Jenhiro silently nodded to one of the Feydras’ Anulas protectors as they passed him. The guard didn’t nod back. He probably had things that he needed to be doing.
The hunter returned his gaze to Eigron, who was with the Elder of Vines. He did not know this druid. The Ferhym was young; he had not even seen a full century of life. Yet he was now working side by side with the most venerated druid in the Shalis-Fey. How this fidgety druid managed such fate was beyond the hunter.
Worse, this Eigron questioned every single part of Jenhiro’s story on the capture of the dui Nuchada. Jenhiro did not like it; he had to keep his story vague. It was the only way to keep the dui Nuchada alive, as well as honor his fallen brothers and sisters who died by the skewers.
As branch commander, no one but his superior, Fen Treeshaper, or the Elder of Vines, should’ve questioned him. The fact that this junior druid felt he had any direct authority over Jenhiro bothered him.
Jenhiro risked much, just tracking down the small cove near the cavern where the dui Nuchada fell. He risked even more when he convinced those druids to mend the dui Nuchada’s wounds. He used his stature as a branch commander to get them to do what shouldn’t have been done. He even used the fallen Bull and its weapon as leverage. And now this petulant child was trying to catch him in a lie.
Jenhiro knew that he was supposed to be humble, that it was their nature, especially as hunters, to acquiesce to the wants of druids. But interrogated, even chastised, by an upstart youth, rankled the branch commander. Fen would have never spoke in such a fashion to Jenhiro. The druid respected the skills and prowess of Jenhiro and his hunters. But Fen wasn’t here.
Fen Treeshaper was currently at the druid’s sacred cove, Soum’ Shalis, many miles to the East. Was the druid busy on matters of such great importance that they wouldn't notify him at the loss of his entire branch?
That was completely unlike Fen. The druid helped pick Jenhiro’s team. He knew each and every one of their names. That meant that Fen’s inability to speak to Jenhiro came from another source. The hunter suspected that source was standing directly in front of him. This Eigron was really beginning to piss him off.
With no direction coming from Fen, Jenhiro reported to the Elder of Vines. Master of the Druidic Order of Ferhym. Who just so happened to be at Feydras’ Anula.
Now the hobbled, old druid was busy studying a long mahogany object in his thin frail hands. Jenhiro looked at it briefly. He had seen it so much that its very sight was beginning to make him ill. For about the hundredth time since he united with the druids, he heard the word, “Fascinating.”
The Elder of Vines looked up to him, and the branch commander stood at attention. “The horned beasts made this you say?”
Jenhiro looked to the spear-like staff. “I have seen two separate bull-men use it with devastating effect.” His insides felt cold. How many times were they going to ask him the same questions over and over again? Everyone looked at the monster, and every single one of them couldn’t believe it was capable of using the same magic that they did. He hadn’t thought it possible either, until it hunted him for weeks using the similar tactics of the druid.
Every time they asked how an animal was capable of using their magic, they wanted him to explain the nature of the spells he saw. So he would, which dredged up the pain of losing his unit each and every time. They died. And now for what? A stick?
When Jenhiro had brought the weapon to the druids, it was because he knew it was a threat to his people. He watched one of the skewers turn hardened soil and stone into undulating waves of death and destruction. He bared witness to the travesty of his people being ground into mulch. Slickening his beloved forest in a thick crimson mire.
The cries of the fallen echoed in his mind. The grinding of bones and the rending of flesh flitted about the inside of his skull like a fly trying to escape a jar. He wanted them to fear it. He wanted them to protect his people from it.
Instead they were in awe of it. Eigron’s dark eyes were intent upon the smooth shaft. “Can we use this against the wizards?” he asked the elder, hopeful.
The Elder of Vines nodded. “The magic within is Creation. Even if we can’t use it, we can learn from this. Brodea will be most pleased, most pleased indeed. Especially since her precious book tells us so little.”
“Wizards?” Jenhiro asked alarmed. “I thought we were at peace with wizards.”
The elder shot him a puzzled look, and then a smile crept to his lips. “My dear branch commander, I forget how long you have been at field. First Councilor Brodea Windsong has received words from the Spirits that our hunt of wizards must resume in full force.”
