The Awakening

by Gary Alan Wassner

  The Lalas’ voice was deep and melodious within Tamara’s head. Yet now it was tinged with sadness, and although she sensed once again that he spoke truthfully, as he must, she still believed that he, regardless, kept something important from her.

  Parth will continue in its role as protector. It is a spring that will continue to succor those who have the greatest need of its sustenance and sanctuary. But, the ancient scroll must be removed from within its walls. More than that, I cannot say.

  Liam put his arm around Tamara’s shoulder and gently guided her toward a dense line of foliage to their right. She followed the Chosen reluctantly, as she still yearned for more information from Oleander. Before stepping through the curtain of smaller trees that ringed the area, she turned once again to the Lalas.

  “I will do as you ask, of course. Or should I say, I will try my best to do what you ask of me. But I must be forthright, as is my nature,” Tamara said, staring blankly at the ground beneath her feet while she was fraught with conflicting emotions. She hesitated for a moment, pawing the earth just like her pony would have, before speaking again in a more serious tone than she had ever used before. “If we of the Tower of Parth have harbored the map for so many countless tiels, and I am asked to only now cast it into the depths of this well, never to be seen again, what was the point of all of our labors? We always assumed that we protected this scroll so that when the quest for the Gem began anew, we could render it unto those who were destined to use it. Could we have been so badly mistaken for so very long?”

  Oleander rustled his leaves, as if surprised by this woman’s temerity.

  I cannot answer why the cloth has taken on this sheen, Sister. It may once have been that such a pattern was envisioned by some. But, the future is not a finished product that can be described from previous sightings, but rather, a living tapestry that evolves as the countless threads twist and turn upon one another. I can only tell you what you must do now. What you have done in the past has already left its mark upon the fabric. Oleander’s tone indicated he would divulge no more about this subject at this time.

  “You are wiser than I could ever imagine, Oleander. Wise beyond measure. I am a novice, a girl who has done no more in her life than grow vegetables and read books, and create foods to satisfy my and my Sisters’ palates. I have lived by my instincts all my life, and often they led me to no more than embarrassment. But they have rarely lied to me. I pray to the First that I am just a foolish girl, and that now my concerns are derived from my fears alone.”

  In many ways, Sister, I am no wiser than you. I simply listen to the heartbeat of the earth. My ability to do so is just greater than yours. If you observe and feel, you can sense all that you need to. Your power is as great as you wish it to be. When the moment comes, you will do what is right. It will become as clear to you then as your doubts seem to you now.

  A branch dipped low before her and stopped just an inch or so from her eyes. Hanging from the slender tip was a large leaf. Rather than obeying the laws of gravity and pointing downward as it seemed it should have, it formed a cup-like container with its spiked ends extending upward all around it. Cradled within this green-veined oval was a nut-like object, brown and smooth.

  Take it, Oleander urged. It will help you to enlighten the Sisters.

  “Thank you,” Tamara said humbled, her concerns momentarily assuaged.

  She reached into the vessel and picked up the offering. It felt warm to the touch, and she examined it closely.

  “What shall I do with it?” she asked, confused. “Must I crack it open?”

  Simply place it before you when you address the Sisters, and then your own instincts will guide you from thence, I have no doubt, he said.

  Tamara secured it carefully in the inside pocket of her cape.

  “You have been kinder than I could ever have hoped,” she said, and then backed a pace or two away from him, knocking into Liam as she moved. “I will go now,” the sister replied reluctantly, feeling Liam’s steadying grip upon her shoulder. “But, I must ask you one final question before I leave,” she stated so characteristically. “Must I make this journey alone, or can I call upon one of my Sisters to accompany me?”

  Yes, Tamara, you certainly may if you so choose. But select your companion carefully, so that your choice will be one that will benefit you. Consider what you are charged with, and make certain that the Sister is one whose loyalty will serve you on your journey, not interfere with what you must do. But take not the burden of your decision personally. Your fate and the fate of whomever you elect to accompany you is not your responsibility, though you alone shall make the choice. Companionship can be a boon to your spirit and to your safety. Let it not be an obligation that tempts you to stray from your charge, he warned.

