Chapter 5. Sacrilege

  Theodren reeled from the severance of his thread. It was like suddenly losing the sensation of touch.Crippled in the only ability that truly mattered in the moment.

  He grasped at the frayed ends of his power, desperate to complete his task. “NO NO NO! Weaver I was so close!” He wailed in his mind. “Help me! Weaver! Anyone!!!” His thoughts seemed to echo in his mind, rolling off into the depths of his mind. Then, like a hand on his shoulder he felt a presence.

  It was like a lightning bolt danced along the edge of his mind. His eyes flew open in shock. He blinked the world back into view clearing the spots from his vision. Nothing moved. Neither Eleina nor Polly or even the handful of women Polly had assisting her. The whole world seemed encased in amber, unmoving. All except, for the Tree.

  Theodren could not speak, could not think, could not move. He was rooted to the spot in shock and fear of the unknown. What was before him should not be. Could not be. The Tree dominated his vision, demanding his attention. From its thick timeless roots to its expansive foliage it seemed to swallow the room. The very bark defied reality. It glowed from within as if teeming with such life it overflowed. From its branches hung a single solitary apple. A red so deep it seemed dipped in the lifeblood of some great beast.

  A slender branch extended down and seemed to caress Eleina’s cheek. “Your Weaver’s thread has failed you priest.” The words came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, yet Theodren knew that only the tree could be their Orator. “Your God has ordered that her death be so.” Theodren’s rage began to form.

  “Who are you to defy the Weaver? Exalt him Priest.” The last word dripped with a bitterness Theodren could not begin to understand. “Your God’s indifference has ordered her death at the precipice of new life. A life WASTED before she could even breathe the air of this world.” Theodren felt more than he saw the being’s unseen eye scrutinizing his very soul. “Who are you to defy the God Tyrant?”

  Theodren’s rage was all but bursting at the seams. The tree spoke a truth he had not wanted to confront. He was well aware of the cold indifference of his holy master. A part of him knew that there was no breaking the path Odrain had ordered. His defiance had cost him what modicum of power he had trying to save Eleina.

  The injustice of it rankled him. This could not be. He would not abide this path. His rage boiled over at the barbs of the strange tree. His soul roared in answer.

  “I AM THEODREN! SON OF THORN! I WILL NOT CEASE! I WILL NOT GIVE IN! I WILL SAVE THEM BOTH WITH MY OWN WILL! WHO ARE YOU TO CHALLENGE ME?” The tree seemed to glow brighter at his defiance. The weight of the Tree’s presence gathered in force, pressing down upon his shoulders. “I am Yggdrazil.” The Tree stated sounding almost pleased. “And life is neither yours nor even the Weaver’s to give. It is MINE.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Theodren had never heard the name before, but it thrummed with a primordial sense of power he could only describe as alive. His rage was snuffed out like a candle before a hurricane. Whatever this strange being was, it was clear that he understood nothing of it. “What are you?” Was all Theodren could manage. The breaking of his thread had drained him, that last outburst of defiance took almost all that was left of his will. The effort to remain standing felt enormous, but he would not falter now. not in the face of the Tree.

  “Once I was kin to Odrain, then I was his slave. Now… i am a fraction of what I was. But still I remain. I am Life. I am what drains from this girl as we speak. And so I shall give you what your Lord never has.”

  Theodren raised an exhausted eyebrow. “A choice. Remain as you are, continue your loyal service to the Weaver and live a life of quiet anonymity amongst the townsfolk.” The comfort of the mundane life he already knew was dangled before him. He could remove himself from the bizarre complexity of this strange moment, return to his church and his books and his forge. He looked down at Eleina, her face locked in an expression of suffering.

  Or… Theodren looked back up at the tree. “And the other?” Theodren asked, expecting to finally hear what the Tree truly desired of him. The apple descended from the tree hovering just arms length from him, tantalizing in the fullness of it. “You will abandon the will of Odrain. You will no longer be locked into his ordered path for Theodren son of Thorn. You will accept my patronage and bestow life where life should be. Yours shall be the power of creation, yours will be the spark of life, yours shall be a power feared and despised by the order you once belonged to.” The Tree paused.

  A more somber tone filling its many voices. “I offer you power, and I offer you suffering. Your service to others will be beyond compare, but you shall be hunted for all your days. If you accept my gift, you will save many.” The Tree seemed to motion down toward Eleina’s still form, and then back up to Theodren’s chest “And damn yourself.”

  Theodren was beside himself. The Weaver was the only god he had ever known. Years of his life he spent in service of him. Any good he had done in the world was in the Weaver’s name. Looking down at Polly’s red and swollen eyes, he knew there was truly no choice. The Weaver’s thread had failed him, and so he had failed Eleina. But this failure need not stand.

  He reached for the apple, gripping it firmly in his shaking hand, he drew it to his mouth. “My strings are broken.” He intoned solemnly. He bit down into the apple, it was an almost bitter sweetness.

  The juice of it ran down his throat and his beard, and with it came truth. The truth of life itself, the spark that turned lifeless matter into living beings. The tenacity with which life pressed on, despite the odds, despite even the orders of the Weaver. That tenacity was present in Eleina. He could see it now. A trickle of green vapor clung to her, unwilling to let go, it had drained far from her heart and her mind, coalescing in her womb, doing everything she could to sustain the baby still within her. He reached for it, placing a hand on her belly, he closed his eyes.

  He felt the flow of his own life force, a Great Lake of power sat within him, lazily flowing from his heart toward his limbs and his head, he pushed on the flow, willing a stream, a river, into the unconscious woman before him. The divine thread could not save her because Order was not what she needed. She needed life, chaotic and potent. And while he may not have had much thread to speak of, he had a new power to call upon. And call he did. As he willed the flow of it into Eleina, he saw the Tree begin to fade from the room, before it was completely gone, roots reached up and entwined themselves into his chest. They pushed into his very soul, he felt a searing pain at their invasion, but he gritted his teeth and bore through the pain. He could not lose focus now. The only evidence that the tree had ever been there was the mark of a caduceus made of vines upon his chest and the fluttering eyes of Eleina drifting open.