[Mkguild] Heading to All Tomorrows (2/6)

[C. Matthias]

Here's the second part.

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Metamor Keep:  Heading to All Tomorrows
by Charles Matthias



As he planned, Andares-es-sebashou journeyed to 
the Lothanasi temple in the inner district the 
next morning. Dawn rose with a warm orange 
blossom on the east that never quite managed to 
turn red. Clouds drifted eastward through the 
sky, cauliflowers and dandelions of white that 
thickened the further west they went. Though they 
promised a coming gloom, the first rays of the 
sun glistened in the dew that coated all of the 
walls, the streets, and the banners, making the 
proud Fennasi falcon seem to shimmer as if he 
were flapping his wings. For one brief moment, 
Andares almost thought he'd wandered into a dream instead of another dawn.

The streets were not empty, but so early, only 
the most industrious were out preparing for the 
new day that had just arrived. Soldiers still 
watched over the street, and they observed 
Andares with a respectful and dutiful curious 
stare. With his cowl up and his hands hidden with 
his voluminous gray sleeves, he could hardly 
blame them for taking an interest in him. He was 
a stranger in a city adjusting to many changes 
and with many enemies opposed to those changes.

Despite their scrutiny, they seemed to sense he 
meant none of Bozojo's citizens any harm. Those 
guards standing watch over the gates into the 
innermost ring of the city parted when they 
glimpsed him. Two of the twelve struck their 
breasts lightly with their fists as he passed, 
eyes solemn as if they sensed some of his Åelvish grace.

The innermost bailey was built into an incline, 
which would force any attacker to contend against 
a superior position. Vats of boiling oil could 
easily render the ramp slick and impossible to 
climb, not to mention sizzling hot. Beyond 
arrayed a wide courtyard with the Lothanasi 
temple to the right facing the eastern wall. At 
the rear of the courtyard stood the squat castle 
atop whose towards snapped the piscine flag 
beneath the grasping talons of the falcon; and 
with the wind gripping both, at times it almost 
seemed as if that falcon would snatch the fish up and fly away.

Barracks and stables lined the northern curtain 
wall and these featured both banners from every 
surface that could be found; unlike many that he 
had seen in the poorer parts of the city, these 
were kept pristine and spotless from all muck and 
mire. Doubtless they were freshly cleaned each day.

A broad garden lay in exuberant blossom, with a 
profusion of pinks, violets, lavenders, blues, 
indigos, yellows, and oranges arrayed in 
carefully cultivated rows and columns. Slender 
cherry trees lined the middle of the garden, 
their blossoms bright and the scent of them sweet 
and heady. Andares smiled to himself as he 
appreciated the simple beauty of the courtyard, a 
place of peace even in the midst of the unease in the countryside.

A quartet of blue-liveried soldiers with the 
double bladed cross of the Lothanasi on their 
chests stood on either side of the temple doors. 
The doors were wrought bronze, inlaid with the 
symbols of the Pantheon stretching fifteen feet 
high and six feet across, arched with a rounded 
point typical of Suielman construction. The doors 
were open halfway, wide enough for people to come 
and go, but not so wide that the guards within 
couldn't push the doors shut at the first sign of trouble.

Andares stepped past the guards with a quick nod 
of his cowled head. Beyond the door was a small 
greeting place with smaller doors on either side, 
before the temple area itself opened almost all 
the way to the vaulted ceiling. Bright stained 
glass windows line either side, the eastern half 
permitting the brilliant morning sun to bathe 
them all in a warm light that glistened on the 
gold and silver inlay around marble blocks, 
statues of the gods, and tapestries depicting 
their aid to man. Andares was not surprised that 
there were no scenes where the gods aided the 
Åelf or any of the other intelligent races living 
in Galendor, but he did miss it.

The morning sacrifices had just been completed, 
and so while the Lothanas and a pair of initiates 
chanted in prayer before the altar at the far 
end, a few dozen acolytes all genuflected on 
bended knee, their voices echoing the prayers in 
a solemn ostinato. Andares clasped his hands in 
prayer, joining his quest voice to theirs, heart 
lifting to give his thanks to the gods for all of 
their care and protection on the many long months 
of their journeys. He brought the names and faces 
of his friends to his mind and lifted them up in 
prayer, seeking their protection from the great 
evil that still gnawed away at their hearts.

