Book One - THE WORD

Texel spoke.
I jumped. All my life I had been taught that the Grand Master never spoke, hardly ever even moved. In
the past six months I had spent every earlyday in the Great Chamber, studying the lessons carved into the
walls -- part of my Apprenticeship as I learnt to become a Worker of Forms -- and I had neither heard
sound nor seen movement of any sort. Seated in the Exalted Chair, Texel might have been as much a
statue as all the sculptured figures throughout the Teaching Halls.
I turned towards him slowly, considering it was probably nothing more than my over-active imagination.
There almost seemed to be a hint of a smile on the chiselled features. He nodded, and I jumped again.
‘Yes, my child, you heard me. I said come over here.’ The smile was definite at this point.
His voice was deep, commanding, but quiet, gentle. I walked forward cautiously, certain my legs would
simply fold beneath me. My entire body was shaking. What had prompted the Great One to speak?
What had I done?
As I reached the base of the platform on which resided the Exalted Chair, I descended to one knee in the
established gesture of utmost respect, bowing my head in deference and submission. I tried to still my
racing mind. It was an established fact, unquestioned by any of the populace of Ularz, that the Grand
Master was aware of every thought; I was certain my current ones were far from representative of where I
should be at this stage in my learning.
‘You are Talif, third daughter of Ramdor and Kild.’
I nodded. For an instant I wondered how he knew, then chided myself. Of course he would know. The
Grand Master knew everything.
‘Raise your eyes, little one. I did not summon you to chastise you.’
Ever so slowly I did as I was bid, raising my gaze from the spot just before his feet at which I had been
staring. The kaleidoscopic crystal eyes were fixed on me intently. I tried to swallow the lump in my
throat, but my mouth felt as though it had been lined with zulich. The profoundness and sagacity in those
amazing eyes robbed me of all the air remaining in my lungs as well as all the moisture in my mouth. I
drew a ragged, raspy breath, and waited.
‘Across the Vast Silva, in Idylshire, a young boy lies somnolent, and has been thus for three months. On
the rare occasions that he rouses beyond this state, it is for merely a few moments and is rife with
convulsions. No one has been able to ascertain reason or cause for this, and though many have attempted,
none have been successful in even meliorating the situation. It is now for you, young Talif, to journey
there and discover what remedial work you can perform.’
I nearly fell over. ‘But I am merely an Apprentice, and of Forms, not of Healing . . .’ My hands flew up
of their own accord and clamped over my mouth. I was certain my shock, horror, and chagrin shouted
from my eyes as I felt them widen in complete stupefaction. But the words were out; I could not retract
them. Though unwritten, it was universally accepted that no one questioned, much less argued with,
whatever the Grand Master in his omniscient wisdom determined necessary. As he knew all things, he
commanded and directed all things, from the force of the winds to the birth of a child. Solely the Master
Workers could appeal to him directly, and only when they had exhausted all other avenues and methods
they could conceive would they come and lay their case before him, silently awaiting some sign or mental
message what they should next do. Never was it questioned; whatever was received was done, even
should it be nothing at all. What could have possessed me, a mere tiro, an Apprentice not even yet a
Worker Minor, to protest the direct command of the Great One, I simply could not fathom.
The right hand rose slightly from the arm of the Chair, and the smile broke the austerity of the stone-carved
Countenance again. ‘Not simply forgiven, but understood, my child.’
As if my eyes could get any wider . . . but they did, I was certain. The sound that emanated from the
magnificent figure before me could have been nothing other than a chuckle.
‘In the six months of your studying the lessons here on the Chamber walls, you have gleaned much about
other Working Orders as you have passed their areas on the way to your own.’
My hands pressed tighter against my mouth as I bit my lower lip, hard. We had been admonished by the
Guide Workers to pay no attention to what we passed; it would only serve to confuse. But me and my
over-active imagination -- I played little mental games with the idea of what it would be like to study one
of the other Orders, and not always the same one.
‘You have done no wrong.’ Reassurance was in the ever-changing eyes as clearly as it was conveyed in
the
tone.
I simply stared. This was becoming more unreal by the moment.
‘You have a tremendous capacity for learning, with a predilection for expanding ideas in new and untried
ways, and a definite propensity for abstract conceptual understanding. Your current knowledge of Forms,
with what you have absorbed about Balance, Healing, and Energy, coupled with your innate ability to
conjure and comprehend in conceptual combinations, is precisely what is needed to resolve undefined,
apparently unexplainable situations which have no reason for existing and serve no purpose in continuing.’
Dreaming . . . that was it. I had to be dreaming. Any moment now I would awake in my small quarters,
laugh at myself, rise, dress, and go down to the Great Chamber to begin my day of learning. All as I had
done every day for the past six months; all as I had done at the outset of this extraordinary dream. Only,
once awake, once having returned to reality, there would be nothing different from all those other days,
except that this time I would not play my little mental games. Perhaps that was the reason for this dream;
perhaps it really was a message from the Great One, telling me to cease doing that. It had been known to
happen that way. But regardless, I had to curb this over-active imagination of mine. Particularly if it was
now creating such completely unreal dreams as this one.
There was the chuckle again. ‘You are not dreaming, little one, though I can understand the reason you
would think so. There are reasons for all things, and there is reason for this assignment I give you. Go
forth and do as you have been directed. Therein you shall see.’
Apparently the dream was not yet ended. I drew a deep breath, gazed into those profound kaleidoscopic
eyes, and lowered my hands from my face. ‘When do you desire I leave, Supreme One?’
‘As soon as you can prepare yourself for the journey.’
I blinked. But this time at least I knew better than to protest. I bowed my head again and rose. I also
knew there was nothing more to be said.
Heading towards my quarters, I passed a few Workers on their way to their various duties, and several
Apprentices on their way to studies. An innately early rise, I had quickly earned a reputation for being
first to arrive in the Great Chamber each day. As they nodded to me and I returned it, I wondered what
would have happened if that aspect of my nature had been different, and I had not been in the Chamber
alone.
‘Had that aspect of your nature been different, you would not be the same individual, in any aspect.’
I jumped and literally turned round. It had been without doubt the voice of Texel. I almost expected to
see him behind me, although I knew he never left the Great Chamber. The walkway was empty, as, had I
thought, I would have known it would be.
Tears blurred my vision as I continued on my way. Whether or not this was a dream, it no longer
mattered. A connection had been made, and I knew beyond question that, regardless where I went or what
I did, from this moment on I would never be without it. And suddenly, somehow, it no longer seemed
quite so dreamlike either.
Entering my quarters, I began assembling what would be needed for my journey. I had no idea what the
impression would be of my sudden disappearance, but I also simply did not care. I was on a mission of the
utmost importance, a direct assignment from the Grand Master himself. Whatever was yet to happen,
wherever I would go, however my life would progress from this point, it was being directed by a Source far
beyond the capacity of any mere mortals, including even the Master Workers, to truly understand. And it
was not my place to explain. My actions would be either accepted or not; it was totally immaterial either
way.
Why me? It made no sense. I shook my head; it was not the first time that thought passed through my
mind. But from an incomprehensible Being, an incomprehensible idea should seem quite natural, a normal
state of affairs. I sighed. Very true, but even with that accepted, I was still certain I would never be able
to rid myself of that question.
I opened my wardrobe and extracted my wayfaring livery, an integral part of the accoutrements of all
Workers, provided upon induction into Apprenticeship. Identical in style to our Worker livery -- one
piece, form-fitted, with invisible front closure, the stand-up collar mid-neck in height and V-notched at the
throat -- it was lined with zulich to absorb excess moisture, and light blue-grey to blend in with the
surrounding scenery. Instead of the pull-on black mid-calf boots and wide black belt that completed
Worker livery, for wayfaring I added the sturdy grey treaders that laced to the knee, the equipment belt that
held all necessary gear, and the light knapsack that would carry additional items. I stripped and redressed
quickly, feeling very strongly that this was not a time for dawdling.
Shaking my hair free of the collar, I fastened the livery, then stepped into the treaders, laced them tight,
and
strapped the equipment belt round my waist. It felt odd, as if something was missing. Glancing down, I
saw it immediately. The leuhton, our travel beacon and only weapon, was not in its slot. As merely an
Apprentice, I had not yet been issued one, though its use was part of my training. Apprentices never
travelled; we received no assignments until we passed to the level of Worker Minor, went nowhere alone
until Worker Junior, and did no individual service until we reached Worker. But to traverse the Vast
Silva, a leuhton was assured to be utterly essential.
I closed my eyes and considered. Where and how could I acquire one? Although I trusted Texel
implicitly, I did not think he would protect me from the wilthebestia and light my way in the darkness when
I was perfectly capable of doing so for myself. However, I did need to have a leuhton.
The thought suddenly flashed into mind that there was to be a Level Conferment later in the day; the
storbin of authentic leuhton would be in the practice-room in preparation. I chewed slightly on my lower
lip. Might there be a group training at this time? Glancing down at my attire, I smiled. What did it
matter? I was dressed for it; there was no way they would know I had not come to practise.
Quickly I completed my preparations, placing a few necessary items of clothing and some bags of dried
food in my pack. Laying it on the chair just inside the door, since having it with me would be rather
conspicuous, and I had to come back this way anyway, I sped down the corridor towards the practice-room.
I had no idea how long I would have to pretend to be practising before I could slip a leuhton into my belt
and smuggle it out of the room, and I was once again feeling the sense that there was no time to waste.
It surprised me, though when I thought about it I realized it should not have, but the huge room was
deserted. I ran to the storbin and extracted a leuhton, slipping it into my belt and racing back out of the
room and down the corridor. No one would miss it; I was certain of that. Nothing was ever taken without
permission. That was part of the Workers’ Principles, and one of the pledges in the Oath of Honour taken
by all Entrants before they even received their Second Induction, into the Novitiate; by the time a level was
reached where there was access to such things as leuhton, one was well steeped in those canons, and no
verification was ever performed.
I slowed only enough to reach in and grab my pack, then practically flew down the corridor, past the
Intrinsecus Pylon, through which I had gone just a short time ago -- at the beginning of what I had thought
was simply another day of learning, but which had become a day that had completely changed my life --
and out the Extrinsecus Pylon. I sped down the pathways of the Outer Gardens, hardly even seeing the
multicoloured beauty I had always loved so much. This day I had other things on my mind.
It was not surprising that I passed no one in my hasty departure. The Workers would all be attending to
their various responsibilities; the Apprentices would all be at studies or in training; the Novices would all
be in lecture-lessons. Earlyday was not a period when anyone had free time, and the Caretakers would not
reach the Outer Gardens until midday.
Racing down the garden pathways, I considered that and wondered how much it contributed to my almost
frantic haste. I definitely did not want to be stopped and asked what I was doing or where I was going.
The scene in the Great Chamber was intended to be between the Grand Master and me alone; if others had
been meant to know, he would have waited to make his presentation until they arrived. And besides, if it
had seemed unreal to me, how would it sound to a third party? I had to laugh a bit, perhaps somewhat
nervously, at that idea. I would quite likely be caged, if not expelled, for my delusions at that point.
As I crested the rise at the outer edge of the Gardens, overlooking the expansive sweep of the Heath,
stretching almost as far as the eye could see, I recognized by the angle of the convergent rays of Eelios and
Aster that no more than an hour had passed since this incredible day had begun. It seemed impossible. But
on the other hand, wasn’t anything possible in a dream?
I shook my head. No, I had totally lost the dream feeling at some point during my preparations. If this
was a dream, it was a waking one, a living one. I did not know why the Great One had chosen me;
perhaps I never would. But choose he did, and I had a duty to perform, a responsibility to apply all my
ability to fulfil.
I stood for a moment, watching the dancing beams of blue-white light seeming to almost pick out
individual leaves on the blue and purple shrubs peppering the Heath. Then I lifted my eyes to the horizon,
where all that could be discerned was a vague shadow.
The Vast Silva: an immense stretch of colossal grey-trunked trees, the lowest blue-leafed branches of
which could shade a ten-storey building, the topmost so far beyond measure that they seemed to touch the
albus sky and were known to have literally entangled the clouds. Beneath the multitude of intertwined
massive branches, little of the light from our two brilliant orbs could penetrate, and it was said that night
within those confines had the darkness of a void. Stories abounded of the wilthebestia that populated the
area, but precisely who or what lived there, and in what forms, either none knew or they never told.
With a deep breath, I closed my eyes for a moment. Little interface occurred between the people of
Idylshire, on the far side of the Vast Silva, and those here in Provenanshire -- few dared attempt the trek
through the Vast Silva, the Great Sea to the east was far too wide and mighty to be crossed, and the Bourn,
the towering sheer-faced mountains to the south, could not be scaled; any correspondence was carried by
the durabirds, those big, hardy, high-flying birds that could soar above the mountains -- leaving us virtual
strangers to our Brethren to the west. Workers who were once assigned there stayed there, and the entire
area was more or less forgotten by most of us.
But Texel did not forget, nor was he any less aware of the needs of his people there than of those of us
here. I opened my eyes and stared at that shadow on the horizon once again. Somewhere out there,
beyond that which could not even be clearly seen from here, was a child, a young boy, who needed help.
And the Great One felt I could provide that help.
Why me? I shook my head. I might never know. ‘But if you say there is reason, there must be reason.
I shall do everything I can.’ I knew I was not just speaking to the air; I knew the Presence was with me. I
could feel it.
I looked again at the shadow on the horizon. I was actually less afraid of traversing that massive wood
than I was of what awaited me on the other side and whether or not I could accomplish what had been
assigned to me. But I would certainly not do so if I merely continued to stand on this rise and think about
it. With a deep breath and a sigh, I started down onto the Heath.
-2-
Crossing the Heath was not difficult. The shrubbery was quite thick in places, and there was a certain
amount of undergrowth; but the land was flat, and there was room to pass without becoming entangled, as
long as one was careful. I maintained a steady pace, utilizing every available moment of daylight and
extending it a little longer by use of my leuhton, and came to the edge of the tract of grass and trees
preceding the Vast Silva in just under three days. As I looked over at those massive trees, I felt as if I was
about to enter another world.
I decided to spend the night there at the edge; there was no point in attempting to start a trek through a
strange place when I knew I would be confronting darkness in only a very short time. Seating myself
cross-legged on the ground and nibbling on a scrybb leaf, I eyed the wall of tall blue grass and scrubby
trees that separated Heath from Silva. It was impossible to tell from this vantage what to expect once that
barrier was crossed. But whatever awaited me within the next segment of my journey, I was quite certain
it would require every wit and wile I possessed.
As Eelios and Aster cast the final light upon the day, I found a large, obliging shrub in which to bed and
curled myself into a ball in its centre, with the sincere hope that whatever wits I could claim and wiles I had
learnt would be sufficient to at least enable me to reach my destination.
I awoke just as Eelios was tingeing the northern horizon blue, and as Aster added white streaks from the
east, I assessed what supplies I had and would need. With no idea whether any vegetation grew in the
dimness of the confines of the Silva or, if it did, it was safe to eat, I had saved my packs of dried food for
that part of my journey. However, since I did not know how long it would take to traverse the vastness of
that wood, I felt it would be wise to gather a few scrybb branches to sustain me for the first couple of days.
Knowing I could not take much, both because I did not want to become overburdened and because the
life-balance would not last more than about two days without curing, I spent the time of first light passing
among the shrubs, slicing a few fully leafed branches from those having excess.
With that task completed, and the branches stored in the rear section of my pack, I turned my attention
once again to the grass and dwarf trees before me. Dwarf trees? I smiled. They were at least five times
my height. But they appeared little more than twigs when compared to the huge grey forms behind them.
I glanced back at the brightness of the Heath -- it would be some time before I saw that brilliant light again
-- then drew a deep breath and started forward.
The tall grass reached my armpits, and it clung to me as if attracted by some magnetic force. Even once I
reached the trees, the grass remained, and my progress was slow and tedious as I pulled myself away from
each patch, only to be adhered to by the next. I had not encountered anything like this in my explorations
as a child or in the earlier stage of my journey, nor had I been exposed to any similar phenomenon in any
phase of my training. As I continued to struggle forward, I wondered what made it behave this way.
That was all my over-active imagination needed. It was an integral part of our upbringing, enhanced and
extended by the lessons and training I had received in the two years since becoming an Entrant to the
Working Orders, that there were reasons for all things. Texel himself had said it when he assigned this
extraordinary mission to me. And since I had no explanation of the reasons for this strange attraction I
seemed to have for the grass, my imagination was more then happy to provide its own.
It started with the idea that I was irresistibly beautiful, progressed to the notion that my essence energies
were so strong that weaker ones were unable to avoid being drawn into the force field, and continued to
expand into the increasingly fantastic. Finally, I simply burst out laughing. But I noticed I had continued
pushing and pulling my way through the grass without really being aware of it. Perhaps, at least in this
instance, my flights of fancy had a use.
