by Jeff Wheeler
“You can sing, Shion?” she asked, surprised, her eyebrows lifting.
He stared at the locket as if it were a hot coal that could sting him despite his imperviousness. “Perhaps I can,” he said simply. “When I hear the music from that locket, it invokes feelings, as if I recognize the song. As if I’ve sung it before.”
“It is a song of grieving,” Phae said, pinching the locket between her fingers. “When we were in the abandoned homestead that night, when you opened the locket and the music came out, it made me think of suffering and grief. It is how I feel right now. I loved Trasen without realizing what it was. Because I love him, I set him free. Love is painful. I never knew that.” She shook her head, scraping clumps of hair behind her ear.
“Pain is a teacher,” he said quietly, picking at a twig and twirling it between his fingers. “A harsh teacher. I would spare you this lesson, if I could.”
Phae sniffed and wiped her nose. “Thank you for not killing Trasen.”
“The axe gave him confidence he did not truly earn. I promised you I would not. So I did not. Are you hungry?”
She nodded weakly and pulled open her sack. Fishing around inside, she withdrew a pear. It was a bit ripe and bruised, but she sank her teeth into it and relished the taste.
“Do you ever hunger?” she asked.
He shook his head no.
“But you still enjoy the flavors. Let me get one for you then.”
“No, you need the strength more than I. You eat them.” He gave her a nod and waved it away.
She took another bite and then handed the fruit to him. “A bite then? Please?”
He stared at it a moment and then took it, staring at the pale flesh of the pear and then took a respectable bite with his white teeth. He offered it back to her, and she accepted it, feeling a strange sense of intimacy sharing it. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and she devoured the remaining portion.
Exhaustion stole over Phae’s body. Her clothes were damp and mud-stained. The maze of trees surrounding them brought a canopy shielding them from the glitter of stars. Branches swayed in the light breeze, causing a shushing sound as soothing as a mother’s caress. She blinked, realizing her eyes had been drooping.
“Sleep,” he said. “I’ll watch over you.”
Phae was too weary to argue, especially remembering that he did not require sleep himself. She stretched out in the matting of pine needles and scrub, using her pack as a pillow and huddling inside the cocoon of her cloak. She stared at him, sitting across from her, hands clasped around his knees.
“Back in the mountains, when I ran away from you,” she said, her words beginning to slur. “I finally collapsed. I was so exhausted. You sat near me and watched as I fell unconscious. Do you remember that night?”
“Of course I do.”
“What were you thinking?” She yawned expansively.
“Your very vulnerability brought feelings of protectiveness in me. I can’t explain it, other than your Dryad blood. But I felt almost a…a duty.”
Her eyes had closed again and she tried to keep them open. “A duty to what?”
“A duty to look after you. To keep you safe. I feel it now.” He smiled down at her. “Sleep. I will be watching.”
“Will you sing to me?” she asked. “I love hearing men sing. After the harvest, on the nights we crush grapes into wine, there is always singing. I love the songs of Stonehollow.”
As she shut her eyes, sinking into the cushion of her pack, she heard his voice. It started low, blending in with the deep vastness of the woods. There was power in his voice. She could almost call it magic. The sound wove a blanket around her. There were no words, only a plaintive melody that wrapped around her mind and soothed the pain and the despair. Phae tried to stay awake, savoring each strain. She was used to folk songs and cherished the sound of clapping and dancing around a blazing bonfire. In her mind, she went back to Stonehollow, remembering all the things she loved. The heat of a bonfire, the smell of baked bread, the sweet flavor of mulled wine given to all the children after they turned ten. Memories trailed through her mind, dug up like earth from a spade.
