Letter to Caedmon, 5th Day of Sehanine

Dearest Caedmon,

I scarcely know where to begin—it has been the strangest of our expeditions so far, a trial not only to the body, but to the mind itself. Our very sense of the nature of reality is shaken, and you know that I do not speak lightly, having witnessed some fantastical phenomena at the boundary between this and the watery plane.

I write from my cozy little attic at the top of the lockkeeper’s house; but just twelve hours ago I was resting deep in the Denarian forest, taking a much-needed break on our way back to the Glade from the ruined elven temple. Picture our party, battle-weary and still reeling from our recent experiences, huddled around the dying embers of our fire in various states of alertness and repose. Travis is bound to a large oak tree, an alarming dark liquid coursing through his veins. He looks at us as strangers and has attempted to manipulate us with his magic. Val fears that in his current state of mind, Travis might even attack us—hence our efforts to restrain our altered comrade.

To be honest, tying up our wooden friend makes me very uncomfortable. As you can probably imagine, it brings back painful memories of Talpin: of being bound up by my school-mates as a “sea monster” when my fins first became noticeable. Yet it seems like the best option under the circumstances—a safeguard against Travis escaping—perhaps permanently—to the subterranean world beneath the elven ruins, or having to injure him more seriously than we already have. He who has healed all of us so many times is even now unconscious from a blow intended to prevent him from struggling free as Val carried him away from the elven temple. If not for the dim glow of the crystal in his chest, it would be hard to tell whether he still lives.

But what indeed is does it mean to be alive, especially for a being like Travis? The sense of incompleteness—of isolation—that plagues him because of the gaps of his memory was never so apparent than it was down in the multicolored chambers below the elven ruins. I will never forget the raw emotion of Travis’s declaration to one of his former acquaintances, “I’ve been so lonely.” And the excitement in his voice on encountering beings who appeared to recognize him as an old friend! During our second visit to the rainbow chambers, my heightened senses told me that the same ghasts who had attacked us hours before—now conversing amiably with Travis—were not in fact alive, but part of an elaborate, ingenious mechanism. When I tried to draw Travis’s attention to their artifice, he gently dismissed me with the remark, “They’re just people like everyone else.” I understood that he was determined to see them as people—people who had perhaps once meant a great deal to him.

Drawn by the force of Travis’s desire, we have descended repeatedly into a wondrous space beneath the famed ruined temple of the Denarian forest. We fought skeleton warriors, ghasts, and elementals of fire and water—all so that Travis could complete an esoteric ritual to generate a rainbow-hued stone. By means of that stone, he opened up a secret underground world still further below the multicolored chambers. At the center of this fabulous space was an imposing structure: a beam of pure energy emerged from its roof to penetrate an astrolabe suspended in mid-air. It was in this temple, from which emerged the most piteous cries in an ancient tongue, that Travis contracted the strange malady that has altered him beyond recognition.

But I shall not keep you in suspense, my dearest one—you will be glad to know that we made it back to the Glade in time. Cleric Wilhelm has once again proved a most efficacious healer and restored our wooden companion to health—and his kindly, bookish disposition. To return to the scene in the forest, however: it was a rather eventful night, so I’ve recorded some of the happenings here.

Panthagion, Wynlynn, and I were on third watch together; the half-elven paladin, typically a man of few words, seemed unusually communicative.

“To whom are you writing?” he asked me.

I had been jotting down some notes for my missive to you—and was taken completely by surprise. Panthagion has always been kind to me in his way, but I can count the number of times that he has asked me anything personal.

“I guess this will become a letter—eventually—for my friend Caedmon—you must have listened to him performing at least a few times at the Delectable Comestibles.”

“Ah—the Bard. The one from whom you receive mystic sendings from time to time—or so you believe.”

“It isCaedmon. No-one could imitate his voice—or at least the way he speaks to me.”

“There are such spells, Panthagion,” offered Wynlynn, “I once knew an elven bard who was able to send her thoughts out to others—even beyond the material plane, she claimed.”

The handsome paladin was silent for a while. Then he said, “Do you think your friend would help me send such a thought message?”

