The Last Druid

by Colleen Montague

  “You Elves used to be part of it, you know,” she went on, hoping she could at least partly explain her meaning. “Your ancestors were, anyway. Many of them had the same gifts you do—being able to see and hear us, listening to the life around them, some of them even capable of the magic arts. But as she slowly started to leave them to grow on their own they started moving away from Her, until eventually She became nothing more than a name in your myths and legends.”

  “Who do you mean by ‘Her’?”

  “The Lady of all life, one of the Three Guardians of this world: Elenia the queen of the natural world. Does that sound familiar to you now?”

  Calla shook her head. Mai’s story was continuing to confuse her. “I’m afraid that still isn’t ringing any bells.”

  Mai felt herself pout. “Well, this is going really well. I expect the next thing for you to say is that you have never heard of magic or the Druids who wielded it.”

  “The activities of those raving madmen exist only in stories told to entertain younger children. Magic isn’t real.”

  It is a start at least, Mai thought to herself with a frown; she now had another challenge. Calla didn’t believe in supernatural forces even though she possessed talents that fell into that category. And somewhere in the retellings the stories of the Druids had been seriously distorted. “‘Raving madmen’? That is one reference I have not heard before. Your ancestors certainly changed the stories over the years. But no, they were not lunatics as your tales depict them to be—they were good men, devoting their time to study the world around them, passing on their gifts and knowledge from one generation to the next; the magic arts they used we call Earthmagic. But as time went on and Lady Elenia became more and more of a fading memory to them their motives started to change; they became less focused on advancing their knowledge of the natural world, on learning from the life that dwelled around them, and chose to follow the sciences—they wanted to find a way to explain their world that did not involve ancient magic or creatures from a forgotten era. From this change, little by little, their order diminished until there were no more of them left.”

  “So they’re completely extinct.”

  “More or less—to the loss of all that is good, unfortunately.”

  Calla tilted her head to one side like a confused puppy. “And exactly what does any of that have to do with me? Of you trying to…’find’ me?”

  Mai fixed one eye on Calla’s face. “Think carefully,” she said. “Recall how I described this ancient order to you—what they did, what they were capable of.”

  Calla spent only a moment in thought before her expression changed; the look she gave Mai was almost icy. “No,” she said simply.

  “By blood you are the last of that order. You must understand what I am asking.”

  “You just said they died out centuries ago. How can I be part of a society that hasn’t existed for at least a few thousand years?”

  “That strays into a realm of knowledge I do not have access to—in other words, I am not sure. It is possible that some Druid traits skipped several generations, coming into blossom only once in a while before fading into dormancy for another few generations, until it eventually came to you.” Mai shrugged. “Speculation, I am afraid, but all we have. Yet we cannot afford to do too much of that now. Time is pressing, and we sit here dallying.”

  “And that means what?”

  “She is still alive, Calla—our Lady, the Lady Elenia, and she has preserved a small piece of the ancient world. She has drawn it to perhaps the most secluded corner of the physical world, but it is no stronghold of safety, I can assure you. The peaceful existence we have maintained for so long has been shattered, and She needs one who has the strength and power to keep us from the brink of destruction. To express this in simplest terms, She wishes you to come to her—to be Her champion.”

  Calla simply stared for several minutes before she spoke again. “You cannot be serious.”

  “It is not just our world that hangs in the balance!” Mai grabbed Calla’s arm. “Other realms will fall to the coming flames if nothing is done—even yours, as peaceful and virtually isolated as it is. The whole world needs you!”

  “No,” she said again.

  “Please!” Mai tightened her grip. “We lost all other hope long ago—do not deny us a chance to regain some of it again.”

  Calla sighed and started prying Mai’s fingers off of her arm, though not without difficulty; Mai was quite strong. “My place is here,” she said, standing up and turning to leave. “I’m not leaving my home over stories of myth.”

  Mai could feel the despair settling in. “Please! Think of what I am asking you! An entire world needs you! You must reconsider your choice. I am not the only one sent to search for you: others have been sent as well, all of them from darker forces that seek to destroy you. You must come before it is too late.”

  “Barring some personal or natural disaster, or even hard evidence that what you say is true, I don’t think that’s possible.” Calla walked off over the hill.

  Feeling smaller than she ever had before, Mai stifled a sniffle before she turned and let herself be whisked off by the passing wind.

  VII

  Calla

  “By blood you are the last of the Druid order.”

  Calla shook her head as she walked down the road. Magic, ancient gods, prophecies, mythical creatures—the idea that all of it could exist was preposterous. Still nothing about the experience was natural; hell, nothing about that girl was natural, from the tricks she had pulled to her unbelievably bright green hair. Calla refused to believe any of what she had just been told. Her fingers strayed to rub her wrist where those vines had cut into her skin.

  It didn’t make any sense.

  “Get a grip, Calla,” she muttered to herself. None of it could possibly have been real—she must have dreamt about the whole thing. She lived in the real world, not one inhabited by monsters from the stories she grew up hearing. Perhaps taking a long walk would help her to forget about it. The thought made Calla feel much better already, and she decided to walk in the city gardens for a while.

