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

by Michael J Sanford

  “Father! You’ll never guess who I found,” Tug shouted as they stepped across the threshold into a small living space.

  At best, the inside of the hovel could be described as quaint, though Wyatt would have used the word cramped. Every surface of the single room was littered with an assortment of glass carvings. They covered tables and chairs, were piled in corners, and perched atop crates and sacks. They created a rainbow of polished colors, each distinct. Wyatt heard Athena curse under her breath as they stepped further into the room, but he was too enthralled to elbow her.

  A tsiyyi of dark fur, garbed in a thick leather apron, approached the stunned humans with wide arms. “Oh my. Tug, is this…it can’t be…but he seems to be…is he? And her…night-skinned with a mane of fire…she isn’t…Tug, are they…”

  Tug squealed with delight. “Father, it’s the Druid. And this is Athena.”

  Wyatt shook himself and elbowed Athena. “Yes, I am the Druid. Wyatt the Mighty, if you please.”

  Athena elbowed him back. “Just call him Wyatt. And I’m Athena. It’s nice to meet ya.”

  “Oh my. The honor is all mine.” The aproned tsiyyi cleared his throat and removed his leather gloves, tossing them unceremoniously into a corner. Glass sculptures clinked together as the gloves disrupted their precarious perch. “I am Omman, if it pleases the Master and his…companion. Welcome to our home.”

  “What is all this shit?” Athena said.

  Omman looked at Tug and pulled on his whiskers. Tug whispered, “She’s not from here either.”

  Omman nodded and followed Athena’s gaze as it raked over the multitude of carvings. “It is my work, my life, and…our security. Please, feel free to examine at your leisure.”

  Athena stooped and picked up a green snake with eyes fashioned from small onyx gemstones. “It’s beautiful,” she said, running her fingers over the etched scales and forked tongue. “It’s glass?”

  Omman nodded. “Thunder-glass, yes.”

  “Thunder-glass?” Wyatt said, picking up a blue mouse.

  “Ah, so it is true,” Omman said. “You are not born of the Realms. Tug?”

  Tug beamed with pride, his whiskers and nose trembling with obvious excitement. “During the beginning of the Birth season and all throughout the season of Death, lightning strikes the tallest dunes of the desert. The bright light and heat of it melts and burns the sand, leaving veins of what we call thunder-glass. It is harvested and given to father. He’s the only one who can shape and color it so. The sculptures are quite valuable and it’s why the other clans haven’t—”

  “That’s enough, my son,” Omman interrupted. He patted Tug on the head. “Why don’t you dig out some vittles for our guests. Snake and porridge perhaps?”

  “Snake and what?” Athena said, snapping to attention.

  Wyatt leaned close and whispered, “Don’t be rude.”

  She glared at Wyatt, but turned and nodded at Omman. “Sounds good, I’m starving.”

  “Wondrous,” Omman said, and then seeming to view Athena for the first time, frowned. “Oh my. You have been injured. My dear, Athena, please come sit by the fire and let me clean your wounds. It would be an honor.”

  Omman led Athena to one of the few bare spaces on the wooden floor, set in front of a fireplace that roared with warmth. Wyatt followed, not realizing how cold he had been until the heat of the fire hit his face and limbs. He curled and uncurled his hands, working blood and life into the stiff digits. He never imagined a desert to be so frigid.

  Omman pressed Athena onto her back and gingerly peeled back the torn strips of her t-shirt. Her eyes pinched shut as the tsiyyi glass sculptor ran dull claws over the lacerations that split Athena’s skin. They crisscrossed in a vicious pattern, covering her stomach, shoulders, and arms. The blood had dried, but the wounds remained gruesome. Athena’s shirt came off in tatters, revealing a simple white cotton bra, stained red.

  “You mind, Wy’?” she said, without opening her eyes. It wasn’t a question.

  The blood rushing to his cheeks warmed them more than the fire. He turned away. Athena grunted and pounded the floor.

  “Fuckin’ shit,” she cried and pounded the floor again.

  “You must not move. Some of these wounds will require a stitch or two.” Omman’s voice was smooth.

