《The Grove Hospes》 1 Wheels Wheels
Don¡¯t Fear (the Darkness) When the world was young, there was no word for magic. Those came later. But there it was, without a name, and it was something unexplained, something that gave emotion and thought the power to move mountains and bring down stars. There was plenty of it then. And those who could think and harness it did move mountains and stars. They were plenty then, too. Much was lost in time in between, but never the name: gods. But then the world cooled and hardened, and the mountains and stars did not listen nor budge to even the greatest thought. ¡°Listen to us!¡± the gods demanded, but the world shook its head, ¡°So, it is such.¡± Away they went, and they took it with them. So left the colours and songs. And without them, everything slowed down to grey and quiet, and even the mountains grew lonely, so they asked for those who could harness it again. Just¡­ not as well as those silly gods. And soon the world grew around them once more, and the little folk gave them names and clambered everywhere, but it was all right. They were fond of the little replicas, even if their capacity for it was an insult to those before. One such mountain the little folk named the Carrhan, and it was indeed fond of them, as far as mountains went. Around its footfalls sprouted a forest. It was green and brown, greener still beyond the touch of light, and only there the crickets fluttered and the leaves leapt. At the heart of it all lied a clearing. It was occupied by a sleeping body ¨C humanoid, but with skin made of bark and the flowing hair of leaves. It thrashed to the side. Then, it whimpered, and light reflected off a ring: a curled root of a tree long gone. Another gasp. The ring disappeared into its hand. The dryad was cold, and the forest winds colder. A smaller dryad appeared before him, kneeled, then placed a hand on the forehead of the dreamer. The mountain watched. ¡°Wake, dear Lepius. It¡¯s only a nightmare.¡±
Lepius It was definitely not just a nightmare. Lepius didn¡¯t know where he was. Everything was a swirl of memories and places, those he had been to, moments he had experienced, and some he did not recognize at all, yet he was not falling through the swirl, but standing up. Stable. He breathed in slow, and prayed everything would remain so. But the swirl was already shrinking. Behind him snarled a darkness. It surrounded him and narrowed his path, mercilessly directing him to a single spot in that swirl, a spot so lush with mana his hair stood on end and bile rose to his throat. It was calling him, calling for entertainment. Calling for an audience. Around him he could imagine the things beyond his imagination that lived in this dark nowhere, gazing down at him with those hungry eyes and sharp teeth. Again, the darkness crept onwards. The spot was beaming with light, and how warm it was. A bitter taste in his mouth steered him forward, more so than the beating of his heart when he glanced back to the dark. Somewhere within him there was a voice speaking. It said, ¡°Yes, yes, keep walking, my boy,¡± and he stepped in time with it, but there was also his gut, which was wrenching him backwards, to the dark, even if he did not know what laid inside. It was better than the light. His feet touched the glowing edge. Now it was just him, this light, and the tide of darkness only held back by the mana, so dense and firm it was almost solid before his touch. It was a pulsing, warm being. He did not know which mana this represented, duty, or honour, or home, or whichever emotion or thought all magic took form of. Then the answer came to him as the light warped, spilling out rot. No. He fell to his knees. The mana of healing. Not¡­ not my mana, please do not let it be. And now there was a cruel, mocking laugh from the darkness outside, amplified by the voice of thousands, as if the void itself found amusement in his despair. He channelled his last gasps into a shout to drive them back: ¡°No! It isn¡¯t true!¡± But nothing came out. He had no voice here, not here in front and behind the emptiness so overflowing with monsters.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. He stared into the darkness. All the emotions and mana spilling from him brooked no pause in their laughing, and they only seemed to grin and inch closer. Closer to his rotting light. Closer to the meagre warmth it could give off, and as the abyss ate up the inches between them, his heart pumped blood in every rhythm to the mouth he couldn¡¯t speak from. No¡­ it is not true¡­ this isn¡¯t my mana¡­ The voice giggling in his head said, ¡°But you know it¡¯s true. You killed that man, tore him to little pieces of flesh and you loved it, you did.