Selltiriand

Ashes Shore

The thicket parted, clearing a wide path for the three travelers, showing them that it no longer intended to frighten them with its thousands of shadows. They had left the camp days ago, and, passing through the heart of the forest, they were headed south, where the sea awaited the explorers. Nothing unexpected happened in these comparatively quiet days and nights. The forest seemed to accept the strangers, having tested their strength, and finally decided to leave friends alone.

On the second day of their journey, the travelers noticed that they had drifted far to the east, deep into the old forest. As the wanderer and Gelwyn crouched on the ground and studied their surroundings, smartly trying to prove to each other that they were on their way and each knew his way around, Tarkel spotted a strange-looking rock. Too busy arguing about finding the right direction, Eysteld and Galvin didn't pay much attention to it at first. It was just another boulder, slanting sideways and braided with branches and moss, but not much more than another unsightly boulder. Notable only for its unconventional shape. Tarkel gingerly removed the branches and shook off the moss, and his mouth fell open in amazement. Behind the scribe's back, silhouettes of Eistedd and Gelwyn rose in silent silhouettes. Without saying a word, they contemplated their find for a long time.

The stone was an ornamentally stylized figure of a long-bearded elder, skillfully carved with considerable skill. He was leaning wearily on his staff, like a brook, flowing around the stone and merging with it in shape. His eyes looked keenly and reproachfully at the three friends before him. There was a question in his eyes: Where are all those of his children who had once asked for protection? As the embodiment of one of the elements of a long-forgotten deity, he did not require a shrine roof over his head. The blue sky was the dome of his dwelling, and the grasses and stones were the decorations at the base. Having long since lost both his faith and his followers, the elder stood motionless in the affectionate and patient embrace of Mother Nature, the only one not turned away from him, becoming part of the ancient forest, the last reminder of the simple and profound faith of distant times.

- So that's what they are," Galvin said in a low voice, wandering his gaze across the surface of the stone.

The pensive Eistedd walked slowly around the stone statue. Gently running his hand over it, he felt the unevenness of the lines and the roughness of the curves. He'd never seen surviving idols of the Dark Ages in person before. In the library of the Grey Sanctuary, there were few references to the old gods. Neither the thick folios nor the crumbling leaves of unknown authors gave much insight into the beliefs of olden times. All that the wanderer knew of it was gleaned from legends and tales that had been passed down from generation to generation.

Standing now before the relic, all three felt reverence. The skillful lace of the lines, the patterns, the simplicity and originality of the form, made it impossible to doubt the mastery of the artist. Having long outlived its creators, its cult and its heritage, the idol now stood in the thicket of a young, by its standards, forest. He waited uncomplainingly for the days when his long journey would come to an end, crumbling to gray sand under the weight of inexorable time.

The wanderer turned away and walked away. The past was left behind, along with the ancient runestone. The royal courtier was the last to follow the wanderers. In his life of offices and reception rooms, this symbol of the elements and the unfading cycle was more than just an old stone among the trees. For him it was the last boundary beyond which Tarkel realized that there was no return to his former life.

Almost a week passed on the "short" trail through the woods. The morning was gray, but not rainy. The fog, the usual inhabitant of the night, slept somewhere at the bottom of ravines and in deep hollows. The cold tingled the travelers pleasantly, encouraging their steps and washing away the last traces of drowsiness. Branches, foliage, and bushes alternated in their path, crackling servilely beneath their feet. The light of the winter sun, jerkily illuminating the early day, slanted its rays through gaps in the clouds and, lost among the trees, fell at the feet of the travelers. In its reflections the autumn decorations were transformed from pale shades into the warmth of late summer, and, bestowing their charm on their friends, dimmed back under the rush of unhurried clouds.