The Children of Calm (24 page)

Three hours into the forest gave way to a sudden shock: the forest abruptly ended, and the scene opened up to a miniature enclosed canyon. The mountains on both sides joined again on the far end, and in between were flower meadows of various colors. A tall thin waterfall poured into the stream, and the sun was catching the mist perfectly at that moment to display a wondrous rainbow. If Rylek had not seen it for himself, he would have believed it was too convenient, too idyllic to be real. There was even a small stone cottage not far from the waterfall’s base on the other side of the stream, complete with thatched roof and chimney.

“Is that your house?” Lana asked in a voice obviously awed by the scene.

“I have been known to dwell here at times when I am not roaming the world,” Altan said. “Lately I have stayed in this cottage more often than I have not.”

“Do you have other homes?” Rylek asked, still studying the scene.

Altan suddenly looked grave and a little sad as he paused for a moment. “Calabranda is my home,” he finally said quietly, “though my travels have taken me far and wide over all of Mira. I am more welcome in some places than in others. It is here I feel most welcome.” He paused again as if snapping himself out of a memory. “And you, my friends, are also most welcome,” he said cheerily. “Come with me and we will have rest and refreshment.”

As he led them across the stream on large rocks placed strategically in its bed, Rylek studied the back of his head as though he were attempting to pierce into his mind and read his thoughts and memories.
There has to be some great sorrow haunting his heart,
he thought to himself.
Regret? Loss? Betrayal?

After reaching the other side of the stream, it was only a short distance to the cottage. The sun was sinking below the forest line behind them. Rylek suddenly realized in the light of the dusk that Altan’s shoulders were hunched over ever so slightly.

Just who are you, Altan?
he wondered yet again, not for the last time.

***

The cottage proved to be charmingly cozy. Once inside, Altan drew back the thick curtains that covered the windows, allowing the light of the setting sun one last chance to fall upon the interior. While he set about starting a fire in the fireplace, the four looked around the room - for the cottage was only one room. Beside the fireplace there was a simple wooden table encircled by five small stools (which Rylek found interesting); a writing desk sat under one of the windows; a large bookshelf was filled with various volumes and scrolls; a few shelves were attached to a wall that held stone mugs; and a small bed sat in a corner. But it was not the things he
did
see that held Rylek’s attention, but rather the things he did
not
see. There were no eating apparatuses, no food, and no wardrobe, although curiously enough there was a rack built into a wall with five thick fur coats hanging from pegs.

“Please have a seat at the table,” Altan said to them as he stood up from the fireplace. The newly lit fire crackled cozily and helped to relax the four more than anything else had. As they sat down, he took a pitcher from a shelf. “If you will give me only a moment, I shall bring us fresh water from the stream.” Then he went out the door. Upon returning he filled five mugs with the water and placed them on the table. “I am afraid I have no food to offer you,” he said. “You will have to make do with your own provisions. If I am not mistaken, Kelsereid provided you with plenty, did she not?”

“Oh yes, she packed us quite a bit,” Selenor said. “We have enough here if you would like to share with us.”

“Thank you very much, but no,” he said. “I am perfectly content with my water.”

They ate a small meal, and were pleasantly surprised with the
pahrish.
Tresten even had to admit he had been wrong for judging the concoction before trying it.

While they were dining, and Altan sat drinking his water, Rylek studied him closely. He knew the questions had to start coming out of them eventually, so he decided he would be the first to interrogate. “I have never once seen you eat,” he said. “Do you prefer to do it in private?”

“And now the questions come!” Altan said, as though he could read Rylek’s thoughts. “I have been eagerly anticipating your questions all day, and quite honestly have been very surprised that none of you have asked me anything significant until now. Have you been afraid to ask the things that are pressing on your minds, or have you merely lost interest in all that seemed so important to you in Perdeisolen?”

The four sat silently for awhile, exchanging glances. “Well, sir,” Lana finally said, “it’s not that we don’t trust you, even though that seems to be a moot point right now. We’ve known you for less than two days, but Elder Caenar told us before we left to come on our Finding that we should accept any help from anyone who blesses us in the name of The One. And those were the first words out of your mouth. So if we are to take our village elder at his word, we know we can trust you. But, if you’ll excuse me, we don’t
know
you.”

“So we figured you would tell us what we needed to know on your own time,” Rylek concluded. “We don’t really understand the events of the last couple of days, or how you knew we would be coming to the sea, but here we are anyway. I guess we realize answers will come when the time is right.”

“I see,” Altan said slowly. “Well, to answer your question, Rylek, I neither eat in private or in public. When one is of my…elderly constitution, he may find that water and sunlight are all he can stomach. And do not be deceived,” he quickly added when he saw their quizzical looks, “I am far older than I appear.”

“So will you not eat at all?” Selenor asked.

“I will not, though I can if I so choose,” he said. “This body is not made for food, but for doing Good for all.”

Tresten looked at Rylek. “He’s obviously not related to you in any way,” he said.

“I think he does plenty of good,” Selenor said.

“No, I meant about not being made for food,” he said.

“Quit interjecting things that don’t flow in the conversation,” Lana said. “You’re confusing everyone.”

“It was wit and it fit perfectly,” he said quietly, looking down at his hands.

“Well, it wasn’t funny,” she said, shaking her head.

Rylek was eager to get on with the true topic at hand. “Altan, could you tell us about the Aesid?”

“That might take years and years,” Altan said with a curious light in his eyes. “What specifically would you like to know?”

“The reasons for their ridiculous attitudes towards themselves, for starters,” Tresten said.

“Among other things,” Rylek said. “Where did they come from? How long have they been here? Where are all of their children?”

