They do not even care to continue the deception any longer. I am no longer a student. I am a prisoner.
With the Gralet’nars in position, The Prince slipped forward and took the lead. "I must commend you, Tak’ju’nar. Most Humans are not so willing to meet their fate. Yet, you seem almost eager."
The now familiar coldness of the Tarsith bore into Alant’s flesh as the amulet translated the Elmorr’Antien’s words in his mind. He resisted the urge to reach out and snap the Prince’s scrawny neck.
It would be of little use. The Gralet’nars would cut me down before I could wrap my fingers around his skinny throat.
Alant had no idea how late it was, yet the main hall sat deserted as the group left the Initiate quarters and headed for the rear of the Chandril’elian, and he knew that dawn had not yet broke upon the land. With the Prince in the lead, the procession walked past the empty classrooms and offices that lined the long passageway. The grandeur that adorned the walls—which had so enthralled Alant upon his arrival to the school—did nothing to lift his spirits now.
Reaching the rear exit, Prince Aritian thrust open the twin doors, allowing the chilly pre-dawn air to rush into the building. Gooseflesh ran the course of Alant’s body under his thin robes, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Low-lying clouds covered the sky and silvery moonlight played off their undersides, bathing everything in haunting, silvery shadows. A light breeze blew across the garden, sending a locket of Alant’s bangs over one eye. Following the Prince down the stairs onto the gravel path that splintered off to the various buildings of the school, Alant gazed around at the garden area he had enjoyed so much in the past few moons.
Without pause, the Prince Aritian continued on the path that led deeper into the gardens. A shove to the back sent Alant staggering forward, informing him that he must follow.
The small party entered the hedge-maze and threaded their way without deviation to its center. Though darkness bathed everything, it did nothing to detract from the beauty of the place. The white of the Chandril’chi tree statue was subdued, yet its tormented branches were clearly visible. The broad, snow-white stone leaves—blood red on the real tree that sat in front of the school—glistened with dew, as did the benches that sat upon the lush grass surrounding the art piece.
Prince Aritian stepped up to the base of the statue. "Delmith, I will give you the honor." He took a step back to let the Vanria approach.
Nix! Not Vanria! Not anymore. He is not my instructor, he is simply Delmith, an Elmorian. I will not honor any of these creatures!
Placing his hands on the upper corners of the base, Delmith bowed, his wispy white hair draping over to cover the sides of his teardrop shaped head. Almost immediately, Alant felt his former teacher Melding the Essence. It appeared as if a great weight had been placed onto his thin gray shoulders. Alant noticed his small ribcage expand and contract rapidly as the Elmorian gasped from the exertion.
Throwing his head back, Delmith took a step away with his arms still raised. The side of the base of the tree-statue started to shimmer. Then, as if made of ice, the rock melted away, revealing a stairway descending into blackness below. Alant stood stunned.
All the times I sat in this place gazing at that statue, I never suspected!
The Prince produced a glowing orb from his pocket and proceeded down the stairs. Delmith, giving one last pained looked in Alant’s direction, followed.
Knowing the Gralet’nars would give him no choice, and not wanting them to push him down a flight of stairs he could not see the bottom of, Alant stepped forward, pausing only briefly before plunging down after the two Elmorians.
At the base of the stairway, a small limestone tunnel curved around, heading back in the direction of the Chandril’elian’s main building. The tunnel itself, with rough walls and an uneven floor, seemed to be a natural formation.
As if it were carved by running water.
It was wide enough for two or three people to walk abreast, yet the Gralet’nars had to stoop to avoid scraping their heads across the ceiling. The tunnel stretched off into the distance, and even though enough of the Elmorians who followed had produced light orbs to illuminate the surrounding area for several paces, the darkness seemed to stretch on forever.
The tunnel continued straight without curving one way or the other. The natural cut of the tunnel soon gave way to stone that had obviously been worked. The limestone walls flattened, the ceiling curved into a perfect arch, and large square marble tiles now covered the floor. The look of it surprised Alant more than the place itself.
