Conquest of Avalon

Luce was no biologist; even his first day in the introductory class had made that much abundantly clear.

Once, he had dreamed of following in the footsteps of his great-great-grandfather, the legendary polymath Harold I Grimoire, who had managed to revolutionize practically as many scientific disciplines as even existed, seemingly in his spare time between protecting people from evil spirits and unifying the continent.

The very Ortus Tower that held the best of the world’s knowledge could not have been constructed without his insights into architecture; his writings had given way to the recipe for gunpowder; by his own admission no chemist, he had still managed to be the first in the world to distill brandy before he was even twenty.

And his famed plants…

So far as the legend went, the first Harold had been seventeen, not yet even King of Cambria, when he showed his face in the weekly market of a tiny village on the northern outskirts of the city. A farmer’s daughter had gathered a basket of strawberries to snack on while she ran her mother’s stall, and Harold had insisted on seeing where they grew.

As they passed through the lands the farmer rented, the king-to-be had taken note of the field left fallow to recuperate before its next crop. One part in three of all land had to be kept that way, his guide had explained, to rotate between beans and wheat each year. Harold had suggested using the fallow land for clover, fodder for animals, and a fourth field for turnips.

His innovation had spread faster than his armies, the story said, to the point that Cambrians expanding into Oxton had been surprised to find farmers there already employing it.

Errant comments about crop rotation had let the heartlands of southern Avalon feed an order of magnitude more mouths in a single generation, with meat becoming comparatively more accessible for commoners to boot.

Then Harold had taken the strawberry bush and crossbred a larger, sweeter strain, the first product of the experimental gardens at the foot of the Tower. Once a mere playground for the King and his loyal gardener, they now staffed almost twenty full time scientists.

That story, unfortunately, was just about the only thing Luce could remember from biology class as being remotely comprehensible, and it probably wasn’t true anyway. Harold I had never written memoirs of his own, and far too many things seemed to be attributed to the one man, far past the point of credulity. It made for a good anecdote to engage students on the first day, certainly far more inviting than the endless memorization of anatomy that would follow, but not all that much else.

That, and it was all the easier to be proud of a nation with a founder so skilled and noble he practically leapt out of myth. Even his lesser legends played their part in that, and stories of plant breeding certainly belonged to that category.

It wasn’t as much of a spectacle as pistols or even windmills, nor were those who worked on it as prestigious as their counterparts on higher floors of the Tower. Still, it didn’t take much of an understanding of history to see that crop innovations were absolutely some of the most crucial work being done there, and Luce had made every effort to direct a greater share of resources and funding to that department than his predecessors.

Looking at this wasteland now, he wasn’t sure that was the right idea.

That same department — a few of the same scientists still working there now — bore a great share of responsibility for this wasteland, developing the fast-spreading disease that left the trees bleached and petrified, absorbing the energy of their life to perpetuate itself.

Harold II bore the ultimate responsibility for deploying the blight, but he would not have had the option if it hadn’t been created in the first place.

Few in Avalon even understood the truth, that this wanton destruction had been fueled purely by spite, to ‘send a message’ to any other nations considering joining the war against Avalon.

The way history textbooks told the story, Refuge had weaponized the forest against them, defiant to the end. Stopping it had been the only way to avoid even greater destruction, apparently, although they were always vague about what disaster, exactly, had been averted.

Once, the people here had resided in the heart of a great forest, older, denser, and more gnarled than even the Arboreum to its east could boast.

Rain might fall seven days in ten, and beneath the canopy one might not even feel it. Older accounts held the air to be so wet in the summer months, even Lyrion’s humidity couldn’t compare. The Fox Queen had likened it to stepping past a curtain of water.

This, though, didn’t look like rain had fallen once in the decades since the Fall. The dry summer heat filled the air, scorching what little energy Luce could muster simply to stay awake, and that was a near thing.

How long has it been since I’ve had water?

It couldn’t have been that long, perhaps a little over half a day? Whatever the actual time was, it felt far longer, the scratching at his throat doing more to keep him conscious than even the walking nightmare abducting him.

The thing carrying him, the spirit-touched monster of pale limbs and withered vines, was at once supple and rigid, cradling him almost like a child even as the tight grip made it clear that there would be no escape.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t alone. More than a dozen had surrounded him at the shore, and as the remnant of the forest grew thicker, monster after monster fell in with them, to the point that it was hard to tell which were alive and which were inanimate.

If ‘alive’ was even the right way to describe them.

The forest itself was dead. It had been dead for half a century, thanks to the idiotic decisions of kings past, poisoning relations with an entire continent in one irreparable act.

