Chương 4: Chapter 7: What Still Grows- Part II

Garrick returned shortly before midday with four guards, two supply carts, and the exhausted expression of a man who had already argued with half the city before noon.

"I've decided," he announced the moment he stepped through the doorway, "that if any of you become nobility, I'm leaving Fallowspire permanently."

"That feels premature," I replied from beside the hearth.

"You requested abandoned districts and suspicious gardens before breakfast, you don't get to call others premature."

"Fair." The guards behind him carried folded blankets, fresh water, crates of dried food, and several bundles of supplies that looked hastily collected from somewhere with very little enthusiasm. One of the younger soldiers glanced nervously toward Nemain the moment he entered the room. Ciara shifted carefully upright from the cot as Garrick approached.

"You found a place?"

"A house," Garrick corrected.

"Calling it impressive would be deeply dishonest, but it's dry, mostly standing, and far enough from the inner districts that nobody important will complain."

"That already sounds better than the forest," Aibell muttered.

"Low standards remain helpful," Garrick replied dryly. Eammon immediately brightened.

"Does it have ghosts?" Garrick blinked once.

"What?"

"The abandoned house," Eammon clarified.

"Does it have ghosts?" The older soldier looked toward me.

"Why is that the first question?"

"He's adapting to city life," I replied. Garrick sighed heavily.

"That child is going to become a problem." Aine hid another small laugh beside Ciara before quickly pretending she had not. The sound eased something in the room again. Small things mattered more than people realized. The move through Fallowspire took longer than expected.

Mostly because Ciara still could not walk properly without risking reopening the wound in her leg, which meant Garrick's guards eventually assembled a makeshift stretcher from spare spears and enough blankets to satisfy Merrow's threats regarding "idiots tearing stitches." The eastern districts gradually changed around us as we moved farther from the crowded inner streets.

The noise softened first, then the buildings themselves began thinning into narrower roads lined with old storehouses, workshops, and tired homes pressed close against the outer walls. Fewer merchants moved through this part of the city. Fewer lanterns hung from the windows. Most people passing by wore the expression of those too busy surviving to involve themselves in other lives. I preferred it immediately.

"That worries me," Aibell murmured beside me.

"You'll need to be more specific," I replied. Aibell folded her arms loosely across her chest.

"You look comfortable."

"That does sound concerning," I muttered. Garrick led us farther along the eastern wall before finally stopping beside a narrow stone house standing slightly apart from the surrounding buildings. It leaned very slightly to one side. The roof had clearly lost several arguments with weather over the years and the shutters looked one strong breeze away from resignation. Eammon stared at it thoughtfully.

"It definitely has ghosts."

"It has a roof," I replied.

"Mostly," Aibell added. Ciara looked toward the house, then toward the forest walls looming beyond the district.

"It's quiet."

"That's the idea," Garrick said. The older soldier pushed the door open with his shoulder, releasing a faint cloud of dust into the sunlight beyond the entrance. The interior looked small but functional. A narrow hearth stood against one wall while two adjoining rooms stretched deeper into the house beyond a sagging wooden table and mismatched chairs, not comfortable but survivable. Which, honestly, described most of my life.

The guards helped settle Ciara carefully near the hearth while Aine immediately began exploring the room with cautious curiosity. Eammon claimed a corner beside the windows as though conquering territory. Aibell crossed her arms while studying the cracked ceiling overhead.

"I've definitely lived in worse places."

"That sentence raises deeply troubling questions young lady," Garrick muttered.

"I grew up around traveling merchants," she replied.

"Half my childhood involved sleeping beside crates of onions." Garrick stared at her for a moment before nodding slowly.

"That somehow explains several things." I stepped back outside before the conversation could continue and let the cold midday air settle briefly against my face. The city sounded quieter here near the walls, less crowded and less guarded. Beyond the eastern district, the forests surrounding Fallowspire stretched dark beneath the afternoon sky. And beneath all of it, I felt it, faint, buried, life. Not the corruption spreading through the wilds beyond the valley. Something older but still sleeping.

