Diarmid groaned. “How long will it take?”
Michael maintained his wide smile. “As long as it takes.”
“Which is how long, exactly?” Diarmid pressed.
“You will need to be patient, Diarmid.”
“I hate patience.”
The four of us were getting a kick out of this little exchange. What seemed most important, though, was the fact regarding stones. How I would be able to use that information was unclear, but it was certainly worth retaining in my memory banks for potential future use. I know stones could store memory. But energy, too? It sounded like the stones could work like giant magical batteries. That was significant. I was sure Tyler was taking note.
We continued hiking downhill until the forest opened at the foot of a rocky cliff. Boulders three and four times my height and far beyond any maneuverable weight had fallen at some time past and were piled helter-skelter at the cliff’s base.
“You’re joking, right?” Diarmid questioned, his countenance reflecting his skepticism.
“Come now, Diarmid. Surely you don’t expect to rely upon bodily strength to move these rocks.”
Diarmid looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
Michael rested one hand upon Diarmid’s shoulder. “Amongst the children of men, some are born with the remnants of Annwn still in their blood. At one time, it was common. As years progressed and mankind was further removed in time from his first home, it has become more and more rare. But you are blessed, Diarmid. Annwn still courses through your veins.
“And as rare as it is that one have such blood, even rarer is one who learns to tap into its potential. Most who carry the blessing are never made aware of it. Yet with that blessing you have the ability, as did Ask and Embla, to exercise dominion over Earth’s creatures. You can evoke the elements, and bid them to come to your aid. Trees and animals alike will respond to you if you ask them aright. So strong is your bond to these creatures that you may even, in time, learn to assume a semblance of their forms.”
Diarmid appeared curious, but couldn’t seem to find the words for a response. I could relate. How do you really respond to information like that about yourself? Diarmid was my father. Did I inherit my abilities from him? Michael’s explanations seemed as relevant to me, now, as they must have to my father in whatever century BCE we were witnessing. From a genetic standpoint, I was only a single generation removed from these ancient people. One would assume that Diarmid’s rare blood had become even rarer, perhaps to extinction, in the millennia since. But I was a child of the ancients. It made sense. But Michael had said that even among those born with Annwn in their veins, tapping into that potential was rare. I seemed to do it almost by habit. As questions were being answered, more questions arose in my mind. Like my father, patience was never one of my virtues. It was this very thing, however, that was evidently required. I had to believe more answers would come.
Joni and Emilie were clearly picking up on these facts, too. Their periodic glances in my direction indicated as much. Tyler was clearly enthralled by whatever scientific hypotheses this might inspire.
Michael handed Diarmid his staff. “I don’t truly require this, so I am giving it to you. This staff was carved from the Tree of Life itself. It will attune you to the potential that lies dormant in your blood. In time, you will be able to evoke great power with or without the staff. But I urge you never to do so without the staff in hand. It will protect you.”
“I can feel it,” Diarmid said as his grip tightened around the staff’s girth. “Everything tingles. What do you mean that this staff will protect me? Protect me from what?”
“From yourself, Diarmid. The blood of Ask and Embla courses through your veins. The semblance of their blood while they still dwelt in Annwn, but also the blood of their rebellion. Unlike the creatures of Annwn, you can truly die. When you evoke Annwn’s power, it also drains your own life force, your spirit. This staff, hewn from the Tree of Life, gives you greater focus. You will be more in tune with the energies flowing between your spirit and the Spirit of the Annwn. You will be able to prevent yourself from going too far. Without the staff you may still evoke your power, but it will drain you of your life more quickly, and you won’t be able to see it coming. At first, any use of these abilities will leave you exhausted. You can recover, over time. If you call forth too much power at once, however, it will drain your spirit. You will die.”
That’s why I always felt so tired after I had done the things I could do. Joni and Emilie both looked at me, a hint of worry in their eyes.
Joni turned to Emilie, placing one hand on her shoulder. “Emilie, so long as he wears that necklace he should be safe. He should be able to control it. Elijah will be fine, for now.”
