Gilbrook

 

His grandfather had been a king. An actual king. He knew there were places where that title still held meaning. There were those rural townships that had not yet bent to the powers of metropolis. Far flung places at the edge of the encroaching cities and deep in what wilderness still remained. In truth, he had no real concept of those wilds. He had lived within this little tame forest most of his life, and knew only the small wilderness of the river valley; any real expedition to a rural kingdom would have left him shaking in astonishment. It is nearly impossible for one to truly imagine the felt power of a place they have never visited themselves.

He sat at one of the stools, facing out at the small square. Over his tea he watched the late morning traffic. The place still functioned as a thriving village market, preserved in its quaint country nature. Two main roads reached out into the flat forest north and east, while a third street dove down the hill behind him to access the Upper Pond. At this tip of the hill, the forest road made a wide curve through town, doubling to form a separate main street. Upscale older houses lined the panoramic shore road below, close to the square yet removed from some of the shade. Over time, the primary area of commerce had shifted east, to what was now known as the Grand Square. The forest roads had widened considerably since his grandfather's time. They were busier now, with constant visitors from nearby cities, or from the military base to the north. The township had changed. It had kept some of its charm, but he felt sometimes it had lost just as much.

They had a good relationship with the fort. Its proximity kept them safe from most of the unsavory activities that plagued other metro-surrounded wild towns. The institute to the east also provided a buffer of safety. Students could be stupid and reckless, but they were usually only a harm to themselves. The historic smaller square was well set away from the center of activity now, and was a haven for locals who relished their quiet rural life. It was still a natural place, even with the wide roads and nearby city noise. He held a certain pride for his township of Gilbrook. It had once been only a small upstream settlement; overflow from the proud Casavant riverside. Down there one could really see remnants of the mighty kingdom that had once ruled the banks. Upon the fall of that regional rule, Gilbrook had separated, claiming the highest ground in the area around a small marshy headwaters. The streams had been dammed, forming the Upper and Lower Ponds, and the new kingdom had flourished. A small but proud locality, Gilbrook had held onto its land and water as cities encroached ever closer. Eventually the headwaters forest was surrounded on all sides, and the township became formally adopted by the Winniaska Metro. The endorsement came with support for emergency services, very positive trade agreements, and additional funding, but required the abdication of the local monarch. The kingdom would be transferred into a township council model, retaining autonomy but reporting regularly to the Metro Parks Department.

The young man watching the square had never begrudged his grandfather's decision. The township had only thrived in the time since. Though he had not followed in the family's steps and sought the Premir position, he still felt a soft obligation to his home. He did sit on a couple of the town boards for organization and development, lending a voice to the shaping of the community. Furthermore though, he kept an eye on the town. He liked to spend time in this or one of the other small village squares in the forest. He would sit in a cafe, or walk along the streets, taking in the energy of the townsfolk, many of which he knew by name. The life of the town was usually friendly, and always interesting. He saw reflected the cultures of the surrounding cities, and how they interacted with the folk who lived here in the woods. He saw how Gilbrook presented itself to its visitors, who came for its quaintness, its magic, and its rural qualities, however modest those may be. Lately the energy of the town seemed to be in a good way, of which he was quite pleased.

This late in the morning the square was quiet, with only a few folk going about on errands. The bustle of the cafe had stilled as well. There was a meditative quality to the air. It only slightly wavered by the interest he took in a new party that had entered the scene. The Commandant of the nearby base was known to visit the forest from time to time, but it was still a sight of note. She seemed pensive today, surrounded by a small protection detail. Looking at her, he guessed the personal squad was merely formal; she clearly had no reason to fear anything in these woods. He wondered why she came though. This wasn't the first time he had seen her come to the township, seemingly on casual business. The base owned a sizable amount of forest itself- surely if she simply wanted to go for a nature walk she had more private options. They headed for the shore road along the pond, taking little interest in the goings-on of the village square. It didn't seem like a military operation, and he reasoned that if there were anything serious going on he would know about it soon enough. Judging from the past sightings though, she was probably off-duty today. What did a military leader like that do in her downtime he wondered?

Tavern Lights

 

“-I tell you, they're even turning the lights on earlier outside this place.”

“Hm, maybe...” the younger man said. “It has been awfully cloudy though lately, the evenings could just seem darker 'cause of that.”

“Yeah, it's been awfully cloudy lately...” the other man gave in a dissatisfied tone, and got up to go use the restroom.