  Afternoon was just giving way to evening when Calla finally came home again. After spending at least another hour wandering around on her own, she’d decided to go visit Kira. Unfortunately she didn’t get to stay for as long as she would have liked: it had been only a few weeks since her friend had announced she was getting married, but already she was busy making her wedding plans. Calla was waiting for only a moment before Kira took advantage of her presence, placing a large pile of different fabrics in her arms.

  “You must make my wedding dress, Calla!” She had been so excited she was practically bouncing in place. “I want only you to make it! You sew so well, I don’t want anyone else doing it.” And with that Calla was hurried out the door again.

  She gave a soft chuckle as she opened her front gate. Kira was seriously misinformed about Calla’s sewing abilities; she hadn’t made so much as a stitch since she was ten. The last time she had been given such a request, she cheated and went to her neighbor Ella to ask for help—she was a master seamstress who could truthfully claim the title. Calla knew for sure that she would be paying the old lady a visit after she had selected the perfect fabric.

  Her mind was still on sewing ideas as she entered the house. She was setting the fabric down on the table and was about to start going through it when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Something was wrong, something felt off. She was suddenly filled with a strong desire to run.

  Something in the back of her mind cried out in alarm, and she jumped off to the side. She reacted not a moment too soon, as something blasted through the air where she had been and crashed onto the table, scattering the fabrics across the floor; it was followed by a loud, inhuman screech and the beating of large wings. She whirled around to face her attacker, but stopped in her tracks when she saw who—or rather what—it was.

  The thing hovering in
the air behind her was about the size of the average housecat. Its body was long, every inch of it covered in dark purple scales with occasional bands of yellow and dots of bright green. Its wingspan was at least twice the length of its body, and it had only one pair of legs located farther down the body from the wings. Its head was squared off, and Calla could see two long fangs protruding from beneath its upper lip that dripped with yellow venom. It glared at her with bright red eyes. The only other feature that stood out was the long barb on the end of its tail.

  Calla would have viewed the small dragon as the most ridiculous piece of her imagination if it weren’t for the massive split in the table top where the thing’s tail barb had collided with the wood.

  With a screech the animal dove towards Calla, fangs bared as it flew at her head. Calla dropped down and rolled under the table. But just because she had avoided its attack was not enough for the creature to give up its assault; it landed on the floor and proceeded to walk toward her on a set of claws that extended out from the joints of its wings, two claws on each. It jumped at her, snapping at the air with its teeth. Calla scrambled away from it, somehow able to avoid the barb as it flicked its tail at her.

  The small lizard took to the air again, gaining height so quickly it was almost able to land on her head. Dropping down Calla threw her hands over her head as it sailed by into the door behind her. All the while her mind was working, trying to understand how there could be a flying lizard creature attacking her. None of this could possibly be real—snakes and most other reptiles were incapable of flight. There had to be another explanation for this creature.

  The problem was she just couldn’t find one.

  The creature recovered quickly and clawed its way up the wooden door. Once it reached the top it turned and threw itself towards her again. This time it was coming far too fast for Calla to avoid. She threw both of her arms up in front of her face and caught the reptile in both hands before falling to the floor on her back. She slid one hand up its neck to get a more secure grip on it just behind its head; she held it by the base of its tail with her other hand. As it writhed around in her hands trying to break free of her its tail swung around, the barb on the end striking her left shoulder three times in only a couple of seconds. In pain Calla held the creature at arm’s length as she struggled to stand. Balancing on one knee she threw the animal at the far wall with all the force she could muster.

  She heard a loud snap as it hit one corner of the fireplace. With its spine broken it dropped to the floor and lay there motionless.

  Her upper arm felt as though it were on fire. She put a hand to her shoulder and felt the wet blood on her fingers. She turned to leave the room only to come face to face with her stepmother. She would have just walked away to tend to her injuries and worry about explanations later, but she stopped when she saw the woman’s face. Mika was…glaring at her, baring her teeth in a feral snarl. But it was her eyes that made Calla stop—they were glowing red, blood-red.

  Her expression unchanging, Mika waved through the air. Calla heard a loud crackling behind her and turned to find the flying lizard’s body had burst into flames. Turning back around she saw her stepmother draw a long thin knife from inside her overcoat. “Incompetent reptile,” she hissed, taking a menacing step towards the girl.

  Calla was stunned by everything she was seeing. “What are you doing?” she asked, terrified.

  Mika’s response was to swing the blade at Calla’s left arm; it tore through her sleeve and cut into the flesh beneath, just below the three puncture wounds. Calla sprang back quickly as more blood started to soak her sleeve.

  Mika scowled. “Whenever you want something done,” she muttered, though it was loud enough for Calla to hear, “do it yourself.” She rushed at the girl again.

