by Aleks Canard
‘And ain’t that the truth?’ Felix said.
Baxter cracked his knuckles. Went inside. He came out less than a minute later holding a crown made from flowers. They were midnight navy blue, Trix’s favourite colour.
‘I was working on it all of yesterday, I think I’ve got the sizing right.’ He walked to Trix and placed the crown on her head. It was a perfect fit.
‘Thank you, Baxter. It’s beautiful.’
‘And here I was thinking you’d ask why I didn’t get you a sword instead. The dryads will like it. It’ll show them you’re a friend.’
Baxter was able to enter the Xifaw Forest for the same reason as all the other men who lived along the border. They sired dryad children, for there were no male dryads. Susan suspected the Arnums extended their magic powers beyond the forest bounds to attract new men. Males seldom lived among the dryads permanently. Whatever the Arnums did with their magic tended to work better on women. Baxter, and the other men along the border, didn’t necessarily stay because they were just looking for sex with the dryads, who were, as luck would have it, beautiful. They often remembered little of their encounters as if lured into Xifaw in a trance.
‘Are you ready to go?’ Felix said.
‘I was ready before you were a swimmer in your father’s balls,’ Baxter laughed, slapping his leg with zeal. Lying with the dryads granted him good health and a smooth complexion. He bade Trix and Felix follow him around the back of his cabin to a fenced yard where he grew his own vegetables. Trix could see a radio through a window. This was the boundary where technology stopped working.
A dirt path no more than a foot wide began at the back of Baxter’s yard. Entered into the trees. Their branches were so dense it looked like night time beneath them. Occasional slivers of light made it through. They looked like golden vines that had unspooled from the sun and froze in place.
Baxter walked the narrow path with ease, hardly paying attention to where he was going. Trix had never been this close before. She’d always been caught at the very edge. She fought the urge to bolt ahead of Baxter. She’d be able to outrun him. Felix too. But within Xifaw, she doubted whether she could navigate back to the border herself.
This was completely uncharted territory.
‘The dryads like music,’ Baxter said. His jovial voice had become slow, measured, and grave. Even Felix’s smile had been turned into a firm line. Both men’s eyebrows creased in slight frowns.
Baxter cleared his throat. ‘Under sun and neath the trees,’ he began. His voice was low, yet its timbre was clear, melodic. ‘Flowers swayin’ in the breeze…’
Felix picked up the next line. ‘…the hunter watches, his bones they ache, the easy road he doth forsake.’
Old Man Baxter again: ‘He knows no sleep just restless dreams, eldritch worlds filled with screams.’
Now both the men sang together. Felix, despite having a deep speaking voice, sang higher than Baxter. They harmonised effortlessly as they strode further into the forest with Trix between them. Here it was possible to forget about starships, councils, and Uldarian Transfers. There was only the forest, and the sounds that filled it. At the moment, the sounds were those of song.
‘For monsters, relics old, slain for sums of gold. They’ll bite, they’ll fight, they’ll kill, you’ll die, and grow cold. And grow cold. Under moon and by the trees, waves a crashin’ in the seas. The enchantress, waits alone, seeks no thrones and rests no bones. She prays for her love, the coming dawn, her small child newly born. She knows no sleep just fantasy, hopes for another reality. For monsters, armies bold, march for sums of gold. They’ll rape, they’ll take, they’ll kill, you’ll die, and grow cold. And grow cold.’
More songs were sung, though none stayed with Trix like the first. Its melody haunted her until they were well into the forest. She hadn’t seen any dryads yet, though she heard movement in the trees. Saw nothing but branches whenever she looked up.
Trix thought she saw a pair of eyes crouched low by a tree as she crossed the brook. She wasn’t scared, only curious. From all the stories she’d heard, no one made it so far as ten steps into the forest. She wondered how Baxter knew where he was going. The mysterious land within the trees had few defining features besides the brook, and they were leaving it behind in favour of unmarked wilds.
Blor’daeyn residents who claimed to have ventured into Xifaw said they’d seen the dryads’ secret city. Funny then, that none of them should know what is was called, and all gave varying accounts as to the city’s aesthetic.
