Rienspel

The Phoenix of Redd

Volume I:

Rienspel

© 2017 by Ryan P. Freeman

All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

Cover designed by Laura Faraci

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Praise for Rienspel:

"Rienspel is a libation to the human soul. It is fantasy at its purest: a celebration of the myth, of the beauty of nature, of friends and family and forgotten goodness. The world and characters the author has created are simply unforgettable. Best of all, Rienspel is an unrivaled example

of how fiction can indeed be true."

- R.E. Dean,

Author of Blood for Glory

"Freeman’s style combines a John-Grisham-suspense and a C.S. Lewis-high-fantasy flare, to keep his reader

hooked. Page-after-page, I found myself wondering,

‘what’s going to happen next’.

Readers will be asking for the sequel."

- Donna Lowe,

Speaker and Author of Radical Love...Forever Changed

and Examine Your Heart

"High adventure meets high-fantasy in Rienspel. In a world of tall trees and elves reminiscent of Tolkien or Terry Brooks, Freeman brings the inquisitive Rien to life in a Celtic inspired world. With a few twists along the way Rien’s exciting adventure will carry you through to the very last page."

- Brad R. Cook,

Author of The Iron Horsemen Chronicles

Forward

Writing Rienspel has been a seven year imaginative

odyssey. On my own journey through sleepy little villages and great forests, I’ve encountered my own exiled Rangers, mythic heroes, truly terrifying villains, Great Lords and Ladies, wise old mentors, and bobbing little children. It’s not much, but I’ve written all this for you.

Thanks Robert Dean III - my original writing companion. You helped me just start writing. It was way back in the beginning whilst at Central Christian College in some little campus library nook one snowy day. Your constant friendship and encouragement have helped steer my literary ship all the way to its present harbor.

Thank you.

Thanks Stephanie - you know who you are. Everyone needs a critic, especially one as tough, honest, and insightful as you. Your literary standards, editing skills, and philosophical musings are always invaluable. Thanks for getting mad at me early on (and later, too), when we first started writing this shared tale. You may not have written anything which now remains in this story - but you are unmistakably inked through and through each line.

I love you.

Thanks Kyle Steinmann - you’ve been yet another steady friend the whole way through this process. Your heart and your willingness to always hang out and talk have helped craft each page. You are yet another person whose fingerprints are all over Rien’s tale.

Thank you.

Thanks Jennie Kelly – you were present, helping guide the story at the beginning and the end (whether you know it or not). Your tireless editing and general patience for my constant Facebook IMing not only helped polish Rienspel into a gleaming gem, but also helped me personally when faced with story doubts. Your stellar input and suggestions are invaluable.

Thank you.

Thanks Josiah Bohn – you are the Dwarven Smith, an ideological adventurer and a great friend. Your steadfast eagerness for talking issues out and through clear over to the other side is not only necessary – it’s dead useful. The technical insights and dwemer illuminations you provided are the mind behind the metal in all things forge-worthy.

Thank you.

Thanks Jon Jon (McCloy) - your steady, unassuming encouragement and story insight is invaluable. Some of the most wildly imaginative ideas came from your genius! You are a fellow fantasy fanatic - and now it seems, they are unfortunately becoming rather rare in certain parts of the world these days.

Thank you.

Thanks Shelby (Tracy) Leppin - I know we are a bit distant now, but you were right there with us in the beginning. Your light and excitement illuminated and encouraged Rien’s first steps out of his village into a far larger world than I had ever imagined. The Remembrance of Rumenia still is and will be dedicated to you (besides, Steph already has most of the other poems and lays written for her anyways).

Thank you.

Thanks Katie Lock – you have been a steadfast friend through this whole process. I love how you always seem to know the next latest, greatest show or story coming my way – and make me get into it whether I initially want to or not… always to my benefit, in the end.

Thank you.

Thanks Logan Dabney - you are the greatest Zen-master MacDonald Magic Jedi I know. I love the art days - full of insightful banter over hearty drink - you’ve been at just the right time, at just the right place in my life. You are also one of the full-story test-subjects… and as far as I know, you haven’t minded in the least. Thanks for enduring my endless story talk during those mind-numbing Ayerco shifts…

thanks, buddy.

