A Path of Oak and Ash (3 page)

This was not unusual, there were many in this area on the streets in various states of mental and physical condition.  This particular person was dirtier than most, with a beard that appeared to have been completely untended for half a decade.  The bushy ratted hair covered his face and his head.  His clothes were stained and in many layers, his hands browned from neglect but folded neatly in his lap.

In truth it was not his appearance or presence that spooked Matt.  It was his eyes.  His sunken eyes were a piercing blue with a shimmer that bored somewhere between intelligence and madness.  A stare that was always focused on Rick when he was coming or going into the shop.

Unfortunately, Matt had chosen Rick’s birthday to throw an absolute fit about it.  Not a building down from the bodega he had started in on his best friend.

"I'm just saying you should call the police."  Matt Dickinson muttered, his blond brow dipped into a frown, eyes focused on the sidewalk beneath his bike.

“And report what? A homeless guy on the street?"  Rick had to laugh, if that was grounds enough to call the cops there would always be a squad car in this neighborhood.

"Seriously, that dude stares at you every day we go to QuikTrip."

"He does not,” although Rick wasn’t sure, “and staring isn't a crime.  He looks harmless enough."

"Harmless! He looks like he's gonna rip someone's backpack off and use it as a chew toy."

"Now you're just being mean."  Sure he had heard about a homeless man attacking passersby, but the odds were more likely for the opposite to happen.  Far too many an entitled drunkard loved to prey on the downtrodden. 

“I’m not mean, just honest.”  In truth, Rick pitied him rather than feared him.  It had not been long since both he and his mother nearly escaped a similar fate.  Not that his buddy Matt would know any of that.  When it came to home and family matters, Rick tended to be a bit of a private person.

"Just don't get yourself hobo killed.  Would reflect badly on me as your friend."  Rick laughed away his concern.  There was nothing malicious about the man outside the building.  He just sat there, like the other homeless people, watching folks go in and out of the store probably hoping to grab some loose change for a bite to eat or a pint to drink.  Still, he couldn't help but wonder why his friend thought Rick was such an interest to him.

"You're that homeless guy from outside the gas station by my house."

"A well-played ruse, for most do not pay attention to those who they deem beneath them. What better way to keep anonymity than to allow one's self to be naught but a backdrop to others perceived notions of superiority?"

“It can’t be true.  No.  This is freaking insane!”

“How many times have you moved Carrick?  How many times have you had to start over?  Making friends, learning the area?  Did your mother always use the excuse of tough times? Woes of the harsh life trust upon her?”

“Don’t talk about my mother like that.”

“She had a doctorate in biology, surely you knew that.  With that kind of background did you not wonder why she chose to take such low paying jobs?”

“Stop it.” 

A smirk crossed his face as he continued. “How many times have you seen or felt something before it happened?” 

Rick paled at the question, thinking back to the corner store with Liz at the beginning of the school year. 
Had this guy been following me back then?

She’d been there with her friends, he had been there with Matt. Well, he had been with Matt in physical form, mentally he was focused on Liz.  She was the kind of girl he liked, long ash blond hair, almond shaped eyes in a bright almost unnatural blue that most believed to be contacts.  A perpetual smile on her all American face that would have made Barbie proud.

He watched her buy an overpriced flavored water before walking out the door with her entourage. It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn she even smiled at him.  Him.  Someone who was so beneath her league.  He couldn’t help but stare, her hips swaying as she left, waiting, and hoping she’d look in his direction.   As she passed a semi that was refueling-one with a large flatbed full of pipes-Rick had been struck with an overwhelming bad feeling.  He watched in horror as the strap broke, heavy metal pipes pouring over the edge of the flatbed, crushing her body into a bloody distorted pulp. 

He had a clear memory of running from the store in a panic, only when he pushed through the glass logo covered door she was just taking her first footstep in front of the semi.  Without thinking he had dashed forward and grabbed her hand, pulling her back. She had just started to cuss at him when that strap broke, dropping a thousand of pounds of metal onto the asphalt.

He had saved her life.

When everyone had asked him how he had known...he mumbled something about seeing a rip in the strap.  It was a lie, one that made him feel slimy every time someone brought it up, but it beat the alternative.  He’d rather be a secret liar than crazy.  A fluke, some strange premonition or observation he had made subconsciously, that had to have been all it was. 

