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

by Michael J Sanford

  “We near the bank,” Gareck roared over the river’s howl. “Ready yourself, Master, if you would.”

  Wyatt turned to face the grinning Children. How could they be so calm? The pair of round creatures appeared ecstatic. “Ready for what?” Wyatt yelled back.

  Mareck answered for her mate. “Call on the Mother, Master, and shape the current. Drive us ashore.”

  Wyatt didn’t dare ask what the alternative was. He merely faced the coursing river and gripped the wall even tighter. He could feel the waterlogged wood yield to his terror.

  “Around the bend,” Gareck shouted. The river turned and widened slightly. On the far side Wyatt could see a small muddy bank and thumbnail sized opening cut into the stone wall. “Ah, there it is!”

  “Now, Master, guide us to safety,” Mareck bellowed, her voice coming like a shouted song. Together the Children bellowed, “DIIIGGGGGG!”

  The chant persisted at his back as Wyatt eyed the bank, his mind racing. He swallowed and shook water from his eyes. I’ve made it this far, he thought. What if I actually am some magic wielding Druid? What if I do have this gift? Why not? He turned his attention to the river and rose shakily to his feet, fighting for balance and finding little. He stumbled once, steadied himself, found a moment of stability and shouted the only thing he could think of.

  “WATER!” he bellowed with all his lung strength and then promptly fell to his knees as the barge pitched violently to the side. Did I do it? Are we saved?

  The group watched in stunned silence as the far bank drew even with their barge and then swiftly passed by, fading into the distance. Oh no. Wyatt tried to shrink against the short wall, but Rozen seized his shoulder, sharp claws biting at his skin and piercing the numbness. He winced and faced her. Her golden eyes blazed with fury, that was plain to see. She opened her mouth to speak, white daggers sparkling in the gloom, but a sudden bout of turbulence shut it. She turned back to the river and remained silent.

  Down river thick timber beams jutted from the frothing water. There was less than a raft width between each pillar. A wall, Wyatt knew at once. A barrier. That can’t be good.

  The barge struck the first pillar with a sickening crack, hurling the party to the rough deck. Wyatt spun and rolled, seeking to rise, but the raft spun, struck a second pillar and broke apart. Water flooded over his head and invaded his mouth and nose, seeking to consume him. Another surge ripped him from the water and tossed him across something solid; a piece of the raft. He scrambled blindly, seeking a handhold. The trio of lashed logs was slippery, but desperation allowed Wyatt to find purchase and his nails dug deep. Thank God I didn’t clip them like Ms. Abagail asked.

  The river churned all around him and continued to blur his vision as he twisted and turned aboard his fractured vessel, searching for his companions. Did they drown? A rising swell brought the others into view. They bobbed atop the rest of the barge, largely intact, far to his right. Three heads moved in sync with the Torrents and all were turned to him. They seemed to be yelling something, but all sound was devoured by the hungry river. He tried to yell back to them, but a mouthful of water drowned his words. Sputtering, he wrapped his arms tighter around his diminutive raft.

  Daylight spilled into the dreary tunnels, turning the river ahead into a flow of lava, pitching red and orange. The light filled Wyatt with hope and he let slip a relieved sigh. The light at the end of the tunnel, he thought. Almost to safety.

  Then the river gave way beneath him and all he could see was black.

  Chapter Six

  WYATT AWOKE CONVULSING, his body twitching as if a thousand volts coursed through it. He bolted upright, gagging, and spewing river water. His head swam and every inch of him rattled with pain. Another spasm bent him double, curling his spine like a fledgling sprout. The darkness had vanished, replaced by a sick rhythm of yellows, greens, and reds. He retched and the colors blossomed and pulsed, shifting to purple, gold, and blue. Where am I? Is this death?

  Something thick and heavy smacked his back, forcing a flood of water to burst from his jaws. His eyes felt fit to burst. Rocking back on his heels, he let loose a bone rattling belch. The blast of stale air took with it the spiraling colors and he was left looking at a pair of grinning Children.

  “Ah, there you are, Master Wyatt, the Torrents nearly claimed ya,” Gareck said with a deep chuckle.

