The Ring Of Truth

by B Cameron Lee

  The big grey bent both front knees and bowed, Arwhon having to lean back to stay in the saddle.

  “It is good to see you have not forgotten, child of Barsoom,” she said before gently moving her hand up Duran’s head to stroke him behind the ear. The big horse sighed with delight.

  “And what are you riding Shiri, a mule! Determined fellow though. Maybe a special gift would be appropriate for the loyalty and love it has shown you.”

  Vehrin’del moved to stand in front of Rancid and placed her hand on top of his head between the large floppy ears while singing a low soft song. Suddenly, Rancid’s ears shot bolt upright and Shiri could feel his confused thoughts. She sent back pleasant ones and Rancid twisted his neck sideways to look at her out of one eye.

  “Yes, you can. It will take practice but Duran will help.”

  Shiri dismounted and signalled Arwhon to do the same. After the saddles and tack were removed, the horse and mule were set free to wander as they would.

  “Would you like refreshments dear?” Vehrin’del offered as she warmly embraced her daughter.

  “No thank you, it’s really important we visit the Wise Ones immediately.”

  Shiri climbed the steps to her father and hugged him tightly before returning to take Arwhon’s hand and quickly lead him off through the Darkwood.

  After ten minutes or so they came to a mound in a small clearing. Shiri took Arwhon around to the far side where there was an opening, leading down, large enough to walk into. Inside the tunnel it was quite dark in comparison to the filtered light in the forest but as they entered and Arwhon’s eyes adjusted sufficiently, there was enough light to see by. The two of them descended down through the tunnel, the sides carved with pictures which made no sense at all to Arwhon, although the workmanship was exquisite. Eventually they entered a large cavern supported by mighty columns with stalactites and stalagmites glittering throughout. The air was fresh, with the odour of damp forest and the temperature was pleasant but as they approached the centre of the cavern, something tugged at Arwhon’s thoughts.

  “Have I been here before?” he asked Shiri.

  Another voice answered.

  “Yes young man but not in body.”

  He looked over to the source of the sound and espied three ancient, silver-haired women sitting on a ledge on the far side of a central pool of ink-black water.

  The Wise Ones.

  “Shiri, you have done well. It is time we took the concealment spell from you. Look at Shiri please Arwhon.”

  Arwhon turned and observed the little girl at his side who meant so much to him. A low song began in a three part harmony and Shiri started to grow. Not only grow but develop into a handsome young woman. Her dyed, dark hair became longer, nearly down to her waist and that mischievous, girlish face firmed and shaped into a startlingly beautiful visage. Arwhon was struggling with the change occurring in front of him.

  “Where is Shiri, I want Shiri, please.”

  The young women in front of him cupped her hand under his chin and lifted his head.

  “Look into my eyes.”

  He did, and there was Shiri looking back at him with the same caring and tenderness pouring from those large amethyst eyes which now seemed twice as large as before, as they had no white to them. He could not comprehend what had just occurred but there was no doubt in his mind the young woman before him had also been little Shiri. She drew him to her and enveloped him in a warm embrace. It was Shiri and knowing that, he hugged her back, adjusting to the larger body.

  “My proper name is Sihron’del and Vehrin’del is my mother but if you want to call me Shiri, I don’t mind at all. It was my baby name and I am still your Shield, I just drew less attention as a child. Your Grandmother knew.”

  “Grandmother?”

  “Leave us Sihron’del, we have work to do,” one of the Wise Ones commanded.

  Sihron’del did not move.

  “I’m sorry that’s not possible. I’ve given this Man the Breath of Life and I’m his Shield. Where he goes, so must I, always watchful, to protect him from danger however and wherever I can. Although you are the Wise Ones and can see into the future, I still believe it’s not wise to separate us.”

  The three ancient women conferred for a moment.

  “We agree there may be truth in what you say, although we’re not used to being gainsaid. You may stay but try not to interrupt unless we ask you a direct question.”

  Sihron’del nodded and moved away to find a comfortable place to sit and observe while she waited. Arwhon looked anxious. She spoke gently to him from her waiting place.

