Anwyn’s feet flicked over the earth, lightly caressing the ground, each leaf a distinct pattern on the forest floor. The sun was smiling down on the world, the promise of warmth to come. It was still too early in the year to really be outside without a light cloak, at least. Anwyn felt a slight smile resting on her lips, in response to the loveliness of the world. Until she remembered. Another year alone. Without Gweneth. Somehow the world wasn’t as happy a place when you knew the horrors that hid beneath the veneer of beauty. The snake beneath the fern. The cougar crouched, ready to pounce on the hare. A man, waiting quietly for a beautiful girl to stumble into his camp.
Anwyn’s lips tightened. She would not cry. It was over. She had made a vow never to cry over her sister again. Every day was a battle on some level, a fight to keep her emotions locked down and under control. She had gotten better at it over the years, but still, she could ill-afford a slip that could cost any of her people their well-being and happiness. Life changed and grew in an unending pattern around her, and she must do her best to take her place in the great wheel of life. Without Gweneth. The forest remained ever-growing, life still flourished. She could appreciate the beauty of nature, even if she didn’t extend that appreciation to the desecrators and the decadent . Her braid beat one rhythm on the middle of her back, her pounding feet another, both accompanying her heartbeat and the whisper of her breathing. She loved to run. It tied everything together—her, the ground, the sky—in a magical dance of breath and sinew and bone.
This patrol was going well. No signs or sightings of any Bumblers—the people who lived outside the forest. The Forest People began calling them that because of the way they bumbled their way into and around the forest, making more noise than a rock-fall as they did, disturbing the balance of life, cutting down ancient trees, and any number of disruptive activities. Anwyn glanced around. No one was coming. Why would they? This circuit of the patrol loop was an unpopular location for Bumblers to try to get into the forest, and since it was her patrol, no one else was likely to come this close to the edge of the trees. She slowed to a walk, and then left the path, which was no different from the surrounding forest aside from the way it was cleared to be more travel-friendly for the forest people and their bare-but-sure feet. Bumblers likely wouldn’t know the difference between this path and the rest of the forest, anyway, blind creatures that they were. She found a dry spread of grass just starting to show the spring green it would be in a few weeks, and sat, crossing her legs as she did so.
She paused, utterly still, to listen for movement around her. A squirrel dashed up a tree to her left several yards away, and the first spring birds were singing high above in the treetops. No one was coming then. She had to try; maybe if she kept practicing, one day she would be strong enough to be the Aisha people had once predicted she would be. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and set about settling her mind, humming the quiet tune that sang her into the Wellspring, its melody rising and falling. It had been easy, once, dealing with the smallest anxieties first: someone finding her neglecting her patrol, the insects on her arms and legs, the rock digging into her ankle. Once those were pushed out of her consideration she dealt with the biggest problem, the one which had made it hard to enter the Wellspring these last years, that of the pain of her sister’s absence and the anger which still burned her blood four years after her sister had been taken from her. She fought her emotions into submission, and finally felt herself slip into the Wellspring.
It was always the same, yet different each time, ever-changing with the tide of life. The energy welled up around her, a swirl of light and color. It was almost overwhelming; she hadn’t felt such a strong connection in years. All around she could sense the pinpricks of life which were the insects and the squirrel, and less clearly, the trees, grasses, and smaller life-forms. Further afield she could sense the fish in the stream she had crossed an hour ago and the boundary of the forest, a sharp line between vibrant forest life and the plains which stretched for miles beyond. Above she could sense the fierce intelligence of her red-tailed hawk, Byrn, searching for prey, no doubt. When she extended her consciousness further still, she could feel the outline of a village, the people, for the most part, steadily attending to their daily business. No major disturbances, then. She marveled at being able to sense so much, to feel as if she were part of things again. The energy painted the landscape, connecting even the smallest life to the whole. Being surrounded with so much life was a balm to her soul. She was filled up with the joy of the life and energy she could feel once more. While she could sense the general vibration of the current always, being so completely immersed in the glow of life was the most calming experience one could have.
Yet there was still a thin barrier between her and true immersion into the current, an immersion she wanted desperately, but could not quite reach, as if she was trembling on the edge trying to plunge in, while something held her back. It was as though she couldn’t leap from the last stepping stone across a wide river to the opposite bank, couldn’t quite manage the distance.
She could feel the magic in it still, and the discipline of the years of her apprenticeship made it easy to see the patterns of energy flowing around each being, weaving a web of power and life into each. She could also understand just how to focus that energy to a specific purpose, if she needed to. Ikwinon had told her to practice the application of the earth-magic, as it was time to begin completing her training as Aisha. She had been puzzled at first; usually the Aisha-in-training wasn’t taught the magical side of dealing with the Wellspring until they had past their 21st birthday.
But now, Anwyn thought she knew why. Ikwinon was growing older, and the older he grew, the more the Wellspring called him and the less skill he had in wielding the power for his duties. He was anxious to teach her all the necessary skills before he finally could retreat into contemplation of the world, as most Aishas did after they passed the responsibilities along to their apprentices. She could understand the pull, to just wander out into the trees, beyond the settlements, passing deeper and deeper in among the trees, learning secrets of the wood that would never be told. It was a pity she would likely never be at full strength again. Both she and Ikwinon had been weakened by their attempts to heal Gweneth, and neither had fully recovered. Ikwinon seemed to think she was still in the healing process, by Anwyn was fairly certain that nothing could be done. Her power had faded, and her control over the Wellspring’s current was a weak as a child’s.
