A day passed. Then two. Hettie stalked the temple grounds, lingering for word. A runner had been sent to the Arch-Rike and returned with word that the master of Kenatos was dealing with pressing matters of state and had not found the time to reply yet. There was a trade interruption from Havenrook, and shipments of grain and fruit were delayed and spoiling, causing prices in the city to bob on the rising tide. He would inquire about the missing Bhikhu, he promised, and send word in a day or two.
After two days, Hettie was impatient and started off on her own again, seeking after the ruins of the Paracelsus Tower herself. Approaching it from the west, she saw it was clearly a work of immense power or magic. The tower where she had last met her uncle was gone, with only loose fragments of broken stone showing the remains. She was in awe at the power involved in such a manifestation. The tower had been a massive stone bulwark, suspended high in the air. All that remained was a warped iron stairwell protruding from one of the four corners, a little nub displaying to witness what had been there before.
“By degrees the castles are built,” Hettie whispered, staring at it as she approached. “How fast they fall.” Bricks littered the street all around. The front windows of shops were being repaired. In some, blankets had been nailed over to cover the void. Broken crockery and pit-marks covered the homes and shops facing the tower proper.
There were many people milling around, but most were repairing the damage with plaster and cobbled stone. She ventured into the main gate, which was open, and found the interior courtyard full of workmen and wheelbarrows, carting off broken fragments of stone to be reused elsewhere. There were a few taskmasters at hand, but they were primarily ordering low-paid folk doing the work. Hettie studied the ruins of the tower and saw a steady stream of men venturing in and out, carrying bricks in their arms.
There was a giant dead oak tree in the middle of the courtyard. Amazingly, none of the branches had fallen as a result of the explosion. Nor had fire touched its bark. She stopped, staring at it curiously.
How peculiar, she thought. She began walking the perimeter of the oak, beneath the veil of branches, and saw not a single brick or stone beneath the boughs. There were bricks littered elsewhere, but none directly beneath it. The branches were bare of leaves, which would not have been the case normally due to the season. But as she scrutinized it, she did see a few scattered branches with foliage, and some with clumps of lush mistletoe. The presence of the mistletoe meant the tree was still alive, if barely.
She followed around the perimeter of the oak, wondering at its age and how it came to be in the center of the Paracelsus Tower. Had it been tended or had her uncle purchased it and moved it, as the rumors stated had happened. Some workers rested under its paltry shade and shared a flask between them. She walked around to the other side and found no one there; she slowly approached the trunk.
The bark was rough and craggy, like an ancient woman’s skin. The branches seemed to be sagging, as if they had been defeated long ago. As she approached, she felt something stir inside of her, a warm, buzzing feeling. It was difficult to describe. It was a little like drinking sweet wine, and it made her slightly dizzy. She approached warily, reaching out until she touched the bark with her fingers. It was brittle, making it easy to pry loose a chunk with her fingers.
She gazed up the length of the trunk until the branches began mushrooming away from the base. The majesty of the oak tree had always impressed her. Oak was great to burn and produced a solid, satisfying flame. Acorns could be made into food. It was interesting that there was no debris beneath the canopy. Not even a desiccated leaf.
The feeling came over her again. It was a warm feeling, like a lingering kiss. It made her shiver involuntarily. Her breath started up. What was happening to her? Why was the tree making her so dizzy? She started to back away from it nervously, unsure at the flood and surge of emotions conflicting within her. There was something eerily comforting about the tree, and she was not used to that feeling. It was a dangerous feeling. It threatened her with tears.
She turned and was about to walk away when she heard it whisper her name.
“Hettie.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Was it her imagination? There was a presence behind her. She knew it. She could feel it.
Whirling, Hettie turned to face it.
The spinning motion disoriented her, nearly making her stumble. There was no one there. She blinked with surprise.
A leather pouch nestled in the earth at the base of the tree. It had not been there before.
Her heart thudded in her chest. Fear snaked inside her skin. Kneeling by the trunk, she reached for the leather pouch. It was thick and slightly heavy, but it felt empty. As she touched it, she felt hard objects encased within the leather. Her lips were suddenly dry. Opening the drawstrings, she peeked inside at the smooth, uncut stones.