Chapter 44: Ch. 40: Welcome to Lysfall Part II

The Void Syndicate are a bunch of malingering fools. A cabal of scoundrels that see it fit to meddle just because they can, but that is what they want you to see. Behind the disappearance of villages and people, I fear this is just a ruse to hold our attention elsewhere. I fear they are agents working for the Occidanians, picking and disposing of resources as they see fit, and one day, we might find ourselves besieged from within and without. The Occidanians have not forgotten what happened to them at Kingsfell—Journal records of an unknown Dreimarch [Inquisitor].

---

Morning couldn’t have come sooner. It might have been the anxiety of meeting Nora or the summons from the Crafter’s Grove that woke him early. With time to burn, he went to the small library to get some reading in and see what information he needed to stay abreast of.

The library in the loft took up a cone-shaped compartment. It was a snug little place with a reading alcove. It had two recessed shelves replete with ordered tomes and books. The books seemed to be made of both parchment, vellum, and paper. He could tell because vellum and parchment had an organic musk of leather more than the bibliosmia of yellowing paper.

A chromastone lamp hung from the ribbed dome ceiling, not so far that he could touch it on his toes. The topmost recesses of the shelves were filled with random bric and brac, while two wicker chairs with cushions and a lone stool were set against an alcove. There was a round window with the same floral motif in stained glass as the patio door downstairs.

Browsing the volumes yielded a few books of interest written in Continental Common, Aeslyvani and Dwar. There was a copy of Saelethil Greatstrider’s WanderLusts, a couple of newer Alkerd: New World History volumes by Valerith Quillworth, and some aesylvani poetry, an Encyclopaedia of Faeriebeasts, and The Shallow Wealds, co-authored by Philiarz Oonswarner and various Sylvani authors.

There was also a Treatise on Faerilight: Sovereign City of Light and Glass, which featured an illusionist’s rendition of the city. The cover looked like glass, but it flexed without breaking. It had lenticular slides that drew the reader’s eyes as it showed different parts of the city in three dimensions. The rest were a collection of translated poetry, bard's tales, anthologies, and novels.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t information on faerieborn or dragontouched. That sounded like strategic information that one would keep under lock and key. He made sure to ask for references from Szephia when they next met, if at all.

Nonetheless, Arthur did find a book on the Lysfall Crafter’s Grove. It looked like a catalogue of sorts for alchemical products, magical items, and artefacts.

They seemed to specialise in wands and staves, scrolls and orbs, and things that an [Arbourmancer] could work with, but even those were sold on an auction basis. And those were pricey. They had ties with the Druidic Groves, who were, in part, responsible for troubleshooting their sentient houses.

The Shallow Wealds was also the go-to reference for information on Lysfall. Alongside two other city-states, Lysfall was one of three gateways to the Sylvani. The rest, including other city states and kingdoms, remained shrouded in mystery, unreachable to all but the Sylvani.

The city of Lysfall was potentially thousands of years old, with its capital built upon a grove of Ashborne Gigants. Those were the titanic behemoths that he had mistaken for pillars and arches from his balcony. The pillars were the dead Gigants that might have suffered from either a meteorite strike or a fallen aerland. It might have been a meteor strike that gave the city its name, and the Mother Grove, the biggest grove of Ashborne Gigants, stood at the centre of a lake.

‘Which means I really am in an aerial Venice, ‘Arthur thought. The depths below the trees were wetland, and the bulb flowers were floating nymph blooms, giant water lilies. They also had fish.

---

By the time he’d sunk into a rabbithole of Lysfall’s peculiarities it was the fifth quartz of the morning.

‘ But what I would have given for a newspaper,’ Arthur tutted as he also grabbed Alkerd: New World History. It was the closest thing to current news that he could use, given it was only five or so years old from the last translation. It was the seventh volume in the series, and he immediately found it relevant in terms of recent political and economic developments, which would serve him well going forward.

