Tea, fields of bright green tea plants touched with golden sun spread down the hillside, all as high as Sten's chest. Why this familiar scent brought a pain of remembering, Sten couldn't say, only that his heart ached to be here again.
"You have learned much from the traders."
"A bit."
The tamassran nodded at Sten's response. "You are not ashamed to show your ignorance, especially to outsiders?"
Many had commented on his willingness to be imperfect. To speak a half-learned language was a show of weakness, one that few others attempted, aside from children who did not know better. Anything less than mastery was shameful. Why he did not feel as the others was a deviation to be watched. His instinct to learn, even fumble, had been scrutinized by his tamassran, his tama, from an early age. "No, Tama."
Perhaps if he had been born with horns, the tamassrans would have been stricter.
The children's name for her brought a smile to the matriarch. "You have been doing well under the Antaam?"
She already knew the answer. How he answered would be important. Not arrogant, not too humble. What truly concerned others outside the Antaam had been Sten's questioning the Arishok's decisions. The Arishok knew to trust Sten's loyalty, that he spoke out of duty and desire to see the Antaam at their best. The others did not understand this.
"The mountains, the sky, the sea, they are eternal, changing but never changing. To move against them is foolish. To be one with them is wisdom."
She gave no outward sign of her opinion of his answer. "Come. We have lingered long enough. It is good that you have returned."
Returned in body and to the body of the Qun, she meant.
They walked back up the steep path that lead to the small farming center in Seheron. Clear water traveled down the miniature waterfalls made by a wide aqueduct to their right, a sign of peace, ingenuity, and prosperity, the pride of all that the Qun offered. Farmers carried bushels of clipped tea plants, the tiny tender new leaves that would make the prized white tea for the priests.
Why did it hurt to be here? He missed the light clothing that left his chest bare so that he could feel the steady heat of the sun on his skin. The heat and humidity warmed his muscles while occasional salt-touched breezes off the sea cooled his brow. The vastness of the verdant jungle, fragrant with black, fecund earth, stretched the length of his homeland. He missed this place, comforting in its familiarity and rules. He had been so cold in a land that smelled of dogs and damp. Why wasn't he happy?
One of the farmers dropped her load, staring at Sten with an expression of loathing he had never encountered from another Qunari.
"Tama, what is wrong with her?"
"Do not call me Tama."
Surprised by her tone, Sten glanced at his former teacher.
"You should be killed, but the Ben-Hassrath will reeducate you instead."
Reeducate? The sting of his tama's words warred with his fear of the Ben-Hassrath. A rage, a desire to hit, boiled in him. The rage struck like an earthquake, sudden and overwhelming, shaking his foundations until they cracked.
No! There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun. Do not fear the Ben-Hassrath for they do the duty of the Qun.
"Wise Tamassran, my life for the Qun. What have I done wrong?"
"I will not speak to a corrupted. You are for the Ben-Hassrath."
Sten fell silent, confused but dutiful.
As they walked through the village, the farmers kept backing away when they saw him. He was corrupted? How?
A… a mage. Back in his vaguest recollections, like the memory of a memory, there had been… who? A pale face. A woman. A mage? Corrupted.
They passed through the gates of the outer fortress wall. People grew quiet as he neared. Their faces became blank, hateful, or horrified as they turned to him. Crap! Why couldn't he remember?
Something… wrong. He kept trying to figure out what bothered him so, but the answer remained elusive, on the tip of his mind but dancing maddeningly out of his reach like a half-remembered dream.
Did his instincts tell him something was wrong? Should he run? The idea was anathema, on par with disobedience to the Qun. How could he disobey the Tamassrans? But… something itched, kept scratching at his awareness. Perhaps he did need reeducation. Better to have this feeling stop and resubmit to the Qun, to the peace that the Qun offered.
At the domed building that housed the Ben-Hassrath, his Tamassran bowed a greeting to the guard and left. Sten did not want to acknowledge how her dismissal stung. Not a word, not even a look at him. He did not expect warmth from many, but that was his Tama.
Inside the domed structure, the warmth of the jungle was cut off abruptly, as if stepping not into a building but another place, one that did not share the same close sun as Seheron. Narrow windows shed diffused light on the stone floor. A worker, a dwarf given qamek if his vacant gaze was any measure, polished the floor with mechanical thoroughness.