Again my imagination took off. But this time it flew in a different direction. Instead of attempting to
define the reason the grass was attracted to me, I started conjuring methods to make it let go. First I saw
myself simply ordering it to do so, and it not only obeyed but parted before me. Then I saw myself rising
above it and walking on its tips instead of wading through it, and it supported me. On and on it went, and
as it did, so did I.
Somewhere in the midst of it, still plodding along, tugging myself free from each patch of grass I
encountered, while my mind continued to conjure forth visions of how to put an end to this impediment to
my progress, an idea began to form that seemed to make sense. From those lessons of other Orders I had
not been supposed to give any attention, I recalled explanations of essence energies, beyond the simple fact
that they existed and each was unique, a fact known by all the people of Ularz from the time we were old
enough to think.
I had learnt about energies of other sorts in my training thus far, since as Workers of Forms we would
utilize them in order to perform our responsibilities, but we were not trained in how to work with those of
individual essence. That was for Workers of Balance and Workers of Healing, primarily, though Workers
of Energy also had to at least understand them. But, fascinated by other Orders as I was, I had read quite a
bit from those areas, and it seemed to be merging with what I had gained from my own specific training, to
provide a very interesting idea regarding my current situation.
According to what I remembered, unless otherwise directed, essence energies would tend to flow
downward through and round the body, with a spiralling motion to the right. This, then, created a type of
charged field. On that basis, it would seem reasonable to assume that if there was a charged field round
me, it could generate a kind of magnetic force. And if that was the case, perhaps it was that which was
attracting the grass. Given those ideas, it would seem logical to conclude that to counteract that
magnetism I would have to change the direction of the spiral. Yes, it was a very interesting idea. But
how did one do that? I may have read a bit on the other Orders, but I certainly was not trained in that. I
closed my eyes and considered. Until that moment I had not realized I had ceased my albeit difficult
progress and was simply standing in the embrace of fifty or sixty stalks of grass. It was not constrictive;
their hold was not tight. It was merely an impediment, and an annoyance. In my mind I could see a Form
shaping: a translucent blue-white cone, pointed upward. The visualization seemed to settle the cone over
me and slowly turn it in a leftward direction. I sighed. There went my over-active imagination again. It
even felt almost as though the grass was ceasing to cling to me.
I did not have time to just stand in the middle of this peculiar grassland beneath the shade of the short trees
before the Silva; I had a journey to complete and a responsibility to perform. Annoyance or no, I had to
continue. This was only the first of what I was certain would be many unprecedented experiences before
my trek was done. I could not simply stop in my tracks and day-dream each time something new
confronted me. Opening my eyes and preparing to continue my struggle forward, my mouth fell open.
The grass had in fact loosed me. All about me, it merely stood tall and straight, with no indication it was
even aware of my presence. Apparently the Form and its application had done what it was intended to do.
But I was merely an Apprentice; I had not yet learnt how to ensure Form construction, much less how to
properly apply one once I made it. And this had been required to affect essence energies, something
Workers of Forms were never meant to touch.
I shook my head; stretched out my hand. All remained the same. The dreamlike feeling I had
experienced in the Great Chamber returned for a moment, until that thought registered. Passing a message
of sincere appreciation to the One I was certain was responsible for my freedom, I smiled and continued on
my way.
-3-
It seemed as though the grass abruptly disappeared, and I was suddenly aware that the shade had deepened
into almost semi-darkness. As I thought about it, I realized the grass had been thinning for a while; it was
not quite as noticeable when it was not clinging to me.
I looked up. Through the trees around me I could see the overhang of the huge branches of the first row of
monoliths that formed the Vast Silva. The fear that had seemed minor when I viewed them merely as a
shadow on the horizon, or when I sat before the wall of grass and trees through which I had just been
passing, suddenly touched me, and I felt chilled.
Tales I had heard returned to mind -- about the darkness, almost an endless night; about the eeriness,
almost an alien world; about the stillness, almost an undisturbed tomb; about the ease of becoming
disoriented, almost an accepted insanity; about the wilthebestia that roamed there . . .
Some said the wilthebestia were people who had attempted to traverse that wood at some point, become
lost, and gone mad from both their panic and the lack of any daylight. Some said they were zoic forms
remaining from a time long predating history. Some said they were zooids, emanating somehow from the
ground itself. And some said they were disembodied spirits, able to appear in any form at any time, locked
in that darkness for some wrong they had done, seeking to escape by trading places with any who entered
their domain.
I shivered. Then I chided myself. This was no time to start to become faint-hearted. I had been given
an assignment, directly from the Great One himself. He would not have done so if he felt there was any
danger, or any that I could not overcome.
‘The greatest Mind there is has faith in you. Let that be enough for now.’ My voice sounded hollow, as
if I was speaking in a vacant stone room. Again I shivered. But I repeated my words of reassurance
silently, drew a deep breath, and proceeded forward.
The darkness intensified practically with each step. But my eyes were adjusting to it relatively well, and I
could still see, at least to some degree. As I continued toward the end of the minor wood I had been
traversing, I got my first glimpse of the trunk of one of the massive trees of the Silva. I stopped and
stared. It looked like a wall.
This was the time to double-check my supplies and equipment; once I entered that vast place of mystery,
there would be neither light nor time. I had to have my wits about me, but I also had to have my
equipment in working order. It would do me no good to have it if it failed me at the time I needed it.
I loosed the chest-strap on my pack, dropped it to the ground before me, squatted in front of it, opened it,
and riffled through it. Change of clothing, for when I reached my destination; fresh underlinings for my
livery, for my return trek and in case my journey spanned more than three weeks, at which point an
underlining became impacted and ceased to filter; laving-kit; packs of dried food, which should last about
two weeks, as long as I rationed carefully; vacuum flask of water; mixing-pouches, to be used with my
dried food, the scrybb branches I had gathered -- all seemed to be in order there.
Returning the knapsack to my back, I checked my equipment belt. My slicing-knife, which I had used on
the branches and resharpened just a short time ago; lashing-string and related gear, in case I needed to
climb, or bridge a chasm; mending-kit; medikit; side pouch, in which all the small essentials were stored;
directra, to ascertain direction; leuhton -- everything was present.
I extracted the leuhton, flipping it on and adjusting width and intensity of its beam. It remained in perfect
working order. I did not dare discharge it: I was certain to hit a tree. But if the beacon-beam was
operating properly, it would fire if necessary.
Storing the leuhton, I pulled out the directra. This was the aspect of those stories about traversing the
Silva that I could not understand. No one within the Working Orders would even consider travelling
without a directra. How, then, could they become lost?
Though I had tried to work it out, it continued to make no sense. At one time I had posed the idea that
such tales concerned only those outside the ranks of the Working Orders, but had been told it made no
difference: some who had been assigned to go had not arrived on the other side; some had returned in
panic, claiming it had taken all their wits to find their way back and refusing to try again. Was it possible
that the directra did not function within that realm?
Holding it steady with my left hand, I illuminated its face, turning the pointer forward from where I stood.
I knew I faced wesouth; it was the direction I had been travelling all day. The directra clearly read
eanorth. Opposite. As I stood staring at it in fascination, I thought about the peculiarity I had
encountered earlier with the grass. That had been a matter of opposite also. At least that was how my
mind had perceived it.
Supposing I was correct in that assessment, all I needed to do was read whatever the directra indicated as
its opposite. But that was too simple. Others of the Orders -- much more advanced than I, if they had
been given permanent assignment -- would certainly have been able to figure that out. I was not yet
actually within the confines of the Silva; perhaps the odd behaviour of the directra changed again at that
point.
I sighed. That was something I would not know until I got there. Right now, I knew my direction; I did
not require the directra to tell me. I would have to recheck it once inside; hopefully I could draw some
solid conclusions then. As I had considered when I began this check of my equipment, having it would do
me no good if it failed me when I needed it.
Replacing the directra in its slot, I raised my eyes and gazed again at that wall-like trunk. I did not
suppose the trees of the Silva grew in ordered rows, meaning I would have to make my way round
obstacles of that size. That might explain how one could become lost, if it was necessary to weave
through the entire expanse, shifting from one direction to another, in order to find a clear path on which to
progress. I shrugged. I had considered it would take every wit and wile I possessed.
Proceeding forward, I began to realize that trunk was farther than I had originally thought. Because of its
size, it was deceptive. And it looked ever larger before me as I drew closer: ominous, forbidding. I
suddenly felt incredibly tiny, and extremely inconsequential. These trees had stood in this spot for
generations; some said for literally aeons. Who was I to be invading their domain?
I shook it off. Such questions merely fostered others, perpetuating and accentuating my earlier feelings of
fear. I would never accomplish my objective, never even reach my destination, if I allowed those feelings
to take hold.
Finally I reached that tree, and I stood before it, simply staring. From this vantage, I could not see to
either side, although I was uncertain whether the trunk was that wide or the darkness beyond it was so
complete that it obscured where one ended and the other began. As I contemplated that idea, again I felt
the chill of fear, and I chided myself severely.
Recalling my earlier experience when I spoke aloud, I did not open my mouth. Instead I employed my
training in mental discipline, and I visualized myself outside myself, talking to me.
This is ridiculous; you’re behaving like a child. You have a mission, an assignment given you by the
Master of Masters. You can either view this as an obstacle and the beginning of a horror-filled
experience, turn round and run back to the safety of the Compound, or you can view it as a challenge and
an opportunity to learn, continue forward and show yourself worthy of the honour bestowed by your
selection. Can you confront those crystal eyes again, if you give up now?
I nodded. I deserved every bit of such a reprimand, and more. Again I reminded myself that I had been
chosen, and that the greatest Mind there was had faith in me. It did not matter that I did not understand the
reason it was me the Great One had called upon to perform this task. He had done so. That should be
sufficient.
By nature I was curious, sometimes overly so. That curiosity had more than once been the trigger to my
over-active imagination, starting it on any number of strange and fantastic flights. It was greatly that
combination which was responsible for my little mental games regarding other Working Orders. In the
past I had considered it fun. Why could it not be so now?
I gazed again at the massive trunk before me, but this time I saw it differently. No longer was it an
obstacle in my path and an omen of something to be feared; it was a guide-post on my way, a teacher of
new subjects I could learn nowhere else and by no other means. And I began to ask questions, mentally of
course. I did not expect any answers, but that was all right; my imagination was, as always, quite prepared
and willing to fill in.
This trunk appeared little different from the trunks of all other trees I knew, or from those I had just passed.
A smooth, even grey, it was perhaps a bit deeper shade; but it was also much darker here, which could
make it seem that way. What made these trees so much larger than all others? How had they come to
grow so tall? so wide? How long had they been here, and how had they come to be here at all?
As I turned to my right, to what I mentally noted would be norwest, I extended my hand and touched that
tree. I drew back sharply. It might look like other trunks, but it did not feel the same. All others I had
known felt smooth, almost as though polished, and were cool to the touch. This, although not gnarled, had
a slight roughness, and it was warm. It reminded me of the exposure-toughened hands of my father, who
had been a tiller of soil for over sixty years. But how could something which did not toil, and lived in a
place of protected darkness, be work-worn? And what made it warm?
I touched it again. I had not been mistaken. This time, however, I did not draw back; instead I stroked it
gently and let my hand remain. All of us were well aware that trees were living beings, as were any plants
or animals, and due as much respect as were people; thus did we never arbitrarily cut or kill, extracting only
what was needed for our sustenance as we also assisted the plants to prune excess leaves or branches they
could not remove themselves. It was the life-law of Ularz, and great was the punishment to any who
disregarded it. But a tree that was warm and had a surface that felt more like skin than bark was unique,
and it generated a feeling of kinship that was difficult for many to sense with the plants we knew.
These trees were far elder to those outside this realm. Could it be that they were also more advanced?
Might that somehow contribute to their immense size?
And off flew my imagination. I saw trees that were like people: that walked and talked, that toiled and
accomplished, that laughed and cried and learnt and grew, and that built their world their way. The world
they built was different from what we knew; for as their form was different from ours, so was their
life-style. But there was a certain similarity; for not unlike most people, they desired a place to call home,
somewhere to sink roots, although theirs were deeper and more permanent. They tried this place and that;
but none were quite what they were seeking, and they moved on to try another.
The trunk I was tracing began to curve, and I followed it round to my left, returning to my original
direction of wesouth. As I continued deeper into the wood, the darkness was almost complete, but a little
light filtered through, telling me it was still day. I could definitely see, however, that the idea of ‘endless
night’ was not far wrong. It was practically impossible to discern anything but a vague sense of shrouded
forms amid the almost tangible penumbra.
I did not allow myself to dwell on the darkness, resuming my pleasant imaginative ramblings with a smile.
After all, I had left the trees still homeless when I had stopped my fantasizing to ensure I did not lose my
bearings. I proceeded forward, albeit cautiously since I did not know what might lie beneath my feet,
continuing to allow my hand to slide along the trunk of the tree beside me. So far, anyway, the tree did not
seem to mind.
As I moved on, so did my historical fancy, seeing the trees roaming from place to place, never completely
satisfied with all the aspects of any one, still searching for somewhere to call home. But they did not move
on without leaving something of themselves and the world they built behind: in every area they tried, the
soil remained soft and fertile. Although the trees could not make it home, they left it ripe for those who
might follow and be able to make it theirs.
On and on they went, always disappointed, until they reached this one vast flatland. Here, everything was
perfect: the soil was exactly to their liking, the rays of Eelios and Aster converged in just the right ways at
just the right times, and there was plenty of space for them to sink their roots and spread their branches
without being crowded. They settled. They had finally found home.
The trunk of my friendly guide began to curve again just as my story ended, and I smiled to myself.
Sometimes my flights of imagination seemed almost to have a sense of timing. I had noticed it on many
occasions, even as far back as when I was a small child, ceasing my day-dream just before my mother or
father entered and began to tell me something else to do, ending some fanciful flight just a moment before
the door opened to admit the lecturer for the day while I was still a Novice, even completing my little
mental games regarding the other Orders only instants prior to the beginning of the influx of the rest of the
Apprentices into the Great Chamber. I shrugged. It was something I did not question; it seemed to be as
much a part of me as the imagination itself.
Since I no longer had the tree to guide me, I stopped for a moment and extracted my directra, figuring I
should be far enough into the Silva at this point to begin to make some determinations regarding its odd
behaviour and whether it would be of any use to me at all. Holding it steady with my left hand, I
illuminated its face and turned the pointer forward. According to my calculations, I should once again be
facing wesouth; the directra read just north of eanorth. I reached out and touched the tree again, stepping
backwards two paces, to where the curve first began. The directra indicated I was now facing directly
eanorth.
It still seemed far too simple. If I, merely an Apprentice only half-way through my training, could see it
was simply a matter of opposites, how could others so far above my level as to be full Workers have missed
it? I shook my head. It made no sense. But then, so much of this since it had first begun, including the
fact that it was happening at all, had made no sense.
I sighed. It would accomplish about as much to stop in my tracks and spin in mental circles as I had
earlier considered it would to do so and day-dream. I replaced the directra in its slot and extracted my
leuhton. From this point forward, if I wanted to see where I was going, I was going to have to use it.
Since it was usually so dark here, I wondered if its light would bother the trees. With that thought, I
laughed at myself. I was obviously still caught in my fantasy. That was the aspect of my imaginative
wanderings that Kareth, my principal Guide, had warned me about, and I had often admonished myself that
with such an intense and over-active imagination, I could become so ensnared as to be unable to recognize
the real from the unreal.
For an instant I almost panicked, wondering if that was all any of this had been. Then I felt the calm of
the Presence, and I knew better. I flipped on the leuhton, but I kept the beam at low, just in case. My
imaginative conjurings were no more fantastic to what most of us had always considered normal than was
the very idea of trees that were warm. With a gentle stroke and a mental message of thanks to my
guide-tree, I started forward in a straight line from where the directra had stabilized on eanorth.
-4-
I walked until I was tired, then slept until I awoke; those were my days. Although I felt I was
maintaining at least basic concordance with the days and nights, since a tiny bit of light did seem to be
filtering in during my waking time, I could not be certain. Our three moons could be quite bright, and this
was the time when they all would be high. It actually made no difference either way -- the light that did
pass through those massive branches was insufficient to illuminate anything within these confines, and I
could readjust once I reached my destination -- but I felt it would be easier if I remained attuned to the day
cycle.
As best I could, I had continued to calculate my direction, and I had periodically checked my directra. It
still appeared to be functioning in precise opposite. And I was certainly far enough into this strange
vastness by this point that it would have changed if it was going to. Although I still could not fathom the
reason the phenomenon had not been defined by others, I was at least beginning to cease doubting my own
conclusions. It provided me a greater sense of confidence, that I did not need to rely totally on my mental
calculations.
It was sometime during the third of my days that I first had the feeling I was being watched. Thus far, the
terrain I was traversing had remained the same: primarily barren ground, with roots protruding on
occasion; some sort of almost white frondy plant sparsely growing round the base of most of the trees; the
trees themselves as huge, and as work-worn and warm to the touch, as the first I had placed my hand upon.
