We followed after the Schattenmann.

I can’t speak for the others, but I was blinking furiously. The horrible groan that Oak-Leaf had given when the claws of the Schattenmann had ripped open her belly was still echoing in my head. People scream when they are in pain. Speaking as someone that has felt more than my fair share of pain, I can attest to this. Screaming is a way to try and fight off the pain. It is a weapon, a tool, against agony and that is how you fight it off.

But, also in my experience and luckily only looking at it from the outside, real agony is not accompanied by screaming. It is accompanied by guttural moans and grunts. It is a primal sound and a terrifying one that speaks to who and what we were before civilisation crept upon us.

I have never felt that kind of agony. The agony of pending death. The sight of an injury that you know is going to kill you just before the real pain hits you in the face. I have never felt that for myself although Jack showed me the agony of others. But I have seen it and I am ashamed to say that I have inflicted it on other people. Being a spear user means that more than a few belly wounds have been felt at my hands and if I have time, I always go back and see to it that I end the suffering of those that I have inflicted such agony.

That is how Oak-Leaf had died. The sight of that as well as the utter… not indifference, that the dryads had displayed. That wasn’t what was happening. It was more… reverence. How could someone revere that? I had no idea. Having spent a bit of time coming to understand the dryads with Apple-Seed, Chestnut-Shell and the rest. It occurred to me that these women were sisters to Oak-Leaf. Not just colleagues but some of them were undoubtedly sisters, even lovers or parents. And they had watched as The Schattenmann had gutted her without thought. Without apparent effort even.

My brain started to catch up with what was going on here and I felt something starting to grow in the pit of my belly. A wave of old anger and rage that has carried me truly more often than it has tripped me up. That anger that I love and hate in equal measure.

The scientific mind is a wonderful thing and if you ever want an example of how my mind works, then this is likely to be as good as you are going to get.

It occurred to me that these people were attendants to The Schattenmann. This was the purest form of what those Attendants did. They taught the young dryads of their society about what it means to revere The Schattenmann. They maintain the paths and the places of safety for people being on their way to and from the Schattenmann. And then they come here. Oak-Leaf had seemed to suggest that they come here at the final culmination of their careers. Either as retirement or as the ultimate expression of their devotion to the Schattenmann.

So then it occurred to me, as it probably should have been done earlier, that Chestnut-Shell might very well end up here towards the end of her career. It wasn’t certain, the Attendant that Chestnut-Shell had taken me to meet in the settlement had been older than these women seemed to be. So it was more than possible that Chestnut-Shell would never come here as her… passions led towards education and the change in her society. But the opposite was just as true. She could end up coming here. She could end up being one of these black-robed women who maintained the lights around the tree. Or she could end up being someone who the Schattenmann gutted in front of him as part of whatever sick rite that was.

Oak-Leaf had expected something like this. Her tears on the way here had emphasised this. Her fear and her trepidation as well as the support of the other dryads, from Cherry-Blossom especially. So this was not unusual. Therefore it had happened more than once. Therefore, it was almost expected to be common.

I also knew that expectations and professions as well as character traits were qualities that the dryads deliberately bred for. Attendants were probably going to give birth to Attendants and so on. Therefore, with Chestnut-Shell being an attendant and my own character and drive, there was a strong chance that our daughter would have similar ambitions and qualities. Following on from that, it was more than likely that our daughter would be an Attendant.

Therefore, it was more than likely that my daughter would end up here, on her knees, in front of the Schattenmann waiting for him to tear her guts out.

A fury the likes of which I cannot remember having seemed to bubble out of me.

“Hold on.” I snarled.

The Schattenmann turned and looked at me. It wasn’t Henrik, I could see that now. He looked different and he moved differently. When Henrik moved, he moved with a certain amount of grace but he also moved carefully with the movements of someone who is used to having great strength and broad shoulders. Which is fair coming from a man that chopped wood for a living. He also moved like an older man.

I don’t know how to define that. The closest I can come is that he moved so that he didn’t hurt himself. He took the easy way. When climbing over obstructions on the path, he would go a few paces out of his way so that he could climb over a lower part of the log. So that he would exert himself less. Whereas I would just scramble over, he would find the easier, more thoughtful route and therefore expend less effort. I suppose that it comes with experience or a desire not to do too much. Maybe it was an accommodation of an ageing body or whatever it might be. But the difference was there. Henrik moved around the world, taking the path of least resistance.

This man, this… figure or whoever it was moved as though he expected the rest of the world to move out of the way. Young men do that. I do that although I would like to think that I do that to a lesser degree.

There was also a hardness to this figure’s eyes. Henrik was a good man I think. He was a kind man. Someone who had been through a lot, seen an awful lot and had also done an awful lot that he regretted. He was someone who was looking back over his life and deciding that he could have done better and although he might not have a great deal of time left, he was determined to be better for that period of time.

This man’s eyes were hard and uncompromising. They weren’t the eyes of a young man, these eyes were old, very old, cold and utterly uncompromising. I felt a shiver of fear run down my spine as I looked at them.

I have faced down a primal entity of fear. I have stood in the face of the Unseen Elder of the vampires and I have seen what the throat of a Dragon looks like as it takes a breath ready to incinerate me.

But I have never felt a terror quite like this one. It was a bucket of ice over my anger, a much-needed one.

He stood there looking at me for a long moment.

“Wwhhh…” I tried before swallowing. “What the…” My anger came to my rescue. “What the fuck was that?” I demanded, gesturing back at where someone was still collecting Oak-Leaf’s spilt entrails.

The Schattenmann seemed to look over my shoulder a moment. Even though he had seemed to shrink without the mask and the antlers on, which were still tucked under his arm, by the way, he was still a tall man at somewhere over six feet tall.

“Power.” He said. His voice was warm, deep and powerful. It had the intonation and the timbre of someone that had been trained in how to speak. He thought about things a bit more. “Sacrifice.” He added. He had that thing that powerful people do where he seemed to want to properly taste his words, carefully sounding out each and every syllable. “Punishment and Warning.” He finally added. “Yes, I think that’s everything.” He turned and started to lead us away again.

Different people react to fear in different ways. But the most basic of responses is to flee or to fight. I had made my effort at fighting. Kerrass is more careful with this kind of thing and was considering matters. He tries to never act rashly and there was only so much he could do here. So he was waiting.

Stefan is a fighter though, and he did not enjoy being made to feel afraid.

“Wait just a fucking minute.” He bellowed, not helping himself by the fact that his voice squeaked at the end there.

The Schattenmann turned back and looked at him.

“You didn’t answer my friend’s question,” Stefan growled. “I too would like to know why you killed a woman that saved my life on three separate occasions that I can think of.”

“And she saved it again when you arrived.” The Schattenmann said calmly. “And I did answer the questions. What you are frustrated with is a lack of understanding. That is not my problem. Your understanding can wait.”He turned away again and took another couple of steps. I was going to follow I think. I was still making my mind up but I am pretty sure that I was going to follow. Kerrass was certainly going to follow. He was frowning in thought to be sure but he was going to follow.

Stefan drew his sword.

“You will explain now, sir.” He demanded.

The Schattenmann turned back. He was still infuriatingly calm as he gazed at Stefan steadily. Then his eyes sank to the sword in Stefan’s hands before his gaze lifted back up to look Stefan in the eye.

