The sigil felt heavy in hand. Malaen rotated it several times, attempting to spot any issues in its integrity. The red-black metal had no visible flaws in its construction. It was beautifully crafted, gifted for her return to the warfront.
A warfront that separated me from my family yet again, she thought wistfully. Her inspection promptly gave way to idle thoughts of conversations past.
”Join us on one last mission Malaen. We must defend the Mother Tree from the Rot. This time we will shut them down once and for all.“
That was the promise. She was here to protect their home; she was here to repel the attackers. After this, she’d get to live out the rest of her life in peace.
Malaen set the sigil down with a sigh, trading it for a letter that was resting on her lap. She unfolded it, a somber smile growing on her face.
”Mama, please come back home soon! After you beat the bad guys, I wanna play the game with the sticks again! Love you mama.”
Her smile began to quiver as she imagined Imyl transcribing the message her daughter spoke to him. She’d make it back home, no matter the cost.
Fortunately, she was able to hide her welling emotions within the confines of her tent. Under more traditional circumstances she’d be combative at being given such lavish dwelling during wartime, but she wasn’t even supposed to be here. The last campaign should’ve been the last. Now her hand was forced—resigned to incite terror again.
A voice sounded outside the tent.
“Malaen, are you in?”
Taryn. Overseer of the Pelient—the defensive forces of the Motherhood. He was the highest ranking man the Pelient had seen since She reset Ostiver hundreds of years ago.
Malaen cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m in,” she said coolly, regaining her composure. “You can come in.”
The flap to the tent folded upward.
“Are you ready to go? Scouts say that Rot forces will be here in a few hours. We need to do final preparations.” Taryn’s voice was steady, but there was a hint of grimness that lingered.
“Is there something the matter, Taryn?”
“The scouts they… well, they… they saw—”
“Vines grace, Taryn, you’re chattering more than a Vuuleen in the cold, say what’s on your mind.”
Taryn tensed, as if steeling himself against a punch. “Fine—you’re right. The truth is, the enemy coalition is much bigger than we thought previously. We’re thinking we’ll be outnumbered four to one.” He seemed to wince at his own words.
Malaen’s barkskin creaked. She felt a hole open up in her stomach as thoughts began to race through her head. The invisible weight upon herself seemed to multiply many times over. I thought we’d be halting the advance of a few hundred rebels, not a few thousand!
What was she to do? Would she dishonor her legacy and defense of the Mother Tree and run away? Yes—maybe that’s what she would do. Damn legacy to the the Mother’s furthest roots! It wouldn’t take her long to get back to Imyl and her children. Then, she could find the safest route to navigate through enemy lines and escape to the Alueem and—
No. What would be the point if barbarity corrupted Her—if their home turned into a land of wretches, devoid of the life and sanctity of the jungle. The Motherhood swore fealty following the Interruption; a fealty that said they would protect the Mother Tree until She blossomed again, and then She would force out the evils of the land. What would Malaen and her family even do if the jungle fell? She couldn’t see a world where they became vagabonds or settled down in some other place that wasn’t the blessed jungle of the Mother Tree.
Over the next few seconds, she mulled over a myriad of diverging scenarios in which saw her stay—or flee.
Finally, she swallowed and lifted her chin, looking Taryn in the eyes. “Then I suppose it will be a well deserved victory. I was never fond of auspicious battles.”
Taryn gave a grin, his flowery hair perking up as if releasing the tension that filled the air. He approached Malaen as she was standing up, reaching up to grab her shoulder.
“We’ll get through this.” Taryn’s voice contained a tentative optimism. “We always have. Our ardent faith of the Mother will result in our victory.”
“Hopefully not in a pyrrhic manner.” They both chuckled at the foreboding humor.
“Come now, let’s get moving.”
The sky was overcast. Large, dark gray clouds floated in front of an amber and orange Skyfire.
Taryn and Malaen walked side-by-side, feet crunching over fallen branches and leaves.
The cracks between Malaen’s barkskin were filled in with enamel, a common sight for Motherhood quipellas going to war. The enamel glowed a bright, translucent green, acting to seal the cracks in barkskin and make them less susceptible to prying maneuvers. It was a feminine practice, as the majority of barkskin quipellas were women.
