The Hollow Oak

  “I am not sure how long I can endure this post. The humans spoil Faune’s creations without thought. Trees they hew, deaf to the spirit that animates them. Flowers they pluck, only to adorn their homes, their hair, their altars. Land they buy and sell as if it bore no purpose. Do they not understand? Are they truly this blind to the wonder of Faune’s hand?”

  — journal entry of an honored Swiftfalcon, fallen in service of the Empire and its allies, Collected History of the Sixth Dark War

  The following morning, Aehyl and Portean awoke to the howling of the wind.

  Branches crashed and boughs groaned ominously in the canopy overhead. Leaves and debris swept past them in frenzied flurries. The forest’s creatures remained hidden, wise enough not to stir on a day like this.

  Under better circumstances, Aehyl would have preferred to delay their investigation until the weather cleared. But they were already behind schedule. As things stood, they had little choice but to press on.

  Still, the morning held a few small mercies.

  Portean had found a vast patch of wild strawberries, which they used to brighten up their usual dry biscuits. Even better, nestled beside the strawberry patch was a swathe of raspberry bushes, thorny, but full of ripe fruit. While other, less flavorful berries were common in the Crystal-Mist, raspberries were a rarer prize. It was pure luck that Portean had stumbled upon the bramble.

  The ranger had grumbled about the extra hour it cost them, alternating between cursing the thorns and praising the berries, but he’d bled for the bounty all the same. Despite the scratches, he managed to gather enough for several meals, provided they rationed them carefully. Bears and other forest beasts might fight tooth and claw for such a find. Portean had merely fought thorns.

  With their meal finished and tea drunk, the elves broke camp in haste.

  They set a brisk pace through the forest. The towering Crystal-Mist Oaks grew even more massive as they drew closer to the Great Oak.

  By noon, the wind had finally calmed. They were now only a few hours’ hike from their destination.

  “These trees are kin to the ancient groves of Vistadora,” Portean remarked thoughtfully as they made their way around a broad washout near the top of a moss-covered gorge.

  As they rounded the bend, Aehyl’s breath caught in her throat.

  The loamy scent of churning water and ancient stone greeted them first. Ahead, forty feet above, a wide river surged over the cliff’s edge, crashing into the gorge below in a mighty cascade that roared like thunder. The water had carved deeply into the earth, wearing away at the bones of the land for uncounted millennia.

  The river ran for nearly three hundred yards before spilling into a broad, level basin nestled between jagged outcroppings of stone. There, where the waters calmed, it became a murky, still pond—dark as ink—fringed by massive Crystal-Mist Oaks. Great roots clung to the rocky walls, curling downward before plunging into what little black earth they could find.

  Long ago, the river had carved the gorge and hollowed the basin, but its power had since waned. Even diminished, the sight was breathtaking.

  Could any artist envision such beauty? Could a sculptor or potter hope to capture it?

  Impossible.

  The river was one of the five branches of the mighty Silverfinn.

  All five branches stemmed from the pristine waters of Lake Silverfinn, a vast basin nestled at the heart of the Crystal-Mist Forest. That lake sustained the entire woodland, feeding it with lifegiving currents.

  It was because of Lake Silverfinn that the Crystal-Mist teemed with such rich diversity. Flora and fauna of all kinds thrived here, many found nowhere else in the world. Though the river’s flow had waned over time, its significance had not.

  These deep recesses of the forest still drank from its crisp, nourishing waters.

  As the elves turned to continue, Aehyl suddenly stopped, then stepped back toward the still, black pool. Her breath hitched. She stared at the surface, transfixed, as though remembering something impossible.

  Seeing her change in posture, Portean halted as well. He said nothing.

  Instead, the ranger turned toward the water and studied its quiet reflection with sharpened attention. He did not ask what she saw, only watched in silence, letting the moment unfold.

  Suddenly, she was moving, scrambling over rocks, bounding across moss-laden roots.

