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

[C. Matthias]

And here's the last part!  Confused yet?

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Metamor Keep:  Heading to All Tomorrows
by Charles Matthias


As if waking from a daze, Andares realized that 
he was walking through a very familiar forest. 
Towering trees surrounded him on every side, 
while an almost imperceptible track guided him 
through the lush underbrush. And though it was 
familiar to him, and he knew he should have been 
able to do more than to discern the trees and the 
track, he could not identify any details on his 
passage. He took a step and seemed to take 
thirty. He took a breath and another fifty would 
seem to pass. He noted a single tree and a hundred more like it slipped past.

Dreams had meanings did they not? So what did 
this passage through his homeland mean?

Andares could not answer that question as his 
pace kept him moving deeper and deeper into the 
woods until finally the opened out to reveal a 
broad array of ivory towers blended with the 
trees. Brilliant sunlight streamed through the 
boughs to bask them in a warm radiance that 
scintillated from each gossamer thread decorating 
and supporting those towers. A river wound 
through the crevice, and across this delicate bridges stooped.

Surrounding him on all sides at the proper 
distance and with the fixed decorum, were his 
fellow Åelf. Faces he recognized blended with 
more faces he recognized as they welcomed him 
back to Ava-shåvais. He felt the singing of songs 
echo through the air, while the branches thrummed 
with the ancient hymnody. Some spoke to him. He 
spoke back. The words made sense at the moment 
they were said, but he could not recall them a 
moment later. All that brought him to this point 
seemed to be swallowed in a fog, as if his very 
past were being devoured by some eldritch beast following him through time.

He dimly noted that he was conducted with great 
reverence and care to the central tower in which 
Qan-af-årael had once gazed at the stars and 
there he was divested of his garments and bathed 
with oils and fragrances. These scoured all scent 
of the road from him, leaving him as delicate to 
the nose as a fawn. When they finished he was 
attired, almost draped, in fresh robes of vibrant 
hues that shimmered in the light. The sword 
Anna-ithil-årda was placed back into his hands. 
Invocations were made and incense burned. The 
light shining through the trees tilted and swung 
through the sky as if a great deal of time had passed.

And then he was escorted by those same Åelf whom 
he knew but could not name into the tower and 
guided up its many long steps. Through the 
windows he caught flickers of the spider-silk 
thin weave of ivory that clung to the branches of 
the tree about which the tower had been built. He 
could almost feel it warm with vivacity as he continued upward.

The steps at times seemed to move slowly, and 
others they sped past as if time were tumbling 
down a hill while branches and brambles caught 
its cloak now and again halting its passage. But 
all things that fall had to reach bottom, and so 
all things that climbed steps must reach the top. 
Andares found himself in the top most tower room, 
a room decorated on every side by intricate 
drawings, each of them some hint to a past event 
that had once spoken of the future, a great story 
that his mentor had watched and observed and 
subtly guided. Beyond a small balcony had a clear 
view of the sky. The sky was bright and clear. 
There was nothing else to see nor anywhere else to go.

“Your new prison,” a voice seemed to echo in his mind.

Andares gazed into the sky, but saw only a broad swath of blue.

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April 29, 708 CR


Not only did Duke Otakar of Salinon not place 
Andares and Anefistar in a different prison, but 
they were provided no more bedding than had been 
made available to Jaime. The small circular room 
had enough floor space that both of the travelers 
could find a place to sleep, but the meager 
blankets that Jaime offered them from the bed 
along with their own traveling blankets did 
nothing to hide the hard stone beneath them. 
Jaime repeatedly offered his bed to Andares or 
Anefistar. Andares assured the human princeling 
that he could manage the stones better than any 
man, while Anefistar resolutely refused to sleep 
in any better accommodations than his Yára Cáno.

To make matters worse, according to Jaime, except 
for those times when the Duke wished to parade 
his prisoner before some distinguished guest in 
order to humiliate him, the food that they were 
provided amounted to no more than Jaime had been 
receiving when he'd had the donjon all to 
himself. They split the food amongst them with 
each insisting that the others take the larger 
share. Anefistar would not under any 
circumstances touch his food until his Yára Cáno 
had eaten his portion, professing himself no more 
than a servant and stubbornly refusing to let Andares behave otherwise.

