His eyes fell on a curious-looking patch of moss that grew from a tree trunk. White bark shimmered through, tinted yellow by the moss. When he crouched down to examine it closer, he noticed how it flattened itself against the bark ever so slightly. Curious, he reached out. Just from its looks, it had a wetness to it, and wondered if it would feel wet or slimy.

A hand grabbed his wrist, tiny scales caught the light and shimmered, when the hand pulled his arm back.

“Don’t touch that”, Ashra said. She had apparently noticed that he wasn’t at her side anymore. Her dark eyes twinkled with amusement and annoyance at the same time.

“Why not?”, he asked but pulled back his arm.

“That is Shy Moss. It’s poisonous.”

He blinked. “You let poisonous things grow here… where your children could find it?”, he asked.

“We teach our children what to touch and what not to. Besides, Shy Moss doesn’t affect us.”

“Hm, I see.” Heat rushed to his cheeks. Even after all this time, the idea that some things were poisonous to one species but not to the other stroke him as odd. If they all had been created by the same beings, why hadn’t they used the same underlying frameworks? It made so little sense to him. And his limited knowledge showed his ignorance. Human ignorance even.

She inclined her head. “Are you telling me that your people just get rid of everything that could poison you because your children have no self-control?”

He gave a half shrug. “To a degree, yeah.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Humans”, she muttered.

“Does it have any… purposes for you?”, he asked, trying to evade another debate.

“Yes, we sometimes use it in paint I think”, she said. “You need a ridiculous amount of it to make a strong yellow, however. Trading for other minerals and such is easier.”

He nodded.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Kirdain was content to just walk and marvel at the forest’s wonders. He often strolled about alone or with Atela and had a rough idea of what Ashra had meant, when she had described her new life to him.

Most people did not approach him, but they all seemed to know who he was. Despite him being by far not the only human in the forest. That, too, had surprised him. But he avoided them as completely as possible. Humans were the last people he needed right now. But even without the human population, he couldn’t help but notice how much space everybody gave him when he walked. A few days prior, a young Iroh — an Ongai who had sired a child — had come to him and asked him about the name he should give to his unborn child.

Kirdain had been so appalled by the very idea, he had sent him away. But Ashra had told him later that a Vandrainor’s suggestion meant the child would live. Her people believed in that kind of superstition as deeply as his people believed in not naming children before their first season. Kirdain had gone to apologize to the man, and spent almost half a day listening to the suggestions and meanings the family had provided. And given a suggestion, even though he felt absolutely unqualified for that. It had been the weirdest thing yet.

So today, Ashra had offered to take him for a walk away from all the craziness in the city. And he had agreed. The beautiful trees and flowers could never tire him but he needed to get away from the people.

Atela had stayed behind with Ashra’s companion Eanar. In case anyone needed advice. Also, Atela wasn’t half as mesmerized as Kirdain was by the forest. He did have trouble wrapping his brain around that. All those colors in the leaves, so light that they seemed white again, the glowing veins of vibrant blue and green in the bark. The flowers that were so unlike everything he had ever seen.

Away from the city, the forest didn’t change that much. Compared to the dense underbrush he had seen at the outskirts, it amazed him. But then, the treetops were much denser here, and life needed light and warmth to grow. It still surprised him how orderly the forest looked. He knew that the witches here took a great deal of time every day caring for the trees, making sure they were well nourished, and not plagued by anything.

After a while, Ashra stopped. “You see that?”, she asked, pointing.

Kirdain followed her hand and squinted. Something glittered through the trees but he couldn’t quite place it. “What is that?”, he asked.

“That is Ulnaredar”, she said.

“That is what?”

“The river of truth”, she translated.

He raised both eyebrows in annoyance, and she grinned.

“Oh, yeah, right”, she said. “Do you remember, when we talked about the time of the Empire in history class?”

“…dimly.” History had not been his strongest suit.

“Ulnaredar is one of the six borders my people used to ban magic from the forest.”

“Oooh.” Now he knew what she was talking about. Within the six borders, no magic had been available during the last years of the empire. Ongai tradition told that the giants, much like the dwarves nowadays, had been able to feel magic. Their abilities were allegedly stronger: the stories indicated that giants had been able to feel who used what kind of magic and pinpoint the exact location. This shared skill led many people to believe that dwarves were the descendants of giants. A sentiment, the dwarves did not like, of course.

“So…”, Kirdain said, “that river is still full of magic.”

“In a way.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed exaggeratedly. “It is not full of magic but full with a concept.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

He raised an eyebrow. “I know you think you make more sense now, but you don’t.”

Ashra gave a laugh. “Okay… where do I start…”, she put one hand to her mouth and stroke her broken tusk. “You know that we categorize magic into different subcategories, yes? Apart from conjuration, spellcasting and witchcraft, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Each one of these borders counters one specific category. When my people created the ban, magic didn’t just … vanish.” She stopped and shook her head.

“You know when you have a field and you dig canals to all sides so the crops don’t grow in flood season?”

“Yes.” Now he had really no idea where she was going.

