Chương 96: Chapter 5: The First Grove Knight - Part I

Garrick didn't ask another question. He simply nodded, accepting my answer with the same quiet certainty that had led him to stand beside me since the day we first met. It struck me then that he wasn't trusting the Grove because he understood it. He was trusting it because he trusted me. I only hoped that trust would be rewarded. The evening gradually surrenders to night.

One by one, the lanterns hanging beneath the branches are extinguished as laughter gives way to quiet conversation, and quiet conversation to weary silence. Aibell retires with the white blossom still carefully cradled in her hands, unwilling to part with the Grove's first gift to her.

Ciara needs little encouragement to rest after the wonder and exhaustion of learning to balance upon her new living limb, while Garrick lingers beneath the Silverwood a while longer, his thoughtful gaze drifting between the ancient tree and the Heartwood before finally making his way to his bed. The Grove itself never truly sleeps. Leaves whisper softly beneath the stars, roots continue their slow, unseen work beneath the earth, and somewhere within the darkness, life quietly carries on.

By the time the eastern horizon begins to pale, the excitement of the previous evening has settled into something gentler. The first rays of dawn slip quietly through the canopy, scattering across dew-laden leaves and painting the clearing in soft shades of gold. A cool breeze carries the familiar scent of damp earth, fresh pine and growing things, and for a long moment I simply stand, breathing it in. There was a time when waking to silence made me uneasy.

Silence had once meant abandoned villages, ruined homes, and forests waiting to reveal another horror beneath the trees. During those years every peaceful morning had felt temporary, little more than a brief pause before the next struggle forced itself upon us. The Grove has begun to change that. Not because danger has disappeared. If anything, the threats surrounding us continue to grow. Yet none of them stand here this morning. Instead, I hear birds arguing over a branch high above the Silverwood.

Someone has already begun grinding grain near the cookfire. A squirrel darts along the fence surrounding the herb garden, pausing just long enough to glare at me before disappearing into the undergrowth. For years survival had been enough. I had measured success one day at a time, grateful simply to see another sunrise. Somewhere between planting the first saplings and raising the grove, that quiet determination had become something else. A future, not just for myself. For all of us.

My feet carry me toward the younger trees growing near the eastern edge of the clearing. Most stand no taller than my shoulder, their trunks still thin enough that a careless kick might snap them in two, yet each one hums faintly through the bond I share with the Grove. The sensation is difficult to describe. Simply the reassuring awareness that every root beneath the soil continues to grow exactly as it should. One of the saplings leans slightly where yesterday's breeze has loosened the earth around its base.

I kneel beside it, pressing fresh soil gently back around the exposed roots before packing it firmly into place with both hands. Moist earth clings beneath my fingernails as I finish, and a quiet pulse of satisfaction brushes against the edge of my awareness. I smile despite myself.

"I'm beginning to think you enjoy making me work." The sapling offers no answer beyond another faint ripple through the bond. Perhaps I'm imagining it or perhaps the Grove has developed a peculiar sense of humor.

"I'm fairly certain trees aren't supposed to smirk."

"I've never heard that rule." Lorcan's voice reaches me before I hear his footsteps. I glance over my shoulder as he approaches from between the young trees carrying a small woven basket filled with dried herbs gathered the previous afternoon. The morning light catches the strands of chestnut hair that refuse to remain where he has attempted to smooth them, leaving them every bit as untidy as they had been the evening before. He looks younger in daylight.

There is a quiet eagerness in the way he studies everything around him, as though each corner of the Grove offers something new to discover.

"I was speaking to the sapling," I reply.

"So, I gathered." He kneels beside another young tree, running practiced fingers lightly across one of its leaves before nodding to himself.

"No blight."

"I didn't think there would be."

"Neither did I." He looks up, smiling.

"But old habits survive longer than old forests." The words carry no bitterness, only acceptance. I find myself wondering whether I will ever speak so calmly about Elarion. Perhaps another forty years would be enough, perhaps not. Lorcan notices the direction of my thoughts before I say anything.

"My Circle checked every tree every morning." His hand rests lightly against the sapling.

"It became my instinct after the fire." I nod slowly.

"So did mine." For a while neither of us speaks again. We move through the young grove together, inspecting leaves, straightening supports, pulling weeds that have somehow found room to grow between freshly turned soil. There is an easy rhythm to the work despite having known one another for less than a day. Different Circles, different traditions. The same quiet understanding that living things repay care with patience. Movement catches my eye beneath the Silverwood.

Aibell sits cross-legged exactly where I had left her this morning, her back remarkably straight, eyes tightly closed, and both hands resting carefully upon her knees. From the determined expression fixed across her face, one might assume she was attempting to solve a puzzle that had confounded scholars for generations. Lorcan follows my gaze.

"She's been there long?"

"I don't know."

"I thought druids were meant to know these things."

