Feynard (27 page)

By last light, their unstinting labours combined with the Lurk’s herculean strength and stamina
had produced noticeable results. By midnight, which Zephyr called ‘mid-darktime’ and Snatcher ‘star-song’, they had reached the bottom of the pool in places and were beginning to wonder where the water had once flowed from. Two turns before dawn, they had cleared enough of the rubble and Kevin collapsed while attempting to heft a stone the size of his head out of the pool. Zephyr fussed over him while the Lurk continued to crawl around the bottom of the basin, probing with his Lurk magic for a spring, or a flow of some kind.

Nearly a turn passed before Snatcher stopped. “It is here. Stand back, everyone.” And he squatted, placing his palms flat on the ground.

Kevin shifted onto his side to watch. The Lurk’s eyes glowed with an opalescent light, and his great frame flexed as though willing the very earth to move. Indeed, through the ground, he felt something groan and shift with slow reluctance like the first shifting of a landmass from its primal seat. The Lurk struggled mightily to turn those geological forces to his advantage. Kevin could hear his teeth grinding together. A bloodlike sweat welled up on the Lurk’s back and shoulders. And then it happened–first a trickle, then a gurgle, a spluttering of water beneath the Lurk’s haunches. Zephyr and Akê-Akê cheered hoarsely.

Snatcher stood upright with a creak
ing of stiff joints. He made an impatient gesture. “That was the easy part.”

“Splendidly done, good
Lurk!” cried Zephyr. “Now we only need wait until there is water sufficient to immerse the Dryad.”

“It’s draining away,” Akê-Akê pointed out. “Look, into that crack.”

“I was afraid of that,” Snatcher sighed tiredly. “Very well. Would you kindly bring me a supply of rubble?”

Four X’gäthi and a Faun sprang to his bidding. Even Zephyr assisted, using his telekinesis to sweep dust and pebbles into Snatcher’s reach
, once he realised what was happening. The Lurk filled the cracks with whatever materials he could gather, and then ran his hands over them in a smoothing gesture. The basso rumble of his voice spoke several syllables over and over again–and where his hands passed, the broken stones and dirt began to melt and run together like hot lava. Stopping the cracks. Repairing the broken stonework. Restoring what remained of the tiling to its former beauty. With the patience characteristic of his kind, the Lurk moved calmly around the base of the basin on hands and knees, until the water no longer soaked away but began to pool and spread out, and for the first time in untold centuries, the pool of
Shiär-Lazûr
began to fill with its healing waters.

The Lurk pressed on until first light, when the water in the deepest part was beginning to slosh around his knees and even at the edges, at the root-cracked walls, there was sufficient to cover his flat toes. By then, utter exhaustion was evident in the
droop of his shoulders and the flatness of his voice as he called for Alliathiune to be brought down–he could not even pull himself out of the pool.

Kevin
wondered if the muddy brown waters would do anything at all. One might catch something rather than be healed in such a murky pond. The Lurk waded in, cradling the ghastly green bundle in his great arms as he moved to the deepest part. Without ceremony, he dunked the comatose Dryad beneath the water and glanced up at Zephyr.

“Right.” The Unicorn cleared his throat, traced several symbols in the air with his horn, and began to read from
a parchment hovering in the air before him. His clear voice rang above their company, which stood about the pool with their heads bowed in funereal stillness.

Kevin
resisted an urge to cover his eyes. So much depended upon his companions! His throat was stopped up with anguish. Her imminent death at his hands had been a constant torment to him, food and grist to his rampaging inner demons, denying him a peaceful darktime rest. What if it didn’t work? What if she died?

He saw
a sudden ripple beneath the water. Snatcher’s eyes widened in surprise. A bubble popped to the surface, and another, and a sudden belch of gas made him splutter and wipe his face. Like a seal broaching the ocean’s surface, so Alliathiune’s head arose from the still pool and she surged upright with one lithe flexion of her thighs, gasping from the chill, standing waist-deep and glistening by the gleam of dawn’s first blush. Her long hair was slicked down her back to her waist, and as she wiped the water from her eyes, the Dryadic patterning on her arms and hands rippled one final time before settling.

She was nude, and
never more beautiful to behold.

