Dawnbringer: An Epic Medieval High Fantasy Saga

Eldarien wakes early, long before dawn, and his heart is restless. He rises from bed and dresses, then sits in a chair, his head resting against his hands. Only gradually does he remember what woke him: a dream, or rather a nightmare. Many of the specifics are gone now and may never return, having fled with the return of consciousness; but he remembers the feeling, the awareness that the nightmare stirred within him, and its import. And an image...the face of Rorlain twisted in pain. Rorlain dying. In the dream, try as he might, Eldarien was unable to do anything to help his friend, was unable to do anything but yield up to the inevitable and to watch Rorlain brutally slain before his very eyes. But by whom and for what reason? Such details have slipped away from him, and Eldarien is left with nothing but a sense of deep insecurity and fear. He tries to shake it away, for he recognizes that it is irrational: nothing in the dream was real, he tells himself. This is true enough; but dreams also speak of things hidden deep in the heart, often buried below consciousness and seeking to come into the open. What, then, does Eldarien fear for Rorlain's sake? The answer is not long in coming: he fears what Rorlain will do if he chooses to act upon his suspicion regarding hæras Glendas Medora.

As he sits with these thoughts and feelings, trying to make sense of them, to walk through them into clarity and peace, the words of Cirien come to mind, "Your very limitations are given to you by another. To try to surpass these limitations will only cause you great pain and anguish of heart." He feels the truth of these words now, but simply experiencing this is not enough to give him the capacity to let go of his worry, his fear, and to relax into his littleness. After all, does not Rorlain's well-being depend upon him?

Yet does it, really?

"But a spark in the firmament of a million stars...but a line in the palm..."

The memory of the grandmaster's voice casts an echo in his heart, as if the words once spoke are spoken again. But now they are spoken not from without but from within, as if taking up their abode within him.

Eldarien rises to his feet and steps out into the corridor, walking the silent and still halls until he comes to the vestibule of the temple itself. He enters the wide chamber with raised roof arched overhead and is surprised to find himself stepping into a liturgical service partway through. But he should not be surprised, as the vowed members of the temple gather every morning before dawn to sing and pray until the coming of day's light, to fill the nocturnal hours of expectation with prayer until the daystar itself comes and illumines all that before slumbered in the night.

He takes a few more steps into the expansive nave of the temple and sits on a bench facing toward the altar, from which incense rises and which is surrounded by the echoing voices of men and women whose song now fills his ears and joins with the voice that has been speaking deep within him:

When the night descends and darkness falls

and sun's light is hidden, veiled from sight,

the stars glisten silently in the celestial halls,

and yet their silence is song, glorious in might.

Sixfold constellations, brightest among the heavens,

hearken unto us as you shine pure and undimmed,

while we in toil and strife and fear make amends

for the sickness that lives within us, for our sins.

Darkness falls around us, day gives way to night,

and twilight's splendor wanes into nocturnal rest,

but we are bereft of peace, for before our sight

the dark takes shape, gathers like a wave unto its crest.

We falter, for dark is not only without but within,

and the shadows of unspoken betrayal, of apathy,

arise before us in fleshly shape, strong beyond our ken,

and yet in our faltering we cry unto you: Look and see!

Nerethion, the mighty and the strong, hearken,

and Hiliana, the sweetest of mothers and source of life;

Telmoth, lover of the earth, patron of our land and kin;

Melengthar, guardian of birth and passing, of death and life;

Mornwyn, lover of the greatness hidden in the small;

and Toroas, delighted by delight, and guardian of play;

we beseech you, six gods in heaven's light, hear us all,

and the seventh, Niraniel, oft unnamed, come this day.

For when day descends into night without a sunrise,

and the cycle of the sun and moon comes to a cease,

we learn that our refuge lies in you alone, in your eyes,

and we beseech your benevolence: restore to us your peace.

For against such darkness, strength of mind and arm

avail little, and we turn beyond the clouds, the dark,

to open the windows of the heart and soul

to the light that comes from the very origin of time.

Under the impress of the singing voices and their flowing current, the memory of Cirien's voice within Eldarien now changes to the voice of his mother. Eldarien, remember to sing always to the tender mother in your heart, and, when you can, with your voice. And never betray her kindness.

