212) The Salvation of Eden, Chapter 44 -- Melkorn and the unexpected solution to madness

The forests outside Annuvin were unnaturally quiet, as though the Reapers had stripped them of life, which indeed they had. After a few hours with the roadway’s silence broken only by their own hoofbeats, Kohra found herself acutely aware of the loneliness of a world without birds. 

They travelled fast, sticking to the road. It was a bit cocky of them, perhaps, but worrying about bandits or other ne’er-do-wells giving them trouble just wasn’t at the top of their minds. For one thing, the Reapers had ensured that almost nobody traveled these roads anymore; any bandits seeking to target passersby would have long ago left for more lucrative lands. Also, Lenny and Reilly, and even Dominic, had embraced this new identity of themselves as Slayers. Who was going to mess with a victorious group of Slayers?

Besides, they had a Plan. Lenny called it the “Blow the Crap Out of Everything” Plan, or BCOE. If they ran into trouble, the code word was “Beeko,” and then Riley would unleash her Wand, the Master Blasters would form their line, Gorb and Melkorn would step into the front, shields up, and Dominic would draw his bow and prepare to snipe. 

That was the plan. Beeko first, ask questions later. 

So, feeling invincible, armed to the teeth, fresh on their horses, they pounded right down the center of the road. 

Their new horses dug in with enthusiasm, as though getting out for a good run was exactly what horses were supposed to do. By mid-morning they were on the outskirts of Killinintin Forest, the semi-tamed forest used until recent years by the Hammerites as a source of wild foods, medicines and countless other useful things. And meat, of course. 

They encountered nary a soul. No bandits. Not even squirrels, birds, butterflies. Nothing but silent trees and bee-less flowers.

It’s so strange that Annuvin sits out here, all alone. It shouldn’t exist, really. It has no reason to. Just a bunch of farms, out on the border of the Wild. But for some reason, people make it their home. People like Juanita and Coraanyan. 

Kohra sighed. She often felt this way whenever she passed through small towns, like the hamlets of the Borderlands. All those little places. What did those people do? It was like all the peoples of the vast worlds ended up clumping themselves together, like some kind of mice, huddling together in their little warrens, protecting themselves from Everything Else and trusting only each other. 

She felt an inner aching. Like she was leaving something important behind, a whole life of possibilities that she would never get to experience. 

How can “nothing” hurt so much? How can the things we cannot experience cause so much suffering? Besides, there are an infinite number of those things. Should we be in infinite pain? 

Life is about more than holding on, because no matter how tightly you cling, everything slips away eventually.

What was that phrase? Form is emptiness, emptiness is form. I wonder what that means.

It doesn’t make sense to hold onto Annuvin. It’s not my home. Although Juanita did make it sound so beautiful. What did she call it? “This land of open skies, cold rivers and community roots snarled together as thick as brambles.”

Damn, I loved — love — her. 

Her thoughts flitted and flickered like fireflies fighting the darkness, as the miles passed and Annuvin fell further and further behind.

Kohra shivered. It was colder to the north-east. And they had a long way to go before getting to the mountains. 

She glanced over at Devona, riding a few paces ahead, dark curls bouncing down her back. Her friend looked energized, straight in her saddle, eyes on the horizon.

Looking ahead and behind, Kohra counted. Seven. This was her family now.

* * * * *

The Black Thing made it to Annuvin two nights after they left. Juanita was reading in bed by candelight when the air turned frigid and everything went suddenly blacker than black, like the air was ink. Even the candle flame, still burning, shed no light, as though nothing at all was allowed to escape the Dark. 

Juanita froze, listening to Its whispers as It moved through her home, probing every corner and cranny. She closed her eyes, her skin cold as It permeated the room. She felt, momentarily, a stab of such intense Hatred that she wanted to take a knife to her own veins and end her existence right then and there; she was disgusting, disgusting, her clammy corporeal form like rotting meat, filling the air with its stench of decay and feces…she hated, HATED!! She wanted to end it, end it all, everything, everybody. Wild-eyed, she stared into the darkness, mind racing to remember where she was. This, her house. She knew where the knives were. Yes. Yes. It was the only way. It was the only way to redeem herself.

And then, it left.

She stopped, halfway down the hall, looking around at her home, her paintings and pictures, her life. It felt so suddenly unreal, like she had just learned her whole city was built on a volcano and it was about to erupt, killing them all. 

