Sapling: The Broken Halls

by Dan Gillis

  Sitting in the low floor, the monk slowly divided the task into its separate components. First he would need to muster the energy needed, enough to power all eight crystals. Second, he would need to channel the various paths to the crystals, in eight separate streams. Each stream would have exactly the same degree of power flowing through it. The mystical energy would need to be altered, till the proper frequency was achieved, without a fractional difference between each thread. That would mark the most difficult use of the Root that he had ever engaged in. It was certainly not the amount of power, but the manipulation that was daunting. Third, he would need to receive the energy upon himself, focusing it upon one central point … and then, according to the Servant’s instructions, the path would open. It was the only way to proceed and yet significantly dangerous. The guardians outside would feel the manipulation of energy and shortly be crashing down the door. How much time would he have? Minutes, perhaps even seconds. All of this and with no time to practice or experiment with the flows. He had one chance at it. Perceived success seemed to elude his conviction, so daunting and complex were the requirements.

  Zyr bowed his head slowly to his knees and rested it there. With so much happening in the world, and within his mind, how could he hope to achieve the void of thought required to accomplish the impossible? Tehsa … Firah … Tohm … even Tey’ur and Shien. They all reserved a portion of his mind, continually drawing upon his strength. Ahtol was on the rise and the thought of the destruction of Aeredia chilled his heart. Too many thoughts … the monk grit his teeth in desperation.

  Let your whole body relax …

  The thought came as a warming blanket across his soul. Zyr lifted his head slowly and obeyed the prompting, allowing his eyes to close softly. He drew himself into a relaxed lotus position. Slowly, he allowed his breathing to fall into a fixed cadence. His body began to shed the weariness of the past, and he felt his mind expanding.

  You must form a circle in your mind, with all your thoughts upon the perimeter of the circle …

  From the darkness, a glowing sphere appeared. All the memories, hardships and feelings were being slowly separated and pushed apart by the expanding circle. Soon, they were all there upon the perimeter of the glowing orb, which seemed to circumvent his whole mind. There was nothing within the circle, only a dark void. All else existed outside the ring. ‘I can feel it. The void is formed!’ Zyr’s conscious self exulted within. There remained the difficult process of controlling the energy, but his heart took courage. Something from the past was strengthening his resolve. With his eyes fixed shut, he focused completely upon the circle of light in his mind and the void within.

  At this point you must connect yourself to those thoughts that concern you …

  Zyr reached out to them, all of the worries and doubts. The thoughts were coalesced into eight points around the glowing ring. Those he cared for were there … even the demon Ahtol had a seat at the great council in his mind. Gripping the pendant in hand, he unsealed the node and stretched out with his spirit, channeling the holy energy. His lucid mind sent out powerful flows in multiple directions which sought out the points upon the pulsing ring. As the monk concentrated, great drops of sweat began to form and bead upon his brow. Zyr felt his limbs and body trembling with exertion but he pressed onward. He guided each flow carefully and synchronously toward the ring’s edge. As one, they touched the circle and it pulsed with harmonious energy. He held the power thus, each thread dangling upon a thin precipice of balance. Every faculty he possessed he poured into maintaining the complex weave.

  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 …

  Taking a deep breath, Zyr pulled the power toward the central focal point. He felt assailed, as if by great waves, each magnifying in intensity. Eight terrifying streams of energy coursed toward him. He braced his body and mind to receive it all. At once, his form jerked violently in reaction to the surge of energy that penetrated through his skin to the focal center. The monk screamed out in pain and fear as he felt his soul being carried away in the waves of power.

  He felt his body become light - weightless and drifting. He was stretched outward, his limbs dangling upon the current. Still his eyes were closed tight as the sensations began to flood into his mind. Impossible answers to calculations which long eluded him, battle strategies that would make mockery of the finest conquests of the past, beautiful music that flowed endlessly through his ears … all there for him. All he needed to do was to reach out and touch the inspiration.

  Then he saw the small flicker of thought, the solution to the location of the chamber. It was fashioned in the shape of a key yet how it dulled in comparison to the others; it seemed hardly worth his attention. Indeed, within his grasp were the means to secure a place amongst the mighty in the land, surpassing all the great and noble ones. He laughed in mockery of the small key which floated repugnant amongst the splendor of the others. What had ever consumed his thoughts now lay insignificantly before him. The monk sneered at the jest. Here was power.

  You must be wise, young one …

  Zyr felt the calm thought surge through the flowing power.

  At that moment, his senses sent signals to his brain; the sanctum was being assailed by the guardians! Time was short.

  “No! Just a little longer! I may never return here! Surely I am due for this glory after all that I have suffered!” ‘They are coming,’ his senses warned and his logical mind screamed in protest to his inaction. There the monk floated precariously upon the decision’s edge. With all its overpowering allure, all the wisdom of the ages lay invitingly before his grasp. He looked on in shame at the small solitary alternative.

  Suddenly, the key began to change shape and the mystical threads formed into a girl’s face. She looked familiar, but he had forgotten her amongst all the other enticing thoughts.

