Chapter 21

In order for the convoy to make it to the orifice of the celestial forest. We have to depart the Shamburn region via the Glen Elven Pass, adjacent to the eastern village of Noyon.

Trekking through the orifice, my throat is as dry as desert dust. My lips split painfully from the relentless thirst that sears my throat. Every step sends waves of agony through my legs and limbs, screaming for a rest. The few of the Herems continue to ride horseback. I walk on foot, directing my stallion by his reins, the leather raw in my hand. Primus Kelan and Duce Merian lead from the front, and the squadron surrounds us.

"I thought the whole point of having the horse is to ride it," Vince says.

With my gaze fixed forward, I say, "He's just as tired as we are."

A humoured breath blows through his nostrils. "How caring you are. Considerate to even the animals." Something cynical in his compliment.

I glance at him askance. His face, marred by grime, his smile still manages to emit bright light. A smile worn so frequently that it has long lost the pretence of sincerity. Within that celestial grin, as the cosmos itself, there lies a shadowy void.

"I have always been meaning to ask. What is that?"

"What is what?"

He makes a hand gesture to the back of his neck. Impulsively, I move the trail of my braid off my shoulder to it slinks right down my back, concealing the back of my back.

"A marking."

"Of allegiance," he adds pensively. "The calligraphy and design of the tattoo elude my comprehension, as does the dialect, yet its origins unmistakably trace back to Armathis. I recognise the literary symbols."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Who are you beholden to?"

"Why the sudden interest, Herem Vince?"

Ever since the attack on the carriage. He has been glued to my side, assailing me with questions: what I like, my livelihood, my former habits, and who I share them with. For a fleeting time, I found his company uplifting, a respite from the arduousness of the Trials thus far. Yet, with each word he utters, my suspicions deepen, unveiling an agenda that was once obscured but now grows increasingly apparent.

"I assure you, my interest was never sudden," he says cryptically, bowing his head at me imperiously, "Hera." He drifts away and re-joins his entourage of four: Treyton, Dario, Zekei, and Tamani.

My gaze strays away, walking through an umber-brown, ancient forest. It reeks of age. Its woody incense is from eras of snapping branches crashing to the forest's floor, rotting silently. We venture deeper into the tangled depths of this primaeval forest. Oils of vaporous mist hold captive the shaggy heads of the towering trees. It seems the further we go, the taller they become. Sieves of mist curl its skeletal fingers around the bark. Its deadened sound haunts the glades. A dismal silence overhangs the hallowed ground where the trees dare not grow.

Nothing stirs, nothing shines, nothing sings.

A hollow echoing, like the hushed tones of the dead, entombs the woods.

Not very inviting, is it? I suppose that's the point.

"I must admit my astonishment that Herem Vince has at long last abandoned your side," Solaris says, sidling my flank.

How hypocritical of him since he's been my shadow from even before the Vasilias Imperii were initiated. I don't trust Solaris, but I do feel an unexplainable sense of ease around him. But my apprehension wisely keeps me distant from those I contend with.

"You yourself like to linger," I say outright.

I prefer to be frank in my approach, even if others are not.

And it seems Solaris is a bit taken aback by it.

"Well, I extended my hand of friendship to you, and I am one to honor my commitments."

Friends that compete for a single throne... that is an ending fraught with blood.

A fray of celestial light lances through the misty mesh, followed by a whole loom of light, filtering down in seams of gold that chase the shadows, banishing the gloom, spilling into spaces where the mist once prowled. The fluty piping of songbirds split the silence just as the forest becomes flooded with verdant brilliance. Butterflies twinkle between the shafts of lustrous-gold light. They twirl in the air, their wings whirling like little ripples of silk.

The glory of the forest is revealed in the birthstone-bright light. Almond-brown trees stand placidly, awash with a tender glow. The bark of the trees is encrusted with amber gems to their crusty exterior. The last blush of the dawn gives the leafy bower a green-gold complexion.

Deeper in, the verdancy yawns with great green brilliance, rich with colour and golden in nature. On the leafy horizon, walls of sturdy wood rise higher and higher. My head is as far back as my neck will allow.

