The Third Step: Chapter Twenty

Just as Kene had said, by the morning, the liquid in the cauldron had condensed into a thick, maple-syrup looking mixture. It even smelled oddly like maple syrup, which was especially strange to me, as honey had been used in the creation process, not maple syrup. 

We bottled it up, forming eleven potions – a good yield, given we’d only had nine beans – and then placed them along the shelf. While Kene gathered his equipment, I swung by the kludde to see how it was doing. It had lodged itself comfortably in one of the riverbeds, eyes closed, and the only reason I knew it was there was due to the fact that my senses were strong enough to pry past its veil. 

With everything ready, we stepped – or in the case of Dawn and Dusk, flew – back out into Ddeaer and I began casting Seven League Step spells to bring us down the river banks, heading toward the cordon, using Antburden to lessen the magical weight of my companions and carry them with me in the teleportation. 

The entire country of Obsidian Forest was built around an even older forest, one that was marked off by a massive ward, known as the cordon. Mossford was too old, too lived in, and had gone through too much, to have areas like it, but it worked somewhat similar to the sections of Crysite that were warded off to create territories for especially powerful beasts to roam. Some people, mainly combat mages, made a living by delving within the cordon in order to find alchemical plants, natural treasures, and valuable advancement fruits, but it was rather foolhardy. Ancient things lived in the forest, like Kysgott, an eighth gate shadow elemental centuries older than unified Elohi. 

Of course, that wasn’t going to stop us, but I couldn’t help but think that a similar thought had likely gone through the heads of everyone who had wound up killed. At least Kysgott wasn’t known to be especially violent. 

As we teleported deeper and deeper into the country, nearing the cordon, we passed a handful of other towns and even one city – neither the cordon nor country were perfect circles, after all, and roads criss-crossed back and forth between them – but most of the trip was raw, spooky forest, like the deep forests outside of Kene’s village, and after each stop, Kene paused to cast Locate Plants, sans the potions, just in case one happened to be located in the unoccupied forest regions and we didn’t need to dive headfirst into danger. 

Naturally, we weren’t so fortunate, but I hadn’t expected to be, so we continued deeper in, until we eventually landed in a small, ramshackle hamlet located along the edge of the cordon. It mainly saw trade through people looking to enter and return from the forest, and I could see the faint blue-gray shimmer at the edge of the town, rippling and changing. 

We walked through the hamlet, nodding to some of the residents, merchants, and approached the ward. As we did, Meadow sighed and came to a stop, but I was distracted by something. Along the cordon was a shrine, and I could feel power within it. I walked closer, not even really registering that Kene had called out behind me, and placed my hand along the old, weather-beaten wood. Within, an old ghost rested, and it turned its eyes to me, judging me. I didn’t know what it looked like, or even if it approved of me or not, but I could feel its judgement nevertheless.

My eyes fell to a stone tablet, almost like a headstone, affixed below the shrine. It read ‘Here lies Ro, Son of Seth. May he continue to guide lost children back from the cordon in death as he did in life.’ A handful of death mana sources had been left within the shrine, and were slowly being digested by the ghost. 

I cast Ghost Tether, though I didn’t activate the functions of the spell that would create a stable link. I didn’t need this to be permanent. I poured power through the tether until I was nearly dry, and then released the link. It wasn’t enough to restore the ghost to full power – this ghost was old and strong, stronger than I was, and likely stronger than Arthur. Perhaps in life he had been an Arcanist, but I wasn’t sure. 

Even though I’d not been able to restore his power to full, I felt a sense of gratitude wash through the ghost. I bowed, then returned to Kene.

“Apologies. I thought that was worth doing.” 

Even as I spoke, I was focusing within Dusk’s realm, drawing power from the blood carnations located within, converting life mana into death in order to get the maximum amount of restoration from the power.

“It’s fine,” Kene said. “It’s… Well, if I had death or mental mana, I’d consider doing the same.” 

Meadow gave me an approving shoulder rub and nodded.

“You did well. But I’m afraid I must be the bearer of bad news now. This is as far as I can go. The Headsman lives within the cordon, and while he’s been polite enough to not kick me out thus far, me heading in with you is more likely to draw the eyes of things we don’t want to see, and that this simulacrum doesn’t have the power to fight. I’ll be waiting for you.” 

“I understand. Thank you for coming so far,” I said, pulling the old woman into a hug and squeezing gently. Even if this body was a spell construct, I didn’t want to hurt her. Kene gave her a hug as well, and Dusk threw her little arms around Meadow’s neck. 

With our goodbyes said, Kene put the glasses back on, looking rather cute as they did, took my hand, and we stepped through the rippling magic of the cordon. A part of me expected to be immediately attacked by a hundred thousand elementals all at once, but of course, nothing of the sort happened.

