Silas: The Balance of Nature

[BadKnight]

The moon shone overhead as the witching hour arrived. A mass of forms surrounded a singular entity; the lone being absorbing the soothing, yet daunting rays of moonlight. It seemed a stage that was slowly lessening by the encroaching onslaught. Their eyes were thirsty with emotion and their mouths agape with hunger. The individual, at first trying to stand firm, had no choice but to fall prey to the horror of its own mind – the manifestation of possible outcomes far too great to be handled by a mortal mind.

A loud boom filled the air and silence filled in afterward, quieting the magnificent forest.

No movement was made; a statuesque posture on all who previously had sought action. The figure in the midst uncovered its eyes; peering outwardly through a stretching of fingers over fearful hues.

“There are horrors in this world– and none are more horrifying than the horrors you create,” an elderly figure spoke as the crowd finally came to life, forming a corridor of elves to make way for the speaker. His voice, although grave, sounded most beautiful. He spoke the word of elves, and as such, it transmitted like strings from an instrument.

The red-haired elf in the middle was sweating heavily now; he seemed to be clawing at his face in frenzy. Although the circle around him no longer was tightening, the centered elf was not reacting in correspondence to this revelation.

“Drink this,” the elderly elf insisted. Within his grip was a wooden bowl – a thick, gooey liquid slowly swayed within its possession. “Drink this now, Gil’lead. You are not with us; you are hallucinating. Drink this!”

Hungrily, Gil’lead attacked the wooden bowl, inhaling its remnants thirstily. All was swallowed and a sobering effect soon followed over the fiery-haired elf.

“Did I succeed?” He begged the moment he caught his breath. “Tell me, High Druid, did I succeed in my trial?”

The High Druid seemed taken aback by the swift change in personality. He regarded Gil’lead with a fresher set of eyes. Those new hues seem contemplative and an answer was not given immediately. “I should say you did, young shaman.”

Relief swarmed over Gil’lead. His posture relaxed as he fell into a heap on the floor. Exhaustion had overcome his physique; the only thing that had kept him conscious was the desire for an answer. The High Druid motioned to the fallen elf, and members watching obediently went to aid the poor, sleeping creature. He was carried off the rest under the branches of a large, ancient weir wood tree not far where the High Druid resided. An elf from the circle, dark of skin –unusually tan for an elf- with graying blonde hair, approached the High Druid with reverence.

“He has done well, like I foretold. This trial is a foolery, if you would truly indulge in my opinion. I have not led you astray with my predictions yet – and we do not know the full extent the hallucinogen has on the mind. Some overcome its hold easier than others, but believe me when I say this; I have been told of failures that still wake in a cold sweat as if transported back to this night of fear and terror.”

The High Druid slowly turned to acknowledge his engager. His pale blue eyes surveyed the blonde elf before placing a weathered, dried hand upon his shoulder. “You speak from the heart. I am thankful for that. Your abilities have been most useful to me, this you know. You are a soothsayer, and that name holds true, esteemed prophet. But this trial is necessary!” The High Druid barked. “Chaos attempts to overburden us. There is no greater chaos, than the havoc reaped upon one’s own mind! I care not for your prophecy. I must see. I must see them overcome this chaos. I must know they are capable of handling the title of Shadoweir.”

The blonde elf nodded eagerly in response, bowing his head in indignation. “There is another thing I have foreseen. I do not know what to make of it. There is darkness on all sides of me and the bright moon above embracing me. It is an euphoric vision, High Druid. I have never felt so elevated in my life when I live this moment. I feel Mielikki embracing me, accepting me! I am worthy of Her in this moment!”

“Are you offering?” The High Druid inquired, stoically.

“I am. My visions are always right. I am.”

“For the initiate Gil’lead, I assume? Please, correct me if I am wrong.”

“You are most correct.”

“As you wish,” the High Druid stated somberly. “Bring forth the child before you attend to this duty. Initiate Gil’lead should be awakening
shortly. There is little time to waste if we are to do this properly.”

Under the weir wood tree, Gil’lead opened his freckled green eyes. Above him, the moon still shined brightly. He smiled. “It was not a dream. I remember this moon. This is real,” He said joyfully to himself, fatigue still mingling in his bones. Gil’lead pushed himself upward, onto his side. He observed the crowd around him. At seeing his consciousness, many made their way over to him. They offered him congratulations, handshakes, hugs and kisses. Each was well received by the tired wood-elf.

By this time, he had managed himself onto his feet once again. “Nature has guided me to my fate. I am glad the trial is finished and I await what is to follow as a member of the Shadoweirs,” Gil’lead stated proudly.

“There is still more you must do,” the High Druid stated from behind the congregation. Within his grasp, an elven infant. The baby’s eyes appeared calm and expecting. Following in the shadow of the High Druid was an elven woman, her concern for her child evident, but hidden for the respect she held for the High Druid.

“You must pass your name unto his child,” the High Druid instructed. “You will no longer be Gil’lead. Go on now. Name this child as your own; balance is necessary and you have little time to hesitate.”

Clearly unfamiliar with this tradition, Gil’lead glanced around worriedly. “Give up my name? But… I do not understand.”

“Do not question me!” The High Druid snapped in return. “If you do not, we will have created chaos this night and for that there will be consequences. You must prove to be balance in the mayhem. You are needed for restoration. Remember your duties, Gil’lead. Remember them as you forget who you are, as they are all that is solid in this world.”

Gil’lead paused; he swallowed this information in a difficult, audible gulp. Breathing through parted lips, he approached the infant. His lips, dry and broken, kissed the forehead of the child. “I give up my name unto you, child. This name is no longer my own, but yours. You are Gil’lead.”

At this moment, the mother rushed forward to grab her child, cradling it in her arms. “Oh, Gil’lead! What a beautiful child you are. What a wonderful name. Oh, Gil’lead!” Joy filled her voice and inspired the crowd, for they broke into cheers and applause.

“But who am I?” The red-haired elf inquired, silencing the commotion.

A scream of pleasurable agony pierced the night sky in the nearby distance. Somewhere near, the blonde haired elf made his last sound.

“You are Silas.”