Pillar

A light breeze stirred the Prism Strands, the shimmering wave of colors dancing as the field swirled with the unseen wind. Sitting beneath the boughs of a Leeching Willow, the low-hanging branches offering shade for the young author, Vivian put her quill to the journal she carried with her everywhere. The thick volume was already filled with her scribbles, mathematical formulas scrawled in the margins as drawings of wondrous tools and cities dominated entire pages, notes concerning the various oddities she’d encountered during her trek across the plateaus so far haphazardly strewn across the vellum. The young apprentice sighed, tucking back a stray black hair that had loosened from her coiled plait laying over her shoulder to pool in her lap. Her crushed-umber hand traced down her jawline to rest at her dusky lips, nibbling on a nail as she wondered how best to solve the next equation. A flittering of jade caught Vivian’s enormous eyes, vermillion orbs focused on the crystalline insect as it buzzed through the thin strands of black-leaved vines. She smiled as she caught sight of the amber wasp, flipping through a few pages to an incomplete sketch of the creature’s segmented body. Several feet in front of her, she’d left a slice of bread slathered in sticky amberum (what little she didn’t consume herself) so that she might lure the elusive creature down from the boughs of the ancient tree. While a paralytic if it entered the bloodstream, the amberum was a delicious snack of choice for many, including the wasps that made it. It’s nest, a hollowed-out section of dark, rough wood that now was covered in luminescent golden hive work, filled with smaller wasps crawling about doing whatever wasps do when not flying after the closest sign of magical energy. This one, a full foot, landed on a branch that bent with a low groan. The Leeching Willow liked to take life, not provide it, and that the wasps had set up a nest in the semi-conscious tree unnerved the plant. Vivian found it fascinating, an amazingly intricate example of how the darker entities in Pillar could in fact a natural home for something as innocuous as the nesting wasps. “Come on, then…” Vivian said, her voice confident and proud. “Come on down… I have some food for you. Something you can take to your babies even!” Vivian reached into her auroch-hide bag to fetch a piece of Anam, consolidated magical crystals that formed in the various sections of the world that were naturally charged with Astral. Breaking off a half-inch of the crystal, Vivian tossed it onto the amberum-slathered bread. The wasp was immediately on edge, the crystalline wings clinking like broken glass as they fluttered. The beady eyes of the creature peered down past its proboscis. Vivian could tell that it was considering what kind of threat she represented regarding the nugget of magical energy the being found so alluring. Hunger gave in as the wasp threw caution to the wind, dropping from the branch to glide down to the bread, landing with a splat in amberum, its wide feet spreading the jam about as its folded forelimbs snapped up the crystal. Smelling the amberum it was standing in, it began greedily gobbling it up while clutching at the Anam with obvious pride. Vivian resisted the urge to chuckle and began working on her illustration once more, her desire to note the wildlife of the wilds of the Vreba River Valley, the outlaying lands that had recently changed hands once the marriage between two kingdoms had been deemed sealed. Vivian shook her head; such politics were pointless to the young wizard. She was barely seventeen winters old, and she’d just started her Tentrek. A decade when one steeped in their respective arts traveled the world to gain knowledge and wisdom from those that lived across Pillar. Unlike a blacksmith or errant soldier, Vivian was expected to return to the Tallow Hills with a full book of knowledge and a fully constructed wizard’s staff. Standing barely taller than her training staff, they had mocked her over her chances of survival by her peers, who’d taken a more scholarly level of learning, remaining in the Tallow Hills to study under the strict tutelage of Master Musk. While annoyed he had extra students to take on, he’d shared with Vivian some key notes on how to go about a Tentrek, pointing out certain provinces to visit and who to speak to concerning her new experiences and the completion of her final piece of equipment. The beginnings of her staff, a four-foot section of crooked Leeching Willow, was, so far, a sleek piece of light green wood with the beginning of intricate carving over the shaft, beneath the dried leather grip made from a wolf slain during a full moon. In magic, symbolism was everything, and her staff was already shaping up to be the perfect tool for draining the Astral around her for her own purposes. The head, a sleek crook she’d been shaping using her own magic, had an open slot for the last piece to be added: a full Anam Shard. A Shard was what wizards used to pull on the Astral to do their bidding, to access enough energy to perform the greatest acts of the arcane imaginable. But she’d come nowhere close to collecting enough crystals to perform the rituals to create a Shard. So far, she’d had to make do with her apprentice rings, two silver bands with an Anam pearl perched in delicate settings. They could charge simple spells and drew enough Astral energy for her to manipulate the very laws of reality around her with relative ease. But they were nothing next to a fully trained wizard staff’s power. Drawing a soft curve of the wasp’s underbelly, Vivian listened to the sound of the surrounding field. She knew she was close to town, but rumors of lurking creatures were making their way around Hamlin. Her home for the last five weeks. The Sound of War was always full of loggers and farmers, drowning a hard day’s work in cheap amber ale. Vivian had been making a small living repairing the town’s various machines, her training as tinkerer making her invaluable to the bustling community. Vivian smiled at the wasp as it finished the last of the amberum, now focusing on the fractured piece of Anam. “Go on, you can take it…” Vivian said with a chuckle, turning her book over in her hands to show the insect the drawing she’d made of it. “I have sketches of your cousins from the other plateaus, but your shell is by far the most beautiful. Such a lovely golden sheen…” The wasp buzzed, fluttering up and over to land on Vivian’s leather-clad knee. Her high boots ended just below her knees, leaving a pair of kneepads and the rest of her twice-layered linen pants to cover her legs. While some would complain of how hot the summers were, Vivian came from a higher plateau than the River-Valleys. On the Hills of Iron, the temperature during summer was decidedly warmer than here, though nowhere near as humid. There were only a few lakes, veins of creeks and small rivers leading away from them to fall off the edge of the plateau and down onto this one. The wasp poked its proboscis into the book, jabbing at the drawing once as if trying to communicate with it. Vivian giggled. “Silly thing, it’s not alive!” She turned the book back and laid her griffin feather pen between the vellum to mark where she’d left off. “Now that we’ve both got full bellies, I think we should head home. Thanks for letting me sketch you!”   