Dryad Eyes, part 38.
Here we are again! This entry comes in at 5,448 words. XD
I think the biggest thing that held me back from getting this one done a lot sooner is that, sometimes, every writer forgets themselves and has their characters act like complete douchebags to each other for the sake of creating cheap drama, and that just doesn't take with characters like thes. Lol
Politely, graciously, but quite firmly, Ytyrra had turned down all suggestions that she wait for Geran in his personal chambers. Even Eyrenya had advised that being there when he returned was likely to be the best way to catch him, given his tendency to come and go as he pleased at any and all hours of the day and night. Still the Eldest Sister of the Dryads had remained adamant. While she was quite certain that, no matter how she presented herself, her arrival would come as a surprise to him, she would not spring it upon him so suddenly in that manner. Not in his home, in his personal space, where he would be likely to return when he was tired and ready for bed. Worse, he may return there with his lover to do the things that lovers do. It would be horribly improper for her, both his mother and, for all intents and purposes, a visiting dignitary from a sovereign people, to intrude herself upon him in that manner. No, she had said, she would meet with her son in the open, in a public space, and she would approach from where he could see her. These were courtesies that she would have expected for herself, and she felt obliged to treat her son with the same deference.
Accepting Ytyrra’s stance, Eyrenya and Kella had set out to find her and Amiendyn a place to sleep for the night. It had not taken long. Treyp’s room, left empty and cold, was just a few doors down from where Geran normally rested his head. Where their Sister was even Eyrenya did not know, and the Wind Nymph seemed quite troubled by that fact. She was going to go look for her. Given that Treyp’s health was still not fully restored, she had asked that the two of them wait and rest there in case the ‘damn stupid girl’ returned and needed help. Still having some distaste for intruding on one of her Sister’s privacy, but accepting Eyrenya’s request and position as reasonable, Ytyrra had agreed that she and Amiendyn would rest their heads in that room until the sun was up. Kella rose with the sun every morning, and would take over keeping an eye on the room for them so that they could go about their business.
Dawn brought with it a brighter day, and with it lighter clouds and less snowfall than had been seen in over a week. It was a much needed respite for the people of Keeper’s Gateway. Even with the magical steps that Geran had taken to keep the weather under control, and the city livable, the onslaught had worn down many of their spirits. They awoke on this day in a better collective mood, and for the first time since the snow began to fall the city streets seemed at peace. There were no large bar fights to break up, spilling out into the streets and filling the quiet morning with angry voices, hollers, and screams. No lines of people sprang up at the soldier’s barracks, filled with people looking to report assaults, robberies, and, of course, the suspicious behavior of their neighbors. Of course that is not to say that there were no such individuals, but those that did show up arrived singly and each left well before the next arrived. Even Vy Miegga and her band of followers had apparently decided to not interrupt the early stillness by remaining indoors.
Amiendyn, young and yet not nearly so hardy as her Eldest Sister, fell asleep quickly and slept hard through the few hours they spent in that room. Unable to do the same, Ytyrra simply reflected upon the circumstances of her last meeting with her son. Filthy, exhausted, they had both been prisoners of Katharion’s mad regime that had overthrown the government in Kamelot once Queen Leeanna, Geran’s wife, was dead. Her son had been but a sorry shell of his former self. His wounded heart could not sustain his abused body, and so he had been beaten to the point of breaking and beyond. He had hardly known his own name. That had nearly broken her as well, which, of course, had been the point of her being allowed to see him at all. What their captors had not expected, however, was that sliver of Geran’s soul that would not allow itself to die, or that Ytyrra, Eldest Sister and witness to thousands of years worth of history and heroism, would know what to say to fan that fire within him back to life. That was a mother’s duty, was it not? Their captors had been fools.
When at last her thoughts were interrupted by Kella’s arrival, the older Dryad wiped the tears from her eyes and roused her Sister. The elderly maid, bless her sweet soul, had thought to bring them both coffee and toasted bread, along with information. She told them where to find Geran, and said that Eyrenya had yet to send word regarding Treyp. So it was that two full blooded Dryads, making no attempt at all to disguise their nature, found themselves traversing the inner hallways of the Keep. Fortunately for all parties involved, what servants and soldiers they did encounter were loyal to the Battle King of Keeper’s Gateway and so were inclined to treat them with the utmost respect. All save one. A man who, when prompted, introduced himself as Haron, and had hurried away red faced and making strangled noises after learning Ytyrra’s name. She was glad of it, for something about that one had made her skin crawl. He was something of a politician as well as a soldier, she had guessed, but there was something else. Something foul, and almost familiar, had touched that one. Had she met him in the woods near her home she would have taken him in hand and held him prisoner until her gifted Sisters could determine the source and nature of that taint, though she already had her suspicions. It felt very much like the vileness that had infected her Sister Lauriel, whom had brutally murdered the man named Thanik that Amiendyn had taken prisoner. It would not do, however, to have another such tragedy occur before she had taken her son into her confidence. His was the proper authority in this land, and she would rightfully defer to him. Within reason, of course.
They found Geran exactly where Kella had said they would. One of the three largest dining halls in the Keep, not coincidentally the one furthest from the portion of the structure that had been re-inhabited, had recently been cleared of all of its tables, chairs, and extra furniture. There was now sand covering the hard, stone floor, though whether it had been carried in by hand or conjured forth by mystical means was anyone’s guess. Toward the far end of the room from where the two Dryad women entered were a series of wooden dummies and several weapons racks containing both steel and wooden practice blades. Closer to them, standing tall and bare chested within a circle of perhaps fifteen boys and girls that had all-but reached their majority, was the Battle King.
A proud smile touched Ytyrra’s lips. So long ago he had departed the forests in which she had raised him, and left behind the Dryad culture, but he had not forgotten their values. Kella had explained, when telling them where to find him, that every second day the King liked to give back to his people. One day, he would sit in on the classes with the youngest children of Keeper’s Gateway, helping the schoolmaster deliver her lessons. Another, like today, he would spend with the older children, the ones soon to be grown, teaching them to defend themselves, and giving his experience to the ones that planned to enlist as soldiers in hopes that it might one day save their lives. Though perhaps not in the same manner, Ytyrra did much the same for all of her little Sisters. It was the most important duty she, or any leader of any people could have, to participate in the lives and growth of the next generation. For one, short-lived moment, she felt her eyes heating as if she might cry again, but it was not to be. She blinked them clear, sniffed once, and walked closer to the ring of bodies surrounding her son.
