Robyn was like no others in Concordia, nay, no others in the whole of the continent, and he had made his forays into the protected lands of the west. It took him many years to develop a trust among these isolated people, but he persisted and he eventually succeeded. His visits to the kingdom of Eleutheria were ones that he deeply cherished. He learned much from them, and they grew accustomed to him and began to look forward to his sojourns into their lands as well.
He spoke of them to no one, respecting totally and completely their desire for isolation. Never would he have violated it to begin with if he did not believe that he had things of import he needed to pass on to them that would impact upon their own welfare. They were true lovers of the light and the trees in their own solitary ways. They too feared the passing of the Lalas and desired nothing more than to see it brought to an end.
There was one other reason Robyn loved his journeys to Eleutheria; he had developed a curious passion for Alemar, the daughter of the reigning King of the Elves. More beautiful than any human girl he had ever seen, she understood him like no other woman did before. To her, he was not simply a handsome, spoiled son of a noble, but a learned and caring man. He could be real with her like he could be with no others except his own father, and she cared for him for what he was, not what he appeared to be. He dreamed of her at night, and she of him.
One day, he pledged he would return and remain there for a time, when the world was a safer place and his duties were not overwhelming. Now was certainly not the time, and Robyn knew that he would have to be satisfied with his dreams for the moment.
Promanthea understood his passion and his longing, but he remained silent when Robyn asked him his opinion. With his tree, that did not mean anything discernible. Silence was not a sign of approval or condemnation from Promanthea. It was just silence.
Robyn had the luxury of a safe and peaceful homeland amidst which he could study and train. The weather was brisk, being north of the Thorndars, but the land was bountiful and beautiful. The rivers ran clear and strong, and although farming was a necessary livelihood in a civilized society, much of the population’s sustenance came from the waters. Concordians were experienced fishermen and they learned to navigate the rapid waters of the Sirceloc river at an early age. The waters were abundant and the fish were plentiful.
The Sirceloc was a magnificent waterway, deep as the western ocean in parts. Winding and narrow, broad and straight, it had more faces than the many and varied people of the countryside. All the inhabitants learned to respect the water as soon as they became aware of its existence. Sirceloc could be the source of life as well as the taker.
Robyn loved the river. He swam frequently and he learned from Promanthea to venerate the water as he would the blood of life. The waters ran through the lands, feeding and nourishing the parts of the earth it passed through as did the blood of a human as it passed through its veins. When Robyn soaked in the cool waters of the Sirceloc he let his senses melt into the flow, becoming one with the liquid of life, experiencing the vast movement and soothing surge of the constantly moving and yet never depleted entity.
The water lived and breathed and spoke, and Robyn learned to hear with his tree’s ears the language it spoke. It told of another side to life, a different sense of time, of motion and of birth and death. When Robyn was near the river, he was never alone. As the Lalas communicated through their network of roots spanning the earth and their intimate relationship with the soil, so too were the rivers all intertwined, feeding into and out of one another eternally.
The whole of nature was a wonder to Robyn, and his powers derived from the elements and his understanding thereof. His ability to become one with the organic was what made him an extraordinary wielder of the earth magic. The elements listened to him and they respected him as he respected them.
Upon leaving his father’s side, Robyn chose to mount his horse and follow the river southeast toward Pardatha, staying close to the waters he cherished so much. Kraft learned not to fear a raging river or a waterfall, but to respect it too. Robyn taught his trusted mount to flow with the water, not to fight it, and thus, to swim like no other horse in the land. They were a formidable team, and together they would journey quickly to their destination.
Leading Kraft deftly into the shallow water, Robyn guided him toward a deep flow, eased him slowly into the clear, cold liquid and encouraged him to relax. They began to run with the current, nimbly avoiding any protuberances and picking up speed as the moments passed. Kraft tucked his sturdy legs under his belly, and Robyn lay his head on his companion’s neck while resting his own legs high on the stallion’s back. They traveled in this fashion for a number of hours, making tremendous headway with little exertion.