In all his years of blindness, a mother she has been, the goddess of light. But so too the other six, veiled from his eyes by his own ignorance or forgetfulness, have been present. He knows this now and cannot even begin to doubt it, though before he hardly gave it a thought. For Hiliana has spoken to him, a voice from the deepest silence, and has entrusted to him a light deeper than that visible to the eyes. And now he feels a new world opening up before him—indeed opening up within him—that he had not known before; and he is convinced that it is more vivid, more immense, and if it were possible, more real than the world that he has known until this moment. The words of the song, of prayer, are not empty and hollow consolations against the encroaching night, nor are they blind aspirations for a distant hope, like begging for stars a million leagues away, uncaring and unmoved; rather, the stars press tight against the earth, like a blanket of glistening gems laid upon one in sleep, securing peace. Moved by this thought, Eldarien leans into the song and prayer of those around him and finds in them strength to yield to the movement that is both most difficult, because most vulnerable, and also most spontaneous and free. After countless years too lost and too ashamed to sing, he lets the child that he once was lift his voice again in song to the guardians of the world, stars of tenderness and mercy, harbingers of the light and consolers of those who wait in the night for the rising of the dawn.

† † †

After the service has concluded, Eldarien sees Cirien in the hall as they together leave the sanctuary, and the latter approaches him.

"Is it right of me to say that you appear burdened?" Cirien asks.

"Indeed I do...though the song helped," Eldarien replies. "Is it really that easy to see?"

"I expect that it is not. I doubt any see it but myself and perhaps Elmariyë."

"She probably has not had a chance to see anything yet, for what I am troubled about has come only this morning."

"To what do you refer?" asks Cirien.

"A dream. Or rather a nightmare."

"How about we take breakfast together in my chamber? I have some time this morning, and you have been heavy on my heart."

"I would appreciate that, thank you," says Eldarien.

Together they walk to Cirien's chambers—settling in a sitting area which serves as an atrium to his bedchamber—and not to his rœdra, which he occupies only at certain times of the day and in which he receives more "formal" visits. Already there is a tray of food on a low table in the center of the room, no more than bread and butter and a small pot of tea. Cirien gestures to a chair, "Please, take a seat. There is little to eat, though I hope that you will not mind. I usually eat a light breakfast, and we are also, as a community, cutting back on our consumption and trying to save what we can. For we expect that hunger may prove a great enemy within while the enemy from afar threatens us from without."

"I truly hope that it does not come to that," Eldarien comments, taking the seat. Cirien sits opposite him and pours tea for each of them. "Do you not think," Eldarien continues, "that as many people as are willing should evacuate from the city, moving further to the east? I am confident that the other villages will take them in, at least on a temporary basis."

"There is nothing new in that thought and that suggestion," Cirien says. "I made it myself shortly after learning of the coming attack. And as I understand it, a good eighty or ninety families have fled to the east already, and more shall do so in the coming days."

"But what about a mandate? I understand that we need men to stand and fight, but it is even more important that innocent persons do not die. And I fear, considering the nature of our enemy, that they shall slaughter without concern for armed or unarmed, capable or incapable. Has the hæras done nothing in this regard?"

"Nothing?" Cirien asks. "He has forbidden anyone to leave the city, saying that it is cowardly to flee while others are forced to stay and fight."

"There is truth in that," says Eldarien, "but what about women, children, and the elderly? Are they also to stay and await death, should the battle go ill?"

"That is exactly what many of them must do, it seems. But if the battle indeed goes ill, I fear that it is only a matter of time until those who flee must also face the same threat of death further east."

"May it never come to that," Eldarien sighs.

"Is this what troubles you?" Cirien asks. "You have seen the forces of darkness, and you are concerned that we have little to no chance against them?"

"That does concern me," says Eldarien, "but that is not what burdens me especially at the moment, or at least not what I mentioned to you in the corridor. But in that respect, I know that there is hope, even if it is slim. I have fought in many battles, and I have come to learn that the outcome of military action is often different than we expect, and that worrying about it beforehand only clouds the mind's ability for judgment and the heart's capacity for courage."

"But you are concerned?"

