Sapling: The Broken Halls

by Dan Gillis

  “That will do,” the observing hooded one spoke quietly. The aggressor immediately stepped back a pace. His superior walked to where Nuril struggled for breath between coughing fits. The man bent his large frame into a crouch near her, taking her slender chin in his hand and turned her blemished and discoloured face toward his own.

  His eyes suddenly grew wide in surprise. Then his voice rang out in mocking laughter. "To think, all this time, the indomitable Nuril, an Incompatible!" he laughed again with his cloaked face inches from her blazing red eyes.

  "Who would pay for such information?" he queried with a chilling smile. One eyebrow lifted in disbelief. "How you rose so high in the ranks, you who should be dead by all rights, is a mystery worth investigating."

  The hood dipped slightly as Ebyn saw the gaze of his superior drift across her trembling body. Then he spoke. “There has been a change in plan, my lady. The Blade of Ahtol is under my direction now. The High Preceptor has marked your failures. You let a potential vessel slip through your grasp. You unveiled the cadre before its time, striding boldly through the streets performing Nexism weaves. You let a potent enemy break the binding stone and then escape to harass us again.

  “Now you have but one task now if you can manage it - see that the dagger gets to Syrion swiftly and safely. Already you have wasted the limited patience of the sister cadres.”

  He caressed her face softly with the other hand, his face set in a sardonic grin.

  She wrenched her head from his grasp, and turned her face from the broad-shouldered man.

  He smiled as he stood erect and turned from her. “You may return to Khyvla, Nuril, when our conquest is complete and Kenhar is ours. That is if you have any desire left for use in Ahtol’s realm. You may yet find favour by my side.”

  Nuril sat silently, and drew the cloak over her head slowly as the two men strode back to their mounts.

  They moved away with the rest of their entourage.

  The former One Seat stood shakily upon her feet. Ebyn felt suddenly uncomfortable with the situation. She was no longer the cadre mistress, yet she was an incredibly potent weaver. He dare not cross her, particularly after the beating she had just received at the hands of her betters.

  “Ebyn …” He lifted his head to his lady, though she was careful to hide her face. “Prepare to move the riding party out.” Her voice was as firm as ever he had heard.

  “Yes, my Lady.” Ebyn moved away without bowing, which did not seem to bother the woman. He stole a backward glance at her as he moved away. She had turned eastward toward the direction of the battleground and far off Tamers Reach which stood resolutely as Kenhar’s rearguard. He spied Nuril’s arms wrapped gently about her torso as her cloak billowed in a sudden gust of wind. Ebyn knew that meant more than a comfort for bruised muscles. She seemed to long for something …

  “Study the flame’s pattern, steady your breathing. There is a great mystery in a simple flame. Consider. Why does it long for the heavens but remain upon the wick? Why does it cower from a breath and yet rage within a windstorm? How is it we are warmed at first and then seared by its touch? It is both furious and yet fragile. Balance is the key to it all. Make your soul akin to the flame. Bridle your passions, school your thoughts. Find the balance between your mind and heart. Then you shall shine brilliantly and beautifully for all to see.”

  Alastor - Ignitor: Master of Enigma, Fire and Consumption

  Meditation Sessions

  The Price of Meddling

  “WHAT DO YOU mean, gone?” Shien shouted out at the composed monk. He stalked the hard floor next to Zyr, who stood quietly as the young man fumed. “How could you let her go? You know what happens at night! She will turn into that … that …” Shien fought for words as reality dawned on him like the early morning light that shone through the high windows. It had been over a full day since the encounter with the Blade and their mercenaries. Zyr had revealed the nature of their enemy after the terrible night when they subdued the demon. For every night since, it would manifest itself through Firah. If it was not quelled quickly through a blood offering it would grow unchecked. Shien knew the reality and fury of the power within Firah. It terrified him that such a thing could exist. Now, with morning, he was terrified at the prospect of that same demon surfacing through the night unchecked. He imagined Firah’s wild screams masked in unholy ichor.

