(no subject)
One of them has the children, the other has the weapon.
Neric dreams he is a child again, but it's no comfort to him. In his dream, he is in the room he slept in as a child, in the final house he and his parents had. Its open lattice floor and walls seem to come alive again, growing and twisting into vines as the room shrinks, pinning him against the underside of the upper floor above. He tries to call out for help, but he knows, even as the vines choke and crush him, that his parents cannot hear him, will never hear him again; and there, as the upper floor splinters and crumbles, he can see their bodies tumbling past him toward the forest floor a thousand feet below. They are as near-translucent pale as they were the last time he'd seen them, skeletally thin from months of eating just a few handfuls of berries a day, and very dead.
The vines crush him against the branch that had once supported their house, and he cannot move, cannot breathe...
...and waking is no comfort.
One of them has the children, the other has the weapon.
The end of the world had come, not from one direction only, but from all sides.
Axon Befal and his men, the ones responsible for shattering the peace with their attack on frail old Wassou, had been found, and sent into guarded exile in one of the new surface cities. But they had vanished from their guarded homes a month ago, and their Erdling guards had not bothered to tell anybody. It had not been reported to the Council either; Neric himself had only found out about it by speaking to members of the Erdling Senate. The guards, so they said, hadn't thought it was a problem, as long as the escaped men did not turn up in Orbora.
The Chief Mediator had kept Neric from bringing the subject up at the Council meeting, too.
Axon Befal and his men, the Nekom, the only ones in Green-sky who carried weapons, the only ones who had ever used them. Who wanted to punish their former captors--who wanted to kill, and had already tried to kill. Who had vanished, and nobody knew where they had gone, a malevolent force lurking just out of sight.
And then other, bigger matters had come up.
One of them has the children, the other has the weapon.
The children, the Holy Children, the only hope the two peoples had at peaceful reunification--their living symbols of peace, the only thing keeping the Erdlings from turning to more forceful integration and the Kindar from slipping even further into a lethal drug haze--had vanished. They had disappeared from their guarded house in the sacred Temple Grove; the only trace that remained of them was the vine rope their kidnappers had left tied to the balcony railing as they made their escape.
Their hope was gone.
That in itself had cast a shadow over the people of Green-sky, Kindar and Erdling alike. Word of the children's disappearance had spread through the cities so quickly that by the next morning, there was nothing but an eerie stillness; the few people who ventured out of their homes and along the branchpaths were unnaturally quiet, emptiness in their eyes. They had put all their hope, all their faith, in the children, and now that had been taken away.
One of them has the children, the other has the weapon.
But it didn't stop with that, no. The ancient tool-of-violence that old Regle had threatened them with, that night the children had become holy and Neric himself had not chosen peace, had disappeared from its hiding place. They had all thought it had been destroyed after that night, but it couldn't be--if someone tried to destroy it, it would explode and take the cities with it. There was only one person, other than D'ol Falla its guardian, who had known where the weapon was hidden, and that was Regle.
Regle, who wanted to restore the old priesthood (and himself, of course) to its former position. Regle, who had been willing to imprison Neric and Raamo and Genaa and the children and their families along with the Erdlings, for the rest of their lives, to keep the secret and the power the way they had been for so long. Who had fled into the forest with his followers, and was building a settlement there until such time as they could take power again.
Who now had a weapon powerful enough to kill them all.
One of them has the children, the other has the weapon.
And then word had come, right at the time they had discovered the theft of the weapon, that Axon Befal and his men had the children, and would kill them, if their demands were not met within ten days. Demands that they could not meet--they would not give control of Green-sky to a band of thugs. They couldn't. And yet... the children would die. The only hope they had ever had, would die.
The two extreme factions, one Kindar, one Erdling, each held the potential to destroy the world. And, being in opposition, they couldn't both be appeased--one way or another, the world was doomed. They were going to die, and it was just a question of how violently, and whether there would be imprisonment or loss of freedom beforehand.
And the sorrow, the hopelessness, had taken its toll on most of the Council, and they had no meetings. Most of the members of the Council had fallen ill from despair, buckled under the weight of the world, and no one could summon them. Raamo, golden Raamo, the one they all looked to as a leader despite his youth, had taken to his room and would not receive most company. It left only Neric.
He feels like a caged animal, pacing his room. His friends turn to him for guidance, but he has nothing to give them--he doesn't know any more than they do, has no more hope than they do. They turn to him, and he has nowhere to turn, and he can feel the spirit dying that much more.
Choose peace, he thinks. Choose peace like you didn't choose it that night. But where is the peace? He cannot, will not, simply give in. Not to either faction. Giving in to either faction means death--but not giving in to either one means death also. There is no way out.
They only have ten days to settle matters with the Nekom, and Regle had yet to issue any demands with regard to the weapon, but it is only a matter of time until he sends out a proclamation. Ten days until the end of the world, unless Regle's men want to end it sooner.
Neric is only twenty-one years old. He's still got over two years until he'll be old enough to marry--well, he thinks, would have had over two years. That may be what makes him the most bitter about the entire situation, strangely enough--that after all he's been through, everything he's done, he'll be alone when the world ends. He still has nowhere to turn. His door had not come back... and even if it had, he would not go.
He may not be any help, right now, but his people need someone, and in the absence of the other members of the Council, he is all they've got.
But he can't fix their emptiness, that hollow way they look at him when he passes them on the paths. He can't do anything about the desperation he sees in the eyes of his friends in the youth hall, desperate for some hope or comfort. He can't give them what he doesn't have.