Secretly, though, Anwyn was relieved Ikwinon had started teaching her what Bumblers called magic. She had discovered her powers at the age of twelve, and had been terrified of what her master would do to her once he found out what she had done. She had only been experimenting, just as he had told her to do, exploring the Wellspring and how she interacted with it. Somehow, she had drawn a wisp of the energy into her consciousness, where she concentrated on a rare and beautiful flower Ikwinon had shown her in one of their earlier lessons. She had wanted to see what it would look like if, instead of red petals, the flower had been a deep royal purple.
When she had withdrawn from the Wellspring and settled back into her body, she had opened her eyes to see a flower with a shiny apple-green stem, and broad, lush petals of deepest purple streaked with white. She had been so afraid someone would accuse her of misusing the Wellspring, she hadn’t told anyone about the incident. Yet there was also the wonder, the wonder of all that energy and life at her fingertips, when just the slightest suggestion could create, yes create, new patterns. There was also the danger, thought, that what she had created would upset the ecosystem. She had asked Ikwinon a few discreet questions, of course, because she didn’t even know what she had done or how she had done it. She had gotten a guarded reply, something along the lines of, “lessons for when you’re older,” but she got the distinct impression that he knew something of what had happened.
She knew better than to dabble without Ikwinon’s prior instruction now. It was easier now that she was aware of the majority of the extent of the Wellspring’s applications, her apprenticeship nearly complete; and while it isn’t to say that he had strictly forbidden such experimentation, Anwyn was decidedly reluctant to attempt something that might be somehow dangerous without an experienced person around to keep things from getting out of hand. It was harder, too, to manage anything at all large. These days, her consciousness seemed to drift whenever she tried to focus, and she was slightly amazed that she had even managed to step into the Wellspring’s current at all. Today was an exceptional day.
As the tranquility and balance of the glade around her pulsed in the Wellspring’s current, Anwyn felt calm settle over her mind, a deep stillness that reached all through her, and a feeling of utter trust in the balance of life. It was hard to dwell on dark angers and sadnesses when one was wrapped in a cloak of the living. Only when she felt truly stable did she begin returning her consciousness to her body, a fast but careful process.
She gradually became aware of her body again, sitting in a patch of sunlight, and she smiled and stretched her arms heavenward, curling and uncurling all of her fingers. She had managed it, without relative effort. Her smile stretched, and then faded. It felt like such a betrayal to smile, a betrayal to Gweneth, who would never smile again. Standing, she glanced around. Not much time had passed, barely five minutes, she should think. The sun was in much the same position as it had been when she sat down. All the better. Her patrol duty wouldn’t have been disrupted too much, then. She broke into a trot as she came back onto the trail, adjusting the bow and arrows that were slung across her back, and her belt with its various pouches full of energy wafers and emergency herbs and the like, along with its dagger. She always felt better after stepping into the Wellspring. She could smile at the world without the pain of Gweneth’s absence killing the smile too prematurely. She could find some measure of peace.
It was just as well she had the northeast patrol today anyway. She liked it best when she didn’t have to be around people. Bumblers were most likely to come in from the southeast; to the northeast of the forest, only plains and mountains formed the contours of the landscape, each housing their own People and their own particular earth-bond. To the south and east, were the Bumblers and the ocean they had come on. Their cities polluted the air, water, and earth, and none of their people had forged their link with the Wellspring. Their souls were dead, un-nurtured by sky and tree and soil.
The Peoples of the land lived in their own respective communities, usually in isolated, undeveloped locations. The Forest People, or Lanyawe, as they were called, by no means occupied the consummate whole of their forest; the forest extended miles deeper than the People had ever explored, and they had always lived in Forest. If they had not yet explored it, no one had. The depths were a place of great mystery and power, which the Lanyawe respected, and so left the heart of the forest to its own devices. The Lanyawe lived within the first hundred miles from the edge. No one had ever mapped the bounds of the forest, and no one was likely to either. The Bumblers’ maps ended when they reached the northwest border of the forest, which was represented by a mass of trees every Bumbler was generally advised to avoid. Most didn’t even survey the slightly more accessible plains and mountains north and beyond the forest. Once, the Peoples of the kingdom of Meridan had lived throughout the countryside, right down to the coast, but as loud boisterous ships full of men with strange ideas landed, most retreated to more remote areas. Still, few of the Bumblers were descended from those original voyageurs. Most were the offspring of Lanyawe and the other Peoples, some of whom had accepted the new ideas and technologies with readiness, and later forgotten their earth-bond, tying themselves instead to metal and science and the world of men. Their children’s children had been cheated of forming their earth-bond before they were even born.
Because the Bumblers disturbed so much of the forest’s delicate balance and held life in general in so little respect, the Lanyawe had learned over time that instituting a patrol which would warn off intruders before they could make more trouble than was manageable was an advisable step. The border between the forest and the land settled by the interlopers was divided into six 30-mile segments which were patrolled around the clock. Every two hours or so, six villagers would set out to patrol and six would come in. The Bumblers would have been overwhelmed by such a strenuous exercise regime, unable to fathom the depth of discipline and physical fitness necessary, but to the Lanyawe, it was a necessary precaution to protect their peace and way of life, and had been necessary for so long now, that it was part of their way of life. Besides, the Lanyawe kept no horses, and foot travel was the only mode of transportation that could be used everywhere. Because of this system, each villager was in remarkable physical condition, which made them a formidable force should they be called upon to fight, as even the oldest great-grandfather was nimbler that his Bumbler counterpart. About 2,000 Lanyawe were scattered about the forest in various settlements, and near half of them were on the rotation for the patrol. Some went in pairs, especially when they had to patrol the southernmost segment, for safety, but even so, one wasn’t required to patrol on a frequent basis. Still, when one’s turn came, it was best to be prepared to run most of the 30 miles, walking occasionally, and finish in three or four hours.
