To some, the swaying was unsettling. The lumbering pace of the forest was more stable than the undulations of any ship, but far more mobile than the feeling of having one’s feet planted on the ground, especially when up in the higher reaches of the ancient trees. For those that made the Nomad Forest their home, the swaying of the trees was a lullaby; a force that could erase any worry and calm even the most clouded of minds.
Breathing slightly out of time with this movement, a figure perched on a high limb pondered the mysteries of the universe. Elegant patterns of vivid greens laced across the beige fur of their body, their long ears laid down against the back of their head as they rested with their hands in their lap. Most of the shamans of the Nomad Forest were Ahrlu, but it wasn’t uncommon to see a Yorn such as Gilli serve the same role.
Today was one of those rare days when Gilli questioned the wisdom of letting him fill a position typically filled by one of the functionally immortal, and therefore much wiser, Ahrlu of Choletex, the tree currently leading the Nomad Forest. As a Yorn, he felt a little out of place officiating at a Presenting for a recently built Ahrlu. Nacatali and Iitoli would both be there, as the Mother and Father of an Ahrlu clan always had to oversee Presentings, but it would be Gilli, the reluctant mule deer Yorn shaman of Choletex, that had to actually perform the ceremony.
Going to the high limbs of Choletex to clear his head had been a long-standing tradition for Gilli. As a child, it had been easy to reach said places, his weight barely slowed him and his limbs were strong. Now, much later in life, clambering up into the high limbs was almost embarrassing. A great deal of huffing and grunting was involved, and he was sure that anyone watching would think him mad as he hauled himself up into the reaches of Choletex with his satchel dangling from one shoulder.
Rustling and the occasional huff from exertion were all the warning that Gilli received as a somewhat expected intruder clambered up to his position. Navigating the limbs of the Nomad Forest was easiest for the Bissean. Their ability to stretch their limbs out like ropes, and then retract them just as easily, made moving from one part of any tree to another almost too easy. Such an ability was why they were trusted to serve as the protectors of the Nomad Forest as well as being the ones that carried messages between the great trees.
Haldan had been a guardian for as long as Gilli had been serving as a shaman. Over the passage of years the two had formed a professional bond that had grown into a proper friendship through the seasons. These days, when Haldan approached it was equally likely that he either had news Gilli needed to hear or he was just bored and wanted to see what Gilli was up to in the hopes that it was more exciting than whatever was happening in the forest at large.
Armor creaking loudly, Haldan pulled himself up onto the branch next to Gilli. Guardians were the only ones that had access to metal armor in the Nomad Forest, as acquiring and working such material was expensive and dangerous, as forges tended to light trees on fire. With the rising threats of the world, however, it was becoming more and more common to spot not just guardians wearing the scattered plates bound together with thick linen and leather and bolstered with slats of hardwood. Still, there were few as proficient with such armors as the guardians of the Nomad Forest and Haldan was particularly skillful, armored or not.
“I can come back,” the short Bissean said quickly when he realized that Gilli was likely in the middle of meditations.
“No need,” Gilli sighed, yawning as he gave up the attempt to clear his mind of the troubles he had found there, “I wasn’t making any progress anyway.”
“I didn’t think meditation was about progress,” Haldan noted, grinning as he sat next to his friend.
“Not in the traditional sense,” Gilli conceded, “it’s more like the movement of the forest; slowly reaching a new conclusion that is an improvement over the old.”
Both watched the world before Choletex inch slowly onward while the colossal roots of the great tree churned hundreds of feet below, propelling the tree along at what would be considered a miserable pace to anyone attempting to reach their destination before the end of a year. That pace, however, was the best the Nomad Forest could manage. Almost 3,000 trees just like Choletex lumbered along together, creating a cluster of migrating flora that had called the southern reaches of the new Pretannai Empire their home long before the Pretannai, or even the Holy Jahlnarth Empire, had ever been seen in such places.
“There’s some stir over this Presenting,” said Haldan, using all the same urgency one would have when commenting on the weather.
