Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen) (46 page)

Tyrus breathed out softly, rubbing his palm across the tabletop. “To fulfill my desire of banishing the Plague, I assembled my
own followers. We were united to a single cause. I studied every account. I began to interview anyone who had traveled into the borders of the Scourgelands. There were stories aplenty. I needed facts. Facts are stubborn things, you will discover. I took with me the brightest minds. The fiercest warriors. The most gifted Bhikhu in a generation—your father. I assembled these and sought the blessing of the Arch-Rike. He granted it, and we ventured north and entered the Scourgelands, determined to conquer whatever lay ahead.” His expression began to harden into stone. His eyes were haunted.

“We were destroyed.”

Tyrus stared down at the tabletop, looking at his thumbs. “I would have died myself. I should have died. Your mother saved my life. She was grievously wounded. We were attacked by the creatures that guard the Scourgelands from intruders. She unleashed the magic in her blood to save us and lost her mind as a result. I promised to see her safely home and allow her unborn child a chance at life. The only way we escaped was her revelation to me of the Druidecht secret of the Dryads. They guard the Scourgelands. They are what went wrong. The missing piece of information that ties it all together.”

Annon swallowed, excited. His pulse quickened. “I learned this last night. The Dryad I spoke to told me. Something happened there. What did she call it? A taint. An injustice. She said that the Dryads there are vengeful. Something was done to injure them. A betrayal.”

Tyrus nodded. “Exactly. It is lost to human memory. But it is written in the trees in those cursed woods. Another Dryad could read what is written there. Another Dryad could learn the truth. I have my suspicions, but you need facts. Let me hasten to provide them.” Tyrus leaned forward, his face intense. “While I was in hiding, caring for your mother, I pondered what went wrong. I
did not have your insight then. I wish I had it earlier, but experience is the thing that you get just after the time when you need it most. It was in a little stone hovel when I realized we had walked into a trap. We had hardly grazed the outer defenses of the woods before we were so violently attacked and repelled. I kept asking myself how they had known we were coming? How had they assembled so quickly? I could not see it then, but it came to me.”

A thought struck Annon forcefully. “The Arch-Rike.”

Tyrus smiled broadly. “Truly you are wiser than I was at your age. Exactly. He had given us his blessing. Blithely sending us away to our deaths. Some secrets must remain hidden at all costs. Whatever travesty or injustice occurred in the Scourgelands, it is clear to me now that the Rikes of Kenatos seek to continue it. I had a choice to make. I knew that if I did not return to Kenatos, the Arch-Rike would suspect that I had discovered his treachery. So I voluntarily went back into my prison after you were born and left you to live with the Druidecht in Wayland. I returned and admitted my failure to the Arch-Rike. I told him I had barely escaped with my life and had been healing and regaining my strength. This was true, of course. Just not the whole truth. I gave him just enough. He never knew Merinda was with child. I did not want him to know about you.”

Annon pursed his lips. “Why did you come to me as a child?”

“You know the answer already. Why even ask it?”

“You knew I had the fireblood and that it would destroy me if I did not learn to tame it.”

Tyrus gave him an approving nod. “Then I went back into my prison so that I could continue my work. I know as a child you wished I could call for you. That I would claim you. But I could not, Annon. I needed knowledge that could only be found in Kenatos. I learned everything I could about the Dryads. I even had a tree brought to the tower. I became
obsessed with understanding them. I needed to know their powers and their abilities. There are no detailed records, since the Druidecht refuse to document their knowledge, but there are clues. Even a few stories about them in the archives. I realized that in order to learn the truth, I would need to bring a Dryad into the Scourgelands. A Dryad that was not bound to a specific tree.”

“What?” Annon asked, his mind racing. “You are going too fast!”

“Hush,” Tyrus said, holding up his hand. The old woman emerged from the kitchen with trays of cheeses, nuts, and figs. Tyrus thanked her politely and asked for something else. She nodded and retreated back into the kitchen.

Tyrus leaned even closer to Annon. “I still do not know what the injustice was. I could only imagine it was a betrayal of some kind. I needed wisdom. I needed knowledge that I could not have any other way. I had studied and studied. I wrung every drop of truth I could find. But I could not put the pieces together. And so I sought for a Dryad’s kiss myself. I did not know it at the time, but I had rescued the tree because it was the last of its kind, existing on the road to Kenatos. All of its sister trees had been cut down. It would fall to the woodcutter’s ax. I had it moved into the city at great expense. There were many who thought me quite eccentric. But I moved it and planted it in the courtyard of the Paracelsus Towers. I waited by the tree. She visited me. I did not look. I knew it would not be wise to do so. I learned her name, just as you did last night at another tree. And she gave me a kiss, which allowed it all to make sense. That is when I realized the truth. That is when I realized what I needed to do.”

