In the Shadow of the Sun

2

If at one time, the Forests of Shikaä had truly been a country of peace and serenity, as the meaning of its name implied in the ancient language of its people, no one could tell for certain. Everyone was apt to believe it, and they pressed it onto their disciples and spawn; but no one knew if it had ever been true—for it was far from truth now. Just years before, war had ravaged the country's southern fringe, taking the lives of many who were innocent and undeserving. Hundreds of able-bodied adolescents were drafted into war, and most were slaughtered mercilessly when their opponents showed up with greater, uglier weapons than the Shikaäns thought possible to make.

To honor those dead, graves were made. However, soon there were too many lives lost, and the citizens of Shikaä, wanting not to destroy their forest to make a cemetery, buried the dead in pools of water, marking it sacred and floating candles upon the surface. Each night, the candles were lit in secret by messengers appointed by the deities. It was forbidden for the water in the graves to be touched; it was a taboo of the kind that must never be broken. No one knew what fate would befall them if they broke it, and they dared not find out.

But, one night, the lights in the northeast were dark. Columbine didn't even think about not lighting them; he had just been too preoccupied with proving himself worthy of protecting Myrrh alongside Salogel that it had completely slipped his mind. When he woke up, he found that though he had overlooked it, the spirits hadn't—and they'd reprimanded him by giving him two black rings around each upper-arm. He scratched at the marks, as if hoping they were only ribbons tied to him—but all that resulted from his feeble tries were great scratches down his arms. He tore at his hair and clawed at his arms even more. It wasn't fair! How could they do such a thing to him? He'd only missed one night… and he hadn't done it in disdain or disrespect! Why had the deities' wrath come so harshly upon him once more?

Before he could torture himself in thought any longer, strange noises sounded behind him. Swerving about, he saw them: twisted shadows lunging forward from between the roots of the trees. Myrrh—who he'd thought was still asleep—slashed out with his sword and the right arm of the nearest thing flew in a cyclone of marrow across the path. Salogel scrambled to find his bow, and got to it just in time to shoot an arrow through the chest of the one following him. Columbine rolled to his feet and scuttled over to where he'd set down his spear, taking it in his hands and protecting himself by hiding behind its large blade. He tried to swing it and trip one of the shadows, but pain surged through his body from the black tattoos around his arms, causing him to drop his weapon and fall to the ground, curled up in a nest of roots and fungi, screaming. Curse the gods who made him their scapegoat for pain! Curse the unforgiving spirits and their haughtiness! Curse the deities' intolerance of even the slightest drop of hubris!

To his surprise, Myrrh moved in, standing over him, protecting him. Salogel stepped with his back to the golden elf's, guarding him from harm.

Columbine was speechless.

He pushed himself up from the ground, and gathered his spear once more, his mouth gaping open in awe. They had shielded him when he had been vulnerable. They cared.

He was no longer alone.

Instead of moving, Columbine just stood there. His shaking hands struggled to keep hold of his weapon. Myrrh shouted out a spell, and there was a great light, causing the gnarled tree-monsters to recede—however once they were exposed to the brightness, the natural darkness of the forest that followed it seemed even greater. For a moment, he could not tell one thing from another—all was black, pitch black as the brands upon his skin.

Like sap, the things sprouted back from where they had fallen, invincible and eternal as the chirping of bugs Columbine had marveled at in the village in the trees.

Two companions made their way through the undergrowth of the forest, hearts heavy with the sadness of leaving a close friend. They traveled an appendix of their saga, striving once more to find the sun; though they had quested to see it before, it had been overcast when they had reached its place dwelling. Now they were to find it and see it with unclouded eyes. The taller of the two, a handsome elf with hair the color of the southern pines, Seiriô, laughed gaily between the measures of the song he piped out on the pan-flute, while the other, Eruûne, clapped his hands in awkward rhythm.

"Soon, soon we will be there!" the minstrel announced, twirling around a tree branch and coming out behind his companion. "And what great tales we will tell of our journey!"

"Yes, if only they care to listen!" Eruûne responded, cautiously walking backwards. "I'm sure they know of what's happened—"

"—But to hear the Savior is that 'strange rune' they hated…!" Seiriô laughed harder. "From the stories you've told me of them, I've been fantasizing about their expressions when they hear it's you!"

