by Anne Logston
(They are not in the city yet,) Val thought comfortingly. (The soldiers are holding them back, for the gaps are too narrow for a large force to pass through.)
(Is there nothing we can do?) Chyrie thought. (I feel useless here.)
(Nothing unless you can bring the cold season early,) Val thought quietly, (or summon up a fire god to defend us.)
Suddenly he went still.
(I must speak to Rivkah,) he thought quickly, his eyes widening. (I think there is a way—)
He turned and ran across the tower top toward the mages, leaving Chyrie staring behind him a moment before she hurriedly followed.
“Wait!” Val shouted to the mages, screaming over the howling wind. “I know a better way!”
Jeena turned, and her eyes grew wide as she stared at something beyond Val. Chyrie whirled even as a new whistling sound grew over the storm, turning just in time to see a flaming boulder plunging toward them.
There was not even time to scream. There was only time for one thought—(Mother Forest, please spare my children!)—as something slammed hard into Chyrie, throwing her backward, and the ball of fire hit and the world exploded.
Chyrie flew backward and struck the battlement hard, but did not entirely lose consciousness as fire washed briefly over her, singeing her hair, and the tower shook under her. The pain in her head and back as she struck the stone was nothing to the sudden, rending tear within her as a part of her soul was torn away. For a moment she was too dazed to understand; then mind and heart and voice screamed as one.
(VALANN!)
There was no answer.
Groaning with pain, Chyrie pushed herself to her hands and knees and crawled back through the smoking rubble, oblivious to the pain as the hot stones burned or cut her hands, shaking her head to clear it. She was only marginally aware and relieved that her unborn children still stirred vigorously in her belly. She used a huge chunk of the battlement to lever her to her feet and forced herself to look for what she dreaded to see.
Valann’s face was very peaceful, what remained of it, his open eyes calm and clear. From the position of his charred body, Chyrie realized that the object that had struck her before the fireball hit had been Valann. He had shoved her out of the path of the flaming ball.
She touched his lips, feeling the fading of his life warmth, too stunned even to grieve. There was a huge empty place inside her, a place that had once held warmth and love.
Two hearts that beat as one—
“Chyrie—” It was Rivkah, dirty and battered, her cheek bleeding heavily down her chin, but alive. She was cradling a keening Weeka. “I saw what happened. Loren’s dead, too, and Jeena’s leg is broken. There was nothing I could do. There just wasn’t time.”
Two bodies, one spirit—
“No,” Chyrie whispered, reaching out to close Valann’s eyes. “No, no.”
“We’ve got to get off this tower,” Rivkah insisted. “The barbarians are in the city, those that didn’t turn to attack the forest. We’re too exposed up here.”
We are the seedlings of the Mother Forest.
The seedlings—
Follow an oak back to its beginning and you find a seed, Riuma had said. This is the door to the heart of the Mother Forest. . . the seed to which we return—
“NO!” Chyrie screamed.
She dove deep into herself, down to that secret place Riuma had shown her, smaller and smaller, the tiny seed at her roots that was the door to the heart of the Mother Forest, and REACHED with all herself.
Life exploded into Chyrie: life pulsing, stretching up tendrils to the surface of the soil, pushing upward to the world with blind seeking power; green life, brown life, golden life, life with scales and fur and feathers, life that twined up the trees and stretched out branches, life that dug into the soil and fed from the earth, life that swam, that flew, that crawled, that ran, that burrowed—
She was at the heart of the Mother Forest, she was the Mother Forest, and these were Her leaves.
Behind the surge of life came agony as a flower was trampled under pounding human feet, as chickens burned in the city’s pens, as a Blue-eyes fell beneath the stroke of a great axe, as a panicked bird flew into a tree and broke its neck, as a bolt of lightning from the human city struck among the barbarians, burning them and the grass beneath them. She seemed to be drowning in a river of blood that spilled onto the earth, soaking it to the very roots—
(No, love. Turn away.)