  “Aehyl!” Portean shouted, but if she heard, she gave no sign. The river’s roar swallowed his voice, and with rising alarm, he raced after her.

  She stopped only when she stood a mere twenty paces from the water’s edge.

  Portean caught up just in time to seize her wrist, halting her advance. “Aehyl—”

  “I saw him,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes were wide, brows drawn tight in disbelief.

  She pointed toward the center of the dark pool. “He was there. My… my father. He appeared, and then he was gone. He didn’t even leave a ripple.”

  Portean’s voice softened. “The most ancient parts of this forest are full of surprises, Aehyl,” he said cautiously, quietly.

  Without letting go of her hand, he began to guide her backward, step by careful step, away from the still black water.

  As they retreated, the fog clouding Aehyl’s thoughts began to lift. With a few steady breaths, her mind cleared. She blinked, disoriented, as if waking from a dream.

  Silently, Portean raised a finger to his lips, motioning for Aehyl to stay quiet. Then, scanning the ground, he picked up a suitable fallen branch and lobbed it high into the air.

  The limb spun awkwardly, clearing the overhanging branches before landing with a splash at the edge of the dark water.

  Almost instantly, the surface erupted.

  A hairless mass of claws and fangs surged from the placid pool, seizing the branch in a steely grip and yanking it beneath the surface in a violent thrash.

  Silence returned just as quickly, save for the steady roar of the river behind them.

  Then, without warning, the water churned again. With a guttural, dissatisfied howl, a monstrous troll broke the surface. It flung the branch in the opposite direction from where the elves stood. The wood landed with a resounding thud.

  The creature's grotesque, fanged head lingered above the water for a few seconds longer, bleating its frustration. Then, it vanished into the depths once more, leaving behind only ripples and a line of rapidly rising bubbles.

  Shuddering, Aehyl nodded as Portean guided them away. They didn’t speak of what had happened until the dark pond was well behind them.

  “What was that?” Aehyl asked at last, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes were wide, haunted. She couldn’t stop replaying the moment the creature had seized the branch, how effortlessly it had vanished beneath the surface.

  By Faune, she thought, that could’ve been me. Bile rose in her throat. Nothing at the pool’s edge would stand a chance against something like that.

  “A water troll,” Portean said grimly, his eyes scanning the trees. “Though they’re not true trolls. Not intelligent enough to be part of the kin.”

  He snorted, the sound low and bitter. “I haven’t seen one in these woods for years. The Crystal-Mist must be growing dark indeed, if it harbors such filth again.”

  His tone was taut with anger. One hand gripped the hilt of his sword and didn’t let go.

  “I don’t understand. How did it appear as my father?” Aehyl asked shakily. “It has been years since his passing. How could it possibly know enough to appear as him.” Anger was replacing shock, anger at being baited with such painful memories.

  “It’s said they can read surface thoughts,” Portean murmured. “Maybe it scanned your memories, just enough to draw you in with his image.” He shrugged, clearly unsettled. “They’re not intelligent enough to truly probe the mind. Still, we’ll need to tread carefully. Water trolls rarely stray far from their pools, but its nearness to the Great Tree…” He trailed off. “It bodes ill. There’s no telling what else stirs in this part of the wood.”

  Aehyl shivered and let the matter drop. Silently, she followed the ranger through the deepening forest.

  They traced the sharp ravine carved by the river, heading east for a time until they reached a fallen oak that spanned the yawning chasm. Nimbly crossing the massive trunk, they continued northeast, keeping to the ravine’s far side. The hike was demanding, but the weather held calm, and they made good time.

  At last, cresting a broad rise, the forest parted before them, revealing a vast, breathtaking vale.

  It was several times the size of the basin they had seen earlier. Nestled within, a sprawling grove of ancient Crystal-Mist Oaks encircled one impossibly massive tree, far larger than even the famed Tower Tree of Vistadora.