The thank-you list really ought to be endless, truth be told. Thanks Mom and Dad; Lindsey; thanks Professor Axton - your class on Thanatology helped create Death in my world; thanks to the innumerable great authors, living and dead, like George MacDonald, C.S. Lewis, Tolkien, J.K. Rowling, Brian Jacques, Robert Frost, Homer, Jesus, John, Paul, Ursula LeGuin, Peter Beagle, whoever wrote The Heliand, Mark Twain, Donald Miller, Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, Peter Berrisford Ellis, Patricia C. Wrede, the St Louis Writers Guild, and so many others.

Thank you 8Tracks and all the talented musical arRangers; a big thanks to Marvel Studios for helping me see epicness; El Porvenir and Nate Stafford - it’s still one of my most favorite places on Earth, and to Andrew English for first taking me up there; Marcia Bockemeier for all your tireless editing; thank you one and all for all your help. This couldn’t have ever come about without all your combined help and advice.

‘May sun light your path by day and moon illumine your trail by night – and truth by stars where else!’

- Ryan P. Freeman, August, 2014

Chapter I

From Darkness to Light

Atall figure sped through dense woods at twilight. The sound of pursuit - monstrous footfalls – came crashing only a breath behind. Honed arrows whizzed by. Dull thuds indicated where they deeply embedded themselves in thick-grained forest trees. The fleeing boy’s heart pounded like a master smith’s forge - crash crash crash. He had wandered too far from firelight and now he was paying for it. His vision blurred with sweat… luckily, he knew the woods infinitely better than his persistent hunters did. Leaves whirled by in reds, browns, and yellows streaking wild pale light through curling, heady mist. The forest shadows grew, ushering an ominous night. The boy wished he were indoors, safe behind strong stone walls or around a bright bonfire… because he knew sinister things lurked in the woods after sunset. And now they were after him.

Because of what he was…

There is no escape, Woodspirit! There is no more pretending among the true Sons of Poseidon! The ringing voice was high and piercing, and somehow vaguely familiar to the fleeing figure. The heavy footfalls charged ceaselessly on with an unsteady, lurching pattern, crushing underbrush as it passed.

The boy dodged into a thick hollow of trees, hoping to hide in the gathering tendrils of mist. His lungs burned - tempting his mind to surrender to whatever grim fate the hunters intended. Vaguely, the boy began wishing for his familiar village and his mother… for the girl he would probably never see again… and for his brother.

The boy’s last thought forced him to shudder… remembering the cold, fell light kindled in his older brother’s eyes the last night they ever saw each other…

The boy peered around the massive oak trunk he had taken refuge behind. Just across the moonlit glade, one of his hunters, a man ten feet tall and clad all in dark green and leather cast his gaze here and there, relentlessly searching. The same fell, maniacal light seemed to glow out of the hulking figure's hazel eyes the boy's brother had, once upon a time.

The lean boy shivered again.

Rien Sucat, you are summoned by her majesty the Emerald Queen to face your crimes against Rillium. Surrender. The glimmering light glinted off a trident-shaped broach.

Using the brief halt to gulp the nippy air, Rien wheezed, trying to regain his breath. Glancing left, he thought he saw a long, stretching hollow between the intertwining bows of gargantuan trees and immediately bolted noiselessly away.

A cry rang out within the sylvan depths, You cannot flee forever, Sucat! We know what you are!

The moon, looming and perilously bright, peaked far above an eastern aspen speckled ridge. Glimmering through the shivering, pale, golden leaves, the shafts illuminated the long, northerly natural tunnel which Rien stumbled into. In the shadowy distance, the sounds of the hunters seemed to be slowly fading away to the south. Idly, the panting boy wondered what his friends, the other Rangers and General Fy’el, would think when he did not return.

Would they miss him?

Or merely continue their desperate errand to restore justice and peace to a kingdom who had banished them within the forest depths they had once protected. Already the boy desperately wished he had not decided to wander from the Rangers’ camp earlier that day.