The wasp buzzed in agreement before taking off to fly up into the boughs of the Leeching Willow. Grabbing her staff, Vivian stood up from the root, smiling as it lowered back into the soft earth whence it’d raised. She reached up and pulled on her black plait, tossing it over her shoulder where it landed in the small of her back. Her smooth, dark skin was the color of tanned leathers, a brilliant contrast to the earthen tones of her clothing. Her green vest and muted yellow sleeveless shirt left her with plenty of skin to bare for the sun to warm. Leathers and linen breeches covered her lower half, with hard-soled boots able to walk across the rocks of the Vreba river with ease. She patted the rough wood with a hand and pulled slightly at the Astral, just enough to send a pulse into the tree. Any more and my wasp friend would be on my like I was made of crystal! Vivian thought as she pulled back at the magic bubbling inside her. The tree groaned, the gnarls twisting and curling until they formed a crude mouth, a lone eye opening from beneath scarred wood. The face looked like that of a weathered soldier, one who’d fought one too many battles, seen a few too many friends die. It was one that you couldn’t help but pity, but Vivian knew better than to feel sorry for the plant. She stepped closer to the face, her boot crunching over the bones of some poor animal that’d come too close. The old man’s face seemed confused as she approached. “You’ve returned?” The tree asked. It always did when she channeled energy into it, as the small spark was enough to make it wholly sentient, capable of speaking a tongue only she knew. It always had vague memories of their past conversations, and she liked to think it regarded her as a friend. “Yes sir, I came to sketch a few more animals. I was also hoping I could take a few of your healthier leaves for samples?” Vivian asked, knowing that the toxic plant could easily turn on her if it’s mood changed on her. The tree blinked slowly, the sound of rubbing bark irritating enough to bother the clutch of wasps high above. “My… leaves? What do I get?” “I should have never taught you how to barter,” Vivian chuckled, reaching into her bag. She fumbled for a bit before pulling a fat water skein from the bag, the stitched leather dark from moisture. “I brought you some Everchill, from the Harrowfrost Mountains in Nortur. It’s made from special berries and is perpetually cool. I figured your roots have never had a cool beverage, seeing as you prefer, um, meatier selections…” “That sounds strange. What does ‘cool’ mean?” The tree peered at her with confusion. “Oh, it’s like when water falls from the sky, making the earth loose enough for you to move!” Vivian exclaimed. “Oh… that should be enough for a few leaves, I suppose.” He replied in a harsh whisper, a vine lowering down in front of her from one of the high boughs. “Pour the drink first, so that I might taste it.” Vivian nodded and uncorked the skein, sniffing the fermented berries with a smile. She walked around the dangling vine and up to several roots crawling up from the silt just below the knotted face. Pouring the cool beverage slow enough as if she were using a watering can on fresh Snapdragons, she watered the roots with the sweet blue drink. The old soldier’s face broke into an uncharacteristic smile, the eye dribbling some stored digestive fluids as if they were tears. “My oh my, that is delicious! You must bring me more of the Everchill before you move on,” the tree chortled. “It numbs the aches in my growing roots and sloshes the earth about amazingly, allowing me to stretch even on a hot day like this one!” “Told you it was good! Now, may I cut some samples down? I’ll only take what I need, nothing more.” Vivian asked, squeezing the last of the Nortur brew from the skein. “Take what you want for now, and know I expect to see you again,” the tree replied. Vivian’s smile never faltered. Plants were always very direct when given intellect, usually lacking humor or common sense if presented with situations where either were required. That Vivian’s wizard staff was crafted from a Leeching Willow granted her the ability to commune with the various breeds of tree, be they magical or mundane. Packing away the skein, she pulled out a small velvet bag, which crinkled as she closed her hand around it. She also pulled out a pair of clippers, polished iron with red leather handles. Carefully, she pruned the old tree as it savored the cold beverage. Over the next five minutes, she harvested over twenty leaves before the vine pulled back. She didn’t press the matter, merely nodding to the tree. Stepping away without turning her back on the tree, she leaned on her staff. “Well, I must be on my way,” she said. “Go then, I must think on matters while I still can…” the tree said. “Oh?” Vivian said, curious what the carnivorous tree could think about. “Anything I can help with?” “No,” it said after some moments pause. “The stench I smell at night comes from a unique creature, not one like you or the hounds that plague the shepherds. I’ve tried to lure this animal a few times, but it doesn’t seem interested in food.” “And you said it doesn’t smell like me?” Vivian asked, her curiosity piqued. “No, it smells like my meals do after I’ve finished with them. The ones you’re standing on now are heavy with its scent.” Vivian looked down at the yellowed wolf bones half-buried, pulled deeper into the ground by the hungering roots of the willow. “Oh,” Vivian said, unsure of what to say from such an announcement. The tree hummed in agreement, its roots making a sloshing noise as they wallowed in the cool mud.