by C. J. Aaron
He felt the approach of that which he had waited for. It was still far off, yet his patience had stretched for centuries, he could suffer the next few moments. Lowering his head, pulling the cloak closed around his body, he let himself blend into the environment of his creation. The cloak around him hardened, mimicking the crystalline form of the rough stones of the wall behind him.
He lowered his head in waiting. His vision was blocked by the cloth of the hood. He used his senses to track the progress of his target. The glow, the signature it produced, was startling. It had been nearly a millennium since he’d witnessed any with a strength close to match.
The shuffled steps echoed through the hollow chamber as the individual approached. He could sense the apprehension, though the overwhelming curiosity lured him forward. A few steps into the cavern, the figure paused, carefully cataloguing the unexpected terrain.
It was time.
Ages had passed. Cycle after cycle, he had waited. The moment he yearned for was now upon him.
The crackling fire sent an ember skipping across the floor toward his feet. Letting the illusion falter, he shifted his position, reaching out with his foot to snuff the stray spark. His head rose, granting him the first vision of the individual standing before him.
The young man froze where he stood as the solid stone shifted. The color blanched from his face as he steeled himself for what was to develop. Barely older than a boy, the young man standing opposite the fire was filthy. His clothing was torn and stained, his skin covered with a coating of grime from endless hours of hard labor, yet here he stood. The look in his eyes was telling. A wave of hope, long since stifled by endless cycles of failure, surged through his body.
The feeling resonated from the depth of his soul, long since dormant.
The catalyst had come. Hope had returned.
The words that sounded from his lips were airier than he’d expected. How long had it been since he’d experienced the pleasure of human conversation.
“Welcome, friend.” He grinned. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Chapter 17
Ryl staggered at the weariness that rolled through his body as his eyes snapped open. He felt the grip of Faya at his side tighten as the scene resolved from the cloud of smoke that had filled the room.
They now stood in a wide clearing in the forest. Though spacious enough to reveal a substantial patch of clear sky above, there was a distinct gloom to the area. Shadows seemed to cover everything, coating the space with a blackness that prevented the sunlight from reaching the ground.
Dead, rotting trees were scattered across the ground as if they’d suffered the wrath of a long-forgotten scourge. The largest stump remained at the center of the clearing; its top was jagged as if it had been severed by an inexplicable force, though its trunk was nowhere to be found. The odor of decaying wood and plant matter weighed heavily in the air. The potent, thick complement of scents was eerily similar to the foul odor of death that emanated from the abominations of the Outland Horde.
Ryl stifled the urge to retch as the memories that accompanied the putrid scent sparked a visceral memory. Far too many times had he experienced that odor. Never were the circumstances pleasant.
“Where are we, Ryl?” Paasek groaned.
Ryl turned slowly, casting his weary gaze over the surrounding clearing. The trees, brambles and shrubs that bordered the opening were familiar to him. He could still feel the Erlyn, though her call was morose.
There was a sadness here that held no bounds. Ryl completed his visual circle of the opening, returning to where he had clasped hands with Da’agryn moments earlier. The experience seemed like it was cycles in the past. A sudden jolt of energy dropped him to his knees.
The torrent of emotions ripped through his body. The muscles in his core contracted with uncontrollable force, curling him forward. The warmth of elation was countered by the fresh agony of ultimate loss. The dueling emotions brought contradictory sensations of lancing pain and the salve of healing. Both mentally and physically he felt as if he were being torn apart only to be repaired in a never-ending pattern of excruciating agony.
Ryl’s hands fell to the ground, preventing his body from collapsing entirely. He sucked in massive gasping breaths as his body recovered from the exertion. The pungent aromas of rotting wood and decaying plant matter were overpowering.
His forehead was pressed against the earth. He breathed deeply of the potent earthy scent. The earth beneath his skin throbbed with a rhythmic pulsing. The heartbeat of the Erlyn was weak, barely a noticeable shudder through the dying soil, yet he could feel her still.
