“I understand now,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “There is one more stop we must make now, isn’t there?”
He smiled tenderly. “You are wise, child. Do what must be done.” He extended the Tay al-Ard to her again.
She gripped it and they vanished from the polluted chamber of roiling fumes beneath the scaffolding of Canton Vaud.
In a moment, they stood near the Dryad Mother Tree at the edge of the woods deep in the Scourgelands. Phae could hear the screaming as the Plague attacked and killed the workers from Stonehollow who were gathered there building the first arches of Canton Vaud. Thick green mist hung like a poisoned fog in the air, seeping into the woods, seeking victims.
This was the birthplace of the Plague. Her mind began to trace and see connections, realizing the fear that would spread as word of the devastation spread. The woods would earn a reputation for deadliness. The caretaker of the woods, Shirikant, would make sure the notoriety spread, preventing Druidecht from seeking the bridge to Mirrowen. After centuries the woods would be named the Scourgelands. She could see it all unfolding in her mind.
The Dryad tree was beautiful and healthy, the trunk split in the middle, showing a gap between. From her vantage in the woods, she saw Shion emerge from the tear in the wood, his hands touching the rough bark. He craned his head, listening to the shouts of fear and pain as hundreds perished. He looked alarmed, panicked even, not understanding the devastation happening in the stone hill nearby. She saw the tension in his neck, saw the indecision of what to do.
He had emerged from the portal to Mirrowen at the Dryad tree, not from Pontfadog. No doubt his brother was sealing off the chamber, hoping to trap Isic inside to prevent him from venturing back into the world. It all made sense to Phae, and she saw the look of confusion and determination wilt. Behind him floated a shade of a Spirit, her face the same as the Seneschal’s daughter.
Shion turned to look back at her and in doing so, saw past her into the breach, into Mirrowen. His eyes widened with shock and terror, realization flooding him at what he had done.
“No!!” he screamed, reaching to grab the Spirit wife. Her hand reached for his and then she dissolved into tufts of pollen, scattering in the wind.
Stunned, devastated, Shion sank to the ground, clawing the bark with his iron-hard fingers until the bark shredded and came off in chunks. He howled in dismay, screaming with frustration and despair. He struck the tree with his fists, pounding on its immovable trunk. He could not bleed. He could not die. He let out a wail of anguish that pierced Phae’s heart. Sobs shook him violently, great racking sobs that added to the chorus of the dying.
Shion sprawled down at the base of the tree, gasping, breaking apart, unable to die of sorrow.
The Seneschal stroked her hair. The day seemed to pass more swiftly, the arch of the sun across the sky fading to twilight, and then night. Near midnight, the last of the screams ended. Those who had fled the construction of Canton Vaud, those who survived, would carry remnants of the Plague back to their communities. Stonehollow would be devastated by it, the first kingdom to fall.
Night began to fade as a pink sky started to light in the east.
Phae nodded to the Seneschal and then quietly stepped forward, approaching Shion’s crumpled body. She knelt nearby him, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders. He had not moved for hours. As she knelt, little twigs snapped.
Shion’s head stirred slightly. “Who is there?” he whispered in a ravaged, hoarse voice.
She sat silently, hands folded in her lap, waiting for him to rouse.
He was still a moment longer, then his head swiveled and he looked up at her. His face was bereft of life and joy. He was shrunken, defeated, tormented. He stared at her, his eyebrows furrowing.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said in his quiet voice. “I’ve seen your face.”
Phae nodded. “In your brother’s palace. I was with the Seneschal.”
He slowly pushed himself up on one arm, his expression so hurt and aching that she reached out and touched his cheek. He flinched.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“We will meet again in the future,” Phae said. “This is my tree now.” She stroked the bark that he had ravaged with his bare fingers. “You must protect me. You must bring me here safely. I charge you, Prince Isic, to reopen the gate to Mirrowen.”
“It’s closed to me,” he said, his mouth turning to a frown.