A Path of Oak and Ash (6 page)

6

When Carrick came to he was in incredible pain. The kind of allover body ache, sweats and nausea that typically accompanied influenza. The room spun, breathing hurt, lifting his eyelids felt like pushing a boulder up a mountain. He thought he was in a bed, there was something soft on his bare legs. Funny, he did not remember stripping off his clothing.

He groaned, trying to sit up but could not find the energy. The movement caused his stomach to protest, his head tipped off the side of the mattress, although it ended in nothing but dry heaves.

Towards his feet the surface of the mattress shifted, someone must have sat down.

“What’s wrong with me?”  Carrick managed to mumble to whomever was around.

“It’s all that junk you eat,”  his uncle's voice.  “Right now it is your system is purging it.  All the dyes, artificial preservatives, processed elements.”  Carrick managed a groan in response, rolling onto his back. Movement threatened to send him into another round of dry heaves.  Erik laughed, placing a cool damp cloth on his nephew’s forehead.  “It’ll pass in a day or two.”   The druid sat next to him in silence for a while, the trill of a bird echoed somewhere in the distance. It was a pretty, sing song voice. The kind he’d heard in early spring when they’d lived in the Midwest. For a moment he lost himself in the repeat sound of the call. Focusing on that light trill rather than his pain.

A weight lifted from the bed, heavy footfalls drifting away.  “When you’re up and about we will work on your induction.”

“My what?”  He rasped, the reverent way Erik spoke of it made it sound like a ritual of some kind.

“Be at ease, my
pedagogical abilities are above reproach.”

Carrick tried to ask another question, but found himself fighting back another round of dry heaves.

“Rest now. I will check in with you on the morrow.”

His body compiled, drawing him back down to the temptation of sleep.

“Why are you crying honey?”  Richard looked up to find his mother standing over him, blocking out the sun.  He couldn’t see her face but he imagined it, those wide dark eyes that were always so warm and kind. A smile on her face, always a smile when she looked on him.  Taking a deep breath to stifle his tears, Richard held up his tiny hands.  In his delicate grasp was the bird’s nest that had fallen out of the tree.

“When I threw my ball I hit the nest down.  I broke it and now they’re going to die their mama is gonna leave them” His little voice squeaked while he spoke, the weight of his action heavy on his little heart.

“Oh Richard honey, shhhh.  Don’t worry your little head about it.  Let me see.”  His mother stretched out her long slender hands, nails painted a light pink for the spring.  Carefully she took the birds nest from him, examining it closely.

“You know, mothers won’t really leave their babies.”

“But I touched them.”

“Doesn’t matter.  A mother will always guard her young, even if you touched them.” “Well Miss Bethany said”

“You pay no mind to what Miss Bethany said my little bear.  She means well but she doesn’t always know.”  His mother stood, stretching her long arms up she put the nest back in the tree, her long floral skirt catching in the light breeze.

“There, no harm done.  Mama bird will come home and life will carry on.  Life always carries on my little bear.”  Richard nodded as his mother scooped him up into her arms. “Come now, let’s go get you a snack.  I bet some Oreos and milk will make my little man smile.”  Calming in his mother’s arms Richard buried his face in her hair.  The soft waves a blanket for him, the scent of her perfume vanilla and coconut filling his nose.

She walked across the grass slowly, as not to jostle the lad in her grasp.  When the pair hit the steps, Richard heard a soft trill behind them. Turning his head slightly to the left, he looked out at the old Aspen tree in the yard. A cardinal hopped along the low branch by the nest, not a red one but a brown one. A mother bird.

“Mom!”  He called out, despite being so close to her.

“What sweetheart?”

“Look!”  His little arm shot out, pointing towards the tree.

“I told you. Mama Birds will always come back.”