After a few moments, his breathing evened. The extrinsic pain subsided enough to release its iron-tight grasp over his muscles. He rolled himself back onto his knees, brushing the dirt from his hands on his pants. His breath caught as his eyes took in the sight of his cleaned right palm. There, imprinted on the skin of his palm, was a fresh set of markings.
The design of a circular maze that had dominated the interior of the handprint Caprien had left on his chest was eerily reminiscent of the markings he now viewed on his palm. The off-centered pattern of mismatched circles stained the interior of his hand. He still felt the steely grip of the phrenic in his, as if he were still locked in an unrelenting handshake with the phrenic elder.
The transference.
Ryl’s mindsight flashed to view unbeckoned. The telltale signatures of his phrenic companions and Faya were where he expected them to be. The discrepancy in the image from those standing around him was apparent immediately. A single pinpoint of condensed light sparkled in the darkened view of his mindsight. The miniscule orb was blazing, brilliant white. It was located a pace ahead of where Ryl knelt on the ground.
It remained where the figure of Da’agryn had stood moments earlier.
Ryl opened his eyes, searching for the object. There was no disguising the source of the illumination. A single seed poked the tip of its shell out of the lifeless soil. He inclined his vision, scanning the trees that lined the living exterior of the clearing. The Erlyn stood in solemn silence, though a definitive sadness weighed heavy on her boughs.
He returned his focus to the seed, scooping the shiny object from the soil with his left hand. He shook the dirt that clung to its shiny shell off by tossing it lightly in his hand. The capsule was large, slightly smaller than a chicken’s egg, yet it carried a heft that was shocking.
He flipped the seed carefully to his right hand. The moment it connected with his flesh, a wave of energy surged through his body. It started as a ripple spreading out from his hand, growing exponentially with every passing moment. The wave became a tsunami as it crashed through the inside of his body. His insides churned, his muscles fired in unison, freezing his body in its kneeling position. His hand involuntarily clamped shut, squeezing the seed against his palm as his arm stalled where it was, extended in incredible pain.
The muscles in his body constricted, locking him into position. There was no amount of willpower that could convince his fingers to open. The pain in his hand where it was sealed around the burning seed was excruciating. It was a sensation he’d felt the likes of once before. It was as if circular sections of the skin where his palm touched the seed stretched as they twisted and rotated in varying directions.
His eyes needed not view the source.
The mark of transference was in motion.
The movement, the sensations quickly became too much for his pain-riddled mind to comprehend. He found himself rapidly lost in a haze of agony.
As quickly as it had started, a crystal-clear wave of lucidity cleared the haze of pain that clouded his mind and body. Experiences and memories that were not of his own creation flooded his mind.
The clearing where they remained wasn’t spared the effects. With every conflicting emotion, the scenery flashed with a scattered array of illusions. Some were subtle, nothing more than a single artifact, out of place in the dark, dead world they appeared into: a sword, be
autifully engraved with the ornate crest of the house to which it belonged, rested on the dead soil. The sun above reflected off the hand’s width of the blade that had freed from the scabbard.
The blade dissolved as a table—laden with food and drink, all left untouched—appeared. A single glass had been spilled, though none were present to clean up the mess. Staggered drops of burgundy-colored liquid slipped over the edge.
A dingy, poorly lit hallway terminated in a single heavy wooden door. The groan of the hinges shrieked as they slowly opened. The blackness inside was endless.
The seed in Ryl’s hand pulsed with a light that mirrored the signature it provided in his mindsight. The flesh of his hands glowed red; his bones were black silhouettes against the glow.
As suddenly as the visions had started, they ceased. With the fading of the illusions, the hold over his muscles released in unison. Ryl collapsed forward as the emotions and the onslaught of experiences came to an abrupt, jarring end. The agony, the elation, the confusion of the occurrences were still fresh in his mind. He felt as if each had occurred only a moment early. He felt his own consciousness insert its will over the foreign memories. For a fleeting moment, the struggle was lopsided. He feared his mind would forever be lost to the feelings that were not his own.
