Brett 6 | planet-helen-project

VI.

Jun rode into town with all of his Woodsmen accounted for. Any of the Harvesters that had noticed them leave had nothing to suspect. There were no missing people, no extra bodies; if any Harvester expected anything, it was that the Woodsmen had spent their whole day in the hot Suns. They looked disappointed, defeated; as if they were searching for some missing person and couldn’t find them. When the Woodsmen returned there was no celebration, there was no acknowledgment of what happened at Jola’s ranch. They had done their job well, none of them complained or broke down. They just seemed tired.
Jun was going to lose it.
Things couldn’t have gone any better, from a strategic standpoint. Jun was convinced that the Prime Justice would have clapped him on the back. He couldn’t believe how sick he felt. What if the cost was greater than the victory? Hal’s words were burnt into his vision. He wanted to put the day behind him and be done with it. He feared having to discuss the events to anyone. And yet he knew it was inevitable. It had come down to his decision, in the end. He had given them a chance. He couldn’t back down; there wasn’t time to wait.
Jun wondered if he was any better than Ronea Hobbin for this job.
The thought made him laugh. His whole body ached. He was about to collapse off Mightyhorn when he pulled up short outside of the Bounty. There was a commotion at the Tavern, a large number of people were going in and out; moving lively in the shaded midday. Jun could see far on the back of Mightyhorn, but all he made out was a steady traffic of people in and around the Tavern. There were so many, yet they moved with purpose; carrying things here, or picking up and moving crates inside.
Jun dismounted Mightyhorn and pat his hide when he leapt off into the grass between buildings. Jun pushed into the traffic of the crowd and moved in toward the tavern. As he passed Harvesters they gawked openly, the Woodsmen he recognized gave him a nod. Some patted his back or gave out a whoop. These weren’t Woodsmen from the initial strike, these were Manala’s Woodsmen. Jun suddenly realized why the traffic had picked up. Manala was transforming the town by the minute.
Jun stepped up the porch in one bound, and entered the cleared our tavern. Crates of supplies were being stacked in the corners, tables and chairs had been moved and the entire Western wall had been removed. A massive extension was in the works, Harvesters and Woodsmen alike worked every foot. In the far side of the room a very angry Deon glared at the most monstrously exotic woman to exist.
Manala, the mother of the forest.
Jun found himself kneeled before her, “Your highness.”
She slapped him with such force, and he fell over. He managed to catch himself, shifting at the last moment to avoid using his broken arm. The strike left his cheek tingling, he could taste blood in his mouth again.
“You made a mess of things, Harver.” Her voice was poison poured over ice. “You realize the state you left Harvesthome in? If I hadn’t shown up when I did, you could have had a second revolution on your hands.” She stared down at him coolly; her chestnut hair down to her tan-shoulders. She was older than him, perhaps by a decade or two; but there was a natural maternity to her composure. She was wrathful, and compassionate; caring and deadly all wrapped in one. Manala was wise beyond her years, and tall beyond comprehension. She had led the Woodsmen to cease their raids and focus their attempts on capturing and educating the Gatherers.
She fed her people, kept her boarders secure, and ruled with fairness and grace. She was a better queen than any Jun had read about. She was Manala, the Mother of the Queenwood; thus, some called her queen. Though never to her face. Jun was the only one foolish enough to do so. He couldn’t help but smile.
“If you hadn’t arrived so late, maybe they wouldn’t have been so eager to revolt.”
“You suggest that you need me. Odd. Makes me wonder why I was left behind to begin with.” She made a play at studying her nails, which were dark with dirt and stained with Grass-kin juice. “You are fortunate that Everet Lanson returned when he did, he gave us the all clear before he even knew you had decided to go forward with your attack.” She raised an eyebrow, and some of her mysticism faded; a smile played on her lips, and for a moment Jun saw the Woman beneath the reputation.
But it vanished behind the mask of authority. Jun just laughed.
“Sana sent Everet to keep him from pestering me the whole time.”
“It appears as if he suspected your next action. Not only that, but it also appears that he had faith in you. Everet is not as useless as you would have me suspect, Harver.” She turned to a runner that came up to her in a rush and whispered in her ear. She hid any reaction from her face, but her eyes darkened. She nodded and the runner went off. “Aside from your foolish departure, which you shall explain, I am impressed to see the town in the condition it is in.” Her soft features studied him for a moment, the noise of construction was making it difficult to hear. Manala seemed to notice. “I’ve sent for the others to assess their company situations and then assemble in Deon’s suite.”
Jun laughed when he saw the look on Deon’s face. The man didn’t like being mocked, and just by looking at Deon it was clear to see he never lived in anything that could be compared to the mansions of Solstice. “We’ll know soon enough where we stand, Manala. In the meantime you must excuse me. I am going to pass out.” He stumbled past her and managed not to trip up the stairs. He walked down the narrow hall, passing four doors on his left until he came to number 14C. He lazily pushed the door open, moved to the bed and passed out. The seconds before sleep were long.
They were the screams of the dying.
The pleas of the innocent.
The shrill of blade slicing skin.
They were his sins playing before his eyes.
As Jun drifted off into sleep, he heard the voice of Hal whispering in the back of his mind.
I’m not going anywhere, Jun.
Deon’s room certainly wasn’t a suite.
By the most it was twice as large as any of the guest rooms, and while the hearth was large enough to fit a man, it hadn’t been used in some time. The Corna sunset had long passed, and Tarna was beginning to make its descent. Jun stared out the slated window, letting his tired eyes catch the busy Harvesters finishing up their jobs for the day. Dal Niente would soon come, and in the pitch darkness there was no possible way to work safely. Torchlight could help, but the hour of darkness was not to be taken lightly; and Harvesthome was a suspicious town. Jun wondered what the Harvesters would use for ghost stories now that the Woodsmen were no longer the monsters. The thought made him smile.
The smile made him tired. Everything made him tired, despite the dozen or so hours of rest he had earned. He fell into a deep sleep, but it was empty of all dreams. On the one hand, no dreams meant no haunting nightmares; but more importantly it meant a rather short-feeling lapse of rest. He felt as though he had closed his eyes for a moment, only to see the day had passed. Fortunately he was too exhausted to stay awake, despite the horrors of the day. But enough of the day had passed now, and there was a great deal to be decided tonight.
In the slightly-larger than very-small room, the others discussed among each other in hushed voices. Jun turned from face to face, trying to determine the state of the town by those present. Hyatt Mejini sat on a crate he brought from the tavern to serve as an extra seat. He spoke to Jore Horpe calmly, who received the words with a blank expression of his pale features. The sun-tanned Hyatt looked exhausted, but Jun couldn’t tell if it was from a lack of sleep or from an excess of downtime.
Hyatt wasn’t a fighter; he was brave and protective, but he had to go through great lengths to prepare for Jola’s ranch. Was the entire afternoon a letdown to him? Jun watched the man’s lips move, his large dark eyes searching Jore Horpe for some response. Horpe just sat in silence, taking in his surroundings. Of all the people in the room, Horpe was the one he knew least about. Jun didn’t trust him yet, the vague expression he wore like a glove was unsettling.
Of course Manala sat at the far end of the room, her back straight in the elaborate reading chair that Deon fancied. In her hand she held a goblet that contained a vintage Autumn-ale that she sipped from time to time, enjoying the aromas. Deon sat next to her like a puppy, whispering in an excited voice about the plans for the Bounty, and his personal plans for a brewery. Manala just smiled at him and nodded, feigning interest in a way Jun had never seen. She loved her drink, but excess had always been seen as a crime to her.
