by B. A. Scott
“Shouldn’t you be going with them?”
“Yes, but it is an honor to accompany one who would drink of our waters. And as you have been regarded as my guest here, the privilege is mine.”
Treäbu’s words struck Dareic’s heart.
“This has been a night of very good fortune,” Dareic told him.
“Yes it has,” Treäbu said just as Ralian returned to the dwelling.
“Are you ready?” asked the Sage.
“Yes,” Dareic responded fearlessly.
“Then follow me.”
The sound of the horn grew louder as they ventured deep into the forest. Ahead, Dareic noticed an enormous tree that had grown taller than all the rest. The base of its trunk opened like a cave that could have held at least a hundred people.
“The Breathing Tree,” Ralian told him as they passed it from a distance. “Though, it is also known by another name.”
“And what’s that?” Dareic asked. But the Sage only smiled, and kept his course. As they passed the large opening in its trunk, Dareic caught a glimpse of the ceiling within the formation, and what appeared to be the ends of three hollowed-out logs that ran inside the length of its mighty stalk.
It inhaled deeply, sucking in what felt like half the air in the forest, like a man surfacing from the depths of water that nearly drowned him. Then, the tree bellowed a deep call, and Dareic recognized the three-noted harmony.
“The tree is the Horn,” Dareic realized, then looked up to its high branches, and spotted a lone Skaelar male, barely noticeable from so far away, who delivered a heavy-breathed blow into a special limb. And when at last his breath had ended, the Horn quieted its call.
Ahead, Dareic could see the amassed Skaelar. Hundreds stood before him, awaiting his arrival. With Ralian on his left, and Treäbu on his right, Dareic stepped slowly through them.
They stopped at a wall of hanging vines, draped like a massive waterfall from their tall, twisted trees. Ralian gestured for Dareic to step forward through them. With caution, Dareic pushed away the vines like a curtain, and saw before him a wooded tunnel, filled with roots, vines and hanging foliage that prevented him from seeing what lay in the ephemeral light beyond. As he stepped forward into the tunnel, his heart beat faster. And when he pushed the last of the vines aside, what unfolded before his eyes was so incredible—so astounding—so wondrously breathtaking—that Dareic could do nothing but stand in awe.
The forest opened into an enormous grove. The old, thick trees that encircled it reached to the heavens, and beams of moonlight pierced the canopy above. A thin mist gave the beams a truly enchanting quality, and in the very center of the clearing stood the Fountain of Skael’demále.
It looked like a giant leaf, whose slanted stem was at least 15 paces wide, and extended from the earth at an angle that reached a height of more than 200 feet. The giant leaf at its apex acted as the fountain’s basin, cupping to hold the precious water inside.
The entire structure looked to be fashioned from dried vines and branches that twisted around each other. In front of Dareic stretched a walkway like the ones he remembered seeing in the Skaelar village. It led into the air, and circled around the grove, rising and falling as it wound its way to the basin’s brim.
“The first had to climb,” Dareic heard Ralian say as he emerged from the vines behind him. “Come.”
As Dareic ascended the walkway, led by the Sage, he noticed not hundreds of Skaelar, but thousands—tens of thousands—below him. Skaelar as far as his eyes could see into the darkness of the forest below. Other walkways that curved around the grove were filled with Skaelar, and even the trunks of the surrounding trees boasted green bodies that clung to the ancient bark.
The sights around Dareic were nothing short of awe-inspiring. Dust and dandelion seeds mingled with descending leaves from the canopy above. I wish Gabrel and Kaven were here to see this, Dareic thought to himself.
At last, he and Ralian reached the fountain’s brim, which fell directly in the path of a wide beam of moonlight. Then, Ralian spoke, his voice carrying like a hawk on the wind.
“Do you, Dareic Caladen, who seek the gift of Verdure, and the swell of your magical might, profess to use such endowments for the good of the Skaelar nation?” he asked.
Dareic paused. Not only did he not know he would have to make such a promise before drinking from the Fountain, but he had no idea how in the world he would be able to fulfill such a vow. Still, he looked confidently at the Sage, and answered, “I do.”
