“Only you and I can open it,” she said, giving him a timid smile. “I see that now.” She breathed deeply. “You won’t remember this. You won’t remember any of it. I’m sorry, but I see that this must be.” She reached out and touched the side of his face, looking deeply into his eyes, deeply into his very soul. “Until we meet again, Shion.”
She blinked, taking away all of his memories. Not a portion—not a slice. She took them all away. They came as a rush, suffusing into her heart, into her mind, all of his memories and emotions, his knowledge of Druidecht lore, even his knowledge of music. She absorbed it into herself, feeling it well up like a tidal wave. She loved him. She understood the boy he was as a child, the man he was at that moment. All of his life experiences rushed past her in a surge.
Phae gathered the memories, hugging them to her soul, and then she filled the tree with them, preserving and safeguarding them.
Shion slumped to the ground, unconscious. His face was reposed, deep with sleep.
She reached around his neck and lifted the talisman away. Then Phae stood and walked back to the Seneschal.
“I am ready,” she said firmly.
“These next choices will be up to you,” the Seneschal said. “Be wise how you make them. Return to your own era in the mortal world. Save your father. Save your friends. Redeem Poisonwell.”
“Be at peace with your own soul, then the heavens and the earth will be at peace with you. The Druidecht are truly wise.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XLIV
Paedrin stood side by side with the Quiet Kishion, their blades slashing at every angle, defending the Dryad tree in the center of the Scourgelands. Arrows hissed and stuck into the trunk. Somehow, Paedrin avoided every one. His blind sense seemed to move him, and each time the trunk was split and scarred by the heavy weight of impact. Kiranrao flashed again, trying to stab at him, but the Bhikhu was all rage and quickness and his sword had the better reach than the cursed dagger.
Sweat streaked down Paedrin’s cheeks, coming down his back in a river of moisture. His muscles hummed with energy, his situation too desperate for fatigue. One wrong move and the blade Iddawc would graze his skin, snuffing out his life. Every stroke counted. Every miss mattered.
“Should I lie still?” Paedrin taunted the Romani. “Maybe you’re only used to striking people asleep. I thought you were quick, Kiranrao. Old Master Shivu could run circles around you.”
A grotesque look of rage crumpled Kiranrao’s face as he feinted and then lunged again. Paedrin deflected the thrust and whipped his elbow around to smash into the Romani’s face, but again he vanished in a plume of smoke.
“Smoke and shadows, that’s all you are!” Paedrin shouted, dodging another arrow. It thunked into the tree with the others. “A cawing raven. You have no power. You can only steal.”
“You will die, Bhikhu,” Kiranrao threatened. “That I swear!”
“You could not hit me with an avalanche,” Paedrin quipped. “You couldn’t hit me with a rainstorm. You’ve gotten lazy, thief.”
There he was again, materializing out of smoke, his face contorted in rage. Paedrin prepared for the attack. Kiranrao’s eyes widened with shock. A look of confusion rippled across his face. He shook his head, startled and panicked, and then vanished into smoke again.
Fire exploded from the tree behind him.
Paedrin whirled in shock. There was Phae, perfect and whole. Her clothes were different, clean and unstained. Her red hair billowed from the heat as blue flames bloomed from her hands, streaking into the woods and striking one of the sentinels, turning him into ash. Paedrin saw another one lift his bow and he tried to warn her. He would have rushed in front of her to protect her, but he would have stood in the flood of flames and died himself.
The arrow went straight toward her, striking her full in the heart with a stony clunk before dropping harmlessly to the ground at her feet. She smiled savagely and turned her flames against that sentinel, scattering it into ash as well. Shion whirled with surprise, his face lighting with joy when he saw her. Phae took a step forward and sent a final gust of flames and destroyed the third and final sentinel.
“Away from my tree,” she said triumphantly.
“Phae!” Paedrin gasped.
From the gap in the split trunk, twin blurs of silver-white fur came charging out. Paedrin gaped in shock. These were lions, taller than horses, and they bounded into the burning grove and with twin ferocious howls, they scattered the Weir who had gathered around the ancient oak. Their roars sent a spasm of dread into Paedrin’s bowels and he watched with awe as their huge muscled limbs shredded through the Weir. Their roars could be heard over the cinders and crackling flames and seemed to mix with the thunder booming from the clouds overhead. The two lions struck down Weir one by one, and the massive cats became the hunted ones and fled in panic.