Chương 3: Chapter 7: What Still Grows- Part I

Morning settled fully over Fallowspire not long after my decision stopped being entirely my own. The eastern wing gradually woke around us as healers moved through the corridors carrying steaming water, fresh bandages, and enough bitter-smelling medicine to convince me death occasionally showed mercy out of self-preservation. Somewhere farther down the hall, an argument broke out between two soldiers over missing bread before a third voice loudly informed them both that neither deserved breakfast.

Civilization remained strange. Ciara rested easier after Merrow changed the bandages again, though the fever still lingered beneath her skin enough to keep her confined to the cot near the hearth. Aine had attached herself firmly to her side while Eammon wandered the room with the restless energy of someone recovering from fear quickly enough to become troublesome again. Aibell looked less exhausted than the night before, not rested, just relieved enough that the exhaustion no longer carried panic beneath it.

Garrick remained near the doorway while the others settled into the slow rhythm of morning around us. He watched the room quietly for a moment before glancing toward me.

"You look uncomfortable," he observed.

"Too many walls," I replied. Garrick snorted softly.

"You slept in a city before."

"Regretfully," I muttered. That earned the faintest snort from him. I adjusted the bandage around my shoulder carefully while studying the light filtering through the shuttered windows. The city beyond them sounded awake now. Wagons rattling over stone. Merchants shouting across crowded streets. Distant hammering drifting through the eastern district. Life continuing, the sound felt unfamiliar after the silence of the forest. Garrick folded his arms across his chest.

"You planning to glare at the windows all morning or actually tell me what you need?" Straight to the point as always.

"I need ground," I said after a while.

"Somewhere isolated if possible." Garrick raised an eyebrow.

"Ground."

"Untouched if you have it. Forgotten if you don't." I rested one hand lightly against Nemain's scabbard beside the chair.

"Somewhere close enough to the walls that people won't ask questions if strange things start growing." Garrick stared at me for a moment.

"That sentence somehow became worse near the end."

"It usually does," I replied. Garrick rubbed one hand slowly across his beard while considering the request.

"You're serious."

"Yes." Aibell looked between both of us carefully.

"What exactly are you planning?" I hesitated briefly not because I doubted her because saying it aloud made the possibility real.

"There are ways to strengthen a place," I said quietly.

"Old ways." Nemain pulsed faintly at my side, displeased already. The reaction alone told me enough. Garrick noticed the movement near the sword immediately but chose not to comment on it.

"And this helps protect the city?"

"If it works," I replied.

"That sounds encouraging."

"It's honest," I said quietly. The older soldier sighed softly through his nose.

"Gods, you and honesty continue having a complicated relationship." Ciara shifted slightly against the cot near the hearth before speaking for the first time that morning.

"You're talking about druid magic." I nodded once. Aibell studied me more carefully afterward.

"The grove you mentioned."

"Yes." Silence settled briefly across the room again. Most people heard the word druid and imagined stories told beside winter fires. Half remembered myths. Strange wanderers deep in forests speaking to trees and vanishing into mist. Very few remembered that groves once stood openly beside cities before fear and kingdoms decided the wild should remain outside walls. Garrick finally pushed himself away from the doorway.

"There's an abandoned stretch near the eastern wall," he said.

"Old storage houses mostly. Nobody important lives there anymore."

"That sounds promising," I replied. Garrick gave me a flat look.

"That alone concerns me." Aibell folded her arms loosely across her chest.

"You're both making this sound deeply suspicious."

"It probably will be," Garrick replied. He glanced back toward me afterward.

"There's also an old garden beyond the houses, half-wild now. Used to belong to some merchant family before they vanished into debt and bad decisions." Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Also sounds promising," I said. Garrick sighed tiredly through his nose.

"You see why I'm worried." Despite myself, a quieter laugh escaped me. The sound still felt unfamiliar enough that everyone noticed it immediately. Eammon pointed at me from near the hearth.

"You do know how to laugh."

"I try not to encourage it."

"That explains a lot," Aibell muttered. Ciara hid a faint smile behind one hand while Garrick shook his head slowly like a man reconsidering several life choices at once.

"Gods, help this city," he muttered.

"They've had years," I said.

"That's not comforting either."

"It rarely is." Garrick eventually pushed himself upright from the doorway and adjusted the sword hanging at his side.

"I'll arrange the house and have supplies brought over before evening," he said.

"Nothing luxurious."

"We survived the forest," Aibell replied.

"Our standards are flexible."

"That's a dangerous sentence too." Garrick looked at Aibell.

"I'm learning from him," she said dryly while gesturing vaguely in my direction.

"Then I'm deeply sorry." Garrick glanced back toward me afterward, some of the humor fading from his expression.

"If you're serious about this grove business, I'll need to know whether it's going to alarm my guards."

"Probably." He stared at me flatly. I sighed quietly.

"Not intentionally."

"That somehow concerns me more." Nemain pulsed faintly at my side the moment the conversation drifted toward the grove again, displeased and hungry. The sensation crawled subtly along the edge of my thoughts like distant claws dragging across stone. Aibell noticed my hand tightening briefly against the black scabbard beside the chair. Her expression sharpened immediately.

"The sword doesn't like this."

