The Torque of Fyra

The

Torque of Fyra

J.S.Seeger

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© Copyright 2011 J.S.Seeger.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Printed in the United States of America.

isbn: 978-1-4269-7007-8 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4269-7008-5 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4269-7009-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011907873

Trafford rev. 05/19/2011

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Preamble

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Part Two

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Dedication

I wish to dedicate this book to my family—my mother and father.

James Joseph Seeger—July 10, 1952–October 29, 2010.

Ruth Ann Seeger—October 16, 1948–November 3, 1987.

May they rest in peace.

I also wish to thank my grandparents for their support and love, James J. Seeger and Jo Ann Seeger.

Without them, The Torque of Fyra would not exist.

Acknowledgments

Thank you, friends and family and the guys at CWC;

you know who you are.

Thank you for the encouragement and praise.

Preamble

—The Fall of the Gods—

Many ages ago at the dawn of time, a vibrant and pristine world was born. It became known as Laurasia, a paradise teeming with all sorts of life. Trees of all kinds grew into magnificent forests, casting shadows of mystery and intrigue upon the world. Rising out of the forests, mountains adorned the land as monuments of beauty and awe. Rivers flowed from the mountains and forests, coursing through luxuriant meadows abounding with wild flowers and green grass.

Four gods controlled the elements in order to maintain balance and stability in Laurasia. Siesmos, the god of rock and stone, cared for the foundations of the world. Atmos was the god of the four winds. The ruler of the sea and rain was Aquaius. Last, the flames of the world burned only under the watchful eye of Fyra, the wisest of the gods.

Throughout this first age, the elemental gods flawlessly fulfilled that which they were bidden, preserving harmony within Laurasia. They were content and sometimes even amused as they witnessed the mortals enduring their daily struggles or celebrating a triumph. However, in the end, they grew bored of their station and their trivial responsibilities. They desired more.

A power struggle ensued as the gods attempted to dominate each other. Treachery and deception led to outright conflict, and as they fought, their control on the elements faltered. This distraction threw the realms into disarray.

Etherus, the father of all things and ruler of the cosmos, became aware of this blatant disregard to their charge. He became enraged and punished the elemental gods by banishing them and forcing them to forfeit their powers. He commanded each god to relinquish a third of his power over the element he once controlled. Another third was given to Ethrellia, who was sent by Etherus to oversee the mortals and take up where the elemental gods failed. She became the goddess of nature.

The final lot of power the elemental gods possessed was embodied within four personal talismans. These objects were deeply cherished by the former gods, and they were unwilling to give them up. Therefore, they devised a plan to keep them. Etherus, however, swiftly learned of their treacherous plan and viciously attacked them. During his ireful fury, the talismans fell upon Laurasia and were lost, thus ending the age of the gods.

At the dawning of the Golden Age, it was the race of dragons—the most intuitive and perceptive creatures of that time—who first sensed this shifting of power. As they began to understand the nature of these events, a great quest was begun, though at first they knew not for what they searched. That would soon change, for in their minds they heard the torques’ enticing call.

The Torque of Fyra, one of the four great talismans, was like a wolf, howling from afar on a moonless night, hidden from sight, yet plainly heard. It slowly drew the dragons ever closer until finally it was discovered. After the passing of a few moons, the torque’s potent influence empowered the dragons to breathe fire, and they began to wreak havoc on the realms, breaking an ancient pact that had engendered peace between the mortals and the dragons for centuries.

The elves also understood what had transpired. Realizing they were disadvantaged, they began searching for a way to counter the dragons, but after countless failures to repel the fiery beasts, they knew their toil was in vain. The elves were left with only one option; they were forced to seek help from the race of men. The race of men were more than eager to join their cause, for they too wanted to kill the dragons. At first, however, the elves were reluctant to destroy the dragons, because of their deep respect for nature, but it soon became apparent that it was necessary, for the dragons had changed. They had become ruthless, tainted by the godlike power they now wielded.

