Nature's Balm
Created | Updated Mar 15, 2005
Winter came early to the Old Forest. Its snowy presence wakened the village to activity. Bell-like chimes rustled and harried me on my way. White glistened upon burgeoning branches. Jays swooped high above. The earthy pine scent accentuated the heady berry fragrances. I breathed deeply of vicarious charms - the sprinkled panoply of brilliant wildflowers. The beating of my heart quickened with the pounding of my feet upon the moist soil. Tweeting birds cheered as I leap across the tangled roots and bushes. Two well-fed squirrels chattered and nagged in mutual gossip, and I smiled that they disregarded me. My foraging skills had refined with time’s passage. The leafy foliage overhead imprisoned the snow and left the path clear. The sun was risen, a pale beam devoid of warmth. It was not cold. I was soon warmed by the exercise and a sheen of perspiration gathered lightly under the blue summer hat.
A mighty oak loomed up ahead. Specks blanketed the entire side. I made a mental note to report the appearance before the fungi spread further. Like every child, I was brought up with the duty to aid the any tree that need assistant to grow to a salubrious majesty befitting its heritage. It is amazing how ancient loyalties could permanently bond us to these woods. I always felt humbled by the height, girth, and magical properties of each individual.
An unseen rock unsettled me. As I struggled to regain a precarious balance relying on the oak’s steady strength, the slate I stumbled over shattered. Resolving to be more careful, I slackened my pace and took pride in the smooth shelter of the tree’s regard. A strange sensation tickled my senses. Not uncomfortable. But it was an odd sending, as if one had forgotten how to comprehend a foreign language. I knew a fleeting moment of panic. The oak was communicating with me, but I could not grasp the meaning.
Once mankind could speak with the trees. The green brothers who lived in the Old Forest realized the importance of tolerance. If the humans were wiped out by their own kind, the woods cannot stand against the next wave alone. Therefore the safeguard elms towered to warn. The silver birches shared their bark, a potent protection talisman. The maples shed their sweet sap to nourish. The oaks chose to house and provide. Many boons were given and taken in forging and cementing the alliance, such as sharing a language. The initial sacrifices freely offered in hopes of mutual protection gradually led to inevitable respect for every denizen’s abilities and vulnerabilities. The alliance was maintained, but that forgotten knowledge was dead. Peace and the habit of isolation eradicated ciphers of our past Age. How Kript had seethed over the loss, as if personally affronted at the lack of information. Good grief, Kript! I sighed and tried to avoid thoughts of the well-earned rebuke I would receive from the impatient scribe. I’ve tarried too long here.
A draft ruffled my dark hair out of the confines of the hat, and my shoulder length locks covered my eyes. I started running once more. When I reached the edge of the clearing where Krypt awaits, I paused to make myself more presentable. It was probably better to be really late and appear composed, than to make a precipitant entry. Forcing my hair into the hat was no mean feat. I tucked in my frayed shirt, aghast at the holes adorning the simple woven garment. If only I had remembered to bring a cloak! I gazed regrettably down at my black pants. They were turned brown with crusted dirt. I soon gave up brushing the dust off. There was little else to do. I’ve dressed perfunctorily.
The scribe awaits me. There she sat fuming. Her brows furrowed in a v and her mouth was pursed into a thin line. Keen gray eyes glared at me in accusation, daring me to explain. All my excuses scattered to the winds. My throat felt tight. I licked my dry mouth in attempt at speech. I could not. Chagrined, I lowered my eyes to scrutinize the ground. Clearly disgruntled by my tardiness, Kript had begun the day’s assignments without me. Herbs lay strewn across the giant stump to dry, while grounded powders have been sorted out and in need of organizing. I recognized the arcane runes depicted on the stump and was startled. The Lore rune was a dire method for concentration that came with a great price. It focuses your mind and repels external influences, so one could think clearly after consuming spirits and smoke. The rune could be lethal if one has spent almost all strength. Once drawn, the Lore taxed most of the conjuror’s reserve mana. Great mages use the rune at the expense of bleeding their physical shields, and remain vulnerable to attacks. Years ago, I had seen how the healers laid King abed for days, after he employed the rune for scrying when Elm’s Tower was fogged. But that was when the forest needed magical surveillance. Why had Kript prepared the rune? I glanced furtively in bewilderment at the scribe.
She seemed bemused at my reaction to this perplexity. Mayhaps she’s forgotten to be angry at my lateness. Her adroit fingers had twisted together a tiny basket from the sweet alfalfa stalks while I was taking in my surroundings. Kript always occupies her nimble hands. She set aside her creation and patted a stone hedge at her side.
“Child, you’ve been very quiet, even for you. Sit.” I approached the indicated spot and sat, assimilating her cross-legged stance. She relaxed, slumping slightly. I had not realized how tense we were until she let down her guard.
“You’re wondering why we are pounding this infusion.” Kript stated flatly.
I nodded, examining the scribe. Her silken robes were stained with dark juices of the facilitating herb; her normally well-groomed hair was pulled sloppily in a brown bun, and her face covered with pulverized moonflower dust. She tugged some stray strands out of her face and then grimaced at the soil gathered under her nails. It was evidence that she had been up early to forage, dry, and mix. Uneasily, I wondered how long had she anticipated my arrival.
“Kript, what are you doing with the Lore rune?” Obviously she wasn’t going to answer unless I pluck up my courage to ask. I suppose this was warranted.
“Ah, it speaks!” She exclaimed in mock surprise, and then ignored my query. Instead, she faced me and demanded to hear about my morning.
“But the rune-” I protested to no avail. Kript would hear of nothing else. Stubborn as a mule, she is when it suits her. I admired her strong-will, but did not appreciate this delay. I resigned to sate my curiosity later when she’s in a more malleable mood. So I reported how the chatter of squirrels had waken me up, the snowfall last night accumulated on the treetops, the swift harvesting of the village crops before the frost, the mulberry bushes beginning to yield sour green buds, the jays more restless than usual. I paused to catch my breath and gather my thoughts.
