Chapter Nineteen
Woven Weirs
“Get him to the train. We will join you shortly.” Finnafor was pointing to Ever and several other elves. “Go!”
With a near silent flurry of cloaks and boots, Art was hurried away, his ears catching the greeting remarks of Finnafor to the approaching Weirimen.
“Well met, Weirimen. I am Captain Finnafor of the Birchwood Garrison. How might we assist you this early morning?”
“Odd to see you out on the streets prior to dawn,” one said but was cut off by his partner who spoke.
“Wait! Who are they, elf Captain? Some of your garrison is leaving.”
“We must secure passage on the dawn train,” Finnafor explained.
“How unusual. Don’t passengers normally sleep on the train if leaving on the dawn trip? It’s unsafe to travel the street at this time. We also hunt a very dangerous afflicted, a Weiriman.”
“Yes,” the elf concurred, “our departure was unexpected. I am aware of the current Crimson Dispatch. I apologize. We cannot be of any service to you. Dawn is breaking.”
Art could hear no more as their small group entered the railroad station and headed up to the ticket counter.
“Art, what happened?” Ever’s voice was serious as he slipped close to the man to speak in hushed tones.
“The demon spoke,” Art answered, his brow folded hard. “I didn’t even feel it trying to, and suddenly it was telling her not to touch me. I couldn’t control it.”
“You are getting weaker against it?” Orchid’s voice issued from Ever’s form. She had hidden herself before they had exited the inn.
Art did not want to admit it but spoke anyway, “I could be.”
“You should take another Umbra Sweet.” Ever advised.
“I can’t,” Art shook his head. “I need one for your ritual and the last one for my exorcism.”
“If it over takes you before then saving them will do you little good.”
Art did not meet Ever’s eyes but gave him a quick nod just as the other Knights returned.
“We will wait for the Captain on the train,” one said and Art, Ever, and Lucid followed them into the car.
Art was ushered towards a set of benches and some wall beds. The accommodations were nothing like the lavish cars he used to travel in with the Weirimen. He took to one of the benches, but Lucid pointed to the beds nearby, smiling. The man did not protest and followed him over, Lucid jumping lightly up onto the top bunk before hanging over and pointing to the lower, indicating Art should take that one. Shrugging, feeling tired all over again, he nodded and slid into the bed.
He had noted that all eyes, even Ever’s, had been on his crossing of the car, but he pretended not to notice. Elven thoughts were much harder to hear, even for a psychic, and if he wanted to he could ignore them. He did not even want to know what they were thinking about him. He did not want to think anymore. How long had he been awake? He was not sure any longer. He was no longer even sure how long it had been since he awoke outside the catacomb town. Art felt like he had been running, thinking, surviving, avoiding for weeks without sleep. He wanted rest. He wanted to feel safe again.
A rumbling was trembling inside him. He shoved his pack between him and the wall, staring up at the ceiling of the bunk above him. Art felt the deep ache sigh over his whole body like one giant muscle unclenching. He was truly exhausted. Everything was tingling with tension. He felt the weight of his whole world had been strapped to his back. To his dismay, instead of feeling better now that he was lying down, it was as if that great burden was oozing over him like a blanket of sludge. There would be little rest between now and when he faced the demon. Each moment would be heavier than the next. That dark thought brought up the demon’s inner laughter again.
“Even with this knowledge, you waste your precious time to aid this elf and his woman. Such a foolish man, Storygrove. You are even more pathetic than the cavern of buzzing insects you call a guild. Foolish, the lot of you.”
“Quiet,” Art muttered, “I don’t want to hear you, demon.”
“No use of my name?” Art could feel the thing’s smile in the very arch of his shoulder blades as if the act was yanking at his bones inside.
“When I first address you with your name I want it to be at your own exorcism.” Art crossed his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. Trying to silence the thing from his mind was giving him such a headache he could feel the pulse of his heart in his neck veins.
“You don’t make friends easily, do you, ‘Art’?”
Art could not have this conversation now. He hated that his very name was likely taken from the demon’s. He could not face those implications at this time. Who and what he was led him to uncomfortable, dark corners of his mind he did not want to visit.
“Do you worry that you have always felt different from your peers because you were never really one of them? Do you want to know what you really are, ‘Art Storygrove’?”
It used his name as an emotional club, reminding him, mocking him that all that he claimed to be could be wrong. He could be nothing at all.
