Numenden: the Fork of the Horn

CHAPTER THREE
Numenden: the Fork of the Horn

by John K. Lundwall

Sanien stood towards the edge of the gathering, listening to the singing crowd and watching them stupidly swoon over his brother. Abrel was an imbecile, or at least Sanien thought so. His one song was quite good. Many of his songs were quite good. Abrel was a musician and had one of the fairest voices of all the elven race. Sanien knew that better than any of his brothers or sisters. Probably better than his parents as well.

Sanien was born with unusually large ears and heard more than any of his siblings could hear. Indeed, Sanien had to concentrate not to hear, as it was easy for him to pick up the subtlest of noises. Even now, as the host of the Eoduin sat around singing, Sanien heard a beetle crawling over a leaf some twenty feet away, a korel hawk was cawing high above in the mountain tops, a woodpecker rattled a tree towards the edge of the city, and Abrel’s voice, though pretty, required an enormous amount of breath heaving into and out of his lungs.

The latter sound was what Sanien heard every time Abrel sung, not the sweet harmonious tones of the minstrel, but the harsh pumping of air in and out of lungs, tubes, and veins. Sanien hated the singing.

Sanien stroked his short, yellow hair back with one hand and rubbed his firm and pointed jaw with the other. He was muscular, strong featured, but not particularly tall, and besides his ears, looked very much like an average elf. He was dressed all in dark greens, unlike most others in the temple gardens, who wore white or silver or yellow robes of silk--the normal attire for an elf. But Sanien was not normal, at least as far as the elves of the Eoduin are concerned. And tonight was not a normal night.

Another song ended. Sanien closed his eyes and emptied his head with the extraneous noises, focusing only on the whispers and chatter of the elves that stood before him.

Jeemel, a tall, over-smart Elf always getting into everybody’s business was whispering to his wife, Ellien, “Tonight’s celebration is better than ever before. Never before have I heard such music!”

Ellien giggled.

Simpletons! Sanien focused on another one of his brothers, Goalek, a very fair skinned, purple-eyed, auburn-haired Elf of three hundred years sat by several girls who thought he was very beautiful. He spoke in hushed and rapid strokes. The girls hung on every word. “You think that was good, you should hear the song I am working on, it is about your fair eyes, Moorin, and your summer-straw hair Gailen.” Moorin and Gailen, two girls not even forty, swooned in utter admiration.

Sanien smiled, wondering if Moorin and Gailen could hear Goalek’s bladder rumbling with the need to empty itself.

Sanien focused on another elf, some two hundred people in the circle, Koren. She was an elf of twelve hundred years, wiser than most, and as beautiful and fair as the summer sunrise. Sanien had always been taken by the striking features of Koren--her stunning lilac eyes, her thin but strong nose, burnt almond eyebrows, dark black hair, a full curvy body. She was also one of the keenest amongst the family. Her power of adalmeth was very advanced. She was not speaking, but listening. A nasally voice was being whispered into her ear.

“Abrel has really outdone himself tonight,” the nasally voice was saying. “You really should ask him to court you. He would make an excellent mate and give you many fair children.” Sanien recognized that voice from a hundred leagues. It was his annoying wife’s voice, Moorla. Sanien knew Moorla hadn’t heard the very soft exhale of frustration from Koren, who kept her own annoyance silent from the gabbing mouth of her interlocutor.

The listening elf smiled. Poor Koren. It wouldn’t matter if she exhaled a summer storm. Moorla, the self-absorbed woman, was impervious to anyone’s misgivings or temperaments save her own. And she never stopped talking. A fact that drove Sanien’s ears utterly mad.

“Not much longer now Moorla,” whispered Sanien under his breath. “Just a few more days.”

Sanien realized no one was paying attention to him, talking about him, gossiping about him, caring at all about him. Everyone was enamored by the songs of Abrel and the new years celebration. This fact angered the straining elf.

Sanien was first born. He had lived nearly seventeen hundred years. He was the eldest besides his parents, Ameled and Elleres, who had existed since the dawn of time. He was the Elder of the Eoduin, Court Priest of the Serranos, Governor over the southern region, sailor of the great seas, and explorer of the high mountains.

But it made no difference. Every elf was dolling over Abrel. They should have been fawning over him.

No matter. Many things were going to change. And those changes would start tonight.

