Amycus took the lead, and Meda followed a few steps back at a leisurely pace. Ben walked next to Briacco, and together, they formed an unusual procession that drew the curious glances of passerby spirits. As they advanced, Briacco the satyr pointed at various landmarks and buildings, telling a story behind every single one of them.
As interesting as it all was, Ben couldn’t help but feel like a prisoner. He wondered how Amycus would react if he even dared to escape. By putting an arrow between my ribs, most likely, he thought with grim certainty.
All around them, whispers and hushed conversations spread like wildfire. Pointed fingers poked out of the crowd at him from all directions. Ben shifted his shoulders with unease.
“Do not mind the attention, Master Umber,” Briacco grinned. His caprine traits gave him a mischievous mien. “It’s not every day they see a human in Machen. And a sorcerer to boot! Let us say you are quite the spectacle.”
Ben nodded and smiled at Briacco. He appreciated the reassurance, but the scrutiny still weighed on him. He understood where the spirits came from, though. Wasn’t he overwhelmed by a similar awe upon his arrival? Distracted in thought, they kept walking down the lane.
The rest of their promenade was basically a parade. Briacco rambled on, sharing an anecdote here and there, diverting Ben’s attention from the curious stares. Their entourage edged ever closer to the colossal oak at the heart of the village. They traversed what appeared to be Machen’s main road. The buildings, mostly homes, transitioned into a more captivating view. A pristine serenity replaced the humdrum of the spirits’ daily lives.
“Is that where the elder dwells?” Ben asked, his tone filled with wonder.
Briacco chuckled, and even Meda didn’t hide a small smile. “How can I put it? In this particular case, as much as I enjoy the sound of my voice, words would not suffice, Master Umber. Words would not suffice. This you need to see for yourself.”
The cryptic response only deepened Ben’s interest. Before he could ponder any further, they reached a magnificent wooden bridge. It was bigger than the others they had seen so far. It stretched across the sky, leading to a grand hall built upon a platform huddled within the tree’s branches. The sheer scale of the structure left Ben dumbstruck, and not without a tinge of vertigo.
Ben noticed a change in their gait. It became more controlled, more self-conscious. Even Briacco’s smile became almost saintly as they followed. The carmine timber of the bridge felt strong enough to bear the weight of every villager at the same time.
At its opposite side, the wood swept upward and knotted together to form an arch. The sun set as they crossed it, suffusing the scene with a dreamy quality. The grand hall had no doors, but still Ben could not see what was inside. Both centaurs stopped before its entrance and kneeled.
Briacco followed suit and nudged Ben in the ribs to imitate them. He did so without complaint and darted his gaze back and forth between his companions to try to understand what was happening. There was a brief silence, and he noticed they had closed their eyes and inclined their heads. He felt something move in his periphery. Behind them, on the platform at the other end of the bridge, a crowd of curious spirits was slowly gathering.
It was Amycus who finally broke the silence as he stopped genuflecting. Meda and Briacco stood, and Ben did too. “May the seed grow and the leaf wither. Fortune be with you, Elder Garland.”
A rumbling sound emanated from within the grand hall. It was as if the earth itself were speaking—a grating, vibrating sensation that enveloped Ben’s senses like thunder rolling through the ground. “And may each season bring newfound wisdom. Fortune be with you as well, young Amycus. I sense you have news to share… Come, let us talk.”
Ben could only guess the size of whomever this Elder Garland was. Judging from its voice alone… His mind reeled with the possibilities. Amycus turned around to Ben. “You’ll go first, boy. Mind your manners in the presence of the elder. Only speak when spoken to. Do you understand?”
He nodded, and Briacco patted him on the back in a reassuring manner. “Speak freely,” he mouthed silently.
Ben grinned back at Briacco. Well, here goes nothing, he thought. He entered the grand hall. It was dark at first, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light. It was a plain circular room that surrounded the trunk of the giant oak; rich tapestries hung from the walls, and wild ivy and flowers had crept their way in between the log walls, enhancing its pastoral beauty.
As soon as they all walked in, a ring of torches blazed alight on their own, the color of its flames gradually changing from violet to green to blue, and back to violet. The ceiling was so high that their light did not reach its upper confines. Ben noticed something strange in the bark of the great oak that dominated the center of the building; its surface was uneven. It was almost as if...
Realization dawned on Ben. The grand hall shook with a booming reverberation—it was a yawn. The giant tree opened its eyes slowly and solemnly, revealing the most extraordinary face. Humanoid in appearance, with a knobbed branch for a nose and abundant lichen for a beard, a thumping vibration emanated from its enormous mouth, a wide slit in the bark that opened and closed back again. Elder Garland didn’t live near the great oak, he was the great oak.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Appearances can be deceiving, can they not? Prithee, young sorcerer, share what brings you to our doorstep in such dark days.” He said, bemused.
Ben tried to form a coherent response, but he was too stunned to do so. He could only think that he was having a conversation with a tree; and judging from appearances, a mighty old one at that.
“Answer when addressed to!” Amycus barked at him.
The great oak calmed him down. “Peace, brave Amycus... Your ire at the fledgling sorcerer is unwarranted… He is not the one we seek. He was pensive for a moment, his wooden expression etched with wisdom. Amycus apologized and inclined his head.
