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Hunting in Ember - Chapter Three

    • 231 posts
    March 10, 2021 5:11 PM PST

    Chapter Three

     

    Dawn finds Haneval leaning over the table on the first floor, resting his head in one hand. The lantern light stopped dancing hours ago, its anxious flicker now calm. In Haneval’s weariness the crisp writing begins to blur, and though he moves one finger across each line of text, now and then he must go back and read again.

    He began at the very end of the newcomer’s journal. He hoped that he might find clues quickly, but the recent entries are disturbing and difficult to understand. Only as he moved backward through time did the writing become clear and lucid, though what he found there disturbed him even more.

    Now as he finds himself weary past the point of clear thought, he hears steps descending from the Tower above. Airisu enters the room and looks at him closely, then at the book he is reading. It looks as if it has been through as much or more than the man himself, battered and stained and barely held together at the binding.

    “Any word from Tanen?” she asks.

    “None.”

    Tanen, a Warden of Red Leaf Tower, was on patrol the day before and should have returned many hours ago. Haneval looks at Airisu and sees that she is not standing as straight as usual, her eyes a presentiment of sorrow to come.

    “How long have you been up?” she asks.

    “Whenever yesterday morning happened.”

    “You should have slept.”

    “How could I? I can’t stop reading this, trying to learn more about our guest.”

    She goes to a kettle hanging over a fire—which Haneval has kept burning through the night—and pours water over tea leaves before sitting down across from him. “What more have you learned?”

    Before Airisu retired, they had already learned that there were Skar in Oldwood. She had messages sent to all Warden Towers.

    He pushes the book away from him and rubs his eyes. “His name is Soril Ilmiskainen. Scholar, historian, and it would seem a student of the elemental arts. Somewhere along the way, he began researching artifacts of the Imsu.”

    Airisu shakes her head. “I’ve never heard of them.”

    “Neither have I, but Soril is one of three Elves who really understands the language. Another scholar is Erenoth… something.” He turns several pages. “Together they crossed the sea to Reignfall to find an Imsu artifact they felt was vital to their work.”

    “Why?” Airisu is astonished. “What is the artifact’s importance?”

    Haneval gestures at the journal. “I haven’t found an explanation here. I only know about the Imsu because he mentions the language in passing to talk about something else, but he doesn’t explain anything. It’s more as if he is trying to convince himself of something.”

    Airisu sips her tea, lost in thought. “Where did they land in Reignfall?”

    “Skar territory. That’s all I have managed to uncover.”

    “And Skar followed them back?”

    “Probably quite a few.” He pulls the journal toward him again. “Their ship ran aground off the coast, and they ran into the forest just before the Skar. That’s the last entry before this,” he turns pages until he reaches a page with a few lines of barely readable scrawl. He pushes it toward her and she reads.

     

    I am alone. I cannot fathom how I became separated from the others.

    What are they

    They’re not trees.They’re not trees.

     

    Airisu raises one eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

    “I don’t know,” says Haneval.

    Steps on the stairs, and then Eyirie joins them. She’s wearing leathers for the forest, as well as sword and bow.

    “Tanen?” she says, then turns away when they shake their heads. She reaches for a hunk of berry bread and sits down with them.

    “I want to look for him,” she says.

    “Agreed,” says Airisu. “You know his usual paths. And stop by Nay Hu. He likes to speak with her now and then, and she might know something.”

    “I will.” Eyirie finishes eating the bread—faster than Haneval thinks healthy—and moves to the door. She lifts one of the rain cloaks from a hook, “Just in case,” she says, and leaves.

    ❖ ❖ ❖

    The lantern sits on the table between them. There are no windows on the first floor, but air moves through from upstairs, and from the breathing of three Elves. The shadows of Haneval and Suomen sway upon the wall behind them, dancing with the lantern flame.

    Haneval looks better after a brief rest. Suomen is sharpening a long knife on a whetstone, a rhythmic scraping that is the only sound. At last Airisu speaks.

    “Until something changes, I am calling Second Branch.”

    The two men nod, expecting this.

    “Tanen left us yesterday around this time,” she continues. “We sent a message to Silvergrass Tower in the afternoon, then to several other nearby towers later. Sinsera is on deck, and there have been no replies to our messages. For all we know, we could be at war.”

    “Skar in Oldwood,” says Suomen, putting down his knife.

    “And our visitor brought them here,” adds Haneval.

    Airisu feels a strange and deadly calm. Two of her people are out in a forest that feels wrong in a way she cannot yet understand. A sense that is not sight or hearing, that she cannot describe to the others. Skar would be trouble, but she knows there is something else. Something starkly unfamiliar.

    “No regular patrols,” she continues. “No going out alone.”

    “What about Sinsera?” asks Suomen.

    “You are thinking she is young and untested.”

    “She is. And I am also curious about her reputation. The tales...”

    “You have heard nonsense.”