“Yes, stir,” Gilli grumbled, glaring at the horizon. There was, indeed, worry in the community, even worry in some of the other trees. No Core Stones had come up from any of the trees of the Nomad Forest in generations. While it was true that every tree of the forest had hundreds, possibly a few thousand, Core Stones embedded in their trunks, those stones almost never left the trees. The last time a Core Stone had emerged from a tree of the Nomad Forest it had served as an omen of destruction.
Now a stone had wormed its way up to the village that nestled in the monstrously huge low branches of Choletex. The Mother and Father had communed with the stone; an oddly large one for being a Core Stone. All the stone would tell them was that it wished a body to be made for it. Only then would it deliver its truth.
A body shaper had been called over from one of the other trees. Mocctila was considered to be one of the better body shapers of the Nomad Forest. She herself was on her ninth body and carried in her Core Stone the wisdom of nearly 300 years. That was a pittance compared to the lives of other Ahrlu, some of whom were on their 20th body and had over a thousand years of lives lived to draw from, but Mocctila seemed wiser than even such seasoned Ahrlu. Her deft touch was legendary among any crafters of the Nomad Forest, who envied her ability to craft fine bodies for her fellow Ahrlu and anything else one could think to make of wood, clay, stone, or even metal.
Even the great Mocctila was disturbed by this Core Stone. As soon as she had arrived, and had communed with the stone, she had locked herself in the workshop that had been furnished for her. No one had seen her in weeks. Requests for odd materials were passed along via notes she would slip out from under the door to whichever guardian was posted there at the moment. A great deal of metal had been requested, along with other things not usually meant for the construction of an Ahrlu body.
“So…is it true then…about the skin?” Gilli asked, finally voicing the question that had been bothering him for almost a week now.
Haldan shuddered, his dark skin erupting with goosebumps. “Yeah, its true,” he replied, “and I wish it had been some other fool watching the door that day. The damn thing wanted a Yorn’s skin. Didn’t care what species mind you, just as long as it matched the dimensions given.”
It was Gilli’s turn to shudder. Nacatali and Iitoli had asked him to accompany them in the task of acquiring the macabre request. Pelt Nappers were killed on site almost anywhere they went. These poachers who hunted Yorn for their hides still managed to survive somehow, selling their ghastly wares to anyone that wanted a mink hide that was several times the size of what you’d get from the actual animal as compared to the skin that came from a Yorn.
Under cover of a moonless night, the Mother and Father of the village in Choletex’s branches had met with two Pelt Nappers, who had a startling number of hides for sale. Gilli had refused to approach the two hooded and masked poachers, worried they’d take an interest in his own hide while being equally repulsed by these two monsters. In the end, Nacatali and Iitoli had picked a pelt that matched the dimensions Mocctila had given, with a little excess.
“Body shapers like to have room to make mistakes and changes,” Nacatali had said as though she thought such a notion somehow justified the hideous transaction she was engaged in.
“You think it’s an omen that the hide they got was a lioness?” Haldan asked softly.
“Perhaps,” Gilli replied, “I couldn’t bring myself to look closely, but there were definitely scars on the hide. Whoever she was in life, she was almost certainly a warrior. The fact that such a hide was the one that seems destined to fit whatever abomination Mocctila is working on does not bode well.”
“You’re the first one I’ve heard call it an abomination,” said Haldan.
“I’ve been keeping that opinion to myself,” Gilli confessed, “but it is difficult to think of it as anything else. I’m a Yorn, and even I know that this much metal and a hide aren’t normal requests for a Core Stone to make when giving direction on the kind of body it wishes to inhabit.”
“And it came from Choletex,” Haldan added solemnly, “which means this should be its first body. The fact that it has these sick preferences is….”
“Frightening,” Gilli suggested in the face of Haldan’s hesitance.
“Grotesque,” Haldan said, “and, yes, frightening. So much metal, a hide, hardwoods, rawhide and leather instead of vines or hemp line…Mocctila has been tasked to build one of those things the Jahlnarth tinkers make.”
Both of them turned their heads and spit over the edges of the limb they perched on. Ahrlu were not shy about the fact that they were, in a way, a form of construct. The bodies they inhabited had to be made by the hands of others. Their Core Stones, however, undoubtedly held a soul, and it was the soul of an Ahrlu that made them who they were, not the body the inhabited. The tinkers of the Holy Jahlnarth Empire delighted in creating hollow constructs. While these machines looked like any bipedal humanoid you could meet, minus the gleaming metal components perhaps, there was no light in their eyes. Gilli had only had the displeasure of meeting one of these soulless monstrosities once, and he never hoped to see such a thing again.