As time passed the event likewise faded into memory and Rick never brought it up to anyone and neither did Liz.  She was the reserved type when it came to him, flashing him a smile from the throng of cheerleaders and football players she ran around with.  She never asked him anywhere, but never turned him down when he wanted her company.  Even went to homecoming with him rather than the star running back.  Which had seemed wonderful until it turned into a disaster.

Mary had spotted Rick arm in arm with Liz then promptly burst into tears and fled for the bathroom, her own date abandoned and perplexed in the hallway.  Liz had asked him quietly if ‘something was up’ between him and Mary, he had repeatedly reassured her that Mary’s feelings were one sided.  All in all, it was an awkward night.  Still they had hung out as friends from time to time since.  Only friends.

“How often have you felt alone in a crowded room? Suffocated in the city?”  Erik spoke, cutting through his internal musing.  “How many nights do you lay in bed awake, feeling like you're missing the very essence of life that you are to lead?”

Erik smiled in that tender way one used in regard to small children.  “I’m not lying to you my dear nephew.  Your mother has lived the way she has for the sole purpose of avoiding attention because you are special.  Attention, you unfortunately received today twice over.”

"Who were those men that took me?"

"Mine enemy, and that of your father."

"But
who
are they?"

"Before you can understand why we fight, you must understand who you are."  Erik retrieved a large brown satchel from beside the bed, with minimal effort he pulled out a baseball sized terracotta clay pot and a little pouch.

"The world was born from us; The sun and the moon, the sky and the sea. The universe and its finite energy intertwined in the fabric of life.  All is interconnected.  You and I, the grass beneath our feet, the great bird in the sky, this tiny seedling.”  Erik placed the seed into the dirt.  With a wave of his elegant hand, a small sprout emerged from the pot, growing at an impossible rate, the long green stem topped in a bulb. 

“We do not seek to dominate the world, but to understand.”  The stranger put a hand to the plant bulb and it instantly bloomed, a brilliant flower in an array of purple and pink hues. 

“Born of a different plane, from a time afore men put flit to tinder.  Our solemn vow to maintain the sacred balance of life, remain one with all things.”   Erik took the boy’s hand, placing his palm beside to the small flower. The bloom leaned into his skin, the soft pedals seemed almost warm to the touch.  Rick gasped at the sensation. This little bloom, one he would have seen as so insignificant, was soothed by his touch.  It was eerie that he knew that, but he did;  A warm feeling in his chest, serenity within his mind. 
That's it, I've gone and lost my marbles...

“I am, as you will someday be, a Druid."   Rick looked into eyes of the man across from him.  His face, his features were in a way very much like his own.  Somewhere in his soul, however he tried to denied it, this man’s words felt true.

Perhaps he was not Richard Smith, maybe his name was Carrick Slaine.

A potential truth that both excited and terrified him; he had wished to belong for so many years, to be grounded rather than transient.

"It is a good thing I came to you when I did.  In a few years your differences would have been noticed."  Erik spoke softly, a smile on his face at his nephew’s interaction with the blossom.

"How so?"

"Our kind do not age like the men that walk this world.  Provided you take care of yourself you will see the sun rise and set for several centuries." 

Carrick’s eyes flipped up. "Centuries?!"

Erik nodded.

"So let’s say I am this,” Carrick swallowed hard, “druid.  What took my mother?  What are these enemies?"  He used air quotes on the 'e' word.

"I think you should rest for now.  We must flee when the sun rises."

"No," Carrick bristled, "I think you need to finish telling me what is going on. Right now."  The smirk on his uncle's face confirmed words he meant to be intimidating came off as a tantrum.

"Patience is a virtue, for a grand oak does not flourish from a seedling in a day."  Carrick continued to argue while Erik took off his suit coat, laying it carefully over the back of the chair like it was made of glass.

“No, that’s a load of crap! You’re gonna tell me why somebody is framing me for murder!”

No response came.

“Come on, if you’re really my uncle you would level with me.”

After a few more pleas Erik glared at him.  "We have a long trip ahead of us, with plenty of time to discuss. Bother me no further on the matter this night." 