The alliance formed quite smoothly between the men and elves, and they launched a successful campaign against the dragons. With their numbers dwindling, the dragons soon understood that their bold, head-on style of attack would not suffice against such a clever enemy. They were forced to change their tactics, remaining in the safety of their lair by day and pillaging only by night.

This angered the race of men, and they fought rashly in their rage. Then, to make matters worse, the elves suddenly became withdrawn, seeming unconcerned with the changing behavior of the dragons. This lack of interest perplexed and further angered the race of men. In addition, when their mounting losses far exceeded that of the elves, they began to question their intentions and even their loyalty. However, unknown to the race of men, a young elf had made a discovery. On the seashore, uncovered by the surf, he found a majestic scepter. He immediately took it to the council of elders, and after a thorough examination, it was determined to be the Rod of Atmos, the talisman that was taken from the god of the four winds. This was the pivotal event that the elves had hoped for—a means to repel the dragons’ onslaught.

The elders of the council took the rod to a secret place deep within the forest and painstakingly began deciphering its cryptic sigils. They quickly learned that wielding the pure power of Atmos was out of the question, for it would take generations of study and preparation. With that realization, they urgently considered a different approach, as they were desperate to utilize their newly acquired power in whatever way possible. Since the elves were already skilled in the art of life-force channeling, the council elders argued that they could use this process to enchant a few weapons with the power of Atmos. After a lengthy debate, they came to an accord and ordered the crafting of seven Ice Rods, which they gave to their most valiant warriors.

While the elves were focused on the Rod of Atmos, they failed to notice their alliance with the race of men was rapidly unraveling. To remedy their problem, they decided to share their secret with them, hoping it would stay the growing resentment, which threatened the integrity of their partnership. It turned out to be a wise decision, for the race of men understood their pause in dealing with the matter and accepted the whole ordeal without ill feelings. They were simply content to have the elves return to the fight.

A few moons later, near the time when the Ice Rods were completed, another useful event befell the elves. One night, under a waning moon, an elven hunting party learned the location of the dragons’ lair. After careful planning, they launched a massive assault. Five hundred elves and men invaded the huge cave complex, which was situated in the heart of the Serpent Mountains. Sadly, the intense battle left neither a man nor an elf alive. It was said, however, that a few dragons did survive, but after that bloody day never again was one seen in the sky. Legend has it that they flew north to the Obsidian Mountains, where they took to a deep slumber, regretting their violation of the pact.

With the dragons gone and the war over, the alliance slowly passed away, leaving in its wake a flourishing friendship. Despite the growing prosperity and tranquility now enjoyed by the race of men, there were those who grew restless and loathsome of what they considered a vapid lifestyle. They were driven by the desire to discover and explore unknown realms. Some would even say these men were drawn by lore, for there was a whisper from the south, which told a tale of great treasure abandoned by the dragons.

After many gatherings, this group of men decided to sail south to the land beyond the Shade River Delta. It was a lush tropical region with fertile ground, supporting a diversity of fruit-bearing trees and plants. They had found a wild yet hospitable paradise that greatly surpassed their expectations.

The deeper they ventured through the tantalizing trees, the more allured they become. It was the notion of what loomed beyond the next rise that spurred them on—a belief that something grander was awaiting their discovery. The forest with its lavish displays compelled the men until exhaustion overpowered their desire.

When they finally stopped, they were hopelessly lost deep within the forest of Sceadu. After resting awhile, they began to feel vulnerable and decided to build shelter. Out of the forest, they cut huge swaths to fashion an extravagant hamlet. Then they burned the remaining undergrowth to make clearings for more dwellings. They worked carelessly, producing much waste, and smoke never ceased to rise from their fire pit. They selfishly dammed a nearby river, causing the trees downstream to wither.

These once-disciplined men had lost sight of their convictions, and without offering any gesture of gratitude, they raped the land of its bounty with no regard for its well-being. They did not see the subtle changes in nature, nor did they heed her warning; they were mere slaves to their desire.