  Remembering her training, Calla braced herself for the next assault. Forgetting her pain, she clamped a hand on Mika’s wrist, twisting it sharply so the knife dropped to the floor. As the metal clanged on the hard tiles Calla rammed one foot into Mika’s gut, sending her across the room until she crashed into the table, knocking everything over. With a screech she started to get up again when the front door burst open and three men charged into the room; they took one look around and tackled her as she fought to go after Calla again. She squirmed in their grasp but was unable to break their hold as they dragged her to her feet and out of the house.

  Calla leaned with her back against the wall and slid to the floor, exhausted and in pain. She kept her hand over the wound on her arm, wincing at the pain her action caused while blood continued to soak her sleeve, staining the fabric red; her entire upper arm was crusted and stiff with dried blood.

  A shadow loomed over her. She looked up in time to see her father’s face as he dropped down to hold her. “Calla,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied through gritted teeth, the pain making her whole arm tingle.

  Morlan pulled her in close and kissed her forehead, careful not to touch her shredded flesh. “Everything will be fine,” he said quietly. “We’ll sort all this out.”

  Healers were summoned and came to wrap up Calla’s injuries, but the most they could do was try to put some medicine and bandages on them; the cuts were deep and no one could say if the puncture wounds were poisoned or not, and the slightest touch to the whole area made Calla cry out. She heard them muttering something about a possibility for infection, but they were out the door before she could hear any more.

  Morlan left her and out to speak to the guardsmen who had arrested Mika. None of them had any clear idea about what happened or even why. Calla thought she could still hear her stepmother screaming in rage, demanding to know why she had been stopped. She would be sent directly to prison with an increased guard; no one wanted to take any chances with her, not after she tried to commit murder.

  Perhaps what they didn’t know was better off being kept secret.

  Calla sat at the back door with her knees tucked up under her chin, thinking, a little difficult since she was starting to feel strangely dizzy. She couldn’t shake the memory of what had happened to her. With the slightest gesture her stepmother had made a flying lizard’s corpse catch fire; the way she had looked, it was as though she had been controlling the thing, maybe even had created it. And the way her eyes were glowing that unnatural red color, a dark crimson—it felt evil. What Mika had done right in front of her…it was impossible.

  What is she? Calla thought.

  Whatever the case, Calla knew she couldn’t stay there anymore. If Mika somehow had the power to summon unnatural creatures and to destroy their remains, then she was potentially capable of anything and a jail cell was not going to hold her for long. Calla’s life would now be in danger, along with those she cared about if she stayed around. Every sense was now telling her to go.

  But she couldn’t shake off one question: why did Mika suddenly try to kill her?

  Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation she’d had with Mai earlier that day. Everything the Nymph had said sounded so impossible at the time, but after this...Calla wasn’t so sure anymore. The Nymph knew something about her, and apparently Mika knew that same something as well—she had attacked with the intent to kill.

  What was it about her?

  Calla decided there would be more time to ask about that later; somehow she knew this was far from the end of the troubles to come her way. As quietly as she could she got up from her seat and crept into the kitchen; she grabbed a bag from the counter, gritting her teeth against the continued pain in her arm, and grabbed what food items she thought wouldn’t be missed—bread, cheese, some meat and vegetables from down in the cellar. She would grab weapons and clothes and whatever else thought she would need as she left.

  Hopefully that Nymph was still in the area.

  VIII

  The Watcher

  The Elf-like creature stood before the woman in her prison cell, towering over her. He glared down at her with severe disdain. She cowere
d before him, but he wasn’t convinced her act was real. He was disgusted by what she had done: she had tried to kill the girl, and showed no remorse for her actions—instead she was proud of it and would do it again if given the chance. He grimaced at the stink of the dark energy coming off her; it was stronger and heavier now that he was up close to her.

  The worst thing about the whole situation was that the child was a Druid—the only one that existed in the whole world, and the only one who could protect all life.

  He heard shouts outside—he didn’t have much time left. The locals had to have noticed the unconscious guards at the front gate by now. He would have to be quick about his business if he didn’t want to be discovered by any of them. He continued to glare at the woman who crouched on the floor in front of him with her back pressed against the wall. “You have committed the gravest of crimes,” he said coldly, “one so severe, there is no hope of forgiveness for you.”

  Her face was turned up at him, her eyes darting around the cell like a wild animal trying to find an escape route he may have overlooked. “Crime?” She laughed. “Why is it a crime? The little witch deserved that and more! Besides, she won’t survive from those poisoned stings my wyvern gave her.” She leered at him.

  His anger grew and he clenched his fists so hard his fingernails dug into his palms. “You have betrayed us all with what you have done.”

  Her eyes glowed red, unnaturally so. “I performed my duty,” she said like a madman. “I will have removed her from this world completely and cleared the way for the new, glorious age. I have served Him—my Lord will reward me greatly—“

  He was on her in an instant, pinning her against the wall with his hand wrapped firmly around her throat. “You have spilled the first blood,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “That girl is worth thousands of times more than this pathetic excuse you call your life.”

  “The witch will die.” She was almost gleeful as she choked out the words, like she was taunting him. “She will die and I will live, and I will be so greatly rewarded. You will bow to me and beg me for mercy!”