The book was like one of those periodicals from Nat Geo. The newer versions had black and white sketches of pictures, and that is where he saw what the port of Chasm’s Edge was supposed to look like five years ago. There was also some mention of the five Titled families that ruled Aldmoor; that was pertinent information he would have to note down in his journal.

There was also a one-page memo from the Túran Dh’ryd Imperium Bank through its branches. It mentioned a special vault for adventurers that could be accessed through the Adventuring Guilds (it read something like Tooran Dire-red or something along those lines).

‘Neat, Eryth has its own coinless payment system.’ Arthur thought, chuckling. A brief mention of the dwarven sygnum was made, outlining its use by the Mages Guild. However, beyond mentioning that the Sylvani communication artefact was a telecry, there was nothing else.

Famished from the brainwork, he found himself in the kitchen, unpacking most of the information while he busied himself with breakfast. There wasn’t much in the way of cooking unless the pantry was stocked, which meant reheating the oryza and the sauteed stew. With hot barley and honey tea, it seemed like it would be a filling breakfast.

He had said breakfast against the view of an awakening Lysfall on the pergola. Contrary to his expectations, the city did get light, most of it being located between the top of the under canopy and the main canopy.

Then there was the old Ashborne Gigant that he’d mistaken for gargantuan pillars of rock interspersed between the other colossi of the forest. Mini groves grew atop the pillars and ledges, forming picturesque views like ancient Chinese paintings of gnarled pine trees on mist-shrouded peaks. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out the outline of giant arches in the distance.

There were also some floating aerlands anchored in place by vine-wreathed chains whose links were bigger than a wagon’s length. And the skies between were graced by weyrs of faerie wyverns, a motley of prismatic colours that seemed unthinkable for large creatures.

With their quad fore wings and lunate tail wings, he would've thought them large butterflies from afar. However, the specimens that flew close to his residence, with riders straddling their backs, disabused him of that notion.

He'd seen the creatures that would’ve been too heavy to fly convey their riders with the grace of a goshawk in the air. The aerial acrobatics of a wing of the wyverns doing the equivalent of an air force exercise made Arthur itch to get out there and fly.

However, a sharp whistle drew him below. He saw his first flying fleet of five aerships making its way through the openings between the trees, the pillars, and the walkways.

Do the Sylvani have their own aerships?’ Arthur thought with pique.

Viewed topside, their wingsails have been furled back and folded down like a swan’s wings. Only the conical shaped jib sails and twin rudders were left open to move and steer the vessels. He did not see any indication of a steam engine in use anywhere. In fact, they didn’t look like a dwarven aership should—

There were aeromancers on deck blowing wind into the jib sails to advance the aerships on their merry way. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Arthur finished the rest of his breakfast.

A little bit of wonder had percolated into his anxiety, and he now found himself psyched up for what was to come. It seemed like forever ago that he’d seen Nora. The girl with the platinum blonde hair, crimson eyes, and pert nose was growing on him.

While he was mulling that and rinsing out the used utensils, he heard the tinkling of a wind chime pervade the house. Galaeron had arrived.

---

“Morn greetings, Master Arthur. I trust you slept well. ” the sylvani saluted.

“Morn greetings, Ranger Galaeron. That I did, ” Arthur said. The Sylvani looked dapper in what might have been his off-duty fit. He wore a cropped leather jacket that was beige, over a white high-collared tunic with long sleeves.

The sylvani's pants were a jungle green and looked to be made of reptilian leather, with scales so minute they looked like an exotic weave. He wore a utility belt with two sheathes for his daggers and a wand holster. In the crook of his arm, he also carried two green cloaks with an esoteric emblem on the back and silver trimming.

“Ah, I am pleased to hear that. This cloak is for you, ” he said, handing over one of them. “I gather you are ready to leave?”

“I think so,” Arthur said, checking for nonexistent lint as he received the cloak. “Are we expecting rain today?” Arthur asked. The cloak had a hood with brooch fasteners at the neck and went down all the way to his calves. The inner side was a russet brown leather felt. Arthur adjusted his spatial knapsack underneath the cloak; he missed his Nightstalker robe.