The Kishion’s melody stitched all the memories together, creating a theme that bound them. Stacking wine barrels. Culling the grapes. Walking barefoot on the sandy dirt by the vines. The vibrant green of the grape leaves. Clapping and whistles of the dancers. The large vats full of fresh grapes. She was there with Trasen, gripping the edges to keep from stumbling, pants rolled up to their knees as they squished the grapes with their feet. His hand brushed against hers. She looked up and instead of seeing Trasen’s face, she saw Shion’s. The juice from the grapes, the pulp from the skins sticking between her toes. The sweet honeyed smell. She touched his fingers, gazing into his eyes, not certain who she was seeing in her mind’s eye. The memories transported her far away.
The Kishion’s voice lulled her asleep.
“We are surrounded by various histories and fragments from the ages. Some are true. Some are only the approximation of truth. Some truths are hard to accept. If you believe only what you like in the histories, and reject what you don’t want to believe, it is not the truth you seek, but a confirmation of your own opinions. You will never find truth that way.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Phae’s legs burned as she tramped up the steep hill. Sweat trickled down the side of her face and her stomach twisted with hunger, her throat parched with thirst. Foraging for food in the woods had proven more difficult than she expected and the hunger had robbed her energy and made the climb more difficult. She did not complain, but she wished they had encountered something more substantial to eat. The trees blocked the view ahead and the progress of the sun, but the day was warm and mild and puffy clouds scudded across the sky.
Shion paused at the top of the ridge, waiting for her to catch up as he studied the downward slope. As she reached it, she noticed the forest change suddenly, the trees become white-barked birch with teeming leaves. The trunks were slender and peeling and Phae touched several as they started down. From the ridge they could see forest in every direction. They were in the middle of Silvandom with no view of cities or roads in any direction. The world felt incredibly vast to her and she sighed in wonder. Each step down jarred her knees and she felt dizziness swim in her mind. She stumbled, catching herself on Shion’s arm. He slowed the pace and when they reached the bottom of the hill, he paused to let her rest.
“Thank you,” she breathed, sitting on a fallen tree. The grove was bathed in beautiful sunlight, and full of the sounds of insects and birds. The trill of a songbird caught her ear and she listened, hearing the babbling of water. “A stream?” she said, cocking her head.
Shion nodded and motioned for her to follow him. A red robin swooped in front of her, and she admired its brilliant plumage. Butterflies flitted through the air. Not the blue kind they had encountered the day before, but with multi-hued wings of red, gold, and yellow. The drone of giant black bees caught her attention as they swooped lazily in the air around her, not threateningly but curiously. She saw little lizards pop up their heads and then dart away. Crossing the glen, they reached a small brook winding its way through the lowest part of the terrain. The waters looked inviting and calm. Phae knelt by it and scrubbed her hands together, washing away the dirt and mud. She cupped some in her palms and drank deeply while Shion filled his water flask.
Movement caught her eye. Looking downstream, she saw a large stone at the edge of the stream. A small mat of big green leaves covered it like a blanket and on the leaves were a pile of berries of various sorts. She stared at it in surprise.
Shion followed her gaze. “That wasn’t there when we arrived,” he said thoughtfully.
Phae approached the stone, smoothing her tangled hair back from her neck, and stared down at the treasure, her stomach aching to see them. She glanced around, seeing the creatures of the forest all around her. Some chittered softly. Slowly, she extended a hand to th
e berries. A large black bee buzzed nearby, almost warningly. She stopped.
“What do they want, Shion?” she asked, glancing back at him. “Is it a gift? I feel something is missing. I shouldn’t just take it.”
He stared at the rock and then at her. “You should offer a gift in return. The spirits are responding to your need.”
Phae thought a moment. “I don’t have anything to offer except myself.”
“Maybe that will be enough.”
Phae sighed, stared down at the food hungrily. Then she nodded and summoned all the feeling of gratitude she could muster. She was grateful for the gift, so grateful for food she did not have to collect or hunt. She smiled at the woods, trying to show her gratitude with her mouth.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I am so very hungry. May I eat these?”
The drone of a black bee hovered near her. It landed on her shoulder, its furry black body creeping along the fold of her cloak. Then it lazily went away and she felt a feeling of peace settle inside. Gingerly, she reached for a berry. Meeting no resistance, she took it and plopped it in her mouth. The juice and flavor were dazzlingly sweet.