  ‘There is no more time!’ a fading warning shouted.

  He saw her face slowly darken, being swallowed up by a terrible black form, standing and then towering over all the other images and thoughts around him. The blackness was growing and the girl’s fair face was fading.

  He should help her. It seemed right somehow. He looked longingly at the fading treasures and glory. In his mind, he reached out to the girl, his fingers slowly wrapping around the key. Suddenly everything broke apart.

  “Firah!” the monk cried out as his eyes snapped open.

  He had tumbled to the floor, and looked about in a daze. All the crystals were shattered and scattered across the floor. The great doors broke open as several guardians struggled for entry into the room. Zyr looked around wildly, as all his thoughts returned to normal. Where was the chamber? Had he not grasped the key? He stood shakily as his body twitched in withdrawal of the tremendous energy he had wielded. At his feet lay a small circular glyph. It still burned with hot energy.

  ‘Downward?’

  He puzzled, but then dodged quickly as a piece of a door flung by his head. Zyr realized the guardians would tear this whole room apart until he lay dead.

  They poured into the room, rending pieces from the walls and floor with their flowing powerful limbs.

  Hastily, Zyr traced the glyph and channeled power into it, following a thought that had placed itself in his mind, a thought which he had no memory of learning. As the glyph burned white, the floor that comprised the circular servant’s seat shifted slowly to reveal a set of winding stairs.

  Just then Zyr was overwhelmed by many guardians, their ever-shifting mossy bodies moving to crush the monk. The nimble healer dodged and twisted his body impossibly in attempts to evade the countless attacks.

  Finally he saw the opportunity. While taking a grazing blow upon his back, he dove down the narrow stairwell. The hit caused him to turn off balance and he tumbled harshly across the rough cut edges of the stairs.

&nb
sp; He came to rest at the base of the stair, groaning in pain.

  He could hear the movement of the guardians, who sought to gain access to the intruder in vain, for the space was too slight for their masses to pass through. The monk breathed in deep, long breaths as he lay upon his back. Slowly, he rested his head upon hard stone and took a moment to fathom what had happened.

  He had descended into the resting place of the Servants. The tombs were delicately etched and carved with much care. From the soft glow emitting from his hand, Zyr peered at each sarcophagus with awe. Here were the remains of all the Servants of old. The ancient tomb was unfathomable in depth and splendor. Of all the Servants who had lived, each one had found a place here below. The Order of the Open Hand had truly existed for many centuries. The proof was before him.

  The tomb descended down and down, with each succeeding Servant being moved lower and lower in the earth. The hollowing out of the rock was quite masterful as long stairwells wound ever downward. Somewhere below, the body of the last Servant rested.

  In the main uppermost area, he had found the site of the very first Servant ever entombed. The sarcophagus rested upon a rectangular slab of immaculate marble cut to precision. The casket itself was quite simple and yet there existed a language long forgotten etched upon the covering. He moved close and examined the strange characters. All the while, he felt like an intruder in time, a clumsy distortion within the perfect harmony that resided in the air. He dared not touch the ancient resting places of archaic Ashori.

  He recalled the purpose for his presence in the deep grave. The letter Rhagal gave him yesterday stated that he would be able to unseal the directions to the Scepter within the chamber. He looked all around the room but was unable to find the evidence of a seal. The monk dismissed an ironic thought: ‘To have gone through all this and find nothing …

  No, the seal is within this place. It has to be.’

  Zyr decided to descend into the dark recesses of the stairwell. As he moved lower, he passed by room after room which accessed the stair. The deep cavern became colder as the ages shed away in the long, winding descent. He mused over the strange irony that he was the lone living figure standing beneath the circular concourses of the dead.

  At the end of his descent, he had happened upon a most unusual discovery. Here at the bottom of the dark stairwell, he examined the remains of a skeleton closely. It was strange to have a body disentombed after such care had been taken to honour the dead. It was not aged significantly, perhaps less than a hundred years old. The skeleton lay in a crumpled position, and several fractures spread across the bones. The monk rubbed his glowing hands to ward off the cold which had settled in around him. The blackness seemed to blanket and swarm over the dim light he had created. He moved a hand just above the skeletal frame and stared at the vacant shadows within. Something unnerved him about the situation; there had been small things that disturbed his mind ever since his arrival. The body was long deceased but there were other ways to determine what had happened. He performed a delving on the old bones.

  He sensed the fractures through the whole system, finding impact breaks along the base of the skull, pelvis and legs. The body had been thrown down all this way and landed here. He moved his glowing hand and illuminated the ground. Then he detected what he suspected all along. A residue of blood stains upon the floor that spread away from the skull. After close inspection, he found another trail from the torso area. It was strangely placed for an impact wound. He examined the bones near the area and found a small nick across the tenth rib. It was clearly caused by a blade of some sort. Zyr sat back and considered the clues. The fall should have killed the man, but there was evidence of a puncture of the body as well. Carefully he gathered all the information in his mind and worked out the process.