And there he stayed, knees bent on a hard stone 
floor, gray cloak drawn tightly around him so 
that nothing was visible on his flesh, not his 
pointed ears, not his pearl-gray hands, and not 
his angular face. He could hear the priestly 
incantations to one god after another begin, 
reach a climax, and then decrescendo into 
thanksgiving before the circle would start again. 
Within each invocation his friends found their 
place, especially his dearest mentor, teacher, 
and master Qan-af-årael. On that venerable Åelf 
who had given his life freely to defeat Marzac 
and confound Yajakali's plans so monstrous that 
no word existed which could convey their 
severity, he dwelt most of the time, wondering 
and wishing they could have had more time 
together, but most especially, that his master's 
life and the lives of his own people had not been 
so filled with sorrow for so many centuries.

He was there long after the time when the 
Lothanas left to attend to more mundane affairs, 
while the acolytes busied themselves with their 
many duties. Andares watched them between his own 
prayers, noting the way they laughed and smiled 
as they went about their affairs, cleaning the 
temple, the altar, replacing candles that had 
burned low, as well as donning guard uniforms and 
going to take their turn watching over the holy places.

Others of the Light also came to worship and 
pray, eyes drawn reverently to the altar with its 
double bladed cross and lit candles. The stone 
altar was inscribed with the scene of the 
pantheon's first revelation of themselves to 
mankind; Andares remembered the moment from his 
studies, for it was a time when his brother Elf 
lived with man and taught him, rearing him with gentleness and wisdom.

By the time the sunlight through the windows fell 
on him, Andares finally decided it was time to 
return to the Inn. It would be best to see if 
Heru Benlan Rais had any messages for him. He 
could gather supplies for his journey that afternoon.

The walk back to the Lake's Head Inn was 
uneventful. The air was festive with talk of 
Spring, and all of the new merchants and pilgrims 
flocking their streets now that winter's last 
gasps had been replaced by brisk easterly winds 
and a warmer sun. The clouds in the sky had not 
thickened as much as he'd feared that morning, 
though the east was overcast; the storm, if it 
came, would not come until night. Especially in 
the seller's districts, his ears were tickled by 
borrowed words from his people, some of which were even pronounced correctly.

It was midday by the time he returned to the Inn 
and he found the commons half-filled with 
patrons. Some were tenants like him come down for 
a warm meal, while others were laborers seeking 
some rest and repast. Most of the young boys ran 
about seeing to the needs of the patrons, while a 
few busied themselves with cleaning the unused 
tables and floors. Andares turned toward his 
usual table, but was surprised to see an older 
gentlemen dressed in a white cloak over a light 
gray bisht, with a bright blue sash that hung 
down between the folds of the cloak. His 
white-bearded face was weathered with the sun as 
if he'd come from the southern lands along the 
coast. Before him was a plate of cheese and bread 
topped with a mix of vegetables and sauce. He 
drank lightly from a small goblet of light wine.

Curious, Andares approached the man in the 
foreign garb, but paused before he was halfway to 
the table and considered finding another place to 
sit. But the white-cloaked elder caught his gaze 
and beckoned him closer with one hand, while the 
other dabbed his thick lips with a kerchief. The 
Åelf, uncertain but unafraid, approached the 
table but waited at the edge just beneath the 
stairs. “Greetings, Velelya,” he said with a 
slight incline to his head, the words gliding 
with a musical air from his tongue. “I think you 
have traveled from a land farther from here than I.”

The man lowered the kerchief and then stroked the 
end of his long beard with one callused hand. 
“Yára Velelya,” he swept the hand out to the 
empty seat. “You bless me with your company. If 
you choose to sit with me, I shall be the one who 
is honored. Heru Rais spoke of you, and my heart has yearned to meet you.”

“Then you must be the one to whom he promised to 
introduce me. I am Andares-es-sebashou. And you, 
Velelya, how shall I address you?”

He smiled, weathered face crinkling with folds 
around his eyes and cheeks. “Anefistar. I am, as 
you say, a Velelya who has come from a far land. 
Please, join me. One of Heru Rais's nessë shall 
bring you some apsa in a moment.”

Andares slid into the table across from 
Anefistar, relaxing and feeling a warmth fill 
him. This man spoke the words bequeathed to the 
Fennasi with a fluidity and suppleness that 
betrayed a sensitive tongue. Though they had only 
just met, the Åelf knew that this one had studied 
for a very long time. Did he speak so to impress 
Andares, was this some conceit of his to reveal 
his learning, or was it something else entirely?

