NOVEL NEXT Chapter Sixteen: Family Ties
"What if they don't like me?" I asked, for what I believed to be the fourth time, my eyes unable to meet Salem's own.
Instead, I stared out the window of the carriage, which rolled along far faster than a horse could pull it, the artifice able to reach truly impressive speeds on the open road. Of course, if it hadn't been so near the solstice, the ambient ether wouldn't have been strong enough to let it move so quickly. Even with the solstice, back in White Sands, it would have probably barely been able to move.
The trees blurring by while I sat still was a new experience. I was able to run faster than the carriage was currently moving, but I could only sustain that for short bursts, nowhere near the constant chugging motion of the carriage. My broom wasn't quite as fast as the carriage was, despite the fact it was quite fast, and I hadn't used it for any seriously long-ranged flights. When I'd flown out over the ocean, I'd probably managed to get about twenty or thirty miles from shore, but I hadn't been timing it, nor had there been much scenery to mark my passage.
On this trip, however, there was, and as Salem re-assured me that I was going to be fine, and that his family would love me, I turned my attention to the scenery.
There weren't many trees in Ocean Spires itself, given that it was a collection of hundreds of absurdly tall jagged spines of rock jutting up out of the crashing waves, connected by enchanted bridges with a floating cloud in the center. It was easy to forget while on that cloud, as it was able to support a dense cluster of different types of trees, manicured by the dryads that lived on campus, but the rest of the region wasn't so lucky.
But after about an hour and a half, we'd passed into the edges of Ocean Spires, where the eponymous spires were still present, but the ocean began to recede, leaving valleys of loamy sand between them. At high tide, the ocean was able to come rushing through small parts of the valley, creating salty rivers that connected to ancient saltwater lakes sprawling through the land. The rivers weren't enough to fully flood the salty valleys, though, and the carriage passed more than one salt farm, filled with mangrove trees, as it moved through this part of the region.
Before long, however, we crossed over the border and into Grand Trees. Despite the name, the change was subtle at first. We were moving southeast, away from the ocean, and the salt-leaching mangroves. A sycamore tree appeared, and then another, before oak trees started to splash their way into the landscape, followed by ash, pine, and alder.
Then the grand trees from which the region drew their name began to appear. It began with the shortest of them, but even the youngest and smallest saplings towered sixty feet tall. The bark of the trees was purple, with streaks of green and blue peeking through underneath in strange swirling patterns, like a leaf being blown on the winds.
Homes in Grand Trees were of all sorts of different varieties, with some being traditional stone cottages situated between the massive trees. As we headed deeper into the region, however, they became increasingly rare, as instead, bridges grown from wood began to connect the trees together into a lattice of homes, shops, cafes, and more. Each and every house was living, growing, expanding, and connecting with other trees nearby.
The art was slow and delicate, but traditional, as the people of Grand Trees had once used the homes to escape the hordes of demons. Thanks to the power of one dead god or another, the tree's rich ether was anathema to the demons, though the property only worked while the trees were both alive and near the original blessed tree.
As we drew deeper into the region, the trees continued to grow together, until it reached a point where I could no longer tell where each one began and ended, save for the gaps of air far below the carriage. All of the trees blurred together, two or three hundred feet high.
All, save for the origin tree. The seat of power for the High King, the location where the Moots were held to vote upon seats of government, and an entire complex of its own. The origin tree towered five hundred feet high in the air, and an entire massive domed complex of grown wood gathered around it, and our carriage came to a rumbling stop. The doors opened themselves of their own accord, and Salem hopped out, stretching his legs. I emerged a moment later, rotating my hips and twisting. The ride had been a long one, after all, closer to ten hours with the occasional stop needed.
The artificed carriage pulled away, heading to wherever the spell that had been worked into it demanded, and Salem and I began to head toward the massive complex. For some reason, I expected there to be guards at the entrance, holding spears and crossing them in order to block the doorway of anyone who approached, but that was a bit of a silly notion. The origin complex was a place of governance, and as such, it couldn't be bogged down by that sort of thing. Barristers, clerks, and other officials streamed in and out.
We walked in as well, and passed through a large stone arch, covered in bright, multicolored runes, and actual guards milled around the gate, each of them smelling slightly strange. There was an instant of pressure against the rite of centered mind, and then it faded as we continued to walk into the complex. One of the guards peeled away, approaching us with a smile and an extended hand.
"Hello! I'm sorry, but please withdraw your staves and wands, as well as your daggers and bound ring."
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I withdrew my staff, wand, and hydra dagger, as did Salem, and then I slipped off my signet ring for the Coven. The woman noted the items down before handing us a small blue slip of paper and letting us know we could retrieve everything on our way out of the building. After that, we were free to head in, and Salem checked the room number he'd written in his journal, then led us through the long halls and to the room of the portal. The outside of that room had its own arch, and a pair of guards who were milling about, nodding to us as we stepped in.
The room looked rather like a conference hall that someone had partially emptied out to make room for the portal. The ceiling was slightly tall, but the walls had been painted a stark white color, and there was absolutely no decoration at all. The table had been removed, but there were a handful of chairs on the far wall with some people in them. The floors were cheap gray tile, completely devoid of any sort of flair other than the magic that had been inscribed onto it.
