The Truths of the World

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Three races of man separated by the ages;

The high, the Lae Velsanans;

the numerous common-men of the middling nations;

and the lowly Saldaens.

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Three branches of magic, each with a league to control them;

Mind, governed by the women of the forbidden Sisterhood;

Soul, wielded by the priesthoods of the faiths;

and Heart, regulated by the Cabal of Mages.

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Three realms of existence;

Ours of soil;

the Celestial of souls, gods, and magic;

and the Elemental.

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Three stages of godhood;

Avatars, seeds within mortal shells;

the New-Born, awakened gods upon our world;

and the Elevated, those matured and raptured to the next.

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And all in a world forged by the goddess, Life,

in partnership with her husband, Death.

Yet now they are estranged and waging divine war,

a war that promises doom for us all.

Maps

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Maps: The City-State of Ossard

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Maps

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Northern Dormetia

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Ossard & The Northcountry

Prelude

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The Fleet Away

&

At Sea

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A Prelude In Two Parts

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Prelude I: The Fleet Away

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Yamere, Lae Wair-Rae, the Fifth and Final Dominion

Forwao the Chronicle waited with his hands on the balustrade as he looked down upon the sprawling capital of Yamere to the west. He was on a balcony of the Garnamora Watchtower, the stone beacon rising tall and slender high atop the mountains that stood on the magnificent pillar city’s eastern flank.

Soon, the sun would rise behind him, but for now he was alone in the predawn light as a chill breeze stirred.

The tower’s beacon loomed above. The ancient stone chamber held an arrangement of lenses and shutters that sealed a cluster of glowing naskae within. Those soul pearls waited to unleash their bright celestial light to celebrate great occasions, herald dire warnings or to announce terrible disasters.

Today would host such a moment.

The coming dawn would deliver a great occasion for most in the Lae Velsanan capital, but to Forwao it heralded a closing catastrophe. In the days to come, many would die. Some destined to fall deserved such a fate, but with them would pass far too many innocents. Still, such was the way of a world caught in the thrall of Death.

Before him, at the feet of the steep slope, the city’s pillar towers and temples were lit up with the blue glow of naskae that studded their marble walls and dizzying spires. In the soft light of the predawn, such celestial lamps, charms and other magics illuminated the vast metropolis where it spread across Lake Finsilsa’s scores of islets and surrounding shoreline.

The Lae Velsanan capital was a wonder.

The far shore of the lake rose as a narrow and low ridge, crowded with buildings even tighter than those on the cramped islets. The land there soon fell away on its far side to where the long docks and naval yards of the Fifth and Final Dominion ran packed full of the ships of the Royal Fleet.

A fleet about to sail to war.

The scout ships had already been dispatched – some by sea, some by air – and since confirmed the way clear. Those ships had reached the shores of the Northcountry and would soon look upon the declared enemy.

The corrupt city of Ossard.

Initial reports said the cultist nest was preparing for war and working to secure a celestial gate. A gate that could be used to both deliver and rally mortal followers as well as be a conduit for raw magical power.

For all of Dormetia, the rogue city-state loomed as a threat.

Forwao’s mouth went dry at the thought of what was to come. As the Chronicle, the gods of his people had imbued him with the power to see the impending catastrophe in all its blood-drenched horror.

One white rose...

Two souls grae...

Three fates red.

He shook his head, taking in a deep breath of chill mountain air.

Today, he had to focus on now, not what was to come.

He steadied himself.

Forwao knew that meant he should be by the side of the High King.

The ruler of the Fifth Dominion would be in the Pasinotis. Most likely in the Royal Tower’s roof garden. That was where High King Caemarou would want to witness the final blessings of the Five Faiths of the Kinreda upon his massive war fleet.

The High Priests’ rituals would climax as dawn’s first rays struck the tip of the watchtower above where Forwao stood. The beacon would then be kindled with the completion of the blessings. Then, finally, the war fleet would set sail, and all things foreseen by the Chronicle would be set in motion.

Yet Forwao felt sick.

He could sense it even if he could not see it. There were other things in play.

Hidden powers in the celestial.

Veiled actors.

Unknowns.

