The Shards

by Gary Alan Wassner

  “I would hope that in their beneficence they would recognize what we are trying to do. They cannot stop the losses. The trees still die. Should we all just die with them?”

  “Was that not something that we all accepted when we embraced the bond?” Harton asked.

  “Yes, but not at the expense of the world. Did you anticipate then that Colton could bring the trees to their knees?” Dashiel asked.

  “Is that what has happened?” Pithar asked, exasperated. “The Lalas are dying out of fear? Marathar is not afraid of the Dark Lord,” he insisted. “If he chooses to die, it will be for reasons other than cowardice and defeat.”

  “I meant no disrespect, Pithar. We all feel the same way. But the trees are dying! That is a fact. We must do what we can to help those who remain. If we can assist the heir in finding the Gem perhaps this tragic episode will come to an end,” Dashiel replied.

  “And in order to assist the boy, we must be able to communicate,” Blodwyn said. “We have come full circle once more, and we are no closer to a solution than when we began. How can we comport with one another if all out methods are linked to the trees?”

  “Does no one here have any ideas?” Crea implored them.

  “I do!” Tomas exclaimed, stepping forward as he spoke. Before anyone even asked him to reveal it, he pulled the ring out from beneath his tunic and held it before them all to gaze upon. “There is no question that we can communicate through this,” he said.

  The silver ring hung from the original piece of rawhide that he had strung it through the day that he retrieved if from the sapling beside the charred remains of his Aunt and Uncle’s house in the woods of Pardeau. It seemed for a moment as if a hundred tiels had passed since that fateful moment when Cairn of Thermaye wandered into the glen and so fortuitously stumbled upon him. That was the very first day the darkness touched his soul so thoroughly. The images of his friends passed quickly across his mind’s eye, and he was comforted by those memories as much as he was repulsed by the others.

  “This is the twin to my brother’s golden ring, though as with he and I, they differ in some minor ways,” he said.

  “Minor?” Harton questioned. “His is gold and yours is silver.”

  “The color is not significant,” Liam scoffed. “It is the power that ties them together.”

  “I said it was the twin. They are not the same, nor do they serve the same purpose. They are similar,” Tomas explained.

  “Do you know what purpose they do serve?” Blodwyn prodded.

  “No,” Tomas replied without hesitation. “But, I am learning. I know that it will provide us with a means of communication. It reacts to my thoughts sometimes as if it was alive,” he said in a dream-like voice. “When I speak of it, I speak with certainty.”

  Tomas bent down and laid the ring on the stone floor before his feet. Immediately, a high pitched sound flooded their minds, though it was soft and tender and not harsh or unappealing in any way.

  “Come,” the boy beckoned. “Gather around,” he extended his arms and grasped Liam’s hand with his left and Blodwyn’s with his right.

  Without hesitation, the others stepped forward and formed a tight circle around the pulsating ring. The sound reached deep inside the mind of each of the Chosen standing there. It seemed to emanate from within rather than without, and it felt so natural and so soothing. Though it was rather shrill at first, it very quickly found the level of thought, the pulse of each individual’s life, and it harmonized with it so completely and so totally that it soon felt as if it belonged to each and every participant from the onset. Smiles crossed everyone’s faces unbidden, and they all swayed in harmony with the inner vibrations.

  The ring itself began to spin, and as it accelerated in speed, an audible music began to flood the chamber, though subtly different from the previous pitch. They each felt a deep yearning and a brief sadness. Those emotions quickly transmuted into an inexplicable joy and lightness of spirit as the beautiful chords and notes struck their minds. The sensation was not dissimilar, though still distinct, from that which each Chosen experienced when in close proximity to a Lalas. The noise from within did not cease as that from without grew in volume. Rather, the two rose to meet one another within the minds of the Chosen. As this union of essences was consummated, a new level was attained, one which combined the individuality of each participant with that of the ring and with the souls of one another. Briefly, they all floated in a sea of bliss, far removed from the troubles of the world.

