The Stone Heart's Lament
Congress with spirits

They had not beentravelling long before Fantel called a halt to their progress – primarilybecause they were making none. The forest pressed in around them from allsides, and massive trees towered above them. The sky was obscured by a thickcanopy of branches and a tangled fringe of trailing moss. Phosphor brighttoadstools with angular heads grew from the black and gnarled tree trunks andsprouted like lesions from the rotted carcasses of deadfall logs. Theundergrowth was thick and treacherous; a bouncy cushion of moss and dead leaveshiding a multitude of unseen hazards. The air, redolent with magic, pressedclose, filling Fantel’s sinuses like cotton and treacle. The darkness and themagic played tricks on the senses, distorting perspective and making it hard tojudge distance. Objects that seemed close were actually several feet away, andobstacles that seemed some way ahead suddenly materialised right in their path.The curtain of black shadow draped over everything seemed to possess its ownsubstance and form, less shadow and more a physical piece of the forest. It wasimpossible to break new ground through the undergrowth or track their passagebecause every inch of the forest looked exactly the same, even down to thequantity of mushrooms dotting the ground or the length of the hairy, danglingtrails of moss hanging down from overhead branches. Even Fantel, who understoodthe vagaries of a miasma rich environment, was soon lost. The forest seemedunreal, like the painted backdrop to a giant cage. They could have been walkingin circles or remined rooted to the same spot, for all the difference it seemedto make. Fantel remembred campfire tales of ogdegre lost in enchanted forests,walking and walking for year on end, their spirits eternally lost while their bodiesrotted.

They stopped beside along dried streambed. The dry silt looked like scale-plate. Fallen logscluttered the streambed, and a patina of dead leaves was slowly melting intomulch on either bank. A hunch-backed willow wept into the dry bed, its trailingbranches tangling in the muck. Fantel could sense a strain of melancholyhanging over this place, a current of dull misery that ran underneath theoppressive stillness all around them. “Wait here.” She said to Rashari andSmith, the automaton riding Rashari’s shoulder like a giant tick. She narrowedher eyes at her human. “Don’t touch anything.”

Rashari arched his eyebrows,the motion causing thousands of tiny cracks to appear in the drying mask offilth covering his face. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t planto, believe me.” He winced. “Can you guarantee nothing is going to jump out andgrab me?”

Fantel sighed. Shecould not. She had gleaned little from the forest so far, except a low hum ofhostility. The spirit of the forest did not want them here. She could almosttaste the resentment in the air. The darkness drew in tight, a noose for theirnecks, and the silence weighed heavily on her ears. No forest should ever bethis quiet. Aashorum had never been silent, although in other ways this forestdid resemble her long lost home. Aashorum had not welcomed intruders under herboughs either, but while the great jungle had been content to allow the chimerito guard the sanctity of her dark heart this forest appeared to lack anyprotectors save its own inherent menace. Fantel did not relish the task aheadof her.

“I must try and reachthe spirit of the forest.” She said, pointlessly, speaking only to prevaricate.

“The spirit of theforest?” Rashari queried, sounding marginally interested, his mild toneinviting her to explain, offering up an opportunity to waste more time despitethe fact that he must wish for nothing more than to get out of this forest. Atthe very least he must long for a bath. He stank abominably.

“This is a magicalplace.” She explained. “It is part of the Steppes. The land here is alive in away that you do not understand.” She knelt down to touch a rounded rock juttingout of the dried silt bed. The rock had been worn smooth by the flow of thestream. Once it must have stuck up out of the middle of the stream like anisland in an ocean, proud and strong, resolute against the current of thewater. Now it was covered in a cloak of reddish dust and plastered with rottingleaves. The rock was cool under her hand but she could feel a pulse of magicpermeating the stone. This was a good place to reach out to the spirit of theforest. She could almost feel its belligerent, watchful presence in theobstinate coolness of the rock’s surface. “Miasma is raw anima – the breath oflife and creation – nowhere in Aldlis is the magic of life stronger than it isout here. Further out in the Steppes anima gushes from wellsprings in theground and rides the currents of the air becoming miasma. But in the soil, thestone, the water and trees, anima quickens within the living hearts of theplants and animals. All trees are alive, but the trees here know themselves andeach other. The forest has a mind and a will. It has a spirit, just as you do.That spirit is angry. I can feel it.”

“And you are going todo what, precisely?” Rashari gingerly lowered himself down until he was sittingon one side of the stream bank, knees drawn up and his booted feet side by sidein the silt. Smith had jumped down from his shoulder and settled on a flatstone jutting out over the dry bed.

“I am going to tryand reason with the spirit. This stream was once a living channel. The watermust have a source somewhere nearby. I shall ask the spirit where the watercame from and why the stream is now dry.”

