Feynard (13 page)

“Oh, asking for help, are we? Am I allowed to speak now, good outlander?”

“How could I stop you?” Kevin bit his tongue in horror as the words spilled out, but she only arched her left eyebrow, inviting the question. “Well, um–about this corruption you speak of. Where do you sense it?”

“Everywhere
.”

“No, hold on. Let me be clear
.” Kevin sensed a stirring in his mind, a feeling as familiar as old slippers, the feeling he got when a problem began to yield its secrets to his exceptional intellect. In his ever-humble opinion. Could he imitate a Unicorn, speaking for days on end with perfect recall? And what, for all his Library-learning, did he know of Feynard and Driadorn?

He
clarified, “Do you sense the Blight more in the air, or in the soil, or in the trees themselves?”

Alliathiune’s toes scrunched up
in the forest floor’s mulch. She knelt swiftly, putting one hand against the tree, and the other flat on the ground. Her eyes fluttered shut, and it seemed to Kevin there was an inaudible drawing of something like breath into her body, only more than that. The patterns on her arms had begun to ripple as leaves in a breeze, glowing brighter and brighter as they undulated down toward her fingertips, and her hand had effortlessly sunk
beneath
the bark–there could be no doubt, he was in a perfect position to observe. Kevin’s mouth fell open! Now the bark crept up her arm, changing it to the appearance of a woody appendage. This, more than anything he had seen so far, made his skin crawl and his hair stand on end. Until now he had been under the comfortable illusion that Alliathiune was as Human as he was, just different in certain inconsequential details. Her leafy patterning was unconsciously regarded as tattooing in his mind–decorative rather than functional. These notions tore from him like an unwanted veil. She was alien,
other
, a terrible inhuman creature of unknown powers. What more might she be? A creeping horror beset his mind and the soft ground rose to meet him.

“
Kevin? Good Kevin?” said Zephyr, fussing like a mother hen. “Have you been taken ill?”

“No,” said Alliathiune.
Kevin saw cool awareness in her eyes. The Dryad was restored to her ordinary self once more. “I think it is just weakness from his injuries,” she said. “Perhaps we have overstretched his resources?”

Kevin
stared blankly up at her from his prone position. Why was she covering for him? He was not fooled, though she returned his gaze guilelessly. “It’s my fault,” he whispered, letting X’gäthi hands help him sit up. “I’m weaker than I thought.” He was a feeble excuse for a Human being. Kevin sighed. “Pray let us not waste this time. Alliathiune?”

“Yes. The blight
is absorbed from the soil, good Kevin. Is this the answer you sought?”

“Er,
not quite. No, hold on. When did it last rain?”

“Rain? Every lighttime this past moon.”

“And where do you get your drinking water from, Zephyr?”

“From three wells near the centre of Thaharria-brin-Tomal,” said he, sharing a baffled glance with the Dryad.

“And these trees? Where do they draw their water?”

“From a nearby stream–”

“The stream!” Kevin screeched. He clapped his forehead in disbelief. “Why didn’t I think of it before? You’re a fool, Kevin Jenkins, a poor, benighted fool! Cholera … drinking water … yes! We must go at once to the stream!”

Alliathiune regarded his dancing eyes with a look that plainly suggested he was a short hop from utter lunacy.
“How strange he is,” she muttered to Zephyr, but her voice carried. “Red hair, haggard features, and demented, shining green eyes.” She quivered theatrically. “Fanatic eyes; a wizard’s eyes.”

The
Unicorn, with a toss of his horn, motioned the X’gäthi to bear him up.

When they reached the small stream,
Kevin confirmed the Dryad’s suspicions by kneeling in the frigid shallows and spooning water to his lips with his hands, so eager and excited that he spilled most of it down his shirt front. He spat it out.

“Eureka!”

“Good outlander, you are making no sense,” Zephyr reprimanded.

