The Awakening (14 page)

There was purpose to the boy’s choice, he reflected. It was anything but arbitrary.

Robyn focused his thoughts upon the journey and upon Promanthea whom he had not communicated with in some time. As soon as he had the opportunity, he was going to contact both his father and his beloved tree. It troubled him that he had not heard from them recently. But, he too was negligent, and he had not initiated the attempt to converse either. The time in Pardatha passed all too quickly and he languished there in thoughts of the future, while he neglected the past.

It will not be long now
, he thought.
Shortly we will be in Seramour and our true task will be upon us. The boy will be revived, and we will do what we were called upon to do. Had something been amiss at home, surely I would have been informed
, he reassured himself.

They rode hard and fast and they covered much ground in a short time. Eventually, the thoughts of all three began to focus upon the treetop city once more and upon Davmiran. So much depended upon them.

Robyn took the lead, leaping over the low branches while deftly avoiding any that might unseat him. He searched for a clearer path that would lead them through the heavily wooded area west of the River of Tears. It had grown so thick over the past few months, that in some places it was nearly impenetrable. He looked with pride upon the vegetation, acknowledging silently the small part he played in its rebirth. As a Chosen, he felt very close to the earth and all that grew naturally upon it. He never anticipated, though, it would so shortly turn into the obstacle that it was becoming.

As he contemplated the miraculous regenerative powers of nature, thrilled at the new abundance of life all around him, he suddenly became aware of a foreign presence, a strange and powerful essence, that he did not recognize. It did not assault him, as would an enemy. Rather, it seeped into his consciousness, like a pleasant odor from some fine home cooking. He sensed it as he would sense the proximity of a Lalas, but none of the great trees grew anywhere near here. It was not a potency that frightened him, but rather one that was succoring and supportive in its character, reaching out to him with tenderness and strength. Not wishing to alert the others to his perception until he understood it better, he continued to ride as if unaffected. Yet, he opened his mind to the probing tendrils of power that sought to enter it.

Images formed in his mind’s eye, not by his own will, and he let himself relax and observe them. He continued to ride. His physical senses were well accustomed to guiding him, despite his mind’s occupation with other things. The images were mixed, and he could hear sounds and voices intermingling. They became clearer as time went on, though none were recognizable. Sometimes it seemed as if water was rushing inside him. Then, it sounded like high pitched bells were chiming. Random words were uttered, and every once in a while he could make some out. One voice began to make its presence clearer than the others, and he focused all his attention on singling out the words it spoke and distinguishing them from the other peripheral noises and chatter that rose and fell in volume, much as a bard would sing an exciting ballad. He heard the word “Seramour” repeated over and over, and then he was certain he heard the voice say “the twins.”

Robyn wielded his power carefully, and he created partitions in his mind into which he placed all the disparate sounds. He weeded out the ones he did not want to listen to from the cacophony assaulting his mind, and he created an open and calm space for the ones he chose to decipher. As he decoded the message, so to speak, it became clearer and clearer that someone was attempting to send this directly to him, and that it was no ordinary being, but one of great power who had initiated it. When he felt certain there was no danger imbedded therein, he let his guard down and opened up fully to the undertaking.

The darkness approaches. Seek the twins in Seramour
, he heard more clearly now.
The boy must rise. The boy must leave.

Robyn tried to communicate with the disembodied voice, but it was obvious to him immediately that this effort was not going to be successful. He was not even sure if the communication was planted somehow, emanating from something other than its originator at this point, like a letter left upon a desk for someone to find and open. That would explain why there was so much subsidiary noise, so many words that had nothing to do with those meant for him. It had been well concealed in a jumble of random utterances and thoughts.

He reasoned this out in the back of his mind, while he continued to decipher the message. As he crossed into the woods, he must have triggered the spring that released the thoughts. It was an ingenious way of conveying something to someone when you are unsure of their location. There could have been hundreds of these such messages, waiting for the right person to come along and trip open the invisible containers that held them. He smiled to himself briefly, impressed with the method and therefor, with the sender who utilized such creative tools. Then he realized the portent of the words that were conveyed to him.

