And still he kept his quiet—his mistrust yet too near.
He knew not his path, but that the way was treacherous. To be different was always a danger. But now, in the clutches of weavers, he had to be especially careful not to tangle himself within their thread.
As morning broke, the druid stirred, wiping at his eyes. The moon priestess slumbered beside him, her gentle breathing undisturbed. He poked his head out of the tent. The convoy was fast asleep, much as it had been that night at the lake—their trust, or rather, their confidence, on full display.
It crossed his mind, for the briefest moment, that he might run. The woods around him were unfamiliar, even so, he might have gone out through the trees and never returned. But his invisible tether pulled taut. Even when their eyes were closed, he was forever watched.
Hearing the tinkle of a running spring, he wandered from camp, his feet leading him to a small pond, where he knelt to wash his face. The water was sobering, but there was an uncanny stillness. The birches were crisp and white, their silver skins curling. Their leaves had gone russet on the ground. He cupped his hand and had a drink, and then another, but before he could reach for his waterskin, a flicker of movement caught his attention.
So well-hidden amongst the fog and snow that one might have missed it without a proper look, stood a stout white wolf. If it had wished, the wolf might have crossed the pond to where he knelt. Though remained, silent and still; glossy black eyes fixed on him. They watched each other for nearly a full minute, and then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the wolf vanished into the mist. The pond held its reflection a moment longer, until even that silver shimmer rippled and faded.
Little unsettled the druid, or any druid, but perhaps most particularly that one. His kin had lived amongst the Faun for as long as men had wandered the earth, but never had one unnerved him. It was not in a wolf’s nature to be generous, even less so to be on its own. And yet, there was something kindred in its spirit, which made the druid pensive.
Once, like the wolf, he had been free to come and go. In less than a season, he had shifted from a peaceful life on the open road to a fugitive on a vegetable cart. He wanted nothing more than to live in the world as intended. Amongst it. Within it. Not gazing out at it through cracks in impenetrable walls. Now, even as he stood there, he felt himself severed. The empty place the creature had once stood was a black stain across his mind.
“You wish to follow.”
He bristled at the sound of Hirí’s voice.
“What would it matter if I did?” he asked. “Your dreams will lead a thousand horses to my door.”
“Do not be forlorn.”
The druid glanced at her. She had changed from her snow-soft nightdress into the black gown and dark silk veil. Yet her eyes were white as pearl as they peered out at him in interest. It was as if they asked him,what will you do?
Or perhaps more accurately:How shall you writhe?
But the druid refused to be her dancer—the worm threaded upon her silver hook.
“Do you not wonder why it should be you?” she said. “Though, this humble one poses another question—why should it not?”
“What do you mean?”
“Being what you are, after all,” she said. “Your people have long been pushed to the far margins of the world.”
It was a fact he knew well, but this prodding felt more tender than violent. He had never seen the priestess look so serious.
She continued, “When the druids shepherded the world, there were no wars, no violence. Only simpleness and the truth—men are nothing more than animals.”
Yes, once mankind had believed as one; that the only force worth honoring was the earth that gave them life. But as the years marched forwards, there grew a new breed of reverence.
Desperation.
A man’s need to survive, not within nature, but outside it. Many forgot their earthen ways and became, instead, things that begged. And that was the sore through which rot was spread.
He again envisioned his burning kinsman upon that iron cross.
“You, more than anyone, have reason to pursue power. Suppose if you had it, you might restore this world to balance.”
He might have laughed.
He had no faith in gods, and he had no faith in men.
But one matter remained.
Why him?
Hirí’s pearly gaze drifted aside, her words an answer to his thoughts. “The Augeri is many things, but above all it is a mirror. Suppose when we reach it, you may find answers to your questions, as I did once, long ago.”
