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

by Michael J Sanford

  Wyatt tried to shrug. “My social worker says I lack impulse control,” he said plainly.

  The spear point lowered. “Social… worker?” she said slowly, shaking her head. “You certainly are impulsive. Never before have I seen a human strung up by the false fruit.”

  Wyatt looked to the white trees and frowned. “False fruit? That’s what it’s called? Shouldn’t there be a more appropriate name? Maybe go away fruit or eat this and get trapped fruit?”

  “It is fruit that is false, as surely you have witnessed. There is no need for anything more or anything less.” Her voice hissed slightly as she spoke, reminding Wyatt of a cartoon snake. He grinned sheepishly.

  “Well…” he said, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

  The stranger stood unmoving for a moment, as if deciding if he were worth saving. At last she took an aggressive step forward, thrusting her spear at his head. Wyatt shut his eyes, heard a soft snap, and found himself in a disjointed pile on the ground. He stood up and rubbed his wrists. The manacles had left deep red welts and his shoulders ached.

  The dark stranger was pulling her arrows from the felled wolf. The arrowheads gleamed with blood, but she thrust them into her quiver. The fourth arrow snapped as she tore it from the neck. She snarled and tossed it aside.

  Wyatt brushed himself off and stood as tall as he could manage. “My name’s Wyatt,” he said, and smiled at his savior. She stood over a foot taller than him. “Wyatt the Mighty.”

  The dark shadow beneath her hood stared back in silence a moment, before spinning in a flurry of billowing cloak and disappearing into the night. Wyatt was once again left with only his curious thoughts.

  “Hey, wait up!” he called and blindly ran after the tall figure.

  His eyes struggled to adjust to the new dimness, but he charged headlong after the stranger nonetheless. It only took a handful of blind steps before he collided with the tall silhouette of the stranger. Wyatt let out an oomph, twisted his feet together and fell face first to the ground. He rolled to his back and found the spear point once again uncomfortably close to his nose.

  Wyatt let out a weak laugh. “Heh, sorry ‘bout that.”

  He received only silence. Carefully, he ventured a finger to the metal spike and gently moved it aside. Then he remembered his manners. “Oh, and thank you for, well, cutting me down,” he said as he climbed to his feet. “And killing that… uh… whatever it-”

  “Who is it that you belong to, human?” Her voice was sharp and commanding.

  Wyatt stared back incredulously, trying to discern some detail in the shadow of her hood. Belong to? Human?

  “Uh, The Shepherd’s Crook, I guess,” he said. “For now, anyway.”

  “Perhaps this Crook will offer some reward for your return,” she said, her voice hanging on the word some.

  Wyatt reached to adjust his glasses and found only his bare nose. He scratched it absently. “I don’t think they’d give you a reward. I’d probably just be punished. Not that I have a lot of privileges to start with,” he said, thinking back to Ms. Abagail.

  “No reward…” she said slowly. “Then I claim you, human. You are mine.”

  “Well, can I come with you then? I’m sort of new here.”

  Long, slender fingers grabbed his stained t-shirt and thrust him forward. “March,” the stranger shouted and nudged him along with the butt of her spear. Wyatt obliged. He stumbled over exposed roots, striving to see in the gloom. Gnashing her teeth, the stranger brushed past him. He hastened to keep up.

  “So, what is this place?” he said. “That clearing… and the false fruit. What’s with those weird white trees?”

  “Even the forest is wise to avoid the false fruit, human, as you should have been,” she said sharply.

  “You make it sound like the trees have some say in where they stand,” he said.

  “You make it sound as if they do not.”

  “Don’t tell me the trees can move.”

  The stranger did not reply.

  Wyatt thought of pressing the issue, but remembered the strange fern covered wolf and the ease with which the stranger had slain it. “What was that fern wolf thing?” he said, racing to keep up with her long strides.

  She hissed. “A fern wolf.”

  “Hmmm. Makes sense. Is it a plant or an animal?”

  No answer.

  Wyatt kept close behind the cloaked figure as she wove about the dark trunks. Wyatt knew if he fell more than a stride behind she would vanish into the shadows. It was difficult to maintain sight of her as it was.

