Each living thing is engaged in a cycle of give and take with those around it. When the balance suffers, we na it strife. This is no more or less than the reestablishnt of lost balance; it is the process by which divinity reconciles itself with itself, consolidating and settling into a pattern which elevates it from its prior state and allows it to move forward.
When the balance is not disturbed, however, we have two nas for this. For so the balance becos stagnation. The divine stays isolated, broken, and waits for a chance to be more. For others, the balance is equilibrium. Divinity dances with itself, burgeoning and knowing the joy of its own being.
Strife is a necessary and holy course, but do not neglect the joy of balance. There is peril in contentnt; yet contentnt it remains.
- The Book of Eight Verses, the Verse of Growth. (New Kheman Edition, 542 PD)
No! Michael shouted, sitting bolt upright. He looked around in a panic at the idyllic garden, the blue sumr sky; he was sitting beneath the large apple tree that shaded Jeorgs house. He slamd his hand into the soil, jumping to his feet.
He couldnt be here. Friedrich was out there. Sobriquet and the others were fighting. Charles-
The realization of Charless death slamd into him fully for the first ti. Michael didnt bother denying it. He had felt it, bright and overwhelming, and it had taken him here. Frantic, he cast his eyes around; there was nothing but the quiet trees and fields.
Jeorg! he called. Jeorg, I need to wake up. I cant do this now, not with the fight still going-
There was a snort behind him; he wheeled to see Jeorg leaning against the tree, his pipe stem protruding from between weathered lips. The old man took a drag on it, then let the smoke out in a long, unhurried exhale. Why are you asking ? he asked. You know where we are. What this is. You are the captive and the jailor.
I dont know why I bother, Michael muttered, turning again and finding nothing new to aid in his predicant. Do you have any helpful advice to see out of here?
Jeorg said nothing, lifting his eyebrow and taking another drag on his pipe while Michael steeped in his anxiety. He exhaled again, then tapped out the pipe against the tree. By the ti Michael had finished his agitated pacing, Jeorg had replaced the pipe in his pocket and was watching him with an amused expression.
Michael made an exasperated noise. We could die, you know. Friedrich-
Youre concerned about ti, Jeorg said. Reasonable. Not necessary, though. He straightened up and began to walk down towards the orchard. Michael followed him irritably.
I know, he said. This is , confronted with things my mind cant face. Youve told a hundred tis, or Ive told - Michael grimaced and shook his head. So help do what I need to do. Guide towards Charless soul, let - make my peace with it. He swallowed heavily, the words tracing uncommon weight on his tongue as he spoke. His mind was grappling with the artifexs death pieceal, each mont a sharp and unpleasant reminder of what he could no longer change.
Jeorg snorted again. Still asking . Why?
Lack of options, Michael grated, his words hissing through clenched teeth. He reached out to grab the other mans shoulder, halting his leisurely walk down the orchard path. Please, Jeorg. I know youre more than - . You know things I cant. See things I dont. While Im dealing with this, the others are alone with Friedrich and a literal army of Ardans facing them. If more of them die-
Then youll feel it, Jeorg noted. Wont you? And you havent. Theyre all fine. Youre not. He nodded towards Michael. So help yourself first.
How? Michael asked, flinging his hands upward. Wheres the soul? Wheres the void? Every other ti Ive been here, we have a lovely conversation, I deal with whatever fresh horrible thing has happened, and then I fucking leave. But now were walking around in the trees like nothing is wrong, when it very much is.
Jeorg grunted. This ti is no different from the others. You co, you face the problem. The souls not here. Youre here, talking to yourself.
The implication being that Im the problem, Michael sighed. Fine. Except that I still dont have the slightest idea where to begin. I dont even know what the issue is.
Hmm, Jeorg said, tapping a finger lightly against his chin. You recognize this place?
Michael stopped and looked around. The orchard was bright and sunny, its branches waving gently in the wind. Its the orchard, he said impatiently. Of course I recognize it.
Thats a no, then, Jeorg muttered. Perhaps so help.
There was a quick movent at the periphery of Michaels vision; he looked down to see that roots had tangled around his foot. Ah, he said. You ant this particular spot. Hard to forget.
And yet you seem to have managed, Jeorg chuckled. First thing I ever taught you.
Michael bit back another testy response and took a breath, looking around. Mind frees the soul, he muttered. Soul frees the body. Okay. He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to let so of the anxiety bleed out from his posture.
A very short ti passed.
I still dont understand what Im ant to be doing, Michael said, throwing up his hands again. Im the problem. Im trapped. I need to accept that I am where I am. Fine. Except that Im not actually here. Im dreaming that Im stuck in the orchard because my friend just died, and I dont see how any of this- His voice failed him; he lashed out and pounded his fist into the tree. It hurt. Michael winced and cradled his hand, scowling down at the root still stubbornly wrapped around his foot.
He took another breath, then looked back up at Jeorg. I am having difficulty freeing myself, he said. In every sense of the word.
