Chapter Seven

I FELT THE LOSS BEFORE WE EVEN ENTERED the village or witnessed the first petrified chipmunk lying at the base of a tree.

The stillness. No playful shouts from children, no clang of hammer on steel at Brother Pirton’s forge, and no songs as men and women gathered water for the evening meals. The quiet brought tears to my eyes as we rode closer.

“We should tether the horses back several hundred steps,” I announced upon seeing that stone chipmunk. “The village is through that thicket of red maples. We should…we should hear them. The outlooks should have spotted us by now and had their arrows nocked. They should have called out a warning.”

Once the horses were tied to shady trees with Nin sleeping on a branch above their heads, we set off, my fingers skimming over the bark of every tree we passed, the hum of insects on the warm winds loud in the ominous quiet. I led the way, taking small steps as if slowing our progress would change the outcome.

The camp was deathly void of life other than a cluster of yellow butterflies engaged in a mating dance above a plot of rich red beets, their tops green and lush above the dirt. Bile roiled in my gut as I looked about. I spied a trio of young girls hiding behind a washtub filled with water, skin looking like granite that covered it.

“Mighty goddess, why have you let this happen?” I choked out as we moved into the village center. Each home we passed was eerily still. Each face locked into rictus. Adults shouting, children crying, dogs cowering, cats with backs arched. Pigs and goats frozen in their pens, chickens lying on their sides, eyes open and legs stiff. Sparrows laid on the ground where they had fallen from the trees. A fat squirrel clung to thick bark, its tail curled over its back, eyes round with fear.

“The temple,” Beirach hoarsely whispered, pointing past Tezen, who was slightly ahead of us, her wings blending in with the sound of the bees in the hives. Sister Telstra was the beekeeper. An old elf with a tongue that stung just as her prized honeybees. She was kneeling beside the hives, her mouth open and filled with bees resting on her stony tongue. I looked away, but no matter where I cast my gaze, I saw the faces of those I had known in my childhood. The domed shrine was in ruins. Part of the ceiling had caved in. The pillars were marked with scorch marks from spells. The fountain in the center spurted spring water into the air in a miserly fashion, the statue blasted into dust, the rich red gem gone.

My family was not to be seen, but I knew they would spread out across the village unless our people had been felled first, then they would have gathered here to protect the holy gem from whoever had done this.

“That is…my family…” I managed to choke, then dashed into the ruins of the temple, the interior a shambles of broken stone and statuary. My knees felt weakened as I dove at one large slab to move it from my father’s chest. “Father…” I keened as I reached out to touch his gray cheek. Beirach stilled my hand, clasping my wrist. “Let go !” I yelled, struggling violently, but to no avail. The archdruid was stronger than I was even when I had not just depleted all of my magicks. He tugged me away from my father to my feet, and then steered me to the far side of the temple. I cursed the man richly as my eyes fell to my brothers, all locked in place, swords and lances raised, shields up, as they fought to defend Danubia’s holy place. My mother stood by the shattered statue of my patrilineal beast blasted into bits. Her hands were up, fingers out, eyes narrowed, her lovely face a cold mask of concentration and fear. I kicked and pummeled Beirach in a mad effort to reach her.

“You may not touch them, Kenton. I know it hurts, but we know not how this spell works,” Beirach gently reminded me as he led me past a broken urn. My ankle bumped it, and it rolled to the left, clattering next to a large portion of stone that had fallen from the roof. “There is evidence it may pass through touch, remember?”

I did, but at this moment I cared not.

“I’ve done a preliminary scouting of the perimeter of the village and found no danger,” Tezen announced as she raced into the temple. “Oh sweet Juniper,” she gasped upon seeing my family members. “What kind of devilish fiend would do this?!”

A moan, soft as a kitten, floated out from under the slab. We froze, Beirach and I, and listened to that sound.

“Help…”

A man’s voice. We rushed to the chunk of smooth rock and began pushing on it. Inch by inch, it moved, the man under it groaning then falling still. We shoved and pulled, finally moving the fallen ceiling portion enough to grab a bloody hand and tug. The man keened.

“Sorry, my friend,” I said as we wiggled the man free. I pushed his long white hair from his face and cried out in joy. “Eldar!”

He was alive, untouched by the stone curse, but barely hanging on. His dark green eyes flickered open, and in his gaze, I knew he saw me. “Little…brother.” I kissed his brow, uncaring if it was bloodied and grimy. “You have…grown since…last my eyes…touched your face.”