“And then?” The scribe master prompted. Doubtless she wanted to know what delayed me from my lesson.
“I was already late. Persuading the scarlet holly to leave that ivy vine alone used up more time than I planned to.” I shuddered at the memory of pleading with the intractable shoot. I hadn’t wished to apply force for fear of harming either plants, yet the holly had to be separated from the ivy before it suffocates the vine. Easing every intricate tendril apart without shredding any had been a tricky operation. I turned my thought back my incomplete report. “It was only the break of dawn, though. If I ran here by deers’ trail, I would make up the lost time. Or so I thought. I started running, and it was fun to smell the flowers. I hardly made any noise. You were right, what you mentioned yesterday about silent stalking. I avoided stepping on any branches or crackling leaves, and two squirrels totally ignored me!” My chest swelled with pride at having achieved this. Kript wearily gestured for me to continue. I went on with my tale.
“Then I tripped. Preoccupied with this technique of quiet running, I had not noticed the rock. I regained my balance and footing, owing much to this oak tree that supported me than my wind milling arms. Well, the rock shattered because of my recklessness. Then that oak I leaned on tried to contact me. So I paused to listen and was distracted. I lost track of time. I am dreadfully sorry that you were forced to wait and…”
Kript held up a hand. “Enough.” She admonished sternly, but a serene smile twisted the corner of her mouth. She had forgiven me just so. I inclined my head, amazed and chastised in that instant. I loved this complex woman who always guided, listened, and shared a part of her life with me. “Why would the oak speak to you?” Kript gave me her utmost attention, and I resumed my account.
“I have pondered long on the attempt. What was the oak’s purpose of the sending? Most trees don’t speak to humans any more, not as they have in the stories. The oak had conveyed to me a hint of urgency. Which made little sense to me by the way, as had the entire message.”
A gleam shone in Kript’s interested eyes, and she pursued in manners of a hound after scent. “Describe the tree to me, child.”
As I spoke, I pictured the oak in my mind and gaped as the implications hit me. “Kript, this tree had some kind of fungi on its other side. I hadn’t examined closely, but the oak probably dislikes being infested. I’ll have to pull off the fungi!” I vowed to return the favor. “It’s the least I can to help. After all, it’s saved me from a nasty fall.”
“Most likely. Later you may do as you should.” Kript briskly dismissed the resolved matter. Her pensive gaze went afar. I basked in selfish relief that she had other worries and no more was asked of me. I had not forgotten the Lore rune. Kript was quite vexed at me when she noticed my intense scrutiny of the stump.
“All the major rituals were renewed midsummer eve. Are the safeguards working?” I asked hastily when she paused for breath in midst of her tirade about dithering. I was genuinely curious, for the breakdown of the ritual sanctuaries would spell disaster beyond the wildest imaginings. It was the only scenario I could think of would warrant such wanton squandering of mana.
“Don’t be absurd,” Her sharp rebuke had not stung. We knew each other too well to be offended. She was a bit startled at my random question, but had recovered quickly.
“So if the wards functions well, what need have we for the Lore rune?” Alerted to her rising temper, I stopped beating around the bush and got to the point.
“What need have we for the Old Forest?” She retorted sharply. “What need, pray, for the inks, schools, birds, trees, water, food, each other?”
“Silly questions do not deserve answers.” I replied and accepted how she skirted the issue smoothly with rhetorical ramblings. Instead of distracting her quick temper, I feared to have provoked the fire. Surmising it best to proceed cautiously had I wished any answer at all, I amended courteously. “Allow me to rephrase, are you planning to use the rune?”
“Oh?” The scribe snorted. Waving a hand in my direction, she raised her brow in icy contemplation. “Had Lore been activated?”
“It has not been,” I admitted. “How come you prepare the rune if not for use? You taught me how destructive the Lore rune is.” I pointed out the dried herbs for emphasis.
“I would perceive it so,” Kript sniffed, softly indignant that I sought to caution her against the rune. She drew herself up with mustered dignity. “It is none of your concern. You are merely to help ground my herbs into fine powder to create the ink, not mettle with Court matters.”
“Court matters?” I was exasperated. Why had Kript not seen fit for me to learn about the interests of the Forest?
“Heavens above!” Kript growled dangerously. “Allot your instructor some trust in that she knows best in her expertise.”
“I do not begrudge you that you are superior in both experience and prowess.” My voice shook with righteous anger at her condescending words. Who is this pompous person and what had she done to my Kript?
“Then do not pry into my business.” She whirled away to pluck at a clover, systematically rubbing the aromatic leaf between her thumb and forefinger. Kript was not listening. “What possessed you of late, to be so filled with unholy curiosity?”
“When my sage instructor turns irrational, I am duty-bound to question her reasoning.” I said coldly while my thoughts raced. My stomach churned at how badly this discussion went. Her words rang almost like a physical blow. Dare she who praised me for an inquisitive mind be slighted by my probing? I must think clearly. She was provoking me calculatingly. Kript was secretive for a reason. She was keeping me in the dark pertaining to the Lore rune, possibly to protect me. Had she unwittingly let something slip by mentioning the court matters? It would have to be where I start, for I resolved to find out even if she does not reveal anything. She turned away and I suddenly regretted my tart words. My voice softened with genuine emotion. “Kript, I –”
“Leave, you are dismissed.” I stared at her in consternation. Her back was to me, hunched taut with tension. She enunciated evenly to maintain a spurious calm, but I heard the tightened strain in her voice. Her sharp words evoked the sudden image of a rubber band stretched to the last length before snapping.
