A New Ordeal
In the evening twilight, a lone figure walked slowly from Vantaiga’s mountain temple to cross the great ceremonial stage, the stage where the realm of the forest changed forever. The uneven tap of his limp stride in soft boots was lost to the fading light of the open space. Listening to the solitary steps on the grand stage, Syffox was struck by the irony that before the ascension of Vantaiga, he had always felt they were of one mind. Now, when they were supposed to be together the most, he had never felt more apart from her—almost alone.
She had left to confront Hydar about Festor and his forests, but what would Hydar have to say and what would it mean for their forests? What would it mean for them? Why would the gods attack Festor and his forest and not them and theirs? Was Vantaiga willing to go to war against the gods? Would she be finally willing to join with him if it would give her the power to stop them? Would she finally talk to him about why she denied him? Could he even have such a conversation with a Goddess? Could he ever have had such a conversation with her?
He didn’t really want the answers to those questions. He just wanted to be with her—forever. Perhaps it was his fault for being such a fool to think he could deny death, and the gods, to be with her. It seemed like such a simple idea at a time when things were never really simple.
He looked back over the great stone platform and the lights of what could be seen through the cut-out windows and terraces of her cathedral buried within the mountain. He smirked at the irony of the matriarch of the forest building her primary temple inside a mountain. He’d wanted to build her a grand cathedral out of living trees. But with Vantaiga’s connection to plants, living inside of them could be overwhelming when so closely surrounded by their life, and magic.
So, the then-priestess-come-Goddess made her home in a cave; after all, she did like her walls. There, she could seclude herself from the constant needs and presence of the forest if she wanted to. It was no dank, dingy cave, though. She had filled the place with so many blooming plants, butterflies, and magical light, it was sometimes hard not to skip down its moss-laden halls.
Syffox let the memories of his love take form and drift around him on the great stage. He smiled at the memory of Vantaiga leading a procession of tall priestesses with sacks of transplanted flowers as they marched towards the mountain keep. He chuckled as he passed by the memory of Vantaiga having to stand on her toes to ordain Mackyntal. He shook his head at the memory of a group of followers futilely trying to coax her to join them in the dance of the spring equinox.
The sound of his foot dragging along gravel interrupted his memories. He looked down to see the holes and broken rock of where he had rooted himself into the stage to keep himself from wailing when Vantaiga had rejected him. He swallowed hard as a terrible sadness gripped his heart. The air about Syffox swirled inwards, and he disappeared from the platform with a sullen thump.
Across the clearing from the great stone stage, a group of forest dwellers were startled by Syffox swirling outwards from a rush of air. They jumped back with a gasp before recognizing the forest founder. Confused, they looked amongst each other before finally smiling and greeting their most renowned priest. Syffox took his time to enjoy the warm welcome before quietly returning his own salutation.
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The pensive mage had transported himself to the start of a cobbled road that disappeared into the darkness of its engulfing forest. The broad trees before him rose high overhead, their thick canopy of leaves casting the forest beyond into early nightfall. The stone avenue was illuminated by magical lampposts and fireflies that flitted around the trunks and off into the black woods beyond. He stepped onto the road and into the embrace of cool shadows with the smell of mosses. The calm familiarity of the forest at night eased his mind.
Walking the stone avenue, Syffox was no longer alone, at least not in presence. Priests, priestesses, acolytes, and followers were also on the roadway. They sat on the occasional bench or walked in small groups, each talking about their own concerns. But when he passed, they would all stop to say hello or nod an acknowledgement to their ancient leader. It was a minimal courtesy to whom they considered the now uncontested oldest and most powerful person in the world. It was also the most courtesy Syffox would allow from them. He rarely had use for prestige or ceremony.
There were also animals along the trail that greeted or nodded to him. Rabbits and deer, wolves and bears—there were no prey or predators this close to Vantaiga’s temple and villages. The animals knew the forest people would take care of them, and Syffox would take care of the forest, so the animals, too, paid him respect as he passed. A fox trotted up next to Syffox. He stopped to give the pleasant creature a scratch behind the ear, and the two continued on together down the road.
They passed by the shrine to Hydar, a pool of water with a white and blue marbled stone fountain at its centre. Carved with clouds to honour the God of Rain, the fountain flowed with the spring of Hydar’s gift to Vantaiga as a child. Illuminated by magical stones of light within a closed basin, glowing arcs of water streamed out into the pool. His spring now a polished shrine gleaming with surreal light, Hydar no longer minded Vantaiga revealing her secret to the world. Here by the fountain, it was more crowded, as always, but still quiet and peaceful. The onlookers found it amusing to watch Syffox and his furry companion walk by.
Next to the fountain was a shrine to Vantaiga herself. It had once been her home, many centuries ago—and where they had first made their life together. It was also where Vantaiga first taught Syffox about the magic of nature. Now it was a refuge for those seeking comfort or help in the forest. It was always attended by a few priests or priestesses, who would often cook meals for passing travelers. Syffox took a moment to reflect on the house and the smells of cooking. Of all the visitors to the shrine, Syffox could say he had been the first.
The road was always a nice journey through his past, but Syffox was not walking this way to visit the shrines. He and the fox turned down a smaller, unlit dirt roadway. It was not hidden, but in the pitch-black beneath the trees, it was not inviting to casual pilgrims without a light source. The fox had no problem seeing the dark path; however, Syffox required his magic to see the way before him.
It was well into the night by the time Syffox came to the end of the simple road. It led him to an open space where the typical scattering of trees was replaced by a haphazard arrangement of strange bark clad buildings. These were no ordinary homes but living structures, built from trees grown and manipulated together into form solid walls. At the top of the walls the trees divided into a mass of branches that formed a thick canopy over both those inside and outside the buildings. Light from different rooms within gave a patchwork illumination to the underside of the leaves overhead. The cracks in the shutters and doors dappled playful bright spots onto the forest floor before Syffox.
The oversized windows and doorways were framed with vines of white hydrangea and red kadsura berries. The shutters and doors of the houses were made from woven sticks and vines. It was a colourful, simple, design so they could be easily rebuilt when they no longer fit the ever expanding tree-trunk walls.
He bent down to give his fox companion an affectionate pat. The two then stepped across an invisible boundary to enter what was the closest thing Syffox had to calling home. There was no family for him to find here, but he knew there would be many brothers and sisters to greet him.