11. Chapter 11
The surrounding trees on the other side of the stream were skinny and frail, their trunks charred and dried, all life burned out from within. Their branches drooped around them, as if they had never stood tall. Instead, they were curled in on themselves, as if fearful of another decimation.
It would have been hard for anyone else to know what lay on the other side of the trees, yet I knew what all these signs pointed to. A village, long lost to the Shroud, with nothing left but ruins.
As I moved closer, pushing aside the branches that blocked the view of the former village, I heard Malik follow me across the stream.
Nothing but the sounds of us moving across dead roots, fallen trees, and crumpled leaves filled the air, for here, even the air was free of all sound, all life.
Not a single hint of birdsong or rustle of leaves to fill the space between the branches.
Everything that made this village the lively place it once was had been sucked away in a matter of moments years ago.
After the Black Shroud, rumors had circulated that some villages had not survived.
The cold and lack of sunlight had lasted just a moment too long in these places and had taken all life.
The Mother Blessed lacked the means to verify such news, for we had to stay behind and help our respective villages, depending on messengers brave enough to travel from village to village after the Shroud to relay their findings, and even then, the messengers did not always make it home.
I never thought I would find myself face-to-face with a place that has seen such destruction, yet, here I stood, on the edge of one of those ruined villages I had hoped was just a myth, staring at a fallen Temple of the Mother Blessed, a place a group of people had once called home.
The emptiness and ache of so much life, now gone, was palpable.
"Should we go closer?" Malik asked.
I nodded and followed Malik as he pushed the thicket aside, leading the way to the path that ran through the village.
Decimated homes surrounded us as we walked, their structures worn and crumbled down to the very first layer of rock that made up the foundation. Everything that this village used to be—a home, a place of safety, a place where families were made and built—all gone.
We walked in silence, our footsteps echoing between us, and took note of the little signs of life that had once dwelled here—the shoes of children, shards of broken plates, and dropped hairpins that lined the footpath we walked on.
Sorrow shot through me at the loss of life in this village, a sudden wave of shame washing over me at how much I had struggled with my own losses from the Shroud, when in reality, I had been lucky.
I wondered what that night had been like for the people of this village.
I had no clue what the Shroud had been like in other parts of Wellea, how the dark cloud had spread.
Did it happen fast, like it did in Sorrel?
Or did it approach slowly, a looming threat from which there was no escape?
Did they at least get to clutch their loved ones close as they watched the Shroud descend on them?
We walked until we reached what used to be the entrance of the village's temple, only to find it barred by the roots of the Astaros tree that stood within.
Even from outside, I could see how the Astaros was suffocating in the small space without the care of the Mother Blessed.
Unattended for so long, the tree grew wild, its limbs reaching in every direction, taking over the temple.
Spindly roots climbed up the walls until they dangled from the ceiling, and the branches of the tree pushed onto the ceiling until the crumbled stone gave way, littering the ground.
It was a small reprieve to see the Astaros tree of this village still alive, even if on the brink of death. It still stood tall, the shell of its trunk gray, spindly branches reaching towards the sky through the temple oculus.
"This one looks like it was once much grander than what we grew up going to," Malik said, nodding towards the temple.
Even though the structure was crumbled and ruined, I could see that Malik was right. Our temple back in Sorrel was small and the feeling of grandeur, of an otherworldly presence so much bigger than oneself, was much more here. It was overwhelming, yet peaceful.
I craned my neck to see the tops of the walls of the temple that soared above us, its peaks nearly reaching the same height as the nimid trees in the surrounding forest. The thin arches that made up the walls were instrumental in the flow of air through the temple, and allowed a view of the would-be patrons inside, had this town not been destroyed.
But it was the carvings ingrained into the stone that truly set this temple apart from the one in Sorrel.
Carvers had an important role, tasked with preserving the story of the Mother, etched into stone so it would stand the test of time.
