by Michael Mood
“Probably will,” Halimaldie said. “Probably will.”
“Hey,” Trance said, shrugging. “We all got our weird fuckin' things.”
Chapter 21 – Wren at the Dryad Tree
-1-
Wren had been miserably wet for the past three days.
It was that persistent type of rain that drizzled and dragged on, refusing to pour and get it over with. Wren, Tessa, Crasher, two raccoons, and the bird that had led her to her father were all huddled together under some tall trees. Crasher had attempted to instruct Wren on how to build a makeshift shelter of large pine boughs, trying to model it after a cave he particularly liked, but in the end Wren had been incapable of such a physical task, so the pile sat next to them, heaped up and useless.
“Wetwetwetwetwet,” the bird chirped.
“Are we almost there, Crasher?” Wren asked. She turned the sheathed knife in her hands, wondering at the power that had helped her build the wooden object.
“Mistress, we could possibly be there today if we were willing to walk through the rain. But my coat is sodden and I feel slightly ill.”
Even Tessa's proud whiskers were limp, the mouse a morose little bundle. They all look so much smaller with their fur slicked down.
Wren pushed the hair back from her face and tried to wring it out. “I never knew how important shelter could be,” she said. “There aren't any caves near here, Crasher?”
“Not that I know of. These woods are altogether new to me. I must admit that they are not very bear-friendly.”
“How much wetter can we get?” asked one of the raccoons. “We should press on if we are to get to the Tree.”
“You're probably right,” Wren said. “Maybe I could have the termites build us a shelter of some sort!” Wren reached out – or tried to – the same way she had before, but something was bound inside of her. She couldn't get the same feeling. “I can't reach anything,” she said.
Tessa hopped out of Wren's pocket and shook herself as dry as she could. “I'm with the raccoon, then. I say we press on.”
“Brave words, mouseling,” Crasher said.
“Tessa and the raccoon are right,” Wren said. “I want answers.” She looked down at her arm. The red and gold symbol was dull and something inside of her was different now. After she had reached out to the termites she had felt a bit empty, as if something was missing. She was worried she had already broken her new powers.
Crasher stood up and began to plod on, his fur hanging in great hunks. His paws squelched in the mud of the forest floor and Wren's boots did the same as she followed him.
Tessa stopped to drink a little bit of water that had collected in a leaf. When she was done Wren scooped her up and pet her lightly to squeeze some of the water from her fur. “You're shaking,” said the girl.
“I am cold, mistress."
Wren pulled out the collar of her shirt and tucked the little mouse between her breasts, holding her there with her hand as she walked.
She felt the nice warm bundle there, and slowly something within her began to fill again.
-2-
“This should not be,” Crasher said.
The bear had stopped short, muddy legs sliding out in front of him with the abruptness of the halt. Lightning split the sky followed immediately by thunder.
In the blast of light, Wren could see a gigantic object looming up to the sky in front of them. She took Tessa out of her shirt and held her in her palm so that the little mouse could see. The raccoons had climbed onto Crasher's back, and the bird was nowhere to be seen.
“What is wrong, bear?” Tessa asked.
“Behold it for yourself, mouseling.”
Wren tried to study the giant looming object. It was definitely a tree of some sort, but of a kind and scale that Wren had never seen before. Its twisting branches spiraled up into the air, looking almost like rivers as they snaked towards the sky. Wren had to crane her neck to an uncomfortable angle just to see where they ended. The trunk of the tree was bigger around than even the largest tent at the Marshanti carnival had been, and the roots drove into the ground like powerful weapons, the soil buckling and heaving up around them.
“We're there,” breathed Wren. She could almost feel the tree pulsing in time with her symbol, but as Crasher had said, something was definitely wrong.
“There should be leaves,” the bear noted.
He was right. The Dryad Tree looked dead.
A raccoon approached Wren, dragging something in its mouth. Wren bent down to see what it was. Somehow the raccoon had found what looked to be a badly torn coat. It was made of some thick material and had a few medals pinned to it. “Whose is that, raccoon?” she asked.
“I am not sure,” said the bandit. “It has old smells on it. I found it wedged in between a few rocks. It was near another human blade.”
“Another knife?” Wren asked.
Lightning cracked the sky again, drawing her attention back to the tree.
“We need to go to it,” she said, and began walking.
The nearer they got to the massive tree, the more objects they found. The ground wasn't necessarily strewn with them, but something large had definitely happened here in the past. There are so many rusty, broken weapons. “Maybe a gigantic battle,” Wren said.
“A battle?” Tessa asked.
“Where men fight other men,” Wren explained.
“Why would they do that, mistress?”
“I don't know, Tessa.”
They walked further through the odd wasteland that they now encountered. Something white and round peeked out of the ground, but Wren warned everyone harshly again checking on what it was. Crasher was curious, but Wren knew it was a skull, half-buried in the sloppy, dark mud.
The ground began to slosh and crunch beneath Wren's feet and she saw more and more specks of white. Wren's breathed in and out quickly trying not to gag, knowing full-well that she was walking on the bones of men and horses long dead.