  Tomas was the first to speak. All of the others still seemed quite mesmerized by the interaction which had just taken place.

  “I must return to my friends,” he said softly. “They are worried about me.” He thought for a moment and then said as if he knew this all along, “You need only invoke the memory of the ring and the Chosen you wish to contact in your mind’s eye and the link will be enacted.”

  “And we must each return to our lives as well,” Blodwyn spoke for the group, as she raised herself out of the ecstatic stupor into which she had fallen. “It will be difficult enough to conceal our movements from the trees. The longer we are apart from them, the more likely they will question us.”

  Soon, the entire chamber was once more filled with individuals, separated by their own unique consciousness, and no longer united in the manner that they were only moments before.

  “And if they do?” Pithar asked, now fully cognizant.

  “We will answer in the best ways that we are able to. We cannot lie, but we need not say more than is necessary. Our silence can reveal as little or as much as we choose it to,” Connor said.

  “Remember! We do this out of necessity. There is no trickery here. There is no ill intent. We have begun to weave a new pattern into the fabric, and we shall not be able to see its shape or contour for quite some time. But the threads have been set and there is no way any longer to sever them without destroying the cloth within which they are imbedded,” Tobias declared.

  “May the First guide us and keep us all,” Blodwyn avowed, as everyone nodded in agreement.

  Slowly and reluctantly, they let go of each other’s hands, but the bond that they created that day would never be released. Though the Chosen had always had much in common, until that fateful day it had been the Lalas themselves who maintained the links. They all knew that much had changed with this gathering, and regardless of the reluctance and concern they all initially felt, the world was not the same as it had been even a scant month ago. The fear of being abandoned by the trees was still paramount in each one’s mind, but the structure of support that they solidified here felt right, and it consoled each and every one of them in this, their time of need.

  Tomas was much relieved by the realization that he had come to by virtue of this gathering. Though sleep had mercifully spared him from constant restlessness and despair since the moment of the ‘betrayal’, the debilitating feelings had now abated, and hope once again replaced fear. Even Harton the skeptic, was comforted now and thankful that he had attended this unusual convocation.

  Blodwyn stepped forward with her staff once more held high in front of her. She traced its tip along the faded and barely visible outline of a doorway in the rock wall. A slight hissing sound could be heard by them all, and then a bright, blue light flickered and flitted across the hard, solid surface. Shortly, the edges of the former opening began to emerge more clearly until a well defined exit was visible. She hesitated for a moment and then looked back at the group that had assembled anxiously behind her.

  “Are you ready?” she asked. Each of the Chosen nodded in agreement. “Let us go forth then,” she said, as the doorway swung open before them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Frightened faces peeked timidly and cautiously through the notches of the high walls surrounding Talamar. They were meticulously careful not to expose themselves to the assemblage below. The people scurried and squirmed, dashing from one crenellation in the stone, like rats in a cage, gaping at what they
perceived to be the enemy at their gates. The Knights of Avalain sat motionless astride their enormous war horses with their weapons sheathed, though that did not detract from the formidable impression they made upon the inhabitants of the city.

  Parsifal remained silent and stern as he led his steed slowly up and down the ranks, never allowing his gaze to falter, never relaxing his focus upon the center of the balustrade above the great gates. He watched as the soldiers upon the blocks ran back and forth in a disorganized and undisciplined manner, peering out between the great stones carefully and fretfully at the columns below. He made no overture to those above. He sent no words of greeting, no messages and no supplications. The presence of the Knights alone was enough to engender a response from within the darkened city.

