by C. L. Wilson
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elvia ~ Navahele
Three bells after sunset, the last of the dinner dishes were finally cleared away and the hauntingly beautiful strains of Elvish night music filled the meadows of Navahele.
Fanor pushed away from the table and rose to his feet. “Come, my friends. It is time. Lord Galad will see you now.”
He led the Fey off the terrace and across delicate bridges that spanned the silvery pools ringing the island at the city’s heart. There, rising in splendor from a wide, mossy knoll, stood the centermost tree of Navahele, a giant king among Sentinels, with a trunk easily twice the width of any other.
“This is Grandfather,” Fanor said. “The ancient I told you about, who was a sapling in the Time Before Memory.”
“He is magnificent,” Ellysetta breathed. She tilted her head back. Grandfather was so tall she could not see his upper branches. Beside it—him—she felt dwarfed. An ant standing at the foot of a giant. Grandfather’s bark was smooth and ageless, shining a silvery gold that shifted color in the glow of the butterflies hanging from the Sentinel’s vines and branches.
“Aiyah, he is that,” a low, musical voice agreed.
Rain put a hand on Ellysetta’s shoulder, and together they turned to face the stranger who seemed to materialize from the forest itself. One moment, the stretch of mossy ground to their left was empty; the next, the Elf king stood there.
Galad Hawksheart, a man who’d been a legend before Gaelen was born, needed no introduction. Tall, broad shouldered, and lean hipped, the Elf king was even more breath-takingly beautiful than most of his kind, with strong, masculine features framed by a fall of burnished gold hair threaded with shining beads, aromatic leaves, and fluttering hawk feathers. Except for the golden cast to his skin and his tapered ears, he was almost Fey in appearance.
Until you looked into his eyes.
Hawksheart’s eyes were a fathomless emerald, swirling with infinite sparkling lights, as if all the stars in the sky had been cast down a bottomless green well. Those eyes looked so ancient, Ellysetta wouldn’t have been surprised to learn they had witnessed the birth and death of worlds or gazed upon the faces of the gods.
Hawksheart studied her with those too-intent eyes, and she could feel him in her mind, probing her thoughts. The tairen shifted inside her, sensing a threat. It gave a warning growl and began to rise. Afraid of what it might do, Ellysetta lowered her lashes to break the Elf king’s gaze and bowed her head in greeting.
“My Lord Hawksheart,” she murmured. “It is a plea sure to meet you.”
“Ellysetta Erimea.” The Elf king had a voice like a song, low and musical and enchanting. The accented Feyan rolled off his tongue like water tumbling over the stones in a brook. “Long have I waited for the day you would stand here among the ancients of Navahele.”
She raised her eyes in surprise. “Y-you have?”
“Bayas. I have lived ten thousand years, Ellysetta Erimea, and I have been waiting for your arrival since I saw my first glimpse of the Dance as a boy.” His eyes bored into hers once more. Despite herself, she flinched, and her tairen growled and roared.
“Parei,” Rain commanded curtly. “Ellysetta is not used to your Elvish ways. You are unsettling her.”
The Elf turned his piercing gaze on Rain, but Rain just narrowed his eyes and stood his ground.
Galad Hawksheart smiled. “We meet again, Worldscorcher.” The Elf turned back to Ellysetta. “Your truemate and I met many years ago in Tehlas when I went there to visit kin of mine.” He paused briefly, almost expectantly, before adding, “Though perhaps he does not remember it. He had only just returned from his Soul Quest and was still absorbing the wonder of being a fledgling Tairen Soul.”
“I remember,” Rain said. “You were there for the bonding ceremony of your cousin Hollen Stagleaper to the niece of Shanisorran v’En Celay. You told my father the next Song of the Dance had begun, and that I was the one who called it. I didn’t understand why that left my father so troubled, until I learned that the ones who call the Song always suffer for it. You can imagine my concern when I learned that Ellysetta calls a Song, too.”
“Is that why you stayed away? Did you think that by ignoring my summons, you could stop her Song?”
“My only concern was to get her to safety behind the Faering Mists.”
“And yet here you stand, and she is less safe now than she was then. The Dance will not be denied, Worldscorcher. Of all people, you should know that.”