Two boys had been called forward from the circle to stand before their King. It was clear what was about to happen. A sparring match was about to take place. Their faces stood in stark contrast to one another; one was eager, hungry for the experience ahead, while the other was timid, nervous to the point that he had to flex his hands repeatedly to stop them from shaking. It was clear, also, that in spite of their mindsets, both boys understood where the true handicap lay. The fact that the match was two-on-one meant nothing here. They were facing a superior force, and there was only one possible outcome. Still, however, when Geran called for them to begin, both boys went on the offensive without the slightest bit of hesitation.
Swift and sure as death itself, the Battle King slipped between the boys and left their wrists stinging with quick slaps that neither of them had noticed until the impact, Ytyrra allowed her eyes to drift away from the exercise. There were, of course, other people in the new training hall besides Geran and his class. A short distance away, a few men and a matronly woman looked on in rapt attention. They almost had to be parents. Beyond them, near the wall, stood a cantankerous looking old woman who watched with a disapproving scowl. Far closer, on the dirt floor, sat a boy that was clearly not a part of the proceedings. He was dressed as a courier, his simple uniform of a nicer cut than average in case he should happen to encounter somebody important. What actually caught her eye was the condition of those fine clothes. They were dirty, sweat stained, and rumpled. The boy’s hair was disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot with bags beneath them. This one clearly had not slept in far too long.
Following the young courier’s tired gaze with her own eyes, Ytyrra was more than a bit amused to find that he was not watching the sparring match at all. He was gazing, his mouth agape, at Amiendyn, who had wandered further aside, and closer, to find a better view of what was happening within the ring of soon-to-be warriors. Even more amusing was the Eldest Sister’s realization that the younger Dryad wore much the same expression on her face, and that her attention was focused firmly on Geran.
Content to leave her companion to her ogling, Ytyrra stepped closer to the young courier. When finally his gaze was torn away from the object of their interest and turned toward her, she lowered herself to sit on the floor beside him. His surprise was palpable, but although there was a spark of recognition in his eye that told her that he had recognized her as a Dryad, he did not seem nervous. He did not seem afraid or hateful either. There was a certain wariness to him, as if he did not trust himself to trust her intentions, but that was hardly an unfair mindset. Regardless, she was happy to find that not everyone in this part of the world was as bigoted as the man named Haron had clearly been. Though it was easy for her, for anyone, to remember such facts on an intellectual level, that was not quite as real as experiencing them firsthand.
“Hello.” Ytyrra greeted the boy with a gentle smile. The smile he returned was more reflex than genuine, but it was a start. “I am Ytyrra. May I ask your name?”
“A-Andrek, ma’am.” The young courier’s voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat.
“Andrek. A fine name. Caltherian?”
“My father’s family is from there. I’ve never been that far north.”
“I have. It is a beautiful country.”
“Mother always said that, but that it was only on the surface.” The boy ducked his head as he spoke, as if afraid that he might be overstepping his bounds by sharing as much as he was. “She said that the people are rotten inside, like their souls are already dead.”
“That is a harsh thing to say. Do you believe it?”
“I… I don’t know. People are people, as far as I can tell.”
“True. Perhaps your mother had a less than pleasant experience with Caltheria, and that soured her toward the entire country.” With one hand, Ytyrra indicated both herself and Amiendyn as she continued. “Some of my people are like that. They prefer to be reclusive and live only amongst their own because they have encountered cruelty in the outside world. They come to think that that experience will define everything beyond the borders of our culture.”
“But you don’t think that way?”
“I did once. A long time ago. But I was lucky enough to learn better, thanks to an unexpected friendship.”
“Hah. Maybe one day I will teach my Mother better too, then.”
“You are a good son.” Ytyrra replied with yet another smile for the boy.
Silence glided in and settled between them, then. Andrek seemed to want to speak further, but, unsure of himself or what he should say, he cast his gaze down and said nothing. It was not long, however, before he allowed his eyes to drift up again. He eyed Ytyrra, here and there, and watched some of what Geran was doing, but for the most part found himself staring once again at the lovely younger Dryad that had accompanied the woman that sat beside him. For her part, the Eldest Sister actually was content to sit in silence. She had long ago, in the dim and dusty pages of history, lost her lust for filling every last moment with pointless conversation. Instead, she simply waited, and watched as one of the two boys Geran was sparring with was spun about by a stiff kick and fell to the ground. His partner tumbled over his back a moment later, landing facedown in the dirt.
Finally unable to take it any longer, Andrek broke that long lasting silence himself. “Is… was that all you came over here for? To talk about? J-just my name, and where I’m from?”
“I was curious,” Ytyrra admitted, answering innocently, and at least somewhat truthfully. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
“I… no. No. I just…” Andrek looked back at Geran, who just then lunged beneath one opponent‘s attack, rolled, and leapt over the other entirely. The boys were looking quite winded just then, trying to adjust themselves quickly enough to keep their mentor in view. “I am supposed to tell him.”
“Geran?” Ytyrra queried. When the young courier nodded his head in agreement, she smiled and spoke again. “I am his mother, you know.”
“Wha--?” He found himself staring at the woman beside him in bewilderment. Geran’s mother? Is that what she had just said? Looking at her, honestly, he realized that he really could see a resemblance that went beyond them both being of the same race. The set of her nose, the cut of her jaw, the particular hue of her dark brown-almost-black eyes. At first, however, he did not quite see how she could be old enough. Then, even as it suddenly dawned on him that Dryads were supposed to be at least semi-ageless, the one beside him had fine lines around her eyes, nose and mouth. It was easy to miss them, especially at first glance, but they were there, and it was clear from looking at them that this was a woman whom had laughed and least a hundred times for every frown that had ever touched her face.
“I am sorry,” Andrek said after a long moment’s consideration. “I did not believe you at first, but only because you don’t look anywhere near old enough for that.”
