Warrior: Book Two of the Druid Chronicles

By J. Dunn

Once he is admitted into the world of the druids, Davis realizes that at least in this place, people have not only weathered the storms of the Fracture, but have thrived because of it. With control over the elements bestowed upon them by the gods, the druids of Oak Grove live their lives in relative peace, without struggle for food, shelter, or any other necessities of life.

All is not idyllic, however, for it is a community ill at ease. For nearly twenty years, scores of young men have been denied their magical heritage by parents who have bowed to the ArchDruid’s tyrannical demands. Angie continues her quest to lead her people in a return to the old ways, so that men and women can be equal once again.

While he knew his presence would not be welcomed by some, he hadn't counted on landing in a hotbed of druid politics laced with magic, through which he must carefully navigate, lest he give the inimical ArchDruid a reason to get rid of him — permanently.

Finding himself squarely in the center of the struggle, Davis discovers that he will have to work harder than ever to keep Angie by his side. It is a test that will require all his wits and courage if he is to remain in his position as her Warrior.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Dunn
• Release date: Feb 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781940882048

J. Dunn

***UPDATE*** As of Sept. 9, 2021, the first draft of Book 4 is finally finished. I apologize that you had to wait so long, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel! Rewrites begin Seot. 10th. :)~*~* Due to the disastrous pandemic of COVID-19, I am now offering all three of the current Druid Chronicles books for FREE. All I ask is that you stay home and read. And maybe share my books if you think someone will like them. *~ *~J. Paige Dunn has traveled in Europe and the UK while living in Germany for a few years. She now dwells happily in Geektopia, a little-known realm in the New Madrid fault zone. A former ER nurse, she is fascinated by apocalyptic events and is certified in basic disaster life support.

Book preview

Change is the essence of life.

Be willing to surrender what you are

for what you could become.

~ Reinhold Niebuhr ~

After months of Traveling through the wilds and on the Road, facing the dangers of man and nature, learning to trust and rely on each other through trials and hardships, Angie and I were separated. It was the hardest journey I’d ever undertaken. Angie’s throat had nearly been cut, she’d been abducted by bandits, and had nearly been burned at the stake. I myself had been assaulted, ambushed by multiple enemies, and had suffered a gunshot wound that had nearly ended my life.

It was also the best trip I had ever taken. We had received unexpected assistance from rifleman Kam Stone and her Irish Wolfhound Tuiren, as well as kindnesses from strangers, like the gunsmith Sinclair, and (in his own way) the sheriff of Searcy, who had given us our horses. For the first time I had experienced the pleasure of living amongst people who shared similar beliefs – the Witches of Ward – and the thrill of celebrating a High Holy Day out in the open, with much merrymaking.

Along with companionship and trust, Angie and I had learned to love. Uniting body and spirit, we dedicated ourselves to one another in a way that I never imagined I would be fortunate enough to experience. Coming together both in emotional bonds and a common goal, had discovered the satisfaction of helping others in Chasity’s town, where we had brought a much-needed rain and had provided assistance in defending Lone Oak from bandits.

Even taking into consideration the rigors of our trip, I had the feeling that training at the Druid grove – a place supposedly dedicated to peace and love and healing the earth – would be the most dangerous thing I had yet to face.

High Priestess Rhiannon had warned me that the grove would not welcome me, and that my life would be in danger. ArchDruid Sebrina’s malevolent warning and thinly veiled threats had confirmed this shortly after our arrival. If there was anything I had learned from my Travels, it was that if the leader of a community did not like you, then it was likely that no one else would, either.

Uneasy, I watched in the direction Angie had gone – and in which Sebrina had followed – until Liam Everlight cleared his throat, bringing me back to the here and now.

So this is Angie’s horse? he asked, holding out a hand.

Yes. I reluctantly gave him the mare’s reins. Her name is Magic.

It’s good that you already have a horse of your own, he said.

You’ll need one. I’ll turn them loose with our herd, where you’ll both have access to them. He turned and began walking through the center of the druid grove, leading Magic. I followed with Steel, feeling a multitude of eyes on my back. It was like an itch between my shoulder blades that I couldn’t scratch.

Will I have time to ride? I asked.

If you want to keep him in training, you’ll make the time, replied Liam. The masters frequently allow free time in the afternoon. Also, the time after the evening meal will be your own.

He fell silent and I took the opportunity to look around, trying to memorize the route we were taking. For all I knew, the ArchDruid had ordered him to take me out of Angie’s sight and cut my throat. I rolled my shoulders, feeling the reassuring weight of the Ithaca 37 shotgun in its holster on my back.

Shooting Angie’s father wasn’t really an option – not if I ever wanted her to speak to me again – so if there was any attempt on my life, I was ready to hop on Steel and gallop away. There were no fences surrounding the druid town, so running was a viable option. I might take an arrow in the back, but as long as nobody started throwing magic around, there was a good chance I would survive the escape. I’d have to leave Angie behind, but that would happen whether I survived or not. She could always come find me again with her fetch.