Byrn liked to accompany her on these trips. It was one of the few times she really got to stretch her wings and rule the sky as her wild heart yearned. Anwyn had found the bird shortly after she had hatched and then fallen from her safe nest. Because of Anwyn’s skills as Aisha-in-waiting, the circumstances provided they both found it relatively easy to make the initial connection between their spirits. Ever since, the bird rarely went farther than a swift soar and dive away. Anwyn had trained her to respond to a silver whistle which she wore, and which Byrn scorned to heed, on the left lapel of her patrol-issue uniform, like everyone who patrolled, in easy reach in emergencies, even if her hands were bound. All those who patrolled the boundary wore such a whistle—specially crafted by the Aisha to ring through the Wellspring as well as the air to alert all with a piercing note, more felt than heard, that the bearer was in trouble.
Anwyn tugged at her leather jerkin. Leather was so uncomfortable to run in, even smooth, supple leather like that of her short tunic. It stuck tight to her body and became heavier and warmer with each passing mile. It wasn’t even an entirely leather costume, either; the leggings, and undershirt were of green cloth. The entire ensemble was designed to function as camouflage, travel gear, and protection. There was nary a straight edge or seam of a single continuous color throughout even a square inch of the costume, the better to blend into the natural environment, which had few (if any) straight lines. The leather that formed both the front and back of the short tunic would greatly decrease injury in the event of an unexpected volley of arrows from Bumbler hunters and other misfortunes. Still, the leather was not the most comfortable material to have insulating your skin, especially when you went out to run thirty-odd miles in it in the hot summer sun.
She picked up her pace. She wanted to finish her lap and get back to camp. As the apprenticed Aisha, and eventual true Aisha of the Lanyawe, she acted as the healer of the People, both in mind and spirit, among other things. What with the added patrol duties, and the increasing number of tasks her master, Ikwinon, set her, she had very little time to attend to this crucial responsibility. She’d been meaning to replenish her shallow herbaceous stocks after the long winter, but somehow she couldn’t see that happening anytime soon. Some herbs needed to be gathered as shoots, and she needed to tend her herb patches; she wanted to put in some of the rarer plants, as well as expand so the cures most in demand would have a larger and more dependable source nearby. She pondered the question. Perhaps she could extend her patrol route to include some foraging. There was the problem of carrying anything she might harvest for thirty-some miles as the sun wilted her precious specimens. Then again, she would be drying most of them anyway. She would take a pack from now on, and ignore the extra weight. Yes. It would do, and it would make her stronger.
Anwyn ran on like this for some time, well-toned muscles rippling under her skin, slightly browned by life outdoors in the limited forest sunlight. She made barely a sound as her bare feet skimmed the bracken, sure-footed, even at such a speed. Above her, Byrn swooped in the wild wind, powerful wings beating with the joy that is the freedom of the sky.
*
*
*
Anwyn strode into view of the main settlement about an hour and a half later. This circuit was definitely the best, from a few hours after midnight to early morning. She was freshest in the morning, and after she finished, she still had the whole day ahead of her, and the fatigue of her long run would be washed away when she bathed.
As she padded through the settlement, she looked fondly at the familiar stone dwellings low on the ground around her. Molded to the forest floor, flowing smoothly into mounds of earth, they were smooth, un-broken stone, made not by human hands, but by the concentrated energy of the Wellspring wielded by the Aisha. She had already helped Ikwinon with the formation of one of these structures, an arduous process and responsibility she was not looking forward to once Ikwinon retired. It involved manipulating the stone into the exact formation the homeowner wished, both inside and outside, including most of the furniture. Houses still in good condition were usually claimed by new families when their previous owner had entered the Wellspring for the last time, leaving his or her body behind. These hand-me-downs relieved the strain on the Aisha, as even altering an existing house was less strenuous than forming a completely new one. The hardest part, in Anwyn’s opinion, was the roof, which was generally rounded smooth like the rest of the dwelling, but had to be formed of relatively thin, smooth quartz, which Anwyn found was hard to manipulate in the middle of handling the regular granite that composed the rest of the structure. The concentration required for the one task was strenuous at best, for both at once, it was nearly beyond her.
A few people nodded in greeting as she passed them; she was well known throughout the People because of her position. She couldn’t wait to get home and get her things so she could wash up and change. She rounded one of the stone houses and nearly knocked over the folding table laden with maps and scrolls that stood on the front yard of the house. The people seated at the table made a few startled noises, and made as if to catch the table.
“Sorry! Excuse me!” Anwyn said, dancing out of the way. When she glanced up to see who had been sitting at that table, she nearly laughed at the expressions on the faces of the two seated there. The older man looked startled and disoriented, his train of thought interrupted by this turn in events. His companion, however, a much younger lad with golden-brown eyes and hair, appeared on the whole somewhat amused by her antics, and although a flicker of concern passed across his face, it was for the scrolls, not her.
“Well, well, Anorius, it appears our debate was nearly ended for us, ,” he said, in a bantering tone.