Jeorg shook his head, smiling; he walked over to a nearby tree and leaned against it. You had quite a fight with Friedrich, he said.
Michael blinked at the non sequitur. I suppose I did, he said. I never thought I could do that kind of thing. Blurring myself into different places, riding the paths forward.
And then a giant lunatic tried to chop your head off, Jeorg noted. So you stopped thinking you couldnt do it, and did it. He straightened up from the tree with a grunt of effort and began to walk around Michael slowly. Wasnt so long ago that you had to close your eyes and spout off so verse to do anything of note. What changed?
I did, is the obvious answer. Stanza is the sa. Michael shook his head. You told to change with intent, but I dont think Ive listened to your advice there, either. Ive barely kept up with the pace of things, and by the ti I noticed myself changing I could scarcely rember how I started.
Jeorg laughed, shaking his head. Foolish, he said. What, you think people set out to change themselves? Even if you tried, youd fail. What matters is that it was your action. Your intent guiding the circumstance. He looked Michael in the eye. The way its always been, back to that first choice you made.
Michael frowned as he took Jeorgs aning. That was the only choice I could have made, he protested.
Wrong, Jeorg said. The levity had gone from his voice, and his eyes glimred with so of their old light. There was the path where you took the lesser soul. Where you returned to your father and lived under his boot. The path that saw you wither and die long before you drew your last breath.
Jeorg leaned close, the light in his eyes intensifying, taking on a familiar shade, one that battered at Michaels mind, deafening, unbearable - then faded, leaving only the faint glint of amusent. Most people would have chosen the first soul.
Michael shivered, blinking away spots from his vision. What are you? he murmured. And dont say youre . That lie has worn thin.
Not a lie, Jeorg sighed. He looked up, squinting into the sun. Only a different perspective. His eyes returned to Michaels, and this ti they looked entirely human. You drew on Stanza deeply. Differently. Enough to learn sothing. Tell what Stanza does.
I have no idea, Michael said, without hesitation. I never have. I know what it feels like, and so of what I can do with it, but thats it.
Youre afraid of being wrong, Jeorg noted. Speaking carefully. You know better than anyone alive. Youre the expert. He smiled. And youre talking to yourself. You can speculate.
Michael shot him an irritated look. Fine. It feels like Im shaping the paths around , guiding them towards the end I want. I have to - envision what I want in my mind, then use the soul to make the world take that shape.
Lorezaina. The Gardener. ndiko dont call it that because the soul has a way with plants. Jeorg chuckled, shaking his head. Possibility grows wild, unruly. Stanza guides it from your vision. Makes the world fit the shape you create for it.
Jeorg began to walk in circles around him again, slowly pacing. You. Michael Baumgart. A perspective. An experience. A cascade of thought tumbling forward in ti, as Vera said. He smiled. And that is you. Not wrong to think that way.
I do get the feeling youre about to tell that its wrong, even so, Michael muttered.
Only limited. Jeorg gestured to a tree beside him. Like saying this tree is made of wood and leaves. He gave Michael a sharp look, holding up a finger. Which it is. But not only those. There is the water within it. The tiny life upon it. Its shadow. Its fruit. The next trees that sprout from it, and the richness its decaying wood provides.
Michael sighed. Broad, but I follow your reasoning, he said.
Jeorg held up a finger, grinning; Michael followed it with his eyes. It traced along a small gap between the crowns of two trees, where the leaves stopped shy of touching as if by a silent accord. Where your life touches the tree, he said, you build an image of it in your mind. The parts important to you. If the image is true, the tree fits into the shape your life builds. If it is flawed-
There was a knocking noise as the wind picked up, causing branches from one tree to clatter against its neighbor. There is conflict, Jeorg said. It continues until you or the tree change. Most people realize they cant change reality. They alter the tree in their mind, and the conflict ends.
But I have other options, Michael said slowly, looking down at the roots holding his foot. Stanza takes whats in my mind and makes it real.
Jeorg stopped his pacing. Yes, but you dont need Stanza for that. We shape the world to our image in small ways. Shape other people against us. He nodded up to the trees, once again swaying peacefully apart, their crowns interlocking perfectly. The line they draw forms the edge of a greater self.
Michael saw the brief echo of mirrors flashing against a golden skein, showing countless variations of himself stretching out to a distant light - one he still did not dare to dwell on too deeply. He winced and shook his head. Okay, he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Okay, fine. Thats actually sensible, despite how it sounds. We are the sum of our actions and interactions. He let his hand drop. Still trapped here.
Ask yourself why, Jeorg suggested.
conflict? Michael ventured. When Jeorg said nothing, he frowned. Conflict with myself? Which I resolve by - what, agreeing to shift myself to, ah. He paused. To adjust to the reality of myself? Jeorg, this makes very little sense.
