The voyage to the western shores of the lake was a fast affair, the wind blowing fiercely at their back the entire way. Less than a day had passed before they clambered out onto the frozen sands, the icy winds eddying around them as they climbed onto their mounts. As the ship disappeared behind them, hidden beneath the gentle rise and fall of the foothills, Jasper felt a touch of relief. He had been afraid the villagers, especially Bā’er’s son, might be tempted to betray them, but, in the end, they had held up their end of the bargain.
The next few days passed by slowly. They followed the remains of a ruined road which, though ravaged by the passage of time, led west toward the Moon-kissed stronghold. The wind rushing from the icebound mountains rarely ceased, often bearing in its wings snow and ice that beat against their face while the wind pushed and pulled the snow into deep banks that blocked their path.
Ihra’s mount, Keresh, had little trouble navigating the obstacles, but Dapplegrim struggled, her much smaller legs fighting to push through the deep drifts. Only the warodim trees, their pink leaves and vibrant green moss standing out like a beacon in the icy wastes, provided warmth and shelter, the cold of the mountains fading away beneath their outstretched limbs.
But, as the first week slipped into the second, the snow began to recede, gradually giving way to an evergreen forest. The trees here were large, more akin to the towering redwoods of Yosemite than Christmas pines, and the forest bed was covered in a thick, brown carpet of discarded pine needles. Their progress became easy as the ground beneath the soaring pines was largely clear of brush.
Still, Jasper could not shake the sense that they were intruding, somehow. The enormous pines, with trunks as thick as a large car, rose around them like the pillars of a temple, the distant light of the sun breaking through the tops of the trees to dapple the floor like sunlight spilling through the stain-glassed of a gothic cathedral. There was something almost holy about the forest, and he urged Dapplegrim forward, galloping across the sea of brown.
But as the beams of sunlight faded, replaced in turn by shafts of Selene's rays, the forest stretched on endlessly before them. And when they rode into the moonlight, the ineffable fear lurking in the shadows of his mind was realized.
Their mounts froze, suddenly unmoving, unresponsive to all their commands. Then the beasts begin trotting away from the broken remains of the ancient path, moving deeper into the forest. Unable to stir their beasts, Jasper and Ihra followed behind, their footsteps muffled in the thick bed of needles.
“What do we do?” Even though it had been days since they’d seen another living soul, Ihra spoke softly, an intuitive sense warning her that something was watching, even if she couldn’t perceive it.
Jasper sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not abandoning Dapplegrim - at least, not without a fight. But…I don’t think that’s what’s happening.”
Ihra looked at him sharply, scrutinizing his face. “You know something!” she accused him.
Jasper shook his head. “No, but I do have a guess. A couple of days ago, I visited Kas̆dael to level up…” Quietly, he filled her in on his journey through the void, the forgotten city, and the temple of S̆uhruru. He didn’t mention the bridge though; some things weren’t meant to be shared.
“So anyways, for earning the favor of Hurbas̆u, I got a quest - something about earning the favor of ten nature deities.”
Comprehension flashed in Ihra's eyes, even as a pout formed on her lips. “Oh, I get it. You think we’re being led somewhere by a nature spirit. But why didn’t I get the quest?”
“You didn’t?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.
She shook her head, her long blonde hair flying back and forth. “Nope. I earned the same blessing that you got, but I didn’t get this ‘divine path.’”
He didn’t know what to say. “That sucks.”
She looked at him, curious. “Sucks what?”
He blushed, looking away. “Uh…nothing, nothing,” he quickly repeated.
She shrugged, dismissing it as yet another one of his strange sayings.
The animals plunged deeper and deeper into the forest, the trees growing even larger and closer together as they wandered far from the path. But as Jasper found himself hiking up yet another rolling hill, he spied their destination ahead.
The crest of the hill was bare, the towering trees arranged in a ring around its crest, save for a single tree that sat in the middle. Unlike the rest, the needles of the tree shone with an almost golden gleam, as the moonlight reflecting off them made the tree appear to be shrouded in a halo of light. Their mounts came to a stop in the clearing, Jasper and Ihra halting at their sides.
As they watched, the trunk of the golden tree split, a crack widening rapidly until it was large enough to permit a person to pass through.
Jasper turned to Ihra. She stood waiting, her hand caressing the curve of her bow. “Are you coming?”
“And if you’re wrong?” she asked.
He tugged again on Dapplegrim’s reins, but the beast stood frozen, completely unresponsive. “It would be one hell of a long walk to Dūr-Yarha without a mount.”
With a sigh, she slipped her quiver off her stag, slinging it on her back and, after a moment’s hesitation, snatched the misericorde out of her bag. “Just in case.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Then the two approached the tree.
The opening proved to be a bit shorter than Jasper, and he was forced to duck beneath the boughs. He slid through, his shoulders brushing against the rough wood of the tree. One step, then two…twelve steps into the darkness he took.
On the twelfth, he felt something pressing against his skin. The air itself resisted him, pushing back gently. He stepped forward, determinedly, and as he breached through the barrier, he found himself somewhere else.
It took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing. The sky rose above him, stars suspended in the heavens and, yet, something was above them, bounding them. Wooden walls rose around him on all sides, giant striations swirling in unfamiliar patterns. Roaring waterfalls tumbled down their sides, spilling into silent pools which reflected the starry light.
He was in a tree - an impossibly large tree.
