Eldarien pulls his pack tight against his back and adjusts the greatsword, now in a leather sheath slung over his shoulder, as he stands in the small yard between the two houses of the Feskar family. It is early morning, just after sunrise, and the air is quite cold, with a hard freeze the night before, to a degree that is unusual for this time of year, even in the central regions of Telmerion such as this. In the north, yes, even into the summer month the nights often freeze, but here the distinctions between the seasons are more pronounced, albeit, all things considered, still subtle. He awaits his kind hosts to see him off as he begins his journey to the west. And as he waits, he surveys the land and the horizon, looking first to the tree-laden hills that gradually rise inland, elegant in their variety in contrast to the wide expanse of sea to the east. These hills, for a short ways, at least, are dotted with the houses, all small and humble, that make up the village of Igny, cradled among the folds of the land and nestled in the trees that mark the eastern edge of the Cara'fel Woods. After a while, he turns to the east and gazes out upon the sea, drinking in its expanse, its beauty, but also recalling its terror, before he bids it farewell one last time. The water glistens and shimmers, blazing with the early morning light, warm in color but cold in temperature.
At this moment, Eldarien is stirred from his contemplation as Morlof appears through the doorway of his house, a small satchel under one arm and a skin of water in the other hand.
"Here is the water that I had Yelía prepare for you," he says, handing the skin to Eldarien, who, with a kindly smile, pulls off the pack that he had just adjusted and ties the water to it.
"It's not much, but it will last you a few days. I don't suspect you will have a hard time finding a creek in which to refill it," Morlof continues. "And this, too, is for you." He hands the satchel to Eldarien, who pulls it open and rummages quickly through its contents: dry provisions for close on a fortnight's journey, if used sparingly, and another smaller sack tied with string, in which is a clay jar of oil and some tightly woven cloth ("For if you need to travel in the darkness," Morlof explains). Eldarien hopes that he will not need to make a torch, whether for traveling at night or for traversing dark caves in the earth bereft of sunlight, but he is grateful for the supplies and thanks his host. As he ties the satchel closed again, his mind carries him back to the barrow of Sera Galaptes once again, and the innumerable candles ever-burning before the bodies of the dead rise before the eyes of his heart. Even at a distance of many years, the lights stir in him feelings both of comfort and of trepidation. Would a normal torch stir less fear and more comfort? Or would its comfort be immeasurably less since less also is its mystery? He thinks of the mysterious consolation offered by those lights ever keeping vigil, and in contrast the light of a torch is, for all its nearness and accessibility, ultimately less able to carry him through the darkest of nights and narrowest of tunnels. Realizing this thought, Eldarien is surprised that he has it. But soon he dismisses it as he looks up and sees the rest of the household stepping outside to see him off.
The farewell is sober and yet kind, and Eldarien feels the ache of yet another goodbye, keenly aware that this may well be the last he sees this family.
"I wish you all the best in your journey and in what awaits you," Alíja tells him. "I am anxious about the state of our land, but I pray you shall be safe upon the road and off of it. And may the desires of your heart for good come to fruition."
"Thank you, Alíja," he replies. "You truly have my gratitude for everything."
"We shall miss you," Mirand says. "An unexpected friend quickly made is a gift, but it is sad to lose you so soon."
"I share in the sadness of parting. But let us remember one another, and remain open to those friends who await us, whom we are yet to meet and know."
"I pray that you do not meet enemies instead," Yelía adds.
To this Eldarien only nods silently, and, with a gentle touch on the head of each child and a final gesture of farewell to his hosts, he turns away. As he begins to walk toward the heart of the land of his youth, now wrought with war and conflict, he makes a decision within himself and reaches up and undoes the braid hanging by his right temple. This action, even though by it he means no infidelity nor even intends to hide his true feelings, makes him feel even more homeless—as if now he has lost, not only his childhood home, but even the Empire in which he had discovered some sense of belonging and purpose. But a new path lies before him, and one which he must be free to follow in all of its fragility and vulnerability, for only thus can he be a servant for the good of all. In response to the feeling of homelessness and fragility, the thoughts rise spontaneously within his heart: May I never conceal that which ought to be revealed and never reveal that which ought to be concealed, but may my acts, both hidden and evident, be true. May I, in all things, walk with transparency of heart and of life.