And there was awareness, and with that awareness came fear, the fear of a doe fleeing the battle behind her, the fear of a blackbird waiting helplessly on her nest as the tree burned, unwilling to leave her eggs, the fear of a spider as a heedless sword swept toward its web—
(Turn away.)
All around her a hundred lives flickered and went out, from worms and insects crushed beneath unheeding feet to elves cut down in battle or in flight as the humans’ scythes cut down the grain, to guards falling from the battlements, arrows piercing their armor. Chyrie could not open her mouth, but she was screaming in agony, lost in the pulsing life, lost in the pain, lost in the minds of a thousand thousand lives—
(No, my she-fox. I will not let you go.)
A hand reached out to her in the maelstrom and she clasped it gratefully, felt warm arms close about her, pulling her away from the vortex that threatened to pull her down. The storm of life, of awareness, of death, raged in her mind, but she stood firm on a steady rock amid that storm.
(I knew it.) Valann chuckled, his beard rough against her cheek. (Did I not say you would pull me back from the Mother Forest Herself? But I was wrong. Instead you came after me. You must go, love. This is not for you now.)
(You cannot leave me,) Chyrie thought desperately. (I cannot live with half of myself gone.)
(You cannot stay here,) Valann thought gently. (You must return to yourself. You have our two children to bear. Listen, you must tell Rivkah the answer. Dusk told us that the barbarians fled from the shaking of the ground, remember? She and her mages must make the ground shake to frighten them back. You must tell her that.)
(I will not leave you,) Chyrie thought adamantly. (If you must stay, then so must I.)
(I am a part of the Mother Forest now,) Valann told her kindly, (and She of me. To hold me to you is to hold Her—) For a moment the maelstrom engulfed her again.
(Then so be it,) Chyrie thought, and holding Valann tight, she reached.
Chaos swallowed her, but safe in Valann’s arms, she held firm to her purpose, pulling away from the swirling, expanding life, the thousand thousand awarenesses that flowed around and through her, the pain of a thousand thousand deaths and as many births, back through the door to herself, to the top of the watchtower where Rivkah was shaking her desperately. More painful was the horrible battering of the mage’s thoughts against her mind—grief that Loren was dead, concern for Chyrie, regret that Valann was dead, worry that Sharl was still in danger—and Chyrie screamed, clasping her hands to her head to contain the thoughts that, it seemed, must burst forth.
Then Val was there, once more her anchor against the flood, and Chyrie clung to him gratefully.
(Tell her.)
The terrible spinning awareness made it difficult to speak, but Chyrie forced her eyes open, pulling on Rivkah’s hands to stop her worried babbling. Weeka scrambled from Rivkah’s lap to Chyrie’s and huddled there.
“The—earth—” Chyrie said painfully, pulling each word from the swirling in her mind. “It—shakes.”
Suddenly Jeena appeared in Chyrie’s vision.
“What is it, Chyrie?” she said quietly. “What are you trying to say?”
“Shaking—” Chyrie tried again. “The earth—”
Jeena reached out to touch Chyrie’s cheek, and Chyrie felt a brief wisp of thought touch her, only to be swept away by the whirling currents in her mind.
Jeena fell back as if pushed.
“She is with the Mother Forest,” Jeena gasped, pressing her hands over her e
yes as if to shut out what she had seen. She shook her head briskly and took her hands away from her eyes, turning back to Chyrie.
“The earth shakes,” Jeena repeated. “Shaking the earth. What do you mean? Can you tell me anything more?”
Chyrie gritted her teeth and clutched hard at Rivkah’s hands, drawing some solidity from their strength.
“Their god,” she gasped out. “They flee—”
“What Dusk’s prisoner said,” Rivkah said swiftly. “They come south when the earth shakes under them, believing the fire god is near breaking free there. But what does it mean?”
Jeena was silent for a moment, then her eyes widened.
“The earth must shake!” Jeena exclaimed. “That is what she meant. If the earth shakes, they will believe the fire god will break free here, and they will flee from it. Is that what you meant, Chyrie?”