Sanien withdrew from the outer circle until he was in the shadow of a loreth tree. Then he turned while another song had just begun, and sneaked off into deeper shadows.

No one noticed. The fact that no one ever seemed to notice him was always annoying. But tonight it was to his advantage.

Past city streets. Past gardens. Past residential houses and courtyards. Into the trees standing around the perimeter of the city. Deep into the wood. Sanien walked deliberately, stopping frequently to listen if anyone followed.

No one followed.

Sanien strode towards a tall pine tree where hung a large, black cloak upon a lower limb. He had placed it there earlier in the day. He swung the robe around his shoulders keeping the hood down so he could hear: an owl hooted several trees over, the wind breezed through leaf and needle, the Eoduin sang their happy ignorance, a korel hawk called far away, the great River Ahaz roared less than a league away. But no one followed.

Sanien ran now, faster and faster towards the river. His heart pounded and his mind ached with the numerous calculations he was reviewing: to the boat, down the river, to the Numenden, taking his prize, then down the river again, up the mountain, and to the meeting. I must be quick and sure. I must be back before the new year’s afternoon, to the Temple of the Sun, the Ceremony of Life, the song and sacrament of birth. No one will know what I have done. Where I have been. Or what is missing.

He knew it would work. His heart beat even faster as his legs churned in tireless strides towards the roaring of the river. The stealthy elf could now hear the fish leaping. He was close, very close. One last stop and listen: wind, butterfly, chipmunk, Elves singing, that korel hawk again, very far away now--but no one followed.

Odd about that korel hawk Sanien thought. They do not fly at night. He gazed up at the twin moons and at the starry sky. No sign of life, only the immense twinkling of an eternal night sky. He gazed for a long moment, realizing: no one followed, no one knew what was about to happen.

The first born of the Eoduin smiled and ran again.

His boat was right where he had placed it. Inside was a small bag with food, gloves, and a small flute carved from loreth bark. An oar also lay inside. The great river roared and churned in white water rapids before him. It did not matter. He was an excellent sailor, who, through the use of earth-song, could travel any stream or river no matter how violent or shallow.

Sanien stepped into the boat, pushed off with his oar, and soared down the tumbling rapids of the River Ahaz. The current was strong, the rapids wild with foam. Despite his excellent talent in boating, the sailing elf focused with great effort to canoe down the Ahaz without capsizing.

In and out of rapids and eddies the canoe sped like a leaf upon a gale wind. Stroking hard, turning sharp, stroking hard again, Sanien plunged into the night with stealth and speed. The River coursed south, bent west and back east again before it split: the west bend churning towards the Lekalra Forest; the east bend curving towards a waterfall that plummeted several hundred feet and continued its course through mountain-sized boulders, south, many leagues, until nearing the southern end of the Lalaredal Mountains.

It was a dangerous journey. As far as Sanien knew, no elf had ever canoed the east fork of the river. But then again, not many tried canoeing any river. Sanien was the first to build a canoe. The first to build a ship and sail the great seas. The first to map the globe. Sanien was the eldest. And he reckoned that he had seen more of the earth than any other elf. Or so he thought.

Only minutes had passed and already Sanien heard the great bellowing roar of the fork of the river. As the flowing Ahaz neared the Lekalra Forest it was split in two by a massive pillar of volcanic glass standing erect and half buried in the earth. Ameled had fashioned the entire obelisk-like chunk of volcanic glass into a unicorn’s horn. The place was called Numenden, or the fork of the horn.

In daylight it was a beautiful place. The bellowing river sent clouds of mists into the sky shrouding the place constantly in a thick fog-like vapor. Dazzling flowering vines and trees grew near the banks that absorbed the mists and caused upon them an eternal bloom. Tall Lekalra trees stood just beyond the rising vapors, and the ever present obsidian horn stood like some cosmic pillar, its tip like a mountain top, emerging from the water mists to touch the sky.

But if the Numenden was beautiful by day, then it was mesmerizing by night. For at night the twin moons and the stars of the heavens gleamed upon the volcanic glass with iridescent wonder. The obsidian horn was polished like unto a mirror, and its thick cut ridges caught every ounce of light that fell upon it reflecting it a thousand fold from its multi-faceted surface. The water vapors absorbed this reflected light making them glow as if ignited by a cold fire. And to promote the beauty of the place, the flora and fauna that grew around the Numenden contained a phosphorescent chemical which reacted to the reflection of the star light causing each bud, pedal, and leaf to glow in reds, oranges, yellows, and violets, as if the entire place was an empire for a million fireflies.

