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Chapter 27
Part 1
Fenerra sat in her throne, idly eating grapes while being massaged by her attendants. She was still in her morning robes, barely awake and struggling to find the motivation to get on with her day. War planning and organising The Forgotten had led to dull, early morning meetings and death by committee. In thirty minutes, she was due to meet with her head of Intelligence, Dezan’s friend and favoured member of The Forgotten. She was a boring, tedious person, and Fenerra dreaded seeing her.
Her throne, in the upper chambers of the Great Tree, was bathed in the early morning sun, through carved windows high on the sides of the hollowed-out trunk. The unusual blue light of the chambers braziers was absent: Fenerra kept them lit when guests were due, she liked the ambience. Fear, unsettling, the unnatural. She enjoyed stoking these emotions in her visitors, it helped maintain her air of mysteriousness and afforded her power in negotiations. Another twenty minutes in the natural light of the sun before settling into her macabre, deathly atmosphere. Hopefully it would help wake her up.
Suddenly, the floor shook, and white light poured into the hollow. Fenerra was blinded briefly; the light’s intensity was painful, but thankfully only lasted a moment.
“What was that?” Fenerra looked at her attendants, raising an eyebrow to each of them. “You there, fetch Dezan from his roost.” She gestured at a slight elf in drab robes that had been scrubbing the chamber floors before the interruption.
The elf nodded and escaped out of the large throne room doors. A short while later, they returned with Dezan.
“Dezan, what was that light?” Fenerra asked.
“Milady, it came from the east coast. It appears some kind of magic disintegrated a large swathe of land.” Dezan bowed quickly to Fenerra, walking closer to her throne.
Fenerra shooed away her attendants, and despite desperately wanting to linger, they dispersed, leaving the pair alone. The door to the throne room remained open about an inch; Fenerra allowed them to continue eavesdropping, as it was clear this information would be the talk of the town no matter what she did. “Where exactly on the east coast?”
“It seems the epicentre was Aberhaf, milady. The destruction spans out, at an early estimate, around a ten-mile radius.”
“By the El’dorei.” Fenerra sat in silence for a moment, staring at Dezan. “Ten miles from Aberhaf… Did the explosion reach Fendrick’s mission site?!”
“We’re not sure, milady, but –”
“Well find out! Ascertaining that information is a priority!” Fenerra shouted at Dezan, and her sharp nails dug into the arm rests of her throne as her grip intensified. She could feel that unsightly vein bulging at the side of her head.
“Of course, milady. I’ll see to it immediately.” Dezan bowed deeply to his queen and backed away towards the door. As he approached, the door closed shut, the attendants scattering away to avoid being caught eavesdropping. By the time Dezan emerged from the throne room, they had completely vanished.
Fenerra felt her heart beat hard in her chest. The worry was overwhelming.
The door creaked back open, and one of her attendants poked her head into the room. “Milady?”
“Please, leave me. See to your own business today, all of you.”
“Thank you, milady. I hope Fendrick is OK too.” The elf smiled at Fenerra before disappearing back behind the door.
Fenerra shook her head in disbelief. What in the world could have caused such devastation? She stood from her throne and stumbled around its side. Making her way gingerly to a side door at the edge of the raised platform the throne was sat upon, she muttered misgivings under her breath.
She threw the door open with flick of her wrist, her magic nearly blowing the door off its hinges. She trudged through, up a spiralling staircase that led higher into the hollow. At the top of the stairs stood a simple door, closed with a simple lock. Pulling at the air, Fenerra materialised a black ornate key, its design impossible and twisting. Despite fitting into the lock, the key did not look at all like it would be capable of unlocking anything so plain and ordinary. Nevertheless, with a fizz of energy, the door opened up into a dark, harrowing space.
The wood floor was gnarled: growing and winding toward the centre of the room. Closing the door behind her, Fenerra locked it once more with a turn of the unusual key, and disappeared the key up her sleeve. She looked towards the room’s centre. The wood, like roots or veins, lead towards the focal point of the circular chamber. Locked in a prison of vines and branches, the beating heart of the Great Tree creaked slowly and quietly.
Fenerra stepped towards it, navigating the roots expertly despite wearing her favourite morning heels. She placed her hand on the heart’s cover, and with a deep breath, plunged her hand into its centre.
Fenerra. What brings you here?
Great Freya, I bring grave tidings. Your sibling, Thron, may have been lost in some… accident. You have my deepest apologies.
