Tree Dungeon

by Andrew Karevik

  “No, I don’t want a trickster, send me a great warrior with a weapon. Like one of those big orc hunks who has a broad-axe,” Zepher replied.

  Immix was the only right choice for her escort. He did not think conventionally, his mind was addled, which lent to a unique point of view. If they encountered the strange being, he would be able to learn its ways. If it was violent and seeking to harm them, he would be able to figure some way to overcome the creature. Whatever was before us, I knew, would not simply be slain by a sword. Wit and guile would win the day against this Invader.

  “My words have been spoken. Immix will serve you.”

  Zepher opened her mouth to argue, but I simply pressed an image of the vault to her mind. The sheer number of coins and gems caused her to become silent. Curiously enough, with the empathic link, I could sense her plans for the money. Her own homeland had recently become wracked with poverty, thanks to the depletion of their salt mines. This wealth would allow for her to return home and bring great prosperity to her people. Perhaps she was sharing this information with me so that I would not think her as simply being greedy. Mortals were often embarrassed, I knew, about their lust for treasure. Often, they would try to justify why they wanted such things. This seemed to be an excellent justification.

  As Zepher was brought to the village to prepare for her long journey, I shifted focus to find Immix. It was imperative that he understood the mission at hand. I found him, somehow tied to the back of the Arbiter, hanging upside down as the being simply floated above the market. I had given the Arbiter very specific instructions for handling Immix. First, it should ignore him, no matter what he says, no matter what he does to the Arbiter, including striking it. Second, in any case where Immix was involved, the Arbiter was to rule against the bard. This violated the unbiased nature of the being, but I could not risk the goblin somehow tricking the Arbiter into making him the grand overseer of the shopkeeps.

  “Immix, it has been many seasons since you have been called to leave these halls,” I spoke.

  Immix laughed at those words. “I am routinely banished by the elders each afternoon and forgiven each night when I tell a funny joke. But it is true, I have not been out in the world for a great time. My bones have been threatening to leave me and go exploring.”

  “I have a task of the utmost importance, trickster. One that you must do for me, for the good of all of us here.”

  Immix nodded. I was expecting some clever comeback, but I could tell he was a little weary. Or perhaps he was suffering from all the blood rushing to his head due to being upside down for several hours. I continued. “There is an unknown presence in this world. A being with an eye that wishes to break free. I have commissioned a gnome to investigate. You must follow and protect her.”

  “A gnome!” Immix gasped. “Don’t you know that a gnome would hate me?”

  “Is there a creature on this world that does not hate you?” I asked.

  Immix chuckled at that. “Even the mosquitos avoid my blood, for fear of getting my sense of humor inside of them. But sadly, gnomes and goblins are not friends. We are shorter than them and they are jealous of such a thing. So, they curse our names.”

  “Be that as it may, Immix, I fear that this being you are investigating may at some point threaten her. I have many warriors, many fighters and brave orcs to call upon should I need them. But none of them are as capable of dealing with this threat as you.”

  “After all these years, you finally realize that name calling is far deadlier than the sword!” Immix said, smiling wryly. His eyes narrowed. “But I know of this eye you speak. An unknown thing, from an unknown place. It’s a riddle without an answer.”

  “Have you seen it?”

  “Only in my dreams. I like to slip out of this old skull from time to time and walk across the Ethereal Mass of Sleep, to check what other dreamers are dreaming. Sometimes I like to enter Ehdrid’s dreams and pretend to be his father, instructing him to leave all of his material wealth to a fat squirrel in the woods. But one night, as I traversed to find a hapless adventurer to whisper sweet lies to, I saw a shape, pressed firmly between the Ethereal Realm and the Material.”

  It was rare to hear Immix speak so coherently for so long. But there was an expression upon his face that I had never seen before. Concern.

  “Ah yes, and that strange shape was like a yolk of a chicken, but inside was not a bird but a fiend. Not a devil or a god, and certainly not a goblin. But it saw me, and I saw it. It tried to press its way out of the yolk, barking and shrieking, hungry for a taste of my left ear for certain. But it was trapped. Stuck.”

  “And how many times have you seen it?”

  “Not it! Them!” Immix clarified. “For I ran away like a good numbskull the first time. But the next night, I slipped out of my head again to check on the yolk. And I saw thousands.”

  “Thousands?” I asked. “You are not lying to me, are you?” But then again, he was tied to the being that would cause immense agony should the trickster be lying.

  “I speak only the truth to you, Great Tree! There were thousands of those strange things, with eyes awaiting. But they were farther up than the one I had met up close. They were high above, but descending, slowly.”

  “Do you know what they are?”

  “They are…the souls of chickens that we have eaten! Returning for their cruel revenge for enjoying our eggs with salt and pepper!” Immix shouted before he began to convulse from the pain wave emitted from the lantern. “Or at least that was my guess,” he groaned. “But they are coming.”

  “Then you understand we must learn about this,” I told him. “Aid the gnome, keep her alive no matter the danger.”

  “And Immix gets what for his brave sacrifice of having to stand next to a gnome for a few weeks?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  “I shall find a fat squirrel and teach it to talk on your behalf,” I said.

