Chapter Eleven Geomancer Dryad

Chapter Eleven Geomancer Dryad

Or’myr Syll’vir

Northern Vo River

Or’myr’s stylus and Tierney’s palms are pressed to their Vo shield’s ever-thinning surface, this Western-facing wall of their

shielding set down inside the Forest bracketing the Vo’s Western bank. Their arms tremble against the Shadow storm’s relentless

assault, lethal winds battering their entire shield, the storm a roar in Or’myr’s ears, every Xishlon moon he’s conjured sizzled

away, Fyordin’s distant power rapidly dissipating.

“My power’s almost tapped out,” Tierney cries over the din, her voice strained with an agony that shears straight through

Or’myr’s heart.

They won’t be able to hold their shield much longer.

Or’myr meets Tierney’s gaze in a mutual look of terrible knowing as he readies himself to pull Tierney into a protective embrace

when the last reserves of their power run out. Through their Deathkin bond, he can sense her preparing to do the same, a strand

of her magic spiraling ever tighter around his.

Tierney’s look of devastation turns to one of impassioned rebellion. “I love you,” she declares with the force of an Erthia-tilting

vow.

A shred of Or’myr’s rapidly diminishing lightning forks through their bond. “I love you too,” he says, passion for her pounding

through every vein as he prepares to sweep her up before the Shadow crashes through the shield, so they can, at least, die

in each other’s arms. “I will love you forever, Tierney’lin.”

“Kiss me as we meet our end,” Tierney rasps, voice splintering. “Your lightning be damned. I want this to end with your lips

on mine.”

Or’myr nods tightly, defiant love flashing through their bond, both of them ready, he knows, to let this last kiss be their final cry of rebellion against the Shadow’s triumph.

Another punch of Shadow crashes against their shield, forcing it inward, their heels skidding against soil, another crack

of thunder booming, the storm relentlessly advancing toward the Vo River at their backs, ready to siphon up its elemental

power.

Growling out a curse, Or’myr digs in his heels, ready to send the very last shred of his power into the shielding, when a

blast of natural magic suddenly shocks through its expanse.

Flashing in from the South.

Its force expands outward, the current of power colliding with Or’myr’s front like a wall of hot static, his feet skidding

against earth as both he and Tierney are blasted backward.

Or’myr’s back hits a tree trunk, the breath knocked from his lungs, his remaining shred of lightning cast into forking chaos.

Concern for Tierney coursing through him, he turns to find her slumped on the ground. He lunges toward her, drops to his knees,

and brings his hand protectively to her shoulder. She holds up a reassuring palm, appearing dazed as she takes in the shield-wall

before them, which is now pulsing with every hue of prismatic color as it slowly pushes outward, battering against the Shadow

storm to encompass more and more of the Vo River’s adjacent Forest.

“What’s happening?” Tierney gasps.

A huge CRACK sounds above, and they both flinch. Their heads jerk up just as chromatic lightning sizzles through the shield and it punches

outward in every direction, forcing back the storms, blue sky opening overhead.

They give each other a quick, wide-eyed look, a surge of shock flashing through their bond. Tierney springs up and sets off

toward her River at a sprint and Or’myr jolts up to race after her, the two of them darting out of the Forest and onto the

Vo’s western bank.

The whole world flashes violet, so bright that Or’myr skids to a halt and yanks up his forearm to protect his eyes. The flash

rapidly recedes to reveal a purple moon shimmering into being just above their shielding.

All the breath stutters from Or’myr’s chest. “Someone’s sending us a message,” he barely manages, not daring to hope.

Tierney rushes into the River and falls to her knees in the Vo’s shallow edge, throwing her palms down through the water to its bed.

She gasps and turns to him. “Holy gods, Or’myr. There’s a new Great Tree. Its image flashed into my mind the moment my palms

touched the Waters. Its power is flooding the Vo shielding.” Tears are suddenly streaking down her cheeks, powerful feeling rushing through their bond. “The entire

Vo,” she says, forcing the words out through a strangled sob, “it’s been reshielded. But not just my River. The entire surviving East has been reshielded.”

Movement in the sky to the south catches their attention, and they both turn as a pale dragon soars toward them. Two Mages

with gold-flashing eyes are carried on the dragon’s back, a young man and a young woman, two flame-hued hawks flying behind

them, purple branches and leaves marking the dragon’s pale wings.

“Raz’zor,” Or’myr murmurs as the dragon, Mages, and hawks soar closer.

