The Dryad's Kiss

by Scott VanKirk

  Telger jumped up and down a few times to bleed off some of his pent-up anxiety and started again, slower this time.

  “Mistress, we have betrayed you! The brogawin have released a terrible plague upon you. A race of unholy creatures made from the dark, who eat the light. They are unstoppable and insatiable.”

  I tried to understand what Telger had implied. “What do you mean? Why would you release a plague upon Naru? We are allies.”

  Telger wailed and said, “It was Temur Ap Gonwyn, my lady! He has betrayed us all and brought destruction from the hand of Lugh Sha Krenthis.”

  The name Lugh Sha Krenthis focused me more than anything else Telger had said. As I noted before, brogawins, though staunch allies, tended toward hysterics. Lugh Sha Krenthis, as a leader of the Shelakeysis dominion, was another matter all together. He was our bitter enemy, and any attack from his direction could be dire.

  “Can you tell me more about these creatures, Telger?”

  “They are night stalkers and life-eaters. Their hunger can never be assuaged. They will breed and devour until all of Naru is a lifeless husk.”

  ***

  I dropped the dreamstone onto the carpet in a panic. My familiar room surrounded me. Nothing had changed, but the fading echoes of the vision rang through my head. I had never felt anything like that, and it sent me reeling. I collapsed onto my bed and fell back. After a few moments as my mind started to clear, I felt something warm sitting on my chest. It was the heart. It was almost hot, as if it had been sitting in the direct sun. I grabbed it and examined it, looking for answers in its craggy black form. I dropped it back on my chest and stared at the ceiling while, my adrenalin rush dissipated. Its disappearance left me tired and groggy, and I fell asleep trying to understand what had just happened.

  The next morning, I awoke in my clothes, lying on top of my covers. My dreamstone lay on the floor where I had dropped it. I guess it wasn’t a dream, then. I didn’t go anywhere near the crystal.

  After school, Jim was scheduled to come over to my place to study calculus. He was a better mathematician than I, so it was actually more of a one-way exchange of information.

  He arrived a half-hour after our last class, and we sat down in the cool darkness of my basement at an old kitchen table that we normally used for gaming. We pulled out our calculus study guides and started going through them. After about thirty minutes, I worked up the courage to implement the plan I had hatched over the course of the day.

  “Jim, can I get your help with something other than calculus?”

  He looked up from his work. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Hang on.” I jumped from my seat, climbed both sets of stairs to my room, gingerly picked up my dreamstone by the chain, and headed back down.

  After sitting back down with the dreamstone on the table, I told Jim, “I’m afraid I’m going insane, and I need a reality check.”

  His raised eyebrows indicated his interest, so I jumped in. I briefly went through the history of my amethyst and brought up the fact that it always seemed to give me ideas for my gaming world. All my friends knew about it, so he nodded when I finished.

  I paused to gather my courage. “Last night, it was different. When I touched the stone, I got drawn into a full-fledged vision. It was like I was right there in Il Saia’s room, listening to this odd little guy telling me the world was doomed. When I dropped the crystal, the vision disappeared, and this,” I showed him the stick, “Was warm to the touch.” Jim slouched comfortably in his chair with his hands folded in his lap. I tried to gauge his reaction. His calm face didn’t offer much of a clue.

  He sat up and leaned forward on the table. “If there’s something going on with this crystal, it’s easy enough to test.” He put out his hand and said, “Here, give me the crystal and we’ll see if it affects me the same way.”

  I hesitated, but it made sense. I picked up the crystal by its chain and placed it in Jim’s hands, then watched his face closely while he stared at the rock intently for a minute or so. Then he put it down and turned to me apologetically.

  “Sorry, Finn, I don’t see anything but a crystal.”

  I reached under my shirt and pulled out the stick. It took a serious effort of will, but I handed the ancient object over to Jim.

  He examined it. “This is really strange, Finn. What’s it made of?”

  “I don’t know, looks like black driftwood to me.”

