WiSh - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The Green Sight

The Stark family's table was adorned with a feast fit for royalty: brightly colored fine red wine, succulent plates of roasted beef, honey-drenched bread that seemed to melt in the mouth, rose-flavored ice porridge that danced on the tongue, a golden-roasted wild boar leg that crackled with each slice, and an array of vibrant fruits that promised the sweetness of summer. Each dish was a siren call to Will's appetite, beckoning him to indulge.

Both lunch and dinner were a decadent affair, leaving Will with a sense of satisfaction that had eluded him for days. His belly was pleasantly full, his spirit content.

In the maester's tower, his injured right hand had been carefully tended to. It was now wrapped in clean bandages, dusted with yarrow powder, and coated with a potent healing salve. The wound soon began to tingle and warm, a harbinger of swift recovery. Will made a mental note to delve into the properties of the yarrow powder and healing salve at his earliest convenience. His background in traditional Chinese medicine had instilled in him a keen interest in herbal remedies.

Despite the shift in worlds, the essence of healing remained unchanged. It was merely the names of the herbs that differed in this land.

As night descended, the comfort of the soft, spongy bed, the pristine white sheets and duvet, and the spaciousness of the room allowed Will to practice with the blade of blue steel gifted to him by Eddard Stark without feeling constrained.

The sword was of excellent craftsmanship, yet it was not the weapon of choice for Will.

His own sword, lost during his escape, had been a slender, keen-edged blade, neither too long nor too short. It was a stark contrast to the broad swords favored by the northern knights. Those weapons were ideal for sweeping slashes and held the advantage in mounted combat, but they were ill-suited for the stealthy operations that were Will's domain. They were simply too cumbersome.

Will's slender sword, on the other hand, was the epitome of stealth. It was short enough to hang from his waist, enabling him to crawl undetected. A longer sword would have to be carried on his back, a position that was less than ideal for quick draws during ambushes. For a night stalker, the slender sword was essential. Its fine, sharp point could pierce a heart with ease, be withdrawn just as swiftly, and minimize the telltale splatter of blood on the attacker.

After days of relentless flight, Will finally enjoyed a full meal and a bed to rest in. The moment he lay down, sleep claimed him.

"A very strange person, do you believe in gods?" a gentle, elderly voice inquired softly.

"I don't think so," Will replied, his tone uncertain.

"Not believing in gods, yet you've received fragments of divine prophecy?" The voice was laced with an ancient, forlorn quality.

"It's not a fragment of prophecy," Will corrected.

"Then what is it?"

"It's a memory."

"Memory? Your memory is not a prophecy, so where does it come from? Your prophecy fragments today for the Stark family were remarkably accurate. Without divine revelation, how can mortals know the future?"

"Because of supernatural powers."

"Supernatural powers?"

"Yes, people create gods because they cannot explain supernatural, miraculous powers."

"That's a rather unique perspective. But regardless of how you see it, there are still gods, whether they are created or not, they exist."

"But I would rather believe in supernatural powers. The three-eyed crow I know of, dragons breathing fire, Targaryens with dragon blood who are unafraid of fire, the wights and Others beyond the Wall, or other mysterious and unexplainable things, I believe they are all manifestations of supernatural powers. There must be an underlying reason, we just haven't discovered it yet."

"Oh, then look at yourself, what do you see?"

Will looked down at himself, his voice tinged with disbelief: "I've become a tree?"

"Feel your roots."

"I've become a heart tree? Where am I? The godswood? How did I become a heart tree?" Will's voice was thick with horror.

"Feel your branches, your body, your roots." The voice was slow and compelling, a gentle command that brooked no refusal. It was kind and soothing, yet once heard, it demanded obedience.

"I'm dreaming, are you hypnotizing me?"

"Hypnotizing? What a peculiar term. I'm training you, child. Look up at the sky."

Will lifted his gaze. The sky was a canvas of icy blue, so close he could almost touch it. It melded with his outstretched red palm leaves.