All in all, Ben couldn’t help but admire the respect the centaur felt for the village’s safety. He snapped out of his apprehension and answered. “I-I’m on my way to Dool, the City of Wonders. I was advised to seek the Two-Faced Man in the heart of the Blackwoods.”
Elder Garland finally opened his eyes and directed his attention back at Ben. He felt a sudden, barely discernible tug at the edges of his consciousness. His temples throbbed, but he didn’t feel any pain. It was still uncomfortable. “I can sense that your thirst for knowledge is sharp, Benjamin Umber... I am a treant, the soul of the forest concentrated in a single tree. I reside at the heart of this forest, but I am also the forest itself… It is my duty to watch over those who respect the Green, denizens and travelers alike… Your quest does not contradict our own. It would be ill-advised, however, to let you leave Machen on your own as things currently stand.”
The prodding sensation ceased abruptly, a cord being swiftly cut. Did he just have his mind read? Ben didn’t feel as unsettled as he thought he would, but it was still weird. From the moment they had stepped into the grand hall, he had felt as if he was being read like an open book, so it wasn’t much of a difference.
“As things currently stand, being this creature Briacco mentioned?” Ben asked.
Elder Garland responded with a rumble of affirmation. “An evil spirit... Or a wayward sorcerer, mayhap? The toll it extracts from us continues to rise... To partake your journey on your own would mean certain doom.”
Amycus cantered next to Ben and pointed a finger accusingly at him. He protruded the wyrdknife from a pouch that hung by his side, next to a quiver chockful of arrows. A wordless, concurrent threat that hung over him.
“What about this cursed relic?” he demanded.
“The boy already told you of his vanquishing activities… Did he not?” The room rumbled with Elder Garland’s laughter, and both Briacco and Meda couldn’t help but smile along.
He let out a defeated sigh and returned the weapon back to Ben. “I still have my doubts, Umber. One step out of line and—” Amycus’s voice trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.
“You won’t hesitate to put an arrow through me?” Ben offered before he could finish his sentence. He accepted the wyrdknife back and returned it to the impregnable safety of his jacket’s inside pocket. Its now familiar weight was reassuring.
The centaur snorted. “Correct. Other than that, I apologize for any overwrought suspicions.”
Amycus’s earnestness took Ben aback. He remembered what Briacco had told him before, how his heart was in the right place. “No need to apologize. You had your reasons.”
He patted Amycus on the side of his torso, the display of affection startling him. I guess we’re good now, Ben wished silently.
“Back to the matter at hand,” Meda said, joining the conversation. “Our three-day excursion proved fruitless, other than coming upon Ben here. We can consider this a partial success, seeing how he would probably be a mauled carcass by now if we hadn’t chanced upon him.” “Other than that, we have had zero sightings of our mark. From what little the sentry told us as we entered the village, the other scouting parties have been equally unsuccessful.”
“We still have an ace up our sleeves, have we not?” Briacco chimed in. “We did not hire professionals for nothing. However, I concur that it is most vexing how freely this spiteful being perpetuates its crimes without leaving a single drop of evidence. It’s almost as if we’re dealing with—”
“A ghost?” A gruff voice asked from behind them. Ben jumped slightly in his place, startled by the abrupt interlocutor. He turned around, only to be met by an unexpected sight.
There were five people standing by the entrance, all clad in gray leather trench coats and caked in dirt. The one by the middle appeared to be their leader; he was a short but broad-shouldered man with cropped hair and a thick beard, a badly healed scar occupying most of his face.
Next to him stood an oddly similar man, sporting an unkempt mustache instead of a beard. Minus the scar, of course. Ben could not help but think he looked like a bulldog. The other three were a muscular woman, a sickly, pale man, and a boy around Ben’s age; his blonde hair was longer than his, and his facial features were sophisticated, almost effeminate.
They were, without a doubt, sorcerers. Ben was learning to recognize the powerful aura that all things magical seemed to possess. He did not expect to find any humans, least of all other sorcerers, in a place such as Machen.
It was their leader who had spoken. He eyed Ben curiously, and then stepped forward, continuing where he left off. “It is because we’re dealing with a ghost—sort of,” he bowed slightly at the treant. “May the seed grow and the leaf wither. Fortune be with you, Elder Garland.”
Amycus crossed his arms in a show of defiance. “Lunden Colmain! The guards were already betting on your safe return. Got lost on the way back?”
The muscular woman was quick to interject. “A job well done takes time, my friend. You might be unfamiliar with the concept. Hence why you hired us.”
Elder Garland addressed Lunden, ignoring the other two. “And may each season bring newfound wisdom. Fortune be with you as well, steadfast Lunden. What news do you bring from your hunt?”
Lunden extended a hand back at the muscular woman to appease her. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, expressing her irritation, and then cocked her head elsewhere, pretending disinterest. That was enough for him, an amiable smile on his face.
He turned back to Elder Garland and stuck his arms into his trench coats, rummaging through the contents of their pockets. The spirits tensed as if expecting the worst, but Lunden protruded two harmless glass bottles. He presented the bottles to the great oak, holding one in each outstretched hand.
“Colmain & Co. Extermination Services always delivers. Yes, we bring news. But they’re not the good sort. This is what we found out.” Lunden cleared his throat and proceeded to narrate a most vexing tale.