The Ancient and the Children

The first part of a prologue done in three parts

 

In the year 317 of the New Dawn

 

 

            The old forest creature hobbled along the path with the aid of a gnarled staff. Garbed in buckskins, furs, and draped with a robe of shimmering ferns and fresh leaves, he often felt as if he were part of the foliage as he made his way. By and by he reached the edge of a hill-meadow. He paused. Morning light from across the mountains sparkled the dew prisms blanketing fields and evergreen branches. It's been a long time since I've come this far. Bathing in the light, he drank in the peaceful summer skies and countryside. His contemplations drifted, and his vision filled with the thousands of dawns and sunsets he had beheld, as well as memories of places, and so many people who could not be forgotten, even in death.

            It's because of all of you that I've lived until now. I shall soon fulfill my promise.

            A song returned the Tyzrian elder to the present. Roughly two stone's throws whence he'd come, followed a line of small children. They gentled the solitude of the forests with their laughter and melodic song. Other than this, the little expedition moved noiselessly, even when they danced. In all there were two dozen Tyzrian younglings, summoned for this initiation by decree of the tribal leaders.

            Another could have gone in his stead. Indeed, he was considered old even among the tribe's Father-elders. Nevertheless, despite the passage of a few centuries, today he embarked on this last journey. To this end the elder was taking the younglings to the most special place he had ever known. There he planned to reveal to them what was more important than all else in the world. It wasn't the first time the elder had led such initiation rites, yet when he stepped out of his tree-dwelling and into the predawn earlier that day, his sensations had been tickled by a nearly forgotten appetite for adventure.

            The younglings caught up to him, some barefoot, others wearing moccasins. Seeing the view, a stillness and a hush fell over company. Before them was a sea of forested hills, ravines, and deep vales, stretching for miles, unto the mountains, which walled the horizon from south to north in a jagged range of alpine and monolithic granite.

            "Where are we, Father-elder?" asked a boy with emerald eyes and dark hair.

            "Still in Meraldeas," he answered, "but in the lee of the Azure Mountains."

            Their awe was understandable. The Azure were tallest mountains in Creation's eastern reaches; and this westernmost chain was said to be the highest of all. He squinted, honing his vision; the upper cliffs and ridges were misted in bluish-purple haze, yet the crowns of eternal ice glimmered.

            There was a distant hooting call. Several of the children instinctively turned towards the reach of wilderness from whence the sound had originated, their eyes wide, and pointed ears now perked and alert.

            "Don't worry. It's just a bird. We're safe here," the elder assured.

            Thus far he had kept their destination secret. Now he thought to give them a notion. He waved to a region several miles further, close to the center of forests. "We're headed yonder."

            The Tyzrian company resumed its journey. Though he looked forward to getting where they were going, the elder wondered if the younglings were truly prepared? It'd almost be nice to keep it all a secret, so they might continue to believe in the world their innocence envisioned. After all, since the New Dawn, instruments of war had been put aside. The Tyzrians had hung up their blades in their den-halls, where they glinted by hearth flame, serving only as heirlooms reminding of the past. The Children now lived in harmony, not under the terrors that had once tormented and destroyed them.   

            Perhaps I'm just stubborn to keep worrying? Despite what he told himself, over the years now and then he found himself trembling at the moonless night's shadows. At such times he vividly remembered the howling doom from the deeps. Amid the ruin of battle, he yet heard echoes of the countless voices lamenting, supplicating for help.

            No. I shall honor the spirits of those who lived the dark years. The past must never be forgotten.

            The elder looked to the younglings walking behind him and at his side. They wore strips of deerskin, and necklaces of beads, stones, and other protective trinkets. About half had their hair braided, or tied with a feather or two. Some of them were so young that the camouflaging patterns similar to those of fawns or puma kittens yet shown on their fine, almost imperceptible pelts. A few skipped along, their hair tousled by intermittent gusts.

             They are the hope. The Children. History shall bare witness to them. Under one arm, half hidden in his robe, the elder gripped the reassuring burden of a leather bound volume of untitled text. It was a labor of long years; a testimony; for in the book were engraved the Sacred Mother's memories.

            My days are all but spent. Soon I shall depart where they will not yet follow. Thus it is time to write the final chapter. What shall it be called: The Winds of Time? The Tree of Life? Hmm. Not sure yet. But what place more fitting to tell them, than where my master's story started?

            As the trek took them further into the hills, the elder strode with renewed purpose. Yes, this much I can try to show them. Sensing that he neared the summit he had journeyed towards all his life, he smiled. The White Pinnacle of Dreams. What he'd seen in glimpses he would behold fully, and beyond illusions, all would be made new. Then he would rest at ease knowing he had fulfilled his task.

            For hours the company of Tyzrians traversed the wilds. While the elder plodded on with his staff, the pure air and the carefree presence of the children, rejuvenated him, their joyful vitality lending him a lighter step. Before long he wanted to spring forward, to leap and skip across the meadows, and rise where the birds sang. Whenever Creation's beauty enveloped him anew, he wondered how he had ever dared grow old?

            Regardless of his enthusiasm, the younglings were unaccustomed to such treks, and by noon they whined for food and rest. He paid them no heed. The journey would be more rewarding if they endured their fatigue.

