Feynard

by Marc Secchia

  He muttered, “The little girl from my dream.”

  “Alliathiune the Dryad,” she introduced herself, a trifle acidly. “The Peace of the Sacred Well to you, good outlander.”

  “Pleased to meet–Peace also to you, of course, good … er, you’re a Dryad?”

  “And I am twenty-two Leaven seasons of age, not some little girl!”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what a ‘Leaven season’ is.”

  Zephyr explained, “Leaven season is when the Forest changes its raiment from green to red and gold, the time of harvest–”

  “Ah–we call it ‘autumn’,” said he. “I am therefore twenty-seven Leaven seasons old, er, Allia- dash it all, how do you say that mouthful again?”

  “Ah-lia-thi-oo-ne.”

  “Sorry. Goodness, getting such an outlandish name wrong is hardly a crime, is it?” Storm clouds entered her eyes, but Kevin was selfishly preoccupied with matters closer to home. “You’ve caused me enough trouble already,” he declared. “You should be grateful I’m here at all, after what I’ve been through! I nearly died on the way. I am called Kevin–Kevin Jenkins.”

  Nonplussed for but a moment, Alliathiune replied with heavy scorn and a mocking half-bow, “Well, noble Kevin, we are indeed grateful for your presence in Driadorn! Your tremendous sacrifice is duly noted.”

  “You don’t understand–”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Look,” Kevin shot back, “I’ve been attacked by a ravening monster, I have two broken limbs and more contusions than I can count, thank you very much, and if I don’t get back to take my medicines, I will surely die! That’s reality for me, do you hear? That is what I have to live with day by day–fifty-seven bleeding pills that keep me alive. It’s a miracle I’ve even reached twenty and I would like to continue my existence in the land of the living, thank you very much, if that isn’t too much trouble.” He could be sarcastic too, one part of him noted in amazement, while another leaped to ring the warning bells–which he duly ignored. “This is a nightmare! What do I know about this stupid Blight? Why should I care? I didn’t ask to be summoned to your precious Forest in the first place, nor to be treated so appallingly! Just send me back. You’ve got the wrong person. I am not capable of–”

  Alliathiune balled up her fists. “I can’t send you back! You have to be the one!”

  Her words knocked the stuffing out of Kevin. His mouth widened and he pawed at his throat, trying to arrest the inevitable tightening. “What do you mean, ‘can’t’?” he squeaked. She shook her head mutely. “Do you mean won’t?”

  “Not until your purpose is fulfilled, we can’t.”

  All he could see was a vision of his dying body stretched out in convulsions in some godforsaken place where no one cared two hoots about his fate. The pills! How would he survive without his medications? His allergies would flare up. Asthma would clog his lungs, while infections raged unchecked through his immune-deficient body! Kevin was dimly aware that someone was screaming–a long, whimpering wail of terror disrupted by rattling coughs that threatened to tear his lungs apart. Above him, Zephyr’s and Alliathiune’s faces began to blur and fade into a consuming nothingness. This was it. He welcomed the darkness. This was the–

  The Dryad lunged forward, and slapped him across the cheek with all the force her tiny frame could muster.

  Chapter 5: Feynard

  “Scream like that again,” Alliathiune hissed like an angry cat, “and I’ll wring your selfish little neck right off your selfish little shoulders!”

  Kevin gulped.

  His cheek flamed scarlet, and the shock of that slap rang though his brain like an unfading echo. He knew it would leave a bruise. He had been hit many times by Father and Brian; being smacked or punched was nothing new. But this was somehow different. The Dryad did not appear pleased at her outburst–rather, she now perched on the end of the bed furthest from him, hugging herself as if she had caught a sudden chill. She was upset, evidently every bit as traumatised as he felt. A sliding tear received an angry swipe of her forearm.

  “Good outlander,” spluttered the Unicorn, “I must … er, apologise …”

  “Good nothing!” flared the Dryad, leaping at once into a miniature tornado of fury, all flying tears and wild green hair. “Didn’t you hear what he said? He cares nought for our plight! How can you stand the sight of such a vile thing as he is?”

  The Unicorn gave Kevin a long, unreadable glare, then nickered softly and nudged her shoulder. “He surely did not mean it, Alliathiune.”

