by Dan Gillis
The man remained still before her.
She could not discern his expressions; only make out the outline of his body. Her body was relaxed, and yet she stood ready to strike if he made a move.
“I am Rhagal. I journeyed the same path as you, many years ago. As one of the Wilder, I too have felt Mother’s call. Now the path lies before you. If you wish to follow it, come with me.” His dark form turned and began to move away.
Firah hesitated a moment and then proceeded to follow the mysterious guide. She was not sure she could trust this man and yet she yearned for answers. She was unaware of what part of the early morning it was but he led her on, deeper and deeper into the thick forest. Finally, after the tangled trek through the trees and brush, she came to stop at a small clearing.
She listened to the sound of a bubbling fountain nearby. Before her feet lay a still pool of water, calm as a monk’s temperament. Dawn’s early strokes of colour were reflected in wondrous effect. Just through the Darkwood patches of the canopy, the far horizon was glowing red in anticipation of the day. She saw the man just ahead at the other side of the pond.
“Now, young one, listen to my words. Your body is prepared to receive the wondrous power that is your due from Mother. The Root impacts upon all living things, and with proper care can be harnessed and controlled. Though you may have felt it, you have yet to learn the control of the weaves.
“Now as the ability resides within you, you must summon forth the energy from the source around you to light this small clearing and thus perceive the path you tread. The first step upon this path you will find within, but you will not see it unless you can control the power.” Rhagal took a step back and crossed his arms as he regarded the young woman.
Firah took a moment to collect her thoughts and strength. She had caused energy to come forth before in the direst circumstances. It was possible, and yet she determined that unleashing the energy in such an undisciplined way was dangerous. She would not be able to control the strange power that way. She furrowed her brow and thought intently. The Wilder had not moved but continued to watch her. She felt slightly uncomfortable under his stare, something she could not explain. She touched her brooch and felt a small vibration within her heart as her fingers made contact. It was a new feeling, as though she could actually feel the harmonics and movement of the power within the small jeweled ornament. As she considered the nature of the power that resided inside the brooch, her mind took hold of what the man had said, that she must draw the power from around her.
Slowly, she raised her arms outward and sensed a similar pattern or flux of energy teething from the woods all around her. She sensed it and was aware of the limitless raw power that was within her reach. She sensed that the energy revolved around her, as though her own body was a foreign impediment to the harmony that existed between all the things around her. She drove down deep into her soul and, out of instinct, sought to change the harmony of her spirit to come into alignment with the living and pulsing power. It was extremely daunting, for the forest pattern was intricate and rapid, like trying to catch broken rays of sun through the cloud. She constantly changed and adapted but the pattern continued to elude her, so she concentrated harder than she had ever done in her years. It was so close, yet still just outside her grasp. It was too elusive, too quick. In desperation she struggled to find the way into the rampaging currents of the spiritual rivers.
Suddenly, an old lesson from her youth came swiftly to mind. As she had done within the torrential rain of Lenhir, she began to breathe slowly and deeply. She wrapped the forest around her like a blanket, calling the energies to merge with her as they had done in the past. She gave up all her struggles and let herself drift into the flow. Then, to her great surprise, her spirit fell into the harmony of the wild energy all around her. It awed her that all along the answer was within her mind, and she had not known. At best she had scratched the surface of the potential that lay before her now. She opened her spirit to the energy.
Gasping, Firah’s body swayed as the energy came into her with all the force of an untamed river. The smallest opening had unfettered a channel so tremendous that she crouched down seeking the ability to close off the gap she had opened. The force of the energy was widening the small opening and resisting the natural flow. Great cascades of red power flowed from her body, illuminating the glade and all the surrounding area.
The girl fought against the current and, struggling, she slowly closed the expanse in her soul. Finally, after the last spiritual thread was sown across the seam, she collapsed to her knees gasping for breath. Her body was shaking like a Darkwood leaf, as it entered into a state of shock. The residue of the energy coursed as tremendous burning rivers through her spirit. Collapsing, she looked frantically around and saw the glade was empty. Her eyes were wide in terror and disbelief.
Where was her guide?
The torrential waves of power swirled within her still and she quailed in fear. She did not want to do this anymore. She did not want to tread this path.
Firah let out a sharp gasp as she released all the pent up energy from her body into the glade. The power flashed and burst outward from her body within a heartbeat. The surrounding trees snapped and collapsed under the terrible cascade.
Then it was over.
The bewildered girl looked about her. She was within a large circular hole that spanned into the distance. Trees, earth, and life - all scoured away and swept to the perimeter of the circle. In a daze, her mind tried to grasp what had happened.
Suddenly, she felt a fluttering in the power that churned about her body. She saw afar off great limbed creatures breaking through the far perimeter and striding toward her. She could spy them in the growing light and recalled a recent discussion. Guardians, Zyr had called them. They were moving rapidly and intently to her location. Groggily, she found her feet and debated what to do. She knew she could not outrun them, for her body was fatigued beyond all thought of physical exertion.