Noticing the sound the horses made as they clopped along, I studied the path beneath our feet. I had never seen a road like this before, but recognized it as a cobblestone street from pictures I had seen in books. Each stone was square, with rounded corners, laid out in simple patterns with geometric precision. Moss grew between the stones, creating a serviceable greenway for people, animals, and carts or wagons.

It awoke in me an interest regarding what other things the druids might have constructed using magic. I had never before seen buildings like these. Many structures were two and even three stories high – so many, in fact, that it seemed to be the norm. The only other three-story house I had ever seen was the one belonging to my family, and the third story had only been a small room for me perched at the very top. The roofs were thatched, as was common everywhere I’d been, but the walls were not the logs I was accustomed to.

As far as I could see, the buildings were constructed with cream-colored walls, although some had earth-toned variations such as khaki and terracotta. In spite of this relative uniformity, no two looked alike. What appeared to be a tailor’s shop was wide at the base, its walls rising upward to taper slightly. Its round roof had a broad overhang, making the structure look like a giant mushroom. It had a variety of windows in various sizes, their frames painted a rich, deep red. Most of them were arched with small rounded overhangs, and several had small window boxes with flowers or herbs. A wrought iron staircase leading to the second story curved up and around the side, its railing an intricate weaving of metal leaves and vines.

In contrast, across the street stood a single-story structure that was more or less square, but with a peaked façade that reminded me of some ancient churches I had seen on my Travels. Above the arched double doors, a round window of orange and yellow glass was set into the wall; curling rays projected from the window, making it look like a miniature sun. As the front of the building faced east, I imagined that the morning sun would gleam through the colored glass, bringing the brightness of the new day inside.

There was one commonality to all the uniquely designed and decorated structures – not one of them was made of wood. Wood had been used sparingly, for doors, window frames, or carved adornment. Every home’s front yard was thick with flowers, vegetables, herbs, or all three, with any number of smaller trees, such as mimosas and dogwoods. Tall oaks, pines, and maples stood in the back yards and between houses, providing privacy and shade.

After the Fracture, the building material of choice had been trees, with which earthquake-resistant log cabins could be made. It hit me with stunning clarity that this town was built without a care for surviving an earthquake, a tornado, or even a simple storm with winds strong enough to blow the trees down.

With those thoughts still running through my mind, we passed what looked like a blacksmith shop, although it was like no other smithy I had ever seen. If not for the variety of easily recognized smithing tools hung upon the walls, I never would have guessed its purpose. It was a long structure that was both squat but also open and spacious, with several broad archways to let in light and allow air circulation. A curving and almost domed roof came to a point in the middle; smoke curled from the point and I realized it was actually a chimney. What I could only assume was the smith’s forge was positioned directly beneath the point, with the smith himself standing beside it – with a red-hot piece of metal in his bare hands.

I stopped in my tracks, jaw dropping. Even Angie’s revelation that the druids made their own weapons could not have prepared me for this. As the smith held the burning chunk of steel, I watched the molten metal slowly widen and then fold in upon itself, as if he were closing a book. He then repeated the process a few more times, effortlessly performing a task with his bare hands in minutes what would have taken a regular blacksmith over an hour.

Many times I had wondered the extent of the druids’ magical powers while on my journey with Angie. Nowhere was it made more obvious than by the commonplace labor of that blacksmith, working his art without benefit of forge, hammer, or anvil. Indeed, it was evident in the buildings in which they chose to live. Earthquakes were the most devastating force to ever occur in nature, and the fact that the citizens of White Oak Grove were not even remotely afraid of them spoke volumes about the scope and extent of their power.

The realization was both humbling and frightening. A people who could control thunderstorms, hold molten steel in their hands, and quiet the very shaking of the earth would have absolutely no problem dealing with a lone Traveler.

I was completely at their mercy.

Are you coming?

My attention jerked away from the blacksmith and back to Liam Everlight. I got my feet moving again and he continued onward, leading Magic. The palomino mare shook her head to rid herself of a pesky fly, swishing her creamy tail. I lengthened my stride to catch up with him, bringing Steel along at a fast walk.

Sir, I would appreciate some advice.

Liam snorted. It’s too late for that.

What’s that supposed to mean?

It means you shouldn’t have come here.

On the heels of my realization of just how vulnerable I truly was, I wondered if his words were a forewarning that he was, in fact, going to do away with me. That fact that he seemed to mean no insult put me on high alert. His dispirited and resigned attitude were exactly what I would have expected from someone who was about to kill the man his daughter loved.

Even though we had walked a long, winding path to get where we were, I nearly mounted Steel and galloped for the front gate. Something made me wait to see if the wolf would reveal himself beneath sheep’s clothing, however.

You wanted me to tell Angie no?

Your life would have been easier. Hers, too. He shook his head. Your presence here is going to cause problems.

