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

by Michael J Sanford

  While the trunks and moss dared not tread on the path, the dense canopy persisted high over the group as they resumed their march northward. A dozen steps into the forest the sun’s light vanished and a dull orange glow descended, radiating from a million orange wisps that floated amongst the high branches. It wasn’t so much a path or a road as it was a tunnel. Noting the time of day would be impossible, but it was oddly cozy and Wyatt was thankful to be away from the sun’s rays. He was beginning to cook like a fattened turkey dropped into scalding grease.

  Rozen marched ahead of the group, but Gareck and Mareck remained at Wyatt’s side. The path was soft and springy, soothing to Wyatt’s worn feet. The blades bent to each of their steps, but soon sprang to life again as they passed, leaving not a single footprint as they trudged along. Birds called out in the distance and strange insects buzzed over their heads. Wyatt found himself looking about in wonder as they traveled.

  Gareck noticed and laughed, snapping Wyatt’s gaze back to center. “You are like a newborn seeing the world for the first time, Master Wyatt. Is your world so different than ours?”

  “Aye, Dear,” Mareck chimed in. “He even walks like a newborn, crooked steps and shaky motions.”

  Wyatt waited for their laughter to subside before answering. “It’s not a whole lot different, just… well, better. Everything here is so… much better.” It was true. There was vibrancy to Hagion that Wyatt had never before experienced. Everything played on his senses. Not only did the breeze feel cool and soft on his neck, but it smelled of damp roses and tasted sweet and refreshing, like iced lemon water. He was certain that he could see the air move around them, a million flowing streams and particles, brushing over his ears with a gentle whisper, full of secrets.

  “We can’t pretend to know what it is like,” Gareck continued. “But, what is a Druid to do in another world away from the Mother? That seems strange to me.”

  “Oh, well. That’s kind of what’s different. I’m not really a Druid in my world. I’m just a normal… well… I’m just a human.”

  The honesty surprised Wyatt as he spoke, the words seeming foreign to his lips, but the Children made him feel… safe. They never seemed to judge and always kept level heads. They didn’t yell or show much emotion at all, outside of unfettered joy. Even when their home was shroud in blood and shadows, they merely shed silent tears and did their duty. It was comforting, yet Wyatt found his cheeks flush at his admittance. Lying had always been of greater comfort.

  “Not a Druid? What do you make of that, Darling?”

  Mareck wrinkled her face. “Aye, Dear, it is strange. But, how many Druids do we know? We have seldom left Métra, and not for any great distance. It is intriguing, however, to be a mighty Druid in one world and a common slave in another.”

  Wyatt balked at the term slave, but then reconsidered his other life, in another world. Was he any different than the indentured servants he read of in history class? He couldn’t leave, and had little say of his minute to minute activity, always being told where to go and what to do, even where to sit. He couldn’t get up to use the bathroom without raising a hand and politely asking. Everything was structured and controlled.

  The realization stunned him. I am a slave and a prisoner, he thought and frowned at the idea. I will never go back. But then his mind went to his mysterious red-haired savior and her weaponized lunch tray. Athena… His gaze went to the dark cloak of Rozen as she strode several paces ahead and he became lost in twisting emotions and obscure thoughts that he could not rectify into coherence. It made him dizzy. Which was which?

  “Well, far be it from us to question the Mother’s motives for bringing a slave to our world from another.”

  “Aye, Dear,” Mareck agreed.

  “All humans are slaves here?” Wyatt said, regaining his presence of mind.

  “Aye,” Gareck said. “Well, except for you, of course. Though you may be the only. I hadn’t heard of a human Druid before meeting you. And I have to say I hardly believed it until I saw what you did to those Fallen. Humans serve as the common slaves of the realms. No other race is allowed to be enslaved without their consent, and well… no beast would volunteer for that, so yes, all humans are slaves and all slaves are humans. Though, as Children, we keep very few. Only enough to help shift cargo around and unload the trading fleets at the harbor. And we treat them well, aye, we do.”

  “Where do they come from? Is there a human Métra somewhere in Hagion?”