Taryn, conversely, wore armor made of a blend of resilient fabric, stone, and moss. He, like most quipella men, was a flon, their appearance much more floral in nature.
She craned her neck to look at their cavalcade. Though quipella made up the majority of Motherhood population, every Ostiveri species populated their ranks. That was the beauty of the Mother. She could unite people from any species, from any culture, from any walk of life.
There was a popular story that Malaen was told many times as a child. It detailed the life of a saint of Turyiel, the Maiden of Murder. Their name was Belenme. Through the story, it espoused that no one could shake the merciless will of Turyiel. Belenme fell victim to this—sowing violence and hate with every action they did all in the name of the Maiden. When they took command of an army, they razed, they burned, and they left no one to speak of the atrocities committed.
By all accounts of the story, Belenme was irredeemable. However, the story said that the Mother Tree spoke directly to Belenme. It said that She showed them how each and every thing was connected via the life force that flowed through their body. Through this shared lifeforce, Ostiver itself was a breathing organism encompassed of all the living things inside of it.
The Mother Tree’s insatiable desire to provide salvation broke the evil spell that Belenme was put under. Ultimately, Belenme became the symbol of the Mother’s unyielding redemption. The story comforted Malaen—especially considering some of the things that she had done.
Taryn’s voice grounded Malaen back to reality. “Let’s stop here, set up defenses.”
Malaen observed the area. They were at a strategically favorable junction between west Duston and the Mother Tree. Just to the north of them was an area dubbed the Tangling. There were legends that it was an expression of the Mother Tree’s anger. Since the Interruption, the strip of land from here to the ocean has been a torrent of aggressive vines and twisted trees that threaten to trap those who attempt to pass through.
To the south was a massive ravine—a hundred feet wide and an unknown number of feet deep. Logistically impossible to cross. Conveniently, it also stretched to the southern coast of Duston. So convenient, many within the Motherhood believed it to be a representation of the natural defenses of the Mother Tree—that the corridor they were standing in was to enable Her protection.
Taryn mumbled something to a lead runner, their beaked face nodding. Few could outpace baltians when it came to delivering messages through the dense foliage of the Mizzet. Flying above the jungle was easier than dashing between the trees, after all.
The baltian, feathers of charcoal lining their back and of white on their foreside, nodded one last time and departed swiftly.
“We’re at a slightly elevated position here. We’ll set up traps—spike falls and the like—along the bottom of this slope. They have no option but to come through this chokepoint.”
Malaen nodded in agreement. “It’s a shame we’ve conceded so much ground. It feels like our backs are against the wall here.”
“Well… you’re not entirely wrong, unfortunately. After receiving word that several of the opposing clans united under one banner, we fell back to a more defensible spot. You know I wouldn’t have called upon you again if there were another way.”
Malaen didn’t respond. She looked forward into the distance, maintaining a stoic expression. Is that what all I am to you, then?
“At any rate,” Turyiel continued, “we have, by our scouts estimates, a few days until the Rots forces show. Plenty of time to set up a fortified camp and make forward traps. Let me know of any news, or if you need some more people to your squad.”
Turyiel began to turn away, but stopped at the sound of Malaen’s voice.
“Say—do you think we’re doing the right thing? I mean… this upcoming battle seems as if it’s going to be the most brutal yet. It could kill hundreds and maim many more.”
Turyiel looked confused. “Doing the right thing? I’m confident beyond a reasonable doubt. There’s a reason we call them the Rot. They seek to kill Her, Malaen. They want to watch Duston burn in a raging fire that sweeps through the Mizzet and tears Her out, root and stem. Now if you’ll excuse me, we will have to put the philosophy on hold—I need to get our forces ready.”
Malaen watched him go, his arms pointing in different directions as he barked orders to subordinates.
One of the things she questioned about the tenants of the Mother Tree was how She was overwhelmingly against violence. From this, the vast majority of Mother Tree worshippers swore to pacifism.
Not only was violence considered condemnable, but utilizing Her creations for acts of fury was the greatest heresy. According to the Mother Tree, all that is living is hers, so utilizing the living to harm the living would be like harming oneself. To protect themselves from outsiders, Mother Tree theologians decided that they could use “that which didn’t live”—such as stones, clay, and metal—for war.
