《Cult of the Tree》


 Prologue: The Promises

    Across the rolling hills, a fresh breath of wind awoke the trees from their slumber. The smaller poplars stretched and yawned. Spring was not going to be gentle with its waking. The sun was rising to the loud encouragement of a minstrel bird, burning the delicate icing of frost on the ground.


    Along the rolling hills of emerald, six hooded figures ascended to the tallest. The bright blue of dyed wool carved a small teardrop of dew against the grass unnaturally rolling upward, defying the nature of water itself.


    At the crown of the hill, six stones encircled the Source Tree. Eyes carved into each watched through moss curtains. Each a witness. Each a guard. Scor, the Promise of Fire, wielder of preservation and destruction. Tera, the Promise of Earth, rich and nourishing. Gulf, the Promise of Water, where all life begins. Ordene, the Promise of Order, governing all that lives. Ven, the Promise of Wind powering commerce and discovery. Sol, the Promise of Spirit, guide and protector of the Unseen.


    The gnarled oak served as the focus of each of the silent gazes. Gold and silver leaves dressed the upper limbs, while its main garb of a deep rich brown draped to the floor. Its bark was decorated with ashen hand prints. So many, that the oak itself almost seemed dusted with ash from a blaze.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Entering through the archway of moss, the blue tear concluded its climb. Hoods dropped and young faces revealed. These were the faces of the future. Each placed a shaky hand upon the oak in eager anticipation.


    Gold suddenly cascaded over the top of the stones, the light of the sun finally climbing high enough to spill its warmth on the Source Tree. The light scattered off of the silver and gold creating an embracing aura around the tree. Molten lines appeared on each of the stone witnesses and then extended across the floor to outstretched hands.


    Hands dropped. Hoods replaced. The solemn assembly made ready to depart.


    A rich brown-robed figure left to the east. This was a promise of new life, rich soils, and stability.


    A fiery robe embarked to the north. This was a promise of the familiar warmth of the hearth and the protection of forged steel.


    An untouched blue, reminder that some things never change, and the ruling emerald returned to the south.


    White left west to the coast with a promise of wind and safe seas.


    Silver remained to be taught in the ways of the unseen, promising to be a guide to souls and a curator of knowledge.


    Spring had arrived with Promises renewed.

 Chapter I

    Wynn balanced on the stone in the river. He imagined the form of the trout, lying in the shade of the bank. Imagining a tiny whirlpool in his mind, Wynn willed the water to fence in his soon-to-be supper. There was a thread of connection. It had always been there, as long as he could remember. He gently tried to work his will against that thread, causing it to move. As that thread felt his will, the fish seemed to be caught in a small current.


    "You''re never going to catch one that way," the bushes suddenly called out.


    Surprised, Wynn felt the whirlpool pictured in his mind dissipate. All that focus. Poof! Gone with the current. The cost of controlling the flow of water was not great, but it was great enough to disrupt Wynns''s balance causing him to tumble into the stream. The cold water only assisted in dousing his mood even further. He was not the greatest at his control over water.


    Gathering himself up onto the river bank Wynn grumbled. "You are not exactly making this any better." He eyed the tree line. Somewhere among the blackberry brambles a wispy figure was hiding. A wood sprite was rarely ever easy to see. This one seemed to like to pester him almost exclusively. Most sprites avoided humans. Most probably due to humans living only a fraction of the time that sprites do. This makes the fleeting lives of a human mostly boring. Except this sprite seemed to think that he needed special attention.


    Glancing at the fading light, Wynn decided that it was about time to head back to his tent. The trout at least had a more fortunate day. Small river stones crunched underfoot as he made his way upstream. His soaking boots were collecting a layer of sand that made each step a bit heavier. Perhaps he was just dreading his return to camp.


    He could see the smoke of the cook''s fire rising above the tree line. Contributing to the larder was generally expected of most of the camp. Most could trap. Some could hunt. That trout would have eased some of the frowns around the fire. He had been collecting a lot more of those lately.


    Shrinking a bit as he walked through camp he hastily made his way to his tent. He had placed it a bit off of the main thoroughfare in the hopes of maintaining a bit of space.


    "Nothing for the pot today boy?"


    Wynn felt his blood boil a bit as he turned towards the cookfire. He was a number of seasons past being considered a man, yet some have deemed him an exception. It shouldn''t bother him as much as it did, but it was a common greeting towards him shared by many members of the camp. Karla was standing there almost defensively by the cookfire, the heart of the camp. This was her domain.


