A Tribute at the Gates

by C. J. Aaron

  Rising to his feet again, Ryl slowly began making his way back in the direction he believed he had entered from. From the position he had awoken in, and the disturbed earth of the sloping wall, he was certain which side of the ravine he had tumbled down. His fortuitous escape had been fairly quick and the small path he followed had run in a fairly straight line. Ryl was convinced that he would soon hear the gurgling of the river.

  He carefully slipped through the opening between two trees, walking slowly, testing every footstep before planting his full weight. Moving with his hands out in front of him, he felt his way from tree to tree. Every few steps, he would pause, nervously looking from side to side. There were no sounds other than the muffled crunching of the detritus underfoot, no movement save for his own. The unease he felt continued to intensify.

  Minutes passed, following the same order. Walk a few steps. Pause. Repeat. He squeezed his body through a small hole in the undergrowth. Ryl was now convinced that he’d been traveling in the wrong direction. What he had thought was the path by which he‘d escaped into the woods was now no more a path than he a free man. He stared ahead into the knotted face of a large tree. The brambles on both sides wrapped so close, there was no way through.

  He cursed quietly at himself for taking the wrong route. All the same, he was certain he was heading toward the river. He should have been able to hear it by now.

  Ryl turned around, eager to backtrack his way to the ravine, determine where he had gone wrong, and free himself from these cursed woods. To his horror, the avenue he had just traveled was now an impassable wall of bramble. He squeezed his eyes shut, covering them roughly with his hand. Had he hit his head harder than he thought? He had witnessed the damage a blow to the head could cause. An unfortunate tribute named Calin, had been caught out after curfew, an ill-placed blow to the skull from a guard’s baton had robbed him of the gift of speech. He spent the rest of his cycles in The Stocks in silence.

  Ryl slowly opened his eyes, hoping that he had been mistaken, that it had merely been a visual trick played by his eyes in the low light. The sight that greeted him was devastating. The wall of brambles that stared back at him looked even thicker than before. Frantically spinning the other direction, Ryl found that the tree that had blocked his path was no longer there either. In its place was another wall of thorns.

  Ryl fell to his knees, slamming his fist into the ground.

  “What in the hells is happening here?” Ryl whined out loud.

  His heart began racing as the panic set in. He was cold. The chill of the air seeped through his dampened clothes. He was thirsty. Reaching for his water skin, his heart sank further as he realized that it, along with his pack, were no longer there. He must have lost them when he tumbled into the ravine. On top of everything else, the unease continued to permeate the air.

  Ryl closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. Holding it in, he paused to calm his racing heart. These woods would not break him. Through every second of suffering he had experienced in his short life, he had not broken. He had survived his parents’ betrayal. He had endured the brandings and the beatings. He faced losing friends to the same cruel masters every cycle.

  He would endure. These woods were not his journey’s end. With a hardened will, Ryl stood, facing the oppressive feeling head on. Finally, he exhaled a long, slow calming breath.

  The hint of a breeze brushed a strand of stray hairs into Ryl's face. After growing accustomed to the total absence of wind, the gentle breath of air was startling. Ryl cautiously turned his head from side to side, scanning the brambles and darkened wood. As always, there was no sign of motion to accompany the unease that lurked around him. He whipped his head around, facing straight into the breeze.

  The feeling of unease that had weighed upon him since entering the woods dissipated to nothing. Ryl looked toward the wall of woods to his right, confused by the sudden change in feeling. The unease that had always been synonymous with the Erlyn Woods crept back in. Turning again to face the breeze, the feeling again faded as if it had never been there.

  Curious, Ryl turned to his left, experiencing the same familiar sensation of unease. Facing into the breeze once more, the discomfort washed from him as if it were dust being blown away by the wind. Ryl was hopelessly lost, penned into a small opening in an ever-changing forest. Facing the wind, he closed his eyes, slightly elevating his head, letting it blow the hair off his face. The wind left him feeling rejuvenated.

