The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (19 page)

Elec had told his uncle how he and his father had argued more and more over the last few weeks and he was frustrated beyond measure. Finally, he approached Faorath before another flight into the cloudy afternoon sky.

“I must take an extended leave, Uncle. I am fighting inner demons but despite my many distractions, I make no headway,” Elec explained. Faorath stared intently at him, listening. “I feel that I need to remove myself from home for a while.”

 “You are not respons—“

“I understand what you are saying and have said in this regard. However, I am aware of my own shortcomings and I feel a sense of blame at allowing Anthalion to be harmed,” Elec interrupted, staring off into the overcast horizon. “I believe that I have let Aeona down, too.”

“You know that this is not true and your sister has been supportive of you,” Faorath countered.

“Whether or not it is true, I need to do this. I only tell you this because I would like very much to bring Adok with me.”

“So, you would simply disappear in the night and not speak of it even to me?” Faorath demanded accusingly.

“It is not… like that, uncle,” he stammered. “I mean you no disrespect, nor my family. I simply have to face this fault and come to grips with it.”

It was now Faorath’s turn to stare silently into the gloomy firmament for several moments. “Very well, Elec. But before you leave, I have a few things for you. Do not leave without them.”

“All right,” Elec agreed, nodding. His disarming smile failed to revive his uncle’s mood.

 “We shall take one last flight and then you will meet me at my home this very evening. And then you may do as you say.”

With that, Faorath pushed his griffon forward off the cliff face and into the night sky, almost disappearing after the first fifty feet or so in the gloom. Elec followed and propelled Adok onward into the heavens, catching up quickly to his uncle. Neither of them spoke a word; instead they simply flew on the backs of their mounts for the next few hours. It was peaceful.

That very evening, Elec was careful not to wake his siblings or family and softly padded out of his house. He moved quickly and quietly through the avenues of his village to Faorath’s home. He had packed many of his alchemical devices and texts, and had not forgotten the belt his uncle had had made for him, which was currently strapped across his chest and full of cylindrical tubes of various mixtures.

He rapped lightly on the door. A moment passed and Elec nervously darted about in the shadows as he wanted this trek to be a clandestine one. He was not feeling the bravest of the brave at the moment. It seemed cowardly, this running away in the middle of the night. He heard a lock tumble open, almost seeing through the door at that moment. He understood exactly how the mechanism operated, for he had worked with those basic types of locks thousands of times. When the door finally did pull inward, it was Keryth Stormwhisper and not Faorath who stood before him.

“Father!?” Elec exclaimed, sounding wounded by the apparent betrayal by his uncle.

“Do come in,” Keryth announced. In the corner of the room, seated in a comfortable chair, was his uncle whose eyes were wide in an apologetic manner. Keryth witnessed the exchange, huffed and then sighed aloud.

“He had nothing to do with it,” Keryth said. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, son, and I was not going to allow you to leave unless I spoke with you first.” Elec looked around as if searching for a way out. His eyes glanced all about and after a few moments of silence, he met his father’s gaze.

“What is it, then?” Elec asked him.

“You are leaving the assembled villages I understand. Are you to leave Acillia altogether?” enquired Keryth, folding his arms over his chest.

“I… yes,” Elec stammered.

“To what end, may I ask?” Keryth continued, rubbing his chin and pulling his cloak tighter around him. It was getting chilly this evening, which it did often in the month of Nature’s Fall.

“To find myself, father, as well as distance myself from my people and their damning whispers,” he admitted, “with or without your blessings.”

“I am not here to stop you, merely to question what you plan to make of yourself,” Keryth mused aloud. “I see you taking up with the Wind Riders—an admirable profession,” he stated, glancing and nodding at Faorath, for he truly respected his brother-in-law for that feat. “And then I see you still invest your time in those foolish alchemical pursuits… among other things.” He paced back and forth in front of the elf, chafing his hands together. Elec was not quite sure if this was because of the cold or from pure frustration at the events occurring.

“You read these texts, yet you cast them aside and simply abandon your namesake and its calling?!” cried his father. “Are you some kind of barbarian? A
Kinestath Tempus,
perhaps?!” He referred specifically to the name for warriors in the ancient tongue of the high elves, his anger growing with each word he spoke. “You disgrace your family name. I do not oppose your self-inflicted exile or whatever it is you call it. I would go so far as to say it is an agreed-upon decision,” Keryth finished in a cogent tone of voice, measured rage and frustration evident in his yellowish eyes.

With that, he turned his back on Elec and Faorath and spoke an incantation, once more speaking in ancient elven tongues. Then he disappeared from sight, leaving nothing behind but the two elves with their own thoughts.

After a few moments passed, Faorath stood and retrieved a rucksack from the table, holding it out before him. “I am sorry,” he began to say, looking into the strange black and white eyes of his nephew. “But he ambushed me, much the same way he did you.” Elec merely nodded to his uncle, his mind still doubtful and lost in apprehension until he felt the hand of his uncle upon his shoulder. “Are you still leaving, boy? You seemed to be doing well with regards to your training and have a natural aptitude for flying the giant eagle. If you stay, it will not be long before you could graduate to the griffon training.”

