"Your suggestion was more right than you knew," Eldarien says to Hinding, making no effort to hide the tone of gratitude in his voice. Their eyes lock for a moment, only to be torn apart by the distraction caused by another echoing jolt of energy and sound reverberating from the gate as it is battered by the largest of the eötenga. "But the answer given is not a pleasing one," continues Eldarien, making sure his words are loud enough to be heard by Rorlain and Senfyr also. "There is no commander here whom we may slay in order to bring this attack to conclusion. We have no choice but to eliminate every last one of our attackers. But once they are slain, they need trouble us no more for the present. If only we can hold them off, there is hope of restoring peace yet."
"And yet is there hope of holding them off?" Senfyr rejoins, his voice laced with doubt. "One of the larger of these beasts is worth thirty men."
"Aye, that is true," Rorlain accedes, "and yet, with the power of the light, one man may be worth thirty druadach, and even a good number of the greater eötenga, provided we can gain an advantage."
"But what advantage could we possibly gain?" Senfyr asks.
"It is our city," interjects Hinding. "So let us use it for our purposes. We have little time, however. The gate shall not hold much longer." Then turning directly to Eldarien and Rorlain, he says, "The two of you can still channel that burning light into the weapons of our army?" When they have nodded in agreement, he continues, "Then I have a plan, to be put in effect immediately. Let us post as many archers as we can upon the roofs of the houses or in the watchtowers. Also, let us line the edge of the highest level of the city with men who may rain down arrows and javelins on our enemy. If we cannot overcome them in direct conflict, let us use the light to our advantage by piercing them with lesser weapons bearing a greater power."
"That is a good plan," agrees Rorlain. "But what about the people of the city? Many have taken refuge on this level of the city. There is not enough space for all of them close to the citadel."
"If it comes to it, it shall be up to our best fighters to defend them," replies Hinding. "But we must let our archers know also to aim most especially to prevent the houses being breached."
Just as these words have left Hinding's mouth, there is a high splitting sound and the gate near which they stand gives way beneath the blows of a massive troll-like eöten.
"Senfyr, put my words into effect immediately!" cries Hinding, raising his sword and turning toward the breach. "We shall hold them here as long as we can."
There is not a single instant for any further deliberation, as eötenga of many shapes and sizes now rush through the broken gate, pushing back the vanguard that has awaited them. Hinding fearlessly steps to the front of the line of soldiers and engages directly with the enemy, his sword hewing down one creature after another. Rorlain and Eldarien are not far behind him, though their attention is always divided, on the one hand by the melee combat in which they are fiercely engaged, and on the other hand by the effort of continually giving space for the light to pour through them and into the weapons of their allies. The strain weighs heavily upon both of them and they feel weakness gripping their bodies more and more; and yet in the same manner they feel a mysterious strength surging up from the center of their being and flowing through them along with the very light that they share. As a person experiences a new surge of energy at the furthest limits of exhaustion and fatigue, so in a deeper way—and from a different source—the two light-bearers experience now a power within them that is far beyond their own strength, sustaining them even as they sustain the army that relies upon them.
Due to the sheer number of the eötenga pouring forth through the rift, it is very difficult to restrain them in order to give Senfyr the necessary time to set in motion their plan of defense. But they fight to the utmost of their ability—Hinding like a wild tempest sweeping against the creatures of darkness, and Eldarien and Rorlain at his side, hacking left and right with blades blazing—and the soldiers around them take heart as they behold their leaders aflame with such energetic resolve.
Yet even as they fight, the company of soldiers is gradually pushed back further from the gate and to the center of the city. The sheer size of many of the eötenga necessitates this, as it is impossible to remain alive against their onslaught without keeping a wide berth between them and the company of soldiers, and to engage them from this distance. Eventually Rorlain slips his axe back into his belt and takes his bow from his back, loosing arrows upon the enemy until they are all spent. Eldarien, on the other hand, remains always in the vanguard of the forces, with Hinding not far from him, though his arms ache from the continuous swordplay, and indeed his whole body teeters on the brink of collapse. But as he looks around, he sees that the soldiers of the guard are in the same position. Their foe, however, assails them with numbers that appear endless, and when one creature is hewn down another one rises to take its place. The druadach pose less threat, however, than the larger beasts, some in the misshapen forms of men—trolls—and some a bizarre mixture of the parts of animals forged by darkness into new and unnatural creatures.
