~
Keris woke with a start. A faint rustling tickled her ears, banishing any remaining urge to slumber. Minnabaras. How she hated those things. Tiny pointy-eared creatures with quadruple beady eyes and jet-black scales, which scurried across floors and lurked in the dark places. Native to the open plains, they seemed to prefer the company of the Kelanni in their towns and cities. The feeling was most definitely not mutual.
She rose silently, seeking out both the source of the disturbance and for something to throw. Then she saw it. Not a minnabara, but the back and legs of a small child. It was diving into the sack containing Boxx’s remains.
“Get out of there.”
The tiny figure stiffened, turned, and fled the room, screaming. It was a little girl, no more than three or four turns of the season. Keris let out a sigh. It’s your own fault, idiot. You should know to stow your possessions more securely in an unfamiliar location. Still, it seemed that no harm had been done. She resolved to find someone later and apologise for her outburst.
She heard the sound of running feet and the doorway suddenly framed three people. One was the thin girl with wide eyes and downturned mouth whom she had met earlier. She carried the toddler, who sobbed gently against her shoulder. A boy, maybe eight turns, peeked out from behind them.
The girl stood her ground firmly, her fearful look of servitude gone and in its place, indignation. “What did you do to her?”
Keris was beset by a range of coloured emotions. Irritation. Curiosity. Resentment. Sympathy. Anger. They merged finally into the pure white of helplessness. “I... she... look, I found her going through my things, all right?”
Before her champion could react, the little girl stopped sobbing and pointed at Boxx’s sack with an outstretched arm and a stubby finger. “Hot.”
The tall girl frowned and her face drew close to the young child’s tear-streaked cheek. “What is it, Massie?”
She pointed again, firmly. “Hot.”
Keris crossed the room. She touched the sack and almost recoiled. The little girl was right; it was distinctly warm. Her fingers fumbled at the opening. As she drew back the rough material, she saw that the shelled body of the Chandara was gone, and in its place was a large oval shape, covered in dense white fibres. A dull heat radiated from it.
She stepped back, allowing the sack to fall away.
“What’s that?” the boy inquired.
Keris had no answer for him.
~
What had begun as a standoff now became a vigil.
Keris sat with the three children, watching the fibrous mass that had once been the Chandara, Boxx—a creature she resented at first, but who in time became the closest thing she had to a friend. The round shape had grown steadily and was now nearly twice its former size.
The children—all siblings as it turned out—found it hard to contain their curiosity. The boy, whose name was Corin, was the most talkative. His older sister, Farilla, was forever snapping him back on a verbal leash. It was an ever-present source of conflict between the two.
“Is that what you used to defeat all them people at Gort?”
“Quiet, Corin.”
“Hey, I was only askin’ the Heroine a question.”
Tiny Massie was lost in her own concerns. “I’m hungry.”
“Soon,” Farilla whispered in her ear. “Don’t you want to see what will happen to the strange plant you found?” The little girl started to fidget. Keris shared her hunger, but no one wanted to leave and find food.
As they watched, there was a ripping noise, and tendrils emerged from the top of the ovoid. Coiling. Questing. Keris stood and was about to usher the children from the room.
Little Massie suddenly pointed. “Plantey is hungry too.”
Corin ran from the room and returned, struggling with a heavy iron pot, filled with a thick brown liquid.
“Raleketh stew,” Massie exclaimed. “Plantey likes raleketh stew.”
Obediently, the thin appendages slithered into the pot and sucking sounds issued forth. Little Massie clapped her hands and squealed in delight.
At length, Miron poked his head into the room. He spied Keris and the three children and adopted a bemused expression. “What’s going on in here?”
“Massie found a... a thing,” Corin blurted out.
“A ‘thing’, eh? Sounds important. Still, I think you kids should come out now. Lady Keris needs to rest... ” He stepped into the room and noticed the white mass in the corner and the cluster of thin, snakelike limbs that disappeared into the black kettle. His jaw dropped.
