Chapter 17: The Woe of Ghalensa

The Annals of Ghalensa: The Power to Remake

Chapter 17: The Woe of Ghalensa

         Everything vanished in a brief blink of darkness before a pillar of black light shot forth from the dark sphere and disappeared into the ceiling above. Grinnor stood out of sight. Rezkelion had worked ceaselessly for over a dawn since receiving word from his sister about the Teal and Blue Bowers. Grinnor’s fear of interrupting his master overshadowed his concern for Rezkelion’s safety. But the maghren would have to eat sometime.

         Rezkelion’s rapid tapping echoed throughout the vacuous chamber. He worked two zoids with an alacrity that exceeded what the best could do with one. The mysterious purple light intensified within the orb synchronous to the mounting buzz that saturated Grinnor to his bones. It wasn’t an audible buzz, but rather a deep resonation he heard and felt within.

         Another orb sat poised high atop a tower directly overhead, above ground. It was the Actinic Bower. Already it held four Bowers of Aralon in its grip. Connecting it now to the Black Orb would empower it beyond every Bower in existence, including the Prime Bower of Ghalensa, giving Rezkelion the reins of control over the entire magnevic field throughout all Urlana.

         Rezkelion reached the high point. He planted both his hands high on the orb. His face lit up in a rare display of enjoyment. It was about to happen. Grinnor knew he had achieved the synchronization necessary to unleash the wave of power that would destroy Ghalensa.

         “From this time forward,” Rezkelion spoke in liturgy, “let the true Tree, Keethon Siah, again rule our people. Maghra be rectified.”

*      *      *

         Nith-Lowra’s shimmering cloak dimly lit the copse in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. Sleep had escaped Gnor. He could think of nothing but how he might convince Immarian that Ghalensa was in danger. His dilemma drove him to even neglect his need for some caranine tea. He satisfied himself with a pinch of it beneath his tongue. It soothed him, somehow, even amidst the present crisis.

         Lowra crept around preparing her breakfast of leaves and seaberries. She might even include some leftover mullet from the night before. The thought of fish in the morning disgusted him. He shivered. A deep rumble sounded in the distance like the approach of a still far off storm. Though it sounded very much like thunder, he doubted it. It was too crisp, too distinct somehow.

         Before he could react the tremor swept into him, an unstoppable wave, shaking all the Tree and now reverberating throughout his entire body. He felt it most in his gut. Ghalensa threw him onto his face as he tried to stand. Debris rained down from the Tree above, little pieces of twigs, bark, seed nuts, parts of nests, trapped dirt. Lowra held desperately to parts of the Tree with one arm, her long fingers wrapped tightly around a young trunk she had grasped, her other arm clutching her zoid at her side.

         “The gate,” he yelled, “open the gate.”

         She responded instantly, throwing herself to the ground, pulling her zoid before her face. Was it too late? What good would it do to open the gate now? Even if Immarian were close at hand, he would have already fled. But he had to do something and the gate seemed the only way to fight back. It represented the Tree and the power of it. Surely it held some answer or some aid for them in this moment of catastrophe. He had failed to get through to Immarian.

         The familiar swirl worked its way through the surface of the gate, and it's glow bathed the copse in soft light. He noticed it flickered a few times as Ghalensa continued to lurch in starts and fits, giving them seconds of pause in between. The roaring din of destruction closed in on them drowning out all sound of the tapping zoid. He could only see Lowra’s fingers dancing away in the dim light of her cloak.

         “Where does it go?”

         She didn’t respond. Perhaps he hadn’t yelled loud enough.

         “Where does it go?”

         “I’m not sure, but it’s quite probable that it leads to the Palacegate of the Elders deep in the hub of Ghalensa. The same gate used by my people to access Aralon.”

         Her fingers continued their dance on the zoid as the gate became more transparent and projected the image of the chamber below into the midst of the copse. It shook along with all Ghalensa.

         “The Palacegate is in this chamber where we met Immarian yesterdawn. I can project our image into the chamber and try to call them. If they are near they will hear.”

         “No. I must go.”

         “You cannot go, it is untested, and if the other gate is sealed you may be lost in Olrhom.”

