Knox of the Bloom

Chapter 13: The Wicken

The dark trees stood like silent monoliths, large enough for twenty men to stand around and still not link arms. The ground was uneven, riddled with roots, stones, bracken almost higher than Knox swarmed the place, with vines hanging down from the high branches above. The place had a mysterious quality to it, the odd totem they passed did little to stifle the reputation the place had for ancient doldrums. These were twice a man was high, stones placed into the ground when the trees around them must have only been saplings. The engravings on the surface of the stones was still visible, the thick foliage helping to shield the relics from the elements.

They camped that first night among the trees beside the third doldrum they came across, Hornbeard lying beneath the stone and claiming it was lucky to sleep so close to the ancient ways of the old Gods. The men were weary, tired from climbing the steep slopes and marching through the passes. It was a silent camp, with only a handful of fires made, for none wished to chop down any of the trees, and only using deadfall to feed the flames.

Knox was sat beside Eriu and Tapa, among the Five, who were talking about the path to come.

"They say an ancient Wicken lives among these trees," said Clay-Jug, speaking what had been on all their minds since entering the forest. "They say her beauty matches that of the White Woman, and that her fierceness is unmatchable in the world of the living."

"Rumors and hearsay," said Flint-Blade.

"Wickens are real," said Rabbit's Paw, who was skinning a hare near the fireside. "My mother told me she met one once, passing along the eastern boundary of our camp. She said the Wicken had blessed me with good fortune for helping her carry a basket of mushrooms, hence why I'm so fortunate to those around me."

Flint shook his head. "They are nothing but liars, who use tricks to make people believe they possess power, but trust me when I tell you it's all nonsense."

"What about you, Knox?" asked Eriu, leaning in to speak softly with him. "Do you believe in the Old Magic?"

"Aye, I guess I do," said Knox, twirling his hand through the air. "In the mountains, when I'm alone I can almost sense the magic. It's the same here, among these trees. It's untouched, still pure."

Eriu nodded. "I understand. Beyond the mountains and these deep forests, the people have corrupted the land. The Nordners and the Bronze Men pay little homage the Old Gods, and the land sickens for it. They build their villages and mines and trade with the lands of the south, but they fail to see that they are harming the land they call home now."

"And what of the Druids? Why don't they explore these forests?"

"The Druids care little for the ways of the people outside their realm of understanding."

"You speak as if you're not one of them."

Eriu sighed as Knox brushed her hair back and rubbed her shoulder.

"I guess I am one of them, but only spent a little time among them. I'm still figuring out who I am, and what they done to me."

"Well, whatever it may be, I'm glad."

Eriu frowned at him, and he didn't know if he liked it better than her smile.

"I mean that whatever they did it caused you to be where you were, and we may not have met if they hadn't."

Rabbit's Paw finished skinning the hare and tossed the carcass into the pot to stew. Yew-Bow was fletching his arrow, Flint-Blade was discussing the route with Clay-Jug.

"We follow Knox to the west, until we come upon the rapids. Hopefully they are not swollen this close to the Cold Days. We hadn't anticipated snow in the peaks. The water may be high."