The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy)

by Michael J Sanford

  His mind flickered to his previous battle on the field. Acid fury pulsed through his veins and his grip tightened on his wand. He sent forth a wave of fire, searing a crowd of goblins. He paused to listen to their cries, and grinned. Craig will wish himself as lucky next time.

  In a matter of moments, he reduced the entire goblin army to ash. Satisfied, he dropped onto the bed, awash in sweat, gulping air.

  “Wyatt, you’re up!” Mr. Alec called from the hallway.

  He took another moment to survey his handiwork and catch his breath before tucking the wand into the waist band of his shorts and heading for the bathroom.

  “What are we doing after lunch?” Wyatt asked as the water ran over his hands. It was ice cold.

  Mr. Alec leaned back in a rolling office chair, his legs propped against the wall near the bathroom door. “After lunch, you’ll have some chores to do and then we’ll head back outside for an extra rec’ if everyone does what they need to and we don’t have any more issues.”

  “Like casting make believe spells like an idiot?”

  Wyatt whirled at the voice. Craig stood grinning in the open doorway directly opposing the bathroom.

  Mr. Alec smiled and looked to Wyatt. “Yeah, no more magic crap.”

  “It’s not crap,” Wyatt said. He flicked his wet hands at Craig. “Water!” he shouted and grinned lopsidedly.

  The tall teen made to lunge at him, but Mr. Alec rolled in front of him before he could move. “Knock it off, Wyatt. We don’t start crap here,” he shouted.

  Wyatt scowled. Craig held up a pair of middle fingers and smirked. Wyatt brought a hand to his waist band, fingering the end of his wand beneath his superhero t-shirt. He wanted nothing more than to unleash an unrelenting tempest of lightning, fire, and wind, but thought better of it. In such close confines, it would be difficult to avoid collateral damage. You lucked out again, Craig…

  He had turned back to the sink when Craig said something that set his blood to a boil. The words plunged into his mind like a hot knife, bringing his rage to a head. The words themselves were lost immediately, but the anger remained.

  Mr. Alec said something as Wyatt lunged, but his mind was otherwise engaged and he couldn’t process it. All he saw was Craig’s stupid grin. He drew the wand and thrust it at the grin in one motion as if it were a dagger. There was a time for spells and a time for pure physical violence. This was the latter.

  He couldn’t tell if he ever reached the grinning bully. Something solid slammed into his chest, drove him into a wall, and dragged him away from his prey. Craig’s laughter rang off the concrete walls and echoed within Wyatt’s skull. He protested in fits and starts, spraying spittle and shouting things even he couldn’t decipher. His vision was clouded with blacks and reds. The pressure in his ears was overwhelming. Surely his head would rupture.

  Back in the corner room of Dorm B, he caught his breath enough to stand on his own. In another moment, his vision cleared. Mr. Alec loomed in the doorway, a firm scowl pasted on his bearded face. He was shouting something and gesturing wildly, but Wyatt’s ears found no sound and he couldn’t read lips.

  Wyatt’s senses didn’t completely recover until Mr. Alec left and the back hallway emptied as the other residents transitioned to the front for lunch. Wyatt collapsed onto the edge of his bed just as Ms. Abagail rolled into view. She propped her legs against his door frame and took a swig from a colored can.

  “That stuff is bad for you,” he said without looking up from the floor. He could feel every vein twitch beneath his skin.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said and took another long draw. “But, you don’t want to see me without my caffeine. I get all crazy.” She drew a wide circle around her ear with her finger.

  Wyatt arched his bushy black eyebrows and glanced in her direction, but said nothing.

  “Kind of a crazy first day, huh?” she said.

  Wyatt shrugged. “It’s OK. I won’t be here long.”

  “Yeah, you told me. Look, it was real sucky of Craig to mention your grandma like that, but you can’t just attack people here.”

  “I hate him,” Wyatt blurted. His hands tensed into claws and a flood of emotions washed over him again. How dare he talk about her.

