Dryad-Born (Whispers From Mirrowen)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “You don’t trust me,” Lukias said with an accusing voice, his look darkening.

  “It isn’t a matter of trust, Lukias,” Annon answered. “I’m a Druidecht. My power is here. We were warned in time to flee. If I didn’t trust you, you’d spend each night tied to a tree.”

  Erasmus muttered softly under his breath, “A suggestion that I have mentioned more than once along this journey.”

  Nizeera padded up next to him. They are closing quickly. Something leads them toward us. Dark spirits.

  Annon frowned, feeling his stomach churn with dread. He quickened his pace and noticed the others struggling to keep up. He was used to roaming the wilds, but never with spear-carrying nomads hunting him. Even the night sky could not hide the row of mountains in the northern horizon, the peaks gleaming with crags and ice. They had left Silvandom, skirting around the lake on the northern edge of the woods, and ventured into the grasslands separating the kingdoms from Boeotia. Lukias told them their destination was in the mountains north of the island city. It was unfamiliar country to Annon, who had never ventured farther north than Kenatos in his life. He had heard that Druidecht were welcome in Boeotia, but their disguises as Rikes of Seithrall would negate any friendliness his talisman would provide.

  Annon and Lukias had struck an interesting comradeship along the way. The Rike was constantly amazed at Annon’s ability to commune with nature and the evidences of the spirits of Mirrowen that were manifest around them. Lukias had watched Annon summon spirits to guide them, providing insights into the land, the location of wild berries or fresh game or roots. He was fascinated with Druidecht lore and continued to ask questions, though Annon did not do much to satisfy his curiosity. Much of the Druidecht training was verbal, passed on from mentor to student to be memorized and repeated—such as the names of spirits, their powers, and what persuaded them to aid or injure mortals. It was never allowed to be written down and Annon did not trust the Rike with the secret knowledge of how to commune with Mirrowen. It was enough that he could demonstrate the power to achieve Lukias’s admiration.

  Annon hoped that another day’s walk would put them in reach of the mountain passes. That would bring them closer to Basilides, where Tyrus had implored him to go. Annon had no idea how he was going to infiltrate the lair of the oracle, especially knowing that the Arch-Rike’s minions would be expecting him. He hoped that having Lukias on their side would help. He prepared himself, though, for betrayal.

  Nizeera growled softly. They are running now. I hear their approach.

  Annon’s throat constricted. He licked his lips. “They are gaining on us,” he said softly to the others. “They know we’re here and they’ll likely try to kill us.”

  “How do you know this?” Lukias demanded. He cast around vigorously. “I hear nothing.”

  “What should we do, Annon?” Khiara asked. “Do we stand and fight them? I will not kill but I can harm them.”

  “Foolish to face them in the open like this,” Erasmus said. “They are trained hunters and survivors. How many are there?”

  Annon sent out a mental thought to one of the spirits, who zigzagged away like a moth trailing green motes of dust. He shook his head. “We slept too long. It was not safe resting so near their territory.”

  “How many?” Erasmus pressed anxiously, probably wanting to comment on the odds of their surviving the night. There was a flash of light in the distance behind them. Annon felt a sick queasiness. The moth-spirit would not be returning.

  “I don’t know. To the trees over there,” Annon said, pointing. “They are a scraggly bunch but at least it will provide some cover. Khiara, you float to the upper branches and wait there, ready to come down. I will try to startle them away.”

  “How?” Lukias asked. “The fireblood?”

  Annon nodded. “Erasmus. You stay hidden and look for opportunities to strike. Nizeera and I will face them as we have before.” He glanced at Lukias. “You seem proficient with a blade. Are you?”

  “I know all of a man’s vulnerable spots,” he replied confidently. “I will stand with you. I have warred against Boeotians before. They are fearsome but they can be killed.”

  “Hurry then,” Annon said, breaking into a run toward the copse of ash trees. His heart shuddered inside his chest, swelling with emotion. He remembered perfectly the battle where he had faced them before. Every part of it was burned into his mind, every word that had been spoken. Would any of those memories benefit him now? Reeder had died facing the Boeotians at the Dryad tree in Silvandom. Annon did not want any of his companions to meet their fate here.

