by K M McGuire
“Yael Sahira.”
She examined Yael a moment, the starry reflection no longer left in her eyes. She licked her finger and sifted through the papers, until it landed affirmatively on a name. She scrawled a few dreary notes in a column next to what Voden had to assume was Yael’s name. She huffed and lifted herself from her seat, turning to face the oddly lumpy wall behind her. She looked over the different knots on the wall and raised her hand. Voden realized these were intentional, as she pressed her fingers against a node on the wall, and the grain peeled back, revealing a large hexagonal shelf filled with fresh parchment. She pulled a sheet out and placed it on the desk, thumbing another node next to her quill.
What appeared to be half a scale rose from the ground, bearing strange brazen rods segmented in different ways on each rod. The tiny acorn-like baubles nearly hit her face. She flicked the little baubles, sliding them along the rods, until she seemed mildly content. She studied them a moment and wrote down a few things on the first sheet and stared again at Yael.
“Twenty tera, and you’re free to go,” she said, raising her hand. Her other hand moved under the desk, pulling out a stick of wax and a heavy sapphire signet, never turning her gaze towards Yael.
“Twenty tera?” blurted Yael, aghast. “That’s nearly double what it was last time!” A few of the other Tastins around them stole some concerned glances, flashing rather harsh judgements at her sudden outburst.
“If you have any problems,” the woman said, her eyes now becoming truly harsh, staring at her for the first time, “I’m sure there are some Scales here who can help you understand the new tariff.”
Yael huffed loudly, shaking her head.
“Here,” Vec said, offering some coin before Yael had a chance to react.
The woman behind the desk snatched it quickly, scrutinizing Vec then the golden tokens. She seemed satisfied after a moment and shoved them into a large bag sitting under the desk. She signed a few more things on both pieces of parchment, but it was the look Vec sent back to Andar that caught most of Voden’s attention. It was nearly apologetic, woven in his brow, hoping to at least mend some old wounds. A moment later, he had turned back to the woman who snapped her fingers, causing the stick of green wax to drip from its end in a small pool on the second parchment, and she pressed the signet firmly into the congealing liquid.
“This is for your records,” the woman said, emotions unchanging.
“Thanks,” Yael muttered to Vec, taking her eyes away from the Scale, snatching the paper from her cold hands. She and Vec jumped back onto the bench and steered the caravan away. She leaned in towards her friends. “I can’t believe they are allowed to take that much!” she cried out of earshot of the Scales.
“And what can really be done about it?” Vec agreed. His voice was a bit louder than it ought to be, causing one of the white dressed Scales to stop a moment and stare prudently at him. “The wonderful power of government: proclaiming their divinity and benevolence by costing the little people the food from their mouths.”
“How can people be so corrupt?” Andar asked, appall evident in his voice.
“Most people are too blind to see how the strings are pulled,” Vec responded. “Any who have a place above the common man starts to believe their power endows them with more purpose to do what they feel is needed for the people. They begin to think the average person is incapable of managing themselves. It’s easy to forget the rich end up feeding the same worms as the poor. It’s easy to fool those who feel least entitled. They already have parted with the thought of ownership. The ones entitled are much harder to remind; they deserve the same pain the poor live. Putting numbers on people, regardless of their merit, you change them from a person to a chart. Nothing more than a pictograph you can cast into a fire. There are no sentiments towards numbers. Progress means to add to one group of numbers and subtract from another. To whatever means benefits the one tipping the scale.”
“That’s one thing we never had to face in Adetia,” Andar muttered nostalgically.
Vec sputtered a deep sigh. “Oh no, Adetia doesn’t deal with any sort of corruption!” mocked Vec, his eyes rolling painfully. “They found a much easier form of control that took centuries of meticulous training to instill! Beyond forbid, using religion to mold man’s already skewed vision of existence to accommodate his fear of losing control. At least out here the defilement is visible!”
Andar’s face scrunched in anger, burning his face vibrantly red. “You have no right making that claim! Perhaps if you had been there, you would understand!”
