Lyander & Ashiira

The winter that followed was the most peaceful winter any of us had ever known. As Ly’ander grew into his power, his ability to control daemons magnified. Rather than The Council meeting for days to decide what should be done about the latest attack, they met for a couple of hours and passed the problem on to Ly’ander. Within the week the problem would have literally disappeared. Ly’ander’s magic did not solve all our problems, only those related to Daemons. We were still all needed to run the Kingdom and protect her people from other threats. Ly’ander had to work twice as hard, as he was not permitted to resign from the council, and was still expected to sit and debate all of the issues that faced our kingdom. At times, he looked so very weary, and I worried for both him and my sister. Winter came and went, followed by a gentle spring. As summer began to encroach, Ly’ander had become the modern hero of Elven kind. We soon found ourselves a year and a day away from when his research wing in the Academy had been opened. His notoriety meant that the marriage between himself and Ashira could not pass quietly by. Every man, woman and child wanted to be there to congratulate the couple.

The wedding day arrived, and my family home was turned into the centre of all chaos. Our mother had retired from public life, but today she was dusting off the family jewels and preparing to take to the stage with her daughter. She shone with pride, and fussed lovingly around Ahira. My sister had been transformed. The year she had spent in Ly’ander’s company had given her an inner strength and beauty. Her skin still had a translucent quality and she was as slender as ever. But her voice was stronger, and more controlled, showing off her newfound confidence. I myself was as carried away as the rest of the family. My best friend was marrying my dear sister, and I had never seen either of them happier. The entire city rejoiced with us. The day passed in beauty and splendour. It took a week to clean the streets and restore normality.

Ashira and Ly’ander moved in together and made a home in the rooms directly above his research laboratory. Ly’ander continued his work, with Ashira’s never failing support. Despite the fact that they appeared to work twice as hard as the rest of us, they obviously still had time to enjoy each other’s company. By the time autumn turned to winter, Ashira had a swollen belly and a deeply contented look about her. She had defied family tradition and fallen pregnant within a year. Our aging mother was granted a second youth as she fussed around her daughter and made preparations for the birth. Ashira refused to leave her duties, even late into the stages of her pregnancy. She declared that there was no safer place in the world than at Ly’ander’s side – and there really was no comeback to that argument.Ly’ander routinely despatched foul and evil creatures, saving our people and gaining renown. The following year, the child was born. Ashira was blessed with a tiny female child, and my dreams of being the doting Uncle to her offspring finally came true.

I happily looked after the little blonde haired creature whilst her mother and father were at work. She would role those huge green-blue eyes up at me and all pressing council matters would be forgotten. Looking back on it now, those were the happiest days of my life. Life continued, and we all began to accept Ly’ander’s strange abilities. His work became normal and commonplace, and our traitorous memories forgot the days when Daemons hounded our very doors. There were rumours that he worked too hard and pushed himself too far, but I did not join in the gossip. He was my best friend and my sister’s husband. His child was my beloved niece. If he did work too hard, he did it for the good of all of us. Ly’ander wanted power, that was one fact that could not be denied. He enjoyed testing himself and seeing how far he could be pushed. But the difference between Ly’ander and other power hungry tyrants was his ability to share. He never became possessive about his work or his talents. Where it was safe to do so, he welcomed other members into his laboratory and did his best to tutor them. Even my mother went along for a few lessons, when we were not arguing over who would like after the newest member of our family.

As an aside, you may wonder why I do not name the child. That will become apparent, as the tale moves on. But trust in the fact that on no occasion will I ever commit her name to the records. I am many things, but I will never stoop that low.

Let us move forward now, to the time when my niece was 3. We had had a long and pleasant summer, which left everyone feeling content. I had started to court a young lady, and my mother was already planning the second family wedding. Ashira and Ly’ander had settled down in matrimonial bliss. The lessons in Daemonic control continued for all those that were interested, and there was little for The Council to discuss. Only one thing alarmed me. There was an undercurrent of tension between Ashira and Ly’ander that I could not explain. She has spent the summer restoring some ancient texts, and the change in them started at the same time. The texts had been found along with a horde of artefacts, discovered when a small earthquake revealed a buried city. The writings themselves seemed of little interest, but my sister is incapable of crossing paths with a piece of written work without reading it.

I wonder what she would now make of my feeble attempts to document our lives?