This is not made from the white stone that everything else in this city is made of! This is much older. Someone’s hands carved these walls. And the floor tiles are the first bit of granite I have seen since arriving here in Hath’oolan.
Alant noticed intricate runes carved into the walls as well. He recognized several of them from the Old tongue. Yet, at the pace the Elmorian Prince set, he had no time to discern their meanings.
After another few moments of the brisk walk, they reached the end of the corridor. A massive set of double doors barred their way. Each door was intricately decorated with a picture of a Chandril’chi tree inlaid in gold, and made of a smooth black material that did not seem to be a metal nor a stone. Prince Aritian strode forward with an arrogant air, and Alant felt hatred mixed with fear pour over his body.
Whatever they have in store for me, it waits on the other side of those doors.
The Elmorian lifted his arms—his thin gray limbs slid out from the red folds of his gold embroidered silk sleeves, exposing his tiny three-fingered hands—and Alant once again felt the Essence being Melded. With a shutter that sent a thin layer of dust floating to the floor, the doors slid apart.
Though the glowing orbs of the Elmorian’s lit the hallway, a brighter, shimmering-silver light spilled out through the opening doors and into the tunnel. The bright light forced Alant to raise a hand and shield his eyes. He stood squinting into the blinding light, searching for details of what awaited him past the entrance way. Finally, with a sharp gesture from the Prince, a Gralet’nar shoved Alant forward, forcing him into the chamber.
Alant tumbled down a small flight of stairs that lay just inside the doorway and slammed hard onto the sand-covered limestone floor. Prince Aritian descended the stairs gracefully, and stood over him. Struggling to his feet, Alant gazed around at his surroundings. He was in a massive chamber. The glare from the light was now bearable, and the sight before him left him standing in awe.
The chamber—some sixty or seventy paces high and at least double that across—was as large as any public house back in the Hild’alan stead. The floors and walls were cut from the same rough limestone as the tunnel that led them here. Its reddish-brown hue gave a sharp contrast to the shimmering silver pool dominating the center of the room. The pool sat on a raised dais that looked naturally formed like the chamber. Surrounding the dais, he saw pillars of joined stalactites and stalagmites, which created a ring around the dais’ base, making it look like a large stone cage. Opposite the doorway sat a limestone ramp. The ramp ascended from the floor to the pool upon the dais.
The delegation of Elmorians spread out along the walls of the chamber. The Prince alone stayed at the foot of the stairs with Alant. The Prince stretched out an arm indicating the pool. "Your destiny awaits, Alant. Do not fear it."
Looking up and into the deep black eyes of the blue-gray creature, Alant realized how foreign and alien the Elmorian appeared to him.
You are not the awe-inspiring beings I admired upon my arrival, and I shall not give you what you want. To this, I vow!
He glared at Prince Aritian. "It is you Elmorians who are the cowards. You who fear me and my race! Think not that I go into this blind!"
The Prince dropped his arm and took a quick step back. Fear is not what Alant saw in the Prince’s eyes…
&nbs
p; He is terrified!
Prince Aritian made to reach out and grasp Alant, as if he would stop him from going to the dais. Forcing himself to smile as menacingly as he could, Alant turned and faced the center of the room. Steeling his nerves, he strode across the dusty floor and up the natural stone ramp to the pool as if it had been his choice to come here—as if the others had been his procession not his subjugators. Stopping at the top of the ramp, the edge of the silvery substance only a few inches from him, he was captivated by what he beheld.
The liquid did not form a pool as he assumed. It barely covered the dais with a thin sheen of a silvery substance. The reddish-brown limestone was visible through the surface now that Alant stood looking down at it. The bright silvery light emanated from it, however, and spread out to cast up and beyond, illuminating the entire chamber. Now that he stood directly over the pool, he saw that the surface looked more like a mirror—thin and delicate. Yet, it also seemed vibrant, alive in a way, as it covered the base of the dais. Leaning forward, he tried to catch his own reflection upon its surface. A gasp escaped his lips.
A reflection of me, aye! Yet one seen through the Sight of the Essence.