Jasper and Ihra stared at the scene before them, enraptured, until a high-pitched warble caught his attention. In a flurry of feathers, a small bird landed before him. Its bright blue feathers stood out against the deep green moss, a stripe of white running down its back. The bird cocked its head, looking at them with a curious intelligence, and chirped again.
It fluttered back up into the sky, landing a few feet further into the enchanted glade.
Jasper smiled. “Looks like we’ve met the butler.”
They followed the bird through the meadow. The air was filled with the roar of the water and the song of birds, the glade high with grass on whose tips blossomed white and pink flowers. But as they ventured deeper into the glade, the rushing water slowly gave way to the low hum of voices. At first, it was nothing more than an incomprehensible babble of sounds, a language unknown to the tongues of man, but as he listened, the meaning begin to seep into the crevices of his mind.
How sweetly sway her boughs beneath
the light of sun and moon
How gracious are the winds and rain
which make the flowers bloom
Within the hallowed halls doth lie
our queen, our lady strong
Her bones have brought our songs to life
have healed our every wrong
When sun and moon and stars shall die
then shall Lady Tirra rise
The Spectral Spiders at her side,
Within her boughs, we shall survive
The choir of voices grew louder and louder, the thunder of their song drowning out the roar of the water as he came to stand before her.
A great throne rose out of the pools of water, its back stretching up the trunk of the great tree. The throne was made of gold and ivory, two great deer guarding its sides, their horns sweeping back to form the armrests. And there sat Lady Tirra.
Her skin was a pale silver, her eyes a deep violet that set off the cascade of ebony locks that tumbled down her shoulders, doing nothing to hide her ample bosom. Beneath her breasts, a sumptuous gown flared out, embroidered in gold and scarlet threads. Two arms sat in her lap, another two on the throne. As her eyes pierced through them, Jasper realized, with a shock, that he knew what she was.
They weren’t, as far as he knew, actually in the game, but they were part of its lore - the ancient race of the Mwyrani. While the gaming community had always poked fun at the Mwyrani corporation for naming one of the most powerful races in the game after themselves, there was no denying that the Mwryani were pretty cool.
Jasper racked his brain, trying to remember anything useful. Supposedly the Mwyrani were, somehow, literally stars from heaven. Long, long before the empire existed or Corsythians came into being, some of the stars had descended to the surface, taking on a corporeal form. They had established a great empire far to the south, whose grandeur had never again been matched. It was a golden age of peace and prosperity, the Mwyrani ruling as living gods over the ancient men of the south.
Until, that is, the Sidhe broke the ancient covenant and attacked, apparently unprovoked. In a single day, most of the Mwyrani were slaughtered, the survivors scattering into the wind. A handful of Mwyrani eventually reestablished a kingdom in the ruins of their empire, Yatru, and another band of Mwyrani led a group of human refugees north. There, under their care and protection, the first cities of the Corsythian empire were founded, ruled by men this time, rather than gods.
But Jasper had thought the Mwyrani were little more than myth by now, dead gods that had fostered the growth of the Corsythians before their light had faded. But Lady Tirra was not dead.
As he drew closer, he could see tendrils from the tree wrapped around her ankles, draped across her back, the flowered vines and roots so tightly enmeshed with her body that he could not tell where one begin and the other ended. Is she the tree, or a prisoner of the tree? It was a question he couldn’t answer.
Suddenly, her four arms slammed together, the clap of her hands ringing like the sound of thunder. Instantly the invisible choir fell silent.
She peered down at him, the interest obvious on her face. “Tell me, what world were you taken from?”
He was surprised by her question, managing to stammer out his response. “Uh, earth?”
The Mwyrani nodded her head, her eyes growing cloudy. “I knew a few who escaped there, after the fall. Are you one of their servants?” She cocked her head, answering her own question. “No, your bond is not with one of us…you are Kas̆dael’s?”
He nodded.
She frowned. “I was unaware she poached other’s servants.”
He flushed. “I have never served anyone else.”
One of her hands floated up til a finger gently rested on his chest. “And yet our mark lies on your heart.” She shook her head, her hand returning to her lap. “But that is not why I brought you here. You have been offered a divine path, have you not?”
“Yes, my lady."
A smile flitted across her face. “Very well. Perform a favor for me, then, and I will grant you another step along the path.”
Jasper hesitated. “Do you mind, my lady, if I ask you a question? What exactly is a divine path? The system didn’t really explain it.”
Disappointment welled in her eyes. “You’re one of those system-bound fools?” She tutted her tongue. “What a pity. Your soul needs no such constraints.”
Constraints?
“A divine path is the first step to ascension, the very path that those pathetic little cultists attempt to ape.”
“Wait - this has something to do with the cultists?”
“Do you understand what the cultists are trying to do?”
Jasper paused to think. “Well, they eat souls to make themselves more powerful.”
She nodded. “Technically true, I suppose. The cultists steal souls to augment their own, which in turn does indeed make them more powerful and longer-lived. But their ultimate goal, at least for the knowledgeable amongst them, is ascension.”
“And what is ascension?” He asked, not recalling any mention of “ascension” in the game.
The Mwyrani did not respond immediately. She cocked her head to the side, silently watching him. He squirmed the pressure of her gaze, feeling much like a rat trapped beneath the watchful eyes of a hawk.
“Tell me, summoned - are you familiar with Gemlir’s story?”