When his eyes opened Carrick still had the scent of vanilla in his nose. His chest tightened from the realization it had only been a memory. He had half expected to wake up in robot pajamas, laying on the blue baseball covered sheets that had decorated his bed when he was five, a glass of water waiting for him on the nightstand and a catcher’s mitt illuminated night light in the far corner of the room. Just in case he had a bad dream.

Even though it was a good dream, it had been bad.  The realization that she would never hold him again, or comfort him made his eyes water.  His skin shivered from a cold sweat, his stomach remained in knots.  Laying there in the blackness he could not distinguish the pain of her death from the pain of the transition.  In the end, he realized it didn’t really matter, physical or mental the pain was there all the same.

Mom...

He shut his eyes tight. Carrick was indeed far from home, wherever his uncle had taken him, laying in the dark of the night.  The best he could do would be to surrender to sleep, praying that he would find himself yet again in a pleasant memory.  Free of pain, free of worry.

“You should not have brought him here!”  A raspy voice chastised, startling him.  Forcing his eyes to open Carrick scanned the space for the source, finding no one in the immediate room.  There was a flicker of candlelight flowing in from the room beyond the wooden door.

“I could not leave him to die by the hand of Lorcan’s minions.”  That was Erik's strained voice, the tone Carrick found himself using when trying to keep his temper in check.

“The boy is not one of us, he is tainted by the human world. A
half
breed.” Someone exhaled sharply, cursing. 

“He is part of us, to leave him would leave us without a piece of the whole.  He will be a druid.  He will follow the path.  Brannon-”

“Brannon is not here. Do I need to remind you I sit in the seat of the Awenydd?”

“A temporary burden placed upon your shoulders.”  Erik stressed the word temporary, rolling it over his tongue like he was describing a fine wine. "One I
allowed
you to bear."

"You insolent-"

"I am the second son of Osin, do not forget that."

“Very well.  I put this on your head Erik, if he falls...so shall you be cast, regardless of your lineage.”

“He will not fall.  By the blood in my veins, he will not fall.” 

A dry reedy chuckle echoed through the cracked doorway.  “Time will tell I suppose. He wouldn’t be the first of the Elder line to disappoint.”   With that a door beyond his own opened and shut.  Carrick wished to leap to his feet, to go demand of his uncle what dinosaur had the nerve to refer to him in such a way.  Only a wish, the weakness in his form left him bedridden, forced to return to sleeps deathlike embrace.

It was a good many hours later before Carrick began to feel a bit surer of his stomach.   Shortly after the pains had subsided he began to get restless.  Sitting up with a groan, he cracked his back and took inventory of the room his uncle had given him in the warm daylight.

It truly was beautiful in its simplicity. The floor was wood planked, the walls likewise.  Set into the deep toned natural grain appeared to be a large circular window, framed with deep bronze toned shutters that had been engraved in a circular pattern of vines. Across from the bed where he lay was a desk and chair carved from driftwood. 

Lifting the blanket he found he had not been imagining things the previous night. He was, in fact, naked as a newborn. Still the urge to explore overruled any sense of propriety.  Wrapping the blanket around his waist, Carrick pivoted his legs off the side of the bed.  Testing his legs, he found his balance off.  His muscles felt very weak, like he had just finished the mile test in gym class.  Slowly, Carrick stumbled across the flooring toward the window and lifted the latch, opening wide the shutters.

The view beyond was breathtaking.

It was a city built into the forest rather than over it.  Buildings stretched between trees, within trees, bridges and paths connecting them.  Walls made of leaves and carved stone, flowers planted in circular patterns decorating the window bays of the buildings, vines stretching out in all directions.  There were some human elements, sculptures placed around the cityscape, carved torches lining gray stone pathways on the forest floor below.  Wooden benches placed along the edge of the river that flowed to the east of his uncle’s place.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?”  A small red bird flitted by the window.

“Nothing like I’ve ever seen.”  Carrick leaned back in, turning to face his uncle.  Erik looked as he had remembered along the beach, his long sleeveless cloak almost brushing on the floor as he walked towards him.  “How high up are we?”

