Duilleog (A New Druids Series Book 1)

by Donald D. Allan

  We stopped at an apple merchant stall and Daukyns took a moment to ask for one of the more wrinkled, aged and mealy apples from last fall's harvest to be donated to him to hand out to the needy. They haggled for a bit but in the end Daukyns always won out and a half–bushel was promised. Satisfied, we moved on with me carrying the bag of apples. Daukyns continued after he looked to see if I was still paying attention.

  "That fat couple ask for me to include them in the Word, and I do, and for that they donate a tuppence on a regular basis to further the work of the Word. I take that tuppence and provide it to the parents of those two starving children and with that coin their parents buy food to fill their bellies. A small bite into inequality, do you see?"

  I did. I understood it but hated it. What he described was not the way to equality. What he had described was the sacrifice of one to another. I did not see how it improved matters unless the obese couple was aware of how their coin was being spent and why. They had bought their way into the Word and I could not see how they were changed by this process Daukyns described. To me they were happily ignorant of it all and I suspected that they would have been angered to find that their money was being spent on the urchins they had just callously shooed away from their presence. But this was just a simple example. In the grander scheme, equality could never mean that everyone had equal belongings. How could you reward the man who strove to do as little as possible equally with a man who worked his fingers down to the bone to feed his family? There had to be a solution. But I knew not what at the time and today I was far from wiser. I never spoke these thoughts out loud to Daukyns but now I wished I had.

  The question of equality was important to my understanding of this healing gift. The more I thought about it the more I realised that the town was distracting me from the answers. I had to leave town and the sooner the better.

  "Will, are you okay? You're just standing there," said the Reeve and I found myself once again in Daukyns' small room with my backpack on my shoulders staring at the wine–stained, wooden cup on the table.

  "I can't stay in town, Reeve. I feel trapped. I need time under the stars again. Back in the woods," I explained in a burst.

  "What are you talking about? You're coming to stay with me for awhile," he replied. "We agreed yesterday." The Reeve looked unhappy.

  "I know and I'm sorry. I need to get out of town – back out to the woods. The pull is too much."

  "The pull? What do you mean, Will? Nothing is pulling you. You need to stay here, safe with me. I can't protect you out there."

  "The pull is there. I feel it stronger than ever. It's like a thirst I need to quench," I said exasperatedly before I calmed myself. I had to get the Reeve to understand and quell his fears. "No one will know where I am and I will be careful, I promise. I have to go. I've no choice. You just have to trust me. I promise this: any sign of trouble and I will run back here as quick as I can."

  "Any sign of trouble and you won't be able to run back here!"

  I didn't answer. I picked up the wooden cup, looked at it briefly and set it back down.

  The nights and days convalescing in the inn had left me little to do but think about my future. I knew now that a part of me had already decided what I was going to do and the rest of me was just catching up. Fate, or whatever you called it, had led me to this path and I had no hesitation in stepping boldly forward and accepting it. It had started with my mother and her passions and now that I knew I could heal people and make a real difference I was going to go forth into the world and heal people. The coin would allow me to do the impossible. I thought of all the people out there suffering right now and I wanted to get to them. What use was this gift if I could not use it on those who needed it?

  I was concerned that people would react badly seeing me use my powers. After all the effort the Word had done following the revolution, I would hate to be used as proof of miracles by the Church. I was convinced I could cover my work with my unguents and potions and keep the coin hidden. I would be careful not to extend myself as I had with the motes. I couldn't afford to go through this restoration period again – especially on my own. It would kill me and it was far too risky. I would be cautious and wary. I could do this.

  I just had to sort out how I was going to do this. It is one thing to be able to heal someone, and another to convince someone to let you, and another yet again to do it with a new found power and not scare people.

  "Will?" the Reeve probed as I just stood there not answering him. I turned and looked at him to let him see the sincerity in my eyes.

  "I have to do this, Reeve," I said, putting as much conviction into my voice as I could. "I have to go."

  The Reeve blinked at me and then nodded. "Fine," he finally agreed. "But you tell me where you are going and when you expect to be back."

  "I will. I'm going back to the same clearing." I didn't need to amplify that – he knew which one I meant.

  I checked my straps on my backpack and hoisted it on my back. The Reeve gave it a look.

  "I think you'll be needing a new backpack, son."

  I craned my head to look. It bulged in weird places and despite my best efforts it was unbalanced. "I know," I said. "It's on its last legs, I think. I'll try and be back in town in two weeks. I have a lot to think about."

  The Reeve made a noise and then he clapped me on the back. "Fine," he said. "Just watch your back. Keep your fires small and watch the road."

  I grasped his forearm with my own. "Thanks, Reeve. Thank you for everything." I felt uncomfortable and let go of his arm and moved out on to the street, turning toward the south gate. The Reeve came up behind me.

  "Daukyns had a good friend in you, Will. He'll be missed more than these town folk realise just yet. He touched all their lives in small but significant ways. The families will go a little hungrier, their homes a little more cold when winter arrives, and, perhaps, they will look back and realise just how much they owed Daukyns." He paused before adding, "And you, Will."

