“You saved her,” he said in a deep voice.
Annon nodded listlessly. He was so miserable and tired. So much confusion. So many threads in his life had gone askew. Reeder was dead. Part of him refused to accept it. He felt a tide of emotions welling within him, but he shoved it aside.
“Reeder’s body is being taken to Canton Vaud. The Vaettir wish to pay him their respects before we return him to the soil. You will wish to do that as well. It helps with the pain. Every creature must die, Annon. Even a friend.” His big hand rested on Annon’s shoulder.
Annon looked at him, burying his emotions deep. He nodded. “I will come with you.”
The other shook his head. “No, you must stay here. You must stay by the tree. When a Dryad’s life is saved, they must offer a boon. It is yours alone to claim. Wait for her to appear. She will not with so many here. The Bhikhu will chase off the Boeotians. We will establish a defense around this part of the forest. But you must not leave this place without her boon.” His eyes crinkled. “It is rare, Annon. Very rare.”
Annon licked his lips. “What is the boon?”
“I do not know. It is never spoken of. Nor should you tell anyone what it is. Perhaps revealing it negates it. But do not leave this place until you receive it.”
Annon nodded and hunkered down at the base of the oak. He wondered how long it would take for the smoke to clear.
Palmanter rose and moved away from Annon. He looked at smoldering branches and then back at Annon. He said nothing. But his eyes revealed much.
The Dryad came at dusk.
Annon sat cross-legged with his back to the tree, gently stroking Nizeera’s fur. The sun was fading between the interlocking branches of the woods, offering faint pinpricks of light to stab his eyes as he watched it shrink. Grateful spirits had brought him berries, seeds, and mushrooms to eat. He waited patiently, wondering how long it would take.
There was a crackle in the dead leaves behind him. It was unmistakable. His nerves warned him to turn and prepare to defend himself, but his instincts warned him not to move. Another step. Then another.
Hair on the back of his neck began to rise. He could hear the breath. Another snapping twig, just behind him. Nizeera’s tail was perfectly still. He waited, wondering what would happen. Would she speak? His heart hammered in his chest. Conflicting emotions whirled inside of him.
“Well met, Druidecht,” she said. “Do not look at me, or you will forget.”
Annon recognized her voice. It caused a tight pain deep in the center of his heart. “You speak my language?”
“Of course. It would be difficult talking to you if I spoke in another tongue. Perhaps you would prefer it?” Her voice sounded teasing. “What is your name?”
“Annon.”
“How quick you are to give it up. I am Neodesha. You saved my tree. I owe you a boon.”
“I am sorry I did not come sooner. Will your tree survive the damage?”
He could hear her moving behind him, coming to the edge of his vision. He turned his head the other way.
“You are determined not to look at me.”
“You told me not to.”
“I warned you what would happen if you did. It is only fair, after all. You are young for a Druidecht. They keep the younger ones away from us.” He felt fingers graze his hair.
Annon closed his eyes. It would be easier that way.
“Closing your eyes! What an idea. Now I can move anywhere I want.” He heard the twigs snap again as she passed in front of him. He could feel her presence, the warmth emanating from her. It was maddening hearing her voice but not knowing what she looked like. A craving filled his insides. The curiosity was extreme and intense.
Annon kept one hand on Nizeera’s fur, digging his fingers into it. He tried to concentrate on the feel of the fur.
“Do you want to look at me?” she whispered in his ear. He startled, but kept his head down, his eyes squeezed shut. Sweat had gathered on his brow and beneath his arms. The feelings were maddening.
“What kind of creature is a Dryad?” Annon asked, his voice suddenly, embarrassingly hoarse.
“I’m a creature, am I? No, foolish boy, you know nothing at all. I am Aeduan, like you.”
Annon was confused. “How can that be?”
“I was born of a mother. I was raised in these woods long before the Vaettir came here. I am bound to this tree. But I am very little different than you, other than the magic that my binding allows me. We are very weak, Annon.” Her fingers grazed his chin, but he swerved his head the other way, refusing to open his eyes. “But our magic is powerful.”
“I know,” he muttered, beginning to tremble at the influence she was having on him.