Seek the twins in Seramour
, he repeated to himself.

He was instantly compelled to question whether or not Tomas was heading for the tree city separately from the rest of them. Perhaps the originator of the warning knew more than he did, and perhaps he did not. Only time would tell. Regardless, it was obvious that the situation was dire, and that they would have to travel as fast as they could.

The betrayer speaks
, he heard clearly.
The Dark One knows. Quickly— Make haste
, were the last words spoken, before the directive was terminated.

It ceased as assiduously as it began, as the background noises rose in volume and took over the space in his mind that he had dedicated to the anonymous messenger and his grave message.

Robyn probed the area for streams of energy that might indicate a continuance of the communication, but he knew that he had received all that he was going to. He encountered only silence, now thoroughly absent of the filaments of power.

He pulled up on his reins abruptly, and came almost to a halt. Cairn and Filaree followed suit, having no choice if they did not wish to crash headlong into each other, as the path was narrow and there was little room to maneuver around Robyn. They both saw Robyn’s stark face, and neither of them needed to ask for an explanation. It was already forthcoming.

“I have been contacted by a being of great power in the most unusual way,” he related summarily. “The details are not important now, but we must ride without stopping,” he said gravely. “It was a warning. Our particular skills and talents are sorely needed. Colton knows of the heir,” he finished.

“A message?” Cairn questioned. “How do you know that it is not a trap? Who was it from?”

“I do not know for certain. But I sensed a fullness, an earthly presence in the words, somewhat like that of a Lalas, but different nonetheless. The power initiating them was mighty. There is no doubt that it was authentic, and not trickery. I have my suspicions as to the derivation of the message, but from whence it came is not an issue at this moment. The warning was clear. We must ride hard and fast. There is no time to waste,” he concluded.

“He knows of the heir? Which one?”

“I had not thought of that,” Robyn answered honestly, perplexed. “It mentioned the twins, but not whether the Evil One has knowledge of them both, or just one of the two. Nonetheless, our destination has not changed, so we must find our answer there. To Seramour we ride.”

“Then let us waste no further time, if you are assured of the tightness of what we do,” Filaree concluded, accepting Robyn’s analysis with no further uncertainty.

“I will inform Calyx to meet up with us at the edge of the woods so that we can all enter the city together. He will journey to Seramour in his own fashion,” Cairn said, and he proceeded to quickly convey the message to the giant Moulant who had wandered once more into the woods some moments earlier.

The three travelers spurred their mounts on quickly, and rode with the morning wind, allowing nothing to slow them or halt their progress from that moment onward. They rode with abandon, faster than even seemed possible, streaking through the forest like bolts of lightning in a darkened sky. They did not rest or take refreshment, unless they did so in motion, and their horses frothed at their mouths but never faltered. The trees sped by them, and the terrain changed from the thick and dense vegetation that they traversed at the onset, to sparser, less abundant greenery. The ground became drier and rockier, easier to travel over, but harder upon the animals hooves as they moved south, and the air became hotter and heavier.

They continued on regardless of the environment, never hesitating, never slowing down, dripping with sweat and covered with the dirt of travel. When finally the silhouettes of the enormous Noban trees that ringed the forest surrounding the Heights of Seramour came into view, they slowed their pace, only to be certain that they were not wandering headlong into a perilous situation. At the outskirts of the Plain of the Wolves, they pulled up and dismounted so that the horses could drink and rest while they determined the best way to make their final approach to the beautiful elfin city beyond.

Robyn dar Tamarand, Filaree Par D’Avalain, and Cairn of Thermaye, the three who were ‘called’, the three who fought the monsters that attacked Pardatha and solidified their covenants amidst bloodshed and loss, the three who made their valiant stand against Colton dar Agonthea on the plains before the walled city, stood side by side, each contemplating the vista before them. For a few moments they quietly weighed the future and assessed their individual hopes and fears. They allowed this time of silent contemplation to envelop them and to lift them above their aches and pains, their physical exhaustion and fatigue, into a world of promise and of wonder, of rejuvenation and of rebirth; into a world of hope.

