“I’m not a Chosen either,” Fallean reminded him. His skin bristled. The wells were a place of constancy and permanence, a source of comfort. They weren’t supposed to change. But everything was in flux. “What kinds of things?” he asked.
“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it much, even to me.” He helped Fallean with his jacket. “You’re your mother’s son! The Queen’s not bonded,” he replied, restless, anxious. “It can’t be a coincidence you’ve found your way here again. I almost couldn’t believe it when I saw you. I hoped, but…” He shook his head. “Well, I hope for many things these days.”
Maybe not a coincidence. The wells? They want me to go down into the wells? Fallean thought, his pulse quickening. What could be wrong here? He swallowed hard and followed Jeremy out.
Chapter Twenty-five
Sitting high in the tree, concealed by branches and thick foliage from sight. He had a clear view of the plains of Sedahar. He had made this journey each and every morning since the last gathering of the Chosen, fourteen days in total. For most of the day he remained there, in his roost high above the ground, observing what transpired outside the walls of Colton’s domain. Observing and cringing.
During the past two weeks, he’d watched the terrible changes. What had been barren and desolate at first now teemed with activity. The castle itself remained shrouded in mist and hidden from his view. But, the grounds surrounding it were covered with hordes of living things, frenetically rushing from one spot to the next. From his vantage point, they looked like an army of ants, though they were far more venomous than that.
The speed at which they multiplied surprised and saddened him. Shocked him in fact. They didn’t arrive from other territories. Nor did they drop from the skies or arrive in wagons, or reach the castle by boat or on horseback. Instead, they poured forth from the main gates of Sedahar. It happened each day at noon, when the massive bell inside the castle began to chime. When the ringing ceased, the colossal doors slammed shut and the beasts that just emerged joined the others swarming about the windswept grounds. Without any obvious guidance, they entered the ranks and began working, as mindlessly as they first made their appearance.
By this day, thousands upon thousands of these creatures mingled and meandered about. They carried spears whose tips glinted even in the sparse sunlight of the region, and they made nary a sound. No skirmishes broke out among them and no training was provided. No leaders emerged to organize them or direct them. Yet they increased in number, until they spilled out over the sides of the valley that funneled into the main entryway of the forsaken city.
Abominations, he thought as he watched. Unnatural Monsters, nothing more. What power he has. He manipulates nature. He twists it.
At first, he began counting their growing numbers. But after days of witnessing how quickly they multiplied, he believed there was no point. Dismayed, he watched as Colton amassed his living weapons and set them free upon the surface of the world.
Where will he strike, he wondered. Tamarand, as Edmond suspects? Will Robyn remain in Parth if it is? Will he let his father and his homeland die? Does he want the Chosen away from the heir so that he can attack Parth, or so he can destroy Robyn?
What little of the sun that had been visible through the cloying haze disappeared a while ago. The parched earth provided no sustenance to anything that may have lived there in years past. Nothing spoke to him here. Nothing responded to his touch. The land was dead.
Liam descended from the tree. Each day that he watched he grew more and more disheartened. Even the silence disturbed him now. Though uncountable numbers of these soldiers milled about everywhere, they made no noise, no sounds at all. It was almost as if they didn’t exist, that they were phantasms or specters appearing before his eyes each morning, multiplying like shadows under a setting sun. He knew the dangers he faced by attempting to discern their natures and sensibilities. He was also certain of what such scrutiny on his part would discover, the effort barely worth the risk. Still he had to know. He had to be sure.
This is a time of risk, he reminded himself. Not a time for caution.
Sitting upon the dry earth beneath the tree in which he had been perched, he placed both his hands on the ground beside him. The impact was greater than he expected. His body shuddered from head to toe, and a wave of nausea washed over him. So empty… desolate. If not for the tree that stood behind him whose roots still spread out however reluctantly around the area, the earth here would be as silent as the mutants massed below.
He probed the tree, and though its sensibilities were numbed, he embraced them. Following the longest of the roots that stretched in the direction of Sedahar, he grasped on to its bruised spirit. Traveling down the filament, his mind’s eye moved closer to the enemy. Hesitation… fear… doubt. The tree recoiled from the changes around it as its roots pierced the empty soil. But like all living things, its need for sustenance emboldened it, and it persevered, unwilling to give up and die. Disparate, incoherent images flashed through his mind, staccato-like and ghostly. There was no color, no seeds in the soil. It struggled to sustain itself.
Life is hope. A spark still, amidst the devastation. Its will to live is strong.
He reached the tip of the root and the tree could stretch no further. It found a tiny pool of water, just below the nearest of Colton’s soldiers, and drew from it as much as it could. The water was stale and tepid though it should have been clear this deep beneath the surface. Sucking at it nevertheless, it drew in whatever nourishment remained. The liquid shot through it and Liam felt the effects.
Little else was alive. The ground around the small pool was dead. Extending his senses toward the army above, he girded himself against the onslaught of emotion he expected to encounter. With care, he approached the surface. Nothing! Nothing at all. He brushed up against the beast. It didn’t attack.
