Where the sun touched earth

And first light gave birth

We praise the sun

On the mountain high

In the blessed sky

We praise the sun

The elves who dance

In heaven’s trance

We praise the sun

The bond of friends

That never ends

We praise the sun

His beauteous rays

Father of bounteous days

We praise the sun

Mellark

The next “morning,” Mell sat beside Fenn on a blanket spread over the ground, parchments scattered around them. The sun, ever bright overhead, glared down on her shoulders. Near the other side of their camp, Krid was organizing supplies for their, according to him, imminent departure, while Syrdin had disappeared into a treetop to keep an eye out. Out of sight, Gale slept in Mell’s tent where she had disappeared soon after Mell had risen.

“In the second stanza,” Fenn pointed Mell to the spot, “in the poetic translation, it’s on a mountain peak in the sky, and that doesn’t tell us much. But here,” he pointed to the same verse copied in perfect script into one of Fenn’s notebooks, no doubt from some ancient faded scroll, “in the original Faerish, it translates ‘the highest peak, among radiant clouds.’ That must be a reference to the tallest peak in the Wild–Faeworld.”

They had been up for a while. At first, they had studied the artifacts. Though they gave no hint to the gods' whereabouts, each seemed to represent one. They had just begun to ascertain which gods when Krid prompted them to shift focus toward determining a destination: a necklace for Boidhan, a bow for Anruwan, boots for one of the night goddesses. It seemed much more fascinating than poetry, but Krid was right, direction was important. Finding it required a bit of translating from Faerish–the mother language of the Faenic tongues–and some scholarly theorizing about the location of a temple. 

 Or perhaps hypothesizing was a more accurate description.

Mell did not hide her frustration as she nodded along with Fenn’s conclusion. “Yes, m-hm, the tallest peak in the whole Faeworld.” She turned a glare on him. “Fenn, how are we supposed to find that? We have no maps!”

“Sh-sh” Fenn gestured his hands low. He glanced toward the tent nearest them where Galendria rested. It seemed that she hadn’t slept well. And that seemed to bother Fenn. Elves weren’t supposed to need much sleep. Mell could understand why he would worry, but not why he seemed to feel guilty about it. He was not to blame for Gale joining them. However, she could blame him for his lack of preparedness. We’re all risking our lives here, and he has no idea where we are to go. Doesn’t he realize that?

“First of all, I do have a map.” He whispered. “And–”

Mell snorted. “Yes, the unmarked map of a continent we can only assume we are on.” 

He sighed. “And we do have a hint on the location in the first stanza. It is a poetic reference to the first place light touches, which makes sense for a temple of the sun-god.”

Mell crossed her arms and leaned back. “Okay, I’m listening.” 

“So we have to figure out where the sun rises here, and look for a mountain whose peak receives the first taste of sun. Again, because we are looking for the tallest peak.”

Mell squinted at him, annoyed. Where the sun rises.  She glanced up at the unnaturally purple-tinted sun, still in the same location as it had been all day—and all night when she had been trying to sleep—and sighed. “Fenn,” she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. “How are we supposed to figure out where the sun rises in a place where it never goes down?”

“Ah, yes,” Fenn scratched under his glasses. “I’ve been working on that.”

“I sure hope so.”

“The sun never goes down here,” he gestured to the grassy ground beneath them, “But it does move a little. If we travel away from the direction of the sun, we should come to a place where it rises and sets, even if just barely above the horizon.” He looked at her, waiting for confirmation that she understood.

She glared upward, then back at Fenn. Her brow quirked, betraying her thought: Seriously? This wasn’t like the farthest longitudes of their own plane, that much was clear. It was permanently near the middle of the day here. His theory? Useless. However…

“Fenn,” she gestured for him to come closer with her finger. He leaned forward, eyes alight with anticipation. She let her hand fly up and gave his forehead a solid flick. 

“Hey!” he yelped and rubbed the spot. “Was it that bad of an idea?” 

Then came the however. “If we walk away from the main sun here,” she pointed upward, “then we are more likely to come to a perpetual dusk than anything.”

His shoulders sagged and he stared at the ground. Mell could just hear him mumble, “or a perpetual dawn.” 