Sten followed the guard in silence. If he was corrupted, he needed to limit his interactions as much as possible. But his Tama said he should be executed. Why? Execution was a last resort after all else failed. A life was too precious a resource to waste, hence the use of qamek for those whose reeducation failed.
Sten did not protest when he entered the room with one chair. He sat, obediently, and waited while the restraints were fastened around his wrists, arms, thighs, calves, chest, and neck. The restraints pressed into his skin, tight, puffing out his flesh on either side of the thick leather. A drain lay in the middle of the room.
Rage flowed through him like grass fire. Familiar, it burned through his body, clearing away his thoughts. His Tama had taught them how to deal with their rages. Rage was natural, inevitable, but they had minds, thinking minds that elevated them above beasts. She had shown them pictures of dragons, beasts so perfect and beautiful the children gasped to see their image for the first time. Dragons are the soul sisters of the qunari: powerful, raw, unrestrained, and savage. The Qun raised the people to be above unthinking beasts. "The dragons may fly," his Tama said, "but your minds are free."
Rage is slavery. The Qun is freedom.
Sten could not move his head in the restraints, so he closed his eyes and focused on the words of the Qun, repeated litany after litany until the rage was his to control.
"We have the dragon inside us. You shall tame your dragon," his Tama had said.
The rage is not an enemy. Rage is like the kabethari, people born in ignorance who await enlightenment. "Master yourselves, and you master the world."
Time passed uncounted as Sten continued his litany of the Qun. He heard another enter the room, but he did not open his eyes or stop his repetition of the Qun.
"Soulless, those words are not for you."
The words died on Sten's lips. Soulless? That… no, that can't be.
"You will not speak the Qun anymore. Tal-Vashoth."
"Viddasala, I have not renounced the Qun." Sten did not panic easily, but this felt like his heart was being carved out of his chest.
"You traveled with a witch who walked unbound. Who knows what dark sorcery she whispered to you."
The memory of a thin, fragile-looking woman with black hair and ghost pale face pale flashed before his mind. Her magic was dangerous, but the woman he could break with his own hands. She hadn't scared him, repulsed him with her arts and wild manner, but he knew the viper for what she was. Had her poison infected him? Even so, that would not make him Tal-Vashoth.
"Viddasala, I submit." He did so gladly. "I would serve the Qun." He did not add please though the word floated at the tip of his tongue.
The Viddasala crouched before Sten though Sten did not lift his eyes to see him. "Your Tamassran wishes you to be reeducated, for she loves all the children under her care, but there is nothing to reeducate. You are Soulless."
Sten finally looked at the Viddasala. To his surprise, the Viddasala had a kind face. His gold eyes had wrinkles at the corners from smiling. The man's horns were not large, but they curved elegantly up at the tips. Whatever Sten expected, it was not the gentle face of this man.
At the Viddasala's gesture, though no people or windows were in the room, the single door opened. In walked humans, all blood-covered. Their simple clothing showed the dirt and sweat stains common to farmers. Adults and children walked in single file to stand before Sten. Some had broken bones, pieces of their bodies torn off, missing jaws, open wounds in their skulls where their brains lay visible.
"You are Soulless, man who once held the rank of sten. You have disgraced yourself and all Qunari to the kabethari. You have let your rage be uncontrolled. Have traveled willingly with a witch."
The farmers stood before him with accusing, dead eyes.
Something wrong.
The body of a boy walked forward, the boy Soulless had held when his mind came back to on the shores of a foreign lake. The Viddasala unbound the arm of Soulless, and the boy placed a short, sharp knife in his hand.
"Soulless, end yourself. You have no place here."
Soulless stared at the knife. They wanted him to end his own life. Suicide was the ultimate rejection of the Qun, an act that would irrevocably sunder his soul and his place in the Qun.
Hand shaking, he slid the blade along his wrist deep enough to feel the scrape along bone. The cut did not hurt. Blood spilled, steaming in the cold room. It flowed like a waterfall. The Viddasala left so as not to be touched by the impurity of a Soulless. The humans stayed, standing in a circle around him, watched impassively as his blood continued to flow.
The boy took the knife and slashed Soulless' other wrist.
"Thank you," Soulless said.
The boy crawled up in his lap and rested his head on Soulless' shoulder. Soulless put his one free arm on the child's shoulder.
The blood continued to flow, too fast for the drain to carry it all away. Slowly, the blood filled the room, covering the floor, inching up the sides. Soulless felt the blood, his blood, rise above his ankles, up his calves.
