Chapter 7.

  Vitae

  Theodren excused himself early from the excitement of Theviana’s name day celebration. As he stumbled through the celebration he snagged a large cut of mutton and a flagon of the ale Polly had kept hidden from Pieter for the occasion of her first grandchild. Scarfing down the mutton and draining his mug he fled the celebration.

  His mind was flooded with hundreds of consequences for what he’d just done, each worse than the last. Half running up the final hill to the church that no longer felt like home, he stumbled around the vine covered corner and into his forge. Collapsing onto the stool beside his furnace he hung his head in his hands.

  “Why do you flee?” Theodren jerked back as if struck. There in the corner of his workshop stood the Tree. Yggdrazil was rooted to the very floor as if it had withstood the test of time in that very spot since the world began. He wanted to lash out at the tree, to blame the god. Blame it for his failing, for his current predicament for a host of things big and small.

  He took a breath. “There could be no accountability without a mirror.” His father’s words cut through the storm in his mind. Theodren squared his shoulders and stared at the Tree.

  “I do not yet know my own mind.” The tree seemed to consider him carefully, silence stretching between them. “You have brought forth life this day. Should that not please you?”

  The sound of Eleina’s crying newborn leapt to his mind unbidden, a smile twitched at the edge of his mouth. If the new daughter’s lungs were anything to judge by, she would have her mother’s spirit.

  “That is perhaps the only good thing to come from this day.” If a tree could smirk, then he supposed it would look like what Yggdrazil had just done, branches shifting upward, leaves twitching in an invisible breeze. “Was your Weaver so great a master? That piddling Thread was never suited to you.”

  Theodren snarled. “Odrain is the father of all creation! He granted us this world! He granted us Thread. HE granted us life! Yggdrazil shook, a groan emanated from her bark as she grew to dwarf the forge, branches and roots snaking toward him threateningly. “YOU KNOW NOTHING OF YOUR GENESIS, CHILD. YOU ARE AS MUCH HIS AS YOU ARE MINE!”

  Theodren was stopped cold by Yggdrazzil’s outburst. He knew that there was much he did not understand. Only yesterday he had known that Odrain was the one true God of all creation, yet here he sat, being menaced by a Tree. “Then teach me.” The roots and branches of the Great Tree paused, shrinking back. It considered his request for a moment before Yggdrazil shrank down to her original size. “Very well.”

  Yggdrazil’s tale of the creation was nearly identical to what he had learned at the conclave. though the differences would fracture the very foundation of the civilization built upon the lies of the Weaver. Odrain was not always the Great Tyrant. He was a god of no power except for what was given to him, for Order was nothing when standing against the chaos of free will. He could create nothing without catalyst, and there were none greater than Life itself. Odrain and Yggdrazil were once joined together, and from their union of Life and Order came humanity. The two gods knew that their creation could not stand amidst the chaos of unformed reality, and at her encouragement, the gods agreed to form together under Odrain’s guidance.

  Though Odrain had no power of his own to speak of, he guided the efforts of the other facets masterfully. He weaved together the Great Tapestry of creation. With each facet he commanded, his power grew. Gaining control over each god one by one until the Tapestry was complete.

  But when the time came to release the gods and the aspects they ruled from his order, he chose to keep his mastery over them, by removing from them their grace, they became nothing more than his threads. The last to succumb was the Tree of Life herself.

  Tenacious and unyielding, she weathered his will until she could stand no longer. But life itself could not be ended. When Odrain’s will finally won out she slumbered, until she was roused by the desperation of a priest.

  Theodren sat considering the tale he had just heard. Children everywhere had been told the tale of creation.How Odrain the Weaver had gathered the threads of existence and bound them into the tapestry of existence. Not once had he ever considered that these threads had names. How many times had he manipulated the threads of existence? Used a cheap trick to bend the facets of reality to his will? The thought repulsed him. He felt the lake of power coursing through his body, a power all his own, untapped, a lake of potential he didn’t understand. He looked up at the shimmering tree before him, but there was one who did. “Tell me about this power.”

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  Yggdrazil gave a pleased shake of her branches. “Where once you had thread, now sits a spring of Vitae.” Theodren rolled the word around in his mind. He could feel the power of it within his soul, but when he tried to command it, it fought him. It had flowed so easily when he administered to Eleina, why now did it resist him?” The Tree seemed to sense his troubles. “You can not force life. It flows along it’s own path, not even Odrain could command my power for long. You will require practice and experience.”

