The Awakening (7 page)

“You must leave immediately, though,” Crea spoke, interrupting the Lalas. “Time is of the essence. We could not hasten your awakening. It was for you to come to us, not for us to beckon to you.”

“I have my brother to thank for that,” she said under her breath.

There is purpose behind everything that occurs, my dear. After all, I did not choose to have you hear me speak to my Chosen today and yet you were able to nonetheless
, Wayfair said seriously.

Alemar contemplated the tree’s comments as well as her other instructions for a moment. Realizing that there was little more she could ask that would enlighten her any farther, particularly considering that Wayfair himself was surprised too by this turn of events, she readied herself to depart.

“I must go back and inform my father of my charge. I could not leave without so doing.”

The fewer who know of what you do, the better. There are powers that oppose us now that are greater than they were even a mere month ago. Speak of this as little as you can
, the voice spoke from within her mind.

“I will tell only my father and he will not betray my confidence.”

Choose your companions carefully. The selection must be yours and yours alone, but it is a crucial one
, Wayfair emphasized.

“It is also an easy one,” she replied immediately, thankful that at least something was perfectly clear to her. “Clovis and Giles will accompany me. There are none better in all of Eleutheria.”

“Good. It is done then,” Crea said with finality.

There is one thing you have forgotten, my friend, is there not?
he asked of his Chosen.

“Ah, the flame. Yes, Wayfair, I did almost forget. But I happen to have it here in my hand, coincidentally as you may think,” Crea responded, feigning innocence.

I thought that perhaps it was lost amongst your many words
, my friend, the tree responded fondly.

Crea handed Alemar what appeared to be a simple stick, a finger’s length, encircled in a finely woven silver cocoon. One end had a hole through it and through that hole Crea passed a chain of the same woven silver. He walked to Alemar and placed it over her delicate head.

“You need only wish for it and the fragment will light your way in the darkness. It will not dwindle unless you so wish it and it cannot ever be used up,” the Chosen said.

You will need it, Alemar. Keep it safe always. Do not entrust it to anyone else. Its power would be useless to another
, Wayfair warned.

“I will do as you say and I will leave as soon as possible,” the elf Princess answered humbly.

Yes, you must. But be forever warned, Alemar. Your journey will be an arduous one. Rely upon only those whose love and devotion you are certain of. Do not be deceived by pretense and flattery. When and if you discover what you need to, you will know it. There will be no doubt in your mind. Trust your instincts. After all, you are a Chosen
, Wayfair concluded.

Alemar blushed deeply at the great tree’s comment. She could not believe that this was really happening and that Wayfair referred to her as a “Chosen”. With an overwhelming sense of pride and no small amount of trepidation, she said her good-byes to the two whom she had come to merely to ask their advice just moments ago.

She felt the weight upon her shoulders, but it did not cause her to stumble or give way beneath it. Flicking her long blonde hair behind her shoulders, she raised her delicate chin, walked to Crea and kissed him farewell. Wayfair bent a long branch nearly to the ground and caressed her cheek with a slender tendril. She pressed one large leaf tenderly to her skin and held it there for a brief moment. The fragrance was divine and she wished never to forget it as she regretfully released it from her grasp. Crea bowed deeply and Wayfair rustled his bows and branches as Alemar turned to leave.

“Farewell, my friends,” she said looking backward over her shoulder. “I will not disappoint you. I promise.”

She gazed upon the snow covered peaks that encircled her homeland as she walked back to the city. The strong summer sun sent rivulets of silver water cascading down the steep mountains and it glistened and glimmered like great schools of silver fish swimming under the ice lakes. She knew that the beauty she saw all around her was elusive and tenuous and that despite the loveliness of the vision, the mountains concealed a bleak and formidable reality into which she must now venture. She rubbed the powder off of the mark behind her ear, and exposed it to the daylight. Alemar vowed to never again conceal it from anyone but rather to reveal it proudly, knowing now that she had been right all along in her inclinations.

