by Colin Taber
In those nightmares at their most extreme, I saw a world with no sign of life, not from my people, our enemies, or even birds, plants or beasts. The wind gusted across a grey vista of ash and ruin, nothing but a bleak wasteland. Those dreams came more and more, of a land under the dim light of a dying sun.
A world of Death.
There were also other nightmares, ones that managed to hit closer to my heart: They showed more of the vision I’d seen at the end of our dinner with Fel. In it I saw Ossard falling again, crumbling under the weight of a new campaign. The vista wasn’t of a dead world, but of smoke-filled streets, burning homes and blood-filled drains. That vision revealed avenues of the dying and dead – and while I couldn’t see it, I knew that the suffering stretched all the way back to Marco’s Ruin.
Not a world, but a city of Death.
If only Schoperde had remained!
More than anything, I wanted to hear the whisper of her divine voice, to know that I wasn’t alone and that I walked the right path. But it wasn’t to be. She must have been so lonely at the end: The last god of hope, free of the divine addiction, but with her own mate and children turned against her.
How betrayed she must have felt, how sad and abandoned!
I could feel the world’s bitterness. It was subtle, but everywhere; in the wind as the breeze sighed; in the moan of the seas as the swell rose and ebbed; in the last, tired breath of an old man, and even the pained cry of a newborn.
The mournful feeling was everywhere.
Amidst those thoughts, I finally accepted that she was gone, for how could she ignore a voice asking for her after being alone for so long.
Rest in peace, my divine mother, rest and sleep, for I’ll take up your burden – even if it drags me under.
-
I went to see Grenda, someone I needed to speak to about my sombre thoughts. Aside from her support to see my people through the depths of winter by way of the fruits of the canyons, we’d not truly tackled much else, including the subjects of Schoperde’s fate or my deep hunger.
I found her speaking to a group working a series of fresh garden beds that meandered alongside a steaming brook. As I arrived, they turned their attention to me, inadvertently silencing her lesson.
She smiled and said, “You steal my thunder.”
I gave a small laugh. “But not their hearts.” It was true, for Grenda had done more to see our people brought into the ways of Schoperde – or as the Heletians knew her, Patrino or Tergaia – than I had, despite her gruffness.
Grenda worked at changing the way they saw the world and the way they worked to be a part of it. She was a popular figure and rarely alone, despite the fact that she found such company a burden after so many years of solitude.
I went on, “I need to talk to you about a new arrival in the sound.”
“The sound?”
“The Black Fleet is gathering.” I hadn’t mentioned my true concerns, but she seemed to read something in my manner.
“Yes,” she sighed, “it’s time, and there’re other things to discuss.”
I gave a weak smile in return.
She turned to one of those listening to her lesson. “Can you find Sef and have him meet us, for he needs to be in on this?”
The Heletian nodded. “Where shall I tell him to find you?”
“Past the heartwood. The path eventually finds the canyon wall; not far from there is a set of carved stairs that climbs the cliff.”
The Heletian nodded and set off.
Grenda and I excused ourselves, leaving behind the rest of the group. We passed the heartwood on the way, both pausing so we could check on the mother tree’s accelerated growth.
The mother of the rosetrees stood healthy, now about seven paces high, with a thickening trunk and branches beginning to spread. Leaves sprung from those young branches, accenting its lush vigour. It was a wonder.
Grenda couldn’t help but smile as we perused it. “You’re right to say we need to talk and that we’re late in coming to it. Perhaps we’ve indulged ourselves for too long in the joy and relief that our meeting has brought for each other.”
“You’re right, of course.”
She gave me a grin. “Of course.”
“So, now we talk of the tough topics, of the things we’ve avoided?”
“Talk? At the very least!”
“And you want Sef to be a part of this, not that I mind?”
“He needs to be. He also has a role in all that’s coming.”
I turned that over in my mind, as we left the mother tree and continued down a path that twisted into the depths of the wood. Suddenly, it came to a stop at the canyon wall, where it turned to follow it along for a short way before revealing a climb of rough stone steps.
“Here we are,” she said.
The steps were cut for longer legs, so the climb took a while as it followed the curve of the cliff wall. When we’d come up about a third of the canyon’s height, we came to a wooded ledge.
It wasn’t a big area, but a great vantage point. The air moved, cool and turbulent, affected by the winter weather of the wider world above. In all, the ledge spread a lot longer than wide, seeing it nearly as big as the deck of Fel’s grand ship. Trees grew all along it, some of them stunted in the stony soil up and away from the canyon’s heat, yet they battled on, fighting to survive.
Some boulders lay near the edge of the cliff surrounded by a scraggly lawn of mint. Grenda led the way, taking me straight to them, where we sat in the weak light that managed to cut through the overcast sky. It was cool, yet pleasant, and the view broad and beautiful.
