“Bar Ozark the–”
“Speak not his name!”
“You are exceedingly melodramatic, good Unicorn. The Dark Wizard will never return. Now, you say he believes us not?”
They must be right outside the door now;
Kevin lay motionless, but his hopes lay strewn in tatters around him. An unbidden tear trickled down his cheek.
The Unicorn’s voice became faint and troubled as he said, “
The outlander believes that he’s dreaming–that Feynard, the Seventy-Seven Hills, and all Driadorn, is but a delusion. He believes he hails from another world.”
“N
ot beyond the realms of possibility, given what we saw.”
“But hi
ghly unlikely.”
“Granted, noble
Unicorn. Does he yet sleep? He’s disappointingly small for the great warrior we summoned, not so? And look at his hair–is it truly red, the colour of maylin blossoms in the Budding season? How queer and outlandish.”
“Snatcher suggested he might be a wizard, not a warrior–though a warrior is clearly what we expected from the visions. The Lurk’s insight served him well.”
“By the Well,” she sounded vexed. “Why does he refuse to serve the Forest?”
“Not all creatures, good Dryad–”
Kevin thought he must have misheard at this point, but Zephyr’s next words dispelled that notion “–are integral to the Forest as you are. Some feel not the seasons so keenly, nor can they speak to the trees and understand their concerns.”
“Still,”
the Dryad said, “his help must be obtained–not only for your sake, gallant Zephyr–but for the sake of our homeland.”
He said stiffly, “What care the Dryads for the fate of a
n ill-reputed Unicorn such as I?”
“Good Zephyr, how can you give voice to such a pile of
goblin intestines? Who else is able to enter into a dream with the dreamer, and yet live?”
“It is nought but child’s play and cheap trickery.”
Besides being alien, their conversation was also giving Kevin an existential headache. Talking creatures being integral with trees? Communal dreams? A land called ‘Driadorn’? This was beyond cheap trickery, to borrow the Unicorn’s phrase. It was bizarre, and he had no idea how to escape the dream and return to what was familiar. For that was his overriding concern–to return to a place where he could once more be the victim. He was too cowardly to explore this situation, Kevin thought in a welter of stinking self-disgust, and incapable too of returning home! What a wretched little coward he was.
“Why, think you, did Mylliandawn question the outlander before my arrival?”
“That is plain as lighttime,” replied the Unicorn, soothingly. “Mylliandawn seeks always after power and status in the Council. How better than to wrest the truth from the outlander? And gain advantage over our allies, the Dryads?”
“A pox on all such politics!”
“I fear this is ever Mylliandawn’s way, this seeking of mastery both within Thaharria-brin-Tomal and in the realms beyond.” Zephyr’s sigh was eloquently gloomy. “She has few morals. I fear for our future under the auspices of such a leader.”
During this conversation,
Kevin had become aware of an itch crawling down his left leg. It felt like an insect, much to his disgust, but he had lain still in an attempt to overhear their conversation as long as possible. The itch had now reached his toes, though, and here it became unbearable. His foot twitched.
“Hush, he wakes.”
Enough pretence, he thought. “I’m awake,” he mumbled, opening one eye and pretending doziness and confusion.
Zephyr stepped towards the bed and inclined his head in uncomfortably deep scrutiny of his patient. “How are you feeling this lighttime, good outlander?”
“Like I’m in the wrong bed,” he said softly.
“I’m sorry about yester–”
Zephyr broke off as he realised that Kevin’s whole attention was fixed elsewhere. There, framed in the doorway, was the little girl from his dream! He gaped at her in astonishment, aware that he was staring but unable not to, for she had long, tangled green hair–hair the colour of oak leaves in the springtime–and velvety skin with a greenish cast, which on her hands, forearms, feet and calves, fading into her torso, was decorated with a distinctly leafy pattern! Long eyelashes framed bright hazel eyes, too large in a face, he adjudged, of flawless and otherworldly beauty. She was precisely as he remembered, yet as far beyond his expectations as pictures in a book compare to seeing and feeling the reality–diminutive in stature, barefoot, and garbed in a short dress that could only be described as organic both in design and texture. With his experience of the opposite sex being limited to early memories of his mother and a parade of sixty-something nurses who had all attended the schools of ‘no-nonsense’ and ‘buck-up-there-me-laddie’, Kevin found himself acutely mindful of her shapely figure and bare limbs, and dropped his gaze in embarrassment.
