Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Spirit of Stone

  This… this is the spirit of the forest…?

  The hulking, golem-like creature lumbered forward, its body a crusted sketch of soil, loose roots, and tangled vines. A soft radiance illuminated the gaps in its surface, a rhythmic pulse emanating from its core—the faint outlines of an orb-like object. The energy the creature radiated was almost like a pyre on a winter’s day against Selriph’s magical senses.

  With each heavy step the entity took, it produced a low, dull thud on the leaf-strewn earth, its vibration travelling into Selriph’s feet. The drone of Emmett’s low growl accompanied the rhythmic, almost military march, his snarling gangs bared at the approaching ‘spirit’ of the forest.

  Is it hostile? Should I yield to it as a sign of peace…?

  Selriph’s offhand tensed into a claw, ready to flare with arcane energy in an instant, his estoc held tight in his other, sheathed—a gesture of assurance rather than utility, given the futility of wielding steel against the lumbering mass of rock.

  His gaze scanned the hulking creature. Selriph’s form was in a half-hearted, ready stance—borne of hesitation, not from fear, but of appraisal, one mixed with caution and confusion.

  What should I do here? What exactly is this thing…? If I could figure it out, maybe I…

  Selriph’s mind flashed with sentences, extracts, and sketches, all scribed in faded ink in the weathered tomes of the Grand Library. His mind raced, trying to identify the creature before him, which defied conventional depictions. Accounts of forest spirits—some mythical, some from true accounts—all pointed towards pixie or fairy-like forms, perhaps a bulky treant, a slender dryad; one even depicted a kelpie-like figure.

  Not once did the youth ever encounter a depiction resembling the hulking mass looming across his vision.

  Hold on…this looks almost like a–

  As if cued by Selriph’s near deduction of the creature’s identity, the golem, with surprising speed for its bulk, whipped an arm forward. A brief, almost imperceptible flash of brown energy travelled partway up its appendage. With a groan of crackling rock and crumbling soil, a chunk of solid earth, the size of a crate, detached itself, sending a fist-like projectile straight at the contemplating mage.

  Selriph’s eyes widened as the sight triggered an ingrained reflex, a surge of adrenaline finally prodding his focus towards the threat at hand; he ducked to the right, hard, crashing to the ground, dirt, and gravel scraping into his garments.

  The projectile landed with a heavy thud where he had been, upending loose earth and cleaving a deep gouge across the green. A raw trench of rough, upturned earth where untouched grass had been.

  As Selriph struggled to his feet, Emmett lunged at the construct. The full mass of the Dire Wolf slammed into the body of the golem. However, the sheer bulk and sturdiness rendered the attack futile; the Dire Wolf bounced off effortlessly, like a thrown dagger off a suit of plate armour.

  Whatever spiritual or primal intelligence the golem possessed seemed to react to the Dire Wolf’s strike, turning its ‘face’ towards the wolf. The canine growled in a mix of pain from the failed strike and an almost attention-seeking taunt—if the wolf were even capable of such tactical awareness.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  The golem launched a series of strikes at Emmett, who evaded with the preternatural grace of a seasoned canine who toured the theatres of Eldeitia.

  These theatrics brought Selriph more than enough time. Now back on his feet, the familiar well of arcane energy finally hummed to life, flame and spark ignited like a match strike in his palms. The energy poured into a concentrated point in the budding spells; the flames licked with a slight red-orange hue, the sparks in a luminescent blend of violet-azure.

  Then it came—with a sharp inhale, he drove his arms out—two simultaneous projectiles let loose, hurtling towards their target.

  The golem turned at the sound of the unleashed magic, its arms moving to ‘swat’ the incoming bolts as if they were mere flies.

  The bolts, however, were anything but insects. They collided with a loud crack, a sound rivalled only by the earthen projectile’s impact moments before. Billowing dust and black smoke filled the air, carrying the charred, earthy, and woody scent of scorched earth.

  Two thuds—a stagger in the Golem’s form. The dust settled, revealing the extent of the damage; the golem’s arm bore large cracks as if hit by a battering ram, chunks falling off like a crumbling wall in a siege. The arms threatened to give way, leaving the golem a limbless figure on two legs.

  There, if I just disable its legs, this will be over!

  The creature seemed to pause in surprise at the extent of the damage it bore from the two cantrip-sized projectiles, as if contemplating the raw power it had just experienced. Selriph, capitalising on the pause in the golem’s movement, began to weave intricate gestures, his palms held flat and rigid like blades.

  With each fluid, almost dance-like movement came as his sparks of lightning began to trail his movements, the ambient energy in the air mingled with his arcane energy through his fingertips. The strands of lightning swirled around him, coalescing into two arcs of energy that hovered before Selriph, intended to cleave through the remaining limbs of the golem.

  At least, that was his intent; the so-called spirit of the forest would not grant that luxury.

  For the golem was no stone dummy.

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  Its eyeless fa?ade reacted instantly to the building’s magical energy, as if moving to protect its mortality. The blue energy in its torso welled up, shading into a brown hue as it travelled down into its legs. In a sluggish but thunderous leap, the golem jumped, the motion causing its ‘arms’ to crumble.

  That again…? Isn’t that…?

  A mere second later, the golem slammed into the ground. A plume of brown energy surged like a tidal wave toward Selriph, the force of the impact sending the earth heaving beneath his feet and knocking him off balance.

  The gathering arcs sparked violently in the absence of their guide, fading and sputtering before entangling into a chaotic knot—a deafening crack came—the result of the interrupted casting.

  The explosion sent a concussive shockwave, launching Selriph back meters, his figure hitting the earth once more, tumbling like a limp mannequin over the ground.

