“When shadow catches wind in its all-consuming vice, the world of Zailar will be the price.”
The Shining Scrolls (Volume 54), written by High Seer Valenra, of The Order of The Flame, Wind-Cycle 97
THE WAKE OF LOVE
There he is… the star-slayer… eating dinner with her. While Elezir left to gather wood for the night’s fire, Deralius and Eloria are now alone; face to face for the first time in many ages. Even the beasts of the forest still their songs for them. Deralius remembers his path until this point.
He escaped the hellish prison of the Eternal Scar, destroyed The Ever-Morning, and introduced war and shadow to the world. He razed realms to ash, building an empire loyal to the worship of his legend. Swords were forged, spears and arrows were shaped by the hammer of his darkened will, and sharpened by the storm of The Ever-Night. Misery became the food of the fallen because of him. Dynasties were crushed under his boot. He became the father of all that is shadowed and evil; the wellspring of death.
All those dreadful deeds carried no regret or guilt for they led him to her. He finally found his prize. She is the exclamation point to his sentence of destruction and death. He wants to reveal who he truly is but also wants to savor all of her magnificence, drink in all her beauty, and bask in the wonder of her strong presence. He desires to dine with her, remove his cloak of conspiracy, and unveil the truth. Will she be appalled at all he did to find her? Does she remember their past? Is she fooling him?
He needs to understand some things and yet does not comprehend others. His chance of capturing her heart is only possible in that small window of time between now and her father’s return. He does not understand what a family is for he had destroyed his first family and was disowned by his mother, Anutherlyoth, Queen-Star of The Universe. For all of his dark successes in one thousand years of terror, he failed at one thing and this one thing is what he now fears the most. No one ever loved him. Despite dying and resurrecting in many different forms and having many families and friends for one thousand years, no one ever truly appreciated him. He was either used for his power and the things that his power could bring to them, or they feared him because of that same power.
He believes she knows who he truly is, for in his mind he is still the hero who saved her from The Black Chain and the prison of the Eternal Scar. He can taste the Kiss of The Ages. It is so close; right in front of him; looking into his eyes. He will delay no further.
REMEMBRANCE
Dusk. The starlight of the Beredrin River fades. The Red Forest, now south of them, turns black with the shadow of night’s horizon. The wagon is off the dirt road that leads to Grandenhall; a town known for its idyllic thatched farms and rolling hills. They are between the danger of the wilderness and the comfort of civilization; a fitting physical symbolism of both of their journeys.
It is an open space with few trees, save the shadow of The Red Forest far away. The sightline is perfect in case there is any danger from wandering thieves or hungry beasts. Deralius finds stones on the side of the road. He collects them and tosses them in preparation for the fire that will soon burn. The chill settles in. A gentle breeze causes the fog to waft toward them, its ghostlike fingers swirling about, nearly touching them before being swept away by the wind.
Eloria shivers. Her white hair and rosy cheeks are complimented by her steady gaze upon him. Without hesitation, she asks, “I feel like I know you, Corodred. Have you ever been around The Four Towns? Your face is far too familiar and I don’t know why.”
Deralius gently drapes his black cloak over Eloria’s shoulders, “It is a grave sin for such a beauty to ever go cold.”
“Thank you,” says Eloria, her darted flirtatious eyes steadying with intensity.
Deralius clears his dry throat, “I’ve never traveled this far north, to be honest. But you’re right, I feel like I’ve known you for many lifetimes. Strange isn’t it?”
Eloria hunkers down inside the warmth of his black cloak, “Yes, it is.”
“Did your father give you that name?” asks Deralius, desperately fishing for clues.
“He found me near the Beredrin River but far north of here,” says Eloria. “He was fishing. His boat had been pushed off course by a strong wind. After he escaped, he fished near Gorthen. That’s one of the Four Towns if you need to know.”
Deralius fidgets but leans in, “But who decided to call you by that name? It’s very unique.”
“He said there was a man in a white cloak. The man was protecting me until I was found. He told my father that my name was Eloria.”
Deralius leaps to his feet, pacing about, seething, until calming down and taking a deep plunging breath, venom nearly tainting his voice, “A man you say? What did he look like? What was his name?”
Eloria notices the sudden change, the quick steps, the rapidity of his words, and the dark turn in his tone, answering, “I don’t know. Father never spoke of him again. Papa says he was a protector sent by the gods but I think he was someone like you. A Dawn-Rider. A protector of The Flame.”
Deralius fakes a smile and slows his gait. “Yes. Perhaps he was… like me.”
The silence is long. Eloria senses heaviness; a tepid and tense turn in the atmosphere.
“Are you okay, Corodred?” she asks.
He stops pacing and sits down next to her, “I must be honest. I lost a brother long ago. He wounded me deeply. I was never the favorite of my mother. In fact, she cursed me after several of my brothers and sisters passed away. She blamed me for it. She cast me out into the darkness. Into a prison. She even bound me with a large black chain.”
