On the Riverbank

 

How many stories have begun with some variation on the same thought? To think that the world is changing is the most unoriginal realization. It has always been changing, that was one of the first truths the seeker learned. If they learned it early enough, they would be able to develop a healthy appreciation for that inconstancy.

So much arose and fell from day to day, that it did no good to worry about the minutia of each situation. Events, even drastic ones, could not touch the underlying reality of the world. There was a solidity there that survived all the chaos of surface life. It gave it a supportive platform for chemical reactions and the resulting whims of consciousness. Indeed, intention was born from a strong foundation, but could never affect that foundation. Whenever it tried it would be pushed back and humbled by those laws greater than its comprehension.

Therefore storytellers throughout time have begun with a similar premise: the world faces a time of upheaval, and not just in those surface patterns, but in the underlying fabric itself. Such stories insist the listener examine their own confidence in that cosmic structure. The stories call out to the spirit inside them that yearns to see beyond, and to embrace a newfound humility from the sight.

The difficult thing about studying reality, the sage realized, was that it truly did contain multiple dimensions beyond those of which his brain was capable of conceptualizing. There were so many facets to consider, so many vectors and energies and desirous influences. Each time it seemed like one held a full mental concept of how reality worked, there was a whole other side of things suddenly found to be overlooked. It was like examining at a crystal with an infinite number of sides. One could know about the relations between the sides: how they were shaped and fit together. One could even get a general sense of the shape of the crystal, but without details. No matter how many times you turned it over in your mind, examining each of the sides and points, there would always be at least one side which you had never even seen.

What keeps me engaged is the undeniable, incredible beauty of the crystal in question. I have never tired of its examination, and I know that whatever breadth in my experience of it has only increased my understanding. Each facet is yet a part of the same crystal. Knowledge of one part may seem wildly different from knowledge of another, but they both refer back to the same whole reality. Sometimes accepting both points of view creates a paradox, or temporarily increases confusion. I've learned to embrace those uncertain moments though- usually the conflict dissolves through elucidation of the underlying structure.

Now I have gone to the Pellier Mounts, and met with the sages there. I have studied their maps and charts; gleaned all I can from their towers of high knowledge. I have spoken with street sages and forest hermits along the ways. I have even conferred with Premirs and other regional stewards like myself. From all these disparate sources there has been some agreement: a change is occurring in the world. The way in which energy moves throughout the land is altering. It has always formed certain small cycles, overlapping each other to build the constant state of what we call reality. The forces that keep us alive and allow the world to grow in its various ways are cyclical patterns of energy. These cycles resonate with each other to form a structure of tension and release that exists across multiple dimensions. That these cycles are tightly packed and overlapping yet apply interdimensionally is the reason for the smooth constancy of our existence. Now it seems there is a new rhythm being generated; a new pattern of cycles. This new rhythm is shifting the harmony of the cyclical patterns, and making them align into larger energetic groups. The cycles are now trending toward larger energies as they consolidate. It seems that if left unchecked, the effect of this new resonance will be catastrophic but ultimately quite harmonious.

Most of the scholars seem to care less about trying to halt this change than about preparing for its effects. They know what I do as well: that once an energetic rhythm like this is begun, it begins to perpetuate itself. It would take now an insurmountable amount of power to reverse this change, which only speaks to how great a power must have created it in the first place. Who or what is responsible for this new resonance? We affect our own external situations through a simple focusing of our energy, and come to believe that we are the prime movers of the world. This new effect seems to be coming from the universe itself though, no single being or organization could cause the effects I've seen in my research.

If it is a shift coming from that mysterious foundation beneath all of life, then how will we adapt? Will we even know what is coming until it does? When we till a field for crops we know exactly the impact and timing of our actions, but does the field know when it is about to be tilled? Perhaps we have been too complacent about our relationship with the greater world. Maybe we have assumed for too long that there is a constancy beneath our daily life. If there is consciousness at all behind this change, then its intent may be to teach us a lesson.

The sage looked out across a broad river that still showed no signs of any change to its natural patterns. Its clear water riffled over rocky shallows and cool brown depths just as it always had. From down there anyone looking up at the bank might never know he was there. His cloak was a rich and light-filled green, though a sharp-eyed person might notice that it was not quite the right color green for the leaves around him. Lucan's colors were more suited to the fields and dappled groves of his sanctuary. He let the thought of that place enter his mind more fully, softly wondering what it wanted. The face of the sanctuary's house-sage swam by awareness. Yes, Lucan mused, Davai has probably thought of all this as well by now.

Clarity

 

The Commandant did keep a meditation practice. It was no full-on devotion, just a positive habit; a tool she could turn to for organizing her life. It did not require much, simply a quiet space preserved at regular times for emptying her presence. It was not that she was able to think more clearly during meditation, as the process involved removing attachment to thoughts. Rather, it seemed she was able to gain a sort of clarity throughout her entire being from this practice. That included her mind, and with the sense of clarity came lines of thought that were naturally better-ordered and more productive for her goals. It was a great way to monitor the beneficial growth of her internal systems. Governments existed at all levels.

