Introduction
The valley…is the sanctuary of the Moonslaves.
The valley is called SilLuna, named after the river god Sil and the moon Luna.
He admired her, and promised her everything, ending with unconsciousness for millennia.
And, of course, according to the pledge he made, the beautiful elegant melancholy elves of moonlight settled down in the valley and go on with their endless reincarnation.
Time seemed still through out history, and no one ever found out about the valley until one moonlit night, a prince of a falling empire ruined by another reckless and deadful promise, sank into the river, the history, the legend and the mythology…
Prologue
Long, long ago, there was a River adoring the silent cold Moon.
“Oh, how I like the pale face, which never wrinkle at the wind, and which never fade along time…” He kept murmuring as the waves sang. And what the people by the river side sang meant nothing to him. He didn’t care about the heroes, the legends and the gratitude for nurturing. What he desired was the response from his beloved.
But how still was the Moon, hanging in the deep sky, looking into a distance far behind him. No one had ever figured out what she was looking at, or why she looked so melancholy, or what she was thinking about. Not even those who adored her.
“Oh, please, please my Beauty, tell me about your worry. I may not be able to fix it for you, but at least I can share the sorrows. Make me your friend…” He kept talking, like all other streams, rivers and even seas often do. He mentioned the wild flowers he came across on the way, described the enrapturing sunset in the west, hymned for the cool wind bringing golden leaves of letters from life in autumn, and so on and so forth.
But still the moon said nothing. Nor did she give a look at him. She rose and sank every evening and dawn, with the same cruelty but different shade on her still face. It seemed that she was waiting, though no one knowed what she was waiting for.
“I love you, though I’ve never heard your voice. It must be sweet, for it is the voice of a beauty. I love you, though I’ve never seen you smile. That must be pretty, and can take away all the sorrows in the world, for it is the smile of the beloved. How I love you!” He shouted, but no one dared to blame him for destroying the silence of the night. That night, people by the river side trembled with fear, with fear of the anger of the river. That night, prayer took the place of singing, and chanters held sacrificial rites to calm the storm. “I love you more than anything in the world.”
And for the first time, the Moon blinked. It seemed to him that she had drawn back her sight from the distance and found his words touching. Encouraged by her response, the River shouted again, “I love you more than all the rains in the cloud, and all the cloud in the sky. I love you more than all the land I’ve met, and all the land I feed. I love you with everything I own.”
“Really?” said the Moon gently, with a strange tone which the River was too excited to notice in her deep voice.
“I mean it. I…”He was to begin again, and his cheer brought even more fierce water.
“What is it exactly,” Interrupted the Moon slowly, stressing every word carefully, “that you would like to love me with?”
The River cooled down a bit for a moment. He thought about the past, present, and had a glimpse into the near future. He thought about the creatures in the water, by the river side, and those which went past twice every year. “I was a happy river before I met her,” He thought, “and a river tortured by love before she answered me. Now I should be a bitter river if I don’t deserve her love in return.” Then he remembered his people, those singing and dancing, and he told her. She smiled but said nothing. He remembered the magnificent scenery of sunrise and sunset, and the fragrant lawn and flowers, and the lovely wind and rain. He told her, but she showed no interest. “My dear lady,” cried the River at last, “without your love, I am but a poor river possessing nothing in the world. What would I not like to love you with?”
The Moon smiled, but her smile was neither sweet nor delightful, but cold and tired and, for some reason, quite peaceful. “I demand nothing more than your very name, Sil.”
And so, in love and in vow, Sil the River gave out his name, and was exiled from his identity ever since.
The name of Sil was forgotten, well, among civilizations above the ground. The waters of Sil were no longer fierce, for there was not aggressive emotion any longer. Those songs were sung, but the meanings were lost, and the dancing continued, though no one really understood. An empire was built, fell, and another. Thousands of years later, another reckless expression of affection from a prince brought about a disaster in this country. That should be the beginning of this story.
