by A. J. Smith
‘As a Kirin friend of mine once said, you fucking what?’ demanded the old Tyr, evoking Rham Jas.
The Dokkalfar was confused by the cursing, but grasped the tone.
‘He was very insistent that you return to take counsel from the Vithar.’
Nanon considered swearing again, but decided not to shoot the messenger and merely waved him away.
A few trees to his right, Tyr Dyus sat, strumming calmly on the string of his war-bow.
‘My friend, I am required to leave,’ Nanon said to his ally. ‘Loth wants to flex his muscles at me again.’
Dyus didn’t turn from the tree line. ‘We are Tyr, we fight. They are Vithar, they talk.’
‘We have an hour or two before they attack again,’ replied Nanon. ‘I can get to the Fell Walk and back.’
‘I will lead in your absence,’ said Dyus. ‘No human will pass your line.’
Nanon jumped down from the tree, leaving his short bow on a high branch but keeping his Ro longsword in its scabbard.
‘Maybe I can bring a few hundred warriors back with me... and keep my line where it is.’
He backed away from the tree line and darted into the deep shadows, keeping low to the ground. Within minutes he was hopping over fallen logs and making his way swiftly through the dense forest. It was nice to be in the woods again after his time in Ro Canarn and he chuckled to himself, enjoying the excitement of his current battle in the Long War. The last time he’d been needed was four hundred years before, and that conflict had been rather tedious, involving a lot of sitting around and talking to unpleasant things. Whatever the downside of Shub-Nillurath’s attempt to reassert his power, at least the old Tyr wasn’t bored.
It was a brisk jog back to the Dokkalfar settlement and the Fell Walk was buzzing with activity when he arrived.
As with all forest-dweller havens, it was built below a constructed forest floor, using the roots of huge trees as pillars between which to construct buildings. Nanon considered the Heart, far to the north in the Deep Woods of Canarn, to be his home. It was a much smaller settlement, with a few hundred Dokkalfar rather than a few thousand, and he disliked the densely populated southern haven.
After so many years spent among men, Nanon quickly became frustrated with the slow and steady ways of his people, which were annoyingly prevalent in the Fell Walk. The pace of life was the hardest thing to adapt to. His short time in Canarn had included much activity, a daily dance of nice conversations and broad smiles. Nanon had thoroughly enjoyed his time with Brom and the other men of Ro and he had to acknowledge that he preferred their company to that of his own people. Even the Dokkalfar of the north, who had come to live in Ro Canarn, were better company than the Fell Walkers.
‘Tyr Nanon, you have been summoned.’ The voice was female and harsh.
Turning round, he looked up into the eyes of a Vithar. She was armed – unusual for a shaman – and wore a brown robe, covering her from head to toe.
‘Hello,’ replied Nanon with a smile. ‘Who are you?’
The Vithar didn’t react and her face showed no emotion.
‘Please excuse my manners.’ He bowed his head respectfully. ‘Just escort me to the auditorium... I assume that’s your job.’
She stepped past him and extended her arm to show him the way, evidently intending to follow close behind.
‘I love a good chat,’ said Nanon drily, as he walked in the direction indicated. ‘Again, excuse my manners.’
Closer to the centre of the Fell Walk, Nanon saw multiple Dokkalfar wearing armour and packing their personal belongings into woven satchels. The activity was strange. They were preparing for something, and he doubted it was a stint on the front line against the Hounds. Whatever Vithar Loth had planned, it would likely annoy Nanon. He prepared himself to bite his tongue rather than shout and swear. He needed to remember who he was... what he was. Now was not the time for the bluster of men.
With the Vithar still behind him, Nanon stepped on to a long and winding platform leading to the auditorium. It wove upwards, providing a clear view down into the settlement and confirming that a thousand Dokkalfar were packing their belongings. A hundred buildings of wood and earth at a dozen levels encircled the largest tree trunks, each one now empty of its inhabitants.
Nanon slowed and ran his hand along the twisted wood that formed a railing. Every few inches a leaf sprouted from it. Some had grown into small shrubs or produced flowers, and they would continue to grow, a symbiosis between nature and forest-dweller.
