by Lloyd Baron
“Yes but you just told me that you love me silly. Without saying the word but you are a male after all and things like that are hard for males or so the human females say.”
“Love you!” He blurts almost falling over.
“Yes my sweet Clayton. All these suns of sneaking into the world to meet and you never learned of the word that every female wants to hear from her male.” She laughs at him then and drags him from the trees into the great clearing. “We must try to get a better location. If the Queen is going to be here I want to get a good look. It’s been over three-thousand suns since she has last come to the world and I want to get an eyeful.”
Clayton marvels at her. She speaks with an air of humanity. They can all do the trick of listening through the trees but most of them are content with not existing when they are not needed. There are maybe only a hundred who have made visits to the world in all the suns since its creation. Not including The Breaking that is. The God had commanded that of them and he had hated being a part of it. He cannot remember a time when his heart had been so glad to hear from a God or in this case the Goddess, to order an end to an unmaking. It is not in the nature of trees to destroy, even though they have the power in them to do so. This world had been different, for a time it had been theirs.
Moonwell plunges into the mass of shifting bodies, pulling Clayton by his arm behind her. The Woodland Elementals mutter angrily as they are shoved aside and Clayton finds himself calling apologies over his shoulders. About halfway through the crowd the press of bodies becomes too thick for them to penetrate. Moonwell sighs with frustration.
“This is a good spot,” Clayton says as he heaves himself between two large Woodlands. He nods at them as they turn stern faces upon him. “She will be sat upon that stage in her throne. And she is very tall.”
“Shush, my dear,” she says softly. “Why are they all so angry? Look over there. They are glaring at something.” She points towards the far end of the clearing where the stage is located by the Queens tree. A huge and beautiful tree which started its life as a simple oak but has grown by the power of their queen. Now it stands wider than ten trees at its base and reaches at least thirty times as high as the tallest tree in the forest. It is a marvel that no human has stumbled upon it and felled it. He shifts his gaze in the way that Moonwell is pointing. “You are taller than me. What can you see?”
Hatred and fear hit him so suddenly that his roots clench. “This is wrong! Why are they here? This is an affront to the forest and nature itself.” His mind races. He has never felt this much bile towards anything in all the times he has had a form. The very feeling is new and unknown to him and he does not like it but at this very moment he welcomes the strength he feels from it. If he wanted to he could grow through the ground and smother the creatures hopping around by the stage.
“My dear!” She turns directly to face him, pulling him around to look into her eyes. “You are frightening me. This is not another unmaking is it? Clayton please!” Her tone is desperate and her eyes are pleading. Clayton’s anger melts in the horror stricken expression on her beautiful face. He raises his hand and strokes her cheek.
“Imps, my sweet. Filthy fire Imps. Six of them.”
“Six,” she shrieks. “The number it takes to make a circle.”
“He wouldn’t dare! Would he?”
Before she can answer a brilliant green radiance fills the glade and the tree at its heart begins to open like two massive doors swinging out. From the glow a tall, slender woman glides out, covered from head to foot with silver ivy, which floats from her like tendrils. Her face is the only part of her which is uncovered and she is the most wonderful creature he has ever seen. Every voice in the clearing suddenly ends as they all turn to face their Queen.
At her arrival the six Imps skip onto the stage. A few of the Woodlands at the front step forwards yelling and every tree in the glade seems to lean down, reaching their branches towards the imps. A tiny gesture from the Queen stops the commotion and silence falls once again. The Monarch for the forests looks down at the foot high red skinned monsters. Her face is full of contempt as they make a circle beside her, cackling like old hags. “Welcome to the glade of tranquility each and every one of you. This is a place of peace and that peace has been extended to that of the Flames. For it is the flames that have called us back to the world.” She nods to the Imps and they begin to dance.
Clayton frowns at the scene before him. The Imps are small like human children, with wide snarling grins and long pointed noses. They have no hair upon there naked bodies, which are thin and bony, and limbs that stretch twice as long as their torsos. The dance they are doing is perverse for creatures that look so much like infants. He knows however that this form is not what they really look like. It is hard for a creature made of fire to move about the world unnoticed. They take on many forms to fit in; some come close to looking like humans, once they are dressed in the garments of men. This form, this childlike visage is only used by the weakest of the Elementals or as a form of transportation to a place without the element of fire. Their appearance here can only mean one thing.
The six Imps raise their arms into the sky and a jet of fire rains down upon them, engulfing them all in its blazing heat. A huge ball of flame sweeps the stage, narrowly missing the queen. She staggers backwards as a huge imposing figure dressed in dark flames like a suit of armor moves out of the great burst of heat. He glances once at the hordes of Woodlands massed before him before turning his back on them and addressing the Queen.
“Is that him?” Moonwell asks breathlessly.
“I believe that is the King of the Flames,” Clayton says hating the fact that his own voice trembles. “He could destroy all of us without even trying.”
“That is not a comfort,” she whispers.
“Sorry,” he says without much feeling. “What is he doing here?”
