Knox of the Bloom

Chapter 3: The Claiming of Mirren

They lined the path leading out of the village, each person held a torch, and the light snaked its way down through the dark tree line, like a fiery caterpillar, or snake, depending on your outlook. One omen meant her new life was about to bloom and become beautiful, devoting her life to the Gods, and the other, that she were being swallowed up and smothered alive for the Gods. Mirren's father smiled at her, and this made her look back at him, at his crinkled eyes which were aglow with pride.

'If only your mother could see you now,' his eyes were watering. She hoped he wouldn't cry. The fact that she'd probably never see him again was almost breaking her in two. 'I know she'd be proud of you.'

'Thank you, father, she would be proud of how you raised me. The druids will give me a good life.'

Faces watched them from beyond the hut's doorway. Skral was there, his bony face and ferrety eyes just visible from his raggedy hood. Skral would take her to the western isles, where she would begin her training as a Druid. The Elders has seen potential in her, and said she had been marked by the Gods. They had called the Druid here. She had been Claimed.

'Here, I want you to have this, to remember me by,' he took a folded cloth out from behind a loose rock in the wall and unfurled it. Inside was beaten discs of copper bound together with braided reed. He slipped it over her head, and stood back to take a look. 'Make sure they don't see that, Mirren. Druids won't let you take any possessions from home.' Mirren hid it beneath her cloak and gave her father one last hug, before turning and leaving her house for the last time in her life. She wanted to turn back, to say goodbye, but it just wasn't in her.

The crowd watched as she followed Skral down through the village. They had a long trek ahead of them, and the druid made no attempt to ease the pace for her. People bowed their heads and touched their fingers to their foreheads as Skral passed; all were painted with mud and ashes, all had been making offerings and performing the usual ceremonies for the Gods for the past two moons. It had been many lifetimes since the Druids had claimed someone from their village, for the Druids were a reclusive people, and everyone had told Mirren had proud they were of her. But she didn't feel pride, only resentment. Why did she have to be uprooted from her home, from the last bit of family she had left, and taken to the distant strange land of the druids? Everyone knew that outside of the village was only danger, she wasn't even that clever, besides being able to make poultices for any injured villagers, something her mother had taught her.

So why her?

Skral gave her no chance to ask any of these questions. He had his head bent low and marched down the hill with wide steps. The man was as high and thin as a loop-pole. Even if she did ask him, Druids were known for their lack of generosity when it came to their motivations. The people and her village were quickly left behind. Mirren had fought the urge to look back, because she knew if she did, her father would be there in the doorway, and she wouldn't be able to take another step. So she put her head down, looked at her hide boots slogging through the mud, and fought back the stinging tears in her eyes. She followed the druid toward her new life, and they headed south, to the Isles of the Druids.

At dusk, Skral told her to gather materials to make a shelter, and after she had gathered them and built the shelter, he told her to make fire. All the while he simply stood beneath a tree, avoiding the rain that soaked through Mirren's thin clothes and flattened her hair to her skull. She set the materials inside of the shelter, and her hands shook as she rolled the stick between her palms. Her palms were red and sore from the cold, wet and grating bark. She took the dry wood shavings previously gathered and placed them beside the growing embers. Her hands shook as she warmed them by the taking flames. The druid, Skral, walked into the shelter then and stamped on the fire, extinguishing the taking tinder.