“Silly boy,” Ytyrra responded with a smile and chuckle, neither of which was in any way malicious. “Shouldn’t you be saving your compliments for my friend, Amiendyn?”
Furiously blushing a brilliant shade of red, the young courier quickly ducked his head yet again. He had been caught! Though he was quite well aware of the fact that there was no actual crime in looking, he, like most people, had at some point or another been taught that looking and being found out, especially that, was a bad thing. It was the same little piece of brainwashing that saw so many people, the world over, look away immediately upon meeting the eyes of another. That had always been a source of severe frustration for Ytyrra, and over the years she had often spent a great deal of time and energy to break that bad habit in the people that she was responsible for.
“What you need to tell my son,” She began at last, sparing the boy any further agonizing he might have meant to do over what had been said but moments before. “Is it important?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded so quickly that she was afraid that his head might rattle loose and fall to the floor. “It is of the ut-utmost urgency. I’ve been looking for him all night. Treyp and Kurik wanted me to find him. I guess you’d know her.”
“I do, yes.” Patting the boy softly on the shoulder, Ytyrra answered in affirmation of his assumption. “When he is at a stopping point, we will speak with Geran together. I will make sure that he hears your story quickly. Okay?”
Andrek stared at her for a second, and then two, clearly torn between trying to determine exactly why she was being so helpful and accepting her offer outright. For some reason, this boy had either decided to not put his trust in anyone, or was warned ardently against it. Peripherally, as he considered what he could do, would do, they were both aware that Geran, having soundly immobilized both boys, had called a halt to the sparring session. He was, in that moment, launching into a lecture concerning the pros and cons of taking on an opponent that was completely superior in a physical sense. There was not a soul in the room that did not distinctly remember his recent one-on-one victory over Orun the Untamed, the Lion of Soldaria, a man known for having actually moved mountains with his mighty hands. The Battle King knew his business on this point, and his students were willing, even eager, to listen at length.
It was not to be an unnecessarily long lecture, however, as they learned when Geran signaled for three of their number, two girls and a boy, to join him within the circle. Once they had, he spoke to them thus. “My apologies, but I have some guests that need greeting. I want you three to work a two-on-one, elimination style, and clockwise around the circle. Good?”
“Yes, Lord Geran!” All three of the children standing before him spoke at once, and saluted. With a small smile, he returned the gesture and excused himself from their activities. His long, strong stride carried him quickly toward the two who awaited him, and Andrek did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that the decision had just been lifted from his hands. Like it or not, he and Ytyrra would meet and speak with the King together. As he drew near, the two of them shifted themselves to their feet, dusting the dirt from their clothing with their hands.
“Mother,” Geran greeted Ytyrra, and, without waiting for a response, wrapped his powerful arms around her. Her eyes heated again, and she closed them, allowing just a few wet droplets to slip free as she returned his embrace. She had expected a more formal, less familiar greeting, at least until they were away from the every prying eyes of the local populace. That such was not the case pleased her more than she would have expected, or could have expressed.
“My son,” she answered, whispering the words in the Dryad language that, of those present, only she, he, and Amiendyn could understand. Where, she had to wonder, was the tension, the testy irritation that she had previously expected? Instead of those things, what she could feel from him in that moment was a rare kind of relief which came only in the presence of long missed loved ones. It matched well the feeling the feeling that also filled her heart in that moment.
“Kella told me that you had come,” he spoke softly, for her ears alone, and planted a kiss on her hair before releasing her from his arms. “I don’t think I quite believed her until you walked through those doors. It is good to see you.”
“And you,” Ytyrra’s wiped a hand across her wet face and smiled at him. Then, before another word could be exchanged, she placed a hand upon the shoulder of the boy that stood silently next to her. He had watched their reunion without comment, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he tried to decide whether he should wait or interrupt. Once again, he found that he did not need to make the decision for himself. “This is Andrek. He said that he has an important message for you.”
“We’ve met once or twice. How have you been, boy?”
“G-good, sir.”
From behind the Battle King, back amongst the circle of children whom had not yet begun their activities as instructed, there came quite a bit of commotion. They had stood still and quiet, listening as Geran had greeted the strange woman who had gone unnoticed by them until that very instant. An excited clamor had run through their ranks at the word mother. Mouths opened, tongues wagged, and, for just a moment, gossip began to flow amongst the younglings. It ended abruptly when one of the students that Geran had called forward moments earlier, a girl by the name of Elise, intervened on his behalf.
“Let him alone!” The tall brunette bellowed at the others, striking the student that was to be the one in the first two-on-one hard upon the shoulder with an open palm. She was a temperamental girl, known by her peers as a person who fought hard and played harder, and had never had any use for things that she considered silly or stupid. “It ain’t none of our business! Lets do this!”
Appearing far less perturbed that he actually was, Geran turned his attention back again to his mother and Andrek. Holding up a hand, he spoke before the boy could launch into whatever it was that he had come to say. “A moment, please. Let’s finish with our introductions before we get down to business.”
“Finish--?”
“Her,” Geran acknowledged Amiendyn, whom had wandered close again, with a nod and an apologetic smile. She blushed and ducked her head at the attention. He was certain that he had met her before, at some point, but it had been years since he had walked among his mother’s people. Although he had not known every last one of them personally, and there has certainly been a number of settlements flung far and wide from that central hub, he was fairly sure that he had met this particular girl before but could not place where or when that had been. She did look young, but that was a poor way to judge a Dryad’s age when one thought to take their lifespan into account. “Sorry, mother, I’m afraid that I do not recognize your companion.”
“Do you not?” With a wide smile on her face, Ytyrra reached over to place a hand upon the younger Dryad’s shoulder and drew her forward into the conversation. “I suppose little Amiendyn has changed some over the years.”
