Hawthorne took them out of the city and into the forest. He still had not explained what they were doing or where they were headed, and Marcus was beginning to question his decision to come along. Rykker, Sev, and Viggo had also decided to take Mara up on her offer. Sira had stayed behind to meet with Senna’s Governor and bring news of Gareth’s death, but also to help the Vallan refugees that found their way to the city. Mara, too, stayed in the city, claiming she had business elsewhere. She had wished them luck, assuring that they were in good hands.
Marcus felt as if he was abandoning everything as he always did. But that was what he did, was it not? Run? First Sen, his village, his kinsmen. And now his country. At the first chance he got, he ran from his problems when they became too big for him. In this case, though, did he have a choice? If what Mara said was true—if she was right about the role they had to play in all of this, then just maybe he was where he was supposed to be. He hoped he wasn’t being played for a fool and falling into bad habits.
With everything that had happened since he left Fastaar’s war camp, Marcus couldn’t have just walked away. Something told him that whatever this was—Vanen, Annet, Mara, the Scathe—was important. The Empire had arrived rather suddenly at Valla. No Antuzan ships on the horizon, or whispers from Ilrian spies that war was brewing. No, Mara must have been right on that account. The Scathe pulled the strings of the Empire from the dark, and were somehow helping them wage war against Ilris. A shudder ran through Marcus at the thought. His mind raced through the possibilities of what they might be after. It seemed likely they were tied to this religion—Odeth, he thought they called it. Perhaps they just wanted to destroy heretics. But why Ilris? Why not Dei, or Gyim? They were much easier targets than Ilris, who was at least shielded by the narrow sea. He did not know.
Their new guide took them deep into the wood north of Senna, outside of any road or well-traveled path. It was early morning, yet the sun barely pierced the thick canopy of the trees. It felt more like a perpetual twilight, and Marcus couldn’t help but imagine that they were in another world entirely. A muffled quiet lay across the wilderness, as if all manner of creature, even insects stayed clear of the area.
Hawthorne led the way through the dense undergrowth without pause or so much as a look back. Surprisingly, Viggo and Rykker had barely said a word since leaving the city. This came as a shock to Marcus—they seemed to always have an opinion on everything. Perhaps the fear of the unknown, of what awaited, gave them pause. Or perhaps they were simply too fixated on their own thoughts. On the things they had learned these past few days. He certainly was.
Marcus tensed as he felt Hawthorne’s pace slow and become more deliberate, as if sensing for something. Then, they stepped into a small glade, just enough for each of them to have a space to stand. A stone monolith stood at the center of the clearing, slightly taller than Marcus. It looked old—no, ancient. Even older than the fateful temple they had found themselves in after the fall of Valla. Harsh, angular runes etched their way across its surface in a language that he did not recognize. Although the stone was rough with wear, pocked and eroded in places, the runes themselves were still legible. The monolith, slightly askew, protruded from a small crater in the earth where no grass or shrub grew. A perfect circle encompassed the obelisk.
Marcus kept his distance from the thing—it was probably best to be cautious. Rykker pushed his way past, eyes locked on the slab. He nearly took a step down into the pit before Hawthorne reached out to stop him.
“Wait,” the tall man said, reaching out to stop him.
“What is it?” Rykker’s eyes did not leave the center of the clearing. He brushed away Hawthorne’s grip.
“It is a Lith. A gateway. A way to go where we need to go. To the Boundless Forest. Stay here.” Without further explanation, Hawthorne dropped his pack on the ground and climbed down into the crater and approached the monolith. It seemed to shrink in the presence of him. Marcus could not tell if that was a trick of the eye or something else.
Hawthorne laid a thin hand upon the stone and began to speak. Marcus frowned, realizing that he could not understand what the man was saying. No, that wasn’t quite right. The words themselves vanished before him, snatched from the space between hearing and understanding. He was sure that the Hawthorne was talking, but the harder Marcus tried to focus on them, the more they slipped away. A faint white light shone from beneath the hand on the stone, spreading outwards to encompass the entire pillar.
The light grew until Marcus could not keep his eyes open. He threw his arm up to protect his face as the illumination became blinding. As quickly as it came, it was gone. For a moment, patterns danced in the darkness, and he squeezed his eyes shut before open them, blinking the momentary blurriness away.
