The Great Trees of Erefal and a Farewell to Leafshrine - The Journal of Anther Strein
The Journal of Anther Strein
Observations from a Travelling Naturalist in a Fantasy World
Written by Lachlan Marnoch
with Illustrations by Nayoung Lee
Previous: The Austia of Leafshrine
19th of Lodda, 787 AoC
Leafshrine Village, Erefal Wood
The Great Trees of Erefal and a Farewell to Leafshrine
Taragos has deceived us all.
As I have mentioned, we were awakened yesterday by calls of ‘Hoi!’ from the forest floor. This turned out to be a messenger on ipis-back1, bearing a letter from the Order of Febregon - the contents of which recall us promptly to Forum.
Today, having already packed my things (of which there are few, to be sure) and prepared for the journey ahead, I managed a few words with the messenger (one of my fellow Paluchard) while waiting for the others. He has visited twice previously to deliver and retrieve important missives, but we have never had the opportunity to speak. On this occasion he lingered in order to escort Taragos. To my surprise and delight, I found he had a serviceable knowledge of the Swamplander tongue, in which we conversed for nearly an hour on a variety of topics. He (his name, to the surprise of none who know me well, has utterly escaped my mind) is in service to the Prince of Erefal, which I learned today is the official name of the Principality in which we stand. As I suspected, the Prince’s domain extends this far on paper but not in practice, chiefly occupying the northern fringe of the Wood. The Principality, as with most of the Paluchard monarchies2, is client to the Order of Febregon. The Prince is hence obliged to provide messengers to the Order’s disposal.
Our conversation eventually arrived at our mission, and our reasons for leaving. I stated my puzzlement at our sudden recall by the Order, and my frustration at a job half-finished. For this I received a look of puzzlement equal and opposite.
‘You do not know why you are being recalled?’3
I reaffirmed my ignorance. The messenger glanced toward Taragos’ quarters, from which the Priest’s barked orders to the Leafshriners (dutifully helping him pack) could be heard. Whatever code of confidentiality he adheres to, the messenger appears to have decided that an exception was in order.
He told me that the last missive penned by our esteemed Priest was a report of completion. In it, he claimed a successful conversion of all residents of Leafshrine, and the elevation of their standard of living to an acceptable level. I find him gravely mistaken on both counts; I would consider our work far less than complete. In addition he wrote this, on the mission's behalf, without informing its other members. Words could not have described my fury at him for this deception.
Once Taragos saw fit to join us, I made my displeasure known in the softest terms I could muster. My protests went quite unheeded; Taragos’ response can best be described as a verbal shrug. I have no doubt that he hopes to use this latest ‘success’ as a stepping-stone to a vicarship. I also believe he wished to leave this place as soon as possible and to never return. On this I can partially sympathise, but I cannot condone the abandonment of these people4.
As much as I desired to strike the Priest with my tail, or, failing that, to lash him with the unrestrained wrath of my multilingual swearing abilities, this would not do at all. Taragos still wields considerable power over my career, as much as it stings to admit – a recommendation from him will smooth the way considerably for my coming plans. In any case, it’s too late, the deed is done. The recall order has been signed, sealed and opened. Defiance of a direct ordinance would be unwise. My only recourse is to file an official complaint in Forum, but this would be the word of a non-ordained female against that of a Priest of the Order of Febregon. Judgment is unlikely to fall in my favour.
The messenger had room for only one passenger5, and Taragos was swift to claim it as a privilege of rank. He will make directly for Treeholme, the capital of the Principality of Erefal, from whence he will continue to the coast of Lacuna. He will most likely commission a ship from there to Forum. Prentis and I are left to make our own way. As the Essilor priest, the Paluchard messenger, and their steed receded into the trees, I was able to comfort myself by thinking that I would be unlikely to meet Taragos again. I only pitied the poor messenger.
In my previous entry I neglected to write much on the village itself, and the spectacular landscape in which we have been enveloped for the past year. This I can only put down to the creeping familiarity of daily life – when we first arrived, I might have strained my neck from the amount of craning it did. I should commit as much as I can to paper now, while I am still able to gaze freely at it.
