A Path of Oak and Ash

by M. P. Reeves

  “Come. Get dressed. We will talk over our meal.” With that Erik left him alone, closing the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, Carrick slowly walked over to the armoire feeling slightly awkward that he was strolling about this surreal place in the nude, clutching a blanket. On top of that his stride was off, each foot fall feeling lighter than usual. His senses sharper, as though life had just switched from standard definition to HD.

  Pulling the iron handle on the cabinet, the contents honestly did not surprise him. Linens that looked hand-woven, furs and cloaks lined in intricate stitching. Everything smelled of pine and cedar, probably from the cabinet itself rather than the soaps used to wash the garments.

  After some debate he chose an off white linen tunic, lightweight and long sleeved. He wasn’t about to put on one of those floor length robe things, they just seemed too Halloween costume for his taste. Rummaging through the folded clothes he found a long tailored jacket with a mandarin type collar. It was a forest green shade that hit at the hip. The edging in gold piping, while the sides of the coat were embroidered with runes that looked like long vine tendrils. In the drawer below was an ample array of socks, but no underwear. Great, looked like he was going to have to go commando. Sifting in the bottom drawer there was a pair of dark gray slacks and brown ones. He went with the gray. A pair of boots had been placed for him on the ground next to the wardrobe. They were a perfect fit, meaning someone had been eyeballing his feet or bothered to learn his size. It certainly couldn’t have been ascertained off his old sneakers, since they were too worn to even make out the original brand name. Carrick couldn’t bring himself to button the jacket all the way, it felt too tight on his throat, and instead he buttoned it up to just under his collar bone and left it at that.

  There was a mirror by the door, an object that seemed so out of place compared to all the other earthen elements. It was an antique mirror in a tarnished silver frame. In its view he saw his reflection, in the clothing provided by his uncle he looked like an ambassador for the forest. A great speaker for the leaves or some kind of elf from a roleplaying game. His first reaction was to feel embarrassed, yet he did not. If he was going to have to walk about in magical forest land he may as well look the part, least these clothes were in good repair. With a nod at his reflection, he left the confines of the room he’d been given. Eager to see what awaited.

  He was not disappointed.

  The room beyond could only be described as a great room. Not because of a huge television or fancy couches, but because it was simply a great room. The ceiling was easily thirty foot high yet there was no feeling of vertigo looking up. The space to the roof was not a vacant expanse. Tree branches jutted out from walls, crossing the room and sprouting out before exiting on the far side. The wooden walls themselves had been painted, every inch a flowing scene in fall colors. Painted deer danced in the sky, swirls of birds flocked above them, dark charcoal runes lined the floor like rock under the grass flicked with flowers etched atop them. The width of the space was probably twenty five to thirty feet, towards the back of the room a thick winding trunk had been etched into a set of stairs that spiraled up a floor and apparently down one as well.

  “Almost as breathtaking as the view.” Erik’s voice startled him, his uncle seated at a carved table to his right.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “I appreciate this place more every time I have to wander in your concrete caves.”

  “Did you paint all this?” Carrick gestured to the wall.

  “Only a small piece, the high birds on the left wall are mine. The shoddy ones towards the top. I never was much of an artist but mother insisted I place my calling in our family line.”

  Carrick nodded, continuing to marvel in the room. The carved embroidered seating, flanking the mantle-how they managed to burn wood within wood was beyond him-the animal hide rugs and the books upon books in cases.

  “Sit down already, you’ll have all day to wander about wide eyed.” Somewhere high above on the branches he heard a flutter of wings and a thick caw. The kind Arcedes made.

  With a nod of his head he walked over to the dining table, a long piece of oak that could seat eight. In a bowl on top of the wood grain were chopped greens. Different colors and textures drenched in a translucent brown sauce. A pile of empty bowls and some dark metal cutlery of to the side.

  The chair made no noise as he pulled it out across the wood floor, the plush purple seat cushion surprisingly comfortable.

