A Path of Oak and Ash (17 page)

Carrick found himself momentarily reconsidering.  A fair fight was one thing.  Facing the man and his wolf...

"Don't worry 'bout him, he's not going to rip your throat out."  Quin raised his arms, readying a boxer’s stance.  "Today, anyway." 

Carrick sneered, charging Quin.  His fists flying through the air in a fury, trying desperately to land a blow.  Each hit that should have made contact instead found open air followed by a smack upside the head or cheek from the older druid. Quin's form was a black blur. Dodging each blow by inches, only to retaliate with mock aggression.  Every. Time.  It only infuriated Carrick further, the crowd laughed at his folly. 

With a roar, Carrick evoked what he had learned, willing the ground beneath their feet to rise up and displace the dark druid.  The four foot square of earth exploded, leaving a deep pocket in its place and a wide eyed Quin standing just beyond the hole.

"Looks like you are learning a few of our tricks."  Quin smirked.  "Would you like to see one of mine?"

Large green tendrils burst from the ground at his sides, reaching for him.  Vines wrapped around his legs, lifting him off the ground, shackling his hands, turning around his neck.  His eyes bulged as the vines tightened, cutting off his airway.  He gasped, desperately struggling to breath, to move, as his vision blurred. All the while, Quin smirked at him.

That twisted superior lip pushed him over the edge, with one concentrated rage driven thought he reached out to the greenery surrounding him, picturing the tendrils knocking Quin off his feet, his head smacking into the back of the large ash behind him, replacing that smile with pain.

Tendrils released him, then shot out quicker than his eye could follow, striking Quin square in the chest with such force he flew backwards into the air, his head hitting the back of the tree with a large crack then falling to the ground in a pile of dark cloth. Carrick fell to his knees, his face agape, coughing as air rushed back into his lungs.

The assembled crowd let out a gasp as Quin, back on his feet, let out a curse raising his arms, his features twisted in anger.  "You little-"

The ground shook around him, the hairs on his arms began to stand on end as though electricity flowed through his skin, and his legs refused his command.  Carrick readied himself for what would come next, expecting pain.

Then as quickly as it started, it stopped.  The ground steady, his legs his own.  Wobbling on his feet, Carrick noticed a sudden silence in the glen.  Every single person-including Quin-was head bowed, hands clasped in front of their waist.  When Carrick saw why, he did the same.   

Argentine had just entered the clearing, his hunched form leaning heavily on his cane.  Steel grey robes piped in white trim dragging behind him along the grass. As he grew closer, Carrick could make out a few of the symbols along the edges of his boots; strength, leadership, wisdom.    A pair of snow white, blue eyed wolves flanked his sides closely, slowing their pace to match that of their alpha.

"What is going on here?"  There was no reedy traces of age in his voice, it boomed loud enough everyone in Dre'ien probably heard his words.

"Nothing.  Just having a bit of fun.  Right Carrick?"  Quin's tone made it very clear that if Carrick did not nod this instant they would both be in serious trouble.  Therefore, despite the rage bottled up in his chest, his head promptly bobbled.

"You can act like fools later.  Where is Conall Cattan?"

"Here."  Conall stepped forward, his eyes still on the forest floor.

"I came all this way on my withered legs to see you Conall.  Do you know why?"

"I do not."

"Mannix told me of your deeds.  None have dared tame a Fenrir since the seat, yet you dared.  And failed.  Miserably.  It almost cost you your life.  And yet, you tried again, despite the council of your pack.  In spite of the pack perhaps?"  The old man smiled.  "Raise your head Conall. A true leader, does not inspire others to follow, but inspires others to take the reins.  You have demonstrated the ability to be an alpha in your own right.  I am proud to call you my brother, and welcome you into the Order of the Fang as Novus Consilium."

Just like that Conall had ascended the ranks of the pack to trusted advisor, a sage among his peers.  Conall's expression mirrored Carrick's surprise as Argentine placed a withered hand on his shoulder. "Come now, let us feast as brothers."  With that all the members of the Fang slowly left the clearing.  Praising their new brother, joking and laughing.

