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.

Mushroom Tea

 

A barest wisp of steam curled from the top of his mug and drifted up, slowly merging with the same-colored sky. The tea had a heady earthy smell, like sweet forest dirt. It tasted a little bitter, but the astringency was welcome in a warm morning drink. It was made from powdered mushrooms the woman had gathered locally on the mountain slopes. As he considered that, he thought probably it had been her “assistant” who had gathered them. She called him her assistant, though apprentice would be a more correct title. The youth seemed studious and serious enough, so he trusted in their foraging abilities. The tea had a wonderful effect on his mind. He'd felt, these past days, a remarkable focus and clarity in his work, and time seemed to slip by quite smoothly. It only bothered a small part of him that he could not fully grasp how many days he had been here. He had at least a good-enough sense of energies to know this woman did not mean him harm.

What then, did she mean? He sensed the woman in white had an ulterior motive for bringing him here, but could not yet sense the connections. It was only the three of them in this ruined village. Tucked around the elephantine summit rocks were traces of other cottages and hermit dwellings overgrown with moss and weeds. The three small buildings which they occupied were just below the old market square: an open granite round that looked out on valley views between the spruce. Telon had a vague memory of this place; that he had seen an image of it somewhere before. It certainly was not a part of the same mountain he had been on when he met the woman though. She had called over to him from across the small square outside the Abrahim wall. She had been dressed all in white, albeit practically for the mountain conditions, but with the addition of an ethereally thin shawl. He felt a sense of warmth from her that assuaged his mistrust, and he approached. She assured him that he could meet with the observatory scholars if he wished, but that she might be able to better direct his energies. She said she had the answers he sought, but could also tell him more about how his kind should respond. The scholars were not so willing to share their knowledge, she said. He had kept the appointment they set at the “burnt rock” just outside of the village, knowing he was entering a trap. It was a gentle sort of trap though, as he continued to sense no malice in her or her young assistant. Additionally, he had been very curious about her at the time, a feeling that had not been assuaged.

It was the transport that nagged at him. He still wasn't sure how she had effected it. The woman in white said she had long been able to “slip” between similar aspects of a landscape. She would project out through meditation into an imagined body in another place with similar characteristics to the one which her body occupied. If her concentration and openness were strong enough, she could even interact with things in that other place. She said she had manually “captured” the blue-cloaked scholar's consciousness here on this other summit, using the rocks as a conduit. The ensuing paradox resolved by manifesting a body for the consciousness and effectively “teleporting” him from one peak to the other. As he stood here on the sloping rock summit drinking his tea, Telon wondered if this cloak was really the same one he had had all these years. The fabric had the exact same wear and age, but it seemed so improbable that it was here.

Holding the warm cup in his hands, Telon gazed out into the morning fog. It had been thicker lately, but he didn't mind: it made for good meditating. He had been staring these recent days out into the clouds, trying to sense the patterns out there in the world. What was the flow of those patterns and how could one best prepare to float amongst them? The woman said there was a change occurring. The proper patterns and aspects of the worldly flow were becoming more chaotic. She was concerned for the dysregulation of those patterns. Telon had always had a knack for the energetic work of landcraft, even though his specialty was research. This woman though seemed more knowledgeable than most scholars he had met. He told himself again that her force was a positive one, but knew he should maintain his natural wariness all the same.

A light breeze had developed, and Telon secured his cloak more around his body. The morning air of late had developed a chill to it that he did not remember from his previous time in the mountains. He reasoned though that he had been by the lake-shore and in the valleys for a while before this, and possibly had just forgotten the effects of elevation. The peak with the ruined village was lower than Abrahim, but still sat at a good height. On clear days there were far-reaching views to many sides, and Telon could see a line of deep-green mountains stretching southward. There would be no views this morning however, and he turned to descend back to the cabins. His tea was nearly finished and he knew the woman would want to confer with him about their plans for the day. They usually spent their time working apart, but would often discuss their findings or goals for study. Telon's day would undoubtedly be another productive one of attempting to commune with the subtle patterns in the groves; meditating and working out energetic equations in his journal. Through her guidance he was beginning to see how much information could be gained from the natural world. Everything had connections to other parts of existence, and nature was like a vast library of experiences and wisdom. Telon could see now how much of the essential nature of reality the city scholars had missed. They had only a partial conception of how energy flowed and collected. Telon did not yet understand those inner workings, but he knew enough to see the void in his knowledge. Approaching the cottage, he finished his cup; the mushroom tea was working for sure.