  Mareck and Gareck laughed heartily and Wyatt had to walk in silence for several moments before either calmed enough to answer his question. Mareck caught her breath first, not that it surprised Wyatt. They seemed to enjoy talking in alternating concert, mirrors not just of flesh and stone, but of mind and motion.

  “Métra is one of a kind, Master. No other creature has such a home as the Children. And the humans have no home at all. They simply exist in the many households across Hagion and the other realms as slaves to the greater races, though some traders will breed them for sale to the other races. Surely you know this. You spoke of being trapped yourself in your other world.”

  “Greater races?” Wyatt said and frowned. It was the second time they had insinuated the inferiority of humans.

  “Aye,” Mareck said, oblivious to the discontent in Wyatt’s voice. “Humans have no special skill or ability. They are wholly unremarkable and so they only exist in servitude. Though, as I said, the Children make little use of them. Tsk tsk.”

  “Just so, Darling. We are plenty strong enough on our own.”

  Wyatt scoffed at the notion of humans being the weakest of the races and sought to argue with the diminutive boulders at his sides, but caught himself. I’m not human. Not here, anyway. I am a mighty Druid, the highest of all the races. He smiled. Just as I should be.

  His thoughts trailed off as a shadow in the distance caught his attention. Rozen halted, dropped her pack, unslung her bow, and nocked an arrow. A low hiss crept across her thin lips. The round mass continued to grow, slowly approaching the mismatched party.

  “Oho, Rozen,” Gareck said and placed a webbed hand on her arm, forcing her to lower the bow, and stepped in front of her. “Put away your bow, young Draygan. They are not foes.”

  “Aye, Dear,” Mareck remarked and sniffed sharply at the air. “Smells like a Glefan caravan.”

  Rozen reluctantly placed the arrow in her quiver and shouldered the bow, tugging her hood down further over her eyes. Wyatt wished he could see her expression. He imagined her brilliant eyes and fierce snarl.

  Out of the shadows and orange haze an overladen wooden cart appeared, dragged along the grassy path by four brawny humans. They were shirtless, muscled chests coated in sweat, their breaths ragged and strained. Even a dozen paces away Wyatt could distinguish the pulsing web of veins across their tanned skin. Ragged linen clung to their trunk-like thighs and covered little more than a pair of boxer shorts.

  “Halt!” called an indignant voice and the cart ground to a stop. The four humans released the long handles and stood upright, breathing intensely, but displaying little else. They stood as statues, staring straight ahead. Wyatt could smell their sweat and taste their breath in the air.

  “Oho!” bellowed Gareck at the pair of figures emerging from behind the cart. “I thought I smelled a weasel.”

  At first glance Wyatt took them for humans, but closer examination soon shunned the thought. They closer resembled what Wyatt imagined an elf to be. Their heads were bald and displayed prominent pointed ears. Their skin was deathly pale, nearly translucent, and clung tightly to their lean bodies. Blue veins showed across their eerie faces, webbing around their vibrantly colored eyes that were much too large for their slim heads.

  The Glefan on Wyatt’s left smiled wide, displaying two rows of crooked teeth, each overlapping the next. He extended his arms in greeting. Wyatt counted only four fingers per hand, long and slender, much like Rozen’s, he thought, but opposite in hue. As dark as Rozen was, these creature
s were just as pale. They nearly glowed.

  “Gareck and Mareck,” the Glefan said. His voice was smooth and sultry, almost hypnotic. “What a pleasant surprise. What are a pair of Children doing outside that lovely hole in the ground you call home?”

  “We’re off on an adventure, Zuel,” exclaimed Mareck.

  Zuel smiled, nodded at her, and clasped his spindly hands together. “Never did I think I would see the day. And who is this that keeps your company?” He nodded at Wyatt. “A slave who does not even carry your packs? How shameful, even for a Child.”

  “Oh, this here is no slave,” said Gareck and swatted Wyatt across the back nearly forcing him into the Glefan’s lap. “This is Master Wyatt, the Mighty, of another world.” He gestured to the two smiling Glefans. “And this, Master, is Zuel and his brother Zendel, Glefans from the Peaks of Servitude. Traders.”

  “Master?” Zuel said in wonder. A long slender tail snaked through a hole in his tight linen pants and it flicked back and forth in the grass. Wyatt watched it dance as the Glefan approached and ran his blood red eyes up and down his body.