That tipped the lid off Carrick’s temper.  For all he knew that newspaper clipping was false, everything he said could have been some sort of crazy tale to keep him here until he did horrible things to him.  Then there was the flower, maybe it had all been imagined.  Or maybe this Erik guy had laced his water with some sort of drug to make him see things.  Sure would have explained the warm feeling and everything else he'd been through.

"What if I don't want to go?  I could still run to the police..."

"If you go to your authorities you will be charged for these crimes, they will take you in and deliver you unto those who assaulted you.  You will then be killed and it will not be a pleasant death."

"That's what you say."  Carrick snapped.

"It is what will happen child.”  With a curse, Erik turned toward the bird by the window.

“Arcedes, if my nephew goes near the door you have my permission to peck his eyes out."  The mammoth creature let out a quick caw in response, extending her wingspan once while staring at the boy.  "Nothing personal Carrick." 

Erik walked over to the bed by the door and stretched out on top of the sheets, crossing his feet at his ankles while folding his hands over his chest.

Despite his desire to run from the room, Carrick sulked over to the empty bed and pulled back the comforter.  Arcedes was still staring at him long after his head hit the pillow.

4

When Carrick opened his eyes he fully intended to be in his own room, recovering from a horrible nightmare.

He was sorely disappointed.

Laying on the lush hotel bed, he felt both an ache in his muscles and the curious softness of the sheets.  In his nose was not the musty scent of his poorly ventilated room but the aroma of bacon, eggs and brewed coffee.

His stomach rumbled on its own accord.

“Figured you’d be hungry.”  Erik was seated at the small table, eating off of one of two room service trays.  Fighting the initial impulse to run, scream and get as far away from him as possible, Carrick sat up with a deliberate slowness.  Testing his muscles, taking a deep breath to see his lungs had improved.  Air flowed in without pain and exhaled with but a small sting.

“Today we leave the city and head for home.   Our flight leaves at ten so we needn't dally.” Erik commented over the metallic ting of his fork against the plate.

Obliged to biological demands, Carrick made use of the opulent marbled bathroom.  Taking a moment to absorb the view outside the window of the suite on his way back into the main space.  The tall buildings and lush park grounds beneath them could only be one place.   This was New York City. The greenery beneath him was Central Park. Wow. 

It really was breathtaking.  A view that made him feel small and insignificant yet also privileged to look upon its wonder.  In his lifetime he never thought he would be in such a place, staring out over the magnificent buildings of one of the worlds most renowned cities from what was clearly a five star hotel.  This place had to cost well over a thousand dollars a night if not more.  The last time his mother took him on a vacation they'd stayed at a budget inn, thirty five dollars a night. 

Returning to the main room, he slowly approached the small table covered with food.  “Where are we going?”  Carrick asked, taking a seat across from the man who claimed to be his uncle. 

A brief thought concerning the safety of breakfast flashed through his mind, would it be possible that this man had drugged the meal or otherwise tampered with it?  In the end though the call of the food was too tempting. Carrick dug in quickly, shoveling eggs into his mouth without much thought to chewing.

“The shore of Iona.  Off the coast of what you call Scotland.”

“Never heard of it.”  More eggs.  Some orange juice.  More bacon.

Erik smirked, lifting the lid off of another serving tray that had concealed a short stack of pancakes.   “It is the last gate left in this plane, a union of the land, sea and sky on sacred ground.”

“There were others?”

“Before Atlantis fell, yes.”

Carrick swallowed wrong, causing himself to go into a coughing fit.   Feeling rather embarrassed he took a deep swig of orange juice.  “The Atlantis?”

“I do not mean a cruise ship if that is your question.”

With nothing to say to that, the boy simply nodded.  His focus set on the meal in front of him.   He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten so well.  His mother had done her best but in the last few years the grocery budget was tight, breakfast was typically limited to cereal and milk.  Except for Sundays, that last lazy morning before the week began she would make a pound of bacon, whip up some buttermilk pancakes and a cheddar cheese filled omelet.  Even compared to that perfect morning, the amount of food he had just consumed made it look like a famine rather than a weekend feast.

“Would you like me to order more?”  Erik asked quietly, stacking up some of the empty plates on the serving tray.

Yes.  “No, I’m full.”

