Shirikant’s eyes were guarded. He kept his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “And?”
“It was not the tree you’re looking for,” Shion said flatly. “It was beautiful and pale, with thousands of blue butterflies instead of leaves. There was spirit magic guarding it, Brother. There was a pond . . . a brackish pond. The tree was in the middle of the pond and the gully water seemed to fill the pond, which was stagnating. I recall you telling me that the tree we seek has a river coming forth. This tree seemed to be drawing certain elements of the forest to it. There was nothing but the fouled waters, the gully, and the myriad butterflies. Paideia went into the waters and approached the tree, saying she had found our goal. She’d found the tree of Mirrowen. The tree with the fruit that grants immortal life. I warned her to stay back, but she wouldn’t heed me. She approached the tree, telling me she could see the fruit.” He shrugged helplessly. “I could see no fruit on that tree at all. But she went closer, sloshing and splashing. I had a terrible feeling. I was excited, of course—we all were. But something felt wrong. I warned her again, but again she would not heed me and she went to the tree. I saw her reach up and pluck something from a lower branch. I could not see what it was, but I saw the blue wings of a butterfly on it. She took a bite. Then she died.”
Shion exhaled slowly, shaking his head. The experience had happened in the past but Phae could still see the lingering effects of grief on his countenance.
“What happened to Marq?”
“He went mad,” Shion said, grunting. “When Paideia crumpled into the water, he thought she was drowning. He went after her but Tenblec grabbed his arm and struggled to keep him near the gully with the rest of us. Marq isn’t a big man, but he was suddenly enraged that Tenblec stopped him. They were struggling and before anyone could break them up, Marq struck him on the head with the pommel of his dagger. Then Marq was splashing in the waters and struggling to reach the tree. By the time he reached it, he’d forgotten about Paideia and he also grabbed for the fruit and died. The rest of us managed to drag Tenblec’s body through the gulch. As soon as we tried to leave, the insects all went berserk and fluttered around us, going inside our garments.”
Phae trembled at the memory, her eyes riveted on Shion’s face. Her flesh crawled.
“Tenblec was dead when we reached the safety of the woods again, his skull caved in where the dagger pommel had struck. I didn’t realize how fragile life is, Brother. Three were dead so quickly. The trail was false. It led to a tree with special fruit, but it was not the portal to Mirrowen.”
Shirikant breathed deeply, shaking his head in dismay. He hugged his brother and held him a moment, his own expression mimicking the desolation of Shion. “I’m sorry, Isic. That’s a blow. That’s a hard blow. I’m grateful you didn’t succumb to the lure.”
Shirikant turned to the Preachán. “What do you think, Odea? What struck you about this tale?”
The Preachán was older than Shirikant, his hair receding. He was fit and trim, not a tall man, and his head seemed full of ideas. He had a pensive, thoughtful look. “I think we’re lucky Prince Isic is wise. Wisdom is worth pursuing, lad. You found some in this latest foray. This is not the tree to Mirrowen. This is a setback that would crush the determination of ordinary men. It means we are very close to discovering Mirrowen.”
Shirikant smiled at the statement, nodding indulgently. “There is always a setback. An obstacle to overcome.”
“I know,” Shion said. “You told me before we started this effort that we’d face challenges. I wasn’t expecting them to hurt this deeply. But I thought the same thing. Looking back, we should have retreated from the gully and left it alone. The clues warned us away, but I didn’t heed them soon enough. Those three paid with their lives.”
“I grieve for all their families,” Shirikant said. “They will want for nothing. We all accepted the risks. What do you say, Kishion?” He nodded toward the Cruithne guarding the door.
“Best to send me along on the next trip,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling. “Can’t trust a group of Druidecht with fighting or squeamish business. Let me go.”