by Dan Gillis
“Easy, Nisa, I know how you feel, but …” The great forest beast turned her head and made a saddened noise. Rhagal turned and knelt next to his only friend. “Our fate is worse than death if we interfere. Please do not harbour this in your heart. Soon it will all pass.”
The Wilder felt the shift in a span of a heartbeat. A rush of energy spilled from the ground beneath Nisa. It was a fountain of movement and subtle shifts of dark hues, like ripples in a pond flowing outward.
Nisa stood upon her powerful limbs, head bowed low toward the ground. A haunting sound began to sing out from her body. It came neither from the creature nor the energy ripples, but formed from a merging of the two. Within the strange melody, words were weaved which resonated in time with the ebb and flow of power.
Traitor! Once oath-sworn and true!
The most guarded trust was thine.
Now to have turned your heart anew
To another’s will, from mine!
"Dark Lady. I assure you that had I any other choice …"
Be silent and keep your lies –
They fall unfettered and free
Just as the loftiest Windborne flies
Thy deeds are known to me.
Rhagal stood motionless as the ripples washed over him. His face betrayed fear but not remorse. He had not chosen to assist the Defiler lightly. He had weighed the consequences of either path. This moment was inevitable. As soon as he made his play, Aerluin would know. It was strangely liberating, for no man could serve two masters thus.
Her last words chilled his heart to the core.
The seeds of thy betrayal shall grow,
My gifts woven within shall cease,
The thread of time to thee will flow,
Your only respite - death's release.
The fountain of power abated and suddenly the small grove was as silent as the dead. Nisa lifted her head slowly toward where the girl struggled. She turned from Rhagal without the slightest recognition of his presence, and melded into the dark shadows. From deep within he felt the link to his dear companion, along with the barrier against time, melt away into nothingness. In their absence was a hollowing ache. A feebleness skulked into his frame.
He fell to his knees and cried out to Nisa in misery. Despite knowing this moment would come, the severing of his link to her was unbearable. He wished in that moment to simply cease his existence. Life without his trusted and loyal friend was meaningless and hollow.
In the hidden shadow he heard Nisa’s mournful cries of anguish for her youngling, even as the girl cried out in terrible agony. All voices caught together and ascended in the early morning air, as terrible energy howled in harmony. Then he heard the shift in his beloved companion’s tone. It was full of anger and rage.
The former-Wilder drew his knife forth in anticipation of what was to come.
Then the shadows burst apart with a snarl and all her dark fury was upon him.
* * *
The empty hall was unnerving. Shien took another turn through the expanse and listened to his footfalls echo eerily. Cursing, he limped upon his leg uncomfortably. Danger was ever present in the Halls and so he could not afford to rest for long and have it seize up. The monk was long overdue, and lingering in the back of his mind was the thought of Firah alone in the night. He had taken leave of the deep Halls after his short adventure, and felt his sense of curiosity quite satisfied for an indefinite period of time. Grumbling, he finally collapsed onto a pile of rubble, short of breath. “Serpents teeth! This hurts.” He looked over at his pack and contemplated what had happened in dark of the Halls. Terrified of the power within the Scourge he was, but he knew that to deny that power would lead to his death. He was connected to them now, and they must never leave his side. Struggling to his feet, he shuffled over to his pack and, undoing the buckle, slipped the weapons from the sack. It was too awkward to keep them in his pack, for the small delay in removing them could spell death in any tight situation. Grimacing, Shien grasped them tightly and returned to the adjoining large room. The silent dead were scattered throughout the space. After some searching under limited torchlight, he found the solution to his dilemma. He carefully removed a shoulder harness from the skeletal figure below him. He took the sturdy leather straps and hastily removed himself back into the main clerestory hall.
After many minutes of careful adjustment, he slipped his one arm through the harness while cinching the belt snug under his other arm. He slipped the prong through the belt notch. Standing carefully, he waved his arms about and twisted his torso to test the harness limits. It was a decent fit, and slight adjustments over time would make it perfect. He carefully slid Kuros over the right shoulder into the scabbard, secured against his back in the battle harness.
