Chapter One
1496 Words
Chapter One
A Haunted Past
Iarion stalked through the underbrush on soundless feet. His golden-flecked sapphire eyes swept the forest floor for signs of his quarry. He had little to go on, but the last sign had pointed in this direction.
He came to a sudden halt. The forest opened ahead of him, the trail branching in two different directions. He frowned. No print or disturbed branches indicated which way he should go next.
Where are you?
Abandoning the lack of visual evidence, Iarion closed his eyes, straining his pointed ears for any foreign sounds. The forest around him was quiet—too quiet. His own passage should not have been noticeable to the creatures of the wood. The silence of the birds was especially suspicious. He could hear birdcalls in the distance, but none in the immediate area.
Iarion shaded his eyes from the shafts of sunlight that managed to penetrate the leafy canopy and looked up. Was there a shadow among the golden branches? His eyes narrowed. A slight shiver of leaves confirmed his suspicions. He looked down to hide a sly grin.
Thought you could trick me into choosing a path, and attack me from behind, did you? We’ll see about that...
Iarion made a show of shrugging and choosing a trail at random. As soon as he was out of sight of the tree, he circled back, taking extra care not to make any sound. His enemy was shimmying down the golden-skinned trunk of the tree. As his quarry’s feet touched the ground, Iarion stepped out of the bushes to press the point of his knife against his back.
“You’re dead.”
Iarion’s opponent cursed. “How did you find me?”
“The birds,” Iarion said, keeping his knife in place.
“The birds?”
“They’ve gone quiet.”
“I should have thought of that. I suppose that’s what I get for pitting my wits against a former Wood Elf. Now will you quit jabbing me with that thing?”
“That depends,” Iarion said. “Do you yield?” He put a little more pressure on the hilt.
“All right, all right! I yield.”
Iarion tucked his knife back into his belt and his ‘enemy’ turned to face him. Although they were only foster brothers, Iarion and Valanandir looked enough alike that most elves forgot the fact. They shared the same long, white hair, and golden skin, as well as a strong aura of presence from their previous lives.
“You know, if this had been a watercraft or seafaring challenge, I would have beaten you handily,” Valanandir said as he brushed dirt and leaves from his tunic and breeches.
Iarion snorted. “As if I would be foolish enough to take up a former Sea Elf on that kind of challenge.”
Valanandir threw a mock punch before turning serious. “Most people already think we are foolish to be practicing tracking and stalking techniques in the heart of Melaquenya.”
“Those people have lived as Light Elves for too long,” Iarion said, a familiar frustration rising. “They’ve become complacent.”
“It has been almost three hundred years since the war.”
“A mere eyeblink in the lifespan of an elf,” Iarion scoffed.
“I know, but we have had nothing but peace since then. Many people lost loved ones when Saviadro invaded. Too many. They want to forget and move on. Your dire warnings won’t let them.”
“Dire warnings?” Iarion’s shoulders tensed. “I just want us to be prepared. Saviadro may be gone, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any evils left in the world. We need to be able to protect ourselves.”
“Relax, I’m on your side.” Valanandir held out his hands in a calming gesture. “I am just saying what other elves are thinking. From a strategic standpoint, I agree with you. We should always be prepared to defend our wood. I just find it strange that you are the only one who seems to feel any sense of urgency about it. Have you... had any visions?”
“You know my connection with the Quenya isn’t that strong,” Iarion snapped. “It will likely take thousands of years to rebuild what I lost when Saviadro murdered me.”
“I know. I just thought... Well, Iadrawyn hasn’t had any visions either. She has a stronger connection with the Quenya than any other elf, and this is the longest she has ever gone without being given some kind of insight. I had hoped maybe there was something more behind your drive to prepare for the worst.”
Iarion shook his head. “I only have this heavy sense of foreboding. I wish I could explain it. It feels like it’s been growing over the last few years. Does everyone think me so full of gloom?”
“Not everyone,” Valanandir said. “Mother, Father, Andirlynia, and I think there could be something larger at work. Iadrawyn thinks so too. Everyone else is fairly skeptical. It doesn’t help that you spend so much time with Barlo.”
