Sapling: The Blade of Ahtol

by Dan Gillis

  Suddenly, Shien was pushed roughly aside. It was Zyr. The monk rushed over to Firah and set himself in a low stance, his legs square to the ground. He spread his arms outward to the sides, hands open and palms down. Drawing a deep breath he began to weave while moving his hands close together in front of his bare torso. They were positioned strangely, like holding an imaginary ball. Then, Shien saw the mystic, with a flurry of movement, create a strange effect. The hands were moving too fast to see, but he could make out the semi-transparent circle, which could be seen from the passes of Zyr’s hands. Shien could not discern what it was exactly; he had no knowledge of magic or its nuances. The best he could determine was that he was weaving some sort of siphon. Twisting trails of white hot energy began to slowly peel off the colorful nexus swirling around Firah, drawn into a mystical ball which the monk had created. The strange man had not shifted his stance, even his head remained perfectly still. His demeanor was cast in grim solemnity, his blue eyes shining hard in reflection of the passing trails of white power. Finally, as the last strand ripped away, the girl was flung to the ground by the force of the twisting energy.

  Zyr gathered in the remaining strands and raised the shimmering ball above his head. His whole body glowed from the resonance of the power within his grasp. Shien watched in amazement. Clearly, he had underestimated the humble man. During their talk, Zyr had been very polite and courteous. Shien had measured the meekness as a flaw, perceiving Zyr as weak. How different was his assessment now, as he watched the man wield staggering amounts of energy.

  “You two! Get back now!” Zyr shouted out with a strained voice. Shien ran quickly to Firah and helped her up. She was as limp as a weeping birch. Yet, her expression showed alarm as her thoughts remained coherent. She nodded to him as he steered her away from the proximity of the hunched Weaver. Then at once, Zyr brought the energy sphere to the ground in a swift direct motion. The ground reeled and pitched beneath the blow; everything was thrown into motion. A massive fissure opened beneath the monk’s legs. Violently it began to spread apart, one side of the forming chasm rising high over the other. The land groaned and rolled in protest to the disruption of its slumber. Shien struggled in the tumult, clutching a limp Firah in one arm and grasping a tree firmly in the other. The ground continued to struggle in anger as the power dispersed throughout the area. Time passed beyond recognition as all waited for nature’s tirade to cease.

  After a time, the earth ceased its fury; all became still. The land had changed significantly. Green flora had sprouted up for a great distance around, blooming in maturity. The grove had become a substantial wood, thick and lush. Waterfalls of foliage now decorated the sides of the cliffs and spilled over the enormous crevice into the depths below. Then Shien’s heart skipped a beat; Zyr was nowhere in sight. The ground had opened right beneath his feet! Surely he could not have …

  Shien placed Firah down and rushed to the precipice, quickly scanning the chasm for any sign of the fallen Ashori. He spied a slender crack in the fissure wall and then noticed the hand grasping tightly just inside the breach. Jumping into action, Shien leapt across a negotiable gap in the chasm. He dashed to Zyr's location and lay flat while extending his reach. Stretching, he secured the healer’s hand and began to heave upward. With some effort he pulled the monk out of the chasm. Zyr slumped to his knees, and shook his bowed head from side to side in apparent antipathy. He looked up slowly to the two young fools, his eyes a shade of frozen blue. “It would seem I cannot even find a few hours of peace, can I?”

  “I’m so sorry,” she pleaded quietly as she knelt beside her silent protector. He had been quieter than usual this evening. He stared into the fire they had created here in this wondrous new garden. The night sky was cloudless; the stars were all present, flowing waves of light particles across the blackened sea. “What else can I say? Zyr, I don’t even know what happened … I wish I knew.” She gazed into the dancing flames and sought for understanding.

  “I have not been ignoring you intentionally, Firah. I have been putting a lot of thought toward the situation we have all placed ourselves in. I wonder if you ever considered that I sought you out that night in the village.” She nodded affirmatively; obviously she had thought there was more to his presence than he initially led them to believe. “I wanted you to take my purse. It was an assessment of sorts.” She began to flush in embarrassment, and seeking to rectify the situation she reached to her belt and undid the snaps to the pouch there. She withdrew the contents and held them out in the firelight for them to see.

  “I guess you’ll want all these things back … oh and this too,” she fingered the brooch pinned to her shirt. Zyr held out a hand, but it was vertical, suggesting a refusal.

  “I only request the dice to be returned. You may keep the rest.” She placed the two six sided items in his awaiting palm. He squeezed his hand shut and closed his eyes tightly. She watched his manner, and felt a pang of guilt.

  “I really am sorry, they must be incredibly powerful, and you could have made use of them today.” She hung her head slightly.

  “Actually, they have no power at all.” She snapped her head up, her features alight in confusion. He smiled slightly, for the first time she could remember. “It’s a keepsake from long ago … about how lucky one can be.” He paused in thought, his eyes were distant. “They also remind me of a promise; actually … no … it’s more like opportunities missed, lost moments which drifted away in the winds of time.” His voice now echoed the look in his eyes. He seemed so far from her now, even though she could lift a hand to touch him. He stared into the distance for a time. Firah dared not disturb him. He seemed so peaceful and somehow remorseful as well. It was a perplexing and uncomfortable moment.

