Armas looked to the silver flames that danced upon the two remaining branches of the burning tree, then turned his gaze back to the Arborist. “The Citadel commands you and your order to turn over the gilded first branches of the great tree to me.”
“Oh?” said Engelmann. “And just what are the plans that they have for these gilded relics?”
“My understanding is that they hope to evoke the favor of the THREE who is SEVEN by fastening the gilded branches as the figureheads for the Citadel’s great sailing vessels,” Armas explained to him.
Engelmann thought about what the captain had said as he stroked his mossy beard for a moment. Then, in his typical fashion, he riddled out a response dripping with his own unique wisdom. “Let me ask you a question, Captain. If the THREE who is SEVEN is deliberately removing His power from the great tree, why in the damnable darkness should we presume that He cares much at all for its charred remains?”
Without giving him much time to think about a response, let alone make one, Engelmann continued on. “You see, Armas, that is the problem indeed. All these fear-stricken men still believe that the power lies in the trees, whether it be this one here, or those across the Dark Sea,” he said, pointing off to the west. “What we should be more concerned about is seeking the light!” the Arborist exclaimed in a burst of revelatory laughter. “Ha, for it is there where His true power ultimately will be found!” he said, his knobby finger pointing long and crooked as he emphasized each of his words.
Armas thought on what Engelmann was saying for a moment before he spoke. “So … if the gilded branches are not talismans for the favor of the THREE who is SEVEN, as you suggest, then why does your brotherhood hold them in such high regard?”
“Not high regard, son. They are but a reminder—or at least, that is how I see them,” Engelmann told him. “Each day that I pass through the doors of the mother willow, I am again reminded of the apparent failure of my life’s work and calling,” he told him, fully aware of what his words implied. “But let me tell you, son, those golden sticks there … they are also a reminder for me to hope.”
“Hope?” Armas asked.
“Yes, Captain, hope,” the Arborist answered him. “For the enlightened power of the THREE who is SEVEN to show itself again, and that those who remember to seek it will not be disappointed in the end.”
“Those are strange things to hope for in these dark days, my friend. Perhaps your efforts should be to hope for the resolve and determination of the men of Haven to find timber aplenty on the Wreath. For though the idea of finding this new light sounds compelling, there does not seem to be any real proof that it exists at all.”
“But my boy, that is precisely why the hoping is both so costly and so painfully beautiful. For hope requires a surrender of your dependence on lesser things, and a trust in the greatest.”
Armas chewed on the words of the old teacher and tasted the true flavors of wisdom there. “Though I might not wholly disagree with you, Engelmann, the Chancellor has still asked that the gilded branches be brought to his chambers immediately,” Armas said. “I do not wish to cause any disappointment, lest he change his mind and retract the braids he so recently adorned me with.”
“Well, there is not much sense in going against the wishes of the Citadel, now is there?” Engelmann said playfully. “Even if their reasoning is completely void of any real truth. Come with me, then. I will give them to you.”
“You—what? You will surrender them to the Citadel just like that? Chaiphus seemed to be under the impression that you and your brothers would not be so inclined to part ways with the relics,” Armas said, a bit puzzled.
“Well, Ispen and Aspen have the same reasoning skills as our wise Priest King, don’t they?” Engelmann laughed out loud. “I am sure they would make a big fuss over their departure, but they are not here, and I am not concerned over them. What I am most concerned for,” he spoke slowly, doing his best to dramatically emphasize each individual word, “is the seeking and the finding of the light! So you see, the sooner Jhames’ ships can set sail, the closer we come to finding the fulfillment of the promise, Captain.” Engelmann concluded his argument with an exaggerated bow.
Armas stood there watching the curious, green-haired old man. He shook his head in amazement at the refreshing irreverence with which this Arborist conducted himself.
“Come now, Captain; come and retrieve the relics, and perhaps I can aid you in keeping the favor of the Citadel, huh?” Engelmann winked and then waved for him to follow.
