Three #4
“We aid he who has always protected us,” they all said together, their voices sounding like a mere whisper on the breeze.
I went down on one knee then, felt a brush of shoulder next to mine, and turned to look into the face of the most beautiful creature I’d ever met in my long life.
Teague’s eyes were green, but different from mine: not bright, instead like the deepest part of the forest with a swirl of jade.
His nose was straight, his cheekbones high and sharp, his lips pillowy and lush.
His flawless skin was lightly tanned with a hint of burnished gold, and his hair fell down his back in waves and curls.
He was taller than my human form by a few inches, but that was his choice.
When he wanted to frighten, he could reach a good eight feet and alter his appearance to something that haunted the deep woods where no light ever reached.
“You were a hit with the kids,” I told him.
“The children were scared but sweet, and one of the girls granted me treasure.” He spoke as he always did—not out loud, but in my head, the telepathy as it had been from the start between us.
Every now and then, he’d attempt to use his voice, but the vowels of his ancient Scottish Gaelic ran so closely together that it wasn’t possible for anyone not born in the Highlands to parse it.
The telepathy was easier, and for adults it would have been terrifying, but the children just found it normal and spoke out loud back to him.
Children accepted so much that adults couldn’t begin to wrap their heads around. “I will always guard them for you.”
“I know.”
“Do we await the judgment?”
“Aye.”
He nodded, reaching out to squeeze the back of my neck before he dropped his head at the same time I did.
I didn’t watch them separate from the trees, I felt that was invasive, as did Teague.
We simply waited, hearing soft sounds at first, like animals moving, twigs cracking.
Then there was a blast of warm summer wind, which was always odd in the middle of fall, especially when scented with jasmine and honeysuckle, before fingers sifted through my hair.
Lifting my head, I looked into what appeared to be a face carved into a tree. It wasn’t that, of course, but dryads had barely perceptible eyes, just as hard-to-see noses, and no working mouths. Like the fairies that floated around us, granting light, they spoke as one.
“They desecrate the grove with their presence,” they said to me, and as they spoke, they moved, slowly, legs, arms, and hands just discernible, with hair made of branches growing straight up.
They were all striking in their way, even though, in this form, they were not the beautiful nymphs they were in spring and summer.
Now, as they neared their time to hibernate with the rest of the flora, they were simply one, simply the guardians of the trees and green growing places.
They were also, as it happened, terribly good at seeing into the hearts of humans. Or in this case, shifters.
“All of them?” I asked. “Are they all a desecration?”
“The two that you ended shall feed the land.”
That I knew. No other option there. “Yes.”
The dryad moved their hand through my hair again, watching, I was guessing, my black hair curl around their stiff, bark-covered fingers.
Then they moved to Teague, touching his hair, then the heavy piece of raw black tourmaline I’d brought back for him from my travels.
It was, as all tourmaline was, shielding, and I’d thought that bringing some protection for the protector would be helpful.
He’d been thrilled when I presented it to him, and had woven a beautiful, intricate braided gold setting for it that made it wearable.
I myself had never learned the art of braiding metal and having it remain supple like yarn, but I wasn’t magical, only ancient.
“The elf should visit the glen.”
“I will.” Teague answered in my head, as well as theirs. Helpful that we could all hear one another. “Perhaps I will plant more wildflowers in the spring.”
There was an audible murmur that said the dryads were pleased, and then they said, “We will look upon the others.”
I waited, staying still, as did Teague. It was best not to move quickly, as the dryads came from a time when the world moved slower, gentler.
That was not to say that they couldn’t burst into motion as any predator could, fast and vicious, taking life and spilling blood.
But if everything could be done quietly, that was best.
I never watched the dryads render flesh to the earth; I didn’t want that in my head.
Teague never tried to get a glimpse either.
When you were all primordial beings, everyone had their lane, and no one crossed over or judged.
What was the point? We existed together, alongside one another, and I appreciated them and how everything that died, every plant, every animal, was returned to the land, and in turn, the land was renewed for the next generation.
They helped the land thrive, and they’d told me that they appreciated me bringing them together.
Many of the dryads had traveled as seeds and acorns that I’d carried myself, picking up each and asking if they wanted to remain where they were or inhabit my grove.
Everything spoke if one listened, and each one had desired to go.
Now, instead of being alone, they were part of a community, living together in harmony.
To be allowed a place to simply be, for all the many fae in my woods, I knew, was deeply appreciated.
“Come,” they called, and Teague and I stood up, not ever moving until they called us, and together we walked to where all the men had been. There was not a trace of most of them left. No blood, no bone, absolutely nothing.
There were only two dryads now, all the others having disappeared back into the forest.
“These two may go on their way.” The men lying there were passed out, but otherwise unharmed. “They will not return here, and meant the young ones no harm.”
That was good enough for me. “Thank you.”
“Visit the glen in the summer and dance with us.”
“Always,” I promised, because both Teague and I did every year.
Seeing them change in that liminal time between the spring equinox and the summer solstice was always incredible.
They were a vision of beauty and freedom, dancing around enormous bonfires, celebrating life and fertility and the promise of renewal. “Thank you for your judgment.”
“Thank you for your covenant,” the two responded, then drifted toward the woods to return to the others.
Once it was just me and Teague, I thanked him again for helping me.
I got the same hand brush through my hair as the dryads had done, and then he turned and was gone, disappearing so much faster than I’d ever been able to.
But he wasn’t supposed to be seen, and I was.
Just one of the many differences between a creature of the woods and one such as myself, made to judge and end life.
When I moved both men off my land, it was no surprise at all that one guy woke up screaming and the other crying five minutes later.
That happened quite a bit. I told them both to return to the house where they’d started, to go to Abel Swann.
Once I promised they wouldn’t be killed, they bolted down the hill to get away from me.
I couldn’t blame them. I stood and watched—I could easily see that far, even in the dark—as Cole put them both on their knees next to Tuss, and he talked to them all before he allowed them to get up and run for the SUVs they’d come in.
Tuss would certainly be back, with reinforcements, but that was a worry for another day. I was ready for bed.