The place was considered sacred by the Eoduin. Many came to visit, sing, dance, and observe the stars.

It was here that Sanien’s life changed forever.

Sanien remembered even as he steered his canoe toward the bellowing fork. He too had come to the Numenden often, to dance and talk and think. But he came mostly at night. The dazzling and rich foliage stung his eyes with wonder. He was drawn like a moth to the light.

After years of coming to this place at night, he realized, by some offhand chance, that there was another sound rumbling here. The roar of the river was constant, and perhaps because his ears were larger than others and because the water’s roar was amplified by the churning rapids caused by the fork, he had really never heard any other sound. This of course was another reason why he frequented this place more than all others. The eternal rumbling of the fork cleared his mind of all other extraneous noises. Here he could be at peace.

But one night, thirteen years ago, while reclining upon a bed of luminescent ferns and watching the river mists ascend lazily like candle smoke, Sanien had heard voices. Two voices to be exact, very close to him.

It was his parents: Ameled and Elleres. They were laughing and giggling. He had sat up to call to them, but thought better of it, and simply snuck to see what they were doing. They were swimming in a pond not far from the river, in a little bowl of land which collected rain waters and river mists.

He had snuck closer to watch them. They were nude, stroking across the small pond, splashing each other. No one else was around.

Ameled had gotten out first, laying his beautiful and bare body out upon a rock. Elleres followed. Of all the Eoduin, of all creation, she was the fairest. Sanien had never seen her naked body before and something stirred inside him that he had never felt. He snuck closer, very quietly.

There his parents lay, wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing upwards into the night sky. They were talking. Whispering. He strained with all his might to hear their whispering words through the constant roar of the river behind him.

For a long moment he had sat, crouched behind a tree, straining to hear what his parents were whispering: they were talking about him! He had strained his concentration more than he had ever done, trying to hear.

That’s when Sanien’s life changed forever.

Instead of hearing the words of his parents, he heard another whispering. Something very odd, words not quite formed in a language not quite his own. It was an unusual sound, not entirely emergent in the physical world; rather, it was like some long, buried, voice calling to him from underneath the river, underneath the stones.

The whispering voice spoke in some form of adalmeth, producing a thrum of power in his mind that burst upon him and caused him to gasp audibly.

Ameled sat up, looking towards his direction and Sanien had shrunk down underneath a fern. His father laughed and in a moment both he and Elleres were gone.

He had left shortly after.

Days and days went by. And days turned to months. Sanien did not go back to the Numenden. He wondered constantly at what he had heard. It wasn’t a specific voice or even a language he understood. The feelings the sound produced inside him were so foreign to any of his experience that it had scared him.

But as time often does, the memory of those feelings faded, became distorted, and succumbed to Sanien’s most persistent trait: curiosity.

He returned at night, only at night. Alone. Straining to hear the voice again. And it was there!

Soon, every time he neared the place, day or night, he could hear a whispering. It seemed to come from underneath the roaring river.

That was when Sanien had built his first canoe, chopping down a lekalra tree to do so. Many elves were astonished, if not offended that Sanien would chop down a tree. It simply had never been done.

Even his father came to interview him. “Why have you done this?” Sanien tried to explain. They had wooden furniture and benches, surely this was no different. His father replied that only small chutes and branches were used with the power of the adalmeth to make such things. Sanien replied he used the same technique, and promised from hence forth only to prune branches and never use an entire tree. This seemed to satisfy his father.

But Sanien had wanted a whole tree. He burrowed it out. Made an oar. And sailed down the mighty Ahaz during the day, for it would probably be too difficult to blaze during the night, with all its rapids and rocks.

He made several trips. Once he invited Abrel to come along with him. Abrel was nervous but seemed to enjoy the canoe. They both went. Soon his brother was laughing in delight as they spun between rocks and rapids.

And then there was the whispering again. He asked Abrel if he heard a voice? But by the time they had neared the Numenden Abrel was singing heartily a new song he had just made for the occasion. Sanien figured he could not hear any voice but his own.

