The Persistent Shadow – Intro

It’s about time I start working on this again. As it is already written, I can post the intro first.

This is the beginning of my Wealdendun novel, which has the working title of The Persistent Shadow

The Opening poem, which would appear on the first page of the book- followed by a brief Preface/Introduction/Prologue to set the mood. It is important to know part of the past of this world to understand the present. I settled for a elegant-genesis-style narrative to lay the frame work. The story summarized here is so much longer and more complex, but again this is just the ground work to help the reader understand. Of course, more novel-style information concerning the Ieldran and Natulcien will appear later in the book. And more books covering the gap between the destruction of Paradìs and this book must be written as well. But if one knows of this earliest event, it is easier to step in and begin to understand the fantasy world.

First four paragraphs were a collaboration between zal and me a few years back, now edited more by me.

 The Land of Paradìs

Petals blooming
Petals blooming
By the edge of the sun-rise shore
Petals blooming
Petals blooming
In the land of evermore

Starlight gleaming
Starlight gleaming
On the waves of the sun-rise shore
Starlight gleaming
Starlight gleaming
On the people of evermore

Trouble brewing
Trouble brewing
Across vales of the sun-rise shore
Trouble brewing
Trouble brewing
In the hearts of evermore

Glory fading
Glory fading
Over sands of the sun-rise shore
Glory fading
Glory fading
In the land of evermore

Darkness falling
Darkness falling
Upon knolls of the sun-rise shore
Darkness falling
Darkness falling
To reign for evermore

In the beginning existed the void, a nothingness that stretched beyond eternity. It was without equal, as nothing can be compared with nothing, but it simply is , for the human mind; it is beyond comprehension. Then passing beyond the limits of the void, transcending the nothingness was a being of equal boundlessness: all powerful, all knowing, all seeing.

In this he saw reason to fill the void with purpose, and an echo devoid of origin was resounded. His thought began to form a whirling array of colors, like that of lilies, tulips, or roses, coming together within his immeasurable being. And he spoke wisdom to it, birthing order into the chaos. The hues came together, whirling tighter and tighter, faster and faster, until a sphere was formed.

Then he sung a song of mystic beauty, encapsulating every musical sound, forming into an enigmatic orchestra, bringing form upon the world he had created. Out of the song rose one of the melodies, hardening the sphere into a new world, fashioning landscapes of splendor. Then another resonance emerged, bringing forth the elements of the world and sky. Then he set upon them a law by which they must exist, held within time and storm. Seeking that which was hidden within himself, he brought life upon the world, both plant and animal. And he breathed life into them, swirling hues from the emptiness, giving them the gift of mind and body.

As he created life, he walked astride the water, forming from the elements of the world bodies to represent his creation; to be masters of that which he created, guard, and take pleasure in the world he would place them. With this purpose he summoned a great wind across the land, swirling and spinning insignificant yet purposeful fragments into his creation. Thus the Ieldran, or the Elders, were born as male and female immortals among the land, eleven in number, masters of each aspect of his creation; all save the water he tread upon.

He called this world “Eorð Foldé”.

In the lands there existed seven continents, freely linked to each other by the Ieldran’s power granted to them by their creator; each having an element as an innate, controllable might – a part of them as much as the minds they used. But only one place united them all. This was called Paradìs, the eden made as manor for the eleven.

They were blessed, enjoying their time together for an immeasurable amount as their creator, or as they named him, Meotod, showed them their abilities and his splendor. He taught them a language he had made for only them, instructed them toward the path he would bless, and gave them many gifts such as love and other innate abilities. Then Meotod left Paradìs and the Ieldran.

In time, the eleven began to look inward instead of pursuing him and began to see themselves in their perfection, falling away from the purpose Meotod had set before them.

Thus during this time the shining star æfen , once the brightest in the north sky,  fell to the world and struck the ocean that Meotod stood upon when creating the Ieldran. Out of the water came a long, black haired woman whose hair, by the touch of the sun’s rays, transformed into an illuminating yellow-red. She joined the other eleven timelessly, as though she had always been there, and brought with her gentle force to return them from their betrayal of the creator, back to their previous glory. All but Genipan were swayed, he who had grown dark in his way of thinking and lechery became his chief trait.

He tried to convince the other eleven that Meotod was holding back His blessings from them, that He was unjust and contemptuous. Genipan infected their minds with poisonous words, believing that Meotod was holding back those blessings, parts of Meotod left in the world that would give one Ieldran supreme power. He believed that there should be one supreme Ieldran, one to rule them all, not equals.

Over the many years, tension grew between friends and couples as Genipan’s lies seeped into their souls once more. The lady from the stars, the lady of the ocean, guided the second-born immortals, her brethren the Oðboren, her charge given by Meotod. During an absence from Paradìs visiting the second-born elves, her people built magnificent thrones for themselves and began warring and competing with each other for power, using their powers against one another. Their children left Paradìs in frustration, searching for a place in which to return to the glorious days of the past.

The fallen star tried to convince her friends to return to their old ways, to leave Genipan to his own devices and believe that Meotod was good. She was too late as anger and mistrust was too strong within their once peaceful home, though some still held to the truths. By the time she convinced the Ieldran to listen to Meotod and throw away their pride, not enough elves were ready. From far south, the eyes of the Dragons of Destruction blinked open for the first time. With powers wrought of Meotod’s malice and fire from Belgrund, Paradìs was engulfed in destruction, every Ieldran fighting for his or her life until the end, some realizing their mistake though far too late.