“Aye, one can never be too sure when we’re in spring,” he said. “Also a matter of protocol and what not.”

“Right,” Arthur said as he slid the door closed. There was an artifice melded into where a lock jamb would be, requiring a keystone to open and close.

Galaeron reiterated that the house would be secure as they fell into step along the truss walkway. The offshoot secondary branches bent and enclosed the walkway like a ribcage. That had to have been the work of an [Arbourmancer] from the Druid’s Grove, no less.

The view between the stanchions was a dizzying drop, but Arthur was never one to shy away from heights. As they crossed the walkway, the wood had been moulded like clay to form a passage big enough to pass two carriages side by side. Then they reached it. A stone's throw away, began the streets of an idyllic neighbourhood.

The ligneous superstructure was hollow, yet it supported its own weight and boasted enough space to squeeze a stadium, stands and all. Along the inner bark of the grove were wide walkways spiralling along the girth of the grove. Growing in the middle was a single tree whose branches poked through some of the large hollows around the grove.

Looking overhead, Arthur saw the branches providing the scaffolding for the walkway, alongside aerial gardens, arboretums, and cascading waterfalls. There was mist shrouding the area above and in the air around him. And there were nymph blooms along the walkway that were glowing in their yellow, orange, and pink petals as they floated in the space between the branches.

Then there were the people. Exotic features and dialects, a menagerie of billowing clothing and colours, a cacophony of different dialects and cultures, were all there for Arthur to see.

There were the stoic Fengari, moon-cousins to the Sylvani, with bronze grey skin and almost white hair and amethyst eyes. They mostly preferred dark colours, and people shied away from them as they glided along the thoroughfare like reapers.

Their sharp features were intimidating enough, but they had nothing on the Wealdfolk with their plant and beast hybrid bodies. In Arthur’s world, they would have been satyrs, but they had green moss-like fur and their antlers were made of sprouting wood.

Several Taurian merchants, half-bull, half-humanoid people, conversed by the wayside. A retinue of Volturi knights, with wings furled around their bodies like cloaks made of scalemail, walked in lockstep guarding a Glykopi councillor of repute.

“Just how are we going to get around this place?” Arthur asked his liaison. They had to be like 20 floors above the water level if such a metric could be used. The rich smell of rain and humus suffused the almost atmosphere that was like the biggest natural greenhouse he’d ever seen.

Arthur did a double take at a dragonkin woman in a black trench dress uniform with red trimming and gold epaulettes. She had feline eyes, crimson scales for freckles, and a fiery mane for hair. And she was tall!

“The Diplomat’s Grove has a faerie gate every four boughs ,” Galaeron smiled wryly as they descended counterclockwise. “Your residence is just one level above one such gate.”

“Is that so?” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Does that imply translocation magic?” he said, shifting his attention so he didn’t come off as rude as the female dragonkin disappeared into an alcove of what might have been her residence.

“Yes... we get such questions all the time. Could we replicate it? Unfortunately, no,” Galaeron shook his head. “These gates use faerie magic harnessed by our Illvari forebearers. Their methods have been lost to us for millenia.”

“Damn. So much for teleporting ships,” Arthur sighed. Ahead, he saw a dwarmaid with earthy, almost tan skin and grey eyes. She had a square face with a well defined jawline; it was as exotically beautiful as one of those Scandinavian women he’d seen in old black and white photos. Braided salt and pepper pigtails with brass cuffs cascaded from a skull cap. She also wore aviator goggles atop her head.

What really caught his eye was the form-fitting leather that had sockets on the sides of her shoulders, wrists, thighs, and the nape of her neck. Were it not for the brown colour and the gorget, he would have thought it was a space suit with steampunk vibes. The woman, not so unpleasant to look at, winked at him as they passed.

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“On the contrary, there are spell orbs and scrolls that do the same to a limited range," Galaeron said, drawing Arthur's attention. “ They are hardly viable for everyday use because of the nature of their materials; the Crafters Grove would know more.”

