Phantammeron Book One Page 8

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  Meanwhile, far away in the silent splendor of Phantaia’s vast wilderness, Ana awoke to the sound of hooves, and the rhythmic beat of the hardened path beneath her. Once more she found herself travelling upon the back of the mysterious horse. As she opened her eyes, she saw that the horse seemed to be following a well-worn trail into a wood she did not recognize.

  As she rested upon his warm back, she thought of the horrors of the previous night. Its memory, though evanescent, yet lingered. For with each new shadowed glade they passed through, her fear of the haunted trees had returned. Yet strangely, the horse had removed that fear. The confidence and trust she had in it had not diminished but had grown, and was a part of her spirit now. The creature seemed ghostlike, almost from a dream, yet connected to the forest itself somehow. Ana held onto its neck, trusting it fully, and letting it carry her on their mysterious journey. But where were they going?

  The white horse had travelled a great distance while she slept, going deeper into the endless forest, climbing higher and higher into its farthest reaches. Only the dim flash of blue lightning in the distance remained to light the winding trail. And the gentle sound of a dewy rain had begun to drip down from the wet boughs above.

  As they travelled beyond the murkier wilderness, the trees had changed, almost imperceptibly at first. She saw that the forest was lit by a faint inner light glowing forth from every rock, tree, root, and leaf. The evil trees of the dimmer wood had faded back into the shadows, giving way to loftier timber whose imposing gray trunks had risen up from the umber soil to challenge them, casting back with their humble shade the malicious shadows of their evil brethren.

  With each bend of the trail, Ana felt a new sense of anticipation. They had begun to climb a massive hill, passing through wide glades, which lay open to the skies about the hillsides. Deep cliffs fell away beyond the trail, spanned by precarious bridges of mossy rocks, which they now crossed at intervals. She saw wide mountains above her, shining with dark green woods about their slopes. Far below her in the curving canyons, she looked down at the meandering waves of misty tree lines, as they stretched away into the sleepy depths of foggy valleys.

  In the rocky depths she heard the sound of rushing water—small silver streams flowing clear and bright—descending from a place high above her, falling away as cascading white waterfalls down into the dewy chasms below. About the cliffs clung a rich verdure of tangled vines, drooping ferns, and rich moss, which hung down in masses about the path.

  As they reached the summit of the hill, the glowing mist that had hovered about the forest seemed to have departed again. And she saw in the valley that fell away before her, a brighter and more hopeful landscape.

  As they descended into this wide valley, she noticed the forest was filled with even larger trees, monstrous in size, with trunks of even greater width. This sea of trees, dark and dreary in the deepening shade of the canyon, stretched their pearly trunks up from the purple depths into the starless Heavens above them. These ancient behemoths had grown apart at wide intervals, so that in the dim light they appeared like aged warriors returning from some grim battlefield from which they alone had survived. Beside the many bubbling brooks, the trees’ giant roots had draped beneath them like cobwebs, weaving their way across the green mossy earth until they entangled themselves in their neighbors’ feet.

  Although this wilderness of giants felt threatening, the trees here felt more alive, rich with new growth, and filled with a happier spirit that Ana could but faintly sense. For the opaque ebony of the earlier woods had been replaced with an emerald opalescence. Below the trees’ deeply shaded verdure had grown a dense carpet of dark green ferns, silver streams, and moss-covered boulders, who untouched by time appeared almost pristine, yet a relic of an ancient paradise tragically fallen and faded. The undulating wood, perpetually renewed by its lush green growth and bathed by the spray of its tumbling waters, appeared to resonate with the living spirit of its magnificent trees. But few would ever know that its true essence lay hidden in the treasure of the black earth beneath it.

  Large plants, cast in various shades of faded viridian, had grown up from the forest floor, thick and bulbous in the shadowy soil. Erupting up from the dense piles of leaves and logs, they grasped at the air with their thick vines and wide wet leaves, until they stretched their tendrils into the air about Ana. Many of the thickest vines, wide as her body, had curled themselves around the great trunks of the trees in one mass, until bursting forth from their tops, they hung down from mossy limbs in wide drapes of thick growth.

  Many odd blooms and translucent flowers seemed to burst forth from the soil below their feet, like pale ghosts rising up from some mossy graveyard of the dead. Blanched orchids and purple foxglove crept up from below and lay in thick blankets beneath the feet of the trees. Black pansies with centers of faded gold stared up at her from along the trail. And endless meadows of ghostly asphodel, springing forth from the rich soil, now bent their sad starry faces to peer up at the forlorn girl as she passed by.

  As they rode through the peaceful valley, they had begun to climb a small misty rise again. Upon this small hillock grew yet another shining wood whose trees were cast aglow with an even stranger light. For many ages, the soft dews of the purple mists had dripped down upon the trees here, soaking their solemn glades with their rains, so that in the faded light every bud and leaf seemed bathed in a grim yet glistening glow.

  Ana saw that the dense violet mist had encircled these woods, filling them with its cloud as if to hide them. It had risen up from the piles of leaves and roots below her, casting its shimmering and shadowy light about the trunks of the trees and plants which remained almost trapped in its haunting color. And as the pair passed through the mist, its motionless sheets swirled about them, as if welcoming them with its eerie dance to its true home.

  In this part of the forest, the powers of the Twilight Mist had long held sway, guarding the middle realms of Phantaia with his great clouds, unchallenged. His twilight had enveloped and colored the land, so that the trees and rocks were bathed and imbibed in his violet dew. They could not escape it. For by the ever-present mist Phantaia had in time become stained, so that all living things that had entered it were now cast aglow with a soft lavender shade.

  But Ana knew she had been followed by that creeping fog. It seemed to stare down at her, to peek behind trees, pause awhile and then disappear. Hidden behind trees and rocks, the mist had climbed up and over the treetops, weaving its violet fog through the boughs, until it dissolved itself in the inky depths of Heaven. Then it would rise again from the leafy floor below their feet, snaking its way through the forest’s darkest, most cavernous depths, until but a pale shade of its strange hue had remained.

  But all who had come to Phantaia seeking to penetrate its many mysteries would find great peril within that mist. For no guiding star yet shined through its faded fog to show them a path. Nor could the darkness that still crawled about the rocks and trees yet devour its native light. Nothing could despoil the many secretive works and labors of the Twilight Mist in Phantaia. For this was his princely home. And his spirit would remain in those woods ever after, having long ago chased the light of day and the dark of night from its midst.

  And so was this gloomy land named Avra, the twilit realm, where the haunted mists, torn between day and night, perpetually flowed.

  But the two worlds of light and dark had waged a brutal war in this part of Phantaia for many eons. And the Twilight Mist alone had witnessed the savagery of the Battle of the Trees that had long plagued it. But the victors in those conflicts were given a mysterious gift by him. For the Twilight Mist had cast his somber glow down onto the last of the monstrous trunks that had stood so proudly upon the heights, until their gray bark shone forth with his light. And so had his mists wound their way among the warring trunks until his dew, born of sorrow for the many fallen forest children, clung to the trees and the rocks that hung upon the hilly heights, drippi
ng his tears down into the earth that lay about their feet.

  His rains formed rivulets and small streams, which disappeared into an underworld of roots and rot beneath them. Those streams then formed rushing rivers, which flowed endlessly over moss-covered walls of rocks and logs, carving great arteries across the land. Cascading down into the wider valleys below, they merged with the mighty river called Avalyr, where they had gathered as one to flow to the sea.

  But in Avalyr, the Twilight Mist’s own daughter had hidden, dwelling in peace far from her father’s fogs of war. Although she was a child of that river, was she ever nourished by her father’s tears, which had for untold ages poured down from the mountains and hills high above her. The Twilight Mist had thus sustained the river, his daughter, and the land of Phantaia with his own loving waters. And his mists would ever after hold dominion there, gripping the forest in its phantom fog, until long after the time of his own passing.

  Ana and the horse rode through this twilit arcadia, between the solemn groves of lavender trees that stretched high above them. Their dense canopy of dark umbrage scattered mottled shadows down upon the narrow path. Here the ancient elm and ash trees had grown, thrusting up from the dark soil with their erect trunks, whose shining bark glistened and sparkled with the dew of fresh rain.

  As they rode past, Ana gazed with wonder at the majesty of this silent gallery of trees. Their meandering limbs and trunks stretched upwards, thrusting their powerful boughs out into timeless space, and spreading their silver leaves through the Heavens. They seemed almost to be seeking some unseen light, thought Ana. But as she looked up, she imagined she glimpsed a small golden beam, reflecting its light off their uppermost limbs. But from what source had it shone?

  Standing tall, proud, and defiant, no storm nor wind, time, age, or force of evil could fell these giants. For these trees were guardians. Hidden by the Twilight Mist, they were the last of the great armies of Phantaia that had protected its inner realms from the demonic trees of Avaras. For its possessed witch-hazels had waged war against the elms, seeking to tear them down and breach the brighter lands of living green growth that had, for almost an eternity, dwelt peacefully beyond their reach.

  As they plodded on, Ana saw they were heading towards an even brighter place that lay just beyond the trees. At the summit of a large round hill, they came to a last stand of trees. There she saw before her an unending line of rowan trees, soaring up from the hilltop. Standing side by side, they formed an almost perfect wall of trunks, whose solid row of trees crowned the hill in either direction.

  These were the Avalumlea, the rowans of light, whose silver limbs and trunks stood like an endless castle wall between the two realms of Phantaia —the domain of the darker woods behind them and the brighter lands beyond. Ana had passed through the storm-wracked, spookier realms of Avaras. But beyond this wall of trees lay another world yet unmarred by any living thing. And so had the rowans carefully guarded all entrance to that shining land with their impenetrable trunks. But these ancient trees seemed much grander than all the others Ana had seen. With their heavy roots and straight trunks trailing down the hill to either side, these trees now blocked all travelers by both land and air. For their trunks grew so high they disappeared beyond the mists that rolled high above their heads.

  As they neared the trees, the horse seemed to know of a hidden place along its walls—perhaps some unseen door that would allow them to pass through. For much like the trees upon the beaches of Phantaia, this strange beast had known the forest’s many hidden paths and unguarded gates. Ana knew by his determined look that soon they would travel beyond them.

  As they neared the wall, from out of the dense foliage there appeared a massive giant of a tree, whose dark serpentine limbs curled up and around each other, spiraling up into the sky. It was like no other tree she had encountered. For it seemed to be of great age. Its wide knotted trunk had great cavernous cracks about its base. And she noticed that its bark was covered in thick ferns and wild moss, which had embraced the tops of its many black boughs.

  Yet its bark bore the scars of many battles. It looked forlorn and out of place beside the others. For it had once lain at the heart of some ancient forest, now destroyed and forgotten. Its appearance was strange and otherworldly. As its trunk bent back and forth in the breeze, she thought perhaps it was possessed of some unusual spirit.

  But this was the fatherly yew called Iwu, one of the many chieftain trees of Phantaia. He appeared to be sleeping. But as they approached, he came to life, slowly unravelling his entwined arms and bending his long limbs down to the ground before them.

  The white horse now stood before the great tree and bent his head down. He scratched his hoof upon the ground, while shaking his head, as if communicating to it in an unknown language. The trunk’s bloated bark started to move slowly, until Ana saw his dark eyes and warty lips begin to open. Nearly expressionless, Iwu stared down at them with his great amber orbs. But seeing the small child, his wide mouth smiled. Then a strange melancholy fell upon him. And he returned to deep thought again, ever-enlightened by the mystical knowledge of lost ages, which he had gathered into himself.

  For the yew had seen many unusual things in this fallen and violent world. And he had faced the agony of endless war, and the constant threat of dark spirits and forces aligned against his many children. He had fought so bravely against the vile children of Avaras. And yet he had sadly seen many of his own brothers and sisters fall. And so he was weary of war in his old age, ready to leave this world. Yet had Iwu stood defiant and strong. For long had he guarded the secret gate leading to Phantaia’s interior.

  Iwu turned to the horse. And with his great arms, pointed to a small corner of the rowan trees behind him. For he was the sole guardian of the gateway that yet remained within the trees of Avalumlea. Beyond this door lay glorious Phantavra, the shining lands of Phantaia. And so, for countless ages had the ancient yew barred the evil trees of darker Avaras from entering that land.

  Ana looked where the yew had pointed, when suddenly a glowing door appeared. The entrance to a secretive new world now lay open before her. Beyond it she saw a greener and grander landscape, glowing with a warm and vibrant light from an unknown and unseen source. An eerie silence then fell upon them. For the winds had died. And the skies grew grim and dark, though Ana could not see any clouds besides the pale mist that had followed them.

  Then was heard the beating of leathery wings rising up from the depths of the woods. From out of the trees erupted a hoard of flying beasts. Their ebony wings beat upon the air with thunderous force, as their dark streams shaded the woods about them. They swooped down upon the rowans, which shuddered in fear before the black bat-winged host.

  The ancient yew then turned to Ana and the horse, and pointed his knotted limb towards the opening again. Soon it would close.

  As Ana and the horse looked up, they saw the terrible creatures of the night descending upon the tops of the trees, rending their leaves from them. And with the force of their wings, they sent their boughs flying to the ground. They bit into their trunks with sharp teeth, until blood-like sap dripped forth. Ana looked in horror as the trees began to turn dark and shrivel with age.

  Iwu, the giant yew, spread his monstrous limbs high into the Heavens, striking the beasts from the air with wide sweeps of his arms. Many of the creatures were then thrown back into the woods before him. But soon there appeared even greater streams of bat-like beings, their burning eyes set aglow and enraged. As they streamed across the tops of the trees the sound of their screaming and screeching echoed through the woods. Ana saw that soon their great masses would completely blacken the skies and consume them in their suffocating shadows.

  Ana and the horse galloped quickly towards the doorway. But as she turned to look back, she saw in the depths of the woods a monstrous form, rising above the forest in the distance. Its great claws gripped the tops of the trees. And they swayed with every beat of its black satin wings. As Ana gazed upon
its crooked face, its red, fiery eyes peered down into hers, penetrating her very heart with its evil stare.

  As Ana screamed, the white horse jumped through the doorway. Bursting through the opening, the shining door just as quickly closed behind them. And the terror of that scene seemed to fade instantly from view. All was quiet now. For the Avalumlea had completely sealed the inner lands of Phantaia from the darker realms beyond. The living trees were all that now stood between them and the battle that raged on the other side.

  Only an eerie quiet remained, as Ana and the white horse raced ahead into the depths of a bright new land. As they galloped down the path, Ana contemplated the fate of the poor yew and shuddered. But the horrible vision of that black being remained. For it was clearly her it had come for.

  The Journey’s End

  Ana had escaped evil’s grisly hand, carried by the horse from a shadowed to a shining land. She held onto his mane with all her might, as it raced on towards a distant light. As they galloped past the swaying trees, she felt the touch of a warmer breeze. For within the canopy of those brighter woods, the dusky leaves sparkled where a golden light now stood. Yet no lustrous lantern in those woods had shined, and no blazing star or shimmering sun could she find.

  As they rode on down the bright white paths of the forest, the haughty dense umbrage of Avaras was now replaced with green glades of younger trees. This was the youthful forest of Avalumlea, that which had bordered Avaras, its darker brother. Yet was it strangely a part of Phantavra. For here grew the rowans’ many children, who in time would replace their fallen parents. Seeing this vast nursery of younger trees so closely guarded, Ana now knew the truer purpose of Avalumlea’s mighty wall.

  A white fog had wound itself among the limbs of this youthful forest. For pale clouds had replaced the darker mists that had snaked their way through the blacker boughs of Avaras. But through the slow breaking of the clouded veil by winds aloft, Ana was able to see clearly the full scale of this much brighter wood. The young trees here had thrived, no longer half-dead, but fuller and more alive. And every living blade of grass and leaf here seemed imbibed with a kinder spirit and more loving nature.

  For this was an enlightened wilderness, free of the darker spirits, where the brighter and lighter trees had grown unhindered by the weight of evil’s lifeless insipid earth. For here the new trees seemed drawn together by a shared joy and bliss, blessed by a timeless peace granted to each and every living thing. A thriving forest, the trees here seemed to speak to Ana in a softer tongue, their breath mingling with the windswept tops of their sister trees. For swift currents now cast their limbs aloft, dancing in the breeze, swaying back and forth with thick heads of whispering leaves.

  Below her appeared the buds of small gold and silver flowers, which for the first time shined forth with their own inner illumination. And the young green and yellow leaves of spring’s first buds opened up on the trees around her, as they passed. The limbs of the trees reached out to touch Ana’s face, as if clamoring to feel her presence. And she felt their loving leaves upon her face, welcoming her as one among their own.

  Crystalline dew had gathered on the larger limbs as before, dripping a constant rain down upon them. And their moist leaves sparkled like diamonds overhead, shining with a strange prism set aglow by the mysterious unseen light that beamed down from the distant Heavens. But the silver-colored bark and bright leaves of the forest seemed to cast their own loving light. For a brilliant emerald sheen was thrown down upon the land from the thick leaf-laden boughs above, as the soft chartreuse of young grasses shined up from the moist earth below.

  The smiling forest of youthful Phantavra had directed its sunny beams upon Ana and the horse, with little fingers of light, silver and bejeweled, cascading down across their faces. She felt the warm breath of the trees, hearing their voices aloft, soft and sweet in her ears as they passed by. Ana was so comforted by the woods that the former terrors filling her mind now drifted away, replaced with the peace and beauty of this new joyous new landscape. Still she failed to find the source of the warm glow that filled it.

  Ana and the horse rode on through Phantavra’s many shining glades and valleys, until they began to slowly climb again. The winds had increased as they rode on. The horse had begun to stray from the path, climbing past vast groves of grand old alder trees, which grew along the misty margins of a tumbling stream. These tall trees lined up in almost perfect columns in the depths of the primordial wood. Their leafy heads bowed to the happy winds that blew past them, their white limbs creaking and groaning in the sway.