Nothing seemed to have changed. But I distinctly felt as if there were eyes upon me. Constantly.
I did not allow myself to become frightened by the feeling. I had come this far; it made no sense to turn
round and run back now. But it did make me nervous. I had no way to know whether I was merely being
observed or I was being stalked.
Several times I looked about me, attempting to discern where those watching eyes were hiding, but there
was nothing different evident. The trunks were certainly large enough for something, or more than one
something, to hide behind, and the branches above me were high enough, intertwined enough, and dark
enough that anything could be there and I would not be able to tell. Once I thought I heard rustling, and
shone my beacon upward, but it was like hitting a wall; all I saw was the underside of the lowest branches,
their large blue leaves, and darkness.
And so it continued, until I realized my nervousness had given way to anxiety, and was starting to become
fear. That was my sixth night. I had just settled myself on the ground at the base of the nearest tree,
carefully avoiding treading or sitting on any of the odd white plants, flipped off my leuhton and returned it
to its slot, and was preparing to curl up to sleep when I recognized it.
Unquestionably it was night: the blackness was absolute. But I was alertly watching. The silence was
unbroken by anything save my own breathing. But I was intently listening. I stared into the utter nothing
as if attempting to penetrate its ebony opacity with vision inadequate even in shadow. Considering there
had been no sound except the one vague rustling, I had no idea what I thought I would hear, but my ears
were trying to perk and flick like those of a heri. I felt the thrum-thrum-thrum of my heart. And I knew I
was afraid.
I chided myself. Still, it remained. I lay down and closed my eyes. Still, I listened. I curled into a
tighter ball. Still, I felt exposed. I told myself I was behaving irrationally. Still, I wanted to run.
Regardless what I did, I could not relax. I tried to use my imagination as I had before, but all it did was
expand on my fear, conjuring forth visions of all sorts of horrors. It almost seemed as if the darkness itself
had tentacles, reaching for me. I pressed up against the tree, feeling its warmth on my back, as if seeking
sanctuary or solace. I felt like I wanted to cry. Finally, I fell asleep, or at least I passed to another level of
consciousness where I was not so acutely aware of my immediate surroundings.
I awoke with a start. I had no idea how long a time had passed, but I was still surrounded by opaque
blackness. It felt as if something was tugging on my hair.
Lying perfectly still, I attempted to quiet my racing mind. I had been so apprehensive, and my
imagination had so vividly portrayed such a myriad of potential incubi, that I was uncertain whether I was
fully awake or still partially caught in the throes of some weird dream.
In order to bring myself to complete cognizance, I began assessing my position. I was still lying as I had
been, curled into a ball, my back against the tree, my right hand resting on the hilt of my leuhton, my head
on my pack; the ground beneath me was cool but not cold, firm but not hard. All was as it should be; my
mind was definitely clear of any vestiges of dreams. And it still felt as if there was something tugging on
my hair.
My eyes flew open. Tugging on my hair . . . it suddenly made sense. If there were animals in this wood,
as I was certain there must be -- whatever their nature was or was not, there had to be something; the stories
did not come from nothing at all -- they probably fed on those whitish frondy plants, and they would of
necessity be able to at least somewhat see in the dark. The way I was positioned, one of those plants was
just above my head. My hair was shoulder length; it would fall to the ground behind me. And it was light
blonde.
Something was literally trying to eat my hair. My heart raced. What had hold of me? Once whatever it
was finished with my hair, would it eat the rest of me as well? Was I about to become one of those who
never made it to the other side?
With every bit of courage I could muster, I forced myself to swallow the scream that rose to my throat and
commanded myself to remain lying perfectly still. What was needed was calm objectivity; I had to
evaluate my situation, not panic. While it still merely had hold of my hair, there remained a chance;
though I might lose some hair, I could still escape with my life. Whatever had hold of me would not be
expecting movement; perhaps I could just slide my hair free of its grip. But I needed to remain silent and
move slowly.
I turned my head slightly away from the tugging. I heard scampering, a bit of chittering, and whatever
had hold of me pulled harder. That obviously was not going to work. But I had gained the impression
that these were small creatures, certainly nothing that would eat me alive. My fear dissipated
considerably. With my mind much more clear, I began evaluating how I could convince these little
gnawers to release my hair.
I thought about abruptly getting to my feet, but if turning my head only made them pull harder, rising
would probably not loose them either. That evoked a vision of myself standing there with several small
animals hanging from the ends of my hair, and I grinned at the thought, forcing myself to remain silent and
not chuckle. With that, I knew my fear was gone. But I could not just lie there and conjure mental
pictures; I did have to get free from these little creatures, whatever they were.
Having been lying in that one position for so long, I was beginning to feel cramped, and I shifted slightly.
My fingers touched the hilt of my leuhton. I smiled. That was my answer. If what I was dealing with
could see in this absolute lightlessness, the beacon-beam of the leuhton would probably be extremely harsh
on their eyes. But as I slid it from its slot, I ensured the beam was set at lowest intensity. I did not want
to hurt them; I just wanted to make them go away.
Slipping my arm up onto my side, I flipped on the leuhton. The hold on my hair immediately disappeared,
and I heard frantic chittering and scampering all about me. I rose quickly, shaking my head to be sure
nothing remained attached, just in time to see a few tiny russet balls scurrying to the other side of the tree
behind me. From what little I saw of them, they almost appeared like clumps of dirt, with no discernible
ears, eyes, or snout, and no tail. The only way I could tell they had legs was because they were moving,
and rapidly.
I sighed in relief. My ploy had worked. But what was I to do now? Sleep with my leuhton activated? I
supposed I could, but that could be extremely dangerous. If my hand gripped it the wrong way, or I rolled
over on top of it, I could trigger it to discharge, and either hit a tree or kill myself. Somehow that did not
seem a reasonable risk. Besides, as I thought about it, I did not feel it necessary. The little creatures were
attracted to my hair; I should be able to keep them away by simply covering that.
My mind was buzzing as I reseated myself on the ground and opened my pack, preparing it so that the flap
could conceal my head. What were those tiny ground-coloured balls? Why had I not seen them before?
This was my sixth night in this place. Why had they waited until now to start nibbling at my hair?
Idly, I wondered if they had a name. Assuredly to Texel, I was certain, but not to common knowledge.
They were definitely unlike anything I had ever seen or any of the animals I knew. But everything in this
place was different. At least in my own mind, then, their name was mine to choose.
What should I call them? To continue to think of them as ‘those tiny ground-coloured balls’ was not only
very unwieldy, it was totally unimaginative. ‘Living dirt’, ‘scampering dirt’, or ‘dirt-balls’ were no better.
Besides, those were more descriptions than names. If I was going to create my name from a description,
the least I could do was make it into a unique word, and I did not seem able to do much with ‘dirt’. So,
what else did I know about them? They chittered, they nibbled, and they were tiny. Chibblets? I smiled.
That would do. I certainly could not sit there dreaming up names all the rest of the night; I had a journey
to complete, and I had not had much rest.
As I folded my hair into the rear compartment of my pack, which I had emptied of my gathered branches
days ago, covered my head with the flap, flipped off the leuhton and returned it to its slot, settled on my left
side, and curled myself into a ball again, I contemplated my other questions. As for why I had not seen
them before . . . I had not really seen them now. And they did so much resemble clumps or dirt that I
could easily have seen them and not realized it. Why they had waited until this particular night to start
chewing on my hair I had no idea, but perhaps my position had not been quite as close to the plants on
previous ones.
I recalled my feeling of being watched, and the vague rustling I had heard that one time. If the little
chibblets had been there all along, probably primarily beneath the trees -- where I was always careful not to
tread, because of the plants -- watching my passage, it could well have given me the feeling of being
followed and observed. It had not been so much the same eyes watching me as a succession of eyes
watching me. The rustling had most likely been scampering, actually, as they ran from either me or my
light, or perhaps simply the movement of the plants about them as they stirred. I had shone my beacon
upward out of reflex, since I saw nothing on the ground.
Smiling slightly as I snuggled more comfortably into my bed-space, I chided myself for making such a
major terror out of such a literally tiny thing. As I drifted into sleep, I thought I could see where the idea
of zooids emanating from the ground had begun. The way the stories had expanded from that idea simply
demonstrated I was not the only one with an over-active imagination.
-5-
Through the next day I continued to have the sense of being watched, but it was nowhere near as
frightening. Several times I found myself glancing at the base of the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of the
chibblets, but I could discern nothing. It did not surprise me; since they were so tiny, and their colour was
identical to the ground, they could almost disappear, particularly in an area where they would be in shadow
besides. I considered shining my light in that direction, but felt that would be unfair; I was merely curious
and wanted to see them more clearly, and I knew the effect light would have on them. Keeping my beacon
on my path, I simply continued on my way.
Late in the day, as I was beginning to contemplate how much farther to go before bedding, I thought I
heard rustling again. I smiled. It was probably about time for the chibblets to start stirring, since they
were apparently night creatures, although I had to admit it did sound more like leaves in a breeze than the
scampering I had heard the night before. I shrugged. Then they had been frightened and frantically
attempting to get away from the light; now they would probably merely be stretching and beginning to
forage.
I walked a while longer, finally feeling tired enough to settle for the night and call an end to my seventh
day in this peculiar place. In many ways it was, as the tales said, like an alien world, though since
discovering the chibblets I did not find that idea quite so terrifying. I wondered how much farther I had to
go before reaching the end of it. That was another of those details no one seemed to know or care to tell:
how far it was across the Vast Silva.
According to my mental calculations, I should have travelled about 800 megalem from the Compound thus
far. The Outer Gardens covered about five, the Heath spanned about 200, and the barrier of grass and trees
before the Silva had seemed about forty; if I was correct in my calculations, that would indicate I had
traversed about 550 megalem of the Silva, however far into it that put me.
Somehow I had the feeling that I was approximately half-way; that the Silva spanned about 1,000
megalem. Where that came from I had no idea; it could well be nothing more than my over-active
imagination again. But it was there, and it was quite strong.
I found a bare spot by a tree to my left, set my pack on the ground, and extracted the directra from my belt.
During my fifth day here I had shifted my primary direction from wesouth to straight west. My weaving
through the trees had taken me progressively farther south, since I had gone to the left rather than the right
of all after the first one, and though I had no maps or references for the area I was currently traversing, my
impression was that where I was headed was slightly west of wesouth from where I started. I was
travelling primarily by sense, and that sense had told me that any farther south would take me out of my
way.
The directra indicated just slightly south of east, meaning I was facing just slightly north of west, which
was fine. My beacon-beam showed the path before me was relatively open; once I left the shelter of the
tree I was beside, with only minor swerves, I would be able to stay on course easily.
Returning the directra to my belt, I settled myself on the ground with a sigh. If my calculations were
correct, I had about another six days before I would reach the end of the Silva. I had to admit that I was
becoming tired of the darkness, the silence, and the sameness of the place. My imagination helped, when
it was not portraying horrors or playing on my fears; and the scene with the chibblets had provided a
diversion, though I did have to say I did not need the fear with which it had begun. But the blankness, day
after day . . . I could see why the tales incorporated the idea of people being driven insane.
I shook my head to throw off those thoughts. They were at least as dangerous as my fears of the previous
night. Particularly with my over-active imagination, the last thing I needed to be considering was that I
might be slipping over the edge. Although I was not as close to the plants as I had been the night before, I
folded my hair into the rear compartment of my pack and covered my head, feeling it best not to tempt the
chibblets into a repeat performance, flipped off my leuhton and secured it in its slot, and curled into a ball
on my left side. If my mind was going to start toying with thoughts like that, the best thing to do was go to
sleep and forget them.
My time-sense said the night was not even half over when I awoke, and I lay there for a moment
wondering what had roused me. Vaguely I seemed to recall the sound of chibblets chittering and
scampering as they had done when I flipped on my leuhton, and there was a sense of light beyond my
closed eyelids. My immediate reaction was to grip the hilt of my leuhton to ensure it was still properly
stored in its slot. As long as it remained secure, it could not be accidentally activated, but after the
experience of the previous night, I had no idea what I might do out of subconscious reflex.
That was not the source; it was solidly in its place. I was assuredly fully awake at this point, and there still
seemed to be light coming from somewhere. I opened my eyes. The pack-flap over my head obscured
my vision outward, but I could see down the length of my body. And I could definitely see. The light
was not bright, and it had an odd greenish-grey hue; but it was sufficient -- about the same as lower
intensity of my beacon-beam: one step down from what I had been using for most of my trek, one up from
what I had used on the chibblets. Where was it coming from?
Again I heard that rustling sound, but louder than it had been either of the other two times. It was almost a
rattle, definitely reminiscent of leaves in a breeze, not the sound of scampering chibblets. But it was also
definitely coming from ground level, not from the branches above me.
From the position I was in, I could see nothing but my knees, drawn up to my chest, my thighs, and part of
my left arm, plus some of the ground on which I lay. Both the light and the sound seemed to be emanating
from somewhere across from me and above my head, in the general direction of the tree I had noticed was
ahead and to my right when I chose this spot to bed. I lifted the pack-flap and sat up slowly, turning my
head slightly to my left.
I drew in my breath sharply, involuntarily, clamping my teeth onto my lower lip to prevent any further
sound. The light was coming from what appeared to be a hole torn in one of those protruding roots on the
far side of that tree, brighter in its immediate area than by the time it reached me. Standing between it and
the tree, primarily facing me but with his head turned to the left, was a beast the like of which I knew I had
never either seen or imagined.
Cautiously, I reached over and closed my pack, slid my left arm into the strap, lifted it off the ground, and
slipped it onto my back. As I fastened the chest-strap, I recognized my hands were trembling, and I chided
myself. I needed to keep my wits about me, and I might be required to fire on this creature if he charged at
me. Neither would be accomplished by allowing my fear to gain control. Returning my right hand to the
hilt of my leuhton, I slid closer to the tree behind me, pushing myself to a standing position against the
trunk, my eyes never leaving the scene before me.
Thus far, anyway, it did not seem the beast had noticed me. I thought about attempting to sneak away; but
if there was one of these, there were assuredly more, and I did not feel I wanted to come across one
unawares. Perhaps, if I just remained still, he would finish what he was doing and simply go away.
What he was doing, apparently, was eating, probably chibblets. That would explain the chittering and
scampering I heard, and the light, these creatures evidently needed light. That would also explain why the
chibblets had run so fast when I flipped on my leuhton: to them it meant they were being hunted.
The beast turned his head slightly in my direction. I shivered and drew even closer to the tree. I had
registered that he was grey, like the trees; he did not have hair or fur, but appeared to be covered with
spikes or spines; there was a short projection on the side of his head that I assumed to be the outer edge of
an ear; a hollow forward of and below that probably contained his eye; he had a medium-length square
snout -- but I had not noticed the fangs before.
He still was not facing me directly, but I could see enough; and as I stared in wide-eyed horror, I counted.
I could just see three, which would equate to four sharply pointed upper teeth across the front, jutting over
the lower lip. Where the square snout ended, right at the corner, was another, longer one. And directly
behind that was one that reached the bottom edge of the jaw and curled backward. He was not merely
ugly, which had been my first impression, he had an utterly ferocious appearance.
Up to that point, there had been no sound, only a slight motion of the jaw that indicated he was chewing.
When that ceased, he lowered his head. The spines along his neck rose. A few seconds later he raised his
head again, quickly, with a shake. The spines brushed each other with a slight hiss and rattle. There was
my rustling noise. A chill passed through me. How close had I been to these creatures?
As that thought penetrated, I relaxed a little. If I had been that close and had not been attacked, perhaps I
was safer than my fears were allowing. Maybe they only ate chibblets. Of course, I was not sure if they
had much choice; I had no idea what else lived in this wood. Then again, looking at this beast, I felt I did
not want to know. If brutes like that fed on chibblets, what fed on them? That was a horrifying thought,
and I shivered again.
I was not sure whether I had made some sound when that idea struck or the creature suddenly realized
there were eyes on him, but his head turned, and he stared directly at me. All the spines on him rose. He
shook, and they clattered. That was a sound that would carry quite a distance in the silence of this place.
I had not been as close as I had thought.
He rose to two legs. It had not been at all apparent as he stood on all fours, placidly chewing, but he was
taller than I. There were spines even on his underside. Claws extended from six toes on his forefeet.
Whether it was a convergence of spines or a protrusile horn I could not tell, but a spike now projected from
the centre of his head.
Every hair on my body stood on end. It felt as if gelu congealed in my spine, freezing both my blood and
my mobility; even the warmth of the tree I was pressed against could not break that gelid paralysis. I
could not even scream.
Frantically, my mind cried, Fire! I could not move. He descended to all fours again, and leapt.
How, I was certain I would never know, but I jumped aside. He landed with his forefeet precisely where I
had been. Somehow, my leuhton was in my hand and activated. He turned towards me. I fired.
