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

by Michael J Sanford

  Wyatt’s mind was having trouble interpreting the creatures milling about the city, each going about their own separate task. They were bald, gaunt creatures, with nary any muscular definition to be seen across bare chests or beneath multicolored silk pants. Their skin was equally vibrant and varied. Some were similar to the giant toads, muddy greens and browns in various patterns. Others had spots of bright blue or red. Some bore stripes of yellow or patches of black and gold. Everywhere he turned Wyatt saw a new color palette, spread across a tapestry of smooth and slippery looking skin. None of the villagers bore shoes and they walked about on long, webbed feet. Wyatt squinted and was certain he saw no more than two, maybe three knobby toes. They walked around lifting their knees high as if they wore flippers and gestured wildly to one another with their whip like arms.

  Horo waved to the villagers that passed by carrying baskets and bundles. They shouted friendly greetings to the mounted Astronian. Horo still wore his heavy fur coat, but his head was bare, shining damply in the new day’s sun. Elegant gold stripes ran back along his scalp from forehead to neck against a background of muddy brown. Wide folds of skin draped from each side of his face, hanging from his square jaw and billowing with each breath or spoken word. Are those gills? Wyatt wondered.

  Horo turned and smiled at Wyatt, displaying a wide mouth of flat teeth and a sharp pointed nose that was little more than a small bump below the immensity of his dark eyes. When he blinked his eyelids rose from the bottom and moved far slower than a human’s. Wyatt recoiled at the sight.

  He turned away and pressed his face to Rozen’s. “They’re frog people,” he whispered.

  “So it would seem,” she replied.

  Wyatt leaned to the side, hoping to catch sight of Gareck and Mareck, but he could not see them behind the tall Astronians. The Children had fallen eerily silent however, leaving little doubt in Wyatt’s mind that this was their first time seeing the strange creatures as well.

  The road through the city gently rose, snaking through the crowds, as they climbed ever nearer the towering shadow of the keep, set high on the northern hill, overlooking the village below. Wyatt twisted in the saddle as they ascended, looking back over the city. It was immense. He could see no end to it in either direction. How many are there? A thousand? Ten thousand? More? His mind struggled with the complexity of what he was seeing. And it occurred to him that this was the first time he had seen an actual building in Hagion. Métra was little more than crude campsites deep underground, but Ouranos was an entire city, made of stone and timber.

  Late morning found them at the outer wall of the keep. Iron bound doors stood a hundred feet high, embedded in a stone wall that rose twice that height into the red sky. An Astronian in front of Mareck produced a curved horn and blew long into the mouthpiece, the folds of skin at his neck filling and shuddering as he did. Ahooooooooooo.

  It took only one blast before a deep groan split the humid swamp air and the gargantuan doors began to swing inward. They groaned and protested, but eventually swung wide enough for the trio of giant toads to trundle into the courtyard.

  The castle looked even larger from the inside. Wyatt craned his neck back and jerked his gaze in every direction. Everything was solid stone, gray and impenetrable. A trio of young Astronians approached and held the reins as the toads flattened on the ground and allowed their burdens to dismount. Wyatt hit the ground with a sharp cry, but Rozen steadied him before he tasted the gravel underfoot. He smiled weakly at her and shrugged. Despite her hood, Wyatt could see her golden eyes roll to the top of their lids.

  The three stable hands led the giant toads away, corralling them in a large open pen that housed a plethora of the croaking beasts behind a short stone wall. A number of other Astronians, all smaller than Horo and his brood, poured from a doorway cut into a wall of the pen and worked at removing the saddles, while others rubbed the creatures down with wet rags.

  “This way, Master,” Horo said, gesturing away from the pen to Wyatt’s left and what he judged to be west if the gentle breeze was still to be trusted.

  Mareck and Gareck shouldered their hammers once more and joined Rozen and Wyatt as they followed behind Horo and his men. A narrow path broke off from the main road and ran even further uphill toward the towering keep along the northwestern edge of the island. Wyatt had not slept in nearly a day and his feet should have been sore and weary, but his mind was alive with activity and suppressed any lethargy in his limbs. Never before had he seen anything so grand and majestic.

