The Whispering Grove
10.
Warmth brushed Thalen’s cheeks, rousing him gently from the arms of sleep. With a groan of protest, he squinted his eyes open. The campsite was bathed in the radiant wash of sunlight, indicating the sun had already embarked on its skyward journey to its zenith. Golden rays trickled down through the arboreal umbrella overhead, casting the clearing in a warm, inviting glow.
“The hero finally emerges from his slumber,” Jaxon commented with a light-hearted chuckle. Thalen, rubbing the vestiges of sleep from his eyes, sat up.
“What time is it?” he mumbled.
“If the sun’s position is any guide, it’s nudging midday. We’ve a pot full of food for you, and the waterskins have been refilled,” Jaxon responded, handing him one of the said skins.
Accepting it with a grateful nod, Thalen took a long gulp. The cool liquid sluiced down his parched throat, rekindling his energy like a gentle spark to dry tinder.
“We thought it best to allow you and Lyra some extra rest. Given the last few intense days, it seemed we all could use a bit of respite,” Jaxon explained. Thalen gave a nod of understanding, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“And how is Lyra?” he asked, concern colouring his voice.
“See for yourself. She’s quite the resilient one,” Jaxon answered, motioning towards the far side of the camp. There, Lyra was engaging in quiet conversation with Elara. Catching his gaze, she offered a nod and ambled over.
“I understand I owe you my gratitude for saving me from that creature’s clutches. Thank you, Thalen,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of formality.
He smiled at her.
“I have no doubt you would have done the same for me. How are you feeling now?”
Lyra gazed skyward, her brow creasing in contemplation. “Physically, I am quite well. Yet, I cannot shake my anger at my recklessness. The hag should never have been able to ambush me. I must learn from this.”
“Don’t be overly critical of yourself, Lyra. We’re all feeling that something is amiss with the land,” Elara added, joining them around the flickering campfire. She busied herself with serving up a hearty meal, extending a heaping plate to Thalen.
“Yes, the presence of Fiends, Shadows, and worse!” Jaxon exclaimed, his tone half in jest.
“The disruption is caused by the Aldarin,” Lyra said firmly. “It is imperative that we hasten our journey to the Whispering Grove.”
Jaxon groaned, “Why do I feel that more hiking is in our future?”
“Actually,” Thalen interjected, “We’ve managed to cross the Range, or gone under it, meaning the Whispering Grove should be close. Our main task now is to locate the pilgrim’s path.”
He studied the sky, determining their bearings, and pointed northeast. “We should venture in that direction.”
“First, you must eat something,” Elara scolded lightly, “Then we proceed towards the grove.”
Having replenished their strength with a robust meal, the group continued their journey. With Thalen at the helm and the imposing Range firmly to their rear, they charted a course due north. Their path wound through a lush woodland carpeted with a vivid mosaic of flora, and extended across expansive fields adorned with tall, swaying grass that danced in the gentle breeze. Though it had been several years since he’d last traversed this route, Thalen’s memories guided him as effectively as a well-drawn map.
To their east stood the decaying remnants of what was once a proud outpost of Old Arcadia. The skeletal structure of the watchtower jutted above the verdant canopy, its dilapidated state a silent testament to the wars of yesteryears that had left their indelible marks on this land long before Thalen had been birthed into existence.
“Old Arcadia,” Jaxon murmured, his gaze drawn to the crumbling tower. “My grandfather used to speak of it as though he’d personally witnessed its glory.”
“Did he actually live during that era?” Lyra inquired, curiosity coloring her tone.
“No. That kingdom fell into oblivion centuries prior, albeit not as long ago as Miramar. Still, grandfather often mourned its demise. He believed it was the last instance of our lands flourishing under the rule of a king. After its fall, the populace retreated beyond the Range, founding the Arcadia we’re familiar with today – a humble village, devoid of grandeur,” Jaxon narrated with a tinge of melancholy.
Lyra offered a thoughtful nod. “The wheel of time continues its relentless rotation, ever altering our circumstances. Perhaps Arcadia will reclaim its lost glory someday. The Silvari, too, have weathered the cycles of rise and fall countless times, as frequent as the fall of leaves. Such is the ebb and flow of existence.”
Their trek led them over a modest hill and, upon reaching its peak, they were greeted with the sight of a cobblestone path. The age-worn track was barely distinguishable against the verdant landscape.
“The Pilgrim’s Path,” Thalen announced with a sense of satisfaction. “We follow this track northward for a short while, and the Whispering Grove should be just ahead.”