Self-Stories

 

“What is the self?” A scholar had asked that of her class once at the Sanctuary. He wore a brown robe like the other scholar initiates, but spoke with the slower assuredness that marked one who had studied well and long. Ayleah remembered he had been a visiting teacher, substituting in the role that day. The meditation class had often had guest teachers, just one of the things Ayleah had liked about it beyond the material. It was held out in the aspen grove, a stand of young trees at the edge of some wetlands west of the city. The light-colored trunks sprouted in community: sky-reaching branches of one connected organism. Among this friendly family the air felt peaceful and reflective. A soft rustling sound of the aspen leaves high above added to the pleasant atmosphere. There was a small simple room available to them, but Ayleah preferred when they could hold the class outside.

The guest teacher had spoken their question only slightly rhetorically, and looked almost expectantly at the class during his pause for effect. No one answered right away though, so he continued.

“Society will make you believe certain things about the self. It is not at fault with this, society can only be what it was made into by the previous actions of its inhabitants. History creates ideas and beliefs, which harden into preferences about how reality works. What we learn by observing the society around us may not be the truth, but rather a pattern that most people have found convenient for their day-to-day use. And so it is with the nature of the self to the rest of the world.

“Most learn a heuristic: that the self is a thing like any other in the universe. It cannot be sensed in the same way, but it is there, as a solid core, within each and every one of us. This is sometimes personified into the 'soul' or 'spirit', depending on your personal faith or studies.” During these lines he scrutinized the listening class, as if trying to see what each of their “core selves” were like.

“This pattern creates a classical problem though: how do we account for the connection between the world and the mind of the self? How are physical sensations and chemical processes translated into spirit, and commands translated back again? The answer is in the truth that this is a false conception of the self. We are not core packets of soul-stuff. Our inner light is a result of the self and a product of its doings, not its building blocks. The energy of our selves is only unique in how it differs in form. Each of us manifests a different pattern of energy, but it is in essence the same beautiful stuff. It also exists in other bodies of the world, living and inert, but that is a talk for another time.

“What we think of as “the self” is just a cohesion of influences and energies that changes in small but meaningful ways all the time. We create the self by our actions and behaviors; by our thoughts, feelings, and how we respond to them. Over time, patterns that are learned and trained stabilize if they are helpful. Of course, unhelpful patterns can be destructive, but we can prune them and guide them as we would a tree or shrub.”

The teacher had continued, expanding on the shrubbery metaphor, but Ayleah's mind now moved to thoughts of her own self. Kaeri had influenced these thoughts of late, with their own inscrutable ways of selfhood. She knew there was something about her that connected with the energies of the world. Not that others didn't, but with her the channels seemed especially open. The others around her had an appreciation of the natural world, but did not seem as enraptured by its energies. She felt pulled to certain spots, and repelled from others. It was not an uncontrollable sense, but enough to arouse her curiosity. Indeed, and unfortunately she realized, the last couple days she felt she had paid less attention to her companions, so distracting were these thoughts. How long had they been up here, in the mountains? Time had also become less sure to her perception.

The words of the plain-robed teacher back at the sanctuary mingled with what Kaeri had told her. More and more Ayleah felt there was no true self, only a center that identified with itself. With no identification, there could be no action, coherence, or sanity. She was comforted by the fact that that coherence took no effort, but to be conscious of it was still unnerving. Somehow there is more trust in an automatic process if it is invisible. Exposed to the light though, things were easier to fix, and so Ayleah felt she was at least moving in the right direction.

