The colors of midnight flooded the forest, silent giants ever slumbering in the absence of wind and sun, as only the sound of footfalls and the delicate tapping of wood whispered through the trees. Drifting among the shadows, the hooded figure, hidden but for the pale glow of its eyes, stepped lightly amidst roots and fallen branches, daring not profane the sacred silence. Pausing but for a moment to turn its unblinking gaze to the sky, the hood searched between the outstretched limbs for any trace of light.
No moon, came the weary thought, spindly fingers ever so slightly tightening their grip on the gnarled and weathered staff. Necessary, perhaps, but making it almost impossible to navigate...
Almost instinctively, its clicking fingertips reached for the small satchel at its side, pausing only moments before unfastening the latch. No, came another thought, the falling of its hand enjoined with the stifling of a sigh, no charms will guide my way, either . . . tempting though it may be.
Bowing its head in concentration or perhaps shame, the searcher quietly slipped between stumps of fallen trees, carefully taking notice of a clutch of saplings nestled among their barren and lifeless roots. With what could have been a smile, its eyes glowing a little more keenly as it passed, the searcher uttered a small blessing to bestow upon the little ones, sylvan etchings upon its steel-skin radiating ever so slightly with light. "Grow tall, young ones," came the hollow whisper, stifling the hint of heartfelt laughter, as verdant markings faded to the shadows once more.
Bowing its head ever so slightly, the silent sage quickly returned its gaze to the horizon, its footsteps ever mindful of the life hidden in the soil. Adjusting to the palette of the moonless night, its eyes at last began to see the details hidden among the giants sleeping all around, broken limbs and scarred bark slowly slipping into focus. Slowing its pace in awe, the searcher reached for each wound as it passed, losing itself in memories ancient and new.
What stories do you have to share, old one? came a thought, pausing before the greatest of them all, its branches reaching far above the others, pulling down the night itself along its limbs and trunk. Drawing closer, the searcher freed one hand from its fingerless glove, and traced ancient lines upon its bark, so fragile as to chip away with the slightest movement. Pressing a bare palm against the wood, the sylvan etchings upon its hand filled with light, spreading along its arm and into the tree itself, each crevasse slowly radiating with the sage's touch.
A sudden jolt of pain surged through the searcher's arm, as the force of the unseen blow knocked its limber frame to the ground, tossing the hood from its head. Still wincing from the shock, it could only gaze upon the glyph where its hand had been, the light it had borne slowly bleeding a viscous shadow. "Unnatural," came the mortified whisper, as the searcher took staff in hand, only to strap it over its traveling cloak. No moon, the words echoed in its mind, necessary, perhaps...
Rising, its unblinking eyes never leaving the darkening wound, the sage cautiously pressed its palms together, its eyes dimming in grim concentration. Statuesque, its hands drifted to where a mouth could have been, as the whispers of ancient tongues slowly filled the air, seeming to circle the blackened wood still pulsing with shadow. Light spread along each twisting, knotted line upon steel-skin, seeming to grow new branches along its arms and face, revealing roots among the delicately-constructed feet, as even its eyes, narrowing to hold back the coming burst, soon erupted in a verdant glow.
In one swift motion, the wandering sage thrust its hands upon the open wound, the folds of its clothes suddenly and violently waving with the sudden release. Toes digging into the earth, the searcher strained against the shadow lurking beneath the wood, forcing the shining light through the ancient skin. Saplings of pure radiance burst through the ground at its feet, slowly giving way to a shimmering ivy, wrapping itself around corrupted roots and trunk alike, as whispers of incantation gave way to the sound of rushing wind and birdsong, channeling the very heart of the forest itself.
With a flash, the bark fell away, revealing but a gnarled and twisted cocoon, a pulsating prison of shadow. Hands still pressed against the chitinous shell, the sage let forth a great cry, fissures tearing through the living shadow, until, at long last, the cocoon burst forth, spilling light and shadow onto the forest floor, and once again knocking the searcher to the ground.
Sylvan markings still aglow, the sage gradually recovered from its trance, to be met by a nursery of youthful viridian, and the sound of distant winds. Turning to where the ancient once stood, the searcher could only stare in awe, rising as though unsure of possessing limbs or eyes, its footfalls never seeming to reach the ground.
Floating high above the ground, where leaves may once have been, flowed a stream of countless lights, swirling in shapes fantastic and alive, an aurora of the forest given life. Reaching up with fingers shining, the sage felt the delicate touch of a single point of light, no bigger than a grain of pollen coming to gingerly rest upon its hand.
Thank you, came the words floating through its mind, in a voice not its own.
Floating back into the air, the sage could only watch, eyes ever smiling, as the light drifted into the moonless night, spreading far beyond even the widest reaches of the forest.
No comments:
Post a Comment