He marveled at the vision laid out before him. The swirls of colored Spectals spun around, filling all he gazed upon. They had a finality to them, a solidity. A reality he had never before experienced.
This is the way things should look. I am now seeing things as they really are. How I saw things with my normal vision—or in using the Sight to view the Essence—those were all false! They were nothing except lies to what reality should look like!
Removing his gaze from the pool, Alant scanned the room to see if he still held his regular vision, or if somehow he had slipped into the Sight of the Essence without realizing it. All seemed normal. He glanced over his shoulder to the group of Elmorians milling about the doorway. None of the white-robed gray beings looked directly at him. They all looked in his general direction, yet their gaze slipped past him as if they could no longer see him.
Returning his attention to the pool, he once again became mesmerized by the clarity of the Essence reflecting off the thin membrane of silver. It struck him then what he was seeing.
I am not seeing the Essence inside of something! I am seeing the Essence itself! This is liquid Essence, or at least Essence in its natural form. This is the Chi’utlan—a pool of Essence!
Understanding flowed into him like wine filling a chalice.
This is a place where the very Essence spills out and onto the Plane of Talic’Nauth! This is a source—what the Siers call an Essence Node, yet they all think they are myth!
As he watched, his eyes were drawn to a spot at his feet some three paces inside the dais. A small bump had formed on the near perfect finish of the Essence pool. He watched the bump well up, forming a small bead of silver the size of the tip of his little finger. It shimmered and danced upon the surface. It grew larger, swelling into an oblong shape about the size of his thumb. It shivered, as if from the exertion of holding up its own weight, then fell… up. His eyes followed the droplet with wonder as it streaked to the ceiling some fifty paces overhead. The droplet plopped into a huge pool that covered the roof, which was closed in by the stalagmite-stalactite pillars lining the dais. He stood with his mouth open and watched as the ripples the droplet created on the surface of the pool above him radiated out to lap gently at the rim of an upside-down bowl. The pool of Essence above his head was certainly not a thin sheet like the one covering the floor. It had depth, with a thickness that Alant’s gaze could not penetrate.
I was wrong. The stuff that covers the floor is not the Chi’utlan. The ceiling is the Chi’utlan!
He continued to stare up at the wonder clinging to the roof above him until a second droplet plunked up into the pool a short distance from the first. It added its own ripples to the now dissipating ones of the initial drop.
Glancing back down to the floor, he noticed yet another droplet forming no more than a pace from where he stood. Tentatively, he stretched out one foot and placed it on the surface of the Essence covering the floor. The silvery liquid squished out from under his golden slipper as if he had stepped into mud. He felt the firmness of the limestone beneath. Steeling himself, he added more of his weight until his trailing foot joined the first out on the shallow pool. Surrounded now by the Essence—both above and below—Alant was once again lost in the beauty and solidity of the Spectals reflected about him. He took a few more small steps into the center of the dais until he stood in front of a tiny bead-like droplet forming on the ground.
It grew at the same steady pace as the first one Alant had witnessed, and looked much like water seeping through a cloth—only upside down. It broke away and fell up, past him. Reaching out a cupped palm, he caught the droplet as it streaked toward the ceiling. Cold was the first sensation he felt. Turning his hand over, he was surprised to see that the liquid pooled in his palm instead of continuing to fall up. Moving his hand in a small circle, he swished the metallic looking liquid around, delighted to see that it remained whole, like a little ball.
It took a moment for the searing pain to penetrate the wonder he was feeling. The ball of Essence grew colder, freezing his palm to the point of burning. Instinctively, he flicked his wrist to rid himself of it, yet to his horror, instead of flying off, the ball flattened out and covered more of his palm. Grasping his wrist with his other hand, he attempted to stem the intense feeling of pain from shooting up his arm. He glanced around looking for help. The Elmorians still did not seem like they could see what was happening to him. They stood along the walls, staring at different parts of the dais. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain that made several of them glance in his direction, yet none made eye contact with him.