  He gritted his teeth and stood. Ms. Abagail was saying something, he could see her mouth move in between gulps of energy drink, but the words were lost in the tempest that swirled throughout the room. Where did the storm come from? His eyes darted about, searching. Lightning struck his desk and thunder shook the walls. I need to escape…

  His eyes fell on the tall wooden wall locker in the far corner of the room. The urge to hide was too much to resist. Ms. Abagail called after him as he curled into the tight confines, but her voice sounded distant and garbled, as if she was underwater. Or he was.

  The wall locker was little more than an upright coffin. It was a tight squeeze for a boy of fifteen who, admittedly, was a little thick of body. Wyatt’s knees pressed against both the unyielding wood and his own chest. His arms crossed on top, each hand wrapped around the opposing shoulder. His broad hips forbade the door from shutting all the way and a sliver of light transected his prison.

  The violent tremor in his body fell away at once and his head cleared in the tight space. His mind still swam with visions of his knuckles against Craig’s smirking face, but the tight walls wrapped him in stifling comfort. Outside, the strange storm raged, tearing at the wooden furniture. He doubted the bolts would hold for much longer.

  Absently, he reached into the collar of his shirt and drew out the long hempen string that always hung from his neck. A piece of driftwood the size of his thumb hung from it. The wood was crude and asymmetrical, roughly polished, smooth in some places and splintered in others. The jade stone embedded within it glowed in stark opposition to the drab wood. It was no larger than his thumbnail, dark green, and perfectly smooth. It sparkled in the shaft of light and was warm to the touch.

  It always brought comfort to look at it and he would often lose himself staring into the tranquil jade stone. He did so now, freeing his mind from all thoughts. He ran a finger over the wood and drew it across the stone. He pulled back suddenly, slamming his elbow against the wall locker. He plunged his finger into his mouth and stared incredulously at the gemstone. It burned me.

  Something in the stone caught his attention. It looked like a spark, an almost imperceptible movement of light and energy. It arrested his heart and the pain in his finger faded from consciousness. There, another spark. And another. They bounced wildly within the jade gemstone, lighting it up like an ember of green fire.

  “What the…” he whispered, drawing the pendant in line with his eyes.

  He slowly brought his finger to it again. As soon as his finger grazed the smooth surface a jolt of fiery pain shot up his arm and forced him to pull back. His head smacked against the wall, but his gaze never wavered.

  Eyes wide, he watched as another spark flitted across the stone and burst from the surface, spiraling into the shadows of the cramped wall locker. A pair of sparks soon followed, bursting toward the top of the space, banishing shadows as they floated down to him. The amulet glowed brightly and a cascade of green sparks burst forth, momentarily blinding him. When he could see again, hundreds of sparks filled the space, slowly floating down to cover Wyatt in a green glow. He sat rigid, not that the space allowed much movement.

  The mysterious sparks pulsed and shifted. Thin tendrils sprouted from the mystical orbs and crept along his legs and arms. Magic seeds, Wyatt thought, as he watched them pulse and grow. Ethereal roots grabbed at his body and pressed tightly against his soft flesh. Wyatt gasped and found he couldn’t breathe. The tendrils of energy had reached his neck and were slowly twisting around, cutting off his air. Warmth flooded over him and the light grew too bright to bear. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself against the prying green seeds.

  It felt as if his body was on fire. He was being burned alive. Consumed. Is this what it feels like to
die?

  And then it was gone. The warmth, the light, the crackle of a million impossible sparks…

  He eased his eyes open.

  It was all gone.

  Chapter Three

  HIS VISION WAS blurred and muddy. He stumbled to his feet and slowly turned in a circle, both frowning and squinting. Wyatt wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but it was certainly not his new room on Dorm B. He pulled off his glasses and examined the lenses. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. Everything was clear, although he still couldn’t be sure of what he was seeing.

  Dark spears of rugged wood rose from the ground, thick and knotted, tightly spaced for as far as Wyatt could see. It wasn’t far; the forest was dusk dark.

  “No way,” he said, turning in wonder.

  Something akin to moss cradled his feet. It was dark blue and covered the entire forest floor in a soft carpet. It crept up the trunk of every tree, reaching far over his head in some places. He pulled off his stained socks and wiggled his toes against it.

