It looked like any other forest to Wendel. There was a pungent, spicy smell to the air, and the trees had a uniformity he did not normally associate with forests, but otherwise it seemed like any other grove. The trees all had the same dark grey bark, and were tall and straight. There was no underbrush here either, and the going was very easy.

Wendel missed the horse he had come to think of as his own. Dr. Mendes had insisted that they give both horses to the villagers that had survived the earthquake. That had been another fruitless investigation as far as Wendel could tell. Not only had the earthquake been natural, but the villagers had nothing to offer as payment, and Dr. Mendes had given them a large portion of their travel rations and their horses to help with the rebuilding.

They were being led through the forest by a man on horseback. Wendel missed riding. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like walking, it was just that walking for days on end led his mind into a fugue state. By the time they ever got anywhere, Wendel always felt like he was asleep on his feet. Dr. Mendes moved like the wind, propelled by sheer determination.

“Right up through here,” said the man on horseback, Wendel was trying to remember his name. It may have been Patrick.

“And what makes you think it’s a curse?” Dr. Mendes asked.

The man stopped for a minute and looked down at her from his lofty seat, “I think that it’ll be better if you just see for yourself. I’ve always paid my tithe, and I don’t have any truck with magic.” He ushered his grey horse forward, and Wendel had to half jog to keep up.

The section of the forest that they came into next was almost identical. Tall grey trees, with sprawling branches and green leaves. There was one tree though, that seemed much different than the others. The top of the tree had gone a sickly yellow color. The leaves seemed to be wilting in places, like they were preparing for winter, though it was High Mellow.

The man dismounted from his horse and he made his way over to the discolored tree. He gestured to Dr. Mendes to follow him. Wendel hurried to catch up, and watched as the man began peeling the bark from the a branch on the discolored tree with a knife he had removed from his belt. The bark of the tree with the yellow crown had appeared the same as all of the other trees, but once it was removed, black sickly looking legions became apparent. They looked almost like burns. As if the tree was being burned alive beneath its bark.

Dr. Mendes leaned in for a closer look and then asked, “How many of the trees have you examined?”

The man looked nervous for a moment and then said, “As many as I could stomach to look at. Magistrate Hedgford, he said that the trees were going to be what saved us, you see. I haven’t told anyone else about this, and the only other people that know about it are the men in my crew. Trustworthy boys, they are.”

Wendel asked, “What’s so special about these trees?”

Both Dr. Mendes and the man whose name may have been Patrick snapped their heads around as if they had been walked in on during some lewd act. It was Dr. Mendes who answered her apprentice, “They’re black walnut trees, Wendel. They were planted, oh ten years ago.”

“Fifteen, actually,” amended Patrick.

Wendel took in the uniformity of the forest they’d been walking through again with better understanding. “So the trees aren’t going to make walnuts anymore?”

Patrick looked at Dr. Mendes and his expression seemed to question why Wendel was allowed to exist and breathe the forest air. Dr. Mendes gave an almost imperceptible shrug and said, “Black walnut is a hardwood tree. It’s planted so that the wood can be harvested and sold. It’s very valuable. It’s doubly profitable because they start fruiting many years before the trees are large enough to be harvested for wood.”

“The magistrate,” Patrick dropped his voice to a whisper now, “is indisposed at the moment. He’s gone to Puissant City to see the king about something or other. I figured, while he’s away, maybe I could get someone from the University to investigate, and if you could solve the problem. Without having to tell him. It may be for the best. He’s been in an awful temper of late.”

Dr. Mendes placed a hand on the tree farmer’s shoulder and said, “I will need some time to do my investigation. I make you no promises, this is more than likely a natural occurrence and there may not be any magic involved.”

“I understand, ma’am. I even said so in the letter I sent,” Patrick sighed heavily and put his knife away, “but if it is magic, or the work of an evil god,” he made some sort of strange gesture over his chest with his hand at this, “I hope that you might be able to help. The good people of Kentvale put a lot of work and money into this many years ago, and to have it all go to waste would be a cruelty.”

The man climbed into the saddle of his grey horse, and rode back the way they had come through the forest. Dr. Mendes returned to the branch that had been stripped of its bark, and took off her leather backpack. She quickly produced a large magnifying lens, and held it up to the branch. “Wendel,” she said, “come look at this objectively and tell me what you see.”

The lens she held was huge, one of the biggest that Wendel had ever seen that wasn’t attached to a standing frame. “I see multiple squirming black insects, very small. Two sections to the creature’s body with asperities on the prothorax. The rough uneven surfaces seem to overlap in the middle of the insect's abdomen.”

Dr. Mendes said, “That’s a very accurate observation Wendel. I am pleased that they at least taught you bug collecting at the University. Science couldn’t march on without gathering accurate data. Now, how do you think we should proceed?”

Wendel considered the question, and then he said tentatively, “Well, if we are correct to assume that the beetles are the cause of the disease, we could cast a targeted drain life ward on each of the trees to fend off the beetles, and…”

Dr. Mendes interrupted him, “You don’t know, do you?”

Wendel looked ashamed, “No, really I have no idea what we should do.”

“Neither do I. And I am not ashamed to admit that Wendel, and you shouldn’t be either. I don’t know what they’re teaching at the U anymore, but they shouldn’t be producing a generation of scholars that are afraid to admit that they don’t know something.” She put her lens away and put her pack back on her back, “Come on, we need to consult an expert. If she still lives around her.”

