Chapter XXXI
Interlude - Velut arbor aevo
As a tree with the passage of time
“So… what brought a Hurlorn such as yourself here, now, to tell of this tale?” you might wonder. My role in these important events ended and began anew on a day much fairer than today, some significant decades ago as measured by you, but only a handful of slumberous days by my waking. One can never fully prepare for such things.
On that fateful day, I stood in the sacred grove, as stunned and amazed as might be expected from one so recently returned from the dead. And although I had lived enough adventure for a hundred lifetimes, and a hundred lifetimes of adventure was plenty enough to live, the saga of the SPARX stones had only just begun.
For the precious stone that I had possessed all that time, the light that guided me through the Everdim and the Catacombs, was a light like no other in my life, save Holly… for a time.
I had learned through Fyorn’s whispers that the site where I made my most fortunate discovery had been disturbed not long after by none other than Mer Andulus, the talented and persistent Stout prospector whose uncanny ability to make great finds was unsurpassed in his time. Using the map we had left for him at the Handlers’ Post on the Mire Trail, Mer had reasoned out the location of my discovery and ultimately noted a boulder that seemed out of place in the geological context of the setting. It was the very same boulder that had caused the light of my stone to intensify and dance with vigor when I went near, just prior to encountering the bog queens. Mer Andulus cracked it open with a mighty swing of his pick, and found at its core three colored crystals.
Now Mer had heard talk of Fyorn and his reputation for knowing the area like the back of his hand. So, in time, the prospector brought the stones to him, who in turn made Mer a proposition he couldn’t refuse: realizing their potential, Fyorn offered to bring the stones to Gan where he believed they would fetch a handsome price. Mer agreed, and held many of Fyorn’s own treasures as collateral while the woodsman alone made the voyage.
And so it happened that my uncle passed into the Hidden City on the very day that Princess Xara of the High Elderkin was born, her mother the lovely Queen Eleonara and her father Xarfor, King of Jhinxar and Protector of the Third Eternal Race. Immortal births were rare, those of the noblest family rarer still, and the city was rejoicing in a great celebration on the very day that Fyorn arrived.
The ranger brought the crystals of Mer to the Tower of Wills to display before the King and Queen of the Hidden City. He called for the curtains to be drawn and the torches to be snuffed out in the throne room. The courtiers thought him mad, but the Queen in her state of mind entertained his request, while the babe suckled. Only then did Fyorn unveil the spark of the stones. The crystals shone bright red, blue and green. Magnificent motifs of multicolored light and dark bands danced on the smooth stone walls, the tapestries, and the drawn curtains. The courtiers of Gan marveled at their beauty. “Pretty lights,” said the new mother to her babe. The babe’s eyes were full of wonder. The diminutive oracle of the court, Nekenezitter, pushed giant spectacles up the bridge of his nose and declared the find a great sign of things to come. “Great deeds will be done and undone by the light of these stones,” he proclaimed. Powerfully wise words they were, coming from one representing the blind. In honor of the newborn heir to the throne, the crystals were dubbed “SPARX stones,” where the trailing “X” was inserted to honor the new babe, Princess Xara.
Mer Andulus, the determined Stout prospector, received his just reward, and kept his promise to me and my companions. We all became rich beyond the wildest dreams of common folk, and Mer himself founded a city under a far away mountain in the wild east where, as he put it, “the gold flows like a river with tributaries of sparkling gems and white metal.” He rose to become a wealthy and influential lord mayor in his own right.
The remainder of the tale is not recorded here, for it is unwieldy, to say the least. So forgive me for skipping past many fateful years. The full account resides in a series of books bearing the heading SPARX – a collection of writings that I assembled over decades of travel and through careful study of the monumental events that took place during the Age of Rejuvenation. During that time, Harrow never let up, and I was forever a thorn in its political side.
