Not far beyond the cavern of the statue, they come to the bridge that was depicted upon the cliff face—a shaft of stone arching across the great rift that descends into blackness in the inestimable depths below. Here the ceiling of the cavern ceases, and the open, late afternoon sky is visible above them, mostly clear with only a few wisps of cloud moving fast in the wind. But on the far side of the bridge, an archway opens to invite them into the caverns once again, as if this passage across the rift is but a breath, a sigh, in the veiled underground journey leading deeper into the heart of the mountains and closer, they trust, to the veiled dwelling of the Velasi in the forest bearing their name.
The company crosses the bridge with a certain amount of trepidation, as, despite being the width of four men standing side by side, it has no guard-rail, and even if it did, since it is many ages old, the fear of it collapsing remains. The wind whistles across the chasm's opening far above them as they make their way in single-file across the bridge; but the air here, in the depths of the cavernous earth, is so still that their breathing and the beating of their hearts seem to be almost thunderous, echoing against the ancient stone that surrounds them and calling out to the abyss that yawns below them. But almost as quickly as they have begun, they reach the other side and, without hesitation, plunge again into the cavernous earth. Here they are greeted again by the glowing designs upon the walls, radiant in the light of the sun that filters in through shafts in the ceiling.
It is late evening, nearly dark, when the travelers come at last to the final opening of the caverns and step forth from hard stone onto soft soil and grass, the walls of glowing rock replaced by the silhouettes of massive trees, many ages old, as if opening their arms to embrace and welcome them. They have come at last to the forest that for many weeks now has been their goal, though their true destination lies deeper within—the hidden dwelling of the Velasi. And yet, in the nocturnal darkness, they cannot see their way, nor does an obvious path lie before them, and so they decide to set up camp and rest for the night, waiting until morning light to continue their journey.
Physically tired from the exertion of their long journey to this place, but also, as it were, held and cradled by the comfort and security of the forest itself, all of the companions sleep deeply throughout the night and rise only with the brightness of the morning sun shining upon their faces above the rocky crags in the east, filting through the trees as if playing a game of peek-a-boo. They eat what little rations remain to them and hunt for no more, since each is imbued with the unspoken awareness that it is an illicit act to slay within the confines of this forest, even the wild beasts. They are uncertain of how this awareness comes to them, but it is alive within them nonetheless, indubitable, as if an inner command spoken in their minds and hearts.
And a similar awareness also guides them forward more clearly even than a marked path or trail through the woods. Drawn by this awareness and by the very lure of the forest, calling them deeper, the companions walk forward upon pathless trails through the dense foliage, golden sunlight streaming in through the boughs above them and dancing upon the forest floor in spectacles of light and shadow, ever changing and yet ever constant with the swaying of the leaves and the passage of the sun high in the heavens. For most of the day, they walk while the sun wheels overhead, from morning's radiance of dappled light and shade and dancing leaves, to midday's brilliance as the sun shines from high above, to the lengthening shadows of afternoon.
At last, the trees part before them and reveal a sight that stirs both wonder and relief in their hearts—relief because they have finally found human habitation, and wonder because it is immediately apparent that the hearts that have fashioned this habitation are unlike any that they have known or met on the paths of life that have led them to this point. The architecture of this civilization appears to be at one with the very life-breath of the forest, organically part of it rather than either an imposition upon it or a foreign element within it. The buildings rise from the earth almost like trees, with gnarled and knotted trunk and richly ridged bark, topped in thatched roofs woven from grasses of seasons past and branches fallen from the surrounding trees through storm or age or the natural passage of life, growth, and decay. And yet there are structures of glistening white and gray stone as well, probably hewn from the surrounding mountains or caves, elegant in form that is neither static nor geometric but rather ornate and organic, like the very slopes of the mountains themselves or the boulders that so frequently scatter themselves freely across the landscapes of Telmerion. And yet these buildings are more than mere nature, manifesting the same harmonious conjoining that the travelers already witnessed in the designs upon the walls of the cavern through which they passed: the wedding of nature and the artifice of man, of the simplicity of the world and the intricate designs of human heart and hands, which lift up and elevate this simplicity without making it any more complex, but rather even more simple in being more unified with a sole intent revealed through the glory of beauty. And thus, even without any other information, they are confident that they have found the dwelling-place of the Velasi, the abode of the ancient veiled ones who call the forest their home.
