by Jeff Wheeler
He felt as if his mind would melt with heat.
Kill Tyrus.
“Unfortunately in our world, ignorance more frequently begets confidence than knowledge does. You see, it is those who know little, and not those who know much, who assert that certain problems will never be solved by reason, study, and practice. Patience is the companion of wisdom.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
There was so much pain that Annon welcomed death. He sank into its folds, embracing the weightless submission. His senses became acute. He stared down at his own body, collapsed against the base of the damaged oak tree, and saw blood trickling down his fingers. It was an odd feeling, staring at himself. And then he saw the spirits swarm.
He almost resisted, afraid of the agony awaiting him, but as he felt himself thrust back into his body, his eyes blinked wide, and he felt air fill inside his chest. Tingles of pleasure shuddered through the core of his being. He stared at the craggy bark of the oak, blinking furiously, unable to speak.
“He’s still alive!” one of the Bhikhu said in surprise. “Khiara! This one lives! Hurry!”
Annon tried to push himself up, but his legs and arms were void of energy. He wobbled and nearly collapsed when a Vaettir woman caught hold of him.
She had long black hair, a sharp contrast to the short black stubble of the men nearby. Her eyes were angled and her skin dark. She did not wear Bhikhu robes, though. Her shirt and pants were the color of saffron with wide sleeves and colorful embroidery on the hem and edges. She wore a charm around her neck that first made him think of a talisman, except it was made of bone or shell. She touched the side of his face to steady him and gazed deeply into his eyes. Then she closed her eyes, and he felt a surge of power come from her body and infuse him with strength and vitality. The weakness melted away.
Annon trembled. His emotions became giddy with excitement and energy. He felt as if he could run for leagues without tiring. Her touch summoned a gush of warmth that suffused throughout him.
Her eyes opened. Her expression turned sad, her mouth drooping. “I am sorry I could not save your companion. Sooner, I may have. But his spirit form has passed beyond to the other world. He would not be called back.”
A stab of anguish struck Annon like a blade. “I know. He was already dead.”
As the girl nodded, Annon felt the sobs finally break loose. He knelt as he wept, ashamed to be seen like this, but unable to withstand the painful emotions engulfing him. Memories of Reeder flooded his mind. Sharing a moment with Dame Nestra and her stew. The warning about visiting Tyrus. He clutched his head and tried to control the choking feeling in his throat.
The girl remained with him in his grief. Her hand touched his shoulder and she squeezed it. “We pass through sorrow. We remember the good. He is not gone forever, just from our sight. In another world, they greet him and bid him welcome as we bid him good-bye. This is death.”
She removed her hand from his face and stood. The Boeotians were retreating, fleeing through the smoke. Many writhed in pain on the forest floor, their bones broken by the efficient brutality of the Bhikhu who had come to help.
“You are not a Bhikhu,” Annon said in a broken voice, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
“I am a Shaliah. A healer. A keeper. A penitent.” She gazed at him sorrowfully and bowed her head. “I did little to aid you. She saved you. Do you…remember?”
Annon saw the subtle flick of her eyes toward the tree.
He struggled to remember. It was only a voice. He remembered her voice.
“Yes.”
The Vaettir girl nodded slowly. “That is rare, Druidecht. My name is Khiara Shaliah.” She bowed her head to him in respect and responded to the call of a Bhikhu who had been slashed by a Boeotian ax.
She is wise, Nizeera said, butting his arm with her nose. You may see Reeder again. In Mirrowen. Her fur was made whole and her teeth were sharp and almost grinning. You fought well, Druidecht. You showed courage.
Annon’s mind was in a fog of despair, and he did not want to accept the compliment. Smoke from the fires that he had started diffused in the air. The stench was acrid. He lingered by the tree, stroking Nizeera’s ears, hearing the shrill voices of the spirits thank him for rescuing the Dryad tree. Little flitting streaks of light zoomed past him. He felt their emotions, the joy mixed with sorrow. They had lost many of their own as well.
