A Flame of Song

PROLOGUE Thin fingers of mist reached up from thawing leaves into the pale sky above the Tangle, giving the light of the morning a dream-like, ethereal quality. No wind disturbed their path as they angled ever upward, warming and fading in the sunlight. It was a still, silent morning, the world holding its breath in anticipation. The Elder One towered above the canopy of the forest, its high, narrow branches disappearing from sight into the low early morning cloud flowing down from the high stone cliffs that lined this far eastern edge of the forest. The air was cold and wet, a heavy stillness laying over the area, silencing the birdsong and animal snufflings that were the usual refrain here at the wild outskirts. Beyond the enormous trunk of the Elder One, the rocky peaks of the great mountain range known as the Spine stretched up into the heavens, their bare stony foothills delineating the eastern edge of the Tangle, a hard, physical border that halted its green spread. The Guardian reached out to touch the trunk of the Elder One, listening for its quiet song. The multitude it carried within it spoke. It is nearing time. Where are the others? Be patient. They will come. It is so quiet here. So still. This place has ever been wild. No man ventures this far east. Not since the raising of the mountains themselves. Raising? Long ago, when perhaps even this Elder One was a mere sapling, the Tangle’s borders stretched far to the east. An endless green blanket of souls. But the men of the east, the Daleishmen, they did not understand such things, and what they did not understand turned to fear. This fear led them to commit a great crime. They used fire to beat back the roots of the past. Only the raising of the Spine itself stopped the flames from taking all of the Tangle. But raising a mountain range? How? Who did such a thing? We did. The Guardian we once were. With a little help from the trees, of course. There, just under his fingertips, the Guardian felt the tremor of the voice of the Tangle whisper to him. Fluttering wings, high in the sky. They come to meet us; they come to die. An eagle’s cry cut across the silence of the forest and moments later, an enormous bird swooped down out of the grey mist to land somewhat clumsily on the wet grass. It hobbled slightly as it settled, then fixed the Guardian with a single piercing eye, as if daring it to say something about the less than graceful landing. Nurtle. Jared. Welcome. The eagle paused a moment, then bowed its head in greeting. You wish to remain in this form for your final moments on this surface world? Once again, the eagle waited as if considering how to reply, then bowed its great head again. I do not think they can separate fully anymore. They are true wildlers now. They have left the human world behind. And their next journey awaits. Come. Let us help them. The Guardian reached one hand to the eagle’s thickly feathered neck and held the other hand palm outward against the trunk of the Elder One. The muscles of the eagle’s neck knotted and tensed at the touch, some part of its mind rejecting the presence of this strange being, but another, stronger will descended on it, soothing its fear and lulling the wild mind of the beast into obedience and stillness. Now, open yourself to the song. The whisper of music changed then, seeming to widen and deepen and morph beyond mere sound into something physical, wrapping itself in the grey mist and twisting it around them, so that the air darkened as the light from the sun struggled to pierce the thick cloud that had formed around them. The hand gripping the eagle’s neck flexed and stiffened as it felt the heat of life from the animal respond, pulling away from the physical form that held it and joining with the twirl and chaos that wrapped around them. I see fire. Flames. You see the past. I see darkness. Death. You see the future. No. Not that. It is not an end I see. Death is not an end. It is a looping path. I see … suffering. Pain. You see what once was and may yet be again. I see … Wilt. And Higgs. But they no longer reside in the same mind. You see our young spark, and the flame he has lit. Come. Return. It is done. The Guardian opened its eyes to find itself alone in the forest, one hand still held palm outward against the ancient trunk of the Elder One towering above. The whisper of song had faded back into the depths. It is done. They are gone. No, not gone. Just … changed. The morning cloud was beginning to lift now, the surrounding forest seeming to close in around them as its white veil was pulled clear. Slowly, the sounds of the forest returned as the mist faded and a gentle breeze rippled the leaves. They are now a true part of the Tangle. May their roots sink deep. Is this how all wildlers end? Merged into the forest itself? Only those whose task is at an end. And only those deserving of true honour are passed into the Elder Ones. So, this is their reward? Nurtle and Jared? They are true servants of the forest. True wildlers. It is right that they be honoured so. A gift of love. A place above. And what of the others? What of Wilt? And Higgs? And— They too will soon pass out of our sight. But come. This is not the place. The Guardian turned and walked back into the forest, its body fading into shadow. A moment later, the Elder One stood alone, surrounded by its strange children, stretching itself silently in the warm sunlight of the morning.