Path of Dragons 18 - Chapter 20 - The Return to Orveth Kaal (Patreon)

Elijah and his companions stood before the gate back to Orveth Kaal, tension hanging in the air like dense humidity.  It warred with the thick, nature-attuned ethera for everyone’s attention. 

The gate itself looked much the same as it had when they’d arrived, which was to say that it was remarkably similar to the portals he could summon through Root Nexus.  It was bigger, more vital, and more impressive in every way, but Elijah couldn’t miss the resemblance.

All around it, flowers bloomed, tracing a spiral pattern Elijah hadn’t recognized before.  It culminated at the gate itself, with those flowers growing through the portal itself. 

It was as if Silvara had sent them on a mission of colonization.

“How will we know when it’s safe?” asked Illska.

“Safe is a relative term,” Gunnar muttered, for once fully visible.  He looked rougher than the last time Elijah had noticed him.  His beard was longer and scruffier, and his clothes were a little more patched.  That was to be expected, but the sniper also looked leaner and somehow deadlier.  The biggest difference was in his eyes, which held a certain surety that some might’ve found unnerving.

It was earned.

During Elijah’s time as a tree, Gunnar had slowly rediscovered some pieces of his skillset.  Like Illska, he’d forgotten some of his training, relying only on the abilities granted by the system.  That stood in stark contrast to the way he’d fought during their first conflict, which saw Gunnar using venomous traps, the terrain, and every other trick he could manage while trying to take Elijah down.

It hadn’t worked.

But against anyone else, it probably would have.

Since then, he’d begun to lean on system-granted abilities to the point where he had almost completely abandoned the softer skills he’d learned over the course of a long career as a trained predator.

Silvara had forced him to reevaluate that pattern, and as a result, he’d gone back to basics.  Certainly, he’d gained a few levels over the past year, but the real gains had come from other sources – chiefly, the aforementioned return to previously established tactics.  That had allowed him to successfully hunt quite a few beasts that he never should’ve been able to kill.

The first had been a tiger-like creature that had stalked too close to their cave and was on the verge of attacking.  The second was an elephantine reptile Gunnar had processed for food.  And on and on it went until he seemed almost as comfortable in the wilderness of the Plane of Nature as Elijah himself.

The other side of that was that he’d abandoned many of the niceties that came with a civilized existence.  For a man like him, in a situation like the one in which he’d found himself, comfort was barely a concern.  So too was hygiene put on the backburner, as evidenced by the man’s smell.

“I really should get you some of my soap,” Elijah sighed.

“What?”

“Uh…didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Are you saying I stink?” Gunnar demanded, oddly offended.  Surely he understood that not bathing for months at a time – maybe even the entire year in Silvara – would leave him with a distinct smell.

“I’m not saying you don’t stink.”

“Fuck you,” Gunnar growled. “Not a lot of showers in that cave.”

“I could summon a rainstorm whenever you asked,” Elijah said.

“Whatever.”

“I don’t –”

Just then, a pulse of ethera exploded from the gate, thick enough to nearly knock Elijah unconscious.  Illska and Ok’tarik fared slightly better, but Gunnar stumbled to his knees.  Thankfully, it faded soon after, and it was replaced by a soothing melody that Elijah couldn’t really understand.

There were no words.  Just tones.  But they carried with them a meaning beyond anything he could comprehend. And they’d obviously come from the Poet, though they lacked the harsh bite that his previous song had carried with it.

Elijah took a deep breath, then said, “I think that might’ve been the signal that things are ready on the other side.”

“I believe you are correct,” Ok’tarik stated.  His voice was gravelly, as if he hadn’t spoken in weeks.  Perhaps he hadn’t, as he spent the vast majority of his time training or meditating.  The only person he’d really spoken to was Illska, and only then to convey one lesson or another.

He didn’t frame it like that, but he’d clearly established himself as the teacher, while she occupied the role of student.  That didn’t mean he had more power than her – far from it.  Rather, he was an expert in vitality and ethereal manipulation, which Illska had rightly come to recognize.

And she was more than willing to convey the respect that status deserved.

“So, we can head back now?” asked Gunnar.

“I think so,” Elijah said.  “Who wants to go first?”

That simple question came with quite a lot of baggage.  After all, the last time they’d all stepped through a gate, the results had been disastrous for both Illska and Ok’tarik.  To their credit, neither stepped back. Instead, Illska volunteered to lead the way, with Ok’tarik saying that he would follow.

With that, Elijah said, “No time like the present, then.”

He then cast Bough of the World Tree and Wellspring on each of his companions, just in case they found themselves on the wrong end of an attack.  After that, Illska summoned her courage, squared her shoulders, and stepped through the gate back to Orveth Kaal.

Without hesitation, Ok’tarik hefted his spear and followed.

“Those two were made for one another,” Gunnar mumbled.  “Guess I’m up next.”

He then disappeared from Elijah’s senses, and so completely that it suggested that he’d progressed more than just a simple change of mindset.  Likely, he’d gained enough levels to attain an upgrade for his stealth ability.

One more reason for Elijah to keep a closer eye on the sniper.

“I’m going to assume you’ve already stepped though,” Elijah sighed.  Then, he glanced back at Silvara, knowing that he would return.  He wasn’t certain when that would be, especially considering the enormity of the task in front of him. Claiming Orveth Kaal was not a job to be accomplished in a day. 

Years would pass before he could come back and take Kor up on his offer of a trial meant for core cultivation.  Still, Elijah was okay with that.  He still had a lot of room to grow, many things to do, and a cultivation strategy to finalize. 

