Kingshelm (Renegade Druid Cycle Book 1) (3 page)

Paardrac and Banton did not sleep. They sat near one of the remaining coal beds and watched Barryn as he slumbered. Paardrac held the arrow he had pulled from the giant arachnid and twisted it between his fingers for a minute, then poked the tip into the ground between his feet.
 

“How does a hunting party usually discover that a kor-toth is stalking them?” Paardrac asked his acolyte.
 

“The hounds bark constantly, and the horses are impossible to manage. Then one of the hunters gets dragged screaming into the woods, and the hunt is over,” Banton said.
 

“Have you ever heard of a group encountering one without losing at least one or two of their number?”

“No.”

“Nor I. Not in all my years, not during my travels among the Caeldrynn and across the Empire. Kor-toth are impossible to track, and they are absolutely silent until the moment they strike.” Paardrac absently twirled the point of the bronze arrowhead in the dirt.
 

“The greatest hunter alive could not arrow a kor-toth in the dark as it leaps in for the kill,” Banton said.

“Indeed not. But our young Barryn did just that.”

“What do you make of it?”

Paardrac stuck the arrow into the ground. “We must read the omens very closely. Perhaps you will learn something of the druid path that I was waiting until much later in your training to teach.”

The three broke their fast and dismantled the camp at first light, erasing all trace of their presence save the mangled kor-toth. Paardrac and Banton cut out three of the creature’s obsidian-black fangs,
 
and Paardrac tied one on a leather thong he produced from his light traveling pouch. This he gave to Barryn. Paardrac and Banton put theirs in their pouches so the creature’s smell would ward off bears and wild cats—the more mundane predators in the Fentran wilderness.
 

“No matter the signs and omens that we see on your vision quest, this will mark you as a hunter and a warrior,” Paardrac said to his charge. “We can go back to the village now, and your position in the Clan will be secure.”

The druid’s offer startled Barryn. “But all I’ve ever wanted to be was a druid! What did I do wrong?”

Paardrac raised his hand reassuringly. “Nothing! You did nothing wrong. You have been an excellent student of the druid path your entire childhood, and you have shown your wisdom, strength and honor on your vision quest. But you have also slain a kor-toth before it could harm you or your companions. If we make you into a druid, we will be depriving the Clan of a fine young warrior. I must give you the choice.”

“I want to continue,” Barryn said.

Paardrac scrutinized Barryn, seeming to look at him and right through him at the same time. After several seconds, he stroked his beard and nodded. “Very well. Find the next rune stone and lead us to the Sacred Springs.”

The three spent the day stalking through the woods toward their destination, navigating from one druid sign to the next. They moved as silently as they could, but not out of fear of predators, for the acrid stink of the kor-toth would frighten even panthers and bears. They were listening to the voices of the woods: the wind through the trees, the songs of the birds, the deer barking and crashing through the underbrush. Wisdom lived in these voices, just as it dwelled in the herb lore and the epic poems that the druids passed from one generation to the next. When the travelers spoke, it was Paardrac asking Barryn to tell him about an herb they encountered or what powers were associated with a tree they passed.
 

But the wisdom of the trees had not alerted Barryn of the kor-toth. No whisper on the breeze told him of the danger. The stars and the moons said nothing to him of the ancient, native terror that had stalked them in the wilderness. This was something his training had not prepared him for, and when he tried to ask Paardrac if the woman in the dream was a heroine or goddess he had not yet learned, Paardrac answered with yet another question about tree lore.
 

The non-answer excited Barryn. The deepest, most profound mysteries of the druids could not be revealed directly—he was advanced enough in his training to understand that much. The easy concepts could be told and memorized. Harder ones must be practiced. The deepest knowledge must be discovered by the student under the supervision of the teacher, but with minimal guidance. And that must be the case with the gods and goddesses, he reasoned. He dove into the walking lessons with a new vigor. He calmed his breathing and tried to still the rising excitement so he could enter a trance-like state while still avoiding stray roots and stones in his path.