As if the lack of food and the uncomfortable 
stones on which they slept were not enough to 
break their spirits, the Duke had the shutters 
for the windows removed so that they could do 
nothing to stop the constant cold wind that swept 
above the castle. Occasionally a warm gust of air 
would dispel the ever present Spring chill, but 
this was quickly swallowed by another frigid 
squall. The blankets they had and the traveling 
cloaks they wore protected them some, but only 
from the wind; the pervading chill sank into 
their bones and made their flesh numb.

One thing that confused Andares was that they 
were left their belongings without so much as an 
inspection by the guards (all of whom professed 
their indignation and sorrow at having to keep 
their Yára Cáno locked up as well). Nor was this 
because of any traitorous behavior toward the 
Duke; Otakar genuinely desired they keep their 
things which Jaime explained as the Duke's way of 
saying that he didn't believe there was anything 
they could do to escape his power.

And in his grasp Anna-ithil-årda glimmered and 
throbbed with a deep power that could not abide 
being trapped within that cold, lifeless, tower 
meant for another. It ached for Andares to carry 
it back to the Elderwood that it might aid in slaying those foul beasts.

“You cannot let this continue,” Jaime said softly 
as he stared at the same letter he'd been 
pondering all week. He never spoke about its 
contents or for whom it was from or meant. But it 
was always there, and nearly always in the 
princeling's hands capturing his attention like a 
beloved dream. “I do not know what evil is coming 
from Elderwood, but I do know that a good man 
does not sit idly by while evil devours the 
innocent. If it were within my power, I would 
quit this place immediately to come to their aid.”

“They are not your people,” Andares pointed out 
as he stretched his sore limbs. He'd only had a 
few hours of sleep last night, the most he'd had 
all week, and that more from exhaustion than anything else.

“They are not,” Jaime agreed, even as his eyes 
cast to the shivering form of the scholar. 
Anefistar lay huddled beneath a bundle of 
blankets with his beard wrapped around his neck 
to protect it. For a pillow he used his traveling 
pack, while he kept his back pressed against 
Jaime's lumpy mattress. Andares's traveling 
companion had his eyes closed but there was no 
question by the way he fidgeted that he was awake 
and listening. “But they were my wife's people 
and that is enough for me. I suppose that does 
not make me better than most men; I should care 
for them regardless of whose people they are.”

Andares finished stretching his muscles and 
settled into a cross-legged position, hands 
resting upon his knees, the ivory-handled blade 
singing soft, angular words in his lap. “I am a 
prisoner here as you are. The Duke has promised 
his support in exchange for helping him slaughter 
and conquer the rest of the Midlands. Do you wish 
me to do that? The rest of your family would fall 
beneath the Duke's armies if I were to agree to his terms.”

Jaime tensed and dropped the letter back on the 
desk and shook his head. “No, I do not wish that. 
But...” his lips continued to move for a moment 
but his tongue could find no more words to form. 
At last he shook his head, tousled his red hair 
with one hand, and then leaned back over the desk 
and grunted angrily. “Fine then. Do nothing. 
You'll outlive us all anyway. Are we nothing but ants to you?”

“Never,” Andares retorted with indignation. His 
nerves were suffering from a strain beyond which 
he had even felt in the jungles of Marzac. He 
took a deep breath, even as an unpleasant breeze 
drifted through the donjon and further numbed his 
cheeks. “I have spent nearly the last year in the 
company of your kind and have deep fondness for 
your people. I would offer my life for my friends 
who traveled with me if they were in danger.”

“So why,” Anefistar asked in a voice filled with 
a forlorn pain, though he did not open his eyes 
nor turn his head in their direction, “do you not help us now?”

His tones grew hard and he felt a curl infect his 
lips. “My blade will not taste human blood; not 
even from a man as deserving as the Duke.”

Jaime shook his head and sighed, muttering 
imprecations to himself under his breath. 
Anefistar took a long breath and remained huddled 
beneath his blankets, his once ruddy face pale 
and pinched. Andares lowered his gaze to the 
sword in his lap and ran one hand across the 
length of the finely wrought blade, tracing his 
fingers down the intricate scroll-work and 
characters of his people. The bearer of such a 
blade had a responsibility to serve the Lord of 
Colours. Qan-af-årael had a deep love for all the 
people's of the world, even those who had struck 
at the Åelf and drove them from their many homes 
across the world. How best was he to serve his 
former master? How was he to use this blade?