Emilie nodded, but maintained a blank stare fixed my direction. She said nothing in response.
The information was disconcerting, especially considering that at this very moment I wasn’t actually in this forest. I was, at least in my body, sitting at a table outside Kaldi’s and I had just removed my necklace. The energy I evoked when calling upon the stone was considerably stronger than before, as I was now including three people beyond myself in the vision. Was I now, at this very moment, risking my life?
As strong as the energy was, though, it felt nothing like the energy I wielded when summoning the tree, or even when experimenting on Joni’s bonsai. My father’s memory was pleased, not concerned, by my friends’ presence here. I would have to trust that we were safe—that I was safe. Nonetheless, it was still a troubling thought. As soon as this memory ran its course I would not spare even a moment before returning Joni’s necklace to my neck.
Even while these thoughts occupied my mind, I couldn’t help but notice that Diarmid was clearly growing accustomed to the sensations he now experienced with staff in hand. He resembled that kid on YouTube who was caught on camera wielding a mop handle as if it were a ninja bow staff, living out his martial arts fantasies in what he presumed to be private. After a few YouTubers added visual and audio effects, turning his mop handle into a lightsaber, the kid became affectionately known as “Star Wars Kid.” That was what Diarmid was doing. A young kid, staff in hand, with strange new sensations percolating through his body. One could expect that sort of response. It was at least as hilarious as the “Star Wars Kid.”
Michael’s chuckle revealed that he was at least as amused by this behavior as we were. “Careful, Diarmid. It’s not a weapon. If you break it, well, I’d have to get you a new one and that would be awfully inconvenient.”
Diarmid regathered his wits. “It feels amazing. It’s like I could do anything.”
Michael’s smile quickly faded. He grabbed the staff, halting Diarmid’s next attempt at a ninja-like air attack. “Real power, Diarmid, comes from restraint. Many great men are destroyed by their own power. For you, that danger is particularly real. You are young. If the wrong men find out what you can do, they will take advantage of you. They will appeal to your pride, your ego, praising you for your power. Wield your abilities discreetly. Wield them in service to your fellow men, in service to the dance. Resist the temptation to exploit your abilities for personal gain. If you do not, you will not only lose this gift—you will lose yourself.”
Diarmid’s playful expression faded. He was a child, of course. His jovial spirit was, typically, front and center. But he also had a maturity, it seemed, beyond his years. Losing one’s family at a young age, being raised by others, forces a child to grow up quickly. To deal with issues of gravity, like life and death, sooner than most forced a kid into premature adulthood. My father had been through this. I had been through it. While a warning like the one Michael had cautioned Diarmid with would have been lost on most children, he would take it seriously. I would, too.
Diarmid sighed. “Okay, Michael. How do I move these rocks?”
“The sensations you feel,” Michael explained, “are more than a tingle. What you feel is life. Look around, Diarmid. Life is all around you.
Focus. Focus until it is not just life, but individual lives. What creatures do you feel? Which of these might you ask to come to your aid?”
Diarmid’s closed eyes scrunched to a squint. “I… I don’t know. It all blends together. So much. Everything feels the same.”
“Let the staff ground your focus,” Michael calmly continued. “What you feel, surrender it all to the staff of Annwn.”
An orange glow began emanating from Diarmid’s eyes, bright enough that it could not be entirely dampened by his shut eyelids. The glow traveled down his arms, into the staff. Diarmid exhaled. “There’s nothing. I mean, I felt it. Nothing but birds, squirrels, bugs… There’s a rabbit not too far from here. They can’t help.”
“You are missing something, Diarmid. Something obvious. Something more numerous here than the birds nearby, present in greater numbers than the squirrels. They are stronger than the insects. Try again.”
Diarmid channeled his energies through the staff as before. This time, without forfeiting his efforts, he explained his sensations aloud. “Everything is the same. Nothing else is here. Small animals, and a bunch of trees.”
“Exactly,” Michael affirmed.
