CHAPTER I: DUCHESS OF THE FORESTS (5)
2299 Words
CHAPTER I: DUCHESS OF THE FORESTS (5)
They reached the shore on the inner side of the river; at the entrances of the royal council. The most diplomatic place in the kingdom. At its one-sided entrance, there was a small fountain covered in gold; it denoted fusions of eccentric colors, but moderate in intensity. The magic folded the corners, and thus, the count led her to the internal crossroads; upon a set of ornate paths.
It was the most refined place the woman had ever visited; the pilasters were made of glass, the columns were covered with silver and jewels. She crossed unique rooms, which led to the entrance of a high hall; an endless corridor. The get through it, until they reached the doors of the wise council, covered in dozens of guardians. Count Byron then, requested the entrance of the group, and one of the guards entered quickly towards the royal place.
"In a moment, Master Yeradoc will attend us, gentlemen" exclaims Count Byron.
"This is, indeed, a place of excellence," says Leyra.
"You haven't seen anything yet, my lady," says a company elf.
"I don't understand how all of this is possible" exclaims Leyra. "Since when does this place exist?"
"Since the day our time, remembered its name," replies Count Byron.
Suddenly, the giant floodgates opened at them; the morning glow, caught the glimpse of the company, and illuminated the faces of those others who followed. Before their eyes, a vast tabernacle displayed itself, long, and shown; trapped inside a broad, closed space. Covered with glass walls. In the center of the wide room, rested a circular table; full of jewels and emeralds. And despite the hot rays of the sun streaming through. the place felt cold and snug inside. A room of depth and meditation, suspended in the heights of the back of the mountain.
The elves had decorated the place, with gates of precious glass; harvested from the warm clays of winter. Molded to uncommon forms, in order to receive the bloom of every morning. Count Byron then, guided the young woman to the center of the great tabernacle, where the long table was located. It had six seats, a finished banquet, and a written blessing, already proclaimed.
Among the royal chairs, a man started to approach to them.
"Daughter of life!" exclaims the being. “Welcome to the Royal Council! I am Master Veredic. Come with me, I'll take you to the elder count."
"Thank you very much, my lord." answers Leyra
"You must be confused about all of this." says Count Veredic.
"The truth is sir, I'm just speechless" exclaims the woman. "This is surreal."
"Well, you haven’t seen anything yet," exclaims Count Veredic.
The two counts and the woman headed towards an open room away; in there, were two men talking. It seemed to be a huge balcony once, now closed with glass; smoothly, the group enters the room from the depth of the mountain, upon a magical crystal view. Resounding the voice of vast oceans, displayed in front of them. A singular vision of the mountain ranges, which only the sacred beings were privileged to witness.
The talking men recognize the women from the distance; they turned around, and were stunned at the beautiful face of her. One was tall and thick, with large hands and sturdy legs. His hair was bleached blue, and he looked old-fashioned. Beside him was a man covered in a red cape, embroidered with diamonds and jewels; embedded on all sides. Fitted to perfection. His ears were elongated; his hair was delicate and thin. Smooth and greyish, with long white curls. And, although the man looked really old, his spirit was approaching energetically. His soul walked with character and radiance. And his personality caught by the duchess of the southern woods, right away.
“Mistress of the south,” exclaims Count Veredic, “this is Master Yeradoc. Leader of the Royal Council, rector of the great kingdom, and the one who will sentence your judgment."
"It is my pleasure, my lord." exclaims Leyra.
"You have finally arrived, my daughter!" Yeradoc exclaims. "I was looking forward to meeting you; now, what do you think of the great city?"
"Sir, it’s a real honor to be here," answers Leyra. “It has been quite shocking; I never even dream with places like this. I didn´t thought something like this could exist. I mean, has it always been hidden?”
"Always," the man exclaims. “Those who reach this kingdom, is because of the realm´s own will, and not theirs. I must say, I am a bit surprised. I wasn't expecting someone like you. "
"Someone like me, sir?" Leyra asks, confused.
