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A FEW DAYS LATER, ASTOCATH instructed Adriselle to wish Hadd and Noon goodbye. They packed a mule with three weeks’ worth of rations, which Astocath said Adriselle could ride when her feet were worn out. They also packed a change of clothes. “Horses will do us no good where we are going, and I’m not paying for them just to let them go free,” said Astocath.
“Have we really had to wait for so long?” asked Adriselle softly, though she was feeling less resentment than before as time went on. She was enjoying Astocath’s company more and more and had come to feel relaxed about her circumstances. Her outburst of the days before had vented her bottled emotions. She was also looking forward to being back in her own lands even if it wasn’t yet to actually be at home.
“To be honest, I have been studying, as you are surely aware. There is so much to learn and do.”
“So can I ask what you have been studying?”
Astocath blushed and patted the mule. “As I have said to you, I specialise in the mind. I have been learning some spells more suited to the job in hand.”
It was clear the wizard was not keen on revealing much in the way of detail, but her heart warmed to him. “So you will help us?” she asked with unabashed optimism.
Astocath nodded. “It has to be done. Your enemy has been killing too many people. He has to be stopped. My concern is that he or she probably knows I am the one after them.” He sighed, and looked over his shoulder at his crooked tower, then looked at Adriselle with a smile and said, “Come. It is time to go.”
After a few days passed, they were walking along the side of a hill where Astocath warned Adriselle, “Be careful along here that you don’t get too many strange ideas. There’s mischief in these parts.”
“How do you mean?” she asked.
“There’s small folk, and they will lead you astray if they can.”
“But why?”
“They see this area as their own. We’re trespassing.”
After a while, Adriselle said, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
“I am sure. Would you like some help? Remember what I told you.”
“But we’ve been here before.”
“Just keep walking.”
Then there was a scream and a cry for help. “Astocath!” shouted Adriselle. “She’s just over there!”
“She’s not anywhere,” replied the wizard patiently but firmly. “She’s a harpy who would eat us for lunch.”
“No, no, I am sure she’s human—listen!”
For the third time, the scream ensued.
“Remember, I warned you about this,” said Astocath. “Just keep walking.”
“I remember, but everything is so clear!”
“Exactly what deception is, my dear,” came the reply. “Keep walking ahead.”
Soon the area was behind them, and they barely spoke for the rest of the day.
Adriselle’s melancholy soon wore off, and before the week was through, she could see standing stones—a ring of vertical stones that must surely have been stood upright by giants, along with the horizontal blocks that crowned them. She had never seen the like before.
Astocath's incanting was amazing. The spell was rhythmic, poetic, and the experience was as marvellous as the feeling of flying with Astocath when lovemaking. Within the gasp of a breath, Adriselle found herself floating as she walked in the ether, following Astocath between the standing stones. As she walked as if on air through this grey world she lost her sense of the physical and even time, though Astocath had advised her that the process of travelling from the magic ring in Olfounand to the magic ring in Escavia would be quick. Duly they arrived.
Adriselle gathered her senses, finding the return of her weight and feeling optimistic that she was finally home. He led her away, and as they walked, she happily felt her every footstep bounce upon the lush green grass.
The weather was fine and they made good progress for the best part of a week. They ascended a knoll and paused, looking down upon a lagoon that stretched into the deep-green and rich-golden depths of a part of the elven forest. “It would matter not one little bit if I were quite alone. There must be nothing to fear here, I’ll bet!” she said as happily as if she were a young child. “But how do we cross the water?” She was aware she was more relaxed than she had been before, both returning to her country and liking Astocath, subsequently becoming more talkative than before. Nonetheless, it was fair to say at Astocath’s tower there was no one to talk to which is perhaps why she was talking now, she considered.
Astocath pursed his lips and smiled. “Mostly it is safe,” he replied. “But no one is without his enemies, and we certainly aren’t. As for crossing it, we don’t. We can walk along the bank.”
She sighed. “I wish Mordrak were here. His heart would melt instead of hardening, cracking like an old leather belt. Still, I live in hope.” Then Adriselle felt inclined to say, “Do I dare say, I might love you? But I don’t know how or why, for I believe you must have enchanted me. You said you were a master of mind spells, after all. Well, sometimes I wonder, but I am here. I will have to plan for Mordrak.”