“Why, I’m sure Caedmon would help you if he could. He’s always ready to help anyone who asks—and would be especially happy to do so if that person is a friend of mine.” 

Panthagion gave us one of his rare, fetching smiles. “Then perhaps we must arrange to attend the one of the bard’s performance soon. I do not deceive myself that he will have better luck than I in contacting my father, but at this point I am ready to try anything.”

“Caedmon will be in Dranseri now. Perhaps we can plan to visit the city—that is, once we see to Travis.”

“We might even need to seek help for Travis from one of the high mages of Dranseri—or perhaps one of their expert mechanics—if no-one at the Glade can help,” added Wynlynn.

After a few moments, I broke the silence.

“I wanted to apologize for my blunder in the Blue Chamber yesterday. I guess I got a bit carried away and forgot about explosive after-effects of the ice knife spell. I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for injuring you. My mentors never intended me to use my magic for combat, so I’m really still an amateur. Anyway, if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you …”

Panthagion waved his hand dismissively. “Eh. It was nothing.” But after a short pause, “But if you could ask your musician friend to help me get in touch with my father, I would eternally be in your debt.”

Wynlynn looked thoughtful. “Don’t mention it, Teal. Mistakes occur all the time in real combat situations. What’s important is that you learnfrom those errors—ultimately, that’s what separates the true warrior from the amateur. And I’ve been observing you—you’re a quick learner!”

I said nothing, but smiled with gratitude. Wynlynn continued speaking.

“And Panthagion, we have seldom had occasion to speak of your search for your father; I, too, have known what it is to search in vain for someone who meant the whole realm—and more—to me. I’d be glad to help you in any way that I can. And Val would be willing to help, too.

“Of course, I would be honored to have the assistance of such maidens as yourselves—who are as brave as you are beautiful.” 

Just then, we heard a loud rustling; all eyes turned toward Travis, just in time to see the transient glow of two obsidian orbs, which were slyly shuttered close the very next moment.

Wynlynn immediately got up and quietly headed over to the bound woodman, and Panthagion did the same. While Wynlynn was inspecting Travis’s bonds, the paladin proceeded to start untying our ostensibly unconscious companion! 

“Panthagion!” hissed Wynlynn, “What in Corellon’s name …?”

From the paladin’s glazed expression we inferred that he was under some kind of enchantment; in an effort to shake him out of his trance, I drenched him with an icy shower—but in vain.

Travis had now abandoned the pretense of slumber and was actively struggling with Wynlynn, who was doing her best to prevent him from expediting Panthagion’s efforts to liberate him.

“Teal! Knock him out again!” she yelled.

I gulped as I struck with the base of my spear, and was almost relieved when Travis dexterously avoided the blow. He was almost free when there was a flash of steel and he fell back limply against the oak tree. Wynlynn cooly sheathed her short sword, pausing momentarily to see if she had dented its blunt edge by striking the woodman.

“What … just happened?” asked a dazed Panthagion, “Why am I soaking wet??”

“Really? Three of you can’t keep one tied-up woodman from escaping?” Val’s tone was amused; she yawned and was already settling back into her spot next to the dying fire.

“Sorry I wet you for nothing just now,” I said as Panthagion wrung out his scarlet cloak.

“I needed a shower anyway.” He peeled off his dripping tunic and turned abruptly to face me. Seeing me blush, he smiled mischievously and winked before grabbing a blanket to dry himself off.

And thus ended the excitement of the night. We decided to gag Travis to forestall further unwanted enchantment, and in the morning, resumed our journey back to the Glade. The rest of the story you already know.

I shall close here tonight, my dearest friend—tomorrow I have an early start on the river to make up for several days of missing work with Old Man Styx.

Ever yours,

Teal

PS. Happy news! Which I have apparently saved for the postscript, my dearest one. All these days I have had to content myself with those peculiar thought messages you send me, but soon we may be able to meet face-to-face! For I have just heard from the others that Panthagion has found a lead for his father … we set off for Dranseri this morning. If all goes as planned, I will see you in two days’ time. If you can, please send word indicating where I may find you.