The World Tree


THE WORLD TREE



by Chris Eisenlauer



THE WORLD TREE
Originally published in the United States of America,
in Approaching Infinity Book 6: The Damnation Reprieve
by Chris Eisenlauer for Kindle.
Copyright © 2015 & 2018 by Chris Eisenlauer.
All rights reserved.
Cover by BetiBup33 Design Studio.


The Gift of Plenty


Divinity, benevolent and tangible, has revealed itself in the form of the World Tree, providing endless bounty for all to share. The nations of the world respond not with goodwill but with attempts at control, which result only in violence and war. Trahan, a fallen Copper Knight, is charged by the Tree to fetch the girl Cham so that she can act as its representative and voice, becoming a liaison between man and god. The only thing standing in the way is man—and god is only so patient.

THE WORLD TREE


Within the Sanga Mountains, there is a small plain gently hemmed in by peaks. Upon this plain, a white tree, of magnificent height and fantastic breadth, had taken root. The tree was old. No one knew just how old, but it had only recently taken on its white sheen, lit from within by some divine light. Few argued this claim of divinity, since the ground below the tree was now filled with an abundance of dwarf fruit trees, berry bushes, wild grains, and squashes, none of which were native to that clime or altitude.

The Sanga Range, home to its own meager settlements, formed the loose border between three countries—Kes, Frassia, and Barcos—which had enjoyed stable relations for several hundred years. Since the mountains were mostly rock, with little but an extraordinary view to recommend them, those inhabiting the meager settlements were first to take note and partake of the Tree’s bounty. Indeed, many were spared starvation the year of its discovery, and word of boundless fruit and grain began to spread.

Barcos, the largest and most dominant of the three countries, sent a contingent of soldiers into the mountains to investigate, and, finding the rumors to be genuine, enacted a policy of state control, declaring the Tree to be within the Barcosan border and official Barcosan property.

The actual borders had never been determined, had never needed to be determined, but both Kes and Frassia lodged appeals with the Barcosan government, contesting the Barcosan claim. Barcos ignored the appeals and strengthened its military presence at the border, flooding the peak-hemmed plain with their elite Iron Hounds. Those native to the range—those who were most able to benefit from the “fruit” of the Tree—were denied access, except by payment of exorbitant fees, and allowed to carry away what they couldn’t eat only after paying an additional tax. The mountain dwellers didn’t have the money to pay, of course, or wouldn’t have needed the divine charity the Tree had provided in the first place. All non-military personnel were driven away while the Barcosan government began to focus on building a sustainable road through the mountains.

And then a kind of divine retribution struck. With none of the needy able to take advantage of the food below the Tree, it all disappeared. Overnight, the dwarf fruit trees, the berry bushes, the wild grains, and squashes withered and sank back into the ground so that in the morning the Iron Hounds stood guard over nothing. The light of the Tree appeared to have been extinguished.

Unable to survive in such numbers in an environment essentially devoid of food save for small game which had always been scarce, the Barcosans were forced to mostly abandon the Tree on the plain, leaving only a token force of Iron Hounds behind. With little left to guard, though, these men infested the little communities nearby, wielding their strength as privilege and indulging in their whims unchallenged.

Within months, news of another Tree, this time some ways north of Aurinel, had begun to spread. Comparing this new Tree to surveyors’ records led Barcos to state publicly that this was the same Tree, and that Barcos had already declared legal ownership. These claims were derided far and wide, since, according to all reports, the Tree itself was a shimmering ghost and only the bounty beneath it was tangible and had any substance. A Barcosan expedition back into the range confirmed that the original Tree remained, but a newly formed government council decreed that the Aurinel ghost Tree was a “projection” of the Barcosan Tree, and thus still Barcosan property.

Aurinel wasted no time debating with Barcos and immediately dispatched regiments to its extreme northern border to secure the site of the Tree. Barcos proved this necessary by mobilizing the Iron Hounds. Once again, those who could most benefit from what the Tree brought were denied its bounty. Barcos, so far away from home, suffered great losses. Aurinel, used more to maritime trade than land-based warfare, suffered equally. Ironically, though, their small war outlasted the Tree, which as before, rescinded its offer of plenty and disappeared.

A year later, reports of a similar ghostly Tree, this time in distant Farnam, began to circulate. Then in Acrosia, then in Emelle, then in Zandia, and on and on. Every time the specter of the Tree appeared, local governments sought only to secure it for their own and control it. Never once was it left alone, to be a mere balm for whoever needed it. And finally, the World Tree, as it came to be known, ceased its migration altogether. Word came down from the Sanga Range that the light of the original Tree was shining again.

Barcos, its military now recovered, set off in earnest once more, this time with a full war party complete with a division of whale hounds, up into the mountains.

