In the deep forest, Vessa opened his third eye.
The jungle pulsed crimson.
Every tree, trunk, branch, leaf, appeared to be suffused with the opposite of its natural verdancy.
It was as if the green blood within their veins had turned red.
A disturbance agitated the forest, coming from nowhere and going no place. It was not produced by wind or any natural force. It was the agitation of the forest itself, expressing its fear.
It shook the high trees, caused the great trunks to shudder, made insects scurry out from their crannies, filling the air with a sense of chaos and terror.
Vessa’s long white beard rippled.
He smelled the fear of the forest.
It was also the fear of She Who Birthed All Forests.
She spoke to him in agitated voices of wind, leaf, insect, animal, all the beings under her protection and in her care.
Vessa listened.
Yes, Mother, he said. I felt it too. The Twice Born is at work.
She said more to him, which he heard patiently.
He is growing powerful, Vessa admitted. And will grow stronger yet as time passes. But it is not yet time to confront him.
Trees swayed without wind, branches bent with no hand forcing them, leaves shirred of their own accord.
The forest spoke to Vessa.
He listened.
But each time his answer was the same.
Not yet, Mother. It is not yet time.
The forest asked one final urgent query.
Vessa mused on it a kshana or two.
When the Five are born, he said. Until then, we must endure. It is all we can do.
The forest stopped its agitation and was still for a moment. Then, with a single keening voice, it sang a song of sorrow and hope.
It was a song not meant for mortal ears. Even Vessa did not comprehend its entire meaning. But he understood its emotion:
The Great Mother of the Forest, of all forests, of Arthaloka itself, was crying out for help.
Vessa listened for a great length of time. Eventually, he gave in reluctantly. Perhaps there is a way. Perhaps.
The forest cried out in hopeful excitement.
Vessa sighed.
If Light and Dark unite. It is the only way. But, he cautioned firmly, it is nigh impossible.
The forest waited, shirring, pleading.
Vessa rose to his feet, took up his staff, and draped his anga garment over his arm.
Very well, Great Mother. I shall make an attempt. I shall go to Hastinaga.
He walked out of the hut, across the clearing, and into the dark woods.