Eldarien sets his feet upon a path that runs from the shore and past the Feskar homestead almost straight west. This road, paved with cobbled stone generations ago and now broken and littered with dirt and weeds, passes through the midst of the houses of Igny and then curls its way between a series of ancient sentinel-stones etched with runic markings and geometric designs. After the village proper, similar homesteads to that of the Feskar family—perhaps ten in number—some farther and some closer, each with a look as unique as their inhabitants, dot the landscape, and Eldarien takes them in with his eyes as he passes. Among these are some areas where the trees have been cleared for farmland or for the pasturing of sheep or pig. He hears them bleating and running about as he walks past. The last building that he passed on his wag is a large logging outpost with a noisily churning up water from the river as it winds its way to the sea. Eldarien crosses a flat wood-slat bridge not far beyond the mill and then finds that the path comes to a junction. At the intersection is posted a sign which says:
West – Aldera Highlands, Moradoch Steppe, Teldyn Pass
North – Melendya, Unyisa Pass
Eldarien takes the path to the west and almost straightaway plunges into the thick trees and dense foliage of the woods. This forest, the Cara'fel, spreads far inland, rising and falling with numerous hills even while keeping a steady upward rise for many leagues as it climbs toward the feet of the Teldren Mountains. But after this gradual ascent from the sea, the landscape changes, and hilly woods give way to barren and rocky steppe, cliff and crag and gnarled root: the Aldera Highlands. These highlands await Eldarien, and he knows that he must pass through them; but that step of his journey is still close to a week away, and, even further beyond that, nestled in the heart of the Teldren mountain range, his childhood home.
He has never been this far east, to Igny, but passed within about twenty leagues many years ago on the main road that splits the eastern part of Telmerion north to south, connecting Gala'jad and Claris'ye in the north with Ristfand in the south. Trade has become a large part of Telmeric culture in the last few generations, since the establishment of the onarion and the harmony of the seven clans. Most of the roads that traverse the landscape of Telmerion date from this period—and thus, are still "young" roads in comparison with the ancient trails that wend their way across fields and through forests, that crawl through valleys and traverse cliffs and mountains. Even in ancient days, however, three great roads were established and, through decades of human labor, were in differing manners paved and marked with way-stations or way-shrines. There is the great Teldyn road running east to west or west to east, from which comes the name for Teldyn Pass—and both, in fact, take their name from the two mountain ranges between which the road traverses: the Teldren Mountains in the north and center of Telmerion and the Yjind Mountains in the far south.
The second road, the Mardas, passes from the town of Claris'ye in the north and around the east end of the Teldren Mountains and then south, the entire length of the continent, to Ristfand. This road has often been used for trade from north to south and, even to this day, is part of the route taken when persons or supplies travel from Igny and other towns on the east coast to the western side of the mountains, even at times as far as the capital of Brug'hil. The third road passes from Brug'hil, in the northwest reaches of the continent, to the center of Telmerion and meets up with the Teldyn road just south of Onylandun; the name of this road is Finistra, and it continues for a long stretch along the Finistra range, a wide expanse of comparitively lower mountains and hills that reach along the center of the continent until meeting with the greater, lofty peaks of the Teldren range. Both of these mountain ranges together give the landscape of Telmerion the appearance of a great mountain rising from the sea—a conical volcano thrust upward above the waves, yet with innumerable peaks of different heights and splendors, and on all sides descending into lower mountain ranges, hills, fjords, or even plains, which then plunge into the ocean.
Of unique beauty, and an exception to this conical nature of Telmerion, are the mountains in which Brug'hil is nestled, which drop off straight, in cliffs hundreds of feet above the sea, into icy cold waters that ever splash against the vertical walls of rock. Another unique exception is the Yjind Mountains, which grow close to the ocean and reach their roots right down into the narrow strip of rocky land that has been shaped by the ocean's water and yet stands ever against it, unmovable and strong. There are, of course, many other noteworthy landmarks at the meeting of land and ocean, as if this kiss of land and sea can never be exhausted in its glory and its depth, and all across the land, the same theme is hit with a different key or sung to a different tune. Eldarien has only seen some of them, less than his extensive travels would indicate, for his journeys have taken him mostly across the inland of the continent; he has been, however, to Brug'hil in the northwest, to Ristfand in the south, and to Gala'jad in the northeast.
