The Embroidered Serpent (The Crystalline Source Book 1)

by M. Woodruff

  “That is the case if we were dealing with purely physical matters, but we are not. Spiritual darkness can lurk anywhere and even cloak itself in the Light of the Tiph’arah, but at its core it is the heart of the Abyss—the deepest, darkest pit of nothingness. The Katak’amai hates the Light and will stop at nothing until it is destroyed. But, in and of itself, it has no power except that for which it steals from those Awakened by the Tiph’arah. So, it seeks to suborn those who wield the power of creation to turn them into blasphemers of destruction, instead. And therein lies my problem: I have no way of knowing who has been turned, only that there are those amongst us who have been.” Grayson took a seat beside Nels as if the weight of her ignorance had finally become too much to bear.

  “I cannot leave Silver Persia to find out what is occurring in all of the surrounding worlds because I must stay here to protect the Hall of Awakening. And even now, I am fearful that Silver Persia is the ultimate target of the Katak’amai’s vile plans. But, I must have more information before I can make ready to defend the Light, if I am called to.”

  “And you need my help.” It was not a question.

  “I do.”

  “What is this Hall of Awakening that is so important?”

  Grayson’s green eyes pierced Nels’ as she answered, “It is the physical manifestation of a person’s moment of Awakening to the Gift. By touching a person’s statue it allows me to ‘see’ them and find them, at times. But, only vaguely, without complete knowledge and only sporadically, I might see a vision. Some I cannot see at all—the vision remains clouded. It is how I found you at the appointed time, for a while I only saw mist when I touched your statue.

  “The statues act as a physical record, even though, now, it is unclear, of all who have received the Power of Tiph’arah and acted upon it. It would be a boon for the Katak’amai to have that information, and I believe that is what it wants. Who knows what destroying those statues will do? Or in the very least being able to track down who has been Awakened.”

  “But as you say, if the information is spotty, how much good would it do the Katak’amai to possess them?”

  “The Power is yet young, Nels. Who knows what more can be learned over the years? I am the first to practice the Tiph’arah, but there will be many others who may grow stronger than I, in time. And, if they have chosen to serve the Darkness, there is no calculating the destruction they may wreak upon our worlds.” Grayson’s eyes took on a farseeing cast, as if seeing her worst nightmares coming true, she shivered.

  Nels reached out and took hold of her bejeweled hand resting on her lap. She ignored his presumption, and instead gave him a wan smile. For all her apparent age—and Nels knew better than to ask—she suddenly seemed as young and frightened as Casandra had been, not in the fear of mere shadows, however, but at the truth of what would happen if complete and utter darkness ruled the worlds.

  “What would you have me to do?” Nels asked quietly, knowing his course had been set. As ignorant of all this as he was, he did know about evil—had known from a young age—and he would refuse that very same evil any type of victory, no matter the cost. He was suddenly filled with a sense of certainty that the embroidered serpent was a personification of the Darkness come to lead him away from the Light, and that it sought his aid in its pursuit of destruction. Well, that would not happen; he was no one’s tool.

  Grayson slowly unleashed her hand from his grasp, and settled it gently atop his own with a tender squeeze. “I would have you to search for me, seek out those who are within the Katak’amai’s embrace. Try to learn of their plans, but do not confront…not yet. You are not ready, and we need more information before we can act.

  “You must tell no one of what you are about…especially Casandra. She is too trusting and has no experience with darkness. You may even need to ingratiate yourself amongst those you find. It should do you no harm…if you are careful. I don’t believe they have the ability to kill you, but beyond that—“ she gave a rueful shrug, “there are other ways to torture a soul.”

  “Can’t kill me? What do you mean? Certainly, a knife or a club could kill me as easily as any other man. I am not invincible…am I?” Nels asked a wee bit hopefully.

  Grayson sat up straighter, her posture becoming regal, as she took back her hand, pressing it flat against the other in a show of determination. “You are not invincible, no, but since you are on a task for the Tiph’arah I believe you will be protected from death from the hands of Darkness. However, as I said, there are other ways to drive a man to madness that he may take his own life, which would be as sure as if the Katak’amai had killed you itself.”

