Source Of The River (2 page)

R
iver awoke
before sunrise, and his mind was troubled. Though it had been more than a month
since his father informed him of his true paternity, he could still remember
every detail. The revelation had changed his outlook on life, and he was
determined to live up to the destiny he had been given.

He still regretted never knowing his mother, and
he wished he could speak with her at least once. On several occasions, he had
asked the Spirit if such a thing were possible. The Spirit always responded
vaguely, and River was never sure how to interpret the response. A few times,
River thought he had seen his mother’s face amid the waters. It was only ever a
glimpse, and he was never certain of what he saw.

He rose from his bed and proceeded toward the
riverbank. As always, the first thing he did in the morning was visit the
Spirit and bathe in the waters of the river. He would offer his life back to
the Spirit who had given it, submitting himself to its will.

The Spirit had taught him many things over the
past few weeks, and River had resolved to make himself useful to the elves of
the Vale. Some of their distrust and uneasiness had disappeared as he was
growing up, but some of the Elders still had their concerns. Creatures of magic
were not fully understood by the Westerling Elves, but they were generally
accepted as long as they were good-natured. The magical creatures of malevolent
design were kept at bay by the magic of the forest. Their kind were not welcome
in the Vale, and no elf sought them out.

River was of an unknown magical design. Though the
River Spirit had never caused harm to any other elf in the Vale, Yillmara’s
death had made them all uneasy. What had once been a helpful and pleasant creature
was now suspected of murder. That suspicion did not easily leave the Elders’
minds. Their reservations about River and the water spirit within him seemed
justified. Any creature who could command such power over life and death
deserved to be monitored closely.

River himself had a good heart, and his only
desire was to be of help to his kinsmen. Recently he had used his newfound
powers to bring rain as needed and ensure the safety of the Vale by placing
magical barriers at its borders. No one with evil intent could ever cross the
river to enter the Vale as long as River lived.

The air outside was fresh and cool, the birds sang
merrily overhead. A gentle breeze caressed his skin as he removed his silver
robe and entered the cool water of the Blue River. His dark hair trailed freely
behind him, floating at the water’s surface as he swam to the base of the
waterfall. Nearly five hundred feet in height, the waterfall deposited the
remains of snow melting high up in the Wrathful Mountains. At its base were
large charcoal-gray boulders, which were suitable for sitting and spending a
peaceful afternoon. Near these boulders, River would commune with the Spirit
and seek its guidance.

The water was surprisingly warm, considering its
source. Weather in the Vale brought a permanence of springtime for the
Westerling Elves to enjoy. There were still rainy days to contend with, but the
rains brought new life to the forests and provided sustenance for the creatures
within.

As River reached the base of the waterfall, an
uneasy feeling came over him. He tried his best to shake off the feeling and
concentrate, but he found it impossible to focus his mind. Taking a few deep
breaths, he proceeded to wash himself in the clear blue waters. After a few
moments, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. High overhead, an
object was falling from the top of the waterfall. River stared at the object,
his mouth dropping open. Within a few seconds, it hit the water, crashing
violently below the surface.

Glancing overhead to be sure a second item
wouldn’t follow the first, River moved toward the fallen object. As he moved
closer, he could plainly see that this was not some random bit of debris. A
dwarf had fallen to his death from somewhere in the mountains.

Nervously, River approached the dwarf and looked
down on his lifeless form. Placing a hand at the side of the dwarf’s neck,
River could feel no trace of a pulse. The dwarf’s face was pale, suggesting he
may have been dead before the fall. There were no obvious bruises or cuts on
his skin, which seemed strange considering the route the body had traveled to
reach the Vale.

Others within the village had witnessed the spectacle
and were on their way to investigate. A few of them had already gathered on the
bank, watching intently as River inspected the corpse. Ryllak noticed the
commotion and decided to make sure River was all right.