He muttered, “The little girl from my dream.”
“Alliathiune the Dryad,” she introduced herself, a trifle acidly. “The Peace of the Sacred Well to you, good outlander.”
“Pleased to meet–Peace also to you, of course, good … er, you’re a Dryad?”
“And I am twenty-two Leaven seasons of age, not some little girl!”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what a ‘Leaven season’ is.”
Zephyr explained, “Leaven season is when the Forest changes its raiment from green to red and gold, the time of harvest–”
“Ah–we call it ‘autumn’,” said he. “I am therefore
twenty-seven Leaven seasons old, er, Allia- dash it all, how do you say that mouthful again?”
“Ah-
lia-thi-oo-ne.”
“Sorry. Goodness, getting
such an outlandish name wrong is hardly a crime, is it?” Storm clouds entered her eyes, but Kevin was selfishly preoccupied with matters closer to home. “You’ve caused me enough trouble already,” he declared. “You should be grateful I’m here at all, after what I’ve been through! I nearly died on the way. I am called Kevin–Kevin Jenkins.”
Nonplussed for but a moment, Alliathiune
replied with heavy scorn and a mocking half-bow, “Well,
noble
Kevin, we are
indeed
grateful for your presence in Driadorn! Your tremendous sacrifice is duly noted.”
“You don’t understand–”
“
I
don’t understand?”
“Look,”
Kevin shot back, “I’ve been attacked by a ravening monster, I have two broken limbs and more contusions than I can count, thank you very much, and if I don’t get back to take my medicines, I will surely die! That’s reality for me, do you hear? That is what I have to live with day by day–fifty-seven bleeding pills that keep me alive. It’s a miracle I’ve even reached twenty and I would like to continue my existence in the land of the living, thank you very much, if that isn’t too much trouble.” He could be sarcastic too, one part of him noted in amazement, while another leaped to ring the warning bells–which he duly ignored. “This is a nightmare! What do I know about this stupid Blight? Why should I care? I didn’t
ask
to be summoned to your precious Forest in the first place, nor to be treated so appallingly! Just send me back. You’ve got the wrong person. I am not capable of–”
Alliathiune
balled up her fists. “I
can’t
send you back! You
have
to be the one!”
Her words knocked the stuffing out of
Kevin. His mouth widened and he pawed at his throat, trying to arrest the inevitable tightening. “What do you mean, ‘can’t’?” he squeaked. She shook her head mutely. “Do you mean
won’t?
”
“Not until your purpose is fulfilled, we can’t.”
All he could see was a vision of his dying body stretched out in convulsions in some godforsaken place where no one cared two hoots about his fate. The pills! How would he survive without his medications? His allergies would flare up. Asthma would clog his lungs, while infections raged unchecked through his immune-deficient body! Kevin was dimly aware that someone was screaming–a long, whimpering wail of terror disrupted by rattling coughs that threatened to tear his lungs apart. Above him, Zephyr’s and Alliathiune’s faces began to blur and fade into a consuming nothingness. This was it. He welcomed the darkness. This was the–
The Dryad lunged forward, and slapped him across the cheek with all the force her tiny frame could muster.
“S
cream like that again,”
Alliathiune hissed like an angry cat, “and I’ll wring your selfish little neck right off your selfish little shoulders!”
Kevin
gulped.
