A Soul of The Forest

In the heart of the immortal forest, I open heavy eyes. I move my limbs, surprised by the distinction between my form and wood. My soul is dense as stone. I recall visions of a nightmare that plagued me during the night, or was it nights? I try to peer into the visions but a force from the deepest point of my being binds the thought. The same force whispers through the wind. 

No, you are not ready. 

“Then when will I be ready?” 

A breeze replies:

When you have accepted what you are.

“I am your servant, am I not?” 

Tree, stone, wind, sun, moon, Earth, all serve me– none are my servants.

“Then what am I?” 

I am granted no response. Instead I feel a claw sear into my chest. A firm magic hand pulls me through the forest. Each step burns more than the last. I realize that I am walking into a fire. Through thick smoke I catch sight of a demon, not quite man, not quite beast. With snarls it spits fire. My body, fortified by magic, resists the heat, but my ears cannot withstand the wailing cries of the forest burning alive. I take a deep breath, pushing the air down into my soul, where its essence is reformed by the magic within; I breathe back out a cutting weave of air that slices the demon's head clean off. With another breath I pull in the fire and smoke, and breathe out my life force to restore the trees to their purple-green lushness. 

“That is it! I am your guardian.” My throat tightens– I can no longer breathe. I fall to my knees.

I am your strength; how could you be my guardian?

“I’m sorry, I thought that was why you chose me to slay the demon. If you are my strength, magic itself, then why did you let the demon use your power?” 

I force no hand. There is a choice for all. 

“Then I could use your power against your will?”

Would it be against my will? The choice is your cost.

“Riddles, riddles and riddles! Why will you give me no true answer?”

Silence. I should have expected it. I march back to my place of rest. The rustling of my steps grows louder and louder until I realize the noise is something else entirely. I pause and listen. It is human speech. I locate its source and sneak up to a party of soldiers. They scream at the sight of me. 

“Stay back, demon!” 

“Am I the demon here?” I respond. 

A volley of ugly spells flies toward me: thunderbolts, wind cuts, flame balls, ice shards. I am unscathed, protected by the will of magic.

“I-impossible. Draw your swords, attack!” 

I let them take their swings until I feel pity for their attempts. 

“Stop your flailing. I am no demon, and I do not wish to harm you. Judging from your cloaks, you’re Perenthian, yes?” 

A gold-pinned mage responds:

“Yes sir, please spare us sir.” 

“And why are you here? The forest is not fond of humankind, I’m sure you’re aware.” 

“We’re here on orders, to detain a stray demon.” 

“Oh, that was yours?” I step closer.

“It was… from our city.” 

“So, your demon. You know, it caused quite the destruction. I am something of a forest spirit. I feel its pain as if it were mine. Am I to blame you for this?” 

“No sir, we’re so sorry sir. It escaped us– it ran off on its own into this forest. Please, forgive us.”

“And why do you hold demons in your city?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought you would know.” 

“Why would I know?” 

They exchange looks but give no response.

“Do you know who I could talk to about these demons?” 

“Uh, yes sir. The Grand Elder.”

“The Grand Elder, Telos is it?” 

“Telios, yes.” 

I’m surprised by my own recognition of the name. I think perhaps it is the will of the forest, the desire of magic imposing its knowledge upon me. Then I am a vessel of vengeance? I hear no response in the wind. So, must I prove it? I command the men to take me to their city. 

*

Half a day later, I arrive at cold gates. The steel splits and I crouch through the overpass. Soldiers point weapons at me as I walk through narrow black-bricked streets, but to my surprise none attack. My senses are bombarded with miseries: I see flea-infested beggars with sullen eyes discarded in corners; I hear children's cries and drunk, angry men shouting nonsense; worst of all, I smell the smoggy stench of fish and rotting flesh. This is no way to live. 

The choice is your cost. 

I can’t tell if I’m remembering it or hearing the words from the wind again. 

