The Grove(61)

Maybe it’s worse that nothing is leaping out at me, Saleria thought, glancing behind her to see if she could spot the subtle lights of the Bower at the top of one modest rise in the path. I’m constantly keyed up for an attack, which means I’ll be over-stressed if one finally does happen.

The lights were very faint from this distance, barely a quarter mile from the wickerwork dome. They weren’t the only lights, though; where the overgrown roots and branches of the locus trees rambled among, over, and under the various other plants and paths, an occasional waxy nodule could be seen by its faint glow in the gathering darkness. But only from up close; the father away she got from a particular root or bough, the more likely it was to be obscured by other plants.

Glancing down the path toward the wall, Saleria frowned. Something had moved. Wary, she gripped her staff, peering through the gloom. The movement was subtle, seen more at the edges of her vision when she looked off the meandering course of the path. When she looked directly at them, the plants up ahead were standing still, but when she glanced to the side, they seemed to shift in her peripheral vision. Unnerved, Saleria readied herself for a fight.

It’s not the walking marigolds. I can hear them rustling when they move. I cannot hear anything right now other than my own heartbeat, a bit of wind in the upper branches, and . . . footsteps? Frowning, she stopped moving and concentrated, looking off to the side to give her left ear a better chance to hear. Those were footsteps. When she glanced back toward the path . . . there was indeed movement, but not the sort expected.

It was a light source that moved, a soft-glowing ball cast in a distinctly greenish hue, not the expected bluish white. That was what made the plants seem to move even when they did not, the play of that leaf-colored light sliding over the various surfaces. Oddly though, none of those plants followed the mage-priest casting it, though the blue white glow of her staff continued to cause a subtle, unnerving stir in the foliage around her.

Saleria continued down the path toward Aradin. He looked unharmed, which relieved her, and the staff he carried was now dark, emptied of the energies used to refresh the Grove wards. Before she could speak, he called out to her softly.

“Saleria, can you cover the glow from your crystal, please?” he asked, nodding at the staff in her hands.

“My crystal?” Surprised, she eyed the blue white glow hers emitted . . . then quickly studied the plants around her, which were reacting to it but not to his green mage-light. Comprehension dawned. Pressing one hand to the polished, faceted surface, she focused on drawing energy out of the matrix until the glow dimmed. She didn’t remove all of the energy, but did reduce it to the faintest of glows. Her skin tingled from the resumed energies flowing back into her sense of self, but it didn’t otherwise affect her. “. . . Is that better?”

“Yes,” he said. “Plants react to red light by growing more blossoms, and blue light by growing more leaves, but most cultivars tend to ignore green light. If you want to move around safely at night, I suggest casting a green mage-light, not anything blue, red, or white.”

“Since white contains all colors, including blue or red,” Saleria murmured, recalling her old magery lessons in optical illusion and illumination crafting. She looked around, pausing to listen, but there were no subtle movements, no rustlings. “No wonder I’ve never felt comfortable in the Grove after sundown; my pruning staff was the greatest source of light, and it’s bluish white light, at that.”

“All the attraction of a plant wanting to grow leaves and vines in that light, and the activity of an animal, able to see by it and move around at night,” he agreed. “Thankfully, the path is fairly calm right now. Shall we return to your house?”

Saleria looked around at their green-lit surroundings, then at the Darkhanan Witch. At a man who had the knowledge she needed, and the willingness to help her when few others could or cared. Honesty prompted her to speak.

“Were you sent by my Gods, Aradin Teral?” she asked him. “Because for all the times I’ve privately complained about my task, you do seem to be the answer to my prayers. Or at least, you seem to know far more than I do about what is going on within the Grove.”

He smiled but bowed his head, an oddly shy move. “If I am here by the will of any God or Goddess, I do not know. I do know I am drawn to help others—the habit of all these years in my unexpected holy calling, no doubt—but I find it even easier to offer you my assistance, because what you need help with dovetails with my secular calling. As I have said before, I am a Hortimancer,” Aradin said, his smile broadening with a touch of pride. “Plants and their interactions with magic are my specialty.”