“Of course,” Arthur murmured, nodding.

“We are here,” Galaeron said, approaching a walkway. It led towards an aerial meadow around the girth of a tree. The middle tree was a Dryad’s Oak, as wide as a skyscraper and so ancient its bark had become stone. A blue-green glow suffused the striations of its stony bark, but otherwise the tree was alive. Its adventitious roots were in the shape of an arch.

In its midst was an ovoid frame that shimmered like an opaque soap bubble of aqua and blue hues shifting beneath its concave surface. Two Watch Rangers on duty at the gate nodded towards Galaeron in recognition as they stepped aside to let them pass. There was no traffic on the platform, but the sounds of a bustling Grove could be heard from the Bough below. There was no doubt the Grove’s entertainment and commercial district began on the next level.

“Ready when you are, Master Arthur,” Galaeron grinned. The [Watch Ranger] must have been smug. Their race had a functioning system of gates that could actually transport people.

“Right,” Arthur nodded. “How do we want to do this?”

“Ah yes, pardon,” Galaeron said as he fumbled with his utility belt. He retrieved a pebble-shaped crystal and held it towards Arthur. “This is a keystone containing passglyphs which allow express arrival at a chosen destination. Your hands if you will?” he added, taking off his Watch issued badge.

Arthur extended his wrists and the [Watch Ranger] tapped his chonky magebinders. The magebinders split open like handcuffs, and the relief that came over Arthur was like getting a sugar rush from the toes to the crown of his head.

“Whoooo!” Arthur exhaled in catharsis as he felt his vasculi buzz with the mana of the Faeriweald.

“Let’s go,” he grinned toothily. He didn’t notice Galaeron and the other Watch Rangers breaking into a cold sweat.

---

The transition through the faerie gate was like popping through a soap bubble. There was no vertigo or sensation of his stomach lurching like one of those times he missed a step on an escalator. That happened with Skills like Nora’s [Shadow Walk] because one’s body was transitioning between two rates of acceleration on entry and exit. On the other hand, taking a faerie gate was just like turning a corner, and suddenly you were there.

However, none of that was there. Arthur felt like he’d taken a left and walked outside an airlock while on an acid trip. He was floating, careening head over heels. Up was down, and vice versa, and right was left. Around him, a depthless realm swirled like iridescent velvet, its colours shifting like abstract fractal style paintings.

Arthur's vision swam, his mind felt overwhelmed to bursting, and he felt a gorge rise. Such a rapidly shifting phenomenon was not meant to be seen by human eyes; he didn’t realise he was breathing hard with his eyes closed.

He was hyperventilating. He felt powerless. It was like a fear of vastness, emptiness, being stranded in the middle of space with no stars and no familiar points of reference.

“At ease, Son of O'reilly, ” Arthur felt someone bump his forehead and cradle his cheeks. He opened his eyes to stare straight into orbs of emerald and an elfin face of green like new growth. She wore a tutu bodice dress of leaves with no straps. A gossamer tail of lace trailed behind her like a bride’s train made of baby’s breath.

Pointed ears longer than a sylvani’s peeked out from under the tresses of weeping willow branches crowning her head. Her smile was gentle, dimpled even, but her teeth were pointed like a shark’s.

Arthur felt terror, grasping his psyche with cold claws as his body went numb. It was an instinctive feeling that this female entity could easily crush him like a bug if she so chose. Yet the same feeling warred with the aura of motherly compassion that came from her.

“Tell me. Why do you trust her so?” Emerald pupil-less eyes stared back at him. The woman was incorporeal, seemingly phasing in and out of existence. Arthur blinked and found himself inside a translucent bubble.

”Huh?” Arthur asked, befuddled. He turned his head around. He could no longer stare into the Aether as he had done before. The bubble seemed to blur his surroundings, like a blackhole bending light.

“Who are you? Where am I?” Arthur asked. His jaw and tongue felt heavier. The terror and feelings of helplessness were nothing but background noise at the fringes of his mind. Arthur knew that he would have been screaming himself insane if the entity had not done what they had.