  “I will weigh my decision with that in mind,” she said nodding, briefly contemplating his words. She then bowed her head to the great tree before her. Accompanied by Liam, she walked through the hedge that immediately gave way to the Chosen’s pressure.

  Once they passed through the dense line of bushes, the wonderful odor of Lalas diminished, and Liam turned to face Tamara. He looked gravely into her eyes before speaking. The look was troubled, and Tamara’s concerns once again flooded her consciousness.

  “You are not one to be dismissed lightly, Sister,” he spoke. “You ask many questions.”

  “I always have. Some think it will be my undoing,” she snickered.

  “I consider it a virtue,” he replied.

  “Thank you,” she blushed again. “What bothers you then, Liam?” she asked of the Chosen, sensing a continuing discomfort on his part.

  “The doubts that you voiced to Oleander have occurred to me as well. In all the years that we have been companions, I have never felt that he concealed anything from me. Yet recently, I feel that he has withdrawn somewhat. Perhaps it is a sign of the great changes that are occurring everywhere. But, I am not content with that answer. It disturbs me greatly, and I have neither had the opportunity nor inclination to divulge this to anyone until now,” he said, with a sincerity that stirred Tamara’s emotions. “When you expressed the same concern, I could not help but confer this to you.”

  Tamara was astonished once more that a Chosen would confide in her in such a way, and she was deeply moved. She also felt an empathy for him that tore at her heart. “I am honored that you feel that you can tell me these things, Liam. I do not know what I can do though, to alleviate your concern,” she answered honestly.

  “I have never before felt alone with Oleander by my side. But, these times bring great changes to us all. It is not only the purpose of the Tower that is shifting. Alas, I fear that what was will never be again, and I cannot foresee the patterns that await us.”

  “I have never been accustomed to looking for them, so I do not trouble myself over the fact that the future remains a mystery to me,” she answered.

  “You are wise to confine your expectations reasonably. I have not had that luxury. Oleander has been my guide, and I have been his voice in the world for so long. Until now, we have acted almost as one,” Liam explained. “Presently, I must accept what I cannot alter. He will not forsake me. Our love for one another is deep and true,” he said, as if to apologize to Tamara for confiding in her. “You though, are remarkable to have had the temerity to question him as you did.”

  “Thank you, Liam. I have never thought of my lack of restraint, so to speak, as a virtue before. It has only served to get me into trouble in the past.”

  The Chosen laughed out loud, an honest and sincere laugh, and Tamara could not help but join him. For a brief moment, the cares of the world slipped away as the two fast friends walked away from Oleander’s haven.

  “Your character will serve you well in the days to come,” he said. “I wish you Firstspeed, Tamara of Parth. May the Gem of Eternity light your path as you journey on, and guide you safely to your destination. You may rest here without risk for the evening,” he pointed ahead. “With the
morning sun, you will see the path more clearly that you must follow in the days to come.”

  Tamara caught the double meaning in the Chosen’s words, and she felt a warm and comfortable feeling well up within her. With his arm around her shoulder, he walked her through the trees and toward the lea where Hector, his ample belly now swollen to its limit from eating without restraint, stood contentedly, though he was still munching upon the sweet, green grass of the Lalas’ domain.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Robyn fought the temptation to rush to the boy’s room. He had come so far and they had all suffered so much already on this journey, that having to delay the awakening any longer was truly torturous. He took a deep breath, settling his anxiety, and allowed the circle of breath to calm him and to help ease his concerns.

  Something else nagged at him as well, and he could not easily put his finger upon its source. It was only one evening ago that he spoke with Promanthea and exchanged with his tree all that he felt and all that he thought. The opportunities to commune with his beloved Lalas were rare during these arduous days, and he cherished the few times that they were possible more than ever.