The tension between the two showed itself in very small ways. My niece was a little more sensitive than normal, and seemed to prefer to be with myself, or my mother, than with her parents. Ly’ander’s handsome face had developed new lines, and there were perpetual shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep. Ashira lost the colour from her face and, try as she might, she could not hide from me the fact that the smallest exertion now made her a little breathless. I tried to find out what was troubling them, but I could not get to the root of the problem.

Maybe we were all just getting old? It is true that we are all long lived, but none of us are immortal. As the warm summer ended, I felt restless. I needed to act, but did not know where, when or how! Without direction I was cut adrift. So in the end, I did what everyone else was doing, and ignored the problem. Perchance it was simply a little bit of strife between the two which, given time, would mend itself. After all, no couple can be perfect. The evenings began to lengthen and the weather turned colder. On one blustery day that held the promise of a hard winter, I was returning my niece to her parents dwelling. She was taking great delight in jumping in puddles, yet in that manner that can only be achieved by small children, she was bone dry and I was soaking wet! She giggled at me as her mother answered the door. Ashira gave me a pitying look and invited me in to dry in front of their fire.

I stood before the roaring flames, gulping down a strong coffee. Ashira sat in a chair, looking terribly pale and fragile. I saw her shiver, and so went over to her and draped a blanket around her shoulders. Her shiver turned into a sob, and I gathered her into my arms as if she were a child again. She cried on my shoulder for what seemed like hours, but was in reality only a few minutes. Then she looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, and I glimpsed the torment in her soul. Frail in body, but strong in spirit, she had hidden it from us all. I fumbled for appropriate words, but could think of nothing to say. We maintained our silence for a while, and then she began to speak. The texts she had restored talked of a power that could reshape the world. She had no idea where they had come from, and the magic contained within them was foreign to both her and her husband. But Ly’ander had become fascinated with them. He had told Ashira that if he could harness the power that the texts spoke of, he could remove all suffering from the world. He could channel the water to the driest of lands. He could make the crops grow strong and the pastures grow lush. He could cure the sick and eliminate disease. Nothing would be beyond his power.

Slow tears trickled down Ashira’s cheek as she told her tale. She was terrified for her husband, as she had translated the texts and she knew what they said. She believed the power was real, and of that there seemed little doubt, but what of the cost? Every daemon that Ly’ander controlled cost him in some way. After a large working he would need to rest and recuperate for several days. If he embraced this power, what would become of him? And if he did succeed, would she then be married to a man more powerful than other being? Some of the more flighty woman may envy her, but my sister was wise enough to know that with such huge responsibilities on his shoulders, he would have little time for her or her daughter. And then there was something else – something she was not telling me. When I asked about how this power could be attained, she held back. When pressed, she would only say that it was up to Ly’ander to make the deal, and that no other could take his place. I was confused and puzzled by this statement. After a while, her distress subsided. She told me that she was being foolish, and that what was told in the texts was probably complete nonsense. Even she could see of no realistic way for the power to be obtained. She was simply upset that Ly’ander was spending so much time with a set of old books, rather than watching his daughter grow up. When I finally left, she had regained her composure, but I did not believe her bluff.

The rain had started up once more as I walked back to my abode. What was Ly’ander up to this time? And what was it that had Ashira so upset? Ly’ander thirsted for knowledge, but he was not a fool. There had been minor accidents during the early stages of his Daemon summoning, but none that resulted in harm being done to a single living soul (excluding the daemons, of course). He had always been able to weave ambition and caution, and it was that very talent that had allowed him to achieve so much. As I walked the rain soaked me through to the bone, and I suddenly felt very weary. Ashira was my sister, but Ly’ander was my best friend. I could not judge him without first giving him the opportunity to give his own account. I reversed my direction and headed back towards his laboratories. He did not hear me enter. He was sat, cross-legged, on a large white rug in front of an open fire. In front of him was a stack of old books. There is a smell unique to very old paper, and it greeted me like an old friend. I pulled out a chair to sit on and Ly’ander jumped at the noise. The book slipped out of his lap, but he caught it and regained his composure. He smiled up at me, the mischievous look still in his eyes. It reminded me of the trouble we used to get each other into as children, as we took it in turns to challenge each other to more and more extreme dares. The book he was reading was the one my sister mentioned. It was a huge and weighty tome, and it had obviously been written many thousands of years previously. It was beautifully illustrated, although some of the pictures verged on the hideous. Twisted and mutated creatures writhed across the page and were brought to life by the flickering firelight.