“Not so, not so, lad! You still haven’t told me what you think the king should do after his fleet is destroyed, especially since his cavalry is on the other side of the country!” The older man, Anorius, said, puffing slightly, scholarly excitement coloring his tone, his hands gesturing forcefully at the maps in front of him.
“It seems the debate would have resumed much sooner than you seem to think, Darren, as Anorius here seems oblivious to any danger to mere maps. Why, no doubt he has them all memorized in his head, with a thousand questions to debate on each one,” she said, laughing a little, and smiling at Anorius who chuckled, and began gathering the maps together in a more orderly fashion. Her friend Darren was well known for his interest in strategy, politics, and ethics. It was common knowledge that he wanted to travel beyond the forest and explore the world, though it was not a topic often aired in public. It was unusual for one of the Lanyawe to leave the margins of the forest, especially since the invaders had landed and established themselves. Before, the Lanyawe often traveled and interacted with the other Peoples of the land, but no longer. It was simply too dangerous. He was her closest friend, especially since what had happened to Gweneth, and she barely even spoke to anyone else, excepting Ikwinon or those within the context of her duties.
He grinned up at her now, his lanky body belying the coiled energy within. He was a mean swordsman, when he wanted, but he usually was so immersed in debates and study with the older members of the Lanyawe that he was rarely seen at practice. He loved the forest, certainly, but the adventure and curiosities of the outside world called to his restless heart.
“So, how was the patrol?” he asked, sitting up to look at her more intently.
“Fine. It gets easier every time I run it.” Anwyn smiled at him. Although he was a year her senior, his father held that while he may posture and prance at both the council table and in the sword ring, Anwyn would master him in both arenas without even trying. For a nineteen-year-old girl, she was remarkably skilled with both sword and bow, as well as possessed of a keen and practical mind. “Are you still debating the outcomes of the Battle of Bloustershire, same as when I left?”
“Yes, and a great deal easier it would be if anyone in this forest knew much about the lands outside of it. Few have ever traveled outside the trees, can you believe it? There’s a whole world out there, and even those who still remember their great-great grandparents speaking of the time when the Bumblers were still a minor coastal power and not the empire they are now aren’t interested. By the bonds, what I’d give for a chance to talk to someone who had studied, say, the Battle of Bloustershire, from the Bumbler point of view, or even a chance for me to travel to the place myself!”
His eyes lit up, and his hands illustrated his speech with the vigor of one who is explaining his deepest dream and most cherished hobby. Inside, Anwyn cringed. She hated to say what she must, but she couldn’t imagine how he had forgotten in such a few short years what had happened to Gweneth, forgotten enough to actually want to meet the people who had so damaged her beloved sister and his dear friend.
“Darren….,” she began, reluctant to fracture his reverie, but seeing the look in her eyes was enough, anyway.
He sat back, the glow of excitement fading from his eyes, replaced by a tired resignation. She looked at her feet, sorry now, to have said anything at all.
“Oh, don’t even start, Anwyn,” he said, “Don’t you think I’ve heard every argument you could possibly use? I know what I’m asking, and I’ve made up my mind. I want to see more of this world while I can. I don’t think you really understand.”
Anwyn opened her mouth to say she did understand, obviously better than him, but he cut her off.
“No, Anwyn. It’s not me. It’s you. You still haven’t gotten over what happened to Gweneth, and you’ve got this idea in your head that it’s all the Bumblers’ fault, every Bumbler, which it’s not. I miss her, too, dreadfully, but you need to wake up and take a look at the world, without trying to take the easy way out.”
He looked at Anorius, his chosen debate partner for the day, who had traveled a little outside of the bounds of the forest years ago (which made him a daring renegade by most people’s standards) and encountered a fair set up in a field, where he delighted himself in finding all the books and maps available to assuage his thirst for the knowledge denied to the forest people because of their isolation and self-sufficiency in their forest. It was clearly a dismissal, a sign that he didn’t want to talk or even see her anymore right now. It hurt; although he was her best friend; ever since that fateful night four years earlier he had fallen into such hurtful moods more often. Perhaps he was still brooding about it, too.
Anwyn looked at his set face, at the scrolls on the table, and to Anorius, who was visibly forming his next testing question, arming himself to go to battle on the issue of what the-king-with-no-fleet-and-his-cavalry-on-the-other-side-of-the-country could have done to pull off a victory. She looked down again, and turned on her heel, somewhat unsettled by the exchange, and left with a melancholy feeling. It had looked to be an enjoyable conversation, fun and light, the way it had been when they were children, before they grew into the weights and worries of the world that adults were faced with. Until she had messed it up. Why did she always have to kill his excitement with her own opinions? Whatever he thought about her, she knew for certain that he couldn’t see the issue completely. Didn’t he realize that it wasn’t only Gweneth? She had good reason for hating the Bumblers, what with their logging and cities and trash. It was he who didn’t understand, not her.
She felt like crying, but was far beyond the age when such a lapse in self-control would have occurred. She hadn’t cried, really cried, in four years, not even when she had broken her arm tripping down a pile of boulders, landing on her arm at the wrong angle; not even when she had held a mother doe as she died after being clumsily shot with a Bumbler’s arrow, leaving her fawn to starve despite Anwyn’s frantic efforts to feed and save him. The growing distance between her only friend and herself was nothing to cry over compared to that.
