*****
Vejax, Grimlock and Martna received the extension of Steffor's power and instantly synced their motions with his. Within two lunges, the Guardians harmonized their own command of the Source to Steffor's, enhancing both overall power and speed. Moving as a single unit, they formed into human vessel. Steffor sat at the point. Vejax and Martna were slightly behind to the right and left respectively. Leanor and Calivera were directly behind and in-between the two with Grimlock centered in the rear. Fueled by the Source guided by the shared coordinates and objectives of all, their bodies now acted independent of the mind as an entity in and of itself.
We manifest our future together.
Within a few moments, they cleared the valley wall, passed the Forging Falls and, with the river to their right, began to trek up the Forging Bough. No longer burdened by the need to concentrate on the next powerful leap, Steffor explored the implications of all the phenomena that had occurred since connecting to his staff. An endless stream of possibilities flooded the mind, realizing he had but scratched the surface of his potential.
There is so much more I can do as both as Mystic and Guardian. And what of Shifter and Healer? I have yet to explore the full extent of my power.
The exciting thoughts fed his confidence. But a sobering thought tampered his elation soon after, a tugging intuition present since waking in Calivera's table. None of this should be happening. The thought was incongruent with how he felt. Nothing had ever been more natural, more right. The ease in which his companions absorbed and grew from the extension of his power corroborated the feeling. But the thought pervaded as he wrestled with its meaning.
This is the next step, it just should not happen. Not yet, not here and now.
"Why does Kilton not join us?" Vejax inquired, bringing forth his image before Steffor's inner eye.
"He chose not to follow," Steffor replied, forced to shelve disturbing thoughts, only to tackle another. "There was no time to inquire why. No one understands our situation better than Kilton, we must trust his reasons," Steffor added. What he chose not to add was of the disturbance he detected in his friend's soul when they passed, the real reason why he did not engulf him as he had the rest. Kilton's role in the upcoming events, Steffor realized with apprehension, was no longer clear to his vision of the future.
The explanation did not appear to satisfy Vejax. But the Guardian in him recognized their limited time and prioritized accordingly, moving on to ask what he really needed to know. "What did Kilton mean by the true origins of the Deagrons? What are we about to face?"
"Until recent events, my understanding of how the Deagrons arrived was the same as yours. They arrived by satellite from outer space, how many survived the crash to propagate over the ensuing seasons the only mystery shrouding the legend. The Four, as were their predecessors, were charged with concealing a key piece of history surrounding the Deagron's origins from the rest of us."
They reached the summit of the bend and, still on autopilot, turned northeast away from the Forging River and lunged toward an adjacent bark peninsula.
"The Provider would never choose to keep anything from us," Martna said, incredulous.
"The decision to omit these events from ever being recorded in the Deeds was not made by the Provider. It was made by a select few of its Citizens. Three to be exact. But I believe it was aligned with the Provider's wishes."
"How do you know this Steffor? Did Kilton confide in you?" Grimlock asked.
"No, Kilton and I have never discussed the untold legend." It was not until Kilton spoke of it that Steffor realized he possessed the knowledge. Steffor let the magnitude of what he had said settle within each, as well as him, their bodies unconsciously leaping over several bark peninsulas in silence.
"Show us Steffor," Leanor said, sensing the group was primed to accept a new reality. "Show us what our forefathers believed we were better off not knowing."
Steffor acquiesced, accessing the concealed file and projecting the images before the minds' of his companions.
Thirty-seven seasons had passed since man had last encountered a Deagron. And while the few thousand humans alive did not know it at the time, it was the end of the Guardian Age and the ushering in of the Actualization Age. The first generation of Citizens had emerged without primal fear of the Deagrons; an existence that their parents and countless ancestors had experienced with firsthand acuity.
