The Scales of Change
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The Scales of Change
By Rebecca Bergquist
“Do you remember the last time we walked this valley together?” the woman asked her son as she smiled at him. He was no longer the boy he once was, and he had not been for a very long time. Yet, it was hard for her not to see him that way, especially when they were alone like this. To her, it seemed only yesterday that he was still holding her hand as they strolled this land, discussing the existence of all living things. The years had gone by so quickly, and in that time so much had changed.
The man met her glance from under the shadow of his hood and nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time she had been so nostalgic. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had been alone together like this. Their duties often kept them occupied and apart from each other.
“I do.”
Turning her attention back to the valley, the woman’s smile deepened and warmed, outshining the bright summer sun hanging high in the sky. “You were so young,” she mused, “and concerned with why there was so much change in the world. You asked me why everything couldn’t just stay in their places where they belonged. You loved order. Still do.”
“I was a child then and did not understand how the world worked,” he replied. “I had somehow convinced myself that if I kept a ledger of all living things, they would stay as they were, where they were. I was obviously-not informed.”
The woman burst into joyous laughter, and the melodious song echoed off the hills and across the verdant valley that lay out in front of them. The man shook his head at her reaction and hid his smile under the shadow of his hood. She was a woman of stature, of great power and prestige, yet she insisted on letting herself revel in such emotions whenever they were alone together. It amused him that only he saw this side of her.
She looked out over the land that spread out before them. “You eventually learned the natural order of this world,” the woman said quietly.
He noted the sudden shift in her demeanor. Her posture slacked and the warmth faded from her smile. It was obvious something was troubling her, and even though he wanted to ask, he refrained. She would reveal the problem when she felt it was right. That was her way. Instead, he simply watched as his mother silently began her descent down the hill, her long white robes fluttering behind her. He then took his cue and followed.
The two of them came upon the outskirts of a farming community that bustled with activity. It was still early in the season and the seeds in the fields had just begun to sprout, dotting the rows of soil with tiny verdant seedlings. The farmers and their farmhands went about their work tending to the fields and feeding their animals while curious children followed at their heels or played in the fields.
“Why have you brought me here?” the man asked. Even though he was careful to mask the impatience from his tone, he knew she would still pick up on it. She always did. Her intuitive nature made it difficult to hide such things. However, he did not worry. Her patience never seemed to empty.
For a while, the woman contented herself with watching the farmers hard at work. At a home to their right, a young boy ran past his mother who was bent over filling her wheelbarrow with feed for their livestock. He erupted in giggles when his older sister surprised him by jumping out from her hiding place around the corner of their home. A merchant then came strolling through the main road, leading a dolyak and cart heavily laden with farming supplies. He stopped next to the woman and her wheelbarrow and presented her with a crate full of baked goods and general medical supplies. It was an ordinary day to them, just as the day before and many before that.
“Centuries ago, this land was as wild as the magic that flows deep within the very ground they now plow,” the woman said as she bent down and placed a hand upon the grass-covered ground. She could feel the erratic pulsing of the magic coursing through the ley line. It was wild and unbalanced. “When their ancestors first arrived, they were taught how to tap into the magic here and harness it for their survival. They changed the very face of this land, shaping it into what exists today. Now, the food grown in this region is some of the best quality you can find and highly prized at the markets.”
“They killed Melandru’s forest to make their homes,” the man said as he gestured to the people before them. Engrossed with their tasks, the farmers paid the man and woman no mind, as if they simply did not exist. “They killed wild animals to fill their stomachs. Change is not always growth and life. It is death and destruction as well. I understand this, but you have not answered my question.”
The woman’s smile faded from her lips as she nodded. “Indeed, there is a reason I brought you here,” she replied, looking lovingly out at the lively farms. She rose to her feet, the action as graceful as her silken robes. “We have been here long enough to know that everything changes over time. Rivers erode mountains, fires clear the way for new growth. Homesteading and industrialization have all changed the face of Tyria. Nothing remains static over time. However, despite all the change, the world finds a way to balance out.”
Beneath his dark hood, the man frowned. He was aware of the cycle of change and balance. It was often a delicate dance, but one that was manageable as long as the steps were followed. The scales of life and death, of destruction and creation, could be tipped with the slightest nudge and if not corrected, would continue to grow even more unbalanced until the whole system broke.
“Come, I want to show you another place,” the woman said as she strode further into the farming community. The air around them began to vibrate, electrified with energy, and the man could feel a tingle at his fingertips. There was a rush of air and a flutter of wings, before the space suddenly shifted around them. The serene environment of the countryside was gone and had been replaced with a bustling city.
