Finally, after a long, but vague amount of time of which he had no real grasp, he arrived at a peculiar structure. It looked like a house but appeared as though, rather than chopping down the trees and building with the raw materials, someone had coaxed the trees into a house shape. No light shone from the interior, so Munro stood for a moment, staring.
His instincts told him one doesn’t enter a dark house uninvited. On the other hand, the alternative was to remain outside. There didn’t seem to be anywhere else to go. He waited for a long while, pondering. His mind felt thick, as though he’d forgotten something important he should be doing but couldn’t recall what. Part of him believed if he tried long enough, he would regain some clarity. Another part worried what little comprehension he had would soon slip away.
A clunking sound within the house startled Munro. Had he drifted off? He shuffled toward the doorway. “Hello?” he called.
He didn’t hear a response, so he moved deeper inside. The blackness within became more absolute, and even his sharp night-vision had difficulty interpreting shapes.
“Come,” a voice said from a room even deeper in the tree structure.
Munro moved toward the sound. The darkness lifted a fraction, and he peered inside. Ewain, his back to the door, bent over a wooden bench. On the workbench lay a dozen or more wooden bowls, each filled with a silvery liquid, the source of the faint glow.
When the ancient man straightened and turned to Munro, he beckoned the druid closer. “Come,” he repeated. “I’ve prepared something for you, to make you stronger.”
Munro did as commanded. “What is it?”
Ewain lifted a bowl. “Drink,” he said.
Although he accepted the vessel, Munro hesitated. “What is it?” he asked again.
With a sigh that sounded like the rustle of leaves, Ewain said, “A spirit tonic. The fluid will bind your soul closer to your body, improve your memory, help your coordination. If you’re hoping to stay awake, you need to drink.” When Munro didn’t respond, Ewain added, “You’re already dead. What more harm can be done?”
Munro’s mind didn’t want to accept the idea of death, however, as he considered, he realised he wasn’t breathing. His heart didn’t beat. He didn’t feel hungry or thirsty. Experienced no pain at all. He accepted the bowl. “How did I die?” he asked. “I don’t remember.”
“A portal accident.” Ewain considered him. “Drink,” he repeated, so Munro did.
The liquid was thick and oily. It slid down his throat like raw egg whites. Within seconds, lucidity started to return. After about a minute, he remembered with clarity who he was and where he’d come from. “Maiya,” he said. Her face returned to his thoughts like a bright beacon. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten her, even for an instant.
“She’s fine,” Ewain said.
Munro furrowed his brow. “How do you know?”
“Your heroic act at the end saved her, else both of you would be here.”
The assertion confused Munro. Surely everyone who died didn’t come to this strange place. If they did, where were they? “Are we the only two people here?” Munro asked.
“Yes,” Ewain said. He looked every bit as peculiar as Munro remembered, but now that his mind was more sharp, he studied the ancient druid. No more fae-like in appearance than Munro himself, Ewain seemed to have more in common with the dark, twisted trees than a creature of flesh and blood.
“Are you dead too?” Munro asked.
“Yes,” Ewain said. “No one can come through the shadow portal alive.”
“You claim to be one of the ancient draoidh. How can I be certain you’re telling the truth?”
Ewain tilted his head. “A reasonable question. Let me answer with a question of my own. How else could I have survived in this place, if you can call my existence survival, for so many thousands of years?”
Munro blinked. He tried to catch his breath, despite the ridiculousness of his physical response.
Ewain went on. “My body should have rotted long ago and my soul drifted to wherever souls go.”
“What is this place?” Munro asked.
“I cannot say for certain. To me, it has been a prison. When the Source Stone broke the Otherworld, I was nearby. My memory is distant, but I do recall the last thing I saw was the fracturing of the world and the creation of a bright blue orb of light.”
Munro put his empty bowl on the workbench. “Did you see a black hand?”
Ewain furrowed his brow. “Those early days are hazy,” he said. “It’s been so very long, and I have slept through much of it. I was only recently awakened. The brew lasts longer if I am dormant, goes faster while I am awake.”
“How do you make it?” Munro asked.