The queen nods her head slightly to the king’s lavish bow. Her lips move but her words are said too quietly for any but the large man to hear. He stands abruptly and smiles evilly at her. He turns and without another look at the royal he begins to address the waiting crowd. “I have called all of the Elemental beings back into the world,” he says in a rich regal tone. “There is a taint here and it is destroying this world. The humans have a prophecy which tells of the coming end. That end is here. This world has less than a single turn of its sun.” He pauses as frightened murmurs ripple across the glade. Clayton reaches down and takes Moonwell’s hand. She grips it firmly.
“This taint. You all must feel it. It is the reason we have struggled with our forms. We are creatures of Mana and the Mana of this world is blackened. It will devour everything here until all is gone and life can never be recovered.
As I see it we only have three choices open to us. We can ally ourselves with the human of this world and fight the darkness. I can see problems with this as we are feared amongst them. None alive remember The Breaking but they have stories and books. Their fear will blind them to the help we offer. The second choice is to leave this world and never look upon it again. A choice I know personally will hurt more than the others. Thirdly, and the choice I would consider strongly is this.”
The Queens mind touches Claytons and he looks away from the smoldering King of Fire and at the woman who stands beside him. Her voice resonates within his head. “Come to me once this meeting is over. There will be much to discuss.” The link between them severs. Moonwell gasps slightly and she diverts her gaze towards the Queen also. She has been summoned.
King Magmass continues. “We take this world by force. We all feel a connection to it. This world once belonged to us and we have a right to claim it back. Together we can burn out the taint and create a strong new world for us to live. The Gods have turned their backs on us. It has been centuries since we were called to create a world.” He gestures across the waiting masses with his thickly muscled arms, sending tiny sparks floating into the air. Many of the Woodlands step back but the ember
s have vanished before they could reach any of them. “The last act we had which came from a God was the building of Megranlua for the twins. This world was not the act of a God and we all know it deep down. Something else summoned us to forge this world. Something powerful but also idle for it left us for so long. We can take it back. Consider these three choices carefully. I will be meeting with the other Elementals in turn. Good day to you sister.” He clicks his fingers and in a flash of blinding white light he is gone from the stage.
Instantly shouts rise from the Woodlands. Some calling the King insane others protesting to his arrogance and treatment of their Queen and some in agreement with his statements. The Queen simply turns and strolls back into her tree.
“Come,” echoes inside Claytons mind. He grasps hold of Moonwell and together they begin to push through into the crowd. The Queen waits.
Wit Wheu shuffles through some papers and sighs for the hundredth time. It does not matter how many times he tries to balance the books things just do not add up. He pushes back his seat and sweeps around the desk of his tiny office in the palace of Atlant. Something is wrong with the accounts and as Chancellor of finance it is his job to make sure they balance. His assistant has finished for the day. The funeral for the princess is drawing near and the people of the kingdom are grieving. He himself had felt like a tear might fall but who has time for emotions when the accounts do not balance. It is his role in the world, his place within the palace. When you see numbers in everything it is hard to fit within the society of the realm and its people.
As a child he had no friends. In his schooling days he was the only one who wanted to stay after time to learn more about equations. You see for Wit Wheu numbers were the only thing in the entire world that made sense to him. His parents were simple people who lived by the day to day and they struggled to keep their dairy farm from drying up. His mother worked so hard every day that she stopped being his parent. Most of the time she forgot that she had a child and he used that fact to stay behind with his teachers and learn more about the amazing world of mathematics. By the time he was eleven suns old he had formulated a plan of action for the farm that began with closing down half of the barns. His parents did not believe that their young child could have the answer to their financial problems but with the farm nearing closure they had no choice to shut down two of their milk barns. Within two suns they had eight barns and his parents no longer needed to work themselves as they had a team of twelve. They expanded the business and became the biggest supplier of milk to the State of Ankas. Word spread of the famous farm and the brilliant boy who had saved it. People started to give him attention, most of all his father who wanted him to take over the business and keep it floating. He was fourteen suns old.
Wit grabs a book from the far desk and flicks through its pages. What detail is he missing? He sighs again. Things not adding up are the worst things in the entire world because you know that they should. Everything adds up, all of the time. He takes his papers and heads out of the office. He mutters a soft curse and races back into the room, grabbing a parchment from his desk that has sat there for almost a week. It is not even meant for him. All of this business with the Princess has caused havoc with the running of the palace. Numbers not adding up, people asking for time off from duties and mail being delivered to the wrong people. It was virgin on scandalous. He tucks it inside his coat and heads out again.
His father had not listened to him. How could the boy who saved the farm not want to own it one day? He had not understood that he wanted to travel to the city and learn accounts to set up his own small business. They had a fight and his father hit him. It did not make sense to Wit. How could he turn against the person who had saved his accounts and his livelihood? The fact that he was this man’s son never entered Wit’s mind for you see, Wit only could see the numbers. He had fixed them for his parents, things added up now. Why were they not happy? His father used the money they made to buy fine wines and ales from all over the world. His mother had clothes made for her of the finest materials and pearls were always hanging from her ears and at her throat. His father became a drunk and his mother became a whore. They killed each other over a spilt bucket of milk. Wit was sixteen suns old.