And all of that meant there would only be more suffering.

A fresh chill found him.

From a distance the deep horns of the temples rolled out.

Forwao turned and looked up.

The first golden rays of the sun had hit the tip of the watchtower and now climbed down the tall stone spire.

Magic stirred in the air.

The Kinreda’s blessings...

The horns wailed on as a cracking boom rolled out to fill the world.

At the same moment the beacon blazed into life.

Blue light, amplified by huge crystal lenses and divine blessings, flared to send a dazzling ring of power rolling out like a celestial wave.

The light was blinding, but Forwao did not avert his gaze.

He did not want a reprieve from its brilliance.

Instead the glare gave him a haven. A sanctuary from his bloody foresight. In that blinding radiance, he found shelter from the gory visions of what was to come. Terrible visions that had haunted him for decades.

Tears came, but not because of the beacon.

No, not at all...

As the distant temple horns droned on while the ring of power rolled out, and the war fleet finally set sail as High King Caemarou watched from his pillar tower, Forwao wept for the one who would pay for all of this.

For the one who would suffer the most.

He shed tears for Juvela.

A Prelude In Two Parts

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Prelude II: At Sea

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On approach to Ossard, the Northcountry

Duhan the Heletian stood awestruck by the scene before him.

A great arc of unnatural clouds rose dark and billowing like a sheer wall over the grey sea. To call the clouds unnatural was an understatement. It was said the protective belt of ominous squalls had been called up from the celestial and anchored in place – laced with black, purple and blue lightning – by Lord Kurgar of Ossard himself.

The sight was both stunning and terrifying.

The young warrior was tall and lean with a long face that was accentuated right now by his open-dropped jaw. Nonetheless, he was not the only one. Around him the other passengers on the crowded cargo ship – almost to a man and woman – stared at the storm while the vessel’s rigging strained and its timbers creaked.

He had boarded the ship to set him on the last leg of his journey. And what a grand journey it had been! Although to call his travels a pilgrimage would be far more apt.

A few days ago, the ship had cast off from the port of Wurstrich in Fletland, but he had left his homeland of Heletian Saldae and his work with the Road Watch long before. While he missed his parents and brothers and the simple life of that place – a land of farms, sunshine and fishing villages – the knowledge he was finally approaching Ossard left him giddy with joy.

From Heletian Saldae he had sailed to the nearby and more prosperous League State of Lixus. The port there had been huge and the city a place of crowds, walls and rambling buildings made from stone. He had never seen anything like it.

In Lixus he’d sought word of his mentor, Betor, asking around taverns, the wharves and anywhere he found warriors training or seeking work. There had been nothing definite. With nothing else for him in Lixus, he’d arranged his sea passage to Fletland.

That journey had been even longer and more unnerving.

While he had eventually found his sea legs and his stomach had settled, being beyond the sight of land while the ship rode the rolling waves had discomforted him more than he had thought possible. Still, despite all the time, cost and effort, he had finally made it to Wurstrich.

From Fletland, he had then bought passage direct to Ossard.

The Northcountry now lay just beyond that stormy arc of protection, and the ship he was on had a charm that would allow them safe passage through. By sunset he would be in Ossard, along with all the other Kavists on the ship who had answered the call to come and defend the free city.

And there, hopefully, he would find his former captain from the Road Watch and mentor, Betor, or at least word of his fate.

Ahead, thunder rumbled and lightning blazed.

A Kavist beside him, one of a party of three Flets he had come to know on the crossing, cried, Here we go!

Duhan refocussed on what lay before him as the wind rose to bluster.

The captain stood at the bow of the ship, where he lifted a glowing charm high in his fist.

The dark clouds lay just ahead, their closest wisps of mist twisting down like hands reaching out to grab the vessel as the ship sped forward, sails snapping full.

The wind became a gale, roaring in their ears.

Thunder cracked hard, and lightning flared.

The charm sounded out, like the deep chime of a great bell, as a ring of sparks in blue rolled out from where the captain held it high.

Instantly the strength of the squall faded, the gale relenting and falling into little more than a breeze.