“And for the benefit and prosperity of our world?”
“I do.”
The Sage nodded, approving of Dareic’s agreement to his terms. “And you, Dareic Caladen, what is your offering, that you may drink of our waters?”
Dareic almost belted out an expletive. “Offering?!” he spoke wide-eyed, yet only loud enough for the Sage to hear. But Ralian said nothing in return, and his expression never changed.
Now, Dareic understood what the Sage had meant by “proving himself worthy.” But what could he give? He had nothing—not a single thing of value. Except one—the most valuable thing he could think of. And it was then that Dareic took a deep breath, and etched his fate in stone.
“My life,” he said. Murmurs filled the grove. “When the Skaelar nation has need of me, I will come to defend it—to the death, if need be.”
The swishing of whispers spread throughout the crowd, then quickly subsided. Then, one by one, Dareic saw the Skaelar below bring clenched fists to their hearts. He assumed that the hand-heartings were signs of approval—that his offering was acceptable.
His eyes searched the crowd. Not every heart was covered, he noticed. Many Skaelar stood with their arms to their sides, defiantly protesting against the Human above them. He saw Treäbu and Treäla—both of them with a firm fist to their breasts. The Skael’akron, standing in a cluster, were divided on their approval. Shahc’du and Evissian clearly gave their consent to Dareic’s drinking, while Kilo did not. Though, Dareic was absolutely shocked to see that Raia was giving him a hand-hearting. The one Skael’akron who had every reason in the world to not only distrust, but to detest the Human race until the ending of her days was approving of his request to drink. The thought of it made Dareic’s eyes water. And when he made a wide sweep of the ground below, he was both astonished and relieved to see more than two-thirds of the Skaelar standing stoically with fists to their hearts.
It was then that Ralian slowly raised his fist to his own chest, and spoke, “Your offering is worthy. And you are bound to your pledge.”
The Sage reached to the brim of the Fountain. From the twisted vines, he pulled a curved, wooden horn and dipped it into the magnificently lustrous water.
“Kneel,” he said. Dareic knelt, and the Sage held the water-filled horn with both hands over Dareic’s head, allowing cool drops to trickle down upon his scalp. Ralian then turned the horn so that the smaller end angled toward Dareic’s mouth.
“Drink, Dareic Caladen,” said the Sage, “and be refreshed.” Then, he tilted the horn as Dareic placed his lips on it. What tasted like cool spring water flowed into his mouth, and he gulped down three mouthfuls before Ralian lifted the horn away.
He felt the liquid traveling down into his stomach, cooling his insides. But the soothing sensation wasn’t the only thing Dareic felt. His eyes erupted in a glowing blaze as a surge of energy coursed through every vein in his body. When he observed his surroundings, they looked very different than he remembered. The walkway beneath his feet—even the trees around him—appeared as living, breathing things. He could feel them. He was one with the leaves, the branches, the ferns and the earth.
He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, allowing the new feeling to consume him. His muscles tensed as his mind was bombarded with knowledge and understanding of the world around him. He knew just how quickly the grass grew upon the forest floor. He knew which plants were thirsty, and which ones were ready to bud. A whole new world had just revealed
itself, and though it was such an overwhelming amount of information to receive all at once, he welcomed every detail.
At last, Dareic felt normal once more. The waters inside of him rested peacefully, and he found that he had gained control over when he could sense the natural world around him. Then, he calmly dismissed the wonderful power from his mind and body, and reopened his eyes.
Dareic was surprised to find that all around where he knelt upon the walkway, small leaflets and flowers of red and white had sprouted and blossomed. His eyes flooded with amazement.
“Did I do this?” Dareic asked the Sage, as he plucked one of the small flowers, and examined it with astounded eyes.
Ralian nodded, then spoke, “Rise, Wielder of Verdure, and may the land flourish at your will.”
Table of Contents
Chapter 17: Mount Breyen
The heat was excruciating, and not even the faintest breeze could comfort Vexen as she made her way across the scorched earth. Though she and Taysha were protected within their contentment cloaks, the elements were beginning to take their toll.
