“This is wonderful,” Hanor said, leaning on the leafy-branched railing. Checking its strength before giving it the burden of his weight, he felt weary, the mental trauma draining. Spectacular, the view across the treed landscape of Tardania gave him something different to reflect upon. On the fourth level of Tarden, this high up felt like being on top of the world. “I do not think I had a tree-home like this.”
“We are fortunate to live here,” Tarmon said. These peaceful gardens would help the young man deal with the strife. “Tarden tends to our needs, just like we look after it.”
Hanor rubbed his eyes, irritated by recent developments. “This is so... annoying,” he said, thinking about Bane’s outburst. “He said I had a brother! I kind of know what that means, but it does not have the impact I know it should. Nole was killed at the bridge, but I have no idea what bridge he is talking about. Where is the remorse?”
Further along the lengthy balcony, two people appeared, a male comforting a female. Deep down, Hanor recognised that he should be experiencing grief too.
“How should I be feeling, Tarmon? What has happened to me? ” Urging the sorrow to flow, “My brother is dead! How can I grieve when I do not recall whom I am supposed to be mourning? Am I not letting Bane down, betraying him?”
Tarmon had never encountered anything like this before. Shock was at play, the reason too grim to reveal. “There is an old saying in Tarden,” he said during a lull in Hanor’s frustrations. “Darkness exists when no light is present. You are surrounded by darkness, Hanor, and what you lack is the light of understanding. Our healers would say you need to steady both your heart and mind. When quiet, flashes of insight can shine forth, and healing may result. I sympathise with you Hanor, but wishing the trauma of losing Nole upon yourself will not help.”
Wise words, but Bane’s blazing eyes burnt Hanor.
“The pain of your friend Bane is obvious,” Tarmon continued. “However, he feels betrayed because he sees only himself grieving for your brother. It is hard when nobody else can relate to your suffering. Do you not think there may be a reason behind your memory loss? Why are you so eager to experience the pain of it? Perhaps you have blocked out the experience to protect yourself from the horrors.”
“Do you know what happened, what horror took place?” Hanor asked, the prospect of triggering a memory enticing. Yarma Torna had warned of the dangers such passionate seeking could bring, but to know was surely better than this emptiness?
“Should I be the one to tell you, or should it come from one of your friends? Is that wisdom at work or impatience?”
“You do not know what this is like,” Hanor snipped a little too loud.
“This is a place of peace and rest,” Tarmon cautioned, the two Tards further along peering up at the boy’s outburst. “Shall we go somewhere else to finish this? I do not want to get into a debate; my concerns are only for your welfare. Your memory has lapsed, but sometimes Hanor, that can be a blessing until the time is right when you can handle it. Your brother has been lost to you, and that is not a small issue. I fear for you if you desire anything just to have your memory return.”
Resting his head in the cup of his hands, what was he to do? During Bane’s tirade, Hanor had searched for a connection, his friend demanding he remember. How can this be? Frustrations continued until Tarmon’s advice started filtering in. Through the distress, the light of understanding did reveal his error. As enslaved as he was to this illness, the fight to recall his past was like another form of slavery, imprisoning himself inside that desire to know. It did make sense. Brandor had said he still needed his help, even with his memory gone. It would be far more profitable to concentrate on what good he could do rather than fumbling in the dark. It was sobering thought.
Respecting its possibilities, the burden seemed to ease, accepting the memory loss was maybe there for a reason. Thankful for the insight, “You are right,” he said, feeling better for it. If Bane could not accept his illness, there was little he could do about it.
“It will come in its own time,” Tarmon assured him.
“I have to believe that.”
Alone in one of Tarden’s numerous Reading Chambers on the top floor of the City, Brandor sat browsing through an old manuscript. Waiting for Hosan and Woole, both were Masters of the Arts, and good friends. Following a prompting to look, the book was based on energies and Principles that influenced life. Unsure where it would lead, his knowledge was limited in this area.
Marvelling at the union with the Masters earlier, and their unanimous agreement to his unifying plan, pressing ahead with the idea was nearly as astonishing as the concept itself. Condensing so much raw energy into a Wall of Power, was it possible? Could the Masters in each city across The Freelands unite to form such a barricade? It was why he was here, to discuss it in detail.
