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The Elves of the Dauriath

Iraen
or
The horses of the Sylvan Elves, second parts

By Yichard Muni, Elf bard

 

Let us meet for real! Name: Richard Trigaux. Artist name: Yichard Muni
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This text is a part of a larger plot, beginning with «The Kiss of the Worlds»

Index of the stories: chronological order, or ordered by creation date

 

 

This is the second part of this story, in modern times. See the beginning here

 

 

Back to the Shamal Humak today, by Shamal Doreen Amaleen.

By fear of a terrible nostalgia, I did not wanted to see at which point they destroyed our loved Shamal. But a Shelenaë priestess was needed, to assess what remains of our magic, and how it can be restored some day. The expedition to get the blue earthworms was an excellent pretext, so that I joined. Actually I was alone from the Dauriath, relying entirely to the new Elf community in Tyron.

It was twelve years after the Horiathon Battle, and already things had changed a lot for the Elves in the Nyidiath. Of course there still are far right or far left political parties hating us, but they all had to tone down. Verbal aggressions or judicial harassment were still possible, but physical attacks were unlikely.

Also, living in the open changed a lot the situation for the Elves in the Nyidiath. They were many more than expected, coming out from various discreet anonymous disguises. But they still were a small minority, and for now we still needed to renounce some claims.

I quite simply took the plane, from the Maël West airport in the Dauriath to NewTel-Tellutaar airport, and then to Tyron, the former capital of the kingdom east of the Shamal, now part of Kondo. It was quite impressive to do in some hours a journey which took us months of painful walk and terrible dangers by the time of the Exodus.

Once in Tyron, I joined the local Nyidiath Elves group. They were running a kind of cultural centre, and emergency shelter for victims of discriminations. I immediately remarked their profound deference toward me, and all what I represented: a living memory of the terrible events of the Exodus, and an irreplaceable witness of the ancient magical Shamal. I was their Guru, their magician! They were barely daring to speak to me, uttering high flown titles and even doing prostrations! This deference stemmed from a good spirit, but, well, I had to get out my best jokes to make them more relaxed, more confident. My abundant black hair with blue reflections also were quite noticed, and I had several questions on them... and the chin, ha ha ha ha! Even Humans looked at me in the street.

They had a car, and we boarded it toward the Shamal. Here it was my turn to be the noob: the cars, the roads, the petrol station, the cheques, all this was entirely new for me, just debarking from our magical Dauriath. I even asked them why they were stopping in the middle of the street, while the way was clear. «Red traffic light» they replied, and we had a laugh, while they explained me some basis of the road code. I must say I was quite impressed by this incessant ballet of metal monsters brushing past each other every minute, deciding of their life or death in an instant, and never bumping together. I knew of cars, of course, but seeing them for real was, to be frank, scary. It is incredible to see these powerful machines seeming to obey our mere will. And indeed for the ones used to drive them, they feel them as an extension of their body. I know I shall have to learn... some day.

The town Tyron had changed a lot, too. By the time of the Exodus, they had cob houses, with double slope roofs covered with dark grey shingles or orange tiles, and flagstone streets full of horse dung. Walking here after a rain was a nightmare, and when we entered the elven boat to the West, our rope shoes were totally wasted, and we had mud until the knees. They had to wash us using pumps and sea water.

Of course the modern Tyron is clean, with good concrete buildings, coloured showcases, and even trees. But only single-sloped roofs, because double is still seen as a religious ostentatious sign. All such building were converted or destroyed during the Revolution, which here had been short but violent. A surprise was that, now, the town is huge, and this soon made me feel as in a trap, with a compulsive desire for getting out to nature! I also sensed that the air was polluted. It was less sensible than dung smell, but more dangerous. The noise too was constant and pervading, systematically killing all the vibes. Finally I would no more like to live in the modern Tyron than in the ancient one. Still many local Elves do it, by lack of better solutions.

After what seemed hours of driving into endless suburbs and monotonous housing estates, we finally went through the countryside. It was so different, with the huge fields without hedges, and fences, and fences, and barbed wire fences looking so terrible... I was amazed by the number of cows. Suddenly I was scared: all these places used to be forests, when I walked here for the Exodus. This countryside was now a desert, a huge factory, with only 1% of its life, biodiversity and magic remaining. By the Unique, what they did to the world!

 

Then I recognized the silhouettes of the Shamal and the Arounal at the horizon... I must say, I had tears of emotion at this moment... these wonderful places, that we had to abandon in such dramatic conditions... What would remain or them, what would remain of our egregore?

My companions respected my emotions. They used to go up there the weekends, and they said the vibe was fantastic. Well, they had no idea of what it had been by our time.

Then I realized: the tarred road was climbing the Shamal! It was both a sacrilege, and a very convenient installation: ten minutes replaced half a day of exhausting climb. What to think of that? Will some days Elves return to the Shamal, and will they use the road?

 

We arrived in the former centre of our community. I barely recognized the place, with a parking lot, cars, and several modern houses. There was an inn here, where I would remain for some days. It was so different, that I had trouble to compare both the actual builds and my memories. What saved me was the very familiar shapes of the hills and rock castles. Okay, they took the former free place we used to gather and do our summer festival fire. Oh, this custom was still existing, my friends told me. But of course it had lost its ancient meaning, to become some commercial promotion, with discounts and auctions.

On the place where our Shelenaë temple once stood, there still was a heap of stones covered with lichens and brambles, with a post saying «Elven temple». So this is all what remained of this once so vibrant place, where we did so many fantastic ceremonies. As I stood there, tears in my eyes, several persons came, blathering loudly, without a single hello, and not he least concern. I at once recognized that plague: tourists.

Later on, we decided to tour the Shamal. We could also do this by car, as tarred roads extended in each petal, and further dirt roads to the many farms. This is where I realized in which extent the landscape had been destroyed. Where once stood magical forests and lush meadows, remained only short grass, fences, barbed wires fences which looked so dangerous, fences, more fences, lines of posts supporting the barbed wires, and more fences, and, here and there, ugly corrugated steel hangars and black wood houses. Well, being made of the same trees as ours, they had the same colours. But their square build, badly assembled, more the corrugated steel roofs, made of them ugly places of despair. How could people live in such gloomy buildings? Even the most insensitive Humans would be unhappy. Indeed they were, as I learned later, they had the highest suicide rate of the whole country. But they preferred to accuse «the government» rather than their own carelessness. Sure, of course it was the government who was coming at night to sow trash all around their houses. At a moment, there was a strong smell of manure, from a farm emptying its stable. Again a coup of the government!

 

Our natural castles were still here, happily, with the trees covering them. So that the landscape was still recognizable. But they were reduced to only the sloping part, unusable for cows. Nearby all the tendels had been taken for the meadows, in the places where our houses, gardens and meditation spots once were.

 

We stopped near one of the rare meadows which was not fenced. It was some picnic area for tourists, but happily there was none yet.

My friends were overly excited, speaking of wonderful nature, flowers, birds, butterflies. It was indeed nice, feeling of nature and alacrity. But I avoided to disappoint them: it was a hundredth of what it used to be. Some flowers here and there, few birds, a butterfly here and then, and not a single dragonfly. I immediately understood the main cause: as most Humans, the locals had the detestable habit to mow the grass as short as possible, all the grass, everywhere, killing the flowers and all the insects and birds living from them. Nowhere we could wade in grass, as we can do in real nature. That, and the cows constantly shaving the grass everywhere, were making of the Shamal a desert, compared to what it formerly was.

 

My friends went more and more excited, saying there were «elf caves» nearby. Indeed, past the meadow, was a wood, with the familiar rock pinnacles, unchanged. I even recognized them, I had several friends living in this former village. The tendel had been shortened, so that the slope started immediately while entering the wood. There were heaps of stones and dimples in the slopes, all what remained of our hongar houses, after seven centuries. I was silently crying. Most tunnel entrances were filled with collapsing earth. But still some were open, and my friends grabbed me in. At first, I had a strange feeling: it was narrow. Smaller than in my memories. Indeed, in the Shamal, we were small, from minimum food. Later in the Dauriath, we grew to a normal size.

Past the entrance, I found again the familiar look of the tunnels, circling the hill toward the different houses, with varied storages for food, and the central room for the Dharsham. There still were the stone shelves where we posed our lights. But nothing remained of what made this place comfortable, not a single piece of wood or fabric. Everything had been methodically pillaged. This Dharsham room was empty, but I learned later that others were used for poultry, wine cellars, junk storage. Even the locals had made jails of them, which happily was forbidden today.

