The New Druid

Cathal sat on a rock resting his chin on his interlocked fingers and stared out towards the sea. The druid had saved him, despite his best efforts to kill it. He ground his teeth, he was so consumed by the thought of the druid, he had momentarily forgotten he had hated the wolves just as much. If they had never taken his wife then Una would have had a mother and maybe then... He shook his head, Cathal never shirked responsibility, it was his fault Una was gone.

He stood and slung his bow over his back, it would be a long walk back to the village, but the time would be good for thinking. There was much on his mind. The sun hardly touched these stones, they were damp and covered in slick green moss. The stream jolted from side to side avoiding the larger rocks while sweeping the smaller ones away. Cathal carefully crept through the water, he was in no rush to return home without completing his mission, but he would need to grab more arrows to continue his hunt. The root that separated the cliffs from the meadow towered over Cathal, even though he was a larger man. A flock of crows cawed, and swirled around a place by the root, pecking at each other for a bite of the prize. A bird took off and revealed a human hand limply reaching to the sky. His jaw dropped and he sprinted up the rocks, waving his arms and howling. The birds scattered in fear.

Cathal jogged to a stop and looked down at the corpse. It was Orin, what was left of him. The old drunk was covered if rotten fruits and ripped apart by scavengers. Cathal averted his eyes and covered his mouth. The baker had mentioned Orin earlier, and Cathal didn’t have to guess what happened to the man. The drunk was a lot of things, but Cathal had never thought he would be right. He picked up the body with a fire in burning in his chest. There were bones scattered around the root, and Cathal bit his thumb to steady his anxious hands. He would give this man a funeral, he deserved at least that much. Cathal closed his eyes and chanted a prayer to the bones, and he headed towards the ocean.

He approached the body by the riverside with two bundles of sticks, one in either arm. He pulled the extra pair of boot strings out from his pouch, figuring he could just grab another pair once he stopped home, and he had nothing else that could build a raft. He tied the final knot and rested Orin on the row of sticks, placing his Cloak over the man.

“Orin, I only know you by name, but I hope I am enough to help you find your way back into the cycle of life.” Cathal gently pushed the raft off of the stone holding it in place, and clapped his hands together, sticking his elbows far to the side. “The Grand elm passes life to us through the water, and the water passes us through to the afterlife. May your next life be blessed.” The prayer was supposed to end with “...as blessed as this one.” But it didn’t seem appropriate given the circumstances. The raft held together, and headed to the end of the world, and disappeared over the waterfall and into the ocean.

Cathal looked out at the ocean remembering his wife. “I hope you're watching over Una for me dear, something’s not right.” He waited until sunset, and then he crossed over the root. After what happened to Orin, he anticipated unwanted guests to be waiting by his door.

Cathal walked into the village, it was quiet but all of the villagers stood at their little windows, peering out as if hunting a deer. Torches illuminated the road before him as a small group stood at the guard post stairs. Cathal wrapped his fingers around his knife and waved his free hand in a non-threatening gesture.

“Neighbors, what brings you here?” He asked.

“Cathal, where have you been?” The baker said. The mob behind him whispered amongst themselves, spreading nasty rumors no doubt.

“I was searching for my daughter. As you know she is missing.” Cathal said with a scowl.

“She was talking to the blasphemer, She believes in those old myths.” A man said from the crowd.

“You mean Orin? The man you killed. He was a shepherd just like you, is this anyway a community should behave?” Cathal felt a cold sweat on his wrist, running towards his knife.

“We didn’t kill him. We only exiled’em.” The baker said while folding his arms.

“I was outside the roots. I saw his body. I saw the bones of others. The push off the root kills them, there’s a mighty long drop on the other side of that tree's limb.” Cathal said pointing a finger at the distant wooden barrier.

“That’s a lie. No one can Journey outside the roots.” The baker said angrily.

“Old friend, That’s not a law of the earth mother, it from the Grand Elm. You sound like you’re the blasphemer.” Cathal narrowed his eyes fixing his glare on the baker who glowed red under his torchlight.

“Armund says that we’re only makin’ the earth mothers angry.” Another shepherd said.

“The post guard has no duty to the beliefs of the village. We’ve always been separate from the village and its religion. My daughter wouldn’t change that now.” Cathal licked his lips, he didn’t want to have to fight all these men, the village would never forgive him.

“Maybe Armund is right? Maybe It’s the post guards causing the Earth Mother to curse us.” The baker said over his shoulder.

Cathal’s ears burned red, and he took a deep breath like his wife always told him to whenever he felt mad. “If the curse is from blasphemy then it should be gone soon. If it is from apathy, then why would the mainlanders agree to my conditions. They would have forced me and Una to go to the church with the rest of you.”

“That’s a fair point.” A young voice said in the mob, he was quickly hushed by a neighbor.

“Enough, let’s bring him to Armund.” The baker spat.

The mob started muttering, they were uncertain. Cathal loosened his grip on his knife. No one else needed to die today. “How about you all sleep on it. Bring Armund here tomorrow and let’s see what he has to say.” He bore these men no grudges, but no one would stop him from finding Una, or at least what happened to her.

“No need to wait. I hustled on over to see what was the commotion.” Armund took a deep breath and leaned onto his cane. His crescent moon eyes fixed on the dagger on Cathal’s hip.

The breath lodged itself in Cathal’s throat. How did this decrepit old man sneak up on him? “Father Armund,” Cathal said with a stony face. For the second time today, Cathal felt he was staring death in the face. Not even the wolves were this frightening.

“Cathal, you--” But Armund was interrupted by a young boy running up the dark hill, screaming his lungs out. However, as he got closer the screams revealed they were not horror, but shrieks of joy.

“Everyone. Everyone. The sheep. The sheep.” The little boy was crying with a smile from ear to ear. “The wool is back.”