* * *
Hermes went first to the vineyards of Dionysius, where Zephyrus was attending one of the frequent grape festivals. The messenger wistfully looked down at the mortals dancing beneath copious sprays of wine raining out from gigantic tapped barrels. He would like nothing more than to join in the revelry, and suspected that prying the wind away from it would not be the easiest of tasks. He hoped he had arrived before Zephyrus was completely drunk.
He found him astride one of the barrels, leaning over to fill a large cup from one of the streams of wine. That he could keep his balance was a good sign, and Hermes sped over to him.
“How’s the vintage?” he asked while Zephyrus drank deeply.
Zephyrus cleared the dregs of his draught from his lips with his forearm and grinned. “Wet and sweet.”
“Then drink up, quickly, for Zeus has need of you,” Hermes said.
“Right now?” Zephyrus furrowed his brow. “Why?”
As Hermes explained the situation, Zeph’s demeanor shifted from annoyed to intrigued. “A battle? Of course I’ll help.” When Hermes further described the exotic type of creatures to watch out for, Zephyrus was positively enthusiastic about the assignment. All had gone much easier than Hermes expected, but he had forgotten how much Zephyrus loved action and excitement. All that remained now was to round up Eros, and he doubted that he would give him much trouble. On that count, he was somewhat mistaken.
After commanding Zephyrus to hurry to Eros’ bungalow, Hermes sped ahead to alert the god of passions to his part in Zeus’ plan. Eros’ refuge was always cloaked in a veil of night, but Hermes could see the soft flames of hundreds of candles lending mood lighting to the compound. The play of light and dark set a romantic yet mysteriously dangerous tone. Hermes flew past many couples embracing in the shadows on his way to Eros, who stood on a balcony overlooking a garden where luminous flowers glowed yellow and green.
“I bring word from Zeus,” Hermes said. Eros did not acknowledge him immediately, but continued to stare out into his pocket of night. “He has an assignment for you.”
Eros pointed out over his garden. “Can you see it? My flowers are dying. I remember when every color blazed bright. Now only the yellow buds of friendship are strong. The others endure, but . . .” Eros paused, only then processing what Hermes had said. “What does he want? Some new trouble with a reluctant nymph? I have problems of my own, as you see.”
“No, this is not a matter of the passions,” Hermes said. “Armies come to attack Olympia to gain the beast. You will help by watching and reporting to Ares as the forces move.”
Eros snapped his wings together angrily. “What do I know about armies? Ares has hundreds of demigods and favored men who could do this better than I. Even other gods.”
Several dozen candles blew out as Zephyrus swept in. He reformed himself into a man on the balcony next to Hermes.
“Are you ready to go?” Zephyrus asked Eros, his eyes wide and bright. Hermes noticed that Eros became even more sad and frustrated upon the arrival of his friend.
“You two are Zeus’ chosen. You must obey,” Hermes stated, softly but firmly.
Despite Eros’ deep conviction that he was not the god for this job, he had to do it. It was not the threat of incurring Zeus’ wrath that made him agree. As Eros looked at Zephyrus, he knew he had to go along to keep him safe. His friend was exhibiting that careless, innocent arrogance that so often got him into deep trouble. He really had no choice.
“I’m ready. Let’s go.”
The flowers in the garden briefly glowed a brighter yellow as the trio flew away.
Chapter 33 - Of Snakes and Deer
While in the clutches of Quetzalcoatl’s flying servant, Mazu had discovered that struggling only caused the many-winged snake to squeeze her tighter. Its hot, sharp scales cut her skin. As she felt blood run down her arms, she wondered if there was enough water in the flow to fuel an escape, or help her mount a more challenging resistance to her captor. But there was nothing to draw on. Unlike the water-rich plasma of mortal blood, Mazu’s immortal mix was of a more exotic chemistry. The serpent’s magic halted her ability to change form. There was nothing she could do but accept submission as a path to future escape, as she was carried off. Even meditation was made difficult by the way her head was held so tightly in a coil. The calming words she silently recited fought their own battle against the fear and frustration rising in Mazu’s heart.