She was the mother of the needy, greed was her nemesis.
Sana Lanson stood next to Jun, ignoring the crate that Hyat Mejini had brought up for her to sit on. Her arm was still wrapped in the sling, but Jun noticed her moving the fingers now and then to keep limber. Even with her wound, she was a strong presence; all of her innocence had solidified into the stern expression that she now wore on her face. She was staring at Manala fiercely, Jun wondered what her gaze might be betraying. Was it respect? Did Sana envy Manala? Jun even let himself wander as far as passion before Everet Lanson entered the room through the light wooden doorframe.
He closed the door behind him, and took the crate next to Sana. She glared down at him, he smiled up at her. Everyone seemed to quiet down, and then the silence became a moment of rest. For just a couple of seconds everyone just looked at each other. With all their differences aside, they were family; and like a family that has been through a traumatic event, they were all expecting the next person to make the first move.
Gather Lee sat next to his brother, Yon Yelso. The two felt out of place perhaps, surrounded by people who were not only their elders, but also their respectable superiors. Of course they would remain silent, they didn’t feel entitled to speak. But with Corin Mohanas and Nor Makus still missing, Manala had insisted on adding two more people to the makeshift assembly.
Jun could have thought of a hundred more people more suited for the selection, but the Gather brothers were selected for another reason. The Harvesters loved them. Lee, Yon Yelso, and Ulgin had been Harvesthomes’ finest; possibly the most dedicated and charismatic family to have been taken by the Woodsmen. When they were lost, Harvesthome wept. When they were found, the Woodsmen rejoiced. The Gather brothers weren’t the brightest bunch, but they were passionate, and adapted to situations on the fly. When the Justices were held up in the Hall, it was youngest brother Yon Yelso who had formed the slinger rally to force them back into.
He was fifteen. And he had been largely responsible for the success of the Justice’s demise. More than anything, Jun expected this to be why he was here. Gather Lee, his elder by three years, was equally as diligent. He had gone with the outriders to cut down fleeing Justices. On two occasions during the previous Morendo-night his riders had fallen on a group of Justices. They killed ten in all, all of which had been fleeing their posts. Gather Lee was a hero in the Woodsmen’s eyes. And the eldest brother, Gather Ulgin, was currently out searching for Corin and Nor.
Jun had a feeling he wouldn’t be successful.
The silence dragged on for an eternity. But when Jun brought himself out of his weary reverie, he realized that the others’ were fighting smiles. Everyone but Manala was grinning like a child during Harvest-festival; even Deon had a gaped toothy grin. They were proud; they were giddy from the exhaustion and the victory. They wanted to rejoice, to celebrate, to get drunk and reunite with loved ones. They were naïve; they weren’t prepared for what lay ahead. Unless that was what this meeting was about.
Was Manala going to prepare the group for more?
Or was she going to deny Jun his Justice?
For the first time in a while, he felt like the odd man out. He pushed the thought aside and left it at paranoia. Something had to be done, everyone knew that. The Harvesters couldn’t live in ignorance anymore, not with the fire burning under their asses. He was going to pull this off. He was going to turn Orphan upside down. He whispered a prayer of guidance.
“Jola Harven is dead. His ranch, along with his family, laborers, and whoever else may have been hiding out on his property have been killed.” The report sounded cold coming from his lips. Like he wasn’t the one saying the words. Hyatt Mejini caught his eye, and then stared at the ground. “The Woodsmen that accompanied me on the assault have all returned accounted for, informants tell me that the Harvesters suspect little; though there is a rumor spreading. Most believe that renegade Harvesters with a grudge against Jola saw the chaos of last night as an opportunity to extract some revenge. While this is not true, I suggest we let those rumors spread. Better to have some revenge-seeking Harvesters, then Harvesters that stood against our cause.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you manage this?” Everet Lanson asked in his most contemplative voice. Jun hated the man, he wondered how such a feeble pacifist could be related to a destructive force like Sana. “How did you manage to take out the resistance. After all, I doubt that Jola Harven would stand by and let you massacre his family—”
“You assume too much, Invalid!” Hyatt Mejini was on his feet, his tan features screwed up in anger. “We didn’t lay a hand on them, though we must have outnumbered them three to one.” He turned to Jun who just stared back at the brave man. “It was because of Jun that we won the day. He put himself before the rest of us, walked up to the Ranch and demanded to speak to Jola.” The Gather brothers seemed to be enjoying the tale, Jun sighed. Great, the last thing he needed was admirers; especially when he felt so miserable about the whole ordeal. “He talked to Jola for a couple minutes, but…But he wouldn’t listen. Jun tried to warn them, he gave them a way out, but Jola refused.”
“So you killed them all?” Everet let his resentment fill his words, and no one was surprised by the honesty behind them. Everet was disgusted by unnecessary violence. “We need all the help we can get! We can’t be killing Harvesters, Jun! Do you realize what you could have done if anyone had seen!”
“No one saw. We struck at midday, and I took only Woodsmen.”
“Not to mention we didn’t kill a single Harvester, you ungrateful shit.” Hyatt was furious, his calm demeanor was threatening to burst. “Jun warned them all, not just Jola. He warned them that if they stayed with Jola they were as good as dead.” Hyatt’s voice faded out. The others in the room were confused. Everet thankfully didn’t reply, his cowardice shaming him to silence.
“Harver Jun. Explain how you managed to solve this problem.” Manala spoke casually, as if she were expecting a report. There was a reason why she was leader here, and it was because of her vision that the others could remain vigilant. Jun took a deep breath and was surprised at how difficult it was to find the words. How do you explain the events they had seen that day? How could he explain the things he had put those innocent lives through?
“Win the fight, at any cost. This was a belief of the Justice system here in Harvesthome.” He wasn’t sure why he said it, had they been right? “Sometimes the cost outweighs the victory, and I never understood the truth of that until today. Yes, it is true. We didn’t kill a single Harvester. They killed each other.” There was a collective wave of shock, Jun ignored it. “When I warned them the last time to flee, I was giving them one last chance to survive.” Jun swallowed hard, the words weren’t going to come easily. He opened his mouth and let the details flow.
He heard the scream, he turned on the back of Mightyhorn to see Deah Harven, Jola’s youngest daughter, make a run from the ranch. She held her dress in her hands as she ran, there were screams from inside the house, chaos wracked through the enclosed area. Deah didn’t even make it off the porch before the bolt took her straight in the back. The force from such close range knocked her off her feet and sent her sprawling off the porch and onto the grass below. Her limp body lay under the heat of the suns, cries raising from the ranch. Jun stared at the girl’s dead body, in his mind’s eye he saw Jore Jun’s neck explode. From there the rest was carnage, the sounds from inside the house were filled with dying screams, the thrum of bow-strings and the crunching of limbs and skulls. Twice someone tried to escape, and both times, they were shot from a bowman in the window.
Jun kicked his hart into action and charged back down to the ranch, the violence becoming an ever clearer picture in his mind as he charged. Behind him he heard Hyatt call out, and the thunder of hooves follow after him. Jun braced himself for a retaliation, but the chaos had broken up all sense of alignment. Harvesters were killing Harvesters, Jun watched through the slated windows as a man swung a hammer at another man’s wife. Jun caught a glimpse of the first man gutted by the wife’s daughter, as he charged up the steps of the porch. And when Jun threw his weight against the barred door, he saw a man lift the child off the ground by a fistful of hair and drag her up the stairs.