Pushing his way past the crowd, Ryllak waded into
the water and made his way to his son’s side. River’s face was troubled, and
Ryllak reached out to comfort him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, but this dwarf certainly isn’t.” His concern
was obvious in his voice, his hands shaking slightly as he placed them on each
side of the dwarf’s head. Blue magic spread over the body as River looked
inside the dwarf’s mind.

Ryllak waited anxiously, maintaining his silence so
as not to break River’s concentration. He worried what his son might see and
hoped it would not be too much for him to handle. Though he was of age, Ryllak
could not stop thinking of him as a child.

“This man was ill,” River said softly. “He is a
miner from a dwarf village in the mountains, and he became ill shortly after
beginning his work this morning. He went to a creek somewhere above to cool his
fevered skin before falling in.” River removed his hands from the dwarf and
looked at his father. “I believe he drowned and was carried away for miles in
the current before ending up here.”

Thinking of his son’s welfare first, Ryllak
replied, “Is this illness contagious? Should you be touching him?”

“I don’t know what it is,” River admitted. “The
Spirit may know since the dwarf is in its waters. I don’t sense any danger for
myself, but for the rest of our village I cannot say.”

“You should speak to the Spirit, then,” Ryllak
said. “I will move this unfortunate dwarf to the riverbank.” Carefully, Ryllak
dragged the body away. As he reached the bank, other elves offered their
assistance in pulling the dwarf from the water.

River turned his attention back to the waterfall
and stared into the deep blue water at its base. Focusing his energy, his eyes flashed
sparkling blue. The Spirit had come to offer its guidance. Sensing its
presence, River relaxed his body, allowing his mind to open and receive the
Spirit’s words.

Ryllak gazed out into the water where River stood
encompassed by a pale-blue light. He hoped the information his son received
would be good news, but in his heart, he knew that would not be the case. The
appearance of this dwarf was far too strange to be a mere coincidence. Such a
thing had never before occurred in the Vale.

Patiently he waited until River began making his
way to the riverbank. As he drew closer, Ryllak could see the concerned look on
his son’s face, and his heart sank. There was trouble ahead, and he feared that
his son might soon be in grave danger.

T
hunder rumbled
softly in the distance as Kaiya sat motionless, her face turned toward the
wind. A gentle mist began to fall, and she lifted the hood of her gray woolen
cloak. The sky grew ever darker, encompassing the dwarven villages of the
Wrathful Mountains in shadow.

“You’ll catch your death out there!” Kassie cried,
leaning her head out of the doorway. She promptly slammed the door shut to keep
out the rain.

“Coming, Mum,” Kaiya replied quietly. Slowly, she
stood and made her way back to the farmhouse. Only once did she pause, gazing
one last time at the sky. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with the
fresh scent of rain that precedes a storm. With a sigh, she continued inside
her home.

“There you are,” her mother remarked.

Kaiya removed her damp cloak and carefully placed
it on a hook near the door. “It’s not a bad storm,” she said. “There’s no need
for a fuss.”

Kassie giggled with joy as she looked upon her
daughter. “You’re all frizzy from the rain, my dear.” Licking her hand, she
attempted to smooth Kaiya’s short violet locks.

“Stop, Mum,” Kaiya said, backing away. “It’s
fine.”

“Of course it is,” Darvil broke in. “It’s not as
if she’s after a husband.”

“Not tonight, anyway,” her mother replied with a
smirk.

“If you’re going to remain an old maid, at least
help your mother with dinner,” he grumbled, scratching the thick red beard on
his chin. “It’s not right to still be living with your parents at your age.
It’s high time—”

“I found a husband and got on with my life—yadda,
yadda, yadda,” Kaiya finished.

“It’s that smart mouth of yours that keeps you
from finding a man,” her father declared.

Sighing, Kaiya joined her mother in the kitchen.

“Don’t listen to him,” Kassie said. “He’s glad to
have you here to help out, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. The boys have
gone, and my sweet girl can stay as long as she likes.” She smiled warmly at Kaiya.