His cheek
flamed scarlet, and the shock of that slap rang though his brain like an unfading echo. He knew it would leave a bruise. He had been hit many times by Father and Brian; being smacked or punched was nothing new. But this was somehow different. The Dryad did not appear pleased at her outburst–rather, she now perched on the end of the bed furthest from him, hugging herself as if she had caught a sudden chill. She was upset, evidently every bit as traumatised as he felt. A sliding tear received an angry swipe of her forearm.
“Good outlander,” spluttered the Unicorn, “I must
… er, apologise …”
“Good nothing!” flared the Dryad, leaping
at once into a miniature tornado of fury, all flying tears and wild green hair. “Didn’t you hear what he said? He cares nought for our plight! How can you stand the sight of such a vile
thing
as he is?”
The Unicorn gave
Kevin a long, unreadable glare, then nickered softly and nudged her shoulder. “He surely did not mean it, Alliathiune.”
“He meant every word!” she sniffled, her lower lip trembli
ng in an alarming fashion. “He’s the meanest, most selfish, nasty, indifferent, unkind Forest-hater in the whole world! I’ll wager all Driadorn to an acorn that he cuts down trees for a living. In his secret heart he wishes to consign all creatures to the hideous pits of
Shäyol
. He wants to see the Forests sicken and all of Driadorn’s creatures, to whom the trees are mother and home, perish!” She made a spear of her forefinger and thrust it beneath Kevin’s nose, wailing, “Where is your axe, wicked woodsman? Woe to our precious Forest, bereft of succour! Where is our champion now? Our ruin is laid bare before us. Oh, woe, woe, woe!”
Kevin
’s mouth hung open. Her every word drove steel spikes of guilt into his heart. He had never felt so blameworthy in his life, and the feeling was becoming worse, not better. No one had ever cried on his account. That was the worst of all.
Zephyr began,
“Now, I’m sure it’s not quite like–”
“He would rather despoil the Seventy-Seven Hills, and see them turned into a barren wasteland, worse than Mistral Bog!”
“Many living creatures call the Bog home, good Dryad.”
“You heard what he said!” She glowered in
Kevin’s direction, but her hazel eyes were so misted with tears that the effect was spoiled. “He knows nought of the Blight. He lied about being a wizard. He doesn’t care about anything save his own skin and would rather go home–but before he departs, we are to be eternally grateful that he
bothered
to turn up at all! Such ignorance is beyond belief! No, he is a hateful, spiteful apparition, and I shall never forgive him, not even should the Well run dry and the Forest wither and die and all Driadorn be turned to blazing desert–even then with every breath that remains in my body I shall curse him and–”
“But if good
Kevin is from another world,” said Zephyr, trying as it were to argue with a storm, “then all this would be strange to him, not so?”
“You’re defending him!”
“No I’m–”
She stuck her tongue out. “Yes you are. I know what you’re doing. Stop trying to cheer me up! I’m furious!”
Zephyr said, very gently, “I’ve a suggestion, Alliathiune–”
“What?”
He did not flinch in the face of her vehemence.
“
What?
”
“Why don’t we start over?”
“Start over with what?”
“Meeting each other. Why don’t I introduce you as if for the first time, and–”
Her hands curled into little fists and beat several times against Zephyr’s flank, which made no impression whatsoever on the stolid Unicorn. She said, “He’ll still be the nastiest, most mean-spirited, unfeeling man. And I’m not finished being cross with him! I want to beat some sense into his thick-as-bark head!”
“
Because he doesn’t see things your way?”
“No! And how dare you suggest it? Whose side are you on anyway?” She tried to push the Unicorn away.
Kevin touched his stinging cheek. To say that he was taken aback by her attitude was a spectacular understatement. Zephyr gazed at him over Alliathiune’s shoulder, trying to mouth words to him–but lip reading a Unicorn’s speech was way beyond Kevin’s experience. He frowned, finally able to close his mouth. She was a spitting volcano, all molten lava and sizzling rocks flying through the air! Zephyr waggled his ears. Kevin shrugged, which received a stern glare in return. The penny dropped.
“Oh, I–uh.” He coughed hollowly,
and began cautiously, “It appears that I am detained here in Driadorn.”