  “Eat.” Erik pushed a bowl towards him.

  Carrick quickly complied, filling the small tan pottery dish with an ample helping. Picking up the iron fork he took a bite, marveling at the combination of textures and flavors on his palate. It was salty with a hint of sweetness, a bit of mild heat from the peppers but not enough to distract from the taste. “This is delicious! I’ve never had a salad that tasted so fresh.”

  “We do not consume the way you humans do. Our foods are not processed, mass produced or grown from lab seedlings. We eat only the bounty of the world as it is.”

  “So you don’t actually cook anything?” Everything in the bowl looked garden fresh.

  “No, we cook. The world offers us many spices and lovely coloring without the need for artificial flavors and dyes.”

  “How does that work when you’re in the human world?”

  “If it had a face, if it grew from the earth, you can eat it.”

  “So you eat meat?”

  Erik kicked up an eyebrow. “You find that surprising?”

  “Well yeah, you’re all eco-whatever. I figured meat would be taboo.”

  “We are one with the earth not above her. We have canines akin to the bear and the wolf. Our ingestion of meat keeps populations in balance.”

  “How does your bird feel about that?” Carrick had a hard time picturing Arcedes watching him eating chicken.

  “Arcedes ingests meat. Why would she feel one way or the other about it?” On cue, there was a trill of agreement from somewhere in the great room.

  “Fair enough.” Carrick directed his response at the sound rather than his uncle. While Carrick dished up a second bowl of food, washed down with a glass of water, Erik eyed him strangely.

  “Interesting selection of attire.”

  “Yeah it was the best I could find.”

  “I had forgotten that jacket had been left in the wardrobe.”

  “A favorite?”

  “No, it was your fathers. He wore it to his attunement. A gift from our father before us. Dressed in his clothes...you truly do look like him. Almost as though I was staring at a younger copy of Brannon.” Erik smirked. "A lanky copy."

  The mention of his father made him choke, his hand quickly bringing the water cup back to his mouth. “Is my father...here?”

  “No. Brannon Slaine walks the world of men, fighting those who seek to do us harm. He has not returned to the wood in several years.”

  “Ah.”

  “You will meet him in time, I assure you.” Erik smiled at his nephew. “Then he will greet you as one of his own, in both flesh and life.”

  “So what is an attunement?” He air quoted the word.

  “Coming of age for our kind. It is when your way is chosen.”

  “Like a job?”

  “No. There are many of those within the followings though. Menders, crafters, warriors, scholars...this is different. It is a time when you find our calling, the path in which you become one with the realm.”

  With a groan, Carrick ran his hands through his hair. All this odd talk, customs was a bit overwhelming. “I’m so lost right now.”

  “It is in fact rather simple. There are four main clans, or ways, for druids. I am Skyborn. Arcedes is my familiar, through her eyes I fly. My duty, my passion is to the winged and the air. We are free spirited, our methods are our own, our attacks unseen strikes. The Skyborn are majestic, many becoming crafters."

  “Your father, was not Skyborn. Your father was called
to the Order of the Fang. Those that run with the woodland predators, for they themselves are predators. Warriors, those driven by order, the good of the pack. Protection of the whole. Their designation is not a talon as you see on my chest,” Erik moved his cloak to the side, showing off a small brand on his left pectoral, “but the swipe of a claw."

  “Aside from those that take to the air and run upon the ground there are those that prefer the waves. The Serpentine.” Erik’s voice dropped into almost a growl, his long mahogany hair falling forward as he lowered his head slightly, “They are fickle, motives ever-changing with the tide yet able to invoke great beauty in their form. Through the waters grace they mend, through the tides fury they fight. The Serpentine are marked by the double puncture of a bite."

  Erik paused, pointing at him with his tattooed index finger. "Remember that."