“I still wish he wouldn’t say things like that,”
she replied. “It’s already hard enough being different.”

“You’re special, that’s all,” her mother said.
“Someday you’ll find someone who’s right for you, and then you’ll be off to
have children of your own.”

Kaiya did not reply. Having children was not on
her list of things she wanted to do. All her life she had been treated as an
outcast, thanks to her magical abilities. Dwarves were not known to possess
such skill, and none of her peers could relate to her situation. She was
different, and that was all the reason they needed to be cruel. Her father’s
constant reminders of her lack of a husband did not help matters. At nearly
thirty years of age, she was already older than most brides. Marriage did not matter
to Kaiya. She had dedicated every free moment to the study of magic, and she
did not intend to suppress her talents in order to fit in.

Outside, the wind started to howl. Kaiya dashed to
the window to look upon the storm. The trees danced and swayed, urged on by the
powerful gusts. Lightning reflected in her gray eyes, and she felt a sudden
surge of power rush through her body.

“Come away from the window, Kaiya,” her mother
said softly.

Kaiya did not reply. Instead, she remained silent,
entranced as she looked upon the storm.

“Kaiya,” her mother said again. “Please.”

Dropping her gaze to the floor, Kaiya moved away
from the window and took a seat at her mother’s side. “I sense a presence in
the storm,” she said quietly.

“You’re scaring me, Kaiya,” Kassie replied
nervously. “Let’s just have dinner, all right?”

Still troubled by the feeling, Kaiya nodded and
rose from her seat. Retrieving dishes from the cabinet, she suddenly felt sick to
her stomach. An intense headache overcame her, and she dropped her head into
her hands.

“Kaiya, what is it?” her mother asked, concerned.
Rushing to her daughter’s side, she helped her back to her seat. “Tell me,” she
said.

“I don’t know,” Kaiya replied. “I feel sick all of
a sudden. There’s something out there, Mum. I don’t think it’s something nice.”

Darvil made his way into the kitchen hoping to eat
but saw that his daughter was ailing. “What is it, girl?” he asked as tenderly
as he could manage.

“She’s not feeling well,” Kassie replied. “It’s
that magic. She senses something in the storm.”

“An evil spirit?” Darvil asked. “That’s the only
thing that could account for this.” He bent forward and patted his daughter’s
head. “Let Papa help you to bed,” he said, helping her to her feet.

Kaiya nodded slowly and rested her head on her
father’s shoulder. Together they ascended the stairs to Kaiya’s room.

After helping her into bed, Darvil said, “You know
I love you, girl. I didn’t mean those things I said about having you married
off.”

Weakly, Kaiya replied, “I know, Papa.” The pain in
her head intensified, and tears filled her eyes.

Kassie made her way up the stairs with a bowl of
cool water and a cloth for Kaiya’s forehead. Gently, she patted her daughter’s
face with the damp cloth, hoping to soothe her pain. The storm continued to
rage outside, and the wind howled as if crying out for help.

With a sudden jolt, Kaiya bolted upright in her
bed. Kassie jumped back, startled.

“What is it?”

“The wind,” Kaiya replied, her gray eyes beginning
to shine with magic. “It’s calling to me.”

“Let it call,” Darvil replied. “You need your
rest.” He quickly went over to the window and fastened the shutters.

“Rest, dear,” Kassie said softly, still patting
Kaiya’s face with the cloth.

Kaiya settled back into her bed, squeezing her
eyes shut.
Just breathe
, she thought.
This will pass.
The wind
continued to call, and she fought the urge to run out into the storm. She knew
there was no danger for her, but she did not wish to frighten her parents.

Somewhere nearby, a presence had awakened. Though
she did not know exactly what it was, Kaiya knew it was evil by nature. A dark
spirit had come into the Wrathful Mountains, and its purpose was unclear.