"Look around you."

Will surveyed his surroundings. The glass garden, partitioned by a wall, the Stark family crypt directly opposite, the tall, dilapidated tower, the soldiers' guardhouse at the edge of the godswood, the main keep of Winterfell to the east, the stables and maester's tower to the west, the Black Woods beyond the Hunter's Gate, the King's Road slicing through the forest, the vast kitchen and bell tower behind the maester's tower, the library facing the bell tower—every nook and cranny of Winterfell lay bare before him, as if he were studying the lines on his own palm.

"I can see everything in Winterfell, including the town of Winterfell to the south of the gates, the cries of some children, the wolfswood beyond the Black Woods, I can see it all."

"Can you hear the wolves in the wolfswood?"

"I can hear them. The northern nights are always so quiet, I can hear many secrets in the voices carried by the north wind."

"Do you know why you can see so much?"

"Because I've become a heart tree."

"No, this is the green sight."

"The green sight?" Will felt a sense of familiarity with the name.

"Through the trees, perceive everything in nature, see the beasts in the woods, gaze at the birds in the sky. The trees are your eyes, your body, your life—this is the green sight. With practice, you can see even further."

"The green sight? Are you a greenseer?" Will asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I am not a greenseer, but I am aware of their secrets. Greenseers can catch glimpses of small secrets woven into the tapestry of time and space. Perhaps I can even foster a greenseer."

"Are you a god?" Will's voice rose in astonishment.

"I am not a god," the voice replied calmly.

"If you're not a god, how do you know about greenseers?"

"I am not a god. I am an old man who has yet to meet his end, but I know I am not a god. I too wish to behold the gods, but they have eluded my sight."

"You are a god." In Will's memory, in the world of ice and fire, greenseers were the zenith of existence. The notion that someone could create a greenseer was beyond his understanding.

"I am not a god. If you must assign me a clear identity, perhaps I am what you would call a supernatural being. But in truth, how can any life be supernatural? Ah, this question is complex. Little one, might we cease this discussion of headache-inducing, unanswerable questions? Let us engage in something practical. First, look at the soles of your feet."

Will directed his gaze downward. His roots plunged deep into the heart of Winterfell, where the entire city's underground was a labyrinth of interlaced heart tree roots.

"What do you see?"

"I see the underground hot springs. So Winterfell is built atop hot springs, no wonder it remains so warm within the city walls."

"Without these hot springs, when winter descends, the people of Winterfell would succumb to the cold. The common folk in the town of Winterfell to the south would also perish from the frost."

"I see the spring's source."

"Beneath the spring's source, what do you see?"

"Jade, an abundance of jade, a tomb constructed from black stones, filled with numerous dragon bones. Heavens, is it a dragon tomb? I see a tombstone at the fore of the dragon tomb, with a black, slender sword embedded within it."

"Yes, feel it. Are the dragon bones hot or cold?"

"Scalding hot dragon bones. Ah, I understand. The temperature of the underground water is derived from these dragon bones."

"Correct, young one. What is the hardest substance in the world?"

"Dragon bones."

"What is the most resilient?"

"Dragon bones."

"What is the lightest?"

"Dragon bones."

"Don't you yearn to wield a dragon bone sword, as light as a feather yet unbreakable?"

"Yes, with all my heart!" Will's spirit soared at the prospect.

"Look closely. How can you reach the underground and claim the dragon bone sword from the tomb's tombstone?"

"I see the way. Enter through the Stark family crypt, unveil the secret passage, traverse the jade cave, and there's a spiral staircase leading directly to the subterranean dragon tomb."

"Indeed, your soul power is unlike that of ordinary mortals, but venturing down to retrieve the dragon bone sword is fraught with peril. Do you dare to take the risk?"

"I do not court danger, but if I were to descend, what dangers would I face?" The dragon bone sword was invaluable, but one must be living to wield it.

"Wights."

"Dragon wights?"

"Dragons, the First Men, the children of the forest, giants."