Page 5 of Whisper Woods

“Yeah, Bree. I’m ready. Let’s go.” I swipe up the backpack from the ground as I pass, following Breanna through the trees to the path back to the pack grounds, each step making that pit bigger and bigger inside me, reminding me that the most perfect moments of my life are over.

Will I ever see him again? Will I ever feel like that again? A hundred times, my hand drifts to that bruise, that mark, to remind myself. To remember. Each time I swear on the Woods, the spirit of my pack, that this is not over. That it will happen again.

Rafe

Breathing in deeply, Idraw in the familiar scents of Tathys. The sun has only just begun to rise above the horizon but still, the town centre is bustling with beings beginning their day. In my usual seat at the only sidewalk cafe open at this vaguely obscene hour, I have the perfect view of my home city waking for the day.

A steaming cup of rivosh—a coffee like drink only available in Tathys—cradled in my hands, I watch the white robed Orun stream down the steps of their temple to begin their morning offerings to the Gods.

Usually, this simple ritual—a taste of home enjoyed at the very centre of it all—is grounding. A small moment to reconnect me after having been outside of our world.

For the very first time since I began these homecoming rituals after my first venture out of Tathys alongside my uncle, I am unable to find that same feeling of peace and rightness.

For all is not right in Tathys.

Once, we stood proudly as one of the three Realms of Carconnois. However, more than seven hundred years ago, before the beginning of the great war, a great seer had visions of the future and Tathys’s ruin should we remain a part of the world.

The seer announced their prophecy that Tathys should withdraw from the world, protecting itself and our magic by sealing ourselves away until such a time as we are required to return.

Our High Council, led by the Great Eminence and advised by the Orun agreed with the prophecy. They could see how the warring and disputes—bothin our lands and abroad—were escalating and the danger we faced in the inevitable conflict.

The Gods even gifted the seer with the knowledge to complete the great feat, and they sacrificed their life to complete the ritual.

In the centuries since, the Mundane—as the outside world is known to Tathissians—forgot about the third realm on the southern side of the Whisper Woods. And we became comfortable with our safety, the warning of our return to the world largely forgotten. Especially when recordings of the magical rites, and how to complete them, were lost over time.

And so, Tathys has stood, isolated from the world. Though not entirely so.

Through the generations, Tathissians have chosen to leave our ethereal walls and venture out into the Mundane—knowing that the magic that binds us means they can never return to our lands or speak a word of our existence.

Then there are beings like myself. Known as Tavishers, we are beings granted the unique dispensation to walk between the two worlds, bound by the same magical oaths of secrecy.

A Tavisher’s role is twofold. Our first duty is to trade with the Mundane for items not available to us here. While Tathys has become self sufficient, largely out of necessity, there are still things our beings wish for that can only be obtained in the Mundane.

Some items we trade for are practical, be it metals or minerals our beings require for creation or ritual. Or the years we required extra food when we experienced a terrible crop blight. Some are luxuries or novelties Tathissians covet for their uniqueness in our world.

Our second role is to maintain a connection to the Mundane. We collect all the secrets and knowledge of the outside world, so that when Tathys rejoins the Mundane, we are not bereft in a sea of unknowing.

Well, that was the idea.

It seems, however, that now the time appears to be upon us for the prophecy to be completed and Tathys is unprepared for the reality of such events.

The walls that keep us safe are thinning and the beings of Tathys are scared.

It is not only the thinning of the walls that are whipping a frenzy of fearthrough our citizens.

In the Mundane, modern convenience and their cohabitation with humans has dimmed beings' connection to the Gods and thus, their magic. Long ago, it is said that all beings lived as we do now in Tathys. To the outside world, magic exists within constraints and limitations, almost as if it is something to be controlled.

For Tathissians, magic exists in everything we do. It is a vital part of us and integral to how we live our lives. Our magic is the thread that connects us to the Gods, the earth, our community and our very existence. We are taught from childhood that it is as much a part of us as our heart or our lungs or our stomach. Magic justisin Tathys, as it has always been.

And now it is failing us.

The loss of our magic began only weeks ago. At first, it seemed small and isolated—beings unable to conjure fire or call upon the water in their homes. Wards and glamours began to fail at random. Then, the shifters began changing against their will, often partially and our healers were unable to heal the most basic of wounds. Panic truly began to set in when the first of the crops failed at harvest and the earthquakes began.

Taking another sip of my rivosh, I watch the line of Orun file across the town centre. They are stoic in their white robes, dappled in the pink and orange light of the sunrise, ignoring the beings watching them avidly as they cross the cobblestoned town centre to the Fountain of Oshkbare to begin their daily offerings.

Standing in the very heart of our city between the magnificent palace of our High Eminence and the Temple of the Orun, the fountain is considered the very altar of our collective magic. It sits on the ishke—the astral veins that run through all the lands, connecting us to the Whisper Woods, carrying the magic on which we thrive.

The Fountain of Oskbare is a monument to the five Gods that created our world—Viestra, Gahimmyar, Luminstrique, Kob and Xilliquin—their figures carved out of the same beige stone that our city is built from.

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