  “A foolish thing to do, trying to swallow the Torrents,” Mareck chided. “Tsk tsk.”

  “Just so, she’s a hungry thing she is. Some say limitless.”

  “The last thing I remember…” Wyatt paused, trying to gather his thoughts. His vision may have cleared, but his mind was slower to acclimate. “…was going over a waterfall.”

  Mareck and Gareck shared a look and laughed. Rozen rolled her eyes and turned away.

  “Weren’t no waterfall,” said Mareck. “Just a small sinkhole that sent ya tumbling into the drink. The Torrents is ripe with ‘em past the barrier. Oh ho, good thing for you our Rozen is a natural swimmer. Gareck and I could do naught for ya in the water.”

  “Aye, we Children ain’t too great in the waters,” Gareck said with a shrug. “We sink.”

  Wyatt nodded and mended his wits. “Uh, sorry about…”

  “Aye, don’t you worry over it,” Gareck said with a smile. “No harm done.”

  “Aside from the rest of our barge,” Mareck said, and the two shared another laugh.

  The barge was largely intact, aside from the edge that Wyatt had found himself clinging to. It sat a bit lopsided in the water, but was just as buoyant and sea worthy as ever. They just keep smiling and laughing, he thought. Why aren’t they mad?

  “It’s just…” he said, shaking water from his ears. “I’m well… it wasn’t my fault… It’s just…”

  “Just so,” Gareck said, his smile never fading. It did little to detract from the eeriness of his blank eyes. “It was wrong of us to call you to duty so soon after your arrival.”

  “Aye, Dear. Perhaps the young Master is… well… young,” Mareck said, offering Wyatt a sympathetic shrug.

  “I may be young, but I am a Druid. And I do have powers… er… the gift… It’s just that… I’m-”

  “Not a Druid,” Rozen said without turning. Her hood was drawn and she sat at the torn edge, her long legs draped over the side.

  Wyatt thought to protest, but found he could not tear his eyes from the Draygan’s long limbs. How could something so dark be so beautiful? And why did she save me? “The river’s calmed down,” Wyatt observed, shaking himself. It had widened as well, nearly double.

  “We’ve drifted quite a ways from Métra,” said Gareck. “Even the mighty Torrents grow lazy this far from home.”

  “Where are we?”

  Rozen muttered something from the edge of the barge.

  Mareck waved a dismissive hand at the Draygan. “Don’t mind her. She can be a bit…”

  “Moody,” finished Gareck, ignoring a glance from Mareck. “A lot on her mind, that one.”

  “To answer your question,” continued Mareck. “We don’t quite know.”

  “Nope,” said Gareck. “Never been this far from Métra.”

  “But we like a good adventure, don’t we, Dear?”

  “Aye, Darling, we do. Though we’ve never quite had one, have we?”

  Mareck laughed. “S’pose we haven’t, Dear.”

  Gareck shrugged and smiled. How could they be so happy? Wyatt thought. I nearly killed us all and now we’re lost atop a broken barge in the middle of a river going God-knows-where. But, it wasn’t my fault. It’s them that think I’m something I’m not. It’s not my job to save them…

  “Sorry,” Wyatt said with a weak smile and a shrug.

  “Even the Mother can be fickle at times, eh, Druid?” said Gareck.

  Mareck nodded. “It’s not your fault, Master Wyatt. We were wrong to put a young Druid like as yourself in such a position.”

  Yeah, I heard that already. What were they trying to say? �
��I’ll get it next time,” he said proudly. “I was just a bit rusty. That’s all. Still… you know, learning the ropes.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Gareck crowed.

  Silence fell and the group stood aboard their mangled craft watching the near bank slowly slide past. The sun had risen high in the sky, burning dark red, turning the grassy banks a deep auburn. How long was I out? Lying on the deck with a throat full of water…

  “So, what now?” Wyatt asked.

  Rozen hissed.

  He turned on her. “I wasn’t asking-”

  The tall Draygan leapt into a crouch and drew her curved bow, nocking an arrow and pulling it to her chin. Her gaze was cast further down the river. “Fallen,” she said, spitting out the word with disgust.

