Elder Druid by India Drummond

Author:India Drummond
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Trindlemoss Publishing
Published: 2013-03-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Munro opened his eyes. The haze of his surroundings made everything seem unreal. Where light should have been, only softer shadows existed. If not for his Otherworld-enhanced vision, these strange, lifeless woods would have appeared pitch black. Lumbering to his feet, he glanced around, seeking out the peculiar person he’d spoken to before. Instead he found himself alone.

He moved with difficulty, as uncoordinated as if he were drunk. The best he managed was ungainly shuffling. Dead pine needles softened the floor of the wood, and he braced himself on the blackened trees as he passed. The trees shuddered as though they did not welcome his touch.

“Keep your pants on,” he muttered to the surrounding foliage. “I’m doing my best here.” He followed a meandering path. He found no clear trail on the ground, but the gaps between the trees led in only one direction. Every other potential route in the dense, dark forest seemed bleak and treacherous.

Finally, after a long, but vague amount of time of which he had no real grasp, he arrived at a peculiar structure. It looked like a house but appeared as though, rather than chopping down the trees and building with the raw materials, someone had coaxed the trees into a house shape. No light shone from the interior, so Munro stood for a moment, staring.

His instincts told him one doesn’t enter a dark house uninvited. On the other hand, the alternative was to remain outside. There didn’t seem to be anywhere else to go. He waited for a long while, pondering. His mind felt thick, as though he’d forgotten something important he should be doing but couldn’t recall what. Part of him believed if he tried long enough, he would regain some clarity. Another part worried what little comprehension he had would soon slip away.

A clunking sound within the house startled Munro. Had he drifted off? He shuffled toward the doorway. “Hello?” he called.

He didn’t hear a response, so he moved deeper inside. The blackness within became more absolute, and even his sharp night-vision had difficulty interpreting shapes.

“Come,” a voice said from a room even deeper in the tree structure.

Munro moved toward the sound. The darkness lifted a fraction, and he peered inside. Ewain, his back to the door, bent over a wooden bench. On the workbench lay a dozen or more wooden bowls, each filled with a silvery liquid, the source of the faint glow.

When the ancient man straightened and turned to Munro, he beckoned the druid closer. “Come,” he repeated. “I’ve prepared something for you, to make you stronger.”

Munro did as commanded. “What is it?”

Ewain lifted a bowl. “Drink,” he said.

Although he accepted the vessel, Munro hesitated. “What is it?” he asked again.

With a sigh that sounded like the rustle of leaves, Ewain said, “A spirit tonic. The fluid will bind your soul closer to your body, improve your memory, help your coordination. If you’re hoping to stay awake, you need to drink.” When Munro didn’t respond, Ewain added, “You’re already dead.

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