“So the Seneschal is a gardener then?” Phae asked, shrugging.
The Dryad smiled knowingly. “In a way. You see, the garden he tends is very precious. There is a tree. The fruit of that tree is what makes us immortal. He decides who can pluck a fruit from the tree.”
Phae’s eyes widened.
“Don’t let your doubt cover your eyes,” the girl said. “What I say is true. I have partaken of that fruit. It is…bitter. So very bitter. But it changes you. When you eat it, your body no longer ages. That allows you to dwell in Mirrowen and this world. In order to earn a piece of that fruit, you must perform an oath in front of the Seneschal and accept the responsibility of preserving the portal and the tree’s memories. The responsibility passes from mother to daughter. A Dryad can never bear a son. When you have found a man you deem worthy, you can make him your husband. You fashion a bracelet around your ankle as a token of that vow. It ends with the man’s death. When you have a child, you train her to make the oath and take your place. As I said before, time is not the same to me as it is to you. Kingdoms come and go. I was here before the Vaettir arrived. I am ready, I think, to pass on my knowledge to a daughter.”
Phae’s heart was swarming with conflicting feelings. What she heard sounded preposterous in some ways. But she did not speak her doubts openly and stared at the Dryad. She patted the girl’s hand, thinking of a thousand questions.
“Why is the fruit bitter?”
“I don’t know. It just is.”
“I know I can steal memories. I have that power now. How do I embed them into a tree?”
The girl smiled. “When you make the oath, the Seneschal will kiss your forehead. When he does, your memory will be perfect only so long as the tree lives. Your responsibility to guard and care for it isn’t permanent. When you pass on the duty to your daughter, you will not be able to take all those memories with you. The burden will pass to another.”
Phae’s brow wrinkled. “And I will have the power to restore someone else’s memories? You said that you could do it with a Dryad’s kiss, but it is—”
“It can be loathsome, yes. If a man has saved your tree from destruction, you owe him a boon. It is a debt that must be fulfilled. If he lingers for one day, you must appear to him. If he looks at you, then you can steal his memories and he will forget the debt and leave. If he does not look at you, then you must give him your true name. That is the name that the Seneschal gives you. With it, the man can force you to obey him. That is why we try to trick the man into looking at us and make him forget. A man with that power over us can prevent us from fulfilling our duty. It would prevent us from returning to Mirrowen.” She shuddered. “That is why the Druidecht guard this lore so carefully, to prevent the young ones from taking advantage of us. Wisdom comes with age not with youth. If you give the man your name, you may give him a Dryad’s kiss, which allows him to bond with you and gain access to your thoughts as well as your perfect memory. If he dies, the connection ends. If the tree is destroyed, it is also severed.
She squeezed Phae’s arm sadly. “This is why Tyrus of Kenatos seeks you to enter the Scourgelands. There are Dryads there who are bound to this world and no longer visit Mirrowen. Their trees are ancient, as old as the world when it began. They are cut off from Mirrowen now and are poisoned with hate. They will not speak with us. If you can find the mother tree, the one who controls all the others in the forest, you can enter Mirrowen there and seek the fallen Dryad and remove her burden. That would give you the knowledge Tyrus seeks. No doubt she contains many secrets and many mysteries.”
Phae felt a surge of alarm. “But what if she does not relinquish it? What if she refuses? Does she have that choice?”
The Dryad nodded. “She must willingly give it to you. She may well be mad by now.” She cupped Phae’s cheek. “There is great risk in this journey. The Scourgelands are guarded by evil spirits that act as sentinels to keep away the living. They will try to kill you, even though you are Dryad-born.”
Sighing in despair, Phae wiped her face, her emotions churning. The possibility of success was even more remote than she believed. They would have to fight their way deep into the Scourgelands, surrounded on all sides by enemies seeking her death. How would they even find that mother tree? Would they have to search every tree in the forest? How long would that take?
“You are despairing,” the girl said softly. “I feel it in you.”
“This quest feels impossible,” Phae murmured.