“Come here!
More light, Zephyr, on the river. Look, do you see? Alliathiune, do you see?” He tried to rise, to grab her hand and pull her nearer to share his excitement, but he reckoned without his splinted leg. Once again the X’gäthi saved him from an ungainly fall.

“Please do not injure yourself further!”

“Look closely, Alliathiune!”

They were all three together,
Kevin kneeling beside the Unicorn, Alliathiune at his right hand, when the
X’gäthi lifted his lantern to light the surface of the stream. Zephyr gasped. The Dryad bit her knuckles. And a silence distilled around them that made the shadows appear to deepen, and all three found themselves shivering as though touched by the presence of an evil they could neither apprehend nor understand.

For there was a slight, oily sheen on the surface of the water, a sheen of pollution that should never have
existed in this pristine woodland. It curled lazily around the eddies in the water and lapped innocently against the shoreline. It lent a faintly rank, bitter tang to the night air, as foreign and unwelcome as an explosion of violence in a holy place.

“It’s in the water,” he added, needlessly voicing what they had all realised. “Where does this stream flow from, Zephyr?”

“From the Barlindran River,” said he.

“So, somewhere in the course of this Barlindran River, we should discover the source of the Blight.”

“But–it’s more widespread than that,” Alliathiune whispered, her tone fragile with welling tears. “It’s all over the Forest. All the Dryads say so.”

“Where
does the Forest gain its sustenance?” Kevin asked.

“From Elliadora’s Well, whence flow the Seven Rivers
which water all Driadorn,” replied Zephyr. “The Sacred Well is the heart of the Hills, lying deep in the Old Forest, protected on all sides by strange and magical creatures. It is a place of immense power. No mortal being could ever threaten the Well.”

“But it is the source?”

“Yes.”

“Of all the rivers, for the whole Forest?” he pressed on.
Kevin had seen the maps depicting the strange geography of the Seventy-Seven Hills, and in his heart of hearts he knew he was right. Perhaps only an outlander could have forced these forest creatures to the right conclusion, to the blasphemous truth.

Zephyr
and Alliathiune stared at Kevin in mute appeal. The Unicorn shook his horn. “Indeed it is.”

He said, grimly,
“Then it is to the source you must go. To Elliadora’s Well.”

His companions
looked stunned. To Kevin the conclusion was clear, but they clearly struggled to comprehend it. Faintly, Zephyr said, “Will you sing over these trees, good Dryad?”

Alliathiune shook herself from head to toe. “
I should, good Unicorn,” she muttered. It took her several moments to gather her thoughts before she launched into wild, fey song. Her range was astounding, soaring to reaches Kevin would have thought impossible for a Human throat to produce–he should stop thinking of a Dryad as Human, he told himself–and he understood not a word. He had never before heard a language which included clicks and birdcalls.

“What’s she singing, Zephyr?” he asked.

The Unicorn cocked his head, and after a moment, translated:

“
Arise, all green and growing things, sons and daughters of the living Forest;

Arise, all gelid and sapid things, incline root and branch and leaf to my call,

And be restored, wholly restored, to the way you were first planted,

At the time of Elliadora’s Creation, as tiny saplings, pushing
through the loam,

When all was whole and perfect.
”

The trees above and the bushes about them began to sway in concert with the
tempestuous tempo of her song. Kevin imagined their deep-rooted feet tapping along in time; a strange thrill crawled up his neck and his blood pulsed along with the lilting tune. His mouth hung open as the Dryad began to dance as she sang, leaping and spinning with extraordinary, lithe fluidity. He could almost
feel
the magic emanating from her whirling dance, soaking into the foliage around them, healing and restoring the damage. Extraordinary, he thought. How could he explain this?

When she was done, no sign of the Blight remained
in the immediate vicinity. Alliathiune dropped to her knees, panting. The boughs bowed to her once, and fell still.

Zephyr bowed to her, too. “And this, good outlander, is the work of Dryads.”