  They walked past elaborate sculptures of toads and armor clad Astronians, carved in vibrant white stone, towering over them. Clangs and shouts rang out from a sparring pit to his left as pairs of Astronians waged war against each other with spear and sword. Others loosed arrows into tall pieces of timber.

  Bells rang out from the keep and cascaded down the hill in a cacophony of musical bliss. “It is time for morning prayers,” Horo said when the echo faded from the stone.

  Horo knelt to the ground, soon followed by every other Astronian Wyatt could see. They dropped their weapons and pails, abandoned whatever task they had been performing and placed their palms flat to ground and stared to the sky. Wyatt looked uneasily to Rozen, but found she too had knelt, along with the Children. A calm silence fell over the courtyard and the larger city below. Wyatt shifted his weight uncomfortably and mirrored the pose.

  After a moment, a second cascade of heavy tones rang from the unseen bell tower and the courtyard burst to life again. Horo stood and resumed their march as if nothing had occurred.

  The front of the keep was shroud in a wide, tumbling staircase of bright white stone. For a moment Wyatt could not discern the individual steps and twice stepped falsely and nearly fell. Another horn blast set the keep doors opening, slowly dragged open by a pair of Astronians, tall and gaunt, one a mosaic of reds and orange, the other black and violet. Both nodded astutely as Horo and his band passed by. Wyatt nodded back to them, but caught only frowns and looks of confusion.

  The outer city had been hot and humid, but the blast of air that caught Wyatt as he entered the stone citadel was stifling. It caught him so suddenly that he stumbled to his knees, gasping for air. Horo, now fully disrobed and wearing only bright green silk pants, turned and helped Wyatt to his feet.

  “The heat is too much for you,” he said. “For this I apologize. Rest assured you will find relief in the north wing, where the vents do not reach and the wind is allowed to flow. Your quarters will be found there, for your pleasure.”

  Wyatt’s face was awash in sweat, blurring his vision and drying his mouth to sand. He coughed a reply and wiped feebly at his face. His habit was soaked and he had to laugh to himself. Is this why they call the Bog ‘Sodden’?

  Horo led them from the vestibule, under a wide archway into a large open chamber and through a side door. Wyatt blinked away burning sweat as he fought to take stock of his surroundings. This is too cool to miss. They walked down a long corridor flanked by door after door of ashen white timber. A spiraling staircase at the end wound dizzily upward, each step on the hot stone burning through the thin wraps on Wyatt’s feet.

  The steps soon blurred together, along with more corridors and white doors. Eventually Wyatt was guided through one of the stunningly bright doorways and fell face first into a wash of cold air. The door shut sharply behind him, but he hardly took notice, instead writhing against the cold stone floor in ecstasy. It took several moments before his temperature dropped enough for his senses to return, allowing him to clamber to his feet.

  The stone room was enormous. A large four poster bed flanked one wall, its columns intricate carvings of some long-limbed bird. Fanciful statues, an ornately carved dresser, and chests lined the walls. A tapestry over the bed displayed a beautiful sunset, dipping below the edge of a dark blue lake. Another showed a thick bellied toad with a crown of gold and jewels set atop its bulbous brown head. A doorway to Wyatt’s left opened into a smaller room, with naught but a large
tub carved into the stone floor, curls of steam rising from the water and drifting toward the high ceiling.

  Back in the bedroom Wyatt’s attention was immediately caught by the opposite side of room. A dozen stone pillars spaced equally apart replaced the wall and beyond them was a sprawling stone balcony. The waist high railing was smooth white stone, polished to gleam, but the view was what stole Wyatt’s breath. His chambers sprouted from the west face of the keep, the warm morning breeze against the side of his face denoting directionality. The air smelled moist and sour, but not in a repulsive manner.

  He looked out over the large expanse of the Sodden Bog. It stretched in all directions, shades of mottled green and brown. Snaking trees protruded from the muck, stark white with leaves of amber. He could hear the sounds of the bog, gurgles of the endless mud and distant calls of unknown animals. Insects hummed and shrieked in the marsh, shouting from clumps of swamp weed and rotted logs. It was a scene of wet decay and surely would swallow a man whole if given the chance, yet Wyatt thought it beautiful. Deadly perhaps, but woefully misunderstood as well. He found he could relate.

