Chapter 24: A Parting of Ways

 

Brandyé and Elven soon discovered the Hochträe, or Naiya, were a generous people, with food, time and stories. They learned that the majority of their population lived in the highest valleys that existed between the peaks of the Reinkrag, which they called the Dragoshi, which meant Dragon’s Teeth. These valleys were often filled with snow except in the warmest summer months, and he came to understand that they lived in harmony with the weather.

In the peaks, though, lived a much smaller number of their people, and this was where they had been taken when they were rescued. Here, amid impossible structures and high towers, lived those who had chosen to renounce the daily struggles of life, and here they spent their days thinking, meditating and, as far as Brandyé could tell, enjoying life.

There was a certain reverence that seemed to be held for these folk, for every so often people from the valleys would ascend to the high places, and when they did they were treated with the utmost respect and courtesy. The high folk, or Hirani, of course returned this respect and invited them into their lives, to partake in their daily routines of meditation, exercise and rest.

So relaxing was the lifestyle here that Brandyé soon found himself quite at home, despite struggling to understand much of their language. Their speech was so different to either his own or even that of the Cosari that he was just as lost in their conversations as he had been when he had first met Khana, but he found that their manner of speaking was rather poetic, and filled with imagery, when they spoke with him in his own tongue. They continued to refer to him as the ‘gray one’, which he found odd, though not in the least offensive, for indeed his gray hair and eyes were certain justification, although he would have preferred to be known simply as Brandyé.

Elven, on the other hand, seemed less than satisfied among the Hochträe, and grew ever more restless as the days and weeks progressed. He sent Sonora with a letter to Talya, and could be found pacing the stairways and platforms of the Hirani’s abode, wringing his hands and muttering to himself for the days it took for Sonora to return with a reply. Once he had read it he seemed to calm somewhat, though Brandyé could nonetheless tell that he was unsettled here.

It was not long, therefore, before a tension began to grow between Brandyé and Elven – one of whom would have been content to spend the rest of his days here, and the other who had no desire but to return. It became such that the two friends spoke less and less to each other, much as they had done amongst the Illuèn. Brandyé was saddened for this, and knew that sooner or later the subject of their future must be broached, but in the meantime he was enjoying his time with Nisha and the others too much to be overly concerned.

Nisha in particular seemed to be seen as a kind of elder master, and was greatly respected even by the other Hirani. Brandyé felt privileged to have been taken into his home and cared for by him, though the others insisted it could have been no other way – Nisha was recognized as the most accomplished healer they had ever known, and Brandyé could not deny that in the few days he had spent with him, the pain in his chest had all but gone, and his coughs were now few and far between. He wondered sometimes what Elven thought of that, but again felt too good in himself to worry overly about it.

Nisha was full of stories, also, and it was from him that Brandyé learned the history of the Hochträe, and why they, among all the peoples of Erâth, seemed uninfluenced by Darkness.

“The Duithèn come to us,” Nisha said, “but we turn from them. No strength they have, we say.” He smiled. “Angry, they are – one other people only, they cannot turn.”

“When was this?” Brandyé asked. He was perplexed that the Hochträe seemed to have no concept of the past – their speech centered always on the present, and occasionally, on the future.

Nisha shook his head gently, his long beard swaying. “I know not. Many thousands of years.”

“Before the War of Darkness,” Brandyé said to himself.

“War, yes,” Nisha said. “There is war, and death…we do not make war.”

Brandyé was intrigued. “Yet you train yourselves in the arts of battle – I see how strong and powerful your people are.”

“Ah – do not mistake strength for war. Many people believe, if they can fight, then they must. We know that, if you can not fight, then you die.”

And so Brandyé learned that the Hochträe were masters of martial arts, yet chose not to use their skills in battle. This fascinated him, and over time, he came to learn some of their skills, though he was never even close to as adept as the masters of their arts, and Nisha was considered a master among masters.

For a while Brandyé pondered Nisha’s words, and something he had said stayed with him. Once evening, as the sun was setting and the stars to the east were beginning to show, he asked him, “You said the Duithèn tried to turn you – and others, as well. One other, you said, they could not turn. What do you mean?”

“You know the strength of the Duithèn,” Nisha said. Brandyé nodded, for he knew it only too well. “You see the low peoples – Erârün, Kiriün – always in cloud. Never happy, always scared; this is the Duithèn. They make the land dark, and so the people are dark. It is their wish to make Erâth dark, from east to west, and north to south. They are almost finished.”

“They are trying to kill the people of Erârün,” Brandyé said.

“They try to kill the light. If men resist the Duithèn, they must die.”

“Then why do they leave you alone?”

“There are things the Duithèn can not do. They can not turn minds that have no Darkness. We try, every day, to live with no Darkness. Some days, better than others.” Nisha chuckled. “Even I am not perfect.”

“But surely they could kill you?”

“Ah – you see, the Duithèn do not wish to kill. They wish to be masters of Erâth, above all other peoples. When they kill, they hope to frighten. And we are not frightened by them.”

“So your people don’t fear death?”

Nisha shrugged. “Death is part of life, like birth. It happens, and man is fool to think he can stop it.”

“You know Death?” Brandyé asked.

“I know the Namirèn,” Nisha replied. “They visit us, sometimes.”

“Death have visited me, also. And Light. Do your people dream?”

“Ah – a powerful word! Inasa-Hinari, we call it – inner light. We dream, sometimes.”

“I saw Death, in a dream. I have seen many things in a dream.”

“You see the answer to your question, I think,” Nisha suggested.

For a moment, Brandyé was confused, having forgotten his original question. Then he recalled, and said, “I have seen the other people the Duithèn could not influence?”

“You know them well, for you ride on the back of the beast.”

For a moment, Brandyé felt the familiar tingle he would get whenever Ermèn said something about him that he had never revealed. He had himself nearly forgotten the images he had had as a child, of soaring high above plains of battle and death, of speeding downward toward his foe, unleashing great jets of flame and heat…

“The dragons,” he breathed.

Nisha nodded. “Drago, indeed, and the Dragomi – Dragon Lords.”

“I thought they were myth.”

“Brandyé,” Nisha chided, “you should know better. Myth is but fact that becomes story. And stories of the Dragomi, we have many. Even your grandfather tells these stories.”

“How do you know so much about me?” Brandyé asked. “Do you know someone called Ermèn?”

But Nisha shook his head. “I am afraid I do not. You reveal much of yourself, Brandyé; it is easy for an old man to see.”

For a moment Brandyé felt as he had done with Ermèn: transparent, as though every detail of his life was exposed to Nisha without his being aware. It was unsettling, and he wondered what an enemy would make of such obviousness. Then his thoughts turned once more to the Dragon Lords, and he opened his mouth to ask Nisha about them, but almost as if to prove his prior thought, Nisha spoke first.

“You wish to know more of the Dragomi,” he said, and Brandyé could but nod. “Our myth, our monari, says that the Dragomi live far to the north, after the Dragoshi and the dead lands beyond. But they may live no more, for we do not see them for many ages.”

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” Brandyé asked, uncertain how long ‘many ages’ might be, nor quite how old Nisha was himself.

Nisha laughed. “Oh, no – not in my life. Many thousands of years, it is. I am old, but not so old! A dream indeed, to see a drago.”

“What became of the Dragon Lords? What do your stories – your monari – tell?”

“Of their ending, it is not known to us. When the Duithèn fall, the Dragomi return to their home, and there they stay. There they live, there they die – who knows?”

“And now that the Duithèn are returning?”

Nisha shrugged – a common gesture, it seemed. “Perhaps they return, perhaps not. The Dragomi have little interest in Erâth.”

“Yet…they fought. They fought against the forces of Darkness in the great war. They must have some interest.”

“Do you know where the Drago come from?” Nisha asked him. Brandyé shook his head. “Other creatures turn into Drago, formed in Darkness. An old Darkness this is, and not under the power of the Duithèn. Older than the Naiya; older than our monari.”

Brandyé felt a small shiver in him. “They are powerful, the dragons.”

Nisha bobbed his head. “Do you know the tale of Goroth? How it is a Drago that brings him down?”

Brandyé thought back to the record of Daevàr he had read in Vira Weitor. “A dragon and its lord brought Goroth to his knees, so that Daevàr could slay him.”

“Some monari tell of how the Dragomi takes the sword of Goroth, and not Daevàr. Think of such power as is Goroth, and think of what power defeats it!”

“Namrâth,” Brandyé said aloud. “You think the Dragon Lords took it?”

“Where is it?” Nisha pointed out. “Does no one know?”

“They say it fell into the sea.”

Nisha shrugged again. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who knows? Perhaps it is hidden in a cave of the Dragomi, waiting.”

Brandyé felt another chill. “Waiting? Waiting for what?”

“What every sword waits for: to be wielded.”

For a moment, Brandyé thought long and hard. He tried to recall what he knew of the final battle between Dark and Light; how the dragons had come, how Goroth was brought to his knees and slain with his own dark blade. He recalled Daevàr’s words, that he had awoken in a tent, with no knowledge of the terrible sword’s fate. What if the Dragon Lords had in fact taken the blade with them, hidden it in a place no one would dare to venture? But the Dragon Lords might well be no more, according to Nisha; and then a dreadful thought occurred to him.

“Nisha – what would happen if the Duithèn found Namrâth?”

At this question, Nisha’s expression seemed to sober. “I do not believe the Duithèn can find it,” he said. “It holds their power, yes – but it is a creation of man. Man only can wield the weapon; man only can find it.”

