If we couldn't live free could we survive at all? Even the weakest faun could go days without eating. There were some that would fast for weeks at a time. Praying in meditation, focusing on their communion with the spirits. Without water we could last maybe three days. It seemed a treacherous way to go. Even surviving on bare minimum, hungry all the time. All of the world withering away. Why would the spirits allow this?
What if the Nanook, an animal strong and known for standing tall, fell. There was a name for it. In the North I think they called it 'Gerra'. The undead bear-god. An animal so strong even death was afraid to take its soul to the other side and so it walked among the living. Perhaps that was what my wife had been carving. A Gerra, so strong it refused to die. And what of the other animals in the wild? The larger ones were already running wild, migrating from the wilds of the southern waste into the woods of Idril. Their large appetites would be a threat sooner, rather than later. Others, it seemed, were entering a state of hibernation.
I was so tired I could have fallen asleep. My legs cramped. I had been sitting in one place far too long. The other fauns around me I'm sure were looking to the elder for the same guidance, the same reassurance I was. I watched as one by one they entered with a glimmer of hope in their eyes, and came out pale; their eyes hollow. What was the elder telling them? Were they being denied food? Water?
A part of me wondered how they had run out of resources so quickly. I knew most were not as cautious as I, but their stores should have at least lasted to the harvest if they had rationed them properly. I looked to the fire at the center of the village, and found my answer.
Once the center of revelries and dancing, it was now being used for ceremonial sacrifice. Entire bags of grain were being tossed into the fire as fauns surrounded it in silent meditation. Some of them looked as though they had been fasting for weeks.
If this continued there would be nothing left! Already I felt a lingering feeling inside of me. I wanted to turn my back, to walk away. I could take my family away from here, away from the village. We could live with the faun in the mountains, drinking goat’s milk. But deep down I knew what had to be done.
After three hours of waiting, Brau-Na emerged from his tent. An old faun. A wise faun. He wore a necklace made of tarnished red vine scrubbed from the tops of the Vaegar mountains. The necklace was covered in small stones that held runes, emblems of power said to let him commune with the spirits. Some of the runes I recognized while others were older, ancient. His horns had grown down and out. Parts broken away with age covered only by his grey hair. His skin was pale but calloused. I could only guess the last time he had left the village. Most likely before I was born.
“I will take no more requests today,” he declared. “I must enter a time of meditation, to seek counsel from the spirits.”
“I can help,” I said, and everyone looked in my direction. “My stores are limited, but it should be enough to support the village for a few weeks, maybe more if we’re careful.”
Brau-Na tilted his head down at me. “Thank you, Egris. Your sacrifice is appreciated. A portion shall be presented to the gods, so that they may --”
“No!” I interrupted him. “All of it will be used to feed the people, or I will bring none at all.”
“And risk provoking their anger?”
“Better to provoke their anger than starve in their silence.”
Brau-Na looked at me several long moments, his face unreadable. “Very well,” he said finally. “Go and retrieve your gift. It shall be used according to your wishes.” He turned to go back into his tent.
"This is only a temporary solution,” I said. He paused and turned his head in my direction. “We should turn to the Elves for help," I continued.
"Nonsense! We will wait for the Spirits to guide us," Brau-Na said as he turned back to face me, his voice calm and measured. "They will come, we must be patient."
"And what if they don't answer our call?"
"Have faith child. There has never been a drought longer than a few weeks in the Valley. The sky will open up and we will be singing songs of fortune soon enough," he answered, raising his shoulders tall.
"This is no ordinary drought. Even the river has started to run dry.”
"I see," Brau-Na said, lowering his head and shoulders back towards the ground. Gravity was taking its toll. He had lived a long and healthy life, but now without resources even the strongest among us was starting to give out. What would happen if this curse continued for years? There would be nothing left of us.
"Elder," I began, "have you spoken to the spirits?" He sat there in silence. Caught off guard by my blunt interrogation. I was trying to think of a way I might rephrase the question. He held up his hand, his eyes closed. He turned and retreated back into his tent.
Several young fauns agreed to help me bring food back to the village. They would travel to my home the next morning, as it was already growing late. I hoped Lavendra would understand my decision.
That night I ran back to my home as fast as I could. Outside the safety of the village, between the dry leaves and breaking branches of trees whose roots sank deep below the ground, came a growl. A cat-like creature. No, a sabre cat. It jumped from the bush with intent. Not to injure or maim but to eat. To kill. To hunt. Normally, Sabres are rare. Living in the North they are enemy to the Firya and scavenge meals like mammoths and old Praeg. Some of the younger ones were even known to hunt the large armored Kamulatitan that roamed on four legs with tails fitted with shards of spikes that could break even the toughest castle walls. This was no day in the North. The Sabre was an apex predator, and I was its prey.
I knocked it back with my staff, and then I ran. Already tired, gasping for air. I ran and jumped, and dived under fallen trees. I could feel bark scrape against my skin as the Sabre followed close behind me. Afraid to look back, knowing if I did the sharp jagged teeth would be the last thing I saw. My body wasn't ready to die. I wasn't ready to give up.
