Prologue of Currently Untitled Work

A robed man walked through the Forest of the Tree King, a stout branch in hand helped him along light underbrush. All around him were tiny flying insects, their wings reflecting a multitude of colors in the sunlight. He swatted a lazy hand, brushing the bugs away. They always seemed to move the moment before, but they always returned, eager to know more of this human entering their realm. It had been some years since a human had visited the forest. The trees whispered as his cloaked head passed.

         Gen could feel their speech, feel the energy go from root to root in a network of communication. “Soon that power will be ours.” A wicked smile turned a lip upward a hair. Gen couldn’t remember how long he had been walking. He knew where he was headed though. Each tree directed its soul, its very essence towards his destination: the Earth Spirit. He could feel their talk, feel it as much as he were part of it. His heart lurched, hungry for the power to flow through him. Not yet. The essence of the Art was addicting after all. Each drawing of its power was seductive. Sweet and desirous, it latched onto the user and left them emptied of feeling with its completion. The Art created and destroyed, bending to its user’s will. With the Art one could, with fine brushstrokes of life energy, create entire buildings or demolish those same buildings in inferno.

         Gen’s mouth watered at the thought of his intended plan. “Today will be a turning point whether he succeeded or not; a better tomorrow for the Tower of Light.”

         The trees were becoming more spaced out, he realized. Gen quickened his pace, following the trees’ whispers. These trunks were thicker than before; age seemed to show in their mossy wrinkled bark.

         Abruptly, Gen came upon a cliff looking out upon a circular plateau. Water ran in small trickles down towards its center, forming a moat around a huge tree. This was by far the largest tree he had ever seen. The tallest man Gen knew would easily be dwarfed by the trunk’s thickness. Each individual leaf was bigger than his hands side by side. They seemed to dance softly in the wind, to music just their own. Gen could feel unseen eyes on him as he gazed out onto the plateau. All the trees he had passed seemed to be connected to the one before him.

         “I’ve found you, Ancient.”

         The tree before him seemed to shimmer its leaves in nonverbal response. Gen felt energy come to him through a soft flow, filling his mind with the spirit before him. It felt foggy in a way. Gen shook his head, remembering to guard his plans. He greeted the Ancient as an old friend might. Thoughts appeared in his head.

         “It is strange for a human to visit.” Age weighed heavy with each syllable, endless wisdom drank from the fountain of time. Gen spoke out with force, unsure if the spirit could communicate in such fashion. A surreptitious smile grew ever so softly on his curled lips.

         “We come to make a request of you, Ancient. If you would allow us access to your flows, to utilize your power for good--”

         “Enough!” A burst of hurricane wind tore the walking stick from Gen’s hand. “You mean to lie to me, human? I, who shaped the mountains?” Instantly, the forest seemed to relax. Birds could be heard chirping again, ignorant of the events unfolding.

         “I seek not to anger you Ancient, but rather to submit to you an ultimatum. I am but a messenger for the Tower of Light after all.” His confidence grew with the passing silence. “You will either submit or be squelched, Earth Spirit.”

         The mighty tree before him seemed to deflate slightly; a sigh. A light breeze brushed through Gen’s cloak.

         Age wore even heavier than before: “How long have I stood watch over the green things on this earth? How many thousands of years have I willingly given of myself to sustain humanity and life? You are but infants in this world, plundering without thought for the future. And yet you remain hungry!” The Earth Spirit marked each word carefully. “This hunger will destroy you and humanity.” There was a moment pause. “No, you will go back to the Tower and inform your leaders that I will offer no more. That I have no more to offer.”

         Gen smiled slightly, again holding back his already escalating adrenaline. With control learned from years of politic he spoke: “Very well then.” With a start he spun on his heel and began to walk from the ridge. Already he had opened himself to the Art, its power taking hold of him. Gen closed his eyes, focusing the energies taken from all around him. With a flick of his paintbrush he had put all his might into a space a fraction the size of a grand of sand.  Time did not exist as he did this. His wishes simply were; simply became. With a fine brush stroke he added splashes of color and heat. The air erupted into ball of fire. Gen fed the flow and it grew, faster and greater still. It enveloped his being and yet demanded more. Slowly he turned around to face the Ancient.

         “In life it may be true, you have no more to offer. In death however, you offer us something much more valuable than food or shelter: the power of creative control!” Molten heat began to channel from Gen’s fingertips, fueling the liquid heat before him.

         Gen let the flame loose from his fingertips; a roaring blast that created its own hurricane wind. The Earth Spirit offered no resistance to the flames. Inferno ravaged the canopy, instantly disintegrating whatever it touched. Gen continued to feed the mass for a few moments more, relishing the feeling of Life that the Art brought with each new wave of energy. Then that life was gone. Abruptly stopped. Snuffed out. Gen felt the emptiness swell up inside him as he collapsed to a knee. His smile returned, tired but true. With effort he walked to the edge of the cliff surrounding the circular plateau beneath him. Burnt debris drifted by in the aftermath. A blackened husk of bark was all that remained. Already, Gen knew, the Ancient’s essence was burning away, dripping through his fingers. There was no time to waste.

         Gen quickly took out a small circular pendant.  He placed the necklace over his head and closed his eyes. The Art was already flowing, gathering up the residual within the pendant. It expanded and contracted upon itself simultaneously. Then just as fast as it had come it was gone. Nothing.

         Gen found he had closed his eyes while enjoying the ecstasy of the Art flowing through his body. When the sensation ceased he found himself standing again on the cliff overlooking the plateau. All the remained of the Earth Spirit was a few singed leaves dancing about. Gen replaced the pendant to his cloak pocket and turned to begin the long task of retracing his path. His left hand clutched the small circular disk inside his pocket. It was a prize he had won.







WORD COUNT 1212