The early morning sun shines through the dense trees to the east and glistens on the elegant buildings of the velstadeä as Elmariyë sits on the porch of their dwelling, her hands clasped upon her lap. Late in the evening of the previous night Elendras had shown them to a structure not far from the council of meeting, a home that was quickly put to use as a guesthouse for the five travelers. Though he had not said as much, it was clear to them all that this was Elendras' own home, though where he would be staying in the meantime they did not know. Perhaps any place in this little sanctuary of a village could be home to anyone, and Elendras, after dwelling in this house for perhaps hundreds of years, could easily yield it to his guests for a short period of time. Elmariyë still feels overwhelmed by the thought that these men and women, humans like unto themselves and yet granted a unique gift, had lived for hundreds or even thousands of years. The gift was not for their sake alone, of course, and she wondered if it brought with it pains as well as joys, sorrow as well as gladness. Indeed, she had seen as much in the countenance and the eyes of their interlocutors from the night before.
Amazement still moves her heart at the thought of them, and indeed at the atmosphere of this place, this hidden home in the heart of the woods; but what stirs amazement in her heart more than anything else is the One whom she had discovered in the late hours of the night and on into the early morning hours, as she had found it impossible to sleep after this encounter. But then again, it was always he alone whom she worshiped throughout every day of her life, and the orbit of his gaze within which she lived. The gods that she revered and served spoke for him and served him, messengers and servants as she, and yet greater, and deserving thus of the honor given to them, even as all light came from the One and to him returned. He is, and has always been, the light behind the stars. But how could she know him unless he was revealed to her, unless his face was made known and his activity revealed? And now that this gift has been given, she can never forget, nor would she wish to do so.
The sense of his closeness is tangible now, but also the profound and gripping awareness of his all-surpassing mystery. It is so deep, so wide, and so all-pervading that everything that she sees and feels has changed. The whole world is different now, even if very much the same, different because bathed in a light purer, deeper, and more intense, which has always been there, pouring forth freely upon all things, but to which now she has been granted, far beyond her own deserving, a new and deeper sensitivity. Elmariyë rises now to her feet and steps down from the porch onto the grass, wet with dew and glistening in the morning light. The air is chilly but not bitter, and the garb she wears, devoid of cloak and yet warm in itself, is enough. Slowly and thoughtfully she walks along the winding paths of the village, a tenor of quietude and rest surrounding her on every side. Even the sounds of early morning life—the echo of human voices, the chirping of birds, the crunch of feet upon soil, the sound of a spade against hard earth—does not disturb this all-enveloping quiet. The air is still, almost unmoving, and a white mist hangs about the village like a veil, giving fitting form to its name: velstadeä, the veiled home. The slightest sounds echo widely in the stillness, but so too does the silence draw them up into itself and hold them. Here Elmariyë encounters the same solitude that she has always known and cherished, the silence that has burned in the depths of her heart for as long as she can remember, and which drew her to Ristfand and to the temple of Niraniel. But here it is deeper, wider, like a flowing river carrying all things forward in a gentle onrush of longing and of hope toward the inexhaustible light deeper than every light, and the repose beyond every rest, and the fruit deeper than the product of every toil.
To her surprise, she sees a child run across the path a few yards ahead of her, laughter echoing from her as she chases a little bird with brilliantly colored feathers. Elmariyë did not know that there were children here, or that the Velasi still bore children and raised them. The child, perhaps eight years in age, though it is impossible to tell for sure, looks up at Elmariyë as she draws near, and with a smile, says, "You are a visitor to our lands?"
"Yes, I am," Elmariyë replies, and then she hastily corrects herself, "I mean—we are. There are five of us."
"Five visitors," the child replies, in a sing-song voice. "You are the first for me."
"We are the first in many ages, we hear."
"Many ages indeed, though I haven't lived for even one!" the girl exclaims, with a smile.
"How old are you?" Elmariyë asks, hoping that the question is appropriate.
"I am nineteen."
"Nineteen?" Elmariyë repeats, in astonishment. "But you look only to be eight or nine years old. How nineteen?"
"Oh, I forget how you count years on the outside," the girl replies. "My mother explained it to me. For us, we count the years from conception, not from birth."
"But that only adds nine months," Elmariyë sighs.
"For you maybe!" the girl says, with a laugh. "But I need to go. Sorry to end this conversation so abruptly, but there is somewhere I must be. Maybe we can see each other again?"