  When he first approached the outskirts of Talamar, the change in the appearance of the area struck him profoundly. The roadways were scabrous and in disrepair. The walls of this trading city, formerly impressive and well maintained, had been marred by letters and symbols scrawled across them, blatantly proclaiming the inhabitants’ new allegiances in graphic and disrespectful ways. The gates were closed and sealed, and the Polong trees that had always ringed the city walls in precise geometric formations one hundred meters deep, were charred and hewn, and their precious oil was clearly no longer being harvested. What had been Talamar’s pride and joy, as well as a continuous and renewable source of income, was now a graveyard of ruin. As far as the eye could see, the land surrounding the city had been reduced to a lifeless, sickly tangle of decimated and abandoned debris, intermingled with felled trunks and scorched branches. But, this ruination paled beside the horror of the rows of human carcasses hanging like slaughtered farm animals within meters of the city walls.

  Parsifal reunited with his men after riding nonstop from county Pardeau all the way to Talamar. He left Queen Esta in good hands and he was confident that her companions would protect her in his absence. As he neared the gates of the city, he saw his noble troops assembled before them. They sat tall in their saddles with their armor gleaming in the sun and the white flag of truce hanging limply in the still air before them. They did not break formation in order to welcome him. They simply accepted him back as if he had never been gone, but the joy in their hearts upon seeing him before them once again was recognizable upon all of their faces.

  He took charge immediately, regretting instantly upon his arrival the constraints he had placed upon his men in the days prior. In the absence of their leader, and much to their disgust and chagrin, they were forced to allow the stakes upon which the rotting corpses were suspended all around the city walls to remain standing. They would not interfere with the affairs of Talamar no matter how painstaking that restraint might prove to be until Parsifal had arrived, as they were so instructed. Now, stone faced and rigid with shrouds tied tightly around their faces, they methodically toppled each of the wooden poles, withdrew the shafts that pierced what remained of the barely recognizable decaying bodies, and buried each of the men, women and children in separate graves besides the walls in full view of the soldiers above. As they did so, the remains of what was supposed to have been living trees piercing the bodies of the citizens of Talamar fell away completely. It was no more than subterfuge, a clever bit of macabre trickery, and it must have been obvious to the people above for quite some time now that the cause of their deaths was from a source other than they had been led to believe. The abiding semblance of bark and branch crumbled to dust at the Knight’s touch, revealing roughly cut spears and shafts beneath the artificial surfaces; weapons clearly produced by the hands of man, not the Lalas.

  What Queen Esta and Marne had suspected from the onset had in fact proven to be true. The Evil One’s mark was upon this deception, and his lies were the foundation of its birth. Sadly though, even after they knew the truth, the cowardly people of Talamar allowed this detestable evidence of treachery and treason to remain before their very eyes, unhampered by any efforts on their part to mollify their wrongs by providing an honorable burial for the innocent victims. Parsifal vividly recalled the arrival of Sir Etan at Castle Avalain, and his horrific retelling of the Lady Margot’s account of the betrayal at Talamar and the great ‘crime’ of the Lalas against mankind. He spat upon the ground in disdain, as he replayed the troubled visitor’s words in his mind.

  I was certain the Lalas would never behave in such a way, he thought to himself. How is it that these people accepted such a version for so long? Can they not clearly see what they were told is untrue? Did they never question what she said to them? What manner of people are these? he wondered, looking up at the frightened faces above. The Dark Lord’s servant has turned them all into ignominious cowards, and she has stripped them of their consciences. I grieve for them all, May the First forgive them, he thought.

  The Knight’s activity went unchallenged by the gaping figures above, though the contempt of the noble soldiers below was so mighty that it was almost tangible. They performed their duty methodically, yet with an abiding tenderness for the innocent victims of this horrendous charade. As the sun set upon the first day of their muster, no one had yet appeared to address them and officially acknowledge their presence. Nevertheless, upon the completion of their sorrowful task, they resumed their vigil before the walls. Darkness did not deter the Knights, and they stalwartly maintained their position straight through the evening and on into the new dawn.

