by AZ Kelvin
“Have these dead spots appeared before?” Kenri asked.
“Only since this last white fall,” Quinlan answered. “I mended twelve dead spots a moon ago.”
“A dozen dead spots ta more than a hundred in a moon’s time.” Kian whistled.
“Yes, a fair amount of death to have in a hedge that should be imbued with everlasting life,” Kenri replied.
“What does this all mean?” Ticari asked.
“Poisoned watersheds, barren hunting grounds, dwindling flaura, and now the Seyna falters.” Kenri’s face dropped. “It has already begun. Na’veyja is weakening.”
“Surely Na’veyja cannot weaken?” Ticca asked. “She is an essence of the Vast.”
“Aye, that’s right,” said Cassae. “The Primerey would know if the Seyna or Fairtheora were at risk.”
“She does know,” Quinlan said, coming to the same realization as Kenri.
“Yes, she knows Na’veyja’s power has been drained away to heal the damage done by the dreyg over the centuries,” Kenri said. “We must heal the watersheds and save as much of the deep woods as we can if Na’veyja is to regain her strength.”
“A tall order for one grove and a couple of Wardens.” Swela frowned.
“And an artifact,” Kenri added.
Wylla turned to him. “Can we see this artifact?”
“Oh, indeed, you’ll be taking it with you,” Kenri replied.
“Where do we start?” Cassae asked.
“By restoring Drifting Leaf to its former glory,” Kenri said, “and with recent news, your departure should be even swifter. If war breaks out, your journey will be much more difficult. I’ll make some arrangements. For now, fill your bellies at the gathering and we’ll reconvene at the stables.”
~~~
Swela walked into the stables after refreshing herself at the privy. A conversation was already underway.
“Watershed rescue contingent,” Ticca said.
“We’re not a contingent,” Ticari replied. “It should be a special rescue grove.”
“The brotherhood of the woods.”
“No, too much like Wardens of the Woods. Drifting Leaf quest—tarians.”
“Questarians?” Ticca exclaimed, “Ha! That is dung.”
“It is not dung!”
“Such a stimulatin’ conversation the twain of ye are havin’,” Swela said.
“We’re standin’ in a stable, Swayz,” Kian replied. “Nae better place ta talk about dung. They’re tryin’ ta give a name ta our mission ta save Driftin’ Leaf.”
“Oh, and dung come inta it somehow? I do fear fer the outcome of our title.”
A commotion outside the stable brought their attention to a cart drawn by a grey beast with long ears and a black-and-white nose. The creature seemed to disagree with everything in the world.
“A burro?” Kian asked. “Do ye have anythin’ a little less stubborn—like an ogre?”
“Oh, poor dear, what manner of torture is upon thy face?” Chyne said to the burro and reached up to take the leather mask from its head.
“Nae miss, dinnae do that,” the stable handler said. “She bites somethin’ fierce.”
“I blame her not.” Chyne reached for the bridle this time.
“Miss, ye’ll be needin’ that. That’s how ye control the beast.”
“How thee controls the beast, mayhap,” Chyne said and some of the leaves of her blouse turned red. “By what name is she called?”
“She dinnae really…” The man stopped when Chyne scowled at him.
She nuzzled the burro, which seemed much happier than a few moments ago and quite content to nuzzle back.
Swela had never seen Chyne get angry before. She was proud to be the Gwylari’s friend.
“Thy name shalt be Blossom and thee shant ever returneth to this place,” Chyne said to the burro.
“Now, han’ on here,” the handler said.
“That’s all right, Rendice,” Kenri cut him off. “A small price to pay for the service they do us.”
The grove, which now officially included Wylla and Freyn, gathered around the cart as Kenri unfastened the heavy cloth cover. The artifact was bigger around than Quinlan’s torso and nearly twice as long. The outer framework looked like snow-white plant flesh over some kind of endoskeleton. The entire artifact was covered by a network of green veins that throbbed like the vessels and capillaries of a living being.
The inner part of the artifact was connected to the framework with a membrane of the same fleshy material. A sack held in place by the membrane had various ports and orifices, with tubes coming out from various spots and disappearing into others.