“And what are you going to do with that?” The Schattenmann asked.

“You will explain yourself, sir,” Stefan said formally. You could tell he was upset due to his lapse into formal speech. “Or my sword will have your answer.”

The Schattenmann nodded and started to walk towards the church warrior. He didn’t move quickly but there was an inexorableness to it that caused Stefan to step back in surprise. Then another step and another to wind up his first strike.

I backed off. This was so far out of my remit that it was almost funny.

Kerrass gestured and a golden nimbus started to dance around him, the telltale sign of him erecting a small shield about himself.

Stefan struck.

The Schattenmann simply caught the descending sword, by the blade.

Stefan grunted with exertion before the Schattenmann seemed to give an off-handed little tug. It didn’t look as though he used much effort, but it pulled the weapon out of the hands of a trained fighter before hurling it, with a similarly negligent gesture, far away and into the darkness where it landed with a distant thump.

“Are you finished?” The Schattenmann wondered with the air of a man that was becoming frustrated with a toddler or an unruly dog.

Stefan just gaped before massaging the wrist of the arm that had been holding the sword.

“Good.” The Schattenmann said before turning to Kerrass. “I dislike petty enchantments in my presence. Providing you do not attack me or any of the attendants, you are in no danger and your past sins against me and my people are forgiven.”

Kerrass nodded and dropped the shield but the Schattenmann was not watching. He had turned back to Stefan.

“Your safety was paid for by the death of a woman who took the blow upon herself. Something you seem to have a habit of allowing to happen. Now follow. I will not ask again.”

He turned and moved off. We followed, even as Stefan looked in the direction of where his sword had flown.

He led us to a large… building. When I started writing I wanted to call it a hut. But that wasn’t quite true. Nor was it a tent or any other kind of thing. It was a building, quite large, made largely out of canvas hanging off a wooden frame made from long branches of varying lengths that were tied together. As well as being covered with canvas, it was also covered with wood and forest debris. A firepit was burning in the middle of it, providing warmth and light, and there was a large… chair is the wrong term for it. Calling it a throne is also wide of the mark. It was something for sitting in but it seemed to be made out of different pieces of wood and bone that had been thrown together until it eventually turned into something that could be sat on.

There were two dryads that were waiting for us there. It was not lost on me that, although they wore the black robes of all of the other dryads that were hereabouts. They were also substantially younger than the others. Also slim and beautiful, even amongst other dryads.

I started to feel cold.

The two women walked up to the Schattenmann. One was carrying a large bowl of steaming water and some cloth that was draped over her shoulders. The other took the deer skull and antlers out of his hands before taking it somewhere and placing it on a large table that seemed to be set aside for that specific purpose.

The Schattenmann held his arm out, the one still covered in the gore of Oak-Leaf’s death and the two ladies started to clean the gore off him. They really had to scrub at it too.

It reminded me of the Unseen Elder and the way he had attendants to clean him off when things got… messy. I almost giggled at the thought but the feeling wasn’t quite right. With the Elder, the feeling was a display of power as he didn’t really seem to care about his personal cleanliness otherwise. The Elder had been trying to get me to react in some way but here, it just had a feeling of utility, a chore that needed to be done.

The dirty water was taken out and disposed of while the other fetched a tray and placed some cups upon it. From a pot that was simmering on a stone next to the fire pit, the dryad ladled out four cups. She took one to Kerrass first before passing it to Stefan and myself before the Schattenmann was served last. As I always do in these circumstances, I watched Kerrass for a moment as he sniffed the drink and took a sip before nodding to me and I drank.

It was good. I have no idea what it was but it was good. Warming, refreshing and scoured the unpleasant feeling from the back of my throat.

I took a moment to study the Schattenmann before I realised that it really was a Firepit in the middle of the room. Not one of the heating bowls of the dryads but a real, honest to Flame Firepit. For reasons that I cannot define, it made me feel better.

I looked back up at the Schattenmann to see that he was watching me and not seeing anything immediately wrong with it, I stared right back at him.

He really did look like Henrik, with the same unruly beard, the same grey hair and the same dark eyes. He had the same powerful build as well as some of the same mannerisms. Not a great deal but there was definitely something there. But as I watched in the flickering firelight. I noticed some of the differences. This figure had more frown marks whereas Henrik had smiling lines in the corner of his eyes. There was a drawn nature to Henrik as well which, now that I know that he had been sick, I wondered if that was the first signs of the onset of some kind of illness.

The Schattenmann wore a dark, crudely made shirt that was torn off at the shoulders and over the top of that, he wore a long leather coat that flapped around his ankles. As is the case with some of these things, there were holes in the shoulders so that sleeves could be sewn on when Winter came. He wore trousers made out of some kind of animal skin and old, battered boots that were scuffed and marked from much use.

“Do I pass your inspection?” He wondered.

There was a hint of a smile in the question so I decided to ignore it.

“Who are you?” I wondered.

He nodded as though he had been expecting the question.

“One of the classics.” He declared approvingly. He gestured at the table where the skull, headdress was resting. “When the hornéd one possesses me, I am the Schattenmann. The man of Shadows. I am he who skulks at night. Under your bed do I hide and just outside the shutters, waiting for you to get up from your bed. The man with the hands of blades, some villagers call me. Some call me the Eldest. Some others call me Master or Lord despite my insistence that they should not call me that.”

“None of those things are answers,” I told him. “So that is what and who you are when you put that on. But who are you?”

“The real truth of the matter is that I no longer remember.” He said. “I am old now and my time is almost at a close. The seven years of service have nearly elapsed and I will go to my death happily and willingly.”

“Seven years?” Kerrass wondered.

“Yes.”

“Are we all forgetting something?” Stefan snarled, refinding his courage. “You killed Oak-Leaf. Why?”

The Schattenmann frowned. I have no other name for him at the moment so that is what I will continue to call him. As he frowned, the temperature dropped and the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen and flicker.

“She died,” he bit the words off despite not really raising his voice and something strange, that was not just firelight, danced in his eyes. “Because she failed. She knew what the penalty was and she still allowed you to slay a perfectly innocent Arachas. Your companions are aware that the rules apply to them but you seem to be of the opinion that these things do not apply to you. Allow me to disabuse you of that notion.”

“Then surely you should be punishing me,” Stefan said. “I was the one that killed it.”

The Schattenmann seemed to calm. “Yes, you did.” He admitted. “Yes, you did. Tell me though, when a child misbehaves do you get angry at the child or do you get angry at the parent who fails to control the child?”

“You yell at the child.” Kerrass said, “in order to deliver a short sharp shock and a warning. Then you rebuke the parent properly.”

The Schattenmann winced. “Then perhaps it would be better to argue the case for the animal. When the dog…” He gestured at Stefan. “Attacks the child, you might get angry at the dog. But the person at fault is the one that holds the leash and trained the dog. She warned you, but you did not listen. You chose not to listen and the Arachas died. As a result of that, others died including dryads.”

“But you controlled those animals. You sent them.”

“I don’t think you are listening. You are choosing to get angry just as you are choosing who to get angry at. I did not send them. The Schattenmann sent them. But even were that not the case… The animals and the dryads serve him the same way that you serve your God.”