A large boulder sailed through the air toward her. Gritting her teeth, she dodged away from the impact, and howled in pain as she was grazed upon her arm. The stone, which was near her size, shook the ground and rolled to a stop. Blinking tears of pain, she looked down to see her skin raked sore and bleeding where the jagged rock had contacted. Firah knew that she would be dead shortly if she did not act. She had only one option. And it frightened her mind near to the point of inaction. However, deep within she had always been a survivor.
Timidly at first, she stretched out with her soul to the power around her. She relaxed her body and breathing, sought for the ability once again. As before, she made to only take the smallest portion of the power and received a tremendous lashing of fury. Her brooch shone in astounding brilliance which pulsed with the waves that washed over her spirit. She grasped her head in agony of spirit and body and desperately tried to close the rent spiritual seam. The lumbering creatures strode near even as she fell to her knees and cried out in desperation. The seam was forced shut even as she opened her eyes and beheld the mighty protectors of the wood before her. A great limb was raised to drive her weakened body into the ground. Firah closed her eyes again and released the power.
Twisted screams echoed the calm morning as the energy tore apart the vigorous sentinels. Firah powered it all toward the direction of the attacking creatures. Within her mind she saw them, a disintegrating pattern within the flows of wild energy. When she opened her eyes again, she found a rough black ditch spanning for miles from her location. It was carved a few feet deep and several feet wide, still humming with the fading remains of the harsh power. The broken remains of the guardians were scattered across the wide clearing before her.
As the awful magnitude of what she had done was settling upon her frenzied mind, one piercing thought cut through her to the center. ‘I am them … R’Zair and the Symian destroyers … I am just like them.’
She found herself unable to move her body, and slumped backward and onto her side. She was spent to the last d
rop of her whole being. Her head dipped over the edge of the small pool which remarkably remained intact. As if in defiance of what had happened, its surface was as smooth and clear as glass. In the early morning light the girl stared down at a stranger reflected in the water. Suddenly, she emitted a terrible wail as she witnessed for herself the truth.
Burning red eyes and flowing black locks stared back up at her.
Slipping into unconsciousness, the young woman floundered upon the brink of death. The brooch was ebbing along with her life, imperceptible flashes traced across the dark shimmering surface. Small ripples formed in the pool as her tears spelled out the feelings of her heart. Each drop - fear … hate … sorrow … confusion … power - merging with the glassy facade of the water. It was a troubled reflection of her soul.
“One of the greatest challenges is when we are confronted with our inadequacy. How sobering it is when we are not what we thought we were, what we hoped we would be. The demon of despair hovers so dangerously in those times. What solace is there for this hidden anguish?”
Meryn - Imbertor: Master of Deep, Dark, and Rift
The Initiate's Path
The Chamber of Ascension
ZYR RACED ALONG the dusty floors with a firm will and determined heart. The time for doubt was passed and if he was not able to focus his whole soul to the task, all would be undone. The weight of the burden staggered his conscience. The Servant’s Scepter was an artifact of significant potency. If one thing could possibly disrupt the coming of a greater demon upon the land, the Scepter qualified as such. It had taken all the energy he had to repel but a fragment of the diabolical entity. He would need more to defeat the whole. Now, with the potential of combining with the forces of the Scepter, his mind took hold of something that had eluded it for years - hope. Now, more than ever, he was set to the purpose and task at hand. A more desperate hour had not existed. The monk groaned under the blatantly obvious logic; if he failed, there would be no other who could take up the traditions of the old Order. He was the last chance to restore what was lost.
The scepter was the key to it all.
He leapt nimbly over the last three steps that ascended to the second floor. Halting his body, he turned his head slowly and paused to consider his paths. No one had ever divulged the location of the Chamber of Ascension to him but he had a clue as to where he could go to access it. He had never risen above the Council sanctum following his acceptance, and had not lingered afterward to search it out. It was possible that the chamber lay beyond that room. For all members of the Order, ascending the ranks was as much a physical journey as it was spiritual. All initiates were bound to the ground floor, performing menial tasks to drive a sense of humility into the unproven minds. He laughed lightly as he looked back upon the floors he had cleaned endlessly as a lad. How he detested that work, and all it served was to make him more angry and determined … certainly less humble.
“You deliberately neglected your chores, Initiate!”
“Yes, Master Aragil.”
“You will go to the striping post and await your punishment!”
“Yes, Master Aragil.”
“Initiate … wait. Walk with me, for we need to talk.”
“Uh … alright. I mean … yes, Master.”
“I am deeply concerned with you, Initiate. You show tremendous potential, and yet you resist the smallest menial chore. Why did you come to us if you will not attempt to follow the code of the Halls?”
“I want to be powerful like you, Master.”
“The pursuit of knowledge will bring far greater power, and you will find frustration at the ends of the roads you are considering. You will not endure long here, Initiate, if you continue to feed upon your passions. Try to learn peace within your heart.”
