There was something mystically wonderous about Dawi Forest, at least to Antar. Perhaps it was the way that the sun shone through the treetops and entered the forest in solid beams in the morning. It was probably a lot more than that.
Antar was an Archer from the capital of Everlorn, Nipora. Nipora was often called the Rainy City, because it did just that. It rained, a lot. But Antar found Nipora every bit as likeable as the rest of Everlorn. It was Dawi forest that had the real snare on his childhood memories, though.
There were always bits of dust and glittering seeds falling from the bright Ova trees. He’d always loved to come here with his friend Serian even before they became Tukari to each other. Tukari are like a combination of siblings and married couples, being so very closely linked in their minds that their love almost made them a single entity.
Antar sighed deeply. Memories. Good memories leave behind a feeling like no other; the desire for the past again. Antar was still in deep thought when suddenly he was disturbed by heavy thumping on the leaves behind him. He whirled around to see a Choobador, being ridden by a stern faced Elven male. Choobador are two legged reptiles, with an uncanny resemblance to a small dinosaur. They have a long head ending in a neat snout, matted scales in shades of muddy green or brown, and an unhealthy interest in using the crest of their heads to damage things.
This particular greenish Choobador, only plodding, came to a stop a few metres from him. It fidgeted, reptilian scales glittering in the sun beams. The creature looked young and lithe, like a race-bred, indicating that the man riding it was probably a messenger.
The rider, who was of mature face and posture, spoke softly: “Antar-Aquinus-Everlorn, I believe?”
“Yes. You are a messenger of the Karnola?” He said, identifying the crest of Karnola town on the saddle with a glance.
“You assumed correctly. I bear a message from Karnola Town Council.” He paused, as if recalling memories. “’Our Far Scout Rangers have alerted us of a Kvorn force invading the northern Everlorn border. Everlorn Castle is hoping to halt them, and the town has issued a Call to Arms. Please report to the castle if you are available.’” And with that the messenger turned around and rode off quickly, the Choobador’s two thick hind legs thumping into the distance.
“Let’s get going Antar.” G’nar said. She’d been standing behind him, though he wasn’t sure how long.
He glanced over his shoulder, completely failing to be surprised. “All right. Are the others around?”
“They’re in the clearing just past that Ova tree over there I think.” She gestured to one side.
“Right. I’ll just get my bow.”
“Okay, but hurry.” she smiled.
“Coming, coming.” Antar said mock-tiredly, lugged the bow over his shoulder. He traipsed through the forest undergrowth past the Ova tree with G’nar following along in a light skip.
“HYAH!” Came a sudden cry, as one of their companions flung himself out of a nearby bush. The young man was an ambitious, sometimes cocky, swordsman named M’talek. He stopped as he realised his ‘victims’ were looking at him testily. M’talek instantly brushed off the expressions, which is something he can do exceedingly well.
“Sorry.” He said casually. “Thought you were Vatren.”
Vatren, the tall boy from Arion, the ever-wise engineer and ever-capable swordfighter. The training partner M’talek was meant to be sparring with.
“Where is he then?” G’nar asked.
“He said he heard something, and went off to ‘investigate’.” The way M’talek used the word investigate sounded as though it would need a few more inverted commas around it.
“I see.” Antar looked toward the clearing.
M’talek continued. “I figured he was just trying to be clever and sneak attack me, so I went and hid from him to do a sneak attack of my own.” He explained, grinning again. “Pretty cunning, huh?”
Antar wanted to congratulate M’talek as he appreciates any form of praise, but he couldn’t think of an appropriate way of doing it. Just then, Vatren appeared from the line of bushes nearby and stepped over to them casually.
“Hey guys.” He greeted, stepping up to the three of them.
“Hi Vatren.” Antar acknowledged. “What’s with the torn sleeve? M’talek beating you again?”
“Yeah, it’s for his own good.” Vatren smirked slightly, dusting off the partially torn corner of his shirt. M’talek was a good fighter, but Vatren had an endearing honesty toward being defeated. “You look like you had a hard time with G’nar.” He nodded at Antar’s scrapes.
“I held my own.” Antar shrugged.
“He beat me,” G’nar admitted, “but had it been with bows and not short swords…” she trailed off. Everyone knew the end of that sentence anyway; they’d all been in the same archery class. She was an archetype of the talented Everlorn Archer.
“I just found something quite spectacular. I think you guys should come take a look at this…” Vatren said.
“Okay, but it had better be quick.” Antar told him as they walked over to where Vatren had come from. Soon they reached a steep rocky hill, and at the foot of it stood a tall rock obelisk in the middle of another grassy clearing.
