PRELUDE

Year 1384 from the Convention of Five, Dyvislande

An array of as many torches as there are stars in the night sky lit up the narrow stone corridor that ran fearlessly through the bowels of the earth, where the Great Heroes Who Were rested in their eternal sleep. It was a resting place, yet the torches seemed to recreate the light of day in the catacombs of Dyvislande.

A too intense light, she decided, as she decided every time she ventured into that place. And indeed, her poor tired eyes suffered.

Tap-tap-tap.

Echoed the sound of the intertwined wicker staff upon which, through one of her wrinkled, age-stained hands, she imprinted half the weight of her body.

Tap-tap-tap.

With every step the staff splintered against the ground. With each tap, the amethyst the size of an ostrich egg that resided at its top absorbed the torchlight and splashed purple and scarlet flashes everywhere. Her other hand was busy too but holding Sigmund's sweaty little hand to guide him through the ancestral corridor.

“Are we going to visit grandpa's place?” the little one asked, smelling deeply the bouquet of white flowers which, he had the task of escorting to their destination.

He has your beautiful hair, my love, but his eyes are like mine and his mother's, thought the old woman once she had looked at him. “Yes, my little one”, was all she could say. Her voice also sounded tired. She had lived too long without her beloved, too long she had suffered from missing him, too long she had continued to wade through the damp underground passageways day after day to fill the vases at the base of his tomb.

“Tell me more about him, grandma. It is his story that I prefer to hear, even more than those of Sir Sigmund Dughall the White Guard and his squire Bern Xern”, Sigmund said firmly.

Tap-tap-tap.

“It's a long story. Aren't you tired of hearing it yet, my little one?” Her nephew's head, swaying to the right and left, was enough of an answer for her. Just as stubborn as your grandfather. “All right, but only for this last time, understood?”

“Just this last time, grandma.”

Tap-tap-tap.

“It all began many, many years ago, with the most majestic of weddings celebrated on a warm spring day, under a mild sun just like the one that warmed us this morning in the courtyard.

“The number of men and women, children and elderly people could not even be counted, grouped in a long procession which, like a snake with a thousand coils, starting from the Academy of the Capital, wound its way through all the alleys until it reached the Temple of the Ten. I'll tell you more, the dogs and cats also joined in the following, and even many small rats with rosy and hairless tails. It proceeded slowly and otherwise it could not have been, seen as walking was the most modest of priorities then. Certainly, my little one, it seemed so when compared to the absolute importance of singing, dancing, and drinking the sweetest wines and spirits. But only for adults, mind you. For the little ones only milk.

“The feast that day was great because it was reserved for an event of equal magnitude. ‘Long live the Grand Master’ could be heard in unison of thousands of voices. ‘Long live Cerys, long live the bride’ could be heard with equal vehemence. ‘Happiness and long life’ echoed between the milk-white walls of the town.

“Those there, my little one, were times of magic and miracles, of creatures that had nothing in the ordinary. Those were times of peace. No, they were much more than that. They were times of union, brotherhood, love. Those were times when men didn't even dare to think about social inequality, repression, banditry, corruption and hatred.”

“Even today it's like that in the whole Continent, grandma!” bellowed Sigmund. Moreover, he was a prince and as a prince more than anything else Sigmund cared for the honour and safety of his people. Of this, she was sure.

“Even today it is like this, my little one, as you yourself say. And then, just as today, the Continent thrived on the highest virtues of the Divines Ten, fed on the radiance of its inhabitants, and it was not uncommon for events such as marriages or the coming into the world of first, second and even third born children of a certain stature were hailed as national day. If the Grand Master of the Continent himself had been the one to convoy the wedding, then the celebrations could have lasted for weeks.”

Tap-tap-tap.

“This, my sweet Sigmund, was exactly what was happening that day so far away on the streets of the capital of the enormous kingdom known at the time as Dinas. And on that very day, although thousands of years more should have passed since my birth and that of your grandfather, the story you want to hear so much began. Why not, then? Why not start from the beginning?”

***

Thousands of years before the Convention of Five, Dinas

There were several dozen layers of shiny white silk, covered with a single layer of thin chiffon, which made up her celebratory dress. It left her shoulders and part of her back uncovered, it was long up to the ankles and allowed to clearly see the white back of the bare feet. The gait was not that indelicate and cadenced of a woman born and raised in the woods of the remote northern hinterland of the Continent. No, it wasn't at all. It seemed the delicate step of a princess, one foot in front of the other with slowness, grace, sensuality. Her wavy and shiny hair like the rays of the intimate spring sun were free to flow to the rhythm of the foehn wind, her hands gathered to her belly to hold a bouquet of sweet white roses.

Cerys, accompanied by the resounding timbre of the brass and the rhythmic beating of the bells of the Temple of the Ten, was preparing to climb to the platform one step after another, granting as much as possible a greeting here, a nod there, a smile for all. A smile full of love and respect especially for Auryn who, from the top of the white marble steps, awaited her, observed her, smiled at her.

