Hungry Heart - Book #3 - Ch. 11

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten 

Chapter Eleven – New Power

The first Silverlight pointed his cane at Duril’s wings. “Explain,” he said in a stern voice.

“I asked for wings, and they came,” Duril said simply.

“Who are they?” the Silverlight asked in an impatient tone. It was a bit difficult to understand how such ancient beings could manifest impatience, but Duril didn’t dwell on that aspect of the situation.

“The Vrannes,” he replied. “But please do not hurt them. They mean no harm,” he added quickly, in fear of repercussions. He had yet to understand what those could be, but he didn’t find himself too trustful of the Silverlight.

“They once were the right hand of evil,” the second Silverlight said. He was the one Duril deemed as the only one who seemed to have a semblance of a heart.

“They were,” Duril admitted without a second thought. When dealing with such beings, he didn’t think it wise to lie. Still, he was determined to defend the saplings and state his point of view in front of the eagleshifters. “And now, they are a force for good.”

“That is not for you to decide, oros,” the first Silverlight said the last word with a tinge of disdain.

“Oros? What is that?” Duril asked.

“It is the name we give to those able to talk to trees,” the second Silverlight offered right away. Duril’s good opinion of him became stronger. If there was one of the three eagleshifters that could be swayed to see his side of the story, it had to be him. Although the three ancient beings looked exactly the same, upon closer inspection, Duril noticed that each of them had a thin thread wrapped around the wrist of the right hand. For the first Silverlight, the color of the thread was blue. The second one caressed his thread, which was a rich red. And finally, the third, the one who spoke little, wore a green thread.

“So you’ve met many oros?” Duril continued. As long as he could convince the eagleshifters that he was worthy of talking to, he had a chance to do what he had come for: finding a way to keep The Quiet Woods alive, even with Shearah, the wind spirit, removed from the place she herself had created.

“A few,” the first Silverlight said shortly. “Why are you here?”

“I need you to teach me how to keep The Quiet Woods alive,” Duril said. His wings folded and the many Vrannes that had made them hung onto his clothes, creating a strange, living and breathing, armor.

“That is not something we know. And even if we did, why would we share it with you?” the first Silverlight tapped his cane on the ground.

“Because it would be our duty,” the third Silverlight intervened. “We are keepers of life.”

“We are keepers of ancient magic,” the first Silverlight insisted, turning his head, just a smidge, to throw a pointed look at his companion and brother.

“Ask your questions,” the third Silverlight said, ignoring his leader – Duril considered that the first Silverlight was used to being the one in charge.

“Claw’s friends are dead. Can we bring them back to life? And if yes, how?”

The third Silverlight straightened up, and he appeared to sniff the air for a while. “They are alive.”

Even his companions turned toward him in surprise. Duril wondered how much they shared and how much they kept to themselves, these eagleshifters that presented to the world as one. All of a sudden, he was made privy to a world beyond the usual human understanding. “Truly alive?” he asked, his heart full of hope.

“Ancient magic,” the third Silverlight said, “has always been hard at work in that corner of the world. And now there’s new magic, too.”

“I know that I insist, and I must beg you to forgive me,” Duril said, “but what kind of life are we talking about? Can they walk, talk, laugh, the way they used to? Or are they now part of the forest, as they enrich the soil from which it grows?”

The third Silverlight chuckled. “You know that life can mean so many things, oros. Your heart, however, might be larger than your wisdom.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Duril asked.

The second Silverlight intervened. “Not at all. You wouldn’t be able to talk to trees otherwise.”

“Brothers,” the first Silverlight said sternly, “why are we wasting our precious time with this oros?”

“If he is here, he is here for a reason,” the second Silverlight insisted. He appeared emboldened by his other brother’s intervention in the conversation and was now speaking his mind.

“And what reason would that be except for his own foolishness?” the first Silverlight demanded to know in that same haughty manner.

“We are putting Shearah to sleep for good, are we not?” the third Silverlight asked and he turned toward his brothers, waiting for their answer.