"I would like that," Elmariyë replies, sheepishly, surprised that she feels so uncomfortable—or rather so exposed—in the presence of a child.
"Great, see you then!"
"Wait!"
"Yes, what is it?" the girl asks, turning back to look at Elmariyë, her deep blue eyes glistening with wisdom and understanding beyond her years.
"May I ask your name?"
"I think you just did," the girl says with laughter again in her voice. "My name is Relmarindë."
"Relmarindë," Elmariyë repeats, savoring the beauty of the word on her tongue. "It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Elmariyë."
"Wonderful," the child exclaims. "Well then, see you soon!"
And with that she skips across the path and disappears behind a house to the right.
After standing in awe for a moment, trying to make sense of the encounter, Elmariyë moves forward again and continues her slow walk through the village, drinking in the sights and sounds with hungry eyes and ears and with heart yearning more deeply than it has in years, stirred to longing by the very beauty that comes to meet her and, touching her, awakens her to yearn yet more deeply and more widely. Soon her attention is captured by a song in many voices which echoes from far to her left. Attuning herself to the sound, she follows it through the trees to a clearing in which stand almost three-score of the Velasi, all of them with faces turned toward the rising sun, brows blazing with golden light. On their lips are the words:
Eldaru, arás nu moën ya yahë kalén,
svas arécha passá menéris en sordá
ya heilla kalasteía sení kordá,
asáng tua seánga daréng surána noän,
ya tan galémi enna torvéla kallá tua,
ya en ane kallá, ka'éleng a ya en noän,
noë hyrá kallá noën, tan sama,
onys onánda, seïkáni,
fyris ka'eat alaíe
dia tan Ona qua eliáru.
Eldaru, origin of all and their final end,
sweet beginning beyond memory and strife
and blessed consummation without end,
your song sung forth has given us life,
and the echoes still reveal to us your name,
and in this name, spoken to us and within us,
we hear our own names too, the same,
each unique, beloved,
because spoken eternally by the One who loves.
After the song has concluded the congregation disperses, though Elmariyë stands rooted to the spot, watching them go. Elendras, who has been in their midst, notices Elmariyë and turns to drawn near to her.
"My wishes of joy and blessings to you upon this morning," he says to her, clasping her arm for a moment in greeting.
She nods, opening her mouth, though unsure of what to say.
"Ah, forgive me," Elendras laughs softly, "you do not know our traditional salutations. It is no matter."
"We usually just say 'Good morning,' but I would like to know: what is the response?"
"The response is: 'And may blessings redound upon you'."
"Very well," Elmariyë replies, with an awkward smile, "then may blessings redound upon you."
"Verily may they," Elendras says, smiling as well. And then, placing his hand upon Elmariyë's shoulder, he adds, "Will you walk with me?"
"I would be glad to," she says.
They return to the paths of the village and make their way slowly back toward the guest house, with the council chambers nearby.
"I do have a question I wish to ask you," Elmariyë begins.
"Yes? What is it?"
"Why do you have no statue to represent the object of your song?"
"Perhaps in future ages it may be so," Elendras replies simply, "but in the current state of the world, the One whom we address remains unseen, and to safeguard among all the awareness that he is far different than the lesser gods, his servants, he refuses to be depicted in any form of visible art or representation."
"I see," responds Elmariyë, thinking this over in her mind and heart.
"I suggest you pose this question to Silion when we are together," Elendras continues. "It shall be a good starting-point for the converse that lies before us."
"Then I shall do that," she says.
"Good. We shall speak immediately after lunch, which shall be served at midday in the same place as the feast from yesterday evening," explains Elendras. "A bell shall be rung, so there is no need to worry about the time."
"I find it difficult to worry about anything in this place," whispers Elmariyë.
"Worry, indeed, has no place here," says Elendras, "though pain, sorrow, and compassion, even the anxious care born of these—you will find that we bear and experience all of this in great measure."
"I believe it and glimpse it already," Elmariyë replies, "but it is somehow different."
He looks at her with a glimmer in his eyes, and he says, "I understand," and with this he bids her farewell and turns away down the path, leaving her standing before the door of the house in which the travelers are staying.