  “These are the Wise Ones whose lives are devoted to guiding the M’Herindar; they want to help you regain your memory. Trust them and remember, I’m your Shield and I’m here.”

  One of the Wise Ones gestured for Arwhon to approach and pointed to a large stone, shaped like a seat, beside the pitch-black pool. He sat in it with some trepidation, anxious at what might transpire but glancing back at Shiri, now Sihron’del, with childish trust, he felt more secure. She was smiling at him encouragingly.

  The old ladies became silent and a hush fell over the cavern. Above the water, mist began to form in the image of Arwhon. Where his head was, the skull was transparent and different colours lit different areas. One of the Wise Ones sighed.

  “We can do nothing,” she said. “Pathways have been destroyed,” but as she spoke a tree, a great Tree took shape from the swirling mist, surrounding and encompassing the misty image of Arwhon. There was a collective intake of breath from all three of the Wise Ones.

  “Ch’ron. He has chosen to become involved. Ch’ron can heal him but it will take time. He must become One with the Tree.”

  Arwhon had no idea what they were talking about but it didn’t sound like fun at all. Become one with a tree. What did they mean?

  Sihron’del was quite alarmed. This level of involvement by the Tree had never before occurred in the long history of the M’Herindar. The nearest Ch’ron had come to direct interference in their lives was when he grew the staff for Kuiran’dal.

  “Arwhon must be taken to the Heart Tree immediately and stood beside it naked. Shield. That is your task. Go now. Quickly.”

  The mist over the pool vanished as Sihron’del arose and went to Arwhon, taking him by the hand and leading him from the cavern like a child going for a walk.

  “You must trust me and come with me to a place not far away. Nothing in the Darkwood will hurt you, even if you are a Man, Ch’ron has involved himself.”

  “Ch’ron, what is a Ch’ron? What will it do to me? Will you protect me?”

  Arwhon was upset. This was all happening too fast for him and little Shiri was gone but here was Shiri suddenly grown up. He felt helpless and could only trust those amethyst eyes, filled as they were with concern for him.

  Soon they were standing in front of the biggest tree Arwhon had ever seen in his life. He could not see the top of it. The bark was smooth, with a texture like hard skin and its colour was a rich shade of silver grey which glowed in the dim light.

  “What do I do?” he asked Sihron’del.

  “I am not sure. First you must undress. I guess you can keep your undercloth on though.”

  Arwhon was not happy as he reluctantly complied with her request, shedding his Plainsman clothing but Shiri had always helped him before, so why should he not do as she now asked. Soon he stood almost naked in the balmy air, looking doubtful.

  “Try standing with your back against the trunk,” Shiri suggested.

  Arwhon moved to comply and as he did so Sihron’del suddenly found herself anchored to the spot, powerless to move a muscle. Some magic had entered her without her permission or knowledge and rendered her helpless. All she could do was watch as Arwhon backed against the trunk and stood there.

  “What’s supposed to happen?” he asked, his voice full of uncertainty.

  Suddenly, without warning, thousands of tiny tendrils shot out from the trunk of the Tre
e and wrapped around him, pinioning Arwhon against the smooth bark. He screamed in fear. The high pitched scream of a frightened child, mouth open and head tilted back, eyes closed in terror. Tears sprang to Sihron’del’s eyes as she strove to move to his aid but to no avail. Arwhon was now held immobile against the huge trunk and as Sihron’del watched in horror, helpless, a crack was opening vertically behind him. Right in front of a frozen Sihron’del, the crack widened to the width of Arwhon’s body and he was drawn backward into the Tree until he’d totally disappeared inside it. Then the trunk slowly closed over in front of him and the tendrils disappeared back into the now smooth bark. It was as if Arwhon had never been. Released from her spell, Sihron’del rushed forward and pummelled on the trunk with her fists but there was no response from the Heart Tree. All was silent within.

  She was Arwhon’s Shield and she’d failed him.

  Sihron’del waited until dark, maintaining vigil beside the huge trunk, hoping against hope that Arwhon would be released. As dusk fell she mournfully returned to her home and immediately sought her mother’s council.

