“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.”