  With the morning sun, a more frenetic level of activity could be seen on the walls above. Soldiers replaced the citizens who had been standing there, and rather than scurrying from one vantage point to the next, they appeared to have taken up more permanent positions. Parsifal remained as still as a statue, standing before his men upon his horse, and it was clear that he and the Knights had no intention of relinquishing their position any time soon. They made no gestures to the troops atop the walls. They made no overtures and no appeals. They were prepared to stand there forever, it seemed to those within the tarnished and beleaguered city. By mid-morning, a crier appeared on the balustrade with a parchment in his hands. He stepped forward cautiously as the soldier by his side raised a horn and blew one sharp note. Lifting the scroll before him, he read in a surprisingly meek voice.

  “It is with great regret that his Lordship, Duke Kettin of Talamar, cannot address you personally. He is bedridden and has not the strength to rise. He has instructed me to greet you and to apologize for not doing so sooner. He was unsure of your motives in approaching the city in such a manner, and he wished to assess them by observing your actions before he conversed, however indirectly. He asks that you state your purpose in coming here under arms. Furthermore, he asks that you advise him as to who sent you, and under whose auspices you march upon his city.”

  Parsifal listened carefully to the words of the crier, unmoving and silent. When the envoy was finished speaking he slowly stepped forward, removed his helm from his head and secured it upon his saddle. After removing his silver gauntlets and carefully tying them to his belt, he dismounted, ceremoniously dropped his steed’s reins, and slowly stepped forward a few paces. His presence on foot was no less impressive than it was when he sat high in his saddle, though without his helm his imposing features were even more striking. Parsifal exuded honor and virtue, whether he spoke from the back of a lowly mule or that of a majestic stallion. Slowly and with determination, he raised his noble head so that the sparkling blue of his eyes was staring directly into the beady black hollows of the Duke’s messenger.

  “I am disappointed that Kettin is unable to participate directly in this exchange,” he said, his deep, melodious voice sincere in tone. He was markedly unwilling to bestow a title upon the absent leader of Talamar. “What I have to say should be said directly to the one responsible for the welfare of this city.”

  He waited another moment before he continued.

  “Talamar is not the place that I remember it to be,” he said, sweeping his arm in a broad gesture before him. “Much has changed since las
t I was here as a guest of the Duke and Duchess, and it is for that reason we are here now. Her highness, Esta, protectress of the Knights and Queen of the Kingdom of Avalain has charged us with the task of persuading the citizens of Talamar to return to the fold and forsake the path that they have recently chosen or been compelled to walk upon.”

  Once again, he paused and permitted his words to sink in to the minds of all of those who listened. His presence alone engendered hope, and his powerful voice and forthright manner began to elevate the spirits of these despondent people, many of whom had almost given up before the Knight’s arrival.

  “You have all been the victims of deception and evil purpose, though it is clear to me that the ruse that seduced you initially had been exposed long before our arrival at your gates,” he said, frowning, obvious that he was nevertheless disturbed by the fact that they tolerated that abomination for so long. “What is done is done! Actions committed are etched in the fabric and cannot be unwoven and sewn again differently,” Parsifal he proclaimed. “But the Lalas are great and magnanimous, and forgiveness is theirs to bestow. If it be fear that held you back from your righteous course, you have no reason to fear any longer. If it be cowardice, then you can choose whom you would rather contend with; the Knights of Avalain here and now or the Dark Lord’s envoy when she returns. There is a battle to be fought and you all have another chance to choose what side you wish to be on when it is waged. If your hearts cannot lead you in the correct direction then perhaps your fate lies with Colton dar Agonthea and not with the trees after all. But you will have to contend with us first!” he said and he turned his back upon the gaping throngs.

  Slowly, he walked back to his horse and with one easy motion, hoisted himself upon its back. “The Knights of Avalain take their responsibilities seriously,” he said, and he walked his mount as close to the walls as he could while still being seen by those above, and no one would ever have doubted his sincerity. “But, you must choose freely. What shall it be?” he asked, looking up at the crowds above.