“I sense incoming Asrai power,” Tierney rasps, pointing at the Vo.

Or’myr follows her gaze to the River just as four Asrai Fae burst up from the Waters and launch into a sprint toward them,

quickly followed by six more. Raz’zor lands beside them with a heavy thump .

Thrown, Or’myr meets Raz’zor’s crimson gaze before surveying the curiously golden-eyed couple on Raz’zor’s back—Mages, yet

not Mages. Or’myr’s brow knits in confusion over their deeper-than-usual green hue, the rainbow streaks in their hair and

the chromatic light flashing at the edges of their irises.

“Vogel is dead,” the male Mage announces as he approaches, a series of branches instead of wands sheathed at his sides, one

of the hawks perched on his shoulder. “Slain by your cousin, Elloren Guryev.”

Or’myr exchanges a shocked look with Tierney, not only in response to the news of Vogel’s death, but to hear that Elloren

now bears Yvan Guryev’s name.

Well, it’s about damned time , he thinks, unable to suppress a shocked smile.

“The Magedom has been defeated,” the golden-eyed woman adds. Or’myr’s gaze flicks over the glowing gold fastlines marked on

both her hands and wrists and the man’s, his heartbeat a hammer.

“Asrai!” one of the Water Fae calls to Tierney as she approaches, tears glassing the willowy, deep-blue woman’s eyes.

Recognition lights inside Or’myr. This is Asra’leen—Tierney’s gentle, foam-haired Wyvernguard roommate. Asra’leen pulls Tierney

into an embrace as Tierney begins to sob in earnest, a surge of violent relief coursing through her and Or’myr’s joined power.

Attempting to blink away his own tears, Or’myr watches as Raz’zor’s tear-blurred figure suddenly contracts into the form of

a young man with alabaster scales and horns, glowing crimson eyes, and pale, leaf-speckled wings.

A joyful laugh escapes Or’myr. “Hello, Shifter,” he says, only slightly surprised by Raz’zor having gained the ability to

morph into human form.

Ready for the miraculous everywhere.

Raz’zor shoots Or’myr a sharp-toothed smile and snaps his pale wings out to their full breadth. “Greetings, my Runic Liberator,”

Raz’zor growls, the red fire in his eyes burning hotter. “We have need of your geomancy.”

“I’m Mavrik Glass,” the male Mage says to Or’myr, holding up a palm marked with the image of an Ironwood tree. “We’ve been

sent on behalf of the Eastern Realm’s new Dryad’khin forces to bring you to Voloi. Your Strafeling geomancy and Mage powers

are needed there, urgently .”

Or’myr and Tierney exchange looks of confusion. Reluctance to part is suddenly roaring through their bond, its strength tidal.

“What do you need me for?” Or’myr asks Mavrik Glass, a momentous tension circling down as he takes in the grave look in everyone’s

eyes.

“Our Dryad’khin forces have taken hold of the Shadow Wand,” the golden-eyed young woman tells them, tone urgent. “We need

you to go to war with it.”

Hunched low on Raz’zor’s back, Or’myr speeds south over the Vo, the twinned Dryads, Mavrik and Gwynnifer Glass, pressed in

behind him. The damage the East’s magic visited upon the briefly unshielded Forest bracketing the Vo is hard to take in, large

tracts of trees decimated by the East’s Unbalanced storms, but here and there, defiant groves hold on to prismatic color,

still standing.

Vogel wasn’t able to destroy it all , Or’myr rebelliously considers.

The spots of color whiz by as Mavrik and Gwynnifer fill Or’myr in on everything that’s happened, while Raz’zor flies them

south fast as a sustained crossbow shot, his speed accelerated by Gwynn and Mavrik’s layered wind spells.

A sudden ache twists at Or’myr’s heart, triggered by his separation from Tierney, his beloved having remained behind to help

anchor Asrai’kin water magic to the Vo shield’s northern focal rune. He can feel Tierney’s ache for him as well, swirling

through their bond, a raw longing suffusing it that’s a struggle for them both to suppress.

Or’myr and his companions reach Voloi the next evening, Or’myr’s magic nearly fully restored by the amplification runes marked on him by Gwynn during their journey, purple lightning now crackling through his lines and out toward Tierney through their bond in potent flashes.

They round a bend in the Vo River... and a gigantic tree comes into view.

Astonishment forks through Or’myr as he realizes that this is the Great Tree IV that Tierney sensed and that Mavrik and Gwynn

described—the Tree whose power is now anchored to their shielding—a resurgence of III, the Great Tree emblazoned on Gwynn’s,

Mavrik’s, and Raz’zor’s palms.