“You are not a God.” Stefan declared.

“No, I am not.” the man replied. “At best I am a priest. But why is the Schattenmann not a God I wonder? He certainly acts that way to many who…”

“You are getting off the topic…” Stefan snarled.

It got colder and the shadows deepened.

“Funny.” The Schattenmann said, smiling with his mouth a little too wide for comfort. “I was thinking the same thing about you. Oak-Leaf failed and her punishment was that she would pay the price for that.”

“But I was at fault.”

“Yes, and that is your punishment.” The Schattenmann said.

“That is unfair.”

“Fairness has nothing to do with it.” The Schattenmann replied. “Life is rarely fair. If you have an unruly child, or a dog, then you teach it with whatever tools you have available. You acted, and another died for that action. You tell yourself that you would take the punishment, but it is easy to be a martyr in that instance. It is much harder to live with your mistakes. You must learn to do that, young priest.” He made those last two words drip with scorn despite the smile that seemed to be fixed on the Schattenmann’s face.

After a moment, the shadows seemed to subside.

“You said sacrifice.” The words squeaked out of my mouth. “You said that one of the reasons that Oak-Leaf died was because of a sacrifice.”

“Yes.” The Schattenmann said. A spasm crossed his face for a moment before it subsided. He seemed suddenly sad. “A sacrifice is necessary sometimes. And the sacrifice freely given is the most powerful sacrifice of all of them. The punishment was coming, she knew that. A sacrifice was needed as well, she knew that also. She took both onto herself.”

He turned back to Stefan. “So not everything is about you. Another lesson that you need to learn.”

Stefan was still recovering from some of the earlier comments.

“A sacrifice to whom?” I wondered. “And for what purpose.”

“Nature is not always sunshine and rainbows.” The Schattenmann replied, the strange light was back in his eyes. He looked… hungry. “Sometimes it is teeth and blood.”

“That is not an answer.” I countered. “I see you enjoy speaking in riddles. Who are you?”

“I see you know how to play the game.”

“I had a good teacher,” I replied. “Who are you?”

“Who taught you?”

“I have heard him called ‘Old red eyes’.”

There was a pause and once again, the shadows seemed to lengthen.

“You say that as someone who is proud of knowing someone who takes pleasure in inflicting pain on the weak. That enjoys being the nightmare that haunts the dreams of all that must walk down a pathway.” The Schattenmann whispered. “But I would remind you, that he hides in the Shadow and I am not afraid of him.”

Something told me to push. “Who are you?”

“I told you, I no longer remember.” He sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes.

I guessed and took a shot in the dark.

“Your sister says hello,” I told him. “Trayka is now called Yew-Branch of the dryads and is probably going to serve in the scouts.”

He frowned and sat up again. He seemed to come into focus for a moment and some of the years seemed to fall off him. “Trayka, yes, I know that name. Trayka. His face brightened and he seemed to grow younger before my eyes. “My God, how is she?”

“She is well,” I told him. “Although she is meant to be your older sister.”

“And she is. But it has been a long seven years.”

“Seven years is not a long time.”

“That depends on your matter of perspective.” Another spasm crossed his face and for a moment, he pressed his fists into his temples before he leant back in his seat. “Leave now. I am tired and need my rest. Thank you for the news about my sister. It gladdens my heart. Although it is obvious that she will never come here, still I am reassured that I will die before she might have come. That would have made matters… awkward.”

A dryad tapped me on the shoulder and beckoned to me. “But…”

She shook her head and gestured over to the Schatttenmann who was now, clearly asleep, his head was lolling and he began to snore. The dryad put her finger to her mouth in that age-old gesture of silence and beckoned.

Stefan started when he saw what was happening. He wanted to protest I think but the dryad shook her head again, rather forcefully.

“Do not anger him.” She whispered. “The Schattenmann is always angriest in his last days of the life of a host. We think that he grieves their loss and the necessity of it. It will not be long now and the Master is already very tired. Thank you though, I think your news brought him some measure of peace. Follow now.”

She led us back outside.

“We can speak a bit more normally now.” She told us.

“So what happens now?” I asked.

“Now is a time of testing.”

“What for?” Stefan demanded, still a little sore from the schooling he had received from the Schattenmann I think.

The dryad stiffened. “Make no mistake,” She told us. “Back in the dryad village, you were an honoured guest. Here, you are not. And unless you are very careful. There are those among us that will remember that your actions led to Oak-Leaf’s death. I loved that girl and one of those people that you will need to be careful about is me.”

Stefan glared.

The silence was less than entirely comfortable.

“What… uh…” I swallowed at my attempts to try and break the silence. “What efforts can we… Uhhh. What are going…”

Fuck it.

“What are we going to be tested for?” I asked, trying to make my voice seem a little supplicative. “I apologise if it’s a rude question but there is so much going on here that I’m finding it all a bit…”

“You must be the favourite.” She told me.

Kerrass sighed. “This must be what you feel like all the time Freddie. I have so many questions.”

The dryad laughed, being shocked out of her temper.

“Come,” She said. “This is not a conversation that should really happen around him.” She gestured towards the pavilion, yes that’s a better word for it, behind us.

She led us around the huge boulder. A couple of the robed women nodded to us, one or two even bowed. Most had their hoods up now and my feeling of being in a monastery deepened.

She led us to an open area.

“By my judgement, we have a few days before things will come to a head so there is no rush.” She told us. “So rest. Food will be brought to you. You will need your strength in the days to come.”

“What are we being tested for?” I asked again.

She sighed in exasperation. “Will it help you rest if I tell you?”

“Almost certainly not.” I told her, as it will only lead to more questions.”

She laughed at that. She seemed to be a woman of changing moods. She took her hood down and we saw a woman that looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties. Still handsome but her face was lined and her hair was grey.

“It starts with the body.” She said. “Tests of endurance, strength and speed. And before you start trying to second guess things. This is not a case where you can succeed or fail at these things. It is more a case of assessing your capabilities. After that will come tests of your…” her eyes went a little vacant. “Cog-ni-tive abilities” her focus came back. Some of the tests are spiritual in nature and still, others are things that I do not understand.”

“What?” Stefan started before taking a deep breath and turning his head to one side before looking back. “What are we being tested for? What is the purpose of these tests?”

“Why?” She wondered. “So you can figure out how to throw the tests. So that you can deliberately choose to fail them?”

Stefan laughed. At first, the dryad seemed angry with that until she realised that Stefan’s laughter was genuine and then she smiled in return.

“No,” He said. “Although that would be a good plan and I might steal it for the future. But I am not entirely stupid.”

“He’s just a bit out of his depth.” Kerrass teased, going for the joke to lighten up the situation.

Stefan considered that. “Not an unfair comment.” He decided.

The dryad smiled in answer. “Something worth remembering I think.” She told him. “But I remind you that there is no right and no wrong way to answer these tests. They are just tests.”

“And what do we win?” I asked.

“Life everlasting.” She told me. “I will have food sent. Rest. Things will start to get interesting tomorrow. And remember that here, life is dictated by the Schattenmann. If either he, or his host, requests it, we attend upon him. Night or day, whether we want to or not. It doesn’t matter if you are off defecating somewhere or if you are eating some soup. If he calls, we go.”