Before he could utter a word, the tendrils retracted. Instantly, the fibres parted at the crown, and a crack appeared, gradually moving along the entire length of the object. Something was emerging.
A head. Large multifaceted eyes and an angular beak. A slender neck. Pure white torso and long, leathery legs. Finally, the fibrous covering fell away, discarded, and suddenly, from its back, there extended broad, white wings with iridescent tips. Five sets of eyes watched in awe as the strange beast sat, unmoving and expressionless in the corner.
Farilla spoke for all of them. “It’s beautiful.”
“Please, what is it, Lady Keris?” Corin asked.
Keris took a step towards the creature. The girl was right; it was beautiful in appearance, but it was... blank. There was no reaction. No recognition. No consciousness. It was a winged mannequin.
A memory drifted up from her subconscious. She had stood with Boxx inside the dome of grey mist and it had handed her something. A vial. A clear, leathery receptacle containing a milky-white fluid. She asked the Chandara what she should do with it. You Will Know When The Time Comes, Boxx replied.
Without thinking, she broke the vial, gently opened the winged creature’s beak, and carefully poured the contents inside. She stepped back. There was no response. Then it began to move. Slowly, it unfolded its limbs and stood erect until its wingtips brushed the ceiling.
“Thank you, Keris.” The voice was deeper, more sonorous, yet with an inflection that was somehow familiar. She scarcely dared to ask the question.
“What are you?”
The beak opened and the eyes glittered like fragmented rainbows. “I Am Boxx.”
<><><><><>
Chapter 37
Joy and bewilderment combined in a heady mixture as Keris gazed at the magnificent white creature that now filled the corner of the room.
“I Am She Whom You Knew As Boxx.”
Keris’s mind struggled to catch up. “She... ?”
“I Am She. I Have Changed.”
“What of the Chandara?”
“I Am Chandara. I Am... Adult Form. You Gave Me Essence, Keris. I Remember Who I Am. I Remember The Lives Of All Chandara Who Have Gone Before. We Change. We Eat. We Remember.”
Shann. She said that Boxx had used that phrase over and over, yet she had not understood the meaning. None of them had.
“We Are Adult Form For A Short Time Only—About One Two Zero Zero Zero Turns. We Sit In The Trees And Sing The Songs Of Old. We Live The Memories Of Those Who Went Before. Then, When Our Days Are Complete, We Dig The Warren. At Its Heart, We Place The Seed Of The Great Tree, And The Eggs Containing Our Essence. Then, The Form You See Is No More.
“Time Passes. The Eggs Hatch. The Seed Sprouts. The Tree And The Chandara Are One. The Chandara Tend The Tree Until It Breaks Forth Into The Sunlight Once More. The Chandara Plant The Forest. The Circle Is Complete.”
A cycle of life—one that stretched over thousands of years. There was a magnificence—a majesty to it all. The Kelanni people—her people—despised the Chandara, without knowing who or what they were. But perhaps it was not too late to make amends.
“At the Warren, beyond the Great Barrier of Storms, the Chandara there said that the Great Tree stores your essence during the change.”
“Yes, Keris. We Change. The Great Tree Feeds Us Essence. We Eat. We Remember. The Tree Is In The Chandara And The Chandara Is In The
Tree. Each Cannot Exist Without The Other.”
“The time of change for your people is at hand, isn’t it?”
“I Expended Myself In Cellular Regeneration To Restore Alondo. Hence My Time Came Early. But Time Nears For All Chandara. A Few Days. No More.”
“And if there is no Great Tree, nor anything to store your essence during the change?”
“Then It Is The End Of All Things.”
She recalled the pact that she and the others had made with the Chandara at the Warren in Kelanni-Skell. That the Kelanni would do for them what their Tree could not. Boxx had called it ‘the promise’.
Now, owing to this latest act of wanton destruction, the Chandara on this side were also facing extinction.
She turned to Miron. “Are your preparations for my departure complete?”
