The Ring Of Truth

by B Cameron Lee

  The dimness under the trees to both sides of the stream was a comfort to most of the M’Herindar who lived in Al’hera but Sihron’del was used to brighter light, spending most of her time on patrol at the edges of the Darkwood with the others of the Rangers. It was an honourable position, to be a Ranger, a guardian of the Darkwood; it allowed the remainder of the M’Herindar to live their lives peaceably without having to look over their shoulders for Men or the despicable Q’Herindam.

  The song of the Darkwood intermingled with that of the stream and all of the life under its trunks and branches. Sihron’del allowed herself to slip into that song as Ch’ron sang. Ch’ron she mused, stranger than fiction, the forest she lived in known to Man as the Darkwood, was all of one tree. Grown over the many millennia to the huge area it covered today. At some time in its life it had become sentient and learned to tap into Earthmagic. Ch’ron loved the M’Herindar who lived amongst his trunks. He grew their homes for them, provided nutritious fruits and sang the song of life, putting magic into his music.

  Sihron’del relaxed, something a Ranger rarely did, and let her mind wander as it would with Ch’ron. How long she sat there absorbed in his song, she knew not but a faint rustle of the grass brought her instantly awake and aware.

  “I’m sorry to break your reverie my daughter but I need to talk with you of an important matter.”

  Sihron’del looked up as her mother gracefully approached. Vehrin’del was just beginning to show signs of the transition, her hair starting to silver through the pale blond. Fully silver and her child bearing days would be over. Vehrin’del was a graceful and beautiful woman but blessed with only one child for all of her four hundred years and as much as she loved Sihron’del, she had wanted more. As Queen of the M’Herindar, Vehrin’del had desired to produce four or five children of the Royal line but it was not to be and her chances of doing so now were more than slim. Perhaps that explained the sadness which always seemed to cling to her mother like a diaphanous gown.

  “It’s not important. Thank you for scuffing the grass to wake me.”

  Her mother smiled. “Best to wake a Ranger from a distance I think.”

  Sihron’del nodded in response. “Has this important matter anything to do with you visiting the Wise Ones?”

  “Yes but how did you know? Oh, Ch’ron.”

  Sihron’del smiled. “The Tree and I are good friends, not much happens under him that I do not learn about. So what did the Wise Ones say?”

  Her mother considered for a moment, organising her thoughts as she gazed upon her daughter’s vivacious uplifted face. Only fifty years old and already suitors were lining up for her hand but Sihron’del hardly noticed them. She was a wilful child who had become a wilful young adult and her eyes were firmly set on far horizons. She was very strong with the Earthmagic and accomplished in many other ways. Sihron’del would be an exceptional catch for someone.

  “We have a journey to make. All the way to the Rift. You, your father and I. No guards for company. It’s a journey for only the three of us.”

  “Why only the three of us? It could be dangerous. What if the Q’Herindam discover us out in the open beside the Rift?”

  “The Wise Ones have spoken and that’s how it will be. Jahron’dal is the Head of the Rangers and you know that between the three of us we share much magic. We’ll weave spells of invisibility or cast a glamour when we draw near the open places if necessary.”

  “Have they told you why we’re to go on such a journey?”

  “Of course not! The Wise Ones can only catch glimpses of what is to come and they are to be obeyed, not questioned.”

  Sihron’del shook her head. “It’s not sensible to travel into danger without knowing why or for what. Sometimes I wonder why we allow them to control our lives so.”

  “Sihron’del! That is no way to speak of the Wise Ones. Throughout our long history they’ve always advised and we’ve always obeyed. That’s the order of things.”

  Vehrin’del looked disapprovingly down on her daughter.

  “And how many times have I told you about sitting in sunshine? It will fade you.”

  Sihron’del laughed, a beautiful, musical peal, refreshing all who heard it.

  “Mother, you worry too much. When do we leave?”

  Vehrin’del’s face softened, she could never stay annoyed at her daughter for long.

