Goblin Haze, Druid Rage
Epilogue: Renewal
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The day revealed a tattered village, surrounded by three rings of boulders partially turned to rubble and centered upon a grandiose tree of charred wood whose flames had been snuffed out. A tremendous effort, done in the night by goblins and trolls that hadn’t collapsed on the spot from war-induced exhaustion.
The Tanglesooth were packing up. The humans had been driven out, but with their home a mess and their narrow victory overshadowed by their losses, never mind worries of a possible second invasion, the druid order had made the difficult decision to move on. They’d been rummaging through their homes and belongings for precious items and foodstuffs, and many, Emrys had found, were already making their way out of the village. Many were headed off to join the Cragfall troll druids in their hilly, rocky dwellings at the foot of the mountains off to the east, while others, far more leery, were scattering to places unknown.
Emrys, naturally, was of the former. He and Golmac had been sitting together atop one of the boulders of their third defensive ring, observing goblins and trolls covering up graves for their fallen. Too many graves. Though then again, he had expected none to begin with. None, for a village murdered would have nobody to dig graves in the first place, after all. Only enemies to cremate them.
They had lost a notable amount of skilled druid fighters, another reason for the Tanglesooth to leave home. A few trolls too, and even two corpses from the shelters. The humans had exacted their toll, but so had the Berserker’s influence.
“The Berserker’s own essence, stolen by Aodh.” Emrys turned toward Golmac, the troll ruminating on what he’d relayed from Gran to him. “I can hardly believe it, and yet, it makes a world’s worth of sense.”
“I suppose,” Emrys said, holding his staff close to him. For the fifth time today, he felt within him for any trace of foreign rage, sighing when he found nothing. “Honestly, I’ve never heard of such a thing. Yanking a piece of a Fluxus’s core out, just like that, and absorbing it for yourself?”
“I was taught it was a terrible taboo, to directly steal the magic grafted into a Fluxus,” replied Golmac. “That piece still holds a part of the Fluxus within, after all. It might explain some of the oddities in Aodh’s magic, hm? The Berserker had cursed whatever magic he learned on his own.”
Perhaps so. Gran hadn’t said too much — but she did hint that when Aodh poisoned the Dryad, the Berserker’s wrathful will must’ve latched on, influencing her thoughts toward a self-destructive path just as he did for Aodh. A spiteful attempt to take out the Tanglesooth for good. Had he and the Kindlefury heard of the pyromancers early on? wondered Emrys. Perhaps the Berserker thought his days were numbered when Aodh stole from him, and decided to ensure that we went down too? Or was it just pure hatred that drove him?
“Just don’t go sharing this stuff around,” Emrys told Golmac. “Everyone else just knows the Kindlefury somehow compromised the Dryad post-mortem, and that her magic’s tainted with the Berserker’s. Only our chieftain and a few important people know about Aodh’s involvement.”
Now that he thought of it, Aodh’s corpse was still down there, at the Dryad’s sanctum beneath the Blessed Tree. They’d have to handle that later. It was morbidly ridiculous, Emrys decided, that the mad warrior’s plans had actually worked. Being empowered by the Berserker’s wrath had been the edge the Dryad needed to take down the human waves — but at a terrible cost of the Tanglesooth having turned upon each other and their allies. They had spilled their own blood.
None were more despondent than the Dryad herself. Injuries, grime, and blood still marked her, and she had barely moved from her spot, Grandma Birog asleep beside her and Seekit on standby. Gran had stayed up the night to keep comforting the Fluxus, and she had only succumbed to exhaustion in the earliest part of the morning.
Tanglesooth druids would come and go to speak with the Dryad, some also carrying the burdens of friendly fire, violence, and unwilling murder, and she would reply in quiet, soothing tones. For some reason, the chipmunk, badger, and rabbit faunimals had shown up as well, Seekit dealing with them with strained patience.
With little better to do, Emrys leapt off the boulder, striding over as a particularly teary goblin left the Dryad. Their somber conversation was juxtaposed by the noise of the chipmunk faunimal mentally blowing a raspberry at Seekit. The Dryad turned her heads upon the spirit, expressionless.
“She serves me,” came her soft-spoken warning.
Ooh! She serves you! The chipmunk dared roll her eyes at the very force of nature that could’ve slaughtered their village the night before. A servant girl at the beck and call of your every whim! How humiliating! How—
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The rabbit wisely thumped her, Seekit taking amusement at the yelp she produced. So there’s actual benefits to this whole silly bond thing? she asked the fox spirit. It’s not just your old goblin getting a free slave to play with?
Not that any of you would ever try, Seekit replied matter-of-factly. Or would extended life and a constant source of energy to feed upon be enough to entice you?
