"I have been bereaved of my parents twice over," Eldarien says when the account has concluded, "and yet I have also found a kin whom I did not know, a home deeper than memory, untouched by evil or by harm."
"That is indeed true," Seriyena says, her face touched with tender compassion as she beholds the response of these two exiled children to the words of her husband and herself. "And we understand that your hearts must walk a journey in order to understand and accept the truth that has been revealed to you."
"There is a journey of the heart before all five of us," Cirien says, looking at his companions, not only Eldarien and Elmariyë, but also Rorlain and Tilliana, who have been present silently throughout this conversation. "But we shall accompany one another through everything. I think in this I can speak for all of us. And we shall most especially walk at the side of these two children of the Velasi, come what may."
"We appreciate your presence and companionship," Elmariyë says softly. "We cherish it. And we all walk into the unknown, into great mystery, some of it bathed in immeasurable light and radiant beauty, and some of it replete with anguishing darkness and evil."
"May the light sustain us even through the darkness, and may we pass through even the darkest of darknesses unto light deeper still," Tilliana says, and the others look at her. To their surprise but also their gratitude, she appears visibly moved by all that has been recounted to her friends, almost as if it was said unto her.
"I do wish to ask, nonetheless," Elmariyë says, turning back to the Velasi after a long moment of silence in which the five companions speak to one another without words, "I wish to ask what are the implications of this truth. You speak of a journey, but it seems to me that, even if it calls for a great deal of...how can I say, adjustment...the words you speak to us offer a destination and not a journey."
"They offer a destination insofar as truth is the true home of every restless heart," Silion replies, "and the Love that has made all things the only true and enduring security and rest. It is also for you, I trust, a destination in the sense that now you know the people of your origin, your kin, as Eldarien said. But it means something else besides, to which we have not yet adequately given voice."
"What might that be?"
"I explained that the gift you bear, this gift of compassion beyond the normal confines of human feeling—though it is in reality accessible in some measure to all men who pray in truth—and also, I must add, this gift of channeling the light of the One which Hiliana has entrusted to you, comes from the mystery of your birth. But let me speak more precisely now: the gift of compassion comes through your mother, but the gift of channeling the light comes through your father."
"Through Aeyden?" Eldarien asks, not understanding. "How so?"
"Before the destruction of Falstead, there were three surviving families in whom the blood of the ancient king Sera Galaptes still flowed in some measure," Silion explains. "One was the Illomiel family, who adopted and cared for you as their own son; the name Illomiel is a distant memory written in language of the light that the king once bore in his days of glory. The other family was named the Maldrenas, all of whom were slain by the brigands who laid waste to the village. The final family was that of Aeyden Galteä, the most direct descendant of the ancient line of kings, and the most rightful heir to the throne of the Galapteä, or to speak more precisely, of the whole of Telmerion."
"Aeyden was a descendant of Sera Galaptes?" Eldarien asks. "How do you know this?"
"We have attentively followed the line for many generations," Elendras says, stepping into the conversation. "It has been my special duty and pleasure to do this. And thus it was a great sorrow to me to witness the destruction of this line...save, that is, for yourselves."
"Elendras speaks truly," Silion affirms. "But now you also see why the two of you, Eldarien and Elmariyë, were under the particular attention of our gaze and our care, even though there was very little we could do for you than to trust you to the providence that guides all things. And now we see that, even through much anguish and sorrow, we were not disappointed. For you are not only the sole surviving heirs of the high king of Telmerion but also the sole conjoining of mortal father and Velasi mother. It is in the confluence of these two gifts that lies your path and the service that you can offer to the hurting people of our age."
"If our lives were so unique and irreplaceable," Elmariyë asks, "why did you not take us into your custody and raise us to adulthood here, in the velstadeä?"