She nodded briskly and turned toward her own home, feeling the sweat and grime of a long run through the wild clogging her skin. What she wanted most in the world at this moment was the sight and feel of a lovely bar of soap, and perhaps a second breakfast. The energy wafers supplied for the patrollers hadn’t lasted long, and they weren’t either particularly filling or tasty. And oh, for a good long drink of cool water!
Anwyn headed for home. Time to prepare to meet the day.
Anwyn’s lips tightened. She would not cry. It was over. She had made a vow never to cry over her sister again. Every day was a battle on some level, a fight to keep her emotions locked down and under control. She had gotten better at it over the years, but still, she could ill-afford a slip that could cost any of her people their well-being and happiness. Life changed and grew in an unending pattern around her, and she must do her best to take her place in the great wheel of life. Without Gweneth. The forest remained ever-growing, life still flourished. She could appreciate the beauty of nature, even if she didn’t extend that appreciation to the desecrators and the decadent . Her braid beat one rhythm on the middle of her back, her pounding feet another, both accompanying her heartbeat and the whisper of her breathing. She loved to run. It tied everything together—her, the ground, the sky—in a magical dance of breath and sinew and bone.
This patrol was going well. No signs or sightings of any Bumblers—the people who lived outside the forest. The Forest People began calling them that because of the way they bumbled their way into and around the forest, making more noise than a rock-fall as they did, disturbing the balance of life, cutting down ancient trees, and any number of disruptive activities. Anwyn glanced around. No one was coming. Why would they? This circuit of the patrol loop was an unpopular location for Bumblers to try to get into the forest, and since it was her patrol, no one else was likely to come this close to the edge of the trees. She slowed to a walk, and then left the path, which was no different from the surrounding forest aside from the way it was cleared to be more travel-friendly for the forest people and their bare-but-sure feet. Bumblers likely wouldn’t know the difference between this path and the rest of the forest, anyway, blind creatures that they were. She found a dry spread of grass just starting to show the spring green it would be in a few weeks, and sat, crossing her legs as she did so.
She paused, utterly still, to listen for movement around her. A squirrel dashed up a tree to her left several yards away, and the first spring birds were singing high above in the treetops. No one was coming then. She had to try; maybe if she kept practicing, one day she would be strong enough to be the Aisha people had once predicted she would be. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and set about settling her mind, humming the quiet tune that sang her into the Wellspring, its melody rising and falling. It had been easy, once, dealing with the smallest anxieties first: someone finding her neglecting her patrol, the insects on her arms and legs, the rock digging into her ankle. Once those were pushed out of her consideration she dealt with the biggest problem, the one which had made it hard to enter the Wellspring these last years, that of the pain of her sister’s absence and the anger which still burned her blood four years after her sister had been taken from her. She fought her emotions into submission, and finally felt herself slip into the Wellspring.
It was always the same, yet different each time, ever-changing with the tide of life. The energy welled up around her, a swirl of light and color. It was almost overwhelming; she hadn’t felt such a strong connection in years. All around she could sense the pinpricks of life which were the insects and the squirrel, and less clearly, the trees, grasses, and smaller life-forms. Further afield she could sense the fish in the stream she had crossed an hour ago and the boundary of the forest, a sharp line between vibrant forest life and the plains which stretched for miles beyond. Above she could sense the fierce intelligence of her red-tailed hawk, Byrn, searching for prey, no doubt. When she extended her consciousness further still, she could feel the outline of a village, the people, for the most part, steadily attending to their daily business. No major disturbances, then. She marveled at being able to sense so much, to feel as if she were part of things again. The energy painted the landscape, connecting even the smallest life to the whole. Being surrounded with so much life was a balm to her soul. She was filled up with the joy of the life and energy she could feel once more. While she could sense the general vibration of the current always, being so completely immersed in the glow of life was the most calming experience one could have.
Yet there was still a thin barrier between her and true immersion into the current, an immersion she wanted desperately, but could not quite reach, as if she was trembling on the edge trying to plunge in, while something held her back. It was as though she couldn’t leap from the last stepping stone across a wide river to the opposite bank, couldn’t quite manage the distance.
She could feel the magic in it still, and the discipline of the years of her apprenticeship made it easy to see the patterns of energy flowing around each being, weaving a web of power and life into each. She could also understand just how to focus that energy to a specific purpose, if she needed to. Ikwinon had told her to practice the application of the earth-magic, as it was time to begin completing her training as Aisha. She had been puzzled at first; usually the Aisha-in-training wasn’t taught the magical side of dealing with the Wellspring until they had past their 21st birthday.
But now, Anwyn thought she knew why. Ikwinon was growing older, and the older he grew, the more the Wellspring called him and the less skill he had in wielding the power for his duties. He was anxious to teach her all the necessary skills before he finally could retreat into contemplation of the world, as most Aishas did after they passed the responsibilities along to their apprentices. She could understand the pull, to just wander out into the trees, beyond the settlements, passing deeper and deeper in among the trees, learning secrets of the wood that would never be told. It was a pity she would likely never be at full strength again. Both she and Ikwinon had been weakened by their attempts to heal Gweneth, and neither had fully recovered. Ikwinon seemed to think she was still in the healing process, by Anwyn was fairly certain that nothing could be done. Her power had faded, and her control over the Wellspring’s current was a weak as a child’s.
