“A Divine Protector is gifted with a Guiding Light. It is another sense, a surety that cannot be explained.”
Book of Initiates, Chapter IV. Sebhat
Splayed hands beckoned the dawn, called to its light. It seeped through the fingertips, up his arms and to his centre. He listened to the still tenuous voices of the distant forest, calm and serene; and then the stronger voice of the Winter Sentinel, deep and powerful.
Fel’annár had died there.
Green, purple and blue, subtle streaks of fleeting light, vaporous trails chasing around arms and legs as he moved, slow and precise. He saw everything, nothing.
Someone approached.
Knees bent, arms to his sides, head tilted to the emerging sun. He bowed to Aria, took a deep breath and brought the world into focus. With it came his own thoughts, their voices breaking the silence of the Kah Warrior.
He knew the lights were becoming stronger. Every time he weaved the Dohai they were more visible, and he felt stronger, moved more precisely the slower he performed the stances. But there was another development. The pain in his chest eased with every dawn, and he wondered. What would happen if he could somehow channel the lights, use them consciously? Could he heal himself?
There was the rhythmic clank of wood over stone, uneven steps, and the deep drone of energy that always seemed to accompany the one who approached. Fel’annár did not turn. He simply waited for Commander Hobin to stop at his side. Something moved in his chest, surged into his mind, and he wondered if it was Lainon.
“You dance with magic.”
“Not magic. Energy. Aria.”
Hobin did not react, and Fel’annár wondered if he thought them two separate things.
“We will soon be gone from here,” said the Supreme Commander of the Ari’atór. “You to Ea Uaré and your destiny, and I to Araria, to investigate the Nim’uán. It has been an honour to serve in such times as we have shared.”
Hobin had been central in his own transformation. Himself a Ber’anor, his purpose to help others understand their paths, help them to accept their destinies, and at the same time, allow them to reject them if they so wished. But Fel’annár hadn’t, couldn’t.
He half-turned his head, eyes registering the dark, severe features and the unnatural brightness of his eyes, the swirls and dots of dark ink that trailed down his chin, over his nose and across his forehead.
“I must bid you farewell now, Ber’anor. I leave for Araria tomorrow.”
Before the battle, Hobin had said he would tell Fel’annár about Zéndar when the time was right. Surely this was the moment? He would not see the commander again any time soon, and he opened his mouth to speak. But then Hobin smiled and Fel’annár closed it, a soft scowl on his face. Hobin had every intention of telling him.
“I know you have questions—about your family, about your grandfather, Zéndar. Back when I first told you of him, you had yet to accept your duty. There were many things on your mind, many ways you could have interpreted my words.” Hobin waited for a reproach, but it did not come. “Zéndar died performing his duty. He made the ultimate sacrifice, much as Lainon did. On the battlefield. Protecting me.”
A wave of cold needles broke over Fel’annár’s skin. Hobin was Ber’anor …
“Yes. Zéndar was Ber’ator, my Ber’ator. A strange whim of fate that his Guiding Light should be here.” He gestured to his head. “He would be proud of you, as are all the Ari’atór.”
Fel’annár’s eyes flickered wide. There was nothing but truth in Hobin’s eyes. Truth and grief.
“When did he die?”
“Long ago, before you were born.”
“And he’s found himself?”
“Yes. Yes, he found himself many years ago. He gave his Guiding Light to me, just as Lainon gave his to you. I have learned to live with its presence, use it even. For you it is still new, but with time, you will learn. Zéndar was a great elf, Fel’annár, hardened though he was by the fate of his daughter, your mother. He struggled with his fealty to a king who had caused such suffering. Indeed, I know his entire family left Ea Uaré to take up residence in Araria. He lived there with his Connate, Alei, and his son, Bulan.”
“And when Zéndar died?”
“They returned to Abiren’á, where I believe they remain. I have not heard from them in many years.”
“Does his Connate blame you?” The words had tumbled from Fel’annár’s mouth without his permission, but he wasn’t sorry. He wanted to know.
“She did, at first. Once her grief was tempered, I believe she forgave me. But I knew then that the friendship we had once shared would forever be overshadowed by Zéndar’s duty, the one that led him upon the Short Road.”
“Tensári must feel the same about me.”
It was Hobin who turned to face Fel’annár now, met his gaze for the first time since their conversation had begun. “She did,” he confirmed. “But she is Ari’atór. She feels Lainon in her mind now that he has found himself. Alei is Silvan. She never had that comfort and never will, not until she passes through the Veil.”
“Will you give Tensári my regards?”
“I will.” Hobin’s eyes seemed to flare, and the cold needles were back. “Have you told her? Have you told Llyniel that you are Ari’atór? That you are Ber’anor?”
Fel’annár froze. “Not yet.”
“You already know that she needs to know. You must give her the choice of accepting you together with your circumstances, for they are inseparable.”
“I know.”
Hobin’s stare lingered, knowing full-well how difficult it was going to be.
“So, unless they have taken the Long Road, I have a grandmother, an uncle, perhaps even cousins in Abiren’á.”
“Alei and Bulan must surely know of your presence. That you have never met seems … unlikely. And yet, that is the case. How your aunt achieved that I cannot say.”
“Amareth hid me away.”
“They all did, I wager. But when all this is over and you are free to meet them, I hope you will give them my regards.”
“I will.” He would. Well he understood the sense of guilt that lingered when a Ber’ator gave their life to save the one they were destined to protect. Hobin had clearly felt guilty, and Alei had scorned him for it. Tensári’s face lingered in his mind, sharp features, eyes that spoke of grief and resentment. “Safe journey, Hobin.”
“I will send word, once I have found the origin of the Nim’uán. I am unsure of where you will be, or how safe my message will be, so I will send it to the Ari’atór of Abiren’á. They will find a way to forward it to you.”
Fel’annár nodded, but Hobin had not finished. “Your task is important to us all. A war between elves will give strength to the common enemy. You must not allow it, Fel’annár. Should you need aid, should you need warriors to see it done, you must call on me. Araria will ride in your name.”
Fel’annár told himself it would never come to that. Once they were home, Handir would find a way to stop the conflict and restore peace.