She turned to leave.

“So the Schattenmann is a…” I wanted to say Parasite. “He requires a host to live. He’s a symbiotic creature.”

“I do not know what that word means.” She said turning back. “But yes, the Schattenmann requires a host if he is to manifest on the world. Normally he is in the water that you drink and the air that you breathe. Her voice took on a reverential sound to it as she spoke. It was the same tone of voice that people use when they speak about the Holy Flame. “He is in the night sky and he is the dark of a warm bedroom when you lay down to sleep.”

Her eyes became hard.

“He is also the darkness of the storm and the shadow cast by the rain cloud. So be warned. But when he must influence the world in a more physical way, then he requires a host. And yes, this ages the host and affects them hard. They age more rapidly than normal humans do or so I’m led to believe. Does that answer your question?”

“I think so,” Stefan said. “Thank you.”

“Rest now.” She said again. “Take every opportunity that you can towards rest and contemplation. In the service of the Schattenmann, you never know when the next time that you can do that will come.”

And so saying she left.

Stefan was nodding and looked around for a place to sit.

“So.” He began. “We are being tested as to who the next host of the Schattenmann is going to be. This host is on his last legs, about to die and we are the candidates for the job.”

“It seems that way,” Kerrass said. He was looking at me.

A chill went down my spine. “And I am the favourite apparently.” I realised. “Fuck.” I looked out over the area around the tree and where we were. There weren’t many dryads around but there was a real sense of people looking over at us. It gave me the same kind of feeling that I get whenever I am walking through the halls of Oxenfurt University now that I have accidentally become famous. ‘There he is’ the students say. ‘That’s the one that’s friends with a Witcher and is going to be marrying a Vampire.’ I could hear the dryads now. ‘There he is, the one who we will be calling Master.’

I managed to keep myself from sobbing. But only just. Ariadne felt very far away.

“So,” Stefan said, a little too smugly for my opinions. “Now can I convince the two of you to work on an escape plan?”

“I don’t think there’s much to plan,” Kerrass said, sighing as he say down behind me. I had turned away so that neither of them would see my face. We don’t know which direction to head, we have no supplies and we will be cut down the moment we make a move.”

“Almost like they planned it.” Stefan was clearly trying really hard not to say ‘I told you so.’

“I think it would be fairer to say that they’ve been doing this a long time,” Kerrass told him.

“So what do we do?” Stefan said. “It’s pretty obvious as to what we are being tested for, do we throw the tests?”

“We can’t do that,” I told him, feeling my brain working again after the shock of fear. Whether I wanted it to or not. There was a problem that needed addressing so I was going to do it. “Remember all of the things that could happen to people that come here. We know that some leave, I agree that it is an option that someone will be chosen to be the next Schattenmann. But there is also an option that people are killed. It was suggested that people that do that end up with that are the people that have sinned against the Schattenmann in some way, but it could also be said that these people are in tune with nature. If they decide that we are too sick to survive, they might just look at it in the same way that a farmer might kill a sick animal to improve the stock. There is a reason that there is a term ‘culling the herd’ after all.”

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“Gardners do the same thing,” Kerrass said. “As do Alchemists. If there is a problematic strain of plants, then cut it out and destroy it. If they test us and we are found wanting, they will kill us.”

I shook my head and turned back to them.

“We play the game,” I told the pair of them. “Don’t get me wrong, if the perfect opportunity comes to try and make an escape, we take it. We know that we can’t attack, I assume you weren’t pulling your blows there Stefan?”

“I was not,” Stefan admitted. “Hitting him was like hitting an armoured knight at full gallop. I can still feel my arm tingling.”

“And that is when he wasn’t possessed.” I shook my head again. “There are far too many dryads and although these people are older than the others, some are younger I notice and still others will be veterans. An escape would need to be lucky.”

“I hate to ask Kerrass.” Stefan began. “But my sword is steel, would Silver be better?”

“I doubt it. He is human I am sure of it, even if he is clearly insane. My medallion does not shake around him so he is a natural thing and there is no magic in him. If the Schattenmann is in him? Or could I strike when the Schattenmann is in the process of possessing? I don’t know. It would not be a matter for experimentation. That would be a last-ditch effort at best and it might get us all killed regardless.”

I nodded.

“Then it seems that I am likely to throw myself on my sword again,” I told the pair of them. “I knew that life following a Witcher around might lead to my death but…”

And I couldn’t keep my control anymore and the tears tumbled down my cheeks and my words caught in my throat.

It took me a short while to control myself. “Look at it this way,” I told them. “Maybe I can influence the matter. Try and get the Schattenmann to understand a bit more about the world and the damage this is all doing to the dryads. Maybe I can get him to let some other people in and… It might not be the worst that it’s for me.”

“That’s good,” Stefan said. “Acceptance is good. It is the first stage towards dealing with the…”

“That’s it,” Kerrass bellowed in a sudden rage. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up so I can kick your ass you fucking coward.” I’ve seen Kerrass angry before but… It was the first time in a long time that I thought I had seen his fangs. I still don’t know if they’re real or a figment of my imagination.

“Kerrass,” I tried. “This isn’t…”

“And you,” he spat at me, “At some point in the future, you and I are going to talk about that Martyr complex of yours.” He turned back to Stefan. “Come on, stand up.”

Stefan was appalled.

“I was only trying to…”

“Trying to what you unspeakable piece of excrement.” Kerrass snarled. “Help? If you really wanted to help, you would be trying to think of a way to get Freddie out of this. Including whether or not you could take this burden off him. He has done everything for you, what have you done for him.”

“I will carry word to…”

“Carry word.” Kerrass mimicked. “Fuck off. You couldn’t carry water in a bucket. You would tell people what happened and you will always try and insist that if we had just listened to you then all of this would have been avoided. You will paint me as the negligent Witcher and yourself as the misguided genius. You won’t carry word, you will taint the reputation of the scholar and make it so that everyone will assume that he was lying about his skills and his deeds.”

“I will not be a vehicle for darkness,” Stefan said, slowly coming to his feet. “I won’t do it. If Freddie is willing then…”

“Don’t call him that,” Kerrass growled. “Only his friends call him that. You don’t get to call him that.”

“Or you’ll what.” Stefan was working himself up as well.

“Well I was going to knock your teeth in for a start and…”

“Try it,” Stefan growled, raising his fists.

“THAT’S ENOUGH.” A dryad was nearby with a spear and I saw others running to join her. “That’s enough, both of you.”

“Where’s my sword?” Stefan demanded. “I need to kill a criminal and a vagabond.”

“You are both criminals and vagabonds here.” She told him. “And your sword belongs to us now. You have clearly misunderstood what is happening here. This is a time of great importance to us and we will NOT ALLOW YOU TO RUIN THIS MOMENT.”

She stalked up to Stefan. “YOU SHAME THE WOMAN THAT DIED SO THAT YOU MIGHT LIVE.” Spittle sprayed from her mouth and Stefan stepped back in horror before the woman’s rage. “AND YOU SHAME THE MAN THAT IS WILLING TO GIVE UP HIS EVERYTHING SO THAT YOU CAN LIVE.” She took another step forward and Stefan took another step back before the sheer fury of the woman. Another two dryads stood in front of Kerrass with their spears levelled at him but it was clear what they were watching.

