Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

“No, nothing.” Brice held up his hand, his index finger and thumb spread about an inch apart. “Wagons and carts leave deep marks when they move through dirt. Especially under these circumstances, I would have seen something.”

Laedron spun and scanned the trees. “Keep looking. There must be something we’re missing. Spread out.”

Brice and Marac tied the horses to some low limbs, then searched the ground for more tracks. Valyrie checked the brush and shrubs, and Laedron, without much to go on, followed the bases of the trees to see if anything had fallen around the exposed roots.

Laedron pointed at the bark when he spotted something odd. “Look at this. Over here!”

Valyrie got to him first. “Found something?”

“Carvings.” Laedron ran his finger along the grooves cut into the tree. “Shapes of some kind.” His jaw dropped, and he leaned toward the cuts. “Writing. It’s writing!”

“Writing? Not like any I’ve seen. Can you read it?” Brice asked.

“I think so.” Concentrating, Laedron studied the writing, then shook his head violently. “It can’t be. No, it can’t-” He stepped back.

“What is it?” Valyrie took him by the arm, halting his retreat. “What, Lae?”

“Zyvdredi writing…” He turned away, rubbing his hands together. “Here? Zyvdredi… she said this was an Uxidin city. Did she lie? She seemed sincere. How can it be?”

“Lae?”

“To find Zyvdredi here? In the middle of Lasoron? They shouldn’t be here. They can’t be here-”

“Lae?”

“Could they be new markings? Something recent? Perhaps they’re not as old as this place. Wanderers who came upon this broken city-”

“Lae!”

He turned to her. “Sorry. You were saying?”

Sighing, she asked, “What does it say?”

“If those ruins are what’s left of a temple, the writing seems to discuss it. It’s some kind of blessing or a prayer.”

“Written in Zyvdredi?” Brice inspected the symbols, but his grimace told of his confusion. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Laedron nibbled at his fingernails, searching the horizon for answers and not finding any. “We had better-”

The movement of shadows in the nearby brush gave him pause. No shaking of the earth. That crystal thing? Here? No, we would’ve heard it. A thing that large can’t move with stealth. Could there be a Zyvdredi master watching us, waiting for the opportune moment to strike?

Valyrie’s face contorted with worry. “Lae? Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes. I thought I saw something there. I guess my mind’s playing tricks on me.”

“Where to from here?” Marac asked. “Are there any directions written there? A set of instructions?”

“No, nothing.” Laedron, though his hand trembled, traced the words with his finger. “It reminds me of something I saw in the city of Azura.”

“How so?”

“Remember how every building, every storefront, and every home in Azura had inscriptions of saints? Azuran stars? Inside most of the buildings and above the main entrance, they had carved verses from the Azuran scriptures. Prayers for protection, blessings on those who entered, and so on.”

Brice crouched and poked at the bark. “Does the shape have any meaning?”

“Shape? What shape?”

“The words have been carved in a big arch,” Brice said, using a finger to follow the inscription to the base of the tree. “See here? It starts near the roots.”

Laedron started at one end and followed the carvings all the way to the finish, but the text-even in its entirety-told him nothing more. Scratching his chin, he pondered the writing. This must be the key, but what does it mean? Why, of all the trees in the forest, would they put writing on this one? A marker of some kind? But what were they marking?

“Perhaps it’s a dead end.” Leaning on his shoulder against the tree, Marac lowered his chin and sighed. “Maybe we don’t have enough to unlock its secret.”

Unlock its secret. Laedron took a few steps back to observe the arch in its entirety. “It can’t be. Can it?”

“Can’t be what?” Valyrie asked, obviously eager to hear any possible solutions.

“A door? An entry of some kind?”

Brice picked at the bark near the writing. “No seams. If it’s a door, I can see no way of opening it.”

“If it was made by the Zyvdredi, it wouldn’t have a handle or locks in the same way with which we’re accustomed. Stand back.” Laedron produced his scepter.

Marac put his hand on Laedron’s shoulder. “What are you going to do? Blast your way through?”

“No, I intend to walk in.” Speaking his incantation and waving the rod, Laedron watched his body become transparent, starting with his hands and enveloping his whole body after a while. Then, he walked into the side of the tree.

At first, he couldn’t see anything through the dense wood fibers, but once he had passed the bark and wood, he found himself in a hollow within the tree. The area was about fifty feet in diameter, and wooden steps, which seemed to have grown inside the tree that way, led down. He stepped backward, then released the spell when he was completely out.

“There’s a space inside. And a staircase. Come close, and I’ll cast the spell on each of you so you can enter.” Noticing a tremor in the ground, Laedron gasped. “Quickly. That monster approaches!”

“What about the horses?” Brice held onto the reins and petted the gelding, trying to calm its nerves.

“They can fit, too. Come on!”

Laedron held his index finger to his lips and made sure each of his friends saw the gesture. The vibration had grown stronger. He could feel the tree tremble beneath his feet, and the shaking caused loose sap to drip onto them. Suddenly, the quaking stopped, as if the beast had passed. A cloud of dust hung in the air, and he likened the smell to the fertile soil his mother used to plant her garden each year. The hollow was dark, but whoever had created the space must have put holes into the tree somewhere above because a faint ray of sunshine came through, allowing just enough light to see. What purpose do the holes serve? To brighten the place or to tell at a glance if it’s day or night?

“This place gets stranger by the minute,” Marac said, trying to pick the sap from his hair. “Ruins of an ancient people, a beast made entirely of crystal, and now, we’re standing inside a living tree.”

“All of those things are certainly true.” Holding out the scepter, Laedron conjured a light spell, then started down the stairs. “Keep on your toes. No way of knowing what lies in wait beneath the earth.”

“And the horses?”

“We’re forced to leave them here for now. Put out some food.”

A few steps into the descent, Laedron heard the scraping of stone underfoot. He stepped down twice more, then crouched and held the scepter close to the stairs.

“What are you doing, Lae?” Marac scooted backward and put his hand on the earthen wall to keep his balance.

“Fascinating. The stairs seamlessly change from wood to stone here.” It reminded him of Pilgrim’s Rest, where the buildings had been carved into the faces of the cliffs, and the woodwork had been precisely fitted to the stone.

“Shouldn’t we focus on the task at hand? I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to admire the architecture later.”

“Powerful magic, Marac. A sign that we should not be careless here.”

“Magic? I’m not easily convinced. A master craftsman could do the same without spells.”

“We cannot assume such, for if we accept that this is the work of regular men, we would preclude the influence of the more dangerous possibility: mages. I would rather overestimate than underestimate what lies below.” He reached down and felt something wet on his fingertips. Bringing his hand up to his face, he squinted at the substance. “Blood. Small droplets.”