“Wow, that’s…”
“Unbelievable?” Nesbitt grinned, glancing at Joni first, then back at me.
“Yes, unbelievable,” Joni affirmed. “Impossible, even.”
“Not so much as you would think. Nature regularly comes to the aid of every man, woman, and child. Good or evil alike. Children of Ask and Embla may have neglected their responsibility to nature, but nature’s care for all persists unconditionally. The trees give you breathable air. Crops yield their fruit for your sustenance. This only scratches the surface. But for those such as yourselves, Mr. Wadsworth and Miss Campbell, nature is willing to aid you less… subtly.”
“Nature,” Tyler interjected cynically, “can also be deadly.”
“Indeed, young Ovate. This is a part of the Druid’s reverence for nature. What she sustains, she may also destroy. Yet, from nature’s perspective death is simply a part of the cycle. Life itself depends upon it.”
“When we die,” I said, turning to Tyler and throwing my voice at least two octaves lower than usual, “our bodies become the grass, and the antelope eat the grass. And so we are all connected in the great circle of life.”
The Mufasa quote was lost on the girls, but Tyler nearly choked on his coffee.
“Hakuna matata, smartass,” Nesbitt responded, adding a wink.
I nearly spit my coffee halfway across the table.
“Death gives way to life,” Nesbitt continued. “But death is nature’s alien work. Her proper work is life. Would you begrudge the sun because it could burn your skin? Would you hate the hand of your mother who feeds you for the occasions her same hand disciplines you? Nature is a great provider. She reflects her maker’s goodness, the All Father’s loving kindness. But like her maker, she cannot be collared. She will not be bound to the will of man, though workers of maleficium attempt it. The unwieldiness of nature does not in any way belittle her constant and faithful provision.”
“But hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes…”
“They happen, young Ovate. And thousands may die by nature’s hand passing from life to death to life. But every day nature also provides for billions, reflecting a greater goodness in spite of the fact that few deserve it. This world is broken, no doubt. But the goodness of this world far outweighs the tragedy experienced therein.”
“That’s crap,” Tyler said in an outrage.
“Tyler…” Emilie nudged him.
“Well, it is. That’s like saying a murderer shouldn’t be blamed for the one person he did kill because of the thousands of other people he has met but never hurt, or even helped. He’s still guilty. He’s still a murderer.”
“Nature is not subject to man’s judgment,” Nesbitt said calmly. “Neither can the maker of nature’s laws be indicted by the ethics of men.”
“The teacher doesn’t have to raise her hand before speaking,” I added reflectively.
“Indeed, Mr. Wadsworth. It is a matter of knowing one’s place. One’s role. Mr. Harley, you have much knowledge. But knowledge without wisdom is like a blade in the hand of a child. A blade is a useful tool, but it can also do incredible harm to self or others if wielded apart from wisdom. Remember this, Ovate. The beginning of wisdom is not found in what one knows, but by respecting what he does not—even what he cannot—know.”
Tyler sighed. “But knowledge. Science. It leads to progress…”
“Progress from where, to what?” Nesbitt cut him off. “Progress is but folly, a delusion. I have traversed the fabric of time. I have met men of many ages. No age before has progressed so far as this one, yet in no age before have men seemed so miserable, unhappy, depressed.”
“Well”—gesturing toward the Segway parked near the door, Tyler continued—“you seem to be enjoying the fruits of our progress.”
With what seemed insurmountable patience, the ancient wizard took no affront to Tyler’s observation. “The conventions of logic and ethics declare that the ends do not justify the means… Neither, though, do the means necessarily spoil the ends.”
Nesbitt paused a moment as if searching for his words. Instead he chose, it seemed, to employ a visual aid; he grabbed his staff with one hand, reached into a pocket inside his robe with the other, and retrieved a handful of something, concealed at first in a tight grip. He tossed the handful into the air, tapped his staff twice, and in an instant the seeds sprouted in midair, forming an array of flowers. He quickly grabbed them midair by their respective stems and, setting his staff aside, separated them into two distinct bouquets. He presented one to Emilie, the other to Joni.