The rabbit looked at her chipmunk and badger friends. And then snorted.
And let some smelly bald goblin pull me around willy-nilly? Boooooring.
Too many rules and obligations! And like I’m letting some dumb druid use my light! the badger said. When the Dryad turned a head upon her, she froze on the spot. N-no offense, great Fluxus.
The Dryad hummed. “Your kindred do not have the natural ability to bond for little reason,” she noted. “It may be of interest for you to consider it.”
And be like miss oldie moldie here? Ew, gross! The chipmunk blew another mental raspberry, darting off with a laugh before the rabbit could thump her again. The badger hollered for her to wait up, chasing after, making the rabbit grumble.
She cocked an eye at Seekit. You’re still old. And a maid.
Caretaker, said Seekit.
Old maid!
The rabbit went off, Emrys resisting the urge to shake his head at the entire exchange. It had been startling to him that the rabbit’s character had changed so drastically after Aodh had made her go berserk, but so much for that — faunimals were still faunimals, for better or worse.
“Emrys.” The Dryad’s call made the goblin swivel his head over. “Grandchild of my Communer. Does something trouble you too?”
With her level voice, one could’ve almost missed how tight her lips were, how she huddled into herself. “I would think you’re the troubled one, my Dryad.”
“Sadhbh will do.” A throaty noise left her main mouth, the side heads drooping. “I have maimed and killed.”
“Aodh and the Berserker’s fault.”
“My own fault. The Berserker’s taint pulled out of me a fear I seldom acknowledged, a fear of being weak and defenseless. He made me crave hatred as a means to power.” The Dryad’s voice cracked. “He made me harm my people out of hate.”
“What, you mean to say you let Aodh poison you in the first place?” Gran stirred, the Dryad shifting as the groggy goblin threw her a dead stare. “Must I go over this again with you, child? All your people have harmed others without meaning to, and you’ve absolved them of their blame — is it fair that you shun our wish to absolve you, a spirit compromised by outside forces, in return?”
It had been wise that the public had been told of the Berserker’s trick, for it had spared everyone any ill feelings toward each other, knowing there’d been a common enemy sowing discord in the shadows. Everyone so far who’d come to the Dryad had expressed sorrow for the curse placed upon her, instead of rancor and hate-filled accusations. We already had a night full of that, Emrys dryly thought.
The Dryad trembled, sidestepping Gran’s question. “The Berserker’s essence remains within me,” she said, a vine-woven hand upon her chest. “I fear I cannot remove it. My purification magic keeps it dormant, but perhaps one day, it will rear up again.”
A repeat of everything was certainly not something Emrys wanted to see again. But Gran tsked, finding her concern unnecessary. “It is your essence now,” she said. “The Berserker’s magic may live on within you, but he does not. It will not take so long to purge his rotten influence, you may find.”
It was strange to think about, knowing some aspect of the rage magic the Kindlefury wielded was forever part of the Tanglesooth now. They could call upon it, if the Dryad would allow it. They could empower themselves through their anger.
Aodh had said the Kindlefury needed discipline to control themselves when using their magic. The Tanglesooth would need to start learning that too, wouldn’t they? If they were stuck with their rage, they may as well learn to be in full control of it.
Though I doubt the Dryad would be willing to have us experiment with it so soon.
Golmac had come up beside Emrys, his head inclining toward the Dryad in respect. “At ease, troll,” she said, glancing toward their group. “You all have my undying gratitude. I do not think I would have awoken from the nightmare I was under without your efforts.”
Seekit brushed away her words, referring to it as just their duty. “I am always here for you, my child,” Gran reminded her, stroking her middle head. “Always was, always will be.”
“I know, Grandmother Birog.”
Emrys kept himself from laughing, seeing Golmac’s brows shoot up at the familial term. The Cragfall druids really didn’t have any such close-knit relationships with their Stone Giant, did they? Different environment and culture, he supposed.
It’d be nice to see the differences in how they lived their lives. Though really, it was nice to live at all.
None of us should’ve been alive in the first place.
“It is a great kindness your druids permitted us to live alongside your kind,” the Dryad told Golmac. “Would we not impose on you by doing so? I wouldn’t wish to—”
“To trouble us? Hardly.” Golmac put a hand over his heart. “Though I am no representative of my kind, we fear neither a relapse of your rage, nor the burden of refugees. The humans may return someday — you will certainly return the favor then. You are all welcome with us, great Dryad Fluxus.”
“Sadhbh.”
The Dryad’s emphasis on her name gave Golmac pause. Gran chuckled, and Emrys smiled as he waved Golmac onward. The troll adopted a warm smile of his own.
“Sadhbh.”
The Tanglesooth marched on. In the burnt, ash-filled remains of their home, a seed of renewal was planted.