Voden became uncomfortable, watching the tiff between Andar and Vec thickening towards something volatile.
“How is it,” Vec began, his agitation beginning to crescendo, “if I am to ever step into your haven, I must go through your wonderful High Priest, who chooses who may come or go? Is it true your people fear to leave because they don’t know how to embrace the world outside their comfort? Maybe if a choice was given to stay or go, the city would be no more.”
“Can we save it?” Voden found himself shouting.
He watched Vec and Andar exchange stirring expressions, as though they had come out of a sort of trance. They looked around at the stares coming from the civilians in the street. They were on the main road of Septium, causing a scene. Andar’s eyes still burned as he stared at Voden, the blood that rose in his face neared a dark purple. They didn’t need this kind of attention.
“You’re right,” Andar whispered sheepishly. He hung his head a moment, trying to hide his remorse from Voden. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Vec, though his eyes showed he wished to continue.
“Well,” Yael said, drawing their attention away from their thoughts, “now that all of that is over, welcome to Septium!”
Voden, Vec and Andar were swept away by the splendor that was Septium. They followed the road deep through the trees, each more massive to any tree Voden had seen before, with trunks easily the size of a small home. Pillars were erected towards the vault of heaven, where the orange leaves glowed above the blue orbs. It was then, staring up through the branches, he glanced at the static, twinkling orbs and noticed movement above them. Squinting his eyes, he saw what appeared to be a network of wooden bridges grown from the branches themselves, woven together like hands gripping each other. He gazed at the trunk of the trees, observing the warm, yellow glow emanating from the oddly shaped windows or hollows. Lining the bark was a thin layer of glowing fungus, and the deeper Voden looked at it, the more he noticed the designs they formed.
The glowing lines split into new segments, compartmentalizing the tree into different tiers to further the impression of homes. He again found his eyes had moved up to the bridges above, where he heard the cackle of little children scuttling about, as a pang of fear punched his mind, hoping they would not fall. He was relieved to see the handrails filing along the branch bridges, fanning out like warping blooms, and the spindly weave of supports curved up to meet the smooth, bark-less rail.
The sound from the horses’ hooves changed. He looked down at the road, staring at his reflection trapped on the other side of the deep blue bricks. They were large, and the spaces between them were filled with the most beautiful golden grout, flickering like stardust. The glassy surface of the stone had etchings filled with the same grout, creating some pattern that baffled Voden, yet he still enjoyed being enraptured by it.
The trees in this new section of the city were even more unique than the previous ones. There was a decadence to them that was more beautiful than the last part of the city, less asymmetrical shapes to add more profound marvels, finding a marriage in a paradox of what was organic and crafted. Here, several of the “buildings” bloomed knots of outcroppings shaped into high-vaulted porches, with elaborate staircases wrapping around the tree, which led further up to the esoteric towers of trees. Some were so massive and grand they looked to be two mammoth trees fused and twined together, shadowing the neighboring bu
ildings just in sheer mass.
They managed to find a bridge made from the same stone as the street. The water beneath chortled merrily with a clarity that even angels could be impressed by. Voden looked into the depth of its bed far below. The only thing distorting the rocks was the water’s own motion, blurring the colors into rippling ribbons. Nevertheless, he could not understand how the water stayed that clear. As he mused at his wavering reflection, his eye caught a wiggling rainbow trout lulling upstream, content with its lot in life. He felt the caravan lurch, and the horses stopped at the center of the bridge. Yael turned and pointed upstream.
“That’s the Eternal Tree.”
She spoke almost mystically to them, uttering her words as if they were ineffable praise. It wasn’t without merit, though Voden knew few words that could be congregated to describe the feelings running through him, let alone describe its grace. The tree might have been near half a mile from them, though in reality, it was nearly impossible to say. Its sheer size towered beyond any conception of a tree that Voden had known. The air from his lungs drained abruptly as he stared at the unending verdure, still violent with its summer colors, unabashed by those failing days. It filled the sky like a flora moon, tethered to the earth by its heavy trunk, a landscape of its own.