  The Great Oak loomed over the grove, rising more than six hundred and fifty feet into the sky. Its gnarled trunk, nearly seventy feet in diameter, dwarfed the surrounding trees. Where it met the earth, a web of immense, sloped ridges radiated outward, its twisted roots gripping the land in every direction. Knotted boughs twisted skyward, cloaked in an uncountable number of lobed leaves, each whispering in the breeze like a thousand hushed voices.

  The air was thick with humidity, rich with the scent of sap and earth, laced with a thousand other fragrances, heady, pleasant, almost intoxicating. And yet, beneath it all lingered the sour undertone of rot and decay, too heavy to ignore.

  Around the Great Oak, and throughout the entire Crystal-Mist thicket, titansnoose vines coiled like ancient serpents, crawling wildly through the branches. Thick patches of ivy wove themselves into the trees, joined by creeping phlox and wiry strands of liana that clung tightly to bark and stone alike.

  The basin’s groundcover was dominated by scrub oaks and white-flowered dogwoods. Clusters of bushy holly thrived in profusion, their crimson berries stark against the deep green of their leaves.

  Though several Avonmora ecowardens were tasked with protecting and observing the grove, neither Aehyl nor Portean saw any sign of them now.

  They wasted no time approaching the Great Oak. Yet as they drew nearer, an unsettling energy emanated from the tree, immense, yes, but somehow... wrong.

  It wasn’t the kind of presence Aehyl had expected. Not serene, not sacred. Not the kind of aura that made one kneel in reverence or breathe in peace. No, this was different, urgent, strained, even desperate.

  Beside her, Portean felt it too. Without a word, he unsheathed his twin blades, gripping them tightly, knuckles white as they advanced.

  “Where are the Great Oak’s ecowardens?” the ranger muttered grimly.

  Aehyl motioned for Portean to follow as she crept toward the ancient tree’s massive root base.

  The ground grew softer with each step. To Aehyl’s horror, even her light footfalls left deep impressions in the earth, each one rimmed with a foul, white substance that oozed up like pus.

  The stench of decay clung to the air, thick and cloying.

  Portean’s brows furrowed, his expression darkening with a mix of disgust and anger. He raised one of his blades and pointed toward the tree’s enormous trunk.

  Following his line of sight, Aehyl’s stomach twisted. The Great Oak’s gnarled, meter-thick bark was crawling with a vast colony of over-sized boring beetles, their slick black bodies skittering up and down the length of the ancient tree.

  And then she heard it.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Faint at first—barely distinguishable beneath the hum of insects and distant wind, but unmistakable. A steady clicking. Subtle, rhythmic. It echoed from within the tree itself, like the slow gnawing of countless tiny jaws.

  Skittering sounds whispered through the wood, as though something inside was alive and movin, burrowing deeper, devouring from within.

  The ancient oak was not merely infested. It was being hollowed out.

  Surveying the surrounding woods, Aehyl saw no signs of infestation among the Great Oak’s progeny. That realization sent a chill down her spine.

  It was being targeted.

  No natural insect would infest only a single tree, especially not in a grove of this magnitude. Of that, she was certain.

  She prayed she had not come too late.

  There was no time to waste. The Circle of Elders would need to be warned, but a simple glance at the Great Oak and its surroundings would never suffice. They would demand proof, clarity, detail.

  Ignoring Portean’s sharp hiss of warning, Aehyl stepped closer and pressed her palm to the infected bark.

  Instantly, hot anger surged through her.

  The Great Oak’s energy didn’t flow, it thrashed. It seethed with pain and howled in fury beneath her touch. The tree’s soul was in torment.

  Reacting instinctively, Aehyl poured her power into it, casting a basic mending charm in an effort to ease the wound. Her magic surged, seeking to burn away the beetles and their vile secretions.

  But the swarm responded with violence.

  Before she could pull away, a pulse of psychic force struck her, a mental backlash so potent she staggered. In that moment of contact, a voice—not her own—rose within her mind. Grating and ancient.

  A warning. Desperate. Dire.

  She couldn’t make out the exact words, but she knew the Mother Tree had spoken.