The heavy footfalls were not close anymore, but they weren’t far either… Rien wrapped his tattered grey cloak around him to ward off the pooling mist and fall chill and began trotting northwards, following the hollow through the trees. Soon the forest’s night sounds began to sing softly again as the moon climbed higher in the late October sky. Coloured leaves crunched under the boy’s soft, supple boots as he nimbly advanced into the uncharted woodland depths. Soon his racing imagination began to wind down - and slowly the once frightening tree shadows resumed their old friendly, watchful repose.

With another step, Rien’s boots stumbled over a half-buried paving stone, almost entirely hidden by leaves and mossy dirt. He swiveled his head south down the long, narrow tree hollow and then back towards the looming north, to the darkling, snow-capped mountains dimly reflecting the moon and starlight. Judging it was now safe, or as safe as it ever was in the Great Forest these days, the boy threw himself onto a nearby hazel stump.

I must be on some kind of road, he thought as he scraped the loose soil and leaves away with his boots, revealing a worn road.

If he had not been dog-tired, sore and hunted, Rien would have been immensely curious. On either side of what he thought must once have been a spacious road there looked like round white stones lining the way. The trees grew close all around him, and something in the tall boy told him they were up to something. Whenever the wind blew through the branches the creaking sounded like whispering, but for good or for evil Rien could not tell.

I mean you no harm, old Hazel and Ash, he muttered softly.

But only a Borean wind breathed through the branches and broad, crackly leaves, which floated lazily down on the crumbling road. The boy picked up one of the round, white, lining stones lying forlornly near him and examined it. Its surface was smooth, yet pitted and scoured with ageless years of pedestrian service to who knew where. It reminded Rien of the Trivulet pillars near his home. An image of the three white pillars standing firmly where the three forest rivers met near his village, Nyrgen, flashed like lightning in his head. But he quickly pushed the painful thoughts from his fatigued mind and pulled out his water skin and swallowed a mouthful of shockingly cold water. Momentarily refreshed, he stood up, stretched, and resumed walking northwards. As he labored, his searching eyes would often spot dim trees blooming with crimson flowers occasionally dotting the woodland away to his distant left.

Rien trudged onwards, wondering out loud if he would ever find Firehall, the elusive sanctuary he had been desperately seeking ever since late summer. But now autumn was waning fast and the place was beginning to seem like only a fading dream - intangible like the thick, blanketing mist in the hollows swirling all around him now, nebulous and hidden, untouchable.

The trees were becoming larger, something barely conceivable in the Great Forest, where the average trunk was twice the length of a man’s reach. Rien’s breath was now visible in the cold air, and he was just beginning to think how nice a fire would be again when a flickering light abruptly appeared up ahead.

The boy was not stupid, though.

It could be anything… and with his luck it belonged to some sinister figure who only meant him harm. Or… or it was an old friend…

Rien weighed the odds, and finally decided to investigate. Hope of friends looking for him suddenly blazed up in his heart. As silent as a shadow, he slipped off the ancient path and into the innumerable trees. Stalking towards the light, Rien made sure to fix in his mind which way the path was - just in case he needed to quickly find it again. All living creatures in the wood were blissfully oblivious to the youth’s swift passing as he went along.

Soon, Rien could make out distinct flames surrounded by many figures dancing round and round, laughing and calling in a wild, jovial tongue. Encircling the grove was ring of trees like he had seen distantly away to the left earlier, all checkered with bright crimson flowers, now luminous in the flickering firelight. Sitting on what appeared to be a fantastic throne grown out of a massive, living hazel tree sat a beautiful young elfess - as fair as the moon and as lovely as summer’s sunset. She wore a long flowing robe and matching tunic which seemed to stream like iron-grey rain edged in cloudy white. Her mantle was sable and upon her head she wore a delicate crown of lithe silver and tiny twinkling emeralds. Her long strawberry-red hair tumbled down a little ways past her shoulders and her dark blue eyes blazed brightly. But Rien thought she looked rather bored, despite the rollicking dance which whirled all around her. The others, all elves of varying dress, seemed to be always keeping half an eye on the enthroned girl… waiting for something which the spellbound boy could not puzzle out.

Tearing his gaze away, Rien saw a handsome young elf sigh and gaze longingly at the elfess, and then retire near a large flagon, joining a throng of elves.