“And hopefully, the Aldarin as well,” Elara said, optimism seeping into her voice.
“Assuming he’s survived thus far,” Jaxon quipped.
Aeolian snorted and stamped his feet at that.
“Considering the challenges we’ve faced,” he added quickly.
They descended the hill and stepped onto the path and followed it north. As they progressed the landscape shifted again, this time back into woodland. Wildflowers grew in splendid abundance and the air was filled with the sound of birds singing and insects flitting to and fro. The Pilgrims path was well known for its peaceful and serene surroundings. Every year villagers from Arcadia and from further afield would walk the route and make offerings at the Whispering Grove. The true reason as to why they made such a pilgrimage was a mystery long lost to the passage of time, it was more a tradition than anything else.
“How old were you when you first walked the path, Thalen?” Elara asked as she picked a pretty purple flower and placed it in her hair.
“I was ten. My mother took me with Drydan and a few others. I’ll always remember the smell of the flowers that grow in the Range. I’m sad we didn’t get to see them this time. How about you?”
Elara glanced over her shoulder before answering.
“This is my first time on the path. My uncle never took me, he said that I wasn’t an Arcadian and that it wasn’t a journey for me. He was a cruel man, Thalen.”
Thalen felt a pang of sadness at her words. Despite her jovial spirit, Elara had suffered more than most. She wasn’t from Arcadia originally; her family had hailed from the lands beyond Viridia. Her parents had died shortly after she was born, and her uncle Riun had taken her in bringing her to the safety of Arcadia. It had been then that Thalen had first met her, and they’d been close friends ever since. She always smiled despite the coldness her uncle often showed her. It was well known that Maevra the Seer was more of a parent to her than Riun had ever been. The old wretch had died a few winters previously and no one missed him, especially Elara.
“I’m surprised Maevra never took you,” he said.
“She’s half Silvari, the customs of humans aren’t hers and well, you know how some of the locals can be about her.”
Thalen frowned. Some of the people of Arcadia were indeed narrow minded when it came to outsiders. He could understand their attitude, they just wanted to protect their home, but he never felt the same. He yearned for adventure and to see as much of the world as he could.
“I never did get a chance to apologise for running off at the dance,” he said sheepishly. Elara smiled and squeezed his hand.
“You don’t have to apologise, Thalen. If you think about it, we’re doing what you talked about. Here we are, together, out in the wild on an adventure. It’s exciting and a little scary.”
“You held your own against the Fiends well enough. You’re brave.”
Their quiet conversation was abruptly interrupted by Aeolian’s loud neighing. Thalen pulled Elara out of the way just as the horse thundered past them. Lyra called after him but to no avail, the horse was rapidly disappearing from view.
“He must’ve smelt his master. Come on!”
Immediately breaking into a run, Lyra dashed off in pursuit of the runaway horse. The others didn’t waste a second and followed suit. The wind whipped through their hair as they raced along the Pilgrim’s Path, their boots kicking up small clouds of dust in their haste.
Just as their breaths started to come in ragged gasps, the forest abruptly opened up into a large glade. It was as if the woodland parted in reverence to the majesty that was the Whispering Grove. As the name suggested, it was a grove, but it was unlike any other. Tall, ancient trees spiralled towards the heavens, their trunks thick and gnarled with age. Their expansive branches formed a protective canopy overhead, the leaves whispering softly as they danced in the wind, their rustling akin to quiet voices sharing timeless secrets. It was a serene place bearing the weight of centuries and the stories of countless pilgrims.
However, the tranquillity of the place was marred by the sight that greeted them. Slumped against a rock, was the Aldarin. His face was pale, and his clothing was stained with blood from what appeared to be a severe wound on his side. Aeolian stood nearby, nudging his master gently with his nose, a clear sense of worry in his equine eyes.
The team rushed forward. Thalen dropped to the Aldarin’s side, his fingers fumbling for a pulse while Elara quickly unpacked her healer’s kit. Lyra, still pale from her own ordeal, stood guard, her keen eyes scanning the surrounding woods for any signs of danger.
“Jaxon, we need water!” Elara ordered as she gently probed the Aldarin’s injury, causing him to moan in pain.
Jaxon nodded, quickly retrieving a water skin from his pack and passing it to her. Swiftly but gently, she cleaned the wound, her hands steady despite the gravity of the situation. She then applied a salve and bandaged it tightly.
Thalen, finding a weak but steady pulse, breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s alive,” he reported, looking up at Elara.
