Chapter 18

He was an intense, needy little boy. I found him in the wreck of a house near the nightfell gateway after their last major breakthrough before we got it walled off. He was a big eyed child, not much more than a toddler. We never did find his parents.

For a long time, he stayed in the creche for new foundlings, where they get extra attention. One night, I walked through the rooms and found him sitting up in the dark, rocking back and forth, trying not to cry and disturb the other children. He was already older than they were, and although he was young, I could feel his magical aura flare, far stronger than you would expect from a child so young and untrained. I picked him up and moved him into my quarters.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Cullin,” he said.

“And what were doing? It was very hard on you. I could feel it outside of the door. You should have been sleeping.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” the boy said. He dropped his eyes. “Too many nightmares.”

I sighed. Many of our foundlings had nightmares. Children of war, children of trauma, orphaned, abused – it wasn’t surprising.

“I was trying to take their nightmares away. Redleaf was having a really bad one. Mia dreamed she was being chased.”

“You can see their dreams?”

“Kind of. Almost. I can feel their hurt. And sometimes I can turn it off.”

I had no idea he was showing that type of talent. Dangerous for the person doing it, especially with no training. It could be horribly draining. It can destroy the soul of a person doing it badly. It could be turned into a tool to control others.

“Have you been doing this long?” I asked.

“Since last month,” he said. “Is it bad? Something against the rules? I was trying to help.”

“It is not bad,” I said. He sat on my bed, looking at me with deep, worried blue eyes. Even at that age, they were very penetrating. I knelt on the floor next to him and took his hands. “It’s a very special gift from the Life Giver. It takes practice and training to do it well, or you’ll be living all the bad things you’re trying to take away from the hurting people. And if you get upset, you can send your upset to people.

“I...I think I did that yesterday at school.”

“Was it good?”

He shook his head. “I could feel their upset.”

“I tell you what, young Cullin. You will be my boy now, and I’ll make sure you learn how to take care of talent you have. Would you like that?”

“With you?” His eyes got big. “Just me?”

“That’s right.”

He wrapped his arms around me.

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

Arriane saw the Oldest kneeling in her garden, her usual white robe replaced by a simple work dress and apron, gloves on her hands and a trowel and small rake next to her. Even her silver-blond hair was covered by a kerchief and a straw hat. Next to her was a big basket of trimmings and pulled plants.

“Oldest! Why isn’t one of the gardeners seeing to your garden?” the young woman asked.

The Oldest looked up, and got up off of her knees, and brushed a bit of plant debris and dirt off of her clothes. “Ah, Youngest,” she said, continuing the White Circle’s rule about not calling the person in the role of the Youngest by their given name for the year they had that role, then gave Arriane a warm smile. “You caught me. This is something I do every spring. I just feel the need to reconnect to the earth.”

“Ah,” Arriane said, nodding. “My father was the same way about his rose garden. In fact he never let any of the gardeners without him directly supervising, and he did a lot of the work himself. I was shocked when he handed the key to the garden to my sister and moved away to do his researches. The first time he came back for a visit, he walked through the garden once, and sighed deeply, but never has gone back again.”

“Well, I’m not quite that controlling,” the Oldest said. “I just like to feel the newness of every spring, and see what the winter left behind. It reminds me that things change, and no matter how much we lose at any one time, there is newness that will follow it. Soon enough, I will bring the gardeners in to do the rest of it. But for the moment, it is my quiet reminder.” She put her gardening gloves in her apron pocket. “So, child, is there anything I can do for you?”

“I just received a message from my sister. She asked me come home for a few weeks.”

The Oldest picked up her basket and moved to another section of the garden. “Does Lady Elaine have a problem?” She knelt down, put her gloves back on, and pulled up a winter-killed plant stem.

“I think she misses Gweir.” Arriane knelt next to her, and grabbed a similar plant. “He’s doing some training, I think, that keeps him out of contact, and they missed their wedding anniversary.”

“I’m surprised she’s not coming here to visit with you and your mother,” the Oldest said. “If you do too much of that, you need to grab a pair of gloves. It will blister your hands.”