One day, while walking with his father to the Lekalra Forest, and as they neared the Numenden, he asked Ameled if he had heard a voice. Ameled stopped for a moment, gazed eastward, towards the fork of the river, and then confessed he heard nothing but the river and the wild. No voice save their own.

No one but him seemed to hear anything.

And then, just thirteen months ago, while canoeing the Numenden at night, Sanien decided to get as close to the obsidian horn as possible. He oared his craft dangerously close to the booming rapids, using his earth-song to keep him stable. But the current was too violent. And he had gotten too close. His canoe smashed against the horn and broke in two. He fell into the churning waters and was immediately pulled downwards by a swirling undercurrent. He struggled with massive strokes to regain the surface, but the undercurrent was like some titanic hand clutching at him from the underworld and pulling him farther and deeper downwards and into darkness.

And then he heard the whisperings louder and clearer than ever before. It was a voice: strong and powerful, echoing underneath the physical world. The voice spoke in words Sanien finally could understand: “Welcome my son. Enter my realm and rise to thy destiny!”

He had pumped his limbs fiercely to stay at this depth, listening to ascertain if he had just been hearing the turbulence of water. But the whisper spoke again: “I am the Horn. I have awaited your arrival for a life-age.”

Sanien swam downwards with the undercurrent. His elf eyes penetrating the terrible darkness. Then he saw it: a large gaping hole in the volcanic glass, a hole burrowed by the river and forming an underwater cavern.

He swam into it.

The hole ascended. He swam up--up until he reemerged into a dark chamber in the heart of the horn. The obsidian pillar was hollow. A great chamber some eighty feet in diameter and just above water level had been eroded, or tunneled, out of its core.

Sanien had emerged from a foaming pool near the east side of the horn into a room illuminated by red light. Near the middle of the chamber a large red crystal blazed as if it were on fire and yet there were no flames. The crystal sat upon an iron pedestal. The crystal was roundish and looked like a star.

The black obsidian wall did not reflect its light as it would have on the outside, but seemed to absorb it. He had to concentrate upon the wall to even see it; without such concentration the room appeared to extend into an eternal blackness.

Red runes as well as geometric lines had been carved into the floor circling the glowing red stone. If the Eoduin were anything, they were poignant astronomers, having long calculated the movements of their sun, moons, and planets. Sanien had immediately recognized that the entire chamber was a scale model of their solar system, with the glowing red crystal representing the sun and certain runes and lines marking the orbits and movements of the moons and planets. However, there were some glyphs and marks he did not recognize nor could he guess their meaning.

All of this had been astonishing, but the greatest wonder of them all was the fact that he was not alone. Right by the iron pedestal stood an elf. An elf he had never seen before. It was not one of his brothers or sisters or any of their offspring. It was not his father or mother. Nor was it Eol, god of creation; for Sanien had met Eol once, in the very beginning.

This figure was someone altogether different. A great and mighty figure, clothed in an unrecognizable black cloth with a red sash, wearing a black iron crown studded with rubies, holding a great black book hinged with iridium and bearing marks of some unknown language.

He was not tall, but very muscular, with sharp pointed ears, eyes, and chin. His hair was a dull gray. His skin was the color of bronze. His teeth straight and white. His hands were tattooed with strange markings. The crown he wore likewise bore markings that Sanien had seen before in one place, and only in place: the holy of holies in the temple of the Serranos. They were the runes of power and the symbols of the adalmeth.

Yet the most unique feature of this strange elf were his eyes: two glassy orbs with pupils the color of the void, and where white should have been was a burning gold. These eyes penetrated down to the very birth of the soul.

“I have been calling to you for many years,” the terrible figure spoke, his voice sounding like a thousand whispers rolled into one. “And now you have finally come.”

“Who are you?” Sanien asked.

“I am a teacher. I am a counselor. I am the heart of the horn.” The figure had smiled, looking eery as he was bathed in red light. Sanien had caught the significance of his last statement. The horn was a symbol of the cosmos and of the gods. The horn was worn by the unicorn, the most powerful creature upon earth. The horn was cast into the stars as the constellation of Nominos. The unknown figure had just declared himself a god. Wearing a crown of power in a chamber of the stars, Sanien immediately believed him to be a god. But a god he had never heard of nor read about.

“I do not understand.” Sanien was confused.