† † †
That afternoon, following upon another hearty and yet simple meal, the five companions gather together with the same three Velasi with whom they had spoken the previous evening. But to their surprise—particularly that of Elmariyë—the young girl, Relmarindë, is also present, sitting in the last remaining chair. Noticing their questioning looks, Seriyena says kindly, "It is a custom of ours to allow the youngest into the counsels of the eldest. Relmarindë shall be joining us for our converse today, as she is of age to understand the realities of which we speak. She also deserves to know our guests more deeply," she adds, with a glance toward Elmariyë, "with whom she has already become acquainted, at least in part."
"Very well," Silion says, with a look to all present. "Where shall we begin?"
"Elendras suggested that I pose a question to you," Elmariyë says softly. "It is one which I posed to him. Perhaps it shall hold and in some way manifest the deeply personal responses that each of us has had to that which you entrusted to us at the end of the evening. Such things, anyway, would be difficult to talk about in themselves, at least until one is acquainted with giving voice to such things."
As she says this, her eyes meet Eldarien's, and she sees the deep understanding in his gaze, and he nods gently to her.
"I agree with that way of proceeding," Silion says with a broad smile, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands across his stomach. "So what is your question?"
"I asked why it is that you do not depict the One in any images or other forms of artistic representation. In the temple of Niraniel, and in all other temples as far as I understand, we seek to give expression to the nature of the divinities by visible forms. Niraniel is depicted as a woman both receptive and generous, for example, and Telmoth—actually, I recall that it was also in the text you gave us—he is depicted as a farmer with a plow. And so it is for the others."
"And I suppose that Elendras gave you a satisfactory answer, but he wishes to use the question as a point of entrance for today's conversation?" Silion asks.
"You understand entirely," Elendras answers in his own right, chuckling softly.
"Then let us speak of this," Silion says. "I shall answer with gladness." After clearing his throat, he continues, "We do not depict the One in images of any kind, nor have we ever done so. For though the Anaion have come to humanity at times, clothed in guises visible to flesh and to heart, the One surpasses all of them infinitely. And even beyond this, his nature is simply deeper and wider, infinite and boundless, whereas they have but a small portion of his life, and thus are more amenable to representation. In fact, there is more likeness between the gods and ourselves than there is between the gods and the One, for he is God beyond the gods, the creator of them all, just as he is the creator of everything that exists both in heaven and on earth. The Anaion are close to us, even as they are so much greater, mysterious, invisible, ineffable, superior in strength and intelligence, and yet they are only servants of his own kindness toward us. He, however, is further transcendent, hidden, veiled even more than the Anaion are veiled, and often forgotten even when they are remembered. And that is a great sorrow to us, since he it is whom every heart knows before it knows anything else. For he alone is. All else comes from him, freely, without necessity. And without him, nothing is that has ever come to be. And it is impossible for him not to be, for he is the Source of all things, their true Origin, and also the goal to which all things tend, yearning to return to their long-lost home and to the repose that their restless being seeks.
"The Giver of all, he is called Eldaru, hidden and inaccessible, and yet not therefore far away. Rather, our people, living so hidden ourselves, veiled by his own presence for ages upon ages, have come to know his perpetual closeness, his presence in the very sanctuary of the beating heart, the feeling and thinking and yearning spirit. He is our center, the very living heart of our heart and the being of our being, though he is not us nor are we him. But we stand always before him, bathed in the light of his gaze, which, by looking at us with love, makes us to be who we are, and without which we would immediately cease to be. Yes, and this encounter, maturing over generations, over countless ages, has led us, in the secrecy of our hearts, to call him by another name. For the name Eldaru, to us, is not fitting enough; it is not adequate. And so with a simple exhale of breath, heard only in the deepest silence where he meets us, we dare to call him 'Ta'."
"Ta? But that is the way that a small child addresses her father!" Eldarien exclaims softly.
"Precisely," Silion says simply, "and there is no better address, no better name to express who he is for us. And yet," and now his face is clouded over with a shadow of inexpressible sorrow, "and yet we know that this name will be so little known by many throughout the ages of the world. For we are granted to know, in both memory and expectation, what shall be granted all humanity to know only in future ages. And even then, so few shall truly believe, in heart and flesh, the truth of his fatherhood; and so few shall know its real depth and intimacy. For he is Father, and yet he is not an earthly father. He is Father, but not in the way in which we now know fatherhood to be. And our relation to this Father is broken and obscured, lived and experienced by us far less than he would wish for it to be. But we Velasi have memory of an ancient promise received at the very origin of our people, of our kind, in the wake of the terrible events that sundered our world. This is a promise that the Giver of all shall someday draw so near to us, shall reveal himself so fully and so deeply, that he shall truly be for each and all the Father, the Father not by analogy only but in fullness of truth deeper than any truth that we have ever known. And in that day, too, all the ills that the malice and folly of both man and evil spirit have inflicted shall find their cure, and man, enslaved for countless ages to the fruits of his own wickedness and loss, shall be redeemed from this bondage and find freedom."
