Dawn comes with no sign of their companions. But with the coming of light, Cirien and Elmariyë descend the slope of the mountain and draw near to the castle, though not within a hundred yards. For a while, they debate entering, for both of their hearts are sick with worry and uncertainty, and sitting and doing nothing while one’s friends stare into the face of death is a torment in itself which stirs in them the desire to act. Indeed, even if there was little or nothing that they could do, they would wish to share in the fate of their companions, to be near to them in this most fragile of places.
About the third hour of the day, they begin to hear a groaning beneath them, deep down in the earth, not the groaning of man or animal, but the crying of the earth itself. Like an earthquake gradually working its way upward from the depths, the sound and the vibration comes to them as a warning. But despite this warning and the concern for their friends which it deepens in them, everything else continues as it had before. Only near the middle of the day does anything change. With their faces to the castle and their eyes on alert for the slightest signs of movement, they do not miss the dark figure that passes against the bright day, silhouetted against the mountains behind it, a flash of red glistening in the sunlight. “Is that…?” Cirien asks, rising unconsciously to his feet and trying to follow the figure with his gaze. But it moves so quickly it is a blur to their vision.
“What is it?” Elmariyë asks. “It is too large to be a bird, and it shines in the light like a…”
“It must be a dragon,” Cirien concludes, carrying the frayed threads of her thought and suspicion into clarity and conviction. “They live only in the mountains, in caves in the very hollows of the peaks. This I did not expect to see here, and I fear for our friends’ lives.”
“Perhaps we should find cover,” Elmariyë says, gently grabbing Cirien’s arm, “or we shall have reason to fear for our lives as well.”
“Yes, yes, you are right,” replies Cirien, and the two of them run for the nearest copse of trees, where they huddle together, letting the canopy of the trees conceal them. The dragon flies in wide circles overhead as if testing its wings—or scanning the landscape for prey. They watch it anxiously for many minutes until it eventually breaks its cycle and flies off to the north. Before long, it is no more than a speck in the distance, and then too far for human sight to perceive. At almost the same moment that they lower their eyes from the sky, they are drawn to movement in the castle, whose courtyard they can just make out over the light-devouring walls. And what they see sends waves of relief, gratitude, and near-incredulity through them: Eldarien, Rorlain, and Tilliana step forth from a great arched doorway and stand blinking in the sunlight. They appear to be unharmed.
But Cirien and Elmariyë, seeing their friends, immediately think of the dragon and, fearing its return, step out of the copse and hasten to make their way the rest of the distance down the slope. When they are in earshot they call out the names of their companions. The three who have emerged from the castle seem to be in just as much haste as they are and rush to meet them. They come face to face just outside the walls of the castle, which stands as lifeless as it had when they first encountered it.
“You made it!” Cirien cries, looking in their faces with a wave of gratitude bordering on astonishment. “I feared that the castle would be filled with hordes of beasts keen on your swift destruction. Facing the mysterious creature that has been assailing us, alone, is difficult enough.”
“We have much to speak about,” replies Eldarien, and Cirien and Elmariyë both note the exhaustion in his voice. “It is true that the castle, within and without, was as silent as a corpse, all life having vanished from within it. And yet it was a corpse haunted by an evil spirit intent on vengeance. And our presence stirred awake what had long slumbered within, and its depths are now as far from silent emptiness as its outer layers are permeated by it. And soon, we fear, the whole castle will be overrun.”
“He means that we found the source—or at least a source—of the creatures of darkness, their birthplace,” Tilliana explains. “They emerge from a great lake of fire in numbers too many to count, and in form and figure larger and stronger than anything we have yet encountered.”
“A dragon,” Cirien says, as if the pressing nature of its presence only now returns to him. “We saw a dragon. It circled the valley for a few minutes before flying to the north. We should depart from here before it returns.”
“We should depart before the castle vomits forth the blackness that it bears within,” Eldarien says. “Cirien, do you know the way by which we may continue through the mountains?”
“I know no more than any of us,” he replies. Yet then he turns to face the northwest and, with a gesture of his hand, he adds, “But I expect that the path passes along the base of those two peaks, so we should travel in that direction.”
“Then let us be off.”
† † †
While they walk, with as much haste as their weakness and exhaustion allow, Eldarien and Rorlain explain to Cirien and Elmariyë the events that unfolded in the hours since their entrance into the castle. Tilliana at present says nothing, as most of their account is as new to her as it is to the others. Eldarien’s account of the forge is of particular interest and also of easier explanation than the “assaults of the mind” through which each has passed, about which neither says much beyond generalizations and gestures. Before they have yet come to the moment of Tilliana’s rescue and the intervention of Rorlain, Eldarien turns his gaze to Cirien and asks, “Do you know anything about this forge?”