"See you later Carrick."  Quin muttered, knocking into him as he strode past, following the elder down the trail back towards town.  Carrick took one look at the concerned look on Aodhan and Tadhg’s faces then bolted in the opposite direction, running deeper into the forest. 

It was too much.  He was sick of their judging eyes, their pity filled smiles and kind words.  He just wanted to go home.

So he ran, as fast and hard as he could into the wood.  Bushes and branches slapped at his skin, their stinging grasp enraging him further forcing him onward until his legs burned, refusing to take another step. 

Out of breath but not out of anger, he clenched his jaw. Hands balled into white knuckled fists as he tried to steady his breathing.  Carrick punched the tree. Over and over until his knuckles bled, even then he did not stop.

22

With each throb of his hand his actions repeated in his mind, as the rage left his body he felt quite ridiculous.  His blows had done little to the old oak other than smear his blood all over the bark.  Exhaling slowly, Carrick closed his eyes. As his rage subsided he felt the calm of the forest, confusion in his actions.  As much as he loathed Quin, he was the one who had been out of line.  He had picked the fight, although Quin had ended it.  He was volatile and temperamental, not the soft spoken-although jerk tongued-druid of the Fang.

Maybe he didn't belong here.

That thought alone made him want to have another go at the oak.  He couldn't mesh in the human world, now here was no different.  Maybe he was just destined to roam alone.  He briefly considered just turning left and walking.  Walking until his legs gave out.  To find a place without anyone and live in a cave, or under a rock.  But...

His mother was still in danger, if he did nothing...she would likely die.  Hell, with what he had been doing she would likely die.  Flexing his hands, he chided himself for immaturity.  He would have to find Quin...and apologize.

"Anger does not become you."  The soft voice behind him made him feel even more the fool.  Here he'd been beating himself bloody on a tree in the presence of a forest nymph.  She was going to think he was completely batty.

"I'm not angry." He snapped, then bit his tongue.  Nothing validates such statements like shouting the rebuttal.  "Sorry.  Just...frustrated."  He muttered.

Meliae was right in front of him, standing next to the bloodied oak, her vine weaved locks hidden under a cowl.  "It is the same, you are out of balance."  Her beautiful face was filled with worry; darkly tinted bottom lip quivering slightly, head tilted to the side as she watched him intently.  Awaiting an answer.

Carrick mulled what to tell her; nothing, everything, something.  In the end he voted for the loophole. Lorcan didn't say anything about dealing with non-humans.  "I need to find something that doesn't exist, or bad things will happen to someone I love." She wrinkled her nose, lilac eyes blinking out of sync.

"Lost is a fabrication of human ignorance."

"I don't understand."  Nor did he really want to.

"Everything is where it is.  It could not be anywhere else."  Leaving his side she seemed to hop about the clearing, chasing fireflies and picking at something on the bark.

Carrick exhaled, dropping to the forest floor he sat down.  His hands under his chin, face partially hidden under his dark brown hair.  "I'm sorry...I'm too tired for your games.  Please...just leave me alone."

"You brood just like Brannon."  She traced the corners of her own mouth down, mocking a frown in over exaggerated theatrics. "Come.  I will take you to where he went."  She extended one of her long thin arms down to him. "Where the frown becomes a smile." 

Interest peaked, he took her hand.

Instantly the whole world shifted in on itself. Pulling his consciousness through a tunnel and battering his body about like a roller coaster.

Then it was done. 

Opening his eyes, he immediately got sick. Vomiting profusely in the grass till there was nothing left but dry heaves.   He had traveled between planes before twice now but this...this was completely different.  While that disembodied feeling was an elegant transition the nymph's method was like becoming a human pin ball.  Even his bones felt bruised.

