Whill of Agora: Book 1 - Michael Ploof (e book reader for pc .TXT) 📗

Zerafin took up the telling. “She used her great power to steal from her followers all of the energy that remained within their blades. She stripped them of all power.”

Avriel gazed into the firelight. “She made them dumb to all knowledge of Orna Catorna. They would remember what had been, but not how it was achieved. She said that we were not ready for such power, and maybe never would be.”

“So that’s it?” Tarren asked. “She got rid of magic?”

“That she did, for a time,” answered Avriel.

“She viewed it as a curse, and at the time indeed it was,” Zerafin said. “She and all the others had lost their lands, their loved ones, everything they held dear.”

Avriel continued. “She ordered the survivors to rebuild, to remember, and to find peace with the land and each other once again. She promised to watch over all, and to help the pure of heart, and then...”

“And then what? What happened to her? Is she still alive?”

“Yes, she is,” Zerafin said. “She is the oldest living elf.”

Tarren’s eyes widened. “Where is she?”

There was a tear upon Avriel’s cheek. “She was within Drindellia. Those thousands of years ago she used all of the power she had taken and took the form of a great tree. By the time of my father she had grown to the height of a mountain—her branches stretched for miles. She was the most beautiful being under the heavens.”

“She became a tree!” Tarren exclaimed.

Whill smiled. “She became a tree.”

“As big as a mountain!” Roakore boomed.

“She became a tree,” Zerafin concurred. “It was under her great branches one autumn day, within the city of Kell, that Mallekell gained Orna Catorna, or enlightenment, for the first time. He said he had achieved through meditation a state of mind that allowed him to reach the mind of Kellallea within the great tree. He had done what the first of the elves had done, what Kellallea herself had done in that ancient and lost time—he had reached a state of mind in which understanding of the universe came to him in a rush of clarity.

“Kellallea had two choices: destroy him, or teach him what she knew, and revive the knowledge and power that had nearly destroyed the elves.”

“What did she do?” Tarren asked, at the edge of his rock.

Roakore threw his arms in the air. “The elves got powers, don’t they, silly boy? What are ye thinking she did? The lady just told us ’bout the age o’ enlightenment.” Avriel smiled at him, appreciating the fact that he took interest in her people as she did his. “Yes, she trained him, and he others, and here we are once again, fighting against that which caused the taking of powers, the fight between good and evil rages on.”

“As it will eternally, as it must,” added Zerafin.

Whill sat up. “Eternally, as it must?”

Zerafin looked at Whill. In the firelight his sharp features seemed, for the first time, alien. “Yes, as it must, eternally.”

“Then this fight—these times, me, us—none of it matters?”

“Yes, and no. We are simply forces of nature blessed with thought. The war that wages in your heart, in my heart, upon the beaches of the world, within the clouds, the storms, the disaster, the growth—it is all the same. It is all a small part of the great being.”

Tarren scrunched up his face once again. “Huh?”

Avriel chuckled. “My brother’s spiritual beliefs are hard for many to grasp, though they are not new to my people. What he is saying, Tarren, and Whill, is that we are but a part of a larger being, the one being.”

Tarren still looked confused. Roakore patted him on the shoulder. “I’m with ye, lad. They lost me at ‘she turned into a tree.’”

The night seemed to rush back in, the air, sounds, and sights beyond the firelight. A quiet had fallen over the camp during the telling, as if the world hushed to hear the tale of itself.

In that moment Avriel gave Whill a look of utter serenity and profound joy.

You felt it, Whill, just now, didn’t you? That is what my brother speaks of, that is what you felt. It is our true self seeing itself. I am a part of you, you are a part of me.

Whill stared back at Avriel. The connection he felt that night, to his friends and to the world around him, within him, became his own enlightenment.

––––––––

With the meal done and clean-up finished, everyone settled into their respective bedrolls for the night. There was still a chance of ambush, and Rhunis wanted all up before the dawn to begin a long day of hard travel. He took the first guard, disappearing into the brush without a sound. The fire now burned to coals, and the stars above shone bright. Avriel and Zerafin had laid enchantments around the camp, or so they said, for Whill knew nothing of such things. Talk had shifted to the many different factions of elves, which enthralled Tarren and Whill alike.

“So you mean there are a buncha different elves? With different powers?” Tarren asked from his bedroll. He lay on his belly, propped up on his elbows and face cradled in his hands.

“Yes, there are many different schools of study for us elves. But not all of us achieve mastery over even one.”

“Not all are like you and Avriel?” Whill asked.

