The Awakening

by Gary Alan Wassner

  That was a sad, sad day for them all. The council members departed the chamber with their heads downcast and their spirits shattered. No further words needed to be spoken. The visions were sufficient, though markedly painstaking to witness. It could not be helped though, and Premoran left the room in no better a mood than the others. He refused to force the evacuation and he therefore hoped that the people would leave voluntarily once they fully realized the grave nature of their situation.

  Premoran himself left the council chamber and made his way purposefully out of the building. He walked without hesitating, directly for the monumental gates to the city. As he passed through them, he envisioned the city tragically devoid of life and the magnificent gates shattered and broken. His imagination, he knew, was more than speculation, and his premonitions were more like predictions than conjectures. His heart ached at the thought, while he continued on his way.

  He climbed the grassy knoll whereupon Acire once flourished. It pained him greatly to walk on the parched soil and brown grass and to gaze upon the remains of his ancient friend. He could remember little else in his long lifetime that hurt him so. Yet, it was necessary that he do this and he knew that better than anyone.

  “May the First protect us all,” he uttered to himself as his eyes scanned the devastation.

  Small spirals of twisting smoke rose from the fractured soil. Nothing lived any longer in the vicinity of the Lalas’ remnants. Nothing dared to. There was a large crater in the ground where the trunk had been and rock-like appendages lay strewn all around it. No greenery was visible and enormous fissures seemed to have swallowed up everything that had formerly grown atop the adjacent soil.

  Premoran carefully navigated his way around the bottomless ravines that gaped at him from below and headed for the area that had once been the trunk of Acire. This was not the first time he had the stultifying need to circumnavigate the remains of a dead Lalas. In fact, he had visited each and every one of the sites that had formerly harbored a great tree. He had no choice but to do so. It was his role, his sad destiny, and none of the others remained who knew any longer what to look for. Except of course for Colton. A quick chill overtook him at the thought of the Evil One. His power was spreading too far, too fast.

  As he stepped closer to the center, the heart of the once great tree, he could still feel the potency that had dominated this area. His senses were assaulted by the pain of so great a loss and as he walked, he hesitated slightly in order to catch his breath and calm himself. The tree had not fully disappeared. Traces of its vitality and vibrancy could be felt in the air, prickling his sensibilities with their potency. They were incoherent though, unlike in the past, and he could make neither sounds nor visions out of them. The echo of power was still present and it grew in intensity as he neared his destination.

  Before he descended into the pit ahead of him, he bent down and gathered a handful of soil into his palm. It was hot to the touch and dry as dust despite the constant flow of steam that emanated from it. Sadly, he let it fall through his fingers back to the ground.

  No ordinary beings ever ventured into the remains of a dead Lalas. Or if they did, they never lived to talk about it. Premoran though, was not an ordinary person. He was a Wizard of the highest class, for lack of a better description. He was possessed of the greatest of power bestowed upon the human race when life began and the First radiated the full energy of the Gem of Eternity. He along with six others, had been watching the weaves behind the course of earthly events since time began. Now with the demise of Calista, only two of the original seven still remained alive. Colton dar Agonthea presided over the forces of dissolution and had gone over to the other side countless tiels ago. He was a strong and powerful mage, though unable to remain true to the light.

  How ironic, he snickered, that Colton should have survived all the others but me.

  Even beautiful Calista who had been the Dark Lord’s only defender so may tiels ago, was now dead. She had attempted to save him then and she earned only his eternal enmity for her efforts.

  “The fabric weaves of its own will,” he muttered gravely, shaking his head.

  Premoran heard a faint humming in the air and that comforted him somewhat as he descended into the desolate pit. Raising his right palm, he summoned a ball of blue-white light to illuminate his way as he stepped carefully down. The humming grew louder and he instinctively followed the sound. Shortly, he could feel the vibrations he so ardently hoped were still evident amidst the ruins of the area. He made his way deeper into the chasm, hoping he would find a suggestion this time as to why the great trees were departing the earth. Each and every time he entered the dead shell of a once mighty Lalas, he prayed that he would find the clues that he needed. But lamentably, each time he found nothing more than the departing spirit and an admonition to continue to search.

  He made his way carefully down the twisted path toward what was once the heart of this sentient being. He stepped lightly upon something hard, and summoning the orb of light to hover above the spot, he bent down and discerned Theran’s sword lying on the dry earth. It was unmarred, as no physical battle took this gallant warrior’s life. Next to it, he could see the remains of the Chosen himself, propped up against what must have been a large root of Acire’s.

  “May the First bless you and keep you, my brave son,” he said, head bent.

  He lifted the blade and placed it upright with the hilt leaning upon the dead man’s shoulder. Premoran carefully pushed the blade deep into the ground so that it would remain there next to its companion. He gazed momentarily upon the sad expression marring the warrior’s handsome face and a rush of regret and melancholy overcame him. Closing his eyes for just a second, he focused his thoughts on the task at hand, and then he moved on, having bid farewell to his old friend Theran forever.

