by JD Byrne
For another minute or two the sound of rattling leaves and branches bending then snapping back into place continued. Through the green overhead cover, Strefer could begin to make out some sort of large, boxy shape creeping towards the ground. She listened very carefully and heard the faint squeal of metal on metal, the sound of pulleys and gears working free of rust. Eventually, a large wooden box, perhaps ten feet square, began to push through the canopy. It was open at about chest level, with a roof overhead. It continued onto the ground, slowly and smoothly.
In the box were three men. One was letting out a length of rope, controlling the descent. He was huge, so much so that, had it not been for his deep-green skin, Strefer would have thought he was Neldathi. The other two, of more average Altrerian height but of similar complexion, held longbows in their hands, but neither was primed to use them. One of them looked down and saw Strefer, then scanned the clearing, but did nothing because of it. When the box reached the ground, one of the smaller men unlatched a door in the side, allowing the other to step out just in front of Forlahn.
“My friend, Forlahn,” the man said in a deep, ringing voice. “It’s been too long. I hope you have not come looking for a bounty, however.”
“My friend, Wylph, it’s good to see you, as well,” Forlahn responded. “No, I have no bounties today. What I do have is something much more interesting, I hope.”
“Is that so?” Wylph stepped over to Forlahn and greeted him. “Are these friends of yours?” he asked, pointing to Rurek and Strefer. “This one appears to be injured.”
Forlahn nodded. “He was unlucky enough to walk in front of one of Spider’s arrows.”
“Spider? How is that rascal?” Wylph smirked.
“Dead now, thanks to me.”
Wylph looked at him, as if he was impressed. “Well, well. You’ll have to tell me all about it. So who do we have here?” He left Forlahn and walked over to Strefer.
Forlahn shuffled back into his path. “This young lady is Strefer Quants, of the Guild of Writers. She has something that I think will be of great interest to the sages.”
Wylph nodded. “And what might that be?” he asked, partly to Forlahn, partly to Strefer.
“I’d prefer not to discuss it here,” Strefer said, ignoring Forlahn’s order to stay quiet. “I’ve had quite enough of wooded paths and clearings in the past few weeks. The sooner we go up there,” she said, pointing to the trees, “the better.”
Forlahn jumped in to assist. “Trust me, Wylph. What she has to discuss with the sages is one of the most important discoveries of the past hundred years. There are those in these woods who would do her harm just for having it. Besides, Rurek, the Sentinel there, is in need of better medical care than I can provide. May we ascend, without delay?”
Wylph thought about it for a moment. “Very well. We must wait a while, to see if anyone else has business in the city and to let Bodd regain his strength.”
“Then we’ll sit down and wait,” Strefer said. “We’ve developed quite a talent for it.”
~~~~~
While they waited to begin the ascent into the city, Strefer sat and wondered what it would be like. Her imagination proved no match for reality. She had seen amazing things in her life, from the Grand Council chamber to the boats crawling out of the clinging fog on Great Basic Lake, but she had never seen anything like this.
It took about twenty-five minutes from the time they were all secured in the lift until they arrived at the city’s main level. Her first amazement was Bodd, who hauled the basket and its seven occupants up through the trees using a combination of sheer brute force and complex unseen machinery. He proceeded with a steady rhythm, rising, pausing, then rising again over and over as they ascended. Once she was used to it, Strefer could block out the mechanics and take in the view around her.
The forest floor disappeared underneath them quickly. Within moments, they were up in the trees. When Strefer dared to look out over the side of the lift, clutching the side emphatically, Forlahn said, “You can see why it’s necessary to have someone who knows exactly how to get to Oberton.” She nodded, aware that she most likely looked like a wonderstruck child. “If someone walked through the clearing now and didn’t know what they are looking for, they would never know it was anything special,” he said.
Once the ground was out of sight, Strefer took in the unfolding levels of greenery around them. She could not tell whether the path of the lift was kept clear by design or if the location had been selected because it was relatively clear. It passed through countless branches, but only at their thinnest point where they most easily gave way. Even then, without the lift’s roof for protection, they would all be beaten senseless by the time the ride was over.
About halfway up, Strefer began to see structures outlined in the leaves and limbs, built into and around the massive tree trunks. Strefer thought they were homes. No more than huts or shacks, in truth. One room each, by the looks of them, usually affixed in some manner to a tree trunk. The further they climbed, the larger and more elaborate the construction became.
First came more elaborate individual dwellings, some linked by sturdy plank walkways laid out on top of the thickest branches. Then came a return to smaller homes, but clusters of them that shared common space along planked walkways. There were people standing in some of those areas, deep in discussion. Some turned when they heard the lift passing by, waving at Wylph, who returned the gesture. Others ignored them, no doubt having learned to tune out the regular noise.
Forlahn leaned in to explain what Strefer was seeing. “These are where your best hope lives. Each of these small groups of homes belong to a particular group of sages. They share a common expertise and live together to further their work.”
“Shouldn’t we be stopping somewhere, then?” Strefer asked.
Forlahn chuckled. “Oh, no. They won’t talk to an outsider without being ordered to do so.”
