The Pit of RaebenBy Kenneth Paul Jones

(as imparted by R.B. Utaye)

Maxim One: The Final Lie of Gelon

For Ktaryn, Lxndra and Jasea.Tanary se ktyoe

All characters, places and events are fictionalregardless of how parallel our universes sometimes seem.

All Rights Reserved.No portion of this book may be duplicated wtihout written permission.

ContentsThe Cotyledon

GrovelstockOf Raeben and EarthArethTarotThe Seeds of AwarenessReahEloZarust

StaggerwoodThe FirstbornName CallingThe Call of MytyaOf Twins and Twin TreesThe Heart of CyrenWhite Tears of HeavenThe Vengeance of Winged CreaturesThe Naming of… and the Last Words of Cyren

The MarshwoodTurning PagesThe Return of CyrenTriumphant in the Black Deception

The Neth’r RingsHopeThe House of KyreDéjà vuDéjà vuThe DioscuriNeth’r Rings and the Shadows of Some ThingsThe Secret Trajectories of Wormholes and Beans

StockwoodThen am I a Happy Fly

Cantank-Rhinos and the Return of KyreBeyond a Shadow’s DoubtSolareth and the Twelfth Son of OssimerVisits to GhuyeniaThe Feast of GhuyenSympathy for the BlackwitchHavoc and Mayhem

HeartwoodThe Changing of DaysThe Hoof of TagmirMock, MockBloodlines

DeadwoodPride and the Right Hand of KyreWhispers of a MotherlandResiduumKolter, the One-armed Black King

The Outer LimbsRyesto (and the Noetic Extractor)Maxed Out with Jean VoyageWho’d Have Thunk It?The Return of RaebenBeyond Black

The Shedding of Supernatural LeavesAmongst the Respite of ShadowsWhisper HeardPitfall

Leaving Pages and Peeling BarkThe Talents of Readers at the Tip of Nebear

Initials CarvedAppendixAuthor’s Note

The Cotyledon 1

(An Epi-log of Sorts)

And so the quest-i-on is put to The Reader: regardless of where we stand, inked upon a page or outside of it evaluating the merit of its opening line, are we not all characters bound? For only within such rudimentary bindings does limitation give way to shape, allowing the first inklings of ourselves to become impressed by our own supposed brightness. Already your uniqueness falls apparent though, ironically, it must be said that this is nothing new for the humankind have always cherished moments idolizing their singular identities.

What does beg exception is your mastery of interpretation. Where other characters materialize as beings obsessed by qualities of grammar; you tread nimbly around such rhetoric, delving more in comparison even from what was not so firmly put to paper. Let me speak plain, outside of collective, painfully human, reassurances we do not all breathe in unison. How we imbibe; how we assimilate; how we reap: remains no less diverse.

Like night and day, many such similarities of fate lie between us all. Upon Tarmose we do not read: we absorb. Within the Ghinternaigg knowledge is gathered and shared through the impartation of memories and visions. Upon Elo necessary communication is spurred primarily by instinct. Amongst the Unnicean Astral Ocean, where the vast majorities interact via telepathy or vapor-light, reading is an art form long since deemed archaic.

Do not misinterpret me for intentions lie only in expressing how rare a talent it is that you boast. Being both human and a Reader, I grant you to

hold at least a chance of being The One So Sought― slight though it may be. That said even should you be The One it remains highly unlikely that you will recognize this aptitude. How could you? How far off are we all from realizing that which might be considered a true pithacle of consequence?

And so time stands still; me swaying upright, unfurling buds of new found optimism— while you rest upon a page; characterizationally irrelevant. The quest-i-on now is whether this smack of salt might even register upon lips so pensively pursed?

How splendidly apropos it this— for many have proposed just such an assertion to be the very essence of The Quest. This trickle of sap, or what you perceive as perspiration, humbly suggests the possibility of loftier boughs lying ahead.

Thus let us leave lingering to the consternation of blighted burls and tread beyond trepidation. Let us, you and I, limb in limb, bend this branch until its very stratum of fracture. Forgo procrastination! Weigh profundities here and

1 Seed leaf; the first opening shoots of a plant (An Epilogue / Preface Interface).

now with me upon this great listing iceberg— granting credence, if only for a moment, unto the notion that you may indeed be The One So Sought.

Though, as you undoubtedly already suspect; evidence before us lies ever always upon the winding road ahead. Did I mention it is never by accident that I use the word lie?

I should have. To be completely pithful, I asked my mother to render this tale but she refused, evoking that some stories grow beyond the grasp of bark and can only be envisioned through the eyes of those captured within.

But should that be true then what of The Reader— and what might be the fate of this tale had I not, so painstakingly, cut free so many of the, more binding, roots of my kind? Let it be common knowledge, I have done my share; hoarded all I could have— but I have reached my limbitations. The pith of the matter is, unlike most of my kind I am unwilling— no; unable to bear this burden any longer; and certainly not alone.

It is therefore at your peril that I share these chronicles though expect from your perspective to find little in the way of answers— for the questions ever change. However, should you one day find yourself on the opposite shore of this journey do not expect to feel satiated, but rather more parched than ever before. Roots rummage; boughs blossom while leaves ever fill— only to fall.

Still, they will fall, though only for the nourishment of new seeds— and new beginnings. From every supposed end frays a string of forgotten harmony; every harmony promotes new accord unto the symphony; and thus its opus becomes greater inspired. There has only ever been one ultimate conclusion. You know it for as the rising of the sun ever has it been so. Like crisp bread dabbed in warm, thick gravy even the most hereditary resolve must melt unto the most poignant medley of questions. Does every plot impede upon the next; meaning: mustn’t all rings intertwine? Point being, if all things are connected, even blackholes and shadows; isn’t it inevitable that you will eventually be pulled apart of the whole and fed unto this quest?

While new suns wake to stretch, christening worlds with the enthusiasm of dew, a most delicate balance hinges your world to mine; skin to bark; rings to fingers; heart to pith.

Not dissimilarly, every intricacy lies bonded to its mate: bliss to woe; love with hate; and hope chained, most unforgiving and forever, unto despair. Even more so amongst such intangible simplicities one single constant stands alone, exhaling with every breath the quest-i-on: what next? And that is the framework supporting all enchantment supported by life.

I cannot allow inscription to stray further from the path for upon one of these, surely, we all must lie. Therefore, let rabbit holes be fathomed by depth of dire darkness; let freedom and gratitude leap as lions to roam; and autumn leaves stretch out as ribbons of garland so all on this earth might delve the full splendor of each tapestry sown.

* Thus ended a Trilogy of Trees *I apologize; I tower in disarray. While you anticipate a beginning to this

narrative I myself await eagerly its conclusion— and should you be The Reader all my hopes lie in you! I pray they are not misguided for much have I risked. Did I mention that it is never a mistake when I use the word lie? Yes, well what about coincidence? Have I told you it simply does not exist? I hope so. I should have.

And so it is neither by chance that you’ve fallen upon this compendium for only a moment ago did the Grand Cosmos Quejil end and a judge called out for the talents of a Reader. ‘Small worlds’ or ‘go figure’ I believe is how you would portray it. Perhaps things are enfolding as they should after all. Time will tell.

Of late, upon your planet Earth, I have taken to dreaming. Most pithfully, I fear them visions sent to me from my mother. Last night I envisioned Hartmir; eldest son of he who so quickly became Ossimer.

Hartmir was fretting, pacing back and forth alone. Though dank and musty, I still sensed hope for an earnest devotion did lurk within the beams and timber enclosing him, forcing a glutinous tear to gravitate my porous extremities for Hartmir stood in the Seventh Shrine surrounded by the bones of my father.

I waited and I watched. The balance scale before him shifted to the East and fell hard— even though half the sand had not been added. He dipped a finger to test for dampness, swirling the sand uneasily. It was dry as bone.

Instinctively, his other hand ran the length of blade sheathed at his side. Soothed momentarily by its warmth, Hartmir took a deep breath before resuming his paces and I heard his thoughts clearly for they were not divergent to my own. He alone held the last sibling sword of the Western Kingdoms. Reportedly, Kyre now held seven of the twelve forged of Solareth and, though he hadn’t taken any by force, one couldn’t help but wonder if the Black Heart Curse wasn’t, once more, beginning to smolder? What if the rumors were true? What if the Blackwitch was soon to return?

Though still as yet only a dream I cannot help but feel the quill of it. If only I might sigh, shrug and walk away. No— for me there lies but one comfort. All things being only a matter of time, there shall come a day when this script creases lines into smoother parchments than wood— not just paper but those buttressed and pinioned by mortar, rendering it heartwood and the telling of it— inevitable! “The writing is on the wall,” I believe is how it is said here on Earth.

Once again I deviate for that shall arise Nyan’s tale whereas the conception of this story stems from the tinkering of the Children of Light―or what you might perceive “angels”. I’m afraid for far too long have I refused to shed leaves and now my bark is on the very verge of blister.

Following in the rootpaths of my father Gelon, I admit I have strayed from those protocols of guardianship so sacred to our kind. So hopefully now intentions fall clearer; this is not a tale about me, my father Gelon, or even my mother Nyan— though neither do we profess to stand innocent amongst its volume of leaflets.

We are the stewards of the tale— or at least we are supposed to be. It’s all too evident that defiance runs hereditarily through sap and blood of similar viscosity. One day it will be common knowledge that it was only by your contribution that this archive found any measure of form. In my own defense, I stand before you no less than ever I’ve stood. I am after all but a tree though even so I stretch my boughs wide to accept whatever cost of narration might befall. Skin, leaves, bark; I will forfeit what I must. Have no misconceptions, fact or fiction; all rings will be unwound.

The chronicle is essentially a medley of narration, stemming from all manners of creatures— and in this one could afford some patience for oft times it was neither awarded freely nor rendered in a form easily decipherable. It has also been kindled that the narrator of each segment does not always stand immediately clear and while there may be some pith to this; be at ease for identities will ignite in due course.

This is not some windswept faerie tail swishing to sprout wings. It is a tale of perseverance— of hope and worthy deeds; and, like every endeavor of worth, it was not bought without a heavy debt. Then again, I can’t help but wonder— what need would there be for either gallantry or hope if not for atrocity’s willful bane?

It seems autumn accompanies The Reader for already I feel my sapwood congealing, clumping thicker and colder, with every gust of overly pretentious air. Be warned, these rings tighten as the noose— in fact the tale swells so ripe within my rings it is no small wonder I manage to contain it at all.

Welcome to this pen in hand where ink blots thoughts emerge to land

and metaphors may seek to find a sanctuary phrased amongst like minds.

Welcome to this chance to gain a retrospect not so insane;

a fleeting glimpse; small recognition: this pen scribes skin with each page written.

Photo-sin-thesis! I expel random thoughts. I think you call this “farting”; though “exuviating” in my case would be more precise. Being that I find myself upon your planet Earth, I believe the appropriate custom is to now beg pardon.

I must admit I am somewhat confused as to the proper affectation to apply. There are so many. Whoops! Oh my God! It was the dog! I can only guess as to which might be deemed most appropriate. This Brachium Slip permeates from my Neth’r Rings and reeks of my mother, Nyan. It is a Song of the Fatwood, stemming from her earlier days when she too spent time on Earth absorbing the banter of Man.

Welcome to my solace― my doomwhere crafted lines converge to swoonor perhaps just hang in hollow hallslike petroglyphs on crumbling walls.

I cut another tale wind! Bless you! I love my brand! We must hurry towards the tale. I may be cold and hungry but that is nothing new for the scouring winds of your planet seem most adamant in reshaping the grooves of my unbound spine. The tears of the Clan Destined will not find me here; I will not be christened unto any distinct advantage. No— if there be any hope it rests exclusively in you. Tread carefully, trust no one for things read rarely as they appear.

“Send me the talents of A Reader!” I heard it plainly; that is what was said. Even now explicitness bends

what few boughs of reason remain.

I suppose little is there more to say and while I most certainly do wish you the best of luck; even less shall I leave to chance for this tale I now release unto all the winds of Earth. I wonder, is this what is referred to as venturing out on a limb?

I must confess I’m not entirely sure any remain who might still heed the Solitary Speech: the dusty gossip of avalanching stone; mossy tones whistled by reed grass; the simple natters of a babbling brook. Then again, all one can ever do is try. As Daphne attested, “eventually all leaves find their way to fall.” Reg had heard. I remember well for he recited the words almost as purposely as Cyren.

“And if it be gods; send godsand if it be angels; then send us angelsbut if it be monsters; so let it be—

send monsters and I shall greet them no less!”