“Let us move him from this temple. It is unsafe to linger here. The ceiling may come down completely,” Beirach said. I nodded dully, clasping my brother’s hand, my eyes moving over his broken body. Beirach, steady and sure as always, set about making a travois that we shifted Eldar onto. The pain of doing so caused him to pass out, but that was perhaps for the best. Tying the stick-framed drag to Atriel, we then pulled Eldar out of the village, into a small copse beside the creek. There we tended to his injuries. Broken legs, shattered arm, a head wound that oozed rich red blood. Throughout it all, he slept. We dribbled healing draughts between his cracked lips, rubbed balms into his cuts, and splinted his busted bones.

I sat at his side through the night, combing my fingers through his hair and telling him about my life in the castle so far from our forest home. He never moved. Much of that due to the sleeping herbs that I had pressed to his tongue, but some due to the injuries. The sky was still dark when I felt someone sit down at my side.

“You should rest. Let me tend to him for a few hours,” Beirach whispered. Tezen sat in the trees nearby on watch, her soft songs giving Eldar some comfort as he rested, I hoped. The pixie had a lovely voice when she wasn’t cursing like a drunken Calaer dock worker.

“No, I…no, I have to stay with him.”

“I understand. Then stretch out, place your head on my lap.”

“That would be…lovely,” I confessed, exhaustion sweeping over me like the winter storms that rage down from the Witherhorn Mountains. I barely had my head placed on his thigh when my eyelids dropped. Beirach skimmed his fingers over my brow.

“Would you like your braids loosened?”

“No, just…touch me as you are now?” I asked around a yawn.

“Touching you is a joy that I will never tire of,” he gently replied as his fingertips danced over my nose. I remembered little else other than the warm press of his lips to my forehead, right where the white mark of the goddess rested, before I fell into a dreamless, fatigued slumber.

I awoke with a start, sitting up in a familiar glen, my head foggy.

Sleep lingered in my thoughts as it was known to do. Was I dreaming of this open area where my brothers and I played as children? My sight moved from the pink and purple dawn painting the sky to Eldar, and I knew this was no dream. I sat as still as a mouse spying a cat and only exhaled when I saw his chest rising and falling. His breathing was labored, but he still clung to life.

I touched his arm above the splint to check for signs of the stone curse. His skin was dirty, olive green yet, praise Danubia, and warm. His long, dark lashes flickered at my touch. He had always been an easy one to rouse as opposed to my other siblings. Mother had taken to beating on a pot with a spoon to wake the others as Eldar and I would be giggling into our morning oats and honey. My heart clenched in loss.

“There…” Eldar tried to speak. “Water…so dry.”

“Yes, of course.” I jumped to my feet to find Beirach striding to me with his water flask, a soft smile on his face. “Thank you.”

I took the skin and kneeled back down. “Let me aid you,” Beirach said, kneeling as well and then sliding his thick arm under Eldar to raise him up slightly. “Drink slowly,” Beirach warned Eldar, who gulped greedily until I eased the skin from his swollen lips.

“Kenton,” Eldar whispered as Beirach eased him back to his makeshift bed. The travois rested on the cool ground now. Beirach must have removed it from the horse after I had fallen asleep. A low fire burned in a pit lined with stones blackened with use, a small pot pushed off to the side to warm whatever it contained. The same pit the children of the village would light when we would adventure out on our own or as far out as our parents would allow. I was sure that the outlooks sat in the trees over us, smiling down at our bravery of sleeping in the wilds, bows at the ready on their backs.

“I am here,” I replied, grateful beyond words to hear his voice. “You need to rest more, Eldar.”

“No, I need…damn the pain,” he said through gritted teeth. Beirach placed a hand on Eldar’s brow, his hand illuminating with a healing spell. The magicks spread over my brother, easing the grimace on his battered face. “Thank you.”

“No thanks are needed, princeling,” Beirach replied. Eldar sighed, his eyes roaming the leaves rustling overhead. Tezen arrived, carrying a cup of tea for the patient.

“I am no prince,” Eldar said as the pixie poured tea into his mouth. “My thanks, princess.”

“Ugh, I’m no princess,” Tezen sniffed.

