In Our Nature - Wordsmith Winner for Cry Havoc 2019

“No!”

She awoke with a start, eyes burning. The dream echoed along her consciousness, its final imagery seared to the forefront of her mind. Her senses, painfully alert, threatened to carry her away on a tidal wave of input: the cool air on her skin, the ancient songs of the forest, the familiar sight of her home. Driving against this torrent, the dream continued to ripple across her perception, its contradiction propelling nausea to every corner of her being.

Lurching to her feet, she stumbled out the open doorway of her wattle-and-daub hut, only to collapse once more to the moss-covered ground. She retched. Her body writhed in contortions of dry-heaving, and she strained for calm, grasping helplessly at the serene river bank that lay beyond the current. She closed her eyes, and all at once her training resurfaced. She stopped resisting, instead allowing the flow to carry her as she treaded her way to still waters. The nausea passed, the torrent abated, the dream released her from its grasp. She opened her eyes.

It was barely dawn. The tender circle of her glade was bathed in a blue-grey that shimmered with the morning dew. A narrow brook wound lazily across the periphery, and she crawled over, examining herself in the trickling waters. Hazel eyes shone back at her, set in a face of rich ebony, glistening with sweat.

She sat up straight, and breathed deeply. I have to be quick, she thought. Although still weak from the ordeal, she needed to discern the meaning before it slipped beyond her sight. Settling herself into a lotus, she closed her eyes and began to replay the dream, only this time as a detached observer, rather than a receiver of its horror.

Devastation. Degradation. Deforestation. A violation of nature’s balance, and laughing all the while. A destructive dance beneath offensive icons. And, in the eye of the beholder, a pitiless rage.

The sun was high in the sky when the Druid Haili emerged from her meditation. She glanced up at the illuminated foliage, and smiled. “Yes, my Lady.”

“It shall be done.” 

***

 

It was two days travel to the great cenotes. They were the ancient home to the Arddra tribe, native Salamanders of the forest. During the last few hours of her journey she had noted a gradual rise in temperature, and by the time she arrived, the flora and humidity more closely resembled the southern wetlands than the surrounding woods.

Haili approached the largest of the cenotes. Steam issued gently from within, a sign of the volcanic activity that simmered below the water. The Arddra were a small and seclusive people, rarely venturing far from the warmth of their karst home. Their honour was impeccable, however, and though the war had recently seen them sacrifice much in the Lady’s name, there was no question that they would once again rise to the occasion.

No sooner had she chosen a soft patch on which to sit when a four-clawed hand reached up, firmly grasping the pit’s edge. Its owner quickly followed, revealing a huge, green lizard, as tall as the largest of men, and with far greater muscles. A steel mace hung from the leather strap at its side, and it hefted a shield of thick stone. Though she had seen their kind many times, Haili could not help but marvel at such enormous strength, particularly for one so young. After the first came two more. The second complimented its shield with a crescent-headed axe, while the third appeared to have foregone defence in favour of a large two-handed sabre. They knelt before the druid, having recognised a representative of the Lady.

They were the brothers Nekaw, Thykch, and Raqz, and they were Unblooded.

“The Lady greets you, honoured sons of Arddra, and so do I.” Articulating the Salamander tongues was a nightmare for the mouths of other creatures, but she had long since perfected this most important greeting.

“Humbly do we welcome you, honoured emissary of She who maintains the Balance.”

Haili motioned that they should rise, and they did. Her knowledge of Arddran now exhausted, she drew on her gifts from the Lady to reach directly into their minds. Through image and emotion, she communicated their task.

Threat. Fire. Corruption.

She could feel their anger stirring, an indignation at those who would disturb the balance.

Consuming. Morphing. Destroying.

Their cold blood was beginning to boil, their ire to smoulder.

Duty. Task. Blooding.

The fire of their Salamander souls was now an incandescent blaze.

Where. When.

She withdrew from their minds, and watched. Smoke drifted from their nostrils as they contemplated the message, their eyes searing. They nodded as one.

We will be there.

Then they turned away, diving back down into the warm waters of their home. Haili smiled, before setting off to the west.

