The Warrior

"We are not warriors,"� Jeyuva remarked solemnly.  I rolled my eyes.  1

"That's an understatement if I ever heard one,"� I retorted, fire blazing in my eyes.  Over the last few days I had grown tired of councils, of discussions that led nowhere, of spirits stagnant as the Forest they dwell in, learning nothing and never changing.  I had never been fond of Jeyuva.  His slow, meticulous pondering always seemed like hesitation to me.  It always seemed as if he were merely waiting for problems to solve themselves in order to avoid personal involvement.  And, to make it worse, most of the Greencove Clan spirits were the same way.2

Jeyuva slowly turned his head to look at me, as if the motion pained him.  His crackly skin bent into reluctant wrinkles, as if even his skin resisted being manipulated.  3

"I am merely saying, that, if war broke out between the Forests, we would be caught between a rock and a hard place.  The elves have been training for decades, and our people are dwindling.  We would die with the trees we inhabit, with the needless slaughter of thousands of our kindred Greencove elf allies, and with the burning of all of our homes.  The legacy of the Forest..."4

"The legacy of the Forest is in jeopardy."  I finished, my eyes intently fixed on his.  "And we need to do something about it this time.  The elves have forgotten their oaths to protect our kind.  We are on our own.  We can no longer count on any protection."5

"Which is why we need to stop this war, Zehira,"� Jeyuva finished firmly, disapproval like lightning in his eyes.  His eyes were tired and gray in his long, solemn face, which supported a bony nose and many wrinkles around his frowning mouth.  He shifted slightly, his stiff limbs moving jerkily up to the table.  He crossed his arms in front of him, and his thick, scaly skin blended in perfectly with the knotted, natural-looking table that sat in the middle of our meeting hollow.  The eyes of the other spirits who hovered around the table seemed just as gray and unmoving as Jeyuva's.  The rest of the council sat patiently, not moving so much as a muscle.  Even more so than the usually patient tree spirits, the council seemed almost as if it were part of the room we inhabited- unmoving, scarcely aware of our conversation yet always observant and open to the feelings and motives behind each speaker.6

"...Which is why we need to fight this war,"� I contradicted, my face conveying the desperate need for action I desired more than anything. "The war has started already!  While we were all sitting here, talking about how our beautiful forest is dying around us, composing poetry singing of the losses we face, complaining to each other of imminent doom, they were preparing."�  Forcefully, I stood up, hands braced against the table.  I faced the council, earnest and pleading.  It was like talking to the trees themselves.  "They are ready for war, and we are not.  What will it take to convince this council to act?!"�7

"We were not created to act,"� came a soft voice from the back of the room.  Mika humbly remained seated as she spoke, but all remained silent and attentive.  Mika was the Eldest in the council, holding a position of high honor and respect due to her many years.  8

"When the Lord of the Forest created each of us, he gave us a purpose and a direction, in order that the Forest would function completely and wholly.  The trees were created to be purposeless warriors, holding a precious soul that must be protected and defended.  They are strong and endless, and they truly are the essence of the forest.  However, trees are stubborn in nature and need our guidance, lest they uproot themselves and war against each other.  The Clans of Greencove and Bristleleaf have always been enemies, and so it will be to the end of time."9

Here she paused, glancing around the room to make sure she had the attention of all.  I sat down, giving the Eldest the respect and audience she deserved.  Mika's folded, gray skin hung over frail, twig-like features, but her eyes still held a clearness unmatched by any in the room.  Surely, her mind remained more cunning than the freshest warrior, yet there was an almost infuriating patience behind her glance, as if she were truly blind to anything temporary, instead seeing only the timeless and the endless.10

"Since creation, the elves have been tree-watchers and councilors for the Forest.  They have managed politics and warfare, administrated and fought against intruders.  They were made the strongest and most powerful by the Lord of the Forest, and given small magiks to work in preservation of their race.  However, the elves have multiplied while we have dwindled.  Our job, as spirits, is to preserve the legacy of the Forest, in song, in story, in the beautiful workings of Hinyaisha, the life-force magik that works from within and strengthens the Forest.  Together, we give purpose to the Forest, we give it direction and history.  We give it life.11

"In the Old Days, the elves would protect our people from all harm, and cooperatively we would create a rich and strong forest, full of power and completion.  Now, the elves have forsaken their duty and desire only personal power.  The trees grow restless and the elves desire war."�  Here, Mika's voice broke, whether from dryness or emotion I do not know.  She coughed a little, into her frail hand, then continued.12

"The trees have lost their Hinyaisha, and our people have retreated into mere self-preservation, without thought to the Forest.  The elves have overrun the world, and we are left behind, our peaceful purpose forgotten in the unbalance between struggle and harmony.  Greencove has become small and weak, the trees have become barbaric, and the elves do nothing but taunt the inhabitants of Bristleleaf, until there is no choice but to settle disputes by violence.  Perhaps we should not have delayed so long in intervening, but similar things have been going on for years."�  Sorrow tainted the pure voice of one who had lived for centuries in service to the Forest.  For the first time in decades, I heard regret in the voice of an Ancient.  Slowly, delicately she continued, 13

"There is no way of knowing how things will turn out."�14

Even though I had heard this same speech from all elder spirits in my youth, from the council, and from Mika in previous councils, I listened in respectful silence.  The words of the Ancients usually gave clarity and purpose to the council, even if the feeling of resolution was short-lived in the inevitable arguments that followed an important speech.15