  As they neared the top of the breezy hill, Ana saw that they had come to a high cliff, which overlooked a glorious vista. She gazed with wonder upon the breathtaking scene. Before her stretched a wide wooded valley in which a deep green river flowed, gleaming in the lustrous light as it wound its way through the peaceful landscape.

  About the shining river, in either direction, lay the secluded wilderness of innermost Phantaia, whose dense woods stretched off into the distance. Its tangle of growth, wild and forbidding, filled this shining valley. The leafy heads of dense umbrage were bathed in the warmth of a far-off light, while its dark roots and vines crowded upon the edge of the high-banked river.

  To her left Ana could see the waterway, curling like a shining serpent as it wound its way through the forest. But its hidden wellspring she could not discern. As the river twisted its way through the bountiful hills of the endless forest, Ana noticed the most distant trees seemed to have grown even taller. As she gazed into the haze of the horizon, Ana observed an unusual aurora of golden light beaming through the tangled boughs. And beyond those trees, a strange land where the warm glow of some secret sun emanated from a faraway, mist enshrouded hilltop.

  Looking to her right, she could see the river disappear far away into the gloom of a more shaded land, until it poured over a rocky precipice in the far distance. White fog and spray climbed up from the roaring cataract, rising up from the darkness beyond, and casting a billowing mist that drifted far and wide above the tops of the trees. Beyond the falls lay an open sky that flashed with great bolts of lightning, and roared with the crashing surf of the seas. Above these waters spread a dark and somber sky, writhing with dark clouds, borne up by some distant storm, which boiled and brewed on the gloomy horizon.

  But as she stared at its distant fury, something seemed to pull her back towards it, calling her from the great abyss that lay beyond the falls. Ana remained curious, standing and staring for a time into that dismal gulf. She turned to her left again, looking up the river to feel the warm light once more upon her face. That strange light had also summoned her to its source. And she felt torn by those two natural spirits.

  The white horse turned its great head and nudged her. It was time to descend into the valley.

  Ana and the horse climbed down the hill, following a narrow wooded glen, until they came to the rolling grassy hills that lay before the tree-lined river. There the horse stopped, lying exhausted in the warm rich grass. Below them stood a grove of huge ash trees, thick with new green growth, standing in the midst of a dense thicket that lined the banks of the river.

  As Ana looked past the trees, she saw the true power and expanse of the wide rolling water as it flowed past them. But the horse did not seem anxious to cross it. With a nod of its head, it signaled for Ana to lie down and sleep beside it. She then sat alongside the great stallion. But she could not sleep. She was still curious about the unusual river and the peculiar music its waves and whirlpools now made. It was then she thought she heard the haunting voice of a child, a young girl, arising from its depths. She lay down, uncertain of it, curling up closer to the horse as it slept.

  Through most of the night Ana tossed and turned in a troubled sleep, half awake and stirred by unusual noises. For the eerie sounds of the river haunted her. But soon she could no longer resist their incessant calls. She then awoke as in a fever. But seeing the peaceful form of the sleeping horse beside her, s
he felt calmed. She brushed its gentle face as it slept and then climbed to her feet to walk down the hill to the river below.

  Traversing the grassy slope, she came to the thicket of giant ash trees that lined the fern-covered bank of the river in unending rows. As she walked into that bracken of fernal delight, the limbs of the trees seemed to toss about to some steady and measured wind. Their trunks and bent boughs had stretched themselves high above the rushing river, as if drawn to it.

  As Ana climbed down to the river, she saw that the trees’ massive roots, tattered and torn, had clung to the muddy riverbank, sending their thick shoots down into the depths of the river’s swirling waters to draw forth its sustenance. Ana now stood upon a great root at the water’s edge, peering into the depths of the mysterious river.

  This was the ancient river of Avalyr, whose many twisting arteries flowed with great force through Phantaia. For many ages it had carried the collected waters of that land to the widening and beckoning gulf of the seas. It was a river ever young and alive, with the spirit of hope and the power to cleanse, so that many living things would seek the succor of its cool waters and be revived by its sweet refreshment. Yet many other strange gifts would it give to those who drank of its rare essence.

  Far upstream, Avalyr had first gathered upon a mighty hill, which rose up from within Phantaia’s forgotten heartland. In its center had slept the twin spirits of the Secret Spring and the Rock Eternal who, as brother and sister, had been enjoined as one to the land with a purpose most sacrosanct.

  Deep within their hidden realm, the bubbling brook of the sister-spring had first fed this youthful river of Phantaia, its crystalline waters spilling out from silver pools that lay hidden within her brother’s mound. For within the hill of the Rock Eternal the river was most alive, filled with the hopeful spirit of life that would long sustain it. But it was his sister, the Secret Spring, who had poured the wondrous Sands of Time into its stream. Those sands had slept beneath the river’s currents, and imbibed its waters with the primal power of eternal youth so that all who drank of those wondrous waters would be free of the curse of Time, and yet married in spirit to Phantaia and its strange destiny.

  Through their twin spirits had the blissful waters of Avalyr and the blessed earth of Phantaia thus remained enjoined, their fates entwined in the endless dance of youthful splendor. So would those siblings remain together, hidden in the earth, their two hearts beating in unison within Phantaia’s dark bosom. Never would either spirit part from the other, until one among them should perish. For they were bound to a solemn vow they had made to the Immortal Clay, their father, to sustain Phantaia with their merciful gifts until their dying days.

  But the river served a more vital purpose. For her waters yet encircled Phantaia in a protective embrace, such that none might enter its heart unless they dared to cross its perilous waters. For they alone sustained and jealously guarded the last of the secret paths to its innermost paradise. Beyond them would remain apart the outer lands of Avaras, where the misty realms between fantasy and reality, and the forces of darkness and evil yet roamed at will, unchecked. Yet, all who sought its tranquil inner nature were permitted to cross her powerful stream, and dream there without fear or danger from the marauding evil that ever crept beyond its boundary.

  In time, a lonely spirit had come to dwell in Avalyr. A strange child had come into it, bubbling forth from the mother-spring that lay within the great hill. That lonely child had then been thrown into the depths of the river to dwell there alone. This was the solitary child called Atar, whose twin sister had perished beside her mother within her well. But though the spirit of her sister was bound to her grave, Atar’s had remained free to roam the land, flowing from her mother’s hill, down into Phantaia, alive, wild, and untamed.

  Upon Atar’s birth, her father the Twilight Mist had come to that land from the faraway seas. Enamored of the Secret Spring, her mother, he had bound his rains and dews to the waters of her sad well, so that they were joined in an unbreakable union of form and spirit most sacred. For their love long sustained the river, which then held within its gentle arms the mysterious river-child. So was Atar reared by her parents’ nurturing fount.

  In time, her father had returned to Avalyr, seeking his abandoned child. For he had sought to rescue the lonesome girl and take her away from Phantaia, so she might be hidden from the eyes of evil. The Twilight Mist had found his daughter hidden in a tiny pool. But as he reached down to hold her, in fear of him Atar turned into a silver fish, slipping away through his fingers. For her life was the river now. And her spirit would remain enjoined to it. Nothing would ever take her from the river, or Phantaia, until for another she would leave upon the Altar of Love its grave sacrifice.

  Atar now dwelt alone within the depths of Avalyr, far from the eyes of all others. She sustained the river’s essence, holding close to her the secrets of Time’s turning wheels, which now churned within Avalyr, spinning endlessly in its cold depths. Through those wheels the river-daughter could see many things, though she could not spin the fates of the children of the world as could the daughter of the seas, her sister. But in waking from dreams, still remembered, she could read them. So to her was known the future of many worlds. Long ago were the destinies of their many children, yet unborn, revealed to her. And the melancholy truth of those visions would ever haunt her.

  Atar’s visions would also be clouded by another, whose strange waters would come into her own, dripping down into her mind from the heart of that wilderness. Those sad waters would forever bathe her tortured mind with the joys and suffering of the living, whose lives would be sustained, yet stained, by that mysterious pool.

  Ana climbed down the roots of the ash trees and stared into the depths of the cool river as it flowed past her. She pondered its beauty and majesty. For the swirling current appeared to soothe her, calming her mind, and bringing a quiet peace to her heart. Its emerald waters shimmered and shined with soft lights and strange hues that reflected up from the mossy rocks and pebbles below.

  The violet fog Ana had seen in the forest above had now flowed down the valley, laying itself across the river like a thick blanket. For Ana had sensed a living spirit dwelling in the river, one the fog had sought to hide. She searched the river for a sign of life. Yet all she saw beneath the mist was a cold and swift current flowing briskly by.

  She then reached down to drink from the river’s sweet waters. But as she did, she saw upon the surface the face of a young woman with hair as white as the crest of the waves. It was a face not unlike her own, staring back at her in curiosity. Strange, silent words came from the apparition’s mouth, as if it was calling to her, the voice echoing out from some faraway place hidden deep within the river.

  It was a voice that seemed oddly familiar, as many things had been in this world. And its shadowy sound stilled her heart’s own waters, allowing her mind to reflect upon her past, her present, and her future. But in that vision all she saw was the sea, the river, and a strange pool she did not recognize. Ana reached out to touch the visage, as she had her mother’s face upon the shore. But it was gone.

  Ana then stood upon the roots of the tree, bewildered by the image. She climbed to the riverbank above, wandering as in a dream back to her grassy hillside bed beside the white horse. There she fell into a sleep much deeper than any she had yet experienced.

  The booming sound of distant thunder woke Ana in the night. As she opened her eyes, she saw that the golden dawn of the distant light had faded into amber. The brighter green of the grass that grew about the hills had also grayed. And the rich jade of the trees had turned ashen. Only a pallid shade lay draped across the valley where the purples of the deeper shadows had once stood.

  Everything around her seemed different and out of place. For the warm glow in the horizon had oddly dimmed behind a gray veil. She felt a strange stillness in the air, as if time had stopped. Was she awake or in a dream? A strange pull then overtook her mind and heart. For a haunting des
ire to leave the forest, the river, and even the horse now possessed her spirit. She would rise and go forth to a place high above in the mountains, where the great waterfall poured into the sea. For she longed to see it.

  Leaving the sleeping horse behind, she rose to her feet and began walking along the quiet riverbank. The warm lights that had reflected upon the river’s silver surface had died. And the fogs that drifted about its shores had all but disappeared. Only the shadows of the distant trees upon the farthest bank now remained. They cascaded their faded shapes and shadows down onto the river’s glassy surface so that their own reflections seemed trapped in its watery mirror.

  Ana then heard again the sound of a distant waterfall. The great roar of its wide cataract echoed up from the river, far away to her right. Was it the sound of her mother’s spirit calling her from the seas? As she walked through the forest that lay beside the river, the strange sound of the falls drew her away from their shore. She then began travelling up into the grassy hills above.

  The sound of the mysterious river pouring into the seas possessed her. She was determined to climb above the cliffs so she might see it with her own eyes. For she desired to gaze upon the spirit that dwelt within the falls, to look again upon her mother’s ocean, and peer out across the cold abyss that lay beyond it.

  As she climbed higher into the hills, she noticed a strange shade following close behind her, mimicking her every move. But as she stopped to look more closely at it, she saw only her shadow in the grass. Since she had left the horse, it had grown and lengthened, however. As it followed her up the hill, the shade seemed to move independently of her. She was unsure of its nature or purpose, and rushed ahead to try and escape it.

  She ran on, climbing up the slopes and onto the high grassy hills that rolled on before her like endless waves. It seemed as if she had run for several nights, up and down the hills, caught in a nightmare she could not escape. For the evil shade that followed close behind, and the calling of the falls beyond the hills, haunted her exhausted mind with their constant presence.

  The twilight gloom and the humid, thick air made her doubt whether she was awake. For the distorted shadows of the trees in the valley below her and the black sky above seemed grim and unnatural, almost dead. It felt as though some scheming spirit now held her mind within the firm grip of its own.

  As she topped a grassy vista, she saw before her an imposing mountain, upon whose shadowy heights lay great rocky cliffs of jagged rock. Just beyond them rose up the white and curling spray of the falls. She was getting closer.

  Through tangled thickets and broken limbs, over boulders and cold mountain streams, Ana climbed, up into the towering heights of the cliffs. Yet, with her fragile hands she had struggled to pull herself up past the towering walls of stone that stood teetering before her. As if in a dream, she climbed up and over the last precipice of rock, until she walked out onto a windy ledge that overlooked a deep blue gulf of emptiness.

  Peering into the depths, she saw the white waterfall at last, as it poured down its raging torrents into the dark blue seas below. Here the wide river of Avalyr, cold and deep, flew with great fury over the last of the black cliffs of Phantaia, down into the depths of the grim seascape below. Its great clouds of frothing sea spray and fog billowed up like storm clouds about her.

  Ana stood in awe of its grandeur and beauty, calmed by the sound of the roar, and cooled by the ghostly mist cast up from it. She looked down into the Dreaming Seas far below, and felt the presence of her mother again. She then walked to the edge of the cliff. For a moment she thought of diving down into the wasteful sea. Lost in a strange trance, she would jump into the falls. For she desired to return to her mother. And by her death, she thought, her troubled spirit might rest beside her in peace. She knew if she could summon the courage, she could make the final leap.

  As she neared the edge, pondering her sad destiny, she suddenly felt the cold presence of the strange darkness that had followed her. But turning around, she saw that her own shadow had departed. She then watched the seas darken and an even larger shade slowly envelope the land. As she looked out into the Heavens, a strange black cloud approached, rising up from the mountains in the distance. From out of the depths of Avara’s black woods it came, growing slowly, swirling and boiling with malicious intent. As Ana looked below the cliff, she saw that it had encircled the seas beneath her. It then wrapped its sinister coils, like a long black snake, about the shore and the slopes of the mountains, so that all was hidden within its cloud.

  Ana then realized it was not a storm, nor made of the wisps of clouds. It was an amorphous shape, bearing within its streaming mass, millions of bat-winged creatures, the same ones she had seen before the rowans. The black host now spun about the cliffs, drowning out the last lights of Phantaia with the sheer beating of their wings. Ana then turned to flee.

  But from out of the rocky face of the mountain behind her grew the filaments of an ever-lengthening shadow. Ana saw its murky form, slowly rising up from the black face of the cliffs behind her. It stretched its ominous shape above the shadows of the rocks until it towered over her head. Then she saw with horror that it was the same monstrous form she had seen before at the door of the rowans. For within the crevices of the cliffs that ominous shade had opened its sinister eyes, which glowed forth with a red fire that burned away the very surface of her heart. They were searching, penetrating eyes.

  Then from within the rocks, there boomed a voice, deep and dark, so that the very cliffs trembled as it spoke, “...Ana...Ana...”

  But with each word, the dark form took within itself deep breaths of the moist mountain air, exhaling them out in frosty plumes, until an icy fog billowed forth from its ragged mouth. Its foul breath formed clouds that wrapped about Ana, like phantom hands, long and sinewy, reaching out to grab her. But she could not run from this black specter. For something in its seductive eyes drew her to it.

  Ana walked through the eerie fog and stood before the dark spirit that hid in the shadows of the rocks. The great being then looked down on her small form, its large reflective eyes glowing with a vengeful, yet sensuous light. But Ana stood bravely before the dark form, saying to it, “What spirit of the night comes before me? Who dares to hide in the shadows of the rocks? For I saw such a spirit rise from the forest below the doorway of the trees.”

  The black spirit then spoke, “You do not know me. But I know you. For I have looked into your heart, Ana. And the darkness that yet dwells within you has revealed itself to me. I am the Shadow, sent by your father Agapor, who now dwells in the Realms of Oblivion. He is the last lord of that grim land, whose storms you see boiling about you. And he it is that has raped the seas, and whose storms now slaughter the rocks and trees of this land with his iron hand.”

  Ana looked up in horror, hearing those words. She then told the spirit, “I know not who my father is. Nor have I known of any other but my mother. She dwells in the depths of the Dreaming Seas, where only the spirits of the dead may go.”

  Ana held back tears, saying to the Shadow, “But I desire to return to her. For I know not where I am, nor why I have been taken into this strange land.”

  The Shadow then smiled, with his long ebony teeth exposed, saying to Ana, “No spirit, living or dead, may ever return to the sea, child. It is only a gateway to the Other World. For beneath it lies the Land of the Dead, where all that perish in this world shall go to dwell, trapped in endless misery and suffering for all eternity. The cold seas do not forget the dead that dwell under them, yet give their love and care to no one, not even the living. For your own mother is enslaved to them, cursed to weave upon a loathsome loom the doom of the children born into this world. And so like them are you wrapped by your mother’s pall, to walk the earth as the dead, clothed in the same tattered fate she hath sown for us all.”

  “Forsake thy mother and thy father,” the Shadow proclaimed. “All filial affection is but a false love, and the source of our downfall. Your own parents care
not for you, as they care not for each other. For long ago, they were torn apart by strife, born of your father’s desire to destroy your mother. She was but a victim of his perverse desires. But his violation of her in turn spawned her violence against him. And so was he sundered from the seas long ago. Divorced of all love, they now dwell far apart from each other in their own sad domains. Yet engaged in perpetual struggle, as mortal enemies they shall remain, waging continuous battles born of their unending hatred for each other.”

  The Shadow then spoke again, solemnly saying, “Look for yourself, Ana, out across the seas and skies. Do you not see the spirits of your parents dwelling far apart in their own miserable realms? Do you not see the storms in Heaven and the seas below still fighting upon their fringes?”

  Ana walked to the edge of the precipice, and looked out into the gloom. She then saw the flash of lightning in the distance and the frothing of the sea below. And she gazed upon the residual turmoil of the savage broil between her parents about the shore. Ana saw that a wide and wasteful gulf lay between them. Ana looked down in despair, realizing her family was truly shattered just as the Shadow had said. Her parents cared not for her, nor for each other. They had abandoned her, as they had abandoned each other and all love. And they had left her to struggle in the depths of that gloomy world alone.

  Saddened and confused, Ana began to feel cold and alone. The Shadow then looked down at the small girl with his eyes ablaze. For the evil seeds of doubt had been planted within her mind and would soon take root.