I was very sad looking at these poor remains of our life here. Aghast, lips trembling. I knew I would feel that. But I had to do the trip, for the assessment. I also had to explain these young concrete-grown Elves what Elven life really is. How things really were here, and how they are in the Dauriath. I think a tear betrayed my feeling, as my companions suddenly became silent.

 

Not long. There was a noise of a car, and blathers from tourists. We immediately know they are tourists, not simple visitors or travellers, with this way they have to pose themselves as the centre of a place, without any consideration for the other people or what is going on.

Soon, a guy entered the Dharsham room, dragging a woman and three children, all speaking in the same time without listening each other. We felt repelled in a corner, clearly he was the master, doing as if we were not here. So there still were people like that. We knew it, but seeing it for real is frightening.

He was explaining in a doctoral tone:

«This room was a temple from their religion. They were doing sacrifices here.

-Sacrifices? I was aghast.

-Yes, they ignored contraception, so that they had to offer their babies in sacrifice, to keep their population constant.»

The Elves we all looked each other... Who could spread such incredible lies?

I know I should not, but I still uttered:

«I lived here for 1200 years. I knew all the people who lived here. There were no sacrifices, this...»

The bloke immediately interrupted:

«We know there were. It is on the Nyidipedia internet site. They quote numerous studies by the best scholars.» Then he restarted speaking to his family, ignoring us. So, even encountering a direct witness did not changed his mind!

Indeed, in these twelve years, Humans had done fast progresses on the Internet, even if they still were on phone modems. So that, later on, back in the Dauriath, I would check that Nyidipedia site. And indeed these abracadabra accusations were here, quoting numerous «sources» and even «archaeologists» and «historians» repeating this disparaging fake new. Since Nyidipedia is a free participative encyclopedia, I was able to remove the accusations, and sign «Shamal Doreen Amaleen, Shelenaë priestess and direct witness of this epoch». Only three hours later my correction was reverted, under the pretext that I «quoted no sources». So they were corrupting the Internet, even before having it available for everybody!

I explained to my friends that in the Dauriath we have Internet encyclopedias too, but not all in the power of a single person like Nyidipedia is. They are instead a network of pages, with each their responsible, specialists of a domain, sharing the best available knowledge in this domain, either in a concise handbook way, or in varied more extensive progressive pedagogic forms. Then, a general committee, and many special ones, grants a seal to these pages, the margom. These pages are then listed in a Margom directory with links system organizing this huge source of knowledge. In only some years this system had become the basic reference, used by teachers, but also by numerous autodidacts, picking which or which knowledge they needed for their activities. We also decided to share the whole Internet for the two worlds. Save of course some dangerous stuff, or too private stuff. So that we really have no need of this amateurish Nyidipedia. That it tried to contradict us was totally ludicrous.

 

When this family went out, we felt the need to leave too. Their vibe had made the air toxic. They installed around the picnic table, blathering noisily and even putting horrible music, de facto taking the place for them alone. So that we had to move. Probably the loudspeaker is the most destructive invention ever. I know I should not use my magic for that, but that guy had a serious haemorrhoids crisis that evening (Note of the author: I know this is bad, but it's in the Bible. So deal with it) (and never piss off a Shelenaë priestess. You never know until where things can go).

 

We went in a place away of the farms, to look for the blue worms. The ancient MakTar circling path had long been forgotten, but some hiking paths were logically installed about in the same place, often finding the ancient platform. Happily nature was more lively here, and the few hikers we saw were more respectful of the silence. This was the forest, with birds, butterflies, and even several dragonflies. So these dear friends were still here! For the first time I had a feeling to really be in the Shamal again! It was still its delicious vibe, although diluted, as if thinned with water, or as of a sick child.

 

As we entered the woods, I explained my friends the Snakes Pact. They listened me dead serious, looking carefully where they walked, muttering the incantation with their lips. I was not sure the Pact was still effective, but I got no danger warning, at least not on our path.

We did not went far anyway, and found a spot with easy to dig humus. And they were here! small, and shy, but still genuine blue Shamal earthworms!! So the first part of the expedition was a success!

With them in several bags, my friends took their car again, and returned to Tyron, where they would be able to quickly wrap the worms in an urgent diplomatic suitcase, and from there in a plane to the Dauriath. In two days they would deliciously bury themselves in our sacred lands!

As to me, I remained in the inn, where they had booked a room for one week. I had to do my assessment of what remained of our magic.

When going to this bedroom, I had a strange surprise: the window was made of our round yellow glass pieces! Of course the wood had be replaced, with a plywood boards with holes cut away with a jigsaw. I immediately missed our familiar chisel marks. But the glass had remained intact for seven centuries! Probably this rare resource had been pillaged first, and used since by the farmers. The next day, when I asked about them, the inn keepers told me that only about a hundred such glass roundels remained, together with some «elven dishes» (in reality common ware that we had bartered from the Human village in the valleys). With the new fad for the Elves, all these items were reaching higher and higher prices. So that they would sell the glass, rather than keeping it in that window.

 

The next day, I started my work. For this, I had to stroll the whole plateau. The inn rented bicycles, a very convenient transportation mean. We have many of them in the Dauriath too, but our narrow foot paths are not always accepting them. Where I live, we have firm flat soil where they fare well, so I have one and I use it daily. For my purpose here, this bike would be much better, as I could meditate and feel the vibes, without the noise of a car. So I really started my work.

First problem I had, most of the places were inaccessible, as we had to go through private properties and fenced meadows, often with aggressive dogs and even dangerous bulls. Second problem, the roads had totally changed the overall plan of the land. Places which formerly were central were now relegated in dirty backyards, and virtually nothing remained of our former tendels and foot paths. The inn provided me with a plan for the places which were actually accessible, often arranged for tourists. Happily during the week these blokes were virtually absent, despite the efforts of the syndicate to attract more. A part of the former MakTar circumambulation path had been arranged for hikers. From here, moving some metres down slope allowed to find good meditation spots, so that I could do a kind of circumambulation too. In the ancient times, anybody wanting to meditate just had to sit anywhere, and people finding them immediately understood what they were doing, and respected their silence. But today sitting somewhere inevitably attracts bizarre behaviours, so that we need to do that out of sight.

The inn lady insisted that I bring a snake bite kit with me, because the forests were «dangerous». I hesitated, but felt that I had to accept it, to reassure her, despite I did not really needed it. Indeed I had several encounters, but each time I was warned well before any close approach. So the Pact was still working, at least for real Elves. And indeed poisonous snakes seemed more numerous, perhaps as a response to the countless aggressions against the ecosystem. The Arounal also reacted this way. Spirits of nature can be extremely dangerous when they realise they are to die.

 

The plan indicated an oolong (orthographied «o'long»). I was strangely happy that these were still around. I was not here for that, but when passing nearby, I did the detour.

What I found left me aghast.

Of course, the gaping hole had been fenced with a solid steel netting. Which was making sense, given the barely discernable danger for unsuspecting people, children, animals.

But there was a team of people there, with a van and several cars parked, all dressed in orange suits, with harnesses, helmets and lamps. They had installed a tripod with a pulley above the hole, and they were preparing to... descend in!!

So, even these fearsome monsters had been desecrated and tamed!

These people were cavers, speleologists. Some fundamental things may be changing everywhere, as cavers also appeared, nearby simultaneously, in the Dauriath, where we have some nice lava tubes showing strange concretions. So that, these people in the Nyidiath could not miss the fascinating mystery of the oolongs.

While I approached, I found myself in the way of one of their ropes manoeuvre. They politely asked be to step away. Which led us to engage conversation.

They seemed happy to share their knowledge, and this is how I learned what caused the oolongs, the underground rumbles, and the whole mystery under the mountain. In short, the Shamal is constituted of a 400 metres thick sturdy layer of hard sandstone, a billion years old and more. But it is topping much softer layers of shale, with even large lentils of gypsum. When the Humak mountain range surrected, about 40-50 millions years ago, a horst was cut, becoming the Shamal. The gypsum, finding itself above the water table, mostly dissolved, leaving huge caverns, with a solid sandstone vault. So we had lived on a hollow mountain! Since, the whole evolution of the mountain was about the slow creep of the shale to fill the caverns, under the tremendous weight of the above rocks, while water seeping in the caverns was slowly digging them deeper.

