Chapter 15

“Be the shepherd of this land,” I told Cullin. “Shepherd to tall growing things, all living things within its boundaries.”

“Why me?’ he asked me. He was young, so young, and I was about to lay a heavy burden on him. But his was the gift, the magic inside of him welling out unbidden. It needed a channel, and the land, too, was crying in its need.

“Because of all my students, you understand the value of life best.” His eyes flickered with doubt, but I knew. Yes, I knew. Gently I pressed my hand over his heart and let the magic link him to this special place. “From Ridge to ridge, all along the boundary. Guard them well, every blade of grash, every animal who finds its home there, every fae creature. But especially the trees. Keep the forest a sanctuary.” As the magic surged, I could see it swallow him as the sensory load swept over him. He closed his eyes, and once had a spasm, almost like a seizure. Then his body came to rest, and his breathing grew normal. But for a long time, he lay there, unspeaking.

“What did you do to me?” he asked, still slightly dazed by everything.

“I gave you authority. It is your charge now. You are master of the forest. And with authority comes responsibility. Care for it all.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then opened them with perfect trust. “Yes.”

Memories of a Long Life , by Sulis, Oldest of the White Circle

The day had finally arrived. A crew of five Bauchan men drove up to Gan’s house in Comrie, driving her new wagon pulled by Blowie and Cin.

“Well, Gan,” the fey woman said to herself, “it’s happening. I don’t know if I’m excited, scared, happy, sad or all mixed up together.”

She opened the door as the oldest of the Bauchans walked up. He was a big, burley fellow as Bauchans went, dressed in a grey woolen workshirt and a bright red vest.

“Mistress Thistleberry?” he asked. “I’m Tronan Haftstone. Lady Elaine sent us here to pack your wagon.”

Gan nodded. “You can start in the kitchen. I have my cat in the bedroom right now.”

Quicker than she thought, they emptied her house of furnishings. Boxes, barrels, bundles moved out as the men hauled them to the front as they decided how to load her wagon. The load began to stack up as they chattered and cursed, lifing and securing the load.

“That’s it,” said one of the Bauchans, a young man with sandy hair peaking between his red cap and oversized, pointed ears. “Last box.”

Gan nodded, and went inside, her footsteps echoing through the empty building as she walked. “So much of my life was here. And now?”

She gave the floor a final sweeping, ran her hand over the cabinets in the kitchen, looked over the garden beds she could see through the kitchen window.

Memories flooded her, and a touch of regret, but she shook it off, then headed to the front door, where her cat was waiting for her.

Prydi, her large grey cat with white paws, mewed, and she picked him up. He was rather nervous about the whole situation, and wiggled in her arms, looking for a safe haven.

“Look how hard they’re working to get us ready to leave.” One of the Bauchans handed a large barrel to another standing in the wagon. He grunted a bit as he moved it to its place. Prydi was not very impressed, and tried to climb up on her shoulder. “Changing times. Maybe you need to go into your basket if it’s too hard for you,” she said. He meowed at her, and rubbed his chin under her chin.

She had just managed that task when she heard a voice behind her.

“So you thought you could just sneak out of town and be gone, did you?”

Gan stood up to see Melusine standing there in front of her, frowning and sad. Her eyes looked moist.

“You knew I was leaving today,” Gan replied, sighing. “I didn’t hide it. I told you about it.”

“I don’t want you to go, so it was sneaking,” the Lake Woman said. “You’re supposed to be here forever. Allynswood is so far away!”

Gan pulled her cloak around her shoulders a little tighter, then grabbed her friend’s hand. “I’m going to miss you, too, Melly. But you know I’m only going to be about half a day away by Dragon Web.” Gan gave her friend a gentle smile, and patted her arm. “You probably could get there faster in person than your letters.”

“You, you, you...” Melusine stiffled a sob. “I’m so going to miss you. Who else will tell me how dramatic I’m being without telling me I’m being dramatic.”

