Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

A burst of light suddenly exploded in front of them. It was a spirit, frantic and throbbing tense feelings of urgency. It hung in the air, buzzing in front of their faces like a hummingbird.

Come, Druidecht! You are needed! Come with haste! Haste! Follow me!

Reeder held up his hand, trying to calm the frantic creature. “What is it, friend? Tell us.”

The spirit zoomed away through the woods, leaving a shimmering trail of dust. They could hear its frantic screech as it raced back the way it came, the dust-motes of magic starting to descend like hoarfrost from the air. Annon and Reeder looked at each other and then plunged into the woods after it, caught up in the emotion it had summoned inside of them.

They ran as best they could. Annon was younger and more healthy, but he stayed near his friend and followed the disappearing trail left in the spirit’s wake. Annon’s heart pounded with the exertion of their pace, but the creature’s emotions compelled them forward. It was a warning of the imminent death of another creature, another spirit.

“Do you see that?” Annon asked, pointing ahead. A flurry of activity was going on up ahead in the trees. Spirits dashed this way and that, leaving streamers of magic as they raced and circled the scene. Sparks exploded in small puffs as spirit magic attacked violently. There were noises, voices thick with a guttural language. And then there was the unmistakable sound of an ax biting into bark.

“Boeotians!” Reeder gasped, both from surprise and lack of air. He staggered to rest, catching himself on a tree. “How can they be this far into the woods?”

Annon realized that the shape of the woods had suddenly changed, going from tall proud red maples to twisted oaks. It was the dense array of knotted branches that blocked the full scene, but Annon could see enough as a giant of a man stood next to an ancient oak; his muscles rippled. He took another hard swing, blasting away fragments of wood.

There were others present as well, waving smoky torches in the air. The smell of smoke had not drifted far before another attack of spirits came amidst it and exploded in little puffs. Annon realized that the spirits were dying from the smoke.

“No!” Reeder said, staring at the scene in bafflement. Then his face flooded with anger and he charged forward. “No! Noooo!”

Save us, Druidecht! Save the tree!

Annon stared at the intruders in horror. They were a race he had never seen before. Tall and corded with muscles, yet their skin was mottled with protruding veins, giving them an almost purplish cast. They wore only loincloths and high hide boots. Each man carried a weapon in one hand and a cluster of burning sticks in the other. Annon did not know what kind of wood they held, but the smoke was obviously anathema to the spirits of Mirrowen, who fell as soon as they came in contact with the haze.

The giant man had a huge double-sided ax, and he took another powerful swing, spraying the glen with fragments of wooden splinters.

“No!” Reeder roared. “This is forbidden! These are not your woods! You must go!”

Reeder clutched his talisman in one hand and sucked in his breath. Annon felt the strength of his summoning. He could feel it jet past him, a wash of feelings that went into the surrounding woods for leagues. He was summoning the woodland animals to help. Foxes and wolves, bears and serpents. Hawks and falcons. All who felt the summons would be called to the Druidecht’s service. But he needed time. It would take time for the allies to arrive.

“Be gone, Druidecht!” The man with the ax had a hoarse, gravelly voice. “We will burn this tree! Atu! Banvenek!” He brought the ax back for another mighty swing.

Reeder’s face twisted with rage. “You do not know what you do!” he sputtered. There was a frenzy as the spirits redoubled their attacks, plunging at the tight cluster of men with determination, despite their falling numbers. A fierce wind began to rake through the woods. The air was suddenly full of howling and commotion.

“Atu!”

Annon saw the spear too late.

It struck Reeder full in the chest. He was a big man himself. The blow would have toppled another. Reeder stood, staring in shock at the huge shaft protruding from his skin. The jettison of magic imploded. His knees buckled. Reeder collapsed onto the forest floor, toppled like a tree himself. A mesh of scrub cushioned him.

The pain and rage that blasted inside of Annon was nothing he had experienced before. There was no way to describe it, even to himself. Part of him literally exploded. His friend. His mentor. Someone who was more a father to him than anyone else in all the kingdoms lay dead or dying.

There was a smirk on the leader’s face. A ruthless smirk. The death of a man meant nothing to him. It was a face hardened and callused by death. His eyes passed over Annon, barely giving him another look or thought. He hefted the ax back for another swing.