UL1 Book 10 - Chapter 12

No one spoke, yet the heartbeat of twenty thousand pulsed as one.  Sunlight streamed through green leaves, turning the white marble pathway into a path of rays of light. Great oaks curved upward and outward until the tops of the trees touched.  A colossal ring of life cradled Cordellia’s city like a circlet.  In the midst of it all a river wound through, providing life as water so clear, nothing could hide in it.

Cordellia stepped out from the moongate, a woven silverwood set in a tree. The morning wind lifted a few brown strands that were not braided, intentionally left free for all to see. No crown was upon her head, only a bow in her hand that had been a gift. She radiated power, yet kept it held back. Breathing deeply, she smiled at the hint of life the air carried.

A new chance and a promise to keep.

Elves waited under a long terrace that overlooked the river.  Each of them wore the colors of the forest. Some held tools, others carried staffs, and another group had spears standing tall. All eyes were upon her.

Steps came from behind her as a young elf, barely past his first century, moved quickly to get before her.  A ledger as long as his arm was cradled between his elbow and body.  When he bowed, the book almost escaped his grasp.

“I am here, Cordellia. I will not drown anyone in titles as you have asked.”

Cordellia smiled and nodded.

“Thank you Alarin. Keep the words gentle and short.”

She turned to the waiting crowd and smiled.

Capital: Embergrove

Population: 30,112 within the ring

Edicts: None

The numbers seemed vast yet intimate. Each life that was within her city was a part of her. Others were further out, already in the fields and woods, working the land. She knew a day would come soon when she met them all. She didn’t need to shout; the leaves would carry her voice for her.

“Children of the leaf and starlight, welcome home.”

The words drifted like dandelion seeds after a child blew on them. Shoulders relaxed and a few elves hugged each other.

“This grove is a place of welcoming and greeting,” Cordellia said. “We will greet every race that crosses our stream and enters these woods. We will learn their stories and share ours. We will not be elves who claim a higher path or some lofty title. Instead, we will be neighbors.”

She touched two fingers to her lips and then bent down, touching a small sapling, barely two feet tall that was near her feet. Light shimmered on the six leaves that grew upon it, turning into runes that floated above the terrace.

Edicts of Embergrove.

Hands open before a blade is lifted.

Craft and share. No art or knowledge shall be under lock and key.

Study the weaves, be they magic, steel or melody.

Cherish bonds and homes. Seek a mate when the heart calls. Honor that call when it comes.

Welcome every traveler who seeks peace. Offer help to any in honest need.

When darkness comes, we stand as one.

A hushed whisper came as they read and understood. None needed to be told what to do as an elf with silver runes on his hands, carried his staff and approached the hovering words. He kissed his two fingers and touched the words. Others followed. Some pressed their thumb to their lips, drawing blood and sealed their oath. Painters traced the words with dry brushes. With every pledge made, the runes glowed, turning from a mint to a dark green.

When the last oath was made, the words fell like a gentle rain, etching themselves into the stones along the river Cordellia stood upon.  The water shimmered, returning to its clear form with slight spirals of light that traced the currents.

Alarin lifted his ledger, opening it up, quill ready to be used.

“Assign the professions?”

Cordellia nodded.

“Three paths stand open. Artisans who shape wood, metal and stone. Weavers of the arcane who bend light, harness fire and change the wind. Guardians of the forest who train body, sword and bow to protect the grove.”

She gestured to a section of the valley where three wide clearings waited. Trees came together to form arches. When it was time to design her city, she wanted there to be an open place to learn and practice. So she created halls of living timber that let light shine in and all who entered be seen. One had a gold section of leaves at the top for artisans. Another had silver for the weavers of magic. The last was amber for those who would guard the forest.

“Choose a hall,” she said. “Change halls whenever your heart desires it. No wall is closed forever.”

The sound of excitement filled the air as her people moved forward. Friends nudged one another as they moved toward the hall they desired.  A pair of elves, fingers intertwined, headed for the artisan hall where lathes, kilns and more waited to be used.  Slowly an elder elf made his way toward the weaver’s hall, using his crystal staff to walk, yet he wore a grin that looked decades younger than his bones.

Cordellia moved through them like a breeze in the trees. She paused to show a novice archer how to stand and position their shoulders before drawing. She bent down to lift a fallen carving knife and returned it with a gentle reminder to be careful of sharp edges. Each interaction was short but complete. Their eyes met, words were shared and a purpose was renewed.

The afternoon came as the sun climbed higher. A bell chimed once as the crowd thinned into working groups.  Only a small circle of elves remained near the river, eyes locked on some willow branches that stretched out over the water.

Cordellia joined them, returning the smile they gave.

“What troubles you all?”

An elf, barely fifty years old, spoke, her voice soft and respectful.

“We wish to build boats but the willow bends when we press it. We fear that it won't hold the shape it must.”

Cordellia moved to the tree and put a hand on its trunk.

“Willows bend so that it does not break. Bend with it. Steam the wood. Coax it but do not command it. You will find the results may carry you further than the current of the water.”

She pointed further downstream where the river would reach an open field.

“Take the branches there. I’ll have someone make and bring you steaming trays and iron bands.”

The young elf beamed. She and the others bowed, hurrying off to do as instructed.

A presence approached and Alarin came to a stop, cheeks red from running.

“The loomaster asked permission to trade threads with dwarves if we meet them. Fine cords for stout rope are needed.”

“Granted,” Cordellia replied. “The dwarves honor good craft. Offer seeds of the moonblossom vine. It climbs stone like a squirrel on a tree.”

His quill moved quickly and then the elf was off.