Neither Kes nor Frassia was prepared to allow Barcos free access to the World Tree. At the very least, arbitration was required to determine the actual borders of all three countries before ownership could be determined, but Barcos had shown in the past that it abided by its own specious laws, and not those recognized by its fellow nations. The Barcos intrusion into Aurinel so long ago had been justification enough to go to war, and so the Copper Knights of Kes joined with the Golden Swords of Frassia against the Iron Hounds.

The area surrounding the World Tree was trampled, littered with corpses, and saturated with blood. Despite their advantage over the Iron Hounds, the Kessish and Frassian commanders ultimately could not trust each other. The prize, if it could indeed be won, was too great. Three armies, each the pride of its country, were destroyed utterly, killed to a man.

When it was done, when the last breath had escaped the last man, a girl with ivory skin and honey blonde hair stood before the bole of the World Tree. She had no clothes to cover her and shone with the same light of the Tree. She picked her steps through the carnage, pausing periodically for reasons known only to her, though she appeared to be looking for something. She spent hours walking through the dead until she came across one particular man. A Copper Knight.

She crouched down next to him, pulled him by the shoulder, showing a strength incongruous with her size, and loosed him from the press of several other bodies. She sat him up, shook him, whispered in his ear.

“Trahan.”

His eyes sprang open wildly.

“Why did you come here?” she said.

“To stop the Barcosans from claiming the World Tree,” he said, his breath coming out in gasps.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I’m a Copper Knight,” he said.

She shut her eyes under the false weight of his answer.

“There are no more Copper Knights,” she said. “What do you want?”

Trahan blinked, took in the horror all around him. “I . . . I want a world of peace and plenty.”

“Is this the way to peace and plenty?” she said.

He squeezed tears from closed eyes. “No.”

“What is the way to peace and plenty?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

She nodded. “No, but I do. If I show you the way, will you carry it out?”

“Who . . . Who are you?” Trahan said.

“I am Igrain, the World Tree.”

He turned now, and saw her features—so reminiscent of carved ivory—for the first time. He felt her warmth and knew she was telling the truth.

“I’d like to help you, Igrain, but I’m afraid that I’ve been terribly wounded.”

She stared at him for a moment, pursed her lips, and nodded as tears of her own began to well in her carved eyes.

“Let me help you then,” she said. “You Copper Knights are famed for your unarmed fighting skills, but they won’t be enough. You’ll find your true motivation along the way, but this Totem will give you the strength required to complete your task.”

Trahan felt strength surge through his body. His copper armor melted and reformed over his skin, becoming as light and flexible as cloth, but, as he would later learn, harder than steel. A pair of translucent wings, veined with copper, stretched from his back. When done, he’d been remodeled into the semblance of a biting insect, a trivial pest made monstrous.

“Have you ever been to Ransa?” she said.

“Once, a long time ago.”

Igrain nodded. “You must go again and fetch the girl, Cham, for me.”

“How will I know her?”

“You will know her.

“Now listen,” she said, her voice changing, her eyes losing focus, “I am Igrain of the World Tree. I have tried to share the blessing of plenty both near and far, but narrow minds and closed hearts have sought only to claim—to own—what is meant for everyone. I see by the repeated actions of those in power that I must find another way to share. I have chosen one among you who will receive my blessing and act as a bridge between us. I have been tolerant so far, but know that if you interfere in the building of this bridge, you will suffer infection and death.”

Trahan heard this with his ears and in his head and knew with a profound certainty that everyone in the world had also heard.

Cham!” she said to Cham alone. “Your escort is coming.”

Igrain and Trahan rose together.

“Find her, Trahan. Let no one prevent you from bringing her to me.”

The narrow wings at Trahan’s back became a whining blur and he shot forth, arcing through the northern sky.

• • •


While en route to Ransa, Trahan briefly considered the rationale behind his appointment for the task at hand. He’d risen to second-in-command in the Copper Knights, and though he hadn’t necessarily agreed with their ulterior motives for engaging the Barcosans, he hadn’t seen any other solution to the puzzle the World Tree presented. Now he would be instrumental in a true solution. Perhaps he’d been chosen only because everyone else on whom Igrain could call was dead, but it didn’t matter. Trahan was genuinely grateful for the chance to help, that he’d been given the equivalent of a second chance. He would soon learn, though, just how much of a barrier narrow minds and closed hearts could be.

Trahan knew that Ransa lie to the north, but beyond that he found that he knew exactly where it was. The sky was unfamiliar to him, but he sensed Ransa—and Cham—waiting for him.

After a day, a night, and a day, Trahan landed in Ransa’s northeastern slum district. In that era, only the birds passed noticeably through the skies, so even in the dusk light, Trahan’s passage overhead was noted by citizens, military personnel, and criminals alike.

