Immerwald

Standing so still that one might think it was a tree, the Voice of the Immerwald glared at the Ambassador. The glare was felt, not seen. Its eyeless wooden mask betraying nothing, but it tore into anyone on whom the gaze turned. Like a spile driven into their souls, drawing out fear and guilt that pooled on the floor around their feet.

Carved so that it almost seemed to grow, each scale of its armour was a leaf in such fine detail it was almost alive. Capable of surviving sword or spear or bullet or even fire, that armour had made the Green Legions all but invincible for centuries. At least, against a direct attack.

Weakness could be found in any defence, however. Chinks appeared in even the finest armour. And even the landships from the northern frontiers were susceptible to the right kind of explosions. The war could not have lasted so long if Virtuedom had not succeeded in finding a way to kill the Green Legion’s soldiers. Assuming, of course, that the philosophers were wrong and they died once their bodies stopped moving.

Ambassador Ethelred clutched his Five Rings pendant as he eyed the ‘monster from the woods’ where it stood. The Voice had not spoken since entering the council chamber, moved to a grand pavilion outside the castle walls to facilitate this meeting, but its penetrating, unseen stare bored into him. Reminding him of every ghost story his mother had ever told him about the Weltbaum and the Immerwald.

Praying to the Keepers of the Five Virtues for protection, he cleared his throat, calling all attention to himself. This was what he had trained for, this was why his Queen had sent him to the heathen Cathal Republic. The Voice, he imagined it grinning at him, revelling in his internal torment. Knowing the battle in his heart, taunting him with its silent gaze.

It was only a monster. A beast from the pages of ancient storybooks. Something that was a sin to the Virtues, an agent of the Tempter. Ethelred’s role was to stall, to take the attention of the Immerwald and its heathen allies both. Sweat trailed down his temples, itches exploded across his scalp. The Speakers had promised him salvation should he die in this holy quest, but the weight of that eyeless gaze threatened to steal away his courage.

“I bring an offer of peace from the Rose Throne.” The Voice did not respond, did not even cock its head as one might expect of a beast when spoken to. If he had not seen it, heard the creaking of its wooden limbs as it walked through the tent flap, he would have suspected it were a statue.

“Do you consent to hear the terms?”

One of the Cathali generals nodded slowly. Every visible eye in the room was hostile. They hated the Five Virtues, hated all of Virtuedom. They had sided with the Green ages before, turned their backs on salvation in favour of the Tempter’s lies and monsters out of the Immerwald rather than destroying it as was humanity’s birthright.

But the Voice did not move. The brown mask, moulded to resemble the outline of a human face, simply continued to stare at him. An unblinking, sightless stare that nonetheless saw him, saw through him, witnessed his fear and his doubt. He was convinced it revelled in its power over him, absolutely certain that it held him in its power close as he was to the cursed border of the Immerwald.

Hatred stiffened his spine. He would rise to the challenge of the monster. Rise to face it as the Second Virtue commanded. He would be strong, courageous, steadfast in the defence of Virtuedom and his Queen. That was his holy mission, the reason that the Speakers had anointed him with oil. He would meet this challenge.

“After so many years of war,” he said, all but hearing the steady tromp of boots and the trundle of wheels as the Queen’s army moved through friendly nations to the West, ready to launch their assault on the Weltbaum in the heart of the Immerwald. “The coalition of Virtuedom offers you peace. We have no desire to destroy the Green, and ask only that trade be made possible, as it is with the Cathal Republic. Too many lives have been lost in this fruitless conflict. Do you consent to hear the terms?”

“Lives,” still the Voice did not move, but the words seemed to rise from every wooden surface in the tent. “Of what lives do you speak, Ambassador? We have lost none.”

Some of the gathered Cathali officials shuffled at this. The Tempter’s gifts had made them prosperous, rich even, but the long war had drained them. They sought peace as fervently as did some of the cowardly nations to the East. Of course, the Temper’s Green Legions would not have even noticed the deaths.