This awareness is soon confirmed as a figure approaches them, a man with long blonde hair flowing in a loose ponytail down his back, clean-shaven with bright and glistening eyes, though it is impossible to tell his age, whether young or old. Rather, he appears ageless, as if he has just reached manhood and yet has also endured centuries upon centuries of life, and through this found not weariness but rather wonder and freshness like that of a child. Raising an arm in greeting, the white robe he wears shimmering in the sunlight as if made of some mysterious silk, or from the very waves of the sea the stars of heaven, he says, "Hail! Many ages have passed since we have had visitors in our land. You must be lightborn, for lightborn alone can find their way beyond our borders."
Eldarien, taken aback at first and at a loss for words, then steps forward and raises his hand also in greeting. "Hail, and well-met. We come in peace and with no ill-intent, though with much uncertainty and many questions. Lightborn I have been called, yet I know not what it means."
"Do you not indeed?" the man asks, a knowing expression on his face as he stops directly before the travelers and extends his hand. "I do not know how you greet one another in the outside world, but I invite you to a clasp of arms in fellowship. And worry not, for if you came with ill-intent, never would you have found your way here. Our guardian takes care of that."
After sharing a greeting with Eldarien, in which they firmly clasp arms together (just as they do in all of Telmerion), the mysterious man greets the others likewise. "My name," he says at last, when the greetings have concluded, "is Elendras. May I ask the names of our guests?"
"My name is Eldarien Illomiel, of the village of Falstead, and these are my four companions, Rorlain Farâël of the Cara'fel Wood, and Elmariyë Siliari, Cirien Lorjies, and Tilliana Valesa of the city of Ristfand and its surrounds."
Each person nods in acknowledgment when their name is spoken, and Elendras looks at them with wonder and kindness in his eyes, and each knows without a doubt that even many years from now he shall remember both their names and their faces with perfect clarity.
"I had forgotten about the use of surnames," he says in response. "We need no such custom here as a single name is enough for us. It expresses all that needs to be expressed, and in part that is because we know that it can never express everything, for the deepest part is inexpressible except by the silence of the heart and the music by which all things live."
"I am sure that you are interested in hearing our reasons for coming to your land," Cirien says.
Elendras nods but replies unexpectedly, "That is true, but not in the way that you might imagine. We have long awaited your arrival, and though we do wish to listen to the voices of your hearts, we also have much to say. Thus it is good that, along with the explanations that you carry, you also bring even more questions. Our hope is that some of these questions shall find answers, or at least guidance, here."
The travelers do not know how to respond to this and so simply nod silently. Then Elendras continues, "Let us therefore enter our habitation, shall we? Our greatfather awaits, along with the counsel of the elementari, and they shall speak and listen perhaps even beyond your endurance. Time passes differently for us here, and you may find the pace of our life quite an adjustment."
And so Elendras leads the five companions through the heart of the village—and village it is, though profoundly different in appearance than the abodes of men outside the confines of the forest—and to a large structure at what appears to be its center. They pass numerous other Velasi as they go, and to their astonishment, they are met neither with curious gazes nor with suspicion; rather, each person who looks to them simply acknowledges their presence and their passing with a silent bow of the head. Elendras guides them up a wide staircase with railing in the design of curling roots of trees twisting around themselves as they emerge from the soil and coil upwards to merge with the walls of the building. Two doors, both tall and wide, stand before them, and Elendras slowly pushes them open and ushers the travelers inside. Here they discover a long chamber bathed in golden light that filters in from windows high on the walls and ceiling, with a smooth oak floor almost bereft of furniture save for a semicircle of eight simple chairs on the far end of the chamber. These chairs are unoccupied save one, in which sits a man whose youthful age, while similar to that of Elendras, nonetheless speaks more of age than of youth, at least in his visible appearance, for a white beard sprouts from his jaw and chin and twirls down to his waist, and hair almost as long—with no sign of the receding so common in old age—spreads from the crown of his head down his back. Like Elendras, he wears a simple robe of shimmering white cloth, silken in texture and appearance, though thick and warm like wool.