“Why are you so defensive?” I forgot my anger and spoke unthinkingly of my concern. “Never had I seen you in such a state before.” I rose from my perch, straightening my awkward limbs. My finger brushed gently at a fluff on her shoulder, and she flinched. I turned her about to face me, and was startled at sight of the tears on her light lashes. I stood aback in frozen dismay. My heart ceased pumping for a moment. Approaching her anxiously, I asked. “What is wrong, my friend?”
To my utmost horror, her lips trembled and she began to sob gustily. Many a crocodile tear trickled down her face, as if my unexpected warmth melted away the iron dam of her self-control. I handed her my handkerchief. Having no idea what else to do, I patted her head clumsily. “There, there” I cooed to sooth her as I would have an injured hawk. She finally quieted, and circled my wrist firmly with her grasp and removed my hand. Krypt smiled tremulously up at me through her drying tears.
“Thank you.” She sniffed and blew into my handkerchief. “Sorry, I had hoped you would not be involved.”
“I figured you had a worthy reason.” I stated. When she did not respond, I confided. “I was frightened.”
“As was I.” She gave a watery chuckle, but her eyes frowned. “How peculiar.” Dried trek marks adorned her angular face. She tried to return my handkerchief but I waved it aside. Nodding, she accepted the item and tucked it in her tanned satchel.
“Very well. Consider me untrustworthy if you must.” I resigned myself to that unflattering description. Doubt gnawed at my insides. Was that truly how she viewed me?
“Nay,” she protested. “You have mistaken my silence. I will not insult you by lying. Indeed, it is so that I felt no yearn to share this heavy assignment, but not for lack of faith. Your promises are considerably well kept.” I was unperturbed by the proof of her careful watch. Kript observed everyone as closely. Why should I be of exception? “I merely gather my thoughts as to how the task should be presented. It is an intertwined tangle my Liege charged me with.”
“So the King knows of this,” I clarified. I placed aside my self-pity and examined what I know. The court wants the rune used. “For what purpose?”
Krypt hesitated. She glanced down at her lap where her restless fingers tapped.
“Try me.” I encouraged. “For I am not so weak as you assumed. The concerted effort of three half-wits together may beat a monarch. I can provide the fresh perspective. Let me lighten your burden.” I smirked playfully and shook a finger at the scribe. Hopefully, my light suggestion was sufficient in disarming her reluctance.
“You proved yourself made of sterner material today.” Krypt’s comment warmed my heart. She matched my grin wryly. “I would not have thought you had the capacity for caring about anything not green and leafy. When I am gone someday, you can fill my role quite decently. A tyro with your potential is wasted on gardening.” I shrugged noncommittally at her sigh. “What can you tell me about the druids?” She asked.
“Ah,” I scrabbled for any shred of gossip I might have overheard. The term seemed familiar. Something about the sun was all I remembered. “A yellow robed sect that chants about the sun?” I hazarded with sudden inspiration.
Her gray stare glinted with genuine amusement at my guess. “Today’s druids only don white, though there was no mention in all the fragments of documentation in the King’s library citing what colored garments the earliest druids wore. Perhaps once the druids could drape themselves in yellow or any color, just as once the ancient druids walked these forest paths.” Kript switched to her lecture mode, as I had often seen her at the front of classes held in the grand pavilion. I wanted to ask if the druids did worship the sun, but the scribe would not favor any interruptions now. Tucking that away in the back of my head for the mean time, I carefully attended Kript’s monologue.
“They seeked enlightenment, and pored over natural patterns. To them, our trees befriended. The druids came and meditated upon the existing cycles. On the surface, they seemed satisfied with the King’s court.” She took a deep breath and waited for me to absorb her cascading words. “The High Council convened for the druids to stay, as long as they bide by our laws. To provide magical help to the saplings for the betterment of man.” Kript quoted.
“To hunt none not needed for food or clothing.” I continued. “Take nothing not freely given. Teach any willing to learn. Draw no weapon unless threatened. Give allegiance to the rightful King.”
“And promote the alliance defense.” We finished the Pact together.
“The druids gathered collected information in lodestones. The guild quested to divine nature’s puzzles. It was an archive system of most wonderful accounts that dwarfed hundreds of royal libraries. However, darker forces were at work. Among the druids who remained in the court, some resented the sensible restraints established by the Council. Those felt the knowledge should stay inclusive to selective candidates and refused to share the individual interpretations. The most vehement of the group being a young Druid called Rafel, translated from Haven tongue meaning ‘Aspire’. He created the Learned Organization for Rafel’s Enlightened, an elite coalition separate from the rest of the Celtic party.” Her smile was wane as I gawped. My head reeled like a drunken fiddler. Was the Lore rune’s origin this?
“This clandestine fraction sought to disrupt the druids’ process, desiring to augment their powers by deprivation. The pretenders taught and led astray youngster off proper destinies. The ones not thwarted soon fell victim to accidents and disasters. Obsessed with control, the Lore blatantly ‘eliminated’ political oppositions by poisoned daggers and beverages. The extremists influenced numerous lodestones, greedily hoarded the few stones they could neither corrupt nor use. The monstrosity of their deeds was so atrocious that the other druids preferred to remain blind to the Lore’s true purposes. With the hidden scrolls and the unknowing help of the oblivious druids, Rah and his followers foresaw the day the sun would be swallowed by the moon.” I snorted in such disbelieve that I nearly choked. “What is the matter, you little minx?” She cried out in annoyance and cuffed my back.
“The moon?” I managed to cough out. “How could the gentle moon consume the sun, the massive spirit that is powerful enough to fuel our world?”
Comprehension flooded her face. She breathed deeply, filled her cheeks, and then puffed out her drawn lungful of air. “I find myself once more in the position where I must beg your pardon. A rare situation for me to apologize normally, but now it’s happened twice in one day! Alas, it had been awhile since I last told the tale, so it slipped my mind how incredulous all this may seem to someone who had never experienced an eclipse. Yes,” she said at my dubious look, “though unknown back then, it is perfectly normal behavior for the moon to swallowed the sun, which is the following day a brighter flame than ever.” She explained. “Some chose to believe that a sun god is dissatisfied and passing judgment in these times of trial, so they would pray and offer sacrifices to appease him.” Her snort of derision led me to the conclusion she might be skeptical of this superstition. “I had, however, long since deduced that in order to be reborn one must die first, and the sun merely passed its celestial phases.”