Life on the Provider without the Deagrons had a profound and lasting impact on the evolution of shifting the Source. It was no longer just a means to survive, relegated towards shifting crude paths up a steep branch or grafting vines down the side of a branch. No longer just a means for basic triage, healed well enough to fight another day. I became more than a telepathic connection to forewarn of attack and escape the onslaught of an approaching Deagron hoard.
The new generation of Citizens now perceived the Provider's gift as a means to improve their natural surroundings. The peaceful era gave birth to the first architects, engineers, builders, agriculturist, physicians, and psychologist. Shifters rejuvenated bark, xylem and pith, cultivated groves of lichens and bushes, and revitalized the multitude of knot ponds and lakes.
With the foundation of the beloved Razum City well in the making, man began to explore their world in earnest. Droves of hearty harvest Shifters, field Mystics and Guardians embarked on long excursions. These adventurers established many of the farming settlements that still flourish today.
It was a fragile time for Citizens, when the memories of a brutal existence still pervaded the social psyche. Slowly, cautious optimism crept in, spurred by relative peace experienced over the prior three decades. And as had always been the way of the Provider's people, optimism began to prevail.
The most important discovery during that period of exploration was that of the Deagron Fields and the mysterious root ranges and canyons of the Belly Briar. Three Guardians, Sevorist, Fregak and Triffor, embarked on this unprecedented expedition down Trunk.
Steffor picked up with the three heroes as they began their return trek home. They stood on the fringe of the Belly Briar, looking up toward the mountainous range of roots. The majestic tableau of intersecting ridges and deep canyons sprawled for miles, elevating as it moved towards the Trunk. The three were in the midst of an energetic debate, adamantly pointing toward the tremendous root architecture.
"There," Sevorist stated with authority, pointing with his left hand, running it up and down along an imaginary line, "that is the ridge we descended."
The other two followed the line of his hand but appeared apprehensive. It had been over a season since the trio last navigated the foreign land surrounding the root system. Certain they were near the range of roots they last entered from, finding the best way to reenter was proving more difficult than any of them had imagined.
"I just don't remember being so close to that fissure," Fregak said.
They all studied the ominous opening in the Trunk centered between two of the thirteen gargantuan base roots they had identified in their recent survey. Each base root reached an elevation of over three thousand feet before melding into the Trunk. From their current vantage, they could see the top half of the huge crack, its peak stretching several hundred feet above the two base roots. The remainder of the widening maw was lost to smaller roots and canyons.
"Its proximity to the path we descended has not changed, only our perspective," Sevorist countered. "We'll enter the network of lower ridges here," he said, pointing to a small root a few feet away. Ten yards wide, the root's growth into the dark soil of the Deagron Fields provided a natural ramp in which to enter the Belly Briar.
"We'll use the canyon and fissure to guide us and work our way toward the slope of either base root. From there, we can locate plenty of paths to ascend the Trunk. Let us be on our way."
They hoisted their packs laden with various treasures but dwindling of much needed food and water. The images that followed showed the three making slow progress
toward the Trunk. Several times, they had to double back as the sub root they traveled would intersect with another, presenting a sheer cliff or other type impasse. After three days of frustrating travel, they had managed to penetrate deep into the catacomb of roots but soon found themselves lost within the steep ranges.
"See there," Sevorist stated from atop a large root running parallel to the Trunk. He pointed at the area between them and the fissure. "The sub roots diminish in size and frequency the closer we get to the Trunk."
"Aye, the closer we get to the base of that fissure," Fregak added, doing little to hide his fright of the dark hollow. Triffor expressed a similar fear as he nodded in agreement to his friend's observation.
"Indeed," Sevorist responded. His brow creased with concern, making the diagonal scar running from his right temple to the left side of his chin to swell a plump purple. They studied each other in that moment, testing each other’s resolve to go forward, providing Steffor and his companions a rare view of the three heroes.
