“Papa, come back!”
I’m trying, son! Thoughts of his son made Sarn redouble his efforts, but the black thing pulling Sarn wouldn’t give. He was caught in its undertow. Unlike real water, he couldn’t swim out of this.
Help me, Sarn said to his other magic as he careened through two more walls in succession. But the white magic lodged in his breast just glowed on as if nothing was wrong. Earlier he’d called it forth to help others. But this time, he was the one in need, and it was ignoring him. It figured.
His map sprang up and a red X flashed, but before Sarn could do more than glance at it, Mount Eredren screamed his name, and two stone fists punched out of the next wall. They slammed into Sarn, jarring him out of his incorporeal state, so they could hold on to him.
Pain hammered spikes through every part of Sarn and he convulsed as the world darkened around him. The current pulled, but the mountain refused to let go.
They’re tearing me apart. Everything was growing fuzzy around the edges—all except for Ran’s shouts.
You shall not pass. You belong to us, Rock-Breaker, said the mountain, shaking him to ensure he got the point. Its gravelly voice echoed through the tunnel. We won't fall into darkness. We won’t be bound.
“Bound by who? What are you talking about?” Sarn asked the mountain, but it just repeated:
We won’t be bound.
As those cryptic words died away, Sarn realized he’d traveled the entire length of the Lower Quarters. Spells wove through the rocks, but they were dim points of light accreting as he watched. Beyond that uneven expanse of stone and magic lay the meadow and beyond that, the menhirs and the enchanted forest. This was the outer edge of Mount Eredren, and it refused to allow him past this point.
“Did something happen in the forest? Or to the Queen of All Trees?”
The question recalled the last time he’d seen her. Something had attacked her magical glade. Sarn shook his head to clear it of the too-vivid memory before it could replay, but the question remained. Is my Queen in danger?
He waited, but if Mount Eredren, or his unhelpful magic, heard his question, neither replied.
Something must have gone terribly wrong, but where? Not the Ægeldar, the Queen of All Trees’ shield sealed it off. Tears pricked Sarn’s eyes as the realization hit. There was only one other place trouble could arise—inside the enchanted forest, where the Queen of All Trees dwelled. Five miles from this spot, Shade and an awful lot of innocent people had died the last time something evil rose in the forest.
I must go out there. I must see. Even if it broke his heart because if the trouble was in the enchanted forest, it wouldn’t stay out there. It might already be endangering his son or his brother or both.
“Papa, come back, I'm scared.”
“Let go of me!” Sarn pounded on the stone hand wrapped around his waist, and it crumbled. Before it fell away, another one shot out and almost crushed his spine. It eased off when he cried out from the pain. “Let go of me.” His plea was reduced to a whisper by the stone band compressing his chest.
No, said Mount Eredren, but its grip was loosening.
Invisible currents were leeching away bits of the mountain’s power, and the hands it had manifested were flaking away each time the mountain shook. What’s causing it to disintegrate in slow motion? Not black lumir, no, it can’t be that.
No, shouted the mountain, but its ‘hands’ were cracking. You shall not pass. Mount Eredren’s bellow shook the ceiling, raining down rocks on its captive.
Sarn threw his arms up to shield his head and green rays shot out of his fingers. As they batted away the projectiles, some of their power bled away—stolen by the current flowing out of the mountain. One of the incoming rocks glistened like unkindled lumir. It caught the emerald glow of his eyes as it spun in slow motion, reminding Sarn of the crystal pendant hanging around his neck.
He felt for it, but the rock holding him hostage broke apart and the current swept him through a twenty-foot thick stone wall. Symbols smaller than the pad of his pinky divided into still smaller parts and they in turn subdivided into chains of symbols too small to identify. Bonds held them together as he cleaved through solid stone.
Sister, Priestess
The mountain shook and so did the balcony. The vibrations knocked Inari’s basket off the bench, spilling her tarot cards. They landed face down—all except one. Inari set her book aside not bothering to mark her place. With shaking hands, she flipped over the high priestess card hiding it, but the wind grabbed it and flung the card riverward. Inari chased that damned card to the parapet then froze when her gaze fell on a familiar longship.