“I command you, quiet.” Art ground his teeth and shut his eyes, trying to find the kind of inner peace in mediation he never achieved very well in school.
The nightmares were far worse than before. Instead of faceless fears and dark rumblings, Art was desperately struggling, fighting for his life. Demons were tearing him apart. His screams fell into nothing but black and all the while the demon watched, its face just before his, hands embedded in his chest ripping the life out of him as it tore organs.
“Brother!” Lucid’s voice shook Art out of his sleep. Eyes wide, body wet with cold sweat, Art tried to slow his breathing, his heart ramming itself against his ribcage as if to stay within him would mean its own bloody death.
He let out a long, shaky breath and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He had to take his gloves off when he changed into the elven uniform and he wished he was back in his old clothes. The tight, unfamiliar feel of the garments only made him feel even more out of his own skin.
“I could not eat your nightmares,” Lucid’s usually carefree demeanor was worried and concerned.
“I’m fine,” Art lied, his voice off. He felt cold, nauseous and sluggish. The demon likely was waging some kind of psychic warfare on him, attacking him in dreams, weakening his spirit. Images of similar nightmares floated through his thought stream like oil on water. His battle with the thing when they left Wivenguilder had been made of up several similar dream experiences he did not want to recall. He pushed them down again and sat up. “I’m fine, Lucid. Don’t worry.”
The boy did not look convinced but nodded and left Art’s side, allowing the man a moment to himself. He had not taken the candy as Ever had suggested but Art knew he could not delay too much longer. Even his body was weakening against the thing’s internal assault.
The respect and trust the Scarborough Knights afforded from the races of men and the Weirimen was clear in the next two towns they stopped. As long as Art stayed within the group of elves, patrolling Weirimen over looked him. In the third and final town, a Weiriman had approached them, saying she had heard interesting thoughts emanating from the group. Finnafor produced Lucid and claimed he was an unusual fey member. Curious, but not entirely certain she should question an elven Captain, she allowed them through.
Art was grateful. Had they not been Knights, the Weiriman likely would have noticed Lucid’s similarity to the descriptions of Art’s companions from the dispatch. But they were not really looking for Lucid. No one would ever expect the Knights to harbor Art. Ever’s alliance had served the man in ways he could never have anticipated.
By the time they were retrieving horses from an outpost on the outskirts of elven territory, Art was past the point where he could maintain a civil composure. He was snapping at anyone who spoke to him, angering at the smallest of inconveniences and refusing to eat any
thing but meat. Water tasted like metal, and he had a strong craving for hard liquor. He knew he was losing his battle.
“You must take one,” Ever urged as they headed into the woods that would take them to the elf’s home. “If you do not, I fear the demon will consume you at any moment.”
“No,” Art growled.
Lucid had originally started riding with the Weiriman, as he did not seem to want to ride a horse alone, but had moved to Ever’s horse when Art had barked at him for little reason and nearly spooked the animal into tossing both of them.
“Storygrove, you will not last much longer.” Ever was grave.
“I said no!” Art barked, causing several of the Knights to turn back, expressions displaying their growing concern for the afflicted man.
They would allow Ever to handle Art only to a certain point. The Weiriman knew their trust would not hold if he actually physically lashed out at someone. He knew he was slipping but his anger would not let him think beyond the point until suddenly Lucid was leaning over from the back of Ever’s horse, the candy in his fingers. Art had not felt the boy fish the thing out of his pack. Both elf and youth were stern faced but it was Orchid’s large eyes and look of fear that made Art realize the danger he was invoking. Before he could think much more or let the demon influence him to refuse the sweet, he took the Scarlet Extinction and popped it in his mouth. He could not think on the consequences. It was his only option left.
Art knew the majesty of the woods was being lost on him. There was such a dramatic difference in the forests inhabited by elves from the haunted and tainted woods he had been experiencing on his journey. The trees were massive, thick, and rose so high above them, arching his head into a nearly vertical tilt was the only way to look into their heights. Light filtered through the leaves, casting all in the golden and green glows, blessing everything with a silent rolling lushness Art had almost forgotten existed in the world.
Weirimen lived in a hard, dark world. The haunted grounds, demons reaching across the land, and the fight for souls from the devouring of evil often obscured the remembrance of natural beauty and a world that had once been peaceful. It was clear why the Scarborough Knights fought to protect their lands and free animals from the taint of demons. Woods like Ever’s home were worth defending.