Chapter Eighteen

“Let’s go. Let’s go. There is no reason to stop here. We have a long ride ahead of us,” Tamara said to her pony as he dropped his head in order to eat some particularly sweet grass that he spotted just off the center of the path. She nudged him gently with her heels but he did not respond. “Come now, do not be so stubborn. We have barely left the shadow of the tower and you want to rest?” she inquired of him, as if expecting a verbal response. “At this pace, we will arrive at Oleander’s side in no less than ten tiels. Get a move on now,” she urged, and she clamped her knees heavily around the animal’s side. This time he lifted his head and bolted forward, and jerked back in her small saddle and almost lost her seat altogether. “You did that on purpose Hector, you evil little thing,” she said with a pat on his head after regaining her balance and her composure.

Tamara left the Tower of Parth just before sunrise, well provisioned and rested. Her sleep the evening before went undisturbed, and she was much calmer than even she anticipated. At first, when it was determined that she would be the one to make the journey to Oleander and Liam, she was terribly confused. It never occurred to her that she would participate in any significant way in the events that were unfolding all around the sisters. She always felt a part of the circle, but never before did she feel to be an important part. Once she was chosen though, it felt right. She did not protest as everyone expected her to. Neither did she fuss and fret as the others assumed she would as well. Of course, she did talk a lot about it, and regarding that conjecture, everyone was correct.

As she rode, she replayed over and over in her mind the words Bethany spoke regarding her abilities. She was the one who brought the passage in the Tomes to light after all. And she believed in what she said as well. She joyously accepted the strict vows of the Sisterhood of Parth so many years ago and she never regretted leaving her former life.

After all
, she thought now, as she traveled the path toward the woods through which she needed to pass in order to reach Oleander,
what did I really give up anyway? I am no raving beauty and I never was. I was always a bit chubby. But, I like to eat. Who can fault me for that? It causes no one any harm. I guess that I could have been a cook. I know that I would have made a superb pastry chef. Mmmmmm…

Tamara was always sneaking into the kitchens at the tower and making suggestions, sticking her fingers into the pots and stirring whatever it was that was on the stoves cooking at the time. She was a jovial woman, but she was also stern when need required it. Many people assumed the wrong things about her, and they inevitably regretted it if they pushed her too far. She never hesitated to make her principles known, and she did not shy away from defending her point of view. Tamara was not a rash woman, and when she came to a conclusion about someone or something, it was one to which she was committed and remained so unless and until there was ample reason to rethink her original position.

Hector trotted down the path at a steady pace now, seeming to enjoy the journey a bit more than he had at the onset. It was not too hot and the weather was quite good for traveling. Tamara noticed that the sky was not as clear as it had been the day before. As the sun rose, she could see that heavy clouds were streaming in from the west. They rode on at a good pace for at least three hours before she fully realized just how thick and threatening the clouds had become.

“I had hoped to avoid the rain today, Hector,” she said aloud. “It looks as if we may get wet after all.” She pulled her cape tigher around her shoulders.

The pony shook his head as if in recognition of her words and kept right on ahead.

“If we move quickly, perhaps we can reach the cover of the forest before the storms reach us. At least we will be partially sheltered then,” she continued. Oleander and Liam lived on the other side of the wide swath of trees, the Balinwood it was called, and if she and her pony could enter the dense hedge that formed the tree line to the west before the heavens opened up, they could continue on without too much difficulty. Once inside of it, the branches overhead would be thick enough to keep them dry for the most part.

