The Laverre Trail was aptly named, of course, being directly south of Laverre City. The last signs of civilization had long since passed––a sad, abandoned children’s playground––and now the small group was stranded in a murky swamp of a path.
Sera had lived in the east all her life, near Dendemille Town. Not too far, actually, from where the professor had said the new Trainers came from. The east was a desolate, frigid landscape of biting winds and frosty winters. Sera often had sought shelter in the Frost Cavern when the winds turned to gales. It was still cold in the cavern, naturally, but at least there was no wind chill.
Sera had thought that she knew harshness. She had believed that she had experienced all the natural horrors the world could throw at her. But nothing––nothing––could have prepared her for the Laverre Trail.
The sickly durin trees cast a perpetual gloom over the already dismal marsh through which the Trail ran. Puddles of swirling muddy water and grime were impossible to avoid, and sometimes they were much deeper than they appeared. Each step on land made Sera’s taurskin boots squish unpleasantly, such that she almost considered removing them and walking barefoot.
She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. The small group had set out from Lumiose City early in the morning, perhaps nine o’clock. Warren was the only one with any means of telling the time––he had a watch-face built into the contraption at his wrist, in which he also stored his Mawile’s Poké Ball. At first, Amaline had asked him persistently every five minutes what the time was, but after a time, she lapsed into silence.
The sun had since reached its zenith in the sky, and was now halfway through its descent. Sera judged that it was around four-thirty. It didn’t matter much to her one way or the other; no matter how brightly the sun burned, it didn’t dry the mud on her boots, or even the dampness of her coat, from wading through knee-high puddles.
“How far are we from Laverre?” Amaline asked suddenly. She had changed her normal embroidered grey dress for breeches and a jacket, with a short travelling cloak––skirts would of course be impractical with the swamps of the Trail. Professor Sycamore had ensured that they were prepared for their journey; although Sera had never been to Laverre, nor, she thought, had any of the others, the professor clearly was familiar with the area.
“We’ll be there by nightfall, ‘Ine,” Julian answered patiently. Although he was nearly six years Amaline’s senior, he shared a very close sibling bond with her. Sera wished she knew why. She was willing to bet Fylon knew, but she wasn’t going to ask him. Fylon was rather unnerving, all things considered. Sera still didn’t know how he knew everything he did.
“Ten hours to cross a single route,” Peter said dejectedly. “Will it never end?”
“Of course it will,” Sera snapped. Normally she wasn’t very abrasive, but the Laverre Trail, in all its grimy glory, was doing nothing to help her mood. “We can’t move any faster. Stop whining.”
Peter looked mildly offended, and Amaline was looking at her quizzically. Sera sighed.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said. “I don’t mean to be irritable. You don’t deserve that. It’s just this Order-broken mud, and the swamp, and my boots are squelching, and …”
Suddenly, Peter laughed. “I know. The Trail’s doing this to all of us. It’s not your fault.”
Sera managed a weak smile. Amaline laughed as Julian scooped her up and put her on his shoulders. Warren remained as stoic as ever, but Sera noted a slight shift in his expression, the barest quirk of his lips in what could be taken as the ghost of a smile.
They plodded along, wading through marshy ponds and clearing brush back from the path, but all trace of irritability had vanished. They told jokes, and laughed heartily. Even the filthiness of the marshy ponds ceased to bother Sera, as the hours whiled away.
The sun sank ever deeper in the sky, which slowly faded from blue-grey to orange, and then to crimson. Clouds with a purple tinge streaked across the sky, more thickly packed above the Trail than anywhere else, as far as Sera could see. The durin trees limited her view of the sky, but what she could see of it was beautiful. Sunsets never were so colorful in the east.
The durins seemed to glow with light from the setting sun, the rays reflected off the broad, shiny leaves and continuing to illuminate the Trail, although the sun was no longer visible. Sera realized that they might be forced to stop for the night, something she did not wish to do in the middle of a swamp.