They began to pass under the cloud wall that rose tall and dark, entering the deeper shadows beneath. In the space of a heartbeat, the water went from grey-blue to charcoal. The thunder, which had constantly rumbled, died away.

The ship then passed through an icy curtain of air so chill it left frost on the deck.

The captain brought down his fist clasping the charm and turned to the passengers and crew. We are through! We will make port by sunset!

Everyone erupted into cheers. Many of the passengers then fell into a chant, Kave! Kave! Kave!

Duhan’s spirit soared.

He was nearly there, they all were!

The Free City of Ossard!

He had answered the call Betor had told him to listen for, and now, although he had left his home behind, he felt his fate lay so close he could grab it as surely as he gripped the ship’s railings.

A fate blessed by Kave!

Above, the skies opened clear and blue to reveal the mid-afternoon sun and the coastline of the distant Northcountry.

The cloud wall and shadows were gone, as if the whole tempestuous barrier had been nothing more than an illusion.

He was ready to meet his fate!

By My Own Hand

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A Fifth Belated Introduction

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Thank you for staying with me as I tell the next chapter in my meandering tale.

Through it all you have seen me go from naive girl, to a bewildered and hurt young lady, to a woman discovering confidence and growing into power.

Each stage of my journey, like all things, came with challenges, learnings and often pain. My lessons added to my knowledge, just as my mistakes did, and in all of this I emerged as a wiser and better person.

The me of today.

Day by day, just as the son Pedro and I had made as we fled Ossard now grew within me, my destiny drew closer to its own birth.

I still felt far from ready, but also realised that no one can truly be ready for their fate.

Please join with me as I continue to tell my tale.

Juvela

Part 1

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Birth of Stars

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Chapter 1

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A Burning Star

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In the skies over Raken, the Green Pass, Kalraith

With the gargoyle attack at Green Pass repelled, Sef, Anton and I headed for the burning ruins of Raken with Korda and the tray carriers’ aid. We descended quickly, the birdmen gliding down and around the rising plumes of acrid smoke that marked the wrecked mountain city. Thankfully, the explosions that had brought down the metropolis seemed to have subsided.

Our spiralling approach was lit from above by the shimmering green and white light of the small celestial star I had set to blaze high over the forested pass and keep the enemy at bay. The closer we got to the shattered mountain, the more that light mixed with the garish glow thrown off by the unnatural blue, maroon and purple flames that flared below. The once-great city perched on its lonely peak in the middle of the pass had become a hellscape.

What lay beneath us was a blasted wasteland of rubble, flames and death. Great craters scarred the scorched and fractured mountain, the deep pits still smoking while their hearts glowed fiery pink and red. No structure remained intact. The many towers and vast main chamber of Raken were gone. Shards of walls and sections of pillars lay cast out and strewn down the mountain slopes, spilling all the way to slump into the surrounding woods.

Amidst the vast and charred ruin lay the dead.

So many dead!

The bodies were mostly blackened lumps, some skewered by jagged shards of stone. Twisted limbs, broken wings, singed hair and feathers often made them unrecognisable.

In some places the rubble still shifted, unstable, while in others stunned Dagruan somehow emerged from the wasted city alive. The ash-covered survivors gathered in shock, battered, with blood running from their wounds.

There weren’t many of them.

Korda pointed to a part of the slope where several small groups of survivors had gathered amidst a fractured square. The ruins there lay caught in a fold of the mountainside, so seemed to be jammed in place and stable.

Without delay we hurried down to do what we could to help.

***

The last light of dusk faded as we landed, leaving us in the smoking ruins of Raken under the blazing green and white glow of my celestial star above. The casting kept the pass safe, radiating not just a bright light but heat. Clouds that drifted above the ragged and towering crests of the two parallel ridgelines that defined the pass broke up if they drew too close.

Meanwhile, the many fires amongst the ruins around us burned down and thankfully lost their unnatural hues. As the garish blues, pinks and maroons faded, the flames instead painted the wasted mountainside in more natural ambers and yellows.

Our sky tray hit the shattered paving, grinding along cracked flagstones on uneven ground. The carriers dropped down as quickly, landing as they called out apologies.

Korda dropped to land beside us. He warned, The ground is not level and perhaps not safe. We must all be careful.

