Sapling: The Broken Halls

by Dan Gillis

  Many questions cluttered his thoughts. Whose blood traced this blade before his? Why would Tehsa place such a deadly weapon here? Was there any other explanation? Slowly the horrific logic settled like a tremendous weight. She must have used it upon someone in the Halls and then hid it here in their room. ‘Impossible!’ he thought frantically. According to her testimony, she had fled the Halls shortly after his departure. She ran straight into some woodsman’s arms and then was taken captive by the evil masters at Racur. When could she have done this deed, if it was her? Certainly she had not shown any murderous tendencies in their experiences together. Hot tempered and headstrong she was at times, but far from the base diabolical intentions of an assassin. It just made no sense in his mind … how and when could she have done such a thing? The monk felt weighed down with frustration, as he sought for an answer that would not come. He could not bear the feeling of such uncertainty, especially for someone he cared deeply about.

  The monk remembered the purpose at hand. Carefully, he ripped a portion of his robes away and bound the slim dagger with the sturdy material. It was best to protect himself, for one nick could spell disaster. He placed the small bundle within the sewn-in pouch inside his robes. As his hand slid through they nudged one of the dice that he kept there. He made to rise to his feet but found himself unsure of his ability to walk. He would need another minute of rest before the attempt.

  The contents of his pouch nagged at his mind and the monk embraced the memory - if only to have a focus to help settle the effects of the poison.

  “This is a strange request, Convert. Our priority is to rebuild our Order after losing so many in the war. You wish to weary me with a task such as this? What purpose could this possibly serve?”

  “Master Greil, I know of no other who can accomplish this. Believe me, I would not make this request if it was not important …”

  “Important to you or the Order? You should know that any common artificer whose heart was bound in loyalty to his brothers would never burden themselves with such a thing.”

  “It is … for me, no one else.”

  “I believe that this is the first time you have ever spoken truthfully from your heart. Cycles ago, you would have invented some reason to suit my demands - a falsehood to please the ears of others but a hidden indictment on your character. You, like many within these Halls, lack conviction of the heart.

  “The most important duty is to oneself, before all others. How can we possibly expect to serve others if we are not true to own ideals and passions? Once we obtain our center we can then reach out to those in need. Had you attempted to deceive me, it would have failed. The way of the Cerephor is not without its benefits.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “I will. Taking my counsel to heart shall be the form of remuneration, and your oath that this is never spoken of to another.”

  “I give you my word.”

  “It is done, then. By Llian, after all the shapes I have fashioned and renewed, I am sure this will be the only time I shall ever craft a simple pair of dice. Serpentor bone is, after all, a very rare substance. Pliable and malleable under certain conditions, to say nothing of its propensity to absorb weaves of power. Are you certain this is all you require?

  “I shall be indebted to you, Master.”

  “No. The payment has been made already.”

  Zyr was standing upon his feet as the final fleeting words of memory passed. Despite the extra rest, Zyr’s head swam as he moved toward the entrance. ‘Mother’s mercy … that was sturdy poison’ he thought.

  In that moment a large slab of granite impacted upon the door frame and exploded into pieces. The monk was still groggy and took the full force of the particles and rocks that sprayed through the air. ‘What the …?’ he thought, even as he recoiled in pain from the rough shrapnel. He ducked low and quickly glanced out of the door. A large tangle of roots and woody sinew brandished another slab of granite.

  ‘The guardian! He must have sensed the cleansing weave!’ he thought desperately, and he dodged from the door into the hall even as a great stone came crashing to the floor where he had crouched.

  The monk propelled himself up the broad stairs as swiftly as his legs would go. He would not strike out against the guardian, out of principle and of sheer desire to live. He had seen the red shadows of anger flow from the body of a guardian, drawn out foolishly by an ignorant Initiate. They had overrun the hapless group he was with and Zyr had barely escaped the unleashed wrath of the enraged creatures. No, he certainly had run many times in his life and now was no time to fall prey to feelings of pride or humiliation.