He tried to think of the Qun, but the words wouldn't come to him anymore. Instead he studied the faces of the farmers he had killed. Careworn from labor, weather, and lives of struggle, they had faces darkened by sun and made old before their time. Even the children looked aged and so very sad.
The blood rose up his thighs and to his waist. In his rage, he tied his fate to these people. All would die without the wisdom of the Qun. Wasted lives.
"Your soul," the boy said. He sat up and looked Soulless in the eyes. The bones of his neck stuck out in bumps against his skin.
"Yes?"
"It's not dead."
"I didn't think so, but it's not with me."
"Asala is not cared for. It rusts."
Soulless bowed his head, the restraints no longer there.
"It does the work of thieves and honorless men," the boy continued.
His missing, abused soul ached like a lost limb.
"You should not have lost it."
Soulless felt his sorrow for his missing soul, as if he was made of nothing but grief. "I know."
"You will die like us." The boy spoke truths touched by pity Soulless did not deserve.
"Yes," Soulless said, and let the boy to lie against his chest.
The blood lapped up his neck, up his mouth, covered his nose, flowed over his eyes.
Soulless woke with a start. A tired, pale face regarded him from his tent entrance.
"Your turn for watch," the witch said.
Soulle—Sten. I am Sten.
He grunted acknowledgment, and the witch trudged off to her area of the camp. Sten watched her, not knowing what to feel for a moment.
He sat up, donned the ridiculous scraps of armor that had been foraged for his use. Not much in this human-dominated place fit him. Sten stared at the two-handed sword he wielded. The weak rain that had pattered against his tent most of the night started to pour in a thin, cold sleet.
Qunari did not dream as the others, this he knew from the way they talked of dreams, yet the profound unnaturalness of this place had pulled him deep into the sleep visions. There was no wisdom to be found in dreams, however, he could not deny the portents he had witnessed. First to become Soulless, and then to lose himself in rage. Sten stared at the sword, and knew his fate was sealed.
Finally, he strapped on the unfamiliar sword and started his patrol around the camp. He wasn't sure if he preferred the ministrations of the Viddasala or to still be here, stuck in an ugly country protecting weak and unworthy people on a hopeless quest.
~o~O~o~
"Nijel!" Raviathan shouted.
"Don't tell me you're finished with practice already." When Nijel saw the Dalish hunter, propped up and sipping from Raviathan's waterskin, he ran the rest of the way up the rise. "Deygan!"
"He isn't critically wounded," Raviathan said. "Exposure, claw wounds, and a concussion. From what I can tell, he's been crawling with a sprained ankle."
Bandages covered Deygan's legs and stomach. Leliana and Alistair followed their Dalish guide to see what the commotion was about.
"No bite marks or heat to indicate infection," Raviathan continued. "I have an elfroot poultice on his wounds, which should stop or slow down most common infections."
Nijel clasped Raviathan's shoulder in thanks. "What happened, Deygan?"
"Attacked," he rasped. "Didn't find Witherfang. Have you seen… the others?"
"No sign of them," Nijel said.
"Which direction did you come from?" Raviathan asked.
Exhausted, Deygan worked to swallow the bit of bread Raviathan had given him. "East. Near Halla's Run."
"A waterfall," Nijel said at Raviathan's unspoken question. "About a mile and a half east by southeast."
"Leliana, would you ask Morrigan to scout the area?"
She nodded and scampered back down the rise where the others continued eating their lunch. Raviathan sat back on his heels. "We need to get him back to the camp."
That would delay them a fortnight at least. Unfortunate, but necessary.
"If you can help us to Angella's Reach, a signal arrow would be enough to alert a patrol," Nijel said. "From there, I can stay with him and see him safely back, if need be."
Though it was the most expedient solution, Raviathan hated to give up their guide. Out of all of them, only Morrigan had experience in the wild, and as she often said, the Korcari Wilds were a far cry from the Brecillian Forest. Raviathan bit his lip and nodded ascent. "Well, if you can get a patrol, let them know where we found the ironbark. With the halla, they can probably drag it back to camp. Alistair? You and Sten will probably need to take turns carrying him. Let's get started."
~o~O~o~
With Nijel gone, the forest seemed a much more eerie place. The nightmares they had all been experiencing didn't help with the paranoid feeling that they were being hunted. What had been a fascinating journey turned quickly into lost and foreboding.