Would that her next task prove so straightforward.

***

There was a snap as the taught wire slipped free from its catch, and Ustara sighed. Niran warned her that the equipment was getting old, that they would soon need replacement parts. Ustara had demurred, hoping to wring at least another year’s use out of the contraption. It was gradually becoming clear, however, that her companion was correct. A pity, but she supposed that it had only been a matter of time before they were forced to go, one way or another. They would venture back out to the open sea, and gather the necessary materials. But not just yet. Not if she could help it. Ustara looked up.

The river Omocia, as it was known in the days of Primovantor, ran wide and deep. Over aeons it had carved its path with insistence and vigour, resisting the many tides of history, and surviving even Winter’s mark on the world. But now, nestled beneath the forest’s verdant canopy, the aged wanderer moved slowly, its gentle flow barely perceptible to those who gazed upon its surface. It had been their home for over two years, and Ustara scanned its familiar lines, aware that her partner was submerged in the depths.

She returned to her work, carefully drawing the wire back to the catch. The trap was set into the riverbank, on one of the usual paths that animals would walk when coming to drink. She had just finished hooking the wire in place when she heard an obnoxious croak emanate from her right. Ustara glanced over at the fat toad that sat atop a protruding stone, watching her. The pale creature was stippled with dark green spots, its skin glimmering with minor iridescence.

“Something to say?” she asked. It croaked again. She had snatched it from the water a little while ago, to ‘borrow’ a measure of its poison for her trap. Since then it had sat grumpily on its stone, staring at her with bulbous and accusing eyes. “You can hop along now, I’ve got what I…” Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Niran emerge ever so slightly from the water. Her partner was looking to the tree line behind Ustara, and the tip of her harpoon gun flickered beneath the surface.

Ustara’s hand flew to her own, and she attempted to spin and raise it in a single motion. The harpoon gun resisted, however, and she saw with astonishment that thick roots were curled around it, pinning it to the ground. 

 

“You won’t be needing that,” said a voice from behind her.

The roots began to snake up Ustara’s arm, and she released her grip, recoiling. The Naiad warrior stood up, and turned to face the tree line.

A human woman stepped forward from the shadows. She was draped in well-worn leathers, a pelt of brown fur slung about her shoulders. Her skin was dark, darker than any human Ustara had ever seen, and she bore a staff of intricately woven vine, curiously inlaid with an assortment of coloured glass. She was a druid, a representative of the Green Lady, and fearsome to behold.

Ustara steeled herself. They had hoped to avoid any run-ins with the Lady and her followers, but evidently it was not to be. She heard Niran raise her weapon, and saw the druid give a flick of her hand. There was a sudden splash as a wave lifted the naiad from the water, dumping her unceremoniously on the shore, her weapon thrown beyond reach. Ustara’s rage surged, and she was about to hurl herself at the druid when the woman spoke again.

“I come to you with words, daughters of Neritica, not fury.”

Ustara hesitated. The druid’s grasp of High Neritican was excellent, if a little archaic. “Speak, then,” she responded.

The druid waited for Niran to stand before she continued. “For two years, Our Lady has allowed you to remain in her woods. For two years you have hunted, you have sheltered, you have lived. Now comes the price.”

“We hold no fealty to your Lady, nor to any realm,” said Niran.

The druid raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. The Lady is well aware of your history with the trident kings. Neritican law holds desertion to be punishable by death, does it not?”

Ustara felt her eyes widen. They were near a thousand leagues from home. How could She know? 

“Anyway, it matters not,” the druid continued. “Your debt was made the moment you chose to reside in this place. Though you may not have known it, your coming here uninvited was a petition, one which Our Lady did grant most generously.” As if to give weight to her words, the forest groaned around them, and Ustara felt sure that the trees were tilting forwards, enclosing them in their domain.

“What does She require of us?”

“Only what any queen requires of soldiers. That you fight.”

“And if we refuse?”

The druid’s eyes narrowed. “Then you shall come to know another side of Our Lady. A less… generous side.”