E
lliadora’s Well was the
heart of the Forests. Legends bespoke its creation in a transcendent working of magic by the legendary Dryad Queen Elliadora, Firstborn of the Magi, when first she scattered the seeds of the Forests upon the Seventy-Seven Hills. The Forest grew into a living organism, the wellspring of magic in Feynard, and beneath its boughs myriad creatures and races came to make their homes. Seven major rivers flowed from the central well to water the great Forests. Kevin suspected that Elliadora’s Well was actually a mountain, but as no Unicorn or Dryad or foreigner had been there in living memory, they mined the legends for truth. Nevertheless, if there were any mischief to be worked, then the Sacred Well was vulnerable.

His
suggestion caused a fantastic rumpus amongst the Unicorns.

There was another delightful experience of the Ardüinthäl, as the Councillors
debated the dubious merits of his idea. Some believed the Blight was a judgement for failing to carry out the commands of the First Magus, others that it was the curse of Ozark ‘the Dark’, an old enemy who had sworn on numberless occasions to destroy the Forest.

Kevin
secretly sniggered. Ozark the Dark? What a stupid, unimaginative name for a wizard! But he evidently frightened the wits out of these simple creatures.

The Unicorns
unanimously agreed that the Sacred Well could in no way suffer harm from the Blight. But there were no better suggestions. In the end, to keep the peace, Mylliandawn ordered that an expedition be mounted to the Well to discover the truth of the outlander’s monstrous and offensive suggestion–if only to reassure the Unicorns that the Well was indeed secure.

Kevin
was ‘invited’ to accompany them.

With one morning wasted in fruitless argument–a long and bitter argument, which ended with Alliathiune in tears and Zephyr in a towering rage–it was decided that the outlander would indeed accompany the mission to Elliadora’s Well.
All his protestations came to nothing. Kevin was convinced that the Unicorn was too pig-headed to see his point of view, anyhow. Did they intend to carry him all the way? With his allergies and susceptibility to illness, it was suicide to even contemplate such a journey! His stubbornness prodded Zephyr into such a rage that he had threatened to have Kevin tied up and dragged backwards through briars to the Well, and declared how bitterly he regretted bringing the outlander to Feynard in the first place.

This
accusation came as no surprise, but it hurt nevertheless.

Two further days passed in preparation for the journey. Zinfandir the healer visited
Kevin twice, once to remove the splint on his arm, which was healing up with unbelievable haste, and a second to bring a pair of crutches the outlander could use for moving about. Well acquainted with his limitations, Kevin accepted these with a wry smile of resignation. Was this how Zephyr expected him to cover the lighttimes of travel to the Well? He would suffer and die in stoic silence if that was his fate.

He dreamed again of being beaten by Father.

*  *  *  *

The morning of their departure dawned bright and cool, slightly misty in the dells and hollows but promising a fine day ahead. Quickly they gathered in Zephyr’s hallway–a dozen X’gäthi, the Unicorn, Alliathiune,
Kevin, and a message hawk called Strike. Kevin and the X’gäthi were cloaked and outfitted against the weather, which was expected to turn cold over the next couple of lighttimes, and he was the only one without a backpack or weapon. Once more, the litter awaited him.

“I need no cloak,” said Alliathiune, frowning at his scrutiny.

“I–I meant nothing,” stammered Kevin, turning the same colour as his hair. “It’s a damp morning out there, by all accounts.”

“You won’t melt!”

“Your effects, good outlander,” said the Unicorn, “will be carried by this X’gäthi warrior. I speak of course of these keys, your magical sack, and your great tome of wizardry.”

Kevin
took the proffered keys, and stuck them in his pocket. The sack he left with the warrior–being too afraid to touch it! He said, “I’ll only slow you down.”

“We’ve
provided a litter for your use.”

Alliathi
une sniggered, “No whinging, good Kevin? No allergies flaring up this morning? No beetles to alarm you?”

“I feel bad about being carried,” he said, in a low voice. “What if this mission turns out to be time-critical? I’d hate to keep you from solving the problem of the Blight in time for–”

“You’d hate anything that took you away from a warm, comfortable bed.”