  He rapped it on the table, and it made a loud thunk. “Seems awfully hard to be wood. Maybe it is a piece of fossilized wood.”

  “Okay, now pick up the crystal too.”

  I held my breath as he reached out and grabbed the dreamstone. I had no idea if I wanted him to get a vision like me or to tell me that nothing happened.

  He held both objects and examined them for a few long moments. He gave me a grimace of apology and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry Finn, I don’t feel anything strange.”

  With his reply, I discovered two things: one, he didn’t feel or sense anything unusual; and two, I had actually hoped that he would see something.

  The breath I had been holding whooshed out of my lungs and through my stretched lips. Jim’s eyebrows lifted in apology.

  “Sorry, Finn. I’m not seeing or feeling anything strange from these. I don’t have anywhere near your imagination, so maybe it’s just me.”

  Discouraged, I said, “No, I doubt it. I think I’m just losing it.”

  “We still need to perform the other half of this experiment.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Let’s try to reproduce what happened last night.”

  I saw his point, but didn’t want to go there. Once was enough, thank you.

  “Here, take the crystal first.”

  Hesitantly, I did.

  “Anything?”

  “No. It just feels like my crystal.”

  “Okay, now grab the stick.”

  When I grabbed the stick in my other hand, my world exploded again—more literally than before.

  ***

  I stood on the field of battle facing a trethagon. It looked like a human walking stick and wielded a wicked, thin, silvery blade. The trethagon made a giant cricket-like war cry and jumped right at me.

  Smoothly, I reached into the Dreamtime to the archetypal realm of Forms, and tapped my Source, reaching for the power I needed. After a brief search through Dreamtime, I found the Form I desired, and I brought it back with me. I applied my will and power and the archetype of Flame I carried back flared into a white-hot wall in front of me. The trethagon tried to stop, but its momentum carried it through my wall, and the only things that came out the other side were ashes and a glowing red blade, which clattered to the ground.

  ***

  I found myself sitting in my chair again, breathing hard, sweating, and looking into Jim’s concerned eyes. He stood beside me with the crystal in his hand.

  I blinked at the sudden transition and croaked out, “Wow.”

  “What happened, Finn? You just froze. I had to pry the crystal out of your hand.”

  My hand ached, but not as much as my mind. “I had another vision, Jim. This time I was on a battlefield fighting a trethagon.” Jim knew tregathons from my game. His group had fought against them more than once.

  Jim eased into his chair and leaned back. “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think you shouldn’t touch the crystal and the stick at the same time anymore.”

  I scowled. “Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious…not real helpful.”

  Jim shrugged. “I don’t know what else to say. I’ve never heard of anything like this. If your brain is insane, it’s very selective about its insanity.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but he continued.

  “Maybe you’re psychic. Maybe the stick is some sort of catalyst and it makes you more sensitive.”

  “That’s crazy, Jim. You don’t believe in psychic powers any more than I do.”

  “Yes, bu
t what is really crazy is ignoring reality. If you were psychic, then I’d think we’d all want to know. It could come in handy on tests.”

  That made me smile. “I never considered that.”

  Before he left, I asked, “Can you keep this under your hat for a while? I want to get a better handle on things before telling anyone else.”

  “Sure thing. Take care, Finn.”

  “Bye.”

  I came away feeling a little bit better. Like Jim said, if I was going crazy, it seemed like it happened under a very specific set of circumstances.

  Unfortunately, Lunatic Finn still seemed like the most likely explanation to me. Damn, I really wished Jim had gotten a vision, too. I think.

  Well, since it didn’t seem to be life threatening and I could stay away from my crystal, my priority still had to be graduating high school. As long as things didn’t get worse, I could live with it for now and deal with it once I was a free man.

  Getting To Know Her

  The following day at school repeated the previous one. It reminded me of the joke, “What’s long and hard and filled with seamen?” The answer is a submarine, of course. In this case, though, the day was long and hard and filled with tedium. Somehow, I ground through it.

