by C. J. Aaron
The trees were scattered throughout in a peculiar pattern. Though seemingly random, they had an undeniable look of purposeful organization that exceeded his expectations of natural order. Nature, like the Erlyn, never ceased to amaze him with its creativity.
Andr approached the closest tree, running his eyes over the lot. There were easily one hundred trees spread out across the rectangular area. Holding out his arm, he gently parted the vines, stepping closer to the trunk. As his eyes continued to study the tree before him, they paused momentarily at the ground at its base. The earth sank inward as it met the stump, revealing the top of the roots below.
Everything in the clearing was grey, bland and ashen. The roots, partially hidden by the drab soil, however, were blood red.
Andr glanced to his side, seeking the faint glowing outline of Da’agryn. The ancient phrenic approached the tree closest to him. He paused for a moment, cocking his head slightly to the side before reaching his arm out, placing his palm on the thin bark.
Andr thought he saw the prophet’s body go rigid for an instant. As quickly as the tension had appeared, it was gone. The phrenic stood relaxed, leaning his weight on the arm pressed against the trunk. His head nodded slowly as he mumbled a string of unintelligible words to himself.
His vision was drawn back to the trunk before him. Though in appearance, the tree was but a shell of its once thriving self, it seemed to exert a pull over him. The magnetism was undeniable. It drew him in, like a siren luring its quarry to its side.
Andr’s every inclination, every fiber in his trained body cried out in protest. His ingrained training pleaded with him for pause. To resist the unnatural urge. The hanging vines at his sides began to sway in eager anticipation.
The woods had yet to steer him wrong. With a deep steadying breath, a subtle shake of his head, and a whispered profanity under his breath, he stretched out his hand.
Chapter 10
“Stop,” boomed the voice at his side.
Andr flinched at the strength of the sudden charge.
The green shimmer that had surrounded Da’agryn only moments earlier had faded. The phrenic appeared hale, more solid than he had moments earlier. He loomed over Andr, his eyes shrouded in shadow from the hood, yet the intensity of the pointed gaze bored into him.
“You will find nothing of use here.” The prophet’s voice had softened. He retreated a step away from the trunk, motioning for Andr to follow him out from beneath the swaying charcoal vines of the tree.
“In the ages I’ve walked these paths, I’ve never glimpsed this chamber,” the prophet continued. “Whether this construct has been secreted away all these cycles or is a creation only moments old, I could not begin to tell. The fact is immaterial. The need has arisen, and the Erlyn has seen fit to provide a solution.”
Andr puzzled at the statement.
“Created?” He gasped. “As a solution to what?”
It took but a moment of introspection for the answer to resolve with startling clarity. Da’agryn smiled before the words escaped the mercenary’s mouth.
“The Lei Guard. The Erlyn means to save them.” His voice did little to hide his excitement and the emotion behind it.
The prophet’s smile blanched slightly, drooping until only one corner remained raised. The effort was forced.
“Assist them, she will, yet saving them will come at a price,” he answered cryptically. “She can remove every last drop of the taint that has poisoned their bodies.”
His head drooped slightly as he paused. The prophet folded his arms behind his back, exhaling a deep sigh. His shoulders shrank as the air escaped his lungs.
“Look at this clearing. Look with not only your eyes but your senses as well.” Da’agryn wandered through the trees, avoiding the vines as he passed. “Do you not feel it? Or more importantly, the absence of it?”
There was a subtle difference. Andr noted the overall state sensation in the atmosphere. So much had changed in his body over the course of a few short days. Though he was coming to terms with his altered state, the differences still annoyingly eluded him.
Every sense felt enhanced. The rubbing of his clothes against his skin was dramatic. He felt each tiny hair as it was brushed aside. The scents of the forest were overpowering. The heady smell of damp earth and loam mixed with the sweet aroma of wood. The result was as empowering as it was disorienting.
He noticed it now as he watched the clearing with enlightened eyes. Since the boon of the Erlyn, the scenery had felt so alive. So powerful. Here, the woods seemed lifeless, yet there was a purpose he could sense. An subtle, underlying importance no words could describe.
“That you feel it is evident.” Da’agryn grinned. “I’ve witnessed the recognition dawn across your features. This area, though a part of the forest’s domain, shares no connection with the woods that surround it. The trees exist on their own. Neither the roots nor limbs share the power that thrives around them.”
Andr reached down, collecting a handful of the loose soil that spread out around his feet. The dirt separated easily. The clumps were dry, fracturing in his hands as he worked them slowly apart. The individual grains separated, falling through the gaps in his fingers much like fine grains of beach sand.
“These trees share no life with that of the forest,” Da’agryn continued, though his voice and essence blurred as his tenuous solidity gave way to greater translucence. “The precious bits of fragile life that beat through what remains of her domain cease at the boundaries of this clearing.”
“Then why lead us here?” Andr wondered. He wiped the dirt from his hands, leaving powdery brown smudges on his pants. “What purpose does this dead glade hold?”
Da’agryn cracked a weak, pained smile.
