The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga)

by Karen Azinger

  The trail turned steep, winding up the side of a rocky ridge, sword ferns sprouting among the rocks. Cenric maintained a brisk pace, his feathered cape flashing like an emerald beacon, a lord of the green at home in the forest.

  By the time they reached the ridge top the sunbeams had turned vertical. Cresting the summit, Kath paused, stunned by the view. The far side fell away to an open crescent of tiered seats, a green amphitheater carved into the ridge, everything covered in vines and ivy. The sloping gallery of tiered benches formed an elegant crescent-shaped symmetry unexpected in the forest depths. Despite the perfect evenness of the steps, Kath saw no stone, only a lush carpet of green. Even more impressive, was the tree. A massive redwood claimed the heart of the amphitheater, sheltering the entire gallery under the shade of its branches. Soaring out of sight, the redwood made all the other grandfather trees seem like mere saplings. The great tree had a majestic presence, evoking the image of a green god. Kath gave the tree a half-bow, honoring the god of the forest.

  A cat-eyed archer, one of their escorts, stepped close behind Kath, his words a whisper laden with venom. “Your face betrays your surprise, white-eye. You thought we were just a simple forest folk, nothing but savages.” His voice became a sneer. “Few white-eyes have ever lived to see this. Appreciate what little time you have left.”

  The threat jerked Kath back to vigilance. An audience with an unknown power could easily turn into a trial…or an execution. Tightening her grip on the crystal dagger, she quickened her steps, descending the ivy-cloaked stairs.

  Movement caught her eye. Other clans emerged along the ridgeline, descending to fill the crescent-shaped gallery. Bright feather-cloaks in all the shades of the rainbow marked the other clan leaders. Kath counted more than two score cloaks. The presence of so many clans was unexpected…and slightly ominous, boding for something far more than a mere audience.

  Kath followed Cenric down the steps, guessing the amphitheater could hold several thousand people. If things turned ugly their only hope would be to flee.

  The steps were steep but surprisingly even, made by man not nature. Kath sensed a riddle beneath the ivy.

  Cenric led them to the heart of the amphitheater, gesturing to seats in the first tier, close to the great tree. Kath sat next to Zith, Sir Tyrone on her left. Blaine stayed close to Danya, keeping a steadying hand on the dazed wolf-girl. Guards were stationed behind the five companions, an open threat.

  Kath’s stare roved the gallery while her fingers explored the ivy growing across the bench. Parting the leaves, she discovered white marble beneath the living green. A shiver ran through her. The forest grew across the bones of some ancient civilization.

  Zith noticed her interest, keeping his voice to a whisper, “A great city once stood here, destroyed by the War of Wizards.”

  Intrigued, she wanted to hear more, but a warning hiss from Cenric silenced her. She glanced back up at the filling gallery. A sea of golden cat-slit eyes stared down at her, a wave of hostility waiting to break.

  A horn sounded from the heart of the amphitheater, a high clear note that echoed in the gallery. A young cat-eyed man, clad in a long robe of leaf-green, stood beneath the tree holding a curved antler-horn to his lips. Three times the horn sounded, stilling the murmurs of the crowd.

  Overhead, the massive boughs of the great redwood rustled, adding a subtle voice to the horn’s call.

  Kath shivered, feeling the power of the forest.

  A tall and stately woman stepped from behind the redwood, a carved staff in her ringed hands. Her long silver hair was bound by a wooden circlet, an emerald diadem set at her brow. A magnificent cloak of snow-white feathers cascaded from her shoulders to the ground, shimmering as she walked. Her face was serene and unlined, making her age difficult to guess, but her most striking feature was her eyes. Her eyes were pure gold, unmarred by any pupil. She should have been blind, but she moved with the grace and confidence of the sighted, radiating a sense of power and dignity. There was no doubt in Kath’s mind that this was the Treespeaker.

  The Treespeaker stood before her people and opened her arms wide in a maternal gesture of welcome. “We greet you in the name of the Forest!” Her voice had a rich, smoky timbre that carried through the amphitheater.

  The gallery shook with the reply of the clans, “Greetings of Leaf and Bark to you Treespeaker!” The words held the cadence of ritual.