Stopping on a page containing an obscure picture with various lines adjoining a number of dots, the image triggered an idea. The small paragraph written in the old style underneath was faded but still legible. Running a finger along its length, the words seemed to jump off the page.
Ily ana moosum sol soona bos… tisa bes net bina lof.
When the smaller parts unite, a greater power and life is formed.
Sitting back, it took a moment to steady himself. Was this what the inner promptings were directing him to? By the gentle resonance of his heart, he knew it was. Rechecking, there was no mistaking it. Proof that his plan could work, but would it be enough to show Drola the importance of their proposal? The Masters would proceed whether the High-tard agreed or not, but receiving his blessing would save considerable friction. A written text from an ancient source would help convince Drola, especially as Tardanians never retained information that was not based on fact. Smiling, this was encouraging.
“What is that grin for?” Woole asked, entering the Reading Chamber along with Hosan. “Still enjoying the mind-meld from yester-turn?”
Beaming, Brandor stood to greet them. “It is good to see you both,” he said, clasping their hands.
“It appears I missed out on something special.”
“I have shared with him what took place,” Hosan said, pleased by the outcome.
Turning, Brandor picked up the book. “Look what else I have found,” he said, handing the ancient book to them.
Hosan noted its condition. “It is one of the older ones from the Beela Period.”
Both Tardanians looked at the drawing and read the words. Hosan picked up on what it meant, but Woole could not see the relevance.
“This is a core Principle that was taught in the old language,” Hosan decreed to his colleague. “It relates to the Principle of Attraction that we now teach. The Principle of Attraction is one of the higher Principles governing life, and this, as Brandor sees so well, is what we would be trying to achieve.”
“I see what you mean. Is it possible?”
“The plan is to have a group of Masters from each city join together in mental unity to form a chain, establishing a mental base for the energies to adhere to,” Brandor explained. “If we see each group as a unit of energy, when they merge as one mind they will create the conditions for a greater power to emerge. This Principle should heighten the potency of the Wall of Power.”
“A greater power than the sum total of its parts,” Woole said, liking the idea.
“But it is more than just an increase of power,” Hosan added. They had missed the important part.
“What do you mean?” Brandor asked.
“Read the words again.”
The Dai-laman did. “When the smaller parts unite, a greater power and life is formed.” He still could not see the point.
“A greater life is formed, Brandor!” Woole repeated, confounded when grasping it.
Touching on new territory, illumination finally dawned on the Dai-laman. “It cannot be!”
“An extreme idea..., but quite possible,” Woole said.
“Let us stay sensible about this,” Hosan warned. “This is not the kind of language that will persuade Drola.”
“To be sure I have understood,” Brandor said, heart fluttering. “Are we suggesting this Wall of Power will be ensouled by an entity, just like we ensoul our bodies?”
“That is what it appears to be saying,” Woole said, daring to believe it.
“Extraordinary!”
“Not only will we have an increase of power, but the Wall will have intelligence!”
Brandor started chuckling. “The idea about uniting the Cities has been churning away in the back of my mind for many turns of the seasons. Taking many forms, but I never dreamed it would turn into this.”
“It is a Principle we teach when observing life around us,” Woole said. “A tree is not just a trunk, with branches and leaves but much more, just like people are more than their limbs. Never could I have imagined what this new idea is proposing.”
“How shall we deal with this?” Brandor asked. “The average person will find it difficult to understand.”
“You mentioned the protective barrier was your motive?” Hosan said. “We will proceed as if that is our intention. Drola, and others like him, will understand the concept of a protective Wall of Power right across The Freelands. The fact this force will be energised by a higher life form is something we should keep to ourselves, and only reveal to those who can comprehend. If it is ensouled, what a boon that will be.”
“It will,” the other two agreed.
Snapping awake, Bane sat bolt upright from slouching against the bushy wall. Panicking, his bearings misty, it took a while to recognise his location. Falling asleep here after his outburst earlier, for how long, he did not know. Huddling in a corner, tired and lonely, the colourful garden tucked away at the far end of the balcony had been a safe haven for his grieving. Racing from exaggerated ideas, his head had started to hurt from the sobbing. He had only closed his eyes for a fleeting moment.