A little more than a week's worth of instruction improved Raviathan from completely incompetent to mostly incompetent. Raviathan couldn't see the tracks that had been as clear as a road to Nijel. It all looked like dirt and forest to Raviathan. He could make a shelter that would stand a clear night, knew how to store food so a bear wouldn't be tempted to forage through their campsite, and had some tips for water safety. Raviathan couldn't identify most of the animals except for the most common, couldn't see signs of danger, or identify the weather patterns any better than when he had lived in the city.
The maps Nijel had left remained a mystery to Raviathan. He sat away from the others at night trying to puzzle out how to read them. Some of the place names were in The King's Tongue, but other places had Dalish names. Though beautiful, they mystified Raviathan with their odd marks. Then there was the geography. Was the black line a river or a mountain ridge? How could you tell where you stood? Or which direction to go? Or how to hold the damn thing? Whether he held the leather with the star at the top or bottom didn't seem to make a difference. He would have asked Nijel to explain it, but their guide had been preoccupied with the injured scout. Morrigan had no more luck given that maps were unnecessary to her travels around the Wilds.
The one useful skill Raviathan had, he used in abundance. Not only had Raviathan's fire making skills impressed Nijel, many of the herbs in the forest were familiar ones. Rarely had his healer's kit been so well stocked. When he gave up trying to make heads or tails of the maps, he set to work preparing the herbs he had gathered throughout the day.
Raviathan pressed a sprig of Andraste's Grace into his journal. He remember with fondness picking the flowers and adding it to Nesiara's braids. That night she placed the little flowers in their pillow case so the sweet fragrance would touch their dreams. Would she be in Dragon's Peak with the other match her parents had been considering or would she be back with them in Highever? Was she happy?
He put the book away with a small sigh. Maker light her path.
With Venger trotting at his side, Raviathan hurried to catch up to the others. He laid his fingers on top of the dog's head in silent thanks for the animal's company. Out of all of his companions, the only one Raviathan felt friendship with was the dog. Morrigan… he wasn't sure he would call her friend yet, but of his companions who could speak, she was the closest.
His fingers felt Venger's growl first, the vibrations alerting him to danger. Raviathan looked about for trouble, his wariness alerting the rest. He took stock of the land about them, of escape routes or defensible positions. A steep rise to their left meant they couldn't be attacked by that position, but little else favored them.
"What is it?" Leliana asked.
"Venger senses something."
The dog's back fur stood on end, his growl becoming louder.
Sten saw them first. Red eyes glared out from the thick vegetation. Raviathan's blades were in his hands without him consciously thinking to do so. The rest followed his lead, their backs against the rise. Raviathan counted one, two, three pairs of eyes, but then they would shift to different positions, sometimes appearing as twice that number, before disappearing again.
"Zathrian sent you." That voice, deep and snarled, sounded more like Venger's growls than a human. "We will do to you as we have done with the others who came to hunt us."
The hair on Raviathan's arms stood on end. "You've attacked the Dalish," Raviathan called back.
These must be the werewolves, but Raviathan hadn't expected them to talk. From what Zathrian said, they were mindless beasts. Raviathan didn't think talking would get them out of a fight, but maybe something could be gleaned of the mysterious Witherfang. "Should they not protect themselves?"
One approached. His strange form caused the air to catch in Raviathan's throat. Raviathan had a surreal moment as he watched the long, lean figure coated in brown fur. All his life had been spent in an alienage. The strangest creatures to be found lay caged in the Market District. Of those, jungle cats or odd birds were the most exotic, perhaps the occasional dancing bear.
Hearing tales of darkspawn or werewolves did not prepare person to see one in real life. Nothing, no story, could ever brace Raviathan for his first encounter with a darkspawn, and the same held true for this creature. No story conveyed the size of them, almost as large as a horse with thick muscles on an otherwise near emaciated frame. Raviathan never heard about the cunning in a bestial face, how odd that intelligence appeared in a wolf's features. The earthy scent, the long talons, the teeth, all features Raviathan had only encountered in bears, but bears didn't move with that grace. The werewolf was horrifying, but also majestic in his power.
"They? You are not one of the Dalish.."
"How could you tell," Alistair muttered. Leliana nudged him with her elbow.
"No, we aren't," Raviathan said.