‘Keep walking,’ said the Vithar.
‘I didn’t stop.’
‘You slowed down. Please hurry up.’
The Vithar stepped close to Nanon and glared down at him. She was several inches taller than him.
‘I don’t like you, Shape Taker, so hurry up and I won’t need to force you.’
He smiled and walked slightly faster, not caring to argue with the Vithar. It was odd behaviour for a shaman and Nanon wondered if she was actually prepared to use force. He decided that he didn’t want a fight and that it was easier to just do as she said. Vithar Loth would cause more than enough irritation. Remember not to swear. Remember not to swear, he repeated in his mind.
At the end of the walkway a circular balcony hung over the settlement and housed the auditorium. The last time Nanon had been there he’d defied Loth and rallied allies against the Hounds. It was also the last time he had seen Rham Jas Rami and Utha the Shadow. The space was now mostly empty, with no Tyr guarding the perimeter and only four Vithar seated at the far end.
‘Tyr Nanon, you will approach,’ said Loth.
‘I approach in friendship,’ he replied, strolling casually into the circular auditorium. ‘You have more supplies for me? Maybe a hundred more warriors?’
A moment of silence. ‘We have not,’ replied Loth.
‘A shame, we are hard pressed.’
Nanon reached the raised seats at the far end and came to a stop in front of the seated Vithar. Next to Loth was a senior Tyr named Hythel who had refused to accompany Nanon to the line. On the old shaman’s other side were two more Vithar, both of whom were expressionless.
‘I can’t be away for long, my attention is needed on the line,’ said Nanon, keeping his tone even.
‘Tyr Dyus can kill in your absence,’ replied Loth. ‘You are required here.’
‘If I am required to talk... you can do that without me.’
‘Insolence,’ sneered Tyr Hythel. ‘You are not a Fell Walker and you have spent too much time among men. The cycles turn and, despite your age, you see nothing.’
Nanon refused to laugh. He wanted to, but it would have been lost on the forest-dwellers before him and would have showed more disrespect than he felt. He tried to think at their pace, slowing things down to a crawl in his mind.
‘Why is your settlement enveloped in such activity? And why do I now need escorting?’
Hythel tilted his head. ‘You see? He is arrogant and thinks only of his own now. The forever of your people is at stake, Shape Taker.’
Vithar Loth raised his hand and silenced Hythel. The old shaman turned his eyes to Nanon and attempted to communicate with him silently. Nanon refused to open his mind, not wanting to give the wily old forest-dweller access to his thoughts. After a moment, Loth tilted his head as well.
‘The ages of this land turn. We have seen this before and wish to wait out this battle of the Long War.’
‘That will not stop the lands from turning,’ replied Nanon, ‘or the Long War from raging.’
‘You misunderstand.’ Loth was impassive and difficult to read. Nanon was used to being able to sense motivation among his people, but those of advanced age were strong of mind.
‘You were escorted because we no longer trust you,’ said Hythel. ‘You misunderstand because you are ignorant. You kill because the stench of man has infected you.’
He shook his head, fighting bad habits. The Tyr before him was powerful but he was beginning to irrita
te him. ‘Please tell me plainly, what do you want?’
Hythel stood up and displayed his full height. He stood much taller than Nanon, flexing his shoulders and clenching his fists. ‘Plainly? What is this, impatience? We have meditated on a problem and wish you to join our meditation.’
‘Sit in silence with us and remember who you are,’ said Loth.
Nanon closed his eyes. He wanted to do as they asked and be a Dokkalfar again. He was angry with himself for his impatience, but he knew that sitting in silence for three days was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
‘I can’t. I am needed,’ he murmured.
‘If you will not sit as a Dokkalfar, we will at least speak to you as a Tyr,’ said Loth.
‘I am still Dokkalfar,’ he snapped.
Instantly, he knew he’d confirmed their suspicions. He’d become angry and let impatience govern his actions.
The Tree Father stood and softened his hard gaze with a minuscule smile. He was too controlled to appear smug, but now he felt superior and Nanon could sense it.
