The Voice

Something about the voice drew me in. The light between the trees was warm and inviting, the voice sweet and melodious. I went through what I knew of the sprites and spirits of the Northern Forests. I knew of no northern beasts that lure men to their doom with both song and light, for such creatures are found more at sea or in the jungles of the southeast. Most of the truly dangerous monsters of these northern lands are as vicious and direct as the wilderness they call home. Great Wargs the size of horses, maneating giants, bonecrunching trolls or schools of vicious bloodkobolds armed with rusty hooks and teeth like needles have little need for such shows of beauty...

Moreover, the truth of the matter was that I was, and still am, a man of curiosity. It was curiosity that drew me to seek out knowledge in the subtle arts, curiosity that set me on the path of the Mage-Errant and curiosity that had brought me this far north of my comfort zone. Who knew when I might ever have the chance to know what this light meant, what mouth could produce such sweet song?

Thus, fully aware of how irresposibly foolish I was being, I steeled myself and, leaving the beaten track, set out to follow the distant light. I hurried after it, wind howling above, rain now pouring down, turning the ground slick and treacherous. The closer I came to the light, the more I was pulled towards it, scrambling madly over roots as thick as as the fabled Pillars of Fahrud, now utterly unable to tear my eyes away from the alluring glow. Sometimes, I felt like I could make out the shape of the shining figure, though only ever as single feautures - the curve of a hip or flow of hair. The rain and wind was a distant hum, like the bees outside the window of my study back at the Citadel, only the song filled my ears, flowed through my bloodstream...

It was as if I was falling, feet barely skimming against the ground. Gravity shifted. I was buffeted by a sudden blast of wind. Then silence.

I opened my eyes. I was standing in a clearing, ringed on all sides by the tall, grim pines of the stormy woods. Their tips whipped and writhed in the powerful winds of the Spellstorm. However, they were silent. I saw them twisting in agony, yet I did not hear them, nor did I feel the cold winds and the rain, cutting through my padded cloak like an assassin´s knife. The clearing was warm and calm as a balmy summer´s eve. My nostrils were filled with the scent of flowers and fragrant herbs. The clearing was bathed in a strange radiance, pale and warm, like candles burning in a polished silver chandelier.

I looked up over the silently flickering treetops, and an icy chill flooded my body. No moon did I see, instead, the night sky was filled with a myriad of brightly shining stars, arranged in constellations such as no man has ever seen. Gone were the reassuringly familiar figures of the Axle of Heaven, the Mouth of the Carp or the Peacock, gone the Dawn-Star, Child-Star and the fixed, bright King´s-Eye.

At the centre of the glade stood a mighty tree, taller and broader than any I had ever seen. Its trunk was as tall as a tower, with broad and gnarled roots. Its leaves glowed with a gentle, greenish-blue light, the same light as had guided my out of my own world and into this new one. Here and there, great flowers bloomed from the smaller branches. The uncountable millions of leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, producing a vast wall of sound from thousands of smaller sounds, a sighing and whispering like a cathedral full of sleeping children. It was an awe-inspiring, aetherial splendor.

At the foot of the tree stood the figure that had lured me here and I could finally make it out in its entirity. It was a beautiful woman, formed from light, eyes like stars, clad only in air and the shimmering whispers of the great tree.

Cautiously, I stepped up to the tree. From up close at its base, it was even larger than it had seemed before. The woman turned to me and without a word, placed her hand on mine. With the other hand, she touched the bark of the tree, whispering something. The lines in the surface of the gnarled wood begin to glow, light welling up from within revealing a gateway formed from roots and branches. A wide archway, filled with light and framed by roots, lead into the tree.

She pointed, inviting me closer...