  Face tight with strain, Aehyl wrenched herself from the ancient tree’s essence and stumbled back, gasping.

  Above her, dark-glinting beetles, fist-sized and countless, crawled and gathered on the bark like a rising tide.

  She backed away, heart pounding, feeling the weight of a thousand watching eyes. The air filled with the soft clatter of mandibles, clicking, clacking, whispering among themselves.

  The dread was overwhelming.

  “We need to leave,” Portean whispered from behind her, voice low and tense.

  But Aehyl was already moving.

  With a sickening buzz, thousands of black wings burst from beneath the beetles’ shells and surged forward like a living storm.

  Aehyl and Portean bolted, two frightened hares fleeing a predator. They knew they couldn’t outrun the swarm, but fear drove them harder than reason ever could.

  The droning grew deafening. Thousands of gossamer wings beat the air, weaving a shrieking symphony of pursuit. Panic surged.

  Aehyl stumbled, tripping on a mound hidden in the tall grass. Her senses barely registered the stench of decay rising around her.

  The fall should have ended it, should have given the swarm the moment it needed, but Portean was faster. His hand shot out, steadying her before she collapsed entirely.

  Heart pounding, lungs burning, the two elves ran on.

  They could feel the swarm bearing down, the sound pressing against their backs.

  And then, suddenly, the urgency lifted.

  The droning dimmed.

  Aehyl blinked, confused, even as she kept running. The sound was fading, first slightly, then sharply, as if the swarm had simply veered away.

  They didn’t stop. Not yet. But in their bones, they knew: the colony had pulled back.

  When they finally dared to stop, they found themselves back at the edge of the great basin.

  Neither spoke for a long time. They collapsed, gasping from exhaustion, hearts pounding, legs trembling. Still catching their breath, they stared back hollowly at the magnificent, but clearly ailing, tree.

  Sweat poured down Portean’s face as he finally broke the silence.

  “First a water troll, now this... this devilry.” He shook his head. “I’d ask what in Faune’s crimson blood is going on, but I doubt the question would do any good.”

  He cast a sharp glance at Aehyl.

  “The Great Tree, infested with Osred’s own boring beetles, and the best plan you could think of was to get the colony’s attention?”

  He gave a slow, whistling breath and added, “Still... that took a fair bit of pluck.”

  Aehyl didn’t feel particularly brave. She hugged her knees, voice low.

  “Don’t speak the Dark One’s name so casually.”

  Her gaze lifted, weary but firm. “And the next time you think I’m displaying ‘pluck,’ stop me.”

  A long pause followed. The buzzing was gone, but neither dared move closer to the grove again.

  “What do you make of it all?” Portean asked at last.

  Aehyl didn’t answer right away. Her eyes remained fixed on the diseased silhouette of the Great Oak, its branches still swaying slightly in the calm..

  “Honestly,” Aehyl said grimly, “I wasn’t able to discover much. The beetles are feeding on her, chewing through her as if she were already dead.” She shivered. “I can still feel the poison inside me, their corrosive secretion clings to my spirit. She’s in terrible pain.”

  She paused, voice softening. “How I wish your father were here. He would have known what to do.”

  Portean’s brow furrowed, and for a moment he said nothing. Then, more quietly, “What of the ecowardens? The ones assigned to this grove?”

  “Shali and Vectra are missing,” Aehyl replied, her agitation returning. “If they were nearby, they would have come. They would never ignore the Great Oak’s distress.”

  “Maybe... maybe they’re tending to another part of the grove?” Portean offered, though his voice lacked conviction.

  “Perhaps,” Aehyl said, but her tone suggested otherwise.

  “The other trees aren’t infested,” Portean added darkly. “This isn’t chance. And those beetles, they’re tainted. You felt it too, didn’t you?”

  Aehyl nodded slowly, her expression grim. “Yes. They’re not of the natural order. Something else is guiding them.”

