Green Rising (The Druids of Arden Book 1)

by AZ Kelvin

  The fact that Tretjey Sayon would personally address a standard rotation meeting with the Northern West grove leaders was highly unusual. The normal protocol would be to channel news from the Central Conclave through the two Adjutant Tretjeys, which in this case were a man named Zendis and a woman named Clarin. Quinlan was surprised to see that both Adjutants were present as was Tretjey Sayon, which only increased his curiosity.

  “Quin!” a familiar voice called out to him. He turned and saw a Raskanish man wave to him from a table not too far away. A full red beard sprouted from the man’s face like a bed of fire moss gone haywire. Shoulder-length hair matched the color and scraggly nature of the beard, which combined, left nothing but a nose and a pair of deep green eyes to show through the mass. Occasionally a hole formed to allow food and drink in or to let words and laughter out. Quinlan waved back and headed to the table surrounded by nine chairs, five of which were already taken.

  “Bertrynn, you old stump!” Quinlan grinned as he grasped the man’s forearm and gave him a friendly shoulder slap. “I see you haven’t trimmed that bird’s nest under your nose.”

  “Where else would I keep last week’s soup?” Bertrynn countered loud enough for half the chamber to hear him. Quinlan was always surprised when a voice that loud came through so much hair. “Well met, ma friend. Ye know everyone?” He indicated the rest of the druids at the table.

  A Vakerian woman stood and held out her arms as he came to the table. “Greetings, Quin.”

  “Lissa,” he said and wrapped her up in a warm embrace. “Ha ha, you are more radiant than ever.”

  “And you are a wonderful liar, Quinlan,” she said with a smile. Lissa had the olive skin and dark hair of the Vakerian people, but had unusually light irises turning the typically brown eyes into hues of tan and gold.

  “Brother Tomas, good to see you.” Quinlan took the forearm of a fellow Dayne kinsman. Tomas was a Vakerian man of average build, with long dark brown hair worn loose to fall about his shoulders and brown eyes so dark one could barely tell iris from pupil.

  “Lah ahm, brother Quin.” Tomas smiled.

  “And Sander, you should be off duty, yes?” Quinlan asked a Kalnuvian man who reached across the table to grasp forearms.

  “Yah, I was, but they called in all grove leaders, whether they be on duty or not,” Sander said.

  “And they didn’t want us making a lot of noise about it, either,” a second Vakerian man added. The man stood to greet Quinlan as he spoke.

  “Tarrick, compliments on getting the command of your own grove.” Quinlan took the man’s arm.

  Tarrick seemed to be a scrawny young man at first glance, but his slender frame held the kind of speed and agility most people could only dream of. His hair was a shade or two lighter than that of a swarthy Vakerian and he had blue eyes telling of mixed blood somewhere in his lineage.

  “My gratitude to you, Quin.” He nodded. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

  “Yes, you could’ve,” Quinlan said with no room for doubt. “But I was glad to help.”

  “Oh, and I suppose that Quin here was the only one ta help ye out, laddie?” Bertrynn asked in mock dismay. “I am wounded ta ma very heart.”

  “My undying gratitude to you as well, Cetrey Bertrynn,” Tarrick said graciously.

  “I heard Tyrosi passed away right after gaining the office of Segoney.” Quinlan took a seat at the table.

  “Aye, ’twas a sad day,” Bertrynn replied. “’Tis a horror ta see a person suffer through the wastin’ sickness.”

  “Yes, it nearly destroyed Cassae watching it take her children.”

  “I’d forgotten ’bout that,” Bertrynn said. “I cannae imagine her pain.”

  Quinlan thought of the day he met Tyrosi. He and his father had traveled to hear him speak. “I remember meeting Tyrosi and you as well at a market fair when I was young.”

  “Aye, lad, I remember. Back when the red plague threatened the southern coastlands.”

  “I thought I’d never return home and that Calamere was gone forever.”

  “That nasty red ooze of Acimasiz stood nary a chance against the healin’ powers of Na’veyja,” Bertrynn said proudly. “Two years it took us, though, ta heal that festerin’ river delta and put an end ta its vileness.”

