Chương 123: Chapter 20: The Ghost in the Grove - Part II

I continue deeper into the Grove without giving myself enough time to consider whether following the sound is sensible, because whatever uncertainty I had felt when I first heard the laughter has already given way to something far more difficult to control.

The voice continues echoing within my thoughts even after the Grove falls silent again, carrying with it memories I have spent years learning to live beside without allowing them to consume me, and the more I try to convince myself that exhaustion has simply allowed my mind to find familiarity in an unfamiliar sound, the more clearly, I remember Vael laughing in precisely that way.

He had laughed when one of the younger druids took a lesson too seriously, when I spent hours attempting to solve a problem that could have been understood in minutes if I had simply listened to what was being explained to me, and most irritatingly of all, when I finally believed I had understood one of his lessons and looked at him with the confidence of someone expecting praise, only for him to tap his staff against the ground and point out the obvious thing I had missed.

The memory almost makes me smile, but the feeling disappears as quickly as it comes because Vael is dead, and there is no version of that truth in which hearing his laughter becomes anything other than impossible.

I saw the destruction of the Elarion Circle, saw the lives around me consumed by the same catastrophe that left Nemain in my hands, and although I had spent a long time after that wondering whether someone, anyone, might have survived, there had eventually come a point when continuing to hope became more painful than accepting what I already knew. Vael had been among the people I lost, and I had carried that certainty with me ever since.

"Kaelen," Garrick says from behind me, his voice calm enough that I know he is trying not to interrupt whatever is happening in my mind, although I can still hear the concern beneath it.

"Do you have any idea where you're doing?"

"Not really," I admit as I continue walking, allowing my hand to brush against the bark of one of the trees beside me as I pass beneath the dense branches overhead, "but the sound is coming from somewhere within the Grove, and I would rather find out what is making it than stand beside the Silverwood and wait for it to come to us."

"That would have sounded more reassuring if you had omitted the part about not."

"I'll keep that in mind." Lorcan glances between the two of us, and although he says nothing for a few moments, I can tell that he has questions of his own. The Grove has grown considerably since the ritual ended, and even though all of us know these grounds well enough to find our way through them, the new trees and the continuous canopy have changed the familiar garden into something that feels larger and more secluded than it did before.

Light filters down through layers of leaves rather than falling openly across the paths, while the roots of the Heartwoods rise through the soil in places where they had not existed the previous day, and the ordinary trees that have grown between them have filled much of the empty space that once allowed us to see from one part of the garden to another.

"If you really believe the voice belongs to Vael," Lorcan eventually says, "then you must have some idea of how that could be possible." I slow slightly before looking toward him.

"I believe I recognize the voice. That isn't the same thing as believing I understand what is happening."

"But you have a suspicion."

"I have several."

"And you're not going to tell us."

"Not until I know whether any of them make sense." Lorcan gives me a look that makes it clear he considers this deeply unsatisfying, although he does not press the matter further, while Elyrion continues walking quietly beside Garrick with his attention fixed upon the trees surrounding us.

I have noticed the older Groveknight watching the Grove differently since the ritual ended, as though he senses something that does not immediately reveal itself to the rest of us, and I remember his earlier words about the possibility that whatever we are looking for might not be an intruder at all. What if the Grove considers it part of itself? The thought has remained with me ever since, because the Grove has never once responded as though it is in danger.

Even now, as I allow part of my awareness to remain connected to the Silverwood and the network of trees surrounding us, I feel no warning rising through the roots beneath my feet. The Heartwoods are calm, the Silverwood is calm and the ordinary trees that now fill the garden carry only the simple presence of living things growing beneath the mana that helped awaken them. If something is here, the Grove does not fear it.

That thought becomes more unsettling rather than less when the sound of wood touching the earth reaches us again from somewhere ahead, carrying clearly through the quiet beneath the canopy. All four of us stop instinctively, and for several seconds I listen without moving as the sound fades among the trees, although I am now certain that it did not come from the same distant place where I heard it earlier.