After Silion has finished speaking, Relmarindë raises her hand as if she wishes to say something.
"What is it, little one?" Silion asks, turning his gaze to her.
"I just wanted to add a child's perspective," she says.
"By all means. It may be the most important perspective of all," Silion says, with a wave of his hand gesturing for her to continue.
"Well, it is not much," she begins. "I just want to say that we see him in our dreams, and in our deepest desires, and at the heart of our imaginings, and in every tree and flower, sunset and sunrise. He is everywhere with a thousand images, countless visible signs, and yet he is more than all of them. I would not want to try to represent him with an image or with a thousand, unless he himself gives me the means by which to represent him and see him. I would rather see him everywhere and nowhere, until he himself grants me to see him both everywhere and somewhere. Otherwise I am afraid that I would not see him at all."
After she has fallen silent again, Silion places his hand upon her head, and a beautiful smile is shared between them, and he says, "Well spoken."
Now Rorlain begins to speak and says, "In the light of all that you have shared with us—and indubitable light it is, almost too bright for my frail eyes—what are we to make of the conflict between the Anaion and the Draion? The account you shared showed forth their creation, that they were born of a single song and, at the origin of time, sang together in harmony. But why would the prime Singer of the song allow those he himself has sung forth to change the tune, to alter the melody in the effort to fashion a song of their own making?"
It is Eldarien who attempts to respond to his words, his voice gentle and yet full of emphasis, "I believe that this question too finds a response in the very words of which you speak, and it shall take a lifetime, more than a lifetime, for us to progress unto the heart of their meaning. Or rather to live in that heart ever more deeply with each passing day."
"You are faster than I, Eldarien," Rorlain says, without anger or regret, but with a touch of sadness. "You have asked many questions and suffered many things which I have not. And in order to find the answers, one must first be intimately acquainted with the questions. Be patient with me, as I will follow as best I can, at my own pace."
"I expect nothing else, my dear friend," Eldarien says, his voice full of humility, affection, and gratitude. "Indeed, I expect nothing at all. It is not for us to expect anything of our fellow men, for we all stand under the same light and the same judgment. Let us rather help one another along the way. I will support you with my frailty however I may, and I ask you to support me, too, when I am weak and faltering."
"That, I will try to do," says Rorlain, laying his hand on Eldarien's shoulder, while the latter grasps this hand for a moment and holds it. After a short while, Rorlain leans back in his chair and looks around, saying, "I think I understand a little. It is for the same reason that a parent would allow their child to make a mistake. One cannot learn everything by command alone, and without the freedom to choose, neither right nor wrong, neither love nor hate, is possible."
The others nod, and a moment later Tilliana says, "That is true, but as Silion said before, the choice of these beings, these Draion, is absolute in a way that our choices in this life are not. Thus, the force against which we must fight is a freedom that has hardened into hatred and ossified into anger and envy."
"That is the risk faced by creative love in imparting freedom to his creatures," Silion says quietly, "and perhaps it would be the same for us, were we to persist in such evil beyond the boundaries of our temporal life."
"A sorrowful thought," Eldarien says. "But how are we to fight such wickedness, such evil, when it is so far beyond us both in intelligence and in raw power?" He sighs and adds, "I know that you spoke of this yesterday, but I feel that our conversation never reached its finality. There is yet something in which my heart has not found rest and clarity."
"That is as it should be," Elendras replies, "for there is yet much to be revealed today...much, indeed, that shall touch close to the very sinews of the heart."
"That has already been done a thousandfold," Eldarien answers with a soft laugh, "but I suppose that I am ready for more."
"Let us hope that your words are truly spoken," Silion says. "Let me therefore commence where we left off. I said that the creatures that assail our people—and now you know that, despite the differences that distinguish us, we are one people—are but the tools of invisible forces, instruments in the hands of the fallen gods, we can call them."
"Yes, you said something to the effect that we fight the very shadows of our own darkness and the darkness of our brethren, given form by the forces of darkness, correct?" Tilliana asks.
