Tree and Web

Night had fallen when I reached the forest at the foot of the Sky-Pillar. In the pale moonlight, I barely saw past my arm. Owls hooted in the dark. Smaller creatures fluttered past. Insects chirped and cried and bit and stung.

The sounds were good. Sound meant there were no Kwei-beasts stalking the dark.

Far away was the sound of a burbling brook. I trampled towards it until I stumbled upon a fallen tree. The moon shone full through the break in the sky, casting the land in dim blue.

I rested my Verdwer striker by the stump and drew my hand axe. I chopped off the boughs exposed to the sky. Then I sliced away the smaller branches.

I cleared the earth a safe distance from the stump and dug a hole. In it I stacked the largest boughs. Then I heaped the branches on them. I scooped up leaves and twigs from the forest floor, shaped them into a nest, and piled them high.

My fire-carrier hung at my side. It was a stoppered horn stuffed with leaves and bark, with small air-slits in the side. I pulled the stopper and shook out my touchwood. The tough tinder fungus, boiled in urine and smashed into felt, smoldered still. I blew on it until the flame awoke. Then I placed it in the leaves.

The tinder caught fire. Then the kindling. Then the firewood. Heat and light graced the small clearing. Shadows danced in the flickering flames.

In the firelight, I gathered more leaves and wood from nearby trees. My stomach growled. There was nothing to eat, so I ignored it.

Occasional hunger whets a man’s blade.

A chilly breeze whispered through the woods. My armor and arming jacket kept me warm. Seated against the stump, I placed one hand on the Storm-stones, and extended the other towards the fire.

“Hallower, bless this fire. May its warmth and light drive away all beasts born from Kweinos.”

During the long walk down, the Storm-stones had gathered a tiny spark of Breath. It dribbled out into the fire. Once orange, the flames flared white.

I took off my boots and gloves and set them by my side. With the Verdwer striker lying across my lap, I rested my hands on my thighs, closed my eyes, and Breathed.

Breath flowed in and out of my lungs. Breath poured from the heavens and down my gullet. Breath rose from the earth and up my spine. I breathed, circulating the Breath through me.

A pleasant heat washed over me. My hands and feet tingled. My belly felt full, though it was still empty. I Breathed, and in the Breath I became.

I grew aware of Breath splitting away from me. A portion rushed into the Storm-stones. A second went to my head, causing it to pound anew. The last flowed into my leg. Once more, the bite-marks burned.

The first I knew well. It was the very first Breathwork technique I had learned from the weapon-masters. After spending a Storm-stone’s charge, a Godsworn need not wait for it to regain its strength on its own. He could Breathe into it to speed it along.

The second and the third, I was told, was the beginning of healing. The priestesses of the Weaver had taught us something of their art. Yet I had not taken to it. My talents turned not to life, but to war.

It was who I am.

“No.”

My eyes flung open. My hands gripped my weapon. I searched for the sound of the voice.

A three-legged raven stepped out of the night.

“That is what you think you are,” the raven continued. “It is not what you are.”

I blinked.

“You are here.”

“Yes.”

I patted my chest. “You entered me.”

“Yes.”

“How… are you…?”

She sighed and shook her head.

“Do people ask why or how the gods appear in different places at the same time?”

“No…” I sharpened my brow. “Who are you?”

She stepped fully into the light and drew her neck erect.

“My name is Arta, Speaker of the Law, Shard of the One, Face of the Thousand-Faced God.”

I gaped.

I planted my left foot on the earth and knelt. Bent low, I rested my left forearm across my thigh. I lay the Verdwer striker by my side and placed my right fist beside it.

I looked up at Arta.

“Ala, Arta! I pay homage to You!”

Squawking, She ruffled Her wings and fanned Her tail.

“What are you doing?!” She sputtered.

“Are You not a god?”

“Of course not!”

“But… You said You were a Face of the Thousand-Faced God!”

She covered Her face with Her wing.

“Are you a god?”

“Of course not.”

“I wear a Face of the One. So do you. If you are not a god, then neither am I.”

“…I don’t understand.”

She made a strangled sound.

“Tell me, what did Selya Priestess say of the Thousand-Faced God?”

“You know her?”

She glared at me.

“Of course You do,” I muttered.

“Well?”

I drew in a Breath.

“In the Beginning, there was the One. From One came Two. From Two came Three. From Three came the Thousand Things.