Secretly, though, Anwyn was relieved Ikwinon had started teaching her what Bumblers called magic. She had discovered her powers at the age of twelve, and had been terrified of what her master would do to her once he found out what she had done. She had only been experimenting, just as he had told her to do, exploring the Wellspring and how she interacted with it. Somehow, she had drawn a wisp of the energy into her consciousness, where she concentrated on a rare and beautiful flower Ikwinon had shown her in one of their earlier lessons. She had wanted to see what it would look like if, instead of red petals, the flower had been a deep royal purple.
When she had withdrawn from the Wellspring and settled back into her body, she had opened her eyes to see a flower with a shiny apple-green stem, and broad, lush petals of deepest purple streaked with white. She had been so afraid someone would accuse her of misusing the Wellspring, she hadn’t told anyone about the incident. Yet there was also the wonder, the wonder of all that energy and life at her fingertips, when just the slightest suggestion could create, yes create, new patterns. There was also the danger, thought, that what she had created would upset the ecosystem. She had asked Ikwinon a few discreet questions, of course, because she didn’t even know what she had done or how she had done it. She had gotten a guarded reply, something along the lines of, “lessons for when you’re older,” but she got the distinct impression that he knew something of what had happened.
She knew better than to dabble without Ikwinon’s prior instruction now. It was easier now that she was aware of the majority of the extent of the Wellspring’s applications, her apprenticeship nearly complete; and while it isn’t to say that he had strictly forbidden such experimentation, Anwyn was decidedly reluctant to attempt something that might be somehow dangerous without an experienced person around to keep things from getting out of hand. It was harder, too, to manage anything at all large. These days, her consciousness seemed to drift whenever she tried to focus, and she was slightly amazed that she had even managed to step into the Wellspring’s current at all. Today was an exceptional day.
As the tranquility and balance of the glade around her pulsed in the Wellspring’s current, Anwyn felt calm settle over her mind, a deep stillness that reached all through her, and a feeling of utter trust in the balance of life. It was hard to dwell on dark angers and sadnesses when one was wrapped in a cloak of the living. Only when she felt truly stable did she begin returning her consciousness to her body, a fast but careful process.
She gradually became aware of her body again, sitting in a patch of sunlight, and she smiled and stretched her arms heavenward, curling and uncurling all of her fingers. She had managed it, without relative effort. Her smile stretched, and then faded. It felt like such a betrayal to smile, a betrayal to Gweneth, who would never smile again. Standing, she glanced around. Not much time had passed, barely five minutes, she should think. The sun was in much the same position as it had been when she sat down. All the better. Her patrol duty wouldn’t have been disrupted too much, then. She broke into a trot as she came back onto the trail, adjusting the bow and arrows that were slung across her back, and her belt with its various pouches full of energy wafers and emergency herbs and the like, along with its dagger. She always felt better after stepping into the Wellspring. She could smile at the world without the pain of Gweneth’s absence killing the smile too prematurely. She could find some measure of peace.
It was just as well she had the northeast patrol today anyway. She liked it best when she didn’t have to be around people. Bumblers were most likely to come in from the southeast; to the northeast of the forest, only plains and mountains formed the contours of the landscape, each housing their own People and their own particular earth-bond. To the south and east, were the Bumblers and the ocean they had come on. Their cities polluted the air, water, and earth, and none of their people had forged their link with the Wellspring. Their souls were dead, un-nurtured by sky and tree and soil.
The Peoples of the land lived in their own respective communities, usually in isolated, undeveloped locations. The Forest People, or Lanyawe, as they were called, by no means occupied the consummate whole of their forest; the forest extended miles deeper than the People had ever explored, and they had always lived in Forest. If they had not yet explored it, no one had. The depths were a place of great mystery and power, which the Lanyawe respected, and so left the heart of the forest to its own devices. The Lanyawe lived within the first hundred miles from the edge. No one had ever mapped the bounds of the forest, and no one was likely to either. The Bumblers’ maps ended when they reached the northwest border of the forest, which was represented by a mass of trees every Bumbler was generally advised to avoid. Most didn’t even survey the slightly more accessible plains and mountains north and beyond the forest. Once, the Peoples of the kingdom of Meridan had lived throughout the countryside, right down to the coast, but as loud boisterous ships full of men with strange ideas landed, most retreated to more remote areas. Still, few of the Bumblers were descended from those original voyageurs. Most were the offspring of Lanyawe and the other Peoples, some of whom had accepted the new ideas and technologies with readiness, and later forgotten their earth-bond, tying themselves instead to metal and science and the world of men. Their children’s children had been cheated of forming their earth-bond before they were even born.
Because the Bumblers disturbed so much of the forest’s delicate balance and held life in general in so little respect, the Lanyawe had learned over time that instituting a patrol which would warn off intruders before they could make more trouble than was manageable was an advisable step. The border between the forest and the land settled by the interlopers was divided into six 30-mile segments which were patrolled around the clock. Every two hours or so, six villagers would set out to patrol and six would come in. The Bumblers would have been overwhelmed by such a strenuous exercise regime, unable to fathom the depth of discipline and physical fitness necessary, but to the Lanyawe, it was a necessary precaution to protect their peace and way of life, and had been necessary for so long now, that it was part of their way of life. Besides, the Lanyawe kept no horses, and foot travel was the only mode of transportation that could be used everywhere. Because of this system, each villager was in remarkable physical condition, which made them a formidable force should they be called upon to fight, as even the oldest great-grandfather was nimbler that his Bumbler counterpart. About 2,000 Lanyawe were scattered about the forest in various settlements, and near half of them were on the rotation for the patrol. Some went in pairs, especially when they had to patrol the southernmost segment, for safety, but even so, one wasn’t required to patrol on a frequent basis. Still, when one’s turn came, it was best to be prepared to run most of the 30 miles, walking occasionally, and finish in three or four hours.