“No!” Jun slammed his good shoulder against the door, but it refused to budge. He stepped back, and threw himself full force, the wood snapped again. He peered into the shadows of the house, and heard the sounds of two or three more people die. His shoulder throbbed where he rammed it, but he couldn’t give up. He stepped back and gave the door a solid kick; but still it resisted his attempt.
“HELP! HELP ME PLEASE!” the scream was appalling, Jun cursed aloud. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The other Woodsmen were running up the steps by now, and a charging Hyatt Mejini ran full speed into the door. He fell through the broken wood, and struggled dazed to his feet as Jun leapt through the opening right behind him. The darkness of the house made it hard to see, Jun turned to his right to see a Harvester with an arrow in his chest collapse to the floor.
There was no time.
He barreled up the stairs and onto the second landing, from behind a door he heard the scream of the little girl. Her cries were heinous. Jun slammed into the door, and it flung open. The Justice holding the girl by the hair had a knife in his hand, the blade hovering dangerously close to her throat. Jun didn’t pause, he charged right for the Justice. Covering the space between them before the Justice could say: “—Wait! Stop! I’ll kill her!”
And he did, just a slit along her thin white throat; just a moment before Jun’s fist smashed the Justice’s face and blasted the back of his head against the wall. The girl’s writhing body kicked away, her little hands clutched at her throat as she sputtered. Jun ignored her, she was dead already; the Justice had a long way to go yet. Jun stomped on the dazed Justice’s hand and felt the fingers snap under his weight. The man screamed, Jun kneed him in the teeth. The man fought to push Jun away, but Jun just kneed him again and again.
The man’s head bounced off the wall and Jun’s knee a dozen times before he slid to his slide and meagerly covered his face with his arms. Jun kicked him with his boots, missing the first kick and slamming his toe into the wall. There was no pain, the Harvestboots had toes lined with Callaba fibers. The second kick caught the man in the throat, the third and forth mashed his nose. A fifth kick was cut off short by the two Woodsmen pulling him away by the throbbing arms.
The little girl still twitched, the Woodsmen leaning over her looked up to the others desperate. Jun turned away and left the room, he couldn’t bear the stench of blood that covered his boots, pants, shirt, and face. He needed air, he needed fresh air. When he found his way outside, he wasn’t surprised to see himself run to the edge of the porch to vomit. The fresh air was hot, it made him sick. He vomited again, missing Deah’s dead body by half a foot.
Her dead eyes stared up at him.
He felt his stomach lurch, but there was nothing left to lose.
And he had done it all.
“There are no survivors; a resistance from Jola will no longer be an issue.” The silence that followed was palpable. Hyatt stared at the floor, his face the embodiment of miserable. Everet looked mortified, his jaw locked in anguish. Even The Gather brothers had the decency to look solemn, even though their eyes shown with admiration. He didn’t have to look at Sana to know the look she would have in her eyes. They’d be measuring him, studying him, waiting for him to make a mistake. So Jun remained completely unaffected, he refused to let his emotions show. Manala just stared deep into his eyes.
“You did well. If Jola Harven had lived he would have been a thorn in our side.” Her words were bereft of any feeling. She spoke with command and efficiency, she didn’t let emotions rule her. “With all resistance defeated we can move on to securing Harvesthome.” She rose to her feet and stood an entire foot above the rest. Jun could feel the respect she demanded from the others, and they all gave it to her willingly. “There are many things to be done, and in order to prepare sufficiently; action is our greatest ally.”
“Yes! I completely agree.” Sana basically shouted, everyone glanced at her. She didn’t pull back in embarrassment, instead she wore her courage in her confidence. “We need to strike out now, while we have the morale and momentum behind—“
“Strike?! Strike what?” Everet had jumped into the fray.
“Sana, enough.” Manala said, and the room fell silent. “We have come a far way in a short time. We need to remain level-headed.” Her words weren’t an attack, but Sana seemed to take it personal. Jun had never seen her like this, she was biting at the bit to continue the murdering. Jun just wanted to rest. Hyatt Mejini remained distant, and the Gathers were watching wide eyed. “We need to reeducate a people that have done the same job for their entire lives. Harvesters aren’t students; it may take a long time to readjust our lives.”
“We can’t wait, days. Solstice won’t wait days—”
“Solstice?!” Everet was incredulous, “what does Solstice have to do—”
“We have brought chaos to Harvesthome. We can’t continue on until we restore a working way of life.” Manala looked between the two, to see if they would start up again. Sana looked away, Everet stared in confusion. “Which is why I called you all here. We need to decide what is to become of Harvesthome, we must decide how to reincorporate the Woodsmen and the Harvesters. We need to decide how we rebuild the town, and then we decide what happens next.” She spoke with dominance. Jun watched Deon eying her affectionately. Manala just stepped into the center of the room. “We can’t wait for others to return, or wait for a better moment to decide.” She turned to Sana. “As I said, now is the time for action.”
“Then let’s talk, so I can get back to doing what I do best.” Sana was on fire with tension, Jun watched her closely. Her muscles were flexed, jaw clenched, and neck straight. She wanted nothing more than to go. She hated sitting around, and Jun had commanded her to do so all day. Of course He had the chain of command over her, but he knew she would listen. Of course now she was more reckless than ever.
“We are sorely missing the presence of Nor Makus, but we’ll have to make do with where we are at.” Manala then started to speak, and her words never slowed. They came on, one after the one, with no pauses breaks or silences. She listed off information that made Jun’s head spin; the number of the deceased, their apparent deaths, and names. Jun felt some relief when he noticed neither Eena or Mona Hobbin in the spiel. But Manala never slowed, and on she went. She ran the projected cost in repairs, the amount of labor it would take per project. She rattled off building plans and town revisions, which of course left the bounty for the Town-center; something Harvesthome never had. She spoke about new job tasks and described them briefly.
In addition to Harvester and Gatherer, there was now going to be Provider, Builder, Hunter, Scouter, and Transporter. The term Woodsmen was abolished, and she had everyone in the room promise to punish anyone who used the tern; even other Woodsmen. The Harvesters and Gatherers would continue as usual, the Provider would be in charge of preparing the Grass-kin and helping in medicine. The Builders would rebuild and repair damage to property. Hunters were going to track down the fleeing deer, and be in charge of breeding harts. Scouters searched the boarders, and Transporters were to move all assortments of things from the Crux to the Town-center.
They argued over what would be put where, but in the end Manala’s pre-emptive decisions worked for everyone. Because Manala hated to waste time, she also reappointed Hatchers; who would be in charge of growing light-caps, incubating glow worms, and studying the fauna of the valley. “We shall use the environment as we did in the Crux, and we will do it on a grand scale. Dal Neinte shall no longer be an obstacle.” People were assigned tasks, and the group decided who would take the leadership roles. Deon was jokingly suggested to be Prime Provider, but ended up with the role anyway. Gather Yon Yelso became Prime Scouter, and Gather Lee became Prime Transporter; something he accepted quite grudgingly. Builder and Harvester were left to two Harvesters that Manala somehow knew, but no one else seemed to. Sana was immediately elected Prime Gatherer, but she remained stone-faced when she heard the decision. Jore Horpe accepted the role of Prime Hunter humbly, and then stared off into the distance for a long time. Everyone else was assigned a different role, and when it came Jun’s turn no one knew what to suggest.