The Dragons burnt all; every parchment, building, and Ieldran. Even the land and plants were scorched; only one survived. Meotod became sad at the death of his first born, and forever cast a shadow over that once beautiful land. It is now known as the Dimmand, or the Dark Lands, by the east sea. His star, the lady of the ocean, named for the great plans he had for her, left the land broken and hopeless, clinging to the only books she could save written by her closest friend. She disappeared into the north seeking a way to return to the sky, but not before she had built a shrine to her fallen companions and charged a band of mortals to guard the great books there, blessing them with long life if they would but hold pure in their seeking of wisdom and control over the elements of Eorð Foldé.

Many years later she heard the call to return to the lands she had walk on in gladness. Her name, given to her by Meotod, meant The Summoned Protector, and in her mind she had failed to protect her people and bring them back to goodness. With the Oðboren in need, she vowed to right her wrong and returned to the land they called Wealdendun on the back of an enormous hawk,  to dwell among the second-born, leading them to a brighter future, fighting great battles, aiding all of Wealdendun and uniting its people – but most of all, learning to not be ashamed of her name.

She is called Natulcien Fiothiel.

I’ve been backing up files and ideas from various web-locations I’ve posted them, including the old forum. With Zal’s help, of course. And as such I’m in the mood to write something Wealdenduny. Here follows whatever comes out of my fingers. I don’t have a plan except it will be the years 1000-1004 at the Northern Shore.

———————–

They found her, at the top of the lone tower they’d seen in the distance the day before, sitting motionless and straight in a chair gazing out the open window. The sea breeze was strong this high in the tower and the hands of the wind brushed her shoulder-length red-blond hair away from her revealing the features of her face. Her thin lips were pressed together in almost an expression of deep concentration, her skin was fair and her ears were pointed – longer than expected, nearly reaching the back of her head – and her eyes seemed to swirl with the reflection of the ocean. It wasn’t until she turned around to face them that they realized her eyes were not just a reflection.  A starlike jagged-brown ring was close around the pupil, a blueish-green in the next layer which was surrounded by a dark greyish-blue ring on the outside, like the various levels of depth of color in the ocean. She stood, taller than them all, turning to face them in one fluid motion, her features never changing.

Six youth fanned out in the room, standing before bookshelves lined with volumes along the walls, four males and two females most likely from Tir Rathon by judge of their clothing and mannerisms. None had spoken, though they had looked at each other as if asking who should be the first or if someone should speak at all. They didn’t know what to expect when they’d climbed this bright-white tower, only that they knew something was at the top.

They needn’t have worried over who should speak for the lady of the tower spoke first. “Why have you come here?” Her voice was clear and firm, though something about it also sounded gentle and calm. Her gaze was focused on the female most directly in front of her, who replied without hesitation.

“I am Shylah Bel Archa. We come from Tir Rathon seeking something more than the war that holds our people in its grasp.  We decided to leave the Rathonian-Carinelian war behind us and travel north, the six of us.”

To her left one of Shylah’s male companions stirred. “And I am Kairon Onis.  We journeyed first to the ruins of Paradìs, to see for ourselves the destruction of the Ieldran. After taking part in our own version of the Ceremony of Lament for the fallen, we turned north to follow the shore where it would lead us.”

Without the slightest movement of thought across her face the lady of the tower spoke again. “Why here? Why not turn west to Rurisk and the Elves?”

To this questions Shylah again answered. “The four provinces still grieve the loss of the Ieldran. Their situation is no different than our city, though of a different type of disturbance. ”

With that information the lady before them showed the smallest movement of a frown, almost too small to notice had not all of the human youth been focused solely on her.

To Shylah’s right stood Geffin Ravo, a roguish youth who had joined shortly before the group set out. He seemed almost to gasp, as if something had suddenly shown itself. He spoke, taking a step nearer. “You…. you are Natulcien? Your sea-like cloak, your eyes, I can almost see the design of your symbol hiding under the cloak on your dress. It has to be you!”

She nodded her reply.

“But,” began a fourth companion, Aine Karai, who had not yet spoke, “we were told all had perished. All of Eorð Foldé believes you are dead!”

“Am I not?” Natulcien whispered, turning back to face the open window as fluidly as before. She hid the sorrow that crossed her face and clouded her eyes from them, then. Sighing softly she spoke again. “Do you truly seek something more, a greater purpose other than living and dying in the city of men? Do you honor the memory of the Ieldran and what we once stood for? Do you pine for knowledge and the betterment of all?”

Without knowing why, but knowing it was what each of them wanted, without hesitation all six responded affirmatively in unison.

Natulcien turned back to face them, moving her eyes over each face in turn; Vyntil, Geffin, Shylah, Kairon, Aine, Mendorn – she would learn each of their names and their histories before the day had ended. She closed the window then moved past them to stand in the doorway at the edge of the winding stairs of the tower.

“I have a lot to teach you, to share with you, to tell you. Come with me to the base of the tower. We will get you settled in and I will learn of each of you so that I may better instruct you. I hope to begin in the morning.”

Her long sea-colored cloak, it’s fabric appearing to shift subtly almost like the movements of water, trailed behind her as she began to descend the stairs. A new purpose for her, at least for the time being.