Fur standing on end, he said, “If that is what is presented today, I’ll throw it to the ground myself.”
“But won’t that anger the forest?” Haldan asked, “it is a stone from Choletex, creepy or not.”
“Damn the forest’s feelings,” Gilli grumbled, ears flicking agitatedly, “this thing…it isn’t natural! Even if it is some sort of messenger, as soon as it says what it must, I’m of a mind to throw it out.”
“That’ll be for Nacatali and Iitoli to decide,” Haldan said sternly, “shaman or not, you are still just a spiritual leader.”
“I know that,” Gilli snapped, “and I wouldn’t overstep my bounds! But…this thing? Nothing about this sits well with me. I’d see it cast out, if my opinion counted for anything to Nacatali and Iitoli.”
Haldan sighed. “If it makes you feel any better, most of the guardians would agree with you,” he said.
Gilli grunted his appreciation, shielding his eyes with one hand so he could mark the position of the sun. Midday was upon them, which meant it was time for the abomination to finally come forth.
A sigh escaped Gilli as he stood and offered a hand to help Haldan up. Both of them had been young, but that was some time in the past. While Haldan was bald like all Bissean males, the short beard he had kept his whole life had been bleached white with time. His limbs were as stretchy as ever, but now his joints crackled when he extended them. Similar sounds came from Gilli’s knees and spine whenever he exerted himself or stretched too luxuriously on crisp mornings. White was invading the tips of his ears, stealing the color from the fur along the edges of his muzzle and over his joints.
Age slowed the friends as they descended towards the village, but Gilli found himself grateful that he could still do this much. So many of his contemporaries were already confined to the territory of their homes and the little gardens that were cultivated in special boxes throughout the village. Each winter his bones ached, but he could at least wander the walkways and limbs, doing his duty as the shaman of Choletex. Others whom he had been a whelp with were already unable to cross the commons, and a few had already made their journey into the next world.
Time, Gilli thought often, was the only true enemy of any person. No matter how wise, powerful, rich, twisted, or fair, no one could avoid the wages of the time they spent. No one, he found himself thinking more often, except the Ahrlu. When their body crumbled, the Core Stone remained, ready to be fitted to a new body to live out another lifetime. Any other day, that fact bothered Gilli little. Today, when he was to present a creature to the community that seemed to embody everything that was contrary to the ways of the Ahrlu, contrary to all who dwelt within the Nomad Forest, it seemed unfair that such a creature should have the privilege of evading the iron-fisted demands of time.
Traversing the limbs brought the friends down into the top of the village that was nestled in Choletex’s ancient branches. Most of the dwellings had been coaxed into being over the course of generations, with clever craftsmen and body shapers alike creating latices and grafts that were eventually assimilated by the constant growth of Choletex. Much further down, near where the limbs ended and the trunk ran down to the roots, one could still see the burls that marked where previous structures had been. As Choletex grew, the village continued to rise, with old building being swallowed up by the bark and wood that formed them and new structures being coached into shape higher up where the growth was new and the limbs still supple.
Thicker, older structures greeted Gilli and Haldan as they moved towards the heart of the village. A grand plaza made of woven branches that had grown over one another, kept fairly flat through constant coaxing and foot traffic, formed the heart of the village. Grown structures shared the perimeter of the plaza with “free standing” structures. Loose structures like these were build using discarded wood from Choletex and other trees of the Nomad Forest. Their architecture was often a little haphazard, given that their foundations were living material, so they had to be more flexible than the rigid structures of those that dwelt on the ground. Still, there was some stone involved with these buildings, as they were where those that worked metal plied their trade, making the stonework vital to the effort of not accidentally igniting Choletex with an ill-placed spark.
Flush with the trunk was the home of Nacatali and Iitoli, the Mother and Father of the Ahrlu clan that called this village home, and the workshop that belonged to no one. Instead, the tools inside were kept for any body shaper that was called to build a body for a Core Stone. Every Ahrlu community had such a workshop, which was the closest thing Gilli could compare to a temple or chapel for the people made of wood and plant matter.