"That is close to the truth," Silion explains. "You fight not the shadows themselves, but rather the evil that such shadows have allowed to grow and to flourish within this world, given flesh by the original perpetrators of evil, whose only wish is to oppose all that is light, and good, and true. You fight the fruits of infidelity to the light, the shattered scars of sin inflicted on the cosmos, taken up by one who is filled with hatred of humanity, and takes this disorder and fashions it into a weapon with which to assault us. And that is why the only solution is not direct confrontation—at least not with power against power—but only the purity of love that suffers to purge the darkness without in any way compromising with this darkness."
"But how could any man or woman possibly do such a thing?" Eldarien asks. "No one person can carry so much."
"In that you are correct. The definitive answer lies not in human power and must come from above, from the origin and source of all light and good. And yet in this present time, in our dire need, the light has shone forth and anointed chosen ones to be bearers of this light, to be, as it were, harbingers of the true Dawnbringer, who is yet to come. Their part is only a hint of what he shall do, only a preface or preparation; it is like a sketch of the final painting or a draft of the complete story. And it takes all of its meaning from the latter, even as, in this meaning, it is fully true and enduring in its own right, precisely because of the image that it reflects and the light that, in proper measure, shines forth into it and through it."
"You speak of the one who has been addressed as 'Lightborn'?" Elmariyë asks. "You speak of Eldarien?"
"Yes, I speak of Eldarien, but I also speak of Elmariyë, his sister," Silion says, a mysterious twinkle in his eyes, full of understanding and full of love.
"His sister?" asks Elmariyë. "Yes, of course. You speak of the bond that we share. We both feel it and know it, yet we understand not all that it means. This common choice and calling has united us, correct?"
"I do speak of the bond of the common gift, yes," replies Silion, "and yet I also speak of the bond of blood. For you are siblings not only in the spirit but in the flesh." Seeing their expressions, he smiles compassionately and adds, "Be not alarmed. All shall be explained. But it is true: you are both children of the Velasi, children of the chosen of the One, born in exile beyond the veil that hides us, and in forgetfulness of your origin. But precisely in your place of exile, you have received the gift and task that falls upon none of us who dwell here in the velstadeä, but has been entrusted uniquely to you alone."
"But how is this possible?" Eldarien asks. "I was raised from the beginning of my life in the town of Falstead. And I knew both of my parents, and my sister...another sister."
Silion simply nods in response to Eldarien's words, and then he looks at Elmariyë, who sighs deeply, and says, "This makes sense of so many things, though many also remain unanswered. My unknown origin, my adoption in a place of death, and the 'something' that has lived inside me all of these years. But how do you know this? Do you speak only from the evidence, interpreted rightly or wrongly? Or do you speak with first-hand knowledge?"
"Allow me to recount the story of your origins," answers Silion, "and I trust that my tale itself shall put most of your questions to rest. How does that sound?"
"You know the circumstances of our birth and our beginning?" asks Elmariyë. "Both of us?"
"Indeed."
"I would then hear your words," says Eldarien, his voice strained and uncertain, and yet revealing, despite this, the openness and curiosity of his heart.
And so Silion begins.
"There was a woman of the Velasi, Hælia by name, who bore great compassion and love for those who live beyond the borders of our land. Of course we all bear such compassion within us as a gift from our origin, and yet in her it became a restless fire. Born a little over a hundred years ago, as she grew to full womanhood she felt the tug of her heart to travel beyond the veil of the forest, to explore other places and to walk among her brothers and sisters. She spoke with the council of the elementari to request our permission and our blessing for this endeavor, but at first we were resistant. Our place was clear. But as time passed, as I closely observed her, I began to think to myself that perhaps she had a special path unlike our own, or rather an expression of the same path manifested in a way singular to herself, for some great purpose which I did not know.
"As I said before, it is not right for any one to embrace more than their allotted portion, for we each stand in the place ordained for us, and we live according to the wisdom that guides all things. But neither should another be forbidden from following their way if it differs from one's own. There are many paths along the single journey. The essential thing is to look deeply into the one truth that unites us all, the one will that directs and cares for all things, and to find the unique trails it marks out for every one of Eldaru's children. For there are many paths that would claim to be true and valid but which are born either of the deception of error and of self-will, or from a despair of the existence of a single truth that guides and unifies all thing, or from the despair that such truth can be definitively known by the searching human mind and heart. Perhaps in future days men shall so despair of finding and knowing the truth that they shall think every path an equal journey to a single goal, regardless of what it may be or where it may lead; but that would not be a sign of broad-mindedness, of understanding, but truly nothing but a subtly veiled hopelessness that there is either a path or a goal.