A sharp pain struck my chest from deep within. One of my hands reached out to grab the ground for stability while the other clutched my chest in agony. I let out a loud moan. Sweat was pouring from my forehead, my hands were clammy and trembling and my teeth were gritting together. Several voices echoed through my head. My wife. My daughter. Telling me it was going to be okay. That I had to survive.
I managed to make it a few more steps. My head felt light, everything seemed to spin around me in a blur of motion and my legs could barely carry me. But I managed to block out some of the pain by keeping my mind occupied with other tasks. Chrysalis. Her image. Her voice. Her survival.
My hands grasped my head and I covered my eyes, desperate for some form of relief from the sharp, splitting pain within my chest. I wanted to stop everything but I knew it'd only make things worse if I tried. I had to gather my thoughts, or at least gather enough of them to think a little clearer.
Thirsty and tired, the sweat stains across my tunic were clearly visible now, but still I was determined to keep going. Onward. For Chrysalis.
The Sabre stood back, watching me, pawing at me like a toy. Like somehow I would taste better if I died a slow, agonizing death. Not today. I couldn't. I reached out and found my staff. I swung it and managed to strike the beast across the jaw. As it howled and jumped back its claw found my stomach and tore through the skin. I pulled myself up to my feet, and with both hands used all my strength to bury my staff in the ground in front of me. The Sabre growled and I growled back.
"Not today!" My voice commanded. The two of us locked eyes. A minute in eternity. Another noise. A high pitched whimper. Something else in the forest. Another creature. A giant Newt on four legs with two arms and remnants of what was once a tail was crawling toward us. It had a thick, but delicate skin covered in a very thin layer of mucous, which was light grey and purple.
I recognized the creature as something that usually lived in moist areas. Fairly common around swamps and lakes. They were carnivores and their large, long mou
ths with sharp teeth and narrow tongues were ideal for eating fish. The Newts were crepuscular and relied on their hearing and taste buds to get around.
They had odd but interesting eyes, like ruby ovals, but their sight was not too great. They had thin noses and small, bent ears. Their heads were fairly large in comparison to their bodies. Large enough one could probably swallow a faun whole. This one had come a long way. The lake it came form must have dried up without rain. Already the world was changing. If it continued, these fairly common creatures would become rare.
The Sabre attacked it. Maybe it thought of the Newt as a better meal than me. I wasn't jealous. Rather than watch and see which would get to eat me, I ran. Bleeding from my side until I found a small cave to mend my wounds.
Inside the cave I found myself lying against a Hortorum. The Hortorum was a tiny plant that could be found almost anywhere. It bloomed once a year, for 5 months. Small, rose-like leaves which glowed with luminescent light in the dark cavern were an unusually light orange. It also grew large flowers, which could be light bronze, purple or pink. These plants grew in huge numbers, but it was very easy to control and maintain their growth.
They could be used as an energizer when eaten, and as a defense mechanism. The Hortorum grew large thorns which had to be picked off before consumption. It wasn’t much, but I knew it could keep us from digging into our stores for a few days, at least.
I quickly gathered as much as I could and carried it into the night. I dropped a few as the thorns cut against my skin. When I opened the door I saw my wife carving another tome. She ran over to me and grabbed rags from behind a small wooden table she herself had carved. I let go of the plants, one or two stuck in my skin by thorns. She wrapped a bandage around my wounds.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. A moment later I passed out from fatigue.
Rather than scold me the next morning, I woke up to her beautiful smile. She had already picked the thorns from the Hortorum and sealed my wounds with a sticky substance made from mashing them together. Not only had I managed to bring home food but I brought home a plant with medicinal properties.
She brought me breakfast and informed me that the fauns from the village had already come and gone while I was sleeping.
“I meant to tell you about that last night,” I said apologetically.
“I just knew you couldn’t resist doing a good deed,” she replied with a wry smile. “I told them to take as much as they could carry.”
I told her everything Brau-Na had said as she sat in her chair, Chrysalis playing at her feet. She was carving a wooden statue of Thelsia, a powerful faun of legend that had been born with elemental powers. Most magic takes a physical toll on the user, but a chosen few seem to have an innate connection to the spirits. They are able to control a given element freely, as though giving commands to the gods themselves.
Others believed Thelsia used a magic called Kurya. The magic in Kurya comes from previous lives' power. All the power and knowledge one gains in life is passed onto new life through reincarnation, so those with great powers in the present know their powers continue in a different generation, for better and worse. Strangely enough, powerful souls often seem to be reincarnated in those who are inherently weaker, perhaps as some kind of balancing force in the universe.
"So what if we did talk to the elves? Maybe the dwarves? What good would it do if the spirits have truly abandoned us?" I asked. She looked at me smiling.
"Magic comes from a force within. Power flows through every living thing," she said.
"So you think magic will save us?"
"I think the deep magic will," she smiled. It wasn't a definitive yes. The deep magic, some believed, was the will of the world. Beyond the spirits.
Even if the spirits had left us I still believed in the deep magic. There was hope.