  Athena screamed. Wyatt thought for a moment to turn and look, but the fear of eventual retaliation was too great a price to pay.

  “Master Wyatt,” called Tug from the far corner, his head just visible over a wall of crates and glass figurines. “You can help me prepare the vittles, if it pleases you.”

  “Motherfuckin’ son of—”

  Wyatt shook his head, ignoring the rest of the tirade and hurried to join the young tsiyyi. Tug was stirring a large pot of some lumpy substance, while trying to cut a length of salted snake. He grinned and wiggled his whiskers as Wyatt took the knife and set to dicing the meat.

  “Your companion is very brave,” Tug said, nodding toward the fire. Athena continued to spray forth every curse Wyatt knew existed and a few more he had never heard. “She attacked one of the Elders, yes?”

  Wyatt nodded. “He called her a slave. I don’t think she likes that. I had to save her. And I saved you.”

  “Of course, Master. I am grateful. And if I may…could you not mention that I was…uh, well…”

  Wyatt smiled. “Thrown in a well for mouthing off?”

  A sheepish look crossed Tug’s face and he nodded. “He would be ever disappointed. But I couldn’t let the Sidewinders curse the Mother’s name, or yours, Master. It’s not the Mother that stole the water. I tried to tell them, but they didn’t listen. They never give for more than a score of days, wells that is. Father says the snow will be here soon and we won’t need to worry over the wells for a time in any case.”

  “Whoa, it snows here?” Wyatt shivered at the idea, despite the warmth in the buried hovel. His bare feet curled reflexively and he cursed himself for not wrapping his feet before leaving that morning in Ouranos. The day he had failed them…

  “Oh yes, great mounds of it.” Tug upended a small sack of cinnamon into the porridge and continued to stir. “And Father says that the season of Death is to be far longer this time around, on account of all the darkness in the Realms. Eight score or longer he says. But I don’t mind. I love the snow. Maybe you and Athena can stay and dig the tunnels with me.” His eyes flashed brightly in the warm glow of the room. “I don’t have no other beasts to play with. Not since…well, you know.”

  Wyatt frowned and shook his head. “Where are the other Sand Shrews, anyway? I thought you were bringing us to them?”

  “And that he did.” Omman’s head appeared over the line of crates.

  Wyatt nearly fainted at the start. “There are only two of you?”

  Tug shrugged and gave a sideways smile. “I didn’t lie to you, Master. I’d never do that, honest.”

  Omman laughed. “That’s the truth of my boy. He’ll never lie, but he won’t right tell you the truth either. Come, son, bring the vittles to the blaze. Let us try and warm our bones as well as our souls.”

  They sat in a loose ring in the front of the dwindling fire and supped on a cold porridge that stuck like glue, and salted serpent. Athena’s wounds had been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. She leaned against a crate, clad in one of Omman’s hooded robes. It became a shin length dress on the tall teen. She picked at the food, eating slowly and silently. She winced with each movement, the warmth clearly having restored feeling to her bruised body. But she didn’t outwardly complain.

  “If I may ask, Master,” Omman said after a time. “What brings you to the Dunes?”

  Wyatt swallowed a mouthful of thick porridge, smacking his lips loudly to swallow the gruel. “I left someone behind…”

  “The Lady Draygan, yes?”

  Wyatt stared at the sculptor, dumbfounded. “You know Rozen?”

  Omman wrinkled his nose. “Know? No, but I’ve heard the tale. Near
every beast has, I imagine. The Lady is near as renown as yourself. A ferocious warrior.”

  “The Lord Regent took her. In Ouranos.” Wyatt swallowed. Suddenly his mouth had gone dry. “I…I promised…”

  Tug perked up and shot his father an urgent glance. “The Master knows not, Father.”

  “What don’t I know?”

  Tug and Omman shared a look, their curious whiskers jumping and dancing about their furred faces. At last, Omman turned to Wyatt and said, “The Draygan, Lady Rozen. The Regency does not hold her. And hasn’t for quite some time.”

  Wyatt couldn’t believe his ears. His heart fluttered and his spine went rigid. “She escaped? Where is she? What happened?”

  Omman held up a hand to silence Wyatt’s stream of questions. “You have been gone a long time, Master.”

