by A. Giannetti
“Perhaps the mage’s blood has scorched the earth around him,” thought Elerian to himself, although it seemed more likely to him that the evil that had lived in Drusus’ body had poisoned the earth around it. He gave the grave a wide berth as he continued on his way.
AN ENCHANTED GROVE
Once Drusus’s grave was out of sight, Elerian paused, debating with himself what course he ought to follow. “I should travel farther away from home,” he thought to himself, “until I am sure that the Goblin I saw in the basin has no way to find me. North will be the best direction, I think. It will take me away from Hesperia, and if the builders of Drusus’ lair came down out of the north as Tullius suspects, I may discover some sign of their passage in the forest.”
Acting on this last thought, Elerian began walking in a northerly direction, searching by starlight for any sign the makers of the hidden home might have left behind. His light steps took him through an ancient forest, marked only by the signs of its wild inhabitants. “Too many years have passed,” thought Elerian to himself, as a weak autumn sun began to lighten the eastern sky. “If any Elves ever passed this way, time has eradicated any signs they may have left behind.
He came out, then, on the brink of a steep slope that led down to a narrow valley that ran at an angle across his path. A clear stream flowed down the center of the valley, hurrying over a bed of gray rocks in a northeasterly direction. Large, handsome oaks filled the valley from one end to the other. Their bare branches touched and intermingled overhead, but their boles were far apart, giving the wood an open, airy look. A thick layer of brown, freshly fallen oak leaves covered the ground beneath the trees.
The ancient trees drew Elerian down into the valley. He walked between them, admiring their great girth and massive branches. He did not notice, at first, the unaccustomed heaviness that began to creep over his limbs. An overwhelming desire to lie down and sleep suddenly welled up inside of him, but he was not alarmed, for he had traveled for many miles without any rest. His eyelids and limbs grew heavy, and the need to rest became almost irresistible. When he came to a particularly thick and inviting drift of oak leaves, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to sink to the ground and lay down. “I will rest for only a few moments,” he thought to himself as his mind drifted down into the wonderful oblivion of sleep.
Then, as his last conscious thoughts were fading, a small, irritating voice in the back of his head began to nag at him. “This is no safe place to sleep,” shrilled the voice. “You are too exposed here. The first beast of prey that happens by will have you for its supper.”
Although his mind was dulled by the need to rest, Elerian realized that the annoying voice was right. He began to fight the unnatural urge to sleep, hardening his will until the desire to rest faded away. The need to sleep was now replaced by a sudden thirst for water. With his throat so parched that he was barely able to swallow, Elerian sat up and looked toward the clear stream that ran through the center of the valley, chattering over its rocky bed and glinting silver in the light of the rising sun. It seemed to Elerian that he had never seen water so desirable in all his life.
“Drink!” a soft voice whispered in his head. “Ease your dry throat.”
Elerian looked all around him for the source of the voice, but he was alone as far as he could see. “Is the voice real, or am I imagining it?” he wondered. His thirst certainly seemed real. He rose and walked closer to the rushing stream. The urge to quench his burning thirst by drinking from the clear water running by his feet became almost overwhelming.
“What harm can it do to take a drink?” he asked himself. He knelt by the stream, but even as he bent down to drink of its inviting waters, his eyes caught the gleam of something white where the golden rays of the rising sun struck a mound of leaves at the base of a great tree on his left. His suspicions suddenly aroused, Elerian rose and walked over to the mound. When he brushed aside the leaves, he exposed a skeleton made up of long, slender bones. The fine boned skull sported grinning fangs, resembling those of a beast of prey. The skeleton had lain there long enough that all the clothing had rotted away, but Elerian was certain he was looking at the remains of a Goblin, for the bones closely resembled those he had found in Drusus’ lair.
He was unable to find any mark of violence on the remains. It was as if the Goblin had gone to sleep under the tree and never awakened. No sooner had that thought occurred to him than Elerian turned back to the stream. The water in it seemed less desirable now and his sudden thirst suspicious. “There is magic of an evil sort at work here,” he thought to himself.