“It comes from the trees,” Ewain told him. “If my gifts had been of any other sphere, I would surely have ceased to be able to hold on to even this shadowy plane of existence.”
“Which sphere?” Munro asked.
Ewain grumbled. “You new druids know nothing. I told Tinshea we should have been more vigorous about recording our ways. But she wouldn’t listen. The others guarded their secrets so jealously. In the beginning, we worked together. Over the passing centuries, the others grew distrustful. They never believed anyone else would come after. I suspected. That is one area in which you new druids excel. We thought we were special, a dozen gods plucked out of the world of men. You, on the other hand, seek out others. As your numbers grow, so will your strength. It is a shame, however, that you appreciate so little about your own potential. You don’t even understand the bonding rituals.” Ewain gave a harsh and rueful laugh.
Munro could hardly decide where to begin his questions. If he was willing to believe he was dead, it didn’t seem too much of a stretch to accept Ewain was one of the twelve original draoidh. “What is your sphere?” he repeated.
“Spirit, of course,” Ewain said. “Could an earth druid take the life essence from a tree and use the rendering to bind his own soul?” He snorted.
“There aren’t any spirit fae anymore,” Munro said. “And only one temporal. Astral are the most common of the Path of Stars. I’ve met three blood faeries. Two are dead, and one is a child, and half fae. The druids’ abilities seem to mirror the fae in rarity. Our numbers are so much smaller though, it’s difficult to tell.” For some reason, thinking along these esoteric lines was easier. Facts, he could recall. Reasons, emotions, the flows of magic, those things had grown remote.
“Yes,” Ewain said, his tone grim. “Our own creatures turned against us, deciding that certain powers were dark and dangerous, while others were good and worthy. I do not know which hand actually slew the other azuri druids. It happened after I became trapped here. Such atrocities they still commit. They almost achieved the complete genocide of the azuri fae.”
The old druid seemed lost in his memories. While he pondered, Munro tried to take in what the other man had said. The fae murdered the azuri draoidh? He shouldn’t feel shocked. After all, they’d executed faeries for having those gifts recently. But even many thousands of years after the draoidh had vanished, the ancient sorcerers were still spoken of with reverence.
Ewain’s voice broke Munro’s reverie. “Come. No more chatter. We have work to do.”
“Work?” Munro said, already sensing the slow numbing of his mind would eventually return.
“Of course. We’re going to find a way out of here.”
“How?” Munro asked. “If you haven’t found a way in thousands of years, what can I do that would be of any use?”
Ewain chuckled. “You have something I do not: gifts of stone. Did you not just create the Mistgate?”
“How do you know about that?” Munro asked. His memory wasn’t clear, but he would recall if they’d discussed his life and work.
“I know many things about you, Quinton Munro. This world is bound to the Source Stone. I’ve had little to do but listen.” The ancient druid beckoned Munro away from the light, back outside. “Come. I will tell you as we walk. I will show you many things. You will understand when you see.”
∞
Tràth could no longer pretend not to listen. “What do you mean Lord Druid Aaron has
gone astray
?” He closed the distance between himself and Essian and Imena.
The steward cleared his throat and glanced at the princess. When she nodded for him to continue, he said, “He’s gone into the Shadow District, Your Highness.”
The princess’ red skin paled, her cheeks turning to greyish rust. “Why were you anywhere near there?”
“I’d shown the druid lord to the archives, as you commanded, Highness. He and Cen worked within for several hours. When they emerged, the druid lord had said he wished to send a missive to his Hall. So I led them toward the castle. We’d just arrived when he bolted. I can’t explain why. Cen and I both pursued him, but naturally stopped at the Shadow District gate.”
“Where is the scribe?” Imena asked.
“I left him at the gate in case the druid lord came out.”
“What is the Shadow District?” Tràth asked.
Imena sighed, looking troubled. “I’ll explain as we walk.”
“Surely you’re not going there, Your Highness? Forgive me, but what would Queen Naima say?” The steward wore the same affronted look higher-ranked servants sometimes got when protocol was breached. Tràth had noticed servants often took such matters even more seriously than their masters.