  A sharp knock at the door forced him to turn. A slender boy, unmistakably human, entered with a curt bow. His sand colored hair was shaggy and a wash of freckles coated his faces and arms. He wore a plain white shirt and baggy brown linen pants. When he looked up his eyes flashed green.

  “Master, I am Henrick. I will be your chamber servant. May I assist you with a bath?”

  Henrick could be no older than twelve and Wyatt found the question peculiar. “Help me bathe? I can wash myself, thank you very much.”

  Henrick looked taken aback, but collected himself quickly. “It is no bother, Master. I am here to serve you. Come, you must be soiled and weary.”

  Wyatt thought to protest further, but the genuine nature of the boy and his demonstrative gestures brought him into the bathroom. Without intending to, he stripped his robe and briefs, unwound his linen wraps and slid into the steaming water. He let loose a deep sigh of relaxation as the clear water swept over his body. He was weary. Every bone and muscle cried out in blissful anguish as the hot water melted away the day.

  Henrick crossed the room to a row of shelves cut deep into the stone walls and returned with several small clay pots. He poured a few drops of mysterious liquid from each into the water and returned the vessels. Vibrant bursts of fragrance assaulted Wyatt. The sweet floral scents washed away the worry and calmed every nerve in Wyatt’s mind. He was so thoroughly relaxed he took no notice as Henrick laid on his stomach at the baths edge and set to scrubbing Wyatt with a rough brush.

  When his skin was scrubbed pink and clean Henrick helped him from the bath and handed him a soft towel that felt like velvet as Wyatt wrapped it around his body. Soft bits of feather protruded from the odd material, but the dark cloth was soothing nonetheless.

  “I shall send Mikell in to take your measurements and then you may rest.” Henrick bowed sharply and left the room.

  Wyatt wearily stumbled to the bed and collapsed just as another knock came at the door and Mikell entered. The boy was much the same age and build as Henrick, but had shoulder length black hair, straight as an arrow and the beginnings of a wispy mustache. He carried a length of knotted string and wordlessly held it against Wyatt’s arms and legs. Wyatt giggled as Mikell thread it about his waist and through his armpits, but it ended as quickly as it began.

  “Very good, Master,” Mikell said with a curt bow, speaking for the first time. “You may now rest at your leisure. Dinner will be served at sundown. I will return with your new clothing before then. I bid your leave.” Mikell spun and disappeared through the door before Wyatt could say a word.

  He was asleep a moment later.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  WYATT WASN’T THE least bit surprised to wake atop the smooth tile floor, his nostrils invaded by the astringent scent of commercial disinfectant. And he was far too relaxed to care. He was more surprised that it had taken so long. It had been nearly two weeks since his pendant last quivered with its dance of sparks and grasping vines. He was however, surprised to see that it was not the bathroom on Dorm B that he awoke in.

  The tile was much the same, as were the walls and the line of stalls behind him. But, the sink was wholly different, as was the shower. And the room was much smaller than the bathroom on Dorm B. There were only two sinks when there should have been four and only one shower whereas Dorm B had two. And the shower curtain was pink.

  Wyatt slowly climbed to his feet, spinning in a circle as he did. How did this happen? He went to the door and pressed his ear gently to the wood. Only silence greeted him, so he eased open the door and slid silently into the hallway. Immediately he noticed the floors were tile, not hardwood, and the walls were painted cinder block as opposed to the wood paneling that ran shoulder high along Dorm B’s hallway. There were doors along either side of the hallway, but Wyatt knew he was not likely to find what he sought as he eased open the first.

  “Oh my God,” he shouted at the first room. “This is Girls’ Dorm!”

  Wyatt spun away from the overly feminine bedroom and sprinted to the next door. Boy band posters, stuffed bears and a line of finger nail polish on the desk assaulted his eyes and his stomach dropped even further. He recoiled against the hallway wall, breathing heavily. How did I get here?