The sandstone was not monolithic, though. Faults played, opening here, closing there. This caused the oolongs, together with other features like taluses, where new oolongs sometimes formed. And a whole compartment of the mountain was slowly slipping toward the valley. At times, this produced small earthquakes, that we had noticed, and which were still happening. There even was a seismometer in the fenced area. This process was running since the mountain formed, and it had created the valleys cutting the Shamal in several petals.

I mentioned the strange feelings some people reported, while approaching the oolongs too close. Some sensed the ground suddenly tilting toward the dark chasm, or a strong desire to jump in. Others explained they felt that the abyss was horizontal and the safe place, while the ground around was vertical and dangerous, and they moved inside the hole thinking to be safe here! By our times, people explained these treacherous feelings by the demons living in the core of the mountain. The cavers listened at my descriptions, adding that these sensations were still reported, unchanged. Then they smiled, labelling them «spatial disorientation», pure neurological illusions, an ill matured reflex wrongly engraved by Evolution into our brains.

I had mixed feelings from these so prosaic explanations. There was no magic in there. At a pinch, I would prefer to find real demons in the belly of a living mountain, than mere geology and neurology. In a way, science was destroying the magic. Later on, once I went back in the Dauriath, I remembered of the Great Unification between science and spirituality. But this will not happen before centuries. After would take place the Great Wonder, after which will come an era of Light and superior happiness for everybody, beyond any attempt to define or describe it.

In the meanwhile, these abysses were still fascinating: the pathetic fate of the rocks, crushed by billions of tons and millions of years. Or the exciting endeavour of these really daring people, defying the vertiginous 400 metres verticals, to suddenly emerge in a huge obscure void where their lamps could not find the walls. I was now loving the oolongs, and hoped to feel one more time the mountain rumbling and moving.

I asked the cavers if they found skeletons in the bottom. They did not found any, as they were quickly dissolved and borne away. However some of the farmers used these holes to dump manure, trash, dead bodies, iron scrap, and even cans of pesticides. This was very dangerous, and had poisoned the edible water of the villages in the valleys. There had been malformed children, a years long legal procedure, and environment activist protesting. Dumping anything in the holes had been forbidden, but this continued in the hide. One of the purpose of the cavers was to find all the shafts, in order to stop this deleterious practice.

Understanding that, I put my memory at work, matching my remembering with the modern map. There was a policeman with them, who had a mandate to enter private properties. My indications quickly led him toward two more holes, forgotten in private backyards, and purposely hidden under shrub or junk. What happened after to their owners is their business, not mine.

 

Back to the cavers camp, they asked me how I could know the place of the missing wells.

I felt that I could speak to them.

«I was living here before the Exodus».

This statement immediately electrified the whole group. They suddenly understood that I was more than 700 years old (1900 to be exact), while looking something like 16 to 50, depending on the mood and on the light. This was fascinating to them, especially that I was knowing much more than they could read in books on the ancient Elfs. We had a long discussion, as they deeply wanted to know how it was before. I even did a sketch of our hongar houses, which surprised them a bit. Even such an important feature of our civilization had been forgotten! A «reconstitution» on Nyidipedia was inexact, but I shall not anymore worry about correcting Nyidipedia. Just I would prefer not to always find them coming first in every internet search.

Of course they asked if these stories of sacrifices were true. My denials made them relieved. They had well understood that this was not matching the spirit of the Elves. When later I asked to real scholars, they had found out that this lie appeared 260 years ago in a little known fiction novel. Since, many people, including scholars, were repeating this lie, quoting each other, and this made as many «academic sources» for Nyidipedia.

I realized that these cavers were the good brand of Humans, the ones building the future of the Nyidiath.

One of them even wanted to become an Elf, but he was not feeling ready to wear the Listal. He still asked for my benediction of Shelenaë priestess, what I did whole heartedly. In ancient times, we did that in temples with the whole attendance wearing ceremonious gowns and attires. I was in a denim trouser on the tarred parking lot, with these people in caver suits and parachute harness. But it worked exactly the same. I felt the guy shivering when I touched his shoulders for the ritual, as if Shelenaë Herself hugged him. We kept emailing long after I returned the Dauriath, and he recently met a wonderful Elve to be. This is the slow process, but I feel that the magic is on them. Most probably the slow process is much better for building an original elven persona. But we are patient, he he he!

 

I spent five busy days trying different meditation places all around the Shamal. Past the shock, I had to be able to feel the real vibration of it, of what remained of it, and which would be the way for a recovery. The good surprise was that a lot is still here, but pale and weakened, and hidden under more recent vibes.

I even had the visit of a raven! She (a female, I knew without seeing) circled around, as to look for me. Then she found an opening in the trees, and went through, right on me. She croaked merrily, but shyly kept some distance, before departing. This reminded me of my dear husband Iraen, priest of MakTar, whose representative often is a raven.

When my Tyron friends went back, the next weekend, we spent more time exploring the rare former villages which were still accessible, for remains and bits of information. We found more ancient caves, including the ones of my own village. That was another shock, since these caves changed little: for some seconds I felt as if things were still as in the time, my warm bed at only some steps, while I nearby heard the sweet songs of my friends in the nearby Dharsham room! But very few artefacts remained from our stay, due to our very natural way of life, and centuries of looting and search for «the secret gold reserves of the Elves».

Suddenly I had an odd feeling, as if there was a door in the wall, but no opening was visible! Examining more closely, we found that the wall had been covered in a very realistic way, but there was a hollow behind! Our first idea was to crack it open, but we reflected: what was behind may be too heavy or too visible to be evacuated safely. There indeed were some people around, and archaeologists may object, say our objects were fake, etc. So that the cache had to be opened in a safe way. Later on, in the Dauriath, I found the true owner of the house, who said that what was in the cache was not the archaeologist's business. So that my Tyron friends went later in the middle of the night, to open the cache, accompanied with one Elf scholar, and two Human university persons, for the historical record. It contained a lot of personal items, several music instruments, including a rare low pitch shkordzengo, called a shourgo (cello), still playable, and some invaluable mails from the life in the Shamal. We found that many other such caches existed, set just before the Exodus, of too large items to carry, in hope for an improbable future return. But most were in today private properties. So that we kept the whole affair secret, and even reconstructed the fake wall, in order to avoid a treasure hunt for other caches.

 

About horses, I found none of ours. There actually were two horse farms, and they had been numerous before tractors. But they were ordinary horses, of varied colours, unrelated to ours.

My Tyron friends had done an historical enquiry on what happened in the Shamal after our eviction. This was a difficult task, as there were many tendentious writings, which had to be excluded. In short, after the last Elves left, the Shamal was... left unoccupied, for nearby 80 years! So that this eviction had be in facts totally useless! We could still be up there, and never have disturbed anybody. It is only 80 years after the last evictions, that the loggers were close to the top of the plateau. That would have been a horrible sight, the mountain entirely shaved. Happily the forge masters switched to coal at this moment, putting an end to the destruction, before the loggers touched the highest woods on the slope. This made that there still was a continuity in the population of trees, a fringe of primary forest which never was touched. But very probably there had been a huge biodiversity loss.

When the first farmers installed on the top, they found the meadows still there, hinting that our horses may still be alive at that moment. But no mention of them exists anywhere, so that they probably disappeared soon before, or soon after. Either they were killed, or they stopped foaling. Poor horsies, that certainly was a horrible epoch for them, anyway.

For sure, anything remaining in our villages and tunnels was thoroughly pillaged by the first installed farmers. Even a match stick in the mud would not escape their greed, we joked. They took as fuel anything in wood, fabric or paper. Even invaluable documents and wonderful music instruments had no value to their eyes, so that they were just burned for heating. Six centuries later, few items of our time remained, but they were resurfacing, due to the fad for the Elves making them reaching high costs. So there were «elven plates» and «harp chords» in antique shops. There even was an affair with a «skorzengo», but the vendor declined to have it dated with carbon14...

Farming in the top of the Shamal knew more bad fortunes than good ones, mostly due to climate change. The later makes that today mostly cow farms remain, living off-ground with imported food. Due to climate, the herds have to be confined in stables for at least two months each winter. Most of these farms are in facts unsustainable, existing only from massive government subsidies. The hardest blow, thought, was when they poisoned their own springs of edible water, with their pesticides and antibiotics. They also had to bear our own protective egregore, still operating without control, making them accumulate bad lucks and untimely deaths. And this despite we left clear instructions on how to control it, when the last Elves departed. My friends even had located this document in the ancient Tyron archives. But apparently nobody took it seriously!

