The Awakening

by Gary Alan Wassner

  “How ironic, my dear,” he thought aloud. “The sun rises each day, the trees continue to grow and support us, the fields bloom and blossom, our people remain safe and secure here in Seramour and yet the Lalas die below, and darkness approaches the very edge of the city. Are we the last haven, Elsinestra?” he asked.

  “We harbor the heir, dearest. He is the last haven, the last hope. You have read the same words as I. He will find the Gem and with his discovery, we will defeat Caeltin,” she answered.

  “Yes, I have read the Tomes over and over again. You know as well as I do that the books are filled with double meanings and riddles so obscure that when they seem to speak the obvious, I fear that I may be missing the true message,” the wise old elf answered.

  Elsinestra walked over to the wall of shelves on the opposite side of the room. Her light-weight silks rustled only slightly as she moved, graceful as she was. She stood on her toes and reached for a heavy volume, much worn with use and faded with time. As she carried it over to the polished, Noban table, Treestar turned to her.

  “Shall we read it once more, my dear? Will a thousand readings unveil to us what we want so desperately to learn?” he asked, frustrated.

  “I wish only to speak the words aloud. Sometimes what is hidden reveals itself more easily when spoken.”

  She carefully laid the book upon the table and opened it to a page three quarters of the way through it. She respectfully spread the pages flat and then picked up a silver pointer that dangled from a ribbon on the side of the table. Using the tip to guide her eyes through the small print and intricate writing, she began to read:

  “The darkness gathers on the shores of dreams,

  Blood red flow the rivers and the streams,

  Black pools of night smother the land,

  Mighty boulders crumble into sand,

  Wherefore art the gold and silver bands?

  Behold, a man—

  Behold, a man—

  A child is born, yet disappears,

  a tree is born and who will hear its lonely cry?

  A fire bursts upon the sky,

  The maids arise with open eyes,

  And change the purpose of their lives,

  and who will know the reason why?

  And who will know the reason why?

  The sleeping child shall awaken soon,

  his senses shall all be attuned

  to the other, whom he has yet to greet.

  To the other, and should they ever meet

  the Gem will burn with fire anew,

  and the trees will pass, all but a few.

  The trees will pass, all but a few.

  The Chosen shall die in the darkness alone

  bereft and far away from home,

  the body turned to ash and bone.

  A stepping stone?

  A stepping stone.

  This age will fade into the next,

  Embracing time with its soft caress,

  but will the races pass the test?

  Or perish just like all the rest?

  Or perish just like all the rest?”

  “It seems so sad and hopeless,” she said after a slight pause.

  “Yes, on the surface it certainly does. But so much in the ancient books sounds desperate when in fact it is not. Each episode of violence seems only to precede a period of hope.”

  “There is so much being said herein. It could mean anything,” she noted, perplexed once again.

  “It must be referring to Davmiran when it speaks of the boy ‘disappearing’.”

  “Yes, and the ‘sleeping child’ can be none other than he. But what of the ‘passing of the trees’? Are they destined to die? What will the world be like without the Lalas?” she asked sadly.

  “It does not say that they will all die. In fact, it mentions a new tree. If a new tree can be born, then there is still hope.”

  “Do you think it is saying that all of the Chosen will die? Or, will it be a specific one? The word can be both singular and plural. It is so ambiguous.”

  “As always, my dear. Did you expect the Tomes to be clear and spell it all out for us? We can but interpret what we read and hope that we do so correctly. I find it sad too, but in an odd manner I rejoice in the fact that there is an implicit challenge in the words,” he responded, his forehead creased from thought.

  “How so, husband? What do you read that I fail to?”

  “There is much to be wary of and there is much to cause one to be optimistic. If in fact this is all a ‘test’, then certainly we have an opportunity to pass it. And if we have even an opportunity, then we have cause to be hopeful. Each of the words has been chosen with great care and each is meaningful. It is no mistake that the word ‘test’ appears.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, rising up from the table and gazing once more out the window. “Although the choice of words appears to be sad, there are many that are pregnant with possibilities. You are so right, Treestar. I often lose sight of those in the face of the others. But, I should not.”

  “No, Elsinestra. You should not. There is reference made to birth, to awakenings, to change and unprecedented situations. In its own way, I do find it hopeful.”

  “You are wise to see it so, my husband.”

  “I have no choice but to view it as such. We have the heir here in our very midst. A piece of the puzzle that we have tried to construct for so many ages is right here with us now. The time is ripe for change and change may mean hardship to some, but we cannot hide in the Heights any longer, lest ‘a fire burst upon our sky’,” he said. “No, we must contribute in any way that we can from now on. I agree with you.”

  She walked once more to his side, clasped his hands in hers, and turned him toward her.

  Staring resolutely into his eyes, she said, “I feel a stirring in the air. With each breeze, my heart beats faster. The boy sleeps so quietly and yet when I am in his company, there is a palpable energy present that is so obvious and so strong that my skin prickles at the contact. If goodness had a face, it would resemble his, I am certain.”