I’m aware of that.

I don’t like problems.

I wanted to retort that the whole trip had been nothing but one problem after another, but didn’t want to encourage any murderous impulses he might have. I wondered if he had three elements like Angie and decided there was a good chance he did. I’d never be able to outrun a lightning bolt. Heck, he could throw up an air shield to stop me in my tracks, or soak the stones so that my horse would slip and fall, then kill me with his sword. I prayed to my gods that he loved his daughter enough to let me live.

I also don’t expect you to make it through training. His tone suggested that he hoped I wouldn’t, but it gave me some comfort. He may not have expected me to live through training, but the fact that he had mentioned training at all meant he wasn’t going to kill me. Either that or he was going to kill me because he didn’t think I’d make it, anyway.

I’ve already been trained. The retort was out before I could stop myself. In for a penny, in for a pound, as my father liked to say.

Have you now?

I looked at him, then around at the other armed men roaming the streets and thought about the things my father had taught me.

Not compared to this, I admitted.

At least you’re smart enough to know that.

I haven’t stayed alive by being stupid.

And yet you’re still here.

You may not value Angie’s happiness, but I do.

"I value her safety. Liam’s voice was tight. I respect Angelina’s decision to take you as her chosen. I admire her dedication and desire for a return to the old ways of our people. I do want her to be happy, else I’d never have taken her north in her quest. But make no mistake; her welfare and safety are higher priorities."

I assure you, her safety has been my highest priority, I said. Either he was just venting his spleen, or he was trying to get me to leave so he didn’t have to kill me.

Liam shook his head. The old ways run counter to the ArchDruid’s wishes, and Angelina has already endured criticism and discipline for willfully going against them. I will not be pleased to see her suffer such things again. She may be a grown woman now, but as her chosen, you had better be prepared to take the heat and protect her from it as much as possible.

His words made me relax; this wasn’t a warning before lethal action. This was a warning from a protective father. I got his message loud and clear. It was like Traveling on the road – commit wholly, or don’t go at all. If you didn’t commit to doing whatever it took to survive, you’d die. The fact that I was still alive – especially after this most recent adventure with Angie – proved my commitment.

Dedication to duty and sworn oaths were not enough to make me pass through this trial of fire.

Love, evidently, was.

I understand, sir.

He stopped and eyed me. Do you?

Yes, sir. I do.

He paused again, as though searching for words. Finally he said, My daughter loves you, that much is obvious. Do you also return her affections?

I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.

Then this is where you start.

Chapter 2 – The Everlight Brothers

Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes.

~Henry David Thoreau~

Liam had stopped before a small white building with a dark brown door with a tree of red and gold painted on it. He opened the door to a room with a few chairs, a variety of shining instruments on the walls, and storage lockers of a sort. A short, wiry man turned to look at us as we entered, raising his eyebrows. I say short, but he was at least four inches taller than I.

There was an unmistakable similarity between the two. While this man had long, straight hair and a slightly lighter complexion, he shared the same piercing green eyes and strong facial features that Liam possessed. Undoubtedly, they were brothers.

Gods’ blessings, Liam.

And to you, Padraig.

An outsider? Padraig rubbed the short, pointed beard at his chin, regarding me seriously.

Aye.

We haven’t had an outsider here in years, said Padraig, walking in a circle and looking me over. Angelina got her way, then?

Aye, Liam said again. This is Davis, her chosen.

She’s a hard-headed one, Padraig said, half to himself. Apologies, brother, I meant no offense.

None taken. Liam dropped into a chair, straddling it backwards. I rather agree with you on that score.

Ahh, the sweet Angelina… Padraig looked me in the eye. "She is sweet, isn’t she?"

I met his gaze evenly. She has a strong will and great courage.

He smirked. And other attributes, as well, eh?

After hearing Sebrina disrespect my lover and enduring Liam’s disparagement, my temper flared.

"I would appreciate it, sir, if you would be more respectful when speaking of her."

He looked me over for a moment before turning his gaze toward Liam, giving him a pointed look. Liam frowned and looked away.

Padraig chuckled and said, You won’t be winning this one.

Liam snorted. I lost that battle when I agreed to help her find him.

He must have some good qualities, to have brought them both through it safe and sound, Padraig said.

Or he’s just lucky.

Perhaps it was the will of the gods.

Liam gave him a dark look. Don’t speak of that to me.

Padraig shrugged. It was just a thought. His tone was light, but he seemed intent on vexing Liam.

Liam rose and started for the door. Keep those thoughts to yourself, brother, and perhaps you’ll live a long and peaceful life.

It’s too late for a peaceful one, Padraig said, studying the ceiling. There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth that told me he found some humor in irking his brother.

Mind your tongue and you just might manage long. Liam exited the room and slammed the door.

Perhaps their exchange was an old family argument, but it still left me feeling awkward. Outsiders do not need to hear family members voice their grievances with one another. Then again, since I seemed to be the cause of that grievance, maybe I did.