 

I spent my second week in Tyron. There were dozens of new Elves and Elves to be, many of them totally ignorant of the elven customs and ways of life. I even had a fierce Elve telling me that «sacrifices were stuff of the past»! So that I had many things to explain, and centuries of lies to debunk.

Each evening were conferences in different places, mostly in private places because we did not wanted to attract public attention. Some asked me if they had to do their «coming out», this meaning revealing loud and clear they were Elves and taking hard stands on elven matters. I requested them more moderation, to avoid totally useless bad reactions.

What we actually needed was not making fuss, but working on better knowing what being an Elf entails, building more community bonds, and learn spirituality (about which many strange ideas were also circulating, like of course orgies in the Elven temples). My authority of millennia old Shelenaë priestess was an invaluable help, to better centre the motivations, start a serious spiritual work, and dispel all the false ideas about spirituality. The most common odd idea, after the orgies, was that we had to be chaste to be a priestess. I had to show them picks of my husband on the Internet.

 

There also were a lot of misconceptions on karma, meditation, etc. Clearly serious teaching were needed, in a Shartan where spirituality was still heavily taboo and persecuted.

In Tyron itself, the Revolution had produced massacres of clerics, and the systematic destruction of any religious artifacts or buildings. Of course, as everywhere else, this so-called worker's revolution extolling social equality had been very easily recuperated by the rich class. They had, of course, expunged any ideal from it. But they had maintained the persecutions against religion, spirituality and magic! Them, at least, has understood that genuine spirituality is liberator, and so they did everything to smother it, under the easy pretext of the past religious abuses. Article 6 of the Surrender and Contrition Act had, in theory, restored spiritual freedom, but it still happened, even in Tyron, that practitioners had their children taken away, or were refused financial loans.

Repression and censorship of spirituality are extremely dangerous situations, conducive to sects and fanaticism. In fact, several groups were already offering false teachings, to be paid in real money (or in «horizontal yoga» for women). Some were even fiddling with Elvenhood, claiming to be the only true Elves!

And of course the class in power, in its stubborn censorship of true spirituality, was inversely encouraging the sects and «new spirituality», while hypocritically claiming to apply article 6!

 

It was therefore essential to give basic spiritual teachings, and to remove any credit to the many false teachings. But in the beginning, this should be done discreetly, during «Elf culture» evenings. These teachings are missing from our Internet encyclopedia, the Margom, because for us they are obvious. But new Elves, and aspiring Elves, have an urgent need to understand elvenhood and how it operates. And also the elven love, still very poorly known, on which many lies also are running wild, between puritanism and anything goes.

 

Another common delirium was that prehistoric tribes were natively Elves, but they lost their Elvenhood and became Humans, when they started eating wheat, because it contains gluten (variants accused electricity, or mathematics, or writing, or money, or whatever). The «conclusion» followed with a relentless logic: it was enough to abandon gluten to become an Elf! (or any other in the list). There even were people claiming to be Elves simply from abandoning bread! One of these blokes even dared to show up in one of my meetings! But he could even not sustain my stare, and he scampered off before the end. In a general way, I had to explain how prehistoric people really were: ignorant, superstitious, dirty, violent, cruel. And our own Human ancestor of the Blue Mountains as much as the others. We were still having hand writings from direct witnesses of this epoch, and more were being recovered from caches in the Blue Mountains and elsewhere in the Nyidiath. We purposely left Human archaeologists discover these, at the condition that everything is disclosed.

 

Most of these new Elves were also still having a job. They asked if they should quit it, and how to live without this income. I replied too with more insight: whatever economy system we adopt, we still need to provide a substantial contribution to the other people living in it with us. Quitting our job then entails to have our own elven economy, our workshops, our farms, our docks, etc. and to live in these without money. But this needs a lot of preparedness, and anyway more work, in facts. On the other hand, still contributing to the general Human economy brings interesting results, like a faster transition for everybody. This made that the Elders Council recommanded this second solution, while also supporting the first and providing tools for it (Margom page here). So that our decision is in the hands of each of us.

Indeed some had already started various forms of cooperatives, to escape the grip of the ego economy, or simply to avoid unemployment, while not completely severing the links with the society at large.

 

Another common set of questions was about science and technology. There was a whole lot of prejudices on the relationship between them and Elvenhood. One of the most common was that Elves were living without technology, see that technology would be incompatible with Elvenhood. Our crushing technological advance in the Horiathon Battle was a huge surprise for everybody, and even for many real Elves in both worlds. So that people had to understand that Elves are not defined by the context, but by their capacity to be successful in any context.

 

The serious questions about science were about the huge desecrations it had performed, with bringing material explanations on many things we thought were magic, or by refusing to see real magic when it happens. I explained that we must think at science as a positive thing, while keeping aware that it had been built as a weapon against the religions. This resulted in a subtle but unfathomable bias: materialism, the idea as what is «material» exists, and what is «immaterial» would not exist. This is how this Human science went unable to grasp at consciousness, ethics, magic, Elvenhood, the afterlife. This created this unbalanced science, very good in technology, but unable to find any meaningful direction to this technology. And today Human academia are still actively digging that gap, as they are still funded by government defending the power of the rich, the former forge masters class. And thus they actively fight liberator ideas, such as the recognition of consciousness.

Our own technology race in the Dauriath did not escaped this problem. We had to do that, or the world would be today ravaged by war, or even worse a smiling totalitarian society entirely and definitively under the control of a very few. Our Horiathon Battle victory averted both.

However with the receding spectra of war and totalitarianism, we are coming to the point where we need to correct the course of our science, to unite it with magic and spirituality, instead of ignoring them. This does not preclude it from advancing even further, though. But in some centuries, science knowledge will appear futile, with the ultimate spread of magic, when the Great Wonder will happen.

I explained that is a bit too soon to disclose how we intend to do that. But in short it is based on a reflexion on a General Epistemology, for the method, and on the logical self-generation, for a single theory apprehending both matter and consciousness. This allows to understand how they can interact, what we call magic.

In the time being, the best thing people have to do is to become better, study spirituality, and raise awareness of vibes. This would be one of the priority activities here in Tyron and in the Shamal. Later on, other guidelines would be released, for people interested more specifically in the relationship between science and magic. Although they can already join our Internet forums opened for this purpose.

 

A young lady asked if what happens to Humans trying to rape an Elve was true. My «yes» brought a silence. In ancient times, collective rapes took place, which could not be avoided, as done under threat of killing husbands and children. But the rapists all got an appalling magical punishment. Same happens to persons betraying the love of an Elf or an Elve. MakTar and Shelenaë never removed the magic for that. But these magical methods were not irreversible, leaving room for healing, in case of a redemption. I added that, today, with modern democracy and state of law, irreversible methods like mutilation are highly forbidden. But, well, it it is the only way for a woman to escape her own destruction... the old warning still holds.

 

I had too an unexpected request: to come back with a set of our ancient music instruments, flutes, harp, and of course the shkordzengo! I replied, yes, of course, but for that we need to bring a whole orchestra! So there really was a demand for our ancient culture. The new Nyidiath Internet, in full expansion, did not yet allowed for streaming music, but they were already able to download mp3 music files from our Dauriath sites, at the slow drip of their phone modems, one hour for each. They played some, and seemed to love them a lot. They asked, how we dance on them! Actually we dance only in some special events, not everyday. And we have no defined dance patterns, just letting our bodies react to the music. They seemed puzzled, and I had to explain them how to do that.

 

The last weekend was consecrated to the Arounal Humak. Going up there was more complicated, we had to leave our car in a parking lot, climb it by foot, until a refuge that we had booked for two night. Which did not avoided two unexpected hikers to come for one night, stopping our elven discussions. But their discussion on the ecology on the mountain was worth this inconvenience.