Whatever these things were, it wasn’t water, sunlight, and nutrients that kept them moving. They were spirit-touched; it would be something far more sinister.

The sun was beginning to set, though the heat had yet to break, nor had the captors’ grip.

He had lost track of the pirate what felt like hours ago, and the dimming light made observing no easier.

Perhaps they’ve killed her. He couldn’t bring himself to care much, either way. The important thing was somehow getting himself out of this alive. After everything, he had to.

The pace of the monsters slowed as they approached the largest husk of all, nearly the size of Ortus Tower itself. When it had stood, it would have been visible on the horizon for miles, but now it lay on its side, a dead white log with a hollow base buried in pink sand and dust.

He felt himself be carried inside, the dim light fading to almost nothing, with only the fading rays of sunlight peeking through holes in the trunk providing any illumination at all.

It made the faint glow of the green thing at the far end of the dead tree all the more visible, growing larger as they approached.

By the time they reached it, Luce was fully alert.

Facing him was what looked like a woman that had been cut in half. Her left side was as withered and white as the forest around them, its arm hanging limp at its side, so large and gnarled that the longest branches of it touched the floor. Her face was divided too, with a scar on her nose marking the line between the wilted white and vibrant green, her left eye clouded with milky white like an old person before cataract-removal surgery.

The right side was almost stranger, green so bright that light emanated out from it. Her hair seemed to be made of a thick curtain of leaves, reaching down to her waist, though it was thin and patchy on the dead side. Sprouts sprung out from all over the living side of her body. A large tail, reminiscent of a palm leaf, jutted out from behind the creature, seemingly untouched by the blight.

“Luce Grimoire.” Her mouth moved, but the words were mere whispers of wind, echoing out from all of the creatures around them and bouncing off the sides of the hollow. “Eloise Clochaîne. Welcome to my abode.”

Is she introducing herself? Eloise seemed like a strange name for a spirit monster thing, but—

“That isn’t my surname.”

Luce turned his head back to follow the noise, glimpsing the same ragged pirate captain that had abducted him.

“One by that name raised you, and named you his successor. It seemed appropriate.”

“It’s not,” the pirate—Eloise, apparently—insisted. “I didn’t get where I am because some complacent, stuck-in-the-past merchant gave it to me. I earned it. I took it.”

“Don’t argue with the monster!” Luce hissed.

“It’s a right prestigious fucking name, too. Jacques made that shit up when Avalon rolled into town and started asking who belonged to what family. It’s just the words for bell and chain smushed together, since ringing them was his job as a kid. Practically a joke.”

“Fits you well, then,” he muttered, apparently loud enough to earn himself a glare.

“What a luxury, to determine your being by yourself.” The wind whistled once more through the husks of the trees, an almost bitter tone embedded in it. “Very well then, Eloise.”

“Umm… What, exactly… Who…?” What the fuck is going on here?

The monster woman tipped her head forward slightly. “Before my domain was blighted, humans lived here in harmony with my disciples.” As the wind whistled the final word, the mass of tree husks bent forward, bowing towards her. “They named me Cya, spirit of life and protector of the forest.” The wilted white arm tightened, the ends of its branches curling into what almost looked like a fist. “Though their faith was misplaced, you may call me by the same appellation.”

Luce’s eyes widened. The spirit of Refuge herself, far worse than a mere spirit-touched creature, not that she had any shortage of that at her command. She should be dead.

“For the record, I didn’t have shit to do with that.” The pirate jumped in before Luce had a chance to respond. “You just want this guy here. Grimoire, like the fuck that destroyed this place. Direct descendent, too. I was taking him to bring him to justice.”

That fucker. “I had nothing to do with that! I wasn’t even born yet. And, and, really, I’m trying to do things the opposite way. So, you know, so something like this could never happen again. But I need to be alive for that, and not, umm, trapped in spirit afterlife slavery, or whatever it is you do to people to feed on their power, or—”

The spirit held up her living hand, and he fell silent. “Even in this state, I could kill you both. That much is true. But to what end? I have stopped the threat of those who sought to desecrate what remains of my realm, but I have seen that you do not. Even if any of my sages yet lived to perform the rite, the energy of a mere two humans would be naught but the smallest delay to my decay.”

“Revenge though,” offered the completely despicable pirate bastard. “Could settle the score, at least.”

“Revenge?” The whistle of the wind sounded almost amused. “I have known many a spirit to punish the son for the transgressions of the father, but I see the truth more clearly than that. However much you might resemble the King of Avalon, you are not him. Quite apart in fact, Prince Luce. The White Sheep of the family Grimoire.”

“Still, though…”

Luce glared at the pirate with the fury of Khali’s wrath in his eyes. “It doesn’t want to kill either of us. You can stop trying to sell me out.”