  Immix laughed at that but narrowed his eyes. “You have great respect for me and my ways, you truly do. But I do not wish such a thing. I am growing older, wiser. The trickster always lies and japes, but he grows more important to the goblin tribe as he ages. I wish for you to grant me the one thing that will help this tribe more than anything. Make me a child again, so I may neglect my responsibilities and eat cabbages till noon.”

  “Your tone had me worried for a moment there, Immix. I feared you were growing serious.”

  Chapter 29

  My attention was divided sharply. I still had preparations to make for creating the new realm for the orcs, but Immix’s revelation was disconcerting. Thousands of these beings? But they were visible on the Ethereal Plane. I consulted with Ehdrid to find out more about the nature of the planes.

  The way the shaman explained, the Ethereal Plane was the underlying magical realm that was layered atop the real world. This plane was composed of raw energy and didn’t do much other than simply exist. Wizards had discovered a way to draw power from this plane, using this energy they referred to as arcane magic. Dreams existed in the ethereal plane, as did the messengers of the gods who would traverse through it unfettered. Mass and matter did not exist in the plane, so one could travel through any physical obstacle if they so wished.

  This wasn’t to say there weren’t barriers within the plane. The collection of magic energy made it extremely hard to traverse without the use of divine or arcane spells. A nonmagical entity would struggle greatly to break out of the Ethereal Plane, if for some reason it was trapped inside. But the only way a being could enter the Ethereal Plane was if it had used magic to get there.

  I asked Ehdrid if he could see through the plane and look for the creatures, but Ehdrid was unable to do so. He had the sight and the power to traverse, but the realm was vast, almost unending. Travel and navigation through the plane were not as simple as I had believed. Without knowing the route Immix had taken, Ehdrid would not be able to find them.

  As it turned out, one of the roles of
a trickster was to be the guardian of a tribe’s dreams. If a spirit vexed a member of the tribe, giving them nightmares and horrors, the trickster would slide out of his skin and walk through the Mass of Sleep. This place was an unending location in the Ethereal realm, as infinite as a dream itself. The trickster would enter the troubled being’s dreams and trick the spirit into leaving him alone, often stranding the monster in the Mass—where it would never find its way to the mortal realm again. A trickster alone could traverse the Mass; since they never knew where they were going, they couldn’t get lost.

  Some wizards had learned methods of traveling through the Mass, but to find a specific location would be near impossible. As Ehdrid explained, it would be like finding a single drop of water in an ocean. Since we couldn’t tell where those Invaders were, we also wouldn’t know where they were going.

  What were these things? I had taken to calling them Invaders for the time being, as they seemed to be invading from somewhere. But were they intelligent? The only sign of their intention seemed to be violent, as Zepher, Immix and the poor priestess who was consumed all had witnessed firsthand a single creature’s desire to attack. I was growing more concerned with each passing day. I hoped that Zepher would get the answers I needed.

  But alas, I could not act with what little information I had. I needed to turn my attention to the creation of New Orcsamar. The delegates of the eight tribes arrived by the beginning of winter, as they had been instructed. I was surprised to see so many orcs in each delegate’s party. There were almost three hundred orcs, all meant to support and assist the champion in his efforts.

  They all camped outside in the clearing, having services in the morning before the chosen orc would depart on his quest. The services were interesting. They couldn’t have been religious, since the orcs didn’t have gods to serve anymore. But one by one, important members of a delegate’s party would stand at a podium and speak. Many were weeping and cheering. Eventually, Gariatha would explain to me that these were funerals for the champions. Since these orcs were going to the Third Level in the hopes of finding a warrior’s death, they decided to have the funeral while they were still living, so they could say goodbye to the family and friends they had made.

  One of the restrictions to creating a realm for the afterlife was that mortals could not ever enter that realm. Moving into an afterlife would instantly sever the soul from the body, tearing it out and trapping the spirit into the realm, until the guardian chose to release it. This was the greatest type of divine magic; no ward or charm could be done to stop the process. Magic could be used to contact the dead, but mortals would not be able to enter the afterlife to visit their loved ones, even if there was access to that realm in the material plane.

  It was touching to see these elder orcs say their goodbyes. I began to reflect on the designs of the traps and felt more pleased with my decision to build them. They would give these brave warriors the proper death that would lead to a glorious afterlife. This was a triumph for all of us. Together, the orcs and I would form a great new era.

  The trials went as I expected. Only one orc made it past the second room. The traps were too powerful for them and they were overtaken. I was careful to catch each soul as it departed, holding it for a time. The raw strength of these champions’ spirit was unbelievably strong. They were hard to hold onto, but I had to wait until I accumulated enough of them to lay down the foundation for the new realm. I also felt some other force pulling them away, perhaps a divine entity that was meant to usher them to their respective afterlives. But I was prepared for this. My power was enough to hold each soul until the time was right.