Indeed, not long after, even the illumination from the durin leaves began to dim, and the crimson of the sky had darkened to a dull purple-grey. Within the hour, night would be upon them, and they would be able to proceed no farther.
Warren glanced worriedly at the sky every few minutes or so. They had brought little in the way of blankets or shelter, or indeed even food; they had consumed all their provisions at midday, expecting to have reached Laverre by nightfall. There was nothing they would be able to do except wrap themselves in their travelling cloaks and try to endure it until morning.
After less than half an hour, Warren called a halt at a spot of land devoid of puddles. There was enough room for them all to lie comfortably, with some space left over.
Julian let Amaline down from his shoulders, and went off, muttering something about firewood. Sera sat down with an exhausted sigh. She didn’t know how Julian intended to light the fire, but at the moment, she didn’t care. She wrapped her light blue cloak tighter around herself, pulling up the hood.
Julian returned only a few minutes later, but in his arms was a bundle of neatly chopped wood. He was closely followed by his Pokémon, Mienshao. Sera suspected that it was Mienshao, with his powerful forearms, that had chopped the wood.
Depositing the wood in the center of the glade, Julian removed a small rock from his pocket, which he held out to Mienshao absently.
The Fighting-type Pokémon took the stone. He raised one arm, and brought it down in a whiplike motion. The long fur covering his arms whistled as it struck the stone, and sparks flew. Julian caught the sparks with a bundle of moss, which caught flame almost immediately. He hastened to place it in the center of the pile of wood, blowing gently, coaxing the fire to life.
Sera moved closer to the fire, followed closely by Peter and Amaline, both of whom sat down. Warren took a Poké Ball from the device on his arm, and released his Pokémon, Mawile. Warren commanded the small Steel-type Pokémon to cut down two trees near the glade, which Mienshao picked up and brought to the fire. He set them down in front of Sera, Peter, and Amaline, indicating that they should sit on them.
“Thank you,” Sera whispered gratefully, bowing her head to the Pokémon. Mienshao inclined its own head in turn before sitting down on the log.
Sera sat on the other log, along with Peter and Mawile. She turned to see where Warren was, and saw him with his hands clasped before him and his eyes closed, facing the newly chopped trees and murmuring something. Sera strained to hear what he was saying, and just barely made it out: “ … arian, se lidhan a’xern. Sheluur e sigyar.”
Sera’s brow furrowed at these words, clearly in another language. She wasn’t fluent in any tongues except Kalosian, but this one sounded familiar. Yes, sigyar meant thanks in the language of the ancient Kalosi kings; she was sure of it. But why was Warren giving thanks to two stumps?
When Warren seated himself on the log between Peter and Mawile, Sera hesitated before asking him, “Warren? What was that you were saying? To the … stumps.”
Warren turned to face her. Sera felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to be so forward. “Sorry,” she said hastily. “I didn’t mean to …”
To her surprise, Warren said, “No, I don’t mind. It’s a tradition, in the Southern Forests, to give thanks to the trees when you use their wood for … well, anything. Trees are sacred, you see. Cutting one down … well, you’d better have a really good reason, and say thanks afterward.”
“But … what did it mean?” asked Sera timidly.
Warren smiled. “Ere velt a reishyn l’veyar, erest’arian, se lidhan a’xern. Sheluur e sigyar. It’s in an ancient version of Kalosian, spoken during the days of the Kalosi kings, three thousand years and more ago. It translates roughly to ‘This death is not in vain, exalted trees; it brings only more life. We offer peace and thanks.’”
Sera was quiet for a long moment. She had never been to the Southern Forests; she had no idea that their culture held trees sacred. She thought of the sparse vegetation in the east, and suddenly felt a deep admiration for the Foresters.
She absently brought out Amaura’s Poké Ball, and activated it, releasing her blue-skinned Pokémon in a flash of light. “It’s incredible,” she murmured. “Cultures so different, and yet we’re brought together by Pokémon. United, as one.”