"A just question," Silion says, "though of course every life is unique and irreplaceable in equal measure, in that boundless value that lies deeper than every gift or task, every role or relation, in the relation of love that gives life, meaning, and security to all of us. But the answer to your question is simple: we were not allowed to do so. It became apparent to us that the risk we were being asked to make was to allow you to grow up, each uniquely, in the midst of the anguish and trials of our age. This, in fact, was more difficult for us than anything else that we have been asked to do in the many centuries that we have followed the line of rule since it was first sundered. But our gladness is even greater now, having made that act of faith and of trust, to see the two of you rejoined and sitting now before us, the more mature, indeed the more beautiful and compassionate, for the path that you have walked."
Eldarien nods and closes his eyes for a moment, with all eyes upon him. When he opens them, he says quietly, "I am surprised at the response that comes to me now—a response that I never thought I would give—but I can say truthfully that I am glad that it has been this way. Despite the anguish of my journey and the deep and repeated loss, and even the mistakes and infidelities that I have perpetrated, I would have it no other way. I see now, inscribed into the lines of my own life, the reality which you call providence. I see the hand of Love, and this, despite my enduring frailty and fear, gives me the courage to walk forward into whatever may await us in the future."
Elmariyë, placing her hand momentarily on her brother's hand, says simply, "I agree with everything that he has said, and I feel likewise."
Silion laughs heartily to this, a laugh of deep mirth and lightheartedness saturated in gratitude, and replies, "You are marvelous, both of you. I know no better way to say it. You bring such consolation to my heart that has weathered centuries upon centuries of strife and pain in the path of suffering that our people have walked since the beginning of time."
Bowing his head humbly, Eldarien says, "But we still do not know what this means for our path, nor is every question answered."
"Nor do I expect it to be," Silion replies.
"Why does the ancient kingship need to be reestablished?" Eldarien asks. "That is my first question."
Nodding in understanding, Silion answers, "For the same reasons that the people still ardently await the coming of the one called the Scarred King."
"And why is that?"
"Because they know that only one anointed by the light can bring together in harmony a people torn asunder by sin and strife."
"What do you mean?"
"You have the makings of a king. This none of us doubt, for we all witness it," Silion says, while Eldarien's companions nod in agreement. "But that alone is not enough to rule. The choice cannot be your own alone. Rather, for such a ministry you must be chosen, and the people have long awaited such a choice, hoped for it, even if of such a longing you have been unaware."
"The longing was there," Eldarien says softly, touched by the gazes that are directed toward him, and yet feeling very small, very inadequate, before the contours of what is beginning to emerge before him. "It was small, hardly more than a spark still alive under ashes. Yet we did yearn, as a village and as a people we did yearn, for the return of the kingship and the reunification of our scattered peoples."
"And you will find that west of the mountains, the longing is stronger tenfold, even a hundredfold. Of this, through what we Velasi have seen, we are certain," Elendras says. "Indeed, many hold the wish that the man named Wygrec Stûnclad may prove to be a ruler to unify the people. This is a large part of the fuel that drives the conflagration that is the civil war—an aspiration that is true, if misdirected both in its choice and in its methods."
"But I do not wish to be king," Eldarien says simply.
"Nay, not for yourself do you wish for this," Silion replies, a mysterious fire kindled again in his eyes as he looks at Eldarien. "But you also know that your love for your people would drive you to it, and in this you would find peace and joy."
Eldarien opens his mouth to respond but, finding no words, he closes it again. He knows that Silion speaks the truth.
"There is one final aspect of this that we must mention," Silion continues. "I have spoken of the blood of the ancient king, and I have spoken of the dual gift that comes from the mingling of this blood with the blood of the Velasi through Hælia, your mother. This part of your heritage, too, is of great importance. But in order to understand this, it is necessary to recall the gift of the Velasi: our task is that of remembrance and that of expectation. So too, you are to be the people's living memory, when all are tempted to forget. For we know that the days of the Velasi, though long-lived far beyond the span of mortal man, are limited, and they shall draw to a close. We live as enduring memory and as vigilant expectation: as memory of the revelation of love that has given rise to our belief and our conviction, our life and our worship, and as expectation for the future revelation that shall bring all partial knowledge and imperfect relationship to fulfillment, even as it carries history forward through its final stage toward its definitive consummation. But in the intervening time, when we have passed away and the final consummation has not come, many shall forget, and they shall be glad to forget. But then their children and their children's children, no longer knowing the revelation of our origin and our foundation, shall fancy for themselves what they shall believe, reaching out blindly for the One whom they once knew, but have forgotten, and yet whose face every man cannot cease to seek with his whole being.