Susan said that the dryads used ancient zirean to converse among themselves, but that the Arnums had their own language which was phonetically similar to the draconic tongue. She’d only bartered passage into the forest once by presenting an offering at its border. She hadn’t been allowed far in. Only to an outer colony. Or so she had said.
Trix saw structures high in distant tree branches. Bridges made from vines lined with flowers connected platforms of all different shapes and sizes. Green, silver lights floated among the outpost. Trix didn’t think this was the capital city. At the pace they were walking, she guessed it would’ve taken days to reach Xifaw’s centre.
‘Are those magic?’ she said to Felix, pointing at the green lights.
‘They’re fairies.’
‘Fairies aren’t real. They’re not listed in Monsters & Other Beasts, and that book has everything.’
‘Not enough is known about the Arnums to write about them properly. That’s why their section is so small.’
‘The fairies are actually seedlings,’ Baxter said. His voice wasn’t as grave as before, though its tonality was wary. ‘They’re baby Arnums. It’s the fairies who alert the dryads to intruders. Then the arrows come.’
‘Come no closer, Baxter Greythorn,’ a shadow said. A tall woman with hair like vines, dotted with flowers, stepped into view. A beam of light cut across her like a sash. She wore a loincloth made from corded leaves. A bow crafted from wood the likes of which Trix had never seen before was slung between her breasts. Her zirean origins were visible in pointed ears, but the similarities stopped there.
The dryad’s body was considerably curvier, and her skin was a luxurious green shade. Her nipples looked like flower petals. Trix thought she was nature incarnate. Arrow quivers made from supple leather were strapped to her calves. A curved sword hung on her hip. Trix didn’t know where they mined the metal or how they smithed it. At this point, she thought it would be unwise to ask.
‘Your songs were appreciated,’ the dryad said.
‘I’ve come to escort the young woman, Beatrix,’ Baxter said, stepping aside so that Trix was in full view of the dryad. ‘Her father,’ he gestured to Felix, ‘slayed the fiend several years ago, the one that tainted the forest beyond your borders.’
Felix kneeled before the dryad. Kept his head low. Whereas a Zirean bow required eye contact at all times, Baxter had warned Felix in advance that dryads required newcomers to kneel and look at the earth, for it was the giver of life.
‘Rise, hunter. Until your actions prove otherwise, you are permitted here.’
‘My thanks.’
‘You may call me Raeyeleth. These trees you see are my abode.’
‘I thank you again, Raeyeleth.’
‘Let me see the little one,’ Raey said, holding out her hand.
Trix stepped forward. Her posture was immaculate.
Raeyeleth circled her. She put a finger underneath Trix’s chin. Forced her head up. Raey moved it from side to side, then stroked Trix’s hair. ‘You are not like the others, child. Not a mage, and not human, even though you look one. Your white hair is not a result of age, but tremendous torment. I see death in your past, and your future. It circles you like vultures over desert wanderers. You darkle, white one.’
‘I need you to teach her what you know,’ Felix said, before Raeyeleth could continue with her tenebrous prophecy.
‘Why would we bestow our skills to a child of the Uldarians?’
‘She was made to save people, but her training was cut short. I don’t ask that she lives with you, only that you help her so she may do what she was meant to do.’
Raeyeleth evaluated Felix. She looked not only at his eyes, but his body movements. The hunter could feel the weight of her stare. But he did not cave. Neither did Trix when she was subjected to a similar gaze. The machina stood straight. Stood proud.
After what seemed like an age, populated with naught but gentle forest sounds and quiet breathing, Raeyeleth addressed Felix.
‘You nearly gave your life for our forest, purged it of ancient filth. We will begin to train her just as we train our own children. We will only continue to accept her if she obeys us without question. Do you agree, little one?’
Trix looked to Felix. His eyes were troubled, but he nodded.
‘I accept your terms, Raeyeleth.’
‘Leave us, men,’ Raeyeleth said. ‘Go back to where you came. The little one will be returned to the border come star rise.’