  “The destiny of your parents no longer matters.” The Shadow said, grinning as he spoke. “From their failed love are they now doomed to dwell apart, forever after. By their division shall your father’s storms soon fail, and your mother’s seas fade away. Then shall the terrible twins that dwell in the abyss, like ravenous beasts, rise from the dark pits of the world to chew upon their carcasses. For it was destined to be so at the end of days.”

  The Shadow grimaced at Ana, saying, “But you are doomed to follow the same ill-fated path as they, Ana. For a long and languorous road lies before you in the depths of these cursed woods. If you remain upon this path, you shall find a sad terminus in the dark depths of the forest, dwelling there in total isolation, and begging for death in the misery of your own isolation and loneliness.”

  “But you may leave this place for a happier world, which I alone have seen,” said the Shadow, his eyes aglow. “Leave with me now Ana, before your father comes seeking you. For he shall soon enter Phantaia, not for love of you but to use you to draw forth his own father, the Twilight Mist, out of the woods. For he has vengeance in his heart against that vile being who hides, even now, in the trees and rocks, as a criminal and coward hides from the judgement of his accusers and crimes.” The Shadow then looked about the woods below the cliffs, sniffing the air, as if sensing a presence.

  But Ana stood unflinching before the beast, saying boldly, “Shadow, I can no longer face my father. Whatever he was or is I care not. He never loved me or my mother. But I fear I will never see my mother’s face again. For I see that she lies forever trapped in a trance, bound to endless visions and dreams tied to this world and its fate. This, I feel, shall also be my fate in the forest. And so I cannot go with you. But this prison shall not be a bane, but a blessing to me. I accept my lonely fate in Phantaia.” Ana then placed her hands on her face, and began to cry.

  The Shadow, seeing her vulnerability, cautiously rose up from the rocks, stretching forth his tall form, and casting his full shadow down upon her. As his great figure stood over her, the black clouds above him grew still, and the dark winds of the wings of that storm abated.

  Ana then saw the true form of the Shadow. He appeared as a tall, gaunt creature, bathed in eternal darkness. His ebony skin seemed to draw within itself all light. She looked into the deep, blackened eyes that sat upon his long and sinister-looking face. And she cringed as she saw his curled, foul mouth open, revealing its numerous shiny, ebony teeth.

  “Ana, you and I are more alike than you know,” the Shadow said, with a beguiling smile. “We are kindred spirits. For I too have been betrayed by my father, and turned away from the sad fate in which I lay imprisoned. So are we both destined to defy our families, be free, and rebel against the world.”

  The Shadow’s long black arms stretched forth from the darkness, like the black limbs of a tree. He reached out with his spidery hands and held up the sad girl’s tiny chin, touching the tears upon her face. He then looked deep into her eyes, as his own eyes flickered with an ambient light, shining forth like prisms. For his great orbs reflected out all light that came into them. Ana then gazed upon the bewitching eyes of the Shadow, and felt the utter emptiness of his own cold and pitiless heart. She turned away.

  But the Shadow said, “You must not fear me, child. For I have come to rescue you from this nightmare world our parents hath made. You must leave with me now and flee this wood. In my own lands you shall dwell in peace under the cloak of Midnight, far from Phantaia. There I will protect you from the horrors of the world, and from your own cursed family, which have wrought so much pain upon you.”

  But the Shadow had plotted in secret to carry her away, taking her into the merciless underground realms of Midnight to suffer there alone. By his own villainous plot, he would then cast that child of the sea into its black and oily waters to drown, and to die there alone. By her death would vengeance be his, and the world free of its last living hope.

  But as the Shadow stretched forth his great wings to wrap about her, he felt within her a strange presence. It was something he had earlier sensed—an unknown power within the girl that he could not fully comprehend. He had seen a strange glint of its lurid visions when his heart had first penetrated hers from afar. His eyes now looked deep into hers, searching, exploring, casting lights and strange reflections upon her face and eyes, so that she stood hypnotized.

  He had known of a secret hidden deep within her heart. But he could not divine its meaning. He strove with all his power to see inside her, to discover her true purpose. Her heart now pounded within the cockles of his own, like two that are bound together as one. And the insanity of its chaotic beat echoed in the dark hallways of his spirit. The Shadow hesitated. For he now sensed some terrible part of her that he had not foreseen.

  The Shadow grabbed Ana with his claws, striving with all his might to look into her heart’s depths, until he saw from afar bejeweled reflections cast up from a distant fountain. He then glimpsed at last the shimmering surface of the Sacred Waters, which had lain hidden within the deepest chambers of her heart.

  As the Shadow’s spirit entered her inner alcove, he found himself standing before a shining pool of silver waters. In his mind, it bore upon its surface strange and smoky visions of unknown events, clouded and strange, fractured and surreal. But as he looked upon the waters again, he saw a vision fully revealed unto him, clear and crisp, as a shining sun that throws its brilliant light through a cloud, burning away its lining, and revealing to the viewer the magnificent sight that lies beyond.

  The Shadow saw himself standing beneath a golden hill, upon whose peak stood a towering tree of great strength and majesty. Its light seemed dimmed, yet it burned his eyes. But by some force within was he immune from its powers to harm him. As he turned away from the light, he looked below him and saw that he now stood over the body of a young woman of great beauty. Through her breast was a shining spear of silver, splattered with blood that covered her green and white gown. Beside her knelt a young man, weeping over her. But as the Shadow looked down, he saw in horror that the woman’s blood was dripping from his own hands.

  Then there appeared an angelic woman, tall and serene, with broad wings of silver. Her pale form was armor-clad. And her bluish skin cast forth a white light that shined out like a radiant star as she approached. She looked in horror at the death of the girl and knelt beside her to grasp her hand. She then withdrew the silver spear from her chest. She backed away from the S
hadow, as if in fear of him and his murderous deed.

  The Shadow remained frozen. For he felt a strange anguish for the girl that had died, though he knew not what it meant. Then as fast as that vision had come, it was gone, whilst a strange feeling of dread had remained. Through that image the Shadow had foreseen the sad and final act of a drama yet to unfold, one he could not understand but in which he had played a tragic part.

  Ana broke free from the Shadow’s gaze, crying from the pain and horror of that vision. The Shadow then stumbled backwards, waking from his own nightmare. A terrible panic came over him as he looked with suffering eyes upon the child. For he now saw the truth of what she carried inside her. But Ana had begun to back away from him, uncertain of whom or what he was.

  “He has brought you here, to curse us all with this horrific power that shall soon bring about our doom,” the Shadow shouted, his face sweating and hands trembling. “For your own father revealed to me that you would fulfill some terrible purpose.” The Shadow then slowly backed away from her, his eyes glowing with a dim ember.

  “Be fearful of it child,” he told her. “For it will soon bring great pain and heartache upon you, and an unending agony that even death itself shall not ablate. A fate much worse than all the power of the Dreaming Seas shall soon be unleashed upon us. For I have seen a piece of it. The cursed destiny of a vast and unending play of suffering shall be our fate. And all who play a part may never escape it.” The Shadow then stood in the darkness, his quick breaths billowing out in great heaps of smoke.

  Ana looked with horror upon the dark creature as he spoke. For in her own confusion and fear, she knew not what his words meant.

  But below the cliffs there grew a mist, unseen by all eyes, rising up from the forest depths, then wandering its way over the roaring river. Slowly it climbed through the jagged rocks, streaming up into the skies, until its strange lavender light had cast away the grim grays of the clouds that wrapped about its peaks and valleys. Its great cloud then drew itself about the mountain ledge, encircling Ana and the Shadow in its violet mist.

  The Shadow grabbed Ana with his long black fingers, yelling out into the thick night air, “Begone vile mist! I will now take the child away with me, far from the terrible doom that awaits her here.”

  But the violet mist curled around them until, like a net, it caught them in its thick sheath. And they became blinded and lost within its cloud. Encircled by its strange violet dew, Ana and the Shadow could see no further than their own faces. In the swirling confusion, Ana then broke free of the Shadow, standing alone in the midst of the lavender cloud, scared and unsure.

  From out of the violet fog there appeared a tall figure, the Twilight Mist. For he had gathered his wisps about him, taking form as the mist incarnate. He appeared to Ana as an aged king, with a wide, flowing beard. Upon his brow lay a mighty crown, which shined forth with strange lights of a purple and greenish hue. His skin was dark and lavender, like that of his cloud. And his wide and bejeweled robe glistened with shining dew, flying about him in the winds that blew around his form.

  The Twilight Mist held out his hand to Ana. “Come,” he said. “Leave him. For he is a dire servant of your father, and a being impelled by great evil. He is filled with treachery, feigning truth with his lies. For he would carry you away from here, not to save you but to condemn you to certain death.”

  Ana looked upon the Shadow, and then the Twilight Mist. She felt confusion, and great fear of them both. She then looked into the face of the Mist and felt some goodness in his spirit that connected her to him. His eyes appeared sad and weary, yet burned with the enduring light of hope. She then ran to his arms, turning her fearful gaze upon the cowering Shadow, who now looked up from the fog with amber eyes that felt betrayed.

  The Shadow looked warily at them both, and then gazed upon the aged face of the Twilight Mist with great loathing. For the Mist was his most ancient enemy. Long ago the Twilight Mist had taken him from his own father, the Endless Night, cruelly imprisoning him and his sister in the black manacles Agapor now possessed. And so, there still raged within the Shadow’s heart an unrelenting hatred and desire for revenge.

  The Shadow stood proudly before the defiant figure of the Twilight Mist, saying, “I now know of the secret hidden within the child. It cannot be shielded from my eyes any longer. You are the one who has corrupted her, perverting the will of the Essence Eternal for your own purposes. It is you who placed those cursed waters within her breast. Like the seas that nearly destroyed your own son, you would use his child of the oceans to bind this world in a new curse, tied to those evil waters, such that none might leave it unscathed.” The Shadow laughed quietly at the irony of it all. For he now knew that what the Twilight Mist had done was even more sinister than his own plans for the world.

  “But I have come to stop you. For the girl must die,” the Shadow cried, his voice echoing through the mountains.

  The Twilight Mist spoke to Ana in a gentle tone. “Child, go hide behind the rocks.” To Ana his sad face seemed filled with a faded spirit which, though dimmed, still contained some hidden strength. Ana then fled away to the rocks that stood upon the edge of the cliffs.

  The Shadow stretched his dark form above the mist, his great wings growing larger, expanding outward, until his immense shadow cast its shade down upon the Twilight Mist, drowning out his feeble glow. With his father’s black wings and the spirit of the Glourun they contained, the Shadow transformed himself, taking the shape of a mighty black dragon born of the night. He had a black and horned head upon his serpentine body, with great feet and claws of dark ivory. And his iron jaws dripped with drool, as he belched forth black pitch and smoke from his nostrils. He was a formidable beast to behold, such that even the Twilight Mist stepped back in awe of the monstrous serpent as it stood before him.

  In the Heavens above stirred the many wings of the minions of the Lands of Midnight, so that the lavender fog was blown about in their winds, fleeing down the mountainside. But the Twilight Mist stood unmoving before the massive monster, his wide cape blowing in the shadowy winds now cast about by its heavy breath. Ana cringed at the sight of the frightful beast. And she watched in horror as it slowly drew its long scaly tail in wide sweeps before the figure of the Mist.

  The Twilight Mist then looked sternly upon the towering creature, telling the serpent, “The girl shall not be harmed. She must remain with me. Leave us now, oh Child of Night. Depart this realm and never return.”

  But the serpent hissed with indignity, as he looked upon the frail form of the Twilight Mist. “The child shall soon perish,” the serpent said to the Mist with his deep slithering tongue. “And with her death shall the evil waters she now carries also die.” But the Twilight Mist now stood between the great serpent and the rocks where Ana lay hidden.

  The serpent stretched forth his long ebony body, saying, “Your powers have faded. And your time in this world has passed. The vanity and greed of the Primordial Ones have destroyed this world. But two of your brother’s have died, my lord. Like them, you too must perish, so that the children of this world can finish the destruction you started. The powers of darkness will then be free to take from this world what is rightfully ours.”

  The great serpent then strode before the Twilight Mist, standing over him with his great jaws agape. “You cannot quite see what I have become, can you?” the black serpent said. “It is I who hath slain the Limitless Void, thy benevolent brother. And it is I who hath slain the Endless Night, my father, he who hath failed so miserably to stop you. But you shall be my next victim. For by the words of the sinister twins, who have known the future, was it granted to me that the Primordial Ones should all perish by my hand.”

  The Shadow then lashed out with his great serpentine tail, striking down the Twilight Mist. As the Mist rose to his feet, the Shadow struck him with his great fist, so that he fell to the ground, broken from his mighty blow. Great bolts of blue lightning and thunder crashed about them, as the fractured s
pirit of the Twilight Mist lay upon the rocks.

  With thundering feet, the Shadow came upon the fallen figure of the Mist, looking down on him with his wicked black orbs. He picked up the beaten body of the Lord of the Mist in his claws and carried him to the edge of the precipice. He then cast the Twilight Mist down the mountainside and into the waterfall below. The rocks and trees of the mountain shook, as the black wyrm roared with laughter.

  Ana screamed, as she watched his body plunge into the waves of the roaring falls below. Hearing her pitiful cry, the beast then turned his great horned head, and gazed upon the rocks where she lay hidden. As he slithered over to the rocks to find her, Ana fled, climbing down the treacherous cliffs of the mountain that lay below her. But the serpent reached down with his long claws and grabbed her by the waist, holding her helpless before him. He would no longer carry her away. He would rip her heart from her chest, there in the shadow of the mountain, and take the cursed waters from her.

  But as he curled his long black claws towards her breast, Ana saw behind him the strange mist again, rising up from the depths of the river below. The fog of the Twilight Mist had risen once more. For Atar, the child of the rushing river, would not let her father perish in its currents. She had carried her father’s fallen form up from their depths, and out of the violent waters. And so, by her love had the river-child given her father new life.

  The Twilight Mist stood again upon the mountainside. He then drew his purple clouds about him, gathering from the forests and rocks below a vast shroud, which swirled like a mighty cyclone, slinging the dark denizens of Midnight from the skies. Their battered bodies were heard screeching, far and away, as the last remnants of the dark host were chased from the skies.

  The Twilight Mist then drew his twisting and turning clouds away from the precipice, revealing the golden beams of the Sacred Light that had burned bright again on the horizon. For with the fleeing of the hosts of Midnight, the bright radiance of that burning sun was set free again, to shine its forceful flame upon the mountain face.

  The bright beams broke through the remnant fog, falling upon the serpentine figure of the Shadow, so that he was blown back, burned and blinded by its rays. Ana then saw the dragon-like form of the Shadow melt away. And he stood again as the creature he was before, his shredded wings pitted with holes from the searing light.

  Ana then fell from his grasp. For the Shadow had held his ebony hands before his face, shielding his eyes before the golden gleam of that sun. He then looked up and saw the Twilight Mist peering down upon him with a countenance most terrible to behold, like that which he had seen when he was but a small child ripped away from his dark father.

  As the warm winds of Phantaia swirled around them, the Twilight Mist stood before the cowering Shadow. He draped his merciful mists over him, covering the light from his eyes, saying, “You may not harm this child of the seas, oh dark one. For there is much yet to be done. And great goodness yet dwells in her which you, who are blind to the will of the Spirit Divine, can never see.” The Mist then raised his mighty arms. And great bolts of purple lightning, like cobwebs, crackled in the air before him.

  The Mist then uttered strange incantations, such that the Shadow returned to his ancient form—the shape of a small pale boy. The skin of the Shadow had turned from ebony to gray, his eyes hollow and ghostly. For the Glourun had been stripped from him. The Twilight Mist then drew his strong hands into the air above his body, as the Shadow floated over the earth before him. The sad figure of the Shadow then lay curled in the air, shaking with fear.

  “Your time has not yet come, my child,” said the Twilight Mist, speaking in soft words. “For the light of Phantaia still burns your flesh. The children of the night may not dwell here in these woods as long as it yet beams out from its heart with the Sacred Light of the Great Father. But I will not allow these woods, or their loving light, to be harmed by you, as long as I am alive in this world.” The Shadow lay still, his white eyes staring into the emptiness of the Heavens.

  “But I know why you have come here. Know that it is the design of the Essence Eternal that Ana should dwell in Phantaia. For the mystery that lies within her shall soon enter the heart of this land, and become one with it. Only then shall His will be done,” the Twilight Mist said, as he looked down in rigid defiance.

  The Twilight Mist then looked upon the frozen and ghostly form of the Shadow as he lay powerless before him, floating in the air. As the Mist stared at the helpless boy, with compassionate eyes, he spoke again. “By the dark magic which lies within the manacles are you still imprisoned, my child. And by their powers, you shall remain bound in servitude to those who possess them. Long ago, I was forced to imprison your spirit within that which the Immortal Clay, my brother, had forged, using enchanted metals given to him by the Great Father for that purpose. For it was your own nightmarish power—the evil within you that had polluted your heart—that we needed in order to imprison the Limitless Void, our brother. Our many children were slain by him, and his violence nearly destroyed this world. Only that which dwelt in you could stop him, as it had stopped your father. I had no choice, my child. I am sorry.” The Twilight Mist then looked down in sadness and shame.

  The Twilight Mist then touched the chest of the Shadow. And he knew by that which lay within him that the magical bracers were upon his own son’s wrists. For he felt the beat of his son’s troubled heart through him.

  He then said to the Shadow, “As long as those irons remain with my son, shall you be a servant to him and my house. But should Agapor be separated from them, only then shall you be set free.” The Twilight Mist then touched the face of the Shadow, as a father to a son. Ana saw him look with grieving eyes upon the hateful monster he had made, and she was moved.

  But hearing Ana stir in the rocks behind him, the Twilight Mist turned away from the Shadow, for a moment peering into the gray rocks to find her. Seeing her unharmed, with great joy he then held out his hand for her to come to him. But as he did, the spell placed upon the Shadow strangely waned for a moment. The Shadow then resumed his shape and color, turning black as night. For within his father’s battered wings still flowed the power of the Glourun to resist the enchantments of its spiritual twin, the twilit essence of the Avara.