She nodded, moving to check the Aldarin’s other vitals. He was unconscious, but his chest rose and fell rhythmically. It was a hopeful sign.
The Aldarin’s eyes snapped open, revealing a pair of brilliant, emerald orbs that locked onto Thalen’s with an intensity that belied his weakened state. His grip on Thalen’s arm was surprisingly strong, as he rasped.
“You! You...must complete my mission,” he urged, each word tinged with palpable urgency. “Enter the temple, retrieve the Whispering Stone and find the shards of Infinity. Time is short, his minions are already on the move.”
“Temple? What temple?” Thalen queried, the Aldarin’s words painting an unclear picture in his mind. In response, the Aldarin delved into his bloodstained cloak, retrieving a dull, glass-like object. As it pressed the shard into Thalen’s hand, recognition sparked in his eyes. It was identical to the artifact the Aldarin had used against the Shadow Minion back in the Green.
“Its power is nearly spent. Only with the Stone’s guidance can it be revived...and the others found,” the Aldarin wheezed out.
“Others? What others?” Thalen’s confusion deepened, but before he could seek clarification, Lyra joined them. The Aldarin turned his gaze onto her, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
“I...I have failed, Silvari. The shard is almost spent and the key I stole from your people... the Guardian of the Temple has taken it.”
“The temple? What temple?” Thalen reiterated, his bewilderment intensifying. With a shaky gesture, the Aldarin pointed towards the far end of the Grove. “Use the shard. It...will...open...the way,” he managed, before his strength finally gave way, his last breath sighing into the forest air.
Elara pressed her ear to his chest, confirming the dreadful silence. She attempted to revive him, but her efforts yielded no response. Lyra finally intervened, her voice soft yet firm. “He has passed. He is one with the Goddess now.”
With the loss fresh and tangible, they moved the Aldarin’s body beneath the majestic canopy of a nearby tree. The area, awash in the vivid hues of wildflowers, offered a tranquil final resting place for the fallen Aldarin.
“Have we failed?” Jaxon finally broke the silence, his voice barely more than a whisper. The question lingered, echoing their shared worries.
“Thalen, pass me the artifact,” Lyra requested, her voice a steady calm amidst the sorrow.
Obediently, Thalen handed her the peculiar object. Her fingers traced over its cool, glassy surface, her brow furrowing as she scrutinized its intricate details. Suddenly, her eyes widened in an expression of unmistakable shock.
“It... cannot be!” she exclaimed, causing the others to exchange worried glances.
“What? What is it?” Thalen pressed, eager for answers.
Lyra held the object aloft, and in the dappled sunlight, it hummed with a low, iridescent glow. An energy pulsed within it, making the air around it crackle with a tangible intensity. The sensation sent shivers down their spines, making the hairs on their arms stand on end.
“This is a Shard of Infinity, a fragment of the Infinity Orb—it’s an incredibly powerful relic said to harness the power of the cosmos itself. Can’t you feel its raw energy?” Lyra marvelled.
Each of them nodded in silent agreement. An uncanny force seemed to thrum from it, filling the air with an otherworldly resonance.
“Its power is almost spent. Just how often has the Aldarin used it for it to have weakened to such an extent?” Lyra mused, her gaze distant and thoughtful.
“The Aldarin did mention it would open the way,” Thalen reminded, reclaiming the Shard from Lyra. His gaze travelled to the direction the Aldarin had weakly indicated, curiosity fuelling his steps. A sudden, inexplicable urge compelled him to hold the Shard aloft, catching the golden rays of the afternoon sun. As the sunlight kissed its surface, it responded with a steadily increasing luminescence.
The glow intensified until they were forced to squint or look away, their hearts pounding in synchronized rhythm with the Shard’s pulsating light. As if in response to some ancient summons, the earth beneath their feet trembled, shifting and groaning in the throes of an unseen power. To their astonishment, a structure started emerging from beneath the earth.
It was a temple, its age-old stones etched with glyphs and runes of an ancient dialect. The structure was a grand spectacle of architectural prowess, its intricate carvings coming to life as they slowly rose from the verdant turf. Pillars of monolithic stone framed an arching entrance, their surfaces adorned with depictions of celestial bodies and divine entities.
The temple was an architectural masterpiece that seemed to defy the march of time. Constructed from a mix of polished white stone and darkened wood, it was in harmony with the natural beauty of the Grove. The architecture was ancient, reminiscent of the Old Aldarin style, with grand pillars and intricate carvings etched deep into the stone. Each etching depicted the passage of time, seasons changing, trees growing and withering away, and people going on their own pilgrimage. It was like a chronicle of life itself inscribed in stone.
