Whill of Agora: Book 1, Michael Ploof [read aloud TXT] 📗

is the way of our Elders, so is our way. One should not have a single teacher but many. Avriel will continue where I have left off while we are in Eldalon.” He gave a small bow and quietly left the gardens.

Whill did not know what to do or what Zerafin meant. Was Avriel coming now to continue his teachings? He did not move, but meditated as he had been taught. He let his mind be at ease and his body still as he focused upon himself and all around him.

Some time had passed when he came back to the world, revitalized and alert. He could sense something—a presence. He recognized it at once, though he knew not how. It was Avriel. He stood and surveyed the garden but saw nothing.

Suddenly a stone came hurtling out of nowhere and struck him in the forehead, drawing blood. Then came a voice he knew, but not in any form he had thus heard. She laughed like a child playing a prank, and then another stone stuck him in the hand. Whill looked wildly from one end of the garden to the other, rubbing his forehead. Another stone came, too fast to duck, and struck him in the shoulder, then another in the chest, and yet another in the back of his head. Whill drew his sword, fuming. This time five stones stuck him hard enough to break his arm. He dropped his sword and spun about. “What is the meaning of this?”

Avriel chuckled. “Do you wish for the rocks not to strike you?”

Another stone hit Whill right between the eyes and he fell to the ground. “Of course I wish the bloody stones not to hit me!”

“Then use what you have learned from my brother and stop them, Whill of Agora!”

Two more rocks came hurtling at Whill as he stood. Instantly he used his mind-sight. The world before him fell like a curtain as the world of energy rushed forth. He saw the stones coming at him clearly, shimmering like diamonds with the residual energy of that which Avriel used to propel them. Whill lifted his hand and produced a globe of energy that—to his astonishment—surrounded him. He did not know how nor why, but he did not care; he simply wanted the rocks to stop striking him. The stones struck the energy wall and fell to the ground. Two more followed, then four more, and finally a volley of more than a dozen stones. Each one weakened his feeble shield slightly. Then the barrage stopped and Avriel appeared.

Whill had never before seen her with his mind-sight. She came forward slowly from behind a magnificent rose bush. Her energy form was similar to Zerafin’s, yet still very different. As soon as his mind’s eye fell upon her, his own energy shield faltered and diminished. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Radiant pulses of pristine white and silver light pulsed and danced about and from her. She glowed from within like a sun, at her center was the purest and most radiant light Whill had ever witnessed.

A rock stuck his forehead.

He was knocked unconscious for a moment. The next thing he knew, Avriel’s sweet breath was lightly teasing his neck. A blue light surrounded him and healed his many minor wounds. Her breath moved to his ear as his vision came into focus. “You have just seen me as no one ever has. What you have witnessed is reserved solely for the one who is loved by the observer.”

They locked eyes, their lips as close as could be without touching, and there she lingered. Whill was paralyzed. His heart screamed for action yet his mind bade him wait, for he had a feeling that what was being shared at this moment could not be enhanced by anything, not even a kiss.

Avriel retreated and sat across from Whill as Zerafin had done. He shook his head and breathed deeply. What spell had come over him? He took up the meditation pose. For many minutes they did not speak, but simply stared at each other—unblinking, unyielding. Finally that sweet melodic voice, so much like a symphony, spoke within his mind.

You have learned well the ways of Orna Catorna. You have shown an aptitude for not only that which you have learned, but that which you have yet to learn. This, I must say, is unheard of within the world of my people. My brother suspects that this alone is the reason for my love for you. But I do not know and do not care for the reasons, for when it comes to love it seems there are none.

Whill listened intently and exuberantly, exhilarated by the sudden admission of Avriel’s love.

You must understand, Whill, that the feelings I have for you, and those which I know you hold for me, are dangerous ones. I have been so warned; history teaches about such matters. We have a pressing duty before us, one that eclipses what we feel and want and need. We have a duty to do what we can for this cause—first and foremost, and to the death. We must not be hasty in our pursuit of love, but mindful and steady in pursuit of the cause we serve.

A smile crept onto her face, and a single tear hung from her eye. Blessed will be the day when we can rightfully declare our love aloud. Until that day, when the curses of the Dark elves are but a distant memory, we shall remain silent in our hearts’ desire and strong in our resolve.

Then until that day, Whill told her, know what I feel now. That since the first time I saw you in that feverish dream, since the first hint of your scent left my mind, since the first sounds of your beautiful voice filled my ears, I have loved you.