  He pressed a hand to a nearby trunk bare of moss. Its bark was rough and nearly black in color. Perhaps it was black, but the strangeness of such a notion made Wyatt dizzy. It must be dark brown, he thought. The mighty, dark monoliths stood stalwart and silent, none more narrow than a half dozen feet across. Most were far thicker.

  Wyatt looked skyward, wondering how far the strange trees reached. He could not discern any canopy or even branches, but what he did see stole his breath.

  Millions of tiny orange orbs, not unlike the green ones that had stolen him there, buzzed and danced amongst the shadows, hundreds of feet above. They danced and darted like a million playful fireflies. He tried to follow their movements, but soon became lost in the larger ballet. A faint hum descended and Wyatt lost himself in the barely perceptible symphony. It was beautiful.

  He had no sense of how long he stood with his face turned up, but suddenly he jerked back in control, remembering the strangeness of his situation. He spun around again, trying to decipher what he was seeing and feeling. A deep breath seemed to melt his muscles. The air smelled of cinnamon and the soft moss was plush and inviting. But, he couldn’t sleep now. Who knew how much more there was to see?

  “Well,” he said to the forest. “Time to explore.” I am Wyatt the Mighty, after all.

  He looked to his glasses and then to the surrounding clarity. He shrugged and tossed them over his shoulder. No direction was discernibly different from any other, so he began walking the way he happened to be facing. It seemed sensible.

  He brushed every tree he passed and danced around a few, his feet rejoicing with each step in the soft moss. He began to hum in tune with the orange orbs high above and skipped from tree to tree, a smile splitting his face in two.

  Catching an exposed root and being upended onto the forest floor did little to dissuade his ecstasy. The moss wrapped him in warm security. A distant light caught his attention as he rolled upright. It was the first change he had seen in the strange forest. How could he ignore it? He stumbled to his feet and skipped after the light, a strange sensation urging him to hurry.

  “Glowing trees?” he said in wonder as he reached the spot.

  The five trees were blindingly white with smooth trunks, each similar in size to the surrounding forest. The five stood alone, the dark forest forming a sharp border around the tight ring. Even the moss terminated and turned abruptly to damp soil.

  Wyatt entered the ring and spun until he felt dizzy. Each tree glowed with radiant white light, bathing Wyatt in warmth and forcing him to squint.

  “This is awesome,” he yelled as he walked the circle with childlike awe, brushing each trunk with his hand. Smooth and warm. Alive.

  As if in response to his admiration, the branches of the trees swayed silently in the still air. Wyatt stood rooted as an intertwined web of branches descended in front of him. A large bundle of brightly colored fruit hung heavy from the center. Wyatt admired the attractive bundle, ignoring the strangeness of its arrival. Five uniformly oval fruits drooped from spindly stalks. Each was a different color; blue, red, yellow, green, and orange. They resembled mangoes. A strange hunger rose in his gut and a thin line of drool escaped the corner of his mouth.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he said to no one as he grabbed the nearest one.

  Its orange skin was flawless and smooth, begging to be eaten. Wyatt was all too eager to oblige. The flesh was soft, moist, and deep purple in color. Sweet juice ran down his chin. It tasted faintly of strawberries, or perhaps blueberries. No, it was most similar to a banana or a peach. No, pineapple. Apple? Grapes? Each bite brought a different flavor. His head spun at the complexity.

  Something seized his wrist and halted his ravenous feast just as Wyatt was moving for another bite. He leaned back in surprise and saw a thick coil of radiant white wrapped securely around his wrist. Wyatt dropped the fruit and pried at the snare with his free hand. In an instant, a second white vine snaked down the first and seized his wrist. His eyes went wide in horror and, grunting loudly, pulled against his bonds.

  “Let. Go. Stupid. Tree,” he said between pulls.

  The vines did not yield, instead pulling tighter and wrenching Wyatt off the ground. He yelped and looked down to see his feet swiping at empty air just a foot from the forest floor. He twisted wildly, trying to pull free. Curse you hunger, he thought, but he knew he would have handled the fruit regardless. He just couldn’t help it.