They started toasting his health and joking in their fluid, breathy voices and he smiled weakly… but always his eyes were on the girl… and Rien thought he heard him whisper Aelhuin… Aelhuin… Balla Vair…

Transfixed, Rien watched as the hundreds of dancers paused their singing and laughing and dancing and feasting in the blink of an eye: for the red-haired elfess had chosen a dancing partner at last.

Right on cue, the dazzling girl floated towards the elf. She said something in her graceful, playful tongue to the whispering elf. It seemed to Rien the elf suitor was transformed, he stood up straight and his whole face beamed a wide, soft smile. All the dazed elf could manage was an inaudible, muttered reply as she led him nearer to the fire and they began dancing together.

Rien at once understood their dance, for it was a simple one. Yet, he admitted, it was the most graceful flow of two bodies he had ever seen. They did not simply dance, they almost seemed to understand each other’s souls through how they moved - at times floating as one, at others, as two separate, yet complimentary melodies. They appeared almost seamless, as if they were one pulsing mind and one throbbing heart. It was half way through their dance before Rien even realized there was music being played or even the hundreds of other couples dancing alongside them as well.

And then one single shocking realization made Rien’s whole lithe frame numb.

He knew her.

Or, at least he had seen her before… many months ago before he left Nyrgen. The memory spilled back into his mind like warm sunshine. He could still see her pale, delicate hand reaching out of the shadows to pick a flower the shape of a king’s crown during last midsummer’s eve. His heart seemed to stop. The rest of the memory was a nightmare he never wished to recall again… a memory which still haunted him… full of death and slaughter and shame… a cold terror which Rien could neither conceal nor forget.

But there she was - radiant and glowing, breathtakingly beautiful - her red hair wreathed with silver flowers and colourful fall leaves. And for a moment, the stark memories left him for the first time, and the night terrors faded.

He exhaled, relieved, his eyes glittering out of the forest depths.

All the dancers froze.

Every eye was on him, including hers.

With one hand motion, she sent the many guards away - the elves who had suddenly conjured themselves, fully armed, out of thin air; and with a second motion she summoned the boy out of the deep shadows.

Rien’s heart beat even faster than when the hunters had chased him.

But step by shaky step he stumbled through the trees. The boy hesitated on the edge of the firelight, suddenly afraid. Afraid of what he was… and of who all the merry elves might assume he was. A Rillian. A Terros. One sworn to kill elves. A tyrant and a butcher and, and…

And then suddenly she was standing before him.

A trembling light shone out of her as she beheld this tall, gaunt Ranger. A long sword was by his side, and a bow and quiver were slung across his broad shoulders. His young, tender face held fear and wonder and shame all at once, but in his eyes and his heart, she sensed no shadow. She reached beyond the fire’s glow and grasped his rough hand within the darkness, and led him into the light. Many elves drew back, others gasped, but others smiled, amazed.

The elven youth who had just danced with the girl stepped aside, his face alight with astonishment.

And then before Rien even realized anything, his weapons and cloak were placed reverently near the tree woven fantastically into a throne and he was dancing. But all he saw was the girl with the strawberry hair and dark, bluish eyes.

As he breathed, she breathed. As he moved, she moved. And together they danced as one under the light of the silvery full moon.

And time itself seemed to slow, and he heard her whisper in his ear, asking for his name.

Rien.

And her eyes widened but she would not explain.

Mine is Aelhuin… Rien. She told him, savoring the sound of his name as they held each other close. She noticed through the loose laces of his leather cuirass a strange mark which he bore upon his upper chest - a flaming bird in mid-flight facing right. The Firebrand! she whispered, awestruck - and she marveled ever more.

Rien danced and it was as if he understood her… not her past or her likes and dislikes, but her. Aelhuin herself.

And now the boy realized why he no longer felt the shadowy memory’s hold upon his mind, for in love there is no need for fear. Their hearts beat as one and the music pulsed and swayed with the fire and the distant moon and the blue stars high in the wheeling heavens above.

And then they were only themselves again. A tall, sweaty stranger from the woods and a lovely young elf queen stared back at each other once more.

