We start in the morning, rested and geared for the journey ahead. We have a map as well, or as much of a map as possible. It’s a rough drawing of the forest, with some lines fairly solid, others little more than guesses, and a lot of empty space in the heart. That empty space is our destination. It’s the source of the enemy’s strength; whether that enemy be more conventional as Myran insists or something more….

Godlike.

It’s just the three of us now, and Dauntless, who insisted on coming despite the danger – and despite his limitations.

“I can’t ride you, my friend,” I told him. “The forest is too thick. And the others will be on foot.”

“Then I will serve as your mule, sire. Load me with packs and let me bear your burdens.”

So that’s what I did – it’s what everyone did – and Dauntless was true to his word, bearing his load without grumble or sighing.

We begin our journey in a wide loop, taking an indirect route toward the center, and following the path displayed in the map as best we can. It’s only an estimate even at this point though, and it’s not like there is a yellow brick road for us to follow.

I’m off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of wood.

I actually don’t have much to do besides sing to myself, which is good because at first I’m too anxious even for that. In my mind every noise, each broken stick, could be the enemy. But each time I reach for my blade nothing happens. Silence. Just silence and nature as we push deeper and deeper into the dark forest. My anxiety diminishes throughout the day as all I encounter are vines, rocks, and branches. Even the animals here seem to be quiet. We take turns carrying torches to help illuminate our way and by the time night falls for real I feel like it’s all just been a really boring hike.

“Ugh,” says Myran as he flops against a tree. “Where are the vicious ghosts bent on our annihilation? Perhaps Lord Erriam stubbed his own toe and mistook a bunch of rotted wood for an elven army.”

“Hmm.” The cleric rumbles. “The elves that came to my temple had more than stubbed toes, Myran.”

Myran shrugs. “Yes, well, the army’s not all it’s cracked-up to be I’m afraid. Especially those who would go to a temple. Disgusting place to my mind.”

The cleric cracks a smile. “I used to say the same, in my more reckless days.”

“As opposed to the dull days of your life currently, I take it.”

“You should be thanking Lord Erriam,” I say, not really sure why I’m defending him. “He’s the one distracting the enemy for us. He and the elven army.”

Myran waives the point away. “Nothing his Lordship does is for anything other than himself. Believe me.”

I scoff. “Is that what you tell your betrothed?”

Myran’s face darkens. “You keep the princess out of this.”

“Just remember she told you to listen to my orders,” I say, not appreciating his tone.

“Oh I remember all right. You just remember what the cleric just said about me. I can get a little ‘wreckless’ sometimes.”

Cyrus steps between us. “Perhaps that is why we have seen no enemies. They know we don’t even trust each other yet.”

The prince looks from me to the cleric. “Trust. What do you two know about trust? The ‘chosen one’ and the ‘famous commander’. You’ve been handed everything in life and you want to lecture me about ‘trust’. Trust is earned, not demanded. Perhaps people less privileged would understand that.”

Handed everything? Privileged? They wouldn’t even take me at university.

The prince walks off and I start to follow, but the cleric grasps my shoulder.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Leave him be, Ethan. Sometimes a tortured soul needs time alone.”

I roll my eyes. “Tortured. Don’t you mean obnoxious?”

“One can be both. And they feed each other I’m afraid.”

The cleric begins clearing ground for our tents. I’m still upset but walk to Dauntless and gather some simple provisions from his bags: nuts, bread, and root vegetables. We don’t want to attract attention by lighting fires, and Dominos won’t deliver to this corner of the universe, so nuts it is I guess.

“Have you done anything like this before?” I ask the cleric as we sit with our plates. “I mean gone on a quest?”

“I was an officer, a commander, but never an adventurer. So in this I am as new as you.”

“Pfft. I doubt that, Cyrus. I was just sitting around on my bed until recently.”

“Nevertheless, the Maker felt you were ready.”

I am pretty buffed using the mouse.

“Just as he knew I was ready to aid you.” The cleric says confidently. He turns away and glass bottles jingle slightly around his waist.

“What are those?” I ask, gesturing to the jingling glass.

“A gift from my elder,” he says with a small smile. “Clerics don’t fight as a matter of course, but there are exceptions now and then.”

I cross my arms skeptically. “What do you mean? Like he was some kind of warrior monk?”

Cyrus strokes his chin in thought. It’s amusing watching such a stout man look almost professorial.

Like Beast from X-Men.

“Let’s just say there are other flowers besides the Jesse.”

“Like poisonous ones you mean.”

The smile widens. “Oh, it’s a bit more exciting than that, Ethan.”

Now I really am curious. “What do you mean? Like they’re magic?”

“Oh no, clerics aren’t wizards. No one is these days. We’re something a bit more….creative.”

I’m bursting now. “Cyrus, will you just tell me already?”

“Unsheathe your sword.”

“My sword?”

Cyrus nods and I do as he instructs, holding the blade before me. The cleric takes a strange banana shaped crystal in his gloved hands and uncorks the top. He drips a single drop onto the blade and there is a tiny flash of light. Nothing big, but definitely noticeable. He tilts the bottle further and three more golden drops fall upon it. The blade starts to glow, just a little, with a white heat.

“Every Astrian flower has an essence,” the cleric says. “The temple has studied them for hundreds of years. Longer maybe. Many are medicinal and is why so many clerics are called upon as healers. Others are more flexible.” He withdraws the glass and the glow on my blade subsides. “Try it now.”

“Try what?”

Cyrus chuckles softly. “Swinging your sword.”

I stand with my blade extended. I bring it around my head and down in front of me. Nothing happens. I slice the air and parry an imagined attack. Still nothing.

“Cut a branch,” says the cleric.

I step to a tree and target a lower limb. I cut down with my sword and it slices through with such ease that the tip strikes the ground before I can stop it. It’s like the bark wasn’t even there. The limb itself is scalded, burnt with flame and charred.

“Incredible,” I mutter.

Cyrus nods. “My skills with a staff I learned from the army but the power of the flowers is a gift from the temple.”

“Can it do more? I mean the flowers can do other things?”

“Yes, when the time is right,” Cyrus says. “And right now we are trying to avoid attention so I don’t think we want any….explosions.”

I go wide-eyed. “Seems like magic to me,” I say.

“Except I can’t talk to horses.” Cyrus says with a small grin.

“I should have never told you that.”

“Nonsense.” The cleric responds. “It’s one of the signs of who you are. Of who you are meant to become.”

Crap. Not this hero business. I’m just trying to be a simple knight for now. And to not die.

“There’s no reason to hide your powers, Ethan.” Cyrus continues. “Or your trials.”

What does that mean? The demon? Like I should tell Myran?

“You two eat all the food?” We both turn to see the fiancé returning. If he’s still pissed he doesn’t show it, just picks up a loaf by the tent. “Not exactly gourmet I guess but it will have to do.”

“You see anything out there?” I ask.

The prince sighs. “I did. Trees. Countless, mangily trees. So many in fact that I began missing the prairie. Perhaps the bandits had it right after all.”

“What do you mean?” asks Cleric.

“I mean that perhaps we are done talking, at least for the moment while I eat.”

In fact the silence extends far longer than that. There is something about this place, some weight that appreciates the quiet, and the longer it continues the harder it is to break.

“Goodnight,” I say eventually, just to say something at all, but the word is swallowed among the branches above, sucked into their unending foliage. The darkness is like a blanket across my chest and for the first time since childhood I find the night unnerving. As I drift off to sleep I swear I hear something, in the distance among the leaves – I hear something calling my name.