The Descent to Madness (21 page)

             
Stone opened his eyes at this, not what he expected to hear from a venerable elder. Yalen saw his surprise and laughed.

             
“What, you think that because I’m old I’m a believer in tradition? Well, to tell the truth, I am!” He laughed at Stone’s further confusion. “I believe that the past holds great value and that our ties to it can give us a sense of place in the world. But I don’t believe in tradition for tradition’s sake; over time, what started out as good becomes stagnant, meaningless and all it does is stymie you, prevent you from moving forwards until something comes along to break you out of your rut.”

             
Arnoon and his family sprung to Stone’s mind.

             
“Such traditions will have you worshipping long-dead and unworthy gods, taking orders from supposed betters that are nothing of the sort. Because
tradition
.” He snorted, blue smoke erupting from his nostrils like some amused dragon. “No,
real
tradition keeps your feet on the ground, reminding you of your roots. Real tradition raises up leaders of worth rather than succession. Real tradition is what holds you fast to doing what’s right by others, proving yourself by acts rather than blindly worshipping some god and praying that act alone wipes out all your selfish deeds.”

             
The old man laughed, his chuntering exhausted, before tapping out the last remnants of his tobacco on the side of the boat, Stone merely watching and thinking, amused and quite surprised at the zeal of this wizened elder; he seemed more like a frustrated adolescent, desperate to make his mark on the world, but resigned to the fact that he was a small fish in a big pond. All the same, the ideas he espoused, despite containing not a little frustration, seemed to resonate with Stone, make some sense. But this world was just too small, too simple for such grandiose ideas to make a difference.

             
But elsewhere, somewhere far away, a more jaded and crowded world, bereft of hope…

             
Stone shook his head, clearing his thoughts, before turning once more to the fletcher.

             
“For an old man, you sound like a teenager!” he laughed.

             
Yalen nodded, mirth shining in his eyes as he repacked his pipe from his pouch.

             
“Not so old yet, young one, though I’ll admit to seeing more than my fair share of summers, that’s true.”

             
“So you remember the Chief and Shaman Wrynn as Youngbloods, then?”

             
Yalen didn’t look up, still intent on tamping the weed in his pipe as he answered.

             
“Chief Farr, yes, now there was a Youngblood, for sure; he was a wild and reckless youth, make no mistake, always getting into fights, always chasing the girls.”

             
Stone laughed, trying to fit this description with the mellow and cheerful Chief he knew today.

             
“And Wrynn? What was he like?”

             
The elder shrugged as he withdrew a taper from his jacket, lighting it on the oil lamp ever-present at his feet, before touching it to the pipe-bowl and taking a deep chug.

             
“Your guess is as good as mine.”

             
Stone frowned.

             
“What do you mean?”

             
Exhaling, Yalen explained.

             
“When I was but a stripling of a youth, way back in the day, I remember my father being struck down with fever after a day of fishing the Yow in harshest winter. As he lay by the hearthside, shivering, my mother bade me run, run as fast as I could to the healer’s house to fetch him or we would lose my father. And so I did, my little feet burning as I ran through the frosty grass, before reaching his house on the outskirts of the village. I reached up, knocked on the hide door of his hut, then it opened.” He paused for dramatic effect, allowing a long tendril of blue smoke to half-obscure his eyes, long-lost in the depths of  time. “There, in the opened doorway, loomed the largest man I had ever seen, like some kind of giant from a children’s night-tale to come and get me.”

             
Stone shook his head in astonishment as Yalen nodded.

             
“It was Wrynn, young one, sure as I speak to you now. Throughout my life he has looked the same, never changing. He’s a fact of life to our village, the same as the setting of the sun, the changing of the seasons. Always there, guarding us, healing us, training new shamans to carry on old craft.”

             
Stone’s ears pricked at this.

             
“New shamans? You mean Lanah…?”

             
Yalen shook his head.

             
“No, she’s not the first, not by a long shot.”

             
“Then what happened to all the others?”

             
“Oh, they drift off, find other places to be, called to wherever they’re needed. New villages spring up once in a while on the Plains and the Hills-People are always in need of a healer, always ready to offer food and shelter to someone willing to brave their ferocious winters. Others, of course,” his eyes looked grey and cloudy for an instant, as if reliving some terrible memory, “chose to venture south, sell their gifts to the barbarians in exchange for coin and debauched living.”

             
Stone remembered, now, the speech that Wrynn had given him on shaman being one brotherhood, the pain he’d seen on the man’s face upon mentioning those living in the south with the vicious raiders. Loathe as he was to admit it, Stone could easily imagine how tempting it would be to use these powers for wealth. He thought back, months now, to the altercation at the slaver camp; that kind of man only respected power. One could live like a king amongst such people if they had the ability to wield the elements.

             
He lay back once again, in the sun, content to drift along on the boat, simply lost in his thoughts, musing over everything the old man had told him. Looking overhead, he could tell, thanks to Arnoon teaching him, that it was early afternoon. A while yet before Lanah finished her studies. Later, he would meet with her, talk about what he’d learned.

Yalen was already snoring, his pipe threatening to drop from his lips.