“Though bleak, the glade still lives. It exists with a purpose that is uniquely its own.” His airy voice dissipated. His words seemed to carry on the breeze that gently swirled amongst the trees. “This place holds a future for some.”
“It holds their salvation,” Andr gasped, though the prophet continued unabated. His time was running short, as his features wisped away with the breeze.
“Those corrupted can be cleansed of the taint that has polluted their cores,” Da’agryn whispered. “Like the sterile soil below your feet, what remains will be stripped of all power. Though the blackened stain of the Horde will be destroyed, so too will the alexen.”
“Yet they will live?” Andr stated. “A life devoid of unnatural power is still a life worthy of leading. Wonders have been created by those with far less.”
“Aye, my friend. They will still live.” Da’agryn sighed. “Bring them to the trees.”
As the final word left his lips, the vision of his body ceased. Thin wisps of green floated away, carried by the final tendrils of air that pulled back into the heart of the woods. His voice faded into nothing more than a slight rustle of leaves.
Chapter 11
The fervent debate that rolled through those gathered in the inner sanctum of the woods ceased as Andr moved toward the trees. All eyes followed the mercenary, mouths agape as his body strode unimpeded by word or touch to the woods. Tributes and guards alike parted before him as he moved.
His eyes were focused far beyond them, though none could distinguish their target. Andr’s steady pace gave no indication of deviating from its present course. They eagerly moved aside before testing his resolve.
Though most had experienced the mysterious workings of the hidden pathways through the forest, a collective gasp arose as the trees shifted before him. Without a word or glance behind, the mercenary strode forward. The trees swallowed him as soon as his body crossed the threshold.
It was moments before anyone spoke.
It was moments before a new debate, no less fervent than the first, began anew.
Tributes and guards alike rushed to the tree line, peering into the impossibly dense foliage that concealed their forest shelter.
“Where did he go?” Cray yelled at the phrenic
s. His face contorted as he immediately regretted the harsh tone of his voice. He’d lashed out at those who had clearly no influence or control over the mercenary’s actions. “Can you find him?”
The phrenics’ eyes met for an instant, long enough for a moment of understanding to pass between them. It was Vox who spoke for the remaining warriors.
“With no knowledge of where Andr has gone, there is no way of opening a path to him,” Vox relayed. The questions issuing from a multitude of lips in unison blurred into a cacophony of unintelligible noise. With raised hands and a wave of calm from his core, the phrenic silenced the stunned crowd.
“Fear not the path he now walks,” Vox continued reverently. “The Erlyn has done nothing but provide. There are only a handful among us here who can hear her. Few can understand her voice and her will. Fewer still can control the pathways into her midst. Andr is one of them. Trust that she has yet to steer you astray. Andr will be back, of that I’m certain.”
None could answer the deluge of questions that poured forth. Those who attempted worked under the guise of hypotheses and feelings. The sides, who had been pitted against each other, now blended further as the new debate churned their opinions.
Though it was some time, the inevitable return to the original topic at hand asserted itself over the gathering. The uncertainty prevailed as the discussions revolved around the fates of the incapacitated Lei Guard now under supervision.
One side begged for mercy.
The other demanded justice.
Both opinions were flavored by biases. Some ingrained over a lifetime.
Captain Le’Dral again found himself as the intermediary. His was the voice of the moderator. The focal point where all the attention, the angst, the fear was focused. His placating hands did little to swell the tides of impassioned pleas that crashed over him.
“They are in need of our help.”
“They can be saved.”
“They are a lost cause.”
For every argument, a counter, just as forceful.
“These were our brothers. Our sisters. We’ve languished under the same oppression together, for a large portion of our lives.” It was Sarial’s voice that broke over the crowd. “I saw it in the face of Elias. There is still good inside him. There is still hope they can be healed.”
There were murmurs of assent from the group. Most were issued from the mouths of the tributes. Few guards seemed to agree with the sentiment.
“They’ve been poisoned and corrupted past the point of redemption,” came the retort from within the crowd. Guards amongst the masses nodded their heads in pained, yet silent understanding. “They are not the same as the ones you loved before. The memories of those lives are lost beneath the circumstances of their conditioning. They are butchers, though they are likely tortured, nonetheless. It would be out of compassion that we end their lives.”
The counterstatements hung over the air, clouding the clearing with a gravity of doubt. All felt the weight as the severity of the impending decision loomed.
“Whether there’s good inside them or not, likely none can still say.” The voice was ragged and airy yet commanded an authority and a power that momentarily silenced the argument.
Cavlin, with the assistance of a crutch, ambled his way into the crowd. Even in the dim light of the clearing, the guard’s face was strikingly pale. His skin shone with a dull alabaster that served to accentuate the litany of scars and bruises that covered his body.
Bones protruded moderately from beneath the skin that was pulled taut across his face. The soldier’s torso was covered only in a thick wrapping of bandages. Small stains of red blotted through clean covering in several locations. He stopped at Le’Dral’s side, leaning heavily on his makeshift crutch.
