Game of the Gods - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Arboreal Cathedral

Dawn had not yet risen at the foothills of the Orsk Mountains, for this far north, dawn did not come early. Nor did daylight linger long at this time of year. Near the city known as Tosche, in the northernmost boundaries of the Empire of Maxis, one had to grow accustomed to finding their way by moonlight in the early spring. And just as the sun told the time of day in the summer months, so the position of the moon in the sky indicated the winter hours. The long grey shadows that covered the thick trees said that it was still predawn, yet not so early in the day.

A few short leagues southwest of Tosche stood the Arboreal Cathedral, the holy place of worship for the Clerics of Kawn, and the last settlement between civilization and the wild Valley of Orsk. Many travelers came here on pilgrimage to witness firsthand the ambience of nature, or to bathe in the frigid waters flowing down from the pinnacle of Mount Orsk. The Cathedral was a stopping place, and offered weary travelers sanctuary from the inhospitable northern climate.

The Cathedral grounds sprawled over several acres, comprising one of the finest examples of wooden buildings known in the Empire. Just as the marble columns and palisades of the capital city of Jund were renowned among the people, the intricate woodworking of these clerics attracted hundreds of visitors each year. The Cathedral proper was large, the largest wooden building ever constructed in the Empire, yet its most unique attraction was not its size. Within the center of the structure was an enormous courtyard, at least a hundred paces across. The courtyard had originally been built around a tree, but over the ages, the tree had engulfed the courtyard. This massive tree grew out of a dead stump, taking its nourishment from the ground below and the skies above. It symbolized Verdigris, the cycle of life, a promise of the renewal of all things.

Surrounding the yard were four corridors, each stretching deep into the cathedral, branching out in different directions. While the corridors would normally be dark at this time of night, a faint greenish light emerged from each one, bathing the courtyard in the faint glow. This sole source of illumination came from the many lanterns suspended from the ceiling on fine silken ropes. While this would have been somewhat dim by itself, the light reflected off of the devotedly polished oaken floors.

In the Arboreal Cathedral, the morning hours before dawn were not wasted. In the Sanctum of Man, nearly a hundred people sat at long wooden tables, awaiting the morning pronouncements and joining in the company of others. Each of them wore a thick green cloak about their shoulders over an emerald tunic and trousers. Around each of their necks hung a medallion, picturing a large hammer over a flourishing tree. This was the holy symbol of Kawn, the Cycle Keeper. Only a few of the clerics, however, actually had one of the large hammers hanging from their belts.

The growing din quieted at the tapping sound of hard leather boots moving along the oaken floors outside of the hall indicated that the breakfast was about to commence. Upon entrance of the Chronicler of Trees the gathering men and women bowed their heads with reverence in unison. Hurnn Alcorn quickly looked over the gathering and smiled to himself. Far in the back sat the majority of their younger students. Today would be an important day for some of these acolytes.

As he surveyed the gathering, he noted several of the Fists of the Tree silently moving about the gathering. The Fists served as the protectors of Verdigris, and used their hammers to serve this purpose. Curates and caretakers filtered among the acolytes, most heading out to serve the Cycle, their breakfast already taken. These were the senior students and they had lessons to prepare for the acolytes, as they would be along soon. He smiled, looking over the gathered group of acolytes, knowing that some of them would not be eating at this time tomorrow. If all went well, they would be eating the earlier meal with the caretakers and curates, if not, well I would rather not think about that.

It was time to begin their day, and Hurnn did not speak, but his deep bass voice dropped into a simple song. His song only reached through one octave, but each note in that octave was pure and true. The song echoed through the great hall, the notes that were first sung mixing with the new tones, harmonizing with one another. As the last note of his song reverberated in the high arched ceiling, those around him raised their heads and began to eat.

At the table farthest from the Chronicler of Trees a group of six young men and two young women pushed their food around their plates nervously. These were the students that Hurnn was thinking of in his quiet reflection. Today was one of the most important days of their young lives, and they all knew it. None of them managed to get a single bite down, despite the fact that they were properly hungry. They sat together in silence for a time, waiting for the daily lessons to begin. The oldest among them, a seventeen year old man from nearby Harmon Den felt the silence as acutely as the tightness in his belly. He had been here at the cathedral for five years, learning the simple prayers of the acolytes. Providing all went well today, tomorrow he would become a Caretaker, but that was a big if. Out of his class, perhaps half of them would have that honor. He looked around at his friends and was saddened by this thought in some ways, yet found undeniable satisfaction. His faith told him that he would not fail. He hoped he would feel the same tomorrow.

