Chương 103: Chapter 8: Gathering Storm - Part II

Havlar POV Kaelen seems to sense the same thing. He draws a slow breath before continuing.

"Elyrion didn't come looking for me." I look toward the elf.

"He came looking for the Grove?" Kaelen shakes his head.

"Not exactly. He came looking for a Heartwood." The answer catches me off guard.

"A Heartwood?" My eyes drift instinctively toward the towering Silverwood dominating the center of the Grove before moving to the younger trees surrounding it.

"I would have thought he was searching for the Silverwood."

"So did I," Kaelen admits.

"At least until he told me." My attention shifts to Elyrion. The young elf steps forward without hesitation. His expression remains as calm as it has been since the moment he first enters my city, though there is a quiet fondness in his eyes as he looks upon the Grove.

"It is an understandable mistake," he says.

"Most people see the size of the Silverwood and assume it is the heart of everything."

"It isn't?"

"It is the heart of this Grove," Elyrion replies.

"But it is not the oldest bloodline growing within it." He walks toward one of the surrounding trees, resting his fingertips lightly against its bark.

"The Heartwoods are." Silence settles between us. I find myself looking at the tree differently.

"They don't look particularly remarkable." A faint smile crosses Elyrion's face.

"They rarely do. That is one of their greatest strengths. Also, these are quiet young yet." He turns back toward me.

"The Silverwood is beautiful. It draws the eye immediately. Every druid recognizes it for what it is." His hand brushes gently across the rough bark of the Heartwood beside him.

"The Heartwood is different. It simply endures." Something about the way he says those words, makes them feel older than memory itself.

"The earliest druidic circles formed around Heartwoods long before the first Silverwood ever took root." My brow furrows.

"So, the Heartwoods are older."

"Far older. They are the eldest sacred trees our people have ever known." I glance toward Kaelen.

"And you know this?"

"Every druid does." A wry smile touches his lips.

"Young druids are taught that the surviving Heartwoods were among the oldest living things in the world." He pauses.

"But even there, we believed they could no longer be returned to the world." I study him carefully.

"You mean they couldn't be grown?" Kaelen nods.

"So far as any living druid knew." Lorcan quietly takes over.

"The ancient Heartwoods still standing across the world are fiercely protected by the circles that guard them. There are very few and none of them have produced seeds for longer than anyone remembers." His voice carries neither excitement nor wonder. Only certainty.

"Every generation simply assumes there will be fewer." Until eventually, there will be none. The realization settles heavily over me. I look around the Grove once more. The Heartwoods surrounding the Silverwood suddenly seem very different, irreplaceable.

"So when Elyrion senses a Heartwood..." I let the thought trail away.

"He believes one of the ancient Groves has finally revealed itself." Elyrion inclines his head.

"That is what I thought."

"And instead?" For the first time since the conversation begins, genuine astonishment flickers across the elf's face.

"I find something I still struggle to believe." His gaze moves slowly around the Grove.

"A Silverwood scarcely weeks old... standing at the center of young Heartwoods that should not exist." Silence returns. Even the breeze through the branches seems quieter now. I finally understand why Father Aldren spends so long studying the trees. Why Marcus Wycliffe scarcely looks away from them. To everyone beyond these walls, the Silverwood is the miracle. To the handful of people standing within the Grove, it is the Heartwoods that change the world. The Grove falls silent once more.

I suspect the next answer matters even more than the last. My eyes leave the Heartwoods and settle upon Garrick.

"So," I fold my arms across my chest.

"We've reached the part Father Aldren seemed most interested in." Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Garrick shifts his weight almost imperceptibly.

"The Communion." He nods.

"Yes." I study him for a long moment before looking back toward Kaelen.

"You told me the Grove awakened him."

"I did."

"But Father Aldren's questions leave me with another." I glance between the two of them.

"Why Garrick?" Neither answers immediately. Instead, Kaelen and Garrick exchange a brief look. It is Garrick who finally speaks.

"It wasn't entirely Kaelen's decision." That surprises me. I had assumed otherwise.

"You mean he didn't choose you?" Garrick shakes his head.

"No. He offered me the opportunity. The Grove accepted me." I turn toward Kaelen.

"You mean to tell me that you cannot decide who undergoes Communion?"

"I can refuse it, I think. But I cannot command it." His answer is immediate.

"The Grove isn't a tool. It has a will of its own." I let that settle. Somehow, that explanation troubles me less than the alternative. Power wielded by one man can be abused. Power that answers only to itself, that is something else entirely.

"So why you?" I ask Garrick.

"What makes the Grove accept you?"

"I don't know." His honesty is immediate.

"I only know that when I entered the Silverwood..." He hesitates, searching for words.

"... it felt as though something was looking through every memory I possessed." Every memory. No one interrupts him.

"It wasn't judging my strength. It wasn't judging my skill." His eyes drift toward the Silverwood.

"It was asking one question. What would you protect?" A breeze stirs the branches overhead.

"I answered."

"And?" Garrick's expression softens.