The lead dryad was still not done. “AND YOU SHAME THE SUN WHICH YOU CLAIM TO WORSHIP. SHE WOULD TURN HER GAZE FROM YOU IN DISGUST BUT SHE IS BETTER THAN YOU GIVE HER CREDIT FOR.”

“The Sun is not…” Stefan spoke in what looked to be an automatic response.

“Not what? Female? Then you are more stupid than you look and your petty little religion is more ignorant than we give it credit for.” She said, turning her back on him. Stefan went to get angry and the last shred of respect I had for him seemed to vanish. He was moving to the attack now that she had turned away.

I shouted a warning but she was already spinning back to face him.

He backed down. Two other dryads advanced on him, spear points level.

“It is clear that the three of you cannot be trusted not to interfere in these, our most sacred rites.” She told the three of us. “You, warrior monk will be taken to a place of contemplation where you may think upon your crimes against your saviour and your friends. You, Witcher, your temper is understandable in light of the fear for your friend but we would expect one such as you to have better control over it.”

Kerrass nodded his acceptance of the point.

“You will be taken to a private area where you too can contemplate what has happened. Your treatment will be better than the warrior monk. But it will not be easy. Both of you should come to terms with the fact that your arrival here was inevitable from the moment that you set out. The only thing that you could have done to not be here at the end of your journey was to die upon that path.

“You, Scholar. You will be treated with kindness and respect. You have earned it.”

She addressed the three of us.

“I will answer your unspoken questions though, to teach you a lesson that you all sorely need if for no other reason. The Schattenmann is not like us. He doesn’t think like us or act like us. You are right that he will choose his next host from among the three of you as well as some other candidates. But there is no telling what qualities he is looking for or how he makes his final choice. We know that he generally doesn’t use Witchers though so if you are betting people, he will not choose the Witcher.”

“I will not be a vehicle for…” Stefan tried before he was poked in the chest with a spear.

“Yes yes, I heard. You are assuming of course that you will be given a choice. From everything I’ve heard, you assume a lot in that direction.” She gestured and Stefan was escorted away. Kerrass looked at me, his face stricken.

“I am sorry Freddie.” He said before turning and being escorted away.

I watched him go.

“Will I ever see them again?” I wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer.

“Yes.” The leader told me. “At the last. Come with me.”

I did as I was told.

On balance, I think I’ve been more miserable, but not by much.

“Where are we going?” I wondered.

“To the place that is prepared for you.”

“Do you enjoy being cryptic or…” I snapped before I realised what was happening. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I don’t criticise people that speak from a place of fear unless to point out that the fear is unreasonable. And in your case, I absolutely understand the fear.”

“I do not want to be the host for the Schattenmann.”

“No one ever does. No one who comes here ever sits down and says ‘I want to be the next Schattenmann’ but I will let you into a little secret. No one has ever had cause to complain.”

“That seems like a generalisation.”

“And it is. But it is also true.”

“Men come here regularly though. I was led to believe that the pilgrimage is made at every festival. The Solstices and the Equinox.”

“And that is true, but not all of these pilgrims contain men. Some are just dryads that are called to serve and still, others are just an excuse to bring us some supplies.”

“So what happens to those that are not chosen?”

“Asking for your friends?”

“Mostly. Also out of curiosity. And also to distract myself.”

“Sometimes they die.” She admitted. “Sometimes they are sent away but we never get to find out where.”

She led me on a long walk around the place. We stopped in one area where we found a pair of dryads with some rakes. They were carefully carving patterns into the ground. When I looked, it looked as though they were carving the sea itself as the patterns depicted waves and the spirals of moving water. Individual stones acted as islands in the artistic chaos. But they were being so careful about it. It struck me that the entire thing could have been made in a matter of moments, but then, I supposed, the patterns would become a lot more ragged.

One of the two dryads working on it saw us and hopped over the pattern that she was working on to approach. The dryad who I was with introduced me to her as “one of the potentials”. I did not like the sound of that. I also noticed that neither my guide nor the woman that I was being introduced to gave their names.

This woman would, if she was human, be in her thirties somewhere. She was happy, smiling and rounder of shape than most of the dryads that I had seen thus far. She laughed and wished me all the best. She and my guide spoke about the other dryad who was far too focused on her work to even notice that we were there. Apparently ‘the young can be like that sometimes. The raking woman bowed to me and wished me well before moving on.

My sense of being in a monastery was deepening even further.

My guide took me around a corner and there I found rows of vegetables planted in the ground, all of them carefully placed according to what was needed. I saw a glasshouse as well as some wooden climbing frames for beans and peas. There were a number of dryads working and my guide cleared her throat. One of the women put down her gardening tools and approached. She was much younger than any of the others with dark hair and a smooth face. She looked at me with an appraising eye. The two women spoke of small things and about the latest harvest which was, apparently, looking hopeful. I could no longer help myself and a question bubbled up to the surface of my mind before exploding out of my mouth.

“I thought that you needed sun in order to grow things.” I blurted without any sense of courtesy or decorum. “And yet it is dark and gloomy down here. How do you grow such things?”

“Damned if I know.” The gardener sniffed and I found that I liked her. I tried to squash the feeling. These people were not my friends. “My predecessor as master of gardens told me that it was something to do with the rock,” She gestured at the boulder that the tree grew out of, “and the ground that we grow it in. The roots of the tree or suchlike. But I think that the truth is that she didn’t know either.” She sniffed again. “Is that all or can I get back to work?”

I was astonished that she seemed to ask the question of me. I made a, hopefully, generic gesture and she took it as a dismissal.

“I think she likes you.” my guide said as she led me away.

“What makes you say that?”

“She waited for a response from you.” And she led me off. As we walked, a dryad ran up to me and pushed an apple into my hand before giving a nervous little bob of a curtsy and running off. If I had to guess I would have thought she was somewhere in her forties.

“You should eat the apple.” My guide said. She didn’t explain why but as there was no reason not to, I ate the apple and it was delicious.

Versions of that happened a couple of times. Someone else was brewing something and they came over with a small cup of the strongest moonshine that I’ve ever tasted. Strongest and most mellow. It was insane and honestly left me feeling a little strange. As we walked around, more and more people were just taking the time to walk up to me and introduce themselves without giving me any names. Saying hello or otherwise letting me know that they were there. It was strangely endearing.

I saw many things about their way of life. I saw the area where they butchered their food. Again, I had slipped into the assumption that the dryads would be vegetarian but it seemed that they ate animal meat just as much as the next walking person. Pigs, chickens, sheep and cows were all kept in the depths of the forest. The bowl was big enough to contain the herds of these animals and my brain did its best to rebel at the sheer size of it all.

I walked through what was described to me as the “meditation area” and I was warned to be quiet. Lots of women perched on small boulders or in random areas. There was a stream running through the bowl, crater or whatever it was that we were in. I tracked its movement and it flowed down and into the base of the rock where it fed, presumably, the great tree. Some dryads sat near the water as it cascaded over other small rocks and embankments. As I watched, a couple of the women washed clothes in it and another was fishing with a line and tackle.

“We use another stream for drinking water.” My guide seemed to have a strange ability to read my mind.

