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By Joe Douglas
CERONOS AWOKE LYING on the ground, dirt and gravel caked on one side of his face. He had no idea of how he came to be there; he hardly ever slept, and if he did, it certainly was not on this hard ground of packed earth and rock. Standing and brushing himself down, he realised he wore nothing but a loincloth of simple hessian. His clothing was not usually this frugal. Ceronos looked about him to discern what part of the Forest he was in. To his complete surprise, he did not recognise this particular portion of the path. Yet that was impossible. He had spent his entire existence in the Forest. He knew every tree and every bush, every stone and blade of grass. He knew all the animals that lived in it, and he knew the streams that ran through it. He knew the air that brushed the leaves, the insects that burrowed into the wood. He heard the whispering of the great oaks and spoke the ancient language of the dryads. He was of the Forest, and the Forest was of him. It was impossible that there was any part of it that he did not know. And yet... here he was.
Cautiously, he took a few tentative steps forward. Almost as soon as he moved his feet, he felt it; this was not his Forest. It might look like his Forest, at least on a surface level, but it did not feel like his Forest. Stopping, he looked both ahead and behind him. Behind there was nothing but darkness, the path running under a series of overhanging trees whose branches stopped all light beyond them. Ahead, the path seemed to stretch on forever, the Forest continuing by its side. Deciding there was nothing else for it, Ceronos continued forward.
As he walked, the trees on either side of the path swayed, moonlight filtering down through the canopy illuminating his way. The air was sweet and the smells of the Forest greeted him pleasantly. It reminded him of when he and the Forest were young and he was still discovering all its valleys and secrets.
After a short time he saw something moving between the trees to his right. He paused and looked, peering between the branches and trunks to see what it could have been. A moment later he saw the movement again, and this time was able to determine its source. A dryad, skin the colour of bark and hair as green as moss leapt between tree and branch. She did not appear to have seen him, and so he called out.
‘Ho, good dryad. It is Ceronos. What part of the Forest is this? For the first time in many generations I seem to find myself misplaced.’
The dryad paused upon a high branch and looked around, her water blue eyes shining. She seemed unsure. Did she not hear him? Ceronos called again. The dryad’s head tilted as if listening, and then in a flash she leapt to another branch, and then another, and was gone.
This confused Ceronos. He had a connection to all denizens of the Forest, the dryad should have heard him even if he were to whisper. What was going on here?
As Ceronos continued down the path, the Forest began to change. Trees became old and fell away, new ones taking their place. Animals came and went; deer, boar, rabbits, wolves and more. He saw the generations of their lives pass by, and some he even recognised. In some strange way, he appeared to be witnessing the life of his Forest as he walked, each step progressing a year or more in its life. He continued and watched this hastened progression of time. After a while, something new appeared in the Forest. They were brown of skin and brown of hair, but these creatures’ skin was soft, not hardened like the nymphs. While they were not as beautiful as the nymphs, they shared a similar body type.
Not as adept at navigating the Forest as the other animals, they made up for this shortcoming by developing rope and tools, fashioned from the vines, rocks and branches of the Forest. They hunted the Forest’s animals for meat and fished its rivers. At first, they lived in caves, but soon they began to make simple dwellings of stick and stone. They wore little more than loincloths, and they procreated whenever the mood took them. Ceronos remembered he had come to call them ‘human.’
It was not long before these humans had developed more sophisticated tools for building and hunting. They began to use spears and axes, and had found ways to cut and shape stone. Their dwellings, too, became more impressive and formidable. Their clothes evolved into more refined attire; robes and cloaks of many layers to help keep them warm, decorated with bright colours made from the juices of Forest berries. It was at this time that the humans began to understand the Forest more, to appreciate its systems and cycles of life. They knew when to seed and harvest crops, when to take from the Forest of its bounty, and when to leave it to recuperate for the following season. Unknown to the humans, though some humans would catch glimpses of them and dismiss it, the dryads would watch over them, as they did for all animals of the Forest. Soon enough the humans began to pray to the Forest gods, and thus came to him. Originally, he had observed them as they lived and wandered through his Forest. Now that they had become one with it, he felt it time to let himself be known. He came to them in their sleep, speaking to them through dreams. Some who were more able to hear his voice learned to hear him during the waking hours also, sitting atop a high hill, or under a particularly ancient tree, their eyes closed and their breathing measured to block out all other sounds. These, the Listeners, became leaders of their people, and soon all the humans gave thanks to Ceronos.