  “A human Druid?” Zendel’s voice was much the same as his brothers, but his eyes shone blue in the ambiance. Wyatt could find no other difference between the two, but he was too preoccupied by the stern examination Zuel was conducting to compare the two as accurately as he would have liked.

  “Oh, yes,” chimed Mareck, her voice full of mirth. “He’s come from another world in a brilliant flash of green fire and is leading us against the Regency.”

  Zuel took a step back, satisfied with his query and laughed. “Surely, you jest. This human is no more a Druid than I am a tree. And you march against the Regency? Two Children and a slave? Your humor is always appreciated, Mareck,” he said with a smile.

  “I am a Druid,” Wyatt asserted, forcing his spine upright, tight as the lumbering shadow trees around them. “I could turn you into a tree, if you want proof, or a rock.” He wasn’t sure he could turn anyone into a rock, but then again, he wasn’t certain he could turn anyone into a tree either.

  Zendel stiffened and glared at him, but it was Zuel who spoke, his cheery tenor forgotten. “How dare you speak out against us, slave. The Children may take your insolence, but I will not. Gareck, command your slave to hold its tongue or I shall have it for a meal.”

  His red eyes seemed to grow and flare as they thrust at Wyatt’s wide brown ones. Gareck made a motion and began to speak, but Wyatt cut him off with an elaborate wave of his hands. He twirled his hands about his head and brought them together in front of his chest, his palms aimed squarely at Zuel.

  “Shall I turn you into a tree? Or maybe burn you alive with a fireball?” he shouted, his bushy black brows jumping erratically.

  Gareck made another motion, but this time Zuel silenced him with a stern wave. The Child fell back a step and grasped at his mate’s hand. Even Gareck and Mareck are intimidated by this bully, but not me, Wyatt whispered in his mind.

  Zuel lunged quicker than a viper and seized Wyatt’s throat. He was far stronger than his lean body suggested and Wyatt let out a pained gasp. Zuel brought his crooked teeth close to his ear. His breath was hot and sent beads of moisture running down Wyatt’s neck.

  “A slave should know to hold their tongue, human. Shall I taste your flesh?”

  “I wouldn’t taste too good, haven’t washed in a week,” Wyatt managed to gasp.

  “Oh, fat thing like you… You’ll taste just fine.”

  “I… am not… fat,” he managed to gasp. “I’m… husky.”

  Wyatt’s eyes narrowed and his fists clenched at his sides. His mind fled to the countless taunts and jeers he endured in the other world, the bullies, and doubters. His mind went to Athena.

  He felt the strange whisper return, floating through his thoughts like a gentle breeze. He focused on the faint chanting, striving to distinguish the words. He found them, but again could not hear the words, finding he was only capable of feeling the whisper. Is this the Mother? he wondered. Is it her voice?

  The soft breeze that blew along the shadowed path, ever flowing north, began to increase. The leaves of the forest shook and trembled. Long blades of grass bent to the sudden gale. The group looked uneasily around, but Zuel continued to hold Wyatt’s throat tightly with a single hand. Wyatt’s vision shifted and blurred as his perception went to the wind and the dark forest. He sought out the air, teasing at each breath and channeled the whisper into it. Energy rippled across his body and filled him with tangible power.

  The wind intensified, whipping at branches and blowing the tarp off of the Glefans’ cart. A number of crates and bundles tied with twine went tumbling over the edge, carried by the wind into the forest. It began to swirl, bending at Wyatt’s will, tearing at leaves and tugging at clothing. Zuel looked about, his stern expression eroded by the wind. He whirled on Wyatt, as if realizing what was happening and released him.

  Wyatt kept his gaze fixed on the slave driver and drove the wind at him. The air shook and screamed as it swirled around the dismayed Glefan. A narrow tempest of violent wind rose from the ground and surrounded him, the air fading to a breeze elsewhere. The cyclone tore at Zuel, nipping at his pale skin and twisting his slender tail around his midsection. His red eyes squinted at the gale, and his crooked mouth moved silently behind the veil, but whatever words he gave were whisked away on the current.