Her mind was racing by the time she reached the massive gates of sculpted ice that kept the city safe from any and all intruders. She entered through the same small passage, but somehow it felt different now. With a new purpose, Alemar walked steadfast toward the palace and her father, the King.

Chapter Nine

The group bid a reluctant farewell to Baladar and the citizens of the city into which they had all entered those two scant months ago. It was a bittersweet parting, harder surely for some than for others, but difficult for them all nonetheless. Baladar stood atop the Ghost Tower, solitary and tall with his proud chin held high, though tension and sadness clearly marked his handsome features. Throngs of people gathered at the Noban gates, shrouded in the somber blankets of silence and solemnity. The river coursed by, reflecting the sunlight off of the many and varied surfaces of the swiftly flowing waters. High above the river to the north, Calista’s stone sentinel emitted a bright and matchless beacon, illuminating the companions as well as the youngling, the beautiful sapling around which they all stood. From afar, they appeared as if they were bathing in a pool of liquid silver and pale pink, humbly acknowledging the silent gratitude of the crowds.

“Come, friends. We cannot linger here forever,” Filaree of Avalain finally said.

“ Filaree’’s right. It will get no easier for any of us if we wait another day or even a tiel,” Robyn agreed as he gathered his cloak about him.

Cairn moved in front of the company and signaled for their attention in his own quiet manner. “Can we not salute Baladar in unison one final time before we depart?” he asked from his heart, moved almost to tears by the moment. “Perhaps our leave-taking will be softened for him in time by the final image we leave behind in his mind’s eye.”

“Yes, let us. It is hard enough for him to remain behind whilst we all march,” Prince Elion reiterated, feeling the mantle of the moment heavy upon his own shoulders.

Without the need for another word, the friends assembled facing the formidable tower upon which Baladar stood unmoving. From left to right was first Calyx, the giant Moulant. Next to him was Cairn. Then came Tomas arm in arm with Preston, followed by Robyn and Filaree. Finally, Elion completed the line of travelers. They all raised their eyes to look upon Baladar and they stood in perfect silence, each one remembering his or her ‘calling’, the first encounter with the Lord of the city, the particular circumstances of their own arrival or simply their weighty decision to make this fortuitous pilgrimage to Pardatha.

The events of the past months flashed before each of their eyes according to the individual’s unique perspective. Yet they were all now bound together by a common goal, one that manifested itself in the patterns they severally and jointly created, all woven from a common thread, creating the fabric’s very special shape and form, its unparalleled sheen and luminosity. They singularly recognized the enemy all too clearly and they individually knew what they must do in order to maintain the health and well being of their people and their world. Baladar in his own wise and gentle manner, set into motion the events that would change the face of the land forever, and this group of disparate confidants would now continue on the path that he could no longer tread.

After a moment of wordless contemplation, Baladar raised his right arm in salute and bid a final farewell to his friends. They responded in kind, each thrusting his or her right arm high in the air, and as they turned to mount their horses and ponies, all the people of Pardatha who had gathered in the city, on the banks of the River of Tears, atop the battlements, on the streets, in their doorways and in the fields, raised their right arms as well in silent tribute to their beloved leader and as a parting testimonial to the group whose future meant so much to so many.

With Filaree in the lead, they rode northward toward Calista’s pillar and the ridge above the river, across which they would travel to the other side of the glistening and churning water. Once over, they would turn southward and head directly for the Plain of the Wolves and the tree-top city of Seramour in the land of Lormarion; to Davmiran and to their destiny.

Chapter Ten

“It’’s not right. He protects a human and sacrifices all of us. Why must I be locked in the Heights when my love is down below? I wish to see her, to be with her. I cannot stand to live apart any longer.”

“Stop your whining, Ruffin,” the young elf’s mother said. “You blaspheme the King. He does what he must and who are you to question his wisdom? Besides, you never loved Aramela as much when she was at your side as you do now that she is not,” she scowled.