Cut from the prototypical, burly physique known to Guardians, Fregak and Triffor were both sixteen seasons old the day they left on their perilous journey. They were of the first generation of Guardians to receive formal training versus the "in the field training" so many others had to experience prior. In fact, many of the exercises used to hone their budding abilities into pliable skills were still practiced today by Guardian apprentices. Both left their homes anxious to prove themselves and contribute growth to their budding society. Now, three seasons later, the downy beards and freckled faces were all that remained of the doughy juveniles. The trek had hardened each, forcing them to come to terms with what they were capable.
Sevorist by comparison was a grizzled veteran born at the peak of the Guardian Age. More than a century old, the lore of Sevorist rivals most other Guardians to date, the Deeds recording his name dozens of times for acts of valor and skill. In his prime, armed with experience and determination, he was the ideal candidate to explore the uncharted nether regions of the world.
True to form, Sevorist allowed his actions and proven wisdom to instill confidence within his companions. Turning back to the Trunk, he finished explaining the revised plan. "We will stay to the ground as much as possible until we reach the opening of the fissure. Once there, we will find the best path and ascend the cliff side accordingly."
"Understood," Fregak and Triffor replied. The young men were appreciative of the right to voice their concerns but more grateful for their leaders ability to make a decision.
Related to their forward progress, the plan proved to be a sound one. The canyon floor was a patchwork of marshes, segregated by an erratic crisscross of smaller roots. The Guardians scaled the multitude of root barriers with relative ease and trudged the muddy marshland in-between without incident.
As they progressed, the sunlight reaching the inner canyon steadily diminished. By the end of the sixth day, direct sunlight had all together ceased. The light reaching the ridge tops created a bright dusk by day and an impenetrable darkness by night. Marshland transitioned into a stifling bog. Gone were the small islands and strips of dry land in which they had camped. The abundant rushes, reeds and typha, of which the shoots and nodes of several supplied the men with a nutritious energy-rich food source, had also disappeared.
On the eleventh day, the trio scaled the sub root that framed the ominous fissure within the steep canyon walls of the Trunk's base. The sub root formed a rampart wall that traveled several miles to the east and west, where it eventually folded into the mountainous base roots. Across several acres of open bog, the dark fissure predominated to the north.
A gray haze hung low over the land like an oppressive, wet blanket. Odd peat mounds quilted the murky, oil slicked, waters in an unnatural pattern. A thin line of land ascending into the vast hollow demarcated the bog's end.
"The shoreline," Sevorist said, "once there we will find our passage out of this smothering place."
Sevorist led the way though the knee-deep muck and wet vegetation. Hours later, coated in mire, they reached the shoreline that was nothing more than a strip of wet peat. The ground swayed under their steps and a faint ripple of movement dispersed around them as they dropped in the exhaustion.
"I don't feel...proper," Fregak stated once they had a brief rest on the soggy beach.
"Aye, I have a queer stirring in me as well," Triffor said in agreement, rubbing his temples with the palm of his hands.
Sevorist, not sharing the state of his constitution, stood up to study the western root precipice. "Our twilight will be gone shortly. Let us investigate the west base root first; it would be ideal if we could retrace our original path back up the Trunk."
Without question, the two younger Guardians gathered their packs and followed.
With a determined pace and eyes forward, they trudged down the strange coastline, stagnant water to their left and the fissure's dark entrance to their right. The dull twilight of the canyon was a sunny day compared to the black curtain concealing what lay beyond the nefarious cavern that appeared possessed with a life its own. Whatever dimension lay beyond, it did not require a Guardian's senses to know not to enter.
Desperation to escape the alien place mounted with every passing minute. All were relieved to reach the precipice an hour later. Wasting no time, they surveyed the steep cliff for the best path to ascend. Skilled climbers empowered by supernatural strength and agility, they were prepared for a difficult climb. The best they dared hope for was a harrowing route formed by scattered knots, odd striations or inward growths along the slope. To their joy, they found the cliff covered by a multitude of deformed outgrowths.
