by AZ Kelvin
Chyne returned from the woods with small mushrooms, yellow seedpods, and several herbs and gave them over to Cassae, who prepared a coulis from selected bits.
“Here,” Cassae said to Freyn, “you can mix it in with the broth and eat it with bread or by itself.”
Freyn showed only a little discomfort at being the center of attention as she scooped some of the coulis with bread. She gave it a quick sniff before she ate it, after which she nodded in satisfaction. Cassae left her to eat in peace.
Wylla brought her dishes up to the washbasin after she was done.
“Here, let me get that for ya,” Cassae said as she washed what she used making the coulis.
“Nae gratitude, I’ll get mine and let me get those, too,” Wylla said, “in return fer the meal and the kindness ye’ve shown Freyn.”
Cassae gave wash duty over to Wylla and playfully swiped the drying cloth from Quinlan’s hand. She smiled at him as she handed him a dried bowl to store away.
“What ails her so?” Quinlan asked Wylla.
“She was touched by the shadow,” she said.
Quinlan could hear slight discomfort in her voice. Cassae held his eyes for a moment and went back to drying dishes.
“The black cloud of Acimasiz?” he asked. “But how—”
“A cost fer ma arrogance,” Freyn said as she walked up with her bowl.
“Apologies, Freyn, I do not mean to stir dark memories.”
“’Tis naught ta worry about, Quinlan. Dark memories left in the shadows only become darker still. I believed my powers as a druid stron’ enough ta drive back the black scourge. ’Twas that day I learned the powers were never mine ta claim, but a gift from Na’veyja. I broke my vows ta Na’veyja and my body bore the cost, yet by her grace, I still draw breath. A lesson I’ve taken ta heart.”
“You’re truly blessed to have survived.”
“Aye, the pain is gone, yet the flaura dinnae answer ma call anymore.”
“Is there nothing you can do? Some time at the Central Conclave, perhaps? It was of great ease to Cassae’s pain of heart.”
“’Tis different fer me, brother. The sickness has taken the brightness of the flaura from ma eyes.”
“Surely, you can still call upon Na’veyja’s grace?”
“She speaks to me still, but instead of a son’ in my heart, I now hear a whisper in ma mind. It dinnae bring me as much cheer as it once did, but in ways, I find it more insightful.”
“Your answers bring more questions, Freyn,” he said.
“I see by yer raiment, Quinlan, ye’re a brother of the Dayne Kinship.”
“That is so.”
“Then I’ve questions fer ye as well,” she said. “May I have yer arm and ear fer a time? If I can break ye from yer duties, that is.”
He cleared his throat as if to state a matter of importance. “It may be a hardship, but I think these women can—”
Cassae snapped the drying cloth at him. “Oh, take your arse out of here, before I snap it with this cloth!”
Quinlan danced out of her range before he offered Freyn his arm and they walked off toward the horses.
“Ye’ve a very diverse grove here, brother,” Freyn said. “Gwylari, Vakerian, Kalnuvian, Shaanlander, Raskanish…”
“A wonderful blend of energies,” he replied. “Speaking of that, you should dance with us tonight.”
“A moon dance? That’d be welcome. Gratitude, Quin. Pardon the askin’, but have ye lain some kind of spell on yer walkin’ staff?”
“Askue? No, Askue came to me during a companion quest.”
“’Tis a familiar?” she asked in surprise before she nodded. “Aye, that follows.”
“What does?”
“The feelin’ I get. It has an energy of its own about it. What does it do?”
“Do? Ha! Mostly it disappears when wanted and is under foot when not. Why do you ask?”
“When I was stricken with the sickness, ma death was certain. One day Primerey Joseah herself came ta ma bedside. She said a possible cure had been brought ta light. It had nae yet been tested and the risk ta the body was great.”
“You chose to do it, obviously.”
“Aye, the sickness was banished and as I said afore, I was mended in some ways yet left broken in others.”
“A fair trade, some would say. Cassae lost a son, a daughter, and a husband to the wasting sickness. I’m sure she’d rather have them back, frail or not.”
