The group walked single file down the path, still visible though seldom used anymore, the undergrowth still striving to reclaim it. Few traveled this way in the twenty years since the Ban, afraid to incur the wrath of the Forest and the judgment of her enforcers. The last Circle that had dared the trek had gone the year before and of the seven only Dyran had returned. It was he that led them back to the Falls. He claimed that they had reached Manannán Falls and begun the Calling Chant, but doing so had attracted the attention of the Forest, and the sidhe had descended upon them, unheeding of their songs of peace. All had been judged trespassers and slain. Only Dyran had escaped their sentence, a gruesome scar snaking across his face and through his left eye, a warning to others that would dare tread beyond the boundaries of the Forest.

The need for the Chant to be renewed became dire, and still the Ban had not been lifted. The Forest held long memory, the transgression was still fresh in its consciousness and it would not listen to songs of repentance or offerings of respect. Many elders said it would be many generations before the Forest would even deign to notice man other than to punish one foolish enough to violate the Ban.

Despite the Ban performing the Calling Chant at Manannán Falls, as well as every other Nexus, by a Circle of Seven was necessary to renew mankind’s link to the land and maintain the Balance of Life. Dyran and the other six with him belonged to the Uisce, and the Nexus at Manannán Falls was their province despite the encroachment of the Forest which now entirely surrounded the Falls. Dyran had been chosen by the Elders to guide the Circle to the Falls, being the only living man to return from the Forest since the Ban. Dyran took the duty grudgingly, knowing he had been spared by sheer chance and that the sidhe would surely not forgive a second trespass by the same man. The others of the Circle were Baen; Dyran’s friend, Saren, Fionn, Yraen, and Siobhan. All were chosen for some quality known only to the Elders, save the seventh, Anafel. She was a Singer, and would lead the Circle in the Chant.

The path they took followed the river that flowed from the Falls, and though the trees had grown thick in the aisle between the two screening it from view its voice could be clearly heard. It sang of the land it had crossed and the places it had yet to reach, of fish and fowl, the drinkers at its banks and the bed beneath its back. The river sang without pause and all of the Circle heard its words, but only Anafel was capable of shaping a reply that the river could understand, though it would take them all to give it substance.

“How much further?” Fionn whinged. “I thought the Falls were a day from the edge of the forest.”

“Oh shut up you rabbit,” Yraen snapped. “All you’ve done since we left the River is whine and bemoan your fate. I for one have had enough.” There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the group and Fionn clasped his hands to his chest, taking the posture of innocent victim.

“It’s not my fault I have a weak constitution. You all hate me because my father is favored by the Elders.”

“For the love of Muir!” Yraen shouted. “Shut your worthless gob. If I have to listen to any more of your puling I will sacrifice you to the Forest myself.”

Fionn opened his mouth to protest but the hostile looks from the rest of the Circle stole his voice. Dyran watched all of this from the rear of the line with an exasperated sigh. It had been much the same with his first group; one an unrepentant fop that the others quickly came to hate, spurred on by an aggressive quarreler that incited them.

“Quiet the lot of you before you rouse the Forest’s attention,” Dyran said in his soft yet authoritative voice. The rest of them had gotten over the man’s mismatched voice and the way that they could always just make out what he said regardless of the ambient noise. Everyone stopped speaking and almost tiptoed for fear of bringing down the wrath of the sidhe.

“It’s not much farther now. You should all make peace with the gods. We’ll be meeting them very soon.”

“Come now Dryan. You made it out of here once,” Siobhan said in hushed tones.

“And I don’t expect to be granted mercy a second time,” came his grim reply and the members of the Circle shuddered at the dark certainty in his voice.

They marched in silence after that exchange, the wind in the trees and the distant roar of Manannán Falls the only sounds. The absence of animal noises was a good sign, all the animals in the Forest were spies for the sidhe and would bring those vengeful beings to bear upon them.

The wind rose and the voice of the Falls grew steadily louder, filling the hearts of the Circle with a contentment that felt alien in the hostile Forest. The path wound around a great tree that towered out of sight above them and the Falls were finally revealed.

The undiminished voice of the Falls was like a physical force that resonated in the chest as much as it was heard. The mists clung to the ground obscuring the path ahead, and the pool curiously smooth taking on the appearance of glass a scant few feet from where water plunged into it from above.

“Lead the way, oh great guide!” Yraen shouted with a mocking bow in Dyran’s direction. Dyran looked at the group bully with unconcealed contempt and pity before nodding to the Singer. Anafel spoke using hand signals as all Singers did, forbidden to use their voice for any purpose but the Hymns.