No, it can’t be. Her hand flew to her mouth covering it, muffling the scream tearing out of her throat. “Aralore!”
White light blossomed in her peripheral vision. Inari turned, and the High Priestess’ card flew past her cheek, scratching it. Blood welled from the wound as the card landed face up on her booted foot.
The Queen of All Trees regarded Inari from more than a mile away. At a thousand-feet tall, she dwarfed her leafy children by a couple hundred feet, but they didn’t seem to mind.
“My Queen,” Inari curtsied and, in the process, knocked that damned card from her person. The Queen of All Trees’ luminance filled her eyes and her heart, kindling a new fire—one filled not with hurt for the past but determination.
Whatever Aralore’s plans were, they would not include Sarn. She would make sure of that—if Aralore was on that ship. Oh, who am I kidding? Aralore must be on that ship. The cards don’t lie.
Inari picked up the high priestess card and crumpled it, wincing as its sharp corners pierced her hand. She threw the bloody mess into her basket and palmed one of her daggers. She might need an edge where she was going.
With a knife in her hand and determination in her heart, she fled the balcony for the North-South transept and a long overdue confrontation.
Aralore stepped across the second circle of those creepy man-sized menhirs and pivoted. Had someone just called her name? A breeze tugged at an errant lock and her eldest sister’s voice seemed to ride its current. But it couldn’t be.
Inari couldn’t be at Mount Eredren. The very idea was preposterous. There was too much nomad in her sister’s soul. Inari would never settle down here nor even visit. There was nothing here to attract her or any of their relatives, which was why Aralore had chosen it for her test.
No, Inari was out there, following the Wandering Way like all the other lost souls.
Anger boiled under the surface. Don’t worry sister, I’ll save you with fire and brimstone and a knife through the heart. After all, that’s what you deserve. Aralore’s hand dropped from the box to her blade.
Inari, the perfect sister, the best huntress, the bravest woman in their caravan—but I will best you yet, sister-dear. Then you’ll bow to me.
The box wobbled in her one-armed grip forcing Aralore to let go of her blade or risk dropping her precious prize. Behind her, those standing stones vibrated, and she turned. A low throb emanated from the two nearest her. But the sound spread from stone to stone. Like drums sounding in the deep, their hum tapered off as it traveled around its circumference. Silence fell as Aralore stared at them.
What was so special about those rocks? Aralore ran a hand down the nearest stone, which was wider than three of her acolytes standing shoulder to shoulder, and felt nothing—no vibration, no hum. There must be some power in those stones. How else could they be a refuge?
Aralore stared at a woman clothed in silver radiance. On her brow, a crown of interlocking branches held back a cascade of luminous tresses. In her eyes, the stars shined cold and distant. This woman—this Queen—was light and wisdom personified. Like a diamond, she possessed a cold beauty and a sparkling clarity of purpose.
“Who are you?”
“Do not let the abomination cross the standing stones while uncovered.”
In her hands, a white box coalesced. She held it out to Aralore
. Behind this strange woman, the twin rings of menhirs bounding the meadow gleamed like dragon’s teeth.
“Put that vile rock inside it. Break the other spells upon my land if you must but leave the circles intact. Leave this place as the refuge it has always been.”
Her command tugged at Aralore’s hands, moving them like marionettes to the Bitch Plant Queen’s will. I’ll get you for this. There’s nowhere you can hide that I won’t go. This means war between us.
Aralore fought the White Witch’s control but to no avail. The Queen of All Trees’ will bore down on her. Aralore opened the lead-lined box revealing its reflective interior. In went the stone, then the Queen of All Trees forced her to close it.
Time breaks upon my boughs. My roots are twined throughout the ages. Come for me if you wish, but I will stand until the breaking of the world. Nothing you do can change that. The Queen of All Trees turned in a silver swirl. As she processed away, her human shell melted, becoming once again a thousand-foot-tall monstrosity.