• • •


Trahan moved through the dirty byways on foot, passing hovels filled with the dead and dying, but filled also with youth and vigor, fueled mostly by spirit since food, he saw, was scarce here. As a Copper Knight, he’d fought against usurpers and despots, always championing the weak, but poverty, he realized, could not be bested in a contest. It crept in and spread like rot and did so everywhere, not just here in Ransa. The Copper Knights had not been above taking money for aid provided, and Trahan had profited along with the rest. Outside of combat, he’d never known discomfort, but being immersed in the squalor made him soul-sick now. He’d told Igrain that he wanted peace and plenty for everyone. He thought he’d believed it when the Copper Knights had made it their rallying cry. He knew he believed it now.

He was drawing stares and whispers from the slum’s denizens. Despite the hour, the little road had come alive with activity. A surly man, dressed better than most, approached him.

“Who are you, mister?”

“I serve the World Tree. I’ve come to collect Cham.”

“Cham, is it?” The man nodded, and shadows slithered through the growing crowd. He stepped uncomfortably close to Trahan. Several large men were at his back.

“Do you seek to prevent me?” Trahan said. “I warn you, I am—I was—a Copper Knight.”

“Good with the Falling Dagger Finger, are you?” The surly man shrugged.

“I am.” Trahan didn’t wait for escalation, but brought it himself. He raised the butt of the top of his wrist to the surly man’s chin, raising him off his feet, rolling his eyes to whites, and dropping him heavily back down to the ground. Trahan struck the remaining men similarly, driving the top of his wrists into their stomachs, doubling them over and incapacitating them. He wasn’t prepared to use anything but the hilt of the Falling Dagger—yet.

He scanned the crowd for the retreating shadows and bolted after them. The close lanes lacing the slum kept him on the ground, but he soon caught up with them, just as they reached Cham’s shack.

She was standing outside, waiting. Her face was smudged with dirt, but she was pretty, with big, expectant eyes. He knew he must be mistaken, but thought that he’d seen her somewhere before. Igrain had been right. Even without additional aid, he would have known her.

Neither of the two sent after her got close enough to touch her. Trahan grabbed one by the collar and flung him, to his own surprise, one-handed, back over his shoulder. The man crashed down some ways away through someone’s roof. His fellow produced a knife and sought to engage Trahan, despite the display of unnatural strength. The knifer was good, and for a moment, Trahan indulged him, matching him blow for blow with defensive parries from the Falling Dagger, but even without the enhanced speed, strength, and durability Trahan’s Totem provided, standard Copper Knight’s armor was proof against such weapons. Trahan ended the encounter with a Dagger Hilt strike to the man’s solar plexus, which drove him through the air, straight into and collapsing the front wall of Cham’s shack.

“Are you my escort?” Cham said. She was unperturbed by the violence and unafraid of him despite his appearance.

He nodded, removed his helmet. “My name is Trahan. Is there anyone you’d like to say goodbye to?”

She stared at him for what proper etiquette might consider overlong, shook her head. “I’ve already done it.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Dead.”

There was something still so familiar about her, about her features, about her manner.

“Your father?”

“Never knew him.”

The statement struck him like a physical blow. Never knew him.

“How old are you, Cham?” Trahan said hesitantly.

“Fifteen.”

Have you ever been to Ransa?

Igrain’s question echoed in his mind. Fifteen years. Fifteen years . . .

You will find your true motivation along the way.

And she was right.

He reached for the girl. “Take my hand, Cham, and let me take you from this place.”

Trahan knew as soon as her hand was in his that he would be unable to fly with her. His Totem made him strong, but his wings weren’t built to accommodate passengers. This, he suddenly knew, was by design. Cham’s journey was to be very public. He hoped that what Cham represented would bring out the best in people, but his first experience here in Ransa tended to suggest otherwise. So be it. He would protect Cham and see her to her destination. It was, after all, the very least he could do.

As they proceeded through the city, they found themselves walking through streets lined thick with people. Some shouted cheers, some jeers. More than once, they were approached, and Trahan was offered substantial sums of money, each time a larger amount, so that he might take one of them in Cham’s place. These attempted transactions, thankfully, did not end in violence. When the military barred the way and demanded that Cham be placed in their custody, however, violence could not be averted.

Ransa was known for its Pike Corps. Thirty men, with weapons leveled, stood in the road, blocking further progress. Someone shouted a warning to the soldiers that Trahan was a Copper Knight.

The commander of the Pike Corps stepped forward, balancing his pike across his shoulders. “You’re a long way from Kes, Copper Knight.”

“There are no more Copper Knights,” Trahan said. “I serve the World Tree.”

The commander nodded. “But that girl is Ransan. You’ve no right to take her.”

“I’m free to leave, to go where I please,” Cham shouted from behind Trahan.

“You heard her,” Trahan said. “Make way or I will.”

“You? A lone Copper Knight? Against five, yes. Against ten, maybe. Against us all?” The commander shook his head.

“I told you,” Trahan said. “There are no more Copper Knights.”

The commander gestured, and his men dashed forward with some flanking left, some flanking right.