The land turned on them when they did not change their ways. The west wind grew hot and arid, and the spring rains ceased to fall. The forest became parched and frail as meadows withered. Soon the fertile soil was lifted away by the merciless wind, and the trees perished. Only the hamlet remained, surrounded by a vast wasteland of shifting sand. In the summer following the demise of the forest, the elements killed the weak and elderly. The survivors lived in the harsh climate, suffering severe famine until their hearts grew dark with despair.

Meanwhile, in the north, men were aspiring to greatness, taking full advantage of the favorable conditions in which they lived. For them it was a time of enlightenment and achievement, and while they perfected their skills, their ambitions grew as well.

They soon realized they needed a leader. Kern of Greenstone—who rallied and organized the people during the dragon war and wisely embraced the elves’ petition for help—was recognized, and the people collectively crowned him king. The Kingdom of Kernia was then born in his honor.

With the swiftness of the wind, an ambitious endeavor began to raise a great fortress, a place for the king and his throne. When the keep and its two adjoining towers were complete, they built a bailey around the complex, enclosing a beautiful courtyard that supported eight guard towers. It was a fortified structure, which sat on a small rise at the joining of the King and Queen’s Run Rivers in the heart of Kernia.

Part One

A Chronicle of Laurasia

—THE FINAL DAYS OF THE GOLDEN AGE—

It was a beautiful autumn morning in the fishing village of Atlantia. The residents were ambling about, tending to their daily business. It had been a prosperous summer for the fishermen, who were now content to relax and take their time preparing for winter.

The leaves on the towering aspens near the outskirts of the village were beginning to turn golden-brown against the colorful background of the vast forest beyond. The breathtaking medley of vibrant hues veiled the rolling slopes. They stretched from the sea to the granite-capped mountain peaks, which girded the village and created its harborage.

Xorphuricx watched as his mother Meda removed two apple pies from the stone oven and placed them on the windowsill to cool. A gentle breeze carried the delightful aroma throughout their small cottage, forcing him to suffer the agony of anticipation. He rushed to finish his morning chores, hoping he could partake of the delicious treat more quickly. A few moments later, his father appeared, wearing a cheerful smile—no doubt summoned by the sweet scent. He approached his fair wife, greeting her with a tender kiss.

My love, you will have the neighbors knocking on our door if you do not close the windows. I could smell those apple pies down the road.

That is why we baked two! she replied, winking at her son.

I see, he said, nodding his approval and eagerly rubbing his hands together. Are they ready yet? My mouth is watering,

No, my dear—not yet. They need to cool.

Oh! he replied, taking a seat at the kitchen table with a sigh of disappointment.

Do not worry—it will not be long! she offered as she began her ritual of setting the table.

Son, have you finished your chores?

Yes, Father, I just finished.

Well, then—join me! We shall have a chat while we wait.

Xorphuricx accepted his father’s invitation, but before he could claim his seat, a vibration caused the vase upon the table to slide and tumble to the floor, where it shattered. The room fell silent following the loud crash as the realization of what was happening set in.

Xorphuricx watched apprehensively as his parents’ carefree demeanor melted away, leaving their faces wan and covered with a grim expression. They momentarily made eye contact as Xorphuricx stood frozen by fear, sensing his parents’ unease.

I knew this might happen someday, but I thought we had more time! his father shouted through the panic on his face as their cottage trembled and moaned all around them. He swiftly took control over his fear and gathered a few choice belongings, which included the Scepter of Xorian, a family heirloom.

Without understanding his father’s words or his behavior, Xorphuricx sensed that his father was expecting such an upheaval to occur. In addition, Meda—despite her muddled anxiety—appeared to know what to do without a single word of instruction. She took her son’s hand into hers and headed toward the harborage. His father soon followed, carrying all he could.

Their flight on the cobblestone road was disturbing. They pushed their way through droves of frantic people, who were desperately running for safety. Their screams and cries for help filled the air. Stone houses that had stood since olden times crumbled to ruin before them. A dreadful feeling took Xorphuricx’s breath away as his father ushered them through the terrified crowds.

