Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Treewater

The Legacies emerged from the spell and hit the ground in a sprawling mess. They were thrown and twisted every which way. Nichole did at least three rolls. Aroha slammed face down. Oliver and Sarah hit the soil tangled in a mess of arms and legs. Neither of them seemed altogether too bothered.

Michael groaned as he opened his eyes. He was then surprised to find himself looking up at an enormous forest canopy. He was spread-eagled out with several tree roots sticking into his back through a carpet of leaves and twigs. He sat up and found that the forest spread endlessly in every direction as each of his companions groaned and cursed in their own uncomfortable position.

Michael sighed and rubbed his temples. “Well, okay.”

When Oliver rose to his feet, he helped Sarah up too, both sharing a small amount of blush, and suddenly his hand shot to his waistline, fumbling around for something not there.

Oliver twisted and turned before shouting, “Anyone seen Iron Tooth?”

Nichole pulled Aroha to her feet and took a twig out of her hair before replying, “All our weapons are gone. Sidney will have them since I don’t see her anywhere here.”

Oliver’s tension didn’t seem to dissipate but he nodded, taking in the surroundings. “Where are we?”

Sarah shrugged, running her hand along one of the outright enormous tree trunks stretching high into the heaven of foliage above. If she and two others tried to wrap their arms around it, they wouldn’t touch hands on the other side. “No idea. We’re not in Olympium, that’s for sure.”

Michael looked at the swordswoman, her electric eyes searching the bark like she’d find an address somewhere upon its trunk. “How do you know?”

Nichole smiled at the corners of her mouth. “We’re in the Ringlands. That humid air. This must be Treewater.”

“The rainforest?” Michael asked, feeling the edge of hysteria mounting.

Nichole nodded. “One way to know for sure.” Nichole licked the end of her finger and held it up to the air.

The Treewater Rainforest was known for three things. The first being its enormity, both in general size and the pure stature of its trees. The second being its mystery, its impossibility to map, and the confusion it left thousands of cartographers with throughout history. The third being the reason being its magic, or in other words, the Everwind of the Treewater.

Since the first settlers arrived and stepped foot in the great forest, they made note of the wind, little more than a strong breeze, which constantly blew east. It did this for nearly one-hundred cycles, blowing all the way from the Western Coast to the edge of the Eastern Coast. Every day it did so, and every day it carried the falling seeds of the great Riniglacian trees along the coast. These particular trees were not known for their long life, either. And so, new trees would grow where the wind blew the seeds. And old trees would topple and rot, and to the mapmakers of the world, it looked very much like a forest the size of a country was inching its way west to east.

The kicker was that once the forest had shifted to the edge of the Eastern Coast of Northern Riniglacia, the wind merely turned, and began blowing the other way, and slowly it moved back again. No one knew why.

Nichole’s smile only grew warmer as the wind didn’t so much as budge. She lowered her hand. “This is Treewater. Welcome to the other side Draendica, everybody.”

Michael looked to the beautiful trees, leaning so high into the world above that he was sure they must’ve held up the very sky. There was no inch of blue seen through the canopy and instead the air held beneath was warm and cosy, despite the wind. The smell of plants and trees was like perfume, but not the damp and heavy kind, rather it was refreshing and seemingly always changing due to the unending gusts blowing through to the east. In the carpet of foliage beneath his feet there lay every colour of leaf imaginable, from every shade of green and yellow to the occasional splash of purple and red. Bushes were plump with wild-berries and white flowers. Branches were decorated in wide, pale green leaves, often cradling birds’ nests of all different shapes and sizes.

Michael was almost disappointed when Nichole suggested they should make camp. He could’ve stayed and stared until the sun went down. It was only when he turned around that he realised they were waiting on him.

“Sorry, yes, what can I do?”

Oliver and Sarah shared a glance before realising they weren’t sure what to say. “We were kind of waiting for you to tell us.”

Michael frowned. “I couldn’t have less of an idea of what to do. Also, why did Sidney tell me not to say anything to Amekot back there?”

Aroha made an apologetic face. “It might be for the best that you don’t tell Amekot.”

“Tell him what, that I have dreams sometimes?”

Aroha snorted and raised her brow at him. “Don’t brush this off, Williams. If you hadn’t thought it was a big deal, you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

Michael opened his mouth to speak but nothing came forth. His mind was full of spite and snarky retort and he knew it was all defensive and untrue.

“Fine,” Michael said softly.

Aroha noticed his change of tone and stepped gently toward him. “Well, alright then. Have you ever seen something happen before it really did?”

Michael knew there was no point running from it. “Not long ago, I was walking to class with my friends and the ceiling was about to cave in. I knew it was going to. I- I don’t know why- I mean it was an old, mouldy ceiling tile, but my whole school is like that. I just had this feeling.”