  “A full season plus seven score and…three days,” Tug chimed in.

  Wyatt stared wide eyed at the young tsiyyi. How long?!

  “The tales tell of your curious travels. It has not been so long for you, yes?”

  Wyatt nodded dumbly. He looked to Athena, who wore an equally enthralled expression.

  Omman continued. “It is said that after the Lord Regent took the Lady Rozen from Ouranos, she escaped. There is said to have been much death. Some say she won over the Draygan warriors at her guard and joined them to her cause. Others says she learned the art of conflagration and escaped on her own, leaving behind a trail of scorched corpses. In either case, the Lady escaped and vanished.”

  “She’s gone?”

  Omman shook his head and stroked the long hair of his chin. “Vanished, yes, but never for long. There are tales of the Lady all over the Realms. They say she comes like a shadow, rising from the darkness to strike at the evil-minded and ill-possessed. The Regency is in turmoil, as are the Realms. Never have we been more divided.”

  “Because of me?” Wyatt asked, though he did not think he wanted the answer.

  Omman sighed. “The Realms have been fragmented for many generations, Master. Though, Ouranos did little to bring the Realms to your side. High Keeper Draco has sworn fealty to the Regency—”

  “Draco?” Wyatt said, surprised. “What happened to High Keeper Tucana?”

  “Dead, I am afraid.”

  Wyatt grabbed at his chest and shook his head, not wanting to believe it.

  A sorrowful look passed over Omman’s face. His whiskers drooped noticeably. “The tremor fell half the keep and a large portion of the upper city. The High Keeper… she…”

  “No,” Wyatt said and clasped a hand to his mouth. The truth was far worse than he could have imagined. I was Wyatt the Mighty. I was a revered Druid. What did I do?

  “It weren’t your fault, Master,” Tug said.

  Wyatt looked to the young tsiyyi and nodded, but the sick feeling in his stomach persisted. He felt as if he were rotting from the inside out. And I deserve it.

  “I have to find Rozen,” he said, wiping the tears on the back of his hand. He took a deep breath before adding, “And I have a Lord Regent to kill. I can still save the Realms. I have to.”

  Omman looked taken back by the severity of Wyatt’s voice and he shared another look with his son. “You must be wary, Master. It is a delicate balance.”

  “What is?”

  “The gifts, Master. Everything of the Mother is of a balance. Two-sided. Double-edged. One must use care that they slide not into a place of darkness as the Regency has.”

  Wyatt grunted, his sorrow quickly transforming into anger. “I am a Druid. I wield the Mother’s judgment. I do what I want.”

  Athena scoffed. Wyatt shot her a look that he thought threatening, but the strong teen shook it off. “Ignore him,” she said. “What’s this gift stuff you’re talkin’ about? That his magic?”

  “Magic, uh, yes, if it pleases you,” Omman said. “As I said, everything in life has a balance. The Mother’s gifts are no different. On one hand is the gift of growth, which the Druids wield.”

  “And what? The other is death?” Athena said.

  “Of a sort.”

  “So, one side gives and the other side taketh away?” Athena flashed Wyatt a smile as she spoke.

  “It is as you say, yes.”

  “Oh, you better be careful, Wy’,” she said, her sarcastic tone restored. “We don’t want you goin’ off the deep end. Keep that balance.”

  Wyatt stared through her smile. “They killed my friends.”

  “That may be, Master,” Omman said slowly, as if embarrassed. “But if I may—”

  A sharp knock at the door finished the conversation abruptly. The group stared at the stout timber door in silence, only the crackle of the fire fouling the calm. Another knock came, louder, casting grains of sand into the room. Glass figurines clinked together.

  “No, son, don’t,” Omman cried out, but Tug was already on his feet and skipping to the door.

  “It could be Mister Henrick, Father.”

  Wyatt had hardly the time to ponder the familiar name before the door blew open as if struck with a ram. The room was plunged into ice, a sharp chill lacing Wyatt’s bones with frost. The fire sputtered.

  Tug vanished a moment later.

  Chapter Four

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN during dinner, plunging the Dunes into oppressing blackness. Wyatt couldn’t help notice the absence of moons as he stumbled after Athena and Omman. The sky was void of any light, black as ink, and just as suffocating.

