Three sets of eyes glazed-over as the wall of greenery glided upward to reveal The Tree City. All their senses came alive as they crossed the botanical threshold into Eldrin.
Night had fallen on the last leg of their journey, but the city was bustling with life. Bioluminescent moss cast a mischievous glow all around them in shades of indigo, violet, and fuchsia. Fairy lights added some warmth to the mix from where they hung overhead. Music drifted out from the tavern by the trading docks, and the air smelled of tobacco and mixed florals.
“Incredible,” Enara sighed in appreciation, voicing what they were all thinking.
Baz was silent for once, his puppy dog eyes trying to absorb everything.
Soren reached out to grab the wooden post as they sailed into an open loading dock. The marina was empty apart from a few small vessels that must have required an overnight stay. In the game of trade, time was money, so staying in one place for too long meant potentially missing out on the next available shipment.
Baz jumped onto the wooden platform as Soren held the canoe steady. He reached out to Enara, pulling her up with ease, as Soren tied a simple knot around the metal cleat and gave it a couple of sharp tugs for good measure. She would hate to wake up without means of transportation. Plus, they still needed it to get the horses back.
“Here.” Baz pulled her up to join them. “Now, how do we find this Oracle?” he asked.
They all stepped back, scanning the area to see if anything jumped out at them.
The marina was a sort of semi-circle that hugged the bottom of an enormous sequoia tree. This was the trade center. Soren’s father had said it had taken over eighty woodworkers three years to carve out all six stories while still being able to maintain the tree’s ability to continue to grow. It had been a labor of love. The people here adored nature, almost as much as they adored a full pocketbook.
The trade center was flanked by more hollowed-out tree shops of various shapes and sizes, and smaller huts made of driftwood and clay filled in any gaps. Signs in bright colors lined the storefronts, beckoning patrons to enter.
Some of the locals lived above their shops, but most resided in the canopy houses where the noise from town was muted. If you strained your eyes, you could see the rope bridges connecting one house to another, the planks swaying high above the forest floor.
They canvased the area, looking for signs of the Oracle, when a small, second-floor shop caught Soren’s eye.
“There!” She pointed excitedly at the sign to their left.
“Where?” Baz asked, following the line of her hand and squinting.
“Just up from the apothecary. You see the blue and silver sign with the crescent moon on it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d say that’s probably a good place to start.”
They began to head in the direction of the shop, their boots thumping on the wood of the dock. Water splashed up from between the boards as a wave drifted into the lagoon.
“After this, we’re hitting that tavern,” Enara said. “After three days on a horse, and then a river adventure, I am in dire need of a drink.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Yeah, I’m down,” Soren replied. I am going to need a double after this.
Enara shrugged her pack over her shoulder then speed-walked down the dock, the other two trailing behind her. Their pace slowed when they reached the shops as curiosity took over. This place was nothing like the little market they were used to. Anything you could think of was bought and sold here—simple items, such as quills and ink, or more complicated fair, like healing potions and enchanted weapons. Enara was particularly entranced by the bladed staff that was on display in the armory window. I’ll come back for you later.
The trio paused in front of the makeshift door, looking up at the sign. It was more detailed close-up. The silver paint was flaking off, and Soren peeled off a chunk, admiring the way it glimmered in her hand. There was faded script below the crescent moon.
Do not question if you need to enter. You already know you will.
She smiled, squaring her shoulders. “This should be interesting,” she said as she pushed open the door.
A bell chimed overhead as they entered, the soft tinkling tickling their ears. The space was small and smelled of incense, the smoke so heavy that Soren stifled a cough. The shelves were filled floor to ceiling with all sorts of curious objects and ingredients.
Baz grimaced. “Never thought I would know where to purchase fresh snake tongues.” Shivers crawled up his spine.
“Baby.” Enara smirked as she came up beside him to take a look.
They walked amongst the shelves, picking up one jar after another, examining their contents.
Soren held a frosted green jar up to the lantern, squinting at the label. Butterfly wings. The thought of someone plucking the wings of the majestic creatures upset her.
“Buy two, get one free, if you’re interested,” an unfamiliar voice broke in from the next room, giving them all a fright.