  “A little over two, yes,” Quinlan answered, “but the game and sea life took twice as long to return. I had started my training by then. Dad and I decided I should stay at the conclave when they went back to Calamere.”

  “A choice I thank Na’veyja fer every day, even though I missed yer folks when they left.”

  “Yes, the first few months being separated from them were hard to bear, but I knew the sea called to my dad louder with every day he was not on a ship.”

  “We all must follow our own callin’,” replied Bertrynn.

  “Have any of you noticed the group of Gwylari over there?” Lissa asked the group.

  “No.” Sander peered around. “Where?”

  “Front row, far left.” She pointed to the front of the chamber. “They all bear the mark of leadership from different tribes.”

  “Perhaps they consult with the Central Conclave,” Tomas wondered out loud.

  “One more oddity among recent many,” Quinlan said cryptically.

  “How s—” Bertrynn stopped midquestion.

  “May we join yer table?” asked one of two Raskanish women who emerged from the throng of druids. They both bore the forest, mahogany, and amber color pattern of the Northern East Conclave along the edge of their raiments.

  “Aye, and welcome!” Bertrynn answered. “Come sit down.”

  “Gratitude. I am Wylla and here is Freyn,” said the woman who had first spoken. Wylla was small in stature with grey eyes shrouded by straight light brown hair lightening to blond on the outer layers.

  “Shin Lahqui,” Freyn said to the group as she took a seat at the table. She was taller than Wylla by nearly a head, which brought her close to Quinlan’s height. Dull blond hair was pulled back from a gaunt face. She looked like she could stand a meal or two in a row to be more than mere bones. Calm light brown eyes, however, held a healthy spirit that stood out in contrast to her lean features.

  “Ye birds are far from home,” Bertrynn said after he made the introductions around the table.

  “Aye, we were midjourney with a supply caravan when we got the call ta gather. We never would’ve made the gatherin’ at our own conclave in time,” Wylla told them.

  “A gatherin’ at yer conclave as well?” Bertrynn asked.

  “Aye, at all three,” Wylla answered.

  Bertrynn and Quinlan shared a look of mild surprise. Quinlan was about to speak when Adjutant Tretjey Zendis called the meeting to order.

  “Druids, brothers, and sisters, please be paying attention to Tretjey Sayon,” the second-in-command of the Northern West Conclave called out to the assembly before he stepped away from the lectern.

  Sayon stepped up to address the gathering of druids. “As you all can see, we have a few more in number than usual today.” His voice held an edge of sarcasm. “And there is much to discuss. Sadly, I fear there will be more questions at this gathering than answers, so let’s begin. There have been disturbing rumors from both within the Seyna compound and outside of it. We believe there has been a disturbance in the Great Marsh and a withering of plant life along the Seyna boundary.”

  A surge of comments and questions went through the gathering.

  “Is it the dreyg?” someone asked from the group.

  “Surely not! The henchmen of Acimasiz were driven from Arden generations ago,” said another.

  “It is being discussed at the Central Conclave. One option is Acimasiz may have found a way to contact the dreyg from inside Fairtheora.” Sayon barely got the last part out before another stronger outburst from the group.

  “How? We have been diligent in our duty!”

  “No!”

  “There is no way in!”

>   “The Seyna is secure!”

  Any other comments were lost when the noise of outrage blended into chaos. Zendis and Clarin stepped up with Sayon to calm the commotion and finally regained order in the chamber.

  “Focus, please! Let me speak,” Sayon roared until it was quiet. “We must be aware of every aspect of our duty and not grow complacent. We need to refocus our vigilance. Put no action beyond Acimasiz to escape, for he most assuredly seeks to do so every day.”

  “How can Acimasiz influence the world outside when he is confined within Fairtheora?” someone in the gathering asked.

  “That answer is unknown and one that must be discovered in great haste. Certain groves will be pulled from rotation and assigned special duties to this end. This is a time when all of us need to double our efforts to be prepared even when all is quiet.”

  “What signs have been seen?” another druid asked.

