Red Leaves and the Living Token

by Benjamin David Burrell

  "Hear what?" Rinacht asked, happy to have the chance to catch his breath. He let out an over exaggerated exhale. "Woowh! And pointed his stubby legs, "these little guys weren't made for long distances."

  "Shhhh!" Alarmed, Handers held up his hand to quiet his noisy friend, his attention focused on a spot of trees in front of them just off the path. He motioned for Rinacht to come up beside him then pointed towards the spot of trees.

  "Look!" He whispered.

  Rinachted waddled over to him and leaned forward into the trees with his eyes squinted. Something beyond the trees shimmered like a piece of metal catching sunlight. "Someone's back there!"

  Handers crept forward into the trees. Rinacht grabbed his arm to stop him. "What're you doing?"

  "If they were going to attack they would've done it by now." He shook off Rinacht’s hand and pushed through the underbrush. Carefully, he pushed his body up against the trunk of a large tree and peered around the side. It wasn't a someone behind the trees. It was many! An entire column of what looked like some kind of decorated royal guard in fully polished metal armor extended into the forest as far as he could see, and ,unfortunately, in the same direction as the path.

  The closest guard was only a few yards way. It was easily twice his size and covered in shiny plates of metal from head to foot. The color of the plates alternated between gold and silver making an intricate pattern down the center of their chests. It was obvious they were there as much for display as for any kind of deterrent or protection.

  A suit of armor didn’t stay that shiny clean with any kind of use. Matching full helmets covered their heads entirely, leaving only a few small slits for their mouth and eyes. That made it impossible to identify their race. They stood upright like a Botann, but their hand were shaped like the Zo's.

  The strange guards held an almost perfect line formation. And for the entire time he’d been watching them, he hadn’t seen a single movement. It made him wonder if there was anything there under the armor. They looked like the kind of motionless decorated guards that would stand outside the entrance to a palace. They made you question where or not they were statues or capable of actually causing harm.

  If they were willing and able to cause harm, that caused a bit of a problem given their size and number. It wouldn’t take much for the closest guard to put an end to he and Rinacht. Yet, for some reason he wasn’t afraid. In fact, he felt quite the opposite. A calm warm had settled over him.

  Back on the path Rinacht waited nervously. At the first sight of Handers, he stammered over. "Did you see anything? Anyone there?"

  "A column of soldiers," he answered without emotion, then continued across the path and into the forest. "I suspect they're on both sides."

  "W..What?" Rinacht hobbled after him. "A column of what?"

  Handers crept through the underbrush on the other side of the path. He motioned for Rinacht to follow.

  Rinacht shook his head, "I'm fine thanks."

  Handers returned a moment later. "Solid flanks on both sides."

  Rinacht turned around and waddled back down the path the way they came.

  "Hey, where you going?" Handers called after him.

  Rinacht turned. "You aren't seriously thinking of going through there." He waved his stony arm in an impatient gesture.

  "Actually," he hurried back to his escaping friend, "I think they're here to protect the path not attack it."

  "Why would you think that?"

  Handers put an arm around him. "Come on. We'll be fine. I have a good feeling about this."

  Rinacht gave in and moved forward with him. "You and your feelings!"

  -

  As they kept their brisk pace down the path, the shimmering light reflecting off the metal armor of the guards seemed to close in on them. The further they went, it seemed, the closer the guards stood to the path.

  The trees hid less and less of their still and silent company until finally the forest ended entirely, leaving nothing but tall tufts of grass that extended up the mountainside above them. Their pathway cut directly through the center of the grassy meadow, the column of guards flanking it on both sides.

  Rinacht stopped, taking in the full size and scope of the giant metal guards for the first time. "This is insane! We're insane! I'm going back." He muttered, then turned around.

  Handers caught his arm. "Look!" He pointed up the mountain beyond the meadow. They could see the summit in the distance. Just below the summit rose the stone buttresses, peaks, and spires of what appeared to be a white marble church or temple.