Abruptly, beneath his feet, the ground trembled. Elerian watched in stunned disbelief as a great tree root suddenly rose through the blanket of leaves by his feet and, twisting like a snake, wrapped itself around his chest and arms before throwing him heavily to the ground. Irresistibly, it began to drag him toward the stream.
“Now you will drink,” said the voice in his head, no longer soft but, instead, full of malevolence. Elerian twisted his arms violently and dug in his heels, but the strength of the root was enormous and the rippling surface of the stream drew ever closer. He was certain now that it was under an enchantment and that to drink from it would cast him into a long sleep that would leave his bare bones under the nearby trees like those of the Goblin.
Elerian’s arms were pinned to his side, but remembering how the venetor had cast its spells, he opened his mouth, and a small golden orb shot out and struck the root dragging him where it emerged from the ground. There was a loud crack, a rending of wood, and the root became rigid and lifeless once more as it was cut off from the power that animated it. Elerian forced his way out of its encircling coils, and leaped to his feet. More roots came squirming out of the ground, and he cast a second spell with his right hand. The golden sphere that sped from his hand struck the tree that was the source of the roots. It shivered once from root to crown before becoming motionless, the ends of other emerging roots sticking stiffly out of the ground. Satisfied that the tree was asleep, Elerian moved away from the stream. Common sense told him that he should leave the valley at once, but he was both angry and curious about the voice that he had heard in his mind. It seemed to him now that it had not come from the tree which attacked him but from somewhere near the center of the valley.
Cautiously, keeping his distance from the trees, he followed the stream deeper into the valley. Twice, he cast spells to put trees to sleep, as they began to pull their roots out of the ground. At the center of the valley, in a small opening where it sat at a distance from the other trees, Elerian found an ancient oak tree with twisted branches that started low on its trunk and grew upward to form an enormous crown. As Elerian approached the tree, he felt a rush of air above him and sprang swiftly aside as a branch ending in a huge bark covered fist slammed into the ground where he had been standing a moment before. At twice the height of a man, an angry face appeared in the trunk of the oak. With his third eye, Elerian saw a green orb spring from its mouth and speed in his direction. He cast a shield spell, but the sphere struck with such power that his defenses were almost overcome, leaving him badly shaken.
“A second spell will finish me,” he thought to himself as he cast a sleep spell at the tree. The spell flared uselessly against the shield spell cast by the Ondredon. “How can I fight it?” wondered Elerian. The Ondredon, unlike its vassals, could cast its own spells, and its power far exceeded his own, for it could draw on the enormous wells of strength stored in its vast body. With his third eye, Elerian saw a second green orb shoot from the Ondredon’s mouth. Instead of casting another shield spell, he twisted to one side at the last moment, and the orb flew harmlessly past him. “There are definite advantages to having mage sight,” he thought to himself. “If I cannot repel its spells, I can at least avoid them.
“Stop attacking me,” Elerian shouted angrily at the Ondredon. “If you continue, I will burn you and your evil grove to the ground.”
At the mention
of burning, an angry rattle of branches filled the valley, as if a great gale had suddenly blown through the trees. There was a tremendous rending noise, and the ground around the Ondredon’s trunk seethed as it began pulling up its roots. Its lower trunk began to split apart, forming legs, and in the crown, massive branches began to take the shape of wooden arms.
Elerian ran to an open place where none of the trees around him could reach him. Taking a wad of dry tinder from his pack, he laid it on the ground. Keeping a wary eye on the Ondredon in case it cast more spells at him, Elerian rained a cascade of sparks onto the tinder by scraping a knife blade across a piece of flint, also taken from his pouch. Tremendous, popping sounds filled the air as the Ondredon slowly wrenched an enormous foot covered with writhing roots out of the ground. Forcing himself to remain calm, Elerian blew on a red spark that had lodged in the tinder. A thin coil of blue smoke rose into the air, and a tongue of red flame crackled through the tinder as he continued to blow on it. Quickly, Elerian fed the flame with dry leaves and twigs.