Unbidden, the thought of the black dagger in the marketplace of Daevàr’s Hut came to Brandyé’s mind. He had found that blade instinctively, as though it had called to him to grasp its hilt. The same blade that now stood, alone and abandoned, in the floorboards of Reuel’s old home. He had lost it as easily as he had found it; what if it had not been meant for him? He recalled the knifemonger’s words: That’s a bad blade, son – you’ll not want that. And if it had not been meant for him, who should have found it? Who in Consolation would have been so invested in Darkness that the Duithèn would have wanted them to find the blade?

Slowly, he turned his gaze to Nisha again, his eyes cold and serious. “What would happen if the armies of Darkness should find Namrâth?”

Nisha, however, seemed calm as he said, “It finds its way into the hands of a man, and like Goroth, that man becomes an akushi: a demon.”

“And what if someone else should find it?”

“It is a powerful weapon, against the Duithèn or for them,” Nisha said. “Maybe they can be defeated, even.”

For some days after this conversation, Brandyé considered Nisha’s words. He felt dreadfully unsettled, and wondered at his feeling that he looking for something, though he knew not what. Some small voice in the back of his mind told him that that thing was Namrâth, that somehow he needed to find Goroth’s black blade. He was unsure even what he would do with it if he did find it, and he had not a clue where to begin. But for the first time in many months, Brandyé felt as though he had discovered a genuine purpose, something that he – and he alone – was meant to do. Somehow, he told himself, possessing the great blade of death would help him in his resistance against the Duithèn.

Eventually, he came to discuss his thoughts with Elven, who listened carefully as Brandyé explained the fate of the Dragon Lords, the possibilities of finding Namrâth, and the pull he felt to set out on a new journey, one with a true purpose this time.

And when he was finished, Elven said to him, “Brandyé, you are my friend. You always have been, and you always will be. But you are being a complete fool, to think that you can find some mythical sword that may not even exist.”

Brandyé had not been certain what Elven’s reaction would be, but he was nonetheless hurt to hear such words. “It isn’t a myth, Elven! Namrâth exists, I am certain of it. It wasn’t destroyed during the War of Darkness.”

Elven gazed upon his friend with a look that was almost pitying. “What war, Brandyé? Something that may or may not have occurred some thousands of years ago? What do you know of these things? What you read on a piece of paper?”

Brandyé felt himself beginning to turn red in the face. “It was an account from Daevàr himself, Elven. Daevàr – the same person Daevàr’s Hut is named after. You can’t deny that there is a connection there.”

“It’s myth and legend, Brandyé; these things are not real anymore.”

“How can you say that?” Brandyé protested. “The wolves and beasts we fought in the Rein are not real?”

“But they are!” insisted Elven. “They are real, not some notion of Darkness long past.”

“You told me only too recently that you believed there were powers that influence the world – that there’s an unnatural Darkness settling on Erâth! Were you only placating me?”

Elven looked shocked. “I would never lie to you. I do believe in these forces, these…creatures, the Duithèn. But to hold faith in stories from the past, that some mysterious sword can somehow defeat them…it’s folly, Brandyé! The armies of Darkness don’t care what sword you wield – they’ll kill you all the same. It’s there, in the Rein, in the face of the enemy – that’s where Darkness will be defeated. And all you’re doing is running from it!”

“I can’t go back,” Brandyé said bitterly. “There’s nothing for me there.”

“And I can’t stay here,” Elven replied, shaking his head. “I’ve come this far with you Brandyé, to protect you, to help you; but my calling is behind me, with the people of Erârün. They’re dying, Brandyé – and that is something I can do something about.”

“Your calling is with Talya,” Brandyé spat, knowing even as he said it that it was an unfair thing to say.

“You have no right to speak about her,” Elven said, a sudden danger in his voice. “For months I’ve put up with you and Elỳn—”

“Elỳn is a higher creature than either of us,” Brandyé interrupted. “You owe her your respect. She fought the enemy before you were born – she made it possible for all of this to be at all!” He gestured wildly around him.

“And what if she did?” Elven retorted. “What is she doing now? She courts the politicians and counsellors of the king, while real people are dying! Where was she when your own soldiers were ambushed? Where was she when Talya nearly lost her life?”

“I don’t want to hear about Talya!” Brandyé knew he was succumbing to a fierce jealousy, and found he did not care. “Go, and be with her, if she’s so important!”

“She is important to me,” Elven said, his voice suddenly soft. “But no more important than you, Brandyé. I fear for you. I’m afraid of what will become of you if you insist on chasing old tales of the past.”

Brandyé could feel a wealth of emotion flooding through him: anger, jealously, sadness, regret and guilt. “What else do I have?” he cried. “Everywhere I have gone, I’ve brought death and Darkness. I can’t continue to hurt everyone around me! I won’t bring destruction on an entire kingdom!”

“You give yourself too much credit, I think,” Elven said with a hint of derision. “The armies of Darkness would be prowling the Rein without you.”

“Then why only when I arrive do they mount their first organized assault? Why when I arrive do more people die than in the past hundred years?”

“Listen to me,” said Elven fiercely. “There is no knowing what could have, or would have been. There is only what is. This is something your friends here, the Hochträe, understand instinctively. Have you not noticed? They do not speak of the past!”

“Then what am I to do, when the past consumes me? Why can’t you understand what I need to find?”

“I can’t! I can’t understand why you need to find some stupid sword!”

“It isn’t a sword, Elven – it’s my salvation. If I can find a way to rid this world of Darkness, then maybe…maybe I can find a way to live with what I have done. Maybe I can find redemption!”

“What in Erâth do you need redemption from?”

“Don’t you know?”

“You can’t mean…after all these years? After my forgiveness, and my family’s?”

“Her death haunts me every waking moment of every day!”

“Sonora’s death was not of your doing! We’ve spoken of this!”

“It was my bow! My arrow!” Tears were in Brandyé’s eyes, and they hid the tears in the eyes of his friend. “There are only two ways I can see to right that wrong! Either I must rid the world of Darkness – I, myself – or…”

“Or what?” Elven asked, after Brandyé failed to speak for a moment.

“Or her death must be redeemed by my own.”

“So that’s what this is really about! Your insistence on pushing yourself beyond your own limits, rushing into places that are beyond dangerous…you’re trying to kill yourself!”

Brandyé felt his lip quiver. “What else can I do?”

“You can live! You can come with me, return to Erârün, and fight Darkness in a very real way, in a way that matters!”

But Brandyé shook his head. “I can’t.”

A look of great sadness came over Elven’s face then, and he said, “And I can’t continue with you. I won’t watch as you destroy yourself.”

And then there were no more words to be said, and with a profound sense of loss that mirrored what he felt for his grandfather, Brandyé walked away and spent the rest of the day in solitude. He knew, he was certain, what he could and could not do, and did not know how to convince Elven of this fact. Likewise, Elven seemed just as certain of his own destiny, and it tore at his heart that they did not seem to share the same one. It was only then, at the closing of the day as the sun’s crimson light flooded over him, that he recalled Khana’s words, from what seemed now so long ago: Still… again we may meet, my heart speaks. By no chance it is, that we should have met. By no chance was it that he and Elven should have met again in the forests of the Trestaé, and thus it was by no chance that they now seemed to be parting. He could only hope that it would not be for the last time.

As it happened, they did not part for some time after their argument, for the season was growing cold, and the Hochträe insisted that Elven would not survive a journey alone through the Reinkrag in the snows. For once Elven’s stubbornness was defeated, and for the following months as the days grew short and dark, Elven remained among them, and nonetheless kept Brandyé company. They did not speak of their imminent parting, and took the opportunity rather to speak tenderly as friends, as they had so rarely had the opportunity to do.

Brandyé also spent much time with Nisha, seated near his warm stove on cold nights, sometimes with stars gleaming in the windows and sometimes snow falling fast and furious against the glass, incensed tea and spiced curries filling the air. He was enthralled by Nisha’s stories of things that were, or rather that are, for as Nisha said, “All things are, now and then. Who are we to say what is and what is not?”

It was on one of these evenings that Brandyé had a dream, unlike any that he had had before. Nisha often smoked a heavily-scented pipe in the evenings, and Brandyé had come to share this with him on occasion. The smoke lightened his mind and made him feel quite giddy, and often he would find humor in things that during the day would have passed him by as quite serious, and he and Nisha would laugh together long into the night.

On one particular evening, Brandyé had perhaps partaken more of the weed than usual, and the thought of Elven’s leaving once more entered his thoughts. The worst of the winter had passed, and it was likely that come the end of the current snowfall, Elven would begin his preparations to return to Erârün. They had spoken only briefly about it, but it was the consensus of the Hochträe that Elven ought to take a path due south, that would quickly lead him to lower mountains and eventually into the vicinity of Vira Weitor itself. The journey would be one of several months, but it was suspected that no creatures of Darkness roamed those lands, and that his passage would be quite safe.

His own journey, however, he thought would not be so unchallenged. Brandyé was still uncertain what he was do to from here, his only certainty being that he must find the remains of Namrâth, wherever it might lie. It continued to frustrate him that Elven could not see the importance of this, and he spoke of it to Nisha.

“Every man has a road,” Nisha said in reply, “and you know this. Elven’s road is not yours. Your destination is hidden from him. He sees only his own.”

“And what is that?” Brandyé asked. The room was gently spinning around him, but he relaxed into the stuffed sack that was his chair, for the sensation was not unpleasant.

“Only he knows. And perhaps not even then. Is your destination known to you?”

“I know I must find Namrâth,” Brandyé insisted.

