Chapter Seven: A Journey to Elaria
Tranith Argan: Book 1
After staying the night near the coast, Felanar, Bren and Ravesfel prepare to sail to the land of the elves.
The travelers took their packs and strode outside. It was still dark, and as they walked down the cobbled street Felanar heard a couple of guests in a house they passed having an early-morning argument. Their voices faded as they walked along, past the stables where Bren had arranged for their horses to be kept while they were away. They walked down the hill toward the water’s edge.
Felanar breathed in the salty air deeply. He felt invigorated and looked forward to sailing the Straits and visiting the elves. Soon they reached the lapping water's edge and a dock. Bren had hired a small sailing vessel for their use and while he completed the transaction with the elderly owner, Ravesfel tossed his pack onto the boat and climbed aboard. Felanar did the same and Bren loaded up a few more supplies as the waves gently rocked the boat in dock.
Felanar was greatly looking forward to this part of the adventure. He had been on his father’s fishing boat a few times, but he had never even seen the Straits before, let alone sailed them. Not many sailors crossed the Straits. The fishermen on either side mostly sailed up and down the coasts, never needing to go far offshore. The Straits of Doom received their name from the way the currents in the middle of the Straits could suddenly become treacherous. They were not impossible to cross, but at times it could be difficult. When bad weather stirred, however, they truly lived up to their name. However, Felanar had once read that the Llaráin Erenár sailed the Straits as if it were a pond. Brindledown fishermen viewed it as a high compliment if they were said to be able to sail – according to the old saying – as well as an elf.
The boat loaded, they cast off and slowly rowed out of the little harbor and away from the shore. The sun was rising and the village was beginning to wake up, first the fishermen, but soon others. Over the sound of the water a dog’s barking was heard in the distance, and a door slammed. They raised the sail and began tacking against the wind and away from shore. The sounds of the village died away and so did the sight of land. They were alone on the Straits.
Felanar was still feeling a little nervous in Ravesfel’s presence. The old man had not spoken much with him on their journey, often seeming preoccupied or ill at ease. In the boat, however, once they left shore behind, he visibly relaxed and turned to the boy and smiled. He said, “Bren tells me you have been a good student. I’m heartened to hear it, for though you seemed to have an eager spirit on that Festival afternoon one can never be sure with boys. Attention wandering and always on to the next great adventure. It can be frustrating to counsel a young ruler only to see one’s advice ignored because the impetuousness of youth. Are you enjoying learning?”
With that sudden question Felanar jumped inwardly and responded, “Yes, sir, very much indeed. I like riding horses best. Well,” he paused thinking of the past two days, “maybe not quite as much of it as we’ve been doing.”
Ravesfel laughed at this and Bren, still working with the sail and rudder, smiled over at Felanar. The old man stretched his legs and seemed to completely relax. “Ah, horses! Yes, horses are fun, especially when you have a good one. Do you know who has the best steeds?”
“No, sir.”
“Come now, there is no need to call me 'sir' all the time. Respect is fine and there is a place for that sort of thing but we are never going to get on with each other if you are going to insist on calling me 'sir'. Ravesfel is fine or nothing at all. I’m not one to insist on ceremony. Bren can tell you that.”
Felanar looked hesitant, so Ravesfel continued, “I suppose you have been taught to always ‘sir’ a High Man. Is that it?”
Felanar nodded nervously.
“Nonsense! Men have this need to set themselves above one another. Causes all sorts of problems, let me tell you. Listen to me, boy, I’ll tell you the truth. There is no difference between a High Man and a Low Man. Do you believe me?”
Felanar didn’t know what to think, for the conversation had switched from riding horses to something that made no sense. Finally, hesitatingly, he replied, “I’m sure I don’t know, but if you say so I guess I should believe you. I’ve always been taught otherwise.”
“Then you’ve been taught wrong!” Realizing his tone was making the boy even more nervous, Ravesfel paused and smiled. “But then, everyone is being taught wrong these days, so it’s hardly your fault. Still, I think you will see the truth of my words someday. Yes, I think you will.”
“Sir...uh, I mean, what about the horses?” Felanar wanted to steer the conversation back to something that interested him. Ravesfel looked at him blankly for a moment and then remembered his earlier question.
“The best steeds in all the world can be found among the Llaráin Findára, the wood elves. These animals are magnificent, Felanar! What beauty and intelligence they possess. And strength! A horse from the Findára exceeds all other animals for sheer strength of will and body. There is a bond that grows between elf and horse and there comes a point where the horse will suffer no other rider but its own.”
