After many days, he at length had located the valley of elves the merchant mentioned. Far in the distance, the surrounding rivers tossed their waters down from the heights, forming giant waterfalls whose mists imparted to the early morning sunlight an opalescent fire. The path upon which he stood was of a purple quartz, and angled around the largest lake in the valley, through several collections of buildings, and up a hill to a large building made of the palest stone.
If not for the steady march of the sun into the sky, the half-elf could not have later known how long he stood there, transfixed. By the sun's height in the sky, however, it seemed to be an hour or two before noon before he started up the path. As he past by several homes and shops on the path, the elves he met observed the way the ranger was still wheeling around occasionally to gape up at the valley edge, and merely smiled and left him to his travels, watching as he departed. Ah, youth, their smiles seemed to say; they looked up and gazed anew at sights to which they had long become accustomed.
He walked into the building on the hill, and, after a foyer of the finest pale quartz, Lorsalian arrived in a shrine. Statues of elven gods stood in the temple, one in each corner.
Far more enthralling, however, was the silvery door that hung mid-air in the center of the room. As the ranger walked around the elfgate – his means of returning, or his means of knowing he can never return – the gate seemed to move with him. From no angle could he look at its edge, yet it was clearly door-like.
He was coming around, turning once again to face the door, when he looked up to see an old elf wearing an elder's golden robes and a bemused expression. Behind the elder was a human in strange attire. His clothing seemed of the roughest weave, built for extensive wear, but the colors and cut lent a festive air.
“What brings you here?” the elder asked.
“This gate's twin, ultimately.”
Lorsalian sighed, took a deep breath, and started to begin his tale, but stopped at the elder's raised hand.
“Here is not the place for a tale – there are others waiting, and you would just need to retell it later. Come, eat with us, then we can share tales.” He turned, and without another word, began walking down a side street.
“Hello there!” the human beamed, clapping Lorsalian on the back with one hand while shaking the ranger's hand with the other. “I'm Nereh. Nereh Ikaer. Don't worry about him,” he continued, nodding at the retreating figure, “he just likes to play the mysterious type. I'm here searching for inspiration myself. The tales, the music, the valley itself! Enough to inspire any singer. Been here for a couple of years, in between trips to the other settlements here on this island. Think it is about time for me to make a trip back to the mainland, though – I'm starting to get a little antsy.”
I never would have guessed, Lorsalian thought, deciding to just smile and look away periodically to make sure they were still following the elder.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-
Whoever built the shrine seems to have had some extra marble, Lor thought as he looked around. Indeed, the walls of the elder's living-room was constructed of the same pale marble. The gathering around the couches consisted of the elder, his assistant – whom Lor suspected prepared the meal – two in the garb of guards, and the two visitors, Nereh and Lor.
“An interesting tale, young Lorsalian,” the elder intoned, lowering his goblet as Lor finished telling of his journey through the gate all those years ago. The journey, his first encounter with a human bar – of steel – his friends among the priests of Ao, and his training as a ranger. He glossed over the rest of the story, just noting that he eventually made his way here. The other elves nodded their agreement – Nereh was frowning, but quickly looked up from his notes and smiled broadly when he noticed Lor looking at him.
“We also encountered a strange change in our gate. One day, it flickered rapidly in and out of existence, followed by a complete disappearance. When, a number of days later, it reappeared, it seemed colder – as inviting as an ice-covered rock in the middle of a tundra.”
“Over the next few years,” the elder continued, “we discovered that only those who had lived, explored, and grown in more than just physical stature could enter and be transported. Any others would become dizzy for a second, then stagger backwards, shivering as if chilled to the bone.” The elder appeared thoughtful for a moment, remembering. “A group arrived here some months ago – I believe that they were those you set out with. All were able to enter – the cities of the mainland must be more interesting than I recall,” he smiled.
After talking for several hours, the elder asked Nereh to guide the new guest to a house set aside for visitors. The night was gray at its darkest – the path was lit with smokeless lanterns, eerily casting shadows on the stones. When out of sight of the elder's home, Nereh pulled him aside in an isolated shadowy alcove. He leaned to the ranger and said quietly, “I didn't want to mention this during the dinner, but I think there is something you should know about the group that you traveled with, if it really was that group that returned a few weeks ago.”