Astocath sniffed—it was a token of surprise. He looked away and replied only, “I know you will be happy here. Once you get to know the elves you will find much peace; a great peace that lies in hope for you and countless others.” He paused.
“How will I find peace? What do you mean?” Adriselle thought that, once she left here, she would find anything but peace once Mordrak found out what she had been up to these past months.
“Have you ever met a Judezzek?”
“No. I’ve only ever heard of them. My father would not speak with them when they came to us.” She thought of the words spoken against his eldest son—that is, against Mordrak—before he was even born. “They said he would have no issue. Father would still let them water themselves in the servants’ quarters. He said they were no more and no less than upstart peasants, ever trying to worm their way above their station using philosophy and difficult beliefs as a tool against the vain.”
“Well, when you get the chance, ask the elves what it is all about. They will tell you quite happily. It’s not something I am good at.”
“Father could never understand why one God would bother himself with people as difficult as ... well, people. Men, creatures ... us. And I am inclined to think he is right.”
“Did your father not like people?”
“Only so far as he felt he could trust them. Mordrak’s much the same. Must we talk about it? And have you enchanted me?”
Astocath shrugged. “No. Not that I expect you will believe me. There are ... things about wizards. We attract sometimes, but mostly repel.”
Then she tugged at the magi's arm. “You must find Mordrak. You must help King Tell.”
“I intend to,” Astocath returned. “But right now, your safety comes first.”
Neither was much inclined to talk after this, but content to walk on down to the lake. When they reached the shore, Adriselle pointed to a swan riding the clear blue waters with her offspring following in her wake. She could have sat watching them for hours, but the mage moved onward. The more she was with Astocath, the more apprehensive she became when remembering she would have to face Mordrak—and not just him, but her society as a whole. Perhaps she could leave the child here, she thought with anticipation.
They walked far along the shore and then entered a copse that was quite overgrown, though they were able to follow what were probably animal tracks which made the going a little easier. Astocath kept them close to the lake so they would not lose their way.
Then came a sound of baying and a crashing and cracking of wood as a pack of wolves ran howling towards them. At great speed, snarling for the kill, they leaped over snags and bushes. Adriselle froze as Astocath snatched a length of wood from the ground and pressed it into her hand. “Adriselle!” he snapped to gain her attention. Then without warning, he said a strange word. She was shaken into action as fire ignited upon the tip of her stick.
“They are not under their natural pack-mentality!” Astocath uttered more words as the wolves bounded towards them. Adriselle saw a haze appear in the air that completely encompassed the pair and the mule to protect from the wolves. She felt overwhelmed by the slavering wolves as if they were already upon them. Hurtling through the air, the foremost smashed against the sheen and fell writhing upon another. The wolves behind were undeterred and jumped over the first line of their attack. They fared no better, and with snarls and howls, they also fell sprawling to the ground. As more fell to the mystical shield, the rearmost fought with others who scrabbled also to burst through. The wizard had set them into complete confusion.
Astocath was rooting around the ground for another brand and found two of a suitable size; he thrust one to Adriselle as hers had burnt out. By a word, he ignited each of their brands. Losing no time, he quickly sought yet another, this for himself; the first was dancing in the air. Adriselle found the dancing torch a distraction as it was amazing to look at, and it took all she had to instead keep watch on the wolves that had surrounded them, trying to get through the mystical barricade to no avail.
“Our enemy’s at work,” said Astocath.
Then there came a screeching from above their heads. Looking up, they saw a huge, sleek wyvern hovering in the air, reckoning how best to strike at them. Its long, barbed tail swung like a pendulum, and it curled to stab downward like a lance. Adriselle cowered beneath its shadow; the size of the creature was terrifying, and the ear-piercing shriek scattered many of the wolves. What is that?” she cried out. “A wyvern?”
As it hovered, it might just as well have been a dragon for its dreadful armoury.
“Its tail is deadly,” she clearly heard Astocath warn her, and it was broad so that a strike could spell a deathblow.