I must have looked as confused as I felt, for she said patiently. “Look, the moon wanes daily, right?” I nodded. “At the end of the month the moon shall almost disappear, no?” Again, I bobbed my head. “For the month after, the crescent moon transforms to a full pie, yes?” I gave my silly pigeon acknowledgement that it was as she spoke.
“Then the sun could be meal for a day and reappear the next!” She concluded her argument, crowing in triumph. I ceded to her warily, since I could not find a logical flaw. “I suppose so.” Part of me rejoiced to see Kript had quickly recovered and bounced back to her previous temperament, before I recalled that certain aspects of her ‘self’ frequently alarms me.
“Then trust me and try to be less silly,” She admonished me. “Hem…” A pause. “So…” Followed by a frown. I knew a horrible second when the keen scribe lost her thread and fumbled for what to say, hence I prompted when she squinted at me accusingly. “And when the sun was swallowed?”
Her face lightened, and she spoke in that strong, confident style of hers. “So the fated day came when the moon ate the sun with ravenous appetite, quickly the light dwindled and cast the town in total darkness. But for the chamber of Rafel, where all the members of his Klan congregated, his druids burned candles in preparation for this day. Lore twisted this calculation to fit their gains.” She went on rather bitterly. “Of course they had not warned others of the happening, on that day they were proclaimed as heralds of Sun God. They convinced the trusting druids and all the frightened people gathered that it was an omen. A clear warning from the uncompromising god of his provoked anger that anyone was allowed access to the sacred knowledge, that mere sanction had defiled the pure magic, and that without the druids’ promise to only train certain pupils selected by Rah, the head messenger.”
A gust of wind blew over where we sat. Her shadowed words chilled my spine. Somehow I was unsurprised that Rafel would be the rotten apple that lurked in the barrel.
“That long dark morning was filled with frenzied chanting, frivolous dancing, brutal sacrificing, and all the other rituals the Lore construed. Before the sun reappeared, the damage was irreparable. Or so it seemed, the Lore coerced most of the druids to secrecy of their profession. The more logical druids who were not swayed by this set-up and tracked down how it happened that only the Lore knew of the eclipse beforehand. The druids had uncovered the parting too late. These were therefore banished by Rafel with excommunication, may a blessing be upon their souls.” She stared through me sadly. “In times of fear or need, people often join and commit shameful sins. It was inevitable what followed was a season ruled by mob mentality, the uproar boiling away what honor and tolerance we owed each other. There was little respect for the throne and little else but for the Lore druids from a people confused and hoodwinked by cheap illusions. It was appalling how a desperate race could look willingly aside from unpleasant events under the influence of a cruel ambitious control-mania who could never be satisfied with any amount of power. More frightening was how much of the unpleasant deeds could be attributed as the joint actions of the decent villagers.”
I shivered, wishing she had been less specific in her hints. My vast imagination was supplying me with more gross combinations, vivid imagery, and gruesome examples than my queasy stomach could bear.
“A season of a semi-civil war wasted the landscape. Many innocents starved as the bandits raided and burned what excess they could not seize.” She held my eyes fast with her shining gray ones, and asked me sharply, “Has the chronicle master taught you the black plague?” My face must have betrayed my ignorance. She nodded in a satisfied manner. “Master Gambit is perceptive. That one would not show you the effects as of yet, not until you are grown enough to endure the truth and delve from the experience. A shrewd man.” The scribe’s approving opinion of the librarian was startling, since I had never heard her speak so well of any except the high court minstrel. Even the King suffered from her occasional but highly embarrassing accounts and descriptions, for Kript never scrupled from tartly pointing out flaws, whether they be royal or not.
“The druids who went against their vows to teach freely, left the Court along with Lore, because they believed themselves above the laws of man. They also left a legacy of chaos that led to the spread of plague. No,” She retorted heatedly. She knew me well and correctly anticipated my unasked quip, “I shall not squander eons recounting and connecting the past for you, go read a history volume on the plague later. Or go ask that insufferable stickler of a chronicler to recite it.” Kript bristled irritatingly, and I hardly suppressed my mirth at the fallen status of poor Master Gambit, of whom she had just praised but a moment ago. “I am not to be bothered, hear?”
I guffawed in reply. She ignored me.
“The Lore went from Court, but they practiced their rituals within the Old Forest in magical concealment. For many centuries, the Lore stayed to drain the essence of the trees and stir up troubles within the village. During the reign of King Regis, Councilor Arbor had a premonition the Lore’s downfall.”
“Great grandpa was a seer?” I swayed with shock. Seers are respectable hedge witches, but a male seer was simply unheard of. This seemed to be a day full of revelations. It’s not even past mid morning, judging by the length of the shadows.
“Not a seer. A premonition,” she corrected, “is more accurate than the prophecies of the Seer’s guild. Through the visions”
“Same difference,” I mumbled sullenly. Kript should have told me that before giving me such a fright.
“Not my concern.” She nonchalantly draped herself on grass and stared up into the sun supported by her elbows. “So are you going to pound some flayolsh roots, or just loaf about like some insolent princess?”
I winced. If Kript had an unflattering view of the King, she was even more critical of the royal family, especially Princess Loisa.
“What are you staring so intently for? It’s merely the truth,” she exclaimed. “Can you, or anyone, possibly deny that Loisa the lazy does not get up until mid morning and complains constantly about affairs as frivolous as phantom peas under her goose feather mattress?”
