Tylywoch ~ 07

Tylywoch ~ 07 Coming of Age II

By Len Morgan

Times passing brings changes for all, both physical and mental, for good and for ill.

Aldor had been assassinated, whilst leaving the Eternal city it was a routine mission on behalf of the empire he loved and held so dear.   Meillo bore his loss stoically but shrank to a shadow of her former self.   Weilla visited as often as she was able when training permitted, but not often enough.   Each visit produced evidence of continued and inevitable decline in Meillo’s health.

Galyx called Weilla one morning, to inform her that Meillo had returned to the wheel of life and no longer breathed the mountain air of Abbalar.   

It was a simple traditional Burial.   The day was grey. There was continual drizzle but just as they approached the graveside the rain ceased and the sun came out.   By the time they had covered her remains, the sun was gone again, and the drizzle resumed.   She looked down at the newly turned earth, the ‘Natural Disasters’ flanked her protectively yet still she felt alone.

Galyx seemed to read her thoughts, he tapped her forehead.   “She is here.   You can talk with her whenever you wish, just close your eyes and call her name; she will come to you.   She will be as you remember her best, as you would choose to remember her, healthy, and in her prime, and in your mind, she will never age.”   He walked away, followed by her friends, she stood alone her eyes closed, a smile on her face.   Her lips moved silently but no sound came forth.

Time passed, Weilla worked hard and learned well, but her General classification was not revoked.   Galyx had once been responsible for teaching them all skills, he now relinquished that role, becoming more a friend, confidante, and mentor to them.  They all now had specialists teaching them, masters in their chosen discipline, men and women pre-eminent in their fields.  Weilla missed the grind of constant repetition and practice sessions, being now only required to learn new techniques and innovations.   She was not the best in any of her classes, but neither was she the worst in any.   Since the others were learning one discipline only, this earned her kudos amongst her peers.   From being the butt of jokes, she soon became respected, even by the training masters; who were notoriously impossible to please. 

At the time of testing, it became apparent what a Generalist was expected to accomplish.   Each quad, in turn, was sent to fulfill a task, which could only be completed with the full cooperation and involvement of all its members.   The three quads tried in turn and failed to accomplish the task.   Weilla was expected to attempt it alone.   She arrived at the test area, and the chief invigilator explained what had to be done. 

“You must reach the center of the village, with every hand set against you, and retrieve a purse of gold from the top of a twenty foot pole, set upright in the ground.   You must remove the prize from the top of the pole with your own hand, you cannot simply knock it off.   I will fire an arrow into the air; you will not be touched, hampered, or hindered in any way until it touches the ground.   The task is not impossible, but only two have so far reached the centre of the village, none have yet claimed the prize.   I will loose the arrow at your command, and you have thirty minutes to complete the task.” 

“Loose!” she called immediately.   Then, instead of running for the centre of the village, covering as much ground as possible before the arrow struck the earth, she elected to follow the path of the arrow.   She had obviously taken full control of her body because she covered the ground with incredible speed.   As the arrow reached its zenith and started its descent, she was waiting below with a hollow log in her hands.   She caught the arrow with the wood, holding it high as she strolled into the village square, not a hand was lifted against her.   She reached the pole and saw immediately it had been greased along its entire length and was not climbable.   It was however a new addition to the centre of the village, which prompted further investigation.   She removed the soil stones and rocks from its base, to reveal that it was fastened to a metal plate fixed firmly to the ground.   One side was hinged; the other was fixed with a large hasp and padlock.   She removed a strip of metal wire from her belt and used it to pick the lock as Soren had taught her.   When the padlock was removed, the pole fell to earth with a heavy thump, and she was able to retrieve the purse from its button.   She handed the prize to Galyx her mentor and stabbed the arrow into the ground before the examiner’s, to rapturous applause from her friends.   All cheered wildly with delight.  They had all at some time tried and failed to accomplish the task.   Few had even guessed at its solution. 

“What were your thought processes?” asked the invigilator.

“To stop the arrow striking the ground, then to retrieve the purse.” She replied without hesitation. 

He shook his head and smiled “Simple, clear tasking, executed in the blink of an eye" he said.   “Most uncommon sense well done!   But, you’ve left us with a real headache, we now have to create a new task for future students," there was general laughter at this.   "Congratulations to you all!   We are very pleased to welcome you as fully fledged Tylywoch agents” he called aloud, to which the students cheered enthusiastically as the gathering came to a close. 

.-…-. 

There were celebrations that evening.  Weilla was introduced to rice wine for the first time in her life with predictable results.  Her expectations did not match up to the reality, and she arrived at morning muster, much the worse for wear and totally unprepared for what was to follow:

   She was given another potion to drink, and her task was explained to her.   She would be sent into the Sabre Tooth Mountains to climb Metti Takka, the highest peak in the range.   At its summit stands a tall thin spur of rock known as the needle.  

