Sapling: The Broken Halls Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by Ad Infinitus Creations

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN 978-0-9948428-3-1 (First Edition)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  All graphics, compilations and layout by Dan Gillis

  Editing by Shawn Urban

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  Working under a Gnarel agent probably wouldn’t be so bad …

  Except for the smell and occasional prod.

  To my many Initiates

  Past and present

  To which I am the Servant

  The honesty and boldness of youth

  Propelling me on to perfection

  Preface

  Sapling belongs to a larger narrative and framework called The Aerluin Weave. As such, many references occur in the Sapling series which allude to other Aeredian locations and times. Many of these stories have yet to be told in print but lend relevant connections to the present story.

  As such, the Glossary following the main narrative is intended to clarify and extend references made in the series. It has been noted that reading the glossary beforehand will enhance the context and meaning of certain references. I would suggest that reading the Glossary first falls to personal preference. In the least, it is there as a quick reference to peruse during breaks between readings.

  By way of example, the Prologue - subtitled as The Aerluin Weave - was given the additional title to reflect the pertinent connection of outside events to the main narrative. As such its contents, while along a different story arc, are relevant to the events in Sapling.

  Graphic compilations have been included in this edition. This was a natural progression of what I intended for Sapling - which is to explore ways to supplement and accentuate the depth of the narrative. Each was placed in logical sequence aligning to the events of the Broken Halls. As a point of interest, I had not originally intended to include characters in the images.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Grey Encounters

  The Hunt for Redemption

  Tohming the Beast

  The Servant and Scepter

  Culling the Cadre

  The Price of Meddling

  The Awakening

  The Chamber of Ascension

  The Broken Plea

  The Weave of the Making

  Rest

  Changing of the Guard

  The Conferral

  Decrees and Offerings

  Glossary

  Map of Kenhar

  Aeredian Calendar

  The Captive and the Void

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The Aerluin Weave

  THE BUSTLE OF THE TOWN enveloped the old woman and her young charge. Morning had passed but it was not yet midday. The sun illuminated the many shops and shanties that lined the perimeter of the road. Hawkers were calling out high and low in effort to draw in potential customers. Their voices and petitions were musical with a well-practiced art. Wondrous smells and fragrances lingered in the air and teased the patrons of the merchant quarter. The clash of tools and iron rang out in rhythmic patterns. Brilliant colours of streamers dazzled in the gaze of the girl. They soared overhead connecting to each tip of the rooftops. Tapestries were draped along shop fronts revealing the careful intricacies woven within. It was a symphony for the senses.

  As the grandmother led the young child along she politely raised her hand to decline the many offers and petitions of the shopkeepers. She smiled simply at each tradesman. They nodded to her respectfully and carried on with the business of the day. The considerate candor of the vendors was not lost upon the girl.

  “They are so kind to you, grandmother.”

  “Kindness is a seed, dear one. When you sow it freely you will reap the fruit in abundance.” Her granddaughter smiled brightly and turned her eyes back to the street. They were soon approaching a distinctive vendor of tapestry. With one glance, the girl determined something was unusual with the shop owner. He was a slimmer man with his tunic tightened past several belt notches. His face was stretched and thin and boney hands were constantly tensing and twisting in anxiety. His eyes darted here and there and refused to settle upon the gentle gaze of the woman. All this was drawn into a countenance which was gloomy and unsettling to be near. The young girl drew closer to her grandmother as they stopped before the display. The man nodded curtly and saluted the old woman.

  “How now, Elayne? Come to check on your work again? No one has requested your designs recently. If you recall, I told you For-Llian that you could take them away. However, to spare you the walk from your workshop, I shall pay you for them if you like, at a discount of course.” She shook her head politely and asked to see her work.

  He indicated toward a beam deep within the shop. The display was tucked into the corner and in the shadows one could barely discern the trim amongst the other fabrics.

  They stepped into the small dimly lit shop and the weaver moved to where her fabric hung along a wooden apparatus. She carefully brushed the other material apart and tenderly slid her work from a high beam. As the creator wrapped the tapestry over her arm, the young girl caught a glimpse of the pattern. An elaborate and detailed collection of colours were bound into a shape like a seed. The artful display covered most of the composition, encircled about with twisting and twining golden ribbons.

  As the seamstress emerged from the storage room, the vendor’s brow was stepped in lines of worry and irritation. The elderly woman simply nodded, mimicking the same politeness given her by all the others they had seen. She wished the man good fortune in his industry. He stifled a laugh in a miserable attempt at respectable candor.

  The old woman turned to retrace their steps back to her workshop and the loom.

  As they walked the young girl mused aloud.