  “That will not happen again, for she no longer bears the blade,” the monk replied quietly.

  “Are you mad? I saw the blade on her hip last night,” Shien replied hotly. He turned on his heel and paced vigorously across the monk’s path.

  “That was another blade that she acquired elsewhere,” the Ashori assured him. “The demon blade that caused the transformation will not harm her again.” Zyr’s voice was filled with a sense of resolve and finality. Shien was undeterred.

  “She looks the same. Same red eyes and cursed hair. Can you say for certain nothing will happen?” The monk stared back with a strange look. Shien could not read it, but he felt for certain there was more he was not sharing.

  “Nothing more will come. The changes from her encounter with Ahtol are merely superficial. For Firah, a greater test remains.”

  “So you say. Yet, you heard the man, Rhagal, atop the wall. There are other dangers within this place. You admitted this yourself. She will need our help.” He was facing Zyr now. How he hated that calm demeanour that the healer projected. ‘Has he any feelings?’ the young swordsman thought in frustration.

  “She is beyond our aid, Shien, and believe me, I wish there was a way to retrieve her. There are forces at work presently that will guide her to the path she must inevitably choose. I wish I could say which path, for many are shrouded. Soon, she will no longer be the girl we knew.” The monk sighed and sat down upon a near pillar base within the clerestory chamber. Shien bit back a portion of his anger. He could sense that the monk was struggling with something inside as well. Relenting, he realized that no amount of venting that anger would bring Firah safely back. Slowly, the young man slid down next to the monk. They both sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating the many events which were in motion.

  “It was my fault …” Shien began after some hesitation. Zyr turned his face slightly toward the young man with a quizzical look. Shien stared off into space, reliving the memories of the past weeks. “If I hadn’t taken the dagger … she would never be in this awful situation.” He looked to Zyr, who made a small sound of acknowledgement.

  “I would not take all this upon your shoulders, Shien. Despite all my efforts, we were all led to this end. It seems that fate is guiding all our footsteps to where they will eventually fall, whether on good or ill soil.” Zyr rubbed his bristled chin and continued. “You can be no more to blame than Tohm or I in bringing her to the city. Blame can always be laid at the feet of many. The truth is we all had a part to play, and the course was laid out.”

  “I cannot accept that! How can you say that fate guides us to a predetermined end? I make my own choices, not some ethereal force that you cannot explain except with the word ‘fate’. Nothing prevents me from getting up and leaving this place, leaving all of this behind.” He focused his fierce grey eyes upon the monk who continued to look toward the doorway into the hall full of dead.

  “Just like how you could not leave that night of the battle?” Zyr replied softly. Shien’s mouth dropped open and then he closed it. There was a moment of awkward silence between them.

  “How could you know that, being unconscious?” he asked with a guarded air. The monk simply chuckled in response.

  “I knew the night you helped me banish the demon. I knew that you would take an opportunity, and it seems that the night of the battle would have been an appropriate time. Also, don’t presume that people in comas do not hear and remember things that are said around them. Firah, well … she said many things about you while I recuperated in the tent.” The monk laughed aloud sincerely and heartily. Shien watched the mirthful healer
and knew that the laughter was hiding a deeper tension, something unseen.

  “Humph. Well obviously I decided to stay, for her - if you must know. Still, there was hardly anything else that influenced that decision.” Zyr merely smiled and turned back to the doorway, intent on what lay beyond. Shien considered what he had said. It was not all entirely true, there was another reason to stay. He mused deep within his heart and thought about the strangled call to arms that stirred his soul that night. There was something in that call that struck a deep chord, a buried memory or understanding. He was not sure how to explain it, and so he kept it to himself. Better not to try to explain the unexplainable. Either way, he did not wish to carry on the conversation. He wanted to do something. Waiting was maddening, and he could not sit idly while Firah passed through the fires of awakening. “I am going to look around,” he announced to Zyr.