Despite their grotesque appearance, the protrusions created perfect holds and steps. As such, the cliff side offered countless vertical paths from which to choose. Drained and anxious to change their setting, the Guardians welcomed an easy trek to the summit, no matter how strange.
"What are they?" Triffor asked, caution countering his excitement.
"Burls I suppose, but like none I have ever seen..." Sevorist trailed off as he ran his hand over one of the gnarled growths.
"What are these," Fregak said, pointing to a spot a few yards to their right.
Gathered against the side of the root, just outside the dark cavern, was a pile of what appeared to be flat, wood chunks. The impulse to investigate temporarily overriding their need to escape the oppressive setting, the three moved over for a closer inspection. The objects varied slightly in size and shape but were clearly of the same origin. Oblong squares, six to eight inches thick, up to two feet wide, each housed a hard outer surface with a dull polish.
"It is light," Triffor said with surprise as he hefted one of the objects with both hands. "Is it hollow inside? A petrified gourd maybe?"
"Let’s find out," Sevorist said, giving Fregak a quick nod.
Triffor straitened his arms, spread his legs shoulder width apart and faced Fregak.
Fregak inhaled as he shifted the Source to his left fist. With one quick motion, he punctured a hole into the object, the lingering blue trailer of energy the only evidence of the thrust. The object broke in half and Triffor laid the separate pieces on the ground before them. The inside was a fibrous webbing of strong integrity. Near where it split, was a ball made from layered leaves, brown and moist. Sevorist tore into the ball and found a dozen smaller, tan balls that look like skinned fruit.
"A seed," Sevorist hypothesized. Before either of his companions could comment, a deep moan escaped from the cavern, shaking the ground and Guardians with an intense vibration.
"Brace your self lads," Sevorist said a second later, pointing down the thin beach in the direction they had just come. A wave of land, a mound of peat rippling across the shoreline, rushed toward them with awesome speed. The three had just enough time to face the onslaught of earth and leap over before it crashed into the wall behind them. They fought to gain their balance as the ground beneath them lurched with aftershock.
Fregak followed the command, grabbing the closest seed while Triffor emptied most the contents of his pack onto the ground. With the seed stowed, the two Guardians turned to follow Sevorist who was already forty yards up the cliff. By shifting propulsive bursts of the Source beneath their feet, the Guardians bounded up the scattered but plentiful burls with amazing speed. Within a few minutes, they had maneuvered over to the center ridge, half way up the summit.
"A few more lunges boys and we'll be there," Sevorist yelled down to his companions, squatting on a volcano shaped burl. He then turned his attention away from his trailing friends, back toward the fissure opening now parallel to his position. With greater force than before, the guttural moan reverberated throughout the canyon. From his elevated vantage, he observed an area on the beach, near the center of the fissure, submerge below the water line by some kind of unseen impact. The force jolted the fluid ground with violent force, sending set after set of land waves down both sides of the beach and across the bog.
"Something large comes our way," he said with a calm belying the fear he saw on the faces of his young companions as they came level to his spot. "Double time boys! Don't look back. I will cover the rear. No matter what happens, you must get within range of a Mystic, the knowledge of our expedition is too crucial. Understood?"
Both nodded with understanding and without hesitating another second, lunged to their next landing.
Sevorist turned back to see a dense, black smoke seeping from the fissure. Fractured, purple bursts ignited within the smoke, accompanied by a loud, clacking ululation as the Deagron Maker emerged from the bowels of the world.
With one stride, long trailers of the toxic smoke clinging to its form, the creature cleared the fissure opening to stand within the center of the bog. The monster was impossibly huge, too much for the mind to process at once. Out of necessity, Sevorist focused on the gruesome head soaring several hundred feet above his perch.
Outside two eye slits sunk deep into the skull, the head was otherwise a fluid bundle of ligneous fibers, partially enclosed by a carapace edged with spiked bony plates. The spikes grew in size and frequency down an oblong shell that ran the full length of the creature's bent back.
