A Path of Oak and Ash

by M. P. Reeves

  "I suppose you could put it that way." With the grace of a monarch, Selene lowered herself into the chair across from Carrick with a cup of tea. "No luck finding what you were searching for at the Librarium?"

  His knife stopped mid slice. "How did you know I didn't find what I was looking for?"

  "Your expression is glum, your shoulders slouched. Typically I'd just assume that was from spending too much time with Cormac's dreadful twins but when I add up the amount of time you were out..." she smiled, her steel gray gaze twinkling, "natural conclusion."

  "Maybe I just fell asleep in a book." He countered between mouthfuls. Her cooking was far superior to Erik’s.

  "Maybe you did." She agreed, taking a sip of tea.

  "Cormac's...you mean those two are his..."

  "Daughters. Unfortunately the apple fell quite far from the tree." She smirked. "Then rolled down the hill down the river and out to sea. I daresay no one was surprised when their rite revealed the waves. Hope they left you alone."

  "They didn't, but I handled it. Erik told me to avoid the serpentine."

  "Good advice."

  Carrick felt an urge to interject a lecture about stereotyping, but he honestly had no clue if 'magical' profiling was indeed as accurate as they claimed. It struck him as poor planning. If an entire sect of people held a predisposition for evil having them cavort together would seem to only encourage such traits. "Are they really all bad?"

  "No, not bad. Just...unpredictable. I believe your uncle has quite typically declared a blanket statement in order to protect what he believes to be your best interests. I have known many from the riverbeds over the years that are quite harmless and even friendly. Their poor reputation stems from the actions of a few."

  "Lorcan, you mean."

  Her face darkened for a split second, eyes lost in an unshared memory. "To be blunt. Yes. Because of him and those that followed him." Selene stood, scooping up his empty dishes. In an instant her serene smile returned. "I took the liberty of tending to the wash and a bit of upkeep around the Elderwood. You boys when left to your own devices are utterly untamed, it’s like the concept of a mop bucket and broom are ancient forbidden instruments. Why if Maev had seen the condition of this place..." Selene shook her head with a laugh, her many earrings visible for a split second.

  "You knew my grandmother?" The word sounded foreign to his lips, funny to think that he had extended family. "What is she like? Was she like?" He felt the warmth of blood rushing to his face, how embarrassing to not even know if she was alive or dead.

  "Was. Unfortunately. Such a shame, they don't make many women like Maev." Selene smirked. "Tongue was as sharp as her lineage required, wit doubly so. She was the friendly sort, would give you the cloak of her back if you caught a chill. However, she expected things a certain way, and as long as that way was met with compliance she would treat you like her own. If you crossed her wishes...let’s just say Erik and Bran feared her wrath far more than Osin. All in all though she was wholly devoted to family. A true Elderwood Matriarch."

  "You've known my family a long time." He mused, fighting a tinge of jealousy.

  "All my life." She reached across the table, gently patting the back of his hand with her own. A large bronze ring in the shape of a bird’s wing extending over her knuckles from her index finger to her pinkie. She was Skyborn, had to be. Carrick wondered where her familiar was lurking. Was it as impressive as Arcedes? "Now Carrick wash up and off to your room. The moon wanes high above."

  "Do you know how long Erik will be gone?" Perhaps his uncle’s tongue had been looser with the pretty Selene.

  "One would have an easier time tracking a deer blindfolded in a thunderstorm than predicting the movements of the Slaine brothers."

  "I could see that." Carrick grumbled as he rose from the table, cracking his back. The loud pop told him his posture had been horrid, slouched over tomes all day.

  She sighed. "I'm sorry, Erik told me a bit about what had happened to you. It must be hard to find family and then have them take off again in a whirlwind. I will do my best to be a stable part of your life in Dre'ien." There was something in the way she said his uncle's name, or maybe it was in her eyes. Either way her feelings for him were clear. Selene was harboring some serious affections for his new found relative.

  Carrick nodded, turning to go to his room. He wondered if his uncle felt the same about her. Hell, he'd be a fool not to. She was just so...sweet. Just like his mother.

  "Selene?"