    Karla was a burly oak of a woman. She towered over a good number of men in camp and it was no rumor that she could fell trees just as well. Wynn was a bit terrified of her.  Most men in the camp were. This was her livelihood and she defended it. It was not common for women to attend let alone manage their own wood camps. She owned the tents, the axes, and a good number of the mules that hauled lumber to the river edge. Most important of all, at least to most camp members, she owned the cook wagon and the giant cast iron pot.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    "Are you daft boy?" Karla asked as she approached.


    "I did not have much luck with the fishing today," Wynn quietly offered.


    Karla sighed, "You know the deal."


    Proffering five irons, Wynn spoke, "I remember the deal."


    Karla shrugged as she turned back to the center of the camp. She seemed a bit disappointed but this was a ritual she was proficient in. You did not run a wood camp well if you couldn''t ask your workers what they owe you.


    Wynn was not offended by her direct and quick negotiation. Karla kept a professional distance and rarely shared drinks or much personal discussion with her work crew. There had only been a few times that Wynn had noticed some form of friendship between her and a woodcutter. These were usually woodsmen who had been on her crew either many times or for many years.


    Wynn resumed his march back to his tent, though the missing irons did not make him feel much lighter. There was nothing unfair about the contract he had with Karla. This was not his livelihood and he was simply a summer worker. He was expected to pay for the use of the tools and tent. If he helped keep the camp provisions stocked, Karla gave him a discount of three irons.


    He entered his tent and threw his weary body onto his cot. This was not where he had expected to be this summer. At his age, it was time for him to resonate with one of the Promises. His grasp over water was really just a whisper of power. Water was part of life. Since he was living, he had a trace connection as his birthright.


    Each spring after twenty years of age, men and women were allowed to explore the different Orders. Each order made up the whole of Fenn. Each Order after each of the Promises, each ran their own town. Some were larger than others but each attracted magic users related to the specific Order. Since Wynn was born in the late summer, he still had a few months before he would make his Journey.


    The dinner bell rang. As uncomfortable as it was dealing with other members of the wood camp, the rich smell of dinner in the big pot was enticing enough to get Wynn out of his cot. It was time to receive work orders for the next day as well as supper. This was usually a cheerful time around camp. The long day of work made the stumps and logs arranged around the fire enticing to sit on. A cask of ale was tapped fueling more of the evening revelry.


    Wynn made his way to the line to grab a bowl of stew. The summer evenings were still cool enough to make steam rise from the bowl. Karla might be a tough camp boss, but Wynn figured it might be worth it for the meals alone. At the end of the table there was a piece of slate with assignments chalked onto it. The wood frame of the slate was a bit greasy and worn from years of being the center of communication.


    "Wynn and Arne, River," Wynn read.


    This was the assignment that he dreaded. Others might have been absolutely thrilled at this assignment. It meant direct work and experience in the Promise of Gulf. Logs were sent downstream to the mill by floating them down the river. Being able to control water and resonate with its essence was crucial to preventing jams. Arne was one of the best. He would be a great master to learn from. While the lessons are more focused on the industry of logging, much of the focus and control learned could be directed into other livelihoods.


    Wynn quickly finished his meal and made his way to his tent. He wanted to avoid Arne until tomorrow at least. He was not an ill-tempered man but spending a few days with Wynn''s attempts at driving logs had been enough to even wear his patience a bit thin.


    Wynn arrived at his tent and his cot had never seemed more inviting. He closed his eyes and drifted off to the gentle summer evening breeze.

 Chapter 2

    Wynn awoke to being gently shaken.


    "Wynn it is time to go," Arne spoke.


    He had overslept. This was sometimes considered to be one of the worst crimes in the camp. Arne was usually a bit more patient than the team that left early to cut timber. Some tasks in the day were more efficient when the heat was not yet blistering.


    Wynn stumbled out of his cot and briskly reported, "I am coming. Don''t wait for me."


    "I have already been waiting," Arne chuckled as he replied.


    Arne had a short beard and was built sturdy. His square shoulders displayed the years of logging. He wore a loose cotton garb that would be warm enough for the brisk morning, but cool enough to stand in the sun for hours on end. His hands were gloved with a soft leather that had been worked and oiled. Wynn knew that under these gloves, his hands would have the Source Lines that daily magic users would acquire.


    Wynn wondered why someone would want to cover up their ability. The Order of Ordene would never wear gloves. Wynn had never met a "Green", as the other orders would call them, that did not want to demonstrate their Promise at any given chance. Because they were the Peacekeepers and ruling Order, followers of Ordene often displayed their hands very prominently. They had a slight influence over feelings. It was rumored that they could cause a raging barbarian to be placid and forgiving.


    Wynn did not yet have any Source Lines on his hands. That would be something that would occur when he made his Promise at the Source Tree itself. That event itself was a constant worry to him.


    Arne caught him frowning and asked, "You seem a bit troubled there?"