Arriane dropped the plant in the basket. “Oh, I know.” She looked down at her hands. “When I was younger I’d help my mother and sister in the spring. One year my hands got so blistered, I could barely hold a cup of water.” Shaking her head at the memory, she glanced at the Oldest. “I asked Elaine to come visit, but she says she’s can’t leave right now. An old friend of her school days in Comrie is moving onto the estate, and she wants to make sure she gets settled in.”

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“Elaine went to Master Gwaher’s school?” the Oldest said, grabbing another dried out plant stem.

Arriane nodded. “She wanted to go there. I wanted to stay home. Maybe it was trying to be different from her, but I had tutors until I came to the White Island.”

“It’s a good school. The Goosequills have been after one of their teachers for years, a woman called Gan Thistleberry. They even tried to get me to help recruit her.”

“Gan Thistleberry? That’s who’s moving to Allynswood.”

This surprised the Oldest. She rocked back on her feet and got up. “Thistleberry? What budged her out of the school?”

“You didn’t hear about it?” Arriane stood up, and dusted off her robe. “Master Gwaher disappeared about three years ago. The board running the school replaced the headmaster recently, and one of the first things he did was fire Mistress Thistleberry.”

“Oh, I remember.” the Oldest said. “He’s one of the missing researchers the Birch has been investigating. Let’s go into my office.”

Arriane followed.

“I had been pondering the message the seer gave us for Brightening day. ‘A scholar with no school approaches. You will know her by a cloud of lights innocent as day dancing in the sun that will surround her. She searches for the missing, trapped, trapped by a lie, trapped by greed.’ Today, you tell me that a teacher from Comrie, where the old headmaster disappeared three years ago, is moving to Allynswood. A scholar with no school approaches. Thistleberry is well respected for her work on Practical Magic, especially Domestic Magic. She caused quite a stir a few years ago with a monograph on not using touchstone devices not to teach young students. Definitely going against an educational trend with that one, although everything she said made sense.”

The Oldest began looking through her files. “Ah, here it is. It seems that Thistleberry has been trying to motivate the DIC and anybody else to investigate Gwaher’s disappearance.”

“DIC?” Arriane asked. “Why them?”

“Seems that Master Gwaher was doing research on no space mechanics. That’s the Dragonkin’s special area, and all no space related incidents are supposed to be investigated by them.” She sat down in her chair. “So Mistress Thistleberry is a scholar without a school. And she’s definitely searching for the missing. But what about the innocent cloud of lights?”

“Could it be pixies?” Arriane asked.

“Pixies?” The Oldest said, looking thoughtful.

“She’s moving into a house in an area called Pixie Hollow. The area’s swarming with Pixies.”

“Pixies.” The Oldest tapped her fingers on the desk, and came to a decision. “Youngest, I know it’s not traditional to send the Youngest out in the field during her nameless time, but these are your people. Would you be willing to go and make a report?”

----------------------------------------

“How did that happen?” Cullin asked, still surprised about his meeting with Gan. He said in a tree near the boundary. He could still taste the meal she had served him. How did she turn his demand for her to show respect to the boundary into the sharing of food?

“Don’t ask me,” said Morvran. “She’s a good cook, though.”

“You eat carrion, what do you know?” Cullin said.

“Apple pie. Beats carrion any day,” the raven said. “I know that much. You ate your share, too. She even got you to smile once.”

“Not much of a smile.”

“Blew your whole stern protector face. She’s not your usual old hedgewitch. Look at how the Pixies have taken to her, and fast,” Morvran said.

“What do Pixies know?” Cullin pulled his broad brimmed hat down further over his face.

“They never did take to the old hermit.” The raven picked at the branch he was on. “He almost burned the house down one day trying to get rid of them.”

Cullin snorted. “Old man was a fool, and touched, too. Was glad to see him go.”

“One Pixie trick too many for him. That’s not going to happen with Mistress Gan.”

“No, it’s not. It’s just...she reminds me of someone. Someone I used to know. There was a family, before the Great Fire. The wife was someone who would act like that. But they’ve been gone a long, long time.”

“Can’t be her. She was talking about having come from Comrie.”

Cullin shrugged. “Everything about today has been strange. I’m going to keep an eye on this one.”