“You do not give her enough justification,” I said stiffly. “In fact, I have time after time found the peas whose existence had caused her endless skin rashes and bruises. Princess Loisa has a delicate constitution and –”
Kript roared with mirth. “Ana, you silly dear!” She wiped tears of laughter away as she impatiently held out her slender arms. “We are getting on as terribly as those we judge, carrying on so seriously where the issue is meaningless. “Come!”
I launched myself heartily into Kript’s open invitation. We embraced and made up. My morning was filled with brightness, chatter and cheer once more.
A mighty oak loomed up ahead. Specks blanketed the entire side. I made a mental note to report the appearance before the fungi spread further. Like every child, I was brought up with the duty to aid the any tree that need assistant to grow to a salubrious majesty befitting its heritage. It is amazing how ancient loyalties could permanently bond us to these woods. I always felt humbled by the height, girth, and magical properties of each individual.
An unseen rock unsettled me. As I struggled to regain a precarious balance relying on the oak’s steady strength, the slate I stumbled over shattered. Resolving to be more careful, I slackened my pace and took pride in the smooth shelter of the tree’s regard. A strange sensation tickled my senses. Not uncomfortable. But it was an odd sending, as if one had forgotten how to comprehend a foreign language. I knew a fleeting moment of panic. The oak was communicating with me, but I could not grasp the meaning.
Once mankind could speak with the trees. The green brothers who lived in the Old Forest realized the importance of tolerance. If the humans were wiped out by their own kind, the woods cannot stand against the next wave alone. Therefore the safeguard elms towered to warn. The silver birches shared their bark, a potent protection talisman. The maples shed their sweet sap to nourish. The oaks chose to house and provide. Many boons were given and taken in forging and cementing the alliance, such as sharing a language. The initial sacrifices freely offered in hopes of mutual protection gradually led to inevitable respect for every denizen’s abilities and vulnerabilities. The alliance was maintained, but that forgotten knowledge was dead. Peace and the habit of isolation eradicated ciphers of our past Age. How Kript had seethed over the loss, as if personally affronted at the lack of information. Good grief, Kript! I sighed and tried to avoid thoughts of the well-earned rebuke I would receive from the impatient scribe. I’ve tarried too long here.
A draft ruffled my dark hair out of the confines of the hat, and my shoulder length locks covered my eyes. I started running once more. When I reached the edge of the clearing where Krypt awaits, I paused to make myself more presentable. It was probably better to be really late and appear composed, than to make a precipitant entry. Forcing my hair into the hat was no mean feat. I tucked in my frayed shirt, aghast at the holes adorning the simple woven garment. If only I had remembered to bring a cloak! I gazed regrettably down at my black pants. They were turned brown with crusted dirt. I soon gave up brushing the dust off. There was little else to do. I’ve dressed perfunctorily.
The scribe awaits me. There she sat fuming. Her brows furrowed in a v and her mouth was pursed into a thin line. Keen gray eyes glared at me in accusation, daring me to explain. All my excuses scattered to the winds. My throat felt tight. I licked my dry mouth in attempt at speech. I could not. Chagrined, I lowered my eyes to scrutinize the ground. Clearly disgruntled by my tardiness, Kript had begun the day’s assignments without me. Herbs lay strewn across the giant stump to dry, while grounded powders have been sorted out and in need of organizing. I recognized the arcane runes depicted on the stump and was startled. The Lore rune was a dire method for concentration that came with a great price. It focuses your mind and repels external influences, so one could think clearly after consuming spirits and smoke. The rune could be lethal if one has spent almost all strength. Once drawn, the Lore taxed most of the conjuror’s reserve mana. Great mages use the rune at the expense of bleeding their physical shields, and remain vulnerable to attacks. Years ago, I had seen how the healers laid King abed for days, after he employed the rune for scrying when Elm’s Tower was fogged. But that was when the forest needed magical surveillance. Why had Kript prepared the rune? I glanced furtively in bewilderment at the scribe.
She seemed bemused at my reaction to this perplexity. Mayhaps she’s forgotten to be angry at my lateness. Her adroit fingers had twisted together a tiny basket from the sweet alfalfa stalks while I was taking in my surroundings. Kript always occupies her nimble hands. She set aside her creation and patted a stone hedge at her side.
“Child, you’ve been very quiet, even for you. Sit.” I approached the indicated spot and sat, assimilating her cross-legged stance. She relaxed, slumping slightly. I had not realized how tense we were until she let down her guard.
“You’re wondering why we are pounding this infusion.” Kript stated flatly.
I nodded, examining the scribe. Her silken robes were stained with dark juices of the facilitating herb; her normally well-groomed hair was pulled sloppily in a brown bun, and her face covered with pulverized moonflower dust. She tugged some stray strands out of her face and then grimaced at the soil gathered under her nails. It was evidence that she had been up early to forage, dry, and mix. Uneasily, I wondered how long had she anticipated my arrival.
“Kript, what are you doing with the Lore rune?” Obviously she wasn’t going to answer unless I pluck up my courage to ask. I suppose this was warranted.
“Ah, it speaks!” She exclaimed in mock surprise, and then ignored my query. Instead, she faced me and demanded to hear about my morning.
“But the rune-” I protested to no avail. Kript would hear of nothing else. Stubborn as a mule, she is when it suits her. I admired her strong-will, but did not appreciate this delay. I resigned to sate my curiosity later when she’s in a more malleable mood. So I reported how the chatter of squirrels had waken me up, the snowfall last night accumulated on the treetops, the swift harvesting of the village crops before the frost, the mulberry bushes beginning to yield sour green buds, the jays more restless than usual. I paused to catch my breath and gather my thoughts.
“And then?” The scribe master prompted. Doubtless she wanted to know what delayed me from my lesson.