“Yes, my Lady. As soon as night falls—”
“Miron.” A bony youth appeared at the entrance, panting and flushed. He took one look at the creature that was now Boxx and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly.
“Yes, Garin, what is it?”
The lad recovered his wits sufficiently to stammer, “Th... the K... Keltar. Th... they are at the door.”
~
“Baracca was supposed to lead them south. Away from here,” Miron insisted.
Garin looked as if he were being accused of something. “I... I don’t know. All I know is that they are here.”
It was perfectly possible that spies had penetrated Miron’s ‘Fourth Circle’. However, she had no time to debate the matter now.
“Miron, can you get the children to safety?”
“Yes, Lady. But what of you?”
Keris claimed her staff, pulled the red cloak from her pack, and threw it about her shoulders. “Do not concern yourself. It is me they are
after. I will lead them away from here.”
“But your injury—” Miron protested.
“I will be fine. Besides, I have a few tricks up my sleeve that even Glaisne doesn’t know about.” She forced a smile, wishing that she felt half as confident as her words implied. But these people had done enough for now. She was not going to put them in further jeopardy.
Miron shooed the children out of the two-room apartment and into the adjoining corridor. She touched his arm. “When I am gone, lay low. Wait for my instructions. I will have a great task for you and your people to perform.”
“Yes, Lady,” Miron replied.
“Go. Quickly now.”
She watched their retreating backs for a moment, then turned towards the stairwell.
Boxx fell into step, her wingtips brushing the walls as she passed. “Are We Going To Illaryon Now, Keris?”
“Absolutely,” she replied. “Provided we make it out of here alive.”
~
Keris took a position at the top of the stairway and waited for the Keltar to make his appearance. There was only one way out of this now. She was going to have to defeat Glaisne. Still, better here, in the seclusion of this old house, than in streets crowded with innocent bystanders.
It did not seem as if Boxx was going to be of much help. In her juvenile form, she could at least roll up into a ball of chitin and be relatively impervious to assault. In her adult manifestation she looked as if one half-decent blade stroke would finish her off. I hope you’re sturdier than you appear.
Sounds of commotion from below. Orders. Counter-orders. Boots creaking on wood. Her fingers tensed, feeling the balance point of her staff. Suddenly, a figure draped in black cloak and crowned with a shock of long white hair rounded the final bend in the stairs.
Glaisne’s face broke into an unpleasant grin. “Keris, the traitor. Well, this is a surprise. I never expected that you would make a present of yourself to me.” His gaze passed beyond her to the winged vision in white. “What in the world is that?”
“Grant me safe passage,” she said, ignoring the question, “and no harm will come to you or your men.”
It was a stalling tactic for the sake of Miron and the children. There was no way that Glaisne was going to let her leave peacefully. Keltar such as he relished the chance to showcase their skills. Yet for him this situation represented far more than simply the opportunity of combat, for whoever defeated the rebel Keris would surely advance in both position and reputation within the keep’s hierarchy.
His tone grew patronising. “Keris, Keris. What sort of game are you playing now?”
“No game. I intend to drive the remaining hu-mans from our world.”
“The remaining what?”
“The Prophet. He is not of our world.”
Glaisne shook his head as if rebuking an incompetent novice. “You speak gibberish. Is that your tactic—to sow confusion? If so, then it is a poor strategy. I have no interest in solving your riddles.” He raised one eyebrow. “I may, however, decide to keep you alive long enough to explain the strange beast behind you.”
He advanced up the stairs. Two burly leather-clad soldiers appeared behind him, but he waved them away. Clearly, Glaisne did not want to share his triumph with anyone else. One on one it is, then. That suits me just fine.
Flying cloaks would be of little practical use in this enclosed space. The same was true of grenades; they would be just as likely to disorient the caster as they would the target, not to mention the risk of starting a fire. No, this would be a battle of staffs. Simple. Clean. Deadly.
He began with a straight thrust at her midriff. She hopped backwards, deflecting the blow with her own weapon and following through with a side swipe, narrowly missing his face. She saw the first flicker of concern pass over his features. Clearly, he was not going to make the mistake of underestimating her again. She would have to be careful from now on.
