Through the Roots

# Chapter 24: Through the Roots

The test subject was Brennan, because of course it was.

"Absolutely not," Kira said when he volunteered. They were standing at the base of the Great Tree—the ancient colossus that housed the First Anvil and had become the heart of their nascent sanctuary. Morning light filtered through the canopy in shafts of gold, and the air hummed with the steady pulse of the runewood network. "If something goes wrong, you could end up scattered across sixty miles of underground root channels."

"And if something goes wrong with Tam or Sera, you lose a student or a scholar. Both harder to replace than a soldier." Brennan adjusted his sword belt with the practiced ease of a man who had long ago made peace with risk. "Besides, someone has to go first. Better me than a fourteen-year-old boy."

"I could go myself—"

"No. You're the only person who can operate the network. If you get trapped inside it, who pulls you out?" He looked at her with that infuriating calm that meant he'd already made up his mind. "Send me to the foothills hub and bring me back. If it works, we know it's safe. If it doesn't, you'll figure something out. You always do."

Kira wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him that his life mattered more to her than proving a theory, that the thought of losing him to an untested magical transport system made her stomach clench with a fear she couldn't name.

But he was right. Someone had to go first, and he was the logical choice.

"Stand on the central root," she said, pointing to a thick ridge of wood that rose from the earth at the Great Tree's base—one of the primary roots that connected to the network. "And hold still. If you feel a pulling sensation, don't fight it."

"What if I feel a crushing sensation?"

"Then you should probably fight that."

Brennan laughed—a genuine laugh, warm and unexpected—and stepped onto the root. He planted his feet, squared his shoulders, and nodded.

Kira knelt beside the root and placed both palms flat against it. The network unfolded in her mind's eye—the web of channels connecting the First Anvil hub to the foothills hub, sixty miles of underground pathway pulsing with magic. She found the channel she wanted: the primary route, the broadest, most stable connection between the two nodes.

Then she did something she'd never done before.

She wrapped the channel around Brennan.

Not physically—magically. She extended the network's awareness to encompass him, to recognize him not as an obstacle but as a passenger. She felt his weight, his mass, the stubborn solidity of his non-magical body, and she shaped the channel to accommodate him.

It was like trying to push a stone through a river without disrupting the current.

"Kira?" Brennan's voice was steady, but she caught the edge of uncertainty. "I can feel something. Like the ground is vibrating."

"That's the network accepting you. On the count of three, I'm going to activate the transport. It will feel like falling. Don't panic."

"I never panic."

"One."

She tightened her grip on the channel.

"Two."

She aligned the entry and exit points.

"Three."

She opened the pathway.

Brennan vanished.

One moment he was there—solid, real, his boots planted on the root, his eyes meeting hers. The next, the channel pulled him in like a river swallowing a stone, and the space where he had stood was empty.

Kira kept her hands on the root, tracking him through the network. She could feel him moving—fast, impossibly fast, a point of non-magical solidity shooting through channels of pure energy. The root system guided him, the magic carrying him along like a leaf in a stream.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

Fifteen—

A pulse from the foothills hub. Arrival.

Kira exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Through the network, she could feel Brennan at the other end—alive, intact, his heartbeat elevated but steady.

"He made it," she said, and Sera, who had been standing ten feet away with her hands pressed over her mouth, let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh.

Tam was less restrained. "That was INCREDIBLE! Can I go next?"

"Not yet." Kira kept her hands on the root, maintaining the connection. "I need to bring him back first."

The return transport was smoother—the channel had been primed by the first passage, the pathways widened, the magic accustomed to carrying a physical body. Brennan materialized on the root with a gasp, staggering forward two steps before catching his balance.

He was pale. His hair was standing on end, and his eyes had the wild, dilated look of a man who had just experienced something his mind couldn't fully process.

"Report," Kira said, trying to keep her voice clinical.

Brennan blinked. Took a breath. Another.

"It felt," he said slowly, "like being swallowed by the earth and spat out by a mountain. Everything was dark, and moving, and there were lights—runes, I think—flashing past so fast they blurred together. The landing was—"

"Rough?"

"I was going to say 'violent.' But I was on my feet within seconds. The standing stones at the foothills hub were exactly as you described them." He ran a hand through his disordered hair. "It works, Kira. The pathway works."

Sera was already scribbling notes on her bark-paper. "Duration of transit?"

"Fifteen seconds," Kira said. "For sixty miles. That's four miles per second."

"We could cross the continent in under a minute," Sera breathed.

"In theory. In practice, I've only activated one other hub. The pathway between here and the foothills is the only route currently operational." Kira stood, brushing dirt from her knees. "But this proves the concept. The network can transport people. We can use it to bring in new arrivals, to evacuate if the Church finds us, to move between safe locations without being tracked."

"What about side effects?" Brennan asked. "Will it work on non-magical people long-term? I'm not exactly brimming with runic energy."