Perhaps thousands of blue lights speckled its girth; tiny blips of wavering light that signified the presence of sentient life amid its branches. A massive knot rested on the southern-most root where gradients of yellows and orange spilled warmth from the hollow chambers inside that Voden eagerly wished he needn’t imagine. The knot, he guessed, must have been big enough to make all the other trees of the city seem as teeth if they could be placed in the gaping mouth. It was by far the largest, but by no means was it the only one. Several scattered up along the trunk, up to heights that gave Voden vertigo just thinking of the view. The sparkling, quivering river flowing beneath them was made alive by the lake the tree rested in, and in front of that, Voden saw structures made of stone, forming what he believed were courtyards bowing to the grandeur of the tree. In all of this, it was wrapped so acutely by the setting sun, and Voden, not realizing how late it was, found it the best way to look upon the Eternal Tree.
Smiling, Yael nudged the horses on. “You can get a closer look later,” she said assuredly. They made their way down a few more streets, before she stopped at a quaint shop. Voden looked around the quiet square as Yael jumped from the bench.
He glanced at the individuals, cheerfully gossiping at the fountain shaped like a budding flower, and the glow from the surrounding windows showed still others looming in the brightly lit shops, trying to make the final evening deal before heading for home.
“Yael!” barked a gruff voice, causing the trio to turn.
Yael rushed towards the finely kempt man who spoke, and in his large arms, he embraced her. It was clear this was her father; his hair was a shorter version of hers, combed rigidly around the crown of his head, capping his hardened face. His beard was thick and wiry, as though the Gate of Thorns took lessons from his mane. It was speckled with flecks of white, trimmed unfairly equal all around its edge. His arms were built like the trees around them, but his eyes twinkled with delight as he looked at his adored daughter.
“I’m glad you returned okay.” He squeezed her again and looked up at the caravan, eyes clenching together. “Who may they be?” he growled, his voice becoming stony.
“Dad, they are my new friends,” she said carefully, waving them over to greet her father. “They needed a ride here and they, in exchange, offered to help us out for a time for room and board.”
Her father analyzed the three as they approached him. He said nothing, his jaw muscle pulsing like a ticking clock, eyes sternly breaking down their faces. Andar’s hand jutted out from his side, looking the man squarely in the eyes. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Your daughter has been quite good to us, and we are most grateful.”
The man stayed quiet a moment, looking at Andar’s hand. Suddenly, he snatched it, and his face cleared of its stormy expression, converting it to a warm, hearty smile. He shook Andar’s hand vigorously and did the same with Voden and Vec.
“It’s great to meet you! To be honest, I wasn’t prepared for this, but Yael is quite discerning; you can’t be that bad! Well…ho, ho! It’d be worse for you if you were! Hah! I only kid, boy! I’m sure I can find something for you three to do around here. The names Razar Sahira! Welcome to our shop and home!” He lifted his hands as though he were holding the roof up. “Now, if you don’t mind helping, I have dinner nearly ready and would love to get this cargo inside before we eat!”
“Of course,” Voden nodded and hurried over to the caravan. Vec and Andar joined him and began hulling the sacks and boxes into the store. It took a while to move everything inside, but finally, they finished, and Yael escorted the caravan away, taking the horses to a nearby stable.
“Thank you, friends,” Razar said, slapping Voden on the back. “Now, who’s hungry?”
Razar beckoned them over to a bark-covered door behind the shop’s counter. He pressed a knot with the same luminous fungus that covered the outside of the tree. It made a gentle clicking noise that sounded like a lock, which startled Voden, and the bark snapped open, revealing a sturdy staircase that led up the trunk. The stairwell was lined with tiny niches at the base of every other step, and they stretched to the ceiling where the blue orbs hung, floating as if suspended by a secret melody. Voden squinted at the spheres and found there were tiny harnesses that dangled from the ceiling on a thin, blackened chain. Voden could only stare at the confounding apparatus, unable to decide how the light sat inside the strange, wiry cage.
“This is incredible,” Voden whispered to himself.