  “Lastly, there are others who take no familiar, ones who attune to the nature itself. The lovers of the vine, of the crop and earthen spoils. They are scholars often and menders otherwise. Their kind rarely raises arms due to their love of all. We call them the whisperers; the voice on the wind, the truth in the trees. They bare no mar upon their skin.” Erik smiled as he stood, his heavy hands clearing away the painted pottery bowls from the table. “Someday your way will open for you, until then I suggest a change in attire.” With a short chortle, Erik turned his back to Carrick, setting the dirty dishes on the counter.

  “But I picked something out of the closet like you said?”

  “Dress clothes. You are an outsider here already, you do not need to come off as a fancy lad as well.”

  “Hey dude...seriously." Carrick grumbled, "All that stuff looked the same. How was I supposed to know this was some kind of ceremonial garb?” Carrick unbuttoned the coat, eager to get the offending garment off.

  “I figured it would be self-evident.”

  Well obviously not, Carrick thought to himself. “Well what do you suggest instead?” He folded the coat and set it nicely on the table, it was after all, his fathers.

  “One moment.” His uncle left the room for a moment, going not back into the space Carrick had been given but up the circular stair.

  Alone in the great room, he felt the urge to wander. Walking the space his eyes glazed over the spines of book covers, marveled in the carvings on the various woodwork; the end tables, the bookcase, even the stairs.

  “Creeee!” Whirling around, Carrick found himself face to face with Arcedes. The bird had perched on the back of the sofa, its eyes fixed on the boy. Up close the giant creature was intimidating. Its large beak easily one that could peck out an eye or gouge a jugular, each of her claws wider than two of Carrick’s fingers put together.

  “Hi there.” He spoke softly, figuring if Erik talked to the bird, she obviously could understand so he shouldn’t be rude. “Thanks for saving me, back in that apartment. You’re a pretty awesome fighter.”

  Despite the fact that he felt ridiculous complementing the creature on something like that she tilted her head, blinking at him as though she agreed.

  Which was nuts. No, more than nuts, it was bloody batty.

  Carrick ran his long fingers through his hair, with a groan he complained to nothing and everything. “Now I’m talking to birds...what's next am I going to sing to a fern?”

  “I imagine that would be quite silly if you did.” Erik called down, having reappeared at the top of the stairs with some sort of clothing in his hands. Arcedes ruffled her feathers while Carrick leapt back in surprise. "I doubt you have the voice of a minstrel."

  “Oh he didn’t mean it.” Erik told his bird with a frown, even so she took flight, disappearing up behind a large branch above. “Well done, you went and hurt her feelings.”

  “I didn’t mean-”

  “Put this on.” Erik handed him an asparagus green hoodie, although the sleeves were open and cut mid forearm and rather than a zipper it had seashells for buttons. Seashells, the little pretty iridescent ones children clamored for on vacation. He had a small jar full at home from when he was seven and they went to Myrtle Beach. Shiny little things collecting dust on a shelf next to his old robot action figures, never serving a purpose outside of wonder. Little holes had been punched into the shells to sew them onto the cloth. It reminded him of an old woman’s craft project, he knew better to complain though.

  “Fit well?”

  “Yeah, this works.” Carrick clapped his hands together, feeling anxious. Thoughts of home did little to improve his mood. He tried not to think of what the place would look like now. Police tape and dead plants, everything they owned being filed into evidence boxes. “So, what now?”

  “Now you learn. Learn what you are, what we are. Now you fulfil your destiny.” Erik headed toward the circular stair that led down. “Come. Time to get acquainted with Dre’ien.” Carrick followed him down the stair, which curiously did not open into another room.

  It opened into nothing.

  A doorway to a thirty foot drop to the grass below and Erik just kept walking. Before Carrick could shout stop, halt or anything of the sort, his uncle had both feet out the door.

  Yet he did not fall. Vines snaked up the tree and shot out, interlocking beneath his feet. A living pathway forming to the ground below in a slow easy decline. Despite Erik’s assumed weight of at least two hundred pounds, the greenery held him easily. Stretching and yawning under his foot falls, untangling and retreating after his step.