“What an evil mother! How old were you when this happened?” asks Eloria.
”Far too young to comprehend what it all meant,” says Deralius. “I remember a beautiful servant of my mother. She told the servant to bring me to the prison and make sure I served my sentence. The servant and I traveled a long distance on a perilous path. When we arrived at the prison, a black beast attacked her and tried to take her life. I saved her, but in the process, I was dragged into the prison by that vile beast.”
“What happened to the servant?” asks Eloria, leaning in.
Deralius gazes at Eloria, his eyes narrowing, “I’m still searching for her. I know she is here, somewhere. And one day I will find her.”
Eloria catches his meaning. Her cheeky tone turns suddenly humble… her voice breaks with disappointment, “Is your heart bound to her and only her?”
Deralius stands up, looking into the brilliant rising moonlight, bearing a long breath.
Snapping branches and pounding footsteps interrupt their moment. Elezir steps out of the darkness and into the moonlight with a small carriage full of chopped wood. He plops them in front of Eloria.
“There we go. Enough wood to last the night. And I caught some fish on the river just before sundown. Time to feast.”
Eloria and Deralius go awkwardly silent.
Elezir probes after perceiving the sudden sourness of the moment, “Corodred, you eat fish, correct? Did I offend?”
“No, I mean… yyes. I do. Thank you,” says Deralius, smirking at Eloria with a brassy glance.
Oblivious, Elezir continues, grinding horses hoof into finely powdered tinder. He sparks a fire with a flint and iron pyrite. The fire lights up the night. He guts the fish with his knife.
“Bless Mother-Light! I have a Dawn-Rider dining with me!” says Elezir with kiddish glee. “Since I’ve read so many legendary tales of your order when I was a child, please… do tell me a story I don’t know.” He turns to his daughter, rubbing his hands together, “Eloria, listen closely. You’re going to love this.”
Eloria desperately wants Deralius’ answer to her initial question but realizes the moment has passed.
What happened to her? ponders Deralius. Why has she forgotten me? Why has she forgotten herself?
Deralius sheepishly smiles, glancing at Eloria but then smiling at her father. His mouth dries as his hands turn clammy, slick with cold sweat, twitching with trembling nerves. Wars were easier than this… far easier. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to answer her question but also at the same time ask her the most important question— “Do you remember me?” — but now it was sabotaged, wasting away like the dry wood of the fire right in front of him.
How does one focus on anything else when the moment you desired for over one thousand years evaporates before your eyes? Deralius squares his chest, inhales a lungful of chilly air, and moves forward with his mission but in a far more circuitous route.
“Let me tell you a story, says Deralius. “It is the saga of my people.”
He clears his throat and deepens his voice as if he were a great teller of tales, “The Dawn-Riders were the first mortals of Zailar to discover shadows. The Flame, or as we call it, The Dawn, or The Ever-Morning, is the power of light used to create life. When the world of Zailar was initially made, shadows never existed. War was not even a thought in the hearts of men, for we lived by the way of The Flame: Life, Love, and Peace. All the realms of men once worshipped The Dawn and paid tribute to its power by lighting our altars with The Flame in the highest places of our cities. It was our way to honor the creation which was forged by the sword of Zulion.”
“Zulion?” asks Eloria. The name sounds familiar; as if Elezir had recited these myths before. “He made the world by a sword? How odd?”
“It was originally made for life, to shape according to Zulion’s pleasure,” says Deralius. “He gave swords of great power to the first seven leaders of the mortal realms, to aid him in populating this world. With those swords, they created many of the valleys and plains. He did not allow them to create the high places because that was his pleasure, forming the mountains and the rivers that fall and rise from their heights.”
Eloria fixes her lacey white hair with a terse brush of her fingers, sitting down beside him, asking, “Rivers could once rise into the mountains? That’s impossible.”
“All things were possible during The Age of Utter-Light,” answers Deralius. “Gravity’s curse had not yet taken hold, allowing vast rivers to float upward to the peaks of the mountains. Every mountaintop and valley shined with the light of Zulion.”
That name causes her to lift her eyes and wonder. Deralius immediately stops and asks her, “Is all well?”
“Yes. It’s just that I’ve heard that name before,” says Eloria.
“Where? When?” asks Deralius, losing all track of thought.
“In my dreams,” answers Eloria. Flashes of memory flit past the eye of her mind… far too many at once… white light… a river… and a man in the prime of his life, wearing a white cloak… looking over her.
Back to the present, Eloria takes deep breaths, her face now flush, and her eyes dizzily twirling about.
“It is happening again,” says Elezir. He puts the fish down and asks her, “Again?”
“Yes. The man. The one you spoke of. A memory of the past. I am having them more frequently now,” says Eloria.
Deralius snarls but instantly catches his jealous rage, returning to his senses, “Do you need water? You seem unwell.”