“She has worked herself to the last breath of wind,” the second Silverlight said quietly. “She deserves to rest.”

Duril was a bit surprised. He thought the eagleshifters had taken Shearah with them as punishment. But from the second Silverlight’s soft voice, he understood that it was not because of that they had intervened. These eagleshifters held the wind spirit dear in their hearts.

“Something must be done,” the second Silverlight said, with increased energy infusing his voice. “We do not leave ancient magic behind like that.”

“You are too keen on saving that old tree,” the first Silverlight said. “Amarant cannot be removed from his place. Its roots run deep into the ground, beyond anyone’s power to tear it away from there.”

“I doubt we can save him,” the second Silverlight said, his voice sad and low. “But we can do something. We should.”

“And what is that something? Brother, your heart, just like the one beating in this oros’s chest here, is bigger than your head.”

“There is a way, of course,” the third Silverlight chimed in. His voice was level and assured. “We must give this oros what is needed.”

The first Silverlight tapped his cane against the ground again. “Oros,” he addressed Duril, “wait while we talk about this matter.”

He then turned toward his brothers and began talking in that ancient language that made no sense. Duril waited patiently. The Vrannes hanging on to him were keeping him warm. At this height, with thin winds blowing like a heavy breeze, any mortal being was bound to feel at least a little chilly.

“We have decided,” the first Silverlight said and faced him. “Pray that you are strong enough.”

Duril didn’t have the time to ask what for, because the eagleshifter raised his gnarled hand and cupped his cheek. From his eyes, pits without end, silver threads grew and Duril felt a short intense pain as they pierced his eyes. For a moment, he lost his ability to breathe, but right away, he sensed something new and powerful growing inside him. He watched tiny sparks of silver dancing the length of his whole arm, making the Vrannes squeal and move away. As soon as they reached his fingers, they faded away.

An overwhelming sense of happiness flooded him. He knelt in front of the Silverlight, his head bowed. “Thank you,” he said in reverence. What for, he didn’t even know, but it was inside him now, and it was settling in like it was already part of his body.

“He’s not even asking what it is,” the third Silverlight said with a chuckle. “Indeed, his heart is much bigger than his mind.”

“But his mind is big enough to understand it,” the second Silverlight rushed to his defense.

“Rise, oros,” the first Silverlight said. “And fly back to your friends. They are waiting, and the road is long.”

The trio shifted and large wings shadowed the moon as they stretched.

“Wait,” Duril called. “What is this that you gave me?”

“You’ll hear the wind when it talks to you, oros,” the third Silverlight said, his voice growing thinner and thinner as the eagleshifters flew away.

Duril stood there in awe as he watched them becoming smaller and smaller against the full moon. If he watched long enough, he could see something like an undulating wave of silver cradled between the three eagleshifters that carried it who knew where. “Do you know what he was talking about?” he asked the saplings that now began forming wings like before.

The saplings squealed happily. It could be that they only cooed like babies, and whatever they said made no sense, or there was a chance that they were actually offering Duril answers to his questions. What kind of oros was he if he didn’t even understand baby trees? He wanted to laugh a little at himself.

His heart was light like a feather, as he soared into the air. Everyone was alive, according to the Silverlight, and that meant that his friends, old and new, were ready to throw a little party. Toru would never forgive him if he was late to it.

***

“Do you think those eagleshifters are mean or not?” Toru asked, jumping from one foot to the other, impatient as he always felt while waiting for Duril to come back. The young witch Shearah had breathed life into everyone, so there wasn’t any need for Duril to go against those eagleshifters and convince them not to let the forest die. Toru was pretty certain that was exactly what Duril wanted to ask those old beings.

“Duril will be fine,” Varg assured him and took him by the shoulders to stop him from fidgeting.

“But are you really sure? He’s already been gone for a while,” he said. He didn’t like it when he became so impatient, but he wanted to have the healer by his side already. Everyone around was so happy, cheering and laughing, and only he stood there, all by himself.

