by B. V. Larson
“I’m eating this rat, see? Plenty for you. I’ll cut some more.”
“Thanks—but what about the elves?”
Ivor gestured vaguely into the trees. “They back there somewhere. The village fell down. We had to go.”
“We? Who’s with you?”
“My uncle.”
“Which Uncle?” asked Trev, thinking of his own elfish uncles. He shared the set with Ivor, as strange as that was to contemplate. None of them were overly pleasant to be around. They were stern and odd. They might play pipes or dance with you—but you’d best keep your wits and your purse strings tight.
“New Uncle,” said Ivor speaking around a mouthful of hot rat-meat. “He’s a tree.”
At that the dragon gave a sigh of disgust. She blew a jet of flame as she did so, nearly searing Ivor in the process.
“Watch that, dragon-friend!” complained the ogre.
“Where is this, ah, tree-uncle?” Trev asked, examining the forest around them. If one of these were able to walk, they could all be in danger. He knew from long association that the Fae were capable of almost anything.
“Not so big as these,” Ivor said, honking with laughter. He chomped on a rat haunch the size of an ox leg and offered another to Trev.
Trev politely refused, saying he wasn’t hungry. The dragon wasn’t so delicate about it and took the offered meat. She chewed it and burned it until it was charcoal-black in her mouth.
“Interesting flavor,” she said. “Gamey, but at the same time smooth upon the palate. Far better than Kindred meat or kobold.”
“Kindred meat?” asked Ivor in alarm.
“Ivor, just where did your uncle go?” Trev asked.
“He over there. At the big dead tree. He’s always at the big dead tree. He’s trying to make it grow again.”
Trev’s mouth opened slowly and hung there. Who was trying to make a big dead tree grow again? An uncle who was a tree? He could only think of one individual who might fit that bizarre description.
“Myrrdin,” he said aloud.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s it. That’s what they call him. He’s kind of mean, but he’s family. We have to get along—that’s what mama always says.”
“Right,” Trev said.
The dragon was looking at them. “Do you really think he’s talking about Myrrdin? An elf with a Jewel of Power nearby? What are the odds?”
“Quite good, if it’s true.”
“Myrrdin, yeah,” muttered Ivor to himself. “That’s right name.”
The ogre began working on a slab of ribs. The growing smell of the burning rat made Trev wrinkle his nose.
“Should we talk to this uncle of yours?” Fafna asked him.
Trev considered. He’d come to the Great Erm to talk to Myrrdin and Oberon. Of the two, he was more frightened of Oberon. It was true that no one had heard from Myrrdin in a decade, but before that he’d had a good reputation.
He nodded his head at last. “Yes. Let’s go talk to him.”
* * *
Myrrdin was not pleased to see the ogre returning through the forests. He smelled of burnt things—of seared flesh, woodsmoke and…and…
Myrrdin spun around as fast as his massive body of living wood would allow. The others approaching him stepped back hurriedly as he spun to face them.
Peering out of holes in the trunk left there for this very purpose, the fleshy being within the great tree that was still Myrrdin gazed at the approaching trio in surprise. A young elf—or was it a man? And a dragon? It could be nothing else! This then was what had alerted him, the unmistakable odor of brimstone and ash in a forest full of living green things.
Last trailed Ivor, that idiot of a nephew. He looked like a beaten cur. Perhaps he knew, or at least suspected, that his uncle would not be pleased to meet these strangers here.
Myrrdin’s first instinct was to stride forward and slay them all. A blow from a foot as heavy as a falling log would crush down the elf-thing. The dragon might take flight, and he might attempt to burn the tree, but with a flurry of swatting branches Myrrdin felt sure he could bat him down as a man might a fowl that seeks to take flight to evade a farmer’s boots. Once stricken and dashed to the ground, the first necessity would be the plucking of the leathery wings. Fortunately, the dragon was quite young. The battle would be one-sided.
But even as these thoughts came to him, others did as well and they warred together in his heart. Had he been discovered? Were these only the advanced scouts of an elven army, coming here even now to bring him down? He had to know the truth, and so it was best to entreat with these tiny beings before he let his true intentions be known.