"Of course I am. We do not even yet know if we can slay these creatures or if they, being already dead but animated by some mysterious power, are immortal. If that is the case, then we are certainly doomed."

"Unless there is a way to surpass such power," Cirien adds. "And you yourself witnessed that first-hand, did you not? You saw that they are capable of being slain. Rorlain told me himself that he slew them as one would slay any other living creature."

"That is true," Eldarien admits, "but what is to keep them from simply being remade or sent back?"

"Eldarien..." the grandmaster whispers softly, running his hand through his long white beard. "Eldarien," he repeats with emphasis, "you see far...farther than most. And this seeing causes you great pain, even as it may be instrumental in saving the lives of many."

"You are saying that there may be some truth to my words?"

"Not only may be. But is."

"What do you mean?"

"I have kept it to myself until this moment," Cirien explains, "but since you have already intuited it, there is no reason to hide it any longer. After all, it is imperative that you know soon so that we may discern a path forward."

"To what are you referring?" asks Eldarien.

"I mean that these druadach cannot be slain forever by ordinary means. You yourself saw them destroyed by blade and arrow, yes, and such is a true limit to their power...but it is only temporary. For the very substance of which they were made—something that I myself cannot speak to, as I know not what such a substance is—will only be reforged and sent out once again to slaughter and destroy. The manner of their making and their remaking, however, is beyond my own wisdom or understanding, and the ancient lore endures no longer in common civilization that would give me greater insight. I know not how they are made, and I therefore know not how they are to be unmade. All I know is that they cannot be slain by ordinary means, but only, as it were sent back to the place from whence they have come. And in short matter of time they can return again to assail us."

"I may know something about how they may be truly slain," Eldarien begins, "though it is a mystery to me how it has come to be and what it means."

"And what is that?" asks Cirien.

"Hallowed light dissolves such creatures into nothingness."

"Hallowed light? To what do you refer?"

"When I strike the druadach with my sword, it glows with a blue light upon contact, almost like it is purging these creatures, and they simply fade away into dust."

"And what is special about your sword, Eldarien? For you certainly imply that this does not happen with the weapons of other men."

"No, it does not," he replies. "It is not the sword itself that is special. Or at least, it was not originally so. It is forged of the rare myellion, but that is not the source of its power." Eldarien then falls silent again, hesitant to speak about his encounter with Hiliana in the darkness of the eöten's cave.

"What is it?" Cirien asks when he does not continue.

"I... When I was in a crevice in the earth, led there by my word to Rorlain's father that I would save his son, I encountered an ancient creature. I believe that it was an eöten."

"An eöten? They take many forms, of which the druadach are one. Was it something else?"

"It had the appearance of a troll, massive, strong, and cruel. I believe that it was feeding upon the wildlife in the area and also turning them to madness. It had taken Rorlain and carried him to its lair, a cave filled with shadows become almost solid in their darkness."

"Rarely does a man survive contact with the eötenga," Cirien says, "and even more rarely do two together."

"I am not to credit for our survival," Eldarien says, "for when I was in this place, a voice spoke unto me." He falls silent again, even though he knows that, of all persons, Cirien is the best and wisest person with whom to share this mystery. This time the grandmaster does not ask but simply remains silent and waits for Eldarien to continue. When he does, he says, "The voice claimed to be the voice of Hiliana...and it felt like her. In other words, what she claimed to be and what I felt her to be were one and the same."

Cirien's eyes grow wide for a moment, not with surprise or disbelief but with awe, before he hides this expression. Nonetheless, a twinkle remains in his eyes, betraying the fact that he is deeply moved. He then says, "Rarely do one of the divines make themselves explicitly known unto the children of men. They act in our world ceaselessly, this is true. But they prefer to act in secret and to speak silently in the depths of the heart, where only those of receptive faith may hear them. She must have had a grave reason for addressing you."

"I think that reason we already well know," replies Eldarien. "She...she addressed me as 'Lightborn,' and she said that I was to confront the darkness, and that my blade, henceforth the 'lightbringer,' was to purge such darkness."

"You are full of mysteries, Eldarien," Cirien says, unable to mask the tenderness in his voice, if to mask it he desires.

"But what does it mean?" asks Eldarien.