Peering around, the small sheltered spot hid him from anyone passing on the path just a few short steps away. Not in the mood for talking, he just wanted to be swallowed up, to find a cure for this nightmare. The unbelievable reunion with Hanor was still painful. Horrified how angry he had got, stirrings of guilt hissed at how sharp his attack had been. The fact his best friend had lost his memory was one scenario not anticipated. Still yearning to be blamed, the twisted idea was mad. Pleased in one sense that his friend did not have to go through what he had, but the pretence had seemed so wrong, hence the outburst. Condemning his friend for weaknesses that were not his to judge, Bane could not believe just how callous he had been. Hate had climbed within like an evil hand reaching up to claim his vulnerable mind.
Cupping head in hands, the hostilities were no longer there, just frustration at not knowing what was happening. Tear-lined cheeks were sore from the deluge. Vowing to stand by Hanor, doubts about whether he could keep such a promise had proven true. What could he do now that his wrath had passed?
“I am sorry, Hanor,” he whispered. A lone tear rolled down his cheek, wanting to hug his friend. Emerging through the gloom, ashamed, what would the others say? Such an abusive tirade would no doubt forge their views even more against him. Chiding himself, Kifter and Hallen had accepted his inclusion, but what about the old man, Brandor? A person of authority, he supposed the fellow had the power to send him home if he wished.
Picking a velvety-orange flower from the bush in front, its scent was pleasant. Inhaling had a soothing effect. Recalling what Hallen had said about the oily substance in the tunnel entrance when first arriving, not knowing why, he bit off a petal. Filmy, the texture was light and the taste sweet, surprising him.
From nowhere, he started chuckling, pitiful. Peering down at the remainder of the flower, what was he doing in a place like this eating an orange flower? Even though it had helped, he did not eat the rest, deliberating what he should do next. Deciding it was no good moping around here hiding away from the hard choices he had to make, all he wanted was to see a clear way forward. Tempted to promise that he was going to fight for The Freelands survival again, and be there for Hanor, but like eating the flower, it did not seem right. Loyalties were too easily ravaged by his unpredictable emotions.
Swallowing his pride, he stood and stretched. “How long have I been here?” he muttered; it felt like a whole turn going by the stiffness.
“It is past half-turn of the day,” an unexpected but familiar voice replied off to his left.
Jumping, Bane’s defences shot up, searching the bushes separating him from the intruder. Being spied on riled him. “What are you doing here Kifter?” He could not see where the Fife was. “You are the last person I would expect to see here.”
“I considered allowing Hallen to come find you, but I guessed that would be taking the easy way out.” Standing, Kifter’s manner was respectful and contrite.
“How did you find me?”
“We Fifes are good at finding people, although, you did leave a trail of witnesses to your passing.”
“How long have you been there?”
“A short-turn,” Kifter admitted, stepping out from behind the bush, cautious. “I was tempted to leave you be, but I felt it was necessary to talk without any interruptions.”
“Talk about what?” The idea seemed strange.
“The safe return of Hanor is what we both wanted,” Kifter said, rubbing his chin. “You may be surprised to know that I have grown quite fond of him too. Even though my reasons to be glad of his return differ from yours, if we can find some common ground on how to move forward, it should benefit both of us.”
Standing on the path facing each other, like two rivals seeking peace, Bane waited, expecting another upsurge of emotions to spoil this exchange. Keeping in mind that he wanted to stay with his friend above all, if he could get the Fife on his side, Kifter might be willing to defend his cause. In a place as enormous as Tarden, Hanor could be kept from him easily enough. It was still difficult to trust someone you had doubts about.
“So…, how do we move forward, and that includes Hanor?”
Kifter was unsurprised that the boy’s desire to stay with his friend had not changed. “It is not for me to decide what your part will be, but with the Evil growing every turn of the day, I do know that Brandor will not tolerate anyone who may jeopardise his plans. Your attitude will have to change if you want to remain a part of this group.”
Concluding that already, Bane listened to his elder for once, his future depending on it.