Counter to this thought was the first impulse, which urged him to strike now with urgency. If the dragon or the elf somehow escaped his wrath, they would surely report his position and all would be lost.
He simply wasn’t ready to do battle with all of Oberon’s elves. He would be ready soon—but not yet. His newfound treasure had yet to be exploited. The great tree wasn’t even fully alive again yet, despite the face he’d made terrific progress toward awakening it.
And so at last, within several tense seconds, Myrrdin relented. He realized they were talking to him. These puny beings of mere flesh dared to make their piping noises at his feet. Really, it was disgusting.
“Hmm? What, what?” he said at last. “Please excuse me, I wasn’t expecting visitors. Could you repeat that please? I was listening to thoughts of my own, within my own head.”
“I see,” said the dragon coldly. “I was saying we were pleased to meet you, Myrrdin of the Green.”
Myrrdin paused, his eyes rolling wildly from one of them to the next. He was filled with angst and rage. Already, he’d been identified and singled out. How had a dragon known about his retrieval of the Green Jewel, Vaul? If his solitary kind knew of his status and of his return to the world of powerful people, everyone must know.
“Ah,” the wizard managed, making the single utterance sound strangled. “Uh, to whom am I speaking?”
The dragon heaved an irritated sigh. The other two, seemingly with the wisdom of experience, ducked away as he did so. A shot of red flame escaped his mouth.
“I’m Fafna,” she said as one might repeat oneself to a slow child. “This is Trev, and Ivor. Both profess to being your nephews—although how the three of you oddlings are related I’m sure I don’t fathom.”
Myrrdin paused again, but it was a short pause this time. Then he released a nearly hysterical bray of laughter.
“Trev!” he shouted at last. “Of course, how did I not recognize you?”
“Because it’s been a dozen years and I’ve grown a lot, Uncle.”
“Exactly so. Still, one should recognize one’s own kin, should one not? I’m pleased to see you and embarrassed I failed to know you as my own.”
“Not a problem, sir,” Trev said. “But could you explain to us—how you came to be in your present state?”
“Eh? Oh—oh, of course. Naturally. You must be full of curiosity. Full of questions.” Myrrdin tried not say these last words with intensity of feeling, but he failed. These people might be kin, but they could very well be spies all the same. And once they reported back to Oberon what he was doing here, all might be lost. The great tree was still a stump, after all. It would not be ready to do battle for long months.
The others were looking at him expectantly, and after a few seconds, he came to realize why.
“Oh yes, about my appearance…”
He plucked at himself as if embarrassed. Bark curled under his scratching branches and his leaves rustled.
“It’s an accident, you see. I have a Jewel—Vaul, have you heard of it?”
“Why yes, naturally,” Trev answered. “And everyone in the Haven knows you’re its master.”
“Really? Well, that’s very gratifying. For you see, I lost it for a time. And when I retrieved it, I was taken by surprise to feel its power again. It consumed me, to some extent.”
“Ah,” said Trev, “I’ve heard about that effect of the Green . Isn’t that what happened to the giant in the forest? The one you found with Brand? It was consumed, becoming a tree with Vaul at its heart.”
“Just so. But in my case, I’ve managed to control the situation and turn it into a benefit. I’ve got a new body that serves my purposes very well.”
Trev nodded. Myrrdin thought it was clear the boy doubted him. That was just fine, as long as the little tramp kept his opinions to himself.
“Back to the topic of the Dark Jewels, Uncle,” Trev said. “Can you possibly help me there? I’ve come to you for advice on how to find the last two.”
Myrrdin’s bark folded into a frown over his eyeholes. “The last two? Are you saying you’ve located one of the three?”
“Have you not heard? More than a decade ago, a Storm of the Dead arose. King Arawn led the storm personally, and he held the Black while he did so.”
“A decade ago,” Myrrdin echoed thoughtfully. He’d known it had been a long while since he’d been aware of current events in the Haven, but this news brought it home. “How did this calamity end?”
