"I do not know. Possibly. But if I were to guess, I would say Tillamund's sacrifice is connected to the same event," replied the female tenor. "I do know this much, it is all tied to him."
Steffor sensed the stranger and those around her look in his direction as he lay on his back with hands interlocked across his chest. With a deep, wakeful breath, he opened his eyes, sat up and leaned on one arm. Calivera was by his side, curled up in a peaceful sleep. The smile stretching across his face pained him, beaming like a young boy overrun by joy at the sight of a long lost treasure. Without pause, he bent down and gently kissed her forehead. She inhaled deeply with eyelids quivering in response but continued in her slumber.
"She has been through more than you know recently and in dire need of rest," said the newcomer's voice, sitting a few feet away. "She refused to sleep until you awoke, only succumbing to her body's need moments ago." Dressed in the robes of a Mystic—a field Mystic gauging by the rural flora hewn on sleeves and hem—Steffor was startled by the sight of her eyes: wide, clear white pupils, contained by liquid amber irises.
"It is an honor to finally meet you master Steffor," she said with a respectful nod, "my name is Leanor." Reading his perplexed response to her presence, she added: "Please do not concern yourself about my role at this time. While the Provider deemed it important, its value will be revealed to you in due time." Confused as he was, there was a comfort in Leonor's presence, a solace he sensed connected directly to Calivera's wellbeing.
He stood up and stretched his entire body while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He pulled his gaze away from the rogue Mystic, toward the sun creeping over the valley's east wall, a fiery protuberance of heat and light. He stood for several moments, squinting at the sun as it warmed his face and allowed his mind to replay recent events.
From his left the sound of Kilton clearing his throat brought his attention to Kilton, Vejax, Grimlock and Martna stationed a few yards away before the Forging Tree. Loose fitting shorts and tanks that casually blended into the surrounding browns and greens of the tall grass now replaced the dark ceremonial garments adorned with capes and hoods.
Kilton sat cross-legged, patient as ever. His long Teuton Staff rested across his knees with thick forearms resting on top. Laced with a solemn edge, Kilton met Steffor's eye with a welcoming smile.
To his right, Vejax lay sprawled on his right side, propped up on an elbow, his left hand plucking the matted grass on which his staff lay. His casual manner did little to hide the fear Steffor witnessed in the brief eye contact they shared before Vejax quickly turned his attention back to finding his next grass victim.
Grimlock and Martna stood next to Vejax. Both panted slightly, coated with a fresh sheen of sweat, having apparently been in the midst of some type exercise moments ago. Typical, Steffor thought with amusement, studying the unlikely pair a moment longer. Grimlock, dwarfing most everyone, appeared even larger next to Martna, his bulging brawn accentuated by his minimal clothing. Martna, taller than most men but average by Guardian standards, the well-favored women looked a gangly child standing before Grimlock's hulking girth.
Despite the vast difference in their physical size, Steffor, intimately familiar with Martna’s well-defined muscles and deceptive dexterity, knew better then to assume the big man the more adept Guardian. Martna is reining Ascender champion for the past six years for a reason, he reminded himself. They each returned his gaze with a reverent nod.
Steffor reciprocated the respectful gesture before focusing his sight on the Forging Tree behind them. Based on his proximity, he realized that he stood in the same spot he was last, before releasing the Source. On impulse, he stepped toward the tree for closer inspection. It was not until he had walked a few steps past his friends that his mind registered the tree's recent transfiguration. The ancient archway, its broad opening and, he sensed, the once hollowed out cavern within no longer existed. In its place was a fresh growth of wood and bark.
Fascinated, not trusting his eyes from the deception of illusion, he quickened his approach and placed both hands on the new growth. His hands traced the fine line between old growth and new, the slight variances in color the only clue depicting the two. From his left periphery, he noticed a ray of sun reflecting off a mirrored object located under what was once the center of the archway. Steffor turned toward the reflecting light and moved in its direction, his right hand caressing the bark as he went.