“I hate what will kill me.”

“How dare you speak of our Mother Forest that way?” Alliathiune exploded. “Blind, stupid, ignorant outlander! We Dryads have a proverb: ‘He who would not see, will not see; he who would not hear, will not hear; he who would not believe, is a fool.’”

So she thought him a fool? Kevin dropped his gaze. Hysterical Dryad–what had he said to offend her this time?
Why did she take everything about her precious forest so personally?

Zephyr
said crisply, “In time, even the blind will come to see, good Dryad. Now, are we ready? All present and accounted for?”

“I’ll slow you down, Zephyr. I know I will.”

“Nothing slows the X’gäthi,” replied the Unicorn, with mockery so gentle that it caused Kevin to smile in response. “Now, let us consider the map. See how the Barlindran River describes a great arc to the north and east as it approaches the Sacred Well? Our intelligence shows that this area here, between the river and Mistral Bog, is difficult country and much infested with brambles and grimfly. Therefore I propose that we travel east and slightly south first, to circle beneath Mistral Bog as it were, before turning north to skirt Faun territory. Later, if we are able to force passage across Küshar Ravine, we will find easier headway and rejoin the Barlindran
here
, about three lighttimes short of Elliadora’s Well. From there is truly entering the unknown–but if we follow the river, it should lead us directly to the Well. If we encounter any trouble or delay en route, we can always sit tight and send Strike for help. He’ll also scout for us.”

He saw now that Zephyr bore a shoulder harness where the small hawk could rest, and further, several packs upon his back.

“Supplies,” he said, following Kevin’s thoughts. “Small tasks such as packing and unpacking, I can accomplish with my magic.” Something unseen plucked Kevin’s cloak. “Telekinesis is mighty handy when you have four hooves and no hands! Now, to the enchanted forests we go!”

W
hy did the Unicorn sound so cheerful about leaving his home for the dangers of the Old Forest?

He wondered if one could die in a dream.

*  *  *  *

Travelling had a rhythm and a pulse to it,
Kevin discovered. They would rise early to break their fast upon nuts, waycrust, and fruit, always shared with the blessing Zephyr had taught him, and then swiftly strike out into the ubiquitous morning mists. Even on the pea-soupiest mornings the X’gäthi–and both Alliathiune and Zephyr–knew exactly which direction to take, and they threaded their way for the moment between stands of thin redberry trees, or dark lowanstock and soaring, hundred-foot-tall gloamingbark trees. He wondered why the Unicorns had not seen fit to mount a larger expedition, but to behold the X’gäthi in action was a frightening thing. On the second afternoon they were surprised by a rabid wolf, which was decapitated a split second after Kevin began to register that they might even be in danger. The X’gäthi cleaned his blade on the scraggly pelt and essayed a fierce, proud grin at the outlander. He gave a sharp bark and several grunts and snarls, which Zephyr translated as, ‘Relax and enjoy the walk, outlander. You are safe with the X’gäthi.’

The Unicorn was unfailingly kindly to him, and told him stories from his youth to while away the time.
For his part, Kevin feared what was happening to him. Feynard could not be good. Feynard was hope, and he did not know how to hope.

The numbness of his extremities
gave way to a persistent tingling in his nerve endings, which at times gravitated to painful discomfort. Come evening Zephyr would administer Aïssändraught, the Unicorn cure-all, to dull the pangs and enable him to sleep. But contrary to both their expectations, his affliction did not respond to treatment; rather, it became more irritating and lasted for longer and longer periods of time. His nose began to itch unbearably, too. Zephyr provided him with an apparently endless supply of woollen handkerchiefs, which he cleaned with his horn-magic. On the afternoon of their second day–lighttime, he reminded himself–out of Thaharria-brin-Tomal Kevin came down with a fever, which laid him low for two lighttimes.