He shouted another spell against the wolves that were now rallying. The stronger snarled and bit at the lesser ones, urging them to attack. The arrival of the wyvern was greatly unsettling most of them. Then Astocath dug his torches into the ground. He waved his hands in conjuration, and a small ball of fire appeared in one hand. He threw it up against the wyvern’s tail. It exploded with a fiery hiss against the grey reptilian hide.
The wyvern screeched in pain and twisted farther up into the air. Adriselle was filled with excitement as a witness to the wizard’s prowess, confident now that they should survive this battle. It struck her too that the wizards would not be bothered with the ban against them as an army would have problems with only a handful of mages. Her mind came back to the moment. With violent thrusts of the wyvern’s wings, its powerful tail swung erratically and spat a rain of venom. The wolves recoiled again. Oblivious to them, the wyvern circled around, easing itself lower and lower while wailing, its venomous tail swinging from side to side.
“See that elderberry tree?” Astocath called. “When I say, run to its shelter.”
Adriselle swallowed. Judging the distance to the hanging branches and realising she must dash past the howling pack, the task appeared hopelessly reckless.
“Believe!” cried Astocath. “Do it!”
The sheen that surrounded them began to crystallise as Astocath incanted. Fearful but trusting to the wizard’s experience, that they should survive this, she prepared herself to run. The mage spoke his spell more loudly and quickly, and motioned wild gesticulations with his arms. Adriselle knew his tone was desperate with the need to save them, as much as with his fear of miscasting and ending all chances of survival.
The wyvern’s tail moved up and down with precision, most carefully, and it thudded against the upper height of the glassy sheen. She held the torches high above her head in hopes of scaring the wyvern with flame. She was otherwise at a loss for what to do. She knew it was folly to believe the small flames would frighten it.
She gasped in shock as the crystal shattered. Glass shards exploded in every outward direction and cut into the flesh of the remaining wolves that were still attempting to claw a way through the barrier.
“Run to that elder tree!” Astocath cried, and led the way, flailing his torches at the closing wolves. But the shards had been like daggers, and the blood scent was everywhere, leading the wolves to tear at each other in a killing spree. Above, the wyvern’s deathly keen cried out as it was hit by the shards, and into the bargain drove the more fearful wolves away. Many of their mates, in the midst of frenzied killing broils, distracted the pack from Astocath and Adriselle’s course of escape.
Beyond Adriselle’s belief, her courage bolstered by her safety in the explosion and trust of Astocath, she and the mage ran to shelter within the overhanging branches of the elder tree. The wizard tossed his brands to the side, and before she could do the same, fire quickly took hold from her brand upon the dry branches above them. Sparks flew everywhere as the wood crackled and groaned. Adriselle cried out a warning. “It’s burning!”
Astocath was chanting again, aware of their plight. Smoke billowed against their faces. Coughing and spluttering as much as Adriselle, Astocath still managed to incant, and with regard to the smoke and flames, the wolves howled but the last of them began to scatter. Looking up, Adriselle saw the wyvern fly away.
It was hot beneath the tree, but now Adriselle could see that the flames were no longer real. As Astocath spoke more unintelligible words, the elderberry fire dwindled and died, leaving only a few hopeful wisps of smoke. The couple were alone again. Adriselle looked in bewilderment at the charred and ruined tree.
Astocath grinned at her. “I’m now quite good with fire and ... hmm. But you wasted a good lot of wine!”
Adriselle looked at him as if he were a complete stranger. “You are worried about elderberry wine at this time?” She had never guessed just how much she could trust him. She gulped and considered the validity within the legends that spoke of the powers controlled by some wizards. “I see,” she replied reluctantly, trying to catch her breath.
He grinned. “I have a few other tricks too.”
She considered him thoughtfully, remembering younger days when Mordrak boasted he could finally wield a sword and shield. At that time he was a mere novice; this mage was accomplished. Thinking how vulnerable she and Mordrak had been caught unprepared in Ifhrd’s tower, she supposed both men remained equally fallible outside their spheres of training. “We all have our weaknesses,” she said.
“When we’re struck again, we’ll see,” Astocath grimaced, sobered by Adriselle’s comment. “We are up against dark ones. This is nothing like what is to come. I am almost offended by this encounter.” He put a hand upon her shoulder. “You are one hardy woman.”