“Detained as you deserve!” the Dryad sniffed hugely. “If you haven’t noticed yet, you pitiless tree-slayer, your left foot is chained to the bed. And were you somehow to attempt escape, there are Grey Wolves patrolling the woods around Thaharria-brin-Tomal who will gladly sup on your craven entrails!”
This threat struck Kevin as absurd rather than frightening, especially the way she said it, but he restrained a smile–fearing to cause some further explosion–and raised his left leg to put her words to the proof. Indeed, a stout chain encircled his ankle. Trapped! But a certain resignation to his circumstances had blossomed in his mind during her tirade.
Perhaps he might make amends, and start afresh, as Zephyr had wisely suggested?
“As I am detained here in Driadorn,” he repeated, “temporarily at least, I hope–”
“Me too,
you ghoulish life-stealer! I hope you rot in the blackest pits of Shäyol, unbeliever and beast! How could you have the nerve to disparage our great Forest, which is Mother to all? You don’t even know what you’re talking about! You know nothing!”
Kevin
was about to protest when he caught sight of Zephyr rolling his eyes behind Alliathiune’s back. He subsided. “At least for Zephyr’s sake, who is cruelly and unjustly being held to account for my unwillingness to aid the Forest–”
“Uncouth troglodyte!”
“–who is being–”
Alliathiune waved a fist at him. “Uneducated, foul-mouthed barbarian!”
“
Who
, I was saying–”
“Rancorous spawn of Ozark’s accursed dark wizardry, whose rotten soul spits filth to pollute our streams and clear waters–”
Kevin struggled to one elbow, and yelled, “Will you kindly
shut up?
”
The Dryad blinked.
Kevin blinked too. What? Was this Kevin Albert Jenkins? Unexpectedly, he was bursting with elation. He had done it! A miracle, a wildfire sparked by the stormy little Dryad! For the first time in his life, he had shouted at someone. He waggled his tongue as though he had only just discovered he possessed such an appendage.
“Please, allow me to apologise!” He began to cough, having hurt his throat shouting at her. The Honeybear hovered briefly at the doorway, but seeing
Alliathiune’s expression wisely chose not to enter.
“Bu
t … your rudeness,” Alliathiune spluttered.
“–is inexcusable, I know,”
Kevin returned. And he patted the unfamiliar sheets, and his gesture took in the strange room. “Look, Alliathiune, and Zephyr, the evidence before me shows that this is no flight of fancy. How else could it hurt so much? Why can I not escape this dream? Unless your powers are far greater than I can imagine, in which case I am truly lost and must question your inability to counteract the Blight. I must operate on these assumptions until I learn otherwise.”
He glanced from one to the other, but
Zephyr gazed out of the doorway and the Dryad drew little circles on the floor with her right big toe. “What else is possible? Or logical? All my senses confirm to me that this room, and the two of you, are real. This is all I know. I cannot fathom why you should choose to ‘summon’ me, nor have I any hope to offer–neither skills nor knowledge. I cannot advance your cause against the Blight. Worse, I am an invalid, daily forced to consume potent medications in order to stave off dying, because my body doesn’t function as it ought. I am weak, and sickly, and have been forced thereby to live in the same room in the same house for twenty years.”
The silence
stretched without relief.
“That
’s my life, sad as it is.” He drew a deep, ragged breath. “But I have a mind and a will of my own, and I long to be worth something–anything–to someone.” That much truth was all he could handle. “I’m frightfully sorry. And if I sound desperate, I don’t care,” he added defiantly. “It’s not that I don’t want to help–I don’t think I
can
help–I just think that your expectations of me exceed reality by a significant margin. I’m bound to disappoint you. I am terribly sorry, Alliathiune. I obviously deserve the fullest measure of your contempt.”
Had he sprouted wings and flown around the room cawing like a raven, the Dryad’s expression would have been
not one whit the less dismayed.