“The resemblance to the gemstone from my vision is too great to be coincidence,” Quinlan said.
“I thought there might be a connection when you first told me of your vision,” Kenri replied, “but you said ‘gemstone’ so I was not sure until now.”
“The shape is similar to the gemstone I saw and the coloring is the same,” Quinlan said. “Are we to bury it?”
“It was half-buried and totally submerged when it was found,” Kenri answered. “I believe it should be returned so. I had thought the damage we had done could never be undone, yet now I look upon you all with great hope.”
“What does it do?” Swela asked.
“I believe it to be a purification device of some kind,” he said, “but truth be told, I am not absolutely sure. Wylla and Freyn can wield Na’veyja’s grace while Quinlan and Askue channel the power of the esbat. How I wish I could be there. Surely, it will be fascinating to behold. I have faith in all of you and may Na’veyja guide you on your journey.”
“Grove Seven, mount up,” Quinlan said. “Gratitude, Kenri, for resupplying our stores.”
“My gratitude to you all for what you do. I will ask Na’veyja for good fortune. Farewell to all, Grove Seven.”
The group waved as they urged their horses from the stables and out into the main road out of the city.
“Come, Blossom,” Chyne said and the burro followed along without any complaint.
The grove of druids led Blossom and the ordinary-looking cart from the city of Cammachmoor and turned south heading for Shaan and Drifting Leaf Watershed.
*~*~*
Chapter Thirteen
Ronni MacRory finally caught up with the druids after leaving nearly ten days behind them. She needed to tend to her duties in the upcoming defense of MacRory lands, but once she had done that her curiosity got the better of her and off she went like a thief in the night.
Three days of hard riding left only two more days until the moon would be full again and the druids could bury the artifact. She had to be there to see for herself what it would do firsthand. The strange artifact had captivated her from the moment it was found and brought to Torr Amhairc.
Ronni tracked the grove to a campsite late in the evening and risked a few hours’ sleep. The next day she used the hills to stay hidden while tailing the druid grove. She would let them get just out of sight before moving to the next ridge. The druids stopped at midday, so Ronni stopped as well. She tied up her horse and snuck up a hill to recon the group’s activities.
Satisfied they were staying put for a meal break, she backed off a ways and found a fallen tree to hide behind, where she munched on trail snacks and dried meat. She was happy being back out sneaking around the country. Her skills had greatly improved and she was at home in the woods. She’d be able to watch what the druids did with the artifact and report back to King Renalth with what she had learned.
Ronni looked up to admire a bird that had landed in a tree above her. She almost screamed out when horrid smelling blobs began landing on her face and shoulders. The smell made her gag and she could not wipe whatever it was off fast enough to avoid retching her small lunch onto the ground.
Though she splashed what water she had in her bota on her face, it was not enough. She waved away some flies, but started for her horse when they got worse. Hordes of flies g
athered around her, landing on her face and crawling into her nose and mouth. She couldn’t see where she was going. When she tried to take a quick breath the flies were there to immediately crawl inside her mouth.
“Ah! Ah!” Ronni exclaimed in pain as the flies began to bite. She brushed her face and swatted the air, but the insects were relentless. She stumbled and fell to the ground. “Help!”
“Maad jues kom tralee raza.” She heard a woman’s voice say and the flies were gone.
Ronni spit flies from her mouth and blew them from her nostrils before she lay back in exhausted relief.
“Who are you?” she heard a man’s voice ask.
“It’s Lady Ronirah!” she heard another male voice say before she had a chance to reply.
“It do be her,” another woman’s voice said.
Ronni opened her eyes to see the grove stood around and looked down at her.
“Do you be all right, love?” a Kalnuvian woman asked. “We thought you be a dreyg.”
“Because dreyg skulk around and spy on folk,” the red-haired male druid said pointedly.
Ronni rose to her elbows and accepted hands to help her up to her feet.
“Here.” The youngest druid girl gave her a kerchief soaked with water.
“Gratitude.” She dabbed at her face a couple of times, but then stopped. “And apologies. ’Tis a bit humblin’ ta have rotten fruit, bird poo, and flies run yer arse off.” Embarrassed, she felt her cheeks flush, yet she had to admit it worked well enough.