“Brand bested the Arawn with my father’s help. Unfortunately, Puck did not survive the conflict.”
“I see…sad events, to be sure,” Myrrdin said without a hint of grief in his voice. He’d never loved Puck—he’d respected his half-brother, but not so much that he would miss him. “What of the Black now? What was its fate?”
“Necron lies in the Drake crypt in Riverton. At least, that’s where it was the last time I saw it. The Jewel has been sealed inside the crypt and none are allowed to enter.”
Myrrdin’s trunk creaked as he tilted his leafy crown to one side. “Interesting. A daring thing, leaving such a powerful artifact unowned. Anyone could break in…but I digress from answering your questions. So far, you’ve imparted more worthwhile information to me than I have to you on this topic! Hmm, the Dark Jewels, what can I tell you of them?”
Myrrdin paced then, causing the ground to darken as he smashed it with his heavy, treading roots.
“Firstly,” he said, “I would talk of the White Jewel. None have seen it for a very long time. It only appears once every cycle, or so goes the legend.”
“What cycle?”
“Have you not heard? No? Then we must discuss the basics first. The Jewels are at least partly sentient, you know that, right?”
“Yes, of course. Brand says Ambros talks to him with words in his mind at times.”
“Humph…and the call me mad,” Myrrdin muttered. “But it’s quite possible. They do communicate and interact with their masters in a variety of ways. They also behave differently during certain times—times understood only by the Jewels themselves.”
Trev frowned. “You mean they have seasons?”
“Yes! That’s a good way to think of it. But these seasons aren’t like winter, or summer. They’re more like a rutting time, a time of madness, jealousy and rivalry. They seek one another during these moments, becoming more active and energetic.”
“Like the battles we’ve been having lately—by lately I mean over the last twenty years or so.”
“Exactly, this is clearly a time of increased activity for the Jewels. In any case, it’s only at a peak of such a season when the White Jewel will reveal itself to someone. Then that being will play a fateful part in the next conflict.”
“That doesn’t sound positive.”
“It rarely is with the Jewels. Such gifts they are, but like any sword, they can cut with either side of the blade.”
“So, if I can’t find the White by searching, I have to wait for it to appear?”
“Yes, but fortunately, you don’t have to worry about that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? This witch you met, Morgana. She wields the White. I would bet my last acorn upon it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She fits the profile closely. Mysterious, unknown, with power over the minds of others. The White gives one the power of the sorcerer. What I don’t understand is why she’s seeking the location of all the other Jewels. That sort of thing is dangerous.”
“How so?”
“No one knows exactly what happens if all the Nine meet, but the legends hint at an unimaginable cataclysm.”
“Oh. Well, could you tell me of the Quicksilver then?”
Myrrdin stopped pacing and stood, looming over Trev. “The Quicksilver is unlike all the rest. It avoids them. It repels them. It is immune to the others. Its power is to restrict the power of its brothers.”
“Ah, and what does it look like?”
“That’s not clear. I do believe it is similar in nature to the Bloodhound, however.”
“How do you mean?”
“It can take the shape of a living being.”
Trev’s mouth opened, then shut again. He lifted a finger high, as if getting a sudden idea.
“Could it be that—that Morgana is the Quicksilver?” he asked.
“Hmm,” said Myrrdin. “I suppose, but if she was, why would she be seeking all the rest? And besides, I’ve always been of the opinion that the Quicksilver is somewhat more like the hound. It should be small and easily carried.”
Trev nodded. “You’ve been most helpful, Uncle.”
Trev walked past Myrrdin a dozen paces. Myrrdin’s gaze followed him closely. The boy put his hands on his hips, examining the huge stump which was now covered in leafy growths.
“Just what is this thing you’re so focused on? Some kind of cliff of dirt or…I believe this is wood, isn’t it?”
“That’s an experiment of mine, Trev,” Myrrdin said. “Don’t touch it—those shoots are poisonous.”
