A Path of Oak and Ash

by M. P. Reeves

  "Who were those men that took me?"

  "Mine enemy, and that of your father."

  "But who are they?"

  "Before you can understand why we fight, you must understand who you are." Erik retrieved a large brown satchel from beside the bed, with minimal effort he pulled out a baseball sized terracotta clay pot and a little pouch.

  "The world was born from us; The sun and the moon, the sky and the sea. The universe and its finite energy intertwined in the fabric of life. All is interconnected. You and I, the grass beneath our feet, the great bird in the sky, this tiny seedling.” Erik placed the seed into the dirt. With a wave of his elegant hand, a small sprout emerged from the pot, growing at an impossible rate, the long green stem topped in a bulb.

  “We do not seek to dominate the world, but to understand.” The stranger put a hand to the plant bulb and it instantly bloomed, a brilliant flower in an array of purple and pink hues.

  “Born of a different plane, from a time afore men put flit to tinder. Our solemn vow to maintain the sacred balance of life, remain one with all things.” Erik took the boy’s hand, placing his palm beside to the small flower. The bloom leaned into his skin, the soft pedals seemed almost warm to the touch. Rick gasped at the sensation. This little bloom, one he would have seen as so insignificant, was soothed by his touch. It was eerie that he knew that, but he did; A warm feeling in his chest, serenity within his mind. That's it, I've gone and lost my marbles...

  “I am, as you will someday be, a Druid." Rick looked into eyes of the man across from him. His face, his features were in a way very much like his own. Somewhere in his soul, however he tried to denied it, this man’s words felt true.

  Perhaps he was not Richard Smith, maybe his name was Carrick Slaine.

  A potential truth that both excited and terrified him; he had wished to belong for so many years, to be grounded rather than transient.

  "It is a good thing I came to you when I did. In a few years your differences would have been noticed." Erik spoke softly, a smile on his face at his nephew’s interaction with the blossom.

  "How so?"

  "Our kind do not age like the men that walk this world. Provided you take care of yourself you will see the sun rise and set for several centuries."

  Carrick’s eyes flipped up. "Centuries?!"

  Erik nodded.

  "So let’s say I am this,” Carrick swallowed hard, “druid. What took my mother? What are these enemies?" He used air quotes on the 'e' word.

  "I think you should rest for now. We must flee when the sun rises."

  "No," Carrick bristled, "I think you need to finish telling me what is going on. Right now." The smirk on his uncle's face confirmed words he meant to be intimidating came off as a tantrum.

  "Patience is a virtue, for a grand oak does not flourish from a seedling in a day." Carrick continued to argue while Erik took off his suit coat, laying it carefully over the back of the chair like it was made of glass.

  “No, that’s a load of crap! You’re gonna tell me why somebody is framing me for murder!”

  No response came.

  “Come on, if you’re really my uncle you would level with me.”

  After a few more pleas Erik glared at him. "We have a long trip ahead of us, with plenty of time to discuss. Bother me no further on the matter this night."

  That tipped the lid off Carrick’s temper. For all he knew that newspaper clipping was false, everything he said could have been some sort of crazy tale to keep him here until he did horrible things to him. Then there was the flower, maybe it had all been imagined. Or maybe this Erik guy had laced his water with some sort of drug to make him see things. Sure would have explained the warm feeling and everything else he'd been through.

  "What if I don't want to go? I could still run to the police..."

  "If you go to your authorities you will be charged for these crimes, they will take you in and deliver you unto those who assaulted you. You will then be killed and it will not be a pleasant death."

  "That's what you say." Carrick snapped.

  "It is what will happen child.” With a curse, Erik turned toward the bird by the window.

  “Arcedes, if my nephew goes near the door you have my permission to peck his eyes out." The mammoth creature let out a quick caw in response, extending her wingspan once while staring at the boy. "Nothing personal Carrick."

  Erik walked over to the bed by the door and stretched out on top of the sheets, crossing his feet at his ankles while folding his hands over his chest.