  The clock on the wall showed he had only lost half an hour, assuming it was the same day, but his location had changed drastically. Stay calm, Wyatt. Breathe in, breathe out. You don't panic like this when you zap to a new place in Hagion, so don’t lose your head now. He regained control of his breathing and opened the next door, silently thanking God and the Mother both that the dorm was empty.

  It was another bedroom, largely indistinguishable from the rest and Wyatt nearly shut the door again when a picture taped to the wall above the bed caught his eye. He crossed the room to examine it. The girl in the picture was very young, but unmistakable. Athena had her slender arm wrapped around an elderly woman in a wheel chair, a giant grin plastered across her face. Wyatt spun and studied the room for a moment, but an overwhelming sense of guilt reared at his intrusion. I shouldn’t be here. Oh, I can’t be here.

  Every door on that side of the hallway was a bedroom, but the first one he opened on the opposite wall led to his escape. He skipped down the stairs and burst out the back door of Girls’ Dorm, setting off the alarm. It shattered the calm afternoon air and nearly sent Wyatt to his knees. He clasped both hands over his ears and broke into a sprint. He was just passing by Dorm B, bound for the school, when the back door swung open and Mrs. Heclar strode out, whipping her head in both directions.

  “Wyatt!” she shouted in disbelief and confusion.

  Wyatt froze in his tracks and stared back at her. She looked from Wyatt to Girls’ Dorm and back again. Wyatt could see her face scrunch as she tried to ferret out a rational explanation for what she was experiencing. He entertained the idea of resuming his escape, but could not imagine a suitable outcome, and so he walked back to Mrs. Heclar, a sloppy, lopsided grin plastered on his face. He walked past her, into the dorm and sat in the worn blue padded chair in her office as if he hadn’t just spent more than a week in Hagion only to inexplicably return to the bathroom of Girls’ Dorm.

  Mrs. Heclar walked in with her cell phone to her ear and an exasperated look on her soft face. “Yes, he’s back,” she said. “No, I don’t know, but he seems calm. Yes, I’ll talk to him. OK, thanks. Bye.”

  She calmly shut the office door and circled around Wyatt to her rolling office chair behind her plant strewn desk. She sat and looked at Wyatt a moment without speaking. Wyatt returned the look, staring deep into her eyes and smiling like a goofy demon.

  “Would you like to explain?” she said with a sternness that did not suit her. It sounded forced.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Wyatt said with a wicked grin.

  “Try me.”

  Wyatt shrugged and regaled the inef
fectual counselor with his tale. He detailed the battle, Rozen’s recovery, and their journey to Ouranos and how a young boy gave him a bath. He should have left that part out as it caused Mrs. Heclar to frown and scribble ever more furiously in her notepad, but Wyatt was flush with excitement. He wasn’t even discontent being back in this world, for it afforded him the opportunity to share his elaborate endeavors. He could boast of things he had actually done. Wyatt concluded with how the green stone returned him to the bathroom on Girls’ Dorm and half an hour later than when he’d departed. “Not bad considering I was gone for over a week,” he concluded.

  Wyatt grinned and crossed his arms, thoroughly pleased with himself. Mrs. Heclar only stared.

  “So, how did you get into Girls’ Dorm?” she said at last.

  “Weren’t you listening?”

  “Yes, Wyatt, I was, but your pendant can’t transport you anywhere. Running from a counseling session a second time to break into another dorm is serious. I’d appreciate an explanation.”

  “And I gave you one.”

  Mrs. Heclar shifted uncomfortably and pressed her pen to the corner of her mouth. “I don’t understand why you would break in there in the first place. Can you tell me that?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t think I can control it. It just sends me whenever it wants. I’m just lucky it gets it close. I’d hate to come back a thousand feet up in the air or in the middle of a wall. Or in 1642.”

  “Wyatt, I appreciate your imagination. Really, I do,” she said and took a long breath. “But, we need to talk about real things here, just for a bit.”

  “I am.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re speaking of fantasy.”

  “My fantasy is twins with really big boobs, not frog people with spears.”

  Mrs. Heclar scowled and swallowed her discomfort. “That’s not appropriate, Wyatt.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re talking about reality and not fantasy. You don’t want to know what goes on up here.” He jabbed a pudgy finger against his temple.