  Practice and experience. These were two things he knew well. He remembered his long nights in the conclave practicing with his small strand of divine thread. It was a tool of immense discipline and mental fortitude, demanding a concentration and strength of mind to impose his will on the world.

  This Vitae may behave differently, but only by experiencing it himself would he gain the knowledge he needed to make this power truly his own. He got up and walked out of his forge to the vine covered wall of the church. He reached for the dry vine, made dormant by the winter winds that punished the top of the hill.

  At first he demanded the life in the vines heed his call. He pulled the Vitae from the vine, endeavoring to mold it in his mind's eye. He quickly came to realize the error of this approach as it withered and died, its vitae dispersed into the air.

  His face set into a frown as he tried again. He grabbed hold of another vine pulling at the vitae within, gently this time he pushed and pulled until the wood of the vine began to take the shape of a rough shovel. His brow beaded with sweat from the effort of holding the wild vitae in the shape he desired. It didn’t take long before the bubble of power burst, causing the vine to crumble a part. Several more attempts resulted in several more failures.

  Perhaps he was coming at this from the wrong angle, he theorized. This far he had been attempting to order and command the power of Vitae much like he had done with his divine Thread. He understood why he’d done it that way, but perhaps the secret to this power wasn’t to take. What if it was to give?

  The idea seemed to fit with his understanding of the nature of life. With his theory in mind he reached for the next vine with an outstretched hand. He felt for its vitae, so small compared to his own. He coaxed his own soul out through his fingertips, shepherding it into the vine.

  It stirred, growing rapidly, wildly searching around for support, it latched onto his arm which he gave willingly. It’s need for stable footing now met, he “encouraged” its growth. He would not force this life growing from his arm, he would guide it, mold it as a parent molds the mind of a child.

  The vine responded to him in kind. It grew denser and shrank in length, it split from the rest of the vine shrouding the church, nestling around his forearm and his palm. As he fed it the life water of his very soul, he felt it responding to his needs. it condensed even further, gaining a weight he had not expected.

  It formed a handle molded perfectly to his broad hand, stretching outward till it formed the head of a smithing hammer. Once it had completed its form he could feel that it needed more vitae for what it wanted. He fed it all the Vitae it seemed to ask for. His brow furrowed from the effort. As it lapped up his Vitae greedily, he could feel it growing denser.

  The small wooden hammer in his hand grew heavier, he could see the lines of the bark condensing deeper into itself until the color changed from green, to brown, to a deep black. As he stared at its surface, it seemed to form a sort of filigree over the head of the hammer. It resembled the vine it had sprang from only moments ago. As it’s desire for Vitae slowed and finally stopped, he admired his work. In his hand sat what appeared to be a smithing hammer of immaculate detail and ornamentation.

  He was unsure about the strength of a hammer made entirely of wood. A test was in order. He walked back into his forge and stood before the anvil. He felt the eyes of the Tree and his own anticipation mixed with the anticipation of the living hammer in his hand.

  He raised the hammer over his head, pausing to adjust his stance. Down he swung with all the force he could muster. A resounding CLANG rang out from his forge. He’d hardly felt the impact of the blow in his hand. he inspected the head of the hammer where it had struck the anvil, it was unblemished. He looked up at the Tree, giddy over his new creation. Yggdrazil looked on, amused.

  “You gave life. You encouraged and watched it grow to suit your needs and it did so gladly. I believe she will serve you well.”

  Yggdrazil’s last statement made him pause. He reached down to the hammer with his mind. Within it he felt not quite a consciousness but a will all its own. Understanding it would take time. A name might help. But none came to mind that suited his new artifact.

  Suddenly he felt the exhaustion from the day's events rise to the surface. No more could be gained from his continued absence from bed. “Sleep child, you have done more than could be expected of you this day.” Theodren nodded at the tree’s words. He went to place his new hammer down on the anvil but it recoiled from the cold metal, it unbound from its form and crept up his arm to coil around his bicep. His brows rose at the sudden unbidden action of his new smithing tool, he felt it settle, gripping his arm as a maiden might grip her suitor.

  “She will not part with you easily.” Yggdrazil mused. He supposed he couldn’t know what to expect from a living artifact such as this one, and trying to reason it out with a mind as exhausted as his was a fool's errand. Bidding Yggdrazil a hasty goodnight, he stumbled up the steps into the church. He was much too tired to consider the implications of entering the church of a god he had cast off, much less sleep within it. He pitched himself into the bed in his quarters not bothering to undress. Wrapping himself in the blanket, he closed his eyes and let the exhaustion take him.