They looked into each other's eyes for an intimate while. She swallowed slowly and wondered how little he might have affected her mind. Then they kissed and she felt every nerve tingle in response.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Astocath and looked for the mule. They found the body about a hundred paces away. “Oh dear,” said Astocath. “Overlooked the mule.”
They walked at an even pace for nearly an hour, soon leaving the copse, and then entering the Great Forest of the elves. Astocath was constantly alert for the slightest of sounds, as he led the way onwards. Adriselle joyfully breathed in the variety of scents in the air and gorged her eyes on the beautiful flora around. Her ears heard the music of the fauna hidden away in fullness of life. She trusted the magi’s senses implicitly. As she savoured the richness around her, Adriselle felt increasingly more confident of their safety.
“Could we be attacked again?” asked Adriselle.
“One never knows,” replied Astocath somberly.
Not knowing if he was jesting or not, she smiled to herself and paid more attention to their surroundings, watching for potential danger.
Before much longer, the trees seemed to grow less huddled together. She was bewildered to see columns of great redwoods stretch higher than any castle tower. Also Adriselle could hardly believe the span of their great trunks. There were not any branches immediately this low, but when one looked as high as one could crane the neck there they spread out from the trunk in plenty.
Adriselle had thought she heard Astocath say, “We’re here.” And then as she saw farther into this woodland, she realised they were on the fringes of an elven community.
Walkways spanned from one redwood to another at different heights, and dwellings of wood and foliage were prolific in clusters amidst the highest branches. Upon the ground, wooden cabins and shelters coated with foliage dotted the area. The tall, slim, wiry people were about their business, and there was a natural cheer to the air.
What little breath Adriselle had not lost was exhaled quickly at the sight of a castle hidden behind more trees. As true as the fairest of myths, the castle was shining white with a city’s worth of bloodstone tower tops. The number of these would exceed the expense of all the humans’ castles, Adriselle felt sure. The outer walls too were impossibly high. The feet of their foundations curved inwards, sweeping up as if to compress the inner halls and give rise to the multitudinous towers. She wondered if molten pearl adorned the brilliant white stonework, such was the sheen, and if the tower roofs were actually layers of bloodstone. Silver sparkled around the numerous glazed windowsills. This one castle above all would know no chill, no pneumonia-invoking draughts.
“Astocath?” she cried. “If these elves are in heavenly places now, as you suggest, what is there at the end of this age?”
The mage simply smiled and took her arm. “Come, we shall make our appointment with King Errimiayo. It’ll all be easily arranged, you know, my dear. He is as young as your mother would be now.”
“So would you say they do live a thousand years?”
“Oftentimes more.”
Adriselle thought of her own life span. It was possible she might see a little more than a century, but that was highly unlikely. Certainly, that seemed like a long time, an age, but to look forward to beyond a millennium? The years spread into eternity. Elves truly must know the lay of the world’s foundations.
They approached the castle. The gate was open, and even though there was daylight, the area was lit with torches to brighten the shadows, and an elven warrior walked out from beneath the canopy to meet them. He drew his hand away from the hilt of his sword and said, “Greetings, Astocath. Who is this you bring?” His voice was gentle, with a measure of self-assurance.
“Greetings, friend,” replied the mage. “I bring my loved one, Lady Adriselle.”
She gasped with delight at his confession. She felt his grip tighten around her hand. She realised she should return a courteous smile to the elf. His fair skin and finely chiselled countenance enthralled her.
The elf regarded her with a look that was almost compassionate, as if she were a lost peasant girl, was much as she felt. Turning to the mage, he said, “It has been a long time since you’ve come, Astocath. You are long-expected.”
“And I would be honoured to stay again. I am wary of out-staying my welcomes.” He smiled jovially.
The warrior broke into hearty elven tongue. The words seemed to be much the same sort of sound as Astocath had incanted. The couple exchanged tidings without hesitance and were apparently familiar with one another. The words were like gems flowing from a treasure chest to Adriselle’s ears, and she yearned to know more of their language.
As they left the elf and passed through the castle gate, they entered a small courtyard. Looking up, she saw oriels and ornate verandas. Ahead of them, quite high above, five flying buttresses with five arches formed the grand facade. Gems of every type and colour studded the arches' spandrels. She had to admit that Sylvendene was grander than her castle back home, but this was incalculably so much more.
