The Ghosts Of Innavadroon
There were six of us when we left the trading post and traveled in the western direction, following the river in the shadow of the Inech mountains. The market we had visited was one of the few places in the world where a ragtag group like us did not stand out from the crowd.
During our travels, our leader often drew quite the attention, yet here in Nassudrall the hulking shaman was barely worth a fleeting glance to most. Ch’Goa we called him; the closest approximation our tongues could produce when trying to say his true name. He stood almost as tall as the natives even though the years had bent his back, his leathery skin was brindled with age marks, and a wild mane of grey and white hair fell over his massive shoulders. No, the old shaman was not easily overlooked, but his appearance was not nearly as remarkable as his wit.
In many places, the inhabitants of Tenehane were considered savages; more beast than man, slow of mind, prone to unprovoked aggression. Ch’Goa embodied the opposite of this disparaging description. Never once have I heard him raise his voice in anger. He was calm, composed; an aura of wisdom and serene detachment surrounded him regardless of circumstances. He had been wilder in his younger years, Ch’Goa said, but everything had changed when the visions came to him. They let him glimpse elder revelations, had shown him his future clear as day. And so he had set out to find the things the dreams had promised, had left his savage homelands to find greater truths.
I don’t know if he cared about our companionship on this journey. Ch’Goa never spoke much, and if he did we rarely immediately made sense of his riddles. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say he was at least vaguely fond of Ki Oshat Nor, an elderly high priestess from the island of Gloam. She had been the first to join his quest and had traveled with him the longest. Perhaps it was merely familiarity or getting used to each other. All I can say for certain is that they understood each other without many words.
The twins, Nivinesh and Galmanut, were not men of many words either. They had joined Ch’Goa and Ki Oshat Nor not long before me, but in all those years we traveled together, I never learned why. If the twins spoke at all, they did so with one discordant voice from two mouths. One seemed to echo the other with the slightest delay, and their haggard bodies appeared to be twisting around each other like vines whenever they addressed the party. Most of the time, they merely whispered to each other, too hushed and too foreign to be understood. Some days I suspected they thought of Ch’Goa as their god. It was the way they looked at him, awestruck and fearful, that gave me the impression, but for the most part they seemed to live in their own, strange world. Ki Oshat had told me that the brothers worshiped Vaur, the Secret Servant, one of the many obscure gods revered in Xyne. A keeper of secrets, a conduit of hidden truths, this was how Ki Oshat had described Vaur. I accepted this explanation for the twins’ outlandish behavior without further question.
The latest addition to our party had been Nuala. She was the youngest by far, yet I can say for certain that her mind burned the brightest. When she first approached us at a witch market in Qon, her potential was evident to me at first sight. Eyes like jade, skin like alabaster, silky black hair like stands of the night. The elders of her village considered her forsaken by the gods, an assessment Nuala firmly agreed with. Unlike the taciturn members of our party, she tried to explain her reasons to me as we traveled, although they were somewhat nebulous to herself. Even as a young girl she had questioned why her people held mere stone idols in such high esteem, and as a grown woman she still failed to see the divine in the shapes. There had to be another god, she said. Something truly divine that she could believe in.
During the first weeks of our journey Nuala had taken an interest in Vaur, but it had been only fleeting as the twins were not forthcoming about the Secret Servant. In a way, Nuala reminded me of my younger self – or more precisely, she resembled the person I was before I had answered the call of Ikin, The One Who Shines Darkly. Curious, eager to learn, and still so uncertain about her own place in this world. I, too, had traveled far and wide in search of meaning, and I hoped Ch’Goa would guide Nuala as well as he had guided me.