Isak's farm helped her to explore this creation. While working in the meadows and glades she spent a good deal of time thinking and practicing the art of self-hood. Understanding the self and cultivating the mountain produce went nicely hand-in-hand. Both were meditative activities, which required focus and skill. Isak's presence also did not detract. He was kind and confident yet reserved and gentle in his motions. After facing strife in his childhood, he had started his farming young. Now barely older than Ayleah herself, he could claim a successful business, and a stable role in the community. He had little in the way of scholarly learning, but didn't miss it, as an innate wisdom seemed to flow from within him when it needed to.

The farm was well-staffed, and well-stocked. They had groves of sweet young fir trees, and thickets of berry bushes. They had gardens of mountain herbs and flowers, and extensive moss farms where they produced sod for landscaping. They had a good quantity of wood available, both sturdy and weathered for building and rotten for mulching and earthwork. Isak was a perfect gentleman in every way, and welcomed Ayleah onto the farm. She stayed in a small cottage like the others who lived and worked there, but it seemed Isak treated her differently than a typical crew member. As for Ayleah, she was in no hurry to continue on. The farm seemed where she needed to be for now. There had been no sign or sound of the woman in white at Lincoln Peak, and she did not know where else to look for Telon. Grive would let her know right away if there was any word; he stopped in once in a while to catch up with Isak, who he saw as a bit of a protégé. Ayleah thought again of her previous conversations with Kaeri about destiny. These terms seemed so heavy and deep in their implications, but maybe it all wasn't that complicated. Maybe, Ayleah thought, this is a good place for me- maybe I could create a good self for my destiny here, or is it a good destiny for my self? Isak, she thought, seemed to have a pretty good handle on his own self. And he was more than fairly good-looking too.

She must feel safe, he reasoned. Ayleah being how she was, Jaen knew she must have a good sense of trust for Isak, though they had only recently met. Grive had vouched for him as a quality member of society of course, but Ayleah always seemed to keep her own counsel when judging other people. Isak had a calm, accepting demeanor. He seemed to keep busy with his work, though he was never in a hurry. There was a quiet confidence in his humble manners that was obviously attractive. It shed a light, for Jaen, on some of his own faults. He had been too self-conscious, and preoccupied with his duties leading the group. He had no-one but himself to blame for not making more of a move.

Isak gave her the space she needed. Ayleah had been troubled lately, as news of her missing mentor had been scarce. Her conversations with that Kaeri person hadn't seemed to help. Something they had told her had made Ayleah more unsure. The Ayleah that Jaen knew did not lack in confidence, and so it seemed good she was taking time away for herself. Whether or not she was infatuated with the handsome farmer did not bother Jaen too much. He doubted that anything would come of it, though at the same time wondering if the doubt was only imagined to comfort himself. What was surprisingly hard to admit was that either way it was probably the right move for her.

Not that Jaen wouldn't be around. Grive planned on keeping him for a few moon-cycles at least, claiming he had found his new top ranger captain. He had even hinted that, should Jaen do well, he could stay on indefinitely. “At least until I find someone better.” the grizzled uncle had said.

Whatever he had been at the trailhead, Jaen was more aware by now. His forays into the mountain wilderness on scouting trips for Grive gave him life. It was a raw, earthy sort of life, mingled with the brisk clean air. He warmed to leading teams, over time becoming a favorite among the mountain rangers. Under Jaen's command, expeditions were always successful and completed near schedule. They sometimes took unorthodox routes and came back brimming and beaten with the spirit of adventure, but they always brought back valuable information on trading and resources. The young captain began to feel more and more like the man he knew he could be.

Jaen saw little of the farm on Little Abrahim, but occasionally thought of the young woman working and living there. Had she found herself yet? At times Jaen felt like he had drifted from the main story, as if something of importance was happening elsewhere from where he was. When he had these thoughts, he told himself that the truth was he had his own story. It was a pretty good plot so far, and he still thought he could make it into something even greater.