We all approach, viewing the fortified gates of the nymph's citadel. Walls are sky-scraping and so great in length that it travels beyond sight. Promptly, the gigantic gates slowly open outwards. We tread through the threshold slowly, rendered specks by the enormity of what surrounds us. Before me stand gargantuan trees, each the size of towering buildings, if not larger. Their trunks, as wide as city streets, stretch upward with an ambition that defies the sky, daring to reach the very heavens. These colossal sentinels of nature are adorned with intricate and extravagant edifices woven seamlessly into their bark. Balconies, staircases, and bridges crafted from the same wood spiral and twist around the trunks, creating a harmonious blend of architecture and nature. Lush greenery and vibrant flowers cascade from the branches, adding splashes of color to the awe-inspiring scene. The trees' canopies form a vast, interconnected network high above, a living city suspended in the air, shimmers with an ethereal glow as sunlight filters through the leaves.

Everything inside of the citadel is immersed in organic opulence. I look up at the overarching vault of leaf and limb. The enchanted green illuminates the vast expanse, pulsing with sheer holiness. Most of the infrastructures are erected high up in the trees, huge and awe-invoking with terraces and balconies that belt their waists. An architecture that encapsulates decorative arts with asymmetrical forms, wing patterns, and flowers. The predominance of curves instead of straight lines, natural with rich ornaments. Manifesting the wild fantasies of a child. 

There are highly detailed creations. Some with painted roofs, but most erections have domed glass ceilings bordered with gilded rims. And sterling silver etchings that twine over the glossy panels, like the meandering tree roots that rope round the structures like a veiny scarf. Flashes of prismatic light on the edge of the glass twinkle like the night stars. Making it seem like the entire structure is made of pure crystals.

The primary source materials are glass and wrought iron, leading to an authentic form of sculpture and architecture: the glass is crafted in diverse colours with vegetal garlands. The cast iron, easier to shape in very vivid and elaborate forms. The result is supple lines, elegant yet strong and ageless.

All the edifices above are interconnected by a network of narrow bridges that maze around, draped with foliage on the concealed railings. The sun beyond, a-glint, God's luminous daystar casts everything below aglow. A green so lush, so bold. And not only is the magnificence visual, but it is visceral. The presence of magic ever-felt. This one is as old as time. The rising metallic smell perfumed with a scent of floras fills my chest like the air in my lungs. The upsurge of delicate energy that emulates a nature of being. The reverberation of one's spirit.

Before the Vulkra attacked, I felt their energy, their magic lashed with hostility. But the ambiance of the Terra is gentle, filling me from head to toe with supernatural serenity.

My gaze is so hypnotised by the wonders above, my neck craned so far back. I didn't even notice the horde of soldiers trooping towards us. Terra soldiers. The first ever seen, all of this, the first ever seen. The Terra are tree nymphs, so they are exactly as I pictured them. They are mortal-size, but no mortal like I am. Their skins are a deep green, a glimmer of the forest with emerald tattoos that appear like vines that whorl on their hands, necks, and the sides of their faces. Clad in uniforms woven from the very essence of the forest, their attire mimics the intricate patterns of leaves and vines. As they move, their uniforms rustle softly, like whispers of the wind through the trees.

They are weaponless but always armed with their earth-elementing. The geokinetic ability to manipulate earth and rock in its infinite forms by rearranging the electrons in atoms so that their structure changes. At least that was what I read. Their formation is precise, standing equidistant from each other, in the shape of an arrow's head. All of their silky, dark emerald hair, the same length, ending at their waists.

"Welcome to the Cistern Citadel of the Terra," the soldier at the tip of the arrow's head says. His tattoos are more complex. "If you will all come with me, Her Grandness, would like to welcome the candidates personally."

Similar to a flutter of wings, each soldier swivels around like a ripple effect. They all march ahead, and we follow. So, it seems with the dwellings, one's importance is ranked by where they live. At the feet of the stagnant giants, or high up along its torso and neck. There are many wooden cottages that flank our pathway, all decorated with flowers.