“Ah – Owar-Shi. You are bound to it.”

“It seems to be.”

Nisha made a gesture with his hands, palms open and outward toward Brandyé. Brandyé, in his fluid state of mind, hardly noticed. “But you already have a sword – Fahnat-om. What do you do with another?”

“It isn’t for me,” Brandyé said lazily. “It is for the ending of the Duithèn.”

“But it is not their end you find. End of Eternity, in your tongue; Eternity’s Death, in ours. What does that mean?”

“It had another name, once,” Brandyé said.

Nisha nodded. “Peace, its other name is – Hai. But which will you find?”

This thought struck Brandyé as suddenly profound, and for a moment he lost himself in it – what was the difference, he wondered, between peace and death? And as he began to drift into sleep, it occurred to him that they might in fact be the same thing.

Before long Brandyé was turning gently this way and that, his eyes moving behind closed lids, and deep in his mind he was suddenly in another place, far from the Hochträe and their mountains, far from Elven and his destiny, and in a place that was unlike any other he had known, whether dream or reality.

Around him as far as the eye could see was rock, towering high into great peaks and mountains. Yet they were not the granite of the Reinkrag or the smooth stone of the Trestaé; these rocks were black, and sharp, and even the gravel Brandyé stood upon was as tiny shards of glass. The air was thick and hot, and scented with sulphur, and Brandyé found it difficult to draw breath. The sky was red, thick with black clouds, and here and there ash drifted through the air.

Yet as oppressive as the atmosphere was, as dark as it was, Brandyé did not feel the presence of Darkness itself, of the Duithèn. A different power was here, once he could feel in the air, and it was dark, but not evil.

As he stood and looked about him, he began to feel a draw upon him to move, to climb these sharp rocks and search for something, and he wondered if it might be Namrâth. Unlike the dreams of his youth, Brandyé began almost to feel a sense of excitement, for he had come to recognize his dreams for what they seemed to be: premonitions of things to come. And he wondered what was to come in this dream.

But for a long while, it seemed, nothing at all was coming. For an age he walked among the rocks, climbing up and down then here and there, cutting his hands and fingers on their edges so that they bled openly and hurt terribly, but there seemed to be nothing to find – no sign that he was meant to go in any one direction or another. Unlike the great, abandoned city by the sea, there was no sorrowful statue to tell him which way to go; unlike the dread plains of Darkness, there was no Schaera to guide him.

And so he went on, for hour after hour, until finally, exhausted, he came to rest by the mouth of what seemed to be a shallow cave. The light was poor and the depths of the cave in utter black, but the curve of its walls suggested it did not go deep into the mountain. Brandyé sat with his back to the rock, and gathered his breath, and was perplexed.

Never in one of his dreams had he gone so long with no sign of what he was there for. He was just beginning to think that perhaps this was nothing more than a delusion from Nisha’s pipe-smoke, and that he would return to the Hochträe empty-handed, when out of the silence came a greeting, of sorts.

It was a voice – so much he was certain of. But it was unlike any voice he had ever heard. Out of the silence it came, yet the silence somehow remained unbroken nonetheless. The tones were guttural and savage, and yet Brandyé heard them and knew their meaning as though they were spoken in his own tongue.

What are you, small-one?

Brandyé sat bolt upright and looked about him, but there was nothing to be seen.

I see you move, small-one. Answer to me.

Brandyé began to feel a shiver of fear, for he still could see no speaker, and the voice was not peaceful. “I…I am Brandyé.”

There was silence for a long moment. That is not all.

“Do you mean my name?” Brandyé asked timidly.

That is not all, the voice repeated.

“Brandyé Dui-Erâth is my full name,” Brandyé said, “grandson of Reuel Tolkaï.”

Ah, said the voice. A name of the ancient speech. “THEETAE-TÛ ERÂTHEET?”

The voice roared so loud and so sudden that Brandyé jumped, and let out a small cry of surprise. “I’m sorry?”

Perhaps not. Whence come you, Brandyé Dui-Erâth?

“I…I am from the land of Consolation,” Brandyé replied, uncertain if this was exactly what the disembodied voice meant.

What is Consolation?

“Comfort after sorrow,” Brandyé said, suddenly remembering words from long ago.

Ah! A good answer, said the voice. There has been much sorrow.

This was something Brandyé thought he could agree upon. “Too much,” he said. “I am looking for a means to end it.”

Once again, there was a great silence. You are curious, small-one. This is a world of sorrow. You seek to end the world?

“No,” Brandyé protested. “I seek to put an end to those who insist on its being so.”

Hm. What if I am one of those?

This was a thought that made Brandyé suddenly very nervous, for this voice, as-yet unseen, sounded dreadfully powerful. “Are you?”

I have dwelt in sorrow for longer than you can imagine, small-one. End what you will, this will continue to be a world of sorrow for some.

“Perhaps I misspoke,” Brandyé said hastily. “Do you know of the Duithèn? I am looking to end Darkness in the world.”

Perhaps you do misspeak, the voice said, and there was a dangerous threat in it now. Darkness may not be ended. It is as eternal as Light, Life, Death, Power, and Wisdom.

“You speak of the original powers of Erâth,” Brandyé whispered. “But then you must know that many of those powers are now ended; Darkness, the Duithèn – they triumph over all!”

Then they triumph. It is of little concern to me.

“Why is that?” Brandyé asked, half-afraid of the answer.

Because I am the original Darkness! the voice roared. The Duithèn have no power over me.

Brandyé flinched to hear the fury in the voice’s words, and began to take a step back from the cave.

Why do you flee? the voice said, suddenly soft. There is no escape.

“You are very powerful,” Brandyé said truthfully, “and I’m frightened.”

Brandyé thought he heard a faint laugh. You have some wisdom in you, small-one. Frightened indeed.

“Will you show yourself?” Brandyé asked tentatively.

Then you will be frightened indeed.

“I’ve seen some of the most dreadful creatures this world has to offer,” Brandyé said with false bravery, for he wanted to see this voice despite all. “How bad could you be?”

Then there truly was laughter, an echoing, dismal sound that rang in Brandyé’s mind and caused him to shut his eyes in pain.

You close your eyes at my voice, small-one – how will you see my form?

“I think I know you,” Brandyé said. “I would have my doubts proven.”

Your fate is mine, small-one. I hope you have wisdom enough to see it.

Despite the knowledge that this must only be a dream, a vision, Brandyé nonetheless felt a genuine fear in him at this. He wondered what would happen to him if he were to die in a dream. “If you will not show yourself, will you answer a question?”

Why should I answer any question of yours?

Boldly, Brandyé put forth, “You have not killed me yet – you must have some curiosity. Answer a question of mine, and I will answer any of yours.”

Hm. Wisdom and perception. Perhaps I will only maim you. Speak your question, and we will see.

Taking a deep breath, Brandyé asked, “Do you know where I can find Namrâth?”

For such a long time was there silence that Brandyé thought perhaps the voice had left, unwilling to answer such a question. But finally Brandyé felt a stirring from the cave, and then came: That answer is not for you to know. To find Namrâth is to find your death.

Frustrated, Brandyé insisted, “But do you know?”

Enough! commanded the voice. I will not answer that question. Ask me another.

“That’s the only question I have,” Brandyé said.

Then I will ask one of you. You say you seek to destroy the Duithèn. How do I know you would not restore the black blade to them?

“Ah-ha!” Brandyé cried. “You do care about the fate of Darkness in this world.”

He felt another stirring in the cave. Do not presume to trick me, small-one. I said I do not care, and care I do not. The black blade is lost, and lost it must remain. Any who find it are bound to fall to its power, and so must die. Only a fool or a servant of the Duithèn would seek it. And, despite everything, you do not strike me as a fool.

“Then why does it matter if I find it or not?” Brandyé pressed.

I am not beholden to you to explain, said the voice. But the blade is hidden, and so it shall ever remain.

Brandyé breathed a sigh of frustration. “Then I have nothing left to ask of you. I will leave.”

You will not leave, the voice insisted. Your answer was not satisfactory.

“Nor was yours!”

Silence! I am lord here, and you will never leave this place!

But Brandyé turned, and began to walk away from the cave. Suddenly an enormous roar followed him, and a wave of heat singed his back. YOU WILL NOT TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!

Brandyé turned again, suddenly furious. “Then show yourself!”

Very well. And then, from deep within the cave, there came a rustling, and movement, and then before Brandyé could even move, a fierce, flaming wall of fire was expelled from its depths, and as the giant hove into view, he was consumed.

Chapter 23: The People of the Mountains

Though the mountaintop they had climbed to soared above the clouds, it was yet low compared to the giants of the Reinkrag. Brandyé knew that if they continued to climb much further they would end up making their way through snow as much as rock, and they had only a little food left with them. However, his desire to keep within view of the sun kept them aloft, and for some days they made their way through snow and stone, and for Brandyé the glorious light from above more than made up for the dreadful illness he was now suffering. At this high altitude daily he weakened, pausing for rest now so often that they made less than a mile or two each day.

To Elven this was all folly, and he did not even understand what was pushing Brandyé to continue forward at all – what was he expecting to find? But there was no arguing with him, and he eventually resolved to simply drag Brandyé down the mountain once he finally collapsed from exhaustion.

