by AZ Kelvin
“Never have I seen the like,” Quinlan said. He stood back and waited, but nothing else happened.
“The esbat be rising,” Sovia said as they returned from the search-and-dispatch mission.
Quinlan looked at Wylla and Freyn. “What do we do now?”
“Ye?” Wylla asked. “Nae a clue. Us on the other hand, Freyn, bein’ a conduit, will channel Na’veyja’s grace ta me, and ’tis my job ta brin’ the carraig ta life as I would a seed ta saplin’.”
The comment brought memories of a trip he and his father had taken in his youth. Riklan, his father, had given a Gwylari maiden a palerin seed and by the next morning, the Gwylari had grown the seed into a fruit-bearing tree.
“Quin?” Cassae brought him out of his reverie.
“Right, apologies,” he said. “I am certain now my vision came from Na’veyja. Whatever comes of this night, it has been my honor to tread life’s trails with you all.”
“What, are ye retirin’, brother?” Swela asked, with a sly smile on her face.
“Never!” he replied and gave a short laugh. “There will forever be a plant or animal in the world and those who would do them harm. I will always be there to rise against them and do what I can to protect the world I live in.”
“Well said, brother,” Sovia said, and the rest of the grove sounded off in agreement.
The moon’s course took it past a heart-shaped hole high up in the canopy of an oak tree. Moonlight beamed down through and temporarily brightened the area around the wellspring.
“That be a sign for sure,” Sovia said.
“Aye, now’s the time,” Wylla said.
Quinlan trusted in his vision and focused his spirit. He lifted Askue high, pointed it at the full moon, and began to chant repeatedly, “Esbat nom krayla nom talsa.”
The moonlight pouring through the heart-shaped hole was drawn to Quinlan and Askue. A shimmering silver glow built up around the staff, sparkling with bright white lights followed by shimmering tails like thousands of tiny shooting stars. The silvery-white starfield traveled down Quinlan’s raised arm, flowed across his body, and continued down his other arm toward the carraig.
Freyn began to weave back and forth as if dancing slowly to music only she heard. She drew intricate designs in the air with her hands. An emerald-green mist formed around her body. The mist grew to a cloud swirling around her and flowed toward the invisible runes in the air.
Wylla stepped in front of Freyn, facing away from her. She chanted, “Toir salan magnor rotan.” She repeated the phrase seven times while working ethereal runes in the air around the carraig. The glowing runes flowed from Freyn drawn in by Wylla’s chant of calling. The emerald energy gathered around Wylla pulsing with every word she spoke. Glowing green vapors formed around her hands and drifted down to cover the carraig in a bright green mist.
The green vapors from Wylla and Freyn mixed with the slivery-white starfield flowing from Quinlan’s arm. The tiny bright stars whirled through the glowing green cloud, and together they pierced the waters of the wellspring without a trace, pooling around the carraig.
The blended energy was drawn in through the fleshy exterior and a strange thrumming began, deep and low pitched. Whoosh-woom, whoosh-woom, whoosh-woom. The thrumming became a vibration right before a deep boom resounded and a micro shock wave passed through the ground under their feet.
The esbat moved past the heart-shaped hole in the trees and the tiny white star field faded away. Wylla ceased the rune dance and Freyn brought a stop to the energy flow. Quinlan relaxed and leaned upon Askue, pleasantly exhausted. The vibration had faded and the watershed was quiet.
“Do it be working?” Sovia asked.
The grove gathered around and brought their lanterns in close. The carraig quietly drew in and expelled water. The outflow shimmered with glowing green particles that drifted downstream and caught on the bottom and sides of the stream. The particles pulsed briefly before they disintegrated and healed the injuries inflicted by the black pods.
“Yi!” Therin exclaimed. “Yi, my brothers and sisters, the healin’ of Driftin’ Leaf begins!” He lifted his arms to the sky. “Gratitude Na’veyja, my goddess!”
The grove, and Ronni as well, joined him both in celebration and in a show of gratitude.
Freyn borrowed a lantern and held it over the carraig. “’Tis a wonder ta behold.”
