The Supreme Warrior *2014 ABNA Contest 2nd Round*

CHAPTER 16.1: The Seeds of Conquest

Kumíru’s information quickly passed through the Temple hierarchy until it came to the ears of Keeper Uriel himself. As soon as he heard the news, the Keeper knew the Temple had to do something.

For long hours, Uriel sat in his private sanctum beneath the floor of the main temple, staring at the towering statute of Maht-Hildis through the enormous skylight that formed the roof. Even viewed from behind, the looming God both awed and humbled him. The severe forced perspective reminded the Keeper to serve Maht-Hildis, and not himself.

Despite the impressive sight above, Uriel felt isolated from the God of War. Bereft of inspiration, the Keeper knew what he must do. He rushed from his chamber. Though it was the very middle of the night, Uriel hurried to the stables for his horse. He had an errand that could not wait. As he rode into the darkness, his mind looked back into remote memory...

When Uriel had been little more than a thin and awkward fifteen-year-old with wild black hair, he had wandered out into the woods on the longest night of the year. Behind him, he left his father’s inn howling with Winter Night cheer. The rough company of the townsfolk had alienated the scrawny teenager. Why he felt that way, he did not know. His cousins had felt no such reluctance; Uriel had left them carousing merrily in the common room.

A full moon and blazing stars illuminated a bright night, and Uriel walked for hours on that crisp and powdery evening. The new-fallen snow clothed the land with stillness; Uriel’s harsh breath filled his red ears as he hiked. After hours of directionless wandering, he roamed into a remote glade and tripped over the cable-like roots of The Tree.

The Tree was a dark and twisted thing, not particularly tall or strong. Nevertheless, when he rested his hand upon its dark trunk, he felt runes beneath his numb fingers. Amazed, the young Uriel ran excited hands all over and around the trunk, examining the cryptic symbols.

Uriel recognized that the runes did not come from the hand of any man. They were not etched into the trunk; the runes seamlessly rose above the bark. The lines of script ran in even horizontal rows, too regular and too precise to be random. The runes were a message. A message from the Gods.

Days later, Uriel had brought the monk from his village chapel into the woods to see the Tree. Afterward, debate raged for weeks within the Temple of Maht-Hildis. Some believed the Tree marked the sacred grove where the founder of their order had gathered followers to himself and foretold the Collapse. Soon afterward, the founder led an exodus of missionaries into the remote North. The Temple had long known that the grove lay close to Selinger, and many hoped that they had found it. Others believed the Tree to be an artifact of Wodrewinan, God of the Wood.

Temple scholars pored over ancient manuscripts trying to decipher the obscure script, before giving up in frustration. The Archpriest of Fiandria finally declared the Tree to be no holy relic when he proclaimed, “Maht-Hildis does not issue decrees that his disciples cannot decipher.”

All the Keepers in the south had bowed to this wisdom.

Despite this proclamation, Uriel had never set aside his beliefs about The Tree. In the forty years since that night, Uriel had come to the grove when he did not know what course to follow. It had been before The Tree that Uriel had realized his life’s calling and had sworn himself to the service of Maht-Hildis. Many times, after long meditation in the grove, Uriel had made choices that had carried him to the pinnacle of his Temple.

Confronting the scourge of humankind from the ancient past compelled Uriel to return to the sacred place that had served him so well. Throughout his long service to the God of War, he never once had cause to doubt The Tree.

After a half-day’s ride, Uriel stood in front of the dark runes that he had found forty years ago. The Tree looked different, smaller and straighter, under the bright early autumn sun. Either the daylight, or the intervening years, had sapped the Tree’s supernatural aspect. As he ran a skeptical hand over the trunk, he found that the runes were still there.