We had traveled for weeks along the banks of the river without seeing a single soul on our way. Signs of civilization were sparse in this region; not unusual in the vast Innavadroon forest. Abandoned settlements and tent villages, makeshift camps left behind by travelers, and a seemingly endless sea of deep, dark pine forests. Neither the loneliness of our journey nor the nebulous destination bothered us much. We were used to both and had learned long ago not to question Ch’Goa about the latter. After all, he had never given us reason to mistrust his guidance. His intuition had led us to places other scholars only dreamed to visit. Catacombs where cults of immense knowledge dwelled in the dark, crumbling ruins engraved in strange and ancient tongues, and tombs of old gods.
In comparison, our destination – the coastal village on the island of Mentana – seemed plain and mundane. Nobody thought we’d find hidden knowledge or ancient secrets in its alleys, although Ch’Goa had not told us what expected us there. He had woken from a vision and merely muttered a name without explanation. Sometimes Ki Oshat seemed to know what drew him to these places. Other times, she was as clueless as the rest of us. This had not been the case when Ch’Goa announced Mentana as our next destination. Ki Oshat seemed pleased and said she was looking forward to the insights the island may hold.
Ch’Goa, as so often, remained quiet and stoic instead of explaining himself. This was our unspoken arrangement. We followed him, but he didn’t lead us. We found answers in the places he showed us, but he didn’t know or care what questions we asked.
What worried me most about the journey to Mentana was the tedium that paved our way. To reach the coast, we had to traverse a region of Nassudrall that had always been sparsely populated. The rugged landscape, consisting of grey mountains and thick forests, offered neither diversions nor insights. Other than Oohn, an ancient settlement that had been abandoned by its founders centuries ago, nothing of note lay ahead. I didn’t look forward to a laborious journey of several weeks, yet I had faith in Ch’Goa. I kept reminding myself that the insights we’d find beyond the waves would be worth the hardships.
A strange, foreboding sensation overcame me when we entered the forest that surrounded Oohn. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about it just wasn’t right. The air was stale and moldy like the deepest, darkest cell of a dungeon. It felt as if no wind had blown in these lands for years, as if the crawling fog on the ground had been lingering there for eons, unchanged. An uncomfortable humidity, heavy and oppressing, hung between the old trees, more reminiscent of temperate jungles than windswept mountains. It lacked the heat, yet it dampened our robes all the same. What unsettled me most was the eerie silence. We had been to many remote and ancient places during our travels, but none of them had been so terribly quiet. No breeze rustled the leaves. No critters scurried about in the thicket. No birds sang in the trees. No insects buzzed through the sticky air. Even our own steps were subdued as if the creeping fog swallowed all sound.
I watched my companions closely as we walked, tried to gauge whether the strangeness of the forest revealed itself to us all. There had been occasions when not all members of the party had been receptive to the magic we found. More often than not it was Ch’Goa who heard the wind’s whispers, instinctively interpreted signs, or understood inscriptions that would have remained mysteries to us otherwise. Once or twice the twins from Xyne had behaved even stranger than usual, and Ki Oshat had suspected that they saw visions of Vaur – or at least thought they did. Other times Nuala had sensed the presence of hidden knowledge, yet we never stopped to investigate as Ch’Goa dismissed her claims as youthful ambition. It took years of study and meditation to sense the obscure, he had Ki Oshat relay, many more years than Nuala had lived. Although I was curious what she thought to have discovered, I was inclined to agree with our elders’ assessment. I myself had only recently seen a vision of my own. It had indeed taken years to adjust my eyes to such sights, and I knew it would take many more to see as clearly as Ch’Goa and Ki Oshat.
The demeanor of my companions didn’t tell me whether they shared my perception of the forest. The twins shifted and wafted as erratically as ever. Ch’Goa and Ki Oshat walked a good distance ahead, silent and stoic, seemingly jaded to our eerie surroundings. I had a few short-lived conversations with Nuala, but she seemed lost in thought and not too interested in unusual tree formations.