As he continued along the path, he came to a great redwood tree which it weaved around. The tree felt familiar to Ceronos, although he could not remember why. It was a mighty tree, huge even by the standards of redwoods. Its trunk was some thirty feet in diameter, and the top of its crown could barely be seen from the ground. It must have stood at least four hundred feet high, Ceronos guessed, and a feeling of great pride rose in his chest as he gazed upon it. Yet along with this pride, almost as strong and in the pit of his stomach, he also felt a deep sadness. Why, he was not sure, but it was a feeling to which he was not accustomed. He ran his hand along the bark of the redwood gently, lovingly, and whispered ‘It is good to see you, old friend,’ before moving on around the bend in the path.
As he came around the redwood, Ceronos was met with a sight he did not expect. Some fifteen feet further along, the path widened out into a circular clearing. At the centre of this stood a stone statue. It was not particularly big, perhaps the height of himself, but it sat upon a plinth three feet high and so stood above one’s usual eyeline. The statue was of a large, muscular man. The man stood with bow drawn and arrow knocked, ready to let fly, the muscle of the figure tensed from the strain of the bow. He was naked but for a cloak made of wide leaves and a leather breechcloth. He also wore a quiver and belt at his hip, into which were carved patterns of leaves and vines. Long hair billowed out behind him, as if the artist had intended the figure to be stood in a breeze. At the feet of the figure, along the plinth, was carved the image of a forest. A tree canopy was clearly visible, with the odd larger tree, perhaps a redwood similar to that he had just passed, breaking through. Small indentations in the shape of birds in flight appeared sporadically above the carved canopy.
Near the statue, gazing up at its face, stood a woman. Even from the other side of the clearing Ceronos could tell this was a majestically elegant woman. She stood quietly, her hands clasped in front of her, as she looked up at the statue. Due to the clearing, the Forest canopy was not as thick here; Ceronos could see the full moon shining proudly in the sky, more of its light falling on this portion of the path. The long, beautiful dress the woman wore, its train spreading out behind her without a hint of having been tarnished by the grass and leaves that covered the path floor, appeared to absorb and reflect this light, the satin like material of its make almost glowing pure white. The bodice was of a gossamer material onto which had been fastened golden beads, which glowed with a firefly light under the moon. They formed intricate patterns as they rose up from the waistline and across her breast, ending briefly before beginning again a tryptic arrow pattern rising up and along the high neck. The arms, too, held such beaded patterns, before ending in beaded cuffs just below the elbow.
Ceronos took a tentative step toward the woman. ‘Hello, my lady,’ he said.
Hearing him, the woman turned slowly toward him. The movement was as elegant as the rest of her. No sign was there of her shifting her weight or even having moved her hips; she turned as if stood upon a revolving platform. She smiled as their eyes met. Her face was kind, framed by long golden hair. Her eyes were a deep blue and her lips as red as blood. Across her forehead she wore a corolla of weaving silver, its centre forming three interwoven spirals.
‘Greetings, Ceronos,’ she said. ‘The statue is a good likeness.’
Her knowledge of who Ceronos was did not surprise him. All who set foot in the Forest knew Ceronos, for to know the Forest was to know him. What did surprise him was that until she mentioned it, he had not recalled that the statue had been made in his visage. Suddenly he remembered when the humans made it, and how he felt honoured by the gesture. The cape of leaves, which he surely must have been wearing this whole time yet somehow had not noticed, he flung dramatically to the side as he approached the woman.
‘I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, for although you know me I am sorry to say that I do not know you, my lady, or indeed where we happen to find ourselves. This place looks like my Forest, but I am rather certain that it is not.’
‘My true name has long been forgotten,’ said the woman. ‘Now, I am known as the Psychopomp. As to where we are and why we are here, I think that walking as I explain will help to make things clearer.’
Ceronos nodded and headed toward the far end of the clearing, the Psychopomp falling in step with him as he passed, Ceronos noticing that she seemed to glide across the ground more than walk.
Back on the path, the Forest on either side had thinned somewhat. Curious, Ceronos looked to the woods and saw that at various points the trees had been cleared and great wooden halls had been erected. The halls all held a large wooden plaque above their door, into which were carved the images of an arrow and bow against a backdrop of trees.