  His vision was clearer pointing into the wind, his senses felt more alive. Ryl could now make out details that were imperceptible through the gloom of the forest. He could see the rough texture and crevasses of the tree bark. He could make out the black pointed tips of the thorns in the underbrush, glistening with moisture, patiently waiting to strike the first passerby who dared to roam too close to its grasp. He could see the individual veins of the broad leaves hanging from the lower reaches of the branches.

  The air smelled fresh. No longer was there the lingering stale odor of decaying plant matter. He longed to be out of the Erlyn Woods, to be back in the unsafe, yet predictable confines of the villages. At the same time, the freedom from the oppression that the breeze provided was exhilarating. In this moment, he was free. He was determined to make this feeling a reality. He had no concept of how he could accomplish the task, but his mind was made up. He would not remain in chains.

  The clean air beckoned him onward and, subconsciously, he took a slow, measured step forward. Almost immediately, the wind began picking up speed. What started as a barely perceptible breeze began growing exponentially. Ryl leaned forward, bracing himself against the wind, his hair and tattered clothes billowing out behind him. He could see the branches in the distance begin to sway, the glowing moss tracing their paths through the dark woods like a falling star across the night sky. The rolling of the wind through the forest swept closer and closer. Ryl stood transfixed watching as the trees and branches swayed in ever-increasing intensity as the wind gained speed.

  The swelling wind whistled through the woods. Ryl stood like a statue, defiant in the face of the onslaught. As the wind whipped around him, he could clearly make out what sounded like his name whispered in the gusts. A subliminal message laced into the strengthening gale. Branches rattled against branches and trees groaned as they shook from side to side, bending like grass in the wind. The combined rustling of the leaves sounded like thunder as it split the sky.

  The wind continued to escalate and Ryl felt his feet sliding backward. He turned his shoulder slightly to divert some of the wind’s force, bringing his arm up to cover his face. He adopted a slightly crouched stance, digging his feet into the ground for traction. The detritus of the forest, chunks of loose earth and moss, leaves and small sticks pulverized his body. Sand and dirt grated against every inch of exposed skin, stinging his face, forearms, hands and lower legs.

  Ryl struggled to maintain his hold on the ground with every last ounce of his might. He thought of turning to run, to hide from the punishing winds. Where would he go? Fear began to slowly take root in his mind, eroding his confidence.

  “No,” Ryl screamed into the wind. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned further into the gale, dragging his foot forward another inch, in one last defiant move before his quickly flagging strength left him entirely. Left him to the mercy of the wind.

  No sooner had he taken the determined shuffle forward, the wind died down just as quickly as it had started. Ryl was leaning so hard into the gale, he pitched forward, falling onto his hands and knees. A gentle breeze now wandered through the trees. The swaying branches were now still, the final falling leaves slowly making their spiraling paths toward the forest floor.

  Ryl remained on his hands and knees for a moment, panting from the exertion. His lower legs were burning from the strain, his skin stinging from the abrasive wind. The forest was again silent except for the sound of his breath and the rhythmic cadence of his heart. Ryl gingerly took to his feet, wiping off the leaves and dirt t
hat had accumulated on his shirt and skin.

  The Erlyn Woods looked starkly different now than they had upon his entry. He slowly spun in a circle, admiring the tranquil beauty of the woods. Gone entirely was the feeling of unease. Ryl no longer felt the malignant glare of the trees as they loomed over him. The brambles were less dense, small paths weaving through their patches.

  The woods now radiated a placid calmness and a benign welcome.

  Making a full circle, Ryl stopped, looking into what appeared to be a tunnel through the trees. The branches and vines formed a carefully manicured ceiling, draping down over the sides of a solitary, straight pathway. His vision in the forest had greatly improved, however, the tunnel carried on past the range his eyes could perceive. A lone light twinkled brightly somewhere far in the distance.