To his surprise, the creator of the equipment had fashioned a unique drawing system. By applying downward pressure, the scabbard brace slid downward a span before locking in place. This enabled the user freedom to remove the weapons easily instead of getting caught up in a clumsy draw. Overhead draws were generally scoffed at for this reason. With the slide and lock mechanism, it was simple and effective. When it came time to replace the blade, a simple catch built into the harness strap released the springs and returned the scabbard brace to the high position. In addition, a widening triangle-guard adorned the top of the brace. This allowed for a smooth return into the scabbard. When the catch was released, the scabbard would slide through the guard seamlessly. The braces could also be locked from sliding for travel and non-combative activity. Shien marvelled at the simplistic design which afforded versatility of storage and combative options.
The sword sung low as it glided into place. Next he eased tender Isil into place over the left shoulder. Shien practiced removing the swords from their new locations. The mechanism was fluid but it took certain timing. The weapons were incredibly light and felt as one with his body. Soon he gained a degree of comfort with the motions. The practice time afforded him some reflection of martial practicality. The shoulder mounts were advantageous in some ways, but also had their disadvantages. The draw time was slightly longer and the raising of the arm left one open to a low attack. He touched his hand to the rapier at his side; it was still the best choice in ‘typical circumstances.’ Smiling slightly, the young man felt more secure and replaced the intricate cloth that had wrapped the weapons into the pack. The strange symbols upon the material reminded him they were a mystery that needed solving.
“I see that you have made good use of your time,” Zyr spoke as he moved through the door. Shien turned rapidly and snatched Kuros from his shoulder, even as his leg gave out. Crying out in pain he sank to the floor.
“Damn you, Zyr! Can’t you ever enter a room like anyone else?” Shien shouted between teeth bared in pain and anger. The monk merely smiled and came near to the irritated young man. Bending, he pushed back the legging and examined Shien’s bruised and bloodied leg.
“The Halls were a bit much for you, it seems.”
Shien glowered defiantly at the older man’s comment even as the monk examined the limb. Feeling the potent rapier in his grip, he replaced Kuros quietly. The monk seemed intent on the leg and ignored Shien’s movement. “I warned you to be careful. Hmm, were you attacked by the guardians? This wound was caused by a crushing force.”
Shien shook his head silently. Zyr looked at him momentarily, and then performed a passive localized delving. “There is a lot of bruising here, and lacerations, but thankfully no breaks. There seem to be a lot of inflammation too. I suppose you decided not to rest it.”
“I’ll thank you for your concern, but until you returned I don’t believe that any sane man would consider resting here.” Shien remained still and let the monk work. A gentle glow of power emitted from the healers hands, illuminating their faces in a white-blue radiance. “I thought that we had to keep our presence low key. Won’t that attract them?” Shien asked with an element of concern in his voice.
“The principles of wielding power are
simple. In the case of healing, the more time I take to mend the injury, the less obvious and therefore less noticeable the effect will appear in the flow of the Root. The power I am using has been increased gradually from its basest form to the level I need. There are few attuned creatures that would be able to detect it because it has not disrupted the flow of the energy pattern. Rather, it has been weaved subtly into it. Do you follow?” Shien looked incredulously for a moment at the monk and then pondered the lesson, his irritation gone.
“I believe so. Your work seems to feel … natural if I can use a word. I can barely feel the power working and yet already I notice the absence of most of the pain.” The monk nodded while gently moving his hand over the limb in slow passes.
“There are times that the healing has to be done more swiftly out of sheer need. The danger of that road is the body’s inability to cope with the vast energies forced through it. Many times in combat, the injured suffer death at the hands of the healer through massive system shock, foolish vain attempts to heal the body faster than it can adjust. This is the plight of most novice healers, unable to find the balance of what the body can withstand. Patience is the greatest aspect of the art, even as war and carnage rages all about you.
