The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy)

by Michael J Sanford

  Rozen glided to his side and knelt. Her breath was calm and even, but sweat trailed down her face and neck, tracing lines along the wood of her shoulder. Her leather vest was torn at the shoulder where she had cut it to disrobe and it revealed a sliver of ebony skin, glistening and warm.

  “Your turn,” she said and tossed her branch aside. “Teach me your magic.”

  Wyatt pushed himself upright and wiped sweat from his face and found he only succeeded in smearing a swatch of mud across his forehead. “Well, that’s a little trickier.”

  “Trickier than teaching you to fight? You spent more time in the mud than on your feet. I could have slain you a hundred times. Teach me.” Her eyes blazed gold.

  “Alright, alright.” He scratched his head. How do I do it? “Well, I think you have to be touching the ground for it to work. When those shadow things had me in the air I lost the whisper in my head.”

  “That makes sense. To wield the Mother’s gift, you must embrace her body.”

  Wyatt had never thought of it like that. “Oh, well, yeah. So, I touch the ground and focus on it.”

  “The ground?” Rozen said doubtfully, firmly placing her hands in the mud.

  “Well, everything. You have to listen to the dirt and the water and the trees and the wind. Listen to… Well, listen to the Mother’s voice.” The Mother’s voice… He hadn’t thought of that either before then. “You can’t understand what she’s saying, at least I can’t, but you can feel what she’s saying. Focus on her voice and her breath and then you can speak to the Mother, whispering back to the ground or wind or trees or whatever. I ask them to move or grow or change and sort of guide the whisper into them. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

  Rozen nodded slowly and looked to her hands pressed tightly against the ground. She shut her eyes and fell still and silent. Wyatt watched her chest slowly rise and fall with each practiced breath, wondering if it were that easy. Could she become a Druid too? He hoped she could, but then quickly banished the thought, fearing his value would dissipate should the dark warrior take his power. Surely, she would wield it with far greater skill than he. No, you have to help her, he thought at last. She’s your friend and she deserves it more than you. He frowned and wrestled with his thoughts as he watched Rozen meditate.

  After a while Rozen opened her eyes and released her hands from the ground. “I could not hear any whisper,” she said sadly. “I do not think the Mother wishes to speak to me. Perhaps I have offended her in some way.”

  Well, you do like killing things, Wyatt thought for a brief moment before ridding the foul impulse. “Well, practice makes perfect they always say.” He smiled at her.

  “They?”

  Wyatt laughed. “Yeah, they. You know, people. Lots of people. It’s an expression. It’s not like I learned to fight in one night either.”

  That made Rozen smile. “Certainly not. Perhaps patience is needed more than mere desire.”

  Wyatt yawned, suddenly aware of how tired he had become. He looked to the sky and saw the moons had already met at their apex and were slowly drifting apart again.

  “We should head back to camp and get some sleep,” he said and went to stand, but Rozen stopped him with a slender hand on his shoulder.

  “No, let us rest here. It is peaceful. And I should like to hear of the world you come from.”

  Wyatt sat back down, stunned. “You want to know about me?”

  Rozen nodded and laid down on her back, her fire braid curled about her neck and her fingers laced behind her head. She motioned for Wyatt to lie beside her and he obeyed without question.

  “What do you want to know?” he said as he mirrored her position, nestled into the soft soil.

  “Everything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  WYATT WOKE TO a wash of cold water. He bolted upright, frantically wiping at his face and glaring at the small bog imp holding a crude wooden cup.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake,” Gareck said from nearby.

  Grenleck chirped excitedly and Mareck chuckled. “Oh, what a bad bogger, tsk tsk,” she said without an ounce of sincerity.

  Wyatt stood and stretched, yawning widely. The sun peeked over the stone tree forest and a soft red aura lit up the small pool and colored everything in pinks, reds, and oranges. Mareck and Gareck were preparing a small fire against a large stone that Wyatt had haphazardly scaled to mount an attack on the branch wielding Draygan beneath the dancing moons. He smiled.