Wylla joined her to watch the carraig pump out the glowing particles. Quinlan wondered if the two might consider relocating to the Northern West Conclave when they returned.
Flit and Singer chittered excitedly and sent out warning calls.
A low whistle turned Freyn’s smile into a look of shock as an arrow plunged into her back, ripping completely through and sticking out of her chest. She dropped to her knees, letting go of the lantern, and fell forward. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Wylla screamed, “Nae! Freyn!”
Quinlan screamed, “Take cover!”
The lanterns went out and more arrows whistled through the darkness around them.
“Ah!” Quinlan heard Kian cry out and Swela call to him.
Quinlan snuck forward and risked standing up to throw a handful of seeds out in front of him. “Toir salan magnor rotan.”
The seeds instantly grew into a hedge of thick twisted branches forming a wall between them and the attackers.
The glow of several small fires could be seen a short distance away. Flaming arrows filled the night around them. Many struck the water-fat hedge and succeeded in starting a smolder only. Only three flew over the top and landed behind them where there was brush or trees. The rest sputtered out in the water. Another volley sailed in, striking more targets. The flames around the arrows behind them began to spread.
Quinlan let loose a series of quiet whistles and animal noises. Grove members closed in on his position.
“Kian?” he asked.
“Arrow ta the leg, but okay,” Swela answered.
“Good,” he said. “Okay, I’m assuming they’re dreyg. We need two groups to flank each side, and one up the center to distract them. Use flash fungus and gympie gympie plants. That’ll change things up. Sound off with a night bird call when ready. Go when you hear a northern owl screech.”
The grove split up and used woodcraftiness to move around the attackers without being seen or heard. Quinlan heard the birdcalls soon afterward. He took out a chunk of the lantern fuel and dropped it into a small drawstring bag of powdered tree bark. He called out a northern owl screech.
“Tomm sa see naa,” he chanted over it, waited five seconds, and threw it toward their opponents’ position.
Three loud bangs went off in close succession each one accompanied by a bright flash of light. Shouts of surprise came from the attacking party.
Chyne was next to him and began to chant over a spiked seedpod, “Sul olo gavel gympie gympie notso.” She lobbed the seedpod into one of the groups while the attackers were still stunned by the flash fungus.
Screams of pain and agony came from the attackers as the silica-tipped hairs on the twigs and leaves of the gympie gympie plants penetrated any exposed skin releasing a neurotoxin into the blood. The neurotoxin set the skin aflame with a terrible stinging pain wherever the hairs penetrated.
Quinlan let loose another northern owl screech and the grove repeated the attack. The sounds and yells of men diminished as they scrambled to get away from the scene of their brethren’s misery. Only moans of pain could be heard from where their attackers were.
“Close in,” Quinlan called out. He retrieved a lantern and chanted it into brightness. Others in the grove did the same and they circled the men who remained. A man was on his knees, gympie gympie hairs glistening on his hands and face. He held his hands out in front of him like he was afraid to touch anything. A black-and-grey herringbone-weave aiguillette ran from his left shoulder to the left breast of his uniform.
“What did you do to me?” he asked in a voice quivering from the pain he
was in.
Wylla strode forward and threw vine seeds and an oak nut at the man’s knees. “Toir salan magnor rotan.”
“Wylla, no!” Quinlan yelled in an attempt to stop her.
Tievines grew and wrapped tightly around the man’s ankles. The oak nut sprouted into a sapling and quickly into a tree. The tree pushed into the soft flesh between the man’s legs. He screamed in terror and pain as the tree grew up through his torso, lifting him from the ground. The branches erupted from his rib cage, wrists, and neck and continued to grow. Gurgles and squelching sounds of flesh ripping came from the man as the growth of the oak tree tore his body limb from limb.
So passed Kwyett, Commandant of the Dreyg, from the realm of the living.
“Oh, Wylla…” Quinlan said. He could only guess at the turmoil her spirit was in at the moment.
“Just desserts, if ye ask me,” Ronni said.
“As druids, we’ve vowed never ta take a life,” Swela said.
“The rest have run off, Quin,” Therin said.
