Part 2

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“Shards!” growled Thorn as he pulled his arm away from another tangle of briars. It was midmorning and he still hadn’t found the trade road. The histories said the stone-paved road ran to the west edge of the lake then angled north into the forest. A pair of white stone plinths marked the start of elven territory. In the chaos time the nearer stones had been pulled up to help build the town walls. The once clear slope to the lake was now a tangled mass of saplings, briars and other wild growth. Thorn slapped at a mosquito and continued searching along the edge, at least he hoped it was the edge, of the old forest. Some time later, a sweaty, scratched Thorn pushed through a sapling cluster and tripped over a fallen white pillar. Since he’d landed face flat on stone, Thorn figured he’d found the trade road at last.

Trees crowded the road near the forest edge. Roots pushing up from under the stones made walking difficult for several yards until the dense growth cut off much of the sunlight. Gradually, as he walked, the trees fell back and the road settled to a wagon’s width of smooth stone. It was cooler here and only the distant chatter of birds broke the silence. Thorn walked at a steady pace keeping a wary eye out for wildlife and other hazards. The abrupt scurries of small creatures disturbed by his passing brought a smile to his face. The pleasant surroundings should have made his walk enjoyable but, after the first hour or two, a feeling that something was watching kept Thorn on edge. A looming dread gathered around him increasing in pressure until Thorn felt he could barely breathe. A dull throbbing at the back of his skull, a reaction to the building warp in the land, made thinking difficult as he trudged on. Finally hunger pangs woke Thorn to the passage of time. He stopped for a bit to eat and drink, sitting cross-legged in the center of the road. As he ate, Thorn studied the forest around him. Signs of warp were evident. Twisted reddish vines strangled some of the trees while bluish moss dripped from higher branches of others. The untouched trees were scabbed and drooping. In a small clearing, brambles clumped together with searching branches that swayed even though there was no breeze. A badger-like creature nosed slowly around the pile, eating insects. It appeared harmless until a small rodent ran by and the badger snapped it up in a toothy tentacle. Thorn shuddered and vowed to keep a closer eye on his surroundings.

Refreshed by his meal, Thorn set off at a faster pace. He soon came to a large open area where weak sunlight illuminated a scene of utter destruction. Great trees lay shattered, carved beams of Lanara treehouses were jumbled with blackened bits of metal on the ground. Rank weeds grew tall amid clumps of white stones. It was cold here in spite of the sun and Thorn drew his cloak closely around him. He realized in horror that this must be Aspendale, the elven crafters’ village. Moving closer he saw that the white stones were actually the bones and skulls of those fallen in a great battle. Searching, he could identify bits of armor and weapons mixed with household goods. Gold glinted through the eye of a misshapen warpspawn skull, a child’s bones lay near a beaded carry frame and a dwarven axe stood embedded in a statue of Lord Wildwood. Thorn caught a glimpse of movement to his left. He turned and saw nothing but a tendril of mist slowly curling up from the destruction. Part of Thorn’s brain began gibbering as he realized the mist was full of swirling shapes; hands, faces, bodies. His shamanistic senses heard a rising howl of voices full of terror and rage. Thorn raised all his defenses as the souls of Aspendale raged around him. He dared not open to them, they were too many. He was buffeted by their emotional storm. Anger, terror and loss pulled at his mind. He felt the cold touch of spirit hands clutching at his clothes. So many cut down, unburied, unmourned he thought. Thorn began to chant a death song from the old religion of Lord and Lady as tears ran down his cheeks. Gradually the pressure against his shields lessened as the spirits quieted, listening to his chant. Thorn stood in the clearing and continued to chant the full ceremony of parting. When he finished there was quiet then a sigh of a breeze circled the clearing as the mist dissipated. Looking down Thorn saw a charm shining by his foot where only dry grass had been. He picked it up and, whispering his thanks, pocketed it.

Thorn didn’t want to linger at such a place of desolation so he continued to walk into the early twilight. As the sun sank he found the remains of a small village. This place had had an easier time. There were no bones amid the leaves and bracken or within the eroded walls of the small huts. Nearby trees supported orderly rows of fungi that showed this was once a tree-farming village. They must have evacuated before the raiders could come upon them. While he did not trust the tasty looking growths, Thorn felt the village would make a good shelter for the night. He chose a nearly intact hut, built a small fire for cooking and heat then curled up. It took Thorn several tries to set a warding for the small spirits were uneasy in the forest and reluctant to remain. Thorn wanted to sort out his impressions of the day but the miles caught up to him and he fell asleep immediately after eating. He woke once in the night to the sound of something snuffling near the hut but the creature passed without setting off his warding.