"We're expected to sound convincing." He laughs softly.

"I'll remember that." We watch in silence as Aibell takes an unnecessarily deep breath, holds it for several heartbeats, then cautiously opens one eye. She looks around the clearing. Apparently satisfied that no one has noticed, she closes it again. Lorcan clears his throat.

"You know..." Aibell's eyes snap open.

"... meditation generally works better when you aren't checking to see if anyone is watching." Color rises instantly to her cheeks.

"I wasn't."

"You weren't?" She hesitates.

"I was making sure I hadn't accidentally fallen asleep." I bite the inside of my cheek. Lorcan, to his credit, manages to keep a straight face,"And?"

"I hadn't."

"Excellent progress." She rises, brushing pine needles from her dress before making her way toward us with the exaggerated dignity of someone pretending the last thirty seconds never happened.

"I still can't feel anything." If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Lorcan tilts his head, "What exactly are you trying to feel?"

"Mana."

"What does mana feel like to you, when you can perceive it?" She opens her mouth and closes it again.

"I... don't know."

"Then perhaps," he says gently, "that is where we should begin." Aibell blinks.

"I thought I was supposed to close my eyes."

"Sometimes."

"And breathe slowly."

"That helps."

"And empty my mind." Lorcan glances toward me before looking back at her.

"My Circle used to teach apprentices to quiet their thoughts first." He pauses.

"It isn't the only way." Both of them look toward me. I brush the last of the soil from my hands before standing.

"Elarion taught something different." Aibell immediately straightens.

"What?"

"We told apprentices not to search for mana." She frowns.

"But... that's what I'm trying to do."

"I know." I gesture toward the clearing around us.

"What do you hear?" She looks confused.

"The birds. The wind. Eammon arguing with Aine." A distant shout proves her right.

"And?" She closes her eyes again.

"The leaves. The stream. The insects." I nod.

"Good." She waits.

"Now stop listening for mana."

"... What?"

"Listen to everything else." She stares at me as though I've lost my mind.

"It has always been there." I smile.

"You've simply been trying too hard to notice the loudest whisper in the forest." Aibell slowly closes her eyes once more. This time, there is no dramatic breath. No rigid posture. She simply stands quietly beneath the trees. Lorcan watches her for a long moment before speaking softly enough that only I can hear.

"We never taught it that way." I smile faintly.

"Neither did Elarion." He looks at me in surprise.

"The Grove?" I nod once.

"The Grove." Neither of us says anything more. Sometimes the best lessons are the ones no one planned to teach. Aibell remains exactly where she stands. Not because she suddenly understands what I mean, but because she is trying to. That alone is enough. Far too many people mistake impatience for determination. They chase results so fiercely that they never allow themselves to understand the path leading toward them. Druids cannot afford that mistake.

Nature has never cared how quickly someone wishes a seed to grow. It answers only patience, consistency, and quiet attention. I leave her beneath the younger branches without another word. Lorcan glances after me.

"You're not staying?" I shake my head.

"If I remain, she'll spend more time wondering whether she's doing it correctly than listening." He studies Aibell for a moment before smiling to himself.

"You trust her."

"I trust she'll make mistakes." He chuckles.

"And that's supposed to reassure me?"

"It should." I brush a hand across the rough bark of a nearby oak as I pass.

"No one learns without them." Lorcan nods slowly.

"My master used to say nearly the same thing."

"What did he say?""'Every wrong step teaches your feet where not to stand.'" I smile.

"Wise man."

"He usually said it after I'd fallen out of a tree."

"... Also practical." His laughter follows me across the clearing before gradually fading behind the rustling leaves as I make my way towards the city. It is already awake. Smoke rises lazily from several chimneys as breakfast cooks over open hearths. Children race one another along the narrow paths until an exasperated mother reminds them that sprinting through freshly planted flowerbeds generally ends badly for everyone involved.

Someone has begun repairing a wagon wheel beside the workshop, while farther down the hill, morning discussions have begun. A few weeks ago, none of this had existed. Now it feels impossible to imagine the clearing empty. Whenever I move through the city, several citizens offer quiet greetings as I pass. Others simply nod before returning to their work. The familiarity catches me off guard every time. There had once been a distance between us. Now only strange familiarity.

A woman carrying a basket of herbs pauses as I approach.

"Morning, Kaelen."

"Morning." She gestures toward a row of young berry bushes growing beside one of the cottages.

"The lower leaves have started turning yellow." I kneel beside them, gently lifting one branch between my fingers. The soil remains damp. No insects, no disease. I glance upward instead. The cottage roof casts a longer shadow than it had when the bushes were planted.

"They're losing too much sunlight." She follows my gaze.

"I didn't even think of that."

"It happens." I smile, releasing the branch.

"Move them another few feet into the clearing. They'll recover." Relief softens her expression.