“I thought surely you knew,” Eigron interjected, adding insult to the fact that this boy knew something Jenhiro did not. “I mean you are, after all, a hero to the people.”
Jenhiro stepped back startled. This was new as well. “Hero. I have done nothing.”
“The prisoner you brought to us…” Eigron said, a smile growing with every new piece added to the mosaic.
“The dui Nuchada.”
Eigron shook his head. “The Blood Wizard.”
Jenhiro’s pulse quickened. “Blood Wizard.”
Eigron nodded, eagerly. “You didn’t know whom it was that you captured?”
The Elder of Vines came around the table and patted his shoulder. He felt the thick calluses of the senior’s fingers against his bare shoulders. “You have done the Ferhym a great service. You have brought us a weapon to use against the wizards and brought the First Councilor the dreaded Blood Wizard all in one swoop.” Eigron added, “A warrior without peer.”
It was too much for Jenhiro. He traveled with the Blood Wizard. Hunted with the man. It was hard enough to know that he was a dui Nuchada, but this? A wielder of Destruction. A master of unbalance?
“But he used a bow.”
Eigron reached under a threadbare tarp and removed the slender bone bow with silver runes. “A most lethal weapon as well,” the druid commented. “I watched many die to this device. All at the hands of the Blood Wizard. He is a savage. In fact, our own First Councilor’s daughter was almost among the number of deceased. The burns upon her flesh…”
Jenhiro nodded. He had seen Whísper. Her once beautiful features were reduced to a mound of angry red flesh on the side of her face.
“There was more…” Eigron commented looking around. “A pack with artifacts. There were gloves…”
The Elder of Vines looked to the Genrus Eigron and shook his head. This seemed to irritate the young druid, but Jenhiro’s mind was still reeling at the idea of the dui Nuchada being more. As if seeing this, Eigron instead added, “The Blood Wizard is a master of fire.”
“I saw no such thing,” Jenhiro commented before he could think better of it.
Why am I defending the dui Nuchada? He wondered. Why am I denying what the Druids are saying? He always listened to them in the past. They were about balance above all else. They weren’t invested in politics like the Council of Elm. Why was he denying himself the words they were telling him? Was it because he didn’t like Eigron? Was his separation from his people really making him so shallow?
Jenhiro bowed his head. “I’m sorry, that was very discourteous of me,” he apologized before he aroused the ire of the druids. “This is all very sudden.”
Elder of Vines squeezed his shoulder again. “Wander your home; it has been a long time since you’ve seen its paths with your eyes, felt its grass beneath the pads of your feet, and witnessed the majesty of the Great Elm. Seek Windsong, hear her words.”
Jenhiro nodded, “You are wise, Elder.”
Jenhiro suddenly wanted to be away from the druids. He wanted to be able to collect his thoughts. Besides it felt weird being in doors when he spent so much time only under the canopy of his trees.
As Jenhiro walked away from the two druids, he heard Eigron ask the elder, “Now how best do we use the beast?”
“It seems too stupid to understand what it was dealing with,” the grandmaster Druid returned.
Jenhiro turned and looked back to them. “The beast?”
The Elder of Vines looked up and smiled. “The bull creature. The one that you say used this staff.”
Jenhiro could only blink in disbelief. It was on the verge of death when the druids took it away. He thought for sure it was going to be dissected to learn how it was capable of such magic.
“You’ve kept it alive?” Jenhiro asked shocked.
“For study,” Eigron replied.
“A creature just like it is responsible for the death of my entire branch!”
The Elder of Vines smile disappeared. “Do not raise your voice at us! We are not naive little hunters that see a set of dancing lights and calls it magic. We are servants of nature and masters of balance. This little sow you brought home is no danger to the likes of us.” He added hefting the staff, “Not now that we have its weapon.”
Rage gripped at his chest. How could they? Fen Treeshaper would have never acted in such a way. These druids… what has happened to them? They don’t care! The elder doesn’t care! He doesn’t care that his people died so violently! Doesn’t comprehend the threat made when Jenhiro foolishly had his branch attack the bulls. The druids only seemed to care about how those deaths benefited them and the cause. Jenhiro could still see Sendea’s broken form at the base of the tree. He could still see her wide, terrified eyes.