  Nels scratched his head. “So, you are saying that I may be protected from a knife or club, or even this Katak’amai Power, but I could be enticed to do myself in?”

  “That would be the danger, yes.”

  Nels gave Grayson a disbelieving look as he stretched out his arms. “But you’re not really sure about any of this are you?” he asked with a smile. He didn’t really mind, whether he could be killed or not—he certainly wasn’t worried about killing himself—he found himself glad to have a purpose. He had always enjoyed getting out and exploring the woods, showing others what experience had taught him; now he would have a chance to explore people and forces that were new to him. It would offer him a challenge he decided he needed this late in his life. And, for the most part it had been a good one, he wasn’t afraid of dying.

  “No, I’m not,” Grayson returned Nels’ smile as she spoke, “but I don’t think that bothers you in the least, Nels Hunter

  “It doesn’t,” he agreed.

  “Good. Now it’s time I take you to the Hall of Awakening.”

  “We’ll leave from here,” Grayson said as she smoothed her skirt and patted her hair, as if primping in a mirror.

  Nels blinked as he found himself sitting on a tufted blue velvet bench in the middle of a huge room with white walls; sheer white curtains were billowing gently over large open windows. A faint scent of spring wafted through the air as he saw the sky outside matched the lush blue carpet that covered the floor. He even saw white clouds float past the windows and he wondered if they were indeed flying in the air.

  As Nels took in his surroundings more fully he realized the room was only two stories with a balcony running along the perimeter. He saw no doors and no lighting fixtures, only the bench they were seated upon and two tufted chairs upholstered in the same fabric. And all throughout the two floors were white pedestals topped with statues made of jewels.

  They were all shapes and sizes, made to look like various living and non-living things. He saw a butterfly, a fish, a harp, and even what looked to be a woman’s shoe, all encrusted with tiny gemstones of varying hues to give the statues appearances of shimmering life. Even the shoe seemed it might walk right off the pedestal of its own accord.

  Grayson stood. “Welcome to the Hall of Awakening. Now, I’m sure you have a better understanding.”

  “Not really,” Nels said, standing looking around. “I thought there’d be more. It doesn’t seem many are Awakened.”

  “Oh, there are rooms-within-rooms here. This is just one. All in Silver Persia are Awakened.” Grayson gave a wave of her hand and the room shifted. It remained the same except the carpet was now red and the statues were different. “I can keep doing this many times over.”

  A statue of a gray cat with green eyes suddenly caught Nels’ eye. It was as if a light ray had beamed upon it, even though he could see no extra glow upon it that was different from any of the others. He walked over to it and on closer inspection he saw the color came from tiny gray tourmalines with emeralds for the eyes, onyxes for the pupils. He reached out and stroked the cat’s shiny surface, swearing he could hear a faint purring, when he suddenly saw a young girl molding a cat out of wet mortar. Once she had the shape she took emerald earrings out of her ears and placed them for the cat’s eyes.

  He turned suddenly to Grayson, “It’s you. This is
your statue. You were that young girl I just saw.”

  Grayson came over and put her hand on the statue. “Yes, this was Smokey, my childhood cat. She was very precious to me, and when she died I was heartbroken. It was the first time I had faced death. In my grief, I set out to make her a monument. My father was a stonemason, so I knew how to mix mortar and I did so in his workshop one day when he was out. It was a childishly simple cat; I couldn’t even get it to stand upright. I had to shape it flat, as if it was a painting, on a large stone by a beautiful waterfall not far away. A spot I used to go to sit by myself and dream; Smokey would often join me.” She shook her head, smiling at the memory. “I had a pair of small emerald earrings my mother had given me. They were the first pair I had ever worn. She gave them to me because they matched my eyes. But my heart was so full of the love I bore Smokey and the pain her loss caused, I felt her memory deserved nothing less than the best I had to offer.

