Chapter One, Scene Two

A mad rush followed as they transported Aewaean from the wagon into the house at the edge of the forest.  Neither Vivaereth nor Marnin had any time to notice the quaint furnishings of the wooden house nor the pot of homemade stew over the stove before they were ushered into one of the back rooms.

They set Aewaean on the bed they found inside.  Eolan dashed into the room, arms full of various items for making an antidote; he hadn't even bothered to take off his winter clothes.  Without being told, he seemed to know exactly what to do and furiously went about grinding things in a mortar.

The old woman went about properly dressing Aewaean's wound, applying a sticky green poultice before wrapping it in fresh linen.  Eolan zipped to her side and offered the already completed antidote.

Vivaereth and Marnin could do nothing but stand back and watch the two work.

Taking Aewaean's head and gently tipping it back, the woman encouraged the liquid down her throat.

Again, there seemed to be a familiarity with which this strange woman was treating his sister; it puzzled Vivaereth.

At last, the duo stood back; already Aewaean's features taking on a more contented look.

"All she needs now is rest."  Vivaereth was startled as the words from the old woman's mouth formed themselves in the language of the Asténter.  She turned to her other two guests.  "I apologize for the delay.  We did not know by which route you would approach the forest.  Fortunately, we guessed right.  Now," she clapped her hands together, regaining the Mortal tongue, "you are no doubt tired and weary of your travel.  Come, Eolan has prepared a wonderful meal for us."

Marnin crossed one arm across his chest and bowed to the woman, a great sign of respect.  "Thank you.  Lady Avúlia."

Vivaereth's eyes snapped in Marnin's direction, embarrassed for his friend's mistake.  But the old woman's lip curled into a smirk, just as it had in the wagon.

"I see this form does not fool you, Marnin.  How astute.  You were a mere fawn when we met last."

Astounded, Vivaereth whirled around to face the woman standing before him.  "Avúlia…?"

Avúlia's eyes glittered, "Vivaereth, on the other hand…."

It was then that Vivaereth noticed the witty green of the woman's eyes and the familiar smile that played on her lips.  Though she wore the grey hair of a mortal elder, woven into a braid, and the hard lines of age creased her face, Vivaereth now recognized her as his friend of countless years.  Embarrassment again fluttered in his stomach, this time for himself.

Avúlia led them back into the main room and seated them at a small settee aside a smoldering fire.  From her perch in the corner, the snowy owl Areil tittered in greeting.  Eolan buzzed over and threw new fuel onto the blaze.  Then he flitted over to the kitchen and went about filling up bowls of stew for their guests, and distributing them.  He proffered the bowl to Vivaereth with a smile.  "Try it," he urged.

The boy had put away his winter clothes and Vivaereth could now clearly see his sandy blond hair and his chipper eyes which were a strange blue-violet color.  Vivaereth gratefully accepted the bowl of stew.

There was a silence as the first few spoonfuls were taken.  Eolan's cooking was surprisingly good.

Vivaereth's eyes found their way again to Avúlia.  She glanced up from her meal and met his gaze, a chortle forming in her throat.  "You wish I would change back, don't you?"

Vivaereth did not answer.

"Well, I am sorry to disappoint but I have become rather fond of this form.  Though I don't know if I could change back even if I tried.

"There's a saying among mortals: 'with age comes wisdom.' I suppose I flatter my own ego by taking this form."  She laughed again, this time more quietly.  "It's strange.  Many mortals fear aging, but I've come to embrace it, even through artificial means.  It is an invaluable experience that is lost on our kind."

"You've become so informal.  Compared to your letters," Vivaereth mumbled.

"Yes, well, my native tongue does lend itself so easily to a formal tone.  Please forgive my bluntness, but the Mortal's tongue is a blunt language to which I've become accustomed.

"But listen to me ramble on!  We have infinitely more important and serious matters to attend to.  This," she slipped a simple white envelope from a pocket in her cloak and slid it across the small table between them, "arrived just today."  Her voice now carried an unnerving gravity.

Vivaereth slowly retrieved the letter and began to read.  His face grew pale.



Caerla, Aí Avúlia, Caerla Aí Vivaereth!

I bring you word of a great evil.  As you know, the fires of Oudhara have been relit, and the Dark One has set out for our blessed Halls of Thiennin.  They have reached us.

We have fared well so far, but there are too many of them.  For every five we kill, one of us dies, and ten more take their place.  The hordes of the Dark One have been unable to breach our inner sanctuary, but it is only a matter of time.

The outer fortress of Thiennin has never fallen, to Mortals or the minions of the Dark One.  We are confident in holding our ground; it is the prospect of a long siege that worries us.  We do not have the food necessary for more than a few weeks.  Our spellweavers are currently binding fortifications to the outer wall.

Folae!  I hear the sound of the retreat horns.  How can this be?  Folae!  I see now, One Like You!  The Dark Asténter is here!  Famiu!  Famiu!

The Light of Thiennin has gone Dark,

The Ailan have fallen!

Famiu, famiu!



"That," she indicated, "was written by an archer on the battlefront.  Do you see his last words?  A final farewell.  Our situation grows more dire by the day."

Vivaereth passed the letter to Marnin, who snatched it up.

Avúlia continued, "This whole situation has spiraled out of control so quickly, and again I curse myself for having bitten my tongue for so long.  In the current light, our priority should be to protect those Mortals who have not yet fallen—"

"The Mortals?!" Vivaereth shouted as he shot to his feet.  Beside Avúlia, Eolan flinched at the sudden outburst.

"Why should we protect the Mortals?!  You said it yourself:  they're a race of greedy, backstabbing bastards!"  He threw his arm in a wide arc.  "Let them destroy themselves!  We must protect our own kind!  Why should we throw away countless lives of our own to attempt to save a people who fight against their own salvation?!  All that will bring is needless bloodshed!  The longer this conflict burns, the more apparent I find the wisdom in our superiors' decision to stay dormant!"

Avúlia grasped Eolan's trembling hand; Marnin's expression was unreadable.  "Vivaereth," quietly, Avúlia spoke, "I understand the hatred you must feel for those Mortals corrupted by the darkness.   I would be surprised if you didn't.  After all, they almost took your sister from you…"

Marnin noticed Vivaereth's fists clench at his sides.

"…But right now, we must be decisive, and not let our passions influence our judgment, for then we would be no better than the Mortals who are tempted by their dark emotions."

Reluctantly, Vivaereth sunk back into his seat.

"There is a great balance at work in our world.  The balance between light and dark, good and evil, is just as rudimentary as the balance between night and day.  One does not exist without the other and they must exist in harmony.  There are times when the night is longer than the day, and vice versa, but one must never overtake the other.  We must ensure that never happens.

"All forms of life too, have a balance all their own.  Whether you'd like to admit it or not, we depend on the Mortals, even if our Council has deluded itself into a false sense of independence.  If they fall, we will all fall."

She leaned back in her seat.  "So you see why we can no longer ignore our long-forgotten partners."

The room fell silent for a long while before Avúlia sighed.  "We must not speak of this any more tonight, for we tread on tainted ground.  You will find rooms made up to accommodate you in the back.  Rest easy knowing that Aewaean is safe.  Pray for good tidings and we shall see what the morrow brings."