The workshop door was flanked by stern-faced Bissean guardians, both of whom answered to Haldan. Both were tightly wrapped in thick cloth armor augmented with hardwood plates and slats, bound with rawhide and leathers, each armed with a pair of the long, cruel, curved blades that were uniquely suited to the whirling and slashing fighting style of the elastic Bissean fighters.
Ignoring his guardians, Haldan approached the door, knocking softly, reflecting his own hesitation in the action.
“Who knocks?” came the lilting reply. Gilli couldn’t help but smile. He had met Mocctila before, but not as a body shaper. She had spent four lives training under some of the best singers the world had to offer. Listening to her perform was a treat that Gilli hoped to sample once more.
“Lead guardian Haldan,” one of the guard called through the door.
“Enter then,” Mocctila replied.
Haldan nudged the door open and passed inside, followed closely by Gilli. No one had been permitted to see this body up to this point, but Gilli knew the time had come for him to witness this creature. If nothing else, it was time for him to commune with the Core Stone in order to learn its name so he could properly present it to the community.
Rot assaulted Gilli’s nose as he closed the door behind him. Gagging, he tried to look anywhere to find something non-horrific, but the task was proving difficult. One workbench dripped with nearly dry blood as what could only be the remains of various animals lay there, crawling with flies. Few shavings of wood adorned the floor, but coal crunched underfoot, polluting the air with the reek of sulfur mixed with the fire from the makeshift forge in the corner. Bones littered another workbench, covered in the flakes of other such materials that had been mercilessly ground into the shapes needed to form the thing that was strapped to the seat in the center of the room.
At a glance, the inert body looked like a Yorn lioness that was merely napping in the body shaper’s assembly chair. More than a mere glance, however, revealed the expert stitching that crisscrossed the hide, concealing hours of labor. Near joints and around the face, the skin was pulled tight, revealing the harsh angle of metal and bone beneath. Stains that could be mistaken for bruises showed wherever there should be large muscles under the stretched hide, speaking to the bloodied and decaying tissue beneath.
Shaking, Gilli dared look this abomination in the eye. As of yet, there were no eyes to speak of, but the two fleshy voids that he met with his gaze still froze him. They hovered above a rigid snout, the jaw dangling, mismatched teeth of metal and bone lining the mouth as though put there by one who understood how teeth work, but had little experience organizing them.
The maker of this hideous thing stood behind it. Her rosewood body, usually covered in flowering vines, trembled as she shoved against something at the back of the head, causing the whole corpse-like construct to lurch suddenly.
“I had to strap it down,” Mocctila explained, eyes fixed on her work as the friends approached cautiously, “because it moves every time I touch things here inside the skull. I have never seen something like this…or made anything like this. The stone demanded to be placed in the skull, and to have all connections run up through the neck to the skull.”
“It isn’t a flesh fiend…is it?” Haldan asked, causing everyone in the room to shudder. Ahrlu that liked to pilot bodies of flesh were considered to be creatures of irredeemable wickedness, as their perverse preference in bodies required that an already living creature be slain.
“I don’t think so,” Mocctila replied, “they demand the use of a fully formed body. This stone wanted something more…durable.”
“Then why the hide?” Gilli asked, his guts squirming as he recalled the meeting with the Pelt Nappers.
“She says it is to honor the life of one who walked with her previously,” said Mocctila, her body rattling as she shook again, “this hide was the exact one she requested too…as if she knew that those particular Pelt Nappers would have it. She is…a strange stone.”
“What? No,” Haldan snorted, “this is all perfectly normal.”
Mocctila giggled, some of the life that had been missing from her large dark eyes returning. “Normal it is not,” she said, “but this…feels merely strange, not wrong. Whatever this stone knows, it is far beyond anything we have witnessed.”
“She came up from the trunk,” Gilli said, “perhaps there is some message she bears?”
“We will know soon enough,” Mocctila said, “she rests on the bench there,” she pointed to a small table behind her, “speak with her, shaman. This body is ready for her and I would get through this Presenting as soon as possible so I can go about forgetting having made this thing.”