  “He meant every word!” she sniffled, her lower lip trembling in an alarming fashion. “He’s the meanest, most selfish, nasty, indifferent, unkind Forest-hater in the whole world! I’ll wager all Driadorn to an acorn that he cuts down trees for a living. In his secret heart he wishes to consign all creatures to the hideous pits of Shäyol. He wants to see the Forests sicken and all of Driadorn’s creatures, to whom the trees are mother and home, perish!” She made a spear of her forefinger and thrust it beneath Kevin’s nose, wailing, “Where is your axe, wicked woodsman? Woe to our precious Forest, bereft of succour! Where is our champion now? Our ruin is laid bare before us. Oh, woe, woe, woe!”

  Kevin’s mouth hung open. Her every word drove steel spikes of guilt into his heart. He had never felt so blameworthy in his life, and the feeling was becoming worse, not better. No one had ever cried on his account. That was the worst of all.

  Zephyr began, “Now, I’m sure it’s not quite like–”

  “He would rather despoil the Seventy-Seven Hills, and see them turned into a barren wasteland, worse than Mistral Bog!”

  “Many living creatures call the Bog home, good Dryad.”

  “You heard what he said!” She glowered in Kevin’s direction, but her hazel eyes were so misted with tears that the effect was spoiled. “He knows nought of the Blight. He lied about being a wizard. He doesn’t care about anything save his own skin and would rather go home–but before he departs, we are to be eternally grateful that he bothered to turn up at all! Such ignorance is beyond belief! No, he is a hateful, spiteful apparition, and I shall never forgive him, not even should the Well run dry and the Forest wither and die and all Driadorn be turned to blazing desert–even then with every breath that remains in my body I shall curse him and–”

  “But if good Kevin is from another world,” said Zephyr, trying as it were to argue with a storm, “then all this would be strange to him, not so?”

  “You’re defending him!”

  “No I’m–”

  She stuck her tongue out. “Yes you are. I know what you’re doing. Stop trying to cheer me up! I’m furious!”

  Zephyr said, very gently, “I’ve a suggestion, Alliathiune–”

  “What?”

  He did not flinch in the face of her vehemence.

  “What?”

  “Why don’t we start over?”

  “Start over with what?”

  “Meeting each other. Why don’t I introduce you as if for the first time, and–”

  Her hands curled into little fists and beat several times against Zephyr’s flank, which made no impression whatsoever on the stolid Unicorn. She said, “He’ll still be the nastiest, most mean-spirited, unfeeling man. And I’m not finished being cross with him! I want to beat some sense into his thick-as-bark head!”

  “Because he doesn’t see things your way?”

  “No! And how dare you suggest it? Whose side are you on anyway?” She tried to push the Unicorn away.

  Kevin touched his stinging cheek. To say that he was taken aback by her attitude was a spectacular understatement. Zephyr gazed at him over Alliathiune’s shoulder, trying to mouth words to him–but lip reading a Unicorn’s speech was way beyond Kevin’s experience. He frowned, finally able to close his mouth. She was a spitting volcano, all molten lava and sizzling rocks flying through the air! Zephyr waggled his ears. Kevin shrugged, which received a stern glare in return. The penny dropped.

  “
Oh, I–uh.” He coughed hollowly, and began cautiously, “It appears that I am detained here in Driadorn.”

  “Detained as you deserve!” the Dryad sniffed hugely. “If you haven’t noticed yet, you pitiless tree-slayer, your left foot is chained to the bed. And were you somehow to attempt escape, there are Grey Wolves patrolling the woods around Thaharria-brin-Tomal who will gladly sup on your craven entrails!”

  This threat struck Kevin as absurd rather than frightening, especially the way she said it, but he restrained a smile–fearing to cause some further explosion–and raised his left leg to put her words to the proof. Indeed, a stout chain encircled his ankle. Trapped! But a certain resignation to his circumstances had blossomed in his mind during her tirade.

  Perhaps he might make amends, and start afresh, as Zephyr had wisely suggested?

  “As I am detained here in Driadorn,” he repeated, “temporarily at least, I hope–”

  “Me too, you ghoulish life-stealer! I hope you rot in the blackest pits of Shäyol, unbeliever and beast! How could you have the nerve to disparage our great Forest, which is Mother to all? You don’t even know what you’re talking about! You know nothing!”