As the river widened, the water slowed and Robyn spurred Kraft back onto the solid ground. The air was chilly and a fine rain began to fall from the clouds that were suddenly accumulating more thickly in the skies above. The sun had fully set, and the new moon was bright in the clear sky, poking its face in and out of the rapidly coagulating cumulus. If they followed the river for the next two days, they would be directly north of Pardatha before the water veered in the other direction. Two more days of hard riding through the Delphan hills would leave them no further than a day’s easy canter from the city gates. But for now, they would need to rest.
Robyn found a grassy knoll near a bend in the river. There he dismounted and let Kraft nibble on the sweet blades beneath his feet. Searching for a comfortable place to bed down for the night, he espied a moss-covered expanse not far to the left. Leaving his mount to join him at his leisure, Robyn wandered thoughtfully to the chosen area. He was saddened by the pain his father felt at his departure, and something reminded him of it at just that moment.
He sat down to reminisce and rest, allowing his mind to relax in the safety of the river and the trees. Robyn was invigorated by the prospects for the future. Promanthea had instilled in him the need to find a way to halt the approaching decay, and he truly felt deep within his soul, that his ‘calling’ was the beginning of that process of discovery. He had journeyed often in the past, at times at Promanthea’s request, at times of his own free will, in search of some speck of knowledge, some insight or method he had heard of somehow, somewhere, that might help him in his quest to prepare against the Evil One and his hoards, always learning, always absorbing, always growing in power. He had yet to be truly tested and that he knew only too well. The time was coming for that and he would not hasten it. Each day brought him more insight, and Promanthea’s great patience steadied his soul.
Robyn lay back upon the soft moss and closed his eyes, allowing his body to refresh itself and his mind to relax and absorb the strength from the earth that so softly enveloped him, to help him prepare for what was soon to come. His deep relaxation evolved into a calm and refreshing sleep, as the night wore on. The woods were quiet and peaceful, the water ceaselessly flowed, life ended and life began, but the darkness was approaching and its shadow was spreading northward already, engulfing all in its destructive path, reversing the natural cycle of rebirth and rejuvenation and blighting the land with its evil intent.
Robyn slept on, but his dreams grew restless. The calm evaded him as the dawn approached and he tossed and turned uncharacteristically, waking Kraft whose own trepidation increased by the minute. The big stallion nuzzled his master softly, hoping to ease his apparent distress to no avail.
With a violent start, Robyn’s head rose from the mossy earth. A sharp pain burst within his mind and a burning sensation quickly spread throughout his entire being. His fingers constricted into tight fists involuntarily and his toes cramped up painfully. The hurt was so severe that he feared he was dying, never had he experienced anything so acute. Before he had an opportunity to steady himself, he was overcome with a monumental sorrow, so deep that tears cascaded down his cheeks in rivulets, uncontrollably.
“Not Promanthea? It cannot be!” he shrieked aloud.
Fighting to calm hi
mself, to maintain his sanity, Robyn thrust his fingers deep into the soft ground beneath him, attempting to draw power and sustenance from the earth, searching for a connection, a link, to his bond-mate. Initially, he recoiled from the shock, wanting to retract his fingers and break the chain that would bring him the news he craved or the news he feared. But, he endured the pain and he fought the urge to regurgitate, as he steadied his thoughts and continued to explore the sediment for a pathway of communication, though the torment never let up for a minute.
His fingers struck a root tendril that had wormed its way to him from the surrounding vegetation, and as it wrapped itself around his hand and wrist, he began to receive scattered images of a great tree, a beautiful and ancient Lalas, shuddering and decaying in its final death throes, even as he watched. The horrifying scene made him recoil in outrage at the beauty and goodness being forsaken and lost. The tree so resembled Promanthea that he reeled from the nausea this possibility generated in him, but he persisted with his observation. He had to know!
