The Druid

Chapter 15

The remainder of summer came and went. Maggie allowed Alan to be an ordinary boy, just one last time, before he had to permanently move to the Otherworld.

The portal phenomenon had suddenly seized, normal travel resumed, and thus his Aunt Flora had returned home. He had never given her such a big hug when he saw her, prompting her to say, "What's this? I was gone a week, and suddenly you're sentimental?" She jested, but the hug she returned was the warmest she had ever given. Alan might not have parents, but he was loved. He made a promise to himself to never forget that. Letting go of that embrace was the hardest thing he had ever done--even fighting Eric and his undead army.

Because, he pondered, with his back against his thinking tree, with his gaze aimed into the offing, that might be his last hug with her as a normal boy.

He was a king now, but he preferred to be a nephew that never put the toilet seat down in the bathroom adjacent to the living room, or failed to clean up all his rice cakes crumbs in the kitchen, or the nuisance who woke up too early on weekends--the time for beauty sleep his Aunt Flora claimed, with her eye mask still halfway on as she appeared in the kitchen with her hands on her hips.

He would miss it all. Actually, he would not miss school and the long days, throes really, of sitting in a chair for hours at a time.

Maggie had returned the next day, suddenly materializing beside the Ash where he rested, without explanation as to where she actually went that night on the beach. She was dressed exactly the same though and whatever cuts or bruises she accumulated during the fighting, was gone. She may be a Druid, and the fiercest Demon Hunter in the Druid world--whatever that meant--but Alan believed she was a gypsy woman at heart. That was okay with him, because alone time was what he needed before he continued walking on his destined path, one layered with red carpet, silken robes, and a nice, shiney throne with servants hanging on his every word. Or at least, that's how he envisioned it.

The colorful imagery helped him accept his future to come.

She assured him that Thomas was recovering back at home, and on route to make a full recovery, and that he was especially proud to have earned approximately fifty-seven wounds, his highest amount yet. That made Alan smile. Thomas was a weird guy.

"My sword glowed yellow and red," he told her. "Not at the same time." He then explained to her at which times and the circumstances that his sword glowed the particular color. "Why?"

"If you recall," she explained, "the sword has two forms." Alan did recall, back in Thomas's kitchen, when she had explained so much. "The first form you experienced is called Solas Cneasaithe, or just Solas. It means healing light."

That was the yellow light, Alan thought.

"This is not spoken of lightly in our world, but even King Nuada was unsure how exactly it worked. For him, as it did for you, the form seemed to activate itself. He, however, believed it was activated by his subconscious, or at least an unobtrusive part of himself. It was the light that never failed. It's no surprise it came to you, Thomas could have died."

"Thomas?" Alan blurted. "I healed him? I only saw it affect Callum." He paused. "Actually, I didn't see it. Well, sort of. Will said he saw Callum glowed yellow when I was fighting Eric, but back at the beach, Callum was...different."

Maggie nodded. "His change had nothing to do with Solas." Maggie cut him off with a wave. "For another day. I don't have answers, but I suspect they will come soon."

"The other form," she continued, "is Ceartas, justice. That is when your sword appears as a book, as it does now."

Alan leaned over, and found his sword had returned to book form that he previously knew as his father's wordless book. Now he knew the truth, fitting, considering the name."

Alan blinked. "What about the red glow? What form was that part of? Solas, right?" Alan nodded, that made sense. He knew solas also referred to 'sun' in a lot of contexts. The red glow made sense, then.

"No," she said. "That was Druidry, old as the gods. My guess is that was the supposed third form, the form Nuada kept secret, according to legend. " She nodded to the tree he rested his back against. Alan eyed it queerly, expecting something to reveal itself, perhaps a secret door like the Oak. "It appears that your clan has been chosen."

"What?" was all he could say. This, Alan thought, was a tree, the same tree he had been resting on since he first discovered the Strip.

"That is an Ash tree," she said, "one of the Four Sacred Trees that our clans were birthed from. Ash is the Red Branch clan. It's believed that, if the clans were to exist during Nuada's life, he would have been Ash. It has been an ongoing debate for centuries, needlessly. Now, we perhaps have our answer." She smiled.

Maggie disappeared shortly after, right after explaining to him that he may enjoy the rest of his summer, before he had to return to the Otherworld. The official date, she said, was a week before the Fall Solstice, but she did not give reason why.

Alan spent the remainder of the summer doing what he always had done: resting against trees, singing to his audience of woodland creatures at the Strip, hanging with his friends and reading books.

He stored his dad's book--that's how he still liked to think of it, for now, anyway--under his bed as always, and did not think about it as often as he could. He pet Georgia every chance he got. He managed to live happily, only frowning when he saw the ghost out of his real-life nightmare.

Mr. Aalberts's house.

Maggie never spoke of him, and Alan never had the chance to ask. Alan wondered what happened to his science teacher, but, then again, he wanted to enjoy his summer. This was, perhaps, the daily battle of a king, to live while ignoring thoughts that he was helpless to resolve. Or was he not helpless? It was a question, he decided, he would ask a week before the Fall Solstice.

Until then, he would live as Alan Alasdair Carlisle always did.