After days of travel, they descended. Mazu was battered by foliage as they fell through the tops of dry, cold evergreens. The needles slapped against her body where it was not covered by the serpent’s coils, but Mazu felt nothing, so numb she was from being squeezed. A few moments more and they cleared the cluster of trees and skimmed over a dry gulch, an empty channel that led straight to the base of another step pyramid. It had none of the grandeur of Quetzalcoatl’s. There were no warriors on guard, no workers busy at their tasks. It was built of the local gray, sandy rock, featuring only a few colorful patches of cold-climate lichen randomly nesting on its steps. Mazu could see no passages or doors on this prison to which Quetzalcoatl had consigned her, but the serpent knew a secret way in.
It dove, roaring, at the flat apex of the pyramid. At the reverberating tone of its voice, a circular design etched on the top platform began to glow and split into several great pie slice-shaped slabs. Those sections tipped downward from one another where they met at a center point, revealing a dark shaft. Mazu briefly glimpsed symbols of rain and lightning on the brightly decorated rocks as she and the serpent plummeted down the hole. Abruptly, their fall stopped as the serpent’s wings shot out to slow them and Mazu was dropped on a cold, dry floor. Before exhaustion overtook her, she caught a glimpse of the sky, now merely a pale dot of white-blue far above her head. Light and hope were out of her reach.
* * *
D’Molay awoke feeling more refreshed and energized then he had been in weeks. All the aches and pains of the last few days of travel and fighting had vanished. He felt confident, immersed in an inner calm that had eluded him for some time. Being hidden away safely underground in the heart of a dryad’s inner sanctum had proved to be good for body and spirit. Sitting up, looking once again at their surroundings, he mused it was like being in the womb of nature itself.
Aavi sat on the other side of the chamber talking to one of the hamadryads. She giggled at something but D’Molay was too far away to hear what Aavi had found so funny. He was truly glad to see her smiling and happy. She had been through so much in the last few days that he feared she might have an emotional breakdown of some sort.
A voice came from behind him. “I hope you slept well.”
Quickly turning around, D’Molay was face to face with Ptelea. She had walked through the wall at his back. It was always disconcerting when a magical being or deity appeared in such a manner and he’d never quite gotten used to it. “Uh - yes, I did actually. Thank you.”
Ptelea looked at D’Molay with beautiful eyes the color of honey. “I brought you some more fruits to enjoy,” she said, slightly raising the basket of scrumptious grapes, pears and apples that she was carrying.
“They are hard to resist. If I haven’t said this yet, the fruits you grow here are the most wonderful I have ever tasted, truly.” D’Molay took a sprig of grapes and plucked one. As it popped between his teeth, he could taste the sweetness and freshness of the juices inside.
She smiled with more than a touch of pride in her eyes. “We are one with the plants and trees nearby, so we know their needs and they reward us in exchange.” She set the basket down near D’Molay and sat cross-legged on the green moss bed. “Your weapons are still safe by my tree. I just checked them.”
He sat down across from her as he took another grape. “Good. We should continue our journey. I’d like to write down those directions to your sister dryads’ enclave before we leave.”
“As you wish. There is no hurry. You may leave when you feel you are ready.”
&
nbsp; He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to get that seed of yours to your sister dryads?”
“Yes, but we do not rush around, as you humans do. Like our trees, we see things over a longer span of time. The seed will get there when it is meant to get there. We have your promise to take it to them, and I know you are a man of honor, even if a somewhat violent one.” Ptelea gave D’Molay a slightly saddened look as she finished.
Now Ptelea reminded him of Aavi, for she had shown the same attitude just the other day in the carriage. D’Molay could not help but be slightly irritated. Gentleness was a virtue, but it didn’t get anyone far in this world. “Believe me Ptelea, I don’t mean to be a man of violence, but unfortunately, out there beyond your trees, it can be a dangerous place to travel. Sometimes violence is a necessary evil.” Despite his annoyance, D’Molay tried to keep his words as diplomatic as he could, for fear of offending her.