Art could sense the revulsion the demon had for his elven companions, for Ever’s love for Orchid, and for the lengths the ancient race would go through to protect the animals and peoples of their native wood. It brought the man a measure of peace. Whatever the demon reviled could only be pure and real. He let their very presence give him some resolve. Perhaps, being surrounded by the goodness of a natural world would help steel him against the evil he carried inside.
After an extensive trek, Art’s mind had wandered into pointless thought. Whispers of the demon kept him floating about with negativity. The pending tasks ahead and the darker outcome should he not survive, balanced with the uncertain outcome of what would come next should he actually win. Would the Weirimen even take him back? If not, what would he do with such a life? His gut swam with the haunting lack of possibilities. He was nothing without the Guild.
Just as he was slipping into bleak worry, Lucid was tugging on his jacket arm.
“What?” Art started to snap but cut his irritability short when his eyes lay on the glow and magnificence of the elven city.
It seemed grown out of the very forest itself, the architecture a graceful, stunning blend of trees, buildings, and function. It was unclear what had been built and what was just tree and forest itself. Though completely entwined with its natural surroundings, it was in no way primitive. Pure grander and elegance was in every window frame, each archway, and every rooftop of the city that rose into the wood as seamlessly as the branches, leaves and other foliage themselves grew. The city hummed with warm golden light, cradled by the deep blues and greens of the forest’s evening. Art could do little more than gape as he followed the elven garrison into the enchanted environment.
“Your city is a work of beauty,” Art mumbled to Ever once they dismounted and left the horses to their proper lodgings and care.
“I have been long from my home.” Ever smiled, his handsome face portraying his positive feelings; his regular coldness melted.
“Should we accompany you, Nahrwel?” Finnafor asked once his garrison had gathered around them, their presence as normal to the beautiful elven inhabitance as the trees growing alongside their roadways and out of every shop building.
“I thank you, my friend,” Ever extended his hand. “I do invite your garrison to my home, but the ritual I am scheduled for is best done without an audience.”
“Understood,” Finnafor nodded and spoke softly with his lieutenants before following Art, Lucid, and Orchid as Ever led the way.
Art had not expected the Birchwood Garrison to follow them, but when they arrived at Ever’s home, more near the edge of the city than the center, he could see privacy was not an issue. The home was large, bigger than Art had expected with at least three stories, and a staircase larger than the whole of Art’s cell at the Seminary. Once shedding traveling gear and outer wear in a front entry big enough to accommodate the whole group comfortably, the garrison disappeared into the dining area and kitchen when Ever suggested they should seek rest and nourishment.
“Come.” Ever motioned to Lucid and Art saying nothing of his grand home, only taking the little group to the back.
A garden path led out of the back space. Art was uncertain if it was natural forest or immaculately designed gardening. The place was magical, teeming with flowering trees, shrubbery, and full-growth bushes perfectly lined up to make an enchanted stone-lined walkway. Art had not imagined a place could be more beautiful. He started to question why men lived in cities when places such as Ever’s home existed.
“What do you call your city?” Art questioned as they followed the elf through a bend in the path towards a more open area and a single, stand alone tree.
“This is the central elven city in the Farahgall Woods, this is Scarborough.”
“Oh,” Art nodded, knowing less about elven cities than most other geography. “So your garrison hales from the main body of Knights.”
“My former garrison did, yes.” Ever nodded, not looking back at Art.
“Perhaps that will all change once this is over,” Art said quietly.
“My priority is the safe return of Orchid’s soul and Weir to her body, everything else is secondary and of little importance.”
They stopped before a stunning tree. Art was not certain of what kind as he had never seen anything so beautiful before, long limbed, adorned with delicate leaves and flowers. Yet as stunning as it was, there seemed to be something wrong, as if the wood was darker than it should have been, the leaves a strange off color, almost translucent.
“This is Orchid’s tree,” Art exclaimed understanding that the tree was as much a part of a dryad’s existence as her own body.
“A dryad is tied to the life of her tree,” Orchid explained. “Should my tree die, I die. Should I die, so shall the tree. It is me.”
Art nodded, watching the ghostly woman float towards the trunk and first place her hands on the ripples of the bark, then her forehead as if gaining some spiritual connection at the reunion.