Trahan pulled Cham behind him. “Stay close,” he said and progressed to meet the assault. He used the hook hand of the Falling Dagger to redirect every shaft launched at him, while inflicting singular Falling Dagger Fingers on each of his assailants as he passed them. Cham followed closely in Trahan’s wake.

The men of the Pike Corps were armored with alloyed plate, but wherever Trahan’s index fingers struck, the alloy had melted in reaction to his Totem, leaving a white-hot-edged hole, and allowing his fingers to sink further and unerringly into flesh. Every man he struck, besides receiving a swollen wound, which would forever itch and irritate, fell and became ill with fever. Conversely, with every wound he inflicted, Trahan felt a little stronger.

Trahan had downed twenty-three men of the Pike Corps, but was shocked when the commander thrust his pike from behind, nearly impaling Cham. Due solely to his recently improved reflexes, Trahan shifted, bumping Cham from the pike’s path and taking the tip himself beneath his left shoulder blade. Such was the strength of the commander’s attack that the pike’s shaft bowed and snapped, but the tip had not penetrated Trahan’s Totem.

That the commander would take Cham’s life willfully or by carelessness—it didn’t matter which—traumatized the girl and incensed Trahan. Trahan moved with as yet unseen speed, reached the commander, tore his helm from his head, held his head steady with the same hand, and jammed the Falling Dagger Finger up through the soft tissue between neck and jaw. Instantly, angry red protuberances spread upon the commander’s skin, radiating out from the wound. As the bumps ranged to cover the commander completely, the red faded to a sickly yellow. Trahan finally pulled his finger free and pushed the commander away, letting him collapse upon the ground, coughing and shaking and vomiting.

The crowd was silent. The remaining soldiers were still.

Trahan crouched down before a wide-eyed and terrified Cham, placing his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay, Cham,” he said. “You’re okay. I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it.”

His words reached her, and with eyes still wild, she nodded.

He rose, addressed the crowd in a booming voice. “Do you hear me? I swear it!

No one challenged him.

“Now make way!”

• • •


They exited Ransa and continued on into the night over the countryside until Cham could go no further. He could carry her, but given the intensity of their departure, he wanted her to be able to rest with some measure of comfort. He began gathering wood for a fire and leafy branches for bedding before settling on a spot to stop for the night.

“Are you hungry?” he said.

“No. Ever since Igrain started visiting me in my dreams, I haven’t needed food or suffered from the cold.” Her eyes were becoming heavy. “Will you sleep, too, Trahan?”

Trahan thought for a moment and realized with some apprehension that sleep, both as necessity and luxury, had been banished from him. Hunger, too.

There are no more Copper Knights.

He smiled. “No, Cham. I will not. I will watch over you and keep you safe. Always.”

Her eyes were half closed. “Thanks,” she murmured and was soon fast asleep.

• • •


Their journey took them across many borders and they were challenged every time. Governments from all over the world were offering high bounties for Trahan’s death or Cham’s capture. It seemed that almost everyone wanted to be in control over how Igrain of the World Tree would share her gift.

They avoided towns when possible, but on passing through Midon, they found the first signs of support, and realized that not everyone was against them. A silent minority had aided them in their passage so that no blood was shed. They’d been traveling fourteen days, facing nothing but opposition, greed, and entitlement, so this did much to raise their spirits.

The respite was short-lived, though. When they crossed into Grinel they met the full force of the Grinelese Fire Cannons. For the first time, Trahan’s Totem was truly tested. In his defense of Cham, he took three direct hits. The iron balls cracked his Totem in several places and broke a number of his ribs. In desperation, Trahan took Cham in his arms and made seven wing-assisted leaps that took them out of range, but also overtaxed one of his wings, which had been damaged by the Fire Cannons. They’d escaped, but Trahan would never fly again.

In three days, his ribs remained tender but had mostly healed. He knew his Totem was responsible for this. He felt it repairing him and itself, creeping both above and beneath his skin, like a march of insects through sap.

• • •


Slowly, they made their way south. Twenty-one days had passed, and though Trahan needed no sleep, he found that he was tired. Fatigue would fall upon him like a weight whenever they stopped and his mind would drift more and more to the far southwestern coast of Kes. The sound of imaginary surf would entrance him as he sat over Cham in the night. He was afraid that he might not be able to pull himself away from the lullaby rhythm of the waves, but every morning Cham awoke, and once they set off, fatigue would melt away until they stopped again the next night.

Cham was the perfect traveling companion. Through various encounters, she’d shown herself to be strong, resourceful, compassionate, and generous, more than he would have expected from a fifteen-year-old, and far more than he was seeing in most adults they’d come across. She never complained. She walked every day until her eyes grew heavy.