Auryn wore the traditional dress of the ceremonies or rather, the single garment. It was only breeches, tied at the waist and ankles with thin intertwined gold and silver threads, that covered his body. The feet and chest were bare, so that the Divines could scrutinize his heart without filters, could guide his steps without limits. He hadn't given up on girding himself with a medallion in the shape of a silver triquetra given to him by Cerys a decade earlier, however.

“Everything goes through three stages, Auryn”, she had told him then, tying the chain around his neck.

The man smiled at the sound of those words. It could not have been otherwise in front of a celestial vision such as Cerys was. “And what do these three stages represent for Cerys from the north?” he asked, turning his head to see her gaze.

“You are such a stupid” she replied, smiling in turn. Now it was Cerys' arms that encircled Auryn's neck in a delicate grip, her fingers navigating his chest in delicate circumferences. “Birth, death, rebirth. Present, past, and future.” She kissed his neck. “I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I will love you in the centuries to come until my bones will become nothing but dust in the wind. Then, my soul will be looking for you from the Aoibh Eilean and I will continue to love you even after my rebirth.”

Auryn grabbed her arm and with a gentle but sharp tug pulled her to sit on his crossed legs. He placed his forehead against hers. “Not even death will separate us, Cerys: it's a promise.”

Now, the old but vivid memories had almost deserted him, yet as he watched his promised bride climb the marble steps one after another, he began to mull over again how generous the Divines Ten had been to him. He was a lucky man, blessed with the greatest of Magical Spark and the most beautiful of wives. His eyes rested on the white face of the woman he had loved all his life, the only one. He knew her better than anyone else in the world, and in the same way she knew him.

The tender, sweet and calm temperament had always distinguished Cerys, although she had grown up in a place that by its very nature made both men and women hard as corundum. But she seemed immune to that natural witchcraft: she never broke down, she never raised her voice, she never let negative feelings shine through. Cerys smiled and took care of looking after others by giving generosity to even the least deserving. She had simply always been that way, Auryn had known this from their first meeting when they were nothing more than children with dreams as vast as the oceans are.

He watched her with boundless delight. Her long golden hair like ears of wheat waved rhythmically every time her little feet climbed one of the steps. The thin and delicate features almost suggested that she was still a child, her skin was white, smooth, and free from defects except for a small mole just under one eye. The irises were two brilliant sapphires, although calling them so was somewhat simplistic. To Auryn they seemed like two blue comets radiating their own light, two stars in comparison with which those that stormed the night sky looked like little butts of candles whose faint flames were ready to go out. In the world, as Auryn knew it, there wasn’t and never could have existed a more beautiful and harmonious being than Cerys.

It was when the promised bride reached the top of the steps of the Temple of Ten and squeezed his hands - faces palm apart - that Auryn understood: now even the last and highest of his dreams was about to come true.

The screams and chants faded as soon as the sound of the opening of the immense doors of the Temple was heard. Likewise, the bells stopped beating and the trumpeters, after a last high note, put their instruments back. Ten heralds in white robes embroidered in gold came out of the sacred palace and went to surround the couple, five on each side. Each of them carried a banner depicting ten different figures, all of which on a white background.

“Ayae of Love” announced in a loud voice the first priest, raising the banner of the Divine Mother, represented as an abundant woman holding the flame of conjugal and parental love in her hand.

“Aedan of Wisdom” said the second, referring to the Divine Father. This time the figure embroidered on the banner was that of a man in strength, a tome as large as his own chest held up by both arms.

“Ren of Faith” revealed the third herald, initiating the presentation of the Divine Highs. The silhouette in the banner, kneeling, held a woven wicker staff, a doe at her side.

“Gwenaelle of Compassion.” A blond woman finely embroidered in gold, eyes of ice, held a tattered parchment in one hand, in the other - palm up - stationed a dove with a broken wing.

“Cohar of Courage” said the fifth, raising his banner. The features of the man embroidered in silver could not be distinguished as he wore full steel armour, a thick helmet to hide his face. The flaming spiked club in his hand stood out.

“Celavari of Justice” shouted the sixth. Celavari, the Divine Child portrayed in the banner, was holding a crystal ball in perfect balance with an index finger.

It was the turn of the fattest of the clerical order who proclaimed: “Em-Radef of Freedom”. The banner featured a slender man with a thick moustache and a winged back.

Finally, the time came for the Divine Minors to be announced in quick succession. “Wraill of the Will”, then “Morsode of Prestige” and finally “Dyvis of Dedication”, referring respectively to a man riding a griffin, one holding a saddlebag dripping with gold nuggets and a woman pouring out on the bank of a river busy washing bloody clothes. Each of these carefully embroidered on their respective banners in the hands of the priests.

Immediately after the tenth and last priest had concluded the presentation, a man with a thick white beard, his head completely bald and stained with age, came out of the giant doors of the Temple of the Ten at a slow and rhythmic pace. He was greeted with fervour by the crowd who recognized him instantly and could not have otherwise been, given the importance of the position previously held by the elder.

“The Divines are among us” he began, opening his arms wide, a big smile trying hard to make its way through the plump and drooping cheeks covered with white hair.

Like the citizens of Dinas, Auryn and Cerys - still holding hands - gave him a warm welcome. That individual, as was known in any of the continental lands, was Dealanach the Perennial, formerly Grand Master of the Magical Order and now Spokesman of the Divines.

