Wraithwood Botanist

B2 - Chapter 38 - Illusionary Barriers

When Brindle put on-demand for the lecture, I thought it would take six, twelve, fourteen hours. Some delay—any delay.

I was wrong.

The countdown gave five minutes—

—and they were the most nerve-wracking of my life.

I walked up to Aiden, who was sitting on a log beside the pond I created to practice my domain underwater. "Patrol the area with Keal. I’m getting started."

"Don’t you want them here?"

I looked at Kline and then Sina, who was curled up next to the broken gazebo, and then back at Aiden. "It’ll be fine."

He took the hint and nodded. "Okay."

Aiden spoke to the lurvines and then rode away with the pack save Sina, leaving me in a silent state of anxiety as I waited for Brindle. Sina watched me pace back and forth with her glassy blue eyes but said nothing. Then Brindle came.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw him—but I didn’t expect what I saw. Brindle was a six-foot humanoid in a cloak, only slightly taller than Lithco, with brown hands that were relatively gentle except for the sharpened fingernails on them. His body was... deformed under the brown cloak. Or rather, it bunched up in strange ways that proved that his arms and chest weren’t smooth skin. Yet the most distinctive feature was his face.

Brindle Grask had the short snout of a Shiba Inu dog with the calcified mask of a torok and antlers that weren’t much different from that of a buck deer.

That was obviously strange.

Strangest of all, Brindle didn’t have a mouth that I could see. And when he spoke his first words, a strange and practical statement, it went straight into my mind, like when the River Guardian spoke to me.

My name is Brindle Grask, he said in greeting. I’m a Lyrindel, but your kind often refers to me as a ’druid.’ If my appearance will get in the way of your learning, speak now, and I shall mask my appearance.

I found his opening statement bizarre but refreshing. It was completely practical, devoid of ego, and direct, spoken with a voice with little to no emotion, dry to the point of speaking like a tree. I had a feeling right off the bat that Brindle didn’t think or feel like humans—like Elana—so they weren’t comparable.

Your appearance is fine," I replied. "You speak my language, and that’s enough. Would you like me to... bow to you? Or call you something?

I do not care of such things.

Then neither do I.

Brindle nodded and rummaged through the alchemy station, taking note of the ingredients. It made me feel... nervous. I liked Brindle’s simple demeanor—but it also terrified me.

This world was cruel and unforgiving, so if Brindle entered the pinnacle of power, it meant that he had bone-chilling mindsets, and his apathy may have aided him in doing anything.

"Soul cores," Brindle said.

Uh... what?

Soul cores. Where are your soul cores?

Where are my... I don’t have... wait. I unclipped my backpack, rifled through it, and pulled out a container with over a hundred milky blue rocks of varying sizes that I got from the lignan bugs. Are you talking about these?

Yes. Brindle took it from my hands, duplicating it. You have more than enough to account for eer.

I’m glad... What else will I need?

A liquid preservative. Brindle turned to the tub of ethanol that miraculously survived. That will do. We also need ingredients. Store your ingredients, and I will take you to a garden, should it still be standing.

I nodded and stored the cores in my backpack. Then, Brindle led me into the forest. Kline and Sina followed closely behind, with Kline being aware of Brindle’s presence and Sina being blind.

The walk was silent yet peaceful. I sidestepped poisonous plants that were highlighted; Brindle did the same naturally, without even looking as if every plant was as mundane and common as pines. At the same time, he was fascinated by his surroundings, as if he was shocked by how much things had changed—or how much things had stayed the same. I couldn’t tell anything about him.

"I got this..." I said. "I got this." Kline meowed and backed off as the other boars turned to me.

"Come on, you ugly bastards!" I yelled. "Let’s do this!"

They charged.

I dodged a charging boar, slicing down on its neck like I was chopping wood. A flower of blood blossomed from the beast’s missing head, and my mind captured it like a photograph. Time then resumed, and two more flew at me in a pincer attack, bucking and snorting and kicking up dirt everywhere.

I flew backward and stepped on poisonous groundcover—

—but my boots shielded my feet from getting stung by the fuzzy barbs.

Then, my back crashed into a tree, and I rolled to the side as they hit the tree. There wasn’t an opening, so I backed up, only to find the one I maimed running at me with three legs.

I rushed forward, moving to its awkward side and slamming my machete into its forehead like a baseball bat, letting gravity do the heavy lifting. I flew down as the remaining two turned and charged, furious that I had killed yet another one of their brethren.

Yet their anger was in vain. Now that there were just two, it was easy. I dodged one, slicing off its hind ankle, making it squirt out blood like a garden hose. I moved on. The last one was even easier. It hit a tree on its last charge, and I took that time to hack its spine, sending it into a seizure. It dropped as the other stood on three legs. I hacked its skull on a dodge. It skidded across the ground and fell still.

I finished off the seizing one with a chop to its skull, made sure the rest were dead, and then fell onto the ground, heart pounding like a sledgehammer striking railroad spikes.

I expected Brindle to just turn to me and give me pointers—

—but he did something that seemed uncharacteristic.

He clapped.

It wasn’t a vibrant clap or a cheer. It was a melodramatic clap, a slow clap, but it didn’t seem like he was walking in to stop a hero from fighting crime. It was a clap that simply acknowledged something.

Good.

I rolled over to him to gauge his facial expressions, but his calcified face acted as a mask. It didn’t matter, though. The clap and acknowledgment were enough.

Nothing dies in this forest, Brindle said. Those we kill become part of us. They make us strong, give us sustenance, and help us grow. And when they die, their soul purifies and becomes one with nature, acting as mana to sustain our magics. Nothing dies—but you must honor those who fall. And you do that by making their strength your own. Do not submit to your advantages.

I felt a crushing weight behind his words but nodded. Okay.

Let us go. We’re drawing near.

I stood and walked beside Brindle after that, silently led by Kline and trailed by Sina, wondering why Brindle did not ask me to butcher the animals. I wondered about a lot of things, but... I felt comfortable.

It was hard to explain, but Brindle felt like the wise old man who had lived through countless plagues and wars and betrayals only to find a way to be content. I wanted to be that. I walked on.

Then something strange happened. We walked into a section of a forest I could vaguely remember hiking through while plant hunting at one point, and I could feel myself melding into what felt like the illusionary barrier at the temporary shelter. Only instead of finding something hidden—it just remained forest. Forest, endless forest for miles. Nothing had changed but my ability to sense it.

I tried to check my map, but it wouldn’t activate, likely because Brindle was there or secrecy laws. We pressed on.

Twenty minutes later, the forest shifted once again. At one point, we were in a bright meadow. Then we hopped over a small creek and the world turned dark, as if someone turned off the lights. It wasn’t pitch black. We could see the forest was just dense and gnarled, and the branches netted together like roots.

How many illusions are there? I thought.

The more we walked, the more intricate the forest became until there were stunning natural arches of leafless branches, creating a surreal forestscape that felt like hypnosis to walk through.

At the end of it was a gnarled hellscape of swamp and swarming bugs. It was a terrifying section that no sane person would walk through without a Vietnam-era flamethrower. But Brindle did. He just walked ahead, forcing me to create a domain and skin barrier as I walked forward, cutting down branches that he had clipped with his fingers mere moments before.

We walked on.

Once we made it through that gnarled, darkened landscape, my mind filled with wonder when I saw what was on the other side.