It took him two full days to rid himself of the terrible depression that overtook him after the encounter with the dying Lalas. It plagued him during his dreams, leaving him for the moments just before dawn, only to find him again immediately upon his awakening.
Robyn forced himself to move on, to continue his journey, fighting the desire to lie down and sleep for eternity. Although he endeavored to open his mind up to Promanthea’s contact, he had no further communication with the Lalas since that fateful morning, but neither did he expect to. Robyn felt the enormous burden upon his shoulders. He knew that he would be on his own now, that the next chapter would be written without the aid of his great tree.
As he galloped through the woods, he recalled how hopeful he was just three days ago, how full of promise the world appeared to be and how empowered he felt. Now, although the promise of his soon to occur contact with the heir of Gwendolen was paramount on his mind, he was struggling with doubt, an emotion that had not plagued him in the past. The experience of witnessing the death of so great a tree, of so monumental a force, had changed him. It hardened his resolve certainly, but it also caused him to focus on just how small and insignificant he was in the scope of things, how powerless he seemed to himself now, if a tree, as great and noble as the one that passed from this earth the other day, could not even resist the coming darkness.
The powers to the south were building and their influence was spreading. He felt it in the soil, in the air, in the very trees he communed with. But, the boy had appeared as well only recently, waiting to be trained. The fabric was weaving of its own accord… a tear here, a rip there, an open seam. But then a new thread was introduced, and a new and unexpected product was created. That is how he began to perceive the process, and his hope, his faith, began to return anew. The dialectic of his thought helped to carry him from darkness to light many times in the past, and it aided him now as well.
Robyn was well aware that he could not predict what only time would tell. But, he also believed that he had a part to play in this dark chapter, and that he could effect change and guide it, if not generate it wholly on his own. He thought as he rode, swiftly and sure, and the time passed reasonably fast. His spirits lifted accordingly as he approached the plains.
He would soon have to depart from the comforting water of the Sirceloc, a source of sustenance he would dearly miss, but he accepted necessity stoically, and he was ready to move on. Ever since the ‘calling’ had overtaken him, Robyn had no doubt that in time the future would be secure. He believed that he only needed to reach the boy’s side, impart what knowledge he could to the youth along with his other teachers, and the world would begin to mend, set on the correct course, the healthy course once again. The cloth could unravel and be re-woven, and tomorrow would still come. He yet believed that. The only difference now, after the shock of the recent death of the noble tree, was that the evil was closer than before, that the moment was approaching faster than he anticipated, that he would not have the luxury of time that he expected to have to teach and practice with the young boy. The timetable he never fully envisioned to begin with would now need to be speeded up. He felt an urgency that he heretofore never felt.
All of these emotions were welling up in the young Chosen, and he worked his way meticulously through them, painstakingly climbing out of each pit of depression until he was able to put the destructive feelings behind him at last. By the time he bid farewell to the river Sirceloc, he was himself once again, though transformed forever, like the fabric of life, re-woven out of the same threads, retaining the same essence, but still subtly different. Robyn spurred Kraft onward with renewed determination toward the open hills of Delphan. Two day’s hard ride over the knolls was all that remained between himself and a clear path to Pardatha.
Chapter Nineteen
Cameron met his revered Lady, Filaree Par D’Avalain, in the courtyard of the castle, prepared, as always to begin the journey she had outlined earlier. His admiration for her was unbridled. Nico, her silver grey mount, and his own horse, Trojan, the black stallion bequeathed to him as a foal by his father, stood ready, with their saddlebags packed, requisitions well chosen and their weapons carefully stowed and secured upon the horses.
When Filaree stepped onto the paving stones of the atrium, ready to mount her filly and be off, Cameron gasped in wonder at the majesty of the woman he felt honored to accompany. When they were not training, Filaree would let her golden brown hair fly loosely behind her as they rode. She had inherited the hair from her father, the alabaster skin from her mother, while her remaining features were a perfect mix between the two parents, managing to capture the best qualities of both, the combination of which resulted in an astounding beauty. Her appearance was tempered by understanding, green eyes and the warmest smile this side of the Thorndars that formed so naturally upon lips that were red and full.
Cameron did truly love his mistress, though not in an amorous way, at least that is what he told himself over and over again. He admired her and respected her, and his love for her was complete, though not the type to cause him to be jealous in a possessive manner. But then again, she hardly even looked twice at any gentleman who might be a suitable mate for her, so his emotions were never fully tested. She was like an older sister to him, although merely six months his senior. He was an only child, and she mothered him as well in the absence of his own who died when he was born. He would lay his life down before allowing her to be harmed.