Raz’zor soars past the Great Tree, and Or’myr notes, with a quickly cast detection spell, that his glamoured mountaintop Vonor

refuge is still blessedly intact, everything in him longing to bring Tierney to it.

The sunset has deepened to indigo hues by the time they’re descending toward the base of the Voloi Mountain Range just past

Voloi’s southernmost edge, where a small, surviving Vu Trin military base is located.

Or’myr takes in the large military presence assembling on the base’s central sapphire-torchlit courtyard, Vang Troi in its

center, many Urisk and what appear to be Dryad Fae among them. Beside Vang Troi stands a young woman with deep-green shimmering

skin, a shock of green in her long black hair, a crimson-haired Icaral beside her.

Emotion seizes hold of Or’myr’s chest.

Elloren. And Yvan Guryev.

And... his mother, Li’ra, beside them.

Or’myr’s heart leaps as he meets his mother’s gaze, a look of profound relief and love on her lilac face, a lilac-quartz stylus

in her hand. Or’myr thrills to the sight, overjoyed at hearing that the women of Uriskan have regained their geopower.

He wishes with everything in him that Tierney was here, but is heartened by the sight of so many other friends and loved ones—Effrey

and Bleddyn Arterra, Sparrow Trillium and Thierren Stone, and a whole host of his other Urisk’kin, friends and family members

from all backgrounds, along with a few tattooed Amaz Urisk, one a blue woman with short black hair surrounded by silvery goats

and an Icaral Elf who must be Wynter Eirllyn, holding something wrapped in cloth in her pale, green-tinted hands.

A cold dread rises inside Or’myr because he knows what that must be.

The remaining threat that could destroy them all.

That could destroy his beloved Tierney, the love of his life, as well as her bonded river.

Or’myr’s hands loosen from Raz’zor’s shoulder horns, and he quickly climbs off his friend’s back along with Mavrik and Gwynn

and strides toward his mother.

“You’ve regained your geomancy, Maam’yir,” he says to her, raw emotion crackling through his power as he embraces her.

“I have, my son,” she says through joyful tears.

They draw back from each other, and Or’myr turns and drops to one knee to hug young Effrey who promptly bursts into tears,

clutching at him.

“I thought you died !” Effrey chokes out.

Tears sting Or’myr’s eyes as he hugs his gentle, bespectacled geo-apprentice close. He draws back, smiling. “You think I’m

so easy to kill?”

Lips trembling, Effrey shakes his head and messily swipes away his tears as Or’myr scrutinizes the intensified aura mist of

violet Strafeling power gathered around the child, almost as intense as Or’myr’s own aura.

His power has grown , Or’myr notes with deep satisfaction.

“You did well,” he tells Effrey, “breaking the bonds of the Sublands.”

Effrey nods as he continues to sob, choking on his tears.

“Effrey,” Or’myr says, warm but firm as he brings his hand to the child’s shoulder. Effrey meets Or’myr’s purple eyes with

a look of grave trust. “We need to be strong now and I know you can be,” Or’myr encourages. “We’re powerful and we’re needed

by the entire Realm. By the entirety of Erthia . Do you understand?”

Effrey nods again and straightens, his jaw tensing with a look of resolve as he swallows back his tears.

Or’myr shoots him a look of approval before patting his shoulder, rising to his feet and turning to Elloren. “Cousin,” he

says, another upswell of feeling overtaking him that’s mirrored in her eyes.

“It’s so very good to see you, cousin,” Elloren says as they draw each other into a heartfelt embrace.

Drawing back, Or’myr smiles slightly and motions toward Elloren’s newly pointed ear, concern surging as he takes in the jagged

scar where her left ear’s point must have been.

“Who did that to you?” he asks, motioning toward it.

“Vogel,” she flatly replies. “Yvan healed it as best he could.”

Or’myr nods, forcing back the rise of rage over Vogel’s cruelty as he takes in the pained look tensing Elloren’s features. “Well, we still look even more alike, now,” he gently teases, gesturing toward his own pointed ears.

Elloren laughs, wiping away her tears. “That we do, my cousin.”

“I’d wager your child will join our point-eared club, as well,” Or’myr says with a wink, his throat catching with emotion

as he briefly looks at Yvan, all three of them growing serious.

So very much at stake.

Steeling himself, Or’myr turns to Vang Troi. “I was told you have urgent need of my power.” He takes in the large Urisk presence

surrounding them, kindred gems and geo-styluses in all of their hands.