At the sight of the travelers, he rises to his feet and extends his arms in welcome, taking a few long steps forward and closing the distance between them. "You have my heartfelt welcome to the home of the Velasi, children of the lightborn and your companions. You may call our abode the velstadeä, for so we call it ourselves."
"You speak the language of ancient Telmeric?" Cirien asks.
"Yes, telmothrana has been our language for long ages, since the earliest beginnings of human speech, though I know that your people have since become accustomed to other tongues that, though derived from our own, are far different." After saying this, the elderly man, with a youthful glint in his eye, clasps hands with them, one after another, receiving in turn the names of each. Then he says, "Thank you for your names. My name is Silion, and I am the one whom they call the greatfather, though my title is one of service and not of honor."
"It is a pleasure and a gift to meet you, Silion," replies Cirien. "In my own humble part, I understand and revere the service of which you speak, as in my own lands I share a position perhaps not unlike your own."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, I am the grandmaster of the order of Niraniel in the city of Ristfand. We come thence with grave news of impending war and death for the people of Telmerion, though I suspect, according to the words and manner of Elendras who welcomed us, that you already know much that we would wish to tell you."
"That is true," Silion replies simply, his eyes passing over the group and resting on each one as if specially attentive to that one alone. "Nonetheless, we do not know all and have cause to wish to hear from you as much as you are able to tell us of affairs beyond our borders. But first, I expect that you are tired and in need of nourishment?"
"The thirst for answers rivals that of food," Eldarien replies softly, "or rather far surpasses it."
Silion smiles kindly and locks eyes with Eldarien, saying in response, "As it should. But there shall be time to speak soon, very soon. Allow us to set food and drink before you, that you may refresh yourselves, for much conversation lies before us, and we would wish you to be restored before that time."
"But may I ask," Eldarien says, almost unable to contain himself, "who are the lightborn?"
Silion laughs softly and looks at Eldarien with delight in his eyes and radiant through his face, as if a warm light pouring forth from his countenance upon the one to whom his gaze is directed. "The lightborn," he replies, "that is what we call ourselves. Or rather, it is the title that we were given long ago. But I know that this answer raises more questions in the very act of being given. This is why I said that we should wait until you are refreshed before beginning our converse. Much that is new or unknown shall be revealed to you, and the trail of questions is so deep that its unraveling shall take time, and for it much time is needed."
And so they acquiesce to Silion's request, allowing themselves to be led into a side chamber where a long table lined with chairs takes up much of the center of the room, a vaulting ceiling open to the light far above them. Within a matter of minutes after they are seated, food is laid before them in great variety, all of it some form of natural product of the earth, whether bread, or fruit, or vegetable, or oil, or jam, or cold water that tastes as if infused with the essence of the forest itself, sweet and yet mild, sober and yet full of savor. It is a feast thoroughly satisfying and yet without surfeit, as if the food nourishes without over-filling and energizes without tiring, and the drink eases the heart without inebriating and relaxes weary muscles without dulling. They cannot help but feel that this is the way that nourishment was always meant to be, and that some event long in the past must have changed even the very nature of food and drink as it enters the body of man, and only here, in this hidden alcove in the woods, is its true nature preserved or is its secret unlocked by those who are able to tease it out to be what it was always meant to be.
After their meal, feeling clear-headed and refreshed as if from a long and restful sleep and yet without any accompanying grogginess in the passage from sleep to wakefulness, they are led back into the wide chamber and are seated on the chairs which are now arranged in a full circle. Silion and Elendras sit with them, and another woman takes the final chair, her long black locks flowing down to her waist just as does the men's hair. Her face is beautiful and serene, and they are now not surprised that they find it impossible to even begin to guess her age. In the play of light from the ceiling and walls high above, in one moment she appears to be but a girl on the edge of maidenhood and in another moment to have lived the full round of life and to be at the very crown of age.