“The trees? What can they do?” Diarmid asked as he maintained his focus.
“I don’t know,” Michael admitted. “Why don’t you try asking them?”
Behind the orange glow, I imagined Diarmid rolling his eyes. I surely would have. Instead, he gave it a shot. His expression grew serious, though calm. Then a wide grin cracked his demeanor. The glow illuminating the tip of his staff turned from orange to green. Diarmid’s fingers, his arms, his eyes all changed to green as well. The glow retreated from his staff and limbs, settling and remaining only in his eyes.
I thought he had failed, but an open-mouthed grin on Diarmid’s youthful face said otherwise. I heard a loud crack. Then several more. It sounded like a giant bowl of Rice Krispies had just met a milk tsunami. Snap, crackle, pop! These sounds, though, were ear-piercingly loud. I turned in concert with Joni, Emilie, and Tyler, who were equally startled. What we saw was incredible beyond words.
The great oaks and ash surrounding us were pulling themselves up from the soil. They were moving as if sentient creatures. Their roots, extracted one by one from the soil, began twisting together as if to form legs. Their branches moved as arms, their twigs as fingers. These were not the Ents of Tolkien lore, but they were Ents no less. They possessed no eyes, ears, nose, nor mouth. There were no organs for the senses. Instead, they seemed to perceive their surroundings through Diarmid. What he saw, they saw.
An entire army of trees emerged from the forest. They approached the fallen boulders and, wrapping their limbs around each one, lifted the giant stones with ease. Some of the larger oaks managed to carry as many as four or five boulders. The smaller oaks and ash only carried one or two. In single file, the Tree-Ents paraded back up the hill toward the clearing from which we came.
We followed Michael and Diarmid as they made their way up the hill alongside the giant trees. The trees waited obediently for Diarmid’s further instruction as they encircled the outer perimeter of the clearing where other, unawakened trees remained rooted in place.
Michael directed Diarmid, and Diarmid passed along the seraph’s instructions to his cadre of worker trees. One by one the great Ents began to deposit their stones in place. They slammed them down with such force that even we could feel the ground shake. An audible series of thunderous booms filled the air. As the stones were placed, deeply embedded in the soil, their arrangement became clear. The stones stood upright in two concentric circles. One circle was along the outer edge of the clearing, and a second circle was erected within. The great tree, guarding the Maia, stood as the focal point of it all.
Diarmid grew more and more comfortable with his labors as things progressed. His expressions often changed, sometimes serious, sometimes as if he were pondering a question. Sometimes he smiled and laughed, apparently for no reason. Were the trees communicating with him, too? The trees seemed to coordinate their efforts, bringing Diarmid’s instructions to fruition. These trees were not automatons. They were not slaves to his will. These were independent creatures, each lovingly and freely offering their service to Diarmid.
When Michael indicated that the last stone had been placed, Diarmid nodded, then began dismissing the trees one by one. Somehow, the bond he had shared with the trees had nourished a mutual sort of affection. It was clear from the emotion on his face as he stood by the forest’s edge and placed his hand upon each tree in expression of his gratitude. He dismissed each one, permitting it to return to its respective plot of soil. It was a touching farewell.
We gathered in a semi-circle around Diarmid to witness these dismissals. It was difficult not to get carried away in his emotion. This was his memory, after all. Whatever he felt, we felt. The girls shed a few tears while Tyler and I tried to maintain our manly composure.
But the feeling quickly changed. Now we felt a sense of awe as Diarmid turned, and us with him, to admire the finished product. What we saw resembled something like Stonehenge. The giant stones towered above us, more than twice the average human height, all of them precisely placed in perfect intervals, one after the next. Even with modern machinery something so magnificent could not have been accomplished in what Diarmid, Michael, and the Tree-Ents managed in less than an hour’s time. It was grandiose. It was imposing. It was beautiful.
Michael stepped between us—thankfully, he didn’t step through me this time—and placed a hand on Diarmid’s shoulder. “You did well, young man.”