  At my startled glance over at him, he chuckled and patted my shoulder. "Daukyns raised just about most of his money and goods by trading and selling the unguents you made with him. You knew that, right?" and when I nodded with a puzzled look on my face about where this was all going he ruffled my hair and continued. "And you never charged Daukyns a penny for any of that. All that he had to trade or barter with came directly from you. You were the source of Daukyns' good will." The Reeve looked surprised for a moment and then laughed. "Good Will! That's who you are, Good Will!" He clapped me on the backpack so hard that I stumbled off balance with the force. The Reeve grabbed my pack and held me upright with a quickly mumbled sorry.

  "Will, the town doesn't know what you did for them, I'm sorry to say, except for the more observant of them – which isn't a lot of people. I'm sorry you don't get the recognition you deserve." When I raised my eyebrows at him he hurried on. "For the healing. The healing! Even if you don't feel that you do deserve any. But, on behalf of the town, our thanks for our lives, Will." As he finished his speech I felt him deposit something in my backpack and he gave me a gentle push toward the south gate.

  I stumbled a bit, this time keeping my balance and laughed. I looked back. "You're welcome, Reeve!" I said as I waved farewell. The outdoors was only a few feet away and I felt the pull stronger than before. The urge to run became as compelling as the need to breathe.

  I exited the gate and nodded to the garrison guards posted there and they wished me safe travels.

  "Where ya oft tae this time, Will?" asked one guard, a man I had seen many times in town but I had no idea what his name was. He knew mine and it somehow annoyed me.

  "I'm off to the hills again," I answered. "The garlic should be ready for harvest."

  The guards shared a glance and then shook their heads and I laughed and waved farewell. As I started down the dusty road I had to keep myself to a calm walk. It would be strange to the guards to suddenly see me run off down the road and I wanted nothing to
stick in their memories.

  As I forced myself to walk down the road, I found myself remembering my farewell that morning to Dempster. He was such a nice man and he had spent what time he could find away from his kitchen to sit by my bedside and talk to me. He opened up to me about all his dreams and his past and I found I knew more about him than I probably should at one point. He helped me pass the time though, and fed me well and for that I was grateful. He had also talked the innkeeper into giving up that room to me. I wasn't sure who ran the inn, now that I knew more about how it worked. If I could choose I would have picked Dempster.

  When we spoke during those quiet times, he would speak lovingly of his favourite recipes and the tricks of his trade, such as how to get his pastries light and flaky and how to reduce costs without sacrificing flavour. He had such a passion for cooking and after having eaten his wares for the past few days, I could eagerly agree that he was well talented. He told me that he used to cook in the capital city of Munsten for a rather rich family. When I asked why he left Munsten for Jaipers he refused to explain but he did say that he was better off in Jaipers. Safer, he added, and I wondered how Jaipers could be safer than the capital city. Certainly he would have been better paid and more revered in the capital city than out here in the remote outlying country. But he said he was content and that was enough for me.

  Often he and I would discuss what I could forage in the wild and he made several suggestions and described numerous mushrooms and plants and how to properly skin and prepare a rabbit. At one point, he carried me down to the kitchen and we skinned a rabbit he had purchased that morning and I found I was quite adept at it. I knew intuitively where the joints and tendons were. It was easy.

  At his suggestion we even went so far as to review some of his recipes and I offered up advice on some specialised herbs and spices to spruce some of them up. Rather than take offence, he was genuinely pleased. My time with Dempster was a warm and comforting time and I owed him for his kindness. We also developed some simple meal ideas that I could prepare in the wild and I was excited to try some out. I liked simple food and recipes that required little preparation, but Dempster assured me that once I tried some of his recipes that I would never be able to look back and to be honest, after eating so much of Dempster's wonderful food, the new recipes beckoned me eagerly. The best meals, Dempster said once, were the simplest ones and his recipes for me were just that.

  He did try and make me promise to find him a truly specialised herb one day: the threaded, bright red centre plucked from the center of a purple crocus flower. I told him that I had never seen the flower he spoke of and he looked sad and wistful for a moment, as if remembering a better time. He then patted my arm encouragingly and said now that I knew what to look for and he was sure I would be successful. He called it saffron and the look of longing in his face made me wonder what it would be like.

  In the end, we compiled a large list of herbs and spices for me to gather and I promised him the next time I went out of town I would fill it for him.

  I turned my attention back to the road, glad to have the sun behind me, and I lengthened my stride, eager to hurry back to nature and my inner peace.

  Eight

  IN TIME, I found myself back by the small copse of woods where the thief had grabbed me. I stood at the edge and surveyed the area. The site hadn't changed since I left, other than some small animal tracks. My eyes were pulled to the area where I knew the blood lay just under the dirt. The events that had transpired quickly repeated in my memory and with an effort I pushed them aside. The man is dead and buried. I'm alive and that's all that matters.

  Determined to leave the events behind me, I dropped my pack and took the time to gather up some additional fuel wood to augment what I had already previously gathered and found myself with a generous supply. The weather remained hot and dry and after settling in, I built a small fire and boiled water from the stream to make tea.