  Mareck and Gareck joined Wyatt as he looked downstream to where Rozen’s disdain was directed. Standing in the shallows was a group of five dark clad figures. Three of the shadowy creatures towered over the other two, though it was hard to discern any details at such a distance. Except…

  “Those big ones have four arms,” Wyatt shouted.

  “That’s not a good sign,” Mareck whispered.

  “Just so, Darling.”

  When the barge drifted within a hundred yards the creatures shifted. They turned in unison to follow the crippled watercraft sliding lazily along the soft current. Wyatt could more easily see them now and he had the strange urge to hiss alongside Rozen at what he saw. Dark clothing hung in tatters from pale, mottled flesh and dark brooding eyes stared back, bottomless and evil. They look dead, Wyatt thought, but the bone chilling shriek they uttered was all too alive. The four-armed creatures unslung giant bows and accepted arrows from their smaller companions. The nocked arrows looked large as spears as they slowly pointed toward the barge.

  “Down!” shouted Gareck.

  Wyatt couldn’t move, but thick hands found him and thrust him to the deck. Gareck and Mareck huddled over him, their shoulders locked together, heads turned downward, as if in a rugby scrum and Wyatt was the ball. A large arrow hit their barge with a thud. Rozen’s primal grunts competed with the rattling shrieks from the shallows.

  “What are those things?” Wyatt said from his fetal position.

  “Fallen,” Mareck said, then grunted as something struck her back.

  “Are you hit?” Wyatt nearly screamed.

  “Don’t you worry ‘bout the Children,” Gareck said. “We swore to keep you safe.”

  “Surely you know the Fallen, Master,” Mareck said. A sharp twang sounded from Rozen’s bow, followed by a heavy thud. Wyatt twisted his head to see a quivering arrow not an inch from Gareck’s foot. It seemed as thick as an arm. He turned back to look at Mareck and shook his head.

  “The Fallen,” Gareck said with a wince. “Are formed in death and decay, corrupted by dark arts and blasphemous deeds. Fallen souls.”

  “They’re dead? Like zombies?” Wyatt said. Dragons and zombies? And rulers bent on killing me? Maybe Hagion isn’t as cool as I thought…

  More arrows thudded against the deck. Wyatt silently urged the river to whisk them away. It was quick when we needed it calm and is calm when we need it quick. Curse you, Torrents.

  “They’re of death,” Mareck said. “Turning against the Mother is not without consequence.”

  “Aye, death begets death and eventually-” Gareck shifted suddenly and grunted, but quickly resumed his staunch stance. Mareck was grinning. What is with them? Are they enjoying this? “Eventually their very soul decays and well…”

  “You get partially dead Fallen things?” Wyatt offered.

  “Just so,” Gareck said with a smile. “They flock to death like a moth to flame and feed upon the decay, fueling their own corruption.”

  “The big ones have four arms.”

  Mareck laughed. “You are indeed green, young Master. Those are Fallen Regents. Even our mighty lords are not absolved from the penance of night should they tempt the curse of death. Tsk tsk.”

  “Any creature can become a Fallen?” Wyatt said. “Including humans?”

  “I’ve never heard tell of a Fallen human,” Gareck said.

  Mareck shook her head, earrings jingling softly amid the calamity of arrow strikes and the strange noises coming from the Draygan. “Some of the lesser races don’t fancy magic of any sort, but if they did…”

  “Just so, my Dear.”

  “Lesser races?” Wyatt said incredulously. “Humans aren’t lesser.”

  Mareck ignored the assertion. “Though I can’t say I’ve heard of a human Druid either.”

  “Don’t suppose we have,” Gareck said and then grinned at Wyatt. “That makes you even more rare.”

  “Well, don’t I feel special?” Wyatt said. At least the Children don’t want to kill me, he thought, though it seems most everything else in Hagion does. The false fruit and fern wolf, Regents, the Fallen, and even Rozen looks as if she’d welcome the chance to stick a dagger in my ribs. Though she did save me…

  “Just so, young Master,” Gareck said. “You have been blessed by the Mother. Very special, indeed.”

  “Aye, my Dear has the right of it.”