It seemed that idea had already occurred to him. Then why didn’t he lead with that? His other idea was a waste of time. Time they could be exploring the Faeworld! She looked longingly into the shade of the gnarled, fern-like trees.

Behind her, Mell heard the tent flap rustle. She turned to see Galendria peeking out, eyes full of sleep. “Is everyone alright? I heard someone yell.”

Fenn opened his mouth to reassure her, but Mell beat him to it. “Sorry for the noise.” She let some of her irritation leak into her voice. “Your boyfriend is just attempting to prove that all he learned at the university was how to observe, not conclude.” 

Fenn snapped his mouth shut. That comment seemed to sting. She almost felt bad. She probably would later, once she’d eaten and they had a real plan.

Mell sighed and took the notebook from him. “Fenn, I don’t see how we could know which direction dawn or dusk are in. Besides, I’m not positive you’re reading this right. ‘And first light gave birth.’ In the original, it could just as easily be a reference to the place the sun was born. ‘First light birthed forth.’”

Fenn pushed up his glasses and squinted at the Faerish text. “Or the place where Anruwan was born, if you want to take a more poetic interpretation.”

Mell tapped her finger on the page in an impatient rhythm. “I still think we need a better plan than chasing down a sunrise.” 

Galendria stood over her shoulder. She blinked slowly. “So, you two are looking for the gods?” 

Mell buried her face in the notebook. Best not to interfere with this.

Fenn swallowed hard. “Well, if they are here to be found, then yes. But mostly we seek their temples. Temples tend to have stores of information as well as serving as places of worship.” He seemed to hold his breath and tense his shoulders, like he was bracing himself for a barrage of punches.

If religion was as taboo as he had indicated, he should face a barrage of questions, or some kind of outrage.

Galendria cocked her head. “Then why are you looking for Anruwan? Shouldn’t you be looking for Athyr Boidhan? He’s the Highking.” 

Fenn stared at her, mouth open. Galendria gazed back, eyes still half closed. 

Mell glanced between them. She shouldn’t know that. With Fenn too stunned to answer, Mell spoke up. “Well, yes that would be nice. Or Kialmara Lorthen, for that matter, since he would have the most knowledge. But we have the best lead on Anruwan’s temple. This song references his place of worship.” She proffered the Elvish text upward for Galendria to see.

She crouched over Mell’s shoulder. “Oh, We Praise the Sun. I sang a different version of this at a Summer Festival a couple decades ago. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

Mell smiled. Her own response had been very different. More of a piqued interest at such an ancient translation than any consideration for the poem’s artistic value. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Do you really think that the place in the song is real?” Galendria’s eyes seemed to be opening wider now, her blinks shorter in coming.

“Yes,” Fenn said, somewhat recovering himself. “Absolutely.”

Galendria hummed. “Well, it’s not very clear on the location is it? Just on a mountaintop in the sky.”

“Y-yes,” Fenn blinked at her rapidly like one would try to bat away a floater, or anything else not real, “but I believe it is likely located wherever dawn is here.”

Galendria’s eyes were on the Elvish translation. “You’re sure it’s on this side? This describes Elves being there.”

Mell suppressed a smile as Fenn nodded. “The Faeworld is simply another name for the Wildlands. We all lived here once.”

Galendria looked thoughtful for a while. “Well, then, since you two know the language,  couldn’t we ask for directions?”

Oh gods. Mell chuckled. Ask directions. It’s so obvious. 

Fenn smiled and leaned his hands back on the blanket. “Well, that would be nice, but I’m pretty sure no more elves live here. If they do, I haven’t seen any.”

Mell had to keep herself from sputtering. Galendria shook her head. “No, not Elves. I know there aren’t any of us around. But didn’t you mention other things here? Dryads and centaurs and such?”

Fenn finally set his wide eyes on Mell. Her ribs shook now, a loud cackle escaping her. 

The blood rushed to Fenn’s face, turning purple in his cheeks. That only made Mell laugh harder.

Gale turned her head between them. “Am I wrong?”

“No Galendria,” Fenn put a hand to his head. “That's what is so funny. You are absolutely correct.”