    Feeling a bit shocked that his thoughts had been so clearly written on his face, Wynn quickly replied "No. Just not quite awake yet."


    "Well let''s get going then," said Arne.


    They both left the camp following the path that led down to the river. The smells of bacon and wood cakes wafted in the air. Wynn''s mouth watered a bit and he instantly regretted not waking up early enough for the camp''s morning meal. He learned a long time ago that it was futile to expect any leftover bacon from breakfast.


    After following the trail through a denser patch of trees, the river came into view. This was the parent to the small stream where the trout lived peacefully¡ªat least when Wynn was fishing it. The river was wide, but deep enough to allow a current strong enough to carry logs downstream. It was rumored that the original logging company had employed members of Tera to carve channels in the riverbed. This feat would have been considered heroic considering the amount of control and power that would have been required. Especially when that magic would be directly opposing water itself.


    The logs generally would float down the river without interference. Careful control of the water was used to remove the smaller log jams before they got out of control. Tangles of river weed or smaller branches would sometimes cause the timber to entangle.


    There was a small ridge overlooking the river, not a great height or sheer drop but enough of a rise to give a clear view of the river. When they arrived at the top of the ridge, Wynn sat on the edge as he usually did. Often Arne would demonstrate and attempt to talk through the control over the water.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "Don''t get comfortable. You are going to go first, " Arne said.


    "Every time I attempt this first, I end up making a bigger mess than we started with, " Wynn protested.


    "Nah. I think that you will be just fine today. C''mon. Give it a go." Arne had a gentle smile and waved his hands encouragingly.


    Wynn sighed and got up. The river already had a few blockages. They were only about ten paces from the river and the river was about twenty paces across. He stood with his feet balanced about his shoulder width apart. This part he knew. He threw his arms out and attempted to coax the essence of water.


    This was Gulf''s promise. All life begins with water and lack of it leads towards the end. Wynn closed his eyes. This form of meditation was not unknown to him.


    There it was. A gentle whisper. He could hear and feel his life water running through his body. There was a faint humming within his mind. He tried to will his mind to focus towards a louder sound. A roaring explosion of sound overcame his senses. An immense weight pushed against his entire being. He heaved his entire being against it attempting to control it.


    It pushed back. Harder than it ever had before. Wynn flew back, arms flailing, and landed in the scrubby bushes.


    "Well at least you have a connection to it, " Arne said extending his hand.


    Wynn took the firm grip and lifted himself from the ground.


    "You can''t fight it, " Arne said. "You have to embrace the flow of the river. Though I admit that sounds a bit too poetic to be true. Here I will show you."


    Wynn quietly observed a look of determination on Arne''s face. Arne took up a similar stance balancing his weight. Wynn had watched this countless times before, he often wondered why Arne continued to instruct him.


    With hands extended, Arne began to weave. Wynn wished that he could see and feel what was going on. He sensed that there was something deeper here. Something that he hadn''t quite found yet. There were no physical signs that anything was happening. Watching some of the closer log jams, Wynn waited expectantly. There, it had begun. A fervent ripple in the water shot straight for the log jam. This current broke the logs away from the riverbank and got them moving again. They were still a bit tangled up and would probably cause issues downstream if they were not separated. That feat alone was impressive to Wynn but he knew there was more.


    Two serpentine strands of water rose near the logs. Bright scales and fins made of water frolicked in the current. The two serpents coiled around each of the logs and separated the mass. The serpents returned to their crystal clear abode in the stream. This was more than practical magic, this was clearly control over a great power.


    Wynn waited until he could tell Arne was finished and asked, "How do you not get lost in the current?"


    "I think that I do get lost. It has become home to me, " Arne replied. "There are times though that I do not feel like I belong. Though I believe that is natural in a way too."


    Wynn pondered this for a moment. "I think I am ready to try again, " he said.


    Wynn performed the stance and got his hands ready. There was the whisper. It was always there. Almost like the quiet murmur of a spring escaping the recesses of the ground. He could hear and feel the river. The roaring approached and the river hit him. He fought for a second, and then let go. Then he saw it.


    Sapphire beams and tendrils wrapped around him and extended to the river. They pulled and pulled as he swam through the feelings. Looking down at his hands he could see Source lines extended from them. He attempted to focus his attention on the river. Every move made him feel sluggish as if he was wading through chest-deep water. He could see the log jams. He extended his hands towards them trying to push them. The cool resistance of water washed over his hands. The tendrils wrapped around him reached out and pushed the log jam into the larger flow.