I suppose that might have made you a little bit uncomfortable, Padraig said to me.

"There isn’t much about this situation that is comfortable."

I imagine not, he replied. And I don’t expect it to get any better.

Wonderful.

It might not get worse, though, he said. Whether or not your situation worsens is entirely dependent on you.

I don’t I’ll have much influence on whether or not the ArchDruid decides to make me disappear.

Padraig leaned against the counter, studying me. You have far more influence than you realize. There are things you can do to improve your situation.

Such as?

Learning some manners and developing the habit of speaking respectfully to your elders, for one.

I opened my mouth, and then shut it again. He was right; I had been surly since entering the room.

My apologies, I said. My parents had taught me manners; it seemed that their instruction would come in handy here.

Accepted, Padraig said, a note of surprise in his tone. The other thing that will aid you in your quest is if you abide by the rules.

Is everyone else going to do the same?

Probably not. He smirked.

Then I might have a little trouble with that, sir.

Then you also might have a little trouble staying beneath the ArchDruid’s notice.

I’m supposed to just roll over and show my belly then?

Either that, or make sure that you have reliable witnesses, he said.

I blinked, realizing what he was saying. It would be just like when I Traveled to any new town – I made sure to stay out in public so that if I was attacked, people would either come to my rescue or witness to my innocence when I fought back.

After all, Padraig continued, We can always heal you up with magic.

It’s still going to hurt.

If you’re afraid of pain, you’re better off getting back on your horse and leaving right now.

I certainly didn’t want to get hurt, but I also wasn’t going to leave just because I might suffer pain. It hadn’t stopped me before embarking on the journey with Angie, and it wouldn’t stop me now. Padraig waited, studying me for a few moments before continuing.

Well, now, since you’re obviously intent on staying, I suppose I should inform you of the rules for new warriors-in-training, as they have been carried out these twenty some-odd years.

I take it you didn’t go through this training?

That is correct. I assume Angelina told you that none of our sons are allowed the use of magic?

I nodded. She did.

Padraig opened his mouth, then closed it and cocked his head to one side. I don’t suppose you possess any magical abilities, do you?

No, sir, I don’t.

Ah. He nodded, stroking his beard. You’ll be in good company, then. Warrior training was something instituted by the ArchDruid Sebrina and her Tetrarch, to try and ensure that our young men without magic would be able to adequately defend themselves and assist in the protection of both citizens and grove, should the need arise.

Seems to me that they’d be better off with magic.

Padraig pursed his lips. You would be wise not to say that in front of anyone else. You never know who might carry the tale to the ArchDruid. No doubt she already detests your presence here.

So I gathered from her warm welcome.

His gaze grew steely. This is important, boy. It’s one thing for my niece to buck authority and ruffle feathers about her belief that we should return to the old ways, but it’s another thing entirely for you to do so. You are an outsider with no family and no support other than an idealistic elementalist in training. You will not be accorded any leniency, In fact, you can expect the ArchDruid’s sycophants to do their utmost to make you miserable enough to leave.

It was my understanding that I’d have to be careful of ‘accidents’.

Then you do understand, he said. Very good.

I didn’t see what was so good about it, unless he was happy that I knew I’d have to constantly watch my back.

Here are the rules, began Padraig. When you join, you give up all your belongings – clothes, weapons, supplies, everything.

Do I get it back when I’ve finished?

We keep it here for you, in one of these storage lockers, he said, opening an empty one. We give you new clothes, along with everything you need for your studies.

Weapons included? I asked.

Weapons included, he replied before continuing. At the end of training – or if you decide to forsake Angelina – if you want it back, it’s yours for the asking.

I’m not leaving Angie and I’ll want it all back when I’m done, I said, shucking the backpack from my shoulders and dumping it on the floor. I began disarming, starting with the bracers around my thighs, followed by the machete belted to my waist and the knife from my boot. I pulled the leather strap that held the shotgun on my shoulder over my head and held it in my hands for a long moment. It was my most valued possession, and had saved my life on more than one occasion.

Working automatically and trying not to think of how vulnerable I felt without it, I unloaded the Ithaca Model 37, wrapped it in protective oilcloth, and tucked it into the box. The bandolier of shells that Sinclair had given me followed. After a few moments more, I was as naked on the outside as I felt on the inside, all of my worldly possessions packed neatly into the locker, with the exception of my underwear.

Padraig gave me a stack of clothes: loose-fitting brown pants and a cream-colored shirt. Nothing fit exactly, but a belt about the waist fixed the pants, and all the other pieces were roomy enough that it didn’t matter. I pulled on the wool socks and, after trying on a few pairs, stamped my feet into soft leather boots. I didn’t like them as much as my steel-toed road boots, but they were comfortable.

Have a seat, Padraig said, gesturing toward a chair with a pair of scissors.