After the woman has taken her seat, Silion introduces her to the travelers, and they in turn speak their names to her. "This is Seriyena, my wife," Silion says, taking her hand for a moment and squeezing it gently. "She shall be with us for our converse, as she is with me in life." Then, a look of deep compassion and sorrow passing over his face, he says, "So tell me of the grief and anguish of your people—of our people—for which you have come to this place. Some we already know, but we wish to hear in full your account, with nothing omitted, that we may have a full picture."
And so, taking turns in the telling, the five travelers recount the events that have led each of them from their respective places into one another's company and, together, into the forest of the Velasi. They make every effort to give a thorough account of each detail that may be of significance to the events that they relate, from Eldarien's experience as a knight of the Empire and the latter's policy in Tel-Velfana to his return home, to the encounter with Irilof and their entrance into the barrow of Sera Galaptes, to the journey to Ristfand and the battle to safeguard the very life of that city against a superior force of the combined powers of man and beast. This leads to their reasons for their journey here, seeking the origin of the light that may grant them to stop the invasion of the creatures of darkness once and for all, and also their encounter with the Lord of Mæres and his forge, in which such beasts have for many ages been fashioned. When their account has concluded with the journey through the luminous passage and their trek through the forest, their three interlocutors sit back, as if reflecting on all that they have been told and reaching deep within themselves for a response.
At last, Silion replies, "So you have had direct encounters already with the authors of this evil, the Draion. We felt their presence and their activity but did not know that they had already revealed themselves unto men." He sighs deeply before continuing. "It has been many an age since they made themselves known in the flesh unto the children of humankind."
"What are they, these creatures of which you speak?" Elmariyë asks.
"These creatures? They are not the same as the mindless shadows that you have fought and which have wreaked such terror and destruction in your city. No, we shall speak of those in just a moment. But to answer your question: the Draion are beings not unlike the gods that you worship. Or rather, they are the same, created from the same benevolence and with the same purpose, though the Draion have fallen away from the light and wedded themselves unto darkness forevermore. Anaion we call those whom you worship as gods, and whom we too revere as bearers and ministers of the light. And their counterpart are the Draion, those Anaion who have willingly turned away from their original intent and have become themselves darkness and minions of darkness. Nevermore can they turn from the path they have chosen, since their being is different than our own, not bound by the limits of time and space, and thus able to exercise both choice and act in ways that are far deeper than those of which we, in the frailty of our own limitation, are capable. Thus their choice, being more complete and total, is irrevocable, since they wish precisely for it to be so: for they are darkness. Surely you have come to feel what this means, have you not?" Silion asks by way of conclusion, his eyes falling again upon Eldarien.
"I... Yes, I have," Eldarien replies softly. "I felt him, the Lord of Mæres, in that place of utter blackness. I felt that negation of his being that he has embraced, and sensed that the light of his person, which once must have shone so brilliantly, has now become a void of absence...even the absence of his own self. And this loss, this negation of his own being in the negation of all but himself, fuels his anger, his hate, and his envy." Eldarien pauses and runs his hands through his hair, and then asks, "Is he the leader of the forces that now assault our land?"
Silion shakes his head and answers, "I do not know. But if you ask whether he is the leader of these beings called the Draion, the answer is no. He is but a lieutenant, whose prior name—the one by which we first knew him, but which he has replaced with another of his own making—is Malakrath. And even that is not his original name. What his name was even before that, we do not know."
"He is but a lieutenant?" Rorlain asks. "Then who is the general?"