“She says that we should make camp at the base of the Falls and we’ll perform the Chant tomorrow,” Saren interpreted for the rest of them.

“By all the hells, we could have the beasts of the Forest upon us, or worse any minute and she wants to camp here?” Yraen nearly spat he was so angry.

“The Singer says the alignment is wrong, that tomorrow will be favorable.”

“I don’t bloody care about the bloody alignment of anything other than my tackle. Let’s get this business done and be on our way and some of us may make it home to tell our grand kids about this insanity someday.”

Baen stepped up behind Yraen and dropped his hand onto the shorter man’s shoulder. “Shut up and set up camp before your bellyaching kills us all.”

Yraen, though shorter than Baen, was no scrawny lad like Fionn, and no stranger to the odd back alley fistfight.

“Why don’t you keep your cursed hands to yourself you mute bastard. We’re doomed anyway bringing him along. Sent us back a warning they did and we brash as brass bring that very warning back to their doorstep. There’ll be no quarter from the likes of the Sidhe, especially not with this lummox leading us about,” Yraen gestured rudely in Dyran’s direction.

“Sit down,” Baen said firmly and all the others recognized the threat in his voice. All but Yraen.

“You sit down big man!” Yraen screamed and shoved Baen back a step. Baen cocked his fist and prepared to swing. Dyran stepped between them, wet the first two fingers of his right hand with his tongue, and touched Yraen on the forehead. Yraen blinked and staggered as though drunk and crumpled heavily to the ground.

“I’ve had about enough of you,” Dyran said leaning over the dazed Yraen. “Now sit there and be quiet for a while. The Singer’s word is law here.”

The rest of the Circle watched stunned. None of them had ever seen anything like that happen before and didn’t know what to make of it. They hurriedly set up camp, eyeing Dyran suspiciously the entire time.

“What did you do to him?” Baen asked so only the two of them could hear.

“I’m not sure, Baen,” Dyran said with a shake of his head. “I feel a guiding hand more and more the longer we stay here.”

Shizuko lay hidden in the underbrush watching the seven people milling about the base of the Falls. They didn’t belong here, well most of them didn’t. One bore the mark of the Forest though he looked like an Uiscian, the same as the rest of them. The Singer had no business in the Forest, but that kind were a blight that had no place anywhere. Their dark art twisted the natural order and upset Chōwa, where it didn’t ignore it completely.

So few of Shizuko’s tribe remained, so many humans had taken to the Singers and their illusion of control. The Forest had taken up arms against those that had left forcing them to start their own forests. The Old Growth wouldn’t fall for their tricks so they had to start over with new wood devoid of memory.

Shizuko was amazed that these seven had made it so deep into the wood without being accosted by the Forest’s creatures. The old way along The River had long since been closed so they must have come through The Forest itself. Then she saw the reason they had come so far.

The fat one was arguing with the quiet one, bemoaning the fate of those that undertook their journey. Wise considering where they stood, but his posture gave lie to his intent. The Singer was preparing to quell him with her foul chants. Foolish woman would bring the wrath of The Forest down on all their heads. But before she could, the touched one stepped between the two. He licked the first two fingers of one hand, touched them to the forehead of the fat one, and spoke. Power flowed out from him, righting the harmony within both men. The Singer could have burned holes in the touched one with the poisonous glare she gave him.

Amazed, Shizuko slipped away, Aoki needed to know of this man, one of the Lost, returned from another Tribe marked by The Forest with the touch of Koken’nin.

Dyran sat on a mossy fallen tree, mist from the falls clinging to the ground in the early morning air. He was trying to remember how he’d done that or why, but it was all a blank, like it had been someone else.

None of the others were awake and Dyran pondered what was to come. This Circle was nothing like the last one. These people were all back biting, overbearing, or petulant. The first Circle had barely known each other before the trek but became a cohesive group that had stood by one another long before they reached Manannan Falls.

Yraen was troublesome, but the one that unsettled Dyran the most was Fionn. There was no place for the likes of him on such a pilgrimage, regardless of what the Elders and Singers said. Baen’s selection was also unusual. Dyran was glad to have his oldest friend along, but he had never heard of two members of the Circle being so well acquainted in all the tales going back three hundred years.

The next person to rouse was the Singer, Anafel, and she pointedly ignored Dyran as she went about her morning routine. The others rose soon after in ones and twos and not one of them could more than glance at Dyran as he sat on the fallen tree, not even Baen his oldest friend.

