Sapling: The Broken Halls Page 7

  Shien envisioned the battle hidden by the forest and ruins. There were still remnants of the war machines that had once pounded upon the walls and tore the entrenched enemy from their defences. Large mounds here and there were completely covered in green blankets. Generations of trees and shrubs poked through the tall grass and moss in diverse places. Thus all evidence of war lay below the green surface that seemed to spread through the wide expanse cocooned by the forest walls.

  The group neared the new defence wall. It rose to twice Shien’s height as he came next to the old stone.

  The Broken Halls.

  Shien could not believe that he was entering into a place of legend. He quickly reviewed the facts in his mind to avoid missing any vital detail. The story of the breaking of the Order of The Open Hand was one still sung in taverns abroad. Only when the reveling was done and the spoils of war spent, when warriors would slowly sip their ale in reflection, then it would begin. For it was not a tale of wonder or glory. ‘The Order’s Lament’ it was often called. It was a legend of woe and remorse. The Order had stood for centuries, perhaps the longest standing order in all of Aeredia.

  The fellowship of learned and dedicated residents had represented all that was good in the land, a beacon of light

  for all else to hold a candle to. Those seeking the near-impossible task of attuning to the mysterious flows of power would gather here. As part of their training, they would maintain a vigil upon all the lands. Now, Kenhar seemed empty and dangerous, for no man would give a thought of care for his neighbor. The Order's Lament depicted the great battle that had been fought upon its walls, and how the ancient and young had died there to the last.

  Shien knew that it was after its breaking that the Defiler cadres had appeared. He normally was unconcerned with such things, as his life had been spent in his own pursuits. Yet he had done enough ‘errands’ for other organizations to know of their operations. The Defilers had spread across the land like a Darkwood storm with all its black fury.

  His mind was drawn back to that terrible night in Khyvla. He had no love for the Blade of Ahtol, and he felt, after their encounters in the city, the feeling was likely mutual. The word would spread through the cadre of his interference and he would be marked for their retribution, just like Firah. He already knew that Zyr was a common enemy to them. How strangely convenient that the enemies of the Blade were gathered together to await their wrath and repayment.

  He watched the monk move steadily through the high growth, his head moving this way and that. Somehow, Zyr was connected to all this, and yet he had said little to them. Shien knew better than to pry into others’ affairs. He shifted the pack containing Kuros and Isil on his shoulder. He looked up to see the next wall approaching. A massive gap jutted through the green blanket too great to be ensnared by the plant life. As wondrous as the experience was, he felt like an invader disturbing the silent land and the dead. As they walked carefully around the massive stones, Shien had a sense of being watched. He quickly shifted his gaze to where he thought he would find someone, but found only shadows. It was quite unnerving.

  After a time, as the sun sank low, the group finally trod upon the steps of the main entrance. As with the rest of the worn stone, the central structures were quite overrun with vegetation. Zyr did not ascend the stairs immediately. Kneeling solemnly, the monk bowed his head toward the Halls. Shien waited silently and respectfully, and Firah was so completely engrossed with everything around them that she had not noticed the reverent act.

  Shien looked upward toward a tower that rose high over the courtyard. Here in the heart of the forest, the structures of the Halls had once replaced the undergrowth and lofty trees. Since its neglect, the forest had encroached about the tower in the canopy above. Roots and bramble protruded from most spaces with new growth breaking apart old stone. It was the slow decay of time.

  As Shien looked at the sheer surfaces he noticed something odd about the vines which coursed over the walls. The fall of vegetation was disrupted slightly near the base of the wall, just a short distance from where he stood. Zyr had not moved so Shien decided to look at what had caused the abnormality. Stepping closer, he brushed the thick, dense vines away from the wall. The surface was cracked and splintered and the plants had grown into the small gap. Shien traced it to the source, and found a large indent in the stone. He marveled at the impression, for it had not been caused by any battering ram due. It seemed out of place. ‘How very strange’ he thought to himself and he touched the edges of the cracks. He felt a small stirring within as he did. A remnant of power still resided within the fractured stone.