“First came Sky and Earth. From their union and parting was born the Sea. The One came down from Sky to Earth. He mixed Sea into Earth to make Clay, and from it shaped the first Man and Woman.

“He Breathed into Man and Woman. Man and Woman sprang into life. From them sprang forth the race of mankind.

“As Man multiplied across the face of the planet, the One wished to walk with him. He wished to share in Man’s joys and sorrows, labor and leisure. He wished to live as Man lived.

“Thus the One split Himself into the Thousand Faces. Each Face walks amongst men. Each Face we call a Shining One, commonly called a god.”

“No,” Arta said.

“No? She said—”

“You are still addled. Amor Priest taught you the last sentence, after you became a Godsworn. He had to beat it into you. What did Selya Priestess actually say?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Breath rushed through my head. It was so hard to think. But…

A memory trickled through.

“All is One, and One is All.”

“Yes.”

“Man is part of the All. Therefore, Man is also part of the One.”

“Yes.”

“The One is the Thousand-Faced God. He wears every face: man, woman, child, elder, animal, everything there is.”

“Yes. Do you now understand what Selya Priestess meant?”

“Is this a test?”

“Yes.”

I blinked. Arta stood where She was, waiting patiently for me.

I rubbed my temples and squeezed a thought through my brain.

“Since the One wears every Face, my face is His. So is Yours.”

“At last!” she exclaimed. “I am of the One, and so are you. I am as much of a god as you.”

I groaned. “Why won’t You speak plainly?”

“Very well. Do not worship me. Do not use the reverential case with me. To do this is to worship yourself as a god.”

I sensed there was a deeper meaning that I could not grasp, but I could still drink from the shallows.

“Understood.”

I slid back against the stump. Arta approached me.

“You are failing this test,” she said.

“I was struck in the head!” I replied.

“Which is why I am being soft.”

“Soft? You call this ‘soft’?”

“I have a duty to do.”

“Which is?”

“The One sent me to you.”

“Why?”

She loosed a long sigh.

“He asks the most obvious question at last! There is hope for him still!”

“Hoy!”

She chuckled. It was a most strange sound, like the grunting of a pig, the rumbling of gravel, and the rasping of an old woman. Then she looked at me in the eye.

“I do not know.”

“What?”

“You are being prepared. For what, I do not know. I know only that this is why the One sent me to you.”

“Why did He not tell you? Are you not His Face?”

“The Face is not the All, only one of the All. You are his Face also, and yet you also do not know the answer.”

I shook my head. It hurt.

“Your words are warped. We have spoken so much, and still I know so little.”

“Then let us speak of things you can more easily understand.”

“At last.”

She hopped up on the polearm. She was so small, barely the size of my palm. How had she seen so large the first time I had seen her?

“Twice you have crossed the threshold of life and death. The gaze of the One is upon you,” she said.

“‘Twice’?”

“The first was when you were three winters old. Do you remember?”

“Little.”

“That year, a fever swept through your ghortos. It claimed the very young and very old. You burned for three days and nights. On the morning of the fourth day, your breath stopped.”

“My mother screamed for the wise-woman. But when they arrived, they found that my fever was broken, and I was breathing again.”

“You were dead, Taran Barak-sonu. Three breaths you lingered in Kelyo. Then you came back. Ever since then, you did not cling to life as tightly as most men.”

“No.”

“No? When faced with four Kwei-wolves, what would a man do?”

“I am a Godsworn. I am not most men.”

“What would Orinos the Swift do?”

“He would run.” I snorted. “He would call it ‘gaining better ground’ or some such nonsense, then line up the wolves and take them one by one.”

“What did you do?”

“I am not him.”

“Would Vindos Duks disagree with him?”

“He would have said that the only thing that matters was winning the fight.”

“What would Perkaus do?”

“What I did.”

“You see?” Arta said. “He is a god, but you are only a man.”

I waved her words away. “Why is this important?”

“Because when you were in Kelyo, you came closest to the One.”

My eyes widened.

“How?”

“What is life and death to the One, but merely two sides of the same Face? You came from him, to him you returned, and then you went away again. Twice.”

“The second time was when the great serpent struck me.”

“Yes.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, Arta was still there.

“I don’t remember seeing the Face of the One,” I said.

“Perhaps it is well that you did not.”

“When I came back to life, you followed?”

“Yes.”

“I have not heard of this before.”

“Few are those who lived a life like yours, and far between. Even fewer left a name behind.”

“That is not a good thing.”

“The One does not concern himself with mortal cares. Only about the All.”