A vein in Michael’s arm twitched.

He looked down to it as it faded away.

Oliver sat himself down on fallen tree and Nichole and Aroha followed suit, leaving Michael the only one standing beside Sarah.

Oliver gently said, “I take it you had an image in your mind, just then?”

“I did.”

Oliver nodded and brushed his hair out the way of his eyes. They seemed bronze in the low light of the forest. “Bring that picture back to your mind. Live in it for a moment.”

Sarah quietly made her way over to Oliver as he spoke and sat down on the forest floor in front of him. “Focus on the way you felt, if you can remember it.”

Michael closed his eyes and brought forth the memory. He remembered the sound of his friends’ voices, the idle roar of the moving school, and the clatter of lockets and shoes. He remembered the smell of the dusty floors and the way his feet felt as they trudged between classes.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

A muscle behind Michael’s eye twitched and a pain trickled into his temple. He ignored it.

Michael remembered the way Carter had spoken his name. He remembered the screams of the other students and the way the light crashed through the plume of dust.

Pain exploded in Michael’s mind and he tore his eyes open.

The forest was gone.

Carter and James were stood before him in the school corridor and the ceiling tile had just collapsed before them but the pain in his mind was just as intense.

“Michael?”

Michael blinked and the vision was gone. He was once again surrounded by leaves and trees. The air was warm and the wind was blowing. The birds chirped and the pain had stopped as swiftly as it’d begun.

Michael blinked and felt his breath rasp from his mouth into a wistful smile. Right before he passed out cold.

Sarah, Oliver, Aroha and Nichole all flinched as he hit the floor.

The group of Legacies looked guiltily to one-another, and Oliver mumbled, “We should’ve sat closer.”

Aroha frowned at the others and shrugged. “Is that normal?”

Nichole hopped up, took off her cloak and bundled it under Michael’s head. “It almost always happens the first time. Its why we were all shocked when he didn’t pass out summoning his starfire yesterday. He’ll be right in a moment.”

The remaining Legacies then set about making up camp, though Oliver was hesitant to leave the boy lying there, the rangers assured him they wouldn’t stray out of eye-line from him.

When Michael finally came-to again, he found Oliver and Sarah leaning tall, thin branches against one of the mighty Riniglacian trees, making a kind of tepee.

Michael sat up and rubbed his head. “I probably should have asked this earlier, but is magic supposed to hurt?”

Oliver chuckled and twisted one of the branches into the soil to keep it from sliding. “First of all, Magic and Arcancy are two different things. Magic is like a written language, where the words have specific meanings and while they can be arranged to do different things, their inherent values don’t change. Take the runes in the bathhouse of Fort Guardian, for example. They’re powerful and interesting, but they generally serve one purpose. Like tools. Arcancy is a different story.”

Sarah jumped in, asking, “Do you know the other name for Arcancy, besides Blood Magic?”

Michael remembered Amekot use the term off the cuff once before. “Creation Magic?”

“Precisely. Magic is the written word. And Arcancy is closer to the pen itself.” Sarah wandered toward Michael and gave him a firm hand up. “But the power of making is not one which we invented. Nor was it given to our people intentionally. It’s a tool of creation, naturally belonging only to the Gargan of Old. Why does it exist in a handful of us? We don’t know! But what we do know, is that we are not nearly powerful enough to wield it. It literally destroys us.”

Michael picked a leaf out of his hair. “Which is why it hurts...”

Oliver nodded and said, “Hold this,” before dumping an enormous stack of leaves in Michael’s arms. “It’s also why you passed out. Not only is it as painful as a mouthful of scolding water, but its foreign to us. Overusing Arcancy is like drinking. Go too far and you’ll be on the ground or- or worse.”

Michael glanced nervously at Sarah as she took a handful of leaves from him and continued adding to their make-shift shack’s roof. “It can kill us?”

Sarah took a pause and nodded. “Yes.”

The pause worried Michael more than the answer. “What else can happen?”

Sarah glanced at Oliver and he shook his head tactfully without Michael noticing. She bit her tongue and said, “When we get back to the Fort, we’ll give you the full run-down. Don’t worry, the low-level stuff you’ve been conjuring is fine, but maybe keep to the more... experimental stuff to a minimum.”

Michael could sense their hesitance and decided not to press the matter, though the question lingered in his mind as he wondered. He thought of the different kind of drinkers whom he knew. James was a klutz. After a bottle of wine, he became bowlegged and near-sighted. Carter was a walking grin. Everything was hilarious and his face was permanently smeared with a toothy, beaming smile. He was also massive flirt. So was James. Or maybe Michael did just bring it out in them.