  “Why was the man so frightful? How would anyone wish to buy from him? All I wanted was to be away from him.” Her grandmother chuckled - less in mirth and more in sad sympathy.

  “Oh, he was one of the best at his trade not so long ago … a masterful weaver and merchant.” The girl turned her head suddenly in shock. Her jaw hung open in disbelief. “Yes, that is right. You see, dear, when one focuses only upon the imperfections of their work, resentment grows and confidence wanes. Two moons ago, he accepted to take and sell the work of other artisans. It was an innocent collaboration to start; however, he began to compare the works of others to his own. He saw imperfections. That poor fellow - he can no longer see beauty and simplicity. All he can perceive is flaws in the weave and covet the success of others. He strives for perfection and cannot stomach when another is chosen over his own. His plight is somewhat akin to the Lay of the Making.” She observed the girl’s puzzled expression. “That is the name of the song which tells of how Aeredia came to be.”

  The old woman, sensing the moment, turned from the road toward a great field of standing gold which swayed lazily in a slight breeze. Farther on there was a tall hill bathed in flowers of every colour. The young girl lent a shoulder to her grandmother as they ascended the rise. At last they made the top and sat between the kiss of sunshine and the grateful blossoms. The child lay her head gently upon her grandmother’s lap with her lengthy dark brown hair spreading outward in waves onto the gra
ssy bed. Her deep hazel eyes were radiant and taking in the majesty of the firmament above. The old seamstress began to sing in a lovely tone. The notes were a kingly carriage for the precious words therein.

  The majesty and the splendour

  Of Aaoi’s great abode

  Shone with wild pure streams,

  Of heavenly lustrous beams.

  All of creation flowed

  To the great Garden Tender.

  Then Aaoi bent to spin and sow

  A wonderful Seed.

  It was wondrous and vast

  With such colours in contrast

  To His previous deed -

  A cold and barren prison of woe.

  Amongst the throng of the Graced

  Young Aerluin stood.

  Her dark as night sheen of skin

  Encompassed brightness within.

  Lively as a summer wood,

  Yet steeled within to know her place.

  Standing apart in great appeal

  Always bold and brash

  Deep within a hidden discontent

  With all his joy carelessly spent

  Emboldened and rash

  Were the works of Graced one Siyl.

  Aaoi raised to all his Graced a call

  Who should be sent?

  Who could tend to such a world

  Such glory and majesty unfurled

  And who would assent?

  Only the most dutiful and potent of all.

  Siyl stood forth with great display

  Taking alone the task

  What glory would be his to claim

  The laud and spoils were his aim

  Give it to me I ask!

  I’ll tend this Seed in my own way.

  Not I, said Aerluin - young in age

  For I am far from grand

  Such a wondrous world for me

  Would surely turn my heart from thee

  Pray grant me a creative hand

  O’er thy dark and shadowed cage.

  Aaoi granted to each their request

  Without a further word.

  Siyl to his blissful bounteous bloom

  Aerluin a seemingly darkened doom

  Yet, no disparaging was heard

  As each set out to their test.

  The binding song traveled along

  Each tended with care.

  Yet, slowly, a strange and subtle flaw

  Grew in Siyl’s heart from what he saw

  ‘Twas perfection’s despair

  It tainted his mind and joyless song.

  For all the beauty arrayed upon the Seed

  Siyl’s heart was torn

  He sought to echo the Master’s theme

  Yet, always it was beneath his esteem

  With inadequacies to mourn

  He gnashed upon his desperate need

  Yet the Dark Lady’s greatest desire

  Was to bring from the night,

  From the shadowy pall - an evening flower

  From dust and dark - a world to empower

  Set to break forth into light

  The desolate prison reborn in creation’s fire.

  Siyl looked to Aerluin’s bliss and yearned

  For her unbounded joy.

  His will was darkened beyond the black

  With greed and lust - how his mind wracked

  Until the only employ

  Was fixed upon the prison - all else he spurned.

  Then the reckoning of work had come

  Aaoi stood still between

  The majestic array of the once dreary pen

  And the withered and wild once glorious glen

  All were set to convene.

  The Creator’s voice was a rhythmic drum.

  “Siyl, once favoured, thy soul is as the Seed

  Behold the fruit of thy hand

  A heart of darkness under false shroud

  Beauty spoiled by rancour. Thy proud

  Thoughts could not withstand

  The insidious turning from duty to greed.

  “Oh, Aerluin, thou was faithful and true

  Thy part in this test

  Was to entice Siyl to embrace his true form

  To reenter the light or drown in the storm

  Thou art now blessed

  What would ye that I should give unto you?”