  He didn’t feel reassured, huddled below two round, hairless creatures while half rotted corpses shot giant arrows at their damaged barge. But, he had to admit, it was preferable to where he had come from. And perhaps he was magic after all. I bet I am, he thought. Just got to figure out how to wield it. That’ll shut Rozen up. His mind flashed with heroic images of vibrant energy snapping from his fingertips and both enemies and allies alike bowing to his might. He became so lost in the reverie that he hadn’t noticed the thudding of arrows had ceased and an eerie calm had descended.

  “We have passed,” said Rozen amid heavy breaths.

  “Ah, right you are,” Mareck said as the two Children stood and moved away. Red light shone down on Wyatt’s furrowed brow as he climbed to his knees. He peered cautiously over the side, back upstream and then down, but could not see the Fallen. The river bank was still and the Torrents were peaceful once again.

  The deck was littered with giant arrows, some protruding from the wood, others scattered about. Rozen growled and slapped at her empty quiver. She sat in her previous spot, turned away from the group, as if nothing had occurred. She’s the strange one, Wyatt thought.

  Wyatt turned to Gareck and Mareck. “Thank-” He stopped as his eyes raked over their habits. A dozen holes had been torn along the back and sides of their scratchy brown robes. “Are you alright?” he blurted, suddenly quite concerned. The feeling felt strange to him, but powerful all the same.

  Gareck let out a booming laugh. “Aye, I’ve never felt more alive.”

  Mareck grunted and said “Nor have I, Dear. Seems we’ve had ourselves an adventure.”

  “Just so, and I think I may have a taste for it.”

  “Perhaps we will have some more,” Mareck said.

  “Seconds! I dearly hope so.”

  Wyatt stared at the pair in stunned silence. Are they deranged? It was clear they had taken multiple arrow blows, yet they seemed unharmed and unnerved. Gareck caught his wide-eyed stare and waved him closer. He grasped the collar of his habit and gave a sharp tug, his clawed hands easily tearing the rough fabric. The habit fell to his waist, revealing his torso. Bald as his head, it was covered in thick gray scales. They completely covered his chest, back, and shoulders. They continued down his arms, tapering until the flesh turned to pale white skin again at the elbows. The segments shifted and flexed as Gareck twisted his round body. He grinned.

  “This one’s truly never seen a Child,” he said. “Told ya we weren’t… what was it? Mole people?”

  “Can I…”

  Gareck’s booming laugh shook the barge. “As you will, Druid.”

  The scales were smooth and warm. They felt like stone, solid plates seemingly growing from the fat man’s pale skin. Wyatt took a step back. He’s a boulder. A big round boulder.

  “You’d sink!” Wyatt blurted and f
ell to hysterical laughter.

  “He is a strange one, Dear,” said Mareck.

  “That he is, Darling,” said Gareck and the pair fell alongside Wyatt, laughing deep from their cavernous stomachs and rolling about the battle strewn deck.

  Wyatt’s merriment died as a sharp pain tore through his chest. He cried out in surprise and anguish, the mirth quickly forgotten. He came to his knees, catching the attention of his companions. Even Rozen cast her gaze in his direction, though it was impossible to read her expression. Another charge hit his chest and he doubled over in agony. I’m dying, he thought. Again.

  “Young Master,” Mareck said. “Your chest… it’s…”

  Wyatt tucked his chin and clutched at his chest, expecting to find his habit soaked with blood, but instead found a cluster of glowing green vines snaking from the neckline of his habit and quickly wrapping around his body. He fell back against the short wall, staring helplessly as the vines slithered around his legs and bit at his arms like hungry snakes. Sparks blossomed like flowers and spun into the air, quickly blinding him. But, I don’t want to go, he thought.

  Mareck said something, but it sounded far away, and he thought he heard Rozen hiss, but in another moment the sounds vanished, replaced by oppressing silence. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutched at his pendant, and let the spinning tempest of energy consume him.

  Chapter Seven

  WYATT LANDED ON the edge of the bed, flipped, and fell to the floor in a blind and desperate flail of appendages. He lay in place for a moment, not daring to open his eyes. Somewhere in the distance a mob of pubescent voices pulsed. If I don’t open my eyes, he thought, then I’m not really here.

  “Wyatt, come up front, time for lunch. I trust we will not have any more issues.”