"This too is beyond me," says Cirien, "though it does help to guide our steps."

"What do you mean it helps to guide our steps?"

"The goddess named you 'Lightborn,' or she called you that and it was already your name. But there is only one place where any have been called that before, as far as my limited knowledge serves."

"The name has been used before? Where?"

"In the Velasi forest," says Cirien, "though none have entered or departed from that place in at least a thousand years."

"How then do you know of such a place and such a title?" Eldarien asks.

"Scattered records and fragments of memory," is Cirien's terse reply.

"You said that the words of Hiliana that I shared with you help to guide our steps. What do you mean by this?"

"It indicates where we can hope to find answers," says Cirien, "answers on how to defeat these creatures in truth, to pierce to the very source of the problem rather than to exhaust ourselves trying to cut off innumerable limbs. Nonetheless, there is a problem."

"What is that?"

"I said that none have entered or left the forest for a millennium. And that is because it is impossible to do so. That, of all the things we know, is clear from the records."

"But what is in these woods, and why would we wish to go there?" asks Eldarien.

"Answers, I would hope. Though that is all that I can say. Perhaps the source of the power you wield lies there, something that can be used to imbue other weapons with the same light that shines within your own...or wisdom to guide our steps in a way far deeper than martial combat. Or...or it is possible that nothing any longer remains that would be of assistance to us at all."

"But you think that we should venture it nonetheless?" Eldarien asks.

"I do," says Cirien, "though I know not what would await you in such a journey. I will need time to think and pray, to study the ancient records, in the hopes that some small ray of light may shine upon the path to guide your way. And of course, I do not wish for you to walk such a path—mysterious and perilous—alone. I shall certainly send Elmariyë with you, and perhaps Rorlain too will accompany you."

"Elmariyë?"

"Yes," says Cirien. "She is in the city only through necessity. For during these years that I have known her, not until now have I received clarity from the goddess Niraniel concerning the path that she is to walk. But since you arrived and your paths interlaced, it has become more and more apparent to me that where you go, she too must go. Her path lies with you, and you too may find that your path lies with her."

Eldarien nods silently to these words, and Cirien laughs softly.

"Of course, you already feel it, so my words come as no surprise."

"I do feel it," Eldarien says. "But..."

"What is it?"

"But I fear that Rorlain will be torn. He is deeply concerned for the city and affairs within it, and there has been an...estrangement...between us. He may wish to remain and aid in the war in a more tangible way."

"Nothing can be more real than the path that you walk," Cirien says, "even if it feels like you have nothing but hope and desire."

"I fear asking him to come," Eldarien says, "for I believe that his heart lies here or wherever armed resistance may take him. But I saved his life—or rather Hiliana saved his life through me—and he has bound himself to me to follow wherever I shall go and to protect me in all things. If I tell him I depart, he will be torn between his desire to accompany and his wish to remain. And I do not want to put him through such a thing."

"But what shall he think if you depart without his knowledge?" asks Cirien.

"He would be hurt, certainly, and yet..." Eldarien sighs, rubbing his forehead absentmindedly as he thinks. "I myself do not intend to depart until after we have done what we can to defend the city against the force that comes upon us. After all, if it is my blade alone that can stop these creatures, my absence may mean more ill than we can now imagine."

"You are right in that," says Cirien, "but only to a degree. I think that, in the immediate defense of the city, normal weapons shall be enough to hinder the threat. But it is of the long term that you must think." The old man falls silent, as if being led by a train of thought. "On the one hand," he then continues, "we know not what shall befall these creatures, nor ourselves when we face them. We know from the hints of history and lore that remain, and from your own experience in the barrow, that even normal weapons can slay them for a time. And we know that the light entrusted to you can slay them with greater ease and also have reason to believe that it prevents the process of their rapid regeneration. But only a force that we do not now possess shall be enough to dispel them once and for all. That is my firm conviction. So a part of me wants you to stay and fight, to help protect our people, and also to witness what shall unfold when men and beast clash in war. Much may be learned from that. But the other part of me wishes for you to make all haste to find the answer that we so desperately need... But it may be nothing but a rumor, a vain hope for a power that no longer exists or exists not where you search for it."