“Where are you from, Anefistar? I do not 
recognize that name; it is not of the humans of Galendor.”

“No,” Anefistar agreed, “it is not. I was born in 
Sonngefilde in the deserts of Sondeshara far to 
the south. My love of history and studies have 
carried me from one library to the next through 
that land, and then into this land so far from my 
own. And no, I am no Sondeckis. They are a good 
intentioned people who bear such a terrible 
burden of power and responsibility. But I am not of them.”

“So your studies and love of history have brought you to Bozojo?”

“In a way. I have been in Dûn Fennas for the last 
ten years of my life; the fifteen before it were 
spent in Sathmore and Pyralis as I learned the 
long history of Galendor. I am sure that you, 
Heru Sebashou, could tell me much more, and about 
lands I have never been able to enter.”

Andares narrowed his gaze lightly as he watched 
the white-bearded man eat a bit of cheese. His 
words were measured, but so delicate that no hint 
of his unease came through as he said, “Are you 
seeking entrance to a new land?”

“It would be a delight to my heart if I could, 
but no, I am not seeking it. I am not worthy of 
it, but I hope by sharing the fruits of my 
studies I can help heal some of the wounds that 
exist between the people in this land.” He 
lowered his eyes, brows furrowing like a bull 
frog. “What good is the knowledge and wisdom I 
have gained if I hoard it all for myself?”

“Indeed,” Andares agreed with a faint relaxing of 
his tension. He wasn't quite sure what to make of 
Anefistar quite yet, but his manner was genuine 
and his speech pleasing. And if Benlan Rais 
trusted him, as he obviously must to have seated 
him at Andares's preferred table, then he would 
do well to spend some time conversing to better 
learn who this southerner really was, and what he was doing in Bozojo.

“Then tell me,” the Åelf said, proffering a 
gentle invitation with one gray-skinned hand, 
“what have you learned in your journeys?”

Anefistar smiled broadly and leaned back in his 
seat, stuffing the end of his beard within the 
folds of his white robe with one hand. “To make 
this a fair exchange, I ask only that you tell me 
one tale of your travels. Just one from one so 
venerable, Yára Velelya, as you, and I shall be satisfied.”

He could not hide the smile the stretched his 
angular cheeks. “I do have one tale I can tell. 
But first tell me how you have come to know the Fennasi as well as you do.”

“Any chance to speak of the Fennasi gives me pleasure. Thank you, Yára!”


As promised, one of the nessë brought Andares a 
small plate of fruit, cheese, and bread. He 
savored the clutch of strawberries and the sweet 
dipping sauce, as well as the hard bread filled 
with an assortment of nuts. The cheese made for 
the perfect compliment to both strawberries and 
conversation. He and Anefistar spoke for some 
hours. He regaled the elderly scholar with their 
venture to the Chateau Marzac and its ultimate 
destruction, to which his companion remarked in wonder and delight.

Anefistar for his part described his travels 
through the many human kingdoms and empires 
dotting the land, as well as his curiosity for 
the tales of the ancient ones that had led him 
inexorably to Dûn Fennas. There he spent as much 
time as he could in Salinon and Marigund, though 
the last few years had been spent passing between 
Delavia and Linduin and finding true contentment 
amongst those hardy people who well remembered 
the tales of their Elven masters who had guided 
them and guarded them against their enemies for 
generations before retreating from the world. It 
was there that Anefistar had finally moved beyond 
his practical agnosticism and fully adopted the 
Lothanasi ways, seeing a wisdom, simplicity, and 
humility in the Light that he had never seen elsewhere.

“Oh, I have met many fine Patildor in my travels, 
Yára Velelya. As I can see you have. But the 
Pantheon came to us men while we were still 
living with your kind, and in that I can see a greater truth and humility.”

Andares had accepted these words for he knew 
their truth. As the hours passed, he saw the 
patrons come and go, the nessë run to and fro 
cleaning tables, carrying satchels for some, 
stinking of horse and fish whenever they returned 
from errands, as well as Heru Benlan Rais tending 
to his many patrons, and even a few of the 
Lindalnér returning for another performance of 
ballads and love songs. Through it all he 
continued to converse with his new companion. The 
scholar was well versed in many subjects and had 
spent much of his time in Dûn Fennas learning of 
their history and culture, mastering its 
intricacies and even restoring some of what had 
once been common to the Fennasi people but had 
been lost in the three centuries since the Elf 
had left them. Andares never had to correct his 
pronunciation except for those few words which he 
felt obliged to introduce him to. Even more than 
the people of Bozojo, Anefistar adored the 
ancient and radiant tongue of the Elvish people. 
It was not quite the same tongue as the Åelves 
who had held themselves even more aloof than 
their brethren of Quenardya, but it too was 
cherished as only a reliquary handed down from 
one generation to the next could be.