"To speak of these beings as an army, though in many ways appropriate, is also inadequate," Silion explains. "For their way is anarchy. Their way is power. But the one who has wielded power over all the rest from the beginning, the source of the evil that is theirs, goes by a name we wish not to utter, but which for your education, I shall speak this once. His name is Igrandsil, though he was once known as Melandia. Long has he hidden his presence from the world and acted through his wicked intermediaries. But come, let us speak of other matters. We shall return to this later, when we speak also of the light that counteracts the darkness."
"Very well," says Eldarien. "What then can you tell us of these creatures, the druadach? What are they? They come in the forms of men, or corpses of men, and yet I do not believe that they are men or have ever been so. How then do they take form and the semblance of life?"
"The Lord of Mæres, as he has come to call himself, is a deceiver," replies Elendras, stepping into the conversation with a nod of Silion's head in agreement and invitation. "But unlike the ordinary mortal, he has the power to give form to his deceptions and illusions in ways that are impossible for ourselves. We can act only by way of suggestion or persuasion, by dialogue or image or art. But he himself is able to take the fabric of this world and to exert some influence over it, to mold it into shapes that are not original to it. This power he retains as the right of his creation, limited and broken as a result of his corruption, and yet lingering enough nonetheless for him to effect great evil in the world still."
"That is correct," Silion continues. "He takes the memories of men and the ill fruits of their evil action and intent and fashions them into the horrors that we now battle. For he cannot create, not truly. None of the forces of darkness can. They can only steal, only twist, only plagiarize. And that is what has given rise to the druadach, indeed to all of the eötenga, of which the druadach are but one expression. They are, as you well know, and as they appear to be, but mockeries of men. As you have rightly discerned, they are not men, nor have they ever been. With what then did the Lord of Mæres work, what was the manner of his fashioning, what matter did he take in hand to fashion into these creatures? Unable to create from nothing, unable, indeed, to give life, true life, what does he do? He takes, then, from life in order to sow death. However, he does not have adequate access to the lives of the living, to those who still draw breath, for they are still given into the hands of their own counsel, and their choice is free, for good or evil, light or darkness, until their dying breath. And even less so does he have access to the living human heart and body, sacred unto Eldaru and precious to all of the Anaion. These he cannot touch, at least not in a way that would allow him to do with them what he has done in making the druadach.
"But the memories of lives, past and present, and the effects of every decision and choice—these in some way continue to live beyond the present moment. They continue indeed even after a person has died. The impress of their lives, their effects, their fruits, both good and ill—these remain like a seal impressed upon the universe, like a stone cast into water sending out ripples near and far. After a person has died, their life continues to live, as it were, as a unified whole in the sight of all the forces of heaven and earth. That person has passed on beyond the boundary of death, and yet they carry with them, be it not purged away, the fruits of the ill choices of their past and pain at the darkness that they had accepted, that they had cooperated with, or that they themselves had committed. All of these infidelities to the light have enduring effects, casting ripples of evil throughout the fabric of the cosmos. But take hope! For so too does every single act of goodness, light, or truth, however small, cast similar ripples and of an infinitely greater depth and efficacy.
"And precisely because the 'image' of life and choice and act, their impress or ripple, continues to exert an influence in this world, the master of darkness can take thought of it, can look upon it as it once happened, as if it were still present before him. And from these fruits, from the darkness present within them, he has taken inspiration and fashioned the druadach and the other creatures of darkness. They are therefore nothing but the shadows and memories of evil, the enduring ripples of wickedness, given new expression—given form—by the one who seeks to continually give birth to new evil in the world and, in the process, to destroy or corrupt all that is good."
"So what we fight are shadows?" Rorlain asks. "It is a regrettable thing that shadows can cause such evil and death."
"It is indeed," Silion agrees. "But though these beasts are shadows, what you fight is more than shadows. You fight powers of darkness far beyond your imagining, and it is they who cause the destruction that you have so closely witnessed. It matters not what tools they choose to use, they are the true enemy and the real threat."
"In ages past, they used similar tools," Seriyena says, "and yet they also took to battle themselves and fought against humankind with the strength of their own arm."
"Seriyena is correct," says Silion, "though it is also true that even when they fought us directly, the flesh they bore was not their own."