“My dear girl,
” she bristled noticeably at this but he plowed ahead with bulldog stubbornness, “I cannot pretend to understand what connection you as a Dryad have with the Forest of Driadorn, and why its plight should concern you so deeply. Matters of magic and wizardry are–well, my ignorance brays forth as a donkey. I declare to you now that I have an open mind on the matter, and stand ready to be convinced one way or the other.”
Zephyr chuckled. “I assume, good
Kevin, that you have said your piece? Fine. Having bared our collective hearts, may we proceed?” Two mute nods greeted his falsely cheery tone–each was avoiding the other’s eyes. “Noble outlander, amongst the civilised creatures of the Seventy-Seven Hills we address none other than our beloved as ‘dear’. I trust you meant it differently? Excellent. We would not want to deceive our charming companion as to your romantic intentions, not so?”
Kevin
squirmed at the Unicorn’s gentle teasing. After bearing the brunt of her tirade, he would rather romance a thorn bush. “Um–no, thank you, Zephyr.”
“Ahem.”
“I mean, I’m sure you’re perfectly acceptable, Alliathiune, among Dryads at least … I, er … oh, gracious me, that came out badly.” His cheeks flamed. Why was he behaving like such a witless weasel? Why now? “Please tell me what you know about this Blight, Zephyr.”
The Unicorn favoured Alliathiune with a curl of his lip
. The Dryad pouted at him, and unleashed her charm. Her smile blossomed until to Kevin, it resembled a perfectly dazzling sunbeam. “Good outlander, perhaps I was mistaken earlier. I spoke hastily, not so?” When this sally met with silence, she batted her eyelashes outrageously and cooed, “I’m very, very very, very very
very
sorry about the slap.”
Kevin did not know whether to growl at her or melt. He settled for a befuddled half-smile.
“Uh, it’s already forgotten.”
Alliathiune perched on the bed, near him, and said,
“This is what we know. Six Leaven seasons ago, we sighted a strange light in the starry expanse above the Hills. Apparently, it was first reported by a young Owl out hunting, but we Dryads received a message from the Grand Owl himself–Two Hoots by name.”
“Two Hoots?”
Kevin chuckled. “As in, ‘I don’t give two hoots’?”
The Dryad
threw him a glance that nearly singed his eyebrows. “Two Hoots is the oldest and wisest creature in all the Forests, and the Grand Owl of all Owls! Even Dryads and Unicorns defer to him!”
“There’
s a distinct pecking order, if you’ll excuse the pun,” Zephyr chipped in. “Without lengthy digression into the mores and characteristics of the many races of Driadorn, of which you’ll undoubtedly learn much in the lighttimes to come, you should understand that there is a hierarchy of power, a delicate balance much inclined to flux and conflict. Few are the alliances between the races. Mistrust runs deep. Ostensibly at the top are the Dryads, Unicorns, Fauns, and Owls amongst the magical creatures, and the many tribes of Men amongst those who boast little magic. But there are many others who vie for power–the Griffons, Witches, Shades, Wyverns, Eagles, and Lurks to name but a few–and yet thousands more who either operate petty chiefdoms or shun such conduct save when the tides of war wash over them. Then they are quick to seek our protection!”
“There’
s war in these Hills?”
The Unicorn smiled at his tone o
f faint alarm. “Why fret, good Human, when you converse with two consummate practitioners of the arcane arts such as Alliathiune and I? The magic of Dryads is deep-rooted in the Forest. They are surpassingly wise in the ways of leaf and wind, of sap and all growing things, and in the bringing to life of things once thought dead. We Unicorns incline more to the mystical arts, to meditation, healing, astronomy, scholarly pursuits, and the like.”
“Dryads grow things; Unicorns seek knowledge.”
Alliathiune’s contribution occasioned an indulgent flick of Zephyr’s mane. “Most succinct, noble Dryad. As you see, good outlander, Unicorns have a propensity for digression, whereas Dryads seek at once the root of the matter. Now, you mentioned a star, noble Alliathiune?”