  The double rows of guards ran right up to the arched wooden doors of the building. Another ring of guards circled around its entire circumference.

  "I think we're here." He glanced back at the nervous Rinacht. "Where ever here is."

  Rinacht nodded his head, "Yeah."

  They continued cautiously until the structure was towering above them, blocking the sun. The massive doors were already opened inward.

  Handers took a moment to appreciate the impressive view surrounding them. The mountain meadow fell away below, revealing a wide expanse of land that stretched out to the horizon. Beyond the forests to the west the Zo lands filled the flat lands down to the coast. To the north the Botann lands cut into a larger dark green expanse of forest that vanished into the blue horizon. To the east the grey rocks of the Petra dropped down into a sea of green forest.

  Handers turned back to the white marble building and walked up the large stone steps leading to the doorway. Noticing Rinacht wasn't beside him, he turned back.

  "You wouldn't make me go in there alone would you?" He asked.

  Rinacht stood gazing up at the spires above him in a strange stupor. "I know this place," he muttered.

  Handers stared at him curiously. "You've been here before?"

  "No." Rinacht whispered as he passed Handers on the steps and disappeared into the darkness beyond the door.

  Handers stared at him in bewilderment.

  -

  Handers followed Rinacht into the shallow anteroom of the temple. A few feet further, they passed through another set of large doors that opened into an enormous central chapel. White stone walls at the back reflected a rainbow of colored light that filtered down from stained glass windows a hundred feet above them. Full color murals, detailed illustrations, and inscriptions covered the base of walls from the floor to ten feet up.

  Thick pillars, inset four feet from the walls, encircled the entire room. Robed statues carved out of the base of each pillar seemed to hover over them, making Handers feel uneasy, as though they were being watched. They reminded him of the rows of sentries who were standing outside along the path. Only these in here had no armor.

  He stopped below the closest stone figure, not sure what it represented. It didn't seem to have a pelt of fur as he did, nor did it have the knots and bulges of the Botann, or the Petra’s sharp blocks of mass. Its skin was bare and smooth, like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was incredible and strikingly beautiful.

  The white stone creatures all held their gaze on one location in the room. Handers turned to follow their eyes to a stair case that curved down into the room. It’s base widened in a large Y shape. At the top of the stair case an open doorway poured a bright reddish, light down into the room, brighter than the light from the windows high above.

  Intrigued, Handers hurried across the hard marble floor towards the base of the steps and peered up at the lighted room. As he did, a sudden chill raced down his spine. A cool breeze kicked up behind him that seemed to carry a strange whisper with it. The voice came as though from behind, then from all directions at once. It was audible but not intelligible. He cut his eyes back to the statues, half expecting to see their lips moving. They weren't.

  A marble pedestal rested at the base of the staircase, anchoring the heavy railing. The top of the pedestal tapered up to form a small figurine equal in size and shape to the Token he had in his pocket.

  Handers stared at it. Eit
her this was the place he was meant to find or this was the place he never should have come. He put a hand down on the pedestal as he took his first step up the white stairs.

  In that moment, a flash of white pulled him out of the room. He saw himself standing across from a tall creature just like those carved in the chapel’s stone pillars. Only this one wasn’t stone. It extended its smooth, hairless hand out to Handers. In its large open palm was the Token. Handers reached up and accepted it. As he did, it flared brightly in his hand.

  Suddenly, he was in another place, struggling through difficult terrain, through dense wooded trails and frozen mountain passes. Then, he saw himself standing at the center of a beautiful garden. The sky above him was dark with a strange purple hue, unlike any sky he’d seen. Behind him, in the middle of a small thicket at the center of the garden, he saw the small red leaved plant.

  He noticed his hands, burdened, heavy. In one he was holding the same white sword he had seen before, in the other he held the scepter. His body was covered in white glowing armor.

  He saw himself standing at the front of a large crowd of Zo, Botann, and Petra. They were of all ages, young and old. Those in front were kneeling to him. That caught him a little off guard. Were they worshiping him? Was he a king? Then he heard their voices pleading for help, begging for his mercy, his protection.