“What you call three stories or so.”  Erik stopped in the center of the space, leaning on a wooden carved cane that stabbed into the animal skin rug under his feet.  With his left hand he pointed towards the armoire in the corner of the room.  A brushed red chest inlaid with angled decorative lines.  “There are clothes that should fit you in there.  I’ll give you a moment to freshen up while mid meal finishes.”

“What happened to my old clothes?”

“I removed those filthy rags from you before the sweats started and burned them.” 

“You didn’t have to burn them.” His mother had bought him that outfit before his freshman year of high school.

“I did, do you know what disgusting chemicals were lurking in that fabric?  Humans use everything; Formaldehyde, caustic soda, sulfuric acid, urea resins, sulfonamides, halogens, and bromines.  All without a care as to how it impacts the body.  Neurological disorders, sudden infant death syndrome cases from antimony, skin conditions, all manner of self-inflicted aliments.”

“Oh.”  Gross.

“Come.  Get dressed.  We will talk over our meal.”  With that Erik left him alone, closing the door behind him.  Taking a deep breath, Carrick slowly walked over to the armoire feeling slightly awkward that he was strolling about this surreal place in the nude, clutching a blanket.  On top of that his stride was off, each foot fall feeling lighter than usual. His senses sharper, as though life had just switched from standard definition to HD.

Pulling the iron handle on the cabinet, the contents honestly did not surprise him.  Linens that looked hand-woven, furs and cloaks lined in intricate stitching. Everything smelled of pine and cedar, probably from the cabinet itself rather than the soaps used to wash the garments. 

After some debate he chose an off white linen tunic, lightweight and long sleeved. He wasn’t about to put on one of those floor length robe things, they just seemed too Halloween costume for his taste.  Rummaging through the folded clothes he found a long tailored jacket with a mandarin type collar.  It was a forest green shade that hit at the hip.  The edging in gold piping, while the sides of the coat were embroidered with runes that looked like long vine tendrils.  In the drawer below was an ample array of socks, but no underwear. Great, looked like he was going to have to go commando.  Sifting in the bottom drawer there was a pair of dark gray slacks and brown ones.  He went with the gray.  A pair of boots had been placed for him on the ground next to the wardrobe.  They were a perfect fit, meaning someone had been eyeballing his feet or bothered to learn his size.  It certainly couldn’t have been ascertained off his old sneakers, since they were too worn to even make out the original brand name.  Carrick couldn’t bring himself to button the jacket all the way, it felt too tight on his throat, and instead he buttoned it up to just under his collar bone and left it at that.

There was a mirror by the door, an object that seemed so out of place compared to all the other earthen elements.  It was an antique mirror in a tarnished silver frame.  In its view he saw his reflection, in the clothing provided by his uncle he looked like an ambassador for the forest.  A great speaker for the leaves or some kind of elf from a roleplaying game.  His first reaction was to feel embarrassed, yet he did not.  If he was going to have to walk about in magical forest land he may as well look the part, least these clothes were in good repair.  With a nod at his reflection, he left the confines of the room he’d been given.  Eager to see what awaited.

He was not disappointed. 

The room beyond could only be described as a great room. Not because of a huge television or fancy couches, but because it was simply a great room.  The ceiling was easily thirty foot high yet there was no feeling of vertigo looking up. The space to the roof was not a vacant expanse.  Tree branches jutted out from walls, crossing the room and sprouting out before exiting on the far side.   The wooden walls themselves had been painted, every inch a flowing scene in fall colors.  Painted deer danced in the sky, swirls of birds flocked above them, dark charcoal runes lined the floor like rock under the grass flicked with flowers etched atop them.  The width of the space was probably twenty five to thirty feet, towards the back of the room a thick winding trunk had been etched into a set of stairs that spiraled up a floor and apparently down one as well.