He thought of Neodesha’s tree.
The door shuddered open on its hinges as the world lurched and began to spin.
“Hear the other side. What is usually lacking, when there is trouble, is the lack of listening. So quick we are to rush to judgment. We would do well to listen more. There would be far fewer disputes.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The look of alarm and misery on the Dryad’s face wrung Phae’s heart. She rushed to the other girl, clutching her arms. “What is it? What do you see?”
The other girl’s eyes were wide with terror. “I cannot see it. It is what I feel. Memories flitting through the aether, summoned here because of the bond we share.” She gripped Phae’s forearms with surprising strength for one so slight. “He may die! Annon, be still. Be very still.” The girl shrank against the trunk of the oak, huddling small, like an acorn. Phae lowered with her, still holding the girl as if she were one of Dame Winemiller’s orphans.
“Who is it?” Phae asked, stroking her shoulder.
The girl shuddered as the memories assailed her. “A moment. There is danger. So much danger. If he dies, I will know it. Our bond will be severed.” She put her face in her hands and wept softly.
Phae hugged her, nestling against the bark of the tree, feeling wave after wave of emotion passing from the Dryad. She was quiet herself, just being there to comfort the girl—her sister in some strange way. The wind rustled through the trees, bringing the smell of soot and forest. They hugged each other, sharing the lack of words, the surging feelings. In time, the Dryad’s panic began to ebb.
“Thank you.” The girl patted Phae’s arm. “Normally I am the one who comforts. The threat is still there, but I do not sense the same fear. He has survived the danger for now.”
Phae bit her lip. “It must be awful to feel such premonitions but be unable to help.”
The girl shook her head. “I can help, in a small way. If he is calm in his heart, my thoughts can reach his mind. The talisman he wears aids in this. The Druidecht have always been our fiercest guardians. We need them, you see. They are the way we can be free of our duty.”
Their voices were soft, nearly whispers. “He can free you by marrying him, is that how it is?” Phae asked solemnly, eyes downcast with embarrassment.
The girl smiled. “It is not as you probably fear. Annon saved my tree when the Boeotians came to hack it down. His friend perished, right over there. He could have fled. We share a special bond. I’m not sure it has grown yet into love.” Dimples appeared within a timid smile.
“How old are you?”
The Dryad looked at her as if she had asked a strange question. “Age means nothing to me anymore. How many leaves are in a forest? Does it matter? Why bother counting them?”
Phae shook her head. “Is it…miserable at times, being Dryad-born? Are you very lonely here in the woods?”
The girl straightened, her look turning to amusement. “You misunderstand a great deal. I guard this portal. I control access to who may pass and who may not. I protect memories. But I do not live here. My home is Mirrowen. When someone approaches my tree, I sense their presence. To me, a year passes quickly, like a moment. A man may age and die in a single day. I am never lonely. There are my sisters, of course, to keep me company. And there are others who have earned the right to live in Mirrowen. And then there is the Seneschal.” She lowered her voice reverently.
“What is that?” Phae asked, leaning forward.
“The Seneschal is a title—it is an ancient title. It means the oldest servant. He holds the Voided Keys. He is the one you must see if you are to accept your powers. He is the one who will perform your oath. He will bind you to your tree with a Key.” The Dryad reached out and gently brushed a lock of Phae’s hair away from her face.
“Does the Seneschal have a name?”
The girl nodded. “He will tell it to you. I cannot speak it.” She sat straighter, looking worriedly into Phae’s eyes. “So you are the one who was chosen? You would enter the vast Scourgelands and seek our fallen sisters? You must awaken them to the oaths they made. We do not speak of what happened. Only the Seneschal remembers it and he does not say. It is a great sadness, I think. The younger ones, like myself, have asked. The knowledge is lost to all of us.”
Phae nodded slowly. She felt so comfortable with the Dryad. “What can you teach me? I know so little about us.”
“I should fetch your mother. It is proper that she should teach you.”