Once they passed the majority of the chaos and arrived at the harborage, the trio boarded a small boat. Xorphuricx looked on as his parents feverishly urged the craft toward the open water to the east of their island home. To his terror, the entire harborage began seethe and churn ominously. All around them large bubbles broke the surface, bursting into tiny wisps of steam, filling the air with the odor of brimstone.

Where are we going? the boy finally asked as they passed through the channel and into the unsettled sea.

His query went unanswered, for his parents were too busy to explain. He turned, gazing back toward his home, hoping to learn something, but what he saw, he did not wish to see. It was a horrendous scene, which surpassed his wildest imagination. The land—his home—was sinking into the sea, and huge columns of thick, black smoke was rising toward the heavens. It seemed that everything he knew was being ravenously devoured. Then, unexpectedly, the sea around them became eerie and calm. Noticing the change, Xorphuricx quickly turned back to his parents. His mind was now overwhelmed with questions, and he was becoming frustrated.

Why is this happening? he asked himself.

When Xorphuricx saw tears on his mother pale face, it hurled his emotions into turmoil. He wanted to help somehow, but all he could do was go to her. The three embraced as a giant swell rolled toward them. It scooped up their boat and carried it eastward with unnatural speed. The huge swell grew until it towered over them, and then it came crashing down, crushing their boat and swallowing them. Xorphuricx held his mother’s hand for as long as he could, while twisting and turning within the turbulent water, but inevitably their bond was broken and he was left alone in the cold sea.

Across the deep waters, within the Forest of Echoes, the elves intuitively sensed the calamity moments before the physical signs resonated through their land. Curiosity drove them to the western edge of the forest, where they watched the sky become filled with black pillars of smoke. They became mournful, for they knew many had perished, and with the sea becoming wildly violent, they began to question their own safety.

Xorphuricx lifted his weary head from the sandy beach with difficulty. Instantly, a torrent of confusing images inundated his mind. He instinctively sat up and tried to shake the blurriness from his vision, only to begin coughing seawater from his sore lungs. After a few moments, fighting to recover his breath, and gain some sort of mental bearing, he stood on his feeble legs.

His first inclination was to look out across the sea where gray cloud like streaks caught his eye. He remembered the columns of smoke, and like a lightning strike, his thoughts flashed to his mother and father. Spinning around, he scanned the area nearby as if they should be there, but he saw nothing. Panic crept into his mind when he became aware he was alone. His heart started to pound in his chest as he desperately scoured his memories for any clues to their whereabouts, but it was no use. In his mind, there was nothing coherent about the ordeal, only a jumble of broken images and the dire need for breath.

Taxing his improving vision, he combed the beach in both directions to no avail. He saw only sand and water-worn rocks dotting the seashore all the way to the horizon. Feeling helpless and fatigued, and assuming the worst, he collapsed to his knees.

How could I arrive here, but not my mother and father? he asked himself, battling the tears of anguish; but after a few moments on the verge of an emotional eruption, he probed deep into his inner being and found some resolve.

I must not give up! he vowed, sensing the rearing head of defeat. He decided to assess the situation from a physical point-of-view, since his memories could not help him. He concluded that he had two obvious choices: north or south. Wanting to make his decision promptly, he began studying the sea and the wind. He determined the waves were breaking in such a way that they would push something adrift toward the north. This small revelation calmed his mind, allowing him to think with greater rationality. He gazed to the north with hopeful eyes, impulsively taking strides in that direction. It was not long before he came across another clue, which indicated that north was indeed the correct choice.

Fragments of their boat littered the seashore. The further he walked, the more debris he saw, accounting for much of the craft, but still there was no sign of his parents. Even so, he did not lose hope. In his heart, he knew they were close—they had to be! They are probably looking for me as I search for them! he told himself, adding footprints to his list of possible clues that he might encounter.

