The Tears of Kas̆dael

As Erin rolled over, his drowsiness quickly vanished as something long and hard tore at his back, and his face was met with a cold, wet kiss. He lurched upwards, eyes blinking rapidly as he spat out a mouthful of snow and glanced around in confusion. Where the hell am I?

His brain took a little longer to kick back into gear, but after a few seconds, the memories began to trickle in. The portal, the accursed city, the temple. He remembered nothing past trying to open the doors, his memories overwritten by the sheer anguish that had wracked his body, but he was fairly certain he was no longer in the city, and with no sign of the others, his mind raced to one inescapable conclusion. Am I dead?

Erin glanced down at his chest, expecting to see some sort of mortal wound, but what he found was far, far worse. He was dappled like a goddamned horse, with large chunks of his flesh now covered in dark, brown spots and streaks that were rough to the touch. He bolted to his feet, dancing on one leg as he pulled off his shirt and pants and, to his horror, realized that the condition was everywhere.

What happened? He broke out of his shock as his now uncovered body was pricked by the cold sting of snow, and that was when he fairly realized that there was something odd about the snow - it was snowing up.

Relief washed over him as he realized he had somehow found himself back in the dryad's realm. Hopefully, that meant he wasn't dead and maybe, if he was lucky, even his strange new skin was just an oddity of this realm, but it brought questions of its own. Why am I here?

Quickly redressing, he trudged through the snow, keeping a careful distance from the trees that had come to life and attacked him last time, as he searched for the chasm that had led to the dryad's domain.

With no real idea of where to look, he walked aimlessly, time and distance seeming to fade away as he labored through the snow drifts. Yet, despite lacking a coat or other winter garments, he found himself unbothered by the cold and, indeed, almost relishing the stiff wind blowing that howled through the narrow gaps in the trees.

He could have been walking for twenty minutes or ten days when the chasm finally appeared before him, a deep wound in the earth so vast that he could not see the other side and so deep that the bottom was perpetually veiled in shadow. Finding his courage, Erin took a step forward and jumped.

The wind roared in his ears as he plummeted toward the shadowed depths, but he did not immediately rocket toward the sky, as he had last time. Sunlight faded behind him, followed by a wind so cold that it stole his breath away. He could see the bottom now, a vast, partially frozen river, with thousands of sharp, obsidian spires jutting out of its turbulent waters, and panic began to set in just before gravity seemed to spin in place, and he fell upward.

"Eaugh." He flopped in the stream like a limp fish and emptied his stomach as his head spun with vertigo. "That was even worse than last time," he grumbled, washing his mouth out with some of the cold, clear water before struggling to his feet. He swayed lightly, the world still spinning around him, but found his balance as a rough hand grabbed his wrist.

"You've been nurturing my gift, little sapling." The dryad was as beautiful as he remembered, with fair skin like birch wood, hair as black as onyx, and a wreath of autumn leaves woven into her hair. She was also still very much not clothed, and he quickly averted his eyes, but he still caught on to what she had said.

"Your gift? Did you have something to do with what happened to my skin?"

"You seem unhappy," she frowned.

"I-" Erin was about to vent, but stopped himself. He wasn't quite sure what the dryad was - a goddess? Some distant ancestor? a wandering Fey who had taken an interest in him? So despite the fact that he was kind of pissed off by his new 'look,' he had the presence of mind to realize it wasn't wise to offend the woman unnecessarily. "It was a rather unexpected change," he replied diplomatically.

Seemingly satisfied with his response, she nodded her head and continued to examine his arm. "Yes, twas not quite the outcome I had expected either. My gift was supposed to gestate longer; you must have nearly died to force it to blossom early. Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?"

She lost all interest in his arm as he told her about the portal, about the black, twisted corpses, and the doors that had resisted him. "I suppose that explains what happened," she murmured when he was finished. "The wood was doubtless corrupted by the same evil that destroyed that place, and when you tried to manipulate it, its corruption attacked you."

Erin swallowed uneasily. "Is that…something I need to be concerned about? I'd rather not end up another one of those corpses in the street."

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"There's no taint on you now; my gift must have purged its influence, but at the cost of blossoming before it was ready."

"And what, exactly, was your gift supposed to do?" He picked his words carefully. "I remember you touching my chest last time, leaving a little mark on my skin, but if you said anything else…"

"Your roots are stunted, little sapling. The blood of Djinn and Fey, mortal and my own kin, is mingled within your veins, yet none of those ancestries are strong enough to express themselves fully. There are too few of my people left," she glanced down at the ground with a forlorn expression, "too few saplings taking root in our lady's gentle bosom. I wished to strengthen your blood, but now I'm not quite sure what my gift will do for you."

