068 - The Sleeping Forest

The many mounds filled the land beside the black river, the earth they were buried in slowly turning dark, becoming black itself, a rich earthy smell filled the air. Magnus breathed it all in; inhaling the deep scents of the earth and exhaling a white vapour.

Nothing. A blank mind, an empty table. Only me, only the seeds, the one is made many and the many become one . . the next stage . .

One by one the mounds of earth trembled, starting from those furthest away, a ghostly image of a mound separated and floated through the air, coming to rest over the very first mound.

The ghostly mounds rose by the dozen, flowing through the air in ethereal shades and overlapping the mound of earth in front of Magnus, every time they did the patch of dirt grew a little, seemed a little more real.

With every breath he felt himself more and more a part of the natural cycle, felt that the entire process was not only right; it was written, part of the fabric of his being, part of the world.

is all . . is all . .

A deep voice whispered over the breeze sounding everywhere at once.

"All is one is all." The words rose unbidden to Magnus' lips.

. . all is one is all . .

. . is one is all . .

. . one is all . .

. . is all . .

. . all . .

A profound sense of the archaic filled the air, as if an ancient tomb had been cracked open and the musty air of a thousand years rushed out. The heavy air settled around the first mound condensing into a black mist.

Magnus, his eyes closed, inhaled the black mist deeply, exhaling a churning mass of white mist, every breath mixing the black with the white and forming grey swirls of air. With the passage of time Magnus felt his skin harden, felt the thick air seep down through his flesh and into his bones.

The strangest of sensations . . every sinew and nerve tightening, setting into place. Magnus found it was near impossible to move, only his heart beating and chest rising and falling, every other part of his body rooting itself immovably to the earth.

Around him the many mounds of earth shook, a shoot of green breaking through the surface, almost all at the same time hundreds of tiny saplings poked up through the dirt.

The white mist hung low over the ground, a swirling blanket condensing into thicker pockets of impenetrable fog, the last of the black air swallowed in a single almighty yawn.

A thick white mist poured endlessly from his mouth, Magnus felt his throat and tongue harden, his mouth frozen wide open. At the last all that remained was a thump thump steady beat of his heart within a petrified chest.

It might have been an eternity, might have been an instant; Magnus could only tell that his heart was still beating. The world around him moved at a time very much of its own, fast and slow, a thousand years, ten thousand years, sunless days, motionless months and years with every slow pulse of blood through his veins, an eternity between every beat of his heart.

I am rooted to the earth. My legs, my toes, they are digging down through the soil, searching for nutrients and water . . my skin is bark, my belly and chest are growing up up up, my fingers turning into leaves, bright green stems through which warmth and sap flows.

Slow . . the pulse of the world slow . .

***

Three towers joined together, countless segments spinning in tandem. Each segment of the tower served a distinct purpose; from the high halls and marble arches of the nameplate libraries to the glittering crystal many coloured windows of an alchemical level. Every part of the towers seemed to be haphazardly stacked up on one another, fitted together around a central core.

Neither the top nor the bottom of the towers were visible, indeed, many an Alchemist postulated that the towers had no top or bottom, the theory being that all towers were in fact the same, merely at different points in time.

This, of course, was never confirmed or denied by the upper echelons of Alchemists, who instead prefered to cultivate an air of mystique about their formations and techniques.

Outside of the Alchemists home star system it was incredibly rare for a single tower to remain in orbit around any one planet for a period of time, let alone for two or three towers to join together.

Hundreds of Alchemists gathered together in a single forum, sitting on stepped stone benches in a semi circle around a central marble podium, a middle aged Alchemist stood stone faced at it clutching a stack of papers.

Several elderly Alchemists, their robes white and made from the highest quality silks and satins, stood at their benches, hurling insults and curses at once another. A dozen more voiced their discontent, stamping their feet and blathering on regardless of others.

Beside the podium a fierce elderly Alchemist pounded the marble floor with an iron staff, roaring "Gentlemen! Ladies! Decorum! Let the speaker finish!"

The forum fell quiet, in the centre the middle aged man coughed into his sleeve, looking somewhat nervously around the hall.

"As I was saying, it is a Celestial! The readings are inarguable! High Magister, there is no other interpretation of the facts, no other way to look at it."

"Hmph!"

"What about the Oracle?"

"Forget the Oracle, what about the auction? Are we to delay that yet again?"

"Phooey! Unfounded rumours! No Celestial has been seen for -"

"Order!" The staff thudded against the floor silencing the room once more.

"The 36th sigil, the 75th parallel, the hundred and eighty containment sectors, they all reacted! It is absolutely unprecedented, I know, but Fellows, Magisters, the facts are incontrovertible!"

Up on the higher stone benches a thin Alchemist clad in black robes stood. "What is to be done? If it is a Celestial . . what can we do? Has it been located?"

"No - the results, our finding show increased activity, a reaction, but - "

"Is it on one of the formation planets?"

"Well, we can place it within four hundred star systems, but -"

"Four hundred? That's the whole sector!"

"So it isn't in the formation?"

"It can't be a Celestial, not a chance! There must be a fault in the speakers methodology!"

The speaker on the podium wrestled with his papers, finally finding a single sheet and speaking over the hubbub. "We cannot locate it, but our methods are sound . . Sir, High Magistrate, if I may present our findings to the forum?"

"Phooey!"

"It is a flawed method -"

"ORDER!" The High Magistrate roared once more, his face turning bright red, furiously slamming the stave down again and again. "The speaker is to present the findings!"

"Thank you sir. Three distinct wave patterns were detected at the time of the anomalies, all three from the Ether. We are unable to locate the physical apparition of the Celestial, but together with the Segye Imperial Court and the Mithraic Seers it is quite possible that the source of the anomaly could be uncovered."

"What about the auction?" An elderly Alchemist called out.

"What about the new student trials?"

"Has the third council ratified a course of action?"

The speaker retreated from the central podium, leaving the Alchemists to debate and discuss. For hours they would confer, perhaps even for days, and was no place for those without the stomach for constant disagreement and interruptions.

***