by RG Long
Each house had its own guard, tasked with its own responsibilities.
Condor's guard made up the defense force of the other cities of Darrion. Bear's guard was the majority of the armed forces. Leviathan held to the ships, sending men and sailors to protect the waters. Max's rule had been characterized by conserving resources and spending them wisely. Most recently, Condor house had been attempting to plant a grove of trees to provide for the future needs of Darrion.
“I desire our future to be brighter,” Max would say to the crowds that gathered at important speeches. “So we must plant the seeds for the next generation to thrive!”
There were some, however, like the nobles of Bear house who had campaigned for the last four years to unseat the ruling Condor house, who thought that Darrion could curtail the time of rebuilding under more aggressive leadership.
“We sit and wait for a future that could be realized tomorrow!” Robert, the ruling noble of Bear house argued in a recent and lively debate between houses. “I would lead us into that bright and glorious time in weeks, not generations!”
This line always got applause, but not from Bernard. He thought Max was doing the best he could. Plus, Robert was a short, balding man. Instead of possessing a fit figure, like the old but still able Max, Robert was round and tubby. Bernard couldn't find himself voting for someone who looked like he never wielded a spear a single day of his life.
Still, the debate was lively and had caused a few divisions, even within Condor.
A shortage of wood in recent years had been in the middle of the speeches. Max refused to send ships south to cut down the trees of the elves who lived there and he was hesitant to take down most of the forest to the north. Instead, he had clung to his new grove that was being planted and pleaded that wood products be kept to a minimum.
Not much wood could be found in Lone Peak. This was why both Bernard and Lincoln's spears were completely metal: strong and heavy iron that had been shaped by the skilled smiths of the city. Coal was used for fires and cooking.
Wood, then, was considered a sign of wealth and excess. Ships were commissioned only at a great cost and with careful consideration and planning. No waste of wood was to be found at the shipyard when one was made, either.
While most agreed the restrictions were a sign of restraint and responsibility, a growing number began to believe the house of Bear's rhetoric. If Darrion were to grow in stature on the continent, the harvesting of wood could be the beginning of it. A new fleet of ships was the vision cast by the Bear and many had decided it was something worth pursuing.
Since the kingdom of Darrion was founded on the famous fleet of the three original noble lords that had established the settlement of men many hundreds of years ago, it was both an issue of national pride and security. Old ships were being outrun by the pirate elves who now appeared to control most of the inner sea. The ships that had survived the pirates were finding fewer and fewer resources to repair the wear and tear of normal use.
Bernard was on the fence about the whole issue, taken too much with his own tales of bravery to be extremely concerned about the lack of wooden bowls or tables. The only thing he knew was that Max was an old city guard, and that was good enough for him.
“Looks like they know each other,” Lincoln said as the noble walked forward and embraced the oldest looking of the group, a man carrying a beautifully crafted wooden spear. They all continued on into the House of Nobles and disappeared from view.
“They look like trouble,” replied Bernard.
He had gone back to making pretend cuts and jabs at imaginary enemies and had stopped paying attention to Lincoln. His former exploits were more interesting to him than a strange group of travelers Max knew.
“Soldiers!” came a harsh voice from behind Bernard. “Report to the barracks immediately!”
Both men looked up to see their captain, Kilgore Brave. He was an intimidating man. There wasn't a hair out of place on his head and his breastplate shone with the effort of one who cleans his armor with pride. This was a real feat, as most of the armor in the guard was quite old. He had been their captain for the two years both of them had been on the Lone Peak Guard.
“Why?” asked Lincoln, looking at their captain with an expression of curiosity.
Bernard kicked him. Or at least he attempted to. Instead of connecting with his partner's leg, his foot found the wall. He was hopping up and down in pain as he yelped, grabbing his aching foot.
“Don't question your senior officer!” Bernard howled.
He looked up from jumping around on his foot just long enough to see Kilgore sigh with a disappointed look on his face. Obviously, they were not his favorite guardsmen.
“There have been reports of increased activity of the Wrents in the north,” Kilgore explained curtly. “You two are joining the rest of your company to seek them out and rid the countryside of the beasts.”
Bernard let go of his foot just long enough to salute smartly, while Lincoln almost forgot to give his commanding officer a salute at all. Kilgore turned and walked off without another word, but Bernard could have sworn he heard another sigh from their captain as he continued on down the wall.
“We're going on a trip,” Lincoln said musingly, whipping out his paper and pen again to scribble a word or two.
“A mission!” Bernard said, happily, feeling the pain in his foot recede at the thought of his future daring deeds and bravery.
More tales would be told from such a venture, he was sure of it.
3: Wood Walkers
The air hung heavy in the quiet twilight as natural Rimstone alighted the forest floor. Ancestral trees, whose roots were as old as Gilia itself, ran like mountain ranges and valleys through the meeting place of the elves. Many had come.
A meeting of Wood Walkers was underway.
