Godspeed

“In ages past, our ancestors fought the Tyotans. Our victories seemed to wax and wane. We would push back those tar bags and they would find a gap for another siege. Back and forth it went with no end in sight until…’’ 
The man in pristine robes paused as he watched his audience. In the silence, a chant bellowed forth, first one word and then the other:
“God. Speed.” 
The speaker's hands rose into the air and the chanting responded by sinking into a whisper.
“God. Speed. God. Speed.” 
He continued: “We the Chosen!” 
The coliseum replied militantly: “Mur Cyiri!”
Again, the robed man continued: “We were gifted the Speed.” 
The people echoed with a “God Speed” and then began a slow and steady cadence of foot stomps and fist pounds. 
As the man spoke the crowd would reply, as if to emphasize his point, with a militant “God Speed”. 
And so he finished:
“With this gift, those tar bags didn’t stand a chance.” (“God Speed!”) 
“We carried the war.” (“God Speed!”) 
“We, The Chosen, saved our land.” (“God Speed!”) 
“We, The Chosen, ran like the wind.” (“God Speed!”)
“We are the blur our enemy fears.” (“God Speed!”) 
“We are the wind.” (“God Speed!”) 
“We are the Mur Cyiri!” 
 
The gates opened and the strongest, fastest, most superior of the people came out into the middle of the arena. And so began the Race for God Speed.

The Gate

 
“Well, is it all you hoped it would be, little brother?” said Rainn with his arms aloft in mock grandiosity.
He was dressed in robes meant for movement, tighter on the torso, loose and flowing on the limbs down to the middle of the forearms and calves with slits running back up to the hip. The robes (like most, including his brother’s) were an earthy grey-brown on the outside. The inner layers were tight and full-length going down to the simple flexible leather shoe, and the arms came down to cover the palms, leaving only the fingers exposed. Unlike his brother's yellow inner layer, Rainn’s was a deep red. 
Dax looked at his brother’s red robes and remembered when Rainn was chosen by The Blaze, the crimson clan, because of his boldness. Now Rainn was with like-minded people, training and strengthening his qualities. 
“What qualities do I have? Who will choose me?” Dax thought.
Dax’s train of thought was quickly lost in the newness of his surroundings. His head swiveled back and forth looking at everything, too excited for words. He was now old enough to receive his robes and join in the festivities. Based on the shared look of wonderment all the yellow robes had, one could tell they were first-timers even without the colours!
“Alright, close your mouth, Dax, you’re looking like the rest of these lemon rinds!” said the brother in red. “I’ve built a reputation and can’t have you smudging it with your naivety.” 
Dax and his brother stared out to the race track, if you could call it a race track. An obstacle course or gauntlet might be more accurate in describing the challenge set before these runners. 
“Rainn, which is the one they call Misty-foot? Isn't she your favorite?” asked Dax searching the arena from their seats high above. 
On the grounds, the racers lined up. They wore not the robes of most, but short and tighter uniforms, each one a different bold colour. 
Rainn said, “She’s the purple one, the runner for the house called The Steed. Though she’s not my favorite. She is the one most of us think will win. Malerie is her name. They call her Misty-foot which is a loose translation of her insignia, Because of her skill at the crumbling pillars portion of the race, it seems she chose her name well. She moves atop of them as if she were only a mist.”
The runners ran in a tight group, all equally matched. They ran through tunnels with bladed pendulums swinging clear through them. They ran over water or at least it looked like it to Dax. The most memorable moment for Dax was the wild cat cage. The athletes climbed a fence three times their height, to then jump into the cage of a full ambush of the biggest wild cats Dax had ever seen. Some runners darted back and forth like gazelles outmaneuvering their predators. Others waited for their moment and sprinted to a pole, climbing it before a fierce feline could grab them. They would then repeat this in a line that was not as straight as one would hope. 
There was one racer unlike all the rest. Thunderrush was the only one big enough and bold enough to take the cats head on like a raging rhino. He wasn’t the tallest, but he weighed more than them all, and it was solid muscle. He was the complete opposite to Misty-foot. Though losing ground a bit from the rest, he would gain it back at the Five Gates.
 