“Come, we must gather Freyn and go,” Quinlan replied.
“Nae—she would want to stay here,” Wylla said. “She’d not have us makin’ a fuss.”
“How great thy pain must be,” Chyne said. She moved up and laid her head on Wylla’s shoulder. “A loom tree doth stand nearby. Freyn shall rest peacefully under great beauty.”
“Aye,” she replied. “Gratitude, Chyne.”
The group returned to the wellspring where Kian waited and Freyn’s body lay upon the ground. Quinlan knelt beside her, snapped off the nock end of the arrow, and slid the shaft from her chest.
“So?” Kian asked.
“We routed them,” Therin answered.
Kian scowled and nodded at the news. “Blasted cowards, hope they meet an end they deserve.”
“One has already,” Ronni replied.
“A man be dead,” Sovia said, “and not upon accident either.”
“Oh?” he asked, but then took one look at Wylla. “Oh…”
“Can ye walk?” Swela asked.
“Aye, the arrow’s out and I’ve packed and wrapped the wounds. Managed ta put the fires out, too.”
“Well, ye dinnae need me, then,” she teased him. “Come on, up ye go.” Swela tucked her shoulder under his arm and helped him to his feet.
Quinlan checked the carraig before they left to make sure nothing had changed. The druid artifact continued to draw water in and pump glowing green particles out. The areas of healing could already be seen in the light of the lantern. The edges of the stream were beginning to turn green again.
“Okay, then,” he said, “Therin, lend me a hand. We’ll carry her to the tree.”
“I got her, Quin,” he said and the tall man easily picked Freyn’s body up from the ground.
They sat Freyn upon a rock outcropping under a broad-leafed tree halfway back to the horses. Wylla folded her hands in her lap and laid her head gently to the side. She seemed to be asleep, the dark of night masking the stain of blood with shadow. Wylla kissed her and stroked her face.
“I love ye,” she said. “I will always love ye, dear Freyn. My heart I leave here with ye.” Wylla wept and softly spoke a poem.
“I’ve been on a journey of many milestones, yet my feet dinnae tire.
They’ve walked dry trails warmed by the sun.
They’ve tread muddy slopes soaked by dark storms.
The destination is known, yet the trail is misted by many tomorrows, or perhaps just one.
I walk on.”
Tears flowed from her eyes and fell to the ground. She stood and nodded to Chyne.
Chyne chanted and wove runes in the air. The outcropping grew over with roots topped with a thick bed of moss bursting with wildflowers.
They said their farewells and continued on to meet up with Ticari, Ticca, Blossom, and the horses.
~~~
“I’m happy for you, Ticari,” Ticca said, “and I’m proud to be your sister.”
“Gratitude, Ticca. I am surprised by it, but happy, too. Settey”—he let the word sink in—“that means I’ll have new classes when we get back. I’ll learn new chants and have new duties.”
“I know it is wrong, but I wish it were me,” she said.
“You just made Osmey, Teek. So, you’ll have new classes, too.”
“Oh, right.” She nodded. “When do you think they’ll be back?”
“It’s not even sunset.”
“They’ll be gone for hours,” she said and huffed out a sigh of boredom. “Let’s eat.”
Ticari grinned and the two broke out foodstuffs for themselves and their four-legged friends. Leaning on their bedrolls, they huddled amidst the horses and satisfied their hunger. The sun had set and the full moon rose over the horizon. Sated and comfortable, sleep overcame them both.
A deep boom and the ground shaking under them roused them from the slumber.
“What was that?” Ticca asked.
“I know not,” Ticari replied.
They listened but heard nothing further.
“We best pack everything back up,” Ticari said, “and light the lanterns.”
“It shall be so, Settey,” she said.
They waited for what seemed the whole night to Ticca. She wandered to the trail and back every few minutes hoping to catch sight of her grove mates returning.
“They’ll be back soon, Ticca.”
She turned to reply and saw a man-sized shadow move behind her brother. “Behind you!”
Ticari rolled forward, recovered, spun around, and threw something at the shadow, “Toir salan magnor rotan.”
