Night came quickly, and abbot Calum had finished his practice of the night's spoken rituals before he'd even noticed it. He hurried out of his room stubbing his toe over a 'moon rock' on the way out and uttered a quiet, “By the Gods!” before racing down the steps to make his final checks. Progress had continued admirably while he'd been away. Blocks and shards of valuable ice garnished every dish laid out on the table. Candles almost doubled to make up for the lack of light that would be coming from the vacant fireplace.
Brother Gregory had done good work with the flowers, the pale blues and whites of the Northern floral specimens had been spread intermittently oven the entirety of the hall. The petals were cooler to the touch than the average flower, as though they'd grown and thrived directly on the water from the ice and snow of their native lands.
He'd just surveyed the room when he heard a shout from above him, “They're coming! I see the glow of their torches.” The sentry he'd posted in the abbey's bell tower had seen them. The abbot ran to the large double doors of the great hall and, with the help of a few of his Brothers threw them open. He and the rest of the monastery flooded outside to see the “glow”. And see they did. The crisp eerie blue light stabbed through the dark and illuminated the individual branches of the trees. Even with the monastery obscuring part of their vision, they were allowed over a 180 degree view of the forest that surrounded them. Excited monks who ran to all sides of the monastery confirmed upon their return that the dignitaries were approaching from all sides. Within every region of pale blue light there were bright shining points that surely represented the flames of the torches. And each torch was surely held by a visitor.
This was the first time any of them had seen this ceremony, though the records they'd read, and the legends they'd heard, recounted that this was how it always went. Always the blue light, always in the dark night. Always in the advancing circle. And, so the stories went, always with singing. It started as a soft hum at first, from nowhere and everywhere, quietly interacting with the forests nocturnal insect orchestra. It rose in pitch and clarity as the light grew closer and brighter. Faint shapes became outlines who became women. Blue glows became points of light, that became blue flames on top of torches.
And then the group of dignitaries emerged from the woods and ceased their singing. Their sudden stop caused the flames in front of them to flicker. Shadows were thrown across all faces and then they were illuminated again albeit in the pale blue light of the fires.
No one outside of the North had ever been able to divine the secrets behind the strange blue fire the Northerners carried on their trips South. It burned much longer, hotter, and brighter than the conventional fires like those of the abbey.
The dignitaries were each dressed in pale blue robes, and all their hair was whitish blond, their skin not much darker than the snow of their homelands. There was a dismal lack of sun in the north, over 11 months of the year the sun would rise for only a few hours. During that one month there was an abundance of the light. And though from the distance no one could tell for sure whether it was real or just the light, all their eyes were a cool and icy blue.
They glared up at the gathered monks from their stationary positions chalenging them to meet their eyes. The monks weren't up to the task and began to stare at the ground or look at each other with looks on their faces that seemed to wonder, 'what's going on?'.
And then the circle started contracting as members standing facing the back and sides of the abbey moved towards the path in the front, slowly collapsing their perimeter. They twirled their torches as the walked, tossing them in the air and catching them on the run, whooping and shouting.
Confused and frightened monks watched slack jawed at the spectacle. The torch theatrics lit the tops of the trees and then the bottoms. One unfortunate nighthawk flew directly into the path of a spiraling torch and the flame set it's feathers alight. The fire almost competed to see which side of the bird it could consume first and after a furious squawking the bird was burnt to death before it hit the ground. One would think that this would cause a break in stride but instead the offending visitor gracefully danced to correct for the altered path of the torch and caught it by the base and still moving continued to run and leap back to the circular movement. Quickly there were two armies facing each other, one at the top of the hill, one at the bottom. One a group of cold, awed monks, the other a supremely disciplined, athletic phalanx. Had this been a battle, even with high ground, no one would have bet on the monks.
The women gathered at the bottom took a collective step forward. The sound rung out against the silent night. The bugs had stopped their noise making, the fires occasionally crackled their battle cries. One more step forward. Fierce, uncaring faces looked up at them. One more step, a primal whoop that chilled the blood. And then a sprint, their acceleration from a standing position against the slope of the hill impressive, the passing of their flames seemed to freeze the hovels in cold light.
A few of the monks took a step backwards, some of them involuntary, some voluntary. In the face on the onrush. The women came at them like a pack of Frost demons, hair flying wildly behind them, cold eyes never breaking their gaze.
Sheer force of will carried them up the hill and they continued towards the pack of monks. They weren't going to stop! Maybe they were going to kill them all! They came within an arms length from the holy men and drew back their arms.
