Pickled Almaran Roots

He should not be here. That much, he knows. Yet he is here regardless. For a moment, all of the events that had led him down this unenviable path rattled through his mind like a rockslide: a failed rescue mission, the tempest, the ambush. None of it mattered now. He was alive, and that was enough. Though for how much longer that would be true he did not know, and the doubts began to pile up faster than he could dispel them. It was a war of attrition that was slowly being lost to an enemy who offered no quarter. Salvation seemed more distant by the second.

Adrey doubted even the pits of Sarundel could conjure up a more accursed land. His burning eyes, discoloured and scarred by the caustic air, winced as they scanned the barren land ahead. Lurid yellow hued everything. It seeped into the lifeless soil and the sickly sky, infesting them with its pernicious vitriol. A chemical stench oozed from the ground. Misshapen stones wore the ravages of countless years under the barrage of acidic wind. Dead shrubs pierced the ground sporadically; their audacity to try and eke out a meagre existence had been punished severely. Adrey saw himself soon sharing their fate. The air was not corrosive enough to inflict a quick death, but it was not subtle enough to ignore. He could feel his skin slowly melting, being gnawed away tiny piece by tiny piece. When a gust of wind would sweep across the desolate landscape, it was as if the fangs grew; the irritating nibbling growing into an agonizing feast. Each time, he would crumple to the ground, moaning in pain. The agony would wane, but it would never leave.

If there was time to surrender, Adrey did not have it. He marched on with eyes clamped shut; it was too painful to keep them open for long. Every few steps, he would force himself to see for a few brief moments, just enough to gather his bearings, before returning to the less harrowing darkness. His vision deteriorated a little more each time he opened his eyes. The world was blurred and marred with painful lines. Although the end seemed near, perhaps there was solace in his decaying sight: he would be unable to see his own hideous form. He had not seen his reflection, but he could see enough and feel enough. He was certain that his upper lip was gone. When his nose dribbled, he could feel it run down his gums and straight into his mouth. His teeth too were ruined - he could not let the two rows touch as their disfigured shapes would catch and splinter on one another, sending horrific surges of agony through his body. Adrey recoiled at the thought alone.

Despite his torment, Adrey persisted. He did not inspire himself to continue through dreams of love, comfort, or ambition. Instead, it was spite who was his saviour. Sheer hatred for the world and refusal to let it defeat him fuelled him like coal does a furnace. As he staggered forward, something broke up the desolation of the land. What he had mistaken for another eroded boulder at a distance was revealed to be a final memento of life. All of the trees that were once here had decayed into nothing long ago, yet this one survived. Its trunk had slumped as if it had turned soft, and its branches bore neither leaf nor fruit. Life had long since left it. If it was what he hoped it was, however, then that alone would be enough. A dangerous flicker of hope sparked in Adrey's chest. On weak and weary legs, he awkwardly stumbled towards it with an eagerness that seemed foreign. As he neared it, he threw himself towards it, colliding into the bark. Faint silver hues remained in the wood, proudly declaring its heritage. He embraced it like an old friend.

Meekly, Adrey looked to the sallow sky above, perhaps hoping to glimpse the one who had offered him a reprieve. Just the endless abyss of ghastly citrine stared back. Still, he offered feeble thanks, and began to dig. The soil burnt his hands but pain no longer mattered; he had endured enough to grow weary of its nagging, and now there was a reason to withstand it. Each shovelled handful released a sickening stench. Eventually, the dirt gave way to what he had been seeking. The roots of the Almaran tree coiled and tangled before him, dead but far from useless. Beneath the caustic earth, the acid had turned into a vinegar-like substance, preserving the roots. His shaky hands grasped the knife from beneath his cloak and began to saw.

The metal was rusted and heavily damaged, but it was enough. The roots were soft. He pulled free a separated chunk, shaking away the filth, and began to peel back the barky outer layer. As he did, the scent from within was freed. It was truly unlike anything he had ever smelled before - sweet and fresh, but with something else entirely present. A fragrance which he could not place yet knew so well. Calm washed over him. He knew what it was. The impossible aroma flooded his bleeding nostrils. As clear as day, he could see the sleepy meandering brook that he had grown up beside. Long Summer days of swimming with the other children, brisk Autumn evenings of fishing from the banking, frigid Winter mornings skating on the ice: it all returned in a flash. Adrey felt the water against his body, washing away the scars like dirt.

Half transfixed by his nostalgia, he raised the peeled root to his lips. Its taste was sweet and its texture crunchy, like a honey-glazed parsnip. A gentle sigh of relief shuddered from his burning throat. The river seemed more real. Cold yet refreshing water gently carried him downstream. He passed beneath the drooping willows, their branches brushing against him as he passed. Sunlight broke through gaps in the trees. Golden rays cascaded down and plunged into the cool currents. Then, a meadow of flowers flanked the water's edge. Floral scents filled the air as their colourful petals merged into one vibrant sea of pink and red and orange and white. Through the glassy water, the smooth stones of the riverbed glistened in the hazy mid-afternoon sun. Adrey took a deep breath and felt crisp air fill his lungs, before easing his head beneath the river.

When he resurfaced, the air began to burn again. The colours and calm had dissipated. Hell had returned. However, it did not feel as dire as it once had. Adrey wiped the last of the imagined water from his eyes and blinked. Then blinked again. For the first time in days, he saw with clearly. The whole world came back into focus as the blurriness subsided and the scars healed. His skin still seemed to sizzle, and his teeth still scraped, but finally the stinging in his eyes was gone. It was enough. He gathered more roots, enough to last him a month if he rationed them, and looked towards the horizon. Bleached yellow earth stretched for miles but he knew that somewhere, behind this wretched wasteland, the gentle river waited for him. On aching feet, he strode forward, following the scent of home. He would not die today.