  He turned his eyes to her and opened his hand again. “You see, they are quite ordinary, except for the fact they are made of Serpentor bone.” Firah wondered how such strange bone could ever be categorized with normalcy. Zyr placed them within his own pouch.

  “Are you sure about these? I mean this stone … It was incredible! I didn’t get touched by the fire at all. It was really scary. I’m sure you will miss this!” She wondered about what the monk’s priorities were in life. First money and now this. Common sense did not seem to be particularly high on his list. Zyr read the telltale signs upon her face.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Firah. While this Deepstone is extremely rare and a potent protector, I would rather you have it. I feel more at peace when I know that you are safe. That peace of mind goes a long way in a conflict as it allows me to focus easier on what is required. Also, I do not want you to think that all things always go according to some plan. I had a hunch that a possible attack would be attributed to an Ashori; however, if it had been a different sort of weave … well … I suppose we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Fate is like that sometimes.” She was dumbfounded, but it soon gave way to curiosity.

  "What is Deepstone?" she asked inquisitively. He nodded in acknowledgement of her question.

  "An excellent question. Deepstones are a fascinating study. This particular stone looks rather plain and ordinary, doesn't it? Actually, it is an unfathomable merger of natural element and untold altering-capacity. You see, Aerluin's power extends as great threads throughout Aeredia. They are always in motion and sometimes come near the world's surface. Needless to say, it is a rare and potent occurrence. When two or more of these threads intersect, a peculiar reaction occurs. The substances which happen to exist upon these crossings become imbued with Her great potency. There is a potential that any being could become attuned to the material in question; to wood, water or, in this case - to stone. Each substance is unique in its ability and certainly there are no two alike. Deepstones are also called Bloodstones for earthy substances are often attuned through the interaction of a person's blood. Once it is attuned, the Deepstone is generally loyal for life, and it can adopt the properties of other energies temporarily as you saw in the city."

  “Bloodstone … oh, I
see." she replied. Her face was a picture of illumination and puzzlement as she connected the teacher’s words with her experiences. "And this?” She touched the brooch lightly.

  “I cannot tell you much about that other than it is made of Deepstone as well. I knew it was for you when I saw it on your vest the morning we left Lenhir. I am certain it has something to do with the form of energy we saw today. I wish I knew more about it, but curiously, we do not understand all the properties of altered elements. It seems they can be as varied and unique as people and the many races upon the land. For example, that gemstone seems to only respond to females. I have tried in vain to delve its full purpose many times. I suppose discovering its significance will come more on your own. I am sorry; that is all I can tell you.”

  "I really don't know much about all this talk of power and those amazing things you do. How does it all work?" Firah looked to her friend more attentively than perhaps she had ever been.

  Zyr smiled inwardly as a memory of his youth flashed across his mind. She was like him, thirsting for knowledge of the wondrous workings of the world. Her curiosity and youthful candor was a forgotten melody echoing in the halls of memory. “First of all, it hasn't always been this way. Ages ago, before the reckoning of time, a wondrous event occurred that changed the fate of our world forever. A great being of immeasurable power came to dwell within our world.” As the monk paused, the girl whispered in awe.

  “You mean Mother, the giver of life?” Zyr nodded in affirmation, to which Firah merely blinked in astonishment.

  “You have deduced correctly, though the title of 'life-giver' is a false notion passed on through generations. Truly Aerluin is not a creator nor was she born of this world. Think of her as a visitor, a weaver of existing threads of life. This power which emanates from her is constant and cannot be ended more than you or I could decide to stop our heart from beating. Nothing is truly created or destroyed in this world. No, we would never have known of her except for an event that is only hinted about in legend and song. Something so momentous, so terrible occurred that it drove her from her ancient home and ethereal pathways and bound her here, within all the lands. Many have doubted her existence, but there is one potent fact that cannot be discounted. There is real power radiating from the land which cannot be explained nor was it there before, according to primeval records.

  "All living things touch upon it in different ways. Some originators have suggested that this power is what led to the sentience of many races, like the Dryke, Gnarel or Vikyrl. Truly there were no primal record of such species. For many who merely brush with the power, it is expressed as inspiration or powerful surges of talent. However, for those who dedicate and link themselves directly to this power, it becomes much, much more. These were once called the Ashori, and the untrained, Ashori-tar. I belong to that same order.”

  The girl was bursting with questions, so many that her words stumbled and collided in effort to be made. "Does she ever speak to anyone?" her young face was bright with excitement.

  "She does not speak, if you mean forcing air from your lungs through a muscle to manipulate sound. Her impressions are felt, more than heard. Declarations of such events are rare indeed. For those who have felt her influence it is interpreted differently. Our minds struggle to comprehend the communication and organize it into some form or another. I once heard it described as a musical form that would shake your emotion to the core. For another it was sweet harmonies of songful lyrics. One report even stated that it came as a soul rending wail. I wouldn't wish to fathom what message was intended then."

