I needed time to recover as well. Once the divine aid of Emerhilk had worn off, I became deeply fatigued. Having uprooted my body, I had cut off a great amount of my magical reserves and would need to grow back towards the underground wells of magic I had been drinking from. And to be honest, my mind was exhausted from the entire affair. I had managed to achieve something insane and impossible. I stood up against a Greater God and I won. I deserved some rest before trying to warn them of the Invasion that I was watching unfold.
A few months passed by and the goblins returned home, unaware of the terrible dangers that had taken place. Ehdrid, upon hearing of my victory, nearly died of a heart attack and chided me greatly for my foolishness. But I knew that he was proud of what I had done, for we were both so afraid of the whims of the gods. Now, the goblin village was just as safe as I was. We would both continue to grow and prosper, without worry or fear.
Eventually, Glym returned to see me, unhappy with the fact that I had used her spells without permission. But there was no revenge she could get upon me, for she had agreed to the oath of noninterference. Still I understood the Merchant’s frustration; after all, she had not realized that as a divine being I was capable of using her collection. I made a deal with her, that a shrine would be opened on the second level of the dungeon, so that thieves and adventurers could pay homage to her and receive her blessings of luck. And, it would also give a place for the merchants who came and went to pay their tithes. This was satisfactory enough to gain her trust back, and she agreed to keep her spells in my realm for safekeeping. In our agreement, however, she did not tell me I was forbidden from using them. Perhaps this was another safeguard for fear of Izguril getting out. Or maybe the Merchant was too distracted by the idea of profit to remember what she had been upset about.
The damage to the dungeon was repaired and my mouth was reopened. Immix went about, spreading rumors and tall tales about the treasures within, and hundreds of adventurers flocked to the Great Tree in the hopes of finding glory and honor. Stories of my own courage began to spread throughout the land, with many mortals retelling the tale of The Tree and The Liar. This would spark wonder in the hearts of many and, soon, the World Tree was a name known by all who sought to be courageous in their life, even if they weren’t an adventurer. I towered high above the world and watched the lives of adventurers, gods and mortals with great joy. I was not the world tree, I was their World Tree.
Epilogue
Fog was rare on a bright summer afternoon, as the heat of the day would dissipate most moisture. But as the sun continued to rise, so did the great fog grow thicker and thicker. It smothered me, covering every aspect of the Feverwood, until I was able to recognize that there was a divine presence within the fog. There was no heraldry, no overwhelming burst of power to take me aback. Instead, the divine energy crept in like the fog, slowly building stronger and stronger, until it engulfed me.
I was worried for a brief time that, somehow, an ally of Izguril was attempting to free him. That this was an attack of sorts. But once I saw her materialize, I was relieved. The Mistmother, goddess of Visions and Portents, formed before me, in her usual form of a pale blue woman with white hair made of mists. She was floating in the air, sitting with her legs crossed.
“Of what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked.
“You would contact me today, when a spare thought becomes worried,” she replied, smiling with a weak, weary smile. “That worry leads you to search for a way to call me, but as I own a church of Mystery, you would not be successful. But you would not give up. And you search and search and search, until finally you find a way.”
“And what would that way be?”
The Mistmother laughed at that. “You realized that I saw all futures at once and merely told me to come visit when I saw this part of the future.”
Her description sounded accurate to my personality. I would not question her words. “And what was I afraid of?”
“That much, I do not know,” she replied. “But you have my attention. Speak it now or lose your chance. I will not visit you again.”
Very few beings understood the Mistmother, for she had the power to glean the future. All that she did was in response to events that had not yet happened. Those who worshipped her were sworn to secrecy and, from the outside, looked to be as madmen and women, performing odd rites and rituals for no apparent purpose. But there was always a motive for her actions. There was a reason she was here as well.
“I had wished to call for another meeting of the gods,” I said, “to speak of this matter. But I shall tell you of what I have seen, what I have learned.” And so, I told her a great deal of all that I had learned in regard to the Invasion. The strange beings, their immunity to divine and arcane magic, and the encroachment in the Ethereal Mass of Sleep.
The Mistmother made no sound, nor did she react to what I told her. She merely listened intently, looking through me, as if seeing a thousand worlds before her. When I had finished, she spoke.
“This…Invasion. It makes sense.”
“It does?” I asked.
“In a way,” she replied, sitting in silence for a moment. “I make it a habit to refrain from revealing what I see to others. Unless you bear my crest and walk the path of Mystery, I do not give revelation to anyone. But, for you, I will make an exception. For you have solved a puzzle I have been trying to understand since I first opened my eyes in this world.”
My focus intensified as she spoke. I lost all concentration from my inner workings and instead focused entirely on everything the Mistmother had to say.
“Ten years from now, I do not see anything more in this world,” she said, closing her eyes.
“You mean that some power blocks you from perceiving the future?” I asked.
This elicited a weak chuckle from her. “No, dear child. Nothing can block a being such as I from perceiving the future. Of course, what you understand as the future is…rudimentary. I see threads, strands of time that may or may not be. Millions upon millions of outcomes, all happening at once, for me to parse, to watch. I know what will be, because I hold great wisdom. But…on the tenth year from today, there are no more threads. No more futures. It is all gone.”
“Gone?”
“Chewed away, torn, as if someone had taken a page from a book and ripped it out, leaving nothing behind but a gaping hole. I have not been able to make sense of it, until now.”
We were both silent for a time. “You cannot see them, can you?” I finally asked.
“Until you mentioned them, I had no idea that they existed. And now, as I gaze forward, I cannot find anything, no sighting, no prayer about them uttered. And the strands of time end so quickly, as if it were all cut off in a single swift motion. I fear that this is the end of it all.”
“What can we do to stop this?”
“If all strands lead there, then I do not believe there is a way to stop such a thing,” the Mistmother replied. “And if there were, it is not for me to decide. I watch fate and act as I am compelled, but I do not interfere.”
This was not a satisfactory answer. “You cannot do nothing!”
“I have given you the truth about what we are facing. That is not nothing.”
“You are a Greater God, you hold immense power! You can rally the others, fight these things back! Slay them!” I urged. An anger was building up within me; she was so blasé about the destruction of an entire realm, as if it meant nothing. Action was needed here, not contemplation.
“You think Turm does not grab hold of his weapon and fight?” she asked. “You think the fighter gods, the guardian deities do not follow him to protect their supporters? I have watched a million strands in which terrible threats rise up to menace this world, and the gods always rise up to fight them back! And no matter how many gods fall in those threads, Turm and his ilk never fail in their mission. But I do not see those threads in this future! I see nothing. When this threat, this Invasion comes, there is
no doubt the gods will team up and fight! But they will fall! They will be destroyed!”
“Then…” I whispered, feeling the dread and terror for the fate of this world well up within me, “then what chance do we have?”
The Mistmother smiled at those words, her lips curving wickedly upwards. “There was another vessel whose arrival I could not foresee. No matter the thread, no matter the depth at which I gazed, I could not predict that it would land upon this earth and begin to grow as it did. And if I could not predict your own arrival, World Tree, then I cannot predict your defeat at the hands of these things. Ten years. You must prepare if this world is to have a chance, of that much I am certain.”
Tree Dungeon Page 24
