Chương 8: Chapter 10: Where the River Learns Your Name- Part- I

The grove feels warmer when I return that evening with my group. The canopy has thickened enough that the sounds of the eastern district reach us softened now, carried through leaves and branches instead of bare stone. Lanternlight from the nearby streets filters faintly through the silver-green heartwood leaves overhead while the roots beneath the soil continue spreading deeper into the district. The grove keeps growing even when I stop paying attention to it and that still feels strange.

Aibell looks up from the small cooking fire near the center of the garden as Garrick and I step through the vine-covered entrance.

"You survived the meeting."

"Technically," Garrick replies while removing his gloves.

"I'm reserving final judgment until after tomorrow."

"That sounds wise."

"It feels medically necessary." Merrow snorts softly from where she sits near one of the restored stone walls sorting dried herbs into cloth bundles.

"You already look tired enough to concern me."

"I appreciate how quickly everyone here turns hostile," Garrick mutters. Merrow ties off another herb bundle without looking up.

"That's because you continue arriving with terrible news." Ciara sits nearby with the children resting beneath heavy blankets close to the fire. They sleep more peacefully than they did earlier. Even from the edge of the grove, I can feel the heartwoods responding quietly to familiar presences around them. The roots no longer tighten cautiously beneath the soil when the children move nearby. The grove accepts them.

I settle beside one of the exposed roots near the fire while Garrick accepts a bowl of stew from Aibell with visible relief.

"You forgot to eat again," Aibell observes.

"I remained extremely busy." Aibell raises an eyebrow.

"That wasn't a denial." Garrick sighs heavily before taking another bite. The conversation drifts naturally after that. Smaller things at first. Garrick complains about tunnel engineers. Merrow repeatedly informs him that soldiers mistake "surviving" for "recovery." Ciara asks quiet questions about the heartwoods while Aibell watches the canopy overhead with growing curiosity.

"The branches are still moving," she says eventually. I glance upward. The nearest heartwoods continue stretching slowly toward one another above the garden walls, weaving the canopy tighter branch by branch.

"They'll continue growing for a while," I explain.

"The roots are still establishing deeper connections beneath the district." One of the children shifts slightly in sleep nearby. The grove responds immediately. Leaves rustle softly overhead while the roots beneath the soil pulse once through the connection resting quietly at the edge of my awareness. Aibell notices my expression.

"You felt that."

"Yes." Aibell glances toward the sleeping children near the fire.

"The grove reacts to them?"

"It reacts to everyone inside it." I rest one hand lightly against the root beside me while answering.

"Older groves protected settlements long before walls became common." Ciara studies the canopy again.

"The children stopped having nightmares after we moved here." That does not surprise me. Heartwoods calm fear naturally once a grove stabilizes. Older sanctuaries used them deliberately for that reason. Merrow ties off another herb bundle before glancing toward me.

"Wonderful. The magical forest has started parenting."

"It's showing better judgment than several nobles I've treated," Garrick mutters. The firelight flickers softly across the garden while conversation continues around it. The grove absorbs sound differently than the rest of the city. Voices remain quieter here without anyone intentionally lowering them. Even Garrick eventually relaxes enough to stop standing like someone expecting structural collapse at any moment.

For a little while, the corruption beneath the city feels farther away but I know better than to trust that feeling completely. Later, after the fire burns lower and the others settle beneath blankets and cloaks around the garden, I remain awake beneath the canopy listening through the roots spreading under the eastern district. The connection reaches farther tonight.

Water moves beneath the city in layered currents beneath roads, buildings, wells, runoff tunnels and forgotten stone channels older than half the districts built above them. The grove senses those pathways instinctively now because roots always follow water eventually and somewhere deeper beneath the city, the corruption answers back. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The sensation no longer feels random.

That realization settles slowly into my thoughts while I sit beneath the heartwoods. Corruption usually spreads through hunger, imbalance, neglect or decay. What I feel beneath Fallowspire carries something else beneath it now. The water shifts with subtle purpose in places where it should not. Currents redirect themselves slightly before settling again. Pressure gathers near older tunnel systems before dispersing. Something below the city has started adapting to resistance.

Nemain hums faintly beside me at the thought. I keep my hand away from the sword and close my eyes briefly while the grove continues breathing quietly around the sleeping garden. Morning arrives cool and damp beneath the canopy. Birdsong spreads through the branches overhead while pale sunlight filters between silver-green leaves still heavy with moisture from the night air. The eastern district beyond the grove walls has only barely started waking when footsteps approach from the street outside.

Several people this time, disciplined movement in armor and equipment, a descent team. I rise from beside the roots shortly before Garrick pushes through the vines covering the entrance. The captain already looks tired again.

"You appear unhealthy," I observe.

