The Dryad

by Dante Silva

  Julian crouched outside the window of his room and peered through the now-closed shutter slats. The room was dark, and the door was closed, but all seemed normal. He pressed his fingernails into the seam of the shutter’s wooden frame, slowly applying pressure until it slid forward and swung toward him. He eased it open so it wouldn’t hit the outer wall of the house. Thank goodness Father forgot to latch it shut.

  Inside sounded as quiet as it looked. Julian had snuck in and out of his room plenty of times to escape into the night with friends or practice his lyre in peace, and he knew well that any sounds he made could attract his family’s attention—his father’s, mostly. But this wasn’t a night he’d just been out, and he couldn’t risk anyone trailing him once he left. He gripped the window frame, putting his weight on it and lifting himself further into the room. The wood of the house creaked as he pitched forward and swung his legs through the opening.

  He dropped into a silent crouch and listened. Nothing. Rather than risk walking around his bed to his pack, he rested his weight on the mattress and leaned forward, swiping his hand at the floor. The space where his pack should have been resting lay empty. He cursed inwardly.

  Father must have taken the pack, which would put it in the master bedroom. Entering that room through the window would be quieter than moving through the hall, but Julian doubted he would find that window unlatched. Returning during the afternoon would leave him exposed and easily spotted from the field. Waiting here until the house emptied during the day might work if no one came into his room, but the only real place to hide was under the bed, and on his way out he’d still have to make his way across the back field while Father and his brothers would be working.

  Determined, Julian pulled off his boots and tiptoed down the hall to his parents’ room. Traveling noiselessly over the floorboards required patience and precision. Reaching their door, he steeled himself and opened it. Terror at standing only feet away from his sleeping parents urged quick action, a desire he ignored. Rushing was sure to cause disaster.

  Julian spotted his pack on the floor under his father’s side of the bed. He held his breath as he crept forward, side-stepping a floorboard he knew creaked. Father and Mother lay in the bed, Father’s back to Julian and Mother facing him. She looked worried even as she slept, and Julian knew it was because of him. If only it didn’t have to be like this. One day he could return and explain—when he and Unharud had found their own way of life and had their own travels to tell stories about. For now though, it meant leaving without a goodbye. He pushed aside his remorse, grabbed his pack from under the bed, and made for the door.

  The floorboard shifted underneath his foot with a sharp creak. A hand gripped Julian’s arm hard enough to bruise him, and his stomach dropped as he turned to look at his father’s stormy face. “Going somewhere?”

  “YOU’LL work without pay. Lose your right to go to the festival. I’ll break that damn lyre in half if you don't tell me what you're up to!”

  Julian clenched his fists in his lap. A thousand brash remarks came to mind, but he remained steadfast, refusing to meet Father’s gaze or to answer his questions. It was morning, the beaming sun having no care for what unfolded in the farmhouse dining room. At least Zacharai and Elias were out working. Not that it mattered if they saw. The only thing that mattered was biding his time until he could get away again.

  “Ronic,” Mother said scathingly, “if you so much as scratch my family’s lyre, you’ll find yourself making your own dinners for the rest of your life.”

  Julian looked at Mother in surprise. She never threatened Father like that, and never made so much as a sound during heated arguments such as these. Anger radiated from her, cold and deadly.

  “Ninane?” Father said, recoiling like he’d been slapped.

  “I mean it,” she said. “I’ve chosen to pass down the lyre to Julian so that he can carry on my family’s legacy. If you expect me to stay and respect the life you built here, you will not cross me.”

  Father’s mouth dropped, his body tense with uncertainty. Mother stood firm. For a moment, it seemed she would turn and leave, scratched lyre or not.

  “Fine,” Father managed. “But Julian needs to be punished for lying and running off.” He turned his hard gaze on Julian. “You refuse to work on the farm and on your own. I think it’s time we try a different task, with someone who will make me look like a barrel of puppies. Ninane, I’m going to Brin’s. I need to call in a favor.”