“Perhaps. We know the ways of men and gods both have conflict at their heart. But violence often invites only more violence. The plants and trees show us another way. One does not have to be a dryad to learn how to live a harmonious life.” She reached out and touched his arm, looking into his eyes, as if she were studying a map. “You are not yet ripe for that knowledge. Though I sense such a day is coming for you soon. Take care, D’Molay, for you may suffer a great loss before harmony can regrow its roots into your heart. Perhaps as great a loss as you had from your life on Earth.”
D’Molay felt the power of Ptelea’s gaze. She had looked into his heart and somehow seen his past and his future. Unable to contain himself, he asked, “What loss will I face? Can you tell me more?”
“No. I can only see a shadow of what may happen to you, and even then, only faintly. I cannot tell you any more than that.” Ptelea moved some strands of her long dark green hair back behind her pointed ears as she answered.
He wondered if she couldn’t tell him more, or wouldn’t tell him more. “I had no idea that dryads could foresee the future.”
Ptelea smiled she stood up, leaving the basket of fruits with D’Molay. “Very few of us have such abilities. As the leader of this enclave I have certain insights which can be used to see how the upcoming season will be for our trees. With practice, I have learned how to use that insight for other purposes as well.” A distant look crossed her face, as if she had heard someone calling her. “I must go, but I’ll return shortly.” Ptelea bowed slightly and walked back into the wall. D’Molay continued to eat grapes until the dryad Aavi had been speaking to got up and left. He motioned Aavi to come over.
“Hello,” she beamed, sitting down on the other side of the fruit basket. Aavi selected a pear and took a small bite out of it.
“I see you’re making friends with the dryads. Which one were you talking to?”
“Karya, the spirit of the Walnut tree. She seems very nice. Did you notice they have pointed ears?” Aavi took a sloppy bite from the pear. The juice ran down the sides of her mouth and then quickly vanished.
“Yes, I did. What did you two talk about?”
“She wanted to know what plants and flowers we had seen on our journey,” she answered nonchalantly. Aavi looked down while pushing her hand into the fungus bed they were sitting on. She watched the imprint of her hand slowly disappear when she lifted her hand back up.
“Plants and flowers? I suppose they would be curious about those. What did you tell her?”
“That I didn’t know the names of any plants out there, but I told her about the weeds by the shore of the lake and some of the different looking trees we saw on the way here. Then about the flowers, the grasses, and the harpies. Oh - she said they found a broken vase dropped from the sky in their orchard a couple of years ago! Maybe the harpies carry those vases all the time.”
D’Molay finished the last of the grapes and took a pear from the basket. “Interesting. But why, and for whom?” Neither of them had an answer for that question.
“It seems so peaceful here,” Aavi said, changing the subject. She looked around the room, breathing in the cool earthy smell of living wood and spring water that surrounded them.
D’Molay, also lulled into inactivity, leaned back to rest against the wall. He knew what she meant. There was something about the place that calmed one’s mind, clearing it of worries.
“Maybe we should stay here for a few days and rest some more, Aavi. It might be good for both of us.”
She gave him a slightly confused look. “That would be nice, but shouldn’t we be going to see the creature you caught at the fort?”
“Well, a few days won’t -” He paused, realizing she was right. The moon was getting fuller each night. If they didn’t get there soon, they might be too late. The Oracle had warned Aavi that she had to find her companion before it became full again. Yet some inner voice had urged him to stay and not worry about such things.
“Aavi, what does my glow look like today?”
She stared at him for a moment. “It seems pure in color and moves around you very slowly. Like it is when you are asleep.”
“Asleep?” He didn’t like the sound of that. He was fairly certain that he wasn’t asleep, but Aavi’s observation started him worrying. Had Karya told Aavi they too had found urns so she might want to stay and investigate? Was Ptelea’s unhurried manner a way to get them to stay, or was he just feeling peaceful under their protection? D’Molay couldn’t be sure one way or the other, but he didn’t like the idea that some magic might be at work on his psyche, despite the peaceful calm it engendered.
“You’re right, Aavi, we need to get going to the fort. The sooner we get there, the better. Let’s get our things together and go up to the surface. It’s time to leave.”