The sidelines teem with milling Terra folk, all glowing with euphoria. But their attention diverts to us as we stride by, backed by a strong military presence. The first time they have probably ever seen foreigners. And now here we arrive, bruised and filthy. Excited whispers ricochet all around us with an abundance of indiscreet finger-pointing.

The Terra soldiers steer us to a vacant pathway that leads down to an enormous tree with a large door hole cut inside of it like an oval-shaped archway. As one, the Terra soldiers split in half and move to stand rigid on the flanks. Expressions sombre, all except for the one who spoke that still stands in the centre.

He rotates to face us. "Only the candidates shall continue from here."

Primus Kelan advances, but Duce Merian flicks up a halting hand.

He reels himself to a halt.

"I think it would be reassuring to not only the Primus, but for I as well. If we are present with them during any royal or diplomatic assemblies. As per the High King's orders," Duce Merian says smoothly.

"We show deference to the High King, but the celestial forest is not part of his Dominion. This is the Regulus's domain. And you hold no power here and neither does your King."

Primus Kelan resumes his threatening advance and marches right up to him. They stand face to face. A ring of metal slices the air, Avangarde soldiers unsheathing their swords halfway, clutching the grip readily. The Terra soldiers at the flanks stand calm, hands balled at their sides, undaunted.

"This may be a self-determined domain. But do not forget I hold the might of the Avangard's First Legion. And there's a military bastion just north of the celestial forest. I can have your little fairy domain surrounded. Easily breaking through your walls, enchanted barriers, and gates alike. Do not undermine the High King."

The Terra soldier furrows his heavy brows.

"Did the Primus just declare war on the Terra?"

"He did no such thing," Duce Merian says quickly. "And I believe we should not waste time further; we will remain here as you requested. As your honoured guests, we will show you no disrespect in your own home." He turns and gives the Primus a beseeching look because, technically, Primus Kelan holds all the authority bestowed by His Majesty.

Duce Merian is only an emissary. Primus Kelan hesitates for a millisecond. Convinced that it was unseen. He twists his shoulders and his gaze surveys us candidates, until those stygian eyes capture mine. A muscle feathers his firm jaw before ripping his gaze from mine. He lifts a hand and flutters two fingers downwards. Simultaneously, our guards slide their swords back into their scabbards with a loud clink.

"Very well," he allows, "But after I want to be apprised of her words. And let there be no more surprises, or secret encounters in the future."

"My guards will show you and your soldiers to your allocated quarters. Then you will reunite with the purebloods after. You needn't worry, Primus. Despite the High King's armies, Cistern is well-guarded and has never known defeat." 

I glance down at the Primus Kelan's hands that clench and unclench incessantly, riddled with unease.

"Urke, nova les-um Aventgarde," he says and nods in the direction from where we came. 

The Terra soldiers rotate rigidly, marching in the direction.

"They will lead you there, Primus," he says and looks back at them pointedly.

He turns and strides after them. On the way he glances at me and for the first time. I hold his gaze, where the depths of his eyes reveal a thousand unspoken words. He passes me and two-by-two our guards dilute from their formation to pursue their Commander. Every second that he's further from me. I can feel something in me wane, until I feel his absence as palpable as his presence.

Why do I feel so strongly toward a being I hardly know?

I wish I knew the answer.

The lone Terra soldier sweeps aside and outstretches an arm to the door hole in the tree's base. Duce Merian walks to it until he thaws into the black. And then we all follow. We all crowd inside the tree and the Terra soldier is the last to enter.

So, this is what it is like to be in the foot of a tree. Warlock-black and it smells of tree sap and earth, as to be expected. The tall shadowy frames of the Herems are clustered all around me. And I can feel it like a hand slowly tightening around my throat.

"Well, isn't this utterly thrilling," Brennon drawls.

A few chuckles emanate from the shadowy figures.