¡± Then it laughed, and the abyss returned it hundredfold. ¡°You still name yourself a healer, you murderer?¡± it asked, and the darkness gasped as if they were watching the climax of a play, ¡°You killer, you monster, you defiler-¡± ¡°Ah, don¡¯t break him yet. I have yet to play.¡± A sentence spoken aloud? It must be, and what a voice it was that delivered it, enchanted like spellcraft given speech, neither male nor female. It put the little one in his head to shame. And once the words were spoken, the darkness calmed, and to his wide eyes it was like a rainstorm, quelled into the blue sky as far as the eye could see. He was shivering now. ¡°My toys are ever so fragile. But they are so fun to play with, even when broken. It¡¯s been so long¡­ you must forgive me if I have broken a few already.¡± Silence. Only after a breath did he manage to look up. There were a pair of eyes in the dark. Had he seen them before? A part of his mind screamed and asked him how he could ever forget if he had, those gleaming, delighted eyes resembling the sun ¨C too bright to look at, yet holding in some primordial darkness he did not want to imagine. They crinkled at the corners as their eyes met. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve broken already? Shame. I thought the mana I added might¡¯ve¡­ fixed you.¡± The mana it added? Does that mean¡­ he swallowed down a whimper and forced his mind to say it ¨C the words too thick in his mouth. You put this voice in my head? Who are you? And the eyes twinkled even brighter if they could. ¡°Why, yes. Did you enjoy it?¡± It did not answer his second question. Enjoy it? Enjoy it? It was returning to him now, his broken memories, and there it was: the gold-plated human, lying face down and hidden by armour, yet not hidden well enough to hide what he knew was inside, the bubbling flesh and acid. Now the bile came again, but then he could not open his mouth, and so it filled the place between his brain and neck, drowning him. ¡°Toys don¡¯t make messes, hmm?¡± Please¡­ please, and somewhere far away he was crying, make it end, make it stop, please¡­ ¡°Hmm, how about¡­¡±
Where was he? What was he doing here? For a moment he could not remember. Then, he smiled, because where else would it be but the stage of his life¡¯s play? Beyond the hill he was standing on was his village, and what a sight it was: bubbling creeks that divided groves where dryads lived, wildflowers blooming even in the shade of the west hill, and there, as always, was his home. How beautiful. An oak grove. His mana pricked him, telling something was deathly wrong, about the darkness and the eyes. What eyes? The only eyes here are the ones that belong to those I love. He set off at a stroll. It took him no time to reach his grove, and everyone was there: Mother, Father, his sister Andura, and the grove¡¯s tender, Rosemary. His heart swelled, and tears pricked at his eyes. Mother was covering up her giggles at one of Father¡¯s carvings while he pouted, Andura was blabbing on and on about her date to a teasing Rosemary, and he knew he¡¯d fit right in the frame with them, arm slung around his sister. Strange, there wasn¡¯t a chair set for him. There always was. He opened the door and stepped in, and with a chill the room silenced. All those eyes turned to look his way, but not at him. His mother said, ¡°The door opened by itself. How peculiar.¡± What? And then he touched his mouth, and found nothing there, and his mana screamed at him, louder than it had before ¨C ¡°What are you doing here?¡± He ignored it, deaf with the questions. Mother! Father! Why can¡¯t you hear me? Father¡¯s voice was the same teasing tone he had always known, yet he said, ¡°Oh, my sweet eldest child¡­ Andura, could you go close it?¡± Andura¡­ is my younger sister. His mind was racing, and his body trembled with the unspoken conclusion: that his life was a lie, that nothing about him was true and he was some floating apparition with no identity and no sense of self and- His mana punched him. ¡°You are Lepius, you fool! Wake up!¡± It all returned to him. He fell onto his knees with the knowledge of it all, of the darkness, the giggling voices and the shining eyes. It called out from above. ¡°Oh, that was fast! Hmm, how about¡­ this time, your family dying in front of you? That might be fun!¡± His world dissolved.