    Haneval looks between the two of them. “Is there something I should know?”

    “This is not the time.”

    Suomen says, “With respect, elder, you have placed us at Second Branch. We might be at war. At the moment there are only four Wardens in this Tower. We must trust one another completely.”

    “And I do.” Airisu sighs, watching the flame tremble behind the lantern glass. Then she looks up at Haneval. “You know that Sinsera has no family.”

    “I do.”

    “Her parents became convinced she was a changeling. They told the Council that the Fae had swapped their child for one of their own.”

    Haneval blinks. “Is that possible?”

    “No. She is an Elf.”

    “What do we really know about the Fae?” Suomen leans forward. “I have dealt with them, of course, but I could not say that I understand them. How do these rumors begin?”

    “People believe all manner of delusion when they fear. We Elves have fears that have passed down through generations, through centuries. Suspicion of even our own kind, for we have been betrayed before. And through fear some suspect one another, even turn on one another.” She leans forward and holds Suomen’s gaze. “But that will not happen in this Tower, under my command.”

    Suomen takes a deep breath and looks away. “Understood, Airisu. Perhaps I but needed reassurance that we are one.”

    “We are one. We are Elves, and we will protect our land.” She looks at Haneval. “By any means necessary.”

    ❖ ❖ ❖

    Far above them, Sinsera leans on the railing around the observation deck of the Tower. The trees that she loves are restless today, and their branches bend and creak in a strong wind, leaves hissing. Frail clouds run before the western wind.

    Oldwood rises and falls before her, spread across all the land between here and the sea. Behind her, Faerthale Forest sleeps. And somewhere far to the northwest, the City that she abandoned after it abandoned her.

    She is accustomed to the rumblings and chitterings of the forest. But other than the wind in the leaves and branches, she hears little from Oldwood today. There is a watchful silence, a waiting.

    Her eyes turn again toward the northwest, and now she sees something shine in the sunlight. She quickly moves toward that side of the deck and whistles a song between her raised hands. The glasswing sings in response as it nears, then lands upon the railing.

    Its crest trails brilliant crimson behind its head, and glasslike wings shine in the sunlight. She strokes the tufts of fur beneath its beak and coos softly. Then she holds out her arm, offering, and the bird jumps onto the leather bracer on her wrist.

    She descends the stairs to the glasswingcote below the deck. She gently places the bird into an empty hutch, then removes the small leather satchel it carries. Withdrawing the tiny parchment, she reads

     

    Skar in Oldwood

    Two Wardens missing

    Third Branch

    Water Crane Tower

     

    She stuffs the message into a tunic pocket, then ensures that the glasswing has food and water before rushing down the stairs toward the first floor, where Airisu is talking with Haneval and Suomen.

    Airisu reads the message from Water Crane Tower. Then she looks up at the others. “Third Branch. You will be armed at all times. Suomen, help me fill all of the water sacks and prepare some trail food. Sinsera, back to the deck. Haneval, check on our guest.”

    After the others have started up the stairs, Airisu dips her hand in water, then kneels down next to a bucket of cooled ash next to the brazier. Suomen joins her as she reaches in for the whitest ash, then spreads it thickly on her face. Together they rise, faces Ashen, and begin to prepare.

    ❖ ❖ ❖

    Eyirie stands thunderstruck near a path, looking all around her. She sees the forest, the great trees and dangling vines, softly luminescent flowers and pillows of moss and bracken. Everything she sees looks normal to her eyes.

    What has quickened her heart is what she does not see. There should be a great tree with vines and flowers draped around it, and embedded in the trunk a Spriggan who has chosen to become a tree in the way of her kind.

    But Nay Hu is not here. Were it possible, she would suspect that Nay Hu has picked herself up out of the ground and run away—but that cannot be. She has been told that once a Spriggan settles into its beloved earth, it does not move again. There is no stump, not even a scar in the ground to suggest that the old Spriggan was ever here.

    But Eyirie has been a Warden for seven years. There is no mistake. This is where Hay Nu should be, and is not.

    A crackling in the brush as of some passing animal, and she turns to look. At the edge of vision, shards of ink stain the forest as if an inkwell has been spilled, an ink darker than the deepest night without stars. A hint of branches moving, grasping as they move swiftly through the wood. For a moment she hears a sound, like the whining of cicadas but much, much deeper in pitch, and then it is gone.

    “This is not my forest,” she whispers.

    She turns and runs northeast toward Red Leaf Tower. Toward home.

    ❖ ❖ ❖

    He opens his eyes to a small room, little more than a closet with eight sides. One small door, no windows. A rough feather-stuffed bit of cloth beneath him on a wood frame, with his legs hanging off the end.

    Warden Tower. He reached the Tower. He does not remember what happened after that.

    A man enters the tiny room. An Elf—not Ashen—with deep auburn hair in long braids falling down the front of his clothes. He wears a bone-carved Warden symbol as a pendant.