It was at this very moment two elves approached, seemingly hesitant to break the lingering spell between the two youth. It reminded the two older elves of some long ago spring, in some forgotten corner of a far quieter, greener world. It was a thought of a thought, a breath of a breath, a wonder of a wonder - focus too hard or delve too deep and it would vanish without the merest hint or trace.

We are the Lords of Firehall. I am the Summertide Lord and my wife is the Wintertide Queen. Welcome to our Harvest Feast. I would invite you to our Dance of the Balla Vair, but it seems she has already chosen you, and so, of course, it has ended just as it should. With love and goodwill, even towards such a strangely clad wanderer as you, so passes our powers as seasons do to seasons. For now, let us formally introduce our daughter, The Balla Vair Autunmtide, Aelhuin.

At this introduction from her father, Aelhuin blushed and then smiled and looked up at Rien. All around the fire-lit glade the canopy blazed in reds and oranges, and the delightful skin-tingling presence of fall filled all the guests with its glittering, smoking embers.

Sensing this was some kind of formal occasion, Rien scrambled to recall the decorum his sagely teacher back in Nyrgen, Father Astor, had bestowed him and replied with a low bow, May wisdom guide you, and light by stars where else, my Lord and Lady.

He gave a furtive glance at Aelhuin, who was listening with rapt attention along with all the elves present and then continued, I am Rien Sucat of the Green Wood and well… and I’m lost.

Rien began to resume his introduction, assuming the elves would want to hear his long story concerning how he had accidentally interrupted their dance. With thoughtless accuracy, he instantly made a mental note of how far away his bow and falchion long sword were, all while keeping his blue-green eyes on the Lord and Lady and especially their daughter. Meanwhile, his response had caused a small furor of whispers and eye furrowing amongst the guests.

All will be settled in the days to follow, I trust, waved the Elven King. Out of ancient tradition, we respect all who seek refuge within the realm of Firehall during these violent times. I bid you join in our revelry in honour of memory past and reality present and hopes of the future yet to come said the Summertide Lord with a warm, honest smile. Please, stay and feast. You are not far from our Halls and you shall lodge with us tonight. Tomorrow shall be a day of many words and questions - but not tonight. Tonight is for the young, and the young at heart. Let it be known to all, this one Rien Sucat of Green Wood, he paused here and then continued, is welcome in Firehall and is to be treated with all the rights accorded to the one whom the Balla Vair chooses. Let none query what Rien wishes not to divulge, for his story will be told in time. Let us resume the feast!

The bonfire mysteriously roared to a new height with all the joy of a young summer’s sun, the embers reaching out to the sentinel moon high above.

Aelhuin came to Rien and took his hand, and guided him to a high table illuminated with bluish light which emanated from no particular place, yet at once was everywhere. And there he was placed next to Aelhuin, which was the place of honour. Then piles of delicious food appeared chaperoned by frothing goblets of stout October ales of the darkest nature. Rien thought he had died and appeared at Elysium, Valhalla, and Heaven all at the same time, for living a hardy Ranger’s life left little room for comfort or seconds when it came to meals.

As the elves and Rien feasted they talked and smiled, but all the while, the boy noticed a black shrouded figure seated at a private table just within the glowing blush light of the high dais. She (Rien imagined) was older, older by far, but her story the boy could not even dream of guessing. Still, something about her seemed strikingly familiar… as if he had seen her before.

Aelhuin smiled at him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking, and the few times over the course of the meal Rien did catch her she busied herself in talking or feasting or even singing.

Presently, she asked him, I have never seen a Terros eat like you do, but for our dance I would think you all but beaten by your looks.

I’ve had a rough night, Woodspirit. The answer accidentally spilled out. Rien attempted to cover himself with a boyish smile between mouthfuls of succulent roast and gulps of steaming cinnamon vanilla chai. She began to protest being called Woodspirit when she realized the point.

Ok, I don’t call you Terros and you don’t call me Woodspirit. Do we have a deal? She inquired, brushing a stray red lock out of her dazzling, pale face.

Rien watched her grin and put a soft hand under her chin - and always he saw her lovely dark eyes staring back into his. He was about to reply when someone tapped him on the shoulder, it was the elf with whom Rien had first seen Aelhuin dancing.