Struggling with the waves of pain that washed over him, he sent out his thoughts with as much clarity as he could muster under the circumstances. The visions in his mind were unclear and blurry, the link was not strong, but Robyn would not release it. He held on to the faint indication of sentience that he vaguely felt amidst the images he was perceiving. If Promanthea was dying, he would die too. He could not live without him! But, something told him that it was not his tree, his bond-mate. Something, an inner strength perhaps, mercifully allowed him to keep hoping and searching for the coupling that would give him the answer he craved and dreaded.
His mind-cries were shooting in all directions, reaching out in search of his friend or another with knowledge of him. No reply was forthcoming, only the spreading anxiety that the death of a Lalas elicited throughout the countryside. He felt it acutely now, and his mind was ready to burst, his vision was blurring in reaction to the pain and anguish.
Depression overcame him in violent waves, but he struggled on, maintaining all the while the bond that would ultimately bring him news. Deeper into the soil he thrust his hands, breaking his nails and cutting his skin, not wanting to lose the connection he had established, fruitlessly hoping that he would encounter a stronger link further down in the earth, when he knew instinctively that the small tendril would be sufficient if there was news to be had. Desperate for relief, Robyn gathered his thoughts with superhuman effort, and utilizing what strength he had remaining, he sent out a final plea. Alas, his efforts were met with nothing more than silence, an ominous silence suffused with loss and trepidation. In despair, he relaxed his will and was overcome with heartache.
I am here.
The words filled his head with an inexplicable softness, a mellowness that could not be compared with any other feeling he had ever experienced. The relief was enormous, just to hear his soothing voice, just to know that he was alive. Nothing could have sounded more beautiful, more sonorous or heavenly as Promanthea’s voice at that moment. Robyn lay his head back, exhausted, but unwilling to relinquish the link that he had so painstakingly established.
Thank you! he sent in thought, Thank you so much! I could not bear not knowing your fate any longer.
Fear not for me, Robyn, though my ultimate fate is yet to be determined. But another of my kind has fallen, a great and dear friend. All the land will suffer from this. The fabric tears once again, the stitches loosen and the seams rip. I must prepare. Continue on your way and let nothing stop you. Nothing! My reach is being constricted and I will require your eyes in order to see as far as I must. Be strong, my friend. Never lose heart! I will be safe, and you must remain so too, at all costs.
With that, the coupling was shattered, the root encircling his hand shriveled away and he was left bereft of any further knowledge, yet tremendously relieved by the information he had been able to receive.
Promanthea was safe! he rejoiced while still suffering from the shock and sadness any Chosen felt at the loss of a Lalas. But, it was not his. At least it was not his tree! He was ashamed of himself for that thought, at the selfish nature of it, but he could not deny the existence of the feeling.
By now, the sun had risen above the eastern tree line and although the sky was cloudy and grey, the air was crisp and no precipitation fell upon him. He would be able to travel quickly, now more anxious than ever to reach Pardatha. Robyn, riding securely atop Kraft, made good time following the river southeast and encountering nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that caused him undue concern. The weather, although usually a bit warmer this time of year and usually brighter, was not too bad.
It took him two full days to rid himself of the terrible depression that overtook him after the encounter with the dying Lalas. It plagued him during his dreams, leaving him for the moments just before dawn, only to find him again immediately upon his awakening.
Robyn forced himself to move on, to continue his journey, fighting the desire to lie down and sleep for eternity. Although he endeavored to open his mind up to Promanthea’s contact, he had no further communication with the Lalas since that fateful morning, but neither did he expect to. Robyn felt the enormous burden upon his shoulders. He knew that he would be on his own now, that the next chapter would be written without the aid of his great tree.