  “Recall the red plague that swept along the Vakerian coastline not too long ago? We discovered it was not only an attack upon the fertility of the sea and the life within but an effort to poison the land as well. The dreyg meant to cripple the environmental food chain at the most basic level.”

  “But we stopped the red plague and cured the delta of its vile taint,” Tomas said.

  “Yes, that is correct, and since then the forces of Acimasiz have not been idle. They have not sat back to lick their wounds. They work tirelessly to free their lord. Records that have been kept since the Order’s beginning show animals have recently abandoned ages-old territories and habitats. Our long-range scouts report migration patterns have changed in these areas as well. Communes with Na’veyja show us poisoned lands and waters beyond our awareness, of black mists gathering in desolate areas, and once-fertile lands now withering to dust.”

  “Tretjey Sayon!” Bertrynn requested to speak.

  “Cetrey Bertrynn,” Sayon recognized his question.

  “How can the black clouds of Acimasiz form leagues away when he is confined right here in our compound?” Bertrynn asked, which was followed by murmurous agreement.

  “That remains unknown, but we believe it is evidence the dreyg are at work. The Primerey has looked with her spirit’s eye and assures us Acimasiz is still held within Fairtheora.”

  “What of the Overlords?” one man called out.

  “Acimasiz’s overlords and their mercenaries, the dreyg, have not been heard of in recent decades even though their black clouds of poisoned mist have never truly vanished from the far reaches. But now, we know his overlords continue to work diligently and have, truth be told, returned to Arden in a new guise. They hide in plain sight as Disciples of Nemilos, architects of renown from the southern continent. Their trickery runs deep and they have not shown their true nature to the lords of Arden.”

  “Architects? What benefit is that to them?” a grey-haired woman asked from across the chamber.

  “We believe their goal is to worm their way into the realms of Arden with the purpose of destroying the deep woods and replacing them with wide roads and sprawling cities, thus weakening Na’veyja’s power. Even as we speak today, areas of the deep woods are under attack on many fronts. We must inform the lords of Arden of the dire consequences and convince them to halt the destruction.”

  Lissa raised a hand and spoke out. “How can this be? Are not the lords of Arden still friends to the Order?”

  A look of disappointment passed across Sayon’s face before he replied. “Sadly, our influence has waned recently with the courts of Shaan and the minor houses of Raskan. Raskan now stands on the edge of civil war. I believe the disciples have orchestrated this. They sow the seeds of distrust and their crop grows strong. The Vakere and the Kalnu still support the Order’s cause and hear Na’veyja’s call.” He pointed to a woman at a front table who raised a hand. “Yes?”

  “But, both Raskan and Shaan standin’ alone are far greater in number than Vakere, Kalnu, and the Order combined. If they choose ta destroy the deep woods within their own territories, how could we possibly stop them?”

  “As I said at the beginning, this gathering will likely produce more questions than answers,” Sayon said. “We need to work harder than ever to find the answers. If the plants and animals of our world are destroyed, we will soon follow.”

  “Tretjey Sayon.” Quinlan raised his hand and was recognized. “Where do we begin?”

  “Our main concern must be the integrity of the Seyna. Our diligence must not falter! Through our efforts in Na’veyja’s name, the Seyna will remain strong. We will continue to investigate and monitor the matters in the south. Stay aware of this first and foremost as you go about your duties and lend a keen eye to even the smallest disruption in the flaura. Small clues will lead us to bigger answers. Those of you placed on special duty—it will be explained when you pick up your patrol orders and log books. Peace be with you all.”

  “Well,” Bertrynn said as he turned to the group around the table, “a very big meetin’ with very few answers.”

  “A whisper of early warnin’ is better than a later shout of urgency,” Freyn replied.

  “Agreed—and well said Freyn.” Quinlan nodded. “With my own eyes, I have seen plants withered almost to rot when the surrounding brush is alive and well. I fear we are missing something.”

  “Such as?” Sander asked.

  “If I knew what it was, it wouldn’t be missing.” Quinlan smiled lightly. “I believe we are healing the symptoms, not the illness. We must look deeper.”

  “As long as the Seyna is healthy, there shouldn’t be a problem,” Tarrick said.

