The Ogre Apprentice (The Bowl of Souls Book 8), page 23
She strode forward, forcing Jhexin to make a decision. Either he stepped aside or he’d have to restrain her physically. At the last moment, he grimaced and allowed her to shoulder past him.
“You do realize that I will be in trouble for this,” Jhexin said, his voice filled with anxiety.
“It won’t be that bad,” Justan assured him as he walked by. “I’ll likely be back before Xedrion hears I was gone.”
Beth left the bridge and took Justan down one of the pathways that led into the forest. It was a narrow trail, but well-traveled and free of undergrowth. It didn’t take long for the sounds of the city to fade behind them, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the low thrum of buzzing insects.
Justan looked back the way they had come. “I feel bad about what we did to Jhexin and Poz back there,”
“They would not have been able to stop us,” Deathclaw replied. “At least this way they get to retain their dignity.”
“A fine point,” Beth agreed. “Come on. The grove is just a short walk ahead.”
It ended up that her idea of a short walk was a four mile trek along a twisting trail through the forest. The trees here were a mix of tall magnolias and other leafy evergreen trees with occasional palm trees mixed in. After the first mile, the valley Beth had spoken of began. As the trail sloped downwards, the air grew more humid. Justan found himself sweating profusely and swatting at tiny bugs that seemed to follow him around like a small cloud.
“Do you travel this way often, Beth?” he asked.
“A few times a week,” she replied. “More when I can. The grove is worth it. You’ll understand why when we get there.”
Do you smell it now, Justan? Gwyrtha said enthusiastically. Neither she nor Deathclaw seemed bothered by the bugs at all. It’s wonderful.
I’m not sure, Justan replied through the bond. The humidity was so thick it was hard not to gasp.
I think I smell what she’s talking about, Deathclaw sent. Sherl-Ann was fast asleep now and the raptoid was keeping his strides steady and even so as not to jostle her. It’s strange, a scent I have not experienced before.
Frowning, Justan shut his mouth and breathed in through his nose, focusing and extending the enhanced senses that his bond with Deathclaw gave him. Finally, he found what she was speaking of. “Beth, what’s that smell? It’s almost minty.”
She smiled over her shoulder at him. “You smell that already? It’s Jharro sap. Wait until you’re amongst the trees. It’s a heady experience.”
The grove . . . said a dusty voice from the corner of Justan’s mind. I remember this smell.
Artemus? Justan said, surprised. The spirit of his great grandfather had been getting stronger over the last week, gaining control of the Scralag bit-by-bit. They’d had brief conversations at night, but this was the first time he had spoken to Justan during the day. You mentioned before that you have been to the grove. What were you doing there?
Long ago . . . yes, Artemus said. It was before the war . . . I came there with John.
Justan kept talking, eager to keep Artemus alert. You did? Why?
He . . . had an errand there, the old spirit said. His voice was strained as if speaking was a struggle. He had to see to the . . . raising of a new treemaster. I happened to be traveling with him at the time. The . . . Roo-Tan soldiers did not like my presence in the grove, but the elves were quite . . . friendly.
A treemaster? Justan asked. What is that?
It’s . . . I . . . must . . . The voice faded.
Artemus are you with me? Artemus? Justan sent, but there was no reply.
“Your progenitor still struggles,” Deathclaw observed.
“Yes, but he is much stronger,” Justan replied. He was growing more confident each day that the old wizard would eventually regain full control of himself.
I like him, Gwyrtha said. He smells like old paper and tea leaves.
“What are you two talking about?” Beth asked, looking back at them.
“Beth, what’s a treemaster?” Justan said.
She blinked at him. “Well, they’re the caretakers. It’s one of the elves whose job it is to watch over a particular tree. They’re picked when they’re young and it’s a job they keep throughout their life. Each Jharro tree has one.”
“Oh,” he said. The mint-like scent was growing stronger.
Justan began to feel a bit light headed. It was similar to how he had felt when in the elven homeland of the Silvertree Sect, but more intense. The cloud of bugs that had been bothering him was gone and the forest around them was lush with vitality. The trees grew taller and wider and the soil was rich and black.
“Oh yeah, I can smell the grove now,” Beth said, smiling. “Yntri was the treemaster of his tree. It’s expected that his grandson will take his place as part of the ceremony at his funeral.”
“Oh,” Justan said. There was a faint musical hum in the air and a warm tingling sensation swept over him. With each step, the forest became both quieter and more alive at the same time.
“There is something about this place,” Deathclaw said softly.
Justan agreed. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what he was feeling, but he was excited to move forward.
Then the first Jharro tree came into view. It was as big as Justan had envisioned, but not exactly in the way he had imagined. The trunk was easily as wide as two houses, and covered in a silvery bark. But the tree was not as tall as he had expected. It was likely over 150 feet tall, but seemed squat in comparison to its width.
