After a day, we arrived at the city’s outskirts.

  The barrier was like a pitch-black marble. The surface was oily and looked as if it were flowing, like water. I had expected to need some flash of inspiration to open a path, but it was easy. The moment I approached, the shadow retreated.

  A corridor opened before us, wide enough for our horses to walk through. As we entered the tree’s domain, the wall closed behind us.

  Even though I could no longer see the sky or sun, the surroundings were still bright, almost as if we were outside. Whether this was sunlight finding its way through the barrier or light from some other source, I couldn’t tell. Regardless, the inky dome overhead made me feel claustrophobic.

  The main gates were wide open, as the city’s prior occupants had decided there was no need to protect it from intruders any longer.

  Despite being worn away by centuries worth of rain and wind, the city remained impressive to look at. Its architecture was anachronistic, as if a storybook castle had been constructed using techniques and materials from the early 20th century, surrounded by small houses and multi-level office buildings.

  I had lived in a city like this once, all alone. And now, I felt more alone than ever.

  The city had clearly been centrally planned, with a wide main street leading from the outer gates straight into the citadel. Dominating the skyline behind the citadel was a massive oak. The tree’s canopy stretched far enough that it cast shadows across much of the city. There were rusted rails set into the streets, evidence that at one point the city had had a fully operating public trolley system of sorts.

  It occurred to me that they probably had slide rules here, and if I explored the office buildings, I might find the remains of a primitive adding machine that occupied an entire room. The residents must have been heartbroken to leave the city behind and settle for the living standards of the outside world. Some likely had chosen to stay, even as the tree’s shadow sealed them in.

  Would we be trapped here, as well? Were we already trapped?

  Solana and Atropa gazed around in awe as we rode our horses up the main street towards the citadel, idly discussing the sights and speculating as to their purpose. We came across a rusted trolley car as we reached the halfway point, and the archmage asked me if I knew what it was. I told him magic pushed it along the rails, having decided I didn’t want to get into the finer details of combustion engines or the general concept of electricity. Given the lack of a third rail or overhead wires, that could’ve been true for all I knew.

  A plaza to the right side of our path held the remnants of a large water fountain at its center. I realized that the city had likely hastened its own demise – modern Earth’s living standards demanded plentiful water, not only for hygiene and daily living, but for symbols of prestige like fountains and green lawns. A bad drought could have brought this city low even without the supernatural intervention of its holy tree. Maybe the tree was blameless.

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  Frost was blameless, too. It was all my fault; she was just paying for my mistakes.

  As we neared the entrance to the citadel, our journey came to a temporary halt.

  The path leading to the tree was interrupted by a pair of massive stone gates. They’d been left ajar by Frost. Her stolen horse drank from a pail of water right outside the gates, too large to fit through the gap.

  The air here was cool, thanks to the deep shadows cast by the tree’s canopy above. Frost had chosen to leave her horse here in this comfortable environment. The way a person treated their horse reflected their virtues, after all.

  As we drew closer, the pattern on the doors became clearer. I recognized the markings as words. I dismounted Rime and walked over to examine the pattern more closely.

  “Sir Atropa, were you aware that this city was founded by a saintess?”

  He nodded. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “Lady Marigold had said as much, but these words are from my world, which decidedly confirms it.”

  While I wouldn’t call myself fluent, I mostly understood the language they were written in. The inscription, carved across the two doors, roughly translated to this:

  Holy Root,

  Whose reach extends to ------ far

  ------ on us your grace

  Hold us tight in knurled arms

  That ------- us to this place

  Once I was done reading, Solana spoke. “My mother had a storybook that mentioned this tree. It said that the tree’s roots and branches were paths one could walk to reach distant places.”

  While Atropa stroked his beard in contemplation, I began to squeeze my way through the gap between the gates. Opening the heavy stone doors any further was impossible due to centuries of dust and rubble that piled up around them, keeping them in place. Solana helped the archmage down off his horse, and the two followed slowly behind me.

  The footprints Frost had left behind told me she was not in good health. Her steps were uneven and heavy, which meant she was likely moving slowly enough to allow me to catch up. I gave Solana a nod and sprinted ahead, leaving her and the archmage behind. They would catch up eventually.

  At this distance, it was easier to make out the details of the great tree, at least on the surface. Its canopy was dense with leaves, which was odd, impossible, even, considering the tree was supposed to be dead or dying. The leaves, however, appeared pitch-black, and they let in no light , not even between the gaps. Small forms hung from the branches here and there, glimmering in the light like crystals or polished stones. Oddly shaped fruit, perhaps?

  As I continued onward, I finally caught sight of Frost up ahead. An object lying near the path drew my attention away from her.

  It was an axe made of blue metal. Even after all this time, it was beautiful despite the thick layer of dust coating it. It was worrying that it had clearly dropped down from up above. The way it lay on the ground gave me the sense that it had not been discarded and abandoned by human hands. And yet, the dust suggested that it had somehow ended up long after the city’s last resident had died.

  Ah. It had fallen from the tree. This tree bore fruit in the form of weapons—gifts for those who would be mighty soldiers. Marigold had mentioned that the relics were gifts given from the tree itself.

  The nameless fear that had first sunk its claws into me when I learned of the city’s existence now fully took hold. Were they placed side by side, this axe and Pretense would have made the perfect pair. Both weapons shining blue-black under the sun’s light, sparkling with matching sets of inlaid gems.

  I looked up. Frost’s silhouette stumbled towards the tree. I quickened my pace and chased after her.