The Yearning Birch

The rain came, bringing Sister Water to Brother Earth. Yet Boric sat.

The sun fell and the sun, Brother Fire of the Sky, rose again. Yet still, Boric sat.

The tree grew, in the space of a day, what a tree would need years to grow. Yet still, Boric sat.

The leaves of the tree waved gently in the morning breeze, each vein, each cell of color a separate piece of a greater entity. Boric studied the tree, watching the threads of magic fade from the tree. Standing in awe of the threads of nature as they filled the void. This tree would live a long and patient life, for this tree, Boric could tell, had a Name. This vale was Named, to some - the villagers, the raiders, the slaves they must surely now be. The Name of the vale, hidden in the pattern of the tree might never be known to Boric, but the tree knew the Name. The tree was the Name. This place, the powers have decided, is The Vale of the Yearning Birch. A place of magic, this vale would stand in remembrance for all ages, after the ruins had crumbled, after the last of the touch of the Name-givers had gone.

The leaves were speaking in silent whispers to Boric when he first saw the human girl. She barely stood tall enough to see over even the lowest of the crumbled walls, but he saw the raven black hair as she peered around the corner. Boric briefly shook his head and cleared his eyes: the meditation, he believed, had taken to giving him visions. Yet when he looked again, the girl was standing meekly by the corner in full view, tears running down her face.

Slowly, Boric rose to his feet, lay his staff to the side, and walked around to the near side of the birch. The girl watched him with fear and loneliness in her eyes. Biting her lower lip she released all the pain that she had pent up and ran to Boric, embracing him around the waist.

Gently he embraced the child, tears streaming down his face - both pain for her loss, and renewed pain for his. He pried her from his waist and held her at length for a moment, saying, "Let me get a look at you child. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, indicating that she was not, but Boric's trained eye scanned her regardless. Indeed, but for some small scratches she was unscathed. A wonder, that she had come through the thing unharmed. Obviously a girl quick to think on her feet, she had apparently hidden as the village was raided and destroyed.

Again, he clasped her to his side, murmuring as softly as his harsh orkish voice would allow, "Be still my child. You are safe now. Be still." When she had cried herself out, he scooped her into his arms and proceeded to retrieve his staff and bag. Gently he set her down under the shade of the birch, the leaves of the tree brushing her cheek and said, "I will check the ruins for anything of value. We can use what I find to arrange for care for you."

He turned to walk away, and stopped. Turning, he knelt and said to the girl, "My Name is Boric Hawkhorn, of the clan Frost's Peak. What are you called by, my child?"

Clearing her throat she said, "Patiri."

"Then you wait here Patiri. I will not be long." With Patiri's assent, Boric went to the ruins, and began to search through the ashes and wreckage to locate anything that might be of value to someone. Most everything that might be considered so at first glance was taken by the raiders. But Boric's gaze was more than a first glance. As he took stock of each item found, he did his best to determine how the item might play to the larger meaning of things. In the end he came forth with some tarnished, lead utensils, and a bag of silver that someone has stashed beneath the floor boards of one of the less damaged houses.

"I believe, friend Patiri," Boric said with some satisfaction and relief, "that you will be well cared for." With that, he scooped the child into his arms again, gathered his bag and staff to him, and set out. "Let us be away from this place and find you a new family, eh?"

Patiri nodded again and the two set off down the road.

The days passed well, with the conversation between Boric and Patiri allowing time to pass unnoticed. Patiri, apparently satisfied that this kindly ork meant her no harm, accepted him as mentor and, more importantly, as friend. Boric was particularly glad to have the opportunity to relive an aspect of his life that had not been a part of him since the trial...

Boric stood before the assemblage of elders, awaiting ever so patiently, their decision on the matter. He was confident that the truth would be enough to speak for him, so he had not given his defense much thought. To rile the younger orks was one thing, but his brother did not have the evidence to prove his allegations. While he and Garak had no love lost between them, he did not think his brother had a full understanding of the situation. Surely Bendthra would explain the entire situation as a terrible sickness, and Boric would get back to his family.

The clan seer came from his cartra and took his place in the circle of elders. He looked about the other elders, each nodding in turn as the seer's eye fell on him. The seer turned to Boric and addressed him.

"Boric Hawkhorn, you stand before us accused of murder and deceit in the name of your own gain. I have know you since you were a crawling babe still attached to your mother teat. Of all the elders, it was hardest on me to hear the charges presented. Your brother, Garak, however, has presented me with enough evidence to force me to acknowledge that it is likely, though not proven, that you may have done this grievous deed. It is with great sadness and burden that I stand with the elders and pronounce you guilty as you have been charged."

