by Jeff Wheeler
“But what should I do?” Annon said, trying to quell the evil feeling. “Should I believe what Drosta told me? What my uncle told me? What the Arch-Rike believes? What the order has trained me to believe? My mind is tangled in knots right now! I do not know which to unravel first.”
Reeder held up his hand, shaking his head. “Lad, it comes down to who is telling the truth. That is the state of the matter. Truth is knowledge. Things are or they are not. You and I are here. We are sitting and sharing wine in Canton Vaud. One may say you are in Havenrook. One may say you are in Alkire. One may say you still hide in Kenatos, but that is not the truth. You are here.” He leaned forward. “The trouble with truth is that people are unwilling to be convinced that they have been deceived. It impugns their judgment. It stains their character. People love themselves above all.”
Reeder sighed deeply, staring at the slow-burning wick of the oil lamp. “They hate truth for the sake of whatever it is that they love in its place. When truth benefits them, they love it. When it rebukes them, they hate it. They love truth when it reveals itself and hate it when it reveals them.” He shook his head wearily, his countenance falling. “As one of the Thirteen once told me, ‘Thus, thus, truly thus: a mind so blind and sick, so base and ill-mannered, desires to lie hidden, but does not wish that anything should be hidden from it.’ And yet the opposite is what happens, does it not? Yet even so,” he said with a sad chuckle, “for all its wretchedness, the mind still prefers to delight in truth rather than in known falsehoods. Lies never satisfy us, Annon. They do not satisfy our internal hunger for truth.”
His gaze pierced Annon. “I cannot tell you whether your uncle’s story is true. I lack the knowledge. In the morning, I go to defend a corner of Silvandom where the Thirteen say a Dryad is hidden. Come with me. They live for hundreds of years. She may have the knowledge you seek. Your uncle told you to find the oracle Basilides. Perhaps the Dryad knows where the oracle may be found and whether your uncle tells the truth.” His eyes narrowed. “Or not.”
The suggestion startled Annon. His eyes were getting drowsy, but he sat up and stared at his mentor, his friend. “Go with you?”
“I would enjoy the companionship. Most of the raids are happening in the northern borders of Silvandom via the mountain passes. I seek to safeguard the western edge. If there is trouble, we will send for others to assist. That is, if you will join me.”
Annon thought it over quickly. What he had been told about Dryads fascinated him immensely. There was something about them, some connection to his uncle that he had not revealed to Reeder. The oak in the Paracelsus Towers. That was not a coincidence. Did his uncle know the tree likely contained a Dryad? Had he anticipated the distrust Annon would have? Likely so. If the mysteries of his uncle could be revealed in a manner that would satisfy a Druidecht, he would be more likely to believe his uncle’s version of events.
“I see you hesitate,” Reeder said. “I will not push you. My older bones are ready for a blanket. Decide in the morning if you wish to accompany me.”
Annon shook his head. “It is not that, Reeder. I think it would be useful if I did join you. I was only mulling what you told me.”
Reeder reached for a blanket and wrapped himself in the warm folds. “Think as long as you like. Only spare the oil lamp and blow out the flame ere you sleep.”
Annon was beginning to think that truth was like the knowledge of Mirrowen. There was evidence of it all around. Only most people did not bother to notice it. They were so set in their minds as to what existed and what didn’t that they left no room to explore the possibility that they shared the world with the spirits of Mirrowen. That both worlds existed simultaneously. That it was even possible to connect them.
“I will go with you,” Annon promised, giving his friend a smile.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Nizeera’s tail lashing. He felt her thoughts graze against his mind smugly.
Yes. Yes, you will.
He looked at her in confusion, seeing the gleaming reflection of the lamplight in her eyes.
Why do you stay with us? he asked her.
Because of my oath to you, she replied.
And why did you swear an oath to me?
There was a long pause. A shiver began from the base of his spine, welling up until he shuddered.
I did not swear the oath to you, mortal. I swore it to your mother. A Druidecht with the fireblood. Like you. Her tail began lashing back and forth. It reminded him of a serpent.