Leafshrine is built (or rather, grown – more on this later) into a cluster of erefal trees (Magnum ludicrum). It is fair to say that the villagers build their entire lives around these remarkable plants. A certain reverence for the trees is healthy, of course, but the Leafshriners have an almost cult-like obsession with them, in synergy with their Verdanist beliefs. I can see how such a venerational attitude might easily arise; the erefal tree is a singularly impressive species.
The erefal is by far the largest plant in Proesus, and most likely on all of Pendant. These great monoliths have been recorded at over five hundred heightsA tall, and nearly one hundred and sixty about the trunk6. They grow as straight as poles, diverging sporadically into branches that often reach a girth greater than that of a large sequoia tree. These become more frequent with height, until an interwoven canopy is formed near the pinnacle. The exceptions are the trees composing Leafshrine, on which I shall expand below. The branches are apt to split in two several times until they reach their termination. The tree’s bark is rough, like that of an oak, but with few knots. The erefal is an evergreen tree, insofar as it does not drop its leaves seasonally; however, the immense, multi-pointed leaves are not green, but retain the oranges, yellows and reds of autumn for the entire year. This lends the Wood its unique and sombre beauty.
The wood of an erefal tree is both exceptionally strong and relatively lightweight. Both properties are necessary for any part of the trunk to support the massive bulk of the tree above it. Even so, it is difficult to conceive of how the tree can remain standing without the involvement of magic. This has apparently been confirmed in experiment, conducted by natural and magical scholars from the University of Manifold7. Casual magic-use of this sort is not uncommon in the natural world. I may write more on this at a later date, if I have convinced myself that this will not result in my being tied to a stakei.
The tree is found almost exclusively in the Erefal Wood, hence its name8, and truly dominates the landscape. Monolithic trunks are the only sight in any direction along the ground, and their detritus is the fundament of the Woods’ ecology. The precious little light reaching the floor is burnt amber by its passage through the vast leaves. No other tree grows here in numbers; any that do are severely stunted, their light and nutrients soaked up by the erefals. However, petrified trees of various smaller species have been discovered deep in the Wood9, where none can be found now. I consider this to be evidence that the erefals have not enjoyed their monopoly over this land for all time. How did this change occur, I wonder? How were these other trees able to survive in the shadow of the erefals, as they no longer do today? Is it that the erefals were not always so grand, but became so over time? One might imagine that such enormous loftiness is of great competitive advantage to a tree in a crowded forest, giving it access to light above the reach of others. Could their immense stature have come about as a result of this competition?
Attempts to grow erefals beyond the Wood have been unsuccessful, always withering before they surpass a few heights. Although they fare poorly in the nutrient-deficient soil, some stunted specimens can be found in the southern reaches of the Veduka Rainforest, just north of the point at which it brushes Erefal.
The erefal tree produces a small, red flower, hard to discern amongst the grand multi-hued leaves. The seed generated by the flower is not much larger than an average gumnut, but is interesting for another reason. Each seed possesses a single fixed wing, shaped in such a way as to compel it to spin rapidly as it falls. I do not confess to understanding the physical principles involved in this mechanism, but it appears to produce lift, drastically slowing the seed’s fall. With assistance from a stiff breeze, the seed may hence travel a significant distance, especially when dropped from near the treetop. It is not the only seed in Proesus enjoying such a gimmick, but the advantage at which the fantastic stature of the parent tree can place this flying germ is incomparable. It is with this advantage that the trees continue their gradual reclamation of their former territory.
Even in the midst of the Wood, the trees are spaced generously10; two or more erefal trunks could be stood in the typical distance between them. Most likely, this is by necessity - one can only imagine the extent of the root networks necessary to keep these goliaths from toppling left and right. The roots must also drain the soil of nutrition for a significant radius in order to support the tree’s needs. I imagine a furious, subterranean war is taking place, in slow-motion and at all times, between the inter-tangled vascular system of each tree.
