Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (2 page)

Thousands had left after the war, choosing to help rebuild Tolt Anoor, Deneth Barine and the capital, Ysundeneth. And over the years the trickle had continued until it became clear that Katura
was unsustainable. So the city had been dismantled, timber and stone, and the materials taken to help rebuild elsewhere, cities whose repair was yet to be completed. It never would be. The scars of
man would always remain.

All that remained of Katura now was the Wall of the Fallen, which held the names of every elf from every thread who had given his or her life to the cause: for the salvation of the elven race.
The wall had been built from the temple stones and was a spiral structure that led to a central shrine to Yniss and all of the elven gods. The flagpole stood proud above the shrine.

There was not a day that Nerille had failed to walk the spiral, her trembling hands trailing over the thousands of names, the memories of struggle still fresh despite the passing of the
centuries. They mingled with more recent acts, equally brave though not undertaken in warfare. The images that played in her mind gave her a reason to draw her next breath.

Nerille never ceased to be amazed at how quickly Beeth’s root and branch had returned to the deserted city, grabbing greedily at the land vacated by the elves and erasing the wounds of
civilisation. The wall and flagpole would soon be covered, hidden beneath vine and leaf, and that was as it should be.

The mists that dominated the Palm of Yniss had already returned, sweeping from the cliffs and sitting on the lake, swirling around her ankles and giving the ground in all directions a ghostly,
ethereal aspect. As the vegetation gained ground, so the mist would deepen.

‘Nerille?’ She started and looked up. The silhouette of a tall elf was before her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

The figure approached and knelt before her, revealing the face of an old Tuali warrior, Arch of the Al-Arynaar until his advancing years had forced him into a very active retirement. His eyes
were hooded and his hair all gone but still he pulsed with a zest she envied.

‘Hello, Tulan. I hadn’t thought to see you here again.’

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, taking her hands in his and raising them to dry lips.

Nerille thought for a moment and shook her head.

‘I don’t really feel anything,’ she said. ‘Is that bad?’

Of all the things she had expected – sorrow, relief, even a weary acceptance – it certainly wasn’t this.

‘Nothing you have ever done or felt could be described as bad,’ said Tulan. He levered himself back to his feet and sat beside her. ‘All that Katura and its people have become
since the war is because of your work and your sacrifice.’

Nerille could feel herself blushing, and her smile was warm with the recognition of her efforts.

‘You came all the way from Aryndeneth to embarrass me?’

Tulan laughed. ‘In front of who, the macaques?’

‘So why are you here? Bit old for a bodyguard, aren’t you?’

‘That depends how slow the attacking animal is. I’m still more than a match for any sloth.’

‘Well, that’s a relief.’

Nerille looked at Tulan, saw the smile cracking his face and laughed hard, her shoulders shaking and tears filling her eyes at the idea of a ferocious battle against a sloth.

‘And I’m still highly skilled at crushing ants.’

‘Stop!’ said Nerille, smacking his arm with a bony hand. ‘I’ve missed you, Tulan. You were always too long away from here.’

Tulan’s smile faded. ‘I know. I could hide behind my duties, but the fact is that when you started dismantling the city it became too hard to come back here and see what was
happening. I still think it’s a mistake.’

‘You and me both, but we are very much in the minority.’

‘I still feel the pain of Pelyn’s death and that was seven hundred years ago. She died protecting Katura, and we’ve abandoned it.’

‘No, Tulan,’ said Nerille. ‘I wanted Katura to survive because it was my home. But the fight was never for the city, it was for the elven race. That’s what Pelyn died
defending, not the buildings.’

‘But this place should have become the focus of our renewal. The energy and harmony should have been the beacon for all to follow.’

‘Yes, but it was the same in all the cities. After all, in the end humans managed to do more for elven harmony than Takaar ever managed. And, romantic though our notions were, Katura is
just too distant and difficult to reach.’

Tulan shrugged. ‘I know you’re right but it still doesn’t feel . . . fitting. Not elven.’

‘The memories will always be here for those who wish to find them,’ said Nerille. ‘So tell me, what
are
you doing here?’