Provisions were made in the church cannon that would allow for the collection of wood to setup temporary military outposts in times of war. The Motherhood sages justified this by saying that military encampments were a form of defense and thus would be allowed by the Mother Tree, as they are not inciting harm.
It was, in all regards, a great paradox that Malaen was forced to live with. A worldview of pacifism, retribution, and fellowship, yet here they stood, slaughtering again and again to achieve it, with her at the helm of death every time. Even in days pre-Interruption—when Duston was wholly under the divine graces of the Mother Tree, there were villages who dedicated themselves to the savagery of learning how to murder others.
How was she to reconcile taking lives for the sake of pacifism and understanding? She couldn’t not fight, that would assuredly lead to the Rot corrupting everything good and right in the world. Then again, for all she knew, the voice of the Mother Tree could come back today and sentence her to an afterlife devoid of Her essence due to Malaen killing in Her name.
They were premises all diametrically opposed to each other, but inextricably linked in the conclusion: “for the Mother Tree.”
A deep, bellowing instrument blared in the distance.
Malaen put up an arcane shield in front of her out of reflex, green prisms erupting in front of her. It deflected a javelin released from an unknown source. She glanced to her shoulder to see a chunk of her barkskin gone. She was not leaking life essence, but it was deep enough to expose her soft skin.
Her eyes widened as she assessed the situation. War cries resonated throughout the jungle. A wave of fighters loomed hundreds of feet away, their blurred forms appearing as a dam bursting through the trees.
Didn’t we have days? We have no traps ready—
“Malaen! Our runners were compromised!” Turyiel breathed rapidly, panic setting an edge to his voice.
“Turyiel, get our troops ready and create a line behind me. Focus now, we can deal a devastating blow here.”
He stood there for a moment, mouth agape. He couldn’t find any words.
“Go!” Malaen pushed Turyiel—who left expeditiously—ushering fighters to get their gear and into formation.
Malaen took in a deep breath, body filling with the Mother Trees holy air. She reached backwards. Out of nothingness, a colossal spear of lightning appeared in her hand, two human lengths long. No arcane nodes dispersed when she summoned elements of the storm. Beautiful Mother, forgive me for putting your creations to rest.
The weapon launched with a thunderous clap from the burgeoning storm above, her eyes closing as the soaring spear seared through flesh.
Malaen loved storms. She saw them as the greatest representation of the Mother Tree’s strength and resolution. She would sit outside during the worst of them, staring into the abyssal sky as rain poured onto her. She became fascinated by the torrent. So much so that she became it.
Tendrils of lightning splintered from the shaft of the spear as it flew, connecting to enemies like a hand seeking the throat. It’s form finally dissipated into nothingness as a hundred bodies fell in its wake.
More rampaged toward her. She clenched her hand around the handle of a blue, shimmering whip-sword she thrust into existence, its blade longer than the shaft of a spear and emanating with lightning. She sheathed herself in a cocoon of electricity, its orb-like appearance threatening to strike anyone who got too close.
This was the fighting form of Malaen, the Mother’s Deluge.
Malaen dove head first into the ranks of the enemy. With each twist of her wrist, more fell. The ephemeral blade of her whip-sword undulated, lashing out to her opponents. It had a mind of its own. They were many, but it only made the blade hunger more.
Her back was turned to two Rot soldiers, who attempted to strike her down with glaives. Malaen’s free arm stretched toward them, a powerful gale releasing from her palm. The duo flew like a missile into a tree, the life in their eyes leaving with a resounding crunch.
A twirl—more Rot joining the dirt, their forces now littering the Mizzet floor. She lost herself. She had to—to distance herself from the spirit of conquest that piloted her body. It felt as if her blade took over her motions, like she had become an outside viewer to the spectacle of bloodshed.
Malaen’s sword guided itself to the hearts of her opponents, their fried bodies dropping like decayed fruit from a tree.
By the end of the massacre, bodies of dead Rot lie around her, an exhibition to a god that reveled in killing. Rain dripped off her nose as she previewed the carnage. The jungle floor was covered in an array of colors which leaked from the fallen—a painting drawn by a madman slinging dyes at a wall.
The smell—oh awful the smell. Organs littered the ground; lightning-scorched-flesh produced putrid fumes which together could only be described as the smell of death itself.
This isn’t right, she thought between breaths, Turyiel said there were supposed to be thousands. No more opponents gathered around her, the jungle falling into an eerie silence.