He was very proud of her, and regardless of who Cham was to him, he felt that Igrain had chosen well. He didn’t know what awaited Cham when they reached the World Tree, but nothing could be worse than what they’d already encountered, and Igrain had done nothing at all to suggest the sinister. Cham was resolved in any case. She often spoke of Igrain, relating tales of their dreamtime adventures, of their plan to make the world a better place by curing people of greed. It was a beautiful idea, and one that Trahan hoped to see come true.

• • •


With his Totem came eyes that could better see, ears that could better hear. As they entered Frassia, drawing ever-nearer to the Sanga Mountains, he began to take note of far-away troop movement, noticeable only because of the staggering scale. Men must have numbered in the tens of thousands. The World Tree, he knew, would be an island in a sea of opposition.

The Golden Swords of Frassia had been broken, just as the Copper Knights of Kes and the majority of the Barcosan Iron Hounds had, so Trahan knew that this was man’s final answer to Igrain’s offer of divine aid. He couldn’t isolate any particular groups yet, but the army swarming the mountains had to be a coalition, comprising several nations, led perhaps by remaining Barcosan forces, and supplemented by hired mercenary bands.

It saddened him first, then infuriated him to think that the world might lose its future because of vanity and a sense of entitlement. Also amazing to him was the ease with which men formed bonds and forgot rivalries when the prospect of joint profit—in this case, clearly ill-gotten—presented itself. He had no doubts that these bonds would quickly dissolve, just as the bond between Kes and Frassia had.

The gathering of men in the mountains did enable Trahan and Cham to travel without interruption for five days. Since the world knew where the two would end up, there was no need to harry them along their way, and more care could be spent intercepting them with an insurmountable force at their final destination. A good strategy, Trahan realized, which might succeed.

As they proceeded, Trahan’s darkening mood was bittersweetly tempered by Cham’s growing affection for him. He dared not reveal his suspicions, which to him, despite a total lack of objective proof, were suspicions no longer. He feared that telling her might upset or unbalance her. She had a right to know the truth, but she also had a right to happiness. Somehow, she’d risen above the unfair deficits imposed upon her and had become the kind of person he himself had always striven to be, even if not always successful. He didn’t want to burden her with knowledge that she couldn’t unlearn, and didn’t want to sabotage her light when the rest of the world was proving to be so dark.

They camped at the foot of the Sanga Mountains. Firelight dotted the slopes, and Trahan knew that this would be their last instance of peace and freedom until they finished their journey, either in success or failure. This particular night, he did not succumb to the call of the waves crashing on the Kes coast. The fatigue with which he’d become so familiar was there, lurking in his muscles, his bones, but the World Tree was just days away now, and the men who sought to stop them were too many and too near.

In spite of the danger looming above and ahead of them, Cham slept soundly, an enigmatic smile gracing her features.

• • •


Cham awoke with the rising sun, refreshed and ready to go. There was little movement up the mountainside. All was quiet except for the birdsongs. Nothing now suggested ambush, but both knew that it was coming—they just had to walk into it. They started up an old game trail, Trahan leading and Cham close behind. Within an hour, they had what Trahan considered their first contact. On either side of the trail, shapes dashed between trees, heading further up the mountain at speed. Scouts.

Trahan took Cham’s hand, scooped her up in his arms, and began to run. No mortal man could compete with the power supplied by Trahan’s Totem. They soon overtook the scouts and left them far behind. More scouts awaited on either side of the path, but were not expecting the blur Trahan and Cham had become. The grade increased, and though it didn’t slow them down, it did obstruct their view of what was ahead. They crested the first of many slopes and emerged onto a shallow plateau filled with idle soldiers.

Trahan shifted his grip on Cham, urged her around to his back.

“Hold on and don’t let go,” he said.

Cham wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face against his back.

Without stopping, he scanned the rock wall that rose up along the plateau’s southern border for through passage, located it, and despite the sea of men flooding the area, leapt for it. He landed half the width of the flat ground into the middle of an army. They’d been relying on the scouts, so his sudden arrival and positioning into their midst threw them into disarray.

Even in the chaos, though, some of the soldiers were quick to react, bringing spears and swords into play. Trahan whirled, parrying all that came his way, always keeping Cham away from the flashing blades. He didn’t hesitate to use the Falling Dagger Finger, and every man struck went down to the ground, hugging himself against nausea and fever.

Dropping men as he went, Trahan pushed through the throng, gained the passage, and proceeded to lead a slow chase. He knew he could outrun those behind him, but also that there would be wave after wave of men ahead. It would be better to reduce the ranks behind than to allow them to place him and Cham in a vice with the waiting groups further on. He moved always forward, turning to keep Cham safe and engaging periodically, then he would sprint forward, let them chase in earnest, tire themselves out catching up, and finish them with the Falling Dagger Finger. His strength wasn’t limitless, but it was far greater than his adversaries’, and they were so close to the World Tree now. He would exhaust his very being if it meant delivering Cham safely.

