The Absent Memory

Kythaela sat on her storyteller’s log, looking around the fire. Elven children stared back at her, their gazes calm and respectful. Kids were still raised well, here in the great city of Ilyrion. The elves hadn’t lost that, at least, after all this time.

She raised her eyes above the fire, looking at the city that was visible in the distance. At night, Ilyrion shone with thousands of glittering lights, its own firmament below the sky. Kythaela took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The silence around the campfire was palpable.

Her memories were returning.

“The Twins,” she began. “Long worshipped by elves, these mysterious deities have been part of life on Valaralda for tens of thousands of years.

“But who are they, really? Are they gods, or are they men? Where did they came from? What do they want? Where do they live? Fruitless questions, some might say.

“But sometimes that is the best kind of question.”

She paused, giving her words a moment to sink in. Storytelling was an art—pacing was important. The children remained silent, listening to her vigilantly. She smiled at them.

“Some say the Twins are gods who created the seven Prime Planets: Valar, Mar, Eryn, Sya, Y’abel, Ayel, and Ashi. They made the planets and set them loose to drift in the universe, each a part of its own solar system. The Twins hid a part of their power on each planet, the legend says, waiting for elvenkind to find it and harness it.

“But some profess this tale to be a lie. They claim the Twins are simply elves, not gods—regular men who lived on ancient Valar before the Great Awakening. They were charismatic leaders, benevolent masters, loved by all. The Twins, in this story, were the greatest kings the world had ever known. Many swear that this is true.

“Still others say the Twins are moons, not men. The twin moons that forever orbit Valaralda, gazing down at us at night, guiding us, watching our paths. But watch as they might, the moons are powerless: just heaps of rock, swinging in great arcs through the sky. Silent, passive beacons in the dark.

“But many reject that story, too. So what truth remains? What are the Twins? Why do we worship them, curse them, use their signs? Why have we built great churches to them, written books about them, studied their origins? Surely there must be a nugget of something true, underneath it all.

“Which brings us to our final legend.

“In this story, the Twins are Trees: Telperion and Laurelin. The Trees grew from seeds at the moment of the Awakening, bringing forth light and power and magic to the worlds. No one knows where the seeds came from—they just arrived.

“Now the Trees stretch forth their branches, embracing elves and men, sending forth waves of power from the high mountain where they stand. People and beasts and the very plants themselves embrace the Twins, feeding in the luxury of their magical wellspring.

“One Tree is black, and one is gold. The legend says they keep each other forever in balance, forever in check. For if one Tree were to destroy the other, it would throw the worlds into darkness such as none can imagine. And so the Trees are paired, a yin and yang, forever frustrating each other, forever keeping each other at bay.

“And their great power, such as it is, pulses in magnificent strands, flooding the planets with magic. Magic that the intrepid can harness, using for purposes good or ill. It is the very source of Prime magic: light and dark to rule all. This magic Awakened the minds of men, bringing about the Second Age.

“But the Trees, magnificent as they are, cannot be found. No one knows where they are. And if something cannot be found, can it be said to exist?

“These are all good stories. Powerful stories.”

Kythaela stopped, letting her last words ring into the silence that followed. The fire crackled happily, smoke rising to the Valaraldan heavens. The children were silent, awed.

“Unfortunately,” Kythaela said into the night, “none of these stories are true.”