Thank the gods, I said. I’ve been needing a haircut for months.

He chuckled. Placing a drape over my shoulders, Padraig went to work, shearing the hair close to my scalp. Like my mother usually did, he left a little length on the front, where it stuck nearly straight up. In fact, the style was so similar to the way my mother cut it as to be nearly identical. It wasn’t too surprising. After all, how many different ways could a man’s hair be cut?

He removed the drape and I stood up, rubbing the soft bristles along my scalp.

Thanks, it’s great.

Padraig laughed outright.

Did I say something funny?

Not at all, son, Padraig said, clapping me on the shoulder. The boys here grow up with long hair. They become quite vain of it, so it’s rather heartbreaking for them when we drag them in here and cut it all off. They also arrive dressed in fancy clothes, and they whine like puppies when asked to give it up.

It’s not the first time I’ve had to give everything up, I said. Although, last time it was at gunpoint and they didn’t bother to give me any clothes in return.

You’ll do all right, said Padraig with a grin. I have to admit, I didn’t want to, but I like you.

Thanks.

He grabbed a broom and started sweeping the floor. Don’t expect my brother to warm up to you, though. You’re a problem for him, and he does not like problems.

So he told me. I shook my head, unable to contain myself. "Does he think I’m happy to be his problem or that I like having problems myself? The whole trip down here was nothing but problems, and most of them were because of his daughter."

Padraig snorted. That was nothing. You have no idea what you’re in for.

Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me, seeing as how I’d never even heard of druids before Angie showed up.

His head jerked up. "You’ve never heard of druids."

No.

Next you’re going to tell me you’ve never heard of magic, either.

I’ve read about it in books.

You’ve read about it.

Some.

He let out a grim chuckle. I assure you, Davis, there isn’t a single book written before the Rebirth that could tell you what our magic is like. Not even the druids of that time had any idea of the power they were to inherit.

I don’t think anybody nowadays can say what all the books before the Fracture contained, I said. But Angie’s magic is totally different from anything I’ve ever read about.

So you read. Are you educated?

My parents taught me at home. There was a small school in Jonesboro, but I had not attended. I wasn’t sure if I had not been welcome, or if perhaps my parents had wanted to ensure that I was raised within their belief system. Probably both.

My folks have quite a collection of books, I said. While I was Traveling, I looked for books in ruins. Sometimes I traded for them to add to our library.

Padraig resumed sweeping. Just out of curiosity, where were you headed when you met my headstrong niece?

Nowhere in particular, I said.

Most people only leave home if they have somewhere to get to and a reason to go, he said.

I shrugged. "I’m a Traveler. I don’t need a destination or a reason."

He chuckled again, this time in disbelief. Somebody must have forgotten to tell you there aren’t any more Travelers.

Maybe not down here, but I’ve met a few others. There aren’t many, and most of them are old men, I admitted. Angie and I even met a girl who Travels.

"A girl Traveler?"

She had a big gun and bigger dog, I said.

And needed them both, I’m sure, he said. Well, if you’re really a Traveler, I reckon you might just have a chance at making it through our training. One thing you need to remember – don’t trust anyone.

Not even you? He liked me but said I couldn’t trust him?

He shrugged. I suppose you can trust me, seeing as how I can’t stand Sebrina’s policies. However, Liam’s not the only one with divided loyalties.

So I shouldn’t trust anyone. That was nothing new.

Padraig sighed heavily. What you have to understand is that Liam is First Warrior, the protector of the ArchDruid. When there are problems, it’s his job to take care of them. You are a problem, and Sebrina will expect him to take care of it. However, as my niece has accepted you as her chosen, she will expect her father to champion her cause and give you protection.

I understood now why Liam would have preferred it if I hadn’t agreed to come with Angie. My presence had most definitely put him between a rock and a hard place.

And what are your divided loyalties?

It’s very simple. I am loyal to my brother, but I despise the ArchDruid and her tyrannical policies. It’s an affront to the gods, denying our children their birthright.

So you support Angie?

Inasmuch as I can, without giving the ArchDruid cause to order my brother to behead me, yes.

Excuse me?

When I used the word ‘tyrannical,’ I meant it.

I was appalled. The ArchDruid orders him to behead people who speak against her?

Not so obviously. First there is a gradual defamation of character, in which the individual in question becomes isolated from his peers. Then, when he no longer has social support, someone magically finds evidence of a heinous crime. After that, it’s banishment. Occasionally, the offender begs for mercy and receives a mere beating.

So she’s never actually had anyone beheaded, I said.

Not yet, Padraig smirked.

I’m surprised she’d allow a malcontent to stay.

"Banishment is a punishment with a vague outcome. Who’s to say the rebel didn’t live happily ever after? But the beaten man, the one who bears the mark of the lash for the rest of his life? The one who is shunned by his friends and neighbors? That man exists as a warning to anyone else who might be tempted to step out of line."