"How long have I been unconscious?" Steffor asked, intently investigating the area of new growth.
"It’s hard to say," Kilton replied from only a few yards away on his left, having stood up to observe how Steffor would react to what the rest of them must have been struggling with prior to his awakening. "The rest of us awoke a few hours ago. Assuming today is the morning of the same day the Forging Ceremony took place, I would guess we have been out for five, maybe six hours. What do you sense?"
Steffor considered Kilton's words and question as he attempted to read his own internal clock. Thousands of lives spent connected to the Mysticnet instilled all Citizens with an innate sense of time, both of past and present. Calibrated by heightened senses, Guardians evolved this relationship with time, enabling them to slow it; a supernatural skill, evidenced when competing in the Dive or other events in the Guardian Games.
Try as he might, he could not locate any record of time for the most recent events. In fact, the only record he could find was that of the time passed since waking this morning. His memories of past events were still intact but there was no time stamp to chronicle its passing.
"I have no measure of past time either," Steffor finally replied
"What of the Source? Can you now take of the Source," Kilton inquired, doing little to hide his disquieted temperament.
"Yes." Steffor offered no elaboration. Words cannot describe the sensation of how the Source now pulses through my body. In response to the thought, his soul took a reflexive inhale of the Provider's energy. My pull on the Source remains beyond measure but now I have command over it. Somehow, it is contained.
"Where are the rest?" Steffor asked.
"After a quick consult with the other Teutons, it was agreed that the conclave should disband and send each Guardian back to their post with haste."
"Why the urgency?"
"The disturbance behind the events that just took place aside," he said, gesturing with his left hand toward both Steffor and Forging Tree, "it was our inability to connect with the Mysticnet that ultimately dictated the decision. We have no way of knowing what is happening with those we are charged to protect." In the background, Vejax, Grimlock and Martna, grumbled their affirmation on the decision.
So, I am no longer the only one, Steffor thought, struck with sudden empathy for his fellow Citizens. Still, he sensed the event was a painful step in their collective growth that must occur if the Provider and its people were to evolve.
He moved toward the once center of the archway and his eyes came to rest on the source of reflected light, his Teuton Staff. The "staff" was no longer than his forearm. It rested upon a shifted corbel, sculpted into the form of two hands held palm up. Upon closer inspection, the sun's rays did not reflect off it so much as it appeared to absorb the light, then emanate it back out. Its polished luster made it difficult to identify any specific details, possessed by a life of its own with a myriad of swirling colors living within, from burnt orange, to forest green, to jet-black. At one moment, it exhibited qualities of a tight-grained hardwood, at others it appeared more metallic, while at others like polished marble.
"Why did the four of you stay behind?" Steffor asked, breaking the silence that had seized the group upon his discovery of the staff.
"We were told to," replied Kilton.
"By whom?" Steffor asked, his eyes still locked on the staff.
"The Provider."
Steffor's understanding of the Provider as a benevolent energy that pulsed in every living organisms had expanded with recent events. What had changed,
Steffor realized in pondering the presence of his friends, was his view of the Provider as an actual being, similar to himself, a sentient creature cognizant of the universe and its laws, a soul cut from the same piece of fabric, aspiring to ascend to a higher consciousness.
"How did the Provider communicate to you?"
"The message came to us all at the same time, in the same way. It was at the moment when you released the Source back into the world."
"Into Tillamund," Vejax gravely added.
Steffor sensed the other four Guardians now standing next to Kilton, observing him, waiting in anticipation to see what he did next.
"Did he come to each of you with the same dream?"
"No," Grimlock said, "It was an experience akin to the intersection before Armotto's Staircase, the difference being it was over the archway—or what used to be the archway—of the Forging Tree and the message was the same for all of us: 'Steffor and I are one in the same. Protect and serve him as you would me.'"
The desire to sync with his staff grew. It beckoned him in a way that made him feel incomplete, aware of a hole in his heart that he only now discovered existed.