"What then would you have me do?" asks Eldarien.

"It is not my place to command you," Cirien replies, "but if you ask for my counsel, I say: stay here at present, but listen to the voice of your heart, and if it urges you to go, go. If anyone can discern the path ahead, it shall be you, for it is you to whom this light has been entrusted. And Elmariyë, too, I believe, shall know much or come to know it in time: for what is in you is also in her. And in all things, trust in the forces in whose hands are the fates of all, that they shall make it clear unto you whether you are to stay or depart."

"Then that is what I shall do," agrees Eldarien, "for your words appear to me wise, and they invite me to wisdom." He pauses and draws in a deep breath, deliberating whether to speak or remain silent about his dream and the matters that it symbolized, which weigh upon his heart. After a moment, he says, "But there is something else about which I desire to speak. It also brings further difficulty into my discernment of all that we have discussed."

"It is the nightmare to which you referred when we stood in the corridor?"

"Yes," says Eldarien. "And it concerns Rorlain, albeit not him alone."

"I sense that you fear for him, is this correct?" Cirien asks.

"I do, but I am not able to say even unto myself why this is so."

"Do you not care for him?"

"I do."

"Then that could be reason enough."

"Perhaps that is all that it is," says Eldarien. "But I cannot help feeling that maybe there is more. As I indicated to you, I had a dream last night which has deeply disturbed me. I understand that often dreams are no more than the work of our own minds while we sleep, seeking clarity regarding things that we encounter and feel when we are awake. To interpret dreams as prophecy can be a work of folly."

"That is true," says Cirien. "Many I have spoken to who imagine that the goddess communicates with them and directs them in their dreams, and yet only in one or two cases has this ever been true, and even then not according to the interpretation that the person superficially gives to such a communication."

"So let me say it just as it is, then," continues Eldarien. "I dreamed of Rorlain's death, a vicious and bloody death. It happened before my very eyes, and I was unable to do anything to stop it."

"Do you have cause to fear for him?" asks Cirien. "Is there anything specific that incites you concern for his safety, beyond the fact that we stand on the brink of battle and of war?"

"It may just be that. However, he has also become greatly preoccupied with the affairs of the hæras, and he thinks that the man is not as he seems. I fear that he shall be led, by his suppositions, to rash action which may bring harm to himself, if not also to others."

"What does Rorlain suppose to be the case?"

"He thinks it likely that Glendas commanded the fire in the ghetto," Eldarien says, "and used it as an excuse to blame the Imperial counselor and bring about his death."

"Does he have proof of this accusation?"

"Only secondary, indirect proof, though calling it proof is already giving it too much credence, I fear."

"And you do not trust Rorlain's intuition?" asks Cirien.

"I do, at least to a degree," says Eldarien. "But there is intuition, and then there is interpretation. It is not unlike what you said about those who interpret their dreams in a manner unfitting to the true nature of the goddess and her communications. I think that Rorlain senses something amiss in the hæras and, out of concern, seeks some way to set things to rights."

"Indeed," Cirien sighs, thoughtfully. "And there is something amiss with Glendas Medora. There has been for many years. But I do not believe that Rorlain's suspicions are correct, at least according to the conclusions that he draws from them. I knew the hæras when he was young, at least in a manner. He was quite different then than he is now, but the seeds of his illness were already present."

"His illness?" asks Eldarien.

"Yes," says Cirien. "The lust for power. I suspect that this is what Rorlain has witnessed and what he fears."

"He does fear that the hæras will go so far as to betray his own people in order to maintain or increase his power."

"I know not whether such a fear, as extreme as it appears, is grounded or not," Cirien muses. "Only time will tell. But what would Rorlain do? I suspect that any effort to intervene or usurp the hæras' power would do more harm than the evil it sought to prevent."

"I think Rorlain's inclination would be to unveil the hæras' corruption and thus to rob him of the authority which allows him to do evil, manipulating those under his command to acts of harm," explains Eldarien.

"But we do not have proof of such acts," Cirien says.

"No, we do not. We know only that the murder of the counselor and his men at court happened at the same time as the fire in the ghetto, and that the hæras accused the counselor of starting the fire. It was in the conflict immediately following this that he was slain."