“As you know,” Vang Troi says, her violet eyes grave, “we have the Shadow Wand in our possession. We need as much geomancy

as possible to encase it in layers of the strongest stone that can be conjured.”

“Time to put that Strafeling level of power to work,” Bleddyn chimes in, a lethal light in her emerald eyes. Or’myr can sense

the verdant geomancy radiating off the tall Urisk woman, her green glow almost Strafeling strong.

“That Wand is incredibly dangerous,” Vang Troi tells him as his eyes flick toward the cloth-wrapped Wand gripped in Wynter

Eirllyn’s hand.

Another chill skitters down Or’myr’s spine. It’s one thing to hear of the evil tool, quite another to come face-to-face with

it—the Wor Shadow Stylus spoken about in his Vo’lon faith’s sacred texts. And in every holy text of every land, fear of it

echoing down through the ages.

The people of Erthia falling prey to it again and again and again.

“Our magical efforts support what all of Erthia’s myths describe,” Vang Troi states, her tone clipped. “The Wor can’t be destroyed.

And it seems to have a mind of its own. A mind that feeds on fracture. It’s sending out dreams to try and escape our hold

on it.”

Or’myr’s eyes widen.

“It came to me in a dream,” Bleddyn explains, a haunted light entering her gaze. “It showed me visions of myself in possession

of it. Killing every Urisk belonging to every class above my Urol status to avenge the Urol and Uuril for centuries of oppression.

Followed by visions of the Wand striking down every last non-Urol or Uuril person on Erthia. It filled me with this...

feeling ... that if I wielded it and wiped out every group that has ever oppressed my people... that a new, perfect age would

come.”

“It came to me in a dream, as well,” Vang Troi interjects, warning in her violet eyes. “It urged me to cleanse Noilaan of everyone who has refused a link to the Forest. I could feel the Wand’s rage when I fought its pull.”

“We believe it was leading Damion Bane to attempt to reclaim it for the Magedom,” Elloren confides. “Wynter read Damion’s

intent through her empathic link to IV, which showed her visions of his tree-witnessed actions.”

Or’myr meets Wynter Eirllyn’s silver-fire eyes.

“It’s a dangerous balance at the moment,” Wynter admits, her brow knotting. “IV’s power is growing as more and more people

join with the Forest and come together as Dryad’khin to heal Erthia. But discord still exists. And the corruption that’s taken

over so much of the continent... the Shadow Wand is still able to siphon magic from it, so the Wand remains a threat.”

“Especially since it’s actively searching for someone to take hold of it so that it can rise again,” Sparrow chimes in.

“So, we’ll encase it leagues-deep in stone,” Or’myr vehemently offers.

“We need to read it before we do, cousin,” Elloren says, “to gauge its every weakness.”

Or’myr gives Elloren a wary look. “Read it?”

She nods, a battle-hardened light entering her gaze. “It’s likely that you and I will be able to get the clearest of readings

from it, since we’re both wood empaths. Wynter can read intent, but we’ll likely be able to read the very quality of the Shadow

Wand’s wood, possibly getting more concrete information about how to contain it. Remember when we touched wood together in

your Vonor? We could see its source all the more clearly working together .”

Or’myr looks toward the Wor, eyeing it like the monster that it is. Drawing in a harsh breath, he turns back to Elloren. “All

right, cousin. We read it together.”

A thick tension descends as a graceful Dryad Fae with glowing Ironflower tresses steps toward him and introduces herself as

Yulan, a Tricolor Heron nervously hugging her side. Yulan proceeds to conjure wreaths of protective Ironflowers around Or’myr

and Elloren, Or’myr’s violet Strafeling aura suffusing the flowers’ blue glow.

He eyes the Shadow Wand with extreme caution as Wynter hands it to Elloren and Elloren carefully draws back its cloth wrapping,

exposing the Wor’s gray upper half. Then, exchanging one quick, determined look at each other, they take direct hold of the

Wor.

The surrounding world snaps out of sight, Or’myr’s pulse quickening, as he and Elloren are hurled into a Shadowed wasteland—gray sky, gray earth, tendrils of Shadow mist rising from the charred ground.

And there, in the center of it all, stands a leafless tree as big as IV. The Great Void Tree is made entirely of wavering

gray Shadow, a palpable sea of malice swirling around it.

A branch drops from the Void tree and lands on the ground before their feet, and Or’myr immediately intuits what this is.

The Shadow Wor.