He pondered those questions for some time as the 
morning wore on with only the bleak gray sky 
outside which did not even churn or promise an 
invigorating rain to mirror their thoughts. A few 
birds alighted upon the windows, dancing between 
the bars as they chirped and quested after bread 
crumbs; but they had nothing left and so after a 
few minutes of begging they flew away and left 
then in a suffocating silence. Even the sounds of 
Salinon that climbed the walls felt as if they 
approached from a vast distance that no man could 
traverse even if they devoted their entire lifetime.

Noon came and passed with only a slight variation 
in their routine. Jaime stretched and did some 
exercises to keep his muscles limber; he even 
jogged in place for a good thirty minutes, and 
then hung by his hands from one of the support 
beams overhead, pulling himself up and down to 
strengthen his upper arms. He'd performed this 
routine every day that he wasn't being treated 
like a trained beast on a collar by the Duke, and 
just like each previous day, when he finished he 
returned to his desk and began reviewing the letter.

The scholar also finally emerged from his blanket 
cocoon to do his own stretches before he settled 
in a corner as far from the windows as he could 
with his traveling cloak draped over his 
shoulders and legs, and his pack before him. 
Anefistar had taken one of his journals and was 
reviewing notes he had scribed years past on the 
flora of Dûn Fennas for the sake of keeping his 
mind active. However, when he came to a section 
describing some of the beautiful wild flowers 
that bloomed along the road from Nenuin to Dûr 
Cirith, he broke down into tears and wailed as 
all of those blossoms in profusions of white, 
yellow, pink, blue, violet, orange, and a 
thousand other shades gentle and bold were now 
laid to waste by the evil of Elderwood stretching out its shadowy hands.

Andares glanced at his own pack and pondered 
digging through it to see what mysteries it held 
for him that might distract his mind for a time 
from his impossible predicament when they all 
heard the sound of booted feet climbing the tower 
stairs. Anefistar dried his tears and closed his 
journal, hastily shoving it back in his pack lest 
the soldiers claim it for their own. Jaime folded 
his letter and set his prayer book atop it to 
hide it. Andares let his fingers wrap about the 
ivory handle of Anna-ithil-årda for a moment 
before he remembered his vehemence against its 
use and deliberately returned it to his hip as he 
stood to welcome whoever had come to torment them.

To their surprise, the black-caped soldier who 
opened the door was none other than the very man 
who'd led them to Duke Otakar's presence a week 
ago. His expression was anxious and his brow, 
despite the Spring chill, was mopped with sweat. 
Behind him they could see several other soldiers under his command.

“Captain Raff,” Andares greeted him as cordially 
as his strained nerves would allow. “Whom have you come to collect?”

Raff filed into the donjon chamber, followed by a 
full dozen soldiers. He struck his fist to his 
chest, and then lowered himself to one knee 
before Andares; his soldiers did the same. “Yára 
Cáno, we have come to bring all of you before 
Duke Otakar. His plans for you are a betrayal to 
the Fennasi people and the debt we owe to the 
Elves of Quenardya and to the Åelf of 
Ava-shåvais. We have come to pledge our loyalty 
to you, Yára Cáno, and we swear to you our very lives.”

“To the Yára Cáno!” his men echoed with eager and solemn unity.

“No,” Andares shook his head. “You have a sovereign.”

“He has betrayed our people and yours,” Raff said 
with a fierce anger in his words. “He is no 
longer our sovereign. We plead you to be the one 
to lead us and guide our people.”

Anefistar rose from his contemplation and then 
knelt alongside the other soldiers. His weathered 
face gazed up at the Åelf whereas the soldiers 
all kept their eyes upon the floor. “The Fennasi 
have always been better when guided by your 
people. We have fallen so far... so far. Lead us 
again, we beg you, Yára Cáno. Please! Help us!”

“I will not draw human blood with Anna-ithil-årda.”

“You will not have to,” Raff counseled with a 
firm, sweet voice. “Merely assert your right as 
an Åelf to the throne of Salinon. It was given by 
your people to the Otakar family as a surety. You 
can take it back without ever drawing your holy 
blade. We are not alone in wishing for your 
return. Another two hundred wait in the castle to 
be at our side when we bring you to the Duke. His 
youngest sons can be trained in your ways and his 
eldest can learn meekness in time. Even his grace 
may learn it after staring out the windows of 
this tower he dared trap you within. And then, 
together, we can go to Nenuin and defeat the 
monsters coming from the Elderwood once and for all.”

Raff's glance turned to Jaime who alone of all 
the humans remained standing. “We can free you as 
well, your grace, if you will forgive us for what the Duke has done.”