For someone who’d grown up in the Northcountry, in a world devoid of trees, to see such a canyon of thick woods, the depths of which was only broken by streams that sparkled with the sky’s reflected light, was amazing. Mist drifted through in places as the day waned, softening and subduing a vista rich in mystery. Aside from the paths the streams made, the only other break in the wood was at the heartwood itself: The edging circle of tall silver trees, now naked of their leaves, reached up to grandly praise the unseen rosetree at their heart. The sight was spectacular.
It was a marvel to look upon, yet I could only wonder that a few centuries ago such a wood would’ve been unremarkable. Back then, only the heartwood would have made this place special, not the presence of the other trees. Back then, they were plentiful across all of the Northcountry.
Grenda spoke over my thoughts. “The Prince tells me that there was a time when all the trees you see here – aside from that ring of silver elms and a handful of ambassadors from the greater arbour family – were rosetrees revelling in their home grove.”
I asked, “I suppose the rosetree will work to take the canyon back?”
Grenda smiled as she looked out over the leaved canopy, some of it bare with winter, while most of it was coloured in amber and gold. Here, the woodland enjoyed a belated autumn courtesy of the heated waters of the canyons. “Yes, I suppose, and in so doing many of these other trees may die. I should work at finding seedlings of them and introduce them back to the vale outside while there’s still time.”
“There’s always change, isn’t there?”
“Yes, nothing stays the same. The passage of time teaches us this, just as does the coming and going of the seasons.”
“So, perhaps it’s time for us to begin?”
She turned to me. “To talk of the hard times to come?”
“Yes.”
“There’s much to talk about, and not much of it easy.”
I nodded.
We sat in silence for a while. Finally, she asked, “Where would you like to start?”
I took a deep breath. “Schoperde is dead.” The words fell flat, but she made no move to answer, instead gazing into the distance, so I went on, “I’m certain of it, yet we haven’t talked of it, and if I’ve come to that conclusion, I can’t believe that you haven’t.”
She turned back to me as I noticed a tear run down her wrinkled cheek. With a
sigh, she said, “She’s gone, it’s true.”
“Her silence is what makes me so certain,” I said. “I also don’t feel her, not in any meaningful way.”
Grenda nodded. “I think in some ways she’s still here, her essence caught up in so much of what she crafted as she spent her very being. It’s like walking into a kitchen and smelling garlic and fish, yet knowing that the stew that birthed it has already been eaten.”
I thought about her words as she continued. “Everywhere I sense reminders of her, especially here in the green canyons which is why I remain.” And then she paused, her voice thickening, “Yet, she’s gone. She’s just memories, even if they may be many and rich – but they grow old and fade.”
“So, she is dead. You don’t doubt it?”
“Dead.” She shook her head, distressed to voice the truth.
“So, the war is over and lost?”
“Finished and done.”
I swallowed. “So, there’s no hope?”
And she turned to me. “Of course there’s hope, there’s always hope – or should be! Schoperde is dead, but what of us and her birthed world? I don’t plan on surrendering!”
“How can we fight on if Schoperde’s dead: What’s the point?”
“The point is clear – at least to me!” and her tone scolded. “Schoperde is – was – our mother, the mother of so much. Death can’t replace her, he can try, but I can tell you that nothing good will come of it. We’ll fight on, not just because it’s our duty, but because we’re fighting for our very existence, even if we couldn’t see it in ages past – and that’s always been the problem!”
“I don’t understand?”
“We never fought back: Look at the histories of so many of our kind, even the big bad Ogres. It was always felt that to kill was wrong and somehow against the wishes of Life, but it’s not, not always. Sometimes, you have to fight!”
I looked to her, thinking through what she said.
“If a fire is raging in a pile of wood stacked up beside your house, do you put it out, or do you wait to see if it’s going to start burning your home down before you act?”
“Well, clearly you don’t wait.”
“Of course not, but the followers of Life have always been slow to act against perceived threats. And usually such threats aren’t in the form of flames, but instead armed rivals.”
I ventured, “But war is a complex matter, not something easily compared to a fire threatening your home?”
“It’s still a threat, and one that has to be met. A fire might not bleed when you fight it, show cunning, or make alliances with your foes, not like a rival, but if either is trying to take your home, why should we hesitate or be squeamish? Look at it another way; what I’m talking about is the fight for survival. For example, to keep your own safe, if you can’t reason with a rival and they still come for your food, home and family, then you should be prepared to defend those things – and before it’s too late.”
I nodded.
She went on, “You told me of your soul-feeding and how it began; you killed Lady Death.”
“Yes.”
“You willingly killed her, snuffing out not just her life, but her soul and therefore her very existence.”
“Yes.”
“And how’d you justify that in your own mind; the killing of her, not the soul-feeding?”
“She was an enemy of Life and wouldn’t be reformed. She was a great danger, not just to me, but to many people.”
“So, it was best for her to die?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the realisation the forces of Life have always struggled to accept, even as our enemies swamped us. It’s often left us paralysed. We have to recognise it, as unpalatable as it might be, and then get on with it.”
“I see the sense in that.”
“Good.”
“But what’s the point in fighting now, if the war is already lost?”
“Because that war is lost, but not what comes next.”