As he galloped through the woods, he recalled how hopeful he was just three days ago, how full of promise the world appeared to be and how empowered he felt. Now, although the promise of his soon to occur contact with the heir of Gwendolen was paramount on his mind, he was struggling with doubt, an emotion that had not plagued him in the past. The experience of witnessing the death of so great a tree, of so monumental a force, had changed him. It hardened his resolve certainly, but it also caused him to focus on just how small and insignificant he was in the scope of things, how powerless he seemed to himself now, if a tree, as great and noble as the one that passed from this earth the other day, could not even resist the coming darkness.
The powers to the south were building and their influence was spreading. He felt it in the soil, in the air, in the very trees he communed with. But, the boy had appeared as well only recently, waiting to be trained. The fabric was weaving of its own accord… a tear here, a rip there, an open seam. But then a new thread was introduced, and a new and unexpected product was created. That is how he began to perceive the process, and his hope, his faith, began to return anew. The dialectic of his thought helped to carry him from darkness to light many times in the past, and it aided him now as well.
Robyn was well aware that he could not predict what only time would tell. But, he also believed that he had a part to play in this dark chapter, and that he could effect change and guide it, if not generate it wholly on his own. He thought as he rode, swiftly and sure, and the time passed reasonably fast. His spirits lifted accordingly as he approached the plains.
He would soon have to depart from the comforting water of the Sirceloc, a source of sustenance he would dearly miss, but he accepted necessity stoically, and he was ready to move on. Ever since the ‘calling’ had overtaken him, Robyn had no doubt that in time the future would be secure. He believed that he only needed to reach the boy’s side, impart what knowledge he could to the youth along with his other teachers, and the world would begin to mend, set on the correct course, the healthy course once again. The cloth could unravel and be re-woven, and tomorrow would still come. He yet believed that. The only difference now, after the shock of the recent death of the noble tree, was that the evil was closer than before, that the moment was approaching faster than he anticipated, that he would not have the luxury of time that he expected to have to teach and practice with the young boy. The timetable he never fully envisioned to begin with would now need to be speeded up. He felt an urgency that he heretofore never felt.
All of these emotions were welling up in the young Chosen, and he worked his way meticulously through them, painstakingly climbing out of each pit of depression until he was able to put t
he destructive feelings behind him at last. By the time he bid farewell to the river Sirceloc, he was himself once again, though transformed forever, like the fabric of life, re-woven out of the same threads, retaining the same essence, but still subtly different. Robyn spurred Kraft onward with renewed determination toward the open hills of Delphan. Two day’s hard ride over the knolls was all that remained between himself and a clear path to Pardatha.
Chapter Nineteen
Cameron met his revered Lady, Filaree Par D’Avalain, in the courtyard of the castle, prepared, as always to begin the journey she had outlined earlier. His admiration for her was unbridled. Nico, her silver grey mount, and his own horse, Trojan, the black stallion bequeathed to him as a foal by his father, stood ready, with their saddlebags packed, requisitions well chosen and their weapons carefully stowed and secured upon the horses.
When Filaree stepped onto the paving stones of the atrium, ready to mount her filly and be off, Cameron gasped in wonder at the majesty of the woman he felt honored to accompany. When they were not training, Filaree would let her golden brown hair fly loosely behind her as they rode. She had inherited the hair from her father, the alabaster skin from her mother, while her remaining features were a perfect mix between the two parents, managing to capture the best qualities of both, the combination of which resulted in an astounding beauty. Her appearance was tempered by understanding, green eyes and the warmest smile this side of the Thorndars that formed so naturally upon lips that were red and full.
Cameron did truly love his mistress, though not in an amorous way, at least that is what he told himself over and over again. He admired her and respected her, and his love for her was complete, though not the type to cause him to be jealous in a possessive manner. But then again, she hardly even looked twice at any gentleman who might be a suitable mate for her, so his emotions were never fully tested. She was like an older sister to him, although merely six months his senior. He was an only child, and she mothered him as well in the absence of his own who died when he was born. He would lay his life down before allowing her to be harmed.
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