“I was already late. Persuading the scarlet holly to leave that ivy vine alone used up more time than I planned to.” I shuddered at the memory of pleading with the intractable shoot. I hadn’t wished to apply force for fear of harming either plants, yet the holly had to be separated from the ivy before it suffocates the vine. Easing every intricate tendril apart without shredding any had been a tricky operation. I turned my thought back my incomplete report. “It was only the break of dawn, though. If I ran here by deers’ trail, I would make up the lost time. Or so I thought. I started running, and it was fun to smell the flowers. I hardly made any noise. You were right, what you mentioned yesterday about silent stalking. I avoided stepping on any branches or crackling leaves, and two squirrels totally ignored me!” My chest swelled with pride at having achieved this. Kript wearily gestured for me to continue. I went on with my tale.
“Then I tripped. Preoccupied with this technique of quiet running, I had not noticed the rock. I regained my balance and footing, owing much to this oak tree that supported me than my wind milling arms. Well, the rock shattered because of my recklessness. Then that oak I leaned on tried to contact me. So I paused to listen and was distracted. I lost track of time. I am dreadfully sorry that you were forced to wait and…”
Kript held up a hand. “Enough.” She admonished sternly, but a serene smile twisted the corner of her mouth. She had forgiven me just so. I inclined my head, amazed and chastised in that instant. I loved this complex woman who always guided, listened, and shared a part of her life with me. “Why would the oak speak to you?” Kript gave me her utmost attention, and I resumed my account.
“I have pondered long on the attempt. What was the oak’s purpose of the sending? Most trees don’t speak to humans any more, not as they have in the stories. The oak had conveyed to me a hint of urgency. Which made little sense to me by the way, as had the entire message.”
A gleam shone in Kript’s interested eyes, and she pursued in manners of a hound after scent. “Describe the tree to me, child.”
As I spoke, I pictured the oak in my mind and gaped as the implications hit me. “Kript, this tree had some kind of fungi on its other side. I hadn’t examined closely, but the oak probably dislikes being infested. I’ll have to pull off the fungi!” I vowed to return the favor. “It’s the least I can to help. After all, it’s saved me from a nasty fall.”
“Most likely. Later you may do as you should.” Kript briskly dismissed the resolved matter. Her pensive gaze went afar. I basked in selfish relief that she had other worries and no more was asked of me. I had not forgotten the Lore rune. Kript was quite vexed at me when she noticed my intense scrutiny of the stump.
“All the major rituals were renewed midsummer eve. Are the safeguards working?” I asked hastily when she paused for breath in midst of her tirade about dithering. I was genuinely curious, for the breakdown of the ritual sanctuaries would spell disaster beyond the wildest imaginings. It was the only scenario I could think of would warrant such wanton squandering of mana.
“Don’t be absurd,” Her sharp rebuke had not stung. We knew each other too well to be offended. She was a bit startled at my random question, but had recovered quickly.
“So if the wards functions well, what need have we for the Lore rune?” Alerted to her rising temper, I stopped beating around the bush and got to the point.
“What need have we for the Old Forest?” She retorted sharply. “What need, pray, for the inks, schools, birds, trees, water, food, each other?”
“Silly questions do not deserve answers.” I replied and accepted how she skirted the issue smoothly with rhetorical ramblings. Instead of distracting her quick temper, I feared to have provoked the fire. Surmising it best to proceed cautiously had I wished any answer at all, I amended courteously. “Allow me to rephrase, are you planning to use the rune?”
“Oh?” The scribe snorted. Waving a hand in my direction, she raised her brow in icy contemplation. “Had Lore been activated?”
“It has not been,” I admitted. “How come you prepare the rune if not for use? You taught me how destructive the Lore rune is.” I pointed out the dried herbs for emphasis.
“I would perceive it so,” Kript sniffed, softly indignant that I sought to caution her against the rune. She drew herself up with mustered dignity. “It is none of your concern. You are merely to help ground my herbs into fine powder to create the ink, not mettle with Court matters.”
“Court matters?” I was exasperated. Why had Kript not seen fit for me to learn about the interests of the Forest?
“Heavens above!” Kript growled dangerously. “Allot your instructor some trust in that she knows best in her expertise.”
“I do not begrudge you that you are superior in both experience and prowess.” My voice shook with righteous anger at her condescending words. Who is this pompous person and what had she done to my Kript?
“Then do not pry into my business.” She whirled away to pluck at a clover, systematically rubbing the aromatic leaf between her thumb and forefinger. Kript was not listening. “What possessed you of late, to be so filled with unholy curiosity?”
“When my sage instructor turns irrational, I am duty-bound to question her reasoning.” I said coldly while my thoughts raced. My stomach churned at how badly this discussion went. Her words rang almost like a physical blow. Dare she who praised me for an inquisitive mind be slighted by my probing? I must think clearly. She was provoking me calculatingly. Kript was secretive for a reason. She was keeping me in the dark pertaining to the Lore rune, possibly to protect me. Had she unwittingly let something slip by mentioning the court matters? It would have to be where I start, for I resolved to find out even if she does not reveal anything. She turned away and I suddenly regretted my tart words. My voice softened with genuine emotion. “Kript, I –”
“Leave, you are dismissed.” I stared at her in consternation. Her back was to me, hunched taut with tension. She enunciated evenly to maintain a spurious calm, but I heard the tightened strain in her voice. Her sharp words evoked the sudden image of a rubber band stretched to the last length before snapping.
“Why are you so defensive?” I forgot my anger and spoke unthinkingly of my concern. “Never had I seen you in such a state before.” I rose from my perch, straightening my awkward limbs. My finger brushed gently at a fluff on her shoulder, and she flinched. I turned her about to face me, and was startled at sight of the tears on her light lashes. I stood aback in frozen dismay. My heart ceased pumping for a moment. Approaching her anxiously, I asked. “What is wrong, my friend?”