He slowly stood and walked around the craggy trunk to the spot where the axes had ripped into it. His stomach lurched at the damage. The wood was pale as splintered bone. The cuts were jagged and crisscrossed. It would have taken more time to fell the tree. But the damage was severe.
Annon nearly wept again. He stared at the gaping hole and then down at the dismembered arm. Would the Black Druid survive his injury? Would a spirit heal him? Sinking to his knees, Annon stared at the pale hand. He had seen flames from those fingers and knew the man had the fireblood. His derangement had come from losing himself in it. His actions were certainly that of a man who had lost his mind. He had called himself the Reaper. The Plague. Gibberish. Or was it? He dreaded the thought of meeting him again and shuddered with fear.
He was unsure how long he knelt by the tree. Other Druidechts arrived, including Palmanter. His expression was hard. His eyes full of emotion. He crouched down next to Annon, running his meaty hand across the bark of the oak.
“You saved her,” he said in a deep voice.
Annon nodded listlessly. He was so miserable and tired. So much confusion. So many threads in his life had gone askew. Reeder was dead. Part of him refused to accept it. He felt a tide of emotions welling within him, but he shoved it aside.
“Reeder’s body is being taken to Canton Vaud. The Vaettir wish to pay him their respects before we return him to the soil. You will wish to do that as well. It helps with the pain. Every creature must die, Annon. Even a friend.” His big hand rested on Annon’s shoulder.
Annon looked at him, burying his emotions deep. He nodded. “I will come with you.”
The other shook his head. “No, you must stay here. You must stay by the tree. When a Dryad’s life is saved, they must offer a boon. It is yours alone to claim. Wait for her to appear. She will not with so many here. The Bhikhu will chase off the Boeotians. We will establish a defense around this part of the forest. But you must not leave this place without her boon.” His eyes crinkled. “It is rare, Annon. Very rare.”
Annon licked his lips. “What is the boon?”
“I do not know. It is never spoken of. Nor should you tell anyone what it is. Perhaps revealing it negates it. But do not leave this place until you receive it.”
Annon nodded and hunkered down at the base of the oak. He wondered how long it would take for the smoke to clear.
Palmanter rose and moved away from Annon. He looked at smoldering branches and then back at Annon. He said nothing. But his eyes revealed much.
The Dryad came at dusk.
Annon sat cross-legged with his back to the tree, gently stroking Nizeera’s fur. The sun was fading between the interlocking branches of the woods, offering faint pinpricks of light to stab his eyes as he watched it shrink. Grateful spirits had brought him berries, seeds, and mushrooms to eat. He waited patiently, wondering how long it would take.
There was a crackle in the dead leaves behind him. It was unmistakable. His nerves warned him to turn and prepare to defend himself, but his instincts warned him not to move. Another step. Then another.
Hair on the back of his neck began to rise. He could hear the breath. Another snapping twig, just behind him. Nizeera’s tail was perfectly still. He waited, wondering what would happen. Would she speak? His heart hammered in his chest. Conflicting emotions whirled inside of him.
“Well met, Druidecht,” she said. “Do not look at me, or you will forget.”
Annon recognized her voice. It caused a tight pain deep in the center of his heart. “You speak my language?”
“Of course. It would
be difficult talking to you if I spoke in another tongue. Perhaps you would prefer it?” Her voice sounded teasing. “What is your name?”
“Annon.”
“How quick you are to give it up. I am Neodesha. You saved my tree. I owe you a boon.”
“I am sorry I did not come sooner. Will your tree survive the damage?”
He could hear her moving behind him, coming to the edge of his vision. He turned his head the other way.
“You are determined not to look at me.”
“You told me not to.”
“I warned you what would happen if you did. It is only fair, after all. You are young for a Druidecht. They keep the younger ones away from us.” He felt fingers graze his hair.
Annon closed his eyes. It would be easier that way.