They were close enough now that the trunk of the Dryad Tree blocked most of Wren's vision, taking up the sky with its magnitude. The group approached it slowly and cautiously. Wren's nerves were frazzled. She shook from excitement, fear, anticipation, and chill as she reached out to rest her hand on the shaggy bark. It flaked away like dead skin, gray and disgusting.
Wren let out a sigh that turned into a cough. “I think our journey ends here,” she said, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks. “Whatever this Tree used to be, it isn't anymore. There are no answers here.”
Wren considered briefly just sitting down at the Tree's gigantic base and waiting to die. She had no idea where she would go now.
The Dryad Tree – whatever it had been and whatever it had stood for – was dead.
-3-
A tiny pulse awakened her. It was tugging at her consciousness lightly and erratically, like a timid fish at the pole of a mighty fisherman. She noticed that the rain had stopped, and for a brief moment all of her troubles were washed away by that one simple fact.
“What is it, mistress?” Tessa asked. The mouse had fallen off Wren's head when the girl had sat up quickly.
“Something's pulling at my mind.” Wren stood up and drew the knife. It was an odd reaction, as she didn't really know how to fight with one, but she did it nonetheless. The blade gave her an illusion of power, like a heroine from a story.
She began following the pulsing beacon on unsteady legs, climbing over huge roots to get to the place where she felt it pulling. The moon shone brightly in the sky, casting shadows over the macabre battlefield. Wren kept her eyes forward for fear that she would see the dead of the battle risen, shambling slowly towards her on this eerie night.
She came to a rent in the tree. I might be able to shimmy in between those two layers of overlapping bark. That's where the pulse was coming from; somewhere beyond that makeshift doorway.
“It's coming from in here,” she whispered to Crasher.
“If you wish to go in there, mistr
ess, I cannot follow. It will have to be you and the mouseling alone.”
Crasher was right. The raccoons had left or, at least, weren't currently with them, presumably going off to their own business. Tessa had warned Wren that animals were subject primarily to their own whims and not to take it too personally if their journeys took them on different paths.
“Wait here,” Wren said. She began to squeeze herself through the crack in the bark. She held Jon's knife awkwardly in front of her. The moonlight was replaced with the light of her glowing symbol.
Both sides of the tree pressed in on her as she snaked her way through, Tessa riding in her somewhat dry pocket. Slowly, slowly the passageway began to widen. Wren could take full breaths again and she could hold the knife down at her side. The tunnel they walked down never branched. It simply drove into the tree in a straight line. It didn't look like it had been dug, but rather like the tree had simply grown that way. Wren suddenly found herself in a small room.
The place seemed to have been crafted by the will of the tree. Something that could only have been a bed protruded from the wall, an extension of the tree itself. Decorations lined the walls, but didn't seem like scars in the wood, and there were a few low benches and chairs.
In the middle of it all, lit by Wren's symbol, was a woman.
She was lying prostrate on the ground, her gray hair fanned out in front of her.
“You have come,” the woman said, her voice quiet but startling Wren near to death. She rose from her prayerful pose, her ancient face hard as wood. “You have come, marked of God.”
-4-
“What did you call me?” Wren asked, her voice sounding small between the dense walls.
“Marked of God,” replied the ancient woman. “I suspect you've noticed the symbol on your arm.”
“This is from God?” Wren asked, looking down at it.
“Yes," the woman said. "I am so glad I stayed here all this time! We have much to do now. Much to do.” The woman reached towards one of the walls and just as her hand reached it the wood parted, opening a small portal. The woman drew a few packs from the portal and set them on the ground. “It is well that you have a sword,” she said.
“Where are we going?” Wren asked.
“Much debate over that,” the old woman answered. “Much debate. For my purposes I think we must travel to the Temple of Sin'ra.”
“I . . . came here for answers,” Wren said.
“And you may get some from me,” replied the woman. “But for the true and full answer we must reach your destiny at the Temple. You wonder of your newling powers I am sure. Do you have a Familiar yet?”
“Is that me?” Tessa asked, popping her head up from Wren's pocket for the first time.
“It might be,” nodded the old woman. “Might be.”
“You can hear her talk!” Wren said. “I'm not crazy!”
The old woman nodded. “There are many who can Hear,” she said. “I am both surprised and not surprised that you are so young. Wisdom comes with age, but strength fleets. You are an odd pick for an odd time.” The old woman rummaged through her packs, making sure they were as she wanted them. “My name is Heather.”
“Mine's Wren.”
“Named after a bird.”
“I suppose I am."
“Any other Protectors in your family?” Heather asked.
“You mean . . . people with powers like me?”
“Yes.”
Wren thought back to what her father had said to Crasher: 'I feel Lia's hand in this.' Wren was suddenly chilled through, her skin standing in bumps. She hadn't stopped to think about it at the time, but her mother might have been . . . “I'm not sure,” she finally answered.
“We will learn more about you as we travel, then,” Heather said. She opened another section of the trunk and took out two long cloaks made of some type of fur that Wren didn't recognize. They looked soft, warm, and light. “It will be cold where we are going.”
