Ciri picked her way through the mosaic of ritualistically layed out seeds and acorns careful not to disturb the hard labors of the dryads. Centuries of undergrowth deformed under her feet as the heels of her boots penetrated the leafy ground. She nodded at the two scantily clad forest women finishing the final touches to the pattern. Normally wearing a patchwork of cloth, leaves and twigs, the dryads were dressed for a special occasion this day. Around their head and waists they wore rings of intertwined vines and apart from that, nothing else. Their bare breasts were besmeared with a fine clay laced with the scents of white peony and primrose and their green skin shined from the gleam of oil.
Belleteyn. May Eve. The day of fertility and renewal.
Ciri, Iespeth and the commando of elves had arrived in Brokilon four days prior and to Duén Canell two days ago. Without the guidance of Sirsse, they mightn't have made it through the vast forests. Apart from spanning many square kilometers, Brokilon was laced with traps set up by the dryads to keep out uninvited visitors. Upon arrival the group were given their pick of lodgings all of which resembled huge bunches of mistletoe. Ciri remembered years and years ago when the "funny cottages" were filled with dryads, but now many seemed empty. Or so she thought.
She continued her way through the Place of the Oak to a more secluded spot of the basin where a grove of poplars shimmered like moonlight on a windy sea. There, a small brook curved its way under the silver leaves where she hoped to wash herself. The path was steeped in steam and Ciri felt the magic tingling in her fingertips and lips. The Silver-Eyed stood near a large, old stump waiting, as if knowing that Ciri would come.
"Ceád, Child of the Elder Blood. Long has it been since last you were here."
"Lady Eithné," Ciri replied. She swallowed her pride and bowed to the venerable lady recognizing her generosity in letting them remain for a time in Brokilon to enjoy the haven and lick their wounds.
The queen of the dryads looked at her with deep eyes of molten silver behind which centuries of wisdom were hidden.
"Walk with me," the queen of the dryads commanded.
Ciri wasn't one to simply obey commands, but the Silver-Eyed was not one to be denied especially in her own home.
They walked solemnly along the banks of the brook, the warm steam permeating form its banks.
"Are you rested?" Eithné finally asked, looking straight ahead putting one bare foot melodically in front of the other.
Ciri looked at her skeptically. "Yes. I thank you for your hospitality. For myself and for Iespeth."
The dryad examined the ashen-haired woman with her huge, silver eyes. Ciri's tenseness was noticeable.
"Is there something amiss child?"
"The last time I was here you tried to make me a dryad. Forgive me if I'm a bit wary."
"Ah. So we are to revisit the past? Very well then. What is it you wish to discuss?"
Ciri looked at her bewildered. "Was it not you who was waiting for me back there?"
"Was I?" Eithné grinned.
Ciri looked away and scoffed. "Don't play games. You wanted to take my life away from me and give me a new one all those years ago. The life of a dryad. I wasn't some little girl who was told to walk into Brokilon alone, diseased and unwanted. I was a little girl with a grandmother, a home, a destiny and..."
"And when you drank the Water of Brokilon? What happened?"
Ciri huffed in anger.
"It was not your destiny to become a Daughter of...,"
YOU ARE READING
The Traveler: Part 1
Hayran KurguIt's been 3 years since the Wild Hunt was defeated. Ciri has been on the path ever since, when one day she comes upon a mysterious elf who can't speak and seems to have no knowledge of who she herself is. Who is she, why is she here and most importa...