Near the foot of the largest and tallest tree in the Uthin gathering, a circle of thrones was arranged. These chairs were unlike those sat on by those who called themselves the Noble elves. Stone and metal were bent and twisted and marred to create their monstrosities. Hammer and chisel murdered the guardians of the earth to conform to whatever selfish whims were in the mind of the destroyer. No mineral or root would be damaged here, or anywhere else in the land of the Walkers. These thrones were nature's alone, borrowed for a time by the Walkers until they moved on but the trees remained.
Elen and Eren knew them well.
Though brother and sister, many would not be able to tell from their appearance. They shared the same bright blond hair and green eyes, but that was where their similarities ended. Elen was strong and prideful, a hard worker and an undaunted tracker. Her brother, Eren, was short for his race and gaunt. He hardly ever pushed himself physically, choosing to think instead of act. Had she wanted, Elen could easily break him in two.
The thought had crossed her mind more than once.
But even though she thought her brother weak and inferior, she had always held back her urges to cause him harm. It was against the way of the Walkers to harm any living creature.
Including brothers.
Familial ties aside, Eren was also the last leader of their group, the oldest of chieftain blood in the small gathering of Tacot elves here. Elen and Eren shared a father, but not a mother. He, Etet, was a stout leader of Tacot and highly respected in the company of other Walkers. But after Eren was born weak and with no visible signs of health, Etet blamed his first wife for the weak offspring.
To have strong offspring was every chieftain's desire. Etet was a man who valued the way of the Walkers too much to cause his newborn son harm, but he no longer loved his bride. He found solace in the arms of another, Elen's mother. The scandal was great and the female elf was sent away by all of the other leaders in Tacot. Elen never even learned the name of her biological mother. Whoever she was, she must have been strong.
Raised side-by-side and constantly reminded of her birth order, Elen worked tirelessly to prove herself strong and capable, despite the m
istakes of her father.
And strong she was.
But despite being of the same blood as the chief of her gathering, her father's adultery prevented her from being a leader. And so she sat with her brother, loathing both the ease he clung to as a right of his proper birth, but also his inherent ability to lead.
While Etet was more a fighter who wished to sway others by show of force or strength, Eren was an elf who could outwit any who would give him their ears. That fact alone had saved Eren's life just one moon cycle previous.
Etet had led a group of Walkers out to find out more about the creatures that had been killing the animals of the forest without mercy. Eren had insisted Elen stay behind to protect the elves that remained. It was a fateful decision. The bodies of Etet and his companions were found a week after they had left Tacot.
With no other chieftain descendants to lead, Eren took over the Tacot Walkers.
And so here Eren sat. He was among leaders much more capable, wise, and experienced than he with Elen at his side as chief adviser and bodyguard. It had always been this way. Eren played the leader while asking Elen for her opinion and to protect him from harm.
The only difference now was that Etet was no longer there to guide them both. Though she would never say it out loud, Elen missed her father. Rough as he had been with her, he was the only family she truly loved. Now she was alone, or at least as close to it as she had ever felt.
At the head of the circle, in front of the largest tree and sitting atop the highest root, was Ferinan, oldest and wisest of the Wood Walkers. She was the one they looked to for wisdom and strength in times of uncertainty. It was her counsel they sought now.
Her hair was white, though wisps of red strayed here and there from her short cut. The hair on her head stood nearly on end and was no longer than a hand width. Though many Walkers preferred long braids, Ferinan was known for her short hair that was said to have been as red as a flame in her younger years. The flame, though nearly gone from her hair, had not died out from her spirit. Her hair now resembled the white colored clouds that sailed above the treetops, reflecting her many years of wisdom and experience.
“Are we all gathered?” Ferinan asked in her high, clear voice.
From her perch atop the root, all who were present must have been easily visible to her, Elen thought. She suddenly felt small, being looked down upon by the great elf leader. Instead of bringing her eyes up to look at the formidable counselor, she looked around at the others who had come.
Theirs was not the only elf gathering who had answered the summons. Many of the Wood Walker gatherings had journeyed to seek the word of Ferinan. To her right sat elves whose hair was long and braided in many small strands. They wore the furs of the animals who had died in their midst and covered all of their body in the leather these beasts had provided with their deaths. These were the Wood Walkers from the furthest reaches of the south, where even the trees did not shield their protectors from the snows that often fell there.
Three burly and rugged looking male elves sat together on a root, all equal in their leadership of the gathering. Most had their eyes on Ferinan. The one closest to Elen, however, had found her eyes with his own. He puffed up his chest and made himself seem taller. Perhaps it was to impress her. She sniffed at him and continued her gaze around the circle.
There were elves, like Elen's gathering, who were dressed in clothing woven from grasses and vines. Others, like the southern elves, wore leather and furs, though not as thick. One group sat huddled with short hair, cut nearly to the scalp. Elen was surprised to see that even their women wore their hair in this manner. Another group wove vines into their hair and even used it to supplement their clothing.