The werewolf pondered him, his nose in the air, scenting. The aggressive ruff of his neck matched Venger's own posture. "I am Swiftrunner, leader of my pack. The Dalish sent you then. We have watched your path since you entered our territory."
Maker, that was chilling. They had felt eyes on them, some strange intuition that they were not alone, but none had seen any scouts. They could have been attacked any time and never seen it coming. "Zathrian wishes to end the curse."
Before Raviathan finished his statement, the werewolf began to growl. "You know nothing."
Already this quest was becoming more complicated than the one Zathrian sent them on, facts that made Raviathan's brain start turning. "I know what the Dalish told me, but you speak as if you know Zathrian."
The werewolf bared his teeth in a snarl, a disturbing sight that made Raviathan think of how those teeth would feel sunk into his flesh. Holding his ground became harder, and he hoped werewolves didn't smell fear as dogs did. With an effort of will honed through long hours of training, Raviathan kept his eyes level with the werewolf's glare.
"I have not met him," Swiftrunner growled. "He would not survive if I had."
Despite the werewolves' skill in sneaking around, that claim struck Raviathan as arrogant posturing. The werewolves would have already attacked the Dalish site if they knew they would be victorious. Instead the werewolves took out scouts, just like wolves, seeking out the easy kill.
"You suffer under the curse, as do the Dalish. Don't you want it to end?"
The chilling chorus of howling wolves sounded like it came from all directions, a sound that made Raviathan shiver as if cold water trickled down his spine. "Zathrian seeks vengeance, and you are his tool."
The werewolves may not be unthinking, but they had a warped sense of justice. Raviathan had seen the fallen hunters for himself, saw the injured trembling in mind killing pain as the curse infected them. "I'm not here to attack you. We seek Witherfang."
"You threaten the great wolf? I will tear you apart myself!"
Raviathan raised his blades to a defensive stance, but that's as far as he got. With a leap faster than his eyes could track, Swiftrunner had him knocked to the ground. The sharp pain of impact mixed with the blur of forest. Raviathan saw a flash of teeth, could see the pink and black gums of Swiftrunner's mouth as it bore down on him. Stunned, Raviathan grappled with the werewolf. In that instant, Raviathan knew he was no match for the werewolf's size or muscles.
Venger's powerful body interceded. The mabari was in a frenzy as he attacked the werewolf. Raviathan turned his head to the side, squinting, to protect his eyes as he and Venger fought the werewolf. Venger's jaws clamped on Swiftrunner's neck, the dog wrenching his whole body back and forth in a death shake meant to break his prey's neck.
As quickly as the attack started, Swiftrunner was back on his haunches ten paces away. Venger stood guard over Raviathan, ready to attack in an instant. Blood seeped down Swiftrunner's neck into the thick fur at his chest. "No, brothers and sisters! We do not need to risk injury. The forest will protect us."
With that, Swiftrunner leaped back into the underbrush. A multitude of wolven eyes measured the small party, the force of the pack made clear, before they turned away. In an instant, the pack disappeared after Swiftrunner as if they had never been there. The rest of Raviathan's party had their weapons out and ready, their backs against the rise, and they seemed just as unnerved as Raviathan felt.
Maker, they were fast! Raviathan had a sinking sensation in his stomach. The werewolves could have done serious damage to them. Maker's mercy that they had decided to retreat, but Raviathan's party was seriously outclassed. The task of finding one wolf in a forest, already daunting, now seemed near impossible.
Raviathan petted Venger, the dog giving a growling chuff in response, his eyes still trained on the invisible path the werewolves had taken.
When Raviathan's hand came away wet, he took a closer look at the mabari. Swiftrunner's talons had raked along the dog's flank. At the sight of muscle and rib bone, Raviathan's heart clenched. "Hey," he said in a low tone to calm the dog. "They're gone. Come here. Let's get you fixed up."
Raviathan caught Morrigan's eye then flicked his away in silent communication to get rid of the others. She gave him a tiny nod. Raviathan didn't hear what she said, his focus completely on Venger. He cleaned out the dog's wounds as carefully as he could, put on an elfroot poultice with a numbing agent made of nettles, and sewed up the deep lacerations. Through the treatment, Venger lay on his side, not moving save for deep breaths. Every once in a while he emitted a whine, and Raviathan cooed at him continually.
When Raviathan was sure the others were not in sight, he let his healing magic flow into the dog. "There you go, bud. In a few days, you won't even have a scar."