  The air about him turned gloomy again. And the light of that distant sun faded from view once more. The Shadow then rose up from his cursed bed. And with his long black teeth, he bit the shoulder of the Twilight Mist, from whose body flowed great gushes of violet blood, spilling out upon the rocks. The Shadow fell back to the ground in pain. For he still suffered from the burns and blisters inflicted upon him by that enchanted light.

  The Twilight Mist, stumbling in agony, slumped to the ground, wounded and holding his shoulder. As he did, the Shadow slowly climbed to his feet, and looked upon his bleeding master. But seeing the terrible wound upon his right shoulder, there came into the Shadow’s mind a dark epiphany. And he stood deep in thought, pondering his long enslavement to Agapor.

  As Ana ran to the Twilight Mist, the weakened Shadow slowly crawled away, back into the shadows of the cliff. For the warm lights of Phantaia had returned, casting a ruddy glow upon the rocks about them.

  The Twilight Mist stumbled again to his feet, as great rivers of purple blood gushed from his shoulder and down his leg, covering Ana’s arms and hands in its flow. Though sorely wounded, by Ana’s healing touch was the Mist mysteriously renewed. Holding his shoulder, he called out into the darkness of the rocks, “Leave the woods of Phantaia and never return. For your mission here is now fulfilled...I shall soon perish. It is done.” The dying form of the Twilight Mist then lay back in Ana’s arms.

  But from the darkness of the cliffs, the Shadow looked upon the wrinkled face of the Twilight Mist. And he saw that the last of his essence was now quickly draining away. His face seemed flushed and ghostly. But the Shadow, weak and injured, was still smoking from his own searing wounds. He would return to the Lands of Midnight before the last of
his dark essence drained away. He then slowly crawled out of the shadows and stretched forth his gray, ragged wings, once more.

  The Shadow turned to face the Twilight Mist, saying, “You are dying, Uncle. Soon, your spirit shall leave this world. Your own lights will then falter in Phantaia, passing away forever. Your powers over it shall then dwindle and die.” The Shadow stared down at him, emotionless.

  “But I shall soon return to Phantaia, and be free to destroy it and its noble light. With its beams extinguished, shall the woods then fall before the Magra. But Uncle, I need not slay the child. For Agapor, your own son, shall soon claim her, taking his daughter away, and sacrificing her to the monstrous beings that dwell in the merciless pits of the Great Beyond. For I have heard him speak of it myself,” said the Shadow, grinning with delight, seeing the sadness on the Twilight Mist’s face. Ana then shook with fear in the arms of the Twilight Mist who looked into her eyes, saying nothing. But his eyes revealed his own secret fears.

  The Twilight Mist, growing weaker, whispered to the Shadow, “Tell my son, his father desires that he come to Phantaia and sit beside him in peace. For I wish to see him and to know of him...to know of my forgotten son.” The Twilight Mist then fell back, suffering with terrible pain from his wound.

  The Shadow looked at the Twilight Mist in disgust. But before he could speak, he saw that the golden luster of the living lights had begun to shine boldly again on the distant horizon. With an evil grin, the Shadow then looked upon the frightened face of Ana. He then flew away into the fading mists that lay beyond the cliffs, disappearing from view in the midst of the gray skies that now slowly faded away above them.

  Ana now lay exhausted in the arms of the Twilight Mist. He comforted her for a time, until about them a great gale began to blow across the peaks, and dark clouds gather again beyond the seas. A storm was coming. The Twilight Mist then told Ana they must leave the mountain’s cliffs. For the storms of Yana would soon come to take them away. The Twilight Mist climbed to his feet and onto a great rock. There he raised his frail arms and cast one last enchantment, emitting strange words, which caused his purple mists to swirl and dance around them. He then called Ana to him, wrapping his great cloak about them, until they were consumed in a swirling fog, and were gone.

  Ana found herself floating beside the Twilight Mist, her hand in his, as their spirits drifted beyond the cliffs. Bathed in that odd dew, they floated above the trees and rocks, hovering over the dense woods of Phantaia. She saw the Mist standing beside her as they travelled through secret groves and misty valleys, past tangled gates of wild growth, and into dim hallways of rock under the shade of the peaks. They drifted through a mountain pass and across unseen ethereal spaces, until they crossed a wide and bottomless gulf, black and terrifying. But always a quiet cloud of mist and rain swirled about their heads, pouring into the wide expanse of space that lay before them.

  As they floated over the dark land, Ana held onto the arm of the Twilight Mist, until they came to a dim valley at the base of a wide row of gray mountains in the distance. These were the spectral mountains of the Great Father that had stood beyond the Arch of Heaven since the birth of Time. A dimly glowing gateway led through them, into a secret grotto of fog and rock, which cast up a strange blue-white light before them.

  The mist suddenly parted. And before her shined forth a radiant valley whose silver forests of crystal stretched back into the black shadows of infinity. A bright lavender light glowed within its center. It appeared to emanate from a shining grove of purple and white trees that lay deep within the sparkling forest.

  The trees appeared like glass, tall and almost translucent, with wicked thorns, long and sharp, preventing all entrance into their wood. These were the magical and ancient blackthorn trees of Nemedd, the Lands of Mist. To Ana it felt as though no darkness, nor light, nor water, nor wind, nor living creature might penetrate its sharpened brambles. For these strange jewel-like trees guarded a lustrous grove of taller ones within its center.

  The Twilight Mist stood still before the opening, as he spoke to the trees. Ana then saw the glass boughs parting slowly before them, so that a brighter light seemed to shine forth from its opening. As they entered, they walked past the glassy trunks, whose icy limbs and leaves rang like musical chimes within an eerie symphony of crystal. For they bore upon every limb a wondrous music of bright notes, played by the gentle fingers of heavenly winds that stirred within them.

  They followed a short winding passage until they came to an even larger gateway. There the glass trees opened out into a small clearing, encircled by a ring of huge, impenetrable quartz-like trees. These in turn were ringed by an inner circle of blooming eucalyptus trees of most ancient age, whose sad pink and white flowers hung low from their bent limbs. Everything seemed half-alive, completely still and frozen, as if trapped in some eternally twilit world of ice whose peace no creature or presence beyond the cosmic winds had or could ever disturb.

  Ana then looked upon the center of this circular hollow and saw a small mound rising before them. Upon its summit grew a gnarled and bent fruiting tree, whose crooked branches held many shining apples of purest white in color. This knotted apple tree had, upon its wide leafy head, a bountiful growth of violet-colored leaves and limbs. Its fruit-laden boughs hung low to the ground. Beneath it grew a delicate blue grass, whose odd color was mingled with that of the lavender bark of the tree. Ana then saw the fog fade away from the strange scene, drifting up into the skies. There appeared above her a great hole filled with a black heaven, whose unseen heights felt vast beyond reason.

  This was the twilight tree named Kurtavla, a hoar apple born in the youth of another time and place, when the Lands of Mist were first made by the Essence Eternal. It remained hidden beyond the mystical Mountains of Heaven, through eons of time, living on through the destruction of many prior worlds. This magical tree would stay concealed to all but those born of mist. Only they could eat of its timeless fruit. For its sustenance was meant for their children alone.

  The Twilight Mist pointed to the trees with his aging hands. And with soft words, he spoke. “Here is my true home, the hidden heart of my lands, Ana. In ages past, this place had been filled with the sound of many children playing, forests ringing with laughter, and many shining wonders now lost. This remnant Forest of Nemedd is now all that remains of my forested lands. For in ancient times, the endless wars of my brothers had destroyed all others. The Sons of Night had then come and shadowed what remained, strangling them of the last of my lights, so that those fallen forests fell into darkness and decay, beyond my power to save them. The Limitless Void had then come with great violence, shattering the last of the sacred groves that lay in our realms, consuming the shards of what remained, until only this forest and its single life-giving tree had survived. The ghostly spirits of the last of my kind still live here, trapped in these trees, yet guarded by the icy mists that surround them. And so you hear their mournful music upon the cold winds. For they cry for their lost brothers and sisters which are no more.”

  Ana then knew why the Twilight Mist had come to Phantaia. For in that wilderness, his heart had yet lived again, its beauty magnified by the loss of his own. He had tried to save the woods and protect them with the last of his great powers so they might not perish as his forests had done.

  She walked towards the old tree that grew upon the hill, standing beneath its giant limbs, touching its wrinkled bark. This tree seemed comforting to her, yet sad. The Twilight Mist then walked forward and looked upon Ana with gentle eyes, saying, “You may eat of its fruit. It will be a form of sustenance to you. For you are a Child of Mist. You are my grandchild.” Ana then looked upon her grandfather’s face with happy yet knowing eyes. She reached up and took a bite from the sweet white apple. She slowly became aware of a change within her body. She could almost see through her hands.

  “This last realm of mist has remained hidden and ever-renewed by the breath of an enchanted dragon of twilight which I summone
d forth to guard it in ages past. He shall now sleep in its woods for all eternity, long after I am gone. The tree of Kurtavla is of his transforming spirit. And so its fruit will soon change you into a mist, the fog of the heavenly mountains that fills this great valley,” the Twilight Mist told her. “Like me, you were born of the mists that fill this valley of Nemedd. And so may the apples of the dragon's breath carry you home.”

  The Twilight Mist hobbled over to the great tree where Ana stood, and lay his broken body beneath its trunk. Seeing him in pain, Ana helped him down, kneeling beside him to comfort him. The Twilight Mist reached up to touch her soft face and brow. And he smiled.

  “Grandfather, who am I? Why have I been brought here?” Ana asked, holding his hands close to her.

  “You have been thrown into a torn and tortured world, my child, one in which has always dwelt great evil. Much of it was created by the Primordial Ones, my brothers and I. We committed great crimes against each other. For our violence nearly shattered the works of our heavenly father, He who had made them for us to treasure. We had nearly destroyed each other by our selfishness, our jealousy, and our pride. I was tempted by my desires many times, falling to evil acts which brought great ruin upon me and my children. Many perished through that which I had done, Ana.” Tears then started to well up in the eyes of the Twilight Mist.

  “Agapor, your father, is my child, as is Atar of the river, and An your mother, my precious child of the Dreaming Seas which I had made from the Sacred Waters given to me. And so are you, my beloved grandchild, both a child of mist and sea. You have more of me than they, Ana,” said the Twilight Mist, smiling up at her.

  The Twilight Mist then turned morose, as he continued, “But, so too are you born of the Void. The dark spirit that dwells in your father yet dwells in you. Your father is a fallen spirit. For he now strives to gather to himself the last of the powers of destruction and darkness, so he might destroy me and the remaining children of this world. Agapor now possesses the relentless powers of the all-consuming Void, who his servant has slain. And the manacles upon his wrists that I had made are now his, and used against me. And so the sins of the father haunt me still, as it should be. Your father, my fallen son, has chosen a dark path, Ana. And his intentions are not to be trusted.”

  The Twilight Mist paused, as he groaned in pain, feeling his life force now quickly fading. “It has now come to pass, as all things in this world are cursed to do, that my own child would rise up to destroy me. So has he sent his greatest servant to slay me. For it was revealed long ago—in mysterious visions from the enchanted waters given to me—that he and his dark servant would come for me.” The Twilight Mist then lay back, feeling weaker.

  The Twilight Mist then continued, “But Agapor has aligned himself with the Nothingness and Emptiness, the terrible twins which sleep in the deepest abyss of the cosmos. They shall soon destroy the last of this world. For they had long ago sought to sunder the Primordial Ones from each other by their dire plots. Through my fallen brothers, the Limitless Void and the Endless Night, they had nearly succeeded. But they rise yet again to pollute the minds of the last of our innocent children. Few remain to challenge them now, Ana. Very few.” And he looked upon her with great sadness. Ana felt as if the weight of the world had been placed upon her shoulders.

  “Soon my own spirit shall leave this world, my child. In the end, Agapor was victorious in his plans against me. You must now face your father alone. My work in this world is done,” the Twilight Mist said. But he assured her, “Know that with my own passing, my violet mists shall remain behind in this world to protect you, and all of Phantaia’s children, until in time the last of my fogs have all but faded, never again to haunt those twilight woods again. Then shall you know our time in this world has passed away. You shall never see my face again, nor shall I see yours. But do not fear for the future, Ana. For I have planted a part of my spirit in you, as I have left a part of myself in all my children so they might carry forward the works and plans of the Great Father who hath made them. The destiny of this world now rests with you.” And the Twilight Mist held his head down, as if the last of his energy was nearly spent.

  The Twilight Mist then looked up, as if discovering some last fount of life hidden within himself. “Hold my hand, Ana,” he said. The Twilight Mist had almost taken his last breath. For he was growing weak. He sat at the base of the tree, peering up into the Heavens as if deep in thought. He then looked up at the wondrous fruits of the twilit tree. But his terrible wound now held the Shadow’s dark poison. And it coursed its way through him, as his own blood dripped down about his chest and arms, and into the blue grass.

  “My time to depart this world draws near,” he told her.

  The Twilight Mist spoke in fading whispers, grasping her hand firmly. “Ana, I must tell you something more. Long ago, I was given a great gift by my own father, the Essence Eternal. He had given me the last of the Sacred Waters, which had held many mysteries that I could not fathom, but had tried so hard to understand. I discovered that they had been sent to us from an earlier world, to heal this one. And so was I destined to create the Dreaming Seas. But I saw too that they had been created to give life and bless the living. Yet within their darkened essence lay something more malevolent that could take life away. I then knew that they were both a blessing and a curse upon this world.

  “Your mother An was given those waters by the seas,” said the Twilight Mist. “Defying the evil that had sought to take them, her own heart held them dear to her. But your father’s violence against your mother had shattered her heart. And much of their wrath was unleashed upon this battered world, their violence nearly consuming it. And so were they and this world nearly lost. But your mother had kept the last of their essence, which remained within her, unmarred and pure. Inside her own heart they flowed, those waters of hope, so that evil might not find them and destroy them, nor they destroy the world. So were you, her only child, given those waters. You were then cast away from her, hidden from your father, and taken deep into the gloomy woods of Phantaia. Many dark forces now rise up again seeking to find you. So have I sought to protect you and that which you now carry.”

  The Twilight Mist then looked up at her with a solemn face. “For it is the will of the Great Father that it be so.”

  “You see, Ana, the Sacred Waters must flow again so that a new and brighter world can be born. For the welfare of the innocent children yet to come must it be so. Within those waters now dwell the unfulfilled promise that our world might be united again in an eternal and unbroken peace, and its light shine forth against the darker will that yet returns to destroy it. To you has been given the last hope of saving this world,” said the Twilight Mist. He then looked into the fearful face of his grandchild.

  Shedding a tear, Ana then said, “I understand now, why I have been brought here, Grandfather.”

  The Twilight Mist placed his hand on her heart. But as he did, his happy eyes suddenly turned dark and gloomy. He then stared up at her with a cold expression, saying, “You must know one last truth, Ana. All things in this world must follow the path of those waters. Through them shall this world be saved and reborn. But those who resist their will shall fall under a terrible curse from which they shall never escape. So must you, Ana, also follow their will, else this world fall like all others before it, to its final doom.”

  “I’m scared, Grandfather,” she said, holding him. “For I have seen many portentous visions in the waters that lie within me—horrors which, even now, reflect upon my mind. These nightmares speak of a troubled future, one whose struggles I cannot fully grasp. I too heard the fearful Shadow’s words. And I am frightened of the future that he has revealed.”

  But the Mist held her hands close to him, as his spirit started to fade, telling her, “Do not live by fear alone, Ana. For a new and hopeful future awaits you. A brighter destiny, with many more to come, is given freely to those who have courage. But you must do what is not always best for you, but what i
s best for the world and those you love,” he said. “Follow the goodness in your heart, turning away from temptation and evil. Let the voices of your heart and the visions of the waters guide you. You will find your way. Know always that a piece of my spirit and that of the Great Father shall always remain with you. Have faith, child.” The Twilight Mist smiled. But Ana felt the grasp of his hands in hers grow weak.

  “Eat of the fruit of the tree, my child. You shall then take the form of the mist and return to Phantaia. For the Doors of Evening that lead to Phantaia still remain open to you, as they have to me,” the Twilight Mist whispered, as he closed his eyes.

  The Twilight Mist embraced his grandchild, one last time. She then looked in sadness upon his fading image, as he disappeared from view. His lavender mist then drifted up into the skies above, melting away into the darkness.

  She felt alone, more than she had ever felt. She longed for a friend, for the white horse who had so lovingly carried her into the Phantaia. She would return to him. Ana then ate the rest of the pale apple she still held, and soon fell into a deep and troubled sleep beneath the old tree. Her body drew forth its last breath, as she was transformed into a dense white mist. A wide door then opened up within the trunk of the old apple tree. Her mist then flowed into it and disappeared.

  When Ana awoke, she lay once more beside the great stallion. The horse’s warm face looked down at hers, as she lay beside him in the cool grass. She had returned to him somehow. As she looked around her, she felt comforted by the green woods of Phantaia. She was drawn, more than ever, to the enduring promise of its eternal paradise and its living spirit. But she was happier seeing the beautiful white stallion again. She would not abandon him nor question the purpose of their journey again. She now trusted in it fully, though many mysteries yet remained.

  But as she looked at the horse’s face, she saw that it had looked into hers as well, as if reading her mind. A small tear appeared on his cheek, which seemed strange. The horse had seemed possessed of an amiable spirit until now, one she had grown to love and accept. But now they had shared a mutual sadness for the passing of the Twilight Mist, which strangely it had sensed. She curled up closer to him, holding his muzzle close to her, and sleeping for a moment more beside him.

  When she awoke again, Ana felt renewed, wrapped in the purple mist of her grandfather, which had returned again to fill the river valley. Like he had told her, his spirit had yet remained behind to guide and protect her. She felt comforted by it, as if some new courage and hope was reborn within her by its presence. But that mist contained many mysteries it had yet revealed.