  “That was the moment of Awakening for me,” she finished, her eyes glistening, the poignancy of her loss still able to inflict pain after all these years.

  Nels felt his own eyes shine with empathy as he quickly coughed and looked back down at the cat statue, when realization dawned on him.

  “I saw you!” he exclaimed, quickly looking up. “When I touched the statue I saw you as a little girl! How could that be? I know you said you could see visions from the statues, but me? Or can anyone who comes here?”

  “No, not anyone. Only one other that I’m aware of, besides you, now. Not everyone who is Awakened has been here, though. I only bring those who the Tiph’arah shows to me.”

  “Who was the other one?” Nels asked. “Was it Javin? Or Casandra?”

  Grayson shook her head. “Neither. It is someone you haven’t met, yet. But, you will. He’s a very important part of the Tiph’arah, as well. Speaking of Javin and Casandra let me show you their statues.”

  The room shifted back to blue carpet again. “Any other colors?” Nels asked.

  “No, just the red or blue. Follow me,” Grayson said as she led Nels up blue-carpeted stairs, holding onto the white-iron handrail. They walked to the far corner and between two windows Nels immediately recognized Javin’s golden cone statue. The cone was fashioned with thousands of gold topaz fitted together to give it a smooth appearance as if it was really made from a solid piece of gold.

  “Can you tell me his story?” Nels asked, not touching the statue.

  Grayson’s lips tightened and she looked as if she was warring within herself. “No, I can’t,” she responded simply.

  “Can I touch it, then?”

  She gave a curt nod.

  Nels placed his hands on the cone statue and stroked it much as he had stroked the cat, but saw nothing except his own hands running over its surface. “Nothing.”

  Grayson nodded as if she had expected as much, but said nothing further about it. “There is Casandra’s,” she pointed to a pool of blue topazes floating in a pearl-ringed enclosure set amidst yellow sapphires.

  “A pool in a field of yellow grasses,” Nels said fondly, remembering first seeing her in those fields. Her brown hair and eyes, her brown dress—the thought making him glance down at his own dirt-colored clothes. “May I?” he asked, reaching his hand forward as Grayson nodded her ascent.

  He saw Casandra, then, as a little girl, the same brown hair blowing loose in the wind. She was standing amongst the yellow grasses in the bright morning sun with her hand above eyes that were spanning the distance for just the right spot. She saw it with a shout of glee and picked up the shovel that had been lying beside her on the ground. In just the right place, she began digging until she had a hole the size of a shallow bucket. He saw her run into the woods and begin to specially pick smooth white stones from the bed of a small stream, carrying them back to the field by holding up the hem of her dress and placing them in the fold. Carefully, she laid them around the lip of the hole, arranging them just so. Next, she ran back to the farmhouse, finding the bucket she was looking for, and took it to the stream to fill with water. Casandra then placed the bucket in the perfectly dug hole, moving the stones closer to the edge so the wooden edge of the bucket was no longer visible. Finished with her task, she sat back on her heels and smiled at the overhead sun and at its reflection in her newly built pool.

  “She saw it in her mind’s eye first,” Grayson said, startling Nels out of the vision. “She loved playing in the water of the stream and recognized its beauty. When she intuitively recognized a Portal in the field—a special place to her mind, without her knowing why—she used what she saw as nature’s sacred beauty to honor it as best she could, that awakened Tiph’arah’s Gift in her and later, as she matured, she was able to use the gift to create the pool you see today.”

  Nels swirled a finger through the blue gemstones, replaying the scene of Casandra as a little girl over in his head—to think that through that simple act she had instinctively done as a child would lead to the unlocking of whole worlds and powers heretofore unheard of—it was mind-boggling. And Grayson had said it was available to everyone. He thought of all the people walking around in ignorance in The Kingdom—how could they not know?—and yet, how could they? Most people there had no higher thoughts than imagining what went on in a loose woman’s bedroom or for the more modest, what color the walls were painted.

  It struck him then…his statue! His thoughts were criticizing his fellow citizens, but what had he done to cause his Awakening?

