“There is a saying among the Druidecht order: Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe. They harbor the peculiar notion that our world co-exists with another realm, a realm of spirit which they call Mirrowen. The denizens of Mirrowen cannot be seen with mortal eyes and often play pranks on us. They are firm in this belief, often wearing a token of their discipleship—called a talisman—around their necks. The world beyond the walls of Kenatos is full of strange and peculiar traditions. I do not pass judgment on them. My intent is merely to describe them fully and let my readers judge for themselves. I would add, however, that the Druidecht are known to ingest copious quantities of mushrooms.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
It could be said, and rightly so, that Annon was a Druidecht. It could also be said that he preferred the company of raccoons, wrens, and the millions of unseen spirits roaming the woods to any conversation with people. He had spent most of his eighteen years wandering the vast woods of the Kingdom of Wayland, though on occasion he had journeyed as far west as the woods bordering Stonehollow. The life suited him perfectly. He had never been comfortable in thronging crowds or rude cities. The secluded hamlets and villages of Wayland fit his reclusive personality. Being a Druidecht, he was offered respect from nearly anyone he met. He had no home or dwelling place, carrying all his possessions in a large pack slung around his shoulders, but he was never deprived of shelter when he needed it.
A Druidecht was always welcome in a hut, no matter how small, and he was given the best portion of meat or a heaping bowl of vegetables and broth. He was revered because of his knowledge of the world and its many unseen inhabitants. The knowledge of the Druidecht was secret and only passed along from one to another, without books or written words, and Annon hungered to learn it all. He secretly hoped that by doing so, he would finally learn to control his anger.
Anger was a part of his life, like his walking staff, the dagger in the sheath at his belt, and his hands. Especially his hands. It was anger that made them tingle with heat. He had much to be angry about. The King of Wayland was a fool, and his reckless laws endangered the woodlands, threatening the creatures that lived there—secretly, dangerously. Lumber was needed to build his cities. Chalk from hills and sand from the rivers were removed, damaging the spirits that hid there. The creatures retaliated, of course, causing bizarre accidents amidst the workers. Some of the accidents were fatal. Deliberately so. The Waylanders were a superstitious people, yet they never learned to read the mood of the spirits in the shift of the winds. They never seemed to know when they had gone too far.
Annon ducked beneath a low-hanging maple branch and increased his stride, walking briskly through the woods and trying to make it to the hovel before the sun set. Dame Nestra would have baked fresh bread that day, and he longed for a slice drizzled with white honey. Her husband was a woodcutter; Annon had taught him which trees were safe and which were sacred—and how he could tell them apart. He was not wealthy because he was selective in his trade, but his lack of riches was balanced by the lack of harm and accidents in his work. Their little hovel was a haven, and they did not even realize it. But how could they? Only the Druidecht held the knowledge. Only another Druidecht could be taught about Mirrowen.
Light drained from the sky, showing small tufts of clouds that promised a balmy summer’s eve. He smoothed the hair from his forehead and watched the signs of life surrounding him. Not just the dragonflies and the ravens, or the nervous gaze of a doe and her young. No, the woods were full of spirits as well, and they could not be seen unless one knew what to look for or unless one had been touched by them. They lived in an invisible realm called Mirrowen. It was in the world, but it could not be seen. Glimpses of it were fleeting.