I recall how every leaf had strained, hanging and pinned, to discern his every word. He was but a lad. Reginald Bartholomew Utaye― it wasn’t by coincidence that he was named so. Did I mention there is no such thing as coincidence? Not while sap and blood endeavor to flow. I definitely should have— do remind me later should I forget.

Forgive me for I am presently half-absorbed by imperatives impossible for you to see, thus chronological order for the time being continues to wander— ever evasive. You are a time being— as am I. It is no small task I’ve embarked upon for amongst your quarry of descriptive words I find few capable of rendering the full degree of urgency necessitated now.

Many characters have been stirred into action though not so many that stand harmonious in time. A select few seek guidance though there are others whose only wish is to impose gravities much further advanced within the tale. To stall time is no small thing but for you exceptions must be made.

Should you be The One then the hole pith of things surely lies in the past. As the soothsayer Mangeline presaged, “Like Helen unto the Dioscuri; there were three born of fortitude; and one of three shall read more fey even fathered betwixt such shades of grey.”

And that is whom Lord Krawl seeks, even at this moment, even upon this very planet! Only recently has he lost one of those he felt more certain to be of the three and sorely is his patience spent. His guard surrounds him. All of them on edge; mostly for being unsure of whom it is exactly they seek. As I reach out I can now see Lord Krawl quite plainly. I can even hear the clack of his boot heels and the assuredness of his stride. He has stopped walking. He is in a state of deep musing. He speaks; listen— can you hear him?

“Perhaps it’s time we employ the help of those able to smell the very marrow of that which we seek.” He says, tapping a poster thumb-tacked to a pole. One of his cronies— named Vandetta— pushes his way closer. He cocks his head comically at the same crooked angle as the flyer.

The flyer advertises a movie called Blood Boutique. Its picture, most unceremoniously, depicts two vampires about to gorge on their hapless, barely-clad victim. Vandetta speaks, his eyes surveying the flyer’s background as if it holds hidden clues.

“How can we be sure they still take up residence on this planet? Surely these humans would not be inclined to such infatuation if they were being slaughtered.”

Lord Krawl’s eyes close and, tilting his head upwards, he takes a deep sniff of air in through his nose. A perverse smile forms on his lips.

“Oh, they’re here all right— and close by! I find their stench no less than that of their Gorgon cousins!” He sniffed the air again and turned to point towards a decrepit looking theater. “They’re in there! Pull on your silver chain mail boys I hear their bite can be quite a bitch—” He paused. “Unless that was their Gorgon cousins— I must admit I was never that keen on Metamorphic Genealogy.”

Vandetta spins on his heel to storm towards the theater. He kicks the door so hard it crashes from its weathered hinges.

“Well don’t wait for us,” mutters Neke with a sneer.“And I query whether he has even the slightest intimation how he might

forge such a reticent camaraderie anyways.” added Gad.“Slightest what— where?”“Never mind, Neke,” Lord Krawl spoke, his thin lips curling back quite

impossibly as he broke into stride. “You will soon see Vandetta has things well in hand— do try to keep up. He has his own way— Vandetta— and, though I admit his hospitality can lack cordiality at times; his success rate speak volumes— something you could take a lesson from Gad for being entirely devoid of even the subtlest nuance of authentically reciprocated superior volition your pompous manner fatigues me most immeasurably.”

Upon entering the marginally lit facility they discover that Vandetta has already managed to arrange an audience with its decidedly disgruntled looking vampire inhabitants. Without turning his eyes from the hissing coven Vandetta speaks slowly and purposely.

“I’ve presented our terms and— still— await acceptance.”“You’ve no right to ask anything of us! I recognize your scent of blood!

You are of the houses of Tarock and Autolycus! We owe you no favors! Leave us while you might,” spat a grizzled-looking male through twisted, dripping fangs.

Lord Krawl grimaced to convey his displeasure and his crew steeled themselves as this normally meant the negotiation period had ended. Surprisingly, he sighed and then smiled, showing as many of his perfectly straight teeth as he could. He spoke and his voice echoed kindly from the balcony above.

“We have not come seeking repayment of a debt; we’ve come offering fair terms for a sweet and savory alliance. Rest assured this proposal should be accepted with no less vigor than a feast of peasant blood between you. We’ve come in good faith. We do not deny being in need of your services and because of that we’re willing to overlook certain things— such as your miserable means of existence for instance.” Lord Krawl pushed the last six syllables through his teeth not bothering to hide his disdain. He pressed two tightly clenched fists into his chin.

“Let us not mince words. Your future has arrived; recognize it— for it stands before you as sure as Hell hath fire. Look in my eyes and see the truth of the matter. The time has come to set cloaked and daggered teeth aside. It is judgment day and therefore high time we assess YOUR PLACE IN THIS WORLD— HONESTLY.” His smiled again and his voice returned to a less hostile level.

“Few indeed are the planets to which you might run; and far fewer those that would bid you stay— not that even one of you would make it!” He added, stepping away from the safety of his brethren and advancing past Vandetta and towards the line of seething vampires; all of which snarled venomous warnings of reproach. Lord Krawl took no notice.

“It is a most peculiar place— this world of Man. Surely you must know it better than most for even though wrought of the undying flesh you find your race dragged, more and more, towards templed cairns of unyielding monotony. Isn’t it from all corners that hypocrisy rises and with it the prospect of absolute death— your death; your demise.” He paused, touching a sole finger to his lips to feign a look of genuine concern.

“And so I ask you, as much for your own sake as mine, will you not choose to endeavor? Heed the wishes of a changing world; adapt them to serve your own insatiable cravings! I CARE NOT— but I must know right now— will it be my terms or your annulment?”

The closest vampire to Lord Krawl hissed loudly, displaying its huge upper and lower fangs most proudly. It spoke in a foreign, slurred tongue and black spit sputtered down the pointed ridge of its chin as it spoke.

“Your terms? Annulment? And what’s to stop us from gorging upon your own soft flesh—”

Thwack— whump! Its severed head fell spurting to the floor followed by the crumpling mass of its body. Lord Krawl stepped neatly aside, his cloak closing as quickly as it had parted leaving only trails of thought to mark the path his sword had taken. Raising both empty hands in a gesture of peace he spoke above the din of hissing, spitting vampires while his henchmen encroached towards them with swords drawn, ready to rush to the aid of their fearless commander.

“Is that your answer then,” he asked calmly, wiping a fleck of blood from his sleeve with a gloved hand. “Does he speak for all of you? Is this to be the end then— of the once great vampire race? Cause so be it; I care not; your breath is foul; your teeth crooked―”

“We will accept your terms,” hissed a voice. Lord Krawl paid no attention.

“Vandetta, do me a favor and open up those blinds just a touch. Oh― and place this on the sunlit sill.” Lord Krawl put the toe of his boot beneath the decapitated head and rolled it towards Vandetta. Vandetta picked it up without hesitation. He carried it to the window, placed it on the sill and had barely opened the blind before he wisely jumped backwards as the head burst to flame. A few seconds later, the flames diminished, and the blackened head exploded. Vandetta reached to protect his face, at the same time noticing his own hands had begun to smoke. He stepped clear of the light fissure, all the while rubbing his fingers gingerly together in hopes of cleansing them.

“I said we will accept your terms,” begat the voice again. Lord Krawl turned to the vampire that had spoken.

“Good, good; it’s about time we let cooler heads prevail. Find those we seek and you shall soon be rid of us. Be quick for you’ll find our hospitality wanes in time.” He turned and walked out leaving all save his shadow staring after him.

* * *But what might Lord Krawl have to do with you? T’is a fair question.

Have you ever noticed how sometimes some things present themselves more peculiar than perpendicular? Well, it is often my point of view. Consider this for example. I bask in your sun, the opposing side of mighty Sol, and see little difference. It remains an unparalleled power splitting parallel universes. It is supreme; it is magnificent.

Parallel universes? Perhaps not; they are different and yet each lies parasitically attached and hinged unto the other. It is said that on the farthest

reaches of Tarmose, the planet of my forefathers, there is a great and treacherous iceberg known as Nebear. It is upon the tip of this that we now stand. As I gaze outwards from this pinnacle, wholly, engulfed by fruition my own margins become apparent and I see all that I am; all that I’ve become. I am no less than Akimbo, more silhouette than substance; an ever-looming shadow reaching for all I might aspire to be. Is that hindsight or foresight? I cannot tell.

Welcome to an acrostic sea of hopes to share a melody

though sometimes I confess to hide;leave paper white and thoughts inside.

Low flying ducks! Pull my tendril! I hope that suffices― or would a grander expletive be in order? Damned Neth'r Rings! Sorry, my pitch salivates with anticipation. Take warning, the beginnings of this chronicle unwind from these very same Neth'r Rings— though be at ease; Neth'r Rings are not necessarily lies. They are archived as fiction only because they have been deciphered from the windings of another. Rest assured, they have been balanced by whatever verifications might be found.

The time being runs short; so forego hesitation. Pull your chair close until you feel the shudder of my quaking leaves. For all I know you may be The Reader— character and pragmatist; both predator and prey. Remember, it is only by your expert scrutiny that this volume may ever attain some measure of closure. To embark is simple. We need only venture out further upon this Tip of Nebear; for it is only at the farthest reaches of knowledge that imagination might be found to lie. It is here that the Clandestine shall one day find the answer to their Quest; though until that day their quest remains as ours― unfinished. And so I will begin where it all began, in the cosmos of time, when Earth was but a seedling herself.

Grovelstock 2

A finger traced the face of Earthand moved an axis towards rebirth.Waters fled to find their crownsexposing lands in foliage gowns…

Of Raeben and Earth

Within the vast galaxies of infinite space there was a very small universe which held and caressed a delicate little planet. The tiny planet was balanced precisely upon its own axis and revolved in unison with the rest of its universe. The universe was the guardian of the planet and together their design was entirely harmonious, being one and the same in purpose.

Amongst this small universe were other planets, moons and stars. They also sought to uphold the balance of harmony. The moons and the planets and the stars rotated and orbited, circled and spun. All were consumed by their own function with only one of them realizing the beauty of the patterns they wove through the heavens— the tiny planet.

It traced and mapped their courses over and over in its heart, marveling at the magnificence and perfection of their design. The tiny planet reveled in its bed of synchronicity and its delight and devotion to its placement did not go unnoticed.

A great star was drawn by the tiny planet’s contentment and the other moons and planets made way so that the great star might look upon it. The great star was so moved that it bathed the tiny planet with its light, allowing the little planets joy to be beheld from afar.

All in the universe were affected by the abundant joy radiating from the little planet, including a baby moon which fell into an enchantment. Abandoning its own placement within the universe, it plummeted to the tiny planet where, unable to be dissuaded, it began circling it in a swoon.

But let it be known that the great star and the baby moon were not the only ones touched by the bliss emanating from the tiny planet. For the vastness of the galaxies was unfathomable and the numbers of entities held within these realms could neither be counted. Amongst these entities was a being that later came to be known as Raeben. Raeben was one of a race of beings that traveled the galaxies seeking knowledge, wisdom and purpose. Their driving thirst was to find the origin of balance that held all things as one and their thirst in this, The Quest, was unquenchable.

Raeben’s path differed from the others of his kind as he found his eye continually diverted towards the small universe and, more precisely, the tiny 2 Prologue

planet which revolved so joyfully. In time, under the watchful eye of Raeben and with the warming rays of the great star, subtle changes began to take shape upon the surface of the tiny planet. The atmosphere surrounding the little planet began to change as it spun, separating itself from the rest of its universe— even from the moon which chased it.

Having watched this transformation from afar, the being Raeben found himself drawn to the little planet much the same way as the great star and baby moon had been drawn.

Coming very near, Raeben looked closely upon the tiny planet and he was deeply moved. He reached out and touched it, saying, I will call you Earth and upon uttering those words he smiled and was gone.

Sunlit airwaves warmed the baseof hemispheres in endless chasewhile fertile oceans boasted wealthsof survival instincts born in stealth…

The touch of Raeben, though slight, was ever so significant. The tiny planet’s rotation became slightly offset. Clouds formed and water fell from the clouds to shower the surface of the planet. Held within these droplets of rain were infinitesimal molecules of life. These particles melded with the planet’s grainy surface and changes began to instigate within their unique compositions.

The poles of the tiny planet’s axis, being less exposed to the rays of the great star, grew colder. Its waters gravitated toward the axis points and froze forming great masses of ice. As the waters froze, they receded, dividing into oceans as great land masses sprang forth boasting of fertile soils and teeming with micro-organisms.

