And why are you here, Aaron? Why do you exist at all?
The voice sounded even further away than it had before, as if the speaker were moving away from him, or as if he were moving away from it. He felt a vague sense of alarm at that, but no real urgency, for that could not make its way past the numbness that inundated him, filling him up as if his blood itself had gone cold.
Why am I here? He asked himself the question with genuine curiosity. He had come for a reason, he knew, yet just then, he could not seem to think of it, and it did not seem to matter much in any case. He was here, that was all, and the world was a cold, dark place, without hope or joy as he had always known it to be.
Remember, Aaron—the voice said, and it was so quiet now that it might have been no more than a figment of his imagination, some random thought coming into his mind—remember…Adina.
At the name, Aaron felt some of the numbness that had been gathering around him slough away, the way some reptiles cast off their old skin. “Adina,” he said, and, once more, at the sound of the name—her name—he felt power begin to rise in him, a hope and a passion that stood in opposition of that despairing, sad place. “I am Aaron Envelar,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am my father’s son…and I am no monster!”
He screamed the last, his voice powerful and alien in that place, and he heard what he took to be moans of pain from the darkness around him, felt some great body—or many, he did not know for sure—retreat. Then, unexpectedly, his feet struck the ground with such force that he fell to one knee, and for a time he knelt there panting, his head hanging as the feeling returned to his limbs. “Why am I not dead?” he said. “A fall from that far—however far it was—should have surely killed me.”
“This is not the world as you know it, Aaron,” the Virtue said aloud as she floated in front of him, a glowing ball of magenta light, ever shifting with a thousand different patterns and hues. “This world exists within Tianya’s mind, and so has its own rules, its own laws.”
Aaron grunted, looking around him and aside from the light of the Virtue, there was nothing but vast, unbroken darkness. “Must be a law against lights,” he muttered. “I don’t know what I’m looking for here, Firefly, but it’s going to be a pain in the ass to find it, if I’ve got to stumble around in the dark.”
“This is Tianya’s place,” the Virtue said, “and so its rules are her own—or, perhaps, it might be more accurate to say that it is the world of her madness, and here despair rules. Yet, we are here too, and so we might exert some small influence.”
With that, the ball of light shifted and blurred and, in another moment, she was gone. In her place, now resting at Aaron’s feet, was a lantern that gave off a distinct—and familiar—purple light. “So you’re a lantern now,” Aaron said. “That’s a nice trick. Tell me, what happens if I drop you?”
“Do not drop me.”
The sellsword sighed. “You know, Firefly, you’ve really got a way of taking the fun out of visiting the shadow world of a woman’s madness.” He grabbed the lantern by its handle and held it aloft. “Now what?”
“Now you walk,” Co said as if he were a fool. “I’m sure you remember how.”
Aaron grunted. “Any particular direction I should go? Or should I just follow the damned signs?”
“Just walk,” the Virtue repeated.
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes,” Co answered simply. “You see, Aaron, in this place, there is no true distance, no true time—at least, not as you think of such things. It is not a matter of walking from one place to another, but from one state of being to another.”
“What in the name of the gods are you talking about?” he said, but he started out, into the darkness.
“Right now, you are being alone—you are also being a bit of a bastard, if you want to know the truth. You must continue until you are no longer alone, but are with Tianya, in whatever shape she might take here.”
“Whatever shape?” Aaron said, struggling to follow the Virtue’s nonsensical words. “And just what does that mean?”
“As I have tried to explain to you,” Co said, clearly having difficulty in keeping her own patience, “this is not the world as you know it, and it does not obey that world’s rules. In your world, Tianya is a middle-aged woman. But here, in this place, she might be anyone—or anything.”
“Like a lamp,” Aaron said, grinning as he felt the Virtue’s surge of annoyance through the bond.
“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding as if she were gritting her teeth despite the fact that she had no teeth to grit. “Like a lamp.”
Aaron walked on, pleased with himself as he felt the Virtue seething, then a thought struck him, and he frowned. “Wait a minute—if she can be anything she wants to be, does that mean she could be, I don’t know, a dragon? Because that would really ruin a day that’s already starting to turn to shit.”
“I suppose,” the Virtue said thoughtfully, “though, I find that unlikely. Mythic dragons, you see, were always shown as creatures of power, of strength. Though this is her place, Tianya does not feel powerful or strong. It is for that reason that she is trapped here, within her own mind. I doubt very much that she will manifest herself as a dragon.”
“That’s not a no,” Aaron said, but he walked on. The magenta light of the lantern shined brightly, yet it seemed that wherever he looked, he was surrounded only by inky blackness, and he could not say with any certainty what even comprised the ground on which he stepped.
Eventually, he began to hear sounds that might have been moans coming from up ahead, though they were so quiet at first that it could have been nothing more than his mind playing tricks in a place made for them. “Did you hear that?” he said, cocking his head and listening intently.
“Yes,” the Virtue said, her voice solemn. “It seems that some part of Tianya has taken note of our presence here, that she has allowed—against her will or with it—for us to enter into her true place.”