She prayed that night. She had little confidence that any God would listen to her. But, she prayed. For her friends. 

There was nothing more she could do. 

The Black Thing never came back to Juanita’s Inn. She wondered for a very long time whether it ever found who it was hunting. 

* * * * *

The landscape changed as they left the territory of the Reapers. It was most striking to Dominic’s trained senses, but all of them felt it, indeed heard it in the resurgence of birdsong that had been suppressed in the silent forests of Annuvin. They rode on, feeling their confidence growing even larger as the miles passed. It was a glorious trip, through beautiful, forested, increasingly hilly country, the land rising and falling like waves on a world-sized ocean. 

They quickly grew comfortable in their presumed invincibility as Slayers. Although none of them were aware of this subtle shifting in their minds, they were already slowly succumbing to the psychic poison of the Reapers, a demonic possession that crept into the unconscious so slowly there was no possibility of stopping against it, an unshakable, nihilistic emptiness rooted in the “knowledge” of a violent, fiery, inevitable End. 

Subconsciously, they were each, privately, beginning to detach from the world around them, from the things and people they love, even from their own selves. The more their minds marinated in the echoes of the Reapers’ screaming, fiery splitting of reality, the more they became unmoored from normal, healthy concern for their lives. 

As the birdsong came back and living creatures once again accompanied their journey, Life simply reminded them of Death. Each time they found themselves gazing for a moment at something beautiful and alive, despair would gain another foothold in their psyche. 

They had lasted as long as they had against the madness due mainly to the fact they had been victorious against the Reapers. It’s one thing to go mad after defeat and another entirely after victory. That, plus the intensive ministrations of the Healers, slowed the creeping madness down, but could not stop it.

Reality was slipping away from them, inexorably, replaced by a fixation on the annihilation of all life, indeed all things. Unable to face this inner terror, they instead turned it into an almost manic confidence, a delusion of invulnerability, like somehow, the great Heroes on their divine Quest could not help but succeed. 

They were stupid, even though it wasn’t their fault. They should have been killed. They should never have reached the Mountains. But maybe the Gods were watching over them after all. Or maybe they just got lucky. 

They had been riding particularly hard. Despite the generally chilled air that they had grown accustomed to, today the sky itself seemed to radiate heat, as though they were in an oven and flames blazed just beyond their vision. 

Dominic called for a halt at a tiny trickle of a stream. The horses drank deeply, breathing hard. Lenny and Reilly promptly got down on hands and knees, stuck their own faces in the water, then brought them out, shaking and neighing like the horses. The others knelt down, filling up waterskins to drink in a somewhat more civilized fashion. Suddenly, a howl echoed from the forest ahead of them. This was quickly followed by a smattering of high-pitched yelping that lasted for only a few seconds. Then, nothing.  

“Quick! Off the road!” Dominic hissed. They hurried the horses into the trees, although the thick underbrush forced them to stop a short ways in. 

Kohra realized, too late, that this was a terrible idea. The horses were already uneasy, snorting and resisting being led, and making far too much noise, huffing and whinnying, cracking sticks and snapping branches as they were hurried into the trees. And now, if anyone did come, they had no chance of hiding or outrunning them. They had, effectively, trapped themselves. 

She strained her ears, but heard nothing. Dominic was signaling her. She watched his hand motions. 

Go back to the road. Quietly. Ride the horses. Back? Back where? Five something. Five circles? Oh, five minutes. What’s he doing with his fingers? Oh, trees! Big trees! Ride the horses five minutes back to the place with the big trees! I get it! And then, wait. What?!! What is he doing? Dominic!

As usual, she wanted to stop him. And as usual, he was already gone.

Dominic snuck around in a wide circle, zeroing in on his best guess as to where the yelping had originated. He intended to approach it from the side of the woods, assuming that whatever it was, it was oriented toward the path. 

He saw the nets in the trees first. He couldn’t see whoever had set them. They were well-hidden, but he could tell from the small signs they left everywhere, this was no small ambush. 

He left immediately, slipping back the way he had come. They couldn’t take the road any further. They were in hostile territory now. 