"You, too," the lithe, blonde elf added. "You helped, too, Seiriô. I'm not the only Savior."

"Too true," the green-haired minstrel-mage chuckled. "But you are the one who dealt the final blow to that curséd deity, Seingô, of the Forest!"

"You're inflating the tale already, and we haven't even come to my village yet," Eruûne chastised, mockingly. "I but sealed the Great Seingô away; I have not the power to kill a deity!"

"But that doesn't matter," he clutched his friend's shoulders, "you saved the Forests of Shikaä!"

"'Saved'?"

The two of them looked about, but they saw no other personage, eldritch or spirit, about. The minstrel groaned, realizing who and what had spoken.

"Precisely. This little stick-figure here is our savior, and even the likes of you, Unseen Priest, should be grateful!"

"'Savior'? Him?!" it cackled madly, "Why should I be grateful to some scrawny little elf who merely 'potted the great forest' I worship, dearest Seiriô."

"Because that 'great forest' was corrupted by the evil of change in this Ealdwood. Seingô sealed away the other six deities and controlled their beat-guardians to keep them there! It was trying to leave the Childlike Forest Spirit vulnerable, so Omega could fulfill its role in the prophecy by destroying it!"

"Oh you are wrong, deary." The Unseen sneered. "And be careful with your language; 'destroy' isn't quite the word you should be using—it's far too harsh! And besides, do you actually know if truth resides within what you proposed to know? Have you even considered what the Great Childlike Forest Spirit wishes? Why am I still talking to you ignorant children?!"

"Because you just can't quite give someone as beautiful as me up yet!" the minstrel winked and blew a kiss into the air. Eruûne giggled.

"Actually, dearest Seiriô, that question was meant rhetorically—for I'm sure you know the better answer to it by heart."

"So you mean I wasn't all wrong?"

"Nay, I was but humoring you, little Liar of the Ages."

"Oh hie thee thither and do not plague me any further with such incessant rambling!" Seiriô swatted the air around him, as if assuming he could hit the priest. He swore as he felt its invisible hands around his shoulders, pulling his hair, and lifted a gloved hand, but before he had a chance to hit it away, the feeling was gone. "I would not to hear you call me that again! Oh, curse you both!"

"But Seiriô, I have done nothing," Eruûne protested. "I deserve not your cursing!"

The mage laughed. "I wasn't talking to you. I just can't believe such a creature as Arum lives still in this place."

"Seiriô, it didn't seem to think that the forest is alright," the blonde boy whispered. He sat himself down on a large root protruding from out the omnipresent ferns and moss and drummed his hands restlessly upon it.

"Oh would you stop?!" the mage complained, sitting down also. "Don't worry about anything Arum says. It's an unseen messenger sent by the Seingô of the Forest to mock travelers and discourage them from coming anywhere near the Heart of Shikaä."

"I know; you've said that before," he sighed, "but I just cannot rest. Yester night I dreamt of my older sister, but it wasn't a pleasant dream. My mind keeps wandering back to so many years ago, when my village was attacked by the enemy forces of Na'ärdôn."

Seiriô grinned and ruffled up his friend's neat, blonde hair. Eruûne's ears pulled back in annoyance, but the green-haired mage paid that no heed. "Come on, after all those festivities, you still have nightmares of horrible things? We saved the forest, Eruûne. You and I, we're the Savior, Xi, spoken of in the Great Spirit's Prophecy. Everything is safe now. You sealed the deity Seingô away forever, and thusly, there is no threat to either the Great Childlike Forest Spirit, or Shikaä. How can you continue to wallow in darkness when all that is here is light?"

Eruûne said nothing.

"Are you hungry?" the green-haired young man inquired. "I'll gladly have us stop now for a meal."

"I don't mean this as an offense…" Eruûne stammered, "But I wish to reach my village as soon as possible, so I can tell my sister, Lotus, of the good news."

"Will do," he answered. "Shall we, then?"

