An Act of Faith Read online

  SONGS

  OF THE

  LOST ISLANDS

  Part One

  AN ACT OF FAITH

  Copyright © C. A. Oliver 2019 – All rights reserved

  The right of C.A. Oliver to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act 1988. A SACD catalogue record for this book is available from the « Société des Auteurs et Compositeurs dramatiques » in France.

  SACD Catalogue record: 000178361 – 28/04/2016

  Book’s cover and portraits:

  Virginie Carquin - Brussels, Belgium

  Heraldry, genealogy and maps:

  Sylvain Sauvage - La Tour-de-Peilz, Switzerland

  Editorial correction:

  Thomas Bailey - Oxford, UK

  Editorial review:

  Laurent Chasseau - Bristol, UK

  INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY CLAUSE

  C.A. Oliver owns, or has title to the rights to, all the items that make up this Document, particularly the text, names, maps, logo and designs. It is prohibited to reproduce, represent, distribute or redistribute the contents of the Document by any means whatsoever, whether in whole or in part, without the prior express authorization of C.A. Oliver. Such action constitutes an infringement of rights for which penalties are provided under Articles L. 335-2 et seq. of the French Intellectual Property Code.

  TRADEMARK PROPERTY CLAUSE

  “Songs of the Lost Islands” and all associated marks, logos, creatures, names, races, insignia, devices, symbols, locations, maps, characters, products, games, designs, illustrations and images from the “Songs of the Lost Islands” world that appear on this Document are registered trademarks of Copyright © C. A. Oliver 2019 – All rights reserved.

  Any reproduction, whether in whole or in part, of said trademarks and said logos, made using parts of the Document without the prior authorization of C.A. Oliver or any assignee thereof shall therefore be prohibited, within the meaning of Article L. 713-2 of the French Intellectual Property Code 13.

  Songs of the Lost Islands existing publications

  An Act of Faith - 2016

  The Lonely Seeker - 2017

  The Valley of Nargrond - 2019

  Forthcoming publication

  Two Winged Lions (2021)

  *

  Biography

  C. A. Oliver was born in 1971 and spent his youth between Oxford and Bordeaux. From an early age, he was an avid reader of both the English and French canons, and it was J.R.R. Tolkien and Maurice Druon who would come to influence his writing above all others.

  In his teenage years, Oliver and four friends began a tabletop role-playing game. Fifteen years later, after 3,500 hours of discussion, imagination and strategy, what began as a game had developed into an entire universe. As gamemaster, Oliver documented the gargantuan campaign’s progress.

  This fantasy world lay dormant for several years. Then, in 2014, after witnessing uncanny parallels with real-world politics, Oliver began to forge Songs of the Lost Islands, a 12-part fantasy series that draws heavily on the fifteen-year campaign. He started writing the first trilogy at Sandfield Road in Oxford, the very street on which Tolkien once lived. It was concluded at Rue Alexandre Dumas in Saint-Germain-en-Laye, where Dumas composed The Three Musketeers.

  C. A. Oliver now lives between Paris and Rio de Janeiro, having married a Brazilian academic. Songs of the Lost Islands has been above all inspired by what Oliver knows best: the ever-changing winds of global politics, the depth and scope of English fantasy; and the fragile, incomprehensible beauty of his wife’s homeland.

  ISBN:9781098989125

  Legal deposit: May 2019

  Acknowledgements

  It has taken me five years to write the first three instalments of Songs of the Lost Islands. But developing the world that is the basis for these books was an even longer process.

  It is now thirty years since I first joined forces with four of my closest friends to devise the world of the series. It began in the summer of 1989 with the creation of an RPG wargame campaign, in which different Elvin civilizations fought for the control of a distant archipelago. The arrival of Curwë and his companions in Llafal, an Elvin port on the island of Nyn Llyvary, marked the starting point of a story that would go on to last decades.

  For the first twenty-three years, we had no intention of sharing these myths, legends and adventures with anyone outside our tight-knit group. It was a secret garden, or perhaps rather a dragon’s lair, rich with treasures built up over 3,500 hours of gameplay. No intruder ever broke their way into our various dungeons: the garage of 37 Domaine de Hontane, near Bordeaux; a cramped bedroom in Oxford; and a flat in Arcachon, with a beautiful sea view we never found time to enjoy.

