SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Awakening: Chapter Three

Shards of coloured light lay like a broken rainbow, scattered at the feet of the young elven girl. Deepsea blues and heavenstruck golds stained the floor with bold hues, overwhelming her eyes with their vibrant shades. Filled with awe, as she was every time she visited the majestic cathedral, she reverently lifted her gaze to the source- a massive stained glass window that featured at the far end of the expansive room.

Each delicately tinted piece had been cut with loving care, fitting together like the pieces of a jigsaw to portray the most adored god of elvish pantheon. The Allfather smiled benevolently down on all those who passed under his gaze, one hand cradling a small golden harp, while the other steadied his simply ornamented longsword as it rested point down.

Finding herself smiling in return, Ariel inclined her head in respect to the depiction of the deity, before reluctantly wrenching her amber eyes away to view the remainder of the chapel. Although it did not approach the magnitude of the Aerie- the giant treetop temple devoted to the entire elvish pantheon- it remained sizable nonetheless. Its vaulting stone ceilings and sturdy walls had been carved out of the very canyon itself, the cold grey stone made welcoming with a multitude of carved wooden panels and plush tapestries displaying scenes from elven mythology.

Below the watchful eyes of the god, a simple altar stood, covered in cloth of the purest white. Embedded in the centre, a great silver blade stood tall in a proud tribute to a deity who was equal parts nurturer and warrior. Several more blades lay carefully placed over a ceremonial table some feet in front of the altar. To Ariel’s expert eye, the weapons looked to be more practical of purpose, albeit of lesser craftsmanship, than the sword that paid homage to the Allfather.

Chanting softly, a familiar face strolled about the table, waving several sticks of incense over the waiting weapons. The musky scent drifted over to the waiting etrielle, uniting with the fresh air that wafted in between giant oaken doors that stood invitingly open, before swirling deeper into the temple. Never noticing the breeze that was slowly drying her wet locks, Ariel took a moment to observe as the priest went about his ritual.

He seemed like any other cleric dedicated to the ways of the Allfather. Short platinum blonde hair fell easily about his face, the pale wisps contrasting against the vibrant molten colour of his skin in a way that echoed the glint of rich gold embroidery on his pristine white robes. He did not look a decade older than her master, Ariel realised with some surprise. Rather he appeared an elf just entering his prime, ready to take on the world; not one who was burdened with the heavy responsibility of authority. For despite his young age and apparent innocence, Nandil served as the spiritual leader of the Towers of Midnight Song.

Yet age, or rather the lack of it, had never meant much at the Towers. The headmaster himself was no more than a couple of centuries old, most of the instructors barely even that. So why should it be unusual then that Nandil had earned such a highly respected position so early in life, Ariel reasoned? After all, her own master, who could be no older than the dedicated cleric, was already renowned- some would say notorious- for his ruthlessness, cunning and dubious teaching methods.

Even the Pryde of the Banshees were a point in case. Aside from being some of the few survivors of an orcish massacre, they were also respected and despised in turns as being part of the Towers elite core of students. Yet not a single one of them were less than a decade away from reaching their first century. Little more than babies, at least in the view of some.

Welcoming the reflective turn to her thoughts- it was after all why she had come here- Ariel slowly began making her way towards the side of the white-draped altar. Giving Nandil a wide berth so as not to disturb whatever ritual he was currently performing, she found her eyes constantly drawn to the great silver sword, standing strong before Corellon’s gaze. Ancient elvish legend had long held the blade of the Allfather to be a longsword- the same as that which Ariel wielded.

Feeling that to be somehow significant, Ariel unbelted her weapon, laying it in its scabbard to one side of the altar. Then kneeling before it, she allowed the atmosphere of the stately chapel wash over her, absorbing the peaceful yet solemn dignity. There were but few occasions that the wary young warrior was able to appreciate such tranquillity, for ordinarily she was surrounded by others who were seldom still. Even on her own, dancing under the stars or bathing in the rushing river’s flow, she remained constantly on her guard, fearing that she would be caught unprepared by a vengeful student of the Furies Heart, or another of her enemies.

