Spiridale stood, silently feeling the cool summer night, the beautiful stars scintillating the sky above, and the warmth of the dying embers on his face.

They had traveled in silence to this place, about halfway to their destination, he figured. Larissa was comfortably asleep while he stood watch. And a lonely watch it was.

He was staying with her only because he'd told her he would, for he no longer wanted anything to do with her. The moment the vampire was destroyed, he would be gone. She was so self-assured, he thought. She could find her own way.

At that moment he heard a noise behind him. He whirled, drawing his bow as he did. He was sluggish, though. For the first time in his life, he was uncomfortable using the bow, was very conscious of its feel and weight in his hands. It was as if it was no longer a part of him.

He searched the shadows beyond, quickly separating undergrowth from darkness, darkness from enemies. He thought about waking Larissa so she could detect magic, but hesitated. He wasn't quite sure why.

He heard another sound, definitely a footstep in the forest, and whirled again.

He no sooner completed his about face than he realized he was looking down a steep mountain slope. A mountain slope that had definitely not been there before.

He stood, petrified for a few moments, heart pounding in fear. Bow extended, he slowly turned, taking in his surroundings.

He was near the top of a mountain covered in pines. Overhead, bathing the entire area in light bright enough to read by, was the full moon. He definitely remembered it being just after new, however.

In the bright, eternal sky, there floated a few clouds, but they were so close. Spiridale stared in awe, his mind basking in total incomprehension of the sight before him.

He continued turning. He realized he was standing in the mouth of a cave. He peered inside. The colors he saw because of his elven heat-vision shifted across one another, telling him nothing.

He completed his turn, and looked back down. It was impossible to descend without sophisticated climbing equipment, he knew. He turned his head upward, only to find the same story in that direction. He was obviously meant to enter the cave.

No sooner did he set foot inside than a woman walked, no – glided around a bend in the cavern. She was quite literally glowing with radiant beauty.

Spiridale was speechless, and could do nothing but stare.

It was as if the moonlight itself had come to earth to form a woman, a woman who danced across the treetops and tumbled playfully down hillsides and sat on mountaintops writing poetry, just like the moonlight does when no one but the forest-people are watching. The shadowlight was her own.

She approached Spiridale, smiling, her white gown flowing gently on the breeze.

"Wh- Who are you?" Spiridale tried to call, but it was only a whisper. By the time it came out, she was standing in front of him.

"I am what you seek," she said softly. She had a mysterious, knowing, loving smile, a smile that knew only joy at seeing him.

"What?"

"I am here to give you what you seek." The patient smile soothed him, as did her voice when she spoke.

"I seek...answers," Spiridale said cautiously.

"Oh, you seek more than that, Spiridale," she laughed. "Much more. Come now – surely you yourself know what it is you seek," she chided him.

He was confused but, strangely, unafraid. He relaxed his guard and reslung his bow. It occurred to him for the first time that she had totally disregarded the arrow aimed at her.

"I seek to know where I am, and who you are, and how I got here, and what you want with me."

She shook her head. "No, you're thinking of the here and now. But overall, Spiridale, out of everything there is, what is it you truly seek?"

He looked at her, and just shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, Spiridale," she shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't want you to leave until you can tell me what it is you seek."

His face hardened. "Why, then, it is my freedom!"

She laughed at this. "No, no. Think overall. In fact, don't think at all – just feel."

Spiridale just stared at her. "You mean from all my life?"

The woman nodded.

"The creatures who killed my family." Spiridale didn't hesitate. "They are what I seek."

"Why do you seek them?"

"To kill them!" Spiridale said sharply, as if that were a stupid question.

"Why do you want to kill them?" she asked.

"Because they killed my family!" he almost screeched, thinking that to be the stupidest question of all.

"Is that the only reason you want to find them?" she asked, looking at him peculiarly.

He was dumbfounded. "Of course! They ruined my life, took everything I ever had –"

"Did they?" her eyebrow went up.

"Well...yes!"

The mysterious woman shook her head, and the smile slowly began to fade. This worried Spiridale, for some reason he couldn't quite explain.

"Tell me, Spiridale," she went on, "what do you think of the world you live in?"

Spiridale shrugged, thought for a second, then said, "Very beautiful, but messed up by everyone who lives there."

"But if the world was created, and is beautiful, might it also stand to reason that the creatures of the world were put upon it for beauty, as well?"

"But why mess up something that's beautiful?" he asked.

"Ha!" she laughed joyfully. "Spiridale, it was not I who said that people messed up the world. You did."

Spiridale thought about this. "I do not understand," he finally said, shaking his head sadly.

"That's perfectly all right, Spiridale," she soothed him. "Not all people are meant to understand all things."

He thought about this, also, for a moment, and sighed. He suddenly felt like crying.