“The King risks the safety of all of us for a human child. He’’s grown too old and too weak to know what is right.”

“And you are blinded by your lust for your woman, son, and you no longer speak rationally. Hush now. I will hear no more of this treason in my home,” she lambasted him.

“Treason? You call me a traitor? Have you lost your mind too, old woman?”

“Do not speak to me so. I am still your mother,” she snapped as she approached the angry boy with a broomstick she grabbed from the comer.

“Will you strike me now with that, mother? Do you think I’’m not strong enough to thwart you? I am no longer a child, and you are blinded by your loyalty to the old ways.”

“They have served us all well, Ruffin, have they not, the old ways? I do not see you complaining for want of food to eat or clothes to wear. Do you toil so hard that your fingers are raw from your labors?” she asked, mocking. “You are a lazy, good for nothing child.”

The auburn-haired elf moved slowly to the other side of the small room. He turned his back upon his mother for a moment and obscuring his movements, he picked up a cooking pan made of cast metal that was sitting upon the table before him.

“If your father were still alive, he would put you in your place,” she chastised. “He was a good man, a loyal elf. What has become of our family?” wringing her hands. “You would not have spoken to him the way you speak to me. You would have shown some respect.”

“He was a fool, mother! He was a simpleton. Look around you. What did father do for us? He left us here in this hovel and now I cannot even be with my love,” he said more agitated than before, his back still to his mother.

She swung around, “My husband was no such thing! He was a good and kind man and he loved us dearly. How can you say such horrible things? I am ashamed for you. You dishonor us all,” she said, sobbing. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“You are no better than he was, mother. You are weak and sentimental. I will not live this way forever. I want more than this!”

“What you may want and what you will get depends upon how hard you work, son. Things do not come to us merely for wanting them. Such foolish talk. I raised you badly and now I suffer a mother’s pain for it. May the First forgive me. What have I brought into this world?”

“I will have more! This human’s presence here will not keep me locked up in the Heights. The King lives gloriously in his palace and I live like a dog, tending his gates, keeping him safe so that he can sacrifice our happiness for a man-child. His own son even ran away from him!”

“I will hear no more of this!” she said, raising her broom menacingly at her son’s back. “Treason! You speak treason!” she yelled. “Look at me and tell me that you will shame me. Do not hide in the shadows and speak about defying the King. Say it to my face so that I can see your eyes and know if my son has gone from me forever,” she exclaimed frantic, but Ruffin kept his back turned to his mother. “Where is your honor? Where is your courage? Are you afraid even to look upon me?”

The old woman jabbed Ruffin with the rounded end of the broom, yelling all the time, as her anger built and built with the frustration of so great a disappointment.

“Turn to me, I say. Coward! Coward!” she screamed at him, thrusting the broom handle into his skin.

Anger mounting, the elf, tortured by envy and tormented by love, whirled with loathing in his eyes. He needed to still her shrill voice, to quiet her feeble-minded prattle. Ruffin could bear the insults no longer. His mind was exploding. He lifted the heavy pan with his right arm and struck her hard upon the side of the head. The old woman crumbled from the impact like a charred piece of wood, and no sooner did Ruffin bend down to assess the damage, when the light of her life went out forever. Frenzied, he looked around for something to stop the pool of blood spreading rapidly across the wooden floor. Panic overcame him as he realized what his ire had done.

“Oh no! Oh no!” he lamented, kneeling before her prone body and blotting the crimson stain with a dishtowel. “Mother? Mother? I did not mean it,” he wailed. “You made me do it. You always insult me. I didn’’t want to hit you, but you wouldn’’t stop yelling at me!” he screeched, dabbing at the smears.

Tears streamed down his smooth face as he attempted to gather his wits about him.