The seven clans of old distinguish the land of Telmerion into seven segments, unequal in size but equal in wealth of resources and bounty of beauty. These clans have nonetheless become more similar to one another as time has passed; in particular, a great deal of their uniqueness has not survived the flattening effect caused by the oversight and presence of the Empire. They still retain evident unique cultural customs among themselves, and each also has a form of governing structure of their own under the headship of the clan leader—still frequently called a hæras from the ancient tongue—but they are nothing like what they used to be. And unlike in more highly developed and centralized societies—such as the Empire of Væliria—the borders between the clans are unfixed. In the past, this was a point of great contention and the cause of much bloodshed, with ownership of lands and peoples continually passing hands through force of arms more than through any diplomacy. Since the coming of the Empire, however, bloodshed has given way to peaceful, if at times tenuous, coexistence and even, in the most positive circumstances, cooperation. In fact, as the decades have passed and generations have come and gone, the tensions have dissolved and genuine and abiding cooperation has taken their place.
The seven clans are named as follows, with their areas of dominion upon the land of Telmerion. In the far northwest lies the clan of Bruä, and to the east and somewhat south, centered in Minstead, the Mineäs. In the center of the continent, in a wide valley cradled on the west by the Finistra range and on the east by the Teldrens, resides the clan of Winfreya in their capital by the same name, the only settlement of any significant size in their domain, yet circled about with innumerable little villages and hamlets. North and east of this, occupying the northernmost reaches of Telmerion, lies the clan of Germundis, and further south, across a stretch of outlying mountains reaching east from the great range of Teldren, is the clan of the Galapteä, in which Eldarien is now located, and which covers a great expanse of land, sparsely populated and yet rich in wood and fish and ore, from Igny in the east along the coast to the high slopes of the Teldren Mountains in the west, including Eldarien's lost hometown of Falstead and the barrow of the ancient king, Sera Galaptes. The remaining two clans inhabit large stretches of land in the southeastern and southwestern reaches of the continent, the clan of Rhovas claiming all lands of the Yjind Mountains and eastward, and the clan of Onylandis claiming the lands west of the mountains, including the Midfeld stretch and southwards, along the great forked peninsula to the sea.
Thus is divided the land of Telmerion, marked by ages of growth and development and creativity, and yet also by centuries of warfare in the lust of men for power, in violence against the weak, only to have these very conflicts overcome and brought to cease in a form of coexistence imposed by an unquestionably more supreme power from beyond her own shores. What remains to be said of the lands that call themselves Telmerion, blessed by the god Telmoth from the beginning of time and ever caressed by the waves of Hiliana, is that two more clans reside beyond the borders of the continent in outlying chains of islands. They are rarely counted among the rival clans and live an existence apart, linked to the mainland only by a meager amount of trade and an even smaller degree of migration and the linked lineage that this induces. Thus the clan leaders have their own completely independent forms of government and have no part in the onarion, the council of the seven. Of all places in Telmerion, they alone are free from the occupation of the Empire, as few travel thence and return, and thus these islands never fell under the gaze of the Emperor. These clans are, to the east of the land, the Taresta and, to the northwest, the Nerïa.
† † †
The day warms slightly as Eldarien walks through the woods, and the spring sun dances through the trees and casts dappled rays of light upon the ground, interlaced with the shadows of branch, trunk, and leaf. The walk is tiring simply because of the continual rise and fall of the land, undulating up and down even as the land, as a whole, progresses ever upward. The path winds very little and only rarely weaves its way between hills, instead traversing them almost without exception in a straight westerly direction. Trees long ago were certainly hewn and dug up to make way for the path, but now they have grown close again, at times infringing upon the trail and almost always overhanging it, sometimes with branches so low that Eldarien must duck under them to continue on his way. The air is still, with only hints of breeze whispering through the trees and causing the thick grass and vegetation on either side of the path to gently sway.