The two naiads glanced at one another. It appeared they had little choice. “Whom would She have us fight?” asked Ustara.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

The druid nodded, satisfied. “Then I shall see you in six days time, at the setting of the sun, where the river runs south beyond the forest.”

“We’ll be there,” said Niran, but the druid was already turning to leave. There was a croak from her left, and Ustara looked around to see the toad hopping past her. The druid stopped too, and watched as the fat amphibian caught up.

“Are you coming with me, little one?” she asked. The toad croaked lightly as she bent over to collect it. Then she straightened up, placing it on her shoulder, before departing into the shadows.

***

The eastern forest was a wound. Its anguish ran north to south along the entire frontier, a scab, new-formed and thin. All that remained of the once lush woodlands were the charred corpses of the trees that had formed them, their mutilated bodies strewn haphazardly across the scorched earth. Fog coated the landscape, floating like a haunting echo of the thick smoke disgorged by the fires. The sun was rising, and for those who walked through this murky prism, the brilliance of the light set the land aflame once more.

Haili moved with reverence across the battlefield, observing the silence with solemnity. It smelled the same as when she left, ashen and bitter. She had hoped not to return here, not yet. To first let the forest heal as it must. To let the ghosts find some peace.

Through the fiery mists the druid spotted the dull glint of weathered steel. She recognised the winged ornamentation of a Basilean shield and, as she drew closer, saw the bones of its owner protruding from the earth. His skull was half exposed, and a vicious-looking arrow jutted from above the socket of his right eye. Only a small portion of the dark fletching still clung it, but that was more than enough for Haili to recognise its origin – goblins. She crouched down to contemplate the remains of this foreign soldier, who like so many of his brothers-and-sisters-in-arms, had given his life for the balance.

A distant sound came to her from across the desolate earth, the dull thumping of heavy footfalls. It was a sound she knew well, and exactly the one she sought. She set off at a dash, leaving behind the unmarked grave to hone in on the steady rhythm. The sound stopped after a minute of pursuit. She continued towards the last pulse, and a shape grew gradually more distinct, a large and irregular silhouette. It began to move once more, its direction changed, shambling away from the approaching druid. She stopped running, and called out after it.

“Wait!”

The creature seemed to ignore her. She sighed, and set off once more.

“Stop! I just want to talk!”

It continued to lumber away, but Haili was faster, and soon caught up to it. Almost twice her size, the hulking form of animate timber was a formidable sight to behold. Its body mostly consisted of hardened oak, the ‘limbs’ stung together with thick and pulsating vines. In fact, its left arm was nothing but vines, a great tangle of them bound tightly together. Overtaking the creature, the druid planted herself directly in its path. She could hear the toad from inside her pouch, croaking with indignation at all the commotion.

“Long time no see, old friend,” she panted.

The shambler, whose name was Rodkimendwæra, didn’t so much as look at her, and she had to leap out of the way to avoid being trampled.

“Hey!” she cried, picking herself up. She began to walk alongside him, her pace quick so as to match his long strides. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” He didn’t respond. Not that she expected him to speak, exactly. Communication with these ancient spirits was more abstract, a deeper mode of relation than that which is carried by the air. But, in all ways, Rodkimendwæra was silent. She was bemused, and unsure how to continue. 

 

“What’s the matter? Why are you-”

Then she saw them, the gouges and burns that criss-crossed his wooden frame. It was incredible that he was still standing, never mind moving.

“You’re hurt. Let me help…” she said, reaching out to touch him. With alarming speed, he whipped around, swinging his vine-arm directly at her. She ducked under the sweeping blow, and heard the distinct whistle of iron cutting through the air. Jumping back, she saw that the vine-arm was wrapped around the crude and corroded head of a massive morning star. He had most likely taken it from a troll. Anger pushed aside her concern, and she was about to yell, to demand an answer – when she saw his eyes.

Pain. Fury. Loss. And a question. A question that a part of her had known he would ask. A part that didn’t want to hear, and so had made her deaf. Tears welled in her eyes at the sudden realisation, and she finally opened her ears.

Where were you?