With wide smiles, half-elicited by the wonder of the sight and half-appreciative of the gesture in its own right, the girls took the bouquets, offering Nesbitt nods of gratitude.
“So, how did I do that just now, Mr. Harley?”
“Umm… I don’t know. Magic?”
“You only call it magic because you don’t understand how it was done. If I were to take you to say, Salem a few hundred years back and you were to show them your iPhone, how do you suppose they would respond?”
Tyler laughed, unable to resist the wizard’s charm in spite of his objections. “They would probably call me a witch and burn me!”
“You laugh, but those events were no laughing matter. The point, young Ovate, is that progress is no less magical than what I can do. Or what Mr. Wadsworth and Miss Campbell can do. Simply because men have seized the resources of the world and developed great inventions does not mean that man has accomplished anything which was not already latent in the potential of nature itself. The distinction between a wizard and a scientist is not in what he can do, but in how he has imagined he has done it.”
“So progress is good. Like I said…”
“You miss the point, young Ovate. Progress in science and technology is what it is. Yet the posture of the scientist should be no different than the posture of the Druid.”
“How do you figure?” Tyler asked. “Science has progressed leaps and bounds. Druids have done nothing of note for centuries.”
“In a sense,” Nesbitt continued, “you are correct. The true Druid Born is rare. If you consider, however, what one Druid might accomplish when reaching his full potential as compared to a single scientist, whose use of nature is limited to the five senses, there is little comparison. Still, you miss the point. A scientist and Druid, if he or she be a good one, each revere nature in their own way. Neither is, truly, nature’s master.”
“So a Druid is not against using technology,” I added.
“Of course not! Technology is ultimately one of nature’s many gifts. Not only should the Druid embrace it, but he should thank the trees for it!”
A tune resounded, seeming to come from within the wizard’s robe. I recognized it immediately.
Do you believe in magic….
“The Lovin’ Spoonful, Nesbitt? You’ve really got to update your catalog,” I jested.
“When you’ve seen as many millennia as I have, young Druid, anything less than a century old is still a contemporary hit.”
“Do you need to get that?” Emilie asked.
“No, young Bard. It’s merely a reminder.”
“A reminder for what?” I asked.
“A reminder to proceed according to plan. Events are in motion that will come when they are sure to come. I simply leverage the power of my smartphone to ensure that we stay on schedule. Also, I’m overdue to update my Twitter.”
“You’re on Twitter?” Tyler asked incredulously.
“Indeed. And verified, too.” Nesbitt glanced at his phone and began to laugh. “You’d never guess what the president just said.”
Tyler, Emilie, and I exchanged glances in disbelief.
I cleared my throat. “As you were saying, we need to stay on schedule?”
“We do, young Druid. Pardon me, this phone is addictive. I can see why so many today, while imagining themselves to be masters of the natural world, become slaves to their own devices.”
“Don’t get too hook
ed on all that social media,” Emilie warned. “You’ll never be able to put that phone down.”
“Oh, too late!” Nesbitt turned his phone our direction. A duck-faced selfie of the wizard sporting a backhanded peace sign headlined his Facebook profile.
I burst out laughing. “That’s awesome… That’s all I can say—awesome.”
“Awesome is one word for it,” Tyler said with a smirk.
“You sure do keep with the times,” Joni added, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. After all, duck faces had never been in fashion for old men like Nesbitt… if they ever truly were for anyone.
Nesbitt chuckled. “Indeed! Now to business. First, the formalities.” He retrieved a stack of alligator-clipped papers from his robe and dropped them in front of me. “These, Mr. Wadsworth, are the papers which should transfer the deed of this residence from your parents’ estate to you. There are some financial statements as well. The sum you received… I’ll simply say that some well-timed investments in social media, made at my own discretion, have paid off handsomely.”
“Wait,” Tyler interjected. “Since you’ve seen the future, isn’t that like insider trading? That’s totally illegal.”
