“I didn’t think it important.”
He cut a glance back to her. “And you wonder why you’ve lost your way?”
She had no answer.
“Well, High Priestess, I’ll stay with you for another evening, and then I’ll head back first light.”
She worried about being in the forest alone. “If I pay you more, will you extend your employ with me to three weeks?”
“You want me to traipse through this forest with you for seven more days?”
“It won’t take that long.”
He extended his hand. “I’ll do it… for an extra fifteen gold.”
“I thought you charged ten a week?”
He shrugged. “You’re inconveniencing me, and inconveniences cost money.”
His attitude struck a nerve. “Is that all you care about? Money?”
He chuckled. “You know, High Priestess, they say time is money. But they are wrong. Time is time. It has no replacement. If you don’t have any time to offer, you can try money. It usually works.”
“I could go on without you.”
He nodded. “I have no objections. But I’ll take the rest of my fee now.”
She dismounted and walked a few paces ahead of her horse. She looked up to the canopy, took a deep breath, then threw her hands in the air in frustration.
“I’m supposed to be a Druid, and the most powerful sorceress in all the continent. And yet I can’t find the grove. Instead, I argue with a perfectly disagreeable man over money.”
“It’s not about money, High Priestess. It’s about time.”
“And how shall I pay you in time, Saros? What do you want from me?”
He dismounted and stood next to her. “Now that is the first time you’ve asked me that.”
She pointed to his saddlebag. “I bought you new camping gear and rented a horse for you.”
“I needed that,” he said. “But this is the first time you asked me what I wanted. I have a lot of wants.”
She rubbed her forehead. “This is getting us no closer to the grove.”
“I don’t understand, High Priestess. One moment you’re wanting to debate economics and philosophy with me, the next you’re whining about my pay, and now it seems you’ve given up on finding the grove. Dear heavens, how did you end up saving the planet with this level of indecision?”
She scowled. “You don’t know the first thing about me! About what me and my friends have sacrificed.” She pointed to the forest. “My mother’s spirit is in a jar somewhere waiting for me to help free her. She paid a price for your freedom—”
“I told you, High Priestess. Freedom is free.”
“Your rights—”
“My rights are given to me by people like you in exchange for my freedom.”
“I am not your ruler,” she said.
“No, you aren’t. But you think you are.”
“I have nothing to do with the Varesh.”
He laughed. “The Varesh has been taking its marching orders from the Ael’Shanar for years. Oh, you may not give them direction, but I assure you, there are those on the council who do. And you rule over them.”
She sighed. “This is pointless.”
“Indeed, it is.” He walked toward his horse and put his hand on the reigns. “I could give you another month and you wouldn’t find the grove, High Priestess.”
She hated to admit he was probably speaking the truth. She took a few deep breaths to calm down. “What do you suggest I do?”
He walked back toward her. “You’re a half-Druid, right?”
She nodded.
“Then act like one. Pray to the trees, listen to the wind, or whatever it is your kindred do.”
The grain of truth within his crude words was highly polished. There was certainly something more to Saros than met the eye. She walked to the nearest tree and put her hand on its trunk. She closed her eyes and asked for a sign, then listened. In moments, she heard Saros moving about on the dirt road.
“Looks like we have company.”
She opened her eyes and saw a red fox scurrying across the path. It paused, briefly, and stared at her with a depth that sent a chill down to her soul. It spoke the same language of the trees that her ego had only now allowed her to hear. “I think I know the way.”
“Well, it’s about time.”
She walked toward the spot where the fox disappeared into the woods. “I’m going to be a while.”
He nodded. “I know, Niv’leana.”
“You called me by my name.”
“It is truly the first time since we met you have been yourself.”
Chapter 23
Shareis felt the weight of a dozen pairs of disapproving eyes as soon as she walked into the largest tavern in Masola. The patrons made no sound, yet it was clear from their glances they would rather she be somewhere else. Their silence spoke volumes, but at least they were honest about their prejudice. A few made eye contact, smiled, then averted their gaze. They were no better, as they simply hid their bigotry under a sickeningly sweet grin. She would have preferred the honest approach.
It didn’t matter. She had a job to do, and their displeasure played no part in her mission. She walked to the bar and took a seat, waiting to be served.
The bartender threw his towel over his shoulder and sighed. “What will it be?”
“Do you have any rum?”
“We serve mostly corn-squeezings and barley malts here, ma’am.”
“Whiskey it is, then.”
He grunted, then poured her drink. She downed the shot and did her best to repress her distaste for the poor-quality spirit.
The man next to her asked for a refill. “We don’t get many of you around here.”
“I hope not. I haven’t been here in years.”
He chuckled. “I thought Proctors didn’t have a sense of humor.”
“You tend to pick up a few things living around humans.”
“Fair enough.” He extended his hand. “My name’s Marsh.”
“Shareis. Pleased to meet you.”
“Another?” the bartender asked.
“I’d rather have an ale.”
“Figures.”
