Feynard (11 page)

“Ah yes, now that you’ve finished interrupting me.”

“These things require
explanation
.”

Kevin
was frankly astonished that two apparent friends could argue so violently, make peace, and tease each other with such abandon. Father would long ago have resorted to using his fists. At every level, this dream of his–a dream, he insisted–continued to shake his world until he hardly knew which way was up.

“You two know each other well?”

“Too well, sometimes,” said the Dryad, sharing a wry glance with the Unicorn. “Zephyr and I are unusual amongst our kinds, both in partnership and in friendship. After some debate, we came to believe that it was not a star, for it moved and behaved as if it were searching for something. The trees speak of this object crashing somewhere deep within the Old Forest, in the land of the Pixies–where few creatures venture, for Pixies are a cruel and fickle people, and fond of making sport of the unwary.”

“Sport, meaning peeling hides and pickling eyes, for example,” Zephyr interjected.

Kevin rather wished that detail had not been volunteered.

“
As the seasons turned, the sighting was forgotten,” said Alliathiune. “Shortly thereafter, troubling rumours began to circulate amongst the Hills. They were vague at first, tales of evil wizardry; tales of metal beasts roaming the Old Forest, soon followed by mutterings of Trolls and Glothums, Goblins, and the races that dwell in dark places far beneath the leafy Forest floor. We Dryads began to detect a change in the trees. There was a taint, a hint of sickness, and a sense of agitation amongst the enigmatic forest-dwellers, whose lairs lie deep within the Old Forest, in byways and thickets ne’er trod by the likes of you or I. And that was when the first signs of the Blight began to be felt–still undetectable save by the Dryads, who softly sought counsel of the elder races and those the Forest counts as friends.”

Zephyr
added, “That was when Alliathiune and I first made our acquaintance. The Unicorns had selected me to assist the Dryads in their investigations. But in four Leaven seasons, despite much discussion, investigation, and consultation between the races, our search has been fruitless.”

“Not entirely,” said Alliathiune, smiling
again at Kevin. In his view, it was like the smile a wolf essays before sinking its fangs into its prey. “We’ve a tangible result chained up in your house, good Zephyr.”

“Orders,” he muttered, hanging his head.

Kevin digested this information, looking from the handsome Unicorn to the volatile Dryad with an air of helpless supplication. Why were they telling him all this when he was unable to help them? Why not simply send him back? Surely this alleged transfer of theirs would work both ways? He marvelled at the passion that so clearly motivated and underpinned the Dryad’s love for the Forest. What a strange little creature she was!

He said in a low voice, “I’m not awfully fussed by the chains. Would one of you kindly explain why I am so important to you?”

Zephyr deferred to the Dryad.

“What I am about to tell you,” Alliathiune said at once, lowering her voice, “is a measure of the dependence we have on you, good outlander. You should treat i
t in the strictest confidence.” At his nod and gulp, she continued, “I am what the Dryads call a Seer–one who is able, upon occasion, to pierce the swirling mists of the future and catch a glimpse of what might be, and one who is able to give guidance as to what a person might become. It is a powerful and capricious magic, capable of influencing the fabric of reality and bending it to one’s will. That is what I was doing when I dreamed of you.”

Kevin
’s eyes widened. “Then the summoning …”

“I believe I may have summoned you from another world.”

“Earth. We call it Earth.”

“Then I bid you welcome to Feynard, good outlander.”

His hands shook. Kevin had to press them against the bedcovers. His suspicions had been dead right! Was it possible? Truly possible, that he should somehow have travelled from Earth to another world, via that strange red sack? By his understanding of the most recent studies of string theory and relativity available to him, such a passage was notionally possible, but the mechanism or method through other dimensions was entirely unknown. What were the chances? Could Alliathiune have found him over God knows how many millions of light-years, and drawn him against his will to another planet? Had she mental or other powers to influence the space-time continuum, at will? If so, the Dryad was an unknown, terrifyingly alien force; extremely dangerous, and best kept at arm’s length.

If so, reality was also far stranger than anything he had previously assumed!

And he might be a million billion miles away from Father.