"No, the broadness of mind and sensitivity of heart of which I speak is far different, born precisely of the expansiveness of the one truth and within it. Thus I immersed myself in this truth, and contemplated and asked, sought and inquired, and came to the conviction that the path that Hælia discerned before her was a true one. And thus I besought the council to consider again her request. I myself would give my consent, and I asked the others to reflect again upon their own. To simplify the affair, she was given permission to depart, and she eventually did so, when her own heart was ready. Now, from this moment on, the details are not as clear to me as the things I have shared henceforth. For Hælia never returned to us. What we know, we know only from that inner vision that is given to us from the gift that we have received, the same vision that allowed us to know about your existence and about the fact that you would return to us, unaware of who you are and of your origin.
"And so Hælia departed, and she walked among the men and women of the world far and wide. But it was nearby, in the small village of Criseä to the northeast of this place, that she at last ceased her journeys. Something happened there that has not happened for all the ages of the world. She sang alone in the woods of that region, giving voice to the ancient songs of her people—for even if she had departed from us in body, she remained one with us in spirit and in life. And a man happened upon her in these woods, and upon hearing her song and seeing her dance, he witnessed what from most human eyes is concealed: he saw the radiance of humanity in its glory undimmed. Even if for only a moment, he glimpsed our race as it was meant to be, that living flame of beauty that lives still in all of us, despite the scars and wounds that we have received as a result of our prior infidelity.
"And he drew near to Hælia and conversed with her. Long now had she spent among men, and she was neither startled nor afraid. Rather, she received him willingly and answered his questions about the song and where she had learned it, as much as she thought fitting. This was the beginning of a communion of man and woman, of two hearts, the likes of which has never been known and perhaps shall never be hence until the end of the ages. Eventually they were wed, and they lived happy years in the village of Criseä. But to their great misfortune, and to the sorrow of us all, the powers of darkness discovered this union, and despised it. Their first child was but an infant when they were forced to flee from the village and to take refuge in the mountains. But even here they could not escape, and now for perhaps the first time in centuries, the beasts of which we have already spoken emerged again from the earth and sought them out. We know not how, but they were separated, though very much against their will: the man forced to flee in order to save his son's life, while the woman, with the unique light that she bore, fled in the opposite direction, fending off the creatures as best she could.
"We felt even here the anguish of these two hearts as they were torn away from one another, and yet we also felt their bond that nothing, no distance, no pain, not even death could tear asunder. Moved by this compassion and this awareness that is limited not by space nor by time—which I know that the two of you, also, have been granted to experience in your own lives, part of the gift given to the Velasi at the beginning—I departed from the forest, and my wife with me. I then traveled to the north in search of the man and the child, whereas Seriyena moved south in pursuit of Hælia and her pursuers. I found the man in the woods of Galapteä Basin, and I drew near and spoke unto him. I counseled him to take the child and, for the present, to conceal his identity. I told him to hide himself in the village of Falstead and, even if it caused him great pain, to entrust the child to the care of another family. He said that he did not want to be separated from his own son but rather to remain always to watch over his growth unto manhood. I replied that I did not intend such a separation but that the boy's identity alone should be concealed and the necessary measures taken to that end. And so he did, allowing the boy to be raised by a family in the said village, and remaining himself as the mentor and companion of the boy's youth and adolescence. What happened after that, you already know," Silion pauses and directs his tender gaze upon Eldarien, who on receiving this information finds it difficult to breathe, his heart hammering madly in his chest.
"The man..." he whispers at last. "The man's name was..."
"Aeyden," Silion replies, "though I believe the spelling was changed when he made a new life for himself in Falstead."
"How was it spelled prior to this?" Eldarien asks.
"A-e-y-d-e-n."
"Then what you discovered was true. For I was taught to write his name A-e-d-i-n," Eldarien says, overwhelmed by the awareness that the man who throughout his youth had been such a father to him, and whom he had lost in the destruction of their village, had been his father not only in act but in bodily truth as well. "He...he loved me very well. I miss him dearly, and I always have. Father or no, he was always a father to me, just as the man whom I thought was my father, even if he is not the father of my flesh, remains a father to me still."