“I cannot speak for my father,” Jaime said after 
a moment's reflection, his eyes casting from 
Andares to the captain and his men, “but I will 
forgive the Fennasi for my imprisonment if I am 
set free.” He turned to the Åelf and added, “I 
will pledge my loyalty to you as well, 
Andares-es-sebashou, if you will free us from 
this tower. If you and your people are as wise as 
my wife told me, then...” He took a deep breath 
and lowered his gaze, the red hair falling across 
his eyes but not hiding the tears. “If they are 
so wise as she said, then when I ascend the 
throne of Kelewair, I will invite your people to 
come and help my land as well. We have suffered war too long.”

“I am not meant for this,” Andares insisted, 
though his heart wavered at seeing the faces of 
devotion and need all on bent knee before him. He 
yearned to help them. Would it be such a terrible 
thing? He could travel their roads, rebuild their 
cities, and even see his friends again whenever 
he wished. What good would hiding in this or any 
other tower do him, his people, or theirs?

“You are meant to help others,” Anefistar said 
with a gentle confidence. “You cannot do so in this tower.”

“Not in this tower,” Raff agreed.

“You can help no one in this tower,” Jaime added 
in that same confident, reassuring voice.

“Break free from the tower,” one of the soldiers 
added. “Break free, Yára Cáno.”

“Break free, Yára Cáno.”

“Break free from the tower.”

“Help us.”

“Leave the tower.”

“Bear your sword for man.”

“Yára Cáno.”

Andares closed his eyes, no longer able to 
determine who it was who said anything at all. 
Those words pounded him, relentless, but also 
inviting and full of a dream-like verve. But if 
this were a dream, then how could he possibly wake from it?

There was no doubt in his mind that he had to 
make a decision now. The time had come to choose 
between his imprisonment or deposing the Duke and 
taking control of Dûn Fennas for the sake of its 
people. He knew that he could do much good for 
them and that Otakar was not worthy to be their 
sovereign. But was it his place to make that 
decision? What of his own people; what would they do in his absence?

It may not help, but there was one thing he could 
consult before he making his decision. There was 
one scrap that might shed some light on his 
predicament, something that he had not thought on 
in many weeks as there had seemed no need. Before 
his path was straight, but now it seemed to turn 
in a new direction and while his heart yearned to 
follow that new path because of the many things 
he knew he would delight in, it also feared that 
path for what it might force him to do.

Bending down, he opened his traveling pack and 
began to rifle through the contents, carefully 
sorting through his extra clothes until he found 
his own small journal that he had faithfully used 
to preserve the knowledge that he'd learned on their journey.

“What are you doing?” Anefistar asked.

“We dare not delay,” Raff urged anxiously. 
“Otakar is expecting us to bring you to him! If 
we are late, he will send more soldiers, and I do 
not know if they will be amongst those who follow you.”

“I must read an old letter I was given,” Andares 
replied. “It will guide me on the right path.” 
And yet, as he flipped through the pages of the 
journal, no fire-burned letter fell into his 
waiting hands. The letter written by the 
Felikaush was missing. He set his journal aside, 
and then took each item out of his pack one by 
one and made sure that it hadn't become tangled with anything else. No letter.

“How strange,” Andares murmured to himself, even 
as the soldiers began to fidget on their knees. 
He flipped open the journal again until he found 
his entries from the beginning of the year. He'd 
copied down what words he could read from 
Habakkuk's letter after they'd rescued Lindsey 
from the last gasps of Marzac's evil. But to his 
great shock, the page on which he'd written those words was also missing.

“This is not right.”

“You have to come with us now,” Raff insisted. 
“Yára Cáno, please! We must leave this tower!”

Andares stood back up and then crossed over to 
the window, gesturing at the sky whose gray 
seemed not so much the presence of clouds as an 
oversight on the part of the gods that morning 
who had merely forgotten to paint the sky its 
proper colors. And then, with the chorus of 
voices begging him to come with them blending 
into a strange mass of sound and need, that gray 
sky began to break apart, a dark midnight 
revealed behind with the twinkling of stars 
slowly emerging overhead. How long had it been since he'd seen the night?

The Åelf turned around and saw that the donjon 
walls appeared to be coated with a variety of 
ornate pictures, script, and figures all jumbled 
together like a tale unfolding. He could smell 
the fragrance of the great forest drifting on 
warm currents through the windows, as well as a 
melodious and melancholy chant in voices as gentle as glass.