    Then it hit him. Wynn felt his heart suddenly seize. Time if it was a personage watching him, suddenly vanished. The roaring of the river changed from a roar to a high-pitched whine. The tendrils surrounding him changed from the deep crystalline blue to an opaque and shadowy black. Wynn looked towards the river. It was gone. A barren rusty riverbed was left behind. Within it were the desiccated remains and skeletons of fish. A foul stink overpowered the air and Wynn heaved whatever was in his stomach down the ridge. Wynn felt the air become uncomfortably thin and then passed out. His last fading vision was a look of awe and a trace of terror on the face of Arne.

 Chapter 3

    The world spun around Wynn as he opened his eyes. The first thing that hit him was the fresh and crisp air. Looking around everything had returned to normal. Something ate at the back of his mind. The stink, the dead river, and the shadowy tendrils wrapping around him felt like a dream. The whole experience started to feel hazy and he began to question if it had occurred.


    No. Without a doubt. He had made a deep connection with Gulf. He had been waiting for this to happen. It was said that everyone has an innate feeling, or even an early experience with the Promise they would resonate with best. He hoped that this was it.


    His hands ached as he rushed to get a glimpse of potential Source lines. Rubbing each finger between his thumb, he carefully examined them looking for a trace of anything. He had touched the Source, raw and powerful magic. All he could think about was the thrill of the magic. Then he remembered. A sick sense of dread overcame him as he looked down towards the river. Where was Arne?


    There was no sign of Arne anywhere. They usually did not bring much down to the riverside as they were not that far from camp. A bit of dread swept over Wynn as he remembered the raw fear that he had seen on Arne''s face as he passed out. He needed to talk to him. He had to explain what happened.


    Wynn quickly collected his thoughts and feelings, determined to make it back to camp before Arne. Hopefully, he could catch him on his way, assuming that was where he had fled. Wynn kept a brisk pace down the ridge towards the tree line. The trees seemed to be a relief to any wandering eyes.


    Wynn thought to himself for a moment, "I have never felt this way before. Why would I care about what other people saw? Surely the river didn''t change."


    "Wynn!" A call rang out through the woods. It was a shrill almost chirping scream.


    It had a wispy timbre to it but the voice itself called to something deeper within Wynn. He had to go to it. There was no stopping him.


    Wynn heard the call again coming from the thicker part of the forest. He found himself pushing through blackberry brambles and purple briar bushes, the tiny thorns catching and pulling at his clothes and skin. Thin red lines appeared all over his legs as he triumphed towards the voice.


    He pushed into the clearing. A sense of familiarity washed over him as he found himself at his usual fishing spot on the stream.


    "Wynn!", the voice called again coming from the blackberries on the other side of the stream.


    Wynn quickly hopped across the stones in the stream, missing the last one. The cold water did not stop him for a second. Pushing through the thickest part of the bushes, he made his way into a small opening.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    A silver circle containing a pentagram was partially covered in the brush. Floating over it, a wispy but humanoid figure reached out towards Wynn. He had never seen a wood sprite this close before or the trap containing it.


    "Can you help me? " the sprite pleaded.


    "I can try. How do I get you out of this?" Wynn replied.


    He had read about these things but generally, it was considered very unlucky to trap a living essence of nature. Though the greedy or unbelieving might deem it worth the risk a captured sprite might serve some value for some forms of alchemy.


    Wynn knew that whoever set this trap, was powerful and had a deeper knowledge of natural magic than he did. It might get him wrapped up in even more trouble than he seemed to have already set up for himself.


    "Just break the surrounding border! " the wood sprite spat.


    Wynn decided quickly that he would help the sprite. He couldn''t possibly handle any more misfortune coming his way. Even though he did not set this trap, leaving the sprite in it when he could do something might invite some worse fate.


    Hoping that whatever magic was contained within the thin silver frame was not harmful to humans, he placed his boot on the metal edge and grabbed the opposite end with both hands. He leaned back while pulling. A sudden snap and the sprite was free.


    He quickly looked up to see the full form of the wood sprite. There was a feminine nature to the sprite''s body. Ethereal vines and leaves glowing with energy made up the structure. Towards the top of the sprite, there were two glowing eyes. The amber eyes caught his glance and then instantly vanished, melting into the surrounding forest.


    "Well I guess that''s thanks, " Wynn thought to himself. Any form of communication with a sprite is fairly rare. He didn''t take the abrupt escape personally. He certainly hoped that he truly was alone here and no one had witnessed this event. He picked up the trap and easily broke the rest of the metal frame. This appeared to be real silver. It would be a shame for this to go to waste. The silver was thin enough to snap into rods small enough to fit in a crevice in a nearby tree. He would come back for this. No reason that he couldn''t profit a little from his heroic deed.


    After creating his hidden treasure trove to visit later, Wynn realized how quiet the forest was. It was like a thick blanket of silence. He could not help but feel like he was being watched. It was time to disappear.