“Wait!” With surprise writ across his face, Geran looked at the girl his mother had just called Amiendyn a little more closely than he had before. Having been told her identity, he found that he could see it. A myriad of long ago memories danced through his mind, gaining momentum as they went by. He remembered a wild little girl, with a wicked sense of humor, who had always been but a few steps from where Treyp stood, and generally a few steps ahead when they had gotten into trouble. There was the memory of himself dangling both girls from one arm as they kicked their feet and swung about to no avail, and he could recall laughing as they tried to climb his legs and drag him to the ground. Geran shook his head, smiling, and reached out to take the girl from Ytyrra. As he drew her into yet another embrace, he spoke with a warmth normally reserved for only the closest members of his family. “Jyru’s little girl. I remember, I just didn’t recognize you. It is good to see you.”
“And you, Lencu.” Amiendyn answered, grinning broadly as she borrowed Treyp’s nickname for her favorite uncle and returned Geran’s hug. Then, giggling, she drew back and swatted one hand playfully at his face. “But I am no longer a little girl. And your beard tickles.”
“So I’ve been told,” the Battle King responded laughingly, and released his hold on her.
While watching all of this transpire, Andrek had stood silent, considering the woman named Ytyrra. He had, of course, recognized her as a Dryad. She looked every inch the legendary figure described in the history books, if not the more fantastical fables. Black clothing, which was often the alternative to the earth tones usually described, covered her body. The bright, naturally red streak in her long, dark hair was a dead giveaway, as were her dark-brow-almost-black eyes. From the very moment that she had introduced herself, something had been tickling the back of the young courier’s mind about her. It had taken more than long enough, but he had finally realized what it was. Ytyrra, the Dryad Witch, had become a popular story in taverns of late, and he had heard it, piecemeal, any number of times. Were the stories true, the boy wondered? Was this the same woman? It was easy enough to dismiss them as being the tales of bigots, but finding out that the central character of one of those stories might be a real person could possibly cast them in a different light.
“Andrek? Boy?” Geran said again, snapping his fingers before the young courier’s face. “Are you well?”
“W-what? Yes. Sorry.”
“Are you sure?” There was real, honest-to-the-Gods sincerity in the King’s tone. The boy appreciated it, truly. “I asked you what urgent word you had brought me, but I don’t think you even heard me.”
“Sorry, sir. I-I haven’t slept.”
“Perhaps you should--”
“No! I need to… Treyp sent me to tell you.” Rubbing vigorously at his flushed face with both hands, Andrek tried to rouse himself. “All day yesterday, all last night, I searched and couldn’t find you. I can’t put if off anymore.”
“Very well, then. You are right, of course.” The Battle King responded, resolving to focus on what the boy had to say. Suddenly, he felt guilty for having been so out of pocket the day before, and found himself worried over what his mother might think. Ytyrra was, after all, a long reigning leader of what was, essentially, a sovereign nation. If she were considered to be a Queen, or its equivalent, then she would probably be the longest reigning monarch since the Breaking of the World. Hers was an opinion to be respected regardless of his relation to her. “Go on, then. Take your time and tell me everything.”
“There is a demon loose in the city,” the boy began. “I became a part of this only after Treyp had discovered this, and was trying to enlist help against it. She can… sh-she can see it, even though she’s blind. All the time. Wherever it is. And she said that sometimes it leaves its mark on people, and that mark is somehow related to blood flow. So I helped her down to the lower levels to find the girl named Lithia, because her power is also all about blood flow and Treyp thought that she could help.”
Nodding, Ytyrra waited for a lull in Andrek’s speech to interrupt. “This is one of the things I wished to speak to you about as well, Geran. We, too, have detected something dark and sinister moving about this City. It infected one of our Sisters with so much malice… I will speak to you about that also, but later, when we are alone.”
“It was that bad.”
“Worse.”
“Do I know her?”
“It was Lauriel.”
“Oh.” Deep, dark dread gripped at Geran’s heart, then, for what his mother might have to tell him. He remembered Lauriel, strong and sweeter than most of their people ever knew. She had spoiled him as often as she could when he had been young, slipping him sweets and toys as often as his mother’s back was turned. Not that there was any need to hide it, of course, but it became something of a game between the three of them. There had also been the time that he had gotten lost, having wandered too far from home, and in fear hid from his frightened, searching mother in a shallow cave beneath the roots of a mighty, ancient tree. Lauriel had been the one that found him there. For four hours she had lain beside him in that cramped space, telling him stories and jokes, eventually lightening his mood and getting him to sleep. Then, with the gentlest hand just about anyone had ever had, she had removed him from his small hiding place as he slept and carried him home. Geran had awoken to one of the best mornings he had ever experienced, warmed by a nearby fire as a very much relieved Ytyrra sat laughing and talking with the woman that had been his rescuer.
“We should move out of here,” Geran said at last. He was no longer comfortable speaking where they might be overheard. There was also the fact that, if there was such a monster loose within Keeper’s Gateway, then they had little time to spare. Action had to be taken quickly, and that would not happen while they stood around talking about it in the newly christened training hall. “Please, follow me, and keep talking as we go. I need to know everything the both of you know about this demon.”
“My son, I am sorry, but truth be told I have already told you most of what I know apart from the details of what Lauriel was driven to do beneath its influence.” Ytyrra, Eldest and Wisest Sister of the Dryads, answered as she and Amiendyn fell into step with him as he made to depart the room. There was an apology unspoken behind her words. Had she the power to give him more information, she would gladly have done so. The destruction of demons was a noble calling, and more than slightly sacred to her people.
“Treyp recognized it.” Andrek gave his answer, having waited until Ytyrra was done speaking for fear of interrupting her.
Just a few steps beyond the double doors that served as the main entrance to the hall in which they had stood, Geran stopped to stare at the young courier. “What was that? She recognized it?”
“It used to be human. That’s what she said, anyway.”
“Is that all that she said, Andrek?”
“No. Sh-she said that it used to be human.” The courier repeated, growing flustered. Geran reminded himself, then, that the boy was all-but exhausted. Pressing him would not work. “Sh-she said that it was one of the men that attacked her. The ones that nearly killed her. It was their leader.”
“That doesn’t sound right.” Geran’s brow drew inward, toward its center, creating a dark scowl as he disagreed with what he was hearing. “Treyp wasn’t attacked by a demon.”
“I told you, she said it used to be human.” Andrek shuddered, folding his arms defensively against the demonic visage that was still burned into his memory. “Now it’s something else. Something worse.”