One eötenga in particular proves to be nearly unstoppable, striking down soldier after soldier who tries to stand in its path. It has a body the shape of a great bear and yet bears horns like a ram with which it seeks to gore its victims; but most dangerous of all are its six serpentine tails twisting in perpetual movement and striking out continually with jolts of biting electrum that brings instant death to all whom it touches. Dismayed at the sight of this beast, Eldarien calls to the men around him and urges them to retreat to a safe distance. Too many bodies lie burned and broken against the earth in its path to allow the men to engage it in direct combat any longer.
"Archers!" Eldarien then cries, gesturing with his hand toward the beast. "Take it down!"
A flurry of arrows from the surrounding roofs rains down upon it, and yet it hardly flinches, treating the arrows—even blazing with holy light—as no more than irritating pin-pricks.
About a dozen yards to his right, Hinding calls to Eldarien, and says, "Its hide is too thick for arrows!"
"But it is impossible to get close enough to strike it," Eldarien replies, though his words fade away even as he speaks them, voiced more to himself than to anyone else.
With a roar the beast bounds toward him, tails lashing out and teeth bared in fury. His heart racing in his breast, Eldarien casts his gaze about looking for some way to stop the creature, and his eyes fall upon a long-shafted spear with a wide and heavy blade clutched still in the hands of a dead soldier. He sweeps down and picks it up in his left hand and, just as the beast leaps into the air toward him, he throws it with all of his strength. With hardly a second before the beast lands upon him and its tails bring him death, the spear pierces deep into its heart. In a brilliant flash of bluish light, it dissolves into nothingness and is gone. Eldarien then sinks to the ground in exhaustion and, even as the rest of the eötenga surge toward him, he finds it impossible to rise.
But a figure steps between him and the oncoming enemy, his axe at the ready. With his other hand, Rorlain reaches out for Eldarien, and says, "Let me help you up."
But as soon as Eldarien is to his feet, and Rorlain has hewn down the first few of the oncoming eötenga, they are forced to retreat another twenty or thirty yards, another rain of arrows allowing them the space to escape. With this retreat they join with the full force of the city guard, with Senfyr now at their head, his task of gathering and stationing the archers complete. Looking about for a moment, they realize that they can no longer see Hinding and his company.
"Where is Hinding?" Rorlain asks.
"His company must have been forced down a different street," answers Eldarien, leaning on his friend as he tries to regain his strength. "I am wearying, Rorlain, I am wearying."
"Allow me to carry the load alone for a while," is Rorlain's tacit response. "I can channel the light still, so allow me to do it."
"It will be much harder without my assistance," retorts Eldarien.
"Let me try it nonetheless."
"...Very well." After this, Eldarien allows himself to step back into the company of soldiers behind him and to lean against the stone wall of a house. As much as he wants to fight, he knows that pushing forward in his condition now would only lead to his collapse. He bows his head and closes his eyes, trying to reach deep within himself in order to draw upon strength where his own fails, and where even the strength that had flowed within him before seems to be inadequate to the task of continuing when his fatigue has reached such a level of intensity.
Even as he focuses in this way, he is interrupted by the words of Senfyr, "What about Hinding? I fear for his company, separated from the rest."
"I…" Eldarien looks up and opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a sound that echoes across the sky above them, sending waves of terror into all alike. All know that sound, though they had hoped beyond hope never to hear it again.
"Until now it had only been taunting us," Senfyr says, his voice shaking, "picking us off little by little. Now it brings terror."
And he is right, as the sound of air whistling against the dragon's wings is followed with a burst of light as fire rains down upon the city in a steady stream from one side to the other, igniting soldiers and buildings alike.