  He watched himself turn around, then felt his heart sink. Behind him was another crowd of people. But they weren’t kneeling. They were charging, clad with armor, their weapons held above their head ready to strike.

  He saw himself raise the white scepter that he held in his hand, the Token affixed to its top. As he lifted the scepter, the warriors spun out of the way, jerked at the waist by an unseen force.

  He heard screams of pain and terror behind him. The numbers of the enemy were so vast and coming from so many directions that some had gotten past him. They had swarmed over the people who had pleaded for his protection, slaughtering them. Bodies covered the earth. He knelt beside a small girl, one of those who had fallen and touched the token to a wound on her chest. She convulsed violently then sat up. Others that had fallen nearby convulsed then sat up as well.

  Handers stood and quietly lifted his arms above his head, the Token scepter extended high into the air. The ground shook. The earth split. Two enormous slabs of what once was flat ground tilted into the air, exposing the bowels of the earth below. The endless black swarm of soldiers pushed forward in countless numbers pushing the front line into the open earth.

  The vision closed and another opened. He was back in the beautiful garden. The purple sky above him once again. The storm was darker now, swirling ominously. Then a portion of it dropped down, spinning like the head of a tornado. It bent into the shape of an arm, a great arm of storm and thunder and struck down over the thicket protecting the tiny red plant. Handers watched as he lifted the scepter. A white light erupted from the token, intercepting the storm, splitting the arm. Trails of purple mist spun off in eddies on both sides. He looked back. The red plant and thicket were untouched.

  The storm recoiled, drawing the arm back up into his central mass.

  He heard a thunderous noise from the trees beyond the garden. A Vast swarm of Botan and Petra soldiers crashed through and dropped down into the center of the garden.

  He felt a stabbing pain. He looked down. Blood dripped from a large wound on his chest. He fell to his knees then to the ground.

  Then, just as before, he saw his son lying on the forest floor motionless. A warm glow grew into a brilliant red light. Emret stood up, his legs steady and strong.

  Then he saw his son running through the forest.

  Another flash of white light overtook his vision. As it receded he found himself back in the temple chapel. His foot on the first step and his hand on the railing.

  He backed off the step. This was too much. What ever this place wanted of him, he'd have no part of it. It angered him that his son was used like a dangling carrot after the horrible images of war. He'd never fought in a war. In fact he couldn't remember the last time he'd even been in a fist fight! What protection could he possibly offer anyone? He couldn’t even keep his son safe. His thoughts began to spiral downward.

  "Mr. Handers! Mr. Handers!" Rinacht called from behind him. Handers turned.

  "You OK?" Rinacht asked.

  "I'm fine," he lied. He was angry and frustrated after having come so far only to find another dead end. He had no delusions. That person he saw holding the scepter was not anyone he could ever be. To his shame, the idea of having to become that person scared him. And that made him all the more angry. It wasn’t right, being made to feel guilty for not being able to be something that no normal person could ever be. And having to become that person was somehow connected to finding his son? That wasn’t fair. That was crazy!

  Yet, something felt... Something tugged from within. Was he missing something?

  "Come look at this," Rinacht beckoned. He pointed at another set of stairs at the other side of the room. Instead of leading up, this one lead down. Like the other, it had an ornately carved pedestal that marked the beginning of the railing. And, like the other, it had the same Token carved in the marble that adorned its top. But it wasn't clean white. This was a semi translucent purple. Its color spread into the white marble below in thick, dark veins that thinned with distance from the top.

  Handers peered down the steps. At the bottom he could see a small landing and another open doorway leading to another room. A faint yellow glow spilled out of the room below and onto the lower landing.

  "I think I know where we are," Rinacht explained. "This stair case," He approached it slowly, running his hand in the air over the railing, careful not to touch it. He turned to room behind them. "The markings on the wall. The circle of statues. It all fits."

  "Fits what?" Handers asked.