Gilli nodded as he moved to the bench. The Core Stone resting there was unlike any he had seen before. No color was considered common for Core Stones, but most of them were some shade of black, white, or grey. All of them were glassy, as if made of obsidian, but no force known to mortals could shatter a Core Stone. Legends said that the powers of gods were needed to break an Ahrlu’s Core Stone and that doing so would bring about an apocalyptic string of events.
Despite the dire legends, Gilli was earnestly pondering what gods to call upon to break the Core Stone before him. As much as the body it had requested, the stone disturbed him, for it looked less like a stone and more like a jagged piece of coagulated blood, shimmering crimson where the light touched it and displaying abyssal darkness where the light could not reach.
Sighing, he relaxed his shoulders, cleared his breath, lifted the stone with his right hand, and spoke with the words of Ahdral, the Father Tree, Guardian of Life, and the god that gave life to the forests of worlds without number. Anyone could speak such words, of course, but only those who had communed with an avatar of the Father Tree, as Gilli had many years ago, could imbue those words with power. Said power allowed him to breach the normally staunch barriers that protected the soul within a Core Stone and speak directly to the one that dwelt within that stone.
Gilli looked down, aware of a strange sloshing sound about his knees. He screamed staggering back, falling, panic rising in his bones as he saw he was standing in a sea of blood. All around him as he sank, he could hear echoes, the long-lost ghosts of battle, of those who died and those who slew them. Thrashing, choking on the gore he was sinking in, Gilli tried to find the surface, but there was nothing there.
Fear and relief filled him as someone with a frightfully powerful hand grabbed his wrist. As if he weighed less than a child, he was pulled up, through the pulsating blood that was determined to strangle the life out of him, until he was on his feet again.
Souls were often nimbus, difficult to define by mortal standards, but this one was sharply defined. Like a void she stood before Gilli, her form defying classification while clearly demonstrating both power and femininity. The shade-like soul had no eyes, but he knew she was scrutinizing him the way one would appraise a potential opponent for a duel.
“My body is ready?” her voice demanded, emanating from all around them as they stood in the writhing blood that lapped against their legs.
“It is,” Gilli stammered, “and I will need to name you before the people.”
“Of course,” the soul scoffed, “tradition must stand, I suppose. You will tell them that I am Jira. What else do you require of me?”
“That was all,” Gilli said quickly.
Without further communication, Gilli’s vision blurred, clearing rapidly until he saw Haldan’s concerned face looming above him.
“Gilli!” the guardian shouted, though his voice felt distant, “Gilli! Say something!”
“Jira,” Gilli whispered, “her name is Jira…and she walks in a path drowning in the blood of fallen warriors.”
“Sounds dramatic,” Haldan grunted as he hauled Gilli into a sitting position, “you grabbed that stone, said the prayer, then collapsed. What happened?”
“I’ve never met a soul that strong,” Gilli said shakily, aware that ever hair across his whole body was standing on end, “nor one so…frightful.”
“Is she ready?” Mocctila asked, drawing Gilli’s attention up to her.
“Yes…she is,” Gilli replied.
Word that the creature being constructed in the body shaper’s workshop spread rapidly through the village. Work was quickly abandoned. Presentings were, after all, a holiday of sorts. The new member of the community had to be properly welcomed, which of course meant a bit of revelry for all involved.
Rumors swarmed as more Ahrlu, Yorn, and Bissean congregated in the plaza. Nacatali and Iitoli had said very little to the community about this new member. Everyone knew that the Core Stone had been pushed out of Choletex’s trunk, and this was seen as either a blessed sign or cursed omen by all present. Most, however, agreed that whatever this new member of the community brought with them, a holiday was a holiday and no one was about to argue with that.
Nacatali and Iitoli appeared first. As the Mother and Father of the Ahrlu, and by extension the Bissean and Yorn, that dwelt in Choletex’s branches, they were both voice and law for the village. They announced that the newest member of the community was finished and ready to come forth.
Mocctila led the way from the workshop, Gilli by her side, the macabre Jira following closely behind them. Haldan stood before the crowd with his guardians, ready to respond to either an angry mob of a monster attacking the crowd…or both.