"Indeed, it shall be a temptation for humanity throughout history: for a man to believe what he wishes to be so rather than what has been revealed unto him. Even after the coming of the definitive revelation that we await, many men shall still turn away, choosing to worship the objects of their own making, or even their own liberty and self-made freedom, rather than the Author of all things and the gift that comes from him alone. They may even worship the powers of darkness, falling to their seductions in the lusts and blindness of their hearts." He fixes his gaze anew upon Eldarien and Elmariyë, and his eyes are alight. "But you, in whose veins flows the blood both of Velasi and of mortal kind, be the living memory of the children of Eldaru. Be our hope and our expectation. Be our life and our longing, our remembrance and our future."
"But even be I the sole heir of Sera Galaptes and a child of the Velasi," Eldarien protests, "how shall men accept me as their king?"
"The unity that Eldaru wills is universal," Silion replies, "but your part in that is smaller and but for a time, an intervening step in a long journey. Yet that part shall be important enough in its own right, and indeed is irreplaceable. All I can say to you is this: do not doubt the longing in the hearts of your fellows nor their memory of the times that have been lost. Many still remember the Scarred King and look forward to him as a future hope, even as they recall him as a past hero. I say it firmly: the blood shall be revealed, and the rightful ruler shall be crowned."
"What then are we to do in the meantime?" Elmariyë asks. "What path are we to walk?"
"What path indeed?" Silion sighs. "It is not an easy path, nor does it have safety in human measure. What I see now is that your company is to travel to the city of Onylandun. There you shall find the next steps that you are to take." Then an inscrutable expression passes over his face, and he adds, "There is one more thing to say. You have received the authority to exorcise the powers of darkness, and the light given to you has saved you and your companions in the face of certain death. And yet this light was not given to you for war but for redemption."
"This much my heart tells me," Eldarien replies. "And yet what precisely do you mean? What is this redemption of which you speak?"
"I mean that the light does not operate by using power against power, might against might. Or rather, it does not save in this way. It may repel the darkness by its purging might, but its truest and deepest work goes far deeper."
"You speak of what we call bearing?" Elmariyë asks. "That is the most intimate work of the light, healing the inmost recesses deeper than any touch."
"Yes. Liberation from the assaults of darkness alone does not make a man, or a people, free," Silion explains. "For example, say that your friend has been taken captive by bandits, and, after many months of anguish and torture, you finally manage to rescue her. You slay the bandits and destroy their camp so that they can be a threat to no one any longer. Is your friend therefore free?"
"My immediate response would be 'yes'," Eldarien says, "but...no. Not only are there other bandits elsewhere who can threaten the world, but the heart of my friend, through the anguish that they have endured, has changed."
"That is correct."
"In both of these matters, resistance is not enough," Eldarien says, giving voice to his inner thoughts in speech. "There must also be a cure that goes to the root. It must heal that ill which stirs men to banditry, but it must also heal the wounds that have been inflicted by their evil in human heart and life."
"That is exactly right. Most important is that you speak of a 'cure.' Reflect upon this, and your heart will come to understand, as much as it is able: what is needed is not merely to push back against the darkness, to overcome it, but to find a cure for it, to heal it."
"My heart already knows and tells me, though the contours of this awareness are obscure," Eldarien says, turning to look at Elmariyë, then adding, "We both feel it."
"Yes," she says, "it is an awareness that has accompanied us mysteriously through every day of our lives and has only grown with the passing of the years. It is the conviction that though darkness can be resisted with power, with might, it can only be healed by suffering love."
