Empress of Clouds - PART II - The Druidess - Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 

            “Tolian has disappeared.  Presumably, she has been abducted.”  Magara spoke the words calmly.

            “How is that even possible?” Brythia asked.  Her voice wavered in confusion and weariness.  None of this seemed real.  It was all like some fever dream had followed her out of the library chamber.  A lingering of trance, the hauntings of a hunger and sleep-deprived mind.  She could barely open her eyes in the blinding lamp light of her old room.

            “We have no idea,” was Magara’s answer.  “There seems to be some sort of faerie involvement, but what happened is completely unclear.”

            “When?  How long has she been missing?”

            “Between two and four hours ago.  Our scouts got word from the Lormians about an hour ago, and we just received their message right before I told you.  We have no details as of yet.”

            The druids maintained a system of communication utilizing the creatures of the wild to relay information over great distances quickly.  The calls of the night birds, of frogs, of insects were their media.  Using this method, the nature priests and priestesses were able to send messages to each other with incredible speed.

            “I have to get to Lorm immediately,” said Brythia in a distant, dreamy manner.

            “That’s not possible, dear.  You need some time to rest, to build back your strength.  Besides, you know as well as I do that it takes at least three weeks to travel to the palace,” replied the High Druidess.

            Brythia shook her head, “No, there is another way, and you know it.  I shall use the flying smoke.  I can be there in no time.”

            Magara sighed, “Or, it can kill you.  I can’t allow it.  I’m sorry.”

            “Magara, I wasn’t asking your permission.  I am going to use the flying smoke, and that’s final.  You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

            “Well, of course, I do,” said Magara.  “Remember, it was I who bound you two by the forbidden love magick.  You must feel torn in half.  I do understand.”

            Brythia brought her most intense (and lucid) stare upon Magara.  “It’s not just about that.”

            “What else, then?  Tell me.”

            “‘By the Spring Equinox the blood of the dead shall issue from the Earth, these shall be the last of days.’  It’s not over yet.  Somehow, the Demon is not dead.  I’m sure of it, and only Tolian can stop him from destroying everything.”

            The color drained from the matriarch’s face.  Brythia quickly explained what she had learned from the scrolls in the library chamber.  When she finished, the High Druidess took a deep breath.

            “Brythia, do you think whatever has happened to Tolian is somehow connected with the Demon and the prophecy?”

            “Yes, probably.”

            “Very well,” said Magara.  She paused for a moment.  “Rest for a few moments, but do not eat or drink anything.  I will prepare the flying smoke for you.  It will only take a few minutes.  Oh, what about Myrthis and Relinder?  Should we send them back to Lorm under escort?”

            It was then that Brythia became aware that their relationship had changed.  Magara was uncharacteristically seeking direction from her.

            “You must keep them safe here, at least until we find out what has happened in Lorm.”

            “Yes, I agree.  All right, let me be about my task then.  Luckily for us, you have already fasted, so that will not be a problem.  I shall be right back.”

            When Magara left her, Brythia sat quietly in her old chamber, and waited.  How she ached for Tolian.  It had been bad enough before, when only distance separated them; now the uncertainties made it unbearable.  How was it possible?  There was no one in the world as powerful as Tolian.  How could she be abducted?  There were too many questions.  She knew she would have to wait until she got to the palace before there would be any answers.  Until she got home, she thought.

            She remembered that she only had a few minutes to prepare herself.  Quickly she garbed herself in her druidic winter robe, leggings, and battle armor.  She slid herself into the comfortable boots worn in the cooler weather by the nature priest and priestesses.  She draped a standard issue order travel pack over her shoulders and attached her sword (in scabbard) securely to it.  She tied her small spell pouch to her belt.  In five minutes she was ready.

                       

            Magara did not leave Brythia waiting for long.  She stepped back into the room without a sound, so Brythia thought..

            “Are you ready?” she asked.

            Brythia nodded solemnly.  She was glad that Magara did not ask her if she was certain that she wished to proceed.  The High Druidess evidently understood her well enough now.

            They walked together in silence through the corridors of the Druidic Temple stronghold.  Most of the other nature priests and priestesses were asleep, though a few stood here and there in silent vigil or traveled on their own nocturnal business.  Some of the passing gazes revealed a degree of awe as they regarded Brythia.  It was, of course, well known that she was the Moon Goddess’ wife, and now her examination of the prophecy scrolls added to her mystique.  How peculiar, the emotions she felt as they made their way through the polished stone passageways.  A distant dread echoed in every footfall, growing louder with each step.  It was funny, but for some reason, it had never seemed more like home at Hyge Bryth, yet some part of her was certain that she would never return.  A twinge of existential sadness, a glimpse of the twilight of the transitory, and the subtle, bittersweet aroma of home grabbed her.