"The counselor was a good man," Cirien says.

"So I have heard."

"He was a man of peace, to some people's minds even too much so. He tolerated the seeds of rebellion for years through fear of spilling unnecessary blood and causing harm to the people of the city. He served the Empire, yes, but he also served the people of Telmerion."

"Then it is unlikely that he commanded the fire."

"Very unlikely."

"So Rorlain's suspicions have at least some foundation?" Eldarien asks.

"That was never in doubt, was it?"

"No, it was not. It is his interpretation and his course of action, if action he takes, which concerns me." Eldarien pauses and thinks for a moment before asking, "Do you think Glendas such a man as to command the burning of a section of his own city?"

"As an excuse to kill a man?" Cirien replies. "I think not. But perhaps there are other motives of which we are unaware. Nonetheless, Glendas is not a fool. He knows that many of his subjects dislike him, so if he thought there was any chance others would impute such an action to him or look poorly on him for allowing it, he would not risk it."

"What if...I were to approach the hæras myself?" Eldarien asks, at first hesitantly, but then more firmly he continues. "What if I were to try to glean something from his mind? I do not mean that we may pass judgment upon him. I mean that we may learn what to expect of him, how he shall lead the people of this city, and thus find the path of cooperation…if cooperation is possible."

"Unless Glendas is sided with the Empire against his own people," Cirien replies, "the coming attack will set him unconditionally on the side of the people of Ristfand. Whatever self-interest he may have will be put to rest in the need to ensure the very survival of his city and its inhabitants."

"Then what shall I do?"

"Allow me to speak with him," Cirien says. "We have not spoken in many years, but this may be a good time for me to reintroduce myself. If I judge it appropriate, I may also be able to tell him that I have a man with me who has received the power to confront the powers of darkness that threaten us. It would be most fortunate if he were to accept your aid in protecting his people and fighting back the invasion. Your experience, along with what has been entrusted to you, may give him both hope and wisdom, as well as courage, in the fight that lies before him and in the future of his people itself."

"If that could indeed be the case," says Eldarien, "then I would have a clear reason to stay in Ristfand until after the attack. Were he to accept my aid, I would gladly give it."

† † †

That evening, Cirien comes to Eldarien in his room and says to him, "I spoke with Glendas, and he seems favorably disposed toward our cause. I sensed no duplicity in him, at least regarding the things about which we spoke. He asked to speak with you as soon as possible. In fact," and with this he sighs, "while I was present, a messenger came in and brought news that an army has been spotted marching in this direction and should now be but a couple days away."

"Do you know any more?" Eldarien asks. "What of the size of this army?"

"Five-thousand or more. Perhaps even twice that," Cirien replies, "though the messenger said that he saw no beasts but only men."

"We know not what form these creatures take when they travel," says Eldarien, "so this is no indication that the alliance between the Empire and the druadach has failed."

"It may simply be that they, being creatures of darkness, are not visible in the daylight," explains Cirien.

"You mean to say that we may find ourselves fighting an invisible enemy?"

"No, I do not mean that. Rather, it is possible that they only take form in the darkness, being but shadows in the light of day."

"That is a terrifying prospect," Eldarien sighs. "What leads you to this conclusion?"

"Records of ancient times. The eöten take many forms, as I said, but a trait that is often recalled of them, or at least some of them, is that when exposed to the light of day, they become...insubstantial," says Cirien, as if struggling for an appropriate word to express this reality. He continues, "They are not thereby defeated. It is rather as if they retreat into their 'realm,' into the realm of shadow, until darkness has again engulfed the world with night and they can extend their presence freely."

"That would explain why they dwell in the caves of the earth. But I wish we knew for certain that this is the case." Eldarien runs a hand through his hair in thought and then says conclusively, "I will go to the hæras early tomorrow morning."

"And I shall pray for the good outcome of your conversation and whatever deliberation you may share with Glendas," the grandmaster says.

"Thank you, Cirien. Without your wisdom and knowledge, we would be much poorer in this fight. I for one am immensely grateful to have it, and your very presence brings me courage and hope."