“Where am I really?” Andares asked, even as the 
twisting of the donjon seemed to stretch the very 
bodies of the soldiers. Where there had once been 
twelve soldiers kneeling behind Raff, now there 
seemed to be only six, and then only three. And 
then as the stone floor seemed to shimmer into 
the white ivory he knew was to be found in the 
Tower of Colour, the rest of the soldiers blended 
into the figure of Raff whose eyes lifted with an almost freakish fear.

“You have to flee the tower if you are to help 
any of us!” Raff cried. Anefistar echoed him, as 
did Jaime, even as they seemed to come closer and closer together.

Andares took a deep breath and gripped the hilt 
of his blade tightly. “Flee which tower? The 
Donjon of Salinon, or the Tower of Colour in Ava-shåvais?”

“Does it matter?” Anefistar said as his hands 
gripped his beard and pulled taut. “They are both prisons for you, Yára Cáno!”

“One is a prison,” Andares retorted, his tongue 
as sharp as the blade. “Only one is a prison! Who are you? Show yourself?”

“I am Anefistar, Yára Cáno!”

“I am Jaime Verdane!”

Andares shook his head, and turned back to the 
sky, which seemed to bleed gray into the black of 
the night sky, and then break apart again into 
the starry void. “Nae! It cannot be both night and day at the same time.”

“You are where you choose to be, Yára Cáno,” 
Anefistar replied at last. “Choose to help us, 
please! Without you... we are lost!”

“Lost!” Raff echoed with the timbre of a dozen different voices.

With slow deliberation, Andares drew 
Anna-ithil-årda and held the blade before him, 
the light glinting off the its silvery tang. On 
the left side of the blade he could see the 
donjon with its cold, gray stone walls, lonely 
bed, and barren floor. But on the right he saw 
the familiar sanctum sanctorum in which his 
master Qan-af-årael had spent his many long years in contemplation.

Whatever was before him wasn't asking him to flee 
the donjon in Salinon. They wanted him to flee 
the place that his master had prepared for him.

Andares slashed his sword to the left, and that 
world, that fantasy in which he had been 
swallowed, vanished like a book slamming shut. 
The figures of Raff and Jaime withered and were 
drawn into the figure of Anefistar who remained 
on his knees a moment longer. His body seemed to 
draw down the darkness of the skies as if he 
feasted upon it. The face twisted oddly and in a 
way that Andares recognized though he had only seen it once before.

“You... you are Anef the First. Were you not 
freed from Marzac?” He turned the tip of his 
sword on the figure who rose slowly, iron white 
beard turning a smoldered black as if singed by fire.

“Marzac still holds me. It holds all of us. We 
must flee our prisons; you must flee the prison 
prepared for you. Go back to Salinon and leave 
this prison behind! Go back, Andares-es-sebashou, 
or you will be the prisoner of your people for 
all time. You will never see anything else again if you do not.”

Andares gazed at the figure of Anef who he'd once 
thought his traveling companion and until a 
moment ago had been declaring his loyalty to the 
Åelf. Now this Anef offered him everything he'd 
ever wanted; and all of it meant staying in the 
human world. He felt his hand lowering the sword, 
one foot lifting to step closer to the shadowed 
figure that didn't quite seem able to exist in the Åelf tower.

And then his foot nudged the traveling pack still 
at his feet and the journal he'd left lying 
there. He glanced down, blinked at it, and the 
words that leaped from the page, words he'd 
written after a harrowing day when they had come 
face to face with an evil they had thought defeated, blistered in his mind.

“Your sword has been of inestimable use in our 
journeys, and will strike down an evil that seeks 
to destroy she whom I love. But it is also 
something that must be passed on to another. You will instead take up...”

Andares put his foot back down, glanced one time 
more at Anef who's eyes had also noted the 
journal, flaring with an incomprehensible hatred, 
before returning to the Åelf with an anguished 
plea. “You will only be free,” Andares said as he 
angled the blade from his chest, “when Marzac is 
gone forever.” He turned toward the balcony, even 
while Anef screamed after him. But Andares 
ignored the words, knowing now what he had to do. 
He stepped onto the balcony, lifted up the sword 
toward the heavens bright and filled with the 
warmth of the stars, and then began to sing a 
song that he knew more by instinct than by 
training. Anef's horrible screeching and 
protestations battered and tried to distract him 
from each cadence, but still Andares pursued his 
melody, his lungs squelching every last drop of 
air for each note, before filling again for the next.

