Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 43

The air whistled past as they flew, rushing over his skin and hissing in his ears. The dappled light strobed in his eyes, golden beams penetrating the canopy in random spots to illuminate the twilight underworld between the forest roof and the underbrush a kilometre below. Ilfavor coasted easily between the great trunks of the trees, his wingspan untroubled by the occasional tree in their way. He soared around them without issue, the occasional rare beat of his leathery wings propelling him higher and further.

In formation behind followed Panthiro, E'raye and M'sgith, all flying in his slipstream. They each bore woven sacks filled with crystal spider remains, the hardened carapaces being of great value to the kinband. Yet nothing could compare to the worth of Drachindar's fangs, those precious crystalline shards the trio had defied their Dynast to capture. Despite his cavalier dismissal Elhyn knew he would be in trouble for this day's work, even being a son of the ruling matriarch did not excuse one from certain responsibilities. Yet he was certain that his trove would avert any censure, few indeed could claim to have acquired such treasures.

The wan daylight was just starting to fade when he spied their destination, a thick brush of leaves and branches, cunningly woven together to make a screen among the canopy. To any not born of the Everforest it would seem to be nothing, but to Elhyn it was the welcome sight of home. He urged Ilfavor closer and then at the last second they veered left, flying into an almost invisible opening in the screen. A green wall enveloped him and then they emerged into a wide sphere of living branches. Inside lay a village, woven out of the branches and boughs. Suspended high above the forest floor were walkways sculpted out of branches while homes were fashioned into cavities in trunks and fungal glowglobes hung from high above, casting a welcoming aura over the village. There was no hint of sawn wood or tool markings on any surface, everything had been fashioned from living materials, leaves and wood encouraged to grow in the desired shapes. The village existing among the foiliage without harming the trees themselves, a three-dimensional puzzle as intricate as it was sturdy. Smells of cooking and sap were all pervasive and the sounds of merry laughter rang freely among the homes of the kinband. There were no handholds or safety ropes, no Eldar could lose their footing in such an environment, not even the youngest of their race.

Elhyn urged his drake towards a broad landing area and they settled down with a soft thump. Ilfavor fluttered his wings and snapped his beak as the rider dismounted and took down his bag. Elhyn pressed his hand to his Drake's neck and said, "I thank you my friend."

Ilfavor's mind crooned, "Hungry. Hunt now."

Elhyn smiled warmly and replied, "Go and eat, you earned it."

The drake stomped about and spread his wings, then dove off the platform and soared away, leaving the village behind as he went searching for prey. The other drakes followed him, leaving the four warriors standing on the platform with their heavy sacks. Panthiro shook his head and commented, "It is nearly nightfall, we will have been missed."

E'raye replied, "Worlds spin and the seasons pass, yet the song remains ever the same."

Elhyn understood what she meant; he could feel the pulse of the village through his people's psychic gift. The Wind-dancers existence was defined by a shared rhythm, the collective heartbeat of their spirits conjoined. They lived and died to that rhythm, they worked and they played and they hunted and danced in tune to a harmony only they could perceive. It was mixed with the aura of the Everforest, in tune with its world-girdling reaches and beyond it the ancient whisper of the World Spirit, that pool of collective psychic essence that housed their ancestor's souls.

Elhyn set off into the village, holding his prizes carefully and as they walked they passed various members of the kinband. They were passing their days as they always did, gathering, communing, weaving and singing. Here an old couple weaved about each other in their daily routines, their movement honed over centuries to appear as a perfect ballet. There a Wood-weaver was channelling the spirits of the trees, her arms raised high as the boughs shifted and grew into new forms under his gentle guidance. In one corner three children played a game, throwing knives at a target twenty metres away yet hitting the centre every time, while claiming this was too easy. In a far corner a pair of new lovers sneaked away to share their bodies, their subtly marred by the excitement their spirits were leaking into the aura of the village.

M'sgith breathed deeply and said, "The rhythm is pleasing, the eternal song sounds free and clear."

Elhyn nodded as he agreed, "The forest is truth and harmony, so unlike the rigid order of our craftworld kin."

