Darkness overwhelmed us for several moments as we stood squinting into the gloom. Outside, lightning flashed and thunder rolled, lighting the immediate vicinity in stroboscopic flickers. I fumbled through my pack until I found my lantern and lit it with a tiny spark struck from a rock across my blade. The soft glow filled the darkness and carefully we plodded down a steep, gravelly slope. Scree tumbled and clinked against the walls, and after fifty paces, the loose stone plunked into a shallow pool. Distantly, the bassy echo of many hundreds of stones of water crashing down rumbled up the passage. For a moment, I thought I heard voices, but the sound was ephemeral, and it took only a little convincing to believe it was all a hallucination.
"I keep getting the feeling something is going to jump out and attack us," whispered Maurice, clutching a branch he picked up at the entrance defensively.
"I thought this was supposed to be a sanctuary..." I murmured, my voice betraying my own anxiety.
"Kynareth has been known to test her children."
Suddenly, I noticed Meeko was not with us and when I looked back, I saw his form silhouetted against the flickering light of the outside world. If he wasn't following, then there was nothing to fear. Not anything I couldn't easily fend off anyway. Except I was no more afraid of someone attacking us than I was of running into a stray rabbit in the tunnel, for I knew this was a holy place. No, my fear stemmed from the very cave itself destroying us as the walls gave way and collapsed upon us, closing us in a tomb where not even the wind could reach us. The thought made my skin crawl unpleasantly, but I forced myself forward anyway, counting my steps as a distraction. It brought to mind Derkeethus counting the steps to High Hrothgar, and the memory of that tall sky and high, cold wind gave me some comfort. No place could have been more opposite.
At the end of the passage, the cavern opened into an enormous gallery large enough for several tall pines to grow. Strange formations of rock draped from the ceiling in a glittering exhibition of shapes, their luminescent curtains glowing with pale light. In the roof, gaped an oculus that shone cool, muted light down into the center of the room. Rain pattered down onto a mossy floor where mushrooms the size of dinner plates grew in the shadows and flowers bobbed their heads in the light. Immediately near us, hewn logs created a rough walkway over the slurry of stone dust and shale.
"By the Eight," gasped the Breton in awe.
"Yes," I agreed softly. Amidst the ruffling of water, sang several voices in concert, yet when I looked about I didn't see anyone. A warm breeze caressed my face, and the swelling fullness in my chest compelled me down the walkway. Maurice followed in a similar trance, his voice uttering praises to Kynareth in a low, harsh tone. Though this presence brought to mind more of what I remembered of Y'ffre mingled with something different.
The lantern on my belt cast a paltry light against the low cliffs of earth and roots shadowing the walkway. Gently the path curved to pass behind a waterfall, which tumbled into a pool ringed by earth vents expelling steam voluminously. The water's sulfuric smell infused with the sweet scent of wild flowers clustering near the path and trees like curious bystanders.
Once we finally rounded the corner, we saw the Eldergleam clawing its way through the mist. Through the moving clouds, it seemed as if the tree was slowly wriggling its fingers at us. The faint chorus I heard before increased in volume, singing a terribly beautiful verse that sighed and hummed this way and that like leaves in the wind.
We walked towards it, entranced by the song and the tree's visceral beauty. Part of me deeply hoped to see Y'ffre once more, clad in the raiment of the forest, my devotion to him an unearthly mixture of love, desire, and fear. I knew this place to be a portal to something scared, but what had come through was not yet clear. It could be Kynareth sleeping here with her tresses hanging down through the cavern shafts. She wasn't that far removed from Y'ffre--blood kin for certain if the Aedra ever possessed blood. But a divinity of the sky was a far more capricious creature than the dancing feet of the stream's song through the forest. Though I worshiped her not, I knew Kynareth to be a dangerous goddess to cross, and of all the Aedra, she could possess a temper not unlike the Daedric Princes.
Our progress was impeded by the massive roots of the tree itself, and I wondered for a moment how to reach the trunk. When I attempted to climb of the roots, feeling right at home on the solid bark of the tree, they shifted, bucked, and threw me off so that I lay on my back. I stared at the root, shocked and rejected. Was I not worthy?