After this, Eldarien retires to his room for the evening. and, though it is not yet dark outside, he lays down on his bed above the covers and closes his eyes. After a while, as his heart sinks into silence, images begin to pass before his interior vision, the eyes of his heart, beginning as memories of the past and then gradually changing into expectations of the future. But at some point the images shift beyond memory and imagination. They become more real, more vivid and alive, as if they are now neither of the past nor of the future but of the present or of some timeless state that holds past, present, and future all together. He sees Elmariyë's face directly before him, more tangible and more keenly impressed upon his heart's vision than in the sight of his waking eyes. And as he looks upon her, the expression written into the lines of her face, at first peaceful, as if she is looking at him with kind regard, is altered, turning to anguished concern. Elmariyë...what is it? He finds himself asking the question unconsciously, so real does her presence seem. But he hears no answer, at least not one explicitly put into words.

For a long moment he looks into her eyes, and she looks into his, and something passes between them, like a voice uttered without need for sound or a silent word that contains in itself the meaning of many words. But gradually this image fades before Eldarien and another face takes the place of that of Elmariyë. It is the face of Rorlain. But Rorlain is not looking at Eldarien and does not seem to be aware of his presence. Rather, his gaze is intently fixed elsewhere, though his expression manifests an anguish similar to Elmariyë's anguish, a concern, however, fraught with more fear and uncertainty, whereas even in fear and concern, Elmariyë did not cease to radiate a gentle peace and serenity, afflicted but undimmed. But as soon as Rorlain's face appears full formed before the eyes of Eldarien's heart, so too does it fade away, and the latter finds himself looking once again into blackness. He opens his eyes and sits up in the bed, still fully dressed and still fully awake. What he experienced was neither dream nor vision, but a seeing of the heart. The room is dark now as the last light of day has fled from the sky and no candle or fire is lit within it. Eldarien swings his legs off the side of the bed and places them on the floor. These images...and feelings, he thinks to himself, they must be another part of this "bearing."

He then rises and, pulling a cloak about his shoulders, steps into the corridor, which is now silent and still as all have retired to their rooms to sleep, study, pray, or relax. The hooting of an owl echoes gently through the stone hallway, as if sneaking in through an open window looking out into the courtyard and being amplified against the vaulted ceiling. To the courtyard Eldarien now goes, closing the heavy wooden door quietly behind him, and taking a few steps forward, beyond the eaves, and raising his eyes to the sky, which is speckled now with countless stars and shines with the cold white light of a rising crescent moon. A soft breeze breathes through the courtyard, whistling off the roof and sighing in the boughs of the trees. It ruffles his hair, and he brushes it away from his eyes, and then he pulls the cloak tighter around him against the chill air of Telmeric night. For a moment, he does nothing but stand, drinking in the beauty of sight, sound, and feeling, the voice of the owl now clear and loud to his right, mingled with the intermittent moaning of a dove a little further off, and beyond that, the slow chirping of crickets. In the silence, Eldarien notices innumerable sounds that go unnoticed in the daily affairs and noises of life. The trees speak in response to the breeze, their branches groaning mildly as they wave in the air and their leaves tinkling like a thousand little bells or droplets of water. But the silence itself also seems to speak: the unmoving stones of the temple edifice, large, quiet, and yet sheltering, the earth underneath his feet firm and nourishing, and the sky itself pouring forth starlight from an immeasurable distance. There is a music in it, a single music manifest in a multitude of silent sounds, and yet only one.

Suddenly the silence is filled with an unexpected voice, "So you came."

Eldarien turns slightly and sees a figure emerging from the shadows of the trees, in which beforehand she had been invisible. "I did not know that you would be here, though I felt you only a moment ago and almost 'saw' you..."

"I saw you too, if that's what it can be called," Elmariyë says, coming to within a few steps from Eldarien. "You didn't hear my words, but you must have felt my intention."

"Is it truly possible for us to communicate at a distance with only the mind?" he asks.

"More like the heart, I think," she replies, "though I think that they are one at their root. Or rather, I think that the mind is part of the heart, rooted ultimately in the heart, just as everything else is. It all starts there and ends there, like the center of a basket from which all threads are woven or the place from which ripples come and to which they return when a stone is cast into water."