    Arne fled as fast as he could from the river bank. His arms still trembled at the sudden onslaught of raw magic that had been thrown against him. At the same time, he felt a twinge of guilt deep inside himself. Experiencing that much power with little experience might have caused irreparable damage to Wynn. The thought of the damage made him shudder even more as he accessed his connection to Gulf within. Had he been damaged in some unknown way?


    Part of that was the reason he was running. He had to get to the head of his Order as fast as he could. It was rare to have such a powerful magic manifest in an individual before the Order knew about it. These things were usually measured, carefully. The Promise of Gulf was the original promise made, therefore it was innate in most inhabitants of Fenn. This also meant that most inhabitants showed an earlier aptitude for a connection. Arne had seen nothing of the sort in Wynn. He had almost considered any sort of connection with Gulf to be fairly futile. He had tried to remain positive for Wynn''s sake. As he remembered what he saw when Wynn wielded Gulf''s power, he shivered and could only hope that those who led the Order could help Wynn.

 Chapter 4

    Wynn approached the camp from the usual trail up from the river. Glancing around hurriedly, he hoped to catch sight of Arne. Usually after a long day of work, it was not unusual to catch him at one of the wooden tables sharing an early meal or drink with the other woodsmen. Wynn approached a table and grabbed some of the coarse bread and cheese left out before the evening meal. Despite his worry for Arne, he found himself quickly thinking about how good the bread was after a long day, and how he was now suddenly a good handful richer in silver. He would just have to figure out how to fence it in a very discrete way. Magic items were not the easiest to just sell to anyone. It was easy to rationalize that what he had done was an act of good. Making a bit of gain off of stopping someone else from doing an act of wrong, should be an act of right in the balance books. Though Wynn didn''t necessarily believe that anyone was keeping track.


    The main logging crew began to filter in from the trails from the various tents around camp. Most of the men looked tired after a long day of sawing trees and then trimming the branches off of them. A few of them spared glances at Wynn but most just ignored him. He was still the newest and the youngest at this camp. Being a summer worker meant that he probably was not going to be around next season so most of the other woodsmen did not really care to get to know him. Wynn smiled in relief that perhaps with his first contact with magic, he was well on his way to never having to see most of these people again. In fact, Wynn desperately hoped that this would be his last summer doing any form of manual labor.


    "What are you smiling at?" a gruff voice bellowed across the table.


    Looking up, Wynn realized he was smiling as dumb as a drunk with his own personal cask tucked under his coat after being kicked out of a tavern. The man across from him did not have a single ounce of charm or good looks in him. Remembering why he seldom sat for long periods of time in camp, he quickly got up and left without saying a word. It wasn''t that he did not like talking. He just didn''t like talking to most of the men in camp. Arne had really been the only person to make an effort to get to know him.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    A sense of unease crept back in. There was that dark feeling again. The scene with the river and the overwhelming stench of decay immediately returned, awakened from Wynn''s mind. He fought to push the imagery and feelings out of him. Was that why Arne was gone? Had Arne somehow glanced at that same vision while Wynn was touching the Source? Something inside of Wynn was running away from that dreadful scene as well, he just was not sure what part of him had fled.


    The sun was very low in the sky. The tables around the main cookfire were beginning to fill up. Wynn decided that the cheese and bread were going to be enough for him today. He went to the end of the table that had the dusty assignment board. He quickly noted that Arne''s name was still on the board. That meant that Karla had not noticed his disappearance yet. Arne was his own man. Wynn rationalized that Arne was a grown man. If he was going to decide to disappear, then it was his business. A bit of emptiness ate at Wynn as he considered that Arne was the only one to witness his magic. Not that he was planning on sharing this discovery with anyone else at the camp.


    Checking his name on the assignment board, Wynn grimaced a bit as he read "Downriver". Arne was supposed to be assigned with him. This task was similar to what he did today however, it meant a bit of travel for him. This would take him home to Oramond--That was a place he had not thought about often. In fact, he spent a bit of mental energy trying to keep the place out of his mind.


    Sighing he decided to head back to his tent. The way he was feeling he decided to skip the evening meal. He toyed with the idea of reporting Arne''s absence to Karla. That was not his responsibility to do though. Right?


    The tent in his allotted area was open, the door flapping in the summer breeze. Wynn hurried in and investigated his belongings. They had been thrown around the small, dimly lit space. Someone had been here. Wynn suddenly found himself worrying about that trap he had destroyed. He did not doubt for a second that someone else in the work crew could have gone through his belongings. There had been times in the past weeks when a newcomer had signed on just to disappear after collecting an early bonus from the other tents. This did not help the general attitude around summer workers or any other temporary hands. Wynn didn''t really have valuables in his tent. He had learned that lesson fast. He curled up on his cot and decided to deal with the mess tomorrow.