Still, there was a notable difference in the air. The shadows seemed deeper here, more rich with lunar mana, despite the fact we were only a few steps in. The trees were more gnarled, so that they looked almost like bent over elderly caricatures, and the air was practically damp with humidity, despite the chill in the air driving off the very notion that it was summer. The mist that rose off the ground seemingly everywhere in Obsidian Forest was thicker too, harder to peer through, and I put a low trickle of mana into Vampiric Senses. 

I raised my hand and began to cast Seven League Step, and as I did, Kene tapped their foot on the ground, looking around anxiously. They quickly cast Locate Plants, but when nothing was returned, they shifted to just looking for threats. The low caw of a raven caused Kene to jerk and nearly fall over, and I almost stopped the ritual.

Just in case the raven was under the command of the Flock, the asomatous who possessed birds and used them to try and kill people, I flared out my mana senses and sent them chasing through the trees. The bird flapped its wings and flew, shadow trailing from them, and I powered my senses with spellcraft. For an instant, I caught the sense of fourth gate lunar, mental, tempest, death, and desolation mana trailing from the bird, but then it dove into the shadow of a titanic tree. The shadows seemed to warp around its wings, and the bird blasted forward at incredible speed.

I tried to infuse my resonance into my senses to chase it, but focusing on that, my sensory spells, and the Seven League Step’s ten-part ritual proved to be too much. My senses flared for an instant, but then fell back to their normal size, while the bird used the opportunity to glide through another shadow and get an even bigger lead on me.

It was possible that it was a member of the Flock, but it was also possible that it was just an ordinary magical beast that thought I was trying to hunt it. Either way, I wouldn’t catch it now, so I cut off the flow of mana to my sensory spells and pulled them in. There was no sense in announcing my presence to everything nearby.  

Dusk piped up then, asking why I’d been so concerned about the bird, and I shot a glare at her. 

“You could have caught it! You’re way faster, even factoring in its shadow glide power.” 

Dusk agreed readily, but said she didn’t really see a reason to. It had just been watching us, after all. If a member of the Flock was spying on us, then I’d driven it off. Catching it wouldn’t inherently help, since the Flock could connect and disconnect to birds – that was part of what made it so hard to kill. And if it had been a member of the Flock, flying after it recklessly was a great way for her to get separated from us and ambushed. 

I apologized to her, then turned my full concentration back to the ritual, working to stabilize the weave of space and draw them in for our teleport. A few minutes without birds later, and the spell was ready. I cast Antburden on everyone and pulled us along. We landed right in front of a towering oak tree, at least two hundred and fifty feet tall, the spell having shunted us back a bit, but still leaving us uncomfortably close to the bark. 

Kene withdrew one of the potions and chugged it down, then cast Locate Plants. For an instant, the glasses sparked as it looked like circles appeared on its glass, yet when I looked closer, there wasn’t anything there. Kene made a ‘hmm’ sound and turned westward. 

“Not the Rebirth Tree, but still something rather useful. Truenote hellebore.” 

I squinted, trying to remember if that had been on the list of potentially useful things that Kene and Meadow had drilled into me. Given that Kene’s spell had picked up on it, I was sure it had to be, but they’d listed over four dozen different plants and fungi, so it didn’t come to mind. 

“They’re a flower that grows in lots of shade and wet soil, so they’re semi-common here. They’re actually fairly safe too, so I won’t spoil the surprise. Won’t be crazily useful in combat, but if you combined it with blueshade and managed to get a short lived hallucinogenic spore producing fungi… Anyways, about two hundred feet that way.” 

Kene and I made our way around the tree and through some of the smaller and middling sized trees, picking through the thick, almost muddy ground of the Obsidian Forest, when I heard it. Chiming on the wind, almost like a hundred different bells, each one ringing out a different tune. It was discordant, and yet oddly beautiful at the same time, like hundreds of windchimes. 

At first, I froze when I heard the sound, but Kene pressed on, moving closer, and I followed their lead until we stopped before a large patch of waxy-leaved plants with deep purple and maroon leaves. As the gentle wind jostled them, each flower let out a different note, causing the scene to be oddly peaceful, and Dawn floated down, curling up within the leaves. For an instant, she almost seemed solid as she did, and I frowned, unsure what to make of it. In near silence, Kene, Dusk and I took gentle cuttings of the truenote hellebore and carried it into Dusk’s realm for transplant near the blueshade. 

Then, with a degree of solemnity from the jingling and the tinkling, the rhyming and the chiming, the moaning and the groaning, of the bells, we stepped back, leaving the remaining truenote hellebore.