Vesti

 

Morning broke bright and clear around the cottage at the end of the forest road. There was no hint of the wildness of the night before; shafts of golden light pierced through old hemlock trees and woke little birds who twittered and called their morning songs. Under the trees a sleepy failure of a village clustered near a small babbling riverside. One cottage stood well-kept at the end of the road, set back from the rest of the village on a little knoll. The village seemed almost to disregard the place, though its main street almost led right to the dwelling's doorstep.

The cottage door opened, and a witch emerged into the new daylight, smiling assuredly. The weather seemed a good omen. Grabbing her walking cane and making sure her pockets were secure, she set off across the yard and past where the roadway ended near her house. From this point the path turned into a rougher trail that led upstream; where the brook emptied from an open marsh. There were few visitors that ventured past her grove, and so the old roadway had grown over and decayed past most points of recognition. It had actually only been a few cycles of the moon since she had first explored the wilderness of her backyard and blazed this more follow-able path.

That first venture out had been difficult going. The reed grass, though not too brambly, was tall and thick. By the time she had broken through to the water's edge she was covered with little seedpods, and twigs stuck in her shoes. Down in the open floodplain it was no easier though, since the footing was entirely on large rounded rocks covered with a hidden layer of slick moss. The thin grass that covered the moss provided no extra grip as she stumbled along the riverbank, trying to find more stable ground. Eventually she had discovered a small island of good earth: an abrupt berm that stuck out into the course of the water. It seemed that beyond this point was where the marshlands opened more completely. A pleasant trickle of rapids flowed past the grassy lawn, and the slightly raised bit of land gave a view back toward the thicket she had hacked through. The little floodplain with its light grasses lit with sunlight made a nice sight, and she rested for a moment before heading back.

Over the next cycle she had established a proper trail through the thicket and into the marsh. It was a very nice place to go and be in the sunlight. The heads of tall pines waved like spires, ringing the sides of the window of sky. The meadows were always so wonderful. Sunlight and wind played with the fine grass, and butterflies fluttered around, seeking the tangly swamp flowers. As nice as it was to visit though, she never did for very long. Somehow she always felt slightly as though she were being watched. Furthermore, there was a strange sensation: the place and air would seem so nice that she would want to stop and rest a while, but then upon doing so would become turned around and forget her exact bearings for a moment. This began to happen frequently, but only when she was in the marsh. Objects in the periphery of her vision would seem hazy as she walked along the path, but then when she stopped to look at them nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Everything about the marsh seemed quite normal and pleasant, in fact.

A few times then, on her walks behind her home, she had seen things move. Little dark shapes that would dart suddenly away from sight, but she took them to be only bugs or squirrels on nearby trees.

It wasn't really until ten days ago now that she had really suspected anything. That's when she saw the lights. Across the road from her house rose another small hillock that looked out across the marsh bramble. She owned a gazebo on top of the mound, and often took to sitting over there in the evening since the light lasted a bit longer. It also had a better of a view of the marsh, with its pretty ring of pine trees. One evening, as she was about to head back inside, the witch caught a glimpse of movement out in the darkness to the north. One by one, small blue lights floated across the marsh and through the bramble in a seemingly aimless fashion. They were quite far away, but still she used caution and left the gazebo as quietly as she could.

A week ago she had been foolish, and attempted to find the lights. They had come out almost every night, and she decided to just go and see who was making them and for what purpose. She had set out armed with what implements she had, and staked out a likely meadow in the wetlands. Unfortunately, when the lights did appear, they proved utterly unreachable, and would only appear smaller with each step she took toward them. Eventually they led her to the edge of a wide muddy pool. There was no way across, and she was forced to concede defeat.

Last night though, the witch had tried a different tactic. Upon a slate serving board she had brought a napkin spread with a few choice herbs, chocolate cookies, and a few small cups of honey and other nectars. All this she had placed at the foot of the berm, in the best part of the grassy meadow. Feeling trepidacious she had immediately gone back home and had not left the cottage for the rest of the evening. That night the wind had raged harder than she had ever heard in the forest above. Trees cracked and the bushes tossed to and fro in the wild storm. She buried herself in her bed-sheets and said a prayer for her wards of safety to hold.