  "The Keepers."

  "Who?" Handers's asked.

  "You don't understand," Rinacht stepped away from the stairs cautiously. "This room," he looked around, "this place is supposed to be symbolic. I never thought it actually..."

  "Symbolic of what?"

  "The Keepers are supposed to have created the Reds. It's beyond..." He paused.

  Handers stared at him. "How do you know all this?"

  "I think we've found their temple." Rinacht said.

  "Don't tell me my Butler's a religious scholar." Handers jested.

  Rinacht scowled. "My Grandpa had an affection for traditional Petra mythology."

  "So what's down the stairs, according to this mythology?" Handers asked.

  "In the myth people come to this place when they have problems they can't solve on their own. When the complexities of life get in the way of getting things done, things that need to be done, sometimes the only way around is through brute force.” He punched his fist for effect. “If you believe your cause is just, then you have the inherent right to claim the power concealed below."

  Handers raised an eyebrow. "And who determines who's cause is just and who's isn't?" He asked.

  "You are your own judge." Rinacht shot back quickly anticipating the question.

  Handers eyed Rinacht for a moment then moved towards the stairs. He put a hand on the pedestal and took a step down.

  His vision fogged then burned to white. As the white faded Handers saw himself standing in a dark room staring at the back of what appeared to be a large marble throne. He watched himself approach the back of the throne then cautiously move around to the side.

  Sitting in the throne, with its body slumped forward, was an old and tattered figure. It had the same smooth hairless skin as the temple statues. It wasn't Petra, Zo, or Botann. This one wore a large purple crown and held a scepter loosely in its rested arm. It seemed wholly unaware of his presence.

  He watched himself sneak up to the side of the figure and put his hands on the throne. With a swift move, he lifted the crown off his head.

  The figure jolted up right, roaring and hissing wi
ldly. It held Handers in a fiery stare as he stood there holding the stolen crown. Then, with blinding speed, it lunged at him.

  The vision changed and he found himself watching a Botann militia standing guard over a bridge into Shishkameen.

  He swooped down to the ground level and saw himself push into the crowd of soldiers. They turned as they saw him then stumbled backward in panic. Those that could, ran in terror. He quickly overtook one of the soldiers and tossed him to the side like a rag doll. He caught another by the tendrils and threw another into the air.

  The crowd of soldiers separated in their flight, revealing an officer standing in the middle of the bridge. Handers recognized him immediately. It was the Botan who tortured him in the swamp, who wrapped him in vines, ripped the skin off his arms and almost squeezed him to death. Suddenly, he found his hands in a tight grip around the officers neck.

  Everything vanished. In its place rugged mountain landscape with sharp bare rocks lifted up to fill his view. A sea of soldiers, a vast Petra army, blanketed the jagged land as far as he could see.

  It came to his mind that his son was being held captive at the opposite end of the army, that all he needed to do was get through the soldiers and he could save his son. The closest Petra towered over him, easily twice his size.

  Then he saw his own arm raised up to the sky, the skin blackened, bare of fur, and charred. It shook and began to swell. Handers cried in pain as every muscle in his arm bulged to an impossible size.

  He saw his face, the right half deformed and hideous.

  With a ferocious crash of his massive blackened arm, hundreds of Petra soldiers splashed away from him. Another crash sent another wave of soldiers in the opposite direction. He tucked his head and charged, burrowing through the giant rock soldiers like they weighed nothing.

  His vision cleared, he was back in the warm reflected light of the chapel. Handers stepped back from the stair case.

  “What's wrong?” Rinacht asked, giving him a strange look.

  Handers didn't respond. His thoughts still raced through his mind, uncollected, uncertain. Was any of this at all possible? In the real world? Were these things he saw meant to be literal? If not, what did they mean? Having the strength to get to his son regardless of who stood in his way, that seemed too good to be true! He hadn’t liked to admit it to himself but one of his biggest concerns with leaving the protective escort of Lord Valance was that he’d be vulnerable again. Weak.