  “That is the point exactly,” Quinlan responded, but with a different meaning. “Perhaps the Seyna isn’t as healthy as we think and we simply don’t know it yet.”

  “I think the true nature of the gathering will be better known after we get our orders.” Tomas stood. “May Na’veyja smile on you until we gather again.”

  “Shin Lahqui brother,” Quinlan said with a wave as the others replied to Tomas.

  “Aye, we too must be on our way,” Wylla said as she and Freyn rose to leave. “We’ve a lon’ path ta travel yet before our feet rest at home’s hearth.”

  Bertrynn stood to bid them farewell. “Well met, then, Wylla and Freyn. May yer trails be clear and yer feet swift.” His sentiments were echoed by all.

  “Gratitude, friends. Na’veyja’s grace light yer ways,” she replied.

  “Well, shall we go see what the Central Conclave has in mind for us?” Tarrick asked.

  “Oh, I already know.” Quinlan grinned and pretended to read imaginary patrol orders. “I’m to inspect the loom trees to make sure they are putting out an adequate amount of shade.”

  “Ha! Only in yer dreams, laddie,” Bertrynn scoffed. “Listen, Quin, that new lass who made yer grove, maybe we ought ta swap her out fer someone more experienced fer this rotation.”

  Quinlan shook his head and countered fluidly. “I see a good opportunity to teach a young druid how to recognize and interact with Na’veyja’s energy. The knowledge to call the flaura has to be—”

  Bertrynn tossed a hand up to quiet him. “All right, Quin, all right! Stubborn as an oak, ye are. Guess I know where ye get that from.”

  “Truly, Bert, I can’t imagine a better place for Ticca than with us,” Quinlan said.

  “Aye, ye’re probably right. Usually are. So be it.” Bertrynn grasped Quinlan’s forearm and gave him a solid embrace. “Go carefully out there, Quin.”

  “And you.” Quinlan clapped him on the shoulder before he turned away. “Tarrick, may your grove grow strong.”

  Tarrick took Quinlan’s outstretched hand. “Blue skies and bright sun for yours, my friend.”

  Quinlan hugged Lissa and turned to those at the table. “Fair paths to all.”

  The group bid him farewell. He picked up his order packet and logbook on his way out to meet up with the rest of Grove Seven.

  *~*~*

  Chapter Six

  The rags she ha
d wrapped around her feet were soaked, mud-covered, and barely protected her at all, but they kept out some of the early season chill. Trousers of woven flax were tucked into the rags that were wrapped and tied around her calves. A jerkin of the same fabric hung in tatters past her waist. The ragged, unfinished sleeves fell just past her elbows. The remnant of the woven flax fabric covering some of her shoulders and most of her head was tied snuggly under her chin. The clothing was a loose weave and the cold morning wind seemed to blow clean through her body, chilling her to the bone.

  The city she called home came into view. She wanted nothing more than to march straight up to the gate, identify herself, and go through, but it would blow a cover persona she took great pains to create. She had to stay in character as she moved through Cammachmoor or risk being compromised.

  She reached the outer wall of Raskan’s capital city and the guard post there. All citizens of Raskan were allowed inside the village minor, where mostly the barnyards, butchery, stables, and smithy were located. The area also included a hiremen house where one could find a free cot and meal if needed or work if one wanted. Every major city in Raskan had a hiremen house in the village minor to help avoid a stagnant population.

  The village proper was through the next guard post. No livestock was allowed into the village proper. Anyone who wanted to pass the guardpost had to be a citizen of the city; have authorized entry from a citizen; or show permits to do business with the citizens. Dressed as she was and without her papers of residence, she would never be allowed to pass.

  Dirty and disheveled, no one even looked her way as she walked down a path leading to where the city’s garbage was mulched and turned to compost. Hunger pangs turned her stomach into knots. She was so hungry, even the stench of rotting garbage made her mouth water.

  She went past the last garbage piles, slipped around a large boulder, and squeezed through a thin crack to end up in a narrow alley behind a building inside the village proper. She could not relax yet. Her journey through the capital had just begun and now she had to stay within the shadows, or be caught.