  After the campaign had drawn to a close, the years went by and I found that I was missing the thrill of those night-time gatherings: the smell of smoke, the taste of wine and, above all, the noise of the rolling dice.

  I therefore eventually gathered the material accumulated over all those years of frenetic creativity, and soon realized that I possessed enough content for twelve books. The distinctive nature of this story lies in its genesis: characters, embodied by players, interacting with plots and settings developed by the game master. Outcomes were decided by applying a set of specific wargame rules, the authority of which was unquestionable.

  The result was quite stunning: a fifteen-year long campaign made up of dozens of characters, whose destinies were determined by both the roll of the multifaceted dice and the choices made by the players.

  Much to my surprise, the first readers of An Act of Faith were very enthusiastic in their responses, and eager to discover what would follow. Some were fascinated by Roquen or Curwë, others resonated naturally with the more reckless Irawenti, while the more aesthetically minded readers were attracted to the Llewenti.

  My mind was made up. I embarked on a quest to complete the twelve-book series.

  When I started, I had no idea how complex it would be to forge Songs of the Lost Islands from all the material I had before me. I now look in utter fascination at the copies of An Act of Faith, The Lonely Seeker and The Valley of Nargrond sitting on my desk and feel relatively confident that the remaining tomes will follow. The debts of gratitude that I owe are therefore very significant.

  Firstly, I must thank my beloved family: Mathilde, Marion and Agatha, who probably think me mad, but who nevertheless continue to provide their unwavering support.

  I am enormously grateful to the scholars who have helped me negotiate the pitfalls of writing fantasy: Eric Train and Laurent Chasseau read the first drafts of the Songs and provided me with their insightful responses and suggestions. Their feedback was invaluable, not least because their passion for the Lost Islands dates all the way back to 1989.

  The series could not have been written without Thomas Bailey, a gifted poet who studied at Oxford University, whose expertise and enthusiasm turned a manuscript into the finished article.

  I am also extremely grateful to Virginie Carquin and Sylvain Sauvage for wonderfully designing and illustrating the Lost Islands, that last refuge of the Elves. Their prodigious efforts gave me the strength to push ahead, at a time when I was finally waking up to the full scale of the challenge before me.

  Virginie is illustrating all twelve books of Songs of the Lost Islands. She has produced a series of twenty-three portraits of characters in the novels. Her work also features on the covers of the collectors’ editions.

  Sylvain has served as chief concept designer for the Lost Islands’ world. His achievements include creating the maps of Oron, the genealogy of the clans and houses, and all their emblems and insignia. His overall contribution to the project is even more far-reaching; it i
ncludes, among many other things, designing the series’ website.

  Lastly, I must thank the readers of Songs of the Lost Islands, for already making it through more than a thousand pages of stories and legends about the Elves. As Feïwal dyn puts it:

  “The quest for the Lost Islands is a journey that cannot offer any hope of return. It is a leap in the unknown. It is an act of faith.”

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1: dyn Filweni

  CHAPTER 2: dyl Llyvary

  CHAPTER 3: dyl Ernaly

  CHAPTER 5: dyl Avrony

  CHAPTER 6: DOL ETROND

  CHAPTER 7: Rymsing

  EPILOGUE

  ANNEXES

  CHAPTER 1: dyn Filweni

  2542 by Essawylor’s reckoning, 290th day, Austral Ocean

  ‘I am sinking… The tide is too strong. I will be cast upon the rocks.’

  ‘Hold my hand!’

  ‘A cry in the water! Where is his hand?’

  ‘Hold my hand Filwen!’

  ‘Ah! I can’t grasp it! We came so close! All that effort, just to die on the cliffs of the Lost Islands!’

  ‘Hold my hand Filwen!’

  ‘Too late! Farewell my friend! I am sinking… but… why did you call me Filwen? Filwen is not my name! Filwen is my ancestor! I am Feïwal dyn Filweni…’

  “Feïwal, Wake up! Feïwal!”

  A familiar voice called insistently.