He found himself on the hill overlooking all he knew. Once more, he smiled as he took in the sight. What a lovely sight his village was, and there, as always, was his home. How beautiful. An oak grove. He made his way towards it.
a second, and a million years later Again and again, he reappeared upon that hill. Then again. There it was, untouched as he knew it, until the laughing, delighted darkness above him defiled, destroyed¡­ perverted all he lived for. Then, without fail, it would toss him back on the hill. And he would have to watch it all and break through the cage again with his tears, only to find there was a larger one around him, and then another, and on and on¡­ He might have been trapped forever. But his mana was always with him, and it shined brighter. With every blow dealt to him, with every sight of his family torn to sap and bark, it gripped him harder, its voice harsher. ¡°Look around you. Does this feel real?¡± The more times he broke, the more his mana told him, and the pieces were coming together, slowly but surely. It must¡¯ve been a thousand thousand iterations. It must¡¯ve been millions of years watching his family torn apart or killed or burned, but with every cycle the illusions grew paler, and sometimes he could see through the transparency of all the crafted bark, through to the darkness grinning beyond. And finally, he stood still as the hill reappeared. All of it was with him now, the memories, the life he led and was sure of, and the deafening presence of his mana - the mana of healing - responding to the dryad it came from. And he laughed at those eyes. He knew now that there was no taint in his mana, that the sickly little voice in him was just a foreigner he¡¯d dispel, that the darkness beyond was something too weak to torment him in the real sunlight, and only here did they hold power. He glowed bright, brighter than the sun. The radiance swelled beyond what the darkness could keep caged, and as he focused, a needle of warm light began piercing through the veil between reality and dreams. The voice from the dark sighed, ¡°Well, it was getting boring anyways. I¡¯ll come to visit you sometime else, my toy.¡± He could finally put his words to order now, and let the mana around him, warm and illumining, do the rest. ¡°One day I will tear you from me and heal the world of you, you wretched thing!¡± Before reality came crashing down, he heard laughter.
The mountain continued watching. Above the sleeping figure, the sky was bright and blue. Swirling around the trees were the leaves of summer, carried along by the wind. There was a great rumbling voice, and it was as if the earth underneath had started speaking, for the trees and rocks leant back to avoid it, the clouds overhead scattered, and the leaves fled to where the wind could not reach them. The dreamer¡¯s eyes flew open. 2 Those Hours Before Those Hours Before
The Village Inside a forest and at a time there stood a village, and it was, as all villages were, a cozy thing. The people living in the village were known to themselves as dryads, and they were a peculiar folk. They had skin made from tree-bark, sap through their veins, and the flowing hair of leaves. It was no surprise then, that those who passed the village by would often call them ¡°tree-people¡± before dryad, and by nature of their peculiarity and nature itself, they would take little offense and in fact say, ¡°Yes, indeed. But we prefer dryad, and thank you.¡± Maybe they were a little polite and simple for their own good, but they were a peculiar folk, and for those from the outside, to be polite and simple was to be very strange, indeed. And that was the people. But a village was more than people ¨C it was their homes, too. Throughout the village stood the groves where dryads lived, and within each was a family and a tender. There was one grove at the boundary of the forest. It was scaled with oak, and short and stumpy, for it only held within it five souls, and dryads were not the ostentatious type to build more than they needed. They were a family of four and one ¨C Mother, Father, Andura, the youngest, and Lepius, the eldest. And there was Rosemary, the tender of the grove.
five hours before his awakening Andura Today, it was the day of love, and she would shout it from the roofs to her face of her beloved. But first, presentation. Her eyes roved over herself and she nodded, before frowning and adjusting her ring. It was always the ring. The mirror reflected back to her a familiar face ¨C a birch tree¡¯s bark inlaid with two eyes, a nose, lips ¨C only the same, plain dryad. Curse it all. At least her hair, her autumn leaves, had deigned to act proper today. She adjusted her ring again, before striding about to give her legs something to do rather than jig. ¡°Be at ease, Dura. You look halfway decent.¡± She flung her comb at the speaker, and the grinning dryad caught it, then twirled it in a hand. What irked her was how he lounged. Was he not aware of the sheer scale of this day? The sanctity? ¡°Quiet. Give back, now.