Seven banners flew seven bright colours. Six runners ran six bright colours: crimson, tangerine, violet, sage, azure, and fuchsia. Each flag correlated with a runner, all but one. An emblem, of a tree in a strong wind, rested on the runner-less turquoise flag. 
“Wait, why are there seven flags? Did I miss the turquoise runner?” asked Dax, eyes searching the course.
“Ha, you really are a rind, aren’t you? There hasn't been a runner from The Gale for generations!” said Rainn. 
“The Gale!” Dax’s eyes were wide in wonder. “But why?” 
“I don’t know everything, but the major thing is...” began Rainn. “Do you know what the Mur Cyiri mantra means?”
“Speed is destiny, patience for training,” explained Dax.
“Right. Well, The Gale, they disagree!” Rainn finished.
Dax, though he would never say it aloud, in his heart disagreed as well. That interpretation did not feel like wisdom from the past. It felt more like a way for parents to tell their children to work hard but on a grander scale — and maybe with some deceptive, ill intent. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It did not sit well with him. And he soon found out that many of the customs of the race wouldn’t sit well. For example, the Reward was given to the last place. The Reward was passage through the Boom Flash, The Gate, never to be seen again — it was only spoken of in reverence, and yet it went to the loser. This backward system made Dax’s stomach churn. It was wrong, fake and distorted — but the worst part about the whole thing was that no one else seemed to see it! 
 
The race ended with Misty-foot a good step in front of the rest, a major lead that would be missed in a blink of an eye. The race was over, the champion was celebrated and the crowd cheered. 
As Rainn and Dax got their things together, the ceremonial bells rang in the distance, indicating that the time for the Reward was soon coming. Everyone gathered at The Gate, the Boom Flash. The brothers stood there watching the Parade to the Reward. The runner known as Cadence was brought in the rear. He wore the most embellished robe Dax had ever seen, with embroidered scenes of what seemed like his accomplishments. He was the one to receive the Reward. Dax could see Cadence’s face and knew the smile was hiding his true emotion. 
The brothers got comfortable as the ceremony started. Where Cadence stood was an open circle, with a straight path that led to a large round gate to nowhere. This gate was ancient, like the city walls, like the temples themselves. “This gate...” thought Dax, “must be the Boom Flash.”
“Is that…?” he said aloud.
“The Door?” his brother interrupted. “Do you know why they call it the Boom Flash?”
“Because that's what people say when things are gone fast?” Dax said with a shoulder shrug.
“Actually, it's the other way around, we say that because of the Gate”, the older brother corrected. As Dax was about to ask for an explanation, his brother intercepted his intention with a look that seemed to say “You'll see!”
Dax watched as Cadence approached the start of the path. Two young men approached him and removed his ceremonial robe to reveal a running uniform similar to the one he ran in for the race, but instead of solid orange, it was the same pattern but with elaborate gold embroidery. A familiar chant was heard as it spread across the crowd. “God Speed!” 
Cadence took off with some large lunging steps that quickly shrank in size and increased in tempo. Faster and faster, closer and closer until... All at once a few things went through the heads of the yellow robes. First, he was gone! Next, there was a big booming sound. Finally, there was a flash from the side of the gate the runner should have exited from.