Thankful for the uncommon gift of serenity, she lifted her gaze to that of the Allfather, holding it for a few seconds as she allowed her emotions to resound in her heart, before bowing on her knees, nose almost to the floor. Most who knew the proud etrielle would have been taken aback by the uncharacteristic- albeit heartfelt- gesture, for rarely did she show such deference or respect to a figure of authority.

Completing her own spontaneous ritual, she straightened, her tawny coloured eyes returning to rest on the kind blue pair that were made of glass but seemed so much more alive. They were eyes that had always made her feel loved, Ariel realised wistfully, eyes that had watched over her entire life.

Thinking back, Ariel recalled her arrival at the Towers of Midnight Song, seven years ago. Strange that something that should have been so simple turned out so violent, her troubled thoughts observed. It seemed that through her life that had too often been the case.

It had been approaching mid-autumn, she remembered. The great and regal trees had been decked out in the richest of crimsons and golds, the ground covered in a thick carpet of their discarded finery. A long cavern of elves had meandered along beneath the sun-touched boughs, the bulk of the travellers made up of hundreds of elvish juveniles, the last of the Tower’s Intake for this year. Yet they were hardly unaccompanied. Scattered along their length had been several instructors from the Towers, each heavily armed and on horse back.

That hadn’t seemed to make much difference to the hordes of goblinkin that had appeared from nowhere to massacre the innocent children. Ariel remembered seeing an orcish arrow take one of the instructors in the throat, not more than several feet from where she had stood. Fighting panic, she had crept her way over to the rapidly cooling body to take his sword, banding together with three others in an attempt to defend themselves. One had been the daughter of the headmaster. The other pair had gone on with her to form the Pryde of the Banshees, along with two others they had later rescued. All up, not more than a dozen of the Towers potential candidates had survived the battle.

It had been the rescue mission that had introduced them to the Master. The Tower’s creed had always been ‘leave no one behind’ and so the Headmaster had gathered a party of the survivors- made up of Ariel and her newfound allies- and placed them under the curt guidance of the mysterious gold elf they called the ‘Masked Lionar’.

Ariel had later come to understand that the word ‘lionar’ was a rank in the Alumirian army. Customarily bestowed by the nation’s ruling council- known as the Triumvirate-, the term applied to the least of commanding officers.

Nevertheless, it had not impressed the somewhat rebellious young girl. Neither had the elf himself, for on discovering the cavern system where a small group of tuskers were keeping prisoners, the first thing he had done was tumble head first down a waiting pit trap and into a river, leaving the inexperienced children to once again fend for themselves.

Thankfully, being an orphan, Ariel had long been used to that. Traversing the lair with ease, she and her companions had been able to take their enemies by surprise, slaughtering the handful of orcs that had dwelt within and rescuing their prisoners.

Her life would have been far less complicated if it had ended there, Ariel reflected. Simply return those they had rescued and find a place for herself in one of the many faculties of training the Midnight Towers had on offer. However life was rarely that neat.

The headmaster, impressed with their skills and cool thinking in dangerous situations, had insisted that the rescue party- with the exception of his daughter- remain together as a training unit, or Pryde. The idea was an unusual one, a break in the Towers tradition, for Prydes were customarily formed from students belonging to one school of training. This new Pryde would be formed of Ariel and four others, each being permitted to cross train under any school they wished, but united under the guidance of the Masked Lionar. How the headmaster had managed to quell the Lionar’s strenuous objections still remained a mystery to Ariel.

And so it was that the Pryde of the Banshee’s Loft, or the Banshees as they were affectionately known, was reluctantly formed. A Pryde fated to be constantly talked of, that everyone knew to be wary of. Even their first training session could not escape notice, becoming one of the most tragic incidents in Towers history.