The overall shape of the Arounal was much better, and it closely resembled what I knew when I visited it before the Exodus. Still the vibe was very strong! But of course nothing remained of the houses. The Elves here also had hongars like ours, but lighter and on stilts (because of boars), rather than half buried like ours. So not even holes remained. Just some flat stones in a pattern may have been placements for stilts. One of us had brought a metal detector, and we indeed found a piece of rust which was roughly in the shape of an adze or hoe. Loggers also targetted the Arounal, but they were still far from the top when the switch to coal occurred. So we still have here a primary forest! Hunting had brought its toll, though, and the bears were extinct since one century, with probably many other smaller animals. And, as often in injured ecosystems, the opportunists like the boars were pullulating, and they were listed as one of the hazards hikers may encounter. We did not met any, but we spotted some fresh nests. They were one of the reasons to make a reserve from the Arounal.

 

When I finally departed, We had a moving good bye session in the Tyron airport. We Elves are quick to create deep friendship bonds, and several of us cried when I went through the boarding gate. These had been two very intense weeks for everybody!

 

 

 

Report on the state of the Shamal Humak and Arounal Humak, by Shamal Doreen Amaleen.

This two week travel allowed me for a good estimate of the state of our egregores in the Shamal Humak and Arounal Humak mountains, former home of the Shamal and Arounal Sylvan Elves tribes.

Despite considerable damages, the egregores are still here. But they are weakened, and still threatened in the Shamal.

 

The Arounal Humak is better preserved, but it developed a sense of hostility toward any person, Human or Elves. Attempt of repopulation seems excluded for now, as the Human government of Kondo is planning to make a biodiversity reservation of it. In more the cooling climate eliminated most of the food resources we had before the Exodus, making life unsustainable. My recommendation is to embrace the Human's government project, and make of the Arounal a Ger, reserve of nature life used only for spiritual purposes or science purposes. Still reinstallations of small groups seem possible lower in the slopes, where there are abandoned farms for sale. There already is such a project, but lacking both funds, work force, and knowledge of our Elven life style. If done, such a place can be a discreet retreat centre or a study centre. There is a serious lack of such places in the Nyidiath today, so that I recommend spiritual support for this group. The leaders are sincere, but with some bizarre persons among the members.

 

The Shamal Humak has seen extensive destructions of its magic, with several causes:

- Clear cutting of the forests in most of the slopes.

- Occupation by bad people torturing and slaughtering animals, and living in dirty ugly houses.

- Systematic grass shaving, drastically reducing life. Insects, flowers and birds were much less present. I could not see if there were less species, or if just individuals were less numerous. A biodiversity assessment is in progress by the local Elf community associated with scientists of the Tyron university, to list all the remaining species. But this is a slow process, by lack of means.

- Presence of bad brands of tourists, attracted by a local syndicate. The Tyron community will try to contact that syndicate, to switch to a more respectful ecotourism, but I felt they have little chances of any results with that syndicate.

- Poisoning of the springs with pesticide and manure, totally killing their ecosystem down to the ground bacteria. Some healthy places remain, though, as seeds for a rebirth. But they can still be destroyed in any time, so that they need urgent access forbidding. This is an ongoing fight, needing spiritual support and if possible diplomatic intervention.

- Desecration by careless scientific explanations of its mysteries. This can be fixed only with the Great Unification of science and spirituality. Waiting for that, we can foster a more romantic way of presenting things.

- Anyway the cooling of the climate brought its own toll on food resources and biodiversity. There is no way to reconstitute a numerous community as in former times. In more the land is occupied, and we cannot expel these people just as we were expelled ourselves.

The egregore is still there, though. It can be helpful for restoring a sensed life up there. But it is in any case urgent to regain control of it, because an abandoned egregore can be very dangerous. I estimated it is still killing many persons each year: suicides, unknown diseases, improbable accidents, and of course the snakes. One of its purpose was defence, remember.

 

My recommendation is to avoid any attempt of repopulation of the Shamal for now. Such attempt will be limited anyway, due to severe narrowing of food resources. What we can actually do is:

- Send a permanent presence of ancient Elfs in Tyron, to help educate the new Elves here, who badly need it. Many are in various stages of transition, from mere positive Human to still fragile Elf. This group is very vulnerable to lies, manipulations, false leaders, false Elfs. This is very dangerous.

- Yet immigration laws would not allow to send many people. So maybe a couple in Tyron, a couple for the Shamal project, and another one for the Arounal project. For more presence, there must be a kind of rotation, due to limited visa numbers. This problem should ease in some years.

- Make a phone modem version of our Margom Internet encyclopedia, to help self-education of Nyidiath people in economy, culture and History of the Sylvan Elfs and other Elf communities.

- Reconstitute our egregore locally, with ritual and art events.

- An idea floated around would be to protect the remaining ruins of our villages, while discretely recovering some caches of personal belongings and documents, left before the Exodus. This must be considered a secret, to avoid a treasure hunt. We already found traces of digging in some places, the idea that we had huge gold reserves is hard to debunk. Few realize that in our time, the iron of a hoe was a hundred times more precious than the same weight of gold.

- Due to the poverty of the farms in the Shamal, land is cheap. However a concerted buy would create speculation, so that it is better to simply renew ownership as it would naturally happen. We already found two farms disused by their heirs. They are enough to establish a permanent presence in the Shamal. The first can become a permanent display of a reconstituted village with hongars and tunnels. The second can be more discrete and seemingly unrelated to Elves. Ideal for a secret temple, as it can be accessed discretely from the first place. Some business savvy Elves proposed that the owners should not disclose their elvenhood, appearing as some estate business, renting the place to the declared Elves. They already set some companies like that, well before the Horiathon battle, to protect Elves from expropriations.

- Such a secret place in the Shamal would allow to have a hoxar, control point for the egregore. The former Shelenaë temple was used for that, but there is no hope of recovering this place in the short term, surrounded as it is with roads and prosaic houses. Perhaps the syndicate may love to see it rebuilt, but certainly not used.

-The farm buying project in the Arounal will also allow to base a temporary hoxar. But ultimately I would recommend to have it in one of the hidden valleys. The government is still afraid of the hornaks, and it is forbidding access to cavers. But this should ease too in some years.

- Hongars reconstituted in the Shamal would be a landmark for the elven culture. For this we need to send some carpenters knowing how to build them. This can be done fast. We can build one in a workshop, or in a garden, and disassemble it to rebuild it later when we have a spot.

- Include our implicit spiritual bases in our Margom Internet encyclopedia, to train the new Elves, and avoid them painful mistakes. We also need to inform candidate Elves, to better know our customs and way of life, and how Elvenhood works, before they engage in the transformation process. I created a work chatroom for this, but this has to be a collective endeavour, with peer review, before applying for the Gomdam.

- Do «something» about several Internet sites purposely spreading lies. I started this interesting work, but cannot complete it alone.

 

 

 

Rebirth, by Iraen

Amaleen ended writing her report on her laptop, and sent it via email to the people who needed it. Then she walked toward her garden, smiling, with her cute gait that I love so much. She had a virtual garden too, but never it will replace a real garden with earth and living growing plants.

 

For months I pondered. As all genuine lovers always do, Amaleen never made a single proposal, even not any suggestion or innuendo. So that my decision was entirely mine.

 

It happened that these times in the Dauriath I was free. Of course I could find numerous useful activities to get in, but nowhere I was indispensable.

 

I used this freedom to travel a bit, and to visit the Arlit, the part of the Dauriath not visible from the Nyidiath, where had been developed an Elven life with full modern technology. I was amazed by all what I saw, like fast trains, large bridges, huge temples, fantastic factories, robots, rocket launch pads, radio telescopes, and much more. But the most important point was that people here still are Elves, real Elves, as much living in the marvel than we used to do in our ancient wild Shamal. Just in a very different way, in a different context. I realized that never again I would like to live in the mud, under leaking roofs. The Elves up there had arranged much more comfortable ways of life, while still being connected to nature, at their doorstep. A well tended, lively and entirely poetical nature.

And especially, a totally safe nature: nowhere we had to be wary of snakes, boars, or any other dangerous animals, even not wasps! No need for any Snakes Pact! At worse, some biting insects or poison plants had made their way here, brought by the birds. But they were few and it was easy to protect oneself.

In fact, we used the same method as the Snakes Pact, but for a much more radical purpose: eliminating any predation, instead of just protecting ourselves from it. This is how the said Pact was so useful in the Dauriath, and our Sylvan Elves contribution so essential.

And the whole nature was thanking us for this wonderful peace, with a joyful and pure vivacity, a luminous happiness approaching the angelic vibrations! The whole nature was a temple, a paradise, and all the animals were becoming elves! And, despite expectations, it was stronger in the technological Arlit, with the ethereal vibration of the virtual worlds, than in the more terrestrial Undar, where we had just recreated our ancient world of the Nyidiath.