It suffices to say that life went on. I attended the university in Gan and had many grand adventures near and far, only to return home eventually and settle less than one league east of where I had grown up. At the university, I learned of matter and energy, living things, non-living things, and how difficult it can be to tell the difference between the latter two, nevermind the former two. I even learned the mechanics of how to create a universe and slide between them – in theory, but not in practice. In Webfoot and during my travels serving the Trilands, I learned of healing the natural way, diplomacy, the balance and optimality of negotiation, and the completeness of chance. Each of these great things played a role in what was to come. But of all these things, none played more grand roles in the great deeds of the time than these three: folly, young love (for they go together like peas in a pod) and, yes… well, not surprisingly, as you have seen… an odd sort of way of manipulating what was termed “tainted matter.” There were many theories floating around the university at that time about how it all worked and why it existed, and how I was merely a vessel to it. Only one explanation ever held water. According to some, the implications about what it all meant screamed absolute insanity and impending doom for all humankind in the years to come. But isn’t that always the case? I tend to look forward less despairingly.
Optimism has its rewards. I eventually ran for lord mayor and won on the strength of my status as a mildly famous adventurer. I had children and grandchildren. All the while, as Fyorn had revealed to me, the SPARX stone pushed me ever forward, gently prodding me on with just that extra little bit of grit and resolve when it was most needed. As mayor, I expanded bog-friendly industries and brought in new business through traders and prospectors, and imposed stiff penalties for logging in Deepweald.
It might be noticed, by someone attentive, that the above list of events exhibits a certain one-sidedness: there are no failures mentioned. Failures are messy and difficult to explain and handle. I would much rather forget that failures played an integral part in just about everything… if forgetting were only possible. If anything, those memories are etched in my mind even more deeply.
All in all though, I lived well. And when my time had finally come, and in that final breath, I left behind the pain of a broken body and was released into the greatest of unknowns, the Mark on my arm a distant memory of childhood. And then it should all have been over, the sweet passing of a long and full life. But if it had been over, this tale would have already ended. Indeed, it never would have been put to ink! Yet oddly, the story continues, for the strangest of reasons…
Chapter XXXII
Hurlorn
Unrolling the scroll turned out to be quite the complex task in my new form, but patience and persistence eventually prevailed. The artful words on that water and earth stained parchment were scribed in thin, elegant arcs of black ink, and the stamp of Gan filled the bottom margin – a Gryphon perched on the branch of a large tree, poised for takeoff. Despite my many seasons, I never really believed the day would ever come. Nevertheless, there I was, undeniably, although it seemed out of a dream. I decided to take a moment to read the scroll through first, before speaking it aloud and committing my new life:
With the vows of my former life fulfilled or pardoned by my untimely departure, I am now released of them, and make one and only one vow anew. By sun, wind, rain and earth I take this final oath, to protect the woodlands and the meadows, the lowlands and the marshes, the stands of tall pines and the fields of grass. I hereby declare my acceptance of the earthen form granted to me – Hurlorn of Deepweald – and accept all duties and responsibilities commensurate with that great honor.
The words sank beneath my newfoun
d scales of bark, searching for the pit of my stomach, no longer there. It was all happening too fast. Couldn’t I have just a moment to think this through? – a fleeting thought, but I knew in my heartwood that delay was not an option. I read the words aloud while the offer was still good.
And when the final syllables rolled off my gnarled tongue, there seemed a momentary hush in all the wild, the land at attention all around. While pondering my fate, the sounds of rustling leaves rose up in the ancient grove as a gust of cool wind relayed an answer to that hollow voice of mine. I stood there somewhat overwhelmed, in the midst of my gargantuan tree brothers and sisters, their branches reaching up and out of the grove to the very stars in the cool night sky. A sudden rush came over me, a realization. As the years pass, I will grow tall too. And if I live to be a thousand, I might reach four hundred feet – a mighty tall state for one that began as a mere pipsqueak!