  Cautiously, he stepped into the arboreal tunnel. The mild breeze outside was more noticeable inside the covered walkway as it funneled the air down the path. The vines and branches that comprised the loosely constructed wall swayed ever so slightly. The air carried a hint of smoke, acrid and yet at the same time sweet. Ryl felt comfortable, his body at ease as he proceeded into the darkness, although his eyes still tracked his peripherals for signs of movement.

  The ground of the walkway was surprisingly flat and clean of debris, as if it had been recently swept by unseen hands. Ryl stopped, bending down to study the surface, placing his hand upon the cool earth. Looking behind him, he could clearly make out only a single set of footprints as his clearly-defined feet indented into the soil. The ground in front remained untouched.

  The flickering light continued to grow brighter as Ryl progressed further down the path, the smell of smoke more pronounced. Was the light from a campfire? Never in all his cycles in The Stocks, nor through stories relayed to him from other tributes, had he heard of anyone living in the Erlyn Woods. The only hint of residents within its domain was in childhood myths of Taben's army, who were fabled to have hidden here as they waged war against the evil from the Outlands. Ryl wrote these references off as exaggerated tales grown into legends over centuries of telling.

  As Ryl edged ever closer to the flickering light, it became strikingly clear that it was, indeed, from a small fire. The orange and yellow flames eagerly danced into the air, the light splashed on the walls of the path ahead in an ever-changing rhythm.

  Some fifty paces from the small fire, Ryl slowed again, checking the ground for signs of any other travelers. Finding no trace of anyone’s passing, he continued to creep closer to the blaze. He had noted no other paths entering or exiting the one he walked on, however, someone had to have lit the fire. He chilled at the thought of another flight from the guards if it turned out to be theirs. The prospect of warming himself by the fire drove him onward.

  Ryl was within twenty paces of the fire when the enclosed path he was following came to a doorway of sorts. Two massive trees, each far wider than he could stretch his arms stood like sentinels on either side of a tunnel bored directly into the side of a steep embankment. Ryl couldn't determine how far the hill rose, as the underbrush and branches blocked his view.

  The tunnel’s entrance was wide enough for Ryl to fit through comfortably and extended up nearly a head above his own. The ceiling was plenty tall enough, yet it still gave him the sensation that he should duck his head while passing through. Without hesitation, Ryl stepped into the tunnel.

  Inside, the ceiling almost immediately rose a full pace above his head. Ryl doubted that he could reach it even standing on the toes of his feet. The walls on either side spread out leaving enough room for two people to walk side by side. Quickly glancing around the interior, he noted the walls and ceiling of the shaft appeared to be stone, their uneven appearance hinting at a natural creation.

  The walls had a sheen to them, giving a damp look that glistened while reflecting the light from the fire in the distance. The scattered reflections in constant motion mimicked the movement of the fire. The air was noticeably warmer inside, the smell of smoke stronger, yet not overpowering.

  Standing in the middle of the tunnel, Ryl stretched out his arms, placing a hand on either wall. The stones were dry and surprisingly warm to the touch. The quiet crackling of the fire was the only sound disturbing the silence. He moved forward a step, letting his hands drag carefully along the walls. The scuff of his shoe seemed to echo as it continued throughout the cavern. Step by step, he approached the fire, the anticipation growing with every passing inch.

  The fire revealed more details about the cavern ahead as he slowly approached. The small blaze appeared to be in the center of a circular chamber, surrounded by five evenly spaced stones for seats. The fire was neatly constructed, the vertical uprights of a spit stood empty on either side. Ryl’s mouth watered at the thought of a hot meal. He subconsciously wrapped both arms around his stomach, hoping to mute the hungry rumble that threatened to escape.

  Ryl stealthily approached the end of the tunnel, listening for any sound of movement within, scanning the ground for any sign of recent passage. He cautiously peeked his head into the room, glancing quickly from side to side to take in the cavern.