  Premoran descended further into the nearly empty cavern that had formerly been replete with Acire’s substance. With each step, the humming sound grew louder and more distinct and the wizard knew thereby that he neared his destination. He continued to trespass through the lifeless remnants of the tree until he came upon what he sought. With as much respect as he could muster, he reverently bent over and parted the soft soil with his hand, digging just under the surface. He felt the emptiness and cool air of the cavern waft over him as he exposed the opening. Extending his fingers carefully into the hollow, he retrieved the shard and placed it in the pouch at his belt. To his great surprise, the humming continued and did not terminate with the removal of the artifact.

  “Is there a part of you still here, Acire? You were a good friend. Can you not be one still and provide me with the information I need?” he spoke aloud, astonished that the essence of the tree did not cease this time with the removal of the shard.

  No response was forthcoming, though he honestly did not know what to expect. He had always hoped beyond hope that one of the trees would communicate with him and enlighten him as to the reason for its departure. Each and every time, he withdrew unsatisfied. This time would be no different than the others, he surmised stoically.

  “Return to the earth and may your spirit find its way back to the First,” Premoran said somberly.

  But, the droning continued still.

  The Wizard was puzzled by this turn of events. He had retrieved the shards from nine Lalas over the course of the last two tiels and never once did the spirit of the tree survive the removal.

  “Is there something you wish to tell me, dear Acire?” he inquired once again.

  What at first appeared to be a leaf, fluttered lazily to the ground. He reached for it hastily and drew the light close in order to examine the token. He had hoped and prayed for some sign, some indication of why these tragic events were occurring, but he did not really expect anything more this time than on any of the other occasions. Strangely though, he sensed a different level of energy here. Perhaps he would be blessed with a clue with which he could work.

  Greedily, he perused the fallen object which u
pon closer inspection was not a leaf at all, but a piece of parchment shaven from the tree itself. It was covered in ancient runes. Summoning the light hovering nearby to flare brighter, he scanned the paper keenly. He read the ancient script to himself as naturally as he would any other language. When he reached the second line of words, the parchment began to transform itself. Premoran did nothing to attempt to prevent the metamorphosis, as he had yearned for something just like this to occur each and every time he performed this grueling task.

  The paper lifted on its own accord out of his grasp and began to expand in all directions. Soon, an opaque sphere perhaps two feet in diameter hovered in the air before his eyes, infused with a multicolored mass of spinning and swirling objects. It was impossible to describe how a Lalas communicated with another not of its own race, but Premoran clearly heard the voice of his departed friend deep within the recesses of his mind, rather than through his ears. The images in the sphere solidified and as he watched, he listened attentively to the heavy-hearted narration.

  The First is needfully detached. It seeks to protect the Gem, its primary charge. In so doing, I am deprived of the light, as are my brethren. Without it, I care not to remain here. I see a darkness approaching.

  As he concentrated, Premoran witnessed the final moments of Acire’s earthly existence and he understood immediately the choice that the great tree made. He watched the hovering orb ardently, and the image of the magnificent Lalas, in all its past glory, loomed before him.

  My time is past. Others must take my place. But, despair not. This is a beginning, not an end for one such as me. As for you, my friend, seek the twins in Seramour. And, above all else, protect the shards. Their significance will become apparent when the weave allows. I impart this information to you because I fear that the forces of darkness have altered the fabric. I wish not to affect it further; but you are the last of your kind who serves the light. Your brother has long ago betrayed us. And now the balance must be preserved at all costs. You must lead, but tread carefully though, lest you lose your way. It is a delicate journey you now commence and the path is obscured. Things are not always as they seem. Remember, as Theran died with me, so must all Chosen perish when their tree doth pass. Be not afraid to hasten that which will bring you closer to the light. We all must do that though it may seem wrong at times. Do not misjudge us. May the First guide you and illuminate your path.

  Premoran observed the spirit of the Lalas as it slowly and tragically dissipated, and he mourned once more for the loss. He was grateful to Acire for everything, and though he was enervated by the experience, he was infinitely more hopeful knowing now that the Lalas truly did choose to ‘die’. Even the fact that the First was intentionally separating its brethren from the Gem’s radiance was, in a strange manner, hopeful. This all lent intention to the great losses and upheavals that were so prevalent. They were not unplanned or random, not without meaning, but purposeful, despite the pain and sadness they incurred. Necessity sometimes serves to justify even the most perplexing of actions. Premoran knew that the quest for the First and the Gem of Eternity was ever more imperative now.

  The bile rose in his parched throat at the memory of Acire’s reference to Colton as his “brother”’. But alas, it was true. No matter how diametrically opposed to one another they might be now, they were born of the same blood. Colton would only rejoice in the shielding of the Gem’s brilliance and power. He could not know that the withholding of its potency and efficacy was intentional and designed to protect it. But he was the cause nonetheless, of that Premoran was certain. And for that alone, he despised him even more. If not for his encroachment upon the light and his advocacy of dissolution, perhaps the First would not have needed to restrict the Gem’s reach.