"It accepted me." Silence returns. Not even the children playing beyond the garden walls seem loud enough to disturb it. I slowly turn toward Kaelen.

"And you?"

"My path is different." Different, not higher, not lower, different.

"You weren't accepted in the same way?" Kaelen smiles faintly.

"No. I didn't become the Grovekeeper because the Grove needed a druid." His hand comes to rest lightly against the Silverwood's trunk.

"I became its keeper because it needed someone willing to carry it." I wait. He continues.

"The Grove doesn't create copies of the same person. It chooses purpose." His eyes shift toward Garrick.

"It found its knight." Then toward Lorcan.

"It welcomed another druid." His gaze briefly finds Aibell, who has quietly wandered into the garden and now stands listening from a respectful distance beneath one of the younger Heartwoods.

"And it has already begun calling others." I follow his gaze.

"The girl." Kaelen nods.

"The Heartwood chose her." Another surprise.

"I thought you chose apprentices."

"So did I." A quiet chuckle escapes Garrick.

"We've all been learning that the Grove has rather strong opinions." Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth threaten a smile. Only for a moment. Then the weight of Father Aldren's words returns. A Grove that chooses, a Grove that remembers, a Grove that can awaken ordinary men to mana. I understand Marcus Wycliffe's calculations now. He never saw a collection of trees. He saw an institution. One that answered to no lord, no church, no crown. And kingdoms have never been comfortable sharing power.

Kaelen studies the Silverwood in silence while Garrick stands with his arms folded, his expression thoughtful. Lorcan and Elyrion remain where they are, wisely allowing the conversation to drift away from the history of the Grove and toward the future waiting beyond its walls. Unfortunately, the future concerns me far more. I let out a slow breath.

"You both understand what happens next?" Kaelen looks at me.

"I have a fair idea."

"No." I shake my head.

"You have no idea." His brow furrows slightly, but he says nothing.

"The priest concerned himself with understanding the Grove." I pause.

"Marcus Wycliffe concerned himself with possessing its potential." Neither of them argues. They saw it too.

"The report Marcus carries to the capital won't describe a miraculous tree. It won't describe druidic traditions. It won't describe sacred history." I meet Kaelen's eyes.

"It will describe a frontier city that may have discovered a way to awaken mana in ordinary men." Silence settles over the Grove once more.

"That," I continue quietly, "is all the King needs to hear." Garrick shifts uneasily.

"I didn't mean-""I know." I cut him off before he can finish.

"You answered honestly. You've always answered honestly." A faint smile touches my lips.

"It is one of the reasons I made you Captain." The smile disappears almost as quickly.

"It is also the reason Marcus learned more than I would have preferred." Garrick lowers his eyes.

"I understand." My voice softens.

"No. I don't think you do." I look toward the city walls rising beyond the Garden.

"For fifteen years you've protected Fallowspire from wolves, raiders and desperate men. You've become very good at recognizing enemies." I turn back toward him.

"The King's court isn't made of enemies. It is made of ambitious friends." That earns both Kaelen's and Garrick's full attention.

"There is a difference. They won't threaten. They'll negotiate. They won't demand. They'll request. They won't try to steal your Grove. They'll convince themselves they're the people best suited to protect it." I let the words settle.

"That is how kingdoms expand. Not always with swords. More often with parchment." Kaelen remains silent for several moments.

"You don't think the King will simply leave us alone." I cannot help the quiet laugh that escapes me.

"Our King?" I shake my head.

"I've served under him for nearly two decades. He is an intelligent ruler. A capable one. He has strengthened Valedorn's borders, curbed the influence of quarrelling nobles and brought prosperity to provinces that had known only decline." I pause.

"None of those changes one simple truth. When he sees an opportunity... he takes it." There is no bitterness in the words. Only certainty.

"He won't hate your Grove. He won't fear it but he'll want it." The distinction matters. A frightened king can sometimes be reasoned with. An ambitious one rarely can. I turn my attention toward Garrick.

"And that brings me to the second matter." He straightens instinctively.

"You should have told me."

"I intended to."

"I know. You intended to." I fold my arms.

"But intentions don't help me when Father Aldren learns about Communion before I do." Garrick winces.

"I understand."

"Do you?" I hold his gaze.

"You've served beside me long enough to know I don't object to what happened. If the Grove chose you, then I'll trust its judgment. What I object to..." I let the sentence hang.

"... is becoming the last man in my own city to learn that everything has changed." Neither Kaelen nor Garrick answers. They don't need to. They already know I'm right. I look between the two of them.

"From this day forward..." My voice remains calm.

"... no more secrets. If something happens within this Grove that might one day affect Fallowspire..." I gesture toward the city beyond the Garden walls.

"... then I hear about it. Before the Church, before the Crown, before anyone." For a long moment, neither man speaks. Then Kaelen inclines his head.

"You have my word." Garrick follows a heartbeat later.

"And mine." I study them both. At last, I nod.

"Good." Because I have the uncomfortable feeling, the next time the Kingdom comes calling, they won't send only a priest and an envoy.