"It's closer," Garrick says quietly. I nod. Before any of us can move again, the sound repeats itself, and this time there is no uncertainty about its direction. It comes from deeper within the Grove, beyond a cluster of newly grown trees whose branches have intertwined with those of the surrounding Heartwoods, and I begin walking toward it while the others follow close behind.

We pass through a narrow path that had not existed before the ritual and eventually emerge into a small clearing where the roots of two Heartwoods rise from the earth and curve around one another before disappearing beneath the soil, leaving a circle of relatively open ground between them. The moment we enter, the sound stops.

Garrick moves ahead slightly, his hand resting near the sword at his side as he studies the clearing, while Lorcan remains close enough that I can sense the faint gathering of mana around him even though he does not yet use it. Elyrion's attention remains fixed upon the ground, and he slowly follows the lines of the exposed roots with his eyes before lifting his gaze toward the trees surrounding us.

"There is nothing here," Garrick says.

"There might not be anything visible," I reply, because the distinction feels important now. He glances toward me.

"That is somehow worse." Before I can answer, laughter moves through the clearing. It is soft enough that I might have mistaken it for the wind if I had not recognized the voice already, yet the sound comes from somewhere close enough that all four of us turn toward it at once. There is still no one standing between the trees, and as the laughter fades, I find myself looking toward the roots at my feet rather than the shadows surrounding us. This book was originally published on Royal Road.

Check it out there for the real experience. Something has changed within my connection to the Grove. I do not know whether I simply failed to notice it before or whether whatever presence we have been searching for has finally moved close enough for me to sense it clearly, but beneath the vast and familiar awareness of the Silverwood, I feel something else.

It is faint and deeply buried, existing so close to the tree's own presence that I cannot immediately separate one from the other, and when I close my eyes and reach toward it, the Grove responds before I have the chance to decide whether doing so is wise. The memory that reaches me is not entirely mine. That realization comes with a strange certainty as I find myself standing beside a young Silverwood sapling, seeing it not through my own eyes but through an impression preserved somewhere within the living tree.

The Silverwood is smaller than it should be in any memory I possess, young enough that its pale trunk could once have been easily encircled by both of my hands, and beside it stands a familiar figure with one hand resting against the stem while the other holds a wooden staff, Vael. I pull back so suddenly that the connection between us wavers, and when I open my eyes again, Garrick is already watching me, "What happened?"

For a moment, I struggle to answer because the image remains so vivid that it feels less like something I have seen and more like a memory I have somehow stepped into, "I felt something inside the Silverwood." Lorcan's expression changes.

"Something?"

"I don't know how else to describe it. There is a presence connected to the tree, but it isn't separate from it in the way you or I would be separate from another person." Elyrion steps closer as I speak, his attention sharpening rather than dismissing what I am saying, "And the memory?" I look toward him.

"I could see that you saw something." The fact that he noticed unsettles me slightly, but I force myself to explain what happened, telling them about the young Silverwood, the impression of mana moving into the sapling and Vael standing beside it with his hand against it. As I describe the scene, fragments of my own memories begin connecting themselves to what I have seen, and I remember the final days before the destruction of the Elarion Circle with an uncomfortable clarity.

Vael had spent a great deal of time with the sapling. At the time, I had thought nothing of it, because Vael cared for every living thing within the Circle and the Silverwood had always been particularly important. Yet the more I remember, the more unusual those final days become.

He had often dismissed others when they approached while he was tending the young tree, telling them that some things required silence before they could be understood, and I had accepted those words as one of his usual lessons without ever asking why the sapling suddenly required more of his attention than it had before.

"He knew something was wrong," I say quietly as the realization continues taking shape within my mind. Garrick watches me carefully.

"About the Circle?" I nod, "We all knew something was coming, although none of us understood what it would become. Vael knew more than he told us, and before everything happened, he gave me the Silverwood and told me to take it away from the Circle, in case something catastrophic happened." My eyes move toward the distant form of the Silverwood, which I can still see through the trees despite how much the garden has changed.

"I thought he simply wanted it protected."

"And now you think he wanted something else," Lorcan says. I remain silent for a few moments because saying the thought aloud would make it feel more real than I am prepared for, "I think he may have left something of himself inside it." The clearing grows quiet. Garrick looks toward Lorcan before returning his attention to me.

