Hero of Nira

The Forest Temple

   Shri stumbled on, pressing through the thickening brush. Every now and then, a gap in the branches above him would drop a torrent of water on his head, and a flash of lightning would filter down to lend the tree trunks an eerie glow.

   Shri had long ago lost the trail of Jia’s captors. To make matters worse, his own path had been washed away as well; Shri had no way of knowing where he was going or where he had come from.

   He was lost.

   “Jia!” he called again, but he knew he wouldn’t be heard even if she was nearby; the storm drowned out his calls.

   Shri huddled down under a tree, hoping it would keep him dry—or at least from getting wetter. Not that it mattered at this point.

   Shivering from the icy water, he tried to make himself as small as possible. The happiness he had felt this morning seemed a lifetime away now. His frozen fingers closed over the lion claws he still wore around his neck.

   Everything’s changed, he thought miserably. Father is dead, Jia is captured, and I’m lost in a thunderstorm. He hoped that Jia was unhurt, and that she was safe and dry somewhere. And what of Kora and the others? Were they still okay?

   Shri’s mind leapt to something else: Why was Jia taken at all? What could possibly cause the Emperor to hunt down this one little girl on the far side of Nira?

   Exhausted and freezing, Shri closed his eyes. All he wanted at the moment was some rest…

   “No, Tryi. Just leave him alone.”

   Shri stiffened. Somewhere close by, a slow and soothing voice had spoken. However calming the speaker was trying to be, Shri could still hear a note of anxiety.

   Shri slowly opened his eyes. He was standing in a dimly lit stone corridor. Farther along, he could see a bright, flickering light where the hallway appeared to open up into a larger chamber.

   “Let him go,” the voice said again. “This is not the right way to do this.”

   Shri found the speaker next to him. It was a tall man with a rather long neck. The man was dressed in stone-colored robes and a gray cloak with a white and black collar, and despite his youthful face, his hair had flecks of white in it. With one hand, he held a long staff with an odd figure carved into the end. With his other hand, he was preventing ‘Tryi’ from drawing her sword.

   Tryi was young, probably no older than Shri was. She wore a brown coat with a white collar, and was reaching over her shoulder to where two swords were strapped to her back. Tears were running from her dark eyes, and she appeared to be struggling to pull out her weapon.

   “I have to,” she mumbled.

   “No, you don’t,” said the tall man. “You can walk away. You can be better than this.”

   Slowly, very slowly, Tryi’s hand lowered from the hilt of her sword.

   Suddenly, Shri was aware of a bright white light coming, not from the chamber down the hall, but from the stone wall right in front of him. The light was blinding, forcing Shri to shut his eyes again. Shri was then overcome by a feeling of flying. He was floating weightless through the white light, which then faded to black…

***

   “Wake up, little one.”

   The light returned and, even through his eyelids, Shri felt blinded.

   “Wake up.”

   Shri wanted to comply, but he could only focus on the brilliant light. He was afraid to open his eyes. Even as he thought this, the light dimmed quickly, fading to near-dark. Cautiously, Shri lifted his eyelids.

   His immediate reaction was confusion; he couldn’t tell if he was in a building or a forest. There were four stone walls and a ceiling, but growing along the edges of the room were enormous trees whose branches rose up to lend support to the looming arched ceiling. Where the walls weren’t blocked by tree limbs, they were covered in a thin layer of moss and ivy. Higher up on the walls, windows appeared scattered around the room, sending light to peek out between the leafy branches.

   “There’s a good lad,” the voice said again. Shri glanced to his right.

   Standing beside him was a man with long white hair. His skin was dark and a short white beard framed his face. Set like a star on the left side of his nose was a brilliant blue eye, whose companion was concealed behind a black eye patch.

   The man moved closer to Shri and his black coat seemed to shimmer slightly with purple. “How are you faring now?” he asked kindly.

   Shri blinked and tried to sit up. He strained to move to an upright position; his muscles ached as if they had been trampled by a herd of horses.

   “Where am I?” he asked groggily.

   “Don’t fret, lad,” the man said. His voice was astonishingly deep—even the marble table Shri was sitting on seemed to vibrate. “You’re safe now.”

   The man went to busy himself by a smaller wooden table near a tree trunk.

   Shri tried to slide off the stone platform to his feet, but his legs were too weak to support him. He flopped onto the floor, which—oddly and luckily—was carpeted in thick moss.

   “Easy, youngling!” the old man said gently. “You had a rough night. You’ll feel better after this.” He offered a goblet to Shri, who hesitated.

   Seeing his suspicion, the man smiled. “It can’t hurt you.” He took a sip before handing the cup to Shri, who gratefully gulped it down. He coughed a bit—the liquid was very bitter.

   “Try your feet again.”

   The drink seemed to be flowing through him, lending his limbs a welcome strength. He lifted himself to his feet with little effort.

   Shri peered up into the bright blue eye. “Who are you?”

   The old man smiled again. “I am Anuraug, and be glad that I found you. My forest is no place for a lad like you in such foul weather. You wouldn’t have lasted the night.”

   “Your forest?”