  Kevin was about to protest when he caught sight of Zephyr rolling his eyes behind Alliathiune’s back. He subsided. “At least for Zephyr’s sake, who is cruelly and unjustly being held to account for my unwillingness to aid the Forest–”

  “Uncouth troglodyte!”

  “–who is being–”

  Alliathiune waved a fist at him. “Uneducated, foul-mouthed barbarian!”

  “Who, I was saying–”

  “Rancorous spawn of Ozark’s accursed dark wizardry, whose rotten soul spits filth to pollute our streams and clear waters–”

  Kevin struggled to one elbow, and yelled, “Will you kindly shut up?”

  The Dryad blinked.

  Kevin blinked too. What? Was this Kevin Albert Jenkins? Unexpectedly, he was bursting with elation. He had done it! A miracle, a wildfire sparked by the stormy little Dryad! For the first time in his life, he had shouted at someone. He waggled his tongue as though he had only just discovered he possessed such an appendage.

  “Please, allow me to apologise!” He began to cough, having hurt his throat shouting at her. The Honeybear hovered briefly at the doorway, but seeing Alliathiune’s expression wisely chose not to enter.

  “But … your rudeness,” Alliathiune spluttered.

  “–is inexcusable, I know,” Kevin returned. And he patted the unfamiliar sheets, and his gesture took in the strange room. “Look, Alliathiune, and Zephyr, the evidence before me shows that this is no flight of fancy. How else could it hurt so much? Why can I not escape this dream? Unless your powers are far greater than I can imagine, in which case I am truly lost and must question your inability to counteract the Blight. I must operate on these assumptions until I learn otherwise.”

  He glanced from one to the other, but Zephyr gazed out of the doorway and the Dryad drew little circles on the floor with her right big toe. “What else is possible? Or logical? All my senses confirm to me that this room, and the two of you, are real. This is all I know. I cannot fathom why you should choose to ‘summon’ me, nor have I any hope to offer–neither skills nor knowledge. I cannot advance your cause against the Blight. Worse, I am an invalid, daily forced to consume potent medications in order to stave off dying, because my body doesn’t function as it ought. I am weak, and sickly, and have been forced thereby to live in the same room in the same house for twenty years.”

  The silence stretched without relief.

  “That’s my life, sad as it is.” He drew a deep, ragged breath. “But I have a mind and a will of my own, and I long to be worth something–anything–to someone.” That much truth was all he could handle. “I’m frightfully sorry. And if I sound desperate, I don’t care,” he added defiantly. “It’s not that I don’t want to help–I don’t think I can help–I just think that your expectations of me exceed reality by a significant margin. I’m bound to disappoint you. I am terribly sorry, Alliathiune. I obviously deserve the fullest measure of your contempt.”

  Had he sprouted wings and flown around the room cawing like a raven, the Dryad’s expression would have been not one whit the less dismayed.

  “My dear girl,” she bristled noticeably at this but he plowed ahead with bulldog stubbornness, “I cannot pretend to understand what connection you as a Dryad have with the Forest of Driadorn, and why its plight should concern you so deeply. Matters of magic and wizardry are–well, my ignorance brays forth as a donkey. I declare to you now that I have an open mind on the matter, and stand ready to be convinced one way or the other.”

  Zephyr chuckled. “I assume, good Kevin, that you have said your piece? Fine. Having bared our collective hearts, may we proceed?” Two mute nods greeted his falsely cheery tone–each was avoiding the other’s eyes. “Noble outlander, amongst the civilised creatures of the Seventy-Seven Hills we address none other than our beloved as ‘dear’. I trust you meant it differently? Excellent. We would not want to deceive our charming companion as to your romantic intentions, not so?”

  Kevin squirmed at the Unicorn’s gentle teasing. After bearing the brunt of her tirade, he would rather romance a thorn bush. “Um–no, thank you, Zephyr.”

  “Ahem.”

  “I mean, I’m sure you’re perfectly acceptable, Alliathiune, among Dryads at least … I, er … oh, gracious me, that came out badly.” His cheeks flamed. Why was he behaving like such a witless weasel? Why now? “Please tell me what you know about this Blight, Zephyr.”