“What?” Iarion spluttered. “Have they already forgotten how the dwarves came to our aid against Saviadro?”
Valanandir shrugged. “Light Elves have always been insular. None of them are as widely traveled as you were in your previous life, and no other elf has lived a single lifespan as long as you did as a Shadow Elf. They don’t have the same perspective.”
Iarion sighed in frustration. He had already spent most of his previous life feeling as though he didn’t belong anywhere. He had always thought finding his connection with the Quenya would change that. But even as a Light Elf, he still felt restless and different. His only consolations were his parents, Valanandir, Barlo, and the tenuous connection to the Quenya that had always been missing before. When he thought of everything he had gone through just so he could be reborn into this life...
A sudden burning cold seized him. He clutched at his chest.
“Iarion? Are you all right?” Valanandir’s voice seemed to speak from a distance.
Iarion stood, paralyzed as the strange sensation spread through his body, unable to respond. The sensation was oddly familiar. The world around him faded and his legs gave way as a tide of darkness swallowed him.
What is this? Am I dying?
Any further thoughts were ripped away from him as the darkness unraveled into chaos. Raw scenes of pain and fear flickered before him, almost too quickly to absorb. Elves killed other elves under clouds of ash. He tried to cover his ears, but nothing could drown out their death screams. An enormous, black-scaled dragon rose from a gloomy swamp to fly toward him. Its slitted, yellow eyes glowed with malice. The singe of brimstone burned his nostrils. In the distance, he heard elven voices giving commands in the Black Tongue.
Just when he thought he could bear no more, Iarion found himself face to face with Barlo. The dwarf was lying on his back, his ax out of reach.
“Iarion, please...” Barlo’s voice was ragged and desperate. His brown eyes were wide with fear.
Iarion looked down and realized he was pinning Barlo to the ground. He tried to move, but couldn’t. His muscles remained frozen.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening!
Iarion tried to close his eyes or look away, but he was held fast. With a growing sense of horror, he felt his gaze drawn toward his right hand. His fingers were wrapped around something so tightly, they ached. He recognized the familiar grip, but his mind recoiled.
The merciless force that held him captive gave him no choice. He looked at his fist. It was clenched around the hilt of his knife. Iarion’s mind uttered an endless scream of denial.
The blade was pressed against Barlo’s throat.
Iarion sat bolt upright in the grass, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His hair was plastered to his scalp. A sheen of cold sweat made him shiver.
“Iarion? Can you hear me?” Valanandir was crouched beside him. It took a moment for Iarion to recognize him.
“What happened?” His throat felt raw.
“I don’t know.” Valanandir handed him a waterskin. “One moment, everything was fine. Then you sort of... froze up. You had this strange look on your face, as if you weren’t really seeing anything. Then you collapsed and started writhing and moaning. I had to pin you down so you wouldn’t hurt yourself.”
Iarion took a long swallow of water. “How much time has passed?”
“Less than an hour perhaps?” Valanandir squinted up at the shafts of sunlight. “I wasn’t exactly keeping track when you started thrashing. We should go see Iadrawyn. I think she should take a look at you.”
Iarion stood, shaking his head. “I’m fine.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He was a Light Elf, after all, and the Quenya was nearby. With each passing moment, he felt his strength returning.
Valanandir gave him a level look. “I know you saw something. What was it? Maybe talking about it will help.”
Iarion considered it, but only for a moment. “I—I can’t. Not yet.”
“Then at least talk to Iadrawyn. She understands the Quenya better than anyone. She will be able to help.”
“I’m supposed to set out for Dwarvenhome tomorrow to visit Barlo,” Iarion said. “The trip should give me time to clear my head. I’ll talk to you and Iadrawyn when I come back.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” Iarion gave a wan smile.
“All right.” Valanandir sighed. “Let’s get back to the village. You need a bath and some fresh clothes.”
Iarion fell in beside him, keeping his face a pleasant mask. He was grateful Valanandir hadn’t pushed him. His foster brother assumed his vision had come from the Quenya—the source of all elven life and magic. But Iarion recognized their taint. He had felt it before.
The vision had come from the Forbidden Pool.
- Writer