A little bit closer and Antar could make out the shape that was now towering about twenty metres above the ground. Through the few obscuring tree branches, Antar could make out a few words inscribed onto the huge object. He could not read them however, as they were written in the ancient language: Dodecorus.
“Where the light is at an end,
And the sea is from the sky,
When the Great Red does ascend,
I grant thee wings to fly.”
“What on Hexar is that?” M’talek frowned.
“Not sure. I came running when I heard a noise then it just rose out of the ground suddenly.”
“I wonder what the text means.” G’nar puzzled.
“It’s written in Dodecorus.” Vatren told them, and translated the lines to them. The others turned it over in their heads as he looked back up at it. “It’s a simple-enough riddle… but what is it all about?”
“More to the point,” G’nar stepped forward, “why did it just shoot out of the ground on a slab like that?”
“I think I might have an answer to that.” Antar’s said, walking quickly toward the base of the stone as steps turned to strides. He inspected the foot of it. “Come, take a look for yourself.” He said.
G’nar stepped over, followed by the other two. She peered down to see that it was on a cold metal base decorated with the archaic Dodecorus language, and it looked very mechanical. And very, very old.
“Anyway,” Vatren turned to the way they’d come, “you said we should be going. Something important?”
“Call to Arms, Karnola and Everlorn Castle are on alert for invasion.” Antar didn’t look away from the magnificent stone.
“You’re kidding.”
“Hell no.”
“In that case, we’d best get back right away.” Vatren said. He was about to start walking, then didn’t. The others still stared at the ancient monolith.
“Do you suppose…” Antar mused “that is one of the Mage’s Obelisks?” He fired a look at G’nar, who returned a silent ‘don’t know’ expression.
“That’s irrelevant.” Vatren sighed. “There’s an attack any time soon, we have to hurry. We cannot violate our orders.” He said, trying to keep the mild impatience from his voice. “It may well be an Obelisk of Mage Eurterna, but it could be a big yellow moonstick for all it matters.”
“Of course!” G’nar made a realisation. “Mage Eurterna.” She smiled. “This is his solar-pulley platform that everyone in his time said would never work.”
Vatren looked at it doubtably. It did look like the solar pulley platform from the books back at the Nipora Academus; the school they attended before joining the ‘Guard.
“Perhaps. What’s your point?” He said.
“I think that this riddle may lead us to ‘get our wings’, probably meaning that if we follow these clues we can supposedly find a prototype of his infamous Ornithopter, the flying machine.” G’nar exclaimed. There was a hint of excitement in her voice. “Maybe we could turn the tides against the Kvorn with it.”
Vatren looked at her bluntly. “That plan has stupid written all over it.”
“Gotta admit, Vatren, this thing is something special.” M’talek motioned the object with his thumb. “You don’t exactly get big stone things coming out of the ground every day. Unless you live in Hyrella, I guess.” He added thinking darkly of Hyrella, capital city of the highly volcanic land of Pyrelight.
“It’s still a bad idea.” Vatren shook his head. “There’s no time to be wasting with long-shots, we don’t know if the Ornithopter actually works and, of course, if that *is* what the riddle is referring to.”
“Come on Vatren!” G’nar urged. “If we’re wrong, we might get to the castle late. If we’re right… well, then. Um, we’ll be right. And good things will happen.”
“G’nar’s argument might not be that articulate, but I think you know as well as I that if this is real, we have a duty to investigate its potential.” Antar said.
G’nar gazed at Vatren with her huge brown eyes. “Go on.”
Vatren paused for a moment, and then looked around. “Oh alright.” He sighed again. “It’s not like I want to be the spoil-sport y’know. This just seems too risky.”
“That’s why I say go for it.” M’talek grinned.
“Okay, settled then.” Antar turned to face the stone again. “Let’s see if we can find someone to decipher the riddle.”
“Right on,” M’talek mounted his Choobador, “Isn’t as though another four Elves would make a difference anyway…” With a shrug, he sped off, the other three close behind him.
As the four riders emerged from the edge of Dawi forest, they halted at the cross in the road. One stretch was well-paved and maintained, and led to Karnola town, and Everlorn Castle beyond. The other was a dusty stone track leading towards the Land of Ruton. Antar stared at both for a few moments.
“Wait,” G’nar said, “I’ve got an idea. I used to know a girl called Arell who went to work for a wise man on Rook Mountain in the Land of Ruton. We could ask the wise man for advice on solving the riddle!”
“If you know the way,” Antar said, “then lead on.”