This total confidence in nature allowed for a thing we never really enjoyed in the Shamal: to freely wander anywhere in Nature, even in the night, while feeling totally safe and at peace. No need to be wary of any dangerous presence, even not in a corner of our meditation. No risk either of stepping on harrowing scenes, like snakes swallowing frogs alive, blood stained soil, torn away animal corpses smelling like hell. Not even a chance of being lost in the forest, since there were wandering paths everywhere, with discreet signs at each crossing.

If I preferred, I could enter virtual worlds, and explore forests of rainbow crystal and houses of diaphanous flowers, well beyond the beauty of nature, at a level we could never imagine in ancient times. Although the feeling of liveliness could not be really imitated, so that it was good to alternate with real plants. I had many Internet friends in the Arlit, and, physically visiting them for the first time, I found them living in modern houses with pastel hued walls, and attending ceremonies in marvelously painted flower shaped temples. No way we could even dream of that in the ancient Shamal.

 

When we departed from the Shamal, we all thought we would return some day, and resume our lives there, unchanged. But so many new things appeared since! I slowly realized that our experience in the past Shamal as we knew it would never happen again. What the future of this place would be, we have no idea yet. But it is not forbidden to make projects.

 

What brought my decision was a visit to our son Mandë, and his wife Milly. I knew her as a mischievous teen scouting in our forest. But she grew to something totally different, that we could never imagine. Today Milly is more powerful than a queen, yet having totally mastered her ego, she is the total opposite of a despot. She is now the Ahram Itan: her body and mind are the receptacle of the spirit of her three islands, Milly Mountain. (Pronunciation: i as in it, and tan as the color). Touching the soil anywhere is like touching her, and as a matter of facts she knows everything happening in her islands. She is able to instantly locate anybody, and she know their intents, their desires, and even she knows who will love who, before they meet (Although she avoids to tell them without motive, in order to avoid abusing such a power). She also brilliantly masterminded the defense of her islands during the Horiathon Battle, as a great strategist would do, astonishing even the elite Elven soldiers who came to help.

Usually she receives people in a large circular building set for her, surrounded by mages and scribes, leisurely sitting on cushions in an ordinary cup-shaped rattan armchair. She wore a simple blue trouser and a mauve T-shirt with just some discreet embroideries. She was still cute as the teen she once was, with her ball of curly blonde hairs and her innocent smile. Until she started to stare at you and then you felt her power. She also wandered tirelessly all around her three islands, knowing everybody and always appearing when needed. Some say she teleports, although nobody could prove it.

Mandë, by contrast, had remained very discreet, clothed in a dark blue gown under his black hairs, and you would think he just was one of her numerous secretaries. This is what he was physically doing, but he was much more than that: balancing and ordering her immense energy. He was her lover, as even powerful beings need simple things of life, like smiles and open arms to sleep in. Much likely he is an ancient Elf of old, who reincarnated in order to help in these critical moments. This explaining his totally unexpected contributions to our Dharsham. A messenger of the future he was, coming from a distant past.

 

Usually, in an audience, Milly replies a lot of questions, in one or two sentence for each. Not a short expeditious sentence, but something round, complete, leaving everybody satisfied, or imprinting her strong energy in our hearts, in case an effort was needed. As an exception, she received me in her private home, where we shared her short meal. After all, I am her «love father» ((Note of the author: Elves do not say «father in law», since they do not have legal marriage)). This counts all the more, since she is an orphan, and with Amaleen we are her only remaining family. In the same time Mandë took some time out with his first mother Amaleen, in his wonderful flowers garden.

Milly spoke of the future of the Shamal, and seemed to foresee a lot about it. She said things which would be unpleasant said at blank point, but she was bringing her sweet energy to help accept them and even love them. Milly was an expert of «open heart surgery», repairing all griefs and worries. In a nutshell, the Shamal was no longer our place. Some of us will return, of course, but they would never find back the Shamal as it once was. Certainly its nature and egregore will be repaired, with time. But the climate change had drastically reduced its food resources, 5000 persons at best for the Shamal, and nearby zero for the Arounal. So that the future of theses places was much better as seed places to recreate nature in the Nyidiath, for the people of the Nyidiath.

Her meal finished, we moved to the round audience room, where her assistants were gathering.

«Thou saidst "people of the Nyidiath", without separating Elves and Humans, I remarked.

- Of course, she smiled. Remember, all the Humans will turn Elves, even in still centuries ahead. But the best way to make it happen faster, is to think and act as if it was already done.»

Then she added:

«Doing ecumenical pillow battles with the Humans», and some of the mages laughed a bit.

- Oh I would like to see that, I replied.

- I already did», she concluded with her most mischievous smile.

And just as naturally as a child starting to play, she declared her audience open, with a dozen people waiting for questions, or bearing files to discuss.

 

That evening, in our guest bedroom with Amaleen, I was hyper excited with Milly's energy, explaining what could be done to repair the Shamal, educate the new Elves in Tyron, etc. She was heeding me, nodding at times, while remaining her nose on her laptop.

«Do they have good houses as in the Arlit? I asked.

- Yes, technically as good. But the problem is aesthetics.

- We can paint a room, can't we?

- Yes, but...»

Suddenly an horrible sound arose from her laptop. It was like the first time I used an electric drill on a wooden chair: I was not wary of the recoil, and the whole mess started to rotate wild, takaklonk takaklonk. In more, seemingly, a mentally retarded guy shouting insults his lungs out.

«What is that? I asked, petrified.

- Rap.

- Uh?

- They call this music, and even freedom of expression. They pick idiots out of delinquents districts, they pay them more than a whole worker's life to blatter three minutes like that, and after, they trumpet this everywhere in town, as if there was no other things to hear in the whole universe. Happily the Tyron Elf gang found some calmer place for somebody from the Dauriath to inhabit. But thou understandst that going to live in the Nyidiath is not a pleasure and fun, it is... sacerdotal.

- Are there other... inconveniences like that?

- There is nothing worse yet, but they are working on it.»

 

I needed some days to digest the rap. But the sweet energy instilled by Milly and her husband, our son Mandë, ended to take over.

 

Back in our Dauriath home, we spoke of the immigration laws in Tyron. Our purpose was not to become citizens, but still to be residents for many years. Tyron had kept a mood of Elf-friendliness, but a reactionary parliament, frightened by the perspective of an «invasion of Elves», had established many restrictive conditions for foreigners and migrants: having an income, paying for the Social Security (even if we did not needed it), not to be involved in companies or land estates, aaark no religion, and especially never meddle into politics or syndicates. In short, play hurdy-gurdy, do Elven macrame, and shut up. Worse of all, the administration could remove the visa at any time without giving a motive. So the risk was great that, even if we complied to all the conditions, they would never let us complete any useful activity.

Ok, but this was without accounting with our fully restored magic. We no longer used it to throw stones on somebody at 10kms, but that was still leaving many more discreet ways. Very discreet indeed, but pin point accurate. Some already learned it at their expenses.

 

We finally get enrolled in a five year university program, for ecology studies of the Humak mountains, and their conservation. They needed ancient inhabitants for a comparative study, and the wealth of information we were still holding. In more, we were not officially collaborators, only interviewees. That was a very good cover, and interesting on itself, while leaving us a lot of freedom for our own business.

Visas were obtained in one month, a record speed.

 

This is how we found ourselves in a plane to the Nyidiath, things naturally rolling and presenting themselves, without I took any formal decision.

I already took the plane before, but while crossing above the Horiathon we were graced with a fantastic sunset between two layers of the Hoob, the pancakes pile cloud formation which often surrounds the Uvol, the central vortex around the Horiathon neck. It was like peering in the mouth of an oven, yellows and reds of fire between two purplish dark gray lips. The pilots did a slow barrel roll, so that everybody could see, of either side of the plane. This was possible with an airliner, in the low gravity here. Then the Sun disappeared behind the neck, and from this moment the network of cities lights on the Nyidiath grew in size, while we approached the ground at some 45° angle. Only later we found back a more horizontal flight attitude. All this time I could not detach my eyes from the window, while my sweet Amaleen peered too, reclining on me. Voyages in plane are a fantastic thing, and we never were blasé of the stunning ever changing view through the windows.

