Beyond the archway the group could see a beautiful, lush garden. Stepping through Arahn couldn’t help but look around in awe. The large room’s walls were stone brick though the floor beneath their feet was covered in soft grass. Above them, the ceiling seemed to stretch on forever into bright light, almost like the room had its very own private sun. The air was damp and warm, and smelled of spring.

The ground before them rose into a shallow hill at the top of which stood a large oak tree, so tall that the canopy was too high to see. Above them twittering birds were perched in the great tree’s bows, while red and brown squirrels scampered up and down the trunk looking for dropped seeds.

A young woman sat at the base of the great tree, reclining against some raised roots. There was an unnatural fae beauty about her that suggested she may be more spirit than mortal. Her body appeared to be carved from polished olive wood, while her hair rustled with leaves all the colours of autumn.

She looked up as they entered the garden, even though their footsteps were muffled on the fresh grass as they climbed the small hill, she seemed to sense their presence anyway.

“Welcome to my garden travellers,” she greeted, her voice like gentle bird song. “It has been a long while since we’ve had guests.”

The strange woman motioned for them to join her by the gently babbling brook that wound its way around the base of the tree. Little coloured fish splashed their way along its path, eventually disappearing when the little river dipped under the wall on the far side of the room.

Evan and Lem didn’t take much convincing to flop down tiredly by the river, likely exhausted from their previous encounters and all the running around.

“You poor things,” the woman said gently. “Please, drink and refresh yourselves. You must be so tired.”

“We’re grateful for your kind hospitality,” Calan’dal said politely. “If I may be so bold, might you be the Mistress the kobold Miirik spoke of?”

“I am indeed her,” replied the woman. “I do hope Miirik told you good things about me.”

Though she smiled as she said this an edge had developed in her voice, which prompted Arahn to speak.

“Miirik spoke very highly of you,” he said quickly. “He even suggested you may be able to help us?”

“You are welcome to stay in my garden,” said the woman, her demeanour once again friendly.

“That’s very generous,” said Calan’dal. “But we were actually hoping for information about the Abyss.”

The woman didn’t reply immediately motioning to her frolicking animal companions. Some of them scattered into the bushes, while others scampered up the tree. They returned with nuts and fresh fruits, which they lay before the party.

“Please eat, you need something in your bellies,” she said kindly, then, as though suspecting they would be wary of any gifted food, took an apple for herself.

The goblin twins needed no more encouragement after that, pouncing on their fruit pile and making pleased sounds as the juice ran down their chins and fingers. The woman watched them with the smile of a mother watching her children, before turning back to the others.

“My name is Tansya,” she explained. “I am the Dryad of this garden.”

“I’ve never met a Dryad before,” said Cathran, sounding awestruck.

“We’re nature spirits,” said Tansya. “Born from trees with particularly high spiritual energy. We are tied to one specific tree for all of our existence, living and dying with our plant.” She looked up into the branches of the great tree, a gentle smile on her face. “The trees provide life and sustenance to all those you see around us, and in return we dryads would do anything to protect them from illness or destruction.”

“It really is a beautiful garden,” said Cathran. “You must take such good care of it.”

The dryad’s smile was thin and Arahn hurried to break into the conversation and change the subject. “How long have you lived here?”

“Such a long time, though without the true sun I cannot tell you the years,” said the dryad. “Sometimes it seems like safety and solace here in my garden is all I can offer the people I encounter.”

“Have there been many people before us?” asked Cathran.

“There have yes,” replied the dryad. “Some would stay a while in my garden, but most would move on, their goals elsewhere. I wish more had stayed, I fear what has become of their bodies in the lower levels.”

The dryad trailed off and in the following silence Arahn became more aware of the low humming that had been emanating from above them since their arrival. He searched for the source and looking up began to see dozens of tiny faces peering down at him from amongst the tree’s branches. The creatures looked mostly human, though they were no bigger than a child’s doll, their long arms and legs were out of proportion with the rest of their body with long black claws on the tips of their hands and feet. They had thin, angular faces with sharp chins and pointed ears. Their eyes were huge in comparison to the rest of their face, oval in shape, wide and black, like pools of ink. Behind each one Arahn could see a pair of insect wings beating furiously in order to keep their owner hovering.

“Faeries?” asked Cathran, who’d noticed Arahn looking and followed his gaze.

“Pixies,” said Tansya with barely a glance up.

“Is there a difference?”

“Like the difference between bumble bees and angry hornets.”

Cathran’s eyes widened.

“Yes,” said the dryad. “And though they don’t have stingers, you’ll find their bites to be quite, worrying.”

“Are they venomous?”

“Oh yes, not deadly perhaps, unless you were particularly small,” she glanced at the twins as she spoke. “But if one bit you, I’m confident you would not soon forget it.”

“Do you keep them around to protect the garden?” asked Arahn.

“I don’t keep them around,” she said firmly, then sighed. “They are the Master’s minions, I merely play host.”