  After several minutes of futile effort, he relented and let himself swing lazily from side to side. His face was bathed in sweat and his wrists screamed out in pain. He thought his arms would pull free from his shoulders at any moment.

  “This just got a lot less awesome.”

  Something moved outside the ring of white trees, but vanished from view as he spun to his right. What was that? He grunted and swung his legs, using his weight to pull himself back to the left. A small patch of green ferns seemed to have grown from nothing at the edge of his prison, half in the shadows. That wasn’t there before…

  He swung away and when he spun back the ferns had moved. The large mound was just inside the ring of trees now. A pit formed in Wyatt’s stomach. Nothing he had seen so far made a lot of sense, but the small patch of ferns made him especially uneasy.

  His movement slowed and he came to a tenuous rest facing the ferns. Something was certainly off about the plants and not just that they could move on their own. The ferns shifted abruptly.

  “Ah!” Wyatt shouted.

  The wide green leaves twitched and shook as one. A thick brown snout appeared and slowly split into a snarl, vivid white fangs glowing in the ambient light. Green ferns parted and folded against the lean, muscular body of a wolf. Tall ears shot up, fringed with dark green tufts of fur. It took Wyatt a moment to process what he was seeing. The fern was the wolf and the wolf was the fern. The green plant grew from fur and shifted as the snarling beast crouched. Piercing green eyes fixed on Wyatt.

  He twitched and shook, his feet swiping feebly at the air, but the vines held him fast. The wolf stalked Wyatt in a wide circle. Its thick fur was a mottled mosaic of greens and browns, though most was hidden beneath the green ferns. An especially dense patch of ferns grew from the top of its thick neck and fanned out with each growl.

  Wyatt’s eyes flashed from the fangs to the thick black claws that sprouted from each giant paw. It was far larger than any wolf had a right to be. Suspended a foot off the ground, Wyatt felt small and insignificant.

  It stopped pacing and leaned back on its haunches in a predatory crouch. It was coming, he knew. He wanted to scream, but his mouth had gone dry and it was difficult to take a breath with his arms stretched above his head. He wanted to shut his eyes, but found they would not obey. He had no choice but to watch as the giant wolf lunged for his throat.

  A sharp whistle split the air and the wolf let out a howl as it fell to the side. A black feathered arrow protruded from its chest. The beast snarled and shook his head from side to side. The f
erns twitched like muscled skin as the wolf surveyed the surrounding shadows, desperate to identify the threat. Wyatt did the same.

  “Help,” he gasped. It came as little more than a whisper.

  Another arrow flashed from nowhere and struck the wolf in the side of the neck. It staggered for a moment, but then reared with a sharp bark to face the direction the arrow had flown from. Another seemed to burst from its haunches. Wyatt coughed with surprise. The wolf spun, thick lines of red running over the green leaves of its body. A slather of red and white foam ran from its open maw.

  The wolf leaned back and let out a bone chilling howl. A fourth arrow at the base of its jaw silenced the great beast. It fell to the dirt, lifeless.

  “Are you a fool?” called a female voice from the black of the greater forest.

  Wyatt twisted. The voice seemed to come from every direction at once. “No,” he said, forcing a pained gasp of air. “I’m…”

  “A fool,” said the voice.

  The body accompanying the voice materialized out of the darkness and stepped into the glow of Wyatt’s prison. She was tall, slender, and clad in dark colors. A large cowl hid her face in shadows and bled into a long, sweeping cloak that nearly met the ground. Her torso was covered in a leather vest, stained dark green. Dark pants stopped just below her knees. The rest of her legs and feet were wrapped in pale strips of linen, leaving only her heels and toes bare. A similar wrap covered her arms from elbow to hand, wrapped between her thumb and first finger.

  Her skin was as dark as her clothing. She was a shadow. A long wooden bow was slung over her shoulder and a quiver hung from her leather belt, feathered arrows filling its space. In her hand she held a spear, the tip a four-edged point of razor sharp metal. It shone in the light as she pointed it at Wyatt’s head.