Chapter Two
Aoishenis-Ahare-a title, a heritage, and an obligation."Most Aged Father" waited within the massive oak at Crijheaiche-Origin-Heart. As the centermost community of what humans called the elvenTerritories, it was also home to the Anmaglahk, a caste apart from the clans of his people. He had lived so long that even the elders of the twenty-seven clans no longer remembered scant tales of where he came from or why he had led his followers into seclusion in this far corner of the world.
The massive and ancient oak that was his home had lived almost as long as he. A dozen or more men with outstretched arms could not have encompassed its girth. One of the eldest in the forest, the hollowed chamber within its heart-root had been carefully nurtured from the living wood since its earliest days. It sustained him to fulfill future needs for his people's sake. And its long roots reached more deeply and widely than any other in the land.
Wise in the way of trees, Most Aged Father no longer walked among his people. His withered body clung to life by the great forest's efforts that sustained him through the oak. But he was still founder and leader of the Anmaglahk. They in turn were the guardians ofthe an'Croan — (Those) of the Blood, as the people properly called themselves.
Through the oak's deep roots, he reached out with his awareness through branches and leaves to wander and watch within his people's land. Through slivers of "word-wood" taken from his oak and placed against any living tree, he heard and spoke with his Anmaglahk in far lands.
Now he waited beneath the earth in his root chamber. He waited for his most trusted servant, Frethfare-Watcher of the Woods-who lived by her namesake. He sensed her approach as she pressed apart the curtains across the doorway above, at ground level.
"Father?" she called. "May I come down?"
All anmaglahk called him Father, for they were the children of his vision and his strength.
"Come," he answered weakly. "I am awake."
Her step light as a thrush, he still heard her descend the steps molded from the tree's living wood. She entered the earthen chamber around the heart-root and appeared at its opening into his resting place.
The hood of her gray-green cloak was thrown back, revealing long wheat-blond hair. Most of the people possessed hair as straight as corn silk, but Frethfare's tumbled past her narrow shoulders in gentle waves when she did not bind it back. Today it hung loose and tucked behind her peaked ears.
Her large amber eyes were unusually narrow, and her lips thin. An overly slender build gave her the illusion of height, though she was not tall compared to others. She was Covarleasa-Trusted Adviser-and thereby highly honored among the Anmaglahk.
"You are well?" she asked, always concerned for his comfort.
Most Aged Father lifted a frail, bony hand with effort and gestured to the stacked cushions before his bower.
"Yes. Sit."
Frethfare crossed her legs as she settled. "Has there been sign of the human interlopers? Has Sgailsheilleache sent word?"
"No, but they come. Sgailsheilleache will bring Leshil to us."
He had sent Sgailsheilleache-Willow's Shade-to lead a small band of anmaglahk to intercept Leshil before that abomination entered their land unescorted. But there were more important things to discuss.
"You will assist me in presenting Leshil an offer," he continued."One which no other should know."
Frethfare arched her feathery eyebrows. "Of course, Father, but what bargain could you make with such a creature? He is not one of us… and has polluted blood."
When Most Aged Father smiled, responding warmth flooded her eyes. She never saw him as the withered husk he knew himself to be. His dry white hair, too thin for his pale scalp, and the shriveled skin stretched over his long bones never troubled her.
"True enough," he acknowledged. "Leshil has human blood, and any human is not to be trusted. But he comes for his traitor mother-Cuirin'nen'a-and that is the reason I give him safe passage. Cuirin'nen'a couldnot have acted alone in her treachery, and we must find her conspirators. We will promise Leshil anything, even his mother, in exchange for his service. With such an offering, we secure his fidelity for as long as we need it."
Cuirin'nen'a's subversion pained Most Aged Father like an ache in his sunken chest. In the end, it had done her little good. After years of delay, Darmouth was finally dead. His province would rip itself apart, and the other tyrants of the Warlands would be at one another's throats trying to claim the spoils.
Since the birth of the Anmaglahk in forgotten times, their service was revered by the people. Cuirin'nen'a seeded doubt and deception among their caste. It must be rooted out before it spread, even unto the elders of the caste. Or had it already done so? One more name lingered in his mind with that concern.
Brot'an'duive-Dog in the Dark-friend of the fallen Eillean, one of their greatest.
Eillean had stood for Frethfare when she had first come as a girl, barely past her name taking, to beg admittance to the Anmaglahk. It seemed impossible that Eillean could be in question, but she had borne Cuirin'nen'a, a treacherous daughter, and lost her life in retrieving that wayward offspring. In turn, Cuirin'nen'a hadborne a half-blood son.
Between these two women of their caste-faithful Eillean and deceitful Cuirin'nen'a-which way did Brot'an'duive lean?
Frethfare showed open surprise and pursed her thin lips. "Promise him anything, Father? Very well, but why depend on the half-blood? We have our own to uncover subversion-"
Most Aged Father raised one finger ending in a yellowed nail. "For our people… and their survival in fearful times to come, we must follow this path. Upon Leshil's arrival, escort him to me. Reveal nothing of what I have said. You are my hand outside of this oak… now I must rest."
Frethfare stood with a daughter's affection in her eyes. "I will bring food and tea later."
As she stepped to the opening of his heart-root chamber, she looked back at him. A gentle bow of her head accompanied the whispered litany of her caste.
"In silence and in shadows, Father."
He lowered his eyelids in place of bowing a head too heavy for his weariness.
"In silence and in shadows," he answered.
Most Aged Father slipped his awareness into the oak. He watched Freth-fare step out through the curtained doorway and into the daily life of Crij-heaiche.
A true daughter of his own blood would not have filled him with greater pride.
But he valued his caste and the clans of his people more. It was why he had brought them to this land so long ago. Here they remained safe, shutting out the humans with their flawed blood, ignorant minds, and weak spirits.
Most Aged Father took a heavy breath to smother ancient fear.
Yet the fear still coursed through him.
Lost were the track of years, decades, and centuries, but not the sharpest memories of a war that had swallowed his world. Nor memories of an unseen adversary called by many names. It had whispered in the dark to its puppets and minions, the perverted, the weak-willed, and those hungry for power without caring for its price. And in death and defeat, it merely slumbered.
It would return.
He knew this, believed in it with a horrified faith. He felt it like a worm burrowing its twisted way through the earth's depths. It had only to waken and show itself, in whatever ways it would, to wage a renewed assault.
This time, it would not have the human horde as one of its engines of war. Despite any ill-conceived deception by Cuirin'nen'a andher confederates, he would see to it. He would remove all instruments of this Ancient Enemy and leave it raging helplessly in hiding. His wisdom, his will, and his Anmaglahk would shield their people.