“I have yet to read any law, Mr. Harley, that forbids investment based on time travel,” Nesbitt said, adding a wink.
“So, this place really is… mine?”
“It is, Mr. Wadsworth. It could belong to no one else. The waters pouring into this place spring up from a gateway to and from Annwn itself. It is only fitting that you, who alone belongs to both worlds, would retain this residence as your own.”
“Wow, that’s incredible. Can you tell me how everything works?”
“That, young Druid, will take some time. I would suggest an apprenticeship if only we had more time. Though I should tell you our purpose in your training should you agree to pursue this path, is much greater than learning the ins and outs of domestic life, no matter how many Home Ec courses you and Miss Campbell should take together.”
“Should I agree? I’m getting the sense that I really don’t have much of a choice here. These things are happening to me, and I have to figure it out.”
“There’s always a choice, young Druid. Your will may be bound to certain circumstances, but it does remain free. You can always reject the path destiny has set before you. Destiny is not the cruel mistress some have supposed. Your future is your own. Though I should tell you, I think you will find when your father has told his whole story, the path before you will be quite clear.”
“In that case,” I said, retrieving the sigil stone from the front pocket of my well-worn hoodie and placed it on the table, “I suppose we should see what my dad has to show us.”
Nesbitt gave an approving nod as we all joined hands around the table.
WE ARRIVED, IT seemed, at the very moment or only a few moments after the last vision we’d seen before concluded. Unlike previous visions, where my father’s latent memory greeted my friends and me before the vision proceeded, this one simply began without any formalities.
My father, Diarmid, held the nymph—the Dryad whom I’d earlier recognized as my mother—in his arms tightly but carefully, as though he thought he might break her if he squeeze too hard. She opened her eyes, beholding his face for the first time. This was the moment my parents met.
The Dryad had a curious expression on her face, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted, both confused by the face she was beholding but captivated all at once. Diarmid looked at her longingly, a bead of sweat coursing down his brow, unsure what this nymph’s rebirth into our world meant, but also overtaken by the intimacy of the moment. I could tell he loved her already, even though he had previously only known her as the mystery within the Maia. So much emotion, so many dances, so many hopes had all led to this moment. Now Diarmid held his beloved wood nymph in his arms, transferring her whole weight into his right arm so his left hand was freed to gently swipe a stray strand of jade-green hair behind her dainty ear. She lifted her pale hand to his cheek as her eyes were arrested by his affectionate gaze.
“Diarmid. My name’s Diarmid,” my father told the mysterious creature in his arms.
“Grainne,” she replied in a quiet but steady voice.
The smiles exchanged between the two reminded me of an old photograph of their wedding which used to hang on the wall of our foyer. Grainne placed a hand on my father’s heart, a warm, green glow illuminating her touch.
Diarmid gasped at the touch, but his attention was quickly startled as he looked up, confused. A slight breeze carried with it a faint but familiar odor. We noticed it, too. Something was burning. At once, all five of us, including Nesbitt, followed Diarmid’s shifting gaze toward the horizon, back toward his village. Smoke was billowing upward in a threatening gray column above the tree line.
“Quick”—Diarmid turned to Ceridwen—“we must return. Gather everyone together, the village is in trouble.”
Diarmid gathered Grainne in his strong arms as he rose to his feet. He helped her onto his back, her naked frame pressed against him as the dancing party assembled chaotically behind him. They made their way through the woods at a brisk pace, and the five of us followed behind. I recognized the path we were taking; we were heading back toward the village from which we had first followed the young Diarmid and the seraph Michael in a vision—the first vision I’d shared with Joni just days ago. For my mother and father, however, along with Ceridwen and the rest, years had separated these events.
We followed closely behind Diarmid, whose energies were quickly fading as he bore the Grainne’s weight on his back. My mother was much thinner than I ever remembered; she couldn’t have been more than ninety pounds. Still, she represented a significant weight on my father’s tiring frame.
“Dude,” Tyler said, “I’m looking at your mom naked.”