“Calm down now,” he admonished himself as he ran to the corner of the sparse room and sat with his head in his hands. “I must deal with this. What is done is done,” he spoke aloud. “She was so mean to me. What choice did I have,” he reasoned. “She did not care about my sufferings.”

As the violence of his actions sunk in, he began to feel oddly better, not worse. A sense of empowerment overtook him, along with a morbid sense of freedom and he commenced to plan once more. An idea was forming in his head and he embraced it with a vengeance, even as his dead mother’s body lay no more than ten feet from where he was sitting.

He pushed the small table off of the woven mat upon which it stood. Knocking the chairs to the side, he snatched the rug and brought it over to the battered body that lay upon the smeared floor. He dropped it on top of his mother’s corpse and tucked one side in under her, trying not to gaze upon her face. Using his foot, he pushed her so that she rolled along with the mat until he could only see the top of her grey head and the worn soles of her small boots.

Ruffin lifted the dead weight and carried it into the even smaller adjacent chamber which served as her sleeping quarters and sewing room. Propping the bundle against the wall, he opened the trunk that stood next to the tiny bed and he threw its contents upon the floor. He then lifted his dead mother’s body and placed it roughly into the trunk as if it was a sack of dirty laundry. Haphazardly throwing the contents that he had strewn all over back on top of the rolled mat which lay now bent and twisted inside the trunk, he slammed the lid closed. Reaching into the dresser drawer, he grabbed a wooden box that held her few valuables among the other odds and ends that she had collected during her poor and simple life. Ruffin stuffed the coins into his pocket and felt around until he found what he sought. He withdrew a heavy lock and with it, he secured the latch upon the trunk. Turning his back quickly upon his crime, he then left the room.

He grabbed a rucksack from a hook upon the wall and packed it rapidly with some articles of clothing. Ruffin also placed a loaf of bread and some hard cheese inside. He grabbed his cloak from the rack and threw it over his shoulders. Finally, he reached for the sharp knife his mother used to pare the flesh from the fruits and vegetables they ate each evening. He carefully fastened it inside his belt. Possessed, he blew out the candles, scanned the room for the last time and then cautiously opened the door.

Peering outside and hoping that no one was in the dark alley, he looked up and down the narrow passage. When he was satisfied that he could escape unnoticed, he quickly stepped onto the wooden landing and shut the door behind him. Pulling his cloak over his head, he sped down the street.

Keeping to the shadows, Ruffin navigated the cramped alleyway, hugging the darkness until he reached the broader avenue that marked the end of his small street. There were very few people out and about at this hour as it was suppertime and the elves of Seramour treated this hour almost like a ritual, a family time, rarely interrupted.

He moved hastily along, wishing now only to leave as fast as possible. All thoughts of his terrible deed he banished from his mind and with selfishness and lust driving him, he made his way to the remote lift that he spent the daylight hours guarding. This particular passage to the ground was rarely used by anyone anymore. It was built to accommodate the solitary gatherers who sought out the moonberries, those luscious fruits that only revealed themselves when the moon was bright. They grew in pod-like pouches which opened for only a few days each month. But the elves had learned a tiel or so ago how to cultivate them in the Heights, rendering the evening sojourns to the ground below unnecessary.

Devon sat heavily upon the soft soil by the lift. In one hand he held a parchment and in the other, a mug of cider. Ruffin approached him from behind, sneaking up silently, using the cover of darkness and the surrounding bushes to conceal his coming. He was ready to draw the small knife from his belt as soon as he drew close to his friend’s back. Devon must have heard some noise or sensed his arrival, as he turned suddenly to face Ruffin. A look of surprise, though not an unhappy one, crossed his face. The renegade elf, possessed by his evil course, grew nervous and agitated.

“What brings you here at this hour? Your shift does not begin for quite some time?” Devon inquired wide-eyed.

“I could not eat tonight. Too much ale last evening, I suspect. I needed to walk about a bit. I thought I might keep you company,” he responded, sitting down close to his friend.

