The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6) (44 page)
Despite being day, there was a light in the sky, like one she’d only heard of in tales. The sun was dancing merrily in the sky, mixing with wavering lights of pinks and greens, purples and oranges. Together they appeared to make a ripple effect as if the lights were waves of water lapping at the sky.
Abagail looked around herself. She didn't know where she was, but she knew that she was at the beginning of something amazing.
Something called from behind her, and Abagail turned to see the most amazing tree she'd ever seen before. The tree rose up out of a well so large she couldn't see the edges of it. Every kind of flower and fruit, every kind of tree that was, had been, or ever would be comprised this towering monolith.
The wind that had come with the light still tugged and pulled at the branches of the tree, and though it was some distance away from her, Abagail could clearly hear the movement of the tree as if it were right beside her. It sounded like the rushing of water she heard in the river behind her home.
Abagail listed backward, and took a deep breath of the fresh air. She knew where she was and what she looked at. She was at Eget Row, and this was the Tree at Eget Row. The birthplace of all the worlds.
But still the tree called to her like a song from the sweetest dream she’d ever heard, and Abagail could do nothing to resist the pull of the tree and the song that vibrated within her core at the sight of such splendor.
She pulled herself out of the river, and up onto the grassy bank. Butterflies puffed into the air at her coming, and she watched their wings beat a path through the warm air. The grass was warm and velvety beneath her feet, and for whatever reason, she didn’t worry that she would cut her bare feet on some rock, or meet with a snake as she might worry about in the wild woods behind her home.
Still the tree called Abagail on.
She hadn’t realized precisely how far away the tree and the well were, but eventually she reached her destination. Standing beneath the Tree at Eget Row, Abagail couldn’t even see the top, it stretched so high into the clouds and was obscured from site. Even the lowest of the branches were well above her, and seemed all but worlds away.
The well surrounding the tree was also gigantic. When she was farther away, the well appeared to be nothing more than a small band around the base of the tree, but now that she was closer, the well was twice her height, and stretched so far to either side as to appear to be a wall, rather than anything round.
But that wasn’t enough for the tree, she was right there beside it, but still the song called her on. She started walking around the well, not sure where she was going, and barely able to take her eyes off the swaying branches far above her. Eventually her feet led her to a set of stairs that wound their way up the side of the well.
Hours it seemed she climbed the weathered stairs, always getting closer to the top, yet seemingly still miles away. But, when she finally reached the top and gazed into the silvery liquid within the well, it reflected a sun that hadn’t moved an inch in the sky.
Abagail wasn’t sure what the liquid was. At first she thought it might be water, but it wasn’t moving like water. It moved much more like the colors in the sky had, almost like air. There seemed to be a lightness to the liquid, and she bet if she placed her hand in the water, that it wouldn’t get wet.
Abagail kneeled down to test the theory when she glimpsed a shadow moving under the surface of the strange liquid within the well. Whenever she saw shadows, it reminded her of what the priests told them of such things. Evilness lurked in shadows. The greed and self-serving nature that had pushed the Gods away had also called about another type of creature called darkling, those who were kin to the shadows.
It was because of these teachings that Abagail retreated from the edge of the well, away from the liquid, and away from the shadow that lurked underneath. But she couldn’t go too far, or she would topple over the edge of the well and likely plummet to her death.
She stood at the edge of the well, teetering on the brink. Abagail couldn’t seem to get her legs to obey the warning in her mind, telling her to run. She considered going back down the stairs, but the song that had drawn her forth was calm now, sated as if it had her right where it wanted her. The song seeped into her body, quieted her racing mind and calmed her hammering heart. Abagail couldn’t understand the sudden change, but she felt right as long as she was doing what the song wanted.
After all, this was the same song that had created Eget Row around her, right? This was the same song that created the holy place from with all of the nine worlds came?
The liquid began to churn as the shadow underneath rose higher, and no matter what the song said, her heart began to race once more. She held firm, however. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She felt at her waist where she always kept her silver dagger, the ore that all darkling detested, but it wasn’t there. Within the dream, she must have lost the dagger somewhere.
But it was too late to look for it, because the shadow was parting the surface of the silvery liquid, and revealing itself to her.
Instantly she relaxed. It wasn’t a darkling after all, but a large, twisted root. As the root rose out of the water it uncoiled, opening up and showing that along its length there were buds of giant flowers of multiple colors.
But it was one specific flower that drew her attention. The flower was orange, velvety, and opening even as she watched. Inside wasn’t like any other flower, there was no pestle, no stamen. Instead there was a fluff of something that looked like cotton, and a naked woman with short dark hair and milky skin.
She’d heard the tales. At the end of time, when all had crumbled back into darkness, two humans would survive the destruction. A man and a woman. Lif and Lifthrasir. This must be Lifthrasir.
But it didn’t make sense. Those were just stories. Even though the priests said the end time was coming, no one actually believed them . . . did they?
Again, Abagail wasn’t certain.
But there wasn’t any time to think about that, because as she watched, Lifthrasir began to stir. Abagail’s sight was diverted from the woman who had survived the destruction of the cosmos because another flower was opening, this one blue. It unfurled and shrugged open to the noon-time sun, and exposed a male body, curled in a ball, his back to her.
But he was close enough to her that she could see the golden hair shimmering along his legs and the way the muscles were bunched under his tan skin, and the golden wash of hair that adorned his head.
Abagail blushed and turned back to the woman in time to see her sit up, stretch the biggest stretch one could imagine, and yawn like the roar of some waking bear.
But it wasn’t the yawn that startled Abagail. No, what startled Abagail the most was that the woman who emerged from the flower, the same woman who had survived the end times in order to repopulate all of the nine worlds, was herself.
The leaves of the great tree started to shiver. The image of herself turned to Abagail, and it wasn’t until Lifthrasir turned more toward her that Abagail was able to see the vine that attached to the figure’s bellybutton like an umbilical cord.
A wind stirred behind Abagail, cold and harsh, as if blowing from across a great expanse of ice. In the wind a word was carried: Helvegr.
As the word slithered over the tree, the bark where the cold wind touched darkened, and leaves and flowers withered. Lifthrasir stirred, and made to go to Lif, but the wind caught them both, freezing the two that were meant to populate the nine worlds where they rested.
The cold bit into her extremities, and she cried out in pain. Abagail tried to move away from the wind, maybe to the other side of the tree so that she would be sheltered from the gale, but she couldn’t move. It was like her feet were stuck firm to the well. When she looked down it was to see a ring of ice had formed around her feet, slowly creeping up her legs.
Abagail’s scream chased her out of the dream.
About Travis
Travis Simmons was kicked out of magic school for his refusal to study and his penchant for mundane activities like cooking. While selling his sword he stumbled upon dogs that he wrongly thought were magical and imagined he could commune with them. After a vicious zombie attack in which witches helped him push back the undead horde, Travis found himself apprenticed to a necromancer.
Afraid that winter was coming, Travis tucked into his magical studies, but always chased his dreams of writing tales science fiction tales and fantasy stories where he could explore his wild imagination about life on other planets. Adamant that Travis learn the esoteric ways of the occult his master made his life a horror of practice and studies. But no matter how he tried, he could never conquer Travis' questing mind.