She saw an elf robed in resplendent green and crimson. He was looking over the parapet before he wandered inside again. Were she not so stricken by her surroundings, Adriselle would have waved to him. She prayed deep within her spirit that neither King Tell, nor any other, would turn his army against this kingdom. And she wished for times when her servants would carry themselves with such peace and dignity as these elves.
“This castle is dedicated to their one true God,” whispered Astocath, “and here dwells Errimiayo when he’s not out and about.. The elf you saw is a Hierodab of the Judezzeks. No doubt you shall meet some of his caste in good time, should you wish.”
Adriselle asked the one thing she wanted to know right now. “Are all elves Judezzeks?”
“Well, they become Judezzeks when they come to faith. Humans, dwarves, everyone becomes one when they believe. At one time, maybe two centuries ago, a lot of humans were so. But they fell away.”
“So ... do—or did—the elves control them as people say?”
“No, though towards the great falling away, the elves were accused of such. There is nothing to say that the people should be under autonomous control. All the elves did was encourage people in their faith, but their efforts were misconstrued.”
She knew she wanted to learn the ways of elf and perhaps Judezzek alike, that she could bring at least something of this peace to her people. Yet a part of her mind told her that life was easily lived here away from the midst of greedy and cruel folk. Could this place adequately prepare people for real life outside these forests?
“Come,” the wizard said, and he led her beneath the loggias into a great hall where long banqueting tables were set in the tradition of any fortress. “We should wait here,” said Astocath, guiding her to a seat beneath one of the numerous banners.
“How out of place I feel,” whispered Adriselle. “I should forfeit my right to any title whilst I’m here.”
“Lady Adriselle you are, and lady to a county you will remain.”
“It is like growing up again. Learning the ways and customs of court. Surely this realm will have much different expectations?”
“Don’t fret, my dear.” He patted her hand. “They don’t often mark their sovereign as Highness and Sire, you know.”
An elf approached them with a smile of recognition. “Astocath! Greetings, friend. Who is this you bring?”
The mage smiled and bit his lip. “This is Lady Adriselle. We are, er, seeking safety for her, for there is more misfortune afoot than ever.” He gave Adriselle’s hand another reassuring squeeze. “It is on business that I come. I have brought Lady Adriselle for protection from our mutual enemy. But I need aid, and to speak of these matters with King Errimiayo.”
“Then should I assume many of your problems hinge on King Tell’s circumstance?”
“You are right. Although whatever promises he’s made to the other races seems to continue to hold. But some things are difficult for me. He has outlawed all my Circle of Medeas in Escavia, and yet expects our help.”
“Hmm. Should it be so bad?” It was as if the elf looked down his nose at Astocath, who seemed to shrivel with the disdain for wizards. Given their initial greetings, this couple were friends despite their differences. “That wizards should be shunned?”
“It would only make his plight worse,” Astocath spluttered. “If it weren’t for my circle, wizards would run amok!” He looked for agreement but was apparently lost for a further good argument. “If elves were said to interfere with the ways of men, wizards would be doubly troublesome. Anyway, his real affliction is alarming to any right-minded folk; those who may be left, that is, under this maledict’s curse. Surely you are aware of the lives being lost—or am I misinformed?”
“I have to say, we are alarmed by the curse over Nan-Enn and that it has spread some, though Tell himself is of less concern to us. We would prefer many kingdoms rather than one empire, as it was before. Nonetheless, an empire is almost in his grasp, malady or not.” The courtier nodded as if to confirm his statement and added, “I shall inform King Errimiayo that you and this lady are here.”
“Thank you,” said Adriselle on behalf of her flustered companion. She felt her throat was tight and heard her words were squeaky.
The elf smiled. “Come along.” He held out his arm to her. “Please, come this way.”
They ascended spiral staircases and walked thickly carpeted corridors. Everywhere she looked, she could see fine art standing within alcoves and upon precious tables. Exquisite patterns of intricacy decorated the walls and floor. Adriselle commented that the outer walls of the castle gave every impression that its interior would be rather cramped. “So why is there so much space?” They had followed so many hallways—how could they all be so large?
“Yes.” The elf chuckled. “We have an interior that exceeds the curtain walls. We don’t know how.”