"Like the one who called himself 'Maggot'?" Eldarien asks.
"Precisely. They are incorporeal beings, and that is why even when the flesh they have taken is destroyed, they themselves suffer not but the collapse of the vessel."
"There is in them no wedding of spirit and flesh," Elmariyë observes quietly and thoughtfully. "For them, it is but a means to an end, and they draw near to flesh not because they love creatures of flesh but because they hate them. For the gods it is different, is it not?"
"That is right," Silion confirms. "They love both flesh and the creatures of flesh, most particularly ourselves, the center of their affection and their care. But incorporeal they remain, not only in their being but even in their operation. They will not to take flesh to themselves as a tool or even as a guise. They may appear for a moment to the eyes of the body, in vision or apparition, but they summon us to attune our eyes to the spirit, to listen to the silent voice deeper than audible noise."
"How, after all, could a god take flesh as his own—truly as his own, I mean—without also accepting our weakness and limitation, our very humanity?" Cirien muses. "It is an impossibility. For then he would be subject to both suffering and death as if it were his own. The Draion do so, in semblance, out of their lust for power; they take a guise of flesh not to suffer with us but to cause us suffering, to inflict evil upon us and to destroy us."
"Sometimes I fancy that one of the gods would do precisely that," Elmariyë whispers, "drawn by the deep compassion in their heart: come to us not in power but in weakness, in vulnerability, taking all that belongs to us, all that we are, as their own. For that is the nature of divinity that I have come to know: pure love and compassion, suffering-with, atoning pain, and the boundless joy that can hold all pain and redeem it."
"Perhaps they would if they could," Silion says, turning his gaze upon Elmariyë with a look of inexpressible depth and tenderness. It is as if his eyes are saying unto her a deep "thank you" far beyond the capacity of words but also gazing upon her with amazement, even awe, at what he beholds in her. At last, he says, "But for none of the Seven would such an act be possible. At least not as you imagine it. As great as they are, they have their own limits. Only the boundless could cross such a boundary, spanning the distance between deepest darkness and highest light..." His voice fades away as his mind carries him forward in thought.
Then Eldarien speaks, and the conversation shifts in focus, "This mystery lives in us. When Hiliana spoke unto me in the cavern of the eöten, the light that flowed through me was not my own, but hers, or entrusted to her to impart to me." He sighs and allows the path that he has walked to this place to wash over him now as a great wave of experience, of joy and pain, of hope and anguish, of sorrow and trust. "And in Ristfand, with the reality of bearing, I was awakened to something yet deeper, but a gift of the same. And Elmariyë has lived within the orbit of this 'something,' this mystery, for so long. It is precisely that of which you speak, and yet alive within us."
"And this brings us to the only true and definite way to defeat the enemy that now assails us," Silion says, coming again to the thread of his earlier explanations. "You are touching the true nature of reality and of the conflict, of the struggle and the hope, that lies at the heart of all being. It is impossible to defeat our enemy through force of arms. This you know. For the darkness cannot be defeated head-on; it cannot be conquered by power. Not only will emerge again under a different guise, like a many-headed beast, but to seek to defeat it with power is to try to conquer it with its own devices. Rather, it can only be atoned for, can only be suffered through—and this with a love so wedded to the Light that it bears all of this darkness, carries it, as it were, all the way back into the embrace of the One who can span the distance between darkness and light. Only in this way, by being brought into proximity with the ever-burning light of infinite and eternal Love, can these shadows be taken out of the hands of the evil one, such that his wickedness can draw from them for these wicked deeds no longer. Suffused in this way with the healing light of the One, the darkness itself is purged, transformed, and healed, and yields itself to the pure light. In this way, and in this way alone, can victory over the forces of darkness that threaten the very existence of our race be achieved."
"This 'One' of whom you speak, who is he?" Eldarien asks, though his heart all but reaches out to touch the one whom Silion's words indicate, as if he has always known him and yet never seen him, always felt him and yet never grasped him.