The men following grew fewer and fewer until Trahan and Cham were alone again. Trahan eased Cham to the ground and they continued. A noise some ways behind startled them. Something had burst and released a cloud of fine red powder high into the air. The cloud was slowly coming apart, being drawn in various directions by the fickle wind, but it remained visible for some time.

The way rose steadily upwards and the foliage thinned the higher they got. Once more they were coming to what was essentially a vertical rise of rock. Their ambushers and pursuers seemed to be absent, but there was only one way up, and unlike the passage leading from the plateau before, this one was a high, narrow V that was easily defensible. That it was not being defended was concerning. They approached with caution, but saw nothing to dissuade them, and so entered the mouth of the cut.

The grade was steep, but leveled off a little past halfway. As soon as Trahan could see straight through to where the cut opened on the other side, he understood the trap. He saw the gleam of the barrel, heard the boom and whistle, and had just enough time to brace himself, pressing his hands firmly against rock on either side. The iron ball sank into his Totem’s shell, hammering into his chest, and causing him to spit blood. Cracks spread anew throughout his Totem from the impact point. The rock walls, too, cracked under the pressure of his fingers, but he held his position. Had he not, he himself would have become the instrument of Cham’s death. He coughed blood once more, retrieved the ball from the ground where it had fallen, took Cham’s hand, and pulled her swiftly after him.

He knew that Grinelese Fire Cannons took time to reload. He knew that because of the distance and the narrow target window, there could be only one Cannon trained upon the cut. They had a few moments at best. Another boom and whistle brought a rain of rock shards down upon them. Trahan shielded Cham beneath him and continued once the rock fall had subsided. A different trajectory meant another Cannon. There might be ten or twenty waiting for them, but there was nowhere to go but forward.

They scrambled from the deadly one-man valley into a bowled space. The deep blue of a glassy lake dominated the area to his left and a number of structures were spread about opposite it, leading to the rocky shore. An imposing line of trees lay ahead, but peeking between them at intervals were Fire Cannons. Seventeen of them. Variously armored men were everywhere, but among them, he instantly recognized the blue tunics of the Free Men, a mercenary group known for having somehow acquired the Grinelese super weapon. Despite the military presence here, Trahan knew that this was—or had been—the village of Sangsama. He had only seconds to take all this in before the Fire Cannons fired in succession. The ground around them erupted with fountains of soil and splintered rock. One of the iron balls struck him in the left shoulder, turning him ninety degrees and numbing his arm before continuing on. He still had the first ball in the crook of his right arm, but the shoulder shot had come dangerously close to Cham, passing just over her head.

Trahan cried out, shook feeling back into his left arm, took the ball in both hands, and hurled it towards the Fire Cannons. His aim had been perfect, striking a tree at its base and felling it in an instant so that it crashed down before the line of Cannons, pinning some beneath it, knocking others aside, and fouling the aim of a number of others. He charged forward, leaving Cham behind him, to engage the men similarly rushing towards him.

Trahan was sure that his Totem’s powers were no secret by now, and yet man after man foolishly tested those powers. Perhaps it was the direct hits of the Fire Cannons, perhaps it was due to their numbers versus him alone, he didn’t know, and he no longer cared. If they showed no real concern for Cham’s life—their only real power to bargain with Igrain—then he would show them the same disregard. He flashed through them, with only a fraction succumbing to the elegant Falling Dagger Finger. Most, were brained or crushed bodily—despite the protection of their armor—by the mere passage of his unstoppable mass.

Cham watched and wept.

Trahan left no one standing. He tore a blue tunic from one of the Free Men then a second from another. When he turned towards her and held out his hand, Cham ran to him and hugged him fiercely. He was a bit taken aback by this, thinking that the violence had sickened and angered her. Not quite sure how to react, he patted her head, smoothed her hair, and finally returned her embrace.

They passed through the village and over the fallen trunk into the shade of the trees. Not everyone was dead, but none would be fighting again soon. He busied himself, tying the two tunics together while Cham tried to figure out why.

The noise only slightly preceded impact. Trahan lurched forward several steps before stumbling and driving chin-first into the ground. The iron ball rolled from between his shoulder blades onto the ground, and Cham shot a look back the way they’d come.

Black rage descended upon her. Even as Trahan struggled to rise, she ran back towards the wounded Free Man at the Fire Cannon. Mid-stride, she reached down for a jagged rock that filled her hand, and on reaching her target, brought it down across his face, which yielded.

• • •


Trahan, his helmet on the ground before him, was on his hands and knees, vomiting blood, trying desperately to breathe. Cham knelt down beside him, placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder. She was crying again.

“It’s . . . It’s okay, Cham,” Trahan said.

He tottered to his feet and struggled to remain upright. Cracks spiderwebbed his Totem. Pieces of it had fallen away, exposing naked, bruised skin beneath. Blood had surfaced from cracks all down his left arm and dripped from each of his fingers.

Cham picked up his helmet, then went back to retrieve the blue tunics. She held them out to him, smiling through her tears.