“You will climb the needle, travel through its eye, and retrieve a package from within.   You will then seek out a 200-year-old mystic who dwells nearby.   You will present him with the package.   He will then return you to us, but, you must bring back a part of him with you.” 

The potion made her drowsy, causing her to sit down and close her eyes momentarily to steady her head before starting her journey. 

.-…-.

By sundown, she had completed half the journey to Metti Takka.   She lit a small fire with the meagre kindling she had gathered on her journey and prepared to cook a lean mountain hare she’d caught earlier in the day.   As the meat roasted on the spit, she poured boiling water onto a few of the green tea leaves from her utility pouch.   She inhaled slowly savouring its piquant aroma, then drank deeply, allowing the hot astringent liquid to warm her from within.

“Is there sufficient for two?” a mild voice enquired from close by. 

She continued her cooking without looking up, so as not to appear surprised, and answered “Yes.   If you come in peace…”

“And if I do not?”

She turned to face the voice, “In that case, we fight, and to the victor the spoils.” She spoke unhurriedly but with confidence in a quiet measured voice that informed her visitor, she was not bluffing.

“I come in peace.” The visitor assured her, and stepped from the shadows into the illumination of the flickering fire glow.

“Do I know you?” she asked sensing a familiarity about the presence.  

“Do you?” answered the young boy.

She squinted and looked straight at him through the flames “Jax, is that you?” she said in surprise.

“Do you want it to be?” he answered with a smile, then suddenly the figure wasn't Jax anymore.

“Weilla, I feel so alone, so empty without Aldor” said Meillo’s shade; she would never have revealed her feelings in such a brazen manner.

“Use your brain, not your senses, this is a wraith” said Aldor's voice in her mind.

Suddenly her mind cleared.   She looked deep into the emerald green eyes, watching the interplay of yellow sparks on the orbs of the wraith; as it closed rapidly with her.   She unsheathed her blade and slashed through its body in one swift movement.   Quick as she was, the apparently solid form shimmered like the fire.  

“I’m still here it said solidifying briefly, shimmering into and out of the veiled world.

“Reveal your true self, I will not commune with a ghost!” she said firmly.

“You may not like what you see.”

“Beauty hides a surfeit of ills!   Reveal yourself or be gone.”   The wraith wavered again, becoming fuzzy then solidified as a thin waif-like girl with a face scarred and deformed, she tentatively approached.

“ If you lead me to your remains I will bury them so your soul will be at peace.”  Weilla offered with compassion.

“Thank you,” said the now tearful spirit.   “Finish your repast first.   I have waited a score or more years, a few more minutes will not matter overly much, You are the first solid I have spoken with since falling.”

Weilla finished her meal and followed the wraith to a boulder strewn area at the foot of a crumbling cliff face.   “How came you to inhabit this wild and desolate place?”  

The spirit stopped and pointed to a pathetic heap of cloth rags and bones.  “I was sent to climb the needle but fell from this face.   If you climb further, beware the white rocks.”

Weilla gathered up the exposed bones and moved them away from the cliff.   She dug a shallow grave in the soft earth and interred the remains reverently adding a short prayer to the gods.  She patted the mound firmly so the soil would remain in place.   “Before you go, reveal to me your likeness.” She said. 

The wraith's face changed, even as she began to fade for the last time.   The countenance that Weilla gazed briefly upon was her own.   Then she was alone once more.   She had thought to climb this face, but now took against it.   She smiled in gratitude and gazed down once more at the mound.   There was no mound, only unturned virgin grassland. 

The storm wailed incessantly like the cry of a  banshee seeking her lost offspring.   The bite of a sub-zero wind felt like the mortal wound from a snow troll.   But was as nothing, to the snow blasting effected by minute grains of razor sharp ice crystals impacting every exposed skin surface at between fifty and sixty miles an hour.   Small red scratches covered her face, the blood turning to ice on contact with the air.   Weilla clung doggedly to the needle, one hundred and twenty feet above the ground.   Hanging by broken fingernails lodged in cracks no wider than craquelure she clung to a 110-degree overhang reaching out desperately for the next handhold.

“Got it!”  she yelled triumphantly.    Hauling her tired body over the lip, to hang there suspended for what seemed like minutes, giving respite to a body pushed far beyond its capacity to endure.   In reality, she took only seconds before moving on.  To give up was not an option.   She pulled herself into a shallow crevice, that afforded some respite from the storm, as she eased her body in close to the face, she realised there was an opening just above, it seemed at first to be just a darker surface, she climbed in. 