“Shion, have one!” she said, offering a plump blackberry to him. “They are very good!” He took it, smiling at her, and ate it.
Phae devoured the gift left on the stone slowly, savoring each berry as a sacred gift. She cooed with delight. Motioning for Shion to sit by her, she encouraged him to linger. When she turned back to the stone, it was nearly overflowing with berries of various sorts. Each was a treat, a delight. She ate until she was full, feeling strength and energy begin to warm her. The water from the stream provided what she needed to quench her thirst.
“Can I borrow your flask please?” she asked him.
He offered it to her and she knelt by the stream and poured it out on her hair, scrubbing through the strands to free the dirt and mud away. She dipped the flask three times into the brook before feeling like her hair was finally clean. It hung wetly down her back, but it no longer smelled of the rot and stink from the pond she had plunged into. After filling the flask the final time, she stoppered it and handed it back.
“How did you know that pond was dangerous yesterday?” she asked him. “I was so sure it was leading us to safety, yet I was wrong. It twisted my mind somehow.”
He crouched by the edge of the brook, circling his fingers in the water. He was quiet for a while. “It felt familiar. As if I had been there before. I had a premonition of warning.”
“Do you think it was a Dryad tree? It looked dead once all the insects were gone.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think it was. Just as there are good spirits, there are also terrible ones. When I tried to kill Tyrus, he took me with his device to a waterfall deep in the Alkire. I felt the presence of a spirit creature there, a terrible presence. It radiated fear. Whatever creature was lurking in that bog was probably like that one. The butterflies were a trap. The waters were likely poisoned.”
She shuddered at the memory of the butterfly swarm. The experience in the glen was much different. She felt safe, that the creatures of Mirrowen were guarding them.
“Look,” Shion said, his eyes narrowing.
Phae turned her gaze. Across the brook behind them was an enormous white stag. Its breath came in little puffs of mist as it breathed. Huge pronged antlers crested its head like branches of a sharp thorny tree. The feeling of peace swelled inside of her, along with something else. A deep sense of longing rose up inside her. The feeling was hard to describe. It was a yearning—a desire to belong. The feeling was deep inside her, thick with essence and it permeated all through her. She stared into the stag’s eyes, seeing intelligence there. Another puff of mist came from its beautiful nose. She longed to stroke the velvet skin. A thought brushed against her mind.
Follow, Dryad-born.
Phae rose obediently to her feet.
The stag led them through the tangle of woods, always choosing a path easy to follow. The berries had completely restored Phae’s flagging strength and it was much easier keeping pace through the forest. The birch gave way to oak and cedar as they crossed over ridges and delved deeper into the reclusive woodlands. Signs of spirit life were evident everywhere around them, colorful birds trilling and the aroma of flowers that she could not see. Phae felt at peace and safe, as if the woods were a mantle shielding her from the probing gaze of the Arch-Rike’s minions. A queer hunger to belong grew inside her as she marched. She could not speak for fear of weeping. Her emotions had been struck by some invisible chord of music and she felt oneness with the woods that she had never experienced before. Strangely, it was as if she were coming home.
The intensity of her feelings continued to mount as the sun started its fading arc in the sky. Gnats swirled in the air, dancing like dust motes. The stag’s pace did not flag, but it suddenly stopped, dipping its head to the ground, drawing attention there. It had stopped before a patch of charred earth, as if sniffing it. Then it continued a little way farther, stopping again to smell a heap of ash on the forest floor. Phae and the Kishion approached, staring at the sudden shift of color and smell. Oaks with charred trunks appeared as they got closer and the air contained the scent of smoke. Farther still, a skeleton lay sprawled near a tree, fragments of clothing rotting in the woods, alongside a spear. It startled Phae and she grabbed Shion’s arm.
He stared at the remains. “Boeotian,” he whispered.