Journaling in Public

 

Despite its warmth, the black cloak was no comfort today. Usually it afforded a sort of protection; a shield from the rest of the world. He had always liked the black cloak because it could hide him away in plain sight. It brought a confidence and mystery to his presence. Not today though. Today he felt conspicuous in his stew of embarrassment. Luckily it was only a private embarrassment; there was as yet no perceived connection between him and the raiders who had caused such a scene at the Battell Trailhead. He had made sure, of course, to tie up those loose ends.

And so he was forced to give up his pursuit of the mysterious girl. The brothers had failed him, and would take some time inside the mirror to consider their mistake. He was sure someone would find them eventually, or they would by dumb luck break the mirror trap themselves. Either way, they would probably be fine in the end, just a little hungry. His connection to them had been broken. They were never supposed to attack the caravan, only spy and report. He had made that very clear to them, and hated when people did not listen to his instructions. Unfortunately, they also would not likely work for him again, and so would miss any opportunity to impress him with a lesson learned.

To lose the girl was infuriating. She had held so much promise as a source of power. He knew that someone who was that connected to the elemental energies could manipulate reality in more than sufficient ways. She had been the key to his portal work: he needed the connection to raw power that she had. Now whenever he meditated on her countenance the orange flame rose to block his way. It burned, reddish and fierce, though without flicker or heat. A silent barring of his way to where she was in the mountains. He probed out, trying to find some rivulet through which he could spread influence, but the orange-red guardian was imbued into rocks and roots, always tripping him up in the damp fells and knobbly slopes.

The man in black did not like having to change course, but nevertheless had a backup plan. Another color had struck him during his meditations. A sort of rich light purple, the hue of a delicate wildflower. It had a strong glow, more vibrant than any papery petal, and pulsated in a soft way that seemed to give off radiance to the things around it, bathing them in a dark light. He was entranced by this presence, and could tell it was a nexus of exceptional power. It had intention even, like the orange-red presence, but seemed barely interested in him. There was not quite the edge of hostility, but a quiet confidence that kept him at bay. This purple energy swept its vector across the land from the western shores inland and north a little ways. It had colored the whole swath.

The man looked up from his journal to the surrounding square. This multi-city center was on the top of a high hill, and had a very rural feel. To his right stood a community complex, and a few humble city buildings lined the way along the ridge. A stiff breeze pulled at his collar from behind. It smelled of the distant lake and marshes cradled among these hills. A faint scent of wood smoke mingled in the air, reminding him of the surrounding culture. The people of this land went about lives completely separate from his concerns. They did not necessarily know an apocalypse was coming. Maybe some old folks had a premonitory feeling, but if the scholars themselves were vague on the subject...

Many of these folks though, he realized, utilized the energy about and around them unconsciously in sometimes incredible ways. The skills, intuitions, and bearings of the average villager would be a near impossible thing to teach. They were no dumb automatons, the folk of the hills.

The few who crossed the square and noticed him showed only minor suspicion. He wouldn't be here long enough to rouse much feeling, but any stranger in a black cloak could be conspicuous. Maybe he was imagining some of the atmosphere though. It was all in his head today, his energy wasn't right and he felt it in the lack of confident self-presence.

He had been contemplating how he would get the energy for the portal meditation. The power he needed lay in one of these elemental entities, but the method of transfer could be problematic. If these nexuses were truly beings, and beings composed primarily of elemental energy, then taking on that energy might mean a draining of their life-force. He thought back to previous times when he had consumed the energy nexuses he found in the wild. Had those been like small elemental animals that he had eaten? These thoughts had challenged his conceptions of morality, and adjustments would have to be made in what he considered right, or necessary. Would he have to fight, or kill to get this power? He was just about to weigh whether or not he could, when he realized blood was already on his hands. They had killed someone at that trailhead. Not even the brothers, but some ruffians they had brought on to the job. Nevertheless it was on his hands. He could not go back on that part of his quest. Was the girl manipulating reality around her that much?