“Follow me!” G’nar smiled and with a tug of the Choobador’s reigns, rode off with the other three right behind her.
They rode on for many more hours, stopping to rest on the way. Several nights passed as the trail turned northeast and sharply grew colder. The path angled ever steeper upward. As they rode they all turned over the similar train of thought; The Kvorn attack on Everlorn could be weeks away, it could be tomorrow. But soldiers had to think for themselves every now and again, the Elven Guard recognised that. Besides, the Call to Arms is not strictly an order; it’s a request at great urgency. There wasn’t too much to worry about, although the ‘Guard would certainly be more lenient if the four of them got results.
* * *
Atop Rook Mountain it was cold. Not an icy and arctic cold, but a misty and foggy cold of high altitude. The quiet mist parted suddenly, as four Choobador being ridden by Elves came into view of a small house with a rickety wooden roof and stone walls. The plodding reptiles stopped and grunted, looking about them as their riders dismounted.
“This looks like the place Arell told me about…” G’nar mused, inspecting the surroundings.
Antar and the others looked about too. There didn’t appear to be anyone about.
Then, they noticed a figure in front of the house. It was difficult to tell anything more than that about it, as the face was hidden beneath a hood of deep maroon with gold rimming. The figure was motionless. As G’nar stepped towards it, it turned, and after a brief pause it spoke:
“Do you believe in magic?” Came the female voice. She pulled the hood back. This was obviously some meeting sentence G’nar was used to, as she brightened.
“Arell! I was beginning to think that this place was deserted. How are you my kin?” G’nar asked, delighted to see her old friend.
“Good as ever.” Arell was bright and chirpy in contrast to her environment. She wore a Ruton style of clothing, a long maroon-coloured robe with grey woolly cuffs. She had a simple necklace, made from some kind of metamorphic rock, around her neck. She swept her dark hair back to reveal her pointed ears. “It’s been so long.” She looked at the others. “By chance is one of these that old friend that I never got to meet?”
G’nar indicated Antar. “Indeed. Arell, this is Antar. Everlorn archer, like me actually.”
She paused a moment, looking between Antar and Arell, as Antar walked up to meet her. It occurred odd to her how similar they looked.
He glanced curiously at the Ruton girl’s eyes for a few moments. “You seem a little familiar-”
At this point, M’talek, who had been inspecting his supplies in the saddle-pouch of his Choobador interrupted. “We are here to ask something of the wise man you are working for.”
Suddenly, Arell’s expression changed to an embarrassed look. “Oh… really?”
G’nar and Antar both nodded then exchanged a raised eyebrow.
“Damn… why didn’t I listen to Tenet 7?” Arell scolded herself.
G’nar frowned, recalling the ancient set of philosophical principles that were taught in just about every Elven Academus. The Tenets were like a sacred scripture of the best advice the ancient Mage Order could bestow. “Hmmn… ‘Truth can sting, but rarely as much as the greater implications of lying’…?” She recited.
Arell turned to her friend. “The ‘wise man’… well, he doesn’t exist. I made up that story as an excuse to leave home, so I could try working in a different land. I live out here on my own. I make all sorts of medicines and give advice to the people in the village just a mile or two down the mountain. I am the one they come to for help.”
“Oh great.” M’talek said sarcastically, and sighed.
“It’s ok.” Antar tried to mitigate.
There was a long pause. G’nar seemed to brighten upon getting an idea.
“It doesn’t really matter. I think you may be able to figure out this clue of ours,” she began to smile, “I know you always used to be so bright. You are ‘The Wise Man’!”
Arell smiled too, and looked to the floor in a shy manner. “It’s the least I can do for the inconvenience, so I’ll certainly try. So, what’s this clue?”
G’nar explained what they had seen at the forest in Everlorn, the riddle and what they thought it meant. Arell pondered on the words of the strange riddle, repeating them quietly several times.
“Great Red… would that be Avona of Ruton perhaps? He ascended to command Ruton’s Land Family…” G’nar suggested helpfully.
“Hmm, I think it may be to do with our neighbouring planet Garelle. That was sometimes referred to as Great Red in Imperial times. That rises from the horizon as it goes past our planet, doesn’t it?” Arell said.
“You may be right,” Antar affirmed, “but that’s an occurrence that happens everywhere many times. Where will we go?”
She merely smiled. “I think that you should go to the first place to satisfy all three conditions, namely the rising of Garelle, the sea from the sky, and the end of the light.”
“End of the light would probably be at evening.” Vatren hypothesised.
“Yes, but what is the ‘sea from the sky’ to do with?” M’talek asked her impatiently.