This possibility was more frightening than comforting.
Kevin had never seriously contemplated escape from Father’s authoritarian regime–he was not physically able. The doctors and nurses brought in to treat him were all screened and paid substantial amounts of money to keep quiet the bruises and lacerations they found on his body. They were changed regularly. As far as he knew, none of his medical records were kept outside of Pitterdown Manor. And none of the servants would dare to cross Father. Twenty years, it had been so. Eventually, the immutability of his physical, mental, and spiritual entrapment shackled him more effectively than any locked door or barred window, until he came to live in a prison of his own making.

Alliathiune must have seen something of that vulnerability in his eyes, for her hard expression faded.
“This is no accident,” she said, gently. “When I dreamed of you, good Kevin, it was always as a great warrior, armed and equipped for the battle. Your greatness and capacity shone before you as the noontime suns in all their collective brilliance, in the time of
Thäunïon-Farätha
. Whenever we inquired of the Blight in the Pool of
Stää
, it was always you of whom I dreamed. But you resisted the contact. You fled from us. If you are like most dreamers, you will not remember all of those times. I could not break through to you.” Her voice lowered; her hazel eyes half-shuttered by curling green eyelashes. “I began to think that you despised the Forest, that you were a cruel-hearted or selfish warrior, with no care for the livelihood or needs of another. I was unable to complete the summoning. By degrees a black despair made its home in my heart. Lighttime by lighttime the Blight advanced. Zephyr and I became desperate. We fought and parted ways for a time.”

“I spoke to Mylliandawn,” the Unicorn added, “but her only word was to swallow my pride and fight on.”

“Zephyr withdrew for a moon–”

“That is, fifteen lighttimes.”

“Indeed, fifteen lighttimes,” agreed the Dryad, brushing her tangled locks away from her face with an irritated gesture. “I keep forgetting your origins. The good Unicorn withdrew to meditate in the Gardens of Sudibar Treefriend, seeking answers to our dilemma. He returned with a plan. He would enter the dreams with me and compel you to submit to our summons, through the use of his unique Unicorn magic. Twice we attempted it, and twice were we thwarted by an unbreakable shield that surrounded you, no more substantial than air and pliable as a willow branch, but resistant even to our combined efforts.”

Kevin
rubbed the paltry thatching on his chin. “Say that again? Am I to understand I kept you at bay through some magic of my own making?”

Alliathiune
bobbed her head. “Even his infallible highness the gloriously noble Unicorn wizard was stumped,” she said, glancing over to see if he would take the bait. Zephyr stuck his muzzle in the air and loftily ignored her. “This last time, moments after we retired to reconsider our thinking, a message arrived from the Lurks that an outlander had unexpectedly appeared in their midst. He travelled to Mistral Bog to find you, and the rest you know.”

“I personally carried you all the way from Mistral Bog to Thaharria-brin-Tomal, home of the one-horns,” Zephyr boasted.

“No doubt a compelling tale, good Unicorn,” the Dryad said dryly.

“Ha. You are as transparent as the Pool of Stää. Why do I waste my time parrying your verbal pinpricks, you green-skinned excuse for a vegetable?”

“Because, my quarrelsome quadruped, you are so stuffed full of yourself it pours out of your nose and ears!”

Zephyr flicked his tail in Alliathiune’s face. “That’s what I think of your opinions!”

She slapped his flank sharply. “Rude bovine!”

Kevin
’s eyes grew as round as saucers, taking in this apparently good-natured confrontation between the diminutive Dryad–gracious, she was just a slip of a thing but ever so sure of herself–and the muscular Unicorn. Were all of Feynard’s creatures so rancorous? So swift to anger, but equally quick to forgive?

“Good
Kevin,” said Zephyr, shuffling about so that Alliathiune had to dodge swiftly in order to avoid being knocked over, “perhaps you would share with us the tale of your origins–how it is that you came to Driadorn? The good Dryad and I are most curious.”

“Indeed,” said Alliathiune,
with a smile so sweet Kevin wondered if she was the same person who had just been arguing with the Unicorn a moment earlier.

He swallowed, feeling constrained and intimidated by their combined gaze–which her friendliness did nothing to lighten–and then in quiet, robotic tones, described his experiences leading to the present time. Of Father and Brian he
spoke briefly, of Pitterdown Manor, he gave the bare bones. But his companions listened eagerly to every word–and it struck him again how deeply they cared for the Forest. They would sacrifice anything to defeat the Blight. It also struck him that they plainly knew nothing about Earth.