“I see.” A sense of urgency overtaking him, the Battle King’s feet began to fall faster.
I think the biggest thing that held me back from getting this one done a lot sooner is that, sometimes, every writer forgets themselves and has their characters act like complete douchebags to each other for the sake of creating cheap drama, and that just doesn't take with characters like thes. Lol
Politely, graciously, but quite firmly, Ytyrra had turned down all suggestions that she wait for Geran in his personal chambers. Even Eyrenya had advised that being there when he returned was likely to be the best way to catch him, given his tendency to come and go as he pleased at any and all hours of the day and night. Still the Eldest Sister of the Dryads had remained adamant. While she was quite certain that, no matter how she presented herself, her arrival would come as a surprise to him, she would not spring it upon him so suddenly in that manner. Not in his home, in his personal space, where he would be likely to return when he was tired and ready for bed. Worse, he may return there with his lover to do the things that lovers do. It would be horribly improper for her, both his mother and, for all intents and purposes, a visiting dignitary from a sovereign people, to intrude herself upon him in that manner. No, she had said, she would meet with her son in the open, in a public space, and she would approach from where he could see her. These were courtesies that she would have expected for herself, and she felt obliged to treat her son with the same deference.
Accepting Ytyrra’s stance, Eyrenya and Kella had set out to find her and Amiendyn a place to sleep for the night. It had not taken long. Treyp’s room, left empty and cold, was just a few doors down from where Geran normally rested his head. Where their Sister was even Eyrenya did not know, and the Wind Nymph seemed quite troubled by that fact. She was going to go look for her. Given that Treyp’s health was still not fully restored, she had asked that the two of them wait and rest there in case the ‘damn stupid girl’ returned and needed help. Still having some distaste for intruding on one of her Sister’s privacy, but accepting Eyrenya’s request and position as reasonable, Ytyrra had agreed that she and Amiendyn would rest their heads in that room until the sun was up. Kella rose with the sun every morning, and would take over keeping an eye on the room for them so that they could go about their business.
Dawn brought with it a brighter day, and with it lighter clouds and less snowfall than had been seen in over a week. It was a much needed respite for the people of Keeper’s Gateway. Even with the magical steps that Geran had taken to keep the weather under control, and the city livable, the onslaught had worn down many of their spirits. They awoke on this day in a better collective mood, and for the first time since the snow began to fall the city streets seemed at peace. There were no large bar fights to break up, spilling out into the streets and filling the quiet morning with angry voices, hollers, and screams. No lines of people sprang up at the soldier’s barracks, filled with people looking to report assaults, robberies, and, of course, the suspicious behavior of their neighbors. Of course that is not to say that there were no such individuals, but those that did show up arrived singly and each left well before the next arrived. Even Vy Miegga and her band of followers had apparently decided to not interrupt the early stillness by remaining indoors.
Amiendyn, young and yet not nearly so hardy as her Eldest Sister, fell asleep quickly and slept hard through the few hours they spent in that room. Unable to do the same, Ytyrra simply reflected upon the circumstances of her last meeting with her son. Filthy, exhausted, they had both been prisoners of Katharion’s mad regime that had overthrown the government in Kamelot once Queen Leeanna, Geran’s wife, was dead. Her son had been but a sorry shell of his former self. His wounded heart could not sustain his abused body, and so he had been beaten to the point of breaking and beyond. He had hardly known his own name. That had nearly broken her as well, which, of course, had been the point of her being allowed to see him at all. What their captors had not expected, however, was that sliver of Geran’s soul that would not allow itself to die, or that Ytyrra, Eldest Sister and witness to thousands of years worth of history and heroism, would know what to say to fan that fire within him back to life. That was a mother’s duty, was it not? Their captors had been fools.
When at last her thoughts were interrupted by Kella’s arrival, the older Dryad wiped the tears from her eyes and roused her Sister. The elderly maid, bless her sweet soul, had thought to bring them both coffee and toasted bread, along with information. She told them where to find Geran, and said that Eyrenya had yet to send word regarding Treyp. So it was that two full blooded Dryads, making no attempt at all to disguise their nature, found themselves traversing the inner hallways of the Keep. Fortunately for all parties involved, what servants and soldiers they did encounter were loyal to the Battle King of Keeper’s Gateway and so were inclined to treat them with the utmost respect. All save one. A man who, when prompted, introduced himself as Haron, and had hurried away red faced and making strangled noises after learning Ytyrra’s name. She was glad of it, for something about that one had made her skin crawl. He was something of a politician as well as a soldier, she had guessed, but there was something else. Something foul, and almost familiar, had touched that one. Had she met him in the woods near her home she would have taken him in hand and held him prisoner until her gifted Sisters could determine the source and nature of that taint, though she already had her suspicions. It felt very much like the vileness that had infected her Sister Lauriel, whom had brutally murdered the man named Thanik that Amiendyn had taken prisoner. It would not do, however, to have another such tragedy occur before she had taken her son into her confidence. His was the proper authority in this land, and she would rightfully defer to him. Within reason, of course.
They found Geran exactly where Kella had said they would. One of the three largest dining halls in the Keep, not coincidentally the one furthest from the portion of the structure that had been re-inhabited, had recently been cleared of all of its tables, chairs, and extra furniture. There was now sand covering the hard, stone floor, though whether it had been carried in by hand or conjured forth by mystical means was anyone’s guess. Toward the far end of the room from where the two Dryad women entered were a series of wooden dummies and several weapons racks containing both steel and wooden practice blades. Closer to them, standing tall and bare chested within a circle of perhaps fifteen boys and girls that had all-but reached their majority, was the Battle King.
A proud smile touched Ytyrra’s lips. So long ago he had departed the forests in which she had raised him, and left behind the Dryad culture, but he had not forgotten their values. Kella had explained, when telling them where to find him, that every second day the King liked to give back to his people. One day, he would sit in on the classes with the youngest children of Keeper’s Gateway, helping the schoolmaster deliver her lessons. Another, like today, he would spend with the older children, the ones soon to be grown, teaching them to defend themselves, and giving his experience to the ones that planned to enlist as soldiers in hopes that it might one day save their lives. Though perhaps not in the same manner, Ytyrra did much the same for all of her little Sisters. It was the most important duty she, or any leader of any people could have, to participate in the lives and growth of the next generation. For one, short-lived moment, she felt her eyes heating as if she might cry again, but it was not to be. She blinked them clear, sniffed once, and walked closer to the ring of bodies surrounding her son.
