembered that Queen
Zvazdra had forbidden her to speak on the matter with Azuril. Not for the first time she wondered why this
was, but she decided to stick by her promise.
“They were escorting me to the
prison, and there happened to be a disturbance in the square. While they were attending to the problem I
slipped away unnoticed.”
There was disappointment on Azuril’s
face, as though he had expected something more from her. Then he passed her a wry smile.
“A chance fugitive then.” His face
cracked into a grin. “You are a fortunate girl, Elu.”
They were interrupted by Nim
returning with her arms full of furs.
“Here.” She dropped the bundle into
Elu’s hands, “Put these on. And make
sure you overdo it. We don’t want those
soldiers catching a glimpse of your face now, do we? Azuril, I’m going to fetch the horses. Take Elu to the Place.
I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.” She turned to Elu. “I don’t
know what any of this is about, but if you’re not a spy, then I apologize for
trading you in to Morçant’s henchmen.”
“That’s all right,” Elu replied, but
Nim had already left.
Although the weather was bitterly
cold, it was still uncomfortable for Elu to wear the many cloaks and the clumsy
hat that Nim had bought for her, for they were heavy and cumbersome. Still, she bore the discomfort as well as
she could and followed Azuril by what appeared to be the dirtiest and foulest
parts of the capital. At last they
reached what seemed to be the refuse pile for that entire section of the
city. At the other end of the stinking
mountain of debris rose the great outer wall of Mosdren.
“There’s a small hollow in the wall
over there,” Azuril pointed to the other side of the tip. “It’s the only way
for us to pass out of the city without anyone who matters knowing.”
“Surely you don’t mean that we must
cross over the rubbish,” Elu objected.
“That is exactly what I mean,”
Azuril replied dryly, and began climbing over the rubble. After a moment of general disgust, Elu began
to follow his lead.
Even before they got to the other
end Nim had appeared with the horses in tow, and Elu was covered in filth from
the times she had slipped over into the refuse. She tried not to concentrate on the abominable smell and on other
things; Morçant, the war, the wolf. Yet
somehow her mind kept wandering onto her current situation and she kept on
wanting to retch. When finally she
reached the wall on the other side she found that the cavity in the wall was
not more than a hole. It had been
covered by several planks of wood in order to obscure it. Elu wondered how the horses were ever going
to manage to fit through it.
“They will,” Nim answered grimly
when Elu asked her.
Azuril passed through first,
followed by Elu. The walls were so
thick that the hole seemed like a tunnel rather than a mere gap. Once Nim had managed to squeeze the horses
through the opening the passing was easy.
In less than a few minutes they were on the other side and out of
Mosdren.
“Now Elu,” Azuril was saying, “You
must tell me what passed when you were in Morçant’s keeping. Why was it so imperative that we leave the
city.”
They had planted themselves several
miles south of the city, in an area of short underbrush and boulders. While the horses were quietly grazing a
short way off, Azuril had been making a fire, Elu had been stripping herself of
the filthy furs, and Nim was unpacking the cooking utensils, listening
carefully to what was being said all the while. Elu sighed. She did not
want to speak on what had happened. The
memories were too near, too confusing.
“We had to leave because Morçant has
betrayed us,” she said simply. All at
once Azuril’s face became alert.
“Betrayed us?”
“It is even as I said,” Elu answered
shortly. “He knew of everything before we even arrived here. Long before. The tûrkals have bought him with fear – though it would not have
been hard for them, that is true. Morçant
has gone mad.”
“Mad?” Azuril repeated the word
thoughtfully, and Elu sought to explain.
“I’m not sure what the reason
is. I think perhaps the tûrkals told
him something, or showed him something, that petrified him. He said that we of the Light were too weak
to face the tûrkals in battle, that they had ways of conjuring up dead
spirits.” She halted, trying to recall the strange words he had said. What were they…A life for a life…Death brings resurrection…She shook her head. “He
feared for his kingdom for his people.
It was almost as though he feared something were after him.” She raised
her head to meet Azuril’s gaze. “He was afraid of me.”
Azuril’s look was unreadable, though
Elu was sure there was something there. “So,” he began at last, “Morçant has
turned to the Dark. He was always a
weak man. I’m afraid our enemies have
taken advantage of that. That means
that when it comes to war, Morçant will no longer be on our side.”
