The darkness of the Verdant Stage spread infinitely in every direction. In Wesley’s immediate area, though, were aura-lit, anthropomorphized versions of vines restraining equally semi-human versions of wolves. Wesley was sternly staring down the alpha, a ragged looking woman with a protruding jaw and triangular ears.

  “Who are you looking for?” he asked.

  “You, idiot,” she barked back.

  “Why?”

  “To finish your family off.” The woman cackled. “Dad’s down. Mom and son still have to go!”

  “Where is Gideon?” Wesley asked, undisturbed.

  “No idea. Don’t even care. Even if he didn’t give the order, I’d gladly rip your throat out on my own.”

  “Fine.” Wesley sighed. “Take her, too.” Immediately, one of the human-styled vines flickered into existence right behind the wolf. She shrieked with laughter as the vine, this one a muscular man, grabbed her and held her up off of the ground. Wesley turned, and dismissed the stage as he did, returning to the real world to see the paladin and the ice goddess watching him.

  The paladin was a stout, iron clad young man, wearing a curious chest piece that had a splotch of discolored metal in its center, as though a wound had been repaired. His gleaming shield and hammer were smaller than what Wesley had expected from a paladin. All the warriors of the Will he had seen had been more imposing.

  Petra Ymirstottir was taller, and much more critical looking. Her bloodied axe chilled Wesley, and made him somewhat sad. But it could not be helped. The wolves had struck first, after all.

  “Sorry about that. She had very little to offer other than that I am still very much in danger,” Wesley explained.

  “Uh,” the paladin began. His voice was gentle. More diffusion than antagonizing as Wesley had expected. “No problem. I am Samson Bleedingheart. And this is-”

  “Petra Ymirstottir,” Wesley said. “I know. I am Wesley Maplegrove, son of Talnorel’s Mortal Chief, and I need your help.”

  “Do you?” Petra asked, gesturing to the restrained wolves.

  “Unfortunately, these wolves are nothing compared to the man trying to find me,” the druid explained. “Gideon is not a force to be taken lightly. And that’s why my mother wishes I could team up with a god until the threat passes.”

  Petra scoffed. “What about Talnorel? Isn’t she ever-present for you all?”

  “Gideon had forsaken the Treemother long ago, Ymirstottir. He is a blasphemer and murderer. He uses our magic to wreak havoc.”

  “Why doesn’t Talnorel just cut him off from his power?” Sam asked. “I mean, I don’t know much about green magic, but-”

  “If it were me I’d starve the little monster,” Petra interrupted. “Show me disrespect and you’re done.”

  “Noted,” Sam added.

  “It is not so easy, Ymirstottir,” Wesley said. “Talnorel provides the Verdant for all living things. It is against her fundamental nature to judge someone as unworthy of her gift.”

  “Well, that’s foolish.”

  “Petra,” Sam hissed. “Talnorel is an elder goddess.”

  “And I’m a young one and I say she’s being foolish.”

  Wesley shifted uncomfortably at the remarks. “May I say,” he interjected softly. “The vines holding the wolves will begin decaying soon. We should begin to move on. Where is it we are going?”

  “We?” Pera asked in incredulity.

  “Petra, come on,” Sam urged. “He can come with us. He needs help.”

  “I understand he needs help, but he’s being a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t mean any disrespect, Ymirsottir,” Wesley said. He was trembling slightly. He had thought so long and hard about getting to safety that he had no idea how. Out of every god in the pantheon, he had to come across Winter’s Daughter, a notoriously impatient and feisty goddess. “Forgive me. If you are unable to provide Lady and myself safe harbor, we will move on.”

  “Lady?” Sam asked.

  “My fox. My companion. We are linked in the Verdant.”

  “If you and your pet-” Petra began, but she was interrupted.

  “She is not my pet. She is my partner and friend. To reduce our relationship to one so simplistic is downright offensive.”

  Petra went silent as Sam inhaled sharply. In the few short days he had spent with the frosty goddess, he understood that only Petra was allowed to speak harshly of Petra.

  “Excuse me?” she challenged.

  “You are selling my partnership with my companion short. She has saved my life, and just now she saved yours.”

  “You don’t think I could have handled Gideon’s little puppies alone?” Petra asked, showing off her handaxes.

  “You could have, but you would have done so with blood and fury, as expected from a young and angry goddess!” Wesley’s temper was flaring frightfully fast. His eyes widened in a mix of frustration and fear of lack of control.

  The days he had spent, purposely partitioning himself within the Verdant had been lonely and frightening. Since Duncan had been murdered he was completely on his own aside from Lady, and to have her identity reduced like that in the same conversation that had spoken harshly of Talnorel was unacceptable. Sleeplessness, an empty stomach, and days of stress were finally boiling over.

  “Getting mad, little druid?”

  “Petra, what are you doing?”