  They reached the ash trees quickly and entered the copse silently, moving through the skeletal limbs. Annon searched for a defensive position, quickly surveying the ground. His search was interrupted by the sound of running men, panting in the darkness behind them.

  Nizeera growled again and Annon stroked her head, summoning his courage. He motioned for Khiara to float up into the trees, which she promptly did after taking in a deep breath. Lukias unsheathed his dagger and stood at Annon’s left, arms folded, his face impassive but not fearful. Erasmus vanished behind them into the thicket. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas. Annon’s hands began to glow.

  The Boeotians slowed and entered the grove at a prowl, spears held low. There were no battle cries or warning. Their shapes flitted through the gaps of the trees, advancing on them in a wave. Annon tried to count the number of shapes and quickly abandoned it. There were at least twenty. He remembered how aggressive and cruel they were. Perhaps fire would frighten them. If not, he knew they’d be unleashing spears quickly. There was no reasoning with such men.

  He recalled words that the other Boeotians had spoken. His memory was perfect now and he could summon the images by only thinking about them. Perhaps challenging them in their own tongue would surprise them.

  “Atu! Atu vast!” Annon roared. Then he ran at them, bringing up his hands and unleashing his magic. The Boeotians were fighters. Annon did not think for a moment he could reason with them or talk his way out of a fight. The best thing to do was do something unexpected. Attack them first, make them feel that they had been drawn into a trap. Paedrin had called it the Uddhava.

  Flames blasted through the woods, sending blooms of light to expose those he was attacking. He recognized the tattooed skin, the muscled arms and spears. His sudden attack caught them completely by surprise. Lukias shouted in fury and ran after him and Nizeera let out a feline scream that made even Annon quail.

  Several Boeotians were caught in the initial blast of flame and went down, skin burning. Annon summoned a gob of fire in his hand and hurled it at another group. It streaked through the woods, blinding them with its brilliance and exploded into a tree, showering sparks as it struck. Boeotians dived away from him, unable to bring their spears up to throw. Nizeera vaulted into the nearest cluster of men, claws raking and teeth snapping viciously. Annon continued to charge, sending another sheet of flames into the next group. Fire began to lick the dried scrub at the base of the trees. Emotions swirled inside of Annon, feeding him with power and anger. Euphoria replaced the fear. At the fringe of the euphoria was madness.

  Khiara dropped from the trees, landing amidst a group of Boeotians who were coming at Annon from the side. The copse was too dense for her to use her long tapered staff effectively. Annon glanced and saw her drop it and start using her fists and feet to cripple and break her opponents in the Bhikhu way. Lukias rushed up to the nearest Boeotian, dodging a thrust from his spear and threw his knife with deadly aim.

  Several of the Boeotians started running for their lives. Annon saw more regrouping to press the attack again. They held smoking sticks in their hands, creating a haze of smoke around them. They were cursing and raging in their language, shaking their spears. If he could douse the flames somehow, he could summon spirit creatures to aid them. Annon focused on the burning brands and felt part of him connect with the smoking embers. He sensed the flickering tongues and fire, e
xperiencing a kinship with it. They would pay homage to him. Muttering the Vaettir words in his mind, Annon tamed the fire in the brands. The smoke stopped.

  Now! Annon beckoned to the spirits that were holding back, afraid of the smoke. Nizeera turned her bloody muzzle up, sensing the change in the air. She screamed again, launching herself at another cluster of men, savaging them with her claws. Annon’s elation grew.

  The Boeotians crumpled when the spirits began darting amidst them, stinging with magic and exploding in their midst with painful shocks and blinding light. The Boeotians roared with pain and fled the copse, sprinting away from the scene with haste.

  Lingering in the air nearby, he sensed the presence of fell spirits.

  We see you, Druidecht.

  We know you, Druidecht.

  Tasvir Virk will come for you. You are hunted still.

  The thoughts fluttered against his mind and then they were gone.