“Closing your eyes! What an idea. Now I can move anywhere I want.” He heard the twigs snap again as she passed in front of him. He could feel her presence, the warmth emanating from her. It was maddening hearing her voice but not knowing what she looked like. A craving filled his insides. The curiosity was extreme and intense.
Annon kept one hand on Nizeera’s fur, digging his fingers into it. He tried to concentrate on the feel of the fur.
“Do you want to look at me?” she whispered in his ear. He startled, but kept his head down, his eyes squeezed shut. Sweat had gathered on his brow and beneath his arms. The feelings were maddening.
“What kind of creature is a Dryad?” Annon asked, his voice suddenly, embarrassingly hoarse.
“I’m a creature, am I? No, foolish boy, you know nothing at all. I am Aeduan, like you.”
Annon was confused. “How can that be?”
“I was born of a mother. I was raised in these woods long before the Vaettir came here. I am bound to this tree. But I am very little different than you, other than the magic that my binding allows me. We are very weak, Annon.” Her fingers grazed his chin, but he swerved his head the other way, refusing to open his eyes. “But our magic is powerful.”
“I know,” he muttered, beginning to tremble at the influence she was having on him.
“No, you have not even begun to feel it yet. It will get worse before it gets better. But you are doing well, Druidecht. Very few have made it this long.”
The compulsion to look at her was nearly overpowering. It was a monster inside of him. He could feel it roaring and snarling. A drop of sweat began to sting his eyes. He brushed it away and found his entire face wet.
“You see,” she went on, moving around him again, her voice tantalizing in the twilight. “Only those who try to resist know how strong we are. A Druidecht who gives in right away simply does not know what it would have been like later. You will be stronger as a result. Even if you do not make it. I am impressed already.”
“Why do you torture me?” Annon asked. He dug his fingers into Nizeera and felt her twitch with pain.
“I am not torturing you. You are torturing yourself. Why do you do it?”
“Because I seek a boon.”
“What boon do you seek?”
He hesitated.
“What do you seek?”
“What can you give?” Annon asked, turning the question on her.
“Very good. Ask questions instead of giving answers. Do you know why most seek me?”
“No. Tell me, Neodesha.” Saying her name made his tongue burn.
“You spoke my name.”
Annon was startled. There was something in the way she said it. He felt the strength of the magic begin to release him. He almost looked at her at that moment. There was something in her voice that demanded he look.
“Tell me!” he pleaded.
“I must, for you spoke my name. That is the boon. I gave you my name. You can bind me with it. You can free me from this tree with it. That is the boon.”
“Do you want to be freed from the tree?” Annon asked, his mind racing. He was confused. Terribly confused.
“No! But you have the power to if you choose. Men are selfish by nature. They want to possess things. To possess people. You could force me to go with you, even if I did not wish to go. That is the boon. That is the power you have over me. But if you look at me, you will forget my name. You will forget this even happened. Do you see it now, Annon? As long as you do not look at me, you hold power over me. As soon as you look at me, I hold power over you. I want you to look at me, Annon.”
“No,” he replied, steeling himself. “I need you to answer me, Neodesha. I need you to tell me the truth. Do you know my uncle, Tyrus of Kenatos?”
“Yes and no.”
“What does that mean? I asked you to speak the truth!”
“I know Tyrus of Kenatos. I also know that he is not your uncle.”
The words struck him like another blow. He nearly opened his eyes in amazement. He struggled with the surging fury that awakened inside of him.
“I thought…”
He felt her finger on his lips. “You are so young, Annon. But I respect the strength that brought you here. You saved my tree. Not one man in a thousand who was not a Vaettir would have done that willingly. They would have fled from certain death. You faced my enemies and you destroyed them and saved me. Because you did that, I will trust you. I am going to kiss you, Annon. That is what men seek me for. The kiss of a Dryad brings wisdom. It will help you to remember that which you have forgotten. It will prevent me from stealing your memories when you look at me. I speak the truth, for you commanded it of me. I do not do this for most mortals. But I trust you, Annon. I trust you will not harm me with this knowledge.”