Their conversation continued into the evening 
before Benlan Rais was able to break away from 
his duties long enough to join them at their 
table. “Forgive me, Velelya, for not introducing 
you to nildo Anefistar as I promised.”

“The Lake's Head Inn is busy,” Andares replied 
with a smile touching the corners of his lips. 
“You are not expected to neglect your business 
for my sake. We have found each other.”

“That I can see,” Benaln admitted with a relieved 
laugh. He then leaned in closer and looking to 
the scholar asked, “Have you asked him yet?”

“No,” Anefistar replied.

Curious, Andares laid one pearl-gray hand atop 
the other, drawing further back within his cloak. 
“What is it you wish to ask me?”

The white-bearded southerner sighed and lowered 
his eyes to the table. “Dûn Fennas may seem to be 
rising with this latest star in their 
constellation. But in truth, she is falling into 
a terrible darkness. It is not a darkness that 
springs from ill-omened Elderwood, nor one that 
stretches down out of the mountains. It does not 
even come from her ancestral enemies to the west, 
all of whom are too weak to even scare Fennasi 
children. No, this darkness, Yára Velelya, comes 
from within her own heart, a heart that has grown 
comfortable and rapacious like all the other 
lands through which I have wandered.”

Andares felt certain he knew to what Anefistar 
referred, but if dark words were to be said, he 
would rather them be said so there could be no 
doubt as to what the shadows were. “Riddles and 
puzzles I have a great love for, and I would 
dearly enjoy a month, a year e'en, spent 
pondering and proposing them with you, Ishtyar. 
But now it is time to speak plainly; let there be 
no distance between our thoughts. What darkness has come over the Fennasi?”

Anefistar nodded, then leaned across the table. 
Both Benlan Rais and Andares leaned toward him. 
In a soft whisper, one so quiet that he couldn't 
even feel the rush of breath, nor see the 
slightest disturbance in his beard when the words 
slipped past his lips, he said, “The Ard-Rí has 
taken the heir of Kelewair captive; they hold him 
in Salinon, so this place can be held safe.”

In a voice equally as quiet, consonants 
punctuating the air like the drop of a pin, he 
replied, “I have heard. What do you mean to ask of me?”

“Your aid. The Fennasi have not seen one of your 
kind in a few generations, but your stature in 
their society has grown no less. If you accompany 
me to Salinon, together we can persuade the Ard-Rí to set his prisoner free.”

“And bring war upon this town?”

“You have seen the soldiers, Yára Velelya. War is 
coming one day or another. But if the son is 
returned unharmed, and unexpectedly... such a 
magnanimous gesture may avert a full scale war. 
Please, come with me and aid me in this. I cannot 
do it without your help. I do not have... your grace, nor your power.”

“I have responsibilities to my own people that I 
must consider. A sacred trust has been given to 
me by my late master and that I cannot disobey.”

Benlan grimaced and shook his head, “Your people 
live so long... Salinon is not far off your course.”

The Innkeeper spoke the truth, and he had already 
delayed his departure from Metamor a week longer 
than he should have out of a desire to remain 
with his new and sadly short-lived friends. 
Andares felt a deep longing in his heart for the 
trees and spires of his home, but at the same 
time he felt a vague sense of responsibility to 
help these people. His brothers had diligently 
watched over the Fennasi for centuries. If they 
were beginning to err and he could do something 
to right them, shouldn't he do so?

Andares took a deep breath and lowered his head, 
the cowl obscuring all but his chin. “I will 
think on these words. Do not speak to me of this 
again until I speak of it to you.” He shifted in 
his seat, standing and sliding free from the 
table. “I must gather supplies in the morning, 
and then I mean to leave. Find me before then, 
and if my mind has changed, I will tell you. Good 
night, Heru Rais. Good night, Velelya Anefistar.”

“May your sleep be restful, Yára Velelya,” 
Anefistar said as he rose from the table and 
bowed, palms spread out before him in a gesture 
of respect to an elder that the Fennasi had 
learned many centuries ago. Benlan Rais also rose 
and bowed, his words similar, full of respect, hope, and confidence.