Warren began to sing. Sera was surprised yet again; she had never heard him sing before. The words, though softly sung, floated out over the fire, encircling the group and drawing them together, as if they were all connected by invisible lines. Such was the power of Warren’s song.
Sera took up the verse, and then Amaline, Peter, and Julian. The words joined melodiously in the air, in perfect harmony.
The road is ever too far to see,
Leading into mystery.
It leads forever on and on,
In ages past, in time bygone.
But the road, it leads us and makes us one.
United, under setting sun.
The journey, it may never end,
And yet, I still count you a friend.
For as one, we may prevail,
Everlasting, against betrayal.
United, we may win the fight,
Beneath the moon, in dark of night!
Sera sighed, and settled contentedly on the log, wrapping her cloak around herself and warming her hands in front of the fire. The others carried on with the next verse. She realized, as Peter’s Espeon nuzzled her leg, that he and Amaline had brought out their Pokémon. Amaline’s Togetic hovered in the air before the fire, flapping her small wings to stay aloft.
Suddenly, a twig cracked behind Sera, and she whirled around. Warren stopped singing abruptly as he turned to peer at the bushes. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Realizing that the others had all stopped, Peter trailed off in the middle of a verse and turned to look, too.
A man emerged from the trees, his stark white hair held back by a thin band. He wore a tattered, but thick, travelling cloak, with the hood down. His coat, trousers, and boots were likewise shabby, but looked as though they had been of good make, once.
Warren visibly relaxed, and Sera found herself calming, too, although she knew that rationally, she should be suspicious of this stranger.
The man hesitated before entering the clearing, so Warren rose and amiably asked, “Stranger, what brings you to our glade?”
He had asked without any measure of suspicion, and nothing but friendliness. The man, however, still looked disconcerted. Sera decided that since they were all clearly at ease, this man should be, too. She rose and took a spare cloak from one of the bags, and offered it to him. He hesitated before taking it, but Sera smiled encouragingly, and he finally accepted the cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders.
“My name is Ragan,” said he. “I’m naught but a humble traveller, on my way from Laverre City to Lumiose. I … I’m sorry for interrupting you, but I heard singing, and felt the warmth of a fire.”
Sera smiled. “Join us, Master Ragan,” she said. “Share our fire.”
Ragan’s face broke into a smile, and he seated himself on a log beside Julian and Mienshao. “I am grateful,” he said. “It is not often that one meets such kindness. Pray tell, where do you be bound?”
Warren and Sera sat again on the other log. “We’re going to Laverre,” said Warren. “We just came from Lumiose. Ah, but friend: It’s not a place any should desire to be. Team Flare’s on the loose.”
“Team Flare?” asked Ragan, who seemed to think Warren was telling a joke. “The criminals who destroyed Geosenge ten years ago?”
“The same,” said Peter. “They’re back.”
“Back?” said Ragan incredulously. “You mean you’re serious? Order! This is terrible!”
“But it’s OK,” said Amaline quickly, “because we’re going to stop them!”
“You, young mistress? You and your friends?” asked Ragan. “Just who are you, precisely?”
They gave their names, but Ragan, of course, recognized none of them.
“Master Ragan,” said Sera, “do you happen to know what an Elemental Spectrum is?”
“I regret that I do not,” said Ragan, frowning.
Of course, he probably doesn’t know what Pokémon are, thought Sera. He said he was from Laverre? Do they have Pokémon there? Unfortunately, life in the isolated east hadn’t given Sera any knowledge of the rest of the world––only what she had picked up after joining the Spectrum would be of any use to her.
“Well,” said Sera, choosing her words carefully, and gesturing toward Amaura and Mawile, “there are creatures called Pokémon.”
She was watching Ragan’s face closely for any flicker of recognition, but he remained impassive. “Some have power over fire,” she continued, “others ice, like my Amaura.”
Ragan nodded curiously. “That is your Amaura?” he asked, pointing at the long-necked Pokémon. Sera nodded.
“Pokémon are classified into types,” Warren explained. “Amaura is Ice-type. Mawile is Steel-type.”