"Get off the roofs! Get off the roofs!" Senfyr cries, rushing forward and calling out to all who can hear his voice. "Find whatever cover you can!"
Rorlain, rushing away and disappearing onto a side street, picks up Senfyr's words and relays them to others.
For his part, despite the fact that his flesh fails and his heart is choked with fear, Eldarien cries out, "Courage, men, courage! We have the light, and we have slain so many of their kind. There is hope yet that we may also stop this dragon." He knows that his words can hardly penetrate the heavy curtain of fear that falls upon the city even more now as the presence of the dragon is added to the blackness that already envelops all things and the violent assault that already presses upon them. But as afraid as he is, Eldarien believes his words, ignoring the seed of doubt that stirs within him. And because he believes, he must speak. "If we do not believe that we can defeat it, we have already lost!"
After these words he stumbles forward after Rorlain, seeking to join his friend in whatever he aims to do.
† † †
Despite the efforts of the soldiers of the guard, the upper city is now almost entirely overrun by the forces of darkness, and the druadach have begun to batter and break the doors to the houses and to enter into them, their wicked intent sated only with the slaughter of all in the city, from the strongest to the weakest, from the oldest man to the youngest child, from the rugged body of the warrior to the innocent body of the maiden.
Seeing this, Senfyr calls forth the courage of the men who stand at his side, "For the safety of our people, for our families, our friends, and those with whom we have shared life, let us find in ourselves strength within weakness, and bravery amid fear. The enemy is great, but let our love be greater! And if death is to be our end this day, let it not be said that we stood idly by while our people were slaughtered. Let it be said rather that we met them face to face with the courage of champions."
The men raise their weapons in the air and echo a war cry in response to Senfyr's words, clinging to courage even as the dragon makes another pass over the city, flames streaming from its mouth all the while. And then they rush forward, a unified wall of weapons cutting its way back into the center of the city, hearts joined together in an unexpected unity of vision and purpose, and fighting with a renewed vigor, precisely because of their solidarity in a shared fate. Whenever they reach a house with a battered door, a few soldiers break from the company and enter it, while the rest of the company continues on, keeping its impetuous charge, knowing that it is their only remaining advantage against the enemy that has flooded the streets of their city.
A few streets over, Elmariyë stands by the doorway of a two-story house while eötenga bash against the door from without. A handful of men and women at her side carry weapons, awaiting the breach with failing hearts. Unsheathing a long dagger from a scabbard at her waist, Elmariyë draws in a deep breath, though her chest is constricted and her lungs constrained. For a moment the fear of death vibrates through her being like a violent wind rippling through the trees of a forest, and her mind immediately goes to all those whom she loves. She thinks of her adoptive parents and her siblings, who live still, she hopes, in the peace of their hamlet cradled in the security of the mountains, longing and praying for her safe return; she thinks of those in the temple of Niraniel with whom she had shared daily life, and who had weathered the assault on Ristfand with ardent devotion and tender care; but she thinks especially of her four traveling companions, to whom she has been bound more deeply than she has been bound to anyone else. She thinks of Rorlain and of Cirien, of Tilliana and of her brother, Eldarien. And in this moment all that she wants to do is to hold them close and never let go. Yes, face to face with death, she does not wish to let go, to leave them behind and to behold them, touch them, and love them no longer in this life. She has loved too deeply to depart without the going tearing her heart with grief at the farewell, and she has grown too close—the roots of her own heart and life interlacing with those of others—for them to be extracted without tearing.
But then Elmariyë looks into the eyes of those who stand around her, and she sees the fear in their gazes, but also the resolve. She sees the grief at the assault on their city and the crushing of so much that is precious to them, but she also sees the glimmer of light and hope that lives in every heart, however desperate, however lost, longing for a love that lasts beyond death and a home that is secure even when all else crumbles—a glimmer of light that endures because placed within the human heart by One who is greater than the human heart, greater indeed than the entire universe.
