Sapling: The Broken Halls

by Dan Gillis

  She stopped and considered her thoughts. It all sprung from the Symian incursion. So many cycles had passed since the breaking of peace and soon it would be over. She could still recall the moment when it had occurred. All was peaceful within the Hyrlac spirit rifts, and then the Symian destroyers came ravaging the sacred nests with all their forsaken works. The trees and the spirits all departed as the rifts fell into ruin. So many connections were lost at that time. Hyrlacian communities severed without the means to link together. So many Hyrlacs left without a guide. The spirits were silent and would not return. With every rift that fell to Symian ignorance and lust for resources, the Hyrlac would lose a part of themselves. She glanced with troubled magenta eyes, now shifted from their tranquil silver hue at the far rift. It hovered over the center of the pool, perhaps the last remaining. It hummed in its curious manner as if singing gently to her. ‘If it falls’… she shuddered, causing the filaments about her head to quiver in unison.

  She returned to her memory. Finally, the dispossessed Hyrlac had drunk enough of the bitter fountain. They had little to lose, for their very being had been ripped away, leaving naught but fury. The rifts turned from elements of guidance to vengeance, and the spirits were used for battle lust. So began the first brutal retaliatory strike without an attempt at diplomacy, because of the differences in communication. The Symians were savages, they had said. The war had waxed long with tremendous loss on both sides. The young … Niive could scarcely fathom the thought … the young were now bred for war. They were losing all that they were as they practiced the war dance. The old ones were slowly departing and she remained the last of the Sage. When she was gone, so was all that made their kind bright and beautiful. Nothing in the endless struggle held her approval. Indeed, she did not consider all Symians the enemy, for she knew in her heart that many were led to this war much as her kind had been.

  She saw the movement in the trees, and stood upon her bowed slender legs, as the long hanging tendrils swayed with her body. She had stripped the blades as a sign of peace. As the war council approached she vowed that she would counsel for the last time.

  “Niive,” the foremost signaled to the Sage as his body twisted in a rhythmic greeting.

  “R'zair.” She motioned back with a delicate twist of her limb. The others came forth and offered their greetings. R'zair was in a foul mood; his manner was abrupt and lacked fluidity. It was spreading to the others. She glanced at his black skin which stretched tightly across his form. There was a slight red tinge that she detected. Not only was he in a foul mood, he was anxious for what was to come. The Hyrlac Sentient began to move his body in communication, describing the condition of the forces. He swayed deeply as he mentioned the death toll. She stood silent as the others around him ruffled their long deadly spinal fibers in affirmation. The consuls were so young, and so easily taken in by war and R'zair’s ambition for war. They were so far removed from their ancestors. Their skills, sharpened as keenly as their once beautiful manes, were fashioned for one purpose: Death.

  She cut his ranting off with a gesture. His body stiffened indignantly in reaction and, while his amethyst eyes darkened, the red tinge upon his skin flared. From her place near to the pool-edge, the old sage began to move her body in description of the formalities dismissed by his impertinence. She chastised his lack of civility and excessive bloodthirstiness. All the while, his frame shook with apparent hatred. She felt sorrow within, for he had been guided under her care when but a newling. She had shared all that was beautiful and vibrant of their kind and he had selfishly pursued the paths of war. She stopped her rebuke and lowered her head slowly. It was fruitless.

  “If you are done with your sentimental traditions,” he gestured harshly, “we must proceed with what is truly pressing. The Symians have burned out the north-rift.” Niive’s body jolted in unbelief. All gone but the core-rift. Impossible. He continued on, unperturbed by her reaction. “The time has come to finish the Symian threat. We need you to unseal the rift and unleash the spirits of war.”

  Niive’s whole body lost its strength and she collapsed to the forest floor. She began to shake in fear of what was happening. If they unsealed the rift, all connection to the spirits would be lost.

  R'zair moved swiftly toward the Sage at the pool’s edge and grasped her head within his twisted talons. “Listen old hag! You will unseal that rift now! If you care one whit for the Hyrlac!” His movements were sweeping and sharp - full of murderous intent. She struggled to find her footing as he pulled upward upon her sealed jaw.

  “I will not!” she responded resiliently.

  “Then you will die as a traitor to this people!”

  Furiously he drew her about and cast her toward the rift, into the water. As she broke the surface, the waves lapped under the rift as it floated just above the water. She rose slowly, still numb with shock. To violate a Sage in such a way was an unspeakable crime. She felt the pang of fear grow inside her body. She began to move, slipping through the water without a sound. Her body moved through the liquid without as much as a ripple. Her distress was apparent but it appeared to shed off the other’s minds as the water from her dark skin.

  At last the Sage stood quietly before the rift which glowed softly in the air. The last unsealing, and then all would be lost. The Hyrlac might win the war, but they had lost their souls. The corruption of vengeance was an insidious poison that seeped through the heart of each Hyrlac. Yet, there was one way she could resist, to try to sway them. Though R’zair was lost, she could not abandon the young ones.

