Seeds of Renewal

With a crackle of lightning and a boom of thunder, Aurora and Oscilio landed upon a hilltop overlooking Candlehold.

“Whoop!” exclaimed Aurora. “What a rush!”

She stretched up onto her tiptoes, arms outflung, and surveyed the scene below with wide, sky-blue eyes. “Woah! I haven’t seen this many people since Everfest.”

The towering golem hovered to her side. Below them, a sprawling campsite had been pitched upon the rolling grasslands. From all parts of Aria, all walks of life, the mottle of colors and shapes spread around the edges of Candlehold like a vast meadow of wildflowers.

“I have never seen this many people at all,” stated Oscilio flatly.

“No need to be nervous, big guy.” She patted his diamond-shaped claw. “I’ll introduce you to some nice folks.”

“I do not experience anxiety.”

“Sure you don’t, Scili.”

“I would prefer you did not call me that.”

“Okay, Scili.”

She led the way down the hillside, her companion turning many a head as they entered the fringe of the tent city.

“Aurora!” The name was more sung than shouted, and soon refrained by the appearance of a flamboyantly dressed bard.

“Melody!” Aurora hollered back and wrapped her friend in a bear hug. The pair danced a delighted little jig together before Melody broke away to gaze up at Oscilio.

“Could I write a song or two about you!”

“Meet Scili,” offered Aurora. “I found him in a vault.”

“Oscilio,” he corrected. “Your ancestors may have had the foresight to delay it, but the changes to which you bear witness are the rumblings of their return. For if I am awake, then so now are the ones of old.”

“That’s terrifying,” said Melody with a visible shudder. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

Aurora gave an exasperated sigh. “Scili has yet to learn the art of chitchat.”

“Still, one of the lost relics of Enion?” wondered Melody. “How did you know to come?”

“I sensed a surge in the Flow,” answered Oscilio. “An event of great magnitude has occurred here.”

“Sadly, yes, it has,” agreed Melody. “The Queen of Candlehold is dead. The seers sensed as you did. Same with just about every scholar, soothsayer, and seeker from Korshem to Larinkmorth.”

Melody jerked her head in the direction of a huddle of elders, their intricately stitched robes denoting them as Seers of Everfest.

Maela One-eye stood among them, her white hair wild and windswept, her emphatic gestures as sharp as her tongue as she lectured her colleagues on the mysteries of Candlehold. Though Aurora strained to hear the seer’s words, the hubbub of the transient town about them all but drowned them out.

“But no one’s ever been inside Candlehold,” complained Aurora. “Anyone come out?”

Melody shook her head. “Not since the Warden of Thorns.”

“Then how are we supposed to…” Aurora’s voice trailed off at the sight of movement on the edge of the forest.

Two mighty oak trees stood side by side.

Their entwined limbs formed an archway adorned with the gently glowing lamps that gave Candlehold its name. From trunk to trunk, the space between them was thick with brambles, their wilting leaves giving way to a generous crop of blackberries.

Children who had accompanied the curious were busy feasting on those berries. Now they started and fled for the safety of the tents. Behind them the brambles unraveled, untying their knotted stems, drawing aside to reveal a lantern-lined avenue.

A hush settled upon the tent city as a figure emerged from the forest. A seemingly young woman, although most gathered knew that Candlehold was a place bereft of time where age had never held court. To Aurora, with her auburn hair and flowing green dress, the lady looked like a red rose given human form.

Behind her, a procession followed, a stately parade of beings gnarled yet magnificent. Women, men, and animals of timber and root, flower and fungus, walked together, heads bowed. At the rear, a noticeable distance from the rest, trailed a man clad in armor and autumn leaves. He alone looked out upon the gathering of Aria, acknowledging their attendance at this funereal affair.

Florian skirted his fellow Rosetta, careful not to mar them with his trail of rot. He approached Verdance warily. Though it had been some time since their fracas before the throne, he still did not entirely trust her change of heart.

In timeless Candlehold, months passed as minutes to the Rosetta. While every spore of his being wanted to believe that this was happening, he had lived too long with disappointment to assume the best.

The smile she offered him was filled with a warmth that he found more unsettling than anything else.

His right hand rested instinctively upon the pommel of his reaper while he gestured at her face with his left. “I am relieved to see you have healed without a scar.”

She shrugged, the wound apparently dismissed, along with their conflict.

“I am relieved you are here.”

She had been holding the Seed of Tomorrow in her hands. Now she laid it amongst the grass before stepping back to stare at him with an unnerving intensity.

Irritation curled his lips like a dying leaf. The Rose had gone from being confrontational to obtuse. “You will find the seed, once planted, grows more quickly.”

Verdance’s gaze didn’t waver in the slightest. “Are you going to spend all day stating the obvious or are you going to plant it?” She inclined her head towards the gathered folk of Aria. “People are watching.”

Florian looked from Verdance to the seed. Understanding prickled across his skin. It was one thing to talk of summer’s passing. But to dig its grave…

“Within decay lie the roots of rebirth,” Ozrim encouraged softly from where he stood with the other Rosetta. “In time our lives will end, returning us to the Flow. And thus we make Aria whole once more.” Behind him, the elders murmured their agreement.

Florian knelt beside the Seed of Tomorrow and placed his hand on the ground. At once, the grass withered, dying back until the seed sat upon bare earth. He murmured an incantation, willing the ground to relinquish its nutrients, summoning the worms to feast and fertilize. Within moments, the soil had become a rich loam, ready for planting.

As Florian stood, the Seed of Tomorrow sank into the earth. With lilting words that spoke of spring rains and fledgling dreams, Verdance cast her spells. Buttercups sprouted and flourished, and from that golden flowerbed a tree emerged. Like a fountain of greenery it burst forth, turning from sapling to shrub to a tower of slender timber, brilliant with blossoms.

A gasp of astonishment passed through the assembled folk of Aria, and for the first time Verdance turned to greet them.

“In Candlehold we have hidden ourselves from Aria, kept ourselves from the Flow. That time has now passed and our most gracious queen with it.”

She faltered then, her leaf-green eyes glistening with emotion. She looked to Florian, imploring. He understood in that moment the courage she had mustered, the fear with which she struggled. Change, so second nature to him, was the first flower of spring to her. Fresh and so very fragile.

He nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging way and turned to address the crowd.

“People of Aria, we welcome you into our sacred grove. Join us in mourning our beloved monarch, the only mother we have ever known. Feast with us, drink with us, make new memories with us. Share with us the beauties and wonders of Aria. For forest and land embrace. The essence of great Davnir flows through us all.”

And so the Rosetta led the folk of Aria into Candlehold for the first time in an age and an age again. Melody accompanied the solemn march with a soulful dirge, blending an ancient rhythm with freshly plucked riffs. Together they dined upon the bounty of autumn, drank ciders freshly brewed from fruits and berries, danced to the music of Aria, and reminisced over great deeds and the trials of eternity.

Outside of Candlehold, alone on green pastures, the Millenium Tree listened to the merriment in quiet contentment.

The queen whispered through its leaves,

In soil anew, the roots of change.
In the essence of decay, Davnir.
In the seeds of renewal, belonging.

And in the gentle groan of stretching timber, ancient Davnir answered,

My essence hath rejoined the Flow,

So this troubled land shall be healed.

Thus Aria may stand against the fates to come,

Strong of will and fair of heart.

Illustrations by Nikolay Moskvin.