Spirit Quest Free Preview: Chapter 2 - Tréow Holh
22nd September, 482
I live in a place called Tréow Holh* in a small and secluded corner of the Old Forest that was long ago lost to the memories of man.
My home is made from the hollowed-out trunk of an ageless and enchanted tree still resting at the bottom of a dell where it fell countless millennia ago, long before history began and even before the first of the Ancients walked upon that sacred ground.
To reach my home, you must pass through the Gate of Moorslede, the last remnant of a once vast stone wall stretching from Monfordshire in the south to the High Weald in the North that protected the Old Forest in the time of the Coalition Wars and at one time marked the edge of the known world.
Once through the Gate, you would climb a gentle hill through the woods until you came to a narrow staircase descending through the forest along a winding route to the valley floor far below, where it joins with an obscure path that eventually finds its way to the steps of my front door.
If ever you were to visit my home, the first thing you might notice would be the interior, glowing faintly from the light of a luminescent moss clinging to the ceiling. The soft light would reveal to you a room filled with a strange and prodigious assortment of old tools, weaponry, clothing, and blankets scattered about. In every spare space could be seen shelves and cupboards overflow with tins and boxes, vials of mysterious liquids, rolled-up maps, and glass jars containing all sorts of intriguing and secret things.
At the far end of my home, you would see a small workspace that serves as a kitchen, and next to that, a hammock strung up in one corner where I sleep. Nearby, a blackened stove made of iron can be seen tucked in amongst some shelving, where it provides heat from ever-glowing embers banked in its hearth to keep me warm on chilly winter nights. In front of the fire, if you looked carefully enough, you might spot the corner of a trap door peeking out from under a thick rug covering the floor.
Behind you, next to the heavy wooden door to my home that is usually kept bolted shut, you would find the hook upon which I keep my favourite cloak. Fashioned towards the end of the First Age by the master woodsmen of Kamatero, it is an extraordinary cloak that came to me when I was a child, and it is by far the most valued of treasures in my care. Though you would only see it if it desired to be seen, my faithful cloak could often be found hanging on that hook by the door, waiting patiently for the next time I might call upon it.
Leaning against the foot of the wall beneath my cloak, you will find Byrnsweorde, my trusted blade. Forged of tempered steel and etched with ancient runes of unknown origin, the short sword came to me by chance when I discovered it long ago on the field at the Battle of Stony Farm.
Byrnsweorde has been my weapon of choice ever since, having served me well in many a tight spot and saved my life more times than I can recall.
It was there in my home, a very long time ago, in the small hours of a slow and desperately lonely night like so many others I had known, that I sat writing in my journal at a wooden desk tucked along one wall of my house under a round, shuttered window. A lamp that you might think of as strange-looking sat at one corner of my desk. Golden liquid dripped from a reservoir at the top of the lamp into an opaque globe at the base, where it mingled with a larger pool of fluid to create a soft yellow light that filled the room.
Even now, after all these years, I still remember that night as vividly as the moment it first happened. A storm blew through the woods that night, unlike anything I had ever known to that point and of a kind I have known only twice more in all the years since. In the long history of my life, I have seen the wind in storm do terrible things. But on that night, as the sky thundered overhead and the shutters on my window rattled as though the wind sought to rip them from their hinges, it was not the fury of the storm that worried me the most.
That night, the windstorm brought with it a strange feeling in the air, something I had never felt before and hoped never again to feel. It was as if the wind itself was afraid, and the thought made my heart run cold.
I have known the wind all my life, and so I know too that the wind has little to fear, for it has come and gone with the power of nature for all eternity, driven as it has always been by the elemental forces ruling the planet. For the wind to be afraid, as it was that night, something terrible would need to be afoot.
A cold breeze blew through the room. It turned my hands to ice and caused my breath to turn to frost. I blew into my cupped hands to ward off the chill as strange howling noises came from the woods outside, chased soon after by the thudding of hooved feet passing in the night.
I closed my eyes and strained to listen. Around that time, many mysterious things had been happening in the Old Forest. Unexplained shadows in the dark and rumours of familiar creatures of the woods gone missing. For someone like me, with several bounties on my head and countless old foes hell-bent on bringing about my demise, it was not the time to take unnecessary chances.
I tilted my head as I thought I heard something outside and waited to see if it would repeat. There it was again! Something howling in the storm. Closer this time, almost as though it was right outside my home. I pointed my hand at the lamp and touched my index finger to my thumb to extinguish the flame.
By the soft glow of the moss on the ceiling, I stood and crept to where Byrnsweorde leaned against the wall. Grasping the sword loosely in one hand, I stood behind my front door and closed my eyes again so I might better listen to the storm and the world outside with all my senses. At first, I sensed nothing. But then, gradually, I thought I heard something beneath the wailing of the storm - a noise that seemed out of step with the sounds of the night and the storm.
In the dim light, I crouched, raising the sword to the ready, straining to listen.
For a while, all I could hear was the sound of my blood thrumming past my ears. I breathed slowly and deeply to moderate my heartbeat until the blood sounds subsided.