Chyrie nodded gratefully.
“Can you make a spell to shake the earth?” Jeena asked Rivkah anxiously. “My people’s magic is ill suited for such a thing.”
“There’s a spell to move earth,” Rivkah said slowly. “I suppose if it were done on a large enough scale—but it’ll take some time to set up, and I’ll have to find the other mages first.”
(Let her go,) Valann said. (You and I will do something about the ones in the forest, and keep the army from fleeing in that direction.)
“Come on, let’s get you down off this tower,” Rivkah said, reaching for Chyrie.
“No.” Chyrie pushed Rivkah violently away; for a moment her fear cleared the confusion in her mind, and she waved Jeena away as well. “Go!”
“I can’t leave you here,” Rivkah argued. “This tower could collapse at any time. I don’t know how badly damaged it is.”
“No.” Jeena laid her hand on Rivkah’s arm, never taking her eyes from Chyrie. “The Mother Forest watches over her. Leave her be. Come, I will help you find the others after I am sure my son is safe. Arguing only wastes time while elves die.”
Troubled, Rivkah let Jeena pull her away. Once they were away from her, the barrage on Chyrie’s mind slowed a little.
She slipped the trembling chirrit into the front of her tunic and painfully crawled through the broken stone to the battlements, pausing only for a moment to touch Loren’s still body. Loren had long since fled his broken flesh, and Chyrie passed by.
From the top of the tower she could see all the way to the forest, the bobbing lights there the only sign of the battle being waged in the Heartwood. But those bobbing lights belonged to the humans, no elf ever being so foolish as to carry fire through the forest, and they penetrated far into the trees.
(Shall we show them how the Mother Forest protects Her own?) Val asked. (Can you be strong enough?)
(With you, I can be strong,) Chyrie thought. (The Mother Forest has given me much. Let me be Her weapon tonight.)
(We two are a sword none can break,) Valann agreed. (Come, then, and let us strike.)
This time Chyrie was more prepared when she and Valann passed through that inner door. Now, however, Chyrie made no attempt to avoid the swirling vortex at the heart of the Mother Forest; instead, letting Valann be her anchor, she reached directly into it—
—and soared up from the roots to the millions of leaves above.
Were it not for Val’s comforting presence, Chyrie would have surely gone mad as she looked out through a million eyes, sank a million roots into the earth, felt the wind pass over her bark/skin/fur/feathers/leaves—her mind could never hold it all, all the many awarenesses around her, lives flaring and flickering out and beginning. Chyrie concentrated her attention on the western part of the forest, where the elves fought desperately against the invaders, but still the inexorable force pushed them back, little by little.
(They are the leaves of the Mother Forest,) Val said, his love steadying her. (But all life comes from the seed, and we are that seed. We are a part of each of these, as they are of us, as your fingers are a part of your body. Let us flex those fingers.)
Together, the power of the vortex flowing through them, Val and Chyrie reached.
Their fingers flexed.
Humans cried out and broke off their attack as vines reached up from the earth to twine about their feet, and branches reached down from the trees to switch at their faces. Squirrels leaped from the trees and foxes from the bushes to claw and bite. Stags lowered their heads and charged. Snakes abandoned their holes to slither up the humans’ legs and bite. The elves stared unbelieving as birds plummeted from the sky and the trees to peck and claw at the invaders’ eyes, as bears charged from the thickets roaring their anger.
The barbarians were strong and determined, but they had had no thought that the forest itself might rise up against them. Many fled; those who did not, fighting the vines that clung to them and the wild beasts that assaulted them, were easy targets for elven arrows or swords, once the elves realized that the forest’s attack was not turned against them. The barbarians were forced back far more quickly than they had advanced.
Chyrie divided herself yet again, reached back toward the city. There was far less to work with here; there were few growing things except in the grounds of the keep, and most of the city’s animals were secure in pens or stables.
But that could be changed.