† † †
Eldarien and Elmariyë walk together under the canopy of trees in the fading evening light, the words of the previous conversation filling their minds, or rather, the events unveiled by those words—events that lie at the origin of their own existence and also bind them together as brother and sister. They think of their parents and of the love that united them, and they sense, even at a distance of so many years and with no memory of their faces or their form, the depth and sacredness of what lived within each, and even more so the sacredness of the love that knitted their hearts and lives together, and that bore fruit in the existence of their children.
"Our lives were born from deep love," Elmariyë says, "but also from deep suffering, from profound loss."
"That was something I have known for a long time, though not in this way," Eldarien replies. "Suffering and loss have been the cradle of my life since the day I left the ruins of Falstead behind. But what I did not expect was also to find such light and such beauty even deeper, in the womb from which I was born and the begetting from which I was conceived. But knowing this, I grieve the more—I grieve at the loss of our parents, I grieve that I remember not my mother and was never able to say unto my father, 'Ta,' the true address that I felt in my heart."
"They gave everything, indeed sacrificed everything, that we might live," Elmariyë whispers. "And now we are asked to do similarly, that our people might have life in the face of death." She inclines her head and looks at her brother. "I keep turning over in my mind and heart what our mother must have suffered in that terrible imprisonment that she endured and to what lengths she went to protect me and eventually to deliver me from that place and to give me a chance at life."
"Yes, it lingers in my heart too," says Eldarien, and he takes Elmariyë's hand in his own as they walk together through the trees. "I think of those ten years at the beginning and of what she communicated to us during that time. And yet I was borne within her during the time of joy, when she and our father lived together in peace and serenity, and you were borne within her during the time of pain, when she was alone in the crucible of anguish and loss and captivity."
"But your joy turned to anguish," Elmariyë replies. "You lost all that you loved and endured a pain perhaps not unlike hers, whereas I was taken from that place of pain and welcomed into a life of peace and joy, into a family that lives unto this day. So I think that our paths have been not unlike, in joy and pain both, and most especially in the same love to which we owe everything that we are."
"Elmariyë," begins Eldarien, turning to face her and looking into her eyes, "the way that Silion spoke of love...it is unlike anything I have ever known and yet, in a way, something that I have always known. The love of which he speaks is not a mere trait of being, or even an act or disposition of human hearts toward one another. No, the love of which he speaks is real and alive, active and intelligent, present and personal. It is present in all things and yet surpasses them all, their origin and the goal toward which they tend."
"You have always known him?" Elmariyë asks. "I have."
"I think that we all know him, even if we are not yet consciously aware of it or do not acknowledge it to ourselves, for he is our deepest memory underlying every other memory. The awareness of him cradles every awareness, like the air or the light in which all is seen, or the horizon in which alone anything else is visible, and beautiful, and good."
"The Imageless who is revealed in a thousand images and yet surpasses them all, who transcends every hope and imagining and yet is more intimately close, as the fulfillment of every slightest wish or desire, than we could ever have expected him to be," says Elmariyë. "Yes, he fulfills every sigh and every prayer, their true object, and gives rest even as he enkindles in the heart the awareness of the great journey that has started from him and in him alone finds its destination and its consummation." Then she takes a step toward Eldarien and lays her head against his breast, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Let us speak no more for now," she says quietly. "I want to allow the silence to enfold us, the silence of this place, the silence of this world, which is filled with echoes of the original music vibrating through us still, as it flows on unhindered through every discord and strife toward the harmony that awaits us."
Eldarien responds simply by drawing her fully into his embrace and holding her close.