  “I wondered about this as well,” the monk’s voice spoke next to Shien. The keeper of the Spirit of Vyn-Shi turned to the monk who seemed intent on the mark.

  “What could this mean?” Shien asked as he traced his finger along the impression in the stone. “It was caused by one blow, no larger than a fist.” Zyr looked upon the younger man with a knowing gaze. Shien detected an acknowledgement in that gaze, as the monk responded with his assessment.

  “When I came here last in my initial search, I was as mystified as you are now. You will see many things here that may create questions. I wish I had the ability and knowledge to answer them all. Perhaps together, we three,” he glanced toward the entranced and quite oblivious girl, “can piece together some clues where I could not.”

  “So it comes full circle, and you are still seeking for what you cannot find,” a deep rumbling voice called out from atop the wall. Shien’s head shot upward even as his hand flew to the hilt of his rapier. Zyr placed a calm hand upon Shien’s shoulder, and without looking upward he spoke aloud.

  “I am not surprised to see you here, Rhagal.”

  Firah looked up suddenly at the source of the voice and was surprised to see a strange man crouched atop the wall looking down upon them. His features were difficult to make out at the distance between them, but long brown hair with grey streaks flowed like a mane across his shoulders. Falling over his torso was a long braided beard. He looked down at the monk and shook his head slowly.

  “Your presence was foretold by Mother. I wonder why you have come. To seek for hidden truths and artifacts?” The face was darkened in shadow but Firah could make out the steady brown eyes fixed upon her monk friend. Zyr looked up without much expression as was his usual way.

  “You presume much, Rhagal, to think you know all of Her whisperings. Perhaps Her gift of lengthened age has dulled your senses.” He looked up at the man, who glowered down at Zyr. In one movement he leapt down, landing directly in front of the healer, his face scarcely a foot from Zyr’s. The monk had not flinched but waited silently.

  “You think this place will accept you back so easily? Much has changed, Zyr, from your previous visit. The wrath of nature dwells within these ruins, stalking the ancient halls. Be wary or you may yet join the fallen and find a place here with them.” He looked to Shien and then to Firah. She felt the eyes pass over her briefly and then the man looked back to his old acquaintance. Firah could not discern what would be the best course of action. She decided to follow Zyr’s lead, and noted that Shien meant to do the same.

  She saw that the man was tall and in good shape. His clothes consisted of rust-shaded leather leggings and jacket, with deeper orange-hued gloves and boots. In all ways, very plain, but there was something of his presence that spoke of power. Firah knew that there was more to this man than was apparent on the outside. She watched as he dug inside his leather vest and withdrew a bundled piece of parchment. He held it toward Zyr with a wary look. Zyr had not withdrawn his gaze from the man in all this time. “This is for you, a little favour to the Council so many years ago. They seemed to know you would return, and they wanted me to deliver it when you were ready. Frankly, I have seen little that impresses me, but the future, like this paper, has yet to be unfolded.” He passed the parchment to Zyr, just as Firah gaped in astonishment.

  'What? Seen little?' she thought. Zyr had don
e so much for her and Tohm. How could this man say such a thing? She felt a pang of anger well up within her. The man looked to her at that moment. “You think that she will replace Tehsa, do you?” he said smugly. Zyr’s eyes tightened.

  “Enough, Wilder. You have delivered your message. Shouldn’t you be about Mother’s business now? Why spend your time watching what is of little consequence, such as a failure like myself?” Zyr spoke calmly throughout the retort. The stranger was hardly listening. He was looking about the area as if he had lost something important.

  “My business is none of your knowing, oath sworn. Mind your path, Zyr.”

  Rhagal turned and walked away in a steady pace and then suddenly was gone. Firah double checked her eyes. She was sure that he was just there, and yet he was not. Truly, there was something more to him.

