Poisonwell
Page 137
The Seneschal advanced to the outer bulwarks of the garden city and inhaled, his breath making them rise up to the rampway above. Several spirit beasts bowed in homage to him and he acknowledged them with a gentle stroking of their ruffs.
“Aristaios knew of the Druidecht ways. You noticed the book that Isic wrote his secrets in, his sketches, his explanation of the ways of Spirit magic. The two brothers were close. Despite being reserved, Isic was popular. He did not seek attention but he always got it. That rankled Aristaios, though he buried those emotions. The two brothers came to Mirrowen together, crossing the bridge of Poisonwell and seeking me out. We will wait for them by the tree, of course. When someone exercises sufficient self-mastery to enter this land, I allow him an opportunity to partake of a single fruit of the tree. They can choose it themselves or allow me to pick one suitable for their purpose. As you observe, I will shroud you in my magic so that they will not see you. But through our connection, you will hear my thoughts. Watch and observe. This moment is critical. This moment shifted the course of the future. One decision, one regret, can alter one’s entire future. Evil does not bloom all at once. It is nurtured like a seed. It always begins with a thought.”
He patted her arm and led her over the ramp to the beautiful tree with its variety of fruit. The silver lions still guarded the area, resting on their haunches but alert and watchful. He motioned for Phae to take a small seat on a bench on the side of the veranda. The waters gushing from the tree passed under the stone beneath her, turning into rivers and rivulets farther down, silvery and clear.
Phae sat on the bench and felt as if a blanket had come across her shoulders. They had not waited for long when a Vaettir approached, the two princes coming behind.
“Kind master,” the Vaettir said in formal greeting and a low bow. “Two travelers from the mortal world. They are brothers and seek audience with the Seneschal of Mirrowen.”
“Bid them welcome, Taliesian.”
As Phae looked up, he saw the Dryad girl she had seen before on the Seneschal’s arm—his daughter. Phae recognized her from the previous vision and saw that she was older now. She had a look of calm wisdom, an untroubled face. She wore a simple but beautiful gown and a thin silver tiara—it looked as delicate as spiderwebs. She was a beautiful young woman, and Phae could sense her Dryad magic. The girl looked toward her at the bench, but her eyes did not focus, as if she could sense Phae but not see her. A small wrinkle appeared in her forehead, but it smoothed as the two princes arrived.
Phae’s heart churned when she saw Shion. He gazed at the enormous city, his eyes wide with wonder, his face full of fascination and delight at the myriad forms of spirit magic. There were creatures Phae had never seen before, more beautiful than butterflies, with bright gossamer wings and legs of various sizes and shapes. The plethora of beings surrounding Shion was breathtaking. Each seemed to be drawn to him, seeking to commune with his thoughts. He gripped his brother’s shoulder, whispering the word, “Amazing!”
Aristaios looked determined, his expression more guarded, but he also seemed overwhelmed by the sights he was watching. However, his gaze was riveted on the tree behind the Seneschal. A look of desperate hunger was clearly in his eyes.
“Greetings, Princes of Moussion,” the Seneschal said in a cordial voice. “You are welcome here so long as you abide by our laws. You were both infected with a plague when you crossed the Pontfadog, but my servants have already cured it from you. This is my daughter. Be at peace. Why are you here? What do you seek?”
Shion nodded to his brother to go first. He stared at the Seneschal, his expression turning grave with respect. Both brothers dropped to one knee.
“I am Aristaios Moussion,” the older brother said. “I seek a piece of fruit from your tree. You are known to us as the Gardener of Mirrowen. Long have I studied the myths and legends pertaining to you. Their words do not give even a moment of justice to the grandeur I see before me here. I am grateful you have granted audience. In return for a piece of fruit from the tree, I commit all the resources of my kingdom. I had intended . . .” he swallowed, his voice catching. “I had intended to build a temple in your honor, but I see that even with the skilled craftsmen at my command, I could not offer you anything you do not already possess, and by much more skilled hands.” He bowed his head. “However, I beseech you to grant my boon. I will erect a place, in the very heart of the forest we just traveled, a place where knowledge of you and of Mirrowen may be preserved so long as there are people left in the mortal world. I seek to build it so that others may learn the ways of Mirrowen, may learn to master their thoughts to be able to hear the whispers. I desire that this shrine, this temple, this sanctorum shall stand when my kingdom has crumbled into dust. I would call it Canton Vaud. Give me this charge, I pray you. And give me the strength of heart to see it fulfilled.”