“That is why I have come. I have come to make you understand. To show you a better way. I have come to show you the true order of the gods. There is much, much more to comprehend my son. And I can show it all to you.”

“Why do you call me son?” Sanien had asked. “I am son of Ameled and Elleres, offspring of Eol. I am a High Elf, forged from eternity.”

The figure laughed a hawkish, almost jealous laugh. But the sound was filled with some inner power waiting to be unleashed.

“It is true. You are born of Ameled and Elleres.” (Did he say their names with disgust?) “And you are offspring of Eol.” (He had definitely spoken his name in disgust.) “But have you ever wondered why you do not dwell with Eol? Why Eol does not dwell with you? Eol is a god. And yet he does not allow his children to be like him. To dwell with him. To aspire to have the powers of the gods. Is it not said in your most holy of sanctuaries that the Eoduin shall one day rise and dwell with Eol? And yet have you ever in your long life been told how that is to be done?”

“How do you know about the teachings of the Serranos?”

“I know many things my dear Sanien. I know that you are cut off, forever without understanding or progress. Imprisoned in a paradise, but imprisoned all the same. You are not a god. Your powers are very small. You are in a state of eternal damnation; unable to progress past the state you are in.”

“You speak blasphemy!” Sanien declared in a warning but unsure tone.

“Blasphemy? Blasphemy! My dear son, think about it. Why does Eol not tell you how to transcend this life and dwell with him? Are you to forever remain here? Married to Moorla? Looked down upon by all your brothers and sisters who worship Abrel more than you? Are you first born of your parents only to be cast out of the presence of Eol and at the same time despised by your own family? Is it perhaps possible that Eol does not wish you to progress any farther? To gain any of his powers? Is it not possible that your own parents wish you only limited power of the adalmeth? Only Ameled is allowed to perform certain ceremonies and rituals. He does not teach these to any else? Why? Tell me Sanien, why?”

He was right. All of it. His father, despite all of his pleas, would never show him the altarnum: the calling of the sky. Nor would he reveal how he had raised the Serranos in just a few days, nor the deeper secrets of the adalmeth. His father had always been so secretive. But still, everything this figure had just said had went against all of his prior teachings.

“You contradict the teachings of the gods,” Sanien asserted. “Eol has given us all things for our use and needs; marvelous are our accomplishments; one day he shall return and deliver us into his presence.”

“You have been deceived.” The figure stated it as if there were no room for argument. “Eol does love you, but only as a subordinate, as a being eternally less than himself, just as your parents, who love you as well, but will never give you the knowledge or powers of greater orders and priesthoods. To them, you shall always be held back, despite your accomplishments, held back to a life under their own wishes and desires.”

To Sanien it made perfect sense.

“I can show you how to become like Eol and dwell with the gods,” the figure spoke with a certainty that none could deny. “I will show you how to be a god.”

Now that was a great thing. To be a god. To bear the gift of earth-song with such might as to create worlds and realms and cosmic orders. To have offspring without the Eolos. To be reverenced and worshiped. To be highest in the heavens.

Sanien had smiled.

The figure smiled back.

“But why me?” Sanien believed it to be an obvious question.

The figure smiled even larger. “Because I have searched far and wide for one worthy my dear son. And to test the worth of those who would learn, I spoke in a language that only the true hearers could perceive. And you were the only one who could hear. It is you that shall become a god. And then, if you wish, you shall teach your other siblings and even your parents whatever you will.”

“Who are you?” Sanien was amazed.

“I am many things. I am in power and dominion equal to the order of Eol. I have many names. But you can call me Rahazunos. Or, if you prefer, Dread.”

Sanien recognized Rahazunos as meaning “the dark power of the stars,” or “the darkness that lies between the stars.” But “Dread” was a word he could not guess at.

“What is Dread?”

“Dread is the power that lies beyond convention. It is might. The might that transcends all the foolish and simple ideas and constructs of creation. Dread is I.”

And with that the god named Dread raise both arms over his head and shouted a word terrible to hear. The red crystal blazed an intense red luminance and the chamber wall glimmered with oscillations of liquid light.

Then, images appeared upon the cavern walls. The images were so brilliant and clear that they seemed to be inside the cavern itself: the city, the Eolos, the Numenden, Ameled flying towards the mountain top, Elleres climbing the Sacred Stair, Abrel strumming a lyre, Koren walking towards the forest. Then more images, great and grand in scope: the earth, the moons, the planets, the sun!