When Barryn felt he had opened his spirit, he mentally noted any tree that struck him as meaningful because of its great height or the way its branches twisted into the sky. He memorized both the corresponding runes and tree glyphs. The letters spelled out nothing but gibberish, and Barryn took this occlusion as a sign that he was nearing a revelation.
This is what happens on successful vision quests!
Barryn thought.

They camped that evening among a cluster of tumbled boulders in the rising ground. The woods were growing thinner as the terrain became rockier and provided less topsoil for the trees to take root. Those trees that did cling to life in the stony hills were gnarled, tortured by the wind and storms. The oldest ones no doubt had witnessed one or two of the cosmic disasters that rent the land and destroyed the kingdoms of old.
 

The travelers made only one fire and let it burn brightly. They had plenty of smoked venison from Barryn’s kill and did not need to build long-burning coal beds tonight. The fire cast its homey, flickering glow on the travelers’ faces and fended off the chill of the coming night. Barryn stared intently into the flames, seeking patterns to decipher or messages from the fire elementals.
 

“Barryn,” Paardrac said, breaking the youth’s concentration. “This fire wants poetry. Compose a short tale for us.” It was a common but difficult exercise for druids as they learned their craft and was considered a chore by all but the most dedicated bards. Composition certainly wasn’t Barryn’s strength, but he launched immediately into verse:
 

So! In the fearsome forest I lay | far from home in darkness

And the Spider stalked us | that slaying spirit of the wood

Its bloated belly seeking to fill | with brave bringers of wisdom

That death shade under starry sky | it skittered astride the killing road

And unto its death was betrayed | by the brightness, the blond-haired beauty

They stared into the fire in silence, the indigo sky darkening around them and yielding to another night of brilliant starlight. At length, Paardrac told Barryn to sleep. He and Banton would divide the watch this night. When Barryn tried to protest, Paardrac interrupted Barryn’s objection mid-sentence.

“Tomorrow we climb to the Sacred Springs so you can look into the well of the void,” he said. “Show us your wisdom by gratefully accepting one last good night’s sleep before your ordeal.”

After a hard day’s trek up the steep, rocky hills, Barryn heard the singing of volcanic springs splashing their playful songs in a wooded hollow nearby. He scrambled as quickly as he could over the last rise to the headwaters of the Crone River. When he crested the hill, Barryn stopped short and stared in awe. Water flowed out of hundreds of fissures in a high cliff face in the Stone Kingdom Mountains into a cold lake below, and several columns of water flung themselves high into the air above the lake’s surface. A circular stone platform 20 feet across sat near the middle of the lake, surrounded by nine monoliths that rose out of the water and towered over it. Paardrac and Banton caught up to their young charge and stood next to him.

“No matter how many times a druid journeys to this hallowed ground, the Sacred Springs never lose their splendor,” Paardrac said. “When the gods speak to mortals, they do so at places such as this.”
 

They threaded a trail down the hill toward the shore of the lake and found a weathered but sound wooden boat just large enough for the three travelers and their small field bags. Paardrac and Banton, at the fore and aft of the boat, oared it across the clear lake past the towering columns of water toward the platform and standing stones. Details on the stones became clearer as they approached in the tiny boat. They were rough-hewn and of gargantuan proportions with proud and skillful knot work carved in bands around their contours. Dragons, serpents and trees with tangled roots and branches matched those in the temple in Barryn’s village, only on a far grander scale.
 
The stone platform was also festooned with knot work along the rim rising about three feet above the surface of the lake, but was perfectly circular and level. Barryn alighted on the platform and marveled at the carvings on the top surface.
 

“It serves many uses,” Paardrac said, answering Barryn’s question before he could ask it. “At first glance, it looks like an astronomical device. And it does that job splendidly. You will learn how to use it
 
as your training progresses. But it also mapped the ley lines of magical force that once crossed this land. Where they intersected, the ancients erected standing stones and barrows to mark the place and, they believed, focus the planet’s energy for spell work. Great magic was once done at these places, and the greatest magic was here where you stand.”

“Mother—the High Druidess—tells me stories about those times,” Barryn said. “Are they true? Was magic real then?”

Banton laughed, despite himself. He knew the answer, for his teacher admonished him with it often.
 