  Though the events of the previous night now weighed upon her, her mind was less clouded and confused. For that sleep had seemed to fill an endless moment in time wherein was washed away many memories. For the thoughts of the sea and the longing for her mother had begun to fade away. Yet she was still adrift in her mind, as far as her future. And though many questions had been answered by her grandfather, she was still unsure of what lay ahead. But the long journey through the strange wilderness of Phantaia had at last set its roots deep into her imagination, entangling her mind with the uncertainty of what still lay ahead.

  As she looked up from the grass, she saw the white horse standing over her, his muzzle nudging her face. The horse then looked curiously at the river. It seemed to be signaling to her that it was time to go. It nudged her shoulder and head in play, licking the warm sweat from her face and hair until she at last shook the sleep from her eyes.

  They walked together in the wet grass, as the horse led her to the river’s edge. There the wise old ash trees of the river had turned their smooth limbs in the night, their lower branches all pointing to an unseen path upstream. They alone seemed possessed of the knowledge of the secret trails into the interior of mysterious Phantaia. She and the horse walked side by side along the high wooded banks of the lonely river for a long stretch of time until the trees began to tower higher into the sky, the river grow narrower and smaller, and its waters clearer and more pristine.

  Ana looked across the emerald river, beyond the swiftly flowing water, until she saw rising from the middle of the misty waves a majestic island, mysterious and serene. About it swirled pale blue clouds floating up from its banks, so that its summit lay hidden from view. Then a brightly lit visage of its wooded head suddenly broke free from the clouds, shining out bold and bright above the river. As an unseen sun shined its warm lights upon its high rocky crest, Ana gasped at its beauty.

  It wasn’t a large island, but a tiny secluded and secretive isle. Upon its lower slopes grew delicate trees of whitest bark above a golden beach, whose large rocks of dark brown hue stood within the waves that crashed about its tiny shore. A small hill stood upon one end of the isle, so that she could see the beauty of the bright sandstone cliffs that lay exposed about its slopes. Upon its summit stood a dense grove of flowering trees, whose blossoms caught the reddish glow of the radiant light. Their blooms and dark bark glowed as one with a ruddy color set aflame by the sunny beams, such that they shined with bright corals, peaches, and pinks from the top of the island, reflecting their hot hues in coruscating color down into the deep green of the flowing waters below.

  Ana then felt a strange sense of timelessness, as if she had seen those trees in a dream. The horse turned to look at Ana, and then turned towards the light as if to indicate that here they would ford the river.

  The powerful stream of Avalyr flowed before them with great force and fury, deep and green, yet crystal clear in its depths. Ana could see jeweled pebbles of many colors, their translucent stones shimmering beneath the waves. The white stallion stood still, looking far across the great girth of the river at something Ana could not yet grasp. As she gazed at the distant shore, she saw only a line of towering trees beyond the island. Through their branches sparkled a warm light that glittered with a golden hue. But she could not see what lay behind those trees. For a white fog lay draped about the heights of the wild and tangled realms that grew beyond them.

  The horse turned to Ana again. It then looked back at the river as if signaling to her that it was time to cross. But seeing the raging river, Ana was hesitant. The white horse then rose up with his front hooves and struck the ground with a thunderous sound. He then gave out a great snort of his nostrils. From above them appeared the purple fogs of the Twilight Mist once more, sinking down from the tops of the trees. Thin wisps of mist curled around the trees from above and drifted out across the skies about their heads. It sank down and hovered at their feet awhile, then swirled out across the river before them like a sheet of clouds. Oddly, the river had now ceased its flow. The lights that shined from beyond the trees had dimmed before the lavender mist. Ana then felt the presence of her grandfather, the Twilight Mist, telling her it was time to cross.

  The river of Avalyr lay still beneath the mist, appearing like a serene pool, shimmering like glass in the pale light of the ghostly fog. The horse signaled for Ana to climb upon his back. Ana and the horse then walked forth through the waters, as if they were walking on clouds within the sky. Yet she felt the water upon her body. It was cold and pure, as if poured down from some divine fountain hidden within the Heavens.

  As they crossed, Ana felt a strange pull within her, one that seemed to divide her spirit in two. Into her came those strange longings again. Something called her from far away downstream. She could drift off into the water, floating away downriver, and falling into the arms of that which called her. But as she looked upon the shining lands that lay beyond the river a feeling of hopeful anticipation welled up inside her. She knew now she must rendezvous with whatever lay waiting for her just beyond the farthest shore.

  As they reached the midpoint of the great river, Ana suddenly saw the island rising up from the mist in front of her. This was the Isle of Adda that had survived great destruction in ages past. Alone of its kind, it had somehow remained. For Adda was once a beautiful flowering hill filled with lovely gardens that stood high abov
e an ancient, much earlier forest. Here had once flowed an argent spring that had poured forth from its heights, until some sinister power had finally found it and destroyed it.

  But in this age the waters of Avalyr had flowed forth and discovered the lonely hill of Adda shrouded in the darkness of its destroyed past. The river then reclaimed it for its own, wrapping its loving waters about it, and hiding it away far from the penetrating eyes of an even more dangerous world.

  Upon its summit still grew the remnants of a flowering orchard of ancient apple trees, which like Kurtavla, stood aged, shriveled, and dying. Yet were its trees born of a seed that had been planted upon its soil long before the birth of this world, when another age of conflict, conceived of evil’s malicious designs, had returned to wage war upon it. And so the fading glory of these island trees was all that had remained of the isle’s tragic past.

  To this lonely isle was drawn the river-child called Atar, who had come up from the depths of Avalyr to sleep alone upon its rocks. She it was who now tended the apple trees that grew upon the crest of the golden hill called Anadelling. For many ghosts of the earth and rock dwelt there still within that river-mound. And so, much mystery remained attached to this solitary place.

  As Ana clung to the horse’s neck, they drew close to the island. The mighty stallion felt no fear, and seemed almost drawn to it. Yet to Ana that lonesome isle seemed haunted by a spirit. As the mists that swirled about it fell away, she could make out the lines of the ominous dark rocks and waves that crashed about its beaches. Above the rocks, its solemn banks of golden sands blended there beneath the shadows of the phantom trees that ringed about its solitary hill.

  As they neared its rocks, upon the isle’s summit she saw the dark flowering umbrage of its twisted fruit trees, as they thrust upward above the mist. Their blossoms cascaded down across the water and about her face as they passed by. Their tiny pink and white petals lay upon the tranquil waters about them. And Ana felt a strange sadness—of the passing away of time—as she watched them float away upon the dark water.

  Ana then saw an unusual figure sitting upon the rocks. A young woman clad in light blue garb sat alone on a wide rock, her long ghostly white hair lying across her pale alabaster shoulders. As the fog drifted about them, the strange girl seemed to go in and out of view until the horse drew closer to the rocks. She then suddenly appeared before Ana, her strange lavender eyes staring deeply into hers. Her face looked so much like her own. She then knew it to be Atar.

  Ana reached for the strange girl through the mist, drawn by some desire she could not resist. Atar also stretched her pale arms towards Ana. Atar then placed her hand on Ana’s heart for a brief moment, listening to it with her eyes closed. She then placed her other hand on the face of the horse, as if joining Ana and the horse as one.

  Atar then opened her violet eyes, looking into the eyes of Ana. Ana then saw that her eyes were mournful, as if her inner thoughts were torn by some foreboding knowledge. She then saw tiny tears upon Atar’s cheeks. Atar then removed her hand from the horse, holding her chest as if in pain. She then reached out one last time, slowly touching Ana’s hands with her own. But just as quickly, Atar disappeared into the mist that now enveloped them. Ana reached into the fog to find her. But she was gone.

  All of a sudden Ana and the horse seemed caught within the wild currents of the river. For the river’s flow had suddenly returned without warning. They struggled to find their way through the mist and waves that began to throw them about. Ana held on to the neck of the stallion, clinging desperately to his mane as the waters rushed over them.

  But the clouded air at last had begun to clear in front of them. And Ana saw near the shore a miraculous sight. For through the clouds she glimpsed the shining shoreline that lay before them. It danced with the happy lights of a distant beacon that beamed and sparkled through the swaying limbs of the trees. The waters then seemed to push them towards the muddy bank of the shoreline.

  Before them now stood the sacred shore of Olybana. Upon its sandy banks lay many brightly colored stones containing strange and mysterious powers. For here had fallen the ancient tears of the trees over many eons which, mixing with the river’s golden sands, shone like shining amber set aflame with the strange lights of that land.

  These were made of the enchanted Glessa of Phantaia, which many would covet though few would find. For the secretive ones had shed forth their sap down into the streams until, like jewels, they coalesced upon the banks forming the golden amber gems and multicolored stones that filled its beaches. These stones would contain the enchantments of the woods and the mysterious magic that would be born of its many sorrows.

  The white horse carried Ana out of the river and onto the beach. They then fell upon the sands, exhausted. There they rested from their long journey. But as Ana caught her breath, the mist parted before the tree line beside her. The scintillating rays she had seen from afar beamed down their warmth through the silver ash trees that stood along the riverbank. She and the horse then climbed up through the trees and onto the grassy hillside above the shore.

  They were drawing nearer to the source of the shimmering lights which gleamed beyond the wooded hills. Following a densely wooded path, they walked through a windy row of tall trees that grew above them on the hillside. She watched the happy trees bend and dance to the sunny lights, as it flickered through their leaves and limbs.

  But as they climbed onto the last majestic rise of the woody ridge, Ana had to cover her eyes from the radiant beauty of the scene that unfolded before her.

  The Glorious Garden

  Beyond the river the woods grew still, as Ana wound her way up the misty hill. Upon the summit of the lofty height, she hoped to glimpse the glorious light. Past low-hung limbs and whispering leaves, she wound her way through the shimmering trees.

  She neared the heart of a most sacred ground, which many had sought but few had found. For beyond the wood’s own morbid gloom, a miraculous sight before her loomed. She gazed with wonder upon a realm forbidden, whose peaceful lands from evil eyes had long been hidden.

  On the hilltop Ana stood in awe before the dawning view. As the veil of clouds was whisked away, she saw upon a distant hill a towering tree of tremendous size whose shining trunk and limbs were imparted with a golden light. At first she turned to hide from its wondrous glow, as its burning sun was more than her eyes could bear. But as she looked again her heart was stirred with an elevated joy, and moved by its primal beauty.

  Below the tree stretched a shining valley, wide and green, peaceful and serene. The forest shade behind her had fallen away, revealing a rich grassland that stretched as far as she could see, down into the great expanse that lay before her. Around the edge of the clearing grew a stand of monstrous trees, towering and white, whose sacred grove encircled the open valley, separating it from the darker woodlands that lay behind them.

  But within the valley’s midst stood the mountainous hill of the shining tree. Its glorious heights, bathed in the youth of eternal spring, shined down its living lights upon the gently rolling swards below. Upon its slopes lay countless terraced gardens, which stretched forth in endless arrays of flowering growth and blossoming color, casting their showering petals like snow down upon the tender valleys. About the hill spilled forth many shining silver streams, which sparkled like jewels in the glistening sunshine as they wound their way through the emerald expanse.

  Above it all, on the hill’s very summit, stood the monumental tree. This colossal tree caused Ana to catch her breath, as its beauty was beyond anything she had ever seen. Its shining form threw its radiant light down upon the idyllic scene such that the garden upon the hill and the valley below it glowed forth with dazzling color in the lingering gold of the sweet warm air. For the bark of its trunk seemed to glow with a gold and honeyed hue. Its creamy limbs stretching up into the heights of Heaven shimmered with youthful leaves, which sparkled in the tree’s sunny light like molten silver set aflame.

  The f
eet of the tree’s mighty roots were wound about a tiny spring upon the hilltop, whose silver waters flowed wild and free, laughing with joy as they poured down from the heights. For since the tree’s birth those spirited waters with great mirth and love for it had bubbled up to feed it. Their sparkling essence had then tumbled down through sleepy gardens in countless streams until they had gathered as one about the mound’s base. Collecting themselves into a rocky brook, they then poured forth over a cliff beside the hill, down into the cool depths of the valley below.

  This was the One Tree that had been born from the Sacred Seed in the youth of the world. Few had witnessed the glory of its beginning or had known the hidden splendor of its long life. For in the sparkling dawn of Phantaia had an ancient seedling risen from the blackened soil, the first of its kind. In the waning light of the twilight world it had thrust its great bulk high up into the shadowed Heavens, struggling to find the nourishment of the divine light promised it by the Great Father who had made the cosmos.

  But the divine beams of Heaven that might have fed the young tree were cruelly extinguished by the Endless Night in the unmaking of the world. And the last of the silver traces that yet twinkled upon the Mountains of Heaven the Magra Lords had long ago ripped away in the battle of the seas.

  Yet a gentler spirit had come into Phantaia to rest alone in sorrow beside the tree deep within its mound. Her enchanted waters would feed the seedling, her loving sacrifice alone sustaining it. Nourished by her blood, the sapling shot forth into the cold night, beaming out into the Heavens its own life-giving light, giving back freely the life it had been given. So was the One Tree nurtured ever after by the liquid essence of the Secret Spring who slept beneath its roots.

  For untold eons had the One Tree’s ambrosial almonds, which ever fell from its pale limbs, seeded Phantaia’s noble earth with its countless forest-children, so that from its sacred fruit alone had the many woodland wonders in that wilderness come forth. Even Phantaia’s most ancient trees had been born from the one loving tree. For it was their undying sylvan father who would grant to them the gift of their own long lives. The One Tree was thus a Tree of Life, the eternal bearer of every seed ever planted in Phantaia, and the forest-father of all that would ever live and die there.

  The One Tree appeared like a great white specter to all who saw it. Its tall white trunk stretched up from the top of the hill, high into the inky depths above. Ghostly limbs wound their way out across the starless skies until they disappeared into the gloomy blue heights of Heaven. Upon their boughs shining leaves fluttered with a wondrous spectral light. And its smooth white trunk beamed forth with a radiance that turned about like a thousand suns, cascading out its prismatic sheen far across the shadowed landscape of vast Phantaia, until it set the trunks of its unnumbered children aglow in the distant reaches.

  So had the dark Heavens been illuminated by the great tree’s fire, its creeping shadows thrown back, and the drapes of night flung open by its brilliant beams. The light of the Spirit Divine, born of his Creative Flame, was thus rekindled by the bark of the One Tree, whose hot flares danced again upon the rocky face of Heaven’s blessed peaks.

  Beneath the wingless Arch of Heaven was thus made the Amladem, the golden roof, which the One Tree alone had created by the lights of his shining limbs. That life-giving glow would burn bright for many eons within the reflective skies, feeding the many forest-children who had grown beneath the tree’s wide-rooted feet, as it spread its gift across the many wooded realms that stretched far and wide before it.

  Yet by a mysterious source which none could find were the One Tree’s strange lights granted unto it. And this hidden gift the tree would closely guard.

  Around the base of the majestic tree had grown a bountiful paradise known as the Gardens of Abrea. Their rolling hills of verdure had climbed up from the wide and radiant valley below, until they had stretched their magnificent growth out into the farthest reaches of Phantaia’s rich forests. But within their heart stood the mightiest of their hills—that which is named Abra. For upon the summit of this sacred mound would sit the noble tree. And about its slopes grew the Gardens of Abrea, for which the encircling woods and valleys of Phantavra, and the more distant twilit glades of Avra, were so named.

  To some it was called Riabra, the queen of gardens. For the enchanted growth upon its rise was said to be blessed by the hill’s hidden maternal waters, whose well lay beside the spirit of she who dwelt within its rocks. For within the Hill of Abra there had bubbled forth the waters of the Secret Spring, and upon whose top the Sacred Seed had been planted long ago.

  Upon Abra’s summit had formed a tiny pool whose waters had sprung forth from the hill’s own depths where the mother-spring had slept within a tomb. Her waters had flowed up and out of the rocks, gathering within its hilltop pool until they overflowed its cup, dripping down about its slopes, feeding the magical gardens below, and embracing the mound itself in its numerous veins of crystalline waters.

  Though sustained by her loving essence, the living plants of Abrea’s many gardens like the trees were born from the seeds of the great father-tree. For the source of all living things in that realm had first taken root through his will alone. The Gardens of Abrea had thus become the shining center of this world, surrounded by the twilight forests of Phantavra, which encircled its father-tree and gardens in a loving and protective embrace.

  About colorful Abrea, like the hub of a wheel, had the dark and colorless skies also turned. For like Phantaia itself, that garden of delight and its honeyed airs were fated to be held apart from the enduring gloom of shadows, the wickedness of savage storms, and the grimmer beings of Oblivion which drew ever nearer to it.

  Though many glorious gardens had been seeded long ago upon the most distant fringes of Phantaia’s vast arboreal lands, this most ancient inner realm alone had remained bound to youthful splendor. Within Abrea had survived a Land of Eternal Youth borne forth by its living lights, sustained by its glorious gardens, and fed by its pristine waters since time immemorial. For all who came to dwell in Abrea would remain eternally childlike by the strange enchantments of its timeless lands.

  This was a winding and twisting landscape of endless gardens captured in a state of everlasting springtime. Its young plants trailed forth in never-ending galleries of bloom and color, down into the depths of the forests in every direction. In that strange garden had lain many hidden glades of flowering trees and bushes bearing fruits of many kinds, each raining down their flowers and petals on their neighboring hills and dales below. But never would those gardens age, though eons creaked ever onward. For the trees and plants nearest to the Gardens of Abrea remained bewitched by that strange curse of youthful vigor, an undying nature which they could never shake.

  And so was Ana enthralled from afar by the grandeur of that flowering paradise. For she could see no dying tree, withered plant, or brown blade of grass within its midst.

  But it was the magical water of the pool upon the distant hill that truly sustained Abrea. Wherever it flowed, the plants and trees were greenest and appeared almost like young saplings. For the secretive waters of Abrea’s well had flowed unceasingly and with great power for many ages atop the shining hill of Abra. Cascading from its overgrown summit, its streams trickled down across the green grassy slopes that stretched beneath the great tree until they wound their way down through soft meadows and lush mounds of growth, into the moist catacombs of misty trees and ferns in the valleys far below.

