Soul Seeker Lasniniar Collection

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Missing

The group rose early the next morning to search the tower. Now that it was daylight, they could see it up close. It was a solitary pillar of white and blue stone with three twisting spires reaching high into the clouds. No cracks or signs of wear marred its surface. It appeared to have been carved from a single, seamless piece of rock.

The smooth walls were broken only by the occasional arched window of clear glass high above the ground. The frame of each window was chased with intricately carved Elvish runes. The same runes were worked around the pair of matching oak doors that reached a height far above even Lysandir’s head. The hinges were wrought to look like silver vines. The surface of the doors was smooth, with no sign of knob or handle. Both doors were shut.

“Who built this incredible structure?” Barlo’s eyes were wide as he ran his hands over the smooth stone.

“The Earth Elves built it long ago.” Iarion looked off into the distance as he remembered.

Linwyn gave the doors a push, but nothing happened. They must be locked from the inside. She stepped back, looking to Lysandir.

After a moment of consideration, the Learnéd One raised one hand and spoke some muttered words. The doors swung inward without a sound.

“I do not know whether this is a good sign,” Lysandir said. “On the one hand, the doors being locked means no one has entered here since Numarin left, so any clues will have remained undisturbed. This makes it seem as though Numarin left of his own accord. But the doors might have locked themselves behind Numarin’s abductor, if someone managed to take him by force.” He stood for a moment in thought.

“We will split up and search the tower,” he said after a pause. “Do not touch anything. If you find something of interest, call for me.” Lysandir stepped across the threshold without looking back. One by one, the rest of them filed in after him.

As they entered, the tower filled with light. Silver torches lining the walls gave off a strange, white glow. Otherwise, the entrance was empty of furnishings. The arched ceiling was so high, Iarion could have stood on Lysandir’s shoulders and he still would not have been able to reach it. The floor was made of the same white and blue stone as the walls and ceiling, and was perfectly smooth. Its polished surface reflected the light of the ethereal torches. Three stairways led upward from the main hall.

Barlo looked around, his mouth agape. Silvaranwyn’s golden eyes were also wide. Iarion hid a smile. They were the only ones in their group who had never been inside Mar Arin.

Iarion glanced around. Nothing seemed disturbed. There were no signs of a struggle.

Lysandir headed to the middle stairway and began to climb, leaving the rest of them to sort themselves out. Linwyn and Golaron took the spire on the left. Iarion led the way up the rightmost spiral staircase. Barlo and Silvaranwyn followed.

The winding stairs led to an open room. It was filled with empty bird perches of stone that appeared to have sprouted from the floor. A huge balcony carved right out of the rock of the tower overlooked the Jagged Mountains. The floor was covered with bird droppings. Barlo raised one of his soiled boots with a groan.

“Well there’s nothing here worth investigating,” he said.

“I disagree,” Iarion said.

“Oh, really? Tell me, oh wise and ancient elf, what can there possibly be here of interest? Other than the bird dung.” Barlo made a face as he lifted his foot to scrape his boot clean on the doorjamb.

“It’s the bird dung that interests me.” Iarion frowned. “It tells me Numarin has been away for some time. Some of these droppings are months old and Numarin would never allow them to remain here while he was still in his tower. They also tell me the birds who communicated with him have come back several times to look for him.”

“The Sintadar have not seen Numarin for some time,” Silvaranwyn said, reminding them of her presence. “And they have always been close to him.” Silvaranwyn did not say what they were all thinking. If the Sky Elves could not find Numarin, he was truly missing.

“I wish we could talk to one of his birds,” Iarion said. “Perhaps they could tell us something.”

A flash of inspiration crossed Silvaranwyn’s features. Ignoring the mess, she stepped onto the balcony and threw her head back, giving a long, piercing cry. Barlo almost jumped out of his soiled boots at the sound.

After several moments, a large, golden hawk flew onto the balcony and landed on one of the perches. Barlo took a step backward, but Silvaranwyn moved forward until she was face to face with the large bird. Their golden eyes met. The hawk seemed agitated. It shifted on the perch from foot to foot, but its eyes remained locked on the Light Elf. When Silvaranwyn broke eye contact, the hawk flew off with a scream.

“What was that all about?” Barlo said.

“I called and the hawk answered.” Silvaranwyn shrugged. “I communed with it to see if it knew anything about Numarin. All Linadar can speak with birds and animals. It is a part of our connection to the Quenya.”

“And?” Iarion said.

“The hawk saw Numarin leave his tower months ago. He was headed north, and he was traveling alone. He appeared to be in a hurry.”

“We should find Lysandir and tell him,” Iarion said. He led the way back down the stairs to the main hall. Lysandir was already there, waiting. Linwyn and Golaron descended the stairs from the southernmost spire.

“What have you found?” The Learnéd One’s silver eyes were hungry for answers. Iarion told him what Silvaranwyn had discovered.

“There was nothing interesting in his library,” Linwyn said.

“But there are books and scrolls strewn everywhere,” Golaron added in his quiet voice.

“Yes, his personal quarters are also in disarray.” Lysandir frowned. “It seems Numarin left of his own accord and in haste. I do not know what would have caused him to do so.”