They traveled southeastward across the shifting earth. Humans, she knew, and oftentimes Skaelar, patrolled the Caprian Mountains. She hoped to encounter such guardians, so that she might hand the child over to her own kind.
Ahead, Vexen saw a rock formation jutting out from the ground. It housed a small, shaded cave where she might find shelter. When at last she reached its comforts, she laid the girl down.
“Are you well, Taysha?” Vexen asked, stroking the girl’s hair back from her forehead.
“I’m thirsty,” she told the Dark Princess. “I want Poppa.”
Vexen’s heart sank. “Your father is gone,” she said. “You can’t see him anymore.”
“Are you a bad lady?” Taysha asked. Vexen didn’t know how to respond.
“I promised your father—your poppa—that I would keep you safe. That I would take you away from bad people.” It was strange referring to her kindred as “bad people,” she thought. But so many things had changed recently.
“Where are you taking me?” Taysha asked.
“Out of the Wastelands,” Vexen answered. “I’m taking you back to your own kind.”
“Do you have any water?” Taysha asked. “My throat’s dry.”
“I don’t, child,” Vexen said. “There is no water north of the Caprian Mountains, unless you walk to the shores of the Opian Sea. Yet even that isn’t suitable for drinking.” Then, Vexen thought of her Satian Collar.
No, I mustn’t take it off, she thought. With a fresh meal in her arms, and blood to quench an unbearable thirst, the child would be put in too much danger if her collar was removed. But Taysha will surely die of starvation or dehydration otherwise, Vexen thought. Am I to let her die?
“I’m so thirsty,” Taysha mumbled again.
Then, despite knowing the consequences of what she was about to do, Vexen reached to the back of her neck, unclasped her Satian Collar, and fastened it around Taysha’s neck. “Here, this will still your thirst,” she said. It was very large for the child’s tiny throat, yet it was no less effective on the Human.
Vexen smiled as the child’s thirst and hunger vanished. But not a moment later, the Dark Princess felt a pang of hunger in her stomach, like she had not eaten in weeks.
Just as the dreadful feeling overcame her, a shadow spread across the cave. Vexen turned to see a spear-wielding Fated standing at the entrance, spreading its great, bat-like wings to cut off all paths of escape.
“So far you’ve come, sister,” it said. “But no further.”
Vexen stood and drew her sword.
“Stay back, Taysha,” she said. Taysha receded inward, until her back found rock. “I have no quarrel with you,” Vexen told the Fated.
“Your brother demands justice,” it responded. “You will pay dearly for your crimes.”
“You will not take me,” Vexen said. “I have no desire to kill you. But if you come any closer, you will force my hand.”
A second Fated appeared behind the first.
“Take you we will,” it said, readying its spear.
With malevolent roars, the Fated Ones engaged Vexen. She moved like the wind, fending them off with brutal grace. Yet despite her skill, she still sustained injury. A spearhead found the skin on her upper back. Another tasted blood on her arm.
With a flash of her blade, she cut the head off one of the Fated and sliced the other’s mid-section. It stumbled backward and fell to its knees, holding its stomach to conceal a wide wound Vexen knew birthed black blood.
She brought her blade to the back of the Fated’s neck.
“Is this the path you’ve chosen?” it asked. Vexen looked from the hideous creature to Taysha, frightened at the back of the cave.
“I’ll die before I go back,” Vexen answered.
Before she could slay the Fated, it spun, and sent a heavy handful of sand into Vexen’s eyes. It ran from the cave as best it could, flapping its wings until finally, its feet left the ground.
Wiping the sand from her eyes, Vexen saw the Fated One escaping into the sky. He’ll bring more, she thought, then dashed to where the decapitated Fated lay, and grabbed its spear. Once outside, she spent only a fraction of a moment aligning her stance and aiming her throw before unleashing the weapon with a grunt.
Had the escaping Fated looked back to where Vexen was, it might have seen the spear before it pierced through skin and heart. But as it was, the weapon skewered the flying beast. It fell like a lifeless bird from the sky, then crashed into the sandy terrain below.