“I am not sworn to the One.”

“You are sworn to one of his Faces. Through his Faces you see the One. Through me, you see him also.”

“What do you mean?”

“Behold.”

Two boards appeared before me. They were sheets of ocean blue. Words and pictures glowed in snowy white.

On the left I saw a young tree. The trunk was slender, but tall, and its leaves were juicy shoots. Deep roots dug into the earth. They split into three knots, each feeding from a sphere filled with gleaming liquid. Each sphere was marked with a single word: Body, Mind, Spirit. Below each word was the same number: 15.

The board on the right displayed four large stones, arranged like a cross. The one at the top and bottom glowed bright white. Those on the left and right were dark. Lines fanned outwards from the bright stones, leading to groups of smaller stones. A few glowed. Many more did not.

I reached out with my hand. It passed through the boards as if they were only air.

“What… is this?” I asked.

Arta fluffed herself up and tilted her beak to the sky.

“Rejoice, Earthborn, for I have built a bridge that even you can understand!”

“I don’t.”

She touched her wing to her head and groaned.

“I see Mind 15 is too high a number for you. I must adjust this.”

“Explain what I am seeing.”

“To your left is the Tree of Life. It measures your alignment with the One. The greater your alignment, the mightier the tree grows.

“The Tree is watered by three separate pools: Body, Mind and Spirit. Body represents your vessel of flesh and bone. Mind is your ability to feel and to reason. Spirit measures how much Breath you can store and use at any one time. Together, the three pools represent the entirety of your being.

“The numbers show you how much Breath is infused into each aspect of your existence. Through Breathwork, you bring the Breath into yourself, and come ever closer to the One.”

“I heard that the more Breath you draw into yourself, the more powerful you become.”

“Amor’s teachings again.” Arta shook her head. “Who is he?”

“Priest of the koryos, Godsworn of Perkaus.”

“Which means his teachings serve Perkaus. Not the One.”

“…What did you say?”

“Perkaus sets himself apart from the One, as do most gods. That is why his priests teach that the gods are above men.”

“That is—”

I wanted to say ‘blasphemy’, but…

“Nothing to say?” Arta asked. “Then tell me, who is Selya Priestess sworn to, and what did she say about Breathwork?”

“She serves the Thousand-Faced God. She said that Breathwork is like farming. A farmer sows the seeds, waters them, harvests his crops, and repeats the process. In the same way, Breathwork draws Breath through a full cycle, and repeats it endlessly. That is why it is also called ‘cultivation’. Through cultivation, one grows closer to the One.”

“Yes. That was the true purpose of Breathwork. Men made it into an exercise, no different from lifting heavy stones or wrestling cows.”

“Those who practice Breathwork become more powerful.”

“Breath comes from the One, as do all things. The more you work with the One, the more the One works through you. That is what the numbers are supposed to represent.”

“‘Supposed to’?”

“Most of your Breath comes from Perkaus.”

“I am His Godsworn.”

“Yes. These numbers reflect his gifts, not yours.”

“You won’t use the reverential case?”

“He is a Face of the One, as am I. Should I worship myself?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Mind 15 is definitely too high.”

“You mock me!”

“Stop acting in ways that deserve mockery.”

Fire flared through me. For a brief moment I thought of seizing her in a mighty hand and squeezing tight. As quickly as the thought came, it passed.

“It won’t do you any good anyway,” she said.

I frowned.

“How high is this ‘15’?”

“All living beings start with at least 1 in each pool. Some naturally have more Breath than most. Others, through consistent Breathwork, increase their pools. 15 is the average for Godsworn, and higher than nine in ten men.”

The frown became a smile. “I can live with that.”

“As I said, much of your Breath is borrowed.”

“Perkaus Breathes through me.”

“That he does. But when you do Breathwork on your own, the One Breathes through you, and you Breathe the One. That is what matters.”

“Can I see the Breath of others?”

“Yes. You are familiar with sensing your own Breath. Use this skill to sense the Breath of others. It should show up as numbers.”

I looked at Arta.

I reached for her, feeling her Breath, seeing the flow through her body, seeing her for who she was—

Light!

Light unto light, light beyond light, light falling on a mirror casting light on another mirror throwing light on a third mirror sending light into—

I shut my eyes and looked away.

“It is not good for a Face to look upon certain Faces,” she said dryly.

“You should have warned me!”

“You did not ask.”

I made a sound. I wasn’t sure what that was. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the boards once more.