“There was something else he
mentioned,” Elu added. “Two names – Hardûl…and Rayla, I think. Do you know who they are?”
“Ah,” There was a bleak look on
Azuril’s face. “Hardûl is the king of the tûrkals, a man known for his
ruthlessness. There is no wisdom nor
compassion about him, no tact or solicitude – but little use he has for such
qualities. His circle of wizards make
most of the decisions for him; all he has interest in is war and conflict. I have no doubt that in his mind it has been
too long since this world experienced pain and suffering. Under his rule, war will come much swifter
than we suspect.”
“And this Rayla?” Elu
persisted. Azuril’s expression became
severe.
“Rayla…is a servant of the
Dark. He serves Hardûl, but is a
hundred times more powerful than Hardûl could ever be. Of the two, it is he we must learn to fear.”
“Excuse me,” Nim broke in
sardonically, “But it seems to have escaped the both of you that I have no idea
what is going on here. And since I
happen to have helped you out of a scrape, I only think it’s fair that you let
me know.” She turned to Azuril. “You, my friend, do not seem to be the man I
once knew. I thought there were to be
no secrets between us, Grinda. If
indeed that is your real name.”
“It is not, as you have rightly
guessed,” spoke the other man, working hard to light the tinder once more. “My
name is Azuril. And I am not a
minstrel, as you supposed.”
“Then who exactly are you?” Nim
asked, spreading her hands wide. “I’ve known you since I was a child, since I
was twelve, Grinda! I’ve known you!”
He seemed to find something humorous
in the statement. “There are very few people in this world who have known me,”
he muttered, half to himself, then passed a grunt of satisfaction as the flames
caught.
“You still haven’t answered my
question,” Nim spoke hotly. “Who in the name of Aan and all that’s good are
you?”
“I am a messenger,” Azuril answered
shortly, looking up from his work. Nim,
exasperated, turned to Elu.
“Hark at him! Messenger, he says, as though that answers
everything! And as to you, I’d very
much like to know who you are as well!”
“I’m just Elu,” Elu answered
quietly, “I’m exactly what I told you I was.
A peasant girl from Éadan.”
“Then why does Azuril here not appear to think so?” the other uttered
sarcastically, crossing her arms. Elu
sighed.
“Because he thinks I’m something I’m
not,” she retorted, feeling tired of the whole thing. She wanted to bathe, to wash away the stink of Mosdren, to wash
away the whole series of these sorry events if she could.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Nim cried, becoming impatient. Azuril,
hearing the annoyance in her voice, held out his hands to pacify her.
“Sit down, Nim, and I will
explain. This is all very
complicated. It will take some time to
tell you all that you need to know.” He paused and gave Nim a beseeching look,
and with a sigh she sat down and stared at him expectantly. “I am a messenger,”
he told the both of them on a breath, including Elu in his gaze. “I am a
messenger of the Light. I have been
sent on a mission, a quest if you like, on behalf of the Light.”
“The Light?” Nim asked, “What, you
mean the Light religion? You’re a
priest?”
“The Light religion is only a small
part of that which we call the Light,” Azuril replied mildly. “What I speak of
is not religion, Nim. It is one of the
natural ways of this world – of the Universe even. It is a thread of what many may call Fate.”
“Fate?” Nim repeated the word as if
it were an ugly thing.
“One such as you would not believe
in such a thing,” Azuril continued. “Yet it has governed your life since the
very moment you were born, and with more force than you ever could have
imagined. This I understand now, and
much later than I should have done.”
“What do you mean?” Nim asked
quizzically. “That I have a destiny?”
“More than that,” Azuril answered,
“A very specific destiny. A purpose greater than most people in this
world will encounter. You, I am afraid
my dear Nim, are one of the most important threads in the tapestry that is
Fate.”
Nim was silent, incredulous, almost
uncomprehending at the words that came so softly and seriously from Azuril’s
lips.
“Let me explain to you, Nim,” Azuril
continued at her silence. “Do you remember the moment that I met you? On that day so many years ago?”
His eyes were bright as he gazed
upon her. Nim nodded, swallowed hard as
though pained.