  Shaking her head firmly, Aehyl’s green eyes locked onto the Mother Tree. “There is nothing natural about those insects,” she said, voice low but certain. “When I tried to purge the poison—just before the connection snapped—she warned me. A great danger is coming.”

  She spoke slowly, the memory still raw, her expression heavy with sorrow. The sensation of the Mother Tree’s pain lingered like an ache beneath her skin.

  Portean blinked, brow furrowed. “Did you say the Great Oak spoke to you?”

  Though his father had been a powerful druid, Portean himself was a ranger, his understanding of the deeper workings of druidic magic was limited.

  Aehyl hesitated. How could she explain something so vast, so intimate? She didn’t feel ready to lay it all out, not here, not now. But the look in Portean’s eyes demanded some kind of answer.

  “It wasn’t speech like we know it,” she said at last. “It was... instinct. Feeling. Memory. As if her soul reached out to mine, just for a moment. I felt her fear. And her rage.”

  She exhaled shakily, trying to suppress the dread curling in her chest. “This wasn’t just an infestation. It was an invasion.”

  Portean said nothing, and Aehyl took a breath, preparing to explain. She began with the basics, things he might already know.

  “All plants live on two planes, the material one, and a parallel realm we Avonmora call the Verdant Plane,” she said slowly, watching his reaction. “Most flora exist in silence. They live, grow, die, and that is enough. But others, like the Crystal-Mist Oaks… they’re different. They’re ancient. Complex. Alive in ways most don’t understand.”

  She glanced at him, then continued, her tone shifting, growing more careful, more deliberate.

  “Think of them as an elder race among countless lesser ones. Just as the undying Keenan are to us, so are the Crystal-Mists to the rest of the forest. Sentient, not like people, exactly, but aware. If you know how to listen.”

  Portean’s brows furrowed, but he remained quiet.

  “They don’t speak in words,” she went on. “It’s more of a shared understanding. A pseudo-language shaped by magic and memory, something druids have learned to interpret over centuries. It lets us communicate. Sometimes even cooperate.”

  Portean nodded slowly, processing. “So you used this language, and the Great Oak warned you?”

  “Not exactly,” Aehyl said quietly, still uncertain about what she had experienced. “I didn’t just feel her emotions. I heard her. A voice, in my mind. Clear and purposeful.”

  She paused, her brows drawing together. “I’ve never heard of that happening before. Not with the Mother Tree. But I think… she’s dying, Portean. And she wanted to be sure her warning would be understood.”

  Her voice grew grim as she added, “I don’t think she has much time left.”

  “Will the beetles spread to the rest of the forest?” Portean asked warily. His hawkish eyes swept the grove with unease, and his hands tightened on the hilts of his blades, as if the steel could offer comfort.

  “I’m not sure the beetle colony was the reason for her warning,” Aehyl said darkly.

  Even as she spoke the words, the horror of their meaning sank in.

  “The infestation seems confined to the Great Oak. I think that’s why we were able to escape, why the swarm stopped.” She paused, the realization growing heavier in her chest. “I think… she’s holding them back.”

  Aehyl’s voice faltered. “She could purge them, save herself. But she won’t. She’s choosing to contain the corruption. She’s sacrificing herself… to protect her children, and the entire Crystal-Mist.”

  The ranger’s face went ashen.

  The gravity of the noble tree’s sacrifice settled over him like a shroud. His long, slender ears flushed red with fury.

  “What’s to stop the beetles from spreading once the Great Oak dies?” he asked hoarsely.

  “She kills them as they kill her,” Aehyl answered softly. Her voice trembled. She wanted to scream, but all she could do was weep.

  “She’s already sterilized them. They cannot reproduce. As they poison her, feeding on her flesh, she channels death back into them. She’s bound their lives to hers. When she dies... they die with her.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Portean’s thin frame trembled.

  “This must not pass,” he spat. “There has to be something we can do. Something the council can do…”

  “There is nothing,” Aehyl cut in, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She has made her decision. If she, with all her wisdom and ancient knowledge, cannot destroy this swarm without sacrificing herself, then the council will find no better answer.”