“No, not at all, we have many among us who have not yet excelled in any study of Orna Catorna. Those who have never mastered Orna Catorna number five times the number who have. A course of study in one faction alone can require more than one hundred years.”

Tarren yawned. “So not all elves even have any powers.”

“They do, but not all are masters. Basic teachings are a part of any elf’s childhood education: levitation, psionics—the art of what you call telepathy and the like—healing, and many more.”

Whill was enthralled. He had read nothing about these things in the books he had read. “What are the different schools of study?”

“Hmm. Well, there are healers, the greatest of which can heal dozens of others at once, from great distances. To attain such abilities takes hundreds of years of intense study.”

Whill thought of Avriel and must have projected. “Yes, like my sister, who healed you from hundreds of miles away. She is most proficient in healing. As well she might be, with over three hundred years of study.

“There are also the Ralliad, or druids, I suppose you would call them. They are lovers of nature, worshippers of Keye. Once called upon by the ways of the druid, many take the form of animals. They are guardians of nature, and as such they live within it, seldom seen, some never.”

“Gosh,” Tarren said dreamily.

“Then there are the Morenka, or monks. These elves study and worship existence alone, and care not for the petty dealings or wars of the rest of us. They believe in no enemy, for they see everything as one.

“The Krundar are masters of the elements, and of them there are four factions: wind, keye, fire, and water. With the rise of the Dark elves there came a need for a warrior faction, masters in the arts of battle. The monks argue that warriors only add to the problem of violence, even in self-defense. But we warriors remind them that they would no longer have a life to ponder lest we kept them from harm.”

Tarren rubbed his eyes, fighting to stay awake. “So what are you and Avriel? What have you mastered?”

Roakore piped up from his stone pillow. “Sounds like he’s a mix o’ everythin’, don’t it, lad? A mutt, ye call it, don’t ye? No offense, good elf. I should call it as the humans do, a jack o’ all trades. Though I ain’t seen no druid in ye yet.”

Zerafin laughed. “A little, though Ralliad is not my most proficient of skills. If I may, good dwarf, you seem to be a Krundar, an elemental, with a proficiency in the power over Keye, or earth. That is what my sister was getting at earlier.”

Roakore scoffed and rolled over. “Bah. I be a master of me dwarf ways, call ’em what ye want.”

Tarren had fallen asleep at last, and nothing more was said that night. Whill lay back, his mind racing, thinking of the different factions and arts to study. How would he really learn anything but the basics in just a year with the elves?

The cool night air blew softly, the scents of spring lingered. The sky was black, but for the soft orange light emanating from the city and faintly illuminating the clouds above. From their perch on the hill, the companions took in the extraordinary sight.

Kell-Torey was a city built during war times, when borders and boundaries were uncertain. Thus it boasted a fifty-foot wall, thick and strong, which circled its entirety, more than four miles from end to end. Every five hundred feet along the wall there stood a watchtower, which loomed more than twenty feet above the wall. Though the wall stood fifty feet high, it did not obscure the view of the surrounding world completely. Not being within a flat valley, the city enjoyed many views of the wider world. Thus, from their viewpoint, the companions could see many buildings beyond the city walls, including the immense, breathtaking Castle of Kell-Torey, which sat higher than all others. Though Whill was still many miles away, he could guess its enormity. Its size was not due to the royal family’s greed but rather to the fact that the castle acted as a fortress in times of war. It could easily house thousands of citizens, and sustain them comfortably for months.

“There it is,” said Abram. “Here, Tarren, we can find you safe passage back to Fendale.”

Whill gestured toward the city. “Shall we?”

They made their way down the hill and to the city gates at a slow trot. They were tired, one and all, but they were away from danger for now. As they approached the open gates, four soldiers advanced to block the way. Rhunis went to the front of the group as they halted, pulling back his cloak and hood to reveal both his face and his armor.

“General Rhunis!” said the closest guard with a bow, which the other three copied.

“Stand tall, soldiers,” Rhunis ordered. “Put this to ledger and quickly. We have traveled many miles and seek hot food and warm beds.”

“Of course, sir, we will not hold you up.” The soldier nodded to the ledger-keeper, who sat on the right side of the gates, quill in hand.

“I, Rhunis, High Knight and General of the Eldalon Army, arrive with six guests to Kell-Torey: Abram and Whill, who should be known to you by now, the Prince and Princess of Elladrindellia, Zerafin and Avriel. The dwarf Roakore, soon to be king of the Ebony Mountains, and the boy Tarren.”

The ledger-keeper quickly wrote down names and titles. Rhunis said no more and led the companions into the city.

At this late hour the city was asleep but for the patrolling guards and the occasional group of drunkards.