Venger's jaw opened in a happy, doggy grin. Raviathan kissed the top of the dog's head, a hand scratching Venger's thick neck. "Thank you."
He found the others boiling water to clean it before adding it to their waterskins.
"He's alright then?" Alistair asked, indicating Venger.
"He will be." Raviathan sat on a stone near the brook. Intelligent werewolves. Maker help them. "Morrigan, would you be able to track them? Find out where they live?"
She pondered the question. "The stories of this forest's strangeness are not exaggerated. The times I have flown, the landscape seems to shift. I would not recommend splitting up."
"Shift?" The news worried the others as well as if their wide eyes and uncomfortable shuffling was any judge.
"There are unnatural clouds and fog that I will not fly through. Sometimes it seems the trees have moved or the flight back takes longer than it should."
"Well. That's not ominous or anything," Alistair said. "There wouldn't happen to be any giants in this area, would there?"
"I have not heard of them in Ferelden," Leliana said. "Mostly they roam southern Orlais."
"Oh. That's a relief."
Alistair's smile barely touched his lips when Leliana continued. "Dryads are common here, so I've heard."
"Oh."
"How do you know this, Leliana?" Raviathan asked.
"Orlesian hunts are all the fashion, especially for exotic game. It's rare that an Orlesian noble gets sanction to hunt in Ferelden, not that there's much call for them to visit."
Raviathan had the strange feeling he was living in a fable. Werewolves, dryads, and giants?
"This doesn't seem real," Alistair said in an unsettling mirror to Raviathan's own thoughts. "If an old crone asks me three questions, I'm out."
Raviathan bit his lips not to laugh. The laugh would have been more due to stress, and once started, would be difficult to stop. Maker, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His life no longer seemed real. "You already met Flemeth."
"Oh, Maker. I wish you hadn't said that. I'm going to end up a frog. I know it."
"Cheer up, Alistair," Leliana said. "We will endeavor to find a princess for you if you turn green and wet."
"The kiss of a fair, young princess?" Morrigan narrowed her eyes at Alistair. "As rare as princesses are, tis more likely than finding true love for him."
At Alistair's moue, Leliana patted his shoulder. "I'm sure you would make a most dashing frog and will charm all the lady frogs with your ribbits."
~o~O~o~
"Sten, do you know how to read a map?" As much as he hated to see the qunari's disdain, Raviathan wasn't going to endanger them because of his own ignorance. "Maybe you and Leliana can figure out a proper direction to take based on what we know of the werewolves."
In contrast to the frosty morning air, Raviathan's face warmed as he handed over the map case, but he kept his expression neutral. Sten made a noise deep in his throat but displayed no other outward sign of his feelings on the matter.
Murmuring to each other, Leliana and Sten bowed their heads over the maps, her finger occasionally trailing an invisible path over the leather.
So be it. Raviathan helped pack up their campsite while the two discussed. By the time they were ready to move on, the two had come to some sort of agreement.
"According to the map, we should start making our way along the west trail and head south in five miles."
With a nod, they started off. Raviathan felt an ease of the burdens that wore on him. After all the insecurities he had been carrying, we wouldn't be responsible for this part. While he hated that Alistair wouldn't make a decision on his own, he could understand that leadership could be a tremendous burden. Even if they became lost, it wouldn't be his fault.
They marched through the forest with Leliana and Sten at the lead. For the first time since Nijel left, Raviathan could go back to appreciating the forest. He needed these times of reflection with a desperation he hadn't recognized admidst the chaos his life had become. He let go of his worries about the Dalish and darkspawn and templars. Instead he focused on the gentle sway of trees and elegant curve of ferns. At times he picked out the birds and flora he recognized. At others, he let his mind go blank and experienced the scents and sounds of the woods, so alien to his life behind city walls.
A gasp brought his attention back to the present. Leliana and Sten had stopped at a clearing in the path. Raviathan could make no sense of the pieces he saw around their bodies or the thick trees on either side before they opened up. Alistair muttered, "Maker's breath."
Raviathan hurried to see what the fuss was about. The clearing was a perfect circle of reddish clay ground, slick with puddles from the night's rain. Inside the clearing, thin trees grew, their trunks contorted in a way Raviathan had never seen any plant grow. Three inches from the ground, the tree trunks bent in a sharp angle to the left to form a wide half circle before straightening again. The bark of the trees looked like peeling paper, mottled rust red and dusky blue.