  Despite his desire to run from the room, Carrick sulked over to the empty bed and pulled back the comforter. Arcedes was still staring at him long after his head hit the pillow.

  4

  When Carrick opened his eyes he fully intended to be in his own room, recovering from a horrible nightmare.

  He was sorely disappointed.

  Laying on the lush hotel bed, he felt both an ache in his muscles and the curious softness of the sheets. In his nose was not the musty scent of his poorly ventilated room but the aroma of bacon, eggs and brewed coffee.

  His stomach rumbled on its own accord.

  “Figured you’d be hungry.” Erik was seated at the small table, eating off of one of two room service trays. Fighting the initial impulse to run, scream and get as far away from him as possible, Carrick sat up with a deliberate slowness. Testing his muscles, taking a deep breath to see his lungs had improved. Air flowed in without pain and exhaled with but a small sting.

  “Today we leave the city and head for home. Our flight leaves at ten so we needn't dally.” Erik commented over the metallic ting of his fork against the plate.

  Obliged to biological demands, Carrick made use of the opulent marbled bathroom. Taking a moment to absorb the view outside the window of the suite on his way back into the main space. The tall buildings and lush park grounds beneath them could only be one place. This was New York City. The greenery beneath him was Central Park. Wow.

  It really was breathtaking. A view that made him feel small and insignificant yet also privileged to look upon its wonder. In his lifetime he never thought he would be in such a place, staring out over the magnificent buildings of one of the worlds most renowned cities from what was clearly a five star hotel. This place had to cost well over a thousand dollars a night if not more. The last time his mother took him on a vacation they'd stayed at a budget inn, thirty five dollars a night.

  Returning to the main room, he slowly approached the small table covered with food. “Where are we going?” Carrick asked, taking a seat across from the man who claimed to be his uncle.

  A brief thought concerning the safety of breakfast flashed through his mind, would it be possible that this man had drugged the meal or otherwise tampered with it? In the end though the call of the food was too tempting. Carrick dug in quickly, shoveling eggs into his mouth without much thought to chewing.

  “The shore of Iona. Off the coast of what you call Scotland.”

  “Never heard of it.” More eggs. Some orange juice. More bacon.

  Erik smirked, lifting the lid off of another serving tray that had concealed a short stack of pancakes. “It is the last gate left in this plane, a union of the land, sea and sky on sacred ground.”

  “There were others?”

  “Before Atlantis fell, yes.”

  Carrick swallowed wrong, causing himself to go into a coughing fit. Feeling rather embarrassed he took a deep swig of orange juice. “The Atlantis?”

  “I do not mean a cruise ship if that is your question.”

  With nothing to say to that, the boy simply nodded. His focus set on the meal in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten so well. His mother had done her best but in the last few years the grocery budget was tight, breakfast was typically limited to cereal and milk. Except for Sundays, that last lazy morning before the week began she would make a pound of bacon, whip up some buttermilk pancakes and a cheddar cheese filled omelet. Even compa
red to that perfect morning, the amount of food he had just consumed made it look like a famine rather than a weekend feast.

  “Would you like me to order more?” Erik asked quietly, stacking up some of the empty plates on the serving tray.

  Yes. “No, I’m full.”

  Erik stood, smoothing out his white button down shirt. In a fluid motion he sauntered over to the antique telephone on the nightstand. A few button presses and a kind word later, it seemed he had ordered everything available off the a la carte menu.

  Carrick folded and refolded the napkin in his lap, he felt ashamed to be so hungry and yet grateful Erik had been so gracious about it. Arcedes let out a soft trill from the radiator, with her head cocked to the side she appeared almost sympathetic. Which was utterly absurd.

  “How are we going to get through the airport? Paper says I'm a wanted man.” Carrick rubbed at his eyes, playing his tears off as the last throngs of sleep.

  “Richard Smith is indeed a wanted man. However, this world knows nothing of Carrick Slaine.”