† † †
The days pass almost timelessly while the company remains in the velstadeä, each moment lingering as if a minute is an hour and an hour a day, and yet with no fatigue, surfeit, or impatience. A sunrise which in the surrounding world would burst forth with beauty and color for a few moments, enrapturing the heart and yet quickly passing on into other hues with the ascent of the sun into the sky, here in the velstadeä abides for a time that seems almost to endure as long as the contemplating heart itself remains present to it. And this contemplation itself is prolonged; an attention which is usually distracted or wearied here feels carried by some mysterious presence and continues to breathe forth, continues to spread abroad its fragrance throughout the heart, far beyond its ordinary limits, beyond the frailty that marks it in this broken world. So it is with the unique beauty of each moment of the day, be it morning, midday, afternoon, or evening, or even the depths of night.
During this time, the companions notice that the fatigue and sorrow that they have borne from their travels and their loss are eased, and they find rest of spirit and of heart. Each is also often drawn, by a longing beyond their understanding, to a grove that lies in the midst of the village, circled about with trees more ancient than they have ever seen and untouched by any of the artifice of man, be it however beautiful. In the center of this grove lies the eldest tree of all, and embedded in its trunk the crystal that, though now bereft of its original light, nonetheless serves as both memory and hope and the sign of the vigil that the Velasi keep unto this very day.
Silion makes a point of speaking also, one to one, with each of Eldarien's and Elmariyë's companions. For though the destiny of which they have spoken may not be theirs in the most specific sense, nonetheless they share in the same journey and in the same goal, and in the kinship, struggle, and sacrifice that this entails. Sitting on a bench on the edge of the village, the autumnal air quite warm and the woods glowing with their perennial light, Rorlain and Silion speak together, and the questions that the former carries within himself are able at last to find full voice. Among the other things of which they speak, Rorlain questions Silion about the reality that he came to understand in the darkness of the black castle—which he learns has been called for ages the Carotach—and Silion does not seem at all surprised by his question.
"The squire of the knight," Rorlain says, "that is what was given to me. The words are mysterious and yet full of meaning."
"As they ought to be," Silion replies. "They express a profound and beautiful reality, one which I suspect your heart already knows more deeply and intimately than your head."
"That is true. Long have I felt that my life was to be caught up in some greater cause and placed at the service of a mystery that is not my own, and yet in which I participate."
"That is the case for all of us, my friend. No man, no woman, was fashioned in order to serve himself alone, to seek only his own interests and affairs, wishes and desires. He truly comes home to himself, therefore, when he goes out of himself to another. But that is not just any other, mind you, but the Other in whom his own self adheres and from whom it is ceaselessly born in an act of ineffable kindness and tender generosity. How, in fact, could you extend yourself outward in love in such a way unless the Origin of your being, Eldaru, has first extended himself outward to give life and being to the universe and to you within it? All that you are and all that you do is but a response to this prior gift, to this prescient act of love. Or rather, what you are is the love he has for you: you are seikani, beloved and cherished. This is your being, your life, your identity...as it is uniquely, unrepeatably for each one of us. For like the light of day, the love of Eldaru shines upon all equally, and yet upon each as if it shines for him alone. But unlike the sun, it never dims or sets, and it penetrates into the heart of even the darkest nights."
"I begin to understand that of which you speak," Rorlain says in hardly more than a whisper, "but there is much in me—much indeed—that resists it. For so long, and in so many ways, I have sought to give meaning to my life by my own efforts, by this or that thing to which my heart has clung. And ever since I was shot from the bow like an arrow in flight, into the very heart of the light, I am struggling to keep up with myself. And the only way to proceed, the only way not to get bogged down, is to simply surrender myself, and to live henceforth with open and empty hands that, while receiving everything, cling to nothing."
"Your speaking thus shows that you have begun to learn the first lesson of being a child," Silion affirms with a smile, "a child of the All-Father who cares for every moment, however small, in the lives of his children. And this consoles me greatly. For if you saw the light that has touched you only as a task or a burden you must carry, however fitting and however desired, you would be doomed to fail. For the first lesson of life truly is the realization that every act of giving springs from a prior receiving, and every movement of love is but a response to love received."
Rorlain nods in silence to this, and then says, "And the receiving itself is the greatest gift, and sustains every other gift. Is this the origin of the wonder, the play, and the light-heartedness that so deeply and mysteriously pervades this village and the men and women who live herein?"
