by C. J. Aaron
“The last cycle has been the most beautifully infuriating experience,” he continued. “Every breath has held the anticipation of a lifetime. The passing of each and every moment seemed to drag on for an eternity. I am weary.”
Ryl felt his heartbeat increase, hammering inside his chest. The alexen inside his veins stirred.
“You have been summoned again for a reason,” Da’agryn whispered. “You are so much more that Lupl could have ever foreseen.”
His eyes moved across the whole of Ryl before meeting his stare.
“Though I have been here for ages, the woods have inhabited this world for far longer than I can imagine,” Da’agryn continued, though his voice grew fainter with every word. “Her influence, her power has faded with every passing day. Penned in between these walls, she is dying.”
Ryl felt his eyes grow wide. The Erlyn, though it had exhibited a weariness of late, had still seemed so alive. In spots, he could feel the rumble of her power underneath his feet.
“Have you ever wondered why no animal life flourishes underneath her boughs?” he quizzed. “They avoid her. The stench of her slow decay has permeated the air underneath her limbs.”
“Is there anything that can be done?” Ryl whispered.
Da’agryn smiled as he moved closer, motioning to Faya still tucked into the fold of Ryl’s cloak.
“Tell him, young one,” the prophet commanded. “The courage lives inside you.”
Faya wiped her eyes on Ryl’s cloak. She froze; her gaze remained lowered as the battle raged on inside her young mind. Ryl could see her struggling to find the words to say. After a few moments, she looked up, her pained focus meeting his.
“The Erlyn speaks to me, Ryl,” she whispered. “She shows me visions of times past. The grandeur of her domain was immense. Awe-inspiring. She sings the songs of the winds rustling through her leaves, a tune that has largely gone silent. She fears her own demise. The visions haunt me. I see her death at the blade of an axe and with fire. She must be allowed to restore, to reconnect. She is but a failing fragment of her whole.”
“The forest is not alone in her desire to reconnect.” Da’agryn sighed. “Far too long have I been a visitor here. The woods have little need for my voice any longer, yet I will still play a part. It is a debt owed, yet one that will never truly repay the act.”
“I still have questions that need answers,” Ryl blurted out. The words that escaped his lips sounded more like the ramblings of a scared child.
Da’agryn grinned.
“There are likely questions the alexen may yet answer in time. Trust in them.” He added. “There is little of consequence that I can yet teach you, my friend, but I will impart all that I know.”
Da’agryn paced forward. Ryl sprang to his feet as the prophet moved straight ahead, failing to turn around at the fire at his feet. One foot after the other stepped into the blaze.
The small fire, timbers and ash parted around the phrenic like water around a rock. A wild cloud of sparks rose into the air as the embers were jostled by his passing. As the prophet cleared the blaze, the embers reconnected, melding together as if nothing had occurred.
“An illusion,” Paasek gasped.
Da’agryn stopped a step away from Ryl. For a moment, Ryl’s eyes were distracted by the motion swirling in the designs of his elaborate tattoos. He knew the details were exquisite, yet his eyes could not focus on the intricacies.
“Remember, madness and sanity, darkness and light aren’t as far away as they might seem. They wage an eternal war. One is merely the dominion over the other,” he whispered. “Hope can give you perspective. Never lose it.”
He held out his tattooed right arm. Ryl moved to meet his grasp, yet his hand paused a finger’s width away.
“I’ll take my place among the others, Ryl,” he whispered. His mouth remained still, yet his voice echoed through the chamber. “You have made me proud. You’ve made all of us proud.”
Da’agryn’s hand closed the gap between his.
As their hands touched, the fire behind him arced. A gout of flame leapt toward the ceiling; Ryl felt the heat of the blaze on his face. For an instant, the room brightened with the light of day. As the blinding light receded, the fire sputtered, coughing up thick clouds of smoke. He heard the shuffling of the feet around him silence as the room filled with a grey fog.
He squeezed his eyes shut as they burned in the smoke.
The complex aromas of earth, spice and pine filled the chamber.
The biting wind swirled around him with the force of a gale. He felt the chill, like frozen daggers cutting through his thin clothing. His cloak, a symbol of his position, had been lost. Its absence was both an emotional and physical boon. Without the protection of the garment, he would likely freeze in the conditions. He felt naked outside its comforting embrace.
He struggled to recall when it had vanished. He knew he had left it somewhere, somewhere safe, but at the moment, he couldn’t find the strength or willpower to locate it.
A cloud, passing low, approached like the white-topped head of a massive frothy wave. He inadvertently braced himself as the front washed over him. The air, heavy with moisture, soaked through his clothing, the threads sticking to his skin. A shiver racked his body, quivering out from his core.
He felt empty.
Confusion swallowed his mind.
Inside the belly of the cloud, all sense of direction was lost. The swirling bands of white shifted wildly, up and down. They twisted to his left and right with reckless abandon. It was through sheer force of will that he maintained his footing on the ground.
There was something missing.