  On the hillside of Abra, beside those strange waters, there had grown great orchards of fruiting trees, endless arrays of blossoming bushes, trailing tracts of shining young trees, and luscious fern-covered sleepy grottos, dark and mysterious. Shaded waterfalls and roaring white cataracts fell about the foot of the great hill, spilling their waters down into the awaiting pools below. Underneath the misty falls had slept shadowy glades of gigantic ferns and bracken-filled grottos, whose wild growth billowed up from the multicolored gravels that sparkled
like gems beneath silent pools within their neighboring cool blue-green waters.

  In the wide valley that stretched beyond the falls and cliffs could be heard the loud rush of thundering streams as they gathered together in their rocky grottos, before pouring themselves into the river below in a great fury over the lichened boulders. About their banks had grown bright green copses of mossy trees, clustering upon the edges of their many arteries. Beyond these waterways lay a vast floodplain of listless swamps and sleepy bottoms, which in turn were fed by the dripping seeps that lay buried within the rocky hills about Abrea. Thus had the hidden well of Abra by many secretive paths joined the river of Avalyr, feeding the blessed forest that slept beside her until their own essence became one with the river and were carried onward to the sea.

  So had this valley become an untouched virginal paradise of living trees and plants, green growth, and flowering abundance beyond all measure known. For the Gardens of Abrea seemed to summon into their lush growth the very spirit of the rich earth and waters that lay hidden beneath their feet. This was a place blessed by the grace of its creator, born into timeless bliss, and bathed in the glory of its creation. For since the birth of Phantaia and its secretive gardens, no hand had yet marred it or scarred its idyllic beauty. Pure, perfect, and serene, it was a place of eternal joy and enduring peace, seeking neither curious visitor nor thirsty eyes to bear witness to its hidden splendor.

  Yet within its solemn grandeur, the vital essence of Phantaia had long remained concealed. Alone in Abrea, its spirit had meditated for endless ages within its own quiet mind, free of the curse of time, and divorced from evil and its destructive will. Yet was it conscious of its eventual end. For evil’s dark servants had crept ever closer to its beating heart. And Phantaia had struggled to hold apart the eldritch night and the devouring void from its youthful lands. Upon its last shining hill were its soil, seed, and spring still one. And so in Abrea alone the loving light of life still won.

  But it was the blessed light of the One Tree that had truly sustained and protected that glorious idyll from the encroaching darkness. Touched by its strange spiritual glow, reflecting upon the upturned leaves of countless trees, the One Tree had sent its loving spirit into Phantaia’s virginal wood, feeding its many children, and bending all things born there to its secretive and primeval purpose.

  Hidden by the magical glamour of those shimmering lights, darkness had been cast away from its inner woods. For its bright glow had enveloped Abrea, protecting it from the gloom of the darker forest beyond, and chasing away the evil ones that had come to pollute it and corrupt its countless innocent children. Thus, by the light of the shining tree was Phantaia unbound from the dark dreams that had long gripped it and which had ever after sought to possess its last living children.

  By the presence of the One Tree alone had the forests of Phantaia been granted protection. Yet, by the powers it granted to its many children, were the trees to transform the dark and violent cosmos into one living land, and by their evolving, ever-blooming, miraculous growth, cover every foot of this dying world in a wild and unbroken wilderness. Such was the secret desire of the One Tree and the true labor granted unto it by the Great Father.

  For long ago the Great Father had hoped that through his youngest son a river of life and goodness would flow throughout the world, a graceful garden stand beside it, and the glory of his lights beam out bold and bright to bless all his sons, drawing them as one to this his greatest of creations. For unto his sons would be given this new home and heaven, the wilderness of Phantaia, whose joyous story in this tome of Phantammeron would be told. Only then would his sacred plans be made manifest by the works of the One Tree and be made known to them all, such that the Primordial Ones and their children, dearest to him, would all come to know the full glory and beauty of Phantaia, the spiritual paradise which they themselves had helped make.

  But by the evil and destructive deeds of the Primordial Ones had Phantaia’s living lands been filled with such dread and terror that only the innermost garden would now remain, closing in upon itself, and shutting its shining gates to all eyes but its own. Yet, by the tree’s hope-filled and loving lights that yet stretched their grander beams out into the shadowed woods, had its farthest realms of fallen and forgotten trees still felt its long-held desire for the return of their once-loving brotherhood, though shadows had long filled its most distant paths.

  Those trees then drank of its merciful radiance and slept in peace-filled harmony, protected by its rays even to the grim gates of Oblivion itself. Thus from its very beginning, in that youthful age to the One Tree’s woody rhythms alone did the hearts of the trees of the world still beat. And as long as the One Tree lived there yet remained an abiding hope in Phantaia that the sacred plans of the Great Father would someday be fulfilled.

  The white horse had led Ana up and over the last rise, towards the edge of the grassy valley that stretched before them. It was leading her to the great hill where the shining tree now dwelt. To Ana the white horse seemed at peace in this strange place, as if it were home. And she now understood where she had been led. But she still knew not the reason.

  She and the horse walked side by side through the last of the twilight woods that grew about the valley. The last line of trees stood ahead of her, just before the bright valley that fell below. Yet the shadows of the dimmer woods still clung thickly to the trees and earth around her. For this was the last bastion of woody shade which the hands of the Twilight Mist had yet held in his protective grip.

  They walked past the thick and warty trunks of hoar hawthorns that stood within the encircling woods, watching for any evil that might attempt to enter Abrea uninvited. They were the most ancient of the One Tree’s forest-children—the children of Kum, the aged lord-tree of the hawthorns, who watched over them from his distant meadow. Their brown and bulbous faces, large noses, and red-rooted feet stood out upon their short but wide-girthed bodies.

  Of these trees it would later be known to Ana that there were nine. They long held the garden’s sacred knowledge close to them, shared only in silent whispers borne by the winds. For they had clamored before the hill of their father-tree in earlier times, seeking to know of the many secrets that lay hidden within his roots. These ancient hawthorns had been possessed of strange spirits, which were bound to the mind and heart of the One Tree and to the hidden spring that lay deep within the breast of his ancient hill. As Ana walked beyond the last shade of the gloomier forest, she could hear the voices of the hawthorns whispering to themselves in the depths of the distant woods that stretched to either side of her.

  As she and the horse approached the clearing that fell away into the valley, they entered a short ring of taller trees. They were cast in the purest white, standing in silent grandeur around the upper rim of the valley. These were the mightiest of trees within the woods of Phantaia, the last of its gateway trees. For they guarded the many pathways into the valley of Phantavra. Here, the last of the great elderwood trees of Phantaia rose up from the green grasslands and meadows that lay beyond them. They stood like smooth white obelisks, bright and graceful against the open skies. Thick with dew, their wet woods contained the last trees trapped within the lavender mists that rose each evening to engulf Phantaia.

  Yet with their graceful height, their glossy forms rose far above those fogs. Upon each of these slender trees a thousand branches had been born. Their leafy heads and bright foliage bent over the trail, tossed about high above their heads by some celestial breeze that flowed within the azure Heavens. Like the hawthorns, they seemed to talk amongst themselves in a strange tongue, conversing in endless chatter with the mighty father-tree that stood proudly before them. Others giggled with the youthful trees that grew about the hill in the valley below.

  This secretive and narrow, white-ringed wood of elder trees was named Breddwynn, the White Forest. For the beauty of this grove of gateway trees stood apart from the dimmer twilit forests that lay before them. Yet to some was it ca
lled the Ringwood. For its princely aisles of trees encircled and protected Abrea from the outer evil, while boldly marking the entrance into the vast and shadowed wilderness of Phantaia that lay beyond them.

  Yet were the trees of Breddwynn also caretakers of the vast nurseries of Abrea. By their warm reflection of its inner lights, were much of its brighter rays radiated back into the garden, thus feeding it. The trees of the elderwood were the noblest of the sons of the One Tree. And like the rowan, their brethren that dwelt upon the middle realms of Phantaia, they often moved in the depths of the twilight hour from their rooted spots, walking through the mists to encircle and guard the One Tree and his gardens in his time of need.

  In later ages many would seek to find these beings, to draw forth their strength and knowledge. But they could be hard to find. For often they would disappear in the darker mists and cluster deeper in the depths of Phantaia, or come to the aid of some sacred glade, tree, or pool whose powers only they understood.

  Shadowed by those great trees, Ana and the horse quietly walked through their sylvan meadow unchallenged, then down into the vast green fields that stretched out across the wide valley below. Here upon the slopes lay the wide grassy Glades of Aron, that which encircled the Hill of Abra and the Gardens of Abrea. No trees grew upon this vast rolling turf. Its sweet rich grass breathed a perpetual dew, mingling with the mist that drifted up from the river each night. Its moist blades in the shade of the glades of the towering white elderwood seemed to sparkle like emeralds in the ephemeral air.

  As they descended through trailing fields of yellow and white daisies, they entered the final copse of trees that lay before the towering Hill of Abra. In this narrow wooded valley the last of the stately trees of Phantaia grew. Beyond them Ana saw the great hill with its splendid gardens rising just beyond the tops of their leafy heads.

  These trees were small in size, bright green, graceful, young, and lithe, with newborn leaves that had not yet fully opened. At their feet lay bright mossy rocks and stones that had tumbled down from the hill above. The exotic beauty of this tiny wood was set aglow by some native glamour whose source her eyes could not find.

  As she passed through the narrow forest the trees about her suddenly awoke. In sheer joy upon seeing her they began chatting and laughing amongst themselves like children. With the first bending of their boughs by soft breezes borne aloft and the whistling of winds through their leaves were the voices of the youthful trees thrown upon the airs and shared between them. Ana could not help but laugh herself listening to them.

  From these young trees was the secret language of Phantaia first spoken long ago, their voices echoing through the farthest corridors of the woods. Even the haunted trees of Avaras had heard their whispers and learned their songs. Yet, while the wheeling seas roared and the rolling thunder of the storms bellowed forth, the tree’s music would not be heard or known beyond Phantaia. And so the song of the trees could not travel beyond the wall of solemn oaks that hung low upon its most distant shores.

  But the Twilight Mist had somehow heard their strange whispers upon the seas, calling him from far away. For it was their cries that summoned him from the Dreaming Seas, to return to the Secret Spring who yet wept for him in the depths of her mound. So was that couple’s timeless love born anew by the song of the trees, and by their words renewed in their hearts. And so, ever after, would the trees and the burgeoning wilderness that grew beyond them remain hidden by the powers of the Twilight Mist. For he had come to Phantaia to protect them from the sea and storm in return for their great gift of song.

  In the midst of that laughing wood, Ana now heard the sound of rushing water trickling down from the flowering paradise above her. From atop the hill she saw several young streams of purest water flowing forth and filled with the scents of the gardens above. Gathering amongst themselves their many dripping springs at the base of the great hill, those waters formed a fast moving rivulet that flowed through the narrow copse that encircled Abrea.

  So had arisen the bubbling brook named Lilu, she who had gathered as one stream to her the many laughing waters of Abrea. The trunks of the trees had all leaned toward Lilu, as if the stream’s mirthful waters bore some special power. For this was a happy and magical brook, though it contained a hidden sadness. For it stilled the hearts of those whose lips touched its wondrous waters, turning their minds towards deeper reflection upon its secret source and the sorrowful mother within the mound who bore them.

  As Ana walked towards the tiny stream, she saw where it was joined by a dozen more that had seeped down and around the hill. Though Lilu’s many silver streams flowed apart about Abrea’s slopes, they had gathered again beneath the hill as a single rivulet, singing and giggling together in their rush to the river.

  Fed by the burgeoning streams that fell from above, Lilu had also taken into her Aron’s many rain-fed rills, drawn from the thick clouds of mist that hung in the skies above. She then collected them together as sisters, gathering them before a rocky prominence beneath the Hill of Abra. There they fell over the cliffs as the thunderous white waterfalls called the Falls of Bann. The waters of Lilu then drifted down into soft green pools that lay beneath the falls, joining her beloved sisters to her as one again. They then flowed boldly through the land, carving a rugged course through the rocky alcoves until they poured with great haste into the headwaters of the mighty river of Avalyr.

  The sound of that cataract’s roar and its rising mists stilled Ana’s heart, returning her mind to thoughts again upon her grandfather’s words once more—the troubled world he had left behind, of wars continually waged, of her father’s cruel deeds, and of the mysterious pool that lay hidden deep inside her. And yet his words for her were also of hope for happier days yet to come.

  The waterfall’s white spray climbed up and over the trees and hills above her, until their clouds were cast aglow by the miraculous golden light of the One Tree. Their white mists then shed forth a spectacular rainbow, which coruscated its magical lights and colorful rays against the gloomy walls of the distant wood. Ana’s heart then leapt for joy at the beauty of that scene, its quiet grandeur renewing her spirit and mind.

  She would now complete her journey with pride and yet with hope that some happier and more purposeful fate awaited her. For she had travelled far and faced many fears. Seeing the beauty of this place she felt that at last she had found her true home.

  But in the midst of that joyous scene Ana heard a distant and melancholy voice piteously calling up from the depths below. It seemed to be the song of the rushing river. Or was it a girl’s voice? She stood still listening to its mournful song, wondering about the meaning of its strange plaintive cry. She then thought about the voice of her mother who dwelt in the distant seas. And she wondered if she would ever see her face or hear the soft beat of her heart again.

  But that lonesome call had come from the river. Ana cautiously approached the dark cliffs of the waterfall, looking down where the waters of the falls had gathered in sleepy pools under the shadows of the cliffs. She then saw where they formed the headwaters of Avalyr, the cold river within which the strange girl had appeared. But as she looked in the distance, she saw the tiny Isle of Adda which she had earlier passed, its dark pupil peering up from within the shimmering eye of the river. Just as the mother-stream had encircled Abra, so too had its silver waters bound the lonely isle in her loving arms. The unusual song was then heard again. And Ana knew it to be of the lonely island girl.

  The great stallion walked to the edge of the stream before the falls, bending his head and drinking deeply from it. As he drank it filled his spirit with some enchanted power. For his coat shone even whiter, as his golden horn gleamed in the light of the great tree. They then crossed the rivulet above the falls, walking carefully on the dark gray stones. Ana stopped to look down over the cliff. She could barely see the cascading waters as they fell away, into the cool viridian pools that lay far below in the foggy depths. She then thought she saw the snow-whi
te leaves of a ghostly tree, hidden within the mists and shadows of the black ravine.

  Ana and the horse wound their way past the white waterfalls and black cliffs of the Hill of Abra, making their way toward the steady incline of the Gardens of Abrea whose green slopes towered above them. A pale mist began to slowly encircle them, bathing everything again in its moist fog.

  They had finally come to the edge of the small forest that surrounded the hill. Here the last of the One Tree’s young saplings lined the banks before the base of the lush gardens. The trees here seemed ever youthful, their new silver shoots breaking free of the rich soil at her feet. They had remained eternally young as saplings, never aging or dying. For here, on the edge of that mossy underwood, the loving light of the One Tree had shined brightest. And Lilu had graced them with her vitality. These trees alone would remain the great tree’s timeless offspring, never aging or growing beyond their youthful state.

  The maze of gardens now stood towering before Ana and the horse. But that strange hill had seemed to appear and disappear by the movements of the eerie mist that now flowed up and over their heads. For that fog had moved quickly to wrap the hill in its giant cloud, dimming the glow of the One Tree before their eyes.

  Ana was still, moved by the sight of the tree’s shining beauty as it disappeared beneath the cloud. She turned to the white horse, climbing onto his back, and placing her arms around his neck. For she felt the nervous anticipation in her heart that they would soon reach the summit and come at long last to the end of their journey. That hopeful and happy feeling drove them both quickly forward, as they climbed through the last trees and into the midst of the beautiful paradise of plants and flowers that lay about the slopes of the Hill of Abra.

  They began to climb the hill, twisting and turning, and following a narrow path that wrapped about the hill. The fog became thicker as they strode up into its dense blanket. But as they turned to climb a new rise, something snagged Ana and pulled her off the horse. She became separated from him and was quickly lost in the fog. She called out to him, but he was nowhere to be seen. In a panic, she struggled to pull herself up from the thick bushes of thorns and brambles that entangled the silver drapery that wrapped about her. But, as she looked to the ground, she saw around her a dense thicket of black roses whose dark shriveled and satiny blooms shone forth with a sinister light.

  Their sweet scent filled the air with the sickly smell of seduction and sordid temptation, secretive desires, and perverse fantasies, all of which were beyond her youthful mind’s comprehension. But their blood-red thorns would not be denied their victim. For they twisted about her body, seeking to pierce her arms and legs with every step she took. Her instinct told her to remain still. And so she froze in the midst of those evil bushes. Fearing the dagger-like thorns now pressed against her arms and legs, she cried out again in the mist for the horse to come to her. But the stallion was nowhere to be seen.

  These were the Murgala, the Black Roses of Abrea. And in their terrible thorns lay a cursed poison that filled the mind with many nightmares, binding one to a sleep from which one might never awaken. For many ages those vile bushes had grown unseen within the shadows of the brighter Gardens of Abrea. For their bushes had sprouted in secret from the tears of the Endless Night when first his desired bride, the Sacred Seed, had left him and departed that lonely hill. In the heavy dusk of evening he had walked upon the mound, before even the planting of the One Tree, seeking the beautiful maiden and awaiting her return. But she would never come again to him.

  But before the Endless Night departed, he had dripped down upon the hill the dark tears of the Glourun, which he had shed for her. From them grew black satin roses born of the seeds of his darkness, so that the Secret Spring might remember him. He then departed the Hill of Abra, vowing never to return. But the Murgala had remained, a reminder of his cursed and doomed love. And so would those roses lie fallow yet rise up by their own evil will, to entrap and ensnare in their large blooms and thorns all those who might seek to penetrate those gardens and harm the sacred spring that dwelt there.

