“No, please!” Phae implored. “He is no threat.”
“His presence is a threat,” the girl answered, looking fearful. “The ring he wears—”
“He no longer wears it,” Phae replied. “He shed it days ago. There is too much to say and not much time, sister. Can you…can you see my memories? It would help you understand. Do not take them, but I give you permission to see them. I need your help. I don’t know how…to be a Dryad, even though I am Dryad-born.”
“Look into my eyes,” the girl said. “I promise that I will not steal your memories if you promise not to steal mine.”
“I promise,” Phae said gratefully. The two girls clasped hands and stared into each other’s eyes. Phae felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, a churning feeling that made her dizzy and nauseous. The world seemed to tip and she felt herself wobble, but the girl’s grasp on her hands steadied her.
It was finished.
Phae blinked, feeling as if she had dozed. She looked up and saw tears glistening in the other girl’s eyes. The girl rested her slim hand on Phae’s cheek.
“What strong memories,” the girl whispered to Phae. “You are Dryad-born.”
Phae shuddered. “Can you help me? I must learn how to be one of you. If I am to go to the Scourgelands, I need this knowledge.”
The girl nodded slowly, dropping her hand. She suddenly squeezed Phae’s hands with her own. “I could help you, but I shouldn’t be the one to do so. I was taught of this life by my mother. She prepared me for what I could not know any other way. Mothers and daughters share a special bond. These trees are portals. We daughters are the guardians of these portals. They connect this world to Mirrowen. They also connect us to each other. Your mother is the Dryad in Kenatos. I will trade places with her. She will guard my tree and I will guard hers. Just for a moment. If you should be taught of our ways, it should be done by her.”
Phae gasped with astonishment, her heart shuddering with emotion. “Can you? Can you do such a thing?”
“I can. And I will. Stay here.” Suddenly the girl’s eyes widened with surprise and a flash of sudden intense emotion. “Annon!” she gasped, as if seeing something Phae could not. Her fingers dug into Phae’s. “No,” she moaned, her face turning livid with emotion.
“What is it?” Phae asked, her own heart panged.
The girl shook her head, her expression engulfed in misery. “He is…there is danger. So much danger! I feel it.” She started gasping, struggling for breath. “He…is…no! No!” The Dryad girl crumpled to her knees, hands covering her face.
“What?” Phae begged, dropping to her knees, clutching the girl tight. “What do you see?”
The girl moaned, shaking her head. Then her eyes blazed. “Serpents! The Preachán is dead. They are coming. Annon, don’t move! Don’t move!”
“There is great agitation at the Temple of Seithrall in Kenatos. The war crisis between Havenrook and Wayland is threatening to spill over across all the lands, Boeotia included. There are reports of barbarian incursions into Silvandom, once again threatening our great city. If the southern kingdoms are not united, it will leave the city practically undefended against the treachery of the invaders. Always it is civil unrest and tumult. Gratefully, the Arch-Rike is wise in sending a delegation to mediate with the Preachán. There is even talk of asking the Druidecht of Canton Vaud to settle the dispute that we may unite against a common enemy. All is in an uproar.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
When Paedrin was a child, he had watched the older Bhikhu fight amongst themselves. They did not hold back in punches or kicks, knowing that the temporary pain of an injury would lead to swifter reflexes after the healing was done. He admired their unwillingness to express pain and he strove to emulate it amongst his own peers. Paedrin had always been a quick learner and he noticed how Master Shivu gave him special attention, as if they shared some unspoken secret that acknowledged that Paedrin truly was the best student in the temple. The memory touched his heart with sadness, but it did not diminish his determination.
As the young Bhikhu crouched on the temple walls of the Shatalin temple at dawn, bathed in dewdrops from the swirling fog, he watched the activity in the courtyard below. Just before dawn, the interior doors had opened to the training yard and a group of twenty men emerged, of various races. A tall Vaettir master led them through a curt series of training exercises to warm up their bodies, speaking the commands in sharp, crisp language, but not participating himself. Paedrin was struck by the immense discipline of the men. There was no joking or jostling. They were riveted at attention and followed the drills with audible claps and grunts, in perfect unison and harmony. The tall lanky master walked amidst the twenty, head slightly bowed, and snapped orders, which were obeyed promptly. The tall master was a Vaettir with long flowing hair.