Panthiro cocked an eyebrow as he queried, "You have met craftworlders? You never said that."

Elhyn shrugged, "A delegation came to trade with my mother some two hundred cycles ago, our natural bounty for wraithbone items and Spirit Stones. In truth it was boring, the craftworlders cling to ancient protocols and courtly manners, forms of greeting and exchange that were outmoded before the Fall. They try to hold the past in their hands and deny the present, as if they can turn back the universe by sheer will."

E'raye concurred, "I remember it well, the craftworlders live in terror of their own nature, they fear She Who Thirsts will come for them in the night. Their rigid order and narrow Paths are nothing but an attempt to deny their own hearts, to cut out their connection to the Folly of Our Ancestors."

M'sgith agreed, "We of Athelling do not need the Paths, for our spirits are in accord with nature. We live and love and laugh freely, balanced by our harmony with the world. Athelling protects us from the decadence of the Fall or the corruption of our Dark Kin in Commorragh. We alone can claim to still be what our ancestors were before their corruption."

Panthiro sniffed dismissively as he said, "Still, I would like to have met them. A shuriken lance would be a fine tool to own, I think I could endure a life of solemnity for such a weapon."

Elhyn grinned as he needled, "Were you born on a Craftworld then I am sure you would have become an Aspect Warrior, their lives are even more restricted than any. Would you really want to be told when to eat and sleep and dance and fight by some ancient half-dead warrior Exarch?"

"No," Panthiro snorted in amusement, "As much as it annoys me, I do enjoy your adventures."

Their journey had taken them to the centre of the village and they found themselves approaching a single tree, larger and more ancient than any other. Its pitted bark was grey with age and knotty from the elements but it still pulsed with life. Its hundred metre wide trunk was covered in ancient symbols and esoteric runes and it rose through the centre of the village like the supporting column of a vast cathedral. It was the Brspyi, the heart tree of the village and the foundation upon which the Wind-dancers had built their home. High above a slender platform described the dwelling of the Dynast, where his mother held her court like a sovereign among lesser races, but further down was black opening, a doorway shaped into the heart of the tree.

Elhyn heard sibilant whispers in the midnight depths, the unearthly language of the dead filling the cavity, yet he was not daunted by the past. He set his shoulders square and stepped within, passing under the archway with barely a quiver in his step. A cold sensation clung to his skin as he entered, like stepping under a waterfall and the whispers became a roar of static, but then he was inside and the momentary shudder faded as he gazed upon the interior. It resembled a large cave buried into the structure of the tree, emptying out its centre without diminishing or weakening the structure. The cavern rose many levels above, filled with falling vines of ivy, till it disappeared into a gloom even Elhyn's eye could not penetrate. Small alcoves in the walls held many strange and ancient artefacts: clay jars of rare herbs, wraithbone devices from the Craftworlds, a Kraken's horn, the eye of a Negart, Longstrider spurbones and the tusks of a Leviatathus. The place thrummed with power, the World Spirit flowing through the chamber in a vibrant cascade, yet there were two things that drew Elhyn's attention. The first was a green flame in the very centre of the cavern, burning without any visible fuel, rising from the living wood without harming it. The other was a slender arch of Wraithbone, that looked totally out of place in this environment. A Webway portal leading to realms beyond Athelling, promising the wonders and dangers of an entire galaxy.

Elhyn was surprised when a shrill voice cried out, "The shadows grow long when you sully my door with your presence!" His eyes rose and he beheld a slim figure high above, hanging amid the ivy vines. She was thin and pale, even by Eldar standards, with a hawkish face and black hair that hung down to her ankles. She was clad in robes woven entirely of feathers and her skin was daubed with eldritch runes that shone in the darkness with a light that owed nothing to reflection. She was descending regally, the vines surging forward to place themselves at her naked feet like a staircase forming out of nothing, then dissolving behind her. This was Laegwen, the Wind-Dancer's Treesinger, guardian of the Webway and she whom dedicated herself solely to communing with the World Spirit. The Dynast may rule the kinband but the Treesinger was the song of Athelling made manifest. The Everforest was her ally and she knew its mysteries like no other. She also happened to be Elhyn's older sister.