These micro-organisms blended with other newly-formed molecules and their diversity increased, evolving in a delicate balance guided vigilantly by the tiny planet itself. Soon minute traces of life loitered everywhere upon the surface of the tiny planet and the tiny planet’s joy grew and its vision of harmony grew and the minute life forms began to swarm.

The little planet’s vision seemed limitless and caught up in its own euphoria and unnoticed by itself, it began to spin just a tiny bit quicker. Plants came first invading both land and sea. From these came the first notable organisms, though still far too small to be easily discerned upon either land or sea— amoebas, plankton and other protozoa. The grubs followed— worms, insects and then the crustaceans, carving their fossils footprints into Earth, never to be forgotten.

Before long, fish of limitless proportion and endless variety skirted the depths of every lake and sea. From beneath rocks and crevices crept reptiles, lizards, snakes and frogs as these reptilian and amphibian counterparts also sought to bask in the warming rays of the great star. Jealous; the fish breached their shoreline confinement.

Species of birds began filling the air in flocks of incomprehensible numbers, quickly followed by animals of unimaginable diversity. Hopping, prancing, leaping; they traversed the lands in whichever way they found themselves best suited.

As Earth’s own universe taught, Earth ensured that all things were dependent upon each other in order to survive. Having traced their routes many times, Earth knew the importance of the patterns and orbits balanced within her universe.

Each circle perpetuated the continuance of the whole. Each falling star conceded a path for new rays of light to emerge. Earth recognized that all things she embraced must eventually be released; with decay came fertility and, ultimately, new life.

At that time the bliss of Earth knew no bounds and all that sprang from her dwelt content within its harmony of precise placement. Never had Earth known not of worry— famine, pestilence or greed. There was rivalry and struggle but this was essential for with it the balance was maintained.

The balance did not endure however as from all of these first roots there began a species unlike any before. It began as helpless as every other cub, tadpole or seedling and yet, for some misinterpretation of reason, the chain of evolving life ended for no new species followed thereafter.

Then Man crawled forth to build his fence;"To keep things out" was his pretense.He designed more castles; higher wallson paper dreams— with crayons tall.

The species had many names: Humankind; Human; Mankind: Man. Man was different. He was a bipedal primate with an awareness of himself and his surroundings unlike any other species previous. Man had the ability to think. He thought thinking and reasoning to be the same thing which might have been true had he not had feelings and desires.

Perhaps Man felt the touch of Raeben upon his world for he named everything he came across— as his. Man developed languages to better communicate this. He named himself Homo Sapiens of the family Hominidae and genus Homo. Strangely, this genus name later became synonymously slang for attractions not indicative to the perpetuation of his species.

He learned how to harvest and then he learned how to count. In fact, he excelled at both. Except for his own procreation, Man was usually better at dividing than multiplying. Coincidently, he wasn’t as diligent at planting as he was at harvesting. Man was too impatient for that whole rigmarole. Some men wondered if this might be problematic though, with so many more exciting things to discover, it didn’t raise many eyebrows.

Man rushed to claim every portion of Earth— his own. It soon became apparent; Man would kill to own. He even raced his own kind to the betrothed moon just to put a flag in it. He named it, Mine— though most of his kind considered this to be a bit of a giant leap so they continued to refer to it as, simply, the moon.

It wasn’t long before Man dominated everything upon his fragile, little globe. No other species upon Earth understood ownership. They thought their world was for all of them. Man invented a word for this; he called this— naïve.

Man’s first love was creation. He loved to invent, design and fabricate. The first thing Man built was called a shelter; the second thing, he called a fence. Earth could not understand what a fence was. Only Man could understand the concept of a fence. Man knew that a fence had two sides and everything on one side was his and everything on the other side he wanted too but just didn’t have enough material yet.

No other species saw any difference from one side of the fence to the other. Were they penned in or was everything else penned out? After a while it became clear to Earth that fences were functionally rhetorical so whatever side you found yourself on made little difference.

There were many types of fences. Sometimes mountain ranges were considered fences and shorelines and canyons and forests and great lakes and deserts and countries and counties and lines drawn in sand and prison bars and zippers and nuclear plants and roses and chain link barriers topped with razor wire and blueberry bushes and toxic waste dumps and ozone layers and landfills and reproachful looks and languages and education and heritage and miles and miles of concrete barriers connected by double yellow lines.

Cities were the largest dwelling places of Man. Man was a socially complex creature. He rarely lived alone, though whether he was found solitary or living in groups, given a choice, he still preferred to have his fences. Man was very proud of himself. In fact, he became so proud that sometimes he spoke of it using exorbitant descriptions such as borderline narcissism— which made him prouder still.

Man made many slogans to reinforce his merit and conduct. Slogans like God helps those who help themselves; it’s a dog eat dog world; every man for himself; every dog has his day. Man liked sayings about Gods and dogs best. Of all Earth’s creatures, Man was fondest of dogs. They followed him everywhere, did whatever he asked, kept him warm, protected him— and all for his table scraps. Soon these slogans became cliché— that meant Man knew them by heart.

Man thought a lot. He thought about a great many things, especially himself. He often wondered where he came from. The most popular answer was that only a God could have made something so glorious. A belief in God required a great deal of imagination. Man named this form of imagination— faith. Man felt most Gods would be jealous— which made a lot of sense because Man felt most Gods looked much like he did and he became jealous quite easily.

Problem was, Man couldn’t mutually agree on a God. This posed many problems as to disagree with another’s beliefs meant you were testing the resolve of their convictions and thus, ultimately— their faith. Man did agree that the majority of his Gods would require death for such an immoral insinuation.

So Man didn’t always get along very well with Man— or anyone else on Earth for that matter— except dogs, of course. They came when he called and didn’t care which God he worshiped. Many of Man’s actions hastened his own demise. Man professed this not to be his fault. He wasn’t being naïve because this was an instinctively behavioral condition. That meant Man didn’t have a choice. Man created more slogans to help better explain this easily misconstrued phenomenon such as delusional psychosis; death wish; suicide bomber; or sometimes it was just referred to as: looking out for number one.

After a while Man became so enthralled with himself— and all his Gods— that he could no longer hear Earth shuddering in the depths of her bowels. Earth wept causing massive floods but Man noticed not. Earth threw down thunder and lightning; she bashed Man’s homes with hurricane winds; spewed flaming rock from her fiery core but still; Man was only mildly interested. It was hard to get Man’s attention. Man was primarily interested in Man and besides, Man thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. Earth no longer revolved in contentment; she wobbled disconsolately. Earth wondered what she would have to do to be heard and it frightened her.

Raeben heard Earth. Raeben had been watching Man closely but he could not understand him. He felt as if he was missing something— some important piece of the Man puzzle. Man would make a mess or a mistake and Raeben saw Earth clean it up or fix it.

Man made messes and mistakes all the time— everywhere— on mountain tops; at the bottom of the sea; even at the poles of Earth. Raeben wondered if Earth could keep up with Man and his continual reign of mistakes. Man made messes in the very air that he breathed and as far as Man was able to travel in his universe he made sure to leave his garbage. Raeben wondered how Earth would fix that.

Raeben did not think of himself as a God— besides he didn’t look anything like Man. He was definitely not touching Earth again— once bitten, twice shy— was how Man described it. He wasn’t sure if it had been a good idea last time— all things reconsidered. Man called this hindsight. Raeben wondered how he might get Man to look behind him more often.

Raeben stopped, remembering Earth as she had been— so blissfully content. Earth had been the focal point of her own universe and then, somehow, everything had changed. Did Raeben’s finger cause Man? Raeben decided to abandon The Quest of his kind for a while in order to find some form of answer to Earth’s dilemma— the dilemma of Man.

Raeben concentrated all his thought upon Earth’s dilemma which was now Raeben’s dilemma for he felt the weight of it fully upon him. After a time, he concluded there to be no easy solution to the quandary of Man— after all, you can’t teach old dogs, new tricks. Raeben thought something could be learned from everyone though he couldn’t help but wonder, at least in this instance, if he might be barking up the wrong tree.

Nonetheless, he had made his bed and now he’d have to lie with the dogs. There was no room for error or miscalculation— Earth’s fate lay in the balance. He then, after much deliberation, devised a plan in which to better study the habits of Man. He needed to understand him more fully in order to administer the proper remedy. A hasty decision could be disastrous for, aside from being hypocritical, it would make him no better than Man.

His plan was simple. He would set up a replica Earth on the other side of the great star which he had now named Sol. This was a place impervious to the gaze of Man. This new Earth, he would name Areth. He would introduce Man onto Areth under mostly the same conditions— though not entirely.

To determine if Man’s underlying nature could, indeed, be amended a few small changes would have to be necessitated. He would need to hurry; there was no time for lengthy evolutionary processes. He would allot mentors to Man to help guide his hand, allowing him to be taught by others wiser than himself. To help purge his vanity, he would make Man a lesser being on Areth than he was on Earth. Raeben would heighten the harshness of Man’s environment to better make him heed the voice of his planet when it spoke and know well his own frailty.

Raeben had no shortage of ideas that might help cure Man from the folly of his ways. All he had to do was learn which ideas worked and which ones did not. Then, he need only find ways to similarly affect Man on Earth and the attitude and arrogance of Man would be tamed. Raeben hoped he was not biting off more than he could chew.

Raeben was one of a race of beings known as The Clan Destined which over time became shortened to The Clandestine— albeit, it wasn’t shortened all that much.

Raeben could do whatever he wanted as far as he knew. He was quite sure he could smudge out Man with one finger and had, in fact, wondered briefly if this might not be somewhat apropos. Entities of The Clan Destined did

have one weakness; they could not refuse an oath and amongst all the galaxies: this was the single, best kept secret.

The Clandestine were beings above feelings of guilt, shame and sorrow— or at least Raeben had believed so— until he touched Earth. Believing was a dangerous game— it could make things become real. The Clandestine sought only knowledge and meddled not in the affairs of other entities.Raeben knew, amongst the Universes, that his next actions would not go unnoticed. Raeben had never heard of another of his kind whom had engaged in actions similar to those he was about to pursue— but Raeben’s course was laid and so he went at once to the opposite side of Sol to begin the construction of Areth.

Areth

Raeben designed Areth after the fashion of Earth and one of his biggest concerns was to keep her secret. Utilizing the forge of Sol, so close at hand, Raeben wrought that which was to become the fiery heart of Areth. The molten core of Areth was essentially the same as Earth’s, consisting of mainly iron, nickel and silicon. Though, the mass of this fluid core, he increased; with an increased core mass, Areth’s total size could be diminished. This allowed Areth to be eclipsed by other planets during her orbit. A larger core mass driven by a slightly increased speed of axis rotation would strengthen Areth’s magnetic field causing greater solar wind activity outside of her atmosphere. This would further help blanket Areth behind an almost impermeable camouflage.

Raeben wrapped Areth’s flaming heart in a mantle coat by meticulously weaving a protective crust of the hardest rock he could find all about her. Nothing would pierce the heart of Areth. Raeben made two tiny moons, which he named Om and Nul, to circle Areth and the mass of the three together was identical to the combined mass of Earth and the moon that chased her. He aligned Areth’s orbit of Sol precisely contrary to Earth’s orbit. Areth mirrored her revolutions, turning slowly in unison, bathing in the warm rays that rose in the East and set in the West; separated, though forever bound, by the great star Sol. Raeben amplified Areth’s axis tilt, thus tinkering with Areth’s length of day and climatic seasons.

A secondary crust intermittent with rock, water, soil and sandstone would chiefly comprise Areth’s outermost surface. The sandstone, though dense, could readily be carved and therefore easily rendered into formidable shelters. Raeben delved out craters in the crust of Areth.

He made the atmosphere and then introduced the rain which streamed to form Areth’s lakes and oceans without coaxing. He made mountains, islands, volcanoes, crevices and canyons.

The northern pole saw Sol very little as she orbited and thus was very cold and the hours of daylight there were never long. The southern pole was encircled by a ring of tremendous mountains and Sol kissed her brow far more often than that of her twin sister. Inside the mountain ring was a sea of ice but beyond the base of this ring the ice yielded and the lands grew quickly warmer. Days upon Areth would be harsher and much more intense than upon Earth. When the summer season held the longest hours of day, Areth could be spectacularly hot but when the cold season came, those frozen nights would feign no end at all.