“I fear it is another part of our history that has been lost in the swirling mists of time,” the latter replies, “that is, if we ever knew about it at all. I must say that I did not expect to find answers to our questions by taking this pass through the mountains. I expected rather to avoid all incident and remain concealed from sight until coming near to our destination.”
“It seems to me, however, that all of this has raised more questions than it answered,” says Rorlain, but then with a sigh he adds, “Though it is true that it has illumined much. Yet the illumination is dark.”
“You have not yet told us the end of this story,” Cirien says. “The forge is a great and terrible discovery, but what of Tilliana? And you said you were separated. How did you find one another again?”
As Eldarien explains the emergence of the druadach from the lake of fire, they find the path winding its way steeply up a crevice between the two mountains and set their feet firmly upon it. For a while they walk, listening to his account, glancing intermittently over their shoulders as if expecting hordes of eötenga to come flooding at any moment from the castle. But they see nothing. Yet the deep groaning of the earth continues, and even at this distance they hear it rumbling underneath them, hardly perceptible but present nonetheless. “Wait, look!” Elmariyë cries suddenly, pointing back toward the castle. They turn and witness an unusual sight: at the center of the castle, where the roof of the keep is highest, blossoms forth a burst of color glistening as it reflects the rays of the sun. As they look on, a column of crystal breaks through the stone and rises rapidly upward; it is like watching the birth of a mountain as it pushes up out of the earth, its point reaching to the sky. And yet here it forms not a gradual slope of stone and earth but a great, jagged pillar of glistening crystal like a razored blade wielded by an immense beast thrust up from deep in the pits of the earth in the effort to pierce the heavens. Soon the castle itself is engulfed in this crystal—crystal of the same substance that they saw in the ornate structure of the throne, but now revealing veins as of inflamed blood vessels streaked throughout, a dark black against the purplish hue of the rest of the pillar. While the pillar ascends, the entire valley trembles and the earth shakes, groaning as in pain while this child of darkness forces its way to the surface and is born into the light of day as a harbinger of the dark of night.
“Did it,” Tilliana begins at last, the first one to find her voice, “did it destroy all the beasts within?”
“I expect rather that it is their new home and fortress, or the sickly womb of their devising and increase,” Eldarien whispers in response. “A terrible thing it is,” he continues, “though I take solace in the hope that this means, at least for the present, that we are not being pursued.”
“Not by a host of the living dead, at any rate,” Rorlain adds, “though I would not expect to be entirely free of pursuit.”
“You are right,” says Eldarien with a nod. “But pursuit or no pursuit,” and with these words he at last reveals the extent of the exhaustion he has been concealing, “I must rest for a while. I can go no further.” With this he collapses to the earth, though Rorlain’s quick assistance blunts the impact of his fall.
“You expended everything you had, and more than you had,” Tilliana says softly, covering her face with her hand. “But without it, I would not be here.”
Rorlain raises Eldarien, helping him to stand by supporting him from behind, and says, “Yes, he bore the brunt of the effort, and I only arrived at the last moment. Come, there are some large boulders over there. In their shadow, we can take shelter even as we attempt to remain hidden from sight.”
When they are all seated or reclined in a narrow space between two angled stones, Cirien turns to Rorlain, “You said that you came at the last moment. Please, tell us, how did this tale end?”
Before answering, Rorlain shifts uneasily and diverts his gaze. The earth around them is silent now, and the groaning has ceased. All is quiet as if nothing had happened, though the pillar stands in the distance, visible above the stones as it pierces the sky, its veinous surface looking like an ill and infected wound against the purity and brilliance of the world. Rorlain’s eyes catch on the pillar for a moment, and his face is thoughtful. At last he says, “This column of glistening stone—whatever it may be—is sick. One can both feel it and see it. Something about it is the work not of natural forces but of unnatural, which birth not in generosity but in violence. But so too, our hearts bear sicknesses within themselves, which are not the work of our original design but of other forces which sway us from the light, as well as the work of our own turning away, our own infidelity and shame. Just so in the darkness of the castle’s depths, I came face to face with my own disorder, my own guilt, and my own insecurity. And the Lord of Mæres, for so we now know he is called—or at least so he calls himself—sought to sway me from my path. He offered me something that seemed like an answer to long asked questions. And even if only for a moment, his words seemed attractive to me, as if he did indeed offer me the answer I had always been searching for. Ah, the labyrinth of lies woven by a mind greater than our own, even now it is hard to believe! But…but in this place, something happened that brought about the opposite effect from what the Lord of Mæres intended.
