Reeder held up his hand, shaking his head. “Lad, it comes down to who is telling the truth. That is the state of the matter. Truth is knowledge. Things are or they are not. You and I are here. We are sitting and sharing wine in Canton Vaud. One may say you are in Havenrook. One may say you are in Alkire. One may say you still hide in Kenatos, but that is not the truth. You are here.” He leaned forward. “The trouble with truth is that people are unwilling to be convinced that they have been deceived. It impugns their judgment. It stains their character. People love themselves above all.”
Reeder sighed deeply, staring at the slow-burning wick of the oil lamp. “They hate truth for the sake of whatever it is that they love in its place. When truth benefits them, they love it. When it rebukes them, they hate it. They love truth when it reveals itself and hate it when it reveals them.” He shook his head wearily, his countenance falling. “As one of the Thirteen once told me, ‘Thus, thus, truly thus: a mind so blind and sick, so base and ill-mannered, desires to lie hidden, but does not wish that anything should be hidden from it.’ And yet the opposite is what happens, does it not? Yet even so,” he said with a sad chuckle, “for all its wretchedness, the mind still prefers to delight in truth rather than in known falsehoods. Lies never satisfy us, Annon. They do not satisfy our internal hunger for truth.”
His gaze pierced Annon. “I cannot tell you whether your uncle’s story is true. I lack the knowledge. In the morning, I go to defend a corner of Silvandom where the Thirteen say a Dryad is hidden. Come with me. They live for hundreds of years. She may have the knowledge you seek. Your uncle told you to find the oracle Basilides. Perhaps the Dryad knows where the oracle may be found and whether your uncle tells the truth.” His eyes narrowed. “Or not.”
The suggestion startled Annon. His eyes were getting drowsy, but he sat up and stared at his mentor, his friend. “Go with you?”
“I would enjoy the companionship. Most of the raids are happening in the northern borders of Silvandom via the mountain passes. I seek to safeguard the western edge. If there is trouble, we will send for others to assist. That is, if you will join me.”
Annon thought it over quickly. What he had been told about Dryads fascinated him immensely. There was something about them, some connection to his uncle that he had not revealed to Reeder. The oak in the Paracelsus Towers. That was not a coincidence. Did his uncle know the tree likely contained a Dryad? Had he anticipated the distrust Annon would have? Likely so. If the mysteries of his uncle could be revealed in a manner that would satisfy a Druidecht, he would be more likely to believe his uncle’s version of events.
“I see you hesitate,” Reeder said. “I will not push you. My older bones are ready for a blanket. Decide in the morning if you wish to accompany me.”
Annon shook his head. “It is not that, Reeder. I think it would be useful if I did join you. I was only mulling what you told me.”
Reeder reached for a blanket and wrapped himself in the warm folds. “Think as long as you like. Only spare the oil lamp and blow out the flame ere you sleep.”
Annon was beginning to think that truth was like the knowledge of Mirrowen. There was evidence of it all around. Only most people did not bother to notice it. They were so set in their minds as to what existed and what didn’t that they left no room to explore the possibility that they shared the world with the spirits of Mirrowen. That both worlds existed simultaneously. That it was even possible to connect them.
“I will go with you,” Annon promised, giving his friend a smile.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Nizeera’s tail lashing. He felt her thoughts graze against his mind smugly.
Yes. Yes, you will.
He looked at her in confusion, seeing the gleaming reflection of the lamplight in her eyes.
Why do you stay with us? he asked her.
Because of my oath to you, she replied.
And why did you swear an oath to me?
There was a long pause. A shiver began from the base of his spine, welling up until he shuddered.
I did not swear the oath to you, mortal. I swore it to your mother. A Druidecht with the fireblood. Like you. Her tail began lashing back and forth. It reminded him of a serpent.
“Some say the greatest evil is physical pain. The Bhikhu reject this notion, of course. I reject it as well. Wounds of the heart run more deeply and cannot be treated with salves and herbs.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The woods were dark and lonely in the morning light. A thin haze crept amidst the trees, blanketing the morning with a veil of fog. Annon and Reeder walked side by side, enjoying the brisk air and the chance to be together again. Annon’s emotions were tangled and conflicted. He thought about his uncle. He thought about Erasmus. More importantly, he wondered if he had lost his senses completely. Why was he doing this? Why was he even involved? Why had he bothered to listen to Reeder in the first place?