Ly’ander showed me Ashira’s translations and pointed out how they related to the various pictures and diagrams. We spent an hour simply absorbing this technical masterpiece, without touching on its purpose or intent. When we finally got around to discussing the meaning of the texts, Ly’ander became excited and animated. He truly believed that the book was a gift to all Elven kind, and that we had been destined to discover it. He said that, with the aid of the book, we could achieve true immortality. No one would ever need to die again, unless they were so weary of this world that they no longer wished to remain. With the book, he could defeat all our enemies, and our kingdom could exist in perpetual peace. What he described was a dream that we have all had. An end to pain and suffering. To no longer have to face our own mortality or that of those we love. To live a life without fear. I was swept along by his passion; completely unable to force either of us to take a step back and truly consider what we were saying. Ly’ander had always been the inventor, the initiator of our childhood games.

Once again I seemed to have no other option than being carried along. Hours later, well into the night when the city was asleep, I left. I had given Ly’ander my promise that I would help to calm his wife. We both speculated that she might be with child again, which would account for her odd behaviour. As to the book, he intended to perform the initial workings over the winter and then, once he was sure it would work, he would present his idea to The Council. Within a year, he hoped to wield the ancient power for the good of all Elven kind. It was enough for me to simply be there. In years to come, when they talked of the ‘Great Ly’ander’, I would be able to recount tales of my life as this hero’s best friend. Maybe they would even compose songs about me, his faithful friend? These days, I simply wonder if there has ever been a bigger fool than myself birthed on this planet? But a lot has happened between now and then. The days drew into weeks, and then months. Ly’ander made preparations to begin the body of his work. He did not discuss his plans, but I took this to be a courtesy towards Ashira.

Whenever the matter of the texts was raised, she went visibly pale and began to shiver. Her belly had not swelled and we both worried that something else ailed her. Ly’ander was still a devoted husband and father, but despite his best efforts, Ashira drew further into herself. Our mother was frantic with worry, and blamed Ly’ander entirely. I often found myself fighting his corner when my mother was in a particularly black mood. On the rare occasions that Ly’ander and I found ourselves alone, we joked that all the women in my family must be slightly mad! My niece grew rapidly. She toddled around and kept us all on our toes. I can still remember the feeling of my heart stopping when I would realise I had lost track of her. Then she would appear, giggling, from behind a curtain or bookcase. Although she would scare me half to death, I could never chide her. She was just so innocent and so alive. She was nearly as pale as her mother, but whereas Ashira looked almost ghostly, she looked as though she had been kissed by the sun. My mother called her the golden princess and the three of us spent a great deal of time together. Winter drew in around all of us. The longest night came and went with the usual celebrations. The first part of the New Year was filled with rain, snow and storms. Travel anywhere outside the city was impossible, and everyone’s spirits seemed to be low.

Lyanders Fall

Ashira barely talked to anyone, and preferred to spend her time locked away in her rooms. She refused to tell me what she did, and would only allow our mother to visit. Ly’ander and I were both concerned for her. Ly’ander hoped that when he finally obtained the power of the gift, he would be able to cure whatever malady afflicted her. It spurned him to work harder than ever. I would swear that he aged a decade during that winter. One night the snow started to fall, drifting down in large flakes from the sky. It made everything look grey, and the affect was only aided by the rapidly encroaching twilight. As the light of the day slowly slipped away, a storm began to grumble and groan. I watched from my window, my usual mug of coffee in my hand. Within the hour the sky became a strange spectacle. All light from the sun had departed, yet the clouds were illuminated by lighting bolts that were reflected in a myriad of directions by the snowflakes. All of the usual hustle and bustle of the city had been deadened by the snowfall, and the only sound to break the silence were the sharp cracks of lightening and the rumbling of the thunder. As I watched, a strange feeling came over me. I felt a ridiculous urge to go outside. I counselled myself against this, pointing out the hideous weather to by sub conscious self. But the need to go out became desperate, and I could not ignore it. I started to wonder if our entire family was mad, and if I had succumbed to a more erratic form of mental disease than my sister. Whatever it was that was pulling me lead me towards the Academy. As I rounded the corner, I saw lightening bolts striking the roof again and again. They were focussed on the wing where Ly’ander carried out his work.