Trev backed away obediently, but Myrrdin wasn’t satisfied. Out of the sight of the others, within the bowels of his tree-body, the ancient wizard’s staring eyes narrowed. He didn’t like the dangers these three seeming fools represented. Certainly, the dragon wasn’t a mooncalf. The creature sat quietly, listening to all that transpired. She probably knew more than she was admitting to. Likewise, Myrrdin doubted Trev was as foolhardy as he seemed, either. The boy had to have some of Puck’s wily blood in his veins.
Myrrdin lifted a wooden finger to his trunk and tapped it there. The sound was like that of a woodpecker hammering for its dinner. The others looked at him warily.
“What are you thinking about, Wizard?” asked Fafna.
“Ah—just how to care for my guests. I’m not accustomed to visitors, you see. And now you’ve provided me with a particular problem, dragon.”
“How so?”
“You’re a carnivore in search of special fare. Like Ivor, who seeks meat like a carrion bird. You two aren’t easy for me to provide for. All that I have grows from the ground, you see.”
“Oh, is that all? Have no fear on such an account. You don’t need to feed us. Already, I’ve enjoyed some of Ivor’s rodent.”
“Are you sated then?”
“Well…no,” admitted the young dragon.
The leaves of Myrrdin’s crown rustled and he nodded his head as if in confirmation of his suspicions. In truth, he could not care less if the dragon starved at his feet. His worries had to do with what these three had witnessed—and to whom they might tell their tale if they were allowed to leave.
Nonchalantly, Myrrdin turned and strode to the nearest living tree and touched its bark. It was a fine pine, a monster of its kind, soaring nearly a thousand feet tall. He touched it, and felt it shiver in response. Then he went to another tree, an oak this time, and rubbed its rough skin as if soothing a pet.
“What are you doing, Uncle?” asked Ivor.
Myrrdin turned back to the trio and tried to fashion a smile on the bark that encrusted his eye holes. He wasn’t entirely successful, and the hideous grin of rippled wooden skin caused the others to blanch noticeably.
“I’m seeking fresh game for you!” Myrrdin lied smoothly. “I’m asking the trees what the
y have seen nearby—or what they may have hiding high in their branches. This one, the oak, tells me a family of squirrels that gnaws at his young on a daily basis, and would rather have them removed from his person.”
The others blinked at him.
“The tree’s young?” asked Trev, baffled.
“Yes, acorns, we call them.”
“Oh, of course.”
There was an awkward pause.
Finally, Ivor spoke to Trev: “Uncle is being nice. I’m glad you’re here now. He must like you more than he does me.”
Trev chuckled with embarrassment. “That’s a very kind offer, Uncle,” he said. “Are you interested in going on a squirrel hunt, Fafna?”
“That depends. What’s a squirrel, anyway?”
Trev described a rodent like the rat they’d roasted, a cleaner beast of similar size.
“Clean meat?” asked the dragon curiously. “What do you mean by ‘clean’?”
“Well, squirrels raised on nuts from the tree must have a much better flavor than a rat, which subsists on muck found at ground level.”
The dragon began to understand the possibilities. Her mouth slavered with glowing red embers.
“Have a care, this is a forest, you know.”
“I’ll do it,” said the dragon. “Let’s go hunt this pack of tree-rats.”
“Can I come?” asked Ivor.
“No, you’ll weigh down my wings like a stone.”
Ivor looked crestfallen.
Myrrdin, who’d been watching the exchange carefully, now raised a wooden finger the size of a walking stick. “Could I trouble you to stay here a moment, Trev?” he asked. “I have family matters to discuss.”
“Certainly, Uncle,” Trev said, but it was clear he’d rather ride the dragon into the trees to seek squirrels.
Without further discussion, the dragon launched herself into the air and flapped hard. Going straight up was difficult for her kind, so she spiraled around the tree as she rose. Once, twice, thrice around she went.
Then Myrrdin reached out his wooden hands and applied them to the trunk of the tree the dragon circled. He loosed a cackle of delight as the tree shook and rustled in response to his touch.