‘The Halls of Ceronos,’ the Psychopomp said matter-of-factly. Again, Ceronos remembered them as soon as she said their name. The humans had built the Halls as places of celebration and worship. As they honoured Ceronos and his Forest, they ate and danced and prayed in His name, and these halls became the focus of those celebrations. They also offered shelter and counsel in times of need. These were all the things Ceronos and his Forest offered, distilled into a single place of gathering. It was how the humans chose to honour all he and the Forest had given them.
‘Yes, I remember when these were built. They seemed very proud of them, and I was honoured. Still, it would have been nice if they celebrated within the Forest itself, yet humans do not seem to like to be caught in the rain. But tell me, lady, why are you showing me all these things from the past?’
‘So that you may see them once more before you begin your new purpose,’ she answered.
‘ “New purpose?” ’ repeated Ceronos. ‘What new purpose? My purpose is to guard the Forest, to aid all those that live in it, plant or animal. I am the Forest.’
‘And yet the Forest is no more. Behold.’ The Psychopomp gestured towards the forest that was not Ceronos’ Forest, and time within it began to speed up. With the Halls constructed, them. Then, the Halls were torn down and new Temples were erected made of stone. More human shelters came, and the clearing in which their domiciles were located had to be expanded. To this end, trees were felled, plants were pulled up and animals had to retreat further into the Forest. Their expansion continued until the small clearing had become a wide open space, and Ceronos winced at the thought of such harm to his Forest. But worse was to come.
As Ceronos and the Psychopomp watched, the humans of the Forest began to tear down even more trees. They dug up the land and laid new paths of rock and stone. Their buildings became larger and more angular, less organic. Soon, they brought machines that belched smoke and steam into the air. Metal carriages that held dozens at a time began to run through the Forest, and the trees choked on the smog from their bellies. Soon, the temples too were torn down, and replaced by other, cruller looking structures. The skies blackened and the sun that had once provided so much life to the Forest was all but shielded away. The trees sagged, and the plants withered. The animals ran to find new homes, and those that could not run died in their dens and burrows. Yet, still the humans carried on, bringing in more metal and steel and machines whose only purpose appeared to be to destroy all that Ceronos and the Forest had given them.
Ceronos stared in disbelief. All the Psychopomp had shown him he had remembered upon seeing it. But this; of this he had no memory. ‘My Lady,’ he said weakly, ‘what in all Realms have they done? I have no memory of this.’
‘This is the progress of humans,’ she said, sadly. ‘Their advancement took them on a path that was not in keeping with nature. They stopped valuing what you and the Forest provided and instead looked to these industrial machines to create their world. No longer being needed by them, and with the Forest destroyed, you did what all Gods do when their purpose is at an end; you slept. Think hard and I wager that you will remember the beginnings of this change.’
Ceronos did as she bade. For a long moment he tried to remember what he had been doing before he awoke here on this strange path. His memories were foggy and broken, but he seemed to recall seeing the stone temples torn down. He recalled seeing the trees fall and the animals skittering away. He had tried in vain to appeal to the humans in their dreams, as he had spoken to them ages ago, yet they ignored his pleading for them to stop what they were doing to his Forest. He had never been a vengeful god, but he had tried to show them his fury by bringing down storms and lightning. In their houses of imitation stone they simply laughed. The last memory he held before feeling what no god ever wishes to feel—fear—was that of the giant redwood, the one had just passed, being torn down. The humans had created biting machines which felled all before them, the great redwood no exception. But that was not enough. Once felled they cut its great trunk into smaller quarters. These they piled together and without even a hint of remorse or solemnity they set alight, the flames burning high in the night sky. And thus Ceronos fled. He fled from the destruction, the utter unmoving hearts of the humans who brought his great Forest so low. And when he could run no longer, he slept. But for how long? As if hearing his thoughts the Psychopomp gave him the answer.
‘You have slept for thousands of years. The humans’ metal covers the whole of this world now. The Forest no longer exists. Most of the animals died out long ago, with only rats and other small creatures remaining, and they must live off the scraps the humans do not want themselves. You are no longer needed here.’
‘But what is a god without purpose?’ asked Ceronos.
‘Nothing,’ replied the Psychopomp firmly. ‘But that which has lost its purpose can be given purpose anew, or fade to nothing. That is why you are here, and I shall take you to your new purpose.’
The Psychopomp waved her arm, and as she did so the visage of the Forest vanished. In its place was a void; a great space of empty night sky, billions of stars as pinpricks of light amongst the blue-black. The dirt path on which they had walked was now a huge stone bridge, the blocks of its constructions greater than any Ceronos had ever seen. He peered over the edge but could not see any ground below them, the bridge supports disappearing into the void below. A silver door appeared before them, glinting in the starlight.