The man in black resolved to maintain independence. He was master of his own story, and would find power another way. Maybe the purple energy would work willingly with him. If it was a being as beautiful as it felt, maybe they could go to the alter dimension together. It had once looked at him through the mirror, or as much as such can do without features. The blank gaze was one of gentle challenge, and stuck in his mind now as he traveled northward.

Mia had seen the man in black, as he meditated upon her presence. She let him find her energetic nexus, guiding him to some groves where she would wait. He was one of those snakes of men. They knew how to get power, and stopped at nothing in their quest for it. She knew not to trust him, but was curious how far he would get if she let down her guard. He had power of his own, black and shadowy, that she could use. She wanted to taste all of the energies of the world, knowing the full palette for the painting in her new order of things. So she waited, dancing with the small things of the forest, bare feet flitting in the pine needles and hemlocks tall above her head.

Distractions

 

Sutton called for a halt to the vans when he recognized the oldest of the three men standing in the small green. A cross-path met the main road at a bend, creating an open space. The men were in casual conversation, standing off to the side making use of the pleasant clearing. Ayleah thought it would make for a delightful village square if there were more houses nearby. The land was flattish, and sun beat easily past the sparse canopy of spruce. Smaller evergreen bushes grew densely about the intersection, but looked to give way to enchanting glades down the side paths. Numerous downed logs crossed above the mossy undergrowth, supported by their columnal branches and even older fellings. A cycle of the woods perpetuated here faster than usual in the harsh climate and exposure: the mighty trees always reached up to the sky in blessing until they were cast back down to feed the earth once more. Ayleah felt a good balance here; suspended between the earth and sky on a rocky pinnacle. The ground was sturdy, flat and stable, and the stunted trees gave some comfort. There was a thrill behind the screen though: an awareness of the wild open into which this land thrust itself against the elements. There was power and mystery around and above, as well as softness and refuge among the mossy terrain. Such delicate plants grew among the folds of stone and wood. Ayleah was in wonder once again.

From the van parked at the small moss square, she looked out to the men Sutton had greeted. He seemed to know the oldest, who had a comfortable air about himself. One other Ayleah didn't recognize, but the third gave her a mild start. He was someone she had seen around the Sanctuary: a Plainfielder of muscular build. He worked in the city's landscaping division, she thought. Sutton didn't seem to know him though, and she wondered why he was all the way up here, chatting with the locals. Bellinda and Jaen had gotten out of the vehicles as well, so Ayleah figured she might as well go see what this was all about.

.

Jaen had not seen his uncle in some time, and was prepared for some sort of reprimand for his previous presumption and hot-headedness, news of which had undoubtedly reached the peak township by this point. Grive however, only met Jaen's upright and braced posture with a congenial smile. “Jaen, my boy! How are you- how was the journey?” He gave his nephew a warm handshake and a firm gaze; Grive was not one for hugging in public.

“Well enough, thanks uncle. It was really these new vans though, they handle great on the rocks.” Grive gave Bellinda a friendly grin. “You keeping this party in line Bellinda? These are your vans aren't they?” Bellinda stepped forward and shook his hand, returning the smile. “Yes sir. Your nephew is a fine captain.”

“Didn't think to find you standing by the roadside Grive,” said Sutton, “who are your friends here?” Grive indicated the man furthest from him. “This here's Isak. He runs the most successful farm in this township. Most of his property is actually right over there.” He pointed at the western side path, but swept his hand to indicate a large swath of the ridge. “I brought my new friend Heln down here today to see if Isak could assist in a little project we've been doing.”

Ayleah stepped out of the van and joined Atkins and Jaen's warrior friend a few paces behind the group. Atkins was leaning on the edge of an old stump and studying some delicate spore-like plants that were sprouting from the green carpet. The ranger was softly at attention, scanning the surrounding forest as if casually taking in the sights. Flor had not left the van, his head buried in a textbook. Kaeri though, was nowhere to be seen. It was proof to Ayleah of her suspicion that Kaeri did not actually travel with them. The hitchhiking had been only a means of meeting her.