  The thoughts caused a chill to seep into Annon’s bones, despite the flames dancing on his hands. He looked down and saw that he was standing amidst crackling flames that did not harm him. The woods were ablaze around him. He stared at the yellow licking tongues, hungering for the power contained inside them. He wanted the whole world to burn. He wondered, deep down, if he had the power to make it happen. Thoughts flooded his mind, seductive and yearning. Unleash the flames to their full potential. Let their true nature manifest itself at last.

  The beckoning was seductive. It made his insides throb with excitement. What would it be like to experience that? What power would be unleashed?

  Annon steeled himself, aware of the danger he was to himself and his companions. He remembered the Black Druidecht he had faced at Neodesha’s tree. The man was already mad. Annon clenched his fists and walked away from the fire, back toward where Erasmus was skulking, examining the tattoos of a Boeotian corpse. Nizeera chased a few of the Boeotians even farther, but even she returned and sauntered up to his side as he emerged from the blaze. He released the control of the fireblood, letting the emotions fade and pass. Sweat trickled down his face. He had come close that time—dangerously close. He could remember the burning hut where his mother had died, lost in the furnace of flames. Tears threatened to choke him. He stood still, trembling. It took long moments to master his emotions.

  Lukias approached and gripped Annon’s shoulder, his face expressive with admiration. His eyes glittered and a wolfish smile appeared. “You are powerful, Druidecht. I can see why they hunt those with the fireblood. Truly, you frighten me.”

  Annon swallowed, glancing at the Rike with unease. The mixture of awe and fear in his voice was significant. Lukias was a man not easily impressed.

  “I do not think they will hunt us now,” he said huskily.

  Lukias nodded in agreement. “I see why the Arch-Rike fears you as well. You see, he has the fireblood too. He fears you will usurp his place.”

  Annon stared at him coldly. “I do not seek his throne. But I do seek his downfall.”

  “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.”

  —Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

  The sprawling mountain range north of Kenatos was jagged, brooding, and capped with dazzling white snow at the upper peaks. Below lay cracked foothills littered with boulders, as if some colossus with a hammer had repeatedly struck the mountains. There were no trees in the upper peaks, only slabs of blue-gray rock that provided a barrier to the twisted lands beyond—the place known as the Scourgelands. Passes led in and out of the maze-like range, but there were no trails or roads.

  Annon and Lukias walked side by side, heads bent low against strong winds blowing down from the mountains. Erasmus and Khiara followed behind, and Annon heard the Preachán struggling to maintain his footing on the loose gravel. The vegetation was sparse, the prairie grass stiff and crackled as they trampled it. Nizeera padded a distance ahead, hunting for signs of spirit life.

  “You said that you knew the Arch-Rike had the fireblood,” Annon said, brushing dust from his eyes. “How did you learn this?”

  Lukias craned his neck, staring up at the mountains with a grim look. “Many of the great men of this world have it. Some suggest it is merely an ample surplus of ambition. If you look through the histories, as I have, you will see its evidence. Band-Imas is one of the greatest Arch-Rikes who has ever lived. But to answer your question, I was warned of it when I was younger. It was said that the Arch-Rike is a calm man, but possesses a fiery temper. When angry, his hands begin to glow. That is one of the marks of the fireblood, is it not?”

  “It is. But have you seen it yourself in him?”

  Lukias nodded. “Yes, but only rarely. The last time was when Tyrus Paracelsus escaped the city, destroying the tower in his wake. I was in the room when the news was brought. His face went black, his eyes glittered, and then I saw his hands. The hunt began immediately.”

  Annon was curious to know more about their enemy. “How did the Arch-Rike come to power?”

  “He was one of the many orphans raised in the city with a great mind for philosophy. Rather than joining the ranks of the Paracelsus, he devoted himself to the Rikes and rose quickly. He was wise for one so young and earned respect for his natural abilities as a leader. Men twice his age deferred to him for his unique wisdom. When there were problems, he solved them. I myself knew him as a younger man. He was the greatest among us. When the last Arch-Rike died, he was chosen despite his youth.”

