The Tower: Part I

I passed him in the market place this morning. We didn't speak; in fact, we haven't spoken in years. At first it was because of being watched so closely by so many people. Later, as time passed, it became too awkward. But today of all days, when our paths crossed in the narrow passage between the merchants' booths, our eyes met, and I wanted so much to tell him what I've done, to bridge the years of silence.

Then the flow of the crowd blocked our view of each other, and when I pushed through, he was gone.

I left the village, and set out once more for the woods.

********

"Skies, it's tall!"

A half-day's walk outside the village, two boys stood at the edge of the woods and stared in awe at a ruined tower. It had been there longer than any human had ever walked the land, a solitary relic of the vanished elven rulers from an age before.

"Dare you to go inside, Eryl!" Beran, the taller of the two, nudged his companion with an elbow to the ribs. "I'll race you to the top, slowpoke!" And before Eryl could reason as he always did when his friend posed some wild adventure, Beran dashed across the meadow and into the open entrance to the building, leaving the huntsman's son to follow.

Inside was not as dark as they might have thought, the stairwell being lined every few yards by small windows looking out on the woods and field. It wound all about the inner wall of the tower, and, thought Eryl, must have given archers an advantage in defense. But another shout from Beran brought his attention back to the race. His friend had stopped short, the stairs having ended in a circular room that took up the entire top of the tower.

"Look at all this, Eryl! Have you ever seen the like?" The two boys spun around, eyes wide at the shelves of books that surrounded them. The books were bound in sturdy leather, a strange, elegant script on the spines of each, no doubt titles written in the forgotten elven tongue. But what most intrigued Beran was the harpcase hanging from a peg on the wall opposite the stairs. His fingers nearly itched to run over the strings of an elven harp, and he started across the room.

As he took his second step, there was a sound of chimes, and a vision of a beautiful woman appeared before the boys, and a voice spoke to them in a fluid language neither had ever heard before, but that both nevertheless somehow understood.

"Greetings and be welcome to hearth and home. The books you see around you are a record of all my people achieved under this sun. Feel free to learn what you can from them. Perhaps when and if our peoples meet again, the knowledge you gain here will help it be at last in peace and not war. Just open any book. You will be able to read it."

The boys stared at each other as the woman faded from view. Then Eryl walked over to the nearest shelf, took out a volume, and opened it to a random page. He looked at Beran, then down at the page, and he began to read. "'The Folk of the Sithryn are ruled by the Great Houses, and these are their names and devices...'. He laughed and shut the book. "Beran, do you know what this means?"

But Beran was already opening the harp case, his eyes alight at what he found within it.

********

"We have to be careful! If it ever gets out what we've been about these past months, everything will be ruined!"

Eryl pounded the table and then turned away, throwing his arms up frustration. "It is like talking to a stone wall, I swear it is with you, Beran! We can't risk it!"

His friend nodded in his maddening way. He gave the elven harp a final wipe with the soft cloth he used to polish its frame and then set it away before resuming what was now almost a daily argument. "There are others who I think can be trusted: Joffry, for one, and his sister for another. It isn't right to keep this all to ourselves. We can get others who think like us! We could change everything, make things better, not ruin! You spend too much time reading everything you can, Eryl! You have to dream too!" He slapped his friend's shoulder, then started down the steps. "Come on, we better hurry! It will be dark soon."

For a minute Eryl simply stood there, looking about as he had on that first day they'd discovered this place. Then he squared his shoulders, and followed.

********

They came for me in the night, a murmur of harsh voices and a bright lantern held in my face jolting me awake. My father stood there grim-faced as the priest and his acolyte hauled me out of the house before a crowd of townsmen. The priest thrust his face close to mine; I remember his breath reeked.

"Your friend confessed all. You've been seeking the elven magic, the two of you, haven't you?"

And before I could gather my sleep-dulled wits, they pushed him on the ground before me, tears shining on his face from the torchlight. He said nothing, merely looked at me and then turned away.

There was no use in denial. "Yes," I said, and readied myself for what was to follow.

We were thrashed, soundly, and made to fast and keep night vigil in the temple for over a year, cleansing our souls with prayer under the watchful eyes of the priest. As for the tower, our parents led the townsfolk in its destruction after burning whatever they could find within its graceful walls. When they were done, the meadow was strewn with stones, for none were willing to haul them away to use in building, fearful of the elven taint.

The two of us, we never spoke again.

********

And so I left the village this morning for the last time, once more bound for that meadow and what remained. Two hundred yards from the tower's remnants, I stopped at the edge of the woods, moved a small rock, and pulled at a ring set into the ground. The door swung up and open as smoothly as it had the first time I used it, and I drew out the last pack of books I'd stored here. My eyes wandered over to the battered harp case.

Beran had been right about dreaming. But one can be practical and still dream. I began spiriting books out of the tower and hiding them here when he spoke of letting others know what we had found, against the chance it turned out badly. Well, it had. But I am a grown man now, and these past few years I'd made my plans carefully.

There are lands to the west of here, places where the elves are recalled with kinder words, and that is where I shall take the books I hid here. But the harp, the harp I shall leave here in safety.

It is Beran's.

Gods willing, someday I will be able to place it back into his hands, and tell him his dreams live on.