Avriel smiled in such a girlish way that Whill, for a moment, doubted her centuries of life.

And I you, Whill. And I you.

She held her head high and looked to the heavens. Whatever mental bond there had been was broken.

“It is for those reasons, my duty included, that I present you with this. I know you will object, but it must be done for the good of the cause. This I foresee.”

Avriel then untied her blouse and let it fall upon her arms. Her naked breasts heaved with her every breath as they shone in the sunlight. Whill watched in dumbfounded awe as the skin above her right breast swelled until it finally split open, and a radiant red gem floated from the wound. This, he knew to his sudden horror, was her inner gem. The gem floated between them as her wound healed and she fastened her blouse. A bubble of water floated from the nearby garden stream and encapsulated the gem, washing it of her blood. Before Whill could protest, Avriel spoke.

“This gem was presented to me by my seventh-great-grandmother, who was a member of Elladrindellia’s Elder Council before the fall. She and my other grandmothers stored their energy in it for twenty years after my birth. Such a gift is bestowed upon all elf children when they come of age. And I now present it to you.”

Whill was about to protest once again, but was silenced by Avriel’s mind. If you love me—if what you feel is true—then do not argue this. It would be seen as the greatest insult.

He nodded his reluctant agreement. Then she produced a dagger. “Choose the placement,” she said.

Whill pondered the situation for a moment and, realizing he would not win the fight, obliged. He opened his shirt to expose his chest and pointed above his heart.

Avriel raised the dagger to his skin. Deep the blade went, but it was followed by a constant blue light that swallowed any pain Whill would have felt. The gem floated to the wound and found its new home within his chest.

“The same enchantments I once put on it will keep it hidden from your enemies,” she explained. “I only ask that you never use it but in the most dire of situations, and be wary of its power.”

“I promise.”

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High above, Zerafin turned from the window where he watched.

Avriel, my dear sister, what have you done?

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Whill was surprised to enter his room and find Tarren and Abram there. The boy wore his blue and purple cadet uniform, which was clean and well pressed.

“Well!” said Whill. “You look as ready as I imagine any new recruit has ever been.”

Tarren beamed. “I am, sir.”

“I do not doubt that you will make a fine soldier when your time comes. Though I hope you will never be needed in the war we face this day.” Tarren’s shoulders drooped and he scowled. “Do not misunderstand me, son. I only hope that this terrible business is done by the time you are ready for combat.”

“I am ready now!” he said, puffing out his chest.

Whill knelt and said, “Tarren, do not hasten into battle with revenge in your heart, for it has been shown through the ages that this is surely the way to one’s own defeat. Be ready, be prepared, train hard, but do so with the intention of protecting the innocent, not exacting your own vengeance. Those who did you wrong are dead. That business is done.”

The young lad managed a half-smile. “Yes, sir.”

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Tarren had already gone to his first day of training, and though that was a brutal and dangerous affair within the Eldalon Army, Whill was glad nonetheless.

“I have informed the king that I wish Tarren to be schooled intensively throughout his years in the academy. His thirst for knowledge will go beyond the sword, I do not doubt, as will his compulsion to right the wrongs of this world.”

“Hmm. I wish him good luck in that endeavor.” Abram lit his pipe and looked out onto the sunset upon the horizon. “I wonder, Whill, did your own words spark any familiarity with you this day?”

“What words?”

“Your words to Tarren.”

Whill sat upon a heavily cushioned chair. “Ah, that. Well, Abram, my father’s killer remains at large at the moment and, being that he is the one who must be slain to ensure victory, it seems that I am left with a most monumental situation. For that which my sense of vengeance deems necessary, is that which the cause requires as well.”

Abram chuckled at Whill’s cleverness. “Yes, my friend.” Smoke from his pipe encircled his body, causing a strange effect in the light of the sunset. “You know well the difference between the compulsion of emotions and that of duty. I beg you forget them not in this matter, nor, I must say, in that of Avriel.”

“I shall not soon forget, sir,” Whill said.

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Roakore burst into his soldiers’ training room, sweat dripping from his brow and a wild look in his eye. At his entrance the shout went out: “Roakore has returned!”

The proclamation echoed throughout the hall, and the more than two thousand sparring soldiers all came to a sudden halt. Roakore gasped and put his hand upon the nearest dwarf for support as he caught his breath. After a moment passed he spoke.

“Me friends, me sons, me brothers,