He feinted left, then swept his staff in a low scything arc intended to take her feet from under her. She leapt back, avoiding the path of the blade, but was forced to relinquish her commanding position. He rapidly closed the final few steps, gaining the top of the stairs. Suddenly, they were on equal terms.
Immediately, he followed up with a downward thrust. The sound of clashing darkwood reverberated against the walls. He was strong— stronger than she would have believed for a man of his age. She was forced to give more ground. The Chandara had the good sense to retreat behind her, keeping well away from the storm of whirling blades.
Peripherally, she spied another narrow stairway. It corkscrewed up and away, dark and inviting. A gamble. For all she knew, it terminated in a dead end, disused and boarded up long ago. She would be trapped. However, she would restore her height advantage and both of their movements would be restricted. That might buy her a little more time. She made her decision.
“That way,” she called over her shoulder. Boxx squeezed herself into the constricted access and was gone. Keris loosed a flurry of attacks, forcing Glaisne on the defensive, then turned and sprinted for the exit as fast as her injured leg would carry her. Glaisne was hard on her heels as she dashed up the winding stairs. She rounded the final bend. Early evening light filtered through an open doorway.
Keris burst onto an exposed rooftop. Boxes and barrels of various sizes were carelessly strewn across the flat area. She cast about wildly, but the Chandara was nowhere in sight. Cursing inwardly, she whirled around to see Glaisne behind her. The unpleasant smile had returned.
She backed off, scanning for lodestone. There was a slight pressure from somewhere in front and one off to her right, but too weak to be of any practical use. He began running towards her, a mane of white fire flowing behind him. Their staffs clashed like a clap of thunder. Her injured leg protested once more as her muscles tensed under the strain.
A sudden downdraft of air. A low flapping sound. Both combatants glanced up. Ail-Mazzoth hung, dull-red and dark-banded, like poison swirling in a glass of wine. A great white shape swept across its face, then swept down and alighted on the roof, great wings outstretched like welcoming arms.
Keris needed no urging. She shoved him back with h
er staff and set off on an uneven run towards the Chandara. Glaisne recovered his balance and chased after her. At the last, she spun around, interposing herself between him and the winged creature.
He skidded to a halt in front of her. His features twisted into a
snarl. “What’s the matter? Too frightened to face me?” “No,” she replied. “It’s just that I have more important things to do.” Throwing an arm around Boxx’s neck, she swung herself onto the creature’s back and gasped, as with a single thrust, Boxx took to the air, bearing her far away into the silent refuge of the vast open sky.
<><><><><>
Chapter 38
That night, they camped at the edge of Illaryon.
The forest was an inferno of purple and orange—burning, yet never consumed. From its depths, screeches, squeaks, squawks, and high-pitched ululations. A myriad of creatures locked tooth and claw in a never-ending battle for survival.
They huddled in silence near the campfire, the red-cloaked former Keltar and the fabulous winged creature. She massaged her rejuvenated ankle, made whole once more through Boxx’s healing talents. They were still some distance from the Great Tree—close enough, however, to see that the massive crown of foliage that had dominated the skyline was no more. In its place, a bare, soot-black trunk pointed at the sky like an accusing finger.
“I’m so sorry,” Keris said, at length.
The Chandara ruffled her wings and shook her head slightly, but made no reply. Her many-jewelled eyes reflected the flickering light from the depths of the fire.
At first light, they took wing, soaring high above the treetops and on towards the heart of the forest. Clinging to the soft down of the creature’s neck, Keris felt the warm air rushing past and the steady beat of her wings and felt an empathy—a oneness. As they were bound together in flight, so were they bound together in heart. In purpose.
They came down within a circle of scorched forest. At its centre, the blasted trunk of the Great Tree. Gone, the bright-painted orange and yellow and purple moss. Gone the festive vermillion vines that clung to its branches like ticker tape. A celebration of joy, turned to ashes.
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