“How did you get away from the school, anyway?” Gan asked. “I heard Grendal laid down the law about that.”

“He did. A whole group of us wanted to come, but Grendal threatened to dock the pay of anybody who left, or worse. I don’t care what he does. I walked through the door. Let him try to run a school without a lower levels administrator.”

“Oh, dear,” Gan said, shaking her head. “I hope you won’t get into any trouble.”

Melusine shrugged. “At this point, with what he’s doing to the staff, I won’t care. But to be honest, he’ll probably just call me in to lecture me and then send me back. He can’t afford to lose any more at this point of the school year, and nobody else knows how to run the elementary levels. He’s lost you, one of the advanced magical maths instructors, and the midlevels Grammatarian.”

“Rougan and Priessa left too?”

“Yes, the day after it was announced that you had resigned. It shocked him a little. Their classes are harder to cover than the elementaries.”

“My poor friend. My poor school.” Gan just shook her head. “Well, I don’t know what he’ll learn from it, but he hasn’t asked me back, that much I know. And now, it’s too late. I’ve sold the house, and I’m leaving.”

“He was always pigheaded. But this caught him off guard. We’ll see if it makes any difference. But I’m not holding my breath.” She gave Gan a bittersweet smile. “Enough of that. Let’s talk about you. Today, you start a new page of your life. We in the Lakelands have always said there is great magic in starting new.”

She took Gan’s hands. “May be magic of this moment open the doors you need to open. May your days find joy. May you always be surrounded by those who care for you.” She gave her hands a shake. “And write me soon as you get a chance!”

“Mistress Thistleberry, we have the wagon loaded,” Master Tronan said. “It’s all yours now. It’s ready to go whenever you’re ready. Have a good journey.”

Melusine let Gan’s hands go, her tears threatening to come back, and looked over the wagon, tarped over and secure looking.

“Thanks, Master Tronan. It looks perfect.” Gan nodded at the man.

Blowie turned to look at her, as if to say “let’s go.”

“Here, carry Prydi’s basket for me,” Gan said to Melusine, and handed it to her. and picked up another basket. “Time to let this moment’s magic get to work.”

With a little help from her friend, she got into the wagon, got her cat secured, said her final goodbyes, and was off.

The trip to Goblin Market was rather uneventful. She managed to get her wagon to the freight gate at the Dragon Web station without running over anybody, or being yelled at. That she felt was one more good omen for the whole venture. She waited patiently in line with the teamsters who did freight hauling for a living. They gave her an odd look or two, but said nothing to her personally.

The freight carriages were nothing like the passenger ones. For one thing, they were much larger, and few shippers sent their wagons through the Dragon Web itself. Instead, teamsters hauled it to the freight door, where loaders unpacked their wagons, made sure everything was properly labeled, attached the required invoices. They were remarkably effective in the stacking and hauling, while someone wearing a badge from the local DIC doublechecked what was being sent. The dragonkin who accepted her paperwork was actually rather amused by the fact that she and her wagon and livestock were all going together. He helped lead her to a berth where it would be safe to wait among the crates and barrels and bags, quite close to a lone horse and its handler. The groom attending the horse tipped his hat at her.

“You’ll be in Goblin Market soon as we’re through loading,” the Dragonkin said.

“A nonstop?” Gan said, surprised. “When I went there last, it took me two jumps.”

“Well Goblin Market may not have a lot of visitors,” the Dragonkin, “But it is a market town. All the little villages and towns nearby go shopping there. So we do this nonstop quite often. Have a good trip there!”

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Shortly afterwards, the doors were closed. And shortly after that, they were there. A dour faced young dragonkin opened the door and the first of the freight handlers followed him in.

“All right, Torbin’s at the head of the line,” the dragonkin said. “Three barrels of mixed ceramics, a case of soft goods from Brightwater, three crates from Harani,” he said, reading from his list. He methodically checked the invoices for each item before letting it out of the carriage.