This was not a people he remembered serving so proudly. “I want to speak with Fen,” Jenhiro said defensively. “I must speak with Fen Treeshaper.”
“And I have told you he is not available,” Eigron sternly protested. “You should accept such an answer from your betters.”
Jenhiro did not miss the warning or the look in either of the druids’ eyes. He turned away and stormed out of the druids’ quarters and into Feydras’ Anula before he did something he knew he would regret.
~ ~ ~
Once outside he breathed a little faster. He was away from the staff. Away from the sudden burst of knowledge of how unimportant his people were. Away from the druids that seemed to care little for the fact that he lost everything.
Sendea should be praised for her brave and noble sacrifice in the protection of her people. All of his branch should be. Instead, their sacrifices in trying to keep balance within the Shalis-Fey went completely unnoticed, and it was he that was going to be praised, not even for the balancing, but for a weapon. And for defeating an alleged wizard. Jenhiro was a hero in the minds of his people, yet what he felt like was the villain. He was bringing death to those he swore to protect, and they loved him for it.
Jenhiro tried to take a deep breath as he felt his heartbeat quicken. He didn’t deserve to be a hero. He didn’t even deserve to be alive. Now, he learned that he brought an enemy to the very walls of Feydras’ Anula. The one thing he avoided for weeks with the bull, and now it was here, and so was a wizard!
What have I done? What have I committed my people to? The druids didn’t know the danger of the creature. They didn’t respect it as he warned! Fen would have, but Fen was out of reach.
Breathing suddenly became very difficult. He tried breathing through his mouth, his firm chest heaving up and down. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. He felt deprived, starved.
Anxiety gripped at his heart like a gauntlet. Crushed underneath it. His chest tightened. He was unexplainably jittery. His hands shook, he breathed faster.
It was all falling apart. Everything he had planned. What he desired to do for the druids, for the fallen, for his people. The hunter’s head grew light at the thought. A movement from the corner of his vision startled him. He looked up quickly. Only too late did his mind recognize the green dress or the long platinum hair, before he was looking into her eyes. The swirling silver eyes of the Voïre dui Ceremeia. Instantly all that he feared came to life in those eyes. He saw his reflection. The reflection of his soul. The reflection of a coward.
“Excuse me, are you the branch commander that captured the dui Nuchada?” she asked in a song-like cadence.
Terrified and unable to cope with what he saw, he needed to be away from her. He needed to move. It was all too much. He had to bleed this excess energy out of his body. The anxiety was overwhelming. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run.
Jenhiro stumbled away from the Voïre dui Ceremeia without so much as uttering a word. He moved as quickly as he could away from the druid’s small, squat structure against the base of a rocky outcropping. His footing was unsure. He couldn’t get a sense of equilibrium, and it only caused the tension to mount in his core. The hunter thought he might rupture. Spill all his energy, all his emotions, and all his life out onto the stones in front of him.
His palms grew sweaty, his breathing quickened even more, but it didn’t feel like enough. There was just not enough air to fill him. His head swooned. Everything became blurry. Jenhiro bent over and grabbed his knees. He screamed at himself to calm down.
Jenhiro fought against his emotions and grasped at his breathing. He needed to slow it down. Consciously, he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth very slowly.
At first it didn’t feel like it was doing anything. He didn’t think he was getting enough air. He wanted to breathe more quickly, but he wouldn’t let himself. Once more he took a long deep breath in through his nose and exhaled.
The tightening restriction on his chest loosened. He actually felt like he had gotten just a pinch of air in his lungs.
Though hungry for more air, he inhaled slowly again. He exhaled. His heart calmed down even more. He could feel his anxiety ebbing. Jenhiro’s vision began to clear, and his footing felt sure.
It was time to get away. Away from the druids, away from the squat buildings, away from his people whom he had terribly endangered.
An hour later he found himself miles outside of the city. He climbed a sequoia, and sat on the thick branch overlooking Feydras’ Anula, the hidden city of his people. Though it looked the same for the most part, it felt alien to him now. He was no longer its inhabitant. He was the stranger.
It has only been a winter! his mind yelled. A single winter, nothing has changed.