Tulan smiled again. ‘Sloth attacks notwithstanding, I’m not here as your bodyguard. Honour guard would be a more accurate description.’

Nerille felt heat in her cheeks. ‘There you go again, making me blush. It’s lovely of you, Tulan, though you didn’t have to. There are seventy or so of us making this final
trip after all.’

‘Respectfully I must disagree,’ said Tulan. ‘This is one journey I would not miss for all the years of an Ynissul. And I’m not the only one.’

Tulan pointed behind them at the wall, where two elves stood studying the names and whispering prayers when they touched that of a loved one. Nerille gasped to see them and her hand went to her
mouth. She felt giddy as a youngster excited at the sight of a hero, and she was most certainly in the presence of heroes.

Nerille pushed herself to her feet, feeling a moment’s unsteadiness. She reached out a hand, which Tulan took, and the pair walked to the wall together.

‘This is where we met for the first time,’ said Auum, not turning.

‘Not precisely,’ said Nerille. ‘You were balanced atop that flagpole after all.’

‘Will you ever let me get away with the slightest inaccuracy?’

Auum turned, Ulysan with him, and Nerille shook her head.

‘Not while I draw breath,’ she said. ‘Gyal knows it’s good to see you.’

Auum embraced her, and Nerille clung to him hard, feeling the lack of strength in her arms and remembering the energy she used to have.

‘There was nowhere else I could be.’

‘Don’t you start,’ said Nerille.

Auum broke the embrace and kissed her eyes and forehead.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Ask Tulan. What are you doing here, then? Come to watch me walk extremely slowly into the forest?’

Nerille studied Auum’s face. How old he must be. He’d witnessed thousands of years and yet he retained such vitality. And it would be thousands more before he showed the signs of a
tiring body. But his would never deteriorate like hers, to the point where death seemed a sensible option. She knew why and she envied him the sheer joy that serving his faith gave him. Every day
in the rainforest was a renewal. How magnificent to be inspired that way.

‘I heard a rumour that the Mother of Katura felt she was unlikely to survive the trip to Aryndeneth. I am here to ensure that she reaches her destination very much alive.’

‘Blabbermouth grandchildren,’ muttered Nerille, but she could not stop a smile crossing her face. ‘Well, whatever the reason, I’m . . .’

It hit her then – the enormity of today and what it meant to have the Arch of the TaiGethen escort her away. She stepped away from Auum and looked quickly around at the huge open space
where Katura had once stood and where the lines of foundations still ran like veins across the ground. A cascade of memories ran through her and with it came the tears, the weakness in the legs and
Tulan and Auum’s arms about her, supporting her body and soul.

‘I don’t want this to end,’ she managed eventually. ‘I should have died here.’

‘Yniss blessed you with long life. So this is not an ending; it’s another step on the journey for you, and for Katura.’

Nerille composed herself, taking her time to wipe the tears from her face and stand unsupported again with her skirt smoothed and her shirt arranged properly about her shoulders.

‘You talk such rubbish sometimes, Auum,’ she said. ‘Still, at least you stopped my whimpering. Let’s go.’

‘It’s a long way,’ agreed Ulysan. ‘Best not waste time.’

‘That has nothing to do with it,’ said Nerille, recovered and beginning to feel mischievous like she was a child once more. ‘I fear staying here might lead to more pomposity
from the Arch, and no one deserves having to put up with that.’

Takaar looked down from the top of Crier’s Mound and found his sense of satisfaction and achievement undiminished by the passage of time. Indeed it had probably grown,
intensified by the progress of all those he surveyed today and those further away, working with all he had taught them.

Laughter rose on a light breeze, dissipating into a clear blue sky.

‘And to think this was all my gift.’

That is an interesting interpretation of history.

‘I brought them to this place and look what they have achieved.’

No, Auum exiled you here with all your dribbling sycophants.

Takaar began to walk down the slope of the mound. The sun blessed the ground of the Ornouth Archipelago this morning. The sands sparkled, the channels between the islands shone and here on
Herendeneth, the largest of the islands, the sounds of joyous life filled the air.