"You know, someone with such a young, face" exclaims Count Yeradoc. "What's your name?"
"Leyra, my lord," the woman replies.
"What a nice name," exclaims Yeradoc, sarcastically. "Is that the name your father 'the creator', gave to you?"
"Not just from the creator, sir," responds Leyra. "It is the one that my earthly parents gave to me. Those who fell, for me."
There was a brief silence in the room, and the echo of the present heartbeats ran through the walls; the man then turned around, and began to walk to a nearby pedestal.
"Excuse me for the question, sir," exclaims Leyra, "but where will the sentence of my petition be declared?"
"Right here," replies Yeradoc. "Right now. We have three witnesses, Veredic, Halem, and Byron.”
The count settled on his podium, as the woman looked around, trying to figure out the room. She realized that that old balcony was now certainly a perfect courtroom. And although her case was not those of precarious forms, the surroundings of the place testified violent episodes; horrific scenes from the past.
"Well, it's the first day of the Ûm Cycle, Enodus 4 of this Noul I, from the se–" stopped Yeradoc, staring at one of the elves. "You should start writing at this point Halem, don't you think?"
"S-sorry sir, immediately!" exclaims Count Halem.
"The first thing I want to ask in this room is, do you really believe that you are the daughter of the god of life?" asks Yeradoc to the woman. "Or is this some metaphor to find meaning in the passing of your days?"
“If it's recognition what you´re looking in me, you won't find it” exclaims Leyra. “If there is no faith in Elgoneth here, you will not recognize him. And if you don't recognize him, on what basis will you recognize me?"
"Who told you, woman, that the mind of Ïnmâeh is not recognized here?" exclaims the count.
"I can sense your differences." responds Leyra.
"Differences, not contradictions" exclaims the counselor. “These recent years hasn’t been the best for this nation. Your ´father' is in debt with us."
"Well then, maybe that's why he brought me here." the woman answers.
The counts looked skeptical at the woman. She then, starts to adjust her brown bag, trying to divert the attention; agitated, she tries to move it higher, but its leather knots untied at the anxious movement of her hands. The bag falls off her hip, right towards the floor; and from it, a glowing book stood out before all of them.
"Sir, this is the book I mentioned you," exclaims Byron.
"And it does seems to have a divine shine, just as they murmured" exclaims Yeradoc, giving a curious gaze to the woman.
The man back off and descends from his small podium, as the book fell closer to him, and slowly approaches to it.
"What does it say there?" asks Halem.
“Lidthëir 'evń Leyra," replies the young woman. "It's written in Dragomař;is an old language. It translates to th-
"´Lexicon of Leyra’,” interrupts Yeradoc, picking it up. “appropriate, I guess. May l?"
"Go ahead, my lord." responds Leyra.
The elder count then, opened the Lexicon of Leyra, and as the lights started to flash out, he remained shocked; static, upon the words that purified the counselor's soul. The language of the book cleaned the hidden stains of his spirit. Its brightness molded his stiff-hearted corners. It was the voice of life, embodied in prayer. Incarnated in legend and fable; written in a lost accent. Colored in stories and myths; it was Elgoneth himself. Amazed, he looks around; everyone stayed muted. As he turns the pages, forms of light emerge in red and blue effulgence; the cosmos was speaking through it word by word; sentence by sentence, paragraph after paragraph. An advanced style, a superior writing. The dialect of the divine, transformed into tools of excellence. Sacred music, renewing the ears of the elves. Sprouting from the text, like little hopes of life. He had never seen anything like it, outside the ancestral lands.
"Why hasn't Elgoneth told us anything about you?" asks Yeradoc.
“It is in his will, to test the acuity of faith and loyalty,” responds Leyra, “that rest in the hearts of all earthlings. And sometimes he does so, with the reflection of his own daughter."