  “What do we do now?” Portean asked, helpless. “Just leave her to rot?”

  “No,” Aehyl said, her voice suddenly firm. “Now we uncover the reason for the Great Oak’s warning. If she had the power to destroy the swarm but chose instead to warn us, then she must have seen something more, something that comes after her death. We must find out why her passing matters.”

  “Significant?” Portean snapped. “The Great Oak is the oldest of the Crystal-Mists! She’s a living shrine—an emblem of Faune’s power.”

  Aehyl nodded. “She is a symbol,” she agreed. “But even her death was inevitable, whether now or ten thousand years from now.”

  She paused, then added softly, “Faune’s power is not diminished by her passing.”

  A shift passed over her, grief giving way to resolve. Her thoughts began to move rapidly, gears turning.

  “We need to coordinate,” she said, her voice steadier now.

  “I think it’s time I told you about the project I’ve been working on with your father these last few years.”

  She knelt beside her pack and rummaged through it until she retrieved a worn, brown scroll-case.

  Carefully, she unlatched the seal and pulled free a rolled parchment, its cover marked with the sigil of Krodus.

  “Normally I would never have copied something this old or secretive,” Aehyl admitted. “But the idea was your father’s. At his insistence, I brought the full text with me.”

  She looked up at Portean, a grim spark in her eyes. “Now I’m glad I did.”

  Holding the scroll case up, Aehyl unscrewed the watertight lid. She peeked inside, then gasped, horror etched across her thin features.

  Tipping the case upside down, her fears were confirmed. An ancient, yellowed parchment slid into her hands instead of the pristine copy she had painstakingly prepared just a week earlier.

  "Good... good, Aehyl. This is wonderful. But remember,” she recalled Grimus saying on the night they had finished a particularly grueling transcription session, “there is no substitute for an original document!”

  She remembered how, shortly afterward, Grimus had taken both copies of Krodus’ work from her writing table, rolled them up, sealed them in identical cases, and handed her the brown one.

  Had he mixed them up that night? It was late, and they had both been exhausted, truly at their wits’ end.

  Or... had he meant for her to take the original into the field?

  Her mouth hung open in disbelief, mind racing.

  Beside her, Portean studied the yellowed parchment without misgiving. As usual, his sharp gaze was focused, but his expression remained unreadable. He clearly had no idea why she looked so shaken, but he waited patiently, solemn and attentive, for her explanation.

  “For the last two years, I’ve been studying the Great Oak and her four eldest progeny,” Aehyl began, finally explaining the true reason for their visit.

  “If you calculate the distances between each tree—taking into account the geometric alignment of their positions—you’ll see that the Great Oak and her oldest children form a vast pentagram.”

  “Symbol of protection,” Portean replied immediately.

  Aehyl gave a small nod, faintly surprised that Portean’s grasp of arcane symbolism still served him well.

  “I thought so too,” she said. “But your father pointed out that a pentagram can also function as a powerful imprisonment charm. Soon after, he gave me this.” She held up the yellowed parchment. “It was written by Kreadus’ great-grandfather, Krodus, and it deals with the very subject I’ve spent the last two years researching.”

  Realization struck Portean. His eyes widened. “You’re saying the Great Oak and the other four ancient trees might actually be containing something, or someone?”

  “We can’t be certain,” Aehyl replied quickly. “Krodus seemed to think so. And from what I know of Kreadus’ bloodline, whatever else they were, they were always brilliant.”

  The ranger gave a low whistle. “So how do we find out?”

  “I don’t know,” Aehyl admitted as she carefully unfurled the brittle parchment to take a fresh look. “But I intend to find out, before we leave this grove.”

  They spent the remaining light of day poring over Krodus’s writings. The sheer volume of information the long-dead elf had amassed on the Great Oak and her progeny was staggering. As Aehyl revisited the ancient document, she couldn’t help but admire his brilliance.