Varg squeezed the back of his neck like he knew what he was thinking. “You know I might think a little ill of you if you so openly favor Duril over me.”

Toru looked away guiltily, but then faced Varg and kissed him. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, “but only because he’s weaker than us and you are so strong.”

The wolfshifter laughed wholeheartedly. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He might get a bit angry with you.”

“Duril, angry?” Toru scoffed. And with him, of all people?

Varg caressed his hair and kissed his forehead, then his cheeks. “I, too, feel the need to protect him because he’s not a shifter, like us, but hasn’t he already proved himself many times?”

Toru pondered for a little while. “That’s true,” he admitted, “but what if he gets too strong and then he doesn’t need us anymore?”

“I really don’t believe that you should worry about such a thing,” Varg pointed out. “And look, you can already ask him yourself if he’d even consider leaving us, ever in his life.”

Toru felt his face splitting into an ear to ear grin as Varg took his shoulders and guided him to watch as Duril flew back to the ground and his wings fell, dozens of saplings scurrying along his body and then to the ground. He rushed to the healer and took him into his arms. “You wouldn’t believe it, Duril,” he began all excitedly, “but the old witch turned into a young witch, and then she began blowing life into the saplings, and then they made everyone alive!”

Duril snickered as Toru held him close. “These Vrannes are truly amazing. And the Silverlight told me that everyone was alive again. I could barely wait to come back and see it with my own eyes.”

“Didn’t you barely wait to come back to me?” Toru asked, fishing for affirmation, like usual.

He knew that Duril didn’t mind it, how insistent he was. The healer patted his head. “Of course. That goes without saying. But because it means so much to you, I’ll say it. I thought of you and how impatient you must be for me to come back. And I was happy to think that you wouldn’t even join the party without me here.”

Toru was more than pleased with that answer and nuzzled Duril’s cheek. “I wouldn’t even have eaten without you here.”

“What better proof of affection could I ask for?” Duril said with a small chuckle. “If you’re willing to ignore food for my sake, I can only be honored.”

“Are you hungry?” Toru asked.

“After all these adventures? Without a doubt,” Duril confirmed. “But first, let me thank Amarant for all the help he has given us.”

Toru held Duril’s hand, unsure if he was supposed to tell him or not. Varg would agree that even if it hurt, Duril had to hear it. “The old oak is already dead,” he said quietly. “Varg talked to him until earlier. And then he stopped talking altogether.”

Duril nodded thoughtfully. “What did he say? Did Varg share it with you?”

Toru looked for the wolfshifter, wondering if he had already joined the others, but Varg was only a few feet away, waiting patiently for him to finish his reunion with Duril. He gestured for him happily to come over, and Varg grinned at him. Duril laughed as the wolfshifter grabbed him and threw him into the air a few times, making him laugh even harder. He would know the next time to do the same.

“Varg, is it true?” Duril asked as soon as his feet were back on the ground. “We no longer have Amarant with us?”

Varg sighed and nodded. “He had slowly transferred his power to the saplings all those long years when Shearah didn’t want to hear a word from him about what she truly had to do with them.”

“There was, indeed, a special relationship between him and them,” Duril confirmed. “I know both of you are hungry by now and want to join the others, but I’d like to go and sit for a while with him.”

“We’re coming with you,” Toru said with determination and linked his hand with Duril’s.

Varg took the healer by the shoulders, to confirm that he was also joining them. “Always together,” he said solemnly.

And even if everyone else was laughing and enjoying their new lives, Toru knew that Varg was right to think like that. They had an important mission ahead of them. Together.

***

Varg knelt by the side of prone oak, his hands linked in his lap. Duril followed his example, and Toru didn’t wait long to do the same. The young tiger was the first to place his hands on the fallen tree and let out a deep sigh. “Amarant,” he said, “you are as annoying as Demophios. Just when people start to like you, you choose to go all silent. At least, you are still here, while Demophios got lost in the desert.”