  “What are those lights up there?” Wyatt said as he stumbled over an exposed root. He grabbed the stranger to keep from falling. With blinding speed, she spun her shoulder and forced Wyatt into a broad trunk. The bark raked his face, but he kept his footing.

  “Wisps,” the stranger said.

  “What’s a wisp?” He grasped at his cheek. It was sticky with blood.

  “Wisps are the energy of the forest. They guide travelers and watch over the wood.”

  “Like faeries,” Wyatt said.

  “No,” was the only response, but Wyatt thought he heard a sarcastic laugh.

  “Well, fat lot of good they did guiding me. They weren’t even around the false fruit.”

  The stranger turned to look at him, but he could not see her expression.

  “Oh,” he said. “Right…” They did guide me. “What’s this place anyways? Not the woods, but this world?” he said, gesturing wide with both arms.

  He received only silence. He probed several more times for a response, but found only chilling silence. He sighed and settled for her distant company as they traveled through the strange forest.

  Gradually, the trees thinned out and the tall stranger fell back to his side. The dark shadows fell away and the world opened before them. They stood in shared silence at the forest border.

  A dark red sun could be seen breaking the distant horizon. It bathed the open valley before them in a warm glow. Columns of smoke rose from hundreds, or perhaps thousands of holes in the ground as far as Wyatt could see. He could not distinguish any flames in the shin high grass.

  “What is that?”

  The stranger thrust him forward without a word. Wyatt stumbled along in dumb wonder. Smoke billowed endlessly from the ground and it warmed noticeably with each step. They walked silently past dozens of the smoking holes, none wider then a manhole cover, before the stranger stopped. She lifted her spear and thrust the butt against the ground three times and stood back. Wyatt was about to speak when a low, creaking noise rang out from the ground between them. A small hatch opened up and a round, bald head shot up into the valley.

  “Ah, Rozen,” it exclaimed, and then noticing Wyatt, exclaimed “Oh, a human!”

  “An escapee,” Rozen replied. “I have claimed him.”

  The man’s voice was as mirthful as his jolly face. “Oh, how wonderful. Well, come on in. Mareck has just set the table.”

  The round head vanished into the darkness. Rozen pointed down the hole after him. Wyatt stood at the edge and looked at her hesitantly. No sense in stopping now, he thought. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. But, before he could make another move, Rozen sent him plummeting into the hole with a swift kick.

  Chapter Four

  WYATT LANDED ON a small wooden platform with a yelp. He rolled and scowled up at the dark silhouette that stared down from the open hatch. The rising sun surrounded the dark warrior in a brilliantly red halo, transforming her into an angel. A dark angel, Wyatt thought.

  Without warning she dropped through the hole, clawed feet coming right for his face. Wyatt shrieked and reflexively rolled to the side. The platform disappeared from beneath him and he floundered through six feet of air, coming to rest in a heap upon a dirt floor. He moaned and rolled to his back.

  “Oh my, Rozen,” said a new voice, smooth and vibrant. “Don’t damage the poor thing. Tsk tsk.”

  Rozen hissed, jumped down, and jerked Wyatt to his
feet. Wyatt made a dramatic show of shaking his head and brushing dust from his soiled clothing. He glared at Rozen for a moment before turning to the two new creatures that stood before him.

  Wyatt had to rub his eyes. The two figures were nearly identical, roughly four feet tall and nearly just as wide. Their torsos were round and their limbs thick and muscled, covered with plain brown woolen robes. Round heads sat atop broad shoulders with no discernible necks. Their skin was pale, smooth, and completely hairless. Wide mouths smiled beneath flat noses that flared beneath beady eyes. Their eyes… They were much too small for their bulbous heads, but it was their color that perturbed Wyatt, or rather, their lack of color. They were completely white, void of color or pupil. Unblinking white orbs stared at him, or at least he thought they stared back. He shuddered.

  “A little clumsy, ain’t he, Darling?” said the seemingly male creature who had greeted them at the hatch.

  “And a little soft of body as well, Dear,” said the female. Her large ears were studded with an array of metal piercings, chains, and colorful gems. It was all that differentiated the two strange creatures. Even their voices were eerily similar.

  “Are you calling me fat?” Wyatt said, shaking away his stupor.

  “Darling, fetch him a spare habit, he’s covered in filth.”

