Page 185 of Of Empires and Dust
“What are they?”
At Ella’s question, one of the Dvalin Angan burst into a spiralling cloud of smoke, tendrils twisting around each other, and reshaped into its more human form, hooved feet pressing into the soft earth. She bowed her head, as though greeting Ella for the first time. “They have existed in this form since long before your people, and ours, reached these shores. The story of their own telling is that they were once a race of people that inhabited these lands before even the Blodvar of old, when the elves and Jotnar crossed blades on dragonback. A great catastrophe struck their people, one of which they will not speak. They are bound to this place, bound between worlds, unable to rest, unable to live, unable to die. Millenia ago, Blessed Dvalin struck a deal with their kind. We would protect this woodland, their home, and in turn they would grant us refuge from those who hunted us. Many of our Gifted perished before the oath could be made, but today more Dvalin Angan survive than any other clan. We owe them much.”
“Why would they grant you such a deal?” Ella could still feel the wolf prowling in the back of her mind, wary under the Aldithmars’ gaze.
“It is postulated amongst my clan that if Aravell is destroyed, the ‘Aldithmar’, as you call them, will be severed from both this world and the mortal plane, left to drift in the void. Given how fiercely they protect the land, I believe this to be true, for I cannot see another consequence.”
“Daughter of the Chainbreaker,” Aneera said before Ella could respond, “we must keep moving. Time is always of the essence when a mind has been fragmented.”
“You’ve seen this before?”
The Angan nodded.
“Many times?”
“Yes.”
“How often do they survive?” The question was one that had floated in Ella’s mind for quite a while, but until then she had refused to put it into words.
Aneera stared back at her for a moment, then spoke. “Time is of the essence.”
Chapter 41
Call of the Wolf
15thDay of the Blood Moon
Níthianelle – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Ella’s heartbeat so wildly she thought it would come through her chest. With each step she took, the thumping in her veins grew louder. Around her, the city of Aravell was cold and empty, the ethereal light of Níthianelle draining it of all vibrancy or life.
Thousands of small heartbeats thrummed, birds soaring overhead, mice scurrying in the depths, all manner of creatures moving through the woodland around the city. And yet, not a single human or elf. That was something she had noticed in her time in Níthianelle: she could feel and see the souls of animals, but not of elves or Jotnar or humans. When she thought back, the same had been true of when she had travelled there in the Lorian camp and during the battle for Aravell.
A thought came to her, and she stopped in her tracks, staring up at a white tower that rose for a hundred feet, topping off in a plateau.
Aneera and the other Angan stopped beside her.
“What is wrong, Daughter of the Chainbreaker?” Aneera looked from Ella to the tower.
“That tower was destroyed during the battle, but here it stands. How?”
“Níthianelle is a mirror of the mortal plane,” Aneera said, looking up at the tower. “But the reflections take time and do not always behave in the way you would expect.”
Ella thought back to when she had been walking through the Darkwood itself. She had seen no trace of dragonfire, no burnt trees or charred earth. This place seemed governed by no rules she could understand, and it terrified her.
“We are almost there,” Aneera said.
The Angan led her across the bridge between the city and the place the others had called Alura. The lanterns set along the parapets burned with a pale light, the waterfalls pouring over the cliff edges on either side and crashing into the enormous chasm below.
Two more Fenryr Angan stood on the white plateau at the other end of the bridge where it sloped downwards, the pathway of arching trees behind them. The creatures dropped to one knee, grey and white smoke wisping from their bodies. They, too, joined the procession, and the group carried on through the pathway of trees and again through the arch cut into the rock at the end of the path.
She stepped out into the enormous basin of Alura. Even in Níthianelle, with the strange twilight draining most of the colour from the world, Alura took her breath away, just as it had the first time. Beautiful structures of white stone, smooth as bone, woven through the rock face as though part of it, pathwaysof grass connecting building to building. Below, she saw the courtyard where she had discovered that Farda had killed her mam. It felt strange to her for that to be how she remembered this place, but it was. That spot would forever be engrained in her memory.
“This way.” Aneera gestured towards a path on the left, bowing slightly at the waist.
More Angan awaited them on the path,all of them of Clan Dvalin, their fur white as snow, black antlers wrapping around their heads. They each bowed in turn, then joined, forming a guard of sorts.
Ella wasn’t sure the precise moment she became aware of it, but a strange sensation prickled at the back of her neck. The same feeling spread down through her body, creeping over her arms and legs. Her lips went dry, and her breaths grew short.
