The Seventh Stone

Chapter Six

There's a central path running through the marketplace that we've walking briskly along for the past fifteen minutes or so, and an opening in the roots of the tree slowly comes into sight along a long, sharp turn in the path. My attention has been split between conversing with Olen, looking around for Loki, and catching glimpses of what's beyond the opening in the tree. So far, I can only make out rows of bright lights stretching up in the hall that's visible beyond the edges of the threshold.

Finally, we come to a beautiful courtyard at the base of the tree. In width, it matches the size the opening, and the roots comprising the threshold stretch down and form the walls of the courtyard on either side, before extending into the marketplace behind us. Tiled floors flow in and out of the entry into the tree, and all the glowing, mechanical platforms I'd seen from far away are directly above my head now. I look up as we pass under the gargantuan walls of bark and metallic veins, and in a moment of sheer sensory overload, I feel my face growing heavy with astonishment...

All the detail, color, and textures of the tree are as perfect as a drawing, and there's hardly a ceiling in the hall beyond the entry. Multitudes of twinkling lights are built into wrinkles of the walls, and spiral upward to meet high above our heads. Meanwhile, the walls near the floor are covered with beautiful murals and metallurgic decor—which, as an artist, I can see were built intentionally along the natural, elegant patterns of the tree bark, to highlight them as perfect complements to the delicate structures of their glowing technologies.

Another tall passage to my right leads into another hall, but Olen leads me straight to the other side of the room. His pace slows as we near it, and comes to a stop just outside a crowd of people.

"I'll need a moment," he says warmly, taking my hand in his and planting a small kiss on it. "Please wait for me here."

"Sure," I nod friendlily, and watch for a moment as he turns and walks away.

As soon as he disappears around the edge of the crowd—along with the other two or three sentries that were following us—I turn slowly and start glancing around for Loki, while maintaining an outward appearance of composure and disinterest.

"Loki," I whisper sharply. I don't even know if he can hear me at such a low volume—but I suppose not, since everything around me goes on as usual. No sudden movement, or even a single glance in my direction from any of the finely dressed people standing dispersedly around the room. If Loki's here, he's definitely good at pretending he's not.

"Her name is Lara," I suddenly hear Olen's voice from across the room, and turn to see the crowd opening up in front of me.

Now there are eyes on me—more than I'm comfortable with. One particularly yellow pair of eyes stands out among the rest, belonging to an older man sitting atop an elevated throne. The throne itself has a number of glowing, silvery-white veins extending overhead like a multitude of horns, and snaking along the stratum of the tree above. And there, just two feet above his head, is where they meet behind a small, glass sphere perched at the top of the throne.

My muscles tense as my eyes land on the sphere, and at the familiar white light emanating brightly from the core. A sudden movement breaks my focus on it, and I look down to see Olen extending a hand out to me from beside the throne.

I glance back once last time—one last chance, Loki...

Nothing.

I sigh quietly—onward with our improvisation, I suppose.

It takes a forcible effort to pull the two corners of my mouth into a smile as I tread forward nervously, and take one heavy step onto the dais surrounding the throne.