Byrn liked to accompany her on these trips. It was one of the few times she really got to stretch her wings and rule the sky as her wild heart yearned. Anwyn had found the bird shortly after she had hatched and then fallen from her safe nest. Because of Anwyn’s skills as Aisha-in-waiting, the circumstances provided they both found it relatively easy to make the initial connection between their spirits. Ever since, the bird rarely went farther than a swift soar and dive away. Anwyn had trained her to respond to a silver whistle which she wore, and which Byrn scorned to heed, on the left lapel of her patrol-issue uniform, like everyone who patrolled, in easy reach in emergencies, even if her hands were bound. All those who patrolled the boundary wore such a whistle—specially crafted by the Aisha to ring through the Wellspring as well as the air to alert all with a piercing note, more felt than heard, that the bearer was in trouble.
Anwyn tugged at her leather jerkin. Leather was so uncomfortable to run in, even smooth, supple leather like that of her short tunic. It stuck tight to her body and became heavier and warmer with each passing mile. It wasn’t even an entirely leather costume, either; the leggings, and undershirt were of green cloth. The entire ensemble was designed to function as camouflage, travel gear, and protection. There was nary a straight edge or seam of a single continuous color throughout even a square inch of the costume, the better to blend into the natural environment, which had few (if any) straight lines. The leather that formed both the front and back of the short tunic would greatly decrease injury in the event of an unexpected volley of arrows from Bumbler hunters and other misfortunes. Still, the leather was not the most comfortable material to have insulating your skin, especially when you went out to run thirty-odd miles in it in the hot summer sun.
She picked up her pace. She wanted to finish her lap and get back to camp. As the apprenticed Aisha, and eventual true Aisha of the Lanyawe, she acted as the healer of the People, both in mind and spirit, among other things. What with the added patrol duties, and the increasing number of tasks her master, Ikwinon, set her, she had very little time to attend to this crucial responsibility. She’d been meaning to replenish her shallow herbaceous stocks after the long winter, but somehow she couldn’t see that happening anytime soon. Some herbs needed to be gathered as shoots, and she needed to tend her herb patches; she wanted to put in some of the rarer plants, as well as expand so the cures most in demand would have a larger and more dependable source nearby. She pondered the question. Perhaps she could extend her patrol route to include some foraging. There was the problem of carrying anything she might harvest for thirty-some miles as the sun wilted her precious specimens. Then again, she would be drying most of them anyway. She would take a pack from now on, and ignore the extra weight. Yes. It would do, and it would make her stronger.
Anwyn ran on like this for some time, well-toned muscles rippling under her skin, slightly browned by life outdoors in the limited forest sunlight. She made barely a sound as her bare feet skimmed the bracken, sure-footed, even at such a speed. Above her, Byrn swooped in the wild wind, powerful wings beating with the joy that is the freedom of the sky.
*
*
*
Anwyn strode into view of the main settlement about an hour and a half later. This circuit was definitely the best, from a few hours after midnight to early morning. She was freshest in the morning, and after she finished, she still had the whole day ahead of her, and the fatigue of her long run would be washed away when she bathed.
As she padded through the settlement, she looked fondly at the familiar stone dwellings low on the ground around her. Molded to the forest floor, flowing smoothly into mounds of earth, they were smooth, un-broken stone, made not by human hands, but by the concentrated energy of the Wellspring wielded by the Aisha. She had already helped Ikwinon with the formation of one of these structures, an arduous process and responsibility she was not looking forward to once Ikwinon retired. It involved manipulating the stone into the exact formation the homeowner wished, both inside and outside, including most of the furniture. Houses still in good condition were usually claimed by new families when their previous owner had entered the Wellspring for the last time, leaving his or her body behind. These hand-me-downs relieved the strain on the Aisha, as even altering an existing house was less strenuous than forming a completely new one. The hardest part, in Anwyn’s opinion, was the roof, which was generally rounded smooth like the rest of the dwelling, but had to be formed of relatively thin, smooth quartz, which Anwyn found was hard to manipulate in the middle of handling the regular granite that composed the rest of the structure. The concentration required for the one task was strenuous at best, for both at once, it was nearly beyond her.
A few people nodded in greeting as she passed them; she was well known throughout the People because of her position. She couldn’t wait to get home and get her things so she could wash up and change. She rounded one of the stone houses and nearly knocked over the folding table laden with maps and scrolls that stood on the front yard of the house. The people seated at the table made a few startled noises, and made as if to catch the table.
“Sorry! Excuse me!” Anwyn said, dancing out of the way. When she glanced up to see who had been sitting at that table, she nearly laughed at the expressions on the faces of the two seated there. The older man looked startled and disoriented, his train of thought interrupted by this turn in events. His companion, however, a much younger lad with golden-brown eyes and hair, appeared on the whole somewhat amused by her antics, and although a flicker of concern passed across his face, it was for the scrolls, not her.
“Well, well, Anorius, it appears our debate was nearly ended for us, ,” he said, in a bantering tone.
“Not so, not so, lad! You still haven’t told me what you think the king should do after his fleet is destroyed, especially since his cavalry is on the other side of the country!” The older man, Anorius, said, puffing slightly, scholarly excitement coloring his tone, his hands gesturing forcefully at the maps in front of him.