“Well, that was surely kind of you. It does get lonely here every night. Well, with no one even using this lift in ordinary times, you can imagine,” he answered, relieved to have someone to talk to for a change.

Devon put down the paper he was reading and began to scrounge around in his backpack for something to offer Ruffin as they sat together.

Ruffin seized the opportunity immediately. While Devon’s eyes were searching his bag, he placed his right arm around his shoulders affectionately. Devon looked upon him and was surprised by his friend’s behavior. As he opened his mouth to question it, Ruffin pulled his left hand from inside his cloak and thrust the sharp blade deep into Devon’s chest. He turned it swiftly, reaching for the heart. Red blood spurted from the wound in spasms, having hit its mark. Devon’s head slumped heavily on Ruffin’s shoulder, shock still upon his eyes.

The young elf was surprised at how easy killing had become for him and he found that he actually enjoyed it. In the recesses of his soul, he felt a pang of regret or perhaps merely apprehension, but he refused to allow it to surface. The actions he committed empowered him and made him feel in control of his world for the first time in his memory. He believed that what he did was necessary and that it was forced upon him by others.

Evil never bears responsibility when it rears its ugly head. It is an emotion riddled with blame and self-righteousness. Ruffin felt justified in escaping the prison of Seramour, and his mind had become so saturated with loathing he could not see clearly through the fog that this hatred enveloped him in. In only a short while, he had become a monster, a vile and detestable renegade. He had perpetrated matricide after all, and yet he sought only to flee and satisfy his other urges.

Ruffin let Devon’s head fall to the ground as he slid out from under his weight. He cleaned his blade on the cloth of his friend’s jacket and then casually put it back in his belt. The elf, by now possessed by the evil that coursed through his veins, stood and grabbed the feet of the corpse. He dragged it into the nearby bushes and rudely covered it with some loose branches and leaves.

I will be long gone by the time anyone discovers him, he thought. No one comes here anymore anyway.

“His soul will be halfway to Sedahar before anyone happens upon him,” he said aloud, laughing like a crazy man.

As if possessed, he carefully undid the latches that secured the small lift closed. Flipping the trap door open, he stepped into the dark space and felt the platform securely beneath his feet. Ruffin slowly lowered himself just a few feet with the ropes and then he reached up to close the panel above him. As soon as it was shut tightly, he lowered himself to the ground.

The air was heavy with moisture, and his lungs were heaving and blowing by the time he reached the damp soil below. The sky was dark and the clouds concealed what little light the half-moon shed upon the surface. He stepped off the platform and began to walk in the direction of Aramela’s home. Her father was a trapper and he lived upon the surface all year long, ascending to the Heights only when he needed to sell his skins at the market. Ruffin visited her surreptitiously often and he knew the way to her cottage by heart. He had to be careful of the old man though. There was nothing but enmity between them and he disapproved of the relationship Ruffin had with his daughter.

The young elf had fallen so far so fast, that he was totally unaware of his blood-spattered tunic and his deranged look. He traipsed through the woods like a school child on an outing. All he could think about was his lover, and the thought of laying in her arms once more compelled him forward unhindered by regret or remorse. Seramour was no more than a distant memory, a childhood vision. He was free now. Aramela would understand his need. She would take him in and comfort him forever.

He broke into a run and ignoring the twigs and branches that scratched his face and arms and ripped his clothing. He stumbled upon a small rock that obstructed his path unseen and he fell headfirst into a stagnant pool of muddy water. Frenziedly, he raised himself up and continued to run. His sleeve got caught on a protruding tree limb and he tore it loose, incognizant of the half he left behind. Like a wild animal, he entered the clearing that surrounded Aramela’s modest home. He saw the candle burning in her window and he dashed headlong for it.

She awaits me
, he thought, totally unhinged now.
She must have known I would come
.

“Aramela? Aramela?” he whispered at the window. “Let me in. I am here, my love.”