The door shuddered open on its hinges as the world lurched and began to spin.
“Hear the other side. What is usually lacking, when there is trouble, is the lack of listening. So quick we are to rush to judgment. We would do well to listen more. There would be far fewer disputes.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The look of alarm and misery on the Dryad’s face wrung Phae’s heart. She rushed to the other girl, clutching her arms. “What is it? What do you see?”
The other girl’s eyes were wide with terror. “I cannot see it. It is what I feel. Memories flitting through the aether, summoned here because of the bond we share.” She gripped Phae’s forearms with surprising strength for one so slight. “He may die! Annon, be still. Be very still.” The girl shrank against the trunk of the oak, huddling small, like an acorn. Phae lowered with her, still holding the girl as if she were one of Dame Winemiller’s orphans.
“Who is it?” Phae asked, stroking her shoulder.
The girl shuddered as the memories assailed her. “A moment. There is danger. So much danger. If he dies, I will know it. Our bond will be severed.” She put her face in her hands and wept softly.
Phae hugged her, nestling against the bark of the tree, feeling wave after wave of emotion passing from the Dryad. She was quiet herself, just being there to comfort the girl—her sister in some strange way. The wind rustled through the trees, bringing the smell of soot and forest. They hugged each other, sharing the lack of words, the surging feelings. In time, the Dryad’s panic began to ebb.
“Thank you.” The girl patted Phae’s arm. “Normally I am the one who comforts. The threat is still there, but I do not sense the same fear. He has survived the danger for now.”
Phae bit her lip. “It must be awful to feel such premonitions but be unable to help.”
The girl shook her head. “I can help, in a small way. If he is calm in his heart, my thoughts can reach his mind. The talisman he wears aids in this. The Druidecht have always been our fiercest guardians. We need them, you see. They are the way we can be free of our duty.”
Their voices were soft, nearly whispers. “He can free you by marrying him, is that how it is?” Phae asked solemnly, eyes downcast with embarrassment.
The girl smiled. “It is not as you probably fear. Annon saved my tree when the Boeotians came to hack it down. His friend perished, right over there. He could have fled. We share a special bond. I’m not sure it has grown yet into love.” Dimples appeared within a timid smile.
“How old are you?”
The Dryad looked at her as if she had asked a strange question. “Age means nothing to me anymore. How many leaves are in a forest? Does it matter? Why bother counting them?”
Phae shook her head. “Is it…miserable at times, being Dryad-born? Are you very lonely here in the woods?”
The girl straightened, her look turning to amusement. “You misunderstand a great deal. I guard this portal. I control access to who may pass and who may not. I protect memories. But I do not live here. My home is Mirrowen. When someone approaches my tree, I sense their presence. To me, a year passes quickly, like a moment. A man may age and die in a single day. I am never lonely. There are my sisters, of course, to keep me company. And there are others who have earned the right to live in Mirrowen. And then there is the Seneschal.” She lowered her voice reverently.
“What is that?” Phae asked, leaning forward.
“The Seneschal is a title—it is an ancient title. It means the oldest servant. He holds the Voided Keys. He is the one you must see if you are to accept your powers. He is the one who will perform your oath. He will bind you to your tree with a Key.” The Dryad reached out and gently brushed a lock of Phae’s hair away from her face.
“Does the Seneschal have a name?”
The girl nodded. “He will tell it to you. I cannot speak it.” She sat straighter, looking worriedly into Phae’s eyes. “So you are the one who was chosen? You would enter the vast Scourgelands and seek our fallen sisters? You must awaken them to the oaths they made. We do not speak of what happened. Only the Seneschal remembers it and he does not say. It is a great sadness, I think. The younger ones, like myself, have asked. The knowledge is lost to all of us.”
Phae nodded slowly. She felt so comfortable with the Dryad. “What can you teach me? I know so little about us.”
“I should fetch your mother. It is proper that she should teach you.”