“I’m not sure which bothers me more—the fact that you’re looking at her naked, or that I am.”
“You know what?” Tyler asked as I shot him an anticipatory stare. “I think you inherited your mom’s ass.”
“You’d better shut up now, or I’ll be showing you my ass. You know, so you can compare.”
“Boys,” Emilie added. “Behave.”
Joni was laughing at the exchange.
Nesbitt seemed oblivious to our banter. He simply lingered behind like an aloof realtor well-familiar with a home, allowing a family to experience it for the first time.
I tried to refocus my attention on the scene we were supposed to be observing. Thanks to Tyler, though, I could no longer see Grainne as a mysterious Dryad, recently reborn from the Maia. Instead, she was now my naked mom. Gross.
I tried to keep my parents in my peripheral vision so as not to miss anything important, while diverting most of my attention to the pathway ahead. As we drew nearer to the village the smell of smoke grew stronger, and audible shouts alternating with screams grew louder.
As the burning village came into view, the whole party stopped.
“It’s Fionn,” Ceridwen said.
“I feared as much,” Diarmid replied.
“Since his wife died, he has been on a rampage, seeking the fairest virgin in the land to be his new bride. Villages with no potential bride to offer, he destroys.”
“I know, Ceridwen. He has changed. I once fought beside him, proudly. He was a noble warrior. Now he is nothing more than a savage.”
“Grief unassuaged can turn even the finest of men into brutes,” Ceridwen said. “We must stop him! He has destroyed half of our village.”
“Let us proceed. Perhaps I can dissuade him from his vain warpath.”
With my mother still held tightly in his arms, Diarmid and company proceeded toward the village. We followed closely behind. We reached the forest’s edge and passed the weathered stone, which I recognized from first vision of the village.
Diarmid raised a hand, halting the entire troupe. He stepped out in front of them all, setting my mother down and holding her shivering frame clos
e to his side. “Fionn!” Diarmid shouted. “Stop this senseless destruction!”
From behind one of the burning huts, a large-framed and tall but aging man approached. He carried a torch in one hand and a bloodied sword in the other. Two spear-wielding warriors flanked him on either side. A dozen or more spearmen likewise stood to his rear.
“Fionn, this is not who you are. You are grieving. These people are not to blame for your loss.”
“Diarmid, old friend,” Fionn answered, “I will gladly stop once you surrender your fairest virgin to be my bride.”
“This is not how you find a wife, Fionn. No woman wishes to wed a brute!”
“No woman wants an old, worn-out warrior, either. I will prove that I am still the champion of the four groves. I am still worthy of the finest bride in the land. If you will not surrender her, I will take her as my own.”
“This is insanity, Fionn.”
“Who is this whom you hide at your side?”
“She is none of your concern, Fionn.”
Fionn raised a hand. “I need only reach into the Oxter bag and any object of my choosing is mine to wield. Perhaps I should retrieve a burning cinder so hot that it will consume all that remains of this pitiful village. Or perhaps a rain-filled cloud to douse the flames already consuming this place. The choice is yours. Surrender the girl to me.”
“Fionn, no. You do not know what you are doing.”
“Very well, Diarmid. I had hoped our battles together would engender some loyalty.”
“Loyalty? You mean, after you left me bleeding at the hands of a wild boar?”
“Such are the consequences of the hunt, old friend.”
“You could have saved me. You chose not to. If it were not for my own… abilities… I would not have made it.”
“Think what you will, old friend. If we must become enemies, then you and your friends will pay for your insolence.”
Suddenly, Fionn and his warriors charged the party. Fionn reached into the bag at his side, retrieving what appeared to be a giant spear, far too long to fit naturally inside the small pouch. Diarmid raised his staff, bright-green light emanating from his eyes. A gust of wind shot through the scene, blowing his warriors backward as Diarmid stood steadfast. But it was too late; Fionn’s spear had found its way through the wind and struck Ceridwen in the chest.
Gates of Eden: Starter Library Page 18