“And how do they treat the spirits of Mirrowen?”
“They are mostly ignorant of them. Unwittingly, they destroy their lairs and homes. The Druidecht try to teach them, but they are more interested in the price of wheat.” He reached out and touched her hair, surprising himself. He jerked his hand back.
She smiled. “It’s the magic, Annon. Keep talking. It will help you if you keep talking.”
He wanted to. The look she gave him was so eager, he could not resist. He told her about his childhood. He explained his feelings of abandonment by Tyrus and how he had thrown himself into Druidecht lore. He revealed the fireblood and asked if she knew about it. She shook her head and implored him to keep talking. So he did. He explained the summons of Tyrus to Kenatos, the quest for Drosta’s lair. Even meeting Drosta himself and the encounter with the Kishion. He held nothing back. It was a relief to talk about it to someone. To purge the emotions and confusion he had been carrying for so long.
It was midnight by the time he finished.
The air was cold, but her presence warmed him. They sat so close their knees often touched. As he finished his story, she nodded in understanding and covered his hand with hers.
“There,” she said. “Speaking our troubles to another lessens them. Some seek me to purge their memories. They do not wish to know my name, only to speak of their troubles and thus pass them to me. When they leave, they have forgotten that portion of their lives. Some say too much and forget who they even are when they leave. They abandon a wife or children because they no longer wish to be bound by the connection or feel the hurt that comes with it. But those kinds of men leave weaker, not stronger. They feel an ache that they cannot salve. Part of them is missing. Part of them is left at the tree.”
Annon felt the softness of her hand. He looked in her eyes and nodded slowly. “I do not wish to be rid of my memories. You were speaking the truth to me, though? I will not forget that this happened when I leave?”
“Will you?” she asked teasingly. Then she rested her hands in her lap and sat straight. “Now, Annon. You have recounted your troubles. Use your new gift of wisdom and begin to solve them. You likely have harbored some ill-formed notions about yourself and others. Start with your sister.”
Annon exhaled slowly. He brought her face to his mind. Almost in a moment, everything she had ever said flashed through his mind. He frowned, for a feeling of dread had begun to squirm inside his stomach.
“Why do you grimace?”
Annon stared at her. “I have a bad feeling about her.”
Neodesha gave him a knowing smile. “Why?”
He thought more. Fragments and pieces began to slide together in his mind. “Because she is Romani. She is not trying to buy her freedom. She was sent by the Romani, likely Kiranrao, to steal the blade…the dagger I told you of.” His neck prickled with anger and resentment.
Her lips pursed slightly. “Do not be too harsh in your judgment of her, Annon. If you were raised in that life, you would have done the same. But I have the feeling you are right. She is trapped in a hunter’s snare. Remember that an animal will often kill itself faster trying to escape. What it needs is another creature to free it from its bondage. That is the way with most traps.”
Annon felt the wisdom in her words. “Paedrin is who he always claimed to be. I do not know where the Kishion took him. But I feel he can be trusted.”
She wrinkled her nose and nodded in agreement. “Bhikhu are rarely duplicitous. It is easier to speak the truth all the time than to try and remember the lies told now and again. Paedrin can be trusted.”
“Erasmus. I do not know him very well.”
“Tyrus trusted him with your safety. Whether you trust Erasmus depends on how much you trust Tyrus. The same with Drosta.”
“But Drosta is a Druidecht.”
“But he was a Paracelsus first. Strange how people yearn to become holy only after years of depravity.” She smiled knowingly. “Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.”
Annon chuckled softly. “So true.”
“Believe me, many a young Finder have hunted the woods in vain to glimpse a Dryad. And it was not wisdom they sought. My kind tend not to aid Finders until they are well seasoned in years and more desirous of imparting memories and conversation. Consider it a compliment that I have trusted you with my very life. With my name, you could force me to do many things I would detest.”
Annon shuddered. “I would never…”
She touched his arm. “I know.”
He sighed heavily. “I suppose I must think now on my uncle. Or the man I believed to be my uncle.” He rubbed his lower lip thoughtfully, awash in the conflicting miasma of emotions. “I do not recall him ever telling me he was my uncle.”