“So you do know the Masters then?” prompted Calan’dal.

The dryad paused, watching one of the brightly coloured birds swoop down to get a drink at the stream, before deciding to reply. “I do not know them by name but the Masters control the Abyss and all that goes on within its enchanted walls,” she paused again, this time to offer a baby squirrel some pieces of an acorn. “I am a Dryad and I cannot leave my tree, so I can only speak of what I have heard from others. To hear their tales, it seems the floors of the Abyss and the creatures in them move around at a whim.”

“Which is what I suspected,” said Calan’dal. “Some kind of control mechanism then, but how exactly is that supposed to work?”

“That is a question that might be answered by our mutual friend,” she replied before addressing the branches above her. “Miirik dear, would you be so kind as to join us?”

There was a rustling above them before a familiar reptilian head poked itself out of the branches. Miirik climbed down the tree trunk and flopped down onto the grass beside his Mistress, gazing up at her adoringly.

“You call on Miirik, Mistress?” he asked. “How can Miirik serve?”

“I want you to tell our guests about your experiences on the lower floors,” said Tansya. “Tell them what you told me about things changing.”

“Yes Mistress,” said the kobold before turning to address the party. “Miirik sometimes returns to floors he has visited in the past, only to feel something is different. Sometimes Miirik will walk through a large cave and then on his way back, the room will be flooded with water.”

“The Masters control these changes,” the dryad explained. “Where they are or exactly how they have control over this place, is a mystery to me. You must understand the Abyss is a mammoth place and I am confined to but one room of the highest floor.”

“So if we are to discover the Abyss’s secrets, we must travel into its lower floors,” Calan’dal theorised to which the dryad nodded. “Which then begs the question, how do we descend further?”

Tansya looked oddly resigned at the question. “I would beg you to please remain here in my garden, but I think such words would be a waste at this point as you clearly have your own goals here. The exit to this floor is over there.”

The dryad gestured to the eastern wall of the room, which bore a large mosaic mural of trees and flowers. Around the outside of the tiles was a stone arch, suggesting the mural covered stone was some kind of door though it lacked any obvious means of ingress.

“I assume the stairs down to the next level are behind it?” Calan’dal asked. “And some trick is needed to open it?”

“Of course, if you could wander freely the Masters would not be entertained,” the dryad all by rolled her eyes. “But yes, there is. The passage will not open for you until the tasks set for this floor have been completed.”

“More conformation for my assumptions then,” said Calan’dal, sounding vindicated.

“So what do we have to do then?” Lem asked making the dryad smile.

“That, I am not permitted to tell you.”

“Why not?” demanded Evan with a pout.

“You must understand little ones that my duty is to my garden and those that live here,” said Tansya. “I cannot, nor will I, put them in any danger.”

“You fear the Masters will use their power to destroy your garden should you assist us more than is allowed?” asked Calan’dal.

“The Masters are capable of anything,” said the dryad her breathing growing a little laboured. Suddenly she clutched her chest, a gasp of pain on her lips as Miirik scrambled to get her some water.

“Are you alright?” Cathran exclaimed shocked by the sudden deterioration of the dryad’s health.

Tansya waved a dismissive hand as she drank some of the kobold’s offered water, taking a moment to catch her breath. “I’m sorry, how unseemly to behave this way in front of guests,” she said as Miirik helped her to stand on shaking legs. “As much as I wish to continue this conversation, it seems I am going to have to rest earlier today than I had planned.”

“Of course,” Cathran assured her. “We completely understand.”

Smiling gratefully Tansya turned and placed her hands gently on the tree. She closed her eyes, breathed out and then melted into the great trunk in a flurry of autumn leaves.

“Sleep well, Mistress,” said Miirik softly patting one of the tree roots before flopping down with a sad whimper.

“Miirik,” Calan’dal ventured, his tone kind and sympathetic. “Your Mistress doesn’t seem well. Isn’t there something we can do for her?”

“Mistress is sick,” said Miirik wringing his hands nervously. “Mistress’s tree is dying.”

“Dying?” Cathran asked looking up at the green leaves. “But it looks so healthy.”

“Mistress can feel it,” said the kobold clearly distressed. “Mistress and her tree are connected. Mistress can feel that something is attacking and killing her tree.”

“Do you know what is doing it?” Cathran asked, pressing onwards when Miirik averted his eyes nervously. “Please tell us, maybe we can help.”

Miirik shivered, staring down at his clawed feet for a moment before talking. “Mistress was fine until they arrived,” he said. “They’re not supposed to be here. They dug through the walls, through the ground. Mistress forbids Miirik from going there to see, but Miirik knows.”

“What do you know?” Cathran prompted gently.

“Mistress’s feet hurt,” said Miirik sadly slowly starting to rock back and forth. “The things in the walls are making Mistress’s feet hurt.”

“Trees don’t have feet,” said Lem confused.

“No,” Calan’dal agreed. “But they do have roots.”