    The man sets down a stool he brought with him and sits beside the cot.

    “I am called Haneval, a Warden of Red Leaf Tower. How are you feeling?”

    “I…” Soril swallows. It is difficult to form words. “Awake.”

    Haneval smiles slightly. “I was up all night reading your journal. I know that Skar followed you back. But you made it back to Faerthale, so you’re home now.”

    Soril shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No. Not home. Not home.”

    Haneval frowns. “What do you mean? You said they’re not trees. What did you mean by that?”

    Soril swallows and tries to find the words that abandoned him. “We brought something… with us.”

    “Do you mean the Skar, or the artifact you mention?”

    The old Elf shakes his head. “Not the Skar. The Skar… nothing. We brought back the… the rod of the Imsu. The one described in the Nuaga Tablets.”

    “The artifact was not in your bag among your things. What does it mean, Imsu? Were they a people who lived here long ago?”

    He nods. “Cult.”

    “And they made this artifact. But what did you mean about the trees?”

    “They cannot be seen directly. I don’t know why. They don’t fit into our world. So they try to wear the shapes of things that do.”

    Haneval feels something cold moving down the skin of his back. “Who are they?”

    But Soril has begun to shake. “They know my name. They know my name now.”

    Haneval wants to shake him. “Who are they?

    Soril pulls himself up on one elbow, reaches out to grasp the front of Haneval’s tunic. “We brought it back. Whatever it is, it is changing Oldwood. There is something else here with us. Something wrong.”

    “This forest has been here since the beginning of the world, as far as we know. The Spriggans themselves tell us the stories of Noa, of the Face in the Deep. Whatever this thing is…”

    Soril falls back onto the cot. “It is old,” he whispers in a voice drained of energy.

    Haneval rests his head in his hands, trying to think. “Where is the artifact?”

    But Soril has passed once again into sleep.

    ❖ ❖ ❖

    Midafternoon and the sun begins to sink toward the forest on its way to the sea. They’ve filled water sacks from the hand pump on the first floor, and prepared plenty of trail food for any contingency. Blade weapons have been sharpened, and quivers packed with arrows.

    Airisu has been pacing the floor for some time. At last she stops, her eyes closed. Then she turns to Haneval. “Relieve Sinsera on the deck. Tell her to come down.”

    He nods and moves to the stairs.

    “Suomen.”

    “Yes, elder.”

    “The Tower is yours while we’re gone.”

    “Understood. Where do you go?”

    “Silvergrass.” She sighs. “Commander Eiriskeen should have responded long ago. I have to know.”

    “There is something other than Skar out there, Airisu.”

    “I know, and that’s the problem. We have no idea what is waiting in the trees around us. No communication with the other towers. I must try to contact our commander.”

    Sinsera appears in the stairwell. She opens her mouth to speak, but Airisu tells her, “Get a water sack and trail food from the table.”

    As the young woman complies, Airisu notes with approval that she prepared her weapons and armor as she descended the Tower. In moments she is standing before Airisu and cinching her bag.

    Suomen locks the door behind them as they leave.

    The sun shears the air of Oldwood, a harsher light than spring should offer. A watching stillness holds its breath as they move swiftly along the path toward Silvergrass. Now and then they ignore a snuffling in the brambles. Airisu sets a quick pace and Sinsera silently follows her lead.

    The sun is behind the western trees by the time they reach their destination. Silvergrass Tower is similar to Red Leaf, though the first floor is larger, along with the second. An image of the Lucent is drawn in bands of silver upon the door. On one side of the door is the Warden symbol, and on the other, an image of sprigs of silvergrass carved in white stone.

    One panel of the great door is wide open, and a void lurks within.

    Airisu’s heart is pierced with dread as she looks up at the tower where Eiriskeen, commander of the Wardens of Oldwood, holds council. She sees no one on the deck above, no light in the windows.

    “Draw your blades,” she whispers, and Sinsera quietly does so. “I should… sense life, but… nothing.”

    They move slowly toward the waiting dark. Airisu grips her staff with both hands.

    As they pass through the open door they are hit with the reek of blood and entrails, and the choking tang of copper. A couple of tapers linger on with the last of their flame, flickering across the scene on the floor of the Tower.

    The bodies of at least three people are scattered around the room, ripped and shredded like meat that has been pulled off the bone.

    Among the scattered flesh, Airisu sees a piece of armor that her commander always wears.

    Then she is outside the Tower, retching in the grass. Sinsera kneels down to help her.

    “We are at war,” gasps Airisu. “We must return to Red Leaf and gather what remains of the Wardens.”

    The sun has set below the sea, and the darkness rises around them.

     

    Read Chapter Four at https://seforums.pantheonmmo.com/content/forums/topic/12847/hunting-in-ember-chapter-four

     


    This post was edited by Crowsinger at March 21, 2021 4:30 AM PDT