"Spiridale," the woman said, "let me tell you about a mortal man who once became a priest to Ao, for one reason only. He wanted to fulfill his lifelong ambition to find out the reason for the existence of the world."

"Ao?" Spiridale asked. "He doesn't care about anything."

"Exactly," the woman replied. "He will hardly even deign to speak to the gods, much less mortals. So this man was ridiculed by his friends and outcast by his family, but he strove onward. He desperately wanted to know.

"This man searched in vain for many years. He made deals with devils, journeying into hell. He traveled all the planes of existence, talked to angels and high priests of other religions. He sought entrance into heaven itself to ask Ao the only question he really wanted to know. To no avail.

"Finally, however, during the Time of Troubles, he saw his chance. He sought out and helped the avatar of a god, with the agreement that, should he live, he would do his best to get him an audience with Ao.

"And he did. After the Time of Troubles was ended, this mortal man was allowed to tread the halls of Ao himself and ask the creator that ultimate question, 'Why?'

"And Ao, for the only instance in all time he has been known to speak to a mortal man, looked down and asked, 'Why not?'

"You see, Spiridale, the entire world is a work of art, like a play, or a story, or a beautiful painting or sculpture, or a timeless, lovely song. And it truly is lovely. There's much more to it than you can see, or know, or even understand, even if you were shown."

Spiridale remained silent for a long while, then asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I felt your pain," she said softly, "and I could not rest until I did my best to help you through it."

"My pain?" he asked.

"That, and your anger. The darkness that hounds you, and threatens to consume you, more than you know. The darkness that follows you, because you let it. You even allowed it into your name...Spiridale Darkpride."

Spiridale lifted his head and looked away in surprise, eyes widening slightly, as he realized what she said was true.

"When did this pain start?" she asked, very softly, very delicately.

Spiridale suddenly felt fear, rapidly building into terror. "What's happening?" he quivered.

"You tell me," she whispered.

"NOOOOO!" a woman yelled as the front door burst open. In a flash of horror, Spiridale relived his deepest, darkest nightmare. And once again, he could do nothing.

The men crashed into his home, into his life. In slow motion, a scream forever stuck in his throat, living and dying there, he saw once again his three younger sisters, his one younger brother, and his mother and father cut down, bloodied, sliced open, destroyed.

There was darkness, sickness, vomiting. More pain than he'd ever known existed. Pain. Didn't someone just ask him about pain? He couldn't tell. Maybe it was one of the deliriums.

The dreams came and went. Faint voices came and went. Then darkness overcame him.

He held himself in this impenetrable darkness, alone, naked, raw. Raw pain. That's all he was. Raw pain.

Then a light shone. It was tiny, like a star. It approached, floating through the darkness, growing in size. Eventually, there was a glowing, beautiful woman in front of him. He didn't know if he wanted her to stay or go away.

"What are you feeling, little Spiridale?" she asked softly.

"I'm scared," came the voice of a small elven child. "I want mama and papa to come back and make the bad men go away. Where are my mama and papa?"

"They are gone, little one," the strange woman said. "They will not be coming back. They cannot help you. I will help you, if you let me."

The little elf started to sob. "I don't want you! You scare me! Go away! I want mama and papa!"

"I'll go away, if you want," she said softly, "but I tell you again, your parents are dead. They won't be coming back."

"Why did they leave?" the child sobbed. "Don't they love me? They said they loved me."

"They do," she replied. "It wasn't their choice to leave."

"You lie!" the child screamed. "My father's the strongest person in the whole world! No one can make him do anything he doesn't want to! And no one can make me do anything I don't want to! My father told me to never give up! So I won't!"

And the child grew into an adolescent. The men who had captured the boy were sent screaming into an abyss, roaring up hatred and promises of revenge (but there were no bodies!). And the adolescent-before-his-time ran and ran and ran away from that place, to lick his wounds and grow stronger. But he kept running.

"What are you running from?" the woman asked, still hovering beside him in the shifting dreamscape.

"I'm not running from anything!" the warrior replied. He was quick and strong, and hardly needed to pause for breath. "I'm running after those things that killed my family."

"But you're leaving the world behind you," she pointed out gently.

"I don't care. I don't need the world. Never did me anything. I don't need it." But his breath was shorter now, his footing less confident.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive," was the terse reply. But his speed slowed. Ahead was just darkness, with no end in sight.

"Spiridale," she reached out a hand. He shook her off, but slowed to a walk. He was exhausted.

"Stop for a second," she offered.

He did.

"Now turn around and see something."

"No!"

"Why not? What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing! I'm not afraid of anything!" But he didn't sound so sure.

"Then turn around."

Spiridale glared at her – a frightened, hunted look. Very slowly, very timidly, he turned around.

And saw behind him nothing but darkness, forever and ever.

"Wh-?" he turned to the woman. "I don't understand."