When his vision returned, his first thought was that nothing had changed. It did not take long, however, for his senses to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Although the clearing they now stood in looked nearly identical, Marcus was sure that they were no longer mere miles from Senna. Something about the way the air felt, the thickness of it, and the sky—he was sure the light was different here. More gray, somehow.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Hawthorne released his touch from the Lith and took a step back, looking around. For the first time, Marcus noticed a small smile. “This is Indenos. The Boundless Forest. The Wood.”
The air was thicker here. The effort required to draw breath required that the act be a conscious effort. Upon closer examination of his surroundings, Marcus saw that the trees here where unlike anything he had ever seen. Pale, knurled trunks thicker than his wingspan ascended to towering heights. Twisting leaves longer than his forearm sprouted from a multitude of branches. They seemed to reach for him, beckoning to step into their dark embrace. A faint dusk cast sleeping shadows that crawled along the undergrowth.
“Inde—What?” said Rykker. He took a few tentative steps towards one of the trees, reaching out slowly as if contemplating whether the thing was going to snatch him up. “What happened? Was that Magic?”
“Yes.” Hawthorne climbed out of the crater. Dusting off his dark pants, he said, “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
Rykker’s hand snapped back. “Why not? Is it poisonous?”
“I don’t think so, but the Forest doesn’t typically like to be messed with.”
“Doesn’t like it?” Marcus said. He peered again into the tree line, trying to see if the branches were moving in accordance with the slight breeze or not.
Hawthorne shrugged. “I just think it’s best to be safe when it comes to these matters.”
“Well, Okay,” Viggo said. carefully stepping away from some of the undergrowth. “But you still haven’t explained where we are.”
Their indiscernible guide collected his belongings from the ground and slung them across his back. “Let’s get going. I’ll explain along the way.”
As it turned out, the Forest remained docile, even as they tramped through the heavy wood. There was no path to follow, and Marcus wondered how Hawthorne knew the way. It had been at least an hour. Maybe more? It was hard to tell, here—the angle of shadows had not changed in all the time since they had left the clearing. Disconcerted though Marcus was, Hawthorne led on with a confident stride, picking his way through the dense trees.
“Indenos is not of the world you know,” Hawthorne explained. “You could not point to it on any map on Asdel. It is… outside of our world.”
“We’re on another world?” Rykker gingerly pushed a branch back as he stepped forward.
“Sort of, I guess you could think of it as such. But it is not so simple. The Forest was another world, long ago. It was dying, and the old magi of our world seized it, lashing it to our own. They bent Indenos for their own needs, warping the land. They created the Monoliths, and now this place is bound to ours in many places. But these links—while they are many miles apart in our world—are not so far in this one. The magi used the Forest to traverse their great Empire, taking journeys of a thousand miles in a few days.”
“Unbelievable.” Rykker shook his head with awe. “Sev, do you think you’ve been here before?”
“I don’t know.” The Aeonnar trod lightly considering his size, keeping to the rear of the pack. It sometimes amazed Marcus at how invisible the goliath could be. He tended to just blend in to the background most of the time. “I wish I could remember, Rykker.”
The engineer glanced back at Sev and grinned, an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye. “That’s alright, Sev. We’ll figure you out. Just wait.”
“So this place,” Marcus said. “It’s going to get us to Antuza?”
“Yes.” Hawthorne slowed his pace as he worked his way around a thick bush of thorny vines. “I think our path will take us no more than a day, although such timekeeping methods will be all but useless here.”
“Yeah, I’ve notice that.”
“There is no ‘sun’, so to speak, in Indenos. The light we have here is a remnant of the magi that once maintained it. Eventually, it will go out, and the Forest will be plunged into darkness. Even the trees were cared for by the wizards. It is said that there used to be great avenues leading from one Monolith to the other. The Forest allowed for unmitigated trade between nations all across Asdel. It’s no wonder the magi ruled the world.”
Marcus looked around at the trees, with their incomprehensibly thick trunks and towering height. They must be thousands of years old. What kind of power must one yield to tame such giants?
“How do you know all of this?” asked Rykker. “I’ve read a lot of books about the magi and I’ve never even heard of this place.”
