The Dawn Pool

Chapter Fifteen of Under the Goblin Trees

Campaign adaptation by Thomas Kelly

While the wood remained lightless and black except the coals of Ivan’s meager fire we rose from where we camped down—happily not chained in unseelie dungeons to pay for our trespass. The violent wind of the night had travelled on into other lands but left behind its train of cold dragged down from the icy north. Ivan added sticks to the fire with the last of the drywood. So we hunched about those little flames, glad of what warmth they offered. My limbs felt stiff from chill; fingers and toes burned with the cold. In such manner I shivered through morning devotions.

“I am cold, and I am thirsty,” Myron mumbled. His mummy scarves, once more wrapped around his misshapen face, made his words difficult to discern, but I caught the ensuing taunt clear enough, “Speak to your gods, hobniz priest; work a miracle, and bring up a spring of water.” He crooked a finger at me.

I cleared my throat. “Tut, tut. Father Yoseffo, an elderly priest in Hochcoch, exercised such a gift, but my Lady has never yet granted such to me. I have not yet attained it,” I admitted. Myron dismissed my candor with a skeptical sniff.

“Breakfast or no, let’s do press on quickly,” Cirilli urged.

“The quicker we leave dark seelie wood, the better I like it,” Sir Belvenore agreed. The knight was already strapping on his heavy armor. “I’ve no love for any of this miserable wood, least of all this dreadful place.”

In short time, we had the weary horses saddled and mounted. Ivan led us along slowly lest we wander from the path and become lost in the Old Weald.  In his left hand he held the reigns of his steed, and in his right, he held aloft a burning brand. The torchlight sent shadows playing among the trees to either side of the narrow road. Gnarled faces of knot, nob, and bark, long frowning in the darkness, now glowered at us from the broad trunks of venerable ash and oak. All the woods stood silent about as we passed. None of us dared speak a word aloud in the morning darkness.

The Dawn Pool

At length the cold and silent darkness softened to the grey halflight of Dimwood morning, and I discerned that, somewhere high above the thick overshading canopy the morning sun now looked down on the old eldritch forest. Presently, the air felt less bitter, and the breath of the horses no longer steamed. What’s more, the morning songs of birds, nesting high above us, made gladsome sound. All the wood seemed less oppressive, the darkness less heavy, and the air tasted sweeter. A mile or so further and we saw a sight strange to our eyes—a bright light that we scarcely recognized: a gleaming shaft of sunlight penetrating to the forest floor. We marveled at the shimmering column of golden light in astonishment. William blinked and squinted and declared, “I never!”

I wanted to leave the path straightway just to stand in that patch of light and feel the sun’s warmth on my face, but Ivan warned us, “It’s an enticement. If you stray, you’ll not find your way out of the Old Weald.”

Some way further, more enticements appeared as the canopy grew thinner and patches of sunlight more frequent, here and there. Louder sang the song of the birds, sweeter tasted the air, and now a rainbow of colored splay refracted and reflected brightly across the frozen surface of a broad pool not many paces descent from our road, for a shaft of bright sunlight illumined it. Here a broad stairway cut from the natural stone departed some thirty steps from the path to reach a low ring wall of untooled rock, cleverly fitted together, surrounding the circumference of a broad pool. No trees grew close around the pool, leaving open a broad patch of sky from which the late morning light spilled brightly. The place felt altogether fair, and I could detect not malice nor evil in the pool.

We dismounted, tethered the horses, and descended the stairway. “Thank the gods! Look. The ice is thin. We can drink, water the horses, and fill our canteens!” I announced.

“What mischief could possibly be found in a fairy pool?” Myron’s sarcasm seemed directed at me.

“Fools drink from fairy pools!” William warned us.

“I’ll be called a fool before dead of thirst from this fever,” Bruin argued like one about to collapse.

Ignoring William’s further protestations, we gathered about the pool to see what enchantment might lay upon the water. Cirilli leaned out over the stone ring, pressed her two hands flat on the icy surface, and looked into the ice as if peering into a scryer’s glass. After a moment, she shrieked and leapt back, “The visage of a young woman beneath the ice!”

“Child. You have seen your own self reflected,” Myron dismissed her.