Adriselle shook her head in awe. “What is this castle named?”
“Castle Deisblenor, meaning Father’s House.”
Astocath smiled to her cheerfully, as if to say no evil could touch her whilst she was here.
“We call our God, Sharlom. He is our father,” the elf volunteered. “Here is your room. If you ever feel lost, think awhile of where you wish to be, and you will find your way. Any place within this castle is open to you. In the forest too you’re welcome.” He turned to Astocath. “Here.” He opened a door to a chamber opposite Adriselle’s room. “It is hoped you will be content enough? You are not yet married, no?” The elf smiled kindly.
Adriselle realised celibacy was the watchword. Thanking the elf, her heart leaped at the sight of her chamber; she could have danced with joy. The room’s window overlooked a glade apart from the village. Beneath it was a small chair and table upon which were a pile of papers, quill and ink. It was similar to her chamber at home, but here there was a peace of which she had never known the like. She hoped Astocath would come and see her sooner rather than later.
Astocath had been drawn away to his own room, and she felt at peace in hers. She sat at the table and wrote:
I am a mere foreign
girl who, though destitute,
and orphaned, has
found her
rest.
Before she could ask herself why she should write such a thing, there was a knock at the door, and she turned around to see Astocath enter.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
She nodded happily and tried not to betray her feelings of disappointment when he said, “I shall have to leave tomorrow. I have to contact Jorlon to meet with him and your brother. Time presses on.”
She nodded again, anxiously hoping she would find a suitable companion or two for company whilst she was left here alone.
He remained by the door and said, “I do care about you, my love.” Then he slipped away.
I do care about you, my love ... The words echoed in her mind. ‘I hope he truly loves me,’ she thought. She rose from the table and decided to explore some of the castle. Her heart was alight however, and she expected any husband, nobleman, knight or whatever would be away on battles or campaigns. ‘Anyway,’ she reflected, ‘Father often said true love is the domain of peasants. Nobility cannot always afford such luxuries.’
She spoke to a few servants, some of whom could not comprehend her tongue, and finally, a youth offered to show her around. She took a liking to him immediately. Oranfin was no taller than herself and had the cheek of a sprite. She asked after his lineage, to which he laughed merrily. “I am no flower fairy! What do you people dream of all day?”
“But you might not be from here.”
“Yo! I’ve been here all my days.” He flicked a count through his fingers. “What? Twenty-four years in all.”
She looked at him. “You’re older than me.”
“That wouldn’t be hard!”
He led her about the kitchens where they snatched some fancy pies, and about the scullery where he gossiped with one of his friends in Elvish, though he introduced Adriselle. He then took her to the library where she was astounded by the hundreds—nay! Thousands of books lined the walls from the floor to an arm's reach above. A couple of librarians were looking through some of them.
"They can find any book on whatever subject you choose," Oranfin told her. “Try this!” He faced a librarian. “Have you a grimoire?”
The librarian was a little testy replying. “No, we don’t keep any books of spells.”
“There may be exceptions!” Oranfin laughed to Adriselle.
“There certainly are not!” scolded one.
Then Oranfin offered to take her to the Judezzek priests. Opening the door for her to pass through, there was silence in the library once more.
Surprised, Adriselle noted their footsteps did not echo upon the ceramic tiles as he slowly led the way onward. The effect was a little daunting. Delighted by her interest, he happily told her everything she might need to know, and more.
Adriselle studied the various portrayals of the many varieties of faerie-like figures. Every one of them was painted in increasing states of bliss. As she inspected the paintings, it was more and more apparent that the individuals were all happily absorbed in one another. It seemed the more comfort one gave to another, he in turn appeared to be the more blissful in the next picture.
Oranfin told her these were heavenly creatures. This surprised her since many in the backgrounds looked rather frightening, though to be fair, they did not look evil. Some were mutations of human and elf, and some were otherworldly. Then, as they came to a wide door, there was a huge fresco of a man close to death. Tortured by lashing and scolding, his body was bleeding and his face contorted with an agony that no man should endure. He was otherwise unrecognisable. It was a shocking image and had a greater effect by the sudden presentation of it. “What is this?” she asked, hardly daring to find an answer.