I rapidly shed my befuddled state and started to sprint towards the entrance. Whatever was happening, something was very wrong. I opened the front door, which lead into a long corridor. Ly’ander’s labs were in the wing at the very end, on the left. In my haste, I managed to shut my coat in the hinge of the door. At this point, any hero would have ripped himself free. Being no hero, I struggled and swore at the piece of fabric for what seemed like a lifetime until it finally came free. Whilst I was engaged in this activity, I heard Ashira’s voice. She was pleading and begging with something, or someone. Over and over she repeated that the price was too high. Then all of a sudden, her pleading stopped. Finally free of the door hinge, I raced down the corridor. Time seemed to pass in slow motion, and it took me an eternity to cross the short distance to the door. As I gripped the handle, something on the other side decided to make its exit. The door was flung open, and I was slapped back into the wall. The door followed me, turning me into a filling between the wall and door sandwich. Blood erupted from my noise and I heard a sickening crack from the arm I had used to shield my face. The door slowly swung back, and I slid down the wall and collapsed in a heap on the floor. With the door no longer obstructing my view, I could see the retreating back view of whatever had opened it. I had to assume that a summoning had gone terribly wrong. The creature did not walk as one cowed by a powerful control. Instead it walked with calm determination, and it was obvious that nothing was going to stop it. In size, it was not much bigger than a fully-grown elf, but its appearance was horrific. Even from the back I could see folds of flesh and odd protrusions. It was monstrous. The creature exited the same way I had entered. As it departed, it took with it the fear that had kept me catatonic. Finally able to move, I groaned and felt gingerly around my body. My nose, arm and several ribs were broken, but it seemed likely I would survive. I took a deep breath, swallowed my pain and stumbled into the lab. All I had to do was make it inside to Ashira and Ly’ander. Undoubtedly something had gone very badly wrong, but Ly’ander would be able to clear the mess up. I managed a few halting steps to the doorway, and then I froze. My legs went weak and I sank onto the floor. Emotions warred inside of me. Primarily I wanted to vomit.

It is odd how when, confronted with something so deeply disturbing, we instinctively want to empty our stomachs. I gritted my teeth and refused the urge. But I could not stop the tears that started to stream down my face, nor could I stop the pain in my heart. I tried to cry out, but all I could vocalise was a bizarre half strangled sound. I shut my eyes, praying that I was dreaming, but when I opened them the same scene still confronted me. Ashira’s body was sprawled out on the floor. A fire blazed in the hearth and cast dancing shadows over her. One leg was twisted out at an impossible angle, and one of her arms stretch out towards me, fingers extended as if asking for help. Her silver hair was streaked red with blood, of which there was plenty. An ever-increasing pool of red surrounded her, as her life force emptied itself onto the laboratory floor. Her head was turned away from me. I half scrambled, half crawled to where she lay. As I got closer I began to slip and slide. It was impossible to approach her without stepping in the blood. I felt as if I was swimming towards her in some perverted and twisted nightmare.

Eventually I reached her. A gaping hole stared angrily at me from her abdomen, and every now and again a spurt of blood would jet out, as if making a final bid for freedom. As gently and as tenderly as I could, I turned her face towards me. Her eyelids fluttered and I could tell that she knew who I was. Suddenly I was intoxicated with hope. If she lived, Ly’ander could save her. I summoned my energy and called for him at the top of my voice. As my call echoed and bounced around the Academy, Ashira stiffened in my arms. I looked down in alarm, and could see that she was struggling desperately to speak. I leant close to her, ignoring the blood and gore, so that I could catch her whisper. ‘Don’t call him back’ she said. I tried to hush her and told her not to waste her energy, but she would not be still. ‘I warned him’ she whispered, and then ‘it is too late…’. I held her as a sob escaped from her body.

The movement caused more blood to flow from her hideous wound. I begged her to lie still, but she no longer seemed to be listening to me. ‘I loved him, but there is nothing of him left’. I looked around the room, scanning it for Ly’ander’s body, but I could see nothing. Ashira focussed on my face once more, and for a moment she seemed to smile. ‘Take care of my daughter’ she whispered. Then her body went limp. I do not know how long I sat there, with my sisters head cradled in my arms. I talked to her about how it would be all right, I begged her not to leave me, I stroked her hair out of her face and told her how much I loved her. In the end, I just held her, whilst tears ran down my face. To move away would be to finally accept that she had gone, and I was not ready to face that pain.