  The monk’s eyes flashed open. He reached out and performed a delving upon the small notch in the rib bone. There was evidence of advanced decay in the marrow which was often linked to disease or poison. It was as he suspected. He reached down and chipped a small fleck of dry blood onto his finger. He searched deep within the small blood sample for a pattern; everything that lived or once lived had one … he found it and memorized it. Zyr slowly opened his robes and withdrew the bundle he had placed there earlier. Very carefully, he withdrew the small blade and scraped a fingernail across the surface. Small flecks gathered underneath the nail and upon his skin. Focusing his mind, he sought deep within those particles for the answer. After many patient minutes, he saw the same pattern that matched the one in his mind. It was the same blood. Zyr carefully tucked the blade away and leaning back, rubbed his eyes tiredly.

  He felt a sense of relief and yet the answer had opened up a miasma of other problems. Tehsa was free of guilt for the time being. She could not have accessed this chamber, and yet the body was thrown to the deep by someone after the attack. If she was involved she was not alone. He sighed and stood upon his feet. Their next meeting was inevitable; it seemed that fate carried him upon its many flows to which she was enjoined.

  There was also one surety, that this chamber had been accessed only by Servants in the past. It was apparent by the age of the skeleton that this death was connected with the last Servant. Strangely enough, Zyr had found no evidence of his entombing here below. He remembered what he had learned.

  The Servant was murdered from within the Order. He dared not speculate upon lack of evidence, and thus he could not accept this body as the Servant’s. There was no way it could be for the Servant was needed to access the chamber. Perhaps the murder of the man before him was done before the assassination. Yet, that solution would incriminate the Servant.

  He grumbled in irritation, for there were no immediate answers. Despite any certain conclusion, the monk said a small prayer for the spirit of the man who had long served him as a youth. Now in his middle years, Zyr understood much of what was perceived folly in his past.

  The monk rose slowly. How long had it been since he had left Shien in the halls of entry? He had no idea of the day’s progression or of how long it had taken to come to the base of the chamber. He proceeded back up the long winding stair. There was nothing below that would lead him to the Scepter.

  As he approached the highest room, the warmth slowly returned to his body. The monk felt a subtle prodding in his mind, causing him to turn his eyes above. Zyr caught a glimpse of something upon the ceiling of the room as he ascended. There were strange patterns drawn into the stone which clarified as he climbed upward. Realization dawned quickly across his face and his heart lifted in elation. ‘A clue to the Scepter. It was here upon the ceiling all the time!’ he exclaimed within as he ran quickly up the remaining stairs. He summoned more power into his hands and illuminated the whole dynamic glyph. It was large and intricate, yet he had studied many long hours upon such things. He reviewed the principles of unlocking and sealing within his mind.

  After a time, he began the ritual of unsealing. Dazzling white light traced from his hands as he weaved them in erratic patterns. One by one, each glyph within the pattern began to burn red as power flowed through the ancient seal. Finally, the last glyph sparked to life and the whole pattern changed its shape. Zyr studied the features carefully while holding up his arm, maintaining the power to the pattern above. The shape of the lines formed structures that spread along the vast ceiling. There were many details, each sparkling with brightness; each illuminating features of Kenhar. The pattern expanded from the stone and beyond the two dimensional plane. Trees, mountains, city structures all jutted downward toward him so convincingly that he had to resist the desire to stretch out his hand and touch them.

  After a moment he laughed aloud. He had never had the joy of seeing the country in such a way, as perceived from the heavens above. That was a privilege singular to creatures of flight. The shapes and uniqueness of the buildings passed through the annals of Zyr’s mind. For a moment he meditated upon two specific structures, one was stepped in symmetrical oval rings while another seemed to
jut upward in elaborate non-linear curves. Then at once, his mind may the connection.

  ‘Of course!’ he thought excitedly ‘the Tower of the First and the Auditorium at Meahr!’ The monk looked to a pulsing red glyph marking a particular large structure in the city of Meahr. Due to the strange viewpoint of the map, there was no immediate connection in his mind to a specific location. He could only presume it marked where the Scepter lay. The monk memorized the location of the Scepter in reference to the buildings surrounding it. While Zyr did not know the layout inside the structures, he did not despair. The way had been made for him to come this far and it was likely that more clues would require discovery. It was an intricate puzzle on a grand scale. Until the answers came, he would have to choose his paths wisely. Ultimately, there was one road that he would follow and Firah was the key to it all.

  Zyr released the energy from his body and the map slowly faded into the stone. Then it was gone, the seal completely exhausted.

  He looked upward toward the circular stair that rose to the Chamber of Ascension. He listened intently. All was still in the room above, a sign that the guardians were slumbering. It appeared that his use of the Root was deadened within the spiraling mausoleum. With careful steps and a little luck, he might just be able to get by the living sentinels. Zyr took a last look up toward the chamber and felt a strange feeling. Was it acceptance? Or was it triumph? He disregarded the thought almost immediately. Shaking his head, the forgotten Master leapt up the stairs.