  “Wake up! You had a bad dream! Wake up! Of course, you are Feïwal! Just as I am Nelwiri!”

  Feïwal opened his eyes, gasping for breath. The lively face of his younger brother emerged gradually in front of him.

  “There is news! Excellent news! We have finally left the Sea of Cyclones behind us! I believe we made it! We achieved what Father could not,” Nelwiri rejoiced.

  Feïwal remained unresponsive at the news.

  “Now there lie two fates before us. Either we shall make history, or we shall die, swallowed by the Austral Ocean, without a single witness to sing our glorious feat,” declared Nelwiri, his voice trembling with joyful excitement.

  “May Gweïwal Uleydon[1] protect us!” was the only answer Feïwal could muster, as he struggled to wake up and recover from the trauma of his recurring nightmare.

  The two Elves set off walking, side by side, along the railing. They preferred the soaked ship’s deck, even though it was relentlessly pitching and yawing in the sea, to their small cabins. It was as if the dawn would never come. They looked with fear and weariness to the rows of black waves, topped with crests of foam, rolling endlessly toward the south.

  The enthusiasm of their departure had waned, consumed by the monotony of days aboard that had elapsed in an endless routine, where any sailor’s activity was but another link in the chain of perpetual repetition. Wandering this vast ocean knew no end. Their existence marched on, slowly, through sapphire sky and emerald water.

  Their words were scattered by the wind into the darkness of early dawn.

  Feïwal muttered, “What have I done, Nelwiri?”

  “What do you mean?” inquired his brother, with a tone of imperceptible worry.

  “What have I done? How did it come to this?”

  “The crossing to the Lost Islands is a relentless ordeal. This is what the ancient writings tell us,” Nelwiri assured.

  “We will never return. I feel it in the wind. A mighty force is now at work, drawing us inescapably towards the south. Gone are the days of Essawylor[2], blown away by the ocean wind like clouds in the sky. We will never return, I know it now and it fills me with dread,” Feïwal declared.

  “Why would we care to go back? Filwen and his sons never returned. We will cross the ocean. Such was our vow. It has always been our clan’s high purpose to discover that haven of the Llewenti [3]beyond the Austral Ocean.”

  “A cursed fate for those doomed to sail the ocean endlessly. Now we shall witness whether Feïwal dyn Filweni is the great navigator that he pretends to be.”

  “Feïwal, you are the most experienced sailor amongst us. You led us beyond the Sea of Cyclones. No one has achieved such a feat in centuries, not even our father.”

  “Father was reckless and unthinking. He was impervious to doubt and heedless to our responsibility for others. His only obsession was to honour our vow and cross the ocean, whatever the cost. How many times did he embark upon that extraordinary journey to reach those islands from which no Elf has ever returned? What do you suppose he felt when his ship disappeared at sea, to the atolls Fadalwy wide? What do you suppose he was thinking as he saw his companions die before they were swallowed by the Austral Ocean? I know the guilt he felt in that moment, for it remains heavy in my thoughts as well,” Feïwal replied.

  Nelwiri became insistent. “Father pushed our dangerous quest to new bounds. He left us a considerable legacy. He bequeathed to us the most comprehensive maps and the most accomplished crews to conquer the ocean. That I know. He would be proud to see us sail in the wake of our ancestors.”

  Feïwal was hesitant. “His inheritance is a difficult burden to bear. I was bestowed with an honour that demands great responsibility. The quest to discover the Lost Islands is no common ordeal. It is consuming my strength.”

  Nelwiri reminded his elder brother. “I was so proud that day you were proclaimed Guide of our clan and entrusted with the sacred book of the Llewenti queen.”

  “Son of Filwen, the Ancient and the First,” Feïwal muttered barely audibly, as he recalled the last words of the ritual.

  “You have no responsibility for what will come to pass. Each of us chose our fate. We are making history, no less,” answered Nelwiri.

  The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a bell chiming eight times, heralding the end of another shift. Soon the fuss made by those preparing to relieve their companions could be heard. There was no lack of vigilance on this vessel. Night and day, sailors took the watch. Two equal groups of Elves formed the crew. They were called lines, as the two equipages slept on opposite sides of the ship. Every eight hours, they took turns on the deck. One full line was required to manoeuvre the vessel. Only Feïwal, the captain, had the authority to summon both lines together for particularly difficult manoeuvres.

