He turned away from her, looking out at the vast expanse of ocean, the teeming waves crashing down below. The wind whipped the fringe of his robe, gliding through his long, dark hair. She saw the double swords strapped to him, realizing that he had many skills and played many roles.
The Seneschal turned back to her. “A Dryad protects knowledge, Phae. She helps prevent the Decay from destroying knowledge from the mortal world. She is bound to a tree for a period of service. It means she coexists between Mirrowen and the mortal realm. When your service is complete, you will be allowed to dwell in either world or in a new world entirely. The family and friends you know now will not be there when your service is complete. Not many mortals earn the right to be part of us. Most are distracted by ducats and how to acquire them. When your time is growing near, you will need to choose a husband in order to bear a daughter who can replace you. You will teach her of Mirrowen and her responsibilities. When she is nearly sixteen, you will bring her to me in Mirrowen, where I will bind her with the Voided Keys to your tree. That will free you from service.”
“I understand,” Phae answered. She exhaled deeply. “Unfortunately, the Dryad tree I seek is in the midst of the Scourgelands. Not many mortals will be able to seek it.”
The Seneschal smiled. “It has always been thus, because that tree guards the portal to Mirrowen. A Dryad can visit here through a tree. If a mortal seeks to become an Unwearying One, he or she must pass through the portal. The last man to have done so made the journey very long ago. His name is not Shion. He was known by another name then.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Do you accept the duty of your race, Phae? Will you accept a new name with these powers I unlock inside of you? Will you serve the mortal world and help those living there to remember Mirrowen and seek to attain it?”
“Yes,” Phae answered, bowing her head.
The Seneschal gripped one of the Voided Keys in his left hand. He put his right hand on her shoulder, bent down, and kissed the top of her head.
“My name is Melchisedeq. I give you your Dryad name—Arsinowe. I bind you to your tree by the Voided Keys.”
A feeling of warmth and strength began to suffuse across Phae, from the crown of her head, spreading down to the nape of her neck, all the way down to the soles of her feet. She shuddered, feeling her mind opening, blooming, her memory quickening. The seed of power inside of her, the part of her that was truly Dryad-born, expanded, filling her with compassion and empathy.
She looked up, tears streaking down her cheeks, and saw the Seneschal smiling at her with tears in his own eyes.
In the stillness, amidst the caress of the wind, she heard his thoughts as if spoken audibly. The voice was the sound of rushing waters. It went deep into her marrow, and she was fairly certain that every being in Mirrowen could hear the thought as well as she—that distance meant nothing. It jolted her with its simplicity, yet also with its penetrating quality.
Neodesha—come
“The Arch-Rike’s temple is under heavy guard. Any attempts to breach its walls are repulsed with devastating magic. The Rikes hold power there, and some of the citizenry were turned away when seeking shelter. There are Bhikhu there as well, but mostly Kishion guard the walls. The Empress is agitated, worried about the lives of the populace. If the Plague strikes now, the situation will become desperate. She has suggested we anchor the fleet away from the piers. But will doing so cause a riot? I wish I had the wisdom to foresee what would happen.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXXVII
There you are,” Neodesha said, peering over Phae’s shoulder into the polished silver mirror. “Goodness, Phae, but you are beautiful.”
Phae saw the reflection of herself and was hardly able to recognize the image. Her hair was still damp but the tangles were brushed free. The dirt and grime of the Scourgelands had been scrubbed away. Her torn and filthy clothes were gone, replaced by a beautiful wool gown made in the style of Stonehollow. It was a deep amber color with blue-and-gold stitching along the sleeves, cuff, and hem.
“I don’t think I’ve ever worn a gown before,” Phae said, stroking the fabric along her arm and feeling its comfort and softness. “They’re not very practical on a homestead.” The robe had a wide fabric girdle and she had put the Tay al-Ard into one of its folds.
