The branch of mistletoe flicked towards Meryn. 'Thou' - the druid's voice was
shrill and dry, like the screech of a crow at the moment it took flight - 'shall
remember who thou are and save a king!
Thou, ' hopping from one foot to the other, the druid's branch swished across
to Nineve, who let out a squeal and hid behind Meryn's legs, 'will one day lead
the druids.' The strange old man stopped, smiled, then popped an acorn into his
mouth, and for a few moments, as they watched in dumbfounded amazement, he
went into facial contortions manoeuvring the nut towards his few remaining
teeth.
'Is he a bit…?' began Cal, in a whisper, but Meryn hushed him before he
could finish.
Crunching the acorn happily, the druid turned towards Usher and, with dirty
robes flapping, sprang high into the air. As he landed, he flicked out the
mistletoe and cried. 'Thou,' a spray of half-chewed acorn splattered Usher, 'shall
become a dragon! And thou,' Cal drew back, 'will walk the halls of death!' The
old druid smiled, nodding around at them, clearly delighted to have delivered his
prophecy.
'Is that it? Is he done?' Cal asked, helping Usher up from the mud. 'I don't
like the sound of the halls of death much. I wonder what type of dragon you'll
become?'
Usher smeared a muddy hand down Cal's grinning face. 'I am not going to
turn into a dragon!'
'I don't like him,' said Nineve, with a whimper, 'he's scary.' She gazed around
Meryn's legs at the druid who was once again chewing acorns and beaming
happily. 'And he smells funny.'
'We thank you for your prophecy, Oh… wise druid,' began Meryn, 'but ask
for some clarity on your…' He let out a cry of exasperation as the druid emitted a
screech and scampered back into the trees.
'This may take some time,' he explained in a tired voice. 'That's the trouble
with druids. They give you a small piece of utter nonsense, then you have to
coax them into unravelling what it might possibly mean. It's like trying to milk
sense from a talking goat!' He shouldered his pack and set off after the old man.
'A smelly goat,' added Nineve, as she took Cal's hand. They followed Meryn
who was already disappearing into the trees.
The druid had hunkered down next to a path that led into, what appeared to
be, the gloom of a deep hole. Trees and bushes crowded close to the top, while
above floated a halo of flittering butterflies.
'This is a druids' well,' muttered Meryn, as they approached. 'It will be strong
with the spirits.' Usher drew in a deep breath and placed a protective hand upon
Nineve's shoulder as she edged closer pushing between him and her brother.
The druid was humming and chatting happily to himself, squatting down
with his bony knees sticking out to either side of his filthy robes, casting rune
stones into the dirt between his feet. The thirteen bone knuckles, each carved
with a different symbol, bounced across the ground and landed in patterns
through which the druids could unravel the mysteries of life, or so they claimed.
Approaching cautiously, Usher glanced about, taking in his surroundings as
the others gathered around him.
From what he could see, it appeared the druid had called the grove home for
a number of years. A shallow cave in a rock appeared to be his sleeping shelter.
There was a small pile of tiny animal bones lying next to the ashes of a fire as
evidence that he ate more than just acorns. While the worn area where he now
squatted was obviously a location long favoured for casting his runes. Tied into
the trees on either side of the path were small pieces of cloth fluttering in the
breeze.
'I think these must be his offerings left for the spirits,' muttered Meryn, as he
tore a piece of cloth from his tunic and tied it amongst the others. Hoping he was
doing the right thing, Usher did the same. The druid glanced up, beamed at him,
and then continued his incomprehensible chatter.
'Well, we know why his clothes are rags now,' said Cal, studying the trees in
wonder. 'Most of his stuff must be up there.' Meryn frowned at him and was
about to address the druid when the old man leapt up and landed in front of Cal.
'Thou dost dream of wolves… thou have…' he leaned in, peering deeply into
Cal's eyes and didn't seem to notice when Cal pulled back, wafting his hand in
front of his face after smelling the druid's breath, 'the affinity.'
'No I do not! I don't have any such thing.' As if challenging his denial, the
howl of a wolf came from the distant forest. The druid beamed as Cal's mouth
opened in shock, then held up a dirty hand and shook his head before Cal could
dispute the claim any further.
'They follow after thou, waiting for thy dreams,' keened the druid happily.
'Please,' broke in Meryn. 'We are unused to the druid ways. Do you have
some guidance for us?'
'Unused to the druid ways!' the druid burbled happily, and then wiggled his
branch of mistletoe at Meryn. 'I have told thou much, if thou would but listen.'