“I’ll be back,” he said. 

Then, without further ado, he stepped through the gate. 

As before, the travel time was almost instantaneous, lasting only as long as it took for his foot to fall on the other side.  The moment he passed completely through, he was inundated by the familiar smell of blooming flowers. 

What’s more, the palace in which the gate had previous been positioned was completely gone.  In its stead was Elijah’s dolmen, situated in an otherwise open meadow. 

“What the…”

“I took the liberty of rearranging some things,” came the Poet’s voice. 

Elijah glanced over to see the same old dragon floating nearby.  He sat upon a cushion of nothing, his legs crossed in something akin to a lotus position.  His long, white beard had been thrown over his shoulder, while the barest hint of dirt stained his otherwise pristine clothing. 

And for once, he was smiling broadly, as if he was deeply satisfied with himself.

Perhaps he was.  Elijah didn’t care so much about that.  Or at least he wouldn’t allow himself to until he had an answer to an all-important question.

“Where’s Fungee?” he demanded.

The Poet’s smile faded in an instant.  “I really do hate that name.  Such a ridiculous moniker for a uniquely powerful being,” the old dragon scoffed.  “But rest assured, I would do nothing to harm it.”

“Him.”

“Pardon?”

“Fungee’s a boy fungi.”

The Poet cocked his head to the side.  “That is patently ridiculous.”

Elijah shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.  He’s definitely a boy,” he insisted.  Then, having established that Fungee was okay – even if he wasn’t present – Elijah asked, “Where are my friends?”

The Poet gestured into the distance. “Over there.  Six miles, seven feet, and three inches away,” he said. “I preferred to have a conversation alone, so I shifted things slightly to have the gate deposit them elsewhere.”

Elijah opened his mouth to object, but he decided to hold his tongue.  Instead, he focused on the connection he shared with Fungee.  Without the dolmen around, it was much fainter than normal, but Elijah could feel enough to establish that the fungal colony was unharmed.  Perhaps even happy.  The satellite colonies were still out there, too. 

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Elijah said.

“Gratitude?  From you?”

“Turning over a new leaf.”

“Is that a reference to your mind cultivation? I noticed that you advanced to Amethyst.”

Elijah shrugged. “The term’s just a coincidence,” he admitted.  “So, how did it go?”

“Perfectly, as expected,” said the proud dragon.  “The world is yours for the taking, provided you have the strength to do so.  Do you?”

“We’ll see.  I do have a plan, though,” Elijah said.

“Oh?  What plan might that be?  Does it have to do with those delightful fungal colonies scattered throughout my world?” the Poet asked.

Elijah rubbed the back of his neck.  “Uh...maybe?”

The real answer was decidedly more definitive than that, but in Elijah’s experience, dragons didn’t react well to the presence of fungi.  They’d spent untold centuries subjugating the native fungi around She’evoth, largely because of their inability to accept that they weren’t the most dominant life form in any given situation.  There was also warranted fear at play. 

“I have not and will not harm your little project,” the Poet assured him.  “On the contrary, I believe it has merit.  I wish it to succeed.”

“That’s not how most dragons react to fungi.”

“I am not most dragons, whelp.  Surely you understand this by now.”

“I thought you were stuck in a prison,” Elijah said.

“I am.”

“But you’re here.”

“So I am.”

“You really don’t have to be so vague and mysterious,” Elijah said.  Then, he thought back to Kor.  “Or do you? Kor was the same way.”

“I do,” the Poet stated.  “The elder apsara is bound by the same fetters that restrict us all.”

“But they’re self-imposed.”

“Largely,” the Poet answered.  “For your own good.”  Then, he leaned forward and looked down on Elijah.  “So, tell me what you intend for my world.”

Elijah sighed, then did exactly as the Poet asked.  He explained what he knew would work, hedging where the details grew a little fuzzy.  “I’m going to have to stay limber here.  I can’t know exactly how everything is going to work, so I’ll need to adjust along the way.  But that’s the gist of it.”

“I see,” the Poet acknowledged. 

“So?  What do you think?” Elijah asked.  “Any chance of working?  Or am I barking up the wrong tree?”

The Poet tapped his bearded chin as he thought for a few moments.  Then, he answered, “I believe you have a chance of success.”

Elijah grinned. “I’ll take that,” he said. “But first, I have a question that’s been bugging me since I heard your little song.”

“My little song?  It was powerful enough to rewrite the reality of this world’s existence,” the Poet revealed.

“Yeah.  Big song.  Whatever.”

The old dragon sighed. “Ask  your question.”

“Alright.  So, back on Earth, we have a long history of poetry,” Elijah explained.

“I’m sure your efforts were quaintly impressive.”

That sounded like a backhanded compliment to Elijah, but he just pushed past it and got to the heart of the matter.  “Anyway,” he said.  “That kind of evolved over time.  People added music and whatnot.  The lyrics were still poetry, but after that, they were called songs.”

“A normal progression.”

“Yeah.  So, relatively recently, at least in terms of before the World Tree, we developed this thing called rap.  So, when I heard your song, I had to ask…are you a rapper?” Elijah asked. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Then, Elijah explained the entire history of rap, spending quite some time talking about the golden age of the medium – the late nineties and early two-thousands.  He even sang a couple of the songs from back then, introduced to Elijah by his sister.

“She’s responsible for most of my musical taste, if I’m honest,” he admitted.

“And you think I’m one of these…rappers?”

Elijah shrugged. “The shoe kind of fits.”

“I will not dignify that with a response,” the Poet said.  “However, I would like to hear more about this…Tupac.”