BOOK 12: CHAPTER 4: THE TREE OF SHATTERED NIGHTS

4 – The Tree of Shattered Nights

As Victor finished the last woven loop of his thread pattern, he stepped back and assessed his work. Pride swelled in his chest despite his repeated, scolding efforts to stop the feeling from taking root—he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Even so, the beauty of that singular thread, transformed into a three-dimensional construct, stole his focus, forcing his eyes to trace the lines as his mind conjured metaphors for its structure. It reminded him of a many-branched tree, or perhaps a constellation—no, more than that, a silver-gold nebula floating at the center of his framework.

He'd been meticulous in its crafting, pausing every few minutes to review his work against his hand-drawn version. It had been time-consuming, but, even so, he’d managed to finish in just a bit more than five days, so he was feeling relaxed as he reviewed the product of his labors one final time. He didn’t need to go over it strand-by-strand; his mind recognized the pattern as being “right,” at least in terms of elder magic. After months and years of working with the patterns, to him, a proper design struck the same sort of chord in his mind as a well-drawn circle; he could just see it.

Confident that it was right, Victor didn’t think he’d spend two or three days tracing every twist and fold in the thread, every split and weave. Instead, he stood back and continued to admire the end product, wondering if a single thread, regardless of its intricacies, could possibly give him anything more than a basic or improved mantle. Perhaps, he reasoned, the complexity would allow it to stretch into advanced, but surely—surely—he wouldn’t reach epic until he tied some other thread patterns into this one.

“Yeah, right, chilito. You know you want it to be epic.” He laughed at himself; he hadn’t thought of that word in a long time. His abuela used to call him that when he was showing off, always with a half-smile in her voice. “Little pepper…” He shook his head, chuckling at the image it always invoked.

“All right…” Victor hesitated, stopping his hand halfway toward the threadlock lever. He turned and walked around his big, book-covered desk toward his armory. “I think I need some backup on this one, chica,” he said as he picked Lifedrinker up, lifting her off the display brackets he’d attached to a tall, polished, black marble wall.

“Do we fight, heart-mate? Will we sunder the flesh of our enemies?”

“Not yet, beautiful. I want you to back me up while I pull this lever. I might have just wasted a few years’ worth of work.”

“Years are nothing to a timeless conqueror. We will break the bones and spill the blood of our foes for eons to come!”

Victor paused, holding the axe aloft and giving her a good look. Her dialogue, while always violent and sometimes borderline poetic, didn’t usually contain words like “timeless” and “eons.” “How are you feeling, chica? You seem a little different, maybe. You’re still devastatingly beautiful, but…” Victor trailed off, as the axe warmed beneath his grip, and Lifedrinker’s voice drifted into his mind again.

“War-king. Battle-heart. My blood-mate. Long have I lingered in your spirit’s home, and long have I contemplated the fruits of my feasts. These last years, you’ve given me free rein to gorge upon your foes, and much Energy have I stored in the heart of me—my own spirit home. While I watched you toil at your yarns, so, too, did I toil, reflecting on the nature of life and death, on battle and peace… on love and hate. I feel that I’ve grown in depth. Perhaps that is what you note?”

Victor smiled, relief washing over him. He stopped studying her, ceased looking for something that might be wrong, and rested her haft on his shoulder. “I’m very happy to hear that, Lifedrinker. I’m also relieved that, though your words are deeper and perhaps more meaningful, you’re still you in there. You still yearn to join me in battle.”

“Always! While this life bears many mysteries, one thing I’m certain of is the joy I feel when I’m in your hands and, together, we dance with a grace that confounds our foes.”

“That’s right. Together.” Victor sighed happily and, still resting a hand upon Lifedrinker’s haft, he reached into his mantle framework and grasped onto the invisible lever buried in its depths. “Here we go,” he said, pulling until it snapped into place, and the thread pattern in the framework thrummed.