There I stayed for many minutes, hearing nothing but the storm and the rain pounding against my home. My arms ached from gripping the sword. A few beads of sweat trickled down my face. It made my nose itch, but I dared not move to scratch it.
Twice more, the howling repeated, growing quieter each time as though whatever caused the noise had moved further into the distance.
I exhaled with relief and relaxed my grip on Byrnsweorde, placing my forehead on the cold steel of the blade to soothe my frayed nerves.
But I had relaxed too soon. A ghostly blue light burst around the edges of my door, shining into my home with such intensity that I could barely see. Then, a loose pebble skittered along the path outside my home. I rolled away from the door and leapt to my feet, turning to face the light with my sword at the ready.
The door’s iron bolt rattled against the latch as something pushed against it from outside. Thunder shook my home, and the rain pelted on the roof as the storm raged, blotting out most sounds and making it difficult to sense what lurked outside.
The latch rattled again. Then the wooden door groaned as the iron bolt holding it shut started to bend in the latch. The whole door began to glow with the deep blue of dark energy. It was a strong door, reinforced with enchantments of my own devising. But it could not withstand such an assault of dark energy for long.
My breath hung in the frosted air as I uttered a protective spell to erect a barrier across the outside of my home. As the spell formed, I held one quivering hand palm outwards towards my stove. My fingers tingled as I bound the spell to the fire for added strength. The room went dark when the golden energy of my protective spell blocked the intense blue light from shining into my home.
Whatever creature stood outside the door was displeased by my spell. It howled long and fierce until I had to cover my ears from the noise. The protective barrier sizzled as it was struck over and over with mighty blows by some unknown force. The ground trembled, and the room turned even colder as the spell drew more energy from the fire.
But the barrier held.
The room lit up from a blinding flash of light through the window. Then, the forest went dark, and the ground shook as horses galloped very close to my home. A cry of terror filled the night from right outside the door, cut short by a terrible choking noise as the pounding against the barrier suddenly stopped. A man called out words I could not understand, and then a horse whinnied and several sets of hooved feet galloped off into the night.
I crept to the door and placed one palm against the wood. Projecting my senses through the door and into the forest beyond, I searched for any sign of what had attacked my home.
But whatever had been there was gone.
I wiped the sweat from my face with a trembling hand and tried to calm my nerves. My throat felt parched, and every part of me screamed for a drink. I shook my head. “Don’t do it,” I said through gritted teeth. I banged my forehead against the door and whispered, “Do not open that bloody jug.” Sweat trickled down my back. There was a half-full jug of ale on the floor beneath my hammock. I knew if I looked at it, I would be lost to its temptation. I clenched my jaw and leaned against the door, waiting for the urge to subside.
In time, my hands stopped shaking, and the yearning for a drink faded. I put a hand on the door and closed my eyes, pushing my heightened senses into the forest.
There I remained for hours, with Byrnsweorde in one hand and the other pressed palm outwards against the door, as I constantly scanned the woods around my home in case the presence returned. By then, the protective spell had run its course, and the binding had drained the fire until there was no heat left in the embers.
After a while, I heard the wind himself come calling at my door. He whispered a name I had not heard before. “Grimfeld,” said the wind from outside my door. “Beware Grimfeld.”
I lowered my sword and relaxed, for long had the wind thereabouts been my friend. Despite the howling of the storm still raging outside, I knew I needed only to whisper my reply for the wind to hear me, “What is Grimfeld, and why do you bring me such a warning?”
My door creaked loudly, shuddering on its weakened hinges as the wind buffeted my home repeatedly. “There, the Mistress Witch gathers her flock.”
“Why would she do such a thing?” I wondered half aloud.
There was an abrupt change in the storm. It burst violently against my home with renewed strength. “Why indeed!“ shouted the wind as his anger thundered from the sky. Bright golden lightning flashed through cracks in the shutters as rain pounded down upon my home like a torrential river flowing from the sky. So deafening was the sound that I had to cover my ears until it passed.
Just as quickly as it began, the din subsided, and the rain lessened. A haunted howling filled the room as the wind found cracks around the door.
“Sorceress of the woods,” hissed the wind as he swirled around me. “The enemy gathers against you as you sleep. Awaken from your slumber! Honour your oath! Before it is too late!”
The wind blew through the room in a fit of rage. Papers flew into the air, and all sorts of little things fell from the shelves and clattered to the floor. A furious blast of air struck me, plastering my clothes against my body and almost knocking me over.
After a few more gusts blew around the room, my home was in shambles. But then the wind subsided. “Remember my words,” he whispered as he withdrew from my home.
I shivered with a sudden chill. In moments, the storm marched quickly into the distance, with only a deep, far-off rumbling left to mark its passing. In the eerie stillness of the after-storm, my heart pounded loudly to a thunder all its own.
I sat there long after the storm had gone, listening to the renewed quiet and wondering at the meaning of the message from the wind. Though I knew not why the wind had brought me this message, of one thing, I was sure – I would do well to heed his warning, for there were many countless dangerous and evil things in this world worthy of being feared; of them all, the Mistress Witch was by far the most terrifying.