Alliathiune braced her fists on her hips. “Well then,” she said, softly and clearly, as though she had not just supped at the very table of Shäyol, “who
dunked me?”

Then her eyes widened as she realised she was wearing not a stitch of clothing. With a horrified shriek, the Dryad covered herself and sank to her neck in the water, leaving only her accusing eyes glaring up at the poolside company.

“You males!” she yelled, her voice echoing through the ruins of ancient Shilliabär. “You could at least have warned me before I exposed myself for the world to see! Who’s responsible for this? Zephyr? Who gave me this dousing? You tell me right now, or I swear I’ll … I’ll …”

Yes, Alliathiune was back.

To his utter mortification, Kevin gulped and began to weep aloud.

T
he company rested only
until noon before pressing on. By unanimous consent, they wanted to leave the deadly Glothums far, far behind. Zephyr closed up Shilliabär’s tower before they left.

“We must return for these Glothums,”
the Unicorn said. “One lighttime.”

The trail became easier to navigate
after Shilliabär but no less dangerous, filled now with Glothums and other nameless creatures. But after Alliathiune and Zephyr combined their magic to create a spell of concealment upon the company, the going became easier and Kevin needed to worry mostly about placing one foot in front of the next. He began to feel the altitude, but despite his tiredness, found himself enjoying the hike. He had never felt better. Perhaps the Forest was agreeable to Humankind, he mused. Or perhaps it was because a certain Dryad was still with them? Even if their intimate conversation had not been repeated, he enjoyed a newfound respect and found Alliathiune treating him more and more as an equal.

Toward evening they reached the Barlindran River, and camped on its fern-fringed bank. The Lurk went fishing, but soon returned with a handful of rotting fish. “Little still lives, up here,” he growled. “This Blight has teeth.”

For the better part of a lighttime following, the company wended their way upriver between rugged hills to either side, following a narrow game trail trodden over muddy soil and slippery boulders. Thick redberry bushes clustered close to the water, whilst the hillsides were dominated by massive, gnarled kalar and oak trees, alternating with stands of the darker lowanstock and silvery beech trees of a ‘velvet bark’ variety Zephyr pointed out to Kevin, who saw no difference whatsoever but nodded sagely anyway. Mosses and blotchy lichens crowded the ancient tree trunks and boulders, heightening the appearance of venerable age, but there was no decay here, save the Blight. The river narrowed latterly into a shadowy ravine, cool enough for cloaks and warm skue mid-afternoon.

Kevin
’s whole body ached, and it did not help that his companions were indefatigable–indeed, they pressed on ever more eagerly as the lighttime hours passed by and their anticipated arrival at Elliadora’s Well grew closer. But when he began to hobble from a burst and chafing blister on his heel, Zephyr reluctantly called a halt. They cast about for a likely campsite.

Kevin
flopped down on a large patch of moss and at Alliathiune’s peremptory command, eased off his boots. “Goodness gracious,” he groaned as she spread salve on the offending raw skin, “you’ve no idea how good that feels.”

The Dryad gave him a sidelong glance. “What did I tell good Snatcher about speaking up sooner about his ailments?”

“You were so eager to reach the Well,” he said, seeking by a show of innocence to deflect her sharp tongue. “I didn’t want to slow anyone down.”

“Zephyr’s gone to take a look ahead,” she replied gently. “Please, noble outlander–this kind of abrasion can easily become infected. You should be more careful.”

“At least it isn’t an allergy! Have I escaped your wrath so lightly?”

“My strength recovers apace si
nce Shilliabär. I’m too weary to be cross with anyone.”

“You,
good Alliathiune?”

“But if you continue to bait me …” Clasping her knees with her arms,
the Dryad stared down over the winding gorge they had climbed to the tangled mass of the Old Forest beyond. Despite Indomalion breaking through the westerly clouds to bathe the Forest from horizon to horizon with glorious copper sunshine, it still seemed mysterious and alien to Kevin.

Alliathiune’s sigh was like an emotional exclamation point. “Good
Kevin, what think you of our Forest?”