As if on cue, the moaning grew louder, a desperate, piteous sound that made Aaron’s skin grow cold. Healthy, living things didn’t make such sounds—they were, he thought, the cries of the dead rising up from Salen’s Fields. Slowly, something seemed to take shape in front of him. He squinted his eyes, realizing that what at first he’d taken as no more than a shadow among thousands of them was, instead, a great tree, larger than any he had ever seen, thrusting into the dark sky. It was still in the distance, and he could only make out its outline, but it seemed to stretch on forever without end. It was from the tree—or somewhere near it—that the moans came.
Aaron had heard such sounds before; they were not comforting. The only people who made those sorts of piteous, desperate moans were the dying, or those who wished they were. As he drew closer to the tree, he realized that the sound was coming from the other side of its massive trunk and whoever—or whatever—was making it was blocked from view.
He did not want to go around the tree, did not want to see what could make such cries. But then, like so much in his life, what he wanted had little to do with it—he was going, that was all, and if there was a dragon on the other side of the tree, well, then his rescue—such as it was—would be considerably short-lived.
Aaron reached behind his back from habit, only to find that his sword was not there. Great, he thought. Here I am about to face a nightmare dragon, and I’ll have to kill him with nothing but words and mean thoughts.
If it helps any, the Virtue said, listening to you makes me want to kill myself all the time—if I could, anyway.
Aaron sighed and started around the tree, taking each step carefully, but he realized after a moment that he might as well not have bothered. Whatever the ground was made of, it made no sound when he tread upon it. In fact, he heard nothing at all save for the moans of whatever creature shared this nightmare with him.
He stuck close to the tree as he moved around it, reasoning that if something did attack him, at least he’d know he had somet
hing solid at his back. It wasn’t much, but then, he’d seen men live—or die—because of less. He’d known the tree was big when he saw it from a distance but now, so close that he could touch it, he realized that “big” didn’t begin to encompass the size of the thing. Even “massive” fell far short. He thought maybe “imposing” worked better. Such a word might be used to describe a mountain or some great body of water, some prominent, awesome display of nature. The kind of display that always made Aaron feel small and insignificant while, at the same time—and for reasons he never understood—also made him feel somehow comforted. Perhaps it was because knowing that something so incredible was out there, that it would be out there long after he—and his worries—went to the grave, helped to put things into perspective.
The tree was imposing in that same way—a force of some incredible power, a creation which stood as mute testament against any who might argue against the existence of the gods, for surely such a creation demanded a creator. But unlike an ocean or a mountain range, the tree did not comfort him. Instead, it seemed to radiate sickness, and the side of Aaron that faced it as he moved around its trunk seemed warmer. It was not the kind of warmth that reminded a man of a campfire on a cold night, but the kind that made him think of fevers, of madness, and death.
He was trying to pinpoint what exactly was causing the feeling, was so focused on it, that he swayed closer to the tree than he intended, and his shoulder rubbed against its bark. A brief touch, no more than that, but it was enough for him to trip in surprise at the feeling of revulsion that suddenly overwhelmed him, and before he could think better of it he reached out and caught himself on the shadowed trunk. There was a spongy, fleshy feel to the bark, and his fingers sunk into it. The tree seemed to writhe beneath his fingers, slick and oily like thousands of snakes shifting restlessly, and still possessed of the sickening, burning heat he’d felt before.
Aaron winced and let out a grunt of disgust as he tried to pull his arm away. At first, it didn’t want to come, and there was a distinct, unsettling tugging sensation, as if the tree were reluctant to let him go now that he’d made the mistake of touching it.
He pulled harder and finally his arm came free with a sickening squelch. “What in the name of the gods are you?” he said, frowning at the tree.
But the tree did not answer, nor the gods, and that was no surprise, for it seemed to him that such as they had no place here in this world of shadow and darkness. Frowning, Aaron continued around the tree, careful to keep a little distance between himself and the tree lest he accidentally touch it again.
Whether he walked for an hour or a year, he could not have said, for in that place of perpetual night, time passed strangely, as it often did in dreams. It was as if time was some lazy but arrogant watchman, napping on the job one minute only to forcefully make his presence known the next.
Still, he made progress, and the moans grew louder with each step he took. At first, he couldn’t make out the source of the cries, but then he saw a figure huddled against the base of the tree. Judging by the size, it was a child, but it was hard to tell for sure, as the figure was dressed in rags and pressed up against the tree so that he could only see its back. Its body was curled around itself as if in expectation of a blow, except for one hand which was pressed against the tree. He couldn’t see the hand itself as it appeared to have sunk into the tree’s spongy bark, but the wrist and forearm were visible, and he saw black, striated lines running along the figure’s skin, pulsing with what he thought must have been each beat of the figure’s heart.
At first, Aaron was so disturbed by the sight of those dark lines that he said nothing, only stared in grim fascination. He had seen a lot of terrible things in his life, had witnessed pain and horror on a scale most couldn’t imagine and wouldn’t want to even if they could, but he had never seen anything so terrible as the sight of that huddled, wretched figure. Finally, he took a slow breath. “Hello?” His voice fell flat upon that shadow world, weak and insignificant, and he cleared his throat, trying again. “Hello?”