“Then you will understand the
importance of that moment when I say that I had not imagined in my wildest
dreams that I would find you when I did,” Azuril said and his voice was almost
gentle. “I am a man who is open to Fate – it commands me, and I read it, even
as I would a book. I see what Fate lays
before us all, even as mortal men do not.
But I did not foresee you, Nim.
When I met you and I came across you, I did not expect that the crossing
of our paths would ever come to any fruition.
Over time, you became a friend, a dear friend to me, and for the first
time I indulged in such a relationship without the restraint of having to
guide, or direct, or instruct.
“But then this moment comes, Nim,
this all important moment.” He accentuated the words with a passion that spoke
his awe at this thing he read, this Fate. “Tell me, what would have happened if
you had not betrayed Elu to Morçant’s men?
I would have gone to the king with Elu to argue my case, and he would
have captured me – and Elu too – and thrown us both into his dungeons, perhaps
even had me killed. While we languished
in his cells, how long would his treachery have gone undiscovered? Would he have called the tûrkals to deal
with the both of us – or worse still, Rayla, the servant of the Dark?
“No: your part to play was more than
I ever imagined – it was almost vital.”
“What you say is peppered with
conjecture and speculation,” Nim interrupted with disdain, but not without
looking a little unnerved either. “How can you be so sure of the part I have to
play in all of this – whatever it is.”
“Nim,” Azuril began, “I have watched
the signs too often for this one to go unnoticed. And believe me, you will discover that you have a greater role in
all ‘this’ than you already surmise.”
“And this Fate,” Nim spoke with a
thinly veiled sarcasm, “is it dictating Elu as well? Is that what is so important about her?”
“She is more important than anyone
else,” Azuril returned, a steely note to his voice. “She is a
shapeshifter. One of the last.”
For a second Nim looked shocked;
then she fell about laughing.
“Her? That naive little peasant girl?
A shapeshifter!” She sat up again. “Azuril, even if I could take your
claim seriously, it wouldn’t be possible.
Shapeshifters do not exist.”
“If so then how can you explain
this?” he asked, and before their very eyes, and even to the amazement of Elu,
his form began to shimmer and shift until presently a great white swan stood
before them, a look of triumph deep in its golden eyes. It had all happened so fast, and with such
natural impulsiveness that at first they could hardly believe it. Yet the manner with which the transformation
had taken place was so guileless, so uncontrived, that it seemed as if Azuril
had not existed, and that he was the bird – and yet at the same time that the
bird did not exist in itself, and was Azuril too. What reason, what rhyme, what magic had allowed this to happen,
neither Nim nor Elu could speculate. It
had seemed so casual as to be something normal, even fundamental to the very
foundation of life itself.
Nim gasped, shook her head, then stared. At first Elu thought she would reach out and
touch the bird, but then she hesitated, fear entering her face.
“And Elu can do that?” she exhaled
heavily, speaking only after great effort.
Azuril shimmered back into his
normal form once more with a casual ease, and looked across at a still shocked
Elu.
“I believe she can.”
“I can’t,” Elu interrupted, feeling
suddenly frustrated and angry despite strange and somehow tangible evidence
Azuril had just shown her. Somehow it
made things worse. “I tried shapeshift while I was in Mosdren, but I
couldn’t. Why do you still keep on
insisting that I’m a shapeshifter?” She turned to Nim. “I am not a
shapeshifter,” she said the girl, “But there is a prophecy that says that the
shapeshifters will restore balance to the earth, and end the battle between the
two Fates of Light and Dark. I promised
that I would aid Azuril in his quest to search for the shapeshifters, so that
this world may be brought to rights.
But I have another reason for joining him as well. The tûrkals destroyed my village, killed the
inhabitants and murdered the man I was handfasted to; all I seek is an
answer. No vengeance, no justice, just
a reason for why it had to happen. That,
for my part, is my purpose for walking along this path. I care little for what Azuril says I
am. Let him believes what he wants, but
I have followed him of my own free will.”
Azuril remained silent, his face
speculative. Elu knew he thought that
all her words were in vain, that she had not in fact followed him because it
was her choice, that she had been impelled to do so through some age old force
no one could even see. But she tossed
away the niggling doubts, still refusing to believe them. Nim was regarding her with a look both of
compassion and resolve.
“I understand the pain you must have
been through,” she said with a pale smile at Elu. “No: the pain that you are going through, that you relive every
day. I sympathise with your plight.”