¡± He tossed away the comb, and it spun to a stop in the far corner of her room. Andura stared at it for as long as patience allowed her, calculating whether a punch or a kick would deliver the most damage to a male dryad. She decided on a slap. ¡°Ow! Okay, okay, I¡¯ll get it. Eldertrees, here.¡± She kicked him too, for good measure. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± ¡°Other than being cursed with a buffoon instead of an older brother? Having the buffoon in your room, probably.¡± ¡°Well, you know. Buffoons make for good decoration.¡± ¡°This is not funny, Lepius. This is the day of love. This is... this is Yurth. This is big. Big big.¡± Lepius smirked, ¡°Indeed. He is of monumental size.¡± Her hands shot for more ammunition while he marched onwards, ¡°Listen. He¡¯s mad for you. And take your fingers off that ring, Mother calls it a bad habit.¡± ¡°Sprouts¡­ it is, isn¡¯t it?¡± Then, she sighed and proceeded to collapse onto her cot, and by virtue of his buffoonery, him too. He let out a noise of pain. But she made no indication to move, for she was holding her hand up to her forehead, checking to see if she was heating up. Maybe¡­ just a little. He snorted at what he would call her ¡®drama-acting¡¯, but his arms came up around her anyways, then tightened across her back, as if to trap her within him. After a while, he let her go. She began asking something, paused mid-way, and quietly repeated it. ¡°Can you tell me that again?¡± He untied a knot of yellowed leaves she had missed. ¡°Yurth is mad for you. All will be well, sister.¡±
Lepius He slipped out of the room before he could lose control. If he did, she would be swaddled in bed, asleep after a calming tonic, and then she would kill him the next day. In the kitchen, Mother was pounding elderberries into paste. Her mana swirled around her and then across the room, and how wonderful it smelled, all cheeses and sandalwood. When he stepped into the storm, it called out to him. He could just about squint out the mana-visions her presence summoned: his father, banging on the table and laughing as Andura told him about the date, him and Rosemary exchanging grins, and his mother, smiling, a beacon of light in the middle of it all. The mana of family. The visions all faded away after she switched her focus to him. ¡°Why won¡¯t you ever braid your hair properly?¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. She muscled him into a chair and straightened up his leaves. He blinked, and a plate of bread and elderberries topped with cheese now sat before him. Truly the magic of mothers. He took a big bite. ¡°You should be up earlier. Aren¡¯t you supposed to be training in the temple today?¡± ¡°It¡¯s my day off. I want to spend it teasing Dura.¡± His mother sighed the sigh she reserved just for him. ¡°You¡¯re a healer. You¡¯re supposed to make people feel better.¡± ¡°It¡¯s called negative reinforcement, and-¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what it means.¡± ¡°-and okay, even if it doesn¡¯t, are you going to stop me?¡± ¡°¡­ you¡¯re just lucky I¡¯m playful by nature.¡± He gave her his most innocent look before a burly arm draped itself across him. His father said, ¡°Oh, let the poor boy be, Mother. Remember him at my age?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I could forget, Father. How dashing you were.¡± Yep, time for me to leave. He kicked his father¡¯s leg, getting a roar of challenge out of him, and dashed out of the front door. Ah, Rosemary was there. Rosemary was the tender of his family¡¯s grove. Every grove had a tender, a spirit halfway ancient magic and halfway real, and that magic was always the mana of home. Each tender was unique, too. For his grove, Rosemary was short, stumpy, scaled with oak, and had a riot of colours for hair. The way Father had built the grove. And as long as they called it home, her form wouldn¡¯t change, not since the first oaken trees twisted to wall it up and his mother painted the branches overhead in every shade of summer. ¡°Is Andura still-¡± He was already smirking. ¡°Yes, indeed. Should we place bets on whether she cries before or after the date?¡± Rosemary stomped her feet, ¡°How dare you. You should be consoling her before her big day.¡± ¡°Big day?¡± He waggled his eyebrows at her for a bit. Then they both dissolved into covered giggles, and Rosemary said through her hands, ¡°Stop it.¡± ¡°The bet, or the big-¡± ¡°Finish that, and I¡¯ll whoop you. I¡¯ll bet she cries before. Winner gets to¡­¡± ¡°Say ¡®I told you so¡¯?¡± She scuffed some dirt at him as he bounded away, laughing, ¡°Are you off then, my dear?¡± ¡°Yeah. I might meet up with some friends later. D¡¯you mind if I bring them over?¡± For a second her face twisted into something, the same something it did whenever Andura hosted girls¡¯ night. She never told him what it meant. ¡°What¡¯s-¡± ¡°No-¡± They had spoken at the same time. ¡°You go first, my sapling.¡± ¡°Sorry, yeah. Is there something wrong?¡± She shook her head, and her smile was back. ¡°Nothing.¡± ¡°And you were going to say-¡± ¡°To stay safe, my sapling. Now go, with my blessings.¡± He waved and bid farewell.