  “Teaching this little man how to deal with a goddess.” The Winter’s Daughter began to approach Wesley, the air chilling around her. Lady leapt between the two and began to snarl, trembling with her own anger. The snarls turned to small, high pitched barks as Sam moved to intervene.

  “Petra, he did not mean to offend you, I’m sure.”

  “I mean as much is necessary to prove that my culture is worthy of respect,” Wesley corrected, his voice shuddering.

  Petra stood tall, shoulders squared, looming over Lady and Wesley. Her colossal frame, sullen and stern visage, and the still falling temperature were building even more tension in the small clearing. The goddess looked away for only a moment when the sound of crashing vines rang out.

  Two of the wolves broke free from their restraints, but with a single glance in Petra’s direction, they bounded for the thicker stretches of forest.

  “Last chance to apologize, druid.”

  “Wesley, please,” Sam urged. “I do not know why she is treating you like this. It may be best to just appease the pride of a goddess, huh?”

  “The pride of Talnorel is just as wounded.”

  Petra stopped, and for Sam and Wesley, so did time. Wesley thought he was going to be sick. At least if this woman killed him, it would mean Gideon would not get the pleasure.

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  Suddenly, she knelt, looking off to the side and offering her hand slowly toward Lady. The fox, taken aback herself, slowly leaned forward to sniff her. “She is a beautiful companion,” Petra said cheerfully. “We’re going to The Throne. Is that a good destination for you?”

  Wesley was shocked. What was Petra doing? “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh, it is no trouble. I take no offense, Mister Maplegrove!” she said to him with a smile. “I am sorry for misunderstanding your culture, but you are the first druid I’ve ever met!”

  “What are you doing?” Sam asked her, still reeling from the sudden escalation, and more so from its corresponding deescalation.

  “Showing you how someone with conviction acts, Bleedingheart!” Petra chided as she stood, gesturing at Welsey cheerfully. She then playfully punched the paladin’s shoulder and laughed out loud.

  Sam flushed. “Are you kidding?”

  “Are you okay with going to The Throne?” Petra asked again.

  “That is just fine, Ymirstottir,” Wesley answered, still frowning with uncertainty. “Am I truly welcome?”

  “Of course! Anyone with balls like yourself is welcome in my company!” She shot a sideways, but playful glance toward Sam. “Of course, exceptions get made from time to time.” She let out another laugh, but Sam and Wesley were feeling whiplashed. Sam groaned finally and turned back toward the road. “Oh, come on!” she called after him. She turned to Wesley. “Don’t mind him. He’s a sensitive little guy.”

  “Thank you for your kindness, Ymirstottir. I will do my best to not slow the two of you down.”

  “Please, Wes, call me Petra. And don’t worry! I won’t let you.” The goddess gave Lady a pat and moved to catch up with Sam. “Sam! Don’t cry! You’ll rust the messed up bits on your armor!”

  Wesley watched Petra chase Sam back to where they had been camped as he approached, catching his breath and calming himself. He had never spoken to anyone like that before, much less to someone as powerful and significant as Petra Yimirstottir.

  He muttered a quiet prayer for forgiveness to anyone listening and looked to Lady.

  “What do you think?” he asked her.

  Nice lady. Good smell. Like snow.

  “And the paladin?”

  He does not like fighting. Good thing any other day. But bad timing. Lots of fights are coming soon.

  “What do you mean?”

  Lady turned her head to the now empty Wrath Lich camp. The wolves, alpha included, had taken advantage of the conversation with Petra to escape. Wolf will tell the Overgrowth. You can hide. Snow goddesses can not.

  Lady had a point. Wesley was able to easily cut himself off from the Verdant at will. He could move through the deepest forests and hide his thoughts from the trees around. Even if an animal managed to lay eyes on him, he would be able to muddle his logical presence so much the creature would forget who it had even seen.

  But a goddess was not something the forest would ignore. Just being near her would draw attention to Wesley. But as his mother had explained, it was a gamble they would need to make. Safety was better than surprise in this event. Or at least they all hoped.

  Petra tossed an apology in Sam’s direction every few minutes as he led Petra and Wesley westward. “I’m fine,” he would urge over and over. Then immediately act like he was very much not fine.

  “How long have you known each other?” Wesley asked, intrigued by the teasing.

  “Maybe a week?” Petra posited.

  Sam snorted. “Feels like longer.”

  “You seem very close,” the druid remarked.

  “Professional partnership,” Sam muttered grumpily.

  “Now, now,” Petra said, wagging her finger. “We’ve gotten along pretty well! Sam is just sensitive is all. You know his last name is Bleedingheart?”

  “But he is a paladin, right? That means his last name was given to him. Correct me if I’m wrong, Sam.”

  “I had heard that! Fits him very well, no?”