The shriek was high-pitched and almost manlike. My shot had homed. But I had no time to feel relieved:
I could hear more clattering, hard breathing, and the ground was almost shaking with the thumping of
leaping landings. There were more, many more, and they all were headed straight for me. I turned and
ran.
-6-
Racing headlong in I knew not what direction, I had to use my leuhton to avoid running into a tree. I
could hear them close behind me, and I knew they were following my light. Light to them meant food, as
it meant to the chibblets that they were about to become food. I could definitely empathize with the
chibblets at that point.
What was I to do? My legs were numb. My lungs were clamouring for air. My heart was thrashing in
my chest, as much from fear as from the exertion. The extent of the leap the slain creature had made
succinctly demonstrated that I could not outrun them. Just by sound I could tell there were far too many
for me to fight.
Visions of those spiny, fanged creatures making a feast of my flesh flew through my mind. Horrifying,
terrifying, they drove me on. On and on and on, my feet beating a staccato thud-thud-thud that filled the
spaces between the thumping of my heart and the clumping of the landings that were coming ever closer, I
ran faster than I ever had, faster than I thought I could. The trees I passed were no more than blurs; the
thudding sound was the only way I knew my feet were touching ground.
Another vision sprang to mind, and tears flooded my eyes, obliterating what little sight I had. A young
boy in suspension, more asleep than awake, more dead than alive; a woman by his bedside, crying, hoping
for some miracle to return her son to her; kaleidoscopic crystal eyes assuring an incredulous Apprentice
that she could somehow help -- it was all I could see. And even faster, blindly, I sped on.
THWOMP!
I reeled backwards; fell to my knees. My head was spinning. I saw dancing multicoloured lights. A
waterfall thundered in my ears. My hands felt dirt; my leuhton had flown from my grip, to lie somewhere
I could not see through the lights before my eyes. I tried to crawl; sprawled on my face. I had no
bearings; knew not whether my eyes were open or shut. Behind me, through the crashing in my brain, I
could still hear the beasts advancing. I had hit a tree, and now lay helpless on the ground, defenceless
prey for the approaching horde.
Oh, no, I was not. It would not end this way. Pushing my knees under me, I put my head between them
for a moment, then raised it, shook it, and opened my eyes. Dazed and dizzy, I had no idea how my mind
was still able to function, but the vision that had fired my blind run remained intact, goading me to pull
myself together and go on.
My leuhton was lying across the pathway, between me and the next tree, still emitting its blue-white beam.
I tried to rise, but was still too unsteady. Returning to my hands and knees, I crawled over to it, examined
it, and tested it. It appeared undamaged. For that I was thankful, but I did not know what good it would
do. From the sound, I could tell the beasts were closing quickly, and I was much too weak and shaken to
run.
I flipped off the leuhton and returned it to my belt, then crawled to the base of the tree ahead of me.
Though it was a nice dream, I was not naive enough to believe the beasts would merely pass me by in the
dark; they had homed on me, and probably had my scent as well. I leaned against the tree and closed my
eyes. Feeling its warmth, I wished I could somehow crawl inside it and find safety.
My eyes flew open. I might not be able to crawl inside, but I had my lashing-string; I could climb up. I
wondered if the creatures pursuing me could climb trees. For some undefinable reason, I did not think so.
Besides, they were almost upon me; it was the only hope I had.
With an agility I did not think I possessed at that point, I jumped up, removed the lashing-string from my
belt, and unwound a length of it. Forming a loop as I had been taught, I extracted the leuhton again and
shone it upward to find the closest branch. It was at least ten manilem above my head. The farthest I had
ever thrown a lash was 105 lem, or ten manilem plus five lem. This looked about the same. But that had
been when I was practising regularly, and I had been in full possession of my faculties. To perform the
same feat now would be nothing short of miraculous.
It seemed I could almost hear the breathing of the approaching beasts. The vision flashed into my mind
again. Words echoed through my thoughts and etched themselves below my vision-screen: There are
reasons for all things. Don’t give up.
Attaching the small weight to my loop, I swung the string as I had so many times before, mentally counting
and gauging timing. Once and back, twice and back, thrice and back, and throw.
I realized I had closed my eyes. Chiding myself severely, I opened them . . . and stared. Sliding
downward towards me on the far side of the branch was my loop. My throw had been perfect.
Quickly I slipped the reel end through the loop, removed the weight, and pulled it tight. Returning weight
and reel to my belt, I flipped off the leuhton, secured it in its slot, and began to climb, reeling up the
lashing-string as I went. Right hand on the string, left hand on the reel, feet on the trunk of the tree, I
climbed as easily as if I had been walking on flat ground. At any time, that would have been surprising;
considering my unsteady state, it was utterly amazing.
I guessed I was about half-way up when I could hear the beasts below me, but I felt no panic. Simply
continuing to climb, I had no feeling of imbalance, even with my previous dizziness; my feet clung to the
trunk as though I was wearing grippers. And I suddenly wondered if the tree could be assisting me.
When I reached the fork, I removed the loop, unlashed the string, and reeled it in. I settled comfortably on
the wide branch, curling into a half-sitting position with my head against the trunk. Silently I thanked the
tree for the assistance I was certain had been given in my climb and for the support and safety provided
there at my perch. Then, as if my ordeals of the night descended on me all at once, my mind went blank.
-7-
My first impression as I surfaced from my completely dreamless sleep was that my mother was shaking me
awake, as she had done at times when I was small. I stirred. Pain shot through my left leg, curled
beneath me. Snapping fully awake, I recalled where I was, and the living nightmare of the night before.
My head was throbbing, and my entire body ached. I supposed it made a certain amount of sense that my
mind would have returned to my childhood and my mother’s ministrations: subconsciously I would have
liked to awake within the safety of our toft, the horrors I had experienced nothing more than a wild dream.
Gingerly I uncurled myself, taking particular note of the sensations in my left leg, but there was no
recurrence of the stabbing pain; it was merely stiff, and it tingled a bit. I ran my hands along it, probing
with my fingers. Nothing was broken or dislocated. Examining the other leg, both arms, and my torso, it
appeared I had done no severe damage. I sighed. Bruised and a bit battered I was, but I was alive and in
one piece. Of itself, that was a miracle.
My head was still throbbing, which was not at all surprising. I had been running with my eyes directed at
the ground before me; I had hit the tree primarily with my head. As I raised my hand and ran my fingers
softly over my forehead just below the hair-line, I smiled. My father had always accused me of having a
hard head. In this instance, it had served me well.
There was some crusting in my hair and on my forehead, and the area was extremely tender to the touch. I
did not think I could have hit that hard and done no damage at all. What was amazing was that my livery
was not torn, and my hands, though dirty, were unscathed. I was assuredly in need of a bath, and my
clothing would have to be thoroughly cleaned, but I had not only escaped with my life, I had received not
only no serious injury but practically no injury at all.
I supposed I could consider myself lucky; I didn’t. I was obviously being protected, and I considered
myself favoured. Why, I had no idea; but it was not my place to question Texel, on anything.
Somehow I needed to rinse off my head and apply some heilen salve. But that would also require that I
clean my hands, and my supply of water was already low. There had been no sign of surface water at any
point during my trek through the Silva thus far, and again, for what had to be about the hundredth time, I
reprimanded myself for having forgotten cleansing-cloths. The underlining of my livery kept my body
clean, my laving-comb took care of my hair, but I had been using my water, although as frugally as
possible, to rinse my fingers and wipe my face each day when I ate. Now, however, I was faced with a
situation that required more than I could spare.
I sighed. Whatever I was going to do, it could wait until I got down from my perch. That thought
suddenly triggered all my fears from the previous night, my heart began to race, and I shrank back against
the trunk behind me. I did not want to go back down there. Besides, I was not even certain the beasts
were gone.
Looking down, I could see nothing: it was too far and too dark. I heard nothing either, but they could be
simply patiently waiting. With a hand that was already trembling, I extracted my leuhton, set it to its
widest span, and shone it downward. There appeared to be nothing there but the ground. Still, I shook.
They could be just on the other side of the tree, or a few trees away.
Attempting to quiet my fears, I wondered what to call those creatures. ‘Terrifying beasts’ was the only
thought that came to mind. They definitely lent credence to the horror stories about the wilthebestia in this
wood, and they could be said to fit the idea of zoic forms that predated history. But whatever they were,
all I knew was that I did not want to encounter them again.
Still quaking, I replaced my leuhton, curled up, and drew into as small a space as I could. I told myself I
was being ridiculous; I certainly could not remain in this form for ever. But the cowardice and abject
terror simply would not leave me.
Suddenly I felt the same shaking sensation that had seemed to awaken me. At first I thought it merely my
own frightened quivering; then I realized the branch beneath me was actually swaying and bobbing. There
was no air current, and no sound of anything else stirring; it could not be from wind. These trees were not
only warm, they could literally move, at least their branches, on their own. My beneficent friend, who had
aided my climb and provided my snug sanctuary, had apparently turned on me and was throwing me out.
That thought was almost as terrifying as the idea of descending into the clutches of the beasts. It was
better than ten manilem to the ground. A fall of that distance would break every bone in my body, snap
my neck, crush my skull -- perhaps all three. But in whatever fashion, it was sure to kill me. I tried to
transmit to the tree that, if he would simply stop shaking, I would leave. Apparently he did not believe me,
because the motion increased. Considering my previous thoughts, I had to admit I would probably not
believe me either.
I tried to cling to the trunk; but it was much too wide for my arms to encircle, and there was nothing to
grip. The next branch up was too far away for me to catch with a jump, and it would most likely just start
to shake also. I had sealed my own fate with my fears, and I had no one to blame but myself.
The movement accelerated. Up and down and side to side, it began to bounce me about. I lay on my
stomach and tried to grab hold of the branch itself, but even that was too wide for my arms to gain any
purchase.
Using the bouncing to assist my action, I began edging my way towards the far end of the branch, where
there were smaller off-shoots that I might be able to grip. I had no idea what good I thought it would do
me -- they could probably be made to joggle as well -- but I was quickly approaching the point of panic I
had experienced the night before, and I felt I had to at least attempt to do something.
My hand touched the fork of one of the smaller branches. I pushed my knees under me and sprang
forward, grasping it with both arms. No more did I feel it beneath me than it pulled itself away, and I
knew I was falling. I screamed.
Though I knew the scream was my own, I heard it as if from outside it. A Form was shaping in my mind:
a deep-yellow cushion, soft and buoyant, with a central indentation just slightly larger than my body.
Even as I whizzed downward to certain death, I had to laugh. My over-active imagination was determined
to live till the end.
It felt as though I landed on kapok; I hardly even bounced.
If this was what it was to die -- even horribly, by being splattered on the ground -- it was certainly nothing
to fear. It was like lying on a fluffy pillow, enveloped in a soft, warm blanket; it was almost like floating
on a cloud. Surrounding me was the deep-yellow colour of my Form.
I lay with my eyes closed, savouring the sensation, until it registered that I seemed to still have a sense of
structure, of a body. Although I knew that essence survived after physical death, that individuality
remained, that conceptualization and thought continued, I also knew that solid structures or bodies did not.
Could it be that I was not dead after all?
Cautiously I felt about. I seemed to by lying on my back on the ground. Extracting my leuhton, I shone
it upward; above me was the branch from which I had just been tossed. This was unreal. Either my Form
had been actualized or I was even more protected than I had thought, and a great deal more than I deserved.
Replacing the leuhton on my belt, I pushed myself into a sitting position, hugged my legs, rested my chin
on my knees, and closed my eyes. It could not have been my Form; I had assessed that idea before.
‘Formulation conceptualization leads irrevocably to manifestation.’
The voice was gentle and mellow, with a flowing cadence, and it was one I knew I had never before heard.
My eyes flew open. I stared.
Standing before me was a man, at least he looked basically like a man, no more than three lem tall, with
light-grey skin, smoke-grey hair, and large round eyes that appeared to be completely a greenish-grey
colour with a darker strip down the centre. As I continued to stare, it registered that there was plenty of
light by which to see, and that it had the same greenish-grey hue as those eyes, the same as the light
emanating from that root the previous night, when I had first seen that horrible beast.
At that thought, I jumped, my hands dropped to the ground with the intention of pushing myself up, and I
felt my eyes widen in horror. The little man held up his hand, smiling, those odd eyes distinctly
conveying reassurance.
‘Be not alarmed. I shall not harm you.’
Somehow, I believed him. Perhaps I was being naive; perhaps the trials I had endured had either
calloused or numbed me; perhaps I had too thoroughly accepted the idea that I was under protection -- but I
returned my hands to their former position and relaxed.
‘You have done well, by wit and force of will. The Silva is your friend. You need not fear. Your power
has been proved to the jagquil; they will not strike again. Your way is clear.’
He made a sweeping gesture to his right. I glanced in that direction. When I looked back, he was gone.
From one of those protruding roots across from where I sat, behind where the little man had been, a
greenish-grey glow still emanated. But it was fading quickly. I blinked, and it was gone. I shook my
head sharply. I wondered if it, or he, had really been there at all.
Regardless, for whatever reason, I did feel less apprehensive. I even seemed to be less stiff and sore.
And I was also well aware that I had to go on.
It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what direction I should head. My thoughts during my mad
run had consisted solely of the intent to evade the jagquil; I had not even considered which way I was
going. Where was I? And how was I to reach my destination from here?
One part of my mind wanted to conjure forth fears as a result of those questions; another wanted to race off
on tangents regarding the odd little man and what he had said. Firmly, almost harshly, I took it in hand,
commanding it to remain on the primary subject. There would be plenty of time for imaginative flights
during the rest of my trek; I did not need fear-caused conjurings at any time.
Just before he disappeared, the little man had made a gesture. Had he been indicating the direction I
should go? But I was not even certain he had not been merely a figment of my over-active imagination. I
shrugged. Figment or no, that was the only indicator I had; to ignore it would be foolish. To just start
walking, with no idea how I got to where I was or the direction from which I came, was assured to get me
lost; to sit and puzzle over it, attempting to figure it out for myself, was only going to waste more time.
I rose, extracting my leuhton and flipping it on, and stepped over to what seemed to be the spot where the
little man had stood. Taking out the directra, I set the pointer in the direction he had indicated, and
illuminated its face. It read easouth. That would mean it was actually wenorth.
Thinking about it, that would make a certain amount of sense. I had been heading west; the tree by which
I was sleeping had been on my south side. The jagquil that attacked me had come from the west, at which
point I had rounded the tree and run in a diagonal, not a direct perpendicular. That would probably equate
to souwest. I did not want to retrace my steps; I wanted to proceed from where I was towards my
destination. Therefore, I would go wenorth, at least for a while, if not for the remainder of my trek.
With a sigh, and a message of thanks to the little man, whatever he had been, I returned the directra to my
belt and started walking.
-8-
It was not until I had travelled for some time and distance, as I settled at the base of a nearby tree and
prepared for my daily meal, that I recalled my earlier considerations regarding applying salve to my injured
head. I eyed my filthy hands, gazed dubiously at my depleted water supply, and sighed. Gently I touched
the wound again, careful that I would not reopen it. I could not be certain if it was any more sore, but it
was definitely not any less so. There was no question I was going to have to do something.
If I used the water to clean my hands and my head, I would not have enough to mix with dried food daily
for the rest of my trek through the Silva. Even if my calculations of the previous night had been correct,
my mad run and consequent directional shift had assuredly changed them, and I had no idea how much
longer my food and water would have to sustain me. But it would gain no advantage to allow the wound
to become infected either.
I swivelled aside the cover-panel on my flask, exposing the reflectra mounted on its side. At the sight that
greeted me, I had to chuckle. If the little man had looked odd to me, how must I have looked to him?
Dirt and blood were streaked on my face, giving it almost a striped appearance. I would have to clean up,
simply to look decent again; I certainly could not arrive at my destination looking like this.
Cosmetics notwithstanding, if there had been that much blood shed, I definitely needed to cleanse and
salve that wound. I tilted my head down and eyed it critically. The crusting appeared to be primarily
dried blood, though it looked like there might be some dirt congealed with it, and there were definitely
hairs entwined in it as well. The yellowish-blue beyond its circumference did not disturb me; if there had
been no bruise, I would have been amazed. But closer in, where some of the excess congelation had
flaked away, red-orange seemed to show. That I did not like at all.
I rinsed off my fingers, mixed some food, and began to eat. If I was going to have to use the majority of
my remaining water to clean my head, I had best have a meal now, since I had no idea when my next one
would be. Pouring some water on my fingertips, I wiped more of the excess crusting from the edge of the
injured area as I ate. There was definitely a red-orange ring round the wound, slightly wider on the left
side, and the entire area was extremely tender to the touch. It was more than merely inflamed; infection
had already begun.
There was no time for further debate. I would not starve to death in a week or so with minimal rations; if
infection had already started, it could create a major situation in less time than that. The entire problem
was the result of my own stupidity, from having become so lost in panic that I failed to see that tree to
having forgotten the cleansing-cloths in the first place. If I had to go hungry for a few days, perhaps it
would teach me a lesson.