However, the words struck Ethelred to his core. The Voice, rumour had it, never spoke so much as a half-truth. Despite belonging to the Tempter, who was the parent of lies according to doctrine, it was never recorded to have said anything that was untrue. Doubt crept back into his mind on soft-shod feet, memories of the heretic orders who had claimed that the Tempter never spoke a word that was not true either. Whispered that they were not a liar, only a source of temptation.

If that were the case, then the war had not decreased the fighting strength of the Green Legions. Only dispelled them from the field of battle. If that were the case, then the countless martyred dead were wasted.

“Your lives,” continued the Voice, its words slithered like the slow growing of roots, gentle as the sound of windblown leaves across dry grounds. “Are unimportant to us. The souls of the Cathali who have fallen,” some of the heathen officials stiffened their backs, “are one with us now. So tell me, what lives do you seek to defend with this peace? We do not believe your words. Tell us the real reason for your request, Ambassador of the Speakers. We did not begin this conflict, nor did we back down from your challenge. What is your reason?”

Fear spiked through Ethelred’s heart. Again the question of whether the Voice could lie reared its head, testing his faith. Around him, the heathens smiled at the words – of course, they did. They believed that upon their deaths their souls joined the Green where they would enjoy life eternal. But the Voice knew Ethelred was lying, it could sense it, somehow.

No that was not possible. It was a beast, an agent of the Tempter, it did not have the cunning. Yet the whole plan rested on this deception. Ethelred was the lynchpin. He had to hold the attention of the Voice, of the Weltbaum, the whole of the Immerwald on him while the army made its move.

The truth would have to suffice. In this question if none of the others.

“The lives of my countrymen,” he said, forcing his voice to be steady, to not show fear in the face of the Tempter’s minion. “The lives of all Virtuedom. This war is a waste, in four hundred years we have, neither of us, made any significant headway. The time has come to end the conflict forever.”

Humour leaked into the words that flowed from the Voice. “And yet your Queen is not eternal. Forgive us, Ambassador, but what guarantee do we have that her heir, or their heir, or any down the line from now until eternity will keep this bargain? We say again that we did not begin this war, but now that it is begun, what reason have we to believe that you sincerely wish it ended?”

“I understand your hesitation, Voice,” here he walked a fine line, but the Voice had given him an out. A way to ensure that he only spoke truth, just in case it could truly see through his lies. “But believe me, we seek to end this war forever. If our purpose is carried, I can promise, on behalf of all Virtuedom, that conflict will never again start between us.”

Moving for the first time, the Voice came closer to him. He imagined he could hear the wood of its body creaking and groaning as it moved, despite the too-lithe fluidity of its motion. His position as a diplomat meant that he had never been on the front lines of the war, this was his first ever encounter with any living thing from the Immerwald. The corpses brought back to the Capital were always stiff, their limbs unyielding as, well, as old trees. Still its ‘face’ did not change.

Barely a meter away, the Voice stopped, again resembling a statue. From this distance, Ethelred could see the rich detail of it, every flowing curve that evoked clothing which seemed to flow and ripple in the dim light of the tent. The bodies of the soldiers brought back for study had been similar, their wood evoking the fatigues of modern uniforms despite being solid wood once ‘killed.’

With it so close, his mind was suddenly filled with images from the newspapers. Twisted bodies of the wounded and dead found on the front, faces frozen in agony as vines and branches grew from what would have been bullet holes, if the Green Legions used such civilized weapons. Colonies of ants, termites, and other more terrible things that had been fired into their flesh by the Tempter’s soldiers where they rent and tore from the inside.

He shuddered as the Voice spoke again, its words soft, almost gentle. Despite himself, he was reminded of the sound water made as it flowed slowly over smooth stones in an ornamental river. Calming, soothing, they wanted him to trust them.

“And your Virtues? Do your Speakers promise the same as your Queen? We are not fooled by you, Ambassador. Tell us what they have said on the matter, since your armies are as much theirs as hers.”