“First, my answer,” she giggled, as if his bewilderment was amusing. Her eyes crinkled with mirth, as she frolicked weightlessly. Her train of lace trailed behind her, bewitching folds swirling like the fins of an exotic tropical fish.

Arthur's mind latched onto the question she'd asked.

“Pardon? Who do you speak of?” Arthur asked deferentially. She laughed as she orbited the bubble, her face suddenly big like a titan looking at a snowglobe. Her tresses of green hair billowed, ruffled by an unseen breeze. Arthur squirmed uncomfortably, trapped like a bird in a cage; he was truly not supposed to be here.

Although the aromatic fragrances of spring and sandalwood calmed his racing heart, the switch from being human-sized to suddenly being the size of a blue whale was disorienting.

“Who else but the little bloodied flower with thorns, plucked from her false home ? ”She giggled. Her voice was like windchimes and flowed like honey.

“Ah—Nora,”Arthur realised, spinning in place as he followed her circuitous flight.

“Isn't it only right that one good turn begets another?” Arthur asked. “She was willing to turn her back on her clan for someone she'd just known for a few days.”

”Hmm, ” the female entity hummed, dimples forming on her cheeks. She tapped a long fingernail on her pursed lip as she stared at something unseen.

“Pity…” she murmured.

“What? ” Arthur asked, on edge.

“The truth of things , young sprite,” the female entity chimed, her expression now unreadable. She gently floated towards the bubble, growing in size until all he could see was her nose.

Suddenly, between one blink and the next, she had phased through the bubble, transforming into the size of a normal woman. Arthur flinched back as they stopped in his face, caring nothing for propriety or personal space.

“I would've given you a boon for your foolhardiness, but one does not reward naivety, ” she smiled, again twisting away in a gossamer pirouette through the air. Arthur did not know whether to feel insulted or complimented.

“What are you?”

“Hoh? Ever curious one, aren't you?” she grinned.

’What do you want?’ Arthur left it unvoiced. Somehow, his pride felt wounded by the jab. To his surprise, she quirked her brow.

“Wrong. What is it you want?” She asked, flowing right back to Arthur and tapping his forehead like he was a precocious child. Arthur flinched away as if expecting her to poke through his brain.

‘Damn, a loaded question,’ Arthur gritted his teeth. ‘ I can’t even have my mind to myself and she won't tell me who she is. She screams Faerie and I know better than to accept anything from her—but, I can't lie either, can I?’

“Freedom—freedom to do what I want,” Arthur sighed in resignation. Everything that happened after he landed on Eryth was one rollercoaster after another.

”Hahaha,” she chortled. “Not power?”

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “I have more power than I know what to do with. All the power in the world is nothing if it won't help me, or those close to me,” he added, recalling the times his magic had run amok. Meeting her orbs of emerald was unnerving.

“Wise!” she tapped his head again. “For that…mmh,” she pursed her heart shaped lips in thought. “That old sprout was going to meet with you soon. Mayhap I should make it sooner,” she muttered to herself.

“Wait, what?” Most of her mutterings flew right over Arthur’s head.

“A Pendant of Verwandeln for your daywalker,” she muttered. A light shone in Arthur’s chest, as a gem, emplaced in a setting of trifoliate leaves appeared. A small chain, briefly shimmered into existence around his neck before becoming invisible.

“Oopsie, I have already meddled far more than I was supposed to,” she mock-gasped.

“Hey... wait!” Arthur cried out, but things were already well in motion. The female entity feigned a yawn, pretending that she was sleepy as her outline began to blur.

Motes of magic drifted off her skin then suddenly, she burst into sparklers of emerald. Arthur shielded his eyes from the sudden streamers of light.

The last thing he heard was her voice, warbling something unintelligible before space twisted on itself.

A sensation of feeling as though his spirit was being squeezed through the eye of a needle overcame him. With a comical pop! Arthur appeared, stumbling blindly into a dark room. Only then did he realise that her last words had been, “A way out of this mire.”

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