“Yes, I am leaving. I must do this, now more than ever.” Elec’s tone was suddenly confident. “I have made the correct choice.” Then, “What is this?” he asked, seeing that his uncle had something in his outstretched hands, an offering of some kind.

“Supplies,” Faorath stated simply. “Enough food for you to tend your hunger for well over three months. There are cured meats, breads, seeds and edible flowers from my own garden.” He watched as Elec carefully inspected the contents of the pack. “I strapped more of the supplies to Adok’s saddle—enough for the both of you—and he is prepared and waiting for you atop the precipice.”

Elec nodded and turned away. “There is more,” Faorath continued, causing Elec to spin to face him again. “I have packed several small sacks of Moontear berries. I have kept them fresh from the spring harvest. I thought they might be something to remind you of home.” He was referring to the berries that grew only a few weeks each year on Acillia and bloomed in that short time under the starry nights. The high elves celebrated the event with an annual festival on the first day of the bloom. His uncle knew it was one of Elec’s favorite times of the year. And the berries were a delicacy, sought after everywhere across Wothlondia.

“I… appreciate your gifts, uncle,” Elec said thankfully, pulling his cloak tight about him and then strapping the rucksack to his back and taking the sack of berries from him.

Again he made to leave but heard another call from behind. “Elec… wait,” his uncle declared. “There are additional gifts.”

“More?” Elec asked, turning to stare suddenly upon the most magnificent blade he had ever seen. His uncle also gazed closely upon the glinting steel too as he held it out before him so that Elec could study it. Runes adorned the blade and its handle was of the finest steel, gilded with copper and slightly longer than usual, indicating that it could be used just as easily with either one or two hands.

“Where did you get this, uncle?” asked Elec with eyes wide in awe.

“This is an ancient sword given to me by my father, and his father before him, and so on for several generations,” Faorath stated. “The blade was forged with fires and magic combined. Its name is
Daegnar
Giruth
. It means ‘blade that drains,’ loosely translated.”

“It is truly magnificent, but what of it?” Elec questioned, not realizing what his uncle intended.

“I am gifting it to you, Elec,” Faorath said, sheathing the sword and then presenting it to Elec.

“I cannot accept such a gift,” Elec stated, attempting to refuse the weapon.

“Nonsense,” Faorath began. “It is mine to give and you are in need of a blade, so I give you this one.”

“But—“

“‘But’ nothing, Elec,” his uncle replied tersely. “Do not make me force it upon you!” he added, holding the blade out defiantly to his nephew. Elec nodded in response, not taking his eyes off the magnificent weapon.

After a long silence, Faorath continued. “The sword steals some of the strength and vigor from the target of its strikes with each slash of its fine edge. Your opponents will begin to slow their attacks, hit with less force, until, if they are not already dead from blood loss, they will succumb to the effects of the blade.”

Elec took
Daegnar
Giruth
and belted it respectfully around his waist. He playfully removed the blade from the sheath, replacing it and drawing it a few times over for good measure and gauging the fine weight and balance of the steel.

“These are for you, too,” Faorath announced. He presented his nephew with a wonderful pair of leather boots. The black of the leather seemed to shimmer in the glow of the lantern which lit the room brightly. Elec could not tell if it was a trick of the light or if the boots themselves gleamed. He took them, but they appeared too big for his feet.

“I don’t think they will fit,” Elec observed, frowning and holding one of the pair up to his own foot as he stood balanced on one leg, never teetering an inch. His stance was unwavering and his uncle smirked at the admirable deed.

“Try them on,” his uncle insisted, running a hand through his golden locks.

Elec removed his own disheveled footwear before placing the large boots on first his left foot, and then his right foot. Within seconds, the boots shrunk to his size and felt like they not only fit perfectly, but also caressed his feet. He gasped in awe at the amazing transformation. “I have never felt such comfort.”

“See the inscription there… on the heel, nephew.” Faorath pointed to the sole of the heel of the left boot. Elec saw it and nodded—the words were in ancient elven and he recognized them. “When you speak that phrase there, wherever you can see within your line of sight is where you will appear.”

Elec’s face crinkled in bewilderment. “Teleportation?” he asked simply.

“Aye,” his uncle affirmed. “Even if you cannot cast spells, these few items will allow you to bend Arcana’s whims to your own, but only a few times a day. Three if I recall correctly.” He rubbed his chin in contemplation over that guess. ”You may want to test that number yourself in the very near future,” he added with a wry smile. “You never know when you may want to be somewhere else.”

“Thank you, uncle,” Elec cried, marveling at the gifts. “I will add them to the others,” he said, again pulling his black cloak tightly around him. This was yet another of Faorath’s many presents, received on his twentieth name-day. The cape hardened magically on impact, deflecting any attacks harmlessly away. Elec well remembered the first demonstration of its magic and he nodded in satisfaction at that.