The experiences from Taben, a man whom Ryl had known by many names, resolved with a startling clarity. From his earliest memories, to the last moment of chilling pain, he relived a lifetime of sensations. He squeezed his eyes shut, stopping the tears that threatened to stream from his eyes.
Ryl’s descent toward the ground was uncontrolled as his newly relaxed muscles failed to respond to command. Voices surrounded him, some comforting, others distressed, yet he understood not their origins. The notes were familiar, yet he failed to pinpoint the source. Hands supported his falling body, yet he was oblivious to their origin.
His eyes, squinted still in the absence of pain, viewed the great trees of the Erlyn at the opposite side of the clearing. The realization of the moment dawned on him with a dizzying clarity.
A shudder rolled through the forest that surrounded them. A wave of sadness, pain and loss blanketed them, rushing over them in the grips of a breeze that pushed from the depths of the Erlyn. Scattered leaves shook free from the branches, raining down like tears from the forests above.
The Erlyn mourned its loss.
Da’agryn.
The prophet.
Taben the Defender was no more.
Chapter 18
The seed was still warm in his hand. It glowed with a subdued, yet definitive golden light. Its shiny coating was remarkably reflective. Though it produced a trace amount of illumination on its own, it still reflected the errant dappled rays of sunlight back onto the enclosed pathway they now followed.
Their retreat from the deadened clearing had been made with haste—none had desired to linger there longer than necessary. The woods, though morose, had opened a single narrow pathway without prompting. Ryl’s trust in the Erlyn was absolute. Though her forms of communication were vastly different from what he’d expected, he understood her implicitly. The forest was ancient beyond his wildest comprehension, yet it ached with a fresh loss that was undeniable.
Da’agryn’s absence was a heartfelt, profound absence.
Ryl had paused before he’d entered the pathway. Andr and Paasek had moved into the shadowed entry without pause; only Faya remained at his side. Her hand was still wrapped around a fold of his phrenic cloak. She paused as he cast a final glance back at the dying clearing. He was eager to leave the area, escape its atmosphere thickened with the scent of decaying trees and leaves, yet a piece of him refused to let go.
The clearing, though remarkably different in appearance than what it had been, still represented a tangible piece of who he was. Of what he had become.
The first time he’d entered that space, he’d been nothing but a boy. Young, scared, beaten down. It was a sense of hope and the overwhelming curiosity and freedom that had driven him forward.
What he’d found that day had shaped his life.
Had altered the lives of so many. He was the savior. The phrenics, the tributes, countless others whose lives would be benefited by his actions owed him their lives. Yet in the eyes of many, he was the scourge of the kingdom. He was the murderer of the king. The ultimate betrayal of the kingdom’s mercy.
Though the time they had shared had been tragically short, the impact was profound. Ryl felt the loss. The alexen in his veins, though they were sympathetic to his pain, welcomed the piece of a long-lost friend to their fold. The welcoming warmth rushed through his veins, spreading out until it encompassed his body.
“Will the trees again grow in this space?” The voice at his side was young, full of questions. Its timbre was drastically more subdued than before. Faya’s voice had been powerful, enigmatic as she’d led them to Da’agryn’s cave. Now, her words rang with the innocent immaturity of her true age. She was but a child, lost in a cruel, ever-changing world, one in which she still had an important role to fill. She likely knew not, or understood little of what was to be piled on her.
For that Ryl pitied her, though he understood what was to be her burden. Her pain.
“That will be up to time and the Erlyn to decide,” Ryl answered honestly. “This will forever be a monument to the man who once inhabited this space. He will ever be a part of the forest, much more now than before, though his work will be long and tireless.”