“Most of the books you find about the magi barely have any truth left in them.” Hawthorne spoke matter-of-factly, and Marcus felt Rykker tense up. The engineer did not like to be made to feel foolish. “But I’ve spent my entire life dedicated to learning all that I can about this place. Its history. How it was created. Reading the runes. Traversing its expanse. Unlocking every secret behind every leaf.”
Rykker stomped over a bush more forcefully than necessary.
Hawthorne glanced back at the sound of a branch snapping. “I’d be happy to share my knowledge, Mr. Rykker. Should you survive your journey to the Empire, it would be my pleasure to impart what I have learned.”
“Why would you—”
Before Rykker could finish his sentence, a guttural cry bellowed overhead. The very trees themselves seemed to recoil at the sound, and what little light the dusk offered them shuddered for a moment.
Years of practiced reflexes had ingrained in Marcus what he likened to a sixth sense, which screamed at him to move. Move. He dropped to the ground, ignoring the sharp painful impact against his knees. A shadow fell over him, and Marcus rolled to his right. Pushing himself into a crouched stance.
Before him stood a creature unlike any other natural thing that walked in his own world. Taller than he by half, the beast craned its elongated, jagged maw and loosed a series of foul croaks and clicks in his direction. Dark, leathery wings flapped as it stalked towards Marcus. Dregs of black vapor sloughed off of its body, pooling at its clawed feet. Snapping jaws gleaming with yellow teeth and red eyes prowled ever-closer, and Marcus readied himself, rolling to the balls of his heels. He brought his fists up to protect his face.
“Don’t!” Hawthorne shouted from behind. But it was too late.
Quicker than he could have imagined, the creature lunged. A feathered bolt sprouted from the monster's eye and it gurgled, swaying to one side, giving Marcus a chance to narrowly evade the charge. Using the full weight of his momentum, he swung his metal fist into the beast's jaw. A satisfying crunch. An otherworldly shriek. A rush of air knocked Marcus momentarily off-balance.
In an instant, the monster took flight, still shrieking its awful melody. Then, the forest was lit by a column of orange fire. Marcus whirled to see Hawthorne, arm raised, his other arm supporting the gesture. Tendrils of smoke still billowed from his closed fist.
The fiery blast had missed the creature by a few feet, and as the flames died, the dark form disappeared into the trees, though it's cries still pierced Marcus’ ears.
“Cursed sands.” Hawthorne dropped his arm. His body seemed to sag under its weight, as if the magic had taken a great deal out of him. “Thats not good.”
"What. Was. That?" Marcus whispered. His mind reeled, hazey from the magic cast by Hawthorne. Fire magic. Destruction. The shrieks still rang in his ears. They seemed to reverberate in his skull. That was a close one. If Rykker hadn't managed to shoot the creature, he wasn't sure if he could have avoided its onslaught.
“I call them Stridors.” Hawthorne straightened, dusting soot from his arms. “Creatures from the outer realms. From beyond the veil of reality. When the magi cultivated the Forest, the boundary to beyond held firm, but now...”
He shook his head, then embarked yet again on his unseen path through the trees, leaving Marcus and the rest in stunned silence.
“Come now,” he called. “We must hurry, for Stridors travel in packs.”
At this, they hastened to follow, unwilling to be caught by any more of the creatures without their guide.
Marcus’ senses were on high alert. He kept his head on a swivel. Viggo hefted his blacksmith’s hammer in one hand. Rykker’s fingers stayed locked on on his crossbow. Sev held up the rear, his great warhammer poised in deft, stony hands.
Hawthorne’s pace quickened, his long legs carrying him swiftly. They set into a steady march to keep up.
It did not take long for the howling shrieks to begin again.
The din seemed to resonate from all around them, bouncing off the trees, a cacophony of dissonance that made Marcus want to lie down and plug his ears. Hawthorne jogged faster now, setting the pace to a near sprint. He did not look back. Marcus slowed, allowing Viggo and Rykker to pass, and he fell into step beside Sev.
He cast a sidelong glance at the behemonth, already starting to pant as he spoke between short breaths. “We always find ourselves here, huh?”
“We protect, Marcus.” Sev’s golden eyes beamed with an intensity that shone in the dim light of the Forest.