“For a realization dawned on me in the darkness,” Rorlain continues softly, embarrassed. “I became aware at last of what I was missing. I thought I needed some particular gift, some special reason for my presence on this journey. Indeed, throughout my whole life this has been present within me: the desire to be not only wanted but needed. To have something that others do not have and to have them look to me for it. I did not know that this was one of my reasons for my accompanying Eldarien on his journey—indeed accompanying all of you now—as well as a part of my wish to remain in Ristfand. It was even, in the beginning, part of my desire to repay the debt of my life to Eldarien and to protect him from harm. But I see that the good lies not only in act but in intention, both, and if the act was good the intention was in need of purification.
“And only when I faced, with heart exposed, the fear that was driving me, that was impelling my actions and underlying my desires, was I able to receive the gift of sight. In this place of utter darkness, I finally opened my eyes and my heart to the light—the light which you have known and loved for so long but which has always scared me and has felt so distant and inaccessible. I cried out to Hiliana in the words, ‘I cannot see in the darkness. Will you show me the way to my friends?’ And immediately I felt her with me, like her hand was wrapped around my own in the darkness—a presence that though invisible brought light into the blackest place in my surroundings and in my heart.
“And so she led me all the way to you—and granted to me the answer that the creature of darkness could not, an answer pure, simple, and transparent: I was granted the ability to aid you with a share of the self-same light that has first touched you. But this other presence, this ‘Lord of Nightmares,’ thought, in his blindness and obsession with the darkness, that I was speaking to him when I asked for guidance. He assumed that I had surrendered to his plan and was willing to allow him to lead me. Thus I passed unhindered. That, of course, was not a part of my plan, and indeed, I had no plan, for my cry was simply a cry of desperation and of faith. But Hiliana knew, and she veiled herself so that the trap which this creature of darkness set would redound back upon himself again. This was a trap meant to lure me to you and to use me as his tool to overcome you: to be the shadow against your light. To turn a friend against a friend, bringing division between companions who seek a single goal, by instilling in one of them a lust for importance. This was his goal, and I am sorry that I entertained his voice for even a moment.”
Eldarien smiles compassionately in response, and, sitting up from where he rests, he reaches forward to draw Rorlain into an embrace, saying gently and with genuine gratitude, “But you resisted him. And even more importantly, you were saved. In the place of darkness, you found something—someone—whom no words of mine could ever communicate so deeply or so truly. Now we are really brothers, more than we could ever be in any other way than this.” And then, leaning back and looking into his eyes, Eldarien concludes, “Thank you, Rorlain. Thank you for saving us.”
† † †
They spare as much time for rest as they can, but the desire to distance themselves from the pillar of dark crystal and the horrors that it conceals within soon drives them to continue their journey. But before this, Eldarien is able to sleep a little—and falling asleep is no trouble, for as soon as silence descends upon them at the conclusion of the prior conversation, he leans back against the slab of stone and closes his eyes, and within less than a minute, his breathing is slow and steady with slumber. Three hours they spare, and no more. Rorlain, too, spent by his own newfound channeling of the light, passes in and out of sleep. But the others remain awake, their minds too stirred with the events of the last twenty-four hours and their hearts too anxious of the dangers surrounding them to allow them to sleep. Cirien is the first to stir, leaning toward Eldarien and placing a hand upon his shoulder. Shaking him gently, he says, “I am sorry to wake you, but I think we should continue moving now. I do not wish to stay here any longer than we already have.”
Eldarien opens his eyes and looks around, his attention focusing, and then replies, “How long have I slept?”
“The shadows of the late afternoon lengthen now,” says Cirien, “so I suspect it was three chimes of the bell.” And then, with a sorrowful expression, he add, “Though how I wish we still had such pure and sacred sounds ringing out around us. Only now that it is gone do I realize how much I have come to love the bell of the temple.”
“Three hours… It is longer than I would have wanted, but helpful nonetheless,” Eldarien says. “I feel much better now.”
Rorlain is awake as well and, catching Eldarien’s eyes and their unspoken question, he nods silently and then says, “I feel fine. I understand now some little part of the ‘weight’ that one carries in being touched by the light and in its name confronting the darkness. It is a good thing that I did not fall unconscious for days, as you did at first,” he adds with a consoling smile and a surprising glint of humor in his eyes.
“That is good indeed,” replies Eldarien. “I do not know if any of us here could have carried you limply in our arms for so long.”
At these words the others laugh softly. And then as if by implicit agreement, they rise and climb out from among the stones, retaking the path as it continues up into the narrow pass between the two greatest peaks of the Yjind mountain range. The sun descends beyond the crest of the mountains in the west and casts long shadows over the valley in which they walk, though the sky above them is soon cast in colors of reddish-orange and pink. The clouds that billow high in the sky’s expanse become radiant in the wash of color that bathes their upper portions, as if reaching to the heavens, while their undersides are dark, almost as if threatening rain or sharing in the darkness that has now fallen over the earth.