“Genuinely ill, for a change,” he heard
Alliathiune say to Zephyr at one point, though, and felt wronged. How could he help what was foreordained in his genes? The downward spiral had begun.

Not that he missed his pills. But they
had kept him alive.

One evening he
watched the Dryad mending an Eagle’s damaged wing. The hook-beaked bird stood taller than her, but it bowed as meekly as a lamb to her ministrations! How did she do that? Small animals and large flocked to her like bees to flowers, sometimes just to touch her with their noses, or to alight on her head, or to have an ailment seen to. As she walked along, she would often sing a little song or touch a tree or a bush at the trailside. Zephyr snidely suggested she was ‘cheering up’ the plants. Kevin shook his head in disbelief. Fiddlesticks! The rational part of him wanted to dismiss it as mummery and superstition. But she definitely had the animals in some inexplicable thrall.

From mid-morning of the third
lighttime, the trail descended toward the lowlands of Mistral Bog. The vegetation became denser, thicker with fruits and berries, and the undergrowth beneath the tall broad leaved trees more tangled and thorny, so that even the X’gäthi were forced to seek out and animal trails and slash the undergrowth with their blades to force passage for Kevin’s litter.

The
fever’s aftermath made him feel light-headed and enervated. Kevin spent a goodly while examining the keys he had discovered before being munched by that lurking monster. It was the oddest collection–large and small, gold, alloy and iron, one was curved like a banana, another was the width of his hand and detailed with the most fantastic curlicues and engravings. They were strung on a strong key ring of a metal unfamiliar to him, thickly imbued with multifaceted gemstones of sapphire blue, which disguised a clever latch system that allowed the ring to be hinged open or shut as desired. Altogether a most peculiar and valuable assortment! He stuffed them back into his pocket.

Zephyr matched pace with the litter with some showy footwork that would not have been out of place in a circus. “How are you feeling?”

“Passable. I’m in the way, aren’t I?”

“Another lighttime or so,” said he, rolling his eyes at
Kevin’s complaint, “and we should be able to remove that splint.”

“I’ve never heard of broken bones mending so swiftly!”

“Zinfandir did excellent work. You were very ill–near death from poison and exposure. But his magic and the Aïssändraught have combined to restore you to your present state. Your haleness is most pleasing. Soon you’ll be walking.”

Kevin
’s sigh was laden with the all burdens of his three decades. “Zephyr, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of occasions that I’ve been able to cover more than fifty steps in one attempt! I’m a weak and sickly individual.”

“I pray that your scepticism will prove baseless,” Zephyr replied. “Now, that is not what I wish to speak to you about, good
Kevin, and be thankful our sweet Dryad has not been invited to comment. You know how she feels about your allergies.”

“
Heavens, yes.” Kevin twisted on his seat to scowl at the Dryad, who marched ahead of the party with an ever-springy stride. “She’s just fortunate in her bursting good health and doesn’t understand for a minute what I’ve been through in my life. I swear, if my allergies don’t kill me, she certainly will, with that adder’s tongue of hers.”

“Fell out of bed before dawn, good
Kevin? You’re in a fine mood!”

“I am riding to my doom!”

But Zephyr laughed openly at him. “He who would not see, will not see. Now attend my words, noble Kevin. Strike has been scouting. He warns of several large packs of Black Wolves roaming to the south and east. This is a grave portent. When Ozark the Dark shadowed the Hills, the last Black Wolves were seen in this region of the Forest. They’re unusually large and fierce, distinguished from Grey Wolves by their size, their dark pelts, and a fondness for the flesh of intelligent or magical creatures–particularly Unicorns. Our enmity runs deep since olden times.”

Kevin
shivered. “Are we in danger?”

“Not yet. The X’gäthi will
shelter and protect us. But we’ll push further north, making directly for Mistral Bog, in order to avoid them.”

“That sounds
sensible.”

“Indeed. But if you’ve
any magic, good outlander, it would be best a strong wind sped your preparations.”