Duvodas and the Oltor moved across the desert of rocks which once had been the Enchanted Park of Eldarisa.
Together they climbed to the first sandstone ridge of Bizha. Duvodas remembered the first time he had climbed the Twins, scaling Bizha and standing on the top of the natural stone tower, from there to leap across the narrow space to land – breathless with excitement and fear – atop Puzhac. All the Eldarin children made the jump. It was said to epitomize the journey from childhood to manhood.
Now, on this first ridge, Duvo shivered, more at the sadness of his memories than the cold winds howling around the rocks. ‘Why are we here?’ he asked the Oltor.
‘Observe,’ said the Oltor Prime. He began to sing, his voice melting into the wind, becoming part of it, dark as the night, icy as a winter peak; a song of starlight and death. The music filled Duvo’s heart, and he unwrapped his harp and began to play the notes clear and clean in perfect harmony with the Singer. Duvo had no idea where the music came from. It was unlike anything he had ever played, weaving a mood that was dark and contemplative. Then it changed. The Oltor’s sweet voice rose. Still matching the bitterness of a bleak winter, the Oltor introduced a light rippling chord, like the first shaft of sunlight after a storm. No, thought Duvo, like a birth on a battlefield, incongruous, out of place, and yet beautiful.
A gentle light began to glow some twelve feet above the rocky ground, spreading out like a mist across the land. Then it rose, fashioning itself into ghostly, translucent images. Duvo ceased his playing, and watched in silent awe as the city of Eldarisa was slowly sculpted in light. Not just the buildings, but the flowers of the park and the people of the Eldarin: frozen in place, transparent. Duvo felt he could step from the rock and become part of the light, for it glowed mere inches from the ridge on which he sat. He was about to do so when the Oltor ceased his
song and laid his hand on Duvo’s shoulder. ‘You cannot walk there, my friend. Not yet,’ said the Oltor Prime.
The golden figure raised his hands, palms pressed together as if in prayer, then drew a vertical line through the air. As his hands swept down Duvo felt a rush of warm air strike him. His eyes widened with shock as he saw sunlight stream through the line made by the Oltor’s hands. The line opened further, and through it Duvo could see the City of Eldarisa, not fashioned in light but in stone and wood, solid and real, the grass of the park green and verdant.
‘I have opened the Curtain,’ said the Oltor Prime. ‘Follow me.’
On trembling legs Duvodas stepped through. There were children, statue still, throwing a ball which hung in the air like a small moon. Older Eldarin were sitting on park benches. Not a movement could be seen. There was not a breath of wind. Duvo glanced up at the summer sky. Clouds stood motionless.
‘How can this be?’ he asked the Oltor.
‘Time has no meaning here. Nor will it. Come, help me in what I must do.’
The Oltor Prime moved across the Great Square and up the broad flight of granite steps to the entrance of the Oltor Temple. There were some Eldarin inside. A father, statue-still, was pointing towards a section of bones laid upon a velvet-covered table. Beside him his children stood in silent, frozen wonder.
The Oltor Prime stood in the centre of the enormous hall, scanning the thousands of bones. Then he strode towards the high altar, and lifted a chunk of red coral. Duvodas followed him. ‘This was once my lifeblood,’ said the Oltor Prime. ‘Now it will be the lifeblood of my people.’ Lifting a section of blue velvet cloth, he tore
a long strip loose. ‘You will need to cover your eyes, my friend,’ he said, ‘for there will be blinding lights that would melt your sight away for good.’ Duvodas took the velvet strip and tied it around his head. The Oltor handed him his harp. ‘You will not know the song I am to sing, but let your harp follow it as your heart dictates.’