A short time later, he came upon his father’s scepter, lodged between two rocks just beyond the ever-changing reach of the surf. He retrieved the gnarly wooden staff, which was missing its headpiece—a greenish-blue crystal orb—but otherwise it was undamaged. He kept his expression neutral, for he would not allow this discovery to dampen his spirits. He was determined to remain logical, knowing that emotion was only a hindrance to his present goal.

Just after passing through a large cluster of boulders, he was surprised by a group of people on the beach. Elves! he said aloud. He had heard about them from the tradesmen back home but had never seen one until now. What is a woodland dweller doing on the water’s edge? he wondered without considering that the forest was nearby. He paused for a moment, reluctant to confront them, but he soon realized that they were in his path, and nothing short of death would halt his search. He resumed with caution, staying his course. Initially, the elves were startled by the boy’s approach, though they did not cease their frenzied activity; they simply looked up on occasion and then went back to their odd business near the water.

Xorphuricx was perplexed as he came closer. It seemed they were tending one of their own. Abruptly, however, the mystery vanished as the truth of the situation struck him like a powerful surge of magic. It was his mother they were surrounding, and without a thought, he struck out toward her in a dead run. Momentum carried him to within a few paces of the four female elves who were huddled around her. They were so focused on attending her that they barely even noticed his presence, or they were simply ignoring him. Either way, he was aware that they were trying to help her, and it was far beyond any help he could possibly offer, and for that, he was grateful. He stood before them with alert and sober eyes, pondering what to do. It was not a question of right or wrong that gave him pause but something much deeper. The conflict in his mind was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It tested his very being. His entire existence screamed for him to go to her, yet in contrast, a strong and powerful voice told him not to disturb those who offered help freely. Using all of his will and strength, he stood fast, heeding the voice. He felt like a shepherd who had allowed his flock to wander astray.

The elves had made a place for Meda to lay with some cloth and broad leaves. They were applying a greenish salve to bright-red welts, which seemed to cover her body. She was feverish, restless, and mumbling incoherently. It was when she cried out in pain that Xorphuricx’s will broke. She became rigid and arched her back in some sort of spasm. As the elves tried to hold her still, he made his move. He had to help her if he could, but as he made his way to her, one of the elves stood and grabbed him by the arm. He was surprised by her swift movements.

Are you Xorphuricx? she asked.

Yes, he answered, amazed that she knew his name, yet angered with her interference.

Then she must be your mother! she stated warmly.

With his mind whirling, he could only nod his reply. She instantly released her grasp and apologized with her eyes. Go to her—she has asked for you!

He slid around the elf without hesitation. What happened to her? I mean what caused all those ugly marks? he asked, settling down beside her.

We believe she was attacked by the Scyphozoa, a giant jellyfish, though we are not certain. We have little experience with creatures of the sea, she explained.

Is she going to be all right? he asked, looking down at his mother’s pained expression with compassion in his eyes.

Honestly, I do not know. We are attempting to draw out the poison!

Mother, can you hear me? he asked softly. Everything is going to be fine. You just need to hang on and be strong! He stopped to wipe a tear from his cheek and swallow the knot in his throat, attempting to keep his emotions under control. He noticed her breathing was shallow and rapid and knew from hunting with his father that a wounded animal would behave like this just prior to death. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach as worry overwhelmed his mind. Mother, it is me—Xorphuricx. Please wake up; I need to know if you are all right! His voice cracked, and he began to sob uncontrollably when she failed to respond. He felt a comforting hand touch his back. It was a welcome gesture but did little to ease his profound concern, though he did find comfort in the fact that he was not alone.

The sounds of footfalls drew his attention from his mother’s cringing face and compelled him to regain some composure. Two male elves approached from the forest. They were breathing heavily and appeared quite exhausted. When they arrived, one of them handed a cluster of red berries to one of the females. She took them with urgency and offered an appreciative nod. The males bowed and slowly backed away.