Sef, Anton and I all said we understood as we climbed out of the tray and sought the nearest survivors to help.

In the sky above, the worst of the smoke began to clear as the night deepened and the fires burned low. Occasionally, as we worked to help the all too few survivors, we witnessed lone gargoyles try to skirt by my blazing celestial star as they sought to return to their mountaintop homes.

Most of them became disoriented, apparently blinded by the glare, while others were overwhelmed by the heat. A few of the vile creatures who got too close to the casting began to smoulder before bursting into flames and plummeting to their deaths in the surrounding forest.

I noted the ball of celestial energy seemed very effective at keeping the gargoyles at bay, so much so that I pondered if I should weave a second and set it to burn longer. The one I had already created and set in place above would run out of energy by dawn.

Would that be enough?

Still, there was time for considering such things as we searched the ruins for the injured and treated those we found.

Sef, Anton and I worked to bind wounds, set broken bones and soothe burns and offer comfort as well as ease the passing of those too far gone. The sights we saw were terrible. Of burns so bad that flesh and limbs remained only as ash or charcoal. The dead were countless.

I spent most of my time bestowing blessings of healing on the injured and did all I could to help. Sometimes survivors merely needed comforting.

The night drew on.

In time the rubble-strewn mountainside filled with other Dagruan who arrived from nearby outposts, sirda and cities to help.

One of them came with grave news.

A young birdman with a bloodied arm landed hard on the paving right next to where Sef, Anton and I worked checking over three young Dagruan girls. The sisters had been half buried in the ruins of a collapsed tower, but seemed alright aside from bruises. Leigh, Asharis and Crystaris had been lucky.

Sef cursed at the birdman’s clumsy landing, with wings spread wide enough to knock the big Flet down. Be careful of the little ones! he warned.

After the dust settled, and the sisters recovered from their surprise, we could see the young man struggle to his feet, pale and exhausted, with a gaping wound in his arm. Blood still ran from the gory hole.

I went to the birdman, who looked as though he was about to topple over.

Sef and Anton saw it too.

All three of us reached for him, getting to him just as his legs gave out and he slumped to the ground.

He gasped in warning, There are more attacks coming!

The three of us crowded around him, the birdman now on the ground but sitting up with Sef’s support.

Instinctively I looked around, trying to catch any sign of the enemy.

All around us lay scorched ruin, smoke and the glow of fires. There was nothing else to see, certainly not on the sundered mountain aside from the injured and dead. Yet in the distance the sky was hazy, aglow where my celestial star lit up airborne ash, dust and smoke. The air was so thick with the memory of the fall of Raken that it was not possible to know for certain what calamity might be unfolding in the distance.

The very death of the city provided a veil for our enemies.

The birdman had a bloody wound in his upper arm. A hole that went straight through the muscle.

He saw me staring at it and muttered, A gargoyle bolt.

Anton started to wrap bandages around the injury as Sef asked, What is happening out there? What attacks?

I gathered myself. Focussing my thoughts, adding to Sef’s questions, Yes, what have you seen?

He took a deep breath and said, There is trouble outside the Green Pass, more than you can know.

My heart sank to hear it as I insisted, Please tell me!

His head lolled for a moment before he regained his strength. Just outside the Green Pass, back on the borders of the Homerin... He paused for breath. Where the mountain wall meets the frontier vales further to the south.

Yes?

I could see it by the last light of dusk.

I begged, See what?

Great clouds gathering, slowly being drawn in and twisted, like yarn being spun. A huge thunderhead arose, being created over the highest and most ragged peak. He paused for a moment, took another breath and swallowed before he continued, It was just like what I saw forming over the ridgeline of the Green Pass before the purple fires, before the attack, before the fall of Raken!

We sat in silence for a moment.

I did not want to see the scorching of another city, not after what I had witnessed here. For every bloodied and ash-covered survivor, there seemed to be a score of charred or crushed bodies in the rubble.

I asked, This attack is brewing to the south of the Green Pass?

He nodded. Yes, and there look to be other raids readying to launch further along the borders of the Homerin. I could see similar signs in the distance. At least three other rearing thunderheads that could be hiding the enemy.