"I don't know. The original runesmiths designed the network for their own use—they all had magical potential. Using it for non-magical passengers might have effects I can't predict." Kira studied him, extending her senses. "You feel normal?"

"Define normal."

"No pain? No disorientation? No urge to spontaneously sprout leaves?"

He managed a weak smile. "Just a mild case of existential terror. Nothing a stiff drink won't fix."

---

Over the next three days, Kira refined the transport protocol.

She sent Brennan through twice more, adjusting the speed and cushioning the arrival each time. The second transit was smoother, the third almost comfortable—Brennan reported that it felt less like being swallowed and more like sliding down a very long, very dark hill.

Tam went next, despite Kira's reservations. The boy's runic potential actually made the transit easier—his magic resonated with the network, reducing friction and allowing the channel to carry him more efficiently. He arrived at the foothills hub grinning ear to ear and immediately demanded to go again.

Sera declined to make the trip. "Someone needs to stay and document the process from the sending end," she said with scholarly dignity that almost concealed the green tinge of anxiety in her face.

While Kira worked on the transport system, the world continued to change around them.

The runewood forest was growing faster now, fed by the active hub network. New saplings pushed up through the earth in waves, extending the forest's boundary by miles each day. Birds and animals were returning to the Shattered Lands—not the ordinary creatures of the surrounding territories, but something new. Forest spirits materialized among the trees with increasing frequency, their forms more defined, more purposeful. They tended the saplings, guided the streams, and maintained the wards that kept the Church's patrols at bay.

And the forge's call continued to resonate across the world.

Kira felt them coming. More people with runic potential, drawn by dreams and visions, making their way toward the spreading forest. Some were close—within days of arrival. Others were distant, their signals faint, like stars just above the horizon.

But all of them were in danger.

"We need to start extraction operations," Kira told the group on the evening of the third day. They were gathered around a fire in the Great Tree's courtyard—an open space between the massive roots where the forest spirits had grown a ring of mushrooms that glowed with soft bioluminescence. "I can feel at least eight people within a hundred miles who are manifesting runic potential. Some of them are in villages near Church outposts. If the Church's Flame-priests detect them before we do—"

"They'll burn them as heretics," Sera finished, her voice flat. She knew better than anyone what the Church did to those it deemed corrupted by forbidden magic. She had watched it happen, in her years as an initiate, and the guilt of her silence still haunted her.

"I can reach the closest ones through the forest," Kira said. "The runewood extends far enough to cover most of the region. But the people farther out, in the Empire's interior—they're beyond the forest's reach. We need the hub network to get to them."

"Which means activating more hubs," Brennan said.

"Yes. The two southern hubs are next—they're closest to major population centers. If I can activate them, we'll have pathways reaching into the Empire's heartland."

"That's a long journey through hostile territory."

"Not if I use the existing pathway. I can transit to the foothills hub in fifteen seconds, then travel overland from there. It cuts the journey in half."

Brennan chewed his lip, considering. "You'd still be alone in Church-controlled territory."

"Not alone." Kira looked at Tam, who was practicing his control exercises by the fire, his magic forming gentle spirals of light in his cupped hands. "Tam's ready for a field exercise."

"Tam is fourteen."

"I was seventeen when I started. And at least he'll have a teacher." Kira met Brennan's eyes. "I know it's risky. Everything we do is risky. But those people out there don't have the luxury of waiting for us to be ready."

The fire crackled in the silence that followed. Forest spirits drifted at the edge of the clearing, their knothole eyes reflecting the flames.

"I'll come with you," Brennan said.

"You always do."

"Sera stays here. She can manage the sanctuary—she knows the wards, she can communicate with the forest spirits, and she has the maps."

"Agreed." Kira looked at Sera. "Can you handle it?"

"Handle a magical forest sanctuary, several dozen spirit guardians, and the theoretical possibility of Church invasion?" Sera smiled thinly. "I was a Church scholar for twelve years. Compared to faculty meetings, this is relaxing."

---

They left at dawn.

The transit through the root pathway was becoming routine—Kira opened the channel, the network carried them through, and they emerged at the foothills hub in under twenty seconds. Brennan handled it with soldierly stoicism, Tam with barely contained glee.

"That never gets old," the boy said, bouncing on his toes. The standing stones hummed around them, their ancient runes now glowing with steady amber light.

"Stay focused," Kira said, but she couldn't suppress a smile. Tam's enthusiasm was infectious, a reminder that not everything about their situation was grim. "We're in Church territory now. Keep your magic contained."

Tam's face sobered. He drew his scattered energy inward with a focus that impressed Kira—three weeks ago, he couldn't have managed it. Now, the coils of visible magic that had once swirled around him constantly were held tight within his body, invisible to anyone without runic senses.

They moved south through the foothills, following a track that wound between the stone spires. Kira kept her senses extended, monitoring the surrounding territory for Church patrols and runic signatures. The nearest manifestation of new potential was twelve miles south—a cluster of signals that suggested not one but three individuals in close proximity.

