Vantaiga found Syffox and his small group of missionaries coming to a public well in the town of Derabel. There, he and his entourage stopped to drink, rest, and refresh their water. It had been a long, hot walk in the dry autumn sun, and the green and brown clothing that he and his companions wore did not help.
The tight-fitting and dark nature of their outfits were practical in the brambles and shadows of the forest, but they had no place underneath the open scorn of Coronus. Secretly, Syffox wished he could wear the light, loose-fitting clothes of his travelling youth, but those days had been gone for centuries now. He unshouldered his quiver and leather-wrapped bow to place them by the well. He sat next to the ledge to watch the passers-by of the town.
His fellow travellers, a group of young priests, priestesses, and devotees to the Goddess of the Forest, sat about him and talked amongst themselves. They kept a pleasant air, but they were all conscious of how much taller and healthier they seemed than the hurried people of Derabel. For most of them, it was their first time among the people outside the forest.
They had always found it a fun quirk that the two most powerful people of the forest, Vantaiga and Syffox, not being born of the forest, were so short compared to the rest of them. There was a saying in the forest that “big things come in small packages.” However, in the hot, arid city of outsiders, they could see the harsh life of the world beyond the forest kept the people’s skin aged, feet tired, and heads low.
The people of the town of Derabel were otherwise friendly and unsuspicious—if not busy. They looked curiously at the fair group of tall strangers as they passed but did not interfere with the gathering. Occasionally, some citizens asked who they were and where they came from. A simple answer of “Travellers from the forest taking a moment to rest” was sufficient to satisfy most. For those that inquired further, they were invited to sit with the group so that the youthful clergy could tell all about the forest and its Goddess. A rare few accepted these invitations; most declined, saying they had pressing business elsewhere.
Syffox did not participate in these discussions either way. He spent his time thinking about his love, Vantaiga, while sipping his cup of water and looking for a particular person. Most of the people he observed were hurriedly going about their day and too engrossed in their own concerns to be worth approaching.
Looking about the unassuming people of Derabel, Syffox was saddened by the thought that he wouldn’t need to be here if the rest of the world was like these people. The forest could safely grow on its own without fear of abuse or exploitation. His people could trade knowledge and skills with the outsiders without fear of war or enslavement. Vantaiga could share her power with the other gods without fear of catastrophe or annihilation.
The ancient cleric sighed deeply. Alas, that was not the world they lived in. If the forest was to grow larger, it would need more defenders to protect it. If it was to incur into foreign lands, it would need more followers to understand it. If it was to take control away from the merciless gods of this world, his Goddess would need more power to sustain it, power that he was denied giving to her.
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Syffox quickly turned away from his missionaries to wipe away a tear that sprung out of his control. He stifled the surge of emotion to resume more pleasant thoughts of his companions. His mission for the forest was more important than his hurt feelings.
It wasn’t until the late afternoon that Syffox spied a tired peasant walking wearily even though the basket on his back was only half full. The afternoon heat of Coronus’s judgement was waning, yet the peasant’s forehead was profuse with sweat.
Syffox called out to the man, “You, sir, come this way.” The man stopped for a moment before looking at Syffox, then, confused, looked around. Syffox smiled and gestured with his arm. “Yes, you, sir. Come here, if you will.”
The man still looked hesitant but found Syffox’s friendly manner and warm voice disarming. The man approached the unassuming mage wearily. Syffox invited him to sit by the well and helped the man remove his basket. He also drew a bucket of water and poured a fresh cup full for him to drink. The man thanked Syffox for the cup but was still confused.
Syffox sat beside him. “Why are you so tired while you carry only a light basket?”
The man gulped his water before speaking. “I am collecting nuts and fruits from the forest. But it is so far away, and it takes me so long to find anything, that I can only manage to find half a basket’s worth before I have to return to make it home before sunset.”
Syffox’s smile broadened as he leaned into the man. “Well, as it so happens, I know a few things about the forest.” He called for one of his disciples to bring him a laden sack. He reached into the bag and pulled out a round reddish-pink fruit as big as his hand. The man’s eyes grew in amazement. He had never seen a fruit so large or colourful.
Syffox continued, “Perhaps if you let me, I could tell you how to find many treasures in the forest. This one we call a pomegranate.” The man stared, transfixed by the fruit’s bright ruby colour. Syffox pulled out a small carving knife from his bag and ran the tip of it through the rind of the fruit. He then squeezed and, with a twist, ripped the pomegranate in half. He offered the man a half as he stared bedazzled by the gemlike seeds.
Syffox sliced the skin again and further split his half in two. He gestured to the man to hold out his free hand. Syffox bent the section of the fruit backwards. The seeds fell like rubies dropping from a sultan’s purse into the peasant’s outstretched hand, the juice dripping down like fine red wine. Syffox gestured to the man to eat the seeds. The man did so, and his eyes grew wide with shock at the bitter taste, then they filled with amazement as the sweet juice washed over his tongue.
He swallowed the seeds before gasping, “This is a fruit of the gods.”
Syffox shook his head. “Not the gods but the Goddess who presides over the forest. Go to your city council and tell them I come in the name of the Goddess Vantaiga, and I have an offer for them. If they will build a temple for her, we will be able to teach you about the forest and what treasures it holds.” Syffox handed the man his remaining portion of pomegranate. “Then, in gratitude, she will bestow a gift upon your city far more valuable than a single fruit.”
The man took the fruit and eagerly shook Syffox’s hand. “Thank you. I will tell them.” They both laughed as their hands squished together with red juice. “I have not heard of a goddess before, but I will tell the council.” He turned and hurried off.
Syffox called out to him before he left. “Here!” He reached into his bag and pulled out a second pomegranate and tossed it to the man. “Take this one for yourself and let it remind you of the name of the Goddess Vantaiga.”