Druid of the Ash Wood

Part Two of Ersoa's Awakening

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley,” Hollae whispered.

“Where are they coming from?” Max panicked, rustling in the desiccated leaves at the feet of the elderly dryad, trying to find cover behind her knotted trunks.

“Silence,” Vitus entreated his friends.

Max heard stories in the village weeks past about gaunt but spritely dragons who had been ravaging the woodlands of late. He had considered them a myth, a misinterpretation of some sort of phoenix hybrid. Everyone knew that dragons once ruled the skies of Miravale, but like giants, they had become relics of the past.

It wasn’t until that morning when he saw the monstrosity of glistening, amber scales plummeting through the sky, down into the valley where Tree Elk often roam, that the truth of their existence sunk into his chest and made it ache.

The Huntsman, or so the druids called it, had caught their scent.

He knew it was reckless to venture into the forest where travelers had been disappearing, but Max was chasing an undetermined destiny. Now, he and his companions sat defenseless as they listened to the not-so-distant screeching of the beast. A young mage, he was naïve of any spells to deflect fire or piercing claws. He wondered if there were travelers nearby who would hear his screams, come to save them before the creature made its feast, but he was too frightened to test it.

Vitus, the desperate druid, crouched silently in a petrified state. He had seen dragon fire weeks ago in someone else's forest, heard the wispy cries of the trees, uncovered the melting faces of dryads who couldn’t unroot quickly. There was nothing he could do to save them.

Hollae had lived more tragedies than she would ever admit. This wasn’t her first time facing a beast like it, but her limbs were weary, her bark cracking. She wouldn’t get far until the fire engulfed her and she became tinder to spread the destruction.

The best thing to do was wait, but Max was anxious, knowing their scent would only grow stronger the longer the dragon hunted them. Voiceless, Vitus extended his hand, offering what seemed to be a bundle of pixie petals. They both filled their mouths, chewing carefully with nothing but saliva to get them down. The aura of the plant would disguise them, buy them enough time to concoct a plan for escape.

Hollae slowly reached a branch westward, and the two men looked toward the path that was densely covered by a low thicket of bramble bush. To crawl through it on hands and knees, their skin would be carved and cleaved, but it would conceal them from the beast’s gaze, leading them to escape. Vitus looked at Hollae painfully, knowing the sacrifice that would have to be made. Her tallest branches reached twenty feet. She could not join them.

“We won’t abandon you,” Max promised, suddenly covering his lips with his palm as if excusing his absent mind.

Vitus nodded in agreement. He was the druid of this forest, and he couldn’t forsake it. Hollae was the last of the nearby dryads. Most had left the year before when the stubborn woodsmen mistook them for trees and started heaving off their limbs with axes. He had begged them to halt their harvest, and with much debate, they did, but the dryads couldn’t find trust in them again. It was often the way of their world. Vitus didn’t quite understand why Hollae stayed, and she could never find the confidence to admit that it was because she loved him.

“Look!” Max urged.

Frustration stirred in the druid’s throat as the young mage continued his racket, but he soon understood the excitement when he saw the amber dragon heaving a stag northward above the canopy. It had found its feast, probably bringing it home to the mountains. Vitus sighed as Hollae’s violet leaves rustled.

Free to speak, Max finally asked, “What do you know of the dragons?”

Vitus’s eyes widened as if in dreadful remembrance. Max grew weary of the Druid’s prolonged secrecy. He never gave him much of an explanation in the tavern weeks ago other than, “You are going to metamorphosize, young mage. You must follow me.” Max had never been good about asking the important questions; He was mostly just thrilled for the adventure. But now, he was beginning to wish he understood more about the druid and his quest before delving into the beastly forest.

“They were once feared by most, loved by some. They lorded the skies, and they almost always left chaos behind,” Hollae recounted in a voice that spoke only of an unloved history.

“What happened to them?” Max asked while picking a remnant of pixie petal from his teeth with the tip of his tongue.

“They probably went extinct,” Vitus surmised, refusing to meet Hollae’s gaze.

“No, they simply disappeared one day,” Hollae corrected.

“Like they were hunted?” Max asked.

“No corpses, just gone,” Hollae recalled wistfully.

“Do you think someone imprisoned them?” Max suggested, the unbound imagination of a mage soaking his voice.

“Who or … what could do that?” Vitus questioned, eyeing the clouds uneasily for the return of the beast.

“I’m not sure, but my sister once told me that she could hear something deep below the layers of earth, the shrieks of some kind of tortured creature,” Hollae whispered as if it were too frightening to say aloud.

Max tried to unravel what he was hearing. If it were true, if the dragons had somehow been imprisoned all these years, then there must have been a mage powerful enough to minionize them. The thought was more frightening than the beast itself: a dragon master, for some reason or another, suddenly unleashing them back into the world. Unculled, they would devastate the whole of Miravale.

“It’s back,” Vitus groaned, pointing his slender, wand-like finger to the sky.

From behind the misty cloud cover, the beast had returned with two more dragons flocking behind. Hollae lay a withered limb on her druid’s shoulder as if beginning her goodbyes. There was no question that the aura of pixie petals had faded and the dragons were fixated on their position, plummeting exactly toward them. There wasn’t time to argue or concoct a new plan. It was foolish to think they had so easily escaped the Huntsman, and the existence of the two others meant something else entirely.