A hooded figure, slightly hunched over and with head bowed, stood next to a large stone slab in the pale light. It was Fyorn, and I was glad to see his weathered face, and glad to have been born once again. I had sidestepped death-inevitable in the Wild Elderkin way – the Mark of the Hurlorn. I glanced over at my primary left bough, where my wrist might have been. The Mark once there had faded, or vanished, or perhaps had never been part of this hard and ligneous exoskeleton. All of my equipment was also gone. Only the SPARX stone remained, clutched by stemmed toes like roots about a rock in the earth. They would not open; the stone had become a part of me – the seed of my new being. The familiar flicker of red light within it persisted, as it always had… entrancing and soothing, yet urging me on, to keep moving, stay sharp and stay active, change the world. I felt as though the stone was hinting that I was not quite done yet, or rather, that it was not quite done with me yet. From whence such a will might arise, I could not even begin to fathom. Perhaps it was naught but a delusion of mine.
Fyorn beckoned that I follow. I lifted a heavy foot, tearing roots from earth, and then another, and then another, and then another – four in all. Behind me, swinging this way and that way of its own accord, came a long and woody whip of a tail. The Kith ranger led me away from the glyphic stone slab and out of the grove, past the palisade of sharpened branches that surrounded the sacred meeting place, and into the deeper woods. “I am taking you to the lowlands,” he explained, “the soil there is rich beyond compare, and you are sure to get a good start. I know of a clearing with plenty of sunshine, next to a quiet pond. The water table is high there too, but not overly high. You will draw water easily when you thirst, and your roots need not dig too deep.”
I’m a glorified tree, I thought to myself, Green Dragon of Deepweald – Bah! This is ridiculous and I’m a tree. I’ll soon have birds nesting in my armpits – I don’t even have armpits; spider webs over my limbs to look forward to, and a woodpecker pecking out my eyes! I’m a tree!
After having waited a few polite moments for a response that never came, old Fyorn continued, “You’d best arm yourself first chance you get. A good sized club is best – camouflaged in your branches y’know.” Mid-stride, he passed me a familiar looking piece of deepwood.
Shatters.
“I’ve heard of all kinds of crazy things happening to Hurlorns while they slumber, and even worse to those that have grown lethargic. Arm yourself, I say. Heed my words, Tree King.” He smiled warmly and that was that. Without further words, we trekked through the night on mystical dark paths that give way only to the druids and their ranger kin. Together, in early morning, we came upon the clearing that Fyorn had spoken of, and straightaway I found a comfortable spot. I was sore all over and ever so tired – VERY tired – and after digging in a ways, I drank deeply from the earth and began to drift off to sleep.
Fyorn gently stroked my new protective shell, as rough now as his hands ever were. “There now,” he said softly, “…there ye’go… there ye’go.” Those were the last words I heard on that extraordinary day, and for some time thereafter, and they were the last words I ever heard from my uncle.
Chapter XXXIII
The sapling
I slept a long stretch. In fact, by my reckoning it was decades. And while I slept, I dreamt of my former life, all the time soaking in dissolved minerals from the earth. Over time, the sun gave me sustenance and the wind strengthened my limbs – at least, those limbs that were not blown off by excessive gusts. My branches and leaves angled to match the sun’s incidence and my roots followed the water vein. But never did I move from that perfect spot. I was comfortable, content and… settled, slipping in and out of consciousness as the years passed by.
One morning, I noted visitors about. Occasionally, I had seen or heard Fyorn nearby (or so I thought), but never any other. That day was different. That day, I awoke in my lowland sanctuary to the sounds of children laughing and playing. One young girl and two younger boys ran full tilt around my trunks, the youngest boy intent on tagging the others while the older ones taunted him. Fyorn, appearing as tough and gnarly as always, but fresh looking, stood alongside an older Pip bearing likeness to Paplov, but it could not be Paplov since he had passed on many years prior. Fyorn and the Pip scanned the ground in the vicinity of my roots, eventually picking up a branch that had cracked and fallen off in a windstorm.
“This one’s a good size… as big as you’ll ever see,” said Fyorn, “a fine enchanted carving it will make. By the shape of it, I’d say a fantastic bear.”