The tiny, green-clad Eruûne jumped of the root, and joined his friend on the path, winding in and about the great, dark trees. He tapped his fingers on the sheath of his sword, deep in thought. Just a month or two ago, he and Seiriô had unintentionally happened upon the Heart of the Forest of Shikaä. He had acquired there a sword matched by no other in power, beauty, or usability—yet it was now girded nowhere upon him. After he had used it to seal the corrupt Seingô and after he had woken up from a long, ill slumber—those taking care of him had thought him dead, he was so sick!—it had been explained to him that the sword would only appear when he most direly needed it. Eruûne assumed that meant it would just suddenly appear for him, sent down by whatever deity did such things. He was so enveloped in his thinking, that he hadn't noticed Seiriô stopping in front of him, and walked right into him.

"I-I'm sorry!" he professed, sincerely, bowing politely. "I didn't mean to run into you…!"

"Oh stop being so uptight!" the mage requested, laughing, pinching his friend's pale ear.

Eruûne laughed, also, and the two friends continued on their way. Soon, soon they would be back where they'd started, at the small village Eruûne had grown up in. Soon, soon they would be back to the sun. He sighed and smiled when he thought of being able to not only be back in a familiar place, but also be able to see his sister again. The thought of no longer traveling with Seiriô, however, stained his mood—for he was sure his friend had plans of continuing his study of music or magic, since he had been doing so when their quest began. The thought of no longer being with him made Eruûne feel hollow. It had never before occurred to him that Seiriô would not be staying with him any longer. Their quest was over; they were the famous Saviors of Shikaä. What reasons would he have to stay?

Cradled by plants of the forest,

Girded with stars of the sky,

He's watched by a hidden orchid,

Dancing w'thout knowing why.

Wrapped by the song of an angel,

Helped him, she did, twice,

He shivers as the music echoes;

He who the gods scarred thrice.

Scared of the thing he feels,

Running from desperate cries,

He's buried with raining blossoms;

And all alone he dies.

A sick feeling started up in Eruûne's stomach. Seiriô had ceased singing, and the air had suddenly grown cold. The golden memories that song had brought back to him stopped and he looked up from his thoughts, shivering, frightened and disconcerted.

"Wh-what's wrong?" he asked, shakily, grabbing hold of his companion's tunic sleeve. "Seiriô, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," the minstrel-mage whispered. "Can you feel it, too? Something's gone awry."

"I know this place," Eruûne suddenly realized, his hands stroking the bark of the trees. "Seiriô, this is near where I met you. I know this place. It's right outside my village."

"But it's so quiet!" the mage murmured. "I can almost hear the trees growing and the nightbugs' perpetual flight! Where is the light? Everything is so dismal; it looks like it could be anywhere else in these woods."

"No, it is not. I'm sure this is where we met," he said, kneeling. "Look here. Though it has recently been grown over by plants, this is the hole I fell into. You heard my voice and you pulled me out."

"Are you sure? Which direction is your home, then? I cannot tell one way from another; it all looks the same, and none of it looks the least bit welcoming."

The young elf said nothing. He gulped down his words, and said nothing. His heart began to beat faster, and louder. He knew the way back to his village by instinct; it was engraved permanently upon his mind—how could he forget it? Dropping his pack and his rolled-up tatami-mat bed, letting his sheath slip off his belt, and his shield fall to the ground with a muffled clang, Eruûne began to run. Bewildered, Seiriô attempted to retrieve the boy's belongings, as well as follow. The fear ran through his mind, also, but it was not new. He knew all of what had happened in his friend's village.

He knew it all too well.

Eruûne minded not when his foot caught in the underbrush and he came crashing down to the earth—it was but a minor tribulation, and he barely even registered the event happening. He just kept on running. He jumped over the fence, overgrown with dusk-blooming creeper-vines, knocking the 'exit forbidden' sign with his leg, causing it to creak precariously. When he landed back on the ground, he fell once more, but this time, he hadn't the heart to get up. All was as he had feared.