  She paused from washing his dishes, turning around. "Hmm?"

  What do we say Richard when someone does something nice? We should always say it. Two magical words that can brighten any day. "Thank you."

  The smile he got in return was contagious, staying on his face long after he retired to his room.

  20

  Thrown forward, Liz tried to brace the impact with her arms but they were too battered and bruised to comply. Her head bounced off the concrete floor with an audible crack that left her seeing stars while fighting back the urge to vomit. During her time with the man in the suit she had been beaten; her ring and pinkie finger on her right hand had been broken along with at least two ribs on her left side, her head had been held under water till the brink of death, she had even been shocked repeatedly with metal needles hooked up to some sort of voltage unit.

  All because she refused to answer one four word question.

  One she refused to answer not for her own safety, but out of spite. These bastards murdered her father. She discovered quite conveniently that hatred fuels adrenaline. Fueled it enough to make her laugh when her bones cracked. Whatever it was that Rick had that they wanted so badly, they would never get it from her. Important things do not belong in the hands of murderous fiends.

  The door shut, the metallic lock clicking into place. Soft hands rolled her over, a muffled worried voice that reminded her of her own Mom. Who was she kidding? Her mother was probably dead, along with her brother. No...if they had been to her house they would have found it. If they would have found it they wouldn't be interrogating her. Lifted from the frigid concrete floor, a slight smile crossed her face despite her delirium.

  They were no closer to their goal than before, and if she had her way, they never would be.

  21

  One thing was certain; breakfast was definitely better with Selene in the house. Here he had been under the impression that druid’s simplistic meals stemmed from their unity with nature and yearn for balance, when in fact his limited meal plan was due to his uncle's rudimentary cooking knowledge. She had served up a myriad of deliciousness. A seasoned omelet loaded with veggies, meat that resembled bacon-although he had yet to see any pigs about-and fresh squeezed grape juice. It put a spring in his step all the way to the clearing where Aodhan was waiting for him.

  "Bout time! Was startin’ to think ya forgot." Aodhan smiled. He had put more effort into his appearance today; boots polished, long mahogany hair braided down his back rather than all over the place, a gold pin of a sun near the clasp on his cloak and not a shred of dirt on his person.

  "Sorry, Selene made a big breakfast. It was so freaking good." Carrick patted his belly, emphasizing the point.

  Aodhan popped an eyebrow. "Selene Lillevyn?"

  "Maybe? She didn't give me her family name."

  "Dun matter, only one Selene in Dre'ien." Turning to his left he shouted towards the redhead who was a few paces around the bend in front of them. "Ey Tadhg."

  "Eh?"

  "Carrick here is stayin' with Selene Lillevyn."

  Tadhg whistled. "Lucky basta'd." He carried on in his broken English listing all sorts of nasty things he apparently wanted to do to Carrick's temporary guardian as he walked ahead of them.

  Carrick laughed as he rolled his eyes. "Anyway...where's Conall?"

  "Prepping with Quin up ahead." Carrick did his best to not let his displeasure show. He hadn't spoken to Quin since L.A. nor did he want to now.

  As they wa
lked up the winding trail, Carrick was surprised to see quite a crowd had gathered in the clearing. Many faces seemed familiar but he did not know any of their names. Everyone stood in a half circle, Conall in the center dressed in a long white robe. If he had appeared angelic before it was nothing compared to the vibe he was giving off now, with one exception. His face did not carry the typical care-free expression Carrick had become accustomed to. Conall looked downright nervous.

  The murmurs of the crowd silenced when an older man with long grey hair and a full beard approached from the trail. A thick pelt covered his shoulders, his robes grey as his beard. Despite the many lines on his face his stride was still quick and fluid. Milky blue eyes scanned the assembled crowd before landing on Conall.

  "Who's that?" Carrick whispered.

  "Mannix, second head of the Fang." Aodhan answered him in a barely audible tone. Carrick nodded. His uncle taught him the wolf pack had three ranked leaders, similar to the Cerberus of ancient Greek mythology. They led their order by triumvant, with deference to the first head or the Alpha as it were. Argentine was the head, was one his uncle respected very much as he spoke at length of his deeds. This Mannix was the second, a woman named Madra the third. His uncle had glazed over the other two, be it as a show of contempt or honest lack of interest was up to Carrick's interpretation.

