.
62 Searing 121
Outside Kalzasi
Outside Kalzasi
Though in his heart of hearts Sivan hadn't expected his first attempt at the magic mirror to be a resounding success, the failure still bred disappointment. He had taken extensive notes afterward, of course, and then this morning he had gone over it with Master Jacun—the final version of the plans that he had used, his notes on the process and the results, as well as examining the finished product. The alchemist had asked several of his Socratic questions, which Sivan had to admit had opened doors in his mind that would surely lead to new routes for the next leg of that journey, but even knowing that didn't help him shake off the foul mood.
In his wisdom regarding people, Master Jacun had told him to quit the shop and seek the forests nearby. He even lent him a kit of tools for collecting herbs and such, though he scolded him for not having one of his own—Sivan managed not to snap back with pay me more—and told him he ought to get one of his own soon as there were alchemical reagents that required his botanical skills. That was fine. It would be nice to get out of the city for a while, and while he was fairly sure he could keep safe in the forests near the city, he wasn't sure he was quite prepared to go down into the Warrens looking for dragonshards or veins of precious metals.
He did quickly stop at home first, both to change into hardier travel gear and to see if Destyn was hanging about in the garden, but alas. Perhaps once his leg was healed, they could go out into the near wilds together. Sivan had come to love his garden, but it would always be somewhat time compared to even the edges of the wilderness. As he left and locked his door behind him, he realized he would be farther away from IX and Flower than he had been in seasons, and that wasn't necessarily an idea of great moment, but he marked it all the same as he hoofed it through the bulk of the city to emerge on the eastern side where the forests were less likely to be picked over. He had some food and water in his pack, enough to last him into the morrow just in case something happened to him. While not the greatest of survivalists, he could converse with the spirits of nature and they tended to help him avoid sticky situations.
The elf skirted farmland, knowing farmers to be as territorial sometimes as wild beasts, but eventually, farmland gave way to scrubby, rocky grassland, and then the population of trees grew thicker and he had left civilization behind. He knew it wasn't far away, but he couldn't see it, hear it, or smell it, and he felt his shoulders relax some of the tension he hadn't even known was there. His eyes darted hither and thither, the list already committed to memory. He followed a rough path beaten by animals, crossed a stream, and just explored for a while, keeping his bearings by the moss on the trees. They always pointed north for him since he couldn't see the sun through the canopy of the trees.
Eventually, he came upon an idyllic little clearing and decided it was as good a place as any to rest a bit, have a meal, and decide how best to check off as many boxes on the list as possible. With his arse on a rock and his rucksack between his feet, he had a pasty he had bought from a vendor, and a couple of juicy plums, and washed it all down with some water. He made a little pile of the pits and the crumbs of the pasty, trying to make it easier for little rodents or the like to find a windfall of food waiting for them rather than have them scrabbling to find every little bit. Sometimes, things went easy for him; it seemed only right that things should go easy for others from time to time. It all tied into the idea of balance he had tried to tell Urs about.
That done, he tucked his legs up under him and began to meditate. This wasn't the way by which he had come to Kalzasi, and it seemed right to introduce himself to the forest spirits, especially any elder or more powerful ones. It was good to be on their good side; most people didn't realize the subtle power they had over the region. There was certainly luck, but for the Dratori, there was also an alignment and harmony with one's surroundings that could look a great deal like luck.
The living spirits are... different from those you summon from other planes, Exael noted.
Yes. Hush. It wasn't rude, but even if it had been, rudeness slid off Exael like water of a duck's back. Celestial spirits had their decorum, of course, but when Sivan told it to hush, Exael rightly took that as a time to be silent and observe as he did something. There was wisdom in silence, and the spirit of wisdom understood that well.
As he sank deeper into trance, he could more clearly hear the songs of the forest. In this state, he didn't need words to delineate between the soul of the hungry tufted squealmouse eyeing the bounty he had prepared for it from the spirit of squealmice. He and Destyn had tried to put things to Common that he only really understood intuitively. There was the spirit of the tree beside him, and there was the spirit of the entire forest, ancient and sleeping. The stream had a spirit. The stone had a spirit. He introduced himself. He became a part of the song. His mind found a stillness where it could think more like a tree or a mouse or a wilderkin.