“Why do winged beings confine themselves to underground caverns?” Altan asked. “The list of questions are nearly as long as the Forbidden Stairs of Khrag’leMae were, winding their way along the cliffs of Teravihn’dael.”

Rylek and Tresten looked at each other with puzzled faces and shrugged.

Altan continued, seemingly not noticing. “They are most certainly a peculiar people. But don’t we all have our own quirks and oddities? I shall tell you enough tonight to whet your appetites for tomorrow. What you will see then will help you form a more detailed picture of the history of our winged friends.

“Long, long ago, there were no Aesid. The Aenosh were the only mortal sentient beings in all our world of Mira. And they did not dwell here in Calabranda, but on a continent far to the northwest called Nalaesha. Calabranda, or Selaena, as it was originally named, was solely the home of a race of beings that have been given many names by the legends and myths of lore: the Ancients, the Undying, the Auk’kyural, the Qurephim – and many others that are long forgotten. But they called themselves the Aedaar.”

“Do you mean to tell us the children’s tales are true?” Tresten asked incredulously. “
The First Born
actually existed?”

“Oh yes,” Altan said, “Those
born of the Light
not only exist
ed
, but still exist. They are ‘the Undying’ after all.”

Tresten slouched down in his stool and looked towards the floor, shaking his head and muttering something Rylek could not hear.

Altan continued. “One of the Aedaar was named Fornrihgula, and he became an object of worship among some of the Aenosh. To these he granted strange and perverted powers, twisting their genetic make-up in an attempt to shape them more into his likeness and desire. They grew taller, stronger, and their lifespan was extended beyond what The One had intended. Wings were fashioned onto their backs, and they were mighty to behold.

“But Fornrihgula could not truly create, he could merely copy and manipulate. There were adverse effects on these poor Aenosh. For example, their ability to procreate was drastically reduced. And their flesh became radically sensitive to sunlight. But being persuaded by him that they were now a superior race to the rest of the Aenosh, Fornrihgula aided them in tearing their city, Teravihn’dael, from the roots of Nalaesha and suspending it in the heavens. So venomous were his words that he convinced his followers, the
Aesid
, that the Aenosh were a blight and pestilence on the face of Mira. It became genocide as the physically superior Aesid nearly destroyed the Aenosh, until the remainder of the Aedaar finally put an end to near-extinction and destroyed Teravihn’dael. Fornrihgula was sealed away, condemned to never engage in temporal events again. The Aenosh that survived were brought to Selaena, which they promptly named Calabranda,
Land of the Rising Sun
, along with a handful of Aesid who had rebelled against Fornrihgula. All Aenosh in Calabranda are descendents of the Selaenean refugees, and Andulibar and his people are the descendents of the Teravihn’daelian rebels.”

The four sat in silence for some time while Altan drank from his mug. Finally Tresten sat up and looked Altan in the eyes. “If what you say is true,” he said, “though I highly doubt much of it is based in fact, then Andulibar and the others have no reason to obsess over their ancestors’ past. They come from the noble line that resisted the tainting of your Fornrihgula character.”

Altan smiled. “Why do you choose to not believe me?” he asked.

“I have no real reason to believe,” Tresten said. “Fables, myths, legends, old wives’ tales - I mean, come on! Where are the Aedaar today if they are immortal?”

“They have the ability to walk unbeknownst among the mortals,” Altan said. “They can bend light to their will and conceal themselves from mortal eye.”

“How convenient for all-powerful beings to exist and be invisible at the same time,” Tresten said. “No need to have external evidence of proof!”

A knot formed in Rylek’s stomach.

“Tresten, stop it!” Lana said. “You believe in The One, don’t you? And what about what Elder Caenar said?”

“Does he even know about this guy?” Tresten asked, his voice raising. “Bother it, how can you all sit here and listen to this ridiculous talk? It’s taukish! There is nothing in any of the most reliable history books I’ve seen that talk about the Aedaar and some flying lost continent.”

“You will see Fornrihgula tomorrow, Tresten,” Altan said calmly. “And also the ruins of Teravihn’dael - for that is the ancient name of Khragzul.”

The room grew quiet again. “I thought you said he was sealed away,” Tresten eventually said, stubbornly refusing to concede.

The knot in Rylek’s stomach tightened.

“I did,” Altan said. “When the Aedaar sealed him, they created a temporal field that restricts him from engaging in real-time. He is essentially frozen to and within Mira, for all intents and purposes.”

Selenor cleared her throat. “Forgive me for seeming to take issue with you,” she said meekly, “but why is it we were never taught any of this? If this were true, how can major events like these not be in any of our records?”

“History is a funny, curious ravenous monstrosity,” Altan said. “It is far too large for any created thing to grasp. All one can do is understand tiny fragments of it, without ever truly knowing how it ties in to every other major and minor event that has ever happened. What are the factual motives behind everything you have ever learned? Is history merely about wars and victories? Who writes your history books? Dare I say the powers-that-be? The victors of the wars? Everything is tainted in one color or another, because no living mortal thing can ever truly know the entire story from every possible perspective. And when all that you look for consists of the same basic plot points, then eventually that is all you will see. You become blind to all else. And that is all you know how to pass on to your children. So written history continues to be filtered one generation to the next, until it has become so watered-down by meaningless generalizations that it has been stripped of all impactful knowledge beneficial to the edification of the student, and to all of civilization for that matter.”

He paused. “Forgive me for my ranting,” he said. “Truth and History are very dear to my heart. There is much, and possibly too much, that I have seen in my studies. At times knowledge leaves you with nothing but a hollow ache that can too easily be filled with apathy and self-righteousness. We must fight to allow compassion and humility to fill it instead.” He lifted his eyes, and to Rylek it seemed he was lost in a memory.