         Gnor had regained his feet and now stood clutching a large trunk of the tree in both arms. He stared at the image.

         Another massive tremor shook Ghalensa and mounted in vigor. He was sure the whole place was about to cave in, that the sea would swallow the entire Tree. The rumbling and churning had started deep within Ghalensa, but now it moved upward, and outward. The only place left for it to unleash its destruction was out into open Ghalensa. He could not waste another moment. He would only die here. How could he help Ghalensa then? His only chance was to go, find the Providers, see if they could protect or preserve something deep within the Tree. What a ridiculous thought. Why would it be any safer within Ghalensa than it was where he now stood?

         The image flickered. The connection weakened. He lunged to his pack, grabbed it, and continued in four strides to the open gate. From behind he could feel the awesome power of the blast that threw him into the waiting maw of the swirling face. The brightness of it became instant darkness. The roaring ceased. He fell face first into a dimly lit chamber. He thought of the fate of Lowra even as his body slammed into the unyielding floor.

*      *      *

         Out on the fringes of the darkness of Vikzyrn a soul lamented for the woe of Ghalensa. She sat in the hatch of a dim tunnel that led into the tattered heart of what was once the underway of a great jennah city of ages ago. The city above was gone, integrated into the forest itself by the inexorable march of nature. Only the closest scrutiny would reveal the hidden markings of a sophisticated past society, able to erect massive cities of buildings that reached into the sky.

         The Tree made her leave. After it gave to her the precious nectar of its life, and she drank, she heard it in her heart. It wasn’t words she heard, but its meaning, its intent. She just knew what it wanted.

         Go, it implored, follow the old crossing from Swoonhead to Seplin Bush. I will protect you. I suffer a great cruelty. My destruction is at hand. You are my friend. You are what is to come.

         Though Tenders had no access to the power of the Tree, they enjoyed an unmatched kinship with it. They nourished it, cared for it, groomed it, spoke to it, loved it, and cherished their sustained bond with it. Yet none had ever heard the Tree talk to them. None, that is, until she drank of its nectar. She was the first. It was the Tree’s doing.

         Over time she had physically changed to a greener, and bluer complexion. Her short fur waned, replaced by matted, leafy growths all over her body. She could have easily blended into a patch of ghalisters if she were still on Ghalensa. Even so, she blended well with the tiny Seplin trees of her new home.

         These dawns she preferred the cooler, shadier recesses of the forest and tunnels she had found. She drank and ate of the land and needed meat no longer. Her identity, the Tender she once knew, faded. She was becoming something different. She didn’t always like the feelings, but she knew it must be so.

         As engrossed as she was in her lamentation for Ghalensa, a new urgency snapped her attention away. Something was terribly wrong. A looming terror washed through her body and enveloped her like a flood of waters. It was something in the power, rushes, fluctuations, silences, a struggle for control. It wasn’t her terror. The Tree anguished as one awaiting inevitable and imminent execution.

         Up to this time she had been shielded from the unrestrained malevolence the Tree felt. But now, at once, she began to feel a throbbing, beating dark heart, pumping its vitriol into Olrhom from somewhere far north in Vikzyrn. The malefic power seized the Tree by its throat, dragging it toward its ineffable doom. She could do nothing.

         It fought, but it was not enough. It weakened, faded, surged, lapsed, then lost its grip. The entire world changed. Something moved everywhere. She hadn’t noticed the night had fallen. But now she felt the chill in the air.

         There was another Tree. An enemy. No, a child, trapped, held by the vile power, begging freedom. It was a child of Ghalensa. Not a true child, but an outgrowth, manipulated, twisted, coerced, forced. It wanted to help, but its master made it rule. It resisted, but it was bent. It wanted no fight with the existing power, but sought instead to mesh with it, to become one with it. It searched for its forebear and wondered where it was, where has it gone? Yearning, it groped for anything, some sliver, some sign, but there was only silence. Ghalensa was no more. It was alone, now, and terrified, enthralled by the dark heart that pumped within. It cried for help.

         I will come, she said to it in her heart, I will help.

         But she didn’t know if it heard.

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