            They exited the main building through the Forest Door and immediately the darkened woods surrounded them.  The trees grew right up to that side of the temple, abruptly interrupted by the walls.

            Magara broke the silence. “The clearing down here was actually designed for using the flying smoke.  It was used much more frequently in the old days; I suppose people were more reckless then.”

            “Perhaps,” said Brythia, “they were more clear on what needed to be done.”

            “Perhaps,” agreed Magara.  “Ah, here we are.”

            The forest path emptied into a small circular clearing in the midst a grove of birch trees.

            “Sit down in the grass, dear,” the High Druidess instructed.

            They sat on the cold, brittle grass, cross-legged and facing each other.  Magara removed a small marble pipe and leather sachet from the folds of her robe.  She dipped the bowl into the pouch as she spoke.

            “I know that you are not afraid to use the flying smoke; but your courage aside, you must be cautious,” said the High Druidess.

            She removed the pipe, now filled with a grey-brown power peppered with flakes of green, from the pouch and handed it to Brythia.

            She took it.

            “I will have to leave you before you begin, but first I must impart what little I know of the flying smoke and the instructions I have been entrusted with.”

            “I’m listening,” said Brythia impatiently.

            “I have never used the smoke myself, very few have in recent years, but Demvirstia, who was High Druidess before me, did so, successfully.  The flying smoke powder is a mixture of the mushrooms we use for the Spirit Vision, our ritual pipeweed, and several herbs:  wolf’s bane, wild parsley, and elf-root.  It is the responsibility of the leaders of our order to make certain that there is a fresh supply of the flying smoke on hand at all times for emergencies.  I am told that the taste is wholly unpleasant, but you should hold each puff in as long as possible.

            “From the first draw of the pipe on, you must keep your desired destination fixed firmly in your mind.  This is the key.  Before long you will feel the effects; they shall quickly intensify.  The spirit of the flying smoke may or may not make itself known to you; if it does reveal itself, do not let your attention slip from your destination.  Either the spirit likes you and allows you transport, or it does not.”

            A chill ran up Brythia’s spine.  She knew that some who used the powder were found dead while others wandered in madness.  There were tales of those who ended up thousands of miles away, and still others who were never seen again.

            Magara smiled reassuringly and stood up.  “Do you have any questions?” Magara asked.

            Brythia shook her head.

            “Well, I shall leave you to it then.  Good luck, dear.  Get to Lorm and find her.  This is your destiny, I know it.” She turned to go, then stopped.  She looked hard at Brythia. “There is one other thing you should know,” Magara said with some hesitation.

            Now what? Byrthia thought.  “And that is?”  Impatience bubbled in her voice.

            “Tolian’s transformation ritual did not go exactly as planned.”

            Why is she telling me this?

            “There was an unexpected complication.”

            “Complication?  What?”

            “She was supposed to emerge from the ritual as the Moon Goddess manifested in the world of physical reality.”

            “And so she is.”

            “Well, yes, she is, and she is not.  She was not expected to return to her old `Tolian’ personality, you know; we had originally expected her to have the mind of the Goddess as well.”

            “Well,” said Brythia, “I for one am glad, for that is who I love.”

            “Exactly,” whispered Magara most mysteriously.

            “Exactly?”

            “We now believe that because of the love magicks we used to bind our Champion to our cause, Tolian’s mind refused to be extinguished so great was her love for you.  I don’t pretend to know what will happen in the end, but I feel certain that this accident will determine the outcome of many things.”

            Silence.

            “Well, I thought you should know,” said the High Druidess.

            She turned and retraced her steps down the forest path.

            Brythia sighed.  No time for that now, she thought.  Put it aside.  She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.  She exhaled and opened her eyes.  She brought her attention back to the packed pipe.  She examined it.  Intricate engravings decorated it, but were so worn as to be unintelligible.  Clearly the pipe was old, and had been touched by many hands in its time.  Resinous deposits lined the bowl portion of it.  She stared at the pipe for a second longer and reached into her own pouch and withdrew her fire stones.  With one hand she expertly rubbed the two stones together over the pipe and instantly a fire ignited over the powder in the bowl.