Rain reached out with Spirit to probe Galad Hawksheart’s mind, intending to discover exactly what Hawksheart’s intentions were and what he knew of Ellysetta’s role in the Elvish prophecy.
Galad brushed aside Rain’s weave with a careless wave. “Fey weaves could never hope to enter an Elvian mind, Worldscorcher; nor is there need. I mean your mate no harm. Look to others for that and guard her well. She will need all the protection those of the Light can give her.”
“Hundreds have already sworn to guard her, in this life and the death that follows,” Tajik growled before Rain could reply.
“Kinsman.” Galad turned to Tajik. “So you have returned to Elvia after all.”
“As you Saw I would,” Tajik said.
“Bayas.” The Elf king held out an arm, which, after a brief hesitation, Tajik clasped in greeting. “I am pleased indeed to see your Light shining bright once more.”
Tajik dipped his head in Ellysetta’s direction. “That is the Feyreisa’s doing, cousin, which surely you must already have Seen as well.”
“I did, but that does not make me any less glad to know that what I Saw came to pass.”
Ellysetta glanced between them. “You and Lord Galad are related, Tajik?”
Tajik shrugged. “His father’s sister wed one of my ancestors fifteen thousand years ago, but Elves never forget their family lines. Once Elf blood joins your own, you and your descendants will always be Elf-kin.”
“Great Lord Barrial of Celieria is another of your kinsmen, is he not?” Rain asked.
Hawksheart nodded. “Descended from a different cousin. Our line comes directly from the first Elf king, who founded Navahele in the Time Before Memory.”
“How many kinsmen do you have?” Ellysetta asked.
Galad turned to her and his mouth curved in a smile that surprised Rain with its warmth. Elves were notoriously aloof with those not of their kind. They lived too long and Saw too much for them to easily form attachments with others.
“Since the dawn of the First Age,” Hawksheart said, “this world has greeted nine hundred eighty-nine thousand, two hundred seventy-three of my kin, but fewer than one hundred of us still live.”
“How many of those that remain are your direct descendants?”
The Elf king’s smile turned pensive. “I have no young; nor does my sister, Ilona. We two are the last Elves born to the direct royal line of the first king. Our remaining kin are cousins.”
“The family history lesson is all well and good,” Gaelen interrupted, “but surely that is not the reason you summoned Rain and Ellysetta to Navahele.”
Now Hawksheart’s expression went cool again. He regarded vel Serranis with an unblinking gaze. “Anio, it was not. Feyreisen, you and your mate please follow me.” He hesitated and gave each Fey a measuring look before adding, “The rest of you must remain here.”
“Ellysetta goes nowhere without her quintet.” Rain’s tone was as hard as stone. “What ever you have to say to us, you can say before them as well.”
“I assure you, your mate is in no danger here.”
“All the same, we all go, or none of us do,” Rain insisted.
Their gazes battled for a several moments before Hawksheart sighed and conceded. “Very well. You may all come. But none of you will reveal what you see to another—not through any method of communication, spoken or unspoken—and I will have your sworn Fey oaths on that.”
“Agreed,” Rain said. “I do so swear.”
A
fter the others gave their own oaths of secrecy, Hawksheart led them though an archway into the center of the enormous Sentinel tree called Grandfather. The trunk opened up to a soaring, cathedral-like hollow. Stairs twined up the interior of the hollow in helix patterns and joined together the numerous levels of graceful balconies that ringed the throne room.
“Rain,” Ellysetta whispered, “look.” She pointed to the ceiling high overhead, where glowing lights formed a shifting pattern that looked like clouds moving across a blue sky. As they watched, the lights left the ceiling and flew about in a complex aerial dance. “They’re butterflies!” Ellysetta exclaimed. When the butterflies resettled, their pattern had changed to a sun shining over a forest meadow blooming with flowers. “How beautiful.”
“The damia enjoy your admiration, Ellysetta Erimea,” Hawksheart said with a smile as the scene on the ceiling changed again into an image of two tairen flying across blue skies.