Despite the evil presence, Kaiya felt no fear.
With the wind as her ally, she knew she would be safe from harm. Her family,
though, might not be so lucky. Danger was about to descend upon the dwarves of
the mountain.

T
elorithan took
a seat in his former master’s library to await his arrival. He smoothed out the
wrinkles in his long red robe and casually twirled a silver strand of hair on
his finger. The mirror above the fireplace attracted his attention, giving him
yet another opportunity to admire himself.
There could never be another as
beautiful as me,
he thought. His blue eyes sparkled, accentuated by the
bronze-toned skin of his face.
I am truly perfection.

Though he had been sitting only a few minutes, he
began to tap his finger against the arm of his chair. Patience was not a virtue
he possessed. When he wanted something, he wanted it immediately, and nothing
could stand in his way. Today he came seeking his mentor’s advice in hopes that
the old elf would be able to assist in his latest endeavor.

Finally, Yiranor entered the library wearing his
usual red-black robe, his face showing his advanced age. He smiled warmly at
his former apprentice. “So delightful to see you, Telorithan. It’s always a
pleasure to have you visit.”

Remaining in his seat, Telorithan nodded. “Yes,” he
replied dismissively. “Tell me, do you have any knowledge of the process of
soul binding?”

Yiranor was momentarily shocked by the question,
his mouth dropping open in reply. Telorithan raised his eyebrows, awaiting a
response. Slowly, Yiranor regained his composure and took a seat opposite his
guest.

“It’s a banned practice. Please tell me you aren’t
wasting your talents on such nonsense.” His dark eyes regarded his former pupil
suspiciously.

“Always the teacher,” Telorithan replied, shaking
his head. “As a matter of fact, I have been doing some research in that field.
I have had success with animal specimens, and I’m planning to expand my
research to include elven subjects.”

Yiranor, who was taking a sip of tea, coughed and
sputtered. Telorithan sat unmoving and expressionless. The practice of soul
binding had been banned for centuries in the Sunswept Isles. No Enlightened Elf
had publicly admitted to performing such magic in living memory.

“I am shocked by this, Telorithan,” Yiranor
finally replied. “You were among the youngest ever to achieve the rank of
Master. You were the finest pupil I ever taught, and now you are wasting your
talents on this? Is this what you’ve been doing for the past two hundred years?
Tell me I have misunderstood.”

“On the contrary,” Telorithan said. “You have
understood me perfectly. It is my intention to eventually bind the essence of a
god.”

The old elf stared at him in disbelief. “The gods
cannot be bound. That is what makes them gods.”

“Yes, but they were elves once,” Telorithan
replied, his voice becoming excited. “No one has discovered what process they
used to make themselves what they are now. I have searched high and low,
finding nothing but dead ends. With soul binding, I don’t need to know their
process. I can simply take what they already have.”

“Simply?” Yiranor echoed, jumping to his feet.
“This is no simple task you speak of. Soul binding takes immense concentration
and vast amounts of power.”

A wicked grin spread across Telorithan’s face. “So
you do have some knowledge of the process?”

Sighing, Yiranor sank back into his chair. “I
admit I have studied such things in the past. I was intrigued by the process,
but I never practiced it on any living creature.”

“What exactly did you study? Where can I find more
information?” Telorithan leaned in close to Yiranor, interlacing his fingers in
an effort to stop himself from fidgeting with excitement.

“We should not be speaking of such things.”
Yiranor was plainly uncomfortable with the conversation.

“But we are speaking of it,” Telorithan replied.
“Why is the process banned? Because other sorcerers did not have the power to
control the bound essences. They were failures. I
will
succeed.”

Yiranor eyed him suspiciously, still unsure if he
should share the information he was withholding. Telorithan had been an
extremely talented student, but he could be impulsive and was quick to anger.

Seeing that Yiranor was not yet convinced,
Telorithan tried again. “If I can perfect the process, everyone will want to
perform this magic. The process will no longer be banned.” These words were
empty. Telorithan had no intention of sharing anything he had learned or was
yet to learn with any other sorcerer.