The sun this morning had swept the dark doubts of her mind away though, and her steady feet had led her by this point to the edge of the grassy meadow. She shook her thoughts clear to return to the present (distraction was probably their main enchanting trick, she figured), and looked, not without some amazement, at the sight before her eyes. The slate serving board was perfectly clean, the cups were washed and in a row on top, and the napkin was rolled beside them. She picked up the cleaned items, said a word of thanks, and returned to her cottage. She wasn't sure who, if anyone, she should contact first.

The Commandant

 

She had studied Ayleah as well, especially as she more and more considered the intriguing girl a part of her natural studies. Atkins had been hired on to the crew as a navigator, but as she traveled further into the mountain she had become enamored with the woodland flora, signs of fauna, and the technical geology that underlay it all. Her journal began to fill equally with notes about the characteristics of ferns as it did with travel tips from local experience. She had been well-trained for expeditions and learned in regional maps, but had never before traveled to the high mountain communities and seen their natures in person.

The trip had given her yet a new sense or appreciation of beauty. It had always seemed a fleeting thing, growing up. Only here and there was something deemed extraordinary and held in high aesthetic regard. When she went to Fort Ettan for training, she had known a different, more stable sense of beauty. It had come from an evening routine that she had kept in those days, finding small quiet moments to reflect. She had liked to stand, in the eve of one of the base's little side doors, for a few moments watching the transition of day to night. It was in an unobtrusive part of the base, and not used much at this time of day. From there though she could see patrolmen on their twilight rounds, their shadows flung and faded by the security lights. The sky would be its deepest shade of glowing blue: any dimmer and it would merge with the horizon of treetops. The lights of the fort created a tight patchwork on the open spaces of grass and tarmac. Varied arrays of lights on other buildings created a pretty tableau. It was not the cozy setting of a village, but had a starkness that she liked and felt comforting nonetheless. It was a beauty that came not just from the momentary sights and sounds, but also from her knowledge of the workings behind that tableau. Beautiful things were even more spectacular when you knew how their systems worked, or what it meant that they did.

Atkins had been well-liked at the base, to the effect that upon graduating the Commandant of the fort issued her a special recommendation letter. With the letter she was assured a favorable first impression on any reputable captain in the region. Commandant Riannath had been a good and fair leader, and Atkins considered her a role model even if their lives had very different types of goals. She had seemed to really care about her charges, and took the security of the base very seriously. The combination of strict order and warmheartedness was admirable in a person of such high standing, and its effect on the fort's operations was obvious.

Riannath herself was not blind to others' perception of her, and held a quiet pride in the place she had made for herself. She had risen through the ranks of the militia, gaining respect from soldiers and citizens alike for her honesty and clear sight. In truth it was easy for her to maintain the perception; she loved what she did for the community and the Empire at large. The military title itself was about as ornamental as that of the Emperor these days. A long-reigning peace had long since shifted the priorities of those offices. As a Regional Commandant, Riannath oversaw mainly civil projects. From the base, her command led large-scale engineering work for the metropolis, as well as storm-water response during weather events. In between were outreach projects to nearby smaller population centers, and drills to keep them ready should the peace ever be threatened.

Not much happened in the Winniaska Valley that escaped the Commandant's ears for long. Surely the metro leaders in the real governmental halls had their own lines of communication, but she was glad of her independence in this regard. If her reputation with the towns- and city-folk was good, her relationship with her soldiers and rangers was even better. Her information held a reliability that she could not get from the metro news, and it often came faster as well.

