“You’re all heathens of course they—”
Skyre froze.
The passivity of druids did not save him from their vengeful stares. His eyes flicked back to the tattered parchment.
Would he deny the An’Atherin’s brutality? He knew what they were. And he had always given justification for their actions. But this…
“It’s… it’s ridiculous,” he muttered. But the words sounded weak, even to him. “This is all just speculation. You have no proof.”
“And you have no counter,” said the druid.
Their stalemate sat heavily upon the air.
“If it be true,” said the Fíor, “then it is certain those poor souls only reached such fargone history through duress or some great torment. This is not to be recreated here by you.”
“Imusttry,” said the druid.
The Fíor stroked his beard. “I cannot deny a child of the land its offering, but you must realize the severity of your quest. It is very likely you do not return.”
Won’t return…?
“I understand.”
“That wasn’t our agreement,” said Skyre.
The druid looked at him. “It will be okay.”
Skyre searched for any chink in the druid’s stony armor. But as usual, he found none.
“Then, we shall arrange tribute for the second morrow to ease your passage. Alas, tis the eve of Belthín. Surely, you will stay for the celebration.”
Skyre said, “We don’t have time to—”
“Of course we will stay,” the druid interrupted, sending him a pointed glance. “It is only fitting asrespectable guests.”
The Vaich held his tongue.
“Ah, suppose there is hope for the men of the west. Now we shall rest. Find a place amongst the flock and sleep.” The Fíor turned to the Vaich. “You may moor here, so long as the wood shall have you.”
Startled, Skyre nodded his understanding.
“Then,” said the Fíor, “good night to you.”
They were given a place of their own to camp for their stay. It was as if the land itself had made room for them there, and they had simply taken what was offered.
The dwelling was well-sized, warmed by a small pit at the center. The heady smoke wafted upwards through the opening at the top where the cabers poked through the hide. The druids seemed a practical people, and only fittingly, as their survival thrived by the land itself. There were two wooden beds laid low to the ground, and not nearly big enough for Skyre. He considered it, perhaps, too long, and turned to find the druid already in a state of undress.
Skyre’s cheeks warmed and he glanced away. “Your people… are far too trusting.”
“Trust has nothing to do with it,” said the druid. “If you were a threat to them, you would not have entered here.”
Skyre’s eyes narrowed. “Then it is true there is some enchantment? Some spell over this place? That tree—”
“It is no spell. It simply is.”
“Will you not speak plainly?”
For once, the druid seemed surprised. “Have I not?”
