Searching For Spirits

As the druids' foot falls were sounded by the crunch of dead leaves, and a cold chill brought by an uncaring gust of wind made him involuntarily shiver; the singular thought pulsed within the back of his mind…

Oh yeah, this isn't creepy at all.

He was happy that the path to his destination was clearly visible, even with the fast approaching dusk. To ease away from the idea of being caught outside during the dark, the man quickened his pace while trying not to feed his cowardice. The latter task proved all the more fruitless, given that a part of him believed the prolonged shivering he was experiencing was caused by more than the early winter winds. And one would think that being a person who was devoted to study, appreciate, and assimilate with nature metaphysically would find comfort in the path being besieged by trees on both sides. But it was anything but comforting, seeing that the trees were naked of leaves and devoid of life. The bare branches were clear to see from anyone, but the silence that the trees had was unsettling for him.

Criston was blessed with the ability to communicate with all forms of natural life, from flora to fauna. Being able to ascertain what their purpose was from a given glance or direct contact. He, particularly, had a specialty for vegetation of all kinds. From the oldest of oaks to even the smallest of saplings held more life within them than any creature the prodigal druid had ever seen. But one simple look at these sessile giants showed that they were anything but lively. It was a haunting sensation, but also melancholy in a sense. A dead tree was like a corpse to Criston, and he already had a problem with real corpses to begin with.

With a tug at his mantle's hood to cover his chilled ear lobes, he continued his brisk pace, facing downward and forward. Mainly to avoid looking at the now descended sun, but not looking at the dead trees was a plus.

The path was widening, the array of bark giants grew farther away. And the druid was brought in front of a large and ebony double gate. Being single minded of the task he was given in the first place, he continued forward with an outstretched hand. The push back on the gate was honestly just as expected as the metal gate's death like cold.

A few looks to either side showed Criston an outstretching wall of stone, their height three times that of the gate. It seemed to stretch into a curve; Criston hypothesized that it probably circled the estate that he was charged with investigating. But first, he needed to figure out how to get past this first obstacle.

The apex of the obstruction was crowned with a plethora of spikes and briar that were chaotically placed across the rest of the top arching of the gate, almost inviting anyone who were too impatient to bypass the impediment to bring themselves down upon them. The image was mainly painful to Criston, but he instantly thought of one of his hot headed companions, Griffoní, who would have gladly taken the challenge. The thought brought a little humor to the darkness that was within Criston.

No way I'm going to climb that anyway, I was never much of a climber. At least but with anything that wasn't a tree.

His attention turned to the withered trees again, thinking he could potentially pour his will into the branches. Maybe, elongate them so he could climb the prodigious walls. But the idea was immediately shut down by himself. Being near those trees was unnerving enough, but there was also the thought of forcing life into something that was already lost. It just felt wrong to do, it put a sour taste in his mouth. He would find another way that didn't involve the manipulation of life.

… Or, maybe it's not life I have to manipulate to get in.

He suddenly thought to himself. With that, he walked to the stone wall and began to walk parallel to its rough and weathered surface. His hand slid across the brick, searching for a specific spot.

Stone O' Stone, sing to me, where is your continual chorus of stillness the loudest.

He continued this endeavor until night had completely fallen upon him. He lit his singular oil lantern, the orange flame shining effortlessly against the wall of the estate on his left and the wall of darkness on his right. He wanted to hurry and find a weak spot in the wall, but he couldn't rush this process, not if he wanted to go and leave the estate in one piece.

… There!

It was quiet, like the rest of the wall, but the reverberations he sensed within that spot held a slightly different frequency to it. It was enough for him to continue on.

Placing his lantern close to the wall, he brought both hands together and rubbed his palms in a steady motion. A small tingle formed on his fingertips, which he then brought to the spot that spoke loudest to him in vibrations. The resonances meet with one another, immediately bringing a silence that was complimented by the tiniest sound of cracking. With the small window given to him, Criston forced his will power through the microscopic tear that he had just formed. A small emerald flash showed, and soon the wall started to cave in on itself, creating an opening that yawned wider until it was just Criston's size.

He was exhausted from the task; but not wasting any time, he dove through the newly made entrance. The reason for his hastiness was made clear by the sudden closing of the stone hole.

To be made irregular and then whole again, that is the promise of true stone magic -

A sudden thought flashed into his mind as he was mentally going through his vow of lithomancy.

"MY LANTERN!" He shouted to himself out of terror. He didn't want to be caught in this darkness, that would last who knows how many hours, without a light source. He spun around to the closing hole, his lantern within sight by it's bright glow. He shot an arm out and grabbed the lantern's handle, tugging at it so he could catch it in time and get his arm across the boundary in time as well.