  The Treespeaker closed her arms, enfolding the greeting to her breast like a beloved child.

  Kath sat transfixed, awed by the power of the simple gesture.

  The branches of the redwood rustled overhead but there was no wind.

  “Strangers have come amongst us, trespassing the boundaries of the Forest.”

  A murmur of anger rippled through the gallery.

  Kath stirred in her seat, missing her weapons.

  The Treespeaker raised her hand, stilling the crowd. “The strangers come under the guidance and guard of Clan Hemlock. It is fitting that Clan Leader Cenric be the first to speak.”

  Cenric rose to his feet and bowed low to the Treespeaker, his feathered cape shimmering emerald-green in the dappled sunlight. Gesturing toward Kath and her companions, he spoke with the authority of a leader. “Rangers patrolling the fringe of the forest near the burned lands, found these five hacking their way through the underbrush. The rangers watched, intending to leave the strangers to the Green Death, but the blonde-haired woman sheathed her sword and claimed hearth-welcome from the Deep Green. When the rangers questioned her claim, the blue-robed monk asked for an audience with the Treespeaker.”

  Murmurs of outrage rippled through the crowd.

  Cenric glared, waiting for quiet. “The rangers escorted the strangers to my village, where the princess of Castlegard claimed the friendship of a dead clansman of the Cedars and the blue-robed monk renewed his request for an audience with the Treespeaker.”

  Cries of “Blasphemy!” and “Tauth!” erupted from the crowd.

  The Treespeaker raised her staff and the disruption quieted.

  Cenric turned toward the crowd. “I understand the anger of the clans. Some of my own people claimed tauth against the strangers for loved ones lost in the fire. As clan leader, I tested the winds and discovered the strangers speak the truth. Clan Hemlock offered the strangers hearth-welcome pending a decision from the Treespeaker.”

  A hum of conversation swirled through the gallery. Kath judged most of the voices to be hostile.

  Cenric resumed his seat while the Treespeaker spoke with calm authority. “The strangers have asked for an audience. The request has been granted.” Looking at the companions, she said, “Who among you will speak before the Mother Tree?”

  Kath felt the Treespeaker’s strange golden eyes staring at her. It was as if the woman wanted something from her, but Kath did not know how to reply. Zith must have sensed her unease for he stood, extending his tattooed palm toward the Treespeaker. “I am Zith, a master of the Kiralynn Order.” The monk stood proud in his midnight blue robes, his cloak of mourning cast aside. “I bring you greetings from the Grand Master of my Order. He bid me to offer friendship to the Children of the Green.”

  Shock and surprise rippled through the gathering.

  The Treespeaker inclined her head toward the monk. “Long have we waited for an offer of friendship from the clans of the white-eyes.” Her voice deepened, carrying a note of warning. “Friendship is highly prized among the clans, for we survive by trust. While we welcome the offer of your Grand Master…we suspect other reasons brought you beneath the shade of the Mother Forest.”

  Zith bowed his head. “You have seen the truth of it. We bring a dire warning to the people of the Forest. A great evil has been reborn, loosed into the world by the Dark Lord.”

  The Treespeaker stilled, her face unreadable. “We would hear this warning.”

  “The Mordant has returned. Cloaked in the guise of a young monk, he walks the southern kingdoms spreading chaos. The Dark Lord is ri
sing, marshalling his forces. Be warned, the god of the hells intends to bring war to the southern kingdoms.”

  Angry whispers filled the gallery.

  Half way up the tiered seats, an orange-cloaked clan leader shot to her feet and shouted, “You white-eyes have ever been a curse to the Deep Green. You come here offering friendship with one hand but your true aim is to embroil our people in your war! Keep your friendship and your war and leave us to the peace of the Forest!”

  Arguments cascaded down the gallery, but Zith shouted over them. “You cannot hide in the Forest! The shadow of evil has already touched you in the form of a great fire! Do you think that fire was an accident?”

  An elderly white-haired woman wearing a cloak of blue jay feathers stood. Wizen and wrinkled, yet she stared daggers at Zith, her voice full of venom. “That fire was set! We name it murder.”