“Ordered to?” Strefer said, a little shocked. “But they look so friendly.”
“They are. It’s just that they have a singular focus. Sort of like your Guilds, as I understand them. Their role in life is not to make friends or welcome visitors to the city. That role belongs to others.”
Finally, a much larger platform emerged overhead, with a square-shaped hole through which the lift was going to pass. Strefer assumed that would be their destination. The lift rose through the opening and came to an abrupt halt. Bodd reached over the side and locked some sort of mechanism in place. Once that was done, two other men standing on the platform grasped the lift by the side and swung it out over the solid floor.
Wylph unlatched the door and said, with some flourish, “Welcome to Oberton.” He gestured for the others to step out onto the platform.
Had she given the situation much thought, Strefer would have been scared out of her mind. She was not fond of heights. Stepping out onto a platform of wood suspended who knew how high in the air should have made her sick to her stomach. But she was so busy processing her surroundings that she did not give it a second thought.
The lower levels had been interesting, in a quaint and completely unexpected kind of way. Where they were now, however, the equivalent to Oberton’s town square, was truly magnificent. Wooden panels ran from tree to tree, trunk to trunk, up and down various large branches. As a result, the space felt open and airy, although it was surrounded by thick green foliage. Strefer bent down and examined the wood panels that made up the floor underneath her. It was not smooth or slick, yet had a deep brown hue that reminded her of the most polished wooden furniture. She did not have time to analyze it too closely.
“Take this one to the infirmary,” Wylph said behind her. “He ran afoul of Spider.”
She turned to see a pair of men, minimally but obviously armed, act on the order. They took Rurek, one under each arm, and walked him away. Their swiftness made her nervous.
Forlahn must have sensed that. “Malin, go with the Sentinel,” he said. “Take note of any
instructions for his further care.”
The boy did as he was told and followed Rurek as he was led away. No one else moved to stop him.
Wylph turned to Strefer. “If you’ll follow me, it’s time for you to go before the council.”
“Already?” Strefer asked. “Can’t we take a break first? Find some accommodations for the night?”
“We must meet the council first,” Wylph said. “If they decide that you have no rightful business with the sages of Oberton, you will be taken back to the ground and sent on your way. If they are interested in what you have to say to them, you will be welcome to stay in Oberton as long as you must.” He extended his hand, directing her and Forlahn towards the interior of the platform. “So, if you will please…”
She looked at Forlahn for some hint of whether this was normal. He said nothing, but the look on his face showed confidence, not concern. She took a deep breath and did as Wylph instructed.
They walked around what appeared to be the center of the city, a massive tree trunk that easily supported the weight of the wide paths on which they moved. Walkways and buildings unfurled around them as they made their way through the city. She looked back at one point, searching for the lift station in an attempt to find her bearings. It was a hopeless gesture, as the deep green and robust browns blended in such a way that nothing appeared distinct. Whatever happened before the council, simply running away was not an option. She wondered if Forlahn might know how to get away, or whether that kind of knowledge could only come from being born and raised here.
After what seemed like several minutes, they rounded yet another gently sweeping corner and came to what looked, to all appearances, like a temple. It took Strefer a moment to realize that was precisely what it was, or what it had been, before the Great Awakening.
Wylph strode forward and pulled open one of the massive, thick, wooden doors. “Wait here,” he said as they entered a small but lavishly appointed foyer. “I will go notify the council of the need to assemble.” He disappeared behind a set of deep-orange curtains drawn across what appeared to be the doorway into the main hall.
“Is this normal?” Strefer asked, turning to Forlahn. “You’ve been here before, right?”
He chuckled nervously. “No, I’ve never been here, specifically. When you cash in a bounty, you go to the other side of the city. As far away from here as you can get, before you fall through the leaves and branches to your death.” He stopped as she shot him a worried look. “But, as far as I know, this is perfectly normal. They don’t really want to have much to do with the outside world if they can help it. Don’t take it personally.”
Before she had a chance to take that advice to heart, Wylph slipped back through the curtains. “The council will see you now.” He held the curtain open and gestured for her to walk through.
As she did, Strefer heard Wylph behind her. “I’m sorry, Forlahn, but only she may see the council. I have stretched protocol too far as it is by bringing you with us. You must wait here.”
“That’s all right,” Forlahn said. “Mind if I wait outside?” he asked, more to Strefer than to Wylph.
“That will be fine,” Wylph said, “but do not stray too far. This should not take very long.”
Strefer turned and caught Forlahn’s eyes. He smiled at her, as if to say, “Stop worrying, you’ll do fine.” That’s what she needed to hear, at least, and so she did. She took a deep breath and walked into the council hall.
~~~~~
Once she was behind the curtain, Strefer was certain that this had at one time been the city’s main temple. She stood in a large, open room with only a few distinguishing features. Row upon row of wooden benches stretched forward from the back of the hall to the front. The walls curved gracefully into the vaulted ceiling, high enough that had it been open to the sky Strefer would not have been surprised. Sunlight drifted in from brilliant multicolored skylights perched high up on the walls, the patterns ever shifting with the sway of the branches in the breeze.