“’Tis a sad thing ta hear,” she replied, “and a terrible loss ta endure.”
“What does the curing of your sickness have to do with Askue?”
“The druid who performed the ritual used a staff to channel the energy. I’ll nae ever forget the feel of it coursin’ through ma spirit. I feel somethin’ close ta that from yer friend there.”
Quinlan picked up Askue and wondered at Freyn’s story. “Who was the druid?”
“I know not. He bore no insignia of rank or conclave. His clothes were well worn and he smelled of the woodlands. Whatever was done to me has changed somethin’ inside, brother. Sadly, I cannae longer call the flaura, but I can enhance Wylla’s druid abilities tenfold by channelin’ Na’veyja’s grace through me and inta her.”
Quinlan looked at her sharply. “What’s this you say?”
“Truth be told! People such as me, and items too, are called conduits,” she replied. “I think yer staff is such.”
“Askue—a conduit of Na’veyja’s grace?”
“Aye, Quin, I believe so.”
Freyn’s story brought him still more questions than answers. “How do you know there are others?”
She took a moment to size him up before she spoke. “The only reason I’m tellin’ ye is I think ye’re fated ta be involved somehow. I’m part of a contingency group on the fringe of the Order makin’ preparations quietly fer the day when the dreyg forces make their attempt ta free Acimasiz.”
Quinlan was partly stunned by the news. “Is there new concern of attack? Why the need for secrecy?”
“Nae, but for every dreyg incursion we stamp out, another comes ta life. The druid influence is dwindlin’ throughout the country. The disciples never stop tryin’ ta position forces around Arden and once they do, Quin, they’ll have the advantage. The Order needs ta be ready fer that day when it comes.”
Quinlan wanted to argue, but in his heart, he felt the same thing. He wanted to be outraged no one had told him, but now he saw the signs had been there all along.
“And the secrecy? Does the council know?”
“’Twas the Tretjey Sayon of yer conclave who recruited me,” she said. “And it’s nae that we hide what we do. We simply weave it inta the everyday, so in case the Order is infiltrated…”
“It’s business as usual,” Quinlan finished, “with nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Exactly.”
“So, is that all this group does? Makes plans and gathers supplies?”
“Nae, brother, we work on special defenses and strategies, as well. There’re others like me, other conduits. We’re teamed up with a partner and trained ta work together.” She pointed a thumb in Wylla’s general direction. “Like Wylla and me. There’re regular druid forces, too, who’re trained in craftiness and sent on missions across Arden. We’re called the Wardens of the Woods—unofficially that is.”
“So, you and Wylla are on such a mission right now?”
“Aye, we need ta contact Kenri in Cammachmoor and speak with him in private.”
“And he’s part of the—”
“Wardens, aye. One of the founders actually.”
“Why do you tell me all of this?” he asked. “Did you approach us with purpose?”
“Nae, brother, our meetin’ is of chance, yet fated in my eyes. At nae other time have I seen a staff as a conduit except for the day I was cured. I’m surprised that ye don’t know of the Wardens afore now. Ye’ve nae been approached by anyone?”
“Indeed not. It feels more that I’m hel
d at arm’s length when it comes to the conclave and the Tretjey’s plans.”
“Ah, well,” she said, “I think ye should come ta Cammachmoor and have a word with Kenri before ye continue on ta Driftin’ Leaf. ’Tis the opposite direction, I know, but it could be a great benefit ta ye.”
“Perhaps we could. I’ll discuss it with the grove. It wouldn’t hurt to resupply before we enter Shaan. I’m uncertain as to what exactly awaits us there.”
“If ye’ve a mind ta, then we can travel together ta Cammachmoor. It’d give me the chance ta speak with Cassae more. Her knowledge of herb lore is extensive. The coulis she made helped more than I thought it would.”
“She’s gone through hell and high water for the knowledge,” he said.
“Agreed. I personally know the agony of the black cloud’s touch. Ta lose a child ta it would be beyond bearin’.”
“The esbat rises!” Sovia’s voice boomed from the group by the fire.
“Coming,” Quinlan answered.
