The Awakening (28 page)

“Cairn? Can you hear me?” she said to him, but he did not respond. “Wake up,” Filaree shouted into the scholar’s ear. “Fight, Cairn. Do not give up.”

She had come to his room to talk, nothing more, if only to calm her nerves and settle her troubled mind. She was apprehensive about tomorrow and her ability to manipulate the ring properly. Cairn always helped her to reason and to discover for herself the way to proceed. He led her to the path, even though it seemed as if she made all the necessary choices. He was like a guide rather than a pedantic instructor, and she enjoyed his erudite method, almost as much as she appreciated the results.

When he did not come to the door after she knocked repeatedly, she began to worry. A terrible feeling overwhelmed her, a feeling of hopelessness and despair, and she knew that her friend was in trouble. Filaree forced the door, and rushed into the room. Immediately, she recognized the great peril that he faced. His features were blurred, as if his essence was fading away, and he did not move at all. At first, she thought of calling for Robyn, the Chosen, but she knew that she did not have the time for that. In fact, she hoped that she was not already too late.

She placed her strong hands on either side of his forehead, leaning over his motionless body, and she tried to reach him somehow. Unaccustomed to fighting in this manner, weaponless and against an enemy whose presence she could only feel, she nevertheless forced her thoughts into his weakened mind, laboring with all her mental strength.

“Come on, Cairn. Speak to me,” she implored him. “I could not bear another loss right now. Besides, who could possibly teach the boy better than you? You must awaken.”

Filaree felt her palms sweating against his temples, but not from fear or distress. Her fingers seemed to wax transparent for a moment, and a potent heat penetrated her skin. Her entire body grew warm and she became momentarily lightheaded, though it was not a disturbing sensation. Rather, it felt purging to her, and she relaxed in the warmth despite the circumstances.

Cairn’s eyes burst open, and Filaree stared into them for signs of awareness. She was kneeling next to the prone scholar and she was searching for signs of receptivity. Something told her that he would be okay, and she continued to force herself upon him, as if she were lending him a bit of her own life essence.

From within the depths of his darkness, he could see the bright light that he had been following, the light that brought him back from the edge of nothingness, suspended in the air before him. It was so white and so pure, like the circle of light in his previous vision, but closer. If he could only reach it, he knew that he would be alright. He lifted his tired arm and tried to touch it. It was so much nearer now, almost within his grasp.

Filaree watched with delight as he snatched the golden ring which dangled before her, suspended from its woven chain that hung around her neck. He closed his hand around it and the ring blazed brilliantly, illuminating the entire chamber in dazzling streaks that escaped through the spaces between his fingers.

Within moments, a healthy color returned to Cairn’s cheeks, and his eyes lost their glassy, far away look. His skin regained its human sheen, and he looked at Filaree with a penetrating yet thankful expression upon his face. That countenance quickly changed to sullen grimace, as he gathered his strength once more.

“He knows we are here,” he said to Filaree, almost in a whisper. “We cannot wait any longer. The heir must be awakened,” he said, struggling to rise.

She needed no further explanation to understand the seriousness of his comment. Filaree had felt the malignancy all around her during her contact with Cairn, and the attribution of a name to it would not have made its source any clearer or more certain.

“Are you well enough to stand now?” Filaree asked, as she helped Cairn to a sitting position.

“Yes,” he replied. “I feel remarkably refreshed, considering what I just went through,” he replied, shaking his head to clear it even further.

“The ring has more power than we imagined,” she said in response.

“As do you, my Lady,” Cairn rejoined, peering at her with his yellow eyes, bright and sparkling once again.

“If I can leave you for a moment, I will go and tell Robyn the dismal news,” she said, shrugging off his compliment without a second thought.

Cairn had clearly recovered quite well, and Filaree started to rise. Before she regained her feet, a voice spoke out.

“I already know,” they heard the somber words from the doorway.

Robyn entered the room quietly and quickly, and stood next to the others.

“The city had been betrayed,” he said to them. “Treestar related the squalid details to me just before. A young watchman it seems, first committed matricide, then murdered his countryman and finally escaped through a little used passage. They discovered the bodies only hours ago.”

Cairn and Filaree listened intently to the Chosen’s gruesome words.

“He had a lover in the woods below. The guards found her cottage burned to the ground and the remains of her and her father within the devastation,” Robyn explained. “The mark of the Dark Lord upon the premises was unmistakable,” he concluded.

He was aware as soon as he entered the room, that something here was amiss as well, although he could sense no trace of danger. Robyn had immediately noticed the golden ring hanging tranquilly outside of Filaree’s tunic.

“What news have you two for me?” he asked, eyeing the ring.

Cairn recounted the events of the last hour, and then Filaree added her own observations. When the narration was complete, they each took a silent moment to contemplate.

“It is clear that we must be more vigilant henceforth,” Robyn said, drawing in his breath. “We know not what form Colton will assume in his efforts to disrupt our plans. Nor do we know how he will attack Seramour. But, we can be certain now that he knows the heir is here, that an attack is imminent.”