Then suddenly, a bright green light pierces through the darkness. I arc my head to the side to see the Terra soldier raising his hands like he's receiving a blessing from a deity. And in the palm of his hands, a mystic green glow balls in his grasp. Both fists punch the ground. We launch up in the air at eye-blurring speeds. I latch onto the person next to me; they are just as stunned as I am, too stunned to shirk me off. Shock chokes the scream in my throat, gawking down at the circular wooden platform as we surge towards an unknown apex. The wind whistling its haste in my ears. I whip my head skyward to see a sphere of gold-tinted light that grows and grows. 

Soon we are all engulfed.

The platform stops. And everything, for a moment, is still.

My stomach is somewhere stuck between my throat and chest. The ground stopped shuddering, yet my knees are still a bit wobbly, but fortunately, I'm still standing.

"Yes, it is thrilling."

The glow in the soldier's hands dissolves into his palm, and he casually strides out of the tree. We move out in a single file. I emerge on the other side, and an everlasting awe distracts me from my temporary nausea.

The Terra soldier leads us down into a massive throne room that is mostly open. The only structural cover is the towering rock-carved pillars, engraved with the same patterned etchings on the glass panels. Vines climb the pillars. Small birds flit through the open spaces as the effects of nature are free to breeze inside at whim, between the spacious gaps of the pillars. Gentle breezes drift through the generous gaps between the pillars, carrying with them the scents of wildflowers and the whispers of leaves. Sunlight filters in, casting dappled patterns on the floor, which is overlaid with a breathtaking multi-colored mosaic artwork. This mosaic is a masterpiece in itself, a vivid tapestry of colors and shapes that reflects the intricate painting on the ceiling above.

The ceiling is a canvas of celestial beauty, painted with scenes of mythical realms and cosmic wonders. Golden suns, silver moons, and stars of every hue adorn the vast expanse, their reflections dancing on the mosaic floor below. The interplay of light and color creates a living, breathing artwork that shifts with the changing light of day.

We journey further down to the sprawling throne, made entirely out of Alabushian wood. From the back of the throne, an impressive expansion of large branches fans out, resembling an array of splayed wooden blades. These branches stretch outward like prone fingers, each one meticulously shaped and smoothed, creating a mesmerizing display that radiates both strength and grace. The wood is rich and dark, with veins of lighter hues running through it, adding depth and texture to its appearance.

Delicate leaves and tendrils sprout from these branches, their verdant greens contrasting beautifully with the dark wood. Some of the leaves are adorned with tiny, luminescent flowers that glow softly,

Beyond the throne, past the regal-red, unfurled banners that flank the scene is an immense, wizened tree. It is one, but it braids with three different huge boughs that intertwist towards the sky. The scintillating sun beams down on it with beams of pride. Its green foliage is adorned with drapes of light purple flowers. The huge tree roots swarm the throne as if cradling it in its knotted embrace.

On the throne sits not a queen. And the only one that could sit in the place of a Regulus, a king in his own right, is his equal. She must be the... what's the word? The Regine. She sits comfortably in her other half's stead, hands rested on the arms of the throne, head inclined. Her dark emerald tresses are swept up in an elaborate updo, each strand shimmering with a life of its own, reflecting the deep green of the ancient forest. Interwoven adorned with tiny blossoms, her hair forms a breathtaking crown that complements her natural majesty. Atop her head sits an ornate holy white headpiece, intricately crafted from the purest of materials. This headpiece glows with a gentle, otherworldly light, symbolizing her sacred connection to the forest. Attached to it is a bridal-looking veil, gossamer-thin and flowing gracefully over her face. The veil, almost translucent, adds an air of mystique, partially obscuring her features while allowing glimpses of her enchanting visage.

Her gown is a masterpiece of flawless white, a seamless garment that covers every inch of her skin. The fabric is as soft as silk and as pure as freshly fallen snow, shimmering subtly with every movement. The gown's design is both modest and regal, with intricate patterns of leaves and flowers embroidered into the fabric, tracing delicate paths along her arms and torso.