“I don’t think I will be able to get them just yet,” Armas said apologetically. “I have yet another assignment to carry out before the silver light turns on the branches of the great tree.”
“Oh? Another assignment, you say?” Engelmann asked him.
“Well, yes. Do you remember the riot that happened just outside the Kings’ Gate, when the last branch fell?” Armas asked.
“I do indeed,” Engelmann replied. “That was the very same day I met my newest student, Michael.”
“Michael?” Armas asked.
“Yes, the groomsman who was driving the carriage that the maddened mob attacked,” Engelmann told him.
“Huh. Well, that very same Michael is my next assignment,” Armas said, intrigued at the strange coincidence.
“He is not in some sort of trouble, is he?” Engelmann asked.
“What? No, he is not in any trouble,” Armas replied. “In fact, he is about to get the very opportunity that I was hoping would be mine—an assignment to the new colony. The Citadel has named him their groomsman.”
Engelmann thought about it for a long minute. He scratched his moss-colored beard and ran his hands through his green-tinted hair for what seemed to Armas like an awkward eternity before he spoke again.
“I do not believe that Michael is meant to travel across the Dark Sea, any more than you were meant to,” Engelmann said unabashedly. “For I perceive a different sort of fate is woven for the two of you.” He considered Armas silently for another moment, peering into his eyes with a knowing and rather foreboding gaze. “But … orders are orders, aren’t they? Since you are here, well, you might as well drink your double fill from the same flagon! Huh?”
“I don’t understand,” Armas sighed, raising an eyebrow at the eccentric old fellow standing before him.
“Well, come then. I will show you what I mean, for your second assignment is most certainly in the near vicinity of your first assignment. Ha!” Engelmann laughed his wiry laugh, clearly amused at the plot unfolding in front of his old eyes.
The Arborist and the captain made their way deep into the sacred garden, closer and closer towards the burning tree. Because their eyes were focused on the iron door of the mother willow, they did not notice the purple-eyed Owele that was perched high in the remaining branches of the great tree, his white down camouflaged in the burning, silver flames.
“Michael? Michael!” Engelmann shouted from the base of the spiral stairs at the entrance to the Hall of the Arborists. “Come on, son, you have a guest here to see you; a captain, no less!”
“A captain?” Michael’s voice called from behind one of the grand bookshelves of the Arborist library. “What would Tahd want from me? I already saw to all the horses in the royal stable, and I made sure that they were all fed and groomed,” he explained as he carried a large stack of books to one of the library’s tables. As he set them down, he looked up to discover that his guest was present here in the library with them.
“Sir!” Michael said loudly, coming to attention and saluting the captain.
“Well, I am certainly not Tahd, but in a roundabout way … yes, he does require something from you,” Armas said, feigning offense.
“Lieutenant Armas, forgive me sir.”
“Captain Armas, it is now, young groomsman,” Engelmann scolded him with a creaky voice and an amused wink.
“Oh! Well, then please forgive me twice over, Captain,” Michael said, embarrassed to have disrespe
cted the man who rescued him from the arrows of the archers and the madness of the mob.
“No forgiveness necessary,” Armas said with a kind smile. “I see that your arm is mending just fine, which apparently is good news to the Arborist here! That way Engelmann can have you carry these monstrous tomes all over Haven.”
“Yes sir, it is. The healers that you sent me to were more than generous with their skills,” Michael thanked him.
“Well, that is good news indeed,” Armas said. As he spoke, his attention turned to the room in which he now found himself, and he became distracted from the conversation by the overwhelming rush of childlike wonder that flooded his thoughts. His eyes were suddenly captivated by the immensity and otherworldliness of the Arborists’ hall. The glowing columns and ancient scrolls gave off a palpable sense of something magical in the air under the burning tree.
“Well, go on, Captain; the young man is waiting to hear what it is that the Citadel would have of him. Unless, of course, you would prefer to join him as my student,” Engelmann said to him, playfully breaking the enchantment that the hall held over Armas.