The Spectral Forest

 
Outside the old city walls past the Boom Flash lay an old and strange forest. It had been there from the beginning and was simply known as “The Old Forest”. Many of the children’s fireside tales started, “In the Old Forest outside the walls...” It was a place that had an eerie pull, and a disorienting aura. This was what made it the perfect location for the yellow robe initiation.
Seven young ones dressed in yellow snuck out of their living areas, ducked back into alleys, and made it out past the city walls. It was early morning, and the sun began its creep up as they walked the open plain outside the walls. As they walked they shared stories of the Old Forest. Stories of specters, shifting landscapes, young men getting lost, trees growing around sleeping victims of the forest. All the stories they were told growing up.
A young woman known as Saph spoke. “We can’t stand here all day! Calen, someone’s got to be first. Go on. Sneaking out to the Forest wouldn’t be much of an initiation if we didn’t actually go into the slugging thing!” 
She pointed to the deep of the forest as they stood just outside the first few trees. 
“I’m not going first!” replied Calen. 
The goal was to enter the the forest and carve your chosen insignia on a tree visible from the outside. Your insignia is who you are, your identity. If one does not succeed in this challenge, then someone else chooses who you are. If yours is shown as most impressive, you receive a high honour above the rest of your fellow yellow coats. Go to a tree as deep into the forest as you dare and carve your insignia as deep and as bold as you can. This was their initiation.
Dax followed the group to this point but his mind was elsewhere. He approached the edge of the forest oblivious to the conversation happening around him. As the other boys stopped, he continued walking past the initial tree line. Not focused on any one thing, he saw in his peripheral what looked like a man, but only for a split second. There and gone in a blink. Dax turned to that direction and moved that way. He began to hear strange sounds, voices that spoke, but said nothing. He felt drawn, and he followed his instincts. This brought him to a young sapling — so there he carved his insignia and went on his way.
As he returned, there were the other yellow robes standing with mouths agape. Behind them a crowd began to gather, of civilians and masters alike. Dax approached the forming crowd in confusion, and as he did so he noticed some people pointing behind him. 
When he turned around he saw his insignia, but not on the sapling he had carved into, but a massive, what must be over a thousand years old, tree. It was large and clearly seen by all — the insignia Pelicor, that when translated means “the slow and steady pace, and unstoppable force of a growing tree”. His eyes widened and his mind raced. How could this be? Dax hid his surprise and curiosity, as he turned back around. Everyone began to look and see who would claim this insignia. Some of the boys even checked their own arms, as if maybe they forgot that that was the insignia they had painted on their arms the night before. As Dax began to roll up his sleeve, the city horn blew marking the time for its people to gather.

I Am Pelicor

“We gather to give colour and belonging to the yellow robes. They have chosen their names and now will they be chosen.” These words rang out from the front of the amphitheater. 
The Arch Keeper spoke to the city, dressed in the finest, most elaborate robes. Folds of white and silver draped and hung from the Arch Keeper. Strips of charcoal-grey metal that sparkled like still water in the sun curved in a way that both mimicked and complemented the white and silver material. He continued to elaborate on the honour and importance that the naming ceremony had. And as with every speech the Arch Keeper gave, it quickly turned into the importance of keeping the way of the Mur Cyiri. After his speech he introduced the leaders of the Seven Colours and they chose their new recruits as the recruits chose them.
The choosing was done by bravery, or the depth and clarity at which the insignia is carved into the forest. The recruits were also chosen by the name they chose for themselves. All could be said (and should be said) about a person in a self-chosen name. 
The man in the fine robes announced a name. A young woman wearing a grey tunic with a yellow belt and her yellow robes in her hands answered the call. Taking her yellow robes, she tossed them into a fire. The fire was in a great bronze bowl sunken into the platform upon which she walked. 
The leaders that chose her came up one by one. From the leaders that stood before her, she chose one, and approaching them she grasped hands and bowed. The leader then presented a belt of his colour, while the rind removed the last yellow she would ever wear. Putting on the new belt the crowd roared with claps, chants, hoots, and laughter. 
A similar routine happened again and again with a different recruit each time. As time went on there began to be a proud speaking of the depth of location and clarity of writing that these recruits produced. Greater and greater the pride became, and more and more the crowd would meet it with roars.
Finally it was time to announce the champion recruit. The Arch Keeper rambled even longer than he had yet. At the end of this speech he asked:
“Who is...” 
He stalled and stuttered “...Pelicor?” 
He hesitated, because this was the first time he had seen the name and it is not a name that would be described as very Mur Cyiri. 
Though Pelicor means “power”, it is the slow, steady and patient power of the tree in which it speaks. This name was not one a keeper would say is blessed with the Godspeed. A feat to be honoured, but a name to be dismissed — what were the Seven Colours to do? 
A hush fell over the crowd followed by a sea of murmurs. Dax approached the bronze bowl, keeping his nervousness in check with all of his might. 
“Okay, so they didn’t like my name choice!” he thought, wide-eyed with shivers. 
When he threw his robes into the fire he shouted in a powerful voice (one that did not match the nervousness and lack of confidence he tried to hide):
“I am Pelicor!” 
A pause that felt like an eternity to Dax, stretched on in silence. As he looked it seemed that not one of the leaders were budging. Finally, an old man slightly hunched on the end rose slowly. With a slow inhale he turned, looked at Dax with a squint and a nod, and put out his hand. They grasped hands, bowed and the leader presented the turquoise belt. 
“Welcome to the Gale, Pelicor”, said the leader. “There is no doubting, you were meant for this.” 