Justan’s jaw dropped as they walked fully into the grove. Every tree was as big as that first one or bigger. Many of the roots that stretched out from the base of these gigantic trees were twice as tall as Justan. The floor of the grove was taken up by the intertwining of these roots, with barely a patch of soil to be seen.
Justan couldn’t see how they were supposed to make their way through the grove at first. Then Beth led them up one of the roots and he saw that the tops of these great roots formed a multitude of intersecting pathways. These pathways were smooth and flat, likely formed by the will of the elves that cared for the grove.
The canopy overhead was a startling flickering layer of powder blue from the undersides of the Jharro leaves. The light that filtered through glinted off of the silvery bark of the trees, filling the grove with a soft blue glow.
The scent that had hit Justan and his bonded so hard earlier was much thicker here, but the air here wasn’t as humid as it had been in the surrounding forest and it wasn’t hard to breathe. Instead, each breath filled him with energy. Justan felt more awake and aware than he could remember. His every sense and synapse was alive.
I love it here, Gwyrtha said.
“There are no leaves on the ground,” Deathclaw commented.
“That’s true. They don’t fall often,” Beth said. She was smiling and her eyes were closed, the soft light of the grove giving her an ethereal and youthful look. “The elves spend a lot of time in the tops of the trees watching for signs of weakness. When a leaf is ready to fall, they claim it.”
“What do they do with them?” Deathclaw asked, staring up at the canopy overhead.
“Oh, there is strong magic in the Jharro leaves. Especially in the sap that fills the fleshy parts. But they have many uses for them and let nothing go to waste.”
Ah, this feeling . . . It is as I remember, but perhaps stronger, said Artemus’ voice within Justan’s mind. There was a fervent feel to his thoughts. It’s wonderful.
I think I know what you mean. There’s something sacred about this place. It’s a-. Justan felt a twinge in his chest and a sudden pulse of cold flared from the frost rune.
THE LEAVES! FREEZE THEM!
Justan clutched the front of his shirt, half expecting to feel the icy fingers of the Scralag. “Stop it, Artemus!” Keep control.
Yes. I . . . I’m sorry, Artemus replied. I’m not sure why but . . . something about this place makes the elemental quite uncomfortable. The urges coming from it are quite violent. I must retreat for now.
The chill in Justan’s chest lessened and he let out a sigh of relief. What would he have done if the Scralag had gotten loose? Was there anything he could have done to stop it?
There was a rustling in the leaves above and Justan looked up to see many dark forms clinging to the undersides of the branches overhead. He recognized immediately that these were Yntri’s people watching.
“Come this way,” Beth said, walking along one of the paths to the south. “Tolynn’s tree is over here.”
“I know,” Justan said. He could feel it pulling at him from the very center of the grove. “It’s my tree too.”
He walked along the path trying to breathe it all in, trying to catalog every moment. This place was more than special. He understood now why Jhonate’s people had kept to their vow for a thousand years.
Finally he stood before his tree. She was beautiful, one of the largest and most ancient. He reached out and touched her bark and felt a shiver rush through him as he recalled the century of memories she had shared with him when he had communed with her.
A creak issued from the tree, breaking the silence. Justan looked up in time to see a vertical crack appear in the bark of the tree a few feet above him. It widened and a slight figure stepped out from within the tree, alighting atop one of the places where a great root joined the tree.
She was an elf, with skin as dark as Yntri Yni’s, but she was not as old or leathery. There wasn’t a hair on her head, not even an eyebrow, and yet there was an ageless beauty about her. She had large dark eyes and full lips that were slightly open showing a set of bright white teeth.
Her torso and upper legs were covered completely in smooth Jharro wood that moved with her body as if it were a second skin. She carried a Jharro staff in one hand.
Her eyes alit on Justan briefly, giving him a cold glance before moving past him. “Greetings, Listener Beth. I did not expect to see you today, though the young trees will be glad of your presence.”
Justan was glad to find that he knew what she was saying. Though he could not speak it, his time spent conversing with Yntri through the wristband on his arm had given him an understanding of their language.
“Greetings, Tolynn. Actually, that is not why I’m here. I have brought someone to meet you,” Beth said and gestured to Justan. “This is Sir Edge. He is the betrothed of Jhonate bin Leeths.”
Justan looked up at the ancient elf woman and without knowing quite why, bent to one knee in front of her. “I am honored to meet the wife of Yntri Yni.”
“You are the one my Yntri died for?” she clicked.
“I am,” Justan said, bowing his head. “And I mourn that fact. My life was not worth his.”
“Is that so?” she asked, cocking her head. She jumped down from her perch atop the root. As she did so, the tip of her staff narrowed, becoming a spear-like tip. She pointed it at him. “Then perhaps I should take your life in exchange?”
“No, Tolynn,” Beth said, her eyes widening in alarm. “Yntri wouldn’t have wanted-.”
“Silence, Beth!” Tolynn said, stretching out her other hand to point at the woman’s lips. Her lips were drawn back in rage. “I will be the judge of what my husband wanted.”