It is rare to observe the growth of a young erefal tree, the majority of the inner Wood being spoken for; but at the northern and eastern edges one may have better luck. There, competition for space and nutrition is less fierce, and the hovering dispersal method enjoys full efficacy. Erefal seedlings are vulnerable to the numerous detritivores that make their home on the forest floor, so very few young trees survive past their first year. Once established, however, records indicate that they can shoot up as quickly as one or two heights per yearC, depending on the amount of light and nutrition received. Even at this great rate, it takes an erefal several centuries to reach maturity, after which its growth slows to a crawl.
The lifespan of these trees is measured not in decades, as is the case with the palm; nor in centuries, as with the eucalypt; nor even in millennia, as the great pines of Toradus are said to attain. The most conservative estimate for the largest erefals is in the tens of thousands of years. The greatest used in the construction of Treeholme were counted as over twenty thousand years old, and these were likely not near the oldest in the Wood. By just how much they are exceeded, however, is not accurately known. Normally, taking the measure of a tree’s age is simple; one cuts it down and counts the rings in the trunk. This is a difficult and dangerous endeavour when conducted on a mature erefal tree, not only to the poor lumberjacks chosen for the task but also for any creature in the surrounding woodland. Even the natural fall of a tree is a calamitous event - more than once during our stay I thought myself amidst an earthquake, even knowing that the area is not prone to them. The rings might be counted on an individual that has met its end in this way, but this would still be a heroic task. A less final method, used in surveys of other species, is coring; that is, extracting a horizontal, cylindrical section straight through the trunk of the tree, and counting the imprint of the rings on this. Although far safer, with present materials it is even more difficult, as the friction of the coring bit against the wood becomes prohibitive past a few heights of penetration.
Regardless of exact figures, some of these trees have certainly stood here for as long as civilization has existed in Proesus. Before my species was more than a handful of scattered tribes, the tree in which I am sheltering might have been a sapling. It could have matured before the Age of Legends even began, and might have overlooked the arrival of each of the sapient species to the continent. Empire after empire has risen and fallen in its quiet gaze. It has witnessed the coming of the Limbless and the disappearance of the Praesul, and it might have ashen rings within it testifying to the Essireth Impact and the Scourge. Through all these events it has endured, and taken little notice. The questions a historian might have for an erefal tree, should she have the means to interview one.
Because they live for such an enormous span of time, erefals have no need of rapid reproduction. I fear that, in the future, this will make them exceptionally vulnerable to deforestation. Currently, very few erefal trees are deliberately cut down, largely due to the dangers mentioned above11. Although our current technology is not up to the task of exploiting them fully and efficiently, this will not be the case in perpetuity. Indeed, there is some evidence of significant deforestation having already occurred – Lacuna, the kingdom wedged between the Veduka Rainforest to the north and Erefal Wood to the south, is littered with signs of ancient erefal-felling, dating to the Age of the Limbless or earlier. It seems the Wood once extended, along Veduka’s southern edge, all the way to the east coast, and that pre-Scourge civilizations cleared it at least to its current extent. Perhaps further; I suspect it has recovered somewhat since then. Deforestation on such an incredible scale is unimaginable, and yet when the machine of industry is unrestrained there are few horrors it cannot achieve. When that time comes again, I fear the prospect of such a grand supply of timber, of such superb quality, will be too tempting for this machine to resist. I hope I am wrong, for the loss of this forest would be a grave one indeed.
Leafshrine village consists of a cluster of erefal trees in which numerous hollows, of various size, are used as living spaces. The matter of these cavities confused me for some time, as the trees do not naturally form hollows at the rate necessary for the number present. At first, I thought they must have been carved into the trees deliberately, as is the practice in Paluchard settlements at the fringes of the Wood; however, as I quickly learned, the villagers would sooner turn a knife on their own flesh than on that of an erefal tree. Besides, the interior of the hollows is too smooth, following the natural grain of the tree, to have been etched in this manner. Instead, I am now certain that the Leafshriners possess some magic with which they encourage the plants to grow to their specification. Blasphemous indeed. I don’t think Taragos ever quite put two and two together on that, or he might have blown an artery – especially considering that his precious chapel never could have existed without these heretical magics.