“I am saying this for your own benefit,” Kifter proceeded. “It is ironic I am doing so, considering how temperamental our relationship has been since meeting. But I do respect your loyalty to Hanor.”
Given a lifeline here, Bane felt humbled. “Thank you for putting yourself out like this, even though I am not deserving of it. I know… I have not been the best companion. I just get so… furious when things happen that are beyond my abilities to help.” Images of the bridge returned as painful as ever. “We were not expecting this. Nole, me or even Hanor would tell you. We were just three young men who used to have fun whenever we could. Evil did not exist to us. I have still not come to terms with the fact that it can take shape and be so cruel.”
“You are still in shock.”
“Perhaps shock is what made Hanor ill. Charging at that Freeloaver, and then the horrors of that Nyshifter, maybe the loss of Nole pushed him over the edge. Is Hanor up to what Brandor is expecting of him?” It was a slim hope.
“We cannot discount anything,” Kifter acknowledged. “But would you have Brandor send you both home? I see the attraction of going back to how it was, for that is what I think you mean, but do not be fooled into a false ray of hope. This evil will arrive there eventually. Yes…, Hanor may not be up to it, and Brandor may recognise that, but if there is a chance he is, he will give Hanor every opportunity to succeed.”
Bane sighed, the prospects of staying or going faced the same shadows of uncertainty. “If I am to stay with Hanor, it looks like I will have to control my temper.”
“Yes, you will.”
No one spoke, the disbelief stalling those gathered here in the large Leisure Room of the High-Chambers. The scale of what Brandor, Hosan and Woole were proposing was immense, even for the untrained minds amongst them. High-tard Drola, along with four members of the Upper Council of Tarden, sat trying to digest what had been disclosed. Frequent nods and shakes of the head revealed both wonder and doubt. Even Caldon, Master of Tarden’s Forces, who had joined Brandor before they entered, was amazed.
“In simple terms,” Fillern, a Council Member began. “Instead of just having a Ring of Fire around Tarden, you want to project those energies east, all the way to Rovot?”
“That is so,” Hosan said, surprised Brandor had got his message across with the minimum of fuss.
“It is a powerful idea,” Drola agreed, even though unconvinced.
Too early to celebrate, trying numerous times before, Brandor was not holding his breath.
“It is achievable,” Woole said, enthused. “A Wall so powerful that no darkness could ever get through.”
“We need more details,” Drola said, a glint proving earlier consternations.
“Ask what you will,” Hosan invited.
“This Wall, how will you generate the power to sustain it? Rovot is a long way from here.”
Hosan took the book Brandor had found earlier and gave it to his High-tard with the relevant page open. Trying to keep it simple, a buzz charged the atmosphere. “There is a Universal Law stating that energy follows thought, and when an idea is supported by a focused intent, it can draw to itself the necessary powers it needs to sustain itself. Hence, we have all been amazed at the effectiveness of the Fire of the Forest surrounding Tarden. Initially, the work involved was intense, but it has since eased to a point where it energises itself. As long as our will is focused behind its purpose, it has a life of its own. So it will be on the larger scale.”
Glancing up from the page, Drola was still unsure. “If your focus is on the new Wall, what will happen to the Fire of the Forest around Tarden?”
Hosan’s tone stayed even. “There will be a short period with no Fire, but once the new Wall is in place, it will no longer be necessary.”
Spawning a few uncomfortable murmurs, Drola was horrified at the prospect. “And how long will this period of vulnerability last?”
“It is difficult to say,” Hosan admitted. Tempted to project figures that might persuade his audience, it was not the way of a Master.
“A turn of the day, five or more?”
“I will not speculate. The complexities involved will be incredible.”
“The Ring of Fire took how long?” Brais, a Council Member, inquired.
“Once we understood the basic mental formulas, it took four turns of the day to create and then stabilise,” Woole answered for his colleague.
“Four turns?” Anden, another Council Member said, anxious. “I like the sound of what you are proposing but… to be left unprotected for that long is dangerous.”
“That is if it can be completed within four turns,” Fillern noted.
“On such a large scale, will it take longer?” Furl posed.
Drola did not have to comment, the mood shifting.
“Much was learnt creating Tarden’s present defences,”