  “Okay, that’s also supposedly me, so not sure how that’s helpful.” Carrick rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his plate. Swirling the last bites of pancake around in the syrup making patterns on the ivory fine china.

  There was a rustle of material, a new scent in the air. The lad lifted his eyes, jaw dropping in shock. Erik Slaine was no longer clean shaven in a suit, he appeared as he had outside the gas station; Hair unshaven for months, clothing stained, nose red and swollen from years of alcohol, his entire body emanating a horrible stench.

  “What the?” Arcedes ruffled her feathers, hopping from the radiator to the bed.

  “Perception is everything.” Erik spoke in a voice that quivered and rattled.

  In an instant, a mere blink of the eye, he was as he had been. Clean. Dignified. Smelling of cool water cologne rather than refuse.

  “In order for us to get through this, you are going to have to learn one of the most basic abilities we have. The ability to blend, to shift into the common.”

  “I don’t know how that’s possible.”

  “Only because you are narrow minded.”

  “An illusion in the world of men is a very easy thing to maintain. People here are so absorbed in their own circle of reality they do not pay attention to the details of those outside of their perceived importance. A stranger in a crowd will get an initial glance, an evaluation for social and economic status, but never more. There is no detailed analysis. Their minds merely accept what is seen at face value. The trick is, to select a form which would be acceptable for your surroundings. The polar bear would look quite out of place on a southern beach, likewise you cannot dawn a suit coat and tie in a poor neighborhood. Take me for example.” Erik put his sport coat back on. “We tarry within a luxury inn, therefore I am dressed for the occasion. This ensemble will translate into travel as well.”

  Carrick frowned, “So what you’re saying is I need a suit.”

  “A suit coat and an increase of your visual age.”

  “Great. Fantastic.” Carrick clapped his hands together, the sarcasm thick in his voice. “So how do I do that then? Wave a magic wand?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” The boy had to roll his eyes, yes out of all this, that was the part that was ridiculous. “Focus your mind, envision yourself as you wish to be until you are.”

  “That’s it? Just think it so?” Great if he wished to be a pony, would he gallop across the room?

  “You’re judging, not trying.”

  Carrick closed his eyes, his mind caring nothing for the request he had been given. He thought of his mother, of his friends, of the world left behind. He wanted to go home, he wanted to be in class bored to death during math, something normal. He was terrified, in many ways that were quantifiable and a good many more that were not.

  “You’re still not focusing Carrick.” The exercise was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Ah. Perhaps some more vitals in your belly will increase your focus.”

  He opened the door at an angle to obstruct Arcedes from view.

  “Your room service sir.”

  Carrick could see the twenty something waiter over his uncle’s shoulder. Dark haired with a tan complexion, thin nose jutting north from his face with a slight indication of superiority. The man at the door was a cliché in his white servant’s coat.

  “Thank you, you can just leave the cart here.” Erik politely blocked his entrance from the room.

  “Yes sir.” Complying with a nod, the prim delivery boy wheeled the cart aside Erik, then clicked the break on the wheel. Then took a step back, one hand extended for a tip. Erik placed a five into his extended palm, the other was behind his back, slowly coming forward with-

  “Gun!” Carrick shouted, but the struggle had already begun. The tray and all its delicious smelling items went flying, scattering on top of the expensive looking rug. Erik had him by the arm, struggling for control of the firearm.

  A shot rang out-muffled by the silencer on the gun-striking the expensive ceiling above Erik and the waiters head. Bits of plaster falling down onto the pair.

  “Arcedes! Flee!” Erik shouted. The brilliant creature wasted no time in complying, disappearing out the window into the morning sky. Carrick found himself desperately wanting to intervene, yet his legs did not comply. He stood motionless as a statue, watching the tussle.

  It was very clear that his uncle had prior training in hand to hand combat. In a blur of motion he disarmed the intruder. The heavy handgun knocked from the aggressor’s hand, landing on a pile of rubble of its own making.