“Had I not been a Tree Elf, Orchid would not have survived even as ghost.”
“Yes,” Orchid turned a bright smile on the elf and floated back towards him, their tether, circling them like a ghostly string. “Ever has been my savior for many reasons.”
Art was suddenly feeling uncomfortable at the deeply loving stare the two were exchanging. He wished he had Lucid’s lack of shyness, as the boy only watched, interested, a smile across his lips.
“We should do this now,” Art muttered, knowing the candy’s effect had expiration.
“You did not need to rest first?” Ever asked, sounding slightly nervous. r />
“Can’t chance that. I have only one Umbra Sweet left, let's make it count. Where is her body?”
“Here,” Orchid indicated, floating back to the tree.
To Art’s amazement the trunk opened up, as it if were made of flower petals. Inside, nestled among the heartwood was the dryad’s body. Her skin was ashy white, her eyes closed and no breath rose and fell from her breast, but she was not dead. Her flesh still felt and smelled of life.
“My tree has kept my body alive just as Ever has kept my soul. I am linked to both of them now. I have two trees.”
Another loving glance, and Art was trying not to flush at the pure affection and whispered hope of anticipation. The two lovers wanted so much to be together in the same plane. Their love had come after the violent accident and they had existed in this limbo of physical and incorporeal companionship since the blossoming of the powerful devotion between them. Art could only marvel at the strength and depth of their love.
“All right. I will enter Ever’s mind now. Lucid, you are able to follow me?”
Ever motioned for them to take sitting positions on the grass before Orchid’s tree: Lucid sitting next to Art, the Weiriman across from Ever.
“You lead, I follow,” Lucid confirmed sitting cross-legged, wiggling down until he was comfortable.
“I lead, you follow,” Art muttered, hoping he was up to the task. From his pack, he pulled his soul lantern then drew Weir Hewn out of its sheath to lay the blade across his lap. “I don’t know how to bring these things in with me.”
“Just bring. Think it, bring it,” Lucid answered, giving Art a look to assure it was just as simple as his few words.
“Right,” the man mumbled again. “Think it, bring it.”
“What shall I do?” Ever asked, Orchid floating behind him.
“Close your eyes. If you can, enter a state of meditation. If you can’t, I can always pull you into your mind’s eye after I enter your psychic space. We usually have to do that with the possessed anyway. Most people can’t enter a state of psychic meditation.”
“All elves can,” Ever interrupted Art’s instruction. “What else must we do?”
“Of course you can.” Art chewed on the elf’s natural arrogance which both annoyed and amused him. “That’s all. Orchid is already in your mind’s eye. She should just go to your Weir. I’ll see you both on the inside.”
Art calmed his mind, shut out the whispers of the demon as best he could and reminded himself this was likely one of the riskiest things he had ever attempted. He cared about these people, more than all of his Seminary classmates put together. He was not sure when that had happened, but his desire to do right by them was overwhelming enough to risk his very soul for. He had to be the best he could muster, be the Weiriman his guardian had always believed he would be. He could do this. He had faith, and he carried that feeling with him as he dropped out of his body and entered Ever’s mind’s eye.
Most possession psychic space battles took place after the afflicted was already in a dark place. The environment where the Weirimen did battle was almost always dark, formless and empty. Art had done little mind’s eye exploring other than that and he stood struck by the ambiance of Ever’s psychic space. He had known it would be forest-like, a wood of some type. Ever was a Tree Elf, and seeing the inner glimpse of the elf in the enchanted mirror at the Consciatosium had given Art a unique look into Ever’s true person. Yet, the sheer beauty of the elf’s mind was still awe-striking.
Unlike Art’s inner mind, there were no crumbling buildings. There were no structures at all. The whole of the elf’s mind was an old growth forest, lush with tall trees, green with even more foliage than the magnificent garden they had just strolled through. The very leaves glinted with inner light, hinting at the strength and luminance of Ever’s being.
Eyes scanning, Art was starting to wonder where he would find the Knight’s Haunting Weir when Lucid appeared by his side. The boy smiled and pointed, bringing Art’s attention to the blade and lantern in his hands. Art had almost forgotten he was uncertain if he would be able to bring the items in with him. In exorcism he often used his blades to battle the demon in the person’s mind but in reality those blades were not real. They were just a manifestation of Art’s power. This case was different. He actually needed the real Weir Hewn and the soul lantern for the unique properties they possessed. He had no real idea why he was able to take these items into a non-physical place with him and would have to find the answer to that question later. He was just grateful he had carried the much needed tools in.