  Zyr stood staring at the parchment in his hands. Firah moved slightly nearer to observe the folded document. It bore an unbroken ancient red wax seal that resembled a symbol she had seen once before. She thought back … where had she seen it? Then her mind solved the problem. The token! She dug deep into her pouch. She had never thought to ask Zyr about it, since he only requested the dice of all the possessions she had stolen from him. Her fingers grasped the small circular object and brought it to light. As she turned it over in her hand, she saw that the image matched the wax seal perfectly. An upright open palm, with the fingers pressed together. She wondered what the symbol meant as she tucked it away. Zyr had pocketed the parchment and was making his way to the entrance.

  “Zyr, aren’t you going to read what is in that message?” Firah inquired curiously. He turned and regarded her. A small smile crossed his face.

  “Firah, your curiosity knows no bounds. Perhaps later I shall open it. However, now is not the time for such things. What concerns me is the warning of dangers in the area. If we wish a night’s rest without complaint, we must move quickly.” Firah saw Shien’s hand drift again to the hilt of his sword. She fought an impulse within to grasp the hilt of her new dagger.

  “Shall we?” the monk queried as he gestured toward the ancient ascending stairs. Shien moved wordlessly and Firah shook her head in bewilderment.

  “Zyr, you should have pounded that man for being so mean to you,” she said harshly. She was angry about that and also something was different inside. It was hard to describe what it was exactly. But feelings were welling up swiftly to the surface. There was a creeping, hidden longing that was slowly growing in the back of her mind. She shook her head again and followed the monk.

  He chuckled audibly and called out to her as he ascended the stair. “Believe me when I say that there were many times I was sorely tempted. Oh yes … one more thing, young lady, while we are guests here, please do keep your curious tendencies to a minimum.” It was Firah’s turn to laugh at the response and then yelp as she nearly tripped over a loose piece of stone upon the stair.

  Zyr had not been within the walls of the Order since he departed the lands so many years ago. The Halls brought many memories back, and Rhagal had spoken things that rang true. Perhaps he wanted to help Firah so much because of his failure with Tehsa. He blamed himself for her eventual descent to the ways of the Defilers and the tainted arts of shadow. If what Tehsa had said was true, she would have gone with him when he left. Sadly, it had taken him time to realize that he would have accepted her companionship. He had returned to the Halls at a summons but he had also determined to take her with him … and then found his youthful home broken. So great was his astonishment and grief in losing all those he knew and his fear of losing Tehsa that he left immediately without a serious investigation of the Halls. Much later he had learned a rumour of Tehsa surviving the event which spawned his lengthy search for her. It had taken years and many nights of frustration but he had succeeded. Not that the answers were easy to digest. Now all he cared about was a way to help her return to who she once was. Somehow Firah was connected and by helping the girl he might find the solution to helping ‘Nuril’. Mother’s prompting to return to the Halls was surely a part of the way back.

  Zyr’s hand touched the ancient wood which consisted of the doors of the Halls. ‘Still blocked off from inside’ the monk thought. The enemies must have chosen a different entry.

  “Let us try the west entrance,” Zyr spoke as he moved off the main stair back into the lush vegetation. The others followed in his path as he waded through the high grass that had broken through the remains of the stone walkways. As they rounded the side of the main encampment wall, they spied a massive division part way down. Slowly, they made their way toward the gap, which had a large mound before it with mossy protrusions jutting outward. It looked like a strange green creature with all its twisted limbs. “Most likely the remains of a war engine,” Zyr spoke as the others came up behind.

  Just before they made to climb over the war wreckage, Zyr felt something tickle the back of his mind. What Rhagal had said echoed in his thoughts. There were eyes nearby, watching in anger. Each of them was a ripple in a still pond, but together they crashed and disturbed the deathly calm which prevailed here. He turned and motioned to the others to come close. “The stranger was right. There are things that wait for us. You may see guardians within these walls. Do not disturb their slumber, and regardless of what happens, do not retaliate if they are provoked. It will surely spell our deaths if we do.” Firah’s eyes went wide in shock.