“Maker, were you trying to scare the shit out of us?” Soren shouted at the curtain, her heart thumping in her chest.
A chuckle drifted from behind the shimmering fabric. “Come, Soren. We have business, you and I.”
“How did you—”
“You know who I am,” the mysterious voice cut her off.
“Well, yes.”
“Then you know the answer. Come now. Tell your friends you will be but a moment.”
Soren felt sweat dampen her skin as she looked at her friends, nervously shuffling her feet.
“It’s okay, lady. You got this. Your father sent you to her for a reason. You need to find out what that is.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Just go. We will be right here.”
“Yeah, just yell, and I’ll come in swinging!”
Soren’s lips quirked, and she hugged them both. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”
Soren parted the curtain, the fabric gliding through her fingers like water over pebbles in a creek bed. This room was smaller than the last and had better ventilation, she thought, noting the lack of smoke. Apart from a few shelves with countless grimoires and a few jars with rare ingredients, the room held little interest. A window to her left was propped open, and a rectangular skylight gave an unobstructed view of the stars. The slight breeze made the candle flames flicker and cast abstract silhouettes on the walls.
An altar sat in the corner, a book of shadows propped open, the spine cracked from years of use. A blue candle sat alight in an iron holder, and Soren thought she could see a raven’s feather and some white powder she didn’t recognize. It was hard to tell in the dim light. She was curious as to what the items were used for.
The furniture was sparse. A cushioned bench sat between the shelves, and a small, circular table was planted in the center of the room. It was draped in a black velvet tablecloth, with sturdy armchairs on either side.
Nothing in the room was out of the ordinary, apart from the woman sitting across from her. She had remained silent while Soren took in her surroundings, studying her. When their eyes met, she spoke.
“You’ve grown into your beauty. I assume your father nurtured your mind just as well.” Her voice was omniscient and ethereal, almost as if multiple people were speaking in unison.
Soren shivered. Her presence was intimidating, though she sensed that was not her intent. She felt a familiarity with her and relaxed her shoulders.
“My father is dead,” she replied sadly. “He sent me.”
“Yes, I was saddened when I heard the news of his passing. He was quite lovely.”
“Did you know him well?” Soren asked, tugging on her sleeve.
“He came to me once, after your mother passed. He needed … guidance. You would have been about three at the time.”
“That explains why I don’t remember. What was he here for?” she pressed.
“He was having a hard time with her passing. It is my belief that he never truly healed from the loss.”
“Did he mention anything else while he was here?”
“He did, but I will spare the details. Your mind’s eye will show me the answers you seek.”
“Let’s get started then.”
“Of course.” She gestured to the empty chair. “Come. Sit.”
Soren closed the few steps between them and slipped into the seat.
The Oracle reached her hands across the table, palms open to the sky, her silver eyes flashing in the firelight. “If it makes you more comfortable, you may call me Zamirah. Now, place your hands in mine, and we will begin.”
Soren reached across the table, joining their hands and taking notice of the lightness of Zamirah’s palms. The Oracle’s fingers were cool, and her night-kissed skin was flawless, apart from her seer’s marks. The white tattoos were delicate, the fine lines resembling vines curled down from her shoulders to the center of her hands, wrapping a halo around her fingers. A second marking rested like a crown of twigs above her dark brows and framed her sterling eyes. Her ebony hair hung to her waist; some sections braided, others had been relaxed into soft waves, like a waterfall. She was a piece of art, youthful and ageless at the same time.
Soren could feel her heartbeat quicken as their palms touched, faint electricity buzzing beneath her fingertips.
“Now I will begin. Do not let go until you are instructed to.”
“I … I won’t.” The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she waited for the seer to begin.
Zamirah started whispering in the old tongue, and the candles seemed to burn a little brighter. Soren recognized a few of the words from old translations that her father had taught her but could not pull the meaning from the corners of her mind.
The chanting became more urgent as the Oracle rocked back and forth in her chair, her grip tightening around Soren’s fingers, making her gasp. An invisible wind whipped around them, somehow having no effect on the candlelight, and the walls groaned. It felt like her fingers were about to shatter. Just before a scream escaped her lips, Zamirah’s grip loosened, and she went slack, her head lolling forward.