“I say we make him a Provider.” No one laughed at Everet’s joke, except Jun.
“You don’t have to spend enough time with me already, Lanson?” Jun gave Everet and wicked smile, and the other just laughed. True enough, Jun was nervous. Whatever Manala said could determine his future, a single misstep could spell disaster for everything he had worked so hard to obtain up until this point. He held his breath and looked from face to face, they all studied him cautiously.
They stared at him for a long time, before Sana’s hand rested on his shoulder.
“Jun doesn’t need an occupation.”
Manala looked at the girl, understanding written on her face. “Everyone must become a part of society, if we are to succeed—”
“We need action. I know this.” Sana stepped toward Manala, and though she was a whole head shorter she appeared to grow to the same size. “So what’s your role, Manala? Are you going to become a Harvester?” The question was disrespectful, no doubt about that; but it was a good question. For the first time in all of her life, Manala would lose the respect she had tried so hard to cultivate as a Woodsman. The Harvesters didn’t know her, and they certainly wouldn’t take commands from a woman. To be Prime Gatherer or Prime Harvester was one thing, but leadership roles and pure leadership were two different ideals in Harvesthome. The Harvesters may get offended if Manala inserted herself as leader of Harvesthome. Not to mention, they would never follow her into battle.
But Jun also recognized a fact. If Manala wanted to keep her position of command and be a respected leader then her best choice would have been to appoint herself Prime…something. But all of the positions were filled; proposed and agreed to by her own command. What was she playing at? She obviously hadn’t forgotten about herself. Jun stared deep into her brown eyes, and froze when she glanced at him. A knowing look shot toward him, and for a moment he knew what she had planned all along.
“I will be stepping down as leader of the posthumously known Woodsmen.” There was silence following her decree, as if no one quite believed it. “I will become a Hatcher, which is what I studied before becoming mother of the forest. It is where my knowledge and skill will be most useful, as I know more about Helen’s nature than any other soul alive. But since I cannot appoint myself as Prime Hatcher—”
“I nominate Manala to be Prime Hatcher of Harvesthome.” The words shot out of Jun’s mouth so quick, that everyone glanced at him curiously. Only Everet seemed to be aware of what was going on, his suspicious nature made him sharper than the rest. Perhaps provider was not the best position for him.
“I appose.” Everet stared wide eyed at Jun; his expression read, what do you think you’re doing.
“I second the appointment of Prime Hatcher for Manala.” Sana cast her vote, and the rest followed accordingly. Jun wondered if they were just following his example, if any of them really knew what it meant to remove Manala from her position. She was so clever that for a moment Jun almost felt bad, but she had wanted this. Why else would she appoint him last?
“As Prime Hatcher I swear to develop the most efficient fauna and cultivate flora to produce more fruit, light our streets, and our path along the way to the Holy Horizon.” It was an old oath, a tradition so long passed that Jun only knew of it because he had to study them as a Justice once. That time seemed so far away, as if all of that had happened to someone else. The long hours spent looming over books, and records he could hardly read. How old did that make Manala?
Most of the class had to be lectured to, and since only the Prime Justice was required to know how; he would read for the entire team. Makor Betheloo was a legendary bore, and his ability to read only emphasized that point. He would drone on about codes of honor, rules of leadership, and the history of the valley. His favorite tale was the Blood-Harvest, and for that Jun had enjoyed watching him die. The screams of drunken terror as Indignation thrashed him in the Autumn-grass. The boisterous laughing of Corin Mohanas. Everything was so vibrant, that Jun almost missed his cue.
“As leader of Harvesthome, I swear to put the people before myself, to produce a bountiful Harvest year after year, and to lead my people through the terrors of Dal Niente. I swear to guide them along the path to the Holy Horizon.” The oath was like a book before him, spoken from a memory too painfully clear to bear. “I swear to be Just, to let my actions be determined by what is deemed right by the law, and to protect the people of Harvesthome from the terrors of Dal Niente. I promise to guide them along the path to the Holy Horizon.” The Justice’s oath, something Jun had tried time and time again to forget. He didn’t realize until he was finished that he had spoken it aloud. Hal had been next to him, when he had sworn the oath. The look of pride in their young faces, Jun remembered the way Hal stared at him, smiling. It was them against the world.
“I swear.” He continued, before anyone could interject. “To pull the wicked from the ground like weeds, and cast them into the fire. I swear, to restore hope, to create a world where all people are created equal. I swear to dismantle superiority, to destroy slavery, and enforce peace until it has time to grow its own roots. I swear to give my life to my subjects, to put my sacrifices before theirs. I promise to never be intimidated, defeated, or have my resolve diluted! I swear to restore justice to Harvesthome, Solstice, the Southern Cities, Orphan, and all of Helen!” By the time he was finished, he was near yelling. His passion was taking over. He could hardly contain himself, this is what he was meant to do.
“I second the appointment of Harver Jun, to the position of King.” Sana’s words rang out. He shot Sana a glance, who just smiled at him with her white teeth shining menacingly; her green eyes alive with the fire of life. Jun suddenly found himself wondering whose idea this had been all along.
“King of Harvesthome!” The Gather brothers jumped to their feet in a cheer.
“King of redemption.” Hyatt joined it.
“The King of vengeance!” Jore Horpe shouted, standing to his feet.
“King of the North.” Manala smiled openly.
“King of death. King of blood and destruction. King of the end of the world.” Everet contributed.
“King of the Harvest.” Deon contemplated.
Harver Jun stood tall, and held his hand upward. The room grew silent. His eyes were a fire with the responsibility, power, and weight of his actions. He could feel the burden become unbearable, but the pain drove him onward. Even if his reign lasted only an hour, he was alive with the fire of action. There was so much to do so much to accomplish, but first… The blood pumped hot through his veins.
“There is still much to be done. I have giving my life to my people, and I swear to bring them the Justice that is entitled to us. The world will shake under our wrath. I will bring the over privileged abominations of Helen to their knees. There is much to be done. But first.
“We burn the Kingwood.”
A week had passed since that fateful night.
A week since the death of Justices. A night that was so momentous in the small town, that it was all anyone could talk about. Preparations were made, houses were built, farmland was redistributed; and for the first time known to any, people were working hard for something they believed in. A new Harvesthome. The transformation was spectacular, as Jun had heard it said many times around town. People were helping one another, feeding one another, and even laughter could be heard late at night.
A week had passed since that night, when Harver Jun was jokingly labeled king; and a week since the title stuck. He had no legal powers of course, Harvesthome was a free-man’s town. Nonetheless, people listened to him, they respected his authority. Some challenged him, Manala with her cautious words of wisdom, and Everet with his insistent complaints. Jun was grateful for both, without them he knew he wouldn’t be fit to rule. The thought brought a smile to his face. Rule.
Harver Jun. King of the Harvest.
He despised the title, but everyone seemed to get amusement from it. Deon had called him “King of the cups”, after proving his fortitude in drink. Jun vaguely remembered the night, full of twirling, and chasing and vomiting. A good night was never complete without excess; and Jun had put the rest to shame with his drinking. The only two who managed to keep pace were Deon himself, and Sana Lanson, who seemed completely impervious to the ale. Jun thought back on the night, a little ashamed of the advances he had made on every single present female at the time. Then again, none of them seemed to hold it against him.
He was drunk, it was a celebration.
Everyone was in high spirits.