A family, perhaps. The runesmith bloodline often ran in families, dormant for generations until the forge's call activated it.

"There," Kira said after four hours of steady hiking. She pointed toward a valley where smoke rose from a cluster of buildings—a small farming settlement, no more than a dozen houses surrounded by fields of grain and root vegetables. "The signals are coming from the village."

Brennan surveyed the approach with a tactician's eye. "One road in, one road out. Open ground on all sides. If the Church has people watching—"

"They don't. Not yet. But there's a Flame-priest in the next town, about five miles east. If anyone in the village reports strange occurrences..."

"Then we're on a clock." Brennan adjusted his pack. "Let me go in first. A traveler looking for work draws less attention than two strangers and a glowing teenager."

"I don't glow," Tam protested.

"Not right now. But if you lose control—"

"I won't."

Brennan looked at Kira, who nodded. "Go. Find out what's happening. We'll wait at the treeline."

He went.

Kira and Tam settled behind a screen of bushes at the edge of the valley and waited. Tam practiced his breathing exercises, his magic held steady and tight, while Kira monitored the village through the ambient magic in the soil.

The three signals were clustered in the same building—a farmhouse at the village's eastern edge. Two adult signatures, one juvenile. All three were active, their untrained magic leaking into the environment in patterns Kira recognized: small objects moving on their own, water behaving strangely, unexplained sounds.

The kind of things that made neighbors nervous. The kind of things that drew Church attention.

Brennan returned within the hour, his expression grim.

"A farmer named Edric, his wife Maren—no relation to the Inquisitor—and their daughter, age eleven. The daughter started having seizures four days ago. Not real seizures—magical overflows. Her parents think she's possessed. They've been keeping her inside, but the neighbors have noticed. Things are happening that can't be explained."

"Have they sent for the Church?"

"Not yet. The father is old-fashioned—distrusts priests. But the village elder is pressing. He thinks they should call for a Flame-priest before things get worse."

"Then we don't have much time." Kira stood, brushing dirt from her clothes. "I'm going in."

"As what? A wandering healer? A runesmith?" Brennan's voice was skeptical. "If you tell them their daughter is manifesting forbidden magic—"

"I'll tell them the truth. That their daughter has a gift, and that I can help her control it." Kira looked at Tam. "And I'll bring proof."

Tam straightened. "Me?"

"You were where they are three weeks ago. Scared, confused, leaking magic everywhere. Now look at you—controlled, capable, alive." She smiled. "You're the best argument I have."

Tam swallowed hard, then nodded. "Okay. Let's go convince some farmers that their daughter isn't possessed."

They walked into the village together—Kira, Tam, and Brennan trailing at a discreet distance. The farmhouse was easy to find; even without runic senses, Kira could have located it by the ring of dead grass around its foundation and the way the shutters rattled in windows despite the still air.

She knocked on the door.

A woman answered—broad-shouldered, with the weathered face of someone who had spent her life working the land. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair uncombed. Behind her, Kira heard a child whimpering and the sound of something heavy scraping across a floor.

"Whatever you're selling, we don't want it," the woman said.

"I'm not selling anything." Kira held up her hands, letting the runes on her palms glow just faintly—enough to be visible, not enough to be threatening. "I'm here about your daughter."

The woman's face went white. Her hand went to the door frame, gripping it hard enough to turn her knuckles pale.

"Who sent you? The elder? The Church?"

"No one sent me. I heard her call." Kira lowered her voice. "The dreams. The visions of fire and stone. The things moving on their own. I know what's happening to her, because the same thing happened to me."

The woman stared at Kira's glowing palms. Behind her, something crashed—glass, by the sound—and the child's whimper became a wail.

"Please," the woman whispered. "Please help her. She's been like this for days. We don't know what to do."

Kira stepped inside.

The girl—small, dark-haired, with her mother's strong jaw and her father's green eyes—sat in the middle of the kitchen floor surrounded by floating objects. Cups, plates, spoons, a heavy iron pot—all suspended in the air around her, orbiting slowly, held aloft by the raw magic pouring out of her in uncontrolled waves. Her eyes glowed silver, and tears streamed down her face.

"Make it stop," she begged. "Please make it stop."

Kira knelt before her and reached out her hand.

"I will," she said. "I promise."

The runes on her palm blazed, and the girl's magic responded—not with resistance, but with relief, like a dam finally allowed to open its gates. The floating objects settled gently to the floor. The silver glow in the girl's eyes softened, dimmed, then faded to a gentle shimmer.

The girl collapsed forward into Kira's arms, sobbing.

Kira held her and felt the thread of connection form—the same resonance she had felt with Tam, teacher to student, the second link in a growing chain.

"It's going to be all right," Kira murmured, stroking the girl's hair. "You're going to be all right."

Outside, the village went on with its business, unaware that the world had just changed a little more.

In the corner of the kitchen, Tam watched with eyes that understood exactly what the girl was going through. He caught Kira's gaze and nodded slowly.

Two students.

A beginning.