R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

“But wait! What’s this?” he cried when he noticed something on the edge of the scroll. “Oh, no! Oil. Oil from curious fingers. You’ve touched it! Oh, no!”

“I didn’t know,” Del explained.

“Oh, bother it all!” the wizard groaned. “That’s how it all happened in the first place. Someone touching a scroll. Supposed to make a fire burn brighter, sure, sure, but poof right in my face! And now you’ve handled this one! Oh, bother, I’ll probably grow hair out of my ears!”

“I’m truly sorry,” Del said, biting his lip in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle a laugh.

“You think that’s funny?” Ardaz snapped, appearing quite angry, but unable to hold the scowl as he considered his own prediction. “I suppose it would be, wouldn’t it? Ha-ha! Hair out of my ears! Oh how jolly, how very jolly!”

When they had finished their laugh, Del recounted his adventures to Ardaz. Unlike Mitchell at the court of Arien, Del told of everything that had befallen his party honestly and completely. The wizard listened with sincere interest, but was especially attentive when Del recounted his dream of being watched by a green eye. And he made Del repeat the parts about Avalon three times.

A starry evening was in full bloom by the time Del had finished.

“Ah, Avalon,” Ardaz said. “Clas Braiyelle, it is called by the Illumans, you know. A fitting nickname.” His voice had lost all hints of its frantic edge, as if he had suddenly realized how important the return of the ancient ones could be to his world. “I envy you that you have seen her, but I would not tell anyone else of it, if I were you.”

“Why not?” Del asked. “I told the rangers, Andovar and Belexus, and they weren’t upset.”

“The rangers are wise, very wise,” Ardaz replied. “Under the eyes of Bellerian, they remember the past and they understand the power and goodness of Brielle. Most men and even many Illuman fear the witch and would shun you if they knew you had seen her. The Children of the Moon have forgotten what she did for their race back in the distant past. Hah, many have even forgotten what I, Ardaz, did for them at the beginning of their age. It is a sad time that we all live in.”

“I have to go back,” Del muttered. “To Avalon, to her.”

“If all that you tell me is true, I think she would like that, too.” The wizard smiled. “But let me think about it.

“Now go, my boy, back to the city and quickly. The moon will be rising soon. Wouldn’t want to miss the festival, would you?”

“Will you be there?” Del asked.

“I might,” Ardaz replied. “But for now, you’ve given me much to think about. Yes, very much to think about.”

DEL MOVED OUT from the glade and gingerly started down the invisible stair, leery at first, remembering the trouble he had coming up here in the daylight. Soon, though, he found that the darkness was his ally. The mountain wall remained easy enough to discern, towering right next to him, and his inability to see the invisible steps in the dim light didn’t blatantly contradict his logic.

When he got about halfway down, he heard singing coming from the northwestern corner of the valley. Hundreds of elves, the whole city it seemed, were joined in a singular chorus of celebration. Del couldn’t make out the words, for they sang in the strange enchantish tongue, but the tune and tempo made the emotions of the song clear to him. They sang a joyful melody, yet mysterious, almost supernatural, as if their song was for the stars and the heavens alone to understand.

When he had finally reached the valley floor-and it seemed a long while indeed-he raced to the gathering of the elves, their haunting song still rising in the evening air. He found Billy with Sylvia and Erinel. Mitchell and Reinheiser were there, too, a little way off, talking by themselves.

“Where’ve you been?” Billy asked when Del approached. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“A little business, that’s all,” Del said. “Nothing important.”

Billy didn’t press the issue. The thought of Del going off on some mysterious enterprise seemed perfectly normal to him. Billy was quite sure now that something unique had happened to his friend. Del alone among the remaining crewmen accepted this world with all his heart and soul, and Aielle and its peoples seemed to be returning the welcome. Everyone they met placed Del in high regard.

Sylvia looked at Del with an apologetic expression. “I pray that my father was not too harsh with you,” she said, and Del knew that she was truly concerned. “You must understand that this is a dangerous time.”

“Sylvia,” Del interrupted with an uncontainable grin, “your father is a perfectly wonderful elf!”

“Again you speak that word,” Sylvia protested.

“Arien doesn’t disapprove,” Del explained. “In fact, he, the Eldar of your people, has personally given me his permission to use it. Honest.”

“It’s really not an insult,” Billy added.

“I shan’t argue the point,” Sylvia said with a sigh of surrender, unable to resist their grins. “I suppose that it is the way that a word is spoken that determines its intent.”

“What’s all this singing about?” Del asked.

“Luminas ey-n’abraieken,” Sylvia replied.

Del just shrugged his shoulders.

“Abraieken means celebration, a dance,” explained Sylvia. “And the place to which we shall journey we name Shaithdun-o-Illume.” She sang softly:

Luminas ey-n’ abraieken

Mountain shelf of moonlight

Dance your dance of freedom

Children of the restless night

Sparklings of the mirror-rock

Tivriasis’ endless song

Lift your arms to the silvery orb

May her passage be bright and long

Luminas ey-n’ abraieken,

Shaithdun-o-Illume!

Your light is mine alone!

Sylvia could see that her song had pleased Billy and Del, and that, in turn, brought a smile to her fair face. “We celebrate this festival each month during the three nights of the fullest moon,” she explained. “When the shelf is bright in silver light and feet dance to the song of Tivriasis! You will see, and I promise, you will enjoy.”

The crowd around them went quiet.

“Be silent now,” Erinel said to the three of them. “They are about to begin. My uncle has brought the Staff of Light.”

The whole gathering remained hushed, and all the torches were extinguished. In front of them, on a rock pedestal, stood Arien Silverleaf, barely more than a silhouette in the starlight. He held a crooked staff before him in one hand and rubbed its knobbed top with the other. “Illu lumin-bel,” he commanded the staff. Gradually, the top began to glow, increasing in intensity until Arien was bathed in soft light. Then he clasped the staff tightly in both hands and presented it to the crowd, which responded in unison with, “Illu lumin-bel!” At once the staff obeyed their joined will, its top bursting into bright light.

Arien handed the staff to Ryell. Behind them, on the mountain wall, loomed the blackness of a tunnel entrance.

The Eldar waited for the commotion to die down, then addressed the gathering. “Four guests shall join in our dance tonight,” he declared. “Men who have come to us from a far-distant place.” Predictably, whispers arose throughout the gathering.

“Silence!” Arien commanded them. “The moon will be rising soon; we do not have much time. Shaithdun-o-Illume awaits. Let us find our places!”

With laughter and songs, the elves bustled about into the ritual line that signaled the beginning of the celebration.

“Take my hand, DelGiudice,” Sylvia said, “and stand behind me. And you, Billy Shank, take my other hand and go before me.” And so it went all up and down the group, the elves forming one long chain with joined hands. Arien led the way with the Staff of Light, Ryell directly behind him. There was one break in the chain this time, though, for Mitchell stood behind Del and would not accept Del’s hand, something that Del recognized as clearly childish and unbefitting this man who claimed leadership.