"I understand that," Eldarien says softly, "more than I ever have before. But what did you try to tell me? I could see that you were troubled…or perhaps concerned is a better word."

"Concerned and troubled both," answers Elmariyë, and her voice is heavy. "It is nothing specific, or at least nothing beyond what we all await in but a few days' time. And maybe that is cause enough for all that I feel."

"It may indeed be enough. But what did you say to me then?"

"It wasn't really in words. I rather just reached out to you, as if I felt alone in the pain I bore and..." Her voice falters.

"What is it?"

She finds her voice again and continues, "I wanted you to bear me in bearing it."

"The pain of our time is too much for one heart to bear alone," Eldarien says. "Indeed I think the pain of a single human heart is too much to bear. It is beyond us, beyond anyone."

"But we are never alone, in the pain or in the bearing," whispers Elmariyë.

"I see that in you," replies Eldarien. "I have never before seen someone who appears so visibly 'held,' even to the waking eyes. And I understand why. I understand how you can hold, how you can bear, because you so keenly know yourself to be held."

"She has been so close to me from the beginning," says Elmariyë. "I have always been so alone and yet never alone. But not until now have I known another living soul who can hold me also, in some way, as she always has. It is like meeting a fragment of her alive in you, or rather, like seeing a ray of her light filter through your heart, intensified and magnified before my gaze precisely by passing through you." She pauses, and then adds, "I hope that makes at least a little sense."

"Yes," is his simple reply. "But tell me," he continues, "more of what you feel. Something is troubling you, and it concerns not only the news of the impending attack. It arises from a different place, does it not?"

"Different, but the same," she answers. "I just feel a sense of...dread. I do not know a better word for it, though that one seems just as inadequate as it is helpful. It is like I feel that something terrible is coming, something even worse than any of us can at this time expect. And I feel powerless to do anything to prevent it or even mitigate it."

"Is that why you reached out to me?" Eldarien asks, and then he smiles softly, adding, "It is going to take some time to become accustomed to this...kind of language. This way of relating."

"For both of us," she agrees. "But the answer is no, if by that you mean I wanted to see if there was something that you could do or even advice you could give me. How, after all, can anything be done about an evil that is only felt and whose nature is neither seen nor understood?"

"I suppose that where there is only intuition understanding can be sought," says Eldarien. "Cirien has given me a great deal of illumination in this regard, and though I feel the evil more deeply than before, I also feel like I see it more clearly. And this enables me to feel less helpless, even if no less powerless."

"Maybe you are right," Elmariyë sighs. "It is perhaps simply too early to know what this evil is, and all that can be done is to feel it in expectation."

"But the feeling can become communication, reaching out to the light, as is happening in our conversation right now."

"Again, I think you are right." With these words, Elmariyë turns away, and the little of her face that was before visible in the light of moon and stars is hidden in the darkness. But he still hears her voice as she continues speaking, in tones soft and strained, "It just feels like a...suffocation. Like I cannot breathe no matter how hard I try. It comes from all angles, whichever way I turn, a thick fog surrounding me and seeking to pierce even to the deep places within me."

"I felt that in the presence of the druadach," says Eldarien. "I think that they carry this suffocating fear and oppression with them wherever they go. Or better said, I believe that it emanates from within them. It is their strongest weapon."

"But the expectation of great evil?" asks Elmariyë, turning back to him now, her voice eager and imploring. "Is that too but a result of their proximity or their influence?"

Eldarien answers, "I know not..."

"I think I reached out to you, Eldarien," she says, "in the hopes that you could give me some air, or some space to breathe, in my suffocation."

"I wish that I could."

"No, but even if not in the way I expected, I think that is precisely what you did. You cannot take from me the experience that is mine to bear, for it is given to me for a reason. The feeling of it is a gift and not a curse. Thus, you cannot remove the pain, but you can join me in it or take it—and me as well—into yourself. And that makes a difference, a very significant difference. In a certain sense, it changes everything."

"Then I am happy to do what little I can," Eldarien affirms, softly yet enthusiastically.

Elmariyë nods and turns back to Eldarien with a gentle smile. "Thank you. It is good to have you here with me. Know that I am here with you and for you, too. And I hope that I always shall be."

"As do I," replies Eldarien. "As do I."