Normally there was cheering and excited chatter when a new Ahrlu was Presented to the community. Today, as Jira stepped forward amid that required chanted blessing offered by Gilli, there was deathly silence. Only the distant rumble of Choletex’s roots churning hundreds of feet below to propel the great tree across the land interrupted the blessing as it concluded. Jira looked out over the assembled villagers with eyes as bloody as the stone now lodged inside her skull. All Ahrlu’s eyes were strange, usually filled with swirls of color and speckles of white and black, none of which made for what passed as an “eye” to any other race. Jira’s eyes were the eyes of a monster; blacker than the scales of the Death God Crexas until the sunlight graced them, at which point they shone like blood freshly spilled upon glass.
“This one has come to us from beyond,” Gilli called out to the villagers, reciting the words he had for so many other Presentings, “and this one will now be known to you. This one is known as Jira, and she now stands before you to be received.”
There was some polite applause, a few half-hearted cheers, nothing compared to usual outbreak of rejoicing at a Presenting. Jira chuckled in her chest, smirking out at the shivering villagers, her hide rolling strangely as the components beneath shifted.
“I thank you for the welcome,” she said, her voice booming over the plaza with the power of one who was accustomed to issuing commands that were not to be questioned. “Would to Maromba I had time to enjoy your hospitality, but duty demands I press onward from here. Eat, drink, revel in my honor, people of Choletex. My message is for your Mother and Father, and I will deliver it to them alone.”
She turned, still smirking confidently at the shaken Nacatali and Iitoli.
“Bring whoever leads your warriors,” Jira ordered as she herded Nacatali and Iitoli towards their dwelling, “and that one.”
She pointed abruptly at Gilli.
“I’m merely the shaman of Choletex,” he blurted out, “I’m sure—”
His words died as Jira locked eyes with him. Even though she said nothing, Gilli felt sure her voice rattled his soul with the command to follow. Resistance seemed like a futile effort, so as Haldan was called for, Gilli stepped forward, drawn by the continued intensity radiating from Jira that threatened to end him if he did not comply.
Outside, one could hear the sounds of festivities. A holiday was, after all, a holiday, and the people of Choletex were not fools. Terrifying as their new community member may be, no one was about to pass up a chance to imbibe and dance until the late watches of the night. Besides, some of them reasoned, Jira had practically ordered them to have fun. Who were they to question?
Inside the home of Nacatali and Iitoli, the tone was less carefree. Nacatali and Iitoli sat on either side of the large table that dominated their kitchen while Haldan remained a few paces away. Gilli, who had been compelled to stand next to Jira with another unspoken command, noticed that his friend had yet to take his hands off his blades. Both of them felt certain that Jira could slay them both with minimal effort on her part, but Haldan would not let that deter him from his duty.
In the spirit of celebration, Nacatali had suggested they all at least have a drink before hearing the message Jira brought with her. To everyone’s surprise, Jira agreed to this, and quickly proved her body was robust enough to down several large mugs of spirits.
Slamming her latest mug on the table and smacking her lips, Jira turned her attention to the Mother and Father.
“I apologize for my abruptness,” she began, “but urgency is needed. I can feel that the forest is on the move. Where does it move?”
“Choletex is leading the forest south,” Iitoli replied, “we have spent many seasons in the central plains between the Pretannai and the Jahlnarth, but their war is growing ever nearer.”
“It’s no war moving the forest,” Jira said calmly, leaning back in her seat, “if the trees are moving, then Ahdral has warned them too. I was sent by Maromba to warn you of what is to come.”
“It’s rare for an Ahrlu to walk the path of the Goddess of War,” Gilli noted, his suspicions suddenly confirmed. He had noticed that among the stitching on Jira’s back, there had been a large scar. Convinced he was imagining things, he had dismissed the through that the scar looked like the sigil of Maromba, Goddess of Combat and Honor. Now he knew he had been right.
“I walked it with many others,” Jira replied with a smirk, “including the one that once wore this skin. I wear it now so I may hunt those that were too cowardly to fight her directly, but that is my own business. Right now, I am here to inform you of what is to come.”
“So this stupid war between the Pretannai and the Jahlnarth is gonna affect us too then?” Haldan growled. Gilli was aware that his friend was more informed about such things than he was, but it was still surprising to hear him so agitated by this idea.