Once he got back to the others, he explained what was ahead. Lenny and Reilly both thought they should ride right into it. “They’ll never know what hit ‘em!” Lenny declared with ridiculous confidence, and Reilly raised her wand like it was a sigil of guaranteed success. Melkorn grinned, nodding. Devona agreed, although reluctantly, like some part of her realized this didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Kohra didn’t care either way; everybody she looked at was like a walking corpse, rotting where they stood. Even Dominic was starting to think maybe they were right. 

Thankfully, Gorb talked sense into them. He was the first to realize the madness that was colonizing their minds. Maybe it was his Light. Maybe it was his greater experience with life. Maybe his Klliik roots. Maybe any number of things. Whatever it was, it saved them all from their full-frontal assault plan and instead, Dominic led them off-road, across the outer steppes of the Broken Spine mountain range.

It was slow-going, but enjoyable. The steppes were beautiful, in their barren, lonely, big-sky way. Kohra felt almost happy again, and after several days in the saddle, she was feeling stronger, tougher, her muscles hardening. She felt…free! 

And oh, did they feast. Every day, Dominic’s bow brought down some unfortunate critter or other, from pheasants and rabbits, to deer and even a mountain elk, and every night they roasted their kill and ate. 

But the camaraderie of the past had faded into a sullen contemplative silence. By day’s end now, all they wanted was to eat their kill and sit, in silence. What was there to talk about? Sing about? Why sing in a world of Death?

* * * * *

A few days into this dismal routine, Melkorn decided somebody needed to take command. Every militia needed a Captain, and he did, after all, have rank.

He announced it at the end of breakfast. Looking up from his oatmeal, he wiped his chin with his sleeve and stated, “We need a Field Captain. So that’s me. Tonight, we start Combat Training.” Then he went back to eating.

Sure enough, despite the others’ general disinclination to do much of anything, they started Combat Training. Melkorn just didn’t take no for an answer. To him, it was obvious that they needed to train, and he was the one who was going to train them, because he was the only one available to do it. As he explained to Lenny, with remarkable patience, Captain Klardynne had given him this assignment, and he was going to fulfill his responsibilities. Right now, that meant they needed a Field Captain.  

He was right, of course. They could, at practically any moment, find themselves fighting for their lives. And it was inevitable, eventually. It was the Law of the Wild out here.

Not that they cared much. They actually relished the thought of killing and being killed in glorious battle. Bringing death to the living was the merciful thing to do.

Despite their half-heartedness, once the lessons got underway, Melkorn’s sheer enthusiasm won them over. Nobody, not even Lenny, skipped practice. The still-ever-grinning farmhand was not only infinitely patient, but it turned out, he knew more about fighting than all of the rest of them put together. He didn’t have much to say, wasn’t much of a “teacher,” but he made up for it with direct, hands-on guidance, leading them through thrusts and parries, stabs, slices, leg-sweeps, showing them (the hard way, to which their butts attested) how to knock opponents off balance, how to feint and block and counterattack. 

Soon, they felt like an actual fighting force! They had techniques, strategies, attack and defence formations. Kohra’s body was sore, everywhere, every single muscle having been thoroughly worked out, stretched, bruised and battered. But she felt invigorated like never in her life, and as the days passed, she found herself practicing for longer and longer. 

Although none of them knew it, Melkorn’s training sessions saved not only their lives, but their sanity. The mind-body-spirit connection is more than a “connection.” It’s a unity. Melkorn was strengthening them, beating back, blow by blow and pushup by pushup, the insidious rot the Reapers had implanted. It wasn’t a cure, but it did put their madness into a kind of remission. Without anyone intending it, merely following the inherent wisdom of a well structured system of training, they prevented themselves from slipping entirely into insanity. 

As their enthusiasm and sharpness grew, the others started to add their own ideas and techniques to Melkorn’s lessons. Lenny knew a few things about pressure points, especially in humans and Earthborn (they’re more similar than different, she insisted). Gorb showed them some techniques that were particularly useful for shorter people, such as ducking under an opponent’s strike to sweep their legs or stab their feet or, his personal favourite, break their knees. Dominic helped with their crossbow aim, teaching them how to adjust for wind and distance and movement. He also had them practice, over and over, loading and cocking their weapons until they could all fire in rapid succession. 

After combat training, there was usually enough of the evening left for people to do whatever they wanted, which each person began to seize more eagerly as their enthusiasm trickled back to life.