To a man, each monk either turned his back or threw his hands in his face in the face of the perceived finishing blow. Their visitors stopped when their feet almost touched the feet of the monks in front of them. Rather than slamming their torches into the poor monks faces, as many had feared, they waited for them to straighten back up and regain their dignity. When the monks realized they weren't going to be slaughtered after all, they sheepishly looked the visitors in the face. The Northerners held eye contact for a moment before taking a step backwards and in near perfect synchronization they each slammed the butts of their torches into the earth between them. They remained hunkered over the flames, the shadows playing on their bodies.
One monk started applauding but no one joined him. The dignitaries stood up, threw their hoods over their heads, walked past the shell shocked monks, and pulled open the massive doors of the monastery before entering without so much as a word.
Groups often look to their leader in times of confusion for guidance and the monks did so now. The abbot felt about two dozen pairs of eyes fall on him.
“What- um... What was all that about abbot? I don't remember the records mentioning that part.” Asked a portly older monk.
“It is not explicitly in the records or stories true, but in falls in line with their manner. They create the circle and then break it, they sing but don't speak. The flame is not to be extinguished by their hand. They walk and then they run. The basics have been as such for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. Any, 'creative license' is probably not recorded.” The men gathered around him showed faces with as many new answers as they did satisfaction with his answer. He dismissed them for now, “Come on, our guests are waiting.” He turned and signaled with his hand and the men followed him to the door. He cracked it open and cautiously squeezed his frame through the opening. The rest of the monks followed him in after opening the door wider, leaving the torches burning outside.
The atmosphere in the room was tense, the guests all turned to stare at their hosts as they entered. Words of greeting were not exchanged between the two groups.
The women were seated on the benches in such a way that it forced each monk to sit in between two of the women. These were not men who were used to such close feminine presence, even if one might not exactly call this bunch feminine. Sure, there were the occasional female pilgrims but the monks were never required to sit with them, or even usually converse with them. They would come forth, make their donation, give a prayer, receive a blessing, and then be off.
But now! Several of the men and boys eyed the space alloted for them with apprehension. They might not be having thigh to thigh contact on one but possibly both sides! A few of them undoubtedly wondered if running off would lead to their removal from the abbey and whether this was worth their current employment. The answer turned out to be no. Envious glances were cast to the deaf Brother Marcuse, who sat at his own small table pulled up against the wall. A plate of food that had been set there looked overwhelmed by the assortment of quills, scrolls of blank paper, and pots of ink wrought from forest berries that shared it's surface area.
Abbot Calum took off his glasses and rubbed them against his robe not placing them back on his face. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised by the actions of his congregation, for many of them, even the older ones, had been at the abbey in some capacity since they were small children. Such an occupation was extremely masculinized. Not sexually of course, all of them were celibate, and the few he'd caught staring at female pilgrims had certainly never acted on their impulses to his knowledge.
He sighed, supposing it would be up to him to break the ice on this one. He scanned the room and found the only thing that set one of them apart from the rest: a pair of eyes. In the middle of a bench filled with blond haired, blue eyed women, sat a blond haired, blue eyed women.
Well, kind of. On slightly closer inspection that label would have to be adjusted to blond haired blue eye women. Only the right eye matched her country women, the left was was a pale sea green. He stepped forward and without hesitation he sat down across from this woman, perceiving it his duty to be near a fellow leader. He slipped his glasses back on
He clasped each the hands of the two women seated next to him in his own, flashed a smile at each of them and gave them a quick blessing before doing the same with the woman across from him. The two next to him stared at him in shock and stiffly uttered their own blessings while the leader calmly responded back to him.
It was then that Calum realized these folks were no more used to socializing with strangers, especially men, then his own wards were. He almost laughed out loud before he considered how impolite that would be.
He stared at the abbess across from him,here discolored eyes only different shades of red through his tinted gaze. “You must be the of talked of Cassadra, Abbess of the monastery-in-the-North. I've heard of your readings and prophesies. Your quite famous around these parts in your own right.”
Her voice was high and airy, cracking the silence like a whale breaching through a thin layer of ice, “Thank you Abbot Calum. You are as youthful as your reputation would suggest, your monastery is in excellent condition.”
“You are more youthful than your reputation would suggest. I've heard tales of your work when I was just a child, even earlier in fact. Are you all so young as you appear?”