  Words could never fully describe the knowledge that he gained and the understandings that infused his spirit after he conversed with his friend and mentor. His soul always felt richer and lighter, stronger and yet more aware afterwards. There had been only one moment when he felt that Promanthea had not revealed to him all that he knew about a subject that they discussed, and it concerned the boy. Just after the ‘calling’, before Robyn departed for Pardatha, Promanthea hurt him deeply by keeping some bit of information from him. It had never occurred before, and he remembered it as vividly as if it was yesterday. The feeling was so strong and so awful. He felt abandoned and alienated, as if the Gem’s light itself was being withheld from him. For a slight moment that momentous afternoon, he ached like an orphan, feeling abandoned and forlorn.

  As the thickening and ominous clouds gathered in the southern skies, stretching their cadaverous fingers northwards toward Seramour, he sat beneath an ancient Noban and spoke with Promanthea. His contact was embraced fully and he reveled in the sensations. He was energized and refreshed, and his spirits were buoyant and light. But only moments after they greeted one another, Robyn experienced an instance of estrangement; a thought remained incomplete, an image was unfinished, a wall of silence replaced words of comfort. For only the second time in his long relationship with Promanthea, he felt as if he had been slapped in the face, and he fought to keep from crying out. When he questioned Promanthea, he was rebuffed as before, and the Lalas made it clear to him that no entreaty on his part would succeed in opening the door that the tree had closed so tightly. The great tree comforted him in other ways, and Robyn forgave him his silence, but he ached nonetheless from the rupture he felt.

  He rose from his chair and pushed his hair off of his broad forehead with a flick of his graceful fingers. He felt the anticipation of the morrow course through his body. The ceremony would begin with the dawn, and Robyn poignantly felt himself standing upon the cusp of a new age. He was eager to awaken Davmiran, the heir of Gwendolen, the boy whose still fragile shoulders would soon have to bear so much. But his eagerness was mollified by caution and tempered by reason. Robyn had so much to teach him. He knew that he did not have the luxury of time, and that need refused to relinquish its ferocious hold upon the circumstances.

  He walked to the arched window and gazed out across the multicolored roofs of Seramour, far into the distance, beyond even the treetop fields and farmlands. He sensed the southern storm rising at his back, and a deadly shiver surged fleetingly through his body.

  Would that all of this were unnecessary, he said to himself wearily. Why should the boy be required to awaken to such turmoil? he thought. If he is truly the one, will we be able to instruct him and train him and prepare him for what lies ahead? Fate cannot have such a cruel heart as to deny us all this possibility, the Chosen of Promanthea deliberated, knowing that the threat of dissolution was ever more deadly and growing precariously closer day by day.

  Robyn grimaced. “May the First grant us the strength and vigilance we will require,” he said, and then he turned his eyes away from the troubled night sky.

  Cairn sat cross-legged upon the floor beside his bed. What remained of the moonlight streamed through his open window in broken streaks, striping the floor with its attempt at illumination. He lit a small candle, let some wax drip onto the plate, and secured it firmly upon it before setting it down next to him. He then opened the box that lay beside the mat, unfolded and placed the beautiful board upon the surface before him, and emptied the velvet pouch of the amorphous pieces it contained. He then dropped them carefully on top of the open board.

  To Cairn of Thermaye, good and evil were tangible things. He could feel them and almost touch them, yet he was forever frustrated by his effort to accurately portray them. Concepts not built upon words were so difficult to translate into a communicable language. Words were so specific, so limiting, yet feelings were so very imprecise and fleeting. He suffered the philosopher’s dilemma and it nagged at him endlessly. Pure reason exercised in a vacuum led to different conclusions than the ones arrived at by recognizing the realities of the world and the vagaries of human nature, and reasoning from thence. As a teacher, he was required to instruct. But if what he wished to teach was something that one must feel rather than hear about, how could he know that his feelings and his student’s were the self-same?