Diarmid nodded. “I never realized…”
“Realized what?” Michael asked.
“The passion. the beauty of life. Just life, even in a tree… it’s so beautiful,” Diarmid answered.
“It is,” Michael affirmed, and gestured to the stone circles. “And so is this. With your aid, the dance will eventually awaken the Maia.”
Diarmid’s eyes abruptly widened. “The dance! Ceridwen, and all the rest. When they see this…”
“Tonight, Ceridwen will arrive before the others,” Michael explained. “She is the Ovate, the prophetess. It is her responsibility to interpret what a dance portends for the order as a whole. How she receives this change will determine the attitude of the whole order.”
“What will I tell her?” Diarmid asked.
“The truth, Diarmid.”
“All of it? I mean, it’s all kind of hard to believe…”
“When she asks you questions, answer her truthfully. But offer only the answers she seeks. You have been made privy to mysteries that most, even Ceridwen, are not able to comprehend.”
Michael guided Diarmid toward the base of the tree and Maia. Diarmid, staff in hand, placed his opposite palm on its trunk.
“What do you feel, Diarmid?” Michael asked.
“It offers me comfort… gratitude. It speaks. It says I should rest.”
“Then it is time I leave you, Diarmid,” Michael said in a steady tone as he ruffled his hand over the young Druid’s shaggy head.
Diarmid stepped away and made direct eye contact with Michael. “No, you can’t go!”
“You know all you need to know,” Michael assured the boy as he redirected his gaze toward the Maia. “There is nothing more I can do. Remember to be patient. Serve the dance. When the time is right, the Maia will open. You will know what to do.”
Diarmid grabbed a fistful of Michael’s white robe. “Michael, please. Don’t leave.”
“I have other assignments. But you may speak to me again. Look at the base of your staff. I have affixed a sigil there, representing my true form. When you need me the most, focus on that sigil, connect it to your will, and I will appear. There is more I will teach you, in time. Until then, serve the dance. Take comfort from the tree bearing the Maia. Do not flaunt your power. You will do well. Peace, Diarmid. Be at peace.”
With these words, Michael disappeared in a flash of light. I instinctively shi
elded my eyes. In the brightness, we could only see one another. Joni grabbed my hand, Tyler and Emilie following suit, and we formed a circle as before. I closed my eyes, expecting when I opened them to find ourselves back at Kaldi’s, greeted by a still-steaming mug of java.
Instead, we found ourselves again surrounding the Maia. The breeze carried a warmth that was not present before, but the smell of pollen still filled the air. A young man of maybe twenty, not much older than us, approached and walked directly through Tyler. I laughed at Tyler’s shiver and open-mouthed gasp, remembering the odd sensation when Michael had walked through me before.
The man wore a bear pelt covering him from head to toe. A bear’s head rested atop the man’s head, the rest of the pelt draped down his shoulders and across his back as a cape. A white cincture held the pelt around the man’s narrow waist. A familiar staff, firmly gripped with his right hand, struck the ground with each step the man took. It was the same staff Diarmid had been given by Michael and wielded before. While the staff was humorously oversized for the young boy, it matched this man’s stature perfectly.
As the man turned, I knew him immediately. This was Diarmid. This was my father, now with a matured appearance that more closely resembled the father I knew from childhood. His countenance was smoother, though, and unmarred by the effects of age.
My father pulled back the bear pelt, allowing the bear’s head, which previously guarded his head, to rest at the apex of his back. His hair was fuller and darker than I remembered. It was also longer, tucked behind his ears, covering his neck and tickling the tops of his shoulders. It was greasier, too, than I remembered. Apparently shampoo was a commodity that would not come along for another millennium or two.
Joni, Emilie, Tyler, and I let go of one another’s hands, recognizing that there was more to this vision to behold. A female voice sounded from the distance. I turned toward the voice, recognizing Ceridwen, whose hair was more grayed and skin more wrinkled than the first time I’d seen her.
Gates of Eden: Starter Library Page 14