Reilly used her time to practice shape-shifting. She became obsessed with it. Being a squirrel had been the most incredible feeling in the world. It was like having superpowers. She wanted more. She wanted to be a snake, and a fish, and eventually, she dreamed of the day she could transform into a bird, spread her wings and soar up into the clouds. She wondered if she could go all the way into the skyflows themselves. She planned to find out. 

But first, she had to figure out how she had become a squirrel in the first place. She’d only done it once, and the Druids had helped her, for some reason telling her to go with Lenny when the King’s Guard were running around arresting every Shaper they could get their mitts on. But she couldn’t replicate it. Whatever power the Druids had helped her access that first time, she just couldn’t find it again on her own. 

She wasn’t going to give up though, no matter how long it took. Reilly TreeChild intended to become Master of Animals, someday. It was her destiny. She was sure of it. Why else would she have been born from a tree? Even though nobody believed her, she didn’t care. She didn’t remember her parents at all. They could have been trees just as easily as anything else. 

So she practiced. Which, to the others, looked like she was walking around randomly, contorting her body into bizarre positions, grunting and making weird chirping noises, and then, invariably, getting frustrated and stomping off to throw rocks at things. 

Gorb used his time to meditate and pray. His faith was fully re-invigorated. This was a Holy Quest, attested to by the sheer fact of their own miraculous survival, particularly his own with the Reapers. He had been dragged into the creatures’ very nest, his body mangled and shredded. And yet, somehow, the Light had preserved him. He knew in his heart, this Quest was meant to be.

Nevertheless, Gorb wasn’t his old self. Although nobody mentioned anything, it was obvious. Whereas before he was brash and self-assured, now he was tepid, his confidence more weak bluster than anything, a far cry from the spiritual warrior who had mentored Kohra back in the caravan. Where had that Gorb gone? Would he ever come back? 

And after all, his powers were still gone.

Devona went off by herself most evenings. Kohra asked if she could come with her a couple of times, but Dev said no, explaining that she needed total concentration to focus on what she was learning to do with the Flux. 

Of course, Kohra knew that was reasonable. It’s like when you’re trying to create something new; there’s an incubation period when you can’t share it with anybody else. You have to nurture it into life on your own first. 

But still, she felt left out.

She found herself thinking more and more about Dev, wondering what she was doing, and what kind of Shaping she was practicing. And why weren’t they sharing any of their ideas with each other anymore? And why couldn’t Dev at least tell her what she was working on? Weren’t they going to become Arch-Mages together? Wasn’t that the whole idea? 

Kohra busied herself with Shaping fire, and it turned out to be a good outlet for her feelings. She did feel like she was making progress. Opening to the Flux was getting easier after all their practice as “Master Blasters”,, and the flame was springing to her hands much more readily than before. Playing around with it, she realized she could spin it and it would grow flat and circular, like a pizza. Indeed, it reminded her of the baker she’d once watched making pizza dough, flinging it into a mesmerizing spinning disc. Now she had her own pizza-dough-flame-disc-thingy! She didn’t know what she’d ever use it for, but it was fun. And it looked impressive. Sometimes, Reilly would stop stomping around in frustration and just sit and watch her spin the flame. Kohra loved it. It was like being on stage again, maybe even better because this time no drunken strangers were trying to get her to come home with them. 

Dominic also started hanging out with Kohra, watching her spin her fire-pizza (he laughed every time she called it that). He wanted to learn to Shape too, although he found Kohra’s explanations too esoteric to make any sense of them. Maybe he didn’t have much aptitude for the Flux, he figured. After all, most people didn’t. 

But then he had a breakthrough. He realized that what Kohra called Connecting was very similar to what he called The Quiet. He experienced it with his bow — that moment of perfect union when himself, the bow, the arrow, and the target, all became One. At that point, it wasn’t “archery” at all; it was more like he simply thought the arrow to the target. As far as he could tell, Shaping seemed similar; it was all about focusing your mind and letting go of your own will so that “something greater” could flow through you. So he sat by Kohra as she spun her fire-pizzas, watching the sparks and focusing his mind.

He confessed, during one of their sessions, that he missed joking around. “Remember how I always used to scare the crap out of you?” She rolled her eyes, sticking out her tongue, and he laughed. “Yeah, you know, the whole scaring people thing just isn’t fun when we’re scared all the time for real.”

“Yeah, and now we’ll probably stab you,” Kohra stated.

He sighed, grinning. “Do you think the good times will come again?”

She looked over, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe these are the good times.”