But first, he would doze himself. He closed his eyes and drifted off, quite literally.

***

The golden sun had travelled only a short way further through its path in the sky when he was awoken by a voice, musical, sweet and full of light. Lanah’s. He looked about himself, but he was still floating in the boat on the Yow, Yalen still snoring contentedly at the other end.

             
There was the voice again, singing his name, distant as though carried on the breeze, yet at the same time as close as though she were speaking over his shoulder. He got the overwhelming sense that it was coming from upriver, amongst the trees. He stood, his balance such that the boat didn’t even rock, then leapt, a fluid, graceful and powerful movement that caused him to clear the river and reach the shore in one easy bound. The voice called him again, so he set off in search of its owner.

             
On the boat, Yalen continued to snore.

***

He found the glade not far from the banks of the river, further north, upstream from the village. Picturesque with wildflowers and shaded trees, it was quiet, bar the melodious calls of the colourful birds that flitted in and out of the vibrant foliage. The earth was dark and rich beneath his feet, in contrast to the green grass. A shiver up his spine momentarily, as he suddenly realised the scene was eerily akin to the oasis of his fevered nightmares, but the moment passed; the atmosphere here was peaceful, serene, no danger to be found here.

             
The voice called him on, clearer now, brushing his way through a leafy bush, hung low with juicy berries and before he even burst into the small clearing, dappled with bright sunlight and overhung with wide, low, leafy trees, he knew that she was there.

             
Lanah sat cross-legged in the soft grass, eyes closed in the warm sunlight, smiling beatifically, opening her eyes to watch him as he entered the grove.

             
“How did you do that?” he enquired as he approached her and sat down next to her on the warm earth.

             
“The spirits of air are wild and flighty, but win them over and there’s a lot they can do; carrying messages is but one thing.” She took his hand. “I’m glad they found you.”

             
Silence for a few minutes as the two simply sat, enjoying the sun, listening to the birdsong, content just to be in each other’s company, before Lanah spoke, her soft, quiet voice sounding curiously in tune with the melodious calls of the birds.

             
“I called you here for a reason, Stone.”

             
He looked at her, puzzled, as she went on.

             
“You leave for the Journey soon and I want you to be prepared.”

             
“You told me that it wouldn’t be dangerous if I showed respect.”

             
“Aye, but I know you and I know how you act with the spirits. You seek to harness them, control, dominate even.”

             
Stone wasn’t put out by the accusation; he knew in himself that it was true.

             
“It’s like you seek to control everything because too much has happened to you that’s been out of your control. But you need to let this attitude go if you’re to meet the avatars of the elements; you’re powerful, Stone, but if you show any hint of disrespect, any signs that they should be
obeying
you, rather than working
with
you, then they will not hesitate to destroy you.”

             
He shivered; he’d felt the eternal, unyielding nature of the elements’ power before. Even such feats as killing the boar, igniting a dozen flaming arrows, all had only used but an infinitesimal fraction of this ageless might; the thought of incurring its wrath didn’t bear thinking about.

             
He nodded in solemn agreement, his hand forming a fist in front of him as he stared at it.

             
“You’re right; when I have the power surging through my veins I feel like it’s mine by right and I don’t want to give it back.”

             
“That’s how it starts.” Her eyes wide and full of understanding and empathy. “The power is addictive and it’s easy to forget that it’s borrowed, not innate. That is why you need to spend more time communing with the elements, as I do here.” She spread her arms wide to take in the whole of the picturesque paradise. “The more time you spend with them, the more you realise that the world of spirits is a real, thriving, bustling worlds of living beings, not just a power-source that can be abused on whim.” She moved so that she was sat, cross-legged, exactly opposite him. “Close your eyes,” she commanded. “ Connect to the elements.”

             
He did as she asked, closing his eyes, feeling the connection to the earth, the air, the distant water and the even further distant fire, all opening up easily and naturally to him as though born to it. The familiar metallic tang of the earth, the refreshing, cooling rush of water, the prickling, static feel of the air and the smoky, warming fire.

             
“No, you’re feeling the power, the source.” A gentle voice breaking  into his thoughts. “Don’t concentrate on that or you’ll go too deep and miss what I want you to see. Feel, instead, the
life
. Feel the vibrancy, the purpose. Feel the end point of the power, what’s just below the everyday surface, there but hidden.”

             
Subtly, he shifted his state of mind with a mental command and nearly fell over backwards, as all of a sudden a wave of fresh sensations blew over him.

             
The creaking, groaning stretch of trees as they continued their centuries old reach to the heavens; the thunderous boom, boom of footsteps as myriad beetles raced hither and thither between towering blades of grass in their ceaseless quest for sustenance; the rushing, whistling gallop of heartbeats from dozens of birds that preyed upon those same insects, gliding down to scoop them up in one fell swoop. And on the edge of his senses, a rustling, a gentle, sing-song laughter.

             
“Better.” The gentle voice again. “Now open your eyes.”

             
He did and gasped. Lanah, sat in front of him, glowing with a radiant, intoxicating light that shone out from her very soul to touch all about her. He was seeing her as never before. He went to speak but she shushed him, gently.