"It is the knowledge that one is loved and held, seen and cared for, and that one's life, one's every thought, desire, and act, springs forth from and within this all-enfolding love at every moment, and shall return to it again, at the end. And so it is for the whole universe," Silion replies, his smile spreading across his entire face and causing it almost to glow with warm light. "Yes, that is it in short, though an eternity of life shall not be enough to catch up with the depth and breadth of its beauty."
Both men lapse for a while into silence, and the stillness of their tongues lends to the singing of birds in the woods around them, and the soft harmonies of the wind blowing in the boughs of the trees, and the chorus of their own breathing mingling itself with the breath of the air all around them. At last, Silion speaks, "I am a song sung forth in love by the great Lover, and my whole life is a song sung back to him, or rather, sung by him in me. Thus to turn my whole being toward him, to gaze with the eyes of the heart upon his face, is to find myself in truth. It is to be what I have always been, and to find fulfillment in unsealing the song within me, that it may echo forth and join with the song that is his beyond all other songs, and yet within them, and which shall be the song of eternity in which every song lives, and is fulfilled, in the one great Music."
Rorlain nods, and then replies, "And yet the song we sing now passes through pain and strife, anguish and loss, war and death. I wish it were not so."
"As do we all," agrees Silion. "The discord of Igrandsil, and of all the infidelity that has followed upon that first act of rebellion, mars the beauty of the music unto this very day. And yet here in our sanctuary, and indeed in the stillness of our hearts, we come to understand something that the Anaion have always known. However seriously and gravely they understand evil, and mourn for it, they know that the very discordant noises that the forces of evil, and the very disorder of the human heart, sow into the fabric of the universe, are being incorporated into the one Song. They are already being made into something new, not as a mar upon its beauty, but as a proof of the Song's glory and its victory, a theme that yet enhances the current that carries it unto endless consummation without the least shadow of darkness or discord." Then Silion turns to look deeply into Rorlain's eyes, and, with genuine sorrow upon his face, he says, "But sometimes a glimpse must be enough, and then enduring trust. In the darkness at times the cacophony of voices, being so loud, so raucous, seems to be all that there is. So endure what may come with trust in the greater light, the wider harmony, which sustains the heart even when it falters."
"I do fear," Rorlain says, "I fear faltering in the face of what awaits us. And I...I fear the suffering and the death of those whom I have come to love, and for whom my heart bears great affection. I care for them, for each of them, and I wish not to lose them, nor to witness their destruction."
"And grief and fear indeed await you on your journey," Silion answers, "no matter how much I wish I could spare you of it. I cannot offer you any assurances of the future, for I myself do not know it. In this as in all other respects, I am as poor as you—as empty of hand and of heart, only to receive and to give without clinging. But I know that, whatever the future may hold, he shall be there. Never shall we be bereft of the presence of the One who made us, who holds us unceasingly in his love, and who shall carry us forward unto the destination that awaits us."
"And in that I must find my security," says Rorlain. "I understand. It is not in assurances of the future, or even of the present, that I may find security, but in that which, while beyond time, holds all of time. Yes, I glimpsed that, felt that, in Hiliana's touch in the darkness. And ever since, my heart has not been the same. It is impossible for me to forget that touch, that presence. I shall ever yearn to be in contact with it again. I only hope that this longing, and the impress of that touch, however intangible, shall carry me through everything that awaits."
† † †
It is not long, only a week, though it feels both much longer and much shorter, before they are summoned again to the council chambers. Here they are greeted by the full council of the elementari, the elders of the Velasi, who sit in the semi-circle of chairs as in audience. The five companions stand before them, and the room is filled with an aura both heavy and light. Silion speaks, and says unto them, "You leave upon the morrow. Therefore, before our parting gifts and our final farewell, I wish to ask: do any questions remain on your hearts to which you now wish to give voice, in the presence of the council, before you depart?"