“How secure are we here?” Cairn asked. “He was able to infiltrate my mind, although I probably opened the door to that all by myself,” he said, rather annoyed at his own careless actions.

“You could not have anticipated that, Cairn. Do not blame yourself,” she said, soft and kind, and she laid her hand upon Cairn’s own. “This city is defensively more sound than any I have ever seen,” Filaree replied, quickly moving to other matters. “An attack from below would be futile, as long as the lifts remain sealed.”

“Have you not seen the storm clouds hanging in the southern sky?” Robyn asked.

“I was just getting to that…” Filaree replied seriously, as three pair of apprehensive eyes stared out the leaded windows of Cairn’s small chamber into the dim light of the breaking dawn.

Chapter Thirty-three

Teetoo looked over his shoulder at the cascade of leaves floating gracefully to the surface behind him. He had just landed upon a spot of ground, the texture of which he was unsure of at first. He allowed his translucent wings to flutter rapidly so that he would not land heavily and perhaps sink into a mire or fall into a pit, but he stirred up everything that was loose upon the ground in the process. His youthful face had a wide smile etched upon it, as he enjoyed watching the falling material. It reminded him of the storms of his youth, when large flakes of frozen precipitation would drift to the earth, pile up quickly and form enormous mounds of billowy, virgin-white snow everywhere.

Unfortunately though, his mood quickly turned to melancholy. He suffered a deep yearning recently, that nothing seemed to alleviate. Even flying could not completely remove the feeling of sadness that gripped him these days. What he was seeing all around him reminded him too poignantly of his own land in its final days. It broke his heart to see the trees die and to watch the darkness spread. He recalled vividly the beauty that was Celaceran. A large, round tear welled up in the corner of his left eye, and he squinted cross-eyed, watching it as it dripped down the side of his nose. It landed heavily upon the surface of a bright orange leaf and hung a moment before it fell and dissipated in the earth.

Premoran will be along shortly
, he thought.

They had just left the Sister from Parth in Oleander’s woods, and he had a few items he needed to collect before joining him here. Teetoo took this rare opportunity to sail through the safe skies of this forest until his companion completed his tasks.

I wish not to witness the end of another world
, he thought to himself.
I have had enough of death and unhappiness
.
What must we do to stop this? Can we do anything?

Premoran wandered into the glen as silently as a mountain doe leading its newborn to safety. Regardless, Teetoo sensed his approach. The old man was his only friend in the world, and he knew whenever he was present. It was lucky for the wizard that they fought the same battle. He could never sneak up on this boy and catch him unawares.

“Why so sad, Teetoo?” Premoran asked, seeing the melancholy look upon the boy’s face immediately.

“I was just thinking,” he replied.

“Is that all you are going to tell me?” the Wizard said fondly.

“Well…” the winged one hesitated for a moment, “…I was thinking about loss.”

“Oh,” Premoran responded, as if that was enough of an explanation. “And with each loss, does not something else follow? Is not something found?” he inquired.

“Not this time,” he replied quietly. “If this battle is forfeited, there will be no other.”

Premoran knew as well as Teetoo what Colton was striving for, if not better than the boy. He knew that dissolution was the end and that nothing would come after. Time would cease to be relevant.

“Then this war cannot be lost,” Premoran asserted. “There is much to be hopeful for. Not since time untold have the Tomes revealed themselves so clearly. We have a multitude of things to be joyful about. If all that we ever experienced was positive, we could not recognize it for that,” he continued, trying to soothe his friend’s distress.

“I suffer for those who will lose what they cherish. I suffer for the children whose parents will die, and I suffer for the fathers and mothers who will live out their days alone, with only memories.”

“As you do?” he inquired tenderly.

“Yes,” Teetoo responded, looking wide-eyed at his friend.

Premoran paced back and forth for a few moments, staring at the ground and shaking his head back and forth.

“I do not know the reasons why we suffer. Sometimes I think that perhaps there are no reasons at all. Some of us grow tender from it and some grow cold. Life itself is ironic, is it not, Teetoo?” he asked.

“How so?” the boy replied.

“The very concept of life can be looked upon as tragic if one wishes. Everything that is born, dies. Some will say that your fate is etched upon your soul from the beginning and the journey of your life is merely a scripted exercise. Others believe that the future is yet unwritten. But if we all die sometime, then the final act will forever be the same.”

“And you find solace in that?” Teetoo inquired.

“In a way, yes,” the old man answered. “It is the journey that is important. And the fact that all living things are mortal, that they will all pass in time, makes it even more important. This is one fact that we can all rely upon. Our life spans may differ from race to race. But nothing alive can be immortal. That in itself would be a contradiction. Life is defined by a beginning and an end. Would you wish not to be alive so that you could never die?” he asked.

“You are playing with me, Premoran,” Teetoo smiled.