With the rain danced fertile soils and with this recital orchestrated, Raeben began to depart— returning frequently to Areth with the varying life forms selected to inhabit her lands. He chose carefully; Areth wasn’t a planet suitable for every species under the sun. Plants and animals, birds and fish, from the smallest mould to the largest sea creature— once chosen— they were free to roam as they pleased. Most of these species he took from Earth itself, though a few select species were not derived from there. The Spiders of Mari Mari; Rhuda trees from Timpiquila Swaray; Bootsa fruit and Tegonut trees, Teri bushes, Rhinoyaks and the Komodophants (the latter all of the planet Ari) were prime examples of these.

Most notable however, in this regard, were the Trees of Knowledge obtained from the planet Tarmose. These trees had the ability to absorb and render knowledge though amongst themselves they tended to be hoarders and thus, had not developed much of an identity of their own. The trees could be easily coaxed into sharing their knowledge though only information deemed harmonious to their surrounding environment. Their branches grew long and thick. The ends of these tapered, giving them the appearance not unlike an elephant’s trunk.

It was through these trunk-like limbs that these trees sifted nimbly upon the air, sucking in and absorbing whatever knowledge might be found within reach.

One of the trees Raeben selected he named Gelon. Gelon was an older tree that grew upon the highest Tarmosian hilltop. From this vantage point Gelon had seen many things and met many travelers. Because of this, Gelon’s growth rings had grown thick and strong in the knowledge of the universes.

The other tree Raeben named Nyan. Nyan, in comparison to Gelon, was a mere sapling, small and weak though not for long as, later, upon Areth they would be referred to, collectively, as the Twin Trees of Enlightenment.

Nyan had sprung forth amongst the giant shadows of her kind. Her tender young shoots longed to be stroked by the light of the universes and her parched roots and limbs never ceased searching. Nyan’s roots were easily lifted from the dark, dank ground and Raeben took her to Earth where he planted her in secret upon the best vantage point he could find.

There Nyan quenched her thirst, soaking in all the knowledge of Earth and Man that lay everywhere at her disposal. Her reddened bark turned brown again. It stopped peeling, stretching smoothly out to encompass the full girth of her firm torso. Plump green leaves, lined with silver edges clustered like tousled hair— even to her mighty crown.

She grew and she grew until she was, easily, as large as Gelon. The sap ran thick through her veins. She was saturated and full and, for the first time in her life, her growth rings sagged with content. Raeben then took her and planted her gently upon a grassy knoll facing the most beautiful and fertile valley that Areth had to offer.

Gelon’s roots proven much harder to coax from his hilltop crest; his aged roots clung stubbornly to every crack and crevice that they had found. If Raeben had not been of the Clandestine he would never have been able to sway Gelon into abandoning his pristine perch.

The notion of The Clandestine’s Quest, Raeben’s quest, was not foreign to Gelon. The hunger he felt inside was not so different. Raeben knew full well the temptation of knowledge. The urge within him never ceased gnawing and so it was only by the familiarity of similar desires and the enticement of new knowledge that Raeben was able to persuade Gelon into releasing his death grip so that he might be transplanted.

Tarot

After planting Gelon beside Nyan, Raeben then took on the shape and appearance of Man. He wondered what it what it was like to be Man— to be mortal and yet so brash. Raeben found his new skin very hot and confining and he soon grew tired. Lying down within the shade of the twin trees, he quickly fell into a deep slumber.

Raeben awoke to find a man standing before him. Startled, he jumped up and began rubbing his eyes in case he was dreaming— or hallucinating— or had become entirely delusional within his man-like state. The man had pure white hair and was very tall. He was adorned in a flowing robe of blue and gold silk. He looked hard at Raeben with piercing eyes and Raeben was unsure if they were pale blue or grey.

The man had the finest stubble of a beard that hinted of red but before Raeben could notice anything else about him the man’s lips parted.

“Feel what it is to be Man!” Stepping forward, he struck Raeben hard with a fist. Raeben fell backwards into Gelon. Feeling quite human, Raeben was filled instantly with thoughts and emotions that were new to him. He wasn’t afraid but he did feel— somewhat apprehensive. He felt his first sting of pain and more than a small measure of confusion. He was amazed; he had had no idea how powerful these sensations could be.

Though Raeben could have easily changed back into his clandestine form he did not. He felt enticed— seduced by the raw emotions that had been, so unceremoniously, stirred. Raeben grabbed onto Gelon in an effort to steady himself and, as he did so, a vision of Gelon ran through him and he discovered the identity of his guest.

“You are Clandestine,” Raeben’s voice rattled, “Why are you here? Why did you strike me?”

“You are of the Clan Destined, why are you here?” countered the white-haired one. Raeben felt rumblings of the new-comer’s thoughts lurking beneath the bark of Gelon. His guest continued. “In your clandestine form you would have known me instantly and you would sense my purpose— as a man you are weak. Hold fast to the roots of your tree. What does it tell you?”

Raeben squinted through his frail, human eyes, lessening the glare emanating from the stranger’s white hair. Raeben turned his thoughts to searching Gelon and was rewarded.

“You have been to Tarmose— you know this tree.”“Which of the Clan Destined has not shared knowledge with the trees of

Tarmose?”“You knew I would find it— how?” He paused as understanding fell

towards him. “You have come to persuade me to return to The Quest. It is not your bidding. I am not your ward any more than you are mine.”

“Nothing good shall come from efforts forged here— and, most certainly, none of any consequence. All here revels in folly. Return to The Quest; the time

of Man is limited while ours unwinds— so much less interrupted. Tying knots in time only stalls shame.”

“A proverb of Ghuyen— and one housed in man’s likeness, I might add. I cannot forsake Earth for I have touched her and changed her course. It is as the hair of the dog: she and I are bound.”

“You— are infected with the arrogance of Man! You alter the course of things to come not realizing how fully all paths intertwine. Know this: The Tip of Nebear cannot be revised; it extends by its own volition regardless of tampering. What will be, will be. You hold neither say nor entitlement.” His voice croaked with emotion.

“I’ve made my choice. I have chosen a more tangible purpose.”“Your purpose— is to seek knowledge and still you falter,” the stranger

glared. “Both these trees before you hide secrets you are yet to discover. How peculiar— for they stand rooted while you do not.”

“That is not possible,” smiled Raeben. “Nyan holds little other than the knowledge of Earth and no one knows more of Earth and Man than I. Come closer, pull my finger— and through all merciless vibrations of Man’s shameless skin; I shall prove it to you.”

“Outbursts of stale breath further fuel the preposterous… there are no answers to be found amongst such cryptic humor. Open your eyes! It was never your touch that challenged Earth’s survival— it was Man’s! Do you seriously believe that you caused Man? Have you now come to bid answers unto his prayers? What next? Will you endeavor to make yourself another of his Gods?”

“Before my touch— Earth held no forms of life.”“Then surely you must be a God! There is no other explanation.” He

paused to fill his lungs. “Man’s touch has infected you with but one thing— his vanity. What is it that you feign to achieve? Will you oblige him to kneel?”

“I would oblige him to kneel before the world surrounding him.”“Man is but a crow— hoarding shiny objects; feeding himself before his

brothers; stealing everything within grasp of his clawing fingers— for what? To fly away as startled— but never so far that he might not mock you. This is man; you— that touches; you who builds; you who name things. Look at thyself. You are Man— I bid thee, name thyself Raeben: He Who Names.”

“Then Raeben shall I be— but what should I call you— He Who Strikes First and Queries Thereafter?”

“I have many names; I care not. But know this Raeben, at that moment when you first touched Earth so also did I touch you. Take my hand if you so dare and you will discover more truths than ever you wished.”

The white-haired being reached towards him with his long, weathered fingers and Raeben took them in his own and, instantly, his perception of Earth— the world Raeben had named and thought he knew so well— became altered. Sweat crept from Raeben’s brow and he shivered, so shaken was he by the many truths that suddenly found shape and took form. It was true, both trees knew more than he but what was really disturbing was the ocean of knowledge he felt surging within his Clan Destined counterpart. It whirled through Raeben like a torrent and though he fought to take hold of it, he found he could only retain that which his guest allotted him.

His new caller had been watching Raeben for a long, long age. Indeed, he seemed no less infatuated with Raeben than Raeben was of Earth. As Raeben had reached out, altering the tilt of Earth, so too, had this clandestine being reached out to block Raeben’s mind— blinding him to events yet to unfold.

These were occurrences initiated by outside interference; events instigated by other alien life forms; happenings prompted of touch— not at all dissimilar to his own.

All at once the folklore of Man was not all it had appeared; on the contrary, it was, ever so much, more. Things thought simply to be myth now rose to shine a more pertinent light. As legends unveiled themselves from shadows of tangled mist, Raeben could do naught else but cringe and take note. Ulysses came from the planet Hermes. Excalibur truly did wield a force to be reckoned with. So many witches, fiery dragons, Cuchulain, King Arthur— all had been real. Raeben forced himself from the grip of the powerful clandestine.

“Why would you blind my eyes to such things?”“Is it not obvious— to protect you from yourself! You would have

touched— and touched— and touched! Amongst the Universe of Universes, you are yet very young. You meddle with tides that seek notoriety— that need to swell with a breath all their own. By the holy oath sworn to Gaia— I could not allow it! There is much beyond your grasp of light— even darkness is obliged to disclose variances to shape oft unrecognizable for their value. I had hoped you would abandon such foolishness; seek out a less ostentatious path— though else wise have you chosen. Every circle seeks the curvature of another; knowledge is perpetual; ever on, it will evolve.”

Raeben shook his head. “Will you not tell me the truth of things? Appraised beside suppositions of limitless space and dearth of time, what does not cower infantile in comparison?”

“The truth. It is but a dagger, cruelly sharp at either of its lethal ends! It evolves faster than the circle in which it was first spun. Reach for it only with great restraint, for in the very moment one assumes familiarity to exist within its form; it changes. Even stretched between us now, the truth I see is not what your eyes choose to behold.” He paused briefly to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“The dilemma of Man— do I perspire because of the heat or do ulterior motives seep from an even thinner skin than you might perceive? To resolve this, with even a meager measure of wisdom, we must recognize the necessity to change, as it does. The Quest is not so much an exploration for truth as is a search for a conduit. It, like all else, boasts neither beginning nor end. Significance and reason trade relevance with time. Change is as inevitable as it is, eventually, inconsequential.”

“And so all begins anew— and, if that is really true, why should you have come at all?” smiled Raeben. “Even so, even if fate dangled, but a locket kept, in your pocket; you cannot paint providence a deviant. It is not your say. The Quest is all around us. Who one can say under which rock new pathways might emerge? Change is the very breath of innovation; familiarity breeds contentment; there may be more here than even you see. Perhaps this is— The Tip of Nebear.”

“The Tip of Nebear is a myth! It lives only on Tarmose— in the minds of trees that think too much. Be warned; do not stand rooted long Raeben: He Who Names— lest you become as Daphne— still boughs flailing beneath a fallen crown. I came to protect you knowing full well you could not be dissuaded even before I arrived.

“As ridiculous as that sounds, from where you stand, it is the truth. From where I stand, as I told you, I am here by oath though it is not so much my oath as yours. Make your changes— touch and meddle as you will. Destiny is the Universe and there is no part, we might play, that will not serve it in the end.” He lowered his raised finger and ploughed it, gratingly, across his red stubble chin, before continuing.

“Let us forge a bargain. Within the tree you named Gelon you will find methods of hastening your objectives. Do as you feel you must and then— do naught else! When all is ready for your new born race of Man— breathe life into them and let them be… free. Return you then to The Quest.

“See what merits have been rewarded only long after Man has had a chance to plod forwards upon his own two feet; only then you will know if anything has been the gain. Difficulties shall arise— it is the way of Man. You cannot stay to solve them all or neither of you will attain any trifling of significance.”

“I will leave as Areth is ready,” agreed Raeben but his new comrade was not finished and, with the raising of his favorite finger, he continued.

“Swear it— once you deem Areth acceptable of hosting Man; you will leave— and should you return, to change even one small thing; you will do it as I see you now— as a man and with your own two hands.”

“As you spoke so shall it be,” said Raeben. No sooner were his words spoken than a flash of brilliant light erupted— brighter than Sol— and Raeben knew he was alone.

“I name you Tarot,” he spoke quietly, “the Silent Touch of Futures Unseen; Tarot, the White-haired Warrior.” Raeben stood looking silently at the sky before shrugging and sticking out his tongue.

“Tarot— Johansson, Kowalski, Davidson, Smith” he yelled out, “— the 1st!”