‘This land has changed and we have stayed the same. We have no hall to which we can flee, our ashes will not travel beyond the world, they will return to the earth we could not save.’ Loth was quoting from The Edda, an ancient tome written by the Sky Riders of the Drow Deeps. It was a somewhat ponderous treatise on the history and self-sacrifice of the Dokkalfar. Nanon had read it many times, especially the sections dealing with the Long War, but the majority of the book was a meditation on the inevitable destruction of the forest-dwellers.
‘I can quote from The Edda as well,’ he replied. ‘It also says that the trees of the Fell were planted by Giants, but we don’t let that inform our thinking.’
Loth stood before Nanon, his dark green robe catching in the soft breeze.
‘We will never be at peace. This battle of the Long War will turn into another and another and another, until the Giants have left nothing but a smouldering wreck for us to inhabit. Our trees will burn, our people will flee or be turned into Dark Young. It is the slow pain and it is painful indeed.’
‘The loss of hope can be a dangerous disease,’ replied Nanon.
‘We are not talking about hope, Shape Taker. This is about the legacy of our people.’
The wind picked up, catching their clothing and adding a low whistling accompaniment to the Vithar’s words.
‘But you don’t speak for our people,’ challenged Nanon. ‘Not all of them.’
‘I speak for the Fell Walkers,’ replied Loth, with deep sincerity.
Tyr Hythel interjected. ‘We are with the Tree Father. His word is our word.’
Nanon let his annoyance take over. ‘Tell me what you intend to do. Don’t quote from old books or hide behind rhetoric, just tell me... please. If you must treat me as an outsider, at least respect me as a soldier of the Long War.’
Loth closed his eyes and spread his arms wide, slowly turning his face upwards. ‘We will burn. Our ashes will return to the world we could not save. Every Dokkalfar of the Fell, every one will stand in the divine flame of the Shadow Giants.’
Silence. Nanon had no words to call upon. He stood there, looking at the old Vithar, trying to find something to say in response. Loth planned to light the Shadow Flame and lead his people to their deaths. It was the ultimate act of martyrdom, but one that Nanon thought was apocalyptically foolish. The Edda spoke of a time when the world no longer had room for a godless race of forest-dwellers, but it never specified the time and was read by most as a parable. Certainly not as a call to mass suicide.
‘Have you contacted the Heart about this?’
‘We have not.’ Loth’s reply was maddeningly simple.
‘Maybe you should. Vithar Joror will meditate with you.’
‘His woods are not under siege,’ stated the Tree Father. ‘It is not his decision to make. Joror will slowly realize that the Shadow Flame is the only path for our people. I expect him to follow us into the dust of the world.’
Tyr Hythel, who had resumed his seat, clenched his fists and craned his neck forward with an expression of anger. ‘It will be our final victory against the Dead God. We will deny him his Young. You should join us, Shape Taker.’
Nanon tilted his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Tyr Dyus and your forces at the line will be called back to the Fell Walk,’ said Loth, also resuming his seat.
‘To die?’ asked Nanon with incredulity. ‘That’s not a message I’ll deliver.’
‘Our intentions will reach their minds anyway, you know this. Whether your human sensibilities allow it or not, the Shadow Flame will be lit.’
The collective memory and consciousness of the Dokkalfar would gradually inform all the Fell Walkers that their elders planned to die. Nanon could do little to stop the thoughts from influencing them.
‘It has not even occurred to you that we can win, has it?’ he asked.
‘Who are we fighting? What can we win?’ Hythel asked.
‘Well, I thought we were fighting for the survival of our people, and the survival of the gods of men. Was that ever in your mind?’
‘We are old, our time to die should be a time of our choosing. Our people deserve more grace than to be turned into monsters. The wars of men will bring ruin to us.’
Nanon took a step back and bowed his head, thinking quickly. He was not foolish and he doubted rational argument would be of much use with the stubborn forest-dwellers before him. But he could not concede.
‘It will take time to light the Shadow Flame, it has been cold for centuries.’
‘I have a dozen Vithar working on the fires, coaxing them to life with their blood,’ said Loth.