“No I confess we aren't. It is part of the God's blessings. We live no longer than any other human, but we can choose to appear young until we pass away. I myself am in my sixties.”
The rest of the monks finally accepted the fact that they wouldn't be killed right after they sat down and they found their ways to seats, albeit clumsily and awkwardly. Most of them still sat as though the people next to them were made of lava however.
A few of them mimicked their abbot's greeting to those around them. But mostly they just reached for food and drink to give their mouths something to do. Only the abbot really kept up conversation with the guests.
“You've had a long trip, according to the maps drawn by our cartographers. It must've been a month or so to get here from the North, right?”
“Yes, that sounds about correct. All things considered though it was a very pleasant trip. We managed to stay clear from any of the War's skirmishes and we had only a few run ins with some of the Forest's beasties.”
The abbot knew what she was talking about in theory if not in practice, for he'd seen the standard fare animals around the mountain, wolves, snakes, an occasional bear, and the deceivingly dangerous wild boar. But he'd also heard, as well as witnessed and treated the damage of other creatures. Huge brethren of the aforementioned creatures, capable of tearing a man in half with a single bite, crippling an entire horse with the swipe of a paw. Several pilgrims had come to the abbey in such states of disarray and panic that he'd began to even believe the stories of darker tales, those of demons lurking in the Forest. And those were not the only tales, if every story was to be believed there were also boggarts, faeries, giants, and other folk taking refuge in the woods massive expanses. The abbot did not dismiss these stories completely, the Forest was just too large to say you knew anything for sure. The forests had only been very partially charted by man's hand and eyes, it was anyone's guess how far they really went.
“I'm very glad to hear that.” Calum said, “Not all who walk through those woods reach us here in such fine health. And to think, you held those torches the entire journey!”
The blond haired abbess merely shrugged her affirmation. He recalled reading that every one of the members would keep her eye watching over the flames all night to make sure they stay aflame. That unfortunate sleepless soul would be expected to keep up with the pack in the next day's forced march, and carry her own flame aloft until nightfall, when the duty would be passed onto the next person in line. The importance of this couldn't be understated though, if a single torch was extinguished before they reached their destination they had to return North and redo the journey, even if their endpoint was only a few feet away.
He looked around the room wondering who'd had the job last night. He noticed most of the eye's in the room were watching them. “I guess the mealtime vows habits to break, no abbess?” He noted with a grin.
“Abbess Tejas.” She corrected, “We are at least spending the night together, we may as well be on a first name basis.”
“My apologies, Abbess Tejas.”
She stopped talking and took in the near silence that neatly filled the lull, interrupted only by soft chewing and sipping, with a look of irritation. “You've waited decades for this opportunity, in the names of the Gods,will you please converse!”
Even the eating and drinking stopped at this outburst. But only momentarily. Slowly at first, but gradually more comfortably, the talk in the room increased until the scene could almost be considered a normal meal.
But only almost, for near everyone knew why these groups of people had gotten together and those who did would certainly find out soon. It wouldn't just be a nice meal and acrobatics. There was some more solemn and serious business planned for that night. For now though, and rightly so, their visitors were only concerned in gaining back their strength and enjoying the newfound company of their fellows. But though there was carousing and merriment throughout the remaining meal, there was also a sense of uneasiness permeating the atmosphere.
Records had been kept of the previous visits that the women from the monastery-in-the-North had made. They were prophetic in nature and hadn't yet failed to come to pass in some form or other. There had been very specific proclamations of oncoming war and peace, the overthrow of kings and queens, famine or surplus, plagues and other miraculous acts. Sometimes there were a bounty of different predictions contained in the one visit, but then again at one visit written hundreds of years ago the only record of the visit were the words, “disease six”. And indeed, six years later there had been one of the most awful pestilences on record.
In fact the last visit included a single line about the abbot's own early ascension to the head of the abbey-in-the-woods. He hoped that he would be able to stay out of this batch, getting mentioned in too many prophecies would eventually make a fatalist out of anyone.
All the food and drink were cleaned off of the table and silence fell over the room. Again eyes returned to the pair of leaders.
The two nodded at each other and stood up away from their seats. Everyone else hastily got up as well, with one unfortunate monk tripping over the hem of his robes. He managed to scramble back to his feet, his face redder than the wine he'd been drinking. The abbot laughed, the abbess didn't.
She motioned and her followers and she went outside. A couple of the monks began to follow them out but the abbot shook his head, “They'll be back in a moment, have patience brothers Marco and Gilliam.