It could have only been his imagination or a trick of the darkness, but the figure seemed to shift slightly in response to his voice. “The tree is dying.” A little girl’s voice, sad and afraid all at once. “It’s been dying for a long time.”
She shot a quick look at him before turning back to the tree once more, but it was enough. She was young here—five or six, certainly no more than that—but Aaron recognized her. “Why is it dying, Tianya?” he said, crouching down near her but not so close, he hoped, as to startle her.
“Everything dies,” she continued, and he could not have said whether she was talking to him or only to herself. “It’s in pain now. I wish there was not so much pain.”
“Why is it in pain?”
She gave him a quick glance, this one lasting a fraction longer than the last before she turned away. “Because it’s dying, silly,” she said, but there was no playfulness in her tone, only an emptiness Aaron didn’t like.
Aaron grunted. “Can we help it?”
“No,” the girl said sadly. “No one can.”
Shit, Aaron thought. What now, Firefly?
Don’t you see, Aaron? the Virtue thought back. The tree isn’t just a tree—it’s Tianya. Or, to be more accurate, it is how she envisions her soul, her will to live.
Aaron frowned, remembering the feel of its bark beneath his fingers. And it’s dying.
Yes. But you have to save it.
Aaron sighed. Gods, Co, what do I know about saving a tree? I’m no gardener or groundskeeper, and even if I were, I suspect such skills would do me little enough good in this place. I might not be an expert, but even I know that trees need sunlight to grow.
So give it sunlight, the Virtue responded as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
Oh? Aaron thought back sarcastically. And how do I do that?
I’ve no idea.
He rubbed at his eyes. Thanks, Firefly. You’re a big help.
The girl let out a cry of pain, and Aaron was sickened to see her wrist disappear into the tree’s surface, as if it were eating her alive. He rushed to her, grabbing her with the thought of pulling her away, but her skin was burning to the touch, and he recoiled, letting out a cry of surprised pain.
Whatever you plan on doing, Co said, her voice troubled, you had better do it quickly. There isn’t much time.
“You…should not have come,” the girl said, her voice little more than a harsh whisper. She turned to look at him once more, and this time she did not shy away. In the magenta light, her eyes looked black. “Now, you will die here too.”
“I’m not quite ready to die yet, Tianya,” he said distractedly, trying to think of some way of freeing her. Maybe if he covered his hands… “And when I do die, it won’t be in a gods forsaken place like this.”
“You don’t understand,” the girl said, shaking her head sadly. “This is the dying place—it is what things come here to do.”
Suddenly, the world exploded in a sound that reminded Aaron of a wolf’s howl, or a bear’s angry roar. But the truth was it sounded like neither of those things. It was possessed of a strange, alien quality, a sound made by nothing that lived in the world of men, and it exuded such menace, such terrible finality, that it was all Aaron could do to keep from running away as fast as his legs could carry him. He turned in the direction from which he thought the sound had originated—no easy thing as it had seemed to echo from all around him with the strength of a thousand lightning strikes—but he saw nothing but shadow and darkness.
“They are coming,” Tianya said in that hopeless, wretched voice. “They do not sleep—they do not rest.”
Aaron swallowed at that. “What are they, Tianya?”
“They are those who have done battle with this place, who assail it. It is they who kill the tree.”
Right. It would be fighting then, and him without a sword. Still, at least fighting was something he understood, some anchor to hold him in this
strange world. “And let me guess,” he said, studying the darkness around them in search of any sign of movement, “they’re winning.”
“No,” the girl answered, meeting his eyes. “They’ve already won. Soon, they will feast.”
He didn’t like the sound of that, not at all. Whatever had made that roar had to have been massive, for it sounded as if a mountain had let loose a cry of war. Something like that would not easily sate its hunger—he was sure that he’d be little more than a snack—but he thought he knew well enough what such a thing, such a creature might eat. He glanced back at the tree, its dark fleshy bark pulsing almost imperceptibly. Not a snack he’d choose, but then, it wasn’t a place he’d choose either.
He bared his teeth, struggling against the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. “It’s not over yet, Tianya. We can still fight.”
“You will not run even now?” she said, and in her voice, Aaron thought he heard some small bit of the woman he’d known, some fraction of her resolve.
There was another alien roar from the darkness, one that shook the very ground upon which he stood, followed by another and another, and Aaron’s free hand clenched into a fist at his side as he held the lantern up higher in a vain effort to see the source of the sound. “The thing about running, Tianya,” he said, “is that once a man—or a woman—starts, it’s damned hard to stop.”
“You will die then,” the girl said, her voice holding no emotion, “and your death will be only the prelude to the tree’s own.”
“Maybe,” Aaron admitted and, in truth, if those creatures in the darkness matched their cries he thought there was little chance of anything else. “But one of the world’s hidden truths, Tianya, is that a man has never really lived until he has stood up for something he cares about, even when—perhaps especially when—there can be no hope of victory.”
“You know this?” the girl asked curiously.
Aaron thought of the vision he’d seen, of his blade slick with the blood of his friends, of Adina staring at him as if he was a monster. Good men try. “No. But I’m starting to.”
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