The farmer had noticed her, and it brought Ayleah back out of her thoughts. He seemed not much older than her, actually. A young man well-established here at a prestigious township. Well-groomed and of clean style too. His gaze lingered just a half-second too long before he turned to the conversation again. Slightly flustered for no apparent reason, Ayleah turned the other way and asked Atkins about the plant she was studying.

.

Heln was distracted. He had sensed the vans approaching before he saw them. It could have been their sound, or some movement in his periphery though. Just some sliding of color beyond a screen of branches. It was the wrong color though; the vans were a blueish-gray. Even the headlight covers were not bright enough at distance to account for that flash of orange. Furthermore nothing in the conversation could have generated it. Isak seemed a fine gentleman, relaxed and confident in his ways. He had a good rapport with Grive, though Heln could sense there was an underlying quiet tension there. If Isak had something to do with the orange-red elemental, then he surely would have known as soon as they met. The farmed forest around had only a pleasant placid quality to it. However, this group had now shown up on the road, and he was positive they were connected to his quest. The young man who was their leader seemed similar to Grive, if only in general bearing, and was soon revealed to be the premir's nephew. The others seemed normal enough, none even glinting with orange. One young woman though, who had exited a van but kept back a bit, intrigued him. She had an inquiring gaze that said she was more than just a part of this expedition. As soon as he looked at her though, he felt a sharp pain in his thigh. Assuming it was a biting bug, he quickly swatted at the spot and forgot what he had been thinking.

His leg assuaged, Heln noticed a bright rock at his feet. It was a burnt orange, with bands of a deeper color that shimmered as light caught its surface. It had an irregular rounded shape, as if it had been tumbled in a machine. He picked it up, examining the deep-reddish surface. The light made rainbows in those shimmering bands, refracting in blinding gleams across his vision. Heln turned the piece in his hands and held it up to ask the others if they knew what kind of rock it was. None of them recognized it. The nephew Jaen said it looked like some of the gemstones he had studied, but Grive said nothing like that could be found naturally up here. They had seemed surprised too at his abrupt change of topic, and quickly returned to their introductions and catching up between the nephew, his uncle, and their friends. Still intrigued, and slightly confused, Heln slipped the stone into his pocket, knowing he would study it more later.

Connected

 

Ayleah knew that Kaeri was peculiar, but also knew that Kaeri was not exactly human. This gave some leeway on their nature. It would not seem so strange to her if Kaeri appeared to shift their appearance with each interaction, or seemed to suddenly be in a place they hadn't been before. The two of them had only had a couple of conversations, but she had learned quite a bit from the hitchhiker. They had not had much opportunity for interaction on the road though. Ayleah figured Kaeri had been traveling with Bellinda, but didn't remember seeing them at either of the rest points. The alpine surroundings had been so enthralling that she probably just hadn't noticed their presence.

The two times Ayleah had spoken with Kaeri, their conversations had been deep and interesting, but to no definitive end. It seemed to Ayleah that this person had a deep-seated interest in her, but would not fully explain why. Kaeri looked to be younger than Ayleah, but felt much older somehow. They would ask her about things she had studied at the Sanctuary, especially around the topic of energy perception and manipulation. None of the lessons seemed new to the other, but Kaeri was nevertheless fully engaged. Ayleah told them what she had learned about tuning into the energies of land, working with natural forces in landscaping efforts, and procedures for consecrating or protecting a space. Kaeri reiterated that the scholars were misled in their understanding of natural energies. “For all their good intentions'” Kaeri had said, “they don't have the right grasp of how it really is. They see energy as a separate substance that imbues objects, places, or beings with a magical quality, when it's actually the underlying substrate that permeates all those things at all times.” The scholars' techniques, Kaeri said, were useful in manipulating energy, but could perhaps be more impactful if they acknowledged the true connectedness of reality.

This thought had begun to change the way Ayleah looked at the world. The understanding of connectedness was a sort of quiet seeping revelation. Energy had always seemed to her like overlaid currents of magic, flowing through the world and concentrating here and there. Now the world seemed to her to be a vibrating whole; a unified breathing of that energy into every corner and extremity. Places that felt more powerful were concentrations not of power, but of harmony.