The glowing face of the full moon illuminated the night sky as it crested above the horizon. Silvery light began to pour through the woods in loving contrast to the shadows of night. Wylla waited for them to return before she and Freyn disrobed and took their places around the fire.
Quinlan chose an area wide enough for movement, disrobed, and took a look around to make sure all were ready to begin. He drew in a breath centering his spirit into the root circle deep in his lower abdomen where all human life begins. He brought his hands up past his belly, palms up, passing through the gathered energy before raising his hands to the moon.
He called out, “Sister of the stars, we bathe in thy beams.”
The group followed his lead and recited, “Esbat nom krayla nom talsa.”
Quinlan brought his hands down in front of him and moved his left foot forward. He placed his right knee and hands palm down onto the ground.
“Mother Arden, we live from thy bounty,” he said taking the lead.
They followed in Gwylari. “Arden nom krayla nom talsa.”
Quinlan stood, keeping his spirit centered. He held both arms out in front of his chest, palms to each other. He moved his torso sideways undulating like he was a banner waving in the wind.
“Great winds bear our spirits aloft.”
“Rynn nom krayla nom talsa.”
He brought arms and legs together crossing his arms over his chest.
“Na’veyja we rest in thy embrace.”
“Na’veyja nom krayla nom talsa.”
The group stood quickly as one and raised their arms to the full moon, calling out in unison, “Esbat nom krayla nom talsa!”
The opening of the moon dance was complete and each druid was free to dance as they wished until the moon reached its zenith.
Quinlan reached out with his spirit. He felt the trees breathing in the woods and the grass bending in the soft breeze. He touched the spirits of animals living in the nearby woods and moved in rhythm with the energy of the natural world until only energy remained. His spirit rose from his body and hovered above in ethereal separation. The usual calm, peaceful meditation of the moon dance did not take place.
A curious-looking green-and-white-striped gemstone appeared before his spirit’s eye this time. He took the gemstone and could hear the stone whisper to him. He obeyed the instructions and placed it into the ground. A globe of white and green energy burst from the ground shooting a beam to the esbat.
Askue suddenly took off on its own, riding the energy beam to the moon. Quinlan was pulled along in its wake as he reached out to grab his staff before it flew away. He soared through the woods, pulled along by the draw of the moonlight. When he caught up with Askue, he felt the pull of both woods and moon. He reached a spot where the two were equal and his spirit floated for a time in peaceful balance.
Quinlan’s body began to tire and the rhythm of the movements began to falter. His spirit heard the body’s call and returned home. He brought his moon dance to an end being careful not to shut down the energy flow completely but letting it ebb through his being. He was covered with sweat and the rest of the group was already done. Noticing the moon was well past its zenith, he dressed and grabbed Askue from the ground.
“Askue—moonbeam rider,” he said to the staff. “How faired your travels, my friend?”
The question was playful and rhetorical, yet an unexpected vision flashed across his mind. He caught his breath as the images of a sharp-featured, dark-skinned woman, a block of ever-frost crystal, and an ancient moss-covered cave entrance, repeated three times and faded away to memory.
“What…?” he said and looked at his staff. “Do you hear me? Does she speak the truth? Are you a conduit?”
No answer this time.
“Be as you will, then, spiteful twig! Your riddles trouble me not,” he lied.
“Oh, listen there, Chyne,” he heard Cassae from the fire, which had died down considerably. “Is that Quin?”
“Yes,” he said as he made his way to her side and plopped down. “The others?”
“Ticca and Ticari are fast asleep. The rest have gone ta the cover of the woods ta be frisky.”
“Wylla and Freyn?” he asked.
“Oh, aye…” Cassae nodded her head slowly. “Lovin’ creatures, those two—barely reached the woods before they’re in each other’s arms. Port?” She held out a cup.
“Yes, gratitude.” He took the cup and raised it. “Well, good for them. To each their own heart.” The women echoed the toast and they drank.
“We thought thee wouldst dance the night gone,” Chyne said. “I’ve not known one to dance for such a time.”
“Nor I,” Cassae said. “Is all well, Quin?”