He met no other on his way to his rooms. And with 
the sound of the lake and the city, and the 
scents of cooked bread, meat, and fish drifting 
in through his windows, he lay awake in bed 
wondering for a very long time before sleep finally, blissfully came.

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Andares must have been dreaming, for he had no 
idea how he had come into the Lothanasi temple. 
The chanting of the priests and acolytes seemed a 
distant haze in his ears, and the colors in the 
tapestries and stained glass windows was bright 
and vibrant, but also diffuse and confusing. Each 
hue elided one into another as if the glass and 
the weave were not stationary, but a living mass 
breathing and waving in welcome to all of the 
Light who had come to worship and offer supplication.

Andares blinked and lowered his head, letting the 
cowl fall back in place over his cheeks. The 
floor at least, smooth and gray, the only 
variation the slight discoloration in each of the 
stones, remained fixed like a lodestone. Keeping 
his eyes to the floor, Andares was also able to 
focus his thoughts. How had he come to the 
Lothanasi Temple? Where had he been so far that day?

Judging by the prayers, it, if this were anything 
but a dream, would have been mid-morning. The 
sacrifice had already been completed and burned, 
as no blood showed forth on the altar to speak of 
the ceremonial death of the birds that took place 
each morning. One prayer tumbled into the next so 
smoothly that if it wasn't for the occasional use 
of the name of their gods, it would have been 
impossible to tell that they prayed to more than one.

After a time though, even his mind could not 
focus on the question of how he had come there. 
Was there ever a sensible explanation in a dream? 
This he reminded himself as he allowed his dream 
to play out. Yet, if he hoped to learn anything 
of significance, there seemed little to offer. 
After finishing his prayers in the Temple, he 
returned to the Lake's Head Inn, avoiding the 
steely gaze of the soldiers, where he gathered 
his things and bid Benlan Rais a fond farewell. 
The Innkeeper was distraught that he was leaving, 
but expressed his fondest wish to see Andares again soon.

The Eastern gate was guarded by just as many 
soldiers and knights as the western gate, but 
they allowed the Åelf passage without comment or 
inspection. Or at least, if they did inspect him, 
he couldn't recall it. Dark clouds brewed above 
him as he set out on the road. By the time the 
lake bent away to the south and he entered the 
rolling hill country leading toward Linduin, 
dotted as it was with frequent copses of trees 
and vast fields of crops, the sky opened and a 
downpour washed everything in gray. The rain 
smeared the very air, cool but not chilling. 
Everything blended together until there was 
nothing but streaks of light and darkness like a play with shadow puppets.

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As was his custom, Andares woke before the rising 
of the sun. After a short prayer of thanksgiving 
to the gods, he donned his traveling gear, his 
ivory-handled blade, and his money pouch. He left 
the small room over the kitchen as he found it, 
leaving the windows open so they could enjoy the 
brisk Spring air blowing in off the lake. He then 
enjoyed a breakfast of eggs and fatty meat and 
washed it down with juice from a fruit he did not 
know. But all the while he ate, he saw no sign of the scholar.

The Åelf did find Benlan Rais shortly after one 
of the Nessë had come to clean his table. The 
Innkeeper looked haggard as if he had not slept 
very well, though his expression brightened 
considerably when he saw his enigmatic guest, 
though when he saw that Andares was dressed for a 
long journey, his countenance fell again. “Good 
morning, Velelya. You have decided to continue on your way?”

“I must hearken to my people, Heru Rais. But your 
fears will not be left behind. I take them with 
me and will consider what can be done. If you 
would do me the honor of passing this message 
along to Heru Anefistar, I would be in your debt.”

Benlan Rais grimaced, but then nodded and forced 
a smile to cross his wide lips. “It will be as 
you say, Velelya. May the gods watch over you on 
your journey. You will always have a room here when you next visit Bozojo.”

And at that, Andares returned the smile, though 
his was genuine and full of affection for this 
short-lived mortal. “It would bring me great 
pleasure to enjoy your hospitality again, Heru 
Rais. May the gods bless your home and your 
city.” They bowed their heads toward each other, 
and then with one last look back, Andares left 
the Lake's Head Inn and made his way toward the 
merchant district of Bozojo to gather supplies for the next leg of his journey.