  He looked to Grayson, ready to ask to see it, when the carpet shifted to red. Nels saw her gaze diagonally over his shoulder and he turned, the question still on his lips, when he found himself staring into the cold, yellow-diamond eyes of the embroidered serpent.

  Nels jumped back involuntarily, a shriek escaping his lips, feeling for all the worlds as if he had just sprung a trap and he was the prey. He rounded on Grayson, trying to tamp down his fear—maybe she was part of the Katak’amai, maybe this whole Gift thing was all part of the Darkness, and he had just been wrapped up in its evil web.

  “You!...You!” he screamed, pointing his finger, then suddenly remembering the snake at his back, leapt sideways to keep both of them in view.

  Grayson held up a hand in a placating gesture. “Peace, Nels. It is only a statue, like all the others. Your statue.”

  “But…but, it’s evil! It’s an evil viper straight out of the Darkness! All these other statues…they represent the Light and good things…sweet, mushy childhood…things! But that snake! That horrible light-forsaken snake! How could it be my statue?” Nels suddenly felt like crying like a child. He hated that serpent, and now, in the midst of all this splendor, here he was with a statue of his worst nightmare. And Grayson had brought him here—to what end, he was now not sure.

  “You killed it, did you not, Nels?”

  Nels nodded, thoughts brimming with suspicion. He thought he had, at any rate.

  “Touch it.”

  Nels grimaced, eyeing the statue once more. The last thing he wanted to do was touch that serpent—jeweled or not.

  “Nels, put your hands on your statue,” Grayson spoke sternly, with the authority of a Jouel.

  And he found himself obeying.

  The statue was a perfect replica with white jade scales, onyx fangs, and pale yellow, blue, and pink stones embroidered down its back. And of course, those yellow-diamond eyes were there, piercing right through his flesh.

  Nels could barely touch it, only managing to place his index finger the against the snake’s milky scales when he saw himself as the fifteen-year old youth, wrangling on the floor of his father’s shed with the embroidered serpent, as long as he was. He saw himself use the old, rusty knife to saw the snake’s head off as he had it pinned to the floor. Saw the dark blood pool on the dusty floor, standing out starkly against the snake’s snow-white scales. He saw the serpent’s death-throes—still alive, yet already dead. And himself, throwing the fanged head to the floor as he realized he still had it in his grasp�
��the yellow eyes following him, even as they dropped sightlessly into the darkening pool of blood. The head landing, still facing him, the black fangs uselessly dripping venom, as the serpent’s mouth froze in a rictus of mirth.

  Nels jerked his hand back, shivering. It was an obscenity to be forced to relive such a horror when he had just seen such innocent scenes of childhood. And this was his Awakening? There was no way to compare the two extremes. How could this be considered a gift when it was wrapped in such ugliness?

  “You recognized pure evil when you saw it,” Grayson responded quietly to his unasked questions. “Not the physical evil of men, but true evil from its very source. And you sought to destroy it, in facing your fears, and standing up against the very heart of fear, your spirit Awakened. You have a very special gift, Nels, born out of courage. When you have been trampled down to the very dust, tasted the bile of despair upon your lips, and have done all you can do to stand—you will stand; no matter what comes upon you or what forces are arrayed against you, forevermore—you will still stand. This, I see in you.”

  Nels gritted his teeth and felt his self-pitying thoughts dissolve under the truth of Grayson’s words. He saw the difference in who he was, and who he could now be. While he may not have had the innocent childhood of Casandra, he also would never be ignorant to the ways of darkness that always lurked just out of sight to those too blinded to see. He could instinctively see the evil, and know it for what it was. That was part of his gift, part of his Awakening—he knew evil. And that was why Grayson had picked him to ferret out the Katak’amai’s treacherous plans.

  “I’m sorry. I understand, now.”

  “Never apologize, Nels, it could be considered a sign of weakness,” Grayson said with a wink. “I jest, of course, to lighten your mood. Appropriate apology is a sign of strength, especially when you think wrongly of a woman,” she added archly. “Now, take off your shirt.”