“Hey, what are you joking around in gibberish for?” Krid called from where he took inventory, small piles of rations and dried goods around him. They had been speaking in Elvish for the sake of the texts. “We should be working to move onward.”

Mell pulled in a slow breath, attaining composure. She took up Allspeech, for Krid. “Whatever you do, Galendria, please don’t let Fenn and I discuss this on our own. Perhaps a normal elf is exactly what we need for this expedition.” She hesitated for a moment. But she’s not quite normal, is she? Not for an Etnfrandian.

A flattered smile washed over the she-elf’s face and Mell let the thought go. Galendria clasped her hands in front of her as she stood. “Wonderful! When do we start our search?”

Mell noticed a little smile find its way onto Fenn’s face as he studied his fellow Etnfrandian. Mell mirrored it. Her simple joy was infectious. 

“We’ve got a while yet, since Krid–”she started

“Not a while, a short while!” Krid called. 

“...Krid is still repacking, and Fenn and I need to finish going through some more notes. Not to mention we haven’t figured out what the artifacts do.” She gestured to where they lay on the ground. “Though Krid might not let us get to that. He thinks staying here is a bad idea. I can’t say I disagree.” She studied Gale as she spoke. The girl had surprised Fenn with her magic and knowledge. Who is to say other Etnfrandian’s couldn’t do the same? 

Kridarnn

There was an art to packing. Krid leaned back and nodded at his work. Fenn had categorized the goods with all of the food together, the waterskins, the tarps, and the books. These were things that must be distributed. Each person must carry some, so that if one person lost a pack, no one would starve.

Krid twisted his body around to look where the book-heads sat. They were all in high spirits after their campside chats. “So, no one’s going to tell me what the joke was?” 

Syrdin slipped from zheir spot in a tree. “Flower princess realized we could just ask for directions. They were laughing about it.” 

“Hrmph.” Krid went back to his work. Ask who?  “Scholars, I suggest you tidy your books and those magic things. Once we get those directions, we move out quickly.” 

 Ever slow to respond, the others began to discuss how to transport the magic stuff, as though they were sacred. Or fragile. He could not imagine why they would be so obsessed.  His own people lived and died without magic stuff. He focused on his own work.

It was clear from the supplies that moving camp had not been Fenn’s plan. For three people, there was food for a couple weeks. A barrel of grain, a box of flat biscuits, another of dried fruit. It was stuff that would keep, but much of it was too heavy or too bulky to carry far. They had no camels, no wagons, not even a two-wheeled cart. No meat, of course. Fenn would not have had access to it in Etnfrandia. Krid had brought his own jerky. 

He eyed the Scholar Mellark. Her heavy-set frame moved slowly as she sorted books with Fenn, and her skin wrinkled at the creases with the aging of the soft-skinned. She should bear a lighter burden. He moved a sack of hard grain from her pile to his. 

He nodded and dusted off his claws. With the camp organized, Krid unbound his own large bundle and pulled his armor from within. Brushed iron plates protected cotton padding. The cotton allowed the fabric to breathe in the Brikhvarnni desert, while the iron provided the real protection. Small plates overlapped one another like rectangular scales draped over the torso and back, and bunched at the shoulders.

His armor bore the honor of many scars. He traced the deepest crack in it with his claw. That scar had come claiming his wife from a rival family, his greatest honor. Krid strapped it on, secured his shield to his back, and tied his sword to his hip. With preparations complete, he stood nearby the others. “Where do we ask for these directions?”

Fenn hopped up, then hesitated. Mell hauled herself up from the ground behind him. 

“We could start by heading toward the sun, that way our direction is easy to reverse,” he said at last. 

Krid held back his frustration. To arrive expecting a full-fledged plan, only to find there was none. Of course not. I should have known. He would never have met Fenn if he had rightly planned for his need for shelter and water in the desert. At least this time Fenn had packed plenty of flasks and rations. He had learned that much.

Still, it was wise to chase the sun. He nodded, and they gathered to move out. 

Krid looked to the sky in search of his heading. The sun was where it had been for the entire trip, near the peak of the sky. He growled in his throat. “Fenn, will you lead?” 

To be continued..