“Some say the greatest evil is physical pain. The Bhikhu reject this notion, of course. I reject it as well. Wounds of the heart run more deeply and cannot be treated with salves and herbs.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The woods were dark and lonely in the morning light. A thin haze crept amidst the trees, blanketing the morning with a veil of fog. Annon and Reeder walked side by side, enjoying the brisk air and the chance to be together again. Annon’s emotions were tangled and conflicted. He thought about his uncle. He thought about Erasmus. More importantly, he wondered if he had lost his senses completely. Why was he doing this? Why was he even involved? Why had he bothered to listen to Reeder in the first place?
Amidst his tangled emotions was a sense of dread. He was worried about Hettie. What was she doing? Where was she? Was she safe? There were too many questions to answer. More than anything else, he wanted answers. He did not want explanations or excuses. He wanted to know the truth. He wanted certainty before he chose.
The spirits of Silvandom heard his troubled thoughts. There were many in the forest. They were aware of him, listening to his troubled feelings, his conflicting thoughts. He felt their presence all around him like gossamer butterflies, attracted to his intensely personal feeling of doom.
“You’re deep in thought,” said Reeder. “I was a little surprised you chose to come with me this morning.”
“I hope to find answers,” said Annon. “Is that so strange?”
Reeder chuckled. He pointed into the mist. “There are always answers. Some we do not like. Some we are not ready for. But looking for them is good all the same.”
It was difficult judging when dawn had actually broken. The mist blocked the rising sun, causing the light to gradually grow. Annon was not sure of the moment when he realized that it was day, but the details around him grew sharper. The lush green trees, the dewy grass, the chittering of insects. Before he knew it, he realized it was dawn. Somehow it just happened.
“How far is it?” asked Annon. “How long will it take us to get there?”
“It will take most of the day,” answered Reeder. “The place we are going is on the far, far fringe of the woods. If we are lucky, we should get there before dusk.” Reeder pointed to a shimmering spiderweb. “Do you see that?”
“What kind of spirit is it?” asked Annon.
“I don’t know, but isn’t it beautiful? There’s so much about these woods I’m still learning. I miss Wayland. Of course I do. There are many different kinds of life here in Silvandom. There are creatures I’ve never even dreamed of.” He sighed. Then he gave Annon an arch look. “The most dangerous spirits, they say, are up north. In the Scourgelands. That even to look at one is to die.”
“Do you think I trust my uncle that much?”
“It is your feelings I distrust more. You’ve always been an angry lad, Annon. It makes me worry about you.”
The trees surrounding them changed from slender giants to red maples that swayed gently with the breeze. The smell of the forest was mesmerizing. There were plants that Annon had never seen before. Trailing behind them was the big cat Nizeera. Annon had almost forgotten about her, so quiet did she move. They walked for a long time in silence, watching the colors of the forest shift as they entered a new domain populated with different plants and spirits.
A burst of light suddenly exploded in front of them. It was a spirit, frantic and throbbing tense feelings of urgency. It hung in the air, buzzing in front of t
heir faces like a hummingbird.
Come, Druidecht! You are needed! Come with haste! Haste! Follow me!
Reeder held up his hand, trying to calm the frantic creature. “What is it, friend? Tell us.”
The spirit zoomed away through the woods, leaving a shimmering trail of dust. They could hear its frantic screech as it raced back the way it came, the dust-motes of magic starting to descend like hoarfrost from the air. Annon and Reeder looked at each other and then plunged into the woods after it, caught up in the emotion it had summoned inside of them.
They ran as best they could. Annon was younger and more healthy, but he stayed near his friend and followed the disappearing trail left in the spirit’s wake. Annon’s heart pounded with the exertion of their pace, but the creature’s emotions compelled them forward. It was a warning of the imminent death of another creature, another spirit.
“Do you see that?” Annon asked, pointing ahead. A flurry of activity was going on up ahead in the trees. Spirits dashed this way and that, leaving streamers of magic as they raced and circled the scene. Sparks exploded in small puffs as spirit magic attacked violently. There were noises, voices thick with a guttural language. And then there was the unmistakable sound of an ax biting into bark.