He rummaged in the folds of his cloak. 'Though there is more to tell. Thou, for
instance, hast healing hands. Though thou art also a fine warrior; brave, loyal,
courageous, yet kind and somewhat… stupid at the moment.' He chuckled as
Meryn's face flushed red and his hand twitched towards his sword.
'Take no offence, thou dost not remember thy true self, and all are necessary
attributes for a warrior such as thou. Here,' he reached back and, as if from
nowhere, produced a cloth bag, which he tossed to the startled Meryn, 'a gift.'
The druid watched, but went back to cracking acorns, as Meryn reached into the
bag and pulled out a silvery, shining helmet.
'I hope we all get one of those,' said Cal, gazing at the helm as it sparkled
and glimmered in the sunlight as if the druid had spent all his life shinning it for
this one moment.
The druid cackled merrily. 'Thou hast thy wolves… walker of death!'
'Lucky old me,' muttered Cal.
Meryn carefully tried the helmet on. It covered his head well; had a noseguard of bronze and ear-plates hinged with more bronze, each cast in the image
of a boar.
'The boar is thy companion, warrior. Its spirit walks with thou, and like thou,
it is … somewhat stupid and forgetful.' His face split into a near toothless grin.
'But loyal to its own, brave, and when cornered…deadly. Wear it well. For it is
made to be worn by thou and thou only… until its true owner is finally
recognised.'
'What of me, druid?' Usher asked. 'You said I would become a dragon. How
can that be?'
'I have nothing more I can tell thou, nor the nice young lady.' He smiled at
Nineve and then bowed low, but she hid her face behind Cal, which was where
the druid's eyes now settled. 'Remember thy dreams, Calvador. The wolves are
with thou - on both sides of death.' With that, he dropped Cal's startled gaze and
dusted down his rags. 'Visit the well, drink deeply, and return to me when thou
are complete. The spirits of the well wait to bless thee.' With that, he settled back
to his rune stones and Meryn led the group past him and down the path.
The well, as they descended the twisting path, was bigger than it had
appeared at the top. At the overgrown entrance where the narrow path
disappeared, there had been little to indicate that this strange place even existed.
Now, as they descended below ground level, they could see it was about forty
paces across and gloomy. Motes of dust and pollen floated in shafts of fading
light and air rich with the heady aromas of earth and decay. The path had
become slick and muddy in places as it continued down, passing through a thin
mist that hung across the deep hole about half way down, like a veil between two
worlds. A steady dripping was all that disturbed the silence, along with the
occasional soft whimpering of Nineve and Cal's incessant muttering.
'Shhh.' Meryn held a finger to his lips as the sound travelled slowly around
the well, then smiled at Nineve. 'This is a holy place,' he whispered. 'There is
nothing here that will harm you. Come…' He held out his hand in the half-light,
and Nineve took it, still staring wide-eyed as they descended further to the base
of the well. There was a wide shelved area next to the black stillness of the water
and they gathered there to gaze about.
'What do we do?' Usher asked. 'It's cold down here. I think we should leave
as soon as we can.' The mist moved and swirled as Meryn bade them all to
crouch down. Cupping his hands, he scooped up some water and drank, then
indicated they should do the same.
The water was chill but refreshing and tasted good. Usher dipped his hands a
second time, not realising how thirsty he had become. It had been a long, strange
day and he felt the need to sleep begin to overwhelm him. He was comfortable
here. Why he had thought the well cold and scary, he couldn't remember. Now it
seemed warm and welcoming. Glancing across, he saw Cal, yawning, already
leaning back on his pack. Then, as Nineve went over and cuddled-up next to her
brother, Usher lay down as well.
Meryn remained unmoving, kneeling at the side of the well, staring into the
deep dark water.
Usher would later recall that just before sleep overcame him, he looked past
Meryn and saw three women walking towards them through the mist. Two were
beautiful and bore smiles that reminded him of his mother, the last was a hag,
bent and hideously ugly, and it looked to him like she was scowling.
* * *
Horses and men screaming surrounded him. The sound of metal clashing
against metal… the sickening sound of edged steel biting into flesh. Fear, panic,
breathless and tired, a desperate desire to go on, must not fall, searching… but
for what?
Chariots amid a sea of fighting warriors, cutting, slashing, screaming;
winning through to the side of another chariot….
