IX-By the Light of the Grove
As the songs continued, Miria was caught by surprise when a heavy, bark-covered hand gently tapped her on the shoulder.
When Miria looked back she saw Veln, the Felq of the Fens, standing with his walking stick. With all that had happened during the day, the queen had almost forgotten that she was to talk more with the felq that night.
She gestured as if to say she was going to get her guides to translate, but the felq answered in a deep Forest accent. “You don't need them.”
Miria was shocked that the felq could respond in her language. She quietly gestured to say she needed her guards, but again, Veln spoke. “No. We go to a sacred place to talk. Follow me now.”
Some of the mariners that had stayed sitting to guard the queen were wary of the proposal, but not wanting to waste such an opportunity, the queen reassured them. And after rising from her chair, she followed the felq.
The two leaders silently walked into the dim forest, leaving behind the warm glow of the clearing. The only light source was the broken moon that scarcely pierced the thick foliage, and a few mushrooms and glowing mosses that littered the path the Felq took them through.
There was a strange silence along the trail, especially for a forest. The only sounds were the Felq's and the queen's steps, and the darkness of the night masked the trees that littered the path, as if every tree pretended to be the last one.
The felq seemed focused on the path ahead, and Miria dared not to break the silence, lest she break some sort of Fen rule.
But as they came forward, she noticed a change.
With the sound of the heavy steps of old felq, and the noise of the old bark skin grinding against itself, Miria saw a most terrifying sight.
The trees began to change. Instead of having a simple trunk with branches, the trunks of the trees now resembled the old bark-covered Fens she had seen in the clearing.
Spread around the path, the trees became smaller, to the size of herself and the forest folk, and she saw faces on the trees.
Some of the old, rooted forest folk had expressions of pain and suffering, as if they were being pulled by the bodies that they inhabited. Others seemed at peace, or happy with their end.
Vania’s words rang through Miria's head, her earlier description of this, the death of the Fenians: returning to the earth, becoming a full-rooted tree again.
The queen wondered why the foreign leader had brought her to such a grim location, but she did not question him yet.
Finally, the two monarchs entered the grove. It was occupied by nothing except the fully bark-covered Fens. Their natural coffins, Miria thought.
The grove seemed large, and in the darkness, endless.
Although clear walking paths had been made through it, and as Miria noticed a bit closely. She saw a few Nature Singer Fens, fully clad with their masks, moving about in the grove, some removing mosses and bugs from the Fen trees, and others praying or meditating in front of a select few Fen trees.
Miria also saw as a small stream of water flowing through the grove, coming and going to places unknown.
In the center of the sacred grove was a hollowed-out stump, its top completely rotted away from eons of age, and in its center was a Fen with a wooden mask. Its body was covered in so much bark that it completely dwarfed that of the Felq, and made it resemble a proper tree more than a human, like the other Fens did.
Veln knelt in reverence to the center stump and its inhabitant. To Miria's surprise, the felq brought his walking stick close to his mouth and began to play it, revealing it as a flute.
A beautiful melody came from it. Despite his exterior appearance, the song the Felq played was gentle and sweet; it filled the air with nostalgia and saudade for a time long passed.
In his song, Miria could hear the cry of a leader who had witnessed the spirit of his land change. It echoed through the grove, and as if pulled to the song, hundreds of fireflies floated from the Fen trees to illuminate the sacred grounds. There was a strange mix of silver moonlight reflecting in the stream’s water and the light of the fireflies.
As the song’s tempo slowed, a breeze blew gently through the grove. With one last note the Felq stopped, and once again began to lean on his flute.
The queen contemplated the beauty surrounding her. The grim atmosphere she felt before had completely vanished as the fireflies littered the air and danced with the falling leaves.
The felq turned around to face the human queen. “You have come a long way. What do you make of our land?”
“It's . . . beautiful,” she said, surprised at the question.
“It was more beautiful before.”
She chuckled at his words. “Things are always more beautiful in our memory.”
The felq seemed to ponder this for a few seconds. Then a smile erupted from the mass of bark that was his face. “Yes . . . memories. They can be so sweet, but so betraying too.”
He paused, as if wondering what to ask the queen, but Miria jumped in.
“What is this place, exactly? Is this there where you bring your dead?”
Veln frowned in confusion. “Dead? No, no. Nothing is ever dead. Fens don't die. We, just, grow old and grow bark.” Each word seemed to take a toll on Veln’s strength as if he was using all of his energy to talk.