The stag led them into a grove of blackened trees. The forest floor crunched beneath their boots, but already new growth was beginning to poke up from the dense tangle of blackened scrub. After the burning circle of trees, Phae’s heart leapt with emotion. A gnarled oak tree lay in the center of the scorched ground with hulking limbs and an enormous axe-bit wound into its bulky trunk.
“It’s her,” Phae breathed, feeling the familiar presence of her kindred. She tightened her grip on Shion’s arm. “I can feel her presence.” It reminded her of the Dryad tree in Stonehollow she had fled. There was no Druidecht here now to frighten her. Biting her lip, Phae let go of Shion’s arm and hesitantly approached. Her boots disturbed the soot and ashes, bringing up an earthy smell that was not unpleasant. It was like smelling a candle wick after it had been snuffed out.
Phae stared at the ancient tree, mesmerized with its beauty as well as its savage scar. The wound was already beginning to heal, covered over with a layer of dark sap. Amidst the crooked branches were clumps of mistletoe. Phae closed the distance, hands wringing in front of her nervously. She had the sudden sensation—an impression, really—that the Dryad would not appear with Shion standing near.
She glanced back at him. “Will you wait for me?” she asked. “I need to speak with her alone.”
He looked from her to the tree, his expression suddenly wary. She wondered what he was thinking.
“I’ll be all right,” she said simply. “She won’t…hurt me.”
The look of resistance in his eyes lingered and she said nothing, waiting for him to get used to the idea. She inhaled the smell of the woods, listening to every chirp and tick coming from the forest. The wind rustled the massive branches. Then Shion nodded to her and stepped away from the glen, vanishing into the shadows. She knew he was still there, nearby. But she could not see him.
Phae took a deep breath and turned to face the Dryad tree. She found herself peering into the green eyes of a girl no older than herself, a girl peeking from behind the tree.
“Hello,” the girl said in Aeduan.
Phae bit her lip again. The connection between them was strong, as if they each shared a single heart. Phae blinked rapidly. “I am…one of you,” Phae said in a small voice.
“I know,” the girl said, stepping cautiously around the tree. She wore a pretty dress that matched the color of her eyes. Her hair was long and blond and as straight as wheat sheaves. She had an unearthly beauty that made Phae suddenly self-conscious. The girl looked over Phae’s shoulder, her expression crinkling with worry.
“He is near. Are you in danger? You will be safe with me. I can make him go away.”
Phae held up her hands. “Please no,” she begged. “His memories have already been stolen. Do you have a way…of restoring his memories? Could you help him to remember?”
The girl made a frown, her lips pouting. “Yes, there is a way, but the idea is loathsome to me.” She stepped away from the tree, but never lost touch of it. She stared again over Phae’s shoulder. “A Dryad’s kiss would make him remember. But it is a gift we rarely give for it binds us to that person. We only do it if someone saves our tree from destruction and lingers to claim the boon.” She looked at Phae and smiled prettily but with confusion. “Who are you? Where is your mother?”
Phae wanted to reach out and stroke the bark of the tree, but she dared not, unsure whether it would be offensive to the other girl to do so.
“It’s all right,” the girl said encouragingly. “You may touch my tree.”
Phae looked startled. “Did you…did you know my thoughts?”
“No, I read your expression. The eyes say much. I made the choice to become a Dryad a long time ago. I know the nature of you mortals. Especially the unspoken ways you communicate with each other. That man you came with. You clutched him as if he were a…brother…or a protector. But he has a dark cast to him. A blight in his soul. I smell blood from his hands.”
Phae nodded seriously. “It is true. But he is starting to change. His mind was stolen away and he was persuaded by his ignorance to do savage things.”
The girl frowned and shook her head. “I pity him. He is your protector then?”
“Yes.”
“Who is your mother? I cannot place you by your smell. You have been to many lands in a short time. They each cling to your skin. Each land has its own scent. You are from…?”