“The Arch-Rike is a man of great personal integrity and honor. It is a position, to be sure, but also a legacy that goes back many centuries. How does one become the Arch-Rike of Kenatos? A king of Wayland is born to rule. The Vaettir chose their princes of those with the most compassion and humility. The Preachán follow he who controls the most ducats and influence. But the Arch-Rike must be a leader of men. He must have vision and the ability to express that vision in words. He must set a high moral standard that others gladly follow. He is chosen in a conclave by the Rikes of Seithrall. The decision is always unanimous.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

A
nnon’s mouth was dry. The food sat untouched on the tray before him. “Yes?”

Erasmus sauntered over and began swiping dried figs from the tray. “You sired a Dryad,” he said between mouth-fuls. “Didn’t you?”

A tortured, painful smile hovered on Tyrus’s face. “I did. She is my greatest secret. She is the key to solving the riddle. She is everything. And she has no idea who she is.”

Annon stared at him, aghast. “You forced the tree Dryad to…”

Tyrus’s expression hardened like flint. “No, Annon. I did not force her. You know more about Dryad lore than most Druidecht do. Your soul revolts against the idea, doesn’t it? To take a defenseless creature, one who has trusted you with her name, and to abuse that trust. Only a twisted man would do that. I think that something along those lines happened up in the Scourgelands. Those oaks are ancient beyond any reckoning. They have long memories. They hate us. It is clear. There was a wrong done. A betrayal. I seek to mend it. To correct it. I explained my theory to
the Dryad. I explained what I intended to do. Only a Dryad not bound to a tree could enter the Scourgelands. Only a Dryad could bind to those trees and learn the mystery. She agreed willingly.”

Erasmus took a piece of cheese and ate it slowly. “Under the Arch-Rike’s very nose. He would be furious, Tyrus. You are brilliant.”

Tyrus shook his head. “No. I am determined. I relied on others far wiser than myself. Drosta, for one. He knew the truth about the gilded prison of Kenatos. He managed to escape it as well. I am bound to that tree in the Paracelsus Towers just as she is bound to me. The Dryads have a ceremony for when it is time to reproduce their kind. They choose their mates. I was chosen. In our culture, when a man and woman marry, they wear a ring on their finger as a symbol of their union. When a Dryad chooses a mortal, she wears a bracelet around her ankle until the man is dead. It is an ancient custom. She does not choose a man very often. Only when she senses a need to reproduce her kind. The Dryad in the tower is my wife. I never forced her. Annon—what you need to understand is that I do have a daughter.”

Annon nodded slowly. He understood that each kingdom had its own tradition of marriage. It was even so among the Druidecht. Why should the immortals be any different?

“Where is she?” Annon asked.

“Stonehollow. That is where my family came from. It is where those of the fireblood came from. Our people, Annon. I knew that I would not be able to seek her out and teach her what she needed to know. I entrusted her to people who would protect her and teach her at the right time. She was to be raised an orphan. She is sixteen. She is the age when she must choose whether or not to bond with a tree. The stones I sent Hettie after are the way she will be found. She should have a necklace with a blue stone
embedded in it. The other stones will be drawn to it. That is the only way I can find her.”

Erasmus sat on the bench, playing with an apricot. “Stonehollow is almost beyond the Arch-Rike’s reach. They are wary people and slow to trust outsiders. A wise location.”

“Thank you,” Tyrus said. He then reached across the table and rested his hand on Annon’s. The gesture was remarkably tender. “I cannot tell you how it relieves me to share this burden with someone else. If the Kishion had killed me, the secret would have been lost for another generation or two. The Plague will come again. This may be the chance to stop it. I know you have hated and despised me, Annon. I have not been a good father or a good uncle. I accepted this when I decided to enter the prison of Kenatos. To be honest, you were the one who first gave me an idea of the solution.”

Annon was startled. “What do you mean? How could I have possibly done that? We have hardly ever met.”

“I know. But you marked me deeply, Annon. I once heard a Rike say something that described the experience I had at your birth. It was spoken at the marriage ceremony he conducted for two love-struck fools who were poor enough to be truly pitied. He said this after commissioning them to start a family without delay. Parents—be they Vaettir, Cruithne, or Aeduan—realize that the most powerful combination of emotions in the world is not called out by any grand celestial event, nor is it found in archives or histories. The most powerful combination of emotions is caused merely by a parent gazing down upon a sleeping child.”

Tyrus paused, his voice thickening. “I cannot tell you the anguish and torture it was to let Hettie be stolen by that Romani midwife. I hated myself for not predicting it. I helped you enter this world and was the first to hold you. Your father
was a good man. He trusted me. He lost his life because of me. As I watched you sleep for the first time, curled near your mother’s breast, I felt a surge of emotions that were completely alien to me. It was that experience which helped me understand that I needed to be willing to sacrifice something important in order to repair the damage of the Plague. A child would be required. A Dryad child to bond with a tree in the Scourgelands and learn the truth about the past. How could I ask that sacrifice of anyone else other than myself? How could I expect a mother to suppress her feelings if I was not willing to? You see it all now, Annon. You see my secret. You know my plan. The Arch-Rike realizes I am up to some mischief. He has no idea what. By telling you both what I have, I increase the odds of my success.”