I do not know how long I was there, or who found me, but I do remember strong hands pulling me up off the floor. I tried feebly to fight them off, but with one broken arm, a broken nose and several broken ribs, I doubt I was much of an opponent. I was half dragged, half carried away. I neither knew nor cared where they took me. A bitter tasting liquid was poured down my throat, and the arms of Morpheus reached out its tender embrace. I do not know how long a slept for. How much easier my life would have been if I had simply failed to awaken. But one day my crusted eyes struggled to open themselves, and I had a few minutes of dazed bliss whilst I tried to remember where I was. Eventually I recognised the ceiling of the infirmary, and the nightmare came flooding back. I tried to move, but my limbs were secured to the bed. So I lay there, looking up, trying desperately not to think. I counted the tiles on the ceiling, the patterns on the curtain, anything to distract my mind from confronting the inevitable. Eventually nurses came and I was released from my bonds.

I discovered that, whilst unconscious, I had been given to thrashing violently about, doing myself and those in my vicinity a grate deal of damage. I had been kept sedated for over a week, during which time a surprising number of people had visited me. Of course, I could not remember them being there, so I hope they did not come for my sake. No one would give me any details as to what had happened, but I was told that The Council was meeting. Orders had been left that, as soon as I was able, I should join them in the Sky Chamber. My legs had escaped undamaged, but the climb up the stairs left me exhausted. I had to keep pausing on my ascent, as all of a sudden the blood would rush away from my head, leaving me faint and dizzy. I was still using clever tricks to occupy my mind and steer it away from the pain.

When I finally reached the chamber and opened the door, I nearly lost my hard won control. I was faced with two empty chairs, one for myself, and one for Ly’ander. When I was comfortably seated, the council members took turns to tell me what had happened on that awful winter night. Initially it seemed that Ly’ander had summoned a Daemon, which broke free of his control killed both Ly’ander and my sister. But Ly’ander’s body could not be found. It was my mother that provided the answer to this riddle. She had heard the commotion in the Academy, and run to see what was happening. The Daemon walked straight past her. She corrected us on its nature, as it was not simply a Daemon, but a Daemon Fae. As it went by, she saw huge tears rolling down its face. She looked it straight in the eye, and saw her son-in-law staring back at her.

Something had happened to Ly’ander that night. None of us will ever know exactly what, as the only witness now lies dead and buried. What cannot be denied is that it drove him to kill my sister, his wife. Given my mother’s account, it would seem that the act was not without remorse. But a sea of tears would not bring her back to me. I leaned back in my chair, and tried to keep my composure. The other council members talked of the events as if they were documenting a new piece of research. I knew it was only their way of coping, but I wanted to stand up and scream and shout. Instead I sat quietly and listened. Ly’ander had left the Academy and our city. For 3 days no one saw or heard from him. On the fourth day, Ashira’s body was given up to the earth. Hearing that I had missed my chance to say goodbye stabbed a thousand blades into my heart. But Ly’ander did not miss his opportunity. He appeared at the city gate, his voice bellowing loud enough for the whole city to hear. No one could understand his words. Some of the council thought he was angry, others thought he was grief and guilt ridden. What no one could argue about was the fact that the earth opened in huge tears around him. Along the path he had walked, huge chasms appeared. Trees were uprooted and thrown down miles from where they had grown. Boulders the size of houses hurtled through the air. Imagine for a moment a toddler in a rage, throwing their toys around their playroom. This is what Ly’ander appeared to do, only on a much grander scale. He walked through the city, leaving utter destruction in his path. No one dared challenge him as he walked towards Ashira’s body – or, at least, nearly no one. My mother stayed by her daughter’s side, refusing to leave her alone on her last journey. The council said that she stood firm, and quietly begged Ly’ander to let her send her only daughter off in peace. Ly’ander walked up to them both, then knelt down and kissed Ashira’s pale forehead. Then it would seem that he simply turned around and left. Since that day, Ly’ander had been occupied with changing our world. My world had already been destroyed, and in fairness to him, it could just as easily have been accomplished with a knife or a poison. The rest of the world he changed with his newfound power. He moved mountains, drained lakes and reshaped the very land around us. No one on the Council could offer a reason as to why he did this. I think we all lost the ability to understand him the day he killed Ashira. There seemed to be no sense or logic behind his actions. The council fell silent as we searched for an explanation, and eventually all we could do was shake our heads at each other in dismay.

