More and more and more.
Only when he’d met up with Aquilan had he relaxed slightly in his search of increasing his power. He’d actually begun to enjoy magic again. The way Finley’s face had lit up with wonder and joy when he’d transformed into Gran had him smiling even now. Such happiness with the essence of magic had been lost to him back then.
And now? Now I am a different person, but may have to leave everything again. I have no idea where I will go. Could I throw myself at my uncle’s feet and ask for forgiveness for even the appearance of betrayal? Beg Declan to take me under his protection? Either idea sounds hollow especially if Aquilan turns his back on me.
He shook himself. Forward. Ever forward.
The purple flowers with their narcotic payload were not the only ones on his path. There were small red flowers with three leaves that bloomed from crawling vines that covered trellises that arched over the pathway. When he looked at them carefully, he saw the petals widen and the stamens–which looked awfully sharp–twitch. He was careful not to brush against them.
But despite all of the danger that this flora could potentially wreak, he found himself enchanted by the pathway with its different colored stones that wended its way through a forest of flowers. Small yellow flecks of light rose up from the earth and danced lightly on the wind. They swirled rapidly with his presence.
Beautiful, he thought. I believed Illithor to be many things: a place of power, a keeper of secrets, a location of destiny, but never did I consider that it would be so very beautiful.
Maybe because the Kindreth kept moving ever deeper their cities now were more utilitarian. This type of elaborate and thoughtful gardening and decoration took time and effort. Why do those things when one might leave everything behind at a moment’s notice as the Kindreth marched again and established yet another base deeper still in the Under Dark?
Here there was a sense of permanence. The Kindreth had been here for ages and planned to be here for ages more with no end in sight. There was no sense that they ever had intended to leave. And Vex has left things here sealed in amber. At any moment, Rhalyf could imagine the city bustling with life. He wondered if the food inside people’s homes was still fresh and ready to be eaten. This sense of timelessness–or rather of time held still–was overwhelming.
A sleeping city. Waiting for a king to kiss her and bring her back?
A yet deeper sense of melancholy flowed over him. Vex had seen and done so much. His knowledge was likely as deep as the Under Dark. But other than a few stray words in his millennia of life, Rhalyf had never spoken to him.
My own uncle. The elf who has always held my fate in his hands and we have nary said a word directly to one another. Never been in a room alone together. Never even touched…
He remembered as a boy going to the royal court for some function or another. He’d been within ten feet of his uncle. Vex had been sprawled on his throne. A beautiful if imposing figure who looked more like a carved statue than an elf. But then his red eyes had flickered and landed upon Rhalyf. He’d been staring quite hard at his uncle, fascinated and afraid of him.
Then Vex smiled.
And waggled his eyebrows.
Delighted, Rhalyf let out a stifled laugh, knowing even then that laughing too loudly would have been a bad idea in such a place. His uncle gestured for him to come near. Rhalyf took a step towards him, but then his mother’s hands–claw-like in that moment–slammed down on his shoulders. Her fingers had dug into his shoulders until pain had caused him to see black. She kept him by her. She didn’t allow him to go to Vex and the Night King sighed and looked away from him.
Afterwards, his mother had beaten him. And while she had, she’d told him what a fool he was. Hadn’t he understood what would have happened to him if he’d gone to Vex? He would be dead! Foolish, stupid boy!
And he’d believed her.
For a very long time.
But later, when he knew her better, when he understood her as someone other than as a child knows a parent, he’d wondered if that was true. What if he had shoved her hands away? What if he’d gone to Vex? Would his uncle have killed him? Or would he have taken Rhalyf under his wing?
That seemed to fly in the face of all he knew–or had been told–about Vex. But his own sense had been that he’d missed an opportunity. He hadn’t thought of that moment in hundreds of years. But now it was so strong that the regret tasted fresh on his tongue.
First, a desire to simply wander Illithor forever! And now regrets about Vex? Maybe the city–or the pollen–is having an effect on me. I must stay focused!
He came to the end of the building and followed the path around to the back of the temple. He stepped through a final arch of those red flowers and really did gasp this time. Though many of the buildings in Illithor were built practically cheek to jowl, this temple had a back garden. A magnificent back garden.
More narcotic plants in all their dizzying glory. Oh! And so many poisonous ones. But lovely. So lovely.
The garden sprawled out in front of him. Dozens of winding stone paths interspersed with elaborate displays of flowers. And in the center of it all was another stag. Proudly staring ahead as if gazing into the horizon, into destiny. A bubbling fountain surrounded the stag’s hooves. Fish as large as his hand and colored violet, orange, green and blue flitted underneath the surface.
What is this place? Who is worshiped here?
“The Hunter,” his sister’s voice rose up behind him.
He was already turning. He had sensed her just a moment too late. It was always this way between them. He spun around and looked upwards. There were two sets of curving stairs that lead from the temple down into the garden. She was standing at the top of the nearest one that emptied out by his feet. She smiled down at him.
“Brother, it’s been too long,” Haera said, her hand lightly landing on the stone railing.
He gritted his teeth. So much for not getting caught! So much for spying on her! Dammit why was he always flatfooted around her?