Varg couldn’t keep in a low chuckle. “I thought we were here to pay our homage to Amarant, not to scold him for leaving us.”

Duril brushed his hand slowly over the wrinkled trunk. “The Silverlight say that his roots run so deep into the earth that no one, ever, would be able to remove Amarant from his place.”

“But he’s fallen down here,” Toru argued. “How can his roots be still inside the earth?”

Varg traded a short look with his companions. “Maybe that is something we should look into,” he suggested.

Toru stood up right away and offered his hand to Duril. “Let’s see the old oak’s roots. Could it be that he’s still alive?”

There was hope in Toru’s voice, and Varg would have been lying to himself if he denied that he didn’t hope the same thing. It seemed like such a loss, to have the old oak leave them forever while he had guarded life and the good in the world for so long. Destiny could be a harsh master, and Varg wanted to think that while purpose made people follow its thin red thread, it didn’t mean that they had less power over how they shaped their own lives.

They walked along the fallen trunk until they reached the place where his roots were supposed to show. They gasped in unison when they saw it. Any tree as broken as Amarant was should have exposed its roots, but that wasn’t the case with the ancient tree. The tops of the roots were visible, it was true, but they still extended into the ground, and they could feed the old oak’s body just as well as they had done to date. They stretched like tendrils from the trunk into the soil underneath, and they were gnarled and dark. In places, the protective layer that kept the sap safe from the fury of the elements or tiny creatures feeding in the rich soil must have burst, because at a closer look, Varg easily saw the softer flesh beneath.

“The roots are still buried in the ground,” Toru said out loud. “Maybe Amarant is just injured, and because of that he got tired and fell asleep.”

Varg raised his eyes to the full moon above. What a beautiful night! His heart grew fonder at the sight; the mistress of his kin shone brightly and her silver light made even the fall of the ancient oak part of a fairytale that could only conclude with a happy end. He had never been one to let himself fall prey to exaggerated sentiment, but tonight, there was a tender feeling growing inside his chest that Varg couldn’t and didn’t want to ignore.

He caressed the injured roots and addressed a prayer to the moon. “If it’s in your power, mistress,” he said softly, “allow this old body to live once more. He has already served the world, not once holding back anything for himself. He even gave his life to the Vrannes so that they could keep the forest alive.”

“What was that?” Toru asked in an excited voice.

Varg looked where Toru was pointing and saw nothing at first. But from under his fingers, silver drops appeared, running briefly over the exposed roots, and then sinking inside them as if absorbed.

“Varg is a healer of trees,” Toru concluded. “And Duril talks to them. Duril, ask Amarant if he’s still here. Maybe Varg can bring him back to life.”

Varg looked at the moon again. “Thank you, mistress, for granting me this great power.” He focused on the droplets flowing from his fingers, watching the old roots absorb them thirstily.

“Will you have to keep doing this for long?” Toru asked, always the curious one.

“Maybe we need something more than the power of the moon,” Duril offered. “The Silverlight, I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you yet, they granted me an astonishing power, that of being able to hear the wind.”

“Then ask the wind if we need to do something more,” Toru encouraged him.

Duril placed his hand on a gnarled root that appeared more damaged than the rest. “It is the first time I’m trying to do this, but let’s hope I’ll succeed. Can you give us guidance, gentle wind?” he asked timidly.

A soft breeze rustled the hair on their heads.

“What is the wind saying?” Toru asked.

“Hush, Toru, let Duril hear it speak first,” Varg intervened.

The healer had a focused expression on his face, and he seemed to have a bit of trouble making sense of whatever the wind was telling him. Toru kept silent and waited with bated breath, as well.

“It seems that we must bring the Vrannes here,” Duril eventually said.

“Did the wind really talk to you?” Toru asked.

“In a way. Just like with the trees, I am a faithful listener and cannot ask too many questions. Shearah is a daughter of the wind, and the wind himself says that for too long, the Vrannes have been imprisoned and forced to live a life that wasn’t theirs to live.”