These were so intricate, so lifelike, that I wouldn't have been surprised if they started moving.
I walked closer, taking in the details, as every village adopted its own style.
These were more fluid, the carvings melting into one another all around the temple.
If these carvings on the outside were already so beautiful, I knew the ones inside would put all the carvers in Sorrel to shame.
I wanted nothing more than to look inside, to see just how different this temple was from the one I had grown up with, yet I could tell that gaining entrance would not be easy.
I felt what this temple and the tree inside it had been through, felt the rage and despair it had experienced when the Black Shroud descended upon it.
I could feel that it had done everything it could to protect itself, and that it would not easily drop its defenses.
I approached the door cautiously, carefully feeling into the depths of the dirt below me, still sore from the use of my powers in Sorrel.
The roots recognized my presence quickly, their movements unsure, the cold chill of their bite beginning to rise to the surface as I pressed my hand to the root-and-vine-covered walls.
"Lyra, you don't need to—" Malik started when he saw me pull back, giving the roots their space.
"It's okay," I said. "Give me a moment."
I bent down, tracing my hand over the dirt, coaxing the roots up to the surface, showing them that there was nothing to fear.
There was only a slight twinge of pain, an uncertain bite back, but eventually, the roots conceded to me, and I felt relief as they slithered away from the door, allowing us passage into the temple.
We entered slowly, taking in the abandoned space.
The roots of the Astaros crawled up the sides of the stone walls, covering the archways and the open dome that usually allowed sunlight inside, bringing light into the temple.
But with the Astaros tree so overgrown, the inside was cast in a deep green hue that felt otherworldly, like we were inside the tree itself.
Silent, empty air hung in the lonely space, but even just a few steps into this temple, I could tell that this was once a lively place.
Malik had always said being inside the temple overwhelmed him, and in that moment, I understood why.
But still, as I walked deeper into the temple, I felt a sliver of tension leave my body, my shoulders dropping and my brow softening for the first time since we left Sorrel.
The air held the echoes of the many hums of the Mother Blessed that once used this space, their melodies hanging here still, as if they were forever immortalized within it, much like the carvings on the wall were.
I turned, expecting to find Malik a few paces behind me, as I knew how much he disliked the Astaros, but instead I found him right behind me, observing the temple as closely as I was.
"It's been a long time since I've been inside of a temple," he said when he noticed me watching him. "I've missed it."
"Did you really?" I asked, surprised.
While the temple was a place for the Mother Blessed to find solace, I had always enjoyed Malik's company within.
There was something about sharing that sacred space with him that I had come to love, and had missed.
Therian never came to the temple with me, not even on bigger holidays where the entire village came to celebrate the Mother and Rida.
He always said he had better things to do, that he could not concern himself with the frivolous ways of the Divine.
"I did," Malik responded.
"Even with as much as you hated it?"
Malik chuckled as he nodded. "It was one of the few times I could find some peace in my days. Where no one would bother me for anything."
I smiled, as I knew even as sociable as he could be, Malik always needed time to brood.
On those days growing up when I didn't need to go to the temple, we would sit by the river in silence, just enjoying one another's company, the both of us getting lost in our own thoughts.
Those were some of my favorite days, the rush of the water often lulling me to sleep, awakening only when Malik shook my shoulder to tell me it was time to go.
"I especially missed it in Uscal," Malik continued. "There weren't many places to find quiet there."
I turned my attention back on the Astaros, gliding my hand down the marred trunk as my mind raced, wondering what he had experienced in Uscal, what it was like for him and how it had shaped him into the man who stood before me in that moment.
"Tell me about Uscal. What is it like there?"
Malik turned and looked to the Astaros tree, studying it like I had never seen him do before, his face relaxed and reminiscent.
"It's warm and humid. Much flatter than here, the terrain nowhere near as interesting. The people who live in Uscal were welcoming, accepting us with open arms, as they are not nearly as populated as Wellea."