  “Jahron’dal has been summoned and should be here shortly. We will leave in the morning. At dawn.”

  As the dawn light began to filter down through the foliage of the Darkwood early the next morning, Jahron’dal, Vehrin’del and Sihron’del rose and after breaking their fast, made up the small parcels of travelcake they would carry in their packs. The women, hair now hanging in long blond plaits, both wore the brownish green pants and overshirt, the standard dress for M’Herindar travelling or working. It was also the uniform of the Rangers which Jahron’dal preferred wearing above all else. It was too warm for cloaks so they were tied to the packs they each carried. The weapons they bore were distributed around their person. Like most M’Herindar a bow, a quiver of arrows and a knife was all they carried on this trip. The three of them would be gone for only a few weeks and most of their requirements would be supplied by Ch’ron along the way.

  The sun had barely risen before the three of them were slipping through the Tree, along a shadowy travel path running through his many trunks. Slowly the light strengthened around them to the normal diffuse softness preferred by the M’Herindar.

  Sihron’del loved going into the forest with her father. As Head of the Rangers, Jahron’dal had taken her with him on many occasions to teach her woodcraft and its associated magics. She never tired of watching him flit through the greenery like a shadow, trying not to lose sight of him as he slipped noiselessly among the trunks of the Tree. He was very proficient at moving quietly and it was her desire to be as stealthy as he one day. Also, he knew many handy spells which she desired to learn from him. Vehrin’del quietly followed along behind. It was no problem for her to keep up with them, as the pace Jahron’dal set was not overly fast.

  They travelled west from Al’hera, the M’Herindar capital, stopping only for a single break at midday before continuing on to find their camp site early in the evening. It wasn’t difficult to locate the spot where Ch’ron had prepared a woven bower of flexible branches for them to sleep in, well up off the ground, safe from attack.

  They were soon asleep.

  Besides the M’Herindar, the Darkwood was home to many other creatures; rabbits and smaller rodents, deer, bear and the occasional large carnivorous feline. Ch’ron loved them all and his songs of wholeness encompassed all of them. Every one of the M’Herindar learned the sanctity of life at an early age, for anyone who killed without reason would be banished from under the Tree’s myriad branches.

  Their Home.

  Banishment had only occurred a few times in the last thousand years but everyone knew the reasons for it and the stories were told to teach the younglings the correct way to live.

  Father, mother and daughter quickly dropped into the routine of their travel and whispered through the forest like moving shadows. After the fourth day of travel, Ch’ron’s song changed slightly to incorporate the regular wash of waves upon the shore of the Rift far off in the distance. Sihron’del thought she could smell a faint briny tang in the air, borne on the breeze coming from the west and her excitement grew. In her whole life, she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had travelled to the sea. Maybe she would have time to gather a few shells to make a necklace or to stitch to a dress for an unusual decoration. If she gathered enough shells to share, everyone would benefit.

  Daydreaming of shells and the sea, she nearly bumped into her father who had stopped to quietly allow a bear to move on without disturbing it. Sihron’del shook herself, there was a time for musing but this was not it. She was supposed to be alert to her surroundings when travelling; concentrating on the task t
o hand.

  Two days later, as the sun was sinking in the west, Ch’ron’s trunks started to thin out. The song had salt in it now. An abrasive odour, telling of difficulty and hardship as the salt in the ground opposed lush growth. Ch’ron was changing; leaves becoming smaller, harder and shinier and the overall height of his growth reducing markedly. At the edge of the rocky shore, well above high tide line, the Tree had shrunk to mere shoulder height stiff greyish, salt-scoured foliage.

  The song of the Darkwood was strained here, endeavouring to accompany the regular but ever-changing music of the sea and the moan of the biting wind which blew from the west, nearly half a beat behind the song. Jahron’dal breathed deeply of the ozone laden air and shaded his eyes from the last rays of the dying sun, surveying the length of the boulder strewn beach both north and south.

  “We should move back into the thicker growth and return at first light. Do you agree Vehrin’del?”