  When I arrived and opened my backpack to get out my tea I had quickly found the small purse the Reeve had placed in my pack and when I opened it I found it held several pence and three silver groats. It was a large amount of money and I knew without doubt that it came from the Reeve's own pocket. Perhaps I should have returned it, less it diminish my efforts, but I was honest with myself and realised that I was grateful for the wealth. I was already thinking of ways to spend it that would ease my efforts and improve my conditions of life in the outdoors. I packed the coins away, buried my leather pouch and set my bedroll over it. Lovingly drawing out my tea supplies, I soon had a comforting cup, steaming in my hands.

  It was only early afternoon but as I found myself lying back by the fire, contentment settled in and I felt that the trees were comforting me. As I drank my tea and cleared my mind, I turned my thoughts to my healing powers. I had to reach an internal set of rules. Limits to what I could do and when. It had to feel right, I knew. I needed a method, a set of principles. I needed my own version of the Word.

  And so I started to consider what rules I should apply to my art of healing. The first came to me right away: I should heal everyone that I could equally. With a sense of smugness, I congratulated myself, but then the idea started to nag at me and I spent some time pondering equality. Daukyns knew I had issues with this concept. I imagined myself sitting with Daukyns and decided to just talk to him as if he were truly there.

  "Does everyone deserve to be healed? What about a murderer, hurt while dealing a mortal blow? Should that person be healed when they are destined to be hanged for their crimes?" I asked out loud.

  "Why would they not?" questioned the ghost of Daukyns.

  "It would be a waste of healing, that's why. They are going to die anyway."

  "Well, assuming they were truly guilty of the crime, why should they be made to suffer while waiting for that sentence to be completed?"

  "Why are you answering my questions with questions!" I said a little louder. Daukyns ignored me. I thought for a moment about what he had asked. "Would that not be a waste of my skills when I could use them to heal other, more deserving people? While this man is suffering, so are others."

  "What do you mean by 'deserving'?" was the returned question. I was expecting them now. "Who decides who deserves care?"

  I sensed that there were two distinct problems. Who deserved to be healed and who deserved it over others. I soon found mulling over how to categorise whom I meant by more deserving and got lost in the myriad of possibilities. The ghost of Daukyns was forgotten and disappeared. I was getting more and more confused and more elaborate possibilities flooded my thoughts. There had to be a simpler way.

  The more I tried to rationalise equality, the harder it became. I wondered at how I would respond to being asked to heal a murderer destined to die and asked myself how I could do nothing and allow him to suffer until his death. That seemed overly cruel to me. Perhaps like with Daukyns I should use my gift to ease that passage? This quieted my thoughts for a while and I brewed a new cup of tea.

  Then I considered whom I thought I was that I could judge and pass sentence on what constituted a more deserving person. The problem weighed heavily on me again. It seemed almost spiritual in nature. Daukyns often spoke of the weak and the destitute and them being equal with the Word and I found myself drawn to Daukyns' book.

  Of the many things that Daukyns had taught me over the years, the one that I cherished most was that he took the time to teach me to read. It opened worlds to me – insights and lore that I would not be able to learn elsewhere. We quickly discovered that during my childhood someone, presumably my mother, had taught me the basics of reading and I quickly learned to read as well as Daukyns. I pulled the book out of my pack and held it in my hands, rubbing the tree symbol engraved in the leather cover. Daukyns cherished this book more than anything and he could often be found, sitting outside the common hall, pouring over the contents and reading the words aloud to anyone who cared to stop and listen.

  Books such as this were worth a
fortune. Each was handcrafted and filled with the most beautiful hand written words. I loved the feel of the soft leather binding and when I thumbed open the book, I marvelled at the thin paper that filled it. The paper was so smooth and white. The words on the pages were meticulously written and perfectly aligned row after row. On every page the blank border was filled in with the tiny scrawled notes Daukyns had entered with a lead pencil. He marked the passages that were of importance to him and I found that the book would fall open to those sections that he had frequently turned to. I had no idea where to start with a book like this and so I flipped through until I found that there were blank pages at the back filled in with Daukyns' own writing.

  To my shock, I found that Daukyns had written about me. As I started to read the first passage, a numbness overtook me and I sat and read through the passages hearing Daukyns' voice in my head. The first page was dated a month or so after I had first met him:

  I have met the most interesting young man. He has introduced himself to me as Will; short for William, I imagine. When he cautiously walked into town the first thing I noticed was that he walked with an air about him that belied his obviously impoverished state. His clothing was the remnants of scraps and rags. Craftily sewn together, but rags nonetheless. He is well mannered and speaks like someone with a bright upbringing. And yet he appears from the wilderness as if raised there and here lies the enigma. He has survived in the wild for years against all odds! I asked him about the wolves that hunted in the surrounding forests and he gave me such a peculiar look and merely said that he respected them. He showed me his herbs on that first meeting and asked my advice on whether there would be a market for them in town. On the Word, such herbs! He has such a natural talent when it comes to herbal lore that it staggers my mind. I spent years teaching myself how to work herbs and this twelve–year–old boy (if a day older) has discovered more than I have ever known. I felt such high regard for this young man and such curiosity that I soon found myself probing into his past and he replied by saying that he had little memory remaining of his childhood.