“Well, it is a bit impossible to not be a student of yours,” Armas chuckled. “Ask any and all who have ever had the task of conversing with you, and see if they did not come away with a new sense of wisdom!”
The three of them laughed a good while before Armas remembered his orders. “In any case, Michael, the Chancellor and the new governor have requested that you prepare to set sail with the colony in less than two days’ time. You will serve as the groomsman for the outpost and will play a critical role in the success of this mission.”
“Captain!” Michael said, a bit dumbfounded by this stroke of good luck. “This is a great honor! How did they come by my name?”
“Well, that is of little concern to you, groomsman,” Armas told him.
“It was you, sir, wasn’t it? I know it was. Thank you, Captain. I won’t let you down!”
“It is Tahd you will have to keep pleased from now on, for I will not be joining you on the voyage,” Armas answered.
Michael’s face fell. “Why ever not? Surely they cannot find a better captain than you, sir!”
Armas scowled. “Now then. Tahd will make a fine captain, and you would do well to pay him the respect his office is due.”
“Of course … of course, sir,” Michael responded apologetically.
“As for right now, it would be wise to say your farewells to your teacher here, your family, and whoever’s daughter has stolen your affections. Make preparations swiftly, for the company will travel to Abondale in the morning.”
“Yes, Captain, I will indeed!” Michael said excitedly. He looked to Engelmann for approval, but his excitement was so great that he did not catch the trepidation on the face of the old Arborist.
“Well, young groomsman,” Engelmann said with a worried sigh, “it would seem to me that you are about to begin a journey; though I doubt it is the one you expect.” Engelmann shot a glance at Armas, and without words he communicated his disapproval of this turn of events.
“Thank you, Captain! Thank you for this chance!” Michael blurted out, still oblivious to his teacher’s warning.
“Do not thank me, for I am just the messenger,” Armas said both to the eager groomsman and to the old Arborist with the grizzled expression. “Now go. I will see you at amber’s first light by the Kings’ Gate.”
With that, Michael and Armas shook arms and nodded their silent kinship. Michael gave Engelmann an exuberant embrace before running past the golden branches and up the spiraled iron stairs.
“He will crash from the great heights that his youthful heart has taken him to today, Armas.” Engelmann spoke ominously. “I sense that his disappointment will mirror your own, only his will come by a blade that cuts much deeper.” Engelmann turned his gaze from the stairs and back to the captain who stood by his side, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow. “Though … I tend to believe that these shared disappointments are but the catalysts for an even greater good. Yes. Perhaps I should not worry so over the cause of this brief misery, for that very misery might bring the last hope for those of us that remain.”
“What does that even mean?” Armas shook his head in amused frustration. “Must you always speak in riddles?”
Engelmann smiled a knowing smile, and then pulled his long pipe out from his brown cloak and sparked it to life with a flick of his fingers.
“Even your silence is cryptic, Engelmann,” said Armas as he stared at the brooding face of the Arborist. “Please make sure that the branches are delivered to the Citadel right away.”
Engelmann nodded while puffing away on his pipe, his stare seemingly fixed on something other than the present conversation, something that Armas was clearly unaware of. Not sure what caused the conversation to abruptly groan to this eerie halt, Armas said an awkward goodbye and took his leave from the Hall of the Arborists.
The old teacher sat there in smoky silence, mulling over wisdom that seemed to have entered, unbidden, into his knowing, and in turn consumed his thoughts with an inescapable tension. Without warning, and yet without causing alarm, a great wind blew through the ancient hall.
Engelmann’s green hair whipped violently in the gale of unlooked for wind, and the glowing roots from the great tree shone brighter than even in its strongest days; the silver glow was almost blinding as the hallowed chamber exploded in unprecedented light. Engelmann stood strong and stoic as the light permeated the chamber, an anxious and yet eager expression on his face. Suddenly, from the entrance to the hall, a pair of violet eyes soared, swift and deliberate amidst the brilliant silver, towards the windblown Arborist. A storm of books and parchments, tomes and trinkets swirled in chaotic cyclones as gust after powerful gust surged from somewhere behind the violet eyes. The old Arborist turned his weight and fixed his gaze towards the storm, leaning into the wind so as to not be carried away by its force.