Marcus afforded a small smile. “That we do, my friend. That we do.”
His smile faded quickly, and he took a quick look behind. Red eyes. They glinted from beyond the darkness. There must have been at least fifty. Maybe more—It was hard to count while running.
“For Teldur’s sake,” Marcus gasped. “There’s so many of them. We can’t keep this up for long.”
A shrill wail rose above the tumult. A glimpse behind revealed that one of the Stridors, bolder than the rest, had broken from the pack. Black wings spewed liquid smoke as it hurled towards them, jaws alight with row upon row of fangs. Marcus readied himself. He dared not stop, not yet. Not until it was closer. The Stridor’s incessant screams grew to unbearable levels.
Marcus waited for his moment. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as his instincts fired. Now. As he turned, he saw Sev. The monster was nearly upon them, mere feet away. Wicked, clawed feet stretched out before the beast, grasping for its prey. The Aeonnar, in one fell motion, pivoted, using his greathammer as a fulcrum, and delivered a blow to the Stridor’s skull. In an instant, the shrieking stopped as festering chunks of flesh and bone painted the forest floor in black blood and swirling smoke. Sev completed his turn and continued to sprint without missing a step.
Protector. Destroyer. Marcus had forgotten the preternatural strength that the otherwise docile goliath possessed. He was glad that Sev was on their side.
The otherworldly din closed in around them. There were no beasts to single out, anymore. The rest of them seemed to have enough sense to share their prey after what had happened to the other two. It couldn't be much further, could it? Marcus wondered. Had Hawthorne told them how much further it was going to be? He wasn't sure. They had mere seconds before the horde of creatures overtook them. Marcus decided to focus straight ahead, eyes fixed firmly on his companions ahead of him, ignoring the ever growing symphony as it crescendoed behind him. His breath was tight in his chest, and a stitch began to claw at his ribs. He strained, his legs on fire, willing himself to go just a bit further. He could almost feel the snapping of jaws and gnashing of teeth just outside of reach. A primal hunger so overwhelming and otherworldly it frightened Marcus, and not just because it wanted to kill him. No, it was deeper than that. The creatures that dogged them were not simply predators. There was a chaos to them. A primordial aspect to them that had escaped Marcus until this singular moment. Bile rose in his throat as a feeling of utter helplessness crashed into him. A bottomless, irrational fear. The end. He was sure of it.
Then all at once, the discord receeded. He gasped out a breath and stumbled as he realized that the others had slowed. He turned and realized that the creatures had fled. He could just make out their cries in the distance, quickly fading.
“What the—” Marcus stopped. His words sent a billow of cold mist from his lips, and his body involuntarily shuddered as if all at once it recognized the now frigid air. He hugged himself, scrubbing his bare arms in an attempt to generate heat.
Hawthorne frowned. “Something is wrong. There are no seasons in Indenos. The Stridors turned back. They sense it, too.”
A quiet stillness had fallen on the Forest. Hawthorne led them further, and as they progressed, the air grew colder. Soon, the Forest was covered in a thin blanket of snow. White flakes drifted lazily from the sky.
“What is going on?” Hawthorne mumbled. He held out his hand, letting the snow accumulate on his palm. “This shouldn't be possible. Unless...”
“Unless what?” Marcus said.
Hawthorne did not answer. Instead, he took them to the heart of the weather. They emerged into a familiar clearing. A stone monolith stood at the epicenter, nestled into a deep crater. By now, the snow was coming down in flurries of wind, gusts sent a chill through Marcus.
“Is this it? Did we make it?” Marcus stepped up to the edge of the pit, peering down. It seemed deeper than the last.
“No.” A deep scowl formed on Hawthorne’s thin face. “This is a different place. I fear this weather is no coincidence. A trap has been laid. For us. Whatever magic that has done this lies on the other side of this Lith. It has bled into Indenos, drawing the Stridors near, although they dare not get too close.”
“Vanen?”
Hawthorne nodded grimly. “If you are to prevail, his mechanations must be put to an end.”
He climbed down into the hollow, preparing to take them back to the world they knew. “Ready yourselves. I know not what we will find on the other side.”
And then there was a bright flash of light.