To Arms

(Note that the following is a fictional account. The events depicted here were
not recorded, and have been lost; or if they were recorded, I cannot find the
records. I have researched extensively for the few small details I could find,
and then attempted to commune with the Great Spirits and read the truth of the
past in the stars. But ultimately, the persons and events here come only from
my imaginings, and are fabricated in hopes of making a compelling story.)

Jerrik's flail was covered with something that might have once been blood.
There were tendrils of some kind of fibrous substance running through it, like
strands of flax, but inky black, and they seemed to wriggle slightly as if they
were trying to grab hold of one another and congeal. It made a wet slopping
sound when he pulled the flail up out of the corpse, trailing this foul,
polluted ichor behind it. "That'll take some cleanin'," he said as he loped
over the corpse, brushing more of the sticky blood off his shaggy fur.

Before him stood four more of the twisted creatures, something like an orclach,
but smaller, more shrivelled, and streaked with moving black marks, like those
in the blood, moving below the skin. Where they moved, the flesh shrivelled,
changing somehow, shrinking, becoming more rugged and at the same time more
hideous. Jerrik found the sight downright disturbing, and was relieved to note
that it had almost ceased, perhaps because the black threads had already touched
nearly every part of the creatures. There were four of them. Jerrik wasn't
worried. Casually he adjusted the Horned Helm of the Moonhart slightly, then
took his second flail into his other hand and strode forth. "Crunch", he said
to himself with a faint smile.

The orclach, or whatever they were now, moved slowly, a sort of dazed look
about them, but if Jerrik thought they would fall more easily than most, he was
soon disappointed. The black threads had made them smaller, yet somehow more
dense; his bludgeons thudded into their flesh, but that satisfying crunch of
breaking bone was scarcer than expected, and Jerrik soon fell back, taking a
more defensive stance, biding his time while he observed the movement of these
creatures. It was not like the orclach, precisely; though it was slower, and
the individuals seemed almost unaware of their surroundings, they moved in
eerie unison, as if controlled by one hand, or one mind.

"Right, so if you're going to fight like a pack," Jerrik said, "there ain't
nobody like a loboshigaru to know how to handle that," nodding in that smug,
self-satisfied way he had, that always knocked the Horned Helm just loose
enough to make him have to adjust it again. This he did, and then began to
circle around the group. They moved slowly to follow him, too slowly, and soon
he had one of them a little apart from the others. With his flails swinging
low, he swept the lone orclach's feet out from under him, then deftly jumped to
one side, positioning the fallen orclach between him and the others.

"Gloriana has succumbed, and is lost to us, probably forever," a voice said in
his ear, an aetherwave broadcast from Farella Lunseer, the High Priestess of
Mother Moon. "I'm observing the furrikin broadcaster, and learning much from
him. All Serens should return to the forest immediately." Jerrik twitched a
little, the distraction breaking his stride for but a moment, and then focused
on his foes, feeling his flails swinging loosely in his hand as if they were
only extensions of his arms.

Time and again, their weapons clattered against his armor, and blood flowed
from his sundered flesh; the flow was soon stopped by the potions and herbs he
had obtained from a friendly Moondancer, and he fought on. Crunch, another
orclach fell. Crunch, a skull split open like an eggshell. It was a near
thing, nearer than he liked, and when it was done he stood there sipping
eagerly at his healing vials for a few moments before he started paying
attention again. "Jerrik, return to the Moonhart Mother Tree, I say again,"
Farella's voice grated in his ear. As always, she was more than bossy; she
seemed to take delight in using her cutting words against him.

* * * * *

There was no one by the Moonhart Mother Tree, which surprised him. There was
always someone there, usually many people; and with everyone called back to the
forest there should have been a large crowd. No one in the council chambers
either, he soon determined. He set the corpses down and looked around for a
moment uncertainly, letting his third eye sense the presence of others in the
forest. With a thought he flowed to Lorridel and found himself beside the
Flame of Glinshari, and nearly everyone in the commune, it seemed. He nodded
briefly to Lorridel and Sharell, his eyes sweeping the crowd, until he stopped
in surprise. There amongst the crowd, not just one or two centaurs, but dozens
of them, a few with bundles under their arms. What were they doing here?