  “Whatever he is destined for, may the First guide him and protect him.”

  “May the First guide and protect us all.”

  “Come, stand by me,” he said to her, and he reached out his hand and led her to the window. “Do you see the clouds gathering in the south?” he asked, pointing to a darkening in the sky beyond the city. “I have been watching them for two days now and they barely move. They are not being driven by the wind which as you know has been blowing with considerable force, but they approach us nevertheless, albeit very slowly.”

  “I had not noticed them before this moment, Treestar,” she responded, her voice riddled with concern.

  “I pray that our son returns before they overtake us.”

  Elsinestra lifted her hand and pushed the window open fully, allowing the warm air to blow against her luminous face. With her eyes closed, she raised her chin and took in the fragrance that the wind sent her way.

  “Something evil advances upon us. Could Seramour be the ‘shore of dreams’? Will we survive this, my darling?” she asked, and she looked upon her husband with tear-filled eyes.

  “We will survive. The boy is not ‘like all the rest’. With his aid and the Gem’s light to guide us, we shall not perish. Virtue will prevail against this depraved enemy,” he responded with fervor, and then he turned away from the pane. “Tomorrow will belong to Elion and his offspring, I promise you,” he said, slamming his fist hard upon the table before him. “We will not succumb to those who oppose the earth and all that is righteous and good.”

  Treestar paused to calm himself down and gather his wits about him once again, although his blue eyes still blazed with the fire of passion. Elsinestra stood quietly, unable to remember a time when her husband had behaved so tempestuously. She admired his determination and confidence, and she loved the ardor within him.

  “Come now, let us ready ourselves for our son’s arrival,” he sai
d at last in an even and soft spoken voice.

  With the great book under his arm and his wife’s hand cradled in his own, King Treestar of the southern elves and his beautiful Queen Elsinestra, walked out of the stately room and proceeded toward the city common. Once there, as the thickening clouds gathered ominously on the horizon, they rang the resonant bells of congregation and then waited patiently for the crowds to gather.

  In the hushed atmosphere of anticipation that overtook the assembly, they advised the people of all the events that had transpired both within the city and without. Torn between their desire to be honest and their instinct to shelter the people from unnecessary distress, they jubilantly informed them of their brightest hopes for the future, including the heir’s presence in Seramour and the pending arrival of the group from Pardatha.

  Cloaking their greatest fears of what yet could be in the garb of remote possibility, they also painstakingly advised their beloved subjects of the conflicts that might yet befall them and the balance of the races. Finally and with great care, they set in motion the mechanisms that would protect the treetop city as long as possible from the destructive might of the dark and imminent storm that was certain to shortly grasp all of Lormarion in its deadly fist.

  “I will attend to the boy now,” Elsinestra said to her husband in a hushed voice when he was finished speaking. “I shall stay by his side until our son arrives,” she declared and she inconspicuously backed away from him.

  “Go, dearest. Stand vigil for us all. I will join you when Elion is once more safe within the Heights,” he answered, catching her eyes with his own for one brief moment.

  “I love you, husband,” she said finally before retreating into the shadows.

  “As I do you, beloved,” he responded, hoping she could still hear him.

  Warmed by his devotion to her, he turned to his people once more and began the tedious work of securing Seramour from the inevitable onslaught.

  Chapter Eight

  The path was twisted and narrow. It wound through the snow covered hills until it ended abruptly, opening into a barren plain of ice as far as the eye could see. The morning sun reflected brightly off of the sheets of frozen water, intermittently striking the eyes with brilliant flashes of blinding light. To the left, a dark area stood out in contrast to the whiteness of the ground. It was too distant to determine clearly how large it was or even if it was not simply an illusion; a mirage caused by the sharp sunlight playing tricks upon the eyes. Alemar walked, determined, toward it nonetheless.

  The Princess navigated her way across the slippery plain, digging her studded boot soles into the thick ice to insure her traction. As she drew nearer to the area of darkness, she began to discern color and was relieved to see the greens and browns of growth distinguish themselves against the white background. When she was within fifty yards, she could clearly see now the massive tree looming in the distance. The ground beneath her feet began to change from stark white to the colors of life, and it slowly grew softer to the touch and thicker with vegetation with each cautious step she took.

  Apprehension welled up in her throat, but never once could she have misinterpreted it as fear. Her confidence was driving her forward relentlessly, and although she was uncertain if Wayfair and Crea would accept her presence and speak with her, she was determined to approach them nonetheless. She could not sit idly by any longer and wait for the darkness to engulf them. In the depths of her soul she felt it coming, reminded each evening by the evil stench of wrongness that pervaded her senses in the waning hours as she lay awake, unable to sleep. Her father, as wise as he was, was determined to ignore the churning forces that she knew would eventually destroy them if he continued to deny their existence, let alone their virulent potency. Kalon was partially to blame for that, as he continually encouraged King Whitestar to avoid becoming embroiled in what he called the ‘human wars’. And her father, the King, embraced those excuses with both arms, wishing to avoid anything that might upset the long prevailing balance in Eleutheria.