“Well, bugger me. Has this been here the entire time?” Jaxon said in disbelief.
“It’s Aldarin,” Lyra said in awe.
With a final loud boom that echoed loudly in the clearing the temple ceased its ascent to reveal a large arched doorway.
“Do we go in?” Jaxon asked, his usual bravado replaced with a hint of trepidation. “I mean, with the Aldarin dead, surely that Shadow Minion has no reason to stick around. Right?”
Lyra glanced at the deceased Aldarin.
“He came all this way for a reason. Whatever this Whispering Stone he mentioned is it must be important to the Aldarins. And, I must get what he stole from my people back from whatever the ‘guardian’ he mentioned is.”
“Yeah, I don’t like the sound of that,” Elara muttered.
Thalen regarded his friends; their courage was balancing on a knife’s edge.
“We’ve come this far; we can’t turn back now. Besides, I promised Lyra my help. I’m going in,” he said with more confidence than he felt.
Lyra placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded in thanks.
“Before we enter, we must put the Aldarin to rest. It is the least we can do for one of the Goddess’s chosen. There are so few left.” she said sombrely.
As the sun began its descent, painting the sky with streaks of crimson and gold, Lyra moved towards the body of the Aldarin. Her expression was solemn, her movements deliberate. Despite the Aldarin being from a different race, there was a commonality in their connection to nature that united them, and Lyra intended to honour that.
She began by collecting flowers and leaves from the grove, each one chosen with care and respect. Thalen watched as she chose vibrant wildflowers, their petals iridescent in the dying sunlight. Each element was a representation of the cycle of life, a part of the grand tapestry of existence. As she worked, the others stood back, giving her space to perform the rites.
Next, she began to dig. Her hands delved into the earth, pulling away handfuls of soil. The work was hard, her hands soon smeared with dirt and grime, but she did not falter. Jaxon moved to help, but Thalen held him back.
“Let her do this,” he murmured. “It’s their way.”
When she had made a space big enough, she gestured for Thalen and Jaxon to lay the Aldarin’s body within, arranging it with care, its hands crossed over its chest.
Lyra then began to sing. Her voice was soft, the melody hauntingly beautiful. It was a song of farewell, of respect for the spirit passing from the physical realm to the next.
“Beneath the silver moon we walked,
In realms of dreams, where spirits talked.
By the willows we’d often sit,
Now you're gone, and here I admit...
Oh, starlight, star bright,
Guide my friend through the eternal night.
Winds of old, hear my cry,
Lift their spirit, let them fly.
Golden days, now turned to gray,
Moments captured, then swept away.
Legends tell of heroic tales,
Yet none of them, our love entails.
Mystic rivers, take my tears,
Merge them with the ancient years.
Whisper to the world, their name.
Starlight, star bright,
Guide my friend through the eternal night.
Magic old, and magic new,
Bind my soul, forever to you.
In woods and halls,
I’ll seek your echo, your beckoning calls.
In tales, you still belong.
Mountains tall, valleys deep,
Guard the memories, I yearn to keep.
Moon’s embrace, sun’s gentle kiss,
Forevermore, it's you we’ll miss.
Starlight, star bright,
Carry them through, to morning light.
Though realms change and time may flee,
In my heart, you'll always be.
And as I stand, by the Ever tree,
I hope one day, together we'll be.
Until then, my dearest friend,
Know our story, will never end.”
As she sang, she scattered the collected flowers and leaves over the Aldarin’s body, a final gift from the living world. She then began to fill in the grave, her song continuing until the last bit of earth was patted into place. Finally, Lyra stood and made a symbol in the air, a Silvari sign of respect and farewell. Her voice faded and silence returned to the grove. They each stood in their own silence, the weight of the moment pressing on them. The rites were complete, and the Aldarin was at rest.
“There,” Lyra said quietly, her eyes glistening in the waning light. “He is returned to the earth, to the heart of the goddess. May his spirit find peace and his mission find completion.”
With the funeral rites over the group gathered in front of the temple’s ominous entrance. They couldn’t see more than a few meters through the doorway suggesting that they’d need lanterns to guide their way once inside. Aeolian had been hitched to a tree close to wear his master had been buried. The inside of a dark and potentially dangerous ancient temple was no place for a horse, no matter how brave and intelligent it was.