Soren didn’t move, her breathing shallow. She held fast to Zamirah’s hands. She told me not to let go.
“Hey … you’re kind of freaking me ou—”
The Oracle’s head shot up, her eyes boring into Soren’s. The silver was gone, and all that remained was a blank slate.
Soren’s eyes felt like they were being stabbed with a white-hot branding iron, but she could not break the hold. Zamirah seemed to be looking into her soul, pulling out whatever secrets might be hiding inside.
Soren seemed to fall into herself, her eyes unseeing. She wasn’t in a void; she was the void, black as a starless sky. Soren floated in the emptiness, not sure where the shadows ended and she began. A soothing voice washed over her.
“The son of one is a master of none,
Yet yearns for the power of all.
The blood of the two will hold true,
Bringing the Maker’s downfall.
The power of three holds the key,
A sordid tale, to say the least.
The hearts of four, joined forever more,
Only a bird can tame the beast.”
Suddenly, Soren was encased in blinding white light and shot back into her chair, her eyes refocusing. She was covered in sweat, her chest heaving as she sucked in oxygen. Letting go of Zamirah’s hands, she struggled to speak between breaths.
“What … the fuck … was that?”
“I apologize for the pain, but tampering with the mind’s eye does not come without cost.”
“You could have warned me,” Soren seethed, glaring up at her.
“I worried you may not let me proceed. I assume the prophecy revealed itself to you.”
“It did.”
“Good. Our business is finished then.” She stood, flattening the crease on her robe.
“Wait—that’s it?” Soren asked, flustered, rushing out of her chair.
“I’m afraid I must retire. The soul-awakening takes much of my energy, and I require rest now.”
“But I don’t know what any of it means,” she cried helplessly.
“My dear, I am to relay the prophecies, not interpret them. The answers will come as they are meant to.” The woman cupped her cheek, her expression warm. “Take care, my sweet Soren.” She turned, walking out a door that Soren hadn’t taken notice of, leaving her with her thoughts.
* * *
Soren returned to her friends, who were waiting outside. “Sorry, lady, the smoke got the best of us. How’d it go?” Enara asked.
“I’m pretty sure she almost killed me, but we got what we came for.”
A look of concern flashed over Enara’s face. “And?”
“I’ll tell you at the tavern. I need a stiff drink to calm my nerves.”
“After you, my lady.” Baz gestured to the staircase that led to the lower-level shops, trying to lighten the mood.
“Why, thank you, good sir.” Soren chuckled as she scooted past him, taking the steps two at a time.
“Hey, do you guys mind if we make a quick pit stop?” Enara asked.
“I thought you wanted an adult beverage first?” Soren sighed.
“Yeah, and I don’t want to see you when you’re hangry,” Baz added.
“Shove it, you two. There’s a shiny new toy calling my name, and it would be rude to ignore it.” Enara’s eyes twinkled as she stopped in front of the armory, gesturing to the window. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
* * *
The trio leaned back on the benches of the corner booth. The table was littered with pint glasses and bowls with remnants of the chef’s special—bison stew.
Baz undid the top button of his trousers. “If I have another bite, I’m going to explode,” he groaned.
“That was just what I needed,” Soren commented, a satisfied look on her face.
The tavern was cozy but far from elegant. The entire place smelled of stale beer, the floorboards sticky with liquor.
“I can’t believe you didn’t upgrade your bow. I can practically feel the power radiating from my staff,” Enara crooned, stroking the weapon fondly.
Soren had tested out a few of the enchanted bows, finding them to be a bit excessive. She preferred the simplicity of a regular bow versus a charmed one.
“They just didn’t speak to me. Plus, I would never give up the one from my father. It’s sentimental.”
“Okay, fair, but can we all take a moment to appreciate Coraxis.” Her eyes beamed.
“Coraxis?” Baz’s face was a mask of confusion.
“Yes, Coraxis. Every good weapon needs a name.”
“What does that even mean?” Soren asked.
“Corvus Corax is the scientific name for a raven. Seemed fitting.”