“Fascinating,” said Ragan. “That is Mawile, Master Warren?”
“Yes,” said Warren, “and that’s Mienshao, and Espeon, and Togetic.” He pointed at each of them in turn.
“Anyway,” Sera continued, “an Elemental Spectrum is the joining of all eighteen types. It’s said to be capable of winning any battle, no matter the odds. But it’s never actually been done. Until now.”
“You mean …” Ragan cleared his throat, apparently unnerved. “You mean you’re part of a … an Elemental Spectrum?”
Sera nodded. “That’s how we’re going to defeat Team Flare.”
Ragan looked lost in thought at her words. “But you said you were going to Laverre? What do you hope to find there?”
“A woman named Valerie,” said Sera. “She was a powerful Pokémon Trainer once, and––you know her?”
She had thought she had seen a flash of recognition in Ragan’s eyes, but it was gone now. He hesitated before shaking his head.
“Well, we need her help,” said Warren. “Do you know of any place we might find her?”
“I …” Ragan struggled to find the right words. “There’s a place in Laverre that she could be, I suppose. It was said to be a place of wonder in the days before the disaster, but it’s dangerous to remember things like that. If she’s still in the city, though, it would probably be there.”
“Where?” asked Sera.
“We call it the World Tree,” explained Ragan. “You’ll know it when you see it. It’s a massive stonewood, nearly five hundred feet tall, or so they say. You can’t see the top, that much is for sure. And it’s big enough around to fit a castle inside. For all anyone knows, maybe it does.”
“You think Valerie could somehow be inside the tree?” asked Warren.
Ragan hesitated. “I don’t know, Master Warren. If there’s anywhere in Laverre she could be, it would be there, I think.”
“But we don’t even know if she’s in Laverre,” said Peter. “She could be anywhere.”
“Yes,” said Ragan, looking somewhat relieved. “She could be.”
“But how do we get into the tree?” asked Warren.
“I’m … not sure,” Ragan admitted. “From what everyone’s been able to tell, you can’t. But that doesn’t seem to make sense, does it?”
Sera sighed. Of course it isn’t going to be this easy.
“But I do know this,” said Ragan. “It’s said in Laverren legends that if anyone manages to gain entry to the World Tree, they will find the answers they’ve been looking for.”
“What answers?” Warren demanded. “To what questions?”
Just then, Ragan clenched his fist, and Sera could have sworn that she saw his hand turn pale purple, just for an instant. But then something behind her rustled, and she whirled around to look at the source of the noise.
It was only the wind in the branches. She turned back, only to find that Ragan wasn’t there anymore. He had inexplicably vanished––there one moment, gone the next. And it was all because of the wind in the trees!
Warren stood up angrily. “What answers, Ragan? What answers, break you!”
The night sky, to which he howled the words, offered no reply.
*
In his dingy, filthy prison cell at the top of the ancient Shalour Tower of Mastery, Xerosic stood up from his bed. Sleep had mysteriously evaded him the last few days, and now he was pretty sure he knew why.
Those kids, those excuses for Team Flare. He hadn’t been able to get their offer out of his head. No matter how much he told himself that he had left the past behind him, he was plagued by voices in his head, whispering that he was wrong to do so.
He took a Poké Ball from his pocket––he had retrieved it from the warden’s room, before locking himself back in, after the kids had left––and stared at it for a long moment. With the Pokémon inside, he could set the leader’s plans in motion for real. But did he want to do that?
Oh, break it all, he thought. He’d never be able to rest until either the leader had succeeded or he was dead; he knew that much. He activated the Poké Ball, and released his Pokémon, Malamar, in a burst of light. Malamar was a squidlike Pokémon, but it hovered in the air, twisting between right-side up and upside down.
It was also uncommonly powerful.
“Superpower,” Xerosic commanded. Malamar struck the door of the cell with one of its tentacles, and the door flew off its hinges.
Xerosic returned Malamar to its Poké Ball and left the cell behind. There was no going back now.
It was time for the world to know his name once again.
). 