Void Walker: A Novel of Lasniniar

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Wheels Within Wheels

Barlo tapped a small mallet against a chisel in a steady rhythm. His bushy brows furrowed as he worked. The amethyst on the smooth rock that served as his worktable glimmered in the afternoon sun. He had already spent hours lost in its depths.

He enjoyed the work. It helped to keep his mind occupied from the strange sense of aching loss that filled his idle hours. A chill breeze ruffled his beard and sent a shiver down his spine. He set his tools aside for a moment to wipe his brow. He took a deep breath, cool air filling his lungs. He would need to light a fire soon.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings as he stretched the tense muscles of his shoulders and back. Jagged peaks of rock surrounded him, stretching far off to the distance. The taller spires sparkled with caps of snow. The mountain range sprawled off to the south, bordered on both sides by stretches of green he suspected were forest. Water sparkled toward the north. The flat ledge that served as his open-air workshop was hardly ideal, but the cave in the side of the peak he called his own was too small for anything other than sleeping. Several times, he had considered trying to expand it, but he always seemed to find himself working on gemstones instead.

This was only one of the many things that puzzled him. He considered himself a practical dwarf. Why work on the gems when he could be making his living quarters more comfortable? He shook his head.

Why am I even here? What in Galrin’s name is this place? Why haven’t I seen any other dwarves?

These were the same questions that plagued him each day—questions that only working on the gemstones seemed to quiet. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to recall anything of his past. He could remember nothing beyond his days on the mountaintop.

Despite the fog of his missing memories, he knew something important was missing. The more he tried to pin it down, the more slippery his thoughts seemed to become. He was beginning to wonder whether he was going mad. One moment, he would force himself to try to focus on the problem, but the next, he would find himself back at the worktable with his mallet and chisel in hand, with no notion of how he had gotten there. When he finished with one gemstone, another would appear. When he was hungry, he would find fresh food in his cave with no explanation of how it had gotten there. At first, he hadn’t trusted the food, but his hunger had gotten the better of him. It was simple fare—wild game, tubers, and berries, but it had done him no harm.

Maybe I’m dead. Maybe I missed a turn somewhere on the way to the First Father’s hall.

The thought of the place where every dwarf went after they died stirred a sense of unease somewhere deep inside him. A sudden image of a heaping table and a roaring fire flitted through his mind, along with the faint sound of a woman’s voice that teased at his memory. He shook his head again to clear it.

What’s wrong with me?

He turned to face the only other living creature he had encountered near his mountain home. A creature with spindly limbs lounged on a nearby boulder, watching him with an implacable silver gaze. He was short—even by dwarven standards. He barely came up to Barlo’s shoulder when he was standing. His unruly brown hair flopped over his brow and delicate features. The pointed tips of his ears peeked out from underneath.

The sight of those ears always seemed to disturb Barlo for some reason. They reminded him of something, or perhaps someone. That, and his dusky skin... But no dwarf had skin like that, never mind pointed ears or silver eyes. So where could Barlo have seen them before?

The arrival of the creature who called himself one of the Daranadarim—an Earth Sprite—had unnerved him at first. One moment, Barlo had been alone, and the next, he had not. The sprite had appeared as if by magic. He had been there ever since—watching, always watching while Barlo worked. Sometimes, Barlo considered asking him questions, but the call of the gemstones sent his thoughts scattering. All he knew other than the fact that the creature was an Earth Sprite was his name.

Today, though... Today was different. He couldn’t explain why, but his sense of unease was stronger for some reason.

“Faldaran,” Barlo said, speaking slowly and forcing his wandering thoughts to stay on course. The sprite blinked in acknowledgment. “How long have I been here?”

Faldaran scowled and shook his head. “You know I can’t understand when you speak that strange language,” he said in his own musical tongue.

The language Faldaran spoke was strangely familiar. Barlo could understand it, but he seemed to have little aptitude for speaking it. He briefly considered trying his question again in the Common Tongue, accompanied by some kind of pantomime, but he couldn’t figure out a way to get his point across. He decided to try to muddle through in the sprite’s language instead. He took a moment to try to figure out which words to use.

“How long have I been here?” His tongue seemed to trip over the light consonants, and his tone still held his usual dwarven burr. He suspected his accent was abominable.