As was the ritual, he rose when he felt a tap on his left shoulder. A green cloaked figure walked around tapping each of them in turn. After the last of them was touched, they silently followed the shrouded man out of the great hall and down the corridor. They came to the Owl's Knot, the easternmost entrance and exit to the Cathedral. The hooded man then stopped for a moment and pointed one gnarled finger at the glowing floor.

He spoke to them in a tired, terse voice, "Remove your cloaks and follow me." The young clerics looked at one another anxiously; soft questioning whispers rose from the silent group. It was well below freezing outside and, without the protection of their cloaks, most of them would likely freeze to death. Their green-cloaked leader whirled about on them, a dangerously sharp hiss escaping from beneath the hood. "If you wish to remain within these walls, then you will do as I say."

The oldest acolyte however, had not hesitated when given the first instruction. His cloak was on the floor before the statement had fully emerged out of the man's lips. The cowled figure nodded his head at this student, but whether he was pleased or simply irritated at the other students remained hidden by the hood that covered his face. And they knew not to cross him.

The last of the cloaks had not yet settled on the floor as the man pushed the thick pine door open. "Don't straggle behind," was the only other instruction they received from the hooded man before they walked out into the snow-covered forest.

They walked in silence, north through the Valley of Orsk, leaving the shelter of the Arboreal Cathedral behind. Quickly, they were enveloped by low lying fur trees, The thick evergreens kept the bulk of the freshly falling snow from ever landing on the ground, which helped to keep them warm, but the trees also served to keep the light out. A small green lantern, served as the only light they had, and this was shared between them. The students were forced to huddle together as they traveled north, the pale green light cast by the lantern being absorbed by the trees, making it all the more difficult to see where one was stepping in the depths of the forest.

They hiked for what seemed half a day though the thick trees, although it had only been an hour. None of the students could remember ever having traveled this deep into the woods before, and most of them began shifting their eyes about nervously. Finally they entered a clearing in the trees, where the bright morning sun greeted them. The acolytes closed their eyes against the sudden brightness, a few turning their heads away from the sun. The oldest among them was resolute, though, squinting into the sudden brightness and gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering. At least the sun was warming him.

The green cloaked man stopped abruptly and turned around. Like ducklings following behind their mother, his followers stopped in suit as well. He reached his hands up to the cowl of his hood and slid it back, the intense light gleaming off his properly shaved head. Qrstcht (pronounced coo or sh t) was The Forester, the head of the clerics of Kawn and of natural order. Despite his wiry frame, the vibrancy of life visibly flowed through his body. His green eyes sparkled mischievously in amusement as he watched the young students before him. His head was completely void of hair and deep creases in his forehead told of advancing age. If his students had realized his actual age, they would not have believed it, for Qrstcht was well over a century and a half old, easily one of the oldest men alive. A long crooked nose sat above thin lips, his bony cheeks were a deep rose in color. Around his neck hung a pure gold medallion, engraved with a beautiful oak tree. This was the holy symbol of Kawn, the god they all served.

Qrstcht stood still for a moment, eyeing his class. He raised a gaunt finger and pointed at one of the students. "Levin, build a fire," he said gruffly. He moved his hand to target another student, "Nealdil, boil some water for my tea."

Nealdil, dumbstruck, looked at the head of her faith, and stammered. "I...I didn't bring a kettle."

"Oh dear..." the old man said irritably. "Must I think of everything?" He grumbled a few moments under his breath.

Levin too seemed to be having difficulty with his appointed task. He held two chunks of dead wood in his hands and a glazed look in his eyes. "I have neither flint nor steel," he said apologetically.

Qrstcht sighed with annoyance. He loosened the belt at his waist, and a bag landed on the ground. "I assume that will do?" he asked. He huffed once again, and placed his thin hands back into the warmth of his cloak.

Levin and Nealdil scrambled to the small pack, quickly discovering two carefully wrapped Anoch's twigs, a fire-blackened tea kettle, and a package full of tea leaves. They went to work at once getting a small fire burning and the tea steeping.

Qrstcht watched them with a bemused expression on his face, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. The others stood where they had stopped, afraid to draw unwanted attention to themselves; only Kawn knew what horrible tasks The Forester would have in store for them. Qrstcht hid a smile with his hand and coughed once for good measure. "You can help them you know," he mumbled.

A slagmaster's whip could not have worked as fast as a couple of choice works from the grouchy old geezer. The moment his words registered in the students' heads, they bolted to help their classmates get the tea water boiling. Dry twigs and brambles were located at the edge of the grove, beneath the fir trees where they remained free from the snow. These were thrown into the fire to keep heating the kettle.