 Chapter 5

    Wynn awoke early after a night of tossing and turning. He was a bit disturbed that someone had invaded his tent. The idea that perhaps someone had seen him destroy the trap the sprite was in and desired to exact some form of revenge upon him had visited him right about when he was going to fall asleep.


    He didn''t have time to dwell on that though. He was tired and had to get moving or he might not ever get moving for the day. Pushing back the tent''s rough canvas that served as a door, Wynn greeted the crisp morning air. There was a slight breeze and the breath of fresh air invigorated his sleepy mind. The scent of potatoes and bacon wafted to his nose and he took off towards the cook fire.


    Approaching the center of camp he could see that the main crew of woodcutters had not left for the day yet. He was up a lot earlier than he usually was. The cookfire had a large cast iron skillet hanging to the side of it. Bacon sizzled. Potatoes fried. Wynn was glad that he had not missed this. This was simple fair but nothing tasted better than potatoes and bacon fried over fire. Something about the smokiness of the bacon made the potatoes way better.


    Wynn grabbed a bowl and looked around for an empty seat. He almost dropped it in surprise when he saw Arne waving him over to a seat. He quickly approached the table with his food and instantly forgot it as he made eye contact with Arne.


    Speaking first and propelled by a good amount of internal worry Wynn asked, "Where were you? Why did you leave me?". These words flew out of his mouth a bit faster than he had intended and the effect seemed to make Arne lean back a bit as if poked.


    "I am sorry Wynn. I should not have left you at a time like that," Arne quietly replied. He leaned in a bit closer and asked, "Have you told anyone else about your connection with Gulf?"


    "No why would I? Most here probably would not believe me even if I did tell them. A good number of them likely would not care either," Wynn hastily replied. This was something that had bugged him a bit with Arne''s hasty retreat. He didn''t have anybody else to go over the experience and confirm that it wasn''t a dehydration induced daydream.


    "Good. Let''s leave. Now," said Arne. Arne abruptly stood and motioned for Wynn to do the same.


    "What now!?" Wynn said while eyeing his steaming bowl of bacon. He hadn''t even got a bite in yet.


    "Yes. I will explain on the road. We have downriver duty, let''s go," said Arne. He looked around himself as he said this as if seeing if anyone else had picked up on this conversation.


    Reluctantly Wynn arose from his seat at the table. This was the second day in a row that bacon had eluded him. That had to be a bad omen. This was unusual behavior even for Arne and it seemed to be a bit early for them to head out on their assigned duty.


    ---


    As they headed down the road, the sun was approaching its full brightness. It was still the cooler part of morning but the chill would burn off soon. Summer was soon going to be on its way out for the year. The road to Oramond along the river was a gentle journey. The river never really picked up its pace at any point downstream to Oramond. Just outside town, there was a lumber mill that would capture the logs for further processing.


    They traveled at a decent pace. This task was similar to clearing log jams where they went into the river. This just included a bit of legwork and a journey all the way to town. Wynn felt a bit of excitement when he thought about the prospect of touching the Source again. Arne walked alongside Wynn but hadn''t spoken much. This was not too uncharacteristic for Arne but Wynn still wondered if something was weighing on his mind. He was a bit worried that Arne might have seen the other vision when he made the connection to Gulf.


    Wynn had never heard of anyone experiencing something like he did. Of course, there were stories of heroes that had supernatural abilities like being able to portent the future. This did not feel heroic. It did not feel good. The Source was something that everyone had a connection to. Wynn had been around its workings his whole life. He had seen water being shaped to fit different tasks. Just because someone could touch the Source or manipulate it, this did not guarantee entry into an Order. There was a volunteer aspect to it. The ritual around how someone enters an Order is almost a secret.


    The silence was starting to kill his patience so Wynn turned to Arne and asked, "Where did you go when I made that strong connection to Gulf?"


    Arne sighed and looked as if he did not want to answer. "Wynn--you need to understand I am bound by rules as part of my Order," said Arne. Arne looked down a bit and then grinned as he spoke, "It might not be apparent to you, but there are politics within each of the Orders. Usually, there is not too much contention but when an individual is discovered that could bring more power to one Order, other Orders tend to want to get involved."


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    This puzzled Wynn for a moment and then he asked, "What do you mean?"


    "When we get to Oramond you will learn more. I am going to introduce you to the Order of Gulf that resides there," said Arne.


    Feeling frustrated about having his question turned away, Wynn focused on walking. The silence grew between them. Arne had always been fairly open to questions, though there were times when he did not seem approachable.