Two boys had been called forward from the circle to stand before their King. It was clear what was about to happen. A sparring match was about to take place. Their faces stood in stark contrast to one another; one was eager, hungry for the experience ahead, while the other was timid, nervous to the point that he had to flex his hands repeatedly to stop them from shaking. It was clear, also, that in spite of their mindsets, both boys understood where the true handicap lay. The fact that the match was two-on-one meant nothing here. They were facing a superior force, and there was only one possible outcome. Still, however, when Geran called for them to begin, both boys went on the offensive without the slightest bit of hesitation.
Swift and sure as death itself, the Battle King slipped between the boys and left their wrists stinging with quick slaps that neither of them had noticed until the impact, Ytyrra allowed her eyes to drift away from the exercise. There were, of course, other people in the new training hall besides Geran and his class. A short distance away, a few men and a matronly woman looked on in rapt attention. They almost had to be parents. Beyond them, near the wall, stood a cantankerous looking old woman who watched with a disapproving scowl. Far closer, on the dirt floor, sat a boy that was clearly not a part of the proceedings. He was dressed as a courier, his simple uniform of a nicer cut than average in case he should happen to encounter somebody important. What actually caught her eye was the condition of those fine clothes. They were dirty, sweat stained, and rumpled. The boy’s hair was disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot with bags beneath them. This one clearly had not slept in far too long.
Following the young courier’s tired gaze with her own eyes, Ytyrra was more than a bit amused to find that he was not watching the sparring match at all. He was gazing, his mouth agape, at Amiendyn, who had wandered further aside, and closer, to find a better view of what was happening within the ring of soon-to-be warriors. Even more amusing was the Eldest Sister’s realization that the younger Dryad wore much the same expression on her face, and that her attention was focused firmly on Geran.
Content to leave her companion to her ogling, Ytyrra stepped closer to the young courier. When finally his gaze was torn away from the object of their interest and turned toward her, she lowered herself to sit on the floor beside him. His surprise was palpable, but although there was a spark of recognition in his eye that told her that he had recognized her as a Dryad, he did not seem nervous. He did not seem afraid or hateful either. There was a certain wariness to him, as if he did not trust himself to trust her intentions, but that was hardly an unfair mindset. Regardless, she was happy to find that not everyone in this part of the world was as bigoted as the man named Haron had clearly been. Though it was easy for her, for anyone, to remember such facts on an intellectual level, that was not quite as real as experiencing them firsthand.
“Hello.” Ytyrra greeted the boy with a gentle smile. The smile he returned was more reflex than genuine, but it was a start. “I am Ytyrra. May I ask your name?”
“A-Andrek, ma’am.” The young courier’s voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat.
“Andrek. A fine name. Caltherian?”
“My father’s family is from there. I’ve never been that far north.”
“I have. It is a beautiful country.”
“Mother always said that, but that it was only on the surface.” The boy ducked his head as he spoke, as if afraid that he might be overstepping his bounds by sharing as much as he was. “She said that the people are rotten inside, like their souls are already dead.”
“That is a harsh thing to say. Do you believe it?”
“I… I don’t know. People are people, as far as I can tell.”
“True. Perhaps your mother had a less than pleasant experience with Caltheria, and that soured her toward the entire country.” With one hand, Ytyrra indicated both herself and Amiendyn as she continued. “Some of my people are like that. They prefer to be reclusive and live only amongst their own because they have encountered cruelty in the outside world. They come to think that that experience will define everything beyond the borders of our culture.”
“But you don’t think that way?”
“I did once. A long time ago. But I was lucky enough to learn better, thanks to an unexpected friendship.”
“Hah. Maybe one day I will teach my Mother better too, then.”
“You are a good son.” Ytyrra replied with yet another smile for the boy.
Silence glided in and settled between them, then. Andrek seemed to want to speak further, but, unsure of himself or what he should say, he cast his gaze down and said nothing. It was not long, however, before he allowed his eyes to drift up again. He eyed Ytyrra, here and there, and watched some of what Geran was doing, but for the most part found himself staring once again at the lovely younger Dryad that had accompanied the woman that sat beside him. For her part, the Eldest Sister actually was content to sit in silence. She had long ago, in the dim and dusty pages of history, lost her lust for filling every last moment with pointless conversation. Instead, she simply waited, and watched as one of the two boys Geran was sparring with was spun about by a stiff kick and fell to the ground. His partner tumbled over his back a moment later, landing facedown in the dirt.
Finally unable to take it any longer, Andrek broke that long lasting silence himself. “Is… was that all you came over here for? To talk about? J-just my name, and where I’m from?”
“I was curious,” Ytyrra admitted, answering innocently, and at least somewhat truthfully. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
“I… no. No. I just…” Andrek looked back at Geran, who just then lunged beneath one opponent‘s attack, rolled, and leapt over the other entirely. The boys were looking quite winded just then, trying to adjust themselves quickly enough to keep their mentor in view. “I am supposed to tell him.”
“Geran?” Ytyrra queried. When the young courier nodded his head in agreement, she smiled and spoke again. “I am his mother, you know.”
“Wha--?” He found himself staring at the woman beside him in bewilderment. Geran’s mother? Is that what she had just said? Looking at her, honestly, he realized that he really could see a resemblance that went beyond them both being of the same race. The set of her nose, the cut of her jaw, the particular hue of her dark brown-almost-black eyes. At first, however, he did not quite see how she could be old enough. Then, even as it suddenly dawned on him that Dryads were supposed to be at least semi-ageless, the one beside him had fine lines around her eyes, nose and mouth. It was easy to miss them, especially at first glance, but they were there, and it was clear from looking at them that this was a woman whom had laughed and least a hundred times for every frown that had ever touched her face.
“I am sorry,” Andrek said after a long moment’s consideration. “I did not believe you at first, but only because you don’t look anywhere near old enough for that.”