Do not worry, my child. Thron yet lives. And in a form truly befitting a Warren once more. I feel their presence, their warmth, walking Eden again. That light earlier. That was their doing.
Your sibling did that? I have reports that the scale of the destruction was monumental. Spanning a ten-mile radius.
Now you see the true power of a Warren.
Incredible. Fenerra felt an overwhelming sense of awe, a feeling she hadn’t felt since first awakening Freya and causing the Great Fallout.
It will be important to parley with them, at our earliest opportunity. Oh, how I would love to speak with them again.
Of course, I will determine their whereabouts immediately.
Thank you, my lamb. With Thron at our side, closing the other Well will be a simple task. I am sure they will be amenable to such a goal.
I will return when I have more news. Thank you, your grace.
Be safe, Fenerra.
With this, Fenerra knew that her machinations had just taken one huge leap towards her final objective. Pulling her hand from Freya’s heart, she placed it on her own chest. After so many years. To think I would be so close to the completion of my life’s work. She sat and enjoyed the almost melodic beating of Freya’s heart for a moment, before standing with renewed vigour. She made her way back to the throne room, her mind abuzz at the thought of meeting a Warren in the flesh.
Miles away from the impact of their spell, Thron finally landed, crashing down through the canopy of a nearby forest. They’d managed to heal the worst of the damage but the fatigue from battle finally won. Covering their head, and wrapping their wings around their body, they tumbled through layers of thick, leaf-covered branches, disrupting the well-hidden assortment of birds and small mammals, before landing on the dewy, moist undergrowth.
Thron pulled themselves under one of the trees, finding a sheltered spot amongst the deep-set roots. They winced as they placed their hand to the wound on their abdomen. The outer layer of skin had been healed shoddily, and it was clear the internal damage persisted, and with what little magical energy they had remaining it was clear they would have to struggle through for now.
They looked down at themselves, finally stopping to take in the return of their lost body. It was still covered in the blood of the trolls from Aberhaf, besides the few portions of the skin that had sustained damage from Ifan’s magic. Thron was littered with darkened patches of skin that were sore to the touch, the pain radiating all over their body as they laid against the tree’s hard trunk. Flashbacks to the chains and binding magics that trapped Thron all those years ago plagued their mind. They rubbed their wrists and neck, and there was no sign of the scarring and burns that marked their old body. Thron wondered whether the blank slate they had recovered truly suited them, absent of the trauma that they were now fighting to rectify.
It was a blank slate, for all of about twelve hours, they reminded themselves. These new scars would remind them that their enemies had grown. Their own siblings now stood against them, protecting the humans they had so lovingly fostered.
Mustering up the last of their energy, they placed their hand back on their stomach, and poured healing magic into the wound. It felt like the air was draining from their lungs, and their muscles screamed in agony. After a few seconds, black spots began emerging in Thron’s vision. Finally giving in, their hand slipped from their stomach, and their mind blanked.
Thron awoke hours later, in the midst of the setting sun. All over their body, small forest sprites clambered around: some curled up like lounging cats and others fought for space. Thron was bemused. They’d never seen such creatures, and the sprites’ innocence shone through their childlike actions. Scooping one in their hand, Thron investigated it more closely.
It was tired, barely reacting to being relocated, and draped in small leaves. Holding it in their hand, Thron realised that the sprite was mostly manifested magic, clinging to the weak wills of the trees and shrubs of the surrounding forest. New life, borne by Eden’s energy. Closing their eyes, Thron let the cries of the forest soak into their mind, the forest sprites acting like magnifiers to the pain of the wood.
Help us!
What caused our brothers and sisters such pain?
Please, the magic is so weak now, somebody do something!
Does anybody know where my child is? I haven’t heard her in weeks.
For what reason must we suffer so?
By the Gods, please, someone, anyone, re-open the Well!
Thron felt disgust course through their chest, seeping through their body like hot treacle. Collapsing their hand into a fist, they crushed the sleeping forest sprite, releasing the magic that manifested it.
“I hear your cries! I will end your suffering!” Thron pushed themselves out of their hovel, and the remaining forest sprites tumbled to the floor. Minute cries were stifled as they disappeared into the leafy undergrowth, and Thron’s magic began to course around them.
With a burst of energy, swelling like a ring from their body, Thron levelled the forest, reducing it to a wasteland. In that instant, the cries of the forest ceased, and Thron was enveloped in a comforting silence. “I will return your life to you, Eden. I will right my wrongs and put an end to this farce.”
[Image Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/oak-tree-branches-holm-oak-leaves-6915610/