  "Conall Cattan, son of Nel, descendant of Oran, step forward." Mannix spoke loudly to all assembled. Carrick clenched his jaw as soon as the old man spoke, that reedy voice was too familiar. "The order of the Fang requires unity with the pack. Only through the sacred bond are you united with our realm and our people. Are you prepared?"

  "I am."

  The white sheet was raised, a collective gasp hushed the clearing. What was inside that cage looked nothing like Quin's familiar. In fact, it didn't as much look like a wolf as it did a giant fox. Its back was a good four feet off the ground. Deep red fur covered its body darkening to black at the tips of the ears and tail. Carrick couldn't tell if it was just fluffy or had a thick shoulder spread and muscular neck. Lacking the typical white underbelly, it did have the protruding ears of a fox that were currently tilted back in agitation. Intelligent blue eyes watched intently from behind the bars as it paced on black clawed paws the size of a professional basketball players' shoe. If Conall had been previously attacked by one of these as Aodhan said, it made him either incredibly brave or foolishly reckless to try again.

  Maybe he was both.

  The hooded man-who had previously pulled back the curtain from the marvelous creature-opened the cage with shaking hands. Stepping back quickly after the locking pin was pulled.

  Conall crouched down on his back legs, forming fists with his hands he placed them on the ground in front of himself. The Fenrir leaped from the cage, its deep voice rumbling behind bared teeth. Slowly it panned all assembled, as though it were searching for whomever dared cage it to enact its vengeance.

  Then it saw Conall.

  "Obsecro per flumen terrae et spiritus." His arms extended in the air palm up. "Age mecum!"

  Whatever he said must have pissed it off. It charged him full bore knocking him to the ground, sinking its large teeth into his right shoulder. Blood poured over his white shirt as the animal shook its head, tearing the wound open further. Carrick cursed, lunging forward to go help his friend.

  Aodhan grabbed his arm.

  "We have to help him!" Carrick snapped.

  "No. He must do this alone." Aodhan quietly responded, not taking his eyes off of Conall's struggle. "You insult him by interfering."

  Carrick shook off Aodhan's grasp, his eyes fixed on the blood pouring onto the grass. "It's killing him."

  "Then it kills him."

  Conall continued to chant despite the blood pouring down his arm onto the grass. The Fenrir was aiming for his throat which Conall continued to block taking more wounds to his limbs.

  "Sicut enim stabimus regna terrena et habitatores saltibus." The beast shook him by his right arm, then sunk its teeth into his stomach, dragging him back towards its cage. "Et luna non habent dominum currunt me ut fratrem."

  Conall wrestled out of its hold, pushing behind its ears until its jaw released. Wrapping both of his hands around its snout he stared the beast down.

  "Curabitur. Aliquam a nunc et usque in dies mei." It shook against his hold, growling. "Curabitur." Connall repeated, his words slurring from what Carrick could only assume was bloodloss.

  Suddenly, the beast appeared to falter.

  "Et luna non habent dominum currunt me ut fratrem." Conall repeated softly. "Curabitur."

  The Fenrir, with all its strength and grace, sat. Its tail swishing gently back and forth. After a moment of silence, Conall slowly removed his bloody shaking hands from the beast’s muzzle. It did not strike at him, instead its large head nuzzled against his hand.

  A smile slowly spread across Conall's face.

  "It is done." Mannix declared. "Quod nemo spirituum pecus conjunxerit divellunt!"

  A collective cheer echoed through the clearing. Carrick hung back as the members of the Fang rushed their new member while Mannix surprisingly took off at a dead run back to town. Whatever that was about.

  The crowd around Connall seemed to care little for the injuries he sustained. Clapping him on the shoulder and hugging him, laughing and joking jovially. Carrick's train of thought was far different at the moment, worried his friend was in dire need of medical attention. There were at least four wounds he could see at a distance that needed several stitches, the white tunic had lost nearly all of its original color, making Conall appear like a victim from a horror movie rather than an accomplished druid.