“Nay! Not my face. A face like a goddess! See! Her eyes are open and full of light. Her hair floats loose … but I do not see her now,” the girl insisted.

“Naiad or drowned spirit of the pool,” Ivan suggested. “Be wary, lest she drag you in and drown you too.”

“I see her! Trapped beneath the ice!” Bruin concurred. He hastened to step over the stone and, standing upon the ice itself, strike at it with the haft of his heavy sword, shivering it and cracking it all around his own feet. Flipping the sword around, he smote the surface to shatter and toss aside the sheets, but neither goddess nor ghost emerged from below.

“Don’t defile the pool!” Belvenore pulled Bruin back from the pool before the ice gave way beneath his feet. His voice commanded such unaccustomed note of authority that we all turned to see who spoke. “This is must be the Pool of the Dawn, the sacred source from which Trilesimain quenched his thirst. Every worthy knight of my order seeks to drink. Look! Is that not the humble knight’s silver chalice resting just under the water at the edge of the pool?”

“Atroa’s pool!” I gasped in astonishment. Indeed. A silver chalice glinted beneath the water near the pool’s edge. Half of it hid buried in the mire, but the upper half shone bright in the sun.

The Cup of Trilesimain

Ivan leaned out over the wall and thrust his hand into the water to grasp at the chalice, but the water proved deeper than it appeared. The chalice could not be reached. “Bruin, hand me your spear.” Using it’s length, he managed to hook the handle of the chalice and draw the sacred cup from the water. It sparkled in the sunlight as if freshly polished.

“No, no!” William warned. “Don’t eat in fairy lands. Don’t drink in fairy lands. Don’t eat their apples, don’t pick their flowers, and don’t drink their water.”

Too late came the warning. Ivan filled the chalice and quaffed a draught. “It’s sweet and cold and marvelous refreshment. I feel warmth and fresh vigor in all my limbs!”

We cast anxious eyes upon him to see if any unnatural malady should beset him yet.

“By Ehlonna’s grace!” the woodsman exclaimed. “Even my sore wounds have closed.”  

He refilled the chalice and passed it to Cirilli. She cautiously sipped at it; her eyes brightened and grew wide. “How does such a chilled drink so warm head, heart, and limb?” she exclaimed. 

“Pass the cup to me!” Bruin demanded impatiently. When he had emptied it, he filled it again, declaring, “The fever drains out of me. I feel set aright, whole again. Even my wounds and bruises no longer smart.”

“We shall all regret this,” Myron mumbled. He snatched the full chalice from Bruin and drank deeply. “I recognize the flavor from the flow that nourishes the roots of Nyssa’s tree!”

Then came my turn. I gave thanks and made obeisance to the Dawn Lady before tasting of her waters. Cold, clear, and quickening, it rushed to my head. My heart pounded like drum in my chest. I knew sudden clarity of mind and solemn peace of soul. Tired limbs tingled as the invigorating sap flowed out to every member, enlivening even fingers and toes with relief, lightness, and freshness.

Now Sir Belvenore took up the cup with reverence. “Dawn of Oerth! May I be counted worthy to fulfill the Seven Precepts, and especially, if it be allowed, to know the seventh of the seven, as known only to our Grandiose Imperial Wyvern.” He doffed his helmet and, sinking to one knee, laid his unsheathed sword beside the spring. Leaning forward over the low stone wall, he filled the chalice. Before tipping it to his lips, he recited the passage (somewhat clumsily) on which Trilesimain comes upon the so-called Pool of Dawn. I reproduce the pertinent text here, as copied over from the Golden Couplets in the codex of the Collected Works of Azmarender and adapted for the modern tongue.

On a spring of brightening gleam he came, 

With waters gold of morning flame. 

Dawn Pool, font of hallow’d might, 

Wherein men slake hearts with light. 

A chalice there of argent craft did stand, 

Dropped aside by heaven’s unseen hand. 

And thrice if man should quench his thirst, 

No foe should e’er again the drinker worst.

But Trilesimain, in modest frame did say, 

“No knight of worth to guile should sway.” 

Meek of self, he bent to take but twain, 

“Lest mortal man cause jealousy by fame.”

First draught he quaffed, and in his bones a fire, 

His limbs waxed strong; youth returned untired. 