He paused in thought for a moment and then went on. “The best horses among the Findára belong to Llarand. Have you heard of Llarand?”
Felanar shook his head.
“He is the lord of all the elves. Even the Llaráin Erenár look to him and they look to no other creature in this world. You will soon meet Llarand, for we are going to visit him. I want you to meet him.”
“Why?” Felanar felt a bit uncomfortable about meeting someone looked up to by everyone else.
“Because the Regent always consults with Llarand. Llarand knows more about the lands than anyone else alive. If you are to serve the Regent, you must know Llarand and the Findára. They will be your best allies.”
That reminded Felanar of a question that was always on his mind. “When will I serve the Regent?”
Ravesfel looked thoughtfully at Felanar. “When it is time, young man, when you are finally ready.”
“When will I be ready?”
“I cannot say, it depends upon your diligence.”
Felanar stared at Ravesfel who was now gazing at the water that was gently swaying the boat from side to side. The water was a deep, dark blue in the morning light. Bren was staring up at the sky and contentedly smoking his long-stemmed pipe.
Felanar shut his eyes and imagined Llarand and the Findára. How majestic he must be, and terrible to behold! He thought of the Erenár, who looked to no one but Llarand.
“How old is Llarand?” asked Felanar, opening his eyes.
Ravesfel looked around with a blank look on his face. “Old? Hmmm…yes, old, well it’s hard to say, Felanar. Age doesn’t matter as much to the elves as it does to you men. To you he is as old as the Straits, though to him he seems but as a man who has lived a normal life of middle age.”
Felanar stared at the old man and wondered how that could be, as old at the Straits! Ravesfel muttered something else as he turned back to the water. It sounded as if he said something about Llarand being around for as long as he could remember, but Felanar couldn’t tell for sure. He closed his eyes again and thought how it would be to be as old as the water they sailed on.
They sailed all that day, mostly with a steady east wind, and made good progress. The weather was fine and they experienced little trouble with the middle of the Straits. By twilight they could perceive the emerging shore. Bren was the first to spot it and as he announced it, Felanar strained to see this new land. The deepening dusk, however, made the shoreline appear like nothing more than a long, dark-blue sliver of land with not much in the way of features.
Bren guided the boat to the beach and, with Felanar’s help, up onto the sand. Ravesfel silently looked around at the nearby tree line and soon seemed satisfied they were in a safe location. The boat was anchored and their packs unloaded. As Bren made a simple supper, Ravesfel walked over to a nearby thicket of trees. He appeared to be searching for something. Finally he found what he was looking for: a bird perched on the branch of an ancient looking walnut tree. To Felanar it seemed as if the old man were speaking to the bird. That would be odd enough were it not for the fact that it also looked as if the bird was quite interested in what Ravesfel was saying. Indeed, as soon as Ravesfel was finished the bird flew off to the north.
Over a supper of cheese, bread and fruit Felanar asked Ravesfel about the bird.
“Yes, of course I was speaking to the robin. We have friends expecting us and I wanted to tell them we have arrived. Indeed, if I had not spoken to the robin she would have gone off and gossiped about us anyway. It is always good, I find, to set your own message for the messengers of the forest, or else you find the strangest expectations upon your arrival. Robins are simple-minded, you see, and love nothing more than to chatter on about something or another. If they can’t find something to talk about, they make it up. If what they find isn’t interesting enough, they embellish. I much prefer crows. Observant, sober, to the point, not given to flights of fancy. That’s the messenger of choice. Still, the enemy knows this too and it can be hard to tell at times whether you are dealing with a true crow or one who has been corrupted to evil ends.”
Felanar wasn’t expecting an explanation of the reliability of winged species, and was amazed simply by the thought that animals could be spoken to at all. Bren saw his young student was confused by this idea and spoke up for his benefit.
“You see, Felanar, talking with animals is a skill that Ravesfel knows well. It is elven in origin, of course, for the elves were the first to arrive here, and they were the ones who made friends with the animals. There was a time when High Men learned this skill, especially the King, and it served them well. Alas, this is a skill long since forgotten by most, save Ravesfel and a few lore minders. Naturally the elves carry on the tradition as strongly as ever. Why do you think an elven horse is so loyal to its master? Wouldn’t you rather be with someone who thought enough of your mind to address it?”
“Could I learn this skill?” asked Felanar. “I have heard of this from the old books but everyone in my village said it was a lost art.”
