The Crystal Sarcophagus

Prologue

Agoreos lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing he had built the fire a little larger when the sun had gone down. It felt like hours ago when he forced himself to bed, the fire nothing more than dying embers and wisps of smoke. At least then he would have been able to use his restless energy for something useful like pouring over one of the old tomes he kept on the shelf or stitching the newest tears in his cloak. Instead he lay there cursing himself and staring into pitch blackness.

"By the gods!" In a flash of irritation, he threw off his brown wool blanket and stomped over to the wall, groping with both hands. It took longer than it should have, but finally a small glowing light eked shyly into the darkness. It wasn't enough to do anything useful, but when bumped or tapped, the little phosphorescing mushrooms that grew from wall provided enough greenish light to see his hands in front of his face.

He grabbed his tunic from off the knob on the wall near a small cluster of mushrooms and struggled with it until it slipped over his head. He hated how stiff his body felt, but stiffness is one of the prices paid for an unnaturally long life. After pinning his cloak over his shoulder with a pair of warn, bronze fasteners in the likeness of a sailing vessel, he went outside into the crisp night air, grasping his walking stick firmly in his right hand. Spring always blessed old men warm days, then scorned them with cold nights.

The sky above was crowded with starlight, mirrored by a multitude of scattered, glowing mushrooms that dimly illuminated the clearing about his hometree. He wasn't sure exactly what he would do with his restlessness, but it was better than letting his joints stiffen in bed, and he assured himself that being old entitled him to act rashly now and then without the slightest need for justification.

Moving along a respectable pace, he gazed in wonder at the stars above, each one a god working tirelessly on the World Scrolls. For the millionth time, he wondered about the destiny of his own world. It failed once. Will it fail again? He stroked his graying, tangled beard. Heavenly points of light swam about his field of vision. He had to believe it would.

Next to his own hometree stood another. Agoreos smiled in stark contrast to his cold environs as he walked over and stood in front of the entrance. Through the vines that hung over it, a soft glow of light could be seen inside. "Nelda," he called out tentatively, but there was no response. At least someone was sleeping tonight.

"No use hobbling about here," he decided, and his walking stick began to pull ahead toward the the surrounding trees. No other humans alive had ever seen trees so large and full of life. As he passed by the first few, he satisfied himself with the thought that his lifespan has been little more than a flicker compared to such timeless relics. They have stood for millennia. He could wryly boast of little more than two centuries.

Squarely standing among the giants, a tingle of energy danced over his body, loosening his joints and strengthening his muscles. It must have happened countless times, but never lost its novelty. It was as if the trees filled the very air with strength and virility. He walked onward in a vaguely northern direction and felt like trees were slowly dusting the decades from his back. With each load lost, faces and names rushed one more time to surface only to sink back down below. All of them happy, each one lighter than a feather. The trees also saw to that.

With his invigorated step, a little pouch that always hung at his side began to jingle. Quiet first, but then strong enough to break through his reveries. The hollow ring of an old sack of coins, he both hated and refused to part with. Some of the weight came back in a flash, for these coins were where he kept the worst of his life. Sadness swept across his face like a rogue cloud, and he moved his hand to silence the tinkling. It was remarkable timing.