Gan watched him and his team work, clearing out enough area for the horse and groom and her wagon to exit the structure. It was obvious to her discerning eye that the young man was unhappy at his job.

“Nothing like hating what you have to do, eh Prydi?” she said to her cat, still resting in his travel basket. The cat mewed in response. “Reminds me of Grendal, teaching his classes.” She snickered, a bittersweet laugh, then sighed. One thing she never hated was teaching her students, and was already missing this year’s students.

Finally, it was her turn. “May I see your papers, ma’am,” the Dragonkin said. “Purpose here?”

“I’m moving from Comrie to the Allynswood Estate,” she replied. “I’m Gan Thistleberry.”

“Ah,” the Dragonkin said. “I believe I saw you here talking with Lady Allyns not long ago,” he said, looking at her bill of lading.

“That’s possible,” she replied. “And you are?”

He looked up surprised. “Umber Madrona, Mistress Thistleberry.”

“You come from Harani?” she asked.

“You...you can tell?” he walked around her wagon, noting the goats tied up behind, and checked something off his list.

“It’s your voice. I once had a friend from there who spoke the same way.”

“I’m surprised you can tell. Most non-Dragonkin people seem to think we’re all the same.”

“Maybe it’s because I used to be a teacher,” Gan said, slightly amused at how someone from the DIC would think that other people might not have that same urge to figure things out.

“Maybe,” Umber said. He handed Gan her paperwork back. “Everything looks good. Let me open the front gate. That way you won’t need to turn your team around.”

He walked over, and pressed a lever, and the front of the carriage opened up. “Welcome to Goblin Market,” he said.

Gan gave him a wave and a smile and headed out. She was afraid that Elaine would have one of her men come and meet her at the station, but there was nobody looking for her. This was just the way she wanted it.

“Let’s go meet some pixies, Blowie. You ready Cin?” The goats attached to the back of the wagon bleated. Blowie flicked an ear.

“Good, good. Let’s go.”

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Cullin Mosswood, shepherd of trees, uninformed of the plans of Lady Elaine and Gan had for the farmstead that nestled next to the boundary of his forest, looked down from his perch in the branches of a tall maple tree. It swayed gently as the wind played through its branches and although Cullin usually found this relaxing, today he was on edge.

“I smell something. I feel something.” He closed his eyes. “I hear something.”

A raven on a nearby branch cocked its head to look at him intently. He cawed then hopped a little closer.

“No snide remarks,” the Tree Shepherd said. “I feel what I feel. I sense what I sense. I’m never wrong when something’s up.”

The raven cawed again, and picked at a spot on the branch. “Hmmm. I’m just remembering what it was the last time you said that.”

The Tree Shepherd was not surprised at the raven speaking, not in the least. Instead, he scowled.

“Lady Elaine was not amused.” The raven hopped onto the Tree Shepherd’s shoulder. “Not in the least. Don’t know how you confused her with that trashy nixie Rhodie.”

The tree shepherd shrugged his shoulder and raised his hand to brush the bird away. “Shut up. It was an honest mistake.”

The bird leaped up and settled on a nearby branch. “It’s not like they look anything alike. Lady Elaine has the breeding of the high Daoine, all tall grace. And Rhodie has green hair and blue skin.” He cocked his head again. “And using a mud spell, too. You always conjure up such….odorous muck. Her maid Nan told me she didn’t get the stink off her robe for three moons.”

“Shut up, Morvran. She didn’t belong in my forest anyway. She’s got her own place.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, listening.

“But the treaty.” The crow continued his scolding. “The road belongs to all...”

The Tree Shepherd fished a pebble out of his pocket. “I wasn’t in the road when I threw it. I was in the trees.”

“And that’s why the magistrate comes down from Waterford by Glint once every moon nowadays, ain’t it. You’ve been getting worse since those dwarves came through. Every acorn dropped in the forest is someone trying to hurt your trees.”