“None of our people have seen him for months,” Linwyn said.

“It is unlike Numarin to leave his tower in such a state,” Lysandir said. “It is also unlike him to leave so suddenly without sending any word. I must have time to ponder the meaning of this. You rest here while I have a look at Numarin’s library and think. I will be back by noon.” Lysandir ascended the leftmost set of stairs, leaving the others behind.

Barlo spread his bedroll on the stone floor and sat on it, leaning against the wall.

“Well I don’t know about the rest of you,” he said, “but I’m in no mood to sleep.”

“We should probably stay awake anyway,” Linwyn said as she followed the dwarf’s example. “It is possible we could be attacked again.” She pulled her sword from its sheath and laid it on the floor within easy reach. After a moment, Golaron, Silvaranwyn, and Iarion joined them.

“So what can you tell us about this Numarin?” Barlo asked the twins.

“Lysandir reminds me of him in many ways,” Linwyn said. “He is of similar stature. His hair and beard are white instead of gray, but he has the same black streaks. And his eyes are dark. You can never really tell what color they are. He usually wears blue and silver robes.

“Sometimes he visits our city, but we mostly come to him. He is very serious and secretive, but he can be quick to laugh at a joke. I have always liked him. Golaron does not. He doesn’t trust Numarin. Then again, my brother has a problem trusting most people.” Golaron shrugged at his sister’s words.

“I have only met him once or twice,” Iarion said. “What I noticed most about him was his hunger for knowledge. It is common enough among the Learnéd, but especially so in Numarin. He questioned me for days on end about my life and all the things I had seen until I told him I had to be on my way. Even then, I wasn’t certain he was going to let me leave.”

“And what of Lysandir?” Golaron asked, causing everyone to notice him once more. “Do you trust him?” His hazel eyes darted back and forth between Silvaranwyn and Iarion.

“My people trust him,” Silvaranwyn said. “But we know there are many others who do not.”

“He has been my friend for many years,” Iarion said. “I trust him completely.”

“We have heard rumors about him at Belierumar.” Linwyn frowned. “Rumors of betrayal. What can you tell us of this?” Iarion paused, considering Linwyn’s request.

“You should tell them,” Barlo said to him. “If they’re coming with us, they should know what we know.”

Iarion sighed. “You’re right. Besides, I don’t have the heart to watch Lysandir recount the tale again.” He closed his eyes, trying to decide where to begin. “Although Lysandir’s life has been based on betrayal, none of it has been his. If not for the Kinslaying and the initial betrayal of the dwarves, he and the others of his kind would probably never have been created.”

Iarion told the twins Lysandir’s story and about the creation of the rest of the Learnéd. A long silence hung over them once he had finished.

“What is this Kinslaying you speak of?” Linwyn asked. “I have heard mention of it before, but no one has ever explained it.”

“I have also heard of it before.” Barlo gave Silvaranwyn a meaningful look.

Iarion exchanged glances with the Linadain. She gave a brief shake of her head. Very well. If she wasn’t going to tell them, he wasn’t going to take up the burden.

“It is an event that occurred during the Age of Sundering,” Iarion said, trying to keep his voice even. “It was something of painful significance to the elves.” Barlo and the twins waited for Iarion to say more, but were left disappointed.

“Well that clears that up,” Barlo muttered.

Silvaranwyn leaned over and tapped Iarion on the shoulder. “May I speak with you alone?” Her expression was strained. Iarion nodded. They walked to the far side of the hall, out of earshot of the others.

“What’s wrong?” Iarion asked. Now that it was just the two of them, he found himself lapsing into Elvish.

“I can barely feel it.” The words seemed to tumble from her mouth.

“Can barely feel what?”

“The Quenya!” Her golden eyes filled with tears. “My connection has been slowly fading since we left Melaquenya. I expected this. But after I used my connection to call the hawk, I almost lost it completely!”

“You can’t be serious.” Iarion shook his head and started to turn. Silvaranwyn put a hand on his shoulder.

“Would I jest about something like this? Iarion, it is so distant!” Her face was full of anguish.

“I do not doubt your seriousness about what’s happening to you. What I cannot believe is you are actually talking about it to me, of all people!” Iarion threw his hands up in disgust. “At least you can still feel it. What do you think it’s like for me?” The stunned expression on Silvaranwyn’s face told him this had never occurred to her.

“I am sorry, Iarion.” Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. “I simply forgot. I just needed to talk to someone. I thought you would understand.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

“How could you possibly—” Iarion checked himself, realizing the others were glancing over at the two of them to see what was the matter. He brought his face close to Silvaranwyn’s and continued in a harsh whisper. “How could you possibly think I would understand? I can never feel the Quenya inside me. Never!”

“Then perhaps you are better off,” she said, lowering her eyes for a moment. “I have lived with it all my life, and now it is slipping away. I feel as though I am standing on the brink of an abyss! It is as if a part of me is slowly dying. To never have known the Quenya at all would almost be a blessing.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

Iarion felt like he had been punched in the gut. “You have no idea what you’re saying.” Golden eyes met silver-flecked sapphire. “You don’t know what it’s like—” Iarion cut himself short, unable to continue.

He turned and walked away, leaving Silvaranwyn to stare after him.