Chương 28: Chapter 21: Stone Above, Roots Below — Part I

The following morning arrives with far less urgency than I expected. For most of the night, I imagined the council meeting waiting somewhere beyond the horizon like an approaching storm. By dawn, the feeling has settled into something more manageable. The meeting remains unpleasantly inevitable, but years of wandering have taught me that anticipation often wastes more energy than the event itself. The grove wakes gradually around me.

Morning light filters through the heartwood canopy while dew clings to the younger gardens spreading along the eastern runoff channels. Several residents are already moving between the pathways carrying tools and water buckets, beginning the day's work before the sun rises fully above the city. I sit beneath the heartwood tree for a while longer, watching the district come alive. The staff rests beside me against one of the larger roots. Even now, I remain uncertain what to make of it.

The wood resembles no staff I remember from Elarion. Its surface carries no carvings or druidic markings beyond the grain itself, yet the moment my hand closes around it, I feel the same quiet certainty that accompanied its appearance within the heartwood chamber. The grove recognizes it. That realization feels strangely reassuring. A voice interrupts my thoughts.

"You are staring at the stick again." I glance up. Aibell stands nearby carrying a basket of herbs gathered from one of the newer garden plots. Morning sunlight catches the loose strands of hair escaping her braid while she studies me with open curiosity.

"It is a staff." Aibell follows my gaze toward the staff.

"You have been staring at that thing for ten minutes."

"I was considering its significance."

"And did it reveal any?"

"Not yet."

"Then it appears to be an unusually decorative stick." I find myself smiling despite the observation. Aibell settles onto one of the roots, opposite to me and places the basket beside her.

"How much trouble are you expecting today?"

"Enough that Garrick spent most of yesterday preparing me for it."

"That sounds reasonable." I give her a look.

"You are supposed to be reassuring."

"Why?"

"Because that is generally what people do before someone walks into an unpleasant meeting." Aibell considers that for a moment.

"You already have Garrick." I stare at her.

"That may be the least reassuring thing anyone has said to me this week." The smile she tries to hide afterward suggests she knew exactly what she was doing and then she laughs softly. The sound carries easily through the clearing while the grove continues waking around us. Nearby, several children race toward the gardens before being intercepted by Merrow and redirected toward considerably less destructive activities. The healer notices me watching and points toward the children.

"They have spent the entire morning debating whether council members wear crowns indoors."

"I assume you corrected them."

"I informed them that anyone foolish enough to wear a crown indoors deserves the resulting headache." That sounds remarkably like Merrow. A few moments later, Ciara awakens from one of the nearby shelters and picks up a ledger besides her. She studies it carefully before moving closer to the firepit where several residents immediately begin asking questions regarding supplies, repairs and garden assignments. I watch the exchange quietly. The ever-growing grove community functions almost without me now.

The realization should bother me. Instead, it leaves me oddly relieved. For years I carried responsibility alone because there was rarely anyone else available to share it. Here, every problem eventually finds its way into someone else's capable hands. Ciara handles the community, Merrow handles the injured, Aibell somehow manages herbs, medicines and half the children simultaneously. Garrick handles everything nobody else wants. The grove feels stronger because of it.

Perhaps that is how communities are supposed to work. The thought remains with me while I rise and secure the staff across my back. Almost immediately, I feel eyes on me. Several of the younger children have gathered nearby, along with Eammon and Aine. One of them points toward the staff.

"Is that magical?" The question arrives with complete seriousness.

"I suspect so." The child's eyes widen.

"Can it shoot lightning?"

"I sincerely hope not." That answer appears disappointing. Before the conversation can continue, Garrick enters the clearing from the western pathway. Unlike everyone else, he is already dressed for the meeting. The older soldier slows slightly when he notices the gathering around me.

"I leave for ten minutes," he says, "and somehow you have acquired an audience." Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"They are investigating the staff."

"Have they determined whether it shoots lightning?" The children immediately look hopeful. I stare at him.

"You are making the situation worse."

"Correct." The children scatter shortly afterward, apparently satisfied that further research will be required. Garrick watches them disappear before turning his attention toward me. For a moment, his expression grows more thoughtful.

"You look better." The statement carries none of Merrow's clinical assessment. I understand immediately what he means. The lingering exhaustion is gone. The weight I carried for years no longer hangs visibly from every movement. Even standing feels different now that my body no longer expects pain as a constant companion.

"I feel better," I admit. Garrick nods once.

"Good." The morning activity continues around us while residents move through the grove preparing for another ordinary day. Looking at the district now, it becomes difficult to remember how much of it stood abandoned only weeks earlier. Roots spread beneath the pathways. Gardens fill the empty spaces. People laugh more often. Life grows where ruin once lingered. The grove changed the district. The district changed the grove in return. Eventually Garrick glances toward the city beyond the outer pathways.

"We should leave." The words settle naturally into the conversation. I find myself looking around the clearing one final time and have only a single thought, home. The thought arrives before I can stop it. For a moment, I simply stand there. Then I turn toward Garrick.

"Let's go meet the council." We leave the grove shortly afterward. The eastern district is already busy by the time we reach the main streets. Shopkeepers' open shutters, laborers unload wagons and merchants arrange goods outside their storefronts while the city settles into the rhythm of another working day. The changes are easier to see now than they were when I first arrived in Fallowspire. Several buildings near the eastern market have been repaired.