All of that and I still felt as though I had only seen a fraction of what the great tree had to offer. This community of dryad attendants living together and, well, worshipping together.

Gradually though, she brought me back to that area where we had initially been told to rest. Kerrass, Stefan and our things had been taken away. However, now there was a nearby pavilion to which I was led.

“We thought you would want some privacy.” She told me before lifting the flap of the pavilion open and gesturing me inside.

Inside, was a large bed, a small table and a couple of chairs as well as a bath that was steaming.

“We also thought you might like a bath.” She said. I wondered about that and found that I felt grimy and nodded my gratitude, propping my spear on the rack that was aside for it.

“The water will not grow cold.” She told me. “Would you like me to find you an attractive attendant to scrub your back?”

I looked at her sharply but she seemed unperturbed.

“No thank you,” I told her, unable to keep the hostility from my voice. She nodded without her expression changing.

“Then I shall return in a little while with some food. I will ask a horrible question now, but do I need to remove your weapons, either for your safety or the safety of others?”

I considered the question and soon saw what she was getting at.

“No,” I said. “If I turned my weapon on myself then I would only be consigning someone else to the fate of… whatever. And if I attacked someone else, then it would make no difference. I am a long way from home and a long way from help.”

She nodded her acceptance of that.

“Then I shall leave you to your rest and your bath. The food will be about an hour. Someone will give you a warning to ensure that you are not naked and still in the bath.”

She pointed out the stuff that was used for soap and the cloth that was used for a towel before leaving. I took advantage of the bath and I will not hide it from you reader. I also took the opportunity to try and reach Ariadne. And when that didn’t work I wept for quite a long time.

You can only do that for so long though and eventually I stopped and set about cleaning myself. The water did indeed stay warm.

Someone came to warn me about the imminence of food being delivered by virtue of knocking on the wooden board that was hung next to the gate and hollering into the tent. That was reassuringly normal for this kind of thing and I was able to climb out and dry myself in time for my guide to come in with a couple of women who lay out a couple of steaming loaves of fresh bread, a small bowl of butter and a tray of meat, dripping in gravy. There was also another bowl of green vegetables and a jug of watered wine that was absolutely delicious.

“Do you mind if I join you?” My guide asked me.

“Would it matter if I said no?”

“Of course, it would. We’re sometimes savage but that doesn’t make us savages.”

I gestured at the chair opposite. “I have questions anyway.”

She smiled.

“I thought you might.”

I ate for a while as the food really was delicious and tried to decide what to ask first.

“So are you my jailor, or my guide?”

“Is it impossible to be both?” She said, making a sandwich of two bits of bread and stuffing meat, greens and grainy mustard inside. She looked up and laughed. “In your case, I am a guide should you want one, or need one. I will take you to where you need to go and will address any questions that you might have. As far as I can anyway.”

“And where is Kerrass?”

“I notice that you don’t ask about your other friend.”

“Unfortunately, and disappointingly, he has proven that he doesn’t care for me that much, so why should I care about him.”

“That is anger talking, but I will not argue. He is scared. He is meeting an enemy that he can’t hit with a sword and he still believes all the stories that his nanny told him about good triumphing over evil.”

“You are well informed.”

“The roots of the Black Forest run deep.”

“Do you know how sinister that sounds?”

She laughed at me. “I do, and I am joking. The truth is that this is not a new situation for us. This kind of thing has been happening for centuries. One man every seven years give or take a few days is a lot of men. Self-Righteous, terrified men thinking that someone else should make the sacrifice rather than themselves… it’s not a new thing. Everyone is far too important to sacrifice themselves in their own heads. You people laud self-sacrifice but so few of you are willing to do it.”

“So why should I not be afraid. Your little tour was not as reassuring as you might think.”

“That’s a shame.” She began. “I was hoping to show you that life here can be quite fulfilling and to try and calm you down. But I was also getting you away from your friends in an effort to ensure that we could do what needs to be done with them without further problems. And also to arrange your tent.”

“What needs to be done?” I asked, trying to put some threat into my voice.

“Yes. Separating them with as little violence as possible and taking them off to a place of safety. Safety of us from them, them from us and them from each other. It’s harder than it sounds.”

“And I notice that you haven’t answered my other question. Why should I not be afraid?”

She grinned, a little lopsidedly.

“I can’t tell you everything.” She told me, raising her hands to forestall my warning. “And that’s because I don’t know everything. The Schattenmann can answer some questions should he decide to. What I can point out is… a couple of things. The first is that seven years is a long time, a long long time. And if you are chosen to be the next Schattenmann… Because that’s what you will be. It is wrong to think of yourself as a host or whatever it is to be. You are the physical representation of the Schattenmann. Being the Schattenmann means that you live those seven years.

“You will learn more, experience more and dare I say it, enjoy more in those seven years than you can easily dream. I have sat and talked with the Schattenmann after he has taken his mask off, for hours and even though he was a young human, he has taught me more about life and living than I can easily explain.

“And yes. You should prepare yourself for the very real possibility that the Schattenmann might choose you as his next… I prefer the term ‘vessel’. But when the candidates are lined up in front of him, there is no telling, at any given moment, what he is going to choose to care about. We can never tell what he is going to decide. You might be the current favourite based on the experiences of some scouts and scouting attendants. But when you are actually there, in front of the Man of Shadows. All of that is just dust in the wind. And both you and, to be fair, they, should remember that.”

“So there is hope?” I wondered.

She laughed. Again. In comparison to the gardener woman, I was coming to dislike this woman. I found her to be smug and a little arrogant. She reminded me of me.

“Hope?” She said. “Hope for what? The Schattenmann might decide that you are better off dead than his ‘host’.” She rose and finished her drink before turning to leave. “I will leave you to your thoughts and, may I suggest, your rest. Would you like a woman sent to you?”

“No,” I snapped. “The only woman I want is not someone you could reach. And I will have no one that needs to be sent to me.”

She laughed but waved her hand when she saw how offended I was. “I apologise. There is much here that you do not understand. I will come for you in the morning.”

Then she left me, as she said, with my thoughts.

There comes a time in the evening when there is nothing to do other than go to bed. I had eaten, I had cleaned myself, I had tried to take some notes but it became clear, fairly quickly, that I wasn’t going to be able to concentrate enough to do anything useful and so there was nothing else to do other than to go to bed.

So I did, and I am forced to admit that I have slept in much less comfortable beds.

I did dream and it was about the clearing. I have fewer memories about it than I do of some of the other dreams of the clearing. I knew that Kerrass was elsewhere and that there was a predator in the tree line watching me. It was later in the night. I got the feeling that I had slept for a few hours and the fire had burned down to some low embers. I rose, threw some more fuel onto the fire and stirred it back into life until the flames leapt up to drive back the darkness.

But the thing in the trees was unafraid of the light.

I woke to be shaken by a dryad. I don’t think I had met her before but what with all of the dryads in this vicinity wearing the same clothes and only being different according to the jobs that they were doing. It was another sign of the homogenous nature of their society and race in that one of the main ways that you can tell them apart is by their hair colour and their body shape. Otherwise, they are all slim and muscled for their build, have beautiful faces and large eyes full of expression. So when their hair and the overall shape of their face are covered by a hood and their body is wrapped in a voluminous black cloak, there is much less to see in order to be able to tell them apart.