  “Murder!”

  The crowd erupted in rage, “Death to the white-eyes!”

  Zith tried to shout above the din but his words were drowned out.

  The horn sounded, cutting through the anger. When order returned, the Treespeaker spoke. “You offer friendship, yet you speak of a fire that robbed us of kith and kin, leaf and bark.” Her voice held a dangerous edge. “We would hear what you know of this fire.”

  Kath felt the crowd coil like a snake waiting to strike. She hoped Zith knew what he was doing.

  Zith remained a pillar of calm. “I know very little of the fire, but I suspect much.” The monk took a deep breath, like a man preparing to plunge into a bottomless pool. Turning to face the crowd, he spoke with the solemn cadence of a sage. “Since the War of Wizards, the Kiralynn Order has hidden in the depths of the Southern Mountains. The rugged remoteness helped to preserve the Order through dark times, but the choice of seclusion had a steep price. The memory of the Order has faded to myth. Now the Mordant turns that choice against us.” The monk held his hand out, showing his tattooed palm to the gallery. “In the lands of Erdhe, the Seeing Eye once symbolized knowledge, wisdom, and peace. Less than two days ago, the mere sight of this tattoo sparked violence in a small village in Tubor. Violence and hatred spawned by a single tattoo. Twisting good into evil has long been the hallmark of the Mordant.”

  The monk paused, his face lined with weariness. “Seven of us were sent from the monastery to slay the Mordant. Two of our companions are missing, but we five continue.” Zith stared up into the crowd. “I do not know how the Mordant accomplished it, but I know the hatred in that village was a clever trap set against the Order. That trap proves the Mordant passed this way, passed within striking distance of the Deep Green.” Zith pointed toward the east. “The inferno that raged into the Forest also destroyed a wide swath of farmland. The fire was a weapon of evil, loosed to drive a wedge of hatred between neighbors, between the white-eyes and the Children of the Green. That fire serves the Mordant by dividing those who might otherwise fight for the Light. The dark divide has begun.” The monk’s stare searched the crowd. “Can’t you feel the hatred sown in that fire? The Mordant has already poisoned your forest.”

  Chaos erupted in the gallery.

  The horn sounded a third time.

  The shouting dimmed to the angry drone of a kicked hornets’ nest.

  Up in the tiered seats, the white-haired old woman cloaked in blue jay feathers remained standing, her leathery face twisted in rage. “Hatred! How dare you speak of hatred! You white-eyes rape our daughters and lynch our sons, treating us like vermin instead of people. And now you set fire to the Forest, our Mother, our home, and our refuge! If it is evil you seek, white-eyes, then you need look no further than the nearest mirror! Death to the white-eyes!”

  The chant echoed through the gallery.

  The crowd verged on becoming a mob.

  The horn sounded a frantic call but the people were past reason.

  Kath scanned the amphitheater, searching for an exit. Escape seemed the only option.

  A stone flung from the upper seats struck Zith in the temple. More stones followed.

  The monk staggered backwards, blood on his forehead. Kath and Sir Tyrone rushed to shield the monk. Sir Blaine stood, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.

  Zith wiped blood from his forehead. “It’s only a flesh wound.”

  Kath hissed, “We have to get out of here before they kill us!”

  Overhead, the boughs of the massive redwood began to bend and sway…but there was no wind. A sound like a thunderclap split the air…but there was no storm. The tree shuddered and swayed, emitting a mighty groan. Tree limbs gnashed together, beating the air. Green needles rained down, pricking flesh like sharp darts. Exposed roots writhed across the ground. The earth shook, quaking beneath the great tree. The mighty redwood woke like a vengeful god.

  Kath and her companions cowered to the ground, spellbound by the great tree.

  The cat-eyed people fell to their knees, pale-faced and shaking.

  Only the Treespeaker remained standing, serene beneath the quaking tree. Shimmering in her cloak of snow-white feathers, she raised her arms and began to sing. The song had no words, yet the lilting melody carried the balm of summer sunlight filtering through green leaves. Calm and soothing, the melody swirled around the tree and out across the people, lifting anger and restoring harmony.