“Silly boy,” Ytyrra responded with a smile and chuckle, neither of which was in any way malicious. “Shouldn’t you be saving your compliments for my friend, Amiendyn?”
Furiously blushing a brilliant shade of red, the young courier quickly ducked his head yet again. He had been caught! Though he was quite well aware of the fact that there was no actual crime in looking, he, like most people, had at some point or another been taught that looking and being found out, especially that, was a bad thing. It was the same little piece of brainwashing that saw so many people, the world over, look away immediately upon meeting the eyes of another. That had always been a source of severe frustration for Ytyrra, and over the years she had often spent a great deal of time and energy to break that bad habit in the people that she was responsible for.
“What you need to tell my son,” She began at last, sparing the boy any further agonizing he might have meant to do over what had been said but moments before. “Is it important?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded so quickly that she was afraid that his head might rattle loose and fall to the floor. “It is of the ut-utmost urgency. I’ve been looking for him all night. Treyp and Kurik wanted me to find him. I guess you’d know her.”
“I do, yes.” Patting the boy softly on the shoulder, Ytyrra answered in affirmation of his assumption. “When he is at a stopping point, we will speak with Geran together. I will make sure that he hears your story quickly. Okay?”
Andrek stared at her for a second, and then two, clearly torn between trying to determine exactly why she was being so helpful and accepting her offer outright. For some reason, this boy had either decided to not put his trust in anyone, or was warned ardently against it. Peripherally, as he considered what he could do, would do, they were both aware that Geran, having soundly immobilized both boys, had called a halt to the sparring session. He was, in that moment, launching into a lecture concerning the pros and cons of taking on an opponent that was completely superior in a physical sense. There was not a soul in the room that did not distinctly remember his recent one-on-one victory over Orun the Untamed, the Lion of Soldaria, a man known for having actually moved mountains with his mighty hands. The Battle King knew his business on this point, and his students were willing, even eager, to listen at length.
It was not to be an unnecessarily long lecture, however, as they learned when Geran signaled for three of their number, two girls and a boy, to join him within the circle. Once they had, he spoke to them thus. “My apologies, but I have some guests that need greeting. I want you three to work a two-on-one, elimination style, and clockwise around the circle. Good?”
“Yes, Lord Geran!” All three of the children standing before him spoke at once, and saluted. With a small smile, he returned the gesture and excused himself from their activities. His long, strong stride carried him quickly toward the two who awaited him, and Andrek did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that the decision had just been lifted from his hands. Like it or not, he and Ytyrra would meet and speak with the King together. As he drew near, the two of them shifted themselves to their feet, dusting the dirt from their clothing with their hands.
“Mother,” Geran greeted Ytyrra, and, without waiting for a response, wrapped his powerful arms around her. Her eyes heated again, and she closed them, allowing just a few wet droplets to slip free as she returned his embrace. She had expected a more formal, less familiar greeting, at least until they were away from the every prying eyes of the local populace. That such was not the case pleased her more than she would have expected, or could have expressed.
“My son,” she answered, whispering the words in the Dryad language that, of those present, only she, he, and Amiendyn could understand. Where, she had to wonder, was the tension, the testy irritation that she had previously expected? Instead of those things, what she could feel from him in that moment was a rare kind of relief which came only in the presence of long missed loved ones. It matched well the feeling the feeling that also filled her heart in that moment.
“Kella told me that you had come,” he spoke softly, for her ears alone, and planted a kiss on her hair before releasing her from his arms. “I don’t think I quite believed her until you walked through those doors. It is good to see you.”
“And you,” Ytyrra’s wiped a hand across her wet face and smiled at him. Then, before another word could be exchanged, she placed a hand upon the shoulder of the boy that stood silently next to her. He had watched their reunion without comment, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he tried to decide whether he should wait or interrupt. Once again, he found that he did not need to make the decision for himself. “This is Andrek. He said that he has an important message for you.”
“We’ve met once or twice. How have you been, boy?”
“G-good, sir.”
From behind the Battle King, back amongst the circle of children whom had not yet begun their activities as instructed, there came quite a bit of commotion. They had stood still and quiet, listening as Geran had greeted the strange woman who had gone unnoticed by them until that very instant. An excited clamor had run through their ranks at the word mother. Mouths opened, tongues wagged, and, for just a moment, gossip began to flow amongst the younglings. It ended abruptly when one of the students that Geran had called forward moments earlier, a girl by the name of Elise, intervened on his behalf.
“Let him alone!” The tall brunette bellowed at the others, striking the student that was to be the one in the first two-on-one hard upon the shoulder with an open palm. She was a temperamental girl, known by her peers as a person who fought hard and played harder, and had never had any use for things that she considered silly or stupid. “It ain’t none of our business! Lets do this!”
Appearing far less perturbed that he actually was, Geran turned his attention back again to his mother and Andrek. Holding up a hand, he spoke before the boy could launch into whatever it was that he had come to say. “A moment, please. Let’s finish with our introductions before we get down to business.”
“Finish--?”
“Her,” Geran acknowledged Amiendyn, whom had wandered close again, with a nod and an apologetic smile. She blushed and ducked her head at the attention. He was certain that he had met her before, at some point, but it had been years since he had walked among his mother’s people. Although he had not known every last one of them personally, and there has certainly been a number of settlements flung far and wide from that central hub, he was fairly sure that he had met this particular girl before but could not place where or when that had been. She did look young, but that was a poor way to judge a Dryad’s age when one thought to take their lifespan into account. “Sorry, mother, I’m afraid that I do not recognize your companion.”
“Do you not?” With a wide smile on her face, Ytyrra reached over to place a hand upon the younger Dryad’s shoulder and drew her forward into the conversation. “I suppose little Amiendyn has changed some over the years.”
“Wait!” With surprise writ across his face, Geran looked at the girl his mother had just called Amiendyn a little more closely than he had before. Having been told her identity, he found that he could see it. A myriad of long ago memories danced through his mind, gaining momentum as they went by. He remembered a wild little girl, with a wicked sense of humor, who had always been but a few steps from where Treyp stood, and generally a few steps ahead when they had gotten into trouble. There was the memory of himself dangling both girls from one arm as they kicked their feet and swung about to no avail, and he could recall laughing as they tried to climb his legs and drag him to the ground. Geran shook his head, smiling, and reached out to take the girl from Ytyrra. As he drew her into yet another embrace, he spoke with a warmth normally reserved for only the closest members of his family. “Jyru’s little girl. I remember, I just didn’t recognize you. It is good to see you.”