“No, my friend. I am not. I am just making a point,” he said, and he raised his arm and swept the area with it. “Look around you,” he commanded. “Now look again. What you saw before is no more. It is gone, though it looks the same. Each and every second the earth changes, and the physical world evolves on its own. You can never find the same moment again. But, Teetoo, that is what our enemy seeks, is it not? He seeks to stop time, to end the cycle of birth and death. And yet you lament the fact that we are caught in that very cycle itself. Rejoice in change. Rejoice in the fact that things are uncertain, that our actions have an effect. The fabric weaves of its own will, Teetoo.”

“I am the last of my kind, Premoran,” he responded mournfully.

“And I am the last of mine,” the Wizard rejoined.

Teetoo arched his thin eyebrows. “Are you forgetting your brother?” “I am the last of my kind, I said. He and I are no more alike than a troll and an elf. If he were to have an heir, it would not be my blood line it carried,” he sneered.

“But it would, you know. Although you may wish it was otherwise.”

“There are no females left of my race. Regardless, his offspring would be impure.”

“But that which distinguishes your kind from all the others would be present in a living thing, if he were to have heirs. That can never happen for me. I can not procreate with any of the races in this land. My kind will die with me, forever and always,” Teetoo said summarily.

“Be that as it may. We cannot change what is already. Our task is to do what we can regarding that which will be,” he said, avoiding his friend’s analysis.

“I am sad, nonetheless. I will always be sad. My memories sustain me to an extent. But, I only feel truly alive when I am airborne. And today, even that did not alleviate my melancholy,” he returned, still despondent.

Premoran walked over to him and placed his arm around his stooped shoulders. Turning him so that they could face one another, he looked him sharply in the eyes. “The line between happiness and sadness is not real, Teetoo. Our moods, like our lives, are variations on a theme. We characterize them with words, but words never do justice to feelings. Words do not define feelings, they define things. Feelings are not as precisely cornered. We think sometimes that we understand, simply because we can isolate sentiments by appending names to them. They though, are of two different kinds, like oil and water, and we merely assuage ourselves into a false complacency. For some reason, it makes us happy to think that we have accomplished something when we find the right word with which to pigeonhole a feeling.”

The Wizard stared into the boy’s big, gloomy eyes.

“You are yet alive, and when you are no more, your body will become a part of the earth into which it will be bequeathed. Unless our enemy, my brother, succeeds, your essence will never disappear from this land. Your physical presence will be altered and your soul will no longer reside within it, but that which makes up what you are will never be destroyed. Things do not disappear forever. They simply change,” the Wizard said.

He reached underneath his cape and pulled out the satchel that held the shards.

“Why do you think I collect these things?” he asked, holding the bag aloft. “What purpose will they serve now that the trees from which they came are dead?”

“I know not,” the boy responded, a bit perplexed.

“When a Lalas dies, it is not like you or me. Its physical self is gone from here forever. The great trees understand dissolution better than anyone could ever suspect. It is their fate when they leave this earth. The desolation that remains where a Lalas once grew is complete and total. That is primarily why they are so ardently opposed to the Dark Lord. They understand the meaning of it even better than he does. But the shards harbor what they deem important to persist, and that would be taken from us too if Colton succeeds. I collect them so that we may always benefit from the wisdom that lies therein. They will yet be efficacious in this world even though they are disembodied. The shards too would vanish for all eternity if they were not retrieved within a certain time of the tree’s death.”

“It is good to know this,” the boy replied, fascinated by the turn of the conversation. “I never questioned your reasons before. I knew there was purpose in what you did.”

“Your spirit, Teetoo, will remain within the hearts and minds of anyone and everyone you have touched, as does theirs in you.”

“There is solace for me in what you say. Though it is hard to console myself on the thought that my people, my family and my friends remain alive because I remember them. What will happen when I am no more? Will they be gone then too?” he asked.

“I will always remember you, and thus through me, they will survive. And if I am gone, then those I encounter will carry the seeds for you, for I shall never cease to tell them of you and your kind. There are others too whom you have met, who will maintain the thread. That Sister from Parth, Tamara. She is now a part of your cloth, and subsequently she will weave it in her own unique way.”

“I wonder if she knows just how important that knowledge may be. If we should die today, she would bear the responsibility of my entire race,” he speculated, though not entirely seriously at this point.

“Now you are playing with me, my friend,” Premoran retorted, smiling at the winged boy. “Go, fly for a while. Tell me what you can see in the skies. Perhaps the exercise will provoke you out of this somber mood. Besides, we must head in that direction now anyway, and it would benefit us to know how close my brother has already come to Seramour.”

Teetoo bowed his head gratefully to his friend. He raised his slender arms, stretching the translucent webbing that hung limply on either side of his body. The delicate fibers caught a slight breeze and billowed out behind him, lifting him off of the ground as if he was weightless. Teetoo maneuvered his arms in minutely intricate ways in order to take advantage of the subtle currents of air that he so distinctly felt, and he rose quickly and effortlessly into the sky. Turning southward, he sped off over the treetops, swiftly disappearing from even his good friend’s keen sight.