Two aisles cut through the benches to the front of the room, what must have been the altar in the past. In place of the altar, or perhaps just the repurposed altar itself, was a simple, but elegantly carved, wooden lectern. It faced a raised counter, behind which five people were sitting. Wylph walked slowly down one of the aisles. Strefer followed.
No one said a word as they made their way to the front of the room. When they reached the lectern, the man sitting in the middle of the group said, “Welcome, young lady, to the city of Oberton.” His voice was confident yet hushed, as if he had grown up in the massive room. “Thank you, Wylph,” he said, turning to her escort. “You may leave us now.”
Without saying anything, Wylph quickly turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
Once he was gone, the old man introduced himself. “I am Gillem, First Councilor of the city of Oberton. And you are?”
Strefer assumed that Wylph or someone else had briefed them about her in advance. Perhaps this was part of the ritual. “My name is Strefer Quants, of the Guild of Writers. Thank you for seeing me, First Councilor.”
“You are a Guilder?” asked a woman who sat on the far right side of the platform. “Do you speak for your Guild?” Her tone was not as impatient as the question made it seem.
“No, councilor,” Strefer said, turning to face her. She assumed that is what she should do. “Although I am a Guilder, I have worked for several years in Tolenor as a correspondent for the Sermont Daily Register. I am here today speaking only for myself. In a sense.”
“In a sense?” echoed another man, who sat just to Gillem’s left. He appeared to be the youngest of the group, wrapped in an orange robe that matched the color of the curtains. “What an odd answer. What does that mean?”
She swiveled towards her new interlocutor. “What that means, councilor, is that I am here, before you today, purely by my own volition. I represent no other person, nor group of persons, nor any Guild. That being said, what I have to share with you goes beyond simply speaking for myself. I speak for the countless Neldathi who have been cut down in violent confrontation over the past century.”
“Neldathi?” Gillem asked. “What could you possibly mean?”
Strefer took a deep breath. “I am not certain how much this council knows of recent events in Tolenor. Am I correct to assume that you know of the murder of Alban, the Clerk of the Grand Council of the Triumvirate?”
“Yes,” the man beside Gillem answered. “We know of the crime and of its perpetrator. His student or protégé or whatever she was.”
“Forgive me, councilor,” Strefer said, hoping she would not be cut off for asking questions, “but it has been a long time since I have read a newspaper or talked to one of my brethren. Do they say why Antrey—her name was Antrey—why she killed Alban?”
The man to Gillem’s far left, who sat hunched over as if his spine had curled, said, “There was no clear motive.” His voice, paper-thin, was broken by the slightest of coughs. “They speculate that this Antrey woman simply went mad. Part of her Neldathi background breaking through, they say.”
“Ah,” Strefer said, nodding slowly. “What I have to show you, councilors, what I have to share with the sages of Oberton and what I hope you will help me share with the rest of the world, is the true motivation for her crime.”
She paused to see if any of them would jump in with another question. When they did not, she slipped her hand into the bag balanced on her hip and pulled out the red notebook. She held it in front of her in both hands, up over the lectern, so that they could all see it. Every eye on the bench was drawn to it. Abruptly, she put it behind her back. Their eyes shifted to hers.
“After the murder of Alban, I used my connections with the Sentinels who guard the city to gain access to the crime scene,” she said without any more prompting. “After the body was removed, but before it had been picked over by investigators. I saw the bloodied pikti Antrey had used to do it lying where she dropped it on the stained ca
rpet. I saw everything.” She pulled the notebook out from behind her and held it up again, next to her face. “One of the things I saw was this. An aged red notebook, lying open on Alban’s desk. Naturally, I wanted to see what was in it, not expecting to find anything important.” She stopped there. Let them ask for it.
“It must have meant something,” Gillem said, playing along, “or you would not have taken it with you.”
“Exactly,” Strefer nodded. “When I stopped to read this notebook, what I discovered was a record. A transcript, after a fashion, of the proceedings of the first Grand Council of the Triumvirate, just after the Neldathi Uprising had been put down. These were the people who drew the three nations together to fight a common enemy. They were brave and bold.” She paused again, to emphasize the coming pivot. “But they were also cunning. ‘Conniving’ might be a better word. Even devious, when it suited them. When it came to the Neldathi, deviousness suited them very well. What this notebook shows is that, from the very founding of the Triumvirate, it has been a policy of our nations, yours and mine alike, to set the Neldathi clans at each other’s throats. To take existing feuds that had all but burned out and rekindle them. To invent new slights and nurse imagined insults. To use the gods, whom we have cast aside but who are very revered by the Neldathi, as weapons, to motivate the clans. Motivate them to kill each other. Clan on clan, Neldathi on Neldathi. And so it has gone for more than a century. In our names.” She raised her voice so the last sentence rang around the great hall for a few seconds.
Before Strefer had spoken, the members of the council appeared poised at the edge of their seats, eager for what she had to tell them. Now they slumped backwards, as if deflated. Whether it was because of the enormity of what she had said, or that the revelation did not measure up to their lofty standards, Strefer could not tell.
Finally, the woman on the far right broke the silence. “If what you say is true, young lady,” she said, pausing, groping for the right word, “it is…it is…”