  But upon the birth of the One Tree, its first lights were cast upon the Murgala’s dark leaves. And they were burned by them. They then died until only a small patch of the sinister roses remained at the base of the hill. There, under a bluff, they hid in the shadows within a secretive part of the garden. And so had they survived, fed by the darkness and hidden from the light of the tree, waiting until it should wane or die when their evil vines might grow forth again unchecked, stretching their black and tangled stems about the garden and claiming that hill as their own, as they had in ages past.

  Ana stopped moving and looked upon the large blooms of the black roses with fascination. For in each blossom lay the wonders of darkest night and the silky shadows of a world she had never seen. And she seemed drawn to those roses in a way she could not understand. For the glamor of the Glourun was contained in them—the dark powers which the Night had made to hide, by deceptive beauty, his own workings of great evil. Something in her desired to pick one and know more of the depth of its seductive scent.

  But as she reached to take one of its black blooms in her hands, from out of the dark mist came the white horse, galloping up to her. He pushed the blossom away from her hands with his muzzle. She then climbed upon his back again, and they rode on up the high hill away from the dark garden.

  The strange mist had finally broken free again, its shifting shadows departing the hillside, revealing the secret beauty of Abrea’s many wonders. About them lay the threshold of a flowering and flourishing paradise, ageless and unhindered by the march of time. As the clouds’ gloom was flung apart upon the summit of the hill, Ana saw the colossal tree high above her, the sun-glow of its towering trunk casting rich luminous rays down upon the colorful scenery that lay before her.

  Ana and the horse wove their way through the lush gardens about the hill. Travelling up a twisting pathway, they climbed past tall terraces and open arbours of rich green growth, upon whose dangling branches and vines hung great clusters of flowers and fruits of every kind. Soft fragrant winds wafted past the tumbling display, carrying upon its breezes the perfumed scents of a thousand budding blossoms newly born. The great tree’s lights wove their many colors steadily into the surface and shadow of every living thing, so that no stem, leaf, or flower was without some enchanted aura, its strange glow forged from the radiant hues cast within and upon it.

  As they climbed higher, Abrea’s plants swelled up from the rich mulch of the mound in great abundance, overlaying everything with a floral icing of younger buds and blooms. They opened their flowering clusters in a multitude of wondrous forms, shapes, and colors as they walked by.

  This was the heart of the garden called Glorianna. A bejeweled bed of great beauty, this sylvan glade seemed to shine like a great treasure chest of gems. To Ana, like flames upon the eye, that garden’s blazing color seemed. Rich crimson reds, soft pinks, faded fuchsias, buttery yellows, vibrant violets, hot oranges, and cool whites appeared in the dense growth of the hillside, clamoring about the heights and hollows of the rambling garden. The overflowing bushes and vines, overlaid and underfoot, covered every inch of earth, so that the hillsides seemed adorned with one never-ending bright bouquet.

  As they climbed higher still past the mass of blooming growth, about her stretched great clusters of wisteria whose knotted vines, thick and tangled, spread out beside the path on either side. Their grape-like blooms of creamy purple and white, held a magical odor that caused her to stop and smell them. Above them grew wide clusters of honeysuckle, saffron and white in color. Enhanced by their romantic perfumes, these twin vines, entangled together, whispered in the winds the joyous tale of a passionate interlude long held between them on the hillside.

  Upon a high spot Ana paused and looked down. The warm colors from above reflected upon the rich green canopy of the trees and laughing streams below, so that all was afire in a wondrous glow. She then heard the sound of water f
rom above. As she looked up, she saw where a small stream had dripped down from the heights. The most delicate of ferns had crowded upon the cliffs in great clusters, drawn to the sweet water as it tumbled down the hillside. Even thicker mounds of vegetation clung upon the elevated rocks about it, stretching their masses of leaves and vines down into the misty valley that fell away before the falls below her. Above the white mist of the falls they swayed in the gentle winds, as if dancing to the song of the glassy brooks that sang to them in the roaring depths.

  As Ana and the horse drew near to the top of the hill, the abundant green and flowering growth gave way to vast fields of swaying grasses and shorter growth. Here lay the pale-green grassy fields of windswept Annafar, which had drawn themselves about the breezy top of Abra.

  Many hidden flowers of rarest beauty grew upon its grassy slopes, gripping the dark soil in their ghostly roots—blue-budding petunias and pale lavender lilac, coral-colored hollyhocks and tiny yellow hyacinths, beds of jewel orchids and dark violets in many rich shades and hues. Small purpled nettles and pink pansies divorced and dwelling far apart in the sparse valley below had one last time gathered here, wedded together as one, shining out even brighter as they grew united upon the hillside.

  Close to the summit, Ana saw delicate blooms of rarest columbine, shining down their lovely faces at her as she approached from below. But as she drew close to the top of the hill, it was the buttery yellow of the daffodils in the soft fields of Annafar that drew Ana down from the horse. She knelt to touch and smell them, and then stood within their joyous crowds in amazement at their beauty. For their seemingly endless fields swayed as one atop the hill, bending their heads up and down to the rhythm of the breezes that flowed past their tops, casting them about in its sway. Her journey had been long and weary. And she felt uplifted by them.

  As they climbed the last part of the hill, Ana saw the most beautiful bushes of ruby red roses, small and delicate, spread across the mound about their feet. From high above the violet mist descended from the skies and hovered over them for but a moment, reflecting the roses’ sanguine light down about them so that all the vegetation seemed bathed in a mystical crimson glow.

  As they walked out upon the summit of the hill at last, Ana looked about her feet and saw tiny gray-green grasses, delicate maidenhair ferns, and tiny mosses all of which fed on the tiny streams that seeped out from some hidden source near the base of the great tree.

  As they walked through the maidenhair ferns that grew upon the moist hill, Ana looked up and saw the source of the magnificent lights she had seen shining down from afar. Rising up from the center of the summit stood the One Tree, its shining trunk thrusting up its mighty bulk high into the Heavens above her head. Its white limbs glowed with a golden brilliance, radiating their warm lights down upon the forest below.

  Though its trunk shone with a warm white light, from its highest boughs was cast the glitter of shining silver and gold. A million leaves sparkled in the pollen-filled air like the twinkling of stars. Yet was its light cast not in a chaotic spectacle. For the great figure of the noble tree had seemed to order with a lawful touch its own filaments of light as they wafted through the ether, so that no leaf or living thing in the forest below was left untouched by its glorious beams.

  Ana walked up to the great trunk to look upon it and ponder its majestic beauty. Above her the tree’s great limbs had spread out straight and wide. Luxuriant in its leafy hair, its wide umbrage had stretched out across the skies, filling the Heavens with its dense verdure. Its massive white boughs seemed to curl up into the sky, beyond even the farthest reaches of Heaven’s own canopy. Roofed against the sky, the great tree with an almost divine strength seemed to push its mighty form up into the shapeless void, beyond even the Arch of Heaven itself, until the very skies groaned against its weight. Yet in a strange way it almost seemed to her that the skies were supported by this mighty pillar of a tree, as if the central axis of the Heavens was held up by its powerful column alone.

  Ana returned the white horse in awe of the spectacular sight, peering up into the tree towering above her. She reached out to touch its outstretched limbs which, smooth and thick, hung low over her head. To some unknown breeze they gently swayed, their leaves, ginkgo-shaped, fluttering in the breeze like bright sparkling saucers. Upon every branch grew bountiful blossoms of purest white with faded crimson within their centers. They opened up ever so slightly as Ana touched them with her hand. Yet she could not see their centers.

  These flowers had borne upon them many fleshy fruits, which had hung low upon the tree’s numerous branches. Only great blooms now remained upon its golden branches, as if awaiting some momentous event that would send them forth fruiting again. From those fruits would come the seeds of an even greater generation of trees. And so its blossoms had been born to feed and nourish the children of a future time, shedding the seeds of its own shining children back down into the fallen world, so they might shoot forth with new life from the sullied soil.

  As Ana looked below the tree, she saw how the broad roots of the One Tree had twisted themselves about the top of the Hill of Abra, sinking their white tendrils deep into the earth. About its feet grew delicate red poppies, which seemed to glow with an odd illumination. She then turned to look down from the hilltop and saw an idyllic scene below her. An endless vista stretched before her through which many veins of silvered brooks now flowed. Below the gardens lay the wide valley of Avalyr, whose dark river twisted and turned through the blue onyx haze of the humid air.

  Beyond the valley lay the cool green of the foggy forests through which she had passed. Those wooded hills stretched far and away into the blue horizon, until even the distant mountains had faded to gray in the twilight gloom. Yet the warm glow of the shining tree still lit the tops of Phantaia’s rocky peaks with its golden lights, so that above the purple mists their summits were set aflame, shining like blades of tangerine gold against a turquoise sky. Entranced by the sublime beauty of that spectacular view, it felt to Ana that this fleeting moment would never end.

  But as she looked upon that vast paradise, she heard the gentle sound of a bubbling brook coming from the shadows beneath the great tree behind her. She then climbed around the huge trunk. There beside the tree stood a miraculous pool whose ephemeral waters bubbled up from within a small cauldron of rock. It was a tiny well, lined with delicate stones whose bright green mosses shined with a phosphorescent light upon their gray surfaces.

  The white roots of the tree had woven their way around the pool, diving down into its water and rocks, drawing into itself the precious waters of that quiet spring. The young waters of the pool seemed to flow forth from some hidden source deep within its rocky depths, first filling its stone container, then dripping down over its lip. In four corners of the tiny pool, the waters trickled out over the small mossy stones, until they formed small seeps that fed the Gardens of Abrea that wrapped about the hill in all four directions.

  The One Tree’s magical lights danced upon the surface of the pool’s clear cool waters, casting up a sparkling spectra of colors from within its depths. Yet no other tree, rock, or plant would reflect therein. This was the Secret Pool that had dwelt under the One Tree since before its own birth. Here the waters of the Secret Spring had first welled up, pristine and pure, carving out from the rocks the receptacle that contained it. So it appeared as an enchanted cauldron of silver whose precious wine had overflowed its cup.

  By the motherly grace of she who had dwelt there had those waters first birthed the tree from the fertile soil of Abra. By those waters and her brother’s own earth had they together fed and sustained it. Here the Sacred Seed had given his only child, the One Tree, to this world. His brother’s children, born of the Immortal Clay, had then sustained it. For they would not let it die. So too had the Twilight Mist, for love of that spring, wrapped his tendrils about the tree, bathing it in his mist’s wet dew. And so by their communal love as one family had they bound themselves together to
the tree and its fate. For they alone knew its secret purpose.

  Ana walked over to the pool. Kneeling down, she looked into its clear waters. Oddly, she saw only her own silver reflection and that of the tree upon its wavy surface. As Ana stared at her face, she appeared older now and somehow different. She pondered the strange appearance of her dark hair, her violet eyes, and the wondrous limbs and lights of the tree reflected therein. In that mysterious picture she and the tree seemed joined as one. As she knelt beside the beautiful pool, she heard its calming sound. And she reflected upon her life to that point. All time seemed to drift away in that silent hour.

  For a long time she sat beside the quiet pool, peering at the delicate nature of the brooklime and white meadowsweet that grew along its banks. She saw too that beyond its ferns and rocks grew brilliant red amaranths, whose unfading color and beauty stood out boldly against the deep green ivy that grew about the rocks. The blood red amaranths had been the first flowers to grow beside its magical waters. And so they were Abrea’s most ancient of flowers. The amaranths seemed oddly familiar to her. Yet few would know of the blood of the Secret Spring that had made them.

  She felt at home here, as she sat beside the pool. She lay down within a small bed of maidenhair ferns, weary from her long journey, looking up into the peaceful canopy of the great tree above her. She then drifted off to sleep beside the bubbling sound of the pool. She felt like she was drifting down into the hill, deep into a secret chamber unseen below, where she could at long last rest there in peace herself for all eternity.

  But to Ana had returned strange dreams. She looked down upon her sleeping self as she lay there beside the pool. All of a sudden there stood a figure before her hidden in the mist. It seemed to walk forward, then hover above the waters. It was the figure of a woman, tall and beautiful beyond compare, with long golden hair whose woven braids stretched almost to her feet. Her eyes were darkened and her skin was pale. And her soft young face seemed sorrow-filled.

  Upon her head had been bestowed a wreath of green garlands, woven about its crown with tiny white daisies. Her long wavy dress of white, pale gold, and soft green flowed about her as if floating within a cloud. Her dress appeared to be embroidered with bands of fantastic designs and circular emblems of some divine form she did not recognize.

  Ana saw that she was weeping. For in her arms was a child which she cradled closely to her breast. But as she reached out to touch the spirit it backed away quickly, disappearing like vapors in the mist as if to hide herself and her child. But as that ghost glided away into the shadows, Ana heard from her lips a strange word she did not recognize. Phanduan. She then faded from view.

  The white horse had appeared over her as she slept, its large warm eyes peering down into hers. It nudged her from her sleep, as it had done before. But this time it seemed more animated. Ana awoke and quickly rose to her feet, concerned and anxious by its pacing and excitement. The white horse then galloped to the edge of the trunk of the great tree. There it turned and looked back at her. Ana ran after him and stroked his neck, trying to calm him. It looked deeply into her eyes, as if to express some thought she could not fathom. The white horse then turned away, disappearing around the wide trunk of the One Tree.

  Ana stood alone at the foot of the tree’s winding roots. She thought to herself the horse must be hiding from her in some sort of playful game. She heard the sound of giggling. Then a child’s head suddenly looked back at her from behind the thick trunk of the great tree. But as quick as it appeared it was then gone. She climbed upon a root of the tree and looked where the child had been. But she saw nothing. She then heard another sound, as of laughter coming from around the other side of the tree.

  As she walked around it, she saw no sign of the voice or of the horse. But as she turned to walk back to where she had stood, an odd boy suddenly appeared. He looked to be about her age and similar in height. But the boy was very strange in appearance. He had skin the color of dark green leaves in summer. But as Ana looked closer at his face she saw within his skin many variations of a bright, leafy green with turquoise combined, which sparkled and shimmered with tiny lights within its swirls. His eyes were a golden reddish color. And his thick, shoulder-length brown hair, filled with streaks of golden saffron, hung about his face like straw. Strange was this autumn boy that had appeared before her.

  Ana stared at the boy in complete surprise. But the child being happy and animated only smiled, holding his hand out and introducing himself. “Hello. My name is Ama,” the boy said. Ana stood unmoving, still surprised.

  “In truth, I already know who you are Ana, and have known you well for some time,” the boy said, smiling. “For I am the white creature that has led you from the sea, carrying you—quite painfully—on my back through Phantaia.” He then feigned pain in his back, holding his hips and stretching, all the while smiling at the girl through squinted eyes.

  Ama laughed, telling Ana, “I only took the form of Phanyan the white unicorn to protect you from the dangers of the woods, and to carry you to these, the Gardens of Abrea, the place upon which we now stand. Besides, four feet are better than two. You agree?” He stood quietly before the startled girl with a slight frown upon his face. For Ana could not speak and was still shocked by his sudden change in appearance.

  He held out his hand in the air before her, palm facing out, as if to touch her. Ana looked carefully at the strange boy, until she too reached out to put her hand on his. She longed to touch him, as she was still unsure if he was real, a dream, or a ghost.

  But as she touched his hand, his skin suddenly changed pale like hers, his hair and eyes to a rich hazel brown. Ama then stopped and looked at his arms and legs with curiosity. At this miraculous change, the boy then told her, “This appears to be the form which you desire most to see in me. For I change in appearance by the will and desire of the spirit that touches me.”

  Ana marveled at the young boy’s more natural appearance, as he seemed so much like her own. But he was in many ways different from her. For though they seemed the same age, he was a rough and rugged boy with warm hair like the bark of a tree, tangled and wild like its leaves. His arms and legs were strong yet long and wiry, as if made for running and climbing. About his waist he wore a pair of short leggings upon which light green leaves were woven like the tiny scales of a fish. And his tan feet appeared nimble and light.

  Ama giggled to himself seeing how pleased she was with his new appearance. He then walked under the shade of the great tree, calling her over to follow him as he stood beside the pool. He danced and smiled as he walked, joy-filled and carefree. But Ama was simply happy to reveal his true self to Ana.

  Ana walked cautiously behind him, unsure of his mysterious and odd nature. They then sat down beside the tiny pool. “I know you have many questions for me. But first I want to show you a trick,” Ama said. He reached behind his back. “Pick a hand,” he said. She picked his left hand, as he looked at her with feigned concern. He then pulled out his left hand and there within its palm burned a ghostly white fire. Ana looked with amazement as she stared at it, hypnotized.

  ”This is the White Flame of Truth,” Ama said, “It burns bright within the great tree. In it is the living spirit of the forest. For it can strike at any time and burn away parts of the forest that are untrue if it desires. The Dark Flame of Lies dare not come into its heart as long as its candle shines brightly. Like the tree, the truth in our own hearts burns within us and shines on, even beyond our death.” Ama looked into her eyes with a serious expression, though she knew not what his words meant.

  Ana then picked his right hand. And Ama slowly pulled it out, revealing a beautiful ruby that sparkled with a deep red light within its center. “This is the Red Gem of Passion,” Ama told Ana with a crooked smile. “It represents the earth beneath the forest, the blood of the rock, and the creative spirit of the body that sustains all things.” He then whispered, “It also represents untethered passion, which, guided by true and abiding love,
may reach to great heights.” Ama’s eyes almost seemed to flame up within their depths, as he stared into hers.

  Ama then said to her, “The stone always bears the ruddy light that the flame shall eventually cleanse away. For the light is eternal, while the earth is not. And the fire of its light shall reveal all things as they truly are in time. But the stone is the essence of your life. The two are required for you to live Ana, and so are married as one. For they together make up the Creative Flame, which the Creator has placed in all living things.” Ana held the strange ruby in her own hand, entranced by its beauty. She then returned it to him.

