Mythshaper-Chapter 22: Leecher Vine

Chapter 22: Leecher Vine

It was a rare, perfect day of summer. The temperature was mild, the sky an abstract of more white than blue, and the absence of dust storms made it ideal for an outing in the wild.

A few stray clouds swirled gently as morning sunlight filtered through the atmosphere. The warm weather allowed us to enjoy the day without putting on traditional heavy clothing, though we wore the best hiking gear we had on hand.

I wore a simple tunic with a sleeveless leather vest over it, complemented by thick leather trousers. My hiking boots were slightly big for my feet. Mother assured me that they would be a perfect fit by the autumn. Given how fast I was growing, I could only agree.

A similar outfit draped over Eran, though his was sleeveless, sporting a straw hat to shield himself from the sun. My friend didn’t forget to bring along his oversized bow and a quiver full of arrows. His father finally allowed him to carry those, though only after learning my parents were coming along on this trip. Other than him, only Father brought any weapon. He leaves for nowhere without his trusty longsword.

Mum was in her usual full-sleeved robe, her hair bound in a bun atop her head, as she led the group through the rocky terrain. Her nonchalant poise suggested she was used to trudging through the mountain paths many a time.

The first time I had come to the mountains was with my mum and aunts. We had a great time hiking all day and hunting small game for a feast. Aunt Emi shared stories of their youth and adventures, mostly involving how unruly Mum had been in her younger days. Mum had, obviously, denied it all with a straight face.

Eran, however, had visited more often, usually with his da, either hunting or collecting herbs and other items. The forests here were rich with hardwood trees. Even a single one that had stood a decade against the storms was a small fortune, though carrying one back to the valley was more trouble than it was worth for most folks.

During spring, the forest was more lush with vibrant greenery, but with the autumn around the corner, the wild forests would soon turn dull under the ashen storms. These dust storms swept through the land like a plague. Though they didn’t kill the hardwood trees, they made their leaves seem dead. And that was after the peaks obstructed the storms’ path.

I could not imagine how the people of Thera endured it. Well, in their communal ziggurat forts, I’d presume, but life must be so different for those people, shut within the walls for more than half the year, unable to see much of the sun.

“You know the peaks were a place of pilgrimage once,” Mum said, glancing over the cliff. She chose the left path and led us down.

“Because of the sacrarium?” I asked.

We had a grand chapel in Karmel, tracing back to the early days of the Alberan Empire. Although it was much older than the one in Klearon, time had left it in ruins, its structure crumbling, with only the skeletal remains standing.

“It was before the ascension of the Oracle,” Mum said, sparing me a look. “Before the empire, and perhaps even before the rise of Althelon. And I’m not talking about the sacrarium—at least not the one we had in Karmel.”

My brows knitted together, but I didn't pester her, knowing she would get to her point.

“Back then, civilisation was more fragmented,” she continued, “with no Grand Spell helping them advance in the Path. The blighted storms were far more merciless.”

I stepped carefully behind her, following her exact path. Father and Eran after me.

“Many tribes and regions had different answers for how to save themselves from the storm. Some built underground shelters, some impressive fortresses, and many devoted themselves to the mercy of the deities. This was a time before the Awakened powers flourished. Essence weaving was more intuitive than the science-based study that it is nowadays. There were only about one or two Gifted in tribes of a couple of thousand folks...”

She turned to give me a look, making sure I was listening.

“Anyhow, while others succumbed to praying to the forces of nature, there used to be a tribe of godless folks who flourished in the mountains. They carved out dwellings, cut into the mountains, built huge shrines and castellums, and somehow remained unmolested by the storms.”

Mum faltered on the path and pointed to a downward glade. “We need to get there.”

I considered her words as she helped me down the steep slope.

“You said they were godless folks,” I asked, “then why did they build shrines?”

“There are many contradictions to anything about these folks. Althians, they were called," she said, looking distantly towards one of the peaks from where the river Anileo flowed. "Some believed they were mere wanderers who came across the ruins of a past civilisation. Some think of them as the shepherds of the people, who shaped our world.

"We mostly presumed these folks did not pray to our deities, but they did pray to something…” Mum continued, almost sounding envious. “They worshipped the will of the Aether and sought to join the great astral bodies in the astral plane once their cycle of life was severed.”