Finally Newtel-Tellutaar was in sight. What struck me is that there were many more lights than in our places. Only the surrounding of our main temples are lighten that bright.

We had to wait until 4am to board the flight for Tyron, which had been delayed. The airport waiting room was better that I feared. There was no ugly music, but sweet voices giving information at times. Suits were varied and colorful, from surrounding countries, with even Humans clothed in Elf style! I hoped to visit Tellutaar, where sits the largest ancient Shelenaë temple, but our visas did not allowed us to get out of the airport compound.

Finally we boarded the Tyron plane. It was one of the first jet airliners built by Humans, recognizable with its cylindrical body instead of shuttle shaped. I was less confident, lol, but actually these planes have a good safety record, from the experience of Human engineers with piston engines airliners. We were in the central alley, without windows, so that we missed the view on the sunrise over the Shamal. Still the crew told us we were 8000 meters above it, while starting our descent toward Tyron. It was a strange feeling, and by the time never I would imagine such a situation.

 

We were greeted in the Tyron airport by representatives of the University, department of nature conservation, and by several new Elfs from Tyron. Well, if you relied on clothing, it was hard to guess who was an Elf or a Human, all wearing the same simple trousers and T-shirts. Happily their vibe was telling much more. But these Humans were also better than the average, from this point of view. We were still dressed in our Dauriath togas, attracting a lot of glances and staring, but seldom hostile. People were starting to get accustomed!

 

The very first impression was a lot of deference from the Tyron Elves, with smiling but shy politeness from the Human scholars. So our reputation of terrible High Elves was still here, he he he he! These scholars probably knew already that I am a MakTar priest, that is somebody not to fool with. But actual Elven friendship and ease soon took over, and we already started joking while joining the parking lot.

First joke topic was getting me in a car! Amaleen had dully warned me, but seeing traffic for real was another story! Well, I quickly got accustomed to what seemed an elegant ballet with death, but Amaleen had not mentioned trucks! So, I could not retain a scream, when a big honking semi-trailer ran straight on us, before halting at a stop sign! They laughed, but not me, that was scariest than the Duke's henchmen taking us out of the Shamal! But the most horrible moment certainly was when that university guy told us that he had booked driving lessons for us, as soon as the next week!

«Well, we ride dragons, Amaleen replied, so we should manage a car.

-But dragons are living beings, they will not blindly run into a wall», I said.

The ensuing laughter finished to make the ambient friendly. Well, actually, we have excellent jetliner pilots. So we should master cars very well.

And actually, dragons do not exist in the real world, but there are so many movies on Elves riding dragons and doing many other nonsensical things, that it had become a common archetype, even in the Dauriath, ha ha ha!

 

The meal was another ordeal. We were invited in the university cafeteria, but many dishes had meat in them, and it was not easy to know which. The professors looked a bit sorry, but they helped, asking the cooks to put «meat» labels. We were still in our Dauriath clothes, and attracting a lot of attention, despite avoiding gestures and speaking at low voice. When we had our meal trays ready, the cooks started to remove the labels, but the students coming after us protested noisily, to keep that labels! The professors used their authority to keep the labels after all. The cooks looked very angry, but they did not dared to reply. This was for us a very interesting introduction to the life in the Nyidiath, between hopes of progress and gross reaction. Many of these students were too young to know how it was before the Horiathon Battle: clothed like that, we would be thrown in jail straight away.

 

One of the professors was astonished on how fast our visas were granted. He explained that the chief of staff in the immigration office was an Elf hater, and he first refused. But he was struck with a severe hemorrhoid crisis, so that a subordinate clerk signed instead, seeing no valid objection. I had a glance at Amaleen, who was doing her innocent look.

 

In the afternoon, we had a first conference in an university amphitheater, where we were requested to tell how we lived in the Shamal. The professors told us before the start: no magic, no religion, no spirituality. But they were keen in archaeology and ecology. Which was fascinating enough by itself. I used a lot the memories I received from Grand-grandma Bimigard, explaining how, with so much astuteness and perseverance, starting with stone axes and branch huts, we slowly built a very comfortable life up there. I had prepared a presentation slides show of our Dauriath hongars, and I even brought a shkordzengo! They were all deliciously surprised, and the feet taptaped in the whole amphitheater when I played a short tune! They were astonished on how nice and well finished our houses were, with so poor means as snake molts for the windows. From molts, questions moved on how the Shamal is dangerous today, with all these deadly snakes. Amaleen replied that this imbalance was caused by the severe ecological destruction, a thing they also had scientifically established themselves. But, as requested, she did not indicated the role played by our defensive egregore, still running out of control, centuries later. And trying to eliminate the polluting farmers...

Some students asked if the Snakes Pact was true. we could not avoid to reply yes, nobody was never bitten, save in the very beginning where we were not yet aware of the danger. The professors did not allowed this conversation to veer on the spiritual side, but everybody was quite aware that there was more than ecology in this.

 

After the conference, several teachers, researchers and students remained, asking myriads of questions as if they wanted all the conferences in one. But at a moment, something curious happened. We were only a dozen left, and when a precise professor went out, the others whispered together, and one went to close the door on us and the remaining students. Then he explained at low voice:

«Officially, in a science setting, we cannot allow discussions on magic and spirituality. But now we are here in private, and I must say several of us are puzzled or interested by some things we saw. We would like to learn more, but not in the university premises I think.»

We were first surprised by this demand, and could not reply at once, since we had not enough time. We just confirmed that the Snakes Pact owed essentially to magic, although this kind of magic existed well before us, and it is relatively easy to do, even for basic Humans.

Happily work had begun on the Margom Internet pages intended for new Elves starting their spiritual life, and made by former Humans: they knew better than native Elves what are the traps on the path to become an Elf. Indeed there was some stuff I could not imagine! This was still a work in progress, but it was actively fostered and checked by the elite of high spirituality in the Dauriath. I had myself contributed as peer reviewer for some pages. Amaleen even had led the two first months of work, before the Elven Council took the relay.

One even asked on the strange prospect of the unification of science with spirituality, Tantras with Quantas as he said. Here we were a bit short for replies, and there was only one candidate Margom page waiting for certification. But these guys were not deterred by the difficulties of such a thing. After all, one had contributed to the unification of the weak atomic force with electromagnetism, so that he was just waiting what next.

But no Human University would support these discussions before decades, Milly warned me. So we needed another place, for these scientists to exchange safely with the Dauriath. But the Human Internet was not safe, I said, so that we needed a dish antenna for a direct link with the Dauriath Internet. They laughed: the Tyron university department of computer science had designed the best encryption systems. Just they did not wanted to work from the University, as computers are not private here, and their content can be checked. Especially, the majority of the University professors were still actively hostile to spirituality, and they would scuttle the project, and even attack whoever they would find engaged in. So a silent think group was way better.

Well, since this would be a joint endeavor, we would need to create a virtual place, secret for now. Or even visas for the Dauriath, this was a relevant motive. And a good revenge over the car driving lessons, when we ask them to ride horses.

 

In the meanwhile, they had more immediate concerns: the archaeology department wanted to protect all the remaining elven artifacts in the whole Humak range. That is, mainly, our caves. They had started a legal battle for this, and they needed a complete map of them. I did not mentioned the caches, but this was a very good step into recovering them. They would get that map very fast, for sure.

 

But I was a bit dizzy: I clearly not expected that things would go so far, so fast. That was vertiginous.

 

The evening in the Elf center was memorable too.

They had finally chosen a name for it: Daur Lysaer, Clear place of the rainbow pastel hues. And they had started painting several rooms like that! And it was definitively not like in a hongar... Happily I already saw stuff like that in the Arlit, so I was prepared. But for Amaleen, it was a revelation, ha ha ha! She first looked very surprised, but finally she loved it. She even whispered in my ear «Totally beginner Elves learning new Elven beauty to seasoned ancient Elves of old, this is a prettily nice omen!». I myself finally found the vibration much more elvish than our former dark gray homes, that we just faithfully copied in the Dauriath, from nostalgia, without looking for other styles.

The group looked better too, Amaleen told me. Some bad apples were gone, replaced with new nice faces. One of them explained us that the pastel hues did the sorting! Well, I understand that evil minds cannot bear these luminous, merry and colorful vibes, hi hi hi hi!