As it turned in his direction, dozens of knotted dreadlocks matting the top of its head flailed out and threw a putrid breeze across the cliff. The recessed eyes pulsed bright violet as it peered down at the disturbed cache of seeds. They radiated brighter as the creature's gaze traveled back up the root cliff and locked onto Sevorist.
Upon discovery of the thief, the hunched beast released a jarring bellow that sent a wave of frenetic motion across its thick hide of leather and pith. Throbbing tumors bubbled along the body beset by hundreds of fleshy tendrils twitching with spastic convulsions. The anger exuded from the creature in and of itself was enough to seize a man in mortal fear.
The Deagron then lurched toward Sevorist with paralyzing speed and agility. Survival instincts flew to the surface, drawing his attention to the lethal appendages, each a fusion of corded vine and sinew. The limbs protruded from bony bridges that locked the back shell to the imbricated plates covering the sides and torso.
"Nine!" he shouted to himself, affirming his quick count of the limbs that appeared to work independently of each other yet propelled the creature forward in one, fluid motion.
Conditioned over a lifetime to control his fear, he trained his eye and mind to watch patiently as the creature bore down on his position. It tore at the soggy ground with rangy claws as it pulled itself forward, flinging huge chunks of muck in its wake. Sevorist ignored the violent commotion and in doing so, locked onto a strange occurrence that intuition told him could not be a coincidence. The creature took great measures to avoid the strange mounds as it advanced.
He looked up to see Triffor and Fregak nearing the top, assessing soon after that out running it was not an option. He also knew, despite the lead they had, the young Guardians could not either. Knowing he must buy them time, Sevorist turned back to face the future he had already manifested. With a deep, purposeful breath, the legendary Teuton recited the Guardian's prayer: "I love you. Thank you. Please forgive me."
With the last word still passing his lips, he lunged forward. A giant fist smashed into the cliff side a second later, spraying huge chunks and splinters. His body encased by a form fitted shield of the Source, Sevorist weaved his way through the tangle of limbs and tendrils, barely evading the alarmingly dexterous swats. The powerful leap landed him near the bog's center, clear of the creature’s immediate reach.
There was no effort made to counter attack the beast as it pivoted in pursuit. Instead, using every cell in his being, Sevorist squared his shoulders to the west, braced his legs, extended his arms and called forth the Source. His body recoiled from the devastating bolt of energy unleashed by his outstretched hands. The bolt ripped through the bog, burning a trench five yards wide in its wake. Sevorist grunted with effort as he swept the stream of energy across the bog, annihilating everything in its path.
The beast howled with agony as the bolt of Source severed five of its talons and several tendrils. Its screams reached new heights as the bolt sliced through the strange mounds and exploded each into piles of fleshy goo.
Sevorist completed a full turn before the Source came to fizzling halt. He collapsed to his knees in exhaustion but had enough strength to lift his head and survey the havoc he had wreaked in just a few seconds. Satisfied no mound remained, his eyes came to rest on the cache of seeds several hundred yards away. He pulled in what reserves he had left, aimed his open palms toward the pile and fired a missile of Source. A satisfied smile crossed his face a second before an immense shadow from above came crashing down.
"Nooooooo!" screamed Triffor and Fregak as the view switched to the young Guardians watching the scene from high above.
The Deagron turned toward the sound and let loose a roar in response that moments later slammed into them with gale force and lethal fetor. Stunned by the loss of their beloved surrogate father, the Guardians clung helplessly to the ivy roots and waited to see what the creature would do next.
Satisfied the two Guardians posed no immediate threat, the Deagron turned back to the crater created by the fist that had obliterated Sevorist. The Deagron Maker drew back his tawny limb and drove it back down with the same anger and power. A whimper escaped from Triffor as the two peered into the pit. Muck from the surrounding bog oozed back into the cavity, finding no evidence of Sevorist's bodily remains. With the same deceptive speed, the Deagron Maker moved back to the fissure opening and disappeared back into the hollow.