  After hearing Sihron’del’s story, Vehrin’del sat back and pondered. She was the Queen of the M’Herindar and over four hundred years old. After her hair silvered fully, she would abdicate in favour of her daughter and become one of the Wise Ones. It had always been so. Her knowledge of Ch’ron was deep, as she had lived all of her life with the Tree as her protector and benefactor but Ch’ron was ancient, one of the oldest entities on the planet and there were mysteries here venturing way beyond her knowledge. The Wise Ones may know. They sometimes had visions of possible futures but this event truly baffled her.

  “You said Ch’ron was in the mists of the pool in the cave while Arwhon’s image was also hanging there.”

  “Yes mother, they intertwined briefly before the Wise Ones told me to take him to the Heart of Ch’ron.”

  “Mmm. I don’t know of this ever happening before but then Ch’ron grew the staff for Kuiran recently and that was unknown. Sihron’del, Ch’ron has never harmed a single person for as long as the M’Herindar have known him. That is something to think on.”

  “But mother, Arwhon is not M’Herindar, he is Man.”

  “You say his grandmother is Cristal nasi Tsalkini though. Correct?”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with this problem?”

  Vehrin’del paused, mentally reviewing her history and the history of the M’Herindar.

  “Long ago, M’Herindar sometimes took men and women from the race of Man as their husbands or wives. Not many mind but some. Tsalk is a name derived from Salkin’dal who was powerful in magic and was attracted to the dark hair and voluptuousness of the women of Man. He fathered many children with them over the years, as their lives are so very brief. Some lived here with their M’Herindar kin while many lived in the world outside the Tree. It is possible Arwhon is M’Herindar in a small way. We will have to wait until Ch’ron finishes what he has begun. Remain with us daughter. You may be needed.”

  Sihron’del laughed ironically.

  “I have to remain. I’m Arwhon’s Shield and while there is the remotest chance of him coming back, I will wait.”

  She looked shyly at her mother and continued in a small voice, hesitant and unsure.

  “Mother, out of all the M’Herindar suitors I’ve had and all of the Men I’ve met in the world outside, there is only one I have feelings for. Deep feelings. I think I love that Man who is stuck inside the Tree. He is kind and caring and always puts others before himself. He’s so honest, it hurts and he was very fair in his dealings with a little girl even though he is a shy and private person. I pushed him, out of mischief but he never had a hard word for me, ever.”

  Sihron’del held her head up and looked her mother in the eye.

  “I would choose him for my partner but he’s locked inside the Tree.”

  Vehrin’del’s eyebrows rose in a look Sihron’del had never seen before and her mother quickly got up to go into the next room.

  “Wait here a moment please.”

  Both of Sihron’del’s parents returned shortly. Her father, Jahron’dal, taking a seat beside his wife and addressing his daughter.

  “We admire your independence but you must realise that M’Herindar live a long time. It is not unheard of, one of the M’Herindar taking a Man for a husband but you are next in line to be Queen and it could create a problem for us.”

  Sihron’del lifted her chin proudly.

  “We are talking of a Man stuck inside of the Tree. Forgive me but whom I choose to love is my own decision and I’ll not speak of it with you any further. If Ch’ron ever frees Arwhon or even if he still lives is unknown to me but I’m his Shield and believe my purpose as such is not yet over. This discussion is for the future.”

  Having spoken with such determination, Sihron’del arose and swept out of the room, her face set firm. Husband and wife exchanged meaningful glances.

  Sihron’del had never acted like this before.

  When Arwhon was drawn inside the Tree he panicked, his childish thinking believing it was a trap. He struggled but the substance of the interior of the tree gently packed snugly around him. It was like being enveloped in thick mud. His mind racing, Arwhon found the air space around his head still allowed him to breathe and as he tired his struggling slowed. Then the song started.

  What a song.