  Selriph’s vision blurred, turning and spinning as if under the influence of Hornshrooms.

  Then came the second stomp. This time, another burst of brown energy shot across the ground, burrowing through the forest’s green carpet like a serpent. A trail of churning earth and displaced roots marked its inexorable trail towards Selriph.

  Before Selriph could muster his muscles in what would have been a futile attempt at evasion, the energy struck his limbs, mounds erupted from the ground, and encased all but one of his arms in earthen shackles.

  This! This is—

  Selriph’s eyes widened with fear as the Golem approached. His remaining hand flared with terramantic energy, a veil of magic ready to undo the restraint on his other arm.

  And yet, the expected buckling of stone did not come easily. He felt it as if he were pressing against a significant resistance — an arcane force that was holding the restraints together.

  This is bad … I have to focus, I have to—

  He felt the heavy stomps of the oncoming golem, a signal of his forthcoming execution. The fear of his impending demise, mixed with the delirium from his injuries and the immense pressure of the situation, impeded his arcane concentration, unable to muster the precision needed to dispel the energy holding the mound together.

  Selriph’s eyes finally landed on the golem, no longer distracted by Emmett’s futile attempts to slow it down.

  Damn it, I have no choice!

  Selriph’s free hand flared in a purple hue as he unleashed a concentrated bolt of lightning, aimed at his other hand. The impact did its job; it freed Selriph, but the force of the blast sent a jolt of pain through the receiving arm. The sight of charred skin met him when the earth had crumbled.

  Fighting through the pain, he extended his injured but freed hand at the golem, firing desperate, consecutive, concentrated bolts of orange flame at its feet, attempting to slow or impede its advance.

  The percussive drum of the exploding firebolt rang through the clearing. He resumed his work with his other hand to undo the energy holding his bonds together.

  After another precious few seconds of struggle, his eyes fixed back on the golem.

  The sight that met him only deepened the gravity of the situation. His initial strikes had met their mark; cracks lined the lower torso and upper legs of the golem, even through the dust and smoke at the point of impact.

  However, the subsequent strikes began to lose their potency, not from magical exhaustion on Selriph’s part, but from the thick, protective veil of energy that had now formed in a protective conning around its legs, rendering Selriph’s potent, explosive strikes of pyromancy all but useless.

  Even in the chaotic vortex of thoughts brought about by his impending doom, his mind was able to muster appraisal.

  Between the unseen force fighting against his attempt to free himself and the protective, almost tactically placed veil protecting the golem’s legs, one conclusion cut through: something, someone else was aiding, perhaps even responsible for the golem.

  His eyes darted around, as if tracing the invisible strands of energy in the surrounding scene.

  “Emmett, nearby. Find whoever is controlling this thing. Please!” Selriph’s voice was a desperate cry of fear and command.

  The wolf, responding to its companion’s words, ceased its pointless lunge as it bolted off into the surrounding woods. The cornered boy could only hope it had gone off to confront his unseen hunch, rather than fleeing after realising the futility of its endeavour.

  As Selriph continued to pelt the oncoming golem with lightning, its shadow began to loom over the desperate boy. Realising the futility of blasting the golem, he turned his full attention to undoing his restraints.

  With his concentration now brought to bear, his mind directed the magical energy into two precise lances, piercing through the mounds. With a grunt of effort, Selriph finally broke through the energy holding the loose earth together, crumbling into inert dust around his feet, his muscles ready to muster in a desperate scramble for survival.

  But he had run out of time; darkness loomed over his vision—the lifted leg of the golem, brown energy flaring to life for the killing blow. A mere second away from leaving Selriph a gory pile of entrails—an ironic reminiscence of another encounter.

  The next reactive movements came not as a calculated dance of evasion, nor did they come from some fortuitous intervention by the gods above.

  It was pure improvisational desperation.

  Selriph shut his eyes, a scream escaping his lips as red pyromantic energy flared to life in his limbs.

  The flames that erupted formed not a barrier, not an otherworldly burst of flame that could melt rock, but a frantic burst to propel him clear of the hammer of death.

  It came in concentrated bursts; jets of orange flame—not unlike those that propelled the massive Eldeitian Skyships—flared to life, the sheer force propelling his body across the rough forest floor.

  Selriph’s vision spun as he tumbled across the forest floor, the adrenaline numbing the pain, unsure if he was now simply a detached upper remnant of flesh and bone, rolling lifelessly on the ground.

  Then, he came to a stop. Sensation, or rather pain, returned to his torso, his legs.

  He was still alive, intact. Mostly.

  For a moment, silence fell across his senses, as if fate had finally granted him a brief respite.

  His vision began to steady as he willed himself back onto his feet. He staggered, his legs trembled like jelly, his bladder clenched tight, resisting the release caused by the terror of a near-death escape.

  Then, as he tilted his head up, the sight of matted grass made way for the form of the golem.

  Not in pursuit, but frozen in place, as if the centrepiece of a portrait surrounded by the chaotic series of stalagmites.

  Selph simply stared in abject bewilderment at the inert state of the golem. Any stirring energy, any life it possessed, seemed to have ebbed away, leaving a lifeless tableau. The ground bore a crater a tenth of a metre deep. Jagged spikes erupted from the point of impact.

  The source of its abject idleness soon became apparent, as he heard faint sounds coming from beyond the woods—masculine grunts of exertion and intelligible calls from a female voice.

  Mixed with the aggressive growls of a canidae.

  Selriph traced the source of the commotion. There in his vision, two grey-robed figures desperately evading the frenzied strikes of the Dire Wolf — his companion, his partner.

  The two casters had finally been drawn into the open.