After his composure returned he straightened out his cloak, so it sat properly over his shoulders.  He didn't need to look like a wayward super hero.  It was in that act that he realized his surroundings were far different than what he had grown accustomed to.   The air smelled off, not sour like the human cities, just different.  The hum of the plant life so prevalent in Dre'ien was muted here. The forest stretched as far as he could see without a trace of druid or human elements.  There were no fast food wrappers littering the trail, nor were there any runic stones or symbols carved. 

"Where are we?"  He wondered aloud.

"The world you called home.  In the high hills."  She smiled.  "I like this forest, very few tread here."  Carrick was immediately alarmed despite her peaceful tone, his uncle had been very specific on where he was and was not to go.  Further, he wasn't quite sure how to get back. He'd studied the plane shift since coming to Dre'ien but had never attempted it himself.  With the way his luck had been, his head would end up in Dre'ien while his body would show up in Miami.  The decapitated body of a wanted murderer found on the beach, which would definitely look grand in the tabloids.

Beckoning him to follow she skipped along between the trunks, humming to herself a tune that resembled the call of a Swainson's Thrush. 

The tall trees broke into a clearing.  Among the wild flowers and winding oaks a single cabin stood.  It was small, maybe twelve by twelve feet total, and vines grew along the stone and log exterior. A chimney topped the far end and a well had been dug out not far from the front door. The piled logs for the fireplace were covered in weeds and moss, an indication this place was unoccupied and long neglected.

Meliae approached it without fear, skipping across the grass in her typical twirling fashion.  Quiet awe on her beautiful face as she looked up to the sun.

There was a stone outside the cabin that he recognized, it was runic, marked in the same manner as the one outside the Elderwood.    Wiping the thick layer of dirt and moss off of the surface the lines took form, then took his breath away.

Brannon and Maureen Slaine

His mother.  His father. They had lived here. Together.  Never had he been more filled with anticipation as he approached the front door.  With a shaking hand, he pushed open the creaking wood. 

The inside of the cabin was a single open room, a large stone hearth at the back.  Weathered rocking chair to its right, a dusty blanket still in its patient lap.  To his left was a queen bed and a small rocking cradle.  Had it been his?  Drawn to it, he tipped the edge, watching the basket roll slowly from side to side.  Had his mother watched over him in this exact spot?  Had his father?

Behind the rocking cradle in the corner was a pile of ivory blankets covered in dark fur.  In the center of the mound was part of an animal bone, long and lean.  A deer leg maybe?

"My parents must have had one hell of a dog." 

Meliae giggled.  "That's Isfearr's bed.  You know your father keeps him close always."  Carrick could not believe he had forgotten his father was of the Fang.  Picking up the bone, he eyed the wide teeth marks closely.

"Meliae...was my father's familiar...Fenrir?"  He knew the answer before she spoke it.

"Yes."  So that is what Aodhan had meant.  His mind did a mental replay of the rite he'd observed, picturing someone very much like himself in Conall's shoes.  Damn, he sure had a lot to live up to.  With his hand tight around the bone he felt something odd, as though the porous surface held a tiny electric charge that tickled his nerve endings.  Closing his eyes he focused on the vibrations.

"What was that thing?"

His eyes flicked open, that was his mother's voice. Startled, he about dropped the bone.  With a deep inhale, Carrick closed his eyes again.  Focusing every shred of his mind on the sound.

"What was that thing?"

"An enemy of my kind, worry not my love.  It is dead."

"Are there more of those monsters?"

"There are always more, fear not, for I will protect you."

"What of our son?  That thing got into our home.  If you had been just minutes late. He..he.."

"Calm my darling, please."

"No!  It wanted our baby!  How can he be safe?  How can he ever be safe?"

Carrick opened his eyes.  That voice...had to have been his father's.  It was odd to hear it for himself.   He had always imagined what his father may have sounded like.  In the end he always ending up casting him as James Earl Jones in his head.  In reality, it appeared Brannon Slaine sounded very much like Erik Slaine, who in turn, sounded very much like Carrick.  Guess the 'Slaine' family resemblance was truly striking as everyone seemed to insist on pointing out to him.