The realization that this Circle was meant for something other than the Chant tightened it’s grip on Dyran and he wondered if any of the others realized it as well. He lifted himself from his perch as though all the trees of the Forest lay across his shoulders and moved to join the others around the morning fire.

Dyran sat and was summarily ignored by everyone but Baen, who gave him a slight nod in greeting. He idly nibbled his morning bread while he stared into the fire when Fionn finally broke the silence.

“I don’t know what you did to him yesterday, but you can bet as soon as we get back to Abhainn you will be brought forth on charges for assault mad witchery.”

“What makes you think we will ever see Abhainn again you git?” Yraen spat. “You will never leave this place. As soon as we start the Chant the Sidhe will fall on us and tear us limb from limb.”

“All the more reason to get this business over and done with before they head this way.”

“They are already here. In the water. In the trees. In the very grass beneath your feet. The Sidhe live within every part of the Forest and are always watching.” Dyran spoke softly, but the words seemed menacing to the others.

“All the more reason to be done with this fools errand and flee for the open lands!” Yraen shouted.

“The Singer says you both must be silent or you will draw the beasts before we are ready,” Saren hissed. “She says we must wait for the proper hour, when the sun is high...so noon I guess?”

Anafel nodded impatiently and glared at Saren before continuing to sign. “If the forces aren’t in the proper alignment the Chant won’t work.”

“You see?” Dyran said with a hint of regret. “Remember this isn’t the first time I’ve done this. I’m still the leader of this Circle, whether the rest of you would prefer it or not isn’t my concern. You will heed my words unless the Singer says otherwise.” Dyran stood and stalked off angrily, leaving the others to their own devices. One by one they turned inward to think about the coming hours, all but one that watched him go and slipped away at the earliest chance.

Shizuko and Aoki watched the entire exchange from their perches high above in the trees. “The marked one is the touched?” Aoki asked in the whistled form of their language they used when hunting.

“The one that left in anger,” Shizoku whistled back.

“Follow the other, I will follow the one and watch him.”

Shizuko whistled an affirmative and danced through the treetops after her target. Aoki watched her go, marveling at her grace as she leaped through the trees, and wished he were younger so he vould make her his wife.

Aoki found Dyran in a small copse of trees that stood in a nearly perfect ring. He wondered if the man realized that he stood in one of the Sumi, a place of power where every tree in the Forest was represented. The man stood immobile in the center of the Sumi and Aoki felt moved by the Forest to approach him.

After a moments hesitation Aoki dropped quietly to the ground several paces behind the man. “Do you know where you stand lost one?” Aoki asked.

“The Ki Sumi, but do you know who it is you stand with, for there are no lost ones here.” The touched man turned and Aoki saw that his eyes were no longer those of a man, but held the will of something older. Something like the Forest.

Aoki immediately dropped to his knees and bowed his head to the forest floor. “Forgive me Koken’nin, I did not recognize you,” Aoki said in a rush.

“As was the point kashin, we have not been needed in long ages and have slept. But now something stirs and we begin to wake. The Xialte are coming.”

“What are they, Lord?”

“You know them as the Kage.”

Aoki rose slightly in his shock at this news. There were dark times ahead if the Shadow Demons were returning. “What would you have me do Koken’nin?” he asked.

“Prepare the people, send word to the other true tribes. Stand fast and we will stand with you. Now go, there is much to do.”

“Yes Koken’nin,” Aoki said with fervor. He rose and bowed low at the waist without looking up then took a single step back before turning on his heel and leaping into the trees.

Baen and the others spread out along the treeline calling for Dyran and Fionn, neither of which had returned since earlier that morning. The sun was nearing its zenith and they were running out of time to perform the Calling Chant.

Baen called out to Dyran fruitlessly one last time and hung his head in defeat and grief for his lost friend. After a moments rest he mustered himself a final time, lifting his head as he drew a deep breath and nearly choked when he saw Dyran step out of the trees right in front of him.

“Hey are you okay?” Dyran asked and patted him on the back while he bent over and coughed.

“Where,” Baen started and fell back into coughing. “Where have you been? We’ve been calling for hours since you and Fionn disappeared.”

“Where did Fionn go?” Dyran asked puzzled.

“We thought he might be with you? So why didn’t you answer?”

“I didn’t hear you,” Dyran said evasively. He looked at the angle of the sun that filtered through the canopy high above, “We need to find him it’s nearly noon.”

“Believe me I know. Yraen and the Singer won’t shut up about the time.”

