Thaumaturgy

Epilogue

The next morning dawned as every other morning had; cold in the midwinter, the forest bustling with live. In a frot covered clearing sat were encamped two thousand men, recovered from long days of travelling after a calm night's sleep. Their leader, Alfred sat impatient in his tent, awaiting news of Arthur whom he had expected to send an envoy to meet with him at dawn. He looked up as a figure strod into the royal tent.

"Sire!" said the man with a low and revered bow.

"What is it?" snapped Alfred.

"It's the village, sire, Ealdor. It's....empty." explained the brunette scout.

"Empty? How could it be empty?" said Alred, drawing himself up to his full height and puffing out his chest in power.

"There are no people my lord. It looks abandoned." Alfred frowned in disgruntlement. He had heard nothing from the lost Prince since they had left his city, certainly no change in his plan.

"We ride on. Maybe there is a sign you missed." The scout nodded. Shortly, the army had formed a column marching towards the rural settlement.

They arrived within the hour, the houses and out buildings appearing as the rounded the corner from the woods. To either side of them lay the remains of a camp, tents still pitched and coverings gently flapping in the fresh breeze; but the fires were cold, and not a person was in sight. As they rode into the centre of the village, the sense of unease only increased, as each passing building was empty, each plot of land bereft, even the animal pens stood vacant.

"Search for the prince! Something has happened here." Alfred called to his men.

They spread out, beyond the village and into the surrounding woods and fields, until they reached the eastern slope. Hills rolled across the landscape, the brief twinkle of a clear and pure lake reflecting in the near-distance, and in the middle of the field, surrounded by churned earth and discarded weapons, stood a solitary oak tree.

The oak appeared ancient, gnarled branches twistered and weaved their way skyward as if grasping at the stars themselves. Despite the season, it bristled with verdant life, leaves green, birds nesting in its broad and strong boughs. It thrummed with life and warmth, an early sign of spring and renewal in the midst of the harsh midwinter.

"What's that?" King Alrfred said, gesturing at the mysterious tree "Shaun, investigate." he ordered curtly.

The brunette scout bowed to his king and fearless walked towards the tree, knowing instinctively that he was in no danger. The tree radiated saftey. Looking closer at the trunk, he saw a deep and intricate carving, hewed into the essence of the tree's life itself, it seemed, part of the oak rather than the work of men. Amongst the notches was a heart in the trunk of the tree. Within the heart where some initials, interwoven in eternity: AP&ME.

He laid one hand on the trunk and felt a jolt of electricity tinge through him, from the tree. He smiled, recognising the feeling and whispered quick words that his grandmother had taught him when he was young.

"Forbaernan." He raised his hand; in his palm a small flame flickered into life.