From the corner of her vision, a thorny vine streaked toward her.
Malaen barely had time to dodge it as she squinted her eyes in the direction it came from. Could it be?
More vines approached her. She swiped her arm across her body, igniting the vines to their origin with pure lightning.
“Well done, Mother’s Champion.”
A baltian man stepped from behind a large tree. He had white feathers on his front, and charcoal on his back.
“Never thought I’d see you here,” Malaen spat vitriol-laced words.
The baltian man raised his arms. “You got me. Smart woman.”
Malaen’s voice shook. “Why? Have you always wished to condemn the Mother Tree to rot?”
The baltian shook his head. “Condemn the Mother Tree to rot? Is that really what you think this is all about? Malaen, you’re damning everyone here by sticking to Her trunk like a Kelk to its mothers teat. The Motherhood is a group of zealots that are endangering the lives of everyone else in Duston.”
“You speak with intent of deceit just like that stolen form of yours. You’re a specter who haunts wilting flowers. You think the whole plant is dying but it’s simply shedding its petals for the season.”
“That implies a demonstrable cycle, Malaen. The Mother Tree’s silence has gone on far too long to continue relying on Her. The outside world is blossoming while we curl up around a dead Mother—”
The baltian jumped to the side as an imperceptible blade of wind sliced past him.
“Oh my, you did not like that much I see,” the baltian said.
Malaen clenched a fist around the incorporeal handle of her blade. Thoughts whirred through her head like busy lanes of a marketplace street. Earlier doubts came flooding back to her, dulling her senses. She shook them off as soon as they came, hardening her resolve.
The form of the baltian began to melt away. As if taking off a costume, a tail sprouted from the shell of the baltian. Feline ears replaced his plumicorns, and his beak gave way to a short snout.
“It’s an esoteric art from the Village of Forms,” he began, “but I’m sure you’re well aware. To copy the intricate details of a body like that is not easy, especially one not from your own kind.”
“There was no need for the dramatic unveiling, Anjin the Broken Branch. I was already well aware it was you after you launched your attack on me. I thought you left Duston a long time ago.”
“I was going to—but then I decided I would rather try and reclaim my peoples from the woes of a Mother who abandoned her children.”
Malaen lunged forward, lightning sword whipping towards Anjin. Arcana sprayed forth as her sword made contact with an arcane shield Anjin deployed to deflect the blow. Curiously, Anjin only deployed the shield in an area just long and wide enough to deflect Malaen’s whip-sword.
Anjin is good. He is a Specialist after all. I need to be careful
Anjin leapt backwards a few steps, maintaining distance between him and her.
“Malaen, I know you to be more level-headed than this. A dark, twisted version of The Mother Tree’s teachings have taken root in the Motherhood. We’re on the same side yet you get irate at the slightest criticism.”
“Not a few months ago, I was in your exact position. The Motherhood says that the Rot have abandoned the way of the Mother. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Both you and I embrace the ever-flowing chalice of life that stems from the Mother. We both rely and cherish her teachings of unyielding redemption. The only place we differ is that we seek to modify the teachings of the Mother to adapt to a world that exists outside Duston. There are things going on outside this place, Malaen. If we continue to fight over whose preference is correct, we risk destruction from outside.”
Nothing but stillness existed between them.
“I can’t accept that. The Mother said to trust in her divine protection. Her words say she would protect us from all who seek to harm the Mizzet. ‘Let those who fall under my shade have a shield.’”
“And so? What about me and the so called ‘Rot’ you all speak of? Why would she let us exist here in the jungle for so long if we were deemed a threat?”
“It’s a mystery that we have no place resolving. Until She regains her strength, it is up to the scholars to decide and me to act.”
“I can see it deep inside you, Malaen,” Anjin pleaded. “You have doubts in what you’re doing—if it’s right—if the Motherhood is right. I was sent here to show you that tradition is only as good as what it can endure from outside forces. Many outside Duston do not care for us. The Motherhood can reject traders, reject diplomats, reject all they want. At the end of the day, we die at their whims if we follow the Motherhood’s way.”
Malaen’s shook her head. “If we die by the rules the Mother set for us—the ones laid out by the Motherhood… then so be it.”