Dyran’s return revitalized the others to renew their efforts to find Fionn. Dyran was the tracker in the group and it was decided that Anafel and Saren would stay at camp and blow a horn if Fionn returned. Dyran would lead the others down Fionn’s trail in the hopes that they would find the missing member of their party. After only a few minutes Dyran signaled for a stop.

“What is it?” Siobhan asked, her worry nearing panic.

“It looks like something attacked him here. We need to spread out,” Dyran instructed. “He may be lying injured in the underbrush,” He spread them out in a line six feet from each other and set them walking a search pattern.

It was Siobhan that found him on their second pass to the south of Fionn’s trail. He was lying beneath the wide leaves of an insidiae plant, his shirt torn and bloody from three ragged slashes across his chest. He was only semi-conscious and feverish when they carried him back to camp.

Baen and Dyran laid Fionn in his tent and the Singer sang softly over his inert body late into the afternoon. Finally she crawled from his tent and signed wearily for Saren.

“She says his fever is gone and his wound is not fatal. He should wake in the morning and we can perform the Calling Chant after that.” Anafel continued to sign and Saren hesitated.

“What is it?” Siobhan asked in her frantic voice.

“She says that his wounds weren’t made by any of the Sidhe that she has heard of. She wants to know if you know of an animal that it could have been.”

Dyran simply shook his head, the spacing was too wide to be a jaguar and as far as he knew there were no predators larger than that in the Forest. The Singer stared into the trees for a long moment before giving them a distracted nod and retreating to her own tent.

“Well let’s hope that whatever got him won’t be back before we can perform the Chant tomorrow and get the hell out of here and back to the delta,” Baen muttered as he and Dyran looked in on Fionn.

“If it does we won’t stand a chance,” Dyran agreed before turning away to help prepare the evening meal.

The snap of a dry twig woke Dyran from a light sleep. He opened his tent in time to see the shadowed form of a person slip into the trees in the direction they had found Fionn the day before. Quiet as a wraith Dyran slipped out and followed, something telling him this wasn’t a bathroom trip. The meager red light of the full moon enough to guide him but not enough for him to identify his quarry as they led him past the spot they had found the merchant’s son and into a small clearing.

Dyran slipped into the underbrush silent as a breeze, close enough to identify that it was a man, and watched as he stood near the center of the clearing and chanted in a voice too low to hear. The night seemed to coalesce in the center of the clearing and took the vague shape of something not quite human.

There was a sound that brought the thought of cockroaches to Dyran’s mind, a hissing chitinous sound. It was only when the man spoke in response that he realized that the shadow had spoken.

“There was no need for concern Athrawon. No one suspects.” It was Yraen that conversed with the shadow creature, Dyran had heard enough of his complaining to recognize his voice anywhere. There was more of the skin crawling hissing punctuated by clicks and other odd sounds.

“No Athrawon, he gives no indication that he knows the truth. Of himself or anything else. Varutasumi still sleeps.” Dyran had never heard the title Athrawon before, but it set his guts crawling in unease. The second name was also unfamiliar and it also gave him a chill, but in a expectant way, like hearing the approach of a loved one long from home.

“Yes, I understand Athrawon,” Yraen said and bowed nearly double. “He will never see the open sky again.” Yraen turned and headed back to camp and the shadow melted back into the night. As soon as Dyran was sure Yraen was out of earshot he entered the clearing to investigate. Two steps into the clearing something intangible swept past Dyran’s face, filling his ears with a menacing hiss that sounded unsettlingly like laughter as he turned to follow it’s passage. Dyran wasted no time quitting the clearing and making his own way back to the camp.

Yraen called out to him in a hushed voice as he stooped to enter his tent. Dyran straightened and replied in kind, “What?”

“Is everything okay? You were gone a while.”

“I thought I heard a jaguar prowling around. It was nothing though, don’t worry. Go back to sleep.”

Yraen waved and crawled back into his tent and Dyran did the same, though he slept fitfully after his midnight foray.

Aoki was puzzled. He had seen the Kage speak with the fat man from the lost tribes, and he had seen the Koken’nin hiding just outside the Sumi, but the Guardian had done nothing and the Kage had escaped. Something was wrong but Aoki was unsure what could be done. It was time to consult the Kamunushi.

Dyran woke from a troubled sleep before the rest of the Circle. He set about starting their meager breakfast while he contemplated the unsettling dreams of shadows and watchers in the Forest. The sounds of his chores were enough to rouse most of the rest of the Circle. As they gathered Anafel began gesturing in the odd language of the Singers.