Elezir explains, “She’s been suffering from these visions. There was this man that was guarding her when I first found her next to the Beredrin River.”
Deralius interrupts, “Zulion. That was his name, was it not?” He bites his lip as he awaits the father’s answer.
“No. That is the maker of Zailar,” says Elezir, with an explosive guffaw. “There is no way that a god would meet with someone as lowly as I.”
The father tries to recall the name— it’s nearly at the tip of his tongue— but then he gives up, “Ziol… Zeol… it was with a Z… but I’m getting old. I don’t remember.”
“It was him," Deralius hisses, his words laced with ancient, cold rage. He catches his outburst, masking it with calm. “I know it. I’ve been searching for him for quite a long time. But at least I know he is here, somewhere.”
“A god protecting little old me?” asks Eloria.
“Do you not remember who you are?” asks Deralius, hoping for her to come clean.
She struggles to understand his track of thought, shaking her head.
Elezir peers deeper into Deralius’ eyes as if he had found something, “She has a gift. A power I cannot comprehend. She cannot control it but you saw it in the Red Forest. Who is she? What is she?”
Eloria puts her hand over her mouth, her voice cracking from the disappointment, “I am your daughter, father. Why are you saying such things?”
Elezir stands to his feet and cups Eloria’s chin in his beefy hands, “You're more than my daughter, Sunny. You’re a gift from the gods. You’re nearly twenty years old now and these incidents are becoming harder to hide. You’re being watched by the gods. There is no doubt in my mind. And this is what I fear but also what I must accept. You were meant for more than just being a healer’s daughter. And this young man is now part of your story. Look what his gift did for you. It changed your life forever! You will one day do this for so many others.”
Elezir hugs his daughter. While the moment is fresh, Deralius pounces, “I can tell you who you are.”
Eloria kisses her father on her forehead, stepping forward. She nods.
“You are Eloria, Goddess of Gale, great galactic wind of the universe,” says Deralius.
Eloria steps back and shakes her head in disbelief, “Then how was I born? I am mortal. Just like you. Just like my father. This cannot be. I will not believe it.”
“Do you not remember the Eternal Scar?” shoots Deralius quickly. “The Black Chain tried to take you. Do you remember the command of my mother? She told you to watch over me and send me into the prison of the Eternal Scar millions of years ago. I saved your life! I endured the untold torments of that cursed prison! You promised you would wait for me but when I escaped, you abandoned me! You left me for dead! Do you not remember that?”
A wind twirls from Eloria and swirls around the fire, weakening its light. Her father rests his hand on her shoulder. Instantly the wind dies down.
Eloria narrows her eyes, a sliver of anger lines her voice, “You’ve gone mad. I remember none of this because it never happened! What trick have you pulled to heal my legs? Are you even Corodred? Or are you another?”
Deralius lunges forward, his voice suddenly softer, humbler, “Wait. It is true. I’m not a mortal. I’m not Corodred. I am a Child of The Flame. Zulion is my brother. I’m sorry for deceiving you but I needed to see you one last time.”
“I can no longer trust you,” says Eloria.
Elezir quickly interrupts, “Sunny, please, calm down. Control yourself. We don’t need any more damage. Let us leave in peace, okay?” He turns to Deralius and offers an awkward smile melded into fear, “Lad, I will always thank you for what you’ve done. Whether you are who you say you are, or if you are another, I care not. My daughter is walking because of you. That is enough for me, only, please do not anger her. I would strongly advise we eat and then be on our way. Not one more word of this story of yours. Please, I beg you.”
Deralius drops his head in disgust and stretches out his hand at Eloria. She slowly removes his black cloak and gives it back to him.
“I will leave now. Now is not the time for her revealing. She is not ready. And I am no longer hungry. He will come again. My brother is here, watching you. He knows what you do not know yet. And he will take you for himself. He has put a spell on you, so that you would not remember who you are… so that you would not ever love me. Those dreams you’ve had of him, those visions, and open trances are all his trickery upon your heart. To keep you asleep to the reality of who you are. I’m sure of it. I will leave but I do it knowing that the next time I see your daughter’s beautiful face, it will be under far more tragic circumstances. Circumstances that could have been avoided if you would have heeded my words and my warning.”
He turns to Eloria one last time, saying, “This is not your first life. You’ve had many. I think I know why but you will not hear me now. You will hear me later. By then, I pray it will not be too late for you or for this world. Farewell, Goddess of Gale. You will one day remember that I loved you first.”
He steps away from the fire and into the darkness of the road until suddenly he disappears into the deep shadow of night.
Hiding behind a distant tree is a man in a white cloak. His face is covered but his trenchant blue eyes shine even in the shadow. Eloria turns to him but just as she sees a flit of light in the corner of her eye, he disappears.
BOOK 1: THE LEGEND OF MOTHER-WIND, EPISODE 2