“Seems no one cares for titles,” Beirach commented, sitting down beside me, his hand seeking mine. It felt right and good to thread my fingers into his. “Eldar, my name is Beirach Dreyath, the archdruid overseeing the sanctity of the Black Lake temple.”

“The name rings familiar,” Eldar said, his words sluggish now. “Father spoke of your exploits in the skirmishes against the trolls.”

“I…I am honored that the wilder warden would even know of me,” Beirach stammered. I squeezed his fingers. “Son of the warden, is there anything that you can tell us about what happened here?”

“Necromancer of incredible power,” Eldar spat out, his face dark with pain and rage. “Arrived with an army of those who rest in the trees unexpectedly.” Eldar paused and licked his lips. I slid my hand from Beirach’s to give him more water. Tezen came to sit on my knee, her empty teacup in her hands, the smell of lilac wafting up from her. She had recently bathed. My skin felt clammy and chilled from sweat and gore dried on it. A bath would be most pleasing. “Did not…ask for surrender…merely began casting spells. The stone magicks rolled over the village…like a grisly fog off a lake. Every living being it touched was turned instantly. We did our best to drive off the undead. So many were turned…”

“You do not need to speak of it anymore,” I interjected.

“No, I must…” Eldar rolled his head to the right to look at us. His sight lingered on Beirach, his slim white brows knitting. “He looked much like you, Beirach Dreyath.”

Beirach nodded dully as if that announcement did not shake him. “I suspect he is my son.”

Tezen gasped, her tiny cup tumbling to the grass. I stared at the man who had warmed my heart as none before in shock. Eldar, foolish pighead that he is, attempted to rise. A cry of pain tore from him. I placed my hands on his chest to press him gently back to his bedding.

“Sit still. Do not make me use the grape vines for aid in keeping you prostrate,” I told my brother.

“My sword,” Eldar growled as his eyes flamed with hatred.

“We have no need of swords,” I firmly said, my brother glaring at me openly. “I have traveled with his man for many miles over many days. His heart is pure. The love of Danubia flows from him. We will hear him out.” I looked at my sibling and then at Tezen. They both inclined their heads. Then I stared at Beirach. “You mentioned to me in confidence that your son and you had differences. You failed to mention that he was a dark mage.”

Beirach inhaled deeply, his sight moving to the trees that hummed happily as the first rays of the sun touched their leaves.

“No, for I didn’t wish to taint your perception of me,” Beirach confessed, rising to his boots to pace slowly. I sat with my brother and Tezen, watching the big man arrange his words before speaking them. “My son was always…difficult. My wife and I worked diligently with him as he grew older, guiding him into the way of nature and how to best protect those Danubia sheltered in the woodlands. But he had no wish to learn any druid craft, for his obsession was darker powers. He would find dead creatures and resurrect them from an early age. We scolded him, punished him, but nothing seemed to quell his fanaticism for necromancy. And he was gifted in the dark magicks, frightfully so. Then, when Maverus was in his sixteenth season, my wife, Saffanah, fell ill with tumors.”

Beirach’s fingers flexed as he relived his past. I longed to go to him, take his hands in mine, and kiss his scarred knuckles, but my brother clung to my fingers tightly, his ire thick on the air.

“Her illness was beyond our healing spells and draughts. The growths caused her great pain as she withered away. I…she was fading, this lovely elven lass who had stolen my heart the first time I had heard her play her flute. Her agony was palpable. She…at the end she begged me for release from her pain. I…” his gaze moved from the wisps of clouds in the sky to me, “I could not bring myself to do it. Ending her life was in the hands of Danubia, not me, and I begged off. Cowardly, yes, I know, I can see that now. I should have ended her suffering, but I…my…I could not do it.”

I rose then, uncaring of my brother’s feelings, and went to Beirach. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. I took his hands in mine and stared up at him.

“Cowardly is not a term that I would ever associate with you. Life and death rests in the hands of the goddess. Your faith was tested, and you walked in the light of Danubia’s teachings.”

“Thank you.” He cradled my hands to his chest as he placed his brow to mine. “My weakness whispers to me in the darkest moments of the night.” He inhaled shakily before lifting his brow from mine. “My son, on the other hand, had no qualms about ending his mother’s life and then resurrecting her.” Our gasps filled the quiet glen. “I found her crawling out of our home, pallid and drooling, her eyes dull and pale, her lovely tawny skin the shade of death and knew what Maverus had done. He stood in the doorway, laughing, as I had to end her life as my vows as a servant of Danubia demanded I do.” His hands shook as I held them. “He called me a weakling, defiled our goddess with words that I will not repeat. He called all druids pitiful, loathsome, and craven. That we wasted the powers of life and death and that he, one day, would move into a realm of power that only death could provide. I ran at him, lost in anguish, the blood of my wife still on my hands, and he disappeared as I swung at him. Where he went, I can only surmise. Another realm, one of the hellfire worlds, or perhaps off to find a dark mage to study under.”