“Boeotians!” Reeder gasped, both from surprise and lack of air. He staggered to rest, catching himself on a tree. “How can they be this far into the woods?”
Annon realized that the shape of the woods had suddenly changed, going from tall proud red maples to twisted oaks. It was the dense array of knotted branches that blocked the full scene, but Annon could see enough as a giant of a man stood next to an ancient oak; his muscles rippled. He took another hard swing, blasting away fragments of wood.
There were others present as well, waving smoky torches in the air. The smell of smoke had not drifted far before another attack of spirits came amidst it and exploded in little puffs. Annon realized that the spirits were dying from the smoke.
“No!” Reeder said, staring at the scene in bafflement. Then his face flooded with anger and he charged forward. “No! Noooo!”
Save us, Druidecht! Save the tree!
Annon stared at the intruders in horror. They were a race he had never seen before. Tall and corded with muscles, yet their skin was mottled with protruding veins, giving them an almost purplish cast. They wore only loincloths and high hide boots. Each man carried a weapon in one hand and a cluster of burning sticks in the other. Annon did not know what kind of wood they held, but the smoke was obviously anathema to the spirits of Mirrowen, who fell as soon as they came in contact with the haze.
The giant man had a huge double-sided ax, and he took another powerful swing, spraying the glen with fragments of wooden splinters.
“No!” Reeder roared. “This is forbidden! These are not your woods! You must go!”
Reeder clutched his talisman in one hand and sucked in his breath. Annon felt the strength of his summoning. He could feel it jet past him, a wash of feelings that went into the surrounding woods for leagues. He was summoning the woodland animals to help. Foxes and wolves, bears and serpents. Hawks and falcons. All who felt the summons would be called to the Druidecht’s service. But he needed time. It would take time for the allies to arrive.
“Be gone, Druidecht!” The man with the ax had a hoarse, gravelly voice. “We will burn this tree! Atu! Banvenek!” He brought the ax back for another mighty swing.
Reeder’s face twisted with rage. “You do not know what you do!” he sputtered. There was a frenzy as the spirits redoubled their attacks, plunging at the tight cluster of men with determination, despite their falling numbers. A fierce wind began to rake through the woods. The air was suddenly full of howling and commotion.
“Atu!”
Annon saw the spear too late.
It struck Reeder full in the chest. He was a big man himself. The blow would have toppled another. Reeder stood, staring in shock at the huge shaft protruding from his skin. The jettison of magic imploded. His knees buckled. Reeder collapsed onto the forest floor, toppled like a tree himself. A mesh of scrub cushioned him.
The pain and rage that blasted inside of Annon was nothing he had experienced before. There was no way to describe it, even to himself. Part of him literally exploded. His friend. His mentor. Someone who was more a father to him than anyone else in all the kingdoms lay dead or dying.
There was a smirk on the leader’s face. A ruthless smirk. The death of a man meant nothing to him. It was a face hardened and callused by death. His eyes passed over Annon, barely giving him another look or thought. He hefted the ax back for another swing.
Never in Annon’s life had he been so tempted. His instincts did not tell him to run. That would have been the wise thing to do. Instead, he promised himself he would kill every single one of them or die trying.
Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
Flames gushed from his fingertips, racing across the gap of woods until they smashed into the man with the ax. The Boeotian. The murderer. Annon watched his skin blacken but not blister. For a moment it seemed as if he were protected even from fire. He turned in shock and surprise, face wild with pain and panic. The flames suddenly engulfed him and he disappeared in a plume of ash. The heavy ax blade thumped to the forest floor, the handle consumed.
Annon did not wait a single moment. He charged into the grove of oaks, heading straight for the other Boeotians. His rage was insurmountable. He doubted if he would ever be calm for the rest of his life. The injustice and cruelty of these men defied his reason. There were more, and he sent the flames rushing into them, sending it streaking into their midst. Cries of terror sounded in the grove as they struggled to dodge the deadly fire.