At the suggestion of one of his new students, the Lionar had taken them down to one of the training grounds of the Furies Heart. The style was a particularly violent one, favouring brute strength over finesse and formed predominantly from the most aggressive of wild elves. Taking exception to the intrusion, and no doubt insulted by the presence of his mistress’ nemesis, the junior instructor that had been left in charge had challenged the Lionar to a duel. The challenge had been politely declined by the Banshee’s master in favour of a new suggestion- that the students themselves settle the matter.

And settle it they had. The battle had drawn to an abrupt conclusion when Ariel had decapitated one of the barbarians. Horrified by her actions she had fled, intending to leave the Towers, before the Lionar had convinced her to return.

That thought brought her back to why she was here, in the temple. “Do not return without an answer to my question,” the masked warrior had warned her during their private training session that morning.

“Why is it you are still here, trying to learn how to kill?”

Back then, when she had run from the young yet lifeless body lying at her feet, he had convinced her that to leave and not face the harsh lesson that stood before her would be a tragic waste of life.

It was something she now firmly believed. So why was she still at the Tower, she asked herself? Not to kill, but to protect. The line was a difficult one to walk, but would it not be cowardly of her to choose another, to run from it and allow another to suffer in her place? Could she not somehow atone for the wild elf's death by continuing to walk and suffer on that path?

To Ariel’s mind, it would not be her own sacrifice that would be wasted if she did not, but rather Anowyn Oakwhisper’s- the student of the Furies Heart. It was that which seemed more important, for if another were to take her place, his sacrifice may have to be made again. More than anything in the world, Ariel did not want another elven life to be given up simply because she was too weak to walk the path that Corellon had set before her.

In the years that had since passed by, she had slowly come to terms with the fact that sometimes to protect meant to kill. However Anowyn’s death would always insure that she never killed another of her people unless she was given no other choice. The Allfather protected his people. She would do no less.

The musical ringing of an incense bell startled Ariel, as Nandil walked past, his soft prayer completed. Glancing around, the pensive young etrielle found the High Priest polishing the swords he had just blessed. His warm golden eyes met her own as he sensed her surprise, a serene smile lighting up their innocent depths.

“Please forgive my interruption, Anariel. It was thoughtless of me,” Nandil bowed apologetically to the kneeling elf girl, seeming completely out of place with a longsword in one hand and the incense bell in the other.

Ariel smiled affectionately at the white robed cleric, returning his bow from her place on the floor. "It does not follow that such an interruption is unwelcome"

“Forgive me prying,” he began, placing the blade he held back on the ceremonial table and drawing closer, “but you seemed awfully thoughtful. Does something play on your mind?”

“A question posed to me by the Master,” Ariel smiled once more. Yet long habit forced her to remain wary of giving a straight answer. “Perhaps you should think of it as homework.”

Nandil’s welcoming expression turned to concern. “Questions surely deep, for such a long contemplation,” he said, gesturing out the opened doors to the darkness outside.

Ariel blinked in surprise and took a closer look. Faintly she could make out stars twinkling merrily high above trees obscured by nightfall. It was not moon dark yet- the time her master had set for their next lesson- but she knew that if she did not start immediately she would not be able to scale the cliffs in time to reach the river.

“Child is all well?” Nandil asked, stepping forward. “You paled a few shades just now.”

“All is well,” she hurried to reassure him, ignoring the nervous fluttering in her stomach. “I simply have another training session, which I will have to hurry to.”

“Then may the Allfather speed your steps and guide your heart.”

“Thank you Nandil," Ariel replied gratefully, rising to her feet. “For everything.”

Bowing once more to the kind priest, she picked her sword up and was about to secure it to her belt when something caught her attention. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the image of the Allfather’s hand upon the blade, moved beyond the place the reflection would ordinarily rest. However when she glanced again at the ground, she found it impossible to tell, since she had already disturbed the weapon.