There were several squares in the city where 
merchants gathered to sell meats, cloths, fruits, 
perfumes, cheap jewelry, and of course fish. The 
fish markets were particularly loathsome in odor, 
and so he kept clear of them, preferring those he 
could find within the second bailey where the 
richer families made their home. The streets were 
quiet at that hour despite the number of 
merchants already at their businesses and 
beckoning to all who passed by; apart from the 
soldiers going about their duties, there weren't 
that many walking the streets yet.

He toured the few stalls that were open so early 
that day, before finally buying a few fruits that 
would keep for a week, as well as dried and 
salted meats with several small loaves of bread. 
That would last him at least three weeks, more 
than long enough to bring him to the last human 
city before he crossed the plains of Yerebey.

The merchants were respectful and quite 
deferential to him, though they kept their 
conversation focused upon their wares. When 
soldiers passed bearing the falcon crest of 
Salinon, or the piscine crest of their liege, 
they doffed their hats and offered salutations with grateful smiles.

It took a few hours to find all that he would 
need, and after he had done so, his purse was 
somewhat lighter and his pack was much heavier. 
By mid-morning the streets were filled with 
people tending their daily business. He could 
hear Lothanasi hymns chanted in little shrines 
dotting the district, most to Wvelkim and Artela. 
He could also hear musicians practicing lute and 
lyre as he passed beneath the high loft windows 
of well-to-do homes; he even recognized a few of 
the melodies as reasonable facsimiles of those 
his Elf cousins used in Quenardya. He could hear 
the clop of horse hooves in every direction, and 
the creak of wagon wheels followed quickly 
behind. Voices conversing in laughter, whispers, 
and shouts surrounded him. But at no time did 
these people crowd him, but always they afforded 
him a respectable distance, as if they recognized 
that he was something altogether different. Few 
referred to him in either speaking to him or in 
whispering about him as they slipped past as 
anything other than “Velelya” and he made no move to correct them.

He reached the Eastern gate of Bozojo a short 
while later, and just as when he had entered the 
city, the soldiers there paid him little mind, 
preferring to inspect the other travelers coming 
and going from the city on the roads the wound 
around the lake, or headed even further eastward 
into Dûn Fennas proper and the country of 
Linduin. Those self-same travelers also gave him 
a wide berth, as if he were an upthrust rock that 
the waves divided around, flowing past with all 
their vivacity but unable to otherwise touch.

The stream of travelers on the outskirts of the 
city, as well as the numerous fisherman and 
laborers heading from job to job, dwindled after 
two candlemarks, many of them fleeing to their 
homes as the sky darkened overhead. Andares noted 
it carefully, observing as the clouds poured in 
from the west, rippling through the sky like 
billows of smoke through a tight flume. A stiff 
breeze kept the scent of fish in the air even 
after the city walls disappeared behind the 
rolling hills northeast of the lake. The castle 
and temple towers remained in sight hovering over 
the lake, while the waters rippled in broad 
strokes, waves rising with each passing minute.

By the time the lake bent away to the south and 
he lost sight of the towers in the midst of the 
high rolling hills wending toward Linduin, he saw 
no one else on the road, and felt the first drops 
of rain. Even if he turned back he would not 
reach the city in time. Andares noted the small 
copses of trees dotting the hills between the 
crop fields, but saw nothing that would shelter him and keep him dry.

He pulled his cloak more tightly around his 
chest, and tugged the edges of his cowl more 
firmly over his head and ears. The puddles 
swelled in the road, and the patter that had at 
first been a gentle massage now became a thousand 
little fists rattling across his head and back. 
Andares picked up his pace, rushing down the 
road, spray climbing his boots with each step. 
His cloak kept the rain out, but with a torrent 
as strong and as sudden as this, it would still 
soak through every nook and opening.

The air was a smear of gray, yellow, and green, 
all shrouded in a darkness that moved like a mass 
where the rain tightened. On a small rise he saw 
a large array of willows, their long branches 
brushing across the ground as the wind dragged 
them toward the east. Andares turned up the low 
hillside, rushing beneath the willow branches. He 
pushed through to one of the willows in the 
middle where the wind wasn't blowing as strongly 
The ground beneath was still dry and he smiled 
lightly as he rested his hands against the tough bark.

“Thank you, friends,” he murmured as he slipped 
down to his haunches, back pressed against the 
tree. The storm was intense, but it would not 
last more than an hour. A short respite beneath 
the willows would see him through it.