As he spoke, his eyes kept moving to All
iathiune and jumping away. She was so different, not solely on a male to female level, although this thought did preoccupy a sizeable proportion of his attention when his gaze happened to linger upon her shapely torso during his speech. She was certainly alluring. Was her hair really green? Were those patterns natural, not the result of some clever tattooing? She clearly believed in magic. Both she and the Unicorn claimed magical powers. Superstitious twaddle for primitive people, he flared in sudden anger, but then again, neither creature struck him as unsophisticated in the slightest. His considerations eventually wound to their conclusion, with him absently reflecting on the inner workings of Pitterdown Manor while his eyes travelled down her trim legs to her green-stained feet. He remembered how …

“Stop
ogling me like that,” the Dryad said abruptly.

Kevin
flushed.

“Look, outlander, I know I’m overweight for a Dryad!” She tugged ineffectually at her dress and adjusted her top self-consciously. “You don’t have to stare at me like I’m the only fat girl you’ve ever seen.”

His jaw sagged. “I beg your pardon?”

“Just stop staring at me! I hate it!”

The brilliant green eyes snapped shut in a flash. And so their conversation ended–by Kevin’s choice, for not a word or response would he offer to Zephyr’s further tentative promptings. Alliathiune maintained a mutinous silence. Shortly thereafter, the outlander found himself alone in the chamber.

Miserable, and alone.

T
he following day, Braybock
ben Darna rousted Kevin out of bed and helped him to another chamber, where a chain and a Unicorn tutor awaited him. The Unicorn’s brusque introduction consisted of the words ‘you may call me Teacher’ and a sneer meant to impress upon his listener that teaching Humans was beneath his dignity and only done upon the greatest sufferance. He then launched into a long and spectacularly dull lecture covering the history of ancient Driadorn in minute detail. Kevin’s single, faltering attempt at questioning was treated with a stertorous harrumph of discontent–evidently this was to be a one way exchange. So he settled himself on the carved wooden chair with his splinted leg stuck straight out before him and simply listened for as long as the Unicorn had wind to speak, which, to judge from his manner, would be no trivial period of time. His day was broken twice from the monotony of the Unicorn’s textbook-perfect recall–once for a midmorning repast of fruit, unfamiliar vegetables and a nutty round bread called waycrust, still warm from the oven and so tasty he packed away six slices, and the second time for an early evening dinner of similar wholesome fare. Cheerfully, he told himself he could have eaten an elephant.

T
he window of Kevin’s new chamber overlooked a small garden to a path beyond, which occasionally allowed him a glimpse of daily life in Thaharria-brin-Tomal. He saw a number of Unicorns, several Honeybears, and other creatures of the bear or deer families that he could not name directly. They all
talked
, for goodness sake–well, not the abundant rabbits–but all the other animals were capable of speech. It lent the scene a storybook cast.
Narnia,
he decided.

There was not a single Human to be seen. And th
e weather out there was dismal; an overcast, drizzly day that reminded him of Scotland in the early winter, before the snows came sifting down from leaden skies to garb the naked branches outside his window in raiment fit for a king. This poetic notion brought a grim smile to his lips. At Pitterdown Manor winters were bitter. At least the interior of Zephyr’s house was cosy. He wore comfortable trousers and a shirt of a loosely woven cream cloth that fit him perfectly. There was little to engage him, save this everlasting lecture and the problem of the Blight.

Kevin
had read broadly in the medical sciences. The word Zephyr and Alliathiune had used–‘the Blight’–reminded him of accounts of the Black Death, smallpox, and other plagues that had affected old Europe. He knew about disease vectors and hygiene. He knew how devastating plagues had been, but at this point it was hard to reconcile what he understood of the Blight with large-scale population devastation. He had to trust the Dryad’s word for that. More importantly, how did the Blight spread? Was it airborne, or in the soil, or carried somehow on the pelts of animals? How did it sicken the trees? Could it be treated? Was it general and pervasive, or confined to a particular area? All this theory the Unicorn was giving him was useful, but ultimately impractical to offer a real solution to the problem that had brought him to Feynard. Or caused him to be brought, more accurately. Despite his physical weakness, Kevin felt super-charged–he loved nothing more than a good puzzle.

His eyes were alight.
His cheeks, seen in a small brass mirror Bock brought for him one morning, appeared rather less sunken than before. Bock thought so too, in his gruff way–Kevin saw the way he regarded his patient.

But he was forced to endure three further days of lectures before Zephyr returned.

