Tristan smiled too as he sheathed his swords. And I could see how his opinion of Rafe had shifted significantly since they first met.
As I helped start a fire, my thoughts returned to the ones who didn’t get away from Oblek’s men: families with children, innocent lives lost because they believed they would be safe in their homes. And they should have been, not hiding in forest caves unsure where they would go next. I could stop this. I could stop all of this. I knew I had to save my people from a life of destitution and fear. But without my magic, I didn’t know how I would ever succeed.
Penelope sat down with Kalen on a log beside the fire and took a look at his arm. When she looked up her face was grave.
Tristan hung his head. “I should have protected him.”
I went over and clasped Tristan’s hand. “You were busy fighting the dark fae. There was nothing you could have done—he was too far from you. If it is anyone’s fault, it is mine. If I had my fae speed, I could have gotten to him in time.” I looked down at my feet.
“Stop it, you two, it’s nobody’s fault.” Penelope wrung her hands. “This is not looking good,” she said, shaking her head. “These arrows have been forged in dwarven forges and spelled with a dark magic I don’t recognize. Usually an arrow like this is not fatal to a High Fae, unless it pierces a vital organ.” Penelope gave Silverthorne a meaningful glance. “But Ashara was right—a piece of it has broken off and entered Kalen’s bloodstream. That is the demon magic Ashara sensed still clinging to him.” Her eyes were wide, confused by this new danger. “It’s sentient. Alive. A darkness that now runs in his blood. My magic cannot remove it. Fae healing will not work.”
Silverthorne’s face was somber. “Mage healers are not capable of dealing with this sort of darkness.”
He looked over at Ashara, who shook her head. “We are warriors, not healers.”
“What happens if we don’t take it out?” I prodded. I needed to know.
Penelope took a deep breath. “It will slowly leech his magic until there is nothing left.” She ran a hand over her face as if to dispel images she could not deal with. “Once the shard reaches his heart, Kalen will die.”
I gasped as my hand flew to my mouth. “No!” It didn’t seem possible.
Penelope’s eyes glistened with tears; she glanced at her son, who was sitting beside her, and put an arm around his shoulders. “Kalen is strong, so we may have some time.”
Kalen was silent through her explanation. Only his eyes indicated that he had just heard his death sentence.
I threw my hands up in the air. “Time for what? You just said your magic cannot remove the shard and neither can Ashara’s. The mages cannot do it.” I looked down, my voice breaking. “The magic of the Dawnstar could have removed it.” It wasn’t a question.
But Penelope confirmed it and nodded. “Yes.”
I sank to my knees beside Kalen, tears forming and threatening to spill at any moment. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Kalen. I should have never dragged you into this.”
He smiled his usual cheerful grin that I had come to treasure. “It’s not your fault, Aurora. I wanted to help.”
“There may be another way,” said Silverthorne, stroking his chin. “The druid monks of Andrysia are skilled healers and ancient scholars. They may be the only ones with enough knowledge of ancient magic to save Kalen’s life.”
“Marcus Gold said the druids are long gone from Avalonia.” I looked at my granduncle. “They never taught us anything about them at the academy.”
“That’s because Marcus is right,” said Uncle Gabriel. “Once there were quite a few druids in Avalonia, powerful magic users, scholars, and healers who came to these lands from beyond the great western sea and landed on the shores of Illiador and Andrysia. They were a peaceful people and resided in monasteries or traveled around, helping and healing in the villages and towns along the coast. Because their magic was strong and they could fight demons, they came to be revered among the common folk, who couldn’t depend on mages to help them when a stray demon creature attacked a citizen.
“But the mages grew jealous of the druids’ healing powers and knowledge of ancient magic, so they turned the people against them. Over the years, the druids were run out of the southern kingdoms. They settled in northern Andrysia, in the areas surrounding Redthorn Forest, and built monasteries hidden away in the Silverspike Mountains. Fewer and fewer druids were born with magic, and their race eventually died out.”
“But if they have died out, how do we find one?”
“Stories emerge from time to time of druid sightings,” Penelope answered, drying her eyes, “or people being miraculously healed by a druid. But even these stories have become rare in the past twenty years or so.” She looked at Silverthorne. “I just hope we can find them before it is too late.”
Rafe furrowed his brow and stared into the fire as if he were trying to recall something. “I know an old sailor, Captain Jarvik, who lives in the town of Royn on the coast not far from here. At the tavern he would always boast that he had met the druids. The townspeople believed him to be an old drunk making up stories.” He met Penelope’s eyes. “If there is anyone who has an idea where to start looking, it would be him.”
Silverthorne nodded. “Then in the morning we will go to Royn and find this drunken sailor.”
In Search of Druids
The mood was somber as Ashara passed around some bread and dried meat. Everyone ate to sustain themselves, but no one was really hungry or took any enjoyment in it. In the morning we would set out to find the druids, and I would not rest until Kalen was healed.