"No," I replied quietly. Garrick's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Why?" Because life and Nemain had never belonged beside one another. Because the grove represented everything the blade could not consume cleanly. Because somewhere deep within the sword, the thing bound to it remembered forests burning. I looked toward the fading embers within the hearth before answering. I looked toward the fading embers within the hearth before answering.

"It prefers simpler solutions." Garrick frowned faintly.

"That sounds ominous." The room fell quieter after that. Outside, the sounds of the waking city drifted faintly through the shuttered windows, wagon wheels rattling over stone, distant merchants shouting across crowded streets, hammering somewhere near the inner districts. Ciara shifted carefully against the cot near the hearth before looking toward Garrick.

"How bad is it outside the walls?" The older soldier's expression darkened slightly.

"Worse every day." Aibell frowned.

"The raids?"

"The raids," Garrick confirmed.

"Missing caravans. Refugees arriving from farther south." He rubbed one hand across his beard tiredly.

"And rumors."

"People always have rumors," I muttered.

"These ones involve forests whispering back." That earned my full attention. Garrick noticed immediately.

"You've heard something similar." Not worth denying.

"In the wilds near Blackthorn," I admitted quietly.

"The corruption wasn't spreading naturally." Aibell looked between both of us.

"What does that mean?" I searched briefly for an answer simple enough not to sound insane. Found none.

"It means something is feeding it," I said at last. The room grew still. Even Eammon stopped fidgeting near the hearth. Garrick exhaled slowly through his nose.

"That's what I was afraid of." Fear settled quietly beneath the room afterward. Whatever had destroyed Blackthorn was not finished and now it was moving closer to Fallowspire. Garrick straightened after a long silence and adjusted the cloak around his shoulders.

"If you think the something is helping spread the corruption, I have a very good idea of what it is, and I will need your help. All the more reason to get you settled before this city tears itself apart."

"That feels optimistic." I muttered.

"It's experience," he replied dryly. Merrow really was spreading. That thought nearly earned another laugh from me before I stopped it in time. Garrick eventually pushed himself away from the doorway and adjusted the sword hanging at his side.

"I'll return before midday," he said.

"Try not to terrify the healers while I'm gone."

"No promises."

"That answer's becoming predictable."

"It's comforting to maintain traditions."

"That word does not mean what you think it means." Then he disappeared into the corridor beyond the eastern wing before I could answer. The room settled quieter afterward, the crackling hearth, the distant movement of healers outside the door, Eammon attempting to balance a wooden spoon across his nose for reasons known only to himself. Aine watching him with the solemn concentration of someone witnessing advanced scholarship.

Ordinary things that I had spent years convincing myself I am better without, that I preferred solitude. Now the noise no longer felt unbearable, that realization remained deeply suspicious. Aibell noticed me watching the children near the hearth and folded her arms loosely across her chest.

"You're thinking too loudly again."

"I wasn't aware thoughts made noise," I replied. Aibell gave me a tired look.

"With you, they practically announce themselves."

"That sounds inconvenient."

"For everyone involved," she muttered. Ciara hid a faint smile from her cot near the fire before exhaustion pulled it away again. Even resting, she still looked pale beneath the morning light filtering through the shutters. The fever had lessened but not enough. I noticed the strain in her breathing before she tried hiding it.

"You should still be resting," I said quietly.

"I am resting," Ciara replied.

"You're sitting upright out of spite."

"That's because laying still is irritating." I frowned faintly at her.

"That explanation concerns me more than the fever."

"It should," Ciara muttered. Aibell moved toward the hearth and began adjusting the kettle hanging above the low flames while Eammon finally lost his battle against gravity and dropped the spoon onto the floor with visible offense. Aine laughed softly beside him. The sound froze the room for half a heartbeat. It was the first real laugh any of us had heard from her since Blackthorn burned. Aine immediately looked startled by the sound herself before hiding partially behind Ciara's arm. Eammon brightened instantly.

"See? It was funny."

"You looked ridiculous," Aibell informed him.

"That was the point," he replied proudly.

"I'm deeply worried you actually have points," I muttered. Eammon crossed his arms with visible dignity.

"I learned from adults."

"That excuse is becoming dangerous," I muttered. Eammon grinned proudly as though manipulation were a survival skill worth cultivating. Honestly, he was probably right. The room slowly loosened around the edges afterward, relief beginning to remember itself. Outside the shutters, the sounds of Fallowspire continued swelling as the city fully awakened around us. Somewhere farther down the district, merchants shouted over one another while wagon wheels rattled across stone streets slick from the morning mist.

Life continuing despite fear, cities were stubborn that way. Aibell poured steaming water carefully into a chipped cup before glancing toward me again.

"So, when do we see this mysterious abandoned house?"

"Once Garrick finishes threatening the neighborhood," I replied. Aibell raised an eyebrow faintly from the cot.

"That feels unfair to Garrick."

"It feels accurate," Ciara murmured. I rested one hand lightly against Nemain's scabbard beside the chair while listening toward the city beyond the windows. Beneath the noise and movement and waking streets, something else lingered there too. Faint, wrong, like rot spreading beneath frozen ground. The corruption was closer than Fallowspire realized and somewhere beyond the walls, something was feeding it still.