"Ah, there is our last arrival. Thank you for coming, Jerrik," Farella said,
her eyes icy diamonds as she gazed at him, then softening as she turned to the
Heirophant. "Maerel, while I prepare the rite, make sure everyone knows what
is going on, please." She turned to speak to the pixies and other fae that
always seemed to be hovering around her, in that language of the elfen that
seemed more like singing than talking. Somehow it always set Jerrik's fangs to
grinding, knowing most of the people here, elfen, faelings, and fae, could
understand, but he and a few others could not. He glanced over to Maerel, who
was nodding to Farella and trying to draw himself up to his full height -- as
if that would matter for a furrikin, even as tall a furrikin as Maerel was.
His antlers seemed larger than usual somehow, and his voice devoid of its usual
merriment.

"Some of you have heard much of what's been happening, but others have heard
little. It is time now for you to hear everything." Maerel sighed softly
before he continued. "Project Cosmic Hope has become precisely the disaster
that White Hart told us it would be. Some dark substance has flowed out of the
Stone of Truth and corrupted much of the land, twisting and tainting it in ways
we cannot yet understand. Already our friends in Gloriana have fallen to it;
the communications we have received from Rowena Nightshade were... very
disturbing. The High Priestess and I have taken great pains to see if they can
be saved, and have determined that at this time, we must turn our eyes to our
own safety. We have received some counsel from Nintoba and the Centaurs on
this matter, and we are convinced. They will dwell amongst us now."

The assembled commune seemed to take in a sharp breath at once. The centaurs
had dwelled in Gloriana for as long as anyone could remember. But the
Heirophant pressed on. "Ackleberry has not fallen, but has... removed itself,
for safekeeping. Entirely. We will receive no more communications from the
covens of Lake and Bear. We are alone now." It seemed as if even the birds in
the trees were silent, even the wind stilled, as this revelation settled on the
commune.

"Fortunately," he went on, "the spread of this corruption has been slowed, and
the immediate threat that caused Ackleberry to retreat is passed. But the
danger that remains is very real. We will need to prepare ourselves for it.
Therefore, we have decided..." He trailed off uncertainly, glancing to
Farella, who was too busy talking to a sylph to notice; then his eyes found
Nymmie, fluttering just barely above a young centaur's shoulder. "The Moonhart
Circle has decided..." Again, the Heirophant's voice cracked.

"Thank you, Maeral," said Nymmie as she fluttered her wings faster and rose up
to where everyone could see her. "As the esteemed Heirophant was saying,
Farella, he, and I have been closely monitoring this situation and have decided
that what is most important now is the same thing it has always been. The
preservation of the Great Spirits and the life they shelter here in our forest.
Considering the current state of things, as well as we have been able to
determine them, we've concluded we do not need to remove ourselves with the
severity of Ackleberry Forest. But we will embark on a period of seclusion.
In a few minutes, with the blessings of Mother Moon and Brother Hart, we will
all of us, together, give some of our strength to the Flame of Glinshari. You
will find this leaves you weary for some days, but the Flame will grow
stronger. Those who pass by our forest will find the shortest and easiest path
always leads away from it, while those who seek to enter will find themselves
confused and lost. Now, if you'll all please gather--"

"Are y'sure that's a good idea?" Jerrik shouted out, then grinned smugly to see
Farella spin around, her pretense at not noticing anything else but her work
evaporated in a moment. Before she could make some dry comment about him
speaking out of turn, he pressed on. "Leaving ever-one of us vulnerable, none
to defend t'others. Besides, shouldn't we stay and fight? I slew a few of
these corrupted beings wit'out much trouble; my flails were able to--"

"Yes, we know all about your flails," Farella retorted icily, her voice low but
still slicing through the crowd and cutting him off. "This is not the time for
your obsession about a fighting force. The fate of the entire commune is in
our hands, even of the Basin, of life itself."