  The great redwood settled to stillness, sunlight streaming through the upper branches.

  Whispers of awe filled the gallery. The people rose from their knees and resumed their seats, bowing their heads in reverence.

  Kath whispered, “What was that?”

  A voice answered inside her head. *There are more powers in this world than you know!*

  A shiver feathered down Kath’s spine. She looked up at the Treespeaker meeting her strange golden eyes.

  The Treespeaker nodded. *Yes, the Forest has seen you, Warrior of the Light. You carry the crystal dagger, the bane of evil. Much depends on the choices you will make. Will you hold true? Will you see the task to its end, no matter the sacrifices?*

  Kath clutched the crystal dagger, thinking of Duncan.

  *Yes, there will be sacrifices, more than you know.*

  Kath shivered at the certainty of her words.

  *Hold true to your path, no matter the price, or much that is good will fade to dust!*

  Kath dared a question. *What do you know?*

  *I know the touch of evil. I know how it twists the truth.*

  The golden gaze released her. Kath sagged against the ivy-covered ground. Questions flooded her mind, but she wasn’t ready to know the answers.

  The Treespeaker turned her gaze to the gallery, her voice raised to the clans. “We are the Children of the Green, the Children of the Forest, but we are also the children of men. We live protected by the shade of Leaf and Bark, nurtured by the Mother Forest, but the world beyond is changing. The east winds are laden with the ashes of the dead, of kith and kin, of leaf and tree. But the winds did not bring the first warning. The taproots of the old trees run deep, tasting the marrow of the world. The great trees shudder with the bitter changes. Evil seeps into the land, twisting those that grow in the Light. And now the shadow of evil has dared to touch the very heart of the Mother Forest.” The Treespeaker stood rooted to the ground, splendid and ominous in her feathered cloak. “Blasphemy has been committed in the shade of the Mother Tree! Blood was drawn from a hearth-guest! The Mother Tree quakes with anger at the weakness of her Children.”

  The air around the Treespeaker crackled with power, the emerald diadem at her brow pulsed with light.

  “You sit in the shade of the Mother yet you allow yourselves to be twisted by evil. You shame your roots! It is time to put old hatreds aside. Saplings grow true or they are cut down and fed to the fires for kindling. The Children of the Green must either retreat into the Forest and hide forever, hoping that others win the fight, or they must go out into the world and confront the evil. It is time for the clans to choose!”

  The Treespeaker dropped her arms and
the power dimmed and faded. The silver-haired woman bowed her head, resuming a mortal façade.

  Her silence released the clans. A waterfall of words cascaded down the gallery, but now the voices ran clear, a debate of reason replacing a babble of hate.

  The Treespeaker approached the five companions.

  Kath and her companions scrambled to their feet, bowing low.

  The Treespeaker spoke to the monk. “The promise of hearth-welcome was broken, a debt is owed. Ask for a favor, and if it is within our power, it will be granted.”

  Zith bowed. “You are most generous. I will think on your offer.”

  Her golden gaze studied the companions. “Your visit was ill-timed. The fire caused a terrible loss, stirring old hatreds. A dangerous time for white-eyes, yet you speak the truth. And now you warn of an ancient evil, speaking a name we have not heard for over a thousand years.”

  Kath stared in awe. *Are you immortal?*

  The Treespeaker gave an enigmatic smile. *Immortal, no, but we share the age of the great trees.* Aloud, she said, “Forgive the harsh words of my people. Sometimes a viper must be flushed from the grass before it can be destroyed.”

  Zith said, “Will your people join the fight?”

  “Conviction is best gained by consent not commands. The debate will rage for days, perhaps weeks, it is our way. In the meantime, you will be our honored guests.” Turning to the green-robed youth holding the antler horn, the Treespeaker said, “This is Martyn, he will see that you are given food and provided with a place to sleep. He will do his best to see to your needs.”

  Sir Blaine stepped forward. “Our weapons?”

  The Treespeaker nodded. “Will be returned to you. Martyn will see to it.”

  The freckle-faced youth bowed toward the companions and said, “Follow me, honored ones.”

  Zith and the others began to follow, but something caused Kath to linger.