The grove¡¯s shadow cloaked him as he watched Andura stroll off with Yurth in the sunlight. Oh, by the Eldertrees and the High Priestess he would roll his eyes ¨C his sister was hopping, the madwoman. Even their arms were intertwined. Father would have waxed poetic about it, about tree roots tied and eternity, probably even carve it into one of his murals, and would that be a bet he hoped to lose. He almost lost his nerve to let his sister walk off. But then he tendered his gaze on Yurth. He nodded. Despite whatever was churning inside him, whatever brotherly instinct demanded of him, he knew it would be alright. ¡°Hey! You planning murder?¡± Lepius smirked and he turned his gaze away from the couple. A loud dryad wielding a basket was making his way over, and they wasted no time in clasping arms. ¡°It¡¯s not murder if no one finds out.¡± ¡°Of course. Then it¡¯s just a happy little accident,¡± and he turned to watch as well, ¡°they look cute.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t even¡­ start. If he breaks my sister¡¯s heart¡­ anyway, let me guess, you need a foraging expert?¡± ¡°Only call on the best.¡± Lepius slung an arm over the shorter dryad, then grabbed the basket from him. There was some smacking and punching before Lepius yielded, mostly to turn and look back, but his sister had already vanished.
The Village (Again) The village he lived in didn¡¯t have a name. Yes, he would come to know that as strange. But then again, this was his world. Do people have a name for their world? Sometimes. Traders passed by and called their greater world Panacea, but that was silly. A world took to a name as well as a mountain took to a dress. And it was so easily offended, why¡­ you were just one silly name from a thunderstorm. How petty a world could be to those who could dream beyond it. So his world had no name. It was indeed a strange place, but then again, all pretty places were peculiar. There were a hundred little streams and a grove for each one, and each grove stood unique; some bore carvings on the outer trunks; some walled with alternating trees, pine and oak, and pine again. A forest bordered the village on its east, and rising hills on its left. All in all, it was a village of nature. Whenever outsiders came to the village they would say with unerring precision: ¡°What a paradise!¡± and the dryads would nod and look about as if to command applause. This was a paradise, thank you. And there were plenty of outsiders, too: nakhs and equine and elves, and most of all the humans. And the outsiders themselves weren¡¯t always the most interesting things. For when they came, they brought with them their goods from the outside. Treasures. There was bronze forged into circles, yellow metal that shined, and colourful rocks that were bright in sunlight and the dark. So many rare artefacts. His people would barter for these treasures, but rarely would they strike any deal, for the outsiders always deemed whatever carving in wood or rock the dryads offered to be a pittance. They would laugh, put the artefacts away, and hide their sharp iron and copper. There was no need to use them, not in this land of sticks and stones. And they would leave, and never return. Sometimes they did, and they appeared as they did the first time, confused. And they would laugh again, and ask what clever magics his people used, to know their names and stories so. They had never been here before, after all. His village had a way of doing that ¨C making people forget. Thus, it always lost its name. It was peculiar that way. It was not like this forever, his village trapped in time. The day was sunny and mundane, even in mundanity, had the world not tilted sideways. But that day the world found its pettiness. That day he left his sister on the arm of a weaverdryad. That day he went to forage with Nurma.
He was picking snowberries. Half went into the basket, half into his mouth. His eyes drifted over the foliage, and he bent down to examine a particularly juicy bush, but he stood right back up after he heard a cry behind him. ¡°Eldertree¡¯s roots! Pesky thorns.¡± He examined the cut. It was not big, but the sap was still flowing, and there was no need to risk infection, not with him rested and his wellspring full. His second hand came to rest on the cut. ¡°It¡¯s nothing, Lepius. No need to waste mana.¡± ¡°Shut up.¡± He held it tight as the world warped into imagination. Mana. Just like the High Priestess taught him. Understand your concept, or feel your emotion. Gather the WILL. FOCUS it. Think of nothing else. Use your CREATIVITY to form mana-constructs, or direct pure mana. As he refocused, the world stretched and narrowed into the point of a needle. And inside it, he dreamt. He dreamt of the warmth of the sun at home, the relief of an injury healed, and the fading ache of a treated sore. He dreamt of magic. When he released the hand, the cut had scabbed and fallen off to reveal unblemished bark. Lepius was breathing hard. There was also a headache introducing itself, but all in all, it was a fair price to pay for to the warm feeling bubbling inside him. ¡°You should not have ¨C ugh, thank you. Stupid sharpberry shrubs.¡± Nurma helped him up, ¡°I can see the headache in that smile. Go and lie down. I will follow up, I just need to pick a few more.¡± Lepius nodded and waved. Above, the sun was warm and bright, and below, the leaves were heavy and brown, and they masked his footfalls. A cool wind pushed at his bark and played with the leaves in his hair, and even from here he could hear the music from the central grove, masked by the blubbering of a stream nearby. He heard Nurma cry again, and chuckled. ¡°Again? Don¡¯t make me come and heal you a second time, you sapling.¡± There was no response, and so Lepius shrugged. He would heal him when he returned. He never saw Nurma again.