Recapping my flask, I set it aside for the moment and prepared an area in which to perform my
ministrations. I took a clean mixing-pouch from my pack, in which I could put the water; set the pack
against the tree, so that I could place the flask on it in a fashion to enable using the reflectra while keeping
both hands free; and extracted the heilen salve from my belt, opened it, and set it on the ground next to the
pack. Eyeing my layout, I nodded; I should be able to accomplish what was necessary with that.
I reached over and picked up the flask. As I brought it towards me, I felt something dripping on the back
of my hand. I stared at the flask in puzzled consternation. Its cap was still in place. Had it somehow
sprung a leak?
Turning my hand in attempt to discern where the dripping was coming from, I jumped. Apparently I had
set the flask next to one of those odd plants, and when I picked it up I had torn off one of the fronds. From
the severed end of that frond, a cool, clear liquid was steadily dripping onto my hand.
I stared at it. There was no surface water; the animals, particularly the chibblets, had to obtain their liquid
from somewhere; the leafy vegetation we ate provided the majority of ours -- it made a certain amount of
sense. But I had never encountered any vegetation that literally dripped; even when still attached to the
plant, a severed end would merely ooze a bit and stop. Absolutely everything in this place was without
parallel.
Setting the flask down, I continued to hold the still dripping frond as I looked over at the plant from which
it had come. Again I stared. I could not tell how much, if any, liquid had dripped onto the ground, but
the stub of a new frond was already apparent in the space left by the one I had in my hand.
Warm trees that could move their branches by themselves, plants that dripped liquid from severed parts
and could grow replacements in moments, animals that looked like balls of dirt and could see in total
darkness, creatures that were befitting more of some wild nightmare than waking experience, roots that
could emit light, odd little men that could appear and disappears at will -- this place was absolutely
unbelievable. It was no wonder anyone who did know anything about it never said anything to refute the
tales. The truth would be even less credible.
I sighed. Strange as it was, I was living it. And I knew I was. Even my imagination was not that good.
Looking down at the frond I was still holding, I wondered what I should do with it. The liquid it had
already emitted had done an excellent job of cleaning off my hand; there did not appear to be a speck of dirt
remaining. That was more liquid than seemed possible to be in one frond, and it was still dripping.
Perhaps I should plant it; maybe all that liquid had to do with how it rooted itself, and that was the way in
which these plants propagated.
As I switched it to the other hand and shifted position, looking for an appropriate place for it, an idea
suddenly struck me, and I froze. It was now dripping on my right hand, cleaning it. I had been about to
use the last of my water to do precisely that when I had acquired the frond. Could it be that was what I
was supposed to do with it?
The words of the little man returned to mind: ‘The Silva is your friend.’ Whenever a friend was in need
of assistance, another did everything possible to render it. The tree had certainly assisted me when I was
attempting to escape the jagquil. And although he had later thrown me out, that had in its own way been
assistance as well; I would probably still be cowering there if it had not been done. Besides, it had brought
me into contact with the little man, and he had assisted me also.
I gazed at the frond and my now clean hands. Though I had not been certain if any vegetation I might find
here would be safe to eat, and I still did not feel I wanted to try that, there was no apparent harm caused by
using this liquid for cleaning. It did not feel caustic; it actually felt no different from water. Of course, I
had no idea what it would do if placed on an open wound, but if I used it for everything else and my water
strictly for the wound itself, that would greatly decrease the amount of water I had to expend.
Placing the flask on top of the pack at an angle by which I could utilize the reflectra to see what I was
doing, I dripped some of the liquid into the palm of my hand, placed the frond on my knee, rubbed my
hands together, and began wiping my face. The dirt not only came off, it seemed to utterly vanish. I had
assumed what had been on my hands had simply been rinsed onto the ground, but unlike with water, or
even cleansing-cloths, when I drew my hands away from my face, there was no dirt to be seen anywhere.
I sighed, shook my head, and continued the cleansing process.
When I came to the area of the wound, I began working with merely the tips of my fingers, attempting to
get as close as possible without actually exposing the sore. The crusted blood and dirt dissolved and
vanished as easily and thoroughly as had the streaks on the rest of my face. I was gingerly tracing the edge
of the red-orange ring on the left side when I noticed the yellowish-blue bruise on the right appeared to
have faded. I stopped in mid-stroke and stared. There was no question about it. The discoloration was
markedly less.
I continued cleaning the surrounding area, watching closely. Not only was the bruise fading, the
red-orange inflammation was distinctly less livid. Although it defied explanation, it certainly appeared
that the liquid from this peculiar plant was not only a marvelous cleanser but an almost miraculous healer.
And I was becoming very tempted to try it on the wound directly.
Once I completed cleaning everything but the wound itself, I took out my laving-comb and worked on my
hair, still debating what I should do. The bruise on my forehead was gone; the red-orange area was no
more than a little darker than the rest of my skin. I had not touched the large central scab, and it looked a
bit ludicrous parked there with no sign of trauma round it. There were still hairs entwined in it, and when I
pulled on them with my comb, it did hurt. I sighed, finishing the rest of my hair and avoiding that area.
One way or another, I was going to have to remove that scab in order to get the hair loose.
Heilen salve was good; I knew that from experience. But it still took several days for a lesion to heal, and
it would probably be at least a week for a laceration of this magnitude. I had used it once on an infected
sore, and it had taken three days of continual care just to draw out the infection, then another three for it to
fully heal. From what I had just witnessed, the liquid from the plant would very likely remove any trace of
this injury within a day, if not immediately.
I sighed. As it would have been foolish to ignore the direction shown by the little man, it would be foolish
to ignore the demonstration already made of what that plant could do. The mystery of the Silva was no
less to me now; as a matter of fact, the more I discovered, the greater that mystery became; but my fear of it
was dissipating quickly, leaving me with little more than a myriad of questions and a few vague
apprehensions. Though I might not be ready to attempt eating the plant, not using it on the wound would
be not only foolish but downright stupid.
The frond I had been using had finally gone dry. I glanced at the plant from which it had come, which
appeared to be fully fronded again, but considered it better to pick from another and allow that one to
completely recuperate. Reaching over to one on the other side, I attempted to merely snap the end from
one of the fronds, but the entire frond broke off. I shrugged. Perhaps it was easier for the plant to replace
a whole frond than a piece of one.
Dripping some of the liquid onto my fingers, I gently rubbed the scab. It began to dissolve immediately,
and although that did not surprise me, I was surprised that I felt no pain. I had expected at least the
stinging that normally accompanied either cleansing a wound or the application of heilen salve; from this I
felt nothing. As my fingers dried, I applied a bit more liquid, continuing to be gentle but not quite as
tentative with my rubbing.
When the scab had softened enough, I pulled the hair free, also noticing that there was blood rising to the
surface again. That was not at all surprising: it was a relatively large and rather deep wound. But I knew
heilen salve formed a coating that required no other dressing; I had no idea what this would do, and I had
nothing with which to make any sort of bandage. Perhaps this had not been such a wise idea after all.
I sighed. It was a little late at this point, and I did not want to chance combining the two. If it came to
that, I supposed I could fashion a covering out of the frond itself. In the meantime, I still felt no pain, there
was no recurring inflammation, and the fresh blood vanished as completely as the dirt and crusting, as long
as I continued to wipe.
Finally, I decided I could not sit there and keep rubbing it all night. Considering my traumatic
experiences, my system was probably still in a slight state of shock, and it would most likely be best if I
simply made a makeshift dressing and curled up for the night. Providing I was not awakened by any more
strange and/or malevolent creatures, I should be able to get a good rest. I was certain to feel much more
ready and able to continue my journey at that point.
When I ceased rubbing, a small amount of blood rose to the surface, which immediately congealed into a
thin scab. I sighed. Apparently I was expecting the entire wound to simply miraculously disappear, or I
would have done that some time ago. But I had to admit it did not look at all like it had at the beginning of
my ministrations; the impression it gave was more of having bumped my head in a minor fall than of
having slammed headlong into a tree at breakneck speed.
Settling myself in for the night, I passed messages of appreciation to all who had been and were assisting
me, most especially Texel. I fell asleep as soon as I closed my eyes.
-9-
When I awoke, I felt thoroughly refreshed and more calm than I had in days. I checked my wound in the
reflectra, pleased to note that it now looked like nothing more than a slight scrape. Certain it was well on
the way to complete healing, I determined to treat it again when I bedded for the night As I closed my
pack and secured it on my back, I was humming softly under my breath.
By the end of my tenth day there, three days after my experience with the jagquil, my wound was
completely gone. With careful scrutiny, I could just discern an indentation where it had been, but it would
not even be noticed by anyone else. Those odd whitish plants really were miraculous healers. But
somehow I knew I would not be sharing that knowledge with anyone. I had become one of those who
knew, at least to some degree, the Silva in its true nature, but never told. I walked with a bounce to my
step, there was a smile on my face, and I often found myself humming.
And so went the rest of my days in the Silva. I neither saw nor heard any further trace of the jagquil,
although I did catch a few glimpses of chibblets and heard their light chittering on occasion. It was odd,
but what had previously seemed silence suddenly had sound, almost a music all its own. It was quiet,
under the surface, but it was there all the time. I wondered why I had not heard it before, and why I was
hearing it now.
From far above me, amid those huge intertwined branches, it seemed there was a melodic sighing, almost a
whistling, at times. Some I felt were merely the air currents moving through, but some sounded more
distinct, and I wondered if there might be some form of bird that lived up there. That was only one of the
myriad of questions I had, some stemming from my direct experiences, some from merely such abstracts as
sounds. But they provided my imagination with a multitude of potentials, and in its typical fashion, it flew
off in as many of those directions as I would allow.
My most frequent fantasies concerned the little man that had appeared before me the day I was tossed from
the tree, often in some fashion including the jagquil, since they had greatly been the catalyst for that
meeting, and it was the little man who had provided me their name. Where had he come from, and where
had he gone? Who and what was he? Did he actually exist at all? When he had stood in front of me, the
root behind him had been brightly glowing, and it had quickly faded when he left. The jagquil tore holes
in those roots to shed light; the little man had not. How did he do that? Beyond that, how did those roots
give off light? That took me back to my original questions about the trees. And my imagination flew on.
By the time I reached the beginning of my thirteenth day, my twelfth awakening within those confines, I
had developed some inordinately bizarre stories, a few even beyond what I would have considered my
over-active inventiveness capable of conjuring. I could definitely see how some of the tales I had heard
could have grown. But there was one that tied everything together, beginning with my first little flight of
fancy about the trees and incorporating everything from the chibblets to birds, the jagquil, other animals,
and even the odd little man.
It was universally accepted that the trees of the Silva long predated recorded history. My fanciful images
of their origins might not have been quite as outlandish as I had supposed, particularly considering the fact
that they obviously could move their branches on their own. Therefore, picking up my story where I had
left it, with the trees finally finding home, I continued to create my own account of the genesis of Ularz.
Once the trees settled, the rest of the habitable areas of the planet were available and ripe for other forms of
life, which soon began to develop. This started with vegetation and progressed to underground creatures
such as dirturners and wyms, slowly advancing to include surface animals and eventually people. Those
first people, however, were of a different nature from those who currently populated the planet, and they
had no Master like Texel to guide and direct them.
Legend had it that Texel had come to Ularz some uncountable aeons ago from somewhere so far away we
could not even see an enth the distance in a completely moonless sky, a world that bred and trained
immortal Masters such as he for the express purpose of assisting any place there was need. No one had
ever questioned the reason Ularz was chosen; we had always merely considered ourselves fortunate. My
historical fantasy, however, provided the reason.
The original people of Ularz, lacking any instruction in the proper ways of living and progressing, made
their own rules and lived strictly by their own codes, exploiting the land, the vegetation, the animals, and
each other, wherever and whenever it appeared to further their own desires. This led to a great deal of
conflict and strife among them, and both misuse and imbalance of the resources about them. The only area
they could not touch or affect was the Silva, since the trees continued to maintain it in accordance with
their parameters, and the people were no match for those so much larger and stronger trees.
Some of the animals began to recognize that the Silva was an area in which they would be safe, and they
begged refuge there. The trees were happy to provide it, since the animals were not out to harm either
them or their habitat, but only to escape harm to themselves. Within that, however, the animals had to
adjust to the difference in the surroundings, and they evolved in accordance with their new home. Thus
did the Silva acquire chibblets -- little herbivores that could see in the dark -- and birds that remained high
in the branches, between the light and the darkness. Later, some form of carnivore followed, searching for
both sanctuary and food, which developed into the jagquil, and probably one or two other types that either
had not survived or I had not encountered.
As time went on, the trees had to take increasingly less direct action to keep the people away: animals such
as the jagquil were effective deterrents. In the meantime, some of the people began to develop enough
understanding to see the improprieties and injustices in the accepted life-style and attempt to break away.
Hounded and hunted by their peers, they too sought refuge in the Silva, befriending the trees and, through
them, the animals. And as had transpired with the animals, their structures adjusted to reflect their new
locale.
Eventually, the strife became sufficient that Ularz gained notice by the place from which Texel had come,
and he arrived to take the command and provide the direction and guidance so sorely needed. At that
point, the planet began to develop properly, but the Silva had a reputation of horrors and impregnability so
firmly established that it was simply perpetuated through the generations. Those who lived there were
solidly entrenched and quite content, requiring nothing from outside those confines and having no desire to
leave. They were just as well pleased not to be bothered, and did nothing overtly to refute the reputation
or invite others into their world.
Because of its ancientness, the balance of and within the Silva differed from that outside it, and it was
retained by and for those to whom it was home; thus the reason for the strange behaviour of the directra.
Also, still not prone to welcome intruders, the inhabitants did not change their method of operation; it was
entirely up to those who entered to ascertain the means by which to traverse the area safely. On occasion,
whether by quickly making correct evaluations from a level of sufficient understanding or by sheer luck as
in my case, some were able to discover enough of the truth about the Silva to approach it in the proper
fashion; but most remained baffled, and many were overcome.
As I reviewed my imagined history, I smiled. Perhaps in the years to come, when I had reached my 150th
year or so and was approaching the end of this lifetime, I could write it down -- call it The Annals of Ularz,
a quondam time, or some such -- for future generations to ponder along with the tales of horror. I
shrugged. If anything of that nature was meant to be done, I was sure it would have been by now, and it
certainly would be done by someone with a great deal more ability than I possessed anyway.
I sighed. I had been lucky, and most assuredly protected far beyond my merit, to have come through this
strange place, whatever its history might be, as I had. I wondered how much farther I had to go before
reaching the end of it. According to my calculations when I stopped for my seventh night, I would
probably have been exiting sometime during this day. But that was the night of the jagquil, and there was
no way to tell how much that had changed everything, even given that those calculations had been correct
in the first place.
I heard a bit of chittering off to my right and a strong whistling above me. Walking a slight diagonal, I
placed my left hand on the nearest tree, stopped, looked about me, and grinned. It made no difference; I
would reach the end when I got there. In the meantime, I was fine. The Silva was my friend.
-10-
I was amazed. I had not completed my thirteenth day, had probably gone about half of it, when I saw
distinct light ahead of me. Not the greenish-grey light of the roots, but daylight. I was approaching the
end of the Silva.
Either my calculations had been off on the long side or my mad run had not affected much. I
contemplated that as I continued towards the light, concluding it was probably a combination of both,
although I still felt strongly that the feelings I had on my seventh night, that the Silva was about 1,000
megalem across, were correct.
I supposed it would make a certain amount of sense that my run had not changed much, if I allowed for the
fact that I had continued in a westward direction. The remainder of my trek had been westnorth,
compensating for the distance south I had gone, and I would have covered a great deal of ground at the
speed I had been racing, which might equalize how far I had taken myself out of my way.
I sighed. It really was immaterial; I was definitely on my way out. In a way, I was almost sorry. And I
was decidedly apprehensive.
One thing my journey through the Silva had taught me was that I could traverse any terrain and still find
my way to my destination; though I had no idea what was on the other side of the trees blocking a clear
view of the light, that did not disturb me. Rather, my concerns as I had stood on the rise, gazing at the
shadow on the horizon that had at that point generated only a secondary fear, returned full force as I
contemplated the idea that I was approaching the end of my journey and the confronting of the
responsibility I had been given.
My fears were different from those I had experienced in my encounters with the chibblets, the jagquil, and
the tree; but they were definitely fears, and they were definitely there. I chided myself, with a sharp
reminder that this was why I had been sent, what everything else had been about. It was no help. There
was a young boy out there whose life was in my hands. And that idea terrified me.
As I continued walking forward, my mind returned to the scene in the Great Chamber. Again I told
myself I had been chosen directly by the Grand Master himself; I had been sent on this mission because he
felt I could accomplish what was necessary. Why me, I had no idea, but for what had to be the thousandth
time, I told myself it did not matter. For whatever reason, the Great One had selected me. And Texel did
absolutely nothing without reason.