"You were going to turn me into one of you? Without even asking?" Erin knew he shouldn't lose his temper, but that battle was lost before he even knew it had begun. "What gives you the right to-to-to experiment on me?" he stuttered angrily.

The woman's dark eyes flashed dangerously and his mouth went dry. "I, uh-"

"It was a gift," she thundered angrily. "There is no greater honor than to join with the great choir, to let your leaves sway in the wind and your roots grow deeper, to bask in the father's light and suckle at the mother's teat."

Holy mother, was she turning me into a dryad or a tree? Banishing the unnerving thought, he regained control of his temper and quickly bowed his head. "I did not mean to give offense, Lady Dryad," he said awkwardly, formal language not coming naturally, "but if you wished to bestow this…gift on me, why didn't you inform me?" And give me time to run away screaming.

The wrath in her eyes dimmed but did not entirely go out as she settled back down on her roots. "Would you ask an infant's permission before nursing them?" she asked a touch harshly. "Or a lamb before shearing its wool? I only wished to help you, to nurture the fading breath of our mother's spirit in you."

"And I thank you for that, but…" he hesitated before just taking the plunge, "I really don't want to turn into a tree. You're not going to turn me into a tree, are you?"

"A tree?" A mixture of amusement and indignation flitted through her expression. "We are not trees," she snorted. "I merely sought to bring you closer to myself but," she frowned, examining his skin once again, "I am not sure what path you will take now. My gift was forced to sprout too soon, and much of its energy was spent on repairing the damage the corruption had wrought. You will be your own thing, little sapling."

Erin hid his grimace by glancing down at his mottled skin. It could be worse, he supposed; he could have been like Jasper, cursed with an unnatural shade that made him look altogether inhuman. As it was, as long as people didn't get close enough to realize that large portions of skin closely resembled bark, he could probably get away with telling people he had a particularly advanced case of vitiligo. If, of course, I don't end up completely covered in bark.

Feeling a little more at peace, he realized there was a certain beauty to his new skin. Granted, he might get a few odd looks if he ever returned home, but he was starting to doubt that would ever happen. And if somebody was stupid enough to say anything, well…it was hard to speak with a gag of wood stuffed down your mouth.

"Well," he finally muttered, "I guess it saved my life."

"It will do more than that," she replied firmly. "Life yet remains in the seed I gave you; you must return and show me once it fully blossoms. Though that will be hard if you die right now." She frowned, but it was not at him, as her gaze locked on something in the distance. "It's time for you to wake up, sapling, but, first, let me give you a little boost."

Warmth infused his chest as she pressed her hand onto his heart, and then the world around him fell away. Snow swirled around him as he plunged into an endless void and, then, with a sudden jolt, his eyes popped open. What the hell?

A boot caught him in the ribs, kicking him out of the way as a massive, scaled leg slammed down on the floor mere inches from his head.

"No time to lie around, lad," S̆ams̆ādur's voice roared in his ear as a meaty hand grabbed him by the collar and jerked him to his feet with one hand while, with the other, the durgu raked his poisoned axe across the hindquarters of the odd beast that was trying to trample them.

The two dodged between the creature's legs and were forced to separate as its long tail, capped by a three-foot-long spike, whipped toward them. Erin dove to the ground, skidding just beneath its emerald scales while the prince tried - and failed - to leap over it. S̆ams̆ādur was sent flying, smashing through a row of stone pews before landing at the feet of another one of the odd creatures, which promptly tried to stomp on him, but Erin lost sight of him as he was forced to dodge again, narrowly missing being snatched by a gigantic woman, who he suddenly realized was somehow attached to the lizard torso. What in the human centipede crap is this?

He smoothly ducked the nightmare centaur's first attempt to grab him, but his dodge was a bit too slow as she struck again. He was dragged into the air by the scruff of his neck, flailing as helplessly as a newborn kitten as her hand tightened around his throat. With no weapons to hit her with and no hope of overpowering her, the only thing he could do was close his eyes and reach.

The builders of the room had clearly spared no expense on its construction which, unfortunately, meant that there was barely any wood in the room, but barely was different than none.

Pain flared through his body as he grabbed at the rafters hidden behind the gilded ceiling tiles. Like the doors, they resisted him, but this time the pain was dulled as warmth flowed from the spot on his chest where the dryad had touched him, and, stiffening his will, he pulled the ceiling down.