This one seemed younger than most of the others that I had met around the great tree. She smiled and apologised for shaking me awake but pointed out that she had had some difficulty rousing me otherwise. She pointed at the steaming bowl of porridge on the table as well as a couple of other pots and things before she left before I could ask her anything.

I dressed and investigated the pots. There was a pot of honey and another pot of some kind of jam. There was also some salt on the table, presumably if I wanted a more savoury porridge and some more of the vast amount of herbal drinks that they seemed to serve here in the black forest. It took me a while, but in the end, I managed to convince myself that I would need the strength and I sat down to eat.

My guide entered the tent as though she was a returning Queen and sat down at the table. I bristled as she pulled over another bowl and helped herself to the pot of porridge before adding some gam and stirring the bowl vigorously.

“You don’t mind, do you? I’ve not eaten anything yet today.” She said this before spooning a large amount into her mouth and catching some bits that escaped with the edge of her spoon.

“Would it matter if I did?” I was not consciously mirroring the conversation from the previous day but sometimes these things happen

“Of course, it would.” She said with a smile.

“Why? I am your captive.”

She smiled and I sensed that I was being made fun of.

“Yes, you are.” She said. “But you are also our guest of honour.”

“All of these contradictions are making my head hurt.”

“Well, lucky for you, I am taking you for your first set of tests, and the lady that we will be going to see will explain more. She is far better at that kind of thing than I am.”

She shovelled another spoonful of porridge into her mouth before looking at me slyly.

“I notice that you haven’t told me that you would like a different guide, or jailor if you prefer.”

I ignored that question. “How are my friends?”

“Physically they are fine. The Witcher is alright and last time I checked with his minder, he was sitting and doing whatever it is that Witchers pass off as being meditating. He ate his food without comment and engaged the others in conversation. The other one, the religious man, was last seen pacing. He has ignored his food and snapped at his minders. He seems to be having some kind of crisis of faith.” She shrugged. “From my thinking, he kind of has it coming. Still,” she shrugged. “Are you done?”

I found that I was. I had the suspicion that she was doing this with her behaviour deliberately. I felt like I was having my emotions and feelings toyed with and that this dryad was deliberately trying to keep me off balance and off centre so that I didn’t question everything that was going on. I felt a desperate need to take back control of things. The most obvious way to do that was to see if she was bluffing with the whole ‘Can I have a new guide thing’. But there was the sense of allowing myself to double bluff and tie myself in knots with that. Would I be playing into her hands if I asked for a new guide, was that part of the manipulation? I didn’t know.

I resolved to stick with this one for now on the grounds that it is better for the demon that you know rather than the one that you might get. I also decided that if I got offered a woman to scrub my back or to warm my bed or for whatever other suggestive thing that they were going with, I would accept and ask that one all my questions. They would know how I felt about such things from past interactions so surely, that would be acting differently from how they expected.

I decided that my small act of rebellion in this case was to eat a bit more porridge. I took my time about it too. She sat there and watched with a faintish smile on her face.

When I did, eventually, decide that I was done, we left the tent and a couple of the other dryads went in. One of them had an armload of linen. It is something of interesting insight into my own mental viewpoint that when I am in my own castle, I don’t notice servants. I have commented on that being a weakness of the noble class before. But when I am out on the road, I am much happier if I take care of my own bed. So seeing the dryads waiting on me felt a little uncomfortable. But I said nothing.

My guide led me on a sunwise route around the great tree which is where I found the dryad orchard. This being the spring, the workers mostly seemed to be doing various maintenance pieces of work, cleaning things off, tidying and pruning ahead of… whatever happened next. After weaving through those trees she led me into a thicker, more cultivated but still wildish patch of woodland. It reminded me of the hunting reserve that my Father had.

I had been thinking a lot about Father during the immediate time and that was roughly when I first noticed it. But he would have liked that place. Even more so when we found pigs, chickens and some deer in those woods.

During the whole walk which took, maybe a half an hour give or take, I again noticed a lot of strangeness in the way that people were interacting with me. Dryads would stop in the middle of their work, put down whatever it was that they were doing and just stare at me in wonderment. A couple of times I stopped and stared back until the dryad noticed that I was looking and scurried off about her tasks. I watched one go until I could hear my guide chuckling to herself as she watched me.

One dryad, whose face I couldn’t see but was remarkably tall, stood there and stared straight back at me until the guide cleared her throat.

As I was on my way towards wherever it was that we were going, we did see Kerrass. He was walking along, a little distance from us with his head bowed, obviously deep in thought. He had both swords on his back and his left hand rested on the harness. I called out to him before my guide could stop me but he didn’t hear me. He had his own guide as well, walking along at his side. I went to go and talk to him but my guide caught my arm and shook her head. When I turned back, absolutely intending to chase after Kerrass, he had gone.

I was led through the smaller, artificial forest within a forest until we came to a large Sycamore tree. It was an odd thing to find as it seemed a little out of place in the Black Forest. I am not as knowledgeable about tree types and species as I could be, especially not when it comes to the Nilfgaardian Empire. But I do know that it was unusual that a Sycamore tree is found this far south. I tried to remember the last time that I had seen one and it had been a while.

A dryad came out to meet us and she and my guide hugged each other in greeting.

“How’s she doing?” Asked my guide.

“She is tired,” the newcomer said. “It is all but certain now that this will be the last time that she sees a change and we will need a new Elder.”

My guide nodded.

“I will leave you here.” My guide said. “When you are done, just start walking and I shall come and get you.”

My increasingly rebellious side made me ask. “In what direction?”

She laughed. “In any direction. Try and lose me if you like. It will make for a fun diversion.”

And then she left. She seemed to leave at a much higher speed than she had when we had arrived. The newcomer seemed to notice me watching.

“She is uncomfortable around my mother.” She said, pulling her hood back to display a relatively young face for the surrounding area. “Most dryads are.”

“Why?”

The dryad laughed musically. “For the same reason that humans don’t like to be around old people. My mother reminds them of their mortality.”

“But you are not bothered?”

The woman shrugged. “She is my mother. Of course, I am bothered by it, but she is my mother and it would break my heart if I left her alone at a time like this.”

“What’s your name?”

The dryad shook her head. “No names in the heart of the forest.”

“How do you tell each other apart?”

The woman shrugged. “We just know and to forestall the next question. In the heart of the forest, identity is not important. Come, my mother is waiting for you. She has already met the Witcher and she is anxious to meet you.”

“That always bodes well,” I muttered as she turned.

She led me around the tree, through and over the various root systems so that I had to carefully watch where I was putting my feet until we came to a little sheltered spot.

It was kind of like a garden. It reminded me of my mother’s rose garden when she was passionate about that small part of the castle grounds all that time ago. There were some small flower beds there, a couple of comfortable chairs and there was a small covered area that had some trays and plates of food laid out.

Wiser people than me who know more about this kind of thing than I could even dream, have told me that such gardens need some kind of focus about them. Generally, this is a statue or a seat or a sundial. In very wealthy areas like the palace of Beauclair, there might be several different focal points and that one of them might be some kind of magical water feature.

The focus of this particular place seemed to be the tree.