  JULIAN scowled at the cart outside the barn door, the two attached horses flicking their tails to ward off flies. Father could have asked anyone in town to show up, yet he chose Brin. If the large, muscled man had been harmed from the chase through the woods, he didn’t show it. Arms the size of tree trunks checked a tarp that covered the cart bed. When asked what was under it, Brin simply growled, “No more questions from you.”

  Left with no choice but to wait, Julian climbed onto the cart seat. Father had the lyre, so Julian would have to suffer through the punishment until he could get the instrument back and run with it to Unharud. He was almost certain Mother would help him if he could manage to talk with her alone, but Father wasn’t letting Julian go anywhere without him. If he could run away from Brin, Julian supposed there was another option available. One with no punishment and a new lyre in his pack. But it’s not just any old heirloom. It’s mine, it’s my family’s, and I shouldn’t be forced to leave without it.

  At the front door to the farmhouse, Father put a hand on Mother’s shoulder, but she shrugged him off and went inside. Father clenched his fists before stalking toward the cart. He exchanged quiet words with Brin, glancing toward the road now and again. With one last clap on the arm, they bid each other goodbye, and Brin leapt into the cart beside Julian. Let this be over already.

  Julian let out a slow exhale as the cart lurched forward and carried them down the road, not bothering to fill the awkward silence that hung in the air. Cloma drew closer until Julian could pick out a couple of friends walking through the streets, but Brin turned and took the path to the woods, his expression giving nothing away. Cool shadows embraced them as they rolled under outstretched branches. The idea of anyone, especially Brin, coming near Unharud, set Julian on edge.

  “Where are we going?” Julian demanded.

  “Exactly where it looks like,” Brin said. “Stay close and follow my orders. There’s something out there that would have no problem causing you pain.”

  “There’s nothing in the woods but wildlife. Besides, you’ll have to tell me what we’re doing at some point if you expect me to work. Unless you’d like me to stay and watch the horses.”

  Brin’s eyes darted from side to side as they passed between the trees. “Don’t get smart with me, boy. I’ve seen what’s living out here, experienced its wrath, even if nobody else believes me. Your father thinks we’re out here just to chop some wood, but you’re going to help me keep Cloma safe and stay in one piece while doing it, which means following my orders without question.”

  Julian’s stomach dropped. “What have you seen?”

  “A banshee. I accidentally stumbled into her lair—just minding my own business—and then she used her magic to attack me. That voice...” He shuddered.

  “You were imagining things,” Julian scoffed.

  “I thought the same thing.” They rode deeper into the woods, Brin’s knuckles whitening as he gripped the reigns. “Then I saw her, a green woman by a glowing oak. We need to put an end to her before she does the same to us or anyone else unlucky enough to find her.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  Brin pulled the horses to a stop and cast Julian a suspicious glare. “Listen to me, boy. That thing would have killed me if I’d run any slower.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” Julian said, his voice cracking. “There’s no banshee.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Brin asked with an edge of menace.

  “No!” If I tell him about Unharud, I’ll break m
y promise, but if I don’t explain, he’ll go after her. “There is a woman in the woods, but she’s not a banshee and doesn’t want to harm anyone. She’s just scared of people.”

  “If she’s not a banshee, then what is she?” Brin stroked his beard. “And how do you know so much?”

  “Because...I’ve seen her too, and I helped her scare you off, but we didn’t mean to hurt you. We were protecting her home. Remember that man who traveled through town last year and talked about all sorts of magical creatures? He spoke about dryads too and never said anything about them being evil or wanting to kill people.”

  A light dawned in Brin’s eyes. “Dryads.”

  Julian nodded. “Right. She’s a peaceful dryad, so there’s no reason to go further. I’m sorry we hurt you. We can figure out something else for me to do as punishment.”

  “Dryads charm their enemies.”

  Julian started. “Well, that’s what the man said, but—”

  “If you’re working with her, then she’s already gotten to you,” Brin continued.