“Perhaps it would be best,” she continued, “if you speak to the elves yourself. Maybe you can find Malk and he can tell the others what you did for him.”
“I’m afraid a good deed for a good deed is too much to expect these days,” I replied. “Besides, what would I even say to them? You know I’m no good with words. I’m a farmer, not a poet.”
She looked at me with a faint smile then rose and took our daughter’s hand. "Chrysalis, I want to show you something," she said. I watched as she guided her into our meager kitchen and showed her how to prepare what seemed to be some kind of strange tea.
I chuckled as Chrysalis’ delicate hands ground up flowers and leaves with a mortar and pestle. My thoughts drifted back to Lavendra’s suggestion. I had of course had a handful of encounters with elves on my many travels over the years. Explorers like myself. Those I had met seemed amiable enough, but I had heard enough stories of their greed and blood-lust to be distrustful of their leaders.
After letting their mixture sit for several minutes, Lavendra called Chrysalis back over to boil it, and a foul smell filled the house. Chrysalis covered her nose and Lavendra assured her it was supposed to smell like that.
I imagined myself walking up to the gates of the great elvish city of Fennox-Calil. I had seen it once from an overlook a few miles away. Just the thought of it made my stomach turn in knots. No, it would be better to go to one of the smaller villages nearby.
Chrysalis approached, interrupting my thoughts and holding out her dark, bubbling concoction in one of our few ceramic cups. A precious offering, to be sure.
“The potion is ready, daddy,” she said.
She handed the cup to me and I took a sip. I struggled to drink down the strange mixture, but as soon as the warm liquid passed through my throat I felt the tension in my stomach easing.
"Very good, nicely done," I said. Lavendra stepped up behind Chrysalis with the same warm smile she always carried.
"Trust in the deep magic,” she said. “Trust in yourself."
Over the next several weeks, the young fauns who had come to retrieve my rations made regular visits to help me tend the land.
“We made sure your gift was distributed evenly,” a young one named Nix told me. “None of it was thrown into the fire.”
“Thank you,” I said.
We used tar to seal up the cracks in an old hay cart I found in the barn, and used it to haul water from the river. It wasn’t much, but at least it kept the crops from dying out completely.
As the time for the harvest grew near, my storehouses were almost completely depleted. I returned to the village once more, determined to convince the village leaders to ask the elves for aid.
The streets were nearly empty. It seemed that most of the fauns were in their homes, fasting. Waiting for guidance from the spirits.
I asked a young apprentice of Brau-Na’s to inform him of my arrival, but he told me he was currently speaking with Arctis and Ethyos, who had just returned from their journey. Several moments later, they all emerged from the tent.
“Arctis, cousin, greetings!” I said as I approached him with a hug. “And Ethyos, how was your journey?”
“Not good, I’m afraid,” Arctis said. “The other villages are suffering just as much as we are, some worse.”
“Is there nothing more we can do?” I asked. “Surely the elves have enough to spare.”
"The spirits are testing us," Brau-Na interjected.
"The spirits have abandoned us!" I shouted back.
"We must continue with prayer and fasting," he argued.
"Can you call it fasting when you have no food to give up? You will pray us all to death!" I stormed out. I had nothing else to say.
Nix and a few of the other faun that overheard us come up to me. They told me they had secretly been sending scouts to observe the elves. They had both food and water coming into their villages. Caravans full of supplies sent from their capitol city. Manse village, the closest to us, even had a small garden outside the Mayor's mansion.
"Surely they could spare some scraps for their neighbors," said one of the younger fauns. I agreed. What harm could come from asking?
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br /> They asked me to lead them. What could I do? I was nothing more than a simple farmer. I knew how to grow crops, how to carve wood. I knew how to sow a field and reap a harvest. Five of them stepped forward, ready to follow me to Manse Village. There was no point in arguing. My wife would say the deep magic was leading me down this path from the very beginning. I had always been someone the other faun looked up to.
We endeavored to embark the next morning, and each returned to his own home for the night to prepare. We all gathered at my house and Lavendra prepared as harty a breakfast as we could afford to spare. By mid-morning we were on our way.
We were halfway to Manse Village when we came across a small caravan. Small by the way of ten elves.
I motioned for my companions to stay hidden behind the tree-line and I stepped out into the road, far enough ahead of the caravan to give them time to stall their horses. I could see them nervously glancing to one another, fidgeting with their swords.
I held my empty hands out in front of me, and spoke in the elvish tongue, “Friends, I come seeking aid for my people. The land has gone dry and ceased to produce. We ask only for a small portion of your generosity, lest we all starve to death.”
After several moments of painful silence, I saw one in the back draw his sword. A very long, broad, curved blade, held by a grip wrapped in high quality, gold colored smooth leather. The cross-guard had an intricate horn on each side. The cost of this weapon must have been high. The blade itself was unadorned. No decorations or engraved patterns. Tempered. He was most likely a soldier from Fennox-Calil
"Look at that, a Satyr begging for scraps,” he said as he moved toward me. “Haven't your spirits given you enough tree bark to eat?" The others all laughed.
Egris and the Silence of the Storm Page 2