Garrick noticed my attention shifting beyond the houses and jerked his head toward a narrow path running beside the wall.

"Garden's through there." Aibell immediately looked up from the doorway.

"I'm coming." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Old instinct rose immediately. No. Keep people away from this. Keep them safe. Keep them distant. But the words died before reaching my mouth, she would follow anyway and part of me no longer wanted to do this entirely alone. I adjusted Nemain at my side before nodding once.

"Stay close." Aibell raised an eyebrow faintly.

"That almost sounded trusting."

"Don't ruin the moment," I muttered. Garrick snorted softly and started down the narrow path between the walls while weeds brushed against the stone beneath our boots. The garden waited at the far end behind a rusted iron gate hanging crooked from one hinge. Even abandoned, I felt the soil before stepping inside. The gate groaned softly when Garrick forced it open. Rust flaked from the hinges and scattered across the overgrown path beyond while weeds bent beneath our boots as we stepped inside the enclosed garden.

Silence settled differently here. The space had once been carefully maintained long ago. I could still see the remnants beneath the neglect, collapsed trellises half-swallowed by vines, cracked stone paths buried beneath moss, the skeletal remains of flowerbeds strangled by weeds and thornbushes. Time had reclaimed almost everything but not entirely. Aibell stepped slowly beside me while studying the ruined garden walls surrounding us.

"This place feels strange."

"Yes," I replied quietly. Garrick folded his arms near the gate.

"That good or bad?"

"I'm still deciding." I muttered. That answer did not reassure him in the slightest. I moved farther into the garden while Nemain pulsed faintly against my side, displeased. The sensation sharpened with every step. Life still lingered beneath this soil, weak and dormant, but still real. My chest tightened unexpectedly around the feeling. It had been years since I felt anything like it. Not since Elarion burned.

I crouched slowly near the center of the garden and pressed one hand against the earth, cold, dry near the surface, but deeper lied, roots. Tiny threads of living things still clinging stubbornly beneath the ruin. A pulse answered faintly beneath my palm. Soft enough I almost mistook it for memory. Aibell watched me carefully from a few steps away.

"You can actually feel it."

"Yes." The single word came quieter than I intended. Garrick shifted uneasily near the gate.

"I'm beginning to understand why people find druids unsettling."

"That's fair." Aibell ignored both of us and stepped closer instead, eyes fixed on the soil beneath my hand.

"What happens now?" I reached slowly into the satchel hanging beside Nemain and withdrew the cloth-wrapped bundle hidden carefully within. The moment it touched the open air, the sword reacted. Nemain hummed sharply against my hip, hungry like always and irritated. The sound crawled faintly across the garden like distant metal dragged over stone. Garrick's hand instinctively moved toward his sword. Aibell stiffened beside me.

"Kaelen…"

"It's fine," I said quietly. That was probably a lie. Carefully, I unwrapped the bundle within my hands. The sapling rested inside. Small enough to fit across my forearm. Thin silver-green bark winding around a delicate stem. Bare branches carrying only a handful of pale leaves. It looked fragile but it wasn't. Aibell stared openly now.

"You carried that through all of this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's the last living thing I brought out of Elarion." The answer took longer than it should have. Silence followed immediately afterward. Even Garrick stopped moving. The wind shifted softly across the ruined garden while Aibell looked at the sapling differently afterward, understanding perhaps or something akin to grief. I lowered the sapling carefully toward the soil near the center of the garden. The ground trembled faintly beneath my hand. Garrick noticed instantly.

"Tell me that was normal."

"It's responding," I replied quietly. Garrick stared at the earth for a long moment.

"That sentence raises several new concerns." I ignored Nemain's growing pulse at my side and pressed my palm more firmly against the earth. The old language rose instinctively afterward. Not spoken in the open often anymore. I haven't spoken it since the grove fell. The words felt ancient against my tongue.

