Despite the thoughts swimming through his head, Jim did eventually drift to sleep, enervation overpowering emotion. The next morning, an awkward silence hung around the camp. The couple packed their bags, ate the last of their rations, and continued on.

***

It was nearing noon, but up so high the sun was merciful. The heat and desolation of the northern wastes was far behind them now, replaced by the cool and calm of the Black Forest. Smells of trees and plants were otherworldly to a man who’d only ever known the desert. It was all so foreign.

OOF.

His thoughts were interrupted as he bumped into Alia. “Hey, why’d you stop?”

“Shh. I heard something. There.” Her finger pointed to an unseen place through the trees.

Ahead, the endless field of trees continued beyond Jim’s vision… endlessly. He strained his ears but caught only the usual sounds of the forest. “I’m not hearing it. Maybe you -”

In the distance, a quiet drumming moved through the trees. An uneasiness filled him. “No, wait. I do hear it. Sounds like music.”

Alia shuddered, “Drums. That’s just great. Cannibals. We have to find another way.”

Jim shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Cannibals live in the western caves. Believe me, I’ve made it my life’s goal to avoid them. This is something else.”

Alia grabbed his arm. “Jim, there’s a reason everyone avoids the Black Forest. Few make it back out. I’d like to avoid becoming part of that statistic. You know, most of the crew believed it was haunted. Now, I don’t subscribe to myths and superstition usually, but even I know this place is better left untouched.”

Jim thought about that for a moment. It was true. Even the empires of Ruin feared the Black Forest. Many adventurers had entered. Few ever returned. Despite the safety of the skies, airships avoided it for fear of dragon attack.

Fearsome dragons, some over twenty meters long made their homes in the deep forest canopy. A full grown dragon was a threat to any wooden ship, and airmen steered well clear of their rage. Their acidic spit could dissolve twenty centimeter wood planks in under a minute.

Jim had caught wind of the occasional tale of the dragons of the deep Eternal Mountains and their mythical ability to breathe fire. Ever the pragmatic skeptic, he laughed off such rumors. Why would nature curse any animal with the ability to accidentally set itself on fire? he wondered.

Returning his attention to their predicament, he replied, “You’re right, Alia, but where there’s people, there’s water. We’re down to two days supply, and I haven’t seen a single creek. There’s no problem with taking a look.”

Alia stared ahead, resigned. He took her silence as agreement. Or, at least the closest she could come to it.

They crept quietly toward the music, both taking extra caution to avoid breaking twigs or rustling leaves. As the sound grew, so did the symphony. Flutes, strings, and voices rang out with a steady beat.

Through the trees, Jim spotted the first signs of civilization. Enormous domed huts sprung up from the ground. They seemed to grow from the very earth. As they approached, Jim caught his first glimpse of a villager. Then another, and another.

There were dozens of them in a circle. Each wore a robe of what looked to him like giant sewn together leaves. They sang and played their song, oblivious to the couple’s silent approach. He could hear the words of the music, but it was in a language unknown to him. Not the dirty guttural language of cannibals, but something else. Something beautiful and flowing.

When they approached the edge of the clearing, they looked at each other. “What should we do?” Alia whispered.

After considering their options, Jim sighed. He stood up from their hiding spot and shouted just loud enough to be heard over the music, “Uhh, excuse me!” The song died away almost instantly. There was a gasp as the group turned to look at them. But it wasn’t from the villagers. Alia placed her hand over her mouth and Jim took a step back as they realized it at the same time.

The people were not human.

From beneath their earthen hoods, yellow eyes stared at the couple. Among the group, Jim counted dozens of shades of gray, white, and yellow. Each humanoid feline was covered in varied black spots and stripes.

The larger members of the group broke into a trot toward Jim and Alia while the children and elders scurried toward the nearest huts. Even in their haste, they seemed to move with the natural grace of a cool spring.

Instinctively, Alia gripped her spear tighter. Seeing her reaction, Jim whispered to her, “Drop it, quick! These guys could tear us limb from limb if they wanted to.”

Against all instincts, she complied. The pole hit the ground with a loud thud.

The hulking figures approached them. They were even larger up close - the tallest standing a couple heads above them both. Surprisingly, none had drawn a weapon. Jim wasn’t entirely sure they had weapons under their cloaks.

There was a shared moment of awe as both sides stared at one another. Finally, the tall one spoke, “Shu a Emat. Sha ela hom’a?”

Jim glanced at Alia, but she was far too busy gawking at the alien figures. Finally, he gathered the courage to reply, “I’m sorry, but we don’t understand you.” The dozen beings whispered amongst themselves.

What he could only guess was an argument broke out between the elder leader and a younger feline. Finally, the large one raised his hand. The group was silent and turned back to Jim and Alia.

The leader opened his cloak to reveal a leather belt with a large bag attached to it. Reaching into the bag, he drew out a green rock. The smooth palm sized stone was covered in a writing unfamiliar to Jim. Somehow, it was familiar to him though. Its pictographic design reminded him vaguely of the ether cubes used to power clockwork men and many other machines.