The Provider recreates itself in me, in all of us, so that it may flourish. Our purpose is to grow, to relearn what it means to be part of the Provider. We are ready; the time has come to sacrifice what we are for what we could become. I see the possible succession of future events; how, as one, we can manifest our growth. I accept my role as the catalyst, and it starts here and now.
Balking one last time, he turned around and addressed his friends. "I do not doubt your devout faith in the Provider. Nor could I have formed a better troop to aid me in the events yet to come. A new age is before us. In order to embark on this era, we will all be asked to make sacrifices, the impact of which may never be revealed to us in this lifetime. I ask each of you now, before choosing to follow me in what may come next, to look inside your heart and choose based on what you see there, not because the Provider or I command it."
Each received his statement with varying degrees of shock. Vejax shook his head in disgust and gave Kilton a look saying: I told you. Kilton did nothing to discourage the look, the struggle with his own introspection plain to see on his face. Grimlock was quick to move on, taking Steffor's request at face value, and began to meditate accordingly.
"Why do you ask this of us Steffor," Martna asked. "Is it not enough that the Provider commands us to do so? I do not see the need to choose for myself."
"Going forward, your faith in the Provider will be challenged in ways beyond your comprehension. There will not be time to meditate for answers, nor will your devout faith be enough. You must learn to trust your heart now if we expect to succeed in our mission. I can no longer accept your allegiance based only on your belief in the Provider. Your decision to do so must come from within."
"I will follow you Steffor and choose to do so free of any command beyond my own," Grimlock stated.
"I too choose to follow you based on what my heart tells me to be true," Kilton followed with fresh resolve.
Martna stood silently with her eyes shut in attempt to calm her mind.
Steffor turned to Vejax who met his eye with an anticipated glare. "I cannot embrace what you ask me to do. It is not possible for me to abandon my faith in something that has flawlessly served me in life. I choose to follow and protect you because I believe without question in what the Provider has told me: the two of you are one in the same."
Steffor studied his friend's stubborn face and grew satisfied with his reply. He chooses with his heart, he simply does not see it that way....yet.
"I share master Vejax's view but cannot deny the presence of my soul and its own desires," Martna said with uncharacteristic feminine softness. "It tells me my role in the future is intertwined with all of you. That I must be bold and find the strength to do what must be done, no matter how much it may conflict with my deeply instilled beliefs. I will follow you Steffor, I choose do so on my own free will."
It is good to be loved .The love I feel for these four souls spans an eternity. Our bond has been nurtured by the essence of life, each of us emoting the supportive role of friend, sibling, spouse or parent over countless lifetimes, the different characteristics of each personality creating the balance and collective development required for all us to grow.
"Cheer up my friends!" Steffor said. "We do not risk taking this new road in our eternal journey alone, we share this challenge with the world. Let us embark on our new age confident it will lead us to the center of our very existence, to the knowledge that will enable all souls to ascend. Join me as I embrace the Provider's gift." He turned back around and waited a moment for them to gather behind him. Once assembled, Steffor denied the future no longer and grasped his staff.
Its weight was deceptive. Steffor awkwardly turned the rod left to right, noting the odd resistance it produced, like pushing his hand against a strong current of water.
"The movement of its color has no relation to the direction you turn it or position you hold it," Grimlock astutely observed.
"What do you feel Steffor?" Kilton inquired in a captivated whisper.
"The endless power of the Provider…" Steffor's reply trailed off as the Source within him synced with the staff. He resisted the impulse to fight and allowed the vessel to aggressively probe his essence and connect with the raw power welled deep within his being. Similar to the day he first dawned his garments, he experienced the sensation of material and body merge as one. A second later Steffor managed to utter a startled "Oh!" before he lost complete control of every muscle in his body.
"Steffor?" Kilton said in response to his sudden outcry and rigid posture. He placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. The seasoned Teuton gasped in horror at the touch of Steffor's flesh. "His flesh is like stone," he said to the others.