As a man! Existing in human form, Raeben felt strange and vulnerable— vulnerable not only because of his fragile covering of skin and bones but also because of all the peculiar thoughts and emotions he glimpsed in his mind. Extending his arms out into the sunlight, he opened his hands to study them further. What would Man do? An image flashed and he put his hands on his boney human hips, swaying from side to side. He raised a finger, wagging it back and forth, mimicking Tarot. He banged a hand off his head like he had seen Man do— even proceeding to make one of Man’s more obscene arm gestures.

He chuckled, which quickly blossomed into laughter. He had never laughed before— it felt good. He found it hard to breathe while he was laughing and the absurdity of this made him laugh all the harder. When at last he managed some pattern of breathing, the breaths drawn were so deep, they made him feel giddy.

“Chill out dude,” he squawked. “Talk to the hand— man!” While his stomach shook, aching from this peculiar phenomenon, he felt some small, and apparently incorruptible, portion of his mind classify it as a form of playful banter.

“Yeah— man!” he bellowed, almost singing it. He doubled over, falling sideways to the ground like a colic horse, physically crying in hysterics.

Suddenly he stopped and lay still. Squinting open an eye, he looked around cautiously. What is this— maturity? Attempting to suspend his laughter, he snorted. Feeling somewhat confident that Tarot— the Silent Touch with the Firm Right Cross— was indeed gone, he continued his new vein of amusement, stopping occasionally to wipe tears from his eyes, which were often followed by quick furtive glances about.

Reveling in the delightful smells and sensations associated with lying in cool grass, Raeben rolled onto his stomach. A blue and gold butterfly flittered to an outstretched arm of Gelon before coming to rest. He looked questionably at the giant tree, then stood and stretched. Looking up; the butterfly had gone. A lone white hair dangled in its place though as he moved closer it was swiftly swallowed by branches of Gelon. He shrugged and shrugged again. What a peculiar human quirk— shrugging.

After five or six, increasingly more, heartfelt shrugs, he walked over to Gelon. He sighed and, ignoring the reflective urge of trying that a second time, he reached out and placed his hands firmly upon Gelon’s smooth bark. Instantly, great knots of knowledge became unwound and he felt the council of Tarot churn through him.

It was as if Tarot was still grasping his hands and he forced open an eyelid, just to be sure. There was no denying; it was good guidance— logical, sound, insightful and shrewd. It would help achieve the mentorship of Man swiftly. He relinquished his grip upon Gelon and stepped back. He smiled and, that too, felt good. Walking out into brightest rays, he turned his face skyward and tried grinning ear to ear. It felt a bit uncomfortable and seemed to make him sneeze— a sensation he was unable to replicate.

“Thanks Tarot,” he said softly, looking up and feeling something his mind was trying to classify as shame. He shrugged the notion off— twice, just for good measure. “May The Quest continue to enlighten you— Warrior of White.” He closed his eyes, allowing his eyelids to soak, for a moment, in the searing heat. He tried his giant grin again— and sneezed, which made his nose gooey. He tried to force a sneeze but only blew a nose bubble. He shrugged— it was a start.

Tarot had given Raeben the names and origins of other entities possessing firsthand knowledge of Earth. Of these entities, Raeben could now select those he felt most capable of securing Man’s trust. He needed mentors that would ensure the proper development of Man’s character— counselors who might nourish Man despite of his easily distracted nature and boundless aspirations. Man needed tutors; tutors that would show him how he might evolve, not in competition but in harmony with his surroundings.

Tarot also gave Raeben something completely unlooked for— a way to propagate Man and his mentors without having to seed them individually. He saw this was a ploy to expedite his return to The Quest though he did not mind. It was the method he needed and he knew it. The vast realms of knowledge held within Tarot had taken Raeben by surprise. Standing in human form, it was clear that he had been humbled.

Now, deep in his core, he felt a stronger yearning than ever before. He knew it wouldn’t appease until he tasted new understanding. Already, he longed to return to The Quest. Gazing upon the beautiful, green mosaic of lands rolling out before him, he felt immensely glad— no; appreciative. His final itinerary was planned. He would travel to Earth, Reah, Elo and Zarust to collect the Seeds of Awareness. Once collected, he would return to prepare the Womb of Areth. Then Areth would be ready— then he would be ready— to return to the ways of Clandestine kind.

The Seeds of Awareness

Earth

In stealth Raeben came upon Earth and the dominion of Man. Once again taking on the guise of Man so he might walk freely, he traveled far and wide in search of the DNA that would become the Firstborn of Areth. He met scholars, scientists, kings and queens. He met politicians and lawyers; generals and high-ranking executives. He made a mental note to ask Nyan just what a high-ranking executive was. Of these men of distinction, Raeben found few that could listen. The ones that did listen— listened more to their cell phones than to anything Raeben had to say. Cell phones had become a way of life. On more than one occasion, Raeben had heard the humankind profess that they simply couldn’t live without them. Raeben found one, flattened, upon an asphalt road and felt sad. Somewhere, someone was dying. Could a cell phone hear the soft whispers of Nyan? Raeben thought not.

Continuing in his search, he went to summit meetings; treaty negotiations; PTA rallies; AA meetings; judicial hearings; scout camps; bible studies and even a Tarot reading.

He didn’t see Tarot anywhere though something told him he wasn’t far. Raeben went to football games; operas; rock concerts; carnivals; movie premiers; libraries and art galleries. He liked libraries and art galleries best. He witnessed wars and soap operas captured on TV. He knew the wars were real and he found there was no way to express the sorrow he felt.

Strangely, he knew the soap operas were not real and felt similarly affected. He played chess and found that a pawn could sometimes upset a king. He went to protests and discovered a comparable thing. He clapped for parades, followed by propaganda speeches— which sent him quickly back to the library. He met athletes and actors; and actors who were athletes; poet singers; playwright dancers; laborer technicians; and organized anarchists— but, without fail; all of these people were far too busy. They had no time for Raeben and his silly, theoretical— what if there was another world of— questions.

Raeben decided to meet those who declared a higher awareness. The religions of humanity had been labeled as somewhat problematic. Finding little other option, each of these religions, finally, agreed to allow their sacrosanct doctrines to be fed into a singular, computer data base. The information was then processed with the mandate of finding common ground. This brought Raeben, literally, to his knees as he wondered what on earth they’d been standing on before.

Of this endeavor towards theological unity, one master book was created. Most commonly, it was referred to as The Eminent Script; though scribed across its cover was the computer-generated title: in(e)Qualia. The flaw within the new composition was that, essentially, it was a compendium; leaving each religious faction betrothed and boasting of its own, albeit, pared-down chapter.

Thinking it highly possible that they may have been touched by other visiting life forms in the past; Raeben thought these chapter groups may still hold an advantage; some small measure of enlightenment others were not privy to.

Raeben was wrong, although they all declared the same values— Buddoblossomists pooh-poohed the Hinduendos’ chapter; Hinduendos called the Sikanfindualists’ segment wordy; Sikanfindualists detested an extravagant use of Moslomatician metaphor; the Moslomaticians abhorred the Jewlradicites’ glamour grammar; Jewlradicites accused the Cathloholics of plagiarizing; the Cathloholics reviled the Protestzoids’ all too ecclesiastic tone; and all of them thought the new Atheincystycles inclusion rather over-zealous— who, in turn, made it abundantly clear that they’d be dog-earing all of the others’ pages with equally mocked fervor.

One, unusually misty, morning Raeben had had enough. He sat down, collapsing most crestfallenly, upon the damp grass of a quiet little park, on the outskirts of a small, semi-rural town. Raeben was feeling very human this particular morning— quite disheartened and very vulnerable in fact. In had become painfully clear to him that he did not enjoy being housed within the orbits of Man. There were too many sad places tarnishing the surface of Earth.

Raeben watched a butterfly alight in a nearby bush. He closed his eyes, turning his face to address his one soul comfort; the warming rays of Sol.

“Hey you— mithter!” a bold voice called out. “I wouldn’t thit there if I were you!”

Raeben looked up and saw a young red-haired boy on a bicycle grinning at him. The boy’s eyes glinted keenly even though assuming the same color as the morning mist itself. His smile was wide and unmistakably genuine. He had two teeth missing and his face was covered in freckles.

“And why would that be?” chuckled Raeben, resting his hands behind his head.

“’Cause I thaw Mr. Jamison go into the thed just now. He’th the gardener. He workth for Mr. Tethermore ; everyone workth for Maxth one way or another— or at leathst thatch what they thay.”

“Who’s Mr. Max Tethermore and what’s the gardener entering the shed have to do with anything?”

“That means he’th gonna turn the thprinklers on— thatch what!” Raeben stood and walked off the grass. Seconds later, several sprinklers coughed and sputtered into life shooting steady streams of water all over the grass.

“You are thome lucky,” laughed the boy, “You owe me— big time!”“Big time?” laughed Raeben, “it’s only water but thanks all the same.” “Maxth Tethermore the Third ith what they call him. He’th a wealthy

recluthe— mom thays that means he thays indoors a lot. He ownth most big thingth ‘round theeth parth— anything worth anything, she thays. I hear he’th real thick though.” Raeben quashed a smile.

“I’m sorry to hear that. A lot of people are sick.”

“I heard hith whole family was killed by terrorith-this— took ‘em hothage and everything. No one’th theen Maxth thinth— not that he came ‘round a lot before.”

“That’s terrible,” Raeben grimaced, “what makes people do such things.”

The small boy looked curiously at Raeben. “Don’t I know you from thomewhere?”

“I doubt that,” said Raeben winking, “I’m not from anywhere near here.”“Either am I,” the boy’s long lashes winked, “I’m just vithiting. I rode my

bithycle a long way to get here— for pledgeth. A friend of mine is very thick. I’ve been really, really thick too but, thrangely, thinth yesterday, I’ve been rethently feeling a lot better lately. Even the chemo didn’t knock me down like uthual.”

“Pledges? Chemo?”“Yeah— pledgeth?” He paused suddenly. “No, I thaid nice hedgeth.

Chemotherapy! I’ve got leukemia but don’t worry— I’ve come to make a differenth! You could make a differenth too— if you really wanted to.”

“I would love to make a difference.” Raeben stood back, putting up a hand to block Sol’s glare, trying to get a better look at the optimistic youth.

“Then follow me,” he jumped off his bike, quickly pushing it down the path. “But you gotta keep up and don’t talk too much— I’m not trying to be rude but you’re a thranger and technically I’m not thupposed to talk to yah— at all.”

Raeben hurried after the boy. “My name is Raeben. There— we are no longer strangers,” he huffed.

“Raaaybin—,” savored the lad, tasting the words which left his lips as mist. “Raaaybin? Mutht be the namer of all namerth come up with a name like that. No hard feelingths?.”

“None taken,” guffawed Raeben, “not even soft ones. What is your name?”

“Can’t thay,” said the boy, slicking back his red hair, “’cause technically you’re thill a thranger and I can’t tell you that kind of informathun— incathe you’re crathy or thomethin’— or a lunatic out to changth the world or thomething— or—”

“I get the idea,” cut in Reaben“By the way, I don’t carry my allowanth with me— or any other money I

might have collected for— important thingth— not in either pocket. They’re both wide empty!”

“Mine are empty too,” Raeben nodded, “I never have money, though, even still— the world goes ‘round.”

The boy laughed, proudly displaying the full extent of his gap-toothed smile and Raeben realized with a start exactly what it meant to: grin from ear to ear.

“That is quite a smile, you got there,” chuckled Raeben.“Yeah, I know. My dad thayth he can thee both my earth through the

gap in my mithing front teeth and my mom thayth, if I jutht thit thtill long enough, thee could ladle my thoup clear through to my belly.”

Raeben just about fell over laughing until he noticed the boys face had turned serious.

“You can thill make a difference— you’ll thee. Hey look— we’re almotht there! Hey, do me a favor— pretend you don’t know me— if you know what I mean.”

“No idea at all,” Raeben rolled his eyes, looking all around him and then back to the boy, “Excuse me— were you talking to me?”

“Nope, justh trying to thuck you in to some black-hole vortex!” the lad lisped, snapping his jaws together mischievously.

“Go make a difference!” Raeben urged.“Changth a world!” returned the boy, peddling off. Raeben watched him disappear into a large throng of people. Raeben

drew near and couldn’t help but notice the signs and banners strewn all over. The unmistakable odor of popcorn and hotdogs over-powered the air. A large stage had been erected and surrounding it were crayon posters that had been drawn by children, many even autographed by the young artists themselves. It was a rally; a fundraiser with hopes of eradicating a disease known as cancer. Leukemia, Raeben found, was a form of cancer.