Tezen arrived, sat on his shoulder and pat his face as she was want to do.

“I tended to Saffanah as fitting of an elf, lifting her into the boughs of her favored yellow larch to meet the goddess and left our home, my burden heavy.” He blew out a sad breath. “I wandered the woods for many years, alone and shamed of my son and myself. Eventually, after several years, I found the temple by Black Lake, and the elderly druid caretaker took me in. His time was nigh, and so I took over after he joined the goddess. I placed him in a strong tree facing the morning sunrise, just as I had my wife, and assumed his duties. And there I hid until the missive from Umeris arrived. I knew I had to act. That my hiding was over for now, for this sickness reeked of dark magicks. If it was my son…”

“Then you must be the one to face him,” I filled in and he lethargically nodded.

“This man…he claimed to be the one who…would eradicate the druids. That all who walked the land or flew in the sky would linger as monuments to the…the foolishness of overlooking the glory of death,” Eldar said, his voice weak and craggy. “We did our best, but the spell was too powerful…the army of undead too numerous…the temple fell in, shielding me. I saw nothing after being struck…if this is your son, he knows much…of our ways.”

“Indeed, he is well-versed in the beliefs and magicks of all druids. My wife and I worked with him for years, availing him to all manner of learning to try to lure him from the darker side of spellcasting, but to no avail.”

“Come sit down, please.” I led Beirach back to my brother’s travois. “Sit, there will be no more bellowing for swords,” I firmly said as I gave my sibling my firmest look.

“You have learned how to cast a glower well,” Eldar coughed out and moaned. “Your son is a menace, Beirach Dreyath, and needs be…eliminated.”

“Yes, I fear his hatred of me and all druids has poisoned him beyond redemption,” Beirach softly said, his shoulders slumped.

“Why is he taking the gems, though?” Tezen asked, flitting from Beirach to me, her small wings leaving a fine dust of purple in the air. “What good would a bunch of druidic gems be to a necromancer?”

“Druidic holy gems hold an amazing amount of power,” Beirach explained while I spooned broth at my brother. At being the correct word as he kept trying to grab the spoon to feed himself with his good arm while I kept insisting that I do it. Finally, he won out and dribbled soup down his front. Siblings. They could be so exasperating. I loved him, though, mightily, and used my shirt sleeve to dab at his dribblings. “It could be something as simple as spite. Taking that which we hold most dear, but knowing my son as I do, I fear it is for something far more nefarious. Tell me, Kenton, where are your village elders’ books and scrolls kept?”

“In my mother’s library,” I replied as I sat back on my heels. Eldar was drifting off now, his chin covered with soup. I wiped it clean for him. “I can take you there. What do you seek?”

“You shall eat first. You’re far too thin and haven’t had any sustenance for far too long,” Beirach commented, his pacing stalling. “Perhaps there is something in her papers that we may use to our advantage.”

Knowing that time was of the essence, I downed two cups of broth, the vegetables still crisp. Then I rose.

“Let us go then. The sooner we can possibly find some clues, the sooner we can move out,” I said, pushing to my feet with some vigor. The broth had helped greatly.

“Not to throw some hound shit onto the dinner platter, but how do we go anywhere with your brother?” Tezen asked aloud the one question I’d not wished to think upon. “He’s in no shape to be bounced around behind a horse for days on end.”

I glanced at my sibling sleeping fitfully, his mouth twisted in pain.

“I know of a small enclave of humans that live by the river. They will tend to Eldar for us,” Beirach offered.

“Humans near the Verboten?” I asked in surprise.

“A tiny band, yes, but good-hearted. My mother’s family still resides there,” he explained as I handed my cup back to him. “Several are quite skilled healers for non-magicks users. The trip would take three days at a good speed. Perhaps we can continue to push healing spells and draughts into Eldar to get him somewhat stable for the journey.”

“My supply is dwindling but I will gladly give him what I have left,” I said and got a nod from my companions. “Let’s return to the village then and see what we can find.”