  “Are you sure we should go in, Zyr?” She looked at him in earnest. “I feel odd when I look at the buildings … It doesn’t feel right.” Shien merely shrugged and waited to see what Zyr would instruct. The monk marveled at the girl’s senses. They had certainly developed quickly over a short period of time, as a result of the blade and its properties. Still she had much to learn, and now it could be done without the evil and twisted machinations of the demon fragment within the hellish weapon.

  “Stay close to me, Firah, and you will be fine. While I understand your fears, it is vital we access the inner sanctum of these Halls. I feel there are answers to be found there and it would be best to make our camp within the walls this night.” The monk knew what the night held in store for them. He needed to find a secure location, for he was keen to look for any latent changes in Firah since being separated from the dagger.

  The sun had nearly passed beyond the horizon and light was scarce. As Zyr made his way through the opening, he looked about the main thoroughfare. It once was a place where fountains bubbled and philosophers mingled in the pursuit of knowledge. The concourse was a place where many gathered from all over the land, even from other countries. Its beauty was spoken of far and wide. Now it seemed hollow and empty, like a stained skeleton of a once thriving and vibrant body.

  The group slowly moved through the courtyard with cautious steps. Zyr led them to a side entrance which would access a chamber adjoining the main hall. Portions of walls were collapsed in some areas. As such, the large ornate door needed some persuasion. There was rubble built up against the door on the inside, from crumbled walls above. After shoving the door open enough to slide through, they took in the clerestory hall. It was as Zyr remembered, except it seemed less brilliant … and desecrated. All the coloured windows that once shone with luster were now dull and grey. He ran a hand along a great pillar that rose steadily upward. Flashes of memory …

  “Where have you been, boy?”

  “Humble Servant, I was practicing in the woods and lost sight of the sun behind the trees and …”

  “Initiates have specified time for training and study. You have neglected your books; I saw dust upon the covers as I inspected your room yester-week. Meanwhile, your kota have worn through at the palms and knuckles. It is the responsibility of every brother and sister to uphold high standards and maintain balance …”

  “Yes, Humble Servant,” Zyr spoke quietly. Firah and Shien looked to him. The acoustics of the Halls still carried every word. He looked back with sad blue eyes. “Just a memory …” he said softly. He could see the y
oung girl now as she ran through the Halls every day, looking for her Mihyl in vain. For he was already in the forest. Zyr shook his head to scatter the memory. Everything had been so simple once and now strands of many lives thread uncomfortably around each other into the weave of life. Zyr led the others slowly through the clerestory hall and turned toward the inner access to the main chamber. What greeted them through the opened doorway at the end of the hall caused even the silent monk to gasp in shock.

  The room had many tables and benches scattered throughout, some upturned and others in place. There was little light in the room, but enough to determine the scene. Skeletal bodies lay stretched over various benches. Many forms contorted into the throes of death, curled up into grotesque balls of agony. Much of the armour was intact, and so it seemed that the bodies had been left to rot in the hall. Despite it being so far in the past, it was as if the moment was frozen in time and the actors doomed to play the part for an eternity. The room had an eerie feel which raised Firah’s hackles more than at the breached wall. “I cannot rest in here, Zyr. There is no way …” She had turned her face from the scene of conflict. Her face was white with emotion, whether fear or sorrow it was not clear.

  “I shall not ask you to, for the clerestory halls shall suffice,“Zyr stated sympathetically. "Shien, help me close these doors.” The two men heaved upon the rusted hinges which had sat unmoved for many years. Finally, they gave stubbornly and squealed in protest as they closed. The large vaulted and ornate ceiling echoed the last of the wrenching sounds with a resounding doom. Firah relaxed a little and went to a large stone by a wall and sat down, wrapping her arms about her knees and bowing her head. Shien sat beside her. The light was failing and shadows lengthened inside the hall. It was eerily quiet. The monk’s hands began to glow softly as he channeled small amounts of energy, which illuminated the area around them. “I shall go and fetch the means for light and fire. I would not risk it except that the Darkwood nights here can be quite cold.” He moved away and as he did, Firah’s anxious features slowly disappeared into blackness. Then the hall behind him fell into dark shadow.