  “I’m not charmed!”

  “You don’t think you are, I’ll give you that.” Brin reached into the cart. “I’m sorry, boy, but this is for your own good.”

  Julian scrambled away from Brin but only made it halfway off the cart before being tugged to his seat by the back of his tunic. Twisting and shoving, he strained toward the edge of the bench. Hands like iron shackles locked around his wrists and forced his arms behind his back. Julian was strong with muscle built from laboring day after day, but he was a child compared to Brin’s burliness.

  “Why won’t you listen to me?” Julian pleaded. “Please, don’t do this.”

  Brin bound Julian’s wrists with coarse rope. “Don’t worry. Once I get rid of the dryad witch and that magic tree, you’ll return to your senses.”

  “Don’t touch either of them,” Julian snarled.

  A beat passed as Brin considered Julian. “Maybe you can still help me.”

  The rope cut into Julian’s wrists as Brin yanked him from the seat. His right foot hit the ground at an angle, sending a shooting pain through his ankle. Given no choice but to limp along with Brin, he gritted his teeth through the pain and stumbled to the rear of the cart. Brin threw back the tarp to reveal a slew of axes and other tools. He hefted a large axe in one hand and kept a hold on Julian’s wrists with the other. “Let’s get moving, you in the lead.”

  Julian dug his heels into the undergrowth to no avail while Brin pushed him forward. Nothing would deter Brin from his warpath, but Unharud still had time to act. They were close enough to the copse that she would be able to hear them, to know they were coming.

  “Unharud!” Julian shouted. He twisted against the ropes until his skin rubbed raw, but it was no use. “Unharud, get out of here. Run away!”

  “She’d best take your advice,” Brin said, unfazed. “That will make the job of getting the wood easier.”

  “Wood? The tree isn't just wood, it’s...” Sacred.

  “It’s going to make us fine coin, payment for our service to Cloma.”

  Julian lunged to the side, hooked his feet on roots, went limp, but Brin kept marching them forward until they finally reached the copse. It was empty. Now he needed to figure out a way to get rid of Brin. “This isn’t the right spot. No one’s here.”

  “I’ll never forget the look of that tree.” Brin brandished the axe dangerously close to Julian’s face. “Come out! Let’s see how much you care about the men you charm.”

  Unharud appeared in the copse, fists at her side, eyes glued to Julian. The usual happy warmth in her eyes was replaced with determination and fear.

  “Unharud, you need to protect yourself.” He forced intonation into his words, hoping she would glean understanding from them. “Don’t worry about what happens to me. Use your magic.”

  “Not so brave now that I have your pet,” Brin said, holding Julian close like a shield. “If you find him useful, you won’t try anything, will you?”

  Unharud chanted, and wind swirled about the copse in a rapid start, intensifying with every syllable she uttered and billowing Unharud’s hair out behind her. The oak glowed, its branches roiling and reaching.

  Julian stilled as the sharp edge of the axe pressed against his chest. He wouldn’t...but if he’s set on killing Unharud, even after seeing her clearly, I’m not safe either. Brin pressed the axe harder, and Julian winced at the bite.

  The wind died. Brin pulled Julian closer to the oak, but Unharud just watched with a tense gaze. No breeze, animal, or insect disturbed the copse as they inched forward. Julian screamed at her with his eyes, willed her to muster every bit of magic she had, but nothing changed. When they reached the oak, Brin lifted his axe in warning. Still, she remained at the center of the copse, her face full of worry.

  Brin tilted the axe, then brought it down on the oak with a thwack. Unharud clutched her stomach, gaping in shock and pain. The entire wood trembled about them as she faltered back a step, her wide eyes the most terrifying sight Julian had ever seen. Anger burst to life inside him, and he thrashed and shouted in Brin’s grip, needing to get to her.

