“To confront the heart of darkness, now, all we have is our weakness. No longer can we wield the light as a weapon. It is the light itself, alone, far beyond us, upon which we must rely for deliverance and salvation.” Saying this, Eldárien looks tenderly at his sister as if he can still clearly discern the contours of her face, as if he is impressing her beauty and her figure on his inmost being, even though all he sees with his bodily eyes is the silhouette of her form in the blackness.
“The light slips from my grasp and from my searching eyes,” Elmáriyë replies sorrowfully, squeezing his hand ever so gently. “My heart is not big enough to hold the two together, to see and to rejoice in the light and also at the same moment to hurt in the blindness of the darkness. I am shattered, and I am lost.”
“You are shattered, my dear sister, but you are not lost,” says Eldárien. “Even if you cannot see the light nor span the distance that must be crossed, only allow the Love within you to do what you cannot.”
“If that is how it must be…how it must be to walk this path before us, then so be it. Let us move forward, for the sake of our people and our friends.”
The ancient steps climb before them, too high now for the accumulation of snow that has fallen lower in the valleys and plains. Instead they are slick and hard in the stark coldness, and broken in many places and crumbling with the passage of time. Brother and sister ascend, their flesh straining with every step to progress forward as the assault on their minds continues unabated, growing in intensity as they draw nearer to the citadel that stands before them upon the crest of the mountain slope.
When they at last come to the entrance to the citadel, they find themselves standing in what once must have been a wide lawn, though it is now overgrown with aged trees and high-altitude vegetation. Yet they do not linger here, but draw near without hesitation to the door, which, to their startled surprise, they find hanging open before them, a gaping maw or a portal into the darkness. And that is all that they can see beyond: sheer blackness.
And they enter, with no more than a hair’s breadth of preparation, for the waiting shall only make it more difficult to step forward, to plunge into the blackness and to ascend, to ascend to where the heart of darkness lies, simultaneously calling them and resisting them. When they have entered, they see that the citadel is black with the same blackness that they beheld from without, and yet they are able to sense the high walls and the vaulted ceiling above them, even if no light shines from any source.
And complete silence, the oppressive silence of loss and not the abundant silence of life, fills and saturates the citadel like a fever, like a disease that inundates the air and seeps from the walls and the floor, and that emerges from the very air itself. And this silence is all that they encounter. There are no vrû’ádach, no great eötenga, no dragons, no forges. There is only silence and the overwhelming sense of death and loss, a death and loss so deep and so wide that it is hardly possible to conceive of what this citadel once was in the days of its glory, when it was filled with the light, compassion, and wisdom of a righteous king.
In the darkness the halls are like a maze, and the two siblings wander about lost, looking for some way to draw near to the heart of darkness that they sense but which remains just beyond their reach. Even as they come what seems to be a large spiral staircase winding up at the center of a spacious, domed chamber, Elmáriyë stops.
“Brother, are you here?” comes her voice to Eldárien’s side, nestled as she is indeed against his breast, though it sounds frail, as if echoing across a great distance.
“I am here,” he replies.
“Brother?” She turns her face to look at him as if she has forgotten what it is to need light to see through the darkness. “I feel so alone. Please do not leave me. Please, I cannot go further on my own.”
“I am here, sister, I am here,” he says, reaching out and touching her cheek. Her flesh is hot as though fevered, and sweat beads upon her face.
“Is that you…? Yes, it must be you,” she whimpers. “But why can I not see you, hear you, feel you?”
“It is I,” affirms Eldárien gently, pressing her body into his own as if their proximity could break through the dark clouds enshrouding her.
“Is that you…Ta? Are you here?” she whispers, continuing her mysterious dialogue. “I want you. I need you. Stay with me. Draw me to you.”
Understanding now, Eldárien guides her forward and begins to ascend the spiral stair. She walks docilely at his side like a little child lost and afraid of the dark, letting herself be guided where she cannot go on her own.
They take the stair and follow it up, winding and encircling itself as it climbs without railing to the high domed ceiling and beyond it, jutting out above the roof of the citadel as the tallest turret. When they come to the top, they find themselves emerging as through the floor into another chamber, perhaps twenty feet across. It is a circular room built around the stairway that they have just climbed, surrounding it like a crown surrounds a head. The first thing that becomes evident as they step into this room is the eerie light that plays upon the walls. No…it is not light, and neither are they walls.
Eldárien looks around and realizes that he is gazing into numerous windows that cover the entire circumference of the circle, the entirety of the walls from floor to ceiling with the exception of the vertical joints connecting the panel of one window to the panel of another. And these windows are not of transparent glass, gazing out into the darkness. They appear to be of crystal like diamond, though now dark and murky, as if filled with black smoke. But within their depths play ghostly images, as if a rehearsal of some dark deeds of the past or some regrets never shared and surrendered, which have locked the figures in a ceaseless cycle of shame and a burden that never moves beyond the self to another. But, Eldárien realizes, that is exactly what they are. As if giving some visible manifestation to what he and Elmáriyë feel, these images—polluting what must once have been a chamber of utter, crystalline light, gazing forth with wide-seeing windows upon a land bathed in light—are now the horrors of all the things that hurt human hearts and stir in them terror, loss, and despair.