“Ready to continue?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Arta gestured at the web.

“This is the Web of Faces. Having touched the God of Ten Thousand Faces, you can wear his Faces too.”

“I can what?!”

“Do not be so shocked. Your own face is a Face of the One, and a Face of the One is therefore your face.”

“Your tongue twists like a serpent!”

“Do you truly not understand? Or are you simply saying what Perkaus would say?”

“I…”

I could not speak.

She looked at me. I looked at her. I blinked. She did not.

“Tell me about the Web,” I said.

“The Web shows you which Faces of the One you know. The bright Face-stones show the ones you can wear, while the dark Face-stones reveal those closed to you. Now bring your attention to this one.”

She gestured with her wing at the topmost Face-stone. I looked at it.

The board drew larger and nearer. Now I saw only the Face-stone I had marked, and the smaller stones joined to it.

“This is the Face of the Striker,” Arta said. “These smaller Skill-stones show the powers at your command.”

As I brought my mind from stone to stone, lines appeared in my head.

Storm-Wind: Generate a gust of wind.

Storm-Touch: Send the Storm through the skin.

Storm-Blow: Empower a blow with the Storm.

Storm-Rage: Channel the fury of the Storm.

“I learned these before!” I exclaimed.

“Yes. That is why you can use them. Now turn your thoughts to the other glowing Face-stone.”

I did. The board cleared. When it refreshed, it showed a different cluster of stones.

“This is the Face of the Hallower,” Arta explained.

Only three Skill-stones glowed.

Purify: Cleanse an object of disease and Kweinos.

Sanctify: Cleanse and ward an area against Kweinos.

Detect Corruption: Detect Kweinos and poisonous substances.

“There are so few Skill-stones,” I remarked.

“You were a warrior, not a priest. To open the other Skill-stones, you must learn their arts, or discover them. Then you must practice them. Practice strengthens your skills, and points the way to new ones.”

“What about the dark Face-stones?”

“The Weaver and the Binder. You know of them, but you do not know them. Until you do, they remain closed to you.”

“I see,” I said, and frowned. “There are only four Faces. Does the One not have a thousand Faces?”

She sighed.

“Can you wear the Face of Storm? No. You are a man, not a cloud. Can you wear the Face of Field? No. You are Earthborn, not the earth.

“You can wear the Face of the Striker, and the Storm flows through him. You can wear the Face of the Weaver, and through her you can touch the Earth.

“There are countless Faces. You cannot wear the Face of a non-human, nor can you wear a Face you do not know. Some Faces bleed into each other. Some are separate. Each Face represents a shard of the One, through which you can see all of the One.

“What you see here is only what you, a limited being, can see of the infinite. It is the truth made simple. It is not the truth.”

“Show me the truth.”

“Are you mad? You gazed upon me but for a moment, and you nearly broke.”

“Show me.”

She sighed.

“Your head would burst if I tried. This is the closest.”

The Tree dissolved into fields of words and numbers. Numbers upon numbers, words upon words, strange words like ‘visual acuity’ and ‘maximal aerobic capacity’ and ‘peak muscle force’. They kept coming, a waterfall of words and numbers that made no sense.

The Web drew further, and further, and further away. Skill-stones disappeared. Face-stones became lonely pinpricks of light. All around it was a field vast as the sky, and still it receded ever further into the distance, until the darkness swallowed the last lights, and still it fell back and back and back.

“Enough,” I said.

Tree and Web returned, solid, stable, simple.

“What you see here are mere symbols of reality,” Arta said. “Do not mistake them for reality itself.”

“They are… reality made simple,” I said.

“Yes. Simple enough that you can use them, if you wish. You do not have to. Most of the time, you probably will not.”

“How do I put away these boards?”

“Think and they shall go.”

I did. And they disappeared.

“Likewise, think, and they shall come.”

I did. And they returned.

I sent the boards away, then massaged my head.

“This is… so much to take in.”

“Rest,” she said. “Come the morrow, you should find shelter. There is much I must teach you still.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?”

“I must return to Verdwer and report to Perkaus.”

“He will not look kindly on those who return in failure.”

“A mighty Kwei-beast roams the lands. The city must be warned.”

“And after that? What will you do?”

“That day will settle itself.”

She sighed and covered her head.

“You are still so much like him.”

“What do you mean?”

She was gone.

I blinked. She had been standing there on the haft of the Verdwer striker. Then she covered her face with her wing and…

I shook my head.

There was still so much I did not know.