Chapter 17: Dark Magic

I expect at least one of them to scoff but Blossom nods instead, Fleur rubbing her upper arm with her free hand, the other still clasped firmly by the halfling.

"I've been thinking the same thing." The rogue releases the elf and scurries to the nearest tree. But, as her dagger hovers, instead of carving into the wood she chooses to hack at the rock next to it, her rusting blade digging a clearly visible X into the stone. She backs away, nods to it. "Let's find out if we're right."

No one argues when Graldor again chooses the way and it's not long before we emerge into a six exit room once more. I almost exhale in relief when I don't see Blossom's mark on the left hand wall by the first exit, but her squeal as she looks around, the fear on her face when she stops and stares off toward one of the other tunnels, makes my heart pound.

I follow her slowly, we all do, feet almost dragging on the forest floor in stone, as the halfling herself finds the energy to rush to the far wall and stops, pointing at the X mark she just carved in the room we left, the same room where we now stand.

Impossible. But my supposition has now been proven.

"This can't be." Graldor randomly selects a new exit and takes it, feet stomping beneath him. I go after him, to stop him, because I'm now positive he's just going to end up wasting his time. Apparently the others feel the same and when Graldor and I emerge from the tunnel's end alone, we're not. Because the rest of our companions are waiting for us on the opposite side of the room under the few branches of an oak tree that seem to have escaped the stone's embrace and hang limply over them like a canopy of despair.

"That answers that question," Vosh says.

"Impossible." The wizard spins around and looks back down the tunnel we just exited. It curves softly to the right, enough we can't see the far end, though I shiver as I realize if we could we'd likely see ourselves standing on the other side. I don't think that's something I'm willing to witness right now.

"Magic," Fleur says. "The eld trees are known for such deception when alive.

Leading away those who mean them or their charges harm while guiding others they deem welcome."

Of course, I know the legends of such trees. I almost shake myself for not catching on, but wonder what it means for dead versions buried underground to have that power yet. "Elf magic?" That would explain a lot.

Fleur hesitates before sighing. "Yes," she says. "Though of my kind, impossible now that this forest has perished. At least, it should be."

Not comforting in the least and making me even more concerned about our present predicament. Surely living trees could be reasoned with, especially with an elf in our midst, her sub race's allegiance to them notwithstanding. But dead and unhappy trees infused with magic? This doesn't bode well.

"An endless maze," Vosh says then, speaking what I'm hesitant to consider or admit. "Perhaps we should return to the entrance and try to puzzle out this problem before we become lost?"

"That being where exactly?" Blossom has been skipping from tunnel to tunnel, marking each way with a different symbol. She's just finishing a deep Y in the bark of one of the trees while Fleur scowls at her. "What? They're dead, aren't they? And playing tricks on us." The halfling kicks the nearest root sticking from the wall. "Serves you right, tree."

There's no reaction for her impudence so either the tree doesn't care or we're in for far worse and they're biding their time. Which makes me shudder. "Are we trapped here?" That might be the foreboding I'm sensing. The whispering that's risen, is it the trees themselves? But they're dead? And yet, there is magic here. "Is that what we need to fear?"

"Wandering an endless maze of dead eld deep beneath the ground?" Vosh seems to consider that before sighing. "You may be right."

"No," Fleur says suddenly, shaking her head so hard her ear tips twitch. "There's more to it. More we need to be wary of." She hesitates then, like she has more to say, but her pinched face turns to the floor and she shakes her head as if refusing to consider what she's thinking. Or to speak it out loud. Instead, she says, "I just don't know what."

"Well, we can stand around and talk about it," Damaris says like she's finally reached her limit, dark eyes snapping anger, "or we can try to find a way out of here."

"This way." Blossom leads this time, down a tunnel and we follow as if in a trance, letting her take us into the dimness and then out again into the six tunneled chamber. Her markings are clearly visible and it's the first time I really accept we are trapped, that there's no exit this time. Returning to the entrance and the brass door is out of the question. Panic rises, my chest tight with it, though I refuse to show it and hope the others can't see how my hands shake as I clasp the hilt of my sword. What I'd give for the chance to swing it at someone, anyone, right about now.

Again she chooses, ticking off something on her fingers and again we follow, even Graldor appearing uncomfortable at last. Three more times the halfling decides on a path and three more times we go with her without question or complaint. And when we finally stop, the rogue turning to look up at us with her face creased in a frown, I know we're well and truly lost.

"I hate to be pessimistic," she says, "but I've just tried three of a massive number of options and none of them shows us the least bit of success." She tosses her head, topknot bouncing, freed bits curling around her pink cheeks now paled as she does her best to go on with her usual chipper tone. "Unless one of you can figure out the spell keeping us here," she says then, voicing my own fear, "we're trapped."

"I've been trying," Graldor says, hands wringing before him.

"As have I," the troll admits, head bowed. "My power can't reach past the trees. I should be able to talk to them if this is their doing. If they retain enough life to use their magic against us. But I just can't get through to them with their essence trapped in stone this way."

"I believe it's not the trees themselves we need to consider," Fleur says then, blurting her words as if forcing them past her lips. "I've already told you that."

"Then what, Fleur?" Damaris apparently turns to anger when she's afraid. I know how she feels and tap into my own frustration to give me courage. "What?"

The tall, slender ranger hugs herself. "I've been harboring a thought," she says, slowly, with agonizing anxiety behind them. "That the trees guard more than their own power. That they harbor in their tortured and trapped hearts the lost souls of elves."

I gape at her even as my entire being shudders. "What do you mean?"

She meets my eyes, misery there. "Buried in the cores of the eld, caught in the seeds of rebirth that can't be born thanks to the stone and the darkness." She drops her hands, turns in a slow circle. "Don't you know? Can't you feel it? This is no ordinary eld forest. This is an elvish burial wood, stolen from the surface and trapped under the earth where it doesn't belong. The worst possible prison for the perished echoes of passed elves." She shakes her head, sorrow a living thing that seems to compress her in on herself. "And we've walked into its endless agony."

***