Findel's Embrace

It took Faro a long time to get there. He wasn't sure how long, or how far, only that the paths were winding and led him where he did not want to go. The sky above was bright with sunshine, but the stars also shone, and the moon hung on the horizon, five times the size of the sun. The land was bare, except for the strange gnarled tree-like growths he had seen before in the greensward of Meln. Malir. There was no wind, not even a breath of breeze as he walked among the twisted shapes. The air was neither warm nor hot. It was like passing through nothing.

He was not alone. Many wills were there with him. He could feel them emanating from the growths all around. He stopped and examined one of the beings, for beings he knew they were. Many branches grew from the gnarled and cracked trunk, bursting into smaller stems and clumps of silver leaves. It was not a tree, yet it was like a tree. He placed his hand upon the gnarled trunk. The malir rose only seven or eight feet high before splitting into a crown of silver foliage.

It was old. He felt the stirring of will within, and pain, but its thoughts were disordered, confused, and he felt pain. He walked further into the grove of beings, not because he wanted to, but because no matter what direction he chose, he went the same way. Some of the malir reminded him of conifers, but with needles of violets and yellows. Others had nothing resembling leaves, only long branches like gnarled horns.

At the center of the grove, grew a specimen far larger than the others. It would have taken three or four vien to wrap their arms around it, and little of the trunk could be seen through the thick branches and foliage that encased it.

As Faro approached, the pain in his mind grew sharper, and he bent over, clutching his head between his hands.

"Stop!" he shouted. He reached out for the Current, but he already had it. It pulsated into him, flowing through his whole body.

"There is relief for you in obedience."

The pain left him. Faro stood upright, opening his eyes. The strange trees were gone. In their places were scores of vien and vienu, all looking at him. They were naked, but it did not strike him as strange. Maybe he was as well. A tall vien approached him from the center. It was he who had spoken.

"Who are you?" Faro asked.

"You know who I am."

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

"Submit, and this pain will cease."

"Why must you do this?"

"For our people."

"You slaughter our people."

"For every vien sent to the Mingling, twenty live in blessed peace. Only so much of the Current rises from below. Not all of our people grasp it, but all absorb it. My brother, like your mother, are the only exceptions. Too many mouths would drink it dry, and the embrace would fade. Where else could our people go? The humans are worse than the quth. We cannot hide in the dirt like your stunted ones. We are meant to dwell between earth and sky."

"The Inevien do not enslave their people, and yet they dwell beneath embraces."

"Their embraces are weak and costly. Look around. For every one you see here, there are thousands in Isecan's land."

"At least they can choose."

"Do you think my warning is baseless? A thousand years ago, they grew in such numbers that their Current ran dry, absorbed by the multitude of souls. They could not sustain their little embraces. There was no numbering those who starved and froze, all while enclave turned against enclave and the quth feasted on the flesh of their former masters. Do you think we alone use the war? Their ancients know the cost of peace as well. Ask them yourself, if you like."

"What gives you the right to decide?"

"Courage. The boldness to do what needed done and to keep doing it. Will you have the courage to do what must be done?"

"What must be done?"

"It is my fault. I did not foresee it. Things were so new. I was groping, seeking to preserve the remnant. We were so few. There was so much Current then, more than you have ever felt. I drank of it. I created the Synod, bound their wills together in balance, a sacrifice for our people, no single voice able to dominate. It was my final sacrifice."

"But you're still here."

"Without the Synod to uphold the embrace with their bodies, more would die. You threaten that."

"How?"

"You know."

Faro suspected, at least. He spoke with the birthright of two High Trees. In the vying of wills, he was stronger than the others. He could decide. He could resist.

"But it's not just them," he said. "It's you, too."

"Will you do what is right?"

"Son!"

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"Silence!" the vien shouted.

Faro spun around, looking for the voice that had called him. He saw him there in the gathering, and he knew who he was. Faro had never seen his father, not in the body, and not as he looked among that gathering, but he recognized the will that reached out to him.

"Father." Faro approached, and as he drew near, he felt pain flowing from Tirlav.

"Let him speak," Faro snapped.

"He has nothing to say."

"Let him speak, Findel!"

"His time has ended."

"So has yours."

"My time will end with our people. I cannot leave. I still serve them."

Faro raised a hand to reach for Tirlav, but hesitated. This vien had tried to kill him. Faro remembered the scarred face of the company liel and the blood in the firelight. Yet he could feel Tirlav's struggle. He put his hand to his father's chest and grimaced at the pain within. Findel's will pressed down on Tirlav just as it had pressed down on Faro, but Faro could draw on the Current of Isecan to resist, and he was the cursed scion. These wills were still bound, subjugated by Findel as they had been in life. Deep within, Tirlav struggled, fought, tried to resist, but he was weaker than Findel.

Faro felt the Currents. Wherever his spirit was, the Current of Isecan still flowed into him. With it, he tried to lift the horrid weight from his father. With a gasp, Tirlav spoke:

"Please," he said. "He is here. He still enslaves us, even now. Please, it is suffering."

The weight redoubled, and Faro lowered his hand. He could not resist it for him, not for long. To ease it just for a moment was a strain.

"You can do nothing," Findel said. "Those who have Changed cannot change."

