A Path of Oak and Ash (10 page)

“Bah!”  Tadhg declared, waving a gloved hand in the air. “There will be plenty o’ time for wills and what’s and how’s.  Now...now is a time to eat till our belts pop from our waists!”

The four of them spent the next few hours conversing over mead and generous portions of food.  Having taken over one of the tables by the spread, Aodhan proceeded to give Carrick a rundown of who’s in the community. From Aodhan's lengthy and somewhat intimate details of the female citizens Carrick began to assume he was somewhat of a ladies man.  A fact later confirmed by the number of women who stopped by to kiss his cheek or refill his cup.  After a time Tadhg seemed more interested in the food rather than conversation, eating four overflowing platefuls since they'd sat down and making good headway on the fifth while Conall sat quietly.  Watching.  The blond seemed to be the most reserved of the trio by far.  His angelic face made Carrick slightly nervous, a quiet man’s purpose was always hard to determine.  At the same time he did not seem threatening, just introverted.  All in all, Carrick found that he missed this sort of male company. Sure, spending time with his uncle was enjoyable, but he was hardly the youthful conversationalist.

“So I take it those two are the returning sages?”    Carrick asked, pointing at two taller men who had drawn a crowd.  Standing by the elders, the pair wore matching ear to ear grins on their perfectly sculpted faces.  The two almost looked related, both had a similar shade of black-brown hair that had been identically braided down their backs.  Their tanned skin and square jaws were only differentiated by the short beard worn by the man on the left.  Both were dressed in tailored tan shirts with what Carrick knew to be a mandarin collar.  The shaved one appeared to be in the middle of some sort of animated story.  Gesturing wildly with his hands he spoke to the gathering crowd, his expression changes drawing gasps from the children and giggles from the women.

Suddenly a roll of laughter came from the group, it appeared the buildup had a punch line. In the midst of the laughter, one of the elder druids clapped the man who had been speaking on the back.  Obvious congratulations for a job well done.

Aodhan snorted.  “Aye, look pretty smug now don’t they?  Not like they need be braggin’ for work like that.”

“A spot o’documentary and a bit of legislature.  Here you’d think they conquered ah blight nest with all that chest puffin.”  Tadhg agreed.

“Well either way we should congratulate them don’t you think?”  Carrick offered, wanting to make a good impression in his new home.  With an eye roll from his peers he led the group over to the celebratory crowd.

“Welcome back.”  Carrick offered with a smile, he stuck his hand out fully prepared for the man to give him a hearty shake.

He was denied.

“Welcome yourself.”  The bearded one drawled, eyeing Carrick from head to foot. He took note that the druid’s eyes were a very pale brown, almost yellow. “So this is the great son from the human world.”

“Ah..yeah..I suppose.”  Carrick shuffled in his boots under that inspecting stare, the word human was thrown out like one would refer to excrement.  This marked the first moment he had felt unwelcomed since arriving in Dre’ien.

“I imagine our world is quite
boring
to you.  After all there’s no wifi out here, we can’t even get satellite television.”  A fake pained expression contorted the bearded man’s face.

“I’m getting along just fine thank you. There is plenty to learn.”  Carrick tried to respond kindly, his cheeks flushing.

The clean shaven one chuckled, turning to his partner.  “Learn he says, like his primitive brain could possibly understand our ways. Quite amusing is it not Hagan?”

“Indeed Parth.”  The other one, Hagan, eyed him like a museum exhibit.

“Must be a pet project of Erik’s, to take a welp born of a human bitch and turn it into a-”

“Don’t you talk about my mother asshole.”  Carrick hissed, his temper getting the best of him. Arching his back to his full height he stood eye to eye with the mouthy druid, his hands curled into a fist at his side.

A collective hiss went through the crowd, in his peripheral vision Carrick caught sight of everyone taking a literal step back from where he stood eye to eye with this mouthy arrogant prick.  Carrick did not get the heat of anger met in his stare, rather Parth seemed tired, even bored with it all.  Either he did not view Carrick as a threat, or he did not view him as worth his energy. 

“Do you see?”  Parth whispered to him, leaning into his ear.  “Your actions validate my words.  Like the primitive ape you rush forward, to smash that which is new and frightening.  Completely unaware that you are unmatched in both intellect and skill. So...pathetically...human.”