Vexen walked to where it lay and cut a scrap of flesh from the demon’s side, hoping it would satisfy her newly unbearable hunger. The moment it touched her lips, however, she spat it out, for it was vile. My hunger will not be stilled by this flesh, she thought, then returned to the cave.
“They were the bad ones!” Taysha said, leaping into Vexen’s arms. “The one’s where you came from.”
“Yes,” Vexen said. “But you’re safe now.”
“You’re hurt!” said Taysha, seeing the cuts and gashes Vexen received during the fight.
“I’m alright, Taysha. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Taysha asked.
“I’m fine, child,” said Vexen. “I’m just hungry.”
* * * * *
Since the night of Kade’s deadly confession, Gabrel and Kaven never left each other’s sight. Tensions were high, and conversation with the Erygians only occurred when absolutely necessary.
Crystal formations, jutting from rocky terrain, were as common a sight as plants and trees along the high mountain pass that wound its way up the massive Mount Breyen. Gabrel noticed the crystals become more prevalent as the group climbed higher. Ahead of him, he saw one as large as a great boulder, sticking out of the ground like it had fallen from the sky. Within it, he discerned a hazy shadow of something solid. As he approached it, he discovered that the shape was actually a small bird, its wings spread as if it had been sealed within the crystal during flight.
Gabrel furrowed his brow as his horse pulled him away from the trapped animal. He thought magic had to be involved somehow, for such a thing could never occur naturally. Finally, he tore his gaze from the bird, and when he looked once more at the trail ahead, he saw other giant crystals filled with dark figures. Only, these frozen victims were instantly recognizable by their shapes.
They were people—screaming in pain, frozen in the oddest contortions of the human form. Some looked as if they had been struck in the back by a mighty hammer. Others appeared to be running for their lives.
“Athiux!” he called to the Sage, willing to engage in conversation on account of his curiosity. “What magic is this?!”
“Knowledge of the magic that caused this terror was lost to us when the War of Ages ended,” said the Sage. “Perhaps it is best that it has been forgotten.”
“These people are from the War of Ages?!” Gabrel asked. “Was there a b
attle fought here?”
Athiux hesitated before answering, “Yes,” but he said nothing more. At last, he brought the group to a halt when he reached a point on the path where the road broadened and flattened. All evidence of the mountain forest had disappeared, and only a scant few of the crystals complemented the reddish-brown terrain. The area was in fact so large that a battalion of soldiers could have comfortably made camp in it.
A crescent-shaped cliff formed a high wall that pocketed the clearing, and two enormous columns of perfectly chiseled rock that reached a height greater than ten men, stood in the center. They were spaced five paces from each other, and the wide opening between them faced the center of the crescent cliff side.
“The domain of the Breyen Aeroli,” Athiux called out. “We’ll make camp here.” He dismounted, then spoke as if he’d been dreading the moment for some time. “This place is sacred,” he began. “Now, the Breyen have all but disappeared from the land, but here, they once flourished. Here, they guarded something so priceless, that men have offered their own sons in return for its gifts. And so coveted, that the War of Ages was brought to their very doorstep—and they were slaughtered when they refused to surrender it. For it was here that they guarded one of the lost chambers of Adoran. Deep within the mountain before you lies one of the junakothari.”
Gabrel remembered the word. The junakothari were the hidden chambers where the dangerous enchanted objects were kept, he recalled.
“We’ve come here for weapons?” Kaven asked. Several of the Erygian warriors had looks of shock and outrage spread across their faces.
“Without the Erygian army,” Athiux continued, “as you said, ambassador, Caleton will need all the help it can get. I believe the tools inside the mountain may very well be the deciding factor of your city’s survival.” He then looked to the warriors, and addressed their obvious disapproval. “You do not have to have any part in this,” he told them. “But understand that I have come here not out of rage, nor out of any lusting for power, but for the aiding of our allies. Even so, if you wish to return to Allestron, I will not stop you.”