The cloud that surrounded him was heavily laden with confusion. Like the mist, it permeated his body. He felt his mind tearing at the disorienting bonds that held him shackled. The sensation of his blood crawling through his veins was eerily distracting. He felt as if his body was ready to tear itself in two. Reality crumbled, threatening to topple him into madness.
A gust of wind swirled around his body. The force was startling, yet unlike the others, it did little to faze him. Its power seemed to be generating from within—pushing against the violent forces that threatened to drive him from his feet. Threatened to drive him into madness.
As the winds battled for control of the pace around his body, the dense blanket of clouds scattered. He looked upward; blue sky shone through the receding wisps of mist. The blinding yellow orb of the sun was high in the sky; the warmth on his face was a relief, cutting through the devastating chill. Within moments, the clouds passed, revealing a breathtaking scene.
The juxtaposition between the impenetrable fog and the landscape that stretched out before him was startling. He stood high above the world, perched atop the stony peak of a mountain. Before him, lush green fields of wild grasses spread out across rolling plains as they stretched into the distance. There were forests, some merely small stands of trees, others vast, dotting the plains in all directions. The land was alive. Vibrant.
To his left, the living plains stretched out as far as his eyes could resolve. There were signs of human construction well in the distance. To his right, jagged peaks of stone pierced the skyline. Far off, the green of the plains ceased abruptly in a line of darkened soil. Too dark to be sand, the earth looked as if it had been scarred at the hands of a massive fire. The charred terrain continued until it rolled over the curve of the world.
The realization of the sheer height he stood upon sent a momentary chill through his body. His mind sent the panicked signals rushing throughout his frame, the impulse to secure his stance was involuntary, yet his muscles refused to move. He felt as if his feet were encased in the stone beneath them. His vision darted to his feet, travelling along the face of the mountain to the land below.
At the base of the stones, a great forest dominated the land, pushing out into the rumpled plains beyond. There was no true measure of distance from this altitude, yet viewing the forest below gave him the dist
inct impression that the trees were massive. The canopy was thick, though it revealed nothing of its interior. Looking at the woods, he felt a distinct feeling of calm and focus. The confusion that tore at his mind cleared.
At the base of the mountain upon which he stood, a small settlement inhabited a clearing. A massive waterfall pounded down into a pool at the base of the cliff; a river carried its water off until it disappeared into the cover of the trees.
At that moment, he realized where he stood.
His feet were planted firmly on a narrow outcropping that jutted out from the face of the mountain a distance of a dozen meters. The ground beneath his feet was smooth, unnatural. The stone had been modified by the hands of man, worked into a seamless polish. He leaned forward, carefully peering over the edge of the carved stone before him. The height was dizzying. The breath caught in his throat as he viewed the massive form from above.
The recollection of the figure that toyed with his mind was from a vastly different angle. The image burned into his consciousness was of the massive statue looming over him. The raised foot seemed ever ready to crush the small settlement of Tabenville below. Aside from the angle, there was something that felt off about the statue. His mind was still clouded, yet he could sense the difference. From atop, the enormous statue was no less impressive.
There was something else. A feeling blossomed that nagged at his senses. A warmth spread through his body, starting from his core. The heat began as a welcome, inviting companion, cutting some of the bite from the blustery winds that swirled around him. It quickly mounted, heating further until it scorched his insides. The focus shifted from his back to his front as the agonizing burn pushed forward. When he felt as if he could bear no more, there was a distinct snapping, a pop as the inferno that had swelled inside pulled from his body.
The utter cold that filled the void in its wake was no less devastating.
Even through the unbearable chill, he found himself distracted by the vision before him. As the heat had separated from his body, the figure of a man materialized. Dressed in nothing but trousers and a shirt, he seemed unfazed by the icy condition of the altitude. His clothes had the appearance of finery, yet were stained and unkempt. His right arm was covered in a pattern of tattoos that defied logic. The immaculate designs seemed to shift with dizzying speed, exquisitely detailed, yet utterly indistinguishable.
He watched as the man moved a step forward, pausing as his feet reached the edge. The toes of his shoes dangled over into thin air. For a moment he seemed to study the terrain that surrounded him. His head angled slightly to each side as he surveyed the visions available from the top of the world. As the tangent of his gaze moved to the southwest, the change in his demeanor was visible.
His form went rigid. The muscles in his arm flexed while his gaze focused downward, to his right. The figure’s right hand flexed, squeezing into a tight fist. Slowly, with effort, as if he battled against an invisible weight, he curled his arm toward his chest.
Ryl felt the initial tremor that shook through the mountain. The vibrations coursed through his feet, rumbling through his body as they intensified.
From the side of the mountain, a massive stretch of stone ripped from the face. The sound of its violent separation roared like thunder as the mass of rock rent from the face of the cliff. The stone that rose before him had the appearance of being polished to a smoothed, manufactured perfection, yet it moved, bending and flexing much like skin. The movement mimicked the motion of the man before him.
After curling itself, the arm extended, its single finger pointing toward the barren, lifeless stretch of land that dominated the southwestern horizon.
The focus was intent; he watched the arm in a state of memorized amazement. How the stone moved, behaved like skin was beyond his wildest comprehension. From somewhere deep inside his body, an unexplainable nagging, a persisting hint of understanding lurked, yet his mind was a blank slate. How could someone control the stone with merely the motion of his hand?