And indeed, a half minute later the doors to the hall opened again and the dignitaries filed in.
“Stand against the wall if you please.” The abbess commanded.
Shoes scuffled and scraped against the stone floor as they hurried to obey. They now stood in a ring around the procession and the prophets from the North filled the center of the room, each of them holding their torches from before in their hands.
All of them except the abbess knelt down and held their torches high above their bent heads. It was a rough square of flesh and flame and about a yard away from this knelt phalanx stood this reading's prophet, her hands conspicuously short of flame. The abbot wondered how many times this group had rehearsed this ritual. Perhaps never, perhaps everyday. He wasn't about to ask now.
A chanting and singing arose from the mass of women underneath the torches and as their voices rose and fell, strangely so did the flames. This eerie chorus continued as the monks looked on, mouths again agape. None of them had ever seen or heard such vocal control of the element of fire before. The blue man danced in rhythm to the hymn. One particularly pious monk dropped to his knees and began to bless the God of fire, who was not a typical part of the abbey's recitation. But despite the impressive display, the abbess had yet to do anything and this was really her performance.
But then the abbess stepped forward a little bit and unclasped her hands and all doubts of her mastery vanished.
With sweeps and flicks of her hands like a conductor the flames fell in line with her vocal bidding. The crackling and snaps of the fire grew louder as her movements became more grandiose and bombastic. And then she stopped moving entirely.
The she opened her mouth and a note so high it carried over the noise of the fire and chanting as though it was the only noise there. The flames literally leaped off the torch sticks for a second before falling back down Her voice slowly fell in volume and the ferocity of the flames likewise fell until the abbess hit a clear note with as much force as she could muster. The flame jumped and rose.
And rose. The flames lifted off their torches and were suspended in midair, the fire wriggling like a worm. The abbess' singing stopped and her hands started their motion to and fro again. And now the fire truly danced amongst one another, as the pale blue fire twisted and length and them swirled and whirled like a barrel of snakes under a charmer's flute.
By now all other monks except the abbot had fallen to one or both knees and were feverishly praying. All of them believed, they truly did, in what they had learned and studied and practiced, and according to that teaching what they were seeing was impossible. And yet it was happening, a miracle.
Abbot Calum didn't join in, though he wanted to, for it was important that he see all of this. Still though, he'd removed his glasses for a better appreciation of the color.
The noise of the fire grew to a roar and only the deaf scribe continued his work unaffected, seeming to have all his faculties as he scribed down his interpretation of the events. It was ironic that if Marcuse failed to read the prophet's lips correctly at the time of the prediction that he would have to get the most important part from someone else but such was life.
The abbess' eyes held the smoldering gaze of the the fire unflinchingly and the fire twisted and contorted on itself in its fury. Her hands slowly stopped moving and the flames died down and returned to their torch sticks. Her arms were held out parallel to the ground, palms up. All the chanting stopped and all that could be heard were the murmured prayers of the monks. The abbess turned her hand over and a loud hiss could be heard as each fire was snuffed out simultaneously.
The torchbearers stood up and allowed their now smoking torches to fall to the ground with a clatter. The group maintained synchronization until they found themselves behind their leader, all facing the same direction.
Brother Marcuse took the pause to scurry and grab a new scroll of paper and opened a new pot of ink. He was doing excellent work by what Calum had observed. I'll have to congratulate him later and allow him to rest his fingers.
“I've read the signs of the fires and it's shown me very little this time.” Tejas announced soberly.
The abbot's face fell at that, he'd expected a much grander prediction. But he sucked it up and asked what she'd seen.
“Just one event actually. But one both very near to here and very soon.” She paused for effect, “A boy is going to fall from the sky and hit the ground somewhere in this forest. His fall will change the Forest. His rise will change the world. Possibly for the better, very possibly for the worst. When the impact happens you need to find this boy and protect him, for you won't be the only one searching for him.”
The abbot's head was spinning. From the sky? No one could survive such a fall. Perhaps it wasn't literal. But then why was it so important, and how would it change the Forest. “W-who will fall?”
“I'm not sure, but you'll know when it happens. The Forest will be greatly disturbed.” He started to ask another question but she raised her hand to silence him, “I can't know everything about the event, only that it will occur. That will have to be enough for you.” The abbot noticed her once green left eye was now the same color as it's opposite. It was like the fire sucked the color out of it. In a way it had. It would be the last reading Abbess Tejas Cassandra would be able to render. It was the final one she would need to give.