  The guardian fell slowly away beneath the monk as the stairs ascended toward the Circle of the Masters. The large ornate doors loomed above him. He had been within this room once, and it was a memory he would never forget. The previous night he had received the call …

  “The time has come for you to fulfill your oath.”

  “I am about to ascend into the ranks of the Masters, and you ask that of me now, Rhagal?”

  “It is not of my bidding, fool. You swore your services to Mother many years ago, while your Jyril lay dying in the glade. She calls now for your services. Even you would not disregard that oath.”

  “I do not shrink from my duty, nor oaths sworn. This comes unexpectedly, and with little warning. Yet, I have not forgotten what was done that night.”

  “You have one day to set your affairs in order. Then comes the sealing of your service to Mother … do not be late.”

  ‘That changed everything about my ascension to Master. The whole ritual was empty really’ the monk thought sadly. It was the hardest day of his life, to pass through the trials of ascension and then to say goodbye to the one he loved. His mind still carried a portion of that sadness that had never left nor faded with time.

  With each leap the monk passed several stairs until the entrance was before him.

  He stopped and collected his thoughts. No more dwelling in the past, for now he needed every faculty to determine a course to follow. He set his mind at peace and traced the glyph of opening upon the gilded door face. His fingers flashed white as the energy spread along the ancient lines of the seal. With a final gesture, Zyr heard the locking mechanism release. As the monk slid into the room, all the torches burst into flame. The old weaves were as potent as when they were first formed, one of Master Greil’s many achievements.

  The Circle of Masters was quite breathtaking as time had not diminished the luster of great crystal slabs that stood smooth and tall along the perimeter. The guardians had evidently maintained their vigil of this place with impeccable diligence. Every ornate decoration remained as before; gold leafing traced the intricately carved trim spread along the circular walls. The high vaulted ceiling. Everything was as he remembered; even the dust seemed to have been sealed from the room. He slowly turned about, taking in the vividness of the past and present. His memories came afresh as every detail was restored with perfect clarity. There was a large circular cavity in the center of the room from which spanned eight paths that traced symmetrically toward the vertical crystal tablets. In front of each there rested a small mat for kneeling. Zyr’s eyes wandered to the spot he would have occupied some twenty years prior. It had been empty and awaited his presence that day. His mind cast images of all the Council as they would have sat inside the chamber. He looked around slowly. Greil, Deni, Tey’ur, Tam, Alastor, Meryn, Syf … then he. His eyes traced to where the Servant had sat in that powerful ceremony. The lowest of the humble sat below all the others in the circular inclination in the floor which tilted downward away from the Masters’ seats.

  Zyr considered the location of the Chamber of Ascension. There appeared to be no visible means of moving higher in the room. It was laid out simply and effectively. He sat down upon the ground near the Servant’s seat and pondered what to do. The path seemed blocked and logic was not sufficient to determine the next step. He closed his eyes and unified his mind to one purpo
se. Perhaps, with time the answer might become clear.

  * * *

  Rhagal stared at the abomination before him and shuddered. One of the Vessels, or Shadow-Puppets as they were sometimes called, stood ashen-faced and sallow before the Wilder … motionless. It was a terrifying sight to behold and to contemplate. The hollowed out husk of a former Root-sensitive was to be used for one purpose, the bidding of the High Preceptor. Rhagal had come to the prescribed meeting place to find it waiting. It was unnerving for him to see such a twisted sight, but he ignored the feeling. The Preceptor would call soon and seek his reports. How many years had passed since the binding, when his own life had ended? He sometimes longed for that old life, but he had resigned himself to the duties placed upon him long ago. Fruitless resistance was only energy consuming and the Preceptor was extremely potent. It would not take much to become one of the void-like Vessels under the potent hand of the Master. Rhagal had weighed the two paths. He would much rather live out his life with some degree of choice. A semblance of freedom.