To my utmost horror, her lips trembled and she began to sob gustily. Many a crocodile tear trickled down her face, as if my unexpected warmth melted away the iron dam of her self-control. I handed her my handkerchief. Having no idea what else to do, I patted her head clumsily. “There, there” I cooed to sooth her as I would have an injured hawk. She finally quieted, and circled my wrist firmly with her grasp and removed my hand. Krypt smiled tremulously up at me through her drying tears.
“Thank you.” She sniffed and blew into my handkerchief. “Sorry, I had hoped you would not be involved.”
“I figured you had a worthy reason.” I stated. When she did not respond, I confided. “I was frightened.”
“As was I.” She gave a watery chuckle, but her eyes frowned. “How peculiar.” Dried trek marks adorned her angular face. She tried to return my handkerchief but I waved it aside. Nodding, she accepted the item and tucked it in her tanned satchel.
“Very well. Consider me untrustworthy if you must.” I resigned myself to that unflattering description. Doubt gnawed at my insides. Was that truly how she viewed me?
“Nay,” she protested. “You have mistaken my silence. I will not insult you by lying. Indeed, it is so that I felt no yearn to share this heavy assignment, but not for lack of faith. Your promises are considerably well kept.” I was unperturbed by the proof of her careful watch. Kript observed everyone as closely. Why should I be of exception? “I merely gather my thoughts as to how the task should be presented. It is an intertwined tangle my Liege charged me with.”
“So the King knows of this,” I clarified. I placed aside my self-pity and examined what I know. The court wants the rune used. “For what purpose?”
Krypt hesitated. She glanced down at her lap where her restless fingers tapped.
“Try me.” I encouraged. “For I am not so weak as you assumed. The concerted effort of three half-wits together may beat a monarch. I can provide the fresh perspective. Let me lighten your burden.” I smirked playfully and shook a finger at the scribe. Hopefully, my light suggestion was sufficient in disarming her reluctance.
“You proved yourself made of sterner material today.” Krypt’s comment warmed my heart. She matched my grin wryly. “I would not have thought you had the capacity for caring about anything not green and leafy. When I am gone someday, you can fill my role quite decently. A tyro with your potential is wasted on gardening.” I shrugged noncommittally at her sigh. “What can you tell me about the druids?” She asked.
“Ah,” I scrabbled for any shred of gossip I might have overheard. The term seemed familiar. Something about the sun was all I remembered. “A yellow robed sect that chants about the sun?” I hazarded with sudden inspiration.
Her gray stare glinted with genuine amusement at my guess. “Today’s druids only don white, though there was no mention in all the fragments of documentation in the King’s library citing what colored garments the earliest druids wore. Perhaps once the druids could drape themselves in yellow or any color, just as once the ancient druids walked these forest paths.” Kript switched to her lecture mode, as I had often seen her at the front of classes held in the grand pavilion. I wanted to ask if the druids did worship the sun, but the scribe would not favor any interruptions now. Tucking that away in the back of my head for the mean time, I carefully attended Kript’s monologue.
“They seeked enlightenment, and pored over natural patterns. To them, our trees befriended. The druids came and meditated upon the existing cycles. On the surface, they seemed satisfied with the King’s court.” She took a deep breath and waited for me to absorb her cascading words. “The High Council convened for the druids to stay, as long as they bide by our laws. To provide magical help to the saplings for the betterment of man.” Kript quoted.
“To hunt none not needed for food or clothing.” I continued. “Take nothing not freely given. Teach any willing to learn. Draw no weapon unless threatened. Give allegiance to the rightful King.”
“And promote the alliance defense.” We finished the Pact together.
“The druids gathered collected information in lodestones. The guild quested to divine nature’s puzzles. It was an archive system of most wonderful accounts that dwarfed hundreds of royal libraries. However, darker forces were at work. Among the druids who remained in the court, some resented the sensible restraints established by the Council. Those felt the knowledge should stay inclusive to selective candidates and refused to share the individual interpretations. The most vehement of the group being a young Druid called Rafel, translated from Haven tongue meaning ‘Aspire’. He created the Learned Organization for Rafel’s Enlightened, an elite coalition separate from the rest of the Celtic party.” Her smile was wane as I gawped. My head reeled like a drunken fiddler. Was the Lore rune’s origin this?
“This clandestine fraction sought to disrupt the druids’ process, desiring to augment their powers by deprivation. The pretenders taught and led astray youngster off proper destinies. The ones not thwarted soon fell victim to accidents and disasters. Obsessed with control, the Lore blatantly ‘eliminated’ political oppositions by poisoned daggers and beverages. The extremists influenced numerous lodestones, greedily hoarded the few stones they could neither corrupt nor use. The monstrosity of their deeds was so atrocious that the other druids preferred to remain blind to the Lore’s true purposes. With the hidden scrolls and the unknowing help of the oblivious druids, Rah and his followers foresaw the day the sun would be swallowed by the moon.” I snorted in such disbelieve that I nearly choked. “What is the matter, you little minx?” She cried out in annoyance and cuffed my back.
“The moon?” I managed to cough out. “How could the gentle moon consume the sun, the massive spirit that is powerful enough to fuel our world?”
Comprehension flooded her face. She breathed deeply, filled her cheeks, and then puffed out her drawn lungful of air. “I find myself once more in the position where I must beg your pardon. A rare situation for me to apologize normally, but now it’s happened twice in one day! Alas, it had been awhile since I last told the tale, so it slipped my mind how incredulous all this may seem to someone who had never experienced an eclipse. Yes,” she said at my dubious look, “though unknown back then, it is perfectly normal behavior for the moon to swallowed the sun, which is the following day a brighter flame than ever.” She explained. “Some chose to believe that a sun god is dissatisfied and passing judgment in these times of trial, so they would pray and offer sacrifices to appease him.” Her snort of derision led me to the conclusion she might be skeptical of this superstition. “I had, however, long since deduced that in order to be reborn one must die first, and the sun merely passed its celestial phases.”