But this evening had put a bitter taste in some mouths. Many still questioned the importance of such a task; Everet being the forefront of each question. “Why again is this necessary?” “Do you have any idea how long it’s been there?” “The Harvesters may be upset once it’s gone,” and such. Jun had just waved him off; there was nothing he could say that would change his mind. The night of celebration he had been too drunk to properly defend his points. The truth was, the Kingwood had to be destroyed. What better way to do it than burn it all through Dal Niente?
At the Eve of the Harvest Festival.
On the night he proposed the burning, everyone seemed shocked. Even the naïve Gather brothers sat agape. Jore Horpe laughed, Deon snorted, and Everet may as well have shit his pants. Sana had just stared at him, giving him a cold calculating glance. She was always testing him, trying to be just one step ahead of his plans. Perhaps she had known all along he would lead Harvesthome, perhaps she was a perfectionist trying to master the art of foresight. Whatever the case, she hadn’t expected this.
Only Manala was able to remain composed. “I hope this is a jest.”
“Absolutely not.” Then the room exploded into chaos, shouts of blasphemy and incredulity.
“Harver Jun,” Manala cut to the source, “for as long as I have known you, you have been an ally to nature. You have respected the soil, leaf, grass, and sky; you even descended from a long line of Harvesters. Certainly you understand the implications of this suggestion.” Her voice was like rolling thunder.
“Suppose I don’t.” The words stung, Manala didn’t flinch but everyone else did. Jun couldn’t lose them now. Not when they had just titled him. “What is the Kingwood? Can any of you tell me what it means? What its purpose is? Can anyone here enlighten me to the importance of the tree, the affect it has on the surroundings and the people of Harvesthome?” There was silence, when Everet made a move to interject, Jun just bulled him over. “The Kingwood was named so by a wandering Noble, who decided to claim something of ours and give it to a monarch that he sought favor from. A disgrace and slap in the face to our freedom and hard work. This Noble named the tree Stamferst, originally; after a king that he owed a great deal of coin. He supposed that instead of repaying the half-thousand blessings he owned, that he could steal from the unfortunate and repay the debt.
“As it so turns out, the person Stamferst wasn’t pleased with our tree. He had the Noble executed, and had the tree re-named Kingwood.” Jun stared into the eyes of Manala. “They took our livelihood, and claimed our landmarks for their own. You can bet that they never once asked a Harvester for his opinion. And despite the mighty tree being presented as a gift, possibly the most wondrous gift Harvesthome could offer, it was still turned aside. Renaming it Kingwood was an act of claiming ownership, and mocking our greatest natural landmark. The Kingwood may have been something beautiful once, but it’s long since been shit on by the ‘privileged.’ ”
“How could you possibly know all this?” Everet managed between Jun’s breaths.
“I know much more than just that, Lanson. As a Justice I spent days studying the history of Harvesthome, learning the name of our lieges; the preferences of our puppeteers. Did you know that this same Monarch that named our tree ‘Kingwood’ owned half of Harvesthome’s crop? The Northeast corner, past old man’s point and the twisted tree. And Everything between there and here was entitled to him. He never even claimed his Autumn-grass! But of course, but he set the prices. ‘A half-grain less than the land over’. To the outside world we have never been anything more than a mule that feeds the mouth.” Jun sat back in his chair, Manala studied his face. “Well that was three generations ago, and not a single heir or ‘noble’ has deigned to come and claim a single grain. They haven’t even come to collect their share of the profit, knowing that Harvesters have been fucked out of any sort of compensation. So not only do they own our wares, none of the workers even know it!
“Why do you think that they did this in the first place? Because they want us to own us, we are their bargaining chips; a reliable food supply for fuck’s sake! They know we work, and we produce more every year. They want us to continue working, indefinitely, thinking that we are free to live our lives. So long as we produce Autumn-grass for the Northern region, then everyone is happy. Everyone gets their favorite pastry, their favorite slice of cake.
“So. Other than the obvious reasons, why wouldn’t we want to destroy the tree?”
The pause was long, only an uncomfortable shifting noise could be heard from Everet’s crate.
“If the name insults you, let us just rename it.” This time Jore Horpe had spoken.
“That sounds reasonable. Can anyone tell me what the Harvesters might think if we just renamed the Kingwood?”
“They would appreciate it, surely more than destruction.” Everet scoffed.
“Naw, they wouldn’t give two shits.” Deon spat.
“If you honored their sacrifice by naming it after a fallen Harvester, during the liberation—“
“Like Jore Jun! Many of the town people would be honored!” The Gather brothers contributed eagerly, completely unaware of their candidate’s elder brother sitting less than four feet away. Jore Horpe just stared at the ground, blank expression making his face hard to read.
“If we change the name of the Kingwood, people would wonder why. We could name it in honor of our freedom, but it would still remain as the Kingwood to many. To most, in fact.” Sana Lanson supported Jun’s vision, as he knew she would. “If we let it stand—“
“Then they still have power over us, and we forfeit our freedom of action.” Jun looked around the room and laughed. “How can you expect me to let it stand?! It’s a mark of our slavery! Just as prevalent as the Justice system! When we came to take Harvesthome, we came to overthrow the old way of life. The Kingwood is a strong part of Harvesthome, yes. But it is a part of the Harvesthome we are trying to bury.
“So long as the Kingwood stands, the old Harvesthome will remain. And I won’t stand by and watch the sacrifice of the Woodsmen, and Harvesters alike go disrespected. We came here to stir a revolution, to uproot the society. Not for a big family reunion.”
It was as simple as that. Jun hated ultimatums, but this was something he could not allow. If they had continued to deny him, he would have stolen off into the night and burnt it himself. There was no way around this, and Jun had won the argument. A quick glance around the room told him so. The Kingwood was a symbol to be abolished, no doubt about it. Burning it on the eve of the Harvest festival would have a much greater impact on the Harvesters than renaming it in honor of the dead. It was a sign of violent refusal, and most importantly it wouldn’t go un-noticed.
And he needed the attention of the world.
But Manala had stood firm. After an hour of debate, she had relinquished her concerns; and they compromised with one week before the burning. A week would allow them time to scour the tree, stripping it of useful resources and foodstuff. They would lose the significance of the Harvest Festival, but the potential resources seemed a worthy sacrifice to symbolism. As Prime Hatcher, Manala knew the bounty of ‘utility nature’ that existed in that particular ecosystem. She spoke of wonders hidden within the caverns of the twisted bark, and Jun sat and considered the words. The longer Manala went on, the more she sounded like one of Hal’s stories. Jun tried not to think of his dead youth, but of course that only caused the thought to flare more brilliant. And it wasn’t a bad memory after all.
Jun and Hal sat outside on Jun’s back porch, the hour was late and Dal Niente was dangerously close to reigning. They conversed in hushed whispers, laughing like only children could in the depth of night. Hal had something cupped in his hands, and Jun could still feel the anticipation of seeing what it was. He had begged Hal to show him, but Hal had always been bigger of the two. “You have to wait!” Hal repeated over and over, and Jun found himself laughing despite the frustration. Waiting was never his strong suit. As Tarna sank below the Horizon, Dal Niente spread across the land like the laying of a thick black blanket. Hal gave a rare wicked smile, looking up to Jun. “What are you afraid of the darkness?”
Oh course Jun was, but he was pretty sure Hal was too. “No.”
