“You ought to have been born a woman, after all. Might have spared you a life of beating. That’s what you’ll earn. When the Vaich comes for your neck—I’ll be there to watch.”
There came no reply, but the soft sound of rustling. Confusion painted the youth’s face. He looked down. The dormice had multiplied from four to eight, and were now nibbling the hem of his cassock.
“Agh!” He jolted away, kicking his legs in desperation. His peers looked on, horrified, as the mice burrowed up his pantleg. “By the Sun! Get them off!”
The other boys scrambled to his aid, pulling at his garments in an attempt to expel the rodents from within. The youth rapidly disrobed, screaming all the while. “You wretched, vile little witch! What did you do!”
But in the commotion, the druid had slipped away, till the last howls of frustration faded behind him.
The stone arch spat him out beneath the shadow of the keep. It was quiet near the postern. Moss coated the high walls, and the druid’s slippers sank into the ground as he crept out through the damp green. A passage tunneled through the southern rampart, and at the end stood a locked iron gate woven with ivy. Before it waited the two Nytherí.
The druid slowed beneath their gazes. The women were not imposing in size or appearance, yet unease ripened in his belly. His want for explanation had been usurped by a wish to flee. But fear was not a tolerable sensation.
“You’ve come,” Hirí said, flashing a mischievous grin. “How pleased I am to make introductions.”
Whatever etiquette was appropriate, he did not know. Instead, he spoke—his words aimed at the Oracle. “It was you who gave them my name. How did you come to know it?”
Hirí giggled. “To the point, are we? It is customary to bow. The Oracle is the voice of gods, after all.”
The druid did not spare the priestess a glance, and he certainly did not bow.
“Why have you called me here?” he asked, again.
The Oracle was silent. The druid bored into her gaze but found no answers there. Finally, she said, “When first I saw you—a pale specter within my dream, I could not have fathomed such an unlikely thing.”
“You speak of dreams…” he whispered; the word taboo upon his tongue.
“Your ilk share a similar experience, do they not? Visions of ages past.”
The druid bristled. “They are nothing alike. The Naém is not sorcery but—”
“Communion,” said the Oracle. “A long and discomforting mingling amongst the trees. I know something of it. Far more, it seems, than you know of we.”
“Perhaps the woodfolk are not as enlightened as they claim,” said Hirí. The druid’s eyes cut to hers, feeling the same taunting pull he remembered that night at the lake.
It was true he knew little of the west. Even now, he was only grasping at understanding. He had heard of strange women who received visions in the night. They were called dreamers and believed to have foresight. But the line between mystic and madness was thin. To speak openly about one’safflictionwas to invite condemnation. And so, the druid had stayed quiet.He buried his dreams in well-guarded silence and suffered the strangeness alone.
Now, he was faced with fellowship.
The Oracle continued, “Much as the trees speak with the druids, the Moon speaks to us.”
“What did you dream?” he asked.
“I dreamed of a dense fog. Our Mistress’ message is not always clear—a seer's power is judged by its clarity. I heard your name, yet your face was uncertain. In truth, I did not expect a man, but I am not disappointed.”
“It is as I said,” Hirí goaded. “The Moon has given us the means to challenge the An’Atherin once and for all.”
The druid gave her another scathing look.
“Perhaps youarethe yarn that shall unspool before us,” said the Oracle.
Heat blossomed in his chest. “One should be wary to claim such grand ambitions.”
A wrinkle of amusement gathered over her brow. “My dear druid, since the Ere of Sun, the Nytherim have been the harbingers of fate. It is we who divine the rise and fall of men and kings. We have foreseen famines and storms, plagues and foul crimes. Our words led a thousand battles to victory.Ambitionis our trade.”
“Should one dubious vision lead you to these conclusions?” the druid asked. The heat ebbed into frustration that pooled in his fingers and throat. “A name alone shall not make war.”
“Wars have been fought for less. Though it is true, I saw only your coming. Much is still unknown. It was Nythis herself who foresaw the coming of Æon’Righ. Those strongest of Her followers have since named his sons.But I see what’s true—you belong tous.”