“It’s… kind of like this. These borders took the magic, all of it but didn’t hold them. They neutralized them. Like … imagine those canals were full of … I don’t know, fire, yes? And the water flows in there, and they both turn to steam. It’s kind of like that.”

Kirdain nodded. “So… they neutralized the magic?”

“Yes. And each border neutralized one of these types of magic.” She again nodded to the river. “Ulnaredar countered illusion. That is why we called it the river of truth.”

He nodded. “Right. So it will not make me tell only the truth if I drink from it?”

“No. Might make you throw up, though.”

He made a face. “I suppose you tree huggers don’t clean your rivers from cadavers and that stuff?”

She shook her head. “No! Why would we?”

He grimaced. “This is so disgusting, you know that.”

She rolled her eyes. “I could say the same about you.”

“Well, you do all the time.”

She snickered. “Because I’m right.”

He shook his head and didn’t answer. That back and forth would have no end at all if they both would stick to it.

They walked up to Ulnaredar. For a second, his senses tingled, then, it vanished, was replaced by a fog rising in his mind. Something warm trickled down his neck, out of his ear but when he raised his hand, there was nothing.

“What…?”

‘Kirdain?’

‘Atela?’ She felt far away, her voice dim in his head.

‘Kirdain, are you alright?’

‘Yes… I… I think so?’, he answered.

Ashra’s hand on his shoulder made him look up. “You alright?”, she asked. “You’re pale.”

“I… feel weird?”, he answered, raising his arms a bit.

“Oh, yes… that’d be your magic.”

“What?”

“The patch around the borders is still protected by the ban”, she said.

‘Kirdain? Kirdain, can you hear me?’

‘Yes… I’m okay’, he said. Atela’s voice was stronger now, and the fog began to leave his head. ‘I’m at a river… Ulnaredar?’

For a second, she didn’t answer. ‘I see. Take care.’

Eanar most likely had explained to Atela, what he had meant and what exactly he was experiencing right now but she still sounded annoyed.

“I should have warned you”, Ashra said.

Kirdain shrugged. “Don’t worry”, he said. Now, that he could think again, he saw the difference between the patch of land that was still subjected to the ban and the forest outside. The grass was not as lush, no flowers were awake. The river was dark. It looked almost as if it was still winter.

“I thought the forest made its climate naturally.”

Ashra sat down on a patch of stone, and he joined her; her feet tangled down into the water but his feet didn’t reach the surface. “In a way, it does. Every old forest does that but I think you’ve never seen one like that.”

He shook his head.

“Apart from that, there is a lot of magic in the forest. Almost everything is magical.”

“So… the ban even affected natural magical properties?”

“Yes. Our healing was gone, too. But some of our histories claim that the forest itself hasn’t always been magical.”

“I see.” Just like every tradition, Ongai traditions were not always coherent. And Ongai oral traditions in themselves were a matter of controversy at best. In the stable, he had studied them as one of many approaches to the continent's history, and he was familiar with the voices that claimed that the White Forest had not always been white and that the Dead Mountains had once been full of life. He had never heard a good claim to back that up. Some people just couldn’t tell their myths from actual history.

The silence between them was easy now. Familiar. In all the years they had learned to be silent together for all the reasons in the world. He could tell her silence from that of everybody else, and she knew when he was kept in his head by thoughts too dark to express.

“Kirdain?”, Ashra asked after a while.

“Mhh?”

“Why haven’t you told them the truth?”

He blinked. Wherever she had been with her thoughts, she had built no bridge for him to follow.

“Your city’s council, I mean.”

“Why do you care?”, he almost snapped.

She shrugged. “It was just something … that came to mind. You’re no liar. You can’t even cheat at games but … you lied to them.”

He grabbed a hand full of grass and pulled at the blades. “Have you ever considered, that I might be the best liar in the world and you just don’t know about it?”

Her nose twitched. “No.”

“Well…”

They both laughed. He tried to laugh his uneasiness away, but it sat in his neck, now. It trickled down his spine.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He shrugged. “Well, you can’t keep secrets”, he said dryly.

“Of course I can keep secrets!” She looked at him with false outrage. “I always kept your secrets!”

He snorted. “Do you remember what happened, when I told you — in confidence — what I believed how mules were conceived?”

She stared at him blankly.

“You told everyone, I thought mares would hook up with donkeys, shitface!”

“Ooooh, ooooh!” She cracked into laughter. “Oh, yeah, I remember.” She giggled.

Kirdain slapped her arm. “Atela wouldn’t speak to me for weeks!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault, okay? It was just too hilarious.”

“It wasn’t, okay? I was so embarrassed!” His cheeks were still hot with the memory. Later he had learned that someone would put sperm into a body of water and the mare would swim in it, allowing it inside with her own magic. Without her consent, the sperm would just die after a while.

Ashra swallowed deeply, stopping her own ongoing giggle. “Okay, okay. I won’t tell anybody this time, really.”

Kirdain shook his head. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No”, she said. Her expression suddenly serious. “Kirdain, I’m your friend and you never told me what happened. I don’t think you told anyone. And I think it’s time you talk about it. What do you want to do, hm? Walk around with whatever guilt you think you have tied to your chest? That’s not healthy.”