“Ignore Gil,” Marsh said. “He’s got an awful disposition for a bartender.”
Gil pushed the filled mug toward her. “Only one complain’ is you, Marsh.”
“Can’t you cut our new friend, the lovely miss, some slack?” Marsh asked.
Gil replied with another grunt, but another patron on the other side of the bar slammed his pint on the bar. “She ain’t lovely.”
Another chimed in. “She ain’t a miss, either.”
Several of them roared in laughter.
She rolled her eyes. “Backward juveniles.”
Several of the men approached her. “What did you say?”
She took a large gulp and set her drink on the bar. “I called you a backward juvenile.”
The man fumed. His liquor-sodden breath proceeded him. “There are more of us than there is of you, Proctor!”
She surveyed the threat. Everyone’s gaze was fixed on her, but only three men appeared ready to fight. All were fairly inebriated.
“Good, then it might be even.” Her sarcasm seemed to anger them further. “Listen, fellows. I didn’t come here to fight.”
“That’s about all a Proctor can expect from this town.”
“Not in my bar,” Gil said.
“You didn’t fight in the wars!”
“Neither did you,” Marsh said.
He lunged toward Marsh, nearly spitting in anger. “My father died fighting for Masola.”
“And I’m sure you miss him. I can’t bring him back. I’ve in fought several battles myself.”
“You’re too young to be in the wars.”
“Not the Proctor Wars. I fought in the Battle of Lahara and at Den’tari Hill. I know what war is like.”
He scoffed. “You don’t know nothin’.”
“Maybe,” she r
eplied. “But I know how war changes you. If Vorea were alive today, I might feel about her the same way you feel about me.”
His stance softened a touch. “No one asked you to fight for Lahara, and we don’t need your help here.”
She took a step closer to him. “I’ll do what I came to do and stay not a minute longer. Of that you can be certain.”
“If you make any trouble—”
“Only one making trouble here is you,” Marsh said.
He shot an angry glance to Marsh, then stood directly in her face. “You aren’t welcome here.”
“You’ve made that clear.”
She feared the veins in his forehead would explode from the sheer force of his rage. He gestured toward two of his friends. “As long as you serve her, we drink somewhere else.” They stomped out of the establishment.
She took a deep breath and exhaled, casting out the liquor-fueled vitriol he blasted toward her. She took a seat.
“I’m sorry about that. I have no interest in trouble.”
Gil shrugged. “Their tabs are getting a bit too high anyway.”
“Pay them no mind,” Marsh said.
“They don’t bother me. But I cannot ignore them.”
“He rages about anything, especially if it has to do with Proctors. But his real demon is the bottle. He could drink us all under the table.”
She sighed. “The wounds of war never truly heal.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Marsh replied. “Especially not for Manis.”
Chapter 24
“Please lie down on the couch, Olivia.”
Olivia adjusted the pillow, then reclined. Kytis helped ease her legs upon the sofa.
“Leave your arms at your side,” he said. “I want you to be completely comfortable.”
“What are we going to do?”
He sat on a chair next to her. “Are you familiar with regressive psychoanalysis?”
“I’m not sure I’ve heard of that kind of magic.”
“It is not magic. It is a form of science. A proven technique for discovering the root of your mental woes.”
“Science and magic are one in the same, are they not?” she asked.
“Hmm… perhaps. Nevertheless, I am going to employ this new technique to find out what ails you.”
“I appreciate it. How do we start?”
“I want you to close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths, then close out the world around you. Imagine a barrier erecting around your mind—your inner thoughts. In this barrier one opening exists—an opening that allows only the sound of my voice. I will guide you in this journey.”
She did as he asked. Any adept sorceress was a skilled at visualization and meditation, and she was no exception. In a few moments she had reached the desired state. Kytis was her only input.
“I want you to recall you first memory. Speak to me—tell me what you see… what you taste… and most importantly, what you feel.”
She took a deep breath, then searched through her mind for her earliest recollection. Within moments, an image appeared.
“I’m with my mother at a marketplace, stopped at one of the outdoor vendors. It must have been in Ambrose, my birthplace, the large city on the west coast.”
“Pardon me, Olivia. I forgot to remind you to dispense with your analytical mind. Put yourself in the moment and do not use knowledge you have today to judge and relay your surroundings.”
“Sorry. I saw a man on the other side of the table. The proprietor, I assume. I was at his height, so I must have been on my mother’s hip. She was looking through fabrics. Oh, they were so pretty. The red cloth she held was exquisite. She let me touch it. So soft.”
“Anything else about this moment?” he asked.
“I heard the din of the crowd around us. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, but not my mother. She wanted to pick the perfect fabric.”
“For what?”
“My school dress. My mom said I would have the prettiest clothes in all the school. But I went to a human school, so everyone had gray or brown dresses. I didn’t fit in. The other girls laughed at me.”
“How did you feel?”