It was then that a thought came to me. Activating the desk lamp again, I reached over and pulled a rolled map from a nearby shelf, unfurling it onto my desk and smoothing the edges of the paper with my hands until it lay flat. Holding my hand several inches above the map, I wrote the name Grimfeld in the air with my finger. One after another, the letters began to appear in the air until the word Grimfeld hovered above the map like golden embers shimmering in a night sky. With two fingers, I grabbed the word from where it hovered in the air and threw it at the map. As it hit the paper, the word crackled and burst into flame before disappearing into it.
Moments later, the map began to shift as the features on it transformed. Softly glowing lines started to trace their way outward across the map from its centre like winding rivers of light. I watched, mesmerised, as a small image of my home appeared in one corner near the bottom. Then mountains, wide open pastures, vast forests of dark green, and several large bodies of water grew upon the map’s surface. Through it all, the glowing lines continued to extend until they had formed a path starting from my home at the bottom and leading up across the map to a beating orb of dark blue light shining near its top.
I folded my arms on the desk and leaned forward to rest my chin on them so I might examine the map more closely. The glow of the lines slowly began to fade, leaving behind a thin grey path winding across the map. I studied the path for a long while, letting my eyes trace the route as it twisted over and through the landscape from my home to the orb. The trail led far beyond the borders of my realm to places I had never travelled - perhaps a three-month journey, I reckoned. Assuming all were to go well.
Though, I knew in my heart that such a journey would not be easy. It would be filled with danger and darkness and the kind of nightmarish things only fools or the desperate would dare awaken; which of these I might be for the trying would not be known until the end. Yet, if there was any truth to the wind’s message, then I had no choice – I was oath-bound to protect that realm, and so it was my sworn duty to stop the Witch before her power grew so great that no one could stop her.
Such was the argument I had with myself that night as I sat there inwardly fighting against the fears and guilt that had poisoned my heart and held me a prisoner of my torment ever since that terrible last battle with the Witch.
I sat up and began to drum my fingers on the table as my mind drifted to what would lay ahead should I undertake such a journey.
Skilled with sword and bow alike and quick on her feet, many thought the Mistress Witch was without equal in direct combat. The Dark Magic was also powerful within her; she was sly and slippery in her ways and took great pleasure ensnaring her victim’s minds, slowly driving them to madness as she bent them to her will. As I knew all too well myself.
She was indeed a formidable foe. Three times had I come face to face with the Witch to that point; the last had almost been my end. I put a hand over my heart and remembered the sting of her blade, where she had thrust it deep into my chest. Though the wound had long ago healed on the surface, something of her twisted magic still festered within me.
I shivered. The memory of that last battle still haunted my dreams - for what I had been forced to do to honour my oath. And for what it had cost me. “Merciful Anu,” I whispered. “Though I am not worthy of your grace, please forgive me for what I have done.”
After a long while, I stirred as my body trembled with anticipation. Or perhaps it was fear. My eyes shifted to the dark, half-empty jug on the floor next to my hammock. My mouth went dry, and a powerful thirst pulled hard at me for a second time that night, tempting me to lose myself in that jug and the sweet, golden ale it contained. I half stood, intending to retrieve it. Then I wavered briefly before slumping back heavily into my chair. I sighed with some mixture of relief and longing. Though the urge remained, for the moment, it was quelled.
Wrenching my eyes from the jug, I focused on surveying my home, seeking out with my eyes the things my experience told me I would need - my travelsack, ready-packed with the essentials of life on the road; several vials of potions that might prove useful in a pinch; a short, sharp blade in a leather sheath; and a glistening vest of chainmail as a last stopper against a well-placed strike.
Then, I turned to look at my cloak hanging on its hook by the door. It appeared to ruffle slightly and began to emit a yellowish glow as if it already knew I would honour my oath.
That simple gesture of confidence made me ashamed for having ever doubted my duty. It also sparked a flicker of anger deep inside me, one that grew into a raging fire that kept me going long afterwards.
For the first time in a very long while, I knew what I had to do. I smiled weakly, and without another thought, I gathered all the things about me I might need on my journey - plus a few other secret items for good measure. Then I wrapped my cloak-friend around my shoulders and left my home.
The jug of sweet ale I left behind, though not without considerable regret. Byrnsweorde I also left behind, for it would have been too cumbersome on a journey where speed and stealth must be my greatest assets. Though, I would come to regret that decision even more.
I stopped at the door and glanced back at the jug, feeling it tug at me one last time. But by then, my mind was set; my fate was sealed.
Feeling more resolute than I had in many long years, I locked the door behind me with a particular spell of my own making and walked out into the night, heedlessly following a strange warning from the wind into a journey of unknown length and untold danger.
I breathed in the night air, feeling the sharp coolness of it exploring my lungs as I set out on a journey that, like so many others before and since, would forever change me in ways I could not then fathom.
Read Niri's next journal entry here
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* Old English of the Second Age, roughly translated meaning "Log Hollow"