“We grow bark, as we grow age. We grow so much bark, that we cannot move . . . or talk . . . or think anymore. But we are still alive, and when that happens . . . we come here, to the grove. So we are rooted next to our family, and friends who have grown too much bark too.” Veln said, clearly troubled by his own affliction.
Vania noticed his wavering voice. “Are you worried that you will join the grove soon?”
“No. Not worried for my own sake . . . I worry, what will happen to my people when I become rooted,” Veln said as he looked into the distance where the faint light of the clearing could be seen.
“Our land is changing. Like the seasons, our time in the sun is ending, and I do not know, if I leave my children to the freezing winds, or the blooming morning. You have heard them, seen them . . . you bring the changing winds with you. What they started, you will finish,” Veln said as if reciting some age-old prophecy.
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Miria balked at Velns accusation.”If you think we bring you ruin you are mistaken. We want to be your allies and friends.”
“You do not understand. You cannot see past your own ambitions. The tides you bring cannot be reversed, whether they are good or bad does not matter. By merely standing here, you are leaving a mark that will forever change the Alq Fen and its islands.”
The queen was troubled by the vagueness of the felq. “Then let us help you! Tell me how we can help your people. If things will change, then let's make it for the better.”
Veln refrained from talking for a bit, then with a heavy tone he admitted, “Change always brings . . . problems.” He sighed. “But the age of the never-changing blossom has ended. If we must bring forth a new season, then let us make it an everlasting and peaceful one for our two threatened people,” Veln said with a heavy expression.
Miria smiled at the Felq’s optimism, but before she could talk, he spoke again. “Beware, Miria Roseport. Within your own people, there are seeds of evil and corruption, that await to bloom and take all of these lands . . . I fear some of those seeds might have been planted and watered already.”
“How do you know so much about us anyway? Where did you learn our language?” Miria asked, intrigued by the old tree's words.
“The Fenian Felqs are gifted certain powers, by the first tree. Powers that allow us to better guide and rule all of its children. One is longevity, for it brings stability to its people. The other, given to me at least, was the sight of futures to be.”
“You can see the future?”
“In dreams, yes. In my night travels, I have gazed upon futures that might be. But I have also gazed upon your arrival. I saw your cities of stones; saw the conflicts you wage; the wondrous and horrifying machines you create. Before that, when I had just become Felq, I saw the Sun People arrive.”
Miria's eyes fixated on the Felq as he spoke of the Sun People.
“I did not understand it at the time. I did not know it, nor did I believe the Sea Dreamers’ words. So I ignored it—thought it was nothing but wild dreams. But then they came, clad in great colored robes of cloth we could never dream to make.
We were unaccustomed to war, had been centuries since the last conflict. They conquered half of our Islands. Our spiked brethren were humbled by their power. We had no choice but to retreat here. Everything west of the old Acid Drinker domain was abandoned.
For ages, we stood in an eternal stalemate with the Sun People. The Fens all came to me for answers. But what could I give them? We needed to wait . . . I needed to see, your arrival.
I dreamt of you east-walkers for a long time. I saw many different arrivals too. Do not take my words as insults, great queen. For out of all of those visions, I am glad it was you who arrived in my home.”
Having heard the words of the felq, Miria was intrigued by his visions. “You say you saw other visions of possible futures? What sort of futures?”
The felq raised his head slightly and answered. “Of your arrival, I have seen better tidings, but still troublesome futures seem to lie for our two people. Black clouds are gathering. In a dream, I saw the forests of the Alq Fen gone, stripped away and cut down. The great tree was nothing more than a great stump, and I saw as the land dried and the seas became black.
“In another, I watched a great city of metal and rock spring from the Alq Fen itself and surround the entire island, and great pillars of fire raced to the stars from the island.
“In another, I saw as the Alq Fen kept growing, unchecked by man or tree. The first tree grew so large that it reached the skies and sank to the ocean as it covered the island.
“And in the most terrifying of all, I saw the entirety of the Island burn in a great ball of flame. From the flaming trunk of the first tree, a cloud the shape of a mushroom raced toward a red and orange sky.” As she heard the prophetic visions, Miria became uneasy.
“Some of these visions spell a great doom and death of the Alq Fen,” he continued. “Others show great joy and happiness among the people of the island. Regardless, they all spell the death of the Alq Fen as I know it. No matter what, it seems as if the future of the Alq Fen is something that will be unrecognizable to me or any other who came before me. I will not be the last felq; that I know. But I will be the last true felq. As it was envisioned and planned upon by the first tree. This is the origin of my sadness, Miria Roseport.”