  “What she is not telling you, Wesley, is that she offended my culture when we first met as well. And I had to stand up to her just as you did.” Sam announced it without looking back at his allies.

  “Just like Wes? I don’t know about that. You were a bit softer.”

  “I can’t fault the Winter’s Daughter for that,” Wesley replied. “She is not from around here! She lacks context for our cultural specialties.”

  “Exactly,” Petra urged. “Thank you, Wesley.”

  Sam grumbled and led on.

  “Are you truly upset, Sam?” Wesley asked.

  The paladin sighed. “Just chafed. Not mad. Our goddess friend, frankly, plays too much for someone with a light of divinity in her heart.”

  “You’ve never met the Laughing Buccaneer,” Petra said before turning back to Wesley. “So, you’re the son of the chief of druids?”

  “Son of the Mortal Chief, yes.”

  “What is a mortal chief? Aren’t they all?”

  “Not in the bosom of Talnorel. A chief that has proved his or her worth to the Treemother is granted refuge in her roots. The greatest gift our goddess can offer is immortalizing a chief’s mind and heart to become part of the Verdant.”

  “So that is an immortal chief?”

  “Right. But they, of course, are not mobile or really even conscious. So a mortal chief is required to guide our people alongside Talnorel.”

  “Alongside? Why doesn’t Talnorel just lead them herself?”

  “She has a viewpoint on the world we could never understand. She has been around since the dawn of life. And she has gained and lost more than any of us ever could. Her divinity gives her clarity, but even she admits that it warps her perception as well.”

  “Damn! She actually seems wise!”

  “Surprised?” Sam asked from ahead.

  “I’ve run into many gods. Several wallow in their disconnection from mortals. It is good to see more gods owning their position as guides for humanity.”

  “Have you met Talnorel before?” Wesley asked Petra.

  “Never,” she said, shaking her head. “When a god forms an avatar, they only exist in the mortal plane. I had heard so much of her, but never met her. I think I’d really like to, to be sure.”

  “She is wonderful,” Wesley said, dreamily. “It is a delight to have two mothers in your life, you know?”

  “I actually don’t,” Petra said carefully. “I only have my father, Ymir.”

  “Talnorel would gladly call herself your mother as well, I’m sure.”

  “What is she like?”

  “Tall, caring, gentle, brilliant. She lost so much but still stands strong in the face of adversity. She is insurmountable, to be certain.”

  “What could an elder goddess have lost?”

  “Talnorel was not independent in her awakening as the first wave of living things. She and her siblings all awoke together, bringing structure to the emotional chaos of Kraag’s firmament. Together, they created the Commune. The first iteration of green magics.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Organizing the newborn logics of life was a struggle. As life spread and the Commune expanded, there were schisms in understanding and belief, not to mention the still chaotic passions of Kraag and the settling planet. One by one, Talnorel’s siblings were consumed by their desire to shore up the Commune. And eventually, only Talnorel survived.”

  “Wow,” Petra said. “That must have been hard to shoulder.”

  “She found solace in the Commune. And eventually transformed it to something more fitting of the sacrifice of her family. It became the Verdant Stage, and green magic was born.”

  “That leads me to ask,” Sam said from ahead. “We only learn that green magic is based on logic in the Academy. What does that mean?”

  Wesley looked down at Lady, happily pawing down the path. “The Verdant is the collective of living consciousness. It is where logic can interact, if you know how to access it. I can communicate with Lady there, and with every plant around us that is willing to talk to me. And when it comes to doing the unlikely? It is a matter of persuasion to start the changes, and then Talnorel’s blessing carries it the rest of the way.”

  “That kind of sounds like my magic,” Petra remarked. “Doing whatever you want when you want so long as you’re convinced it would work?”

  “We call that blue magic,” Sam said. “But it’s a good point. What is the difference?”

  “It is my understanding,” Wesley began. “That blue magic, and Sam’s gold magic as well, can do the impossible. You just need the will to make it possible? But green magic can merely do the unlikely, made more likely by outside persuasion and Talnorel’s intervention. Sam, for example, can strengthen his armor, make himself stronger, and create a shield. Petra, you can summon a snow storm.

  “Because I can not communicate with the armor or with the storm, those are impossible for me. For my magic to work, I need something to commune with.”

  “I see,” Petra said. “That’s kind of beautiful. You will never be alone!”

  “I would not be so sure,” Wesley mused. “With Gideon following me, every consciousness around us? Every tree? Every bird overhead? They are a possibility for Gideon to find me. So I’ve locked myself and Lady off from the rest of the Verdant. And using my magic? Even with those wolves back there? It is a risk.”

  “Well, you’re with us now,” Sam said over his shoulder. “We will keep you from needlessly exposing yourself.”

  Wesley smiled. Looking down to Lady, he was pleased to see the fox looking up at him as well. They were safe.