"I've been organizing soldiers since before sunrise," Garrick replies.

"My condition continues deteriorating steadily."

"That sounds exhausting." Garrick exhales heavily through his nose.

"It feels personal at this point." The others enter behind him gradually as the grove reacts to unfamiliar presences moving through it, four guards wearing practical city armor, two priests carrying iron-bound reliquaries etched with protective sigils, three river clergy dressed in dark blue robes stained with river silt near the hems, two engineers carrying tunnel maps and enough tools to survive catastrophic structural failure through determination alone.

The grove studies all of them, I feel it through the roots almost immediately. The river clergy notice the change first. One of them pauses beside the nearest heartwood and kneels slowly near the roots rising through the soil. Her fingers brush lightly against the earth before she looks upward through the canopy overhead.

"This place remembers older rivers," she says quietly. Another cleric rests one palm against the bark nearby and exhales slowly.

"Older than the city." The guards nearby exchange uncertain glances but wisely keep their thoughts to themselves. Garrick notices me watching the exchange.

"You were correct," he says quietly.

"The clergy recognized the grove immediately."

"People who spend their lives listening to rivers usually recognize old things when they find them." Garrick folds his arms while glancing around the grove again.

"That explanation somehow sounded aimed directly at the rest of us." One of the engineers clears his throat awkwardly near the entrance while staring up at the canopy overhead.

"To be fair," he says carefully, "most of us don't usually walk into abandoned gardens that become ancient forests overnight."

"That sounds like a personal limitation," Aibell replies from near the fire. The engineer looks briefly offended by that. The grove continues studying the newcomers quietly through the roots beneath the soil. I feel curiosity from it more than caution now, especially near the river clergy. The heartwoods respond strongly to people who understand flowing systems naturally. Rivers and forests have always shared deeper connections than most cities realize.

One of the younger guards shifts uneasily when a vine curls slowly along the nearby wall behind him.

"It always does that?"

"Yes," I reply.

"That seems important to mention earlier."

"It seemed self-explanatory." Garrick rubs one hand across his face tiredly.

"I'm beginning to understand why your conversations confuse people."

"That feels unlikely."

"You explained living roots by implying they were obvious." The eldest river cleric eventually steps closer toward me, her dark blue robes carrying the faint scent of riverwater and damp stone. Up close, I can see the marks waterwork leaves on people who spend decades around it. Calloused palms, mineral staining across the fingertips, eyes that track movement the same way rivers track terrain.

"The roots already reach beyond the district," she says quietly. I nod once.

"They follow moisture beneath the city."

"And something beneath the water notices them." The words settle heavily through the garden. Several of the guards straighten immediately while Garrick's expression hardens slightly.

"You felt it too," I say. The cleric inclines her head.

"The currents shift strangely near the eastern runoff tunnels now. Water avoids certain paths before circling back toward them later." She pauses briefly before adding, "Like an animal testing unfamiliar territory." That matches what I sensed through the grove during the night. The corruption is adapting to resistance, interesting and deeply inconvenient. Garrick gestures toward the entrance.

"We should move before the workers near the waterworks start asking questions."

"Reasonable." The group begins checking equipment one final time while the garden settles into quieter movement around us. Soldiers tighten shield straps and inspect spearheads while the priests quietly murmur prayers over the iron reliquaries hanging at their sides. The river clergy kneel briefly near a basin of collected rainwater beside the ruined wall, pressing their fingers lightly against the surface before rising again without explanation. The grove watches all of it.

Before leaving, I rest one hand against the nearest heartwood trunk and let the connection settle briefly through me again. Warmth answers immediately beneath the bark. The grove understands where we are going. Not in detail or in the way people understand danger but through instinct older than language. The roots beneath the district tighten subtly toward the waterways under the city as if listening more carefully now. Aibell notices my expression again.

"You're doing that thing."

"That explanation remains vague."

"You look like you're listening to something far away." I glance toward the roots beneath my hand.

"In a way."

"That answer continues to concern me." Garrick steps beside me near the entrance while the rest of the descent team finishes gathering equipment outside the grove walls. Morning light spreads gradually across the eastern district behind him, catching silver-green leaves overhead as the canopy shifts softly in the breeze.

"You ready?" he asks quietly. Ideally, I would wait several weeks before descending beneath the city. Long enough for the grove to settle fully into the eastern district. Long enough for the old power channels within me to stabilize instead of burning unevenly every time I draw too deeply on them. Long enough to regain more than a fraction of what I once carried before Elarion fell. Instead, I say, "Yes." Garrick snorts softly.

"You hesitated."

"I was considering optimism."

"And?"

"It felt irresponsible." That earns the faintest hint of amusement from him before we step through the vines and leave the grove behind.