“I hate her with all my soul,” Aralore muttered. I will destroy you, Witch Tree.
Aralore squeezed the box she could neither put down nor open until she crossed the second circle of menhirs a mile yonder. The Bitch Plant Queen had bound her to that one goal.
NOW
Aralore shook her head. How could those queer stones be a refuge? It made no sense, but that vile promise wrapped around her like chains, and it yanked her from them. Twelve acolytes followed in her wake. No one spoke, but their excitement was palpable.
Every step away eroded the Bitch Plant Queen’s influence a little more, freeing Aralore. After several miles, she was her own master again. Aralore sighed in relief and opened the box just a crack to give the enchanted trees glaring at her a taste of the cure for magic. Shadows reached out of the box and stabbed the nearest trees. They writhed as they dimmed, collapsing at her feet like the magic-less refuse they were.
“Yes! Yes!” Aralore crowed as she threw the lid onto the ground and reached inside eager to hold her prize up in triumph.
A shock wave slammed into the trees around her toppling them, and they, in turn, knocked down more trees in a wonderful parody of dominos. Aralore laughed at their tortured screams. Trees in the ranks behind her began to draw back, quivering in fear of her.
Yes, yes, yes! Fear me. I am the light-stealer!
Gripping the melon-sized black gem, Aralore lifted it free of its confinement. But it was so cold, her fingers numbed and grayed. Weakness slugged Aralore in the gut. Her legs shook from an inhuman fatigue forcing her to go down on one knee. The crystal fell from her nerveless hands and bounced.
Tenebrous waves crashed over the forest for a quarter-mile around her, stealing all light. Darkness enfolded her in an expanding black sphere that blotted out the sun.
No! This is my moment of triumph. But the stone was drawing something out of her. As the shining cord within her unspooled, Aralore crashed face first into the ground and darkness winnowed away her world. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Preceptor!”
An orange body flung itself over the black lumir crystal and the shadows receded. Still, a gray haze surrounded them, cutting them off from everything outside the stone’s sphere of influence.
“Get the box!” Somnya shouted as she reached for the lid.
“No, we must use it to destroy all magic. Only then can we be free.” Aralore coughed and pushed to her knees.
She felt better with the stone’s influence muted by Hutel’s broad back. The middle-aged acolyte had curled his body around the stone forming an imperfect seal. But some of the stone’s power trickled out. And that bit attacked the ground, yellowing the grass, making it brittle enough to shatter in the slightest breeze.
A black mist boiled out from under Hutel. He thrashed as his exposed skin grayed and flaked off. Raising his head, he regarded Aralore with bulging eyes.
“Preceptor—” he said then his face collapsed like an advanced stage leprosy patient, leaving a bloody ruin that blackened as she stared at it.
Hutel’s body convulsed as his musculature dissolved. In seconds, there was a deflated man-shaped bag of skin over protruding bones. A foul-smelling liquid spilled out of his decaying corpse, dampening the black lumir crystal’s power.
No, this couldn’t be happening. It must be a trick of the uncertain light. Aralore refused to believe it as she crawled closer.
“Free the stone. We came here to use it—” Aralore broke off as silver light blossomed in her peripheral vision. It was the Bitch Plant Queen coming to plead for clemency.
Kill her! Unleash the black lumir crystal’s full power, Aralore shouted but the words refused to leap off her tongue. Instead, they rattled around inside her mind competing with inarticulate howls of hate until the White Witch took even that away.
White light drowned Aralore. It reached deep, scouring her. Then the Bitch Tree spoke, and her words fell like the first leaves of fall—each one attracting attention.
A woman’s silhouette appeared in the light then she bent until her diamond eyes peered into Aralore’s. “Ara-lore. Daughter of Io, seventh sister, seeker of truth—why risk your life and sanity on this quest?”
The woman had appeared in a pond soaking her pristine skirt. The jewels on her crown blinded Aralore. She gestured to the upended box, and it reflected her glory. So too did the still water of the pond.