The halls of the palace are void of the usual joyous atmosphere. The bright flowers are missing from the vases, replaced with the dark red roses of the mournweld. It is customary in Atlant for people to wear dark ribbons around their left wrist when someone in the family dies. The grief felt here in the palace is something Wit finds hard to understand. Every servant working in the halls has the ribbon on display. Many of them have damp tears upon their cheeks and some openly weep as they work. Wit glances at his bear wrist as he glides down the wide hall towards the kitchen. His first oddity was with the purchase of a certain fruit days before the Princess had died. The fruit was shipped in from the outer farms of Hillsbough. Common apples they might seem but the numbers of them were strange.
Wit pushes open the large door to the kitchen and begins the dance of passing through. People rush around, fetching knives, carrying pots of boiling water, rushing to take meals up to the rooms of visiting lords. In the corner of the kitchen a huge woman stands with a long handled ladle, smacking it into the palm of her hand. It is to this woman that he weaves and ducks towards. She sees him and her stern face cracks with a wide grin and she flings her arms wide to embrace him. He puts his arms about her in an awkward return of her affection.
“It has been too long,” Master Wheu. “Can I make you anything? Look at you.” She begins to fuss with his arms, prodding him with her chubby fingers, feeling his chest with her whole hand. “You are becoming all skin and bones. You will never attract a nice young lady with your ribs on show.” She takes his hand and firmly leads him towards a table in the corner of the kitchen. “You know one of my new girls has her eye on you.” She giggles to herself. “Not your sort I would guess. She has very little in her head but she is a real beauty.”
“I am far too busy to even begin to think about that sort of thing, Cook. I am here on business as it happens.”
The woman giggles again setting her many chins wobbling. “You are always on business, Chancellor.” She somehow makes his title sound an insult. “Too busy to eat something this fine night?”
“Apples, cook.” He says starting to rifle through his papers which had been under his arm. “I am here because of apples.”
The chubby woman’s eyes seem to go flat and she drops herself down on the chair opposite him. “Apples Chancellor? What problem could you possibly have with apples?” She dry washes her hands in her lap as she speaks. “We have hundreds of apples coming into the palace every week. What is it that you need to know?”
Wit smiles what he has been told is a warm smile but he cannot really tell the difference between different facial expressions. He lays a piece of fine paper on the table before the cook, tapping a finger on one of the things that does not add up. “You see here. This is the week before the Princess had her terrible accident. Now she always has a fine Tet’s red each morning. She likes them sliced so even if she does not eat the apple it has got to go down as wasted. You see?”
The cook nods her head slightly. Dampness has sprung up on her face and she dabs at it with a cloth she pulls from her pocket. “Yes I know of her eating habits. I myself cut her apple each morning. Or I used to do it each morning.” The cooks face takes on a faraway expression that Wit can only assume is due to her missing the princess.
“Well you must know then that they stopped ordering the apples weeks before she had her fall. However, they were still being put down as wasted. Twelve in total. So where did they come from?”
“We must have had some in storage. Our book keeping is not as good as yours Chancellor.” With that she stands and retakes her ladle. “Now if you will excuse me I have a kitchen to run.” She kisses him softly on the top of the head as she makes her way back into the bustle of the hot chaotic kitchen. She barks a few orders bu
t they seem forced and not heartfelt. Wit frowns down at the piece of paper on the table in front of him. Numbers always add up. Twelve missing apples may not seem like much but to him they are a huge problem. He has got to make these apples balance. He gets up and dances back across the kitchen. His next problem is shoes.
The meeting hall of the great Queen of the Woodlands is a vast and glorious dome, situated within a split dimension not far removed from that of the spirit world. The walls are grown from the palest vines, bearing all forms of exotic fruits from many different worlds. The room is scented with the natural perfume of nature and warmed by sunlight that is emitted from golden leaves of the Ivor plant. It is these strange plants that also provide the light within the huge dome, like a thousand tiny stars shining all along the walls and ceiling.
In the center of the room is a round table large enough to seat a hundred individuals. However, only ten of them sit along one edge of it. Clayton recognizes none except Moonwell and the Queen who has seated herself on the far side of the room. She does not need to sit close for them to hear her voice and she has always preferred being alone. Some say that her roots are old and spread wide. Being close makes her feel tangled amongst them. Spiritual roots these are. She does not have a tangle of roots pilling from her body. She looks off to the side, her beautiful brown eyes never touching the faces of those she has invited to this realm. They simply sit in silence waiting for her to address them.
After what seems like many hours she abruptly stands and sweeps her trail of silver ivy across the great dome. Her face is set in an expression of displeasure, small delicate mouth drawn into a tight line. She drops into a tall back wooden chair a few away from Clayton and turns to face them. “He has travelled to the Undine. They have decided to wait for us to make a decision.” Her anger is clear to all of them present. “Dealing with water as our ally is a pain in the leaves,” She clicks her tongue angrily. “That woman is bright and intelligent yet water is constantly shifting and moving. Never set in the soil and so her thoughts are flighty.” She barks a bitter laugh. “It could be worse. We could be allied with the fairy folk.”