The strange rock seemed to pulsate in the creature's hands. Again, the younger feline whispered something but was silenced by a sharp word from the leader. He held out his hand with the stone and pointed at Jim with the other.

A gift? Jim hesitated a moment before reaching for the rock. He probed at it with his fingers. It was warm to the touch. With each pulse, it sent a small tingling sensation down his arm. Finally, he wrapped his fingers around it.

As he began to remove the rock from the creature’s hand, suddenly, its claws extended, closed, and anchored Jim’s hand with searing pain. He grunted and attempted to withdraw his arm, but it was held fast.

From behind, Alia leapt to his aid. Grabbing the being’s enormous fur covered forearm, she pulled, but the feline was a statue. His muscled body absorbed any attempts she made. Nearby villagers quickly restrained her. It took three of them to hold her back. “Let him go, you animals! You sons of -”

The world around Jim dissolved. Sight and sound faded behind a thick blanket of white.

Suddenly, he was suspended… somewhere, in a blinding white nothingness. He tried to get his bearings but, there was no ground or sky. Just white. As the seconds passed, a feeling crawled up his spine. It was an instinct as old as humanity.

He was being watched.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Silence.

“I know you’re here. What do you want?!”

Silence.

Seconds turned to minutes. He was suspended in… whatever he was in. There was nowhere to run, no way to run. Besides, where would he go?

The silence was like nothing he had ever known. Even on the quietest nights, far from civilization, he could still hear the wind blowing, the sand shifting, or his own heart beating. Here, it was complete nothingness. Limbo.

A voice penetrated his world. It was deep yet, soft. Authoritative yet, gentle. All around him, it echoed off walls that he couldn’t see. “Son of Amar, can you understand me?”

Jim was puzzled. “Uhh, yes. Who’s there?”

Before him from the ethereal white, a figure resolved slowly. It was the cat man that had pierced his arm. In this place, he was uncloaked, wearing trousers of desert cotton that cut off slightly below his knees. He was decades younger; yellow fur providing a brilliant canvas for black spots and stripes that covered his entire body.

In the cat’s face, there was an expression of kindness and friendship. Jim couldn’t quite understand why, but he knew instantly, the being meant him no harm. The being spoke again, “Your mind is filled with questions. It is comforting to see the years have not dulled the curiosity of man. Tell me, son of Amar, have all your people forgotten the old tongue?”

Jim was confused. “You mean those words you spoke earlier? I’m sorry but, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard them.”

The being’s face twisted into an expression Jim couldn’t quite make out. Is he upset or excited?

“The answer to your question is both!”

Jim looked around, “I’m sorry, what?”

Sharp white teeth broke through the being’s furry face as he laughed. “It is the transference. Our minds are linked through the power of the Ge’tal, the stone upon which you laid your hand. To answer your question, I am both saddened and excited.”

Jim was unsure of his next words. If he can read my thoughts, why speak at all?

“Because you can not read mine. My people have had many generations of experience with the Ge’tal. You have not...”

Jim was still lost, but he nodded. The feline replied with a toothy grin, “Son of Amar, my name is Emat. My people are called the Ll’tal. We have been waiting many generations for you.”

Jim shook his head, “Many generations? How long do the uh… Ll’tal live?”

Emat laughed again, “I myself am nearing eight hundred. I am the eldest of my people. In the days before The Fall, my people lived thousands of years.”

Jim stared in disbelief. “Thousands? How?”

Emat shook his head, “That is a question that can wait for later. Your mate is quite upset. She believes I intend you harm. Even now, it is taking my strongest warriors to subdue her Maal Rage.”

Jim cocked his head. “I don’t know what Maal Rage is but I think you mean… awakened power?”

Emat laughed again and clapped his paws together, “Aha! Wonderful! The connection is beginning. You are starting to hear my thoughts. Yes, what we call Maal, your people call awakened power. It is an ancient power that predates your father.”

Jim held up a hand, “That’s another thing. Who is Amar? My father died when I was young, and his name was, well, Jim. I borrowed it from him.”

Emat paused to think, “Ahh yes, you call them… ancestors? Yes, ancestors. Amar was the first Maal warrior of humans and your first emperor.” That lit Jim’s mind with even more questions but he was stayed by Emat. “We must end the transference. Too much on the first connection can be harmful to the untrained. I will answer your questions in time, but for now, I think your mate needs attending.”

“But she’s not my ma-”

The fog dissolved as sounds of the forest… and Alia’s shouting returned. The pain in Jim’s wrists was dulling to a throb. In front of him, a much older Emat stood and withdrew his hood.

The cat man waved his hand over Jim’s healing wounds, “I’m sorry for the harm to your body. The first transference can only be accomplished through blood. I can assure you, next time it will not be required.”

Already Jim’s awakened powers coursed through him, rapidly healing the lacerations. “I understand.” He realized suddenly, he was talking in the language of the Ll’tal.