            She exhaled deeply and brought the lit pipe to her lips.  She inhaled vigorously, drawing the flying smoke into her lungs.  She continued inhaling until her lungs burned.  She held her breath, holding the smoke tightly inside her.  She removed the pipe from her face and blew out a sizeable cloud of smoke, coughing as she did so.

            Immediately she repeated this procedure, holding the hot and bitter smoke in even longer each time she did so.  The entire time she held a vision of the palace of Lorm in her mind.  She visualized the outer fortress walls, the great towers, the gates.  She held the image firmly in her imagination as she began to feel light-headed.  Shapes seemed to move vaguely in the surrounding darkness of the wooded circle.  The air seemed comprised of tiny particles, which fluttered and flickered about, and then everything began to move in waves.  The blackness of the night sky blended into the tops of the trees[KR]Did the tops of the trees seem to melt into the grass?  This is confusing.  I would get rid of the part of the sentence after trees.      .  A dizziness and nausea [KR]Nausea isn’t vague.      took hold of her.  Still she did not allow herself to be distracted by the effects of the flying smoke; she kept the picture of the palace there vividly as possible before her mind’s eye.

            A strange humming noise came slowly in the background of her attention, growing louder and louder with each passing moment.  Now everything was swirling around her, jumbled waves of energy, which were once the trees and the sky, seemed to lap like water at her feet.  Was she standing now?  Or no, had she fallen down?  Was that the cold earth she felt all about her now?  She was having difficulty breathing.  The air that poured into her lungs stung and tasted foul.  Was she still smoking?  She could not be sure.  She hung on to the image of the palace; it was her only anchor to sanity.  Her regular vision was lost in blurs and a crashing hum of deafening ferocity raged so that all other sound was drowned out.  Now there came a sensation of movement and something raced just below her, rapidly, but nebulous.

            Then there seemed to be a figure moving towards her in the blurred landscape that surrounded her.  It stuck her as an entity of some sort, but one who possessed no measurable characteristics she could hold in her affected mind.  It possessed color and movement, but nothing even approaching shape.  It flashed brilliantly through her mind.

            “Who are you?” popped up in her thoughts.  Did she ask it or did the entity ask her?  She could not be sure.  She attempted, at first, to ignore the presence and return her concentration wholly to the palace, but again the question moved across her mind.  “Who are you?”  And then another question followed instantly.  “Why do you wish to go to this place, this palace?”

            She attempted to move her lips to answer, but she found she could not.  If she was making coherent sounds, they could not be heard over the din of the incessant humming.

            The palace.  Ignore the voice in your head and think only of the palace.

            “Why?  Why?  Why?”

            The strange voice in her head almost devoured her in its questioning.  The humming became the question repeated at an incredible roar.  Brythia formed an answer in her mind, and it  was shouted with everything she had, “For Tolian.”

            Her answer now echoed in the humming.  She remembered to bring her attention back to the palace.  “The palace, the palace, the palace, the palace, the palace” she screamed over and over again.

            And then that was all there was.  The words ringing throughout eternity.  There was nothing else.

            The palace.  The palace.  The palace.  The palace.  The palace.  Her mantra rang over and over again.

            A barrage of quick images danced across her consciousness.  A rolling sea of clouds stretched out in the darkness below her.  A carpet of trees.  A flash of light.

            Suddenly she felt tears on her check.  She felt her foot on solid ground.  The screamed mental mantra faded with the sound of a twig snapping under her.  The crackle of leaves beneath her feet.  The blur of her vision shifted into uncertain shapes before condensing into trees all around her.  It was still night.  She became aware of the cold wind rushing down on her.  She stepped, from the midst of the tall barren oak trees surrounding her, onto a paved road.  She turned right on to the path and continued walking.  Her head still spun and a violent wave of nausea took hold of her.  She had to stop and vomit.

            She retched [KR]Wretched is not the word you want here; retch is.      for several minutes, regaining her normal consciousness in the process.  She had, of course, eaten nothing, so she suffered from the dry heaves.  The odor of her own bile assaulted her.  She continued down the road for a few minutes only, before the forest around her gave way to fields.  And there, two miles away, stood the towers of the palace.

            The light-headed feeling [KR]Retreated implies now it’s happening now.       retreated.  She shook her head, breathed the cold, clean air and began running.

 

Copyright, 2004, 20015 Diana Hignutt