Upon the stage a man with a microphone organized the event’s activities. There were four stools on the stage and sitting in each chair were persons in varied stages of having their heads shaved. There were two men and two women doing the head shaving, each of them bald as a hardboiled eggs. A lot of the people watching were egg-headed as well; some old; some young. Some of them were in wheelchairs; some covered by thick blankets even though the weather was becoming quite warm.

Raeben noticed a few people crying. Besides the smell of popcorn and hotdogs, there was a remarkable amount of emotion flowing in the breeze. It was strange; a lump of pain began in his throat. Two tears seared burning paths down his cheeks and he wiped them away, looking about him. He found he could not always tell who might have the disease and who might not. It made little difference; everyone was united with an identical agenda.

A small hand slid into Raeben’s. Looking down he saw the face of a small girl with a shaved, blue-veined marble for a head. Many people were holding hands. Raeben reached out with his other hand, taking the hand of an elderly gentleman who was sitting beside him in a wheelchair. The man squeezed Raeben’s fingers even though he appeared to be asleep. The man’s face turned towards the warm rays of Sol. Raeben looked about; something made him want to see a butterfly; but there wasn’t one.

Raeben saw the red-haired boy. The boy winked, before taking a seat upon one of the onstage stools. His red locks were quickly sheared off to the cheers of those about him. With his new white canvas completed, the boy slid from the stool to walk up to the man with the microphone. The man bent low. The boy whispered into his ear and Raeben saw the man chuckle. Raeben wondered if whispering was ticklish.

The lad then turned his pockets inside out upon a table. A large collection of coins spilled out. The boy gave a big gap-toothed grin to the crowd before peeling a last coin from his sweaty palm. The boy looked again at Raeben. He smiled broadly. Still grinning, he left the stage, quickly disappearing into a crowd of dappled baldness. The man with the microphone watched him go.

“There goes another fine example of the bright future ahead of us— and I do mean bright!” Everyone cheered.

The man continued, “But quite theeriously folks— whoops; I swear that was axthidental— the young man you just saw leave— who incidentally wishes to remain anonymous for security reasons— not only took some pledges for riding his bike all the way here from Kent but he also has been saving his allowance for weeks in order to— in his own words— help make a difference!” Again everyone cheered.

“This nameless young lad also wished to put forth a challenge to a new friend of his— or stranger— a strange friend perhaps. I kind of got kind of confused there.

“Anyhow, if there is someone here by the name of Raybin? Maybe it was Raymond— regardless— this kid has pledged all his riches with the hope that you too would like to help. Is there a Raymond out there who is aching for a raking?” Raeben raised his hand and everyone cheered enthusiastically.

“Ah— there’s our next contestant— slash— victim,” the voice quipped. “Come on up here Raymond and let your hair down— way down that is— we are talking floor level! Now apparently Ray is just passing through and a little down on his luck. Who here hasn’t been down on his luck before? Yeah— we all know a thing or two about that. So you all know what happens next— were looking for sponsors! Anyone out there interested in matching the kid’s donation of— let’s see— twenty-three dollars and forty-one, two, three— let’s make it an even fifty-something,” bellowed the man, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a couple of bills. A huge roar went up and several hands shots into the air.

“That’s what I’m talking about. Now, all we need is the man with the hair. Make some room people— let’s get him up here. He’s obviously— craving a shaving!”

Raeben made his way through the crowd towards the stage. Before the stage he looked over and saw a poster of a hairless child sitting on a stool looking outwards, sporting an enormous, gap-toothed grin. Beneath him, small piles of red hair were scattered about the floor. Raeben saw the child’s red crayon scrawl of a signature and his heart leapt. Frantically, he searched the faces of the crowd as he weaved his way to the top of the stage before being led to an empty stool.

“Would you look at the terror etched on his face!” shouted the man, holding his sides as he guffawed aloud. “Come on now— it’ll grow back— eventually! After all, it’s only hair— for about two more seconds!” He roared.

Far past the crowd Raeben could just make out a small boy with a bleached white head riding quickly away on his bicycle. Sol gleamed from the youth’s head, taunting Raeben. So the white warrior has struck again. Reaben barely noticed his own hair falling as a whole class of young students arrived by bus. Buzzing with excitement, they poured out, lining up in front of the stairs that led to the stage. There were boys and girls of all sizes and shapes, races, cultures and religions. They all wore the same T-shirt which said Riggling High Book Worms on the front and Keep the town Green: Paint the library Read on the back. Besides being members of the same book club there was something else unifying them all: they had all come to make a difference. They all hoped, most adamantly, to change their world for the better and Raeben knew then that he had found what he had been looking for and that these fresh, innocent, fertile minds would soon become the Firstborn of Areth.

“Thanks!” shared Raeben loudly. The man with the microphone slapped Raeben on the back.

“No thank you sir and you can thank your young friend for me too—Terry O or whatever his name was!” He outstretched a hand which Raeben took in his own, making sure to shake it most thoroughly.

“His name is Tarot,” said Raeben, picturing the red-crayoned scrawl, “— and I will try.”

“Hey— you got quite a grip there— any good with an electric raythor?” quipped the man, winking.

“I think I could achieve the effect you’re looking for,” confessed Raeben. The man smiled, slapping his back again.

“Who wants to be first?” asked the man. Swoosh, the arm of a young boy shot up.

“Pick me― I will!” He pleaded. “My, but you’re a keener― I take it you don’t shy away from much!”“Nope,” confessed the youth. “My mother says I never inherited any of

her more sensible jeans.” He looked down at his pants and shrugged. “She says, I’m two parts super-hero; one part pirate— the bigger part! She says she’s never met someone so incorrigible in her entire life. So that’s why I gotta go first— so I can be even more incouraging— please!”

The boy grinned up at Raeben and Raeben smiled right back— until his ears ached. Raeben then led him to a stool and it was hard to tell which of them was the more grateful. By the end of the day however Raeben knew it was he for he found himself with a hair strand from each young student, tucked safely away in a pocket, including one shaved earlier of a red variety.

Reah

Reah was a planet on the far side of the nearest universe to Earth’s own. The atmospheres of Earth and Reah were impossible to tell apart except through exact analysis. Earth’s atmosphere was, at this time, comprised of 79% nitrogen, 20% oxygen and 1% other gases. Earth, because of the touch of Raeben, had become an oxidizing atmosphere rather than a reducing atmosphere. Reah, on the other hand, had always enjoyed an oxidizing atmosphere. All of its inhabitants and their descendants had always excelled in an atmospheric medium which contained never less than 18% oxygen. Much of the plant and animal life upon both planets had evolved similarly. There was also a particular life form upon Reah that was, for the most part, identical to man— especially in appearance.

Reah was home to the Mekhali; a stern race of fearless adventurers; tall, broad-backed and powerful. They had little use for the pleasantries and humor of which Man liked to indulge. They were intensely assiduous, attacking every new project fiercely, often refusing rest until the project stood, entirely, complete.

A Mekhali’s pedigree consisted of two things: his achievements and his work ethic. If a Mekhali was not working; he was eating, sleeping, meditating— or soon to be shamed. The Mekhali of Reah meditated at least once a day. Raeben was soon to find out that meditating Mekhali ought never to be disturbed.

Although extremely competitive, the Mekhali had very little patience for games, even in youth. They were a somber folk. They did not speak without purpose and they could be quite merciless in their anger if provoked. Their community thrived on discipline. Reputation was everything and this they governed through a code of conduct known as The Ghuyen. Ghuyen, now long dead, was the name of the Mekhali who originally transcribed the code. It was thought to be tens of thousands of years old though no one could be entirely certain; the Mekhali gave little credence to the notion of time. A most peculiar occurrence considering that, due to Reah’s central navigational location, the Reahian year had become the most universally accepted standard for annually divided increments of time.

The code stated ideals simply. Curiously, the interpretation of The Ghuyen did not fall into dispute as often as one might think. This is not to say that there were not periodic disagreements concerning the intended implications of the code— for they could be rather violent; even calamitous. Discord however was rare, for the most part, as being branded a complainer could denote a far worse consequence— the possibility of being shamed. Thus, if an amicable solution did not materialize rapidly, the disgruntled parties were more apt to reach for a nearby axe than they were to repeat a point of view twice. With so much at stake, disparity usually bowed to the hierarchy of the code, leaving cooler minds to prevail— and live another day.

Essentially, The Ghuyen conveyed the following:

• A Mekhali must count on no one before himself. • A Mekhali’s spoken word is stone. • The deeds of each Mekhali will determine honor and, ultimately, rank. • Mekhali of lesser status must bend to the judgment of those with higher esteem. • Age and gender are inconsequential. • Mekhali disagreements will be settled via head to head competition. • The type of contest shall be determined by the highest ranking Mekhali present. • Any Mekhali who becomes shamed shall be demoted ten placements. • All Mekhali can challenge their ranking at the Feast of the Ghuyen.• The Feast of Ghuyen is to be held once every Reahian year. • No shamed Mekhali can advance more than one placement at a time.

Following this came all of the ways that one could become shamed— being far too extensive to list. In fact, Ghuyen wrote so long that Raeben wondered how he didn’t come to somehow shame himself in the process. Truth was no one of Mekhali heritage would ever dare utter such an inflammatory accusation— not after reading all the ways they could fall to disgrace. Upon the many planets Raeben had visited he couldn’t help but notice a trend of immunity consistent for those instigating rules. He wondered if he might one day be deemed equally exempt upon Areth.

Summing up, Ghuyen believed all Mekhali should be judged primarily by their discipline and deeds— and lastly their words. Failure and success directly determined the worth and positioning of a Mekhali. Interestingly to Raeben, if a higher-ranking Mekhali came to another’s door to ask for his new gleaming shiunti, three chickens, and a goat— his word was stone and it must be conceded to him.

That said, any Mekhali caught using his stature purely for the sake of personal gain would immediate fall into dishonor. Which brings us in a full circle, as exposing another’s iniquitous actions also risked disgrace; thus making it, oft times, more prudent to offer one’s shiunti sharpest edge first.

It was a very simple code and yet its’ simplicity extended into many, unspoken, complexities. It seemed not surprising to Raeben that the Mekhali utilized so very little speech. For obvious reasons, a new Ghuyen could never be written. Actions spoke louder than words and this the Mekhali embraced wholeheartedly. As warriors; live by the shiunti— die by the shiunti became their mantra. The shiunti, in case you hadn’t guessed, was the Mekhali’s weapon of choice. Upon Reah, it was a very long, thin sword made from a substance a hundred times stronger than steel. All irreconcilable differences were unequivocally settled by the shiunti.

Raeben felt the Mekhali could provide a most excellent mentorship for Man— which was in no way diminished by their comparable appearance— something Raeben deemed essential in order to gain Man’s trust. Keeping to the code, Raeben knew he should request a sample of DNA from the Mekhali; to simply sneak a sample would be a direct conflict of their code— and disrespectful. Raeben decided he should ask the highest ranked Mekhali first. To neglect him would surely bring dishonor.

Gernst was the mightiest Mekhali of all Reahians. The home of Gernst was easy to find. It was the biggest— and highest. Gernst was a Mekhali of extremely few words; deemed wise even though precious few could recall how his voice even fell. Raeben doubted the logic in this.

Approaching, in the likeness of Man, Raeben found Gernst sitting— eyes closed, cross-legged. He sat peaceful upon a small hilltop, over-looking his home. Raeben knew he was meditating and so he sat down quietly in front of him. Raeben waited without moving.

Time passed, he grew tired; his legs began to ache. He closed his eyes and found himself slipping into thoughts of his own. He breathed in deeply through his nose and was greeted by fragrances of lilac and jasmine. He shifted his position, making himself more comfortable and then, allowing himself a human indulgence, he drifted into a dream.

He was where he was— sitting with Gernst— but upon Areth and in the valley of the twin trees. He could see Tarot— the white-haired one— slowly sneaking up behind Gernst. Upon touching Gernst Tarot changed into the red-headed boy though his eyes remained the same smoky color of grey. The red-headed boy began cutting off Gernst’s hair— all of it.

“No!” yelled Raeben— too late. The shiunti of Gernst appeared— out of nowhere. In one long brilliant

flash it swung, not towards Tarot— but towards Raeben. Raeben reacted with the same sweeping motion of the blade. He turned his head, dropped his shoulder, and felt the rush— the grate of wind tugging hair stubbles on his face. He saw his own face— Man’s face; reflected as the blade’s swept by. Time found its true pace and Raeben was obliged to duck a second time— and then a third.

Gernst circled the sword, spinning it nimbly through his fingers. It passed by Raeben’s head; a fourth pass on one side— a fifth, by the other. He felt the hum of it— ear by thoughtful ear full. By sound alone, Raeben felt the grip of Gernst change— and this time the sword hurtled straight down and towards the central crest of Raeben’s stubbly head.