  The cave opened up at the end of the tunnel making a rough dome some ten paces across. The natural walls made from similar rock as the tunnel shined with the same brilliance, illuminating the chamber. The light from the fire, reflecting off the rocks gave the room a rippling appearance, almost like the walls were in a constant state of motion.

  To his right, the chamber featured a small lip a few feet up from the floor that protruded several feet out from the rest of the wall. A massive cross-section of a tree served as a table, both had the look of ages of disuse. Another similar bench ran along the wall on the opposite side, two pallets in varying stages of disuse were spaced evenly between it and the fire. A small pile of neatly stacked, decaying wood sat along the wall behind the blaze, a rusted axe leaned against a dull outcropping of stone. The stone looked strangely incongruent with the glossy interior of the tunnel and cavern.

  There were no exits leading from the chamber aside from the path that Ryl had entered from. The room was barren and looked as if it hadn’t seen an inhabitant for cycles. Who then, had lit the fire? Ryl stepped closer to the flames, greedily soaking in the warmth. He held his hands out in front of him, rubbing them together in the heat of the fire, staring thoughtlessly into the flames.

  A popping sound from a log signaled the escape of an errant ember. Ryl watched as its lazy arc sent it skipping across the floor, shedding sparks with every bounce. The glowing orange ember finally came to a rest in front of the dull rock along the back wall. Without a sound, the stone shifted upward to reveal a sandaled foot, which stretched out, grinding the ember into the floor.

  Ryl couldn’t move. Every sense in his body screamed in protest, but his muscles were locked in position staring at the scene before him. The foot withdrew slightly, the center of the stone parted, revealing two hands.

  Human hands.

  The hands moved up, lifting a rock-crusted hood that had been pulled down to cover a face wizened by age. A small crooked smile crossed his lips, tugging up one side of his wiry beard.

  “Welcome, friend. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  12

  Time ticked slowly by as Ryl stood frozen in shock, eyes transfixed on the figure that sat, legs now crossed, studying him with patient eyes. The voice that had issued forth from the character on the opposite side of the fire had bespoken no animosity or disgust. Although spoken in no more than a whisper, the sound had filled the room, while at the same time felt as if it had been merely a thought in his mind. Ryl felt an intense feeling of welcome, peacefulness and comfort conveyed with the words. The confusion caused by the unnatural sensation must have been visible on his face, eliciting a small chuckle from the stranger.

  “My apologies, it’s been a long while since I’ve had the pleasure of conversation,” the man’s raspy voice intoned. The voice no longer sounded or felt inside Ryl’s head.<
br />
  “I overlooked the lack of comprehension in an unawakened mind,” he said casually. “Please have a seat.”

  The man waved to the seats around the fire.

  “I’m sure you have plenty of questions, I am at your disposal.” The man bowed his head and rose to his feet with a grace that belied his apparent age.

  The stone-like shell that had surrounded his figure relaxed with an aqueous quality. The rigid shape that had formed a dull pile of stone moments ago now flowed into a smooth fabric robe in a wave that started from his head, rolling down to his feet. Ryl was astonished. The stranger paid the feat no mind.

  The man was almost a head shorter than Ryl, still standing straight defying the effects of his obvious age. His long grey hair was tied behind his head, his matching grey beard thin and wiry. His aquiline nose matched his angular bony cheeks and brows. His eyes were bright and clear, however, the reflection of the fire made them appear as if they were burning.

  “Who are you?” Ryl asked, immediately regretting the forcefulness and unintended rudeness of the inquiry.

  As if reading his discomfort were as simple as distinguishing the night from the day, the man answered, his words imbued with a feeling of absolute forgiveness and understanding.

  “Please, feel no regret for the tone of your voice, my friend,” he said. “I assure you that I harbor no ill will toward you.”

  He leaned down to stir the fire with the unburnt end of a small stick, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

  “But, your question is a logical starting point,” the stranger continued. “The answer in its entirety is a story for another day, perhaps. I have been known by many names throughout the cycles, however, for the present, you may call me Da’agryn.”

  He finished with a bow at the waist.