They had stayed the night in comfortable accommodations at Abrahim, passing a lovely evening in company of some of the amiable locals. The next morning it was still cloudy, and they set off north along the ridge, leaving the open rock of the summit village. Almost as soon as they were back into the scruffy forest they began to descend. The road was a hardened lane of sparkly gravel between mossy spruce woods. They rolled down rocky ledges much like the ones on the ascent, though none proved very formidable. The drivers both seemed comfortable, letting the vans gain a bit of speed as they swept down each of the rocks. The load had been much reduced by now, and they were a vehicle less in the party. The third transport was empty now, and its crew were from the area, so they had stayed behind. The three of them were seasoned mountain-born, and were enjoying the hospitality of the summit village.

A while passed and Ayleah noted that they were still descending. She knew their course was only along the ridge-line to the next peak, but now wondered how far down the road would go before climbing again. From the valleys, this mountain had looked nearly flat along its multiple peaks, but being this intimately close with the terrain gave a better understanding of how varied it actually was. They were still on a high ridge though. Ayleah could tell that the level land here was barely the width of the peninsula of her home village. The difference was that here instead of a lake to either side there were steep forested slopes dropping away from sky. She could see they were now under the cloud layer, and sometimes a bit of color appeared in the blue through the spruce trunks: hints of far-off hills. It was just enough to remind the travelers of how high up they still were. The woods around were a mess of moss and fallen evergreens. New evergreens sprouted in the midst all fuzzy and fragrant. Insects and birds swerved and darted around, seemingly oblivious to the special nature of their land. The road dipped into wet glades where tiny trading squares battled for space with the mud, and homes dotted the sides of small knolls. They crossed over minor unmarked summits and around the sides of rocky knobs that poked up in an effort to maintain the ridge. Eventually one of these knolls proved larger than the rest, and they climbed again for a short while. When the road flattened, there was a burst of sunlight. The two vans had come around a corner of rock into a section of younger forest. The sky was more open here. All along the heights of this smaller summit trees had been felled, mostly by natural causes, and the shrubby newer growth brought an almost meadow-like feeling to the narrow high-elevation ridge. Ayleah breathed in the sunlight from her open window. The smells of the forest air and the closeness of the sky filled her head and warmed her heart. It felt good up here.

Plainsman

 

The people of the plains used to think they went on forever; that the world was nothing but endless seas of grass undulating beneath the heavens. Trees were still sparse in that region, only clustering more densely near cities or around the great rivers which cut into the land. Those western plains laid out as a tapestry of greens carved by rich waterways of all sizes. The sages of his homeland knew much of water and the subtle cradling slopes along which it traveled. The land was in symbiosis with the water, at its mercy, and in a dance that holds the balance for life. Its flows are complicated, yet can be understood enough to form a working friendship. Heln had fond memories of the places of his childhood, its endless meadows and playful placid creeks. It was a main reason for choosing to settle at the Sanctuary when he journeyed to the east. Its land reminded him a bit of his old home.

One can tell though the contrasts in places. While all lands share some basic earthly attributes, they differ from each other in their ambient quality. Teach one has its own uniqueness. Heln had learned to sharpen his perception in this respect as a youth. In his work, he was taught to be aware of his site and surroundings. Proper awareness included not just of the slope and how the water flows on the land, but of how the feeling of the land flows around oneself. He had never fully understood what that was supposed to mean, but different places certainly had different qualities of pull, motion, or rest. He could feel when a place was stable, or if it had motion, how one might best utilize that force.

Back west in the plains, questions of these overall feelings had seemed to be much more subtle. There was a general sense in all places on the land that they dwelt on a benevolent and quiet locale, and slopes were vast, softly rolling things. Areas studied by sages were carefully inspected and historical understandings were a matter of careful and deep study. That was a similarity at the Sanctuary. Heln delighted in his work out in the fields, helping to control the water systems. Work in such flat places required an understanding of subtlety, patience, and an embrace of the sun and sky. Mud, tall grass, and the hum of insects was a paradise for him, accentuated by the blue sky and the sweat of labor.