  The next morning, I awoke groggy and tired, but so infatuated with the memory of my dreams that I didn’t care. I yanked on my clothes, ignored the explosion of sheets and covers from my bed, and bounced down the stairs, whistling. When I walked into the kitchen, I found my mom fixing eggs and my dad reading the newspaper in the kitchen nook.

  Mom looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Ian Finn Morgenstern, what’s going on with you? Is there something you want to tell me?”

  My whistling died mid-tune. “Uh, well, uh, no. I don’t think so.”

  “You look awfully happy. Last I heard, you were still allergic to mornings.” She added in a mock-accusing tone with dead-on instincts, “Did you meet a girl?”

  Busted. I couldn’t tell her an outright lie, or I’d be caught, so I skirted reality. “Um, er, yes, you could say that.”

  The questions came out rapid-fire. “That’s wonderful! What’s her name? What’s she like? Is she nice? Where did you meet her?”

  “Uh, well Mom, I feel a little funny talking to you about her still.”

  “Finn, this is your first girlfriend! You’ve got to give me something.”

  I felt bad because I had never really cut her out of my life before. I searched my brain for something safe to say that would take the pressure off.

  “Helen,” said my dad, coming to my rescue from behind his paper. “Leave the boy alone. He’ll tell us when he’s good and ready. Don’t crowd him.”

  Mom gave him a disgusted look and then swept it on to me. “You men. You act as if sharing is going to kill you. At least tell me her name.”

  The image of my dryad sprung into my mind, and inspiration struck me. “Spring. Her name is Spring.”

  “Spring?” she said, looking at me doubtfully.

  “Uh, yeah. What’s wrong with Spring?”

  That queer expression stuck to her face a moment before she shrugged and finished buttering her toast.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as Dad, and I shared a secret man-to-man smile.

  I wished it were that easy to deal with the rest of my life. It was getting ridiculously complicated. Start with my fear of running into Parmely or his gang, and then on top of that, pile the demons, bullies, miraculous healing, finals, ancient artifacts, bad grades, and disappointed parents, and you ended up with quite the daunting mound of doo-doo. Yet, that all seemed distant and unimportant today.

  I finished my breakfast and headed to the bus still walking on cloud nine. I glowed at everyone on the bus and walked jauntily to my first class. As soon as I sat down in class, though, I crashed. All day after that, I fought off fatigue and sleep. I lost, and fell asleep at least once in every class. I didn’t talk much to anyone and didn’t start feeling better until around two in the afternoon. By the time I arrived home, I had regained enough energy to work on my game. Friday was our gaming night.

  Jim and Gregg arrived first. We went down to our gaming area in the basement. That’s when I told them about my dream. My friends took the news with their usual style and grace.

  “So you finally did her. Hallelujah! Now maybe you can move on.”

  “No, you don't understand, Gregg. It was incredible!” I said with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

  “What was incredible?” asked Dave, walking into the room.

  Gregg wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “Our little Finny has finally become a man!”

  “Finally got a pubic hair?” asked Dave as he set his notebook down.

  “No, he got the booty call, yo. He popped his cherry, yo! Did the nasty! Bumped uglies, played hide the salami!” said Gregg.

  “All right!” cheered Dave. “All hail the Mighty Finnster! Who’s the lucky girl? And, more importantly, does she have a similarly blind and easy sister?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, guys, it was just a dream.”

  Dave’s entire face drooped in disappointment, so I felt compelled to add, “But it was incredible! I've never had a dream like this.”

  “Okay, you might as well tell us all about it so you can get it out of your system, and we can move on with the night,” said Dave.

  I didn't need any more prompting. “In my dream, a scratching at the window woke me up. When I first looked, I saw an oak branch scraping the windowpane in the wind, but as I looked closer, I saw the outline of a person—my nymph. The branch was actually her arm and hand. She was tapping at my window. As I looked at her, she became more solid until I could see her clearly in the dark, like she was glowing or something. She was beautiful—”

  “Buck naked, bouncy breasts, wonderful green eyes, flowing green hair, killer smile. Yeah, yeah, we've heard it before, Finn. Get to the meat,” insisted Gregg.

