Chapter 50 – A Weapon Reforged
The vale was bathed in the pale silver light of a brilliant harvest moon. I had never seen Tyria more alive. Trees, bushes, grass, and even the very ground itself were glowing with life. It was as if the world itself was shining a beacon to the spirits of the sky above the sky. At its center, grew a circle of proud-standing, rose-colored, granite monoliths which formed a large henge structure that would make even the ancient dwarves proud. The glade was so pristine with pure life-force that I felt nearly invisible in its glory.
“Ameyalli dwells here,” Chicatl said reverently in a whisper.
I looked to him in silence, fearful that any utterance would shatter the perfection before me. I could see movement from within the henge but am unable to make out its source. Chicatl looked to me and nodded as he took a step forward. I followed suit, treading ever so lightly so as not to break the delicate balance of the natural order. As we progressed toward the henge, brief flashes of my past began to return to me with each footfall. Though disjointed, they were familiar and comforting.
We arrived at the henge and proceeded under the lintel of the megalithic gate into the rosestone circle proper. And that was when I saw them appear: the druidic spirits of old. History had portrayed them as lumbering, spiritual plant creatures somewhat resembling Oakhearts, but the ones we encountered were far different indeed. Each of the four ancient spirits looked completely different, not only from each other but also from themselves. Each time you looked at them, it was as if their shapeshifting ability had gone wild, randomly switching between a towering version of any creature of nature. Looking too intensely at one of them for any small period of time caused my mind to teeter on the razor’s edge of insanity. As if sensing my discomfort, all four settled on a single spiritual form and remained there.
The one closest to me took a Tengu form which I now recognized as a huge spiritual apparition of my long-dead instructor and friend of my childhood. The one by Chicatl formed a spirit version of a young Heylek boy, and the one by Midnight took a large Jaguar’s semblance. The final one, though, was the one who spoke, taking the form of a specter of an ancient Seer.
“Greetings, Ader Smokewing, Quetzalclan of the Eastwind House, emissary of the Dominion of the Winds and Keystone of the Arch of Time,” the spiritual Seer said in perfect Old Canthan. He turned to Chicatl and continued. “Greetings, Elder Chicatl, Enlightener of Children, T’lapiaz`que and Guide.” And lastly he turned to Midnight. “Greetings Midnight, Firstborn of the Grawler Pride and Soulbound Companion.”
He turned to address my Heylek friend. “Elder Chicatl, your task as T’lapiaz`que has come to an end. You have served your duty well, but you can no longer follow where Ader Smokewing leads. Return to your people, knowing deep in your heart that your service has proven pivotal in the final determination of Tyria’s fate.” Chicatl nodded and turned to leave. Like a wispy tendril of errant smoke, he was gone.
The ghostly Seer turned back to me. “Midnight, Ader, you cannot be here. You are quite literally out of time. You are a paradox which will soon need resolution, for you are currently dwelling in your own future.” My mouth opened but nothing came out. “Time will claim you shortly, so we must be brief. You are soon to encounter an overwhelming force, one which has remained hidden for hundreds of years. If left to their meddling devices, your mission will surely fail. But we have not been lax over the years, and we have a plan of our own.”
“It’s the Mursaat, isn’t it?” I said as the vision of the golden embodiment of evil and their crystal construct trickled back into my memory.
“It is. And left to your devices, you do not possess the skills or knowledge to defeat them. But you have come to the future to prepare for a battle in the past. It is for this purpose for which we are uniquely equipped. For the power that we will imbue does not exist in your past and therefore cannot be anticipated by your enemy.”
“What do you need me to do?” I asked, finely finding my voice.
“Do?” He echoed. “That which is needed, you have already done. You have fashioned a vessel of purity in yourself and into that ewer we will pour your salvation.” The spiritual Tengu of my long-dead friend steped forward, a stout branch of bramblewood held between his hands.
“This is Bramblethorne, my trusted friend. May it assist you as it always has me when all else fails.”
“Begging pardon, but I have no skill with a staff.” I replied, trying not to offend.
“Oh you will still have the skills which have sustained you throughout your life, but your cup is still half full and we shall fill it to the brink.”
I took the offered Bramblethorne, though honestly I did not know the meaning of what they spoke. I look over to Midnight and see her face to face with her spirit counterpart, conversing, for lack of a better word.
My body started to tingle as the ghostly Seer moved toward me. He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Youngling, all that exists is all that must be. Good and evil, dark and light, growth and decay. One cannot exist without the other and all their lesser extremes in-between.” Placing a hand on my forehead he continues. “Borek nor, cha norabod tek eir Ader Smokewing, tracorum pala Ur-Druid.”
I felt energy fill my being, I was reborn, a crucible of might reforged. With a perfect clarity, I assumed my new celestial form. “Welcome to the fold, my sister. Your legacy is begun.”
I raise my head and call to the stars. “Be forewarned and tremble, O enemies of Tyria, for the Druids… have returned!” – fade to black.
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