The Wanderer's Path: Return of the Beasts

Chapter 8

Reaper had thought the forest was dark and haunted when he had first entered, but this new area took on a whole new level of malignant visage. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he had finally entered the Abyss of death’s gate. The groans of ancient trees creaking against the wind seemed to rush past him and his guides at impossibly strange opposing angles.

Giant trees with trunks wider than small castles littered the surrounding view as a meandering river, black as oil swam past the enormous settlement that stood before them. An unnatural, green fluorescent haze drifted around the dwellings, carved into the giant trees giving the impression that the trees grew solely to accommodate their inhabitants. Walkways filled the upper echelon of the forest as branches interconnected with other large branches making Reaper feel as if he were walking underneath a giant spider’s web, and where is the spider?    

This is worse than I thought. Reaper looked at his escort of young warriors with the past knowledge of what their homes once were and saw a haunting resemblance to their long lost brothers, the Dark Elves. Seems the two races have followed down the same dark path. So which one is worse, the race that chose darkness? Or the race that fell into it.

Reaper kept silent as the elven warriors led him across the ancient marbled bridge that separated the elven kingdom from the rest of the forest. He said nothing of the sorrow in his heart when he saw the once radiant bridge that delivered them into the city now broken and dilapidated, fading into the moss covering it to resemble just another fallen tree.

The smell of rot filled the air as they made their way through the forest city. As they approached on of the larger trees, the air grew even thicker as they climbed up the cave like ramp at the trunk of that lead to the higher walkways. Reaper noticed the strange green haze from earlier spreading from burning fires lodged in small cages around the walkways. The smoke from the fires seemed to cloud the area with a strange fog that smelled worse than the rot that attacked his every breath.

The group of young elven men led Reaper up a golden wooden path that spiralled around the tree, climbing ever higher as if following the path to the sky, sunlight, and freedom from the smothering darkness that surrounded them.

"This is where our chaperone ends demon.” The surviving brother declared. His bright green eyes glaring with barely restrained fury. “I look forward to killing you later,” he spat before heading back down the spiralled path. Reaper spared him a glance before ducking under the carved entrance into a large, circular based room. The furniture was carved masterfully within the tree, including the chairs and table that rose from the floor in the middle of the room.

Sitting at one of those chairs, with a large unravelled scroll in front of him, sat a carving of an elf. Its roots were buried deep into the floor as if it had begun feeding and growing into the chair in which it sat. Then the tree blinked, revealing deep blue eyes as if the ocean were filled inside the carving itself. The Elder elf’s head shifted, its bark encrusted face looking up at Reaper. Gods, I can’t tell if the thing is smiling or frowning.

“You are not welcome in these woods kin-slayer. Why do you desecrate our lands with your evil soul and marred blood?” The Elder elf said with the high accent of an Elf Lord. One that sounded eerily familiar.

“Feladriel, is that you?” Reaper asked carefully. The answering sigh seemed filled with a thousand years of sorrow.

“It seems your God favours you,” he offered drily.

“Do not mock me human,” Feladriel replied.

“Oh, but it was fine for your scorn to fall upon me all those years ago,” Reaper retorted. “You and your so called pure blood. Now do you understand the true repercussions of your actions? Do finally realise the magnitude what I must bear for eternity?” Reaper’s questions battered against his soul as they tore from places deep within himself. Places he had thought no longer existed.