There was sorrow in the eyes of Anjin. “It seems we’re at an impasse. Very well then. I wished you to see the error of your ways, but if neither of our resolves will falter, then I suppose…”
A web of thorny vines descended upon Malaen. Caught off guard by the speed of the attack, Malaen lashed wildly at a few vines while putting up a barrier around her entire body.
Instead of hitting Malaen’s barrier haphazardly, Anjin commanded the vines to wrap around the oval shield that encased her body, squeezing as if he were trying to gather juice from a fruit. Malaen struggled to repel the encasement of vines, her muscles straining to push against the pressure being applied to her.
Malaen tried to let her sword take over her again. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t switch to that vicious, destructive form of Malaen. Anjin had planted seeds of doubt in her head, and they were causing her to falter ever so slightly.
The wind rose as the brewing storm blotted out the light from the Skyfire above. The air around them filled with static, blue sparks filling the air. A flash of panic took over Anjin as the entire area around them ignited. Through generating static in the air, Malaen was able to replicate the way that lightning struck the ground. At this scale, it was much more explosive.
Anjin rocketed through the air, his body skidding across the underbrush. Before he could get his bearings, Malaen was already on top of him, lightning whip-sword poised to cut him down the middle.
Not a second passed before Anjin returned the favor to Malaen. Arcana nodes appeared on the lips of Anjin, lines rapidly connecting between them as he spoke the words: “BY THIS COMMAND: LAUNCH AWAY”.
Malaen’s body disappeared into the canopy of the Mizzet and into the slate-gray clouds above. I suppose that trip to Miocrates proved fruitful after all, he thought to himself.
Anjin clamored to his feet, questioning where Malaen went. For a normal person, being blasted into the sky would be a death sentence. For someone as abnormal as Malaen, it would merely be an inconvenience.
Sure enough, Malaen descended like a cinder of Skyfire, crashing towards the ground with uncanny speed.
She’s not just trying to reduce her speed? No… she’s accelerating!
Anjin dove out of the way as Malaen impacted the ground with incredible force. Through the spray of dirt, he noticed that her protective shell of lightning was now purple, and her eyes glowed the same color.
“You buffoon,” Malaen began, “don’t you know there’s a storm brewing?”
Mother’s Branches, she used the storm to empower herself! In a panic, Anjin produced more vines and threw them towards Malaen. This time, however, he utilized one vine to forcefully detach the thorns of the others that passed by, shooting them towards Malaen like an arrow barrage.
But Malaen was far too good, far too empowered, far too skilled. A purple visual trail streamed behind Malaen, who now moved much too fast for Anjin to react.
This is bad, I have no time to cast something, all I have is my Specialty!
His panicked voice led him to the only course of action that could allow him to survive. He retracted all his vines, collecting them into a dense wall in front of him.
It wasn’t enough to stop Malaen. Her whip-sword, now supercharged from the storm, broke straight through the meager wall of vines, making contact with Anjin’s side.
Blood rushed forth, adding a layer of paint to the ground. Anjin gripped his side, intuitively initiating a spell to enhance healing in the area. Nauseating sounds emitted from his side as bones began to set themselves right and flesh connected back to seal the wound.
Malaen stood over Anjin. She appeared to him as some sort of god of slaughter worshipped in Unshire. Bodily fluids that belonged to the dead covered her, and the lightning that swelled around her made her levitate ever so slightly.
“You’re fortunate that the Mother teaches unyielding redemption and sanctity in all living things. For that reason, I will not slay you. Leave this place and never to return, for She will smite you down as an enemy of the Mother Tree if you do.”
Anjin’s chuckle quickly transitioned to a cough. “Do you want to ask the bodies of the two-hundred you killed if you demonstrated Her forgiveness and redemption? Is this some sort of special exemption for an old friend?”
Malaen’s eye twitched. “Still after being defeated you speak in such a way. Do you have a death wish?”
Anjin gasped painfully. “I wasn’t sent here to defeat you. No one would be stupid enough to believe they could best the legendary Malaen in one-on-one combat. Do you think we’d send a measly assault such as that at a defensible position—with the coveted Malaen defending them to boot? I was a convenient distraction, nothing else.”
A nauseating crescendo of screams pierced the air.
“Impossible,” Malaen mumbled.