“Ye are Lady Ronirah?” asked a young woman with a scar on her neck.
“Aye, Ronirah MacRory, but it’s Ronni, if ye will. Apologies, but I dinnae remember yer names.”
Quinlan made the introductions as they retrieved Ronni’s horse and walked back to where Wylla, Freyn, and Chyne waited with the horses and Blossom.
“Does King Renalth think us treacherous?” Quinlan asked.
“Nae, I’m here without his knowledge and I may pay fer that when I return, we’ll see,” she answered. “He trusts Kenri as do I, yet the artifact has captured ma curiosity. I must see what it does. I ask ye ta let me travel with ye. I’ll be nae trouble.” The last bit brought out a few smiles. “Well, from here on anyway.” She smiled as well.
“Come, love, let’s be getting you cleaned up,” Sovia said.
Ronni pulled off her outer tunic to wash off the berry residue and bird poo. Her blouse underneath was by no means revealing, but the light fabric billowed in the breeze and at times outlined her figure. She noticed the druid, Ticari, nervously looked away whenever she turned in his direction. On one glance she smiled at him and he went still like he had been caught with a cookie from the cooling tray.
Sovia must have noticed the same thing. “One body do appear smitten,” she said quietly to Ronni along with Cassae and Swela, who were nearby. Ronni nodded.
“I know, how sweet.” Swela leaned in and said.
“Ugh, I remember when he joined the grove three years ago,” Cassae said, “He was small for fourteen but now stands as tall as I.”
“He is a handsome lad,” Ronni said. “So, if ye dinnae mind me askin’—the artifact, how do ye know where ta bury the thing?”
“It do truly be a puzzlement,” Sovia said. “First, we’re off to Drifting Leaf to heal some ailing plants, and now we be on a mission to save Na’veyja. Strange as that—carraig, for a better term—may be, it still feels right being around it.”
“Aye,” Swela said. “I feel the same. ’Tis almost a gratitude comin’ from the carraig. Like it knows we’re takin’ it where it needs to be.”
“Carraig, dinnae that mean ‘stone’?” Ronni asked.
Cassae nodded. “Quin had a vision durin’ a moon dance. He stuck a gemstone inta the ground and he and Askue rode the light from it to the esbat.”
Ronni understood only half of what Cassae said. “Apologies, I dinnae follow ye. What’re a moon dance and an esbat?”
“The esbat be the full moon, love,” Sovia answered, “and the moon dance is the dance we do under the esbat.”
“Oh, and who’s Askue? Is he here?”
“Yi, right next ta ya,” Cassae said.
Ronni looked on both sides of her and saw no one. “Where?”
“There.” Cassae pointed to where Askue leaned on the log next to Ronni.
“What, this stick?” she asked.
“Yi, Askue, Quin’s familiar,” Cassae said.
“He rode a magic walkin’ stick ta the moon?” Ronni felt sure these women were having fun at her expense.
“In a vision, love, in a vision,” Sovia said.
“Nae, Kenri said Askue told him who Quinlan was, it cannae be—” Ronni went to pick up Askue and there was nothing there. “What in the name…?” She looked around and saw the walking stick in the hands of the Vakerian druid on the other side of the road by the cart. “Ohhh, nae, nae, nae, ’twere right here a second ago!”
“Aye, Askue loves ta mingle,” Swela said.
Ronni did not know whether to trust what had just happened. “Did—did ye just bewitch me?”
The women laughed.
“Do ye know naught of the world ye live on, Ronni?” Swela asked.
“Ye mean the tales of Na’veyja and Acimasiz?” she said. “Aye, I heard the tales when I was a lass. There’re many tales of gods and goddesses though, and I cannae say I believe in any of them. Religious folk’ve always been a puzzlement. I believe in what I can wrap ma hand around.”
“Ya feel nothin’ when you’re near the carraig?” Cassae asked.
Ronni looked down and absently scooted some dirt around with her foot. “Aye, truth be told, it do call ta me.”
“Then mayhap Askue be more than a mere hunk of wood,” Sovia said.