“Oh,” said Cathran as if suddenly remember. “The hole we saw dug out of the wall in the passageway. Do you think they cut through the tree’s roots when they were digging?”

“It’s certainly a possibility,” said Calan’dal with a nod.

“We should speak to them,” said Lem optimistically. “Maybe they don’t know what they’re doing.”

Cathran scoffed incredulously.

“Either way,” said Calan’dal. “Something has to be done.”

“Does it?” said Morvar, who’d had so far stayed silent their entire time in the garden. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to help a girl out, just from the goodness of your heart.”

“Maybe not,” said the elf, brushing away the clear insult. “But we’re not going to get anywhere down here without initiative. And as the master of this expedition,” he smirked when the troll’s eyes narrowed. “I intend to explore every crook and crevice provided to me, even if that does mean we end up playing the Abyss’ games.”

“Please don’t leave,” Miirik interrupted distressed. “Do not leave Miirik alone without the Mistress.”

Arahn looked between Miirik as the kobold gazed up at Calan’dal with pleading eyes. The sooner they solved the puzzle, the sooner they’d be on their way. After all, if this was all a game then this invasion and attack on the tree might have been arranged in preparation for their arrival. While Miirik seemed to be unable to read into the situation, the dryad appeared almost resigned to her role in the game they were all being forced to play.

“Don’t worry,” Arahn assured forcing himself to smile. “If we can find out what’s hurting your Mistress and can stop it, then you’ll never have to worry about being without her again.”

“Shouldn’t we take advantage of being here to get a proper rest first?” asked Cathran.

“Not a bad idea,” agreed Calan’da. “At least until she wakes up again. I might have a few more questions before we head out.”

The twins were curled into a ball and napping by the river by the time the dryad re-emerged from her tree. The moment she appeared Miirik dashed forward to help her sit down. She sighed apologetically before looking up at Calan’dal.

“I believe there are some things that need to be discussed,” he said politely.

“Oh yes? And what might those be?” Tansya asked curiously.

“My companions and I are concerned about your health,” Calan’dal said. “You’ve been very kind to let us stay here in your garden. That said your generosity would seem for naught if you and your garden were in danger.”

The dryad ducked her head with a deep sigh and nodded. “It’s true, if my tree dies and I fade, then the magic keeping this garden alive will fade as well.”

“So you need someone to stop the digging creatures who have cut through the roots, yes?”

The dryad nodded but she still looked sad. “And yet it may not be enough. The damage to my tree has already been done; just stopping further damage may not save it. It needs to be healed and restored.”

“I’m going to take a chance here and assume that what we need to do this is somewhere on this floor of the Abyss?”

“More than likely, but I do not know where you will find it, or whatever ever it might be.”

Instead of replying though, Calan’dal turned to Cathran. “Do you still have that special water you found in the font?”

“The water?” asked Cathran her tone sounding conflicted.

“Yes,” Calan’dal continued. “I was thinking since you have those nice crystal flasks now it didn’t need to sit around in an old drinking skin.”

“Oh, yes,” said Cathran, as though that sounded like a lovely idea.

She pulled her bag from her shoulder and brought out the wooden box of flasks. With Calan’dal holding one, she opened the water skin and allowed what looked like a stream of the starry heavens to flow forth into the glass container.

Calan’dal couldn’t help holding it up to the light and watching the way the rays of the fake sun danced around the bottle. Now that he was looking at it himself, Calan’dal could feel the draw of magic. It was a gentle thing, not malicious, just self-protective so as to prevent someone who got to the water from trying to destroy it.

“It’s beautiful,” said the dryad looking a little mesmerised herself. “Pure Water, the blood of Alvis; spirit of our world. It comes to the surface rarely and only from a few isolated springs.”

“Would this help your tree?” asked Calan’dal.

“Not on its own,” the dryad said sadly with a shake of her head. “It needs to be charged with Nature and Earth magic so the power it contains can be directed at healing. Right now, the magic inside may be too much for my tree to handle.”

“Yes,” said Calan’dal gravely, putting the cork into the flask. “Raw magic can be very dangerous.”

“So what now?” asked Arahn.

When Calan’dal had mentioned the water the boy’s heart had leapt, assuming their problem had already been solved. But it seemed like healing the tree wouldn’t be as simple as they had first thought. It was clear the elf had hoped the enchantment on the water would turn out to be some kind of potion, or even just to have carried some kind of healing enchantment. And yet, going by the expression on his face, being able to hold in his hands the life force of the very planet was a very humbling experience.

“Well there a only a few places left to try,” said he elf. “There was a hidden room we bypassed because we lacked a key.” Calan’dal quickly described the shape of the lock to the dryad.

“I know of no such key I’m afraid,” she said shaking her head regretfully.

“Honestly, I would have been shocked if you had,” said Calan’dal, returning the flask to the wooden case. Cathran took the case from him reverently and placed it safely back in her bag. “No matter, apparently there are still some people on this floor we’ve yet to speak to.”