Jeorg smiled thinly. Does it not? he asked. Havent you been worried? Laying awake at night. Wishing you could sleep. Clinging to your peaceful life with Sera. Trying to pretend the rest of you doesnt exist. He tapped the trunk of the tree next to him, and it shrank away until there was little more than a sapling left. Above it, the neighboring trees swayed in sunlight, their leaves still hewing to the outline where the first tree had grown. You wonder why there is violence when this-
He tapped the tender young leaf of the sapling.
-ets with that. He nodded upwards to the conspicuous hole in the canopy. They shape themselves around a Michael Baumgart that you refuse to recognize.
Michael looked up at the patch of sky. But theyve always thought more of than I am, he said quietly. And I thought I was doing better. Learning to step forward when I was needed. Have I backslid so far that I cant even wake up without confronting - all of this?
Its not a question of better or worse, Jeorg said. He sighed, then shook his head; Michaels eyes went blurry, and when they cleared the tree was once again swaying at its proper height. We cant see what were not looking for. Unai showed you what could be, with acceptance. Friedrich made you look beyond your limited self.
Jeorg reached out to clasp Michaels shoulder. Youre not backsliding, he said, tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes. Youre growing. Enough to challenge things you were forced to accept before. This is a beginning.
Michael nodded once, his throat tight. Im not sure I can learn to see myself like they do, he whispered. Nor that I should. Its - arrogant. Dangerous.
Youve heard Seras answer to that thought, Jeorg chuckled. And Antolins. Many others. You dont have to convince yourself. Let them speak. Listen. He turned to the side, inclining his head.
Heat prickled Michaels skin from the direction Jeorg indicated; Michael turned and saw a glowing orb of light hanging between the trees. His breath caught in his throat, moisture prickling at his eyes.
Hello, Charles, he said. I- Michael paused, looking down. His foot was still stuck fast in the root. He turned his eyes to Jeorg, but found nothing but empty orchard.
Michael let out a long, slow sigh, then closed his eyes. He thought of the first ti he t Charles, the crude, violent man shadowing Sobriquets steps. Of his easy violence, the barbs he cast Michaels way. The hoarse rasp of his voice when Gerard had died. The sly look in his eye when he found sothing new to needle Sobriquet with. Brief flashes of sothing more, long-buried under a man who had cast aside the unnecessary.
When he opened his eyes, there was no orchard. There was only black, save for a glowing river overhead - and Charles, standing wrought in Stanzas gold. Michael smiled to see him, though he did not trust himself to speak. He made to walk closer-
Then paused, and looked up at Charles, and waited. A mont passed. The glowing figure smiled, and its face was Michaels own. It crossed the distance to him, its pace sure and confident. A man who bent a lords arrogance into a shield, who thought too much of himself to fail. A man who set impossibly high standards, and t them. The one who assud that everyone was as good as he was, even if they had spent long, painful years showing they werent.
A friend, despite everything.
A luminous hand ca up, waiting. Michael took it. There was a rush of light and heat, a tal bracer snaking from the mans arm to wind around Michaels own. The hand squeezed once-
Michaels eyes slid open. It was dark. He was lying in a structure of so sort, propped against a pack and covered loosely with a camp blanket. He drew off the blanket and rose to his feet, feeling none of the groggy lethargy he had expected; his movents were light, sure.
As he moved, he noticed a weight on his arm. A battered tal bracer hung loosely from his wrist, still flecked here and there with chips of brown. Michael stared at it for a long mont, then reached to touch it with his free hand.
It took barely a thought; the tal flowed and rippled under his touch. The battered surface beca smooth and unblemished, blood and dirt flaking away to fall below. He watched the gentle ripples spread upward; when it was secure around his arm he relaxed his hold on it. The tal stilled. He took a deep breath, then turned to head outside.
He saw the others as soon as he exited; Sobriquets head was already looking at the door to the building, an expression of relief on her face. Her eyes flicked to the glint of tal on his arm; a pang of grief rippled through her. Youre up, she said.
I am, Michael agreed. He looked up at the starry sky, then around at the countryside. He recognized none of it. What happened?
You collapsed when Charles died, Zabala said. We thought Kolbe was going to kill you, but he walked off like a kicked dog. Erona. He shook his head. We got you out and extracted before reinforcents could co. Went deep into the countryside. That was three days ago.
Michael blinked, his heartrate quickening. Three days? he repeated. Thats- His hand ca up, finding the fresh growth of stubble on his face. No. The Ardans?
Theyve begun their advance, Lars confird. Marching up the coast. We were keeping pace with them at first, but we didnt know- He flushed. You didnt wake up.
Sobriquet stepped closer, her fingers threading through his; Michael saw that her eyes were red. We couldnt risk tailing them too closely, she said. If Sibyl spotted us, wed be facing potentes on horseback. The Ardans pulled away. Theyll make it to Gharon before us, no question.
Michael looked around and saw the expressions on the others faces. They were angry, dejected, grieving - though in each there was a glimr of sothing else. Determination. Sha. Love. The epheral motes of feeling hung between them, listless, waiting for a man who had not yet arrived.
He closed his eyes, then opened them - and stepped forward. Then we should move, Michael said. And et them there.
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