Considering his former student’s words carefully,
Yiranor asked, “Do you truly think soul binding could be put to good use? Which
elves would be subject to the binding? How would you choose?”

“We can use criminals for practice. Once the
process is perfected, anyone is fair game. If you don’t want your essence
bound, you had better be strong enough to put up a fight.”

“That’s a dreadful way of putting it, Telorithan.
I hope you didn’t expect to convince me with such talk.” Yiranor had always
been somewhat frightened of his apprentice, but he tried not to show it as he
spoke.

“Honestly,” Telorithan began, “I am doing this for
my own benefit. If others wish to follow along afterward, it is no concern of
mine. No one is as skilled as I am. No one else will be able to bind a god.” He
did not bother to hide his conceit. To him, the only thing that mattered was
obtaining his mentor’s help. Somewhere within this library was a scroll that
could answer all of his questions. He was determined to obtain it at any cost.

“I suppose that is for the best,” Yiranor
admitted. “I do not relish the thought of elves dueling over trivial matters in
an effort to collect souls. There would be chaos in the streets!”

“Will you help me?” Telorithan asked impatiently.
“You have a vast collection here. You’ve managed to obtain texts the University
would not allow in its library.”

The old elf beamed with pride, a smug expression
settling on his wrinkled face. “It’s true. My travels have afforded me some rather
valuable little trinkets.”

“There must be something here I can use. I need
your help, Yiranor.”

Yiranor couldn’t help but feel sentimental at the
plea of his former student. Though he was a dangerous elf to cross, he had
always felt a special bond with him. Having no children of his own, he had come
to look upon Telorithan as his own son. “I will do what I can,” he replied. “I
believe I have what you are looking for.”

Telorithan smiled, knowing he had come to the
right place. Yiranor was a man of wealth, and within his spire were ancient
texts and artifacts that would rival even the finest museum. Though he would
never admit to such things, Yiranor had dabbled in dark magic in the past. If
anyone could provide the information Telorithan was seeking, it was his former
master.

The old elf popped up from his seat with
surprising energy. Turning to observe the shelves of his library, he lifted a
finger in the air and shook it. Finally deciding on a direction, he pointed and
said, “That way.”

Telorithan followed closely behind as Yiranor
headed for a shelf at the farthest end of the room. On a low shelf was an
ornate golden chest carved with runes. Yiranor ran his hands over the lid,
caressing it gently.

“This is a rare thing indeed,” he said. “Inside
this chest are documents written by the ancients themselves. They cover all
manner of dark magics, including soul binding.”

“Why didn’t you show this to me immediately?”
Telorithan asked, slightly offended. “You’ve known all along you have what I
need. Why did you require me to beg?”

“Nonsense,” Yiranor replied. “I only wanted you to
explain a little. No harm in that, is there?”

“There could have been,” Telorithan snapped. His
eyes flashed red with anger, but he had no intention of harming his mentor.

A warning was fair enough, for Yiranor knew he
could never defeat his former student in a duel. “You may study this here or
take it with you,” Yiranor offered. “I would enjoy working on this with you. I
have greatly missed your presence here in my spire.”

Telorithan rolled his eyes. He had no need for the
old elf’s emotional connection. Knowledge and power were far more important
than any friendship. “If you have knowledge, then I suggest you share it.”

Yiranor nodded and lifted the chest from its
shelf. “Let’s have a look at these scrolls, shall we?” he said as he proceeded
to a long wooden table. Placing the chest on the table, he opened the lid and
took out four scrolls. “I looked at these nearly a thousand years ago and
haven’t taken them out since. I admit I read about the practice, but I never
tried to cast a binding spell. The idea was tempting, but I didn’t have the
desire to harm anyone by practicing on them.”

“And that’s why you failed to learn,” Telorithan
said. “I will not fail.”