Tales of Ardia: A Key of Destiny

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.

But Tholien was not yet aware the elven Queen had disappeared. He was swimming in the Pool of Mayein at the base of the Great Falls. For nearly an hour he had been floating in the cool water, clearing his mind and soothing his senses. It wasn’t an unusual thing for an elf to do, but Tholien did it more frequently than others on account of his condition. For the waters in the Pool of Mayein had a restorative effect on those who immersed themselves regularly.

His peace had been interrupted, however, when all of a sudden the current changed and he was being sucked toward the cascade of water. Wrenching upright, he stared in amazement as the foaming white of the crashing torrent was smoothed clear. The Amatarri River was flowing up the cliffside! And it was trying to drag him with it!

The young elf dove under the surface, his silver hair fanning out behind him. Employing quick strong strokes, he maneuvered to the edge of the pool. With nimble movements he easily hoisted himself out of the water into the brisk morning air. Then he climbed up a ledge of stones to survey the phenomenon. The flurry of movement did not cause him any strain, for the condition that afflicted him was not of the body but of the mind. Consequently, his ability to harness magic was impaired.

Such an imperfection would be hard for any elf to bear, but he wasn’t just any elf. He was a Candidate. Many believed he shouldn’t be. He suspected his own father considered it to be a mistake. But he had been born during the year of Naphia’s Comet like all the other Candidates and to revoke his status would show a lack of faith in Vormen’s sovereignty. So he remained a Candidate though no one legitimately considered the possibility of him becoming the Queen’s successor. In truth, not even Tholien could imagine such a thing.

As he watched the unnatural movement of the river he wondered if this had something to do with The Selection? Surely it must! And that meant he should hurry to the Hall of the Elders at once!

Tholien slipped back into his dry tunic and ran toward the city. Red and gold leaves fluttered about his face as he darted against autumn breeze. The beautiful citadel was nestled between the vast stretches of the Alvathorn Forest and the Upper Range of the Tethereen Mountains. Views of the nearest peaks could be glimpsed above the stone towers. Swift as a deer he raced, first up winding paths and staircases, then through stonework galleries and finally across garden courtyards.

When he arrived in the Hall of the Elders the three Lords of the elven council and the six other candidates were already assembled and engaged in discussion. Other than Queen Hyanna herself, it appeared Tholien was the last arrival. No gaze was even cast in his direction as he approached the long table at which the others sat.

“...but why this sudden departure? And why did she go alone?” Lord Doniri asked.

“We know the flame of the Myrin Stars has been growing dim,” said Lord Tharin. “And so did the Queen. She is not blind and she feels the coldness growing in her veins. If Vormen had not yet shown her the Successor she knew she must go to the North Tower.”

Tholien and every elf in Nephtaria had noticed the lights that lit the city at night no longer burned as bright. The magic flames were sustained by the Queen’s power and as she faded so did they. Vormen had gifted elves with longer lives than the other noble races, a thousand years if not cut short by blade or disaster. And Queen Hyanna had seen a thousand and three.

“But that does not explain why she abandoned her guard,” Lord Doniri declared. “There’s no reason she could not have been escorted there and back with her safety ensured.”

“Her instructions are clear,” Lord Tharin asserted. “The candidates are to go to the North Tower. And only them.”

“Well let us hope she does not pass beyond before they reach her,” Lord Doniri said. “No one but the queen can travel to the North Tower by magic and it is a two day’s journey by foot.”

“We can use the river,” Tholien offered.

No one had looked at him upon his entrance, but now every eye was focused on him, some with hints of amusement, others with disgust.

“Does your son have any sense, Tharin?” Lord Doniri asked. “Surely even with his limitations the youth would have noticed the river flows south.”

Tholien looked at his father’s face and wished he saw some flicker of affection or support, but Lord Tharin’s countenance was rigid as stone. So Tholien cleared his throat to explain himself, “The river usually flows south, but it’s moving backwards. Something is drawing it north.”

For a moment there was silence.

Finally Lord Calond, always the most reserved of the three, spoke with authority, “It must be her. She’s the only one with magic strong enough. But time is running out. The Candidates must leave immediately.”

***

Tholien and the six other candidates prepared to set sail from a landing north of the Great Falls. From there they would travel north on the backwards flowing river.

Lord Doniri’s son, Arolas took the lead, as he usually did. Most elves were not out-rightly condescending toward Tholien, but Arolas was the exception. He seemed to take it as a personal affront that Tholien was a Candidate alongside him.

“Do not delay us in any way,” Arolas ordered as they boarded the ship.

So Tholien did his best not to attract any unwanted attention and sat at the back of the narrow watercraft. He rowed when Arolas ordered it and sat quietly watching the flame colored trees drift past when they rested. This would all be over soon. If the Queen was at the North Tower she might already know by now which Candidate would be the next elven king or queen. Tholien and the others who were not chosen could finally start living their own lives away from the Hall of the Elders. They could even leave Nephtaria if they so desired, though Tholien doubted any but he would find such a prospect alluring.

They sailed into the afternoon until they reached the dock that connected to the northern road. After securing their ship they began to trek one by one down the path toward the North Tower.

As they marched a fleck of gold caught Tholien’s eye. There was a key laying among the brown decaying leaves on the side of the road. He crouched and took the key in his hand.

All at once his vision went black and then suddenly the face of Queen Hyanna was before him. “Come to me at the twelfth hour, Tholien son of Tharin. Come alone.” As quickly as it had appeared the vision vanished as did the queen’s voice.

“Keep up,” Arolas called back with disdain. “Stop digging in the dirt!”

Tholien peered up to see the other candidates staring at him from farther up the trail. He quickly stood and sprinted to catch up while discreetly slipping the key into his pocket.