"Spiridale, all your life, you have been chasing the darkness, and it has taken you and wrapped you in its cloak."

"But how can that be?" he asked. "I've never followed evil."

"No, I didn't say 'evil,' Spiridale. I said 'darkness.'

"You see, there's much more to life than good and evil. No one can fault you for what you've done, but in doing it, you've shut yourself off. The very first thing you did when you were on your own was run to the hills. You shut yourself off from everyone, even yourself, for you did not experience reverie for many years. That is shutting yourself off from who you are, and from your elven race."

"But I had to!" Spiridale roared.

"I know," the woman replied, "but you don't have to any longer. The darkness surrounds you nowadays, Spiridale, because you let it. You've often met people, people you've liked or even loved – such as your current companion – and run away from them."

Spiridale swallowed hard, his jaw clenched tight. He met her gaze evenly, fighting back tears.

"This running only gets worse, for eventually you shut yourself off from nature, the few friends you have managed to make, and from your goddess. You've got to stop running, Spiridale, or the darkness will overcome you." She grasped his arm and spoke firmly. "You must face your fear. You need to be with others."

"No I don't!" he screamed, thrusting her away. "I don't need anybody! Do you hear me? I don't need anybody!"

His face was flushed, his hands clenched in fists, every ounce of himself poured into rage, every bit of rage poured out for the world to see.

"I don't need anybody! I don't need you, I don't need the Knights, I don't need Larissa, I don't need Scruff, I don't need anybody! Hear me? Anybody!" He paused for breath. "I don't need my parents! I don't need any other elves around me, feeling sorry for me!" He breathed deeply, twice more, then sobbed. "I don't need my parents! They didn't take care of me! They didn't love me!" He sobbed some more. "They couldn't have! They didn't protect me!"

He fell to his knees, face buried in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. "I don't need anybody!" he wailed. "I'll never be helpless again! I don't need my parents! I don't...I'll just...take care...of...myse..."

He collapsed completely to the ground, his body crumpled in a century's worth of grief. "And I don't need you...Meilikki," he whispered.

She came to him and stroked his hair. "It's all right," she whispered. "It's all right."

Spiridale wept, lying prone on the floor of the cave. After a few minutes, he looked up at her through tear-strained eyes. "Why?" he breathed.

"Because I can't do everything," Meilikki answered.

"Huh?"

"Your father was to be one of my greatest warriors," she explained. "Knowing this, the gods who oppose me manipulated events to kill him. The men who killed your family were their weapons.

"Nor was that the first time you were threatened. The world is full of dangers, as you know quite well. Some of them he dealt with without telling you, for you were too young to be told such things. Some dangers which threatened you, he never knew about at all, for I averted them. But sometimes I fail, for I am not all-powerful."

There was silence for a while, then Spiridale, brushing away his tears, asked, "Who was my father?"

"Your father was a ranger, happily living in a tribe. He killed one of his fellow tribesmen in self-defense, but was cast out, for some said it was murder.

"I didn't want him to be cast out, but I couldn't stop it. I only managed to save your lives. As it happened, he and your mother built their own place. They did the best they could with what they had, but it wasn't nearly enough. Your father, on occasion, stole goods from a nearby inn to keep his family alive."

"What?" Spiridale exclaimed.

"He stole," Meilikki said simply. "Do not be so shocked, Spiridale. Imagine yourself with a family, with no allies, in a strange land. If you had a sick child, who needed blankets and supplies, but couldn't get them honestly because people feared and mistrusted you because of your race, I dare say you would steal, too."

Spiridale thought about this, and nodded.

"Anyway, he stole from a room in this inn one evening supplies belonging to a group of dangerous mercenaries. They tracked him to your home, and that is why they killed him.

"I tried everything I could think of to manipulate events otherwise, but the gods who oppose me, especially Malar, bested me that night." There was no bitterness or remorse in her voice, just a hint of sadness.

"The most I could do was keep you, his first-born son, alive. I felt badly about letting you down. So I took care of you, as best I could, even though you would have nothing to do with me.

"I have provided for you, and had you meet people who have taught you things you would never have otherwise known."

Spiridale suddenly thought about Dariun, teaching him to read. He began to understand.

"You were without a family, so I over-compensated. I had to find some way to give you the wisdom you needed, the teaching you never received, for you to live."

Spiridale nodded thoughtfully. He knew she didn't mean "live" only in a practical sense, but in every meaning of the word.

"That is why I told you what I did about the world, earlier, Spiridale," she said. "There is a much greater pattern that you are only a part of, but definitely a part. And if you separate yourself from that pattern, as you've been doing, then you don't do yourself any good, and you don't do me any good, either.