I tilted my head, barely understanding the concept. If I was getting what she said, it meant they worshipped mystic power?

“For their time, Althians were vastly adept in the ways of essence. Before the Spell made it easily accessible, they were the ones who established the paths.

“Legends say a part of the tribe broke away from here to form Althelon originally,” Mum said with a smile. “If we trace our ancestry back to Althelon, it would not be wrong to assume we share some lineage with those godless folks.”

I still did not understand her envy of these people of bygone times. Perhaps she wished to understand them and their ideologies towards mysticism and divinity. But I still thought living in the mountains sounded miserable.

The river snaked its way along the side of the glade, providing a good spot for us to settle down for lunch. Mum got busy unpacking while Father eyed the forest ahead.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Let’s see if I can find something fresh for us to eat,” he said, setting down his baggage. He turned to us. “Who wants to come along?”

Eran raised his arm, but I hesitated, glancing at Mum, wanting to help her. She waved me away.

“Go, hunt some mighty game for us to feast upon. And be careful out there.”

With that, we crept eastward along the riverbank, heading deeper into the wilderness. The great backdrop of the scenic white cliffs disappeared behind the canopies as we trudged through the wild. Though the Candor Mountains weren’t the highest, their vast expanse was staggering.

“All right, my little men,” Father said. “You know the rules.”

“Don’t wander off alone,” Eran said, counting on his fingers, “and ask for help if we find anything, or before we get in trouble.”

Father nodded, though there was little chance of encountering anything dangerous out here.

Most of the wildlife here consisted of honey badgers, wild foxes, or perhaps a few hyenas or wolves, though they rarely ventured near the valley. Unless we went at least a hundred miles deeper into the mountains, there was no chance of encountering them. Mystical creatures like snow elk or winterheart stags migrated to colder regions during the summer.

After creeping around for half an hour, all we found were a few small flying squirrels and some greenish lizards. Nothing to make a meal out of. I did collect some basil leaves and other fragrant herbs, but it wasn’t much.

Then, finally, I found a bird perched on a tree branch, its form resembling a ball with a pointy head and an even pointier beak sticking out.

I nudged Eran on the shoulder and whispered, “Look, a bird!”

He turned to look where I pointed. “It’s a roroa.”

The lack of feathers was a dead giveaway. My shoulders slumped as I remembered that roroas couldn’t fly. They were more like wild siblings to chickens, but far uglier. Birds were a rarity in the West. With the dust, ash, gales, and snowstorms, they didn’t have an easy time flying, though there were some occasional songbirds in spring.

As if sensing our gaze, the bird turned its head towards us.

Eran wasted no time. He equipped his bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed at the featherless bird as it tilted its head. The arrow flew, but the bird darted from branch to branch, moving rapidly until it disappeared from sight.

"Blight ashes, it's fast!" he swore.

“You’ll have a hard time hunting a small creature like that out in the open,” Father told him. “Signal me if you find something useful again.”

The most uptodat𝓮 n𝒐vels are published on freёnovelkiss.com.

Eventually, we tracked down the roroa. Well, Father did. We simply followed him. As it turned out, the bird had led us to another of its kind. Both perched on a thin branch before noting our presence.

This time, Eran was ready with an arrow, but before he could make his move, Father acted. His arm flashed in a motion too fast for human eyes to follow. Something shot from his palm.

A moment later, one of the roroas tumbled over, while the other fled, chirping loudly.

“That should be enough for the four of us,” Father muttered. “Let’s go collect it.”

Eran and I practically ran to where the bird had fallen, Father following behind. It had tumbled down the tree’s branches and rolled far down the slope. Thankfully, it was still within sight.

We found the featherless bird dead, a small knife embedded in its body. I had no idea Father carried those. I was about to inspect, to look at what runes they bore, when his voice faltered us on our track.

“Wait!”

I turned to find him scanning his surroundings, eyes sharp with alertness. “There’s something here.”

Without hesitation, he unsheathed his blade, gesturing with his other arm for us to stand behind him.

Cautiously, he approached a nearby shrub, sword raised in his right hand, adopting the First Form. With his backhand, he gestured something I failed to catch. Probably telling us to stay back?

