Brian Rathbone - The Dawning of Power

"We've no time to dally. We can travel within the forest to the center of Astor, and from there, we will need to skirt between smaller areas of woodland. We are certainly not the most conspicuous of bands," he said with a chuckle and immediately set off at a pace that was difficult to match. Catrin's legs burned from the exertion, and she tired long before Barabas. He seemed to sense her fatigue, and not long before she would have had to ask for a rest, he simply stopped and lowered himself to recline against a towering elm. Catrin and Benjin joined him, and they ate in the stillness.

The forest was a riot of scarlet and umber, and the quiet murmur of the life within it was like the heartbeat of the world. Tranquility such as this could not be constructed; it could only grow naturally. All of man's attempts at beauty and grace paled in comparison to the architecture of life. Even creatures that were at times frightening and strange had their own unique elegance. A small lizard scurried through the leaves, and its rough, angular hide so closely resembled tree bark that it could become nearly invisible. Catrin admired the function of its form, and she recognized its beauty, even if the thought of touching it made her skin crawl.

When she considered Barabas, she was faced with an enigma, and she struggled to understand his place in her world. It was not that he seemed out of place. On the contrary, he could almost become a part of the scenery-much like the lizard. Taken out of his element, he was remarkable and unusual, but within his world, he was simply a part of nature. Eventually, her curiosity won out over her fear of being uncouth.

"I mean no insult by this question, Barabas, but may I ask what manner of man you are?" she blurted, and the words did not sound at all like what she had intended. "That is… I mean… You're very different from everyone I've ever met, and I'd like to understand you better." Still, she felt clumsy and rude, but Barabas just let his infectious laugh roll from him, as if he had no such inhibitions or insecurities. She envied him.

"You tickle me, heart of the land. Truly you do. You are wise beyond your years, and yet you've not the knowledge most would require to become wise. It amazes me. Your very existence is a paradox," he said, shaking his head. "Do not fear you will offend me with your questions. I'll answer them as best I can. As to what manner of man I am, some would label me druid, others shaman, and still others see me as a madman. I see myself as a part of life, a piece of the whole. Like a thread in a tapestry, I am not important in and of myself, but without me and the rest of the threads-the tapestry-would cease to exist. Do you understand?"

"I think I do, but how did you come to be this way? Did your parents teach you these things?" she asked, and she was unsettled to see a flash of pain in his eyes.

"The land raised me and provided for me. I never met those who brought me into this world, but men and women have helped me, and they have taught me much. They influenced much of what I am, and I've always tried to take with me the best of all the beings I encounter, just as pieces of you will always go with me from now on. The memory of you is a part of me, and the memories of all my teachers, human and otherwise, are parts of me. The land and the animals have taught me as much, if not more, than my human mentors."

Catrin was not sure she understood any more about Barabas than before she asked, and she hoped his words would make more sense in time.

"We should've brought this thing up in pieces," Strom said through gritted teeth. "We could've assembled it once we got it all up there." Milo and Gustad launched into their usual debate, and Strom was frightened by the fact that he was beginning to understand them. Sometimes he was even tempted to interject his own thoughts, but it just seemed like asking for trouble.

"I'm losing my grip," Osbourne said. "We need to put it down."

"Be careful of the lenses, boys," Gustad said.

"We know. We know," Strom said as they eased the looking glass to the stairs. All of their effort had gone into reconstructing this ancient relic, and though they could see little through the parabolic lenses when in the workshop, Milo remained convinced it would work. He said it had been found atop Limin's Spire, and there it could be used to see the stars. Looking up, Strom gave up trying to count how many more stairs they had left to climb.

"We must get the looking glass to the spire before nightfall," Milo said, as he had a number of times before.

Strom was tempted to go get some big, strong men to carry the looking glass, but he knew he could not. No one else knew how much work went into repairing this relic, and he could not trust anyone else to handle it. Thinking back to the feeling of success he'd had when they finally produced a workable lens, he smiled. Though they never achieved a perfect pour, Strom was proud to have gotten close. The imperfections in the first lens were few, and there was a perfectly clear area in the center. The second lens was even better, for which Strom was thankful; there was barely enough material left to make even one more pour. Milo was insistent that they not resort to remelting glass, and Strom often wondered what it was he feared.

"I'm ready," Osbourne said.

Grunting, they lifted the looking glass and, once again, began to climb.

"This thing better work."

After a few days in Barabas's company, Catrin came to see him as a guardian of the land, and that image pleased her. It seemed at times that he spoke to the trees and the soil itself, as if asking directions, and he would move off with confidence. Catrin had her own way of communing with the natural world, but she did not receive coherent thoughts. Instead, vague impressions brushed against her consciousness. She tried to listen in on his conversations with nature, but they were simply beyond her grasp, as if she were listening for something that could only be seen.

On the fifth day of their journey, though, vague impressions became an almost overwhelming expression of emotion. Tears streamed down her face as waves of joy mixed with sadness washed over her. It came from all around her yet felt as if it were her own. When she glanced at Barabas, she saw his eyes welling, and Benjin sniffed.

"You sense it, heart of the land?" he asked, and she nodded, mute. "What of you, Guardian? You sense it as well?"

"I feel joy and sadness all around us, and… I think… a melody," Benjin said.

"Hmm, indeed. The dryads are singing a farewell dirge, which does not bode well for our travels. I know not what danger they anticipate, but I've never heard the virgin forests sing of such an end. It's as if the trees expect to be wiped out almost completely."

"That's horrible! We must save them," Catrin cried, but Barabas laid a hand on her shoulder.

"It's not all sadness, heart of the land. You can sense the joy as well. In death, there is rebirth, the chance to begin anew. The forest prepares for a catharsis rather than extinction. I will miss the trees; they have been good to me, and I love them dearly. But I know they will return someday, and so will I, and then we will once again breathe the same air. Still, in this time of peril, I fear the implications this will have on our journey."

His words created an anxious mood, and they moved in wary silence, alert for any signs of danger to the trees and themselves. It was not until late that night that the first signs of trouble showed themselves. The air had become unseasonably warm-not balmy but well above freezing-and distant thunder told of storms. Occasionally they saw far-off flashes of lightning, but it was the growing orange glow on the northern horizon that alarmed them. Within a short time, the acrid smell of smoke assaulted them. The forest was afire, and Catrin knew they were but kindling before the fury of the inferno. Dried leaves would need little urging to ignite, and the glow became brighter as the night wore on.