Suddenly all the images succumbed to a great roaring fire that seemed to hurtle itself through space. Sanien felt its heat and shrieked in astonishment. The cavern flared in brilliant red flame, and Sanien believed the entire rock of creation had melted beneath its blaze. Realizing he was still in the room, the amazed elf sensed some terrible danger approaching their entire land. For the first time in his life he was filled with . . . dread . . . and then he understood.

“Behold! I am Dread!” The figure proclaimed with authority, his voice echoing in a thousand whispers across the expanse of space. “And I see through eternity. I have come to deliver you out of time and space and into a realm above and below. I am Dread! And you shall be my high priest, if you wish to share in my glory. Only, you must worship me. And all things shall be yours.”

His power was unspeakable. Sanien had fallen to his knees and worshiped.

It was the first of many meetings. Always in the dark chamber at the heart of the Numenden. Always illuminated by the light of the red crystal.

Dread taught many things. He always read from the black book. There were many hidden secrets recorded there. Forbidden to be repeated to any creature save Sanien.

At first Sanien had been weary of Dread. But the teachings of the black book were very similar to the instructions given inside the Serranos: the temple of Eol. Except, somehow clearer. The Serranos doctrines had always been couched in riddles and metaphors that Sanien thought well overdone. Most elves didn’t understand those teachings. Everything remained so cryptic.

But not the black book. It discussed the order of the cosmos, the realm of nature, the possibilities of eternity, and, above all, how to hold dominion over nature. It taught a way of creation without earth-song, without endless ritual, song, and oath-taking. It taught that an elf could be lord and king: a new concept for Sanien, as there were no kings or masters, only one large family.

But Eol was a king. A god is a king. And Dread taught him how to become a king. How he could hold dominion over all his brothers and sisters and do so without permission from his parents, or Eol, or anyone else. Everyone would look to him for guidance, stewardship, understanding of the cosmic riddles and the doctrines of the temple.

He would be esteemed. Worshiped.

And then there was pleasure. One time Dread had given him a cup filled with a liquid he did not recognize. Dread instructed him to take some liquid back in a vial and give it to his wife, Moorla.

He had done so, taking Moorla deep into the Lekalra forest until they were completely alone. He had her drink the liquid. It was a simple thing. She trusted him completely and would do anything he asked of her.

He then asked her to disrobe and mate. This was a little more difficult, as the Eoduin only mated on the new year and only after partaking of the fruit of the Eolos. She questioned and asked and seemed . . . nervous . . . but in the end she did it anyway. That was the first time Sanien had ever really felt alive. While they coupled feelings and sensations awoke in both of them that had never happened before. They had moaned and screamed in delight. When they were finished, they drank more and mated again.

Sanien got more of the liquid from Dread. And he and Moorla would run off into the woods often. The others thought they were tending, pruning, gardening, singing. But they never did that any more. It was always to mate. Moorla swore to keep their acts secret. Just as Sanien had sworn to Dread to keep their meetings secret. After a while, the secretness of their rendevous only added to the . . . pleasure of it.

It was his last meeting with Dread, however, that had turned a completely different direction. Dread had told him that he was ready to advance to a higher order of things. That the time had come to put learning into action. It was time to allow all of his brothers and sisters to learn of the new way. All of them would learn how to become like Eol, a king. All of them would feel the pleasures of the secret liquid and be able to mate whenever they wanted. All of them could grow farther than ever before--and they would owe it to Sanien.

Dread had told him that even Ameled and Elleres would look to him for guidance, for perfection.

But once he chose this path, there was no turning back.

And then what Dread had revealed to Sanien was horrifying. The next step was abominable, unthinkable. He refused.

Days went by. And soon, addicted to the mating liquid which had run out, Sanien returned to the heart of the horn and agreed. He received his instructions.

It would all take place on the new years day.

The phosphorescent light of the Numenden emerged into view. The great roar of the fork of the horn bellowed like some underworld monster. Sanien plowed his oar deep into the swirling waters: intense, focused, he sped towards the most dangerous part of the river. Soon, he would be in the dark chamber. Soon, he would create his destiny.

Posted by john at April 21, 2005 06:47 AM