He reached the betrotheds slowly, with the authority of his own age, with the delight of such a jubilant event stamped on his face. He cleared his throat and spoke a few single words imbued with elementary but powerful magic. Auryn recognized those words and smiled.

“Auryn”, the old man thundered in a voice powerful enough to vibrate the ground. He had used a simple spell to raise the vocal timbre, so that anyone who had reached the streets of Dinas in order to attend the wedding could hear the words he was about to pronounce without any difficulty. “For a hundred and fifty years we have been waiting for someone to take my place as Grand Master, you know that well. Looking at you now, the pride and genuineness I see on you confirm how correct my predictions about you were.” The words were spoken solemnly, with the wisdom of a man who had set foot on the land for more than two centuries.

Although none of those present knew with certainty the age of Dealanach the Perennial, the entire people of the Continent knew that having far-reaching magical abilities - necessary to be awarded the most prestigious of the Academy’s titles, that of Grand Master of the Magical Order - corresponded to having an equally remarkable longevity. “And you, Cerys” he went on, “I can say with determination that never more enchanting and delicate woman has come into the world. I am proud of you, my sweet Cerys, since it is customary that behind the prosperity of a great man, handsome and built, there is a woman even better than him, his guiding star.”

Auryn’s dark eyes smiled, Cerys' light ones moistened with emotion.

“The Divines are among us” repeated Dealanach the Perennial, looking up at the people.

Though the man now looked like a weak pious elder, he had once been a powerful sorcerer like Auryn during his long tenure as Grandmaster. Maybe better? According to the current Grand Master certainly better, especially for the experience gained in the fifteen decades that had seen him at the head of the Magical Order of Dinas. The Council of the Arcane, on the other hand, had decidedly expressed a completely different opinion. It was precisely the Council, composed of the most wise - rather than skilled - among the sorcerers to express from time to time, always with a unanimous vote, who should have held the head of the Magical Order, sometimes abdicating the predecessor as had just happened in their case. According to the Arcane, there had never been a living being on those lands with a talent and a mind as quick as Auryn’s. But that was certainly not all. What really allowed the young man to be elected Grand Master was the boundless knowledge of life and the magic that is subservient to it. In fact, the young Auryn had known, understood and learned all the spells and forms of elemental magic known until then. That was an undertaking that not even Dealanach had managed to aspire to during his long existence.

“The Divines are among us, all of them. I hear their sweet whispers” the Spokesman continued in the curious silence of the tens of thousands of citizens gathered there. “And yet, today we ask here that the Divine Mother Ayae of Love be present with greater vehemence. Her is the sweet task of guiding the spouses, as well as that of blessing them in the conception of prosperous children, whose Magical Spark may illuminate our lives and those of all our descendants in this realm and in the realms to come.

“We have been living for a long time in an age of peace and mutual love, my beloved ones, and I can only be convinced that from the union of this man and this woman, other centuries of flourishing well-being are upon us. I am glad that it is up to me the gentle task of starting the wedding and I will do so right now.”

After a short pause, almost as if he had to catch his breath after the speech which had not even been too long or almost wanted to leave the promised a brief moment to contemplate what was about to happen, Dealanach proceeded: “Auryn, Grand Master of the Magical Order of Dinas and first among the Aureate, son of Erdwyn the Wise and Beallanor the Star, it is in front of the eyes of men and of the Divine Mother that today you will become a man and right in front of Ayae of Love you will take an oath. So, tell me, do you swear to love, respect and honour Cerys? Whether the fate is favourable or unfavourable, do you swear to remain at her side as husband, guide, and protector?”.

Auryn’s eyes, black as coal, collided and intertwined with the ice-blue ones of Cerys, their hands clenched with ever greater force. He did not hesitate. It was what he had longed for, his greatest dream. “Yesterday, today, tomorrow and for centuries to come. I swear.”

Dealanach smiled, then brought the grey look to the face of the promised bride. “Cerys, daughter of Dyferin and Rheina, it is in front of the eyes of men and of the Divine Mother that today you will become a woman and right in front of Ayae of Love you will take an oath. So, tell me, do you swear to love, respect and honour Auryn? Whether the fate is favourable or unfavourable, do you swear to remain at his side as wife, guide, and protector?”

“Yesterday, today, tomorrow and for centuries to come. I swear.”

“May the love that binds you know no end” concluded the Divine Spokesman. Still smiling, he closed his eyelids and backed away with small, slow steps.

Auryn did not think for a moment, he pulled his wife to him and kissed her with the passion of an immortal love.

“May the love that binds you know no end!” shouted a large group of commoners.

“Long live the newlyweds!” others shouted.

“In the centuries to come, long live the spouses, long live Dinas!” was the last chorus that lovers heard clearly before the return of the trumpets and bells, screams, songs, and dances.

Auryn hugged Cerys to him and, under the influence of the wind, soared into the sky without any effort, without any need to utter magical words. He squeezed her with greater force and, slowly, they flew away, throwing kisses here and there directed to the people they loved, to the people who loved them.