I must have looked as confused as I felt, for she said patiently. “Look, the moon wanes daily, right?” I nodded. “At the end of the month the moon shall almost disappear, no?” Again, I bobbed my head. “For the month after, the crescent moon transforms to a full pie, yes?” I gave my silly pigeon acknowledgement that it was as she spoke.
“Then the sun could be meal for a day and reappear the next!” She concluded her argument, crowing in triumph. I ceded to her warily, since I could not find a logical flaw. “I suppose so.” Part of me rejoiced to see Kript had quickly recovered and bounced back to her previous temperament, before I recalled that certain aspects of her ‘self’ frequently alarms me.
“Then trust me and try to be less silly,” She admonished me. “Hem…” A pause. “So…” Followed by a frown. I knew a horrible second when the keen scribe lost her thread and fumbled for what to say, hence I prompted when she squinted at me accusingly. “And when the sun was swallowed?”
Her face lightened, and she spoke in that strong, confident style of hers. “So the fated day came when the moon ate the sun with ravenous appetite, quickly the light dwindled and cast the town in total darkness. But for the chamber of Rafel, where all the members of his Klan congregated, his druids burned candles in preparation for this day. Lore twisted this calculation to fit their gains.” She went on rather bitterly. “Of course they had not warned others of the happening, on that day they were proclaimed as heralds of Sun God. They convinced the trusting druids and all the frightened people gathered that it was an omen. A clear warning from the uncompromising god of his provoked anger that anyone was allowed access to the sacred knowledge, that mere sanction had defiled the pure magic, and that without the druids’ promise to only train certain pupils selected by Rah, the head messenger.”
A gust of wind blew over where we sat. Her shadowed words chilled my spine. Somehow I was unsurprised that Rafel would be the rotten apple that lurked in the barrel.
“That long dark morning was filled with frenzied chanting, frivolous dancing, brutal sacrificing, and all the other rituals the Lore construed. Before the sun reappeared, the damage was irreparable. Or so it seemed, the Lore coerced most of the druids to secrecy of their profession. The more logical druids who were not swayed by this set-up and tracked down how it happened that only the Lore knew of the eclipse beforehand. The druids had uncovered the parting too late. These were therefore banished by Rafel with excommunication, may a blessing be upon their souls.” She stared through me sadly. “In times of fear or need, people often join and commit shameful sins. It was inevitable what followed was a season ruled by mob mentality, the uproar boiling away what honor and tolerance we owed each other. There was little respect for the throne and little else but for the Lore druids from a people confused and hoodwinked by cheap illusions. It was appalling how a desperate race could look willingly aside from unpleasant events under the influence of a cruel ambitious control-mania who could never be satisfied with any amount of power. More frightening was how much of the unpleasant deeds could be attributed as the joint actions of the decent villagers.”
I shivered, wishing she had been less specific in her hints. My vast imagination was supplying me with more gross combinations, vivid imagery, and gruesome examples than my queasy stomach could bear.
“A season of a semi-civil war wasted the landscape. Many innocents starved as the bandits raided and burned what excess they could not seize.” She held my eyes fast with her shining gray ones, and asked me sharply, “Has the chronicle master taught you the black plague?” My face must have betrayed my ignorance. She nodded in a satisfied manner. “Master Gambit is perceptive. That one would not show you the effects as of yet, not until you are grown enough to endure the truth and delve from the experience. A shrewd man.” The scribe’s approving opinion of the librarian was startling, since I had never heard her speak so well of any except the high court minstrel. Even the King suffered from her occasional but highly embarrassing accounts and descriptions, for Kript never scrupled from tartly pointing out flaws, whether they be royal or not.
“The druids who went against their vows to teach freely, left the Court along with Lore, because they believed themselves above the laws of man. They also left a legacy of chaos that led to the spread of plague. No,” She retorted heatedly. She knew me well and correctly anticipated my unasked quip, “I shall not squander eons recounting and connecting the past for you, go read a history volume on the plague later. Or go ask that insufferable stickler of a chronicler to recite it.” Kript bristled irritatingly, and I hardly suppressed my mirth at the fallen status of poor Master Gambit, of whom she had just praised but a moment ago. “I am not to be bothered, hear?”
I guffawed in reply. She ignored me.
“The Lore went from Court, but they practiced their rituals within the Old Forest in magical concealment. For many centuries, the Lore stayed to drain the essence of the trees and stir up troubles within the village. During the reign of King Regis, Councilor Arbor had a premonition the Lore’s downfall.”
“Great grandpa was a seer?” I swayed with shock. Seers are respectable hedge witches, but a male seer was simply unheard of. This seemed to be a day full of revelations. It’s not even past mid morning, judging by the length of the shadows.
“Not a seer. A premonition,” she corrected, “is more accurate than the prophecies of the Seer’s guild. Through the visions”
“Same difference,” I mumbled sullenly. Kript should have told me that before giving me such a fright.
“Not my concern.” She nonchalantly draped herself on grass and stared up into the sun supported by her elbows. “So are you going to pound some flayolsh roots, or just loaf about like some insolent princess?”
I winced. If Kript had an unflattering view of the King, she was even more critical of the royal family, especially Princess Loisa.
“What are you staring so intently for? It’s merely the truth,” she exclaimed. “Can you, or anyone, possibly deny that Loisa the lazy does not get up until mid morning and complains constantly about affairs as frivolous as phantom peas under her goose feather mattress?”
“You do not give her enough justification,” I said stiffly. “In fact, I have time after time found the peas whose existence had caused her endless skin rashes and bruises. Princess Loisa has a delicate constitution and –”
Kript roared with mirth. “Ana, you silly dear!” She wiped tears of laughter away as she impatiently held out her slender arms. “We are getting on as terribly as those we judge, carrying on so seriously where the issue is meaningless. “Come!”
I launched myself heartily into Kript’s open invitation. We embraced and made up. My morning was filled with brightness, chatter and cheer once more.