“It sounds to me like the wind was apologizing,” Varg pointed out.

“A bit too late,” Toru added and crossed his arms. “Do we have to pick up some of those little trees and bring them here?”

“I don’t think there is any need for that,” Duril said.

Varg looked around and noticed how the ground was now covered by a carpet of Vranne saplings. It felt as if the tiny creatures had heard their conversation and rushed to their call, to fulfill their purpose. Only then, he did realize a thing that should have struck them as odd from the start. “The Vrannes never grew,” he said. “They remained as saplings all this time, while Shearah used them to revive the forest again and again.”

“Indeed,” Duril said and laughed as the Vrannes began climbing on his legs.

So strange, Varg thought, to welcome these things as their allies. It was true that their appearance as saplings was not as fear-inducing as that of the adults of their species. The Vrannes appeared to know what to do because just like the drops of silver pouring from Varg’s fingers, they began to run along the twisted roots.

Varg half-expected them to start eating the dead tree. But was Amarant truly dead if his roots still ran deep into the heart of the earth? As usual, they had more questions than answers, but that had never stopped them before.

“Look at them,” Toru said excitedly.

The Vrannes curled some of their branches alongside the roots, wrapping around them, and then balancing there with difficulty like toddlers still learning how to walk. As they did that, their soft branches changed color and soon no one could tell where their branches ended and Amarant’s roots began.

“I think they’re beginning to grow from it,” Toru added. “Like they’ve found their home.”

His young voice expressed the same wonder Varg felt. He was certain Duril thought the same, as he watched the healer caressing the roots slowly, helping each Vranne to find a place.

“Do you think there’s enough room for all of them?” Toru asked anxiously. “There are just so many.”

No one had to come up with an answer for the young tigershifter, as some of the Vrannes began to dig into the earth, bringing forth more of the roots of the old oak. They didn’t need to be given a place to thrive as they seemed to know instinctively what they had to do to survive.

“They are indeed hardy creatures, with a strong will to live,” Duril said. His voice was light and tender. “It must be because of everything that they have survived for so long, while being used as tools for keeping the forest alive by the wind spirit.”

“Will they revive Amarant?” Toru asked.

“I think it is more like they are giving him a new life through them,” Duril explained.

Varg nodded. Duril’s words were wise.

“The wind tells me something else,” the healer added after a short time during which they watched the Vrannes using the roots to shape them into a foundation for their lives.

“What?” Varg was just as curious as Toru. Duril was by no means weaker than they were, but even stronger in different ways. Who else could brag about being able to talk to trees, and now the wind? Not many people or shifters or any other species; Varg was sure of it.

“Toru, you must lend your power to the new life, too,” Duril explained.

“Me, too?” Toru questioned but he seemed quite delighted that his help was also needed.

“You are the source of new magic, the wind says,” the healer replied.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Toru said, somewhat surprised and unsure of this revelation.

Varg patted him on the back to encourage him. “If the wind says so, and Duril heard him, then you must be magical, too, kitty.”

“I must be,” Toru said and nodded with self-importance. Still, when he stretched his hand to touch the roots, he was shy and hesitant.

Varg grinned and took his wrist to help him plant his hand firmly on one of the exposed roots. Right away, viscous liquid, red and golden like lava, sprang from underneath Toru’s palm. “Look at that, Varg, Duril!” the young shifter exclaimed. “I am magic!”

“Just as I thought,” Varg added just to tease him a little.

The silver from his hand, the golden lava from Toru’s fingers, and the Vrannes summoned by Duril; all ran along the twisted roots. They watched together in silence as the threads merged, the soft tendrils of the Vrannes’ branches brought to life by the new magic.

And then, they started growing, reaching toward the sky, spreading along the length of the fallen trunk, their branches stretching and taking shape under their very eyes. They looked just as Varg remembered them from that bloody war, but their scary appearance no longer brought the fear of all that was holy upon him. He knew them to be different, and he held no doubt of this in his heart.