“Don't mind him,” the younger man's friend at the table said. “These apocalypse theories come around every once in a while, but look: we're all still here.”

“Anyway,” he continued, changing the subject. “How are you and Lisa getting along? I heard you finally moved in together! That's gotta be fun” he gave his friend a knowing grin.

The younger man grinned back. “Yeah, it's been pretty great. We've been in the new house almost a couple weeks now, and it's amazing the little things that come up -you wouldn't expect- but I'm crazy about it you know?” He was quick to add the qualifier. “I really am in a good place right now, with her, and, and all.”

Their older companion across the table grinned too. “I'll say it once: she's not too bad on the eyes that's for sure”

“You been eyeing my woman Glenn? I don't think she'd go for the older model in this case.”

“Aw, no! I was talkin about the house! Great bones, that one's got.” they all laughed, and they took another drink through the chuckles.

“What about you?” the younger friend poked back. “Any sweet women-folk in your life Glenn?” The medium-aged fellow joined in. “Oh, I think he's seen more than his fair share, hasn't he?” He gave Glenn a wry look.

“Now now, I'd say I've been fair in all my dealings. True, I have known a few beauties. Why, there was this one girl, way back, I'm pretty sure her name was Mary-belle...she had these black boots that were just huge. They went all the way up-

“What about lately Glenn,” his friend cut in. “Anyone special lately?”

The older man thought a bit. “Naw, I guess no-one lately. Maybe I am too old, but then again, with the women around these parts...now wait a minute. There was that one, I guess, now I guess that did happen.” He looked up at his companions, brow still slightly furrowed in remembrance. “About twelve days ago, in the afternoon. She came in the shop, and it was a slow day, so we naturally got to talking. Now that I think of it I can't remember if she even said why she came in.

“It was the afternoon, and I wasn't too busy, but was working on some of my own projects. This woman comes in, she was absolutely gorgeous, looking back on it.” “What was she wearing?” interjected the friend. “Some sort of blue dress, I think. The memory is a little fuzzy, like a dream.” He trailed off, looking at his glass. “Maybe it's just the beer. Anyway, this woman comes in, and she didn't ask about anything in particular, but she seemed fascinated by the shop. She did ask me about my work, the smithying and shaping. She really wanted to know about the materials, and how I felt about working with them. It was an odd conversation, but at the time I don't remember thinking much of it. She was just so warm and friendly with me that I felt really comfortable. Of course I had a slight suspicion, and kept my eyes open for an ambush, shoplifters, or a sudden turn in her demeanor. Nothing happened though, and afterwards I found nothing gone from the shop. I don't know what her purpose was, or if she was some sort of witch, but she must not have intended me any harm.”

“And you haven't seen her again?”

“I went to the door immediately after she left, thinking I might see which way she went, but there was no sign of her in the street. The more I think of it, the more I think she must have been some kind of witch...her eyes were this entrancing blue...like the color of the lake on a still day.”

Just then their other friend returned from the restroom, and the talk shifted again. At a nearby table however, a different set of ears had already heard enough. Riannath hadn't intended to overhear the conversation, but was sitting alone, and in a place where the sound from their table seemed to naturally carry. She had perked up at old Glenn's story of the mysterious visitor at his shop. It matched uncannily with the reports from the rangers. Villagers in the valleys would sometimes report strangely wondrous items that could not be found when next looked for, but this was the first story she had heard of a whole person behaving like that. Riannath knew where Glenn's blacksmith shop was, and decided to put together a patrol for the local woodlands. If this woman, or more like her, were in the metro area, perhaps Riannath's team could find a trace of them. Rumors in the villages were never without some base in reality, and if these stories did have any truth to them, there was a potential concern for the stability of society. She liked to stay ahead of this sort of thing. The Commandant finished her drink and went to pay, briefly stopping by the table with the four friends on the way.

After she was gone, the older friend, who had been in the restroom, turned to Glenn and said in a low voice. “You can't be telling stories like that out in public man. You see the kind of attention it attracts?”

Glenn shrugged him off. “Relax Hearl, she was off-duty. Plus, if she really had a problem with us, do you think we'd still be here drinking?”

“I guess you're right, but still, old pal, just be careful.”

“Come on man, lighten up a bit...”

“Aw, you don't know anything...”

“Did you see the boots on her though?”

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.

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.