A wail escaped his lips as the liquid Essence burned through the soles of his shoes. He tried to turn and run back to the edge of the pool, yet his body would not obey. Fire shot up his legs, and he felt the silvery substance pour into his slippers and under his robes. He heard the screams of a man off in the distance and felt sorry for him, until he realized through the haze of pain and turmoil that he heard his own screams echoing off the distant chamber walls.
Air rushed past him before Alant realized he was falling. Falling up—toward the pool that hung over his head. He flung an arm up to protect his face before he slammed into the surface of the liquid Essence. He plunged deep into the substance, never hitting bottom. Agony racked his body from every direction. Burning cold liquid rushed into his mouth. Down his throat. Choking off his screams—making him gag and wretch. He flailed against the pain, wishing only for release. For death to come quickly and end his suffering. He became dimly aware that he had finally struck the bottom—top—of the pool. His very flesh felt as if it had been scorched away. Muscles and bone smoldered and turned to ash. In his mind, he begged for death.
The gulp of fresh air came cool and sharp. It tasted sweeter than anything he had ever savored in his life. His hands brushed a hard, sandy surface and he realized he lay on the limestone floor. He forced lids as heavy as weights open, and found himself in the center of the dais, curled into a fetal position. Bringing one hand to his face, he cautiously flexed his fingers. It amazed him to see that flesh still covered it. He felt none of the pain from moments before, and pushed himself effortlessly to his feet. He became instantly aware that eyes now rested upon him. Glancing to the door and to the faces of the Elmorians standing next to it, he saw that each of them now looked directly at him. Each seemed to have a different look—from fear to curiosity. Yet, when he looked at the Prince, he saw a thin, almost maniacal smile etched across the Elmorian’s face.
Moving his attention back to the ceiling, he noticed that the pool overhead sat empty. A large, natural looking bowl some three paces deep, hung above him, covering the entire span. Thick, black vine-like roots penetrated the bowl in several locations, fanning out across much of the area. Alant
recognized the flesh-like black bark that wrapped those roots.
This chamber must lie directly below the Chandril’chi tree sitting in front of the school.
While he scanned the empty shadows where the liquid Essence had so recently filled, a small streak of light shot past him, and he watched a drop of silvery Essence splat inside the dome and slide down—up—to the center of the bowl. Glancing around at his feet, he noticed other spots on the ground showing signs of liquid Essence seeping through the dais.
Without understanding why, Alant felt an urgency to remove himself from the platform. He did not have a desire to return to the Elmorians and their guards, so he continued forward, crossing to the far side of the dais opposite the natural ramp he had entered from. Squeezing between two stalagmite-stalactite posts, he hopped down to the floor on the other side of the room. His spirits sank with the realization that the chamber held no alternate exits apart from the double doors he had used to enter the room.
Looking back, Alant saw the Prince grasp Delmith by the cuff of his robe with one hand, a look of euphoria passing over his inhuman face. "Well, Delmith, it seems that our little rat has survived, would you agree?" Though the words he spoke were not loud, they echoed throughout the chamber. "It has worked! The Essence is ready! No more shall we have to fear the Age of Power!" The Elmorian tongue still sounded odd as it translated inside Alant’s mind. He was distantly aware of the fact that the Tarsith had not gone cold against his skin. Delmith stood staring in what Alant could only describe as stunned silence.
"Gralets!" Contempt dripped from Prince Aritian’s loud call. The two Gralet’nars who had escorted them had remained outside the chamber. They now rushed into the room at his command, and the Prince pointed toward Alant. "Kill the Human!"
The Prince’s command struck Alant to the core. Fear filled him as the Essence had moments before. Running to the far wall, he pressed his back against the cool limestone. Both Warrior Servants advanced, parting around the dais like huge gray boulders rolling down a hill, each coming to either side, cutting off all routes of escape. Stopping a few score paces from him, they raised their heavy crossbows and took aim. Never before having his life threatened, Alant stood frozen with fear. In almost perfect unison, the twang of two strings slapping against staves echoed through the chamber. Alant watched as the bolts, their pristine white fletching spinning them smoothly through the air, tore across the empty space separating them.
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