‘Through this door is your new life, your new purpose,’ said the Psychopomp. ‘Once I have explained it to you, you must choose; take up your new mantle or fade into nothing.’
Ceronos paused. His Forest was gone. His world was gone. He had already slept for thousands of years. If he continued to sleep he would, eventually, return to the stuff of the universe. He would continue in some fashion, but with no memory of his Forest. That he could not abide. He nodded.
The Psychopomp opened the door, and they both stepped through. Ceronos was not sure what he had expected; a flash of light, or perhaps some feeling of renewal. Instead he found himself amongst thick foliage. It was not the foliage of his Forest, but something wilder, greater even than that had been. Full of reds and yellows, oranges and ochre, the foliage was unlike any he had seen before.
As the Psychopomp walked in front of him, the branches of trees, the vines which hung from above, even the tall grasses, bowed out of the way of their own accord. It was if they recognised her somehow, and approved of her presence. After a short time the pair passed the edge of the jungle to emerge upon a great cliff’s edge. The Psychopomp stepped to its very precipice, her sandaled toes barely an inch from where the land ended and air began.
‘This,’ she said, ‘is your new purpose.’
Stepping up behind her, Ceronos looked past her to see a vast, jungled landscape. The strange, reddish jungle continued below, thriving under a purple sky in which a yellow moon hung low. Strange birds whirled and cried, and he could hear the call of animals of which he had never known. Of all this, the most surprising were the great rings of rock that stood haphazardly across the landscape. While it was hard to gauge from this height, being as they were from fifteen thousand feet from the ground below, or so he reckoned, Ceronos supposed they must have been twenty feet in circumference each. There were thousands of them, and they continued as far as the eye could see.
‘What is this place?’ asked Ceronos.
‘Its true name has been lost, much like my own, but this place was here long before I,’ answered the Psychopomp. ‘We call it Halzara’haad which, in the tongue of the Aya means “Crossroad of Worlds.” The stone rings that you see down there, they act as gateways.’
‘Gateways to what?’
‘To anything. To everything. I’m sure you’ve felt somewhere in the back of your mind that your Forest was not all there was, that there was more to existence. Other realms, other worlds, other forests? This place is the gateway to them all.’
Ceronos stared. She was right, he had always had a niggling in the back of his mind that existence was more than he perceived, older than even his ancient Forest. But his love of the Forest caused him to ignore that feeling.
‘And what would my purpose here be?’ he asked.
‘To protect Halzara’haad. The gates swing both ways, and evil has come through them before. Centuries ago, to the west of here, a battle raged during the time of the last guardian. An invader tried to claim Halzara’haad for their own. They were, of course, defeated, but many gates were destroyed in the process. Perhaps the Aya could open the way to them again, but for us they are lost. That is something that must not be allowed to happen again. That is your purpose, should you agree to it, to be the Guardian of Halzara’haad.’
‘While part of my aspect is that of Hunter, I have only ever killed for food. I do not know if I could be Warrior, too,’ said Ceronos.
‘A Hunter is a Warrior to that which is being hunted,’ answered the Psychopomp, turning to him. ‘They are sides of the same coin; skills for one may be used for the other. A new purpose will always invite change, but that change is always within one’s grasp, especially for a god.’
Ceronos did not answer, but stood gazing out over the jungle, contemplating what he had been shown, what he had learned. After a long moment the Psychopomp spoke again.
‘Perhaps this will help you make the decision.’ She reached within the folds of her magnificent dress. Withdrawing her now closed hand, she held her arm out to him, palm upwards. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers, revealing something beautiful; a single redwood seed.
Ceronos blinked, delicately taking the seed from her hand. He held it between his finger and thumb, feeling joy and sadness all at once. Slowly, carefully, he closed his fist around it, determined to find the perfect spot for it to be planted. He had failed the great redwood in his Forest, he would not do the same here.
Ceronos stepped forward to the edge of the cliff. Finally, he felt the renewal he had expected since arriving here. He shifted the weight of the full quiver of arrows on his back, only now realising they were there. The wooden armour which he wore felt good and strong. He gripped the shaft of the sword which sat at his hip, feeling the leather grip under his hand and renewed purpose in his heart.
‘I accept.’
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