What had become of our hero? Had we driven him to this? It is easy, looking back, to see all that you missed. The haunted look in Ashira’s eyes that night that she cried in my arms. The new worry lines on Ly’anders face. The tension between the two of them. All pointing to the fact that something was wrong. I assumed that they would tell me if they needed my help, and, truth be known, Ashira did. I dismissed her concerns as the product of a slightly unstable mind, and trusted Ly’ander’s word that all was well. It was a fatal error in judgement. I shall carry the guilt with me for eternity. The Council did not blame me, even though I thought they should. I wanted to find somewhere quiet, and curl up and die. But I was not to be allowed that luxury. The pressing question was ‘what to do next’? Ly’ander was the most powerful being any of us had ever seen, or ever heard of, and we did not know what to do about him. His transformation into a Daemon Fae meant that none of us had the means to stop him. And a part of me asked if we should stop him? He obviously regretted the death of Ashira, and I could not believe he had changed so dramatically from the man I knew and loved. I had been talking with the Council for an entire day. I felt completely drained, despite the refreshments that were brought up to us.

In this state of near exhaustion, I remembered something I had been trying to forget. Fearing the answer, I asked what had happened to my niece. My sisters last words to me had been to ask me to look after her, and in this task, my sister would not find me wanting. Silence greeted my question. Eventually someone confessed that they did not know where the child was. She had simply disappeared. She had not been seen with Ly’ander, and there had been no signs of a struggle or fight in her rooms. It was as if she had ceased to exist. I began to feel hollow and empty inside. While I had been lying unconscious, she had vanished. Another failure to add to my rapidly growing list. I stared out through the magical barriers of the Sky Chamber and wished I could throw myself through them, feel the wind rushing pass my face and then embrace my death. No one knew what to say to me, and for that I was glad. I had neither desire nor inclination to speak. The Council talked and talked, but reached no conclusion. I sunk into a melancholy that seemed to have no limits. I attended the Council meetings, I visited my poor mother, but something inside me had died.

It was in this morbid state of mind that we entered into the winter of Ly’ander’s fall from grace. Initially Ly’ander seemed to be content with playing with his powers. Where he went, the land was remade, but there were seldom any Elven casualties. Many on the Coucil argued for Tolerance towards our one time hero. I was pulled in two directions at once. I would never forgive him for killing Ashira, but I also new the man better than most others. I knew he was not evil, and part of me felt sorry for him and wanted to help. My two viewpoints were so radically opposed that I could not reconcile them. But as time went by, Ly’ander changed. There was less of the man I knew, and more of the Daemon Fae. I did not see the results of his ‘tantrums’ first hand, but I had to sit through and listen to the lengthy reports. Villages were levelled, with not a single building or inhabitant remaining. Rivers were dammed, drowning entire towns. As the weeks went by, he thought up more cruel and vile ways to entertain himself. One of his favourite tricks was to turn the ground beneath the feet of those involved in any form of worship to quicksand. He would then cross his arms and watch as they were slowly sucked under. He would alter the consistency of the sand to maximise the amount of time his victims spent screaming and calling for help. Where he went, death and destruction followed. The Council finally accepted that he had to be stopped. Even I could not argue against their decision, although I could not bring myself to cast my vote against him. Looking back, I lived through that winter in a daze, unable to accept that any of the events taking place around me were real. But how do you stop a genius Elven/Daemon/Fae that seems to be going completely mad? Ly’ander himself may have had ideas, but even to him it would have been a challenge. The Council could conceive of no way to destroy him. He would shake of any of our assaults as if they were no more than a light rain shower. Initially the Council sent out a party to attempt to reason with him. I almost wished I had gone along with them when they failed to return. They, at least, had escaped the nightmare. There bodies were never found, or at least, not all of their bodies. What remained of them was brought back, although not enough remained to fit into a single grave. He could not be destroyed and he could not be reasoned with.

In the end it was my mother, driven my grief for her daughter and granddaughter, that came up with the solution. We needed a prison. A prison strong enough to hold the most powerful being in all our history. But how do you make something powerful enough to contain the likes of what Ly’ander had become? The Council researched the matter with an air of urgency. As each week passed, Ly’ander’s behaviour became more extreme. We all new we were running out of time. I myself found it impossible to get involved. No matter what he did, I could not forget the man used to be my best friend. His empty seat at the Council table was a constant reminder of the empty space he had left in my life. So I dedicated my time to fruitlessly searching for my niece. I kept hoping it would be like when I was looking after her, and she would hide so that she could see the shock and delight on my face when I finally found her. But she did not suddenly jump out from behind the curtains, grinning form ear to ear. Some nights I would dream that she had come back, and I would find myself racing towards her room, not fully awake. On other nights I would see her and her mother, looking at me with dead, reproachful eyes. I would beg them to forgive me, and they would shake their heads and walk away. I would try to catch up with them, pleading with them all the time, but they always remained out of reach.