Cullin began to toss the pebble up and down. “You saw what they did to the grove near their mine.”

“And they had the high king’s permission, too. And you agreed to it.”

“I didn’t know they’d take all of them.”

“They didn’t and you know it,” Morvran called. “They took three trees. Ones you agreed to. You chose. You even said the grove was overgrown and needed thinning.”

“Keep it up. I can have crow for supper,” Cullin said.

Morvran flitted a bit further out of reach. He cocked his head. “And I could have peach pie. Still doesn’t change anything.” With a final caw, he flew away.

“You didn’t hear them cry, stupid bird,” Cullin said as he watched the raven fly away. “Every bite of the axe. Never again.”

The wood around the fae man grew quiet after the crow left. He was about to admit to himself that maybe he had been mistaken about his feelings, when a very faint noise blew in on the breeze. There was a rattle and a squeak to it, like wheels turning, and a shaking. He could smell the touch of magic, tinged with ginger and spicy wood, honey and peaches, a homey and pleasant smell, inviting, reminding him of something, maybe childhood delights. Cullin remembered a place like that once, a family who made him welcome, but they went over the hills and down the road many years ago after a forest fire.

“Doesn’t change anything,” he said, but he took another whiff of the magic. It was nothing like the magic of high lady Elaine which always made him feel small and stupid, like he wasn’t good enough to be around her, not that she had ever done anything to make him feel that way. It was her magic that thought him small. The day he mudded her had been a particularly irritating day after a wind storm, where several of his trees had been uprooted, and he just couldn’t take any other thing, especially haughtiness when he was grieving over lost friends. There was no way he could have confused her with the rancid pond flavor of Rhodie the Nixie, ever hungry for more life, fish, frog or other, nor even the steel and polish taste of the magistrate from Waterford By Glint.

“Sometimes a person just has to do what he has to do,” he said to nobody in particular.

His curiosity got the better of him and he climbed higher into the tree, disturbing a squirrel who was just as scolding as Morvran the crow, but who hadn’t mastered speech, and so the Tree Shepherd let him continue until the squirrel got bored and went back to the business of squirreling.

The noise grew a little louder.

“So who’s coming?” Cullin asked.

“Maybe it’s like in a romance story,” the tree whispered. Its voice was faint, like a thousand leaves shimmering together. “A fair damsel in distress, fleeing a wicked king who killed her true love.”

This time, the speaking surprised him. “Who woke you up?” Cullin said, leaning hard against the branch. How long have you been listening?”

“You, my lord, who else?” the tree said. The squirrel peeked out from its nest, as if the sound confused it. “Or maybe the touch of magic in the air. It’s sweet like spring sap.”

“Or or maybe just Maple nosiness,” Cullin said, shifting a bit to watch the road better.

“I do like to watch,” the tree acknowledged. “I want to know everything.”

“Not everything’s fit to be known.”

The maple ignored that, knowing full well it was better to know and not need to know than to be ignorant and need answers. After a moment, the tree continued.

“Maybe she’ll be beautiful, like a willow in spring, with silver hair and eyes like sapphires.”

“We don’t even know its a she. What the...where’d you get that idea?”

“The nymph Leila. She comes by and reads me stories she picks up at Goblin Market. Such stories, with maidens rescued by pirates, ripping their bodices as they tremble...”

“Enough, tree. She’s filling your mind with things you have no knowledge of. The only romance for a tree like you is the birds who make their nests here, and the squirrels. Maidens rescued by pirates are highly unlikely to show up. I’ll have to talk to her again.”

“But still….” The tree sighed, shaking its leaves...”I can hope. If such a maiden came by, at least I would get to see it.”

A shape appeared down the road at last – a cloud of dust, a rattle of wheel, a shape of vehicle, an outline of the beasts pulling it.

“I don’t think you’re going to get your wish, Maple,” Cullin said.