When everything turned black as pitch, Jun held his breath; he couldn’t even make out the shape of the boy before him. All he could see was the swirl of shadows, and a faint crack of blue light. Jun stared for a while, the silence covering the boys. His heart hammered. “Are you ready?” Hal couldn’t hide the excitement from his voice. Then there was a glowing blossom of light, radiating from Hal’s small palms. The light shined up across their faces at an angle that cast the scene in horrific wonder. Cradled in Hal’s delicate palm was a light cap, the biggest one Jun had ever seen. The blue frills under the cap had shed a light blue dust on Hal’s fingers, and glowed as well. When he handed the cap to Jun, he looked at it curiously smiling in wonder. Hal brushed his hands on his pants, and they glowed in contact with the fungus.
“Isn’t it amazing!” Hal was beautiful in his youthful vitality. The image of his sky-blue eyes pierced Jun’s soul, in the memory of the light-cap they glowed ephemerally. Even decades later Jun would never forget. As many boys had tried before, they split the mushroom in two and ate it. Some lightcaps had been known to have strange affects on reality, but of course neither of them expected this one to work. “It tastes terrible!” Hal complained, light flashing as his mouth open and closed; his teeth shone blue. Jun laughed and Hal’s face lit up. They laughed so hard that their glowing mouths lit the entire yard. They laughed so hard, their stomachs hurt. And they continued to laugh until they woke Jun’s mother.
The blue glow of Hal’s eyes flashed lifeless as blood drooled from his skull.
Jun shook the violent image, Manala continued her explanation of the importance of such flora. A part of Jun folded, and though his resolution burned bright, he sensed wisdom in her words. So he granted her a single week to scour the tree clean of anything useful. She complained about the impossibility of the task, but he wouldn’t waver. Set into enough groups, the tree could be scraped of natural resources within three night’s time. Manala considered thoughtfully, then agreed to the terms under the condition that she get volunteers from the other professions.
They even went as far to shake on it, Jun’s broken hand only half the size of Manala’s massive fingers. She smiled down at him, and the room dissolved of tension. Then of course the celebration started. Manala had been known to drink in the past, but when faced with the opportunity to extract rare resources she swept into motion. Before Jun could get fully drunk, a task force had set out to collect from the Kingwood. Deon had labeled the unfortunate volunteers ‘Collectors’, and the small gathering of drunken people laughed at the poor souls. Manala was going to run them into the ground.
But that week had passed, and Jun now stood in the heart of the Kingwood.
For once, the tree was silent. In the commotion of Collecting, the boughs had been greatly disturbed and most of the fauna had fled to less trafficked areas. At the eve of Dal Niente, not even the Harvesters were around now. Many had left long ago to traverse safely to the ground below, and the massive structure now had the appearance of a house that had been emptied: large strips of bark were pulled, moss and fungus and leaves were ripped and stored and organized. Jun walked around the heart with vague memories floating through his head. This had never been his place, and he certainly felt no remorse at the idea of burning it. But something was calling him, he could feel it deep within his chest. Within the hour, Tarna would set. Within the hour the heart would be aflame, and Jun would make the dangerous decent to the ground below.
With the moss stripped it was plain to see that the Kingwood was not just one massive tree, but a cluster of massive trees wound together into a elaborate mass of knotted trunk and stem. Manala had an orgasm at this discovery, as if being able to examine the tree after years of staring at it from a distance had been a well overdo bout of sex with a long lost lover. He had never seen her so alive with emotion and passion, and as she ran about her collections she sang. Like a big stupid child, she was giddy with love. Jun couldn’t help but think they were doing the right thing.
This tree had to burn.
And Naturally Jun had been the first to volunteer.
“Tarna will set soon.”
Under one condition, naturally.
Sana’s voice echoed through the gutted heart. Jun turned to face her, scowling. Sana had an impatient frown on her face; every moment he lingered, the darker her expression grew. She wore her traditional grey garb; a memory of Woodsmen past. She stood tall amidst the nature, her gaze cold and hard. Her shoulder had healed a couple days past. She was told not to use it, but of course she did. Sana Lanson didn’t rest. “You realize that if you wanted to get down safely you should have lit that fire two hours ago.”
“I know.” He stared at her, wondering why she was here.
“Did you plan on going up with the flame? Because I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
“Oh. That’s almost touching.”
“Fuck yourself. I don’t plan to die in some fucking overgrown tree. I came to make sure you had the balls.”
“An area that I am sure you were the most equipped to help in.” He caught the smile she tried to hide, and laughed at that. He wondered if Deah Harven thought he had ‘the balls’ to massacre her family. Her dead eyes caught his for a moment, as he had thrown up next to her body. “It will burn. There’s enough Trush-silk here to destroy all of Harvesthome. There’s no need for you to stay, Sana. I can see that you’re in a hurry,” he turned away. “But I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life. So if you are going to complain the whole time, like your brother, than you can piss off.” His eyes were cold upon the nest. The invertebrates floated in the chasms below, their bodies stuck together where they touched. They floated together like a massive brain, hovering away from the surrounding walls that were coated thick with their silk. The hoard was asleep, possibly comatose with Tarna so low in the horizon and the temperature dropping. The form they created together was so massively surprising, that for an instant he couldn’t believe how small the individual Thrust-rays were.
There were millions of them. Many millions.
They were pests, terrible in the high heat of summer; when they were most active and devoured everything. They swarm like a cloud of projectiles, bouncing off one another and shooting into fields to feast. What makes them float is a mystery, but it’s the silk they spin from their abdomens that is even more unusual. It could be spooled and used as bandaging, though it was rarely used because of the silk’s natural tendency to combust when exposed to intense sunlight. It was used in candles, making a wick that burned twice as bright as thread. Many even sought the thin material for ingestion; it could be brewed in hot water, carefully, to create the Thrush-sap that so many were addicted to.
The silk was highly flammable, to say the least; and this much of it should eat through the tree before Corna rose again. To see so many Thrush-rays gave Jun the chills. He was watching a storm on the horizon, watching the potential build and build. Somehow it still seemed so far away, yet here he was. He stood above the cluster with his torch; the light couldn’t even encompass the whole shape through the cracks in the chasm. Before he commanded the burning of the Kingwood, no one had even known of the millions of floating creatures that lay right below them. The thick carpet of moss had long since hid the hive from the sun, acting as a living hibernation cell. Jun didn’t know much about Thrush-rays, but even this seemed un-natural.
It’s the perfect pyre. The Thrush-silk goes up, and the tree burns from the inside out.
But now that he was staring down through the cracks in the chasm, he didn’t know if his original idea was sound. He hadn’t planned mass-execution, but how hard could it be? He had killed so many thus far, what were a few million more? Besides, if they were left now it would only be a catastrophe. Without the thick moss blanket hiding the hive from Corna, the Thrush-rays would devour the entire valley of Autumn-grass by full Corna. And there was no telling what a hive this big may do.
Jun thought to himself for a moment.
Thrush-rays grew manic in heat, setting them on fire could be a bad idea.
But he couldn’t back down now.
“Do it, Jun.”
He released the torch and it hit the floating hive below. Before he could turn away the Thrush-rays sheared away from the flame in orange flying streaks of heat. There was a slight delay, but the rays around the flame started to shift awake their skin shimmer as they started to float. Then the first one exploded in a bang. The blow started a reaction of exploding carapaces; white with blaring hot ‘pops’. They flared about the chasm with exploding force, smashing into others that exploded on impact. Before Jun could even begin to run, he felt twenty or so small explosions shake the tree. He nearly lost footing; the sheer brightness of the outburst had stunned him.
The Thush-rays weren’t just manic, they were literally exploding.