So intent was he on the wonder that was occurring before him that he failed to realize the man before him had paused. His gaze had been focused, watching the product of his creation. Ryl gasped as his focus travelled back to the figure. His head had twisted, its powerful stare centered directly on him. His arm remained aloft, his hand pointing toward the horizon.
The man’s face was handsome though lines of worry wrinkled his features. His skin was as weathered as the rest of his exterior. Small scratches and dirt marred his skin. Apart from his disheveled appearance, his eyes were striking in their clarity. A brilliant blue center was wrapped in undulating wreaths of swirling white. They looked as if they churned with the fury of a storm wrapping around a clear, calm center. Around the periphery, however, a thin strip of black moved with a life of its own.
The more Ryl stared into his eyes, the more startling the reality became. Independent from the clouds that stormed around the middle, the black stain around the exterior seemed to be probing the clouds for access within. There was a great battle being waged inside the orbs that stared back at him.
Ryl found himself inexplicably terrified of the outcome.
A corner of the man’s serious lips curled into the beginning of a smile. He nodded his head as he understood the realization of what Ryl witnessed in his eyes.
“There are answers in the darkness,” the figure whispered. His voice resonated through the entirety of Ryl’s body. He felt the impact of every syllable as they echoed through him. “Have hope.”
Without another word, the man pivoted his head back toward the horizon. As his vision shifted, he squeezed his outstretched hand into a fist. The stone appendage followed suit. For a moment, he held the pose before spreading his hand, holding his palm facing toward the southwest.
Ryl felt the sigh as he released his hold over the colossus of stone. The mountain shuddered as the man’s shoulders sank. His pose, a moment earlier the figure of embattled strength, was now pitiful in comparison. With head held low, he shuffled back step after step.
Each motion brought them closer together, though Ryl was unable to move. He struggled with all his might, willing his feet to move. As the gap closed, the burn of heat swelled. The moment before their bodies collided, the temperature was scorching. The agonizing burn matched the sensation that had ripped through him when the apparition had torn from his figure. His eyes squinted, holding back the tears. He gritted his teeth, grinding them together for fear of screaming out in agony.
Unlike the utter chill that had soothed the pain earlier, the burning raged on in his body. He could feel the agony as if every muscle were set aflame. The signals raced through his body, though the messages were lost before reaching his mind. The battle waging there overwhelmed the torment of his limbs.
Like the battle that waged inside the eyes of the figure, Ryl felt the churning of the storm battering the inside of his consciousness. Stains of impenetrable blackness stabbed at the storm, each lance sending jolts of pain through his core. He longed for the confusion that had choked his perception earlier. The disorienting mists had evaporated, revealing the true tumult disguised beneath. The shroud revealed a war waged for his sanity.
The outcome became shockingly inevitable.
Madness would prevail.
Ryl felt his right foot lift off the ground. A deliberate motion, though it was not he who had called it forward. The stride was long, purposeful; the left followed suit.
The polished edge of the mountain face lurched closer. Ryl pleaded with his legs to stop.
His voice was pitiful.
It was drowned out by the screaming of the storm in his mind.
There was no hesitation. No hint of apprehension to the steps.
With one last stride, his feet pushed off.
For a moment, the weightlessness was thrilling. The tormenting storm in his mind, the inferno inside his veins paused as they marveled at the sensation.
Ryl felt as if he could continue walking forw
ard, stepping out into the clouds.
The darkness of the storm and the fires in his body resumed as gravity regained hold.
Panic.
Complete and utter terror gripped the fleeting cognizant remains of his mind. Through the fire and the storm he felt the undeniable fear as the wind rushed over his body. The massive forest that padded the edge of the mountain swelled as he approached at a terrifying speed. The ground below rushed upward to meet him.
The pool carved from the pounding waters of the fall, shrouded in mist, would see his landing.
Would see his demise.
He opened his mouth to scream as the earth below approached. His flailing body plummeted closer.
At least the chilled waters would bring an end to the inferno that raged through his body.
With no hope left, he resigned himself to the thought of the momentary cooling balm.
Face first, his body slapped the surface of the water.
His eyes opened slowly. He sat with legs crossed on the dry, earthen ground. His back rested against the disintegrating bark of a long-dead tree. Something unexpected, yet entirely welcome disturbed his vigil.
He closed his eyes, picturing his surroundings as he desired them. An earthen cavern, its shimmering stone wall forming a rounded ceiling above. Stone benches lined the walls of the chamber; a table remained unused, a relic of a long-forgotten past. Crude pallets for beds staggered against the perimeter of the walls. All covered with the undeniable looks of disuse and extreme age.
The object of his endless focus approached at last.
He pictured a fire. A small blaze for cooking, light and heat.
For comfort.
The reality would be jarring.
He opened his eyes, knowing the vision that would appear before his eyes. The cavern before him was exactly as he had pictured, down to the minute details. The small fire in the center of the room crackled away quietly; small sparks flitted into the air. He grinned in satisfaction.