What is she saying? Deathclaw asked. He shifted Sherl-Ann to his other shoulder, freeing his right hand up to grasp a throwing knife. Was it a threat?
Gwyrtha climbed to her feet and crept forward, issuing a low growl.
Calm yourselves, Justan snapped, then said aloud to the elf, “I would readily give my life in payment for Yntri’s, but I am a bonding wizard. It is not my life to give.”
“Stand, human,” she replied, the anger still filling her eyes.
Justan obeyed and though he towered over her five-foot frame, he felt overwhelmed by the power of her presence. She looked him over, every darting movement in her eyes weighing and calculating. She grasped his hands and turned them over, muttering as she examined his naming runes.
“You still carry part of him with you,” Tolynn observed, her hand resting on the Jharro band that clung to his wrist.
“I could not make myself remove it,” he replied.
“Hmph,” she said. “Raise your arms.”
She ran her hands along the muscles of his arms and up to his shoulders, then slid them down his chest, pausing only briefly at the frost rune before continuing across his abdomen. Justan felt a brief moment of discomfort as she rested her hands on his hips.
“Give me your bow,” she said.
Justan hesitated. What if she took it away from him? Did she have the ability to do that. He pushed the anxiety that rose within him away and pulled Ma’am off of his shoulder, handing it to the elf.
She ran her fingers down the length of the bow, examining the runes, the look on her face unreadable. Then she gave the bow back to him and poked and prodded him, making him turn around, before leaning in and pressing her ear over his heart.
She stayed that way for a long while and Justan could feel a quiet movement within his mind, as if she was in there, sifting through his soul. Then he heard her thoughts. They didn’t come from within the bond, but somewhere close to it.
She addressed him directly, Yntri saw much in you. He said that you would become a great man. He told me much of your potential.
He did? Justan said.
He saw this when he first listened to you, she replied. And our tree agreed with him. This is why it chose you.
Justan sensed irritation and sadness in her thoughts. What do you think?
Despite myself, I see what they saw, she said reluctantly. You are as Yntri said and yet there is so much you have not yet lived up to.
I am sorry for that, he responded. Though I do not know in what ways I have fallen short.
She pulled back and as she looked up at him the anger in her eyes was gone, replaced by tears. “You are young yet.” She patted his arm. “The nightbeast that killed my husband, it is still after you?”
“Yes. That is one of the reasons I came to see you,” Justan said.
“Come,” she said and pulled him closer to the tree. She reached out and the silvery bark of the tree split again, opening up to reveal a circular hole. “Place your arm inside. It is time that you returned Yntri’s gift.”
Justan reached his arm into the hole. The interior was warm and smooth. The wood moved to conform around his arm and then there was a slight pressure around his wrist. When he removed his arm, the wristband Yntri had given him stayed inside the tree.
He grasped his wrist, feeling both a sense of relief and sorrow that it was gone. He looked to Tolynn.
“I believe that the nightbeast plans to attack during Yntri’s funeral,” he told her. “It wants to make my death a spectacle, something to be remembered. I . . . want to let you know that is why I won’t be there. My bonded and I will stay far away so that we don’t disrupt anything.”
Tolynn drew back and looked at Justan, her face becoming hard. The Jharro wood that covered her torso rippled and stiffened.
“No,” she said, reaching out to touch his chest. “You must be there. Let that wretched creature come to us.” Her lips twisted into a snarl. “We will be waiting.”
Chapter Thirteen
There had been much discussion about the route Fist’s group must take. They were to head to the Battle Academy, but they couldn’t take the main roads. A troop of ogres would frighten any settlement they came across and, even though they had Locksher with them to explain the situation, there was too much potential for conflict. In the end it was decided that they should avoid populated areas altogether and stay off the roads. This would add many miles to the journey and take them through rough terrain, but the ogres were used to that kind of travel.
They were loaded with provisions and left the Mage School traveling eastward, back the way the ogres had come. They forded the Fandine River at a shallows that Locksher knew about. The water there was only thigh deep for the ogres, but chillingly cold. As they headed into the forest at the far side, skirting the elven homeland, Fist found himself falling into an increasingly sour mood.
It wasn’t just the fact that his legs and boots were soaked with the icy water. With all the conflicting emotions Fist felt at leaving the Mage School, he found the happy attitudes of his other traveling companions irritating. Charz was excited because of the many opportunities for fighting along the way and Squirrel was happy because he had been growing bored at the school. Locksher was fascinated by the mystery of the powerful force that created the maggots. There was a spring in the professor’s step that Fist hadn’t seen before.
The ogres were even more annoyingly enthusiastic. Though for Fist the journey was just beginning, the ogres had completed their main mission. They were returning home with Fist in tow and, as far as they were concerned, the evil was all but destroyed. As they walked, the ogres laughed and played and pushed each other and wrestled. Fist felt even less like one of them with each step.