He heard the muffled cry of voices, and saw Sana reaching for him. Jun came to and shook the shock from his head, he couldn’t remember falling over. The ground below him started to shake, chunks of wood shooting up around him. Run, Jun! He tried to shake the stun, but before he could get his bearings his feet carried him out of the heart in a blearing wash of flash and bang. Everything subsided for a moment, the sounds less deafening outside the heart. Explosions erupted around him, but there was no time to stop.
And in the confusion of the exploding invertebrates, he had gone the wrong way.
He risked a glance back into the heart, and saw the ground erupting into splinters. A scatter of flaming Thrush-rays shot into the air before exploding into white pops. The heart was impassable; he was going to have to find another way down. He shook the shock from his head and turned to launch down the spiral of branches leading to the bottom of the monstrous exploding tree. He took the first step, and was immediately forced to stop. The knot in the wood he stood on dropped an immediate thirty feet or more.
A dead end.
He turned to climb back up, and a streak of light flew just before his eyes.
Pop.
His head struck the side of the trunk, and for a moment the world spun. His vision flashed small starbursts and circles; the tree shook under his supporting weight. He couldn’t even hear his own scream over the carnage, his good hand came away from his face covered in blood. In that short instant he knew he was going to die. His vision returned slowly, the growing light from the heart was illuminating the cracks of the tree from within, shining light out of every crevice. Thrush-rays squeezed into cracks only to die their violent deaths; splatter steaming liquid into the gnarled bark. Jun pushed himself against the trunk, and made himself as small as possible.
And that when he saw it before him.
A crack in the branch directly in front of him. Or was it? The night was approaching and without light from Tarna, Jun couldn’t afford to get trapped. Four Thrush-rays shot from the heart and popped in cadence, creating a beautiful splash of white light that showed him the way. There was no time to lose, and there was no turning back.
Jun hoisted himself into the crack, and prepared himself to slide down. He imagined being launched out into the open air and falling to his death, but squeezed in despite the fear. His shirt tore up the back, but he managed to slip through the crack and slide down into a pile of strategically placed leaves. He sat for half a second, taking in his surroundings. A memory flashed through his mind, but it was so distant he couldn’t even begin to understand where it came from. The constant flashes shone through the cracks along the trunk, and Jun pushed himself up to run. There was a branch above and below him, as he darted forward he saw signs of inhabitance.
“I’m not going anywhere, Jun.”
The words made him trip, and he fell face first to the hard bark. Pop pop pop, the branch shook underneath him, blood dripped off his face. He frantically checked around him. What was that? The flashing light was growing brighter, the need for haste increasing by the moment. Yet Jun found himself sitting up, the words still fresh in his mind. I’m not going anywhere, Jun. Hal. Jun was dead, he had to be.
It was the only way to explain the sight of his dead friend, flashing before him in cadence with the Thrush-rays. The sound was appalling, the screams, the death, the pops, and cracks. For an instant Jun watched in horror as Hal stared down at him, hand fully extended, finger pointing at his chest. What if the cost was greater than the victory? Then just as quick, the image was gone, lost in a brilliant flash of erupting white light. Jun was lying on his back again, staring up at the branch above him. Laying inverted on the ceiling above was the body of Hal. Blood dripped out of the crack in his skull, and evaporated into puffs of blood red smoke. Jun screamed in fury and hate and anger and sorrow and—
And Hal just smiled.
“I’m not going anywhere, Jun.”
Jun was up again, rushing down the tunnel between branches. A Thrush-ray shot between his legs, his ears rang and thumped with his racing heart. He was afraid, unable to define or explain his surroundings. The darkness that flashed at every moment threw off his balance, but his feet carried him onward regardless. He ran at full speed, stepping in just the right spots to avoid tripping and going down. A crack in the branch below him shimmer amber light, but there was no Thrush-ray in sight. He bound over the crack in a massive jump; the light heated his skin where it was exposed, and for an instant he felt lighter than the air around him. When he crashed into reality again, the sound of the branch cracking below him sent a chill up his spine.
He reached the end of the branch and didn’t stop to see how far the drop was. He fell about ten feet before landing and the explosion behind him caused the branch above to start falling. But Jun was doubled back already, bounding down the tree with or without the light to guide him. His heart raced, his vision grew keen, even his feet moved at a pace in which he could not explain. The large tree crumbled down toward him; time seemed to slow, splitters blowing free from the trunk drifted out slowly to collide all around. But he slid by them like water, his mind sharp and focused; his veins pumping with urgency.
When he leapt to the next branch down, the crash behind him blew embers into the air. Amber light flared, illuminating his landing. Jun adjusted his landing midair then continued on at full speed, seeing someone standing out at the extremity of a branch. A man with arms crossed, his back toward Jun; but his face twisted around at a sickening angle. The man wore a Justice’s cape stained with blood, the thick black staff clutched tightly in the typical stance. Jun charged on, ignoring the visage; bent on his own survival. The man stared at Jun with no distinct features, his face shifted in the shadows; looking like a child one moment then an old man the next.
It looked like Jola Harven, and his daughter Deah.
It looked like Jore Jun, smiling in blood-lust pride.
It grimaced like his mother, when they shot her.
It cackled like the drunk Makor Betheloo, getting crushed under a stag.
And it bled like Hal, the words carrying across the chaos like a whisper unaffected by time.
I need to hear you say it. I need to know I’m not crazy.
It’s too late for that, Jun.
The ground rose to Jun’s feet, and when he landed his senses cleared significantly. The fear of death was constant in his mind, but he suddenly felt as if he had broken the surface of a deep lake and taken his first breath. What the— A monstrous crack followed by a deep moan signaled the failing of the second limb. It stuck the branches below it with a smash, cracking and splintering a shower of smaller fronds everywhere. The air reeked of burning wood and melting flesh. Fountains of molten bark sloughed out of the trees in popping chunks, setting fire to the outer limbs. Jun took the sight in, his heart slowly reaching a manageable level. He raised his arms above his head and screamed in elation, tears stung his eyes; the smoke threatened to suffocate him. For the first time in his life he was truly alive.
He cursed the tree, cursed the Noble who claimed it, and the Monarch that rules from afar. He cursed the Holy Horizon, cursed the creator, and watched in awe as leaves caught flame and whipped off into the night sky. Tarna sank, and the night was plunged into Dal Niente.
Somewhere back in Harvesthome Manala would be telling the Harvesters that this would be the night of no darkness. She would be bolstering their spirits, sacrificing the tree of shame and control as a vigil to those lost and those who still lived. This was the night that the Harvesters conquered the night; tonight was the last night Harvesters hid in fear of the darkness.
All because of Harver Jun’s passion.
Jun wondered if Manala was speaking his eulogy in the same breath.
He had been set up, he knew it.
Sana was gone. He hadn’t stopped to see if she had made it clear, and for that there was a pang of guilt. Jun stared up into the canopy of wood and fire, the largest pyre ever known to man. If she was in there, she was dead; if he stayed to wait for her, he would be crushed by the falling debris of the melting tree. But he couldn’t move the sight was too glorious; as if he was looking upon the face of creation. All the stories of the Holy Harvest could not compare to what he witnessed, so he now knew them to be stories. This was destruction, and through it creation would be reborn.
Jun was going to reshape the world.