Lucid was beckoning him, and he followed the boy through the wood and around several of the trees until they came to a sizable gate built into the forest itself, not unlike the glorious city they had just went through.
One look told Art’s trained eye this was not the elf’s Weir. On further inspection, he found it was the only way in through a collection of closely knitted trees, shrubbery, and general forest growth. There was no way to get through it or scale the forest construction; it was a wall of nature. Lifting one eyebrow, Art and Lucid returned to the gate and found the thing locked but harboring a window allowing the pair to peer in.
Ever was pacing, his form almost blurred. Confused, Art watched as the elf’s movements became strange, then normal, then blurring again as if he was watching a dream in which time and movement did not have the same properties as the physical world. Art called out to Ever, but the elf seemed unable to hear him, his form blurring and shifting.
“Something’s wrong,” Art chewed on his words, thinking somewhere in his memories of training this felt familiar. “Ah!” he proclaimed remembering, startling Lucid who had been chewing on a branch trying to find a way into the space beyond the forest wall. “His mind is fighting us,” Art explained. “We’re out of sync with Ever because he doesn’t actually want us here. I read about this. Weirimen don't usually make a habit of going into the minds of people who aren’t possessed. If we do end up inside someone’s mind, it’s during an exorcism and the demon has already broken down the afflicted’s walls. We need to make contact with Ever, remind his mind he invited us.”
Lucid ticked his head to the side, clearly uncertain how to do that since when Art called to Ever he had not seemed able to perceive him.
“It’s simple.” Art smiled at the boy. “Come here.” He motioned as he slid Weir Hewn back into the sheath at his hip and placed his hand on the handle of the locked gate. “Close your eyes and imagine your life force actually touching the handle. I think that should be enough to get Ever to acknowledge us. Think you can do that?”
Lucid nodded enthusiastically and grabbed the handle of the gate. Art had hardly taken a breath when the gate door swung open for the youth and Lucid marched through. Shocked, Art blinked when the gate closed again, leaving the man to do the task Lucid had so easily maneuvered. Taking a deep breath, Art cleared his mind again. There was an itching at the back of his brain, a slight burning and fear bubbled up in him that the demon was starting to make its way back through the treatment of the Scarlet Extinction. It was too soon. He could not have that thing interfering in what he was doing here.
Swallowing the swell of fear in his throat, he forced himself to focus, concentrating on the task, on the people he was to help, and the very strong fact that for the first time since he left the Seminary, he felt he was truly performing the tasks of a Weiriman. On that fact and sheer desire alone, he felt he could force the demon back and complete his function.
With a light clicking, the gate opened again and Art passed under its arched frame of wood and branches. Lucid and Ever greeted him inside what looked like a long forgotten forest garden, lit by source-less shimmering light. Ever was not dressed in his regular tunic, that was mostly Scarborough Knight uniform without the insignias. His mind’s eye self wore something more comfortable, similar to the styles Art had seen the inhabitants of the city clothed in. His hair was loose from its ties
and hung around him in very long waves of black green.
“Do you know where your Haunting Weir is?” Art asked, looking around the dense greenery.
“Here.” Ever motioned and led the way around a massive tree.
Art’s lips parted when he finally saw the visual manifestation of Ever and Orchid’s shared problem. Tall and solid, Ever’s Weir was less like the slabs of heavy wood and iron that the Weirs of men usually took the shape of. The elf’s was in an elaborate form of twisted wood and branches. Yet, among the branches, interwoven like a vine in a garden wall, another tree was looped and growing out of the Weir. On closer inspection, Art found it was not only a tree, but in the woven wood was a woman’s face. This tree was Orchid’s Weir, maybe even part of her soul, wound into the elf’s Haunting Weir.
“You…can still help her?” Ever’s voice was full of apprehension as he watched Art's expression.
The Weiriman was not entirely certain. Going over again, in his mind, what he had read in the book at the Consciatosium, he nodded as he handed Lucid the soul lantern.
“Don’t worry.” Art let out a slow breath. “I won’t harm her.” He had to keep the confidence, stay focused and above all be careful. Unsheathing Weir Hewn he approached the fused Weirs.