With that Parth stepped back, laughing out loud he clapped Carrick on the bicep as though the pair had just shared a private reconciliation.

“Come friends!  Let us drink until we float upon our feet!”  The
Níomair announced, the crowd happily following him towards the kegs.
It wasn’t long till Carrick was alone, well mostly alone.  His new friends were close behind him.

“Don’t take it personally.  What’s new is different and frighten to ‘em.”  Aodhan clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a brotherly shake.

“No it’s fine.  I don’t care about a warm welcome.”

"Parth has always been a self-absorbed prick."  Conall spoke quietly, spitting on the grass to his left.

"Aye."  Tadhg nodded in agreement before taking another bite of the animal leg in his right hand.

"Thanks guys.  It’s fine, really."  He didn't know how to say drop it in a kind way they'd understand.

Obviously Aodhan didn't want to anyway.  He eyed Carrick closely, his deep brown intelligent gaze darting back and forth between his own blue iris'.  “Well something is eating at you, we can sense it.  Speak. Let us help you.”

After a series of deep breaths to calm his temper, Carrick sighed.  The
Níomair was right, he had acted like a total immature fool.  He not only fell for the bait he jumped at it.

"When he mentioned my mother I just lost it.  I’m sorry.”  Carrick mumbled, taking a drink of the thick ale Aodhan handed him.  The more he drank the lighter on his feet he felt.

“For what?”  Aodhan asked.

“Rarely will you find a druid that doesn’t leap when someone speaks ill of their mum.”

Conall agreed with a nod. “You must miss her terribly being here.”

“I do.”

“Think,” Conall paused to flick a lock of blond hair out of his eyes, "you shall visit someday?”

“I don’t think I can.”  An image ran through his mind of his mother watering her flowers, humming along to an old Beatles tune.

“Why not?”  The angelic looking druid pressed.

“Well...see I don’t know if she’s alive.”

That stopped them all in their tracks. After a lot of prodding, Carrick gave them an abridged version on how his uncle had found him and those strange men who had kidnapped him.  Conall’s square jaw clenched at the story, especially at the men in black.  Aodhan interrupted him a few times to ask obscure details he didn’t remember, like how certain things smelled.  When he was done with his tale, Carrick worried he had made a terrible mistake.  The three druids of the Fang grew quiet, their jovial nature replaced with solemn purpose.

“It appears we can help you Carrick.”  Conall spoke up.

“Yeah?”  He let out a sad laugh.  “How’s that?”

“We can check and see if your mother is in otherworld.”

10

“Rewind the tape again.”  Joseph Johnson requested, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.  In a way it was a false, unnecessary request. The video feed was digital, tape hadn’t been utilized in nearly two decades.  Further he had obtained everything he needed to know from the first take, however his long prestigious career was crafted on the details.

The acne prone technician obliged him, screens in the AV room rolling from the previous night at approximately twenty one hundred from the external building feed, hallway feed and apartment feed.  Standard procedure on a collect mission.  With time it became likely a target would either return to the scene or a loved one will go looking for them.  Either their physical person or some sentimental trinket left behind.  A tactic that paid off very well during several South American coups in the eighties and early nineties.  What some of his companions referred to as the good old days, when their jobs were clean quick and well compensated.  Now they were still well paid, the firm had never had higher profits, but the missions and the targets were in an entirely different league.  Field agent mortality rates were high, targets fought back in unpredictable ways.  Inhuman ways.  In his younger years it was a challenge he would have relished, but he was pushing sixty, fighting emphysema, arthritis and a high variable rate on the mortgage for his second home.  At this point he wanted simplistic assignments scattered between golf, fishing, barbecue and beer.

Exhaling slowly, Joseph watched the pair of scrawny teenagers skirt the police tape on the front of the building.  Moments later the blond female identified as one-Elizabeth Waters who had dodged media attention since the cover story hit-and a sandy haired male-identified as Matthew Dickinson who had done just the opposite-appeared on the hallway feed directly in front of Maureen and Richard Smith’s apartment.  A brief conversation took place between the cheerleader who had dreamed of being a journalist until recently-Joseph had read both their files extensively-and the jack of all athletic trades who had just brought her here in half assed an attempt to get laid.  With little hesitation, the pair moved into the third monitor view from the camera posted inside the decimated apartment.