Unfortunately, this was something that would be increasingly difficult to do. When they had descended the eastern ridge of the summit atop which they had seen the sun, it was to find themselves on a series of long, high protuberances that went on for many miles, near vertical drops on either side. From here it was a precarious journey to pick their way across the broken rock, every loose stone threatening to tumble them into the void and to their deaths. Matters were not aided by the clouds that blew past and around them, propelled by the high winds rising from the south. Sometimes there were flurries of snow, and Elven soon became used to his fingers being almost constantly numb. There were no fires up here, and he could not even walk with his hands in his pockets, for he needed them to cling to the sides of cliffs.

Finally came the morning when they ate their last piece of dried meat, and discovered there were only a few drops of water left in the water bottles. “We must descend now,” Elven insisted.

Brandyé felt his heart torn, but he knew that Elven spoke the truth. He also knew that, all the motivation in Erâth aside, he could not continue pushing himself day after day. If he did not take the time to recover from his cold, he might well develop a worse illness – perhaps a fatal one. He had been trying to hide it from Elven for some time now, but he was often taken by fits of coughing, and the phlegm he coughed up was thick and disgusting.

“All right,” he said. “But we will make for the higher lands, the places that are ever above the clouds.”

Elven agreed, and so they set off, trying to find as easy a way down the mountain as possible. In the end, they had to traverse for some distance across the base of a high cliff, for they had discovered that after a hundred feet or so of steep scree, there was a vertical drop of nearly a hundred more feet that they could not hope to climb down. The crossing was terrifying, and every step sent small streams of stones trickling down the slope, threatening to give way entirely under their feet and send them down the mountain with them. Brandyé’s fever was high that morning, and as they were nearing a place where the mountain opened onto a large, wide col, his vision began to swim, and the landscape around him became blurred. He coughed, and felt a pain in his chest.

“Are you all right?” called Elven from behind him.

For a moment Brandyé couldn’t answer for a sudden shortness of breath, and merely coughed again. He stopped moving forward, his hands clinging numbly to the rock near his head. Before long Elven had caught up with him, and for the first time Brandyé could not hide his coughing, which was now deep and hacking.

“Oh, Brandyé…” Elven said, “You have an illness in your lungs; you should have spoken of this sooner!”

But Brandyé shook his head. “No, I’m…I’m fine, really. I just need to rest…”

But it had finally become too much for Elven and he cursed, saying, “You’re not fine! Brandyé, listen to me well: if we do not get you down from the mountain and somewhere warm, you are going to die!”

Brandyé responded with only more coughing, and Elven said, “Come – keep going. I can see ahead of us a way down that is less steep.”

They began to move on, and before long were atop the col, which descended in a great cliff to the south, but to the north spread outward in a large, steep slope, with only small ledges of rock here and there. From the top they could see far in the distance below a valley of moss and grass, and it seemed this slope led directly into it. Elven thought he could even see a tree or two in the distance, and was about to start his descent when, without warning, Brandyé collapsed beside him in a fit of coughing.

Elven rushed to his side and pulled him upright, so that Brandyé was at least sitting on the loose rock. “We must get down from here,” he said. “Can you stand?”

Brandyé coughed again, and he wondered if he was finally paying the price for his foolhardy adventurism, for it felt that his body was almost falling apart. “I…I think I might need some help,” he admitted weakly.

So after a moment’s rest, Elven hauled Brandyé to his feet and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, so that he was supporting some of Brandyé’s weight. Together, slowly, they began to pick their way down the slope, stopping every dozen yards or so for them both to catch their breaths. The clouds began coming in again, and their visibility shrank until they could no longer see the bottom of the slope, and Elven began to worry that there might be a hidden cliff below them that they had not seen from above. Several times one or the other of them slipped, and only through chance did they regain their balance and not fall down the slope entirely.

Soon with the worsening weather came the faint rumblings of thunder, and then the first few drops of cold rain. Brandyé was coughing almost all the time now, and Elven began to feel frantic that they would never make it off this slope and into the valley below. He started to hurry his pace, and it was then that with a sudden great crack of thunder he lost his footing and did not regain it.

Crying out, he began to slide on the loose rock down the hill, pulling Brandyé forward with him. Brandyé cried out himself in surprise, and then there was no time for words as they were engulfed in a sudden flow of rolling stones and rocks. Elven, with his feet facing downhill, was hard-pressed to keep himself afloat on a suddenly moving river of rock, but Brandyé, who had been pulled headlong down with Elven, was tumbling out of control, soon lost to Elven’s sight in the clouds of dust that rose from all around them. He tried to call out Brandyé’s name, and breathed in the stone dust and was set coughing himself, eyes streaming.

Down, they tumbled, and it seemed to Elven some hundreds of feet must have passed before he felt the flow of stones around him begin to lessen, and the steepness of the slope begin to level. By the time he stopped moving he was buried to the waist in rock, and it felt that his legs were crushed under their weight. Desperately he struggled to loosen the stones, but succeeded only in bringing more down upon him from above. His only consolation was that he felt no shooting, dreadful pain, and assumed that he had managed not to break anything.

“Brandyé!” he cried out, but received no response. Desperately he began to claw at the rocks holding him in, his nails soon cracked and bleeding as he flung stone after stone away from him. For every two stones he cleared another slipped down and buried him more, and it seemed hours before he was clear enough to move one of his legs, and a further eternity before he was finally free of the stone prison, and able to move shakily on his own two feet. All this time he kept calling out for Brandyé, and was rewarded with silence.

Still slipping on the now wet stones, Elven began to move across the bottom of the slope toward where he had last seen Brandyé. The rain had quickly cleared the dust, but now a steaming mist was rising from the rocks, and he was just as blind in it. Finally, after wandering aimlessly and calling out for an age, he very nearly stumbled upon a crumpled and hooded form, half-buried in stones and still as death.

Elven knelt beside Brandyé’s inert form in a panic, pushing a heavy stone from above his head and bending his ear down, listening for breathing. To his incalculable relief it was there, though it was shallow and rasping. He pushed Brandyé’s hood away from his face and saw that the side of his head was coated thick with blood. Pawing through Brandyé’s long matted hair, he soon found a deep cut in his scalp, but it seemed the bleeding had already slowed, and the worst fear was of a concussion.

Elven knew that until Brandyé was awake it was a risk to move him, for he could not tell what bones, if any, might be broken. Instead, he set about clearing Brandyé’s body of stones so that he lay free on the mountainside, and lay his own cloak over him so that Brandyé would remain warm, even if he froze to death.

Such actions helped to keep Elven in a sense of calm, but inside he was raging with panic: the air was growing colder by the moment, and the rain, light as it was, was likely to turn to snow at any moment. Above their heads the sky continued to thunder, and looking up Elven could see lightning striking the mountaintops where they had been only hours earlier. He would never have admitted it to Brandyé, but he was dreadfully frightened, and angry. Angry that he had listened to Brandyé, angry that he had not been more careful descending the slope…and buried deep in secret, angry at Brandyé for bringing his life to such a point in the first place.

So distracted by this was he that his surprise was unimaginable when from behind, completely without warning, came the voice of another person. He spun around, and his jaw dropped at what he saw. It was not the fact that there were people here when only moments before there had been no one; nor was it even their garb, which was flowing, bright and colorful, very unlike anything he had seen in Erârün; not even the strange tongue in which they had addressed him. It was that behind them towered a structure that defied his imagination.

It seemed that upon the stones of the mountainside stood a ship – a veritable sea vessel, keel and hull and all – at least fifty feet long and almost half as broad. Yet this vessel rested on stone, and instead of masts bearing sails (which Elven had, of course, never seen) there rose great, thick cords, and these cords held fast to the ship an absolutely enormous cloth balloon, a thing that towered a hundred feet in the air if it stood an inch, smooth and round and possessing a great hole in the bottom. Elven could not begin to understand what this construction was for, nor how it did not collapse on the boat, and most of all he could not understand how it came to be there, in a place where only minutes before there had been only empty space.

But the men that had come from this craft did not share Elven’s astonishment, and moved forward with purpose. He heard them speak to each other in their own tongue, and several of them moved toward Brandyé. At this, Elven’s astonishment dropped a little, and he stepped forward to bar their way. “Stop – what are you doing?”

But the men ignored him and bent to Brandyé’s side. One of them unfurled a great canvas and stretched it out on the ground, and then another two grasped Brandyé hard by the shoulders and legs, and and lifted him bodily onto it.

“No – don’t move him!” Elven cried out. “You could injure him worse than he already is!”

He moved to stop the men from their endeavor, but an impressively strong grasp held him back. Whirling, Elven saw that he was being restrained by another of their group that had not tended to Brandyé. He tried to wrest the man’s hand from his shoulder and was surprised to find he could not, and it felt as though an iron clamp rested there. Failing, he instead tried to strike the man outright, and in a heartbeat and a deft twist of the arm he found himself lying flat on his back, breathless and aching.

“Stop,” he uttered again. “Please!”

But then the strange man did the unexpected, and held out his hand to Elven, proffering it to him in a gesture of aid. Uncertain, Elven nonetheless grasped the man’s hand, and was propelled upward with great force.

The man looked deep into his eyes for a moment and Elven felt extremely uncomfortable. Then the man spoke, and to Elven’s surprise he understood his words.

“Gray one hurt,” he said, and indicated where Brandyé was now being loaded onto the ship. Elven had never thought of Brandyé in such terms, but understood what was meant by the color of Brandyé’s hair and eyes. “You come?”

Elven looked to the ship, and back at the man incredulously. “You want me to come with you on that thing?”

“You come?” the man repeated, and Elven had the distinct impression that this represented most of the words outside his own tongue that this man knew.

