The Regents : the Forgotten Chronicle [COMPLETED]

Chapter Eight: The Newcomers

Four years passed much in the same way as the first year of our regency, and the jade flower grew up with us. We all fell into our roles with Reese as the lead regent and the face to the public, Brennan as the swordsman who hardly ever lost a fight, and me as the scholar who spent far too much time in the library. Lydia wasn't involved in politics as much as me and the Connellys were. Sometimes she would go out riding by herself (and not tell me, if you can believe it. I'd only find out after the fact). I can't say for sure where she would go with Neeha, but I heard that she often went out into the forest . . .

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Lydia smiled widely as she and Neeha leapt over the river. A solid thud  announced their arrival back to the earth. The seventeen-year-old always felt so alive when she was riding. The feeling of Neeha's muscles rippling beneath Lydia's stirrups, the wind whipping her hair behind her, the powerful thundering of the bay's hooves - she couldn't understand why more people didn't ride!

Along the well-worn path, Neeha galloped, exercising her control over their speed; she felt like she could keep running forever. When Lydia pulled back on the reins, Neeha reluctantly obliged and slowed to a trot.

In her brown and khaki riding outfit, Lydia dismounted in a clearing. A Dryad, formed of a rowan tree's petals, gracefully curtsied. "My lady," she whispered in a voice that sounded like rustling leaves. Blushing at the sign of obeisance, Lydia nodded in return. The Dryad continued. "Shall we resume yesterday's lesson?"

Neeha roughly nudged Lydia's back. "Hold on," Lydia told the Dryad. After removing and setting aside Neeha's tackle, allowing the horse to roll, Lydia thoroughly stretched her sore legs. She nodded again to the Dryad who then waved to the treetops.

The wind's strength increased, and the trees groaned. They swayed to keep the beat of the Dryad's unnamed dance with their leaves brushing each other. Ssshhh . . . Ssshhh . . . Ssshhh. Their trunks and branches creaked, adding another layer of music. Grrrackle, grrrackle , ssshhh . . . Grrrackle, grrrackle, ssshhh. The rowan Dryad gracefully tiptoed across (or rather through) the grass. Lydia felt the rhythm of the dance and copied the Dryad as she had done yesterday. By this time, the wind had brought more leaves and petals to form Dryads (male and female) as they stood between the trunks and swayed in the breeze.

As always when she came out here to dance, Lydia forgot her problems. At Cair Paravel, she was always shoved aside or forgotten; here and now, she could be in control. Her limbs moved fluidly, almost as if they were part of the wind, and her spirit soared with every movement. The other Dryads joined in, and the whole clearing was filled with whirling leaf people. 

Suddenly the trees stood erect and groaned to those in the clearing. The Dryads stopped dancing and looked up into the leafy boughs as if reading a sign. Lydia looked around at the others, but none would look in her direction. Suddenly, the Dryads gasped and burst, scattering their leaves and petals which were taken away on the wind. Others merely glided over the grass and melded with the shadows between or behind their trees, disappearing altogether. The only one who stayed was the rowan Dryad, Lydia's dancing teacher.

"What's going on?" Lydia asked tentatively. Neeha stood and trotted over to Lydia's side, her ears swiveling in all directions.

Darting here and there as if unsure whether she should stay or go, the Dryad distractedly replied, "The trees at the edge of the woods have sent word through the boughs. They say that  . . . a new tribe has come."

"A tribe?" Lydia repeated.

"Yes. The trees are as confused as they are scared. The tribe has come in large numbers and has settled on the edge of the woods. They are strange to us." Suddenly, the wind viciously tore through the boughs and tossed Lydia's loose hair about her face. The trees in the clearing groaned loudly, and Lydia could feel their panic.