  The head of the thing tilted backward to an awkward angle and a deep gnarled voice caught in Rhagal’s mind. The sound was sickly and choked as if with some horrid fluid. There were no words to describe the sensation of this strange form of communication. The Wilder knew little of it other than the Vessel was needed to form the link to the Preceptor’s location. In the early morning light, he could make out the form of the unsightly grey-skinned abomination. Rhagal focused upon the distorted words echoing in his mind.

  “What is the status of the monk?”

  “He is within the Halls, along with another,” he replied calmly.

  “Others are of little consequence. The monk will soon be within the Chamber of Ascension. What of the girl?”

  “She has entered the forest and rests with Aerluin.” Rhagal replied. He was perplexed as to why the High Preceptor had such interest in the little waif, but that was hardly his concern for he was only told limited information. Enough for him to complete his tasks and no more.

  “The time to act has come, while the Dark Lady’s gaze is drawn to the girl. She has been unaware of our plans for some time - while Ahtol has grown, she has diminished. As such, Aerluin is blind to all else but where she focuses her limited view. While this has allowed us to move unseen, your part in the play has come to a close. You must show the girl how to rupture the Root, but no more.” The Wilder’s eyes grew wide in fear.

  “That would mean … the land would …” he faltered as ancient oaths clawed at his conscience. The cost was dire – unnatural devastation, unending calamity. Then a deeper more terrifying concept took hold in his heart. Something he feared ever since he oathed himself to the Preceptor.

  “Be sure to do exactly as I have instructed, Rhagal. She cannot be allowed to bind the Root. Aerluin will seek to guide her and you must intervene. Having the Root run unchecked will serve to draw her gaze. Remember, your reward will be great for this critical step. The end is near and every piece must be in place; as such, your life will be as chaff upon the wind should you fail. There is no tolerance for weakness.”

  Rhagal watched as the Vessel’s mouth twitched with a snarl and he felt his bond growing sore. He gasped and slumped to a knee clutching his chest. The ache was much more than physical torment; it shook him to his very spirit. Gradually, he caught his breath as the pain slowly subsided. When he looked up again there was no trace of the Vessel. Rhagal suppressed a slight shudder. The Shadow-Puppets were a terrifying and unknown breed in the land. Rhagal could only guess the full extent of their numbers and reach. One sobering fact was clear – they were silent and deadly assassins as well as conduits of communication.

  Nisa came over and brushed his arm sympathetically. She was a comfort, and he wondered why she remained after all this time, knowing full well of his betrayal to Mother. He looked into her cool amber eyes and sought for the answer. She had always been a mystery to him and remained thus.

  Rhagal stood and prepared to make his way to the girl’s location. Her journey had begun, just as his had so many years ago. Yet her ordeal would not be as simple as many had been. No, her soul would be scoured to the center and likely the experience would damage her spirit. He wished that she could pass through the trial properly, but that was not to be. Rhagal stepped beyond the near trees and was swallowed up in the forest.

  * * *

  The lowest of the humble … beneath all that lived … the answer was there, somewhere in his mind. He desperately employed every strand of logic and could come up with no conclusion that solved the dilemma. As his mind sought furiously for a solution, a brief memory sparked from deep within. Zyr scowled and made to dismiss the random thought. “No more memories!” he lashed out in frustration. As he made to clear his mind he caught a portion of the memory within a flicker of the mind’s eye.

  … this one lesson will serve you …

  Zyr stopped and relaxed his mental faculties. There was something in this memory; somehow it held a clue. Sighing, he opened his mind to receive the whole vivid scene, which spilled open with vibrant images and sounds.

  “I am ready, Humble Servant”.

  “Good. Take a seat, Initiate. Why have you come today?”

  “To learn a lesson from you?”

  “Hmm … is that all? Well then, how about helping me scrub this floor?”

  “But I just finished my chores! That’s not fair … Humble Servant.”

  “Come now, surely you are not beneath such work?”

  “No, it’s just that since I came to the Order, all I do is clean and wash and work-work-work! I will not learn anything on my hands and knees!”