“You’re very pale,” she said.

Her eyes shone with an earnestness that nearly brought tears to his own eyes.

He smiled at her, put a hand to her cheek, thumbed away the moisture there. “I’ll be all right, Cham. Come on.”

• • •


The last of the day’s sunlight shone down through the trees, and for a little while, they walked on in genuine peace and quiet. The contour of the land ahead forced them west and soon they were rising up out of green onto stark, angular rock. They were very, very close now. Trahan knew that they were approaching the Sula Pass, the route the Barcosans had set about expanding and improving. Accessing the Pass would simplify their going, except that it was likely patrolled by, if not filled with, waylayers.

Regardless, it was becoming too dark to proceed, and they couldn’t risk a fire. They found a hollow in the rocky terrain that would provide some shelter from the wind, which was becoming frigid. Trahan wrapped Cham in the blue tunics, despite her insistence that she wasn’t cold, and held her in his arms until she slept.

The phantom sounds of the Kes coast were ever-present now, but he denied them and the hold they usually exerted. He was alert and exercised his will singularly upon mending his broken Totem, his broken body. His efforts were not in vain, but nor did they return him to a state of pristine health. In his meditation on his physical condition, he was able to confirm something that he had merely suspected before.

There are no more Copper Knights.

One more day. He only needed one more day.

• • •


Their night went uninterrupted. Morning came and Cham awoke to the chattering of birds.

Trahan took the tunics and finished tying them together, making a great, wide loop. He twisted one portion, threw this around his neck, and let the ends go over his shoulders and back under his arms.

He indicated the slack at his back. “Get in,” he said.

Cham stared at him for a moment, then at the sling the tunics had become. She smiled and climbed in. Together they pulled the additional fabric up over her back, and he cinched her in by tying off both sides under his arms. When she was snug against him, he set off.

• • •


Trahan pushed south, up a sharp, rising summit of raw stone. At the top, he crouched and took in the scene below on the other side while Cham peeked from over his shoulder. The World Tree awaited, but surrounding it were thousands of men. Among them, the flags of many nations waved.

“What are you going to do?” Cham said.

He cocked his head towards her. “I’m going to deliver you to your new home.”

He could feel her arms tighten around him and he knew that he was ready.

“Hold on, Cham.”

He stepped off the precipice, landed sure-footedly on the rock slope below, then with six precisely controlled jumps, he descended the mountainside to the protected plain. Their arrival was not immediately noticed, but within moments, cries rose up through the body of men filling the plain. He’d spotted ten Fire Cannons, but knew that, as soon as he entered the congested ranks, they would be unable to target him without other casualties. He wasn’t entirely sure if that would prevent their use, though. There was no way to avoid engagement, so he started to run for the Tree. Just as he was about to close with those at the fringe, he leapt high and far.

Soldiers paused, watched him arc overhead with the blue bundle strapped to his back, and readied themselves for his landing.

Trahan, batted away the spears that sought to catch and skewer him as he touched down. Without pause, he spun three hundred and sixty degrees, striking all in range with his Falling Dagger Finger. Facing the Tree once more, he proceeded. His arms were blurs. The Falling Dagger fell ceaselessly, leaving infection in its wake.

And then they did it. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. Two men ahead of him erupted in great, gory sprays of red just before the iron ball struck him. It hit his belly, just left of center, turning him and continuing on, though mostly robbed of its momentum now. The force knocked his left leg back, out from beneath him and he went down on one knee.

The shock of impact stunned him. The pain was excruciating. The noise and chaos all about him began to sink in, to overwhelm him, to drown him. Only Cham’s voice succeeded in calling him back. He had to protect her.

He shifted to avoid a spear that would have run Cham through and gained his feet. Several spearheads clanged against his Totem. One found its way through to flesh. He’d never thought himself immortal with his Totem, but unlike the Fire Cannon impacts, this pain cut through his senses and suggested an as yet unknown urgency. He gripped the shaft and liberated the point from his belly. With mighty sweeps, he thrashed those nearest with the spear shaft, caving in helmets and crushing the skulls beneath. More and more fell, but then the way ahead cleared, and not due to his actions.

Trahan saw the Cannon, saw the fuse that was about to set it off. He bent down, held the spear upon the flat of his left hand, lined it up with the barrel of the cannon, and slapped the flat of his right hand against the spear’s butt. Like a shooting star, the spear went, right down the barrel, until the metal tip struck more metal. The fuse reached the chamber, the Cannon boomed, and blew apart. Shreds of wood and metal tore through bodies in every direction from where the weapon had been.

Trahan put his left hand to his side and began to run once more for the Tree.

Many moved to bar him. Some were dispatched by his Falling Dagger Finger. Some, as back at Sangsama, were victims of his substantial mass. The World Tree loomed ahead. He could see Igrain at its base, protected, it seemed, by a globe of warm, green light.