One of them has the children, and the other has the weapon.
Neric dreams he is a child again, but it's no comfort to him. In his dream, he is in the room he slept in as a child, in the final house he and his parents had. Its open lattice floor and walls seem to come alive again, growing and twisting into vines as the room shrinks, pinning him against the underside of the upper floor above. He tries to call out for help, but he knows, even as the vines choke and crush him, that his parents cannot hear him, will never hear him again; and there, as the upper floor splinters and crumbles, he can see their bodies tumbling past him toward the forest floor a thousand feet below. They are as near-translucent pale as they were the last time he'd seen them, skeletally thin from months of eating just a few handfuls of berries a day, and very dead.
The vines crush him against the branch that had once supported their house, and he cannot move, cannot breathe...
...and waking is no comfort.
One of them has the children, the other has the weapon.
The end of the world had come, not from one direction only, but from all sides.
Axon Befal and his men, the ones responsible for shattering the peace with their attack on frail old Wassou, had been found, and sent into guarded exile in one of the new surface cities. But they had vanished from their guarded homes a month ago, and their Erdling guards had not bothered to tell anybody. It had not been reported to the Council either; Neric himself had only found out about it by speaking to members of the Erdling Senate. The guards, so they said, hadn't thought it was a problem, as long as the escaped men did not turn up in Orbora.
The Chief Mediator had kept Neric from bringing the subject up at the Council meeting, too.
Axon Befal and his men, the Nekom, the only ones in Green-sky who carried weapons, the only ones who had ever used them. Who wanted to punish their former captors--who wanted to kill, and had already tried to kill. Who had vanished, and nobody knew where they had gone, a malevolent force lurking just out of sight.
And then other, bigger matters had come up.
One of them has the children, the other has the weapon.
The children, the Holy Children, the only hope the two peoples had at peaceful reunification--their living symbols of peace, the only thing keeping the Erdlings from turning to more forceful integration and the Kindar from slipping even further into a lethal drug haze--had vanished. They had disappeared from their guarded house in the sacred Temple Grove; the only trace that remained of them was the vine rope their kidnappers had left tied to the balcony railing as they made their escape.
Their hope was gone.
That in itself had cast a shadow over the people of Green-sky, Kindar and Erdling alike. Word of the children's disappearance had spread through the cities so quickly that by the next morning, there was nothing but an eerie stillness; the few people who ventured out of their homes and along the branchpaths were unnaturally quiet, emptiness in their eyes. They had put all their hope, all their faith, in the children, and now that had been taken away.
One of them has the children, the other has the weapon.
But it didn't stop with that, no. The ancient tool-of-violence that old Regle had threatened them with, that night the children had become holy and Neric himself had not chosen peace, had disappeared from its hiding place. They had all thought it had been destroyed after that night, but it couldn't be--if someone tried to destroy it, it would explode and take the cities with it. There was only one person, other than D'ol Falla its guardian, who had known where the weapon was hidden, and that was Regle.
Regle, who wanted to restore the old priesthood (and himself, of course) to its former position. Regle, who had been willing to imprison Neric and Raamo and Genaa and the children and their families along with the Erdlings, for the rest of their lives, to keep the secret and the power the way they had been for so long. Who had fled into the forest with his followers, and was building a settlement there until such time as they could take power again.
Who now had a weapon powerful enough to kill them all.
One of them has the children, the other has the weapon.
And then word had come, right at the time they had discovered the theft of the weapon, that Axon Befal and his men had the children, and would kill them, if their demands were not met within ten days. Demands that they could not meet--they would not give control of Green-sky to a band of thugs. They couldn't. And yet... the children would die. The only hope they had ever had, would die.
The two extreme factions, one Kindar, one Erdling, each held the potential to destroy the world. And, being in opposition, they couldn't both be appeased--one way or another, the world was doomed. They were going to die, and it was just a question of how violently, and whether there would be imprisonment or loss of freedom beforehand.
And the sorrow, the hopelessness, had taken its toll on most of the Council, and they had no meetings. Most of the members of the Council had fallen ill from despair, buckled under the weight of the world, and no one could summon them. Raamo, golden Raamo, the one they all looked to as a leader despite his youth, had taken to his room and would not receive most company. It left only Neric.
He feels like a caged animal, pacing his room. His friends turn to him for guidance, but he has nothing to give them--he doesn't know any more than they do, has no more hope than they do. They turn to him, and he has nowhere to turn, and he can feel the spirit dying that much more.
Choose peace, he thinks. Choose peace like you didn't choose it that night. But where is the peace? He cannot, will not, simply give in. Not to either faction. Giving in to either faction means death--but not giving in to either one means death also. There is no way out.
They only have ten days to settle matters with the Nekom, and Regle had yet to issue any demands with regard to the weapon, but it is only a matter of time until he sends out a proclamation. Ten days until the end of the world, unless Regle's men want to end it sooner.
Neric is only twenty-one years old. He's still got over two years until he'll be old enough to marry--well, he thinks, would have had over two years. That may be what makes him the most bitter about the entire situation, strangely enough--that after all he's been through, everything he's done, he'll be alone when the world ends. He still has nowhere to turn. His door had not come back... and even if it had, he would not go.
He may not be any help, right now, but his people need someone, and in the absence of the other members of the Council, he is all they've got.
But he can't fix their emptiness, that hollow way they look at him when he passes them on the paths. He can't do anything about the desperation he sees in the eyes of his friends in the youth hall, desperate for some hope or comfort. He can't give them what he doesn't have.
One of them has the children, and the other has the weapon.