“Hmm…” Ronni said. “Is this what ye lot do, run around and heal ailin’ lands?”
“Nae, we usually patrol the Seyna,” Swela answered.
“The Seyna?”
“Perhaps a quick refresh on the tale of Na’veyja?” Cassae asked.
“Apparently.” Ronni shrugged.
“Two eternal bein’s of the Vast beyond Arden,” Cassae said, “Na’veyja and Acimasiz we call them. Adversaries for ages they were. Weak from the eternal struggle, they fell ta Arden where they fought a great battle. Na’veyja and the Gwylari tricked Acimasiz and imprisoned him inside a massive oak tree called Fairtheora. The oaken prison stands in the center of a sacred circle hedge imbued with Na’veyja’s grace, the Seyna, which is deep in the Great Marsh. The grounds of the four druid conclaves surround the Great Marsh, where the Order of Arden stands vigilant against Acimasiz’s escape, and so, that’s what we do, patrol the Great Marsh.”
“Well said, sister,” Swela said.
“We be Grove Seven of the Northern West Conclave,” Sovia said.
“So, I can travel there, ta the marsh, and see this sacred hedge?” Ronni asked.
“Yi,” Cassae said with a nod. “Come back with us, if ya will.”
“Nae, I should nae be gone now. I can spare only ’til the full moon and then I must return ta Cammachmoor.”
“How’d the carraig come ta be at Cammachmoor, if ye dinnae mind me askin’?” Swela asked.
“Kenri and his late husband—Eldret, a druid himself—went on a quest nigh on sixteen year ago with another druid, Tangetan, and his band of druids. A grove ye call it?”
Sovia nodded.
“Yet they dinnae dress as ye. Anyway, six months later, only five of them returned. They brought back the artifact and the sickness, which eventually killed them all years later, Eldret bein’ the last one ta go. They spoke of travelin’ through black clouds of mist and of misshapen creatures ta reach a glade of peace and beauty.”
“Where be this glade?” Sovia asked.
“Gone now,” Ronni said. “The glade withered and began ta die the moment they took the artifact from its restin’ place. Try as they might, they could nae put it back. The glade turned as black as the mist surro
undin’ it. They did the only thin’ they could and took the artifact. They were doomed ta live with what they had done fer the rest of their days, which ended up nae as lon’ as they thought.”
“Quin,” Cassae called out, “all of ya—ya must come hear this. Ronni, would ya tell it again?”
Ronni told the story of Eldret’s quest to find the ancient druid artifact they now called the carraig.
“Wee as I was, I thought them all wizards.” She smiled.
“A curious tale indeed,” Quinlan said. “I never heard the name of Tangetan before. Kenri, I had—he is one of the few druids to resign from the council. A former druid council member, his spouse, and a rogue grove of druids embarked upon a quest to unearth an ancient artifact in years past, and we are now burdened with its reinterment. This journey has awakened many peculiar insights.”
“Ye think them yankin’ the thin’ is what started weakenin’ Na’veyja?” Kian asked.
“I know not, but it did no good to the glade it slept in,” Quinlan replied. “I know we have tarried here long enough. Let us return to our travels. We should reach the watershed by high sun on the morrow.”
Ronni and the grove fell in behind Chyne, Blossom, and the cart hauling the carraig to resume their journey to Drifting Leaf Watershed.
*~*~*
Chapter Fourteen
The sun sat just past its zenith the next day with not a cloud around it. The group crested the last rise before Drifting Leaf and saw the watershed basin spread out for acres to a mountain range on the horizon. The roadway followed the edge of the forest a ways before it turned away from the watershed to run along its perimeter and continued on all the way to the southern crossroads between Shaan and Vakere.
Patches of tall trees grew here and there mixed with small glens and open fields of grasses. Ponds of standing water dotted the basin connected by streams and rivulets. A grey haze hung over a large area a half league to the west along a rocky escarpment. The bright sun should have penetrated the thin haze, yet the haze seemed to swallow the sun’s light before it hit the ground underneath. A large majority of the trees and plants throughout the basin stood brown and on the verge of dying.
