IV

Of Things That Grow

A canopy of leaves hung closely above Milton as he made his way through the trackless undergrowth, his hat and cloak snagging constantly on vines and branches that seemed intent on hindering him as he trudged further into the woodland. The myriad weeds and plant-life appeared to rise up and tangle before him to block any path he might gain. With a frustrated huff Milton stopped and glared ahead.

“Hark you spirits of the Fey, delay me all you want but I will reach my aim!”

A soft tremor ran through the surrounding greenery carrying with it an almost imperceptible tone of mockery in the rustling leaves . Milton adjusted his hat and wiped at the sweat on his brow.

“Gah! If only for a wisp of breeze in this place, or better yet a few Kobolds to chew through this accursed shin-tangle.”

Milton continued on, muttering and swatting the brambles away with his staff. Sunlight fell scattered and jade-like through the leafy canopy. As he moved on slowly through that dappled light his thoughts began to wander and he found that his hand had come to rest upon the crystals stashed within his cloak. He could feel the gentle hum of their power even as preoccupied as he was. Six binding crystals had been filled with the essences of mystical beings that he had tracked throughout the realms. Some of these beings were beast-like and had challenged him with claw and dwimmercraft. Others yet were frail and timid things that yielded their essence willingly, seemingly content to be bound inside the crystal. Six he had and yet still one crystal remained empty, its surface a pristine clarity waiting for the colour and light of some captured being’s vital spark. And when that seventh crystal was infused he would have the power needed to attempt the fulfillment of his great undertaking and perhaps to see again that which had been lost to him.

Emerging from his reverie Milton found that the undergrowth had become somewhat sparser and a little ways forward what looked like a rough path could be seen leading up to the crest of a slight hill, above which there was a break in the canopy where bright daylight streamed downwards. Kicking free of the last of the dense undergrowth he reached the path and followed it until he was at the top of the small grassy mound where he stood breathing the clearer air with his gaze following the path into the deepening forest before him. Small dark birds circled above the canopy-break and dipped into the uppermost branches of the trees as bright white clouds shifted slowly past the leaf edged opening. Milton took a deep breath and continued down the mound following the path that was leading him to the further regions of the forest.

The deep forest hummed with life. Milton moved through the dense towering trees as insects noisily circled the low growing, vividly coloured woodland flowers. Sprites dashed between clumps of leaves, their fine radiant bodies leaving glimmering trails against the dark foliage, that marked for keen eyes their secretive comings and goings. Thin melodies of birdcall echoed in the upper branches and farther off the deep tread of larger beasts could be heard as they lumbered the darker wildwood. Milton passed through the depths of the forest, becoming attuned to the pulse of life that filled the air and to the slow, rhythmic flow that seemed to emanate from the earth itself. Almost trance-like he continued on and the forest now offered no resistance to his passing, indeed from his increasingly mist shadowed vision it seemed a path was being cleared before him, brambles and copsewood creakily rolling and shifting to usher him step by mystified step into the heart of the Fey.

Bearing out from the dense forest under a will that was not completely his own Milton emerged into a wide, almost circular clearing within which stood an immense tree, its branches soaring against the sky in a multitude of softly hued leaves. The bright daylight that passed through the leaves was dimmed and split prismatically so that the surrounding ground was soaked in a deep chromatic radiance. Milton gazed at the great tree through air that danced with colour and as he watched it seemed to him that light wept from the lowest branches to fall rainbow-like upon the variegated earth. Gently impelled by some outside force Milton made his way across the clearing and stepped into that realm of soft dazzling colour beneath the reaching, encompassing boughs.

Potent imaginings began to take root in Milton’s mind, a chasmic realm was opened before him of dark, rich soil leaden with the weight of countless beings and weaved with way-lines of life that spread and intersected in glimmering junctions against the boundless and lightless earth. Milton felt himself dispersed within that obscure realm and recipient to an endless resonance of lives long since past, still enduring and yet to be. A deep earth memory of being in all its fullness flooded through Milton as he settled diffusely, as if like scattered seeds, into the worm turned soil. Slowly these scattered motes of self were taken up by the thin root tips of the great tree and Milton’s essence amassed within these intimate pathways following them upwards into the body of the great tree.

Milton’s eyes blinked open and gradually his reckoning returned to him. He found he was seated under the hanging branches of the tree which now swayed with a gentle liveliness, slowly showering a prismatic light around him. A sharp glint caught his eye as he saw before him the last of his binding crystals resting on the ground, pulsing with an ever changing array of coloured light. Leaning forward Milton grasped the crystal, holding it for a moment in his palm before placing it with the others under the folds of his cloak. Wearily Milton raised to his feet and retrieved his staff from where it lay by his side. Gently he placed his palm against the smooth grey trunk of the great tree in a manner of thankfulness and deep understanding, he remained there a moment longer pondering the sense of deep time and expanse of life he had felt whilst under the influence of the great heart tree of the Fey. He then turned and passed from that lighted realm, walking slowly through the clearing amidst clouds of pale butterflies that airily dispersed and then rejoined after his passing, and on into the forested depths to be encompassed once again by the soft palpitations of the numberless things that grew there.

Entered by: 0x9D04…0922 and preserved on chain (see transaction)