Faldaran gaped at him. “Surely you don’t expect me to answer that question!”

Barlo planted his hands on his hips. “Why not?”

Faldaran’s eyes flashed. “Well, it’s hardly any of my business.” He gave Barlo a wary look. “You’re not trying to... proposition me, are you?”

“What?” Barlo blurted in Common. He shook his head and tried again. “What did I just say?”

“You asked me how long your...” Faldaran trailed off and made a gesture toward Barlo’s groin with his dainty hand.

Barlo’s eyes widened as he realized the implication and crossed his hands protectively over his hammer and tongs, so to speak. “That’s not what I meant! Why would I even ask such a thing?” He shook his head back and forth in an emphatic gesture. He uttered a sigh of frustration. “How long...?” He pointed at himself and then gestured toward the mountaintop and cave to complete the rest of his question.

“How long have you been here?” Faldaran asked.

Barlo nodded.

The Earth Sprite shrugged. “Time has little meaning in this place.”

Barlo rolled his eyes. “Well, thanks. That was helpful.” He tried to come up with a better question. “Am I dead?” Faldaran frowned in confusion. Barlo slashed his hand across his throat and let his head sag for a moment.

Faldaran snorted. “Of course, you’re not dead. What a foolish question.”

“This is not going the way I’d hoped,” Barlo grumbled under his breath. “Although I suppose it’s good to hear I’m still alive—assuming the wretched creature is telling me the truth.”

“You’re speaking that nonsense language again,” Faldaran chided. “Are you not clever enough to speak a proper one? You seem to understand me well enough.”

Barlo hurled a few choice curses at him in Dwarvish and Common. “Are any of those proper enough for you?” Faldaran only c****d his head in confusion. “Never mind,” Barlo huffed. “It’s hardly any fun when you don’t know what I’m saying.”

He decided to give the whole thing up as a lost cause. Maybe if he left the mountain peak, he could find another dwarf, or someone else who spoke Common. He frowned.

Why haven’t I thought of that before?

A part of him somewhere in the back of his mind suspected he had thought of it before. Something had prevented him from acting on it.

Well, this time will be different. It’s getting a bit late though. I’d be better off setting out first thing tomorrow morning. I can pack tonight...

“Barlo,” Faldaran said. He was watching the dwarf carefully. “Lady Felara is very happy with your work on the gemstones. I’m sure she will be pleased with the amethyst when it’s finished.”

Lady Felara...

The name made Barlo go cold all over. Why should that be when he had never even met the woman? He tried to focus on that strand of thought, but something else Faldaran had said drove everything else from his mind.

The gemstones. I need to keep working on the gemstones.

There were still a few hours of daylight left. He could get some more work done on the amethyst before retiring for the night. And the work kept his unease at bay.

Yes, the gemstones...

He returned to the worktable and took up his tools, all thoughts of leaving the mountaintop forgotten. Faldaran settled back into position on his boulder to watch.

Felara drifted aimlessly through the Void, the wheels of her mind turning. Her plan was on schedule so far, but it needed something... Something to spice things up and throw those who might try to interfere off balance.

Iadrawyn.

The Lady of the Light Elves had always been a weak spot on Felara’s scheme. Iadrawyn’s connection to the Quenya was stronger than any other elf’s, with her two daughters running a close second. If any one of them caught a whiff of what she had set into motion... Well, there was no doubt they would react. Felara was strong—stronger than many of the Unborn that were her extended family, but like her cousins, her power was derived from the souls who had sworn their allegiance to her, both within her own realm and the realm of the living. She had no desire to test that power against that of the Quenya—the very force that had trapped the Unborn beyond the Void in the first place.

“Felara...”

A raspy voice drifted toward her from across the Void’s endless expanse as a bodiless shadow approached. She raised her hand and gave a flick of her wrist, sending the creature sailing off into the distance. She shook her head, sending her short, silver hair swinging. Most of the Carisina—the Lost Ones—knew enough to leave her alone. Yes, she felt a bit sorry for them, doomed to wander the Void for all eternity, but they had already betrayed their Unborn masters and mistresses once. What was to stop them from doing it again? She would not take that chance.

