The Island's Inhabitant

Stillness

The group could hardly sleep a wink after Grenua left, so they decided to prepare for the army she warned them of. They had unpacked the mules and reorganized the supplies. Since they were so close to the island, the elder Guardian decided that they could just restock after taking care of Tatl and therefore separated the immediate necessities from the supplies. The rest were repacked onto the mules, which were then set on the path back to Charity Hall.

"Will they really make it back okay?" Zoey asked.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Denver answered. "They've traversed this area many times, so I'm sure they can find their way home even without an intelligent creature."

"I spoke with them," Orrick stated. "They assured me they knew where to go."

"How come they don't speak to us, like you do, Orrick?"

"It's not necessarily a matter of desire, but simply that they cannot. Only the animals born from the Southern Reaches have the gift of intelligence."

Zoey began to ask her question why, but Edward motioned that she save it for later. "As much as I love a little exposition," the prince said, "now is certainly not the time for it."

"Right, of course," the girl flushed. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Den!" the previous Bladekeeper suddenly cried out. The others looked over at him, who was arguing with the boy about something. "You cannot bring a frying pan as your only form of protection!"

"Why not?" answered the Motalee boy. "I've used it plenty of other mal, and against some hearty creatures too! Sure it may not put a snaper in check, but at least I don't have to worry about hurting myself in the process."

"Why don't we go stop the mules and grab a bow? You're pretty handy with those."

"Yes, but they are too burdensome. Carrying a bow is trioblaid enough, but a quiver too? Just let me use my frying topf."

"He'll be fine, Uncle," Zoey interjected. "I mean, if Disney's taught us anything, it would have to be that the pan is mightier than the sword."

"Disney is fiction, Zoey," Denver stated.

"And according to Earth's logic, so is Adela." The girl shouldered her pack, belted her Sword, and marched up the hill, barely suppressing her sassy smirk.

"I think she won," Edward noted with a soft chuckle. He echoed her actions and chased after her.

"Just like her mother," Denver growled. "Come on, Den. I'll try not to let anything happen to you."

"No worries," chirped the boy. He set Hatchling upon his shoulders and proclaimed, "I once tamed a three-year-old ground crusher. I think I can handle myself well enough."

As he raced after his friends, Denver shook his head and murmured, "As impressive as that experience is, it is nothing compared to what we are all about to go through." He took up his pack and sighed, adding, "Ed, how in the world am I supposed to keep her safe if she jumps into every adventure just like you? Just proof that the saying is true: like father, like daughter. Well, I made you a promise, so I'll make sure she gets back in one piece. I just hope we don't have any of those stupid angelics to deal with."

The man quickly caught up with the others. Orrick had made them stop near the peak of the ridge, saying that he did not want anyone to experience this without Denver by their side. He grabbed Zoey's hand and offered his other to Den, who almost walked off without accepting it but decided not to. "Brace yourselves," said the elder Guardian. "I'd offer a hand, your majesty, but..."

"Don't worry," said the prince. He took Zoey's and smiled at her oddly. "I've got one to hold to."

She began to blush but was quickly interrupted as her uncle pulled her forward. They reached the top of the ridge, where the young Bladekeeper let out a gasp. She pulled free from her uncle and covered her mouth in the shock, her other hand squeezing tightly upon Edward's.

No amount of words could adequately convey the absolute desolation that pervaded this valley. A suffocating blanket of dark purple clouds loomed overhead. They hung unmoved by any wind or other force of nature, as if the very heavens had abandoned them. The trunks of ancient and once-majestic trees, now charred and weathered and twisting up like gnarled fingers, stood as sentinels to a bygone era.

Peat bogs, still smouldering from ages long past, emitted feeble wisps of smoke and cast long, sinister shadows from a glow deep within their bowels. The flames that occasionally licked the air flickered a hollow and mournful hue, as if drained of vitality.

The air reeked of sulphur and burning coal, leaving a bitter taste on the tongue. In the distance, fog clung to the earth, gripping the horizon like an impenetrable wall of shadow. Time itself seemed to halt, as not a sound, not even the whisper of an ant in the earth, dared to disturb the Valley of Tears. Only the echoes of forgotten sorrows and dying hopes pervaded the stillness.

"Wow," Edward breathed, his earlier merry state completely gone. "I've read so many accounts of this, but..."

"Seeing is believing," Denver sighed. "Or rather, understanding."

Den suddenly burst into a sob, his young dragon caressing his cheek in an attempt to comfort his partner. The elder Guardian embraced the boy, and hardly a minute passed before he controlled himself and pulled back. "Sorry," he murmured. "Es tut mir leid, I couldn't stop myself."

"It's alright, Den," Orrick answered. "This place isn't named the Valley of Tears for nothing."

They proceeded onwards without a word more. The valley was so deathly silent that they hardly managed to whisper without feeling as though they disturbed the dead. The haze made it difficult to see their destination, but since the valley dipped southward, they had no trouble finding the general direction. Once or twice, one of them would slip into a bog pit. A cold chill clung to the victim, as if the spirit of a fallen warrior had suddenly gripped them in hopes of finding its way home. Whenever they passed one of the long-since dead trees, each of them heard a soft moan.

"Avenge me," Zoey stated as they passed another tree. "It wants to be avenged."

Edward reached out and touched the bone white trunk. "Help my brothers," he gathered. "It doesn't realize that they too are dead."

"How can you hear what it's saying?" Den asked. He wanted to feel the tree himself, but the superstitions of his homeland made him on edge without adding fuel to the flames.

"They don't," said Denver. "The trees don't speak. They are only sensing what anyone can feel with enough practice. Living trees are much harder to understand because they are so busy growing and reproducing, making their voices muddled over with that. But the dead trees, the trees that can no longer accomplish what they were made for, have nothing to do but cry out in their anguish."

A blood curdling scream echoed through the Valley of Tears. Zoey and Edward tore their swords from the scabbards, poised and ready to strike. Den whipped out his frying pan while Hatchling cowered upon his shoulder. Only Orrick and Denver remained at ease; well, as at ease as one can be after hearing such a horrid sound.

"What was that?" Zoey whispered, all her senses on red alert.

"It was a murder birch," answered Orrick. He walked over to the only tree that appeared to still be alive. It wasn't, for the bare and chalky trunk announced its death. The branches were bowed with the hardened red amber, making an immortal image of death. Bone white against blood red, as if the tree fancied a mockery of the violent deaths it had witnessed.

"What harmed it?" the prince inquired. In answer, a smouldering peat bog made itself known by releasing a quick lick of fire. "Oh, I suppose even after it is dead, the murder birch still attempts to protect itself..."

"We should move on," Denver stated. "I doubt this is the only tree of this species in the valley, but I would rather not discover how many others remain."

The group said nothing more. They couldn't. The screams of that birch had put them all on edge, making them hurry along.

**
Maybe I've read it too many times, but these scene never has the sheer desolation I want it to have...

Dani | Adventum ad Deum