The Tale Teller

Ch 36

 Blackened stone stood strong with the trees whose trunks pressed against it. It was a wall of darkness in the night, though Vaun doubted much light lived here no matter the time of day. What had likely once been a clearing was now a sea of young trees which spouted close together, choking each other in a race to survive.

Beneath his feet Vaun felt a stone path, only skiffed with the dusting of snow able to make it through the ceiling of treetops above. The forest was denser here, darker. Vaun had to strain to see the very steps he took.

The party had fallen into silence at the sight of the ancient stronghold, towering high above their heads to a point where it seemed to disappear. With every twist and turn the old man and the path brought them on, the building's peak was invisible.

"Castle of the Orr, you say?" The Bard kept close to the stranger's side, quizzing him with every step, but the old man had grown quiet.

He weaved through the last section of the path before coming to lean a hand by a doorway cut out of the stone. He nodded to it, signalling for them all to pass through and into the building within. Vaun lingered back, eyes studying the lines on the man's face as he took his breather.

He was fitter than one would expect from a man so aged, but here he showed the truth. He shot a sideways glance at Vaun, with an expression as though ashamed at how this weakened sight was being shared with another.

"It's the steam." He patted his chest with a closed fist, knuckles uncovered and red from the cold.

"Where does it come from?"

"Why the magic of course." He shot Vaun a look as if to mark him as a simpleton before his features eased. "I suppose you children know little of this old land, hm?"

"All I know is from stories."

"Stories." He let out a soft laugh, which quickly turned to a cough as the night air caught him. "Stories do little good when each man adds a little and takes away just as much, hm?" Vaun gave a short nod.

"What did the magic do to cause it?" Had it rotted the ground into a bogland so damp that a trapped heat in the ground turned it to a never-ending smoke-like substance? Despite Vaun's limited knowledge of such things, he could see it was possible. It didn't explain the toxicity though, especially not the voices he had heard. Nothing explained the birds and their bloody sacrifice, the image of it still circling Vaun's mind.

"Who knows, dear. The magic does what is wishes, and who is man to chastise it?" He coughed again, before turning to the door with a forced spring in his step.

"My darling daughter loved her flowers, this whole clearing was covered in them. You would struggle now to imagine the sights and smells that surrounded this castle, hm?" Vaun followed him inside, watching as he turned his attention to Lorel with the fact. She nodded politely, but Vaun could see the fatigue was catching up with her.

The Bard seemed to sense it too. "Could we rest here, Sir? The children must be weary."

"Of course." Another warm smile teamed with a wave of a hand that pointed to a shadow in the far wall that signified another doorway.

Lorel and Ash passed through it, and as much as Vaun longed to explore the room with them, he stayed still. The Bard was looking at him with an expression that begged for a private conversation. There were so many options as to why that Vaun feared his head may echo once more.

The old man continued his ramblings on his daughter and her gardens, hand waving to vague spots through the outside doorway where roses once climbed as tall as any man, and bursts of colour spread around the trees as thick as a winter cloak. Vaun kept one ear focused, but his eyes were wandering to the black square they stood in.