1010 A.D.
The Realm of Wyn Avuqua
Loche remembers Julia’s words, awestruck and crushed into a monotone muttering, “Is this what your eyes saw?”
She said it just after the company had navigated through a seemingly impenetrable wall of trees and they threaded out into the open air. She said it when massive blocks of ivory hued stone rose from out of the green turf before them—the battlements, the high, coiling green and gold pennants of Wyn Avuqua’s outer walls. She said it just the western gate opened and a small company on horseback, their helms and spear tips gleaming like grey sparks, exploded out to meet them. Now, longing horn notes wind in the gloaming.
Vincale turns his mount to Loche and the others and announces, “Behold, Wyn Avuqua, City of the Itonalya!” His gaze halts upon Edwin, “We are the Guardians of the Dream.”
In Loche’s periphery, Corey rides forward and stops. William, with Edwin before him, does the same. The two immortals do not speak. They are still. Sculptures, Loche thinks. Both appear to breathe the sight, or perhaps their gazes are questioning whether what they are seeing is truly there.
As if in answer to the ringing horn note on the wind, Corey’s voice sounds out a quiet, sorrowful melody:
A Wyn Avuqua
Endale che
Thi col orathom
Tiris liflarin thi avusht
Lithion nuk te lirych
The sound of the Elliqui words braid meaning in Loche’s head:
Oh, Wyn Avuqua
The pearl of Earth
Our only paradise
I see your towers in flame
The hand of God bears the torch
As the melody lilts and awaits a resolve, William’s voice joins in and the two complete the melody:
Orathom thi geth
Fethe thi geth
The words crash through Loche’s heart. Their spell has flooded into each of the company as well. Julia lowers her head. Vincale’s hand rises and rests upon his breast. Lornensha’s eyes close and she raises her face slightly as if the evening’s mist of sky is kissing her brow.
An ocean rises and wells as the words wash over Loche. A missing, a longing, a need that can only be defined by the shape of rain, the weight of tears, the measure between love and endings.
Orathom thi geth
Fethe thi geth
We want only rest.
We want to go home.