Something noticed him. It didn't have a corporeal form, but in his mind, he saw a humanoid shape with antlers impossible for a living deer to wear.
Who?
Sivan, but it was more than a word. He revealed himself.
Ahh. It revealed its name, which Sivan wouldn't be able to repeat with his mouth, but he knew it. They didn't share Names, didn't give up power like that, but a use-name, at least, to know each other by.
They shared some of their stories—Sivan shared his heritage, his travels. He asked permission to harvest necessary things from these woods, and the spirit acquiesced, convinced that the elf was not a destroyer like some of his kind, but gave and took much like any denizen of the forest. It asked if he would take the lone squealmouse home, the one currently gnawing the remaining flesh off of a plum pit. When Sivan had explained his garden, the spirit thought it a fine home for a squealmouse whose colony had otherwise been wiped out. Sivan agreed if the little rodent agreed to go home with him.
He asked if he could take a bundle of long sticks home with him in order to build a trellis upon which tomato vines might thrive. The Horned One agreed, as the forest could spare a bit of what would only become mulch. The spirit shared some of its awareness of the environs, pointing out where Sivan might harvest some of what he needed if he promised not to take too much. Of course, he promised.
It warned him of a cracked open beehive, its colony confused and afraid. Fear could lead to anger and anger to violence if he stumbled upon them unawares. Sivan offered to help them, and was rewarded with a warning.
We ought to avoid it, Exael noted.
For a celestial, that seems awfully selfish.
I would not have bonded with you if you were not good. But one must balance heroism with self-preservation, the better to survive to be heroic again.
I just want to warn it away...
The tufted squealmouse was peering up at him, cleaning its whiskers after the bounty he had provided. Perhaps it sensed the benediction of the Horned One, for when Sivan stretched out a hand, it considered for a moment, then scuttled up onto his palm, cleaned its whiskers a bit longer, and then scampered up his arm to hide in the hood that hung about his shoulders.
"Well, that's decided, then." He tore through the items on his list, now having an innate knack to know where they were. It was just more efficient to be polite to the forest and ask where things were than to go trekking back and forth. Especially after a failed prototype of his magic mirror, it was good to have a win under his belt. Today was going to be a win, he was determined.
When he found the reason for the last warning, he could feel the squealmouse trembling on his shoulder. He was glad that it didn't start shrieking in his ear when he spotted the florist's folly. It didn't have eyes, but he could tell when it noticed him. It froze as if it wasn't sure whether he was prey or predator. Perhaps it too sensed the lingering presence of the Horned One, though he didn't deceive himself in thinking that such would protect him if he fell asleep here and the poisonous vine was hungry. They were always hungry. Nature was hungry and fed upon itself; though Sivan chose not to be prey today, he didn't have to be predator either.
Distance meant less to spirits, and so when he called, it didn't take long for Khal to appear. He spoke to his little fire sprite in the manner that one could speak to a less intelligent elemental, but it brightened when it understood. He fed it little gulps of his aether and with each one, it exploded like a gas pocket catching fire. His little explosions approached the folly, though he never got close enough to even singe it, and he didn't burn through anything but aether so nothing else caught fire. It was enough to warn the carnivorous plant away, however, and they shepherded the thing in the opposite direction of the farms surrounding Kalzasi. It was unlikely the thing would catch anything but livestock, but that could ruin a family's finances even so, and the people would surely rally to destroy the threat.
Even the florist's folly had a right to live, at least in Sivan's estimation, so he sent it in a direction that would be less likely to end in sorrow. Khal pouted when Sivan stopped feeding it fuel for its pyrotechnics, but brightened again when he bid it return home, then disappeared.
When he paused to watch it go, making sure it was continuing in a safe direction, he noticed that an old vine had caught one something and come loose in its passing. It wasn't on the list, but he knew that parts of it were useful. The plant hadn't been flowering from what he saw, so there would be no tea for Destyn to help with his insomnia, and he didn't have a proper setup to harvest the sap or take the entire vine home safely, but he didn't let the thorns go to waste. Crouching down, he cut them off with the knife from Master Jacun's kit and put them in a oiled canvas bag that ought to keep anything dangerous from oozing out. He would add this to his bounteous list and either he could sell it to the healers at the Tranquil Gardens or perhaps there was some alchemical use for it that Master Jacun would know.