  A few weeks had passed since their departure from the kingdom of Essawylor. As they had crossed over that invisible boundary separating the world’s two hemispheres, the crew had celebrated the ritual of the Nen[4], in hope and in joy. That night, the songs had been beautiful. They had gathered between the foremast and mainmast to celebrate the beauty of Cil, the Elvin star of the West and the symbol of hope for all Elves that shines so brightly upon those crossing the Nen. Since then, they had wandered the oceanic desert, fruitlessly trying to circumvent the Sea of Cyclones. Many moons had passed; weariness had succeeded joy, doubt and apprehension had followed.

  Elves crossed the deck in silence. The ship's crew was composed exclusively of experimented sailors. Each one had been selected with care. They knew the tropical seas surrounding Essawylor well. They had chosen to abandon their homes, to search for new territories, despite the peril, or perhaps because of it.

  Some were too exhausted to express their joy at the prospect of some hard-earned rest; others were already focused on the tasks awaiting them. Joyful effusions usually formed an integral part of their culture; that day, however, few were light of heart, though many exchanged ritual signs to ward off sea spirits and protect their companions. A new bond seemed woven between the members of the crew since they had crossed the Sea of Cyclones. During the journey, they had endured the scorching heat, torrential rain and lashing wind. They had managed to overcome their fear and coordinate manoeuvres, even when faced with inevitable prospect of being swallowed by black mountainous waterspouts. Only then had they realized the full extent of the warning that Feïwal had given to the youngest amongst them before they had departed.

  “No Irawenti[5] can claim to be a sailor before he has wandered the Sea of Cyclones.”

  Irawenti meant
‘Blue Elves’ in their language. While their skin was dull, their eyes were the colour of tropical seas, and azure reflections emanated from their black hair. These Elves descended from clans who had first wandered freely the East of the world, before settling in the tropical forests by the shores of the Austral Ocean. Their domain was Essawylor, at the centre of the Mainland, along the banks of the five rivers.

  These sailors belonged for the clear majority to the clan of Filweni. It was not the most influential, nor the richest in the kingdom, but from that line descended ingenious shipwrights and triumphant navigators. Fierce characters they were, who always remained independent, mainly known for their great devotion to Gweïwal Uleydon, the God of the Seas and Lord of the Waters.

  Long ago, the clan founder, Filwen the Ancient, along with his sons, had built the greatest ships ever seen on those waters, to sail south and cross the ocean. No news of that lost fleet had ever reached the shores of Essawylor, but the Filweni had ever since perpetuated a love of the ocean. Each of them shared a bond that other Elves could never understand. They all heard, in their youth, the call of the sea, and made the irreversible choice to pursue their greatest dream. The wave-tossed surface of the ocean pulled relentlessly at their heartstrings. They shared with their ancestors an attraction to mystery and exploration. The challenges, the hardships and the possibility of death represented, in their eyes, the ultimate victory, the triumph of faith over fear. The Filweni were not conquerors motivated by greed and power but explorers who were eager to defeat the vastness of the ocean. In their veins flowed the blood of the most capable sailors a navigator could ever hope command.

  Feïwal dyn Filweni was their captain. He was a dyn[6], a noble among his clan who descended from the warlords who had conquered Essawylor and were granted a land to rule and a shore from which to worship Gweïwal Uleydon. The clan of Filweni’s guide shared the instinct of those rare sailors who knew how to make sense of the tiniest changes in the colour of water, the sudden acceleration of currents, the migration of certain species of fish or the flight of migratory birds. Life on the ship largely depended upon him. His crew repaired the damage caused by bad weather, refitted spars and rigging. He also commanded the various crafts represented on the ship: carpenters, blacksmiths, weavers and ropers. Feïwal was also the shipwright who had designed the Alwïryan[7], the largest ship of the Essawylor fleet. This achievement was a tribute to the legendary vessel of his ancestor, Filwen, of whom Feïwal was a worthy heir. It was the result of years of study and research.