Phae stared at him in confusion. “This world? What do you mean?”
Tyrus joined his fingers together and leaned his forearms on his knees. “There is an unseen world that we share. It is called Mirrowen. When one is calm and quiet, you can hear the whispers from Mirrowen. These are spirits, unseen to mortal eyes. Sometimes they appear to us in the form of animals, insects, or other woodland creatures. Only the Druidecht can hear them. The talismans they wear—that is the way they commune with the spirits. You are partly a spirit creature yourself, Phae. You are Dryad-born. You were also born with the fireblood, which you inherited from me. My goal, child, is to bring you into the Scourgelands so that you may bind with a tree there and re-learn the secrets of the Plague that have been lost for thousands of years.” He leaned even closer. “I do not have the power to stop the Plague. But you do.”
Phae shivered uncontrollably. Her heart raced with fear and panic. “But if I bond with a tree in the Scourgelands, will I be trapped there for the rest of my life? You said the bond is with a specific tree. That land is dangerous and evil.” She felt the panic begin to surge inside her. She wanted to run for the ladder and flee out the trapdoor.
Tyrus nodded, his expression stiffening. She could sense he was very good at controlling his emotions, of hardening himself for unpleasant realities. “I cannot withhold the truth from you, child. Yes, you could be trapped there. But it is my understanding that the Dryads dwell primarily in Mirrowen. It is a place of peace and great beauty. They only come to the mortal world when someone approaches their tree. They are the guardians of the portals to Mirrowen. Phae, you must understand this. The process of bonding to a tree grants the Dryad immortality.”
He looked at her imploringly. “I know what I am asking of you isn’t fair. I imagine it is not your wish to be separated from Stonehollow and those you consider family. If there was another possible way to end the Plague, I would gladly take it. But all the evidence points to this. Something happened to the Dryads of the Scourgelands centuries ago. They are feared by their sisters. They are as ancient as the world. They have the knowledge that we need. They may be unwilling to give it to you without an oath to replace them. You can set one of them free by agreeing to take her place. A Dryad is not expected to remain bonded to a tree for all eternity. Only until their charge is fulfilled and they have given birth to a child to replace her.”
Phae’s mind whirled with confusion. She pressed her hands against the side of her head. She found herself gasping for breath. “How do I know,” she asked in a quavering voice, “that you are even telling me the truth?”
Tyrus leaned forward. “What would convince you?”
Phae shook her head, trying to sort out her scrambled thoughts. “This is almost too much to believe,” she said. “Yet, I know from my experience that some of it is true. I do have the ability to steal memories. I do have the fireblood. I feel that same power in you, strangely. When I was fleeing from…the Kishion, I came upon a Dryad tree in the woods. It felt…safe to me. A Druidecht was there.”
Tyrus’s eyes bulged with surprise. “Amazing.”
She went on, her heart revolting at the memory. “He said that he was married to a Dryad. She was so young, but he was old and so…gray.” Her face screwed up in distaste.
“Did she have a bracelet around her ankle?” Tyrus asked pointedly.
Phae thought a moment. “She did.”
“He was her husband then. Your mother wears one. It is fashioned in the shape of a serpent. It is coiled around the ankle. She is his wife.”
Phae looked at him in disgust. “She is sixteen?”
He shook his head. “The Druidecht is a lad compared to her. Dryads are often hundreds of years old, Phae. She is immortal and wiser than any youth. You must understand that time is very different in Mirrowen than it is here. What happened in the Scourgelands must have happened thousands of years ago. There are no records of it surviving. Believe me, I have inquired of the head Archivist of Kenatos, and he has read more than any other man. Not even rumors or legends. Nothing. It is deliberately so. To the Dryads of the Scourgelands, it may feel like it happened a fortnight ago. There is no sense of time. A husband is a fleeting thing to them.”