“Not their war,” said Jira, “but something worse. Very soon, there will be a break in the fabric of reality, a rip that will allow things from other Realms to seep into this world. Among those things is what my goddess has called the Schism. This rift will rip into the world like a blade through flesh…and it will happen almost exactly where we are now. I imagine that is why Adhral told the forest to flee.”
Silence met Jira’s declaration. Clearing his throat, Gilli chugged the las of his drink before attempting to speak.
“Then we’re safe,” he said, “the forest is already on the move and we will soon be clear of this disaster. What sort of warning is this then?”
“You fail to grasp the scope of what I bring,” Jira said patiently, “yes, there will be a great disturbance where the Schism takes place, but other places will be affected as well. Things, both creatures of darkness and light, people from other worlds, and monsters you have no frame of reference for will spill into this world. Flee all you like, but not even the great Nomad Forest can outrun the changes coming.”
“And the Goddess of War is concerned about this?” Nacatali asked.
“She fears that the honorless will take advantage of the chaos,” Jira clarified sternly, “and that the people of this world are ill-equipped to face the martial challenges coming. I have been sent to warn the peoples of this world about what is coming. I have warned you. Now, I must go out and warn others.”
She stood, stretching her arms over her head and letting out a deep breath.
“I will need armor,” she declared, “weapons I can acquire on my own. Your shaman and your guardsman here will accompany me.” Before anyone could object, Jira continued, “I did not walk this part of the world in any of my seven lives, so it is alien to me. I need companions I can trust to know what lies ahead and who can watch my back. I think one that can speak with the voice of the Father Tree and a skilled warrior like your guardsman here will do nicely.”
“But why?” Gilli asked, expanding his question when Jira raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean, why must we be the ones to help carry this message? I’m sure you are more than capable of doing this alone.”
“I am,” Jira replied, “but only a fool goes to war alone. Besides, you will need allies to confront what is coming. I cannot speak for the people of the Nomad Forest. You two, on the other hand, can. So, you will accompany me.”
“She is a messenger of the gods,” Nacatali said as both Gilli and Haldan opened their mouths to object, “you will do as she says.”
“Yes, Mother,” the two friends said begrudgingly.
“We depart at dawn,” Jira said as she strode to the door, “be prepared by then. I look forward to traveling with both of you.”
In later years, Gilli would consider this terrible day to be the last truly gentle day of his life.
Along the way, Gilli was confused by the sheer volume of resistance they met. As if some force wished to stop them, they came under attack almost everywhere they went. Commoners would pelt them with rotten vegetables, though he suspected that had more to do with Jira’s frightful appearance more than the warnings they carried. Nobles would threaten to have them executed if they did not depart their lands immediately. Periodic monster attacks on the roads gave Gilli too much opportunity to practice what he knew of medicine and the use of Ahdral’s power in healing. Haldan, despite his age, was becoming sharper with each round of cultists—many of whom fell chanting the names of gods Gilli did not recognize—or monsters that attacked them. His limbs didn’t stretch as far as they once had, but that didn’t slow him down too much, as his blades were still sharp and he could move faster than most people could think.
Jira was a sight any time a fight broke out. The once-and-current disciple of Maromba laid waste to anyone that challenged her. Whatever her opponent wielded, or what she had in her hands, she could not be beaten. Watching her tear through enemies with merciless efficiency was like watching a force of nature unfold before their eyes, and it left Gilli and Haldan wondering why she had even wanted them to come along.
Any time they approached a community, guild, noble, or company that Jira declared must hear her message, the two friends were reminded why Jira needed them. Her skill was with blade and bow and ax and hammer…words were the only enemy she could never properly defeat.
Gilli was left to do most of the talking. Alternating between using the power of Ahdral to lift his voice and the simple inflection of his own humble power, Gilli relayed, word for word, what Jira had told them the day of her Presenting. Some readily accepted the message, swearing that they would prepare for what was coming. Others scoffed, brushing the warning off as impossible, dismissing the messengers without a second thought.