"Thank you." By the time I continue walking, an elderly carpenter has already intercepted me with questions about whether oak or ash would better suit the new bridge railing. I answer as best I can. Mostly because I suspect he already knows the answer. Sometimes people ask questions simply to reassure themselves that someone else is willing to help shoulder the responsibility. Leadership, I've begun to learn, involves surprisingly little giving orders. Most days it consists of listening.

A familiar voice cuts through my thoughts.

"There you are." I turn toward the training grounds. Garrick strides across the clearing carrying two wooden practice swords over one shoulder, his battered shield hanging from the opposite arm. The morning sun catches against the old scars running across his forearms, making them stand out pale against weathered skin. He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

"I was beginning to think you'd escaped."

"I considered it."

"Hm." He tosses one of the wooden swords lightly into the air before catching it again.

"Probably for the best." He offers me one of the practice swords. I don't take it. Instead, I look at the weapon for a long moment before meeting his eyes.

"Leave them." His hand remains suspended between us.

"... Leave them?"

"You won't be needing them." The grin fades replaced by curiosity. He lowers the sword slowly.

"So..." He glances toward the Silverwood.

"... today's the day." I nod once.

"It is." Neither of us moves immediately. The Grove continues around us as though nothing unusual is about to happen. Children laugh somewhere beyond the cottages; axes strike timber with steady rhythm; birdsong drifts lazily overhead. It seems almost strange that something entirely unprecedented could begin beneath such an ordinary morning. Garrick rests both practice swords against the fence surrounding the training grounds.

"You know," he says as we begin walking, "I'd be lying if I claimed I wasn't a little nervous."

"I'd be more worried if you weren't."

"I've fought bandits." He counts them off on his fingers.

"Mercenaries, wolves, a troll." He scratches thoughtfully at his beard.

"I've even punched a drunk blacksmith once."

"You lost."

"He was surprisingly fast."

"You deserved it."

"I probably did." He glances sideways at me.

"But this..." His voice grows quieter.

"... this feels different." Because it is. The path leading toward the Silverwood winds gently beneath the spreading canopy, sunlight filtering through thousands of emerald leaves overhead. The air itself feels cooler here, carrying the quiet scent of fresh bark and rain-soaked earth despite the clear skies above. The tree has always possessed a presence difficult to describe. It is like standing beside an ancient mountain or the sea.

Something so old and so complete that human thoughts seem strangely small beside it.

"I should tell you something." Garrick's expression immediately sharpens.

"That serious?"

"I don't know what's about to happen." He blinks.

"... You don't?" I shake my head.

"The Grove chose you."

"I know."

"I didn't." His brow furrows.

"I've searched everything Elarion left behind."

"There were no Grove Knights?"

"Not one." His footsteps slow.

"No stories?"

"None."

"No old records?" I exhale quietly.

"Nothing." The admission hangs between us.

"I know how druids are chosen." I gesture toward the Heartwood beyond the branches.

"I know how apprentices begin. I know how circles are formed." I look toward the towering Silverwood waiting ahead.

"But this you're making history." He laughs once.

"I was hoping for something slightly less terrifying."

"So was I." He studies me for another few moments.

"You still want me to go."

"I do."

"You think it's safe?"

"I think..." I search for words that don't pretend certainty I don't possess.

"... I think the Grove has never asked anything of us that wasn't meant to help us grow."

"And if it's wrong?" I stop walking. So does he. The Silverwood stands only a short distance ahead now, its immense trunk rising toward the heavens like a living pillar supporting the forest itself.

"I've trusted the Grove with my life." I meet his gaze.

"More times than I can count." I hesitate only briefly before continuing.

"I trust it with yours." Silence settles between us. Garrick looks past me toward the Silverwood, then back again. Finally, he grins.

"Good."

"Good?"

"If you were absolutely certain, I'd assume you'd missed something." I blink. He folds his arms.

"You've never promised me certainty." He shrugs.

"Just honesty." His smile widens.

"And you've never lied to me." He steps past me before I can answer.

"Come on." He looks back over one shoulder.

"I'd hate for the first Grove Knight to keep an ancient magical tree waiting." I can't help laughing.

"You're assuming it succeeds." His grin becomes unmistakably Garrick.

"I'm assuming if it doesn't, you'll figure something out." For a moment I simply watch him. Then I realize something that hadn't occurred to me the previous evening. Few days back, Garrick had accepted the Grove's invitation. Today, he isn't walking toward the Silverwood because he understands what awaits him. He isn't walking because he believes the ancient tree will protect him. He's walking because, despite every uncertainty I have admitted, he trusts me enough to take that first step.

The realization settles more heavily than I expect. Some burdens are earned. Others are freely given. Trust belongs to the latter. Together, we walk the final few yards toward the Silverwood. The ancient bark shimmers faintly as sunlight filters across its surface. The Grove has been waiting. And as we step into its shadow, the air around us begins to change.