  “I will not stop you,” the monk warned, “but do not forsake your own counsel. There are dangers here within these battered walls. The forest guardians are but one potential threat. Guard yourself and be wary of things that you have little knowledge of. Blind ignorance will hasten an early grave.” Zyr’s eyes were hard stone.

  “Well, what of you?” Shien inquired. “I would have thought you would come with me to watch my every step.” Shien spoke sarcastically and yet there was an element of truth in the statement. The monk always seemed to be there as a guardian. The thought of not having him there was more than a little unsettling.

  “I have matters to attend to, which I must attempt alone.” Zyr stood, and he straightened his robes as the skirts slid to his ankles. “Should you decide to leave this room, know that there are many memories and mysteries to be found here. These halls once contained great troves of knowledge and wisdom, if one knew where to look. Perhaps you might find something of interest. Remember, do not let your guard down. Likewise, know when to leave and abandon self-interest. You could spend a lifetime in here and never satisfy all your desires.” He clasped the young man on the shoulder and spoke quietly. “May you find favour in Mother’s sight … may we all.” Shien nodded as the monk stepped toward the inner chamber doors. The dried out throes of the fallen were all that waited beyond. This alone caused Shien to falter in his resolve to proceed.

  The monk pulled one door open slightly and with an evident deep breath slipped through and disappeared from sight.

  The quiet of the room settled as a blanket over Shien. The calmness drew him back to earlier times, before Zyr, Firah or even before he his hunt for the Spirit of Vyn-Shi. He recalled sitting upon high peaks in Tamers Reach, when the sun was setting low and the voices of the mountains would adjoin in strange melodies.

  In those moments, he felt he could understand his existence. All the complicated notions and difficulties of the world stripped away into simplicity. While the chamber in which he resided was hardly comparable, he did feel a semblance of that same peace.

  His mind wandered to the many events that had transpired since he embraced his lineage. He came from royal blood, albeit a mixed and bastardized variety. Yyriha had charged him to pursue this path when he was ready. The path had taken strange turns: from Khyvla to the Halls. It was only in the quiet darkness that he could process it all.

  His mind caught upon the battle with the White Guard company as one of the most peculiar events. At the center of his musings was the Master of the Guard. Tey’ur’s behaviour had been erratic and uncharacteristic of his legendary status. Compared to the strangeness of demons and Defilers, he was actually more intrigued by the old warrior’s actions. With Shien’s gift of empathic prowess and the endless days observing the political games in the courts of Vyn-Shi, the study of the mind was something he could understand.

  Suddenly, he remembered the letter Tey’ur gave him before each company parted ways. He had not thought of it since, such was the enthralling diversion of the entrance into the Broken Halls. The cunning ways of coincidence reminded him that Zyr had received a letter from Rhagal. While reaching for his worn pack he half-joked that Firah - where ever she was - was due to receive some communication as well.

  Shien pulled the folded paper from the small pocket fixed to the front of the pack. The seal resisted his tug on the paper - the wax was still fresh. Fearing the paper would tear, he carefully eased the seal apart. Settling back, he tossed some moulded fabric from the chamber floor onto the dying coals. The firelight danced and illuminated the back of the parchment, revealing the script. He gasped in shock at the inscriptions, for they were characters - formed into familiar vertical lines - from his own native language.

  Shien:

  You may wonder why I am writing this letter to you, as our acquaintance has endured only a short season. I assure you that my intentions are honourable and in some way a payment for your assistance on the field.

  As I am somewhat familiar with your country and culture, please forgive my indulgence in fumbling through Vyn-Shi characters. My form being rustier than a Gnarel blade, I can imagine you cringing on every line.

  Shien paused reading, as he was still recovering from the shock of reading his own native language. He knew of few else who used it, other than ambassadors and certain nobility which was expected of their station. In all his travels he never saw another soul who resembled a citizen of Vyn or from Shi descent, as he was. He gathered his thoughts and continued reading.