Erik stood, smoothing out his white button down shirt.  In a fluid motion he sauntered over to the antique telephone on the nightstand.  A few button presses and a kind word later, it seemed he had ordered everything available off the a la carte menu. 

Carrick folded and refolded the napkin in his lap, he felt ashamed to be so hungry and yet grateful Erik had been so gracious about it.  Arcedes let out a soft trill from the radiator, with her head cocked to the side she appeared almost sympathetic.  Which was utterly absurd.

“How are we going to get through the airport?  Paper says I'm a wanted man.”  Carrick rubbed at his eyes, playing his tears off as the last throngs of sleep.

“Richard Smith is indeed a wanted man.  However, this world knows nothing of Carrick Slaine.”

“Okay, that’s also supposedly me, so not sure how that’s helpful.”  Carrick rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his plate.  Swirling the last bites of pancake around in the syrup making patterns on the ivory fine china.

There was a rustle of material, a new scent in the air.  The lad lifted his eyes, jaw dropping in shock.  Erik Slaine was no longer clean shaven in a suit, he appeared as he had outside the gas station; Hair unshaven for months, clothing stained, nose red and swollen from years of alcohol, his entire body emanating a horrible stench.

“What the?”  Arcedes ruffled her feathers, hopping from the radiator to the bed.

“Perception is everything.”  Erik spoke in a voice that quivered and rattled.

In an instant, a mere blink of the eye, he was as he had been.  Clean. Dignified. Smelling of cool water cologne rather than refuse.

“In order for us to get through this, you are going to have to learn one of the most basic abilities we have.  The ability to blend, to shift into the common.”

“I don’t know how that’s possible.”

“Only because you are narrow minded.”

“An illusion in the world of men is a very easy thing to maintain.  People here are so absorbed in their own circle of reality they do not pay attention to the details of those outside of their perceived importance.  A stranger in a crowd will get an initial glance, an evaluation for social and economic status, but never more.  There is no detailed analysis.  Their minds merely accept what is seen at face value.  The trick is, to select a form which would be acceptable for your surroundings.  The polar bear would look quite out of place on a southern beach, likewise you cannot dawn a suit coat and tie in a poor neighborhood.  Take me for example.”  Erik put his sport coat back on.  “We tarry within a luxury inn, therefore I am dressed for the occasion.  This ensemble will translate into travel as well.”

Carrick frowned, “So what you’re saying is I need a suit.”

“A suit coat and an increase of your visual age.”

“Great. Fantastic.”  Carrick clapped his hands together, the sarcasm thick in his voice. “So how do I do that then?  Wave a magic wand?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  The boy had to roll his eyes, yes out of all this, that was the part that was ridiculous.  “Focus your mind, envision yourself as you wish to be until you are.”

“That’s it?  Just think it so?”  Great if he wished to be a pony, would he gallop across the room?

“You’re judging, not trying.”

Carrick closed his eyes, his mind caring nothing for the request he had been given.  He thought of his mother, of his friends, of the world left behind.  He wanted to go home, he wanted to be in class bored to death during math, something normal.  He was terrified, in many ways that were quantifiable and a good many more that were not.

“You’re still not focusing Carrick.”  The exercise was interrupted by a knock at the door.  “Ah. Perhaps some more vitals in your belly will increase your focus.” 

He opened the door at an angle to obstruct Arcedes from view.

“Your room service sir.” 

Carrick could see the twenty something waiter over his uncle’s shoulder.  Dark haired with a tan complexion, thin nose jutting north from his face with a slight indication of superiority. The man at the door was a cliché in his white servant’s coat.

“Thank you, you can just leave the cart here.”  Erik politely blocked his entrance from the room.

“Yes sir.”  Complying with a nod, the prim delivery boy wheeled the cart aside Erik, then clicked the break on the wheel.  Then took a step back, one hand extended for a tip. Erik placed a five into his extended palm, the other was behind his back, slowly coming forward with-

“Gun!”  Carrick shouted, but the struggle had already begun.  The tray and all its delicious smelling items went flying, scattering on top of the expensive looking rug.  Erik had him by the arm, struggling for control of the firearm. 

A shot rang out-muffled by the silencer on the gun-striking the expensive ceiling above Erik and the waiters head.  Bits of plaster falling down onto the pair.