"I couldn't stop what happened to you, nor could I change it, but I used what happened to create one of my finest warriors. And I will continue to try my best to take your lifelong pain and turn it into a lifelong promise of hope, a lifelong experience of beauty and strength, of rising above difficulties and conquering. To provide you a strength of the spirit. 'Spirit' is in your name also, you know. That's how your parents named you.

"Somewhere along the way, you're going to have to learn that your spirit, your inner strength, will have to be your source of power, not your anger. Until now, your anger has provided you with the means of doing whatever you did. I am concerned about this, more than anything. I hope you can change."

"I hope so, too," Spiridale replied. He sat up, his tears gone, and sat cross-legged on the floor. "Will I change, then?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. When I first brought you here, I told you I wanted to help you through your pain. I could reach inside you and take it away myself, but what would that accomplish? Would you learn anything? Would you grow? Would you have the satisfaction of fighting that battle yourself?"

Spiridale shook his head.

"No," she said. "Only you can really change. I certainly hope you do.

"I have great things planned for you, young one," she went on. "My enemies have ignored you for the most part, thinking you no threat. They realize, now, however, that you are a major threat. And you're only beginning.

"Someday, you will meet your family's killers. I will see to that. I will also see to it that you won't meet them until you are ready. And when you do, you must make the right choices – in strength of spirit and heart."

"What's my family name?" Spiridale asked.

"Cliffstone. Your parents were called Brennan and Ariella."

"Were they from Larissa's tribe?"

"No. Your tribe roamed the area south of the Hullack Forest, into which your parents retreated after they left."

Spiridale sat for some moments more, absorbing all he'd just learned. Then slowly, carefully, he said, "When you brought me here, I said I wanted answers, and my family's killers. You said you were what I sought. You told me you'd keep me here, and I said I wanted freedom." He paused, gathering his thoughts, before continuing.

"All of that was true. But I think – I feel – that most of all, I want peace." He looked up at her. "I just want peace."

Meilikki was beaming with pride. "Bravo, Spiridale," she whispered. "Magnificent.

"But one more thing," she said. "I did not say I'd keep you here. I said I didn't want you to leave. You had a choice, you see. You always did."

"But people who are evil, just because they're being manipulated by an evil god – doesn't that mean they didn't have a choice?" Spiridale was confused.

"Of course they did," she replied. "Everybody does. Take yourself, for example. You could quite easily have gotten bitter about what happened to you, and used it as an excuse to become evil, hurting others and reaching for power. But you didn't. You chose to hold on to life, and the goodness you knew."

She stood up. "It is time for you to return," she said. Spiridale arose also. "I want to tell you one final thing, face to face. Your family is well. They experienced only a brief flash of pain, but they are with me, and are at peace. They wish you well."

Spiridale was stunned, then his eyes brimmed over with tears. "Tell them," he said, "tell them I love them."

"I will," she said with a smile. They walked to the cave entrance, looking down on the forest. Spiridale breathed the night air as if he was doing so for the very first time. And, in a way, he was.

He strode to the edge of the precipice, turned hesitantly, then reached out and held Meilikki. For the first time in a long, long time, he held someone.

He stepped back, watching her smile. "You know the way back," she said. "Follow your heart and your spirit, for I gave them to you."

Spiridale turned to face the world again, and drew forth a metal arrow with a rope tied to it. He nocked and aimed at a section of rock which jutted out of the mountainside, across from the ledge on which they stood, and fired. It hit perfectly.

He resnapped his bow, and without looking back, grasped the rope and leaped outward.

The cool air rushed by in pure exhilaration. He swung out and down, then back up, aiming for another small ledge. As he reached it, he closed his eyes, let go of the rope, and landed lightly.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing by the dying campfire, the arrow back in his quiver. Larissa still slept peacefully.

"Larissa," he bent down, nudging her gently.

"What? What is it?" She was instantly awake.

"Relax," he told her. "There's no danger. I just wanted to be with you."

"What?" she asked, but smiled anyway. She could sense a change within him, as if he had finally tired of some ferocious fight, and so had laid it aside.

"I don't know how much time there is for either one of us," he went on. "We might die tomorrow. And I couldn't let another moment pass without telling you that – that I finally let the sunlight in." He touched her cheek. "I wanted to tell you that I love you. Even if you don't love me." He simply looked at her, stroking her hair, with no expectations or anything – just a simple admission of love.

Larissa had the most beautiful smile on her face. She reached up to hold his hand. "I believe you," she whispered. "And I love you, too."

Spiridale slowly leaned down, and Larissa tilted her head back. They kissed, for how long, they didn't know, surrounded by the forest and the soft light of a new moon, lost in each other.

They kissed more passionately, and Spiridale gently eased off her shirt.

"Wait," she said, still kissing him, not really resisting. "What if we're – we're attacked while – while we –?"

"Somehow," Spiridale whispered gently, "I don't think we'll be interrupted by anything tonight."

And they weren't.