by C.S. Fanning
before, you should continue on until you reach the druid isle. It is a journey of some weeks, but it is the only place your safety can be assured.”
Aeden never intended to stay in Bretharc, and other than getting stabbed he was living his dream. Teagan, on the other hand, was very upset. The rest of the group seemed to have expected this, and though there was some concern about being separated from the two druids they were all prepared to leave Bretharc behind.
Finnis stepped forward and took Aeden by the arm, leading him away from the group to a fallen log where he had Aeden sit down. He drew out his fews and cast them once more. After studying a moment he looked up at Aeden. “Your destiny is still tied to your friends, you must remain with him and be his protector” he said. “At some point your actions will determine his future, and in that moment your own destiny will be decided, for good or for ill.”
Calling Teagan over he lifted Aeden’s shirt to look at the wound and after inspecting it thoroughly he looked at the disconsolate young girl and nodded. She seemed to understand that this was praise, and that from a druid of the high council, and she smiled for the first time since before the Naming ceremony.
Finnis pulled a small tin from his bag and rubbed some ochre colored paste onto the wound. Aeden flinched at first but the soothing warmth that spread from the sticky salve overcame the discomfort in seconds. Handing the tin to Teagan he instructed her in its use and formulation. “You do not wish to leave your home, but I see you becoming a great healer” he told her. Teagan beamed at his words.
Mellan joined them at that moment and wished them well. “May your journey be safe and swift” he said. Without further words he and Finnis disappeared into the forest like the morning fog before the rising sun.
The Crossing
“Are you ready to travel?” Fianna asked as soon as the druids had left. Aeden wasn’t certain, but he wasn’t going to show weakness in front of Fianna. It still rankled him that the druids had put her in charge, but he took Finnis’s warning to keep Riordan safe as tacit approval to ignore her instructions if he determined that her orders were not sound.
“I’m ready” he said, hoping the he was being truthful.
As the six of them sat out, Quinn began to quietly share his experiences with the two druids and soon the rest of them began to realize that his experience had been no less eventful than their own. As he told the story, the company drew in around him to hear it. If his story was to be believed, and Quinn was not known for embellishing, his adventure had been downright magical.
Mellan and Finnis had guided him south from the road and no one even seemed to notice their passage until three horsemen had galloped through the village searching. The horsemen had spotted them making for the timber south of the road and came charging after them. They had made the wood only seconds ahead of the riders, and Quinn had thought for a moment that they had lost them when suddenly a clearing opened in the deep woods and right before them the three riders sat upon their mounts. They were druids, all dressed in brown robes, from what he gathered of the talk that began between themselves and Mellan. Quinn had barely understood the argument that began, but it had been brief and ended suddenly in a tongue similar to the one spoken across Eire, but still not of this land. The crux of the argument was that the brown robed druids were from across the sea in the land of Gaul, and they believed that the High Druid and his council no longer ruled over them.
Mellan had ended the argument in no uncertain terms. Clapping his hands together the sky had turned the black of a spring storm and a bolt of blue lightning had struck the speaker, killing horse and rider in the blink of an eye. The remaining two had begun moving almost instantly and one of them repeated Mellan’s gesture, Mellan had raised his staff and the bolt of lightning that was meant to strike him was struck upon the staff instead causing the intricately carved wood to glow a brilliant white. Meanwhile, Finnis had uttered a word in a tone so deep that Quinn could barely hear it and it sounded as though the very earth had uttered it. As he pronounced this word of power he struck his own staff upon the ground and Quinn watched in awe as a fissure opened, angling toward the third brown robed druid. The earth shook as the horse and rider both fell into the yawning chasm.
The rider who had called down the lightening turned then to flee, but Mellan raised his staff and a bolt of lightning shot forth striking both horse and rider. The horse stumbled and fell, taking the rider with him to the ground. Quinn thought them dead, but unlike leader of the trio who still smoldered atop his charred mount, the final rider twitched and stirred and his mount rose on shaking legs and bolted from the clearing.
Finnis tapped the earth with his staff and the fissure closed, leaving no trace of the horse or its rider that had fallen in. Mellan strode over to the fallen enemy. He spoke in a low voice and Quinn could not make out what was said but the man blanched at Mellan’s words. He vigorously shook his head before staggering to his feet and limping away to the south. Mellan raised his staff once again, and Quinn trembled, expecting to see the fleeing druid struck down but the powerful bolt of lightning pierced the clouds above and they broke up almost instantly.
“Most initiates are not shown any real magic until after they are admitted fully into the order. Do not attempt to duplicate what you have witnessed here today for such power is extraordinarily dangerous to the user and the land itself” Finnis told him as Mellan returned to stand with them.
Mellan heard enough of this warning to add his own thoughts. “The histories tell us that once our kind strove against one another and nearly destroyed the lands from which we came. I fear our friends from across the sea have forgotten their lessons. This must be stopped!” Looking to Finnis he added “we must get these young ones on their way to the island, and then you and I must visit our Brythonic brothers and set good Cryllian back upon the path.” Without further discussion they turned north by east and though Mellan’s weather magic had soaked him to the bone, Quinn soon found himself sweating as he toiled to keep up with the two older druids, who seemed to move through the underbrush like smoke, while he struggled and fought as the briars resisted his every movement.
By the time Quinn had shared his adventures and the rest had filled him in on their own it was growing close to nightfall. They had not yet come to the river, despite Fianna goading and pushing them all to move faster, Teagan and Riordan were all but spent and Aeden’s wound was bleeding again from his efforts and he was beginning to feel faint once more.
When they finally reached the river the moon had risen and darkness covered the land. Faolan argued that they should make camp and cross at first light, but Fianna countered that they would not be safe until they were on the other side. Finally, it was something completely unexpected that made the decision for them.
Far to the west, they heard the baying of hounds, and in minutes the fell sounding beasts were noticeably closer. They had no way to know if the hunt was on for them or not, but they could ill afford to wait and see. Gathering their supplies and loading them into the small boat took overlong in the darkness and the baying of the hounds had grown to near for comfort by the time they pushed off from the shore and awkwardly paddled for the far shore. The river was wide and thankfully slow as well, as none of the party was particularly experienced with boats.
They were several hundred yards downstream when they finally reached the far bank, and the baying of the hounds was quite close. Unloading the boat quickly, Fianna waded out as far as she could into the murky water and propelled the boat with a powerful shove toward the middle of the stream where the current was strongest.
As Fianna drug herself from the river, the rest of them gathered their gear and carried it into the dense forest that lay only a few yards from the bank. By the time Fianna had rejoined them the baying hounds were just across the water where they had been arguing about the crossing. They all gathered together under the cover of a huge draping willow tree
and watched as the hounds searched the far bank of the river.
The hounds’ eerie cry could be heard clearly across the gurgling water of the river, and soon they could see the enormous furry beasts milling about in the moonlight at the point where they had launched the boat. Any hope that the pursuit had been for any other quarry evaporated.
Though no one spoke of it, each was wondering how their pursuers had overcome the efforts of the two druid adepts and what might have befallen these two powerful men. Had the pursuers been gifted enough to recognize the false trail they had lain, or had they somehow bested Mellan and Finnis, two of the most powerful men in the lands of the Gaels? Neither of these options gave the members of their small band much comfort.
A sudden light just across the water from them gave them all a start, and as six pairs of eyes looked down the river, they saw an old man holding a torch smiling across the water at them. He seemed oblivious to the hounds that now loped downstream toward him with deadly intent. Aeden knew the face of the old man; he had seen him early this very day at the Naming and with all the events between then and now he had not thought of him since. This man was