He shook his head. “You waste your time.”
I straightened up, pushing my shoulders back. “Maybe. But then who knows?” I squinted my eyes and tried to read him the way he could so easily see me. I failed. “Anything could happen, and I will always protect all of our settlement, whether that’s the smallest child, or the oafish second son of our leader.” My cheeks stung pink and I pushed a hand at my hair which seemed to cling to my face.
Father paused. Silent. It frustrated me no end how he would drive an argument, dropping it at his will, regardless if I had finished my say or not.
“Alen is going to send him to assess the threat.”
The ground tilted beneath my feet and I flung a hand out to the side grasping nothing, to steady myself.
“No! He can’t. It’s too dangerous.” I shouldn’t have spoken. Father’s face closed and folded. “There are others surely?” I stepped up, reaching for him.
He held up his hand, and I muted my torrent of reasons why anyone other than Tristram should be sent on the journey South.
We stood separated by a silent wall of disagreement.
“What of the trees, Father? What were you saying to Alen?” If I were given to fancy, I could imagine the trees leaning overhead, listening, as though they also wanted to hear his answer.
“We are going to chop them down. I’m building a new temple to the gods. We need all the help we can get in these dark times.”
I stared up at the trees, so tall and stately. Sentinels keeping watch. “The trees? But they are essential, they are part of us.” I shook my head fast. This must be a joke?
His steely gaze laded on my face. No softening was to be found in his features. There was no humour to be found. “Now we need something else.”
“There is nothing else,” I said. “The trees give us life, protection. The old ways are tied deep within their roots.”
We were disturbed by the crash of approaching footsteps. Two men stepped forward, their faces fearful as they carefully held their axes close to their bodies. “Ah,” my father greeted. “And here come the woodsmen,” he turned to me. “It’s time for change, Mae. Be ready for it.”
Turning on my heel, my feet flew through the grass and weeds. I wanted no part of the beautiful life-giving trees being murdered. I wanted no part of any of my father’s plans.
I ran until I could no longer breathe.
The glistening waters of the lake winked with familiarity. Shadowed by brooding mountains the crystal mirror reflected the sky and clouds above. The mist had lifted to a clear, crisp day, but over my heart a fog heavier than any swirling tendrils bringing morning dew hung heavy. I’d ventured too far from the settlement, but the thought of seeing my father, the tree killer, made my pulse thud. I didn’t want to return there to see that. And more so I didn’t want the people of the settlement to look at me with expectation in their faces that I could explain what he was doing.
What was he doing?
What temple? We’d never had a temple before. All our ceremonies and celebrations were held under the green canopy nature provided. Anything more than that seemed unnecessary.
Settling on the bank of the lake, I unstrapped my sandals and edged my toes into the water. It was gasp-inducing cold, and my murmured exclamation set birds chattering in the nearby forest. Relaxing, I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the plight of the trees weighing heavy on my heart. What was father thinking? Trees were sacred, they fed us knowledge and power. I wasn’t alone in knowing this. What must my tutors be saying? But like me, they knew not to argue with the chief bard. His law was the law of the land. Chief’s came and went, but the bards would always stay. Our power came from the earth, from nature itself; some even whispered the Gods. My power had not arrived yet. I was a long way off from unlocking the knowledge within me, if ever. My journey to enlightenment was only just commencing, but I knew what could come. No one knew how their knowledge would manifest—it just would—with enough study and training we might wield great power.
Old stories spoke of bards who lived countless generations, their longevity a gift given from the ground in reward for dedication and skill. Those days had passed. Blood and power had mixed with untrained men and women, spreading the skills of the Druid law, but diluting the strength of those who wielded it. My father’s skills and powers were exceptional. I could only hope to reach a level like that.
Tristram’s words circled back into my mind. With my eyes closed I meditated on them. Was I happy with my Druid training, or did I want something more? Could I be the best Druid I could be, and serve the people with all of myself, if my heart belonged to him?
I snapped my eyes open.
My hand clasped the pendant and my toes stretched out into the cool water. For a long while I sat, happy to be, content to listen to the lap of the water.
Tight fingers held my throat, squeezing the life out of my lungs. I struggled, grappling against the grasp. Searching the face burning at mine with hatred, I reeled when I found black jet eyes glittering with malevolence. “Tristram,” I gasped his name, clawing for breath. My feet and hands lashed with no impact.
“Tristram.”
The blast of a horn shook me awake, and I blinked into the darkening sky. With a shiver, I sat up. My feet were frozen in the frigid water. Searching blindly, I sought out Tristram. Angry as he was after our row the other morning he wouldn’t hurt me. I