“And what’s that?”
Her eyes widened. “The war you’re here to trigger.”
“Me?”
“If a cultist force came from Ossard and demanded you face some kind of judgement and execution, would you submit?”
“No, why should I?”
“What if they didn’t want you, but instead Pedro and Maria?”
I shook my head. “Of course not.”
“Or your unborn babe?”
How did she know?
I blushed. “No!”
“Of course you wouldn’t, and you’d be right to deny them.”
I nodded.
“What if they came with flaming brands, forcing their way into the ruin, only to discover these canyons and start torching them?”
“We’d stop them.”
“But they persisted, not stopping despite the threat of death?”
“If we had to, we’d kill them. Without the gardens, we’d starve.”
“You’d kill all of them?”
“If that’s what it took.”
“And again, it’d be the right thing to do.”
I wasn’t sure where she was going with this, so I tried to decipher if there was anything more complicated hidden within what otherwise seemed to be a simple ethos of self defence.
She continued, “When we have to, we shouldn’t be afraid of killing. The key is to do it for our survival and not for indulgences like power or loot.” She spat the last word, as though it tasted of sour milk.
“I agree, but you’re merely declaring that we should fight for our lives – something I didn’t think I needed to be told.”
“No, it’s an instinct in you. You’ve already shown it by surviving Ossard’s fall and taking flight when it was the only smart choice left.”
“But, with Schoperde gone, doesn’t that just mean it’ll all end one day with the last of us overwhelmed by the forces of Death?”
“Only if we have no hope; and that’s your true role in all this.”
“How?”
“You’re here to reawaken those aligned to Life, to give the last of us a rallying point. Schoperde may be dead, but you’re still here, her divine daughter – and there are others.”
“Dorloth?”
“Yes, and more besides. There are also remnants of our kind scattered around the world and hidden away. We need to do what we can to organise, even if we can’t meet with our kin face to face, to show them the light of our efforts so that they can have hope.”
“But a new war?”
“We’ve got a lot to talk about and there’s much you need to learn. Divine war is not just about great armies fighting one another, more so it’s about belief and reality – and that’s something mortals always have trouble understanding.”
“Belief or reality?”
“Not either, but both. You’ve already told me what you learned last time you faced Kurgar; how you accessed more power than him, and from a source that was renewable.”
“You’re talking about when I called on those who had faith in me to offer their support. Instead of me just feeding on their souls to harvest them for power, they gave it to me freely, and will be there to do it again in the future.”
“Yes, as long as they retain their faith.”
“I don’t understand; what’s that got to do with belief and reality?”
“Juvela, it was their belief in you that saw you win – and that shaped reality.”
“Oh,” I said sheepishly.
“It’s how we’ll survive and make headway in a new war, one built of hope that promises a better future, not just battle and blood. We’ll birth a new way of seeing the world, there’ll be anger and iron, but also faith and will. In the end, we’ll be fighting with a wider array of weapons, not just those that thrust and parry.”
“Like how the Inquisition is unprepared for Ossard’s cultists?”
“Yes. Our enemies are good at blood-letting, but little else; ultimately, they’re
too wrapped up in their base needs.”
I nodded, knowing all too well what she meant; the gods leading them were enslaved to their addictions. The dark hunger had narrowed their thinking.
“Juvela, there are things you can do, call them weapons if you will, which our foes can’t even conceive. To do things in such a way would just never occur to them. Simply, they’re blind to all your options.”
“You’re not talking of traditional weapons, but choices.”
She gave a smile. “You’re beginning to understand.”
Footsteps sounded, seeing us turn as Sef climbed the last of the steps. “You wanted to see me?”
Grenda nodded. “Come and sit.”
He smiled as he approached, taking in the view. “What are we talking about?”
I shrugged my shoulders with a wry smile. “Reality.”
He slowed and looked to Grenda.
“Don’t mind her, she’s delirious.”
Now he looked confused, something Grenda didn’t soothe with her next words. “She’s about to declare a new war against Death.”
“What about the current war?”
I said, “We lost it.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Grenda is talking about the nature of divine war and that we need to better understand how it’s fought.”
He gave a cautious nod.
She said, “Look at the Inquisition: They’ve come to take back Ossard, but we all know that they’ll fail. They’ve come to fight as they expect to fight, and not how the cultists will actually meet them.”
It was a good example.
Grenda went on, “Let’s think about the problem like this, and I mean the problem of Ossard in ruins and the land about taken into the realm of Death: The city needs to be cleared of cultists and the Northcountry healed. A measure of success in achieving such a goal would be to see the rosetree return, not just here, but to all the vales.”
Sef interrupted, “I’m sorry, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything. The tree was killed by a blight a hundred years ago?”
“It might sound like whimsy, but the blight is part of Death’s dark rise. The loss of woodlands from across the Northcountry also stole away wild game, timber, nuts, roots and berries, amongst other food and stocks. All of it weakens the North’s web of life, giving Death a victory, if subtle, but something he can build upon.”