After a winter of chaos, a plan was formed. It was brutal and filthy, and went against everything our society stood for. But if Ly’ander was allowed to continue unchecked, our society may not stand at all. There simply was no other choice. The greatest minds on the Council had devised an elaborate prison. To lock it would require four keys. The locks would be spread throughout the Kingdom, and they had to be properly aligned with each other. Expedition parties were made ready to travel to each of the designated sites. This was not the end of it, for Ly’ander had to be bound to his cage. The specific alignment of the locks would insure that the prison did its job, but to make sure Ly’ander himself was captured, the keys needed to be linked to him. This was the part of the plan that was debated the most vehemently by the Council. The link to Ly’ander would be provided by blood. And it would be those linked to Ly’ander and his downfall that would make the sacrifice. News of the plan travelled quickly, and was greeted with horror. Never before had our race willing sacrificed its own kin. There was outrage and protests.

But whilst we dallied, more people died at Ly’ander’s hands. Storms and droughts blew in completely out of season, making it impossible to predict the weather. It would not be long before our one-time hero became a destroyer of worlds. Ly’anders Aunt, on his mother’s side, was chosen to be the key in our city. She had no family or husband, and she felt that this might be her only opportunity to contribute to our society. Her sister, Ly’ander’s mother, had died when Ly’ander was a small child, and it hurt her deeply to see what he had become. Her reasons were noble, but I still thought she was mad. On Ly’anders father’s side, only his father still lived. As a Council member, he could not be sacrificed (and this ruling was especially bitter to me), but since the death of his wife, he had remarried. Ly’anders father and stepmother wept and pleaded as the Council took their little girl away. She was taken to some far-flung city, so that her parents would not have to witness her sacrifice as the key. Ly’ander’s apprentice was also a member of the Council, and crucial for activating the prison, so he was also forbidden from standing forward. So the Council took his wife, and with it, his spirit. She went quietly and with dignity, whilst her husband started down the road I had been travelling since that fateful stormy night. We often sat in silence and drank together, knowing that there were no words of comfort that could help either of us. That left one more key to be found. The final key – and it had to be Ashira’s bloodline. I was a Council member, and therefore forbidden from the sacrifice. I pleaded and begged, but they headed by words as little as they did Ly’ander’s father and apprentice. I would not be offered a noble death and release from this misery. Instead, my mother was chosen.

It took a month to prepare the prison and get the keys in place. I have no memory of the day my mother left for her final destination – I imagine it was one horror too many for my brain to store. All I know is that one day she was there, the next she was not. Songs were made about the four keys, and their names were praised around the entire Kingdom. But I do not think that fame and notoriety can mean a great deal to those that face certain death. Whilst the prison was being made ready, Ly’ander continued his work. There was not enough power in all our priesthood to keep up with laying to rest those that he slaughtered. Some of the dead returned to us, although they neither recognised us nor cared for us. They were not powerful, and I think Ly’ander did it more to humiliate us and prove how useless our struggles against him were. Killing them was both easy and difficult. Our swords cut them down, and at the same time wounded our own hearts. Spring turned to summer, but few crops grew. The land was in disarray from changed watercourses and the sudden appearance of mountains. Where trees did grow, Ly’ander perverted them to grow in twisted and malformed shapes. Nothing was safe from his touch, and nothing was sacred.

Eventually the prison was ready, and the work began. Several days were devoted to rites to purify the keys. I do not think this was necessary, but it helped to calm the minds of those that faced death. I watched those that took place in the City. Ly’anders Aunt look so small, framed by the looming background of the Academy buildings. It seemed impossible that this petite and ageing woman would save us. I wondered how my own mother was, and if she would be going through the same as the woman before me. I was glad I was not there to see it. The day of the binding arrived. Frantic messages were passed between the four groups, affirming that all was ready and in place. Ly’ander’s Aunt, the ‘key’, was led into a building – the tower had been built especially for the purpose, and was identical to the other three ‘locks’. They left her in there, alone, and then came outside and began to chant. The voices of the Council rose in Unison, although I could not add mine to them. Eventually I was the only mute person in the crowd, and I felt like an outsider. Tears filled my eyes and my vision blurred. I wondered how Ly’ander’s stepsister was coping, all alone in her own tower, with no one to comfort her or hold her small hand. I thought of my niece, and wondered where she was, if, that was, she still lived. I though of dear, beautiful Ashira, and how her blood soaked hair had fanned out over the floor as I cradled her head in my lap. The whole world was tainted, and I could not believe that I would ever see beauty in it again. As the chanting climaxed, the air began to shimmer. Suddenly, in front of us, appeared Ly’ander. He was no bigger in physical form, but his aura made him seem like a giant.