He started to breathe heavily. He felt her kneel in front of him. He began to panic.
“Will it harm me?” he asked.
“Yes. But not in the way that you think. Memories can be very painful. The pain lessens in time as we forget. Except for you. You will remember everything. Every word ever spoken to you. Every slight you have suffered. Every joy, every thrill. Your memory will be perfect. And thus you will gain great wisdom.”
He was about to tell her he wanted to think on it. He was opening his mouth to say the words when he felt her lips press against his. The sensation of her mouth, the smell of her skin lasted a moment, but he felt his mind awakening. It was as if he had been asleep his whole life. Scales began to fall from his thoughts, allowing in bursting rays of light. His entire life was before him.
“Look at me,” she said softly.
Annon opened his eyes.
“What’s the benefit of dragging up sufferings that are over, of being unhappy now just because you were then? There is good in doing this. We must not flinch when we look at the past. We must strive to learn from our mistakes. So we must learn to bear and endure. The sorrow will one day prove to be for your good.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The face that Annon saw was young—a girl not even his own age. Her hair was the color of wheat and her eyes such a pale blue-green that they were almost ivory. She smiled at him, almost timidly, and he noticed that she wore a rich green wool gown. There was an embroidered pattern on the thin wrist cuff that extended up the side of her arms. She could have been any damsel in Wayland by the look of her.
He was startled and supposed it showed on his face, for her expression turned impish seeing his reaction.
“And what were you expecting, Annon? A gown made of oak leaves or moss? Twigs in my hair? Claws instead of fingers?” Her smile was mischievous. “I am Aeduan, just as I told you. But I have lived for several thousand years.”
Annon stared at her in surprise. “How is that possible?”
She smiled demurely. “There is a tree in Mirrowen, Druidecht. One taste of its fruit grants eternal life. I have bitten its fruit as part of my binding. I was sixteen. That is the age one becomes a Dryad, you see. That is the age we are reborn.”
Her pale eyes were transfixing.
Annon cleared his throat. “So I am immune to your magic now?”
She nodded intently,
pleased. “Rarely do I get to speak to another Aeduan. To learn about the world and how it has changed. Many have misperceptions about my kind. Everything I tell you, you will remember. You will come back here again, Annon. We are connected now, you and I. You will tell me about your world. I will tell you about mine.”
She knelt in front of him, so close he could feel the heat radiating from her. She looked eager to talk to him.
“The damage to your tree,” Annon said. “It did not harm you?”
She shook her head. “The tree is injured. But I am not. We are not connected that way. I do not feel her pain. She does not feel mine. What we share is much deeper.” Her voice fell lower. “We share memories. She is the receptacle. I am the engraver. You would not understand how it works, but I will try and explain it. I can take a man’s memories and implant them into the tree. What he no longer remembers, I hold safe. We are the guardians of great secrets, Annon. The past long forgotten. Yet the spirit magic that makes this work is very vulnerable. As you saw, I could not defend the tree from deliberate attack. I can only rely on others to protect me. Had you not come, I would not have died. I cannot die. But those memories would have been lost forever and I would have been trapped in Mirrowen with no way to return to the mortal world. This is my home, after all.”
Annon shook his head in amazement. “And you say you are thousands of years old? You were here before the founding of Kenatos?”
“Certainly. It is young compared to me. But there are Dryads even older than I. There are groves even more ancient.” She gave him a meaningful look.
He swallowed. “The Scourgelands.”
She flinched at the word. “That is not what we call it, Annon. Something happened there. Something long ago. A taint. An injustice. I am only a child compared to those Dryads. But they no longer speak to their sisters. They hide away. Something was done to injure them. A betrayal. That is what Tyrus seeks. That is the knowledge he is after. He is a protector of Dryads.”