   “Indeed!” Anuraug grinned. “The realm of Corvida Woods was entrusted to my care. In so many words, it is my duty to watch over every tree and creature within my borders. I sensed you wandering in its depths, and sought to aid you.”

   “You see everything in the forest?” Shri asked quickly.

   “That I do, youngling.”

   “Then you know where they’ve taken my sister! She’s here, isn’t she? You must have rescued her too!”

   Anuraug’s expression became uneasy, erasing Shri’s grin. “Lad, listen to me for a moment. There are greater powers in the world than any I possess. I would have been able to help the girl, but there is some force that gives strength to the Miraou warriors. A force follows them wherever they go, and defends them from any who would cause them harm. I had no choice but to let them escape to the south.”

   Shri dropped back to lean against the stone platform. For a moment, he had believed he would see Jia again. Now, however, she has been taken to lands Shri had never even heard of before. How could he find her now?

   Anuraug must have sensed Shri’s despair, for he sat on the stone beside Shri.

   “She is not lost, lad,” he said soothingly. “You may yet recover her from the powers that bind her. All you need is to find the strength to pursue her.”

   “A lot of good that does me,” Shri muttered shortly. What did this man know of Shri’s troubles? How could he know how much Jia meant to him? “Can’t you give me anything I can use?”

   “Patience, young one. You’re in such a hurry to follow the road that you can’t see the cliff ahead.”

   Shri glared at the floor. “If that’s where they took Jia, then I’m going over the edge after them.”

***

   If not for Anuraug, Shri would have left the Forest Temple on the first day. The old Wood Master had insisted that Shri remain for several days more to “regain strength,” as he claimed. Although Shri saw no reason to stay any longer, he had no choice. There was no way out of the temple, let alone the forest, without Anuraug’s leave.

   Instead, Shri spent his time pacing the stone hallways, trying to keep his mind off his sister’s fate.

   As the days drew on, Shri found more and more to interest him in the old temple. He soon discovered that he and Anuraug weren’t the only beings wandering the corridors. Flitting from room to room were several dozen “kingbirds,” as Anuraug called them. They were small—only the size of his hand—and an elegant combination of gray, black, and white feathers. They mostly left Shri alone, zipping about on whatever purposes they had, but occasionally one would screech at him if he stepped in its path, or another would squawk at him from a dark doorway.

   The temple itself was fascinating. The walls were made of stone, but the floor was covered in thick springy moss, making shoes unnecessary. Shri still had to watch where his feet were going, or he would trip over one of the many tree roots that crossed the hallways. Sometimes he wondered whether he was in a building or a plant.

   When he wasn’t wandering the halls searching for a way out, he spent his time in what Anuraug called the “Hall of Roots”. It was a large room with an enormous domed ceiling coated with vines. Here and there a cluster of roots hung down like living stalactites, and several gapes let daylight flood in. The floor was stone, formed in a pattern of concentric circles. In each block was carved a number of odd symbols that Shri could never quite figure out. He thought he noticed a pattern, but could never find the same one twice.

   In the center of the room was a raised disc of stone, large enough for ten people to stand on. The surface of it was inscribed with an elegant bird—some kind of crow or raven. When Shri stood on this platform, he felt an odd peace about the entire chamber. It was as if diving underwater; all the world seemed to fall still and silent, with only Shri and his thoughts remaining.

   But his thoughts always turned back to the same pattern…

   What could he say to Kora when he saw her again? If he saw her again… And, of course, Jia. How could he rescue her from a man like Cathartes? Or a man like the emperor?

   Invariably, he would shake his head and leave to wander the temple halls again.

***

   “And how are you feeling today?”

   Shri glanced up. From outside his chamber, Anuraug was watching him.

   “How do you think I feel?” Shri grumbled.

   Anuraug sighed. “I understand what you must be thinking, lad, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to make such haste to your doom. That is not the way for you.”

   “And who are you to decide what my way is?” Shri stared at his hands. “You sound like my father.” The words were out before he realized it. His father was dead; how could he say such a thing? He threw his fist at the wall, and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his hand.

   Anuraug said nothing. He merely turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Shri to brood.

   When the soreness in his hand subsided, Shri stood and stalked down to the Hall of Roots to clear his head.

   He paced in a slow circle around the Hall, slowly spiraling inwards to the Raven-stone—as he called it—once again thinking about his sister, his father, his village…

   Shri lifted his foot to step onto the Raven-stone, and leapt back. He was sure he had seen the stone move. He kicked the platform. It remained still, and he turned to walk away.

   The sound of scraping stone filled the hall and Shri whirled around. The disc had definitely moved, rotating until it completely uncovered a circular opening and a spiral staircase. Cautiously, Shri inched forward to peer into the hole.

   He thought he saw a light from far down. “Hello?” he called. “Anuraug?”

   No answer came. Shri made to leave the hall, but his curiousity stopped him. What if there was some powerful secret hidden down there? Or at any rate, a way out of the temple?

   He looked at the gaping hole, nodded his head and stepped onto the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he crept down the staircase, the floor of the Hall of Roots disappearing over his head.