Could I, a mere Apprentice of Forms, accomplish the task assigned? How? Not even Masters of Healing
had been able to do it; Texel had said so, specifically stating no one had succeded in even meliorating the
situation. No one. And with a situation like this, I was quite certain absolutely everyone available had
tried. What in all sense could I do that they could not?
Berating myself severely, I marched forward. Spinning my mind round and round my feelings of
inadequacy was not going to accomplish anything at all, most especially the job I had been sent to do. I
had been chosen; I had been sent; I had been protected on my way. What more could I ask for? There
was a task to be performed, and it was up to me to evoke all my ability and apply it to the performance of
that, not to mental gymnastics regarding how much ability I had.
When I reached the final row of those massive monolithic trees, I laid my hand on the nearest one and
stopped. With tears in my eyes, I looked up at that immense structure, then turned and gazed back into the
darkness. Directing my thoughts to all the individuals who populated the wood I was leaving, I thanked
them -- even the jagquil, for they too had taught me something -- for all they had done. What had been a
place of fear had transformed into a place of tranquility, and I loved it almost as much as the toft on which I
had been raised and the Compound in which I was being trained. Then with a smile at the thought that I
would be traversing it again on my return trek, I turned towards the semi-darkness before me.
The trees about me appeared the same as those which had preceded my entry into the Silva, and as I
progressed I began to encounter the tall blue grass. Apparently the boundary was identical on both sides.
The grass did not cling to me or in any way impede my passage, even as it became denser, and I smiled.
Evidently, whatever was done at the other end was still with me. Idly I wondered if it would need to be
reversed once I reached the end of the grass and began traversing whatever was beyond it. I shrugged. I
would discover that when I got there.
My eyes were so accustomed to darkness that I did not need to use my leuhton; the light was quite
adequate. I was thankful for the shadow of the trees, which provided the opportunity to adjust to light
again gradually. But even with that, as it became progressively brighter I found myself blinking. When I
had left the Heath and started toward the Silva, I had looked back at the brilliance with a sadness and some
apprehension at leaving it behind. Now, however, I almost wished it was latterday, when Eelios and Aster
would be low, the light shaded and diffused.
As I emerged from the trees, I had to stop and allow my eyes time to become acclimated to the intensity.
Odd, I thought, how easy it was to forget. It had only been twelve days.
I gazed out at my surroundings once my eyes adjusted. Immediately before me was a field of grass
exactly like the one I had crossed to enter the Silva. Beyond that appeared to be a golden plain. And in
the distance, but not as far as it was from the Compound to the edge of the Silva, was what appeared to be
an expanse of tofts -- widely spaced low buildings and large tillages -- that I was certain was the edge of
Idylshire. My heart pounded. I was no more than two days from the end of my journey.
Taking a deep breath, I proceeded forward. I had to admit it was good to see Eelios and Aster again; I
would not be able to spend the rest of my life in the darkness I had just left, no matter how tranquil it might
be.
By the time I reached the golden plain, it was well into latterday, and the light was fading rapidly. Though
I did not feel particularly tired, I felt it would probably be best, since I had no idea what to expect of the
terrain, to stop just into the plain, have my meal, and bed for the night. As I settled myself, I recalled my
earlier thoughts about whether I would encounter the same sort of peculiarity upon leaving the grass on this
side as I had upon entering it on the other side, and realized I had not. Apparently either the process had
been reversed automatically or its reversal was unnecessary. I shrugged. Perhaps some day I would
know.
I awoke, as usual, at first light, uncurled myself, stretched, and gazed at the sky for a few moments,
savouring the beauty of its changing colours. It was interesting that I had travelled this many megalem,
most of it without any real sense of day, entered an area that would have a different time-frame from the
one in which I had begun, and still maintained correspondence with the cycle. With a sigh and a shrug, I
rose, strapped my pack on my back, and started towards the distant tofts.
There was nothing difficult about crossing the plain. It was flat, and the ground was firm. The golden
groeyen was short and resilient, uninhibiting to my progress and returning to its upright state almost as
soon as I passed. An avid explorer as a child, I had ventured out from our tillages many times, and this
reminded me greatly of the blue-green groeyen encountered on the approach to the Gwydd, the wooded
area north and east of Provenanshire. The only apparent difference was the colour.
That golden hue reflected the converging beams of our blue and white orbs in magnificent multicoloured
sparkles, shifting as I approached, and again as I passed, reminding me somewhat of the kaleidoscopic eyes
of Texel. I found it reassuring, particularly as I looked up and realized I would probably reach those initial
tofts before night. My journey was nearing an end; my responsibility was about to begin.
Coming progressively closer, I could see the tillers at work. I smiled. How often had I worked alongside
my father, mother, brothers, and sisters in areas practically identical? Perhaps the people of the two shires
were virtual strangers, but we were Brethren. The reflection of the fact so apparent relaxed a tension
within me that I had not even been aware was present; I approached the eldest male of the tillers, nodding
in the established gesture of respect to the toftsire, with no feeling of nervousness whatsoever.
‘I am Talif. I seek the place in which a young boy lies in long unbroken somnolence.’
He stared at me. There were tears in his eyes. ‘I am Draven. The boy you seek is my sister’s son. His
name is Dory; hers, Nalid.’ He set down his implements. ‘I shall take you to them.’
A woman I assumed was his wife came over, a questioning expression on her face; he smiled at her. ‘This
is Talif, come for Dory, as Nalid was told someone would. I need to take her to him.’
She nodded, staring at me as well. I sincerely hoped my apprehension, which was expanding in manilem
leaps, was not apparent in my eyes. Though she said nothing, it was all transmitted in her gaze. These
people were placing faith in me I knew I did not deserve.
Draven started walking up the tillage, and I followed, smiling in what I hoped was reassurance at his wife
as I turned away. My mouth was almost as dry as it had been when I approached the feet of Texel.
‘Nalid was told almost three weeks ago that someone was coming from Provenanshire, assigned specially
for Dory. We have been awaiting your arrival.’
My mind performed some rapid calculations. Three weeks equated to eighteen days; I had been
journeying for seventeen. The message must have been passed the day I left, directly from Texel to one of
the Master Workers and thence to Nalid without delay. Apparently everyone involved considered this a
situation of major urgency. My mouth felt even drier.
As we walked, I attempted to calm my racing mind. Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, I saw a Form
begin to shape, one I had seen all my life. I had not known in my childhood years what it was or what to
call it; I had considered it merely a by-product of my over-active imagination. Still little more than that, it
remained a mental game of my own which I had mentioned to no one, not even Kareth. But it always
helped to calm me down. A gentle blue-violet, the colour of calming and soothing, it shaped into a
circular room with a single door at the upper rear, leading into the back of my mind. Into it I could toss all
my unwanted thoughts, settling them and keeping them aside from my primary focus. Gathering as many
of my anxieties as I could find, I dumped them in and slammed the door.
Arriving at the domus of another toft, we proceeded directly through the entry and down a long hallway.
In front of a closed door near the end were two Workers in position of vigil.
Draven nodded respectfully. ’This is Talif, the one sent for Dory.’
The stares that news received were beginning to make me extremely uncomfortable. But in the eyes of the
two Workers, I saw more than what had been in those of Draven and his wife: I saw appraisal and
question. That just made it worse. I wanted to shout, ‘I don’t know why me either’, but remained still; I
would not have trusted my voice at that point anyway. I hoped it was not reflected in my eyes.
One of the Workers entered the room behind them; the other merely continued to eye me critically. At
least I maintained enough mental discipline not to lower my gaze. Within seconds, a slim little woman
with short dark-brown hair and large cinnamon eyes sprang through the doorway and nearly pounced on
me.
I jumped, but not because of her action. It was my turn to stare. She was without doubt the image of my
vision, including the intensified wide-eyed look caused by too little sleep and too much crying. Her
expression was a combination of relief and supplication. I did not think she even registered what I looked
like.
‘We were told you would come, but so many get lost in the Silva. . . I have tried not to hope too much. . .
You can help my son?’ Her voice was breathless; her hands were trembling, even as she held them tightly
clasped at her waist. She gazed up at me with eyes that appeared to hold tears that never completely dried.
My heart seemed to be missing every other beat. If I had thought I was apprehensive or fearful before, I
was utterly petrified now. All of her love, her grief, and her hope for her son were reflected in those eyes;
and the answer lay in my hands.
I swallowed, something; it felt like my tongue. Where I acquired the strength to even move, much less
keep my own hands from trembling from both my fears and my automatic response to her emotion, I had
no idea. But, grabbing all those feelings and pitching them into my mental room, I reached out and
clasped her hands in both my own, gazing soberly into those huge imploring eyes. ‘I came to do the best
and the most I can. I promise you only the utmost of my ability and everything I can give.’
She burst into tears. Draven gathered her into his arms; she buried her face in his chest and sobbed,
practically hysterical. I drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I knew there were tears in my eyes.
I turned to the two Workers, both of whom were still staring, but there was a difference. They were
almost gaping; the critical appraisal and the question were gone. I tried not to stare in return, wondering
what had evoked the expression that had replaced them. It had the distinct appearance of sincere respect.
I had no idea what to say. ‘Tell me about the situation.’
The one who had not gone into the room stepped forward. ‘A room has been prepared for you; let me
show you, and you can refresh yourself while Patel ensures your arrival is reported to Master Vaek. It’s
best he explain.’
My heart skipped another beat. Now I was to be dealing with a Master Worker? I was assuredly out of
my realm. I could feel panic starting to ring my diaphragm. At least I would have a little time to calm
and recompose myself before I would have to confront him. I merely nodded, and my guide led the way
back in the direction from which we had come and in which Patel had already gone.
-11-
As I bathed, I reviewed the latest scenes, attempting to prepare myself for my meeting with Master Vaek.
I had learnt that my guide’s name was Rolin, but her expression when I asked had been one of surprise, as
if she thought I should know.
What did these people expect me to be? Though I had received initial training in thought-projection, I had
only just begun learning basic thought-reception, leading to the capability in thought-transference
possessed by the Workers; I was far from versed in full telepathy, as were the Elder Workers, much less
able to employ thought-reading on command, as did the Masters.
I sighed. It made perfect sense that they would have been expecting a Master would be sent; I had felt the
same since the beginning. That Draven and his wife had greeted me as they had was not particularly
surprising: they knew I had been sent; they would not question. The same would be true of Nalid, and I
did not think she had really seen me anyway. But Workers, more aware of how the training process
operated and less emotionally involved in the situation, would view it differently, and the expression of
critical appraisal and sceptical question initially in the eyes of Rolin and Patel had been about what I
anticipated. The shift of that to acceptance and respect had been what amazed me.
What should I expect from Master Vaek? The thought gave me chills. Apprentices did not even directly
interface with Masters; the closest we came was the Elder Workers who were Guide Workers, and most of
our contact was with the Worker Seniors of our specific Order.
As I completed my bath and quickly dressed, I realized that what I had intended as a brief period of
relaxation in which to compose myself before my meeting had done nothing but extend my apprehensions.
It was pointless, I supposed, to attempt to hide my thoughts; though nowhere near Texel in that, or any
other category, the Masters were known to have ways of discerning what was on another’s mind. All I
could do was keep them sufficiently closed away that they did not gain complete control and overshadow
the entire conversation.
Closing my eyes, I summoned forth as much of my mental discipline as I could find beneath my
nervousness. Scouring through my mind, I collected every thought, partial thought, idea, or emotion I
could see that might engender or intensify my anxieties, and herded them all into my mental room, barring
the door from the outside.
I opened my eyes with a sigh, feeling a great deal more calm. That did not mean I was prepared for this;
from the queasiness still present in my midsection, I could tell that I was not. But at least I had myself
more solidly under control. With a deep breath, I proceeded to the sitting-room, where Rolin was awaiting
me.
She looked up appreciatively. ‘That was quick.’
I raised my eyebrows slightly, but said nothing, I thought I had taken longer than I should.
‘Master Vaek will be here shortly. Patel has returned to vigil. She brought another Worker with her, so
that I could remain here.’
I nodded, seating myself across from her. I could not ascertain from the statement, the tone, or the
expression whether her presence was for the purpose of providing me assistance or a chaperon. Her level
was three beyond mine, and she was also apparently senior to Patel; I wondered if she might be close to
advancement to Worker Senior. A slight flutter in the area of my diaphragm warned me to leave such
thoughts alone: they would result in nothing but resurgence of my nervousness. I wished I could think of
something to say.
Her clear grege eyes swept me up and down, quickly, and without the earlier nuance of disapprobation, but
question remained evident. I was dressed as she, in Worker livery, except hers was blue, whereas I had
brought a yellow one. But I knew my attire was not the cause of the question. I wanted to blurt out my
apprehensions, tell her that her scepticism was well founded; but I had a sense that it would only make the
situation more strained, and I remained silent.
The door opened. We both rose. In strode a man -- his livery was a golden blue; extending from the
shoulders to meet at the waist was the glistening, iridescent V of wide black strips that was the mark of
Mastership; fastened with a gold chain was a knee-length cape the same colour as the strips -- an imposing
figure, tall and lean, with umber hair and hazel eyes. I guessed his age about 120. He had not just risen to
his rank. His eyes spoke wisdom; his aura was one of capability and command. My heart began to
pound.
Rolin inclined her head deeply, just short of a full bow. ‘Master Vaek, this is Talif, arrived this day from
Provenanshire.’
He merely glanced at her; my look was more a gape. Perhaps she was not as advanced as I had surmised.
All were aware, even outside the Working Orders, that one never was required to explain much to the
Masters, that they would request whatever information they felt necessary, and that one did not speak until
indication to do so was made. As I returned my gaze to Master Vaek, I reassessed my prior evaluations,
considering Patel might have been the one to report of my arrival and return to vigil because of senior
position and greater ability, leaving Rolin in the sitting-room merely to have someone present if he should
arrive before I had completed my preparations.
Removing his cape and laying it on the nearest chair, he glanced again at Rolin, with an almost
imperceptible shift of his eyes towards the door. She left without another word.
‘I am Vaek. I have sent for Sahl and Edon, as they also have worked on this case. I shall tell you before
we begin, however, that it remains a mystery to us all.’
I bowed my head at his introduction, seated myself at his indication, and attempted to still my racing heart
and keep myself from staring wide-eyed at his announcement. One Master Worker was not enough for me
to face; now it would be three? It was just as well I was not expected to speak: my mouth had gone
completely dry again. I was finding it difficult to breathe as the ring of fear that had never fully released
my diaphragm once more intensified towards panic. The queasiness in my midsection doubled.
I heard his final statement almost as though through a fog. But I heard it. If the situation was a mystery
to three Masters, what in all sense was I supposed to do? Sharply, I commanded my mind to be quiet. I
tossed those thoughts into my mental room and slammed the door, making a concentrated effort to look at
him calmly. I was certain he was aware of my distress -- how could he not be, with all that going on? --
but nothing in his expression or his eyes revealed it.
Those eyes were powerful but pacific; sagaciously serene. His voice had reflected the same. He was in
command, of both himself and his surroundings, and he knew it. In a way, it was reassuring; just that quiet
presence had a calming effect. In another, it was frightening, however, as I considered again that final
statement. How could I do what this patently wise and capable man could not?
Again the door opened, and again I rose. He motioned me to be seated; I did, my eyes remaining on the
two new arrivals. Both were about 100 or so, I assessed, one bearing the black strips of Mastership, the
other the gold of the Elders.
He gestured at them as they entered and seated themselves. ‘Sahl and Edon.’ I bowed my head to each in
turn, and they acknowledged my greeting with a nod. They turned their attention to him, and I did the
same, finding his eyes again both reassuring and overwhelming.
‘What do you know of the situation?’
I shook my head slightly, utilizing the few seconds to swallow and try to be certain I would have a voice.
I had not expected to be required to speak, at least not first, and sincerely hoped I could do so without
squeaking or quavering.
‘Only that the boy Dory lies in somnolence, unbroken except for a few occasions, which are rife with
convulsions.’ I breathed a mental sigh of relief. Though there had been a degree of uncertainty, I had not
detected any tremulousness.
Master Vaek nodded. ‘That describes it as it stands, and as it has been for three months and more. Lately
there have been no rousings; the somnolent state remains unbroken and is slightly deeper than before.
Medicaments administered and methods employed have accomplished little to nothing, with the possible
exception of the sustaining of the child’s life.’
He turned to Master Sahl. ‘Explain what you have done.’
She sighed. ‘What I have attempted includes the entire range of what I know of Healing; what I have
done, in terms of effectiveness, is very little. Administration of medicaments directly into the system has
accomplished nothing, and is now limited to solely that which ensures continuation of life. Application of
techniques was more effective early, but actually did no more than rouse the boy enough to produce the
convulsions.’
As she proceeded to explain in greater detail what had been done, I listened with a degree of amazement
that most of what she said was at least comprehensible to me. I had no idea how to perform the techniques
she described, but none sounded totally foreign either.