Fresh timber supports older structures that once looked close to collapse. New stalls fill empty corners where abandoned storefronts stood only weeks ago. The district feels healthier but not because of the grove alone. People have started believing the area is worth investing in again. A baker standing outside his shop notices me as we pass and nudges the woman beside him. Both stare openly until Garrick catches them watching.

"They're doing it again," he says. I sigh.

"How bad are the rumors?"

"Depends who you ask." That answer immediately concerns me and Garrick notices.

"The most popular version claims you spent five days communing with ancient spirits beneath a magical tree." I consider that for a moment.

"That is surprisingly close to the truth."

"Unfortunately," Garrick continues, "the second most popular version claims the tree consumed you and returned something else." I stop walking.

"Garrick."

"What?"

"Please tell me nobody actually believes that." The older soldier thinks for several seconds.

"I can confidently say the number has decreased since yesterday." I continue walking. Some questions are better left unanswered. The streets gradually widen as we move deeper into the city. The buildings here are older, built from stone rather than timber, and maintained with a level of consistency that eastern Fallowspire never enjoyed. The difference catches my attention.

"Most council members live around here?" I ask.

"Most of them," Garrick says. I glance toward the rows of stone buildings lining the square.

"Convenient." Garrick follows my gaze.

"The eastern district only started attracting this much attention after the grove appeared."

"You think that's a coincidence?" A quiet laugh escapes him.

"I think you're about to discover how many people have opinions about land, money and who deserves credit for improving either." The council hall comes into view shortly afterward. The building dominates the square surrounding it without relying on towers or extravagant ornamentation. Broad staircases rise toward a series of arched entrances while carved reliefs stretch across the outer walls, depicting scenes from the city's founding and expansion.

People cross the square constantly, but the hall still manages to command attention. I study the structure while we approach.

"It looks expensive."

"You're starting to sound like Havlar," Garrick says.

"I am not sure whether that was an insult."

"It wasn't." Before either of us can continue, a familiar voice calls down from the stairs.

"Good. You're both here." Havlar descends toward us, carrying a stack of documents tucked beneath one arm. He looks exactly like a man who spent the entire morning dealing with administrative problems. Which probably means he spent the entire morning dealing with administrative problems.

"The council is already assembled?" Garrick asks.

"Early," Havlar replies. I look toward him.

"That sounds unusual."

"It is." He adjusts the documents tucked beneath his arm.

"Most meetings begin with people arriving late and pretending they had important reasons. Today they arrived before me." Something about the answer leaves me uneasy. Havlar notices.

"You're learning," he says.

"When politicians become punctual, it generally means they're preparing for a fight." The three of us begin climbing the stairs together. As we reach the upper landing, Havlar's expression grows more serious.

"The council agrees on exactly one thing," he says. That statement alone feels alarming.

"Which is?"

"The corruption beneath the river needed to be dealt with." I nod slowly.

"And everything else?" Havlar exhales through his nose and adjusts the documents tucked beneath one arm.

"Everything else remains under discussion." That sounds considerably closer to the truth than any reassuring answer could have been. He pushes open one of the side entrances and leads us into the building. The corridors beyond are lined with records, maps and portraits of individuals important enough to have their faces preserved for future generations.

Clerks move between offices carrying stacks of documents while messengers hurry through intersections with the urgency of people attempting to meet deadlines created by someone else. Voices drift from a chamber further ahead; arguments; disagreements. At least one person appears deeply invested in a discussion involving drainage channels. Politics, apparently, remains dedicated to exceeding expectations. Havlar slows near the doorway leading into the council chamber.

"Before we go inside," he says, "there are a few people you should know." He gestures toward a broad room beyond the doorway where council members gather around several long tables.

"The man currently arguing about waterways is Councilor Brenner," Havlar explains.

"Trade, shipping and river transport fall under his authority. If anything affects commerce, he notices."

"Immediately," Garrick adds.

"Painfully immediately," Havlar agrees. My attention shifts toward a silver-haired woman studying several reports near the center table.

"And her?"

"Councilor Elira," Havlar says.

"Infrastructure, construction and maintenance." The stack of documents beside her is large enough to qualify as defensive fortification.

"She has been reviewing reports from the river tunnels for three days." That sounds promising.

"Which means," Havlar continues, "she has questions." I sigh, far less promising. I notice another figure standing near one of the side tables wearing temple robes rather than council attire.

"The clergy sent representatives?" I ask.

"Several," Havlar replies. Something in his expression makes me narrow my eyes.

"That answer suggests there is more to the story." Havlar adjusts the stack of documents beneath his arm.

"There usually is."

"Should I be concerned?"

"Not immediately," he says.

"Most of the temples are pleased the corruption is gone."

"Most?" Havlar and Garrick exchange a glance. I immediately regret asking.

"We'll discuss it after the meeting," Havlar says.

"That is not a reassuring answer."

"No," Havlar agrees.

"It isn't." The pause before that answer lasts entirely too long. Before I can pursue the subject further, a bell rings somewhere within the chamber. Conversations begin fading. Council members move toward their seats. The meeting is starting. Havlar straightens his robes. Garrick folds his arms. I find myself thinking longingly about quiet mornings beneath the heartwood canopy. Then Havlar pushes the doors open fully and every eye in the room turns toward us.