“Yes,” he said instead, nodding his head, and the man seemed satisfied. He gestured for Elven to follow him, and led him to the side of the vessel. Here was a short ladder up which they climbed, and as Elven stood on the deck he wondered if this was what it was like to be at sea. What was to happen next, however, was so unlike being at sea that he was filled with absolute terror and could do nothing but collapse on the floor and hang on for all his life.

For in the center of the vessel was an enormous bowl, and in it must have been a vast quantity of burning coals for Elven could feel the heat through the air from a distance. This bowl was covered by a lid, but it was one that could be retracted by means of a mechanism that involved many handles and gears. Once everyone was on board, a pair of men began turning heftily on these handles and the lid rose open.

With a sudden lurch, Elven felt the deck of the vessel heave, and looking out about him he saw the mountainside ever so slowly begin to move, drawing ever more distant and further below them. He realized the entire ship was in fact rising steadily into the air, and it was then his face turned ashen and he looked desperately for something on to which he could cling. Soon they were floating inside the clouds themselves and Elven could see almost nothing at all. He thought surely they would be struck by lightning, and indeed he could see great flashes of light about them, and the vessel swung madly to and fro as the winds buffeted them with all their might.

But then, inevitably, as they continued to rise the storm became less, and the clouds thinned, and once more Elven felt the warming rays of the sun on him, and for the second time in only a few days he was treated to the view of the clouds from above, none of the darkness of the storm evident at all – only snowy white puffs, forming an endless sea of white, above which only the peaks of the mountains could protrude. This time, though, there was nothing beneath him but the thin hull of a ship, and the thought filled him with such dread that his sight began to blur, and he cried out in fear.

Around him, though, the men of this vessel moved around with ease and calm, opening the coal chamber or closing it to varying degrees, hauling on ropes, and working enormous propellers that spun near the rear of the craft and served to propel them forward. So it was that they rose, and so it was that they travelled, and for hours Elven could do nothing but cower in a corner of the ship and hope that he might die before they fell bodily from the sky.

Of course they did not, and had Elven looked out over the edge of the ship, he would have seen wondrous landscapes pass them by, mountains and ridges and entire valleys that glittered with rock and snow, and all of which were ever lit by the glory of the sun, reflecting its light and glowing with beauty. Eventually even Elven could not help but look up as evening began to come on, and he thought quietly that Brandyé would have given anything to be there at that moment, when the sky turned to blood and the sun sank below the horizon, and the clouds became golden pillows and the mountains pinnacles of crimson majesty. And later, when the stars started to appear, Elven began to weep for their beauty, and his heart ached for the days long ago before the eternal clouds covered all the skies.

It was still night, though hardly dark for the light of a nearly full moon, when they arrived at their destination. All around them were lights, fires and candles and lit windows that cast their glow out from the steep mountainsides into the abyss. Elven’s amazement began to overshadow his fright, and he stood and looked (though from the center of the ship’s deck), and was awestruck. An entire village, it seemed, had been built on the steep and sheer rock of the mountains, spanning an entire valley and to the peaks in the distance.

Soon they were approaching what Elven saw was a grand structure, great wooden towers sprouting high into the air, and at their base was a wide, long platform that stood out from the mountainside entirely and was held up by pillars that seemed to descend endlessly into the dark depths below. It was to this platform they now navigated, and with deft ease their pilots set the ship down with hardly a bump.

Almost as soon as they had touched down, men from the ship were carrying Brandyé away, and Elven hurried to keep up with them. However, as he made to step off the airship, he was interrupted by the man who had spoken to him before. “You grey one friend,” he said, and Elven nodded.

“I need to be with him – let me pass!”

But the man simply stared at him, and then said, “You follow me.”

“No,” said Elven, and made to push past the man. It was then that the man grasped him again with his hand, and Elven remembered how the man had effortlessly flung him to the ground earlier. As much as he wanted to fight this man right now, he had no desire to be flung into the abyss below them, and he relented.

“You follow me,” the man repeated, and with a sigh, Elven stood back and motioned for the man to lead the way. The man seemed to understand, for he turned and started walking away, leaving Elven to lag behind.

As he followed the man down a set of exposed, winding steps, Elven asked him, “Who are you?”

“Naiya,” the man said, and Elven was left to wonder if this was the man’s name, his people, or something else entirely.

 

When Brandyé awoke, it was to a sensation he had not felt in longer than he could remember: sun, streaming through a window, falling lightly on his face. For the longest time he lay there, eyes closed, and simply savored the feeling. For a moment he allowed himself to recall the feeling of waking up in Reuel’s home in Consolation as a boy, knowing even before he opened his eyes that it was going to be a good day, one filled with excitement and adventure with Elven. Perhaps they would travel to Soleheart and spend the day high amongst the great tree’s leaves, speaking of nothing and everything; perhaps they would visit Farmer Tar and help him in his fields. And at the end of the day, he would return home to Reuel and the comfort of a roaring fire and a warm meal.

For a while Brandyé drifted in and out of these thoughts, but in the end he knew he could not believe it, for the blankets were rough and coarse, and the pillow hard; the wind rushing outside the window did not carry with it the sounds of birds and marmots; and there were scents of smoke and incense about him that would never have found their way into his grandfather’s home.

And so he opened his eyes, and in the glad of the sunlight, stared about him. He was indeed in a bed of rough blankets, and all about him were draped cloths and banners of every color he could imagine. In the corner of the small room stood an iron stove, and it was steaming and smoking and filling the air with its warmth. The walls, the floor, the ceiling too – all was made of wood, and Brandyé could even catch the scent of the pine itself, mixed with spices that drifted in through the door that stood open.

But all of this was as nothing compared to the window. The window itself was unspectacular – a cross of wood inset with glass – but what it afforded a view of was beyond words. At first Brandyé could see only the bright glow of the sun, but as he got out of the bed and walked toward the window, his view took in the endless ranges of mountains that coursed onward into the distance like waves of an ocean. All was dark rock and white snow, except in the lowest valleys which were green with grass and trees. In the far distance were the clouds, but they were far below and away, and from this distance seemed utterly harmless.

And over all of it watched a sky of such magnificent blue that Brandyé’s breath was taken away, and all curiosity at his current situation left him momentarily as he surveyed the majesty that lay strewn before him like jewels before a king. For an age he stood there, until he heard from behind him a soft voice, lyrical and accented: “Ah – you are awake! So good, so good!”

Brandyé turned to find an elderly man standing in the doorway, resting on a cane and looking at him with the most placid of smiles. He seemed so genuine and disarming that Brandyé could not help but smile back, and said, “Where am I?”

“That is a long tale,” the man said enigmatically, “but you are safe.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“What does your stomach say?” The old man chuckled, and almost at his words Brandyé felt his stomach growl.

“Days, it feels like.”

“Four,” the old man said. “Come, eat!”

And so Brandyé followed the man out of the room and into another room that housed many large stuffed balls and a stove on which a deep curved pan was sizzling. The smells from the pan were beyond enticing, and Brandyé could not wait to eat. The old man seemed to know what Brandyé was thinking, and immediately spooned a great mass of curried meat and onions into a wooden bowl and handed it to Brandyé. Brandyé dug in with gusto, and the old man laughed to see him eat so fast.

“Slowly!” he said. “Your stomach will turn!”

The flavors were spiced and exotic, but Brandyé thought he had never tasted anything so delicious. He consumed no less than four bowls of the old man’s curry, and only then drank ice cold water from the pitcher that stood beside him. It occurred to him that he was sitting on a cushion on the floor, which would have struck him as odd had he not been so ravenous.

All the while, the old man sat and watched him with what seemed to be an amused smile. Finally, Brandyé asked him, “What is your name?”

“I am Nisha,” the old man said. He bowed his head, and his chest-length white goatee bobbed. “You are Brandyé.”

Brandyé stared at him, suddenly nervous. If he had been asleep for four days, how could this old man know his name? For the second time in his life, it seemed, he was faced with an old man who knew too much about him. Now that he thought about it, was that a streak of black in the old man’s beard? “How do you know my name?” he asked finally.

Nisha shrugged. “Your friend says it to me. Elven is his name.”

The answer was simple and sensible, but still Brandyé was suspicious. “Where is he?”

“Your friend waits for you. He cares very much for you.”

“Can I see him?”

Nisha smiled and nodded again. “Yes.”

“Now?”

“So fast! You are full?”

Brandyé in fact thought he might be able to eat even more of the old man’s wonderful food, but his desire to see Elven overrode even his hunger. “Yes,” he said. “It was delicious.”

Nisha bowed again. “Thank you. Come with me!”

Nisha led Brandyé to the door of the room, but just before he opened it looked back, and Brandyé saw a definite twinkle in his eye. “Afraid of height?” he asked.

“Why?”

And Nisha pulled open the door, and Brandyé understood, for indeed he very nearly reeled. The door opened onto a desperately steep wooden staircase that seemed built directly into the mountain rock. It had no railing, yet a fathomless precipice yawned wide beneath it, and Brandyé thought he would rather die than take a single step onto it. But Nisha, unperturbed, stepped out and began down the staircase, and Brandyé had little choice but to follow.

Breathless, he took each step as carefully and gingerly as though he was walking on eggshells, both hands always on the rock face for support. His head was spinning, and to distract himself, he tried to talk to Nisha. “You…you speak my tongue well, but I feel it is…it is not your own. Is that so?”

“You hear well,” Nisha called back over his shoulder. “Most of us speak a little of the common tongue.”

“The common tongue?” Brandyé had never heard it spoken of so.

“The tongue of men after the fall of Erâth.”