“What are you?” yelled Engelmann into the storm. “Who are you?” Wave after pounding wave crashed against his willowy resolve, but his heart did not despair. “What do you want from me?!” he screamed with unflinching intrigue.
Somewhere amidst the swirling winds and the crashing debris, the sound of an Owele’s screech pierced through the tumult, finding its mark in the mind of the Arborist.
The time is coming when the power you have so faithfully served will be removed from this world. Doom to all who have put their confidence in the tree alone, for evil comes even now, on the wings of darkness, to devour and enslave the race of men.
“How can we defeat this dark evil?” Engelmann shouted against the wind, struggling to find his voice. “How can we hope to overcome, if the light of His power has left us?”
Endure.
Engelmann closed his eyes, for the brilliance of the shining silver had grown even more intense. He waited, listening for the wisdom and guidance he hoped was yet to come.
But fear not, for dawn will break both beautiful and terrible, like an army with banners unfurled, like a bride pure and eager. Its coming will devour the vile serpents that have enticed the hearts of men with their false light.
“Where will we find this dawn?” Engelmann yelled at the top of his lungs, desperate for his words to be heard amidst the howling storm. “How will we endure?”
Take hope, Arborist, for parodies of death and mockeries of life will consume those who refuse to hope. But you, with a defiant act of faith, shall form a remnant of the hopeful that will endure to see the dawn.
“But who would dare to hope when the light has failed us? Who will resist the suffocating pull of fear and panic?” Engelmann begged against the wind.
This is your assignment, Arborist. You are a call to arms; you are a voice crying out in the night. You are the heart of the resistance of Haven.
Hope now. Hope always.
“But what should I—” Engelmann’s shouted question was interrupted by the deafening silence of the swift and sudden
departure of Owele and storm alike. The noise and the wind, the blinding silver and the thunderous words drained from the hall in the blink of an eye. The wind-tossed parchments floated silently to the floor as Engelmann’s mossy beard and greenish hair fell back to their proper places.
The iron willow door burst open and a voice shouted out in a panic. “Engelmann? Ispen? Aspen? Brothers?” Footsteps hurriedly pounded down the spiral stairs, and the sound of heavy breathing punctuated the panicked volley of questions.
“Engelmann? Engelmann! What happened, brother?” Elmer, the youngest Arborist, clearly disturbed by the sight he beheld, was a bit out of breath as he asked his questions in the wake of his panic. Engelmann stood there, unmoving, his pipe no longer holding a burn, his stare fixed on something unseen, and his ears shut off to the concern of his younger brother.
“Engelmann!” Elmer shouted as he grabbed his friend and shook him awake. “What happened? Is everything alright?”
The old Arborist blinked the astonishment away and rubbed his bearded face with his still trembling hands, taking in the full weight of what he had just seen and heard.
“Brother?” Elmer continued to ask.
Engelmann met his gaze, and it was clear to Elmer that something had indeed shaken this predictably stalwart teacher. His face, which normally was as tanned as the bark of his namesake, now looked as grey and brittle as a pile of spent ash.
“My brother … we have a rather weighty task to accomplish,” Engelmann told him slowly. “I am going to need you to come with me.”
“Why? What is it? What are you talking about?” Elmer asked.
“Well, to begin with, we have some shiny sticks to deliver to our …” he searched for the word, “unenlightened King.”
“Shiny sticks?” Elmer asked. “You don’t mean …? Brother! That kind of irreverence could lead to your death! You must not speak that way in this holy place!” Elmer was visibly worried, afraid that he would be considered a party to the offense. “You must recant your words before the THREE who is SEVEN does something that you might not be able to undo!”
The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) Page 32