At the center of the clearing lay a pile of dark grey ash. A light mist hung over the ash in a wide disk that seemed to shift but never moved out of place. Was it a trick of the light? Raviathan wasn't sure if he saw foot prints settle in the mud around the ash pit or if it was a reflection of the light through mist.
"I'm thinking this is probably a bad place," Alistair said.
Leliana nodded agreement, her eyes fixed on the strange area.
"I would not linger here overlong," Morrigan said.
The trees alone were creepy enough, but the sinister sense of wrong kept them from entering. Instead of continuing through to pick up the path, they backtracked to a narrow game trail that headed south. Raviathan couldn't shake the haunted sense that lingered in his awareness. They were all on edge after that.
In retrospect, Raviathan chided himself for letting his guard down. The werewolves had surprised them less than a day ago. He had no business relaxing in this haunted place.
The trail led down a switchback to a ravine where a narrow stream wound in the gully. Layers of mist grew as they descended, like ribbons of fog that hovered, silent and still. Unnerved by the precipitous trail, Raviathan kept close to the cliff side where the path was most firm. Few trees grew on the steep cliff, and those that did had exposed roots where the dusty earth had eroded away. The roots made Raviathan think of spider legs.
Relieved once they were at the base, Raviathan finally drew in a full breath. They stepped carefully on the round river stones, another new experience for Raviathan. After almost falling three times, he learned to test a new stone before putting his weight on it. Breaking an ankle would be too easy.
Though no trees hung overhead to canvas the sky, the ravine seemed darker than the forest. No wildlife scurried about or twittered. With only the quiet stream curling sluggishly around the rocks, the ravine felt like a dead place.
"Are we going the right way?" Alistair asked.
Leliana glanced at the map. "There should be a path up ahead. Another half mile."
They all looked dubiously up the cliff. Considering Raviathan had rarely stepped out of the alienage during his life, these past few months were a major change on the use of his muscles. His thighs ached every night he went to bed, a nice mirror to his ego.
He heard it first, a sound that raised the hair on his arms, a sucking, wet sludge with faint cracks and pops. "What is that?"
"What's what?" Alistair asked.
The ravine echoed sound oddly, so Raviathan couldn't pick which direction the sound came from. "That sound," he trailed off, cocking his head in different directions to try and find its source.
"I hear it too," Leliana said. A few mystifying seconds later, Leliana pointed. "There." At the far end of the canyon, a low, dark mass spread across the ravine floor.
"A flash flood!" Morrigan called out then took to wing. Her black form flapped through the party as she sped back the way they came.
The river that rushed at them, black with mud, measured to Raviathan's knee. Twigs and sticks undulated like exposed worms writhing in loose earth. A quick glance at the ravine's sides showed no escape.
Moving as fast as he could, Raviathan hopped from rock to rock to get back to the path. He fell more than once, bruising a knee and the palm of his hand through his armor. From the sound of grinding stone, the others followed closely behind. That strange sucking sound grew.
When Raviathan fell again, he took a second to glance back over his shoulder. The river had gained yards on them, and while the initial wave reached his knee, the flood behind measured to his upper thigh. Though they had a head start, running on the river rocks the mile back to the path slowed them considerably. The river spiked like a porcupine with all the debris churning in the thick current. Sticks and branches as thick as Raviathan's arm piled high before being sucked back into the ground-eating slurry.
Ahead, Venger watched him, whining, survival warring with fear for his master. Raviathan kept his hopping pace, arms out for balance. He motioned for the dog to keep going, and Venger sped along the gully.
As Raviathan ran, he kept looking for ways up the ravine sides, a low tree, a break in the rock surface he could climb, anything to keep from being swept up in the flood. The sucking mud sound grew, a loud crack reminding him the force of the river was enough to break apart the branches caught up in it, branches stronger than his leg bones.
Raviathan's heart leapt when he spied the switchback trail. The trail's base exited furthest away so the bottom path went against the river. Stones clacked behind him as they were swept up in the current, the sound hounding him with the emotionless but devastating disregard nature had for all living things. Venger, already up on the first turn of the trail, howled. Raviathan had to keep running to the base but saw Leliana's legs pumping up the path now at his shoulder, Sten close behind.