They had by now reached a wide platform, and Brandyé was glad for the distance from the abyss. “What can you tell me of the fall of Erâth?” he asked with a little more wind than before.

“Another time, another time,” Nisha chided him. “Now is time for friends!”

And indeed, there before him stood Elven, apparently deep in conversation with several of Nisha’s kin. As Brandyé approached Elven looked up, and a look of pure delight took his features. He rushed toward Brandyé, embracing him so tight that Brandyé could scarcely breathe. “I’m so glad to see you up!” he said.

“And I’m glad to see you,” Brandyé replied, somewhat awkwardly. “What happened?”

“Do you remember our fall?” Elven asked, and Brandyé shook his head.

“We fell?”

And so Elven recounted to Brandyé the tale of how they had been buried in the rockslide, and how the folk that now surrounded them had rescued them. “They call themselves ‘Naiya’, and you would not believe their tales!”

As they had been talking, Nisha and the other Naiya had been standing around them quietly. At this point, Nisha spoke up: “Naiya is our name in the tongue of Naiya; in the common tongue, we are ‘Hochträe’. They mean the same: the high people.”

Brandyé looked out at the dazzling, snowy mountaintops, glinting in the sunlight. “You are certainly high!”

“Not all of us are so high,” said one of the two Elven had been talking to. He bowed to Brandyé. “I am Karishi, and this is Serina.” Beside him, Serina bowed her head as well.

“We live low, also,” Serina said, and Brandyé thought she seemed to blush at her own words.

Nisha smiled. “Forgive Serina – she is only just learning the common tongue.” He turned to Serina. “Anta koso naiyashi.” She blushed even further, but said nothing. “I say she may speak our tongue,” he said, turning back to Brandyé and Elven, “I believe Brandyé is a master of tongues.”

Again, Brandyé was filled with the uncomfortable sensation that this man knew more about him than he had revealed, but said nothing about it. Instead, he said, “It is true – I speak two tongues with ease, and I am fascinated by the sound of your own.”

“Then you will hear much of it,” Nisha said. “Wer ira ora saikanta tolu.” And he smiled. “We have tales to tell!”

Chapter 22: Above the Clouds

It took only a few minutes for Brandyé to learn what Elven had done, and why. The Reinsfolk’s hidden fortress, it transpired, was in this same valley under the Pass of Duwoèm, on the other side and closer to the mountain. Had Brandyé been climbing deeper under the mountain’s shadow, he would have fallen into its entrance directly.

Elven had received Brandyé’s message from Sonora the night before last, and had decided in the moment that he would not let his friend pass him by unheeded.

“I said I would be going alone!” protested Brandyé. “How did you know I would even pass this way, and not by some other route?”

“I didn’t,” said Elven simply. “It was a risk.”

Every night since, it seemed, Elven had sat outside the entrance to the fortress, much to the displeasure of the village folk who wanted to barricade the entrance at once.  “They said I was foolish, that it would be better to grieve for your loss than to hope for your salvation. They said if you survived the battle through flight, you’d be hunted as a traitor.”

“They’re not wrong,” Brandyé sighed. “If Tharom ever sees me again I’ll be arrested, if not slain on the spot.” A shadow darker than the night passed across Brandyé’s face then as he thought of the battle, and Elven had the sense to let it pass.

“I saw you climbing this evening from my lookout,” Elven said when the moment had passed. “It was near dark, and so I fetched a torch to find you.”

“And I wish you hadn’t – did you not see the army in the valley?”

In the dim torchlight, Brandyé thought he saw his friend’s face go pale, and with a swift motion he snuffed the torch among the stones. “How?”

Brandyé looked at the smoldering torch, knowing it made little difference now. “I don’t know, Elven. They might have tracked me, but I never saw anything around me, and was careful to leave as few signs as possible.”

“It’s as though they know where we have fled to!”

But Brandyé shook his head, and revealed his thoughts to his friend. “It’s as though they know where I am. Do you think it’s a coincidence that within weeks of my arrival here the largest assault on the Rein should occur? A coincidence that the fierundé should attack Paräwo upon my arrival after so many centuries of peace?”

“Brandyé…” said Elven. “You can’t blame yourself for what Darkness are doing—”

“A coincidence,” Brandyé went on furiously, “that at my very birth, Darkness should descend upon Consolation – a place that has never known Darkness before?”

Elven said nothing.

“I’ve brought death and destruction with me wherever I’ve gone! I killed my parents the night I was born! I’ve killed countless numbers with the weapons I built for the Cosari! I killed Athalya by bringing the fierundé to their home!”

“You’ve killed no one,” Elven protested. “These things happened…perhaps they happened because you or I brought them upon people, but perhaps they would have happened nonetheless! Elỳn said the fierundé were growing in number in the Trestaé long before we ever arrived there. Athalya’s death might have occurred without us – who’s to say?”

“I killed your sister,” Brandyé muttered miserably.

There was a long silence, and then Elven reached out and took Brandyé’s hand. “Sonora’s death was not your fault.”

But Brandyé withdrew his hands as though Elven’s touch was poison. “How can you say that? It was my arrow – my bow! My shot!” And suddenly the weight of a lifetime of Darkness and death fell upon him, and he wept openly. “I’ve never wanted to harm anyone,” he choked between sobs. “I never meant for anyone to die!”

Though he could not have seen it in the dark, Elven’s eyes were tearing as well, and he said, “I have seen more in my time with you than I could ever have imagined. I believe now that there are forces beyond us, and I see that Darkness can influence the world. I see its influence on you.”

Brandyé sniffed. “That’s hardly comforting, you know.”

“It serves only to show your strength,” Elven insisted. “You have resisted Darkness with every breath, so long as I have ever known you.”

“I’m tired of resisting, Elven. I’m tired of fighting for my life. Do you know how tempting it is to give myself to Darkness, this very moment? To flee down the mountain, and join the ranks of those who would destroy us all? It’s powerful, Darkness; too powerful for this world to resist.”

“You won’t,” said Elven emphatically. “I know you – you’re stronger than the Darkness. You’re stronger than you know.”

Brandyé shook his head. “You don’t know. You can’t know. My greatest fear is not succumbing to Darkness – it’s that I want to. And the power I would have to destroy would be terrible.” He looked out, and saw that the faintest dim light of day was beginning to penetrate the shadows of the rocky valley. “This is why I must flee. I can’t afford to be close to Darkness any longer; I can’t afford to jeopardize the lives of those…those I love.” And he looked at Elven directly, for the first time that night. “I’ve already lost too many.”

“You don’t need to lose any more,” Elven said softly.

“You can’t come with me.”

“That’s not up to you.” Elven sounded quite adamant.

“I’ll destroy you.” Brandyé was becoming fearful now, for he could not bear the thought of Elven coming with him, only to find his own destruction. “One day I will succumb to Darkness, and you won’t want to be there when I do.”

“I’ll want to be there, to stop you,” said Elven. “Please – stop refusing help from those who would give it.”

“What about Talya?” Brandyé asked, trying a different tack. “You would have to leave her behind.”

“She knows my feelings, and she understands how I’m bound to you. Besides – I have Sonora to carry messages between us, as she did once for you and me.”

By now the light was growing less weak, and Brandyé could see the determination in his friend’s eyes, and knew that it was useless to argue further. “Your mind is set,” he said instead. And Elven nodded, and together they sat in silence and waited for the dawn.

It was not long in coming, and soon the shadows of the valley’s far side could be discerned. As the light of day filled the air, Brandyé began to imagine he saw shapes moving here and there among the rocks, though at first they were too ill-defined for him to be certain. As the moments wore on, however, he began ever more certain, and creeped forward from his shelter to see better.

The rain had ceased since Elven had found him, though the rocks were still wet, and Brandyé saw now, far down in the valley but coming slowly closer, slipping here and there, a host of men climbing over the rocks on their way up the valley. Fear struck him, for he saw now that in the dim light of the morning as he and Elven had been speaking, the enemy had begun to sneak upon them from below, and were now no more than fifteen minutes behind them at best. They were for the most part on the wrong side of the valley, however, and this did not escape Elven’s notice.

“Brandyé!” he whispered. “They are approaching the entrance to the fortress, and it isn’t yet sealed! We must stop them!”

“How?” returned Brandyé, but in his gut he already knew the answer.

“I will distract them,” said Elven resolutely, and started to move out from their boulders. Brandyé held him back for a moment.

“We will go together,” he said. For a moment their eyes locked, and a silent knowing passed between them in an instant: they were indeed together, for better or for worse.

And so in a flash they burst together from their hiding spot, Elven tossing the spent torch in the direction of the enemy and crying, “Over here – follow us!”

Brandyé almost smiled to hear his friend’s ridiculous words, but he could not deny their effect: within moments, the swarming men on the mountain ceased their progress and stared in their direction. One of them pointed and shouted something to the others, and in an instant every man crawling the rocks was making for them, across the valley and up the hill.

“Hurry!” Brandyé urged, and followed swiftly in Elven’s footsteps as they began their own ascent, now desperately trying to stay ahead of their pursuers. The rocks were slippery, and several times both he and Elven nearly lost their grip and went tumbling down the mountain. Brandyé was soon struggling for every breath, but looking down he saw the men Darkness approaching even faster, and forced himself onward.

Not far above them, the head of the valley disappeared into a great slope of scree, leading some several hundred feet up to the col that was itself the Pass of Duwoèm. “If we can make the pass,” Brandyé panted, “we might be able to hide on the other side as they run past us!”

