Page 39 of Of Empires and Dust
“The Jotnar are the oldest and dearest friends of our people. Once, we were sworn enemies. For hundreds of years, the Blodvar filled the soil with the bodies of our ancestors, but after the Doom at Haedr, we set our differences aside and grew ever stronger for it. Today, their numbers are few, for they did not succumb to Fane Mortem’s influence. They fought to the last. And during the battle for our city, one more gave her life. Senas, daughter of Iliria. The Eleswea un’il Valana is one of our oldest traditions, taught to us by the Jotnar as an offering of peace – a shared unity over the cost of war. So it is fitting today, of all days, the day we reforge the alliances of old, that our people perform this ceremony side by side—” Tessara turned her gaze upwards “—with the dragons watching over us, as they always have.”
On the ledge above, the dragons shifted, watching, Calen by Valerys’s side.
Therin leaned closer to Dann. “I know we don’t always see eye to eye.”
“That’s because you’re taller than I am,” Dann whispered back.
“Dann, please, shut up for just a second.”
“Harsh, but continue.”
Therin stared at Dann for a moment, then shook his head. “I need you to be serious for a moment. Can you do that?”
Dann clenched his jaw, then nodded.
“Good. What you’re about to witness hasn’t been seen since before The Fall. Even I have seen it but once. In the days of old, the Jotnar would sing entire forests into existence. Watch. For the likelihood is you will never again see what you are about to witness. I think it is something that will stay with you.”
Dann looked back at Therin, then inclined his head. “Thank you, Therin.”
“You’ve come a long way, Dann Sureheart.”
That name cut straight through Dann. Just as they had many times since the battle, Baldon’s words repeated themselves in his mind.“It is the name you have earned. As Therin Eiltris is Silverfang, Aeson Virandr is Broken One, you are Sureheart.”
Dann swallowed, his throat growing dry. A hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned to see Tarmon behind him. The mountain of a man gave him a simple nod and returned to watching the ceremony, but his hand remained where it lay.
Below, columns of elves marched over the four bridges and onto the central island, setting themselves around the edges of the pit in the middle. More again lined the moat that separated the island from the terraces.
“What’s inside the pit?” Dann asked, leaning closer to Therin, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.
Therin drew a long breath in through his nose. “The bodies of all those who fell during the battle. Washed, cared for, and wrapped in linen.”
“Baldon and Alea are in there?” Dann’s words held a tremble. “But?—”
“Watch, Dann.”
Dann looked down at the pit and the elves that ringed it – Asius and Thacia standing at the foot of the Jotnar statue – but saw nothing.
“Listen.”
He hadn’t noticed, but the entire basin had grown silent as a winter’s night in The Glade. It should not have been possible. Tens of thousands of people gathered in one place. The mere breath of so many should have pushed through the silence in a rocky basin like this. But, impossible or not, silence held the entire ceremony in its grasp.
Then, just as the absence of sound became so deafening Dann began to hear the beating of his heart, a slow, melodic hum reached his ears. It started as faint as the buzzing of a wasp’s wings, rising steadily.
Words followed the melody, but they were not in any language Dann understood. With each passing second, the song grew louder, the words echoing amongst the gathered crowd. The air seemed to shift and sparkle, catching the light of the lanterns and the crimson glow of the moon overhead.
Dann’s chest fluttered. A sensation swept over him as though someone were running their hand across the hairs on his arms.
“Therin, what’s happening?” Dann’s breaths were quick and short as he spoke, a slight panic setting into him. He turned to Therin to see the elf staring down at the pit, entranced. The elf’s lips were moving, the words of the song flowing from his mouth.
Before Dann could say anything else, the terrace shook beneath him and he grabbed hold of the low wall. He looked back at Tarmon, whose face conveyed the same sense of fear and uncertainty that twisted Dann’s gut.
Dann stumbled as another tremor shook the entire basin, a rumble echoing like a clap of thunder.
And then he saw it.
Roots burst from the ground between the statues and the pit, twisting and turning over each other in patterns that, at the same time, seemed completely random and impossibly complex. It was as though Dann was watching an artist weave a tapestry of earth and root.
The roots spread over the pit, covering it entirely. They climbed, coiling around each other, growing thicker and thicker, melding into a solid form. As the twisted roots merged and rose, so too did they spread until they formed what looked like the stump of a tree.
