The Reign of Magic. Wolf Awert
He’ll be surprised when he sees the full water skins when he wakes up.
He got up silently and sneaked off like a cat. The closer he came to the forest, the softer the ground under his feet became. It got so soft that Nill constantly felt like he was tilting with each step. It was a nice sort of walk, one that made each step feel almost like a leap. But the forest was becoming ever darker and denser. Nill thought nothing of it when he scratched his hands on rough bark or when he was poked in the side by twigs. He carefully groped his way forward though the half-light, until a hard blow hit him in the back, throwing him forwards; at the same time he felt a strike to his forehead. Nill buckled over and fell down, but rolled over onto his back and thrust his knife upwards. His enemy had vanished. All he saw was the even darkness of the tree’s crest that cast an irregular, diffused light on to the ground and bathed the forest in a green hue. Occasionally the mild afternoon wind would break up the leafy canopy and the sun would take advantage of these openings, successfully beaming down onto the ground. Gripped by this otherworldly natural beauty, Nill stood up and gazed at the wondrous lights. But only a short moment later another blow, this time to his arm, tore him out of his dream-world and knocked him firmly back into reality. The first attack was followed by another, and Nill dived to the ground once more. Now he understood what Dakh had meant by the beating. It was impossible to predict the strikes and hits. Wherever the sunlight glinted, buckled figures scurried about. Nill had to squint to make anything out in this jumble of sun rays, light shadows and black turmoil. He was now kneeling on the ground, ready to leap up and lash out. But the enemy was fast.
Nill gasped in bemusement. The small black figures had been twisted and bent branches, moving in the wind like shade-fighters, whipping through the air, spinning around, jerking here and there, rising up and slamming back down again.
It must have been the branches that got me, Nill thought as he wiped his aching forehead, where a small lump had begun to form. He now lay flat on his back, safe from most renewed attempts by the foliage to strike him. Only once or twice did a twig take a swipe at his face.
For the second time Nill raised his eyes to the unending heights of this forest, where the silvery trunks vanished into the dark green ceiling. This is no forest. This is a monumental hall with skyward pillars, silence and serenity under its roof, yet a wild witch-dance on the floor, Nill thought. “Dum-da-dam, dum-da-da-dam, dum-da-da-dam-dam.”
The rhythm of the swinging and flailing branches reverberated within Nill’s body and filled him with a sorrowful song. With sparing movements and slowly shifting his head he let his shoulders circle, until finally his whole body accepted the rhythm. Nill wriggled across the floor, scratching the fallen leaves with his fingertips, toes and ankles, revealing the soft, black topsoil that lay beneath. Nill danced, but not with the weightlessness of a dancer seeking to leave the world behind. Nill danced with the earth. He had slid back into a long-forgotten past, the ancient times when not all life had dared leave the security of the ground. The time of the first dragons, earthbound creatures who had yet to rise up into the air and make it their own. These days only few creatures still moved in this archaic way. Wood olm and den newts, many-legged snakes and flat-lizards had kept the memories of the old times in their bony skulls, and so had, perhaps, many more animals that Nill did not know of. He danced until the forest settled down with the setting sun. Only then did he regain consciousness and felt once more endless sadness and desperation in his heart. Until now he had only known dance as part of exhilaration, at the parties by the Judgment Tree, or just to get rid of excess energy. But this was completely different.
A snapping noise made Nill turn his head. He was able to make out Dakh-Ozz-Han’s silhouette vaguely against the backdrop of the forest. He was carrying a dark red light in his hand, but it barely illuminated his surroundings. “Come, it is time to fill the water skins.”
“What …?”
“Shh, keep quiet. It is better not to raise your voice in this forest.”
The druid walked with slow, careful steps, as straight as the many trees would allow. The branches were still moving, but it was no more than a slight twitch, barely enough to trip up a wanderer. Nill stumbled after Dakh. His senses were in disarray, and he still heard the thumping that had heralded his dance. The painful memory of the beating he had received caused him to raise his arms to protect his face, and his body was all hunched. When he finally reached the pond from which they had planned to refill their water, Dakh-Ozz-Han had already done most of the work.
“Come here, let me help you with that,” he murmured. Nill did not want to accept, but before he could say a word the druid had taken the water skin from him and begun to fill them from the pond, careful not to disturb the mud. He gave Nill a full one back, took the last two in his arms and began to make his way back. Nill followed him with his lips pressed tightly together, his back aching and his head full of sad thoughts.
It took a hot tea, some dried meat and rather a lot of honey to gradually make Nill’s melancholy pass.
“The forest down there is called the Valley of Unhappy Trees. One should usually avoid it. By day, as you no doubt noticed, it is dangerous, and by night most people can enter, but don’t have the strength to exit again. Quite a few people lie buried there. Lost, unknowing wanderers, or sad people, who had long since given up hope. Too many sad stories, too much pain. And the pain in this forest grows stronger the more time passes.”
The druid lowered his head. Even here by the hill, in respectful distance of the forest, they could not avoid its depressing air.
“It’s a magical place, isn’t it?” Nill asked with a mixture of awe, admiration and timidity, looking across the valley to the forest, now hidden in the shroud of the night.
The druid made a tired gesture. “I do not know. I can only feel the desperation and sometimes the helpless anger. Powerful forces are at work here, but whether they are magical, I cannot tell. It is no form of magic I know of.”
Nill shivered at these words. “Is there magic you do not know of? An ancient magic, or magic that is not of the elements?” Nill did not know where the question came from. Something stirred in his memory. Something about the forest that was vital to tell the druid about, but the memory was no more than a wisp of smoke.
“Why are the deepest questions always asked in moments of sorrow?” Dakh’s gaze wandered through the darkness beyond the campfire. “Every druid would now tell you that there is only the magic of five elements, and all other sorts are combinations of those. But I am not sure about that. The older I get, the more I learn about the magic that has been part of me all my life, the less certain I am. You asked of ancient magic. Well, if the legends hold true, this was once the Old Forest of Ancient Trees. But ancient magics are not mentioned.”
Dakh-Ozz-Han knew many tales. Far more than Esara. And he told them well, too. Nill could have listened to the druid all night, had the desire to sleep not won. As much as Dakh kept to himself during the day, he would open up by the nightly campfire. Nill sat up expectantly. The druid just grumbled and said: “This story is quite short. Nobody knows what the Old Forest of Ancient Trees looked like, but this was the only place on Pentamuria where the forest grew. They say that the king camped here with a hunting party once and thought it was far too dusky. Neither joy nor laughter were had at the fire that night. The fool. He did not feel the powers this place has, although he was learned in magic. He could not find any happiness in the place either, although it was there, sleeping contentedly in the darkness. In the Old Forest of Ancient Trees the here and there were as one, earth and space were not separated, old and young felt the same.
“The king had a grove of Mylantos near his palace. Those are trees that shoot skyward like pillars, with silvery, slender bodies, and the branches only start very high up.”
Nill nodded. He had seen them in the forest earlier, but he did not want to interrupt the druid now, so he kept his silence.
“The king’s grove was famed, and it was called the Silver Palace for the trees. By day the sun would shine down through the branches and sprinkle the ground with gold.
“The king asked his sorcerers to bring some of his