“Save yourselves,” Hollae implored, gesturing again toward the bramble path.

“We can fight back,” Max suggested, warming his palms and scouring distant memories for a spell that could maim or at least distract the creatures.

Truthfully, it was foolish to think that any of his simple tricks could stop the ancient beasts, but he was desperate to save his friends.

“Take the cover. You must leave,” Vitus demanded.

The druid made the decision with haste, but Max had to trust his wisdom. Perhaps the only way to survive the attack was escape, but he wasn’t ready to cast his friends aside, face the dangers of the wilds alone. He thought desperately for a plan of salvation.

“Come with me!” Max insisted, finding his footing and clutching the druid’s hand.

“Someone must survive to tell this story. I will not abandon my forest,” Vitus vowed, palming Hollae’s crumbling bark carefully.

The two held a stare that could have lasted an eternity if allowed — something unspoken decided in their silence. Max wondered if they had finally come to understand each other’s undying passion. If he survived, he hoped to find a bond like theirs.

“I will distract them,” Hollae decided as she shifted her trunks and began unrooting from the earth.

“Don’t look back,” Vitus instructed, pushing his friend toward the bramble with a strength that he had been storing for decades.

Max fell into the prying vines, unable to guard his cheek from being sliced open. He wanted to cry out in pain, but as the druid’s bellowing scream echoed behind him, he bit his tongue. He would save the tears and wallowing for later. He was still processing the unraveling sacrifice. His crouching limbs shook uncontrollably as he waited in the muck to discern what was happening.

The mountainous rumbling of what could only be dragons landing shook the earth. A garbled growl cut through the vines, piercing his ears and making him wonder how close the creatures could be. Then, a haunting question came to mind. Why would they land to attack? Unless … were they looking for something?

He could see nothing through the cover of the vines other than the sudden flash of dragon fire. Max panicked, laboriously trying to hold his breath. He didn’t know how long it would take for the fire to consume the bramble. He looked ahead to the dim path and thought painfully of advancing, leaving his friends behind.

The trees started shifting; It wasn’t just Hollae. He could hear the unrooting, the snapping of brittle limbs. Vitus must have done something to awaken them. Instead of fleeing, it seemed like they were crawling toward the dragons, sacrificing themselves as a distraction. Max harbored a sliver of hope that his friends would survive as he reached forward in the mess of thorns and vines.

The uncertainty of their fate was dreadful, but he couldn’t sit idly any longer. He wouldn’t waste their sacrifice and chance being discovered or caught up in the fire. He didn’t know where the bramble path would lead or what dangers waited on the other side, but he crawled diligently forward, becoming numb to the bite of the thorns. He had a new purpose: move on, don’t look back, tell the world what he saw in the valley where the Tree Elk roam.

His journey was halted when a sonorous cry, releasing decades of pain, echoed through the wood. He sobbed when he heard it and recognized the sincerity of Hollae’s voice. He had been blind to his surroundings as he focused on pushing forward, but when he peeked through a hole in the bramble, he saw the tragedy that had unfolded. Vitus’s forest was burning.

A fierce anger grew in his heart, not because of the dragons, but because he didn’t know any magic to stop them. What use was a mage who couldn’t fight fire, save his friends when they needed him? Soaked in remorse and blood, he resolved to drag on, get through the vines no matter the pain, but then he heard something deep down the path that made him freeze.

There was a rustling, something squishing in the muck behind him. If he tried to outrun it, it would most likely catch him with his back turned, so he decided to put up a fight instead. He held out his palm, bracing his body against the soggy earth. He would try to stun it before moving on.

Every time he casted the stun, he was usually kicked back a few feet. He couldn’t afford the commotion. He focused on grounding himself, fixing his palm firmly in front of his body. He needed a precise hit.

And then, another spell came to him. He didn’t know it, but his memories did, somehow. The rustling halted as a hunched figure waited in the distance. He couldn’t give it time to attack.

“Dor—”

“Wait!” Vitus pleaded.

Max gasped, crawling carefully toward the druid, suddenly exhaling the fragment of the strange word off his tongue.

“Are you okay?” Max asked softly, still worried about the Huntsman and its company.

Vitus shook his head, looking down at his mangled hand — fingers splayed like antlers.

“Hollae?” Max sighed.

“She’s with the trees,” Vitus reported, hunching over as if concealing a shattered heart.

Max was hopeful until he remembered the blaze that had taken the forest and realized what it meant.

“What kind of …” Vitus sobbed. “What kind of druid tends to ashes?”

His weary body poured onto Max’s lap, and he mourned, holding him firmly like a cast-away would driftwood. Eventually, with the smoky haze of the fading blaze behind them and the distant sound of dragon flight staining the sky, the two continued their crawl. Max wondered how Vitus escaped but would never ask. He was taken aback by relief that the druid survived and, at the same time, plagued by the sorrow of Hollae’s sacrifice.

“We have to tell them,” Max encouraged Vitus as he stopped, his sapped body melting into the mud. “We have to warn the Council of Vitality about the dragons in the valley. What if more are coming?”

“My friend,” Vitus finally groaned, pulling himself upright. “More will come,” he paused, plucking a thorn from his palm. “And we will destroy them.”

***

Hello, wanderers!

This is Part Two of the Ersoa's Awakening serial. Other parts can be read as linked below.

Part One

Part Three

Part Four

xoxo,

for now,

-your friend, lost in thought