“Well sure, I can. Doesn’t mean I will.” She pulled her arms against the grip of the husk holding her, but it didn’t budge.

“The Captain shall refrain from these pathetic attempts at manipulation. It grows unbearably tedious.”

It was almost worth it just to see the smirk get wiped off her stupid face.

“How do you know she’s a captain?” Luce asked. “Actually, you knew both our names too.”

“Half a century is not so terribly long, and yet this last stretch has been nearly interminable, with nothing to mark the time save decay and decline.” The living half of the spirit’s mouth curled upward while the dead side remained still. “Gazing into the truth has been my sole focus, these years, the ripples of events past and present echoing across the collective memory of the world.”

Eloise opened her mouth to speak, but Luce barked a hurried “shut up!” that, miracle of miracles, actually silenced her.

“You two are not so remarkable that I knew you well before you arrived on my shores, but I have seen the path that led you here, Eloise: the Student, the Runaway, the Cutpurse, the Merchant’s Apprentice, the Second in Command, the Benefactor, the Temptress, the Quartermaster, the Captain…” The final title echoed off the walls for a moment before the spirit continued, “the Forsaken.”

“Pff, so what? Doesn’t mean you really know me.” A slight hitch in Eloise’s voice gave away her hesitation.

“The trajectory of your future is not difficult to surmise either, following what has come before: the Wretch, the Rejected, the Phantom…”

“And me?” A sheep, she called me, as if I’m destined only to follow. What does that make me?

“The Prince, the Alumnus, the Overseer, the Scholar, the Favorite, the Captive, the Survivor. Your future fares no better, I believe. The Heartbroken, doubtless. The Reformer, perhaps, or the Corrupted. Eventually, the Slain. Tragedy awaits you either way, young prince. I cannot see any way you might avoid it.”

Spirits hate humanity. He had to remember that. They couldn’t lie, but they were experts at using the truth to fuck with you. Countless old bits of folklore talked about people being led astray by them, losing what was dear to them or becoming an instrument of evil themselves, a ‘sage’, as if bowing to monsters were wise. “Those are just guesses though. You said it yourself: you only see the past and present.”

“As do we all, limited by our perspectives. Mine is more comprehensive than any human could aspire to, and my visions are more focused than those of any other of my kind. I can offer you both a profound truth lost to you, and all I ask is that you seek to restore my domain to life.”

“Pass. Making deals with spirits is how idiots end up suffering forever instead of just dying normally. You have to be trained for years to avoid fucking yourself over with that shit. I’m not much one for promises, anyway.”

Luce sucked in air through his teeth. “Not to be rude, but I’m inclined to think the same way. Making promises to spirits, especially under duress like this… It just seems really dangerous.”

“This, from a guy who blew up a boat he was standing on today.”

“Would you just—” He sighed. “What a mess.”

“I urge you both to reconsider. I ask only good faith, and offer much in return. Luce, especially, you reside in the dark on so many important family secrets that you desperately need to hear. And Eloise, you might have learned enough to grow past your limitations. Instead the Prince will destroy himself trying to save a kingdom that cannot be saved, while the Pirate dies alone, unloved, and forgotten, not remembered even in infamy. I swear, after all I have glimpsed of you, I believe this to be true.”

Eloise scoffed. “Wow, I travel halfway around the world and still somehow manage to hear my mother nagging me from beyond the grave. It’s like I never left. Truly, thank you. Now please do us the kindness of letting us the fuck out of this creepy dump.”

“Respectfully, I must decline as well.”

“So be it. You have chosen poorly.”

“Maybe.” Luce took a deep breath. “But what I have to do is too important to risk getting my soul enslaved because of a trick. Sorry.”

“Yeah, that. Except I’m not particularly sorry.” Eloise’s flat tone had returned in full, as if the spirit had never rattled her.

“So, can we go now?” Luce tugged lightly at the husk holding him, more to make the point than really try to break free.

“This is folly.” The living side of the spirit’s nose wrinkled, creating an unsettling drooping effect, even if the intended expression was clear. “You have not earned the truths I offered you, but there is still so much for you to see.”

A growth on her living arm grew larger, until it sprouted into something that looked like a white mushroom.

The husk grabbed Luce’s jaw in its gnarled branched arms, forcing it open. He could see the same thing happening to Eloise.

Unable to even speak, he could only watch helplessly as the spirit cut two flaky slivers from the mushroom and lowered them into each of their mouths.

“Gaze into the world, and emerge more enlightened.”

Then the walls started rippling, the green glow around the spirit pulsing with higher and higher intensity. And that was only the beginning.