  The boy behind him watched this in amazement, lurking in the doorway of the loft. There were other people on the stone pathway between the houses, casually walking and talking. Folks going about their business paying absolutely no mind to the marvel unfolding before them. Taking a deep breath Carrick considered the wonder, had he never seen a smartphone he would also marvel at how magical sounds and pictures got on the tiny screen. Perhaps this living bridge system was no different. Simply a type of technology, not magic, he hadn’t seen before.

  With every muscle in his body protesting his minds decision, he took a step forward into the open air. Expecting the rush of wind against his face, followed by the sharp pain of his body cracking on against the dirt. An end to this otherworldly ride that had started just outside his own home.

  There was no rush of wind, no relief from his surroundings, no pain. Just a thick mesh of foliage under his boots.

  And it soothed him. Carrick did not understand how or why, but he felt...safe. A fool for believing he would plummet from his home.

  His home?

  Yes. His home. The city itself would ensure his safety, it was something he knew in his heart. As crazy as that sounded. Walking down the shifting stair, he felt more secure than he had since he was a small child sitting on his mother’s lap. The feeling had been so intense he had to turn around once his feet landed on the stone path, his eyes searching the emptiness between the grassy area and the door carved into a jutting branch two stories up for traces of the path. The base of the trunks were thicker than a house. Larger than any Washington Redwood by leaps and bounds.

  “It is just as beautiful from the outside is it not?”

  “I felt...”

  “Protected, I know. Elderwood has been in our family for centuries. She loves all the offspring of our line.”

  Carrick frowned, the idea of a thinking feeling plant was more off putting than conversations with Arcedes.

  “Today you start your written studies with the young to catch you up a bit. I will personally oversee your physical and metaphysical instruction. By the Autumn Equinox you should have a sufficient background to begin attunement preparation.”

  “Autumn? It’s spring now.”

  “Yes, you have a number of months to go.”

  “Wait." Carrick stopped walking, throwing up his hands. "Just wait a damn minute here. You still haven’t told me anything about who those men were and why they’re after me. Further we don’t know for sure that my Mom is gone. I should be back there looking for her, not hiding here for months
sitting on my thumbs.”

  “I told you to assume-”

  “Yeah well where I’m from we have a phrase about assumptions.”

  “Carrick, you do not know what you are up against.”

  “Because you don’t tell me.”

  “It’s not time.”

  “Why? Do the moons have to align and the flowers all point west before we can talk about it? Should I sprinkle a little ground banana dust on the grass to invoke a conversation on the topic?”

  Erik's jaw clenched. “Stop trying my patience boy.”

  “Or what?” Carrick crossed his arms.

  “There is no threat to give, you will learn your place the hard way or the easy way.”

  “That is so typica-” Carrick couldn’t finish his sentence. The words died in his throat. It wasn’t that he forgot what he was going to say, the words were still in his mind, his mouth just simply would not comply with the annunciation. Three more times he attempted to open his mouth, thrice more he simply opened and shut his lips gaping like a fish out of water.

  Erik smiled, revealing dimpled cheeks. He leaned down into Carrick, his face inches away as he whispered to him. “You are blood of my blood which gives you some advantage, but you are still a young fool. An ignorant babe tossed to the wilds becomes pray for the keen minded predator. Believe me when I say there is nothing left for you in that world. Maureen Smith left behind no living relative, her life will grace the papers briefly while they hunt for you and then no longer. Her property sold at auction, her name fading into a memory for acquaintances, a brief notion in passing. You. You are her legacy as much as you are Brannon’s. For her, you need to stay alive. Honor the sacrifices she made for you. You will stay here, learn and grow. Only then can you seek the justice your heart desires.”

  Carrick tried to respond, but his mouth refused. It seemed his neck still functioned, so he nodded.

  “I am glad we were able to reach an accord.” Erik smiled, flicking his left wrist slightly. His nephew broke into a coughing fit, the kind triggered by holding his breath for long periods of time.

  “What did you do to me?”