  I wish to extend a warning regarding your travelling companion, Zyr. As you have gathered, there is little love lost between us. I have neither time nor patience to regale you with our past encounters. Let it suffice that I have determined to move along and leave these matters behind, despite the pains I have born. However, as you are now closely associated with him, I feel it my duty to inform you of certain truths that will surely bear fruit in the future. Perhaps I can spare you some of the grief I experienced. That will be up to you, in the end.

  Zyr Tareniel is, at his core, self-serving and will do as he sees fit - logic and wisdom be damned. His entire career has been bent on obtaining his own goals. One may usually excuse youthful indiscretions; however, this pattern has continued into adulthood.

  On the very day of his ascension to the rank of Master within the Order of the Open Hand, he disappeared and betrayed a most solemn oath. Shortly thereafter we were attacked. Our defences were compromised and our Circle of Masters was unable to hold the perimeter. Much of this was due to the gaps in our ranks. Zyr abandoned his post and his departure was directly related to the breaking of the Halls.

  I share this with you as a cautionary tale. Travel with him and take comfort in his talents. They will serve you all well. However, do not trust him to absolute loyalty. Reserve a part of your heart for such a time. Sadly, you have already endured such a thing. Whether or not his actions were perceived as merciful assistance, his reckless nature left you without his aid when we first met. By choosing to heal the mindless Gnarel, he compromised himself and was utterly useless during last night’s ambush. He lay in his tent while blood was spilled upon the ground. How his abilities would have served us that night!

  Understand that eventually, in the moment you need him most, he will betray you. Whether intended or happenstance, it is in his nature, and that will not change. I swear upon it.

  Now, I leave these thoughts with you. Consider them, they are sincere and honest.

  Be safe on your journey, son of Vyn-Shi.

  Your servant,

  Tey’ur

  Last Steward of House H’vail

  of the Symian Third Circle.

  For all the shock that Shien had felt at the writing upon the page, he was now completely overwhelmed with confusion. What was he to believe? Memories flooded his mind, each scrabbling for his attention. There was no denying what Tey’ur had said; it was unmistakable. Zyr had pushed himself too far and on too many occasions. The more he dwelt on his experiences with the monk, the more his mind was led to doubt. Had he not felt Zyr was holding back something before he departed into the Halls?
>
  In the end, all Shien could do was put the matter to the side. He could sit and puzzle over the whole affair and accomplish nothing. He would watch the monk and determine the truth for himself. Tey’ur was likely biased and jaded to the Ashori. Time would determine if the Warmaster’s words were true. He would certainly be more watchful. He folded the letter carefully and tucked it inside his inner shirt pocket. This sort of information was best kept safe from prying eyes. If Tey’ur read Vyn-Shi forms, who else did?

  Shien pondered what would be the best thing to do. Certainly, he had no wish to die here. He had no knowledge of the Halls, and yet the monk’s words were intriguing. He considered what would have occurred when the Order’s halls were assaulted. ‘Most likely, they would have sacked the place.’ That would mean that most things would have been taken and the rest burned. There was hardly a hope that any interesting things would remain. Still, the young man considered that he would have little chance to ever explore the Halls again. If there was ever a time to indulge a whim of curiosity, it was now.

  He decided to enter the inner chambers now that Zyr had been gone for a while. There was only one way to proceed; the way Zyr had gone, or to depart into the concourse outside. He stepped to the doors leading to the main chambers and checked to see if his sacred heirlooms were set upon his back. They lay anxiously within his pack that he carried, longing to be used again. Shuddering, he resisted the impulse to examine the terrible weapons and peered through into the room.

  Very little light found its way into the inner halls, as growth had choked up most of the windows from the outside. Within the room, shimmering streams of dawn’s light struggled to brighten the gloomy resting place. He stepped within and saw the monk’s footprints imprinted in years of untouched dust. They traced carefully around the skeletal bodies who now waited upon the young man. From within this great inner hall, there were several exits. Zyr seemed to have taken a direct route which would lead him farther into the structure. The young man elected to leave that path out of his possible options.