Said magic was mind-bogglingly complex. A circle with nine concentric rings had been laid out on the floor, every square inch of it absolutely filled with runes representing magical words of power so small that I could barely make them out. I flipped out my grimoire without even thinking about it and animated my pen to start taking down notes. If this was what a true ninth circle spell looked like.
"Woah there," someone said, grabbing my arm. I looked up to see a tall, muscular orcish woman, giving me a wide-tusked smile. "I understand that it's tempting, but if you step into the center, you'll be sucked through Etherius and emerge in Hydref."
"Emrys is like that, constantly sticking his nose into business five circles ahead of his own spellcasting," a familiar, tired voice said. His words carried a tinge of annoyance, but also a small hint of pride. I glanced up to see Henry leaning against the wall, holding a glass of some sort of brown clear liquid. I would have assumed it was whiskey, but the drink smelled more like woven moonbeams and healing magic than it did alcohol.
"Ah, so that's Emrys!" a cheerful voice said. Her voice had notes of Salem's accent, but it had been polished and refined until most of the edge had been lost. Unlike Salem, who smelled of paper, ink, and mysteries, this voice smelled of feathers, mists, and transformations. I spun around and extended my hand to her.
"Aye," Salem said. "Mum, this is Emrys. Emrys, this is my mum."
"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," I said, taking her in. She looked a lot like her son, with pale skin and dark hair, but Salem must not have inherited her height. While he and I were both short, Salem's mom towered over us at five foot eight, maybe five-nine. She shook my hand and smiled, nodding.
"Please, call me Moira. I heard you helped contain my son when he got a bit of trouble? Anyone who is willing to throw themselves in–"
"Aye! And how exactly did that happen, I wonder?" a voice said, cutting Moira off. The voice was dry and papery, like crackling leaves, and I turned my head to see a withered old woman, her hands on Salem's shoulders. I hadn't smelled her approach, and even looking at her, I still couldn't smell anything. She looked like the very archetype of a hag, with one eye a glassy white marble, long, stringy hair, and thin, bony fingers. She was draped in shabby blue robes, and her smile revealed she only had a few teeth. Her nail traced along Salem's cheek before fingering one of his silver earrings.
"Look at how my handiwork was mutilated…" the old hag said, drawing herself up to her full height, which was barely any taller than I was, and whirling on the Erudite. The lights in the room started to flicker, but I still couldn't detect a hint of her bloodline in the air. "You fool!"
"I'm a master of obliteration, restoration, and necromancy. Not a master of seals," Henry said, his voice mostly relaxed, but with a hint of something I couldn't identify. "I wasn't able to craft them. And of course, not one of my professors could ever hope to stand up to your power, Elder."
A hint of sarcasm touched his tone as he suggested his professors couldn't stand up to her, and Elder Tywyll – because that's who this had to be – began to laugh. It wasn't a pleasant sound, and I found myself stepping back. I still couldn't smell her, but I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was in the presence of two Erudites, a sealed loup garou, and an ancient arch-hag.
"Ah, the youth," she said, wiping a tear from her single eye and shifting her attention back to Salem. "But your Erudite has paid for me to repair the damage done to the seals."
Her single good eye – good being a relative term, as it still was milky with a cataract – slithered over to look at me.
"And who is this young bit of fresh cotton, ready to be used to alight any blaze at all? My, boy, you have found such an interesting partner…"
"I am glad to hear you find me interesting, Elder," I said, bowing at the waist. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance."
"Hah! Toadweather has taught you well, I see. I would be most pleased if you told the old castle breaker hello from me the next time you saw her. And that frog as well."
"I am not opposed to such an action, though I make no promises," I said agreeably. "And yes, I have found her teaching to be excellent. Her knowledge is invaluable."
Elder Tywyll nodded agreeably at that, then turned her attention back to Salem.
"We should away. I have much work to do if we're going to reforge your seals and tear apart those old, worthless bits of detritus floating around in your third eye. It's about time we turn you into a proper psychic, is it not?"
Salem's eyes widened, and he glanced at his mom, then at me, then at Henry.
"I dunno, ma'am," he said. "I'm not wishin' to incur a debt, you see, though I'm flattered true by your offer."
His speech was stilted and formal, like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.
"Fie on that nonsense, godchild," she said. "You are no neophyte conjuring me from my throne to make deals and learn the ways of the deepest arts. It is my responsibility."
My eyes widened at the term 'godchild'. A faerie godmother was supposedly a vast boon, and I had to wonder what, exactly, Moira had traded to get such a powerful fae to take on the role.
"Then, if it pleases ya', I'd value your input onta' a ritual affinity spell I'm workin' on," Salem said. "It's ta' fuse my spellcastin' an' my psychic arts into a single pool a' power."
"You aren't nearly far enough in your training for such a thing, child," Elder Tywyll said. "Wait until you have broken through to the sixth circle… But I will advise you, yes. Moira, your son will be returned to you in the morning, when we leave for the school. We must go now."
There was an explosion of shadows through the room, leaving me with Moira, two Erudites, and a blue slip of paper where Salem had once been.