“Another elemental?” Wendel asked, excited.

“No, an old witch woman, expert in alchemy and biology.”

“Oh,” Wendel sounded disappointed, “I’m surprised you’d ever consult a human on something.”

She paused mid-stride and turned to look at him, “What? Why?”

“Because well, I didn’t think there was anyone who knew…” he trailed off.

“You think I know everything! Don’t be daft, Wendel. No one knows everything!”

They made their way southwest through the tree farm until they reached a forest proper. Here the underbrush was thick and the travel became difficult. It was as if they had crossed an invisible line. Instantly the trees shifted from the thick trunked dark grey of the black walnuts to all varieties. Many of the trees were coniferous, and they were growing in every direction, the strong smell of pine meandering into his sinuses. There was no obvious trail they were following, and Dr. Mendes just pushed through the branches as if they weren’t there. Spiderwebs kept sticking to Wendel’s face.

It wasn’t long before the flagstone walls and thatch roof of a small well-kempt cottage became visible. Wendel was grateful that the brush was cleared away here. The grounds around the cottage were as immaculate as any of the parks in Two Lanes. An elderly woman in heavy work clothes was transplanting flowers onto what looked like a large freshly disturbed patch of soil. She looked up from her work as Wendel and Dr. Mendes approached, and a look of suspicion became happy recognition on her gnarled face.

Without standing up she waved and called out, “Karene! Oh child, it has been too many years!”

Dr. Mendes made as if to bow, and Wendel tried a clumsy to imitation. “Clara, you have aged beautifully.”

The old woman patted the dirt down around the roots of the plant, and finally rose. She brushed her hands off onto her thick brown trousers, and smiled a toothless grin, “And you haven’t aged at all! You are as striking as the last day I saw you. Dark as that day was.” She gestured with her hands, leading the way towards the door to her cottage, “What brings you to my door?” She said, opening to the door to her cottage with a flourish and another toothless grin, “And who is this young man you keep?”

Dr. Mendes and Wendel walked into the beautiful and simple room. The floor was hardwood and the hearthfire was kept burning low in the corner. All of the furniture was comfortable and classic, old fashioned but worn soft with years of use. Clara made her way into the spotless kitchen and put a kettle on a hook over a small cookfire. She added split pieces of wood from a nearby stack and made herself comfortable at one of the chairs around the heavy wooden table.

Dr. Mendes sat at the table and Wendel sat next to her. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to introduce himself, and he didn’t want to speak out of turn. Dr. Mendes broke the silence and said, “This is Wendel. He is my probationary apprentice, and you may speak freely in front of him. I trust him with his life.”

It seemed a very odd turn of phrase to Wendel and he wondered if perhaps he had misheard. He gave another half bow from his seated position and said, “I am very pleased to meet you.”

The elderly woman looked from the Dr. Mendes to Wendel and back to Dr. Mendes, “Apprentice huh? So you’re still working with that school of stookies?”

Dr. Mendes stifled a small sound that may have been a laugh, “Well, I consider my work to be philanthropic in nature. Someone must keep a hand on the rudder lest the ship run aground.”

“Karene,” Clara spoke with a solemn gravity, “the ship is already sinking, you know that as well as I do. Ever since that nasty business with Brielle-”

“What can be saved,” Dr. Mendes interrupted, “I must try to salvage. Now then, I come here seeking your expert council on a matter of local import. There is a tree farm of black walnuts just northeast of here.”

Clara spat over her left shoulder with the aplomb of a veteran and the kettle began to hiss from its place over the fire. She rose, and placed three saucers and three cups on the table. From a glass jar she scooped a brownish powder into each of the three cups and began to pour water from the kettle into each of the cups.

“I take it you know the trees I speak of,” Dr. Mendes said, reaching for her cup.

Clara said, “You know they burned down cottages to plant those trees? They clearcut the land and ran the halflings off. I don’t know what became of them.” She sipped her cup, “They tried to take my land as well. They offered me a place in the village, which was more than they ever offered the halflings.”

Wendel took a sip from his cup. It was a strange flavor that he could not identify. It was good but very bitter. It made his eyes water.

Dr. Mendes said, “I see. So you released the beetles.”

Clara laughed a short derisive laugh over her cup. “Don’t be ridiculous. Bark beetles have been around forever and a day. I no more released those beetles than I caused the sun to rise or the rain to fall.”

Dr. Mendes took another long sip from her tiny porcelain cup and then said, “You are saying that it was just bad luck then?”

Clara gave Wendel a sideways glance before answering, “No. Not luck. It was actually a lot of work. I traveled far and wide to collect the spores that those beetles carry. It was no more than they deserved. They seek to profit off of the displacement of an entire village.”

Wendel gasped at this. He felt himself tense up, he was waiting for Dr. Mendes to arrest her. The silence in the room was interrupted by the sound of Dr. Mendes drinking from her cup again. She placed it back on the saucer with a loud clink and laid her hands flat on the table, palms down. The silence swelled and finally a buzzing sound erupted like thunder from Dr. Mendes’ left hand. Her ring was vibrating. A call from the University.

“Duty calls,” Dr. Mendes said, raising her left hand and looking at it as if she’d never seen it before, “I wish dearly that I had more time to stay and visit with you Clara. It is always my pleasure. Terrible bad luck about the tree farm, it seems.”