Barely alive, he thought. No power in it, no evil. Stretching his inner sight as far as he dared, he found another, but the feeling was identical. No thoughts. Nothing. Maybe they’re all already dead! He reeled from the thought. Has he found a way to return the Lost Ones to the earth? To free them from the places in between? No! Can’t be. Can’t be, his mind revolted but he endured. They harbor no sadness, no desperation. Not like the Lost Ones. Lingering dangerously for a moment, he tried to decipher the nature of the beasts clogging the plain of Sedahar.
A pain shot through him, like a violent blow to the head. Someone’s found me. His mind’s touch recoiled and he constructed defenses around his body and soul. Wards flared within. He was an adept, a Chosen of the trees, and he reacted in kind. He had been careless in his zeal to discover something that would help them, and he suffered the pain of that carelessness. He would not repeat the mistake again.
Did it recognize me? Have I given myself away?
He withdrew the energy and remnants of life his presence had generated, neutralized the area around where he sat. He built a protective field of power around him, layer upon layer, one that could not include the tree. He had to evade his enemy’s scrutiny.
Forgive me. He sent what strength he could to the root’s tip as he sped down its length. The life essence that had graciously lent him its sight remained at the mercy of the enemy. Its spirit was forfeit.
A brilliant streak of blue-black light skimmed across the terrain and burst upon the bark of the tree, setting it aflame. It rose upward, covering the trunk in a shimmering cocoon, incinerating it in an instant. It passed beside Liam, and rode the surface of his shield like a sled on a frozen river, unaware of his presence.
Moments later, a figure emerged from the crowd of soldiers and walked toward his hiding place. The tree that had harbored him was now nothing more than a smoldering pile of ashes. Although he remained hidden behind his own field of energy, there was still a chance that whoever approached might detect his presence. He couldn’t let that happen.
As she drew closer, he saw the red shawl hanging liquid-like around her shoulders, h
er hair streaming out from behind, alive, like an army of serpents following close at her back.
One of the Possessed.
He searched the soil around him for something he could use, something he could imitate that would conceal him without giving him away. A pile of dry, leaf-covered twigs lay nearby, the broken trunk of a near dead tree beside it. He probed it.
A spark of life in it. Thank the First, I can use it.
Grasping the branches, he shaped them, first deconstructing and then reassembling them. He imitated the structure of the stump and hid himself beneath a duplicate of it. Two shattered trunks poked from the ground.
This ruse couldn’t wholly hide the presence of life from Colton’s dog, and she sniffed the air, her eyes wild with anticipation. The tree she had just annihilated continued to radiate, its essence floating in the static air. Liam hoped that would be enough to distract her.
She stepped forward, confident in her power, not expecting to find anything other than the remains of the inquisitive tree she had already destroyed. Her presence repulsed him. The branches around him snapped and broke under her weight, and she kicked at them in disgust on the way to the charred stump.
I should take this woman’s life now, Liam thought. But that would betray his presence to a far stronger power.
She walked to the spot where the tree once grew and looked at the ground. The ashes stirred and smoldered, then burst into flame once more. Her lips twitched with pleasure. When she was sure no life remained, she shoved some rubble into the husk and spat upon it. Hiking up her skirts, she urinated on the blackened pile. Satisfied, she walked back toward the crowds that milled about on the field below.
Liam fought hard to subdue his rage. Impetuous as he was, his anger at the unnecessary defilement of the already dead tree burned. But he remained silent. The others needed to hear his report. He couldn’t jeopardize that.
The day will come… he vowed.
Once she was far away, he relaxed. The surface returned to normal, the trunk disappeared and he stood exposed once more. The Possessed was gone. He rose from the scorched earth and began the long walk back to Oleander. Tomorrow he would return again, and again after that, until the enemy departed for its destination.
More killing and death to come. To what purpose? he wondered. We must fight. We have no choice. His losses mean nothing to him, whilst ours are so dear. Victory for us? What will it look like? What shape will it take? Our dead and his heaped upon the battlefields? Families broken, lives destroyed. Tell me, Oleander… he said to himself as he walked, …has the quest truly begun? How many will die? What will remain?
They look to their leaders, Liam, Oleander’s voice boomed in his head. The few sustain the many; The Chosen, the Kings and the Twins among others. When darkness reaches out to dawn, it is the light of hope that prevents it from ruining their lives.
Were you here with me all along, Oleander? Why didn’t you let me know? Liam asked, surprised and confused by his sudden communication.
I was not with you. You did not call me, Oleander replied.
Liam was here at the behest of the Chosen and he wondered how Oleander knew. It wasn’t as if he hid his movements from him, but he didn’t broadcast them either. He felt the unsettled tone of his Lalas.
Did you see the armies? Liam asked.
I see them now, but they are not what I fear.
Not what you fear? Liam questioned him. If not the armies, then what? he wondered. Do you know of our meetings? Our doubts?
