‘Those who were already in the forest were to be given time to leave. Besides, this man knew not of the command and I will vouch for him. Speak with Riark. He has an interest in this human.’
Morrick started and turned towards the voice.
A shimmering figure stood beside him in the water, but began only at the waist in the shallow water - a sure impossibility as far as the woodcutter could see. The figure was translucent and seemed to be supplied by the water of the brook, which seemed to course upwards and over it. The water rushed over the Naiad’s shoulders and down across insubstantial and intangible breasts before continuing its original path downstream. It was as though she was a ghost standing upon the bed of the brook, and the water had given her shape by filling the void of her presence, rather than breaking against her. The Naiad’s face was utterly featureless, but Morrick could distinguish blue eyes beneath the churning surface.
The Dryads did not exchange any obvious communication, but Morrick saw tendrils of roots curling together around their feet as they nodded, their eyes moving between the Naiad and himself in the eerie silence. Their heads did not move at all and he was caught in the midst of a forbidding staring match.
‘Very well,’ said the lead Dryad, ‘See that he does not part your company until he has left the trees.’
The Naiad rose taller in the water, gliding upwards and changing the note of the waterfall that fell from her shoulders and brow.
‘Do not forget that this is a shared domain, people of the trees. The trees may cluster hereabouts, but the rivers sate their thirsts. No harm will come to this man, if he leaves my company or otherwise.’
The Dryads looked down as all of their roots thrust deeper. Morrick thought their faces became drawn momentarily and then recovered. After a few moments, the lead Dryad nodded.
‘Riark takes no issue and will seek you both out in time. He has business with the woodcutter.’
They tarried there no longer. The Dryads turned and sunk back into the trunk of the willow, then were no more.
For Morrick, still sitting in the stream leaning back on his hands like some sort of dishevelled crab, the spell holding him in place now broke. He found his feet and stumbled up to the bank. Once there he felt torn between getting away from this creature in the water and backing up to the very trees from which the Dryads had appeared.
The figure in the water turned its face towards him and regarded him silently. He stared back for a moment, but was unnerved by the nothingness in the Naiad’s face. She tilted her head and when she spoke, her words chimed with the babble of the stream.
‘Do you know me?’ she asked, quiet and curious. Morrick thought she sounded like a child. Despite a feeling of familiarity for which he could not account, he shook his head slowly.
‘Unless I am mistaken, we have not met before,’ he said. ‘Am I mistaken?’
The Naiad’s laugh tinkled and her form sank back into the water until only her head and shoulders were visible. She said no more on it. Morrick began to shiver and as she noticed, the Naiad flowed towards him.
‘I need to build a fire to get warm and dry my clothes. Night is drawing in,’ he said.
The Naiad said nothing. Her head bobbed above the surface of the stream looking somewhat like a curious seal in the ocean. Just as Morrick was about to bid her farewell and to attempt to move on, she spoke.
‘What brings you to the forest?’ she said in that same curious tone.
‘My home is…’ he started, but the Naiad interrupted.
‘I know who you are and where you made your home. I wish to know why you are in the forest and travelling into the west, away from your home.’
Morrick frowned.
‘I’ve returned home from the war and found my home has been attacked by Devised. I believe my wife and three children fled into the woods, for they were not among the fallen.’
The Naiad disappeared beneath the water in a sudden motion and the water frothed, bubbling to the bank. To Morrick’s eye, it appeared to rear up and thrash down on itself for a moment before once again the Naiad emerged. She walked towards the bank until her whole shimmering, translucent form was standing before him. Morrick’s eyes widened as he saw little fish swimming within her torso then escaping down through her legs and on into the stream. She stepped up onto the grassy bank and placed her hands on Morrick’s shoulders. He took a sharp intake of breath at the stream’s chill as it ran through his body.
‘A group did pass this way.’
Morrick locked eyes with the suspended blue marbles, spinning in the churning surface of the Naiad’s face and thought he saw pity in them.
‘Were my…?’
The Naiad pulled him close and he gasped again as he felt his chest and face sink beneath the surface of her form. He turned his face aside as the water filled his nose and mouth. He sputtered and coughed, but she made no apology.
‘Your wife and two sons were with her. All unhurt,’ she said. Morrick could feel her pull him close as she spoke, trying to offer comfort but without the form that could provide it. Her words kindled understanding of the gesture and he froze.
‘And my baby?’
The Naiad held him tighter.
‘Do you not know me?’ she said.
Morrick drew back and in so doing, once more caught his foot and ended up on his rump in the dirt. He looked up at the Naiad, but she drew closer and crouched down to him.
‘Father,’ was all she said and all he could do was stare back at her, understanding little and believing less. He struggled to find a reply, but could think of nothing to say. What was happening? Could it be true? It couldn’t and yet, that feeling of familiarity…
‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘Nor do I, in full,’ she said. ‘I was your daughter in my last life, Morrick. Not so anymore, I think. And yet when I saw the one who sired me chasing through the trees, some sense of loyalty stirred in me.’
‘Your last life?’ asked Morrick.
The Naiad paused.