Elven made no reply, but merely shifted his direction slightly to make for the pass by the shortest route, and soon they had passed directly onto the scree. Here, their progress was greatly slowed, for it felt that for every step they took up the mountain they slipped half a step back in the loose gravel and stones. Climbing directly behind Elven, Brandyé’s ankles and legs were soon bruised and bleeding from the rolling stones, and he moved to one side, leaving behind him a small trail of tumbling rocks himself.

And before long, he could hear far below them the rockfalls of their pursuers as they made their own way up the steep slope. He could hear the calls and the jeers, and despite the burning in his lungs and the pain of his feet and the fear in his heart, he found himself wondering at their harsh and alien language, unlike the Cosari tongue, the ancient speech or anything else he had heard in all his life.

The top of the col seemed to remain ever just out of reach, and several times Brandyé felt himself slip, and begin to give up – they could never reach the top before they were captured. Only Elven’s unrelenting progress above him kept him going, if for no other reason than he could not bear to let his friend down so soon after speaking of continuing on.

But as Brandyé bent his head and looked only at the rocks beneath his feet, he found he was suddenly level with a large boulder he had seen from underneath, and knew he was near the top. Here he paused for a moment, finally utterly out of breath, and after a moment called to Elven.

“Elven – help me!”

Elven looked down, panic on his face. “What is it?”

“I have an idea to slow their progress! Come and help me dislodge this rock!”

In a flash Elven understood, and came crashing down toward Brandyé. Together they began to heave mightily on the enormous boulder, and incredibly, under their combined force it began ponderously to move.

“Keep pushing!” Brandyé cried, and as he heaved he could feel the boulder’s center of gravity begin to shift, until it was balanced on the very edge of a single small stone beneath it. And still, red in the face and cursing, Elven continued to push, and crying from the strain Brandyé continued to push – and then the boulder was moving of its own accord, and as they hauled themselves back toward the slope against the own momentum it began to slowly slide, a great cascade of smaller stones preceding it. Ever so slowly it gathered speed, until with a great roar of falling rocks it started to roll, and below and around it started sliding almost every stone on the mountainside.

The men of Darkness were caught in the avalanche without any chance of escape. A great cloud of dust rose from the drier rocks underneath, and as the cries and screams floated up the slope, Brandyé turned to Elven and said, “We mustn’t delay – this may be our only chance to hide!”

And so, as their enemy was crushed and smitten beneath them, they ascended the final yards, climbing near vertical rock at the very end, until they stood upon the very summit of the Pass of Duwoèm, and looked down into the valley on the other side.

Where the side they had climbed afforded a view of ever-expanding plains and moorland, here there was nothing visible except range upon range of mountains, each taller and rockier than the last. From their feet stretched a wide valley of rock, a stream erupting partway down and tumbling over rocks and boulders until there finally came a sparse floor of grass, through which it continued to flow away and down the mountain. Far, far in the distance and below were trees, but at the height they now stood there was nothing but stone, as far as the eye could see.

“I don’t see anywhere to hide,” Brandyé commented.

Even looked back at where they had come from, and at the ever-rising cloud of dust. “I don’t think we’re going to need to,” he muttered.

For a time then, the two sat and rested, regathering their breath and their strength. It was cold and windy atop the pass, and so they descended a few feet on the opposite side where they found the air quite sheltered, and by comparison almost pleasant. Here they began to discuss where they would go from here, with Brandyé of the opinion that they should preserve altitude as much as they could, for reascending would cost them much more energy than descending would.

“There will be no food, no water here,” protested Elven.

“I have some with me,” Brandyé countered, “and I am happy to go with little for now. The most important thing is to put distance between us and the army of Darkness. We can progress easily and quickly across the rock – see the ridge there, perhaps a mile away? We can reach that almost without descending at all.”

And so, after they had eaten a small bite, they set out, this time at a much more relaxed pace, though still with the nervous thought of pursuit somewhere behind them. The path onward here was treacherous, traversing across steep rocks and scree slopes, the enormous mass of the mountain looming high above them and towering toward the clouds. It was here that Brandyé led the way, carefully picking his way from rock to rock, always testing the footing before putting his weight on it. Every so often he would glance behind him, both to see that Elven was still with him, and that no one else had crossed the Pass of Duwoèm.

Before long the pass was far behind them, and they had reached a long ridge that led ever upward toward the summit of a mountain, here nearly lost in the clouds. It was tempting to Brandyé to ascend, to see what the view would be from such height, but practically he knew there was little to be gained, for there would be no food there, no animals or vegetation, and it was cold – bitterly so, and only his onward movement kept him from shivering under his still wet cloak. Now that danger had begun to pass, his headache was returning, and he could feel his skin flush with fever. When they paused for rest some time later, Elven noticed, and asked him about it.

“I’m fine,” Brandyé said, though he had only once in his life felt so ill. He wondered if dreams would come to him, as they had done then.

“Your cloak is drenched!” Elven exclaimed when he touched him.

“It will dry,” Brandyé muttered.

“Not here,” protested Elven. “Remove it at once!”

Too tired to argue, Brandyé shrugged the cloak from his body, and felt once the biting chill of the high winds. He was not cold for long  though, as momentarily Elven had wrapped around him his own cloak, dry and warm. Despite the guilt he felt at taking his friend’s cover, he was nonetheless grateful and glad. Shrinking into the new warmth, he settled back into the rocks and tried to shelter himself from the wind.

For his part, Elven had already several layers of clothing beneath his cloak, and when he donned Brandyé’s wet one he felt, if not warmer, slightly more sheltered. “We can’t remain here,” he said. “You’ll catch your death of cold.” He looked out, surveying the landscape. Stretched out before them were endless mountains and valleys, and down a steep slope below them was a small vale of moss and grass, strewn here and there with great boulders that had rolled down the mountainside in ages past. Between then trickled a small stream, and he knew well that water, above all else, meant their survival.

After a further rest, during which time Brandyé very nearly fell asleep, Elven suggested they make their way toward the stream below, and so they began to carefully pick their way down the slope. It took quite some time, for the rocks were loose, and Brandyé’s footing was becoming steadily less certain. Every so often he would stop and listen, still expecting the sounds of an army behind them, but there was no sound bar the crunch of rock underfoot and Sonora’s calling from above, undoubtedly complaining about the high winds and cold air. Finally they reached the place where the grass and moss began to grow, and here the footing was less treacherous. Soon they were seated under the shade of a giant boulder, hidden from the ridge above, sheltered from the wind around them and drinking water from the stream that was as cold as ice.

After they had eaten what little bread and bacon Brandyé still had with him, Brandyé lay back against the rocks to rest, and Elven set out in search of firewood. At first this seemed like a hopeless endeavor, for there was not a tree to be seen, but as he followed the stream down the valley, he came upon a place where a patch of tall reeds grew, dried and brittle at the outer edges of the clump. As he started breaking off stems it occurred to him that not so long ago their positions had been reversed, and it was Brandyé who had been in search of fire and food while he had lain, feverish and incontinent. He still had no recollection of the fierundé attack and their rescue by the Illuèn, but Brandyé had certainly spoken to him of it. Unsettled, he hurried about his business, unwilling to leave Brandyé for longer than needed.

To his relief, Brandyé was still and asleep when he returned, and soon he had a small, miserable fire going before them as the skies began to darken. He took off the still damp cloak, surprised to find it stiff from the cold, and with great care managed to dry it somewhat over the flames. It seemed to him that staying warm was going to be imperative at these high altitudes, and he looked to the sky, as though expecting to see rain begin to fall at the very thought.

No rain fell, though, and for a while Elven sat in silence, contemplating their situation. It was near dark by the time Brandyé awoke, by which point the fire had dwindled to mere embers. In a hollow gesture, Elven placed the last few branches of reed over the low flames, and was rewarded with a few more minutes of light and warmth.

“I’m sorry, Elven,” Brandyé said as he opened his eyes. “I seem to have come down with something of a cold.”

“You’ll be well soon,” Elven reassured him. “We need to find food and wood, and we’ll manage just fine.”

There was a deeper apology in Brandyé also, but he held his tongue; something told him Elven would not appreciate it. Instead, he said, “It seems peaceful enough here, but there is something about these mountains that bodes ill for me. I would not venture into the valleys more than we absolutely must.”

“We won’t find much food up here,” Elven pointed out.

Reluctantly, Brandyé nodded. “Let us follow the stream here until we find a place to hunt, and we can rest there for a while. When we have good stock, though, I would like to return to the mountains. There is something about the heights that calls to me…”

Elven was uncertain what Brandyé meant by this, and wondered if it was the fever speaking. “We’ll see what we can do. I’ll not have you climbing all over these mountains in a fever, though.”

So began a series of days in which they would spend some time deeper in the lowlands, hunting small marmots and hares and gathering firewood, and then reascending to the ridges and cols that led from one towering peak to another. As they ventured deeper into the mountains, the higher everything became, and so the further they had to travel to find food and water. All the while Brandyé’s headache persisted, and his nose ran, and his skin burned to the touch. Still he persisted, for a great unease was gnawing at him. For over a week there had now been no sign of their enemy, or indeed other men at all, yet something was unsettling him all the same, and he was certain it was more than just fever. Brandyé knew he was looking for something, but he knew not what.

As they went on and the land became ever higher, the air became also ever colder. To their fortune it did not rain again for some time, for it would almost certainly have turned to snow if it had. As it was, small patches of snow began to appear in the shadows, and Elven began to rule fear for Brandyé’s health. Ever since they had been reunited he had had this cold, and he showed no signs of improving. Often throughout the day he would beg to stop for rest, and though he rarely said anything, Elven could tell his suffering from his pale face and gnawed lips.