The sun stood low when Ki Oshat announced we’d make camp to strengthen ourselves for the next stretch of the journey. Her phrasing was curious as it implied we would not stay for the night, but a respite was welcome after our long, silent march either way. We lit our fire under the canopy of an enormous grey tree; tall as a tower, its bark carved with a pattern of unfamiliar symbols. As I suspected upon discovering this, Ch’Goa took an interest in the carvings. While we sat and ate rations of cured meat, he studied the trunk of the tree from all sides. Nuala and I had inspected the symbols as well, but – unsurprisingly – their meaning had not revealed itself to us. We knew nothing of this region and the people who had carved the tree long ago, and we lacked Ch’Goa’s instinctive understanding of forgotten tongues. The twins ignored the tree altogether. Not because they had no hope of deciphering the carvings, but because the very nature of scripture defied their beliefs. The teachings of Vaur were passed on orally from generation to generation; written words were considered abhorrent and profane.
“We must walk through the night.”
Ch’Goa’s voice startled me when he returned to the fire. It was the first time in weeks he directly addressed us, and even Ki Oshat seemed surprised that he did. She had briefly inspected the carvings, but quickly joined us by the fire, which gave me the impression that she had found nothing of note. Her assessment rarely differed from Ch’Goa’s, but something in her eyes told me the surprise was owed to more than that.
“A great danger inhabits this forest,” Ch’Goa continued. Despite the foreboding announcement, a strange elation vibrated in his words. “Ahead of us lie the ruins of an ancient dwelling. Vengeful spirits linger in the fog and the shadows, seeking retribution for the terrible injustice that befell its inhabitants.” The longer he spoke, the less did his tone match what he said. Where one would have expected suspense, perhaps even fear, I heard veiled anticipation. “To pass safely through the ruined village, we must show our peaceful intentions. Only if we abide with the traditions of this lost culture, the ghost will grant us safe passage.”
Now I began to understand his lack of concern. The tree carvings probably documented these old traditions in detail. Deciphering them allowed Ch’Goa to avert dangers we would otherwise not have seen until it was too late.
“Even by day this forest is perilous,” he went on, pacing up and down instead of sitting with us by the fire. “Our silence may unwittingly have saved our lives.” He sounded solemn for a moment. “These lands are sacred to the spirits, and they do not take kindly to disturbances such as loud voices. Great insights, greater than we could ever imagine, lie in the beyond – secrets the ghosts of Innavadroon fiercely protect.” He stopped when the fire cast his shadow against the carved tree. “We must enter the city by nightfall and we must do so in silence. We cannot walk side by side, instead we must keep a distance of ten steps from one another. We may not stop or pause, and we may not turn around. We must accept the fee the spirits will demand for our passage. If we abide by these rules, we’ll reach the far edge of the forest unharmed by dawn.”
“Is this the message carved into the tree?” Nuala’s alabaster skin had a warm glow to it from the setting sun, and a spark of curiosity flashed in her jade eyes. “If so, could you teach me to read this old scripture? I wish to learn all I can about foreign places. It is the very reason I have set out on this journey; a desire to find my own place in the world.” There was no anger in her delicate features, but I sensed impatience and frustration in her voice. “For months, I have been denied opportunities to further my knowledge. You told me I am too callow, too young, that my time has not yet come. I beg you, at least let me try. Tell me the meaning of only a handful of these symbols and-“
“There is no time.” Ki Oshat’s tone was stern and commanding. “The sun is setting and we have not yet reached the ruins.” She got up from her seat on a mossy tree trunk, adjusted the layers of her ornate robes and offered Nuala a hand. “One cannot hasten revelations. I, too, was young and impatient once, and this is the first and most important lesson I ever learned.”
Nuala looked crestfallen, yet she did not protest. Perhaps, I thought, I could lift her spirits once we had left the haunted forest behind. I was familiar with a variety of tongues and their scriptures, and I saw no harm in teaching her some of it on the way to Mentana.
“What is this fee you speak of?” The distorted hissing came from the twins. Both were glaring at Ch’Goa, but it was impossible to tell which one of them had asked the question.