“Stop!” roared the Ondredon in the common tongue. It had one foot out of the ground, but the other was still firmly planted. “Put out that accursed fire.”
Elerian could hear real fear in the creature’s voice. It was all too aware that Elerian’s rapidly growing fire could set the whole valley ablaze if it spread to the drifts of dried oak leaves.
“Swear you will not harm me,” said Elerian, calmly building up his fire. All around him, he saw thick roots whipping out of the ground like snakes, but he was safely out of their reach in the clearing. Dragging a large, dead branch onto the fire, he built it up so that it crackled merrily, sending out flames almost to the height of his chest.
“It has not rained in some time, and everything is nicely dried out,” said Elerian conversationally to the Ondredon. He dodged another green orb cast by the angry shape changer. Coolly, he pulled a large brand out of the fire and made as if to thrust it into a large drift of leaves.
“Put it out,” entreated the Ondredon in a defeated voice. “I will swear not to harm you.”
“What will you swear by?” asked Elerian.
“I swear by her who rules the forest not to harm you in any way,” said the shape shifter. “If I break this oath, may I wither from root to branch.”
All around Elerian, the roots waving above the ground retreated back into the soil. The Ondredon slowly pushed its root clad foot into the ground, becoming, to all appearances, a tree once more, except for its bark covered face. Elerian began to stamp out the fire, which was beginning to spread to the mat of leaves around it, but he kept hold of his burning branch. In spite of its oath, he was still not sure he could trust the Ondredon to keep its word.
“Put out all the fire,” said the Ondredon. “I will not break my promise.”
There was no trace of deceit in the Ondredon’s voice. Elerian decided that he could trust the creature to keep its word. Walking over to the nearby stream, he plunged the torch into the water. With a sharp hiss, the flames died, and Elerian tossed the branch aside.
“Why did you try to kill me?” he asked the Ondredon.
“I do not permit any creatures that wantonly hew wood or start fires to leave my grove alive,” said the Ondredon coldly.
“I carry no ax, and I started a fire only to defend myself,” said Elerian reasonably.
“Perhaps I made a mistake then,” said the Ondredon, although he did not sound sorry at all to Elerian. “I see now that you wear a false shape.”
“What is my true nature then,” asked Elerian, for he was curious as to whether the Ondredon would identify him as an Elf, as had Urbanus.
“You are a half blood,” said the tree cryptically.
“What do you mean by half blood?” asked Elerian, puzzled by the shape changer’s answer. Did the creature mean that he was only half an Elf?
The Ondredon did not answer him. It merely regarded him with dark, unfriendly eyes and maintained a stony silence. Clearly, the shape shifter meant to say no more on the subject. Elerian felt a familiar disappointment. Another hint that failed to shed any real light on his history, raising only more questions, as if he did not have enough to answer already.
“Were you once a man?” asked Elerian, trying a different line of questioning to keep the creature talking. “Perhaps it will let something else slip,” he thought to himself, hopefully.
The Ondredon was silent for a long moment. “I do not remember,” it said finally. “I remember only sun, wind, and rain, the cold of winter, and the heat of summer.”
“But you can talk,” said Elerian. “You must have been a man at one time.”
“Not necessarily,” replied the Ondredon. “Other creatures besides men can talk. Even the trees speak to each other.”
“Do you know the language of the trees?” asked Elerian eagerly.
“Of course I do,” said the Ondredon in an amused voice. “How else would I communicate with my vassals?”
“Will you teach me to speak the language of the trees?” asked Elerian hopefully.
“Why should I do that?” asked the Ondredon coldly.
“You tried to kill me,” said Elerian, thinking quickly. “You owe me something for that.”
The Ondredon was silent for a moment. “There is some truth in what you say. If I am to teach you, however, you must first become a tree. Only then will you understand what I tell you.”