“His presence is a threat,” the girl answered, looking fearful. “The ring he wears—”
“He no longer wears it,” Phae replied. “He shed it days ago. There is too much to say and not much time, sister. Can you…can you see my memories? It would help you understand. Do not take them, but I give you permission to see them. I need your help. I don’t know how…to be a Dryad, even though I am Dryad-born.”
“Look into my eyes,” the girl said. “I promise that I will not steal your memories if you promise not to steal mine.”
“I promise,” Phae said gratefully. The two girls clasped hands and stared into each other’s eyes. Phae felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, a churning feeling that made her dizzy and nauseous. The world seemed to tip and she felt herself wobble, but the girl’s grasp on her hands steadied her.
It was finished.
Phae blinked, feeling as if she had dozed. She looked up and saw tears glistening in the other girl’s eyes. The girl rested her slim hand on Phae’s cheek.
“What strong memories,” the girl whispered to Phae. “You are Dryad-born.”
Phae shuddered. “Can you help me? I must learn how to be one of you. If I am to go to the Scourgelands, I need this knowledge.”
The girl nodded slowly, dropping her hand. She suddenly squeezed Phae’s hands with her own. “I could help you, but I shouldn’t be the one to do so. I was taught of this life by my mother. She prepared me for what I could not know any other way. Mothers and daughters share a special bond. These trees are portals. We daughters are the guardians of these portals. They connect this world to Mirrowen. They also connect us to each other. Your mother is the Dryad in Kenatos. I will trade places with her. She will guard my tree and I will guard hers. Just for a moment. If you should be taught of our ways, it should be done by her.”
Phae gasped with astonishment, her heart shuddering with emotion. “Can you? Can you do such a thing?”
“I can. And I will. Stay here.” Suddenly the girl’s eyes widened with surprise and a flash of sudden intense emotion. “Annon!” she gasped, as if seeing something Phae could not. Her fingers dug into Phae’s. “No,” she moaned, her face turning livid with emotion.
“What is it?” Phae asked, her own heart panged.
The girl shook her head, her expression engulfed in misery. “He is…there is danger. So much danger! I feel it.” She started gasping, struggling for breath. “He…is…no! No!” The Dryad girl crumpled to her knees, hands covering her face.
“What?” Phae begged, dropping to her knees, clutching the girl tight. “What do you see?”
The girl moaned, shaking her head. Then her eyes blazed. “Serpents! The Preachán is dead. They are coming. Annon, don’t move! Don’t move!”
“There is great agitation at the Temple of Seithrall in Kenatos. The war crisis between Havenrook and Wayland is threatening to spill over across all the lands, Boeotia included. There are reports of barbarian incursions into Silvandom, once again threatening our great city. If the southern kingdoms are not united, it will leave the city practically undefended against the treachery of the invaders. Always it is civil unrest and tumult. Gratefully, the Arch-Rike is wise in sending a delegation to mediate with the Preachán. There is even talk of asking the Druidecht of Canton Vaud to settle the dispute that we may unite against a common enemy. All is in an uproar.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
When Paedrin was a child, he had watched the older Bhikhu fight amongst themselves. They did not hold back in punches or kicks, knowing that the temporary pain of an injury would lead to swifter reflexes after the healing was done. He admired their unwillingness to express pain and he strove to emulate it amongst his own peers. Paedrin had always been a quick learner and he noticed how Master Shivu gave him special attention, as if they shared some unspoken secret that acknowledged that Paedrin truly was the best student in the temple. The memory touched his heart with sadness, but it did not diminish his determination.
As the young Bhikhu crouched on the temple walls of the Shatalin temple at dawn, bathed in dewdrops from the swirling fog, he watched the activity in the courtyard below. Just before dawn, the interior doors had opened to the training yard and a group of twenty men emerged, of various races. A tall Vaettir master led them through a curt series of training exercises to warm up their bodies, speaking the commands in sharp, crisp language, but not participating himself. Paedrin was struck by the immense discipline of the men. There was no joking or jostling. They were riveted at attention and followed the drills with audible claps and grunts, in perfect unison and harmony. The tall lanky master walked amidst the twenty, head slightly bowed, and snapped orders, which were obeyed promptly. The tall master was a Vaettir with long flowing hair.