Beside her throne, on the same level as her, stands three gorgeous Nymph women, girls around my age. All of them are robed in fine-weaved dresses, each a different vibrant colour and less pious than their Regine, with their arms and chests exposed. All three of their heads are bedecked with flower crowns. All of them are positioned on the top of the double-tiered staircase that is both long and wide. A chain of rocks juts out of the steps brazenly and has caused the flagstone to splinter with several fissures.

A tier below them stands two rows of nymph females. But their long dresses are plain but are of sweet pastel colours, their heads unaccompanied by any lavish ornamentation.

But what really strikes at me are the two guards that flank the foot of the staircase. Beings of hulkish frames. Both of them wear metalized skull hamlets that cover their faces. With extensive wooden horns that sweep out from the side of their heads, gnarly as they curve back upwards. Their muscled chests and stomachs are bare, skin an ashen grey like a rotting corpse with ropes of severe scars that mar their torso. Their arms are fortified in thick vambraces with metal-plating over scant fabrics, swords drawn in their grasp.

"Your Elegance, I bring forth before you, the pureblood descendants of the Decuria," the Terra soldier says, placing a forearm over his stomach. And he lifts a flattened hand beside his head in, I suppose, a show of veneration.

The Herems and I approach cautiously. And Duce Merian stands still at our rear.

Together, they bow, and I follow awkwardly.

"Vele ana tumkele," she says. Her voice is melodic like the thrummed cords of a harp, sensuous and soft, but it echoes with a wonder-evoking tenor of a goddess. Like mother nature herself.

The Terra soldier nods and disappears to the margins.

"One of you... future Ruler of Urium," she says with a distinct note of disbelief. "I must extend my apologies for Regulus's absence; he is currently engaged in a meeting with his advisors, addressing a conundrum that has arisen in one of the nearby villages we supply. They need more than earth globs because all of their crops have failed." 

She shakes her head slightly as if to shun her stress. 

"Ah, the burdens that befall a true ruler. Since he is not here, the celebration of your advent will be postponed until further notice. You all look like you need the rest, anyway. Since your attack, I watched you travel all this way by foot."

Watched us?

"I beg your pardon, Your Elegance. You watched us?" Brennon repeats with bewilderment. "How and if so, why did you not send for reinforcements?"

If only I was near him, so I could smack the backside of his head. And perhaps some form of wit will miraculously appear, at least by knocking all the stupid out. I think we can all feel the sear of Duce Merian's glower, despite it aimed at Brennon alone.

"You all survived, did you not? Nobody ever drowned in his own sweat," she says simply. "My trees, my birds, they inform me of everything."

"Wise words, Your Elegance," Vince says, bowing his head to her, "Your wisdom is as lustrous as your unparalleled beauty. I stand chastened before you."

The corner of my top lip curdles slightly.

She turns her head in his direction and nods back at him imperially.

Then her eyes fasten on me, and I nearly stumble back.

"I was surprised to see you, Hera," she says ominously. Her eyes gesture to the line of three nymphs beside her. "My daughters will tend to you and show you to your bedchambers."

I bow my head in humble accord.

Her index finger lifts from the throne's arm to point to the other rows of nymph girls. Those most likely to be servants or handmaidens. 

"Brave Herems, my ladies will tend to you, bind your wounds and have you bathed."

A short round of excited sounds and mumblings buzz amongst them.

"You may go."

Immediately, the Regine's daughter burst into a fit of giggles, and they briskly make their way towards me. On approaching they trade looks with the other Herems, scanning them down slowly and sultry. One of them even bites down on her lower lip. Suddenly arms entwine around mine, my senses overwhelmed by floral fragrances. They swivel me around and lead me towards the elevating tree thing.

"My name is Cas-lian umta. But you can call me Cassia for short," says the one with a bold yellow flower crown on her head, with a stunning yellow dress to match. Coiled at my right side.

"We are going to take such good care of you!" The one on my left squeaks. An amethyst crown on her head. "So, in return, you can tell us all about the heart-achingly handsome and edible young Herems you've been travelling with."

"Opal." The girl from the rear reproaches. "Control yourself... at least let her get settled in first," she says. And her sisters join her chorus of giggles.

If only the Trials were permanently hosted at the Orombuc tribe.