Filaree adored Cameron too. She joked with him and teased him, but she knew the value of his friendship and loyalty, and she never took it for granted. He was a handsome man, slim and wiry but very strong, with curly brown hair and deep brown eyes. He towered over her in height, but he was agile and swift. Cameron could fight, indeed, and she knew that he would be a worthy opponent of anyone who challenged either her or him. His loyalty was unquestioned, and Filaree’s only worry thereon was that it was sometimes an overzealous one, that it could cause him harm if he reacted in haste or overreacted to what he perceived to be a threat to her welfare. But she too loved him, as he loved her, fully and honestly and thoroughly platonically. Together, they were a formidable team, each understanding the manner in which the other fought, able to predict the other’s movements and reactions, able to anticipate what strategies each would employ under difficult circumstances. They rarely had to talk in order to coordinate their movements while in battle. They danced the dance of war better than any other partners could. There was also little that they kept hidden from one another when it came to their quests, concerns and evaluations. In order to be the perfect team, they needed to keep one another totally aware of any doubts as well as confidences they may be harboring.
It was no surprise thus that few men courted Filaree and few women pursued Cameron. Most assumed that they were a pair, in all ways, and they did not seek to challenge that relationship. Both Filaree and Cameron were reconciled to that problem, knowing that when the right person finally came along for one or the other, he or she would understand the truth and not be frightened by their friendship. In the meantime, they believed that they had no time for romance anyway, and they did not regret their choices. Both had their flings on their own time and they satisfied whatever yearnings and needs they may have had, but they deemed their purpose to be exalted, and they vowed that they would not allow personal feelings to come before the greater good.
Although Cameron was never fully apprised of the heir’s importance, of the reason for the ‘calling’, he was told what he needed to be told and he did not feel deprived of information in this regard. He was a man of few words who only needed to be convinced of his purpose once in order to pursue it without hesitation. He believed in Filaree and her ability to discern the right path, and when it came to the ‘calling’, he immediately knew that he would sacrifice whatever was necessary to aid his Lady in the answering of that call.
“Come, Cameron. We must mount and be off,” she called to him.
“Yes, my Lady,” he replied as he deftly hoisted himself atop his steed, after first checking the girth under Trojan’s belly as well as Nico’s.
They had a long ride ahead of them and the last thing that they needed was a loose saddle causing either mount irritation and thereby slowing them down. He checked the saddlebags, made certain the weapons were secure once again and then he was finally ready to depart. Filaree glanced briefly back at the castle, her gaze rising upward toward the tower where she knew her mother would be watching. Permitting her eyes to linger for only a moment, she turned swiftly away and urged her horse forward. Nico responded by breaking into a loping canter, her shod hooves clapping upon the cobblestones in a loud and rhythmic fashion, echoing throughout the courtyard, as Cameron spurred Trojan on, gingerly catching up to Filaree so that the two departed the gates side by side.
They headed directly southward, toward Chilmark, a short ride from the outskirts of the city. They planned to cross the barren plains before nightfall, entering the Winding Woods in time to bed down for the evening. The woods would offer protection of a sort, if they chose their campsite well. One could easily get lost in the forests south of the Chilmark.
The Winding Woods were so called because the trees that grew there rose in winding rows, spiraling to the top of the crest. They were so dense and thick with foliage that the traveler had to follow their path, not forge his own. The trees chose the direction that anyone who trespassed in their realm had to take. They were not related to the Lalas directly, perhaps more primitive, less conscious, but they communicated with one another in their own fashion, allowing some travelers to enter and exit safely, while trapping others indefinitely inside their twisted and confusing maze. No one had ever impugned the integrity of the trees in the Winding Woods. But, neither did one ascribe any ethical purpose to their behavior. They simply seemed to randomly pick among those who dared to enter, letting some through safely while inexplicably detaining others.
Filaree and Cameron were prepared to take the risk of entering the Winding Woods, confident that they would carefully wend their way through to the other side, and reach the Tammell hills by the third day. Their real concern was reserved for the hills themselves, inhabited by wood Trolls who rarely left the dreary territory, but took sport with anyone or anything that chose to enter their domain.
The Trolls were fat and ugly creatures, uneducated although mentally capable. They were generally lazy and slovenly, happy to trap the unsuspecting human or Elf and force him or her into perpetual servitude, until they chose to carve them up for a rare dinner. Few journeyed into the hills unless accompanied by a substantial force, and the Trolls otherwise kept to themselves for the most part. They lived in caves when available or carelessly constructed mud huts, and they scavenged for roots and mushrooms. Much to the surprise of most people and contrary to common belief, they rarely ate meat.
Trolls were generally grumpy, dirty, and dumb, but they could be formidable enemies when angered. Their stupidity made them easy to outsmart but hard to defeat if they should come upon a party unawares, as they fought blindly and with unrestrained furor, carelessly ignoring their own wounds in the process. If they were discovered by one of them as they crossed the hills, Cameron and Filaree would have to fight their way out, no doubt. That prospect they did not look forward to. They discussed these issues as they rode, stopping only to eat some fruit and cheese and to water the horses occasionally.
