Chapter 3: Spirits of Venus
Peace was wrapped around the woodland. This place was a bastion of life, filled with so much pure nature that you could almost smell it. This was a sacred place.
"Cute kids, aren't they?" the man said.
It was not a common thoroughfare. No mere mortals came here for trivial purposes, especially not after the recent events. The man was not dissuaded by such things, however, and was intent on having a conversation. And, apparently, this did not bother the other member of the discussion in the slightest.
"I am not sure that 'cute' is the right word. 'Powerful' perhaps," rumbled Tret, the forest king. "Certainly they are young, innocent, and idealistic, if that is what you mean."
"Their power does not change their age, Tret," rustled Laurel. "Although I must admit that it is capable of doing so."
"Not true," dismissed the man, "that kind of power can prevent aging to various extents, but it can't actually change it."
"My power allows me to turn humans into trees," Tret noted. "Surely a change of physical form is possible without a change in species."
The man shot Tret a dry look.
"Naturally," he said, "but it is not within an adept's powers to do so. It is not a difference in strength or even skill, but rather one of types of power. As a spirit, even one with a physical form, you possess capabilities that are beyond them, although your powers are far more specialized."
Tret did not respond immediately, nor did Laurel, who was swiftly getting the impression that 'she' (if plants can truly be assigned genders) was quickly getting into the realm of esoteric (meaning irrelevant to everyday life) knowledge which even a tree as old as herself could find no interest in.
On the other hand, Tret pondered the man's claim and after a minute or two he agreed.
"My true strengths lie in guidance, healing and control of the flora of this region," the Great Tree said. "Applying that power to other beings is a capability I received from the psynergy stone."
"By its very nature, psynergy is a power of the mind," the dark-haired man stated. "While an adept can only manipulate certain things, depending on what elemental forces they are connected with, the manipulation's extent is limited only by raw power, willpower, and imagination. You are strongly bound with life itself, so the control of the nature of the lives of beings within your domain is within your power as long as their souls' strength is weaker than your power."
"So if Tret practiced, he would be able to transform beings into shapes other than trees…" Laurel mused, unable to resist being drawn into the conversation. A Waelda's thirst for knowledge is perhaps the only thing that matches the wisdom they gain with age.
"Just don't expect it to be able to do anything. Changing an old man into a young girl won't keep them from dying from old age. Transforming someone won't heal a stab wound – you have to use a healing technique. It's hard to explain why with words, but suffice it to say that, law of unintended consequences aside, you can change what someone is, but not who they are. The mind and the soul are not changeable at the snap of your fingers."
Tret and Laurel gave the man, who was sitting on a branch on a non-sapient tree, a look. Slightly embarrassed the man apologized.
"Heh… I meant 'rustle of your leaves.' My bad!"
Laurel slowly let her thoughts distill before responding.
"You know… and unusual amount about this. Even for someone in your… unique… situation."
"…Let's just say that it is experience. It used to be a kind of specialty of mine, dealing with the problems that such magic created."
Laurel's strangely smooth and feminine bark 'face' showed visible confusion.
"'Magic?'" she queried. "What is 'magic'?"
A strange look passed over the man's face and something that neither of the elders could comprehend flickered within his eyes like Saint Elmo's fire. After a moment of silence, he replied.
"Magic breaks the rules. Where psynergy bends reality, magic breaks it, following no laws but its own. Magic… is a dead power. The domain of gods and their children."
The man paused once more, seeming to search for the appropriate words.
"Once upon a time, or so the stories tell," the man Spoke, voice echoing oddly, "the gods imbued artifacts, places, even men with that power. But the gods are dead, the power dispersed, and the artifacts have crumbled to dust. Magic is as dead as the gods."
"There is one left, 'or so the stories tell,'" Tret rustled, raising a section of bark that could be considered an eyebrow, "though the healers in their sanctums have no name for their goddess. And there were survivors of the Fall, although they distance themselves."
"Best not to say such things!" the man chuckled wryly. "If I didn't know that you aren't serious I might be offended!"
Laurel looked befuddled at the two males, barely able to comprehend the random shifting of topics.
"Besides," the man sighed, "speaking directly to a person, even if it is just to say 'hey, my name is so-and-so' never just ends with that. Any time that happened in the past you got a religious leader. Or an oracle. Or a prophet. Remember what I told you about Skuld's little 'intervention'? Nothing like a little out of control religion to cause a lot of death and destruction."
"Skuld?" murmured Laurel, but the man continued without any sign of having heard her.
"And the others? What can you say about them?" the man scoffed… bitterly? No, not bitterness, but something else, something Laurel could not find words for. Sorrow and nostalgia and pain and despair and irony all wrapped up in lost wishes… what was the word for that?