  They had fallen asleep along the cool stream bank, drifting off together as Wyatt regaled Rozen with tales of his alternate life. He spoke of the Shepherd’s Crook and fat Mr. Gerald. He told of Craig and his constant bullying. He divulged every detail of his sessions with the meek Mrs. Heclar and how Ms. Abagail really loved energy drinks. Rozen listened quietly at his side, only speaking when he mentioned something that needed further explanation, like energy drinks and cafeterias. He told her about everything. Everything, except Athena. He kept that part of his life away from her, but couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was because they were too similar, eerie reflections of each other. It was the one aspect of the two worlds that even Wyatt found dubious and to verbalize it would only make him feel crazy. So, he hadn’t. As far as Rozen was concerned, she was one of a kind, his only friend.

  “Where’s Rozen?” he said as he scoured the stream side without seeing a glimmer of dark skin or fire hair.

  Grenleck chirped and pointed behind Wyatt, at the forest. “Ah,” said Gareck. “The young Draygan has gone in search of breakfast. She claims to have sensed a badger nest nearby.”

  “Aye,” agreed Mareck. “So, we’re building a fire on faith.”

  Wyatt nodded. A badger? Now that’s something I’d like to see. He smiled and looked to the small bog imp that danced about in front of him, still clutching the empty wooden cup. “Let’s go for a walk, Gren,” he said and patted his shoulder, thinking to go after the Draygan hunter.

  Grenleck tilted his head, chirped, and then shook his round head dramatically. Wyatt looked at him a moment then looked down at himself. “What? Am I too dirty for you?” He was covered head to toe in fine silt and mud, his habit a far darker shade of brown than it had been and his hands and feet were nearly black, the linen wraps completely obscured by filth. Grenleck chirped, nodded vigorously, and pointed at the stream.

  Wyatt had to laugh. Scolded by an imp. “OK, OK,” he said as he walked into the cool waters of the stream. “You don’t have to be so-”

  Grenleck chirped and tossed the cup in Wyatt’s direction. He ducked in time to avoid it, but the sudden movement forced him to lose his footing and tumble face first into the water. He reared from the water sputtering and coughing to the roar of laughter from both Children and the incorrigible imp. He had no choice but to laugh along and set to scrubbing himself clean.

  Wyatt had washed and was sitting upon the large boulder above the fire allowing the heat of the flames and the sun to dry him when Rozen emerged from among the twisted stone trees with a furry bundle hanging from her clawed hand. She caught Wyatt’s eyes and smiled, warmer than any expression he had ever seen before. It gave him such a start he nearly slid off his perch. Grenleck chirped at his side and pushed back at him.

  Gareck and Mareck clasped their hands in joyful unison as Rozen dropped the furry striped creature onto a flat slab of stone, blood trailing from hidden wounds. Wyatt scrunched his face in dismay as they set to butchering it. He wasn’t too keen on seeing his food prepared in such a graphic manner. Watching Gareck and Mareck tear into the beast with tiny knives did little to increase the appeal. The Children removed the badger’s swollen stomach and cast it into the stream and Wyatt nearly retched. He thought he could see drool running from Grenleck’s wide maw.

  They cut off the paws and head. Next, they skinned the beast with uncanny skill and set the thick hide aside. They left the other organs intact and threaded a sharpened stick through its anus and out its open neck. Gareck suspended the skinned animal above
the flames and went to the stream to wash, with Mareck close behind. Wyatt’s stomach churned at the sight of the badger, skinless, gutless, and sizzling on a spit. Rozen skipped around the fire and leapt beside Wyatt with the utmost grace and skill. She smiled broadly, her long fire braid loose behind her.

  “Sneaky little bugger thought he could make it to safety… and he nearly did. He was halfway down his hole before my arrow caught him. Good thing, I wouldn’t have wanted to go down after him. Smelly little hovels they keep.”

  “Well, you’re in a good mood,” Wyatt said, eyeing her suspiciously.

  Rozen scrunched her face for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I am.” She turned to Wyatt and smiled, but said nothing else.

  The badger tasted far better than it had looked prior to cooking. Wyatt couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten meat and he tore into the burnt flesh with unfettered tenacity. Rozen cried out twice when his savage gnawing sent sprays of grease and flecks of crisp flesh in her direction.