“Look around you. This is magic. Life itself is magic,” Paardrac said. “We cannot summon devils or shoot lightning bolts from our outstretched hands like the heroes in the legends. But even if the tales are not true in a literal sense, they have much to tell us as allegories and parables. We can no longer summon fire to fend off ravening chimeras—not that it matters, since the chimeras were hunted to extinction by our honored ancestors. But we can, if we look closely, see the meaningful coincidences hidden all around us, and discern a safe path through a still-dangerous world.”

“But the legends? The histories that we memorize? Are those not true? Did Thayer the Bold not chop down the Demon of Haerg with a rune sword that flamed blue? Are the stories of the great sorcerers just lies?” Barryn asked. “If the songs I memorize aren’t true, then what about the hymns to the gods? Or are they just the biggest parables of all?”

“Now, now! I did not say the legends were merely fable. After all, how do you think these great standing stones got where they are?” Paardrac gestured grandly around him. “Sleds and ropes?”
 

The answer left Barryn unsatisfied.
 

Paardrac unrolled a small rectangular rug in the middle of the stone platform and motioned for Barryn to sit. Banton produced a small leather bag of herbs, a tiny iron cauldron and a small, cylindrical iron stove already packed with tinder and kindling. He lit a fire in the stove and began preparing the hallucinogenic brew that would usher Barryn to the Neverfar Realms. Paardrac stalked around the platform, gently tapping the butt of his staff on the ancient stone with every other step.
 

Barryn tried to relax into an aware, meditative state. He shifted and flexed his crossed legs, drew a deep breath through his nose, out through his mouth...
but why won’t Paardrac look straight at me? Who’s more nervous? Why is the druid uneasy? He isn’t the one who could fail this quest.
 

Paardrac sat down in front of Barryn. “What do you see around you?” he asked, breaking the flurry of questions in the student’s mind.
 

Barryn thought for a moment. “The standing stones. Water.”

“Keep looking. What else? Do not think. Just speak.”

“The carvings in the stones. They look just like the ones in the temple—snakes, trees. Dragons. I see the mountain tops across the lake, and the woods. The waterfalls pouring out of the skinny end of the lake and feeding the rivers. A fish jumped. The sun is going down and the water is glittering and winking orange. Banton just burned his hand on the stove, and he’s trying not to show it hurt.”

“What do you want to see in your visions?”

“My destiny.”

“What do you fear to see?”

“Failure.”

“There is no failure. Not here, not in life. There is only the will of the gods. Ponder this while the sacramental tea brews.”

Banton stirred the tea, then removed the tiny cauldron from the stove. The three sat in silence as Barryn meditated.
 

When the cauldron had cooled, Paardrac poured it off into a small wooden bowl which he handed to Barryn. “Say a blessing over this, and drink it all. And remember that no matter where your spirit goes, your body is here at the most sacred place to the Caeldrynn, and we are with you.”

Barryn blessed the tea with a benediction he had composed himself in preparation for this, the culmination of his rites of passage, and drank the pungent brew. Paardrac took the bowl from him and set it down. Barryn felt Paardrac watching him intently as he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He knew that Banton noted the unease in his master’s countenance, but dared not speak.
What are they looking for?
Only the voices of the waters and the wind could be trusted not to unbalance Barryn’s spirit as the hallucinogenic tea took effect.
They’re trying to be quiet, to still their own minds for my sake. The wind and the water...

The wind and the water were speaking to Barryn now, speaking in a way that mere sound could not. He felt the rhythmic splashing of water going into the air and returning with a constant roar to the surface, the soothing rush of cool breeze over him, his clothes, through his hair—it stretched back on the wind, back…back…back…over the rim of the circular platform, back to the cliffs from which the hundred springs gushed into his hair and crept along it, opposite the wind, against the wind, crawling over the bridge of his flowing locks over the water and into his scalp with a jolt! Cold water, cold sweat and waterfalls into his head...down his spine, down through his body and the stone circle and into the earth, and up this column of water crept the roots of the earth into his body...he laughed. Where is the fire? He was becoming three of the four elements, coming apart and carried away in pieces.
Where is fire?