‘So I ask for time.’ Nanon let his human smile appear. ‘The Dark Blood still lives, the Red Prince enters the war, the gods of men have allies, we should be among them. ‘
Loth leant back and his eyes darted from side to side as if his thoughts were troubled. Once again he tried to enter Nanon’s mind and once again the Shape Taker refused to let him in. The Tree Father had never lit the Shadow Flame and had probably only ever glimpsed the Twilight Grove from afar. He was uncertain how long it would take to light the fires. As he looked at the smiling Tyr before him, Loth had to concede that Nanon knew more than he did.
‘The last time the Flame was lit,’ began the Shape Taker, ‘was six hundred years ago. Vithar Duil and ten of his shamans walked into the fires after they lost a settlement in Narland. They killed themselves in shame. That’s illustrious company to join.’
‘You mock us,’ stated Hythel.
‘It seemed the appropriate response to your idiocy,’ Nanon snapped. ‘But I’m serious about the time it’ll take. If you have any strength left, you’ll wait until I return. If the enchantress falls, then your suicide is unnecessary.’
The wind picked up again, a steady breeze swirling across the empty space. The auditorium felt hollow and cavernous. Loth was in command of everything in the Fell, he ruled in a way unknown to many other Dokkalfar settlements, but he was unsure when challenged by an older forest-dweller. In the Heart, the Vithar were advisers, wise and respected, but they made no claim to leadership. Nanon preferred it that way. The Fell Walkers, however, looked to their Vithar for more than just counsel. The Tree Father was the eldest and he held authority over the settlement in consequence.
‘Talk to Joror, kill the human woman, it makes no difference. When the Shadow Flame is lit, we will enter the void,’ the Tree Father pronounced stubbornly.
‘We are agreed,’ Nanon replied, knowing that the fires would take much longer to light than Loth realized.
* * *
Nanon took his time walking back to the line. The Vithar had escorted him to the edge of the Fell Walk and remained morose the entire way, though, on this occasion, the Shape Taker was deep in his own thoughts and less talkative.
He’d begun to project his words to the north and was slowly contacting Vithar Joror in the Heart. The transfer took time and wa
s only possible because Nanon and Joror had known each other for many centuries. Both were old enough to have forgotten their earliest days of life.
‘How long will the Shadow Flame take to light?’ he asked into the air, hoping that Joror would hear.
Now he was alone, walking across the dense undergrowth towards the line. He could hear no sounds of combat and hoped that the Karesian Hounds had not attacked in the time he’d been away.
‘Is that how humans say hello?’ came a soft reply.
‘Sorry. Time is short, my friend,’ said Nanon. ‘Loth seems to be taking The Edda literally.’
Silence. He could sense deep thought from his friend.
‘Is the Fell lost?’ asked the Vithar.
‘No, we are holding them. The Daylight Sky stands with me.’
‘Then why the Shadow Flame?’
It was a hard question to answer. Nanon wanted to say that Loth was a fool, but thought better of it. ‘Apparently the Fell Walkers think that our end is inevitable. Worse, in fact, they think we’ll all be turned into Dark Young.’
‘Loth is a fool,’ said Joror, making the Shape Taker feel better for a moment. ‘Has he begun lighting the fires?’
‘He said so, yes,’ replied the old Tyr.
‘Then you have thirty days. The Shadow Flame does not spring into life with a simple touch of fire. It takes blood and exertion to bring it back.’ He paused. ‘Do you know what it is, Nanon?’
‘Not really... but neither does the Tree Father. He’s more interested in his suicide.’
As their connection strengthened, Nanon felt himself in two worlds. He was standing, alone and still, in the forests of the Fell, and he was sitting in the auditorium of the Heart, next to Vithar Joror.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
The Vithar tilted his head in greeting.
‘The Shadow Flame is a doorway of sorts, to a hall beyond the world. It is a shadow and an echo of the ones we loved. To light it, a Dokkalfar must give enough of himself to reach beyond, to rekindle the last ember of memory that yet remains of the Shadow Giants.’
Nanon took in the air as he listened, unsurprised by what he heard. ‘The memory is not strong, though, and it fades.’ He looked down at leaves and grass. ‘Maybe there’s a tiny piece of me that agrees with Loth.’