  “Of course, Dear. We don’t want filth at our table. Tsk tsk.” The female strode off, her earrings jingling with each heavy step.

  “Where am-” Wyatt froze as he glanced to his left. Vertigo clawed at his throat and brought him to all fours.

  His fingers gripped the edge of the large platform as his eyes raked the monstrous cavern set before him. Round platforms of dirt, stone, and wood littered the space in all directions and at all heights. Thick columns of stone supported the structures, and a myriad of rope ladders and bridges spider webbed between them. Wyatt could not see the walls of the cavern, nor the bottom. The curved stone ceiling arced above him, thick spires of stone joining to the topmost platforms.

  Every platform was littered with furniture and alive with activity. Wyatt fell to his stomach and examined the platform directly below. A fire burned at its center, heating a large black pot that smelled richly of stew. Chests and wooden crates littered the edges of the platform and two piles of straw denoted beds. A pair of wooden stools flanked a table at which two round bodies sat, oblivious to the stunned boy twenty-five feet above.

  He slowly climbed to his knees and forced his lungs to accept a breath of air. Every platform he could see held the same scene; a crude campsite and a pair of round creatures. It’s an underground city of mole people, Wyatt thought as he rose to his feet and turned from the precipitous drop.

  “It appears the human is a bit frightened by heights,” said the male, followed by a jovial laugh.

  “I am not scared,” Wyatt protested. “Just surprised is all. I’m not afraid of anything.” He slowly inched away from the edge as he spoke.

  The circular platform on which he stood was larger than the others, nearly a hundred feet across, but decorated with the same crude accoutrements. A cast iron pot over the central fire sent up curls of meat scented steam. Wyatt’s stomach grumbled and the residual vertigo vanished.

  “Are you mole people?” he said.

  The round creature guffawed heartily. “You’re not from Hagion, are ya, human?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Nay, we’re no moles, Mother be good. My name’s Gareck and that there is Mareck.” The female gave a wave from the far side of the platform then returned to pawing through a wooden crate. “We are the Children. And this,” he said, gesturing to the vast expanse around them, “is Métra.”

  “May… trah?” Wyatt said. “Wait. Mareck and Gareck? Children? Are you twins? You don’t look like kids. And this place… What’s Hagion?” His mind was racing.

  Gareck waved a pudgy, six-fingered hand in Wyatt’s face to silence him. Six fingers, he thought, and webbed, and clawed. Mareck came over and handed him a brown robe, shaking him from his trance.

  “Lose them strange mucked up clothes, human, and put this on. Breakfast will be in just a moment.”

  Wyatt looked down at the robe and back again at the odd couple. They smiled widely and walked away.

  “Dear, what a strange creature,” Mareck whispered.

  “Aye, the strangest, Darling,” Gareck replied.

  Wyatt stared after them awhile, but the thick aroma of stew brought him to attention. He glanced around hesitantly and took another step from the dizzying precipice. He wasn’t scared, just wary of falling. Besides, one couldn’t be afraid of heights when underground, could they? He took another step.

  Mareck and Gareck were fussing over the pot of stew and Rozen sat in a chair off to the side, picking over her arrows. Satisfied that no eyes were on him, he tore off his shirt and pants, and quickly slid the brown habit over his head, leaving his white briefs on. The scratchy robe smelled of lilac and fresh dew. The bottom hem ended just above his knees and the middle billowed out around him. It was meant for a creature far shorter and wider than he. A thin rope was fastened to the back of the habit which he tightly wrapped around his waist and tied. It did little to tame the excess fabric billowing around his torso. He gave the bottom a futile tug, shrugged and joined the group at the table.

  Rozen looked up and laughed. “You now look the part of a fool, human,” she said and returned to mending her arrows.

  “Oh shush, Rozen,” Mareck said. “At least he looks a bit cleaner now.”

  “Right nice you look,” said Gareck, giving Wyatt a stiff slap on the back. His hand felt like stone and the force nearly tilted him into the fire. “As sharp as any human can hope to,” he added.

  The trio laughed together. Wyatt smiled back, placed a hand behind his head, lifted a foot onto a stool and posed provocatively. Mareck and Gareck laughed all the more. Rozen did not.

  “Aye, he’s a funny one, this human,” Gareck sputtered as he wiped away tears from his blank eyes.