The next morning, Thorn passed several tree farms of edible fungi and areas of fruit bearing bushes. The mushrooms were lumpy giants of their kind with odd slimy coatings. The fruits were misshapen and crawling with small vermin. The miasma of warp deepened as he traveled. Strange pink birds appeared in the moss-laden trees. Their long legs and sharp beaks seemed ideal for finding bugs in the moss. A bright-eyed pair followed him for nearly a mile, cheeping and twittering at him. Thorn was tempted to shoo them away but restrained himself. Later he heard an ear-splitting shriek ahead of him. He cautiously approached the noise and found several of the pink birds surrounding a stunned and bleeding squirrel that had apparently trespassed into their territory. Thorn edged past the flock and their victim thankful he’d kept his patience earlier.

Once past the elven plantations the road began to deteriorate. Dirt, blown over the stones, gave root to grasses and small plants. Occasional stones were missing while others were uptilted by invading tree roots. Branches and climbing vines arched over the road making a dim tunnel even at noon. Thorn had to watch carefully lest he lose his footing on loose stones. Overall there was the eerie feeling of being watched along with the dull ache of warp. Thorn walked on edge wishing he had extra eyes. He’d seen some signs of large creatures earlier in the day; trails crossing the road, scratch marks on trees and such. The breeze brought him the over-sweet scent of warped roses that made him sneeze and stumble. That stumble was all that saved him from a large form that leapt over his head. A fiery pain ripped down his arm as Thorn looked up at a nightmare version of a wildcat. In a flash he threw up fire shields and drew his sword. His first thrust barely brushed the cat, which seemed to flicker as it dodged. It lunged at Thorn again, howling as flesh met fire shield. Its claws and teeth raked his side and burned like acid as Thorn moved to dodge its attack. Thorn pummeled the creature with spirit hammers that had more effect. Snarling and more wary, the cat circled the elf. Thorn cast purifying spells, hoping to free the normally shy native animal from its warped existence. The enraged creature refused to back down and attacked again. Thorn caught it in mid air with his sword and all his strength. It was enough. Thorn was covered in blood, shaking and a bit dizzy from pain and the shock of sudden combat. He used some of his precious clean water to wash himself and bound his wounds to prevent more bleeding. He dared not linger here. Already he could hear the rustle of scavengers attracted to the blood spoor. As Thorn hurried away, he chanting healing spells to hold poison and infection away. He chewed a dried fruit bar for energy and hoped he’d find a safe place to stop and rest soon.

It wasn’t soon. A few pain-filled hours later a tired Thorn looked up to see a mass of healthy green foliage off to the right of the trail. He veered off the road to investigate and came upon a normal-looking village clearing. Time and weather had had their way with the tree houses and other structures but a fresh breeze greeted him with the scent of healthy growth. No warp infected the clearing. In fact, it felt welcoming and safe. Thorn could feel a warm glow of energy coming from the stump of a huge tree. Could it be? Thorn began searching amid the roots of the partially uprooted stump hoping to find one of the legendary elven heart stones. As he dug around the roots a voice behind him said “Careful, sonny, no sense getting yourself hurt for a stone that isn’t going anywhere.” Thorn stopped and turned to see an elderly elf in old-fashioned garb smiling at him. He could also see the next tree through the old gentleman. Thorn greeted the spirit with respect and, at its suggestion, stopped digging to rest and listen.

The elder told him of the village of Willowwood that had been here. He described a joyful people who lived in peace and harmony with all living things. Then the spirit spoke of strange whirlwinds of dark magic and warped creatures that came in the night to attack and destroy. The village was old and strong in magic. The heart stone, which stored their magic, kept them safe inside its sphere while the forest around them turned strange and evil. Unable to survive without the forest for food and work, the village decided to move. They pulled much of the heart stone’s magic to shield their travel. The elder was not able to make the journey though they offered to carry him. He wanted to remain where his heart had been for all his long life. The heart stone kept him safe enough for his final few months and he decided to remain as its spirit guardian. He and Thorn talked for hours about this time and that. The elder had a wry sense of humor and an intense curiosity about the world outside his clearing. At some point Thorn fell asleep for morning found him alone, wrapped in his blanket. He felt fully rested and his wounds were completely healed. Not even a scar remained. Near him were a jug of cool sweet water and a bowl of ripe berries. Thorn rose and thanked his unseen host then prepared to continue his quest.

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