The specters of death, the memories of evil and infidelity to the light, deeds blacker than the blackest night, emerge to meet them, playing upon the dark crystal, and they whisper in their ears, penetrating their minds and hearts, with thousands upon thousands of voices crying out in anguish, wailing in hopelessness, moaning in pain. And among the many scenes that unfold before them, they see their own selves, too, their own reflections looking back at them, but distorted and out of proportion, showing only the evil and ugliness that they have done, and painting their features black and abhorrent.
Elmáriyë takes a step forward, raising her hands as if to challenge a foe, and looks about the chamber, her eyes appearing to take in all the details that are here presented before her. Then she says, “Where are you, crafter of wickedness and fashioner of evil? Where are you, petty lord of darkness?” Her voice vibrates with emotion, as if being torn in two in this moment, as is her heart itself. Then, a moment later, Eldárien feels her gaze rest upon him, even though she does not turn to face him. “Stay with me,” she whispers, “stay with me.”
And then, as if by some mysterious summons, the ghostly images, the dark portrayals, the lingering memories of shame and evil detach themselves from the crystal surrounding them, and stream forth, like smoke blown on a strong wind, and assail Eldárien and Elmáriyë, invading their minds and crushing their hearts. Bracing themselves against the impact, they remain standing, though the air is knocked from their lungs and their flesh trembles. And for a long, anguishing period—neither knows how long it is—the evil that they have beheld externally surges into them and through them, carving its way violently through their interior consciousness, joined together again now as it had been in the absorbing of the dragon’s darkness, and yet even more completely. And what they absorb now, what they bear, is so much more. And even as they bear it, it slips beyond them, as if they are only conduits for it to escape from the place in which it has been imprisoned by the artificer of this terrible war, channeled anew to the space to which it is meant to flow, free and unhindered.
And then, in a moment of deepest insight, Eldárien sees a blazing light of utmost intensity burning at the center of his consciousness like the first star in a black firmament or like the sun through stormy clouds: he understands what must happen. In the next moment the flash of light is gone, but the certainty lingers. He turns to look at Elmáriyë who stands before him, but this is not truly necessary, for their hearts are so conjoined now that he sees her and is aware of her in the communication of the spirit with perfect and crystalline clarity. And it is there that their hearts both turn to face one another, and turn together toward the unseen light that lies beyond the darkness, turn in the gesture of oblation to offer the sacrifice that must be offered to break the stranglehold of darkness upon the people of Telmérion.
The sacrifice must be twofold, though only one: both death and life, two sides of the same mystery, though giving way to endless life beyond all death. Both must live, for they are loved and created for life; and yet both must die, to carry on the mystery of life on both sides of death. And the promise of a kingdom of peace shall thus, and only thus, be fulfilled, by being grounded on a love both temporal and eternal, a love rooted in the beauty of the earth redeemed and a love fulfilled in the joy of eternity given, where all shadows shall pass away. Elmáriyë’s heart pleads, therefore, in the silent cry of its inmost aspiration, and Eldárien hears her as if his own inner voice: Let me go to him now. Let me go to him, carrying the darkness and anguish of our world, carrying the memories of the fallen, their guilt and their grief…and carrying you, my brother, too. But remain, remain in longing, in longing for him and in the vigilance of a heart in love, and return to our people. Carry the torch of this longing and this hope, this vigilance and this love, and become king of the entire nation, leading them anew in unity and harmony where before there was division, and in the ways of faith and love and hope where before there was ignorance, evil, and forgetfulness.
After this, her voice passes beyond sound, in a cry of the heart surpassing the confines of this life, and Eldárien hears it no more. He feels her being pulled away from him, and the sense of tearing is incredible, so deep and so personal that he feels as if he too shall perish under the impact. The darkness pierces her as firmly as a lance, as the jagged and merciless blade of a sword, and yet, in the very midst of the darkness, and burning at its heart, is a flame of purest light, and this light grows as it surges forward, penetrating and permeating her whole being until she has become utter light, and is held on all sides by light.
And then the darkness is broken. Or rather, it is channeled inward and upward, carried by the two frail human hearts who have surrendered to the light, and by the light itself in them and beyond them. This light carries forth all anguish and loss, all guilt and shame, all beauty and ugliness, into a presence in which alone it can be released and healed; yes, it carries it across the ages, across the wide expanse of time, from which emerges, radiant with light inconceivable, with beauty ineffable, with joy uncontainable and pure, peaceful and full of lightness and wonder undimmed, the one who is called Dawnbringer.
And then all has passed, and the darkness has fled away, and in a burst of brilliant color light floods in upon Eldárien’s senses, bathing his eyes in beholding, his flesh in consoling warmth, and his spirit in joy.