  Sixteen champions had arrived, sixteen champions had died. And with the last soul, I was able to finally expand my power, creating a new realm on one of my branches. From the outside, the realm appeared as a swirling portal, leading into another world. But on the inside? It was a vast, expansive plain, full of dangerous monsters to hunt. There was a great hall, similar to Valhalla, where the dead would arrive to be initiated. The Einherjar would be granted the honor of hunting out in those fields, slaying monsters and returning with bounties of the greatest of meats.

  Those orcs who died outside of the dungeon would be drawn to me, although it would take some time for them to reach New Orcsamar. The more souls I acquired, however, the more range I would have. There were discussions of ways to expedite the process amongst the orcs, but that was of their concern. I had no part of their decision making, nor did I want to. My own concerns were to watch over New Orcsamar and ensure it continued to grow.

  The sixteen Einherjar were thrilled with their new world. Without me asking, they immediately began to declare their own roles within the afterlife. Some wished to be builders, creating mighty halls for the dead to enjoy, while others sought to recreate the dungeons they had wandered in their youth, for others to explore. They would govern themselves. It was not my purpose to play god to them. Eventually, they would raise a new deity and he would be given control of the realm. But for now, the Bravelords, as they called themselves, would handle everything.

  More orcs would arrive to the dungeon, many of them unaffiliated with any of the major tribes. They had heard the tale of a chance to become the leader of a unified orc state and decided that they would risk everything for that honor. These orcs were heartier than the champions, as a tribeless orc had to only rely on themselves for most of their life. The tribal champions had given up a large chapter of their life to focus on domestic issues, but the tribeless ones—known as the Everwandering—had never felt the call to go back home. They stayed out in the world and grew stronger and stronger.

  To my surprise, a great many of them managed to make their way through the third level. Fifteen of the Everwandering passed through the trial. One orc in particular was stunning in his power. I watched him catch the wall with one arm and shove it back into its place as if it were nothing. Countless died, of course, but for every hundred Everwandering who entered, one would leave unscathed. The rest would become members of the elite guard of the Bravelords.

  I was expecting to see a scandal from the sheer number of winners. They would no doubt be clamoring to become the new leader of the state, and the tribes would not be happy with following a tribeless orc. But the case was always the same: the champion would overcome the final challenge, be awarded with the bronze crown that gave them the right to claim candidacy for leadership, and then they would cast the crown at the feet of the elder orcs. They did not want leadership, I realized, but rather they wanted the honor of being a candidate. Once this feat was achieved, the Everwandering would go on their journey, continuing to search for new challenges. The state was not their interest.

  Chapter 30

  One evening, as I was busy gathering more energy to expand the range of New Orcsamar, I began to hear a soft murmur. A group of people were talking, with great concern. There was anger in their words, and I could hear the distinctive voice of a woman, a woman I had heard before. It was late at night and there were no mortals around me arguing, but the voices grew louder and louder. What was happening?

  My consciousness lifted, higher than it ever had as if it were being pulled somewhere. I remained away of my body and all that was happening within, but my vision changed entirely. I could not see my home, but instead saw an ornate golden room, full of books. Sixteen men and women were gathered around a large table, with an image of my own body floating above it. I did not recognize most of these people, but I could recognize Agara instantly.

  She was the largest of the gods, perhaps because she was standing at the table, and her divine energy was pulsing with a rage. Other gods looked unhappy as well. One god, who had a human shape, with a dagger stuck in his eye, was grumbling something.

  “I told you all the Stranger would be a problem, but you didn’t listen, did you?”

  “Usurpation!” shrieked a tiny little woman. She was a fairy of sorts, but her body was made mostly of moss and light. “Taking
what does not belong!”

  Gannix was also in the room, sitting at the table, a book open. It appeared he was taking attendance. He looked up at the air, as if he could perceive me.

  “They can’t see you unless you speak. Keep your peace, lest you reveal my loyalties to you.”

  I said nothing and merely observed the meeting of the gods.

  “We have a problem,” Agara said.

  “Care to fill those of us who don’t spend every waking moment wringing our hands about power in about all of this?” asked another god. He was clearly a dwarf, with a long beard made out of brass pipes. A little blast of steam would burst from his beard every few seconds. He appeared to be whittling a little ship out of wood.

  “Of course. I have called this meeting of my allies to speak about a possible divine enemy,” Agara said, gesturing to the tree.

  “Your allies, perhaps,” the Mossfairy said as she thrust a finger at Gannix. “But that bastard is no ally of mine!”

  “Calm yourself, Eflora,” Agara said. “Put aside your petty squabbles and hear me out. This entity calls itself the World Tree. It is a powerful being, but up until recently, has been content to simply create a dungeon within itself.”

  Another woman sitting at the table, one whose hair was made of white mist, let out a sigh. “This creature has figured out a way to create a new divine realm. An afterlife.”

  This caused all beings except for Gannix to cease their idle actions and look at the Mistmother. Gannix merely took notes.

  “It is true,” Agara echoed. “The World Tree, as the creature likes to call itself, is now actively retrieving the souls of orcs who die within its walls. I have foreseen the threads of this future. If the World Tree is not stopped, the realm will expand to hold all of orckind. This will allow them to raise a new god.”