Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
The Call
“Iwouldn’t make a meal of those.”
His name was Onath.
They often played in the green together, hiding amongst the branches and brush. That morning was no different. Young Cerys glanced up at him from a patch of brightly colored flowers.
“You’ll be dead before sun up.” Onath smiled, making his emerald eyes sparkle. “Poisonous. You can tell by those yellow markings. Though the leaves make a sleeping potion that’ll bring even Old Arbor down.”
“And how would you know that?”
The older boy laughed. “I’ve kept busy waiting for you to come up!”
For as long as he could remember, Onath had been a guiding hand tapping gently upon his shoulder.
They were five years apart in age. A fact which made the elder a knowledgeable friend—at least when it came to getting in and out of trouble.
But now that Onath was reaching his fifteenth year, the younger druid began to worry.
By summer next, his companion would be old enough to embark his wandering, and he would not yet be able to follow.
It was not that he feared being left behind; he simply hadn’t known a world without Onath in it. The boy had been there for all the great and small moments of his life, from his first steps to his Naming Day. The little druid wasn’t sure how the absence would feel.
“The crows are loud today!” Onath remarked. The younger druid was secretly grateful for the noise. He feared the quiet. “If we keep on this way, we might hit the craigs.”
“Are we so near the edge of the forest?”
“Aye, it’s true, look about.” Onath pointed at the trees. “The pines grow shorter and thinner ahead. We’ll soon be out of the heart.”
“Maybe we ought to turn back?”
“Not to worry. The faidh was here once before, when I was very young. I know the way!”
The morning prior, their faidh had made camp in an eastern grove.
The two boys were sent out foraging—druids often cleared their caches before migration to lighten the loads and settling anew meant they would need be replenished.
That day was cool and sunny. It would be Sólarch soon and the Fáoth was lush.
One could not take three steps without wading into wildflowers, and the air was fresh, if not a bit heavy.
They kept on, and just as Onath had said, the trees grew thinner. The younger druid had never left the forest, and his unease thickened with every step. But Onath looked determined, if not altogether thrilled.
“I hear it,” said he, and the younger stiffened.
For many years now, Onath had heard the call. He said it started as whispers, a quiet hum turned to muttering, then words. Though none he could discern. They knew what called to him, and their elders had been quick to begin his training.
They would prepare him for the Naém.
“I think… no, I’m sure of it…” Onath pushed on, and the younger hesitantly followed.
“It’s too far. It’ll be midday before we get back. We’ll miss lunch.”
“There’s sweet root in the satchel.” Onath was ahead now, climbing over a fallen bough. He didn’t look back, his eyes fixed on the distance. “It’s louder now!”
The younger heard it, too.
Every fiber in his body recoiled as the whispers rose in his ears. “I want to go back,” he said, but the other boy was far beyond his reach.
“There!” Onath gestured him over. “You won’t believe it!”
Reluctantly, the younger came over the bough and up the ridge. There, at the edge of the forest, was a small clearing. It was marked at five points with mossy stones, and at the center, thick and gnarled, he saw it.
Its twisted, leafless branches had hardened with time, and lichen mounted its trunk. In places, its bark was pale, and other parts red—a tree of stone and wood, and within was a gaping crevice just large enough for a man.
Urna’ha.
A womb tree.
“I knew it was here,” said Onath in a whisper, as if he feared to offend it.
“We shouldn’t be here,” said the younger. “This is sacred land.”
“What is the harm? If it wants me here…”
“You ought to leave it be.”
Onath laughed. “You don’t understand, little one. I’m a Listener. It is my job to hear.”
“You’re only fourteen winters, and you have not been prepared!”
“Aye, that’s true,” Onath said and—much to the younger’s relief—came down the hill. “But I’ve taken to my lessons well. I bet I could commune now, if I tried.”
“You shouldn’t!”
“But what a great success to come home and tell the fíor what I’ve done!”
The younger did not want to talk about that. He turned and went back towards the wood. He had reached the thicket before he realized he could not hear his friend’s footsteps beside him. Instead, his mind jumbled with whispers and he glanced back to see Onath before the tree, again.
Only this time, he wasn’t moving.
The sky grew dark. A chilling wind picked at their hair and robes.
“Come away from there!” called the younger. “Onath!”
The sound of his name stirred him and the boy glanced back. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’ll be quick.”
“No, don’t!”
The younger ran up the hill as his companion angled inside the narrow crevice. “It is too dangerous! Please come out!”
“You’re going to feel silly when I’m through.”
The muttering grew louder as the younger druid reached the tree, but his hands found only bark.
He grasped at the branches as they shifted, curling about Onath’s thin form.
There was a deep groan from down in the roots and the younger druid staggered back, watching the tree pulse with ghostly light.
“I can see it…” the tree spoke.
“O-Onath?”
