Darkspur

Chapter 13 - The Elven Priestess

Something was happening. Tari could feel the excitement in the air, it was running through everyone in Far-Naeborn, the ancient Dwarven city which lay deep under Surgaret Orod. This had been Tari's home for so long now, that she found it hard to remember how the Elven forest had felt; it's trees and open sky replaced with rock and crystal light. The city, hewn into solid black granite, clung to the walls of a giant underground fissure that ran vertically for almost a league under the mountain. When she first arrived, in those terrifying first few days, she could not help but look on the place with awe. It's expertly carved, robust stonework must have taken centuries to complete and with tier upon tier of chambers, halls and dwellings disappearing off into the deep, the sheer scale of the city astounded her. The roof of the cavern was almost completely covered in opaque white crystal; it's veins running through the thick mountain rock all the way to the surface and for a few hours of each day, the suns rays were bounced and refracted along the shards, sending the light deep underground, illuminating Far-Naeborn in a soft twilight glow. Normally though, it's inhabitants made do with jagged, rose tinted crystals that periodically would have to be taken and left on the mountain surface to be charged with natural daylight.

It mystified her as to why a race that created something so beautiful, so inspirational, could also be so destructive. The Dwarves had killed thousands in a war of their own making, striking without provocation with a huge army at the heart of the Elven Empire. If it hadn't been for the timely intervention of the humans, the outcome of the conflict would have been quite different. After almost six months of what seemed like continual fighting, the Dwarven race was decimated, their remnants banished to the north. Tari could not help feel sad for it's people, the conflict was over centuries before her time but she still wondered what could drive such an expressive race to war. She couldn't help but recall her father's words, 'Remember, Tari, history is always written by the victor'.

Her quarters were high in the South Wall, a collection of five rooms, all looking out over the chasm of Far-Naeborn. They were sparsely filled with plain, functional furniture which served it's purpose but could hardly be described as comfortable. She very rarely left her chambers, the metal barred door made sure she stayed in her prison, the barred windows offering no chance of escape. The only other area she would sometimes frequent was the temple on the floor below. Gorothan allowed her to visit, in perhaps a vain hope she would forsake her own deity and join with the Darnach in their demon worship; it just confirmed to Tari how deluded the man was. At first it made her physically sick even just to walk over the temple threshold, a shrine that was in direct conflict to her own faith, but over time she learned control and now it was just another room of the hundreds in Far-Naeborn. Her captors worshiped Iazhor the Great Demon, that was said walked the surface of the world in the Early Years, destroying all that defied him. In the scriptures, the Elven Goddess Erwethwen fought Iazhor, sealing him in the heart of the world to burn for all eternity. At first she thought that was the reason she had been taken, a sacrifice of Erwethwen's High Priestess to their Demon God, but as time went on and no harm befell Tari, she could find no reason for her captivity, other than a type of torture.

Tari stood at one of the windows, absent mindedly running a long finger along the contours of a chiselled Dwarven face that still proudly looked out over the chasm. Far below figures scurried about the many ornate bridges and walkways that spanned the abyss. They were busy ferrying supplies and weaponry to what Tari vaguely remembered was the Great Hall. Of course, she had known for months something was being planned, this was just the end phase of Gorothan's master plan. The furnaces and metal works had been ringing out continually, moulding and shaping the precious ore from deep in the earth below into weapons and armour of all kinds. The Darnach Sor were preparing for war, but with whom, Tari could only guess.

Behind her she heard the metal gate squeak as someone entered. She didn't turn as it was nearly always Gorothan.

"Ah Priestess, how are we today?" His crackly, rasping voice asked Tari.

Tari kept staring between the iron bars of the window, "Much the same as yesterday, Gorothan, and the day before that, and the day before that. Every day is much the same as the next." She turned and looked at the hunched figure with the same blank, uninterested expression she had done for year after year. "And you?"

He smiled, tilting his head slightly, "We are very well, Priestess, very well indeed."

To Tari, it appeared his red eyes shone with more intensity today, his slender face was almost entirely bathed in the ruby glow. The black ink on his face seemed denser, almost ebony and without thinking, Tari run her hand over her own tattoos. To every Elf their tattoos were sacred, each different and each telling it's own unique story. The patterns were in no way random, every mark and every line corresponding to an event or special moment in an Elf's life and with training, a whole life story could be told from the markings on an individuals scalp. Tari rubbed her bald head, remembering the first time Gorothan had tried to add to her own Coia Narn, or Life Story. She fought him passionately but realised quickly this was a battle she would never win and eventually, numbly, surrendered to his needle. Her story was now broken; beginning in the delicate, sweeping designs of her own people but now disfigured by the harsh, jagged shapes belonging to the Darnach Sor.

"I have just come to tell you we shall very soon be leaving on a little trip," Gorothan continued.

Tari looked at him, her heart quickening in her chest. She dared not believe he was including her in his plans. Gorothan had an annoying habit of referring to himself in the plural, and it wasn't always easy to be completely certain of his meaning.

"And by we, Gorothan, am I included?" Tari asked.

"Of course, how could I leave High Priestess Tari Isyer-Hon Liallnys behind in this dark place. No, you must certainly come with us." Gorothan was smiling again, but this time it was a nasty, twisted sneer. "We have had word that our brother has reached his goal, the long wait for salvation is nearly at an end. Tari, you should be very excited."

Tari was excited, but her excitement was tinged with fear and dread. She knew she had been taken for a purpose, and whatever that may be, the culmination of Gorothan's plans meant she would find out soon. She run her hand over her bare forearm, feeling the small lumps of crystal beneath the skin. He had started pushing the tiny shards into her flesh soon after her capture and kept adding more and more in the following days; the crystals somehow negating most of the magic that was still trapped inside her. She dreamed of a day when the shards were removed and she could use her magic again, allowing her to wrench Gorothan's body to the four corners of the earth. She despised the monster and would gladly put aside her pacifist vows to murder the man.

She turned to a dim, clouded mirror and studied her face for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, trying to estimate her own age. Tari then asked a question she had never asked Gorothan before.

"How long have I been here, Gorothan?"

"Priestess, that's hard to tell, I'm afraid I couldn't be accurate..."

She wheeled round, two long strides taking her face to face with the Darnach.

"Try," she hissed through her clenched teeth.

A slow, crooked smile formed. "47 years," he said coldly, still smiling, studying the woman.

She started shaking, her chest tightening as she gasped for air. She stumbled back, green eyes wide with shock, tears escaping down her cheeks. She stared at her reflection again, steadying herself, her hands each side of the mirror. Had it been that long, it couldn't be that long.

He seemed to take pleasure from her reaction, soaking in Tari's pain and confusion.

"Rest, Tari, we leave within the week," and he turned, leaving the Elf alone once more.

Tari slumped to the floor and lay curled there, her hands clasping her patterned head. She stayed like that for what seemed like hours, drifting between denial and anguish until eventually realising that after so long denying it's existence, time again had unmeasurable meaning.