We played merry music, alternating shkordzengo and flute by Amaleen, with beautiful chants they had prepared, and mp3 downloaded from the Dauriath. Some of the later featured electronic synthesizers. Before, I was barely interested by this kind of music, but then I had to admit that, in able hands of true artists, it could express a much higher vibe than our wood and metal instruments. It was not called space music at random!

This time we could not refuse to show them our ancient Shamal dances! That was a good laugh! They had some good Human dances too. Dance is an universal language.

 

And they merrily told us that they managed to have a car available for us, part time, so that, as soon as we get our driving licenses, we would be able to go in the Shamal when we wanted! I expressed my «gratitude» with a grin which made them laugh!

Of course, there would never be cars in the Dauriath. And our future of magic will end up making them useless in both worlds. But waiting for it, we had to live with them, in the Nyidiath.

 

So it was a fantastic party, all in songs and laughter, that they never had before. Clearly, our presence was a catalyst! They told us later that being taken seriously by ancient High Dauriath Elves was an invaluable help and encouragement for them.

Also, our Margom pages, and Amaleen's emails, were paramount into doing some choices right. When we open our mind, this also opens many new paths, of which some are dangerous traps. Our help avoided them years of painful try and mistakes.

But the most efficient bad apples sorting method certainly was putting labels «contains gluten» on their food. Such a simple trick would be sung and celebrated in the millennia to come, as the utmost achievement of Elven craftiness: how the new car-driving Elves slain the demons of conspiracy theories and fake ecology!

 

«Nenashtae itar narrh Shamal Humak!»

Amaleen and me startled with surprise, turning toward the guy who uttered that.

«Welcome back in the Shamal mountains», he translated with a broad smile, for the ones who did not understood. But we perfectly understood, and apparently most of the new Elves knew what this was about: he was a Shkerxes, one of the people of the valley, who once lived under the Shamal, speaking their strange and guttural language. So they were still here! We congratulated, and told our stories to each other.

In short, after the Queen Valeva III took nearby their entire land, the few of them who were still in the Duke's side all moved in her land in one single night, to escape the Duke's tyranny. Here, they thought at claiming independence from the Tyron Kingdom. But they never did, on a simple argument: they would be unable to resist the new Duke, who would not miss this opportunity to regain the whole region. So, instead, they re-established their council system, and told the emissaries of King Aymar IV (son and successor of Valeva III) that to allow them to live in their way was the cost for their loyalty. This deal was never formally written, but it remained in force until the Revolution.

At the Revolution, a squad of People's Phalanx came in their valleys, in order to «free» them from their own councils! When the only two survivors of that squad showed back in Tyron, tied together under the same yoke, one walking forward and one walking backward, the people here realized that only their pusillanimity had allowed for all the violence of the Revolution. They started to fight back, easily overthrowing that cruel but not courageous Revolution.

Modern times had seen roads and some industries in the valleys, especially around the zinc mine. On politics, this time it was Kondo, the new Tyron country, which set the new deal: the Shkerxes were allowed with their own official parliament, at the condition that they accept several Human Rights values stemming from the Revolution, especially genders equality. They had to accept, like it or not. The story says that their women threatened then with a bed strike, although no epoch document confirms this.

The Shkerxes hated the farmers living above them in the plateau, who had poisoned their springs and caused a lot of other inconveniences. The story of Amaleen denouncing the polluters to the police had spread in their community the very evening it happened. So, in a way, they were the first to officially welcome the return of the Elves on the mountain!

And, final argument, the man had brought his own shkordzengo, and his wife had a traditional oboe! so that we restarted a round of dances! These four live instruments merrily shut down all the mp3 and other electronic music players, for the remaining of the evening!

 

The party did not ended late, because they knew we were tired. But when everybody was gone, and only the managers remained, we could learn about the legal and financial stuff which had happened since Amaleen's first visit. Good progress had been made, with most of the obstacles cleared. The Arounal property would be owned by an independent conservation fund, seemingly unrelated to the Elves, transforming the abandoned farm into a kind of private lodge. Officially for forest wardens and scientists, but Elf priests could also stay discretely. The property also featured several abandoned mine adits, which by the time failed to lead to any coal seam. The interesting point the new Elves just found, is that one of the adits led to an underground cavity related to the hornaks, that is to the very heart of the mountain! Seeing that, the miners had fled, leaving all their tools in place. But this was serendipitously perfect for a Hoxar!

On The Shamal, talks were engaged for buying one of the abandoned farms. Unfortunately, the mere new of the visit of a Dauriath Elve already raised the prices. More the formation of a «Shamal defense committee» by polluting farmers furious to have been exposed. But the main obstacle was the government clinging at animal exploitation on the mountain, even if everybody perfectly knew it was not viable and a pure waste of money. So they had put legal hurdles on buying lands for any other purpose than animal exploitation.

One of the possible fixes included... bringing back some of our magical elven horses from the Dauriath! But shhht, this still was a secret. But if so, the circle would be complete!

 

Later, Amaleen and me joined our mauve shaded pink guest room in the Elf Center. In the bed, in each other's arms, we evoked this fantastic day. We were saturated, tired and jet lagged, but enthralled. So this would be our life now, full of surprises and discoveries, perpetually on an edge between our Elven spirit and the brute matter of the Nyidiath. We loved each other for a moment, and after we spoke again. We finally had to admit: we would never rebuild the Shamal as it once was. Instead, with much astuteness and perseverance, we would slowly do of the whole Nyidiath a very friendly place to live in, for everybody!

 

And then we finally understood the meaning of all this upheaval: Elves. We still were Elves. Just in a different context!

 

First story -- Next story -- All the stories: in chronological order -- by creation date

 

 

The generation of this story -Spoiler!!!-

The first stories of this Dauriath Elves series were created in Second Life, between 2007 and 2008, where there was a very active Elf group: Elf Circle. Well attended and regular storytelling meetings were making a solid egregore, propitious to inspiration. This is how several of these stories were first improvised in these meetings, from seed words offered by the attendance, and put in literary form later. For some time, this good trend continued in Inworldz, which gathered people unsatisfied with the dark and expensive Second Life. However the evils which caused the horrible death of Inworldz in 2018 were already gnawing it several years sooner, so that both attendance and inspiration waned well before this end.

 

For many years, I had no inspiration for this story, only a mere name: Iraen, a forest Elf or Sylvan Elf, a peculiar tribe with shiny black hair and pale skin. (For our English-speaking friends, this is to be pronounced «I» as in «it», «a» as in «path», and «en» as in «end»). Only in 2020 a renewed attendance and fame in «Amaryllis» (Halcyon) world, and in «Discovery Grid» (Open Sim) world, allowed for improvisation to happen again, although at a much slower rate. I also received in a dream the character of Emlyn, a young, small, slender Elve with blonde curly hairs. She was in one of the first rafts sent to the Dauriath, the same as Milly, whom she resembled. So that, starting from mere description of the life of the forest elves, I was able to flesh out a full story. Not a great epic, but still a good fat appetising slice of life, with many colours, lots of strange names, gherkins and spices, unusual vibes and exquisite technical details, in the remote fairy tale plateau where Iraen and the Forest Elves lived.

Then the inspiration suddenly went out of hand, on the becoming of the Shamal in modern times! So this is not an end, but a beginning.

 

When I started writing, like many beginning authors, I had difficulties in finding interesting and original names. But, with my progress in meditation, this story has seen me especially prolific at creating names and words. I first visualize a vibration, then transcribe it into sounds, and finally into letters. A simple recipe for making beautiful elvish words is to use single soft consonants, lots of vowels, and sprinkle with umlauts (Tolkien is the inventor, but he was inspired by the Finnish). But a real language is necessarily more complex and varied, with different contributions, guttural sounds, double or even triple consonants, for some strange, scary or occult things.

 

We shall also discover with astonishment Elves downloading mp3s on their laptop, eating organic food, cycling or taking their driver's license, in very terrestrial today scenes. The choice to use such a familiar culture serves a very specific purpose. Elves always were relegated in a «fantazy» world, where their beauty and kindness does not engage us into anything. To see them appearing on the corner of our street reminds us that Elvenhood, this meaning the absence of neuroses, is not related with an epoch, a race, or with the length of the ears: it is a real thing, and something all of us can accomplish, with just enough spiritual training. I hope this story will motivate you to do so!

 

 

Scenario, graphics, sounds, colours, realization: Richard Trigaux (Unless indicated otherwise).

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Modified in 2024

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