  The assassin head-butted Erik, following up with a punch to his abdomen while he was momentarily stunned. A series of follow up blows from the assailant forced him back behind the door towards the sitting area, the man striking at the druid’s chest and face.

  Erik growled, grabbing the man by the extended arm on a missed punch he flipped him over his shoulder onto the coffee table behind him. The glass shattered under the weight of the man, yet the obvious pain that a fall like that would cause did not slow him down. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the blood from his face onto his white jacket. Arms raised, his mouth twisted into a sneer, motioning for Erik to come at him.

  It was then that the tall Druid smiled, stretching his back he retreated from his fighting position to stand at his full height. Carrick felt a hum in the air, a sound that grew the moment Erik flipped his right palm forward.

  The potted plants on either side of the loveseat in the sitting area started to churn. In a moment that was too surreal to comprehend, the branches stretched out towards the intruder snapping and cracking like a log in a fire. Long leafy hands wrapped around his arms while he cursed and struggled. Picking him up like a rag doll, they slammed his body into the wall above the sofa, breaking the glass out of the framed painting behind him.

  The wood that held the assassin to the wall tightened around his neck and wrists, his skin blushing where circulation was limited. Gasping for air, the man glared at Erik with wild eyes. Erik ignored his stare while he searched through the bound man’s pockets. He removed a cell phone and another small gun, the kind girls carried in movies from the sixties. Carrick knew next to nothing about firearms, but he believed this was called a 22. The gun was discarded to the ground with disdain, Erik’s attention focused on the cell phone.

  “Tell your master he is too late.” Lip turned up into a disgusted sneer, the towering druid crushed the glass and metal in his hand. The message delivered only a moment before his eyes rolled in his skull, his head slumping against the branches.

  Erik’s shirt had ripped during the attack, his tanned chest decorated by a thick gold chain. A heavy medallion that flashed against the overhead light. Three vertical lines converging at its apex, above them three tiny dots stood in a row. A symbol he had seen before.

  “It’ was your father's. I wanted you to have it. Figured you’re old enough now.”

  “It’s beautifu
l, looks old too.”

  “Oh it is, a few hundred years actually. So be careful with it.”

  The first page of that green bound book had borne that symbol. That association removed the last shreds of Carrick’s doubt about who this man was.

  The druid’s head whipped around to his nephew his dark hair that had been perfectly placed a wild mess. “Time to go.”

  Carrick managed to blurt out some sort of agreement, still standing motionless by the dining set. Funny how it wasn’t the illusions, the giant bird or the vines, but a simple three lined mark that resonated in his soul. He had an uncle. An actual living breathing next of kin.

  One that just turned heel and exited the room, not waiting for him. A move that forced Carrick to either shake off the frozen statue routine or risk waiting for whatever came running to check out the commotion.

  Based on the gun toting hotel employee, he figured remaining in this room was more hazardous to his health than the unknown. Worn sneakers crunching over the plaster and broken glass on the carpet, he ran after Erik.

  The hall beyond the hotel room was equally as opulent. High ceilings, damask wallpaper, crown molding and marble floors made the trek to the elevator seemingly stately yet macabre due to the red color scheme.

  “Did you kill that man?” Carrick asked while Erik pressed the elevator button.

  His blue eyes narrowed. “No, I did not. He merely lost consciousness so we could make our exit in peace.” Carrick found himself shifting on his feet, his uncle’s sad tone made it seem as though he wished he had.

  A delightful chime announced the arrival of the elevator. The gold inlaid doors opened, revealing a mirrored-thankfully empty-cage. Stepping inside only amplified the fact that the pair did not belong in this opulent space. Carrick with his ratty clothing, Erik in his bloodstained suit.

  “Where there was one, there will be others. We must move quickly.” Erik pushed the ground floor button on the elevator. “You must shift now, before the doors open. It is imperative.”

  “What? But...” His mind was reeling, deadlines had never been in his favor. Under pressure, he was known to crack. The two minute warning on standardized tests rattled his ability to fill in the little circles with anything but a line of 'C' answers.