“A minor crisis averted,” said he, unexpectedly joining Kevin for dinner that evening. “The Dryad is still smoothing things over. Those Hedgehogs and their territorial rights claims! Prickly personalities too, looks aside. This time it was the Badgers who had transgressed. What a colossal waste of time. Have you learned much?”

“A great deal,” said
Kevin, “but no bolts of divine inspiration, I’m afraid.” As he reached for the waycrust, served on a wide, beautifully carved wooden platter, Zephyr levitated it out of his grasp. “I beg your pardon!”

“Waycrust,” said the Unicorn. “
When we Forest creatures break waycrust together, it is more than just eating bread. Of course, waycrust is waycrust. But the symbolism is immense–when we eat, we are sharing hospitality, health, peace, and life itself. Let me show you how it’s done. I break this waycrust to share with you, good Kevin.” As he spoke, invisible fingers broke off a piece of waycrust and wafted it over to Kevin. “May our Mother Forest sustain you, keep you, and shelter you beneath her boughs all your life.”

Life? That would not be long. Kevin sighed inwardly.

“So, you take a bite, and then usually if we were in a group, you’d pass it to your right, and say the same for the next person. Go on. Your turn.”

“Do Unicorns eat waycrust?”

Zephyr dignified this question with a snort. But he nodded his horn in approval when Kevin repeated the words without mistake. He chewed his mouthful thoughtfully. “Well done, good outlander. I confess, I had hoped something useful might come of this learning time.”

“I feel at least that I know something of Driadorn.”

“That encourages me.”

Zephyr proceeded to question him closely about what he had learned;
Kevin found himself eager to rise to the challenge, and his ready answers obviously pleased his host. Zephyr made several lengthy digressions to clarify the cultural practices of certain of Driadorn’s creatures, and declared Kevin ‘almost Unicorn’ in his ability to absorb knowledge. Kevin kept a disgruntled expression off his face. Almost as brainy as a horse? Ha!

The wooden eating implements still felt strange to
Kevin, but he was becoming more proficient with the two-tined fork and spoon. Apparently knives were considered impolite at the dinner table–an insult to the guest and an open invitation to war. The Unicorn expression ‘they laid their table with knives’ literally meant to take up arms against one’s foes. He speared a couple of stringy beans and chewed them mechanically.

“Zephyr? May I ask you a question?”

“Be my guest, good Kevin.”

“Well,” he indicated the ever-present chain, “I can’t help it, can I? But you’ve been kind to me–thank you.”

“A kindness once given is a kindness twice received.”

“
True. I’ve never thought of it that way before.” He changed his mind as to what he would ask. “Is Alliathiune’s hair really
green?
”

“As green as the sweet grass outside, good
Kevin.”

“And those aren’t just tribal tattoos on her arms and legs?”

“Ah, Dryad secrets,” said the Unicorn. “If you ever receive a definitive answer, you will have bettered the efforts of five thousand seasons of Unicorn scholarship. Yes, each Dryad has a unique pattern. The patterning appears around the age of puberty. What it signifies, however, is a matter of robust speculation. Interminable are the arguments of Unicorns.”

Kevin
snorted. And how!

Zephyr just bobbed his horn, drolly accepting the obvious. “
Undoubtedly there is some link to their natural magic and to the abilities that make Dryads unique,” he said. “They exist as part of the Forest, good Kevin. Just as you or I have a home, Dryads have a home tree which they call the ‘
Sälïph
’, to which they return annually. They have a special and mutually beneficial relationship with their Sälïph. At least once a moon they must enter a tree, any tree, to gain there a vital sustenance called Sälïph-sap, which to Dryads is the essence of life and jealously guarded. Without it they sicken and perish.”

“And you believe she’s
able to summon creatures from other worlds?”

“Whatever that means,” he replied,
by way of a verbal shrug. “You’re real, aren’t you?”

Kevin
sensed a bagful of secrets beneath the Unicorn’s bland reply, and wondered what he was not being told. “No, my existence is not at issue here.” Although he had a greater issue with Feynard’s existence!

“You rationalise where faith is adequate.”

“Faith,” said he, with mild asperity, “is what happens when the ignorant cannot understand science. Faith is outdated. Faith is for fools.”

Zephyr’s ears twitched in amusement or derision,
perhaps both. “Your science must be mighty indeed, good outlander.”

“Well, of course there are things which science cannot yet explain–”

“And some it will never explain.”