            "Come now, just a bit to go yet!” At the same time he urged them on he couldn’t help but be satisfied that they hadn’t been able to overtake his stride. He pointed to the top of the slope up which they trudged. “I bet I’ll get there before any of you!”

            The younglings couldn't resist the challenge, but were surprised how swiftly the elder, with the help of his staff, sped uphill. They giggled uncontrollably, tugging on his robes to slow him. Before any of them knew it they had reached the crest, falling in a heap of laughing bodies.

            The elder stood with arms outspread. “Behold!”

            Below was a deep vale with a river twinkling under great willows. Near the lapping shores were glades of herb and varicolored flowers, radiating buoyantly. Upon the slopes were groves of trees, their undulating branches whispering. Beyond the far banks, pine-studded hills surged to the Azure Mountains.

            The children stood in awe of what looked a lost paradise. The sunshine contracted their pupils to mere slits. The elder had heard other races remark that Tyzrian eyes were like those of felines, yet more beautiful. Indeed, they were as luminous gems, each imbued with a different shade of Creation. Some kept the purple twilight, others the amber dawn, the blue of glacier lakes, the gray of raining mists, or the hues of wild flowers, and on and on.

            Forgetting their grumbling bellies, the younglings ran down to the river to splash in the pristine waters. At the shore the elder sat on a rock, and removed his circlet of finely twined branches. He drank from the river's sweet, cold flow. Bending to the surface he gazed at his billowing reflection; long snowy white hair; face wrinkled, likened to the bark of a tree, weathered by the coming and going of seasons. Nothing to be done but bear those marks of age as the honor one receives in overcoming many hardships.

            Aloof from the younglings, the elder went to stand under the shade of a willow, leaning against its trunk. He inhaled the rich spring fragrances with satisfaction, and relief. Images of memories, dappled by time, were recalled. He exhaled in gratitude, yet with a sad aching. This was where the two had first met, so long ago, when the others yet lived.

            The elder whispered to the breeze, "This land is forever sacred to me, for the love you always kept it, and for the love of you all. Here the very trees remember your voices when you laughed. Now I will fulfill my promise. So I pray you laugh at this old man from wherever you are, and weep no more.”

            His contemplation was broken when the children returned, shivering from their swim - for the river was born from the Azure’s snows. They gathered in a wide meadow and dried themselves in the sunlight while digging into their packs for their lunches; which consisted of fruits and acorn rolls with marmalades. When the younglings finished eating they relaxed, crawling lazily about, stretching or lying on their sides.

            The elder asked them, “Well my little ladies and gentlemen, do any of you know why you’re here?”

            A sapphire blue-eyed boy responded, “Ah, our parents made us, we had no choice.”

            “Sometimes there are journeys that must be undertaken," the elder said. "Today, think of us as explorers.”

            “Really? What are we looking for?” asked a girl of deep violet eyes and dark hair.

            “For treasures my dear! We must dig deep into the riverbeds of time and we shall uncover wonders.”

            None of the younglings rightly understood what he meant, nor did they appear to care. Moments later the same girl became distracted by a pair of butterflies dancing about. She leapt after them. Shortly after, a dark-skinned boy with mist-grey eyes stood up and pointed to the sky. "Look!" he cried.

            Although irritated by this disruption, the elder's curiosity was stirred. He squinted scrupulously. So far away it was an almost unperceivable dot of a silhouette, some manner of great bird was soaring above a patch of lonely clouds. "Why, it's a an eagle," said the elder. "No. It could be a condor. Bah! My eyes aren’t so keen. I can’t say for sure."

            "It's white!" exclaimed one child. "And it's wings are so big!

            "That sounds like a snow-eagle." The elder squinted harder, wishing he had the children's sharp vision.

            "How lucky it is!” said a smallest girl there; who had brought a fur toy that resembled a marmot. More often than not she was holding it close to her.

            “Lucky? Why?” asked the elder, increasingly disgruntled with his inability to see it.

            “Because it can fly wherever it wants," said a boy with golden hair that fell in rills. "See! It goes high, then low, then in loops. How wonderful it'd be to go where it goes!”

            The elder closed his eyes and strove to imagine the bird of prey. Soon he became lost in reminiscence. A memory hundreds of years old took shape in his mind’s eye. Arched wings of golden light, far larger than those of any eagle. The immortal glided among clouds likened to palaces traversed with sunbeams. The visions of the past grew so vivid that the elder could scarcely breathe. Voices echoed to life, rising from the deep canyons of memory in which they had fitfully slept.

            Reliving it set him to tremble. It was the same day again. Thousands upon thousands of astounded shouts rose up across the vastness of the battle-choked valley. Then, as if he were standing there again, he beheld it. In the name of all nations, the bell of Ender-Dome cascaded its peals into the thundering red firmament. People shouted in disbelief when beyond all hope, answer came from skies. From atop the lord of mountains, which reached into the blazing heavens, came the mightiest blaring of trumpets ever heard. Tears welled in the elder's eyes. Crystal light rent the wrathful clouds asunder, and the light streamed upon the sacred city’s defenders. It was the day hope had driven through them like a sword.

            At the same moment, the broiling, dark crimson sea of Warring-Demons turned their tortured faces skyward. Gripping their spears they snarled, cursing, and readied to meet their enemies. With a thousand upon a thousand battle cries, the protectors issued forth to blind and smite the foes of Creation.