The Daemon fae laughed at us, as if he had just found a new game. He walked over to the Council, and picked up one of the members with surprising ease. With a sickening crack he broke the mans neck, then tossed him to one side. He moved on to the next in line, a young female Councilwoman. He gently stroked her hair, then snapped her neck also. Laughing, he turned to us all and bellowed: ‘I am the most powerful being to ever walk these lands. Accept me as I am, for you will never defeat me. Neither Elf nor Ancestor will stand in my way. I shall reshape the world as I see fit, and allow those I find worthy to live within it. Those who anger me will be destroyed’ Then he returned to the slaughter of the Council. Those still living were screaming at Ly’ander’s Aunt to complete the sacrifice and finish the binding, but Ly’ander did not seem worried. The person to my left was snatched into his grasping hands. Ly’ander ripped his arms from his body, tossing them into the crowd as if he were tossing a pack of dogs a bone. Then, with amazing strength, he plunged his hand into the mans chest and ripped out his heart. He displayed the still beating trophy to the horrified crowd, and then took a bite out of it. With blood coursing from his mouth he continued to laugh. It was my turn, and I felt no fear. I had been seeking death for a long time now, and I longed for its embrace. I wanted to be reunited with my sister, my mother, my niece. But Ly’ander looked at me and hesitated. He recognised me, but I did not think that would be enough to stop him. He seemed to consider me for a moment, and then a look of pain transformed his face. It appeared as if he was fighting against himself, or some unseen foe. Then he began to ‘shimmer’, as if he were quickly passing in and out of existence. He looked me straight in the eye, and whilst the words he spoke were loud enough for all to hear, I believe they were meant for me: ‘You have done that which I thought you could never bring yourselves to do. I almost admire you for that. But before you force me away and rend me dormant, I will say my piece. You may contain me, but you cannot destroy me, that much you already know. And whoever shall free me from this prison will be granted more power than they can dream possible. Mark my words and know that I do not lie. My liberator will have the power than they could ever dare dream of. ………… Of course, there will be a price. My debt was my loves life, and my own hand delivered it. But even now, I am not that cruel. The price and the gift will be delivered directly to he that opens my door.’ And then he was gone, as simple as that. The door to the tower was sealed, and up to this very point in time, remains so. All the other ‘locks’ are also closed. They stand as monuments to the ‘keys’, in memory of their great sacrifice.

Although it will take many generations before any Elf can forget what happened.

The first of the cities lay not far to the west from a curious edifice known as “Deaths Gate” which seemed watched over by a lady. And my family name is now bound inextricably to that of the first key, I often wonder what will become of the family name Karrash Morr ?

Years have passed since that bleak and dark day, but my wounds have not healed. I spent years searching for my niece, but I still do not know if she perished, or is she lives on somewhere far away from me. Eventually I abandoned my search, and all hope I had left of truly living my life. I moved from that city, with all its memories, and made a home for myself to the south, where my mothers ‘lock’ can be found. Whilst the door remains closed, I have fashioned a garden around it to honour her memory. I spend my days tending the flowers, and my evenings reading and writing. The nighttimes are still devoted to horrific nightmares, when I relive the horror of that year over and over again. The people in the city treat me with caution. They all knew that Ly’ander’s last words were aimed, in particular, at me. I imagine he does not really care who frees him, but he must have hoped to appeal to our old friendship. At times I have wanted to let him out, just to have someone who can share my pain. No one else remains alive that knew Ly’ander and Ashira like I did. But I have always avoided the temptation.

I was watched closely for several years, but after a while The Council (or what was left of it) decided that it was safe to let me live my life unobserved. I was the first Elf in history to be excused from the Council for grounds other than my own death. They decided (and the vote was unanimous) that I had been driven mad. Maybe I have? Although I do not think so. Surely a madman would not hold on to the pain? So that is my story. A love story, a horror story…. Ly’ander still waits, sleeping the time away in his prison. If he ever walks these lands again, I hope I am long gone. I still both love and hate him, and it might be that that is where my madness truly lies.