Then drank again, his heart to faith still bound, 

Knelt beside and kissed the hallow’d ground. 

But third he raised and tipped from thirsty lips, 

Libated ground ‘til chalice ceased to drip.

“No more shall I unmortal ‘chantment take, 

Nor bewitch me mettle so it cannot break.”

Like the Simple Knight of the canticle, Sir Belvenore quaffed two draughts but poured out the third upon the ground.

Bruin made to take the cup back, declaring, “I’m not too meek of heart!” Sir Belvenore snatched the chalice from his grasp and tossed it into the deep of the open pool where Bruin had broken ice. We all objected, and Bruin even leaped over the wall and waded into the pool to the depth of his knees and plunged about as if he could so retrieve the cup.

Nyssa’s Sister

Up out of the center of the pool through cracking ice a woman of water rose majestic fearsome and beauteous in foam and form. She rose up of shimmering clear water, glimmering in the sunlight. Bruin backed his way out of the pool, cowering beneath her terrible aspect. William squealed terrifically, broke free of his leash, and leapt up the steps away from the pool as fast as he might. The water woman spoke in a voice of running mountain streams, “Drink from my cup, but do not disturb my waters.” As she spoke, she continued to increase, drawing into herself all the waters of that pool until she towered menacing in size and form, tall up above us, fulsome like a giantess.

Bruin slunk back, crawling up out of the pool on hands and knees over the low circumference wall.

I stepped forward interceding before the water-weird, “Lady of the Pool, we beg pardon. We travel on errand for Nyssa, Queen of the Dryads. Please do not hamper us.”

Naiad replied in wroth words like rushing water, “To my pool you come. I sought you not nor summoned you hence. Of my cup you have drunk without my leave that your youthful vigor is restored. Had you not just now named my sister, I might haply play you some further mischief! Leave my waters and be away, lest I think worse.” With those words, she collapsed back into the pool with a sudden crash of falling water. All the surface of the pool splashed up, and all the ice shivered and cast about upon the pitching. We looked on until the water calmed and the pool fell still again. Then we made our departure quick without filling of canteens or any thought for it.

Visions from the Pool

Before the thick darkness of winter’s night fell again, we came upon a campsite beside a little stream—an open clearing with a fire ring surrounded by some crude log benches and a generous supply of dry wood already cut, split, and stacked neatly near at hand.

“This will be the work of rangers. It bodes well. It means we have passed beyond the bounds of the Old Weald,” Ivan surmised. “We will sleep here tonight with less fear of unseelie mischief.”

We stoked a bright and merry fire and made the best with most of what remained of our rations. Everyone felt fine in spirit and of best health by virtue of the enchanted water from that pool. For the first time since before the malady of Roanwood, we laughed and jested as if we had not to fear in the whole wide wood. Only William sulked about, looking on us like a nervous dog looks to his master.

Our conversation turned to the events of the day, and we marveled much over the matter of the magical pool and the woman from the water. By converse and discussion was it revealed that each of us had received some brief glimmer of insight from that enchanted draught. I fancied that I saw blaze in my mind a flash of light from the Dawn Palace. Bruin spoke of the fullness of Luna and Celene merging into one moon, seven times brighter. Myron admitted to nothing, but Ivan imagined a spring welling up from ancient depths around which many children played.  

Cirilli sighed, “When I drank of the water, I thought I saw sunrise over a city set high in the treetops. A brief and passing glimpse of a vision, but it brightened my eyes and spoke peace to my heart.”

“Derelion,” Ivan suggested. “That sounds like the treetop city of the Derelion, home to the olven folk of these woods.”

“What did you see, O humble knight?” I asked Sir Belvenore. “Did you find any clue to the seventh of seven precepts?”

“Nay,” he shook his head and remained silent for some time as if contemplating before sharing his heart. At length he spoke in hushed and reverent tones, “I thought I saw the hand of a mapper marking a canvas with strange quills, brushes, and pigments. A darling hand tracing out the shores of this Flanaess, creating forests and hills and mountains and rivers. I thought that as her hand moved across the canvas, those things she marked sprang to be.”

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Artwork: Naiad of the Dawn Pool, ChatGPT4 + DALL-E