I am Aesire of Watch, he glumly introduced himself, his eyes darting over to Aelhuin and then back to Rien, studying him intently. I am not allowed to ask of your past this eve, but you are allowed to ask me of ours. Tell me, what would you wish to know so we may lessen the strangeness of the...wanderer.

Rien was about to wade into Aesire of Watch’s mental slough of countless questions when Aelhuin interrupted him, Poor Aesire, don’t feel bad. I know you understand. Don’t hold ill will towards Rien - he is new and all. Hold your head high, there are plenty of other girls here tonight, you know.

None as beautiful as you, Aelhuin, Aesire half whispered, and sadness lingered in his voice. But before Aelhuin or Rien could respond an elf stepped forward into the full light of the bonfire ever blazing.

It is custom tonight for many stories, though do not feel too badly if you cannot understand most of them, Rien of Nyrgen, for they are all in Paneran-Elvish, unless you know our high tongue, Aesire quickly informed Rien as the story teller began to prepare and the quieting crowds found seats.

Actually, Aesire of Watch, Rien quietly replied, I know small bits already - but I am a fast learner, I know a few languages myself and also a few stories as well, if you have story Waevers - master story tellers - as the Rillians do.

Aesire seemed to be gradually warming up to Rien and his tone seemed to change, Oh, you’ll have to teach m… but Aelhuin cut him off, Quiet, they are beginning.

It’s not like you haven’t heard it before. mouthed Aesire. Rien was getting the idea about how perhaps the two were friends, but the chanting began and he lost his train of thought rather quickly.

"In the Great Forest

Near the Domain of the Sylvan Elves

Is the Glewn Nee-a-Nee.

Deep under the sunny eaves of the trees,

The Glewn resides

Where the ancient trees form a ring.

For long ago,

They were caught

While dancing a dance

Which at first

Began in the spring,

And being afterwards thoroughly embarrassed

Have ever since refused to move

And rooted themselves

In their last pose,

Choose to dwell only there.

The elves like to walk

And visit those trees

From the lowest to the highest,

And rest in the sigh of the breeze -

And lie in the mosses and grasses

Flowers and leaves

Which inhabit the shady ring,

Among the endless columns of greens

Among the ferns and the trees.

On High October’s Eve,

The elves go to dance

Under the moon rays

And faint star light,

For this night is called

The Balla Vair.

And all the elven folk come to watch

The un-wed she-elves dance

In the silvery night air.

For the trees,

During this night,

It is said,

Sometimes are stirred from their sleep -

Forgetting their momentary embarrassment,

Joyously clap their branches

In the cool of the calm night breeze.

For the trees love the elves,

And it is here they grow

Their roots and their boughs

Near their bases,

To form thrones

Or party chairs!

For Great Lords

Or young suitors

To recline in and watch

The Dance of the Balla Vair.

On this night,

Flutes and harps mingle

In commemoration

Of the very first time

An elf-maiden danced in the ring.

For every summer

One young woman

Is named The Aelynn -

The most fair and good-hearted,

In all the wide woods is she.

And all the young suitors,

After their choosing,

Desire to be married to her -

But as for this suiting,

Well…

It remains for the wife-to-be.

See, the Aelynn,

Whom the last dance

Is reserved for

Chooses her young groom-to-be

By dancing with him last and the longest

While the moon-ever-shining,

Is highest in the silky sky

At midnight during this eve.

They do this in honor

And in remembrance for

The beautiful she-elf

Who first sang and danced

So many years ago

This night for her love

In this very ring of trees.

For on the night long ago

The Ancient trees sang and danced

For young love

As silly trees are wont to do -

But they got embarrassed

When Aelynn first found and

First caught

Her true love who wandered

The leaf-strewn paths

Which meander under those eaves.

For she found him watching in wonder

Her and the trees

As they danced and they sang

Under dappled moon-rays

And starlight

Of a High October Eve.

With her light brown and blonde hair

Gently caressing her soft sylvan cheeks

Her radiance from him

All his breath took away,

As stunned, he gazed into her brown-doe eyes

Sparkling in the half-light

With such lovely innocence so great

This but for a moment his heart she had stayed.