Soon enough, the fire was burning hot and the kettle was whistling. Qrstcht produced a belafruit wood cup and held it out to Nealdil. Golden toned and softly grained, it was among the finest cups that any of these young clerics had ever seen. Belafruit could be carved into many different shapes easily, and when in the hands of a master woodworker, it produced a beautiful soft grained work of art. Clearly, Qrstcht's cup had been carved by such a master. Nealdil carefully poured the boiling tea into Qrstcht's cup. He inhaled deeply of the heady aroma and finally flashed a smile at his waiting pupils, although briefly. He noticed that his students were gathered around the warmth of the fire; he had forgotten that he had instructed them to remove their thick woolen cloaks before their journey. The thin pale green robes that they wore were no buffer to freezing temperatures. Even the sunlight did nothing to keep them warm.

He took a cautious swallow from the steaming tea and eyed his shivering students once again. He sighed resignedly to himself, knowing that the cold would likely affect their untrained voices, and they would need their voices today. He sang three pure notes in a whisper, inaudible to his students. Despite the fact that the tea was perfectly brewed, he stepped among his students, grasped the hot tea kettle without a grimace and dumped the steaming contents over the frozen ground. His eyes fell upon the oldest student this time, the one from Harmon Den. "Guelah, go get me some more snow," he said.

Guelah snapped into action, dashing off into the shade of a lone tree that stood away from the others at the edge of the glade. In short order, he returned with two armfuls of powdery snow. Qrstcht had set the kettle on the ground and Guelah began to pack it full. The hot kettle hissed as the cold snow was added, melting it instantly. Once Guelah had finished depositing the snow, Qrstcht spoke without a trace of annoyance in his voice for the first time that day.

"Pay attention, for I will show this only once. This is a special blend of tea that will relax your voices, especially in the cold. It has other uses as well, but do not ever allow yourself to fall prey to them. It can be addictive to the weak willed, and dangerous also, as too much will destroy your voices forever." He paused in his speech for a moment to let these words sink in. This worked in good measure as he had the complete attention of his pupils. "No song can ever repair the damage that it can cause. If your voice is destroyed by this tea, then it will be your fault. For the sheer stupidity of this, neither Kawn nor any of the other gods will give strength to any cant trying to heal what should not be healed."

Qrstcht cleared his throat to ensure that he still had the full attention of his students. "I will teach you the infusion of range, a powerful brew that is pleasant to the palate. Apart from the shortcomings that I have already mentioned, it has its uses. Take care during preparation, for each step serves a purpose. Do not change it, as it can leave your voice numb or destroyed," he said.

The abject looks of horror on his students' faces told him that they needed further clarification. "One cup is fine, and a sip is even better. But more than one glass of this tea and the danger increases. Three cups and you will certainly do serious damage, but we will not have to worry about that here," he qualified.

His class remained awkwardly silent. Good. Good, Qrstcht thought. This group knows when to be silent. Usually, I have to spend the next hour answering questions. He looked to each one in turn, wondering if they had really appreciated all that he had told them. "Do you understand this?" He finally asked them, more out of curiosity for their silence than for the purpose of teaching. They nodded to him, yet remained quiet. Ah, they all take what I say on faith alone. They have good potential. He couldn't help himself from seeing how far this faith reached, and reveled in the tranquility for a sixty count.

The silence remained unbroken by his students, and with this, Qrstcht was quite pleased. He continued the lesson. "First and foremost, the water must reach a full boil." The class nodded their understanding and Qrstcht scowled for effect. They became fully attentive once again and Qrstcht went on.

"There are seven ingredients. No substitutes, nor any omissions." As he spoke, he loosened another smaller pack from around his waist. He placed it in the midst of the circle his students had formed around him and unrolled it, exposing its contents to his apprentices. He pointed out several of the items to them, explaining as he went. "Here is some turnip, and both aspen bark and birch bark," he said. He untied a fastener and pulled out a small white berry. "This is the berry from the Prickle Shrub, also known as what?" he questioned.

Guelah was the first to answer. "It is the glycyrrhiza berry," he said confidently.

"Correct," Qrstcht said not unkindly. He added in a more dour tone, "It would be wise for the rest of you to study your herbs a little more meticulously."

"These contents should be added first, allowing them to fully infuse in the liquid." He demonstrated, allowing the water to absorb the necessary components. He passed the kettle beneath the nose of each student so that they could properly note the contents. The water took on a congealed brown color, and smelled somewhat bitter as the turnip cooked. Satisfied that they had sufficiently diffused in the water, Qrstcht continued. "Only when they have reached this consistency," he said, shaking the kettle for emphasis, "do you add the next ingredient." He pulled out a pinch of powdered silver, which he carefully sprinkled into the opened lid of the kettle. The mixture turned a brilliant emerald green as soon as the silver began to melt. Once the silver had fully melted, he produced a steeping ball from within his cloak. He opened the spring and began to fill each side with different leaves. "And these are?" He leveled a gaze at Guelah, wordlessly telling him to remain silent.