“And how will thathelp us?”

“The stream is partof the forest; nothing happens here that the spirit does not will. If thestream is dry it is because the forest spirit has let it die. Perhaps I canpersuade the spirit to fill the stream once more.”

Rashari lookedimpressed, if his arched brows were any indication, but he sounded sceptical.“While a sip of spring water would not go amiss, and the prospect of a bath iscertainly not without its attractions, I think getting out of this bloody placetakes precedence.”

Fantel shook her head.“You do not understand. We are within the forest’s grasp. It will not releaseus until it wishes to.”

Rashari almostlaughed. “You make it sound as though we are prisoners.” Fantel said nothing.Her look was eloquent. Rashari lost his smile. “Oh.” He said after a moment.“Well then. I suppose you had best get on and introduce yourself to our esteemedhost. Be sure to send my regards. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the hospitality onoffer so far.”

Fantel nodded. “Moveback from the stream edge. You are human. Wild spirits do not usually care foryour kind. It would be best if you were not too close while I do this.” Thiswas only a partial truth at best. It was true that humans did not tend to farewell in Battlan, but truthfully Fantel just did not want the audience. She hadspent twelve years in exile far from Battlan and her powers had waned almost toextinction in that time. There was a good chance she would not be able tosummon the spirit at all and her pride balked at the thought of Rashari (andSmith) witnessing her failure.

Rashari studied herfor a moment, his gaze assessing, but eventually he shrugged and rose to hisfeet. “Very well,” he said helping Smith climb up his arm to his shoulder. “Howfar away do you need us to go?”

Fantel looked behindher to where a young sapling had fallen across the bank further down the stream.Half the sapling’s roots had ripped loose from the ground and the sapling wouldhave fallen down completely except for the Black Oak growing beside it. Thesapling leaned drunkenly against the Black Oak. Over time its spindly brancheshad tangled and mingled with that of the oak. The angle of the leaning saplingand the proud but ugly oak had created a triangular archway. A fringe of greyand furry vines, thick as a man’s forearm, hung like a beaded curtain from theoak’s overhanging branches, obscuring the view of the dry streambed.

“There,” she said.“Wait for me by that fallen sapling.” Rashari eyed the lopsided tree withdistaste but didn’t argue. Fantel waited until he slipped through the curtainof vines and only his legs from below the knee were visible before she turnedher back and settled on her knees in the middle of the dry stream. She placedher hand on the rock.

The dried silt underher knees crackled, the scent of salt and decay rising up in a cloud of dust.Fantel released a slow, deep breath and tried to let go of the tension knottingher shoulders. She attributed the dull pounding headache, centred at the backof her skull, to the rigours of their escape from Aramantine and all thephysical trials and tribulations she had faced since meeting Rashari. Yet asshe forced herself to relax for the first time since awakening in this forest,and finally took account of her aches and pains, she realised that she felt odd. She couldn’t quite put her fingeron what was wrong, only that she knew that something was wrong with her. Thepounding in her head made her feel like there was something trapped inside herbrain, putting pressure on her skull. She felt like whatever it was, was tryingto force its way out. Fantel shook her head, a quick impatient motion, andshoved such thoughts away. She had to focus on the task at hand. She could notafford to allow any weakness to show. She was at enough of a disadvantagewithout giving way to her own nerves.

Releasing anotherslow breath she leant forward and stretched her hands out over the crackedstream bed, digging her fingertips into the ground. The dry silt flaked intopowder under her hands and tiny pieces of stone and grit scrapped her palms.The streambed felt dead against her skin; all she could feel was dust andearth. Fantel gritted her teeth, driving her clawed fingers deeper into the muck,reaching for the magic she knew ran just under the surface. Yet she could feelnothing. It had been so long that she feared she had become deaf to the rhythmof life, and the voice of Mother Aldlis singing deep under the ground. Once,years ago, she had longed for nothing more than to hear the Mother sing to her,and her failure had haunted her long before she had run from her home indisgrace. Chimera were born to be the Mother’s echo, to sing the song of magicdeep in the heart of Aashorum, and for many years Fantel had been nothing morethan a mouthpiece for the magic of nature. Then Fantel had fallen; in onemoment of hubris and blood madness she had lost her home, and her entire reasonfor existence. After twelve years Fantel could almost admit that what she hadgained –her freedom to think and be as she chose - balanced out the loss. Notnow however, when she knew that magic flowed all around her but she could notreach out and touch it.