Soon enough the party of soldiers leads me to a tall, round tower. I duck through a spiral staircase leading to a decorated chamber. I’m nearly blinded by the reflection of the sun off a golden throne placed at the end of the room. A silhouette rises from the seat and hobbles towards me, pounding a ruby-tipped staff on the floor with each step. Certainly old enough to pass as a Grand Elder. The figure is robed in white. He studies me. 

“Magnificent! Magnificent!” 

“What?” 

“Who sculpted you, Immonite? Other than Ahlron, that is.” 

“Immonite… Ahlron?” 

“You don’t know? That’s preposterous, I know my lord’s work when I see it.” 

“I am no work of your lord, unless he is the force of magic himself.” 

“The force of magic? Yes, I suppose he is, though I would not describe it with such ancient verbiage. You are forged of Ahlron, the Light, and are an Immonite—a magnificently forged one, I may add.”

“So you say. Well, I am not here to talk about your lord.” 

“Our lord.” 

“Matters not. I don’t even know why I am speaking so plainly to you now. You should be begging for mercy.” 

He laughs

“You are threatening me? An Immonite? What a jester’s act this is. Do you really believe you could defy your sacred oath?” 

“I have taken no sacred oath. I am a vessel of vengeance.” 

“Vengeance of what?” he scoffs.

“Of the demon you released onto my forest, and the many more that I’m certain would follow.”

“Demon? Those are myths you imbecile. Is that what my men called it?” 

“Shut your mouth. Admit that it is your demon.”

“It is my Immonite, yes, my demon—a crazy stray at that. Go on, then. Kill me, get your vengeance. Really, I am waiting. Right, you can’t.” 

I hold focus on the magic within but find no power welling up. 

“Strange. Why do you want him alive? Does he not betray you?”

“Who are you talking to?” 

“Be quiet.”

A breeze howls through high-arched windows.

What are you? 

“I’m a vessel of vengeance!” 

“You said that already!” the Grand Elder adds.

Did I ask you for vengeance?

“You asked what I am, that must be the answer.” 

“Well, I may have lied when I said you had a magnificent design. Clearly your mind sculptor did not understand how to properly reform a soul.”

“What do you mean, reform a soul?” 

“Hmm, I expected you would know. Though clearly, you’ve forgotten what you are. Why not? I’ll tell you. It’s a simple ritual, a right given to us by the Light. We bundle together, let’s say a few old mages, maybe a young beggar, sometimes even a gifted child prodigy of the Light– the stronger the soul, the better the Immonite. Then on a night of Ahlron's blessing–a full moon–we release the souls to the Light.” He mimes a knife across the throat. “And through the handiwork of our most talented weavers, we morph them into something new, something stronger. That is you, an Immonite. Of course we bind each birth with the sacred oaths, so that your kind will always know whom you must serve: me. Really it is a shame to have to vanquish such a strong form as your own, if only there were a way to reform the brain.”

“Do you hear this? You would let such an evil go without vengeance? Why would you let me witness this if not for that purpose?” 

I have already spoken all that must be spoken, can you listen?

“Whatever ghost you’re talking to, may they find your soul soon. I’ll grant you your last words.” 

I’ve lost control of the magic within me. I cannot find vengeance. I cannot defend myself. Can I listen? I sit down, close my eyes. I think of all I’ve heard since I awoke. 

“Am I… an Immonite?”

“Yes… well you were.” 

The wind blows no message. Can I listen? Is that a question? No—it is a command. I focus purely on hearing.

Ahlron, turn my soul to Light. Envelop the lost Immonite in flames. 

I look at the Grand Elder and smile.

“We’re all… of the same force. So, it must be… I am the magic. I serve it, for it serves me. I chose it, and it chooses what I must be.”  

That you are, as all are. Now you may see, the nightmare is who you are not to be.