The Way of the Tree

 
On the outskirts of the city, built into the city wall, an old building sat ancient. Pelicor walked around this old training house, his new home, led by his teacher. It was made up of one main room, open and tall, and a few side rooms. A slightly elevated platform at the front made this first room look like an amphitheatre of sorts, but it was oval and there was no seating.
“Thank you teacher for showing me around”, said Pelicor.
“Please, call me Wellendrece. Some think us odd. Some call us eccentric. The truth is our ways are ancient and forgot by most. Forget the ways of the modern citizen, but maybe I’m just shouting fly to a sparrow. You do seem to be at a similar pace as the rest of the Gale”, the old teacher said.
They walked through the open courtyard and through the entrance. As they entered Pelicor was surprised by the lack of people in the giant room. Pelicor tried to hide it, but by the facial expression Wellendrece had, he didn’t keep his surprise to himself.
“This is the room for the physical meditation known as the Act of the Soft Breeze. There is plenty of space if you need it; The Gale isn’t as popular as it once was”, said Wellendrece, in response to what his new student was thinking was thinking.
Etched in the walls were glyphs of people dressed very similar to the modern garb that Pelicor wore, but these glyphs were ancient.
“These were the first Mur Cyiri. Practicing the same physical meditations we are still doing today”, Wellendrece said. 
The tour took him in to a room full of mats on the floor in rows and a wall of scrolls.
“And this is the room for vocal meditation,” said the teacher. 
Finally the teacher led Pelicor to a hall with a dozen rooms all long and narrow. Each room was filled with cots and most of the chests next to them were empty.
“Finally, the sleeping quarters. Claim any cot with an empty chest next to it and make yourself at home, Pelicor,” the teacher ended.
The next morning Pelicor rose and found himself at the gathering of the Gale. There was only a score of the turquoise colleagues of all ages, spanning a fifty-year span quite evenly. It was there he discovered an intriguing fact; the Gale is short for the Tree in the Gale. The story is maybe best told through the poem Pelicor first heard it.
 

The tree stands high its roots deep

It takes the beating, but focus keep

By this the battle it fights is won

Striving, reaching for the Sun

Evermore

Fighting the Gale is all it knows

It pushes through, toward wind it grows

Quite and Patient but never tame

Slow and steady is its name

Pelicor

There was no way for Pelicor to know this secret poem known only to the members of the Gale (or as he now knows it, the Tree), but that didn’t stop others from asking. Whether it was his turquoise brothers and sisters, his friends from his days as a yellow robe or even his brother Rainn, his reply was always the same.
“I heard it in the breeze of the Old Forest”, he would say.
Whether or not they showed it, everyone that heard his response felt a shiver down their spine. There is something haunting about that forest. For Pelicor, the Forest had become a place of guidance. That is why he chose to take respite there before choosing which teachings and training to attend in preparation for the next Race for God Speed. 
 
“I want to run the race!” Pelicor said, running back from his almost daily trip to his favorite retreat. 
“What?” the teacher replied, “God Speed? You want to run God Speed?” 
The look on Pelicor’s face answered the teacher easily enough. 
“Okay”, he replied skeptically. “And how do you plan on training? Running, weight training, track, field, acrobatics...?” 
“Actually,” Pelicor interjected, “Rumble Chanting, Act of the Soft Breeze, and The Histories.”
Taken aback, the teacher responded, “Hmm, you ARE part of The Tree now. Somehow that make no sense and yet makes perfect sense. So, how...”
But before the teacher could ask his question, Pelicor interrupted, “The Forest told me.” 
With a face that expressed again the paradox of his previous answer he finally ended the conversation:
“At least you’ve made it easy for me. This is all our expertise. Come with me.”