Boric stood in shock. He could not believe his ears! There was no evidence presented! He had been present for the entire proceeding and saw none! How could they possibly do this? What has happened here?!?

"I must concede, however," the seer continued, "that the evidence was not conclusive. I have convinced the other elders to consider all the good you've done for the clan in your years here. With this due consideration, I pronounce the following sentence.

"Boric Hawkhorn, of the clan Frost's Peak, you are heretofore banished from the lands of the Frost's Peak clan. All ties to the clan, all family, all friends, are from here-after dissolved. You shall this day exit the gates of our village, never to return. Being sighted in our lands will mean the automatic forfeiture of your life. I say to you, I have never been so disappointed with a member of this clan as I am with you today, Boric Hawkhorn, the clanless."

With that, the seer slammed the iron-clad tip of his staff to the ground; once, twice, then a third time. As one, the clan turned their backs to Boric.

Boric stood rooted in disbelief. He looked around, looking for those that would not participate in this foolishness, but he found none. He looked for the familiar forms of his wife, with her fire red hair cascading down broad shoulders, but found her not. His children - they were nowhere.

Perhaps he could have cried out. Perhaps he could have babbled about the mistake that they had made. He, however, was an Elementalist, and now was a test of his discipline, as much as any climbing, casting or meditating. He turned to the gate, with only the clothes on his back, and walked out. Just outside the village, he turned to the rear-facing clan. With sudden, mystical surety of himself, he said, in a voice both quiet and penetrating, "A grave mistake has been made this day, and a time will come when my return will be all that saves you from a great sickness in the heart of the clan. Long live the Frost's Peak clan."

And then, he was walking.

It had been nearly three years since he took those first steps out of the clan. He'd made his way across Barsaive as a healer and Elementalist, offering his meager talents for food when hungry, and board when the weather turned bad. As often as he could, he performed the work that was needed, even if not asked, without a second thought, and without asking anything in return. He had been done a great injustice, but there was no reason to deliver such a blow to those he'd met.

Three months ago, he'd come upon the first of the raider's villages. At first, they simply came in, looted and left. The only injuries were those foolish enough to try and stand in the Scorchers' way. As the string of villages grew longer and longer, each village attack became progressively more violent. In the next village they raped the women, after that, they took the younger villagers for slavery. Then they just started killing.

Patiri was the first ray of light into Boric's life in what seemed like a long time. He enjoyed having a child around again. He was slowly remembering what it was like to be a father.

This last village, the Vale of the Yearning Birch, though, must have had a greater effect on him that any of the others. Perhaps it was just Patiri's constant presence, serving as a reminder of the pain and sorrow that these Scorchers were causing. In his dreams, Boric found himself reliving the final moments of the vale's inhabitants. He would sometimes be observing from the rise in the road, standing mute as men, women, and children are mowed down. Sometimes he would be one of the victims, running from a mounted raider, trying to get away, to get free, only to feel the bite of the blade to the back of his head...

The dreams would cause him to start awake. A moment would pass, and he would remember where he was. He'd look over and check to be sure that Patiri slept safely beside him. Still, though, the dreams were becoming worse.

On the fourth day of travel with Patiri, as the pair crested a rise, they could see a long, river fed valley, and in the center a town. A full third of the town was in smoldering ruin, but the remainder stood firm. The town, unlike the others, had a wall that stood around it. Apparently, that wall had been the edge the village had needed to help repulse the attacks.

Boric scooped Patiri into his brawny arms and started out for the town at a trot. It was likely that the town would need the service of a physician in the wake of the attack. That was a service he could, and would provide.

Initial inspection showed that to be true. The wounded, dead, and dying lay scattered about the town square, and without so much as a word, Boric went to work. He set Patiri down, and began to do what he could for each of the victims, taking Patiri in tow from one to the next.

The pair came to a man that was bleeding badly from a stab to the shoulder. The bleeding must be controlled if the man was to survive. Boric placed a rag on the wound and instructed Patiri to hold the rag on the wound as hard as she could until he returned. She agreed, having seen much worse that this in her own village, and he set about to help the others.

It was when he was working on a patient a row or two over that he first noticed it. It was the missing link to the picture that had been haunting him, yet he choose to ignore it because he could not accept the possibility.

As he finished the young woman he was working on, he began to weave the thread. He bent down and scooped a handful of Brother Earth, and fed the power from the matrix to the dirt in his hand, asking Brother Earth to help him with this difficult task.

Boric cast Brother Earth to the air.

"Patiri!"

Brother Earth reformed, taking long slender shapes, like a dwarven belt of daggers.

Patiri looked up, and the grin on her face faded, as she realized that her masquerade was over.