  “Give him a break,” interrupted Jim from the corner, where he had been quietly setting up his gaming gear. I thought I had someone on my side until he added, “He's never had any girl except his mom smile at him.”

  Then, Dave added with a smirk, “Yeah, her and Gregg's sister.”

  Gregg scowled at him. “Shut up, white boy.”

  I sighed dramatically. I should have known better than to open myself up for this. I just ignored them all—the safest thing to do.

  “She gave me this killer sexy smile—like Angelina Jolie. I jumped out of bed and went to the window and opened it up.” I paused for a moment, knowing I could never convey the impact of the dream, but tried my best. “She was more real than ever and smelled like spring. You know that smell you get after a spring rain with all the leaves and dirt and life? She smelled like that. When I got the window open, she jumped through and pushed me right back on the bed. Everything was so real. The way she felt all warm and soft, the way she looked, the way she smelled—so real, I knew I had to be awake.”

  I looked from my dream to my friends and saw them thinking about everything that came from my mouth. Like all teen males, we talked a lot about sex—were obsessed with it—but only Gregg had even come close to making it with a girl, and that had been to third base with Lea.

  “I want your dreams,” said Gregg.

  The others agreed.

  I aborted my launch into more detail when Jen walked in. She’d been playing with us for a year now. She had a quick wit, a wicked imagination, and great gamer’s instincts. We generally got a little less graphic around her but more in deference to Gregg than to her.

  When she walked in, the first thing I noticed was that she had straightened her hair. She changed her hair a lot, but I felt stirrings of anger when I considered why she had chosen to go for straight hair.

  I swore to myself, fricking pus-bucket Parmely.

  The anger fizzled as I looked at her. Going from the beaded strands to long silky black hair had completely changed her appearance. It somehow changed her face and accentuat
ed her big brown eyes. She reminded me of Halle Berry before Halle went insane and chopped her hair off. That thought, along with the memory of her sitting in my lap on the way to eat pizza, caused a short in my brain.

  After everyone said, “hi,” I blurted, “Wow, Jen! Your hair looks great!”

  She blushed, gave me a shy smile, and quickly broke the eye contact. As Dave had insinuated, I knew she had a slight crush on me. Perplexing as it was, it made me feel good. I had always liked her, but after the car trip, other thoughts—never completely absent around any girl—had begun rising in importance (no pun intended).

  Somehow, her new flowing black hair brought her more fully into this different focus. I re-noticed that her full lips were the centerpiece of a killer smile. That led me to, once again, consider her generous and intriguing curves. It was more than a little bit disconcerting, since I had known her since she was ten. Until now, I supposed, I’d have classified her more as a sister than anything else. I blushed even deeper before looking away.

  “Thanks, Finn,” she said, looking down at the now ever-present necklace where it lay on top of my shirt. “I like your necklace. That’s a cool piece of driftwood.”

  She reached forward to touch it.

  I stifled my urge to pull away, crouch over my necklace, and screech at her, “No one touches My Precious!”

  She gently lifted it and examined it. “It’s beautiful.”

  I almost forgot about the stupid stick when I noticed the fine baby hair that framed her forehead from close up and saw her deep brown eyes gazing so intently at me (okay, toward me and at my necklace, but it had the same effect).

  “Yeah, I got it from the mound,” I said. This, unfortunately, broke the undoubtedly unilateral, intimate moment.

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” Jen dropped the stick and stepped away. She addressed all of us. “I hate you all. I’m never talking to any of you again. How could you not invite me down with you, you ignorant jerks?”

  “Whew!” said Dave. “At least she didn’t call us penis pustules.”

  This drew another blush from Jen, but she said without a skip, “That’s dick pustules, and the night is young yet, Blondie.”