Ryl closed his eyes, steadying his breathing as he concentrated on the image in his head. The figure stood tall, defiant, his hands down at his sides. The stoic pose was focused, its vision locked onto something far off in the distance. His eyes flashed from under the darkness of the hood that shadowed half of his face. They churned with the rolling clouds of storm as his piercing gaze bored through them, paying them now mind. The long, grey cloak flowed out to his side, though no wind disturbed the area.
A moment later the figure faded, evaporating into the thin air. Ryl doubled over, placing his hands on his hips. His breaths again came in rapid succession. The exertion was intense; he felt the chill of it roll through his body.
“Come, Faya,” he said through ragged breaths. “Let’s catch up with the others. There is still much to be done.”
Ryl was unsurprised that it had taken him but a few paces for his steps to become regular again. He’d stumbled a few times as Faya pulled him onward with an enthusiasm that had far surpassed his coordination.
The path they now walked was much like many he’d traversed through the forest’s interior. After a short distance, Faya had willingly accepted a position clinging to the back of the solid Paasek as the width between the trees had narrowed significantly. There was no room between the trees and bramble for the youngster to pad along at his side.
Few streams of light penetrated the dense canopy overhead. The select rays, focused and slender, cut through at a steep angle, hinting at the duration of their trek. The sun had been high in the sky when they had departed the clearing; hours had passed as they progressed through the darkened interior of the Erlyn. Glowing moss, a staple of the forest’s interior, provided gentle light, aiding them in their travels.
As much as Ryl desired to accomplish that which the Erlyn desired, he felt driven to accomplish her designs as well. He had resisted the urge to connect with the forest, feeling the need was unnecessary. He understood her ultimate desire. Though the circumstances were different, it was a fate he’d fought for as well.
They had both been prisoners between the cold, grey walls of stone.
As the palisades had corralled him and the other tributes inside, so too had it separated the Erlyn from its kin. Hundreds of untold miles of woods, trees that had once been connected to a vast network, a massive living, breathing entity, had been left to die. The founding of the western palisade had severed the roots binding the great forest together. Out of necessity and survival, her power had been consolidated into this one, condens
ed segment. The rest had been left to die. Its power waning over the generations.
Ahead, the darkened void, the end of the arboreal tunnel that was their destination began to lighten. From an all-encompassing blackness, the darkness steadily lightened, resolving into the rough texture of a massive tree trunk, its roots splayed out wide, stretching out for several meters. On either side, the cold, drab texture of stone spread out, forming a backdrop to the narrow opening. Without warning, the tree-lined path terminated as it reached the face of a massive stone barrier.
Ryl needed no explanation to understand the wall they now stood before.
The imposing face of the western palisade loomed overhead before him, though it was dwarfed by the tree that likely stretched above its parapets. The view of the wall’s top was concealed entirely by the overhanging limbs and growth of the Erlyn.
Ryl stopped as his feet reached the threshold of the forest. He cupped the glowing seed protectively in his right hand, shielding its glow with his left. He expressed no concern of threats from within the forest, his attention focused upward, searching through the trees for the peak of the stone barrier. Though it was in theory a friendly force who now patrolled the pinnacle of the stone wall high above their location, the precious cargo they now controlled demanded subtlety.
Demanded caution.
They paused for a moment, waiting in silence for any noise or motion that could disrupt their plans. A steady, rhythmic thump of heavy footsteps, boots upon the stone, gave them continued pause. The muffled report of a commanding officer filtered through the trees. Words were garbled, though the obedience and the demanded urgency was undeniable. Though no signs of motion could be seen through the foliage above, they remained frozen in place, listening as the sounds of the patrol moved steadily to the south.
At no point between the walls of the palisades was the great forest thicker than one mile wide. The Erlyn had never ventured far from the foothills of the mountain, choosing instead to mass around the base of the mighty Haven range along its length. A pair of guard towers had been constructed along the wall, one built against the solid stone of the cliff, the other a mile to the south, just inside the edge of the woods.