“I suppose it really is,” Razar said behind him. “Before the enchantment process, an Ameliorator locates a tree worthy of their vision. They establish wards which force the tree to hollow out or extrude, based on the vision set by the wards.” Razar looked at their blank expressions, grimacing a bit. “There may be a better way to describe it. Hardly make senses to me, anyway. Dealing with those ‘artsy types…’” he rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “Anyways.” He lifted his large hand, urging for them to proceed. “Shall we?”
Vec nodded curtly and walked up the wooden stairs. They made no groan as their weight pressed down on the smooth surface. Voden stepped past a window, admiring the outer bark that curled around the windowsill like dark cracking earth, reminding him he was inside a living tree. The sky outside pulled his eyes away a moment, blazon with the color of a single rose petal, its end dipped into a pool of fiery light. The clouds were textured like its veins.
He felt Razar nudge him slightly, and he carried on up the stairs. Vec stopped at a landing, staring at another bark door that blocked their way. The landing was cozy and gave them enough room to stand, and in the small cove that held the lights hung a quiet landscape painting. Razar pulled himself up onto the landing and moved towards the door, pressing a similar knot to the one downstairs. The blue fungus lit up along the door, sliding back to Razar’s inviting home.
It was, queerly, the most wonderful room Voden had ever seen. There was nothing large or extravagant about the place, in terms of size or decorations. It was, however, sublime to see a room that looked carved by hand, as if someone had burrowed into the trunk, hollowed it out, and planed each surface, following the natural flow of the grain; the room that hid inside the tree. Even the trim around the doorframes—though cut more refined with actual angles and simple carvings of vines—flowed as one piece. It left no room for error in design.
The furnishings were the only pieces that seemed unattached to the room, though they, too, had the appearance of being spawned and snapped off inside. And it rather surprised Voden that the chairs and end tables were not firmly planted to the floor, though if he had to confess, he wasn’t sure why. He found his eyes lingering on the hearth, the fire calling sweetly to him, finding pleasure in how much it
made sense the more he looked upon it. Voden and his companions drifted mindlessly through the room. His gaze was still attached to the hearth, while Vec and Andar left the decisions up to their feet, pulled forward by whatever could snare their sight. The hearth caved in, caged by blackened spindly sticks that ribbed out from the slate on the floor. The fire it tamed coughed splatters of vermillion light to the rounded corners of the room. The fireplace was like a maw, lined with stone built upward into the chimney in scaly sheets. He wondered if the tree had swallowed those stones during its transformation. The mantel curled out like a fattened lip, where two gleaming swords rested on top of the curl, crossed in dutiful honor. The room opened to the right of the fireplace and another staircase cascaded behind the wall. The dining room sat behind it, lit with splendor and a homeliness that Voden found familiar. The room felt lively, the grains almost stained with beautiful memories that sung to the ballad of home.
He peered through the arching doorway at the far end of the dining room where he thought he saw a glint of a pan, hanging on the wall of what had to be the kitchen, from which intoxicating smells wafted to his nose, awakening the beast within his stomach, craving the gift of something homemade.
“Make yourselves at home,” Razar said, pushing a knot on the wall. “Yael should be back soon. I should be done making dinner shortly.”
“If you need some help, I could assist you,” said Andar. Razar nodded in appreciation, and they headed towards the kitchen.
Vec shrugged and turned his attention towards a bookshelf by the window adjacent to the fireplace. He slowly ran his finger across the spines of books. “Oh, this sounds good,” he said, pulling one of the oldest leather-bound books from the shelf.
Voden stepped a bit closer to catch a glimpse of the title, The Ancient Mythos. Vec tucked it under his arm and flopped down in the nearby armchair, laying his legs across the arm, head cupped by the other, and scanned the book for something interesting. Voden went to the couch under the window and laid down, feeling too tired to engage his brain. It was unreasonably comfortable. The wood was softer than his mind could imagine, shaped well enough that it allowed no discomfort. His arm fell across his face, closing his eyes from the exciting day.