Before Jerrik could answer, an unfamiliar voice spoke up, neither humble nor
forceful, simply strong. "A fighting force might be a good idea, actually, to
prepare against the things we saw before we left, and other things still to
come. The stars have told us much of what is coming. We will aid with this.
My name is Eurytus, and that will be my calling." Though young, the centaur
who spoke was already large and well-muscled. Three fresh wounds, as from a
claw, lined one cheek, still bloody. He had stopped talking abruptly, as if he
had not so much reached a conclusion as run out of things to say, causing an
awkward pause.

"We will discuss this after the rite. The time is now; Mother Moon shines
brightest and Brother Hart has blessed us. I call forth Farella Lunseer, High
Priestess of the Moon Coven." Nymmie turned to face Farella, who allowed the
cold expression on her face to fade as she tilted her head up, her eyes filling
with the light of Mother Moon. For a moment, even Jerrik was struck by respect
for the High Priestess and her wisdom and power.

"By the power of all that grows, by the Maiden's fertile loins, I beseech you,
Great Spirits, protect us!" Farella made gestures with her hands almost too
fast to follow, and her fae flew and scurried around her just as swiftly,
dizzyingly, seeming somehow to leave trails of moonlight behind them, tinged
with silver. "By the nourishment of that which sustains life, by the Mother's
caring hands, I beseech you, Great Spirits, protect us!" The fae moved from
Farella to the basin where the Flame was now rising higher, burning more
brightly, streaks of silver shining in the blue tongues. "By the blood of
sacrifice and endings, by the Crone's withering gaze, I beseech you, Great
Spirits, protect us!" Her gestures came to an abrupt stop as the fae came
together above the Flame, a great sprinkling of dust falling from them as their
forms became blurred together into a ball of silvery light. Sparks shot from
the flame as it grew in size and brightness.

Without missing a beat, Nymmie turned to the Heirophant. "I call forth Maerel
Talnara, Heirophant of Hartstone."

Somehow, Maerel seemed to be taken by surprise by this, even though he plainly
knew he would be called upon. With a slight cough, he nervously adjusted his
crown and said, almost too quietly to be heard, "Yes. Umm. In the name of
Honored Glinshari, I call forth the Sacred Cudgel from the Heir of Glinshari,
Sharell Thistleberry." He held his hand out, and Sharell placed the Cudgel in
it, her eyes glassy; then she stepped back to Lorridel's side and leaned
against him. Jerrik smiled to see Lorridel put his arm around her; so fierce
were they in a fight, he wished no one else by his side but them, and yet so
tender to one another.

Maerel pointed the Cudgel at the ground and the soil parted slightly; into the
gap, he dropped a shining silver nut, then another wave of the Cudgel closed
it, and with a final flourish, he called forth a moonhart sapling. In only a
moment it had grown to his full height. "With the blessing of Brother Hart, I
call forth a branch from the Moonhart Mother Tree herself, the most sacred
power that dwells in heartwood and sap." He wrapped one tiny hand around the
sapling and tugged, and effortlessly it came out of the ground, its roots
drawing into itself and vanishing, its tiny leaves wrapping around one another.
Now he held a shining silver torch, which he promptly set into the fire. It
caught instantly, carrying the silver-blue glow as he rose it high above his
head. The Cudgel of Glinshari fell forgotten from his hand, and all eyes were
drawn to the fire rising above from the torch into the sky, impossibly high.

"May all now present link hands with one another," Nymmie said, offering her
hands to those who chanced to be closest to her. "Give your strength to White
Hart and Mother Moon so they might give their strength to you." Everyone began
to link hands immediately. One might think it would take a lot of choreography
to get that many people clustered erratically in a crowd to form a chain of
hands, but in only moments, everyone held hands with someone on either side.
Everyone except Jerrik, who stood apart, his hands filled only with his flails.