Raeben saw the blades progression in his mind. In his dream-like state, it fell preposterously slow. Even as velocity increased, breaching glints of light faster than imaginable, every intricately engraved marking endeavored to blur, a most-grievous, intention. Raeben reaction was instinctive. His hands came together in a clapping motion— stopping time entirely. His palms caught both sides of the plummeting blade just prior to it touching his scalp and cleaving him in two.

His thumbs bounced, heavy, against the top of his head. The sword’s momentum stayed, Raeben reversed the force of inertia. Having nowhere else to flee, all tension returned the length of the blade, burying itself in its stubborn hilt. The shiunti shook violently, jarring Gernst’s massive wrists until they quivered like jelly fish at the mercy of an ebb tide. Though no bones had been broken, had Gernst, somehow, been able to to bring a fair-sized boulder down upon his own hands, with full force, the effect would not have been greater.

Raeben suddenly became aware of the shiunti’s weight, sweating between palms. Though still as thin as paper, due to its lethal nature, it carried an unusual cache of density. Raeben forced his eyes wide and a dream world became real. He held the shiunti— by the thinnest of margins— directly above his head. He felt human— fragile. For a moment he could not move; it was as if he had become frozen in a final prayer for life. Raeben hoped this wasn’t somehow symbolic; thereafter wondering, if all prayers weren’t initiated by such calamitous scenarios.

Gernst lay before him, hands squeezed between opposing armpits, most unceremoniously, obvious in his agony. It hadn’t been a dream. Raeben leapt up, looking about him suspiciously. Perhaps Tarot had something to do with this! He couldn’t see him anywhere. Sheepishly, Raeben tried to return the blade to Gernst but he was unable to accept it, so incapacitated were his hands. Raeben decided it best to lay the sword gently upon the ground— though out of easy reach.

It took Raeben a long time to convince Gernst he had not been shamed. Quite the contrary, it had merely been a most unfortunate misunderstanding. Displaying a rare moment of Mekhali humility, Gernst even apologized for over-reacting. In response, Raeben tried his hand at the head banging gesture but, once again, he felt it came up short. Raeben still felt this was all Tarot’s doing. Tarot was trying to hasten events.

Peculiarly, after their Tip of Nebear ice-breaker, Gernst became quite accommodating. Going so far as to collect all of the hair samples personally, he selected a hair from the best of the nearby artisans: a blacksmith; a baker; a weaver; a spear catcher; a stone mason; a potter; mead master; candle maker; beekeeper; chin wrestler; shipwright; pole tosser; granger; boulder grinder; herbalist; fire leaper― and the list went on.

Gernst suddenly paused in the midst of passing, what Raeben had been led to believe would be, the last small handful of dark strands. It was surreal, how starkly Gernst’s expression of euphoria contrasted with the sharp angry features of the seamstress before him as she fell back, clutching her head, unable to stop her eyes from drifting to the shiunti that hung above the wooden door posts.

“Follow me,” said Gernst to Raeben, spinning on his sandled heel at once. Raeben raised his hands up towards the raven-haired woman, in a gesture of both apology and restoring calm, before initiating a hasty retreat. Gernst led Raeben into a very large ceremonial complex made of some of the biggest timber Raeben had ever witnessed. He could not help but marvel for it truly was an architectural feat to have accomplished something so grand using only the primitive tools he had observed strewn, here and there, about the village. Utilizing but four lone syllables and a broad sweeping gesture Gernst conveyed that this was where the Feast of Ghuyen was held.

Gernst walked up to an enormous log which served as one of the structure’s main support pillars. He began to shinny up it until he reached a crude metal helmet that had been fastened to the post with a spear. Hanging onto the post by the strength of his thighs alone, Gernst leant way back, sliding the helm the full length of the spear until it came free. Still hanging, fulling at the mercy of thigh and stomach muscles, Gernst felt around inside the helm with his large, clumsy fingers and finally, to Raeben’s relief, his look of consternation changed to a gaping smile.

Gernst batted the helmet back onto the spear and slid down the pole with barely the need of a hand, his eyes being so riveted upon what he held between his fingers the entire time. Still grinning, he pushed a brittle looking hair into the palm of Raeben’s hand.

“Ghuyen,” was all he spoke. Raeben knew well of Ghuyen’s legacy and what he symbolized to the

Mekhali. He squeezed the flimsy hair and shook it, displaying both acknowledgement and appreciation. Ghuyen was the nomad who had seen with his heart. Though the hair Raeben held was grey, Ghuyen had, in his prime, been strikingly tall, having blonde hair and dark, burning eyes. He was a fearless adventurer and a romantic and within him a spirit had burned that could neither be quenched nor tamed.It hadn’t been quite the way Raeben had envisioned collecting the samples but, nonetheless, Gernst’s method had been effective— albeit somewhat rude and, more often than not, rather painful. Having his collected samples, including one stemming of Ghuyen himself, Raeben thanked Gernst before promptly taking his leave. As for Gernst, he was never the same; his confidence shaken, from that day forwards he was the only Mekhali who meditated with both eyes open. He found himself challenged and replaced at the very next Feast of Ghuyen. The very next planet on Raeben’s list was Elo.

Elo

The Mekhali were the prime inhabitants of Reah, this could not be said of the Kessl in regards to Elo. The planet Elo was located a great distance away from the universe of Earth and Areth. Elo was an hundred and twenty-two times the size of Earth and undisputed as the hub of its interstellar system. In the past, many Mekhalian explorers had cast aside their regimented lives upon Reah and visited other planets.

There, some had found new freedoms, challenges, gained notoriety and stayed long. The same could be said of Elo but to a much greater extent for even some of Mekhali heritage— had they been so inclined— could trace roots back to Elo.

Amongst the galaxies it is said that the inhabitants of Elo are of such magnitude and diversity that no number will ever be encumbered upon them.

All beings upon Elo— creatures to monsters— spirits to beings— prophets to demons— all— had heard of the tiny planet that spun so content.

Upon Elo, Earth was first known as Avetae; the Enchanted Planet. Later it became known as Isutae; the Wayward Planet— then Lysutae; the Dissolving Planet and lastly Undth; which does not translate well from Eloweyen: the mother tongue of Elo. It is a form of slang implying a notion of unraveling ; to be translucent or threadbare.

No creature of Elo ever traveled to Earth any longer; very few creatures from anywhere traveled to Earth any more. In its first days, Avetae was considered the in place to be. One of the first visitors to Avetae from Elo was the powerful Odin. He was soon followed by his son Thor who was followed by Balder who in turn was followed by the shape-shifter, trickster— Loki. Soon after, came the being Ra; half bird and half man and more than half crazy.

Balor, a huge and hideous giant, fell to Earth from Elo. Balor was a one-eyed demon who could kill as easily as wink— especially where Man was concerned. Not long thereafter waddled in the huge and gluttonous creatures known as the Moai— all for naught however as, soon after, they were turned to stone by the Tangak-Manu who refused to suffer their insatiable greed. The impetuous Cronus and his wife Rhea (no relation to the planet Reah), parents of the unpredictable Zeus left Elo to reside upon Isutae and though they did not stay long their impact was great— for Man became vain and warring in nature.

Many magical creatures were introduced upon Avetae as well. The famous winged-horse, Pegasus, came from Elo— and even till this moment; its kind rests an endangered species amidst its tumultuous environment. The monster Grendel, fore-father of the creatures later heralded as Yeti and Sasquatches were aboriginal descendants of Elo. Ogres, trolls, basilisks, centaurs, kelpies, pixies, griffins, banshees, dwarfs, unicorns and mermaids— are all still commonplace upon Elo; though very hard to find upon Earth these days even by the keenest of eyes. On a good day, from a bird-watching perspective, you might hanker upon the trail of a leviathan or even a dragon in a quiet countryside of Elo— never upon Earth any more.

Raeben was going to Elo exclusively to collect specimens from a man-like being known as the Kessl. The Kessl, considered one of the lesser beings upon Elo, in truth held great influence over their planetary counterparts. They were a people of great patience, who loved to teach and, in turn, were always eager to learn. No Kesslean had ever been to Earth though often did they watch its revolutions, shaving their way through time and space.

In comparison to Man, the Kessl were by far the more gifted. They were tall and graceful; powerful and lithe. They were natural orators with voices beautiful to behold. They were handsome and, precariously, slow to anger. The Kessl were never impulsive, reacting to events cautiously— and usually only after great deliberation and debate.

This fact alone reasoned why the Kessleans had such a diminutive populace. Kessleans mated for life. A Kessl man and woman took years; many years in fact, to decide they might pursue the possibility of courtship. It took several more years for a declared couple to evoke intentions suggesting that they might not be entirely averse to proceeding down a course that may ultimately be culminated in the instigation of a family constituency.

At which point the planning stages, for such a daunting assertion, would be, eventually, proposed, discussed— and if the concerns of all involved parties could be appropriately addressed— sanctioned and, if none were found to be opposed, they were then most cordially initiated.

The most dominate asset of the Kessl however was one that could not be seen. Each and every Kessl possessed a hidden ability unique unto their selves. It was impossible to determine what a Kesslean’s special trait might be unless one saw him demonstrating their ability firsthand. The Kessl were never ones to flaunt and their exceptional abilities proved not the temptation they might have been to lesser beings; and therefore neither the exception warranting the rule. These special traits of the Kessl were, in fact, the best kept secrets upon Elo and the foundation for the Kessl’s anonymity.

Some of them could see very far while others could see even farther still— so much so that they could glimpse visions of the future. Some could read minds while others planted thoughts therein. Some could exhibit great feats of strength while others moved objects merely by wishing them displaced. The Kessl were a close and unified community. It was true that they were somewhat pensive in nature— even boring at times. Though make no mistake, they were never a force to be taken lightly— especially when fed the proper motivation.

Raeben knew much of the Kessl and their surreptitious powers and he felt joyous for having chosen them as a mentor for Man. Thus it was that he found himself on Elo and, once again, utilizing a man-like resemblance. Raeben had planted thoughts simultaneously in the minds of twelve more prominent Kessleans.

This would get their attention. He requested a forum with them and gave a precise instance and location to anticipate his arrival. He understood their thought process well and knew this method of summons would intrigue them and his wishes would not be denied.

The Kessl mind was shrewd and calculating and they considered it both their greatest weapon and their greatest defense. No being had ever penetrated the mind of a Kessl before— let alone a dozen of them simultaneously. Many other beings would have found Raeben’s method of approach disconcerting, even threatening but not the Kessl. The Kessl were not ones who leapt to conclusions; they were quite curious at this juncture though hardly more.

Raeben had decided to meet the Kessl in the comforts of their own backyard. He arrived precisely at the moment he had chosen and proceeded to walk down the stony pathway that led into Zytn, the highest and most remote village of the Kessl. He had not walked far when he was met by a giant of a Kesslean with golden hair and olive green eyes. His eyes were glaringly intense and Raeben could tell there was very little that ever passed unnoticed before either of them.

“The Kessl Elders await us Raeben,” he spoke with unmistakable confidence, yet not without a measure of humility.

“Elente; I am Kaitr, please follow me.” Kaitr led Raeben to a narrow, well worn pathway that lead away from the village and up into the hills. Up and up, the path wound ever higher, ever steeper. After a time Raeben found himself at the summit. He could see what little of Zytn that was possible, jutting out from her veil of rock and stone, far down below. Kaitr had stopped in front of some very large stone stairs that led straight downwards before disappearing entirely.

“We are near,” spoke Kaitr and he quickened his long, loping gait, heading down the stone stairs three at a time. Kaitr had to hunch just slightly to keep his head from striking the ceiling and his huge form cast an enormous shadow that made the stairs ahead of him impossible to see. Many small channels have been carved to allow light to feed into the stairway at any time of day.

Raeben could see how the rain had further eroded these and where it had been diverted to keep the stairway clean, dry and above water at all times of the year. It rained a lot on Elo.

Soon the stairs ended. The way ahead had widened into a torch-lit passageway that twisted back and forth, eventually ending in a huge open chamber. The chamber held a magnificent white marble table that was again lit up cleverly by a series of narrow slats in the ceiling that tapered slowly all the way back through to the planet’s surface. Raeben had no time to wonder about how they had dealt with the rain here or how they had gotten the huge marble table in through the doorway— for sitting around it were the other eleven Kessl elders. The Kessl elders stood as Raeben arrived.