A blinding light crossing the sky, chanting, cheering; a funeral pyre…
* * *
Nineve snuggled against her older brother… wandering happily through a
warm summer meadow filled with flowers and butterflies… a stream with
someone lying on the ground next to it, it was Calvador. Reaching down to roll
him over, he rises from death; a wolf walking at his side… they slowly fade away.
A standing stone, tall and ancient, a garland of flowers, druids, Meryn
smiling down, a blinding light travelling across the sky; the dragon, a
celebration.
A final battle, a bargain made… a crossroads in the shadowland, the mists
once more surround her…
* * *
Meryn felt the cool touch of a hand on his cheek and knew comfort, his mind
feeling as if it had finally awoken. He watched detached, as visions of battle
moved about him, knowing no blade could reach him as warriors fought and
died all around… a flock of ravens disturbed from their feast rising into the air.
The familiar feel of his bow in his hand but now hung with shells and
ribbons.
Images changing faster, faster, apple trees, a setting sun, flashing blades,
chariots…
* * *
The smell of blood was thick in his nostrils, movement close by, men
approaching, moving away into the shadows where the men will fear to follow.
Listening, sensing the movements of the others as they travelled… a stag, sick,
old, tired… tracking the herd, separating the sick one… at one with the pack,
with his family… the excitement of the chase, the kill, the taste of blood, food…
Men screaming. Writhing in the agonies of battle as, all around, fear, panic,
pain, the agony of loss, and then… death.
Trapped… the mists surround everything, no way out, white; all is white, no
place to turn, panic, feelings of terror and fear… a primal scream…
'Cal!'
Cal's eyes flashed open and he drew a breath into his lungs, gasping as the
remnants of the dream faded. 'Nineve?' Tears were running down Nineve's face
and he pulled her into a hug. 'It's all right, Nineve.' Looking over, he saw Usher
standing alone, gazing across the well, his face set in a stubborn frown.
'Come.' Meryn strode past them towards the path. Picking themselves up, the
others followed, retracing their earlier steps upwards towards the light to emerge
into a day fast fading into evening.
The druid was waiting for them, squatting at the top of the well, swaying
from side to side and grinning happily.
'The sisters came. The weird sisters revealed thy dreams, remember them
well. Ye must go now. Do not tarry, there is much for thou to do. Abandon thy
journey west and turn to the south. Thy destiny is to greet and support a man
thou't will meet on the southern road, two days journey away in the tribal lands
of Ceint. Thou will know each other, fear not for that. Now go… go, go… go!'
He waved them on, flapping his arms and, still muddled somewhat by their
dreams, they moved on without a word.
As they rejoined the road, Usher glanced back. The druid had returned to his
rune stones, crouched down with his back to them, chattering quietly to himself
as if they had never been there to disturb his madness.
* * *
Usher Vance stopped speaking and fumbled for his pipe. The circle of
villagers remained silent and expectant, waiting for the story to continue.
Fearing the old storyteller was about to have another turn, one of the serving
girls placed a hand upon his arm and softly asked if she could fetch him
anything. He shook his head, but then changing his mind, reached out towards
her. 'Some ale… please. I just need a little ale, and perhaps a moment to collect
my thoughts.' Wiping his brow on his sleeve, he glanced across at Calvador
Craen, who had taken the opportunity to stand and stretch.
Realising there was now an unmistakable halt in the tale, several listeners
excused themselves and hurried away to the privy, while others called to the
serving-maids for ale and mead.
'I'm beginning to think you know more details of this tale than I do,' said
Usher, as the murmur of voices allowed him a quiet moment with his old friend.
He blew out a stream of blue smoke and offered the tobacco pouch to Calvador
Craen who had turned to regard him. 'I remembered meeting the druid right
enough, but what happened in the well was lost to me until I started to speak of
it.'
Calvador Craen accepted the tobacco pouch, sniffed at it suspiciously, tasted
a little then spat it into the fire with a look of distaste, and then nodded. 'It has
indeed been many years, old friend. Look at us.' He held out a wrinkled hand
that trembled in front of him, and shook his head. 'We changed our direction
after meeting the druid and the sisters in the well. It was then that things really
started to get strange… do you remember?'
Seeing that most of the villagers had returned, Usher nodded, took a drink of
water and another thoughtful pull on his pipe, then continued. His face once
again creased in concentration as he fought to summon his memories.
'We had no real idea who we were meant to be meeting. Our dreams in the
well had given us no clues, as to who he was or where we should find him. Only
that we should be heading south…'