She quickly smashed a few of the berries in the palm of her hand and wiped the juicy pulp on Meda’s lips, hoping she would ingest some. In just a few moments, her breathing deepened and became slower.

Once the males saw that the berries were doing what they were intended to do, they ran down the beach toward another group of elves. It was then that Xorphuricx realized they had also found his father. He felt as if he was being torn apart from the inside.

He looked back to his mother to confirm the berries were actually helping and that it was not his mind playing a cruel trick on him. Seeing she was indeed better, he breathed a sigh of relief, though his mind was still reeling and hopelessly divided.

My father? he asked, glancing back to the group.

Yes, Xorphuricx, I presume so, she replied in a drone voice.

He started to rise, but the elf stopped him, placing her hand on his shoulder. Wait! she began. Your presence here is far more valuable!

What does that mean? he asked.

I am sorry, but there is nothing you can do for him, she said, looking away from his intense and concerned eyes, wishing she could avoid the question. I am sorry, but he was gone when we arrived—the sea took him!

He did not react to her words at first. He just stared blankly, shocked by her statement, but then he shook his head, displaying his denial. The tears came next.

No! he cried out, collapsing into the fetal position beside his mother. He held her tightly and continued to weep, soaking her shoulder with his tears.

I am so sorry! the elf whispered to the anguished boy as she shed a tear of her own.

Meda woke a short time after ingesting the berries. Xorphuricx, she began in a strained whisper. I am so glad you are here. I feared that the sea might have taken you!

He jerked his head up, surprised by her voice. Mother! he began, not quite believing she was awake. Oh, Mother—I was so scared. I thought you might never wake up!

The hint of a smile appeared on her face as he lovingly touched her cheek. She was pale and hot to the touch, and her eyes silently spoke of her fatigue. He discerned from her expression that she had endured a great struggle.

My handsome son—I love you dearly! she said with a soft voice as she reached out with her trembling hand to touch his face.

He held Meda’s hand with his own and kissed her palm. I love you too! he pledged. And I am thankful that I found you!

Me too! she began, pausing to take a breath, which seemed to be growing more difficult for her. You have been the greatest blessing of my life, and I find myself regretting that I did not tell you more about the world. You must forgive me; I thought we had more time.

I do not understand. We have plenty of time.

"You must be strong, Xorphuricx, and never sacrifice your beliefs for anything!

I will be, he promised, but I—

Meda interrupted him as her eyes turned utterly sad. Contrary to your hopefulness, my son, our time together is short!

Why do you speak so gloomily? Everything is going to be fine. You just need to rest and gather your strength! he stated in a comforting tone, attempting to reassure himself as well as his mother. It was obvious to him that her strength was waning as the effects of the berries faded. He only hoped she was speaking from emotion and not certainty.

You will be safe here with the elves, she continued without acknowledging his previous statement. You must go on without me.

No! he exclaimed. Mother, why do you speak such things?

Her persistence was alarming to him, as was the shaky tone of her voice, and to make matters worse, when she finished, her weary eyes drifted shut. A terrible feeling twisted and tugged at his insides, as if he had swallowed deadly poison. While he spoke, he watched her skin and lips take on a grayish tint. Her breathing grew labored as well. Her faltering condition, in part, answered the question she had not, turning his initial sensation into a wave of nausea. He felt so ill that he was unable to reason lucidly. His mother’s words were disheartening and danced to a desperate drumbeat in his mind. He simply did not understand why she would not fight with all her strength and will. To him it seemed as if she was just giving up.

Despair not, my precious child, she began, opening her eyes once again. You look as if your suffering is greater than you can bear.

Mama, I do not want to suffer your death! he whimpered.

You do not understand. I go to a place with no borders, where time has no meaning. I will be with you always, not in body, but in spirit.

But Mother, why do you surrender so easily? You must be strong. You must not give in, he pleaded.

"I fought the sea and its creatures with all my strength and more, just to emerge from it alive—to see you one last time! To stay the hands of fate, I was forced to make a bargain. Now, my body is deprived of strength and broken, and I have no recourse to change that which I have pledged. My destiny is now sealed."