“And you, Lencu.” Amiendyn answered, grinning broadly as she borrowed Treyp’s nickname for her favorite uncle and returned Geran’s hug. Then, giggling, she drew back and swatted one hand playfully at his face. “But I am no longer a little girl. And your beard tickles.”
“So I’ve been told,” the Battle King responded laughingly, and released his hold on her.
While watching all of this transpire, Andrek had stood silent, considering the woman named Ytyrra. He had, of course, recognized her as a Dryad. She looked every inch the legendary figure described in the history books, if not the more fantastical fables. Black clothing, which was often the alternative to the earth tones usually described, covered her body. The bright, naturally red streak in her long, dark hair was a dead giveaway, as were her dark-brow-almost-black eyes. From the very moment that she had introduced herself, something had been tickling the back of the young courier’s mind about her. It had taken more than long enough, but he had finally realized what it was. Ytyrra, the Dryad Witch, had become a popular story in taverns of late, and he had heard it, piecemeal, any number of times. Were the stories true, the boy wondered? Was this the same woman? It was easy enough to dismiss them as being the tales of bigots, but finding out that the central character of one of those stories might be a real person could possibly cast them in a different light.
“Andrek? Boy?” Geran said again, snapping his fingers before the young courier’s face. “Are you well?”
“W-what? Yes. Sorry.”
“Are you sure?” There was real, honest-to-the-Gods sincerity in the King’s tone. The boy appreciated it, truly. “I asked you what urgent word you had brought me, but I don’t think you even heard me.”
“Sorry, sir. I-I haven’t slept.”
“Perhaps you should--”
“No! I need to… Treyp sent me to tell you.” Rubbing vigorously at his flushed face with both hands, Andrek tried to rouse himself. “All day yesterday, all last night, I searched and couldn’t find you. I can’t put if off anymore.”
“Very well, then. You are right, of course.” The Battle King responded, resolving to focus on what the boy had to say. Suddenly, he felt guilty for having been so out of pocket the day before, and found himself worried over what his mother might think. Ytyrra was, after all, a long reigning leader of what was, essentially, a sovereign nation. If she were considered to be a Queen, or its equivalent, then she would probably be the longest reigning monarch since the Breaking of the World. Hers was an opinion to be respected regardless of his relation to her. “Go on, then. Take your time and tell me everything.”
“There is a demon loose in the city,” the boy began. “I became a part of this only after Treyp had discovered this, and was trying to enlist help against it. She can… sh-she can see it, even though she’s blind. All the time. Wherever it is. And she said that sometimes it leaves its mark on people, and that mark is somehow related to blood flow. So I helped her down to the lower levels to find the girl named Lithia, because her power is also all about blood flow and Treyp thought that she could help.”
Nodding, Ytyrra waited for a lull in Andrek’s speech to interrupt. “This is one of the things I wished to speak to you about as well, Geran. We, too, have detected something dark and sinister moving about this City. It infected one of our Sisters with so much malice… I will speak to you about that also, but later, when we are alone.”
“It was that bad.”
“Worse.”
“Do I know her?”
“It was Lauriel.”
“Oh.” Deep, dark dread gripped at Geran’s heart, then, for what his mother might have to tell him. He remembered Lauriel, strong and sweeter than most of their people ever knew. She had spoiled him as often as she could when he had been young, slipping him sweets and toys as often as his mother’s back was turned. Not that there was any need to hide it, of course, but it became something of a game between the three of them. There had also been the time that he had gotten lost, having wandered too far from home, and in fear hid from his frightened, searching mother in a shallow cave beneath the roots of a mighty, ancient tree. Lauriel had been the one that found him there. For four hours she had lain beside him in that cramped space, telling him stories and jokes, eventually lightening his mood and getting him to sleep. Then, with the gentlest hand just about anyone had ever had, she had removed him from his small hiding place as he slept and carried him home. Geran had awoken to one of the best mornings he had ever experienced, warmed by a nearby fire as a very much relieved Ytyrra sat laughing and talking with the woman that had been his rescuer.
“We should move out of here,” Geran said at last. He was no longer comfortable speaking where they might be overheard. There was also the fact that, if there was such a monster loose within Keeper’s Gateway, then they had little time to spare. Action had to be taken quickly, and that would not happen while they stood around talking about it in the newly christened training hall. “Please, follow me, and keep talking as we go. I need to know everything the both of you know about this demon.”
“My son, I am sorry, but truth be told I have already told you most of what I know apart from the details of what Lauriel was driven to do beneath its influence.” Ytyrra, Eldest and Wisest Sister of the Dryads, answered as she and Amiendyn fell into step with him as he made to depart the room. There was an apology unspoken behind her words. Had she the power to give him more information, she would gladly have done so. The destruction of demons was a noble calling, and more than slightly sacred to her people.
“Treyp recognized it.” Andrek gave his answer, having waited until Ytyrra was done speaking for fear of interrupting her.
Just a few steps beyond the double doors that served as the main entrance to the hall in which they had stood, Geran stopped to stare at the young courier. “What was that? She recognized it?”
“It used to be human. That’s what she said, anyway.”
“Is that all that she said, Andrek?”
“No. Sh-she said that it used to be human.” The courier repeated, growing flustered. Geran reminded himself, then, that the boy was all-but exhausted. Pressing him would not work. “Sh-she said that it was one of the men that attacked her. The ones that nearly killed her. It was their leader.”
“That doesn’t sound right.” Geran’s brow drew inward, toward its center, creating a dark scowl as he disagreed with what he was hearing. “Treyp wasn’t attacked by a demon.”
“I told you, she said it used to be human.” Andrek shuddered, folding his arms defensively against the demonic visage that was still burned into his memory. “Now it’s something else. Something worse.”
“I see.” A sense of urgency overtaking him, the Battle King’s feet began to fall faster.