She turned then to the golden eyed, black-hooded man, her face hard. “Grinda,
Azuril, whoever you are – it seems to me that you put a burden upon this girl
greater than she should have to bear.
Whether she be shapeshifter or not, you lead her to a terrible
Fate. Even I would find such a doom a
cruel thing to face; but Elu is young and innocent. What proof have you that she is who she is?”
Azuril’s gaze was resolute. “I have
no proof – none that would matter to you anyhow. Elu herself is the proof.
That, she will soon come to realise.”
Elu said nothing. After a moment she turned away to warm
herself by the fire, thinking: there is
no proof, there is nothing, I have tried, and nothing happened…
“But what if she realises too late?” Nim continued, “What will you do
then? If you yourself are a
shapeshifter – as you seem to be – why do you not take the burden upon your own
shoulders? Why can it not be that you
battle to bring balance once more to this world?”
…But
something did happen; the wolf came, almost as if I had bidden it to come to
me. What if I had summoned it? What if that is the power of shapeshifting?
“I am not a shapeshifter,” Azuril
was saying, not noticing the enlightened expression on Elu’s face. “At least, I
am not the kind of creature spoken of in the prophecies. I cannot take the burden upon myself.”
“Then tell me what you are!” Nim
retorted, exasperated. “Why all this secrecy?”
“It is not my place to reveal myself
fully,” Azuril replied calmly, “not until I am sure that the path I am walking
is the true one. And certainly not
until I am assured that all the appropriate players are in place.”
Something clicked in Elu’s mind; and
she spoke quietly, almost to herself:
“The Magician, Justice, Temperance…Are these the names of the players?”
She thought then of the Prophecy of Genlam, of the strange names it had contained
therein. And the vision she had had
when Morçant’s men had captured her, of those hidden faces calling out to her,
using names she could not understand, bidding her to follow where they might
lead. Something was leading her; whether it was Fate or no she could not tell, but
something was making certain that she
walk this path. And now a curiosity had
welled within her, an urge that teased and tempted her – could she walk that
path and remain standing? Could she
walk and still remain herself, still remain Elu? Slowly she turned to see both Azuril and Nim looking silently at
her, as though expecting something. A
conclusion – her own conclusion. No one
else could make it. Taking a deep
breath she made her decision.
“No,” she said at last. “I cannot turn back
now. I must see this to the end,
whatever end may come. I have promised
Mirulas something; an ending, an answer.
I cannot walk away from it now, I cannot simply let go of everything
that has happened.” She raised her eyes to Azuril’s. “I will go with you, as
far as I can. But I cannot promise you
what you want from me, Azuril. I
cannot.”
“The tides of Fate are stronger than we know,”
Azuril spoke quietly yet firmly. “And it impels us to do even that which we
would recoil from. Do not promise what
you cannot. Such promises are made only
in vain.”
There was a silence. After a moment Nim stood, looking upon Azuril coldly. “Speak not
to her of such things. Let her make her
own decisions – she is not bound to Fate.
You said yourself, there are two prophecies, two destinies; therefore we
should at least have one choice, or another.” She moved to face Elu, and laid a
hand upon her shoulder. “I have come this far with you, girl, and I suppose in
aiding you I’ve become a fugitive of Morçant’s as well you have. I know not what any of this means – but you
should not travel alone, nor so blindly.
Azuril leads you, but I see no one who will assist you in this quest. If it pleases you, I shall travel with you,
and protect you as I may; for you are young and fragile, and may easily be
harmed. And,” she added with a small
smile, “I would like to make reparation for the grievance I caused you in
naming you a spy. What say you?”
“I would be very grateful,” Elu replied with a
smile, placing her hand upon the darker woman’s own.
“Then we should leave this place as soon as we may,”
Nim said, drawing away and heaving her pack upon her shoulder. “For soon
Morçant’s men will be searching for us.
Where is it that we travel to next?”
“Nithall,” Azuril spoke up, “the kingdom of the
sephira.”
