Most of those gathered at the Grove of Needles tonight understood that Kaltya was different from other soldiers. She had clearly been a dryad at birth, but to the eye, in contrast to the normal elegance that is the hallmark of those sylvan tribes, Kaltya was quite ugly to look at. While not misshapen, she did have numerous bulbous cysts about her body that were reminiscent of tree burls.
Also, there was a sheen to Kaltya’s grayish flesh that made her look like she was slightly wet. As long as Bal-Jhor had known her that sheen had always been there. Though, aware of her sylvan ancestry as he was, he was confident that she was born either very pale or slightly green as any other dryad he had ever encountered or heard about.
Those who were familiar with sylvan languages and dialects understood that Kaltya was ancient, even by sylvan standards. Fra Shathor is what Kaltya’s people’s tongue called the Gnarcheon, and that title, Bal-Jhor knew, had fallen out of use long before the birth of any currently living elf. For the past few thousand years, the most of the sylvan races favored terms such as the elves did: Tra’Baellyan, or that of the sprites: Sho-Atraliar as in the case of Varshya or Mirriam.
A small part of those gathered tonight also knew Kaltya as the Lady of the Spore. Kaltya had walked the Lichen Path, and now lived in a symbiotic relationship with the Fungal world. Few understood what the meant, exactly. Shankaria likely did, but it was far beyond the ken of Bal-Jhor.
But then, there was something that Bal-Jhor knew about Kalta that few others could…possibly not even Kaltya herself, and that was that Kalya’s spirit was completely tangled with that of the fungal world. She was inextricably one with the world of mushrooms, lichen, molds, and such. By the astonished look on the half-orc’s face, Bal-Jhor understood that this newcomer saw what Bal-Jhor saw as Kaltya moved to take the audience.
“Caterpillars.” She said in her leathern voice. After a pause, she added, “Tadpoles.” Then, after another pause she added, “Kossuth’s descent”. Pause. “An erupting volcanoe.” Pause. “Venric.” Pause. “Puberty.” Pause. “The Blood Tear.” Long pause.
Bal-Jhor was confused, and the brief murmur that spread through Grove of Needles told him that he was not alone. A lesson was coming, surely, but what lesson?
At length, Kaltya continued. “The lesson of the tadpole is the same as that of the erupting volcano. It is the same as that of the caterpillar or Kossuth's descent: change is at Mahiya’s foundation.” She let that sink in. “Change is not a thing that we should fear; it is everywhere about us and it is vital to life…without it, there is nothing. Stagnance, leading to withering, leading to oblivion…to the Void of Zxyxu.”
“The question in many minds is why do we fear the volcano, but not the tadpole? Why do we fear the Blood Tear but not the caterpillar?” Bal-Jhor felt very much like a new acolyte just then.
“The answer,” Kaltya said, “is because we lack the certainty of understanding. We know that the change that the caterpillar goes through will result in a butterfly. The tadpole will be a frog. But what of the volcano? What change will that create? We know that ultimately it will create new land, but what will be destroyed in the making? We can’t know.”
“What change will come on the heels of the Blood Tear?” She asked no one and everyone. “We can’t know. No one can, and so the Blood Tear sows fear.”
She paused even longer now. Looking directly at all the gathered assembly at once. Through the power of the ritual, she scrutinized all faces simultaneously. “Let us fear only the Void.” She said. “Let us not fear the Blood Tear. The change that is heralded is yet to be wrought…let us make it as we wish it to be…as we understand Her will for the change to be.”
“The only other lesson that I have for you tonight, children, is that of the leaf.” She held high an oak leaf in her hand. As to be expected this time of the year, it was large and green. “The lesson of the leaf is this: Do your work well, and age with grace and dignity.” In her up-stretched hand the leaf began to curl slightly, then it changed colors from its brilliant green into the splotchy but beautiful reddish-yellow of Rynnyx.
As it changed to deeper red and brown, Kaltya completed her lesson, saying, “…and be ready to depart when She shall call.” She let the browned leaf fall to the floor of the Grove. It drifted into the white pine needles.
Even the wind and the peepers were silent as Kaltya ceded the audience.
One of the great lessons the fall of the leaf teaches, is this: Do your work well and then be ready to depart when God shall call.
~Tyron Edwards