Watching their facial expressions in the wake of the altercation Mr. Johnson designated the girl as the most competent of the pair.  The boy lost his wits quickly in the dark, his mouth moving quickly in a probable plea for retreat, his light source shaking while the girl explored the decimated living room.

“Freeze frame.”  The tech obliged.  The girl was crouched down by a broken piece of the wall, hand reaching beyond the light source.

Another deep drag of his cigarette, the nicotine cutting through the pain in his lungs.  “Can you clean that up?”

“Switching to night vision feed.”  A few clicks on the keyboard and the image before him shifted.  The parts once illuminated became white sections while the blackened portions of the feed became crystal clear.

In the girl’s hand was a green book.  The same one that had been recovered from the boy’s apartment which bore the symbol associated with the target.  The cleanup team had reported it destroyed in the blast, looks like the lazy bastards hadn’t checked every nook and cranny.

With a smirk, Mr. Johnson pulled out his disposable cell phone and quick dialed the number stored to 3. 

“Anderson.  I think it’s time we have a conversation with Miss Waters.”

11

Directly south of Dre’ien, about a two hour walk, was a shoreline.  It was a typical beach like any other perfect vacation picture one would find as a stock photo.  White sand that stretched as far as the eye could see, in the moonlight it was hard to gauge the clarity and brilliance of the water, currently the waves were as black as the night’s sky, flickering every so often a brilliant sparkle reflected from the moon and stars above.  A gentle roll of the tide lapped against the sands giving a natural background song to the scene.

North along the beach, just around a thick curve in the land, was an odd building.  It was a towering stone domed structure that sat at the water’s edge, but where the water met the sand the building stopped as though someone had sliced it in half.  Due to the positioning and size it was impossible to see into the semicircle that opened into the water.  A small wooden doorway sat at the back end of the building.

“It is still a few hours till sunrise.”  Conall sighed, his boots creating a perfect repetitive pattern in the sand.

“What do we need sunrise for?”  Carrick asked.

“At the beach here, the veil between our world and otherworld is very thin.  In the transition of the day, the rise or set of the sun, we can sometimes break through.”

“Aye be mindful of the rules though laddy.  Ya gotta stay on this side, dun reach or touch anythin’ passed the water’s edge.”  Tadhg spoke in the most serious tone Carrick had heard from any of them.

“Why not?”  Carrick’s gaze was locked on the building that was now less than twelve feet away.  Stone engraved from top to bottom with repeating runes, only some of which Carrick recognized in the dark.  Death, Birth and Dawn seemed to be recurring themes.

“Unrested spirits would love nothing more than a body to occupy.”

“Do people come here much?” He wondered out loud.

“At the transition of the seasons, at the loss of a loved one.  Not frequently.”  Aodhan replied with a shrug, his long cloak swaying in the sand as he approached the wooden doorway into the building. “Most souls do not stay in otherworld, rather through Awen they are reabsorbed, reincarnated.  Energy renewed through new life.  I figure, if your mum was murdered, she’d be pretty beset with worry ‘bout you.  Gives her good enough reason to linger in between.”

“Makes sense.”  Carrick nodded, his eyes locked on the engraving of a raven on the wooden door.

“It is not healthy to dwell on those that have passed on.”  Conall chimed in.  “We should wait out here, it’s less maddening.”

“Aye.”  Tadhg said, plopping down on the darkened beach, his auburn cloak appeared black in the moonlight cast over the night shaded sand.

With a couple pieces of collected driftwood, Aodhan crafted a small fire between them. Ignited without the rubbing of sticks or a match but a wave of the hand. Carrick was pleasantly surprised by that one, he hadn’t learned anything like that yet.  An unnatural fire, the flame burned almost pure white and the wood did not seem to decay in its wake.  Although it was not a particularly cold evening, the light of the pale flame seemed to help ease the passage of time.

With one exception,  Carrick was on edge. Sitting in the sand he fidgeted with everything he could; his shirt, his fingernails, his hair, his boots.  He was agitated his uncle did not bring him to this place as soon as he had arrived in Dre’ien.  On the other hand, he wondered if his uncle had already been here.  If there was something he had seen and didn’t want Carrick to know. It was a thought that made him feel shaken. His whole life had been lived under a lie, now if his uncle had hidden this from him as well, it set him back to square one on the acceptance path of his new life.