Is it possible that she would do that to Angie?

Padraig shook his head. "Not likely. Just as Liam wants to keep his daughter safe, so Sebrina desires to keep him as her protector. He is quite possibly the most respected man in the grove. People look to him for leadership and guidance, and the ArchDruid relies on that to stay in power. She usually treads carefully where he is concerned. This grants my niece and me a certain amount of protection. Her more than me, of course.

You, however— he pointed at me. Are already isolated. You are alone, with no one to defend you. It would be a simple matter for the ArchDruid to manufacture some crime against an outsider, and few would notice or care about your disappearance.

At least I didn’t have to worry about Angie’s safety. My own, however, was another matter entirely. The situation here was just as Rhiannon had described.

Make no mistake, Davis – your very presence here is an affront to the ArchDruid and her plans for this grove. Even so, she will need at least a small pretense to get rid of you. Padraig’s expression was grave. "Do not give her that opportunity. While you are in training, obey your master. Do not step one toe out of line. Even though they’ve been denied their gods-given birthright, some of your fellows support her simply because she’s the ArchDruid. Some of them will hate you for what you represent. Don’t let yourself be goaded into foolish actions."

I understand.

If you can’t do it, you’d best walk away now.

And leave Angie?

Better to leave her sad and lonely than grieving your death.

I couldn’t argue with that.

I can do it, I said. Gods know I’ve done it before.

Good. Ready to meet your new comrades-in-arms?

Padraig walked to the door and held it open.

You already know who I’ll be training with? I asked, following him out the door, down the steps, and onto the cobblestone path.

Of course, he replied. Liam and I have been preparing for this all summer.

I thought he didn’t want to be involved.

He doesn’t, said Padraig. But that doesn’t mean he’s willing to risk giving his daughter over to a poorly trained warrior.

Chapter 3 – Put Up or Shut Up

The future is no more uncertain than the present.

~Walt Whitman~

As we walked to our destination, Padraig explained that White Oak Grove was divided into three sections. The largest was the area where the druids had their homes and workshops. Next largest was the Elementalists’ Third, where Angie would be training in magic. Smallest was the Warrior’s Third, the training area of the unmagicked young men.

In reality the training areas only took up about twenty percent of the grove and were called thirds for the simplicity’s sake. As I had observed on the ride here with Angie, the grove was filled with orchards and encircled by miles of farmland, with the deep woods beyond.

Padraig led me to the Warrior’s Third. We passed beneath the arched gateway to a block of long, narrow buildings standing parallel to one another. The one-story structures lined both sides of the narrow street. Unlike the main road through the grove, this one was clearly for foot traffic only. It was far too narrow for a wagon or cart, and might even have been a tight squeeze for a horse.

The buildings were of similar construction to the shops and homes I had already seen, except that they lacked decoration of any kind. The structures were stark and utilitarian, all rectangular and of nearly identical shape and size, with windows high on the walls to let in light but not allow those inside to see out. There was grass around the buildings but hardly any trees at all, and it gave me a feeling of disquiet.

Grim, aren’t they? said Padraig.

They could use a little paint.

The ruling opinion was that any decoration or other frivolous aspect would distract our boys from their purpose.

I doubted that had been the true reason, but didn’t voice the opinion aloud. Its lack of decoration didn’t matter one way or another to me. There would be a roof to keep the rain off my head and a bed in which to rest. I had sheltered with far less comfort on many occasions, and I was used to sleeping lightly in case an unfriendly individual had a desire to steal my belongings or slit my throat.

We passed the barracks buildings, making our way down to the training area. It was hot, noisy, and dusty. There were several sunken arenas with floors of sand. Each arena had fifteen to twenty young men sweating in the sun and practicing with various weapons – swords, pikes, spears, and knives, to name a few. Some of the groups were engaged in bouts of hand-to-hand sparring that looked less like practice and more like mortal combat.

Padraig led the way to a small arena on the far end. I didn’t know if he had intended for everyone to notice us, but they did. Taking the bull by the horns seemed to be an Everlight family trait. We trotted down the few steps to the sand pit, heading toward a man who was unmistakably the master of this group.

The burly master stood with thick, muscular arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes watching the action intently. A receding hairline had given him a spectacularly large forehead, and what remained of his dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Afternoon, Brion, said Padraig.

Gods’ blessings, Padraig, said the other, favoring him with a respectful nod before giving me a quick once-over.

I know you’re busy, so I’ll get right to the point, Padraig said. My niece Angelina has returned, bringing with her Davis, the young man she journeyed so far to find. Davis, this is Master Brion Crawford.

Pleased to meet you, sir, I said automatically, offering him my hand to shake. He didn’t take it and I let it drop. Maybe shaking hands wasn’t a courtesy here.

He’s short.

Padraig shrugged. He got them here alive.

Mm.