The plains were devoid of people and few animals dwelled upon them. The rain settled swiftly into the hard soil, leaving large crevices and dry gullies everywhere. Wherever it did not drain, it froze in standing pools during the winter months. Very little grew and there was not much that was desirable about Chilmark. It did provide the city and castle with a natural defensive barrier, as no one could hide therein due to the lack of vegetation, and it was also hard to build structures in the cracked and fissured ground. Even if an army did approach Altair and the city of Avalain, it would be hard put to camp in the plains of Chilmark and lay siege to it. They provided no sustenance to an army and no shelter from either the elements or bombardment from the castle above.
“Ride next to me Cameron. The path widens from here on and the soil is harder. Trojan will not lose his footing as easily,” Filaree said.
“How do you know that the woods will welcome us, Lady, and not prevent our passing through?” Cameron asked, concerned about the rumors he had heard his entire life.
“I am not certain of anything, but I am not unprepared.”
Filaree reached into her blouse and withdrew a carved pendant shaped like a tree, though black in color, hanging from a thin, gold chain.
“Do you see this, Cameron?”
“Yes, my Lady. It is quite beautiful,” he responded, leaning over as he rode to gaze upon it.
“Beautiful and functional. My father gave this to me when I was a young girl. He was born here, as was I, and he spent many a day learning about the countryside. My father loved all that lived in nature, and he craved understanding and knowledge. The Winding Woods was a place where he ventured often as a young man. He told me many stories of his sojourns there.” Filaree replaced the token and drew her reins in tightly, abruptly stopping her forward motion. Looking at Cameron quizzically she said, “You know, you resemble him. He was not a man of many words, but his heart was pure and his purpose clear.” She loosened her grip on the leather straps and Nico proceeded forward once again.
“I am honored that you think so. Although I did not know him, I was told he was a good and noble man,” Cameron replied, catching up to her again.
They were trotting now, careful not to lead their mounts into areas where the soil was too cracked and their ankles could get caught and twisted.
“The necklace I showed you was given to him when he was a boy, by Pembar. Do you remember being told of him?” she inquired.
“Yes, my Lady, but I did not believe he was real. I thought he was just a legend, a character in tales told to frighten children,” Cameron said.
“Well, so did I until my father gave me this. I thought he was kidding when he told me that Pembar lived in the Winding Woods and that one day, when he was exploring near the base of the trees, he was approached by the odd, aged man. He shuddered in fear, initially, he told me. He spoke to me like a young boy. He said that he had never been so frightened in his life. I remember thinking it so strange that my father would be frightened by anything. That moment is so vivid in my mind, Cameron, it is as if it was yesterday,” Filaree said, sounding childlike in her reminisce. “The already ancient man befriended him and taught him all that he knew of the trees. Pembar was a strange, old man, my father said, but he was good. His ways were different than other people’s, but he served the right side and he recognized the virtue in my father. Pembar just preferred to live apart from people and that was hard for most folk to understand. And, as he aged, he looked more like a shabby, straggly tree than he did a man. The legends just rose around him.”
“I heard all of the tales, but I never thought that he was real. When I was a child, Pembar was a character in a bedtime story who gave me nightmares. My father used to warn me about wandering away and getting lost in the woods. He used to tease me by saying Pembar would find me and make me his slave. I never knew or suspected that he was a real person.”
“He was real, Cameron, and he gave my father this token, this black tree. He said that it would identify him as a friend of the woods, as a person that would never harm a tree needlessly. He told my father that if he wanted to learn about the Winding Woods and their ways, then he would need to identify himself to them, so he wore it always until he gave it to me. The trees there were not smart like the Lalas. They could not reason, he told my father, but they could distinguish good from bad and they reacted instinctively to their recognition. The necklace just assured him of that recognition.”
“Your father spent a good deal of time in the woods?”
“Yes, quite a lot. He told me that he loved to enter and to follow the paths that the trees created. They changed each time he stepped foot in the forest. He was fascinated by them. He went to them often, and as he grew older himself, he would spend days at a time there, worrying my mother no end. He used to tell me that he learned to revere the mysterious in nature because of the forest, how it changed for no human reason, how the woods lived and grew as a unit as if the forest was really one tree rather than thousands. He was very fond of the Winding Woods,” Filaree said. Talking about him brought her great joy.
“I had no idea, my Lady, that anyone ever went in and out of there often,” he said, astonished at her father’s boldness.
“Well, he did, Cameron. And he told me that the time would come when I would need to also. He knew, Cameron! I really believe that he knew even then that this time would come,” she said contemplatively.
“So, the pendant identifies us? As friends?” he asked.
“Yes, I think that is correct. I feel that we will not be harmed or led astray. I think that the path that will open before us will lead us directly to the Tammell hills. The trees of the woods have protected our kingdom for centuries. Is it not strange to you that we have never been invaded from the south?” she asked him.
“Yes, but I always assumed that it was because of the dryness and the exposure of the plains,” he replied.
“Partially, that is correct. But the woods could have served as shelter to an invading army. The trees could have provided material for war machines and ladders, not to mention weapons. But they never did… for anyone!” she commented.