The entirety of Leafshrine village appears to have been shaped, and continues to be shaped, using this magic. Considering together: the rate at which erefal trees grow; the fact that each of the village-hosting trees seem quite mature in age; and the large size of some of these hollows, it seems the work to create them must have begun centuries or millennia ago. The villagers have either been here a very long time, or else came upon the cavities already a work in progress. Although at least some of the villagers are recent arrivals, as attested by their comprehension of modern Swamplander language, their plant-shaping knowledge indicates some form of continuity with the original shapers. Interviews with the villagers have shed no light on this; they are most secretive concerning their own history.
The hollows are connected by an impressive network of bridges and walkways. These are grown from a species of vine12 parasitic to the erefal tree, in tandem with the branches of the trees themselves. The branches wrap around each other and are flattened on the top to create bridges, usually a height in breadth and often more, which one can move along quite comfortably. The vines and branches are also woven into large, open areas. After much needling, the Leafshriners allowed Taragos to convert one of these into a chapel. It is a truly a spectacular thing, the floor composed of the tightly interwoven branches of three erefals in triangular formation, with one branch forming a stage, complete with a lectern grown from a sub-branch. The ceiling was also of branches, but leaving spaces covered from the exterior by the great leaves. Taragos henceforth held a weekly mass there, in attendance of which I never saw more than three Austia13.
Walkway, hollow, and interim spaces alike are adorned with all manner of other plants, in a somewhat wilder variant of the Austium style of pervasive gardening. This includes several plants for which I can perceive no aesthetic value at all. Many are endemic to the Veduka or to the lands south and west of the Crown Mountains. The Leafshriners have done well to maintain such a diverse array of plants beyond their natural habitats, especially given the limited light at this level of the Wood. Many occupy makeshift pots constructed from the bones or carapaces of dead animals, including the skulls of Paluchard and Essilor and the head-casings of Austia. This makes for a grim sight for the unprepared, but is thought little of by the villagers.
Despite the village’s name, there is no shrine here to speak of. This is unusual for Verdanists, who often keep a central garden-shrine in which worship is conducted14. I might conclude that the Austia consider the entire village their shrine, thus justifying its title; but this doesn’t feel entirely correct, either. They refuse point-blank to discuss the particulars of their faith, perhaps for fear of granting us the power to uproot it. I cannot find blame in them for that, but it leaves the answers to a number of tantalising anthropological questions just beyond my grasp. Oh well. She who must know everything will remain forever frustrated.
Leafshrine’s nearest neighbour is Canopy, another remote village set, as the name implies, high in the upper branches of the forest, several days walk from Leafshrine. The chief distinction between the two is that Canopy consists entirely of Nuntia. Although they have divided themselves along the lines of species, usually the hallmark of a grim combined history15, the two settlements have quite a cordial relationship. On a number of occasions, a Nuntium envoy visited the village, speaking the Leafshrine language with a fluency even Prentis could envy. She spoke, each time, to the village elders in private – we were not privy to the subjects of this conversation, and she always left without a word to us.
I have not been able to visit Canopy in person - I am told the way becomes, at that altitude, too treacherous for one as heavy as a Paluchard. Prentis did make the trip once, returning more puzzled than when he embarked. From what he saw, he suspects that the Canopians share similar religious practices with the Leafshriners, but he was unable to extract any information from them directly. He said that they, knowing him an outsider, were quite blunt in expressing their displeasure at his presence. This is most uncharacteristic of the Nuntium race, the members of which is normally quite unrestrained in its gregariousness.
The people of Leafshrine and Canopy have grown a series of walkways to connect their villages. Notably, the bridges go well out of their way to avoid a particularly large (perhaps even record-breaking, if my estimates can be trusted) erefal16 that lies between them. I enquired as to the reason behind this evasion; a warning to never approach the tree was the only response I received. I believe it is sacred to the people here, and I have yet to see any approach it for any reason whatsoever. I confess, on the few occasions I have come within eyeshot of the tree, to having found myself gazing at it - a strange feeling of captivation comes over me that is difficult to break.