  She began the dance of unsealing. Her body moved delicately through the water, a sorrowful song intermingled with the necessary sequence which would unravel the weaves. The melody was deep and long, and it carried the memory of ages of Hyrlacian culture. The consuls looked on in awe, for they truly saw their history told before their eyes. Niive poured her whole heart into the unsealing, and the story of undoing. She painted a painful picture of their descent into savagery and what would surely come if they continued. The future was full of dark bleakness, stalking upon their lands like common predators - mere animals. The rift was pulsing with each movement, its wild energy clawing and yearning to be unharnessed. She withheld the last gesture and turned toward the others; the young consul’s heads were bowed in silent respect.

  “Is this who we truly were?” one of them shuddered in reverent shock.

  “Why have we not been told?” phrased another.

  “What of our future? What have you taken from us?” another charged. R’zair faced them and rebuked them harshly.

  “Fools, there is no future while the enemy assaults our homelands. You have been bred for war - that is your place. Do not try to understand what is beyond your station.”

  While the others contested the act, Niive stood powerless in her place. Within the song she could only unseal or seal and she was quite bound to the weaves of might that snaked unseen about her body. With one foreign gesture, she would be consumed by the rift. Then the strands of power would flow unchecked upon the land, never ending, ever destroying. While they were engaged in heated discussion she sought to reverse the dance and reseal the rift.

  R’zair caught her movements and whipped his head about savagely. One spine flew out and struck her in her slender neck. Niive felt a sudden paralysis take hold of her body. She could scarcely utter a gesture without great searing pain.

  R'zair, gloating with fury, looked back at the young and angrily dismissed them to the battlefront. To her despair, they said no more and slowly moved away from the stirring scene and faded into the underbrush.

  “I suppose you think that was clever, teaching them of the past. You are a fool, old one; there is no past. It is our future we must grasp! It is ours for the taking! Now you will unseal the rift.” Niive remained quite still. How he expected her to do this with the spine inhibiting her movement was a mystery. Nevertheless, she would not bring herself to the level of this fallen one, no matter the fear which spread li
ke a plague through her mind.

  He began to wade toward her, the water stirring roughly around his body. He came to her and gripped her outstretched limb which waited hesitantly. His body shivered involuntarily at the power pulsing within her skin. He removed his spine from her neck, which released her body painfully. He held her fast and made his demands with every flick of his form. “You will do as I say, for I have had enough of your effrontery!”

  She pleaded painfully and desperately in response. “This is the end of us. The unsealing will not help you escape the bleak darkness ahead. If we do this …” R'zair twisted his grip, causing her pain, which her body screamed out with a reactive gesture. The rift pulsed dangerously, nearly breaking apart in an instant.

  “Witch, you will not stand in my way!” He turned her about forcefully and began to move her arm in the final gesture. She resisted with all her might, but R'zair was quite superior in strength. Her frame reviled him with all its power. “I’ve watched you closely with all your unsealings, and I believe I know the last phrase,” he gestured to her coldly. His skin burned hot against hers.

  “Stop this R'zair! Do not make me do this … please.” Her arm still moved slowly to complete the final gesture.

  Then at once the rift burst with spiritual power, the spirits burning with incited rage. They flowed in red streams from the rift and spread through the once calm wood. All the air was potent in their fury, and R'zair released Niive and spread his limbs wide to soak up the power of the spirits. She fell to her knees, her body shaking in despair. The water was steadily being consumed by the heat of the spirits’ anger released from within. Finally, she was upon the muddied earth and all the energy passed on toward the battle. She lifted her head slowly and saw R'zair standing before her.

  “Your meddling is no longer needed. I shall end your suffering.” With one motion, that was quick and fluid, his razor tendrils whipped about and sliced her skin in dreadful gashes. He turned himself about and stalked away from the Sage. She collapsed upon the pond floor as her lifeblood flowed swiftly from the wounds. The last Sage of the Hyrlac race turned her head to the sky above. The answer to the great mystery was to be hers at last. She could not move her savaged limbs to offer a farewell to all the spirits and her kind.

  Her beautiful trembling body slowly fell still. Niive was gone.

  Firah was overcome in anguish. Truly her heart was broken in twain. Alay’sh and Niive. Their two hearts were entwined into the same fate. She had been so sure of the nature of the strange creatures and now she was uncertain of anything. Who would have known such things occurred beyond human sight? More than the two fateful souls, she felt confusion because she felt equal pity for both races. The strange feeling touched her as she drifted along through the memories. It was like a strong urge or a desire for her to help and bring peace to the senseless death and hatred. As she pondered upon the feeling, she felt her spirit beginning to move again through the flowing grey mists around her. It was different this time; she could feel the vapours upon her mind, much more tangible than before. The ground came up toward her rapidly.

  Firah stood upon the crest of a hill and looked all around her. Though she was ethereal, she could still smell the sweetness in the air. She bent low and touched the grass. It was still wet from the early morning dew. The sky was clear and shaded in purples and red as the sun rose swiftly upon the horizon. From this hill she could see all about her and into the valleys below.