“If I lose one of our esteemed guests,” Imena said, “my mother will be the least of my concerns. Send word to Deaph at the keep. I require a half-cadre, but no more. I don’t wish to alarm anyone.” She turned to Tràth. “I’m sure Lord Druid Aaron merely grew curious and wandered off.”
At a gesture from the princess, the steward sprinted away as quickly as his stubby legs would carry him. Imena and Tràth left the meeting room, walking at a quick but not unseemly pace. “As you said earlier, when we talked about an eventual mating ritual, we discussed only the benefits to our countries, and not any potential…negative issues. You were forthright with what you believe to be your shortcomings. Since Lord Druid Aaron has left me little choice, I must reveal what I had hoped to keep from you, at least for a while. Of course, I’d planned to discuss these issues before too much time passed.”
She paused, and while she did, Tràth’s hope of a positive mating contract faded. Something in her expression filled him with dread.
“Until recently, azuri fae were silenced in Zalia. The Shadow District, although too small to be considered a fully-fledged district of our city, is where these azuri live.”
Tràth relaxed. How bad could a place for azuri fae be? As moments passed, her words sank in. “What do you mean
silenced
? Severed?”
“No,” she said, her voice ringing with disgust. “My grandmother outlawed that practice a thousand years ago. We have always maintained that azuri can’t help being born as they are.”
“As
I
am,” Tràth said.
Imena struggled to continue. “Yes. Remember, Prince Tràth, your own mother hunted and tried to kill you for being born with azuri powers. The changes in fae thinking are recent.”
“How could I forget?”
They approached an immense door which two stewards opened for them. They walked into the main courtyard in front of the castle. Six Watchers stepped forward and saluted. “With me,” she said to them. They fell in around her and Tràth, and the group continued into the starlit streets. At the sight of the procession, people faded back, but still watched from the windows. She resumed speaking with Tràth. “The azuri are permitted to live in the city’s Shadow Districts but not to touch the flows or teach others of their use.”
“And earth fae are not allowed into the Shadow Districts?”
“Exactly,” Imena said. “It is…
was
thought that this segregation was better for everyone.”
They walked much further than Tràth expected. He had difficulty imagining Aaron could go so far by accident. What would drive the druid to seek this place out? Tràth had a suspicion but had no intention of giving voice to his fears yet. Not until he’d found Aaron.
Like any city, Tafgul had areas which clearly housed noblemen, and other parts where tradesmen, craftsmen, or servants lived. As they went further along, the poverty became more evident, and Tràth grew more worried by the step. In a Caledonian city, no district would be in such a state as the one they entered now. Pallets lined the outer walls, and it took him a moment to realise their purpose: seats for beggars. At the present moment, they lay vacant.
The group came to an immense gate. Cen, the scribe, stood in front of it. He bowed to Imena, clearly in distress. She signalled to two of her Watchers. “You are to locate the druid lord and escort him out. Treat him with every respect. He has simply wandered into an unfamiliar place.”
“He won’t come out,” Tràth said.
“Why not?” Imena said.
“I believe I know why he’s here. He may not be
able
to leave. I’ll get him.”
“You can’t,” Imena said. “Entering this place is forbidden. Even sending these faithful Watchers inside will have consequences. You do not understand our ways yet, but you will.”
“Have you forgotten I am azuri?” he asked, bitterness colouring his tone. “I am disappointed you would uphold a law that dictated you could not walk down a street where one of my kind lives. Did you offer to bed me out of curiosity? Did you simply wonder if joining with me would be
different
? Did it thrill you to court the illicit?”
Imena bristled and raised her chin defiantly. “You speak unkindly, Prince Tràth, but I will forgive you. This is not a part of Zalian culture of which I am proud. Part of my choice in wanting you as my mate would be to speed the breaking of such barriers.”
“I’m going in,” he said. Before she could voice any further objection, he touched the flows of time. Moving through the still figures, he pushed against the unyielding air. His energy drained quickly, but he pressed on.
The area known as the Shadow District was, in fact, only a few streets of dirty, neglected houses. He’d never witnessed such squalor. Within moments, he located Aaron. The druid sat on the steps in front of a small narrow house toward the back of the district. Like everyone, he was frozen. The horror and sadness on his face spoke volumes.