"My friends," she says to those around her, her voice weak at first, but growing strong as she speaks, "fight to defend your home. Not the home that is a house of wood and stone, but the home that is woven of love, of the bonds of fellowship. These creatures seek to destroy our lives and to shatter our families, but let us resist them. Let us resist them. And yet take heart that, even when this life is shattered and the veil separating life from death is torn, a homeland still awaits us, which no violence can assail and no evil can destroy."
Even as the last words leave her lips, the door gives way and a horde of druadach flood into the room, their claws lashing out to kill. The room is filled with the shouts and screams of men, women, and children, some of whom stand against the oncoming enemy wielding what weapons they have, and some of whom retreat in fear, cowering behind furniture or trying to flee up the stairs even though the upper story is already over-full with those who have taken refuge in the house. Without delay Elmariyë calls upon the light within her—this light that she has felt flowing ceaselessly since the siege began, channeled by Eldarien and Rorlain—and she summons forth what measure she thinks necessary. It pours forth from her upraised palm, a shower of radiance meeting the incoming druadach head-on, and burning their flesh until nothing remains of them but wisps of ash that then, as if carried away by a hidden wind, disappear into nothingness.
"You saved us!" an elderly man to her side calls out.
"For now…" Elmariyë replies, stumbling in exhaustion from channeling the light, an act with which she is entirely unacquainted. It took almost everything she had to do it. But she says, "Help me to barricade the door again, before more seek to enter." Even as she speaks more druadach break off from the main company that fills the street outside and step into the house. She reaches for the light again, but she feels through it the faltering weakness of her companions, and her heart hesitates. Does drawing upon the light make it more difficult for them? Is she exhausting and weakening them even as they fight to defend the city and to channel the purging light into the weapons of the city guard? And does she have the strength herself for another channeling?
Yet as she turns and looks into the faces of the townspeople, these questions and uncertainties fade away. All that she knows is that their lives are threatened, and that she has the power to protect them. And even as the druadach collide with the people within the house, their weapons flailing, she unleashes the light again and the creatures dissolve. But immediately afterward she sinks to the earth and consciousness begins to slip away from her. The last thing she sees is three men and two women pushing a thick wooden table to the door and lifting it upright so as to block the entryway, and the gnarled hands of numerous druadach reaching around it, trying to claw their way through or to break the strength of the resistance that restrains their entry.
She awakes with her back to the wall and opens her eyes to see the worry-lined face of Tilliana looking down upon her.
"What—?"
"They were able to hold the druadach off for the present," Tilliana replies, answering her unfinished question. "But the roof of the house is on fire, and we have had to vacate the upper story. Soon we will need to flee into the streets."
Receiving this revelation, Elmariyë sighs, "From death into death… May it not be so."
"Indeed, may it not," says Tilliana, and then, extending her hand, she asks, "Are you alright? Are you able to rise? We need to go now."
"Yes. I am just fatigued," says Elmariyë, placing her hand in her friend's and allowing her to raise her up.
† † †
Eldarien sprints a dozen yards behind Rorlain, trying despite his weakness to keep up with him. The latter seems unaware of his presence as he scans the ground for fallen arrows whose shafts are still intact, and gathers them to replenish his empty quiver. In a matter of minutes Rorlain comes to the edge of the city, slaying all of the eötenga in his path, and he climbs the stairs to the high stone wall, taking three steps at a time. Then he knocks an arrow to the string of his bow and raises his eyes to the sky.
The dragon, Eldarien realizes. He seeks to slay the dragon.
Climbing the steps at a much slower pace, Eldarien joins his companion and stands at his side, his sword resting at the ready against his shoulder.
Without turning his gaze from the sky, Rorlain remarks softly, "My attention is divided, and is waning. It is difficult to push so strongly against the goad, and yet to continue at the same time to allow the light to flow through me into the weapons of our allies."
"Will you not allow me to bear a little of the weight?" Eldarien asks.
Rorlain does not reply for a moment, lost in thought, and then he says, "Wait for my word. I can bear it for now." Yet he sighs, and adds, "But I may need your help with the dragon."
