The Song Guardian

Sil Artenor: 4

The two candles lit another passage, this one more finely built, the walls smooth from plaster. They reached an archway without a door, entering a chamber that was slightly higher than three tall men are tall. It was rectangular, its length twice the length of its width, its width roughly twice that of its height. The ceiling was vaulted in the form of a simple curving barrel vault, in its centre a shallow indentation. A shallow curve gently transforming itself into the vertical surfaces of the walls, that held the walls firmly to the floor. Every part of its surface was a glory of color, paintings were on the ceiling, as well as the walls.

The floor they walked upon was so black that Halder felt as if he was walking over an abyss. It was made of the deepest, darkest stone he had ever seen.

'The whole had been intended to represent the wonder of the universe.'

He looked up, to where the swaying light of the candles brought the surface alive. In the middle of the ceiling within the subtlety of a shallow dome was a circle of fire.

'This is the Creator, A-róth, the only deity to be worshipped by both gods. Epharion, city of clouds'

Around the circumference of the shallow sphere, clusters of buildings, towers rising high lost to clouds. Halder saw it was telling a story, from the arrival of the gods, to the foundation of the first cities, Abinariath and Heraphalion.

Halder craned his neck and studied the image, the swirl of orange and yellow flame brought alive in the candlelight, looking like... like what? He couldn't make much sense of it, though he knew the creation myth. The creator of the gods. 'Who painted them?'

His Guardian turned to his right, casting a look in the direction of the far wall, then raising his head again, slowly, to take in the majestic scene painted across the ceiling. 'We do not know, but they are older than the castle here. These aren't of our time.'

Between the first cities and A-róth the wheel of fire, creatures gathered, none of them the sort of creatures he had ever seen. The gods of darkness, of the earth, of mist and underground places were known as the Gangari, and not much was known about them, mystical beings who had no form. The gods of the heavens, of light were known as the Valorë, those of water and the air we breathed the Ithú, the two races of gods known was the Vaesons. The Gangari and the Vaesons according to the tales he had learned as a child, from when he had a mother and a father fought for supremacy of the ancient world.

'Which gods made us then?'

Amaelden let the faintest of smiles brush his lips. 'None of the gods made us.' He let his eyes wander upwards, back to the wheel of fire that was Arós the Creator. 'The gods inhabited the world and brought it to what we know of it today.' The wise old man who was his Guardian, his teacher, his master and his protector, all the things Halder needed to become whole indicated a whirlwind. 'This is the Valorëan god of air,' then he pointed at a figure holding a spear, 'this the Ithúvian god of the earth, enemies until the last. So you see, there has always been an us, and a them. It is told that a much greater place once stood here, commanding the passes onto the grassy plains. But it was demolished eons ago to build this castle. This is all that remains of it. ' His Guardian and mentor turned to look down at him, his head hidden within the shadows of his homespun robes. 'It is the normal state of the world, to always be at war. When times are peaceful, this is only a brief interlude. It is the nature of our kind to be at strife, since this is how the gods made us. And this is why you must dedicate yourself.' Finally, his face turned sombre, Amaelden lowering his voice so it was barely louder than a whisper. 'I wanted to show this to you before I go.'

Halder looked startled, 'Going? Are you dying?'

'Dying, no,' he sighed. 'I am going Halder, back to the Far Lands before I die. Back to the beginning,' he said wistfully as he brushed his hand across the surface. 'These paintings have survived for so long... I fear, when all is done, this place will go as the others and this,' he indicated with his hand the paintings above and around them, 'all of this will sadly be no more.'

'What does that...' Halder stopped himself in time.

The old man looked at him, his face solemn, his receding white hair making his head light in the dark space, 'Think of them as a kind of universal truth. They tell a tale of long ago, but a tale with which we are still entwined today. You may ask your questions.'

'Why are you going?'

'Ah, we get a little ahead of ourselves.'