“Veil be gone, Divide undone;

We are the world and us are one;

Through time and space: We nurture all;

From root to fruit: We go beyond the wall.”

~

Colorful.

That’s the first thought to enter Jarl’s mind as he opens his eyes to a strange space. It’s bright and full of blobular articles of shifting light. There’s no up or down, no sense of space as he knows it; but his hand is wet.

It’s as though he’s still in his cabin touching the weird World Tree board thing.

Strange. Stranger still: there’s an odd firmness to the empty space around his hand, as though it’s in gel or, strangest yet, someone’s hand.

How long is this supposed to take, exactly?

And what the devil was really in that potion???

~

Voices.

Jarl isn’t sure how long it’s been. The colorful blobs are still moving; but it’s an inconsistent movement that does not lend itself well to time or the passage of it. It also doesn’t lend itself well to any sense of direction.

The priest fears he may very well be lost.

Giggling. It’s coming from behind him. No: below. Beside?

Jarl can’t tell.

It’s a woman’s voice, though—he thinks. Nothing here seems to be certain or set in stone—

Of course not: everyone knows trees are made of wood.

Jarl freezes (not that he was really moving before) and allows his jaw to drop. Was that… a voice…?

And it’s talking to him???

Backing away from—or towards—it, Jarl reaches into his pocket to grasp his beloved crucifix: only to find air. His holy relic is gone.

Faith is not a thing here; there is only what is.

“W-what?” Jarl croaks, throat tight and mouth dry. What lunacy is this?

You are travelling through me—the Axis Mundi; the Oak Tree.

“Y-you are part of Manus’ spell?” He asks, trying to wrap his mind around all of this—but it seems he can’t. Is this the spell speaking or the weird root board? The potion? Or is this just some weird dream state?

I am what his spell invokes.

He must be hallucinating. Or drunk. It’s been a long time since he was either.

You are travelling to a dangerous place, child.

“Wha—?” Something clicks: “You mean the Devil’s Cavern?”

I/We cannot get you there.

“What?”

~

“JODER!!!”

Jarl pants as he tries to get air back into his lungs. His wide eyes dart about, taking in the familiar sight of his cabin home, a furious Manus, and a bleeding Hagen… Okay, that’s not actually familiar at all. Alarmed, the priest fumbles his way to his friend’s side, ignoring the hissing daemon and spitting magician between them.

Let Áesta handle the mage; Jarl wouldn’t understand anything they’re saying right now anyway.

“Hey, stay with me,” the holy man soothes, pressing the sleeve of his cotton shirt to the other man’s temple. As he staunches the flow of blood from Hagen’s head, Jarl checks him for other injuries and a concussion.

When he finds none, he sighs in relief.

“‘t makes sense, t’ough,” Áesta comments quietly as Manus seethes; Jarl looks at them both in confusion. “hWho ev’r’s doin’ t’is must ‘ave some knowledge o’ magic even if t’ey aren’t magicians t’emselves. O’ course t’ey’d of put up a barrier o’ some kind ta keep us out longer; t’ey must need time ta brainwash Jasey.”

“Brainwa—!”

“Autsch!” Hagen wakes to a sudden increase in pressure on his wounded head and wacks Jarl in the chest to stop him. He then moves his head away from the holy man’s quick temper and staunches the blood himself.

“S-sorry…”

The apothecary waves him off, unangry. He doublechecks that his temple’s wound hasn’t been worsened before glancing around almost expectantly. They can’t tell if he’s disappointed or not, “Vhat ‘appened?”

“They kicked us out!” is Manus’ furious response.

Áesta’s is surprisingly calmer (then again: he’s not attached to Jasey): “It’s possible ta erect a barri’r between one’s self and t’e Axis Mundi. T’ese’re called Dead Branches and require t’e erecter’s death t’ be undone.”

“And you bet I’m gonna murder this gilipollas!!!” Manus hollers angrily once more before wavering.

Then, Áesta, Jarl, and Hagen all watch in morbid fascination as the incensed magician suddenly collapses.