Spring is beginning to make her face known in the woods, with many trees in early bud and a few in full bloom, and flowers are beginning to unfold themselves—the few flowers that there are in a climate such as this. Eldarien wonders at the state in which he finds the forest, since it is not as he expected. Spring should already have long been in full blossom and leaning toward summer, and yet here everything looks as if it has been a couple months delayed, hesitant to leave behind the slumber of winter and to welcome the new flowering of life, and yet, after a prolonged hesitancy, yielding to it at last. Of course, the summers in Telmerion have never been more than a couple months of moderately warmer weather contrasting with the intermittent weather of spring and autumn, which seem to be a ceaseless tug-of-war between the bitter chill of night and the warmth of day's radiance, between the winds, rains, and even snows that come down from the mountains or blow in from the sea and the warm, sun-drenched days that come unexpectedly and as unexpectedly depart.
Eldarien stops briefly around midday and sits upon a fallen, ancient tree, drinking a bit from the waterskin and eating some bread and dried fish. As he sits, he thinks, letting his mind wander back, not now to the long buried memories that stirred to life beyond his control while he stayed in Igny, but to other memories whose import for the present and the future weigh upon his heart. In memory, he finds himself again in the courtyard of a castle of high stone walls, the late morning sun glistening overhead, crowds of people standing about, and his brothers in arms to his left and his right. After years of training they now stand, squires, before the honor of knighthood, in regal garb, and the legate of the Emperor stands before them, with an assistant to his side.
"After the time of trial comes the glory," the legate begins, in a booming voice clearly intended to be audible to all in the crowd as well as to the men standing before him. "You have shown yourself worthy through service to those placed above you and through might of arms and strength of will. Now before you stands the glory of knighthood and, if you continue upon the path you have chosen, the glory of battle. I address you now and speak to you all as one. But each must answer for himself alone."
With this the legate takes a step forward and turns to his assistant, who hands him a sword. "You are to profess your oath of allegiance before me, who stand in the place of our great Emperor, and before all of the people gathered here. May curses befall you on the day you break such an oath, endangering thus the well-being of the order which you have vowed to protect and uphold." The legate now approaches the first squire in line and gestures for them all to kneel. When they have done so, he places the sword against the squire's shoulder and says, "Do you vow this day to honor in all your acts and words the glory of the Empire of Væliria and to obey without question the commands of your superiors, as if they were the words of the Emperor himself, highest of men and custodian of goodness?"
The squire replies, "I do."
Moving the sword then to the other shoulder, the legate continues, "And do you vow to stand always for those traits which the Empire represents and seeks to establish among mankind, namely justice and might, fortitude and forbearance, unity and peace?"
And again, "I do."
And so the legate says, "In the name of the Emperor, I accept your profession. Remember always your oath and honor it, for only in this way, may it be known unto you, shall you be of service to those values to which you have committed yourself: honor, glory, valor, the unity among peoples, the order of society, and the unyielding arm of the law, which punishes the wicked and pardons the innocent."
The image now changes in Eldarien's memory, and he finds himself carried in thought to the more recent past. He stands guard at the edge of a military camp in the wilderness of Tel-Velfana, a group of tents hidden among the trees. A voice sounds from behind him, and he turns, "Captain, may I have a word with you?"
"You may," he replies, "but come, stand beside me, for I must be able to keep watch."
"Of course." The soldier does so, and after a moment, he continues. "I wanted to ask you about the orders we received yesterday."
"It is not a soldier's place to question orders," Eldarien says.
"What about a captain's?" the soldier says, his voice audibly constricting.
Eldarien turns to look at him, startled.
"What is it you are suggesting?"
"I suggest nothing."
"But surely you do?"
"Well...surely you do not intend to follow through with the command given to us? To slaughter the enemy even if they surrender and to chase them to the death were they to flee?"
"They would do the same to us were they given the chance. There is no place for such mercy with an enemy like this," says Eldarien. "Do not make me regret sharing my orders with my subordinates in this manner. I have always acted in the belief that even the lowest foot-soldier should be privy to the commands given to his leaders, since in battle they shall all stand side by side. I have esteemed your advice and relied on the joint planning of all the men before combat." Eldarien pauses and sighs deeply. "But if it leads to this, I am capable of leading with a sterner hand, and demanding strict obedience."
"That is not your mind nor your heart, captain," says the soldier. "Surely you do not mean that?"
