Page 24

I t grew warmer as we rode south, winter softening into early spring.

The cool rain melted the snow quickly, green moss and bare dirt showing through icy beads turning to slush.

We followed the Salakile Valley southeast on the wide main road, then took a smaller track and spent the afternoon climbing into the Gloamspire Mountains.

The rain ceased and clouds broke as the late afternoon light turned a warm gold.

We wove through a matrix of mountain forests and meadows, occasionally catching glimpses of the ocean far below.

We reached a mountain saddle between ridge lines that climbed to jagged, ice-capped peaks high above us, draped in thick glaciers that curled around them like slumbering ice dragons.

From the saddle we looked down into a valley that stretched to the sea, walled on three sides by high mountains; their cliffs extending into the ocean to form a wide fjord.

From a mountain wall at the head of the valley sprang a massive waterfall.

Emerging straight from a dramatic cliff below a sharp, towering peak, an entire river coursed from a wide crack in the rock.

It dropped in a free fall to the valley below, then ran in several tiered waterfalls until the steepness of the valley mellowed to a more gradual decline and the water slowed.

The river flowed through meadows and disappeared amongst the largest trees I had ever seen.

Massive pine, fir, hemlock, and cedar towered above the valley floor, the tops of them reaching so high they were nearly level with us where we stood on the mountain saddle.

And among the trees –– lights. Warm, twinkling lights beckoned us through the shadows of the great green giants.

As I looked closer at the towering forest, at the dancing lights, dwellings materialized.

Within the trunks and evergreens, windows, doors, stairways curling and wrapping around their outsides.

Multi-story homes constructed entirely within tree trunks.

Others were built in open spaces between huge trees, with living branches supporting them, cradling them in a deep green embrace.

A village, no, a city, woven into the trees, into the fabric of the forest.

I sucked in a breath as we paused in the mountain pass.

Byrgir looked at me, narrowing his gaze.

“It’s… incredible,” I said.

“You can see it?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

“Of course I can see it, it’s right there.” I gestured toward the valley, the impossible trees, the nonsensical city laced into them.

Byrgir continued to watch me.

“What?” I said.

“That’s Rhyanaes. Shrouded in enchantment hundreds, probably thousands of years ago by the fae. Cloaked from outsiders to keep the inhabitants safe during the wars. And, usually , it remains hidden. I can see it because I have been there before, but you…” He continued to look at me curiously.

I shrugged. “I’ve never been here before, clearly. But I can see it.”

“Huh.” Byrgir looked from me to the city. “Come on. It’s just as beautiful from within.”

He urged his mare on down the hill road. I followed.

The clouds continued to dissipate, and the sun illuminated the valley as we descended.

We wove our way through mountain meadows to the valley floor below, meeting the river and following its flow toward the forest. Spring thaw had swollen its current, pushing raging water over huge, rounded boulders on its banks.

“The Arcaena Faehadrice , or ‘Spring of Deep Power.’ Also known now as the Arcaena River,” Byrgir said. “Revered as a holy spring of power for thousands of years, long before we arrived, back when the fae lived here alone.”

I could feel what he meant before he even said it. Power coursed from the river, emanating into the valley. It seeped into my skin with the mist that hung in the air from the massive waterfall far above us, thrumming through me. My fingers tingled.

“I can tell,” I said. I flexed my hand, and small claws of ice formed involuntarily at the ends of my fingertips. I shook my wrist, releasing the power welling within me, and the ice claws fell to the ground.

On the outskirts of the forest were small homes with huge gardens and grazing sheep, cattle, and horses.

Sheep near the fence lines fled at the scent and sight of the wolves.

As we passed one steading, a fluffy white livestock guardian dog came tearing across the pasture at the fence, barking viciously at the wolves. They paid it no mind.

We passed among steadings and turned off the main track. I followed Byrgir to a stable that opened onto greening pastures, where several other horses were already grazing on early spring shoots out in the meadow.

“We’ll leave the horses here. Easier than stabling and feeding them in the city. And those two can stay in the stable too.” Byrgir gestured to the wolves. “As long as they behave –– we’ll catch hell if any of those sheep disappear.”