I needed first to speak to Korda and then, as soon as possible, Dorloth.

The homeland of the Dagruan was in danger.

I cried out, adding celestial power to my call, seeing my voice roll across the ruined mountainside like thunder, Where is Korda?

***

Korda, taken aback by the power of my summons, arrived with great haste from amidst the smoke, ruin and flames. What is wrong?

I studied him. I knew he was committed here, to a mission of rescue and saving lives, but I had just discovered there was much more at stake.

I had gotten more than words from the wounded birdman who had landed so roughly beside me only moments before. From him I had also sensed the truth of the threat about to engulf the Homerin.

If we do nothing...

But I knew what to do. This was the moment to shine the bright light of Life into Death’s dark shadows.

Korda stood wearing the innocent blood of those he had been working to save. I was similarly marked. I stepped forward and reached for his hands.

He let me take them.

I said, This is not the only attack.

What?

This birdman here, one who came to help from the Homerin, has seen similar thunderheads rise along the Varm Carga’s peaks to mask other attacks.

Korda’s face paled.

I looked up, straight at the green and white star blazing above to keep the enemy at bay. I am a god, but a guest in Kalraith. I need to see Dorloth urgently, but for now I wish to take some of the celestial energy I can see roving your first basin, the Finicor, and use it to fashion more celestial stars in an attempt to turn back the advance of your enemies.

He nodded.

"The star I fashioned above will burn out at dawn. I can create more, using the stray energy shed by Dorloth that drifts in the Finicor. I will set such stars all along the Varm Carga, wherever I can sense an unnatural squall, but also create these new stars to burn through the rest of tonight, all of tomorrow, and then until the following dawn.

This will help keep your borders lit and safe until I have met with Dorloth.

He glanced up at the light above and gave a nod.

The cry of a lone gargoyle sounded out in the night.

Far in the distance, almost lost against the star’s white and green glow, a pinprick of light flared in the colour of flames. A screech of pain sounded out. A heartbeat later a burning gargoyle dropped towards the forest floor.

Korda begged, Do it! Take all the power you need! Please help save my people!

Chapter 2

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In the Ruins of Raken

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Raken, the Green Pass, Kalraith

I did what I had promised, raising dozens of blazing celestial stars to burn between the highest mountain peaks of the Varm Carga and the forests of the Homerin. That grand circle meant they ran all along the borders of the Dagruan’s most populous basin, even in places far to the south and west that I could not see.

Forging them took much of the night. The power came from the great orbs of celestial energy adrift in the Finicor, cast out to orbit endlessly around Dorloth’s divine focus centred on Quersic Quor.

I crafted the first castings while in the ruins of blasted Raken and more as we were lifted up on our tray by our carriers, who sought to take us somewhere we could rest safe in the forest while we waited for Korda.

Rising through the night, I could feel the heat of my original celestial star above, its light cutting through the smoke of fallen Raken. Soon enough we could also see the distant glow of the newer stars I had called into being as they blazed into life.

I had been assured by Korda, who said he would later join us, that the Finicor did not need such protection, as there was little there but mostly abandoned cities that only housed mages and those who served Dorloth and, of course, Dorloth herself.

Before we began our descent to the forest platform where we would await Korda, we noted that the sky to the southwest over much of the Green Pass and the distant Homerin was aglow under a pale white-green light.

Sef and Anton were stunned by my casual use and manipulation of such power, as were the Dagruan carriers with us.

I ignored their awe and instead just hoped the balls of energy I had set in place would delay any new attacks and throw any in progress into disarray. We needed time. Time for me to get to Quersic Quor so I might meet with my divine sister. Such a meeting would give us a chance to forge an alliance and work together.

If she will have me...

Dorloth was a maturing god, one who was ages old, with great power and millions of followers to feed her font of energy through their faith. Awakened millennia ago, she was long overdue to be elevated to the celestial.

But me?

In comparison I was nothing.

I was an old soul only recently awakened to godhood and far from divine elevation or the strength required. I could claim followers who had faith in me, but they were in the thousands, nothing more.