Eldarien does not immediately reply, touched by the soldier's courage and by the strength of emotion with which he speaks.
"I..." he begins, but falters. "I too have questions, Lerick. But I have professed an oath. We all have. We have no choice but to obey."
The image changes again, and Eldarien finds himself, two days later, standing upon the battlefield, sword and shield in hand. The cries of battle falter around him as the last survivors fall at the edge of his company's swords. Victory has come, and the threat has been annihilated, utterly crushed under the superior might of the Empire. Before long, surely, the lands of Tel-Velfana too will surrender and allow themselves to be incorporated into the order that the Emperor brings to all lands that accept his reign. And yet the question remains: What will remain of these lands when they surrender? Who will survive to accept such a reign, and of those who survive, what of their own culture, their own way of life, their own traditions?
As he looks across the battlefield, stained with blood and littered with the bodies of men from both armies, these thoughts cross Eldarien's mind, but he tries his utmost to suppresses them. "To me!" he cries, as loudly as he can. "We are victorious. Let us gather what we can for our uses and bury all the dead." After these words he lowers his gaze, drawing out a cloth from his belt and wiping the blood from his sword, then sheathing it in its scabbard at his waist. As he does so his eyes fall upon a figure on the ground near to his feet. Eyes stare unseeing upwards, and blood stains the lips and the nose and trickles down the cheek. An arrow lies deep in the man's chest, right at the junction of his mail shirt. Death was certain, but not immediate. The man is Lerick.
† † †
Six days into his journey, when the water in his skin has been depleted, the river having turned northwards a couple days earlier, Eldarien comes upon a house in the woods. It is not the first habitation that he has seen buried deep in the woods, but it is the first that he has had any cause to visit. The path winds around the curve of a hill and cuts its way through a thick grove of trees before passing along the edge of a clearing. He almost passes by himself without noticing anything, since the house is on the far side of the clearing, about fifty yards off, and largely concealed by the sloping land of the hill and a few willows whose weeping branches shelter it like drapery. He intends to pass on without stopping until he sees near to the house, glistening softly in the light cast through the trees, a small pond, and on its bank squatting a man, fishing or washing perhaps, though Eldarien cannot clearly tell from this distance. Eldarien decides to approach and make himself known, even if only to receive a little water for the journey. And so he does, calling out "Hail, friend," as he draws near enough for his footsteps to be heard.
The man raises his head, surprised but not startled, and then sets down what was in his hands—a small cage woven roughly of branches—and stands. "Greetings," he replies. "What brings a traveler along this rarely trodden way? The main road is not far from here, but this trail is small and ill-used, for it goes east only to the sea and westward to the highlands with little or nothing to see."
"I pass from Igny to the west of which you speak," Eldarien says. "My business, I assure you, is one of peace."
"Sadly, not many who travel in the wilderness far from the main roads travel in peace. Exiles, wildmen, and brigands—criminals of all sorts—make the woods and the hills their home. And they prey on the weaker, who seek only a simple life among nature's bounty. Could you tell me a bit more about your business and the reason for approaching a man in the wilderness? Only then may I decide whether to aid you on your way, for I must assume that is why we speak."
"You are correct in the latter," Eldarien says softly, now standing only ten or fifteen feet from the man, and trying to manifest nothing but gentleness and kindness in his bearing. "I am deeply acquainted with the ways of the criminals who live in the wilderness, as they destroyed my home in years long past. From Falstead I hail, though it has gone decades hence, though I wish now to return to find what I may."
The man seems almost to soften at hearing this, for Eldarien's words are clearly spone with the simplicity and transparency of truth. Nonetheless, he asks, "And what do you seek hence?"
"I am seeking clarity regarding the rumors about beasts of darkness arising from the earth, and hopeful of discovering aught that I can do."
The man bows his head for a moment, as if in acquiescence. It is evident that his trust is not blindly given, but refusing blind trust is not the same as yielding to blind fear and turning away a peaceful man in suspicion that he may be a dangerous one.
"I only approach," Eldarien continues, "because I have run short on water and know not how near the closest spring or river is, or if rain will come soon. If you grant me that, I shall be on my way."
