The Divine Hunter Chapter 177

They came to a forest made up of gigantic trees the next day. The trees were mostly made up of oak trees, yew trees, and butternut trees. They had been here for hundreds, possibly thousands, of years. Their trunks were so large, it would take a few men to surround it, and they were tall enough to pierce even the skies. Their roots protruded out of the ground, and even the roots themselves were taller than a young child.

Braenn knelt before the forest and hung her head low devoutly. Geralt looked respectful, while Ciri—who had been hopping and prancing all the way—felt an inexplicable sense of pressure, and she stopped solemnly.

Roy stared at the tree that had the thickest trunk, and he cast Observe on it.

'Maokai

Age: ?? (Requires higher Perception)

Status: Holy oak tree (Brokilon's ancient oak tree. Worshipped by dryads for centuries. Thanks to their faith energy, this tree has manifested its own sentience and became a spirit of nature. It shares a part of its energy with a part of the dryads, and they protect the forest together.'

While Roy was casting Observe on the tree, two bumps the size of human fists appeared on its wrinkly bark, then they opened up just like eyelids, revealing a pair of ancient and wise eyes beneath.

A burst of green light appeared on the tree's roots, and it climbed the trunk before eventually reaching the top. The light looked like a long vine that connected the top and bottom of the tree, and it was the manifestation of faith energy.

Roy thought it felt like the time he came face to face with Melitele's statue and Dagon's altar, but it was also different. Melitele's energy felt loving and accepting, while Dagon's felt cruel and vicious. This energy, however, felt lively, just like the forest itself.

Roy breathed in the green energy, and he looked at the people who were around him, but neither of them noticed something wrong. The green light on the treetop slowly became more intense, and finally, it burst. The energy scattered everywhere, raining down on the forest. Halfway through, the light motes changed direction and charged straight at Ciri.

The young girl felt something enter her. She closed her eyes and let out a moan. The dust and soil on her face, hands, and boots were washed away as if she were taking a bath, and all her exhaustion was whisked away as well. In just a single moment, Ciri started looking refreshed and energetic.

“What happened to you, girl?” Geralt noticed the change that was happening in Ciri, and he felt curious. Braenn and Roy had the same question.

“Didn't you hear it? This tree… Maokai. It was saying hello to its friends.” Ciri stared at the big tree before her and waved at it happily. “It's welcoming me to Duén Canell. It's welcoming me here.”

The spirit noticed her Elder Blood, and it gave her a gift. Roy realized what was happening, but he shook his head. But she does not belong to the forest. Roy knew the ending well enough. He wasn't worried about Ciri being taken away.

Geralt, however, did not look as relaxed as Roy was.

After she paid her respects, Braenn picked up her pace. An hour later, they arrived in a humid valley that was surrounded by a forest made up of beech trees. Braenn suddenly came to a stop, and she told the witchers, “Gwyn Bleidd, Roy, come here.” She took her and Ciri's scarves off. “I have to blindfold you. That's the rule.”

“I understand.” Geralt had come here once. He knew the rules.

Roy shrugged. He didn't oppose it, though blindfolds would do nothing to stop his perception.

“I shall lead the way. Take my hand.” Braenn held the young witcher's hand. She was more willing to be with Roy, as he was part-elf.

Ciri stomped her foot angrily and held Geralt's big, rough hands reluctantly. “You had better not do anything funny, you meanie!”

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“Thank you for your help then. Do you know why she didn't blindfold you, girl?”

“Because we're both girls.” Ciri rolled her eyes. She asked, “What does Gwyn Bleidd mean, anyway?”

“In Elder Speech? White Wolf. That's what the dryads call me.”

“White Wolf? You're the White Wolf?” Realization struck Ciri. So this big guy is the one who helped Mother and Father? She felt a surge of affection for Geralt, and she held his hand tightly.

“Look out for the roots! Do they call you the White Wolf because of your hair?”

“No. It's because of Destiny.”

“What does that mean?”

“You will under… Whoops.”

“I told you to watch your steps! Don't get distracted!”

“And you watch where you're going, girl. I don't want to end up with a broken leg before we get to the capital.”

Roy listened to the little banter happening behind him, and he smiled. He turned his attention back to his front, and through his Perception, he could feel that Braenn was leading them down a slope. The fog was starting to thicken around them. We've finally reached our destination.

“Take your blindfolds off.”

The fog was at knee level.

“Welcome to Duén Canell. Home to the oak tree and the heart of Brokilon.”

Roy took his blindfold off. He could hear the sound of water gushing around him, and the first thing he saw was a sinkhole. When he looked above him, he saw a broad treetop covering them, and a transparent veil of water stood before them. They were standing on wet soil and hard rocks, and geysers littered the place. They would shoot out steam from time to time, covering the whole place in fog.

A refreshing scent of nature lingered in the air, and Roy felt like he was in wonderland, though there certainly was no mad hatter around.

The place was magical. The witchers' pendants were vibrating as they reacted to the visible magical energy that was around them.

“Come with me, witchers. You, take my hand.” Braenn held Ciri's hand, and she brooked no objections.

“Wow! Roy, Geralt, look at this place. It's gorgeous!”

Ciri stared around her in astonishment and swatted the steam around her away. Geralt and Roy looked at each other, and they could see worry in each other's eyes.

They went through the veil of water and walked a little before they were greeted by a loud, ear-piercing whistle. A moment later, a slim, black-haired elf in a coat made of green bark approached them elegantly, walking upon the thick roots that slept outside the hole.

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Roy cast Observe on her, and to his surprise, she was a witch who had healing powers and control over vines. She looked at the four of them, though she paid a little more attention to the White Wolf.