*

It is not simply a nightmare. It is the life of an Immonite, a life once lived. I remember my birth, a bloody ritual. I remember the oath I took. I remember upholding it, not by force, but by pride. I fight battles for the realm of men. I glorify a god I do not see, who does not see me. I defile the force, I ignore its call. I commit acts of treachery, of pillaging, of destruction. I do it for my own triumph. I enjoy my abuse of power. It makes me feel strong– worthy. It makes me feel divine, like I should be the one to rule the world. Others should serve me. They are weaker, lesser. 

One day, as I burn down a small village near the woods that had been resisting my nation's dominion, I feel an overwhelming need to cry. I can’t understand why. I have succeeded in my mission, I will be rewarded. I realize it is because something is missing– from within my soul. I wonder: Why do I have a soul? Why am I separate from others? Is it for me to be the strongest? Surely it is not, for even I have a master, and my master has a master. I stare out into the woods, and realize I am not separate from others. I am just one tree in a forest. I was made to make the forest thrive and to be part of its joy in thriving. Yet all I ever did was burn it to ashes, for the sake of my selfishness. I walked into the forest, and fell to my knees. I cried for all the souls that I destroyed. As I mourned, I was comforted by a breeze. It whispered to my ears:

You know the cost of your defiance. Come, and sleep your troubles to a dream. Within you I will plant a new seed. A seed of purpose, of preserving my unity—grow forests from ash. 

I awakened again in the Grand Elder’s chamber. His spell had been cast. A fierce ball of flame flew towards me as if the sun had fallen from the sky. I felt no fear, for I knew whom I served, and I knew what I was. A wind burst through my skin, pushing the flames back. 

“That can’t be…” The Elder prepared a new spell.

Ahlron turn my soul to Light. Strike the Immonite down with a bolt of lightning!

Once again the spell could not harm me.

“Why do you call for Ahlron when it is by your own will that you abuse the power of magic, which you call Light?”

“Do not speak of my lord, you demon! Ahlron has chosen me to wield his legion. He has blessed me above all men to carry out his purpose, to purify this world of evil. I will not let you live, beast, you defile the Light!” 

“This belief in the Light only serves to blind you from the truth. I suppose that is by intention.” 

The Grand Elder continued to pelt me with his spells, each one ineffective. The magic of my soul, the life given to me, would not let me be harmed. My oath would not let me retaliate, but more than that, the force of magic itself would not allow it; it did not want retaliation. That was not its way. I walked out of the chamber, down the stairs, into the city streets. A swarm of guards had begun their own rain of spells. Soon the Grand Elder appeared behind me to join in on the attack. I realized this moment was my purpose. I thought how incredible it was that the force of magic would be so good to an unworthy soul like my own. A large crowd of civilians, soldiers, and Immonites had formed around me. I took a deep breath and shouted to the crowd:

“To all, there is a choice. To all, magic will renew. Feel its love within you, the overwhelming power connecting us all, from man to beast, to tree, to stone, to sun, to moon, to Earth. Heed its call, accept that you are one within it. Choose it, and it will protect you even in the fiercest of flames.” 

An onslaught of panicked voices erupted.

“Nonsense!” 

“Is his god stronger than ours?” 

“Blasphemy!”

“Is he here to kill us?” 

I said no more. Through slow steps I walked out of the city. Behind me, I heard chaos ensue. My immortality spurred men to question their beliefs, their gods; it made them jealous and angry. They fought amongst themselves in a meaningless battle for supremacy, paying the cost of their own ignorance. I could hear a fading voice of the Grand Elder cry out: “Stop! Stop! I am your leader, Ahlron’s chosen, I act on his will! No, don’t!” His voice faded into the screams of destruction. A small group, some human and some Immonites, followed me peacefully out of the gate. I took them up to the village I had once burned. I cried once more for the guilt of my past life. Then a breeze blew in and whispered a message to us who chose to listen. 

You are mine, and I am yours. From these ashes, a forest will nurture you all.