“Our God, who gave up his pure mortal life to the wicked that we might all live with him in eternal perfection.”
“I don’t understand. It is so grim.” She wondered that he did not sound heartbroken, if indeed he should be of this faith.
“It is something we rejoice over. He gave his life gladly as a sacrifice, and picked it up again.”
Compared to the rest of this palace, the temple within was without riches, wealth or much splendour, but was otherwise pleasingly tasteful. Forming the aisle were seven pillars upon each side in declining breadth. Between the columns were uninterrupted rows of simple wooden pews, padded with deep-red velvet cloth. The passage led down to a carved golden lamb where there were a number of Judezzeks listening to an elven speaker. They were dressed in flowing robes of yellow. An elven priest dressed in the same raiment as the others drew towards Adriselle and her guide. He smiled warmly and spoke first to Adriselle.
Adriselle shook her head and said to Oranfin, “I don’t understand.”
“Ah!” The priest chuckled. “But I know your tongue,” he said before Oranfin could respond.
“Are we intruding?” she asked.
“No. I am Thalrond, and you are quite welcome.”
“This is Lady Adriselle,” said Oranfin.
Adriselle smiled. “Just Adriselle,” she corrected.
“Would you care to talk, Adriselle?” asked Thalrond, his unobtrusive eyes peering at her.
She nodded to him with a smile. “Sharlom sacrificed himself for us?”
“In some part of space and time he suffered at the hands of a people similar to you and me—people he had equally created. In all his creation, every sort of creature has turned against him, and his resolve is to lead as many as possible back to him. Repenting of wrongdoing and trusting in his love is all that we need to understand of him. Learning how to fear him is the beginning of all wisdom.”
“But different gods want different things. Some a life of sex, others goodness, still others battle and war, even torture. Some still demand their versions of perfection.”
“Our God is the only God, who knows we cannot work ourselves to perfection.”
“So why are there many gods?”
“They are fallen creatures who were sent to help us, and in the end wanted their own images in the hearts and minds of people. Do you understand they are not real Gods?”
She did not feel entirely satisfied but did not press the issue for the moment. She felt that she had a tome of information to take away, even after such a brief encounter.
He paused, apparently uncertain if she wanted to hear more, and then tentatively added, “Had peoples remembered their creator, his guardians enthroned over the realms of Scavia would not be worshipped.” The Judezzek bowed his head as if he felt a pain of anguish.
“So how did it all begin?” Adriselle asked with a frown, wondering if it would have been more polite to ask after the druid’s health.
He looked up again. His clear eyes were bright, and he gently touched her arm. “In the beginning of our world, the Lord created all the races. But elves and men, they took sides against each other when we gave sacrifice to him of fruit and worship. Men said we were presumptuous and should wait on the Lord’s calling. Sharlom was angry with men. He said that if elves must wait to do what is good and right, then subsequently man’s cousins, elves, would not be called to reckon with him as quickly. He is the good judge, and we were blessed, along with dwarves and gnomes, with a greater longevity than your beloved selves. The hearts of men soured and found other gods more alike to themselves. It is the constant struggle of our faithful to equip your race for Sharlom’s salvation and discourage our own people from turning to your ways. But as you will be aware, we are distrusted as we are misconstrued as if we were trying to take control of the world by this.”
“But is there hope that there can be peaceable kingdoms?” asked Adriselle, not daring to trust such a thing could be possible for the sake of naivety.
Thalrond ran his tongue along his lower lip and barely lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “All of us must find our peace in Sharlom, so his peoples—male and female—may be eternally blessed, not for a mere millennium which we enjoy, but forever. Our Lord, your God, even now has many blessings in store for those of all races who will turn to him, but not to those to whom he gave certain jurisdictions over the world and went beyond their station.”
“One keeper such as the god we call Odin?” Adriselle asked quietly, barely able to comprehend that he could be evil after all.
“Yes!” Oranfin exclaimed. “The gods, who are not really gods but heavenly beings, who have actively sought to be worshipped, turned against the One and are without excuse.” He waved his arms as he spoke. Hurt was in his voice, and there was an anguish that captivated her. This wasn’t something trivial.
“No wonder people reject the Judezzeks,” she whispered. “All this is very strange.”