“There, I think that shall do it. Try putting weight on it.” Zyr stood and drew up the younger man, who walked tentatively at first and then began to move more speedily about the hall.
“Yes, that feels alright. Thanks. I am sorry for what I said earlier.” Zyr nodded and smiled again. Shien came and sat down next to his pack. He remembered what he had secured in the vast library and wondered what the monk had been up to all this time. “So what exactly …”
Zyr’s eyes shot open wide and silenced Shien with a gesture. The monk clasped his hands before him and closed his eyes tightly. Suddenly, his cold blue gaze flicked into view.
“We must go quickly! Hurry!” Zyr snapped abruptly. The swift monk sped toward the exit into the grounds while Shien snatched up his pack without a word. He had seen enough of the Halls to serve him his lifetime. Anywhere away from the cold merciless walls was acceptable. Yet somehow, he sensed a hidden fear behind the monk’s eyes that made him sprint all the harder.
Racing across the courtyard, Zyr tried to calm the fears that threatened to burst his mind to pieces.
Firah.
There was no doubt in his mind, as echoes of the past brought painful reminders. She had tapped the Root again, and this time more powerfully. There was always the possibility that she could lose control as before, and the danger was great. Her fledgling skills were no match for the tides of power that emanated all around her. He thought of his own studies and how many years it had taken for him to harness the basics of power control. The principle was simple, as he had indicated to Shien; control was hard.
He could sense the connection to the Root as a great searing flame in his mind. It was straight through the woods, perhaps within a league. The morning was coming swiftly upon the land, and all shadow was passing from view. Zyr watched the tree tops shake farther into the vast forest. The guardians were moving fast toward her; they sensed it too. He knew he could not reach Firah in time, yet he ran on. Passing through the gaping breach in the outer wall, Zyr and Shien sprung hard against the ground in long strides.
Suddenly, the ground rolled and heaved beneath their feet. Shien slipped and came hard to the trembling ground, while Zyr maintained his stance with great effort. After a few moments, the trembling ceased. Snatching Shien’s arm, he hauled him roughly to his feet and moved into the dense trees. “We cannot delay; move as swiftly as you can!” The desperate monk called out to his companion.
Together they dashed through the foliage, their clothes catching upon the sharp bramble and dagger-like twigs that protruded from everywhere. Despite the snagging and scratches, they moved quickly, and found breaks of early morning light through the Darkwood trees. Zyr knew the situation was dire. The guardians were merciless landlords. They were relentless, and based off his experience with them, they seemed unable to respond or acknowledge the most heartfelt pleas of treatise. His mind was flooded with images of the girl swarmed by their knotted and twisted forms, battered and beaten to the forest floor. What had drawn her out this deep into the wood?
As a youth he had spent many hours in training in the woods, and knew them well. However, so much had changed since that time, within the brush it was difficult to keep his bearings. The great flaming beacon has passed when the trembling of the ground ceased. Now, he was watching for the imprints of the guardians passing but the foliage was so overgrown that he nearly missed them at times. He was no master of woodcraft, and he feared losing himself in the great forest, unable to assist the girl.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Shien was moving swiftly through the trees behind him. There was a look of trust behind the young man’s eyes, and his face was set in determination. Zyr considered Shien as a blessing from Mother, a key part of a plan which was forming in his mind. Things were in motion and he feared that he would be unable to protect the girl and counter what had been unleashed.
Something was happening farther ahead. A great spike in the Root burst again. Zyr felt a surge of recognition within the briefest moment.
“Shien! Look out!” Zyr shouted out, throwing himself abruptly to his left with all his might. He did not have time to see if Shien had complied.
A tremendous blast of energy ripped the forest, coursing along the guardian path that the monk had been following. Hot torrential power seared through the trees and ground alike, completely obliterating anything in its path. The ground reeled again in anger and shook terribly. Zyr had barely managed to dodge from the path of destruction, and he feared his warning was not early enough for Shien.