Morrick got to his knees and pushed himself back up to his feet.
‘If what you say is true and my family are fleeing in the woods, we must catch up with them. How far behind am I?’
A brow emerged and somehow darkened the Naiad’s face.
‘I will not assist you in this matter. She does not deserve your loyalty or mine.’
‘She’s my wife and your mother. What…’ but Morrick stopped short and stood aghast at the realisation he had accepted the Naiad was indeed his daughter. He was caught between a fierce desire to press on, the need to dry out and a sudden need to be with this strange, yet beautiful creature. He reached out for her and ran his fingertips gently across the surface of the pool of her cheeks. He perceived that she was smiling and a cold hand gripped his heart.
‘What is all this?’ he whispered. ‘What happened to you?’
The Naiad nuzzled against his hand then drew away and offered a hand.
‘It matters not,’ she said and her voice was sad and low. Her chill hand caressed his cheek, and she looked deep into his eyes so that he was held in thrall.
‘Already I begin to forget what I was and what I have seen. I fear you will be disappointed at the end of your journey, but I can no longer tell why. I have only the sense of it.’
She pulled him close and once more he felt the curious sensation of being drawn beneath the boundary of her body. Wonder mingled with the sense that he was saying a last goodbye to the baby daughter he had never had the chance to know.
Finally she released him and stepped back, looking down to where her feet should have stood on the bed of the stream.
‘My kind are aware of many things wherever water flows, seeps and sleeps. Riark is coming now. I will leave you for now, Father. I hope that in time we will see each other again. I have secured you safe passage, for now at the least, and having seen you in this life, I will not now forget you.’
Before ever Morrick had the chance to reply
her form dropped away into the water and was swept downstream. Morrick was left standing dripping on the bank with only birdsong and the babble of the brook to accompany him.
Sighing and feeling too exhausted to spend any more time thinking about what had passed, Morrick turned towards the south west and set off again through the trees at a light jog. Tired though he was, the exertion kept his mind clear from ruminating on what had befallen Rowan, Callum, Declan and his baby daughter. His damp clothes clung to his skin and he wondered how far he would have to run before they were dry again and if that would be before the cold of night began to chill him to the bone.
Morrick ran with his eyes down, watching his ever more unsteady footing and so he did not immediately notice when the confusion of the trees gave way into a glade. A few paces in, he looked up and stopped sharp at the change of the light.
Seated upon a boulder in the centre of the glade was a figure cloaked in leaves with a long tendril beard. His skin was rough as bark, and he frowned under mossy brows. At first glance, Morrick thought the bearded figure was holding a staff, but later as they spoke, he realised that the hand and the staff were one. A tall crown of spindles pulsed upwards from the figure’s head. The figure beckoned with one hand and, after but a moment’s hesitation, Morrick approached. He folded his arms across his chest as he did so, straightening his back as he walked. His heart rate quickened.
He stopped a few yards away from the figure, which merely stayed hunched on the rock and stared at him.
‘Do you know who I am?’ it creaked.
Morrick nodded slowly.
‘King Riark of the Dryads,’ he said, marvelling at how many nobles had been in his proximity over the previous weeks.
The figure nodded once slowly in return. It looked an awkward, jerky motion at first and then, as though its head had somehow detached, the movement became fluid and more animal.
‘Riark of the Dryads,’ the Dryad confirmed. ‘You wonder what business we might have together?’
Morrick nodded then steeled himself.
‘I do, but I have pressing business myself. My wife and children are not so very far ahead of me heading for the coast, or so I believe. I must intercept them before they move beyond my reach.’
Riark tilted his head.
‘You are concerned for your family, of course. I am able to speak to them on your behalf, should you wish it. My kind travel faster than you can imagine. I am as I appear, but much more.’
Morrick took a step forward.
‘If you could tell them that Morrick is alive and close behind them. And enquire after their health, situation and intentions? And bid them wait for me at the coast?’ Then he added as an afterthought, propriety remembered, ‘If you please, Sire.’
Riark stood up fast in a movement that his elderly appearance made seem unlikely.
‘I will do so and then return. Perhaps then we can set your mind at ease and take leisure over other matters, though perhaps leisure is the wrong word, considering the gravity of the situation.’
The cloak of leaves shuddered as though caught by a gust of wind then fell to the ground, but as it did so, Riark’s form diminished and seemed to draw into the staff in his hand. Then the hand was gone and the staff began to shrink as though sucked into the ground. Within a second there was no sign of the Dryad. Morrick paced back and forth across the glade, his heart beating fast and his mind whirling. He could not rest with such a flurry of thoughts in his mind.
Time wore on and he began to shiver, but considering who could appear at any time, he thought it best not to burn any wood. Instead he took off each item of clothing and wrung it out to get it just as dry as he could manage. That done, he stole Riark’s seat upon the boulder. The sun was directly above him - he closed his eyes and shaded them with his arm.
Morrick awoke with a pain in his back and shoulder. He groaned as he shifted onto his elbows and sat up. Riark was standing in the glade before him. He seemed to have taken root and stood straight with his head bowed, the beard and his hair sweeping the ground like a willow. His arms hung down and the fingers had grown so long that their tips were obscured by the long grass. He raised his head, and the fingers drew back to manlike proportions.