He seeks to destroy more than his armies alone are capable of.
What are you saying? Liam replied, confused and yet relieved.
I sense something more sinister, but it eludes me. My vision is weak. It cannot penetrate this… this… He stopped before he finished his sentence.
Liam sensed it too when he touched the soldiers. He sensed it still. This army was different. There was something about it…
I will return tomorrow and we will observe again. I have been here each day and I have watched this host swell. I must explain. Perhaps together we can determine its nature.
Perhaps, Oleander responded, but there was no conviction in his words. Perhaps, the voice repeated in his head, as Liam made his way back through the lifeless rubble.
Chapter Twenty-six
“Sisters! Sisters! Calm down,” Emmeline said to the group. The air in the room was electrified. “Is it so unusual that the Tomes can be interpreted in more ways than one? We’ve confronted worse than this before.”
“Have we, sister? When, pray tell?” Jocasta asked, pacing the floor and clenching her fists. “He’s planning to kill someone and we don’t know who. How can we help then?”
Dahlia’s face was beet red, her button nose hardly visible behind her pursed lips. Rose, with a long face, stood in the corner conversing with Sevilla, whose arms flailed about her as if she was trying to fly. Bethany sat unruffled, her gnarled hands in balled fists on either side of the great book that lay open before her. Gretchen, too, showed no emotion on the other side of the large Noban table.
“What do you make of it, Bethany?” Gretchen’s eyes shifted to the eldest.
“Dark words, dark thoughts,” she grumbled in response. Her wrinkled face looked older than usual. She’d been up all night reading. “When I began last evening, I realized right away that the poem took on a meaning incompatible with that which I ascribed to it in all of my previous perusals.” Her throat rasped. She reached for the water goblet with an unsteady hand. “Forgive me if my mind is not as sharp as it could be.”
“You shouldn’t have worked for so long,” Dahlia scolded.
“I couldn’t rest until I discussed this with all of you. I felt the need pressing upon me…”
“Sister? Why didn’t you call me?” Rose was offended.
“My welfare is irrelevant,” Bethany replied, shrugging off her concern. “Urgency pervades this moment.” She attempted to straighten her back against the hard wood of the seat.
“Indeed it does,” Jocasta said, as she walked back to her own chair and sat down.
“Take your seats, sisters, all of you,” Emmeline requested of the rest. “We must work with clear heads.”
Sevilla dropped her arms to her sides and slipped into her chair, as did the others.
“Read it again, sister, if you feel up to it,” Gretchen instructed.
Bethany frowned and placed a wrinkled finger on the center of the page. She leaned in close to the book and began to read:
“What is this life for?
What path must we choose?
The more that we struggle,
the more that we lose.
We kill to preserve,
We die to survive,
A contradiction in terms?
Yet we are still alive.
Is the battle we wage worth the price of the fight?
If death is the victor, what matters who’s right?
What spirit protects us when day turns to night?
And the shadows that threaten consume all the light?
Who shall guide us? Who will it be?
The deaf cannot hear and the blind cannot see.
Of brothers and sisters, of the captive and free,
of the old and the newborn, of the land and the sea,
of those chosen to lead us, of those who yet disagree,
who will emerge, when our hopes have been dashed?
Are there heroes among us?
Have they the strength to stand fast?
Will they come to the rescue
When the black die is cast?
What harbor protects them?
Who shelters their mast from the foul winds of war?
Will he destroy us at last?”
A tiny drop of spittle escaped from her lips and she brushed away with the back of her hand.
“On the edge of despair we balance and totter,
Is safety the true one, and dare the imposter?
He does not push us,
/>
The choice is our own,
to leap or to stand up to the evil we know.
The choice to accept, the choice to deny,
The choice to consent, the choice to decry,
the choice to be stalwart, the choice to pass by,
the choice to embrace the truth or the lie.
We hold back the night that has darkened his moon.
Pity the chorus that ended too soon,
While the armies of madness march to the tune
of a song gladly sung by this prophet of doom.
His music is rife with sadness and grief
yet he smiles and he prances,
he dances and swoons,
His joy is a bitter and poisonous pill,
tempting the weak and thwarting the will
Seeks he the boy or the man for his kill?”
Her voice broke and she coughed. She reached for the goblet of water, swallowed and placed it back on the table.
“Forsake not the warnings, succumb not to sorrow,
give to the child what he has come here to borrow,
No tower can be as safe as it seems,
A wall is no shield from the violence of dreams.
You provide him a shelter, you lend him the means,
What appears a betrayal, what appears more than fate,
What appears the design, what appears consummate,
What appears to be harsh, what appears to berate,
What appears as an answer too little, too late,
Hides a truth so enormous it cannot be seen,
A thread in the fabric that holds fast the seams. “
The silence hung in the air like smoke in a windowless room.
Emmeline’s nails tapped the table. “There is much here for us to decipher. These words are not new to us. Come, come, sisters, don’t look so glum. We must remain hopeful.”
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