Andares spent a little time in meditation, 
listening to the booming rumble of the storm and 
the hammering blows of the rain, before another 
sound intruded upon his peaceful repose. Another 
traveler was climbing the hillside to seek 
shelter just as he had done. Andares opened his 
eyes and sat cross-legged awaiting his guest.

He was both surprised and felt a sense of 
rightness when he saw that the heavy-set traveler 
pushing his way through the long willow branches 
fresh with spring blossoms like a dream 
interrupted was the foreign scholar Anefistar. 
The man's white hair was soaked at the ends that 
had slipped from his traveling cloak, and his 
fingers slipped along the knotty walking staff he 
carried. His haggard face blossomed in 
bewilderment when he saw the Åelf sitting 
patiently and dry at the center of the inmost willow.

“Yára Velelya!” he exclaimed in shock, and then 
his lips lifted into a smile and he laughed a 
deep belly laugh, pressing through the last of 
the willows and dripping all over the soft loam 
like a wet dog. “I suppose I should feel some bit 
of pride that I possess as much wisdom as one of your kind.”

“When it comes to storms, my kind is no wiser 
than your own. We all know to seek shelter.” 
Andares gestured to the dry ground, and then 
stood to help the man find a place to sit and 
rest. “What brings you here? Your surprise makes 
it plain that you were not following me.”

“Hoping to convince you to change your mind? No, 
I was not following you. I have been journeying 
between Linduin and Delavia these last few years; 
I came as far as Bozoo because I merely wished to 
see Dûn Fennas's latest holdings. Our meeting 
there was serendipity. Heru Rais told me that you 
decided to first return to your people.”

“Yes, I have.”

Anefistar nodded, then drew his long beard from 
out of his tunic and began wringing it. He 
squeezed only a few drops free before shoving it 
back beneath his tunic to protect it. “Will you 
be going all the way Delavia? Your road must pass 
through Linduin country; there's no other way 
with the dread Elderwood so close.”

“I will not be passing through Delavia,” Andares 
replied as he thought of the many fields and 
crags lining the road south of the Elderwood. It 
was a long road, one that was always tinged by an 
air of fear that rose from the cursed wood. “I 
will be taking the northern road toward Frondham instead.”

“Of course.”

They sat and listened to the rain for several 
minutes more, neither speaking though their eyes 
did occasionally chance to meet. Andares allowed 
very little to be seen in his expression, and 
while Anefistar revealed very little, there was 
some measure of calculation and want therein. In 
his travels with the Metamorians, Andares had 
well learned that when a human wants something, 
it is only a matter of a brief span, like the 
beat of a dragonfly's wings, before the desire 
has danced from their heart to their lips and into the world.

So too it was with his guest beneath the willows 
as the storm continued its pounding beyond. “Yára 
Velelya, we are both traveling by the same road. 
Even if you will not journey with me to Salinon, 
at least allow me the great honor of accompanying 
you to the place where our ways must part.”

Andares smiled, suspecting that his friend would 
make such a request. He tilted his head back and 
let the cowl fall down to his neck, revealing his 
long, pointed ears, angular cheeks, gray-toned 
skin, black hair, and eyes brimming with a golden 
blue light. “Ishtyar, there is much that you 
know, and much that you wish to learn, is there not?”

“When else will I have the chance to learn from 
your kind, Yára Velelya?” Anefistar spread his 
sun-darkened hands wide, and lowered his eyes to 
them. “I have journeyed farther with my own legs 
than most of my race ever will. And yet, in all 
those travels, you are the first of the ancient 
ones I have ever met. I desire greatly to travel 
with you, even if only for so short a time as the road to Delavia.”

Andares considered briefly before his smile 
stretched even further up his high-boned cheeks. 
“I would be grateful for your honorable company, 
Ishtyar. You may tell me more of your travels, 
and of the Fennasi people. I would greatly like 
to hear of them and of all that you have learned 
of the many human kingdoms of this world.”

Anefistar breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I am 
more grateful than I have ever been in my life to 
hear those words, Yára Velelya. Thank you. I am 
your humble servant and will be obedient in all ways to you.”

Andares nodded and then returned to listening for 
the end of the storm. Anefistar kept quiet as 
well, moving in closer and holding his cloak 
tight to keep in the warmth. The rain began to 
drip along the bark and the branches even so deep 
within the willows, and so Andares pulled his 
cowl back up. He could not help but hope the 
storm ended soon; there was a strange restlessness welling up in his heart.


----------


May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias
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