They travelled as swift as they might, facing the
long journey south to Nithall with an urgency that burdened both their minds
and their spirits. Where they cooked
their food they did not eat it; where they ate they did not sleep. Those few weeks seemed a life of continuous
motion; even to the limits of intense fatigue, even to the borders of human
endurance. Each fire they made would be
kicked out as soon as it had become unnecessary; all traces of habitation,
however temporary, were erased. No
comfort found them, no warmth. An
endless shadow seemed to fall over Elu; a darkness permeated by the continual
awareness of Morçant’s men pursuing them over hill and plain. Her dreams were haunted by the beat of
horses’ hooves, drumming endlessly over the hard cold ground that she slept
upon, only to remain feverishly upon her mind when she awoke. The company was grim; not even Nim’s usual
jaunty spirits were in evidence those long days. Even as the bite of winter began to pass, they felt the growing
warmth of the sunshine little. It was
as if the coldness of fear had entered into their hearts, as if the bleakness
of the hunt and the hunted had captured and held them.
Azuril and Nim would take turns to watch out at
nights for invaders and intruders into their own private cage, peering out like
shadows from behind a clump of undergrowth or a hillock that happened to serve
as their fortress or their hiding place.
As for Elu, she would lie in her blankets, folded inside her own cage
within a cage, despondent, exhausted from the world and all its dealings. Despite all she had told herself, now
Azuril’s words and predictions lay heavily upon her, damping all the optimism
she had somehow managed to contain within her wounded heart. She told herself it was only for Mirulas that
she agreed to do this, but even the certainty of this fact began to fall into
an ever-deeper doubt. What it all
meant, she did not know. All that she
knew now was that she could not turn back.
Too many mysteries, too many questions dogged her now.
Nim proved to be a resourceful protector and
companion. Several times upon their
journey they encountered soldiers tracking them from Mosdren, though soon these
patrols became thin, and then disappeared all together. It was chiefly Nim who saw to the expunging
of their temporary campsites, and the hiding of their persons when the men on
horseback came near. Keeping the horses
quiet was a different matter. Ralling
had become almost insufferable to Elu.
She found she could barely control him anymore – spring was coming, and
the stallion was becoming more and more frisky. Most days she was too tired to even attempt to discipline him,
which made things difficult when Nim required his absolute best behaviour. It was chiefly the fault of Ralling that
they were discovered by their foes.
Several times they got into skirmishes with
Morçant’s men, and they were lucky to escape with their lives. Elu had hoped that after the conflict with
the Aksees in the north of Rofaçilin, she would not have to use her sword
again. Now she had had to fight men,
human beings like her, not the base and grotesque Aksees that had plagued her
before. These were men who had
families, who lived their own lives, who thought as she thought, who only
happened, through contrivance and circumstance, to be her enemies. Why they fought her now was only their
craft, their trade; it was cold, impersonal, it asked no questions and expected
no answers. The interweaving of her
life with these nameless characters seemed so random, so senseless, so
pointless, as though she might as well be fighting ghosts and it would make no
difference. But every drop of blood she
spilled reminded her of a crimson strand in the great web that Azuril called
Fate, and it led her to question once more: what was Fate? And who was the cruel and sadistic spider
that had woven it?
Azuril had fallen, as Elu had, into a sort of
reverie, living a dream; or not a dream, but a monotony. His eyes, Elu noted, hardly seemed to be a
part of his face. Youthful, energetic
and alive, they glistened like twin lights, darted this way and that, seeing
all, noting everything. But his face,
the cragged, lined face of Grinda, was impassive, static almost. The face did not belong to Azuril – it was
not his, it never had been. He wore
expressions like face-paint, shifting in and out of them even as an actor
would. What his real form was, Elu was
curious to discover. Would it hold the
youth his eyes so graphically portrayed, or the wisdom they displayed that
could only come with old age? The
question bore into Elu like a gimlet.
“You are very old, aren’t you?” Elu asked him
once. They were riding away from the
path as they were used to now, avoiding the busy main roads. Nim was a little way behind, scouting for
soldiers; the terrain was making bumpy riding, and Elu’s spirits had been
low. Azuril, as usual, had been deep in
thought.
“Older than you can imagine,” he answered in a
murmur. “Older than even the oldest of kings may imagine.”