Elhyn grinned as she alighted to the floor and said, "Hail fair Laegwen, most beloved sister."

"The morning mists hold more substance than your words!" Laegwen spat angrily, "Where have you been?!"

"Surely the Everforest has told you," Elhyn replied airily.

Elhyn couldn't help but smirk at his sister's look of consternation, for all her mysterious aura he could still provoke her like they were squabbling babes of no more than fifty cycles. Laegwen scowled as she spat, "You were tasked with leading the hunt, yet our kin had to hunt the migrating Grawel-beasts without your direction."

Elhyn lifted his sack as he replied, "I found a better quarry."

Laegwen snatched the sack and peered within then gasped, "You slew Drachindar!"

M'sgith interjected, "We did, the crystal spider's mother is returned to the World Spirit."

"And what of her young?" Laegwen retorted, "Did you slay them all or scatter them to the wind?"

Silence was the only reply and Laegwen hissed, "You fools, you lanced one boil only to spread the poison further, instead of one threat we could isolate and contain we now have a thousand running across our lands."

Elhyn lifted a single fang and said, "But with weapons made of this we can deal with anything. Spider fangs can make the most potent spears and arrows."

Laegwen spat in contempt, "You defy your role and then expect me to summon the World Spirit for you."

Panthiro spoke up then, "Treesinger, you seem distressed."

Laegwen softened slightly as she said, "Panthiro, at least you can see beyond your own nose. Yes, I am vexed. Old Betthaa has passed from the realms of the living."

Elhyn started in shock and exclaimed, "He died on the hunt?!"

Yet Laegwen sighed, "Rest easy, it was not your absence that caused this, it was merely his time. Betthaa had seen many thousands of cycles pass and death for him came in the stillness of the night.

Elhyn was dumbfounded but Panthiro uttered, "Such is the cycle of life and death. He shall pass unto the World Spirit but we must remain among the living and remember our burden. Athelling is our sanctuary but it is also our responsibility, the dead look to the living to protect and nurture it."

For once Elhyn agreed and said, "Let us focus on what we have and what we can make from these."

Laegwen glared at him but then took up the longest fang and examined it saying, "These fangs are the purest crystal, sharp as the longstrider claw and strong as Drake heartstring."

Elhyn pressed her, "A powerful tool, but it can be more."

Laegwen was lost in her examination as she mused, "Yes… so much more."

Suddenly she turned and strode away, her mind elsewhere. Gone was his sister and in her place was the Treesinger. A rod of wood arose from the floor and broke away in her grasp, the tree providing her with the tools she needed. She inserted the fang on the end, creating a spear and then she marched up to the green flame and plunged her hands within. Her voice arose, singing an ancient song with cadences beyond those Eldar ears could discern. Elhyn felt the World Spirit stirring at her call, responding to her incantation and the souls of his ancestors flocked nearer, drawn to her voice. Depthless power surged in the flames, forming arcane patterns and mystical shapes as Laegwen's flesh shone with the touch of eternity.

Everybody stepped back in awe but Laegwen was still as stone for long minutes. Power moved in the chamber and then she spun about and cried, "It is done!" The spear had been changed by the ritual, merging wood and fang into one inseparable whole. The fang shone with green light, the power of the World Spirit bound within its crystal structure. It was alive, filled with a life force all its own.

Laegwen presented the spear to her brother and proclaimed, "Within this weapon is bound the soul of our world, it resonates to the song of Athelling. Nothing can resist its touch, it will leave shards behind with every blow, yet the weapon shall not diminish or dull with use. It will remain sharp and whole as long as the World Spirit endures. Take it and use it for the Wind-dancers with pride… all it needs is a name."

Elhyn took the spear with awe and felt the pulse of life bound within it, the green flames within filling his eyes with vital power. His hand gripped the shaft firmly and he breathed, "Wrymfang, this is Wyrmfang."