She would not wallowin self-pity when she had a task to complete. Taking a fortifying breath Fantelclosed her eyes and drove her claws deeper into the ground still, reaching outwith her mind as she did so, driving tendrils of thought into the soil as herfingers dug furrows into the streambed. She knew there was magic here and evenif she could not hear it she was determined to make that magic hear her.Stretching out her mind she reached down into the ground, imagining darksedimentary layers pressed against each other going down toward a throbbing,pulsing core so far below the surface the distance could not be fathomed. Sheimagined heat so intense blackened carbon became hard and brittle diamond, andiron ore ran like lava between cracks in ancient stone. She imagined mountainspiercing the sky, and the depths of the ocean floor, lost under the weight ofthe sea. She imagined limestone caves dripping with the purest of untouchedspring water and clustered stalagmites growing inch by inch over thousands andthousands of years, buried away from the sun.

She pictured in hermind the majesty of a great pine, growing tall and straight from a singlekernel. The pine was joined by others in her vision until a forest of silky evergreenscovered an entire valley, marching up the slope of a craggy mountain, standingfirm like an army in the face of the elements. She pictured the creatures thatlived and died within the forest, the hunting birds and the scavengers, thebees and the scurrying ants, the burrowing mammals and the slithering snakes–and connecting all these things – the mountains and the abyssal plains, thebirds and the trees and the predators stalking the earth – was the magic ofAldlis. Like blood, magic ran hot and fast under the surface of the land, andbeat in the hearts of every living creature. Fantel may no longer hear its echobut that did not mean she was not still part of that rhythm. She lived, shebreathed, and that magic connected her to the greater magic of Aldlis, nomatter what choices she had made years ago.

It was with thisknowledge that she reached out again with her mind, her questing fingersmassaging the dirt. Her thoughts called to the spirit of the forest she knewwas watching her. The blackness behind her closed eyelids flared dull yellowand she felt something, a spark, run through the tips of her fingers. Under herpalms the ground seemed to quiver, barely a rumble, but she felt it all thesame. Something stirred, sluggish and resentful, deep under the ground. Fantel reachedfor that presence, imagining she could reach into the blackness behind hereyelids and pull the spirit into the light of day. The spirit resisted her,squirming away from her grasp with a flash of silver behind her closed eyes.Under her fingertips the dirt and stone started to warm.

“Come out. Speak withme.” Fantel reached out again for the spirit. She could feel it now; surly andresentful, like a petulant child. The spirit’s presence was sour; bitter. Itflavoured the air and stung her nostrils with the odour of curdled milk.Through her knees she could feel a steady vibration rising up from the ground.Her palms were growing hot, her fingers tingly in the dirt. The spirit was strongerthan she had imagined. She felt it turn lethargically, twisting and squirminglike a giant earthworm just beyond her reach. It did not want to hear her out.It did not want to deal with her at all. It wanted her gone. The spirit’sdispleasure brushed against her mind, leaving slimy trails of resentment andapathy in its wake. It wanted to kill her except it did not want to bestiritself to make the effort. No wonder the forest was so dour and lifeless,possessed of a spirit like this.

“I will not leaveuntil you come out.” Fantel pushed with her mind, grasping for the spirit,plucking at its slimy tail. “If you want me gone then show me the way out.” Thespirit writhed, suddenly angry. Its power crashed over her, pouring forth in ascalding hot wave. Her eyes flew open and she threw herself backward. Thestreambed erupted in a geyser of dirt and sharp splinters of stone. The spiritof the forest materialised in the form of a massive, undulating worm, toweringover her some ten or twelve feet. It had no eyes, no limbs, only a liplesspuckered hole for a mouth drooling thick lines of slime. Its body was slick andfleshy, white as a maggot.

Fantel rolled out ofthe way as the forest spirit lunged for her, its teetering body dropping like atonne of bricks, its puckered mouth smashing into the ground where she had beenonly a second before.

“Stop this.” Fantel demandedas the spirit reared back, shaking dust and stone from the edges of its mouth.“I did not come to fight you. I only wish to leave. Open a path out of theforest and you shall be alone once more.”

Fat and squishy thespirit’s body scraped over the shattered streambed as it turned, somehowmanaging to follow her movements despite having no eyes or ears. Waves ofhostility rolled free of the worm with each undulation of its body. Its hatredwas unreasoning, unrelenting, and Fantel realised with a sinking heart that shewould never be able to reason with this spirit. It was clearly insane. Once shewould have been able to dominate the spirit easily – its rage no match for herwill– but those days were long passed. Now it would take all her wits andreflexes to simply survive.

Despite its size thespirit was fast. It manoeuvred its boneless body into a number of groundshaking lunges. Each lunge smashed holes into the streambed sending showers ofstone fragments and grit into the air, creating a low lying cloud of chokingdust that stung Fantel’s eyes as she darted and rolled out of the way of eachwhiplash fast lunge. Running wasn’t a possibility. The spirit controlled theforest. Every blade of grass and lone pebble along the stream bank was a weaponit could use against her. The spirit dived under the ground, burrowing underthe surface. The ground split, the streambed rupturing. The spirit burst forthon the other side of the bank, cutting Fantel off every time she tried to putdistance between them. Her feet gave way under the loose scrimshaw of broken soil,and her ankle turned. She fell heavily onto one knee, palms pierced by dozensof tiny pieces of stone.