Shaking his head sorrowfully, Silion replies, "So much has been forgotten... It grieves our hearts greatly. For you see, even though your people forget, ours remember. It is our role to remember; it is our place. To remember and to await. It is why we are here." But then, looking at each one of the travelers individually, with the piercing and gentle gaze that is both old and young, ancient and yet new, he smiles a smile of genuine joy, indeed of a kind of lightness and happiness that is usually seen only in young children. "I spoke of our life as if it were some burdensome task, or rather I fear that you may have heard my words that way. But let me speak more truly: our life is one of ceaseless wonder and play. That, I imagine, is what you continue to see in us, but which you cannot seem to express either in thought or in words."
"Yes!" Elmariyë cries. "You are like children, and yet also like the elderly who have found childhood again! Both together...and yet also something more."
The three Velasi laugh softly and look at one another with radiant smiles. Silion then replies, "You are very perceptive, young Elmariyë. And it is true, ceaseless wonder and play are our very life, and the tone and nature of this is such that in your language it would be called prayer. And so it is intimately for each one of us. We simply abide always as children, beloved, before the Father of all."
"But what about compassion and intercession?" Rorlain inquires. "What about care and concern for the troubles and ills of the world?"
"Have you found us lacking in these qualities?" Silion rejoins simply, with gentleness in his countenance.
"Well, no...but," Rorlain answers, struggling for words. "You also seem to have done nothing to aid us in our struggle for many years."
"We have done what we have been asked to do. No more could be expected of anyone than this. To do more than one's allotted portion, even with the best of intentions, is an infidelity to the order of reality and can cause great harm," Silion explains. "Yes, at times we wish perhaps that we could intervene more directly in the affairs of the world. But even more deeply, in the sanctuary of the heart of each one of us, we know that the part we have been given is the most meaningful and fruitful thing that we can do, and our wish is only to remain always faithful to it. For we are hidden, as it were, at the very throbbing heartbeat of all reality and are called upon to mediate, through the love, prayer, and play of our lives, the circulation of this heart to all others whom we call brethren, wherever they may be."
"But this 'One' of whom you speak," Eldarien says, "I ask again, 'Who is he?'"
"Forgive me that I did not answer you immediately and outright," Silion replies with a gentle smile. "It was not through any lack of desire to do so. For that is the most important question of all; in the end, perhaps the only question, or rather, the question in which all other questions are contained and find their definitive answer. For if I said that only from the heart of reality can the ills that afflict our people be definitively overcome, this reality itself takes its origin from one source, and reflects that source in its every part, being his manifestation, the child of his love, and meant to share always in the nature of who and what he is, in which alone is its true freedom, happiness, and fulfillment. For the essence of being is not power; it not force or capacity or even any impersonal skill or excellence. No, the essence of reality is the inclination of love, receptivity to the other, the gift of self that binds hearts together, and the unity that endures unbreaking, born of love boundless and unending, tender and sweet, ardent and profound. And with this, we conclude our converse for today. But worry not, I leave you with the most important and central answer that I can give." Then he turns to his wife and says, "Seriyena, if you would, please."
The woman lifts five small books from the floor under her chair, where they have lain unseen. They are small, hardly larger than the span of a man's hand, and bound in weathered leather. She gives the books to the travelers, one each, and yet waves her hand in a gesture that prevents them from opening their covers and perusing the contents within.
"These books, or rather five copies of a single book," Silion continues, "give the account of the earliest origins of all that exists. Called the Arechaion, they are the most ancient text that remains for our people or for any in the land of Ierendal. Much there is beyond this that we hold sacred and on which we meditate as the sustenance of words needed more than food for our flesh, but this is the beginning and the most important part for the answering of your questions. After you read it, then the following conversation shall be much easier and proceed more deeply and more meaningfully. Worry not, the text is not long, though it is very rich. And do not be alarmed that you see yourself looking back at you from the pages. Discovering one's very origins and the foundations of one's being can be a disconcerting experience—like standing naked and unveiled—and yet it is also the most salutary consolation and the most healing of all encounters."