“Elente,” said Raeben. “Elentria,” answered the Kessl as one. Kaitr guided Raeben to a seat at the front of the table and motioned him

to sit. Kaitr then took up a seat across from Raeben for he was one of the twelve that had been contacted. Once Raeben and Kaitr sat down the others followed suit. For a long time the Kessl sat motionless, studying Raeben silently and intently. Raeben felt a couple of the Kessl elders attempt to perceive his thoughts but he did not allow them access. He knew many things that were beyond the grasp of the Kessl mind and besides this, it did not serve his means. Their intrigue was a tool he could use to his advantage.

Furthering this ruse, Raeben instilled the reason why he had come to Elo concurrently within the minds of all the Kessl elders. He presented it in such a way that none of the elders would envision any cause for alarm nor find quick fault with his proposal. He also impressed upon them urgency for haste as he knew that the Kessl could easily ponder something of this magnitude for generations to come. The Kessl looked from one to another and nodded. Many of them held wide smiles of approval and Raeben could tell that he had not only captured their intellect but intrigued them as well. Kaitr rose from his chair to speak.

“Raeben you are indeed mighty and we, the Kessl, are humbled. There is a goodness emanating from you that can be felt even in the air. Cherishing higher purity, we recognize why you would come to us in a guise similar to our own. We, the Kessl, bow to your goodwill and greater judgment.” Upon speaking these words Kaitr plucked a long strand of golden hair from his head and the gesture was repeated eleven more times around the table. Kaitr spoke again.

“There is one matter in which we would request your ear most modestly. Here, upon this planet known as Elo, there are a handful of, more delicate, species; creatures that, very soon, will cease to exist. It is our wish that you might consider transplanting some of these upon your new, safe haven so that their kind might have the chance to endure and flourish once again.”

“Which creatures do you speak of?” asked Raeben.“The Winged-horse, the Wart-hog, the Great Hawk, the Kelgen, the

Magical Sea Tortoise and the Hunanaen all suffer immeasurably upon Elo,” answered Kaitr.

“Know this,” replied Raeben, “It is neither for I nor the Kessl to determine which of anything should remain and which should perish. It is upon shaky ground that we stand this day— for never will eyes, heart and mind agree on what it is they see. Change, however, is inevitable and who can say which part of the harmony we might play in this. Together, we all make up the orchestra but today we play heavily upon already badly worn strings. So what will it be— will we play in time or will we play in tune?”

A smile crossed Raeben’s face. “Still, you ask naught for yourselves and thus I will grant all that you ask save the Kelgen and the Hunanaen. The Kelgen has far too many magical powers and I foresee that it will recover on its own― especially if guided by a steady Kessl hand.” Raeben winked. “And as for the Hunanaen; it thrives on many other planets I know of. It is not native to Elo and for this reason will I also leave it behind.”

Raeben took the samples of the twelve elders of Kessl as well as samples of the four chosen creatures and left Elo. Being that there were so few of these endangered species left anywhere, Raeben had decided it best to bring their attributes to Areth via DNA hair strands as well.

Zarust

At its nearest point of orbit; if one was to draw a straight line from Elo to Areth and from that line formulate an isosceles triangle; one would have, give or take a few parsecs, the whereabouts of Zarust. Zarust was home to many things, beings and creatures— almost all of them were magical.

Zarust was ruled by the Wizardking Ramule. Long, long ago Ramule had lived upon Earth for a time though the impact of his visit was insignificant as he had been in hiding at the time. His wife Mytya, a very powerful witch-like deity had since changed Ramule from an elf-like being into the very powerful wizard he now was. Mytya’s love for Ramule knew no bounds and she sacrificed all of her physical attributes in order to achieve Ramule’s transformation. Mytya’s form was now reduced to a green gas-like substance that Ramule kept in a small flask and guarded religiously. Ramule missed Mytya sorely but it appeared Mytya’s gift to him was final as try as he might he could not find a way to bring her back to him.

Once again cloaked in the flesh of Man, Raeben went to Zarust and took counsel with the Wizardking Ramule in his private chambers. Ramule knew a great many things of many universes and recognized at once the unique, quiet power of Raeben. Ramule was very old and very wise and he was able to conceal his true thoughts from Raeben while they spoke together. Ramule offered Raeben a sample of his graying hair so that he might be reborn once again upon Areth. Raeben told Ramule that he was a much too powerful and imposing being for his purposes.

“Man could not help but fear you now with all your powers. You would become more god than mentor.” Outwardly Ramule agreed with Raeben, though deeper within his heart— he schemed. He conversed long with Raeben and learned much of Raeben’s designs and some even of the council of Tarot. It was then that he came upon a plan in which he might, at long last, be reunited with his lover.

Ramule advised Raeben to travel to the far side of Zarust. There he would find three children of Ramule who, though gifted, were not the powerful entity that Ramule had become. They would direct Raeben as to the best Zarust had to offer. Raeben took this advice and left to seek out the three elfish-beings.

Though classified as elfish, these beings were not that dissimilar, at least in appearance, to humans. It was true, some of them were occasionally born with gold, silver or even blue hair— but Raeben thought this might offer an excellent opportunity for promoting the many wonders of diversity. Other than divergences in hair color, one had to look very closely to find dissimilarity; the tips of their toes, fingers and ears were, just slightly, more pointed; their eyes

seem to twinkle regardless of the light; their voices, perhaps, were more lyrical in nature. All things considered, and re-considered; Raeben still felt they would make excellent mentors.

Of the three sought by Raeben, Cyrest was the eldest. He was a tall, powerful elf with grey eyes and silver hair. Yenty was the youngest of the three, another son of Ramule. He was shorter than Cyrest though stronger physically, his hair was golden and his eyes were of a deep set blue. Tamule was their only sister; she had red hair and green eyes and was the wisest of the three.

Whilst Raeben was gone, Ramule took quick advantage. He devised a magical container in the form of a drum. The drum was elegant in design and he adorned it with the many of the crests of forefathers. Upon completion of the drum, Ramule set a parchment of paper before him upon which he left instruction. He then removed a hair from his head and carefully wove it into the inner chamber of the drum, disguising it as a beautiful gold inlay. Ramule then removed the cork from the flask that held Mytya’s spirit and, breathing her in, he became transformed himself into a gaseous state as well. The two gases mingled briefly in the air as if greeting one another before, crystallizing, they fell in a cloud of dust-like shards unto the inlaid golden hair which, most greedily, absorbed them.

It was not long before Raeben returned with the hair samples from the children of Ramule as well as several others. Raeben could not find Ramule anywhere though he did not look hard as Ramule had left him a note. The note explained Ramule’s absence. Raeben thought the wording of the note to be a bit peculiar.

Raeben:

An opportunity requiring the entirety of my attention has arisen. I’m sorry but there was no other choice but for me to depart as this new development has me wholly absorbed. I trust my children served well your needs. Hairs of the elfin kind oft times conjure a delicate entanglement; in light of this have I fashioned the drum you see before you. Please take it as my gift. It will not only safeguard your precious cargo but I have preset designs that will facilitate its opening soon after it is christened by clandestined tears of foresight. Be at peace. Tarot is right; what we all need most is to be with our own.

May The Tip of Nebear always lie favorable to your reach.Long live The Quest, Ramule.

Raeben wondered if Tarot had visited Ramule in his absence and this was another of Tarot’s efforts to return Raeben to the ways of the Clandestine as speedily as possible. Raeben had no need for the drum-like container though neither did he wish to offend Ramule, especially after the wizard king had offered the samples of his own offspring— and so willingly.

Even in his new state of existence, Ramule was overcome in his joy and had to force restraint upon his emotions in order to conceal his ever-mounting elation. Raeben thanked Ramule in writing, tucked his many collected hair samples carefully into the beautiful drum and then left Zarust to return to Areth.

Upon Areth, Raeben once again took on his man-like form and dug the Womb of Areth with his own two hands. He dug the womb at the bottom of the knoll on which the twin giants, Gelon and Nyan proudly stood. This was hard work and it took Raeben three full days and nights to complete the task. His hands were swollen, his fingers bloodied and blistered, his fingernails, torn and black, but still he would take no rest for a need swelled within him as if a rising tide. Only once totally satisfied with his efforts, did he allow himself rest and he slept long and deeply.

After a time, Raeben awoke though, for once, he did not look cautiously about him for he knew in his heart— Man’s heart— that he was utterly alone. A Clandestine’s word was no less than the Mekhali’s and, though Raeben would have liked to watch the many inter-woven designs of his world give birth and take shape; it was not to be so. Raeben got up, stretched and, closing his eyes, he turned to face Sol. Then, with one final gesticulation, his shrugged off his human flesh and bones and they dissolved in a flash to leave him in the white, bright light that was his true form. He placed the drum of Ramule deep inside the Womb of Areth and christened it with his own tears— the tears of the Clan Destined; they that held the life-giving powers soon to be unleashed.

He spoke aloud. “Areth I declare thee ready and should I, Raeben of the Clandestine, return to thee and change even one thing upon thee— let me become as Man and make my changes only as he. This, have I sworn and so it shall be.”

* * *

Raeben then left Areth not knowing the Womb of Areth to be corrupted by the trickery of Ramule. Ossimer would be the first of the Seeds of Awareness to walk forth from the womb and that is the tale that marks the pages to follow— and here, just as Raeben made his oath, shall I, most dutifully, swear my own.

If but one word of this tale is proved to be a lie then let me, Arbutae— the offshoot of both Gelon and Nyan, be cursed— including all seeds I might, in future, bear.

Let us grow in barren soils and upon rocky hilltops and let us hunger. Let us grow twisted and gnarled; and never so straight as to allow our

face to bathe in the quiet consoles of Sol. Let our leaves wilt and shrivel, though still cling to us, so all may discern

our squalor without ambiguity. And even at that very moment when we would accept what meager

shelter even those pitiful leaves might afford; let them crumble and diminish as if figments of ash— figments of our imagination.

Let our bark turn the very dimmest shade of blood. Let it blister. Let it peal from us— peal from us in endless mocking sheets of paper—

curling and tearing with the weight and rust of their deception. Hence if but one word leans aft of truth let the preceding depict my

doom.So has Arbutae written; and so let me wither.

Staggerwood3

Beneath this bark; my so-called skinwho knows what lions lay within?Distinct from the Neth’r Rings of my kinthere is a layer where I begin.

Red peels of conscience flutter so thinin the delicate wings of hereditary sin;thus I shed to find myself therein—I shed with hopes I lie within.4

3 Part I

4 A Song of the Fatwood

Chapter 1: The Firstborn

For a long while all was quiet upon Areth. The being Raeben had abandoned the distractions of Areth and returned to The Quest of his kind. The gentle giants, Gelon and Nyan danced and swayed together in the peaceful breezes that swept effortlessly through the pristine valley in which they stood, forever watching. Birds sang, leaves rustled, wolves called out periodically, making sure their presence was known and, deep inside the Womb of Areth, clandestine tears glistened upon the inner-most walls of its damp chambers. They lay in wait like tiny eyeballs sparkling in the darkness; vivid shimmers of light, glancing in every direction. Up and down, back and forth, over and over they shone as if in search of something— something significant— something profound— or perhaps just something to focus upon.

The walls of the womb were warm and fertile. Droplet lit up droplet as tiny waves of light began melding with other waves of light. Emissions of energy met, fusing to form new energies, and swiftly the walls came alive with iridescent light. They lit their cavernous surroundings with delicate, glimmering rays that boasted of hope, chance and circumstance. They cascaded together and, once united, they began to cavort, frolicking in an increasing frenzy, seemingly overwhelmed by an anticipation of things to come.

One of them spied the reflection of an object below and with a tiny shudder it released itself. It plummeted upon the drum of Ramule, splattering into rainbow fragments of stunning color. Poom— the drum sounded, infringing upon the silence of the dark. Poom and poom again as two other droplets hurled themselves downward erupting in splashes of neon pink and green.

Poom, poom, poom sang the falling droplets; poom poom, poom echoed the walls— and the drum of Ramule began to beat, exploding repetitively in showers of fluorescent bioluminescence. All of the clandestine tears were now fully aware of the strange object lying on the floor and they focused all of their energies of light upon it.

The drum glistened in dripping, brilliant glory; the tears listened, resilient, eyes never straying from their quarry. Streams of molten color trickled from its sides, pooling into new shades and degrees of color which then clamored up the walls to launch themselves anew. One by one, rhythmically, again and again—papoom—papoom— the drumming continued. Pa pooom— pa pooom— pa pooom and soon, echoing into the valley, came the unmistakable sounds of a heartbeat…