There was some hesitation from his class, as though they were each waiting for another to answer; several even looked to Guelah. Qrstcht glared at them for this delay, and finally, the youngest of them, a small boy named Nardo, answered in his still juvenile, squeaky voice. "S...Sir," he stammered. "That looks an awful lot like jasmine and orange leaf."

"Shame on the rest of you," Qrstcht snapped at them. "This fourteen year old boy knew, yet all of your training has been insufficient to recall even the most basic of teas? Really, I expected much more from you."

Qrstcht sighed in annoyance once again and said, "Well, you better learn this. Someday, your lives may depend on it." He unceremoniously thrust the steeping ball into the open kettle. At once, the green fluid turned a brilliant crystal blue, and a pleasant aroma diffused through the frigid air. He waited for another count of sixty and swirled the fluid around in the kettle, splashing some on the ground accidentally in his zeal. Once satisfied, he filled the belafruit cup with the blue infusion of range and took a small sip. He nodded with pleasure and a smile formed on his weathered face. He handed the cup to Guelah and said, "Drink two sips each, and mind you, only two sips."

Guelah complied, and handed the cup to Nardo who was standing next to him. The cup made its way around the circle and finally to Levin. He swilled the remaining liquid around the cup and drained it with one slug. Like those before him, he smiled at the pleasant taste. He looked at Qrstcht who only scowled at him. He handed the cup back to The Forester with a sheepish expression on his face. "There wasn't much left," he said, expecting a reprimand for his gusto in draining the fluid.

"I know that," snapped Qrstcht, "That is why I told you to only drink two sips each. There was plenty enough for everyone."

The group of acolytes had once again grown silent, save the chattering of teeth in the frigid cold. They huddled around the dying fire, trying to glean whatever warmth they could while trying to avoid being obvious about their discomfort. Qrstcht turned from the fire and began to pace slowly, a slight limp to his stride. The cold weather played terrible havoc on the old man's joints; the Bone Twist had been more bothersome to him of late. I am growing too old for this. He took his old walking stick that was tethered to his back and grasped it in his hand, using it as a brace to keep the weight off his bad leg.

"Now," he began, "the reason we came here today is to test your faith in The Song of the Tree." He planted his cane and turned on it, spinning back toward his congregation. "You have learned the ways of the Acolytes of Kawn, and the basic skills of the hammer. Never before have you been asked to utter one note of The Song, and although you have been taught, never have you performed a cant. Today, that will change." His charges all had smiles on their faces in expectation of the next steps in their careers. This won't do, he thought silently as he looked them over. This won't do at all.

He gave a quiet snort at their unwarranted enthusiasm and continued gruffly, "Some of you will never again be asked to attempt this; hence, you may forever be acolytes." Their looks of delight were replaced by looks of apprehension which told him that they were now in the proper frame of mind. Much better, he thought. Those too weak in faith to sing the simplest of songs would not be permitted to continue on in rank within the church. This was not only for their own protection, but also for the safety of the church. Untrained singers could destroy the Balance that they all served to protect.

"Some of you may become caretakers after today, and learn the full secrets and mysteries of Kawn, where others may continue to serve in the regard deemed best by the church. If you fail today, years may go by until your faith is deemed strong enough to continue." He held their attention now, their eyes affixed to the old man, moving back and forth with his pacing. "Those of you that can become caretakers may yet find your way to curate status or even higher if your faith is strong enough. This will be only your first test." He paused in his lecture, allowing the full weight of this to sink in.

"This is the only song we will learn for today, and for those of you that cannot sing it, this may possibly be the last song you will ever learn. It will allow you, as the singer, to endure either cold or heat, depending upon the environment you may find yourself in."

"Sit," he commanded, "And fully open your heart to Kawn and his blessings."

The group hesitantly sat in the snow, clearly not looking forward to wetting their robes, which would only increase the biting cold. Qrstcht faced them fully, waiting for them to situate themselves on the snowy ground. As soon as he held their eyes once again, he uncharacteristically spoke softly, "Listen carefully." He sang in a monotone bass, one simple note, pure and clear in an undeniable rhythm. Tears had formed in many of the young apprentices' eyes, as they were taken with the simple beauty of the song.

"When you are ready", Qrstcht said, "You may begin."


Please read on: "Game of the Gods - Chapter 5"