He took a deep breath and suddenly was gone.

"I hate when he travels like that," Morvran said, and took to the air.

Deep within Cullin’s Forest was a stand of ancient oak trees. And just beyond that stand was a small, pleasant cottage, thatched with whitewashed walls and a garden of bright columbine and other flowers. The owner was currently out, but Cullin suddenly appeared in one of the oak trees overlooking the house with some irritation. "Where are you, woman?"

But eventually the indicated woman walked up the path to the cottage. She was slight of height and slim of build, with golden hair trailing behind her. There was something ethereal about her, almost a glow that could be seen in the daylight. She was lithe as a willow branch, and graceful as a swan on the water. Her dress was trailing white silk. Everything about her whispered love and care and affection – except for the bag she carried on one shoulder.

Cullin dropped out of the tree as she neared.

“So, Leila, where have you been all this time?”

Leila laughed at him. “Goblin Market. I needed some new books. “ She took an apple out of her bag and took a big bite.

“Still charming the bookseller? That’s not really fair, you know.”

“It’d never work on him. He doesn’t like women, and I don’t like to shapeshift to male, so no. Even love nymphs can have boundaries.” Her smile faded as she gave him a careful look. “You’re upset over something. The whole forest felt agitated as I came home. I saw the Birch Woman chasing one of the fauns with a big stick, and she never does that. She likes their leering. Something happened?”

“Did you stop by Pixie Hollow on your way in?”

“Oh, you mean Mistress Gan? Gilly the Pixie caught me on the way home. She told me all about the marvelous pies and bread.”

Cullin stepped close, almost a threatening presence. “You should go visit her tomorrow.”

“You want me to read her heart for you.” It was not a question.

“Just do it.” He turned to go. “And stop reading those romance novels to the maples. They are much too dreamy to understand the difference between fantasy and what’s real.”

“And you do?” Leila muttered as she opened her door.

“I heard that.” Cullin gave her one last stern look, and then was gone.

“Birch Woman,” Cullin said.

The woman was all in white, slender, graceful. She moved with a dancer’s ease and balance.

“Ah, dear Tree Shepherd, what brings you to my little corner of the world?”

She pirouetted around.

“Why were you chasing Rusty the faun through the willow brakes today?”

The Birch Woman stopped her dance steps and sighed. “I was wondering if that’s what you were dropping by for. That nasty man pinched me as I was dancing for them. Pinched me! They know they aren’t supposed to touch, the dirty things.”

“Don’t do that again. Come get me instead. I’ll take care of it.”

She dropped her eyes. ‘I know that. I just...I...I saw red. I don’t know what came over me.”

He nodded, and moved on.

Rusty the Faun lay on the ground underneath an oak tree. He was moaning, holding his head. He had a black eye, and bruises on his shoulder.

“Was it worth it?” Cullin asked.

“Yes!” the faun said. “The look on her face!” He sat up, and moaned even louder. “No. No. Oh, my head!”

Shaking his head, Cullin reached into his pouch and pulled out a small vial. “Drink this.”

The faun reached up. “What is it?”

“Water from the well of Sulis. I brought it; I didn’t think you’d feel like traveling there.”

“You’re right.” He opened the vial and drank it down. Crumbling back into a ball, he gave a sharp yelp as the potion worked its magic. While Cullin watched, the black eye, the bruised on his shoulder and whatever wounding he had was gone.

“Thank you, Tree Shepherd.” The faun said, standing up.

“If I were you, I’d stay away from Birch Woman for a few days,” Cullin said, and then he was gone.

Next he stepped out into a meadow. It didn’t used to be a one; the Great Fire had hammered this area, and killed all the trees. Only a few shrubs grew here now, kept small by the deer who browsed it. In the center of the meadow was a large, flat topped stone. It was a memorial stone, marking the very spot where Cullin first became the shepherd of his lands. He hopped on it, and closed his eyes. He let his thoughts slow, spread out across the forest, meadows, wet and dry spots that he was responsible for. “Peace,” he whispered, “Peace.”

And as he sat, the tensions that had risen across the whole of the land slowly, slowly relaxed.