Practise Patience

“Rainn! I thought you’d be here,” said Pelicor with a nervousness in his voice. Rainn sat on a simple wooden stool at a small table with one empty stool on the opposite side. They were in a green open public area. Trees scattered here and there, small tables and stools clustered near the brothers. 
“Hey, Dax!” replied Rainn.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Pelicor asked, not being sure if his brother was setting up or putting away.
“No, just finished. Have a seat, let’s play a game!” 
“Run, Rabbit, Run?” the younger brother suggested with a smile. “Are you going to be the fox?” 
Rainn gave a smirk with an eyebrow raise that said, “Of course.” 
The brothers laid out a leather grid with green tree looking pieces spread out randomly. They each had a small board where they kept track of their game pieces’ speed and acceleration. These pieces, a red-orange smooth looking fox and a grey rabbit counterpart, moved around the grid. 
As they started, the younger brother said, “So...” followed by a long pause.
“I’m running.”
“Yeah, but not quite fast enough”, said Rainn while placing the fox even closer to the rabbit. 
With a look of brief confusion, Pelicor responded, “No, I mean God Speed!” 
Before his brother could say anything in return, making eye contact Pelicor said, “I know I’m not fast, nor strong. It’s too late to stop me, it’s ready to be announced. Trust me, I will be fine in all of the trials; all, that is, but one. I’m allowed one mentor outside of the Gale.” He looked down and, breaking the tension with the tone of his voice, added: “I need your help with those cats, they’re crazy!” 
As they chuckled to dilute the seriousness, Rainn replied, “BoomFlash! You know I’m in, little brother.”
 
The runners were announced and excitement was in the air. It was easy to spot them, with an entourage made up of yellow robes, children, and less committed common folk. Even Pelicor had a following, not the largest by any means, but larger than he was prepared for. By what Pelicor observed from the other runners, the followers followed for a range of reasons: curiosity, wisdom-seeking, training ideas, motivation, and camaraderie. As the runners trained, their followers supported them, some even joining in.
As Pelicor continued throughout the days, his following began to dwindle. The Act of the Soft Breeze was not at all what his followers expected, and a few left as soon as they heard. For others, they joined in as Pelicor was taught these slow, gentle movements. The yellow robes and children did their best to mimic as their new exemplar slowly lifted his foot off the ground. Moving it forward, he let his heel touch the ground and, in a way that caused no sound, began to roll onto the ball of his foot. As his weight shifted, his hands began to extend, one holding the wrist of the other, the free hand open. More actions were performed with the same amount of grace. And as everyone followed, the teacher, looking at Pelicor but speaking to everyone, said, “This is the way of the tree: slow and steady, quiet and patient. We are fast — but must practise patience.”
As time went on, Pelicor’s followers settled at about twenty, far fewer than those of his fellow runners. Even the twenty waxed and waned. Rumble Chanting was not popular with its stillness, long low tones and breath control. This fact might have made it easy for Pelicor. With no distractions he was able to study the many scrolls, memorizing most of them. And if the Rumble Chanting was unpopular, then The Histories had next to no followers. 
This suited Pelicor well. He was looking for something. Directed by The Forest, he knew there was something in these scrolls that would tie it all together. He knew he had to find it, whatever it was, before the race.
The training continued day in and day out. A time came when his score of followers became four score — these were the days he began training in the cages with the Traygolin Cats! First of all, Rainn taught Pelicor the basics of the Cats. He knew that outrunning them was not his angle; likewise, there were very few that could muscle their way through, and he knew he wasn’t one of them. As the brothers studied and discussed the feline predators two things stuck in Pelicor’s mind. The first thing was their eyesight: predators by nature, it was said to be based on movement. Secondly, their sense of smell was keen and relied heavily upon in hunting. With these insights, Pelicor knew his strategy.
The days went on and the training went on — and Pelicor seemed confident in his choices. Except, that is, for The Histories. What was he to learn? What was he to find? It was not until his very last day looking through the scrolls that something struck him. 
“Teacher!” he said. “What is the Mur Cyiri motto?”
“Are you referring to ‘Speed is Destiny, Patience for Training’?” the old man asked. 
“But you disagree with that, right?” Pelicor intervened. “What do you think it means?” 
“We could never quite...”, the teacher began. 
“I think I know!” Pelicor interrupted with a look of surprise and wonder. “The Way of the Tree! We must practise patience, because speed is given, destined and even inevitable. I get it now! I must go. Thank you, Teacher!”