“Remember what I taught you,” Neodesha said. “This is no ordinary garment. It adapts to your needs and to your location. Think about the vineyard, Phae. Hold the thought firmly in your mind, and then think the word of power.”
The Seneschal turned back to her. “A Dryad protects knowledge, Phae. She helps prevent the Decay from destroying knowledge from the mortal world. She is bound to a tree for a period of service. It means she coexists between Mirrowen and the mortal realm. When your service is complete, you will be allowed to dwell in either world or in a new world entirely. The family and friends you know now will not be there when your service is complete. Not many mortals earn the right to be part of us. Most are distracted by ducats and how to acquire them. When your time is growing near, you will need to choose a husband in order to bear a daughter who can replace you. You will teach her of Mirrowen and her responsibilities. When she is nearly sixteen, you will bring her to me in Mirrowen, where I will bind her with the Voided Keys to your tree. That will free you from service.”
“I understand,” Phae answered. She exhaled deeply. “Unfortunately, the Dryad tree I seek is in the midst of the Scourgelands. Not many mortals will be able to seek it.”
The Seneschal smiled. “It has always been thus, because that tree guards the portal to Mirrowen. A Dryad can visit here through a tree. If a mortal seeks to become an Unwearying One, he or she must pass through the portal. The last man to have done so made the journey very long ago. His name is not Shion. He was known by another name then.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Do you accept the duty of your race, Phae? Will you accept a new name with these powers I unlock inside of you? Will you serve the mortal world and help those living there to remember Mirrowen and seek to attain it?”
“Yes,” Phae answered, bowing her head.
The Seneschal gripped one of the Voided Keys in his left hand. He put his right hand on her shoulder, bent down, and kissed the top of her head.
“My name is Melchisedeq. I give you your Dryad name—Arsinowe. I bind you to your tree by the Voided Keys.”
A feeling of warmth and strength began to suffuse across Phae, from the crown of her head, spreading down to the nape of her neck, all the way down to the soles of her feet. She shuddered, feeling her mind opening, blooming, her memory quickening. The seed of power inside of her, the part of her that was truly Dryad-born, expanded, filling her with compassion and empathy.
She looked up, tears streaking down her cheeks, and saw the Seneschal smiling at her with tears in his own eyes.
In the stillness, amidst the caress of the wind, she heard his thoughts as if spoken audibly. The voice was the sound of rushing waters. It went deep into her marrow, and she was fairly certain that every being in Mirrowen could hear the thought as well as she—that distance meant nothing. It jolted her with its simplicity, yet also with its penetrating quality.
Neodesha—come
“The Arch-Rike’s temple is under heavy guard. Any attempts to breach its walls are repulsed with devastating magic. The Rikes hold power there, and some of the citizenry were turned away when seeking shelter. There are Bhikhu there as well, but mostly Kishion guard the walls. The Empress is agitated, worried about the lives of the populace. If the Plague strikes now, the situation will become desperate. She has suggested we anchor the fleet away from the piers. But will doing so cause a riot? I wish I had the wisdom to foresee what would happen.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXXVII
There you are,” Neodesha said, peering over Phae’s shoulder into the polished silver mirror. “Goodness, Phae, but you are beautiful.”
Phae saw the reflection of herself and was hardly able to recognize the image. Her hair was still damp but the tangles were brushed free. The dirt and grime of the Scourgelands had been scrubbed away. Her torn and filthy clothes were gone, replaced by a beautiful wool gown made in the style of Stonehollow. It was a deep amber color with blue-and-gold stitching along the sleeves, cuff, and hem.
“I don’t think I’ve ever worn a gown before,” Phae said, stroking the fabric along her arm and feeling its comfort and softness. “They’re not very practical on a homestead.” The robe had a wide fabric girdle and she had put the Tay al-Ard into one of its folds.
“Remember what I taught you,” Neodesha said. “This is no ordinary garment. It adapts to your needs and to your location. Think about the vineyard, Phae. Hold the thought firmly in your mind, and then think the word of power.”