  Vehrin’del studied the shoreline, also shielding her eyes from the sun, too bright after the gloaming under the Tree. No flotsam or wrack despoiled the rocky beach where the sea rolled in. Not today.

  “Yes my husband. I just wish the Wise Ones had told me exactly what to expect.”

  He smiled at her. “You know how it is for the Wise Ones. They know, but not how or why. That’s the way it’s always been with them. One day you’ll also become a Wise One; the Queen’s destiny once she hands over the rule of the M’Herindar to her chosen successor.”

  Vehrin’del nodded, she privately hoped the time to hand over her rule was a long way off. There was just too much yet to do. The pattern of the world was changing; had been since Man first appeared all those years ago. Only now the change was occurring much faster. Elements of time’s fabric, weaving both fate and destiny through all their lives, were altering to accommodate great change. Even Ch’ron had noticed.

  They retreated from the intrusive sound of the waves on the surf pummelled beach and camped among some tumbled boulders, wrapped in their cloaks for the night. There was simply not enough growth in the stunted vegetation for Ch’ron to weave them a bower. The three of them took turns at keeping guard throughout the night, drawing straws for the order of watch. Sihron’del drew the last one, through until the morning sunrise. She was roused by Jahron’dal in that still, quiet time before the world wakes, the ever present sound of waves pounding on the rocky shore a rhythmic backdrop. The wind had gentled the previous evening and shifted during the course of the night. It was now blowing off shore.

  “All is quiet my daughter but stay alert, this is the Rift.”

  A short while later, as Sihron’del sat watch in the pale pre-dawn light, her slitted irises wide open to use the most of the available illumination, the ever present sound of the sea, tumbling water-smoothed pebbles back and forth on the rocky shore, lulled her into a trancelike state. Sounds played gently on her slightly pointed ears which instinctually swivelled to obtain the best reception. Sihron’del’s breathing grew slow and regular but her mind was still receptive and she became aware of odd grunts and oaths, way off in the distance, the sound carrying across the dark water of the Rift, along with some splashes and the creak of oars in oarlocks. How she knew what the sounds were, she was not certain. Swiftly she woke her father and mother and they all ran down to the pebbly beach, arriving just as the dawn proper began to break.

  Out on the sea rode a large open boat with a single mast amidships, manned by a dozen creatures the like of which she had never before seen. They were ugly and misshapen, with elongated, furry faces, almost wolf-like. Their leather jerkins left the furry arms bare and weapon-bearing leather belts carrying large knives and fighting axes criss-crossed their bodies. Eight of the creatures were rowing, four to a side, pulling in time to grunted commands from another of their number. Two older creatures, their fur greying, stood in the stern gripping a large steering oar and one, their leader by his red jerkin, sat in the bow pointing toward a smallish chest ahead of them in the water. The boat was being rowed directly toward the chest which floated on the surface of the sea, rising and falling with the swell now gathering itself to very soon become the surf which beat upon the shore.

  The chest had a bluish glow to it, a magical glow, tied with fiery bands which Sihron’del’s magic trained eyes could easily see. The ugly misshapen creature calling out the time freely used its whip to lash those on the oars with more than grunted exhortations. The rowers applied themselves to their task with even more effort, trying to bring the craft within reach of the chest.

  “Who are those strange creatures?” Sihron’del whispered.

  “I know not. I’ve never seen nor heard of their like before,” replied her father.

  “They must not capture the chest.” Vehrin’del’s voice sounded strange and faraway. It was the ‘other’ voice, the same as that used by the Wise Ones.

  Sihron’del exchanged a look with Jahron’dal and together they raced to the water’s edge waving their arms. The creatures in the boat saw them and a roar went up. Some of them pulled in their oars and bent to pick up objects from the bottom of the boat, pointing them toward the figures on the beach. A crossbow bolt flew past Jahron’dal, barely missing him. As one, father and daughter nocked an arrow, drew their bows and fired in unison. Sihron’del was elated; she was as fast as her father!