Elara unpacked the lanterns and using a spell ignited the wicks in each before handing them out. Each attached them to their belts so that their hands were free.
“We ready?” Jaxon asked hefting his axe.
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Thalen replied, doing his best to keep the nerves he felt from his voice.
Lyra joined them and unslung her bow and together they approached the ancient temple.
As they crossed the threshold, the air seemed to thicken, heavy with age and the weight of countless centuries. The dimly lit interior was a stark contrast to the sunlit grove outside, yet it held its own haunting allure.
The walls, carved out of the same stone as the exterior, were decorated with elaborate frescoes and intricate mosaics that told a story of a time long past. The depictions were otherworldly in their essence, full of celestial figures intertwined with scenes of nature, evoking a profound sense of awe and reverence. Tall, elegant figures with large ears and keen eyes were depicted in various images. The most intriguing were the ones showing the tall figures, the Aldarins, standing hand in hand with other beings. Thalen noted that one of them was clearly a human, another was a Silvari.
“Is that a Terrakind?” Elara asked. The curious mage was studying the walls just as intently as Thalen.
Lyra pointed to another, this one depicting a mysterious winged being the same height as the Aldarin.
“This must be a Celestial, one of the wind folks of the mountain realms. And this-” she said gesturing to another that showed a short squat figure with large eyes and webbed hands, “is a Naiad, one of the water dwellers that inhabit Lake Lunaris.”
“What does it mean?” Thalen wondered.
“I think it depicts how the Aldarins worked together with the various races of the continent. Notice the circular patterns surrounding each fresco? A symbol of peace in the old language.”
They moved on entering a secondary chamber.
Tall columns of stone, like the ribs of a giant beast, supported the arched ceiling that disappeared into darkness above. Here and there, stray beams of light penetrated the gloom, slicing through the dusty air and highlighting the dust motes that danced in their paths. The quietness of the temple was absolute, only the faint echoes of their footfalls disrupting the silent vigil of the ancient structure.
Dominating the centre of the grand hall was a large stone pedestal. The top of the pedestal was hollowed out to hold what could have been a small oval shaped object, suggesting that this place might once have been the resting place of the very artifact they were seeking. The symbolism on and around the pedestal seemed to support this idea, depicting a radiant orb and a constellation of shards scattered across the cosmos.
The temple, though abandoned, bore an atmosphere of serene sanctity that made them lower their voices instinctively. Every stone, every carving, every dust particle in the air resonated with history, patiently awaiting the return of those who understood their purpose.
As they ventured deeper, the walls around them seemed to whisper tales of an era when celestial energies flowed freely, and the shards of infinity were yet whole. The further they went, the more the feeling of an impending revelation gnawed at them. Their path lay ahead, veiled in mystery, and shrouded in the quiet whispers of the ancient temple. The deeper they went the more noticeable the silence became. That was until they began to hear a faint whispering. They froze as they first heard it expecting some monster to emerge from the shadows, but none did so. They kept going, the whispering growing in volume as they did so. At first, they couldn’t understand what the whispers were saying but then as they entered another chamber Thalen froze.
‘Around you Thalen, destiny twirls, A fate unwinds, a vision unfurls. A challenge awaits, in shadows it lies, Beneath the blue of the skies.’
“Did you hear that?” he asked, his voice echoing as it broke the quiet.
Jaxon shook his head; Elara regarded him with a curious expression. Lyra tilted her head and listened.
“I can hear words, but it is in a tongue I do not know. What do you hear, Thalen?” she asked.
‘Three trials and a beast in shadows, ahead does await, Claim me, free me. Time ebbs away, the shards in disarray, As the dread sorcerer seeks them, in the light of the day.’
“I hear a voice talking to me. Saying something about three trials, a beast, shards, and a dread sorcerer, whatever that is,” he replied.
Jaxon and Elara exchanged a bemused look.
“I just hear that irritating whooshing noise, like a draft sweeping through a room, no words at all,” Jaxon said.
A loud growl suddenly reverberated through the halls of the temple. Jaxon’s eyes widened in fright.
“What was that?”
Thalen drew the Silvari dagger from his belt and touched the magical pauldron on his shoulder.
“If I had to make a guess, the guardian that the Aldarin mentioned.” He replied. “C’mon, we have to face it and retrieve what it stole.”
“Oh, great,” Jaxon grumbled.
Cautiously they continued their journey deeper into the vast temple.
Myths of Aldara: The Awakening Light is available to buy on all major retailers.