It was blasphemy to say, blasphemous to think. The Queen was the terrestrial holder of the Five Virtues, anointed in the ritual cleansings by the High Orators themselves, blessed by the Keepers. But he could not lie, if the Speakers called for a revolution, the people would follow. They held the throne in their hands.

“They,” he faltered, then straightened his back and continued. “They want to end the conflict too.”

“’End the conflict.’ We are sure they do. But peace is not the answer they seek, is it, Ambassador?”

Smoke slowly rose from the hand of the Voice, drawing its ‘face,’ its ‘eyes,’ away from Ethelred’s own for the first time since it had pushed through the tent flap. The very tip of its right index finger smouldered gently. The Voice was the walking embodiment of the Immerwald, just as the philosophers had thought; its very body was, in some way, representative of the Immerwald itself.

The attack had begun, the forest was burning.

Relief flooded through Ethelred as the ember grew, glowing in the half-light, until the whole finger was bright as burning coal. The fire syphons from the University were doing their job, soon the pox that was the Immerwald, the Tempter’s legions, would be scoured from the world. Soon only the Virtues would remain. Soon-

“Treachery,” whispered the voice. Then, turning its full attention back on Ethelred. “Lies and deception. You betray your own Virtues, Ambassador.” Its mask cracked, twin lines rising from the hint of cheekbones up towards where a hairline should be on the smooth ‘face.’

A crack like a field canon going off echoed around the tent, drawing gasps from the surrounding Cathali heathens as two oval chunks of wood fell away from the mask, leaving gaping voids, black as the depths of a mountain cave. Vindication flooded him, there was only darkness behind the mask; only the lightless domain of the Tempter.

Sensing his relief, the ecstasy of his faith, the Voice leaned closer and golden fire lit from deep within the twin voids.

“No,” whispered Ethelred, knees suddenly weak. The Tempter had no light. They were the enemy of light. The enemy of human need. The legends of the golden light of the Weltbaum were just that, heathen legends to tempt the faithful. “You lie!”

“We do not,” said the Voice, the walking avatar of the Green. There was no gloating in its tone, no remorse. “We have never spoken a word that is not true, Ambassador. We make no promise we cannot fulfil, present nothing as fact that is not so. Can your Speakers say the same?”

“The Speakers are only human, they are subject to the Five Vices, just the same as-”

“As any other,” the Voice raised its right hand and Ethelred saw its finger, no longer glowing, as the ash of it flaked away. The attack had faltered, then. If the fires still raged, then the Voice would still be burning. “We are not the enemy you thought to fight,” around them, the heathen officials scrambled out of the tent, sprinting to rally their nation for war.

“We speak no word that is not true, the First Virtue. We face our challenges head on, and give in not to fear, the Second Virtue. We abandon not those to whom we promised loyalty, the Third Virtue. We act not on rash instinct nor rage nor yet in thoughtless revenge, is that not the Fourth Virtue? And we take no more than is needed, leaving behind enough for the next generations, the Fifth Virtue. Now, answer us truly, Ambassador, whom is it you serve, if we are not what they said we were?”

Ethelred spat in its face, trying to snuff the heretical, impossible golden light within its eyes. It did not even flinch.

“This war will end, Ethelred Bad Council,” promised the Voice of the Immerwald. “And you will live to see it done.”

Ethelred screamed as the Voice reached out with the grey cinder of its right index finger and placed it between his eyes. Pain exploded in his head, a roiling mass of pain as though his very blood was boiling, forming bubbles that popped against the inside of his skull. His limbs stiffened, sensation bleeding out of them even as the roiling torment in his head continued.

Forcing one eye open, Ethelred looked down to see darkness shooting down his arms, darkness like wood grain. It was impossible! He was protected by the Virtues, by the blessings of the Speakers , by the –

“We give you the salvation you sought, Ambassador. Be grateful.”

Ethelred screamed as the golden fire of the Weltbaum blazed across his skin, through his bones. On its heels was the terrible realization of what the Immerwald was. And exactly how long he had done the Tempter’s bidding.