Beirach and I left Eldar under the watchful eye of Tezen to return to my childhood home. A shudder ran over me as we entered the outskirts of my village. Nothing had changed. The people stood where they had yesterday. I did my best not to dwell on my fellow forest elves, for I had to stay focused. My parents’ home was a large one as they had so many boys to shelter and because Father was the wilder warden. It was a longhouse, made of logs hauled from the bogs, then covered with pitch. The tarred waters of the bogs soaked into the fallen trees, fortifying them as they dried until they were sturdy as stone. The walls were coated with shingles crafted from fibrous roots that we grew in large, moist gardens. They tasted like paper I recalled from my childhood, but when dried and mixed with sand from the river bed then fired, they became much like the lumber boards the humans were so fond of. The roof was thickly coated with baled summer grasses.

The front door stood ajar. The hinges creaked when we pushed it wider.

The interior was dark, the rising sun unable to chase off the shadows yet. I felt my way inside, knowing the layout well, and found my way to the wide hearth.

“Tell me about your family. Your mother is… was human?” I asked, leading the way from the living area filled with large stuffed mats, tables, and quilts Mother had helped weave with the other women in camp.

“She was, and my father elven. They met during a summer festival where the humans and elves traded. Father said when he looked into her gray eyes, he knew his heart was hers,” he answered, following behind me as we made our way past the open kitchen. There were pots on the woodstove still. My throat tightened. “They had many happy years together. My mother passed when she was well over a hundred ten, claiming my father’s elvish love and cooking got her to that advanced age.”

“Love is miraculous,” I whispered, chancing a glance over my shoulder. His bright blue eyes met mine.

“It surely is,” he replied as we reverently stepped into my mother’s library. Much like my mother, the room was tidy, the walls covered with shelves stacked with scrolls and tomes. Hundreds of tomes and rolled papers shoved into every nook on the long table she would read at. The candles on the desk sat cold, the wax having flowed to the rich redwood desktop then cooled in soft white puddles. “I suspected she may have vast knowledge at hand, but this…”

“It is overwhelming to be sure, but my mother is particular. The books will be sorted by age and magicks discusses, the scrolls will be the same.” I turned to look at him. “What is it we are seeking?”

“Druidic gems seem the best place to begin,” he replied and followed me to the southern wall. The window stood open, dampness from the night dew gathered on the several clay vases holding vibrant stems of hollyhock. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stop the groan of agony. I’d picked so many of those brightly colored spikes for her as a child, for they were always her favorite blooms. “Kenton, if this is too upsetting—”

“No. I can do this. I must do this.”

He nodded, just once, and then we began sorting and sifting through my mother’s vast collection. Time ticked by. Time that we could not afford to waste. I was growing agitated. Beirach closed a book, sighed, and placed it on a growing stack of tomes that we’d gone through.

“Perhaps we are not searching for the correct thing,” he offered and stretched his arms over his head, the sound of popping in his back making me wince.

“What else is there to look under?” I sat on a blue woven rug, scrolls and leaflets and notes scattered around me, vexed, tired, and growing disillusioned.

“I have a vague recollection of a myth that my wife would relay to our son before bed. It was a lovely tale about a magical fountain locked behind a mystical door deep in the foothills of the Witherhorn Mountains. It was the most holy of places for the goddess and to keep it such, she crafted a door sealed with the gems that she then passed out to her children to guard. There was a song that went with it. She would sing it to Maverus but the lyrics escape me. My wife was the bard of the family. Song lyrics do not linger long in my head.”

“I know that story,” I said, sitting up straighter, the childhood tale popping into my thoughts. “My grandmother Mikka used to tell it to us. It starred an elven boy, the son of a wilder warden, with dark green skin and hair white as spring willow blossoms. I think she told it to keep us children in the village, to frighten us into not wandering past the sentries.”

“A fitting reason if ever there were one.” He dropped down to crouch beside me, his amber hair glowing in a wide beam of sunlight. “The song had the same storyline as your bedtime tale. The lad got dreadfully lost. Crying and cold, hunger gnawing at him, his skin torn from thorns, he called out to Danubia to help him, and our goddess could not resist the boy’s plea.”

“Yes! She led him to a magical fountain where he could drink from the well of the earth’s core to heal him of all his ills.”