In truth I had little to offer Dorloth. Even the power I had used to set the celestial stars ablaze over the Homerin had largely not been mine. I had merely manipulated the loose power I had found adrift in the Finicor, the energy Dorloth had discarded.

Nonetheless, I had to convince her an alliance was worth her while. Not for the sake of the Dagruan, Ossard or me, but for the sake of Life.

I have to!

Once we reached the outpost in the forest, a platform held amongst several ancient trees’ huge and mighty boughs, we were greeted by the Dagruan stationed there. Of course there were introductions and offers of food, drink and blankets to sleep in, but most of all we were encouraged to get what rest we could. The few birdpeople there had heard the news and stood ready to receive any wounded who might be brought out of the scorched ruins of Raken.

Seeing our hosts had duties and acknowledging that we were indeed exhausted, the three of us retreated to a section of the rambling platforms where we could be out of their way. There we would await Korda, who had promised to reach us by dawn. In the meantime we could finally relax a little and talk.

As tired as I was after setting dozens of celestial stars to burn, I realised more than anything I wanted to talk and spend some time with Sef and Anton.

It had been so long since I had seen them!

So it was there on that platform, as we sought rest, we finally relaxed and fell into an easy conversation of all that had happened since we’d last seen each other.

Most of all, as I knew what Sef and Anton had been through because of our link, it was left to me to answer their questions of home, as well as to explain how I had become so strong.

Anton studied me as I spoke, noting my confidence, power and poise. Finally, he asked, Juvela, you have grown not just strong, but also very capable. What has happened to you while we have been away?

Sef also awaited my answer.

I spoke of many things, but mainly of lessons in Ba Er Kaan and the aid of the Prince.

They listened and asked many questions.

Despite our exhaustion and the tragedy of the day, we talked late into the night.

Chapter 3

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An Ally

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The Bandit Camp, the Northcountry

Grandmother stumbled on into the afternoon. She was still running as she had ever since the previous day when Juvela had turned her away from the walls of Marco’s Ruin.

The rosetrees no longer struck at her, but she could still see them swing their branches towards her whenever she went near them, just as she spied lone roots break the soil to seek her out.

She cursed them.

Luckily, as Grandmother made her way up the stony shoreline of the sound back towards the bandit camp, her path remained mostly clear of the infernal trees. Still, the menacing woodland stood crowded along the base of the ridge and up its slopes. The wall of tall trunks and thick canopy of foliage all meant the only free path for her was the rocky beach ahead.

So she kept on going.

The last time Grandmother had felt so powerless was when Anton the Inquisitor had caught her, tried her, and burned her at the stake.

Her fury flared at the memory.

The Burnings...

Grandmother continued to run, staggering and stumbling amongst the rocks and small shrubs of oleander that rose along the stony shore.

She was exhausted, but dared not stop.

To stop would be death!

The oleander bushes seemed to mark out territory safe for her, unlike the neighbouring wood of rosetrees that favoured the ridge and the ground immediately at its feet.

But the hardy oleanders with their pink flowers brought up another memory. Of her clumsy attempt to contact the Mother Spirit of that plant in the celestial only days ago.

Shaking her head, she contemplated what a disaster that had been. There, in that cold, damp and shadowed celestial place, she had felt not just powerless, but threatened. Her very existence jeopardised.

She had come close to Oblivion.

A strangled cackle escaped her lips as she stumbled on.

She muttered to herself, What a naive fool I have been!

She realised now, with hindsight, she had been playing with forces far too strong. Forces she barely understood.

Only days ago she had felt she could be their equal.

She shook her head at the notion as she struggled on.

It was true to say Grandmother had greatly increased her own power over past years, far more than she should have been able to. But what she could wield still paled when compared to others. The two mother spirits of nature she had encountered – rosetree and oleander – just like the two awakened gods – Kurgar and Juvela – all could extinguish her with a thought.

Grandmother had to accept she could not stand against them.

She was not their equal.

As she stumbled on, the sun sinking towards the horizon in the west, she tried to stay near the stony shoreline close by the water, where only tufts of hardy grasses and oleander could survive the salt on the wind and waves. Still, Grandmother knew she would have to stop soon and rest.

She could not keep going.

Not forever.