Gradually, the earth began to settle and relent from its wrath. Zyr lifted his face from the damp soil and released the roots that he clung to desperately. All around, the air was filled with the smells of burnt tinder. The trees that were partially in the path of the blast were carved away intricately. Smoke began to fill the air from their dismembered limbs and trunks.
Zyr stumbled to the long black trench that spanned into the distance in either direction. His eyes, first heavy in sadness, drew back wide in sheer astonishment.
There in the midst of the scorched earth knelt Shien upon one knee. His head was bowed and at his feet there sprung green foliage, perfectly rounded at his knee. Within his grasp was a slender blade, driven into the dirt before him. Zyr slowly moved toward him as if he were witnessing a specter of the departed. He came near to young warrior over the still heated earth and touched his shoulder gently.
Shien raised his head slowly and looked with astonishment to the monk. “I … what happened?” He took in the scene around him and, with the help of the monk, rose slowly to his feet. His clothes were singed badly, but he appeared to have suffered no injury. Zyr shook his head slightly and then cast his gaze to the sword which rested quietly in the earth. Shien grasped the hilt of the weapon, its blade glistening silvery white and cool. He replaced it behind over his shoulder without a word. Both men looked at each other for a moment silently.
“Shien, I am sorry that fate has brought you to this end, for I fear we may be unable to stop what has begun. This path may cost of our very lives. So much is changing; so much to manage …” The monk passed a hand over his heated brow, scored with hot ashes. Shien stood silently. He was clearly conflicted about something but chose not to disclose the matter.
Zyr could sense the energy patterns. They were swirling in a chaotic dance all about them, for so great had been the disruptions upon their flow. Terrible things could result from the intrusion, far greater than forest guardians, more terrifying than Ahtol in ways. “We must be on guard, Shien, for strange powers may beset us, as we try to get to Firah. I cannot give you more knowledge for I am not exactly sure what repercussions her actions may have caused this day. We tread paths unknown to most men.” The young man sighed heavily and
then, with a determined eye, set his gaze along the scorched path to where the girl would undeniably be.
“Let’s go on then. We have no other choice, and she is waiting for us,” Shien's voice was calm and sure. Zyr’s beleaguered heart swelled with newfound hope in light of the young man’s resolve. He nodded to his companion in gratitude. The plan was forming with greater clarity in the recesses of his mind.
“Yes, it seems the path is presenting itself,” Zyr spoke softly and quickly slid out of his scorched outer robes. The white sheen of the garb of a forgotten order now caught the new light growing on the horizon. The monk strode quickly along the black ditch, using it as a sure guide. Shien picked up a step behind him and together they moved swiftly and wordlessly through the strange tunnel shorn from the bramble and trees.
As both men neared the focal point of the power discharge, it was evident that all of nature was recoiling against a horrid scar that had been dealt it physically and spiritually. All was black and charred for miles, and black stubble crunched underfoot as the men swept toward Firah. Zyr felt it; there was something terribly wrong with the fabric between the realm of the Root and their own world. In his mind, he could sense two massive tears in the fragile veil that separated the realms. Both had been hastily opened and closed in the same manner. Sealed with amateurish ignorant blundering, they were threatening to open and release uncontrolled fury upon the landscape.
‘What could have caused her to do this?’ Zyr thought harshly, for the unsealing of the Root was only attempted by experienced Ashori. Aerluin’s realm was considered to be within the physical world but separated from their own, considered, in a way, spiritual or ethereal. The same was true of the demon Ahtol. The pure Root energy fell away from Aerluin like great ribbons of energy, and only the adept or attuned could learn to siphon a fragment of this power. The monk had learned to tap off the source of Alacritor energy at various degrees of potency, and he had been guided carefully and gently, learning every nuance between the two realms. He was chided harshly for the smallest mistake. Yet, for all his learning he was a relative fledgling in comparison to the magnitude of Aerluin’s raw potency. The full wild embodiment of the Root was quite unlike the orderly Alacritor fragment of the power he focused through his body.