Four Years Ago part II
Ash still kissed the early morning air, a grey shroud over the Sinks.
But beneath the familiar scent of soot and simmering neglect, a fresh, damp earthy aroma began to creep in, carried on a subtle shift in the wind. Hatim felt it first, a prickle on his skin that spoke of open spaces and things untamed, a stark contrast to the enclosed, recycled air of the warrens.
Inside Granny Maldri's small dwelling, the final preparations were made in hushed efficiency.
The hearth, usually a beacon of warmth, was banked low, its blue flames barely licking the blackened pot. Lyra, her braid pulled tight and neat, checked the contents of her satchel one last time – empty vials, small digging tools, and a worn leather-bound guide of star charts and herb lore she'd inherited from Granny. Hatim, his heart a nervous drum against his ribs, strapped the familiar, rough-hewn cleaver to his back, its edge gleaming dully in the low light.
"Your breath is loud, boy," Granny Maldri rasped, not unkindly, as she extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness. "Still unused to the quiet places." She, in turn, strapped a sturdy lamp, fueled by rendered Glimmer-Fish oil, to her wrist. Its faint glow cast long, dancing shadows, momentarily pushing back the encroaching gloom from the cracks in the walls.
They stepped out, not into the central thoroughfares of the Sinks, but into a maze of narrower, rarely used passages that clung to the outer edge of the district. The path quickly deteriorated from packed earth to crumbling rock and, eventually, a treacherous, upward-sloping trail of raw, unworked stone. This was the back door to the city's grim underbelly, a forgotten artery leading directly to the forest.
Hatim saw the crude, faded markings on the rock walls – glyphs left by the desperate few who ventured out for sustenance. He knew that the lesser fringes of the Dark Forest were occasionally visited by hunters from the Sinks, daring to seek Ash-Antelope or gather tough Firecap Fungi that sprouted on volcanic vents.
It was a risky gamble for food, but a necessary one for many. These areas, though dangerous, were relatively untouched by the deeper corruption. But Granny Maldri, with her unique knowledge of Akar, rarely risked the well-trodden, 'safe' paths. Her precious Gloom-Lichen grew only where the forest was ancient, where the raw currents of Akar pulsed in unpredictable ways.
The air changed dramatically. The faint, metallic tang of the city was replaced by the cloying scent of damp earth, decaying leaves, and something else—a faint, electric chill that prickled the back of Hatim's throat. This was the true edge of Embermark, where the sprawling metropolis ended and the primordial darkness began. The air tasted of moss and secrets, and the oppressive silence felt like a blanket pressed against their faces.
The entrance wasn't a gate, nor a grand archway, but a gaping maw in the rockface, shrouded by weeping vines and choked with a slurry of mud and forgotten waste. It was the Sinks' garbage chute, emptying into a realm few dared to tread. Granny Maldri, lamp held high, led the way, her small frame surprisingly unburdened by the weight of the encroaching gloom. Lyra followed, her movements fluid, her small leather satchel bumping softly against her hip. Hatim brought up the rear, his grip tight on the familiar, rough-hewn cleaver, its edge gleaming dully in the lamp's faint glow. His heartbeat drummed against his ribs, a frantic rhythm against the overwhelming silence of the forest.
Inside, the forest swallowed the meager light whole.
The canopy overhead was a dense, unbroken ceiling of gnarled branches, choked with layers of thick, phosphorescent moss. It pulsed with a weak, sickly green light that seemed to absorb rather than reflect, leaving the ground in perpetual twilight. Trees here were not trees, but hulking, twisted titans, their bark rough as ancient stone, draped in curtains of Spider-Silk Weep – sticky, nearly invisible strands that vibrated at the slightest movement, alerting unseen predators.
The ground was a treacherous, uneven carpet of exposed roots, slick, black mud, and unexpected sinkholes. Hatim stumbled, catching himself before he fell. "Careful," Lyra whispered from ahead, her voice hushed, as if the forest itself might listen. "The roots here aren't always what they seem."
Granny Maldri stopped, holding her lamp closer to a patch of iridescent fungi glowing faintly on a decaying log. "That's Glow-Spore Fungi," she murmured. "Harmless to touch, but its airborne spores, if inhaled, can cause hallucinations. Makes the unwary see things that aren't there. Or perhaps, things that are." She shot Hatim a knowing glance.
They moved deeper, the air growing colder, denser.