(Here Ends) The Village Inside a forest and at a time there stood a village, and it was, as all villages were, a cozy thing. As Lepius would come to learn, that forest was called the Carralan. As Lepius would come to remember, that time was the 14th Linval 432 A.S. And at that place and time, the village was soon not so cozy anymore. 3 That Moment That Moment
The Spirit Rosemary was a spirit. Yes, she was a manifestation of mana, and yes, she took the form of the grove that had summoned her. If the grove was oak, she was oak. If it was tall, so was she. And if the grove had a thousand little branches at the top and none at the bottom¡­ my, would she have a case of rat¡¯s hair in the mornings. And she did. But no one really knew how groves and their tenders worked. It¡­ just was. Like how things fell to the ground when you dropped them, or how the sky was blue at day and black at night. It was a statement with a full stop. There were no question marks, not even for the spirits themselves, for contemplating your own existence was a trait shared by all that were intelligent, not just spirits. Rosemary didn¡¯t like to think of it much, either. It hurt her brain, then her heart if she kept going. So she thought of other things. She thought of how loud Andura snored whenever there was a big day coming up, or how messy Lepius¡¯ room got when he came home late, or even the butterflies, and how they danced against the walls of her grove. There was always something to think about. But later that morning, all she could think about was one thing. How she wished she had more time.
four hours before his awakening Lepius On his way back from gathering, he made a detour to the storage grove. Now beyond the aegis of the trees, he managed to catch out a stranger within the usual mana about his village, but it was likely nothing but the routine foreigner. It hid itself under the spices and mashed berries as he passed through the agora, returning greetings and poking little saplings as they ran circles around him. Ahead him loomed the storage grove, casting a wide shadow over the market. ¡°Nurma will be back soon. We gathered snowberries and sharpberries and red thyme.¡± The dryad in charge scratched on a piece of paper. ¡°Yes, that''ll do. We may need another errand soon. We don¡¯t have much sunflower oil left after an adventurer passed by and bought most of it.¡± Lepius perked up and tried to hide a smirk, ¡°Those crazy foreigners that apparently fight dragons? What species is he?¡± His eyes flickered to the medical supplies gathered on a shelf. ¡°He called himself a knight. That usually means a friendly, armoured human. Not a bad outsider, all things considered. Quite big, with scary black armour. You might be seeing him around.¡± Funny folk, he thought to himself, to be seeking out danger. The agora was busier than ever. He watched a cawing raven fly up and up, beyond sight, and as he followed it his eyes caught the temple of his people atop the tallest hill, the Sanctum. Maybe if I were at the highest balcony, I might see what the raven was chasing. He hummed, entertaining a second thought. Maybe it was running from something.