We waited. Master Brion watched his students try to kill each other some more. I didn’t fidget. I had already figured out that any master who agreed to take me on as a student might very well incur the ArchDruid’s wrath. I didn’t blame him for not wanting to risk it. Padraig, on the other hand, wasn’t so patient.

We discussed this, Brion.

So we did, the other replied.

I thought we had an agreement.

Master Brion thought about it some more. I studied the sparring men, noting that the movements looked similar to what my father had taught me. He had always insisted that it was better to know a few moves well than knowing many halfway. While I had been impatient to know more at the time, I had come to value his method of teaching me one or two new things a week and then drilling me on them constantly in different positions and situations.

As I watched, one of their number – an advanced student, I assumed – was demonstrating three different combat moves in rapid sequence. Most people weren’t capable of getting the fine motor skills down quickly enough to make locks and takedowns effective against an experienced opponent. My father was a foot taller and outweighed me by at least fifty pounds, but toward the end of my time training with him, I had bested him as often as not. With any luck, the knowledge he had drilled into me would be superior to what they were learning here.

All right, the training master said at last. I’ll take him on, provided that he can hold his own against Wolfric.

You can’t put him up against your best student! Padraig protested.

My boys have been working hard in the sun for an hour at least, and your young man is fresh, came the reply. That’s as fair as I can make it.

I’ll do it, I said.

Padraig scowled. And if he defeats you?

Then I’m no worse off than when I started.

I had nothing to lose and even if I did, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d fought and lost. Besides, Master Brion Crawford just might take me if I made a good showing – not that I was going to give it anything but my best. I fully intended to toss this Wolfric fellow on his head. I knew little about using a sword, but in wrestling I could hold my own.

In that case, just in this one instance, forget everything I just told you about not fighting back, Padraig said.

Understood.

The training master called for Wolfric, and a tall, slender young man with unruly blonde hair and hazel eyes jogged over to us. He had the kind of leanness that indicated a wiry strength. I had seen his type before, commonly underestimated by people for a lack of large muscles. In my Travels, I had discovered that large muscles didn’t necessarily mean strength, and a lean physique didn’t mean weakness.

Ordinarily in training, punches are pulled so that nobody gets seriously hurt, said Padraig. That does not apply to you right now.

Brion Crawford snorted. "I doubt it will ever apply," he muttered.

Other than when my father was teaching me to defend myself, I’d never been in a situation where punches were pulled.

I understand, sir.

Wolfric and I looked each other over, taking our places opposite one another in the sand pit. The rest of Master Brion’s students took a break, grabbing water skins and dropping to the ground in the sparse shade.

He brought up his fists and started circling to his right – my left. I moved with him, balancing on the balls of my feet. He was taller and therefore had a greater reach; I knew better than to get into a long boxing match with him. Gradually we moved closer together; from the stance he took, leading with his left foot, I could tell he was right-handed. That information might give me an advantage.

He came toward me slowly, sending a jab at my face when he was in range. I stepped back and avoided the blow. He stayed close and we exchanged a few more strikes, testing each other out. Wolfric came at me with a quick combination of punches and jabs, catching me with an uppercut to the belly. He was quick for his size and hadn’t given me an opening to hit him back, but I immediately noticed how he stepped back afterward, rather than trying to finish me off.

That’s when I realized that he was only used to sparring, with no real danger involved. I, on the other hand, was accustomed to all-out brawling to save my skin. In addition, I had something to lose – Angie – while my opponent seemed to regard our contest as nothing more than another practice session.

Wolfric came at me again, this time with a little smile on his face. He changed up his pattern, going low first, after my bruised abdomen. It had been awhile since I had done any real hand-to-hand fighting (courtesy of the Ithaca 37), so my reflexes might have been a little rusty. I knew not to block a low punch with my hands, but reflex overrode training and earned me a right hook to the jaw. Luckily, I realized my error and had already begun to turn away from the blow. It still made me see stars and drove me down to one knee, but at least I was still conscious. It was a stupid mistake that would have cost me the fight.

Angry with myself, I decided to show him what it was like to go up against a real-world opponent. As before, he had backed off instead of following through and putting me down for the count. Faking a wobble so he wouldn’t be alarmed when I put my hand down, I rose and threw a fistful of sand in his face. It was the oldest trick in the book, with only a kick in the balls rivaling it, as dirty fights went.

As Wolfric raised his hands and turned his head to avoid getting sand in his eyes, I pivoted and put my left foot to the inside of his, grabbing him behind the knee with both hands and driving my left shoulder into his midsection. The move drove his hips back, and I pivoted to the right while lifting his leg, dropping him to the ground on his back. Before he could recover, I leaned back, swung my right leg around, and pinned his left wrist. His eyes grew wide with shock when he realized he couldn’t get away. I tucked his right foot into my armpit with the heel on the inside of my elbow.