"May your soul be released, my child!"

Brother Earth sped to the creature called Patiri with magical speed. The darts, near four inches in length each, drove into the face, head and chest of the shell that housed the vile creature. It was then Patiri screamed; an inhuman, shrieking, scream that ripped though the crowded square. Any whose attention had not been captured by the ork's appearance, or sudden, irrational attack on a child, now paid attention.

Patiri pulled its hands back from the victim it was to be holding the pressure on, only to have strands of magical energy so intense as to glow as she severed contact. It had been feeding. Boric knew it when he saw it from across the square. Patiri was feeding on the pain and suffering of the person he had told the child to help. Boric knew the lore. Only one kind of creature fed off pain or suffering -- a Horror.

Though already battle fatigued, a few men who were jumping to the defense of the child turned their attention to the creature that was now writhing on the ground. The leader of the group, by rank an officer of some type, was the first to act. He stepped to the form and drove his sword down into the creature, withdrew, and did so again.

Patiri tried to rise, but another salvo of darts, another stab of the sword, and it was driven down once again. Other fighters came and did the same, until five blades at once pinned the creature to the ground.

At last, the creature screamed one last wailing scream, shuddered, and lay still. The fighters withdrew their blades, and stared down at the corpse of a six year old girl, one they had just stabbed repeatedly.

As Boric and the fighters watched, a darkness came over the skin of the corpse, and continued to build until the skin was blacker than any obsidiman's. Just when it seems the blackness could grow no more intense, it lifted from the body like a cloud. The vapor formed a brief shape - like a many legged mushroom with a human face, and then fell to vaporous pieces.

On the ground lay the body of a child, whose name no one knew, from a village somewhere no one could guess. On the ground lay the body of a child who had died, tens, possibly hundreds of miles from where she now lay. A child who died when she was touched. Touched by a Horror.

Boric set about help the remaining victims where he could, and when his help was no longer required, he bid the villagers farewell. He stepped to the edge of the square and picked up the body of the girl he had grown to love like a daughter, the girl that he killed, and began to walk toward the ruined gate. As he exited he was stopped by the call of an old man, "Healer!"

Boric stopped and turned, staring at the man through tear clouded eyes.

"There is something you ought know about the girl, healer."

Boric tried to respond, "What is that, friend?" but only succeeded in producing a crackling resembling the words.

"Before you attacked, you called her by the name Patiri. Is this the name it gave you?"

Boric nodded.

"There is an ancient language, possibly from before the time of Thera, I cannot say. In that language, patiri means 'one who suffers'." The man leaned heavily on his staff. "You did the right thing, my son. You set her free. Never doubt that."

There was no answer that Boric could give, so he gave none. He walked back up the trail he and his daughter-to-be had followed.

Boric walked into the Vale of the Yearning Birch, and he dropped his staff and bag to the ground. He cradled the form of the child to his chest. It had been two days and nights of straight walking to get here, but Boric knew it must be done.

The birch, grown greater than the height of a building stood, in the center of the patch of plowed Brother Earth. It was to there that he walked. Under the shade of the tree, under the eye of a guardian that would never sleep, Boric lay the body of the girl. He had no stones left, had no spell for the ritual, but instead he hung his head over her and he cried.

Sister Water bled from his eyes and fell to Brother Earth. Brothers and Sisters considered the events and decided that the request was an honorable one. It was Brother Wood, however, that took up the cause.

The birch tree shuddered and groaned, and it was watered, so slightly, by the tears from Boric's eyes. With great caution, the roots of the Yearning Birch came up from Brother Earth and bore the body of the child up. The roots gently brought her to the trunk, where the child, once alive and happy, was taken into Brother Tree. As Boric watched, the Yearning Birch absorbed the child he knew. He sat for what seemed both an eternity and a fraction of a second, and wished, more than ever, that these events were not his to witness.

But they were.

As Boric rose, the great birch shuddered again. Boric looked to the tree, and stared in amazement as from the depths of Brother Tree came a staff. Long and slender, it was of pure white birch wood, and covered with a pattern he could not fully discern. Boric reached out a hand and took the staff. Brother Tree shuddered one final time, and for a moment, it seemed as if the great limbs of the tree embraced him, and he thought, for that split moment, that he heard a voice say, You have done well.

There was no doubt, Boric was now done in this vale. He took up his new staff, and scooped his backpack, and set forth on the road.

Boric Hawkhorn, the Elementalist, disowned of the Clan Frost's Peak, knew for the first time in his life that he was at peace. And that Brothers Earth and Fire, Sisters Water and Air, and Brother Wood, were at peace with him. And wherever this road may take him, he would be comforted in them. Boric, once again, had a family.

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