And there she was, the princess of the morning. When an exhausted but beaming Andura greeted him at the door, he knew the day could not get better. After all, this was a wonderful avenue of teasing she opened the door to, and he had an arsenal of jokes to turn her cheeks every colour. ¡°Say, was it a redwood dryad Yurth brought back home, or my sister?¡± He got slapped, but it was a gentle one. ¡°I take it went well, Andura? Did he do anything untoward, anything funny?¡± ¡°Oh, it was a dream. He did do funny things, but the good kind of funny.¡± He fell onto a hollowed rock stuffed with leaves. Already the headache was slipping away, and he smiled a brother¡¯s smile as he watched Andura gush and blush. It was a good look on her, he decided. The matter of Nurma and the foraging had long since melted away with the headache. She stopped to breathe in between sentences, eyes bright and wide, and chancing an interruption, Lepius said, ¡°Rosemary! Come look at our blushing maiden!¡± The tender materialized in the living room. Then she smirked, and piled another jest on top of Lepius¡¯: ¡°My, my, sapling. Must I draw you a cold bath?¡± ¡°Rosie!¡± Then Rosemary turned to him, ¡°So, who won the bet?¡± ¡°I think we all did.¡± Andura bowled them over, ¡°Oh, Rosemary! You are so bad! I was so caught up in- never mind, sit, sit. You must listen to this.¡± ¡°I shall.¡± Rosemary sat next to Lepius, ¡°Spill.¡± Lepius was about to remark on something he thought was clever when reality shuddered.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
?!?!?? Below the village, the roots lay dormant. Sleeping, dreaming. Dreaming of things greater than mountains, greater than the stars. When last they woke, the sky and earth were every colour. When last they woke, those that ruled it stood, and oh¡­ when they stood, they soared beyond the clouds and the night sky. But that was long ago, and they had been slumbering. And as they slumbered, they grew outwards, feeding on the soil and sunlight. The tip of one root had passed through the village boundary some time ago. Gathered around it were mages. There were whispers, whispers to coax and wake, and each whisper was a name. ¡°?KX!?DF?¡± ¡°?KX!?DF?¡± ¡°?KX!?DF?¡± Whispers are only whispers. But sometimes, that was just enough for something dreaming for far too long. The root trembled.
Lepius The earth rumbled. Andura screamed and rushed to cling to him as he held onto the rock. Rosemary vanished with a pop. Below his feet the ground undulated like a snaking worm, this way and that, rocking carvings off their stands and commanding tableware to the floor. The leaves above rattled, and sunlight fell onto them. He could do nothing but stutter to a shock, his mind racing but going nowhere, so he held onto the rock and nothing else. What was going on? The ground shoved roots upwards, and then it stopped. As suddenly as it came. Andura¡¯s eyes darted around as she anchored onto Lepius. There was a cold silence for a while, or maybe just a few seconds, the silence of disbelief at a paradise disrupted. Then they heard the screaming. Through the carved opening in the grove, they could see parts of the village ablaze. Fire¡­ both their bodies trembled at the sight of it, so untamed and malicious. He had only returned from the storage grove no more than an hour, and there it was, the outer walls now kindling and the insides blackened. The adjacent grove was already reduced to cinders. Others were belching smoke, and bodies weaved between the flames, carrying pails and dragging away the wounded. Andura opened her mouth and closed it. And then above came the voice of their father, ¡°Andura! Lepius!¡± ¡°Downstairs, Father! What is going on? Was there an explosion?¡± His father clattered down the stairs, holding the staff. It was the family heirloom. Lepius had never seen the artifact away from its mount atop the master bed, never thought of it as anything but decoration. It was not so quick to pass his mind now. The staff seemed bigger than when he had last seen it. Brown roots smothered a branch his father boasted was picked from the remains of a past Eldertree. Crowned at the tip was a blue crystal, and how it glowed and hummed with unnatural light like never before. It was alive with mana. ¡°No. It was also no accident,¡± his father¡¯s voice was low, ¡°Go, quick. To the Sanctum. All the capable mages are gathering to repel the invaders.