A dreamy thrall, soft as velvet, begins to wind around Or’myr. Lulled, his shoulders slacken as a gentle pull tugs on his

wand hand, the Wor’s slither of power, reaching out to seductively caress his lines. Reading him.

A vision snakes into Or’myr’s mind—the Wor in his hand, his amplified-lightning turned to glorious gray. As he uses it to

subdue every last person in the East who ever spat at him or hurled a slur at him for being the grandson of the Black Witch.

The Wor shivers a new scene into being around him—he’s inside his Vonor, the unglamoured refuge now taking up the entire Voloi

Mountain Range, the city below under his complete control. He turns to find Tierney there, bound to his Vonor’s wall with

Shadow vines, as if the Wor is offering her up to him, her power leached to gray, her eyes aglow with the dead color, their

magic no longer at odds, the Wor’s spiraling form on a shelf just behind her, both Tierney and the Wor ripe for the taking...

Outrage explodes through Or’myr, a whole purple galaxy of it. With a brutal snarl, he thrusts his palm forward and throws

out as much of his Strafeling lightning at the Shadow Wor as he can, his power suffused and strengthened by his fierce love

for Tierney.

A terrifying scream strafes through Or’myr’s mind as the Wor erupts into purple fire, its scream of rage knifing through every

line. He stiffens his shoulders against the brutal pain as the scene is wrenched from sight and he’s thrust back into the

Void Forest, as if the Wor, realizing its mistake, is suddenly desperate to cleanse his mind of thoughts of Tierney.

A stunned certainty hits as Or’myr realizes that the Wor is reacting not only to his lightning... but to his powerful love

for Tierney.

He whips his gaze toward Elloren, finding her gone rigid and doubled over on the Shadow-misted ground. Her teeth are gritted, her breathing labored, her eyes wide and pinned to the Wor now suspended in the air before them, beckoningly within reach. Elloren is gripping her wand hand’s wrist, as if battling the urge to reach for the evil thing.

“Take my hand!” Or’myr insists, leaping toward her and grabbing her wrist. Elloren’s eyes snap to his, primal terror in them.

“It fears love !” Or’myr cries out.

Elloren grabs him as Or’myr sweeps out his wand and draws up a crackling, invisible shield of violet lightning around them,

blazing his full love for Tierney into it, as well as his love for Elloren, his mother, and the rest of his family and friends—for

everyone and everything truly worth fighting for—as he realizes that the stone he and the other geomancers are about to conjure

around this Shadow beast isn’t the greatest weapon they all possess against it.

Ultimately, it’s the love they all have for one another.

The Wor’s shriek reaches world-trembling levels and its form morphs to that of its V’yexwraith manifestation, multiple mouths

full of teeth wide open as it screams, leaning close, ready to consume them both. Or’myr and Elloren shudder against the force

of the Wor’s scream, its battering assault on their shield and their lines kicking up their trembling to the point Or’myr

fears their very lines will be ripped apart, but he holds on to the shield and to his love.

The scene abruptly snaps out of sight with such whiplashing force, gravity gives way.

Dizzy and disoriented, Or’myr finds himself crumpled onto the Voloi ground with Elloren, both of them struggling to regain

breath and gripping each other’s hands, Yvan’s arms wrapped around his cousin, keeping her upright, Or’myr’s mother’s arms

encircling him, both Yvan and his mother’s faces filled with looks of blazing relief.

The Wor once more cloth-wrapped and gripped in Wynter’s hands, unharmed.

“It tried to draw you in as well, didn’t it?” Sparrow urgently questions.

Or’myr and Elloren both nod and shoot each other looks of warm alliance while they catch their breath, clear they possess

the power to create a strong bulwark against the Wor, more powerful than all the geomancy around them combined.

By building connection and community.

By building a world for everyone .

“I suspect it’s as all the holy books and myths say,” Or’myr flatly states. “I don’t think it can be destroyed. But its thrall

can, via the love we hold for each other.”

Surprised murmuring kicks up as he and Elloren reveal what their moment inside the Wor’s wood showed them. Yes, Or’myr considers, as he narrows his eyes on the cloth-wrapped Wor gripped in Wynter’s hands, they can fight the wretched tool with love and connection. But it’s also not a bad idea to encase the evil thing in as much stone as possible.

To give the world time to build on what love there is.

“Let’s imprison the damned thing,” Or’myr says, tightening his grip on his gem-encrusted geo-wand as he looks to his fellow

Urisk and rises along with Elloren, all of them staring the Wor down.