“It is of no concern to any of you,” Ch’Goa firmly gave back. “Abide by the rules I laid out and know there’ll be nothing to fear.”
“A secret!” The twins sounded more than pleased with this answer.
I, on the other hand, was not so sure. Certainty was a rare luxury in the life of a mystic, but in this situation I wished Ch’Goa would afford it to us. However, his demeanor left no room for doubt that this conversation was over. He turned his back to the fire and went a few steps ahead, toward the darkening horizon. And what choice did we have but to follow? Without Ch’Goa’s guidance we’d be lost in the eerie forest, prey to the unknowable dangers of lurking spirits.
We entered the ruined city in the last light of the day. Stepping through the crumbling remains of the gate felt like crossing an invisible barrier although the landscape barely changed. Structures of stone and wood alike had been reclaimed by the greedy vines of the forest. Roots had broken through what had once been the main road. Beyond derelict houses I spotted a wooden bridge that had collapsed into the river. Trees of all shapes and sizes sprouted through the cobblestones of the marketplace we had found right past the gate. In all those years I had traveled with the party I had never questioned or doubted Ch’Goa. Yet here, in this abandoned settlement, I wished more than ever that he had interpreted the carvings correctly. The forest had sent chills down my spine since we had entered, but walking among these remnants of the past enhanced my unease tenfold. What terrible injustice had befallen these people, I wondered, that such a tangible curse still shrouded their lands?
I couldn’t see Ch’Goa anymore once the last light had faded. Only twenty steps separated us, but it felt as if entire worlds lay between him and me. Even Ki Oshat, who walked ahead of me, was merely a hazy orange figure, her vibrant robes faded and obscured by the smoke-grey fog. The twins and Nuala were behind me – or so I hoped, as I heeded the warning and did not turn around. Although Ch’Goa had been stingy with explanations, it calmed my mind somewhat to abide by the rules he had laid out. We moved slowly as every step demanded great caution. Thorny vines, sharp edges, rubble, and potholes hid underneath the grey fog. Keeping a distance to one another meant we could not simply follow in the footsteps of the companion walking ahead. Each of us had to carefully feel for the safest next step. Still, the preoccupation couldn’t fully distract me from the troublesome thoughts that emerged the farther we wandered.
A deeper, blacker darkness seemed to billow out of the ruined buildings, like a thick fog that swallowed even the night. Although I felt no breeze I thought to see the trees and vines moving with purpose, as if the forest itself had woken to a strange, unnatural life. The eerie silence had faded with the last daylight. I still heard no bird calls or buzzing of insects, nor could the sounds be explained as rustling leaves or the rushing river. The most accurate description I can give would be a distant howling and moaning, but I couldn’t say whether it was produced by man or beast. I couldn’t even pinpoint the direction it originated from. It never grew louder or fainter and always seemed to come from a place just out of sight. Yet it was not all around us either, therefore my eyes kept searching the overgrown ruins for hints of an explanation.
The tallest building, a stone tower I assumed to mark the settlement’s center, kept drawing my attention. I had long excluded it from my search for the origin of the sounds, yet there was something peculiar about its appearance. It was certainly neither the tallest tower I had ever seen nor did the architecture display any noteworthy features. No, it was hardly unique in its shape or size. On the contrary. It was as plain and unremarkable as a tower could be, although the same couldn’t be said about its state of decay. Evidently, the tower had once been taller. The spire was gone and in its place jagged edges gaped into the sky, giving it the appearance of a large worm’s maw with rows of sharp teeth. What could possibly have accomplished this kind of destruction?