  When the crowd began to thin, Carrick approached slowly, noting one of the women there had produced a small tube of ground herbs that she was applying feverously to Conall's various tears and scrapes despite his loud protests. The Fenrir continued to sit dutifully beside his new master, watching the commotion.

  "Congratulations Conall." Much to his surprise the Fenrir approached him slowly, sniffing. Carrick offered an upturned palm as he had always done in the park with dogs, hoping the beast didn't chomp his hand off. "What are you going to call him?" The Fenrir nuzzled at Carrick's hand, demanding a good petting. He was eager to comply, amazed the Fenrir's dark red fur was as soft as a chinchillas and surprisingly smelled of pine.

  "I was thinking...Millie."

  "Millie?" He may as well have called the massive man eater, fluffles or lollipop. Carrick did his best not to smirk or else he be tempted to do something foolish like suggest cinnamon sunshine sparkles as a better option.

  "Aye." The massive wolf licked Conall's cheek, her tongue was about as wide as his face. "Yep, she agrees."

  "She..." Carrick felt stupid, if he didn't know better he could have sworn Millie shot him a look indicating exactly that. "Sorry."

  "We should drink tonight to celebrate!" Aodhan declared. "Would you join us sweet Aurellia?" Since the sandy haired lass dressing Conall's wounds was the only lady around, Carrick had to assume she was Aurellia.

  Her green eyes blinked, cheeks blushing as she tipped her upturned nose up in the air, her hands momentarily pausing in her work. "Are you inviting me Aodhan?"

  "Aye, and as many of your sisters as you choose to accompany you so we may be blessed with beauty beyond measure. Although I will hold my doubts that any could compare to you." Aurellia giggled demurely then continued wrapping the new fang's wounded forearm.

  Aodhan laid it on so thick he was amazed none of these girls saw through it, but then again perhaps that’s just how things were done here. Men singing outside of windows, tossing flowers like an old English lit play. If that's what it took he saw himself being very lonely for quite some time. Carrick had barely bumbled through his version of roses are red for a sophomore poetry assignment.

  Quin strode up to Conall like he owned the place, shaking his hand and whispering something in his ear. In what he could only assume was an intentional insult, Quin s
tood directly in front of Carrick, cutting him out of the conversation circle.

  "Hey." Carrick glared at Quin. His frustrations over his lack of fruitful information on the heart of the forest manifesting into concentrated anger at the one who put him in this predicament.

  Quin turned around. "There a problem kid?"

  "What do you think?" Quin kicked up an eyebrow, eyeing him like a comical child having a tantrum. Which only pissed him off worse. "You purposely misdirected me out into the alley. Erik said we were supposed to stay together, if I had been there-"

  Quin scoffed. "If you had, then what? You would have singlehandedly slaughtered the fell? Is that what this is?" Quin closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with a huff before continuing. "Look, little one. I sent you out of harm’s way as I view you as a liability and quite likely to die when faced with a true combatant. You should be thanking me, or at the very least learning to stay here with the other children, where it is safe." Quin turned his back to Conall, his voice barely audible, "bloody half breed."

  That was all it took. Seeing nothing but red his fist moved faster than his mind could process, Quin's words only sinking in after his connect had been made with his jaw. Carrick had to give himself some credit, the unprepared Quin actually stumbled back twice.

  "You wish to have a go at me?" Smirking, the dark druid wiped a small dot of blood off his lip with his thumb. "Come then." At his side, Starless growled. Every hair on the arch of his thick back standing on end.

  Carrick found himself momentarily reconsidering. A fair fight was one thing. Facing the man and his wolf...

  "Don't worry 'bout him, he's not going to rip your throat out." Quin raised his arms, readying a boxer’s stance. "Today, anyway."

  Carrick sneered, charging Quin. His fists flying through the air in a fury, trying desperately to land a blow. Each hit that should have made contact instead found open air followed by a smack upside the head or cheek from the older druid. Quin's form was a black blur. Dodging each blow by inches, only to retaliate with mock aggression. Every. Time. It only infuriated Carrick further, the crowd laughed at his folly.