With the sound of collapsing stone slamming back into place … He returned his arm back from the closing maw of processed earth, but only his handle remained in his hand. The light producing device was now amalgamated into the now closed wall, remnants of glass poking out of the wall and oil dripping from the point where the hole initially formed.

Silently cursing to himself, which then became a crescendo of repeating the same swear over and over, he flung the handle into the darkness. He did his best to calm his breathing, but he was still panicking and not thrilled with walking blindly. Having a fear of anything living being devoid of life is one thing, but to top it off with the fear of the dark.

What the hell am I going to do now!?

He just wanted to sit there, in the darkness, try and wait out till dawn broke. But he was on borrowed time. This request that the group had taken was given in such short notice. And they were already busy with a four person team exploration to the volcanic hollows, leaving only Criston to have to take it.

It wasn't imperative to do the mission, but it was necessary for funds.

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'Mayor of the town says that the estate could be remodeled to a more economically friendly state.'

'A tourist trap?'

'Basically, yeah.'

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The druid shook his head, the conversation ended as fast as it started with his leader Jess. Doing the job for money wasn't a problem for Criston, doing it on such late notice didn't even make him lose an hour of sleep. What did set him off though, was learning the many rumors that belonged to the establishment. Townspeople said that it was haunted, that those who ventured into the estate were never seen again, and many other things to make Criston's hair stand on ends.

He cursed again, mostly at himself.

Why didn't I ask her what I was exactly supposed to be doing at the estate? I honestly should have taken the hint when people practically turned a shade paler than white when I brought the place up to them.

Criston could sit here all night regretting every decision he made. He could regret leaving his lavish life at the ripe age of ten and joined a cult because of his naivete of the rights and wrongs in the world. He could regret losing himself in the forest and stupidly eating a troop of mushrooms that were deadly. He could regret that it was his inevitable loss to his own curiosity that made him stay with the tribe of druids that saved his life, just because they saw potential in him at the age of fourteen. But that was twenty years ago, and he didn’t have twenty years to waste dwelling on the past. He needed to move forward, whether or not he was blind in the path he took.

That’s how I made it this far, right?

With those words of encouragement, and a quick prayer to the entities of earth and wood, he picked himself off the dead grass of the estate and marched forward.

It was about twenty paces when his foot hit a small but sturdy object. Feeling towards the ground, his hands happened upon what felt like a branch.

Without a second thought, Criston fished a small retractable knife, and his box of matches from his small satchel. Even in the darkness, he could tell that there were few matches left in the box from the light feel it had. Shaking his head from doubt, he shredded a long piece of cloth from his brown mantle, took a handful of dried grass and fashioned a bulb of cloth and dead vegetation around one end of the branch.

Little blades who have had their color robbed by time, please release what viridian life you have for that I may transmute sheen into shine.

His words coaxed what little energy from the grass blades, he could feel their forms shriveling and curling with the loss of energy. He lit the match and brought the small flame to the bundle of energy.

Great, He thought to himself as the flame grew closer to the mesh of clothing and dying grass.

That’s another offering I have to make to the lords of the earth. A cold wind blew the match out, causing Criston to curse inward and growl outwards. A second match lit, and this one brought closer to the makeshift torch.

If I had known that this journey would have costed so much, I would have had it in my right mind to deny this trip at -

But before the druid could continue his inner tirade on his dwindling sanity, he was sure in that moment he had just lost it completely. Because what he was about to use as a torch against the darkness wasn’t a branch, but a decrepit human forearm. Before he could steady himself of what he had just perceived, the poor man was already dropping the match and the body part and bolting in the opposite direction.

Correction, I still have the rest of my mind to tell myself that I need to get the hell out of here!

He ran fast and hard, his lungs already paining from the cold air they were being forced to inhale. But his adrenaline helped fight through it; he wouldn’t stop until he met the wall. Even if he potentially smacked his face against it.

And he did meet a boundary … But it wasn’t the boundary he was expecting. This one was light as air, maybe even intangible. He could blame the dark of night for not seeing it, but he was sure that even sunlight couldn’t have helped him perceive the wall he impacted upon. The collision didn’t hurt, but the shock of passing it felt just as much as hitting a brick wall. For his eyes were met with an impossibility, even in a world full of magic.

“Why has it suddenly turned into day?” He said to himself, as his vision was filled with a bright blue sky that held a thick halo of dark overcast, parted just enough for sunlight to slip through. The lawn of the estate was now flushed with living green grass, and the world was now vibrant and full of life.

Criston was sent on this mission to help clear a run down estate to be used as a future vacation home for tourists and travelers. He thought he would come here to remove pests, not the supernatural.