"Tsch. One does not climb on the body of the Great Goddess," sneered Maurice. Stepping forward, he laid his hand to the root and spoke a few words, a soft chant like a spell. A thin, spry twig swatted his hand away. "Lady Kynareth! What have I done to be rejected so?" he cried. I drew my sword, ready to return the sting of a rebuff, but the Breton's overly soft hands shoved my arm away angrily.
"Do you have any other ideas then?" I asked irritably.
"Just let me think a bit. And stop being an impudent worm. How dare you draw a sword in the presence of a lady!"
As if I'm not one... I thought, still feeling stung. For a while we sat, paced, and grimaced at the Eldergleam, which sat immobile and untouchable on its high butte of stone. I leaned back against the root, trying to think of what would appease Y'ffre, for I still felt he was the one waiting for us. Eventually I dozed a little and dreamt of that hall made of trees that were not and leaves that were light. In my mind's eye I saw Y'ffre grinning and laughing at, well, everything.
My eyes snapped open. Laughing! Yes, that's it! Standing, I found the Breton on his knees involved in some kind of complicated chant with a melody that chased its way all over the place. Walking to the side of the path, I found a pine brush dropped by one of the trees far above. I took the brush in hand and strode over to the root, then gently ran the soft pine needles on the underside of the bark.
"What on Nirn are you doing?"
"You'll see," I grinned broadly. The root shuddered, shivered, and rolled back to expose the path before us.
"How...how did you do that? What did you do?" gaped Maurice, walking slowly around the curled root.
"I tickled it."
"You what!" I didn't respond as I walked forward, giving each root a similar treatment, imagining Y'ffre grinning at my clever solution.
We made our way to the top of butte, coming at last to the great trunk of the tree. Maurice, overcome with emotion, slumped to the ground in amazement. His arms rose and trembled in the air as he thanked his goddess Kynareth for bestowing him with this honor. Touching the bark while he was thus distracted, I thought of the deadened tree in Whiterun--this plant's child or sibling. "Can you help bring it back to life?" I whispered in Bosmeri. After a few moments, nothing seemed to happen, then a large branch snapped off from the tree, nearly landing on the prostrate Breton. The broken end was clean cut and leaked very little sap, though the flesh was bright green with new growth.
"Blessed be to Kynareth!" I looked at him quizzically. "The Gildergreen was made from a cutting much like this one. We can uproot the deadened tree and plant this in its stead. Oh, the glory of Whiterun has been saved!" Maurice's eyes shone with unshed tears.
"Why don't you have the honor of carrying the cutting then," I offered, not wanting to touch the snapped branch. Something seemed wrong about that.
"Oh, you give me too much credit," he began, "But if you must insist, I will take you up on that offer. Now, I must wrap it in the wet moss of this place before we leave." With that, he gathered the branch into his arms, cradling it as one might a child. His footsteps crunched on the gravel as he trotted back down the path toward the clearing where the sunlight illuminated the ground.
As I watched him go, I felt a surge of power ripple through my body. Magic burst from my hand, and a portal opened into a white forest where spirits cavorted and danced. One of them stepped through the portal and eyed me curiously. Leaves danced around her form in a dizzying swirl of movement, and her root-like feet barely touched the ground. Her eyes glowed an unearthly green, like light through trees. I knew those eyes.
"Who are you who calls us?" she asked in a dialect from my homeland so ancient, I only caught the barest meaning from the words.
"I-I didn't know I was calling you," I stammered in my clan's cant, enamored by the spirit's beauty and likeness to the wood. She laughed, a high-pitched creaking sound like boughs in a windstorm.
"Then how did I get here?" Those strange eyes burned in amusement.
"I don't know... Are you from Y'ffre's forest?"
"I could be... Perhaps... Maybe he sent me to tell you something."
"What? What is it?" The spirit smiled furtively and placed her clawed fingertips to my forehead, and energy burst through my mind, blinding me. A green hum of magic buzzed in my hand, like musical bees in the shapes of leaves made of light. It erupted into a column that flew about where I willed. Another pang of power shook my frame, and this time tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I felt filled to the brim with something I could not name. I looked to where the spirit was standing, only to find she was gone.
"Call me if you have need..." her voice whispered before that, too, disappeared with a faint pop.
Comments
Great story so far, I'll staying tuned!