  Annon rubbed his chin. “How did the previous one die?”

  Lukias glanced at him, brow furrowing. “He was old, Annon. His heart gave out. You cannot understand the pressures that come with the position. When Band-Imas was younger, his hair was like yours. Now it is white.”

  “What I do not understand is why he stands in the way. Surely he has seen the destruction caused by the Plague. He has lived through it twice in his life, at least. Maybe three times. Is it merely ambition? He seeks to preserve his power?”

  Lukias shook his head. “He and Tyrus were once very close. I think, at one time, he even considered Tyrus as a potential successor.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. Something happened between them. Something regarding Tyrus’s older sister. I do not know what it was. Both men are very private.”

  Annon mulled over Lukias’s statements, adding them to the information he already knew from Tyrus. Something nagged at his mind.

  “You said that the Arch-Rike was known for his wisdom, especially as a younger man. Do you know how he achieved it? Was he known to travel much?” Annon wondered if the Arch-Rike had been kissed by a Dryad.

  “He did travel a great deal. He was an emissary for his predecessor and a shrewd negotiator and influencer. The only kingdom he would not visit was Stonehollow, for obvious reasons. They persecute those with the fireblood.”

  “Do you know why that is?”

  “They have a pagan belief that those with the fireblood are immune to the Plague. It is nonsense, of course.”

  “Some myths have elements of truth,” Annon observed.

  “It is said that the Druidecht run naked through the woods performing secret rites.” He looked at Annon quizzically, his mouth twitching with a smirk.

  “That is not true,” Annon replied. “Your point is taken.”

  “I have answered your questions about my master. Answer some for me.”

  “If I can. About Tyrus or the Druidecht?”

  “You would doubt my motives if I asked about Tyrus. Yes, I see the look—you would. So tell me of your order. Why will the Druidecht not allow their lore to be documented? Clearly you run the risk of losing all power should the Plague strike Canton Vaud. It is not logical. I have never understood the reason.”

  Annon was pensive. It always made him uncomfortable when Lukias asked about the Druidecht or probed more about their plans following Basilides. While the ring on his finger helped him believe Lukias was not intending to betray them, he felt it prudent to
withhold secrets, just as Tyrus had always done. He was beginning to believe that Lukias was sincere. But he did not wish to trust him recklessly.

  “It is difficult to explain,” Annon replied. “Some knowledge is precious. If used wrongly, it can cause great harm. A Druidecht is trained piece by piece, bit by bit. We prove ourselves worthy of new knowledge by faithfully using what we have been given. Only when we have mastered the obligations of the knowledge already given are we allowed to learn more. Writing it down would be a temptation for some to gulp the knowledge instead of only sipping it. Every Druidecht learns at their own pace, not according to age or race. This talisman that I wear”—Annon fingered it respectfully—“is proof that I have mastered the knowledge and have earned the trust to learn more. Were I too ambitious to learn or failed to demonstrate the knowledge properly, I would lose the confidence of the spirits and would lose the talisman eventually. Even if a Preachán stole it from me, it would do them little good in the woods. It would become very clear to a spirit that he had not earned it.”

  Lukias nodded sagely.

  The gravel suddenly shifted under Annon’s boots and he nearly fell.

  Lukias grabbed his arm to steady him. “These foothills are treacherous,” the Rike said, squinting at Annon.

  “How far to Basilides?” Annon asked.

  “Tomorrow we will reach the pass that leads to it.” He glanced from Annon to his friends. “When you see it, you will understand why this quest of yours will fail. Just as it takes a Druidecht to understand the lore of the wild, it takes a Rike of Seithrall to navigate the shrine. You will not penetrate the interior without my help. It would be dangerous for you to attempt it.”

  Annon stood still and stared at him. “I do not ask you to betray your brethren. Only to lead us there.”

  Lukias shook his head. “I will not betray the order. I’m only warning you that it is dangerous. We spoke a moment ago about trust. I have tried to earn yours these last few days. Your spirit cat will attest that I have not tried to escape. I have made no contact with the order and I do not intend to betray you. Your rings verify my words.”