“I’m ready,” Bleddyn says, lifting her malachite stylus. “Let’s begin.”

Or’myr works with his Urisk’kin straight through the night and through the entirety of the next day to encase the Shadow Wor

deep in the earth surrounded with layer upon layer of their strongest, most impenetrable encasings of stone.

Once it’s done, powerful Dryad’khin from Erthia’s every group and magical tradition send multiple bands of defensive magic

around the stone-encased Wor, and Vang Troi posts a constantly changing guard from every cultural group in Noilaan to monitor

the site, the Ironflower-tressed Dryad, Yulan, casting a dense field of demon-repelling Ironflowers over the Wor’s location.

Because they all know that the Shadow Wand will remain ever-waiting. Sending out dreams and visions to its guards and others.

Dreams of power and glory and domination. Seductive dreams hooking into every impulse for fracture and vengeance. But finding

no firm purchase.

Because, for the moment, a critical mass of the people of the East are aligned with IV and with each other as Dryad’khin.

Ready to work to heal Erthia.

“Come to the Forest, cousin,” Elloren prods Or’myr as the two of them stand before the Great Tree IV the next evening, along

with a constantly changing crowd of Dryad’khin streaming in to make contact with IV’s embracing mist. Elloren turns to him,

her green eyes alight with affection. “Come out of your Dryad dormancy.”

Or’myr smiles wryly as he peers up at the gigantic tree, stars twinkling through the gaps in its cloud-high canopy.

“You know,” he says, turning to his cousin, “I never fully related to the Mage side of myself.”

Elloren smirks at him. “Even as you were drawn to collect every piece of wood you came across, like me? And set trees into the walls of your Vonor?”

Or’myr lets out a short laugh, ever heartened by her kindred understanding. “I have a complicated relationship with my Gardnerian

lineage.”

“Your Dryad lineage,” Elloren insists, growing serious. “Or’myr, let the Forest heal the fracture inside you.”

He huffs out a breath, peering up at the huge tree. “I don’t think the Forest can heal all the fracture inside me.” He grows

silent for a moment, knowing it can’t touch the worst fracture of all.

His inability to fully be with Tierney.

A look of pained understanding crosses Elloren’s features, her hand coming gently to his arm. “Then let it heal some of it. You’ve sacrificed so much for all of us. You inspired a Western Mage Resistance. Did you know that? Do you have any

idea how many Mages arrived here with Resistance bands marked with purple moons on their arms?”

Or’myr blinks at her in surprise.

“Cousin,” Elloren says, with great import, “you sparked a rebellion in the West.”

Or’myr lets out a hard exhale, looking toward the pale white moon above. “Vo sparked it.”

“We all did,” Elloren insists, before smiling at him. “Maybe Vo did too.”

Or’myr looks closely at Elloren, suddenly wanting the sense of connection she and the other Dryad’khin seem to have found

with the Forest, even if the connection he’s most longing for can never be his.

“All right, cousin,” he says, his mouth slanting up as emotion mists his eyes, “bring me to your Forest.”

Elloren takes his hand, and he lets her lead him to IV’s enormous mass of a trunk. He lifts his palms and presses them through

the green mist to the trunk’s night-black bark.

Purple rays flash out around his hands, and gravity gives way, and then he’s suddenly falling, falling straight into the Tree

and enveloped in a swirl of darkness, then liquid purple light as IV’s energy connects to the Vo River and he’s swept up in

a sudden, heart-expanding sense of Tierney’s Asrai aura all around him, swirling through the streaming power.

And he’s certain that somehow, she’s fallen into the trees, as well.

Tierney , he calls out, and can feel her answering leap of shock as well as the joy-filled surge of her power in response to finding him there. And Or’myr knows, stunned joy tightening his heart, that Tierney is right there , somehow, in the Natural Matrix alongside him, a vision of one of the Eastern Cypress groves that grow straight up from the

edges of the Northern Vo River suffusing his mind.

A new connection begins to form between them both, stone and water power uniting, their love for each other weaving the magic

ever tighter. As Or’myr says yes to IV’s invitation and feels himself being named Guardian of the stone and soil that make

up the Vo’s entire riverbed and banks, Tierney’s Water kindreds cradled within it.

And then new rootlines of magic are surging through Or’myr, winding around his blazingly strengthened violet lightline, his

powerful geomancy and fire power, IV’s gift of awakened rootlines of wind gusting magic through his power and filling his

lungs.

Closely followed by the rushing might of a powerful rootline of water.