Steffor felt each place a hand on his back to confirm and heard their similar astonished response to his condition, but remained frozen in place.
"He no longer breathes," Vejax noted with concern.
I can't breathe! Steffor panicked, becoming aware of his lungs dormant state for the first time.
Do not place boundaries on your creation. The Provider's familiar voice enabled him to relax, letting the consciousness of his staff seep into every fiber of his being. Seconds later, their connection was complete.
Steffor regained control of his body and turned around to face his companions. He gripped the staff loosely in both hands and held it before them. Without warning, a blinding burst of light flashed, causing all to reflexively shut their eyes and turn away. Upon looking back, the staff had transformed into a geometrically perfect pole standing shoulder high.
Before anyone could comment on the staff's magical change, a transparent beam of blue light shot from both ends, connected in the middle and, with the staff acting as its base, formed an equilateral triangle. Created from the same blue light, positioned to the side of the point formed by the two beams of light, a three dimensional rendering of the Provider materialized.
"Do the rest of you see this?" Steffor asked, catching his breath.
Heads nodded but none said a word, each fascinated by the architectural hologram of their world projected before them. Intuitively, seeing the schematic with both physical and inner eye, Steffor recognized the image as the Provider viewed from outer space, just outside the atmosphere. Steffor reached out with his mind and rotated the image than zoomed in and out to view locations along the planet with blazing speed. I can see anywhere, any time by simply thinking it!
You can see and do more, the Provider added.
On cue, revealed with minute detail, Steffor viewed the Source flowing through the world. The allegoric tributaries, streams, rivers and shoreline witnessed in his previous meditative vision, replaced by a visible blue current of energy moving through every leaf and creature, all revealed to the naked eye.
"Do you see the Source?" Steffor asked his friends.
"Yes."
Kilton said in awe.
"I am going to attempt to rectify the recent dysfunction of the Mysticnet." Instincts confirmed what Leonor had guessed, that the creation of his staff had disrupted the Mystics' ability to connect to both one another and Citizens alike. The condition is temporary, he speculated, it is just a matter of re-syncing them back into the proper modality.
If I assume the role of both Mystic and network, for just a few moments, the action should put things back the way they were.
He turned to the staff, the tool enabling him to both visualize and complete the intricate procedure, imploring for both affirmation and direction. A prolific voice responded.
Yes, the actions you intend to take will reconnect Mystic-to-Mystic and consequently Mystic to Citizen. Yes, in order for our society to evolve, both Mysticnet and the database of history it procures must be reinstated. No, things will never be the same once you are done.
Steffor took a deep breath, closed his eyes, opened a conduit and entered the flow of Source. Complete immersion into the energy that formed all life was instant. No longer limited by flesh and bone, the only remnants of either now anchored to his staff, the unique signature of the life known as Steffor, uninhibited by the ego, explored the world. Elated by the feeling of being everywhere, in everything, being all races while none at all, he honed his macro existence and concentrated on how each race of Citizen wielded the Source.
The Guardian, the existence closest to his soul in this lifetime, was the first race experienced from this perspective. Gifted athletes with immense strength, dexterity, intelligence and charisma, the command of intense power at their fingertips—shifted directly from the churning sea of life housed deep within Belly Briar—the challenge facing the Guardian did not come from his physical world, but the mental. Life as a Guardian was an incarnation wrought with the highest morale challenges a soul would ever face, harnessed by the yoke of responsibility of always choosing the good of others over oneself.
The Shifter, the most common class of Citizen, was the next race to register. Embodied within the accessible fibers that formed wood, bark and leaf, his essence was shifted—from sensual caress to forceful punch—by the Provider's artists, architects, builders, farmers and skilled laborers. In one congruent wave, Steffor relived past lifetimes that fulfilled roles deemed necessary for his growth, a stark reminder that all life was meaningful no matter how mundane it appeared.
Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One) Page 21