For now, step after step, she simply had to focus on the path ahead.

She just needed to escape the rosetrees and find somewhere safe to sleep.

As she moved on, Grandmother concentrated solely on what lay ahead.

Simply, the next few paces.

One foot after the other.

Step after step.

That was when she noticed there seemed to be more oleander along the shore than she remembered.

Could she be just imagining it?

Countless new clumps of young bushes, all growing well and flush with the plants’ long dull-green leaves.

She didn’t recall passing so many on her way to Marco’s Ruin a few days before.

Grandmother paused for a moment, looking at one of the bushes before her.

Something strange was happening.

The oleander plant grew as she watched. New leaves lengthened while branches stretched and spread; buds swelled to open full of pink blooms. It was as if the young oleander bush was experiencing an entire season of vibrant growth. The sight of it was amazing.

Slowly, Grandmother lifted her gaze and studied the other bushes crowded around her along the sound’s shore.

They all grew at the same unnatural speed.

What is going on?

She heard something crack sharply and suddenly behind her.

Grandmother span around.

There, behind her, a thickening line of oleander grew, the bushes’ long branches intertwining to create a barrier that with each heartbeat gained in height and strength. Beyond that barrier, back towards the woodland of rosetrees along the base of the ridge, a rising root snaked out of the soil and slid forward.

The tree root sought to make sure Grandmother did not slow in her desperate flight from Juvela’s Vale, but continued to be chased away.

As Grandmother watched, another root rose, this one closer, darting in like a striking snake.

With a whoosh of rustling leaves, the root was met by a barrier of swaying oleander branches that had loosely woven themselves together. They not only knocked the root off course, but did so in such a way to entangle it so that she could not be threatened again.

Grandmother was stunned.

She could see the oleander working to keep the rosetrees at bay.

To keep her safe.

Grandmother wondered at that as she trembled with fatigue.

Why?

Does it matter?

Deep down, she knew all that mattered right now was that the rosetrees could not get her.

She was safe!

Grandmother had found a protector.

Exhausted, she staggered back a couple of steps and then fell to her knees by the waters of the sound. She grazed herself on the stones. Blood welled up to flow. Her blood.

But the rocky beach was safe from the rosetrees because of the growing thicket of oleander. And that meant, at least for now, she would not have to run anymore.

Grandmother slumped into the gravel with relief.

Tired, but able to draw upon her celestial store of power, she was in no danger of dying from exhaustion, hunger or exposure. Not yet. Still, she needed to rest her mortal form, to let her breathing return to normal, to rest her muscles, and to take some water.

After all, despite all her efforts, she was no god.

Not yet...

After lying there for a while, the afternoon light taking on the golden hues of sunset, she lifted her gaze and looked up the shore towards the ridge.

The rosetree wood stood not so far away, thick, shadowed, and tall, but thankfully still on the far side of the oleander bushes.

She remained safe.

Grandmother, a little more rested now, took in her surroundings.

She hadn’t realised, but she was near where the bandit camp lay hidden in the woodland, beside where the path climbed up the ridge.

Peering into the shadows of the trees, she could see where the forest grew to be impenetrable. Where Juvela’s rosetrees bulged out from the ridge, growing so close together and thickly that they were like a wall surrounding the old bandit camp.

The trees had turned the campsite into a prison.

Grandmother remembered. She had heard sobbing when she had passed this way only days ago.

A smirk settled on her features.

Her situation might seem dire, but she would not swap it for the hopelessness she had heard then. Still, she wondered what she would have to do to survive the next few days. How could she climb the ridge and cross back into the Cassaro Valley if the path ran through the rosetree forest?

How?

Simply, she couldn’t.

She did not have the strength to endure such a crossing.

Not by herself.

Frustrated, she picked up a stone and threw it at the nearest tree.

Around her, as rock hit bark with a sharp clack, the oleander bushes rustled. Their branches rose higher; their leaves lifted while their petals of pink blooms stretched wide.

A deep groan sounded from the rosetrees as they slowly shifted their boughs, swinging them out towards her.

But she was well beyond their reach.

For now...

Yet she couldn’t stay here forever.

The oleander around her thickened as she