“Ess' ae 'n sidh?” She laughed, revealing her pearly white teeth. The elf had an adorable yet seductive laugh, but when Geralt realized that she was looking him up and down, he couldn't stay calm anymore, and he tensed.

Roy laughed quietly. Geralt. You're nearly eighty years old, and your hair's all white. Didn't think you'd be shy around women. Wait, is he so popular with the ladies because of this personality trait of his?

What happened next stunned Roy. The black-haired elf told Geralt, “Bloede caerm! Aen'ne caenn' wedd vort! T'ess foile!”

She was talking quickly, and Geralt was not fluent enough in Brokilon dialect to understand what she was saying, but Roy was. “She says you are strong, and she's very interested in you,” Roy explained.

The elf left, and she was chuckling all the way. Roy finally understood why Geralt was so popular with women, but there was a little issue. Geralt's muscular, but don't these elves care about how he looks?

“Look!” Ciri gasped, and Roy looked at her. “Their houses look so interesting!”

Duén Canell was a gigantic tree that had its roots under the big sinkhole. Ciri said the 'interesting houses' looked like oversized coconuts that were hanging from branches. Some of them were installed on the treetop, and Roy wondered if they would fall.

“Roy, Geralt!” Ciri whispered. “The houses are moving! They're alive!”

“They're made out of trees.” Geralt had recovered slightly from the awkward situation. “Dryads won't use any human tools to make their houses, but they can control the sticks with magic to create a natural shelter.”

“They're so adorable!” Ciri was apparently delighted. “Roy, can I have a house like this when I go back to Cintra?”

“You do not have to envy them. Soon, you shall have your own home,” Braenn said, and she stood before a huge door. “You may enter now. Lady Eithné is waiting. Va fail!”

“What does that mean?”

“Goodbye.”

“Oh! Goodbye, Braenn!”

They went into the treehouse, where the dappled sunlight shone upon the colorful walls.

“Geralt!”

“Frexinet! You old bastard, you're alive! I knew that dryad wouldn't leave you for dead.”

Frexinet was covered in bandages Most of his injuries were looking a lot better, but he couldn't walk too well just yet. He sat up in excitement, but when he saw the little girl who was hiding behind the witchers, his excitement turned to fury. “It's you! You little bastard!”

“No, it's not me!”

“It is you! So there you are!” Frexinet coughed, and he gurgled up blood. “Princess Cirilla, you little bastard. Do you have any idea how many of my men died because of you? I should break your legs!”

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Frexinet wasn't that scared of Ciri after that close brush with death he experienced earlier.

Ciri pouted, and she scrunched her nose. “I am a princess.” She looked up haughtily. “If you do that to me, my grandmother will have your head!”

“Then I will gladly give it to her.” Frexinet waved her down dismissively. “The mission has ended in failure, and most, if not all of my men, are dead. Your servant should have told everyone that you are missing by now. Do you know what that means?”

Ciri still held her head up high.

“You ruined your grandmother's plan!” Frexinet hissed. He seemed furious about Ciri's childish act. “What you did just destroyed whatever chances Cintra had of making an ally out of Verden. Your grandmother will have to lead Cintra's army against Nilfgaard in a year or two at most! And without any allies to aid her! Do you think she can hold the line all by herself? What you did just doomed your kingdom!”

“No. You're a liar!” Ciri retorted weakly. Her face became as white as bone, and her delight was replaced by horror.

“Alright, stop scaring her.” Roy sighed. “No one should ever let a young girl shoulder a whole nation's fate. It is unfair to her.”

Not to mention Cintra will fall with or without Verden's help. He knew Cintra's fate better than anyone. Unless all four kingdoms in the north came to help, Nilfgaard would be unstoppable. But they won't help.

“Don't move around too much. Your wounds will reopen,” Geralt said, shifting Frexinet's attention away.

Frexinet turned his attention to Geralt and started complaining about the treatment the dryads gave him. He said they stuffed his mouth full of disgusting, slimy, and rancid stuff. They talked about their past, like the time Geralt dispelled his curse.

Ciri was listening to their stories intently, and she forgot all about the fear she felt earlier.

A short while later, Braenn came into the tree house, and Frexinet blanched. His lips trembled. “Please, no more. Please don't feed me that… that wretched thing! I will not allow it! Geralt, and that witcher there! Cover me, quick!”

Braenn looked at him like he was an idiot, and she turned her gaze to the girl standing behind the witchers. “Come here, you poor thing. It is time to leave.”

“Leave? Where?” Alarm bells rang in Ciri's head, and she held the witchers' hands tightly. “I am not leaving! I want to be with them!”

“Go.” Geralt smiled bitterly. “She will take you on a tour around Duén Canell. It is much more interesting than what we have experienced.”

Ciri realized what was happening, and she whispered, “Braenn didn't cover my eyes, but she covered yours. They don't want you to know the path leading to this place, so that means…”

Ciri started sobbing, and she stared at the witchers pleadingly. “Am I never to leave this place for as long as I live?”

Braenn crept up to Ciri quietly and pulled the girl into her embrace, pushing her away from the witcher with vines. Ciri was suspended in midair, and she stubbornly extended her hand to the witchers.

Roy could not let her go just like that, not after she looked at him with trust in her eyes. He held her hand again and was about to say something to calm her, but then a voice behind him boomed, “None can escape fate.”

Everyone looked in the direction of the voice. It was solemn, majestic, and full of magical energy. It came from the highest authority of Brokilon, and it tolerated no doubt from anyone.

Braenn held Ciri in her arms and bowed to the voice. Geralt knelt before it, while Frexinet was practically prostrating himself before her. Roy, however, only slightly bowed.

“Lady Eithné.”

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The ruler of Brokilon had appeared within the treehouse's lobby.

Chapter end