  He looked upon the shimmering sphere once again, hoping for more, hoping for anything that could help him on his quest however trivial or seemingly inconsequential. Acire had given him so much already that he felt selfish and greedy in his desires, but he knew that this tree’s light would soon go out forever, and he yearned for whatever he could retrieve from the Lalas before that occurred. His heart was heavy and he suffered from this loss more personally than any of the others. Yet, he would not allow himself to succumb to the sadness. There was no possibility of altering what was, only that which had not yet occurred.

  Suddenly the brilliant sphere disappeared altogether, leaving behind only a crackle in the heavy air, a fading trace of power, whose potent sweetness dissipated all too quickly. At the same moment, the humming abruptly ceased. Acire was gone. He would gather no more information here and with mixed emotions, he prepared to leave.

  “Seek the twins in Seramour,” he repeated out loud, as he fingered the pouch of shards at his belt.

  Chapter Two

  “You are no sister of mine,” he said to her while leaning haughtily on the back of his father’s throne. “You have spent too much time cavorting with humans and you can no longer see the differences between our interests and theirs.”

  “And you are surely no brother of mine if you cannot recognize the common danger to us all,” she replied, standing across from him with her hands sternly upon her hips.

  “Danger? What danger do you perceive? We are safe here and we will always be safe here. That is as long as no one attempts to draw us into conflicts that do not concern us,” he said scowling.

  “Do you really believe that we will be able to remain apart from these troubles? Can you not see that eventually they will reach us, even here? These changes affect the whole of the world. Just because we are safe now, does not mean we will be safe tomorrow. Caeltin D’Are Agenathea will not stop until the entire world is under his dominion, until darkness and dissolution overcome us all. You think that because we are far from the field of battle that he will leave us alone? Think again, little brother. You know not of what you speak,” Alemar responded, her pale blue eyes blazing beneath her thick, blonde lashes.

  She hastily pulled a lock of her golden hair over her left ear and concealed the birth mark behind it that still made her so self conscious. When she was just a child, she believed that the misshapen star was a sign that she was destined to be a Chosen of the trees herself and she exposed it with a singular pride. Others considered her simply arrogant and presumptuous, and they scoffed at her when the tree passed her by for another. Now, she covered it with a powder that matched her skin tone whenever she was in public. It was painful to remember how hopeful she had once been and how disheartened she became when Crea was chosen instead of her. What had been her badge of honor became a mark of derision, and she henceforth scrupulously concealed it from everyone’s view.

  “And we should take your advice? We should listen to the counsel of one who permitted a human to enter our lands? Who welcomed him surreptitiously and kept his presence secret from her own family? You cannot see past your feelings for this man, my dear sister, and your indiscretions shame your mother’s name,” he answered back more vehemently than before.

  “That was cruel, Kalon. And what bothers me most is that you said it only for that reason. Do not speak of my mother. You soil her name by uttering it,” the Princess responded and she turned her back on her half-brother in order to hide the tears which spontaneously welled up in her eyes at the mention of Queen Aliana. “Besides, she would have understood. She was very close to the earth. She would have felt the same things that I feel,” she said despondently.

  “She would never have divulged our secrets to a human— Never—And a rogue on top of being human. Had you not heard about that man? Did the rumors not compel you toward caution at the least?” he said superciliously.

  “What would you know of honor? You think only of your self interest. If it happens to coincide with the interests of our people, then you claim the wreath of the hero. You do not fool me Kalon,” she said. “It is not my ‘indiscretion’ as you so callously call it, that you abhor, but the fact that my relationships bring us knowledge that may force you to fight for somethin
g for once. I wish Dalloway was still here. He would have defended this city without hesitation even though it was not his home. And he would have understood my concern. Was I ‘indiscreet’ with our cousin from Seramour as well? He left because of you, not me. As for Robyn dar Tamarand, what do you know of him other than the tittle-tattle that you yourself have helped to spread? He is a Chosen, for the First’s sake.”

  Kalon turned abruptly to King Whitestar and asked, “Did you hear that, father? She accuses me of being cowardly and of spreading lies in the same breath, when I seek only to protect our people.”

  He suddenly sounded conspicuously like a child.

  “Am I not right, Father?” Alemar interrupted her brother’s supplication. “Mother would have agreed with me. She knew that we could not live in denial forever. She respected the Chosen more than anyone, and she would never have refused a request of the trees. If she were alive now, she would be doing everything she could to aid the cause. I know it,”

  The beautiful girl smoothed her silk tunic and with both hands, drew her long blonde hair behind her head and pinned it with a silver pin. Kalon continued to stand beside the throne, his face as red as a winter beet, waiting for his father’s response.

  The elder man grimaced, creating uncommon wrinkles in his flawless elfin skin.