“There is logic among both arguments,” Cavlin acknowledged. “Through no fault of their own, they’ve been cursed from birth and condemned thereafter. It will be the tributes who continue paying the ultimate price for sins that have been wholly and undoubtedly out of their control.”
There was genuine empathy in his eyes as he regarded the tributes around him. He winced as he twisted his torso sluggishly to view more of those assembled.
“There are just shy of fifty souls inside that chamber.” Cavlin waved an errant hand behind him toward the opening of the tree. “They deserve compassion. Yet the devastating power they represent cannot be overlooked. The skill of but one should they awake would be challenging. A concerted attack by even a few would all but seal our doom. Even with the assistance of our phrenic allies. The choices at hand are limited, and none are pleasant.”
There were quiet murmurs that rippled through the crowd like waves across a pool.
“Their lives have been bleak.” Sarial’s voice was pained, though the intensity was dwarfed by the torture written across her face. Fresh lines of tears ran down her cheeks. “That they’ll be so close yet denied the chance to take a breath of fresh air as a freed man or woman is an especially cruel twist of fate.”
A momentary racking sob rolled through her frame. Zed pushed his way to the crowd to her side.
“Freedom, if even for a moment, is priceless.” Her voice was a ragged whisper between sobs. “I’m blinded, for I don’t see another choice.”
Her reasoning was interrupted by a gentle rattle of leaves from the forest’s edge. A mild breeze pushed through the crowd as the foliage swirled as it parted. Andr appeared through the narrow opening. A wide grin split the rigid features of his face.
“The outcome may be dramatic,” he said. “Yet there is another way.”
Chapter 12
Ryl stalked from the interior chamber under the great tree. His head dipped slightly as he passed beneath the massive roots that rose to form the treen ceiling of the room. He savored the fresh air that rushed into his nostrils, breathing deeply to rid the pervasive stench that lingered.
The foul aroma from the healing brew of the blighted rose clung to his senses. He shuddered as memories of the potent, horrid taste asserted itself into his mind. They manifested with a tangible force that sent chills rolling down his spine. Ryl paced toward the center of the massive clearing. The acrid scent of the controlled fire only provided a temporary relief from the necessary evil that was the leaves’ purpose.
Though hundreds now inhabited the hidden clearing, the space was eerily still. Few moved throughout the opening. Sentries had been posted before the solitary entrance of each of the six great trees. Others patrolled the fringes of the forest. The majority were consumed with tending for the tributes or the injured.
Vox and Ramm stood like statues, hoods drawn, near the remnants of the fire. A sudden rush of emotion, projected from one of the pair, bid him approach.
There was urgency in the anxious emotion.
There was worry.
Around the fire, a council was gathered. Much needed to be discussed. Decisions needed to be made. Ryl lengthened his paces as he approached, though he was in part hesitant to join.
He had awoken, dazed, less than a full day earlier. Unlike past episodes of unconsciousness, his strength had returned with surprising rapidity. He recalled his recovery after Andr had fished him from the depths of the pool at Tabenville. His rehabilitation had taken moons. He was sure that his awakened alexen and the power that flowed through the woods were to thank for his present haleness. He suppressed a feeling of uneasiness as the knot in his stomach grew. He could ill afford to lose more time.
Much had happened, yet there was still far too much to do. He felt as if he’d missed far too much, even in the short time he was incapacitated. The Erlyn had provided a solution to the mounting problem with the Lei Guard. If Elias was able to revert, could the others as well?
Ryl had walked the grove with Andr as the last of the incapacitated Lei Guard had been brought to the trees. The mercenary had been emphatic upon his return, and his explanation, though unbelievable, had proven the most compassionate of solutions.
The woods offered a
promise of safety, though the price was profound. Though likely the afflicted, those corrupted by the taint of the nexela, would prefer life over death, the process would permanently strip them of all power within their blood. Both alexen and nexela would be gone. They would be utterly and irreversibly normal.
Normalcy.
A plagued word to describe the result. The tributes corrupted into Lei Guard would live with the horrors of their treatments, both inside The Stocks and without. Ryl found fleeting hope that their memories of their processing and the life after would be clouded at best. Ultimately, it was yet another decision, none less meaningful, that was made for them without their consent.
Ryl shuddered as images of the grove flashed back to mind. The utter lifelessness of the clearing was obvious. It was a void in the vibrant, though weary expanse of the Erlyn. The images and senses were powerful and profound.
From each tree a body was suspended several hands from the ground. Even witnessing the act but a single time sent chills through his body, raising the gooseflesh on his arms.
The hungry tendrils had searched for the bodies that were propped in a seated position against the trees’ thin trunks. The vines moved with a sentient purpose, probing at the bodies as they sought purchase. They sluggishly coiled around the object of their attention. Stripped of their black cloaks and soiled, tattered clothing, a twist of vines wrapped them from their chests to their knees. The pointed, dull leaves of the tendrils stuck to their skin, covering much of the naked forms.
The terminus of the vine hung below the feet. Each swelled before issuing a single black drop. The sticky liquid more oozed than dripped, striking the mild divot underfoot with a muffled slap. The staccato rhythm was the only noise to disturb the silence of the grove.