“I… I was embarrassed. I told the teacher I wanted to go home but she encouraged me to stay. That night, my mom told me that being different wasn’t bad. In fact, I could use it to my advantage.” She couldn’t help but chuckle, despite her introspective state. “Within days I had them eating out of my hand.”
“Surely they were jealous of such a finely crafted garment,” Kytis said.
“Maybe. My mother was an excellent seamstress.”
“Any other memories from childhood that come to mind?”
She let any events from that time period percolate to the surface. One stood out to her.
“I remember moving from Ambrose to Selandis. It was a horrible move. I recall being in the back of a wagon, getting nauseous from the jolts from all the potholes. It seemed like we’d never get there.”
“It’s all the way across the continent,” Kytis said. “That’s a big move for a young girl.”
“The nights were so scary. It was just us, on the side of the road, with only a thin canvas between us and the rainstorms. Wolves would howl at night. I didn’t sleep much. Eventually, we reached Selandis and my father found work in a factory while my mom did alterations for a clothing store in the upper city. They sent a young salesman to pick up and deliver the clothes because they didn’t want their patrons to see a Skilla in the store.”
“How would they know she was a Skilla?” Kytis asked. “We don’t look any different than humans.”
“My mother dressed like a Skilla. She wore the most beautiful gowns. I still had one of hers, but it was destroyed in Lahara. It was black, with royal blue highlights. The neckline was exquisite.”
“Do you remember your dedication ceremony?”
“I do. I was twenty—a year late. My father died the previous year. I was in so much grief I couldn’t focus, so I delayed it.”
“I’m sorry. I… I understand what it’s like to lose a parent,” he said.
“My lover, at the time, was my witness. A vile man, but I didn’t know it at the time.”
“Remember, Olivia, stay in the present memory.”
“He was a sadistic man. I was enamored with him. He knew I was under his spell. He used sex as a weapon against me. Dispensing just enough, at the right times, to keep my chain perfectly tight.”
Kytis shifted audibly in his chair. “How did you escape his grasp?”
She saw her athame, covered in blood. His warm life force drained between her fingers. The screams—the gurgling—all too much to bear. Everything was blurry through tears.
She bolted from the couch, drenched in sweat. She struggled to catch her breath.
“What happened?”
Her core shook. She needed to escape. She tried to stand, but nearly fainted.
“Olivia… what is wrong?”
“This… this was a failure.”
He put his hand on her cheek. “No, Olivia. We’re just getting started. We found out what’s wrong. This memory must be related to what is going on with you. You need only relive it—”
“No!” She stood.
“But—”
“I can’t do it, Kytis.” She rushed for the door. “I’m sorry. Thank you for your time.”
She ran outside, then kept running. No matter how fast she moved her feet, she couldn’t avoid the pain. It was there. Always. She had simply denied it.
She ran until she was completely out of breath. She collapsed in an alleyway near the bridge over the retaining pool.
If this was required to recover, then she might as well die. She pulled her athame, gripped its blade with all the strength that remained in her fingers, and prepared to plunge it deep.
Could it reach the seed of evil festering in her soul and pluck it from her pitiful existence?
Chapter 25
Dark overgrowth surrounded Niv. The bushes, vines, and
saplings that nestled the wandering path from the road soon became more than mere annoyance. The bushy red tail of the fox had been a beacon, but greenery eventually hid it from view.
She wasn’t worried, and that surprised her. Common sense told her to turn around and return to the safety of the road. But she had no intention of doing the sensible thing. Something deep inside pulled her forward through the thicket. There was no turning back.
Eventually, the foliage parted. A single tree stood directly in the middle of a small clearing. In contrast to the overwhelming green foliage, this tree’s leaves flared with a bright orange-red hue. She stepped closer and examined it more carefully, noting a thin layer of sparkling dust clinging to the leaves.
In spots, a slender shaft of sunlight pierced through the canopy and made the dusty leaves sparkle as though speckled with silver. When she brushed one with her finger, the dust lifted from the plant and danced in the air, swirling in lazy circles until it returned to the surface of the leaf.
A large chest sat at the foot of its trunk. It had no lock, so she decided to see what it held. Before she could open it, a hand rested on her shoulder.
“Welcome to the grove, Niv’leana.”
Her father stood behind her. She immediately hugged him, savoring the warm, comforting embrace only a parent could provide.
“You are different,” he said.
She pointed to her head. “Oh, this? I put my hair up and changed my clothing so that no one would know who I was.”
“That is not what I mean. You are different.”
She pondered his words. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Only our kin can find their way to the grove. I see you have allowed your Druidic ancestry to begin to take hold.”
“I haven’t tried to deny it.”
“You cannot deny it, even if you tried. But your mother’s binding spell hampered your connection to nature—to our ways.”
“I’ve always loved nature.”
He smiled and put his hand on her cheek. “By the time you leave here, you will know you are nature.”
“So… this is the grove?”
“Not at all. The welcome tree is simply the front door to our home.”
She looked around the clearing. “I don’t see another opening. In fact, I barely made it here. The growth is thick.”
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