“I… I’m sorry, I couldn’t-” he was walking away, and she followed. “Hold on, please! I know it was wrong, I know, but I had to get away, I had to find some peace after all the horror.” He didn’t so much as look at her, but she could hear him now, could feel his sorrow. The battle hadn’t ended, she realised, not for Rodkimendwæra. It was all he could see, all he could feel. As a druid, she should have stayed to help guide him and the others to peace, but after all the fighting…

She stopped. Amidst the pain of her guilt, the memory of her task reasserted itself. Perhaps I can still help him, she thought. Not in the way I should have, but in the way I must.

“Forgive me, old friend,” she whispered, and raised her staff. The vines that ran through the shambler’s body froze, paralysed and beholden to her will. She felt his rage flare as she approached, felt it sear through her being when she pressed her palm against him. Drawing on the primordial energies of the forest, she began to heal his wounds, to return vigour and strength to his body. But she did not heal the wounds of his mind. The battle would continue for Rodkimendwæra. His rage was left to fester, its focus redirected away from the torments of the past.

She released him, and he turned to face her, confusion clouding his eyes. He no longer knew her, an inevitable consequence of the mental manipulation. Stretching the limbs of his restored form, he set off, his fury taking him to a new battlefield. Taking him south.

Haili wiped the tears from her eyes. There was still one more she must summon, due to meet her here before the day’s end. She sat down on a harrowed stump, watching Rodkimendwæra disappear into the gloom.

***

The day arrived, and so did Haili. She had reached the place of gathering before the appointed hour, but only just. Much delayed by her wait in the east, she had spent the last few hours running through the glades. The one she was due to meet had not appeared, and by morning of the next day she could wait no longer.

The gathering was to take place at the forest’s southern border. She stepped up to the edge of the tree line, keeping to the long shadows of the late-day sun, and looked out at their enemy. It was a curious feeling, she reflected, the mixture of recognition and novelty. She had never set foot here, nor gazed upon this hateful view. Not with her own eyes, at any rate.

“So you came at last.”

The voice spoke in Basilean. She spun around, heart racing. From the darkness of the inner forest emerged a towering figure, hoofed and horned. It was a centaur, and not just any centaur, but the one she had awaited in the east – the Clan-Chief Inadru.

“And you came at all,” she answered in his people's language, willing herself to calm. It had been a long time since anything had managed to sneak up on her in these woods. Inadru tilted his head to one side, contemplating her.

“Yes… I apologise for not sending word,” he began, continuing to employ the golden tongue, the alien depth of his voice ill-matching his human features. “Although the Lady bid me join you in the eastern glades, I instead found myself drawn here.” He looked past her as he spoke, moving towards the tree line and gazing out beyond the foliage. She took a moment to consider the young chief. The rich auburn of his mane and beard contrasted gently with the pale mahogany coat of his horse half, and his sun-kissed skin suggested a life spent beyond the confines of the forest. A thick leather belt wound tightly around his waist, bearing a dagger whose craftsmanship resembled that of the distant southern elves. In his right hand he held an enormous bronze-headed halberd, which she recognised as an artefact of his tribe.

“I was sorry to hear about your father’s passing.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“About what?”

“Many things. The world. Its peoples. The balance.” He let the words hang in the air, and she waited, uncertain of how to respond. “I’ve been here for many days now,” he continued. “Watching them. Observing their… nature.”

She looked out once more beyond the tree line, her features cold. “And?”

“And, try as I might, I do not see my enemy.” He turned his head, sharp eyes boring into her. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she answered, without hesitation, her gaze unfaltering in its hate.

The land was a patchwork of wooden fences and stone walls, segregating the soil into plots of varying sizes. The farms had been well-worked, the harvest seeing their wheat bound together and their crops cut low. Beyond the agriculture lay the Basilean village that owned it, about half a mile from the edge of the forest. The druid could see signs of festivities in the community, and could hear the distant throng of joyous music and simple laughter. The young settlement, less than a year old, was populated by veterans of the war and their families, who had decided to forgoe the long march home in favour of a fresh start in these fertile lands.