What bothered Gilli most was how easy it was for the guild masters and mercenary commanders they met to accept the message and how hard it was for practitioners of magic and science to accept. He had been certain when they set out that the seasoned fighters of the world would laugh at the idea of the very world being torn asunder by astral forces. Instead, it was the mages in their schools that mocked the notions. Professors and scholars that studied the heavens and the earth in equal measure rolled their eyes at the message. Such things, they assured the three travelers, was an impossibility.
A year rolled by in this manner. As the haggard travelers crested a hill overlooking a vast stretch of plains on a warm spring morning, they saw the battlefield where the forces of the Pretannai Empire had set to battle against the armies of the Holy Jahlnarth Empire. Despite their distance from the conflict, they could still hear the rumble of troops and beasts alike as they shifted on the field. Thunder from magic and gunpowder alike wafted up to them on the wings of the stench of war.
“It is time,” Jira said, fear tinting her voice for the first time since Gilli and Haldan had met her.
“Time for what?” Haldan asked, leaning on the walking staff he had taken to using, picking at his teeth with the tip of a short blade he kept up his sleeve most days.
“The Schism,” Jira replied in little more than a whisper.
Gilli was on the verge of asking what she meant when he felt it; a power like the one he had felt flowing through the roots of the primordial tree he had sat under so many years ago as part of his devotion to Ahdral. From a place beyond comprehension, something was moving beneath the soil of the hills, of the plains below, of the world itself. Closing like a fist, this power shook the world. Birds fled their roosts as soldiers below tumbled to the ground, unable to keep their feet for the tremors that made the ground roll like waves on a raging sea.
Jira stood, body swaying, eyes glowing bright with otherworldly light as she stared onto the plain below. It was all Gilli could do to sink gracefully to his knees while Haldan stood, legs wobbling in time with the undulations of the earth, leaving him unaffected. In his bones, Gilli could feel the might of whatever entity had taken hold of the world. Whether it would crush the world in its grasp or not remained to be seen.
All was lost in the midst of a flash that forced Gilli to shield his eyes. When the light faded, the rumbling ceased, the surging force that had gripped the world slacked, and far below came new sounds, sounds that shook Gilli’s chest and made opening his eyes sound like a terrible idea indeed. But he could not resist the draw of curiosity, so his eyes opened, and he saw what had become of the plains below.
The plains were no more. The hill Jira had stopped them on was now the absolute edge of what had once been. Reaching out, Gilli sobbed as he touched the soil before him. Every crumb of dirt beneath his fingers sang with the song of another world, one that should not have been lying before him now.
Racing down from where the three stood, a valley sloped into being, marred through its core by a mighty river, choked with great trees and swarming with movement. Through the air, massive beasts with leathery wings wheeled about, seeming to assess the chaos that had enfolded the armies below, circling like hawks before plunging downward, bathing entire exposed battalions in plumes of luminous fire.
“Those caught up in the trees might be able to escape,” Jira noted, but it was not her voice. Rather, the voice rang with authority, deeper, stronger, demanding of attention as Jira’s eyes continued to burn bright.
“So says the Goddess of War,” Gilli whispered, turning back to the disaster that was ongoing in the valley below.
“This is greater than what I imagined,” Maromba said through Jira, “you did well to warn the warriors of this world. It is a pity some did not listen. I have yet one more task to place upon my disciple, and you two as well, should you be willing?”
“We’ve come this far your ladyship,” Haldan chuckled, turning his back on the new valley and its residents, “what harm is a few more leagues by the side of your favored?”
“What would you have us do?” Gilli asked, still transfixed on the calamity below.
“Go home,” Maromba commanded, “and as you go, speak of what you have seen here. Let the world know that the Schism has occurred, that a valley of dragons lies upon the plains now…that the world has changed.”
Jira’s eyes ceased to glow, her body slackening a little as she pressed a hand to her forehead.
“My Lady of War has never done that before,” she said breathlessly, “mercy! How long is this valley?”
“I can’t make out either end of it,” Gilli said, pulling himself to his feet and dusting off the knees of his robes. “You are aware of the duty we were given?”
“Of course,” Jira replied, “just because Maromba spoke through me doesn’t mean I was deaf.”
“Then we should get started,” said Gilli, “for it is a long journey to where the Nomad Forest now stands, and there are many who must hear about this along the way.”
