Bright Eyes

22.2. Liar, Liar

    They now found themselves in a clearing larger than the last, at the edge of a meadow, almost like the one they had just left several minutes before. And in the middle of the meadow stood a tree, and ten people—minuscule in the distance—stood around it, beneath the shade of the foliage, waiting.

    "Come," said Mr. Brighteyes, taking quick steps toward the tree and the strangers, his feet kicking at the tall grass swaying in the light breeze as he made his way. "You must all see this."

    The youths followed suit, without question, without hesitation.

    Seconds after they began treading up to the tree, Mr. Brighteyes started to run, a sudden urgency in his strides, hand lantern swinging in motion, his jacket flapping in the wind. At the immediate sight of this, Damien, Jack, Sander, Max, and Lyn pushed themselves forward, speeding up to keep pace with him.

    "Mister Brighteyes!" Jack called after the man. "Mister Brighteyes, what's the rush?"

    "I see him," replied Mr. Brighteyes, still running. "I see him. He's about to make his descent. Hurry!"

    Jack's brows knitted in confusion. "Who?" he asked, over the whistling of the wind.

    "Him," said Mr. Brighteyes. "The one who caused them all to fall."

    No one said another word.

    They ran on in silence, the wind blowing against them, the long grass of the meadow brushing against their legs. Closer and closer and closer, the tree grew in size before their eyes, the people gathered around it coming to sharper focus, more details noticeable beneath the shade. Ten of them were clothed in woven garments, the youths noticed, each pair dressed in a certain color—red, blue, green, gold, and purple—as if they abided by some color coded scheme of sorts.

    Their feet pounded against the earth. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Their hearts hammered in their chests.

    Closer, closer, closer.

    Mr. Brighteyes stepped foot into the vast shadow of the massive tree, and held his free hand up. Damien, Jack, Sander, Max, and Lyn halted behind him, heaving in sharp breaths, eyes adjusting from the incandescence of daylight to the shade they now stood under.

    Damien crouched low, resting a hand on Jack's shoulder. Without a thought, Lyn held on to Max's shoulder for support, and Max slung his arm over Sander's shoulder, although careful not to shift his weight over to the shorter boy. Yet they kept their eyes on the tree standing before them—its wood a stygian hue; its gnarly branches reaching down to the ground and rising up to the heavens, like dancers' limbs frozen in time; verdant leaves sprouted forth from its branches, the abundance forming the canopy that shielded them from the sun. And waiting there beneath the foliage, the youths now realized upon a closer look, were five couples of what appeared to be two races, still and silent and patient.

    "These people here," explained Mr. Brighteyes, "are the leaders of Crystalline. The first man and the first woman of each people stand here in this critical moment to represent their own family, the first five clans of Crystalline to ever exist. As of this moment, every Crystallian is deemed present."

    He lifted a finger, pointed at one of the couples. Brown skin, ebony hair, shorter in stature than the others. The man was clothed in a loin cloth and a vest, and the woman wore two pieces of fabric, one like a loose jacket draped around her shoulders and over her chest, tucked into the other piece of clothing that served as her skirt; necklaces of painted stone beads hung from her neck to middle of her abdomen. Their clothes were red for the most part, save the strips of black and white that ran across the fabric, symbols woven within. "The Kadasan Tribe," Mr. Brighteyes said.