The commotion from behind him stopped and the familiar voice of Alia spoke out, “What the hell, Jim?! You speak their language? What did they do -”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down. You can too. You’re going to need to put your hand on one of those stones though.”

“Like hell I am.”

Jim sighed. Another argument. Why not?

***

Emat walked with the couple through the incredible village. What Jim thought at first to be dwellings were actually tree roots with huge openings. All around them, in neat rows, houses seemed to literally grow from the earth. The five meter high domes were made entirely from wood. Living wood. Facing the leaf strewn street, each dome displayed an arched door where the roots simply grew around.

Though Alia had refused the transference, Emat was quite happy to speak their language. The knowledge had flowed both ways during his and Jim’s connection. Jim stopped to closer examine one of the dwellings.

Alia had calmed down as they walked through the oddly built village. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she asked the question on both her and Jim’s mind, “What are these things? They’re… beautiful.”

Emat halted his stroll. Gesturing with both hands, he replied, “They are called Emarat, which means Tree Home. When one of us dies, we are buried beneath the soil. In the hand of the deceased is placed a seed. That of the Aratal tree. Over time, the body breaks down and nourishes the new life of the Aratal sapling.”

He pointed to the nearest opening which was covered in a beautifully woven tapestry of red cloth and gold lettering. “Keepers of The Tree cultivate and manipulate the roots as they grow to create doorways. Within a few years, the roots grow to the size you see before you. It is then that the children of the deceased take up residence.”

Jim was enchanted by the sight. On the dwelling exterior, in front of them were countless shapes and drawings. Flowers, trees, dragons, and forest birds of many colors adorned every inch of the structure.There were more colors than he could count.

“You called these roots,” Jim ran his hands over the textured walls, “but, they’re huge. Is it a tree made entirely of roots?”

Emat shook his head. “No. The dwelling before you is only eighty years of age. The trunk of the Aratal tree does not spring from the roots until at least one hundred years.”

Alia whistled. “So, you never get to see your own home become a tree? That seems like a rip off ending to life.” Jim glared at her, but she either didn’t see it or was ignoring him. Their spat earlier had only pushed her away. Any hope of revisiting the kiss was evaporating away quickly.

Emat laughed again, “Eighty years you say? That’s hardly the start of a healthy life. Some of my people have lived over a thousand years.”

Alia stopped the group and turned to Emat. “A thousand what? You can’t be serious.”

Emat nodded and placed his paws behind his back. A mischievous smile crossed his face. “We have a… what do you call them? Ahh yes, a joke. We have a joke here in Ll’tal society. One who is very old. Say, eight or nine hundred years hears it often from other elders. They say, your tree is tall and may fall upon the village any day now. Stop being so selfish and die already!”

“That’s a bit morbid,” Alia’s face twisted into a grimace while Jim was trying… and failing to stave back a laugh.

Emat smiled again, “My child, we do not see death as the end of a story, but rather the end to only a single chapter. We embrace every day we live, and we live as if we have only begun the story.”

They started walking again, weaving down countless pathways through the Aratal homes. Every few dozen meters, the homes grew larger and larger until, finally, they begun to spring tree saplings. Within minutes, they had reached a section of the village where the trees grew nearly thirty meters high. Then fifty. Then sixty.

Each street was more impressive than the last. Deeper into the growth, every tree outdid the one before it. The drawings on the dwellings didn’t stop at the top of the domed roots. As the trees grew, so did the art.

Every tree trunk was covered as high as Jim could see against the midday sun as it poked through the canopy. Ahead of them, the forest village grew ever taller until it faded upwards into the distance like a titan’s mythical staircase.

Finally, they reached the end of their tour. Here, there were very few people walking the streets. In the “roots only” sector, children darted to and fro underfoot and adult Ll’tal went about their daily lives. The Ll’tal did their best to hide their stares, but Jim caught a few wary glances.

Here though, a few elder Ll’tal hobbled around near their dwellings. Some sat in handcrafted rocking chairs of vine and branch, reading, softly speaking, or sometimes just staring. Others simply wandered the streets aimlessly.

Jim could see in Alia’s body language a protest was coming, so he jumped in first, “Uhh, Emat. Why are there no people here to take care of the elderly?”

Emat stared, confused. “Take care of them? How do you mean?”

Jim scratched his head. “Well… we… humans that is, tend to our elders when they grow too old to care for themselves. It’s a way to pay back your parents and grandparents for raising and providing for you.”

Emat pondered Jim’s words before speaking, “We are not as helpless as we appear. And… we are well taken care of.” Reaching into his cloak, he withdrew a small jade colored whistle. He placed it on his pursed lips and blew.

The noise was that of a small finch. As he continued to blow, it grew in intensity. Soon, Alia and Jim were covering their ears as the sound reverberated through the trees.

Around them, the few elders in sight seemed completely unphased, almost oblivious to the sound. Suddenly, it stopped, and Emat slid the whistle back into his cloak. From the trees, a shriek pierced the air. Birds scattered, and trees groaned.

Dragon!