“They’ve been celebrating for several days, now,” said Inadru. “Yesterday they brought offerings to the forest, scattered bread and produce from baskets.”

“And how was it?” she asked coldly. He gave a dry laugh, apparently missing her tone.

“Not to my taste, personally, but my friend here enjoyed it immensely.”

Haili looked around as the animal appeared from the bushes, moving to sit at Inadru’s side. It was a dog, one of the deformed creatures the humans liked to breed, its fur white with splashes of black and brown. She could smell it.

“This is Maximilian. I named him after a Genezan I met while visiting the port of Lantor.” He noted her look of disgust. “Does he displease you?”

“It is… an abomination,” she said, looking away. He was quiet for a moment.

“Perhaps. But he is also the most loyal creature I have ever met. Quite remarkable.” He looked down fondly at the hound, who was sniffing the air beyond the trees. “A human creation,” he continued, “and unquestionably a manipulation of the natural world. Yet the result is noble, and I find myself at a loss to condemn it.”

“So what are you saying?” she asked, straining to maintain a neutral tone. “Are you questioning Our Lady’s order?”

They locked eyes. “I suppose I am. I suppose that, after fighting the darkness alongside them, after travelling throughout their lands, I’m no longer inclined to spill their blood.” He looked back out to the village. “I suppose that I no longer understand.”

She followed his gaze. The humans had erected a great pole with ribbons trailing from the top, and now they danced around it, weaving the ribbons as they went. The steady rhythm of the music was punctuated by a collective clapping from the onlookers.

“They are capable of such beauty,” he said, watching the intricate steps of the dance.

“But never without cost,” said the druid. “You must have seen it in your travels. Their creation is unbalanced, it destroys far more than it produces. And yet they feel no sorrow, thinking only of their own selfish desires.”

“Do you truly think so little of your people?”

“They are not my people.”

“…No,” he responded. “No, I can see that.” There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of Maximilian scratching behind his ear. Haili turned away from the village.

“They will take and they will corrupt and there will be nothing left of nature’s balance.”

“But isn’t that simply their own nature? How can I judge them ill for how they were made?”

“This is not about judgement.” The chief’s words had unsettled her, and she was now speaking as much to herself as to him.

“The deer consumes the budding tree, snuffing out a nascent life. One does not judge the deer, for that is its nature. However, left unchecked, they will eat and breed and spread themselves far, and no trees shall grow. In time, they would be left with nothing, and would starve.” 

 

She waited a moment, but Inadru said nothing, and so continued.

“Yet this does not happen, for the wolf hunts the deer. Our hearts may go out to the deer, often a weak or young catch, since it dies a painful death. But it is a necessary death, for it maintains the deer as much as the wolf. It maintains the balance.”

At this she turned to face him once more, her conviction firm.

“We are wolves. They are deer. We do this for ourselves. And we do this for them.”

The chief’s features remained impassive, yet his eyes shimmered with tears. From within the woods came the steadily increasing sound of shambling footfalls, heavy on the forest floor. It was joined by further rustling as others converged on the gathering. They were almost here. Inadru turned to face the sounds, and nodded.

“I understand,” he said, finally using the language of his tribe.

“I’m glad. Our Lady bids you lead us, Inadru, son of Sayurn. All of us.” She cast her hand over the assembled warband that was emerging into sight: the Salamander brothers, Nekaw, Thykch, and Raqz; the Naiad deserters, Ustara and Niran; the raging shambler, Rodkimendwæra; and even, she supposed, the chief’s companion, Maximilian, who was happily greeting the new arrivals, his tail wagging. Inadru stood tall, and addressed the gathered warriors.

“My brothers and sisters. Before us is not our enemy. Rather, it is our duty. What that word means for each of us may be as different as we are from each other. But whether it is honour, or obligation, or memory that has brought us here, I swear to you, as your leader, that I shall see this duty done. For the Lady. For the balance.”

He turned to face the village, and signalled the advance. Large and small, water and fire, hate and sorrow, the soldiers of the Green Lady stepped out from the forest. They were wolves.

We are deer.