“Aristaios knew of the Druidecht ways. You noticed the book that Isic wrote his secrets in, his sketches, his explanation of the ways of Spirit magic. The two brothers were close. Despite being reserved, Isic was popular. He did not seek attention but he always got it. That rankled Aristaios, though he buried those emotions. The two brothers came to Mirrowen together, crossing the bridge of Poisonwell and seeking me out. We will wait for them by the tree, of course. When someone exercises sufficient self-mastery to enter this land, I allow him an opportunity to partake of a single fruit of the tree. They can choose it themselves or allow me to pick one suitable for their purpose. As you observe, I will shroud you in my magic so that they will not see you. But through our connection, you will hear my thoughts. Watch and observe. This moment is critical. This moment shifted the course of the future. One decision, one regret, can alter one’s entire future. Evil does not bloom all at once. It is nurtured like a seed. It always begins with a thought.”
He patted her arm and led her over the ramp to the beautiful tree with its variety of fruit. The silver lions still guarded the area, resting on their haunches but alert and watchful. He motioned for Phae to take a small seat on a bench on the side of the veranda. The waters gushing from the tree passed under the stone beneath her, turning into rivers and rivulets farther down, silvery and clear.
Phae sat on the bench and felt as if a blanket had come across her shoulders. They had not waited for long when a Vaettir approached, the two princes coming behind.
“Kind master,” the Vaettir said in formal greeting and a low bow. “Two travelers from the mortal world. They are brothers and seek audience with the Seneschal of Mirrowen.”
“Bid them welcome, Taliesian.”
As Phae looked up, he saw the Dryad girl she had seen before on the Seneschal’s arm—his daughter. Phae recognized her from the previous vision and saw that she was older now. She had a look of calm wisdom, an untroubled face. She wore a simple but beautiful gown and a thin silver tiara—it looked as delicate as spiderwebs. She was a beautiful young woman, and Phae could sense her Dryad magic. The girl looked toward her at the bench, but her eyes did not focus, as if she could sense Phae but not see her. A small wrinkle appeared in her forehead, but it smoothed as the two princes arrived.
Phae’s heart churned when she saw Shion. He gazed at the enormous city, his eyes wide with wonder, his face full of fascination and delight at the myriad forms of spirit magic. There were creatures Phae had never seen before, more beautiful than butterflies, with bright gossamer wings and legs of various sizes and shapes. The plethora of beings surrounding Shion was breathtaking. Each seemed to be drawn to him, seeking to commune with his thoughts. He gripped his brother’s shoulder, whispering the word, “Amazing!”
Aristaios looked determined, his expression more guarded, but he also seemed overwhelmed by the sights he was watching. However, his gaze was riveted on the tree behind the Seneschal. A look of desperate hunger was clearly in his eyes.
“Greetings, Princes of Moussion,” the Seneschal said in a cordial voice. “You are welcome here so long as you abide by our laws. You were both infected with a plague when you crossed the Pontfadog, but my servants have already cured it from you. This is my daughter. Be at peace. Why are you here? What do you seek?”
Shion nodded to his brother to go first. He stared at the Seneschal, his expression turning grave with respect. Both brothers dropped to one knee.
“I am Aristaios Moussion,” the older brother said. “I seek a piece of fruit from your tree. You are known to us as the Gardener of Mirrowen. Long have I studied the myths and legends pertaining to you. Their words do not give even a moment of justice to the grandeur I see before me here. I am grateful you have granted audience. In return for a piece of fruit from the tree, I commit all the resources of my kingdom. I had intended . . .” he swallowed, his voice catching. “I had intended to build a temple in your honor, but I see that even with the skilled craftsmen at my command, I could not offer you anything you do not already possess, and by much more skilled hands.” He bowed his head. “However, I beseech you to grant my boon. I will erect a place, in the very heart of the forest we just traveled, a place where knowledge of you and of Mirrowen may be preserved so long as there are people left in the mortal world. I seek to build it so that others may learn the ways of Mirrowen, may learn to master their thoughts to be able to hear the whispers. I desire that this shrine, this temple, this sanctorum shall stand when my kingdom has crumbled into dust. I would call it Canton Vaud. Give me this charge, I pray you. And give me the strength of heart to see it fulfilled.”