“Indeed, Felanar,” answered Bren, “it is a lost art to your people, and almost to my own. The elves have not forgotten, however, and those old books tell the truth. You must remember that to the elves, the old books are current books. These books are alive to them for they are older than the books and they have not forgotten their skills as some have. Yes, you can learn this skill if you apply yourself. By all means, ask one of the Findára about it and you will make yourself a true friend. They love nothing more than to talk about their ways with an enlightened outsider, and if you ask about their ways you are assumed to be enlightened.”
Felanar noticed a slight smirk as Bren said this, and wondered how often he had dealt with the elves. He also wondered if the elves would think him enlightened, or just a simple-minded Low Man, and a boy at that. With those thoughts he joined the others and lay down to sleep. The starry night was mild and the sound of the waves on the beach soon lulled him to sleep.
The next morning was overcast, and the air was damp. They rose and had some nuts and more cheese for breakfast. Then they packed up their supplies and followed Ravesfel into the nearby woods. As they walked along the thick undergrowth Felanar asked Ravesfel, “Where are we going? Are we near Elaria?”
“No, we are some way off yet. At the moment we are going to meet a friend who will aid us on our journey.”
And they soon did. Coming into a slight clearing, they saw a fair-skinned, slender young man atop a noble-looking horse. With him were three other horses, without riders yet wearing saddles. To Felanar this new man looked interesting. He looked different from Bren, though he couldn’t figure in what way. He assumed he was another High Man, a friend who had been summoned to help, yet he was unlike any High Man Felanar had seen. It wasn’t just that he had blond hair and Bren had brown. Nor was it his slenderness in contrast to Bren’s well-built physique. Felanar finally decided that it was his eyes that were different. Even when he stared directly at you, he seemed to be looking right through you, as if his mind were elsewhere. It was an interesting, if unnerving, effect. It almost seemed as if there was a light in his eyes, though perhaps it was just the daylight peeking through the trees.
Ravesfel, who had greeted the stranger, turned to Felanar and said, “This is Llafáris. He has come in answer to our request. He is of the Llaráin Findára.”
An elf! Felanar looked at Llafáris with wonder. It was the first elf he had ever seen. He greeted the elf shyly. Llafáris smiled down to him and said, “Welcome to the land of the west, young master. Fear not, though. Elaria is far nicer than the woods that surround you now. When you see Lloréna Forest, nothing else will ever satisfy your hunger for trees.”
Bren laughed heartily. “Llafáris suffers from the usual love of trees that is the trademark of the Findára. As for me, yes, Lloréna is nice, but I manage to survive without seeing it often!”
“Bren displays his usual lack of cultivation, which, sadly, cannot be cured. We may have hope for you, young master, if you have not been too corrupted in the ways of men. Come, climb aboard your horses, for we have a long journey ahead.”
Each mounted a horse, Felanar getting a small brown mare. Llafáris uttered a few words in a strange tongue and the horses immediately started galloping through the forest. Felanar found his horse to be surprisingly gentle, even quiet, for the speed with which they were moving. In fact, the motion was quite pleasant and he soon felt at ease traveling through the woods, the wind rushing through his hair. Llafáris, he noticed, had no saddle, but sat easily atop his white horse.
As the day progressed, they passed through the woods and into an open grassy plain. They were now riding across the northern end of the Elven Plain, though Felanar did not know it at the time. He had studied the geography of the western lands and he knew some of the basic features. He knew that the elves controlled the eastern half of the land from a river in the west and Mount Majestic to the Straits of Doom. He knew that Elaria lay to the north of the plain, but not much else stuck in his mind, other than the forbiddingly named Dragon Island off to the west. He and Kara had long speculated what it would be like to travel there. He wondered if the elves ever traveled there, or if they could talk to dragons as easily as to birds.
They moved back into some woods and took a route that kept them off the main path and along trails that seemed perfectly hidden to Felanar but which Llafáris and the horses followed with ease. As a result of this they encountered no one that entire day, other than a small band of Findára in a small thicket of woods just south of the Irísta Channel. They greeted Llafáris and the others as they rode past. Or so Felanar assumed for he couldn’t make out what was said.
It was quite dark when they stopped for the night. Felanar slept soundly that night in the woods. The next day, after a breakfast of some sweet and delicious elven bread, which energized Felanar, they rode on.
By dusk of the second day, they arrived at the narrow part of the Irísta Channel that separated the plain from the island of Elaria. They approached a small harbor and found there, waiting for them, a large boat manned by Llaráin Erenár, water elves. To Felanar they looked the same as Llafáris. They boarded and sailed across the narrow channel and into the harbor of Melanaré, on the island of Elaria.