Just to be certain, he dug his hands into the sandy bottom of the stream, scouring away whatever might have got on his hand, rinsed, and then went to see about those bees. He heard their song before his ears picked up on the drone, his senses alive to the spirits of the wood. When he saw them, his mouth twitched with sympathy. Their hive was broken upon like a rotten pumpkin upon sharp rocks, all their generations of hard work destroyed in a single, unfortunate drop. He supposed Destyn could have spoken more clearly to them, but Sivan was not fae'ethalan. So instead, he leaned against a tree and let his mind settle into a light trance.
Delighted, he found that the hive itself had a spirit that survived the physical structure. It wasn't the mote of a ghost of each and every bee, but it was also that. It was a spirit built on all those lives and all those lives that came before it. He could hear its song, sung for years, changing key as the swarm migrated when the time came. The time had come again. He sang to the spirit, a part of which was ancient and beyond the quick emotions of the hive in the moment. It knew there was work to be done, and Sivan offered it help. A sanctuary where the trees were fewer, but islands of green would need their attention, offering up their nectar to the hardworking bees.
An accord was made and he separated himself from the song and came back to himself.
This time he called to Nut, his air sprite. It appeared in due course and he explained to it in the manner of elementals what he wanted it to do. Nut ruffled his hair, earning a startled squeak from the mouse, and then went to dance among the confused bees. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed as though the drone was more determined now. He opened a pathway between himself and Nut, feeding her a steady trickle of aether that she transmuted into something the bees could sense and then let it go.
The queen, roused by the spirit of the hive, hovered within the area Nut danced, then followed as Nut rose and rose and rose. The swarm followed. Sivan stuck his finger in the honeycomb and offered some to his little squealmouse friend, then stuck another finger in to taste it himself. He smiled, thinking this could be a good addition to his garden.
He gathered likely sticks as he walked back toward the city, bundling them under his arm. But he tried to make good time as Nut was leading the hive high enough to avoid people, and lead them back to the garden. When he arrived, he was quick to get out to the back where his protected little greenspace waited. The bundle of sticks, he set aside for later. Thinking the swarm would need a little bit of structure to build their home, his eyes alighted upon a broken amphora the previous residents had left that he thought might come in handy one day. Today was that day.
It took some doing, but he managed to climb up into the Living Grave's branches. It wasn't a huge tree, but he climbed beyond the crotch of the first branching so if Destyn wanted to dangle his legs from the branches, he needn't disturb the nest. He positioned the pottery in another stable crotch where branches widened. It would be stable enough that only the most violent of storms might threaten their home, high enough that they could easily fly over the roof and be on a level with their nest, and he thought of a few more things to make them feel more at home.
He put a hunk of honeycomb near the amphora, food to fuel their labors until they were producing new honey on their own. Then he called Geb and persuaded the little earth sprite to melt the clay where it touched the branches and then harden again, attaching it more firmly there without harming the tree that housed a dormant fae'ethalan. He called Khal up to warm up the clay pottery and asked him to keep it warm day and night for the time being. Then he climbed back down to the first branching and made himself comfortable in time for Nut to lead the swarm there.
They were diminished as he knew they would be. The spirit of the hive had sung to him of necessary sacrifice. But they would survive. He would help.
His eyelids drooped as he sang into a trance deep enough to welcome the spirit of the hive. He sang, too, softly, low in the back of his throat, the elven version of a swarm's drone. He watched as they feasted on the fruit of their own labors that he had carried along with him to this new place, watched them explore the warm, hollow expanse of the amphora that was broken on both ends. The industrious creatures began their work.
It was strange. The queen regarded him, confused. The spirit of the swarm told her that he was one of them, but he was not subject to her will, nor was she used to any member of the swarm being outside the purview of her will. Nonplussed, she waited while the great work began. He had led them to a new site to build their nest and for that she was grateful. Her voice was distinct from the workers and the drones, but hardly louder.
It had been a good day.