"So let it be written, by order of Marshall Nymmie Peony, and the Moonhart
Council, was the Serenwilde Forest drawn within itself, for the protection of
the Great Spirits." The silvery ball of light that had been Farella's fae
burst in a blinding flash, which flooded over the crowd, then crackled over
their bodies, racing back and forth from person to person for a moment before
leaping suddenly from the crown of each man's and woman's head into the surging
flame of Maerel's torch. Silvery light flooded out from the torch into a
shimmering dome over the forest, driving away all sight of everything beyond,
save only Mother Moon.

The wind held still for a moment, and then everyone visibly slumped, exhausted.
Even Nymmie let herself flutter to the ground, and no one had the energy to
remark on the oddity of seeing the Marshall's feet touch the earth. Sharell
barely found the strength to pick up the Cudgel of Glinshari. Only Patchou
seemed unaffected, but then Patchou never seemed to be affected by anything,
and had been sleeping curled up at Lorridel's feet the whole time anyway.

Only Jerrik's eyes darted this way and that. Something was wrong; there was
still some threat, he could smell it. If he had allowed himself to be part of
this rite, no one would stand to protect against it. He must remain alert and
protect the pack, even beyond the pack's will to be protected.

* * * * *

"I'm still not comfor'ble up here," Jerrik muttered grouchily. "Why did we
have to move up here into th' trees? That old town hall building seems fine t'
me."

Lorridel laughed tiredly. "That hasn't been used for a dozen lifetimes. It
was too small even then."

"And in those days, the Moondancers and Hartstone were not two separate groups,
but just a matter of which Great Spirit each person felt more called to,"
Sharell added. "Besides, the commune proper has stood in the trees for a
moon's lifetimes. We know well how such things are built."

"Maybe so, but I like to feel the ground 'tween my claws when I run," Jerrik
said. "It just feels more natural-like."

"I trust you have a good reason to call this meeting?" Nymmie said as she
fluttered slowly into the council chambers, trailing Farella and Maerel behind
her. "We are all weary and most of us heartsick. Many of us lost relatives
and dear friends in Gloriana and Ackleberry."

Jerrik nodded enthusiastically. "Now is the time--"

"Jerrik," Lorridel interrupted gently, "we agreed that you'd let me explain."
Jerrik nodded deferentially, and Lorridel went on. "The question of forming a
guild of warriors has been brought up many times before now, even before we
here were born, and each time it has been decided we did not need such a force.
Even when Ackleberry formed its own guild of warriors, we did not choose to do
so, instead relying on the fighting abilities of those who follow Mother Moon
and Brother Hart." Farella was clearly about to say something, but Lorridel
with quiet certainty headed her off. "Not that those powers are inadequate;
far from it. The warriors of Ackleberry did not turn away from Sister Lake or
Brother Bear; they combined them with one another and with the martial arts.
But more importantly, they focused their efforts on defense and fighting only,
allowing the others to focus on the fae and the forests if they so wished,
without sacrificing dedication, discipline, or honor. Ackleberry had nothing
but good things to say about the results of this decision."

"And times have changed," Sharell added. "Whether we like it or no. When we
emerge from this seclusion, we will have all the same threats awaiting us as
always -- the folly of the cities, the residues of the Soulless, and the other
dangers to which our people might fall prey. In addition, we have those
creatures that might find their way down from this supra-plane. Most
importantly, we will have the ravages of what is now being called the Taint,
and everything changed by it. We will need people focused entirely on defense,
on guarding the Serenwilde, when we emerge."

"All that will do is dilute our focus," Farella said, with a warm smile to
Lorridel. This was one reason why Lorridel was the one to speak; Farella was
fair, reasonable, even friendly with Lorridel, and there her wisdom shined
through, making it was obvious why she had become so powerful and respected a
leader in the commune. It was only to Jerrik that she was cold, harsh, and,
Jerrik thought, consistently unfair, never giving his thoughts a fair
consideration. "I respect your intention," she was continuing, "and agree that
we need to improve our defenses in preparation; I only remain unconvinced this
is the best way. One cannot properly call upon the power of Mother Moon save
by being part of the Coven, studying her ways as an acolyte until one is ready
to join the priesthood."