At the first painful snap of stick against this ankle, Raviathan leapt up the path using his momentum to roll away from the current. He staggered to his feet, breath coming in tight lung-filled gasps. The river rose quickly after the initial tide. Raviathan stared at the rising flood in amazement. Whole tree trunks flowed along the slurry as fast as he could run. Sticks tumbled along the current looking like bones. Pale brown foam road the top of the waves.
"Maker's breath," Alistair said, just ahead of him on the path.
Raviathan nodded, mute in awe for a moment. A boulder the size of Venger tumbled in the swift current.
"Come on. Let's get going."
Alistair started up the path, his attention focused on the flood. Raviathan winced as he put weight on the ankle hit by debris. At a quick check with his magic, he could feel the bruise on his bone. He let his magic flow in a slow trickle in order to control the process as he worked to keep the swelling at bay and repair damaged tissue.
A crack appeared in the path, the only warning Raviathan had before half the trail separated. Alistair looked back in shock, but Raviathan pushed him to move. "Run!"
They scrambled up the steep trail, Raviathan's injury forgotten. Sections of the path kept falling away in large chunks, leaving raw, loose earth in their wake. A chunk slid out under Raviathan's foot, and he fell, sprawling to distribute his weight on the traitorous soil. He scrambled on all fours before getting enough space to run on two feet.
Another segment fell, tipping Raviathan towards the ravine. Nothing to grab hold of on the hill side of the path, so Raviathan made a desperate grab for the tree at the juncture of the switchback. Fingers catching roots, Raviathan swung over the now missing path. The flood slurry roiled like boiling water below him. Tree roots cracked, but he was able to pull himself up for a better grip.
Where the path had been lay only a scar of crumbled earth.
Pops and wooden groans warned Raviathan. Between the loose soil and his weight, the tree he held onto started to dip down. The sharp smell of broken wood overrode the heavy odor of mud slurry.
Oh, Maker, no. Just hold on a little bit longer, tree.
Raviathan scrambled up the wet slickened roots as fast as he could. He grasped at the trunk but found no purchase on the wet bark. The tree dropped further when more roots snapped. Raviathan lost a hand hold when the tree shuddered, the roots vibrating under his grip. He looked down as his body swayed over the river. The river churned and roiled, the roar deafening.
In strength born out of desperation, Raviathan swung his legs up. He latched a heel around the trunk. His hands ached, but he levered himself up, inch by inch, to straddle the trunk.
The lower half of the path was completely shorn away. Raviathan stretched his fingers and took stock of his current situation. Below raged the unforgiving current. The half-fallen tree that was his uncertain sanctuary vibrated with the power of the current, bits of earth crumbling away near the tree's exposed roots. Near the shorn cliff side his companions returned his gaze with equal expressions of horror. Alistair tried to edge to the lip of the path, but Raviathan cried out, "No!" The earth would only crumble under his weight.
A raven carrying a rope hovered above him long enough for him to grasp the life line. He tied the rope around his waist then slowly, carefully stood on the trunk. One step at a time, he walked along the rough bark. A loud crack, and Raviathan fell, spinning. He slammed against the cliff side and watched in horror as the tree splashed into the flood. The tree bobbed and turned, then flowed down with the river at a frightening speed.
Loose earth rained down as he was hauled up. He closed his eyes as sharp particles fell into them and prayed the rope would hold. Foot by jolting foot, he rose in darkness. Hands gripped his arms and heaved him the rest of the way. He crawled away from the cliff's edge, blinking the dirt from his eyes. He was going to need a few minutes to recover from that. Indeed, hugging solid ground for a few minutes felt like a good idea.
Venger lay next to him, for which Raviathan was grateful.
"The werewolves said the forest would protect them." Leliana had her arms folded over her stomach as if she would be sick. "Do you think that's what happened?"
"Hard to say," said Morrigan. "With the rain last night, could be a natural phenomenon. It need not be magic."
Despite her words, Morrigan gave Raviathan a brief glance that told him she believed more than natural forces had been at work.
"Best be on our guard for, well, anything," Alistair said.
"Is…" Raviathan had to clear his shaking voice. "Is there a way around this ravine?"
Leliana and Sten studied the maps for a few minutes while Raviathan sat up and sipped from his waterskin. He kept an arm around Venger, needing to feel the dog's solid mass.
"We can follow the ravine's edge to the east, I think," Leliana said. "It will add most of a day's journey."
Raviathan stood, the pain in his ankle a half-forgotten ache further dulled by adrenaline. "Let's go."
And hope the forest doesn't try to kill us.