By the ancient spell

He was compelled to cry out

As her body moved and swayed:

My love, my love, my Aelynn!

The trees ceased their wondrous dance

To watch what two hearts can make -

This awesome spell ever-great

Which all who live know,

This spell which is called L’wyn.

And in him she was his

He in she hers

For one never knows himself while alone,

But in The Love of your life

The sparks and fires ignite when,

Flames of life are kindled:

And so she danced again.

The moon was high in the star-swept sky

And she was in his embrace.

And hope

It was kindled

Against every night to come

Strength which ever flows from within.

And the Stars themselves were so taken by them,

They nestled their cool light in the two’s hair.

And with her in his arms

And him in hers

They danced the Balla Vair.

So in the Trees,

On High October’s Eve

Aelyn’s magic still lingers there,

And the Sylvan Elves

They know ever well,

This of all nights of the year

This one most of all

Is for the young

And the dear,

For the fair folk who dwell in the shades of the trees

Know of all nights of the year

This eve is for young love:

The young maidens

And their L’wyns

Who all meet by moon ray and star-light

Dancing their Balla Vair."

Rien, who had understood most of the lay, looked over to Aelhuin who was positively beaming.

Stand up now, Rien Sucat, she whispered to him and Rien rose on weary knees. Before the silent host, she spoke to all, I have chosen the newcomer, Rien Sucat. And yet I deem this case most strange, and so I grant tomorrow to hear his tale, though I doubt not his heart, nor his courage and hardiness. On the morrow I place my trust in Firehall to decide the fate of their L’wyn, and whether Rien and I are to be theirs and more time be granted to us, or if we deem, more shame and weary wandering for those forsaken of their people.

If the Forest has allowed him here, it must be taken as a sign Rien Sucat of the Green Wood was meant to come to us tonight. Greater powers are here at work than some might begrudge guessing. Spoke the Elven King diplomatically, for now, we honor you and you shall be honored among us... for The Tree's sake, finished the king, scrutinizing Rien with old, deep eyes.

Wait, was I just engaged… to the princess of Firehall?! Rien thought. It was all Rien could do to keep his gaze from the curious, probing look of the princess he had just danced with.

After Aelhuin had finished responding with a great many more things which Rien could only half understand, they finally sat down again. But by now Rien had lost most of his ravaging appetite. How could he possibly be sent away just like that? He had finally found, thank his lucky stars, the kingdom of Firehall. He had nearly died on several occasions, and several of General Fy’el’s Rangers had sacrificed their lives, braving unspeakable dangers to bring him thus far. And what about Fy’el’s fallen Rangers? Rien then vowed he would try his best to bring them safe under Firehall’s protection as well if ever chance favored him.

Now, it is a funny thing to move with the dancing shadows. When one watches them, one can mark them flicker and sway - appear and disappear as the lights and objects glow and cast - but to be in the shadow seeing outward is to see the entire world in a sort of perilous wonder. And this is how the night was for Rien. It wasn’t until the first flickering of dawn the magic began to wane and the fatigue came, like a soft blanket, to the revelers.

And somewhere in this moment Rien happily recalled thinking, I found Firehall, now what?

Chapter II

Rien’s Tale

And so all of Firehall simmered with excitement about the Queen-in-waiting’s choice, and great wonder was flung far and wide about this newcomer, this stranger from the shadows. Some whispered how his name was one of power and fear, while others dismissed this new upstart and secretly wished the Terros good riddance. So, it was with little surprise when rosy dawn began spreading her red-tinged fingers through the autumnal forest, from tree to tree all throughout the Elven realm of Firehall, nearly all knew of the events from the preceding night. Firehall was bustling with all sorts of folk from near and far, eager to hear this Rien Sucat’s story, and to decide for themselves whether he was to be kept or banished.

Rien slept late, blissfully ignorant of the wild rumors whirling through Firehall, in a room where the elves had led him to once morning began slanting across the dancing lawn. A yellow sunbeam had been slowly moving across the room towards the sleeping Rillian, who was almost too long for the massive bed where he lay. The warm sunshine finally crept across the cozy blankets and onto the pampered Rangers’ young face. Rien awoke with a start, momentarily forgetting he was in Firehall.