Tamara had not left the vicinity of the tower for a long, long time before she set out on this journey. She knew the local neighborhood well, but she was quite unfamiliar with the surrounding countryside. It never interested her to be a world traveler. Her worth and comfort lay in being useful and productive, and she found that the gardens on the Tower grounds provided her with a constant challenge. Tamara learned to grow the most delectable vegetables and the sweetest squashes in the worst of soils, and she prided herself in her ability to cultivate a lush and prolific garden in what others considered to be barren ground.

Emmeline always told her that she had a gift and that the earth responded well to her overtures. Tamara inwardly rejoiced in that assessment. She always believed that she did have a more substantial relationship with the forces beneath the surface of the earth than she had with the creatures above it. She could just about coax the vegetables to grow, and they always seemed to respond to her urging. It was not a coincidence that she constantly won the contests when it came to the largest potato or the roundest, most beautiful tomato. She could almost feel them growing, and she knew precisely when to provide water and what to mix in the soil to achieve the best results.

You are an artist
, she could hear Emmeline saying.
And the soil is your canvas. Your creations are no less beautiful than those of the masters in Cosacteris. Just because we eat them, rather than place them in frames on our walls, does not negate their perfection.’’

Tamara always blushed when she was praised and her red lips grew all the redder, but she relished the comments despite the embarrassment they caused her. It was not conceit or pride that generated her enthusiasm. Rather, it was the recognition that she served life in her own unique manner. She knew that she would never be a warrior, and she never ever expected to be a Chosen. But, she did know that she could feel the earth and understand it, allow the soil to slip through her fingers and intuit its need and ultimately communicate in her own inarticulate manner with whatever lived therein.

The stout woman again adjusted her grey cloak on her broad shoulders, making sure that the sigil of Parth stood out clearly upon the lapel this time. Tamara was proud of her role as a Sister and she never felt the need to disguise her affiliation. As the hours drifted by, she deliberated deeply about what she would ask Oleander and Liam.

What am I looking for from them?

It occurred to her that whatever answer she brought back with her to the tower would ultimately determine the course of action that the sisters took, and she could not allow herself to be mistaken or misled by her own hopes and desires.

As guardians of the map, the ancient scroll kept locked and protected in the tower, the maids were entrusted with a task that always had the potential to alter the weave. If they failed in their roles as guardians and relinquished the map into the wrong hands, they would be endangering the very fabric of existence. Yet, the books did not say to whom the scroll was to be entrusted. All that was clear was that the maids were to ensure its safety and security. That had always been the dilemma that the Sisters faced. How would they know when and to whom they should bestow the map upon, if to anyone ever?

Tamara felt the changes all about her. Daily she despaired as she realized that the soil was less fruitful, that the trees were less lush and that the heat of summer continued long into the fall and withered the plants before the chill could send them into dormancy. She knew that something was wrong. She sensed it in the earth. When the trees began to die she went to Emmeline, and together they discussed the consequences of those recent occurrences. She remembered how wise and kind the Sister had been even under the most trying of circumstances. But she had almost forgotten until now Emmeline’s lack of surprise at the fact that it was Tamara, and no other maid, who had detected the initial changes that were transpiring all around the land.

You have the sight
, Emmeline had said.

Her mind wandered backward and forward as she traveled the path to Oleander’s realm. Nothing interfered with her progress, and Hector’s broad back was comfortable enough that she did not need to dismount and rest until sometime after the sun was well past its summit in the clouded sky. By that time, they had passed through the thick bushes that framed Balinwood.

She slid from the saddle onto the soft, mossy earth of the forest and removed the bit from Hector’s mouth. Then she loosened the girth around his bulbous belly. She had no concern that he would stray far from her presence, so she allowed him to graze wherever he could find something that appealed to his taste. She, herself, laid out a woven straw mat before the expansive trunk of a massive tree, sat anxiously upon it and stretched her legs straight out in front of her. With her hands upon the surface soil on either side of her ample torso, she allowed the sensations to permeate her body and mind.