“Hmm … I didn’t know that.” Soren sipped her beer.
“You’re not the only one of us who is well read.” Enara bumped her arm, making the liquid drip down her chin.
Soren gave her a face then used her sleeve to wipe off the spittle.
“I’ll have to think of a name for this baby then,” Baz said, patting his sword.
The girls chuckled, knowing he would likely name it something ridiculous.
The bladed staff was truly a work of art. The core was made of blackthorn with a silver filigree adorning the end. The metal design continued two-thirds of the way up, adding detail to the raven’s head that rested there. The beak was an elongated blade. The metal looked liquid and seemed to be alive. It had been charmed to obey whoever bloodied it first. Enara was only too happy to nick her finger for the cause.
Baz had tried to test the theory before they had gone into the tavern but dropped the staff a moment later, his hand red with heat. “Well, at least you got your money’s worth,” he’d said as he treated the burn in the marina’s dark waters. Once the blade was imbued with the blood of its owner, no other was able to wield the weapon, apart from those who shared the same blood.
Soren had filled them in on the prophecy while they ate, but they had struggled to make any headway. They repeated the ominous words over and over until they had exhausted themselves. After some resistance from Soren, they decided to take a break from riddle-solving and get a good night’s sleep. Hopefully, some rest would dredge up some better theories about what it all meant.
They rose from the booth in unison and consulted the barkeep about accommodations on the way out, deciding on a spot closer to the marina. The hostel was quaint, and the couple who owned it seemed nice. They stretched out on their respective cots, making small talk until they dozed off, one by one, the sound of water lapping against the dock lulling them to sleep.
* * *
It was well past midnight when Soren snuck out of the room, wrapping her tunic around her, skin prickling with anticipation. She walked barefoot along the docks, her body following some invisible thread.
The city was quiet, the fairy lights had been snuffed out, and only the glow of the moss remained. Her body led her to the other side of the marina. There, at the end of the dock, stood the mysterious man from her dreams.
His back was to her, a hood covering his hair, and his broad shoulders were draped with a long, dark jacket. Fitted trousers were tucked into shiny leather boots.
She approached slowly, hoping to catch him off guard.
“That’s close enough, little bird.” His words were a command, but his voice was soft.
“Who are you?” she asked again more urgently than the last time. “How are you here?”
“I’m sure you realize by now that I am not physically here.”
“I wasn’t sure until now … You’re a dream walker, aren’t you?” The question came out in a whisper. Dream walkers were uncommon but not unheard of. Their power was usually limited to people they were close to, as they required a personal effect from the dreamer to enter their sleep realm. The skill was hereditary. The first rumors of them dated back to the first age of Entheas.
Soren hadn’t guessed it at first. She had no idea who this man was and definitely didn’t know him on a personal level. He must be more powerful in some way. Some had honed their skills more than others but, to her knowledge, had never done it without a token from the dreamer.
“Clever little bird, your father taught you well, I see.”
Soren took a step forward, fury flashing in her eyes. “What do you know of my father? Are you who he warned me about? Wait …” Venom spilled from her tongue, “Did you have something to do with his death?”
The stranger was silent, contemplating his answer.
“Answer me!” she roared.
“My father did,” he said, clearly disinterested in her outburst.
Soren pulled a throwing dagger from the garter on her thigh, aimed to kill. “Then I will take you as retribution,” and released the blade.
Just before it hit its mark, the stranger vanished in a plume of white smoke, leaving behind a single white feather. Soren growled in frustration, blinking to clear her vision. She knew if you killed a dream walker while they were still in your mind, they would not wake up again.
He was faster than she had expected and, adding to the confusion, she had yet to wake up. Then the realization hit her. I must have sleepwalked.
“Shit,” she huffed. She reached for her daggers, grumbling when her fingers slipped over an empty slot. She looked out toward the water where a ripple had just settled. For fuck’s sake. “Well, I’m not getting that back.”
She trudged back to the hostel, a chill creeping through the fabric of her blouse.
Enara sat up as she walked in. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just needed some fresh air,” she replied nonchalantly.
“Okay.” She yawned, still half-asleep. “Sweet dreams.”
“Yeah … sweet dreams.”