  When Davmiran is ready, he need understand this problem. I must be certain that his sensibilities are attuned to the earth. I shall be his guide, but he must discover the truth himself, he pondered. I will be as honest as I can be, and the First willing, he will be in harmony with my method. Together, we will walk the path to understanding.

  Ever since he had been ‘called’, Cairn struggled to determine the best method to ‘awaken’ the heir to the ethical implications of his actions. He knew there would come a moment when Dav would have to act without the luxury of time in which to contemplate the consequences. And, he knew that those actions would be determined by his innate sense of right and wrong. Cairn had to instruct him as to how to weed out those selfish and inconsistent feelings that compelled people to act improperly, and thereby led so many astray. He had to teach him to think clearly, to open his heart and mind to the truth, to cherish life and life’s energy. He needed to become an instinctually ethical human being, in whose eyes the choices become focused and the path becomes clear.

  It was not obvious, and it was not simple. The boy harbored so much hope for them all, yet he was young and untrained.

  “Dip your brush into tomorrow’s moonlight, Davmiran, my young Lord,” he said aloud. “Paint us the picture we all so yearn to see.”

  Cairn focused his attention upon the pieces that had begun to assemble on the chess-like board in front of him. They moved of their own will, and he watched them all closely. They shifted in color and shape, growing and shrinking, multiplying and decreasing, settling themselves into a pattern that he would eventually be able to observe and study with care.

  The surface of the board changed too, from green to brown, from white to crimson, and the initially flat surface rose and fell, as the terrain it depicted shifted and mutated. As the pieces assumed more stable shapes and positions, Cairn knew that it was almost time to gather his sharp wits and to begin his examination.

  He stared at three distinct figures, moving slowly from the right side of the board to left side. They were of three different heights, and though no faces were ever visible, he believed them to be his friends, Tomas, Elion and Preston. Westward they traveled, toward the sea. From a bright white spot in the middle of the board, two other forms began their own westward movement, seemingly in the same direction.

  A clash erupted between a group of green forms and another assemblage that surrounded a city-like enclosure, the outcome of which was indeterminate, as the colors blended in and ou
t of one another, as if they were and were not of the same origin. Northward, flows of sea-green waves thrashed and churned, turning ice-like momentarily, and then melting into swells of blues and whites. The frozen north glowed red after a short time, and then abruptly transmuted into a calming blue-white once more, but this time, speckled with browns and greens. Great holes appeared in the surface sporadically all over the board, and they quickly became black and empty, causing Cairn to gasp in response. But brilliant spots of greens and whites burst upon the top as well, though they were smaller and contained. Vein-like lines of pulsing energy crisscrossed the surface and then erupted in various places, leaving behind at times great pits of emptiness, and at others, verdant areas of earthy colors.

  From the south, a darkness emanated outward, slowly enveloping all that it covered. As it swelled, sparks flew from its borders wherever it encountered the colors of life. Cairn felt like a great sickness was overtaking him, though he gazed into it deeply, even knowing what it represented. Disgusted, he fought against his growing urge to return the board to its case, and to terminate this vile image at least, but he endured it. He stared at this evil affliction, but he could see nothing therein, and he felt only revulsion and an inner fatigue and awful sickness when he finally tore his eyes away.

  A light in the far west caught his attention, swiftly lifting the darkness from his soul. A distinctive white hole emerged just before the land fell into the sea, and it compelled him to look more closely at it, though it burned his eyes with its brightness. The structure from which it issued was perfectly round, and as he looked down into it, it appeared to be limitless, to have no end. The pit was not consumed with darkness, but bright and buoyant, a symbol of life and health, not dissolution and death, and he was invigorated simply by staring into its depths. He knew now that the figures he saw earlier heading toward the sea were going there, and that knowledge gave him hope and courage, though he knew not why.