There was no worse feeling in the world than that of being manipulated and deceived by the ones you loved.  It was bad enough he found himself feeling that way about his mother for hiding who he was, now if his uncle...

Laughter broke his brooding.  “So then the bloody wolf got a right piece of me leg while I was tendin’ the pup!”  Tadhg was in the middle of a story that had Aodhan grinning ear to ear and leaning forward.  Conall’s blue eyes were locked on the red headed warrior, his expression was as unreadable as ever.  In his hands he appeared to be carving something out of a piece of wood with one of his daggers.

“Your turn Carrick.”  Aodhan pointed at him, making him wish he had actually been paying more attention.

“My turn for?”

“Tell us a tale of your world so we dunnah die of boredom.” Tadhg grinned in anticipation.

"A good one!"  Aodhan added.

“Alright...what kind of tale?”

“Dun matter.”

“Hmm...”  He thought for a bit, “I don’t know what to talk about.  I’m a pretty boring guy.” There wasn’t much of his life worth putting to words; he went to class, he came home, he did his homework, he played baseball and video games.  End of.

“Surely your world has legends worthy of recanting?  Are there not stories passed down from generation to generation in your world?”

At that a wicked smile spread across his face.  There was one tale of sorts he particularly enjoyed, one he thought might peak their interest as well.  “I suppose there is one.” Rising to his feet, arms spread for dramatic effect he began his tale.  “A long time ago...”

By the time the rebels had freed the forest moon, the morning light had started to kiss the horizon, the black sky morphing into a deep blue against the waves.

“I still canna believe that was his sister.”  Tadhg made a face.

While the others bantered, the green cloaked druid approached the doorway like it was a lion ready to pounce. Aodhan paused with his hand on the iron handle to the building.  Looking over his shoulder he pegged Carrick with a grave stare.  “I should mention, we are not supposed to be here.  This is a place for elders, not the likes of us.”

With a nod, the youngest druid agreed to keep their secret.  Personally he didn’t care if the Pope was the only one allowed inside this building.  If his mother waited on the other side nothing would stop him from going through that doorway.

“Get on already.”  Tadhg called out impatiently from the left.  “Less you be scared Aodhan?”

“Nothing scares me my brother.”  With that the iron latch turned, opening into the darkness of the room beyond.  As one they entered, footsteps echoing unnaturally within the building.

The second Carrick’s feet crossed into that doorway his body was overwhelmed by the shift in energy.  The air felt thinner, the rising sun brighter, his limbs felt numb, his deep worry seemed to fade to the point where he wasn’t sure what had been bothering him so earlier in the evening.

What immediately drew his attention was not what lay beyond the shore, but what was behind him.

Inside the dome the stone walls had been painted vibrant blend of deep blues to bright yellows from base to the ceiling.  Over the brilliant colors names and dates had been engraved in repeating rows that stretched halfway across the structure.  Carrick could only assume it to be a complete listing of those who lived and died in Dre’ien. From the apex of the roof, a chandelier with more crystals than he could count hung.  It had to have been quite a sight when the sun hit the shards tossing light across the walls.

A gasp brought his vision back around to the water’s edge.  At first Carrick did not see anything.  Just the blue waves kissed in reds and purples from the rising sun.  Then the whole view shimmered, like looking through a piece of bubbled glass.  Before them was no longer the ocean in its majesty, but a distorted version of it.  The waves still showed but at a thin gradient; most of the view replaced with a white plane that stretched indefinitely over the horizon.  Across the vacant space were glimmers of light and dark, softball sized glimmering auras that whispered back and forth like fireflies.  The sounds of the sea replaced with deafening silence.

Aodhan approached slowly.  “Ego su
m
vultus pro anima...”  His voice echoed and shifted in the space.  Reverberating in a hundred different tones and languages.  “Táim ag lorg le haghaidh Soul...Ik ben op zoek naar een ziel...Je cherche une âme...”

At once the flickering lights stopped dancing in the void.  Still as a star, they pulsed in place while Aodhan’s words faded slowly from the room.

“Speak your mother’s name Carrick.”  The dark haired druid whispered over his shoulder.

“Maureen Adalene Smith.”

The glowing auras both retreated and approached while his words echoed in the beyond, bouncing back and forth across the expanse like light refracted off a mirror.  The one’s drawing near took humanoid form, limbs stretching out from their spherical centers until they resembled various silhouettes of who they had been in life.  The closer they came the more details about them phased in and out, like a bad television signal.  Hair, clothing, facial features blurring from behind the bubbled plane.  Left of his position approached a figure that cut his breath short.