“Fiddlesticks and codswallop!”

“I say–”

“Look here, Zephyr, compared to Earth, this world–Feynard–is a primitive
backwater! A bucolic paradise housing uncivilised animals. You have no technology, no advanced tools, no industry, no medical facilities, medieval weaponry–”

The Unicorn stomped his hooves angrily. “Are all your kind so ill-mannered? How dare you call me an animal? My ancestors
studied the stars before Humans ever set foot upon the Seventy-Seven Hills!” Kevin shrank back against his stool. “Your kind know nought of what it is to act with common civility! Humans are warmongering peasants with a penchant for–”

“Did I come at a bad time?” It was Alliathiune, returned from her
peace-making amongst the Hedgehogs. “Noble Kevin, that fork is no sword. Zephyr, you know the laws about magic.”

“I demand an apology!”

“By Elliadora’s peace,” she said acidly, “the food will spoil with all this heat in the room! Have you riled the good Unicorn once more?”

“I didn’t mean anything
, truly I didn’t.”

Staring at him with disconcerting compassion in her eyes, Alliathiune touched Zephyr on the shoulder and said softly, “He
meant nought, noble Tomalia; my friend. All creatures know the one-horns are an ancient and proud people, the very pinnacle of society in the Forest.”

“Now you jest!” But he backed down without apparent
acrimony. “I am too quick to anger, noble outlander.”

“And surely, Zephyr is among the most tolerant and broad-minded of Unicorns.”

“Nonsense. Your manner speaks veiled excitement, gentle Dryad.”

She slapped him crossly. “Are there no secrets where you are concerned?”

“Guile is not in your sweet nature.”

Sweet? That was not a word
Kevin would have used to describe Alliathiune. A volcano about to erupt, more to the point, or an unexpected summer thunderstorm. He could make neither head nor tail of her relationship with the Unicorn–the sudden changes of mood from playful to acerbic to deadly serious made his head spin. At Pitterdown Manor, the status quo was maintained by a bevy of servants and Father’s express dislike of the slightest noise or disruption. Kevin too loved his peace and quiet. Back home, a banging door would have been a memorable occasion. He loved order too, he liked things
just so
thank you very much, everything in its proper place and for a proper reason.

“Impertinent scoundrel!” exclaimed the Dryad, turning to
Kevin. She was so brim-full with pent-up excitement that it fairly sparked off her skin.

“Waycrust?”

Alliathiune sucked in what she had been about to say and raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Newly versed in Forest manners, good Kevin? I accept, by the Sacred Grove of Elliadora’s Well.”

When he had repeated the little ceremony, and the waycrust had passed once more around their little company, Zephyr explained, “The Sacred Grove is a Dryad holy site, said to exist at the foot of the Well itself. Now please speak, good Dryad, before you burst.”

“I dreamed, good Kevin,” she burst out at once, “that you had stumbled upon something of importance. It was the oddest incident–one moment I was speaking to the Hedgehogs, the next I envisioned you standing with a blighted leaf in your hand and the light of discovery in your eyes. They thought I had taken a strange turn. But I just wondered if you had discovered anything, any clue at all about this Blight?”

He shook his head. “Was that the substance of your vision, Alliathiune?”

“Nought but an odd notion.” She sighed, and he saw the tiredness and strain pulling like quicksand at her strength. “My hopes are too fragile.”

“Er–don’t cry, um
…” Kevin paused awkwardly. Then he had a minor brainwave. “Alliathiune! You say you saw me holding a leaf? That means I must have been examining a tree–a blighted tree.”

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “And?”

Kevin was appalled as she then proceeded to clean her hand on her dress. What perfectly dreadful manners! “My dear old girl, don’t you see?” he said.

“I
am neither your dear, nor old!”

“Sorry. Forgot my manners.
Only taking my example from you.”

Kevin
’s voice trailed off as he realised what had popped out of his mouth. But the Dryad only chuckled. “You are a Tomalia in Human skin, good Kevin, with your love of wordiness. By the Hills, speak your mind plainly!”

“It means I was
beside a tree. Maybe–this is farfetched, I know, but let’s just go along with it–I have to go find a blighted tree to have this idea.” Maybe he was clutching at straws, or maybe it was a puppy-dog desire to please, he thought. “What do you say? Is that the way these visions work? Zephyr, are there any such trees in the vicinity?”