Today Riannath had left the base, pursuing a spot for a deeper meditation than usual. She needed to get away from the familiar rooms and lawns, to get some distance from the worries that blanketed those spaces. The neighboring forest township had good relations with the Fort, and it was not uncommon to see enlisted men or women there enjoying a country outing. Riannath herself brought little in the way of picnic supplies, but went enrobed by her personal security detail. The measure was unnecessary in the woodland town, yet it kept up a certain sense of formality about her movements. The Commandant did not want too much attention drawn to her, but also had no desire to hide her activity. She led a small crew, captained by a reliable and amiable man named Geordi, to the outlook on a little marshy lake. Just a little ways back up the slope lay the village center, and one could get a good sense for the township from here. Metropolis built right up to the forest, nearly on all sides, but it still felt peaceful. The wind in the high tops of the trees just barely overpowered background hums from society. The lake itself really was a glorified marsh, dammed up in some ancient time and now settled back into a semi-natural state. Crumbled remnants of the barrier stood on the other side, giving view to a larger, deeper pool beyond. Back then the water level must have been higher, Riannath thought. It would have come right up to this spot. This outlook and shore road could have been a fishing port in those days. Now a low shelter stood dry on this side of the road, taking in the view across the water. Riannath set the guard at a distance, and settled into her practice. The lake was a calm sight, extending back in swampy bays to either side, filling her vision before she closed her eyes.

The rumors meant nothing, each taken individually. It was only through her piecing together of all the information that led to this concern. There was a pattern: similar incidents and phenomena occurring in rural places with practically no communication between them. Each rumor or story told of some mysterious happening with an effect on the natural world. It would seem, these stories hinted, that there could be a sort of breakdown of the natural order occurring. It was not electrical, social, or otherwise systemic; it was something that involved the underlying world, and that was not something she was prepared to handle. She supposed those men in the tavern felt a similar helplessness. It was just that they did not feel the same responsibility to be concerned for that world.

---

After a little while of letting the thoughts pass and re-centering her own energy, Riannath felt more stable. She opened her eyes after the last parts of the practice and decided to just sit there a while to take in the peaceful moment and surroundings. She felt the balance of her own energy sitting in that of the external world's and the subtle dissolution of that separating line. The whole of life felt more hopeful when you took time to be in that balance.

The moment was interrupted however, by the gentle presence of Geordi at her side.

“A visitor for you ma'am. The Kun Ambassador”

Riannath's slight annoyance turned rapidly to curiosity. What was Andrus doing out here? Andrus Elgheny was the fort's official connection to the Empire's Federal District. He oversaw communication and services between the Imperial leadership and the regional military offices. A humorless man, Riannath felt him often tiresome to deal with, but was required to report to him nonetheless. She commended his attention to detail, but he seemed to suck the energy out of any room he was in. Much of what he did seemed unnecessary bureaucracy, and Riannath often thought the base would run better without his brand of management. Of one thing she could be glad: they were meeting outside this time, and the untamed nature would provide a nice contrast to Elgheny's person.

The Ambassador approached the outlook shelter with as pleasant a look as his face could muster. He was dressed in black, but not the sleek armor of her guards. He wore protection of course, but only over vital areas and hidden beneath a stately onyx surcoat.

“I hope I did not disturb your meditation?” he said, pausing as she stood.

“No,” the Commandant replied “I had finished. Though it's always nice to just take in the scenery; get away from it all.” With the last words she made a soft gesture in the direction of the fort.

“Anyway, what brings you tracking me down all the way out here? Is it something back at the base?”

“Oh no, situation normal as usual there.” Andrus was quick to reassure, “And it was no trouble at all when I heard you were out at the township, I do like coming out here too. Fortunate as well- this was a moment best taken off of base anyway,” he said, casually scanning the surrounding trees, “fewer potential listening ears out here.”

Riannath turned to look at him more directly.

“What do you mean Andrus? What's going on?”

The Ambassador stepped closer to her. “Commandant,” he said, taking a conspiratorial tone. “I've heard you're in the business lately of collecting rumors from the local cities. Taking an interest in the culture of the common folk?” Riannath said nothing, trying to guess the motivation behind those dark eyes.

“Well, there's no harm in listening to some stories for fun.” he continued. “But, just some advice, any...investigation or inquiry you have, make sure to send them my way. This kind of stuff, dealing with the minor concerns of the populace, it's, well, beneath your station. We need our Commandant focused on more important matters.” He said this last bit with a smile that barely touched his face. When all she did was nod slightly he went on. “Listen to all the townsfolk tales you want, but I'm just here to tell you some things simply aren't worth your time.” He gave her a hard look that tried but mostly failed to be friendly as well. He then wished her a good day, apologized again for intruding, and walked back past the guard to his vehicle. Riannath watched him leave in silence, listening to the wind in the trees. Afterwards, as her own vehicle passed through the tall pines of the township woods, plans began to form in a head freshly cleared of doubts.

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.