The fourth member of our mission, Deacon Torica, shared my hypothesis as to the tree's sacred status; he was less tolerant of it than I. He vocally dismissed the villagers' behaviour as blasphemous nonsense, and elected to go forth and touch the tree as though to make a point. I believe the words he spoke upon his return were ‘your tree has no power over the mighty Febregon’. We have neither seen nor heard from him since. The atmosphere of the settlement became distinctly less welcoming for the following weeks (we were able to patch things up – I stopped fearing for my life after perhaps a month). Although my mind was already made up to obey the rule, this event only served to strengthen my conviction - hence the vagueness of my measurements of this unusual erefal specimen.
Although Prentis and I intended to leave Leafshrine today, by the time my dealings with Taragos had ended it was well past noon. The villagers have invited us to spend one final night before setting out in the morning; this will allow us to put more ground behind us on our first day and give us time tonight to plan our route. I have an unorthodox suggestion on that subject which I wish to float to Prentis.
Our final dinner-bell has sounded. Once more, good night!
1 Although elari are favoured on clear terrain, the ipis is superior in the dense, crowded undergrowth found this deep in the Wood. This messenger’s ipis is remarkably well-trained, apparently having shed its species' customary terror of daylight. We ourselves attempted the trip on elari, but when the roads faded to nothing we continued on foot and belly. The elari we were forced to set free, hoping they would find their way back to civilization. More likely, they were themselves found by one of the packs of wild grubdogs we have occasionally heard barking on the forest floor.
2 More commonly called the Paluchard Kingdoms, but, as a number of sovereign Principalities, Archduchies and Earldoms – along with a single Queendom – are counted among them, this is the more descriptive term.
3 I don’t claim to have reproduced his exact words here – my memory is not that precise – but it was certainly something to this effect.
4 Not that they would see it that way. The Leafshriners are more than happy to see our backs, I am sure, or at least that of Taragos.
5 Although I am certain that the combined weight of Taragos’ luggage must be at least the equivalent of a third passenger.
6 Assuming a near-circular trunk, which erefal trees come close to approximating, this gives a diameter of fifty or so heightsB.
7 They must have been quite secretive in their mission, to have escaped unhindered by Inquisitors; the trees only grow in territories firmly loyal to the Order of Febregon, which has never taken kindly to this manner of study.
8 Or is it the other way around? Shall have to consult an etymologist on that one.
9 I myself encountered such a specimen, pulled from the earth by the roots of Leafshrine’s southernmost tree.
10 This spacing makes the achievements of the Leafshriners even more impressive, for their grown structures must all span these distances.
11 Treeholme is the exception to this, constructed chiefly from felled erefal trees. I understand the death toll was significant.
12 Dubbed ‘giant’s leghair’, Amplectentem gigantis.
13 One of them was Prentis.
14 Perhaps it is for the best that no such thing exists here, or I have no doubt that Taragos would have endeavoured to have it torn up, and we all would have shared the fate of poor Torica.
15 For an example, one need only look to the partitioning of this subcontinent - into the Paluchard Kingdoms to the north-east, Essiloreth and Shull to the south-east, and the Austium States to the west. Each of the demarcations tells a long and hostile history.
16 At least, I believed it to be an erefal – what else could it be, at such scale? But, if it is, it is a truly exceptional specimen, perhaps even a mutant. The colouration of its bark and leaves, the patterns of its branches and roots, the number of points on its leaves, all are subtly divergent from the surrounding Wood. If only I had been allowed to examine it more closely. Such aberrations will provide, I believe, the cornerstone for any true accounting of Pendant's deep natural history. Indeed, perhaps it is not the mutant, but the last remnant of a more ancient breed – of which the erefals themselves are the mutant issue. But I race ahead of myself.
i Although witch-burnings were no longer systematically conducted, nor offically condoned, by the Order of Febregon in Anther’s time, they were not unheard of - particularly in Essiloreth’s deep west.