From the crafty tone of the Ondredon’s voice, Elerian could tell that the shape shifter doubted his ability to make the change. “He does not wish to outright refuse me,” thought Elerian to himself, “but he does not really wish to teach me the speech of the trees. If I cannot make the change, the fault will appear to be mine.”
The Ondredon regarded Elerian with amusement as he pondered the danger of making a shape change that he had never attempted before. Elerian finally decided to take the risk. “This might be my only chance to learn the secret language of the trees,” he thought to himself, something he had greatly desired for years.
Setting aside his pack and gear, Elerian considered how he might make the change. Becoming a tree was far more alien to him than becoming a hawk or a great cat, but he did carry a pattern in his mind. Casting his memory back to the beech tree that grew by the secret pool near Tullius’s house, Elerian recalled the tree’s essence as he had learned it when he touched it with his shade. Letting the spell take shape, almost on its own, Elerian cast it as soon as it seemed complete. He felt a familiar flowing sensation as his shape began to change. Before his eyes, his feet turned to roots and dug deep into the ground. He grew taller and taller, and his arms divided and turned into silver gray branches. In keeping with the season, the branches were bare of leaves.
Abruptly, Elerian found that he was blind and panic welled up inside him. Forcing himself to remain calm, he concentrated on forming a face like that of the Ondredon. A moment later, he opened bark covered eyelids and was able to see again. He focused on the Ondredon and found that the shape shifter looked none too pleased.
“Will he really honor his promise,” wondered Elerian uneasily.
“Half blood, but still able to change,” said the Ondredon softly in a surprised voice. “Well, I have given my word, so now I must teach you as I promised,” it said resignedly.
Beneath the ground, Elerian felt the shape changer’s roots join with his own. As the Ondredon began to instruct him in the secret language of the trees, knowledge flowed between them, from root to root, instructing Elerian in a language where sight and hearing were alien concepts, for trees perceived the world primarily through vibrations felt with their roots and, to a lesser extent, their leaves and bark. Day passed into night and night into day again, as Elerian eagerly absorbed all of the strange, new knowledge the Ondredon sent to him.
Then, abruptly, the Ondredon withdrew its roots and said, “The bargain is fulfilled. I do not wish to be disturbed again, for the season of long sleep approaches, and I will not rouse again willing
ly until the time of the new leaves.”
Elerian saw the face in the oak tree’s trunk disappear, leaving the Ondredon with the appearance of an ordinary tree once more. He knew it was time to change back to his own form, but a strange lassitude was flowing through him. Realizing, after a moment, that the change in the seasons called to him, also, inviting him to slip into the long sleep of winter as had the Ondredon; Elerian roused himself with a great effort and, once more, took on the shape of a Hesperian. When the change was complete, he still felt sleepy, but he knew it was from exhaustion this time and not from any enchantment.
The valley of the Ondredon seemed a risky place to rest, so Elerian left the valley, crossing to the north side and walking through the forest until he found a great oak tree with thick, wide spreading branches. Cautiously, he laid his right hand on the rough bark, advancing a little of his shade into the tree. He was relieved when the thoughts he sensed were those of a tree preparing to sleep away the coming winter, not those of an Ondredon.
The deeply fissured bark of the tree provided a multitude of handholds, and Elerian quickly climbed to the first branches, far above the ground, where several wide limbs joined the thick trunk to form a sort of small platform. After eating a few bites from the food he carried in his pack, Elerian wrapped himself in his thick wool cloak. He had not slept now in two days. Giving no thought to the precariousness of his perch or the rough bark that formed his bed, he fell at once into the half-aware state that he thought of as sleep.
THE ANCHARUS
I t was midday when Elerian suddenly woke, with his head full of half heard whispers. They ceased abruptly as he sat up. “They must have come from the tree behind me,” thought Elerian to himself after he looked around and saw that he was alone. Eagerly, he placed his right hand on the rough bark of the branch beneath him. Advancing a small part of his shade into the tree, he listened intently, but only a deep, hostile silence filled his mind. Although he had learned their language, the trees were still unwilling to talk to him.