"Aen'vhal tairen…" The weeds nearest the sapling shivered first. Aibell inhaled sharply beside me. Then the soil itself answered, quietly. Like something sleeping had opened one eye beneath the earth. The garden breathed. That was the only way I could describe it. The air shifted subtly around us while the weeds nearest the sapling slowly bent inward as though drawn toward an unseen current beneath the soil. Tiny leaves trembled against dead vines.

Moss spread faintly through cracks in the old stone path, life recognizing life. Aibell stood perfectly still beside me now. Garrick looked significantly less certain about remaining calm.

"Kaelen," he said slowly, "if the ground opens and swallows me, I want it clearly remembered this was your fault."

"That feels rather unfair," I replied. Garrick gestured vaguely toward the trembling weeds surrounding the sapling.

"You're kneeling in the middle of a whispering garden speaking dead language." I considered that briefly.

"That's a strong argument." The older soldier muttered something deeply uncomplimentary beneath his breath while I focused again on the soil beneath my hands. The pulse answered stronger this time. Weak roots stirred below the ruined garden floor. Tiny dormant things sleeping beneath years of neglect slowly began reaching upward toward the sapling resting at the center of the earth. Nemain hated it. The sword vibrated sharply against my hip, not in pain, I doubt the cursed thing even felt pain, but in revulsion.

The whisper crawled faintly through the back of my thoughts. Cooooold… Weaaak… Dyyyying… I ignored it. For once, that felt easier than before. The grove answered instead. Warmth spread slowly upward through the soil into my palms, then farther through my arms, my chest, till it reached the exhausted ache buried deep within my bones since Elarion fell. The warmth isn't power, it's something gentler. Aibell noticed the change immediately.

"Your eyes." I frowned slightly without looking up.

"What about them?"

"They're…" She hesitated briefly.

"Brighter." That explained nothing. Still, I could feel the difference. The exhaustion dragging at me since Blackthorn had not vanished, but something beneath it had steadied. Like roots sinking into earth after years spent drifting. The sapling trembled softly. Then one of the pale leaves unfurled. Garrick stared openly now.

"That definitely wasn't there before."

"No," I murmured quietly.

"It wasn't." The garden answered faster afterward. Weeds curled gently backward away from the sapling while dead thornbushes softened into fresh green at their edges. Tiny shoots pushed carefully through the soil near the old stone paths, in a slow and deliberate healing. Aibell lowered herself carefully beside me near the edge of the ruined path, eyes fixed on the sapling.

"It feels different."

"Yes."

"Like…" She searched for the words.

"Like breathing after holding it too long," I finished quietly. Aibell looked toward me sharply afterward. Because she understood exactly what I meant. Nemain pulsed again, angrier now. The sword did not like losing space inside me. Good. I pressed my hand more firmly into the earth and let the old language flow again beneath my breath. The garden listened. Roots stirred deeper beneath the walls surrounding us while pale green light shimmered faintly along the sapling's bark before fading again into the soil.

The warmth spreading through my chest sharpened unexpectedly then and a memory surfaced with it. Rain falling through silver leaves. Laughter echoing through ancient trees. Hands guiding mine across living bark while a quiet voice whispered: Listen first. The grove always answers those willing to hear it. For a single heartbeat, the grief nearly crushed me. Elarion, gone, burned, dead and yet it wasn't gone entirely. Something had survived. Small enough to carry through ruin and stubborn enough to grow anyway.

Aibell's voice softened beside me.

"Kaelen?" I realized my hands were shaking.

"I'm fine," I said automatically. Aibell gave me a flat look.

"That answer's becoming suspicious."

"Experience suggests honesty worries people more," I muttered. Aibell glanced toward the faint green light still pulsing beneath the soil.

"That depends entirely on the honesty." I exhaled slowly and rested one hand against the sapling's fragile trunk. The pulse answered immediately now, stronger. It is barely even a beginning, but it is alive. For the first time in years, I no longer felt entirely alone inside my own mind.