  The Unicorn favoured Alliathiune with a curl of his lip. The Dryad pouted at him, and unleashed her charm. Her smile blossomed until to Kevin, it resembled a perfectly dazzling sunbeam. “Good outlander, perhaps I was mistaken earlier. I spoke hastily, not so?” When this sally met with silence, she batted her eyelashes outrageously and cooed, “I’m very, very very, very very very sorry about the slap.”

  Kevin did not know whether to growl at her or melt. He settled for a befuddled half-smile. “Uh, it’s already forgotten.”

  Alliathiune perched on the bed, near him, and said, “This is what we know. Six Leaven seasons ago, we sighted a strange light in the starry expanse above the Hills. Apparently, it was first reported by a young Owl out hunting, but we Dryads received a message from the Grand Owl himself–Two Hoots by name.”

  “Two Hoots?” Kevin chuckled. “As in, ‘I don’t give two hoots’?”

  The Dryad threw him a glance that nearly singed his eyebrows. “Two Hoots is the oldest and wisest creature in all the Forests, and the Grand Owl of all Owls! Even Dryads and Unicorns defer to him!”

  “There’s a distinct pecking order, if you’ll excuse the pun,” Zephyr chipped in. “Without lengthy digression into the mores and characteristics of the many races of Driadorn, of which you’ll undoubtedly learn much in the lighttimes to come, you should understand that there is a hierarchy of power, a delicate balance much inclined to flux and conflict. Few are the alliances between the races. Mistrust runs deep. Ostensibly at the top are the Dryads, Unicorns, Fauns, and Owls amongst the magical creatures, and the many tribes of Men amongst those who boast little magic. But there are many others who vie for power–the Griffons, Witches, Shades, Wyverns, Eagles, and Lurks to name but a few–and yet thousands more who either operate petty chiefdoms or shun such conduct save when the tides of war wash over them. Then they are quick to seek our protection!”

  “There’s war in these Hills?”

  The Unicorn smiled at his tone of faint alarm. “Why fret, good Human, when you converse with two consummate practitioners of the arcane arts such as Alliathiune and I? The magic of Dryads is deep-rooted in the Forest. They are surpassingly wise in the ways of leaf and wind, of sap and all growing things, and in the bringing to life of things once thought dead. We Unicorns incline more to the mystical arts, to meditation, healing, astronomy, scholarly pursuits, and the like.”

  “Dryads grow
things; Unicorns seek knowledge.”

  Alliathiune’s contribution occasioned an indulgent flick of Zephyr’s mane. “Most succinct, noble Dryad. As you see, good outlander, Unicorns have a propensity for digression, whereas Dryads seek at once the root of the matter. Now, you mentioned a star, noble Alliathiune?”

  “Ah yes, now that you’ve finished interrupting me.”

  “These things require explanation.”

  Kevin was frankly astonished that two apparent friends could argue so violently, make peace, and tease each other with such abandon. Father would long ago have resorted to using his fists. At every level, this dream of his–a dream, he insisted–continued to shake his world until he hardly knew which way was up.

  “You two know each other well?”

  “Too well, sometimes,” said the Dryad, sharing a wry glance with the Unicorn. “Zephyr and I are unusual amongst our kinds, both in partnership and in friendship. After some debate, we came to believe that it was not a star, for it moved and behaved as if it were searching for something. The trees speak of this object crashing somewhere deep within the Old Forest, in the land of the Pixies–where few creatures venture, for Pixies are a cruel and fickle people, and fond of making sport of the unwary.”

  “Sport, meaning peeling hides and pickling eyes, for example,” Zephyr interjected.

  Kevin rather wished that detail had not been volunteered.

  “As the seasons turned, the sighting was forgotten,” said Alliathiune. “Shortly thereafter, troubling rumours began to circulate amongst the Hills. They were vague at first, tales of evil wizardry; tales of metal beasts roaming the Old Forest, soon followed by mutterings of Trolls and Glothums, Goblins, and the races that dwell in dark places far beneath the leafy Forest floor. We Dryads began to detect a change in the trees. There was a taint, a hint of sickness, and a sense of agitation amongst the enigmatic forest-dwellers, whose lairs lie deep within the Old Forest, in byways and thickets ne’er trod by the likes of you or I. And that was when the first signs of the Blight began to be felt–still undetectable save by the Dryads, who softly sought counsel of the elder races and those the Forest counts as friends.”