Chapter 370: The Dead Aeld

The Heroes and the Chancellor of Generasi glided through the swamp in his enchanted boat, following a vessel Angharad had unmoored from the mouth of a small cave formed by the roots of the same tree the sentries’ post was in.

The witches’ boat was small—more of a dugout really—just big enough to hold two sentries and Drestra. It was powered when a sentry spoke a short incantation and passed her hands over the oars, bringing them to life. The paddles responded; shuddering, groaning, then slithering over the portside and starboard of the dugout to dip themselves in the water, and begin rowing as though ghosts were pulling them.

Drestra was eager to catch up on recent events in the Crymlyn, and had joined the sentries on the trip to her home. Now they talked quietly in the dugout, leading Baelin, Alex and the other two Heroes to the Sage’s village.

“Well this is unexpected,” Baelin said. “I thought we would have our work done within hours, but the situation appears to be more complicated than I anticipated. Hmmm. Perhaps I will have to depart for a time and leave the task at hand to the four of you and Claygon.”

The chancellor looked up at the sky, a frown taking his face.

Clouds were darkening and the snow was falling harder, not settling on the ground yet, but visibility was lower.

“The weather looks to be turning against us. Hm, listen well, Alex: this is something you must pay attention to in future when you attempt the Teleportation Shuffle,” he cautioned. “It becomes far less useful when one’s sight is compromised.”

“Right…” Alex said, thinking about what might come next. It looked like they were on the verge of an adventure, and…

He glanced back at the ice-caked monster they were towing.

…it could be a dangerous one.

So then why did he feel so…exhilarated?

There was a part of him that was actually looking forward to Baelin leaving them on their own. Something was brewing in the swamp and uncovering it with Claygon, the three Heroes and Theresa would be an adventure. The dungeon core’s secrets, looking for answers in this strange place, being unsure of what was coming next, all of that was exciting, even thrilling. Having Baelin with them would probably mean they’d get answers faster, answers he was eager for.

But, when he really thought about it, the thought of having to work for those answers using his own skills, got him real excited.

‘Baelin’s definitely rubbing off on me,’ he thought. ‘But that’s alright. He’s definitely someone I don’t mind being influenced by.’

“Do you mind leaving us the boat?” Alex asked. “And the core?”

“Not at all,” the chancellor said. “What would be the point of training, and watching you grow into a Proper Wizard if I would not even trust you with such a meagre amount of responsibility.”

“Right.” Alex blushed and was about to say something else…

…when something enormous up ahead of them suddenly caught his attention.

“Well there’s somethin’ I didn’t expect to see,” Cedric murmured, as he and Hart leaned over the side of the boat.

Ahead was what looked to be a living wall of trees. Not logs, but breathing trees that had grown so closely together, their trunks were fused in a continuous rampart of living wood. Their canopies wrapped each other in a permanent embrace. It was one of the most majestic things Alex had ever seen, easily competing with some of the wonders in Generasi.

“Wow, they must be even more incredible before the leaves fall,” Alex shouted to those in the dugout, the wall loomed higher the closer they came. Each tree was perhaps fifty to sixty feet tall.

“It is!” Drestra called back, pausing her conversation with the sentries. “I only wish you were seeing it in happier times.”

“Yeah,” Alex murmured, his eyes widening at what lay ahead.

The tree trunks curved, forming a gracious tunnel into a… Tree dome? Tree house? He had no idea what to call it.

“This place is easy to defend,” Alex could plainly hear the admiration in Hart’s voice as they passed into the tunnel, sailing deeper into the structure of living wood. Inside, a dense forest of trees that thrived in swampland reached toward the clouds, their canopy forming a network of pathways on every side, including above. Some branches were thicker around than even Baelin’s boat, and had become a truly living structure birthed from a single organism.

Alex found he felt relaxed, their surroundings had a soothing quality that took the tension from both his and Cedric’s bearing from the moment they’d slipped beneath the tree branches.

Hart was a different story. It wasn’t that he was tense, it was that his focus was now in full military mode. He pointed to a host of places where archers and wizards could hide in the canopy and make use of those massive branches for cover, while peppering intruders with spells and arrows from atop other branches.

The Champion sniffed the air. “And it’s humid in here, too.”

“Yeah,” Alex turned his attention to the canopy. “Some of these trees have roots that go all the way down to the earth deep below the water so they’re always slowly taking up water: they get completely saturated. So, anyone coming in here with a plan that involves burning the Witches out, would have a hell of a time burning anything, especially with Witches raining all sorts of nasty spells down on their heads.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Hart said, squinting at the trees. “Good thing we’re being escorted in. Look up there, they’re already watching us.”

“Indeed,” Baelin said, his eyes looking ahead. “They have been monitoring us well before we entered the treeline.”

Alex casually looked up, catching quick movements in the shadows of the branches. There were animals up there, steadily watching: squirrels, birds and other creatures with sharp intellect shining in their eyes which marked them as familiars. And they weren’t alone. Sentries wrapped in cloaks the colour of tree bark lay on hunting blinds, concealed and peering at the newcomers with bows in hand. They looked tense.

And ready for a fight.

Alex wondered what they’d been dealing with lately.

###

The boats sailed from the mouth of the tunnel to a large island within the fortress of trees. Before them, the main village of the Witches of Crymlyn swamp, rose. Nearby, a line of docks jutted into the water with a small flotilla of dugouts moored to them, and from there, a stone pathway led into a ‘village’...though, Alex quickly realised that really wasn’t the right term.

Luthering was a village.

What lay before them was a town nearly the size of Alric, but magical. The houses were a mix of wooden cottages, giant mushroom-houses, and magnificent trees with entire cabins growing in their branches. The Witches of Crymlyn were hard at work as Alex’s group reached the docks.