There was much “chatter” in the soil, for lack of a better description of the rumblings that she heard and felt. The calm that she expected to retrieve by her proximity to the earth was nowhere to be found. Rather, it seemed to her as if she could sense agitation and discomfort. These feelings never became defined, but as she closed her eyes and relaxed more deeply, she realized that something was seriously wrong. On the edge of her awareness a darkness arose, menacing, threatening. A shiver ran down her spine.

Whatever it was that she was able to discern seemed to suggest things to her. No words were spoken and no directives were ever actually given, but the sensations she absorbed elicited thoughts of her own. Tamara rose quietly, as she was convinced now without a doubt that she needed to tread lightly and to keep herself concealed until she determined the nature of the threat. She rolled the mat carefully and stowed it behind the tree trunk along with Hector’s bridle. She took a branch that lay upon the ground and swept the area free of her footprints and markings.

Tamara could see Hector lazily eating from a patch of new grass shoots just ahead, and she moved toward him stealthily, her own bulk belying her agility. Once at his side, she urged him behind a hillock and then she secured him to a low hanging branch with a cord that hung from her saddle.

He will be safe here
, she reasoned.

The feeling of agitation was increasing by the second, and she grew very uncomfortable and uneasy, searching from left to right for an explanation for her concern.

Perhaps I am wrong, and it is just that I am alone and in a foreign place
, she considered.

But, that explanation did not satisfy her even as she thought the thoughts. Hector lifted his head and opened his grey eyes wide. He too sensed something.

The ground began to tremble slightly and the vibration grew steadily as she sought out its source. It was coming from the east, of that she was sure, and it was not emanating from beneath the earth, but from atop it.

“Riders,” she gasped. “A large party on the march and they are definitely headed this way,” she said to Hector, as he stamped his front hooves nervously on the soft ground. “We must conceal ourselves until we know who they are and what side they serve,” Tamara related to the nervous pony.

She carefully covered Hector with some loose branches and spoke soothing words into his floppy ears.

“Move as little as you can, Hector. Now is not the time to seek to satisfy your curiosity, or your hunger.”

She was confident that he understood her directives and that he would not betray their location to anyone. With a gentle pat upon his bony head, she carefully walked in the direction she believed the riders would approach from.

Tamara laid down atop the bed of soft and fragrant leaves and branches that had formed underneath a giant Perridon tree near the path she and Hector had just walked down. Her cursory observation of the pass through the woods led her to believe that if a substantial number of riders were to travel through these woods, they would need to pass by right in front of her. The trees were wide enough apart here and the branches were high enough for them to get by.

The trembling grew in intensity and the Sister knew that soon she would gain visible evidence of the visitors, in addition to all the other signs that were assaulting her senses now. She waited with quiet anticipation, wondering all the while where they could be headed, as the only location anyone ever visited west of these woods was the Tower of Parth itself.
What would a party of riders from the east want with the Sisters of Parth?

Individuals visited often, small groups made pilgrimages at certain times, wayfarers and vagabonds sought food and shelter sporadically, but never in her memory did a substantial body of outsiders advance upon the small fortress.

As the riders approached, Tamara was able to discern words and commands being spoken. She was relieved to recognize a Talamaran accent among the sounds, as the people of Talamar often came to the Sisters to sell them their polong oil for the lamps and stoves of Parth. It occurred to her that in these difficult and dangerous times, perhaps they may simply have organized a larger group of traders for the sake of safety. But as the sounds grew nearer, other accents reached her ears that were not encouraging at all; southern inflections and deep voices, gruff and guttural and unappealing. A woman’s voice rose above the growing din, and it became clear to her that the leader was a female, as the commands that issued from her mouth seemed to indicate.

“Stay together. Do not stray from the group. The woods may be hostile. We know not whether these trees be sentient or dumb,” she commanded in a stern voice.

Dumb?
Tamara thought.
That’’s offensive.

She had never heard anyone refer to a tree as dumb before and it bothered her to hear it now. Clearly, the riders were from another part of the land, or they would know that a great Lalas resided not far from where they rode.