“Not impossible. You know when I said we have to adapt into a modern world, well… it turns out the Mother is more retracted from Ostiver than we thought. The Tangling no longer lashes out. We walked across the flank you thought was guarded by Her. Your confidence that She will always protect you will turn into your undoing.”
It began to pour. Splinters of lightning shot off of Malaen in synchrony with the storms own. She turned toward the camp, but something gripped her arm.
“Please, Malaen.”
She shook him off, standing still as rain racketed against leaves.
“I don’t know,” Malaen whispered, “I don’t know. What if you’re right? What if I’m right? Everything I’ve ever done in my many years of living has been for the Motherhood. I was told you all were the bad people; but maybe I just didn’t think about it long enough. If you would join them, someone I used to talk to everyday about this things, then I just don’t know anymore. And every time a new doubt sprouts in my mind, I condemn it as heresy against the Mother. Why? Why do I do that? Why do I feel guilty for thoughts? She doesn’t know I’m having them, yet I still feel ashamed.”
Malaen set her jaw, staring at Anjin. “I’m going to finish things, once and for all. I can end it here.”
“No, Malaen… Malaen, don’t—”
His words fell on deaf ears as she bolted towards the the camp, her form mutating into a ball of lightning.
It took mere seconds for Malaen to get to the outer ring of palisades surrounding the war camp. What besieged her eyes was a nightmare scenario. It was clear that the force Malaen fought had been a feint, the bodies that piled on top of each other within the camp proved that enough. Malaen couldn’t tell if the streams formed from the storm were made of blood or water.
It was impossible to discern friend from foe, but Malaen was able to spot Taryn across the camp, fending off three soldiers in a losing battle.
Dozens of eyes turned to her. If I go after Taryn… I’ll have to fight through the whole camp!
Malaen glided over groaning, lacerated soldiers. She stopped in the middle of camp, effortlessly dodging the occasional swing towards her. During the Mother’s Deluge, her reflexes increased by amounts inconceivable. A sword swinging apace towards her became slow, like it was moving through water.
Malaen had every right to retort with a strike of her own—which would assuredly kill whoever stood before her. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to slaughter anymore. The paradoxes that whirled around in her head, she wanted them to cease. There was only one way for it all to end, and it had to be here.
She stood in the center of camp, circling as the most bloody battle she had ever witnessed raged on.
I won’t kill them. But how… Her breath became rapid as she contemplated potential solutions. Malaen’s vision switched from crushed bodies below to the sky above. Whatever storm had decided to greet them on this day did not hold back. The downpour was furious, making it nigh impossible to see further than a few feet ahead. Thunder was not a distant and occasional growl, but an incessant roar that shook the ground and vibrated the air.
All attention was turned to Malaen as she reached her open palm into the air. A boundless amount of green prisms exploded from Malaen, covering the ground of the entire encampment while simultaneously ascending like a pillar from her feet into the sky. The prisms began to proliferate throughout the clouds themselves, turning the lightning a greenish hue.
The center of camp became a maelstrom of lightning, a tacit threat to not dare get near Malaen as she accomplished her feat.
Malaen’s body ached, it begged for relief. An improvised spell at this scale was immeasurably dangerous with a fresh Ambivyr, never mind one still catching its breath after a fight with another Specialist. Her Ambivyr threatened to tear her asunder as she prayed to the Mother for power to see through her plan, the whirr of her engine so loud that the entire camp covered their ears from its blare.
I have to… gather… just enough…
The clouds began to abide Malaen’s arcane command, moving to the point directly above her posthaste. Her body was increasingly unsteady as she remembered the words Imyl inscribed in the letter.
“*My dearest Malaen, I hope you are safe.”
Her face tensed as she pulled more and more clouds from the area. It took immense effort, as she was fighting the strength of the storms desired direction.
“I lament that Turyiel asked you to come back again. To break a promise like that… Well, let us pray that this time is as easy as the last, at least. Gyntha wants to show you the drawing she did while you were gone.”
A blue spec formed on her arm, the first sign of Unravelling. When one asked too much of their Ambivyr, their entire being would begin to unravel.
“I wish more than anything that I could be there with you. I know you told me I’m not a fighter, and I know I have to be here for the kids, but I still can’t but think you deserve someone by your side right now that doesn’t see you as a convenient piece of the plan.”