To Win a Race

 
“Well!” Pelicor yelled to the trees in the spot he now knew so well. “This is it! I shall see you again very soon. You have done me well. I don’t know why you chose me, but I will do my best to follow the path before me.” 
As he breathed in deep and closed his eyes, a series of gusts rushed around him. And when he opened his eyes he saw long messy scribblings on the ground in front of him. To anyone else it only vaguely resembled words and would have tossed it up to coincidence, but Pelicor knew perfectly well what it said:
“Because you listened.”
Pelicor returned to his quarters to find his brother had just arrived with his runner’s garment. 
“Robe up, little brother!” said Rainn. “Do you really think you can do this?” 
With a deep breath Pelicor replied, “Yeah, I think I can do this.” 
The trees outside the window blew as Pelicor got dressed, and for a second he thought he saw the form of a person — something that he had got used to; he knew The Forest was watching. 
 
“In ages past, our ancestors fought the Tyotans...” 
Pelicor was listening to a familiar speech, though muffled now from behind these doors. The group of runners were gathered at the entrance of the coliseum waiting for their cue. As they entered, a thunderous roar of applause and cheers greeted them. As the other runners stretched and bounced, Pelicor just stood there. Staring at nothing but seeing everything. Hoping for that now comforting flash of an image in his peripheral vision, his guide, his specter, the part of The Forest that followed him. 
The race began, and with what just seemed like blurs flying across the track, the runners took off. Pelicor was dead last, but it didn’t faze him. 
“Just survive, don’t be stupid,” he said to himself, knowing that he would be where he needs to be in the end. 
Over pits, dodging obstacles that could bash, pierce, cut, or crush — the turquoise runner took his time making sure he made it through. He ran not far behind the next runner, but always remained last. Leaders would trade in and out, back and forth, but Pelicor steady and consistent kept the rear. Steady and true, he saw his goal and never wavered.
Rainn sat in the stands watching the race unfold. He wasn’t sure his brother could win but that wouldn't stop from cheering him on. 
“Stay in there! Just keep up! We will catch them later”, he yelled. 
Rainn looked out to see the order in which the obstacles are placed. The cats were near the end. “We may have a chance,” he thought. As the first racer approached the den of cats, the cluster of runners slowed down to a stop. Rainn’s eyes widened as everyone except his little brother stopped — he was closing the gap. 
The runners looked towards Pelicor as he approached the den. Pelicor’s eyes caught a mud pit near the edge to his left.
“Perfect!” he thought.
Slow and steady he climbed down the side. Footsteps could be heard above him, and as he looked he saw the red runner flying through the air with a giant leap. He landed a third of the way across, but the cats were on him almost instantly. The runner had just enough time to climb a pole just out of reach of the cats. He paid for this position with four crimson stripes through his thigh.
Pelicor at this point had taken the opportunity to cover himself with mud and patiently made his way across the edges of the den. Eventually, the rest of the runners made their moves. Most used a combination of Pelicor’s and the red runner’s strategy. But none were as patient as Pelicor or as brave as the red runner. 
With the sporadic distractions Pelicor easily made it across to the other side. He now ran with all the speed he had left, with his eyes fixed on the goal — the trophy they call the key. By the time Pelicor was halfway there the other runners started making it out of the den. Being much faster than Pelicor, they gained ground quite easily.
Rainn stood up from the stands screaming and yelling with excitement, “Run, Dax!” 
Just a few strides from the end Pelicor looked back. There was a runner right behind him. He might not make it. At that instant with the effort of a desperate man, Pelicor dived, reaching for the key. From a distance Rainn could see — out of the dust emerged a key, a hand was on the key... and his brother was attached to the hand!
“Come on!” shouted Rainn and made his way down to the arena. 
The cheers were a bit clustered and confused. No one knew how to handle it. It wasn’t the fact that Pelicor won, but that he dived. It seemed too despairing. There wasn’t a rule against diving, it just wasn’t the etiquette, not like the Mur Cyiri. Rainn, not surprised, has got used to his brother’s ways.