Wood was being split for the long winter coming.

Hauls of fish, logs, and swamp vegetables were being carted toward storage houses by teams of otters the size of horses. A walking tree nearing twenty feet tall strode through the centre of the village, carrying a load of barrels in its many arms like they weighed no more than a bushel of sweet peas.

“How charming,” Baelin smiled, watching as some of the witches pointed at the newcomers. Folk had begun to gather while the boats were tied off, but their numbers grew into a crowd when the sentries guided the group through the village.

Nearing the village square, Alex saw a large tree in its centre: one with a very familiar shape. It was an aeld tree. “Why is the aeld white, Drestra?” He asked.

“Sadly, it died.”

He thought of his aeld tree in the courtyard of the encampment, so bright, so warm. He remembered the planting ceremony Professor Salinger had performed for the little tree and how vibrant with life it had been. In death, this aeld had turned completely white like freshly fallen snow, and while no glow emanated from it, it still held a muted light that caught one's attention.

It was sad that its spirit was gone.

Fittingly, in the centre of the village, adjacent to the tree, a circular shrine of menhir stones stood, each at least as tall as Claygon. Witches knelt there—hands clasped tightly in prayer—within a circle. An arcane glyph marked each stone, though one was emblazoned with the white hand that was Uldar’s holy symbol.

Alex’s displeasure surfaced, but he pushed down the urge to scowl. Uldar’s symbol was noticeably smaller than the other glyphs, visibly worn by weather and time, and spattered here and there with bird droppings. It looked like its maintenance wasn’t top priority for the Witches of the Crymlyn.

‘Well, depending on what we find out, maybe they’ll be taking it down anyway.’

He looked back down as Angharad spoke to Drestra, then moved toward a large wood and stone hall the size of one of Uldar’s churches, but without symbols to honour him etched in its walls. Moss and ivy crawled over stone, and the thatched roof was bright green, as though it was still growing from the earth.

Two rows—with six pines in each—flanked the hall, releasing a pleasant woodsy scent, and a significant amount of mana. Alex watched the evergreens, wondering what magic lay in them as Angharad made his way up to a set of doors.

Drestra turned. “We’ll see the village elder in a moment. Angharad is just letting her know we’re here.”

“What’s been happening?” Alex asked. “Did the sentries say what happened to the other witches?”

“Yeah, are they okay?” Cedric joined in. “What about that friend you mentioned? Anyone hear from ‘em?”

The Sage frowned. “Apparently they’ve not been seen in any of their campgrounds or hunting areas. Search parties are out looking, but none of them have come back with any news. Everyone’s concerned.”

Cedric’s eyebrows rose. “An’ your people are all magic users?”

“Many, but not all. …but yes, magic users were among those who disappeared,” she admitted.

“Sounds serious,” Hart said.

“Indeed. Well, if fortune smiles on us then we might find your friends quickly,” Baelin looked up at the sky. “Though it appears fortune might not be on our side.”

Above, the clouds were deep grey and threatening. Snow continued falling and the temperature with it; flakes of white were settling on the ground now, more reluctant to melt than before.

“The weather has indeed turned against us,” Baelin said. “And without knowing as much as I would wish to about the weather and climate systems around this area, I am reluctant to alter it. Hm, if only you were still alive.”

The chancellor looked up at the aeld tree. “Would it be safe to assume that it lived for at least half a millenium? When did it die?”

“Yes, it was very old and well tended. It lived for about 700 years, but died when I was eight,” Drestra said sadly. “Ah, if only you could’ve seen like I did when I was young. It lit up half the village when it was happy. Some of our people are looking for a sapling to replace it, but haven’t had any luck finding one. So when I saw yours—”

She paused, looking toward the hall.

Angharad had emerged, and was waving them to the doors.

“Later, I guess,” the Sage said. “We had better go in. The faster we learn what’s happened, the faster we know what can be done.”

###

The interior of the hall was dark, cozy, and within its four walls, the oldest looking person Alex had ever seen awaited. A tiny woman—her face a mask of lines—sat on a blanket by a fire pit. Flames licked the sides of a cauldron large enough to hold a good sized pig.

‘…or a person,’ Alex thought, trying to dismiss the grimmer fairy tales he’d been told about witches.

Which was no easy feat when the spitting image of witches from those very fairy tales was sitting a few feet away: reminding him, uncomfortably, of the pair of blue annis hags.

“Welcome to Crymlyn Village,” the elder’s voice croaked to her ‘guests’, now seated on thick blankets in front of her. “Or I should say, welcome back Drestra-child. It is good to see you again. The other children have missed you.”

“I missed them and you too, Elder Blodeuwedd. Mother,” Drestra bowed her head, and her crackling voice held more sincerity than Alex had ever heard in it. Cedric looked at her with an eyebrow raised, but she didn’t catch his gaze.

“But what’s happened to our sister people?” The Sage continued. “Angharad couldn’t tell me much.”

“It was on purpose that not much was shared until you were brought before me,” Elder Blodeuwedd said. She looked at Baelin and then at Alex.

Her eyes seemed to glitter like diamonds in firelight.

“Welcome, strangers from the far lands to the south. Angharad told me where you are from. Or…perhaps not so welcome.”

Alex watched her closely as she dug into a pouch at her side.

He looked at Baelin and Claygon, but the chancellor was watching the elder witch carefully as she pulled out a small, clay tablet.

“Do you outsiders recognize this?”

She held the tablet out to them, displaying a symbol carved into it.

“Oh shit,” Alex swore.

A growl escaped his throat.

The symbol belonged to the Cult of Ezaliel.