He heard the concerted shouts, knew that they meant trouble for him, but couldn’t concentrate on deciphering the noise, and so strove only to increase his speed, to reach Igrain. The light, he was sure, was salvation.

A division of men southeast of him, though, had wheeled three Fire Cannons into position. The guns fired almost at once through an opening in the crowd. One of the iron balls struck his left hip and sheared him from the ground, driving him west. The other two balls, though close, missed him and managed to tear through myriad men beyond.

He couldn’t feel most of his left leg, and had to confirm with his eyes that it was still there. Cham lay in a heap beyond him. He dragged himself towards her, feeling with each draw that his leg would be stretched from his hip and left behind.

Blood seeped from her ears and from her mouth, but she was still breathing. Trahan collected her in his arms, rose unsteadily, and began again for Igrain. The Fire Cannon shots had done a fair job of clearing the area, but men were approaching now, many of them throwing their spears.

Two of the spears had passed through the faltering protection of his Totem, both into his lower back. The pain was white hot, but his body could no longer differentiate disparate sources. He felt like he was on fire, but it didn’t matter. He knocked away the last of those obstructing his path and passed into the protection of the green light, within which no other but Igrain awaited.

Trahan dropped to his knees and gently placed Cham before Igrain, who, he saw, was weeping.

Igrain knelt down and brushed her fingers across Cham’s cheek. Cham awoke with a start, panting.

All of the noise, all of the chaos remained, but could not seem to penetrate Igrain’s light.

“Remove your helmet, Trahan,” Igrain said.

He did so.

“Do you know why I chose as I did?” she said to him.

Trahan’s eyes shot towards Cham, but he said nothing.

“You have done more than I expected necessary,” Igrain said. “Though I have witnessed greed and selfishness, I could not guess the depths to which men would sink to explore these faults. But you, Trahan, have been a light in the dark. You could have refused me outright. You could have fled into the world with your Totem. You could have refused Cham, abandoned her, or allowed her to perish. But you looked beyond yourself, beyond your pain and suffering. You took responsibility because of your connection and because of your belief in what the future holds.

“All living things have something to give, something to share. All too often whatever it is is taken from us, stolen by guile, by force, or by simple ignorance, so that, in the end, the spirit of giving is defeated and we are left only with a crushing sense of loss. These past twenty-eight days have proved both the exception and the rule.

“Do you know what’s coming, Trahan?”

“Something . . . wonderful.”

Igrain turned her head. Fresh tears fell from her eyes.

“You know that it is not a lack of compassion that prevents me from mending you?” she said.

“There are no more Copper Knights,” he said breathlessly. “You gave me a second chance on borrowed time. I have felt the truth of it, and I have no regrets.”

Cham had risen and now approached Trahan.

“I know who you are,” she said. “When I saw your face for the first time, it was like looking in a mirror. Before you ever came, Igrain said that I would know you, that I would have reason to trust you.”

He stared at her, searching vainly for the right words, and finally he began to weep. “I’m so, so sorry Cham.”

“Did you know? Before, I mean.”

He shook his head and whispered, “No.”

She lurched forward and wrapped her arms around him. He reciprocated, but their embrace was fleeting. She felt the last of his life drain from him. His arms fell slack, his head became a weight upon her shoulder. She attempted unsuccessfully to sniff back tears. For a few more moments, she held him there, then eased him to a semblance of comfort upon the ground.

She and Igrain shared a fiery, tear-stained look.

“I’m ready,” Cham said.

Igrain nodded.

The sun was almost directly overhead, unobscured by clouds, but Igrain began to shine and the light above could not compete with hers. A flash lit the entire plain, momentarily blinding the remaining men-at-arms. When the light had faded, Igrain was gone. Cham stood alone, and though physically unchanged, she seemed somehow more than before.

All looked on as the World Tree darkened from white to glossy black. The myriad leaves appeared to be sucked back into buds, which were sucked back into the limbs, which twisted uniformly, and rose skyward, folding up and around to add height to what was no longer a tree, but a stalwart tower, a divine citadel. And when it was done, the sun above shone with a slightly different light.

“All of you are guilty,” Cham said in an inescapable voice. “The world has gained today only through loss. You will be a part of that loss, and all will remember.”

Vertical shafts of light began to rain down, one for each of the men upon the plain, simultaneously ending their lives and returning them to their homes.

“Listen now, widows and orphans, good men and bad men alike: this tower shall be a symbol. Let us trade loss for plenty and see all of the world benefit. Those of you who would be a part of this transformation, I welcome you with open arms. There is a place for you here. Those of you who would continue in the mad desire to control what is meant for everyone, you invite damnation. Doors to anywhere are mine to command. Your guilt or innocence will be as plain to me as the sun in the sky, so consider this a warning: bring war to this tower or interfere with gifts of plenty given to the needy, and the I, the Loss Queen, will visit judgement upon you.”

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