"They are all gone," Triffor said, shrugging his pack higher onto his back.
Steffor fast-forwarded through the uneventful bulk of their trek back up the Trunk. He resumed when the two were but half a mile below the Razum. With the squat bough dominating the sky above, the two Guardians had identified a clear trail through the ivy patch and mushroom caps that would have them home within a day.
"We made it," Triffor said with solemn pride.
"Not yet," Fregak replied, "we must be close enough to sync with Mystic, let us try again before continuing."
"Agreed."
Seated on the cap flat of a broad mushroom with backs leaning against a goliath bark plate, the two Guardians released their minds and searched for a Mystic. Soon after their eyes began to move in rapid sequences, moving left to right, right to left, up and down, down and up. Within a few minutes, they had uploaded their experiences to Draiken, the Mystic destined to become the first steward of the Forging Tree.
"Welcome home Citizens," Draiken said. "Concern over your return has intensified over the past few months. There will be much rejoicing over the boon you bring back to your people." A long pause occurred after that to the point both Guardians got back to their feet to resume the last leg in their journey, before Draiken spoke again. "B
ut your mission is not complete."
"Sevorist fell to his death as they neared the end of their journey," Grimlock said in disbelief.
Granted, the mystery shrouding Sevorist's death left many to wonder. After all, how could a seasoned Guardian disappear without Fregak or Triffor being aware. Still, attack from zapture or giaker catching a weary Guardian off guard was not an unprecedented event. It offered and a plausible explanation.
Silence met the big man's obdurate resistance to this new reality as each experienced a similar transition in light of what they had just seen. The truth, no matter how harsh it may be was a requisite they all believed to be essential for the soul to grow. If given the opportunity, would they go back in time and make different choices, decide to remain ignorant over discovering their belief system is not perfect?
"Those images, of Fregak placing the seed in Triffor's pack, are not new, they were used in the original version," Martna said with a dejected tone. "It explains the origins of the Forging Tree. But we were led to believe the seed was found in the Deagron Fields, near the meteor crash."
"As you just seen that was just one of the scenes to be edited," Steffor offered by way of explanation.
Steffor remained confident in his decision to share these secret events. He trusted the revelation would lead to a higher, more poignant truth, providing them the edge they will need to defeat the Deagron Maker. Necessity dictated his actions, and he knew he would make the same choice again given the same circumstances.
Why then, can I not shake this perverse feeling that everything I do now and the future will all be for naught?
He ended the feed. There was more to show, details that would help explain the motives behind the cover-up. But the need to do so was no longer relevant to Steffor in light of what he learned the moment Draiken entered the story. The introduction of Draiken triggered an omnipotent ability, one that enabled him to connect the present incarnation of a soul, with those of past lives.
I was Draiken!
The sudden enlightenment sent a frantic wave of insecurity through his being. I convinced the young Guardians to corroborate the edited version of their epic adventure. They agreed images of the Deagron Maker would generate disruptive panic within their vulnerable society. But they needed Sevorist's sacrifice to mean something. Preying on this need, they were all to happy to accept Draiken's partial truth, that his sacrifice, in the end, prevented the Deagrons from ever returning.
'From the same soil, we will grow the scion of our God,' Draiken mandated as held forth the seed. 'In doing so, we will forever imprison the Deagron Maker.' They did not understand how I held this to be true, any more than I do now, but as it has been the case with every Citizen since, they wanted to believe. The alternative was too much to bear.
If I knew the birth of the Forging Tree would halt the Deagrons, did I also, deep inside, know that I would one day in the far future transform it. And in doing so, once again release the Deagron Maker into the world?
Confounded by the provoking question, the answer that soon formulated was even more troubling. None of this should have happened, yet somehow I knew it would.
Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy: Volume I) Page 38