Xorphuricx did not want to hear any more. His hope was diminished and his pain greatly swollen. The only thing that seemed positive about the situation was his mother’s odd talk about the spirit, which he did not fully comprehend. He embraced her once again, only this time his tears came silently. He wept, listening to her faint heartbeat, while the roar of desperation tore through his mind like a savage storm. For quite some time he held her tightly, until one of the elves disrupted they peaceful embrace.

I need to give her some more berries, she said, gently touching his shoulder.

He stood and politely backed away, watching the elf administer the remedy. He did not want his mother to slip away but realized he was powerless to stop it. If she were to survive, the elves would save her. Without comprehending how or why, his frayed thoughts clung to the hope that she would somehow remain with him if the elves failed. It was all he had and the only thing that kept him from utter despair.

Is she going to die? he asked with shockingly little emotion.

I cannot answer that question! She is very ill, and if she means not to fight, then she may die!

But—she will be with me in spirit? he asked.

The elf wiped the second batch of berries on Meda’s lips and turned her attention to him fully. Your mother’s words were vague, most likely because she lacked the strength to elaborate every detail. I believe she was hoping you would accept her claim on faith, take it to heart, and allow it to comfort you, the elf explained.

He looked to the ground shamefully, for it was true, he had little faith. His fear alone prevented it from flourishing, and his lack thereof brought him shame. It was nearly unbearable when it was added to his already emotion-laden mind. He was so filled with dismay and uncertainty that the only emotion in his jumbled mind that he believed he could control was anger. He felt a nudge from rage pushing him.

Xorphuricx, the elf began, do not feel shame for your shortcomings. You are but a very young man! Will you not allow me to explain what your mother’s words meant?

He nodded his head, accepting her offer while peering into her caring eyes. Though he knew it was wrong, the sympathy and compassion he saw in them further angered him. I—I do not know what I feel, he admitted.

Well, listen to me carefully, for this is not easily comprehended, though I will try to word it so you can understand.

You are too kind! he said, forcing his bloodshot eyes back to the ground.

Deep in the core of the mind, the elf began, dwell the energy of thought and the will that drive us to excel. Most mortals call this essence the soul, but to the elves, it is the union of body and spirit that best defines the soul. The marriage of eternal energy to the mortal body remains one of nature’s greatest marvels.

So—we all have a spirit which never perishes?

Yes, she continued. When we are born and take the first breath of life, the body becomes a vessel, for it is with that breath that we invite the spirit to join us. The custom of covering our mouth when we yawn stems from this inhalation of spirit. It is a practice thought to keep the spirits of evil out.

Her voice was soothing, and he listened with fascination and curiosity, forgetting his trouble; even his pain and anger seemed to subside. He nodded his understanding and urged her on with his eyes.

The body and spirit swiftly become entangled, beginning a complex process with a purpose that transcends all but the most astute mortals.

But you understand—do you not? he asked, showing a puzzled expression.

No one fully comprehends the nature of this, yet it is known. Your mother was aware of a particular portion, and maybe sensed another, but she knew not of its entirety, just as the elves do not understand fully, though we do possess a perception that differs from that of men, she reasoned.

Xorphuricx nodded his head again, believing it prudent to just listen and not comment.

It is life, she continued, which acts like an anchor and tethers the spirit to the body; otherwise the spirit would never manifest itself within the limitations of the mortal realm. It is the whisper of divinity within the breath of life that assures nature’s greatest unity will flourish. She paused and smiled. This is the part you will find interesting. I believe it is what your mother was trying to tell you.

He returned her smile, eager to hear more.

"The end does not come with one’s death, just as birth is not the true beginning of one’s existence. Death is merely a mark, denoting the conclusion of a process, but not the cessation of sentience. It is, however, the grand finale of an arduous tutelage, which ends with the spirit harvesting the essence of the soul—and since death has no authority over the spirit, it returns to the