"I would not allow you to face it alone even if you asked."
So the two men look out over the city together, awaiting the beast as it returns to blast the city again with its destructive breath. And the sight before them is one of horror and loss, as the black sky shrouded in the darkest mist contrasts with the bloody orange hue of a city on fire. The light of the flames allows them to see far across the city, and to discern the extent of the damage, even as this very light is frail and faltering before the darkness that engulfs everything more fully than the darkness of a moonless midnight. For while the darkness of earth's night gives way to the lights enkindled by man, whether the flames are for war or for celebration, for festival or for study, the darkness of the mist wraps itself around the light and assails it as if to devour and extinguish it.
"Here it comes!" cries Rorlain, as the figure of the dragon appears before them, swooping down low enough that its scaly reptilian underside glints dully in the light of the flames, as its broad, bat-like wings remain extended and motionless, keeping the fell beast in a smooth glide over the rooftops of the city. A guttural roar echoes from the dragon's throat as it calls forth the inferno that it bears within its bosom and looses it upon the city, not now upon the high roofs of the buildings but rather in the hollow of a wide street.
"No!" Eldarien shouts in anguish, seeing the torrent of flames cover both men and eötenga alike. "We need to bring it down!"
Rorlain raises his bow and both men together pour the light into the arrow knocked upon the string. As the dragon passes above them he looses it. There is a burst of light as the arrow strikes the dragon on its breast. But it seems to have no effect, and the creature flaps its wings again and soars up into the air until lost from sight.
"It will be coming around again," Rorlain breathes. "Could we summon more power? Its armor is too strong."
"I don't know…" sighs Eldarien. "Perhaps an arrow is not enough, either way."
"It is too high, and too fast, for me to trust my skill with a javelin," replies Rorlain. "I don't know any other way to stop it."
"Is there some way that we could force it to land and confront us directly?"
Rorlain thinks about this question for a moment, but all the while shakes his head. "I really don't think so…"
The dragon passes over the city two more times and each time they loose another arrow at it. The first time Rorlain misses, and the arrow flies too low and is lost in the darkness; the second time the arrow strikes the dragon's wing, in the very place where the skin is stretched thin and free of scales, and yet even here it fails to pierce and, deflected, falls to the earth. "Your shot was perfect," Eldarien remarks. "If anything was going to penetrate its armored flesh, it would have been that."
When the dragon ascends and circles for yet another pass, even though the city is already mostly engulfed in flames, Eldarien closes his eyes and plunges into thought and interior searching. In a flash, the vision returns to him in remembrance, and he sees anew with the eyes of his heart the path that he is to walk. Groping out with his heart, he seeks to lay hold of some hidden clarity or guidance concealed in this moment of insight, but it feels as if he is grasping nothing but empty air, and an answer does not come.
† † †
Elmariyë and Tilliana hasten into the streets of the city, the many people who had taken refuge in the house accompanying them. And to their dismay they see many townspeople already crowding the streets, all fleeing from the wreckage of the burning buildings. There are stray druadach assailing these people, though a handful of brave men and women with makeshift weapons are resisting them. The two women join them without hesitation. Tilliana wields a short sword that was given to her this very day at the commencement of the attack, when all alike were outfitted with any spare armament as the creatures of darkness poured from the gaping wound at the heart of the city. Elmariyë bears the dagger that she has carried from Ristfand, with a bow and quiver of arrows over her shoulder. For the moment she does not call upon the light again, fearing another collapse, but charges vigorously into the fray and plunges her dagger deep into the chest of a druadach who assails a young woman who cowers before it, trying to shield her infant child. And even as Elmariyë's blade pierces the creatures flesh, it flashes forth with bluish light not of her own channeling.
Turning back to Tilliana, she says, "They are getting much stronger."