“And you were alive during the War of the
Sundering?” Elu asked eagerly. She
remembered the stories she had heard throughout her life, of the tantalising
heroes; the Bright Lord Fortuminar, the Black Princess Tolminäre; the
Dragonheart Éladnar, who was their cousin; the godly strangers, Rán and Ríl;
the Demon King Mensilbord. Even as she
thought of them she felt Azuril connect his mind to hers; and briefly he smiled
as though on a child’s whims and fancies.
“Yes, Elu,” he returned mildly, “I was alive during then. But…I was not in the lands of Fithandani during that time. I had…little interest in that war. I did not agree with what it stood for, and I vowed to have as little to do with it as I could.”
“Where were
you then?” she asked hungrily, “And what did
the war stand for?”
“I was elsewhere,” he repeated mysteriously, “In
lands no mortal of Fithandani has ever set foot upon. And as to the war – it stood only for the conflict between the
Light and the Dark. There was nothing
chivalrous or liberating about it, although the tales would have you believe
otherwise.”
Elu frowned at the familiar terms again. How many years ago had the War been? According to Eldeen four thousand years,
possibly more. How long had this
pitiful battle between the two opposing religions or Fates been played out?
“Too long,” Azuril spoke, picking up once more on
the train of her thoughts. He looked at
her wryly. “That is why I am here. That
is why we are both here. And Nim
too. To end it all.”
“How did the Dark and the Light Fates come about?”
she asked questioningly. “Was it the doing of Fortuminar and Tolminäre?” Behind
them, the figure of Nim was slowly returning over the distance, her horse
tossing its matted mane in the sunlight.
Azuril sighed.
“Nay. It
happened even before they were alive.
The lays say that at the beginning of Time, the Elder God Aan conceived
of Fate, as it had been the will of his mother, Éthar. So he channeled a river from the Holy Well,
and let it run its course into the Worlds Beyond the World. This river he called Tenamer; that is ‘the
river that flows ever onward’. Tenamer
brought life into the Worlds Beyond the World, where none had existed before
except the dark shades of evil that were the demons. It brought the lands of Fithandani into being, and bestowed life
upon the mortal races. Thus it became
known as Fate; and some men call it the Star River, for it may be seen in the
night sky some days, winding its way from the heavens to the earth. It is the only link between Fithandani and
Arinfól, the land of the Mithlonei, our gods.
“But one day the source of Tenamer was cloven into
two, when an evil spirit sought to destroy the Holy Well; and thus he hoped to
end Fate, and destroy all the world.
But he did not succeed; and from the place where he split the Well
gushed forth two streams instead of one – and thus were born two Fates where
only one had existed before. And they
are Baldamer, the Light prophecy, and Sidamer, the Dark prophecy.”
Elu was silent, taking this all in for a
moment. Then she spoke, her tone
reflective.
“And you want me and the last of the shapeshifters
to destroy the Dark Prophecy?”
“No, Elu,” Azuril shook his head grimly. “The
shapeshifters were made to restore balance to the world, not to draw it into an
even deeper chaos. What would happen if
either Dark or Light were to win? For
one to live and the other to die would be to create a world severed down its
very centre. It is even as Zvazdra told
you – the Dark and the Light must be joined, otherwise nothing will remain
equal.”
Equal? It
was not possible that anything could be equal.
Elu still did not understand why one could be not be destroyed and the
other allowed to live. And how could
you destroy a Fate, let alone join
two together? How could you reach the Star
River, up there in the sky, and repair whatever damage had been dealt to
it? That was the work of gods, not
men. Why did the Mithlonei not fulfil
the prophecy? Why did it have to be the
shapeshifters, whoever they were, who must bear the burden? Elu was not sure they even truly existed.
The sound of Nim’s horse approaching drew her out of
her thoughts.
“There is a horse and rider behind us,” the older
woman informed them, tossing her long dark hair back over her shoulders.
“Whoever they are, they are travelling at great speed; but it looks to be a
traveller, not a soldier, so there is little for us to be concerned over.”
“We are low on supplies,” Elu said, patting her thin
water gourd. “Do you think it could be a peddler, or a merchant?”
“Unlikely,” Nim shook her head. “But we could ask
for some spare water, if they have any.
At the rate we are travelling, and with the stores we have, I’m not sure
if we shall make Nithall without starving first!”
“Spring is more or less upon us,” Elu answered,
remembering something Eldeen had taught her about survival in the wild. “We
could forage for the roots of the winterwort.
