Later in that night, after the knight of Wells’s house came, Isemberd tried going to bed to sleep, but unfortunately he had a horrible sleep. He woke up a few times during the night feeling feverish and dizzy, as well with a strong feeling of a powerful magic source nearby. He almost could see the intense energy burning outside near his window. A big pyre of pure essence, the source of all magic burning at his backyard.

The spirit of the forest was calling him in a way that only mages could hear or respond to.

Taking a peek at Gillibert and noticing the owlet was in a deep slumber, the mage stood up quietly. His hands moved into the magic sign he usually aimed at objects and he started levitating. The window opened for him and he flew outside.

He found the source of his ill-feeling behind the house near the little grass that grew where he had plans to make a garden someday. He sat down with his legs crossed. It was a warm night, and he was wearing a pair of pants that served him as pajamas, while his glasses stayed at his room.

A subtle whisper started near him. An unintelligible sound of someone muttering, lower than the breeze itself and the rustling sound of the leaves caused by the wind.

Isemberd formed a different magic sign. He joined his hands together, forming a weird oval shape with his fingers, intertwining them and stretching his pinky finger and a thumb. If seen from the front, the signed resembled a twisted knot.

The breeze suddenly disappeared. His eyes slowly closed against his will, and he heard:

“Finally! I thought I would need to make the wind rip off a piece of your roof!”

Isemberd focused on his own thoughts as he heard his voice answering in an echo to the spirit realm:

“I am very sorry. Here I am.”

“Of course you are!” The young lady’s voice responded. He waited and she seemed pretty annoyed. “I have a problem for you to deal with.”

Isemberd nodded and replied in this weird echo of thought:

“I am listening.”

“There is a cursed tree in the center of my grove, not far from here. It is eating animals and plants and feeding from a very warm and dark magic.”

Isemberd imagined two small glass globes. In his imagination he painted them one in orange and the other in black.

“Yes! Just like that.” The voice of the spirit said as if the being could peek into the mage’s mind.

“I need more details if possible.” He asked. His mental voice sounded as if it was coming from the back of a big temple.

“You are the mage here!”.

He sighed.

“But you, milady, are the spirit of the very grove. Nothing happens in these woods that escapes your knowledge.”

A small and silent break. The sound of a chuckle before a breeze came back again as the leaves on the trees got moved by it.

“You know how to be cute when you want. Life in the countryside is doing you wonders, look at how strong your arms are.”

Isemberd opened his eyes expecting to see the spoiled noble maiden the spirit said to be. He saw nothing besides the dark woods in the dead of the night.

“I still need to know more about the cursed tree.”

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“Boring!”

Gentle hands touched his shoulders. Isemberd waited.

“You certainly are deserving of the reputation you have. Doesn’t it wear you down having that… thing… hanging on you all the time?”

He sighed again.

“Milady, if you tell me more about what you suspect about the curse I will have it dealt with it by the morning.” The chuckle was less cocky and a little more gentle this time.

“How dependable! Very well, my armorless knight. Have I mentioned that I always wanted to have a knight for myself? A shame you don’t exactly want to become one…”

Isemberd left out a short but menacing pulse of scarlet light. His patience was very short. The breeze disappeared for a tense moment before it started blowing again.

“Stop joking around.” He asked with an angry but low mental voice. “We have a deal.”

The spirit took a moment to reply, but it did so without the playful demeanor of before:

“The tree seems to be caused by having a certain someone around. A powerful magical influence… one that feels to me like dead leaves and animal corpses being gorged upon.”

The mage waited and since the spirit’s silence carried the accusation very clearly, he then said, both mentally and with his voice:

“I’ll investigate the grove before dawn, milady.”

The same cold and gentle hands touched his shoulders again with care. He felt his eyes closing again and the touch went away. Now there was a third presence there, silent, but deep enough to drag attention to itself.

Soon, the mage started to hear the angry nagging whispers.

“Can you also take a look at the outskirts of the woods?” the spirit asked “just to be sure?”

He nodded.

“I can. Any sign of any other monster near your territory?”

Another chuckle accompanied by the gentle wind. The reply was a little more playful, muffling the sound of the dark whispering the third presence was saying:

“No, my dear knight. Neither are walking-dead nor bloodsuckers, nor any of the other many monsters you asked me to pay attention to. Only this monster-tree.”

Isemberd replied almost immediately:

“Thank you. I’ll deal with it in the morning. And I’ll take a walk around the grove to make sure we’re safe.”

“I’m telling you, you would look amazing in a shiny armor…” the spirit said.

Another red pulse of light coming from the mage. Stronger this time, enough to silence even the dark mumbling behind him.

“Oh, stop being such a boring young man!” Her tone changed from flirty to serious really quickly: “And sorry for messing up your sleep.”

The touch of the spirit hands on his shoulders were trying to convey the apology, with a little sprinkle of pity.

“Don’t worry”, the mage replied, “my sleep is never good.”

“Of course, with such a monstrosity hanging on your head all the time.”

She hesitated, and the breeze seem to do it with her.

“I really wanted to help you.”

Surprised by the sincerity the spirit conveyed, he sighed and nodded.

“You do more than enough already. Do not worry too much about my problem, I’m getting used to it.”

The cold touch on his shoulders moved to his face and he got a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I will be there with you in the morning, my knight. Even if you can’t see me.”

When opening his eyes, Isemberd was sure he caught a glimpse of a white dress sneaking back into the woods. He thought of seeing a long red hair disappearing in the dark of the grove.

The mage stretched his neck and started levitating again. He flew to his window and entered it. Quietly, he undid his magic signs, stretching the fingers and massaging his hands, before landing on his bed. He turned, facing the wall, closing his eyes after a bit.

Gillibert was, apparently, still asleep.

The angry whispering in his ears didn’t stop echoing even for a second, even when he fell asleep. As usual, his few hours of sleep were ones of poor rest, filled with terrible nightmares and furious voices from beyond.