Tossing the gnarled limb back on the cloth pile, his eyes panned the rest of the space.  Only other noteworthy piece of furniture was an ornately carved book case.  Meliae was running a finger down the spines of the books on the second shelf.  She pulled one out and began flipping through the pages, smelling the parchment, closing and reopening the cover.

"Anything good over there?"

She smiled, those lilac eyes mesmerizing him.  "Good is everywhere." 

Walking across the stone floor he stood beside her, looking at the collection of books that had been assembled on the shelf.  Meliae offered him the red bound tome she had been fiddling with.  Their hands touched as he accepted the book, giving him a startling surprise.  Her skin wasn't what he had expected at all.  Sure it was soft and light, but it now also had a slightly tacky feel to it. Like the wide body of a leaf.  He knew at that time he should be thinking about her cells, if they produced chlorophyll or not, yet the only thing that was on his mind were her bright almond shaped eyes, those large slightly parted pouty lips and that low cut, high silted gown she wore.  As though she could tell where his thoughts were her breathing seemed to change into shallow puffs. 

"You stare at me Carrick Slaine."  Her voice a low purr as she leaned into him, her eyes seeming to shift towards a rose color. "Am I so pleasing to you?"  His heart raced, mere inches away her scent was intoxicating.  All he had to do was lean in and-

Carrick cleared his throat, awkwardly dusting off the book. Took him two tries to set it back in its place on the shelf. 

Relationships with nymphs were forbidden.  He did not want to turn into Lorcan.  No way.  Sure she was breathtakingly beautiful, playful, fun and also not human.  The latter didn't sit well with him.  Women were unpredictable enough without being slightly incorporeal tree spirits. 

He was about to walk away, to thank her for showing him this place and ask for a lift home when he noticed something odd.   Replacing the book on the shelf had brushed against the dust on the edging.  Someone had taken a knife to the polished mahogany.  Scratching a few lines into the lip. 

With a wide palm he wiped off the top ledge.  Runes.  A few deep breaths and a dirty cloak later an inscription was revealed that started on the top lip of the bookcase and worked its way down to the small edge of the final shelf.

"It’s beautiful."  Carrick frowned.  "I don't know all of these runes.  Can you read them?"  A soon as the words left his mouth he felt embarrassed for assuming she knew.

With an obsidian polished nail she ran her index finger over the letters.  "For my love; the ink my words, parchment my strength, message my wisdom."   She smiled.  "Forever in my heart."

"My heart..."  Carrick traced over the last symbol with his fingertips.
It was your fathers. He wanted you to have it.
The same symbol that graced the inside cover of his birthday present.

"You smile."

"You were right Mel, loss really is born out of our own ignorance."

Of course, discovering what he wanted was only half the battle.  Last time he had seen that book it was on the ground in the apartment across from his.  Would Erik have picked it up when he rescued him?  Was it still there? If it was, how would he manage retrieving it?  His mind spun with potential plans that all seemed to lead to further questions.  If the men that had taken him had been working for Lorcan, why would they have left it behind?  Moreover, what was on those pages that made it so valuable? No he had to conclude that they either were not working directly for him or the human agents did not realize what they had in their possession.  Smiling, Erik's words about a first step in a long journey still being a step forward rattled about in his head.

Turning from the mantle, he intended to thank Meliae profusely for her help. However, she didn't look right. 

"What's wrong?" He asked, very concerned.  He'd never seen a nymph other than blissfully happy if not a bit aloof.  Here she was aggressive, almost demonically frightful in appearance.  Eyes narrowed to mere slits, her previously flat teeth sharpened, elongating from tiny thorns to fearsome fangs that jutted out from under her snarl, back hunched, feet spread in wide stance while hands were likewise extended into claws. 

A chill ran up Carrick’s spine as he internally commended himself for not kissing her, right now she was a thing of nightmares.  No, his shiver was not from her appearance.  The temperature had dropped significantly.  The wind carrying a hint of...

"The wood is dark and full of rot."   With that she was gone, leaving him very much alone against the fell lurking outside.