Elmariyë replies, "There is indeed one question which preoccupies me."
"What is it, child?" Silion asks.
"You have said to us that the time of the Velasi is limited, that you shall not always be here to be the memory and the hope of the people. And yet in the Arechaion that you gave us to read, it says that lasting life was promised to you, to 'live for ages in expectation of the Giver's visitation, the fulfillment of his promise—and only at this time to find your life come to peaceful and joyous conclusion.' How are we to reconcile these two? Does that mean that such a visitation is near?"
"I understand your confusion. There are many visitations, some more evident and some more concealed, but the visitation of which you speak is many centuries hence. We know not the time, but we know that much still humanity needs to be taught, and much needs to happen, until the soil is prepared for the seed, until the heart of man is prepared to accept."
"Then shall you not remain here until that time?"
"We know not the the fullness of the One's future intentions concerning us, but we are confident in his promise. He has promised his presence with us, and our endurance in vigil until the definitive revelation, but little more than that can we cling to for security, nor is it necessary to do so. What awaits us in the centuries between then and now, we know not. But whatever it may be, we trust that it is held always by the One who has promised to keep guard over us in the shelter of his presence."
"You stand within a great mystery," Elmariyë remarks simply.
"That is true for all of us," agrees Silion, and then he asks again, "Are there any other questions?"
A long moment of silence follows, and Silion is about to speak again when Tilliana says, "We have found here both questions and answers in abundance, like the start of a great journey—the greatest journey of all. But it feels unfitting to give voice to these questions now, as the path they mark out is not one that grasps for immediate clarity, but rather opens yet more deeply into mystery, into trust, and only thus into knowledge both intimate and true."
"Does Tilliana speak for all?" Silion asks, looking upon the travelers. They all nod or gesture in agreement, and so he says, "Very well then. I am consoled, for she speaks with wisdom and understanding. We shall therefore proceed." With this he turns to another of the elementari, a man whom they have not yet met.
This man steps forward and speaks, "You have already spoken of your next destination, this Silion has explained to us. You go to Onylandun, and there you shall find war and bloodshed. There, too, you shall have conflict with the beasts fashioned by evil craft from the bowels of the earth. And so we offer you, we seven elementari, the blessing that we bear from ancient days, that it may go with you and give you strength."
And the Velasi who sit before them then stand, and, raising their hands in blessing, sing a song in rich harmonies that fills the room—indeed as it were fills the entire village—with its music. It permeates not only the ears, but the whole body, saturating it with its melodies and its chords, as voices rise and fall and interweave, playfully dancing about one another and melding together into unity which does not quell their uniqueness, but rather unseals, deepens, and affirms it. And the blessing does strengthen the hearts of the companions, anointing them as an oil that brings vigor and life, taking up abode within them, whatever it may be; perhaps it is the music itself.
When the song has concluded, Silion steps forward and says, "I knew Sera Galaptes. As did many of us who dwell here. He was the last mortal man to step foot within the veiled space of the Velasi, and to be acquainted with us directly. He was a just king, and merciful, and he held many peoples in peace and harmony for numerous years. Our hopes and prayers now rest with you, in the desire and expectation that you shall become as he was, perhaps more, and shall bring about a similar harmony. For the land of Telmerion, indeed all the ends of the earth, are crying out for such unity and such peace. Do your small part, for that is all that is asked of you. As others have come before, so others shall follow after. And in all things, we wish you to live in the place deeper than all, in the depths of the sanctuary of the heart, enduring and unchanging, where kings neither come nor go, nor does strife and division mar, but the one King rules over us all, and from this place to find the strength, the wisdom, and the lightness of heart to walk the path before you, and to become forgers of peace and harmony."