“Can't we have a moment to rest?” Wren asked, her body shaking from exhaustion.
“Mounts will not be an issue for two such as us, Wren.”
“I have a bear outside that I ride, but he's tired too.”
Heather nodded. “You must learn a vast amount of information in a very limited time, so I would suggest we start.” Heather walked over to her then and embraced her, a gesture that the girl took awkwardly. She could not recall the last time she had been hugged by a woman. It felt sincere and loving, but Heather pulled away from her with strange quickness.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes traveling over Wren's body. “Oh.”
“What?” the girl asked. She took a step backwards and tightened her grip on the knife.
“It's just that you're so young. You can't know.”
“Know what?”
“The size of our party is bigger than I thought,” Heather said. “It will consist of me, you, the mouse, the bear, and the tiniest of lives within you: your child.”
Wren gasped for air.
Chapter 22 – Otom at the Dryad Tree
-1-
Otom was cautious to disturb nothing as he set the trap. His days of snare-making weren't too far behind him, he had just been a bit rusty at first. After journeying for this long he felt back in the swing of things again, able to keep himself fed through trapping and hunting. Now he was setting a much different trap: one that could catch a man.
The presence that he felt with his Detection hadn't faded or grown closer, but always, always stayed more or less equidistant from himself, waiting, lurking.
Otom's snare was set, waiting to trigger swiftly and powerfully if stepped upon. He began to enact the second part of his plan. He walked through the snow now, his footprints standing out starkly in the windless world. He walked past the trap by a good fifty spans and then began walking backwards, putting his boots in precisely the same places they had been before. It was a simple trick, and known throughout this region, but he had been surprised at how many times he had heard of it succeeding.
He had been sure to walk past a tall tree and now he climbed it, powerful hands and arms hauling him into the upper branches to wait.
Being up in the branches started to stir his memory again. Not of the treehouse, for that story had already played out in his mind, but of the Dryad Tree, a place that had changed him forever.
-2-
13 Years Ago
Otom sat by Allura's bed, head in his hands. Silence's advice weighed heavily on him as he tried to decide what to do. Should I undertake the journey to the Dryad Tree? He would have to leave Allura behind and travel with as much haste as possible; and that meant going alone.
Allura's skin, usually beautiful and robust, had taken on a drab color. Her eyes were always red when she opened them, and that was becoming a rarity. Her mood swings had taken on a violence that Otom couldn't comprehend, causing her to have fits that sometimes required both himself and Silence to quell.
Something was very wrong with Allura Finny, and Otom knew she would die if he didn't do something about it.
Allura mumbled something and her eyes shot open.
Otom flinched, getting ready to fight her off or put her clothes back on or whatever random action she chose to take this time. “What is it, Lura?” he asked her gently, muscles tense.
“What I said to you outside the Fool's Heart Tavern that morning,” she said slowly. Her mouth was dry and her lips were cracked. “You had your hood up. You were walking away. Your ear was hurt. You never heard me did you, Otom?”
Otom thought back to that time. Over half a year had passed since then. “No, I didn't,” he admitted.
“I think you can save me,” she said. “That is what I yelled to you as you turned away from me. I've always felt it, Otom, from the first time I peeked over the wall of that booth and saw you. You might not see it in yourself, but anyone that lays eyes on you is frightened by your strength. I have always believed in God, Otom, and I believe he led me to you for many, man
y reasons, none of which I am smart enough to comprehend fully. I know that.” She paused to cough. She continued, whispering, “I thought you could save me from Ris, I thought you could save me from that life. And I think you can save me now.” She lay back, then, and her eyes closed. It was hard to believe she had spoken only moments before, so dead did she look.
Otom stood up swiftly and with resolve. He bent over one last time to kiss her forehead. The skin was burning up, making the gesture almost painful. Otom bundled himself up in his furs and went to find Silence. The old fighter was sitting placidly outside in the cold, his back against the outside wall of the house.
“I'm going,” Otom said.
Silence nodded, staring off into nothing. “It is a risk. But your choices are simple. Go and have a chance to save her, or stay and watch her die. The problem with Isola region is just that. Isolation. The inability to call on others. Here, you must do things yourself or not do them at all.”
“Yes, Silence,” Otom said.
“Did you memorize the way that I showed you?”
“Well enough. Will you watch over her?”
“I will.”
“Then I guess this is goodbye.”
“Wait,” Silence said, catching him by the wrist in a powerful grip. “The power of the Dryad Tree is great. It has a Guile on it, making it difficult to perceive for those that do not seek it. Keep your mission always in your heart so you will not miss it. You must also remember that there is a war going on. The armies fight along that border constantly. Don't get mixed up with them. Soldiers are not fighters. They've no honor, even though they claim they do; they're killers dressed in noble uniform." Silence gripped Otom's arm. "I would never wish this onus on anyone, but if you are to save the woman you love, you must be strong, smart, and quick, Otom. I have run out of options here as you well know. Your connection to Allura will allow you to access the Dryad Tree, to see it for what it really is, to get what you need from it. You are her last hope, Otom. Make haste."