Rowan Deeproot's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

The myconid led them past the oak, deeper into the dark grove. Rowan walked close beside the little witness. Aldric followed a few steps back, his pendants clinking with each stride. Rowan had not asked him to come. The mage had bought the healing root and now trailed after the fragile creature like a shadow with a debt to collect. Rowan could not guess what he wanted, and until they knew, they could not trust him near the myconid. The path narrowed. Thorned vines crossed it, thick and tangled, glowing with a pale green light. The thorns twitched though no wind touched them. The myconid froze and made its worried sound. Beyond the vines, a dark hole hung in the air. Its edges trembled with faint light. It looked like a door into nothing. "Stay back," Rowan told Aldric. "You want the mist's color. I need to know why." Aldric stopped. He did not argue. "My grandmother saw that color the year a whole constellation left the sky," he said. "Three generations gone. Someone buried the reason. I think the grove buried it here." He lifted the warm pendant from his chest. It glowed. "This has pointed to this grove my whole life. I am not here for your witness. I am here because whatever slept your grove took my stars too." Rowan studied his face. The mage held his gaze without flinching. He was not lying. Then the vines snapped apart. Something climbed out of the dark hole. It was tall and wrong, its limbs bent at broken angles, its hide black and scattered with cold light like a night sky torn loose. Its jaw split wide. The myconid shrieked and dropped, curling small against the ground. Rowan had no knife. Rowan had pushed the blade away days ago to earn the witness's trust. The beast lunged for the shaking creature. Aldric moved first. He tore a pendant free and threw it. Mist poured from his hand and hardened into a slender blade, its surface swirling white and blue. He drove it into the beast's side. The thing screamed and reeled back toward the hole. Rowan seized the moment, scooped up the myconid, and pulled it clear of the snapping thorns. Aldric slashed once more. The beast fell backward through the dark door. The vines closed over the opening, and the light in them dimmed. The grove went quiet. Aldric knelt, breathing hard, the mist blade fading in his grip. Rowan held the trembling myconid close. The mage had proven himself. He had not reached for the witness. He had reached to save it. "I believe you," Rowan said. The myconid uncurled. It looked at Aldric now, not with fear, but with something like recognition. It pointed again, past the sealed door, and touched Rowan's hand. Whatever slept the grove waited beyond that threshold. Now they would face it together.