He half-turned toward her upon his elbow, seeking to penetrate the motives behind her question, and she looked down at him with a pensive smile. The sunlight highlighted the flawless silvery-green hue of her skin, and the variegated beryls, emeralds
, and grass-greens of her long, tumbling tresses. Her hazel eyes sparkled with some unreadable sentiment. He recalled her rising nude from the pool of
Shiär-Lazûr
, and felt detestable because of his feelings then and now.

He sighed and looked out over the Forest. “Where do I start?
Its beauties? Its wondrous creatures, powers, and magic?”

“Have you any further thoughts on this Blight?”

“Nothing of substance,” Kevin grunted. “Only, that it would be a terrible shame, should a land so beautiful rot and die because of something we could have prevented. This festering illness makes me very afraid–I can only imagine how you feel, being a Dryad with your rapport with the Forest. Look out there, Alliathiune! Isn’t it a splendid lighttime? And what a view! Could you not keep drinking that in, and be satisfied for a whole lifetime’s worth of sylvan beauty? See how immense is the Forest, how it cloaks the Hills in hoary garments of leafy bough and mighty, deep-rooted trees. It seems to have stood untouched since the dawn of time.”

She made a low chuckle in response.

“It’s hard to believe that such evil as corrupting spirits and anti-glödryan and Ozark the Dark could ever coexist with such a picturesque, peaceful land. And it seems to have healing properties, this Forest of yours; here, anything is possible. I have never enjoyed health such as I have found here–it is almost as if I have been restored molecule by molecule, for I find I have greater strength every lighttime. I can walk unaided for ages, for goodness’ sake! Sometimes I still catch myself thinking that this is a dream.”

“I thought you were over that.”

“I still think it from time to time, Alliathiune. Earth doesn’t have what you have here–animals don’t speak, Dryads don’t exist, and Fauns are the stuff of fairy tales.”

“Well! I most certainly
do exist–”

“I submit!” he cried at once, laughing. “If nothing else, that slap you gave me certainly convinced me you were real! It hurt too much not to be.”

“You deserved it.”

“Gosh, don’t go overboard with the sympathy, Alliathiune.” She reached out and mussed his curls, which was something
Kevin used to hate–but now, he could only muster a half-snarl. It was somehow different when
she
did it. “Stop that!”

She giggled merrily. “You’re such an old fusspot some
times. You’re worse than Zephyr.”

“
Put wings on you and you’d just be a nisk fly,” he retorted.

“
Kevin!”

Her fingers had become tangled in his curls. She tugged absently this way and that, but
Kevin did not mind the pain. “Far from it, of course,” he soothed.

“
You are much changed from that outlander who first arrived in Thaharria-brin-Tomal, good Kevin. Daily, you become more the warrior of my dreams.”

“I’m no warrior!”

“Well, lord mighty high whatnot the wizard, then.” She turned to him, and then looked away just as quickly with a troubled frown. “Look, this isn’t easy for me to say …”

“I’m just glad you’re well again–friend.”

He sought by this reference to draw her back to a previous conversation they had enjoyed, but Alliathiune only sighed and looked the more pensive. Her hand grew still but remained tangled in his hair. At length she said, “Good Kevin, do you recall how we Dryads function to protect the forests and woodlands of the Seventy-Seven Hills?” He nodded. “How we care for living things, and heal and nurture? The Blight is far worse for Dryads than for many of the other creatures. We are more closely tied to the Forest’s wellbeing. I don’t know quite how to put this, but I’ll say it anyway–in the past, men with wizardly powers have always done our Forest harm, not good. Humans have never stood for right and justice and truth, and their wizards have been the worst of all. Not that I think you’re a bad person! I’m not making much sense.”

“More than enough
for me.”

“No, I didn’t mean it that way!” Alliathiune took a deep breath and
pulled her hand free, leaving him feeling bereft of her touch. Exactly when had her touch, her presence, come to mean so much to him? “Look, Zephyr’s the learned one in this company. If he thinks you’d make a wizard, as you shared with me, then I have no doubts. Human wizards are very few in number, good Kevin. Historically they have always risen more easily through the wizardly ranks–perhaps through some little-understood natural aptitude–but they have always, in the end, succumbed to whatever evil temptation or lust afflicts people with such powers. Your powers are mighty. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt by taking that scroll the good Unicorn offered you, and becoming the next Ozark the Dark.”