Riannath did not apprehend that she had achieved her success alone; she owed much to her network of rangers and confidants. They spanned a good breadth of society, and always helped her to understand the greater world, bringing her unique perspectives. They helped to bridge the unavoidable sort of divide between those who worked for the system and the rest of the population. She felt that divide anywhere she went, identifiable as she was. People behaved differently around a person of status or authority. Sometimes she thought it might be easier to be one of the common folk, living out one's life in some small city on the outskirts. Her job held concerns the average citizen would never guess. They had freedom from those worries. They created their own purposes, often for no other reason than that they wished for a purpose. Their worries were their own, hers were those of the whole metropolis. Riannath thought sometimes that it is easier to exist in relation to the system than as a part of its inner workings. She never regretted her path though. The tall militia leader cherished the bonds she had formed, and the power she had to help. At times of disaster, she was often well-prepared, having pieced together the necessary information ahead of the chaos. She made sure she had the knowledge she needed for anything that might be coming because protection of the good structures society had created was paramount to her. That which was good in the world came from structure, properly built and maintained. These structures could be on a grand physical scale, or they could be as the organization of thoughts and feelings in therapy work. In any case, when done properly and for the right reasons, they became beneficial to the future of the city, or the individual, or the relationship involved.

It was for this reason she had initially been drawn to governance. There are systems of government at all levels. Each little village out there in the rural lands has its own Premir and town council, however lowly or high their offices may be. It is a natural sense for people to create structure when joining in community for the good of all. They combine knowledge and resource gathering to make easier lives for each other. Furthermore, townships will often bind together under the domain of a nearby city, benefiting from that relationship in access to goods and services. Neighboring alliances of this sort then all accept certain rules as standard among themselves, forming another level of governance. Eventually, metropolis councils are assembled. Cities in close proximity send delegates to a central location to decide on mutually beneficial living conditions. Even higher, regional governments oversee the behavior of multiple metro areas at once. The concerns at all levels are slightly different, though ideally all aimed at the same goal. It all inspired Riannath, though she had quickly realized only the military arm of the regional governance upheld professionalism to her standards.

Her reason for inspiration earlier in life was also the cause for her disquiet more recently. The real cause were the rangers' reports of late, but her underlying disposition did not help. What did was to tell herself that they were only the overheard rumors of townsfolk. People passed rumors all the time, few of them with any full merit. Still, it was the eerie commonality of these tales from disparate places. Travelers who've reported cloudier days and cold winds on the hillsides, and farmers who swear the night sky has changed even as their neighbors call them lunatics. Even if only some part of these stories were true, it might be the harbinger of some calamity Riannath could not see.

She looked over toward the empty corner, where this whole concerning line of thought had started. The Commandant still did her personal rounds outside, even though one of those scheduled walks had been the instigating event. She enjoyed doing a regular patrol of the base (a part of it at a time). It kept her leadership more hands-on, and she was able to get a feel for the overall workings of the fort. The walk was also long enough for some good thinking time, and almost meditative when the base was quiet. She would sometimes end up near the edge of the base, where a tall fence separated the trimmed military lawn from a rural woodland township on the other side. There was a bare section of ground here: a no-mans-land that was kept clear but not used for anything. On that particular day she had been letting her mind drift (as much as she ever did), her eyes scanning the patrol routine. When looking for anomalies among the very familiar, the mind can detach slightly from the conscious process, operating on automatic. Riannath noticed the environment around her as well as the mundane things of the fort. It was a nice day, and clouds studded a pleasant faded sky. There had been a windstorm one of the previous nights, knocking some leaves from the towering edge of the township. They looked artistic scattered on the short grass, and Riannath went closer to take a look. As she got nearer, something did stand out from the familiar landscape. One of the leaves was inexplicably yellow. The Commandant looked up at the branches high above her. None of the trees seemed sickly, and there were no other visible leaves colored anything but the standard green. Some trees differed in their tone or shade of green, but leaves were never this yellow unless there was something wrong. She inspected the leaf on both sides, covering her nose and mouth in case of fungus, but found nothing. It was simply a yellow leaf. She kept it to herself, but quietly sent out for news from the rangers. What they had eventually reported to her had not made matters better.