She could feel a hint of something tugging at her senses. Closing her eyes Cordellia could see it. Magic moved through the air in soft spirals. It was gentle and yet potent. It pooled near one of the hall entrances, so she followed the tug.  Arriving she found a half circle of young mages gathered around a slab of white stone. Patterns shimmered above the rock, shifting before they could settle.

A white haired elf frowned at the floating sigils.

“We try to shape light into wards but it slides off like water on a leaf.”

Cordellia nodded and stepped beside him.

Much had changed when she had become a god. More than just her voice. Somehow she had been granted a sense of the magic of her world, of the city she had built.

Moving beside him, she reached into the glow and drew a single sigil free. It fluttered like a butterfly. Slowly and with care, she moved it to the boy's chest and set it there.

“Anchor yourself first. Let the ward know the heart that it guards.”

The sigil sank into his tunic and vanished. A flush of color lit his cheek.

Nodding, he closed his eyes, hands moving and the sigils reformed above the slab. As they waited, another emerged from his chest, joining the waiting ones before they seemed to steady, knitting into a veil that pulsed with him. The new spell touched the stone, sinking into it, joining its new home.

Cheers came from those around them and the boy looked at her in wonder.

“How did you know that?”

“I have friends who showed me the way. When they used magic, it was always an echo of their heart. One didn’t heal without the desire to see someone get better. Another didn’t rain down lightning just to cause misery but to save the life of someone they loved. Remember that.”

She made her way near the halls, listening to the sounds of hammers ringing out from within. The field where guardians trained crackled with energy as sparring pairs practiced with vigor. Colors appeared like fireworks in the night sky at the weavers' hall as spells were practiced.

Every clang of a chisel, sound of sword or arrow striking its target made her smile grow.

“First census complete,” Alarin said, having come to stand behind her. “Everyone swore to the edicts. None refused.”

“No one?”

“One elder asked why we welcome outsiders who might cheat us. I said the grove judges truth by deed. After that he signed. I’ll draw up the list of things we need as we prepare for the coming year.”

“Thank you,” Cordellia said. “When dusk comes, ring the resting bell. The meal will be ready by then.”

She began to appreciate what Tom had done as the day became longer. So many times she had cursed the man who trained her in the Faction. Yet it was his lessons that she taught now. His patience seemed impossible, and how he adjusted his approach for each person was a gift.

Archers who were practicing each struggled with something different. One was tense and needed to learn to relax. Another stood off-balance, needing just a slight adjustment in their stance to be anchored. She adjusted grips, tweaked fingers, rotated heads, and fixed hips. None complained as she told stories and shared of her experience with her friends.  Soon they were all well on their way to learning a skill that would keep their land safe while helping them grow stronger in dungeons.

Conflicts occasionally arose, and she posed leading questions, allowing those involved to see the answer without being given it. Conflict turned into collaboration and those who were nearby saw the importance of a calm mind.

The bells chimed and her people set down the tools and weapons they had been working with. Laughter filled the air as they gathered together, large pots filled with stew hinting at the goodness to come as the aroma reached them.  Cordellia joined a small group at a table carved from a large tree's root. Six different elves, each with a different desire, all laughing and discussing the things they had learned.

Silence had been her welcome when she came, but soon their wide eyes relaxed and she spoke with them about family.  Each of them nodded, hearing the importance of it. 

“A bond is more than blood. It is more than race. Find bonds worthy to intertwine your own life with and you will find a purpose and joy above anything else.”

“And what about you, Mother Cordellia? Have you found someone to intertwine your life with?”

The young guardian’s question was sincere and her gaze showed a hunger for the truth.

Cordellia took a deep breath and let it out slowly, setting down the warm bread she was about to eat.

“I have… Once I thought I needed something others I saw had. I forced it, was reckless and allowed myself to be drawn in. There was betrayal and hurt. Pain like you wouldn’t ever want to know.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek as Cordellia looked upward.

“Yet in that moment, when I was at my worst, the cord I had ignored, or thought I could never be part of came. They sought me out, brought me home, wound themselves around me, not letting me be alone anymore. I have a family. The other world champions… I guess even the demon Sog, is my family.”

She chuckled and winked at the last statement, wiping the wayward tear away.

“I… I’m sorry for asking and reminding you of the pain.”

Cordellia reached out and grabbed the woman’s hand.

“We are unable to appreciate the joy we have if there has never been pain. I pray your pain is small, and your joy is beyond measure.”

As dusk came and lanterns glowed throughout the forest floor and in the canopy where homes were set, the soft sound of music drifted through the air.  Flutes and drums set a gentle tune. Some couples moved in small circles, holding the other close. Children ran and played, one even offering her a flower that she had tucked behind her ear.

She moved to the river, standing there, looking at the reflection of the night sky off of it. A presence came, she felt them approach and expecting her herald, Cordellia turned, finding the mage she had helped with sigils behind her.

“For you,” he said. “You guided us.”

She smiled and took the honey cake he offered. Its top was dusted in a silver sugar.

“Share the rest with your circle and thank you.”

He smiled and bowed, jogging back to the others.

Cordellia took a bite, the sweetness of it washing over her tongue. It brought back memories of meals in the tower. Sometimes, they had been nothing to remember, others had been great moments, shared with four people she trusted her life with. Sometimes there had been shadows she thought, but Cordellia realized now the only shadows that had been there were ones she had created.

She laughed, gazing at the grove before her. There were no shadows there, only life.

All over this new world was life and hope. Somewher,e Max was training his people. Sog was doing whatever demons did. Batrire and Fowl were probably making gross noises before their people and a silver dragon was with his own.

And Tanila… her friend and the princess she had been afraid of for so long was probably holding Miranna. Her friend had told her that she would be this child’s aunt. That was a fire that provided joy and cast out every shadow that tried to pull her down.

Smiling, Cordellia made her way back to the grove. She wouldn’t stand here alone, because she would never be alone.