‘I have conveyed your message,’ said Riark.
‘Are they safe?’ said Morrick shifting so that he was perched on the very edge of the rock. ‘Are they well?’
Riark nodded.
‘Your wife tells me your sons are well enough. But a malady has fallen over your wife. She grieves the loss of your daughter. She would not speak to me of you and did not acknowledge your survival. The group she is with are heading for the coast, just as you thought. I am sure your sons wish you well and anticipate your arrival when the time comes.’ Riark was about to continue, but saw that Morrick was frowning deeply.
‘She would not speak of me? For why?’ he asked, his voice low.
‘I know not,’ said Riark, ‘All will become clear, no doubt.’
Morrick sensed that there was more to be said but that the Dryad was holding back. He spent a few more minutes asking pressing questions but it became apparent Riark would say no more. Morrick was weighing up whether to honour his word and stay or commence his journey, when Riark drew in close and sat beside him on the rock.
‘Though we have never met, I have long known of you and your kin,’ said Riark. ‘I have watched you boy and man, cutting down trees in my realm where it meets yours. You have killed Dryads in your time, woodcutter; hewn down their Mother Trees so that their spirits were cut loose and their souls died.’
To Morrick, the words sounded horrifying.
‘I am dreadful sorry,’ he said, ‘I had no notion of it. I hope you know it to be true that I always paid the Forest a great respect, planting one for every one I felled. It does not sound as though it would ever replace your loss, but it was well intentioned none the less. Timber and woodcraft has long been my life; carving it, shaping it and making use of it; building from it. I am heartfelt sorry,’ he repeated.
Riark tilted his head again in the way Morrick had seen before, as though curious.
‘You were not to know, and it’s not our way to tell. There is a fate for all things and nature requires consumption and rebirth,’ he said. ‘There has been much debate over the centuries as to whether man’s consumption has been disproportionate but I have resigned myself to our losses over the years and held my people at bay from acting, though it has not been easily achievable when dealing with our younger folk. But times are changing and my control, though still full for now, may wane.
‘It is for this reason that I come to you now; for counsel from one I know to be a man considerate of both his own needs and that of the forest. And a man of war, so it seems.’
‘Reluctantly. I did not go by choice,’ said Morrick.
‘Tell me,’ said Riark.
‘There’s not a great deal to tell. I can’t be sure of how long ago, but I lived by the Forest edge and made my living there. My wife, Rowan, was newly pregnant with our third child who I have found of late was a daughter. Awgren’s Devised came to take the latest load of timber from us, and the overseer gathered all the people in the village together to tell us all the menfolk of a certain age would go to war. Thank the Forest that my boys were too young. If we’d resisted they’d have killed our families and so all of us that were to go bade farewell and were marched off south, taking what provision we could. We were outfitted in a barracks near the mountains. As the weeks wore on, we heard that the queen of the Combined People and Lord of the Isles had marched an army out of the Folly gates and landed two more on the south and west coasts, all marching inland. We heard tell the battles did not go well for Awgren and that mankind had mastered war in new ways he could not so easily counter by weight of numbers. We were thrown into battle after battle and though the cause was not just, I am proud of all we accomplished together to survive, though I was not glad to hurt my own kind.
‘Many of us survived
. We fought long and hard and were bloodied for it. Then the last battle when the Combined People won through and I thought, in my foolishness, that all would be righted and I could return to my family in peace. As it is, they burned the Devised who surrendered, and I was given the brand you see now across my face. Rather than be allowed straight home, I’ve been conscripted into yet another army, the one that now sits in my old home under the command of Lord Aldwyn. To be fair to him, he seems a good enough man, but my dreams of freedom and peace seem to have been naïve. My home is likely burned to ash and my family flee. And you say my wife will not speak of me…’
Riark sat quietly and showed no signs of movement as he perched upon the log. Morrick kept flitting his eyes back to Riark, his peripheral vision shifting every so often in its perception of him as an old man of bark, then a discarded branch laying against the log, then a manlike figure once again.
Eventually, Riark animated once more and turned to him.
‘What think you will happen now with your people?’
‘My people? They are killed or scattered and our homes burned or occupied.’
‘Not simply your village; your people, your kind?’
‘Humans?’ Morrick balked at the notion that they were all one.
‘In all honesty, I cannot now tell. There are peaceable parts to the world, so I hear, but given how I have been treated so far, I’m not sure I would want to live there. And the lords and ladies have already started fighting amongst themselves. I begin to think we were better under Awgren,’ he said and felt ashamed for saying so.
‘Do you know of Lord Linwood and the road into the forest?’
‘I know Linwood. He branded me. And Lord Aldwyn told me of his plans. For my part, I believe the lord and queen will take Linwood in hand and leave your forest alone.’
‘And yet they will pass on in a blink of an eye,’ said Riark, ‘replaced by their children and their children’s children. How long before another sees the value of the forest?’
‘Who can say?’ said Morrick.
Dark Oak Page 20