  Out on the boat both arrows found their marks and two of the crew fell dead, slumping over the oars, one with an arrow in its right eye, the other with an arrow through its ribcage where a heart is normally found. The dismayed cries from the rest of the crew could be heard clearly by those on shore and the whip was reapplied with vigour. Whatever was in the chest was desperately important to the creature in charge of the boat.

  The crossbows were deployed more cautiously now, with the crew members just peering over the edge of the gunwales to aim and fire. It didn’t matter, two more arrows found their mark and this time the boat ceased its forward advance as the remaining oarsmen back-feathered the oars, holding the boat in place on the incoming tide. Father and daughter stood watching as fists were waved in the air and fierce yells came from the boat. The chest was now floating among the breakers and being picked up and flung toward the shore by the waves. Beaten back by the opposition from the shore and the danger of being seized by the surf and thrown up onto the beach, the boat withdrew, swinging around and quickly raising a red sail which snapped tight in the offshore breeze, taking it away, back out to the safety of the Rift.

  The chest was lifted up momentarily on the top of a giant wave which, miraculously, deposited it gently, way up the rocky shore far beyond the normal reach of the tide. The sun cleared the short trees behind them and a shaft of sunlight lit the chest.

  Vehrin’del stood stock still gazing at it as the shaft of sunlight dimmed.

  “That is why we are here,” she said pointing at the chest. “For good or ill.”

  Shouldering their bows, Jahron’dal and Sihron’del joined Vehrin’del at the chest, moving around to examine it closely from each side before even thinking about touching it. A faint glow surrounded the rich dark wood which, even though it had just come from the sea, bore not a trace of moisture and the silvery metal of its reinforcement appeared newly forged. Jahron’dal slowly and gracefully traced designs in the air with his fingers. Runes sprang into clear view on the wood of the chest as he gestured at it.

  “From what I can deduce, there is one charm to keep it floating high and upright, one spell to keep it sealed until the right hand touches it and one spell to suspend the life force inside until the chest is opened. A Master Mage, not of the M’Herindar or Q’Herindam, cast these spells with magic which was not from the earth. What does it mean?” he pondered.

  “Only one way to find out.” Sihron’del said as she stepped forward and reached to open the lid before either her father or mother could stop her. There was a bright blue flash and Sihron’del found herself sitting on the rocky beach, her right arm numb from the shoulder down.
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br />   Observing she was unharmed, her father chuckled.

  “Impetuous as always Shiri. Best be careful of that trait, it could be fatal one day. You could have tried this.” He sang a short, high pitched spell, the notes almost mimicking the screech of the gulls winging about in the offshore breeze above their heads then gradually tapered the sound into silence.

  “Now I can approach and see if mine is the hand meant to open it,” he explained to her.

  She watched as he neared the chest and extended his hand. A thin blue light extended from the end of his finger toward the chest but before it reached the object of his attention the light changed to red.

  “Not for me either. Did you mange to learn the spell Shiri?” he queried.

  “Yes father,” she answered, a little humbled.

  “Good. Don’t forget it. It’s a useful revealing spell.”

  Jahron’dal turned to his wife, waiting patiently for her turn.

  “Vehrin’del my dear, hold my hand and point toward the chest.”

  Vehrin’del did as she was asked and a thin blue light spread from her finger tip toward the chest. This time there was no resistance to it and the light grew ever brighter as it neared the wooden casket to finally combine with the chest’s own energy and envelop it in a warm blue glow.

  The lock snapped open and Vehrin’del bent to lift the lid, steadying herself for what ever may issue forth. A small cry escaped her lips joined by a wail which issued from inside the chest. Husband and daughter leaned in to gaze down into the padded interior.

  On the silky red cushioning lay a naked child, an infant but what an infant! Only newly birthed, his navel was still wet but he was huge for one so new. Not only was he the length of the not-so-short chest but he was wide, with thick, chubby arms and legs. His hair was blond and his blue eyes, blue as the sky above, were wide open, looking back at them from a handsome baby face. The eyes had round pupils.