It was a nice little area. It seemed sheltered although the only real wind that I had felt in the area around the heart tree was a light breeze that had barely been enough to ruffle my hair, I also got the impression that it would be sheltered from rain and other weather things. It had the feeling of the kind of place where I would like to curl up in a blanket with a book and a hot drink of some kind.

I must have looked a bit confused as my new guide gestured towards the tree.

“May I present my mother.”

I blinked and then gave a kind of nervous yelp as the tree opened her eyes.

The guide and the tree both laughed at me.

“Holy Flame,” I swore, “You scared the crap out of me.”

My protest did not seem to lessen the laughter.

“You did that on purpose,” I accused.

“When you get to my age,” said the tree, “you take the pleasures where you can find them. Please sit.”

I should explain what was happening there.

I don’t like optical illusions. There is a particular school of artwork where a picture might show something like a woman with long hair, riding a horse along a forest road with her cloak billowing behind her. But then you kind of blink and suddenly, it is no longer a picture of the woman on the horseback. Suddenly it is the face of an old man looking down and out with a sad expression on his face.

The really good pictures like this have multiple different things hidden within the overall picture. The picture of the woman on the horseback might then turn out to be completely made out of separate small candle flames.

I hate that. I don’t know why but they tend to make me feel quite uncomfortable. Not least because I find my gaze drawn to them.

Much worse though are those pictures that are just a jumble of shapes and squiggles and you stand there looking at them for hours on end before a person standing next to you will declare loudly that it is a picture of a child playing with a cat. I never see these things and I remain convinced that it is all some kind of practical joke that other people are playing on me.

That was the feeling that I had here.

I was looking at the tree and at the first, it looked like any other tree that you might see around the place, a bit older and a bit more gnarled than you might strictly be used to or that is allowed to exist in nature. Then as I looked at it, there was an itching feeling on the edge of my consciousness that suggested that there was more going on with this particular tree than I might have seen at first sight. It was like there was an extra gnarled collection of growth that seemed to form on the side of the trunk. Then I saw that it was not a growth, but it was closer to being a carving of an old woman that seemed to flow out of the tree. As though she was part of the tree itself and was being pulled out of the main trunk of the tree, or being pulled into the tree.

More detail occurred to me as I looked. I could see that the old woman was sitting on something, as though she had perched somewhere to take her weight off and had just stopped for a rest. One arm had seemed to hang down by her side and that seemed to have been completely absorbed by the trunk of the tree while the other arm and hand was placed on a lap.

It was suddenly so cleverly done that I wondered who the artist was so that I could shake them by the hand before punching them in the face for being that talented and subversive.

And it was this carving that opened her eyes and looked at me.

It took me a moment to catch up before allowing myself to be led to one of the chairs facing the old woman. The arm on her lap raised up and I shook her offered hand. The hand felt warm and leathery with a rough texture, as though I was running my hand over old wood that had been touched by hundreds of people before me.

“Please sit.” She said, her voice was deep and melodious.

“I sense I am being mocked,” I informed her as I did as I was told. Growing up, my mother was a remote figure and as such, I only got sent to her when I was falling behind in certain studies that Father didn’t care enough about and didn’t fall under Mark’s remit of being the family priest. My Father’s mother, the woman that I think of as being my Grandmother (I am eternally grateful that I didn’t meet my Mother’s mother.) was not really an authority figure and as such, she was never someone that I would sit before in order for her to hold court. When she was alive she was too busy marvelling at the fact that she had married a farmer who had moved her to a manor house before she had given birth to a son who had moved her to a castle. She was having far too much fun to be a disciplinarian and when she started to get really ill, she didn’t have the heart.

But I felt like I was sitting before a Grandmother. The woman’s daughter bustled around behind us, pouring tea with the telltale sounds of a spoon stirring a cup and being tapped against the rim of the cup.

“You are being mocked,” the old tree told me. “But only gently and only with the best intentions.”

“Oh?” I accepted the cup as it was offered to me, took a sip and grimaced as it was a little too sweet for my comfort.

“I have been speaking to all of the young men that have come to the heart of the forest since before your Father was born which was when I made my pilgrimage here. And before that, I was regularly put in charge of dealing with those people that had gone to the forest and were surprised by the presence of dryads. I understand that one of my Great-Granddaughters performs that duty now. She was called Elm-Branch then.”

I looked back at the woman described as being a daughter. She was younger than I would expect someone to be who had Grandchildren of my own. She laughed at me.

“Not my descendant,” the daughter told me. “When last I got news, I still only have daughters, not granddaughters.”

“We age differently to humans, and Elves for that matter.” The Elder told me. “We are fertile for a lot longer and remain of childbearing age for longer than you can conceive. And if we survive, we can live longer than even we can easily comprehend.”

“How old are you?” I wondered with what I hoped was suitable reverence.

She smiled as she accepted her own cup from her daughter. The daughter had poured a packet of white powder into the cup that was then stirred. The Elder took the cup, sipped it and grimaced before nodding some thanks to her daughter.

“A lady never tells her age,” she told me. “And a gentleman is never supposed to ask.”

“I have done many things that a gentleman is not supposed to do,” I told her. “Including getting into fights, acknowledging that magic users are real, treating non-humans as equals… or at least I hope I do that and going into dangerous places when I could just as easily have sent someone else to do the job that I don’t want to do.”

The Elder smiled at me.

“I would put myself at a little over a hundred and twenty years old. I was born a dryad to a woodsman and a dryad who had been human when she was taken. She was an assistant to a healer when she was a younger girl but was described as a dreamer really. According to those that knew her, she would often go wandering into the depths of the woodland to be alone.

“I miss her every day.

“I am older than I ever expected to be. I have lost friends to outside attackers, the creatures that you would describe as monsters, not entirely incorrectly, and still others that have gone to their trees and become part of them with age. I have lost children to that fate.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. The process is uncomfortable but it is far from painful. It is peaceful and restful.”

“So where does the discomfort come from?”

She smirked but the daughter answered for her.

“My mother’s muscles are atrophying. She has sat there for about a decade now. Do you know that feeling when you wake up after a long night’s sleep and you desperately want to stretch? Imagine that feeling amplified and then know that you cannot move.”

“That is it,” said the Elder. “What I would give to be able to get up and walk around. I sleep more and more now of course. Today is the longest I have been awake for some time. Soon, very soon now I shall close my eyes and my mind will finally be absorbed into the consciousness of the tree and through that tree, into the forest itself.”

She skewered me with a look.

“Do not feel sorry for me. I am astonished that I have lived this long, I have many children and grandchildren and I look forward to the peace.”

I looked at the daughter who smiled at me.

“Every day I expect to come here to find that the part that is my mother is now part of the tree and her eyes will not open. I will weep for a while.”

The Elder looked at her daughter in gratitude and sympathy.

“But then,” The daughter went on. “I will be glad and remember the mother that I love.”

I looked between the two for a moment before nodding. The two of them exchanged looks and the daughter stood up.

“I shall leave the two of you to talk. I will not be far away so do not hesitate to call if you need to. There is food on the tray if you need it. My mother can feed herself so do not worry, but she is very rarely hungry. Just thirsty. The white powder is pain relief. Do not try any, it will kill you.”

Then she left, walking around the tree until she was out of sight.