Lorsalian raised his eyebrows skeptically.
“They never really came out and said anything, but they made comments among themselves that the errand they had been sent to achieve was accomplished early,” he began, looking furtively for any who might wander into them, “and how they didn't need to wander around the countryside for months until 'he' finally managed to do it – what 'it' was or 'he' was I have no idea, but I doubt it was good for him. Something about not having to let themselves get lost” He looked puzzled. “The strange thing was – They made no mention of losing anyone.”
Lorsalian frowned, then scoffed, laughing. “You're inventing things, bard.”
With a shrug, Nereh led the half-elf to the house set aside for visitors, and then left for his own room. Lorsalian could barely get to sleep among his thoughts of how it would be to be home again. When he at last fell asleep, his dreams were of the times before the crossing.
“I don’t where the gate is, Lor,” his mother replied, using his nickname, “And since you don't either, the guides will play games with you and the others to make sure you pay attention. If you make the wrong choices, they’ll wander with you for weeks before they tell you that you were wrong.”
He woke slowly the next morning. By the sounds from the direction the bard had gone last night, Nereh seemed to be still asleep. Lorsalian sat up and considered what Nereh had said, and what he remembered. They wouldn't have – a fellow traveler? Maybe they would have let me lead them around until we got lost, but surely they wouldn't have left me, or ... otherwise. Would they?
Some precautions couldn't hurt.
He rose, dressed, and went in search of what he would need. Luckily, even though many of those he met the previous night might linger in bed for a few more hours, it seemed even merchants on this isle could not resist the idea of someone else reaching a mark – err, customer. While he mentally muttered to himself for not bringing the coin he was sure he wouldn't need, he was able to trade his remaining supplies for much of what he lacked in coin. Who would have known dried venison was in such demand here, he would marvel later.
To make his skin seem paler, he chose a hooded cloak, tunic, and pants of the darkest he could manage without becoming obvious. To hide his lobed ears, he combed his hair to hide them, and inserted a few narrow strips of cloth in the back of the hood of his cloak so, when down, it would hide them even if his hair did not. As far as his features, he could only hope to stay to the shadows, and trust to his shaving skill – luckily his skill at healing enchantments had increased. He had heard of those who used clay and horse hair to make themselves seem other than what they were, but even if he had the materials, he hadn't the knack, so he made do with what he did have.
Unfortunately, his best skill wouldn't work all that well. Even if there are not enchantments to catch those who are invisible, I'll need to talk to people eventually, he thought ruefully. It might help if they don't call for a warrior to 'slay the ghost.' He chuckled. Of course, that's how I started this trip. Years ago, after he stumbled from the well-fertilized field the gate dropped him into, a language difficulty caused a barmaid to scream, and a warrior to rush to her 'rescue.' It was only a chance meeting with a cleric who knew elvish that saved him.
Standing in the temple gazing at the dull silver surface of the elfgate, he struggled with the morality of the quick departure he was planning. If it was not true, he was insulting the elder. If it was true, and those of his group had not told anyone, the elder and the bard could provide valuable information – a little more than the jagged ramblings he had heard last night. But if the elder was among them, he might have already sent a warning, and all the disguises in the world wouldn't help the ranger on his return.
Why was he so suddenly suspicious of those he had always trusted without question?
And what if my ... Lorsalian shook his head to clear his head. That thought isn't worth thinking.
The ranger held out his hand and pressed it against the surface of the gate. Memories flooded his mind, flitting from point to point in the last few years – and without his control.
“...know about this grove?” a warm voice asked.
“Ees caisen uhspell!” a woman screamed
“Young elf” an old human mused
“.. you rotten thief!” a voice sneered.
“... start with swords ...”
“... trapped a man ... ”
Cousins!
“I really am better off ...”
“... no mention of losing anyone ...”
... what if my ...
His hand passed through the surface of the portal, and the rest of the ranger followed as Lorsalian stepped again through an elfgate.