  Firah struggled in vain to form coherent statements. “Then … wha … bu … how did … I mean … urgh!” She finally growled in frustration at her lack of sense. The teacher merely chuckled and raised a hand. She noted the gesture and stopped her struggling.

  “Stop. Focus. Clear your mind and think about what you want to say. You will surely pass out before our conversation is concluded.” Firah shook her head and laughed softly. With her cheeks burning slightly from her outburst she took long, drawn breaths.

  “Okay. I got it … thanks, Zyr.” The monk merely nodded politely. “So Airloon ...”

  “Aerluin,” he corrected her quickly but with some emphasis to mark her speech.

  “Aer ... lu … in, right. Anyway, so she came from somewhere outside our world? How is this possible?” The monk placed a finger on his chin and closed his eyes for a moment. His hands found a stick laying on the ground and went to a patch of dirt nearby. He traced a large ring into the loose earth. Firah looked on in interest.

  “Many scholars have suggested that our world is shaped as a large ring and that the realms or space within and without are occupied by entities, forces and powers beyond reckoning. Mother or Aerluin was one of these strange beings who came to dwell within the ring itself,” Zyr pointed to the different parts of the diagram to emphasize the words. The girl nodded her head in understanding but her brow was furrowed under the weight of questions still unanswered. He detected her bewilderment and paused the discussion. “May I borrow a coin,” he asked simply.

  “Well, of course … they're yours when it comes to it.” Zyr chuckled and took the coin from her hand. He spied a flat topped rock nearby and brought it back to her.

  “Imagine this is a ring.” She nodded as he took the coin and spun it on its side. Her face lit up immediately in understanding.

  “Oh! It's round!” He nodded simply and passed the coin back to her. She looked up into the heavens with significance. The crackling sparks chased and danced ever upward.

  “But, how can anyone claim to know such things? I would have thought the world was large and flat, that's what I see when I stand on the peaks of Tamers Reach.”

  Zyr nodded at her words.-“Well, the spinning ring world is only one theory. More perspective would certainly shed light upon truth. Largely, your position is likely one that most would agree with. Still, none of this changes the fact that She exists.”

  “So how does a person start using the power? Does everyone have the same abilities?” Her eyes betrayed some strange stirring, the shimmering shade of jade was fading. Zyr knew time was short but he had to occupy her through the transition.

  “Think of the mystery of attunement as a newborn river weaving its way through the land. The water follows a path of least resistance. For each weaver, or Ashori, the path is defined in a similar way. As he develops his ability, he slips into a flow or aspect of the energy that offers the least resistance. For those who try, to learn otherwise often leads to frustration or even death as the potency of the Root is great indeed. Each taps into the power differently and the effects are diverse as well. We have determined to date certain tendencies and conveniently named them according to the strange effects the power yields. For myself, the Alacritor, a studious journey of the systems of life was a lengthy course, but it has afforded me the ability to manipulate and detect the workings of living patterns. Each body, be it animal or floral is open to me to delve, shape, sustain … or destroy.”

  Firah's face retracted slightly at his last words. His eyes had shifted to her keenly to emphasize the word. “Of course there are those who access Her power and alter it for their own needs and gain. These we call Defilers, and they remain carefully hidden, for it is expressly forbidden in most lawful realms of the world to corrupt Mother’s powers in such a way. To be a Defiler is to live hunted and alone. In the past there existed those who would expressly hunt these down but those numbers have dwindled. Now the forsaken Ashori seem to multiply unchecked in the lands. Sadly, there are no Ashori today who are trained under a strict code of discipline to govern their choices. Lesser developed beings arise - Ashori-tar - with new names for the same origin of power. Sorcerers, magi, alchemists and such. All novices with limited potential.”

  She nodded and he continued the conversation. “Firah, you have a special gift, a true connection to the Root that is wondrous and yet potentially dangerous as we have seen tonight. I se
nsed that gift within you even before we met. You might say I was led or guided to you.” She watched as he closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. It was as if he was summoning courage for a task. “Your gift has attracted the attention of others, those who would use it for evil, diabolical reasons. They would use you to bring forth darkness so real and terrible that no man can envision it. Only you seem to fit the mold for which they seek, at least in Mehnin. I am sorry, for I have kept this to myself, thinking I could protect your ignorance. I should have known that you would have dreams of the demon Ahtol. I misjudged your inner sight - your resolve and resilience. That display of power earlier is but a small insight into your potential, but you will need to learn how to control it.” She was staring in disbelief at his words. She was needed for some terrible evil? She was just some street waif, hardly worth a glance by most people. What made her so special? And to servants of a demon?

  Zyr watched the girl as she took in the information. Her face was trembling, growing darker. It would happen soon, by his best guess. “How did you know about the dreams …?” she spoke weakly.

  “Shien told me about your adventures, and a few particulars. I also understand you have come into possession of a dagger?” He looked down at her belt. Her eyes twitched slightly.

  “I have always owned it. You must be mistaken.” Her voice was slurred and, as she turned to look at him, her eyes were fading. Zyr passed his hand slowly over the dagger hilt without touching it. “Do you want to look at it?” she mumbled while slowly removing the clasping belt across the hilt, her hands faltering.