"You are correct in thinking so," says Silion simply. "Despite the unfortunate circumstances that surrounded your earliest years, and whether our decision to conceal you in such a way was right or wrong—I myself have my doubts—you have been granted two fathers, both of whom loved you deeply."
"Yes, and I shall never come to the end of being grateful for that," Eldarien sighs, his pounding heart quieting but his chest continuing to ache with emotion. "I only wish that I could have known the mother of my flesh as I knew also the mother of my heart, the custodian of my youth." He turns to look at Elmariyë, and their eyes interlock for a long moment, many unspoken things passing between them to which they shall seek to give words later, at the appropriate time. Then he turns his gaze back to Silion and asks, "What happened to her, to my mother? And what about...my sister?"
"Unfortunately, I was unable to find her in time," Seriyena answers in place of her husband. "She was caught and imprisoned by the powers of darkness, kept in some dark and horrid place, the location of which we still do not know. There we were unable to sense her presence clearly, though we still felt her pain, and her life...and the life that was held within her. Yes, for when Hælia and Aeyden were parted from one another, she was with child."
"But that would make Elmariyë almost the same age as myself, would it not?" Eldarien interjects.
"It would seem that way, surely," Seriyena replies. "But in fact, the time of gestation for the Velasi is different than that for ordinary women. And even for those with half-blood, which would be only the two of you, as such a union has never occurred in our long memory, the time in the womb is the same. Ten years you remained within the body of your mother; ten years Hælia held you and loved you, sheltered you and bore you, until bringing you forth into the world. A beautiful mystery and a wondrous gift this is to us from our Maker. For these years are a time of amazing communion between mother and child, in which the child grows in so many things that can be known only by the proximity of hearts, by the sharing of life, even if only after birth do they begin to learn what can only be taught through experience, and speech, and life itself."
"So I had been alive for ten years, or more than ten, rather," Eldarien says, "before my parents—I mean, our parents—were separated?"
"That is correct," Silion replies. "So Elmariyë is twelve years younger than you are, just as you had thought. It is only that each of you is ten years older than you had supposed yourself to be."
"That thought will take some getting used to," Eldarien says, with a soft laugh.
"But it, too, explains so much," Elmariyë adds, looking at him. "There is in me, as I am sure there is in you, a kind of 'memory before memory,' a wellspring of contact, of presence, and of love that lies at the foundation of my life before I even learned to speak. Here I knew the presence of love, of my mother, and I knew my own self in relation to her. From this intimate space of her and me, of the love that united us, all the rest of my life has never ceased to spring."
"Yes," Eldarien says, at first hesitantly, but then more firmly, "but I think that is in fact the case for all of humanity, for every person ever conceived and born into this world. We were only granted a deeper and more prolonged experience of the same."
"Again, you speak with wisdom and clarity," says Seriyena, a radiant smile on her face. "Such is our deepest memory not only of the love of a mother, or even, by extension, the love of a father—who is surely present and felt as well—but even more of the One whose love is at the heart of every love and whose relation to us is even more fundamental and primal than the relation of parent and child."
After a prolonged moment of silence, Elmariyë at last asks, "But what of my mother and of myself? What happened?"
"She protected you and cared for you in her captivity, enfolding you in love and sheltering you from the darkness and pain that surrounded you both," Seriyena explains. "But when you were born into this world, she realized that she could protect you no longer, at least not in the way that she had done before. And this spurred anew her efforts to escape from her imprisonment. Suffice it to say that she did so. After fleeing from whatever place held her captive, she joined up with a caravan of travelers headed for the city of Ristfand. Unfortunately, her pursuers, alerted to her escape, were not far behind. They assaulted the caravan and killed all of the travelers. But—wonder of wonders!—sometimes the littlest and most innocent are invisible to the eyes of evil and darkness, and the magic of a mother's love is more incredible than we often realize, and thus the infant Elmariyë remained concealed within the arms of her deceased mother.
"She was found alive by another passing traveler, and...well, you know the rest of the story, do you not?" Seriyena says, looking at Elmariyë. "This kind man and his wife adopted you as their own. When we at last traced the trail to your home in Telonis, we decided to allow things to remain as they were, for we could think of nowhere where you would be safer than where you were then. We also did not wish to interfere with the course that things had taken, for we saw in it plans deeper than our own."