“New magic is amazing,” Toru concluded. “They are so strong now.”

No one said a thing about the way they seemed to be made of the same fabric as nightmares. Varg felt as if he knew them, all of these trees that looked ready to go to war, but instead had served for so long keeping alive a forest where they weren’t even welcome.

The silver from his fingers slowed to a trickle, and he noticed how Toru was shaking his hand to see if any of that strange lava still poured from it. No new Vrannes hurried to the tree.

“I believe, my friends,” Varg said loudly, “that our work here is done. Don’t you think?”

They all took a step back. Varg took his companions by the hand and watched the new life beaming in front of them. The gentle light of the moon made the shiny teeth and claws of the grownup Vrannes glint, but not for one moment did it make him think of the ruthless enemy they had had to fight to the death decades ago.

“There you are,” a sonorous voice interrupted their awe.

Varg turned to see Claw, his eyes all shiny and happy, rushing toward them. The bearshifter hurried to them and first, he embraced Varg hard to the point of almost squeezing the breath out of him. Then, he took Duril in his arms and kissed both his cheeks. He left for Toru last, but he not only embraced and kissed him, but he helped him onto his back until the tigershifter rested on his shoulders.

“We are all waiting for you. Many people have many thanks to address, and they even want to express their gratitude in more substantial ways,” Claw told them.

“By that, do you mean meat?” Toru asked promptly.

“Yes, kitty. Our hunters have been hard at work for the last hour or so. And not only meat, but the best raspberry sauce you’ve ever had with deer.”

“I don’t mind if you eat that,” Toru offered generously. “Let me have the meat.”

Claw laughed and made a playful pirouette with Toru on his shoulders, making the young tiger laugh and pretend to lose his balance by swinging his arms wildly. He stopped for a moment and looked at the new patch of forest grown from the roots of the old oak. “So they are the Vrannes,” he said respectfully.

“Yes,” Duril replied. “We believe that they are now giving Amarant a new life by growing from his source of life.”

Claw nodded. “Shearah used some of them to bring my friends back to life. I want to let them know that their sacrifice was not in vain.”

“Sacrifice may not be the right word,” Duril said. He took a long look at the fallen trunk and the Vrannes standing high and proud before them. “They were meant to give life, in various forms and shapes. I think that is one thing that we didn’t know about them.”

“It only means that there is something new to learn every day,” Claw said. “I was lucky to have you with me. If I had come back here on my own, I wouldn’t have been able to bring my friends back to life.”

“Was it luck or destiny, my friend?” Varg asked him and patted him on the back.

Claw hooked one large arm over his shoulders, making him stagger under its weight, but only for a moment and playfully. “If my destiny was to meet you, then it is that I favor. Now come. I know a few people who can barely wait to sink their teeth into some juicy steak and resist doing so only because the guests of honor are late to the table.”

“We’re the guests of honor, right?” Toru asked immediately for explanation.

“Do you really have to ask, kitty? Of course you are. And Duril, were my old eyes playing tricks on me or were you flying not so long ago?”

“I did,” the healer confirmed, “but it was only for a little while. Don’t ask me for a repeat performance. It was the Vrannes that made it possible, they helped me tap into the secret of a great new power.”

“I suppose it isn’t flying,” Claw continued as they started walking toward the place where the revived population of The Quiet Woods were waiting for them with open arms.

“No, it is something much more powerful than that,” Duril said promptly.

“What could be more powerful than flying?” Claw asked playfully.

“I’m now capable of talking to the wind,” Duril explained.

“To the wind spirit Shearah, you mean?”

Duril sighed. “The eagleshifters said she needed to rest. So no, not to her, but to the entity from which she was made.”

“That does sound powerful,” Claw admitted. “Now, my friends, are you ready to be honored as you should?”

“Yes,” Toru replied gleefully for all of them. “Especially with a lot of meat.”

TBC

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