They are a little tough but keep well.”
“Winterwort,” Nim screwed up her nose, “Tough old
boots, you mean. I’d rather eat
rats! At least they don’t give you
indigestion!”
The sound of hooves drumming nearer and nearer, and
at such an incredible pace that it caused Elu to blanch. This was the noise, the irreverent beat that
had filled most of her dreams of late; there was something sinister about the
sound, as it moved to encroach upon the borders of her waking hours. She turned to see what desperado was driving
his mount with such unforgiving relentlessness towards her; but Nim was already
moving forward to flag down the rider as he drew closer.
“Hie, sir, hie!” the woman shouted as the traveller
drew level with them. “Could you spare us a moment, please!”
The man and horse bolted past without even
acknowledging the group, hood drawn up over the rider’s face, cloak and tail
streaming out in the wind. As they
passed Elu caught the rancid odour of days of hard riding without baths, mixed
with the unique scent of tree, bracken and forest. The rider had passed only a hundred yards away from them when
suddenly he paused and wheeled his horse round, riding back towards Elu’s small
group. The figure on the dark roan was
oddly thin and effeminate, tall and almost stately, holding itself with the
carriage of what seemed to be an experienced horseman. As soon as they were within a few yards of
one another the rider addressed them in cold tones:
“You are fools to be riding out on the road, and
even more so for calling me down! Do
you not know that there are those that seek you with evil intent?”
Elu and Nim exchanged a look. The tone of the voice was female.
“We have not been travelling out on the road, as you
presume, mistress,” Nim replied in a pleasant tone, “Rather, we have been
riding along the ridge that follows this path.
We only hailed you thinking that you may have some provisions to spare
us. We are sorely low on food and
water.”
“And what makes you think that I too am not your
enemy?” the woman replied, her tone one of amusement as she neared them.
“You were travelling by yourself, and with an
urgency that spoke to us of haste in your own private business, not our own,”
Nim answered, a little defensively.
“You are indeed insightful,” the other replied with
a short laugh, “And as you rightly surmise, I bear you no ill will. But the men who seek you are not so
friendly; I may assure you that. And as
to my own stocks, they are as scant as yours are, I fear. But what I can lend you, I will.”
The woman offered her hand to Nim, and drew back her
hood as a sign of non-hostile intent.
As she did so she revealed a long, thin face the colour of dirtied
olive; dark eyes weary with travel and sleepless nights; black hair drawn back
to reveal the short tapered ears of the sephira…
“Ifith!” Elu exclaimed, pushing Ralling
forward. At her name the woman turned,
her thin face etched with surprise as she saw the younger woman.
“Elu! Why,
what brings you here?”
Elu tried to speak, but nothing would come out. There was far too much that had passed for
her to even know where to begin – and besides, her joy and her astonishment
were far too great for her voice even to draw forth.
“You know this woman?” Azuril asked, his face
beginning to work between a mixture of foreboding and amazement. Elu nodded.
“Yes,” she managed to say. “After I escaped from
Welle, I was attacked by a bear in the Rillon Forest. Ifith took care of me, and nursed me back to health.” She turned
to the tall woman. “But why are you
here Ifith? I thought you did not wish
to leave Rillon.”
“I did not,” Ifith replied gravely, “But the forest
can hardly be called my home anymore.
It has been overrun by the Aksees,” she continued darkly, “I could not
protect my land after all.”
“I am sorry,” Elu returned, seeing the sorrow on the
sephira’s careworn face; but Azuril’s expression was one of concern.
“So the Aksees have already gone as far as the
Rillon Forest,” he murmured, “And Grimhabim and its stronghold will be next.”
“Indeed,” Ifith nodded, looking upon the seamed face
of Grinda-Azuril for the first time. “The men there are strong, but the Aksees
have emerged with such force and number that I do not know whether they can be
withheld. As it was, I had little time
to warn the people of Grimhabim. I do
not know how close the Aksees will be before they realise they are in danger.”
Her tone became quizzical. “But how come you are here, Elu? I thought you went to Grimhabim to find your
man. And why are these strange men
hunting you? They said you had
committed some dreadful crime, but I could not trust their lying faces; nor
could I believe one such as you could harm another.”