“She says since we missed the optimum alignment we must climb to the top of the Falls and perform the Chant as close to the River as we can,” Saren translated.

The Singer repeated a final series of gestures emphatically. “In it if possible,” Saren added with a bit of trepidation.

“Then make sure Fionn is able. We best break our fast and get underway, it looks to be a slow climb for the inexperienced.” Dyran opined. They ate the food that had been prepared and Dyran set out to scout the trail to the top of the Falls, leaving Baen to lead the others along his path.

Dyran marked a trail that he thought Baen would be able to lead the others up without drawing the attention of any creatures of the Forest. He waited on the bank of the River, the edge of the Falls within sight to his left, letting the sound of the water rushing off the cliff soothe his recently troubled mind.

“Have you found a suitable place for us to perform the Chant?” Saren’s voice intruded on his meditation.

“I thought it best to leave that up to the Singer,” Dyran answered without taking his eyes off the water.

“However you prefer.” As she spoke her voice deepened on the last syllable and something immediately struck Dyran, knocking him into the River.

Dyran turned in the water before it claimed him and saw Yraen standing alone on the bank of the river. He was holding a branch that looked larger than he should be able to manage and wearing a wicked grin.

Yraen tossed his makeshift club into the water with a sneer as he watched Dyran go over the waterfall. “Thanks for going quietly, fool. You’ve saved me having to explain to the others.”

He turned to sneak back into the verge and was stopped by an arrow that sprouted from his throat. Yraen fell to his knees and a choked gurgle marked his passing.

Aoki stepped from the underbrush quietly as the breeze in the leaves, followed by Shizuko, bow still in hand. They approached the corpse, but stopped at three paces. Aoki took a palm-sized bundle from some hidden pocket and tossed it onto the body. As soon as it came to rest the bundle snapped open and vines snaked across and pierced the body, drawing it firm against the earth.

The body that had been the darkling Yraen grew thin and dessicated as the vines drew sustenance from it. Their writhing stilled and they hardened into roots, while a thorned bush sprouted that concealed the remains beneath. Once the new bush stilled Aoki found Shizuko staring toward the Falls.

“How could this have happened?” she asked.

“The Unspeaking and their Binding,” Aoki answered. “The seal may be weak, but still holds.”

A commotion in the brush drew Aoki’s attention, “Come. We must go before the rest find us here.”

The warning came too late, and the five remaining trespassers broke onto the riverbank. Without hesitation Shizuko let fly an arrow. A sound rang out clearly above the sound of the river, almost like a word though not shaped by the mouths of men, and the arrow crumbled to ash in midair.

Shizuko nocked another arrow and Aoki drew his javelins when Anafel sang again. The note left their ears ringing and locked their joints. Unable to speak, Aoki stared unadulterated hatred at the Singer.

The now broken Circle regarded the strange denizens of the Forest cautiously. Anafel gestured sharply and Saren translated, “She says we need to find the others or our errand is in vain.”

All but the Singer began carefully searching the area without result. Finally their fear of the Forest won out and they returned to where Anafel waited with the heathens. The Singer gesticulated angrily at Saren.

“I’m sorry Diva, but we cannot find them,” Saren protested.

Angrily Anafel sang a riplling series of notes and Aoki and Shizuko dropped to the ground bonelessly. The Singer pointed at Aoki and gestured. Saren steeled herself and spoke as imperiously as she could.

“The Diva Anafel demands you tell her what has become of our two missing companions.”

Neither Aoki nor Shizuko showed any intention of answering or possibly even comprehension.

Suddenly there was a rippling of the air beyond the Falls that caught every eye. A black scaled serpentine form shot into the air from below the cliff’s edge. Light played across the scales revealing iridescent flashes blue and green. It rose ten meters into the air, coiling into a loose ball. Its form became indistinct and translucent in places, like light seen through a mist. A large canine head fringed with whitish fur protruded from the mass, blazing azure eyes coldly regarding those below.

A deep voice boomed, the roar of the Falls transmuted into words.

“Feeble minstrel, your masters conceal almost as much from you as they do from the rest of the world. But you are not beyond redemption. Forswear your illusions of control and return to Chōwa.”

Anafel thrust out both hands toward the serpent, screeching an impossibly high note that vibrated the skulls of those watching. A bar of pure light streaked from her palms into the scaled creature and seared everyone’s vision.

There was a chuckle like waves against stone. “Those that would control reality itself are as much of a perversion as the Darklings. You are two faces of the same coin, Chōwa holds no regard for either of you.

“Now, renounce or die.”