I O

Er'ril saw this effect spread around the ring. Shape-shifter melted into shape-shifter, forming a ring of flowing flesh, connecting through their arms, encircling the pool and mystical tree.

Elena stared at the sliver of wood. Perhaps we should choose another.

The circle is formed and cannot be broken, the Elder'root intoned, his voice deeper, more resonant.

Elena's lips thinned to hard lines. She faced the pool and stripped off a glove. With her back turned, no one seemed to notice the ruby hue to her skin.

Er'ril stepped closer, his own hands clenched into fists.

A voice spoke at his side. Thorn still wore a sour expression. It is nothing to fear, plainsman. Ever since the quakes five centuries ago, the Root has grown sedate. It has been ages since the Root has stirred from the sacred pool.

Er'ril prayed the huntress was correct. Then tell me what happened here, he urged. What happened five centuries ago?

Thorn glanced to her father as a chanting arose from the circle. She hesitated, then leaned closer. The Root is the living heart of our people, she said with a nod to the tree. It has given guidance and foresight to our people for untold centuries. It speaks with the voice and wisdom of the ages. But after the quakes, the Root went silent. It would occasionally stir, but all communion with the elder'root, the one chosen by the Spirit Root to lead our people, ceased. The last time the Root even stirred was to select my father from the council to replace the last leader.

But what do Mogweed and Fardale have to do with all this?

Thorn sighed, then spoke. The last time the Root spoke, on the final day of the quakes, it communed with the elder'root of that age. The Root said that a dark time lay ahead, but that one day, twin brothers would be born amongst us. These twins would be known by their curse and would have to be sent blind into the world. The pair would mark either a new beginning for us or herald our end, depending on whether they ever found a cure.

And this newest twist of the curse upon the brothers? Thorn shook her head. It bodes the end of our people. Across the way, the chanting ended, and the elder'root nodded from his position. The moon nears its highest point. Let us begin.

Elena turned. Within the circle of flowing flesh, she positioned the syn of the si'lura against a ruby finger of her right hand.

Under this night's moon, the elder'root continued solemnly, let the Root taste the blood of the accused!

Elena pierced her finger with the splinter of white wood. The effect was immediate and dazzling. The syn burst into flame, flashing bright, then burned instantly to ash.

A stunned cry arose from the joined council.

Elena held up her empty hands as ash fell between her fingers.

Blasphemer! someone cried out from the council ring.

Er'ril started toward her, but a sudden upwelling roiled the pool's waters. Elena! he called in warning.

She glanced back to him, her expression confused.

Behind her, the waters suddenly exploded upward. A giant beast shot out of the waters, drenched and slithering skyward. It was a monstrous white worm, draped with tentacles and writhing feelers.

The Root! Thorn gasped. It wakes!

With her words, Er'ril recognized his initial mistaken impression. The creature of the pool was not a worm, but a dripping length of white-barked root, trailing with squirming rootlets and fibers.

The shocked cry of the council turned to one of wonder.

The Spirit Root has found you worthy! the Elder'root shouted. It stirs from its depths at long last!

Elena had been knocked back by the sudden uprising of the living root. She crouched, swamped by the surge of water. What am I to do now? she shouted back to the council members.

Nothing! the elder'root said. The Root acknowledges you! Your heart is judged pure. The trial is over!

Elena backed away from the pool.

It's over? Er'ril mumbled.

The joined council members began to separate, hands re-forming and letting go of one another. As the chain broke, the length of root began to subside back into the pool.

Thorn's voice filled with wonder. I had never thought to see the Root stir. This is a wondrous night. It gives us all hope.

The elder'root echoed his daughter's sentiment. Perhaps all's not lost.

Elena turned to face the si'luran leader. She appeared still shaken. Her gaze brushed Er'ril's. She silently nodded that she was fine.

The length of Root had sunk until only a few rootlets waved above the waters. But a sudden swirl closer to the bank caught Er'ril's eye. A tangle of white roots burst from the shallows and grabbed Elena. In a heartbeat, she was jerked from her feet and dragged high into the air.

Elena! Er'ril shouted, leaping forward. The elder'root fell back from the attack. Thorn also seemed stunned. He ran past them both.

Trapped in the net of writhing roots, Elena struggled futilely. Her cry reached his ears. Er'ril! Then with the speed of a cracking whip, the tangle of roots jerked their captive into the pool and away. A loud splash marked the impact.

Er'ril slipped in the slick mud and slid on his knees to the edge of the pool. Water sloshed the banks, but grew quickly still. The moonlit pool, shaded by the branches of the giant tree, was as black as pitch. Nothing could be seen in its depths.

He shoved up, ready to dive in, but Thorn gripped his arm. It is death to enter those waters. The pull of the current will drag you down, too.

Er'ril knocked her hand away and faced the waters, searching, desperate, a prayer on his lips. Elena'

Writhing in the tangle, Elena held her breath in a strained panic. Her eyes were stretched wide, seeking some means of escape. Darkness enveloped her, and a chill reached down to her bones. The water's pressure grew on her ears as she was dragged ever deeper.

Desperate for escape, she reached to the chorus of wild magicks in her heart and drove them toward her wounded hand. In the darkness, a crimson torch bloomed, blazing bright her wit'ch fire, bleeding forth from her pricked finger. The mere touch had burned the si'luran talisman to ash. Perhaps it could free her now.

But a part of her balked from such action. She sensed she could burn her way out of this tangle, but if she attacked with her magickal fire, what would be the consequence? She pictured the entire tree falling to ash like the sliver of the syn. If the tree were destroyed, what of the si'lura? Could she risk an entire people? Was her own life worth such a price? She understood her role in prophecies and portents. She knew the fight against the Dark Lord overshadowed all. But here and now, the fate of an entire people hung in the balance.

The pressure continued to build in her ears. Tiny lights began to dance in her vision from the lack of air. If she were to free herself, she would have to act now.

She blazed the torch of her magick brighter. Don't make me do this'

In the cold depths, nothing answered.

Her chest burned for air.

She closed her eyes and reached out with her wit'ch fire. Faces flashed across her mind's eye: Fardale, Mogweed, even Thorn, the proud huntress