  It was the music of the wind rustling through tree leaves. It was the tinkle of water in a stream. It was the gentle susurration of surf on a beach. It was all the ballads he had ever heard rolled into one. Gradually Arwhon calmed, feeling as if he was in the embrace of someone who loved him. Gentle pricks over the veins in his arms went unnoticed as the Tree began to introduce oxygenated sap directly into his blood supply. Arwhon never noticed when he’d stopped breathing, enthralled as he was by the song. Nor did he notice when his undercloth was dissolved away. Soon, only the beating of his heart told of life as the Tree fed soporifics into the mix of special sap and oxygen coursing through his veins.

  Arwhon lost consciousness.

  Ch’ron was puzzled by the Ring borne on this Man’s hand. Superficially it seemed to be a thing of Firemagic but it was old, far older than any other artefact ever encountered by Ch’ron, possibly even older than himself. It had the feel of great depth and antiquity to it. Ch’ron’s roots penetrated far into the earth and drew raw Earthmagic from the mysterious subterranean resources available far, far below. It helped with his care of the Darkwood, essentially all part of himself. This Ring tasted of the deep magic but there was something else, even older, unknown to Ch’ron.

  There was another surprise. The Ring bearer was not just a Man, he was also part M’Herindar! Ch’ron was intrigued to recognise a very small amount of M’Herindar blood colouring Arwhon’s veins. For some unknown reason, this Man had the ability to access the Power of raw magic and store it within him but he wasn’t aware of it nor did he know how to use it. The Elemental magics of Earth, Air, Fire and Water all had their origins in raw magic but even the M’Herindar could only take Earthmagic from near the surface.

  How could a mere Man accomplish such a thing?

  It was a deep and enticing mystery for Ch’ron and the Tree liked answers but right now something needed to be done with Arwhon as the Man’s mind was damaged. Some of the neurons in his brain were dysfunctional in their bridging due to oxygen starvation and shock. Ch’ron knew how living things worked, having drawn their dead bodies into himself for millennia. It may be possible to repair this Man and retrieve the answer to the endlessly cycling word in his brain.

  ‘Puppet.’

  Superfine tendrils started to grow into Arwhon’s ears, eyes, nose and mouth, questing for a route into the damaged neuronal tissue. One thought dictated Ch’ron’s actions.

  ‘Above all else, do no harm’.

  This could take a long time.

  14. Prelude to War.

  Redbeard’s Band had indeed been available f
or hire.

  Cristal, in her disguise as a decrepit old crone, loitered around in a dark doorway opposite the ale house which Redbeard himself was known to frequent, begging for coppers. The tavern was half way down the hill to the docks, a few streets back from the main thoroughfare of Belvedere, tucked back in the narrowing cobbled streets and small alleys of Old Town. It seemed a puzzling maze to those not accustomed to the twists and turns of the original streets of Belvedere, some of which predated the city walls. The ale house was not quite as seedy as some of those down nearer the docks but still rough enough. Many of the patrons had information to trade in these establishments.

  Cristal had used Redbeard’s services in the past, for somewhat delicate situations and a little disciplining here and there. She already knew he was honest and trustworthy, a rare commodity in today’s mercenaries. As she waited, Cristal thought over her plan to bring Arwhon’s brother and sister to Belvedere. If they were half as promising as the earnest boy who had left last night, they would be twice as useful to her as anyone she knew. It was only yesterday she had waved goodbye to Arwhon and the rescue party but she had a city to run and things to do. Having help she could trust would be an advantage.

  The door of ‘The Sitting Duck’ banged open again and a couple of rowdy revellers staggered into the night air. Cristal watched them go but noticed someone else slipping out right behind them, walking briskly off in the opposite direction. Cristal caught sight of the bushy red beard before its owner turned the corner. She hurried after him. Just in time, for as she rounded the corner, she saw him take another one. Cristal almost ran to the next alley but as she stepped around the corner, a hand was roughly clasped over her mouth to stifle any noise and a knife blade pricked her throat, drawing a little blood.

  A familiar voice growled.

  “Why do you follow me old crone. Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat and leave you for the Guard.”

  The voice was clear and deep, unaffected by drink and he eased the hand off her mouth slightly so she could answer the question.