At this, Seriyena joins him and stands at his side. And they give unto the five companions gifts fitting uniquely unto each. To Rorlain they impart a great shield etched with the seal of the Galapteä of old, which was also the sign of the unified peoples of Telmerion; large but light, it is plated with the same metal, myellion, of which the lightbringer was forged, with a strap by which it may be slung onto one's back for easy carrying during travel. "This shall deflect any blow or stop any arrow," Silion says, as he places the shield in Rorlain's hands. "You are the squire of the knight, and may you also be his shield. May you indeed be the shield of all the defenseless and the protector of the weak. For though a squire you be, you are also this day knighted, a warrior of the light."
Unto Cirien they give a thick book, bound in faded leather and tied with a clasp. With a knowing smile, Seriyena says, "To assuage, and yet to deepen, the wonder and curiosity that you bear within. Much that you have long sought you shall learn in these pages, and the history of your people and of our own you shall discover from those whose memory is not marred by forgetfulness." Cirien, receiving the book, bows slightly in thanks, as the two gift-givers pass on to the next in line.
To Tilliana they give a leather-bound diary with thin and delicate pages, accompanied by a quill and a bottle of ink protected within an ornate wooden box. "That you may cherish and remember," Seriyena says with gentleness, "both the past and the present, and indeed the future as well, a future which you had nearly lost but, through love, have found anew."
"Eldarien, Eldarien," Silion says, standing before him. "You carry a great weight, but may you carry it lightly. For that is how Eldaru holds the world, and we can do no other than share in his love, his life, and his creativity. Like a young child's nursery games, so is the world to its Maker. And yet also with a deeper seriousness and gravity—and yet freer, happier, and more playful—is his compassion and care for us. That is my prayer for you, and my heart's desire: that you may know the lightness of the One even as you share in his compassion and in his care, and in the suffering that channels healing light into the darkest of places." He then draws forth from his robes a tunic of cloth neatly folded. Its color is a white of a richness that appears both bright and subtle when struck by the light, intense and yet sober, such that in one glance it almost appears to glisten like silver and in another glance it seems to be akin to the tone of soft granite or fur. "This tunic is both light and warm, and shall not burden you in the heat while still providing surprising warmth during the chill. It is one of the unique artifacts of our creation, unknown outside the confines of the velstadeä. I hope that you find it of great use."
To Elmariyë, last of all, Silion speaks. "And what can I give to the daughter of the Velasi, who already wears her mother's ring?" And at her expression of surprise, he smiles and laughs softly. "Oh yes, though we did not speak of it, I saw it upon your finger. You knew, and did not think to ask: it was hers. I hope you take solace in its band around your finger, and in her blood flowing through your veins."
"I do," replies Elmariyë, "but I also wanted to ask: what is the tower that is upon the design?"
"Metalworks are rare among us," answers Silion, "for we wish not to depart from the garden sanctuary that is ours. Though if necessary, not far from here is a small quarry, still hidden by the forest, and at times some of us have gone there, drawn by the longing to witness and to fashion beauty also in stone and in precious metal—though for us even a pebble along the path is equally precious in its own way. The ring that you wear was fashioned by one such...by Haelia's father, in fact, though that was many years ago. With the full womanhood of his daughter, when she was thinking of departing from our land, he bestowed this ring upon her as a gift, a sign of his paternal love and of his intimate trust in her heart and the song that it sought to sing. So before answering your question, then, I say this: wear the ring likewise, in remembrance of the love with which it was both wrought and given."
Elmariyë smiles to this, and nods in agreement, though too moved for words.
Silion continues, "Now for the answer: the design of the tower upon the ring is the ancient citadel of the king, Sera Galaptes, high in the Teldren Mountains, long abandoned and even forgotten by men, but remembered still by us in all of its glory. It is fitting, thus, that you wear its design upon your hand, for one day you may stand again among its halls, restored to former glory."
Then Silion takes a step back and, looking at both Elmariyë and Eldarien with a playful glimmer in his eyes, he says, "The final thing I wish to give I cannot give to one of you alone, but I must give it to both of the siblings, brother and sister alike. I would like you to meet Meldaris and Martinia, the parents of your mother—I believe you call them grandparents. They shall give each of you a parting token, and then we shall grant you time to speak together to your hearts' content."