When she began delineating what work had been attempted with the essence energies, I recalled my
thoughts as I approached the Silva. I wanted to ask if she had considered adjusting the spiral, but I had no
idea what such an action would do, or even if it could actually be performed. My experience had been
unique, and the effect had come from the protection which surrounded me, not from my imaginative
conjurings.
Finishing her explanations, she ran a slim tan hand through her tawny hair and turned her aqua eyes to
Elder Edon. As his deep-green ones affixed themselves to mine, I sensed just a tinge of the same sort of
question that had been present in those of Rolin. Another of those aspects that denoted the difference
between the Masters and all others: although I was quite certain the questions were present in their minds,
neither Master had revealed it in any way.
Master Sahl had neither the intensity nor the presence of Master Vaek, but there was a serenity, a stability,
and an assuredness there that Elder Edon did not possess to such a marked degree. If nothing else came
from this experience, I was thankful for this much; for I was learning a great deal, both from what was said
and from merely the exposure and comparisons.
What Elder Edon said was primarily more of the same as what had been presented by Master Sahl, with a
few additional techniques that he had personally performed. Apparently at least both of them were of the
same Order: Healing. I was making no assumptions regarding Master Vaek.
As Elder Edon completed his presentation, and attention returned to Master Vaek, my gaze shifted back to
those calm but powerful hazel eyes; and suddenly I found the word I had unconsciously been seeking to
describe him: Sage.
Reassuring but overwhelming, quiet but commanding, tranquil but intense . . . all that and more. Trying to
define this individual could form an endless list. But that one word said it all. He was one who truly
could not be defined and from whom anything could emanate, the only certainty being that whatever he
said or did would always be from a base of understanding and wisdom that surpassed what most others
could even begin to comprehend. He was a Master, in all ways. And I was supposed to do what he could
not?
Those eyes held mine in silence for a moment, and I wondered what he was seeing. My mother had often
said that my eyes were cryptic. Light blue with a slight violet tinge usually, they would become a true
violet, darkening in to deep purple at times; and although the changes in their colour always had something
to do with what was transpiring in my thinking, there was no definable pattern, and the alteration itself
made it nearly impossible to tell what my mind was doing at any particular time. At least that was what
my mother said. But my mother was no Master, and what this one was seeing I had absolutely no idea.
Although he maintained eye contact, a subtle difference released my gaze. ‘What I have performed has
differed, in that I have worked solely with the balance. My impression is that the entire situation is a
matter of imbalance, and I have attempted to equalize, stabilize, and symmetrize the energies of the
structure, the essence, and the two to each other. At no time have I made radical adjustments to either,
concerned about the ultimate effects. The mystifying aspect is that nothing that is done is maintained. It
appears there is a key element missing in this, which none of us has yet perceived.
‘My efforts have been many; the techniques employed, diverse. If you desire detail, I shall provide it;
however, I believe what is needed at this point is for you to see the boy and begin your own evaluations.
You have had a long journey. I suggest we take a few moments now to introduce you to the actuality, then
allow time to rest, and begin work upon your rising.’
I hoped my mouth was closed. Perhaps it was merely my over-active imagination again, but that
presentation had given me the distinct impression of being made from the base of equality. Why? I was
certainly no Master; that was evident simply from my attire, as well as in any number of other ways. It
made no sense.
He was continuing to gaze at me, obviously awaiting a response. Since my voice was definitely not to be
trusted at that moment, I merely nodded. He rose, everyone else following suit, and we proceeded down
the hallway to the door at which I had first encountered Rolin and Patel. Patel and her companion rose,
giving the same tribute as had Rolin. With a nod of acknowledgement, Master Vaek opened the door and
strode through, the rest of us behind.
Nalid looked up from where she was seated in a low chair on the far side of the bed. Master Vaek stepped
aside and motioned me past him. I walked forward almost woodenly, simply staring. If I had not
recognized her before, I would be unable to miss it now. The scene was precisely that of the vision that
had prompted my mad run from the jagquil, kept me going after hitting the tree, and passed through my
mind several times since.
I stopped about two lem from the bed. There seemed to be a shift of energy at that point that was almost
tangible. At first I wanted to consider it like walking into a wall, but it was not that dense. It felt more
like the sensation of walking into water, or a room unused for years that is filled with webs: heavy;
clinging. And I was reminded of my approach to the Silva, for the second time.
I raised my arm perpendicular to my body, extending it into that area. The word used by Master Vaek
returned to mind: imbalance. I closed my eyes. I could sense a Form shaping, but it was vague, shadowy,
without substance.
Lowering my arm, I opened my eyes and gazed again at the two before me. Mother by the bedside of her
sleeping child. Except this child never woke.
Nalid was staring at me, her cinnamon eyes imploring. I drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The
room seemed stuffy. The dimness made it difficult to see. I took a step backward. Still she stared.
What was I doing here? How could I respond to that look in her eyes? I was totally out of my depth; I
had no idea what to do. How was I to tell her that?
I turned towards Master Vaek. The others started for the door; he held out his arm, gesturing for me to
precede him. We walked back to the sitting-room in silence. As he retrieved his cape and swung it about
his shoulders, our eyes met again.
‘We shall return at daylight, prepared to begin.’
At that point, that statement sounded ominous, almost a threat. Begin what? I wanted to scream, ‘I’m
out of my depth. I don’t know what to do. It was all a mistake. Let me go back where I belong.’ But I
sharply reprimanded myself, commanded my mind to silence, simply nodded, and the three of them left
me, alone with my thoughts.
-12-
I awoke at first light, initially aware only of a sensation of difference. It was my first night in a bed in
almost three weeks, and it felt odd. Where was I? As I shifted position and stretched, bringing myself
fully awake, I remembered. I was at the domus of Nalid, whose son Dory was the one I had been sent to
save. My heart hammered. This day I was to do what I had come to do.
Master Vaek had said they would return at daylight. It did not take long for Eelios and Aster to progress
from first light to convergence into full light; I did not have time to lie there, staring at the ceiling, playing
mental pitch-and-toss with my fears. With a sigh, I rose, bathed and dressed quickly, and proceeded to the
sitting-room.
I did not have long to wait; moments later, the door opened and Master Vaek strode in, the other two
directly behind. I rose, bowing my head. He nodded, stepped aside, and gestured towards the door. I
was not surprised. The verbalizing had all been done; it was time for action. Frantically attempting to
still my racing heart, I swallowed hard and proceeded into the hallway as he deposited his cape.
Had I been alone, my steps would probably have been halting; but with Master Vaek by my side, setting
the pace, and the other two on our heels, I could do nothing but stride as purposefully as they. Two new
Workers greeted us as we arrived at that closed door, rising from position of vigil and bowing their heads
as we passed. Though I knew that homage was intended for the others, most particularly Master Vaek, it
made me ever more uncomfortable than I already was, just to be included in that company. My heart
pounded even harder.
As we entered the room, Nalid looked up. I wondered if she had left at any time; I wondered if she ever
did. Surprisingly, the room was as dim as it had been the previous night. The hallway was brighter. I
glanced about, discovering two windows, both heavily draped. It was no wonder the room was stuffy;
even if the windows were opened, no air could pass those bulky, close-knit hangings.
I wanted to say, ‘Take those things down and open the windows; the boy is not dead. But it’s a wonder he
hasn’t suffocated in here.’ But I presumed if such action was supposed to be taken, one of the three with
me would have directed it by now, and kept my mouth shut.
Once again, Master Vaek motioned me forward. I advanced slowly, to the position I had taken the night
before. That strange feeling was still there. Stepping back a pace, I took a deep breath and closed my
eyes. All I could hear or see was the frenzied crying of my mind, all my apprehensions and anxieties
tumbling over each other like little children attempting to be first to reach the top of the hill and win.
I did not belong here. Every corner of my mind was screaming that at me. I wanted to run. A vision
slipped in: racing from the jagquil and crashing into that tree. Running away in panic would accomplish
nothing more than another situation of similar sort; though I might not hit any trees, I was assured to slam
headlong into my own fears. And it certainly would not assist the boy, or the mother who was so ardently
depending on me.
Clenching my hands into fists at my sides, I bit the inside of my lower lip and swallowed the choking
feeling that rose to my throat. I was no good to anyone in this state. I wished I could go somewhere
alone to compose myself, but there was no escape; I had to acquire a grip on my surging feelings and
runaway thoughts right here, right now.
Inhaling deeply, slowly, I held the breath for a count of twelve, then released it to the same count.
Repeating the procedure, at the first count I intensified the blue-violet of my mental room and reinforced it
with dark brown, for strength, and golden brown, for stability; at the second, as I exhaled, I herded all my
wayward thoughts into the room and slammed the door, double-barring it from the outside.
With that completed, immediately feeling more calm and in control, I relaxed my hands and turned my
mental attention outward again, towards the scene before me. On my vision-screen I saw it, as it had
appeared there while I was still in the Silva, and as I had physically seen it in that room. In the recess of
my mind, the vague Form I had sensed the previous night began to take more solid shape: a diamond; a
bright-green diamond.
That made no sense. Bright green was the colour of learning, not of healing; diamond was the shape of
gathering, fusion, or convergence, not of removal, adjustment, or restructuring. I tried to change it; it
steadfastly remained the same. Just another indication of exactly how little I knew.
I grabbed that thought and tossed it unceremoniously into my mental room with the others of its kind,
firmly returning my concentration to the situation at hand. The bright-green diamond was expanding,
becoming a full Form, moving forward. Again I attempted to change it: first its colour, to bright blue, for
healing; then its shape, to a pentagon, for removal, then a cone, for adjustment, then a square, for
restructuring or rebalancing. Nothing had effect. It remained a bright-green diamond.
As the Form began to merge with the scene on my vision-screen, I felt compelled to raise my arms.
Extending them perpendicular to my body, I held my hands with palms outward and brought my thumbs
and forefingers together into a triangle, point up, then rotated them, with my thumbs as the pivot, to point
down. I had no idea what I thought I was doing; but it felt right, and the urge was so strong that I honestly
did not believe I could have fought it if I tried.
The diamond encased the entire area on my vision-screen, a size about eight by eight by eight lem. That
would encompass the bed and two lem to either side, from the wall at its head to about one lem below it,
and from floor to ceiling. My arms returned to my sides almost of their own accord as the two, Form and
scene, became one on my screen, the bright green acquiring almost a luminescence, the area inside almost
impossible to discern in detail. I sighed. Now what?
Slight sound penetrated my concentration. The Form suddenly began to disintegrate. Almost as though
shattered, it became a multitude of shimmering bright-green lights. As I opened my eyes I could still see it
falling away, primarily towards the far side of the bed from where I stood.
The sound had been movement, which was still in process as I focused on the room again. Master Sahl
was leading Nalid away from the side of the bed, to a chair against the wall across from the foot of it; Elder
Edon was taking her place. Somewhere to my left and rear, just out of range of my peripheral vision, I
could sense Master Vaek was still standing, motionless, watching.
I noticed that Dory had shifted position slightly. Elder Edon placed the first two fingers of his left hand in
the centre of the boy’s forehead, murmuring something I could not quite hear. I glanced towards the foot
of the bed. Master Sahl had stepped forward to stand at the edge of it. Nalid was sitting immobile,
except for her tear-filled eyes, which were darting from Elder Edon to Master Sahl, to me, and back again.
I stood as if transfixed. Without moving his left hand, Elder Edon slid his right under the cover and rested
it on the boy’s chest, drawing it upward slowly, stopping with the first two fingers just below the throat.
Then he lifted both hands, bringing thumbs and forefingers together into a circle above the child’s eyes.
Finally, breaking the circle and returning his arms to his sides, he looked at Master Sahl and shook his
head.
She moved to the corner of the bed; he walked down the side towards her. As they traded places, tears
stung my eyes. Somehow I knew she would have no more success than he. Something had happened;
something had been started. But my lack of knowledge, my inability to maintain concentration, my utter
inadequacy in the situation, had caused it to be broken before it could be completed, before it had even
effectively begun.
I tried to blink back the tears. I tried not to think that I had failed. I tried to return my vision to my
screen. Nothing. Nothing. My mind had gone blank; my vision-screen held an unidentifiable jumble of
figures all askew, ringed at the base by bright-green shards.
The choking feeling I had swallowed earlier returned, and tripled. The tears would not be stemmed. The
sensation at my diaphragm was no longer panic, but despair. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I
wanted to hide. I wanted to be back in the safety of my quarters at the Compound. Anything. And
anywhere but here.
Before my emotions completely overwhelmed me and my reactivisms gained control, I forced a deep
breath, mustered every bit of mental discipline I could find, and turned towards the door. Avoiding those
intense, sagacious hazel eyes, I kept my own slightly downcast as I walked past Master Vaek and out into
the hallway. No one made a sound. I did not know if they even noticed. Besides, I was certain they
would not care.
-13-
I could not go back to my room, prepared for me as the one who would come and save young Dory from
the clutches of a living death, not even to gather my belongings and leave. I simply walked down the
hallway and out the front door, continuing across the side tillages, headed I knew not where. It made no
difference. I had been sent on a mission, and I had failed. I did not care if my walk took me over the
edge of a precipice somewhere.
How could I face any of them again -- those imploring cinnamon eyes of Nalid, the uncertain deep-green
ones of Elder Edon, the passive aqua ones of Master Sahl, the questioning grege ones of Rolin, but most
particularly those intense wise hazel ones of Master Vaek? I had to find a way to surreptitiously collect
my things and disappear back where I came from without encountering anyone. Though I had not
deserved their acceptance, I certainly could not endure their disappointment.
I stopped in my tracks. I was considering I could not face them again? How could I ever face Texel
again? I could not stay here, but I most assuredly could not go back there. I had been given a mission; I
had failed the Great One. To even consider returning and confronting those crystal eyes, I had to be
utterly insane.
Outcast. I had no place; there was nowhere I could go. I was not even deserving of the friendship of the
Silva. Not only did I not care if my walk took me over the edge of a precipice somewhere, I wished I
could find one.
Apparently I had continued walking, because I found myself in a small glade. I had not even registered
passing trees. With a sigh, I seated myself on the ground, leaning back against a nearby tree.
Running my hand over the short, springy groeyen, I let the tears come. I had known from the beginning
this assignment was far beyond my ability. But since it was given to me, I had attempted to follow it
through. And I had failed, as I had been afraid since the outset that I would. It would have been better for
all concerned if the jagquil had caught and devoured me.
The tears simply rolled down my cheeks, unheeded and silent. It would be one thing, I supposed, if I had
taken this task on myself. But it had been specifically assigned to me. And I had failed.
‘Why do you cry?’
I jumped and looked up; my eyes searched the entire glade. It had been the voice of Kareth. There was
no one to be seen. Only once had he found me crying; the question, and the tone, had been precisely the
same. I wiped my eyes. The glade remained empty.
I shook my head. The tears refused to stop. I braced my elbows on my knees, closing my eyes and
covering them with my fingertips. Still the tears flowed, wetting my hands and dripping into my lap.
Then, seeming to approach from the lower rear of my mind, I saw him. His silver-blond hair glinted in the
light, his square face radiated calm, and he gazed at me in quiet reproof, but with understanding in those
clear blue eyes, as he had that other time.
Through my tears, I smiled. Just my over-active imagination again, seeking to provide solace via a
remembered exchange. But there was something different. I studied my mental picture. He stood as he
always stood, looked as he always looked, dressed as he always dressed . . . No. That was the difference.
His livery bore the silver strips of the Guide Workers.
Those who were of the Order of Guidance were marked by silver strips when they attained the rank of
Elder Worker, as opposed to the gold of the other Elders, to denote the difference and make it easier for one
seeking guidance to know where to turn. Worker Seniors of that Order were termed ‘Guides’, but were
addressed as were all members of the Working Orders from Entrant through Worker Senior, strictly by
name; the Elders were termed ‘Guide Workers’, but addressed as ‘Elder’. It would seem odd to address
Kareth that way, after so long without it.
I sighed. My imagination was overdoing itself. Kareth had been at the level of Worker Senior when I
left. He was close to advancement, and I had always respected him in that fashion; but I had not realized I
had mentally already placed him there. In any other visualizations of him that I had performed when
desiring to recall advice given, I did not remember having done so; I had no idea why I would suddenly do
so now, unless my mind was so full of having been dealing with Elders and Masters, and knowing he was
so close, I felt I needed to be reassured on that level as well.
That was no excuse. Besides, I had no right to be thinking of him at all any more, now that I had made
such a mess of everything and would never even be seeing him again. The tears that had not completely
stopped poured forth again as that thought registered. I tried to remove the vision from my mind, but it
would not leave. And I cried harder.
Then the question came again. But this time it did not seem as though spoken aloud; it was distinctly in
my mind. Yet it seemed different from my own thought.
‘Why do you cry?’
With hardly a thought to what I was doing, I responded. ‘Because I have failed; I have let everyone
down.’
‘And whom might you have let down?’