  “That he is, Dear,” agreed Mareck. “Please, sit down.”

  Pleased with himself, Wyatt slid onto a stool. His knees scraped against the underside of the ornately carved table. It was oddly comfortable, the wood smooth and warm.

  “My name’s Wyatt,” he said. “Not human.”

  “Not a human? Then what are you, creature?” said Gareck with a wicked smile.

  “Oh, don’t listen to him, Wyatt,” Mareck interjected. “My Dear is only making fun.”

  “Aye, that I am. Welcome to our home, Wyatt the human.”

  “Thank you,” exclaimed Wyatt, a great grin plastered on his face.

  Mareck nodded and smiled. She had a softer face than Gareck and it made Wyatt feel at peace, despite the blank eyes that disguised her stare.

  “I hope you’re hungry, Wyatt,” she said.

  “Oh, I am. Starving.” His stomach grumbled loudly in agreement.

  “Lovely, just lovely,” she said. “Rozen, come to the table and lose that hood, there is naught to hide from here.”

  Rozen hissed, but not in the same way she had done in the forest. She undid the clasp at her neck and let the cowled cloak fall away as she sat opposite Wyatt. Wyatt couldn’t help but gawk. Her skin was the color of night and equally as flawless. Prominent cheek bones led into a sharp jaw and pointed chin. Her eyes flashed gold and seemed capable of seeing all. Everything about her face was sharp and focused, angular and strong, but it was her hair that Wyatt stared at. A long braid tumbled from the top of her head and coiled on the table. The brightness was stunning. Each strand radiated a different color; shades of orange, yellow, red, silver, and gold created a living force. Her hair looked like a twisted cord of flames. Her hair is on fire, Wyatt thought, no, it IS fire. She was beautiful in the deadliest manner.

  “Enjoy what you see, human?” she spat at him. Her thin lips peeled back as she spoke, revealing two perfect rows of pointed teeth. Wyatt was certain they could cleave the flesh from his bones with little effort.


  “Uh, no, I mean, um,” he said. “What are you? Not a mole, obviously.” He offered a smile and feigned a laugh. He just couldn’t help himself. Her fierce golden eyes narrowed, making him feel more naked than he was.

  Mareck set bowls of steaming brown stew in front of the pair and two more for Gareck and herself, breaking Rozen’s golden stare. They settled in at opposite ends of the table.

  “Rozen, the hu- Wyatt is just curious,” Gareck said.

  She wordlessly lifted the bowl to her lips.

  “Don’t let Rozen unsettle you, Wyatt. I can answer your question,” Mareck said before taking a sip of her stew as well.

  Wyatt looked to Rozen who shot a glance at Mareck, but said nothing. Rozen’s knees rose past the table’s edge. She was squatting more than she was sitting and it made her look surprisingly childish, despite the spear leaned at her side and her golden eyes that were weapons unto themselves.

  “Rozen is a Draygan, a people from Purorus,” Mareck continued, steam pouring from her wide mouth. Her numerous teeth were blunt and rounded like a line of tombstones.

  Wyatt hazarded a taste of his stew, but quickly withdrew and nearly dropped the bowl as the liquid scalded his lip and seared his tongue. He looked about in wonder as his company devoured the fiery liquid without hesitation.

  “Wait,” he said, his mind catching up to his ears. “She’s a dragon?” Wyatt could not hide his excitement. A real dragon?

  Rozen slammed her bowl down, wielding her golden stare as an assassin would a pair of gold daggers, aimed at Wyatt’s skull. “Draygan,” she said. “We are the people of dragons.”

  Her sharp teeth flashed with every word, deadly and beautiful at the same time, but Wyatt found his mind wandering. Everything in the cavern carried a slight orange hue, much like the forest, yet he saw no fluttering orange orbs. No candles, no torches. The fires can’t possibly produce enough light…

  Rozen pounded the table, drawing his attention back to the shadowy warrior crouched across the table from him.

  “Sorry,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “I have ADD.” He received only blank stares and silence. “Uh, so, you can breathe fire? That’s awesome. Though I always imagined dragons a little diff-” Rozen hissed loudly. Angry? “Oh, sorry. Of dragons… right… I just really wanted to see a dragon. They are so cool.”