  Into her ears came the sounds of great drums and she looked to the west where great armies marched. Tall crested helms and gleaming ranks moved in cadence as one mass. They were headed for the hill upon which she stood. The ground trembled and rolled, and the girl pivoted to see the great beasts plodding slowly from the east. Long, thick tendrils hung down to the ground off the backs of the massive creatures. She held a hand to her heart as a pang of emotion ran through her. It was as before with the sorrowing, except her heart accommodated equal pity for both peoples. The feeling was so harsh that it drove her to her knees in pain. She would need to choose between them. To stand idle and observe was no longer hers to choose. She beat the damp ground with a fist and screamed out.

  “I will not choose between them! I will not aid any in this senseless slaughter!” She cried out toward the crimson sky with great anguish. All the while, her heart beat harder and harder as the oppressive feeling weighed her down in the dregs of misery. She began to forget when she had ever laughed or sung. All that remained was pain and hurt.

  She lifted her head slightly and glanced to both sides. The conflict was about to ensue, and she would be trampled underfoot and limb. Her spirit would be pierced with great blades of metal and strange flesh. She cried out again, trying to empty the terrible guilt that wracked her mind. At that moment, she felt something strange, like a voice coming from somewhere, outside of this place. It was like a whisper that carried upon the winds.

  “You have the power to stop all of this without choosing.”

  Firah’s eyes bulged open as she dwelt upon the random thought. She considered it briefly, even as the Symian archers doused their arrows in liquid fire. The Spiners were preparing to unleash their terrible black storm. ‘How … how is that possible?’ she thought within.

  “The power is within you. Take it and you will bend all these to your will.” The voice was so entreating and soft.

  Within her heart she felt a struggle; was force the only way to resolve the conflict? Why did it always come down to compulsion through strength or will? She searched for the answer desperately. The line of fire was lit; the archers bent and touched their arrows to the flame. The beasts coiled their bodies tight.

  “You wished to save them all and you can! Stretch out your soul and smite them all to the earth! Their minds and bodies are yours with but a thought! Then the conflict will cease!” The voice was loud and forceful and her arm jerked outward as from a strict command. Her mind was whirling like a rainstorm, all her thoughts crashing across her will like thunder. All the while her body ached in the wracking pain of the many souls that would be upon her head. The girl began to falter. The moment was tense as the arrows were drawn back.

  “No …” she spoke softly as great tears of pain rolled down her cheeks. She felt the power building inside, near cascading over the frail wall of her will. With one flick of her mind the pain would end. She felt the need to exercise dominion growing, a need to control them all. It was overwhelming her soul, a thirsting for the power that was within her sight. Her inner desires seemed to salivate at the prospect of the many she would bind under her might. It would be so easy. She lay motionless upon the ground, with all chaos and fury primed to consume the land. Firah longed to abandon herself to the voice and end it all with one terrifying thought.

  Yet she waited. The spines and arrows were unleashed. Her soul was torn asunder and she howled in ethereal agony as they pierced her through. All was black and flame around her tormented spirit.

  Then suddenly, all was white as the Blackrill swan.

  “Daughter, awake.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You have found the path, Sapling.”

  “But I did not act.”

  “You sacrificed yourself over all else … remorse, pain, power, and life.”

  “I just wanted it to end …’

  “In time, as my daughter, you will need to make sacrifices …”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “You will know as you mind the path. Be warned, Sapling, many have fallen from the way.”

  “What if I can’t … what if I make a wrong choice?”

  “That is the way of things. My power has awoken within you and yet the power to act has always been yours, Sapling. Now, you must be wary. There are those who seek to corrupt and use your gift for their own ends. Allow me to guide you now. You will become my link so that I may return to my sister and restore balance to the weaving song. Subdue Ahtol and I will be free. The key is in the control of my gift, what the
people call the Root. I shall give you the secret to …”

  The whiteness flickered and the voice was gone. Streaks of grey slid across the pale void like sooty rain on glass.

  “Mother, are you there? Where did you go? What secret? Please come back! I need to know … come back.”

  “Come back …” the young woman whispered even as her head rested upon her arm and her hand gripped tightly around the wooden tree root.

  Firah’s senses brought her back to where she lay. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and, turning her head, she gazed up into the dark branches above. There was no brilliant light anymore, just the lingering shadows of dawn. The sky seemed shrouded from her sight. She sat up groggily and rubbed a hand across her eyes. How long had she been there, under the tree? She shivered as a cold north wind gusted through the small glade. Her body felt as if it had been trampled by a pack of horses. Yet, within she felt the greatest change. There was a deep memory, much like a scar that she felt within her spirit. It irritated her whole being, and somehow she knew it would always be there, as a reminder. She wished she knew the way back, for she had much to ask Zyr. All that had happened … was it a dream?

  “The journey is never easy, young one,” a deep voice whispered nearby.

  Firah staggered to her feet and whipped her head about. “Who are you? Show yourself!” she demanded. Her hand drifted to her belt where the dagger rested.

  “Hostilities won’t be necessary. I am sent to guide you in your first steps.” The voice grew louder and then suddenly Firah felt the presence behind her. It was as though her soul could detect him there before she could see him. She marveled as she turned to see the dim silhouette of a man before her.

  “I know you; you were the one atop the wall.” She spoke quietly.