Arching my back to put pressure on his ankle, I was about to demand that he yield when he panicked and began thrashing about. Evidently it wasn’t a leg lock they used here, or he wouldn’t have done so. Wolfric twisted violently to the left, and his ankle snapped. He screamed hoarsely and I let go of him immediately, rolling to my feet.

Break! shouted Brion and Padraig together. I had expected them to run out and check on Wolfric, but they did nothing of the sort. Instead, they engaged in a quiet but heated discussion.

I held my hand out to Wolfric. He eyed it balefully.

You broke my ankle! he said.

Sorry, I said. I was actually going to tell you to yield when you twisted sideways.

The sudden realization that a broken ankle was the result of losing his composure crossed his tanned features. He shook his head in chagrin and took my hand, allowing me to help him up. He tried to put weight on his injured leg and winced.

You can’t walk on it if it’s broken, I said.

How would you know? It’s not your leg.

It’s not the first time I’ve broken somebody’s leg, I said. It’s not that hard to do.

The training master approached, with Padraig a step behind. You’ve earned your right to study with me, Outsider. What was your name, again?

Davis, sir.

Indeed. Well, then, Davis, seeing as how you rendered Wolfric incapable of walking, you can see him to the healer. As soon as you are able, Wolfric, you will show Davis around the Third this evening. Make sure he knows where everything is.

Yes, Master, Wolfric replied. Putting his arm around my shoulders for support, I echoed his reply, the words strange in my mouth. I had never called anyone master before and was ill at ease doing so. However, it was something I had better get used to, since druids seemed to take their honorifics seriously.

I’ll help you, said Padraig, putting Wolfric’s other arm around his own shoulders. I couldn’t help but notice the blonde man’s look of undisguised surprise, and I reminded myself that the Everlights were important people here. Every town had its ranks and hierarchies.

Danica Harris said she’d be in her study this afternoon, said Padraig. Think you can make it that far, Wolfric?

Yes, Master Everlight, he replied through clenched teeth.

Let’s be off, then.

Chapter 4 – The Healer’s House

From caring comes courage.

~Lao Tzu~

The healer’s house was near the center of the grove, or so Padraig told me. It turned out to be quite a distance from the Warriors’ Third, and we were both hot, sweaty and breathing hard from supporting Wolfric. I also felt lost, and told him so.

It’s not hard to find your way around the grove, said Padraig. "It’s built in a giant circle. The roads going in and out may wind a bit, but they’re a bit like spokes in a wagon wheel.

Only there’s not just one ‘wheel’, grunted Wolfric.

True, replied Padraig. There are several, all laid out in concentric circles, just like the rings in the trunk of a tree.

"With all due respect, Master Everlight, is it necessary to go to the innermost circle?" Wolfric asked through gritted teeth.

I thought it was pretty amazing that he had let go of all enmity between us as soon as the fight was over. It was also remarkable that he was not complaining about what had to be an agonizing injury. In the past that move had driven other men screaming to their faces in the dirt. True, he had screamed when the bones snapped, but then he had stopped.

Danica is one of the best healers in the grove, son, said Padraig, before returning to the previous topic.

Our honored ancestors first built the central grove and the nemeton to honor the gods and to hold ritual. Then they built their homes and workshops along the road around it. As the population grew, we expanded outward. Danica is descended from one of the oldest earth families – the Harrises – so she lives close to the gods’ grove.

Are we there yet? I asked. I was bruised and sore, and Wolfric was heavier than he looked. History lessons could wait until later.

Go down that walkway, just there, Padraig answered, nodding his head toward a rock-lined mossy path. The path was straight, leading directly to the double doors of the healer’s house. Two stories high, the creamy yellow house was squarish with tall, narrow windows that let in plenty of light and air. The window frames were painted a soft brown, and its window boxes were overflowing with many different types of herbs. Just setting foot upon its path made me relax and feel at peace.

Gods’ blessings, Danica! called Padraig, kicking the door in. Following suit, I shoved the other one open with my foot. The wood bore scattered markings where it had been gouged and the paint scratched off, indicating this was not was not an uncommon occurrence. It was rude, but we were both pretty tired after half-carrying Wolfric through the grove. We muscled him inside and eased him down on a nearby stool.

The building’s interior walls were of the same substance and color as the outer walls, and the windowsills were deep enough to hold yet more window boxes of herbs. I walked over to examine them and noted that they were all shade-loving varieties. The rest of the room was fairly utilitarian, sparsely furnished with a row of narrow beds along one wall, with curtains hanging between each to allow for some privacy. All the curtains were pulled back and fastened to the wall; no patients were in residence at the time. Each bed had a small table beside it and a stool at the foot, presumably for visitors.

On the opposite wall stood a row of cabinets, along with a sink and stove. Rather than being made entirely of wood, like the ones in my parents’ house, the cabinets were an extension of the walls. Instead of wooden doors, cloth curtains were hung on thin metal rods to hide or protect the contents within. Some of the cloth coverings had been drawn back, allowing me to see the bandages, towels, and various