“It never stops…” 

Weilla peered deep into the gloom, unable to adjust her fuzzy vision to the total darkness, or fully defrost the frozen surfaces of her retina.   She reached out with her sixth sense, but could identify only her own aura.   Had she heard a voice?

“I’ve been here a week, waiting for the storm to abate, so I can find my way down.   Do you have any food to spare?   I haven’t eaten in four days.” 

Weilla felt in her belt pouches, they were now only half full.   She lit a tallow, and looked around their refuge.   Opposite the opening, there was only loose shale and rock rubble.   “Here” she said placing a handful of seeds nuts and dried fruit into the grubby outstretched hand.   She looked at her own, they were indistinguishable, as was their apparel.

“There’s nothing above…”

“Is this then the eye of the needle?”  Her companion nodded.

“Do you have the package then?” she asked.

“There is no package,” the girl laughed mirthlessly.  “Don’t waste your candle.”

“If this is the eye of the needle, the crevice should pass all the way through,” she pinched the candle flame out, and returning it to its pouch.  She moved closer to the scree face, and began to dig with her hands, “Help me move this she called out to her companion.   Removing her knife from its sheath, she used it to prise larger chinks between the rocks.   They worked at it together without the need for further discourse, then a sudden slip of the rock face revealed dim light on the far side, and the storm entered the still gloomy interior.

“It’s no use, there is no way through.   A large boulder is blocking the way, it’s too large to roll past us or for us to squeeze by it,”  her companions despair evident.

“If we can’t pull it inwards, we must push it outwards.   Push on three,” she commanded “1..2..3….Push…”   Slowly it began to move.   “Again” she yelled.   They strained sinew and fibre, and nearly fell to their deaths below, when suddenly it was gone.   They were hit now by the full force of the storm, and were almost sucked from the eye like cork from a bottle.   Taking another quick look around and finding nothing, she made a decision.   “Come on, we can get down this side. It’s a steep slope but there’s no overhang” she shouted into the fury of the storm.   They left their refuge and went out into the full force of the elements. “DOWN!” she yelled 

.-…-. 

A hooded figure in white robes met them at the foot of the needle.   He walked away from them and gestured for them to follow.   They walked without speaking for some considerable distance in silence because of the continual howl of the storm. It appeared they were heading for a lean-to structure of rustic timbers, utilising the rock outcrop as its rear wall.

Weilla could not recall entering it, but enter she did.  The figure removed his hood and cape, revealing his near white linen undergarments.  His face was finely lined tanned and weather beaten.  The log fire was banked high filling the deceptively large space with unaccustomed warmth.   His thick white hair looked like virgin snow, taking on a coppery sheen in the reflected light of the fire.   Weilla gazed into his intelligent green eyes.  “You are the one I am seeking.” It was a statement, not a question.

He smiled in reply, a warm all enveloping fatherly act.  “You’re as beautiful as your mother.” He said.

Somehow she knew he was not referring to Meillo.   She became conscious of her companion, now dressed similarly, and standing beside him.  Their arms interlaced in an uncommon show of intimacy, they embraced, and moved closer to include Weilla.   She join them, it seemed the right thing to do.   Then she embraced them and bathed in their all encompassing presence, she was happy, and for the first time in her life she found herself crying.   Her mind was awash with foreign feelings, and unaccountable emotions yet it all appeared quite natural.   She clung to her parents fondly, lest they disappear.   She felt their warmth, their protectiveness and their pride in the person she had become without their guidance.  Most of all, she felt their staunch and uncompromising love. 

After a while, she slept…

.-…-.

Weillia opened her eyes and gazed at Galyx’s concerned face.

“You’ve been in the trance state for almost a day.   The others all returned within hours.   I have been charged to bring you to the counsel chamber now that you are awake.   We are all eager to discover the outcome of your journey.”  He helped her to her feet and led her into the adjoining chamber.  The counsel chamber was a large circular building standing alone in the centre of the village.  Six ancient counsellors sat on cushions, facing into the centre of the area where she now stood alone.   The supreme counsellor spoke on behalf of them all.

“You were sent to retrieve a package, to confront a sage, and to bring something back with you to this counsel.   Did you succeed?” 

She stood in silence for a few moments then she smiled, and answered “Yes.”

“Would you please reveal to us what transpired?”

She told her story simply without frills.   They conferred for a long time in low unhurried tones.   When they again took their positions the supreme counsellor requested that she retire to the guest chamber to bathe eat and relax.   They would speak with her in the morning after they had deliberated further.

She cast a look of concern towards Galyx, as they withdrew.   “Did I say or do something wrong?” she asked.  

He smiled at her but didn’t reply.

 

(To be Continued)

                                                                                                                m By Len Morgan