She led them towards a moderately-sized home just on the edge of Lion’s Arch’s marketplace. A blonde-haired girl about eight years of age tended to the flowers by the front door. Her small hands nimbly pulled at the weeds growing up between the flower sprouts and collected them into a pile in the corner of the garden plot. As she was finishing, a loose moa began pecking at an omnomberry pie cooling on the window sill. The little girl called for her mother who came running with an armful of damp clothing she had yet to hang up on the clothes line. She dumped the bundle into an empty basket next to the house and picked up a long switch before heading off to deal with the feasting moa.
“It’s just the two of them,” the woman explained to her son as she clasped her hands together in front of her. “The girl’s father was in Lion’s Arch’s marketplace, selling his wife’s baked goods when Scarlet Briar attacked. He was among many killed. In the process the city was razed and another dragon woken. This has all brought about yet another season of change, both on a world-wide scale as well as a personal one.”
The man uttered a thoughtful noise. “I remember meeting him. He was a good man who found his way into the mists.”
“It was a heartbreaking shift in reality for the family,” she said, “and yet, here they are. The two of them eventually found their footing again and a way to move on. Despite their circumstances, they thrived.” The woman turned to her son, her pale eyes uncharacteristically full of worry. Her expression startled him and he reached out to her, taking her hand in his as he used to when he was just a young boy. Her warmth immediately consumed his cold, thin fingers. It was a strange, yet welcome comfort.
“Mother—.”
“Changes often come in cycles followed by periods of time where the alteration finds balance, where it quiets and rebuilds. However, this sylvari fueled a change that has not ceased since she attacked Lion’s Arch. It has instead accelerated it. The world simply does not have the ability to balance itself now. The ley lines beat erratically. It’s like a rolling stone that shows no signs of stopping. Can you feel it?” She turned toward him suddenly, her brow knit and heavy with concern.
The man closed his eyes and exhaled, the sound hollow as he let it out. There had been something nagging at the back of his mind recently, but he had not been able to take the time to pursue its source. “Something has not felt—right,” he said, turning to face her. “We must step in and do something.
“And become the wall the stone shatters upon?” she asked.
The man cocked his head to the side as he studied her. Her beautiful visage was now twisted with worry. It looked out of place to him. Yet, her concern was genuine and he couldn’t help but feel unsettled by that. After all this time, he had learned that if his mother was concerned about something, he had good reason to worry too.
“What choice do we have? We cannot let this continue,” he challenged. “They will look to us for guidance and protection. We must intervene on their behalf and balance the scales of this world.”
The woman looked out over the city with a sad reverence the man had seen many times before, but not on her face.
“Yes. Yes, you’re right. We must do something,” she replied.
He nodded, relieved. “Good.”
The woman turned toward her son, letting go of his hand and gently grabbed her son’s thin arms. “We have to leave.”
“What?” The man stiffened and he clenched his hands, the joints popping and grinding. “We cannot abandon them.”
“The dragons have awoken and two are now dead. The world has lost an anchor. And now one of our own seeks to take advantage of this situation and resolve it as he sees fit.” She paused, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and let it out, trying to center herself. “Would you rather they all become collateral damage in the wake of our efforts?” she asked, motioning to the city’s inhabitants passing by.
“Of course not,” he replied firmly, “but I have my own balances to keep. I cannot simply abandon my duties. I cannot abandon my followers.”
“And yet, you must,” the woman insisted. Her pale eyes grew glassy from tears threatening to overflow. “I do not want to leave them. It breaks my heart to even think of leaving our children to find their own way. But if we stay, if we give in to our selfish desire to stay with our followers, the result of our actions will overwhelm and destroy this world and all of its inhabitants. For the sake of these people, for the sake of all Tyria, we must leave.”
The man sighed, the sound hollow and heavy, as he watched the people before them. He had grown accustomed to their presence and their idiosyncrasies. He understood their pain and their sadness as well as the peace they finally felt when their time had come to enter the mists. To think of no longer being amongst them left him feeling empty.
“You worry about them.”
The man hesitated at first but then simply replied, “I do.”
She smiled warmly, the radiance returning to her face again. “If there is anything I have learned about these inhabitants, it is that they always find a way to persevere. They can be faced with insurmountable challenges, yet they find a way to overcome them. They adapt to the changes presented to them time and time again.”
His frown shrouded in the shadow of his hood, the man turned to his mother and shook his head. “I do not agree, but if this is what must be done, then it shall be.”
Dwayna, the goddess of life and air, managed a brief smile as she reached up to caress her son’s cheek. He was cold to the touch, but the Lord of Death was always cold. “My dear son, it will be for the best,” she assured him. “They will find a way. We have to believe they will.”