***Congratulations! You’ve formed a new mantle: The Tree of Shattered Nights – Epic. From the tears of sorrow and the blood of loss, you have woven something greater than rage or triumph. This mantle is born of fear and fury, yet rooted in love and solace. Its branches reach through grief toward hope, and its roots drink deep of pain to draw out strength.***

Victor’s lips spread into a wide grin, and he squeezed Lifedrinker’s haft. “Feel that, chica? It’s right this time! I just feel it.”

“Love and fear, hope and anger—they are tangled in your spirit, and through it, they flow into me. Your great heart drums with the enormous emotions of a titan. Those deep feelings gave spark to the life in my spirit, love. I feel your memories. I see them! The kind lady in your heart, stern of spirit and rich with wisdom—she shaped you, and through you, me as well. She is my ancestor, too.”

Victor felt hot tears spring into his eyes. “You see her, too?”

“Through you, I am bound to her. Through you, she helped shape my spirit. As a twin to your battle-heart, I will love her, and through battle, we will honor her!”

Victor sighed, his heart so full it could have burst in that moment. The idea that Lifedrinker had somehow forged a bond with his grandmother through her exposure to his spirit was enough to make him forget the wonder of his new mantle for a while. He stood there, leaning on Lifedrinker’s long haft, savoring his connection to her. Neither spoke, but it wasn’t necessary. As always, Lifedrinker’s feelings flowed into Victor and vice versa. So, in a cocoon of mutual joy in the other’s presence, they stood together for several long minutes.

After he felt full to bursting, Victor hung Lifedrinker back in her place and said, “I’ll call you forth soon, beautiful.”

“And I will await your call.”

Still smiling, Victor allowed the material plane to call him home, and his consciousness slipped out of his spirit space. When he opened his eyes, he saw it was nighttime on Dark Ember, so he stood and walked to the open window, looking out.

His army encampment stretched away from him—hundreds of neat rows of cook fires and tent lamps. He stuck his head further out the window and craned his head to the right, peering toward the great tree and the enormous fires burning beneath its branches. It was a scene from Armageddon. The billowing black smoke was blown up and away by the Wind Mages in Victor’s army, but it clung to the great branches—a cloud of darkness that hung heavy over the brimstone flames and embers that stretched for mile after mile around the great trunk.

“Almost there,” he muttered, looking at how the fiercest of the flames were crowding close to the enormous tree. Nodding, Victor leaped from his window, summoning his fiery wings. As soon as he was in the air, he felt the pull of the flight wards—like fishing nets thrown over him, pulling him toward the ground. With a flex of his aura and a surge of Energy to his wings, Victor broke free and rocketed upward to the top of his tower, where he landed, surprising Arona enough that she nearly lanced him with a ray of solar Energy.

“Devil!” Arona clicked her tongue and, with a shake of her head, extinguished the ball of blinding Energy that had appeared on the top of her crystal rod. “I nearly burned you a new orifice.”

“Well…” Victor didn’t want to tempt her to test her magic’s efficacy against him, so he just shrugged. “Sorry to startle you.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“You seem better. I can feel a vibrancy—a thrumming potency behind your aura. Don’t tell me you’ve broken through!” She clenched her free hand into a fist, and Victor laughed, well aware of the feelings she was experiencing.

“Relax. I’m still a steel seeker, but you’re right—I learned something in these last couple of weeks. I’d tell you what I did, but I’m not sure it will apply to you. I’m afraid it might set you back—”

“Just tell me, and I’ll be the judge.”

Victor shrugged and walked closer to her, stepping into the magically filtered air of the tower’s canopy. “Smoke is thick out there.”

“Old Gods, but you aren’t wrong! I flew north a hundred miles and when I looked south, the pillar of smoke stretched into the clouds, which were, in turn, growing black, blotting out the entire horizon.” She leaned against the map table and picked up a crystal glass of water, taking a sip. “Well? Tell me what you’ve done.”

Victor glanced at the fire, which made the horizon glow orange in the darkness, and nodded. “Might as well pass some time while the world burns.” He took his time and told Arona about the process he’d gone through, starting with when he’d decided to rip his old mantle apart. In the end, she looked intrigued yet perplexed.