"You speak kindly," the man says with a smile, "and your bearing is enough to win my trust. I think I shall give you more than that. Come, let us sit that you may rest a while. I will put food and drink before you and make sure that you are provisioned for the journey when you depart."
With a bow of his head not unlike that previously proffered by the man, Eldarien replies, "I accept your hospitality gratefully."
The man picks up the cage that he had set down upon Eldarien's approach, and the latter sees that it contains a catch of inland crabs crawling around and nipping their pincers. The man raises the cage, as if to exhibit them, and says, "A deep underground spring wells up here and nourishes many little creatures. The water is also clear, cool, and rich in flavor. That is why I settled here."
The inside of the house is small and dark, yet cozy, with wood-paneled walls and a thatched roof on thick beams of pine. A small fire burns gently in the hearth and casts rays of red-orange on the walls and the objects in the room. There are two windows, but the wooden shutters on them are currently closed and latched. Two beds rest near to one another in the corner, and beside one of them a chair of woven grasses, and on the other side of the room a kitchen and pantry area with boxes, barrels, and other storage, and a large basin of water. A ladder also descents into a square hole in the floor near the pantry, likely leading to a cellar under the building. The man grabs another chair that sits against the wall and situates it near the hearth. He gestures for Eldarien to sit while he grabs the woven chair from beside the bed and sets it opposite his guest. Then he sits down as well.
"My name is Rodric Farâël," he says. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine. My name is Eldarien Illomiel, son of Bierand of Falstead, though the latter part you already know."
"I hail originally from Melendya," Rodric says, "but now, as you see, I live in the territory of the Galapteä. In fact I have long had my home here. Here I was married and here bore a child. So if in blood we hail from different clans and diverse places, by the location of our homes and the changes of our culture, we are close to clansmen."
"I set little stock by the clan in which one may happen to be born," Eldarien replies, "though I take from your words a sense of welcome and encouragement. I believe that is your intent in speaking thus."
"Indeed it is. But if you set stock not by one's clan of origin, I wonder, wherein do you find the measure of a man?"
"In the past, a clan greatly influenced one's way of life and was the fabric of our society. Then, the divisions were truly real—if at times exaggerated and not calling for the bloodshed that they excused—but now it seems they border on becoming little more than a name."
"That is true, though I would say not entirely," Rodric says. "The Empire has changed the face of Telmerion, for good or ill. But come, we border on speaking of politics which could cause division between us before we have even become acquainted. What is your answer to my question?"
"The measure of man?" asks Eldarien.
Rodric confirms, "Precisely."
"The measure of man comes from his home. That is the first thing to which my thoughts draw me. We are formed by our home—or by our homelessness. I myself experienced both. For the first seventeen years the village of Falstead was the cradle of my life and my growth. For the rest, homelessness and wandering were the nature of my longing, which birthed a growth of a different kind." Eldarien pauses and thinks for a moment before continuing. "But a man may choose his home, whether his previous home was lost or if he only seeks to make a new one his own. And this, even more than one's origin, reveals the measure of a man. It lies in the home that he chooses, the home that he himself may create, and also that for which he is willing to fight."
"You speak openly to one who is nearly a stranger," Rodric says with a soft laugh.
"It is you who asked the question," remarks Eldarien.
"Aye, and you spoke with wisdom. I am glad that I have welcomed you into my home, who have such a reverence for home." With this, Rodric stands and says, "In fact, there is something concerning that about which I wish to speak. But first, let me offer what I promised and set before you food and drink. Only then shall we continue our conversation."
He then brings out bread and wildberry jam and places it before Eldarien. While his guest begins to eat, he sets two pots on the hearth and rekindles the flames within it, throwing on a few more logs. In one pot, he drops some tea leaves of various kinds, and in the other, he puts the crabs that he recently caught. Then, taking some bread and jam for himself, he sits down again. The two men sit together in silence for a while, eating and listening to the crackling of the fire. When the water comes to a boil, Rodric pours them both cups of steaming tea. Only then does he begin to speak.