There was a long pause. Arell thought carefully. After a few moments she took a small glass ball from her pocket, and held it out with her arm almost straight. It had a rim of Ruton Diamonds around it, which reflected the diminishing sunlight in a beautiful glitter. The diamonds were encased in a gold rim around the ball’s circumference, and had the famous words of the Rutonian motto engraved upon it: ‘To the horizon, we are the mountains beyond’.
The four Everlorn Elves stared at the shining sphere of glass and diamond. Arell looked through the glass for a while, before being interrupted by Antar.
“What’s that?” was the inevitable question he asked.
Arell rested her arm by her side and slipped the object back into her pocket and smiled. “It’s a gift, from my father. It’s called a Spiritseer, if you concentrate and stare through it, you can contact wise minds from afar; talk with them, ask them things.”
“And what did they say?” M’talek asked with an edge of confusion.
She turned to face him, a wry smile on her face. “Waterfall.”
“Of course!” G’nar blurted out, “It makes sense now. But which waterfall, and when?”
“Lotharis Falls?” Antar shrugged.
“But when is the next time Garelle will rise at twilight there?” Vatren asked.
Arell thought again for a few moments and then came out with her answer.
“I’m afraid I don’t know. But there is a place I know where you can find out. Visit the Weather Stone; it’s a weather observatory in the Land of Pyrelight. Near that town, what was it… Dracos-”
M’talek shuddered. “Dracos?! You think we would go there on our own will? It’s perilous for anyone but Pyrelight Elves!” He sounded as if he’d been there before, or heard much too many rumours to ever consider it. Pyrelight was the land south-east of Everlorn, and those who lived there were infamous for being, lightly putting it, ‘difficult’.
“Suddenly, the risk-taker becomes the chicken.” Vatren commented.
“Ah, shut it.”
“We don’t have any choice.” G’nar declared. “Anyway, we should be far enough away to stay out of trouble with them.” Her expression became troubled. “It’s the Kvorn I’m worried about. But we’re in too deep now to give up.”
“Then let’s get going.” Antar suggested. “Hate to leave so fast, but we can’t delay.”
Arell gave a nod and G’nar began to walk away to her Choobador before halting and turning to her friend. “Thanks Arell, I hope to see you again when the danger’s not so close.”
“You too, G’nar. Drop by any time you need advice.”
There was another pause as they stared at each other for a few moments.
“Look,” Arell finally said, “its getting dark, why don’t you at least rest here and start off tomorrow? I have several rooms.”
G’nar glanced at Antar, who gave a slight nod. “If you’re sure, we’d be very grateful. You can’t sleep by the roadside for too long without a proper rest, after all. Besides, I think M’talek has used his supplies up, anywhere we can get more?” She laughed. “It’s a long way to the Land of Pyrelight.”
“No problem, the ‘Guard has a supply cache near here.” Arell smiled and looked up to the darkening sky, and gazed at the sunset. “You should come in. It’s starting to get very cold out here.”
* * *
Antar yawned. He hadn’t got as much sleep last night as he’d liked. The room he was in was next to Arell’s workshop, which it seems never sleeps. He continued to pack the pouches on his Choobador saddle with supplies Arell had given him, while gazing at the sunrise.
He thought about the planet. Their home. Hexar was such a beautiful world; it would be ruined if the Kvorn took it from them. They’d tear the land up and feed it to their furnaces, turn the grass to desert and the forests to wastes. They’d already managed to do it in the north, in what was once the Land of Umar. The Kvorn were like a cancer to the planet, and the Elven were the last defence.
“My thoughts exactly” Arell said behind him. Antar turned his head to see her.
“Sorry. Speaking my thoughts again?” He asked embarrassed.
“Hey, I do it all the time. I think it’s from being on my own too much” She stepped up to stand alongside him. She looked up at the slightly taller Elven. “I wonder what Umar was like in its day.”
“Yeah,” he said slowly, “it was long before our time.” He gazed back, and smiled. “What’s the first thing you can remember?”
She grinned, looking out at the mountain range. “My earliest? Hmmn-”
Suddenly, M’talek’s shout interrupted. “Antar! Get a move on! Where are you?” Shortly followed by his boyish laugh.
Antar looked like he was tidying up his thoughts after unpacking them everywhere. “I must go. Goodbye Arell.” He turned and mounted his Choobador.
“Goodbye Antar,” She said, “May we meet again.”
“I’m confident we will.” Antar said, and with that the Choobador launched itself and Antar forward with a powerful stride and disappeared into the mist to join the others.
“Bye.” She said quietly.
* * *