“I don’t think your method will help me, at least not directly. As you said, your spirit seems to yearn for a mantle that reflects who you are and, perhaps, who you aspire to be. Mine is not so direct. I’ve made strides with my mantle by adding phrases that made me laugh, phrases that made me cry, and words that, when strung together, created a kind of poetry. I could go on, but the point is that I struggle to see an overarching theme. No, I’ll need to meditate on what you’ve told me for a while. Perhaps I’ll find a connection.”

“Fair enough.”

She pointed to the opening to the parapets. “The time draws nigh. Are you ready to face a Great One?”

“No idea. I want you to hold back, in any case. When the sun comes out, I’ll break through the last of the flames. I’ll cut a hole in that trunk, and I’ll go inside. Hold the army ready, in case we have more hordes lying in wait, but I want you to keep them back here. I won’t promise that my clash with that pinche old vampire won’t bring that entire damn tree down.”

Arona nodded. “I and the other mages will stand ready to ensure it topples away from our lines if it does.”

Victor sighed as a thought occurred to him. “Well, I suppose I should address the troops. They’ve worked for years toward this moment.”

“I assumed you’d say that. I wasn’t sure you’d emerge tonight, but the captains are ready to form an assembly. I’ll let them know to be ready at dawn.”

Victor nodded, frowning. It had been a long while since he’d spoken to the army all at once—not since they’d located the great, dead tree and made their initial attack. “Nineteen months—”

“Twenty, now,” Arona corrected.

“Since then, our army has doubled in size with the troops Lesh and Bryn have sent us. How many are out there?”

“At last count, twenty legions-worth.”

“Twenty legions, each with ten cohorts of six hundred.” Victor chuckled, shaking his head in wonder. “A hundred and twenty thousand warriors. If I took a fraction of this army to Fanwath, I could wipe the map clean of the Ridonne.”

“Not before they called in their veil walkers.”

Victor clenched his fist, popping several knuckles. “Yeah, I know. It was just a thought.” He stepped toward the map table, tapping the green plain depicted north of his army. “They’ll assemble here?”

“Yes, I’ll instruct the engineers to raise your platform.”

“Good. I’ll be out at dawn, but I think I’ll pass the time with some correspondence. I have messages?”

Arona nodded, holding her hand over the table. After a moment of concentration, a stack of Farscribe books appeared there, neatly arranged, several with bright red ribbons hanging from the pages. She always did that for him whenever she was in charge of his books—marked the ones that needed a response with a ribbon. “Nothing terribly pressing, but a few that could use your attention.”

“Dammit, Arona. You’re always doing more than necessary, and now I owe you even more—”

“You’re a fool!” She scowled at him. “I owe you everything. Allow me to make your time a little more efficient from time to time without fawning all over the gesture!” If he didn’t know her better, Victor might have thought she was angry, but he knew her scolding was a show of affection.

He smiled, nodding as he swept the books into his spirit space. “Fair enough, dear friend.” As always, his rapid acceptance changed her mood, and the right corner of her mouth curled into a half smile.

“You’ll go to your chamber to read?”

“Yep. When I see the sun, I’ll fly out.”

She glanced at the open archway, narrowing her eyes. “Hard to tell with this smoke, but I think you have about two hours. I’ll start the captains rousing the troops. It’ll take that long to assemble.”

“Good. Until then.” Victor waved, ducked his head, then slipped through the archway into the stairwell. In moments, he was back in his room, pushing the door closed. He sat at the table and pulled out the stack of Farscribe books again, selecting the first with a red ribbon. It was the book he’d given to Ardek, the Warlord’s former “War Captain Black,” and now the leader of the Degh, who were rapidly working to rebuild their Ancestor Stone and fully liberate and bring order back to the world of Zaafor.