Elu explained the situation to her old friend,
leaving no event unmentioned: how she had travelled to Grimhabim and discovered
that Mirulas was not there; how she had met Azuril and agreed to travel with
him; how she had met with the Asalki, and then with Nim; of the betrayal of
Morçant of Rofaçilin, and their journey south to the sanctuary of Nithall. And when she had finished, Ifith’s face was
grim.
“Then we share the same purpose,” she spoke, “for
now I also travel to Nithall, in order that I warn my people of this terrible
treachery. I have travelled without
respite, night and day, south down the Nomeiran trade route and through the
damp forests of Bedarn, making the quickest path possible. The Aksees and the tûrkals must be
stopped. Now that I have heard your
story I am more determined than ever that they shall not subject us to this
suffering.”
“I thought you cared not for your people, or your
king,” Elu quipped wryly. Ifith sighed.
“My people have done nothing to harm me, though they
did not dare to speak out when my parents were exiled. It is the king that I care little for, and
perchance he may not care for any news I have to tell him. Still, there will be those who would listen,
and who would follow. My grandmother
always said that there were those who did not agree with Lord Aldarith, and who
sided with my father. If only I could
seek these men out, then perhaps we could fight against the followers of the
Dark.”
“A war brews, it draws near,” Azuril muttered
darkly, “My mission is underpinned by destruction, by violence. How can my quest succeed?” He looked up at
the travel-stained sephira woman. “There seems to be little hope, lady
Ifith. Time has passed since your
father was exiled – and time breeds indolence.
Those men who once followed your sire are now old, and will hold no more
sway over the king or the people. What
if there is no one who will listen to you?
Who will be left to care?”
“Think you the sephira so ignoble, so idle?” Ifith
cried in anger. “But that has always been the conclusion of the other races –
that the sephira are weak and slothful, that they desire only wealth and
pleasure, that they concern themselves not with the plight of this world! Wherefore is this so?”
“It has been so for many long
years now,” Azuril answered gravely, “Not simply since the lifetime of the Lord
Aldarith. Your people were once fierce
and loyal protectors of the Light, and of the shapeshifters. No – say nothing, Ifith; your people have
long forgotten the import of that
great responsibility. But the Light means
nothing to them now – they ever worship Badan, and Otan, and scorn the pitiful
existence of the men, and the dwindling numbers of the elves, and the maniacal
fanaticism of the tûrkals. No
compassion fills their hearts; they believe themselves at one with Nature, yet
where is the bond they once felt for their fellow men?”
The power of Azuril’s speech drove into Ifith like
the strike of a hammer; and with each crushing blow she became more and more
enraged, until the fire danced in her eyes and a pinched whiteness touched the
olive of her cheeks.
“You know not what you speak of old man!” she raged
heatedly, “What do you, or any man for that matter, know of the sephira? How dare you speak of that which you do not
know!”
“I am Azuril,” the man answered calmly, “And I have
seen things that no other man is this world has seen. And I have known your people since the beginning of days;
therefore I know the strength of their will, and the fire that still beats in
their breasts – and I know too of their weakness for joy and pleasure, and
their penchant for self-indulgence. It
is you, my child, who knows so little of your own people.”
Ifith was silent, bending her will to his own, to
the power of his gaze. There was regret
on her face – a regret that she had lived almost her entire life scorning those
that she had come from, resisting the urge to rejoin that race, to learn from
it, to shape it, to change it. Her own
pride, her own disdainfulness had turned her into what she had hated most.
“Let us not squabble,” Azuril spoke softly, seeing
her crestfallen look. “Let us go now to Nithall, and warn Aldarith as we
may. Whether he listens or no is his
decision. But spring is full upon us
now, and the lands will be ripe for the taking. The Aksees shall no longer shy from war. There is little time to waste.”
“Nithall is still two or three days away from us,”
Nim said, “And we have been travelling for weeks now. Who knows how quickly the Aksees already draw upon us.”
“We have no choice but to journey on,” Azuril answered
sadly. “Perchance the people of Grimhabim will discover the danger their land
lies in, and send messengers to the kingdoms of Nomeir, Lasimaya and
Otava. But if they fail to do so, then
I fear our journey will be made too late.”
“Then we must make haste,” Ifith said, “For it is
likely our welcome to Nithall will not be so easily made as we think.”