  Yanking his axe from the oak single-handed, Brin lifted it once more and hacked at the tree. Unharud collapsed to her knees, her form flickering before Julian like a sputtering candle. With a hard shove, Julian freed himself from Brin’s grasp and spun on the woodcutter. He charged the bigger man, hoping to knock him over or incapacitate him in some way, even if his hands were still bound.

  “Sorry, boy.” Brin planted a boot in the center of Julian’s chest, and the young man careened across the copse, landing on the soft earth beside Unharud. He gasped for air and doubled over, the kick having felt more like that of a mule than that of a man.

  Once he regained his senses, he scooted closer to her, his voice soft and shaking. “Unharud...”

  Brin grasped the axe with both hands and swung. The axe bit deep into the trunk, and Unharud tightened into a ball with a strangled cry. She flickered again, but Julian managed to press his forehead to hers. “Unharud, I’m here. Use your magic to stop him!”

  Tears slipped down her drawn cheeks. “I can’t. The tree and my magic—” Thwack. She winced with another flicker. “When he held the axe against you, I was afraid.”

  “I’m all right now, but we have to get you untethered from your tree. Brin won’t stop until it’s down.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  Julian searched through his scattered thoughts in the moment’s respite. “What about the gateway? Can you go back through it?”

  “M-maybe, but I don’t know where it would lead me. Without a gatekeeper, I can’t control where I would end up in the fey realm...but passing through would untether me from my companionship tree. It did before.”

  He kissed her. “Hold onto me. I’ll take us to your oak, and we can both go through.”

  Unharud shifted onto her hands and knees, shaking from the effort. She wrapped feeble arms around his shoulders and pressed herself against his back, cringing with each of Brin’s swings. Julian pushed them into a precarious standing position and took tentative steps forward, watching Brin and keeping them in his blind spot. The growing gash in the oak covered half the circumference of the tree, but he forced himself not to rush.

  A strangled groan tore from Unharud’s throat. “Julian...”

  The oak shuddered as they fell against its unstable trunk opposite Brin and unravelled from each other. Unharud braced herself against the tree and traced its bark, following the ridges with whispered words in her fey language. “My companionship tree is willing to use the last of its strength to open the gateway for us. It won’t stay open long, so we must be swift.” She studied his face. “The fey realm is dangerous, and we don’t know where this gateway will lead us.”

  “I made you a promise.” He claimed her lips once more. “And if you could come here once, we can find a way back again. I’m going with you.”

  A glow
emanated from the oak, and Unharud’s head snapped to the side. “It’s time.”

  Light swirled in a small pool over the trunk like the reflection of sunlight on water. She squeezed his shoulders and leaned toward the gateway, gracing him with a pained smile full of happiness and hope. Her green eyes shifted over his shoulder and widened. “Hurry!”

  He leaned forward, but something held him, kept him from moving with Unharud. His wrists burned as the rope pulled him back from the gateway and broke him from her grip. Her fingers brushed his neck as she fell backward into the light, filling him with a bout of her panic and an image of them sitting on a sandy shore. “I promise...”

  Unharud disappeared beyond the gateway, and the beautiful oak could support itself no longer, crashing into the smaller trees in a fit of thrashing branches. Julian lay splayed on the grass, staring at the empty space before him.

  HOURS rolled by as Brin chopped the tree and filled the back of the cart. Julian’s tears had stopped long before the job was done, but his aching wrists were left bound during the journey home. Mother exited the farmhouse at their arrival, took one horrified look at Julian, and ran to his side. She pulled him off the cart before rounding on Brin. “What’s the meaning of this? What have you done to my son?”

  “I haven’t done anything that wasn’t for his own good,” Brin said.

  “My own good?” Julian spat. “You threatened to kill me!”

  “I saved your life!”

  “By tying his wrists?” Mother shouted, putting herself between Julian and the cart. “If I ever see you with any of my children again, I’ll set that cart of yours ablaze!”

  “Ninane?” Father jogged out of the field. “Is there trouble?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “Your son is tied up and had his life put in danger thanks to this ‘friend’ of yours.”