Tilliana nods silently in response, joining her companion and looking at her for a moment, only to be interrupted by a druadach who draws near to her slashing its wicked claws wildly. Stumbling back with a fearful cry, Tilliana slashes her sword and parries the claws, though they continue to bear down upon her. Sinking to the ground she pulls back the sword for a moment, only then to thrust it forward beneath the reach of the druadach, embedding it deep into its thigh, in a space where two armored spines meet. The light blazes again and reduces the druadach to nothingness.
Elmariyë helps Tilliana to her feet and squeezes her hand for a moment in both comfort and gratitude, saying, "Let us play our part, as small as it may be."
"I...I fear for Eldarien and Rorlain," Tilliana replies, catching her breath and trying to still her heart from her confrontation with the druadach. "You say their strength has grown, but is not this gift born of poverty, and does it not flow through weakness? Yet I fear that they shall collapse under the strain."
Elmariyë casts her eyes down for a moment and mutters, "As do I." Then raising her head, she adds, "Let us try to locate them. Perhaps we may be of some assistance."
After a moment's hesitation, Tilliana replies, "I think I ought to stay here. I want to protect these people however I may; and even were I to find our companions, there is little that I could do. If anyone can help them, it is you."
"I… So be it," answers Elmariyë, a glimmer of love and fear in her eyes. "But please be careful."
To this, Tilliana simply bows her head in acknowledgment.
And so Elmariyë turns away and hastens down the streets, all the while opening wide her heart, listening for the reverberations of Eldarien's presence which could guide her to him. She has just begun to get a sense of his form, of the contours of his consciousness pressing against hers, when she is stopped by something that demands the entirety of her attention. Turning onto another street, she steps almost directly into the heart of a battle, the guards of the city and the creatures of darkness crashing against one another like two opposing currents or like thunderheads meeting in the sky and threatening to burst. However, the eötenga are much greater in number than the dwindling company of men, led by the man Hinding, whose face is bloodied and whose armor is scratched, even as he continues to wield his sword with adeptness and energy. Seeing Elmariyë, he cries out, "Get away, young lady! This is no place for you!"
Any further words exchanged between them are drowned out by the vicious onslaught of the eötenga as they press forward against the warriors. Elmariyë hesitates in uncertainty and then turns to run, to follow the sense of Eldarien's consciousness that is tugging upon her heart—a consciousness that she knows now is on the point of collapse, having expended itself both in martial combat and in channeling the light. But in the very moment that she turns away she hears a cry of pain and anguish, and her head jerks back spontaneously to the battle. She sees Hinding fall to the ground, the claws of a great eötenga thrust into his throat. It is too late, and his death is immediate. The company of his men falters upon witnessing the felling of their leader, and the eötenga seize upon this opportunity to press their advantage.
Conflicted in her mind and heart, Elmariyë is for an instant paralyzed in indecision, but then—without any conscious choice on her part—light breaks forth from her body so brilliant that the entire street is painted white for a long moment, and the encroaching blackness recedes. When the light again dims and eventually fades away, taking up its abode anew in the recesses of her spirit and indeed holding all things even though no longer visible, all the eötenga in the street have vanished. The men of Hinding's company look at her in astonishment. But, getting a grip on herself, she says to them, "G-go… There are many people now in the streets, as the houses burn. And they need to be defended." And with this she turns and sprints away.
As she runs, she reaches out to Eldarien with the tendrils of her mind, trying to communicate with him. Brother, can you hear me?
There is no response.
I am here, Eldarien, and I am coming.
After a long silence: … Elmariyë?
Yes. I feel you, and I am coming to you.
Good. We could use your help right now. We are trying to bring the dragon from the sky, but nothing we do seems to be enough.
You are on the wall?
Amazing… I did not know that you could…
The duress has pushed me to it… The very darkness has pushed us to a deeper mode of communication. Elmariyë pauses, and then she concludes, But I do not know how much longer I can sustain it.
Then be silent, Eldarien urges. I shall see you soon.
† † †
In the heart of Eldarien's remembrance of the vision he had in the guardhouse, Elmariyë's voice has broken through, and he knows that with her arrival will come an answer.
"Elmariyë is coming," he says to Rorlain. "I think she may be able to help us."