“Arcedes! Flee!”  Erik shouted. The brilliant creature wasted no time in complying, disappearing out the window into the morning sky.  Carrick found himself desperately wanting to intervene, yet his legs did not comply.  He stood motionless as a statue, watching the tussle. 

It was very clear that his uncle had prior training in hand to hand combat.  In a blur of motion he disarmed the intruder. The heavy handgun knocked from the aggressor’s hand, landing on a pile of rubble of its own making.

The assassin head-butted Erik, following up with a punch to his abdomen while he was momentarily stunned.  A series of follow up blows from the assailant forced him back behind the door towards the sitting area, the man striking at the druid’s chest and face. 

Erik growled, grabbing the man by the extended arm on a missed punch he flipped him over his shoulder onto the coffee table behind him. The glass shattered under the weight of the man, yet the obvious pain that a fall like that would cause did not slow him down.   He scrambled to his feet, wiping the blood from his face onto his white jacket.  Arms raised, his mouth twisted into a sneer, motioning for Erik to come at him.

It was then that the tall Druid smiled, stretching his back he retreated from his fighting position to stand at his full height.  Carrick felt a hum in the air, a sound that grew the moment Erik flipped his right palm forward. 

The potted plants on either side of the loveseat in the sitting area started to churn.  In a moment that was too surreal to comprehend, the branches stretched out towards the intruder snapping and cracking like a log in a fire.  Long leafy hands wrapped around his arms while he cursed and struggled.  Picking him up like a rag doll, they slammed his body into the wall above the sofa, breaking the glass out of the framed painting behind him.

The wood that held the assassin to the wall tightened around his neck and wrists, his skin blushing where circulation was limited.  Gasping for air, the man glared at Erik with wild eyes.  Erik ignored his stare while he searched through the bound man’s pockets.  He removed a cell phone and another small gun, the kind girls carried in movies from the sixties.  Carrick knew next to nothing about firearms, but he believed this was called a 22.  The gun was discarded to the ground with disdain, Erik’s attention focused on the cell phone. 

“Tell your master he is too late.”  Lip turned up into a disgusted sneer, the towering druid crushed the glass and metal in his hand.  The message delivered only a moment before his eyes rolled in his skull, his head slumping against the branches.

Erik’s shirt had ripped during the attack, his tanned chest decorated by a thick gold chain. A heavy medallion that flashed against the overhead light.  Three vertical lines converging at its apex, above them three tiny dots stood in a row.  A symbol he had seen before.

“It’ was your father's. I wanted you to have it. Figured you’re old enough now.”

“It’s beautiful, looks old too.”

“Oh it is, a few hundred years actually. So be careful with it.” 

The first page of that green bound book had borne that symbol.  That association removed the last shreds of Carrick’s doubt about who this man was. 

The druid’s head whipped around to his nephew his dark hair that had been perfectly placed a wild mess. “Time to go.”

Carrick managed to blurt out some sort of agreement, still standing motionless by the dining set.  Funny how it wasn’t the illusions, the giant bird or the vines, but a simple three lined mark that resonated in his soul.  He had an uncle.  An actual living breathing next of kin.

One that just turned heel and exited the room, not waiting for him.  A move that forced Carrick to either shake off the frozen statue routine or risk waiting for whatever came running to check out the commotion. 

Based on the gun toting hotel employee, he figured remaining in this room was more hazardous to his health than the unknown.  Worn sneakers crunching over the plaster and broken glass on the carpet, he ran after Erik.

The hall beyond the hotel room was equally as opulent.  High ceilings, damask wallpaper, crown molding and marble floors made the trek to the elevator seemingly stately yet macabre due to the red color scheme.

“Did you kill that man?”  Carrick asked while Erik pressed the elevator button.

His blue eyes narrowed.  “No, I did not.  He merely lost consciousness so we could make our exit in peace.”  Carrick found himself shifting on his feet, his uncle’s sad tone made it seem as though he wished he had.

A delightful chime announced the arrival of the elevator.  The gold inlaid doors opened, revealing a mirrored-thankfully empty-cage.  Stepping inside only amplified the fact that the pair did not belong in this opulent space.  Carrick with his ratty clothing, Erik in his bloodstained suit.