“Ara-lore,” said the Queen, in a singsong voice, “why should you carry it alone? It’s such a burden.”
Why indeed? The White Witch had a point.
The Queen of All Trees faded into a sunbeam cleaving through the dark then it too vanished leaving Aralore blinking at the box Somnya closed with shaking hands. It squatted on a boulder, mocking them. Black fluids stained her sister-of-the-cloth’s skirt and sleeves, and she looked more than a little sick from rooting around in Hutel’s remains. But God love her, Somnya lifted her chin and put on a brave face as she backed away from the box, and its dark passenger.
“It’s in the box?”
Somnya nodded. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief except Aralore. Though perhaps her acolytes had earned a small respite from their holy quest. After all, God didn’t make the world in a single day. Surely, He’d understand if its unmaking took a few days.
Aralore rubbed her aching head. What had just happened? She regarded the rapidly decomposing body at her feet and felt her gorge rise. Hutel was a sack of charred meat, flaking away to reveal his bones. A foul liquid trickled out of his corpse and soaked into the earth staining it black.
Far from deterring her, his death proved the stone Dirk had sold her was the genuine article. It was so much more than the light-stealer. Vague ideas for weaponizing such a stone flitted in and out of her mind as Aralore regarded the first martyr to her cause.
As a plan crystallized, Aralore started to smile, but she checked the impulse and flattened her lips into a serious line as befit the solemn moment. Kiss your office goodbye, high priest. I hold the thing that will dethrone you.
Aralore blinked as the image of the high priestess card from her mother’s hated tarot deck flashed before her eyes. It mocked her and her aspirations. I’ll show you a woman’s true place, mother. I’ll show them all.
“What is your command?” Somnya asked in a shaky voice.
They were watching her. Aralore had let the silence stretch on for far too long. A hand interrupted her field of view, but it was only a momentary reprieve. Aralore grasped the proffered hand and let Velor pull her to her feet.
Her acolytes waited for an explanation, but all she had was the rallying cry rising from the depths of her soul. “Hutel was first to fall in our crusade. We will honor him.”
Then we’ll send the rest of the forest to meet its maker. Aralore fought a grin at the thought.
Angelic Heart-to-Heart
Grass sailed away under him. Each blade had symbols superimposed on it, but they blurred as Sarn picked up speed. In an eyeblink
, he flew over the standing stones and their double ring of trouble at the limits of the mile-wide meadow. Sarn streaked through row upon row of tree-shaped containers alight with scrolling glyphs. The strange sigils crawled across the ground and dove under it, creating a network of symbology—the very spells animating the forest.
Somehow, in this bodiless state he could see the architecture of the forest’s enchantments, but not read them. Too bad the sight didn’t come with a primer. Sarn could only guess at what he was looking at and the more he did, a strange desire to understand kindled in his heart. But understanding was dangerous.
Still, the view was fascinating. So much so, he forgot his danger until something tore out of his side.
A woman with his features materialized wearing a worn gray dress. She pumped white wings sending gleaming feathers flying as she reached for him.
“Give me your hand, brother.”
The word ‘brother’ struck him momentarily dumb then Sarn lunged for her. Their hands caught and held. Hers was ice cold, but he held fast to her and shivered as that cold traveled up his arm.
“How come I can hear you when I couldn’t before?” Sarn swallowed, but nothing happened because he was incorporeal again. His body must still be in his cave and its unoccupied status must be scaring his poor son. I’ll make it up to you, Ran, I promise. I just need a few more minutes.
A month ago, this same woman had appeared to help him fight a demon. Then she’d been just a mute fighter who’d pulled a blade out of his side. Now, she was speaking, and he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to get some answers. Ran would understand.
“Because you’re on my turf now.” She blew a lock of hair out of her narrowing eyes. They weren’t green like his or his son’s but gray like everything else about her. “The rules are different when you’re out-of-body, which by the way, is dangerous. You’re a naked soul right now without the power to defend yourself.”
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