‘A child who needs me, a mother who is depending on me, two Masters and an Elder who accepted me,
and the One who sent me.’
‘Quite a list. Now, what makes you think you have let them all down?’
‘Being inadequate to accomplish what I was sent to do.’
‘Oh? Has that been said?’
‘No. It doesn’t need to be said. I saw it happen.’
‘You did, or you think you did? Are you inadequate, or have you quit?’
Wait a moment. This was taking a turn my mind was not prepared to handle. But it was all coming from
by mind. Wasn’t it? It had to be. Although my imagination often conjured forth miscellaneous
conversations, I had been known to dream up all sorts of scenes, and I had received that one distinct
message from Texel, I was far from a level to be directly communicating in this fashion. Texel could do
anything; my imagination could be excused, as long as it was kept in its place; but this was something else
again.
‘Well? You have not answered me.’
I felt I had to be physically gaping. This was unreal.
‘Shall we approach it another way? What constitutes failure?’
‘Being unable to perform your responsibilities.’
‘Now, you know better than that. We have discussed this one before. What constitutes failure?’
This simply could not be happening. But no matter what I did or how hard I tried, I could not shut it off.
And he, or it, or whatever was prompting me, was quite right: we had discussed it before.
‘Failure is the performance of a task at less than your capability; doing less than your best; quitting before
you have completed the job, or done all that you can.’
‘That’s better. Now, with that in mind, have you failed? Have you quit? The Talif I know is no quitter.’
No, I was no quitter. All my life I had persisted, against any and all odds, round every obstacle, until I
accomplished whatever I had set my mind to do. That was how I had been accepted into the Working
Orders in the first place. My family had been tillers for generations; though a few in the past had applied,
none had ever been accepted. They all had said I was crazy to try; even my younger brothers and sister
had joined in that chorus. But I had tried anyway; and when I had been rejected, I had gone back again,
and again, and again, every three months for a year, starting as soon as I turned eighteen.
Then, that last time, I had encountered Kareth in the Outer Gardens. That was the time he had found me
crying. And he had taken me by the hand, walked me through the Extrinsecus Pylon and round to the rear
of the Applicant Screening Stand that faced the tofts and where applications were made, bypassing the
Workers whom I had tried so hard to make listen to me, presented me directly to the Assessor of
Applicants, and said, ‘Take this one, and give her to me.’
No, I was no quitter. But this one was so far beyond me.
‘Then why was it given to you? There are reasons for all things. Trust yourself. Do what you feel is
right. And don’t give up.’
There was a grin on his face. ‘That’s my Talif.’
I sighed as the image disappeared. As had been true of the little man of the Silva, whatever that had been,
it had assisted. I leaned back against the tree again for a moment, composing myself.
Recalling the mark of Eldership I ascribed to him, I smiled. My mind often baffled me; it was no wonder
no one else could understand. I had been gone only three weeks; he would not have suddenly attained
level in that time. Would he? I sighed. I was giving credence to my mental ramblings again; I definitely
was going to have to watch that.
Staring at the branches above me, I reviewed the entire exchange. It may have been nothing more than my
over-active mental conjurings, but there was a great deal in it. And somehow I felt there was an
underlying idea there somewhere that I needed to see.
A word; I was searching for a word.
Again I went through it. Don’t give up. Persist? No, that wasn’t it. There are reasons for all things.
Believe? No, it wasn’t that either. Trust yourself. Trust? No. Do what you feel is right. Feel? No.
But that struck a chord. Feel. Trust. Go with the feeling. Just let it happen.
Allow.
The vision of the scene in that room returned, as strong as it had been in the Silva, as strong as it was when
I was actually standing there. Here I had been sitting, upset because I had let everyone down, when
actually I was letting them down by sitting here. I had the entire thing backwards.
I saw again the bright-green diamond; I saw it surround the vision on my screen; I saw it shatter and
disintegrate. And suddenly, I saw the reason. Yes, it had been the movement, but it had not been because
the movement broke my concentration. The movement had broken the Form. Not just movement -- that
movement, that action. The Form had surrounded the entire vision, including Nalid. Master Sahl had
removed Nalid from the scene. And without her in it, the Form was ineffective.
Backwards. Not just this particular upset, right here, right now, but quite literally everything. I had it all
backwards. Forget whatever question, uncertainty, scepticism, or anything else I had seen, or thought I
had seen, in whomever’s eyes. I was here on a mission; I had been sent by the Great One himself. The
Masters had accepted that. What more could I want? And my mission was to do something for the boy
Dory, whatever it took to accomplish that.
The Masters had already said they did not know what else to do; yet still I continued to defer to them.
Master Vaek had specifically said there was a key element missing that they had not perceived. They were
looking to me to provide that key, not to perform their task for them. I might not know precisely what to
do, but if I gave them my perceptions, they could put the puzzle together from there.
I did not have to do it; they were quite capable of that. I merely had to tell them what they needed to see.
What was it Texel had said? ‘. . . to conjure and comprehend in conceptual combinations . . .’ To conjure
-- I did that well -- and comprehend. Where did that equate to performing the entire task? I had the
whole thing backwards.
Allow. That was the word. Allow my mind to conjure; it would give me what I could comprehend.
Allow myself to see. Allow myself to feel. Allow myself to say what I saw and what I felt. Those with
the ability would take it from there.
-14-
When I reached the domus, I walked straight down the hallway to that door and entered. Somehow I
knew I would find the others all still there. Vaguely it registered that the two Workers had risen upon my
approach, but I had no time to consider that now. What I had to do was the only subject of importance.
As I stepped though the doorway, three heads moved. Nalid, back in her customary position beside the
bed, looked up as she always did. Elder Edon, seated to my right, against the wall on which the head of
the bed rested, shifted his gaze from where he had been evidently watching Dory. Master Sahl, in the
chair in which she had earlier placed Nalid, turned her head towards the door.
Master Vaek looked like a statue. He had not moved from the position in which he was standing when I
left. But I sensed his eyes on me. And this time, I raised mine to meet them.
I had forgotten the dimness; it was not part of my vision. I glanced at the drapes. ‘Take those things
down and open the windows. The boy is not dead. But at this rate, we are all likely to suffocate in here.’
Nalid visibly jumped. Master Sahl immediately rose, stepped up on the chair, and began removing the
hanging from the window beside her. With what seemed a major effort, Nalid stood, moved her chair
down towards the head of the bed, climbed up on it, and started doing the same at the other window. Elder
Edon merely stared at me. I could not tell if it was simply my imagination, but there almost appeared to be
a slight smile at the corner of the mouth of Master Vaek.
Master Sahl stepped down, the drape in her arms, laid the cloth on the back of the chair, and turned to open
the window. Freeing the last fastening of the other, Nalid let it fall to the floor. Clambering off the chair
and quickly dragging it back to its normal position, she sat cringing and blinking as though she had been
severely slapped.
Light poured into the room. Air began to circulate from the window Master Sahl had opened. I took a
deep breath. Involuntarily, Elder Edon and Master Sahl did the same. It seemed like a pall had lifted. I
sighed.
Having drawn herself into as little space as possible in her chair, Nalid appeared even tinier than she had
before. I wondered how long it had been since she had been exposed to daylight. However long the boy
had lain there, I supposed. Apparently, she never did leave that room. And, somehow, that was part of
the problem.
I walked forward until I once again encountered that strange energy shift. That had not changed. But I
had not expected it to. Stepping back a pace as I had before, I viewed the scene before me critically.
Already, in the recess of my mind, I could sense the Form shaping. Still a bright-green diamond.
Closing my eyes, I allowed it to be. I might not understand why it was what it was, but if that was what it
insisted on being, I would not attempt to interfere.
The vision was clear on my screen; the Form was solidifying quickly. The substantialization and merging
was taking nowhere near as long this time. Perhaps because I had seen it before? Perhaps because I had
less mental garbage in the way? I had no idea, but it made no difference, at least at this moment. There
would be time enough for considering those questions when the current task was done.
Again I felt the compulsion to raise my arms and form the triangle. Point up to point down. The Form
encompassed the vision.
Slight sound. Movement again. I opened my eyes. The image on my vision-screen remained intact.
Elder Edon had risen and progressed round behind me to stand against the far wall at the foot of the bed.
The boy was stirring slightly. Nalid was reaching out towards him, tears in her eyes, oblivious to anyone
else in the room. Master Sahl was starting forward.
‘Stop.’
They froze. Nalid raised her head in slow motion, her eyes darting back and forth between Dory and me,
uncertain, almost disoriented. Master Sahl stepped back, to stand directly in front of the chair she had
vacated. Neither she nor Elder Edon took their eyes from me.
The Form was glowing, a bright-green light. I almost felt I could see it physically before me, as well as
on my screen. But something else was moving in to join the image I had.
Again I closed my eyes. A wide band of bronze, undulating like a scarf in a breeze, wafted onto my
screen. I nodded. That made sense. Balance. Master Vaek had said it; I had sensed it. This confirmed
it.
The bronze band positioned across the widest part of the diamond, then swept round the entire
circumference. Upon returning to the point at which it began, it started round again, except this time it
sliced through the centre, swept round the back, then passed through the centre again before returning to its
point of origin and stopping.
Above the upper point of the diamond, a blue-white cone appeared. For the third time I was reminded of
my approach to the Silva. This cone, however, was pointed upward from where it was, not in the direction
of either the boy’s head or his feet. Strange. But I made no attempt to move it.
Slowly, the cone began to turn in a rightward direction, but remained hovering above the diamond.
Nothing else was moving, and there did not seem to be any new Forms shaping. I watched for a moment.
It remained the same. Apparently the image was complete.
I opened my eyes. No one had moved. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly. Then I turned to face
Master Vaek.
‘The key element, the missing link, is Nalid. She must be part of any action taken. Her energies encase
the boy whenever she is in close proximity. In a sense, they form a unit, but it is an unbalanced and
unstable one. A convergence must be made; then the cord must be severed. They must first be balanced
to each other, then brought to stand alone; but they must learn, and understand the destructiveness of such a
bond, so that it does not forge again.’
‘The energies should flow rightward from feet to head, up the left side, down the right. Adjustment in
balance should be made in the same manner, slowly, and in broad waves.’
I closed my eyes, once again inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. I felt like I was shaking from head to
foot. Where all that had come from I had no idea. As interpretation of all my Forms and images, it made
sense; but what it all meant was a complete mystery to me.
Reopening my eyes and looking up at those intense and profound hazel ones again, I thought I saw
approval there. He nodded. Apparently it had meant something that made sense to him. But then, he
was a Master of Balance. It would.
For the first time since we had entered the room, he moved. Walking over to the bed, he motioned the
other two back towards me and the door. They retreated immediately, taking positions on either side and
slightly to the rear of me. He extended both arms over the boy, his palms down and slightly angled
towards Nalid. I felt a surge of energy. For an instant, it felt almost as though all the air was being
sucked out of the room, or out of the area in which I stood and into that which Master Vaek faced. I
closed my eyes.
There, on my vision-screen, was imprinted what I had been viewing. A part of me was amazed, another
part accepting, as I seemed to see shapes and colours passing over, round, and through both mother and
child, some emanating from Master Vaek, some appearing to come from the air itself, but all patently under
his control and direction. Bronze and blue, a tinge of green, dark yellow, purple, violet, pink, and back to
bronze. A diamond to a square; a pyramid, point up; a cone; a pyramid, point down; another diamond;
intermeshing circles; and again a square. Then formless colours, intertwined, separating one by one, to
rise and dissipate, only to begin again.
Mystifying, stupefying, fascinating, it was beyond my comprehension. But I stood transfixed, allowing it
to play across my screen, unsure how much was real and how much imagination. A Master at work:
something none but other Masters and the Elders ever experienced. I was privileged; I was honoured.
And I was awed.
The flowing mix of colours ceased, a vibrant blue-violet passed over the scene, there was an almost
imperceptible pause, then the light blue-green of preservation settled into place. I opened my eyes.
Nalid was clutching her young son, tears streaming down her face. The boy was sitting up in bed,
squinting, blinking, and trying to free an arm to rub the eye that was not pressed into his mother’s chest.
Tears filled my eyes. Master Vaek turned towards us. The other two started for the door. Before I
followed suit, I gazed up at him in admiration and awe. The look of approbation that met my gaze just
completed the closure of my throat, and I walked out the door and down the hallway blinded by the flood in
my eyes.
When we reached the door to my room, the others proceeded on, but Master Vaek stopped, looking down
at me sagely. ‘Next time, add balance to your mental room, inside and outside. It will help to keep those
frowards from escaping through unseen cracks in the walls.’
I gaped at him. He smiled. ‘You begin your journey back at daylight. Your stay has been brief, but
there are those who will not forget. Remember, young Talif, your time has just begun.’
He turned and strode purposefully down the hallway. My eyes followed him until he was out the door.
-15-
Back in my wayfaring livery, my pack on my back, I left the domus at first light. I had been given some
cured root and a few other packed foodstuffs from the toft, but I needed to stop at the Workers’ Station to
acquire the packs of dried food I needed for traversing the Silva, and I wanted to be on my way by daystart.
Knowing the time of my trek, I could plan a bit better than I had for my journey out. It took about one full
day to cross the plain, half a day on the barrier, twelve days through the Silva, half a day on the other
barrier, and three days to cross the Heath. In seventeen days, I would once again be in my own small
quarters in the Compound.
In a way, I was somewhat sorry to be leaving. I had experienced a lot, learnt a lot, and come to know
some wonderful individuals, and one magnificent one. On the other hand, I would be glad to get back to
where I belonged, to the places and people I knew and loved, and to the rest of my training and learning.
Besides, no other individual, regardless how magnificent, was an enth so much so as Texel, though I had to
admit that Master Vaek did come close, a great deal closer than I would ever have thought possible.
To know that I had not failed after all, and I could return to working within that direct Presence . . . but the
Presence had never left me, had it? Somewhere along the way, I had evidently lost sight of that. I
wondered how much of my success was actually attributable to me, and how much was a result of being a
channel through which Texel could work, in his typical indirect fashion. I, personally, probably had very
little to do with it.
I shrugged. No matter. However it had been done, what was necessary had been accomplished. I was
sincerely thankful for that. Dory was up and about, with no apparent after-effects, except that he had
almost four months to catch up on and wanted to do it all in one day. But that would pass. Nalid was like
a different person, and she was so immensely grateful that it made me tremendously uncomfortable. I had
told her several times that I had little to nothing to do with it, but she simply would not accept it.
On reaching the Workers’ Station, I discovered I was well known. And even there I seemed to be viewed
as some sort of celebrity. When I entered the Allocations area, the three Workers on duty immediately
rose. I shook my head, but they continued to stand until I expressly told them to sit. Then, when I
defined what I needed, the three of them were practically tripping over each other to fill my request, as if
the first one to do so would acquire some sort of honour.
As I walked out of the Station, I sighed. Yes, it was just as well I was leaving. These people continued
to insist on attempting to make me out to be something I definitely was not.
Proceeding down the trekway, headed towards the plain, I encountered Rolin on her way to her latest
assignment. The look in her eyes was entirely different from what it had been at our last meeting.
‘We’re going to miss you.’
I smiled. ‘I’ve only been here one day. That’s hardly long enough for me to be missed when I leave.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You have made a definite impression. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll be more
missed than just about any one of the rest of us would be.’
‘Nonsense. The people here depend on you. I just came in to perform one task; the rest of you sustain
and assist them on a daily basis.’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But the fact still remains that, although you may have only come in for one day,
for one task, in that one day you accomplished something absolutely no one else here was able to do in
three months.’
‘I didn’t do it. Master Vaek did.’
‘Maybe so, in the actual application of technique. But he wouldn’t have known what to do if it hadn’t
been for you. He had already tried, more than once.’
I sighed. Here we went again, round and round on the same worn path. ‘So I was a catalyst. So maybe
all it needed was someone coming in from totally outside the situation, with a fresh perspective. It was not
and is not me, specifically; it could have been anyone.’
‘Your humility is commendable, but you take it to extremes. It took me a while to recognize that,
probable because it’s a lesson I’m still learning and a trait I’m still developing. But honestly, I think you
go a bit too far. I mean, you could at least not try to hide your rank.’
I stopped in my tracks and stared at her. She wasn’t implying what it sounded like she was implying. Or
was she? The way these people had been treating me . . . ‘I have never tried to hide my rank. No one has
ever asked it.’
Her eyebrows rose slightly. ‘All right, what is it?’
‘When I left, eighteen days ago, I was six months an Apprentice of Forms.’ Now, what had made me
respond like that? I was still six months an Apprentice of Forms. I had not been gone that long, and my
rank had not magically changed in three weeks.
She said nothing, but her eyes reproached me. I sighed. We had come to the fork in the trekway where
we would be going our separate ways; she had a responsibility to fulfill, and I had a long journey to begin,
with no time to waste standing there attempting to convince her. I smiled, raised my hand in the Workers’
Signal, and turned my eyes towards the plain and the Silva.