  A hand at his shoulder stole his focus and the whisper fell away along with the wind. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath. He let it go in a loud expulsion and stood alongside Gareck, his eyes not leaving the hunched Glefan. Zuel and Zendel shared a wide-eyed look and fell to their knees, bowing to Wyatt, heads pressed to the ground.

  Wyatt could not help but grin and puff out his chest. He had no idea how he had seized control of the wind, but he was fully prepared to take credit for it. Gareck and Mareck began to laugh, softly at first, merely more than a silent chuckle, but soon fell to side-splitting upheaval. The round mirthful creatures fell beside the bowing Glefans, swatting at their backs in merriment. Slowly, Zuel and Zendel lifted their heads and frowned at the roaring Children.

  “That will,” Gareck gasped between guffaws. “Teach you… to doubt our… Druid…” No sooner had he released the words then he fell to his side in numbing laughter.

  Slowly, smiles spread across the Glefans’ faces and they both shoved playfully at the guffawing Children. They rose to their feet and approached Wyatt. Zuel grasped him by the shoulders, far gentler than he had seized his throat, yet Wyatt flinched all the same, prepared to summon the wind if it was needed.

  “Forgive me, Master,” Zuel said in his smooth voice.

  Wyatt looked between the two strange creatures, glancing from red eyes to blue and back again. He hazarded a look at Gareck and Mareck, but they were too busy brushing off their habits and catching their breaths to notice his despair. He looked for Rozen, but she was nowhere to be seen, like a shadow in midday’s sun. Where did she go? Did she see my magic?

  He felt his voice stumble past his lips, though he fought hard to maintain his arrogant aura. “How… dare…” He swallowed deeply and renewed his vigor. “How dare you doubt my power?” He tried to frown at the pair of strangers, but he felt his face twist into more of a smirk than a scowl.

  Zuel and Zendel laughed lightly and simultaneously patted him on opposite shoulders before turning to Mareck and Gareck. Wyatt looked uneasily at the four human slaves at the cart. They remained in place, completely ignorant of their surroundings. Their eyes never wavered.

  “Your young Druid is sure filled with a mighty fire, Gareck, you old dirt slinger,” Zuel said as he embraced the round man with both arms. Zendel hugged Mareck and then the partners switched and repeated the warm greeting.

  “You should have seen the look on your ugly face,” Mareck crowed.

  Zuel feigned a frown, but smiled widely. “Thought I surely was to perish.”

  “That you were, brother,” Zendel rem
arked. “Couldn’t help but think of the great fortune I would inherit in your death, untimely as it would have been.”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Zuel retorted, but his wide smile betrayed his true emotion. “Where on the Mother did you come across a Druid? They have been gone for… well, a long time. And a young human… with such power…” He turned to the Children who had regained their composure and stood side by side as they often did. “This is unheard of… unbelievable… where…”

  “Aye, it’s like my Dear said. He came from another world to lead us against the Regency.”

  “Surely you are jesting over pursuing the Regency, even behind a Druid’s banner. You are but a band of three, and nary a warrior between you. Does the Druid summon a horde at his back?”

  “He is but one, but don’t you worry yourself, trader,” Gareck said. “The Druid will show us the way. And it is not without reason that we march against our rulers.”

  “Oh?” Zuel said, his eyes flicking over Wyatt. “Does one truly need a reason to wish death on the Regency? I have spent my entire life praying for the very thing.”

  Gareck began the painstaking task of retelling of the Regency’s attack on Métra. As they spoke, the Glefans rummaged through the back of their cart and produced wooden crates upon which the four sat.

  Wyatt had no desire to relive the experience, so he turned his attention back to the forest, scanning the dark trees. It lay silent and still, an inviting crypt of solitude. Rozen must have darted into the shelter of the shadows as the Glefans approached. But, why? Zuel and Zendel were strange looking to be sure, but they appeared quite friendly with the Children, like old friends. He had already forgotten Zuel’s threat to eat him.

  What was she so scared of? He paced up and down the swatch of forest, ignoring the narrative coming from the other side of the path and imagined golden eyes, long legs, and firm shoulders. He craned around the wide dark trunks of the shadow trees, but could not see further than a few paces into the arbor. Where are you, dark angel?