"One valkyrie," the man continued. "The goddess of flowers, who spends all of her time trying to keep the winds under control. Boreas is a mindless behemoth, no longer capable of independent thought. Thor is a shadow of an image of a reflection of an illusion of his former self in many ways, if not in regards to power! Coatlicue never succeeded in healing her own broken heart, and refuses all offers of help. A golem, the ghost of a mage, a handful of monsters, several dragons, some Greater Spirits, and a few Entities of Power. I will admit that I'm impressed by Iris, she has gone a long way from being one of the weakest Gods, but she can barely keep up with the running of the underworld, even with Charon's help."
"Yes," Tret mused, "the goddess of rainbows has given her all to her work as a guide of souls… leaving only one greater being available to directly tend to humanity. Truly, it must be a lonely vigil."
"It's not too bad. After all, even in an age such as this, such a being would have no difficulty finding things to do. After all, 'the world is but a stage' and there is a very special performance in progress." The man smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.
"You have grown much more talkative in your old age, friend," Tret responded. "And yet you are so much more ambiguous."
"Hey, don't call me old until I manage it!" the man, who appeared to at MOST be in his late 20s, answered with mock hurt. "Besides," he said, reaching behind his head with one arm to tug on his pigtail, looking somewhat embarrassed, "if no one who doesn't already know the story can understand enough to ask question, I have fewer explanations to hand out."
"Avoiding the issue?"
"Perish the thought! It's merely useful for my 'all-knowing teacher' mystique."
"So you are still scattering the seeds of knowledge. Have any taken root?"
"A few. The Fuchin and Lama temples teach of 'Ki' and 'Chi' although their understanding is basic and muddled. Same with the Kandoorean temple. Knowledge of the healing arts is readily obtainable, but, again, understanding is limited. Not to mention that it has been hundreds of years since the last decent surgeon. There's and impressive blacksmith in Yallam and some good miners in Loho and off in the pass between Xian and the Lama temple. It's unfortunate, but alchemy is pretty much a lost art at this point. Even Vale and Tolbi only have minor comprehensions of the forces at work. All of the alchemy machines are dormant, which is fortunate in some cases and unfortunate in others. And I can't remember the last time I saw a library outside of Lemuria."
The man's expression then brightened considerably.
"There has been a recent piece of honest-to-goodness advancement that only required minimal encouragement. Sailing by wind-power has been rediscovered, and Alhafra is well on the way to building the first masted ship in generations."
"Are you a scholar, then?" interjected Laurel, latching onto the only plausible theory that he had never truly contradicted. It irked 'her' that she still had yet to get the man to sit down and regale 'her' with his life's story when Tret had obviously been brought in on all of the secrets.
It also irked her that Tret consistently refused to answer any questions about the man. Honestly, if she did not have to protect the forest (a venture that required her to work together with her 'male' ally for such a large region of land) she would be giving him the cold shoulder for his obtuseness.
"Not by design," the man admitted, "but I have found a niche for myself as a teacher and a guide, and it is hard to teach what you do not know."
A rumbling briefly came from the west, where Mt. Aleph still smoldered. The man twitched. Tret, seeing this, would have smirked, were he not a sacred tree, a wise, solemn forest king.
It would, however, be fair to say that his 'eyes' twinkled and that his 'mouth' maneuvered itself into an upward curve.
"Odd that it still burns. Normally such volcanic activity would have ended by now," Tret calmly pondered, without any audible amusement.
"The old Cyclops said it'd manage, and I know that no one is being endangered by the lava flows. And I know that it is best to let it do things alone, allow it to reaffirm its capability to fulfill its purpose and all that. But still…" The man trailed off in annoyance, wishing visibly that his logic was flawed.
"…All it has to do is ask, correct?" Tret completed. "But, although it will not say such a statement as this so bluntly, the Wise One worries about you. It wishes you to conserve your strength. This has been taxing upon you, and the coming storm will be more taxing still. Already, one lighthouse burns with cold fire."
"I know."
"While the restoration of Mercury resolves the most obvious difficulty caused by Gaia Falls, the imbalance of the elements will make other troubles far more strenuous. With so much at stake, it is best to be careful."
"I know. That's not the problem. But… while I am certainly happy that the water cycle now is a complete circle again due to the lighthouse and will return the water that rushes over Gaia Falls, I can't stop thinking about that truth…"
He trailed of, glaring at something over the horizon.
"I have to go," the man said abruptly. "Shall I pass word of your recovery to Cybele?"
"And send Mother my love, would you?" Tret agreed readily.
"Of course, friend," smiled the man distractedly. "I wish you luck in the days to come. To you also, Laurel."
And then he was gone, racing through the trees.
-tempusfugit-
It was quite some time before Laurel's voice broke the silence of the woods.
"Tret… what is 'that truth'?" She rustled.
For a time there was no answer, but even a Waelda as 'young' as Laurel has boundless patience.
"What goes up…"
The sun's glow faded into the mountains.
"…Must come down."
Darkness fell.