"Very well," Rorlain replies, even while knocking another arrow to the string of his bow. "The dragon comes again now. Let us try again, shall we?"
And yet even as its reptilian figure becomes visible over the flames of the city, jaws open and fire billowing from its mouth, Elmariyë's voice bursts into Eldarien's mind again, and with it time seems to stop, suspended by the pressing importance of their dialogue.
Eldarien, she says, and with the speaking of his name he feels her consciousness flowing into him and joining together with his own consciousness. Without the need for words she communicates to him her realization—her deep seeing of the heart—and they behold together as in a single sight the answer to their plea and the convergence of their desire. They behold that there is a new kind of channeling, yet another form of bearing—or rather an extension and a coming-together of both—which alone can break the power of the dragon and save the city of Onylandun.
There is no time, Elmariyë says within Eldarien's mind. The dragon's flames spew forth at this very moment upon the street in which Tilliana stands with a crowd of civilians. If we do not act now, it shall be too late for them...and for her.
I know what to do, he answers. We have both seen it. But my question is...how?
I think we shall simply know. Let us join together now, and do it.
He voices his interior assent and leans in with all of his presence—mind and heart, spirit and body—joining his consciousness with that of Elmariyë, who likewise leans into him. They experience then something more intense and more total than either of them has ever experienced before, a flowing together of their hearts into a single shared awareness, a joining together of their minds in a single consciousness that does not for its depth and totality eradicate the uniqueness of each, but rather affirms and shelters it even as it harnesses it wholly in the gift of mutual presence. And together in this shared presence, strengthened by one another and by the light that holds them and flows within them, they turn toward the dragon and sense its immeasurable darkness. They open their hearts to the vast immensity of this darkness and evil that emanates from the dragon, spreading forth to poison the very atmosphere and to strike terror into the hearts of all. They know that dragon's very visible form, and the flames that come forth from this form, are but manifestations of this darkness, shadows given fleeting shape by a malicious power that wages war against the children of men, the children of Eldaru.
In this act of opening, Eldarien and Elmariyë feel an immeasurable weight of evil surge into their minds and hearts, like a blade thrust into the flesh and yet, more accurately, like a venom sucked from a wound, only to be spit out leaving the sufferer free of illness and spared of death. And yet expelling this darkness proves to be even more difficult than absorbing it, and both of them falter under its weight, their joined consciousness oppressed even to the point of breaking. For her part, Elmariyë collapses in the street where she stands, and blackness cloaks her vision, while Eldarien staggers and almost falls off the wall where he stands, except that Rorlain reaches out and holds him up. But at the moment neither of them are aware of this; they know only the darkness that flows in upon them and takes up its abode within them, so intense and so all-consuming that they can focus on nothing else.
But then, for them gradually and painfully, though externally it is almost instantaneous, their consciousness returns into the passage of time and they become aware of their surroundings. And then the darkness passes, like a wave of grief and lament, like a torrent of sorrow in the face of evil, indeed like a lance of pure evil itself besieging their hearts, and it is gone. But in the heart of each a gaping scar remains, bleeding with the blood that is emitted only from the spirit's heart, more deeply even than the heart of the flesh. And as they return fully to their bodily consciousness—while sensing still the bond that now unites them profoundly through this shared experience and makes both flesh and spirit enduringly one—they also feel more vividly themselves, two locus points of ceaseless communication in which intersect the lines woven throughout the universe. Human lives like threads of a single fabric woven of countless stories all harmonized together in the beauty of love and intimacy by the work of the great Weaver, so they feel themselves a part of this fabric, instruments of unity, such that the needle drawing thread passes also through their own hearts—piercing and pulling—and in this way draws a fractured world deeper into the communion that, in the beginning, infidelity so terribly ruptured.
My brother, Elmariyë says in her spirit, while the conscious connection between them begins to fade, I love you. And I am glad that you are here with me.
It is all that she can say, and all that she desires to say, before she slips from consciousness and pain and exhaustion overtake her.