A short minute later, Seiriô came, and he saw his companion lying limp against the black, bare earth. Slowly, he set down both their packs of belongings, and their belts tied with miscellaneous baubles. He set down his own sword alongside his friend's and his instruments as well. He could barely even lift his own hands up after setting them down. It was as if all his energy, all his strength, all his power was being leeched out of him by some invisible, unseen force. His quivering legs collapsed and he fell alongside Eruûne, his face buried in the soot and coal, smelling only smoke and blood.

It was gone.

Eruûne's voice broke the silence, shattering the window, a shard of the broken glass piercing Seiriô's eyes. "Lotus is dead, isn't she?"

The green-haired mage didn't answer. He didn't need to. He choked and sputtered on his tears, and wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing the black ashes across it.

"They're all dead, aren't they?"

More tears, more ashes, more smearing. Seiriô cursed himself, and cursed himself again—so many times he almost forgot what he had done it all for.

"Everyone…"

No, don't say it! Don't say it, Eruûne. Please… Seiriô gritted his teeth together. Only weaklings cry! Only children cry! Crying is not for strong adults. Just don't say it… it won't hurt if you don't say it. It won't still hurt if you don't say it.

"…is dead."

Eruûne's small, wavering voice was as loud as a scream. Seiriô cupped his hands over his long, slender ears, trying to make it stop. But no matter how hard he tried to shut off his hearing, the words would not leave. He was too weak, too powerless to keep the door shut. Dead… dead… dead… Everyone's dead.

No!

He pushed himself up. He wouldn't be left behind again. He wouldn't be incapable of helping himself again. With his gloved hands, he tried to scratch out his eyes. He didn't want to see it. He heard Eruûne stand up, but he didn't want to see it. He felt the blonde child's small, cold hands, like a corpse's, grasp his arms; they were trembling so much he could almost hear them. He knew his companion's need for support, but he didn't want to see his expression. He didn't want to have to face it.

"Hey… Seiriô."

The boy's hands lessened their grip on his tunic.

"Seiriô…"

They fell, and the mage heard footsteps: doom… doom… doom… slowly becoming less audible. He could no longer feel his friend's presence. He let his own hands slip down to his sides, allowing his tears to trickle down in curving veins, dripping off his chin and falling onto the ground, staining the soot even darker ebony. He fell back down to his knees, joining his hands on the ground. The gods wouldn't even let him stand.

Shing! Thump! He heard the sound of a sword being drawn, and the sheath being discarded on the ground; but he didn't want to see it. Eruûne swallowed the thoughts begging him to reconsider his decision, and stared at his face in the blade. It was a dark splotch against the reflection of the setting sun, though even it was dark, for no light shown upon the Ealdwood of Shikaä as more than a dim glow.

"I'm joining you, sister. Just like I promised," he whispered. "You didn't like it. You didn't like the world that I made for you. You didn't like the forest once it was saved. You didn't like it. But I did it all for you, sister. Just to make you happy. Just to make you smile again. You haven't smiled for such a long time, sister. I was hoping… that you would be happy once the forest was saved.

"But…"

Seiriô turned his head instinctively. Half of him yearned to comfort his friend, but the other half couldn't bear it. Though his tears, the world was blurred; he couldn't see anything.

"But it looks like I messed up somehow, just like always. Isn't that funny, sister?" he laughed nervously, such a horrible noise as made Seiriô flinch. "But you're happy now, I know it. You're happy in Otherwhere. It's because… it's because you're on the sun, aren't you? You're on that beautiful, wonderful, shadow-less star, aren't you?"

Seiriô stood up.

"Wait for me, sister…"

He sauntered toward his friend.

"Wait for me like you always did. Don't leave me behind..."

He wiped the tears clouding his vision, and saw Eruûne, and saw the blade positioned to pierce through the cross-shaped scar over his heart.

"Sister…"

He watched as Eruûne's white, bony hands gripped the sword's handle tighter. Seiriô pulled off the glove of his right hand, and quickly averted his eyes from the terrible brand that he knew lay upon it. He shut off the half of his mind that was cowering in a dark corner, consumed with guilt and remorse, completely. He wouldn't let his friend die!

His hand came down from the heavens, striking the pale elf across the cheek, reddening the blush, knocking him over and his sword to the ground. Breathing hard, the mage managed a scream, "What the hell do you think you were doing, you selfish bastard?!"