First Rider's Call

“Amid the turmoil of those years, Mornhavon came from across the sea.”

Grae and Telagioth approached again, bearing a tall fluted vessel with twin handles fashioned into vines, made of the same translucent material as the bowl. They passed the vessel to the prince.

He unstoppered it and said, “Herein lies what remains of what your folk called Indura Luin of old, the Mirror of the Moon.”

“The Lost Lake,” Karigan murmured, wonder overcoming some of her apprehension. “It truly existed?”

“Yes. Before Mornhavon drained the lake, Fraleach the Long-bough was able to preserve a little of it in this very vessel. One of our great poet-warriors was he, of a time when words were more than mere language.”

The prince tilted the vessel and water streamed into the bowl with the crystalline, cutting essence of starlight. Karigan was not sure, but she thought she could see a separate shimmer of movement within the flowing water, half-formed images striving to emerge and take on lives of their own. Even as the water flowed, a thin mist began to veil the perimeter of the clearing, turning the tiendan who stood there into formless shadows.

Prince Jametari was precise and careful not to let the water dribble or splash. When the last precious drop plunked into the bowl, sending out rings on the surface, he set the vessel aside.

“According to legend,” Karigan said, “if one pure of heart gazed into Indura Luin during a full moon, he or she could speak with the gods.

“Your gods are not ours, and I cannot speak for the authenticity of your legends. The lake, however, did possess properties as ancient as anything of this Earth. Eletians held great reverence for it, as did your folk long ago, which is why Mornhavon drained it. We still mourn its demise.

“Perhaps your folk construed its powers as the works of gods. It was Laurelyn-touched, thus blessed in its own way. We Eletians need not a full moon to find our reflection in the water. And now I place it before you, Galadheon, the last remnant of Indura Luin, for within its waters lies your reflection.”

The water lay still and concave, its surface silvery, reflecting bright points of moonstone light.

“Our forests were broken by the surge of mortalkind and their destructions,” the prince continued. His hands moved gracefully as he spoke. “Our own kind splintered alliances and scattered. Because of this, there is no love of our people for yours. We became what we are now, dwellers of an Earth dominated by mortals, a quaint mystery for your historians to ponder.”

As he spoke, the mist wafted about the clearing and trees, moonstone light dimming and brightening with its passing. Karigan fancied she could make out shapes forming in the mist.

“Our numbers diminish,” the prince said. “Children are a rare joy among a long-lived race, and many of those who were eldest were slain in the Cataclysm or sleep the great sleep. Whether or not they shall awaken, no one can tell.”

He spoke of Eletians, weary of their eternal lives, who lay upon the ground and fell into a sleep of unknown depth. Those who awakened returned to the world. Those who did not became part of Everanen, part of the living soul of the Earth.

“The souls of those who choose never to awaken become the hearts of great trees, and they reach for the heavens.”

A vision of saplings sprouting from the water’s surface took hold. They grew into tall, magnificent trees, their boughs swaying in a breeze. Karigan blinked rapidly, and in a single swift moment the vision was gone.

“Since the Cataclysm,” the prince said, “the magic of Everanen has diminished to almost nothing, further endangering Eletians. This element that you call magic is essential to our existence. As a tree is the expression of sun and rain, so are the Eletians an expression of magic. Without it, we shall die. We are a fragment of what our race once was, and there is little hope of our recovering unless magic is restored in great strength.”

“I don’t understand why you are telling me this,” Karigan said. It was all quite interesting, and she felt bad for the Eletians, but what did it have to do with her?

“Because you are an influence upon the future of Eletians.”

“What? That’s impossible.” Karigan looked to Grae and Telagioth for confirmation, but they offered none. Grave and silent, they stood at the edge of the clearing, like statues carved of starlight and mist.

“Allow me to continue the tale,” the prince said, “so you may understand. Beyond the D’Yer Wall remains a vast reservoir of wild magic.”

Yes. Karigan thought back. That is what Shawdell was after when he breached the wall.

“Wild magic is the base essence of all magic. It is that from which all other magics arise. Why this reservoir of magic should remain in Kanmorhan Vane, the Blackveil Forest, while magic has not recovered otherwise, is little understood. Perhaps the wall has contained and thus preserved that magic, while after the Long War, magic died off on this side of the wall. Perhaps a remnant of Argenthyne preserves it.”

“Argenthyne,” Karigan murmured. “It truly existed?”

“You who have been touched by the favor of Laurelyn doubt it?” The prince raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Argenthyne was our people’s greatest enclave, and Laurelyn its queen and guardian.”

As he spoke, a city of slender spires amid a forest grew from the water in the bowl. Karigan leaned forward marveling at the city, at fountains glistening in gardens and an eagle riding the winds above. An almost-transparent palace, made of the substance of light, soared above the rest of the city, and she knew with certainty that this would have been Laurelyn’s moonbeam castle of legend. A cluster of stars and a silver moon hung above it all, leaving the spires aglow in the night. It was a place of living beauty. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">