Malaen closed her hand into a fist, and hundreds of bolts of lightning descended in a spiral toward her.
“I remember—the night before—you told me that you weren’t sure where you heart lie anymore—in regards to the war and the Mother Tree. You thought I may judge you, but I want to say that I did not. It reminded me once again how they are wrong about you. Your power isn’t in your martial prowess; or your arcane abilities; it’s in that beautiful, magnificent mind of yours.”
She braced for impact.
“In any case, I trust you infinitely—in any and all judgements you make. You left the war because of these doubts, I don’t think you’re weak by following your heart. Oh, by the way, your daughter has a message for you…”
A profusion of lightning fused into her, her physical body becoming nothing more than a host of the energy. She could describe the sensation as nothing short of excruciating. Burning in every part of her body. Worse than immolation, it was a scorching of the soul itself. Her head pounded, the pressure of the entire storm within her.
The prisms Malaen left on the ground earlier lingered, lines connecting between them as they awaited her command for a spell.
She collapsed to one knee and pressed her palms to the ground. Lightning ripped through the nodes and the connections between them, torching anything it touched.
The spell fired, and lightning coursed into every person on the battlefield. Their body’s tensed as the storms vitality flowed through them. Thousands of bodies fell to the ground, paralyzed.
Malaen’s life essence leaked from her eyes as her voice boomed like the tempest itself.
“All this suffering—for the same end.”
She held her grip onto the ground, allowing the reservoir of static to continue flowing.
“The indignancy displayed is the highest order of heresy. Each of us… Dare call ourselves followers of the Mother Tree? Yet we break the few rules she tells us to follow.”
Words continued to flow from her through gritted teeth.
“Where will we be when all of Her followers are dead? Will we wipe each other out and proclaim victory over the empty barrens in the afterlife?”
Malaen released her grip on the ground, having expended all the lightning within her. She was wobbly on her feet, but at least she could still stand.
“Look at you all, I cannot even tell you apart. We don no uniform, for She does not demand us to swear allegiances to colors and patterns on cloth. Who here is Motherhood; who are members of the clans to the west? We—the Motherhood—banished the clans of the west because of reasons the Motherhood justified to itself. Each of us claim we pursue only the most pure devotion to the Mother Tree; that each of us has the solution to protect against outsiders. Yet we don’t blink while we break her core tenants, slaughter each other, and leave ourselves in the weakest state possible—all because of ego. One of the few core tenants of the Mother Tree is unyielding redemption. Let us redeem ourselves here.”
The soldiers struggled to get themselves off the ground, weapons still in hand. The men and women of the Mother Tree stared at one another, unsure what to think.
One fighter got to their feet. They stumbled toward Malaen, body clearly still numb from lightning.
Malaen eyed the woman as she approached, her breathing labored from the arcane display. The woman fell to her knees, her glaive falling softly against dirt.
“I’ve had enough as well, Mother’s Champion. I’m tired of seeing the rotting faces of friends. We should be celebrants in accordance with the Mother. I see this truth now. I see it in your strength—both of will and of wielding the Mother’s magic.”
Malaen’s shoulders slouched. The invisible weight she placed upon herself floating intangibly into the Skyfire above. For the first time in ages, Malaen felt a sense of clarity and purpose. Whether it were from her words or her display, she was glad to convince at least one person.
At the edge of camp, Malaen spotted Anjin leaned against a palisade, a hand on his wound. She gazed upon the crowd that stood before her from her elevated position. Most of the peoples had dropped their arms, but some still had them firmly in hand. She cleared her throat.
“Any who oppose this edict of matrimony between the western clans and the Motherhood will answer to me.”
The rest of the soldiers dropped their weapons. It was partially a bluff by Malaen. While she could easily defeat anyone within the camp in martial combat, her Ambivyr was exhausted, so she had little access to magic at the moment.
“I will see to it that we are united, and will do everything in my power as Mother’s Champion to make it a reality. Let me use my strength for something other than senseless killing. Let my power be what is needed to push the Mother Tree’s followers towards a new age of union. I will speak to the Onchon and the Aluence and ensure that this disagreement is resolved. It will be even easier if you all stand with me. From branch and leaf we rest under her shade, by trunk and root we stand firm by Her. All glory to the Mother Tree, and may her redemption find us in everything that we do.”
