The Masked Druid

Violent Energy

I changed everything, but no one realised.

Sighing deeply, I let my head fall back and rest against the vertical stone, engraved with shining purple runes. It should've awakened something within me, incited my inner magic to bubble and froth, eager to live and breathe. But it did nothing. To me, it was just a stone.

Closing my eyes, I tried to think clearly about my predicament. Jorvik was my new home, whether I liked it or not. My parents found me a placement at a stable in the middle of nowhere, which would earn me some pocket money and give me experience for the future. The people were nice, and I was even promised a horse to own in the coming days - everything was planned out perfectly.

But the moment I stepped foot on this island, it rejected me. Violently. The natural energy surged through my veins, bitter and angry. I didn't belong. It shocked me to the core, and I had to use the excuse of seasickness to not alarm the ferryman who had been charged with looking after me. Jorvik did not want me, but I was here despite everything.

My parents wanted me to learn some independence, while still gaining an equestrian education and upbringing. At sixteen, I was pretty sheltered. Home-schooled, I barely ever left the family ranch. My parents were the best - high school sweethearts who still managed to show each other love after who-knows-how-many years of being together. They just wanted me to have the best life-

they couldn't have known that my inner energy, which they had chalked down to natural adrenaline and excitement at life, would result in an internal battle against a literal island.

Giggling brought me out of my thoughts, as I looked around confused. Standing maybe five paces away was a pony - a fluffy, short-legged thing, trussed up in hot-pink tack - and on top of that, two girls riding double. They couldn't have been anywhere near half my age, but I attempted a smile. They were only small.

"You're from a horror movie!" One squealed, but the noise turned into peals of high-pitched laughter, as I felt my cheeks blush dark red. Not again. "What sorta weirdo are you?"

They didn't give me a chance to respond, turning away and trotting off down the hill, their giggling becoming gradually quieter. Of course. The mask. It got everyone, in different ways. Some people politely attempted to ignore it, with a confused first glance or a suppressed chuckle. Some people assumed a random traumatic backstory and applauded me on my bravery. Others, just like those girls, mocked it, because they'd never seen anything like it except in cheesy horror movies.

My fingers moved instinctively to the thick white leather, curving just below my nose. I always likened it to a 'day of the dead' mask, due to the almost skeletal markings, but it had a feline look to it, with two notches at the top which intercepted my hair. There was no real tragedy behind it, or the reason I liked to wear it. The truth was that I found it at some rock band's merchandise stall, and was surprised by the quality. Well... that was half of the truth, anyway.

Jorvik didn't know me well enough to hear the rest, not then.

Groaning, I began to struggle to my feet, my legs half-asleep and buzzing with the early stages of pins and needles. My shifts at the stable would begin at midday, and the sun was blazing its way towards the centre of the sky, at an almost alarming rate. It couldn't be the same sun which lazily drifted across the open skies back home, on the ranch which I longed for. Everything here was different - everything seemed determined to make me feel unwelcome.

Walking slowly down the hilly path, I crossed into the village which I'd travelled through so quickly before, led by a map with extensive markings. Quietly, I was looking for the rumours which hung around this place like the heavy cobwebs in the old barn back home - druids, magic and mystery, connected by mysterious rune-covered stones. I found nothing but bold silence, daring me to look further and be even more disappointed.

The stable which the village centred around was quiet, with a mix of older and younger riders going about their daily lives. The horses there - because everyone had a horse in Jorvik, or so it seemed - were fairly similar in coat, if not in stature. Long haired, fairly stocky and mostly in lighter colours, pale browns and beiges and buckskins, they were being groomed, ridden and petted by their owners, milling around with a sense of youthful carelessness which naturally accompanied summer. There was no more popular summer riding camp location than Jorvik, after all.

It would, I thought, be an interestingly pretty and quiet place during winter.

Crossing an ornate, antique-looking stone bridge, I began my ascent to the stable which I'd been sent to: Firgrove. The river, a sleek, shimmering body of water in the late-morning light, accompanied me to a crossroads, where I had to part with it and move left. The busier side of Jorvik lay to the right, built up towns and stables, and ahead was a winding, forested road to a more isolated, trail-orientated community, or so I'd been told. My path led me upwards - an uphill stretch which made me desire a horse for practical reasons, if nothing else.

Only once did I see another person, a rider atop a tall, athletic horse easily identifiable as an Arabian from the unique head shape. I stood aside, waiting on the long mountain grass, secretly relieved for a chance to take a breathe and admire the surrounding countryside. Pine trees, not quite orderly, littered the area, and I could see the beginning of a twisting path towards the walls of Firgrove.

It was remarkable in that it seemed almost Viking-esque, since the walls were huge, sharpened logs surrounding a slightly intimidating wooden entrance. Even if my insides sometimes churned as they recognised the nature of this place, so different from everything I had left behind, I could appreciate it for its natural beauty.

Once the rider passed, with a smile and a friendly nod, I began my ascent once more. Focusing on every step taking me closer to the stable, and the cozy room in the inn which my legs were yearning for - an old-fashioned four-poster bed with grandma-style flowery sheets and woollen blankets - I made my way ever closer, until the walls greeted me, so close that I could see every splinter and natural mark on the wood. I had made it.

"Ryn! No one's been giving you trouble, have they?" A warm, motherly voice called to me as I rounded the corner and entered the communal area of the stable - Felicity, Firgrove's stable manager. "I've given the summer kids a talking-to, after the fuss when- well, y'know. Everyone should feel comfortable here."

"I can't expect people to be instantly cool with a masked person wandering around." Looking down at the stone-flagged ground, scattered with hay and the familiar smell of horses, I shrugged. "I went to Silverglade."

"Beautiful village." She nodded, looking back at the stable seemingly instinctively as a young boy struggled to convince his pony that it had to wear a bridle to be ridden. "Stand to the side a little more, Nathan- that's it, you've got it!" As the kid slipped the bridle onto the pony and began to fasten it, she turned back to me. "Did you visit the runestones?"

"I didn't feel anything." Felicity was the only person I'd confided in about my inner feelings. I wasn't stupid - I didn't automatically assume that I was a witch or anything, or that it even was magic - but the rumours had given me a little hope, blended with curiosity, that my visit had dashed. "Maybe it's just nerves."

"That's likely. I don't put much trust in the legends myself, but I thought maybe they'd make you feel a bit better." She smiled kindly, but I recognised the thoughts behind her expression - the matter was over, in her eyes. Just nerves, I consoled myself, it was just nerves. Nothing more. "Ready to start your first day of work?"

"Ready as I'll ever- be..."

That... was strange. For a moment, before I followed Felicity into the stables and settled myself into mundane Jorvik summer life, I could've sworn I saw a flash of blue, just at the corner of the entrance. Bright, unnatural blue, and a... it must've been exhaustion from the walk, but my eyes decided that the blue... it had a bushy, quivering... tail?