Still, it was a bit strange to hear her name on their lips. After all, it was relatively new. Iarion had been the one to give it to her. A smile touched her lips as she remembered their first encounter. Ever since the veil that separated the Void from the lands of the living had been torn by Iarion’s battle with Saviadro in the Fallen One’s spirit palace, Felara had been intrigued by him. She had immediately sensed he was different. An unseen shimmer followed him everywhere he went, bursting with possibilities.

For a long time, she had simply watched him from afar, absorbing every tale of his adventures there was to hear. Each one only solidified her suspicions about him. Where Iarion went, events followed, triggered by the decisions he made. Other members of the Unborn found this ability terrifying. After all, Iarion had been the one to give them their freedom after an eternity isolated from the realm that was rightfully theirs. What if he found a way to take it away from them? But Felara saw its possibilities.

The rest of her kind thought her mad for associating with him, but it didn’t bother her. She had always been different. She wasn’t afraid to set herself apart and stand in Iarion’s defense. She had always thrived on risk. Her cousins might deride her for devoting her attentions to an elf, but Iarion was not just any elf, and they knew it. Everyone called her by the name he had given her now. Like the rest of the Unborn, her true name was a secret, and she intended to keep it that way.

Her sister had been foolish enough to give her true name to a dwarf, who had used it against her. It had taken years for her to break free of her enslavement, with help from a young dwarf woman named Paige, who was friends with Iarion. Felara’s sister had retreated to her own realm and refused to come out ever since. Felara would not make the same mistake. Even with Iarion, she was always careful.

She drifted through the darkness, leaving the glimmering remains of Saviadro’s spirit palace behind. She liked spending time in the Void. It was quiet, almost peaceful. As much as she loved the realm she had created, sometimes it was helpful to get away from the endless burble of her subjects’ thoughts. The Void was the perfect place. Other than the presence of the Lost Ones, it was usually blissfully empty. Her cousins rarely bothered to enter it.

Felara continued her wandering, traveling much farther than she ever had before.

How can I make certain Iadrawyn doesn’t interfere with my plan?

Her diversion would have to be something compelling, something Iadrawyn wouldn’t be able to ignore. The main problem was, as long as Iadrawyn remained within the borders of Melaquenya under the shield of the Quenya, she was untouchable. Felara’s distraction would have to come from an outside source—something that could either breach the Quenya’s shield or entice Iadrawyn to come out. As matters stood now, only an elf or one of their allies could cross the magical boundary set around the border of the Light Elves’ wood. It was their non-violent way of keeping any overzealous humans at bay. Even Felara couldn’t get inside if she wanted to. Her Unborn form made the elves’ magic anathema to her. She could use an illusion to alter her appearance, but she knew the Quenya would not be fooled. She would need a more subtle approach to subvert Iadrawyn’s shield.

She had already worked around that complication to set the core of her plan in motion. Surely she could come up with something else to shake things up and add fuel to the fire...

“Iadrawyn!”

Felara went still as the distant thought reached her. The mind-voice was tortured and filled with longing. She frowned.

Who would be calling for Iadrawyn from inside the Void?

The voice called out again. Felara drifted toward it, her expression wary. It continued screaming Iadrawyn’s name in an endless litany, each cry more intense than the last. As Felara got closer, she could sense a dangerous hunger behind the voice—a passion that would never be quelled. It sent a shiver through her.

Who is that?

An enormous swirling mass of darkness appeared before her, making her stop. Every hair on her body stood on end. She had heard of this place, but she had never expected to stumble upon it.

Oblivion.

This was where souls went when the Quenya rejected them. She had always thought of it as something like the Void, only more isolated and empty—a place where souls could be held apart until they came to terms with what they had done.

Whoever was calling out was somewhere on the outskirts. Not only that, but they weren’t spending their time contemplating their previous life.

They were trying to get out.

The mind-voice sounded male to Felara. Its owner was very close to reaching the Void. She didn’t expect him to be able to escape entirely, but it was impressive he had gotten as far as he had. But even if he somehow managed to break free, he would still be lost within the Void, destined to devolve into one of the Lost Ones.

Unless...

The voice continued calling Iadrawyn’s name, unaware that anyone was listening. Felara’s violet eyes narrowed. The tortured soul knew Iadrawyn, that much was certain. A slow smile spread across her features.

Interesting. Very interesting.

She made a mental note of her location and drifted away, her thoughts filled with endless possibilities.