The longer I pondered the tower, the less did it resemble what we had seen in other razed villages and cities on our travels. Oftentimes they had been put to the torch, yet here I saw no evidence of fire. Not a single wooden building was charred. They all looked dry and pale like bone; the way dead wood looks after long exposure to the sun. In fact, they appeared to be remarkably well-preserved, considering the strange humidity and perpetual fog in this forest. Stone structures, on the other hand, were often the only unscathed remnants after raids as they were not so easily burned to the ground. Invaders typically took things of value, yet here it appeared as if the opposite had happened. Statues depicting trees and abstract forest creatures stood out in the open. Nothing suggested they had been hidden from invaders to keep them safe. The houses they adorned, in stark contrast, were damaged in many places. Large holes gaped in walls, roofs had caved in or were missing altogether. There was no telling what had happened to the people of Innavadroon, but a gut feeling told me I’d rather not know.
When our procession reached the cobbled yard that housed the damaged tower, the night became less tenebrious. At first, I thought we had walked so slowly that morning dawned on the distant horizon; that I had been mistaken about the tower’s central location and we had reached the far side of the town. This was not the case, I quickly realized when I gazed up. A strange, ghostly glow emanated from the ruined spire. Living fog, moving erratically around the jagged maw, just bright enough to stand out against the dark sky, yet not bright enough to provide true illumination.
It cost me all the courage I could muster to keep moving, to not fall more than ten steps behind Ki Oshat. She and Ch’Goa had safely crossed the yard, I frantically reminded myself with each step. Whatever the ghostly luminescence was, it didn’t care about passers-by and paid us no attention. Perhaps it was not supernatural at all. A peculiar reflection of moonlight in the fog. Or maybe a hermit had taken refuge in the tower and what I saw was the hazy flickering of a makeshift hearth’s fire. Neither explanation accounted for the sensation that washed over me when I walked by the foot of the tower, close enough to touch the stone – which I didn’t. The air felt heavy in my lungs, floating flecks of absolute light glimmered just out of eyeshot, and something was pushing against the walls of my mind. A deluge of insights and answers I was not prepared to comprehend. Had I let down my guard for one single heartbeat, the revelations would have suffocated me, driven me mad.
Yet the frightening assault on my sanity stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Just when I thought the flood had torn down my last defenses, it simply ebbed away. My ears were ringing even though I hadn’t heard any sounds. Colorful dots danced before my eyes; afterimages of the bright lights I had not truly seen. It felt as if I was waking up from a drunken stupor and barely remembered who or were I was. Deep down, I knew I was still in the overgrown ruins of Innavadroon, still a child of The One That Shines Darkly, still following Ki Oshat’s faded orange shape. Yet it felt so unreal, like a strange kind of waking dream. In my fright and confusion, I was only certain of one thing. The city had not been razed by invaders. Something different and entirely otherworldly had caused the destruction.
I tried to think of nothing at all when I continued my cautious way through the forest. Although the terrifying onslaught of revelations had not touched my mind, the ordeal had been exhausting and I yearned for inner quiet. Looking back, I must concede that no amount of meditation could have prepared me for this. My thoughts drifted, and the best I could do was not let them stray too far from the familiar. Maybe Ch’Goa knew what had happened, I pondered. He had only spoken a few times about his first revelation, but perhaps it had been a similar experience. What overwhelmed me, he likely understood. A greater mind such as his was more attuned to the songs of the beyond.
The forest had become less dense, I realized after walking for a while like in a trance. I exhaled with relief when I spotted the pastel shades of dawn through the trees. Morning mist covered the ground, and I recognized the remnants of a stone wall rising from it. Only a few more steps and we’d have left the foreboding ruins behind. I whispered a prayer when we reached the wall and stepped over the rubble, a hushed expression of gratitude for surviving the night. In the hour of shifting Ikin’s senses were especially keen, and although I did not dare turn around, I hoped they would hear my words in the twilight of the forest. As much as I trusted Ch’Goa’s intuitive guidance, Ikin too had watched over their child and I took comfort in knowing that.