“That’s right,” Beirach said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his thick hair tumbling over his brow. “The prince—or wilder’s son if you prefer—had been taken to a door between two great oaks alone on the rocky crags of the Witherhorn. The doorframe required gems to be placed inside certain slots to open, but since Danubia herself crafted the doorway, she allowed him passage with a wave of her hand. Inside was a white stone fountain with water that tasted of pure light. One sip would cleanse the soul, give the drinker clarity and vision, and wipe away any past evils.”

“And so the child drank it and he was cured, his family summoned by the goddess, and his adventure used as a warning to rambunctious boys who liked to sneak off.” I thumbed a few braids from my face. “I have no idea what attraction spring water from an underwater well would be for a necromancer, though. He would not be seeking something to cure him of all evil. If your son is the man we seek, he would loathe the well and all it stood for, if it even exists.”

“Perhaps there’s more to the mythos than we know?” he enquired with a shrug.

“Perhaps,” I agreed with a sigh. “So we should be looking for tales for children then?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Or books that speak of lost wells.”

So, our search shifted. The day crept on, the sun nearly at its apex when Beirach, nearly buried behind stacks of old books, shouted out.

“Ah! I think I have something,” he called, and I got to my feet, my back cracking loudly, and made my way to where he sat with his broad back resting on the side of my mother’s desk. “Come sit. Look at this passage.

I twisted this way and that before taking a seat at his side. He passed the thick book over. The pages were yellowed, the ink faded on the two pages that lay open. I studied the odd drawings on the lefthand page. A twisted sort of being stood before a wellspring, the waters flowing up and then toward him. The tall, thin being seemed to be part man and part skeleton. The scribblings alongside the inkwork were tangled lines that I could not decipher.

“What book is this?” I asked, the energy of the tome making my skin crawl.

“There was no name on the spine, but I suspect it’s a dark tome. The energy it exudes is unsettling, yes?” He looked at me. I nodded briskly.

“Why would my mother have such a tome?”

“She is a learned woman. We cannot know all the world if we limit ourselves to reading only that which makes us comfortable. History is riddled with unpleasant things that elves had done to other races as well as our own kind. It is never pleasant to read, but we must know what we have done wrong in the past so that we do not commit the same errors in the future.”

“True,” I murmured, wishing that I could hand the tome back to Beirach. I did not like the feel of its weathered binding on my palms. “So this well, you think it to be the well behind the sacred portal in the Witherhorn?”

“Possibly. The drawing is what worries me the most. Do you know what this creature is?” I tapped the sketch of the monstrous thing drawing water from the well. “Is the ghoul, if it is a ghoul, trying to cure himself?”

“I suspect it is not a ghoul, but a lich in the making,” Beirach said, his brow furrowing as he ran a finger over the unintelligible writings peppered over the pages. A dread chill ran down my spine at the mention of such a vile thing. He peeked at me, long dark red lashes framing somber sky blue eyes. “How much education did you get on such things before you left for the city?”

“Not much, and my time with Aelir was spent trying to teach him our basic tenets. I assume the boy’s tutor is instructing him in dark magicks, so he has a good knowledge when he takes over the mantle of vills master of Renedith.”

“I keep forgetting that you were taken from your family at such a young age.” He gently touched the pale white mark on my brow. “She chose well.”

I thought to debate that but held my tongue. A winged beetle flew in the window, landing on the wall to study us, antenna wiggling. “A lich is an undead wizard. Many necromancers wish to raise one or, if they are powerful enough, to become one. Living forever is appealing to many, even though it goes against the balance of life and death.”

“But this water seems to be flowing toward the sorcerer. If this is the wellspring that heals all ills, would that not be counterproductive to becoming a lich?”

“It would,” he concurred, tapping at the wild writings under the imagery. “Unless one tainted the waters of the well.”

“By the goddess,” I squeaked, my sight flying from the page to Beirach. “If this is truly the fountain of Danubia…”

“Then the gems would be required to open it.” He flipped back a page, dust rolling up into the sunbeam flowing over us. The beetle took to wing, its black carapace glassy in the midday light. It landed above us. Beirach nudged me. I glanced down from the insect on the wall a foot above my head to stare at a detailed map of Melowynn. My gaze moved from the southern city, and capital, to the Verboten. Each temple of Danubia was shown. “If this dark mage…” I noted he did not name his son, which was understandable. A parent would hold out all hope. “Had started at the western tip of the Verboten, he would have swept into your aunt’s village first, this one second, and would have moved onto the next clan, which would be the Ursa village seated along the eastern edge of the forest.”