Feminine curves with long waves of hair, a flowing sundress and freckled cheeks.

Mom.  Oh no Mom....

On sheer impulse Carrick cried out, stumbling forward towards the approaching spirit. Searching the blurred face for the soft brown stare his mother had always cast upon him in his childhood.

“Don’t look it in the eyes!  Carrick!”

Despite the warnings shouted in his direction, he could not heed them.  His ears filled with a soft melody, a lullaby that drowned out all other sound while pale white eyes of the woman beyond the shore consumed his every thought.  On unsteady legs his body lurched forward, yearning to touch those long dark locks that framed her face.

It seemed so peaceful there, in otherworld.  No pain.  No suffering.  Just quiet serenity.  Everything he wanted.  Everything he needed. 

Two more steps forward.

Carrick was inches from the shoreline, his attention so transfixed on the eyes of the woman beyond that he failed to notice her skin began to decay.  The dark hair he had been so eager to touch turned gray and brittle.  Healthy cheeks hollowed, muscle beneath the skin eroded.  Mottled pocked flesh contorted in a sinister grin, eyelids pulled back from the milky orbs they protected as a skeletal hand reached forward to-

At once Carrick was on the ground, face down in the sand with something very large and heavy on his chest.  There was shouting in his ears accompanied with the high pitched wail of the damned beyond the veil.

Carrick blinked.  The morning light was blinding.  It took several minutes before his eyesight revealed more than colored blobs.  He was laying on the beach near their campfire with a pounding headache and no recollection of the last few moments.  Still one thing was certain. 

“That wasn’t my mother.”  He coughed, struggling to sit up.

Breathing heavily, Aodhan spoke in short bursts.  His accent thicker than usual.  “There are spirits that want so desperately to come back they will manipulate to get here.  Those that feel their duty in life was unfulfilled or questions gone unanswered.  It appears that soul took a similar form to your mother to entice you into her trance.”

“You didn’t say anything about that before we went in there.”

“Well excuse us for forgetting that you haven’t the bloody basics of the world!”  Aodhan scrubbed at his face in frustration.  “It was a natural assumption that you damn well knew not look directly into a spirit's eyes.”

“Jus’ like you dun ever touch a muscaliet.”  Chimed in the redhead, he had taken off his right boot, shaking sand out.  “Tsk look at the time, I’m in for a right chewin if I don’t get on back.”

“Yeah, we should.”  Conall agreed.

As they walked along the path towards Dre’ien, Carrick leaned into Aodhan. “What the hell is a muscaliet?” 

“Fiery little devils with the body of a rabbit, tail of a squirrel and nasty teeth like a boar. Their body temperature is so high the little buggers will burn your hand clean off.”

“Typically kill trees where they nest.”  Conall chimed casually from behind them.

“Yeah. Okay. Good to know.”  Carrick grumbled, his eyes now tracing the tall forest for signs of a freak squirrel monster that was on fire.

Falling in stride beside him the small blond warrior shot him a sympathetic glance.  “They don’t live around Dre’ien Carrick. No need to fret.”

Carrick opened his mouth to respond, but Tadhg interrupted him, dashing past the group at full speed shouting something about being really late to prep a meal.  His red cloak flapping behind him as he disappeared around the bend towards the southern part of town.

“Ha!  He’s in for it this time.”  Aodhan gave him a little back tale on their fire haired friend on the rest of the walk back to Dre’ien.  Apparently Tadhg Ros was the oldest of living male member of the Ros clan.  A weary position that left him at the beck and call of his great grandmother, grandmother, mother and four sisters.  If something needed to be chopped, carried, or culled it landed on his shoulders.  His father had died in some sort of altercation none of them seemed to want to discuss some many years ago.  Carrick could only assume it was some sort of brush with the human world, nothing so far on this side seemed terribly deadly. Well, aside from the whispers of fire coated rabbit squirrels.  Aodhan prattled on about how mama Ros’ cookery was the best in all of Dre’ien, it was a passion she had devoted herself too fully after her husband’s death.  That was something he understood.  For his mother it had always been her plants.  To think he had hated the things, never wanted to help with them.  He’d complained, whined and-