Faro turned to him. On the outside, his appearance looked like any vien's, though he was tall. But within the Current he was terrible, as if the Nethec Wellspring flowed through him to reach the others—even Faro.

"Where are you?" Faro asked.

"I am with every Vien soul."

The gathered vien and vienu stared at him, their faces expressionless.

"You have sent multitudes to die," Faro said.

"I care for my people."

"But not any one of them."

"I loved my brothers."

"But not me," Faro said. "You must be afraid."

Findel tilted his head ever so slightly.

"You must be afraid," Faro said again. "I must be dangerous to you. Otherwise, you'd leave me alone."

A pain erupted in Faro's left arm. He cried out, doubling over and clutching it. The agony spread from his wrist to his shoulder, as if his flesh was turning itself inside out.

***

Faro collapsed back onto the hammock, his breathing rapid. Sweat ran down his forehead.

"You shouldn't have done it," Coir said.

"He needed to sleep. I only gave him enough to rest for a few hours."

"It doesn't look like he's resting!"

Faro's hands clenched and his jaw flexed. She heard the horrid sound of grinding teeth. His whole body looked locked in a state of flexion.

"Faro, wake up!" Coir called, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him.

"What is happening?" Jareen asked, confused. She had never seen such a reaction to the tincture.

"How should we know?" Coir shouted. Jareen gaped at him. He hadn't shouted at her in years—not since Nosh. The old human's face was flushed with anger. "We don't bear the malice of the entire Synod! This is the Mingling. The Current of Findel flows here!"

Jareen looked back to Faro, a knot of fear forming in her belly. They were so far from the Synod, and the company of Findeluvié was dispersed.

Surely he was safe long enough to sleep? She looked at his hands, then grasped his arm, raising his sleeve. The lines of Change widened before her eyes, creeping up his arm so rapidly she could have measured it by the second.

"Vah bless us," Coir intoned.

Now Jareen grabbed Faro by the shoulders and shook him.

"Bring me water!" she shrieked. Coir moved faster than he had in years. He brought a half-full pitcher across the room. Jareen wrenched it from his hands and poured it over Faro's face. Faro spluttered, but his eyes did not open, and the Change still crept up his arm. Jareen raked her knuckles over his breastbone hard, calling his name, but he did not stir.

What could she do? What could she do?

A bag hung on the back wall of the house, holding the supplies for her cure. She did not leave them in the shrine for fear that someone might find them. She pushed passed Coir and grabbed the bag from the wall, dumping the contents on her rough-hewn table. She took a thorn and slid it into the vein beneath her elbow, flexing to force the blood faster into the little bladder.

"You don't know what this will do?" Coir asked.

"I have to do something. My blood does not Change."

She yanked the thorn from her arm, not bothering to stop the bleeding. Even in the time it had taken her to draw her own blood, the viridian pigmentations had spread up to Faro's armpit. She felt the pulse near his elbow. The skin was thickened, but a thrill of blood remained beneath. She had to press hard with the thorn, puncturing the skin. His blood did not flow at first, and she had to reposition it below the hardened layer. When his blood spurted out of the end of the thorn, she tightened the connection to the bladder and squeezed it.

The flow of the blood thrummed under her thumb.

Faro surged upright, lashing out with his arms. Jareen fell, landing hard on the ground.

"Faro!"

Faro screamed, clawing at his arm.

Jareen struggled to her feet. The end of the thorn was broken, sticking from his vein. Blood ran down his hand. He gasped and heaved, trying to breathe.

She reached for his arm, but he pulled away.

"Faro, it's me. It's me."

He struggled to focus, his head tipping drunkenly, his eyes wide. She plucked the thorn from his flesh and grabbed his arm to staunch the blood.

"Faro!" she called again. Her thigh throbbed where she'd fallen, but she had no time for herself. He raised his hands to ward her away, but she held on.

"Faro!"

He met her eyes, and she saw a flicker of recognition.

"Mother."

Sluggishly, he looked down at his arm.

"You're alright," she said. She put a hand on his chest, trying to press him back down before he toppled from the hammock. He was still breathing hard and clearly disoriented, but he complied, lying back. He raised his hands to his head, groaned, and vomited over the side, a sloshing mess that spattered onto the rough-hewn floor planks.

Coir turned away, but Jareen stroked her son's hair, ignoring the mess. She did not step away until he had calmed, breathing easier, and then only to pull a chair close. Her leg throbbed, and she grimaced as she sat down. No doubt, she would have a bruise on her hip. It was unclear if Faro slept, for his eyes often flickered open. Coir sat down as well, and he at least was soon asleep, snoring quietly in the corner, his head tilted back and his mouth hanging open. She considered waking him and telling him to go sleep in his own house, but she knew he would not leave Faro.

She rested her eyes. Though she did not understand what had happened, she'd nearly lost her son, and all because she thought she knew better. But she didn't know better. There was so much she couldn't comprehend that Faro did. He lived in a world of Currents that she could never inhabit. She had more in common with Coir than him.

She'd treated him as a child, but it was she who was naive. What had he gone through while they were separated? He had only told her bits and pieces. It was as if she had received back her son along with another she did not know, and the two were bound up in one.