Hatim constantly scanned the shadows, remembering Granny Maldri's warnings about the Ash-Crawlers, the multi-eyed insectoids camouflaged by solidified ash, that scuttled beneath deadfall. He kept his footfalls light, his breath shallow, listening for the faint scratching that signaled their presence. He could almost feel their cold, venomous breath on his skin.
Suddenly, Lyra froze. "Granny." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Look."
Ahead, nestled at the base of a titanic, moss-covered tree, was a cluster of plants that seemed to hum with an almost ethereal light. They were Sunstone Moss, their leaves a vibrant, almost painful gold, known for accelerating healing and drawing impurities from the body.
Their Akar pulse, Hatim knew from Granny's lessons, was usually a strong, steady beat, like a healthy heart.
Granny Maldri knelt, her lamp casting long, dancing shadows. "Go on, Hatim. Lyra. Feel it. What does it tell you?"
Hatim reached out, his fingers hovering above the luminous leaves. He closed his eyes, pushing away the chill and the distant forest whispers. He focused on the energy within the plant. It was there, a vibrant, warm thrum.
A healthy pulse. "Strong," he confirmed, opening his eyes. "Pure."
Lyra nodded, a soft smile touching her lips. "Like a sunrise. It feels... good."
"Good," Granny Maldri affirmed, her voice tinged with quiet pride. "This is the Akar-born life. It builds. It strengthens. It follows the True Akar's will." They began to carefully collect the moss, their hands working with practiced ease.
As they moved on, deeper into the gloom, the faint, metallic tang returned, stronger now, almost bitter. Hatim felt a rising unease. He scanned the trees. A high-pitched, almost human shriek echoed through the oppressive silence, closer this time. Memory-Screechers.
Bat-like creatures with distorted, human-like faces, they hunted by sound, their shrieks ripping at suppressed thoughts. The sound pulled at Hatim's mind, a fleeting image of a younger him, alone in the dark, helpless, before he forcibly pushed it away. Lyra stumbled, clutching her head, her face pale.
Granny Maldri, however, merely touched a warding symbol carved into the hilt of her staff, the sound seeming to dissipate around her. "Close your minds," she whispered, "or they'll feast on your worries.
They feed on dissonance."
They found another patch of luminous plants. These were taller, slender stalks with leaves that glowed with a soft, inviting blue.
They looked exactly like Soul-Soothers, a rare herb used to calm frayed nerves and restore mental clarity. Lyra gasped softly, "Soul-Soothers! I didn't think they grew this deep."
Granny Maldri held up a hand. "Look closer, child. Feel it."
Hatim approached cautiously, his brow furrowed. He extended his hand, trying to perceive the Akar pulse. The light was beautiful, inviting. But beneath the surface, he felt... nothing. Or worse, a cold, empty vacuum. It wasn't just dull; it was absent. A void.
"It's dead," Lyra whispered, her eyes wide with understanding. "No... it's not dead. It's... empty. A hungry void."
Granny Maldri nodded, her face grim. "This is Ghost-Glow, a mimic.
Born of the Unbinding's touch. It appears as life, but it feeds on Akar. It draws you in with its promise, only to leave you hollow. Its glow feels cold because it is cold. It is chaos disguised as order. The forest is full of such deceptions."
A prickle of dread crawled up Hatim's spine. The danger here wasn't just from lurking creatures, but from the very ground, the very air. The Unbinding was a silent, insidious poison.
The silence that followed was heavier now, pressing in from all sides. Hatim felt a shift in the air, not just cold, but thin. As if reality itself was stretched taut, about to tear. The Glow-Lichen on the trees pulsed erratically, their green light flickering to a sickly purple.
A low, discordant hum began to resonate, not with his ears, but directly within his chest, a vibration that felt fundamentally wrong.
Granny Maldri's grip tightened on her staff. Her eyes, usually so warm, were now wide with an ancient, primal fear. "It's near," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the internal hum. "The Unbinding. It has found us."
A deeper shadow detached itself from the ancient tree trunk, impossibly blacker than the surrounding gloom. It wasn't a creature of flesh and bone. It was a shifting, wavering form, vaguely humanoid but with limbs that bent at impossible angles, its movements defying the natural sway of the forest, flowing rather than walking. Its surface seemed to ripple, blurring and sharpening like a bad reflection, a mockery of solid existence.
This was a direct manifestation, a chilling whisper of the Unbinding Akar – a fragment of the Whispered Void. It was pure discord, its very presence unraveling the harmony of the forest.