“Your temple is here,” I said, barely touching the map to avoid the shivers touching the book cast over me. “If it is Maverus, he would know exactly where it was.”

“If this map is known to whoever this necromancer is, he will have an easy march to all the druid encampments. If his magicks are as advanced as they appear to be, he will move like the wind, a dark cloud of sickness and decay that we cannot hope to catch up with. If this is his goal, then we must head to the base of the Witherhorn, locate the well, and prepare to battle him at the door. We cannot allow him to open the gate and sully the spring.”

Another beetle flew in the window, its wings beating as loudly as Tezen’s. It joined its brother on the wall above us. Something about the dark insect made me edgy. I had never seen such a large beetle in our woods before. Its oversized mandibles seemed to be coated in something viscous. I could not look away…

“Kenton?” Beirach asked, his voice lost as a swarm of beetles exploded through the open window. The ones above me dove at me, mandibles sinking into my neck, the pain like a fire brand to my skin. The room filled with biting insects. We both shot to our feet, slapping madly at the beetles attached to our flesh. I lashed out at the cloud with the book we had been studying while Beirach growled out a spell that hit the winged horde with a flare of dark blue energy, filling the air with static sparks much like rubbing one’s hair with a cloth. The mass of insects exploded, legs and wings and beetle bits coating the walls of my mother’s library. Something skittered down my back into the top of my trousers. I danced madly, trying to slap my ass with the dark tome.

“What in the name of Danubia?” Beirach panted as he tore a beetle from his forearm and then flung it to the floor. A big boot ended the insect’s life. A bite on my left buttock sent me into a tighter spiral. “Hold still.”

The slap to my backside stole my breath. The sound was terrible. A wet, slick crack followed by juices slithering down my thigh.

“Oh goddess, that is disgusting!” I reached back to rub my sore ass just as Beirach stepped closer to push braids from my face and neck. “They burn like fire,” I said as if he didn’t know. His left cheek bore a welt as did his neck.

“Some salve will take the sting out,” he said, inspecting my throat carefully as he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a small ceramic bottle with an old cork stopper. “It’s a simple balm made of pine sap, July crocus, and tender shoots of willow seed.” I tipped my head back to allow him to apply his salve. The burn began to fade almost immediately. I sighed at the relief. My gaze caught his. “I can apply some to the bite on your…” He waved the bottle at my ass. Heat raced all the way to the tips of my ears, but I hooked a thumb into the band of my slacks and gently pulled one side down. His nostrils flared. “I promise to only look upon your backside in the way of a healer.”

“Cannot you gaze upon it in the way of an admirer?” I asked, shocking myself at how brazen I was becoming. This was hardly the time nor the place for such behavior, but I seemed unable to stop myself. Life was short as Tezen said. Ours could be incredibly brief. Mayhap the pixie had the right of it after all…

“That is how I always look upon you,” he replied in a shaky breath.

Something collided with the side of his head. He jerked and flailed. A lone beetle flew madly about the room, impacting with the walls until it hovered shakily, emitted a scream that made us both wince, and then burst open. A thick sulfurous cloud wafted upward from the dead insects all around us. The fog hung high in the air, shifting by the ceiling, until a horrid laugh shattered the cloud like a hammer to a mirror. As quickly as the laugh appeared it disappeared, leaving nothing but the foul stench of rotted flesh.

Beirach said nothing, but the tension in his jaw told me that he knew that laugh all too well. My heart ached for him anew.

I hoisted up my trousers. The moment of playful flirtation over.

“Perhaps you should tend to that particular bite,” Beirach mumbled and handed me the corked bottle, backed away, and bent down to pick up the book. “We shall borrow this book from her library, but we must make sure to return it in good shape when we are done with it. Your mother would not look kindly on me if I failed to return that which she prizes in less than perfect condition.”

His sight roamed over my face.

“We will return it to her. And she will scold us for the insect innards on her tome,” I said.

He tucked the book under his arm and then cupped my face in his hand. “She will, and it will be a joyous scolding.”

I turned my face into his hand and kissed his palm. I longed for the day that my mother would be facing us, her finger wagging, as Beirach stood at my side looking down at me as more than a simple admirer. I wanted his loving gaze on me that day and for all the days after.