He nodded to himself and resumed talking.
‘But if we are digging through the mysteries of our past, and giving weight to the argument that myths we previously considered to be faery tale, or elaboration at least, could possibly – in fact likely – be true, then we must consider the Seven Treasures.’
‘Yes. Aquilus mentioned them to me,’ Fidele said, trying to remember the specifics of their conversation. ‘Some of them were weapons, yes?’
‘That is correct,’ Ektor said, beaming like a tutor at a favourite pupil.
‘Aquilus spoke of trying to find them, to use in the God-War. He had set Meical to the task.’
‘Ah, well, whether that is good or bad we have yet to discover. But the Treasures, yes. In a way, I think they were all eventually used as weapons, even if that was not the purpose they were fashioned for. They were carved from the starstone, you see; a star that fell to earth, the tales say, through Asroth’s design. Each of the Treasures held different properties, or power. One of them, the cup or chalice, if you drank from it you were given unnaturally long life.’
He looked at her expectantly.
‘So that would explain some giants living far longer than others, such as this Nemain,’ Fidele said.
‘Exactly.’
‘What else did the Treasures do? What are they capable of?’
‘Well, there were the axe, spear and dagger, all fashioned after the War of Treasures began – they were obviously weapons, no real powers but they’d never blunt, never break. Also there was a cauldron – to eat from it would cure ill health. The cup would lengthen your life and increase your natural state – make you stronger, faster and so on. There was also a necklace. I cannot remember what that could do, or the torc. I shall have to return to my studies.’ He looked longingly over his shoulders at the rows of scrolls in their compartments.
‘But not right now, Ektor,’ Fidele said.
‘No, no. I shall do that later.’
‘Was there anything else that these Treasures could do?’
‘Well actually their main design, or Asroth’s main intention, was said to be that they made the veil between the Otherworld and our world . . . thin. Asroth desired to break through this veil and become flesh. Obviously it was not as simple as that – I would imagine that it would need willing parties on both sides of the veil, spells, sacrifice, other unpleasant things. That of course is when Elyon stepped in and decided enough was enough.’
‘Yes, I know that tale well enough,’ Fidele said with a wave of her hand.
She drew in a long, thoughtful breath. So much to learn, so much to understand. But somehow, deep in her bones, she knew this was important. She felt excited by this, and a little scared as well.
‘You are a treasure yourself, Ektor; there is much value in what is inside your head.’
Ektor blinked at her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, blushing.
‘Now, shall we talk about Meical, and what you think relates to him.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Ektor said. He went back to his bundle of scrolls, now strewn across the table. He picked one up, examined an inscription and then put it down, moving on to the next one. Fidele noticed the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth.
‘Here it is,’ he said at last. ‘When I first read it I paid it little mind, as it seemed a philosophical work, and my interests lean towards the histories. Also it is quite maudlin – the giants were – I imagine still are – a melancholy bunch, but who can blame them, I suppose, after the tragedies they have survived: death, humiliation, defeat, near-extinction, loss of lands, more death . . .’
‘Ektor, you’re rambling now. As much as I would love to stay here for the next moon, I am queen and have other tasks that I must see to. Please, back to Meical.’
‘Yes. Sorry. There were some phrases in this scroll that sparked a memory, particularly when my father questioned Nathair about this Meical. So.’ He spread the scroll on the table, finger tracing a line as he read. ‘Here it begins: We make war, we bleed, we gain, we build, but for what purpose? If Halvor spoke true then it is meaningless. It is all meaningless.’ He looked up at her. ‘You see what I mean: melancholy.’
She nodded trying to stay patient.
‘Halvor says the end-days are coming – but what will they end? An era, a life, all life? When the white wyrms spread from their nest, and the Treasures stir from their rest, he says, but the wyrms are sleeping, dust covered, perhaps dead, and the Treasures are scattered, spread.’
‘Those words in the middle of that – wyrms’ nests and the Treasures at rest – they are familiar to me. Meical spoke them, read them, at Aquilus’ council.’