It was nearly nightfall when they reached the North Tower. It stood like a single candle against the purple twilight. The tower had once served as an outpost during the reign of the first elven king thousands of years ago. But since that time it had come to serve a different purpose. It was where elven rulers could commune with Vormen.

Arolas strode forward confidently and pulled at the entry door’s handle. It didn’t budge.

Tholien instinctively touched his fingers to the outline of the key through the fabric of his pocket.

Arolas called out, “Queen Hyanna! It is us, the Candidates! We have arrived just as you’ve requested.”

There was no reply.

“Perhaps she is having a vision and cannot hear us,” Tholien suggested.

Arolas walked past Tholien dismissively. “Let’s build a fire. We’ll wait until morning and if the Queen does not make herself known, we’ll force our way in.”

They set about gathering some wood as the sky grew dark.

Once they had arranged the wood, Arolas grabbed Tholien by the shoulder. “How about you get the fire started for us? Wouldn’t be too much trouble for you, would it?”

Another candidate tried to interject but Arolas silenced them and said, “Every other elf here could light a fire by their fifth winter. Surely it shouldn’t be a challenge for you, Tholien. Come on, show us you’re not an invalid.”

Tholien knelt by the heap of wood, feeling nervousness rise in his chest. He held out his hands and closed his eyes. He began to summon the energy, he felt the flow of magic in his veins. It was working. But then he began to tremble. He couldn’t direct the energy where he wanted it to go. It was dissipating. Opening his eyes, he saw a faint puff of smoke evaporating into the sky.

“I thought as much,” Arolas sneered. “You are a disgrace to elven folk.” He waved his hand and the wood burst into flames.

Tholien felt his face flush with embarrassment. He stood and backed away from the fire. He was humiliated. And he was angry. Why would Vormen curse him so? Even after soaking the Pool of Mayein day after day he couldn’t even start a simple fire. Arolas was right, he was a disgrace. He lowered himself to the ground several feet from where the others gathered to warm themselves. Perhaps it would be best for him to depart now. He could travel south, far south, to distant Ardian kingdoms where no one knew his name. He could slip away. No one would try and stop him.

But then he remembered his vision. He wondered if it was some kind of mistake, maybe the key was meant for someone else? But no that couldn’t be, the Queen had addressed him by name. Perhaps she’d seen a vision that showed he truly was not a Candidate and would send him on his way. He had a hard time envisioning there to be any other cause for the Queen to demand a private meeting with him. So he would stay just to meet with her. In a few hours he might learn his fate and finally be free.

***

As the twelfth hour arrived Tholien headed into the trees as if he were going to relieve himself. He didn’t want to attract the attention of the Candidate on watch duty. But then he circled around the tower, stealthily twisted the key in the lock, and slipped through the door.

The pale light of Myrin Stars lit a twisting staircase. Tholien began to climb, his quiet footsteps echoing faintly in the silence.

When he reached the top he found himself in a large open room with walls like the surface of still water. His reflection stared back at him from every direction. But his reflection wasn’t the only pair of eyes that met his. Queen Hyanna stood in the center of the room, her long silver hair seemed to glow and her ancient eyes glistened.

“Welcome, Tholien, son of Tharin,” she said, her voice smooth but strong.

“Your majesty,” Tholien said as he bowed his head.

“Tell me, young elf, what do you see when you look into these walls?” the queen asked.

“Pardon me?”

“What do you see in the mirrors?”

“Myself. And you, my queen.”

The queen nodded. “I see the two of us as well. And I also see other faces, the kings and queens of the past. It is through them that Vormen has spoken with me and shown me what will unfold. You have had great difficulty in this life, Tholien. The path Vormen has given you is not an easy one. And it will soon grow even more difficult.”

“You’ve had a vision of my future?” Tholien asked incredulously.

“Indeed, for you are my successor, Tholien, son of Tharin.”

Tholien was speechless. How could this be? He couldn’t be an elven king. All he wanted was to disappear from the elven kingdom, not lead it!

He cried out, “There must be some mistake. I am weak. I am broken. I am no king.” He hung his head and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Queen Hyanna took his face in her hands. Her touch was gentle as she lifted his chin and peered into his eyes. “The time is coming, Tholien, when a great shadow of evil will threaten not only the elves but all the noble races. Victory will be won but at a high cost. And in the end magic will not flow freely as it does now. You have learned to do without magic and it will be you who teaches our kind a greater source of strength that will take its place.”

“But how?" Tholien asked in disbelief. "They will never accept me as king!”

“They will in time, but what you say is true," Queen Hyanna stated. "The path forward is not a straight one. You are my successor, the true elven king, but another will steal your throne for himself until the day when you reclaim it.”

Tholien shook his head. “I never desired this. Why couldn’t it be someone else?”

Queen Hyanna placed her hand on his chest, directly above his heart. “You are not the first to ask such a question and you will not be the last. Because you did not desire the throne you have become the ideal Candidate to sit upon it. Take heart, for this is your destiny. The freedom that you once sought is a false one. The only true freedom is found in doing your duty with honor. Anything less ensnares the soul in a prison worse than any that can confine the body. You do not see yourself as a king, but one day you will. As will all of our people. Now look again at the mirrors, tell me, what do you see?”

Tholien looked around. It seemed as though nothing had changed. But then he noticed forms taking shape in the mirrored walls. Elven kings and queens of old. Their eyes looking upon him with gazes he was not accustomed to, ones of pride and respect.

He looked back at Queen Hyanna. “I see them too.”

She smiled and declared, “Hail, Tholien, King of the Elves.”

Author’s Note: This story takes place in a fantasy world I built for a novel I’m querying. I have three other stories that take place in the realm of Ardia on Vocal. They are all meant to be read as stand alone pieces if you're interested in reading more!