Suddenly, the count felt a burning in his hands; he looked at the words again, and this time, they alarmed a danger in his soul. A strange energy, oscillated between the paragraphs. The man began to worry, as an inexplicable fear began to arise within him. An unknown nature surrounded the edges of the sacred voice. And a mysterious power consecrated as displeasure to the count, generating an instant angst, occurring only in the conscience of the count; along a frightening parade with thoughts of chaos, destruction, war, oblivion and delirium.
"Well, it seems to have the style of the architect of life," exclaims Count Yeradoc, agitated. "Although, I still have my doubts, but I already know how we will verify this writing."
The man returned to the royal podium, and dusted off one of the hidden spaces, where folios and parchments lay forgotten. From here, he took out a book, faded and old. He posed it immediately on the podium, right next to the Lexicon of Leyra.
"This elven book has not been opened in over a hundred years," continues Yeradoc. “It’s limited for special occasions. But this is a special occasion, isn't it?"
The man opened the book in half, and his letters emanated from the text too. These began to float, and connect with those words and symbols that flowed from the Book of Leyra. Its inter-dimensional figures intertwined between the pages, with magical creatures, and impossible spells; a beatific writing with the spirit of creation and elegance. It was the same voice, the same inherence.
A small scroll protruded from the pages of the council’s book. It was a parchment, with an aged and burned texture. The council master grabbed the scroll, and opened it in front of them.
“This is the Rellen, the Sacred One of All Scrolls,” exclaims Yeradoc, “the phrases of truth, and the hallow rules for the elves of the south, are found in here. Its purpose is to lead the elves to reach their higher self. And It was the first message written by Elgoneth, for the regime of the new city; given to our unique queen, in the beginning of her feud´s germination."
“As you can see, both the writing of the Rellen, and that of the Tome of Zaragad, belong to the same nature as the book of the young woman,” continues Yeradoc, “showing us, that the three sets have been written by the divinity of a single being. This proves the veracity of the woman, and the authenticity of her testimony."
“However, in contrast to the Lexicon of Leyra,” continues Yeradoc, “we do not usually touch neither the Rellen, nor the Volumes of Zaragad, for we consider them blessed, holy, and belonging to life. In fact, sometimes, the words appeared by their own; filling themselves on the blank pages, as if life wanted to continue to express its concepts, through its literature, through its writing. Although, being honest with all of you, it hasn´t written a word, for a long time."
"What was the last thing it wrote?" asked Leyra
"About Eldrįner's crown, about a new queen," Yeradoc responds. “The crown rested in our domain before it was lost; it was so beautiful. So perfect. Precisely designed. I dedicated the best of my years studying it. The energy that surrounded the crown was so strong, that we had to isolate her in the depths of the forest, as it distorted the main forces of our crystals. The imbalance was corrected by the Count Melron, and after, each council did a better job of protecting it; over the centuries. We moved it constantly, all around the depths of our forest; to ensure its secrecy. To ensure, the mythical arrival of Eleanor."
"Unfortunately, it was stolen," continues Yeradoc, agitated. “Taken as a riot, as an ambush, by a party of damned thieves! An embarrassment, which we still have to carry, as the first council that fails on its main mission. Leyra, it was nastily taken from us! By the kingdom of deceive and dishonesty. And worst of all, we couldn't do anything about it! And there it went our treasure long forgotten, among the ashes of the fall from that usurped realm! And all because this king wanted to give it to his queen! I couldn't breathe the day this infamous animal found the Golden Tiara in the forest, and instead of showing his honor, he attacked with his group of criminals, and ran away with it! What an imbecile man!"
“I'm sorry to hear that,” says Leyra, “but if I may ask, why didn't you follow the attack, towards the kingdom? Your warriors are talented. Your people are strong. You would certainly win, and recover it."
“Oh believe me my lady, we certainly would have done it,” exclaims Count Yeradoc. “But the day we proceed, Elgoneth appeared to us. As a young man, upon some branches; he was poorly dressed, and whistling, eating a fruit from the tree.”
"As a young man?" asks Leyra.
"Veredic can tell this story better, since he was there." replies Count Yeradoc. "Would you mind enlightening us, Count of the Army?"
- Writer