His voice was all around them. “I can see it… It’s beautiful, Cerys. Oh, that I could show you…”
“I don’t want to see!” cried the younger. “Come out, now! Come out, please!”
“Such beautiful memories…”
There was a cracking sound, and another groan, as the tree’s roots wound up, like serpents upon its trunk.
They coiled thick around Onath’s body till the younger could not see him at all.
The tree gave a hideous wail as it ground against itself.
The earth beneath his feet shifted, and he lurched forwards against its bark.
There came a crunching noise, a terrible, unnatural snap, and he gasped, pushing himself off.
Everything drew still. The light dissipated and the ground was quiet, save a low, pulsing hum as the roots drank deep.
He did not have to question what.
He looked down where, beneath the crevice, oozed pungent, sticky blood. It dripped out, pooling in the grass, forcing him to step back as the scarlet neared his toes.
The wind blew cool, stinging his eyes. The whispers in his mind softened.
Why?
Druids spoke of the trees with great reverence, and those who heard them just the same. But the young one was sure of it.
To hear was a curse… and he would not listen.
***
Morning broke, cool and blue, and the druid huddled beneath the furs. His dreams had not been filled with pale ships, but with memories he wished he’d forgotten.
Footsteps unsettled him from his loose sleep. His muscles tightened as a weight sank onto the bed. Instantly, his fingers wrapped about the dagger stowed under his pillow, but a hand pressed against his pulse, stopping him.
“It’s only me, druid.”
Silver met gold through the dark.
The Vaich’s gaze drifted to where their skin brushed, the gleaming blade peeking out from beneath the linen. A smile came upon his lips. “Good,” he said. “Very good.”
The druid frowned, but the Vaich did not explain.
Instead, he said, “Get up. We’ll be off before sunrise.”
“Off?” the druid questioned, his voice hoarse with sleep. “We are leaving?”
“Aye. We make for the Fáoth. Dinnae dally, and pack only what you need.”
He was gone before the druid could question anything.
Odd.
The druid had accepted that his path to the Fáoth would be fraught. He was still working out a way to slip out amongst the Féin—a feat made more complicated by the king’s assignment of his nightly watch. Since his confinement in the west, he had never felt more protected… or more hindered.
But why had the king changed his mind?
The druid rose, packed his few valuables, and prepared to leave.
Upon the bedside table lay the flowers gifted to him by the Vaich.
They looked out of place there, all dead and elegant and dripped in candlelight.
He had heard, once, that Whitesigh had the scent of falling in love.
To him, they smelled of thunder and fear.
It was murky grey over the village of Afór, but a hint of daylight peeked into the western skies as the druid made his way to the stables.
He had dressed in his linen shawl in preparation of the coming warmth.
Summer would soon break over the Fáoth like a verdant storm, and he would be there to see it.
He would be there to hear it.
A shiver swept his skin.
As he approached the stables, the sounds of hushed voices drifted over to him.
“You sure you don’t want me to follow?” It was Greyv; his usual unserious cadence was gone, and the concern threaded in his words was hedged in annoyance. “This is bold, even for you, Skyre. Those wildlings could flay you alive.”
“You ken that isnae their way. I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re doing this because you think you’ve something to prove—”
“I do have something to prove, but not to you.”
The Vaich didn’t sound angry. There was resignation in his voice. And ache. The druid stepped further out of earshot, feeling strange for having intruded. He pulled his hood up, as a bitter wind stirred. But as his eyes passed along the distant trees, he noted they were eerily still.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and his skin started to prickle.
A rustle behind him made him wheel around. The village was quiet. The residents had not yet risen. Tools lay strewn in the dirty hay, but there was no one around to make use of them.
A familiar dread crept into him. His mind saturated with memories of the cloister. The world seemed to narrow and grow smaller, as if caught between glass.
A whisper brushed his ear.
Again, he spun, this time coming face-to-face with the Vaich.
“Druid?” He stood, holding the reins of Saorla’s bridle. His brows knit, almost as if he were… “What’s the matter?”
“I…” The druid glanced back over his shoulder.
Just like that night.
“I thought I heard something,” he muttered.
The Vaich glanced behind him at the empty alley. “Probably just a dog or some such. Are you ready?”
The druid nodded. “Are we to… go alone?”
“It will be faster this way,” said the Vaich. “And we’ll need return before the convoy reaches Annath.”
The druid took in the lone mount, understanding that this outcome had not come painlessly. “I have burdened you.”
The Vaich grunted and looked away. “Be quiet and get on the horse.”
And so, they started out. The druid took roost at the nape, and the Vaich, behind him, urged the beast on with a soft squeeze to the girth.
Saorla trotted forwards, her strong shoulders shifting beneath.
The village fell away as she broke into an easy gallop, and the smaller it became, the deeper the druid understood.
He was returning, after all. Not home, but to a place he had once known… and feared.