The faces in his mind pushed through to his own and Michael found himself smiling gently. Then he stopped. The young archer let Oliver take the last of the long leaves from his arms and asked, “Are we allowed to write to people, you know, who aren’t Legacies?”

Sarah and Oliver snapped toward and him and said, “No!”

Michael raised his hands in defence. “Whoa, why not?”

Oliver’s expression softened with guilt and he said, “Sorry, look it’s just something that can’t happen. If one mention of Legacies gets put in a letter and that letter gets read by the wrong person, then we’re all in danger.”

Michael pursed his lips, restraining a snarky reply only somewhat as he said, “Being a little dramatic, aren’t you? Most people don’t even think Legacies make good characters in children’s’ stories. They certainly aren’t having nightmares about them.” Michael dusted his hands off, picking out the odd sprig of forest thistle from his palms. It was only when he looked up that he noticed Sarah was staring at him.

It wasn’t a menacing glare or a look of disgust. Rather it was a tired stare.

Michael suddenly realised that he only had to learn everything once, but it was probably not the first time she’d had to explain everything under the sun about Legacies to someone. He took a steady breath and took a gentle step toward them.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my friends from home. They’re like family to me and I just wanted to let them know I was okay. I shouldn’t be an arse, either way.”

Sarah awkwardly knotted her fingers and said, “I could’ve been gentler about it. I remember how lost I felt when I first showed up.” Her electric blue eyes seemed to fade behind the memories until she blinked them away. “But all the same. We’re not worried about the people who think little of Legacies. We’re worried about the ones who think too much. And it only takes one zealous Riinin for things to crumble. And they will crumble fast.”

A set of light footsteps sounded from behind as Nichole and Aroha wandered back into the clearing, both carrying armloads of kindling and scrap-wood.

Nichole smiled and said, “Glad to see you’re awake. Come, we’ll show you lot how to start a fire.”

Aroha dumped her wood and glanced to Sarah. “You took that woodcraft class back at the fort, right?”

Sarah nodded, wishing she’d had a moment longer to close out her last conversation. “Want me to try scrape some tools together?”

“I’d prefer weapons but its dealer’s choice.”

Without any clear instructions from Sidney, the five Legacies took it that “to survive” was simply that, and they set to work getting comfortable for the night. Nichole assembled a small pile of dry sticks and walled them off in big stones she dug out from deep in the soil beneath. By the time she’d finished the fire-pit preparation she was covered in mud up to her forearms. She was now repeatedly twisting a slim chute of wood against a much drier log. Smoke curled into the air every time she rapidly shimmied her hands down the shaft.

As she worked, she spoke idly, describing the positioning of her hands and the sharpness of her movements. A strand of hair fell into her sweat-dotted brow and she pushed it away, leaving a small mark of grime on her cheek.

Across the fire-pit sat Aroha and next to her was Oliver.

Oliver had made fires before but never in an actual forest, so he listened closely to her instruction, nodding carefully with each vital step.

Aroha was of course adept at making fires already. But she was also so deeply in love with her that the world ending could not have moved her attention from the way Nichole’s dancing hands and grimy face.

Aroha couldn’t help but sigh.

Meanwhile, off on their own task, Michael and Sarah were wandering in search of a particular kind of native tree when finally she called, “Over here!”

Michael jogged toward her and looked over the slightly littler tree that Sarah stood before. It was redder in hue and all over, little leaks seemed to have sprung with sap, trickling slightly down its side.

He reached out to touch it when Sarah said, “They call this the Iron-Sap Tree, because you need something made of iron to break it once its dried.”

Michael froze his advancing hand. “So, maybe I shouldn’t?”

“Maybe.” Sarah gave a small smile, then brought out a pre-prepared branch she’d scavenged from the forest floor earlier. The warrior created a small split in the end of the long shaft with a small piece of fragmented stone and then searched for a larger rock lying nearby.

Michael spotted one and pulled it up out the soil, dragging it over to her. As he put it down, he shyly said, “Look, about earlier, I gather there’s a story I don’t know. Some proper reason why we don’t mention things to non-Legacies.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes for a moment and her hand tensed up with muscle and bright veins. Her fingers began licking with multi-coloured flame and she unblinkingly struck the rock dead in its centre.

Michael winced but the stone merely shattered into long fragments, and he chuckled as she pocketed them, handing him one in particular.

Sarah nodded softly. “If you can craft and listen at the same time, I’ll tell you. First, coat the bottom-third in the sap leaking from that tree. Don’t get it on your fingers.”

Michael did as she said and she extinguished her flame, taking a deep, thoughtful breath as she put the tale in order behind his eyes.