  The night created a wall around the dozen torches held by an innumerable number of robed tsiyyi that lined the nearby dune. Only those closest to the flames could be seen and still their features were shrouded in shadows. Death and shadows. Wyatt shook his head at the thought, but could not dispel the sour feeling in his gut.

  Omman stumbled and fell to his knees, a dozen strides from where the crowd held his son, knives at his bare neck. “What are you doing? Do not hurt my son. We had an understanding. Please.”

  A voice answered back, but Wyatt could not discern the source. “Give us the Druid, Elder Omman, and you shall have your son.”

  Omman stole a glance at Wyatt. “The Master is not mine to give. He belongs to the Mother, just as we all do.”

  Wyatt felt an embattled courage rise within him. “Yeah, I’m a Druid. Give Tug back. I command it!”

  “Druid?” scoffed the voice. “You are an abomination.” The crowd murmured in agreement.

  Athena elbowed Wyatt aside and stepped forward. “You think you’re tough, takin’ a little kid? You’re a bunch of pussies if you ask me. First you throw ‘im down a goddamn well and now you threaten his dad? Fuck you, I say. Fuck. You.” Athena held out her arms, urging the shadowed tsiyyi to fight her. A fish, molded of dark green glass was clutched in her right hand.

  “His slave as well, Omman, give them to us and—”

  “Slave!” Athena screamed, burying all other sounds of the night. “You callin’ me a slave? I gotta teach you another fuckin’ lesson? Let’s dance then, bitch.” Wyatt could see her shaking with rage, bathed in the light from the open doorway at her back.

  “Please, Athena,” Omman begged. “Do not stir them.”

  “Give us the Druid and the night-skinned girl, and you’ll have your son back,” said the voice.

  Athena took a step forward, but Omman’s voice stopped her. “You cannot do this. The Mother once guided you. Do not turn from her now, I beg of you, return to me my son and return yourselves to the Mother’s side.”

  Laughter rippled through the crowd. “Turn to the Mother?” bellowed the voice. “The same Mother who sent us him? This Druid? A Druid that would take down a city and kill hundreds? And for what?” The voice didn’t wait for an answer. “No, the Mother be damned. She has turned from us, sending this demon into our home. No. We mean to cast him back. Perhaps then we can end the Regency’s war.”

  “Don’t let them take the Master,” Tug shouted from behind a veil of tears. “They mean to give him to the Regency.”

  Om
man’s expression crumbled in the darkness, his whiskers falling as limp as his ears. “I am an Elder. This blasphemy cannot be done.”

  “You are the Elder of a clan of two,” taunted the voice. “The Sand Shrews are dead.”

  “But I allow you my wares. I take nothing for myself. That was our arrangement. Let my son go.”

  “And ignore the fact that you are harboring the Druid? No. Our arrangement has changed. It has been decided that the Sand Shrews are no longer a necessity. A unanimous vote, in fact.”

  A torch burning at Tug’s back allowed Wyatt to see the grip on the young tsiyyi tighten. He saw the blades begin to move and at once he realized what they were going to do, no matter Omman’s answer. His mind fled to the whisper—the Mother’s voice. There is nothing but sand here, he thought in vain. And the wind. Could he save the boy with only the power of wind at his behest? Omman continued to protest and Athena was inching closer to the mob, but Wyatt remained fixed on his surroundings. Growth, Omman had called it. The gift of growth. What was there to grow in a land of sand?

  Knowing he had no time to explore, he pulled at the only string he could—the wind. It was strange, he had never seen the wind as a living thing, but there it was in his mind. His eyes were fixed on Tug as he whispered to the air of the Dunes, giving the wind life, pouring into it from deep within his being. The torches sputtered, some dimming to embers, further casting the enemy in shade. It mattered not, the wind required no eyes, and neither did Wyatt. He could see them in his mind, along with Omman, Tug, and Athena. There were thirty-seven hooded tsiyyi, huddled around Tug, seeking to cast him into oblivion. He saw their life forces as well and heard the whispered voices of what he thought were their souls. I won’t let them hurt him.