“I see what you mean, Uncle Amot,” replied one of the young pipsqueaks through an awfully wide grin.
The older Pip spoke next, his voice steady and sure. “You’ll hear it growling by next visit,” he said. “You never know what’s in the wood, waiting to show itself.” He paused to examine the find, and then looked to the old Hurlorn looming over him. “Why don’t you just take a whole tree, Amot?” asked the Pip – obviously his question was directed to the one who I had thought was Fyorn, but who was called Amot. “You and I could make a grand fortune.”
I became angered at the mere suggestion and, with a lithe branch, instinctively raised my club, still hanging high in my topmost branches. I could see that this Amot character was angry too, but he handled his passion well. “It would not be long before there were none, don’t y’know,” he said, “if you cut them all down.”
“I know… you’re right,” replied the Pip, “I don’t know what I was thinking. Sometimes I just think stupid things out loud.”
With that comment, I relaxed my grip on the club. I was once that way.
“Time to go,” the older Pip said to the young ones. The boys ran to him first, faces sticky with taffy, then the girl.
Amot squatted and looked squarely at the three children. “You must never tell anyone where your Papa gets the deepwood – it must remain, to outsiders, a secret and a trick of your own design. If everyone knew they’d farm it all out in no time.”
The young girl looked up through my branches with big orange eyes. “Goodbye!” she said as she patted my trunk. And when her palm touched my bark I felt the life inside of her like a rush, a surge of days gone by and those to come filled my being. The fire of my SPARX stone flared up. That one has it, I thought. We need more like her, a voice whispered inside of me. Suddenly, something occurred to me. It was something that had eluded me all this time.
You old fool, I thought, that elderly Pip with Amot is the son I never knew, and this girl must be his granddaughter. With that sudden realization and in that very instant, my branch lashed out and I bestowed upon her the gift. She drew back and looked me in the eye, crossly, instantly branded as I once was, so long ago. One day, she too would receive a Spirit Hurlorn seed – a SPARX stone. I would see to it. She would be given the same choice I had been given. It really was that simple.
My great granddaughter examined the sting, wincing.
“Sweet Gale, come!” said the old Pip. Without a second thought, the girl kicked my root collar, dismissed the lashing altogether and bounded away jovially to catch u
p with the others. She did not seem to care much about the Mark it left, but I knew she would before long. My granddaughter would have to endure the choice that I had been given. And Amot, son of Fyorn, would have to explain to her what it meant and how it all worked… some day. Until then, she would feel bound to the natural world as I had, her mind ever bent on healing and protecting the land and others, and she would work, in her own ways, to preserve the woodlands and the meadows, the lowlands and the marshes, the stands of tall pines and the fields of grass. And here they would persist. Finally, I understood. This was how the oath worked… it was not through me alone that the forest would stand protected, but rather, it was through the gift passed along to the saplings.
Chapter XXXIV
Shadow and lightning
The time for action has finally arrived and my last inkbottle is nearly dry. I must bring this daunting task to a close. I have done my part, and I have an important… person – I suppose person is still the right word, even now – to meet. I will make this short, for she arrives soon. It always strikes me when two unlikely events coincide. This time, I am the focal point, the centre, the attractor. The greatest light in my life will shine upon me in my greatest hour of darkness, once again. The light may flicker, but over time it will prevail – it must, it has too.
What caused all of this? As it turns out, the light of the SPARX stones was no match for the Heart of Darkness, and the destructive will of Karna – the Orbweaver – continues to be the greatest of all wills to counter. The Elderkin have nothing to rival Her raw power over life and death – nothing save a small hope, a subtle force, a hidden flicker; hidden but all-permeating and reliant solely on the goodwill of Men. That is an entirely different tale though, and no more of it will be written here, except to repeat that which Queen Xara said best, not so long ago, in her address to the leaders of the Nations of Fortune against our one common enemy:
SPARX Incarnation: Order of the Undying (SPARX Series I Book 2) Page 27