  “Peace, young Initiate. You exaggerate mightily. Please, take your seat … thank you. Now, I will not make you scrub the floor at this moment, for you have stumbled upon the lesson for today. There is something to be learned in simple things. Tell me, why you think you will learn more in a battle, for example.”

  “Well, I can learn from my opponents and my mistakes. Then I can be better the next time I fight.”

  “A good response for Warmaster Tey’ur, but not for me. Think deeper, young one. When is the mind most open?”

  “I … I … don’t know what you mean.”

  “Let me try to explain. The mind is a fascinating thing, and it will perform miraculously for you at times, yet there may be moments when you cannot focus, with all the clutter around you. Thus, although there is much more potential to be had, so many cannot grasp it.

  “Now tell me, when are your thoughts most clear?”

  “When I am alone in the woods.”

  “Any other times?”

  “Um … maybe right before I go to sleep or when I wake … I guess.”

  “Exactly. It is within those moments of calm that true inspiration comes. Truly, the greatest works could not be created at any other time. Indeed, even pondering over battles and tactics during those times can yield greater fruit than within the heat of conflict.”

  “But I think about things all the time when I am alone. I don’t notice anything.”

  “There is no harm in meditation; however, there is more than simple thought involved here. This is where I want you to pay particular attention, Initiate, for this lesson will help you unlock potential and ability that you never dreamed existed within you. For it is no easy thing to clear the mind.

  “First, when the atmosphere outside your body is conducive to this exercise, you must begin to breathe in a steady cadence. Let your whole body relax. You must form a circle in your mind, with all your thoughts upon the perimeter of the circle.

  “At this point you must connect yourself to those thoughts that concern you. After you have linked to them, slowly and carefully you must draw those thoughts into the center of the circle. Imagine yourself in the center where all the thoughts meet. Focus your connection to the Root upon that one point and you may find moments of epiphany. Other times, nothing may happen.

  “Do not be disheartened, for we are
not destined for wondrous discovery upon every delving within. Sadly, when it does happen, we are also sorely tempted to indulge in new-found abilities and knowledge beyond all lust and desire. You must be wise, young one, for this one lesson will serve you in greatest times of need. Do you understand the process, Zyr?”

  “I hear your words, but I still don’t get what you mean.”

  “Well perhaps we can reduce the clutter in your head with some spirited and vigorous scrubbing?”

  “Huh? Oh no!”

  Zyr could not help but chuckle softly at the boy in the past. Then suddenly, the moment had passed and the monk understood the lesson. The servant’s words were clear, and strangely it seemed as though they were meant for him at this moment. Who could say? He also found it strange that the Servant called him by name, as tradition strictly forbid such familiarity until one reached the title of Master. Naturally, Zyr disregarded that rule in his youth. Rules were a burden and patience was not a virtue he had clung to readily.

  The lesson of old was a guide, a key to the Chamber of Ascension which he could discover even at this time. Zyr looked about the sanctum for a moment. Turning himself, he shifted to the position of the Servant’s seat, which was placed in the exact center of the room. He looked around at all eight council positions and the crystals standing at each. The key would be to access all of the crystals together, but how? In the past, each of the Masters would likely have channeled power toward the center, which the chosen Servant would have harnessed and used to unlock the way to the chamber. Zyr’s brow compressed slightly. The amount of power needed would be extensive and potentially draining. He grimaced at the fact that in the last few weeks, he had taken himself to the edge of life as he strained his spiritual reservoirs. That could not happen again, and careless ventures could not be afforded. He drew a small pendant from within his robes and held it tightly between his fingers. Nodes of power occurred naturally through all Aeredia; however, they were rare and difficult to find. The small stone had been hewn from one such node and he had treasured it long. ‘Let it be enough’ he prayed. Still, far greater was the effort he would need to employ to manipulate the vectors. It was a strange magical puzzle that he had never conceived of. Gratefully, the small energy node in his hand would supply a portion of the power needed, enabling him to concentrate on the near impossible task of energy control.