  Meanwhile, Portean found himself learning more than he ever expected. As Captain of the Swiftfalcons, he rarely had time to study, let alone browse the scrolls of the Tower Tree Library. And even if he had, he was fairly certain that works as intriguing as Krodus’s would have been kept far from his calloused, battle-worn hands.

  That night, as they sat around their campfire, Aehyl quietly weighed her options for the coming day.

  As before, Portean retrieved his miniature kati. The ranger plucked gently at the graceful instrument, his sharp eyes flicking toward her now and then, but he said nothing, offering her the silence she needed.

  Grateful, Aehyl reflected that the quick-footed ranger was not unlike his father in this way. Grimus had always been as much a listener as a talker.

  She found Portean’s quiet presence both refreshing and sincere. And when she dared probe her own feelings, she wasn’t surprised to discover a certain attraction to him. The Wild One was, without a doubt, among the most charming elves she had ever met.

  But theirs was a relationship beyond such fleeting matters. She had known Portean for most of her life. After Grimus had sponsored her entrance into the Order, the Captain of the Swiftfalcons had become more like a brother than a companion.

  That, she supposed, was the truest definition of their bond. Handsome as he was, Portean was family. And he could never be anything more.

  Shaking her head with a faint blush, Aehyl ignored the ranger’s quizzical glance and forced her thoughts back to more pragmatic concerns. She hadn’t uncovered anything new, her efforts to glean deeper meaning from Krodus’s letter had, so far, yielded nothing.

  Still, something gnawed at her. She was missing a vital piece, of that she was certain. It felt like being blind and expected to hit a target with a bow regardless.

  If only Grimus were here, she thought bitterly. If only anyone but me were here.

  Suddenly, an epiphany struck her. Aehyl leapt to her feet and strode out of camp, the firelight casting her long shadow behind her. She headed straight for the vast grove of oaks, following roughly the same path they’d taken earlier while fleeing the Great Oak. She didn’t stop to explain.

  Why hadn’t she seen it before?

  Her mind had been fogged all day, but now, everything felt sharp. Clear. The sudden clarity was exhilarating. She moved with purpose, scanning the shadowed ground with keen elvish eyes.

  “Where in blazes are you going?” Portean called irritably, scrambling to grab his weapon belt, bow, and quiver all at once.

  “To find the others,” Aehyl shouted from the darkness that was already closing around her.

  Cursing under his breath, the ranger buckled on his swords, slung his bow and quiver across opposite shoulders, and snatched one of the dry biscuits warming by the fire. As he jogged into the trees, he muttered something bitter about the joys of traveling with druids.

  Wolfing down the last of his half-warmed biscuit, Portean caught up with Aehyl, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The dry food lodged uncomfortably in his throat.

  “What others?” he grumbled, trailing after the young druid. His sharp brown eyes adjusted easily to the darkness beneath the trees, scanning the forest with suspicion. He especially listened for the faint beat of gossamer wings.

  “Do you remember when we wondered where Shali and Vectra were?” Aehyl asked quietly. She was practically running now, her attention fixed on the forest floor. She didn’t slow down to speak, which left her words clipped and breathless.

  “Of course I remember,” Portean shot back irritably, stumbling over a protruding root. “I’m not daft.”

  Aehyl said nothing more until they reached a grassy break in the grove, just inside the boundary where the beetles had finally abandoned their pursuit. She came to a sudden, skidding halt at the edge of the glade where she had nearly fallen during their earlier escape.

  “I believe we’ve already found them,” she whispered breathlessly.

  Portean narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of Aehyl’s cryptic remark. He was just about to ask what in blazes she meant when his gaze landed on a dark bundle at the center of the clearing. A moment later, the stench hit him.

  He had smelled it before—faintly—but had assumed it came from the dying Great Oak.

  Now, as he stared at the shapeless heap, recognition jolted through him.

  His eyes widened. He sucked in a sharp breath.

  It was a corpse.