Felix gave Trix a kiss on the head. She kissed him on the cheek. Baxter patted her on the shoulder. He and Felix began walking back to Baxter’s hut. Trix heard them start singing again.
Raeyeleth turned on her heel with nary a sound. Trix followed.
Trix: ‘Will my skin turn green like yours if I stay here too long?’
‘No.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Some mysteries were meant to be left alone, little one. It does not do to interfere with what you do not understand.’
‘But I thought the Arnums knew everything, like dragons.’
‘He who knows all is none. Though the Arnums, and our most revered elders, the Hanoryaeds, may come close.’
‘Why doesn’t technology work here?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘Because I want a lot of answers.’
‘Technology is a crutch that weakens the legs. When it is removed, standing becomes impossible. The only reason it raises you so high is so the fall will kill you,’ Raeyeleth said, though Trix suspected this wasn’t the real reason. Could almost sense great power from further in. Or maybe it was just her nerves.
‘What do you mean? Is that why the Uldarians died? They became too powerful and someone stopped them?’
‘It would do you well to heed one of our oldest lessons, child.’
‘You haven’t taught me anything yet.’
‘Truth speaks only in silence.’
‘Are you telling me to shut up?’
‘Not so crudely.’ Raeyeleth turned to Trix. ‘You’re not afraid of this place, or me, are you, little one?’
‘Should I be?’
‘Your father, the hunter, has he taught you bravery?’
‘I’ve done things that would make your knees buckle, dryad. I learned bravery myself.’
‘If fortune truly does favour the bold, then you shall be most fortunate, o little brave one.’
Raeyeleth turned around. Kept walking between the trees. Dryads were laying precariously on branches. Perched high in the trees. Surveying the forest for trouble. Trix saw some kneeling before a tree trunk that was covered in faces. The dryads stopped what they were doing. Watched her as she passed.
Trix was anxious, though she didn’t let anything other than confidence show. Raeyeleth kept walking until they reached a meadow. There was still very little sunlight due to the size of the branches. A dryad with silver hair was sitting against a tree covered in faces. They looked frozen in anguish. It was hard to tell if they were human or not. Their features were nonspecific. Just eyes and mouths.
‘Cypriffych, Aryagyr.’
‘Raeyeleth, maee hy’r unum?’
‘Sywd.’
The silver haired dryad stood. Knives were slung across her chest on two crisscrossing bandoliers. A bow rested on the ground next to where she’d been sitting.
‘The trees have been whispering about you, little one.’
‘Trees can’t whisper.’
‘Perhaps it is you who isn’t listening.’
‘Or maybe you’re crazy?’
‘Careful, little one. We have killed for less.’
‘Why?’
‘These lands belong to the Arnums, not to the greed of other races. We protect them, and their magic nurtures us.’
‘My dad said you were going to teach me how to fight. When does that start?’
Raeyeleth looked at the silver haired dryad. They nodded at each other.
‘It may begin now, little one. Stand yonder, where the light hits the earth. No, not there. Yes, that’s better.’
The silver dryad grabbed her bow off the ground. She drew an arrow from her thigh.
‘Little one, this arrow is meant for your heart.’
‘What? You were supposed to train me. Not kill me.’
‘No one ever kills anyone. All deaths are caused by oneself. If you die from this arrow, it will not be I who killed you. It will be your slowness. Just as these knives of mine do not kill intruders who walk into these woods. Their own foolishness kills them. I do not want you to avoid this arrow. I want you to catch it. Take death in your own hands.’
Trix wanted the lesson to stop, but that was when she noticed the silver dryad raise her arm. She’d done similar drills with Felix, but in the dark of the forest, in the company of strange creatures, death felt as sure as the rising sun.
The arrow was loosed.
Trix went to pivot, as Felix had taught her. She outstretched her hand to catch the arrow.
Then there was pain.
Trix howled. She fell to her knees. Tears glazed over her eyes, blurring her vision. She wiped them away. The arrowhead had torn open her right hand. Blood was pouring out. It stained her trousers. Trix knew how to make a tourniquet. Her shirt. She had to get her shirt off.