At the center of the chamber, the Elf king’s throne rose up on a large mound shaped like an exquisitely detailed forest. Aquilines, Shadars, and countless other creatures peeked out between the trunks and leaves of the trees. The entire thing was a solid piece of smooth golden wood that looked as if it had grown in place from the heart of the Sentinel tree.
Expressionless Elvian guards stood at attention at the four corners of the throne, and another two stood beside a small, rune-etched door set into the rear of the throne. The door opened as Hawksheart approached to reveal a long, winding stair that led down below the throne.
As they descended, Rain’s nose filled with the aroma of rich, earthy life, redolent with magic. The scent reminded him of the caverns deep in the heart of Fey’Bahren. No sconces burned along the walls, but tiny glowing golden orbs gave off just enough light that the Fey could place their feet without fear of falling. The stair itself seemed hollowed out of the tree, the walls smooth and unmarred. There was no railing to hold on to, but there was no need. The passage was so narrow Rain’s armor-clad shoulders nearly rubbed the walls as he walked.
After what seemed an eternity, the stair finally opened to a dark cavern and a pool buried deep in the earth. No flames flickered within, but the pool in the center glowed bright blue from phosphorescent mosses lining it, and the soft light lit the entire chamber.
“This is the great mirror of Navahele,” Hawksheart told them when they had all gathered beside the pool. “It is the reason I requested your presence here, and the reason I would accept no ambassador sent by the Fey in your stead.”
“Explain,” Rain prompted. Already the hairs on the back of his neck were tingling as his tairen senses went on alert. This was Elvish magic—the very root of it—and Hawksheart had something up his sleeve.
«There is no need for your distrust.» Hawksheart’s voice plunged directly into Rain’s mind, calm and commanding. «I only seek a better understanding of your truemate’s Song.» Aloud, he said, “When a person calls a Song in the Dance, sometimes the verses of that Song are revealed more clearly when the Caller peers into the mirror. I had hoped, Rainier Feyreisen, that you and your mate would come when I first sent my ambassador to meet you in Celieria City. There were many verses your mate’s Song could have played then.”
Rain moved closer to Ellysetta. “And now?”
“Fewer. All of them dangerous. Most of them shadowed.”
Ellysetta’s fingers closed around Rain’s wrist, and her sudden rush of fear brought his protective instincts to the fore.
“Are you saying the Mage will succeed in claiming my soul?” she asked.
Hawksheart tilted his head. His eyes fixed on her face unblinkingly as he admitted, “Several possibilities of your Song end on that note.”
“Is there no hope?”
“If there were none, I would not have sent Fanor to you except as an assassin.”
A warning growl rumbled in Rain’s throat, and Ellysetta’s quintet instantly closed ranks around her, fingers hovering over red Fey’cha hilts.
Hawksheart held up his hands. “Peace. The laws of Elvish hospitality are inviolable. Once you crossed the river Elva at my invitation, every Elf and forest dweller has ensured your protection.”
The assurance didn’t settle Ellysetta’s quintet. Their hands remained hovering over their steel, and their expressions remained stony, emotionless masks.
A sudden creaking groan broke the tense silence. The satin-smooth, seamless wooden walls of the chamber trembled, and the waters of the glowing blue pool rippled.
Rain dropped to a slight crouch—both to keep his balance and to prepare for an attack. His pupils widened, tairen and Fey vision combining, as he scanned the dim chamber with sudden suspicion, looking for the threat.
“What Elvish trick is this?” he snapped. Around Ellysetta, the quintet struggled to keep their balance as the wood beneath their feet shifted and bucked like a living creature.
“Grandfather does not like the threat of steel so close to his heartwood,” Hawksheart replied. “Put him at ease, my friends. Move your hands away from your blades.”
Warily, the quintet pulled their hands away from their blades. A moment later, the groaning tremors ceased and the floor beneath their feet went still and solid once more.
Ellysetta regarded the smooth wood of the tree’s interior with wide eyes. “This tree really is alive…like a person.”
“Bayas, Ellysetta Erimea. The Sentinels, especially, are intelligent—and deadly when roused. Grandfather was simply giving your quintet a polite warning. Had they truly threatened him or me, he would have slain everyone in this chamber in a matter of moments.”