Brandyé would not have Elven worry, though, and refused to relent, pushing himself onward one step at a time. Often he felt that he might collapse under his own weight, and asked Elven if he might carry their things, which he did willingly. He felt an ever growing guilt at this, magnifying what he felt already for having put Elven in a situation that led him away from Talya, and into unknown danger. Worse was the fact that he was secretly and selfishly glad to have Elven with him, for he knew not how far he might have made it on his own.

So it went on until one day they came across a thing that took even Brandyé’s ailing breath away and caused him to straighten in wonder. Always he had been looking for something unusual, something to soothe the unsettling feeling in his thoughts, and though in his heart he knew this was not it, he could not deny the magnificence of what they saw now before them. Stretching out vast, wide and smooth, toned in hues of white and blue, was an immense lake of ice. It was easily ten miles across, and Brandyé and Elven could barely see the mountain tops on its far side.

“Oh…” murmured Elven, and Brandyé quietly agreed that he was just as speechless.

Immediately before them was a great drop, an enormous crevasse whose depths were shadowed in black. Beyond that were a series of ridges, deep cracks hundreds of feet deep in the ice, before the vast empty plains of the glacier itself. There was clearly no way they would be able to mount the ice lake and traverse it, and so Brandyé looked to the south end near which they were, and saw endlessly high cliffs, broken rock towering above them for hundreds of feet. “We must go there,” he said.

Elven shook his head vehemently. “No. It’s too dangerous, especially in your condition.”

“I’m fine, Elven,” Brandyé insisted.

Instead of replying, Elven reached out and grabbed Brandyé’s arm, resting his fingers on the inside of his wrist. “Your heart is racing,” he said, “and your fever has not abated. You are ill, Brandyé, and you will only worsen if we don’t leave this place soon.”

“There is a thing here,” Brandyé insisted stubbornly. “Something I must find. I don’t know where this thought has come from, but I’ve had it for a long time now. I was ignoring it, thought perhaps it was a sense of usefulness, but I haven’t felt close, even when I was training with the soldiers.”

“It’s Elỳn, isn’t it?” Elven muttered. “You say she gave you purpose, but it seems to me you’ve been sent on an impossible mission.”

“You don’t understand how Darkness has eaten away at my heart!” Brandyé shouted, suddenly furious. “I need to be rid of it, and rid the world of it!”

“How?” Elven shouted back. “By abandoning everyone you know and wandering off into the middle of nowhere? Look around you!” He gestured to the mountains around them. “There’s nothing here!”

“You don’t understand!” said Brandyé, suddenly feeling like a child. “Darkness surrounds me! Look at the clouds!” He pointed to the sky, where the cloud were indeed low and dark, threatening the air with mist and rain. “Would you have me bring that done upon everyone I know?”

“You brought it on me, and I’m still here – what does that tell you?”

And then Brandyé bit his tongue, for the reply that came to his mind was, You’re a fool. “I’m sorry,” he said instead. “You are still here, and I appreciate it – I’m glad to have you.”

Elven sniffed, and then nodded. “I’m sorry also. You want to head up the ridge to the south? Fine. But once we come down again, you’re to listen to me, and we’re descending where it’s warmer until you recover from your fever.”

Then the argument was over, and they rested for a while. As they did, faint tendrils of mist began slowly to creep over the ground, and Elven said, “This weather will make our progress difficult. Are you certain you wish to continue?”

“We can’t stay here,” Brandyé pointed out. “Come – let’s go.”

And so they began to move onward once more, Brandyé leading the way through the chilling mist, and slowly again they began to rise, ascending a long ridge that seemed to disappear into the clouds above. Soon they came to a place where the ridge turned to a sheer cliff, and so they began to traverse along its base, always in an easterly direction. Below, through the thin mist, Brandyé could see the lake of ice spread out before them, and it seemed it was almost reflecting the gray of the clouds above, which seemed nearer then ever.

Their footing became gradually more treacherous, also, and soon they were clinging to the rock with both hands, hundreds of feet of sheer cliff above them, and a vertical drop below. Brandyé’s head began to swim, and he knew that a single misstep would spell the end of his adventure, and his life. Behind him, Elven’s knuckles where white as they grasped the rock, his breathing rapid and shallow. Occasionally Brandyé could hear curses, and they echoed the thoughts in his own mind. He wondered if he had been foolish to pick this route.

Eventually they came to a place where there was a great, vertical crack in the rock face, and within it was a small ledge on which they could comfortably sit side by side. Here they rested again for a moment, and Elven kept his eyes shut against the precipitous view while Brandyé kept his own shut out of exhaustion. As they sat, the clouds descended yet further, until they were entirely surrounded by mist. The valley, the glacier, the view of the other mountains – all were gone behind a veil of gray shadow. After a while, the view was so close that it almost felt that they were not hundreds of feet above the ground, and Elven began to look around them: back, whence they had come, and forward, whence they might go. “Brandyé…” he said.

Without opening his eyes, Brandyé murmured, “Yes?”

“There’s nowhere to go from here.”

“What do you mean?”

Elven turned back to him. “There’s no further path – no footing. The cliff is smooth. We can go no further.”

Brandyé huddled under his cloak, not wanting to hear what Elven had to say. “We haven’t come this far for nothing,” he said. “There must be a way.”

Elven crept to the edge of their ledge and looked out. To the west was the broken and jagged rock cliff they had been climbing across for the past many hours; to the east was a smooth, unbroken wall of nearly vertical rock, and indeed there appeared to be no footholds or handholds anywhere on its surface. “Brandyé, please come and look!” he pleaded. “This is impossible!”

With a frustrated sigh, Brandyé opened his eyes, but for a while did not move. Instead, he stared up above him, into the highest reaches of the crevice that was sheltering them from the worst of the weather. Finally, he said, “You say we can’t go any further across the cliff.”

“Yes. Even Sonora could not land on that cliff.” He looked down at the bird, who had come to rest with them, regarding them curiously as if to ask what they were doing so high.

“What about up?”

Elven frowned at him. “How could we climb the cliff up, if we can’t even cross it?”

“Not the cliff,” said Brandyé. “This crack. Look.” And he pointed above his head. Indeed, the crevice climbed upward for what seemed to be hundreds of feet, perhaps even scaling the full hight of the cliff, though its height was shrouded in cloud. But it climbed at an angle, though steep, and was lined with dozens of pits and cracks and small ledges that would provide ample footholds. To Brandyé it looked like a giant, uneven staircase. “This, we can climb – it’s no harder than what we scaled with Elỳn in the Trestaé.”

And though Elven protested, climb it they did. The rock was cold and hard, but with every step upward there seemed to be a hold just in the right place. Upward and into the clouds they climbed, and Brandyé was filled with the thrill of height – his palms dry, his stomach churning, chills running down his arms and to his legs. As he climbed he began to sweat, and before long he had almost forgotten the fever that plagued him, and excitement began to grow in him. This felt right – almost like he was meant to be here, at this moment, climbing this very mountain.

And as they ascended slowly, pausing every now and then to rest, a curious thing began to happen. The clouds that surrounded them began to become thinner, and the air around them began to brighten. The change was subtle and slow, and at first neither Brandyé nor Elven noticed, until Brandyé saw that the rock under his hand was darker than the rock around him – he had a shadow.

It took a long time for the significance of this to truly come to him; he had not seen his shadow in almost ten years, and had indeed forgotten what it meant. Then the truth slowly dawned on him, and he was filled with a burning excitement that drowned out all ailments and headaches, and pushed him to climb at a frenzied pace so that Elven was left calling worriedly below him.

“Come!” Brandyé cried. “Climb faster – climb higher! There is something we must see!”

And as he went on, suddenly the crevice in which they had been climbing opened out, turned into a steep slope of loose rock. Here he paused for a moment so that he did not dislodge stones down upon Elven, but when Elven came abreast of him, he began climbing again, crawling up the slope on hands and feet, digging into the loose rock. Here and there were patches of snow, and Brandyé marched through these heedless, and Elven could do little but keep up.

All the while the clouds were growing bare, and the light was now bright, casting shadows on the stones all around them. And finally, as Brandyé burst to the top of the mountain and stood atop its very peak, the clouds parted entirely, and the sun, in all its glory, burned down upon him and lifted him such that he felt that he was flying above the very world. All around them was a vast, endless sea of cloud, white and soft, and through it grew tall the mountains of the Reinkrag, becoming ever higher to the east so that entire valleys and ridges could be seen above the sea of clouds.

Brandyé was speechless, and and Elven arrived, together they stood and marveled for an age. “I’d forgotten the sun,” Brandyé said finally, and Elven murmured an agreement.

When they had seen their fill – and it was a long time, indeed – they sat down to eat just below the summit where the wind was weaker. They had to find a place that was free of snow, and as such they were in the shade of the mountain, without the sun on them, but Brandyé thought that he would rather be in the natural shadow of a mountain, knowing that the sun was behind them, than the dreadful shade of eternal clouds brought on by Darkness.

Finally, it came time for them to move, although secretly Brandyé would have liked to have stayed on the summit for the sunset, which he was now desperate to see. But he realized that to do so would be to invite freezing temperatures and high winds, and they likely would not survive the night. So it was they began to descend into the clouds once more, but before they lost sight of the sun entirely, Brandyé looked to the sky once more and vowed that he would not rest until he reached a place where the sun could be seen all day without fear of Darkness.