As he inched closer, something burst from the tall bush. A thorny, serpentine form, green and writhing, lashed at him with great speed and power. Father moved before the attack could land, his form blurring for a blink of an eye. His blade struck true, severing the viny, snake-like limbs with precision.

“What was that?” my friend croaked, stepping back.

I, too, became fully alert as the answer came to me.

“Leecher vines.”

A kind of awakened plant—a forest fiend—that thrived by leeching the life force from living creatures. Normally, leecher vines weren’t supposed to grow this large, but it seemed this one had absorbed enough nourishment to reach its current size.

More vines slithered from the hedge, longer now, their jagged thorns gleaming. Sharp leaves swathed them, each filled with pinkish pores capable of draining the life from any organism.

Father didn’t wait ceremoniously for its attack to land. He leapt forward, slicing through the writhing vines with meticulous precision.

There was nothing chaotic in his technique. Every movement was deliberate and controlled, following the Forms. He moved so fast my eyes barely registered the motions, but I could tell he was using more than just the first two Forms.

Severed vines fell as he advanced, leaving thick tendrils and miry green fluid in his wake.

The forest fiend was deeply rooted, its main stem buried so far underground that it could only target creatures within the reach of its vines, which, depending on maturity, could span over a dozen metres. This one had barely reached maturity. So far, it had survived through trickery and camouflage, blending into the surrounding shrubbery to ensnare prey.

I had read that common forest fiends like leecher vines didn’t prey on neighbouring plants. Instead, they nourished the surrounding underbrush to ensure a natural disguise. Well, that hardly helped this time around.

Father didn’t even have to reach the base of the plant to end it. His blade flashed in the final release of Whispering Gale. A nearly invisible burst of power shot from the sword, severing the stem from its root in a single, clean strike.

The vines stopped moving, falling lifelessly to the ground.

“Didn’t think I’d find something like this out here,” Father said, sheathing his sword.

He fished out a small knife from his clothes and crept closer. Crouching beside the now-lifeless forest fiend, he began digging at its root. The main stem's girth was as thick as an adult's waist and tougher than it looked, but he didn't seem to be having any trouble with it, just as he hadn't had with severing it.

Unable to help myself, I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Forest fiends don’t tend to die just because their stem is severed,” Father rasped as he worked. He dug through the soil and pulled at the main root with his bare hands. It looked like an impossible task, yet somehow he made it look effortless.

“Remember, kids, if you do something, be thorough. Never half-arse it.”

With that, he hacked into the main root with his knife, prying it open. Eventually, he unearthed a fist-sized bead, seeping with green and grey juices.

Arcane Acuity buzzed in the back of my mind as I turned to the thing. There was more to the bead than met the eye.

“An essence seed?” I asked, surprised.

Father tossed it to me to examine. The bead was slimy, its juices still oozing, but it didn’t make me panic or feel nauseous. It wasn’t gooey or sickening, just plain strange.

Forest fiends were known to accumulate some of the purest forms of essence. That was one of the reasons people even farmed such creatures. Well, definitely not leecher vines. They were more trouble than they were worth.

But that didn’t mean this bead was useless. An essence seed from a leecher vine was starkly different from a human essence seed. A human essence seed was more impressionable and more efficient at weaving essence, whereas the one in my hand was pure essence accumulated through sucking the life force of other creatures. Something like this could easily sell for a bunch of gold Leafs.

“Ask your mum if you can use it,” Father said, wiping the miry fluid from his hands. Hardly any had splashed on him during the fight. Most of the smears came from digging out the bead.

“Use it?” I bobbed at him.

“You don’t know?” He looked at me, half-smiling. “People used to kill for resources like this back in my day. An alchemist could make you an essence tonic from it, or you could eat it raw to awaken yourself.”

“Truly?” It was Eran who asked.

“For most people, it’s a bad idea,” Father said, shooting a meaningful glance in my direction.

“Wouldn’t that cause trouble in the future?” I asked.

"It worked out for me." He shrugged. “Your mother will know more about it.”

He led us back, tracking the way home. Although I had memorised the route we had taken, I didn’t pay much attention to it, my whole focus being stolen by the bead in my hand.

“Is he telling the truth?” Eran whispered from behind me as we reached the glade. “Is this what they used to awaken Priam?”

“Maybe.” I wasn’t sure.

But if what Father said was true, it could mean I might be able to awaken soon. Possibly as soon as today.