  Aerluin sought for the song to convey

  A deep longing desire

  “Please, though this be but a prison to thee

  I would I could tend it - rock, pool and tree.

  It has been forged in fire

  I would mind thy works and never stray.”

  Aaoi considered the request for a space

  Then wisdom was born

  “I shall grant thee charge of this sordid keep

  Siyl, I will bind there, for a season he will sleep”

  -Then came hope reborn-

  “I shall give you a Gift, thou who is Graced

  Take thy sister Llian and weave thy binding song

  For upon its face

  I shall give unto thee people to inspire and observe

  Tend to thy task, from the heavens ye shall serve

  Keepers of Grace

  Be vigilant and ever weave thy binding strong.”

  Then all was done as Aaoi did command

  Aeredia was born

  A careful watch was Aerluin’s to keep

  She watches still; our Mother does not sleep

  Traveler, do not mourn

  Her song binds us all upon the land.

  The song concluded as the last notes carried upon the breeze. Twittering chatter of birds filled the space left by the song. The old woman looked down to the now sleeping form of her kin. She wondered how much the girl had heard before she slipped into dreams. The song-weaver decided not to wake her just yet. This last day together was to be memorable, at the least for her own aged mind. The Grandmother slid the hickory strands from the pleasant and peaceful face upon her lap. The girl was her greatest treasure. Soon, all her days would be barren of the special light of innocence. The same was true of the weaver. Aerluin’s gift to perceive future days would be of little comfort in the absence of her dearest one.

  An ashen paleness flashed across the lines of her face. The weaver drew in a deep breath to steady her will. Impending shadows flickered and danced across the loom of her mind. A somber truth echoed in her heart.

  The threads were diverging, each on its own journey upon the pattern.

  It was a troubling but essential risk. Yet, in time, Aerluin’s threads of fate would bind them all together again to resist the shadow. She looked upward to the heavens, as if she could perceive what lay beyond the veil.

  Llian … wait just a while longer. Wait for the Sapling …she will grow.

  The Blade of Ahtol Memorandum

  Grey Encounters

  STEFAN CROUCHED LOW grasping the reassuring stone, the only firm assurance he could cling to. The wind howled about his ears and gusted wildly in ever-changing vectors. The highest spire in Syrion wound ever upward until all stone fell away, leaving naught but a narrow stair (no wider than a quarter-spear) jutting into the heavens. He dared not look down into the vast expanse all around them. He stared in utter amazement at the king, who stood upon the highest step boldly and upright, casually gazing out over the land which lay many hundreds of feet below. It would be dawn soon, and the young king made to satisfy his desire to see the definitive moment, when Tamers Reach would release the captive sun to the land. There were no words to describe the beauty and majesty of the occurrence.

  Stefan was terrified. His Lord had always done this, and the overwhelming feeling of terror beat harshly inside his chest. One slip, or a strong gust and he or the King would fall … down and down … it would take an eternity to reach the ground, as the tower height surpassed any other structure in Kenhar, perhaps Aeredia herself. A sudden draft nearly drove his light frame over the stair as he desperately grasped the stone steps, struggling to regain balance. His k
nuckles were white from exertion.

  The voice of the king rang out in clear tones, his face still turned toward the east.

  “It is not that I do not appreciate your company, Stefan, but not all are accustomed to the open tower.” Toryn remarked as he waited upon the red orb. “What exactly brought you up here this morning, before most of the world has yet to awaken?” Stefan breathed in slowly while regarding the back of the king; the royal cloak and light brown hair tousled about in the wind.

  “I was thinking about the Defilers,” Stefan replied as he adjusted his body so as to address the young monarch as directly as possible without rising from his precarious perch. He strained his voice over the incessant howling of the wind. “Perhaps if we sent another envoy to strike a negotiation?” As he finished his sentence the king turned toward his chancellor, his grey eyes set deep with emotion and futility.

  “The time for deliberations is past, Stefan. The servants of Ahtol have made their move …” The young king’s frame lifted and then drooped under a long exhaled breath. “Only four left … four, Stefan … Dryke, Mehnin and Syrion … and the desolation of Sym. The rest have all fallen into shadow.” Toryn’s hand came up from his side, now clenched and shaking slightly. “Not a prayer for any of them … and what have I done? I was charged to protect them all … and now we all wait for the end. Hope is foolishness, Stefan … one day our sun will fail to rise.” He fell silent and turned himself about, regarding the light which was near to peaking over the far mountains. “How careless and obtuse we have been … the leaders of this country. We opened our doors to this evil, gave them refuge. We allowed them to grow and fester like a hidden wound. The sickness has spread through every vein of the country.” Toryn’s head bowed low. Stefan could read the pain and frustration in that simple act.