  Ama took both forms in his hands and placed them in hers, slowly closing them. He looked down holding her hands in his. He then shook them, telling her to open them again. And from them sprang many colors of tiny dancing lights that drifted up into the trees. Ana and Ama laughed at the beauty of the lights, until they faded in the canopy of the great tree and were gone.

  ”What do the lights mean?” Ana asked.

  “Nothing more than the many lights of the spirits yet to be born,” Ama replied. Ana then looked happily at the boy. But he saw great uncertainty in her eyes. Ama then looked deeply into Ana’s eyes and said, “Do not worry. For there is much more I shall reveal to you in time. I promise I will try and answer all your questions when the time is right.” Ama then started to walk away.

  But Ana stopped him. “Who are you, really?” she asked. “For I was not told of you by the Twilight Mist.” Ama then looked at her sadly. He had known of the death of the Twilight Mist. And he knew she had seen him depart this world. He then said to Ana, “I too loved the Twilight Mist, your grandfather. For he had, for many ages, guided me as a mentor in the forest and guarded me from all harm when I was but a tiny infant in Phantaia. From him I learned many truths about the realms beyond this one, the fate of many in this world, and the sad destinies of many others.” Ana stared at him again, uncertain of the meaning of his words.

  Ama, seeing she still had many questions, pointed to the great tree behind her. “I am the first-born child of the One Tree, which was planted long ago in Phantaia—the tree born of the Sacred Seed and the waters that once sprang up beneath him. My father-tree’s first fruit was of both the spirit and the flesh. From that first seed-of-the-forest—that which is named Am—was I born. I lay within its golden egg for a time, hidden in the earth. But it was your grandfather, the Twilight Mist, who had found me and released me from its shell. And by him was I so named Ama, the golden-one, and the son-of-the-seed.”

  Ama walked over to the trunk of the tree and lovingly placed his hand on its trunk. “Upon my birth, the Twilight Mist had heard me crying in the garden beneath the spring,” Ama continued. He took me and raised me as his own. With loving care and gentle guidance he showed me many wonders and strange magics. He shared with me the secret knowledge and history of the world. And so I know your grandfather well, Ana.”

  Ama had been created by the One Tree and cast into the heart of the forest so that he might go forth and plant his many brothers and sisters, the mighty trees of Phantaia. With the seeds of the One Tree and the help of the guiding winds, it was Ama who sowed the trees and plants about its vast realms. Thus, the first trees of those woods were planted by this golden child, yet nurtured by the rains of the Twilight Mist, his uncle, in the first dawning forest-age of Phantaia.

  Ama then walked to the edge of the hill and looked out across the vast forests of Phantaia, as if deep in thought. He turned and looked upon the great tree, saying, “My father and my uncle, the One Tree and the Twilight Mist, have both dwelt here in peace, free of the evils of the outside world for many silent and enduring ages, Ana. Phantaia in time was filled with my countless siblings, the tree-children, many of which I helped nurture. I have grown to know and love them all, and their children, and their children’s children, too.”

  Ama then turned and looked at Ana with fearful eyes. “But I had not allowed them to be harmed until the coming of the Magra, which destroyed many of my brethren in its relentless storms. For this beast had come upon us after the sundering of the seas and the fall of the spirit of the one who once held Vatavandr—the Limitless Void.” Ana then walked over to Ama, and sat upon a root of the white tree listening to his story.

  For many ages Ama had remained beside the father-tree, standing as a mighty oak himself, looking over the gardens and forests of Phantaia. For he was a timeless being like the One Tree, his father. And as long as the mother waters of the Secret Spring poured forth into that world, he was immortal and unaging like the trees. But Twilight Mist had stayed beside him for many ages in that garden. For he and the Mist were now its sole guardians. But in time the Twilight Mist taught him many enchantments, granting to him power over his changing form, as the Twilight Mist could do. Ama had then taken flesh as he desired, so that he might defend Phantaia against the evil that ever encroached upon its fringes. And so was he its sole guardian.

  He had then taken form as the spirit-deer of the wood. In this higher form was he so raised. As the Ebrandeer, the golden-horned unicorn, was he to remain for many ages beside his uncle. And so as horse-of-the-forest was he born anew by the Twilight Mist’s own strange glamour. By that spoken name could Ama’s spirit transform from tree to horse. And by it alone could he be called, as by a magical summons, in time of need. But to his brother trees, as the forest-guardian named Phanyan, was he freely named. And its word would be spoken many times upon the forest’s whispering winds. But Ebrandeer was a secret name tied to the great wisdom of his father and the magical powers of his uncle—a name which he had been given in the youth of the world. With the passing away of his uncle, this name none would now know but him and his father, the One Tree.

  In this fleshy form, Ama guarded Phantaia, chasing out the demons that had wandered into Abrea. Many he had banished from those sacred woods and gardens. For his silver hooves and golden horn had beaten back the evil creatures that had come to possess the trees. Indeed, his very form frightened many darker beings from the depths of that twilight land. And so he became Abrea’s greatest warden, guarding it and the One Tree from the evils that had slowly crept into it.

  Ama, continuing his story, sat down beside Ana on the white roots of the tree. “I had remained in these woods for countless eons of time, engaged in a never-ending war with the creeping darkness that had sought to find my father’s tree. But my aging uncle, Twilight Mist, had returned to me upon the end of a weary age, revealing to me that a new being would soon enter the forest. That being, he told me, would be permitted to dwell within Abrea, ever after” Ama said. Ana then gazed with wonder at Ama.

  “So, at a chosen time, had your grandfather sent me to the troubled shores of the sea to find you,” Ama said. “As Phanyan he had called me once more, to rise again and come to him upon the shores of Phantaia. And so had I rescued you, so you would be safe from harm. For the Oversoul of the Magra that haunts the skies overhead and the demonic trees that creep about Avaras had all risen up from their graves to take you away. But here in Abrea I have chosen to return to the form I most love, as the boy you now see standing before you.”

  “Do you like my new form?” Ama said, standing up and turning himself around. Ana nodded her head in agreement, though still shocked and confused by the dramatic events of the last few days.

  Ama chuckled, saying, “Such a long tale as this is probably more than you can handle right now.” He smiled again. He then walked about the trunk of the tree, dancing before it but pausing to watch Ana’s reaction. Ana smiled a bit, then looked down, as if in sadness. For she had come through many trials, and many questions yet remained.

  Ama, seeing her forlorn, ran back to her and sat beside her. He could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. “You must not be afraid, Ana. For the Twilight Mist summoned me long ago to bring you here. It was his desire alone that you should be brought to the lush meadows of Abrea, to dwell beside me in peace and happiness. If there was any other purpose,
I was not given that knowledge, Ana. But I loved your grandfather Ana. And I trusted him. He has given his own life so that you and I should be here together.” Ama then touched Ana’s cheek and felt the tears that came from her eyes.

  Ana looked up into Ama’s searching eyes. “I have felt an encroaching fear the last few days since the passing of my grandfather,” Ana said. “I do not distrust him or you. Nor do I fear this beautiful place. There is another I fear—my father, Agapor. For I faced his black servant, the Shadow, above the falls of the river. He vowed to return and kill me, then destroy the light of the One Tree. He has vowed to destroy Phantaia itself.”

  Hearing this, Ama slowly stood up. And with cold and unmoving eyes he stared out across the gloomy valleys of Phantaia for a long time. He then turned and looked down at her, peering deep into her eyes, as if wanting to speak but unable to. He then knelt before her, holding her hand. “Again, do not fear for the future, Ana,” he told her. “For we have both feared the ever-encroaching darkness for too long. If that dark being seeks to harm the tree, I will face him. With the help of the powerful and unyielding oaks of the woods, I have chased many demons of terror from Abrea in the past. Together, we have faced even greater foes. For those oaks and many others of my brethren have vowed to guard the One Tree with our lives.”

  Ama then stood and walked about the pool, saying, “In truth, I have known of your father, the Lord of Destruction who now dwells in Oblivion. For your grandfather revealed to me that Agapor, his own fallen son, had slain the Limitless Void. It is Agapor who had summoned the Magra of death, she who is named Yana. It is her storms that now chew upon the trees of Phantaia.”

  Ama reached out and grabbed Ana’s hands, saying, “Ana, if we are forced to face Agapor we shall persevere, as long as we stay together unified as one against him. But we must discover the secret destiny that your grandfather has withheld from us.” Ana looked down, refusing to look at Ama in fear of revealing a secret she now longed to keep.

  Ama turned away, and looked up at the tree. “The forest is a mighty spirit that shall not die as long as the light of the One Tree shines in its beating heart, and we remain here to defend it. His light alone shall protect us from the forces of darkness and destruction that yet gather in the great gray gulf that lies beyond Phantaia. For no shadow may come here as long as he yet shines.”

  Ama sat again beside her, holding her hand, saying, “And I shall protect you, Ana. As long as I live, you shall be safe from all harm here in Abrea. This sacred vow I made to the Twilight Mist long ago, and I make it to you now.” Ana then put her arms around her new friend and felt comforted by him. He felt warm to her. And she felt secure in his arms. After all, they had endured many trials together. She felt an abiding trust towards him. And the gentleness and kindness of his spirit washed away her fears and doubts.

  Ana then told him, “Ama, I am feeling very weak from thirst. The journey has been long, and I am in dire need of refreshment.” She then stood up and walked over to the shimmering silver pool. Seeing the sweet waters bubbling up within it, she knelt before it. She then cupped her hands and bent down to drink from it.

  But Ama quickly grabbed her hand. “You must not drink from those waters,” he warned. “For they are fed by a spring eternal and pure.” Ana then quickly withdrew her hands in fear and shame.

  “It is the well of all life, borne of the Secret Spring who sleeps eternally beneath it,” Ama said, gazing into it. “About that well do the Heavens now rotate. And its waters are promised to the trees and plants alone, the true children of Phantaia,” Ama told her, looking into her eyes. “For long ago it was set forth by the well’s spirit that those waters would remain untouched and untainted by the flesh.” Ana then stood and wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped away from the pool. “I did not know,” she said solemnly.

  Ama knelt beside the pool, touching the thick white roots that dipped down into its water. “My father’s tree was born from these waters. And he is sustained by it still. Even now its waters are drawn up into his mighty roots.” Ama then stood and looked out over Phantaia. “No rain falls from the heavenly dews but are born of the waters drawn from this pool. For it is the source that nourishes this land and cleanses all impure things that enter it. Even the flowers of Abrea derive their beauty from its fount. So do all things in Phantaia spring from it and thus sustained by it, Ana. You must never drink from this place.” Ama looked sternly at her.

  He then looked down with sad eyes, saying, “Should the pool perish, then would the One Tree also die. All living things in Phantaia would then pass away, withering and becoming as corpses, hollow, empty, and dry. By its water’s touch are the aging trees young again. For it ever renews the living—a font of rebirth. For those denied its waters shall pass away from this world, while all others live on through the ages, forever youthful and undying. So must it never be harmed.”

  Ama then told her that many demonic beings had come to Abrea seeking to find the pool, the living source of Phantaia. But they had failed. For evil had seen the magical lights of the One Tree from afar and sought to destroy it. He and the guardian trees had then driven them back. But though the forces of darkness had sought to destroy the tree, none had ever known of its well of life hidden at the foot of the tree. Should they know of it they would then seek to pollute it and destroy it. Then would the tree, the forest, and its children surely die. For though new seeds of new trees might be born, the fallen well that once sustained them would not. For as long as the pool remains shall none ever truly perish in Phantaia.

  Ana then came and stood beside Ama, saying, “Ama, I fear that my father now knows of the pool.” But Ama said, “Agapor knows only of the light of the sacred tree. But he does not yet know of the spring. For it has remained hidden from his eyes and the servants of darkness and destruction he now commands. And it must remain so, Ana.” Ana looked at the grave expression on Ama’s face. Ana then looked upon the strange waters again, deep in thought.

  “Is there a well in Phantaia that might cleanse the flesh of the living from all evil?” she asked. Ama turned, and looked perplexed at Ana’s odd question. “There is not,” Ama said. “Though the trees cannot invite evil into them, the heart of the flesh can choose it. So evil’s dark cloak may enter the heart and dwell there unbidden. The wells of all hearts are thus tainted by their owner’s will alone.”

  Ana then asked Ama, “If this well was tainted by the flesh and my father drank of it, would the evil in him be cast away?” Ama looked at Ana in shock. For it bothered him that she would pose such a thought.

  Ana, embarrassed, turned away, looking upon the pool seeing her reflection again upon its calm surface. Ama then looked at her again, and with a defiant expression said, “Ana, the pool will not save your father. For no one shall poison the well as long as I live.” Ama then walked away to the edge of the hill, still contemplating the terrible thought.

  Looking across the gardens down below, he then spoke softly, saying to Ana, “But should he do so the pool would be depleted, fading forever into the rock, as if a thousand sips had been taken.”

  “But your father would be cleansed of his own darkness,” Ama said, turning to look upon Ana’s face. “And he would see the world for what it is, the children of the forest for what they truly are, and know of the divine play of the world. And he would know of his truest self, though the world be doomed.” Hearing his ominous words, Ana looked with trepidation at the solemn pool.

  Ama then looked upon the lonely girl and smiled again. For seeing Ana now with him, he could not remain gloomy in spirit for long. He then laughed, saying to Ana, “You are thirsty. Ana, will you come with me? Follow me down the hill. For in the shadow of the mound dance the sweet waters of Lilu. Though they are not as pure as the source, they retain the spring’s life-giving powers, and shall refresh you in mind, body, and spirit. You may drink from those waters safely, the place where the waterfalls cascade into the depths below.” Ana smiled, since she remembered
Ama drinking from it.

  Ama held Ana’s hand as he lead her down through the garden to the shining stream below. Ana then drank from the cool waters and was refreshed. Ama and Ana then lay beside each other in the lush green meadows of Abrea that bordered the silver stream. They sat together for many hours sharing stories of their long adventures together, there in the cool of the twilight evening.

  The Child of the Seed

  Ana and Ama had dwelt for a time together in that land of peaceful splendor. Far and wide they would wander, so in time every hill and dale, glade and vale, was known to them as they roamed about their garden home. Never apart their youthful hearts grew ever closer still, as yet they had become more tender, until in time they found themselves lost as one in the blissful valley of love’s great unknown.

  In this land of perpetual spring, Ana and Ama had dwelt together under the navy arc of the cloudless Heavens, dancing and playing upon the windy slopes of Abrea’s trailing paradise. In endless joy they long endured in perfect harmony within the rolling idylls of Phantavra’s many glades and gardens. They would sit under the arbours of bountiful blossoms or lay side by side in the green grass that grew in abundance about the slopes and lush meadows of Abrea.

  Ama had showed Ana many hidden wonders in Abrea. For it contained an endless array of fruits and nuts, and things of great sustenance which he alone had carefully nurtured and guarded since its genesis. With the dawning of each new day he would bring Ana delicious things to eat. But Ana in time grew curious, so that Ama showed her the many fruiting plants that grew about the gardens and valleys below. And so in time Ana too would know where the valley’s wealth of food lay hidden.

  Ama also knew of honeyed-ambrosia born of the intoxicating fruits of rare fruiting trees that lay hidden in the depths of the forest. They were fruits born of the sweetest of nectars, their golden husks rich with honeydew and the divine draught of that paradise. He also brought Ana fermented grapes whose time on the vines bore dark wines. They would then laugh and sing as they dined on the intoxicating fruit until they at last fell asleep in each other’s arms. They would then lay together upon the green grass at the heights of the hill, their young bodies now covered in the sticky sap of the garden.

  Yet when thirst would come upon her, Ana would always return to the tiny stream of Lilu that lay beneath the hill and drink of the cool waters that lay there. Where the stream poured forth into the valley she would gather its precious waters in bowls and cups made of leaves and bark, and bring them to Ama to drink. But she would not draw water from the well upon the hill, as Ama had forbid her to ever drink from the waters that flowed there.

  But in the fading light of early evening when Ama was away she would often climb the windy Hill of Abra in secret and sit beside the mysterious pool, listening to the peaceful sound of its waters as they gurgled up from the rocks below. Often she thought she saw the eerie forms of ghosts within its reflections, or strange lights thrown up from its sandy bottom as they cast their many odd colors up into the low-hanging boughs.

  The everlasting daylight of the One Tree always seemed to shine down upon their faces, never diminishing, until it felt like the golden day would never end for Ama and Ana. Then upon a strange twilight hour the purple mists of evening would return to fill the valley and wrap about the gardens where they dwelt. Then would fall the solemn pall of sleep upon their fading minds once more. They would then hide deep in the mist-shrouded bosom of Abrea where the eyes of evil, they had hoped, might not find them. In the splendor of their cloud-enshrouded beds they would sleep, deep within the garden’s hollows, dreaming of their day’s many adventures.

  In time they would know to return to the gardens at twilight time. For the fading light of the One Tree, drawn back by that veil of mists, always called them back to the safe heart of its secret beating paradise. But when they awoke each day the mist would melt away, disappearing down into the depths of the river valley below. Then the bright light of the One Tree would cast its yellow sunbeams upon their bodies, warming their faces and brightening their hearts and minds. And so the light of day and mist of night like warring twins would come and go, return and leave again, tied to their own rhythmic flow.

  As the twilight fell upon them, Ana would lie beside Ama under a dense tangle of flowering wisteria, deep within the confines of the garden. As their tired minds faded into soft dreams again, she would look into Ama’s eyes and hold his hand. A sudden rise of joy would come into her. She was truly happy here with Ama. And she felt he was a permanent part of her life and time in that mysterious place. It was a time she hoped would never end. She often fell asleep beside his warm body. But she often found him again in her dreams.

  As they slept in the misty night, the little pool seemed to laugh and giggle on the humid heights of the foggy hill. Ana often awoke in the night, hearing its mysterious and haunting sound, as if it was calling her to it in the depths of some dark dream. But seeing Ama’s gentle face as he slept, she would forget the sound and curl up next to him as she drifted away back into peaceful dreams.