As he turned the pages to the latest entry, Victor reflected on his last meeting with Khul Bach, the ancient Degh spirit who had, for a short while, served as a mentor to him. The old spirit had been stunned to learn Thoargh was dead, and even more so when he learned how handily Victor had thrashed him. Still, he’d been pleased, and he’d pronounced Victor’s karmic debts paid in full when Victor told him that Ardek would be collecting the rest of the shards. Even so, he'd made Victor promise that, when they were all gathered, he would use his spirit magic to remake the Ancestor Stone.

Ardek was usually the opposite of verbose, but the latest entry was unusually long. Victor shifted his seat a bit closer to the table and began to read:

Lord Victor,

I hope this missive finds you well. The war, if you can call it that, is going well here on Zaafor. Coloss is ours, and the Vesh who refused to drop the Warlord’s standard have fled. Now they wage a war of a different sort—nighttime raids on villages and caravans, murders in the city, and furtive attempts to find ancestor shards before the heroes of the Degh can claim them.

Thus far, they’ve failed, and eleven of the seventeen stones are now safe in my possession. Thankfully, the Yazzian underkings have taken up our cause; their people are well-versed in the secret ways of Zaafor and possess knowledge and maps of two of the dungeons where shards of the stone lie in hiding.

As for those that the Warlord held, they still sit in his citadel, and, as you’ve requested, I’ve locked it down. A perimeter force guards it from any approach, and I’ve made it clear that to breach its sealed doors will mean death to the interloper. I trust that, when we’ve gathered the rest of the shards, you’ll find the time to ensure those final few are properly set free and returned to their rightful positions in the Ancestor Stone.

It's time I stopped stalling and got down to the true meat of my message. I have a request for you: as you know, the Spirit Casters of the Degh were kidnapped and slain by the Warlord for generations. We have none. You’ve promised to do what must be done to mend our Ancestor Stone, and thus release the true potential of our once-titanic bloodline. However, that won’t entirely solve our problem; we need a proper Spirit Caster to interact with our ancestors within the stone.

I know this matter must seem minor amidst your many burdens, yet I hoped you might see fit to recommend someone—a young Spirit Caster who might learn much from the duty. I wouldn’t expect an outsider to stay forever, only as long as it might take to train some of our young Spirit Casters who will surely emerge once the stone is made whole. If you don’t know anyone who would be willing, do you suppose we might succeed in hiring a stranger from the city of Sojourn?

Please give the matter some thought and share your conclusions with me when you have a moment or two to spare.

With great respect,

Ardak

“A Spirit Caster, hmm?” Victor knew a hundred such—maybe more. He wasn’t sure many of the ones in his army would be willing to go to Zaafor and work for the Degh, however. Still, he could convince one to do it. “Maybe the army isn’t right, though…” He rubbed his chin, thinking. Of the people closest to him, Deyni, Thayla, Lam, and even Dalla were spirit casters. Would the job be right for any of them?

Dalla or Deyni would surely learn a lot from the experience, but could he possible split one of them up from the other girls? It didn’t seem like the right time for that; they were progressing well together, and surely they’d resent him for it. Thayla was busy with the Shadeni clan, but perhaps she had another apprentice or two? The thought prompted him to consider his need to visit, which in turn reminded him of his upcoming trip to Sojourn.

With a nod, he set the pen to the page and wrote a quick response:

Ardak,

Good to hear from you. I will be traveling to Sojourn soon, and I know more than one powerful Spirit Caster on that world. Let me see what I can arrange, and then I’ll write you a more thorough response. As for the Warlord’s Citadel, thank you for keeping it locked down. I made a vow to that bastard that I’d plunder it, and I mean to do so. Of course, I’ll deliver your ancestor shards to you when the time is right.

-Victor

That done, Victor closed the book and looked at the stack of others. Three bore red ribbons—his books for Rellia, Bryn, and Thayla. He glanced out the window, and just as Arona had said, it was hard to tell how near the dawn was, what with the smoke and firelight. Still, his sight was keener than most, and he could discern a faintly different quality in the gray of the sky. “Still plenty of time.” He drew Thayla’s book from the stack, opened the binding, and carefully leafed through to the most recent message. “All right, hermana, let’s see what’s going on with you…”