"Can someone do that?"

"I don't know," I say, and this time I am genuinely grateful that I do not have an answer.

"I don't know whether mana can preserve something like a memory or whether what I felt was simply an imprint left behind because Vael spent so much time pouring his energy into the tree." Elyrion considers my words before speaking.

"Mana is not merely strength," he says.

"It is shaped by the person who uses it, and magical objects often retain traces of those who have worked with them for a long time. I have encountered weapons that responded differently to the descendants of the people who forged them and places where powerful magic seemed to leave an impression long after the person responsible for it was gone, although I have never encountered anything quite like this."

"So that's a possibility," Garrick says.

"It is."

"That's still not particularly comforting."

"No," Elyrion agrees, "but I did not intend for it to be." Despite everything happening around us, Garrick gives a quiet breath of amusement, and the sound helps ease the tension that has been steadily gathering between us. I am grateful for it, because my thoughts are already moving too quickly, trying to place every strange thing I have experienced since arriving in Fallowspire beside memories I once considered unrelated. The pieces fit together too easily. Perhaps that is why I am afraid to accept them.

Before I can continue following that thought, the wooden staff strikes the ground again, and this time the sound comes from directly ahead of us. We turn toward it together. Between the trees at the edge of the clearing, where morning light filters through the branches and falls across the roots below, something begins to gather.

At first, I assume the movement is only a trick of light caused by the shifting leaves above, but the brightness remains after the branches grow still, gradually becoming dense enough that I can distinguish the vague suggestion of a human shape standing within it. Garrick immediately moves in front of me and draws his sword. Lorcan raises one hand as mana gathers around his fingers. Elyrion remains still, but his attention never leaves the place where the shape is forming.

I place my hand against my own sword's hilt without drawing it, because whatever this is, I have no desire to allow the fear of the unknown to decide my actions before I understand whether the presence before us actually means us harm.

"Who are you?" I ask. The light shifts. The shape does not become clearer, yet I feel the presence within the Grove respond to my question, and the strange connection I sensed earlier deepens enough that I can almost distinguish it from the Silverwood itself. For several seconds, nothing happens. Then the laughter returns. This time, there is no distance between the sound and the memory it awakens within me. I know that laugh.

"Still asking questions before listening, I see." My entire body goes still. The voice is calm and amused, carrying the same warmth that had once made even his criticism feel more like a lesson than an accusation, and as the others react beside me, I find that I can barely hear them over the sudden pounding of my own heart. Garrick turns toward me. Lorcan stares at the figure. Elyrion's grip tightens around his sword. But I can only look ahead.

No stranger could know that tone, no creature that had merely wandered into the Grove could speak to me as though it had known me for years. My fingers tighten around my sword's hilt.

"Show yourself." The shape before us flickers, and the laughter comes again, softer now, as though the person standing somewhere within that uncertain light finds my demand amusing.

"After all this time, Kaelen, you still expect the world to reveal itself simply because you have asked." The words strike deeper than they should, carrying with them the memory of countless lessons beneath the trees of the Elarion Circle, and although every rational part of me continues insisting that Vael cannot possibly be standing before me, something far more dangerous has begun rising beneath that disbelief. Hope.

I take a slow step forward, aware of Garrick shifting beside me as though preparing to stop me, yet he does not reach for me because even he understands that there are moments when another person must be allowed to face whatever waits before them.

"Vael," I say, and the name feels strangely unfamiliar after years of being carried only as a memory. For several moments, there is no answer. The light between the trees fades slightly before gathering again, while the Grove remains utterly calm around us, its roots deep beneath the earth and its branches spread protectively above our heads as though whatever presence stands before me belongs beneath this canopy as much as the trees themselves.

Then the wooden staff touches the ground once more, the sound carrying softly through the clearing before the voice answers.

"Not entirely." The words leave me standing perfectly still. The laughter that follows is quiet, but there is no mistaking it now, and as the uncertain shape begins fading back into the light and shadows between the trees, I realize that whatever I have found within the Grove is not simply the memory of a man I once knew. Something of Vael remains here. The question is no longer whether the voice belongs to him. It is how much of him survived.