The Last Goodbye

The preparations for ceremony began. The two brothers made their way to the Gate, the eldest grinning ear to ear.
“I can’t believe you did it! But, little brother, the elders are not happy with you. You have been tarring up our ways quite a bit. What’s next? Are we done?”
“Not yet!” said Pelicor. “I’ve got one more thing to do and they will hate that more. And then, after that we will all see the truth as I see it.”
Taken back by the mysteriously serious tone his brother took, Rainn stopped, concern on his face.
His brother responded with a grin and a wink, “Rabbits no more, we are Mur Cyiri.” 
With that he approached the centre circle with the champion [??] and yelled, “I claim my right to the reward! I am the Keytaker, the true champion. I will run through the Gate.” 
Everyone stared, gasps and chattering scattering the masses. Rainn, confused, tried to pull him back, but quickly gave up in tears at the thought of losing his brother. The Elders were especially flabbergasted, some with mouths agape and some red with fury. But Pelicor then quoted the Histories proving his right to the reward, and with a look to the lead historian, the Elders could do nothing but let him go.
“At least we will be rid of him,” Pelicor heard one say. 
He stood at the ready, looked at his brother and mouthed, “See you soon.” His wiped away his tears and with faith in his brother steadied himself to take hold of an impossible hope. The horns blasted and Pelicor ran, not fast as he should but more like a jog. About ten paces to the Door he slowed to a walk and yelled, “I am Pelicor, and now you will know its meaning in full.” 
With that statement he leapt into the Door. Boom! Flash! And he vanished. Or so it seemed at first.
About twenty paces past the Door a form appeared — blurry at first, but then you could see that it sat like one would when rumble chanting. At this point it was clear that this was Pelicor, and everyone responded in silence. A voice that somehow sounded like Pelicor was heard coming from him — but at the same time was strangely different. It was a low and almost monotone voice, with a pace and cadence faster than it should be: 
“I am Pelicor. Practise patience, for speed will be gifted. This is the way of Mur Cyiri.” And he repeated it again and again.
“Blasphemy!” an Elder cried. “Seize him!” 
As the people approached, he vanished. He appeared on the far side of the group, moving with a long stride and quick gait. Though he moved and seemingly vanished, the people never stopped hearing him say,
“I am Pelicor. Practise patience, for speed will be gifted. This is the way of Mur Cyiri.”
As people approached, they all witnessed the same spectacle. And then he vanished! But, this time from all around the outside of the masses, they heard the same voice:
“Clear the path and clear the circle.” 
As soon as it had cleared, Pelicor appeared at the pedestal in the centre of the circle with the key in his hand. He placed it in a keyhole, which no one seemed to notice until that moment. With a turn of the key, a click was heard and a change in the tone of the Door. 
“Keep clear!” the voice said. 
In a blink of an eye Pelicor was once again on the outside of the gate. This time he looked different, or maybe more accurately, he looked normal. As he walked, everyone kept their distance. 
 
Pelicor walked up the steps that led back to the city and turned around. 
He began, “This is the truth of the Mur Cyiri. God gifted us His speed.” 
“God Speed!” rang out from behind the Gate. Champion Runners from every race in the past gathered at the base of the stairs. 
“We are not fast”, Pelicor continued. 
Meanwhile the runners began to chant, “God. Speed.”
Pelicor pointed his finger across the crowd. 
“You may think yourself fast, but you do not know speed. (“God Speed”). 
“Your fastest sprint is but a nap to the Mur Cyiri.” (“God Speed!”)
“Our speed is beyond your wildest expectations.” (“God Speed!”) 
“How easily we forget. You cannot earn the speed.” (“God Speed!”)
“It is gifted. It is our destiny. It is at hand. So practise patience. Practise Pelicor.” (“God Speed!”) 
“Be quiet and patient, slow and steady. For this is what’s missing from our Mur Cyiri now.” (“God Speed!”) 
“Then, join us. Accept the gift, go through the Gate.” (“God Speed!”) 
“We are the Mur Cyiri. The Old Forest is our haven and beyond that are the Tyotans. That’s right! This is not the Histories, this is now. We are at war! (“God Speed!”)
“Wake up! Open your eyes, and enough with the games!” 
“Become the wind, the blur!”
“Become Mur Cyiri!”
 
 

The End