Wooden fences and stable doors shattered at the determined attack on them. Horses, cows, sheep, goats, and pigs trampled the invaders under their hooves, kicked or bit at them. Barbarians on stolen horses tumbled screaming to the mud as their mounts turned savagely on them. Even chickens and messenger birds fluttered from their coops to peck and tear as best they could.
Accompanying the success of the attack, however, was a backwash of incredible agony as vines and branches - were slashed or trampled, attacking animals wounded or killed, elves and humans dying. It took all of Chyrie’s resolve not to pull back from the terrible pain and the knowledge of what she was doing, forcing these creatures to their deaths as no beast-speaker would ever do. Their blood threatened to drown her. Only a little longer—
It came first as the faintest of rumblings, almost lost under the crash of the thunder and pounding rain. Slowly the rumbling grew, grew until soldiers froze in midmotion, until the animals shied, until the clash of battle tapered to a sudden breathless silence.
The rumble became a growl, and the growl became a roar, as the earth came alive.
The tower shook ominously under Chyrie, and she realized quickly that the structure was already of dubious solidity after the hit it had taken. Once she could have climbed down it, but not with the confusion in her head, not bruised and battered and belly-swollen as she was. Checking to make sure that the shivering Weeka was safe in her tunic, she snatched her pack and Valann’s and paused for one last look at her mate’s still face.
(There is no need to grieve over empty flesh,) Valann told her gently. (Hurry, love, and save the lives you carry.)
The tower trembled even more as Chyrie crawled down the ladder as quickly as she could, and she took the stairs at a pace rather faster than safety dictated. Not stopping at the halls of the keep, Chyrie continued downward, dragging the packs after her. She could see through the windows that the front grounds of the keep were choked with humans, some battling but most stunned to stillness, and she chose instead the back doors of the keep. There were a few humans on the back grounds—some city soldiers, some barbarians—but she easily crept past them, distracted as they were by the shaking ground and by each other, and made her way to the wall at the northeast edge of the keep’s grounds.
The roar had grown louder, and Chyrie could now hear screams throughout the city. She wondered what was happening, but there was no way to see from where she stood. She received several confusing images of crushing pain and crumbling stone from animals in the city, but shielded herself from those images as best she could, as they distracted her almost too much to walk.
(We will have to go over the wall,) Val thought. (There will be too many humans near th
e gates. Can you make the climb?)
(I need not,) Chyrie replied.
Not far ahead of her she could see how the barbarians had gained access to the inside of the keep: a heavy rope, tied with knots, hung over the wall from large metal hooks anchored at the top. Several humans lay unconscious or dead at the bottom, but Chyrie had no time to spare for them, and hurried to the rope. The heavy cable was almost too thick for her hands, but she was too skilled a climber to be daunted by that. She tied her packs to her own rope, and hauled herself painfully up the knotted rope as quickly as her painful and ungainly body would allow, pulling the packs up after her with considerable difficulty.
At the top of the wall were more corpses—city soldiers, this time—and another rope, this one hanging on the far side of the wall. Chyrie paused, despite the shaking of the wall, to look out over the city, and gasped at what she saw there.
Many buildings had already collapsed, including two of the wall towers and several sections of wall in addition to the gaps the barbarians had caused. In other places in the city, the very ground seemed to have collapsed in great, gaping pits. Fires were burning in several places, and most of the few thatched buildings were aflame. From what Chyrie could see, there was very little fighting still going on, but only part of the barbarian force had actually left the city as of yet.
A horrible roaring groan was growing from the earth itself. Chyrie stared unbelievingly, for a moment stunned to utter stillness, as the center of Allanmere’s market split slowly open like a huge, gaping maw. The wall quaked and jumped under her, but Chyrie was far too horrified to move, and even Valann did not prompt her.
The gigantic crack in the stone widened slowly, and Chyrie could hear the screams as the small, dark forms near it toppled in, silhouetted against an orange-red glow coming up from the pit. Citizens and invaders alike fled hastily from the marketplace, dropping their weapons in their terror.