The warriors tried to hide their unease, but Rain saw several of them flicking suspicious glances at the tree walls. When Rijonn thought no one was looking, he gave the wooden floor a thump with the toe of his boot. The floor thumped him back—hard enough that the great Fey jumped and nearly lost his balance. Gil gave his friend a withering glance.
Hawksheart ignored them both. “Ellysetta Erimea, will you look in my mirror?”
She wet her lips. “What will I see? Because I’ve looked into oracles before, and they’ve never shown anything pleasant.”
“I doubt that will be any different now.” A surprising note of kindness gentled Hawksheart’s voice. “You were born to be a world changer. It is not an easy path to walk; nor, as your mate pointed out, is it one without great suffering and sacrifice.” He took a step forward, arms outstretched as if he meant to take her hands, but Rain and the quintet closed ranks again. The Elf king stopped in his tracks. “The question, Ellysetta Erimea, is not whether you will change the world, but whether you will change it for the good.”
“How can you doubt?” Rain growled. “You have only to look at her to see she is bright and shining.”
“Elvish eyes see differently from Fey,” Hawksheart answered mildly. “Your truemate’s Song is neither simple nor certain. She holds within her the potential for great good as well as for the greatest evil this world has ever seen. She is a vessel of the gods the likes of which has not been seen since the Time Before Memory. Not even Grandfather has ever spoken of her except to say she was coming and that the Lord of Valorian must look for her arrival. Make no mistake, Tairen Soul, the fate of the world lies in the balance, and your mate will determine which way the scales tip.”
“I have already said I will choose death before I allow myself to fall to Darkness,” Ellysetta told him. “The tairen will see to it. I have their oaths.”
“Bayas. Those are possible end notes of your Song, and they still shine brightly, which means they may yet come to pass. But there are many different verses that lead to other possibilities, and they are the ones I hope to see more clearly. If you will consent to look in the mirror.”
Rain put a hand on Ellysetta’s shoulder. “If she consents, will you commit Elvia to join us in our fight against the Eld?”
Gold-tipped lashes shuttered the Elf king’s piercing eyes. “I cannot. If Elvia joins you now, the fate y
ou fear most will come to pass.”
“All will be lost if you don’t help us,” Rain countered. “We cannot win against the Eld alone.”
“I agree you cannot, but if the Elves enter the coming battle, the High Mage will complete his claiming of your shei’tani—and that will mean the end of all Light in this world. I have seen this in every variation of her Song. It is a certainty, not a possibility. The Elves must not fight. It would seal the doom of us all.”
Ellysetta half turned towards Rain, instinctively seeking the shelter of his arms.
“Explain. How would your aid in this war ensure her Mage-claiming?” Rain persisted. He didn’t even ask how the Elf king knew she was Mage Marked. Elves Saw too much—about everything.
“She will not take the journey she must if the Elves come to your aid. That is all I can say. If I reveal more, the outcome might be equally as devastating.”
“Do not toy with us.” Rain’s fingers itched to pull his blades from their sheaths, but he kept his hands firmly at his sides. “Forgive my bluntness, Lord Galad, but if you want Ellysetta to help you better See her Song in the Dance, you need to offer us something in return. And what she needs now is help to rid herself of her Mage Marks and complete our bond. What I need now are swords and bows and warriors to wield them.”
“There are only two ways to remove her Marks—either complete your bond or kill the Mage who Marked her. As for military aid, you have already been receiving that, whether you know it or not—or did you think the Feraz were going to sit idle in this new Mage War?”
Rain drew up short. “The Feraz?”
“Have been harrying my southern borders for months now.”
“Ambassador Brightwing said nothing of it when we met in Celieria City.”
“And I would say nothing now, except you are determined to think the worst of me.” Hawksheart pinched the bridge of his nose in a weary gesture. “Believe me, Tairen Soul, I will give what aid I can when I know my interference will not send your mate’s Song down the path of destruction. How to help is what I’ve been trying to See since the day I first Saw her Song as a boy—and lest you forget, I dispatched Brightwing to Celieria City to offer you that help the day I learned that her Song had begun, the day a Celierian maiden called a tairen from the sky.”