When he saw the horizon though, all was different. These were not the fields of his land; the soft rolling hills secure beneath his feet. These low-lying fields only compared to the river-plains out west. Back home there was a sharp separation: grand wooded bluffs raised rounded shoulders above the floodplain. Down there the land felt unsure, more claimed by the river than the sky. The forested slopes formed a wall that raised up the lands of Heln's childhood above the unpredictability of the great flow. They considered the entity which lifted them above chaos to be the real living land; the floodplain and river were in a symbolic and literal sense, further from the sun. Here though, the low flat fields were the only open space. Here in the east the plains gave way, often more quickly than Heln would have liked, to dense forest and steep slopes which seemed to have little to no space at their summit.

Mountains, even small ones, had an air of deep mystery. They were not the life-giving arms of the river bluffs, but rather seemed like dormant gods. They lounged and rested on the landscape, slowly considering their domain. They grew moss and woods in their repose, stretching wild around their base and hiding secrets in their folds. The open fields of human striving seemed to cower at the feet of these mysterious giants. Even the flat-woods of the region had an ominous air, as many seemed only outposts from the main forest range. Heightening the intrigue, some of those dark hills grew so tall that their tops disappeared, regularly, into the clouds. Heln had heard of folk living on those far summits, but had a difficult time truly believing the stories. He could feel the natural power of those places from even down here in the valleys, and he could sense the intensity of their elements. How would it feel to actually set foot on those upper heights, and what would one find at the peak?

- - -

So far, Heln's experience of the mountains had become one of wonder. Traveling the steep ridgeline, he marveled at the hermit communities that burrowed their ways into the moss-covered slopes. They showed a level of hardiness hardly imagined by his perception of humans back in the plains. The alpine residents showed frugality and generosity in nearly paradoxical amounts, and seemed genuinely satisfied with their lot; as if they shared in some secret of the mountain. There was simply an amount of life up in the higher elevations for which Heln was not properly prepared. The forest and other natural features sheltered sprawling townships from the elements. The land too, was not nearly as bleak as it had seemed from a distance. Bright green mosses and rich reddish earth contrasted over stones which sparkled in the sunlight. Heln could see why scholars and other spiritual people held the place in high regard. It was almost as if the “real land” here constituted only a tiny percentage of the region. The river vales were wide and vastly more populated, but the real power was up on these high slopes.

Cultivation of his wonder did not stop with the observance of the land. Heln stopped for lunch at a village which clustered about a partially-open summit, and encountered the object of what he had thought would be a much longer quest. Fen Golbein, the so-named master of colors, wore a cloak of pale motley that well accented the whiteness of his hair. He was older, and not terribly fit, so Heln had little difficulty in catching up to his gait. The sage had greeted a villager who had called him by name. Seeing the dress and character of the indivdual, Heln realized his good fortune and knew he had to introduce himself. Fen proved an amiable fellow, and the two talked for some time.

Heln told Fen about his hallucinations of light, including the orange flashes. They discussed the meanings of the color orange, as well as any possible personal significance it might have to Heln. Fen was particularly interested in the claim that Heln's experiences had no perceived medical basis. They both trusted the opinions of the doctors at the Sanctuary in the matter, so Fen was curious about a potential spiritual etiology. The two agreed to meet again, and subsequently spent many days looking into what sources of information they could find on the mountain. Between scholarly study and experiments out in the spruce forest they began to learn more about the nature of the lights Heln was seeing. It seemed to be an entity with no clear origin from the external world. It had an earthly nature, but was foreign to both Heln and Fen. It seemed to be trying to communicate with Heln, but also gave off a teasing sort of energy. It would appear as subtle gleams on objects, or as a vague bodily shape for barely an instant before vanishing completely. Both the sage and the plainsman began to feel some frustration in their efforts.