As Miria heard the Felq's words, she finally understood his point of view. “I see now. I'm sorry, I didn't know my people’s arrival would cause so much upheaval and such . . .” Miria thought back to the Felq’s visions, “such strange changes to your island.”
“It is not your error to apologize for. Eventually our world would change, one way or another. I just wish I hadn't been the one to witness it change. In any case, you are here now. I do not know what my, and your choices will lead to . . . but I, and I hope you too, will act in a way that will benefit our two peoples the most.”
“Of course! We have much to gain by working together,” Miria said, smiling at the prospect of finally beginning to talk about cooperation.
“I'm glad we are like-minded,” Veln said as he let out a rare smile. ”You have been approached by the Spiked Ones’ emissary, no doubt?”
“I was, yes. He asked me to help his people in the fight against the sun warriors,” Miria said, still unsure who the sun warriors actually were.
“Of course he did. The spiked ones are not lacking in hunting spirit. As much as I wish I could offer a better solution, the Sun People have shown themselves time and time again to be unwilling to talk. They are extremely aggressive, and it seems as if war and conflict are their only languages. My request will be of a similar nature. Unfortunately, I must request that you . . . eliminate them from the Island. Only then can our two people know peace here.”
Miria’s fear was realized as the felq confirmed there would be no other option. “Since we are new here, maybe they will be willing to talk with us?” She suggested. “Perhaps we can solve this diplomatically, and get them to repay the spiked ones in some way.”
Veln looked surprised at Miria. “It is possible,” he answered. “But I highly advise against it. The spiked ones will never forgive you if you make peace or ally yourself with the Sun People. They would never accept peace with them—not after all that has happened to their island.”
“Aren't you their leader too? How come the Fens would be fine, but the Spiked Ones wouldn't?”
Veln chucked at the queen’s question. “We may be brothers, but the spiked ones have their own customs, laws, and culture. I would never be accepted as their leader. No more than your people would follow the king of a neighboring country.
Besides, the losses we Fens incurred were minimal compared to the total devastation of the Spiked Ones’ homes. If you choose to eliminate the Sun People and return the central homeland of the Spiked Ones, they will likely be your eternal ally. But if you side with the Sun People instead, you should expect that the Spiked Ones will forever harass your settlements in the same way they do the Sun People’s.”
“Would you be against us too?” Miria asked as she wished to see how far the Fenian and Spiked Ones’ alliance went.
“No. As long as you don’t threaten us, we will not be hostile to you. No matter how you solve the issue of the Sun People, it will most likely return the safety of the shores and would allow our more western island-minded people to return to their homes. You have already shown yourself to be courteous in nature. I do not think our relations shall degrade in the future, in any case.”
“I see.” Miria thought seriously for a long bit, pacing in the grass for a few good seconds. “What will happen if we are able to solve this issue with the Sun People?”
“If you solve it, I can convince the Spiked Ones to let you settle the coasts of their island. The Spiked Ones only inhabit the central lands in their desert, so it wouldn't be an issue for them. And the coastal lands are rich in fish and lumber—the lands are green and fertile, unlike the desert. It will allow your people to live in a way they are accustomed to, I assure you.”
Miria thought about it further. She considered asking to settle in the Fenian Islands, but she did not dare, in case she offended her so-far gracious host.
“Hmm . . . I will have to convene with my captains. We will have much to discuss, but we should be able to reach an agreement on what to do,” the queen said with a hopeful smile.
“I look forward to seeing what course your people will take then,” Veln said, giving her with an equal smile. “Is there anything else you want to discuss?”
“I don't think so. Nothing that would be too relevant to discuss now anyway,” The queen said as she struggled to think of anything.
“Then we may retire for the night then. I will have one of the nature singers escort you back to the clearing. I will remain here for a little longer, I hope you do not mind. I am quite tired,” Veln said as he prepared to sit by the hollowed-out Fen Tree.
“Of course, Your Highness Veln. Have a wonderful night,” Miria said as she gave a courteous goodbye bow and began to follow a nature singer who was waiting for her by the exit of the grove.
“Good night, Queen Miria Roseport. May your winds bring you to good shores.”
By the gods, what we gotten ourselves into? Miria thought to herself as she walked the path to the clearing.
In her head, she began to pray. Gods, I hope my captains have some damn good advice for me.
More importantly, she hoped and prayed that no recent bad dream of hers had actually been a warning to what was currently unfolding before her own eyes.