  Grenleck tore into the uncooked skull, digging out soft pink brain and chirping incessantly. Wyatt nearly lost his breakfast and had to look away. After the tiny beast finished with the skull he tossed it into the stream and donned the badger pelt as a cloak. Mareck helped fasten it around his neck with a piece of twine. The group laughed as the imp danced about the campsite, badger cloak trailing from his thin neck. Wyatt wasn’t sure if it made the creature appear more comical or more terrifying. A little of both.

  When they had picked the bones clean, Gareck smothered the fire with a couple swipes of his mighty webbed hands and they disembarked, full and refreshed. Mareck returned Wyatt’s staff which he had left at their first campsite and Gareck handed him the map. Wyatt cursed himself for leaving it behind again, but as Grenleck chirped and gnawed at a bone he realized the map was unneeded.

  “Gren, can you take us to the bog?” he said once the packs had been loaded and shouldered.

  The mischievous imp chortled excitedly, clambered to Wyatt’s shoulder and pointed. Wyatt smiled and patted the creature on the head and began to march along the invisible line Grenleck had drawn, the badger cloak soft against his cheek.

  Rozen fell in beside him, carrying her nasty four-edged spear and lugging a half empty sack over her shoulder, opposite her curved horn bow. Her hood was down and her fire braid hung free and loose against her tattered cloak. She smiled at Wyatt as they departed. Gareck and Mareck followed close behind with their giant mauls and cheery conversation.

  Wyatt couldn’t help but grin. I have friends, he thought. No, a family.

  They walked through the stone forest, over the treacherous terrain and through lazy streams, some of which were little more than trickles of cold water abed soft silt and jagged stone. Every so often Grenleck would shriek and point in a slightly different direction and the party would shift their path.

  Wyatt had thought they would reach the bog by nightfall, but as the sun disappeared and the twin moons rose, his theory was disproved. The trees grew less frequent and the ground less rocky and muddier, but there was no sign of the bog. Wyatt asked Grenleck if they were close and the imp tilted his head and chirped as if it were a foolish question.

  With the sun gone, the group called a halt to their journey beneath a massive tree. It was far larger than the stunted stone trees, its gray and green trunk spanning nearly fifteen feet across by Wyatt’s estimation. It towered above them straight and true before erupting into thick foliage of purple spear-tipped leaves. Thick, knotted roots climbed over the stony soil, and some seemed to burst through the gray rock, arcing into the open air only to dive back into the soil.

  The tangled mass of roots formed a small wooden cave. They sat close together and shared the last of their hard biscuits and salted goat. The three packs they carried between them were still heavy with items, but none of them edible. Gareck and Mareck saw greater reason in bringing items of trade value than of nutritional value. They had drained their last water skin sometime past midday and the small streams had disappeared around the same time. When Wyatt complained loudly of his thirst, Gareck smiled winningly, drew up his digger and swung the pick end into a coil of roots. The thick spike plunged easily and when Gareck removed it water wept from the circular wound.

  “Now if only you could get some biscuits to fall from the branches,” Wyatt said, greedily lapping at the water.

  Gareck shrugged his round shoulders. “Don’t you worry, Master. I’m sure Rozen can find us another badger. Or perhaps that imp of yours can seek out some nourishment.”

  Grenleck chirped in response and dashed off into the night, quickly disappearing over a muddy slope, badger cloak flapping behind him. Wyatt shook his head and laughed.

  Grenleck soon returned, his tiny hands clasped together in front of his chest. His face was split ear hole to ear hole in a wide smile. Triumphantly, the imp unclenched his fists and dropped a small handful of mud before Gareck. A mass of purple worms squirmed forth and snaked slowly away.

  “Gross, Gren,” Wyatt said.

  Gareck, however, grinned and scooped up the wriggling worms, passed one to Mareck, one to Rozen, and the three tossed the slimy creatures into their mouths in eerie unison. Wyatt gagged.

  “Not a bad find, Grenleck, you incorrigible imp,” sang Mareck cheerily. She patted the beast on his head and he cooed in response, obviously very pleased with himself.

  Rozen flashed Wyatt a toothy grin, her pointed teeth clouded with mud and purple bits of worm. He swiped playfully at her and turned away. The Draygan laughed and lunged, quickly pinning him on his back. She thrust her grinning face close to his and let out a rumbling belch. The hot air enveloped Wyatt, smelling of dirt and something resembling sour milk. He made a face and turned away, squirming with feigned despair. Rozen released him and the entire group fell to laughter. Wyatt looked to his laughing friends and thought it odd that they had grown so close. None of us knows where we’re really going or what we’re doing, but still they follow me.