"There are two choices before us,"� Mika continued, gesturing broadly with her bony arms.  "We must choose whether our loyalty lies to the preservation of our people, of all spirits and our generation, or whether our loyalty lies with Greencove and the ancient system that was to be the legacy of the Forest, but now has become nothing."�  Her words dwindled to a whisper, which fell suddenly, silently, in a harsh, resonating note of despair.16

A silence fell over the council.  None knew how to reply.  Not a spirit could fathom the implications of a war that would almost certainly bring about the destruction of either the spirit-people, or the Greencove Clan.  Undeniably, our people would lose their history, their Hinyaisha, no matter our choices.  Tears fought their way to my eyes, but I repressed them savagely.  By now, half the council was already in tears, talking amongst themselves in low voices, the Inspired Ones singing from a sorrow so deep they could not help but weave it into vivid tapestries of song, poem, and story.17

I sat, my face stony and unreadable.  'Only the helpless cry,' I told myself.  'We are not helpless yet.'  And I would not give in, nor ever give up.  I let my gaze travel around the room.  And I wondered in my heart if my kindred had already lost the battle.18

Fires crackled beneath the branches of trees that had left their homeland to march off to war.  Untamed and berserk, young saplings wriggled their roots free from the nurturing earth beneath them.  Branches shook in rage, leaves tumbling from twigs so crackly and lifeless that they seemed to hold themselves up by sheer will alone.  Pain shot up the vascular cords, rippling through the tree and sending unendurable fire to the tips of their branches.  A shudder ran through the tree as it dislodged itself from its bindings and charged like a madman into the flames, toppling to its death in the smoke.  It had been a long, slow journey to the fringes of Bristleleaf, but trees are patient and unwavering, and it was there they met their foes.  Mindless, they had attacked, and lifeless, they struggled, branches locked in branches, roots locked with roots.19

Flames danced in my periphery.  All battle blurred into a single vision- glimpses of red and brown wood splintering like bone, flung from the battlefield to lie charred and black and defeated on the ground.20

I looked up from my work, breath still panting and sweat still dripping from my forehead.  The vision had come almost every day now, each time the scenes more vivid, the trees more frantic and uncontrollable.  Often, a spirit would receive a vision, almost always personal or somehow related to their work.  This time, my vision came independent of my work, suddenly overtaking me at any point in the day.  It made my work harder- I couldn't concentrate, even though I knew this would mean the difference between life and death for my people.  It had been months, and the council still had not made a decision, or even reached an objective.  We had met every day for the past five weeks, but lately I had not gone to the meetings.21

I pursed my lips, and tried desperately to give my all to my work.  'They have given up- there is nothing left of my people but despair.'  There is no one who will listen to reason, no one with the courage to change or to accept change.  'I must work harder, because this is the only chance I will get to save my people.'22

I reached inside the tree, deep within its mind.  It's the task of the tree spirits to renew the Hinyaisha, the life force, of every tree.  Hinyaisha gives the tree vibrancy, the love of life, power, and a strong will.  It is the photosynthesis of the consciousness, the value and quality of the soul in each individual.  Strong spirits can give a stronger Hinyaisha to those in their care, and most beings have the capability of producing their own Hinyaisha.  It is only the trees who are unable to produce their own Hinyaisha, whereas spirits are able to produce and excess.  We feed the trees, nourish them, strengthen them, and in that way we pay tribute to the Forest and all it does for us.23

A wave of guilt coursed through me.  I had just recently developed a plan which would tip the odds of the war in the favor of Greencove, as well as possibly save the spirits from certain annihilation.  And it would cost me dearly, but it would cost our enemies more.  At least I hoped it would.24

As I looked into the soul of the tree in my care, I saw a hideous thing.  A fault line severed the Hinyaisha, creating a fatal weakness that would turn to evil and death if left untended.  I reached into my soul and brought to life the flame that held my Hinyaisha, the strength of purpose I would gladly give this broken tree.  I reached out my hand, bringing the cracks together as a surgeon does, filling the gaps with a beautiful hope and strength that at that moment seemed unmatched for power.  I felt a warmth rush through my veins, and for a second I was completely free and alive, joined spiritually to the life force within the now-healing tree.  I smiled, and left the tree to grow and flourish, while I rested nearby, saving my strength for the unbearable task ahead of me.  I sat, my head down, looking at a bare patch of grass between my feet.  I exhaled deeply, gathering my resolve and steeling myself for what I would need to do.  For a moment, I looked up at the sky.25

"Guide and Protector of the Forest, forgive me for what I am about to do."  I mouthed the prayer, my voice silent.  I dared not speak to the council again, dared not confront those who would face despair in the name of peace, while I created evil in the name of hope.  26

I remembered the feel of the fault line I encountered in the tree I had just healed.  I remembered its weakness, the exact curve of its destructive cut.  I remembered how the weakness permeated every aspect of the tree, crushing it under the pain of helplessness.  I brought it back vividly in my mind, noting the depth and location of its deadly slice, the simple aggression it created, the mindless brutality of its effect on the lifeblood of the tree.  I held the picture, the texture, vividly in my mind. 27

Slowly, I stood up, moving in between the forest trees, searching for a suitable learning tool.  I let all emotion drain from my features, every muscle in my lithe body conveying purpose, and purpose only.  28

Only an architect knows the best way to tear down his own building.  Only a healer knows the best way to destroy the body of her patients.  Only a spirit knows the best way to destroy the soul of an enemy.29

'My people will not be destroyed.  We will not give up!'  30

No, Not this time.31

I set my heart in stone, and got to work.32