“Why?”

“That’s not a woman on a palfrey, running from some evil wizard or duke. That’s a wagon,” Cullin said. “No maiden in a romance story rides on a wagon. All of them avoid that like the plague. Too far beneath the high and noble women in those stories, even in an emergency.”

The wagon drew closer, and slowly Cullin could see it was a stout vehicle, painted bright green, piled high with all sorts of things, from the look of how the white tarp that covered it bulged and dipped...a chair shape, perhaps protruding at the top, and hints of barrels and boxes in other parts of the load. Pans attached to the frame rattled and jingled. There was a smell of spice and herb about it, and hidden, homey things. Behind the cart, three goats followed, and the cart itself was pulled by a pair of placid oxen.

“Now that’s the wagon of someone who’s either moving or lives out of it,” Morvran said, fluttering back to the maple.

“Doesn’t look like a nomad’s cart,” Cullin said.

The tree sighed. “I was so hoping.”

As the cart grew closer, the group could see the driver, a woman.

“At least she’s female,” Cullin said. “No silver hair or silken robes, I believe.”

“Ah well,” said the tree. “Can’t have everything, can we?”

“If we’re talking stories,” the raven said, “she doesn’t even look like the heroine. Just look at her.”

“I’m looking,” Cullin said.

“She could be the nurse in a story,” the raven said. “Maybe she’s the wise woman the heroine and hero turn to when they need some help, or to smuggle magic potions or cure their headaches.”

“Like the old women in Leila’s stories, who give the princess a shoulder to cry on when the barbarian king tells her she’s never going home again?” the maple asked.

“Something like that,” Cullin said. “I’ve really got to talk to Leila about reading stories to naive trees,” he mutttered.

“She looks like the woman who gave the hero the answer to the riddle the giant asked.” The raven cawed. “I bet she knows all the hidden ways into the secret fortresses. Maybe she could give the hero a magic loaf of bread to tide them to journey’s end.”

The tree sighed happily. “Almost as good as the silver haired princess.”

“You’re easy to please, aren’t you,” Morvran asked.

The tree shook its leaves in reply. It was hard to tell what she meant by that.

The maple and his companions watched her as she drove by. No fine silks, ragged or ready to capture the eyes of a sorcerer for her, but a serviceable short gown of blue linen and a good brown wool petticoat, topped off with a white apron and a shawl.

“Looks like the sensible type,” Morvran said.

“She looks familiar,” Cullin said. “I just...can’t remember...” He shook his head. “There was someone I knew a long time ago..”

Upon her head she wore a wide brimmed hat, and in her left hand, carried a willow wand broom, her staff, her cattle goad, and in the end, what she swept with.

“Nope, not a desperate princess, Maple,” Morvran said. “Watch her. She seems to know exactly what she’s doing.”

She sat easily in her conveyance. A cat, gray with white boots jumped from the top of the wagon and into her lap.

“Ah, there you are, Prydi, my boy,” she said, lightly touching the cat’s back. “I was wondering if the hawks had gotten off with you.” Her voice was pleasant, soft. The cat flicked an ear, as if unamused by her suggestion.

“Don’t worry, my boy. We’re almost to the crossroads. It won’t be long after that.”

One of the oxen lowed at that.

“Yes, Blowie,” she said to the animal. “Pretty soon, pretty soon.”

“She’s going to Pixie Hollow?” Morvran asked.

“That’s the only place up that road,” Cullin said. “And right on the Allynswood side of the boundary. I don’t even have any reason to mud her.”

Morvran laughed. It was a raucous string of caws. “Are you disappointed?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe if I could remember why she seems familiar. But all those pixies. She must be stupid.”

“Or brave.”

“Or,” said the tree, “heroic.”

Cullin might have said something sarcastic about that, but he wasn’t there.

“I wish I could travel as fast as he does, “Morvran said, and took to the air to follow.