“I have not the answer,” he replied. “It was at once the most enlightening and yet most vexing.” He told them of the experience with Askue and the moon dance as well as of the vision at the end.
“Askue—and moonbeams?” Cassae started to smile. “Did you eat another greengrin?”
“I’ve eaten no mushrooms.” He scowled at her. “It was only the once anyway. And gratitude for your helpfulness!”
“Apologies, Quin.” She smiled in a way that always charmed him.
“I have no idea who the woman is, nor have I seen any such cave,” Quinlan said.
“Perhaps the next moon dance will show ya more of the vision,” Cassae said.
“Perhaps,” he replied.
Chyne grabbed Quinlan’s staff. “Askue and I will dream upon the matter. Lah quen to thee both.”
They bid Chyne good night and watched as a layer of leaves sprouted forth covering her body like a leafy green cocoon.
“The Gwylari are a wondrous people,” he said.
“Agreed, and let us dream upon the matter as well, me love,” she said. “The dawn will brin’ a new day and a fresh light will be shed on dark questions.”
“Yes, fresh light,” was about all he had time to say as they nestled down together and sleep quickly washed over him.
*~*~*
Chapter Ten
“Mmm…” the reclined man hummed in pleasure. “Exquisite! Now, one of the red ones.”
“Aye, ma prince.” A pretty young girl from Glen Arwe was more than happy to comply.
Long ink-black curls of the man’s hair hung over the back of a silk-covered lounging couch. Sweet oil made from the malla tree blossoms ensured the curls were tight and reflecting the sunlight in a million sparkling highlights. A thin line of finely trimmed beard ran along the man’s jaw meeting up with an equally immaculate moustache. The desert-tanned skin of his ancestors was moisturized daily in an effort to keep his arid homeland a distant memory.
“Ma prince,” the girl said and held an oblong red berry up.
He leaned his head back and opened his mouth and the girl dropped the fruit in. Red juice ran from the corners of his mouth as he bit down on the berry.
“Oh—get it, get it!” he said.
The girl moved with speed in ord
er to catch the juice before it stained her prince or his clothing. “There, ma handsome Prince Kazim, all is well.”
“Thank the gods for you—what was your name again, girl?”
“Gwen, ma Prince.”
“Thank the gods for you, Gwen.” Kazim rose from the lounger and walked to a full-length mirror. He looked himself over. His looks were renowned: deep dark brown eyes, long curly black hair, and tan-colored skin. A slim and muscular body belied his voracious appetite for exotic food, drink, and company. All who saw him thought he was a handsome man, yet none thought it more often than himself.
“Exquisite,” he murmured to his reflection.
“Tell the prince I’m here.” He inwardly cringed as he heard the commanding voice from the other room even through the closed heavy doors.
“Gwen, it appears that it is time for you to go, my dear.”
“Yes, ma Prince.”
She reached the doors as the dreyg guards opened them from the other side.
“Commander Malent to see you, Prince Fhadlam,” one of the guards said.
“Yes, I’ll see her, thank you.”
A black-skinned woman dressed in a dreyg commander’s uniform strode through the door. Streaks of premature grey nearly filled her head of tightly curled black hair, giving her the look of wearing a storm cloud about her head. She looked at Gwen with such disdain, Kazim expected the woman to bare her teeth and snarl at the girl as she went by. Gwen looked only at the floor and edged up against the door to stay as far as possible from the mercenary.
The woman began to speak in an angry tone once the doors were closed again. “Kazim, we need—”
“Ah, ah, ah…”
“I will not call you prince when we are alone. You are as much a prince as my horse’s ass. It should have been me chosen as disciple.”
“It is truly baffling why you were not, Marza,” Kazim’s voice dripped with sarcasm. He let that sink in for a moment before he continued. “Make your report, Commander.”
“De plans move ahead as scheduled, but we need to cut more timber.”
“Not yet. There will be some kind of response from Cammachmoor after we recently eliminated the Raskan agent in the marketplace. We wait until after we deal with that to begin clear-cutting Glen Arwe.”