‘We needed a secluded place in which to do our work for the benefit of all elves. I was already considering this place.’

I might be mistaken, but I thought the last time you spoke to Auum he said you and the Il-Aryn would never have a place in the lives of elves and that the best thing you could do was draw a
hurricane down on yourselves to rid the world of your dangerous meddling. I paraphrase, obviously. Expletives are so distasteful, aren’t they?

‘And I can’t believe that after seven hundred years you still think you can get a rise out of me with all this.’

You’re right, it’s a waste. All I have to do is quote the names Auum and Drech, don’t I?

Takaar said nothing but could not stop his jaw tensing. Instead of replying he focused on the extraordinary school he had created. What had begun as a simple wood and thatch house was now a
sprawling mansion of stone and slate, robust enough to withstand all that the Sea of Gyaam could throw at them when the storm season came.

Over the centuries a large settlement had grown up around the mansion and at its height more than a thousand adepts and teachers had lived here. That number was currently a little over seven
hundred because of the deal Takaar had brokered with the college city of Julatsa on Balaia. He expected the benefits of it would be felt over the coming decades as elven magical power and
understanding grew exponentially.

Only you could believe that. Everyone else knows they are just cheap fodder when the humans go to war again.

‘That is a laughable accusation. Even for you it sounds desperate.’

Takaar walked past groups of students gathered in the open spaces laid out for range and area castings. Lectures were ongoing in the amphitheatre built into the southern face of the
Crier’s Mound, and Takaar knew that under the domed roof at the centre of the mansion new adepts were taking their very first steps into the world of the Il-Aryn. It was their most dangerous
time, and the sanatorium was ever busy with those unfortunates whose minds could not cope.

Takaar took comfort every day from the sheer energy he felt from each of those lucky enough to study here. It was an intellectual paradise, and those Gyalans and Ixii who tested themselves, then
learned how to harness and to use their power, were unendingly grateful to him. Meanwhile he walked the paths of Herendeneth seeking new inspiration and moved among his people to better disseminate
that wisdom.

Your people?

‘It is how I am viewed. I am the father of the Il-Aryn.’

Oh yes, the mystical leader . . . Why not go the whole way and deify yourself? Then you can wander among your flock, blessing the chosen with knowledge, power and the pure joy your presence
brings them.

Takaar felt a shiver of anger but forced a smile onto his face. His passage down the slope and into the midst of his students was drawing the usual attention, and he was always serene when in
the company of the Il-Aryn.

Of course you do find it difficult to remain in their company for all that long, don’t you?

‘We all need our solitude,’ muttered Takaar. ‘Places where we can think and be inspired to learn.’

Those outbursts of yours against Drech have nothing to do with it, then?

‘Those will always be a matter of regret.’

Much as is your jealousy.

‘Be silent,’ hissed Takaar. ‘I have places to be and I do not need your insidious comments.’

He was nearing the grand main doors of the mansion, which were intricately carved hardwood set in a stone frame decorated with the symbols of elven magic. They were pulled open from within as he
approached and a trio of his most promising adepts raced out, shrieking his name. They were
iads
, bright with excitement, and they crowded around him all speaking at once.

Takaar’s first thought was to step back, but the first faint laughter was already on his tormentor’s lips so he stood his ground and held up his hands.

‘Please, my children, songs of my mind . . . Cleress, Aviana, Myriell . . . one at a time.’ Whatever the excitement was, it was infectious, and Takaar felt his heart beginning to
race. ‘To where must I come, and why?’

‘We’ve got one!’ said Cleress, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the doors. ‘Just now. Ephy is keeping him in the air!’

‘Slow down, slow down,’ said Takaar. ‘One what, my child? Aviana, take a breath and start from the beginning.’

Cleress and Myriell looked to Aviana, the eldest of them by all of three years and ever the most eloquent. She was the most beautiful too, though none of them lacked attention. Their innocence
had to be protected until they had reached the maturity of their powers, and the more persistent
ulas
had been warned as much. A heightened emotional state in combination with the volatile
nature of their abilities would be a terribly dangerous mix.