¡± Andura¡¯s was high, ¡°Invaders? But¡­ what ¨C you¡¯re-¡± His father had her out of the door, legs trembling, without a response. When Lepius held her steady by the shoulders, they too were shaking, and her mana impressed pinpricks of her mind onto his. She was a little ball of panic. He could hear quick breathing and the uneven cries of her heart: help, help, help. It was the second time in a day, but there was no other option, so he pulled the writhing animal into his arms and let his mind soar. Around him, the grass lost its lustre. In his imagination, he pictured a warm cup of spiced tea, with a gentle breeze to waft the smell here and there, and what a scent it was ¨C soothing, warm, red and green thyme. From inside and out, mana poured into his sister, and within seconds, her shivers were already weaker. Her heart slowed. And only after it returned to a steady beat did he let go of her, and fall back in a sprawl on the grass. His eyes were unfocused. The only thing he could do was listen to the shouting from inside the grove. Ah, mother and father¡­ hah, even in an invasion, they found something to bicker over. He lay prone, feeling like a straw sucked through. Another headache, huh? And then something cast a shadow over him. That something filled up the straw, and then the headache ebbed away to a hand on his forehead. Mana flowed back into him. He forced a lungful of air to wash away the stars in his eyes as the something cleared away to reveal Rosemary. She hauled him and a still shaken Andura outside, where waiting for them was springwater bottled in wood, bread and pounded berries, all neatly gathered in satchels. Lepius counted only four. ¡°Rosemary? What about her?¡± His mother emerged from inside with a thatched bag of her own. She tried to push them towards the Sanctum with a smile, ¡°Hush, my saplings. Go, go, quick.¡± ¡°No, what about Rose-¡± Father slammed the door, ¡°Didn¡¯t your mother give you an order?¡± ¡°What, to abandon Rosemary?¡± ¡°That is not what I said, sapling.¡± And at the unspoken conclusion, Andura finally reclaimed her legs and stood firm beside him. She was shaky, but there was iron in her voice. ¡°We are not leaving without her. We grew up with her.¡± A voice came from behind him, and there were no jokes anymore, ¡°I cannot leave my grove. You can. Please leave.¡± ¡°That¡¯s- no, you can, you¡¯re-¡± His father hefted the staff. ¡°We don¡¯t have time, Lepius. Move.¡± ¡°No, we¡¯re not leaving without her-¡± And his father brought low the staff. Lepius fell like a bird with its wings cut. Through his hazy eyes, the world started swimming away from him, and he did not know what stunned him more, the staff, or what his father just did. Far away, he could hear shouting and a sobbing Andura gathering the satchels. Then, there was the vague sensation of being lifted onto a shoulder, and further than that, the world converged to a face that was slowly drifting away, the face he grew up to, the face that smiled for him every time he came home. Rosemary, he thought, are you crying?
She was.
The Spirit (Again) She wished she had more time. More time to spend needling Lepius, or making fun of Andura. How quickly time passed. It was only so long ago when she saw them waving their little arms, their bark so plump on their cheeks. She was young then, young as he was. Pellen and Manon had only built their own grove after Lepius was born, and so she was born with them, too. And now she would die here. Here she was, and there they were, so far away. Had the grove ever been this empty before, without any of the four she loved so much? She couldn¡¯t remember a time that it was, except for those important days like Eldertree Evensong, when the whole village gathered in the Sanctum to pray. It was a holy day, for all children and elders. Today was not Eldertree Evensong, but the village would be gathered there anyways. And here came the reason. The invasion. A pair of hooded mages approached her grove, and to announce them was the smoke from the groves adjacent to hers. Burning, crumbling. She could see the other tenders as ash on the floor. No. No crying, not now. She stood up, oaken spires gathering to life around her. If she were to die, let her die fighting. Maybe she could take one of them down, and even if the number one was only a smidge in the grand calculations, it could still change the final number. Just by four. Her four. That would be enough for her, and all the time she had gave and been given. She breathed into the air, just for them, hoping the wind would take the words for her. ¡°How I¡¯ve loved you all¡­ forever and for ever¡­ so long¡­¡± Why was time so stupid short? Time must hate itself. So dismissive it was to those who wait for it, and so loving it was with those who wished for it to pass on by. ¡°I¡¯ll love you on¡­ till the stars go dark. And the moment they do, I¡¯ll search for you, with all the limbs I don¡¯t have. We¡¯ll find each other. Always, because we¡¯ve all of eternity to search, because even in the dark I¡¯ll know your smile, know your laughter. Then, for the rest of eternity, we¡¯ll smile. We¡¯ll laugh over rainbows and flowers and butterflies that fly into each other. And after eternity passes by we¡¯ll be the next stars, and how I¡¯ll shine for you. What a constellation I¡¯ll be for you. And how people will point out and wonder why the stars are all shining in the shape of a heart¡­ for I won¡¯t have my limbs, but I¡¯ll always be searching, and I¡¯ll always have me and you¡­.¡± The mages pointed at her grove, and gathered their mana. She hummed the tune that got Lepius and Andura to sleep when they were young. ¡°Night falls¡­ and the little saplings go to sleep¡­¡± The first mage threw their fireball. ¡°¡­ but worry not, little dreamers¡­ for the tender watches¡­¡± Over you.