A piercing wail broke the young day’s serene silence. What startled me more than the shrill sound was the sight that came with it. Ch’Goa. He had sunken to his knees, arms stretched out to the sky, and against his own warnings he was facing the ruins. The calm composure had entirely left his features, instead I saw incomprehension and despair in his eyes. He muttered strange, guttural prayers in his native tongue; hushed and breathy at first, then increasing in volume. I did not understand what he said, but his kneeling pose and frantic gestures made it seem as if he was pleading with unseen spirits. In stark contrast to his growing agitation, Ki Oshat just stood there and blankly stared into the distance; for once not a tower of strength, but one of resignation and defeat.
I hesitated to approach or inquire. Was this madness the price we had to pay for safe passage? If so, why had Ch’Goa told us to not worry about it? He had been so confident, so elated after deciphering the carving! In all those years of our travels, he had never been wrong. Had the spirits deceived him? Had the revelations under the tower seeped into his mind? As I stood there and wondered, the twins rushed by to my left and my right. They, too, looked utterly puzzled, and they, too, stopped dead in their tracks just a few steps ahead.
“Where is Nuala?” My voice was a coarse whisper, but the twins heard me nonetheless. They whirled around in one eerily simultaneous motion and glared to the forest for a moment, then looked back to me and shook their heads. “We must go look for her!” I got out, feeling a different kind of fear rise inside. Perhaps her absence was the reason for Ch’Goa’s despair. “Please, we have to find her! It might not be too late! We can’t leave her all alone in this haunted forest!”
“Too dangerous,” the twins hissed, but they sounded reluctant. We had never left one of our own behind, but we had also never faced such dangers alone. Ch’Goa had confidently led us through mazes, ruins, forests, and deserts, had never wavered, never feared the ancient powers lurking in these places. “We can’t go back without his guidance.” The twins took a step toward Ch’Goa, twisting their necks and contorting their faces as if his behavior might explain itself from a different angle. “He knows things we know not.”
“It was a lie.” Ki Oshat still stared to the twilight horizon. Her voice had a hollow echo to it, one owed to her disposition rather than our surroundings.
Confused, the twins and I went closer to her. “What was a lie?” I inquired.
“All of it.” Ki Oshat finally woke from her motionless state and turned around to us. Her face was stony and betrayed no hint of emotion. “The carvings. The revelation. The fee travelers must pay to the spirits.” She glanced to Ch’Goa, groveling on the ground and muttering strange prayers toward the forest, and now there was a hint of pity in her eyes. “All his life, he believed the door to the beyond would open for him.” Ki Oshat sighed and her gaze drifted past us, to the ruins. “The dreams told him the spirits would let the brightest mind join them, be with them and understand the true ways of the world. And yet the passage remained sealed when he finally found it.”
My eyes widened at the realization, but I was unable to utter even a single word. I just stood there like frozen and watched as Ch’Goa rose to his feet and stumbled toward the forest. Watched him disappear into the twilight of the overgrown ruins, still wailing and whispering his futile pleas. He no longer spoke the native tongue of Tenehane, and I understood fragments of what he said. “Take me! I have earned it!” and “I’ve done all you asked!” and “You promised!” in every tongue he could think of, desperately hoping the spirits of Innavadroon would listen to one. No, he was not looking for Nuala nor would he – or any mortal soul – ever find her. The spirits had chosen her in his stead, had granted her revelations beyond anything we could ever hope to find in this life. Her, the young acolyte who never saw the divine in the idols of Qon. This was her calling, and she had known that she belonged here when the passage had opened for her.
A part of me mourns her, and I take comfort in knowing that she found her true place in this world even though she followed a seer who was blind to the truth. Yet some days, the memory of her makes my heart heavy with envy and regret. Had I been just as misguided as Ch’Goa for blindly trusting his visions instead of seeking my own truth? Had I lost the curiosity and courage to follow my instincts somewhere along the way, missed my chance to become something greater? Now I am on my own, without guidance, without answers. And this part of me will always wonder if I ever had the potential to burn as bright as Nuala did.