  Alemar knew in her heart that her father harbored his own doubts about his recent actions or lack thereof. The mere fact that he was allowing her to attempt to converse with the Chosen and his Tree was evidence enough of that.

  I will find a more receptive elf when I return from here, she thought. If my journey should be successful…

  By this time her feet were upon soft and comfortable ground. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps Crea was not even at home, but on a secret journey to somewhere mysterious and secluded.

  What a shame that would be, she practically said aloud.

  She approached with respect the looming giant whose shadow now fell directly across her path. Her skin prickled in expectation of the meeting and she all at once felt strangely inadequate to the task. It struck her suddenly that perhaps she should turn around now and escape without going any further. But she quickly relegated that cowardly thought to the deep recesses of her mind.

  In the near distance she heard a humming sound, but she could not discern exactly where it was coming from. She continued to walk cautiously forward until she saw, to her great relief, a man crouched upon a woven mat on the ground before the trunk of the massive tree. His image almost escaped her completely, dwarfed as it was by the sheer magnitude of the tree’s breadth. But the sound drew her eyes to it and she was guided by the harmonious cadences. Crea lifted his head and gazed in her direction. Alemar immediately felt as if she was intruding and all of her doubts surfaced at once, causing her to blush from head to toe.

  “Do not fear, Alemar,” the hunching man said. “You are welcome here.”

  She was so relieved to hear that, after all the hours she spent anticipating how she would deal with the rejection that she was certain would come.

  Crea stood up slowly and brushed the clinging leaves and grass off of his silver-hued cloak. His long auburn hair hung in soft waves over his broad shoulders. A belt of woven reeds secured his grey tunic and upon his feet he wore boots of supple suede. In the sunlight she saw his aqua-blue eyes glint and sparkle, and they caused her to drop her gaze humbly to the ground in fear of having them catch her own. The words she had planned to speak were momentarily lost to her and she found herself unable to utter anything. She wished only to turn and run back to the city.

  “Why do you look so uncomfortable? Have I not said that you are welcome?” His voice was riddled with confusion.

  In fear of insulting him any further, she gathered her wits about her and finally spoke. “Thank you, Crea,” she said, the words barely escaped her mouth in an intelligible fashion, dry as it was. “I was unsure as to whether or not you would allow me to approach you.”

  “Why is that? Do you think I am that aloof and untouchable?” he asked, disappointed by the thought.

  “It is just that I have never done so before and you have never really convened with my people. I have always assumed that you preferred to remain distant from us.”

  “It is not a preference Alemar, as you suspect. It is a necessity,” he responded. “I have walked a path chosen for me, not one that I chose myself.”

  “Has it not been of your own free will that you wear the mantle of a Chosen?” she questioned, astounded by his revelation.

  “Free will? And what may that be? Do any of us really choose our destiny? You may think that you decide among various options but in fact, what is was meant to be. You have very little choice,” he responded.

  “Yes, the fabric weaves of its own will. I understand that, Crea. But regardless I see the need to make choices, to decide to do something or to do nothing. I have decided to come here to talk to you and to learn from you. Are you saying that I did not make that decision on my own?”

  “On your own? Do you mean to say that no one else influenced you, or that no other circumstances compelled you to come here? Do you mean to say that everything around you does not affect how you behave and how you feel? No, my dear, we are all obliged to do what we do in conjuncti
on with all that is around us and with everything that occurs even in the remotest of places.”

  “Can we not embrace our decisions regardless, Crea? Even if destiny brings me here to face you and Wayfair, I am here because I want to be nonetheless.”

  Alemar was listening carefully to every word, and she believed that even in this brief discourse she could garner some meaning that might guide her in the future.

  “I thought that I was fated to be Chosen,” she suddenly revealed, surprising even herself with the utterance. “I so desperately wanted to be you, to be the one favored by Wayfair. My whole life I waited, and when I was overlooked and you were chosen instead, I felt unworthy and useless.” She straightened her shoulders and stood up tall. “Will you say to me now that you did not want to be what you are? That you would have accepted another role in life?”

  “It is not about wanting, Alemar. I adore Wayfair. He is everything to me. He is the most important thing in my life. I only wish to make you understand that each action is the result of every other action. None of us are separate from the rest, no matter how hard we may try to be so. Even Caeltin D’Are Agenathea acts in response to the events transpiring around him. We Chosen sense the flows, we feel the fabric as it weaves and we recognize the influences that urge us all forward. But even we cannot affect them significantly, for we can never see the totality at one time. We impact a small corner of the cloth, but the whole of the bolt is beyond our comprehension. The pattern appears so different when you gaze upon it close up from that which you see when you view it from afar.”

  Tell her of the mark, Alemar thought she heard him say, though in a voice quite different from his usual one.