“They’ll behave. As long as we don’t let them get hungry.”

We dismounted and pulled the tack off the horses.

Byrgir retrieved brushes from within the stables and we rubbed them down, then turned them loose in the pasture.

I walked to a back corner of the stable piled high with dry straw and whistled for the wolves.

Garmr and Vardir followed me, sniffing about, then dug into the straw and curled up.

I gave them each a few strips of smoked cod to hold them over until morning.

We shouldered our bags and continued into Rhyanaes on foot. The towering trees soon blocked out the low sun as we entered the forest, their long shadows stretching to envelop us in a cool, humid embrace.

Even in the low light, the understory of the city was awash with life and color.

Garden boxes, overflowing pots of moss, and climbing vines decorated roadsides, balconies, and open spaces.

Wisteria already on the edge of early spring bloom climbed high into the tree canopies, winding decoratively along trees and houses alike.

Baskets of strawberry plants reached their first runners into the air and earth around them.

Little raised beds of blueberries, elderberries, raspberries, and other cultivated shrubs lined spaces between homes.

Tulips, bluebells, and daffodils peaked from the ground in brighter spaces.

Everything was far more advanced in its growth than it should have been at this time of year.

The city itself was multi-tiered, built as far up into the tree canopy as it spread wide throughout the forest. High rope bridges and walkways spilled ferns and vines in the air above us.

Entryways to shops and homes could be seen high up in the mid-story, connected by a labyrinth of stairs, branches, and bridges.

We passed ground-level homes, taverns, and shops as we continued through the city.

The smell of bread wafted from a bakery, soon replaced by warm fermented grain from what must have been a small brewery.

We walked into an open square that bordered the river on both sides, with two ornately carved wooden bridges arching over the water.

Between the bridges rose a tall, spiraling tower of water reaching toward the tree canopy.

Drawn straight from the river, it twisted high before raining back down in a perpetual cascade.

A gap in the canopy above let in enough light for the swirling tower of water to catch in a sparkling display of gold and blue.

I could feel the power driving the spiraling water, ancient and potent.

My fingers tingled and the familiar humming sensation of Source rose in my chest. Emerging from the current around the mystical moving sculpture of water was a ring of towering standing stones.

Unlike the circle of stones near Eilith’s, however, these were solid, brilliant slabs of labradorite.

Their near-black surfaces lit up with glowing green, blue, and even orange hues when the light caught the right plane of their crystalline structure.

Near the riverbank, a multi-story tavern built into and around a massive tree was already humming with the sounds of evening merriment.

Other restaurants bordering the square were also busy, and the smell of roasted meats and spices drifted on the wind.

My stomach growled. All around the square were dwellings and shops, restaurants and pubs, even a jewelry shop sparkling with a riot of colors in the front window.

People moved about, many wearing flowy, colorful clothing in a style I had never seen.

It was elegant and enchanting. Some of the fabrics shimmered in the evening light, much like the fountain of water at the center of it all.

I let my awareness wander, feeling the energy of the city.

To my surprise, I was not immediately inundated with the sparks of emotion and life from the people all around us.

I could feel most of them, had a general sense of where they were, but they nearly all had their own awareness protected, sheltered.

As we passed slowly through the square, I looked up.

The buildings rose to a dizzying height into the canopy of the trees.

Bridges of woven living branches and suspended ropes crisscrossed the open spaces.

Moss, ferns, and colorful fabric banners dangled from them, catching the saturated evening light that slanted through the trees in golden streaks.

I stopped and continued to gaze up, turning in a slow circle to take it in.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Byrgir asked. “The fae really knew how to design a city.”

“They certainly did. Did they do that too?” I asked, nodding toward the slowly spiraling tower of water rising from the river.

Byrgir nodded. “Perpetually driven by the ancient powers of the river itself. A sacred centerpiece of Rhyanaes.”

“It’s beautiful,” I marveled.

“We’ll visit it, if you want. Tomorrow. After you’ve had a good dinner and long sleep.” He smiled.