  That night, after the Children had dug their pit and fallen asleep below its edge and Grenleck had found a small nook within the tangled roots and followed suit, Wyatt and Rozen took to their moonlit dance. They circled each other without weapons, Wyatt seeking to strike the elusive Draygan and Rozen striving to evade his clumsy attacks.

  Wyatt spun and lashed out with a backhand that Rozen knocked deftly aside and sent Wyatt stumbling with her own strike. “Why are you here?” he gasped as he spun back to face her.

  Rozen crept sideways, expertly skirting around a jagged corner of stone jutting from the sandy soil. “We made a deal. You teach me, I teach you.”

  “No, I mean, why are you with me? Why follow me to Ouranos? I’m not even sure why I want to go there. I want to fight the Regency and all, but…”

  Rozen smiled and ducked under a punch, snapping him across the face with her braid as she spun out of reach. “I don’t know. But, I believe the Mother knows and it is she that guides you, so I follow, just as Mareck and Gareck do.”

  “But, I don’t know what I’m doing, if you hadn’t noticed,” he said and nearly stumbled over an exposed stone. It was becoming increasingly difficult to lie to her and telling the truth in such volumes was distracting. He steadied himself and swung another errant punch in Rozen’s general direction.

  “I noticed. You don’t hide it nearly as well as you think. The Children see it too, but we also see the Mother’s gift in you and that is what we follow. Our faith is not in you.” She punctuated the last word with a low, sweeping kick.

  Wyatt hit the ground with a loud shout of surprise and laid in place, panting and staring at the dancing moons. “So, you don’t trust me at all? It’s just the Mother’s power?”

  Rozen shrugged and dragged him to his feet then danced away from his clumsy kick. “I trust you, just not enough to bring down the Regency on your own. You’re a Druid, a conduit for the Mother’s will and desire. You are just as much a part of her as this stone is.”

 
Wyatt never saw the fist-sized stone spin through the air, but he felt it collide with his soft stomach. He let out a cough of shock and doubled over. “Why do I feel like I’m being used? By you and the Mother.”

  Rozen laughed and placed a hand on his back as he worked out the pain rippling through his stomach. “The Mother uses as she sees fit. So do I.”

  Wyatt grinned and spun suddenly, raising a clenched fist. His knuckles caught the Draygan on the jaw and sent her reeling and hissing. He lunged for another strike, this time with his clumsier left hand, but Rozen spun nimbly to side and, in one motion, lassoed her long braid around Wyatt’s neck and cinched it tight, pulling him against her chest.

  “That was a good strike, but don’t let the success of one punch steal your focus.” Her breath was hot on his neck.

  Wyatt grasped at the hair coiled around his throat, but made no move to dislodge it. Just as he felt he might lose consciousness she released him with a firm kick to the backside that sent him skidding to the ground.

  Rozen tossed her braid behind her and knelt at his side. “Now, teach me to commune with the Mother.”

  The following two days and nights went much the same. Grenleck chirped and pointed, and the group followed, trudging over increasingly supple terrain. The great gray stones soon whittled away and fell to dust. The ground grew damper and sprouted with thick grasses and spindly trees with dark limbs and pale green stars for leaves.

  They walked all day, stopping only to harvest wild fruit or strange insects to snack on. Luckily, Rozen managed to kill a pair of birds, for Wyatt could still not coax his stomach to take in any bugs. At night once a suitable swatch of dry ground was found and the Children drifted off to sleep, Rozen and Wyatt would resume their nightly dance.

  Wyatt made little progress in his fighting and Rozen could not grasp the Mother’s whisper, but neither cared. They would spar until Wyatt was too winded or bruised to continue and then collapse beside each other, talking of everything and nothing. When they had settled their breaths and the sweat had dried from their skin, Wyatt would place his hands on top of hers and attempt to guide her to the voice that was ever present in his mind. Eventually their eyelids would droop and their speech would begin to slur. They slept sprawled beside each other wherever their nightly lessons had concluded, only to wake at the mighty red sun’s kiss.