 From below him him, he could hear a thousand 
voices joining in the song. The answering chorus 
climbed the tower walls, filling his heart with a 
sense of peace that he could not recall ever 
having before. For a single moment, he felt as if 
Qan-af-årael were there at his side singing along 
with him. The rage of Anef, the Marzac beast that 
he truly was, dwindled into pitiful bawling and febrile mewling.

And then his song was done. Those thousand voices 
continued below him, though with each new moment 
they came closer and closer. He knew what it 
meant, even if in his lifetime he had never seen 
it happen. All of the Åelf were climbing the 
tower steps. He turned to face the top of the 
stairs, holding out the blade, laying it flat in 
both hands. Anef got back onto his knees and 
clutched at the hem of his robe, wailing and shaking his head.

“Don't give it up! You need it to free us!”

“It is no longer mine. Another shall wield it.”

“We need you! We need you!”

But he listened no more, and said no more to that 
shadow that tugged lower and lower on the hem of 
his robe until the hands seemed so small and weak 
he could barely feel them anymore. The song of 
his people rose up to meet him and he bathed in 
the sonorous harmonies as if they were a warm 
afternoon rain. By the time he recognized 
Tilyå-nou at the head of the procession, Anef was 
only a little thing no taller than a rat, now all 
black and vicious; yet still its voice penetrated and called to his heart.

Andares held out the sword, even as Tilyå-nou, 
one of the most ancient of their race, held out a 
long cloak fashioned from weaves of thread in 
every color conceivable. The blend was of rainbow 
upon rainbow like ripples in a pond bouncing 
across each other. Andares lowered his head, and 
the elder Åelf draped the cloak over his neck and 
shoulders, its heavy embrace billowing around his 
sides and ankles, burying the shadow beneath its hem.

And then, Tilyå-nou took Anna-ithil-årda from his 
hands and he felt a sudden warmth fill him. The 
room filled with light, the shadows banished as 
if they had never been, and the voice of Anef as 
well as his very presence was silenced as if it had never been.

“Welcome home, Lord of Colours,” Tilyå-nou 
intoned in unison with the remaining Åelf who 
stretched down the many tower steps.

“And here I shall stay, for all the tomorrows 
that will come, until the stars lead me to the heavens.”

“Have they chosen the new bearer of He That Brings Moon to Earth?”

Andares cast his gaze back toward the stars. His 
master had spent his evenings studying the stars 
and listening to their story. Now it was his turn 
to continue that work. And whomever they chose 
would be his hand that reached out into the world 
beyond the forest. He sighed with a faint sense 
of loss, but one that in time would be the balm 
that would heal all his wounds.

“Not yet. But they will.” He pulled the colorful 
cloak closer and cast one last glance at the 
blade now in Tilyå-nou's possession. He wondered 
how much of the dreams Anef had shown him were 
real and how much illusion to tempt him. “For 
there is much that I will need of his bearer. 
Care for it well until the stars have spoken their story.”

Tilyå-nou inclined his head in a gesture of 
agreement, and then his voice intoned a delicate 
chant as he began to back down the steps, each of 
the other Åelf also backing down, their feet 
moving in unison with one another. Andares sung 
the reply that had once come from the lips of 
Qan-af-årael before any other Åelf currently 
living had even been born. When they were out of 
sight, Andares returned to the balcony, the cloak 
of many colors spreading around him as he moved 
gliding with sublime grace through that ancient 
tower. He tilted back his head and gazed upward 
at the stars, silver eyes filling with their pristine light.

And there he remained standing as he listened through the night to their story.


----------

END of HEADING TO ALL TOMORROWS

Thank you all for reading this tale.  As a final 
note, the Fennasi/Quenardya words I took from an 
English/Elvish translator (which is currently 
down unfortunately).  The words I used are as follows:


Velelya – Distinguished (Great) Traveler
Heru – Master
Nessë – Youth (young man)
Minassë – City with a citadel and central watch-tower.
Nildo – Literally male friend.
Lindalnér – Minstrel
Yára – Ancient
Apsa – Cooked food
Ishtyar – Scholar
Maethor – Warrior
Nan Tavas – Woodland (used for forest near 
Nenuin, the trading hamlet at the fork)
Cáno - Ruler

I hope you have all enjoyed the story!  Please 
let me know what you think and whether or not you enjoyed it!


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

Charles Matthias
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