But it had. Nothing felt the same. The druids seemed eager, almost reckless now. Their pursuit for more powerful magic was all encompassing. Where was the balance in that?
In the distance he could see a great quarry being dug that was never there before. Lines of humans were moving the stone in large baskets. Others at the end of the line took the heavy baskets full of stones into newly constructed forges. Long trenches were dug so that cages could be stored for holding skewers, hoping and toiling for their reclamation. The numbers that he saw were staggering. First Councilor Tehirs rarely demanded so many skewers be reclaimed. It was a work force. Slave labor pure and simple.
Who was Brodea Windsong? He knew of her of course. Everyone did. She was a legend among hunters and councilors alike. She defied the odds at every turn. She defeated a wizard single-handedly. She balanced more skewers than any other elf alive. And she gave birth to three daughters!
Elves had a hard enough time bearing one child. Two was looked at as a blessing. Three? Until Brodea, such a thing was unfathomable. The Spirits had chosen her it seemed.
But aside from these accolades, who was she really? What gave her the right to rule as the First Councilor? He shook his head at the thought. He had never questioned politics.
“What am I missing?” he asked himself aloud. “Why do I see things with different eyes?”
Before he met the dui Nuchada, he rarely questioned the will of the Spirits. Mostly because he had the luxury of working for the druids and their coves. Now though it was not the same. The druids always answered to the Council of Elm, but never did they produce what they were producing now. Weapons of war.
And Jenhiro just delivered them a very big stick. Which if you asked him six months ago, he would have been fine with it. Now he was beginning to question the First Councilor’s motives.
Did the dui Nuchada do this to him? Did the man cloud his mind somehow? Put him under a spell? Use illusions against him? Was Jenhiro questioning everything because the wizard cursed him?
He was taught that wizards spoke honeyed words that dripped with a foul poison. That their tongues could produce sweet sounds, but beneath, their breath reeked of blasphemy and pestilence. He never felt that way with the dui Nuchada. The man’s words were never honeyed; they were bold and questioning. He constantly challenged everything. Jenhiro had somehow found that inquisitive mind refreshing.
Again Jenhiro closed his eyes and willed himself to breath before another panic attack came on. It unnerved him that he had made an alliance with the dui Nuchada. It bothered him more that due to that alliance he now questioned everything he had ever learned.
Part of him was desperate. He felt that he did that which he feared most. He brought the enemy to Feydras’ Anula. But another part of him, the one that had really spoken to the dui Nuchada, thought of him as a man, not a monster. And he questioned did he really bring terror to his people?
The dui Nuchada did not seem like a wizard, it was true. In fact, he did not seem like anything other than an elf that was diligently trying to find someone.
Julietta. That was all he desired. All he wanted. To get to her. Not to fail. Now he was in a cell, and it was likely Brodea was going to kill him brutally.
Jenhiro told the dui Nuchada that he would find her. He vowed that he would make sure she was safe. If the man was an evil wizard, should he still help? Could he?
Jenhiro believed he was a man of strong moral character. The dui Nuchada risked himself to save Jenhiro’s life at great cost. All he asked from Jenhiro was to find Julietta. How could he not repay that?
But if the man were a wizard? Jenhiro didn’t think he could bear it if the dui Nuchada hurt any of his people. He brought him here. Their blood would be on Jenhiro’s hands.
No, it would be worse. There would be so much blood that it would consume him, drown him in it.
But if he helped the dui Nuchada find Julietta, it may ease the man’s mind. Jenhiro chuckled cynically to himself as he stared out at all the moving elves in the distance. For first time in a very long time, a hundred winters at least, he was uncertain of what to do.
In the field, as a branch commander it was different. He saw a threat to his people within the Shalis-Fey. He neutralized it. Life or death. Out in the wilderness it was simple. Clean, unforgiving, and final.
Now he was too uncertain. Uncertain how he now fit in in this city. With his elves. With the hunters. With the very world.
He watched the sun climb high into the sky, reach its apex, and then slowly begin to descend, encapsulating his beloved city in the beginnings of dusk. He spent the day lost in thought, and in the end he came to a single, very simple conclusion.
He would get no answers here. They needed to come from somewhere else. Someone else. He would go to the man. He would see the dui Nuchada. Tonight.