Nizeera screamed and charged into the glen, teeth and claws savagely raking the men holding spears and axes. We fight together, Druidecht. We must save the tree.
A spear ripped into his arm, lancing his skin as it went past him. He did not feel the pain. Another one hefted a spear, bringing it back to throw; Annon extended his palm and a spray of flames blasted him into dust. He did not know how many there were.
Movement to his left.
He ducked around a tree and listened as the spear struck the trunk. It would have killed him had he not moved a fraction faster. He emerged from the other side of the tree and sent flames into three men at once. The feelings sapped all sense of will and restraint. The bubbling emotions they caused were euphoric and delightful. He was giddy inside, with his friend dead nearby. How could that be? How was it even possible to be consumed with such happiness when he should be crying?
How many men were left? How many killers?
More over here. He heard Nizeera’s shrieking warning and saw her dart between trees, swiping and clawing at them.
Annon shoved away from the protection of the trunk and came after them again, seeing several trying to hide from him behind stunted oaks. Flames spewed from his hands, engulfing the trees with crackling flames. This was dangerous. He did not want to burn down the entire forest. But he could not stop himself. He did not want to stop himself. Something had seized control of his mind. Some dark vapor prevented him from thinking. It commanded him to lash out at those who had desecrated the woods.
Cries of pain came from those he caught. He heard the crunch of boots to his right and turned just as the ax edge whistled toward his head. Annon ducked reflexively, feeling no fear, and brought up his hands to the man’s face. Suddenly a knee connected with his stomach and he felt his air vanish. The Boeotian continued the swoop of the ax and brought it up and around, coming down to split open Annon’s skull.
Nizeera launched at him, leaping over Annon’s crumpling body, and caught the Boeotian with claws in his face and chest as her weight slammed him down. The catlike scream made Annon shudder.
Scrambling back to his feet, struggling to maintain the fire pulsing in his fingertips, Annon stared as the other Boeotians ran off into the woods.
He gulped in air, trying to breathe.
Nizeera finished off the man and turned to look at him, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
They are coming.
Annon nodded, unable to speak. How many?
She cocked her head.
Spirits thronged him, coming from all sides at once. Many were cheering and grateful, but others were frantic as well.
They come, Druidecht! More mortals come! Do not abandon us! Do not abandon her!
He breathed heavily, glancing back at the sinewy form of the oak tree, split wide with fleshy bark. The broken ax lay at its base. The tree was defenseless. The tree would be butchered and killed. A Dryad tree. He knew it was so. He could feel memories emanating from its ancient hull.
Stand strong. Do not fear them. Nizeera’s eyes bored into his. We will take them together. You and I. We fight together.
Gritting his teeth, Annon straightened. He was just beginning to feel the razor of pain in his shoulder. The emotions of elation began to crumble. He needed to tame the fireblood. He could not let it run wild again. He would control it better; he would burn the men and not destroy the woods. I fear nothing, he thought to Nizeera.
The hummingbird spirit zoomed into the grove, flittering in front of his face. He comes before them! He comes to challenge you!
Annon’s mind raced. Who comes? Who is it?
The spirit wailed with terror. One of the Black.
“When Kenatos was founded on the island in the lake, all races and peoples were invited to send representatives of their culture, traditions, and knowledge to dwell in harmony and thus preserve their way of life. Too many races had been decimated. Too many crafts and knowledge had been lost. Of all who remained, only the Boeotians refused. In fact, when they learned of the founding of Kenatos, they vowed to destroy it. For centuries, they attacked the island by boat. Some tried to make an earthen bridge to connect to the city. Each attack was repelled. Each ambassador sent to negotiate with the Boeotians was killed. Only the Druidecht can safely pass into their borders unharmed. They are a wild and savage race. It is said that they are ruled by an Empress, much as a beehive has a single queen. Their savagery and violence know no bounds. Kenatos would have failed if the races had not banded together to protect her infancy. A common danger unites even the bitterest enemies.”