    They both continued to walk in silence as the day warmed and approached the afternoon. Oramond was a two-hour walk downstream from the logging camp. This was primarily one of the reasons that Wynn had selected this job. There always seemed to work and if he didn''t like it, he could always return home. Though he was already just past his twentieth birth year, he still lived with his parents. This was not uncommon. Many young adults took time to practice or make a trade. If you didn''t have an aptitude for wielding the Source, there were plenty of other trades.


    Though he did not like to bring it up and he very rarely admitted it, his parents were of the Order of Ordene. His parents were Peacekeepers. They definitely were Peacekeepers... He did not have a bad relationship with them in particular, but he had butted heads with their expectations multiple times. His parents seem to think that they have a premonition that he will resonate most with the Promise of Ordene.


    Peacekeepers held a central role in society. Oramond was not a large city, more like a town or a village in a lot of ways. Peacekeepers were central enough to attract attention to him as the son of Peacekeepers. This unwanted title had occasionally gotten him into trouble, and out of trouble. It was not always easy making friends when they believed that his parents could read their minds or influence their behavior. Wynn did not believe that his parents could read his minds--though he will admit that they could read people almost well enough to convince him otherwise.


    There was a sharp twang! Thud! Wynn looked down. A cheap shot, but the feathers of an arrow stuck out of him. Something flowed through his veins, burning, and numbing at the same time. He felt the arrow, not believing that it was there. Warmth. Wet warmth filled his shirt. He hit the ground hard with his knees. Arne was yelling at him but he could not hear him. He was waving his hands frantically.


    Three men approached out of the thick brush that accompanied the path along the river. Their clothes looked like they were made from smoked leather, accustomed to patrolling the roads. Thieves were not unheard of in Fenn, but thieves this close to Oramond were almost legend. The ragged men pushed forward towards Arne and Wynn.


    Then Arne did something that he had only heard whispers of. He began to weave the Source directly at the men. Sparkling dragons of water came flying from the river. Their scales and claws glistened like blades. Wynn did not doubt that they would be able to rip through armor and flesh. Arne was not just good, he was a master.


    "This is your last chance to leave," Arne shouted.


    Then men did not respond. One of them quickly began to nock another arrow to the bowstring. Without a word he pulled the string, stretching the bow to its limit, and released it. A dragon flew in an instant and the arrow hit it, cracking and falling to the ground. Arne seemed to focus a bit harder and the other dragon shot out. The dragon bit down on the shoulder of the archer. The archer immediately screamed out in pain. Crimson bled down the front of his jerkin. The dragon did not release. It had attached itself and did not seem to have any other interests.


    Arne looked to the other men. They seemed more confident than simple highwaymen. They had to be something other than thieves. The casual thief would not casually shoot an arrow into a passerby to simply relieve them of their coin purse. One of them began to raise his hands to the sky. Light gathered to the man''s fingertips, and then burst into a flame. Arne needed to finish this fast. He was going to have to personally answer for the deaths of these men. It was no small crime to wield the Source against another human. This man seemed to have a fairly strong connection to Scor. While he wouldn''t likely be an Order member, it was not impossible.


    Arne sent another dragon at the man wielding fire. This dragon went for the man''s legs and wrapped around them. Mid-fall, the man released the fire toward Arne. It soared across the air with rancid smoke billowing out of it. It was roughly the shape of a ball. It grazed the side of Arne leaving a sticky trace of fire on his arm. Yelling and fueled by the pain he relinquished control to the dragons. Their beastlike forms and essences snapped the necks of the two men without remorse.


    Arne finding himself spun around from his encounter with the fireball, desperately oriented himself towards Wynn. The last thief had Wynn by the collar of his shirt and was wielding a dagger towards him. This thief had no intent to rob, he was focused on assassination.


    Wynn found himself staring into the eyes of a man wielding a dagger. He had not imagined himself to ever be at the end of one. His shirt was now wet with his blood. His thoughts felt distant. Suddenly he felt it. A dark brooding feeling enveloped his mind. His skin suddenly felt as if a shadow had passed over him as if the sun was blocked out. The blood on his shirt coalesced into a dagger-like object. It reached out from him and darted straight to the dagger-wielding thief. Wynn closed his eyes and passed out.


    The man began to scream. He dropped Wynn immediately. The shadow-like substance began to spread over the source lines that were on the man''s arms. They began to glow and began to burn with a brilliant light.


    Arne watched as the man was consumed. There was no other word for it. Whatever had come off of Wynn was wrapping around the Source that was contained in this man, and consuming it. Arne watched, breathlessly as the thief dropped and dissolved into ash.