Murain... he mumbled to his brother, go to militia drills... you're going to be so late... and then his eyes cleared and he realized he was not in his old familiar pallet back in his little, quiet village. Sadness and excitement flooded his mind as he looked around. The memory of his old room and his brother still haunted his groggy thoughts.

Swinging his long legs around, he stood up and starred out the tall bay windows outside. Looming amid the whimsical, wispy clouds stood the northern mountains, powdered with gleaming snow. From the timberline downwards cascaded a flowing velvet cloak of emerald forest flecked with crimson and orange leaves which streamed down to the forests' edge near Rien's window. Deciding he rather liked the view, Rien eyed the flickering hearth in his room’s corner. The dying embers were still glowing red like some lost treasure.

On a dresser were two sets of clothing laying out for him, one a brand new set of seamless flowing robes which seemed like a misty storm blowing through green leaves. It made his eyes dizzy. Next to these he eyed his familiar woodland clothes, plain leather and rough cotton and a pair of high, sturdy boots, except they had been mended and refit. His eyes raked the garments, drifting to places where he knew certain stains should have been. Blood by the collar when he was wounded by a stray shaft; a tear where his leather cuirass (lain next to the window) had broken in from a deft kick; sweat marks around the arms and head from hours of running and fighting during an intense Centaurian skirmish. His boots looked polished and re-shod as well, too perfect to have ever been his own. The mud stains had somehow been washed out, the laces were no longer frayed and the soles were no longer peeling. Finally, stout and clean, was a little glass vase, inside of which a single crown-shaped red flower raised its little head above the rim by mere inches. Rien thought it looked familiar somehow.

Without much thought, Rien donned his Ranger gear and was just strapping on his hardened chest armor on when he noticed a silver ring with two glittering emeralds lying next to the elven garments. Curious, he walked over and picked it up. The dying firelight glinted off of its smooth surface. In Rien's mind he recalled last night and the dream he had stumbled into, and the girl with eyes so dark they seemed blue. Smiling, he fitted the ring on his left hand (he already had a ring on his right hand). But a sudden knock at his door tore him away from the gift.

In a split second Rien realized his weapons and cloak had not yet been returned. In a single stride, he walked to the high, arching door and opened it. Standing on the other side was soft autumn incarnate. Aelhuin stood before him and her starry eyes glinted.

For a moment neither spoke.

Aelhuin, Rien managed finally.

L'wyn, she sighed, extending her right hand which Rien noticed also bore a similar ring as his left hand now had.

He took her tender hand, remembering the last time he had done so, she had ushered him into a place he never dared to believe could actually be real. Quietly shutting the door behind him, Rien and Aelhuin walked down wood-paneled halls, periodically illuminated by high arching windows, deeply set. Outside, Rien caught glimpses of many elves all moving gradually towards the same spot on the other side of a series of green hedges on the forest’s skirting edge.

Thanks for the ring, Rien said awkwardly, racking his mind for something to talk about.

She smiled and looked up at him, You don't have to worry about saying anything, she told him, reading his mind; We have time.

They turned a tiled corner and came to two large doors standing wide, revealing a large hall surrounded with colonnades of nimble pillars. The rich, resinous aroma of spiced wood and fresh, dewy ferns lingered all about them. Entering, the pair made their way across the spacious room towards the far end, where a fire was blazing on a wide hearth. On either wall were alternating windows and standards depicting trees, circles and crescent moons. Long benches filled most of the hall, illuminated by fire or from a small hole above where sunshine filtered through. The room was mostly empty now, but there were still a few tarrying elves and, much to Rien's surprise, a small contingent of stocky Dwarves staring at a small feast laid out on many platters before them. As they passed, the Dwarf seated at the head of the table nodded to them. He wore a long white cloak and wore a jewel like a winters’ star plucked right out of a frosty night sky around his neck. The Dwarf's companions also looked up from their food as Aelhuin and Rien passed, eyeing them curiously.

The pair passed through the giant carven oak doors, down wide, stone steps and out into a green courtyard. The wood’s edge