“He must have his reasons,”
Kevin said, profoundly disturbed by her words. “I’d like to think about that, uh … alone, if you don’t mind.”

The Dryad apologised
awkwardly and moved away to converse with Snatcher.

Tomorrow they would reach Elliadora’s Well. What would they find there? Was Alliathiune concerned for him, or for the Forest, or for another reason
altogether? Kevin’s feelings of hurt and rejection won out. Had it been Zephyr or Snatcher, he decided, he would not have felt such a sharp pang. But he
knew
Alliathiune cared about him, or at least, about his fate in relation to his ability to serve the Forest. Was she seeking to manipulate him through their nascent friendship? “You are vulnerable, Kevin, both to her allure and to her magic,” he muttered. “Never forget the extent of her otherworldly powers.” His eyebrows drew together.

It was not far-fetched–perhaps less so than the attendant questions about Zephyr’s offer. If Human wizards were few, and susceptible to unknown, dark temptations, then for what reason would
the Unicorn risk raising another enemy of the Forest? Was he that desperate? Or did he truly believe Kevin had it within him to be a wizard?

“Fat ruddy chance, old man,” he grunted. “Poor
Kevin, having passed the seven mysterious tests, is miraculously imbued with godlike powers to shape the fate of entire realms? That’s worse than wishful thinking. What would you do with the power anyway?”

As his gaze lit upon the rushing headwaters of the Barlindran river, not a stone’s throw to his left,
Kevin was left to consider the unpleasant notion that the Unicorn’s motives might not be entirely transparent after all.

*  *  *  *

When Kevin returned for waycrust, he heard the Faun mutter that this was the last of their provisions, so he had better chew slowly. Alliathiune and Zephyr were deep in conversation beside the small fire, close enough for him to overhear. The Lurk had disappeared to find a wet spot to cool his hide.

“It came to me as if in a dream this last darktime,” Alliathiune
said to the Unicorn, in reply to a question Kevin had missed. “Have I spoken to you before about the spiritual aspects of this journey for me?”

“Before departing Thaharria-brin-Tomal, good Dryad,
” said Zephyr, “you did express your eagerness to lay eyes on the Sacred Grove. You said that no living Dryad had visited there. And I understand its importance to your kind.”

She nodded
, her hazel eyes not missing Kevin’s attentive posture. He coloured, but did not move. She said, “I have come to appreciate that it is deeper and more significant than that, good Unicorn. My heart is lifted with wondrous emotion. This is a homecoming. Perhaps I hope to discover something of myself here, something of my true nature and purpose. There is nothing logical about this extraordinary hope that blossoms within me.”

“Logic is overrated.”

“You cynic. Do I not detect a spring in your step?”

“Doubtless,” Zephyr admitted, “even if my ties with the Mother Forest are less profound. The Well is the heart of our Forest. There is no greater magic. I think that when you journey to the heart, you begin to discover things about yourself, perhaps through reflection or conversation, that you have not known before. Even in this company I have discovered a treasure–greater than being a team, united in our mission, or braving dangers together.”

“Indeed, I feel the same.”

“I do not discount these things. But as you have intimated, good Alliathiune,
I sense a deeper meaning that I cannot quantify, though it is as it were on the tip of my horn. I have come to know an inner peace in and of myself, and in my relations with others, that transcends understanding. It is like stepping into a stream and being bathed in cool waters. And yet even this image is inaccurate, for it seems to come from without and within in equal measure. This I cannot fathom. I would not have used the word ‘spiritual’, but upon reflection, I find it strangely apt.”

Alliathiune’s enigmatic smile made him harrump
h in good-natured discontent. “I know we Unicorns are the most reason-bound of creatures, eschewing the religious pretensions of Driadorn’s other creatures. Yet this was not always so. In olden times, Unicorns too had religious beliefs and a common mythology, but these were lost and discarded over the course of thousands of seasons. I fear something has been lost that may never be regained.”

“And therein lies a life’s labour.”

Zephyr’s eyes lidded over, but his voice became unconsciously resonant. “Indeed, good Dryad, therein lies a labour of love.”