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There are alliances formed for eternity in the elven kingdom of Gwanfaar, with its spherical capital Marandola. The measurement of time is subject to Atouh, the god of magic and ceremonial order. For many years, there has been no king for the Silvan Elves, and the gates to the Otherworld are locked. The son of the last leader, Gandolin, is approaching his coronation ceremony, but he guards a secret that is unknown even to his closest confidants. Even to Madinan, his childhood friend and closest companion. Madinan is not an elf, and her origins are a mystery that grievously haunts her, prompting her to venture out into the surrounding lands in search of her roots. To the borders of Gwanfaar, where gloomy shadows lurk and a sinister threat grows strong. Can Gandolin survive the daunting tests of higher powers and become his people's long-awaited ruler? It remains to be seen whether the elves will be able to stand against the greedy power in the west - but they are dependent on Madinan's help. Shortly before Gandolin's inauguration rituals, she disappears without a trace. Everything suddenly seems in question and a happy ending is doubtful...
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Inhaltsverzeichnis
Elven Secrets –
The Hidden Moon Sun Realm
For Guido and Purno -
who had to wait so long for it.
V. Yve P. Roman
Gandolin was excellent with bow and arrow from a very early age; this was also necessary for a realm before our time, which was threatened by dark forces because of its beauty and the harmony of its people.
It is a world invisible to human eyes. Veils of mist of oblivion were woven over it and only the purified spirit had access. A mind like Morgaine's or Merlin's.
She lay under a milky blue vault of sky and a delicate yellow sun shone warmly on her. Feathery clouds sometimes announced summer-warm rain; the one that refreshes weary souls and makes them dance in the pools of water, wet clothes clinging to the body like a second skin. The one that bubbles off the eyelashes like little uncut diamonds. The spicy scent of freshly bathed spruce and fir lingers in the air, the smell of damp forest moss, and the small branches, fir cones and twigs scattered on the ground shine wetly in never-before-seen dying splendour. The earth becomes fertile again and the vast golden-yellow wheat fields greedily quench their thirst.
The land is flat, the eye can roam. However, deep, unexplored and mysterious deciduous and coniferous forests, however, resist the curious observer and their interior eludes the knowing gaze. Moors whose size is not shown on any map lie in the morning mist and ghostly shadows hint at secret activities. It is a time of unrest and there are spirits moving in the land that do not belong here.
The actual guardians and inhabitants of this world are watching, but their unease is growing.
Gandolin belongs to the elven people, his home, life, path, goal, and death. Tall, slender, a dexterous, wiry body chiseled out of marble, tested every day anew for its functionality and reliability. Observant, restrained, cautious, agile, and in control. A still young man with the wisdom, foresight and self-imposed, strict discipline of an experienced leader and warrior. The only son of the great Gandal, who led the elves through a changing world for many centuries with love and caring foresight. Gandolin's mother died in childbirth; his father shortly after of a broken heart. Gandolin himself grew up sheltered and cared for by the mothers and fathers of his folk, his teachers were the wise and the old. But his love for a woman had never been kindled. Perhaps that was the reason for a certain harshness in his nature.
A great task awaited him. His kingdom had no leader. It was waiting for him.
The sun was setting, bathing nature in a foolhardy orange of all shades. Gandolin squinted into the setting sun, looking for telltale shadows. Like every day. Like every evening. Like every night. He briefly enjoyed the breathtaking spectacle of colours, his searching keen eyes finding no rest. He narrowed his eyes to see better, bow and quiver tightened around his right shoulder. He was an invisible witness in a tall elm tree, motionless like a statue, merging with nature. Beautiful like Zeus.
He had slanted almond eyes, the unmistakable trademark of the elves. Eyes that missed nothing, blue-grey, not unlike the planet Earth - seen from the depths of space. Hazy veils sometimes obscured his pupils, depriving others of an in-depth exploration of his state of mind. But no movement, no emotion escaped him. Sometimes these eyes seemed very cold. As if he did not belong to the pleasant forest elves, but to the distant, chilly Arctic Sea Elder, distant relatives of the forest elders, who had already crossed over into the higher spiritual planes.
But those who were close to him knew better. Behind his self-controlled, calm reserve, and cool manner was a highly sentient, intelligent soul. His full, sensitive lips betrayed him. Among those who enjoyed his trust, the well-thought-out, seemingly emotionless archer turned into a warm-hearted, open and playful young elf whose charming laugh enchanted all hearts. Especially that of Madinan, the same age, who - like all the others - had known him since childhood and had been raised and taught by the same teachers. She too was an orphan. No one knew her parents. One day she had been found in the forest of oblivion, on a foggy morning in November. No one had an idea how long she had lain there in her wicker basket, but she had survived. That tenacity and endurance stayed with her.
She was not a forest elf. She did not have those typical almond-shaped eyes. Madinan stood out because she was different from the others. She had something rebellious about her and always liked to assert herself, even through a wall if necessary - even if there might have been a door a meter away. She always found a way. Madinan, her name meant "the one born in the rain". An eternal flowing seemed to accompany her. Floating water that could not be stopped. Inner dams gathered her energies into unbridled power. Yet she too deceived her counterpart.