When a geyser of molten light sprayed up from deep in the trunk, a shock wave boomed; lifting Jun an inch off the ground. So he ran into the darkness, but the tree burned bright enough to light his path. The sounds behind him resembled a dying animal, is hissed and screeched and popped. Twice he was blasted by a rush of air, and the heat from the tree warmed his neck. Those were the times when he ran faster than he ever had before. He hadn’t a clue how long he had been running, but he knew he couldn’t stop until he was back in Harvesthome. He pushed aside the thoughts of Sana burning, removed himself from the visage of Hal and the blood leaking from his skull. He shunned the sight of the mysterious man, and even pretended nothing odd had happened on his way down from the tree-tops. But with each step his focus waned, the burn on his face was enough to let reality seep in through the cracks.
He had to clear his mind, he had to focus on the task at hand.
He was out of breath, legs pumping at a steady cadence. Half way to the village. Ready to pass out once again.
When he heard the scream.
He turned and saw the world implode.
The space around the tree expanded, and became warped. A bright circle of light shot out from the tree like lightning, flying under Jun’s feet. The light faded into the horizon, and there was a brief pause followed by the distant sound of a wave rushing toward him. Suddenly the grass around him went up in heat, his legs shot through with fire. The scream of his lips was silent against the deafness that followed.
CRACK
Jun was flying, Autumn grass whipping over his blackened toes as he flew over it. He slowly came down however, and flipped head of feet four times. He felt the blade cuts did into his legs, the pants were curled black up to his knees; his skin hissed as if half cooked.
When his eyes opened again, he was on his back; and it appeared to be midday.
Jun hadn’t felt any time pass.
The flare of light wasn’t where Corna should have been, but came behind Jun shooting directly into the ground. Jun shook his head and rose; everything an extremely brilliant shade lighter than normal. The grass was glowing green, his blood leaving long red rivers down his legs and neck. His head swam with thoughts and information, images, landscapes, people, feelings, emotions, pain. There was a lot of pain, but the world was still. A quiet breeze flew through Jun, it warmed his chest, and made his eye hurt. There was a high pitching popping noise that repeated over and over, and Jun couldn’t hear much else; not even the normal whistling he always heard in silence.
The light just shown on. The Autumn-grass clattered blending together as it moved, the sky was yellow with spots of blue breaking through. Jun noticed that in the farthest reaches he could see night; but it was day everywhere else. And the Kingwood seemed to be the source.
Jun turned to it, but it didn’t hurt to look on. The flare was growing in brightness, but it soothed his soul. It was drawing him in; not luring, but physically pulling him forward. He realized how strong the wind grew, and it pushed toward the tree. Jun was smiling, leaning against the wind to keep from moving. A splash of color flared across the ground melting the soil where it struck and leaving a molten pool of light. Jun heard the crack return, but this time it was less blaring. Jun was forced to take a step toward the tree just to balance, and it started a chain reaction.
He planted his feet, suddenly terrified of the wind that pushed him toward the expanding glow of light that absorbed the spot on the horizon where the tree was. The glow was pouring into the ground, lighting the blades of grass, bleeding into the sky with thick trails of molten air. The air screamed around the light, pulsing in flashes of light and energy. It crackled with power, snapped like thunder without the flash. Jun fought against its pull, and watched as the ground grew softer and the air become hot and wet. He could smell sweet fragrance of flowers; almost taste the juice of Kingsfruit on his tongue. He heard a rumble, a deep penetrating shake that mixed to become a growl. The sound grew more taught, as if it were rope being stretched farther and farther. The tension hurt his ears. Jun stared into the brilliance, unable to move.
In the distance, he saw a shadow on the ground.
It walked toward him.
Struggling to fight the pull of the explosion, it fought on, step by step.
The wind whipped by Jun and he struggled to hold himself in place.
The roar became louder and louder, the form grew closer and closer. Jun fought to determine the shape of the thing, the identity of the spot in his vision. It was fuzzy in the brilliance, but as it grew closer he could see the silhouette of arm and leg. He recognized the shoulders, the long golden braid whipped back by the wind. He saw her fists clenched, legs pushing. Then he saw the circle of light flash out again. It tore under her feet, then shot under his like a ripple of light. He grit his teeth in anticipation. The figure screamed, the only sound that could be heard above the thing they both knew would come next.
CRACK
Jun was shoved back by a blast of air. He saw the figure of Sana Lanson reaching for him; then get sucked back through the air into the blinding light beyond. His eyes flashed with visions, they were heavy so he closed them. He saw memories cycle through his mind faster than he had ever thought possible; and was horrifically alarmed when he realized they weren’t his memories. He screamed in pain, his eyes threatening to bulge from his head.
Then nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
After the long silence that followed nothing, things started to make sense again. The air returned to normal. The wind disappeared, the shaking, and rumbled stopped. Forte transformed from a grey circle in a bright blue sky, to a white glowing moon in black silk. It just peaked over the East Colum, starting the Forte-night.
For the first time in history, Dal Niente had been skipped.
Jun was sore everywhere; he raised his hand to his ear and saw it was bleeding. He deftly wiped the blood away with his pinky and glance at his finger. The individual finger on his broken arm. The arm that no long ached, he flexed and stretched his wrist and fingers; unwrapping his cast in the other hand. The stint pulled away and fell to the Autumn grass in silence. He stared at his arm in disbelief; it was completely healed. His face wasn’t bleeding, his mouth was still scarred but the gut had completely disintegrated. His ears rung, but the rest of his body felt good; a tired sort of feeling you get after exerting yourself. Jun stared at the spot where the tree had grown and marveled. A large portion of the trunk remained shrouded in shadow; but shot up jaggedly in the cover of Forte. Jun stood in the darkness, letting everything wash over him. He felt as if he had spent the entire day in the sun, and the heat from it was now exuding from his skin. He felt burnt almost, but exhausted nonetheless. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a shout, a horrific blood curdling death through the darkness. It was hardly distinguishable from the ringing in his ears.
But he knew it was Sana.
Jun moved forward, his shaking legs carried him through the Autumn-grass and toward the devastated tree. Behind him he heard the cries of others, whether they were from horror or joy he didn’t bother to discern. He picked up speed, testing his tired legs and pushing beyond his limits. He tore through the singed grass that disintegrated under his bare feet. The smell of burnt wood was overpowering, and invoked memories that danced in the shadows. He ran past slabs of molten wood stuck deep in the ground that pulsed amber light; their glow warmed him even at this distance. As Jun ran on, he saw that Massive chunks of tree had shattered, most of which still greatly outsized any other tree he had seen. He scanned the darkness, not entirely certain what he searched for. He ran on and on, nearly tripping over logs and shrapnel.
Until he rounded a smoldering mountain of wood, and he saw her standing in the open.
She was staring up for Forte, its white light made her a ghost in the darkness. She stood tall, her head cranked up to the rising moon, back arched in defiance. Jun watched her for a moment, not knowing for sure if she even existed. Her clothes were gone, but she wasn’t naked; Jun couldn’t help but stare.
She was glowing.
She turned to him and her eyes shown like two beacons in her skull. She looked like a demon, so ethereal that he half expected her to transform before her eyes. In that short moment, everything Jun knew had been turned upside down. Anything could happen, the realm of reality had been destroyed in the explosion of the Kingwood. Jun’s heart froze when he noticed there wasn’t a scratch on her; even her characteristic scars had vanished. She extended a hand toward him, and then started to fade. Jun thought she was vanishing, but once the light disappeared, he saw her silhouette fall to the ground.
She was real.
When he reached her side, she was already stirring.
She was still alive.