 Chapter 6

    The wind whispered through the gold and silver leaves of the Source tree. Light played with its leaves, twisting and bending them, causing petal-shaped shadows to carpet the cobblestone courtyard. The late afternoon was turning to evening soon and the wind began to hint at a cooler season approaching.


    Seula shivered. She loved sitting out here. She did not love being cold. Wrapping herself a bit tighter in her silver cloak, she huddled back against the tree. Her hair caught on a rough spot of the tree as she settled down pulling her hair. Why was it so hard to get comfortable? Inside, she knew what she was doing. She was procrastinating reading the book that sat on her lap.


    She was the newest member of the Order of Sol. It was only this last spring that she had held her hand against the tree she rested against. To other Orders, the Source Tree was a sacred and vital focal point to the ceremony. To her Order, it was also their home. Her Order craved knowledge and a deeper connection to the spirits and other unseen powers at work in the world. At some point, a member of her Order was finally practical enough to make their dwelling beneath the tree.


    It was a closely guarded secret. The Source Tree did not seem to mind. It had never been voiced otherwise. At least to Seula. She looked at her hands. Silver. Pure silver drew beautiful vines and leaves that traveled up her arms. She felt a bit of joy and remorse when she thought about the day she made her promise. She had left her home without turning back. Making her journey to the Source Tree was an exciting experience. Leaving her home--was not. She had just started to make friends. Adult friends. Which are harder to make for some reason.


    It might have been because she spent a lot of time learning, which for her was mostly a solitary activity. Well solitary from humans at least. Most of that learning did not come from books. In fact, she really did not like reading. Of course, she had to resonate with the one Promise that traditionally really liked reading books... She talked to spirits.


    Talking to spirits made up for most of her disdain for books. They usually were people who had lived in interesting times. Sometimes they were farmers. Sometimes they were great wielders of magic. Then there were sprites. Sprites were believed to be spirits of animals or sometimes humans that bonded with a particular element. They seemed to also attract or serve as a form of raw Source. She had read of individuals who had captured them just to serve as a reliable form of energy. Sometimes they seemed to have a form of sentience. Most were shadows of powerful emotions or thoughts. This made them hard to learn from. Seula--had an extreme talent for it.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    She had learned at a young age that she could both see and feel spirits. At first, it was mostly animals. They mostly communicated leftover basic needs from their lives before. Chickens always felt hungry, and dogs almost always felt lonely. It wasn''t until she was older that she talked to a human. It was her parents. They had died of a disease that swept through the land ten years prior. Healers were baffled. There did not seem to be any relief. Those who caught the disease simply died. Except her.


    There were other survivors of course. Though she hadn''t met many others. She was about 11 when her parents had visited her. They did not offer much advice and words really could not outspeak the grief and sorrow that they expressed. They regretted leaving her alone, and then they were gone. This had left a huge emptiness in her that she could not seem to fill. Seula decided at that moment that she would try to discover where they had gone. There were theories about life and death, but most had not resolved Seula''s deepest questions. Seula sighed and returned her thoughts back to the book. This pursuit of knowledge, unfortunately for her, meant a lot of reading.


    The emptiness that she felt about losing her family was a driving factor in the development of her connection with Sol. Most people who made a connection with Sol had remarkable abilities to retain and share knowledge. It doesn''t seem like the most entertaining use of the Source, but it was essential to society. Members of the Order were embedded into the main cities. They served as guides when matters of information or past knowledge were required.


    "Are you going to sit and mope there all day?" a voice said.


    Seula looked up and snapped out of her blank stare. She didn''t realize how long she had been quietly thinking and staring at the book cover. The woman who stood in front of her had a smirk on her face. Seula felt herself tense up. This was Reine, Seula''s mentor. Rather than being paired with someone older and wiser, she had found that she was paired with someone who had only been in the Order for a year.


    Reine casually walked over closer to Seula and said, "Have you tried opening the book first? It really works wonders when you try to read." She had a smile on her face as if she had just said something incredibly clever.


    "You know thinking is a form of exercising the mind as well," Seula pointed out. "In fact, some find it more useful to think before they speak", Seula said as a smile crept onto her face. She didn''t want to get Reine too riled up. They hadn''t quite developed the student and mentor relationship yet though, Reine had also been busy with her own studies. She seemed to check in from time to time, but a lot of the other mentors seemed to focus on their own pursuits as well.


    "It is about time that you left this place," Reine stated.


    Confusion spread across Seula''s face as she heard this. What does she mean to leave? I just got here.


    Catching the confusion on Seula''s face, Reine grinned and said, "It''s about time for you to do some field work. While this is mostly something an experiment to serve my research interests, I figure it is time for you to enter the real world again. There have been some interesting reports and rumors coming from around Oramond."