"I must agree," Maerel said with a nod. "Instead, I suggest we form more
'military' branches within our guilds."

Farella nodded. "And they could train together, if necessary. Provided that
they remained subservient-- I mean, subordinate, to the existing leadership of
the guilds."

"But in Ackleberry--" Lorridel started to say, but everyone else began talking,
even Nymmie joining in. Jerrik sighed and stepped back from the oak table; he
had heard this all before, and knew how it would go. Farella would give the
orders, Maerel would defer to her, and even Nymmie would be swept along -- she
was decisive enough whenever she wasn't up against Farella, but it was rare for
the faeling Marshall to stand up to her own High Priestess when Farella was
determined, as in this matter she always was. This time Nymmie seemed nearly
convinced, Jerrik felt, but still not enough to take a stand against Farella's
unshakeable certainty, particularly not weakened and weary as she was. It was
the same conclusion to the same argument as always, but something was
different. Something was wrong, and it nagged at him. He could almost smell
it.

"...weaponry is not a city trade; weapons have been used long before the first
cities..." Lorridel was saying, and Farella was shaking her head in
disagreement, when Jarrik noticed something moving. There, rising up behind
Farella, a mottled, blackish-red shape. Familiar somehow. With a jolt he
recognized it -- one of the orclach he had brought in the day before. The
black threads were more prominent now, showing through the bruises, moving
again as the orclach -- the dead orclach, or so it had been yesterday! --
slowly rose, reaching menacingly for Farella. The High Priestess was too
engrossed in her argument to notice; in fact, no one noticed. Even if they
had, they would be too worn out by the rite to do anything about it.

Hefting his flails and bellowing, Jerrik lunged towards Farella, and for a
moment the eyes of the High Priestess showed fear of betrayal. She raised her
hands to invoke some spell of warding, which could not have come in time, had
Jerrik's flails been aimed for her. As a shimmering white orb sprung up around
her, she stared stupefied as the flails crunched sickeningly into the
slow-moving body behind her.

Jerrik fell back, panting, spent. Everyone stared blankly as the shattered
body, little more than a shapeless pulp, collapsed to the branches below and
twitched slightly one last time. The silence held for a long moment, during
which Jerrik could not help but savor the frightened expression on Farella's
face, an expression the powerful woman almost never showed.

"Very well," Nymmie said, breaking the silence, with a finality in her voice.
"Lorridel Ellisen, you shall be the Great Chieftain of the Serenguard, and sit
on the Moonhart Circle as equal with the High Priestess and the Heirophant.
You will have much to arrange. See to it."

* * * * *

"Oh, a library!" said the centaur. "How delightful. I have always wished for
a chance to just sit down and read. So much to learn."

Jerrik looked dubious. "A library, fer a warrior's guild? Shouldn't we have
an exercise room, and a sparrin' room, and weapons storage, and a forge, and
maybe a stable, and--"

"All in good time," Lorridel said. "For now, we must make do with what we
have. We can set some of those things up in the main hallway, and add on
others later. Besides... didn't you say you liked this draughty old building?"
he added with a wry quirk of the eyebrow. Sharell hid a grin behind her hand as
Jerrik scowled. "You take that office, and Sharell, you can take that one, and
I'll take the one over the meeting room." He did a double-take. "Oh, Eurytus,
we'll need one for you, I forgot. You can have the one over the meeting room,
and I'll--"

"Nonsense," Eurytus said, looking up from a dusty tome. "I will stay here."

"In the library? Surely you'd prefer something a little more comfortable, with
a chair and..." Lorridel trailed off, realizing the absurdity of what he was
saying even before Eurytus could give him a look of wry amusement. "Very well,
if you insist, the library will be yours," he concluded, ignoring Sharell's
giggling and the fact that Eurytus was not paying any attention to him at all,
being buried in another book.

"And we'll call it the Serenguard Lodge," Sharell said.

"Someday we'll be put to the test," Jerrik proclaimed. "Let's be sure to be
ready for it. There's a lot of work 'afore us."