“It seems the debate would have resumed much sooner than you seem to think, Darren, as Anorius here seems oblivious to any danger to mere maps. Why, no doubt he has them all memorized in his head, with a thousand questions to debate on each one,” she said, laughing a little, and smiling at Anorius who chuckled, and began gathering the maps together in a more orderly fashion. Her friend Darren was well known for his interest in strategy, politics, and ethics. It was common knowledge that he wanted to travel beyond the forest and explore the world, though it was not a topic often aired in public. It was unusual for one of the Lanyawe to leave the margins of the forest, especially since the invaders had landed and established themselves. Before, the Lanyawe often traveled and interacted with the other Peoples of the land, but no longer. It was simply too dangerous. He was her closest friend, especially since what had happened to Gweneth, and she barely even spoke to anyone else, excepting Ikwinon or those within the context of her duties.
He grinned up at her now, his lanky body belying the coiled energy within. He was a mean swordsman, when he wanted, but he usually was so immersed in debates and study with the older members of the Lanyawe that he was rarely seen at practice. He loved the forest, certainly, but the adventure and curiosities of the outside world called to his restless heart.
“So, how was the patrol?” he asked, sitting up to look at her more intently.
“Fine. It gets easier every time I run it.” Anwyn smiled at him. Although he was a year her senior, his father held that while he may posture and prance at both the council table and in the sword ring, Anwyn would master him in both arenas without even trying. For a nineteen-year-old girl, she was remarkably skilled with both sword and bow, as well as possessed of a keen and practical mind. “Are you still debating the outcomes of the Battle of Bloustershire, same as when I left?”
“Yes, and a great deal easier it would be if anyone in this forest knew much about the lands outside of it. Few have ever traveled outside the trees, can you believe it? There’s a whole world out there, and even those who still remember their great-great grandparents speaking of the time when the Bumblers were still a minor coastal power and not the empire they are now aren’t interested. By the bonds, what I’d give for a chance to talk to someone who had studied, say, the Battle of Bloustershire, from the Bumbler point of view, or even a chance for me to travel to the place myself!”
His eyes lit up, and his hands illustrated his speech with the vigor of one who is explaining his deepest dream and most cherished hobby. Inside, Anwyn cringed. She hated to say what she must, but she couldn’t imagine how he had forgotten in such a few short years what had happened to Gweneth, forgotten enough to actually want to meet the people who had so damaged her beloved sister and his dear friend.
“Darren….,” she began, reluctant to fracture his reverie, but seeing the look in her eyes was enough, anyway.
He sat back, the glow of excitement fading from his eyes, replaced by a tired resignation. She looked at her feet, sorry now, to have said anything at all.
“Oh, don’t even start, Anwyn,” he said, “Don’t you think I’ve heard every argument you could possibly use? I know what I’m asking, and I’ve made up my mind. I want to see more of this world while I can. I don’t think you really understand.”
Anwyn opened her mouth to say she did understand, obviously better than him, but he cut her off.
“No, Anwyn. It’s not me. It’s you. You still haven’t gotten over what happened to Gweneth, and you’ve got this idea in your head that it’s all the Bumblers’ fault, every Bumbler, which it’s not. I miss her, too, dreadfully, but you need to wake up and take a look at the world, without trying to take the easy way out.”
He looked at Anorius, his chosen debate partner for the day, who had traveled a little outside of the bounds of the forest years ago (which made him a daring renegade by most people’s standards) and encountered a fair set up in a field, where he delighted himself in finding all the books and maps available to assuage his thirst for the knowledge denied to the forest people because of their isolation and self-sufficiency in their forest. It was clearly a dismissal, a sign that he didn’t want to talk or even see her anymore right now. It hurt; although he was her best friend; ever since that fateful night four years earlier he had fallen into such hurtful moods more often. Perhaps he was still brooding about it, too.
Anwyn looked at his set face, at the scrolls on the table, and to Anorius, who was visibly forming his next testing question, arming himself to go to battle on the issue of what the-king-with-no-fleet-and-his-cavalry-on-the-other-side-of-the-country could have done to pull off a victory. She looked down again, and turned on her heel, somewhat unsettled by the exchange, and left with a melancholy feeling. It had looked to be an enjoyable conversation, fun and light, the way it had been when they were children, before they grew into the weights and worries of the world that adults were faced with. Until she had messed it up. Why did she always have to kill his excitement with her own opinions? Whatever he thought about her, she knew for certain that he couldn’t see the issue completely. Didn’t he realize that it wasn’t only Gweneth? She had good reason for hating the Bumblers, what with their logging and cities and trash. It was he who didn’t understand, not her.
She felt like crying, but was far beyond the age when such a lapse in self-control would have occurred. She hadn’t cried, really cried, in four years, not even when she had broken her arm tripping down a pile of boulders, landing on her arm at the wrong angle; not even when she had held a mother doe as she died after being clumsily shot with a Bumbler’s arrow, leaving her fawn to starve despite Anwyn’s frantic efforts to feed and save him. The growing distance between her only friend and herself was nothing to cry over compared to that.
She nodded briskly and turned toward her own home, feeling the sweat and grime of a long run through the wild clogging her skin. What she wanted most in the world at this moment was the sight and feel of a lovely bar of soap, and perhaps a second breakfast. The energy wafers supplied for the patrollers hadn’t lasted long, and they weren’t either particularly filling or tasty. And oh, for a good long drink of cool water!
Anwyn headed for home. Time to prepare to meet the day.
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