"You may have noticed," Rodric begins, "that I am alone. Neither my wife nor my child are here. Of course, there is nothing odd about that, at my age. My wife, you see, has passed on into Melengthar's embrace a half decade past. My son, Rorlain, however...it is about him that I wish to speak." Rodric shifts in his chair and gazes absentmindedly into the fire, taking a sip from his tea. "You see, he lives here with me and has for most of his life. He is about your age, I suppose, or perhaps some years younger. But not two days hence, he disappeared while hunting in the woods."
When Rodric does not immediately continue, Eldarien asks, "He just disappeared? Did you find a trace of where he may have gone?"
"Sadly, I have," answers Rodric. "Or rather, I have, though the trace is sorrowful. Before that, however, let me give you a little information that may or may not be news to you. The beasts in the woods, you see, have been acting strangely of late. Not the small ones, mind you, but the larger animals, the predators: the bears and the wolves. They have become unusually aggressive and, indeed, unusually strong. It is as if they are possessed by some power that is not their own, and with this power, an unknown rage. There are many examples, numerous small encounters, over the previous months, perhaps the last year, which reveal this to be the case. But it seems to be progressing, this change in the animals, I mean. Only last week, a bear came into the clearing by our home, crying out in anger as if it were wounded or in the very act of defending itself. But when we looked out of the windows, we saw nothing causing its rage and its roaring. We waited a while for it to move on, but instead of leaving, it began to destroy the shed that lies near to the house, tearing at it with its claws as if it were an enemy. Suffice it to say that we were startled.
"It is then that Rorlain grabbed a hunting bow and lifted the pane on the window. A fine shot he is, and he pierced the bear directly in the eye. But to our surprise and fear, it did not die. It did not even fall to the ground. No, it did not even flee. It turned as if to attack us, rearing up on its hind legs and swiping at the air, screaming out in a horrid voice, a bear's voice but filled with something more terrifying than I have ever heard. It charged, and my son loosed three more shots, one piercing the heart, before the bear finally fell to the earth and died with a great echoing cry...and that, only a few feet from the open window. Afraid to eat the meat of such an animal or even to make use of the skins and fur—fearing it either diseased or cursed—we buried it in the woods.
"But that is not all. The day that Rorlain disappeared, that morning before he left for his hunt, he brought me out to the bear's burial place and showed me: the grave was empty, dug up, with earth cast this way and that not by a shovel but as if by some beast with great claws. I should have been concerned then that something was amiss and forbade him to depart on the hunt, but I did not do so. I suspect there is some greater beast in the forest that feasts upon the flesh of others, if this was its purpose for digging it up. Whether this is a new creature only lately come into the area or a long-time resident, I know not. For never before have we buried what we have slain, but taken it for our sustenance and well-being, as is only proper. But even so, if the beast were lately nearby and causing the bear itself to act so oddly—if indeed the two things are related—then I suspect it may have something to do with the disappearance of my son."
Eldarien receives all of this in silence, with heart both grieved and unsettled. After the old man's words are concluded, he says, "I am greatly sorry for the losses you have suffered—of your wife and now your son. Though I pray the latter may yet return to you."
"Thank you. As do I."
"In which direction did your son depart on his hunt?"
"To the northwest. We are not far from the highlands, and many elk live along the edge of the forest. We usually walk northwest until coming to a small river or stream—the first we come upon—and follow this to the place where the forest meets the highlands."
"I would like to offer my assiance in finding your son," Eldarien says.
"It is too much of a request for me to make of you, and too dangerous, I fear," Rodric sighs.
"Surely you share what has happened not only to let me know of your situation but also because you wish for my aid?"
"I do wish for aid, and you are the only person whom at present I can rely upon. But..."
"No, please. I offer my assistance freely. I wish to help you discover the whereabouts of your son—though I warn you that I may find something that brings greater grief or confirms it."
"I understand and expect as much," responds Rodric, "but still, I wish to know. I cannot just leave things as they are. I myself have traveled far both days since he left and have found nothing. And I am old and weary from the journey of life. There is little I can do, and a long journey through the wilderness on a tenuous search is beyond me."
"Then I am glad I came by when I did."
"As am I. Your presence has become a sign of hope to me."
"I will do all in my power to bring you a conclusion to your search, for good or ill."
"It shall be good simply to know what has become of my son, whatever the outcome," Rodric says, "though clearly my heart is torn with worry for him, and I wish for him to return in safety and wholeness."