Zyr realized that he was carried away in memory once again. What was it about this place that brought the past so vividly to mind? Perhaps it was in confronting so much that was familiar. All of his senses were alive as they drank in the familiar surroundings. Sadly, there was the absence of the sweet music upon the lyre which was always there. He had not noticed its absence until now, standing silent and alone within the empty dark corridors. How he missed the gentle flowing chords, and the sweet woman who made it her life pursuit to master the instrument with as much fervour as the martial arts. He had never bothered to learn her name, for he had felt above such inconsequential things. Now, what he would give to sit at the feet of such a person for but a few precious moments. He sighed and steeled his mind for the ascent into the third-floor chambers. The dust kicked off his toes as he sprung lightly up the stone steps into the darkened rooms beyond.
The Convert’s quarters were littered with the remains of a fire which had burned the whole floor. Black charring scored the walls, and most flammable objects in the rooms were destroyed. He had ducked inside one of the quarters when he heard the approach of a forest guardian. He was rather surprised to see one of them inside the corridor, but truly there was no distinction between the forest and the Broken Halls. Many years of growth had merged the two typically dissimilar havens - wood and stone - into one. He waited as the massive creature passed by slowly. It was difficult to describe a forest guardian, as they were all as unique as any tree that grew, and because their forms were constantly in flux. Generally, they resembled the forest in which they resided, covered in mossy greens and browns. As they moved forward, twisted vines raveled about broad wooden limbs which shot outward to catch the large mass above. The limbs were powerful and knotted and were known to hurl large objects quite a distance. While not exceptionally fast, the guardians were unpredictable, doggedly persistent, and very difficult to injure. In addition, like so many of the unenlightened creatures in the world, they were sensitive to the Root and its manipulation. It was best to avoid any kind of conflict with them, especially if one bore no ill will toward Mother or her kind. He waited for several minutes as he listened to the steps of the creature pass. He marveled at their ability to move about upon heavy limbs without leaving a trace. It was said that Mother blessed her children with many gifts which were profound and miraculous.
Turning his head, Zyr identified the room he had entered without thinking. Sudden familiarity awakened his mind like a plunge into a mountain stream. It was where he had resided with Tehsa when they were working as a Tetsu. The custom was for the Jyril to stay with the Mihyl. He moved slowly to his old bed, a stone slab embedded within the wall and jutting out a few feet. It was long enough to sleep on, and usually it afforded some comfort with some animal down or bound straw with a cloth or fur covering. Zyr remembered vividly every detail of the room as it used to be.
Suddenly, his mind caught hold upon a thought that had laid long dormant. “It couldn’t be there still …” he whispered. Zyr moved quickly and excitedly to a far corner of the room. Hurriedly, he removed burnt debris and clutter from the floor, which he swept smooth with his hands. He traced his fingers along the stone seam and slowly a smile spread across his face. The monk's nails caught hold of the edge of the stone which shifted as he lifted upward. He slowly pried the stone from the slot, by shifting it back and forth. The monk reached eagerly into the hole and recovered his blessed and long-forgotten kota.
They were just as he remembered, spared the fury of the fire by the stone encasement. “It is good to see you …” he said quietly as he carefully slipped his hands into the martial gloves. They felt tight and pinched the skin around his exposed fingers. “Hmmm. I guess some things change with time,” the monk commented as he pulled them off again. They should have fit but he noticed perhaps, for the first time, the years of service etched across his calloused hands. He could not expand them farther, for the leather fasteners were set at the last notch. His third and last pair of kota. He could not leave them behind now, despite how foolish he felt. For Zyr, they held the same significance as the bone dice within his pouch.
The monk laced the worn yet sturdy gloves around his belt and made to stand. As he did, something el
se caught his eye within the stone. ‘I forgot. Tehsa shared this cache.’ The monk stooped and felt within the small hole. His fingers slipped along the edge of something sharp. “What is this?” he whispered as he withdrew the offending item and bleeding fingers. As he gazed in wonder at a small stiletto blade, he felt a tingling sensation. Immediately, he began to draw upon Alacritor power to cleanse the wound.
‘Poison?’ he thought alarmingly. As he formed the Alacritor weave his eyes began to blur and his knees buckled. He would not be fast enough! Quickly he sucked the poison from the wound and spat the foul tasting blood upon the floor. Dark fog filled his vision as he blinked in an astonished stupor and slumped against the wall. Gradually, after many minutes of terrible shaking and cold sweat, he felt the haziness begin to clear from his vision.
Zyr sat there in quiet shock. His actions had saved his life and with mere seconds to spare. Any longer and he would be upon the floor, as cold as the stone. It felt to the monk the most potent poison that he had the misfortune to encounter. Closing his eyes, he waited for the weave to clear the residue of the substance from his body.
As his senses returned, a nagging question lurked in his mind. What was this weapon doing in the cache? He and Tehsa had used the spot to hide food and money, but nothing else. He remembered replacing the kota there, upon his last day as a Convert. The same day he had been appointed to the Council of Masters and soon after left the order. He would not need the training gloves in his service to Mother. How the sleek knife had come to rest in the hiding spot was a mystery. He carefully handled the blade where his blood still dripped lazily along the venomous surface. Examining it closely, he saw something that caused his blood to run cold. There was a residue of blood below his own. Faded yes, but it was clearly evident to the Master of Healing.