That practice must have made battle difficult, Elen found herself thinking. Then she realized that in her quest to avert her eyes from Ferinan, she had also given up her attention as well. The leader of the elves was speaking.
“...news you have brought troubles my mind greatly,” she said, finishing what must have been a long and well thought out statement. “There is much to think on, but what matter shall we decide first?”
An elf from the south stood, and commanded the floor. Elen noticed him look at her before speaking.
“We must first decide on the food we need to survive the next season,” he said proudly. “In Hatun, we have sent more of our elders to Denbar this moon than we have in the last year combined. If we continue this, we will begin to send those who are not ready to make the journey.”
Denbar.
The word hung heavy over those who had gathered. They all knew what it meant to those who took the journey and to the community they left behind. Denbar was not a place, nor was it a road to be traveled. It was the end of a Wood Walker.
In those gatherings where food was scarce and the community could no longer grow or gather enough to support those nearby, a ceremony of Denbar would take place. Around a circle of Rimstone outcroppings, the center of each Wood Walker gathering, volunteers would be asked to leave their friends and family to take the Denbar journey. Those who would voluntarily leave the gathering would do so too much praise and grieving. This would mean fewer mouths to feed and fewer elves to care for.
Elen looked at the grass at her feet. Most of the time, the elderly and gravely ill were the first to take the journey. In a time before memory, the ancient tradition of Denbar had been to seek out new gatherings where Wood Walkers could continue to thrive and grow along with the forest.
Now, it was a death sentence for those who journeyed in this manner. The gathering was life to a Wood Walker. To leave was to forsake their community’s protection and provision. For the elderly, it meant a prideful, but slow death by starvation. For the sick, it meant dying alone with no one to watch over them.
Elen had said farewell to the only woman she had ever considered a mother when she took the Denbar journey, not two moons before this meeting. The sting of her last words still echoed in her mind.
“I go so that you might thrive, dear one,” Grenol had said. “Make our gathering stronger by my going.”
Elen had watched the old, white-haired elf walk quietly into the woods and not look back. She had shed one solitary tear for the friend and mentor before returning to her duties. Denbar was not a path to be taken lightly.
Elen thought it strange. The Wood Walkers' way was to cause death to no living creature in the forest. So committed were they to this cause that no animal could be killed for food. Only those that were happened upon and found dead could be consumed, and only then the strongest of elves were deemed worthy of meat.
Mostly the elves ate what the earth provided. No leaf was ever injured that could be spared. No vine was ever taken down that had not fallen on its own. Theirs was a way of life that ensured the survival of the forest. Elen wondered if, perhaps, in their effort to make the forest live, they would seal their own downfall.
Another elf among his kin stood up to address the crowd. This one was dressed in the most simple of Wood Walker clothes: woven grasses and vines. He looked spindly, but each limb on him was toned with muscle.
Elen knew that there was a hidden strength in this man. One that any who came against him would discover.
“I am Gerlstadt of Colwe. There have been odd reports from our closest gatherings. We have heard of strange things from the northern Wood Walkers, if they still claim the ways of the forest.”
Murmurs were heard around the trees. Elen did not think these comments were well received.
“Smoke burns to the north of us as often as the sun rises,” Gerlstadt continued. “We see animals no longer journeying to the north, but rather fleeing to our gathering. They bring tales of trees being felled by axes. They say that our northern kin are killing the forest and using the new and ancient guardians as homes to live in.”
New and ancient guardians. Some of the elves who held to the most ancient ways of the Wood Walkers still called the trees the guardians of the forest. Some could even learn to
commune with the animals who dwelled among the wooden sentinels of deep forests.
Gerlstadt and his gathering were a part of those elves. But the attention was not now on how gifted Gerlstadt and his kin were in speaking to animals or their worship of the trees. Were the northern elves really cutting down trees to use as something as profane as axes to chop more? Elen thought.
Trees were never cut down before their time to die. Only after they fell were they used for the most important and desperate circumstances: fire in the winter months and bare shelters for younglings and their families. If it were true, the Wood Walkers of the north had not only forgotten their heritage, they had destroyed it. Eren stood next, startling Elen and causing her mind to come back to her half-brother's side. It was still odd to see him lead.
“Our gathering has suffered much in the last moon,” he began, voice squeaky but carrying. Elen heard the confidence behind his voice, as if he had been planning every word carefully.
“A mysterious enemy we have called the Wrents have come and attacked us several times. Like foxes on two legs, they march into our gathering and burn trees, carry off our food, and kill our younglings without mercy.”
Elen caught herself looking at Eren sideways at this last statement. While it was true the Wrents had come with fire to burn and had stolen precious food, she was unaware of any young elves being the targets of the creatures. Only her father and his hunting party of grown warriors were killed by the new threat. She cast her eyes down as Eren continued.
“Food is scarce and our neighboring elves are misguided, but if we cannot contain this threat that has arisen so close to our gatherings, what good will food and talk of preserving the forest be? We will be dead before solutions can be made. Let us find and combat the Wrents before they come and kill us all!”