“Stop,” Fantel threwup one hand, palm up, infusing her command with as much conviction as she couldmuster. The spirit froze above her, dripping slime from its toothless mouth. Itdid not attack. “Stop,” Fantel repeated sitting up slowly. She could feel thespirit’s fury; it pressed against her like a solid wall of heat. The insistentpounding at the back of her head grow louder. The rhythmic pounding seemed tospread outward and upward from the base of her skull in tingling waves, sendingtongues of electricity through her brain. Something was building inside hermind. A sense of pressure mingled with a laser sharp intent. She could feelthat intent expanding through her thoughts, fighting to break free. Fantel hadnever known anything like it before. It wasn’t part of her. It was somethingother; something alien. And it was angry. Power flowed through Fantel’s body,coursing like cool water. It numbed her mind and swept her away on a wave ofpure strength.

Enough spirit; bow to your better. The words were notFantel’s yet they came from her mind, delivered on a current of power. She feltthat power spill forth from her body and flow through the air toward thespirit. The command was inescapable, impossible to ignore. Fantel tasted mintand ice on her tongue and caught the ghostly, almost sickly-sweet aroma ofmidnight roses on the air.

The forest spiritrecoiled, undulating back from Fantel. She rose to her feet against her will.She was, Fantel realised with muted dread, no longer in control of her body. Herbody approached the spirit, her clawed hands outstretched before her. Thespirit tried to stand its ground. Its belligerence undiminished even as itphysically cowered away from her advance. A wave of heated rage crashed down onher. The forest spirit’s anguish was as wild and unbridled as it had been before,and inside the cage of her own mind Fantel gasped and writhed as that powerlashed against her. The other presence directing her body barely seemed to feelthe sting. Fantel saw her own hands move, pushing outward from her body as ifshoving that wave of stinging wrath back on the spirit.

You dare match your power to mine, sprite? Submit. Youcannot best me. I am far beyond your ken, little wood.

The forest spirithowled soundlessly, a shrieking wail Fantel felt more than heard. It threw backits head, body lashing from side to side, puckered slobbering mouth mauling theair. Just as the Alraune had lashed at the empty air as it died. Anotherinferno blast of rage hit Fantel only to be swept aside by the presencecontrolling her body.

Very well, the entity said. This gives me no pleasure, spirit. But you have given me littlechoice. Fantel saw her right arm lift, her fingers loosely hooked in a fist.The cool, relentless power rushing through her veins swelled, flushing hermind. Fantel felt powerful, strong, utterly assured of her superiority –exceptit wasn’t her at all. She tightenedher fist. She squeezed as if she was slowly, painfully, crushing the life froman invisible foe. The forest spirit wailed again, its body quivering andshaking. Gouts of slime poured from its lipless mouth. The ground shook beneathher feet, thrumming with energy. Fantel could feel the magic coursing throughthe forest now, running under the streambed like an artery pumping life bloodto the forest’s heart. She could feel it because she held that artery in thepalm of her hand, choking off the flow in agonising increments.

If you will not submit then you must die.

Fantel watched as theforest spirit’s body began to dissolve, melting away like tallow wax; itsworm-like body collapsing in on itself in fat, bubbling globules. The wholetime the spirit screamed and the ground shook. Fantel would have stopped if shecould. She would have tried to save the spirit -the heart of the forest -hadshe been in control of her own body, but it was as though she had simplyforgotten what it meant to have a body and control her own limbs. She couldstill see and think and feel, but she could not retake her body from the otherpresence. She did not even though how to begin to try, so thoroughly had thepresence taken over.

Soon the forestspirit was no larger than Fantel herself, and diminishing rapidly. Its fleshdripped away, spilling down into the streambed and turning into water. Morewater bubbled up from the fissures and holes the spirit had torn in the ground.Water flowed over Fantel’s feet, climbing up her calves and licking at herknees. The narrow stream burst its banks, icy cool water gushing up from theground. The current grew thick and turgid as it mingled with the muck and filthlittering the streambed. The ground shook one last time and Fantel heard adistant roar. She looked down at her feet, but could see only muddy water. Itwas then that she realised the water was up to her waist and she could notmove. The stream banks were completely submerged, the forest floor flooded, thebrush ripped up and swept away by the current. Fantel was now standing in themiddle of a river in full flood and she could not move a muscle to save herselffrom drowning. The full force of the rushing water hit her straight in thechest and she fell backwards, instantly submerged by the press of the river.