Raeyeleth knelt beside Trix. Seized her hand.
‘You see, little one. Stop fussing with your shirt and look. Look at your hand. You see, there, under your nails. You grabbed some of the fletching.’
‘It does not do to only grab death by the tail, little one, for death is a serpent. Quick and silent. You must grab its body then break it in two, or its fangs will find your heart. Again.’
Trix gritted her teeth. ‘I need to stop the bleeding first.’
‘Death doesn’t wait for you to lick your wounds before striking again, and neither will your enemies. Your father understood this when he fought the fiend. The Arnums spoke of his triumph. That broken, he fought to his last breath anyway. Life and death are the same in that neither will give you reprieve, little one. You may continue to fight only until you’ve breathed your last. On your feet.’
The huntress obeyed. There was so much blood. This time she’d pivot the opposite way, to spare her injured hand. Silver dryad nocked another arrow. Songbirds chirped. Breeze rustled leaves. To Trix, it sounded like murmuring voices, the kind that followed whenever Felix took her to Blor’daeyn or Duskmere.
Here, among the trees, beneath the gaze of occult creatures, anything seemed possible. Especially death.
Trix slowed her breathing. Calmed herself. Focused on what Felix told her about anticipation through hearing heartbeats and breathing. Another verse of the song Baxter sang on the way in came to her mind.
Or maybe it was sung by the trees.
Under stars and neath the trees, fairies flyin’ twixt the leaves. The machina trains, her blood it flows, all that she is bound by throes. She knows no peace just anarchy, death preys on her sanity. For the machina, eyes of gold, hair as white as snow, she’ll cut, and slice, quarter and dice, and never grow old. Never grow old.
The arrow loosed. Trix went to evade.
Pain again. Darkness washed over her eyes, and there was nothing. Only agony. Her other hand was sliced open. She stumbled to the grass. It was damp.
Raeyeleth sat on a mossy rock. Her hands stroked a delicate flower petal. The silver dryad nocked a third arrow.
‘Rise, little o
ne.’
Trix grunted. Stood. She was shaking. Maybe if she used her magic to slow the arrow? That might work. Though she was having trouble concentrating. All she could think about was stopping the bleeding. Normally her cuts congealed fairly quickly, unless they were major gashes. But these appeared to be flowing as fast as when the arrowheads struck.
‘Aryagyr, don’t you think the girl has had enough?’ Raeyeleth said.
‘No one has enough until they are dead. Otherwise, to what end do we live? Enough is a harmful word.’
Raeyeleth nodded. She said no more.
Stand and show me your strength, Felix’s words echoed in Trix’s head.
The machina did.
Aryagyr fired.
Pain.
So the process repeated until even Aryagyr accepted that Trix needed to be bandaged. Training with the dryads was punishing, though over the years, Trix began passing their tests, which grew increasingly harder each week, in addition to training with Felix and Susan.
Trix learned more than swiftness, strength, and dexterity from the dryads. Though she had never been turned into a dryad by the Arnums, her nature had been transformed. What kindness and compassion she possessed she’d learned from Felix. Grace and tenacity had been imbued by Susan. But her stoic nature, curt delivery, and even her accent, had all been altered by the dryads.
They suffered no fools.
Neither did Trix.
She—
4
knew Faedra would not risk going to Zilvia.
But Gauthier Nadim might. There was every possibility that his powers could cripple the dryads long enough for Faedra to take the mirror. Trix admitted it was a stretch. However, one always had to be careful when dealing with demons. After all, hadn’t they all been angels once? Angels who’d fallen, yes.
‘Alright,’ Trix said. ‘First, Altayr, you need to contact the Conclave and tell them what’s happened in Northfall. Unlike authorities, they’ll keep this quiet. Then, we’re going to the Ddraeyg Mountains.’
‘I’ll speak with the Conclave, but, Trix, the scholars who researched Gauthier went mad. They don’t exist. Their research was sealed away.’
‘We just broke into one of the galaxy’s securest vaults. I’m sure the scholars can unlock a filing cabinet for us.’