D’Molay gathered their belongings. He packed extra fruit into their travel bag and refilled their water skin from the underground creek. Aavi, childlike, followed a glowing thread of lichen over to the space in the side of the underground chamber where the stairs had been.
“The stairs - they’re gone!” she called out in surprise.
“What?” D’Molay rushed over to Aavi and ran his hands over the root wall that had taken the place of the stairs. There was no sign that stairs had ever been there at all. Nothing but solid earth stood beyond the roots.
“See, they’re gone.” Aavi said.
D’Molay pounded his fists on the root wall. “Ptelea! Ptelea we want to get out! Let us out!” He felt a wave of panic hit him; the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood up on end. He didn’t like feeling like an animal in a trap.
“But why would they keep us here?”
“I don’t know, Aavi, but we’ll dig our way out of here if we have to.”
Then the voice of Ptelea came from behind them. “That won’t be necessary, and we are not keeping you here. I made those stairs for you. We do not need them. Once you were down here, I let the wall go back to its original form. Now, if you wish to leave . . .”
She walked past them and raised her hands to the wall of roots. A few seconds later the wood and earth twisted and formed back into the stairway they had used last night. Relief, annoyance, and suspicion competed to own D’Molay’s expression as he started up the stairs.
“Let’s go, Aavi.”
Aavi turned to Ptelea. “I’m sorry. We were just scared we couldn’t leave.” Taking one last look at the magnificent chamber she followed D’Molay up the stairs, while Ptelea shook her head sadly and disappeared into the wall.
About half way up, D’Molay could see sunlight from the top of the staircase streaming in. His sense of panic started to fade, replaced once again by a feeling of well-being. “There’s definitely some kind of calming spell at work here,” he concluded, looking back over his shoulder at Aavi. Lit by the glow of the star moss, she had a ghostly, otherworldly appearance as she gazed back up at him nervously. A moment later they were back up on the surface within the circular stand of trees.
The morning sun shone in between the leaves and trunks of the trees as they
stood in the glade. Several of the other hamadryads were nearby making ready to go forth to the groves. Ptelea emerged from her oak tree, approaching D’Molay and Aavi.
“I’m sorry if there was any misunderstanding. We do not often have visitors among us. Our ways are different.”
D’Molay immediately confirmed that his weapons were where he’d left them. He wanted to pick them up, but forced himself to sit down with his back to the large elm tree, within arm’s reach of his weapons. Leaning against the tree, he looked up at Ptelea. “Well, we’re here now. Perhaps I overreacted, and for that I am sorry.”
Aavi could see that D’Molay’s glow was swirling with purple and small red flashes. She thought it probably meant he was upset. Ptelea’s steady greenish glow seemed calm and serene by comparison.
“I should have told you I would not leave the stairs in place. It’s safer for us when our sanctum is sealed off from the surface.”
Aavi walked over and sat beside D’Molay. She was ready to accept Ptelea’s explanation fully, though she could tell by the colors in D’Molay’s glow that he was unsure.
“Can you offer us some sort of transport from here? We will of course deliver that seed for you,” he said, changing the subject and pushing aside his doubts about the dryads’ motives.
Ptelea gave him a knowing smile. “I sense your desire to leave quickly. Morea has agreed to let us use her Mulberry guardians for two days. You should be able to find other means to travel at one of the nearby villages in that time. Her guardians will return here, whether you have found other transport or not.”
“Mulberry guardians?” D’Molay asked. He had never heard of a mulberry guardian before.
Morea emerged from her tree. “All of our trees have guardians. But mine are the only ones able to carry riders. She made a low sound that was a cross between a moan and a grunt. A few seconds later, two large deer came bounding into the tree circle. One had a majestic set of antlers that had ten points on each side. Both of them had light reddish brown coats. Their legs were lighter in color and they had cloven hooves, unlike the horses D’Molay was used to riding. They had long, graceful necks and keen black eyes that looked lovingly at Morea. The deer walked over to her, bowing their heads and awaiting her next command.
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