A wide bush with long heavy thorns grew to full size in seconds. A yell of surprise from the darkness preceded a yell of pain. Ticari had hit his mark and turned toward more movement.
Ticca’s horse, Cinnacoss, whinnied loudly. Ticca caught a shadow move in the corner of her vision. She quickly ducked under Cinnacoss and pulled out a fungus ball. “Shushana,” she whispered and threw it as a dreyg fighter came around the front of her horse. The fungus ball hit him in the shoulder. He laughed as he swept the fungus from his jerkin a second before he fell to the ground unconscious.
“Ha!” Ticca said.
Cinnacoss whinnied again.
Ticca pulled the same maneuver. “Shushan—ah!” she screamed as another dreyg fighter grabbed her before she was done.
“A girl?” the man asked. “Oh, yer done, missy—Ah! Ah! Ah!” The man screamed as Cinnacoss bit deep into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
The horse dragged the man away from Ticca and toward Blossom. Cinnacoss let the man go and he turned around in time to face the burro’s hindquarters. Blossom looked back over her shoulder at him. Her double-back-leg kick sent the man flying through the air and into the unforgiving trunk of a nearby tree. The horse and burro looked at each other and then at Ticca.
“Gratitude,” she said to them.
A third dreyg came after Ticca. Blossom and Cinnacoss moved in and a moment later another dreyg fighter sailed through the air.
Shouts of familiar voices and more lanterns moving through the darkness filled her with joy. Her friends had returned.
Grove Seven harassed the remaining fighters until they fled into the night.
“Are you two all right?” Quinlan asked.
Ticca was so happy to see him she ran up and hugged him.
“Ticca?” Ticari asked.
“Yes, I’m well,” she answered. She stepped back and looked at Quinlan, “What of the carraig?”
Quinlan told them of the night’s events.
“Both amazing and terrible at once,” Ticca said after hearing the tale.
“Yes, love, that be well said,” Sovia replied. “Well said, indeed.”
“You’ve packed,” Quinlan said. “Good thinking, that. Let us travel a ways through the night and be gone from this place. It is time to close the distance to home.”
The group agreed and prepared to mount.
&nb
sp; “What’s to be done with the cart, Quin?” Sovia asked.
“Leave it,” he said. “The tug shafts have to be lashed back on. It will do Blossom good to walk free.”
They moved up the trail from Drifting Leaf, but Blossom remained behind.
“Blossom,” Chyne said, “thee shan’t tarry. Come along.”
Blossom laid her ears flat back and looked at the cart and back at Chyne.
“But thee are free to roam,” Chyne said.
She stomped a front foot and looked at the cart.
Chyne looked at Quinlan.
He shrugged his shoulders and got down from Biscuit. “Lash up the tug poles. It looks like we’re taking the cart.”
One of the dreyg Ticca put to sleep moaned as he began to awaken. Therin put him back to sleep with a good old-fashioned five-knuckle lullaby.
“That’s for Driftin’ Leaf, ya shite,” he said.
The cart was assembled and hooked back up to Blossom. Her ears were back up. She pranced in place and appeared ready to leave.
“Let’s go,” Quinlan said and led the way down the trail.
*~*~*
Chapter Sixteen
Lord Praven stood calmly now in the provincial chamber of Teivas Keihas. He missed his desert homeland and had grown tired of King Tavish’s recent resistance. The king’s demands this morning did not meet with Praven’s approval.
King Traelin Tavish was now a shriveled and lifeless hulk on the floor of the provincial chamber along with six of his chancellors. Praven did regret the sea captain, Travell, once Prince and now King of Shaan, was not among them.
“Lenistrat,” Praven said to the scribe, who was trembling against a far wall of the chamber.
The man stared at the bodies and did not respond.
“Lenistrat!”
He looked at Praven. “M-m-my Lord?”
“Issue a bounty for the life of Travell Tavish, wanted for high treason and the murder of his father, King Traelin.”
“I am b-but a scribe, Lord Praven.”
“Not any longer, First Chancellor Lenistrat.”
“The l-lords of the royal houses will not—”