Whispers Of Peace And War

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3

Whatever the old man had done, it seemed to have settled the Gaeradine soldier, though Mythrd couldn't tell from the man's face. That black war paint, thick and crusted, covered most of his features, with only gaps where fearsome looking demon eyes left his own eyes uncovered. He looked thin, almost gaunt, as most Gaeradine did, but this seemed worse than the other invaders, seen from a distance, captured and marched to the capital past the village.

The fire gave them welcome relief, not least for Gythryn, who had put on her dress as soon as she had stopped threatening to kill the old man. She still seemed angry, though Mythrd couldn't understand why. She knew she wasn't a harlot and that she had undressed for the best of reasons. Still, the words of the old man, his mere presence, even, seemed to irk her.

As for the old man, himself, after telling them he was the 'Father of the Green', he had moved to sit against one of the three huge monoliths, watching them with amused eyes. No matter what the old man said, Mythrd could not believe what he was that long-lost immortal. A Guardian? Never! No-one saw the Guardians. Not even when that old religion was at its height.

Taking a walk around the perimeter of the standing stones, Mythrd collected as much wood as he could find. There was more, outside the stone circle, but he hesitated to set one foot outside the area of protection until morning. He could still hear the howls of the Traal, in the distance now, and the deeper, echoing howls of wolves, too. He didn't fancy becoming food for either.

"They'll not bother us in here, boy. Not to worry." A long, thin, parchment skinned hand rested on his shoulder, almost causing Mythrd to jump out of the stone circle. "They like easy prey, they do, and they'll not step beyond the aura."

"Aura?" Mythrd picked up one last stick, his arms full, now. Giving the old man a squinting glance, he began to head back to the fire, the old man falling in at his side. "I don't see anything."

"Ah, that's right. You aren't attuned." Nodding his head, his beard drooping to his waist, the old man clasped his hands behind his back. "Yet."

That sounded ominous to Mythrd. Almost like a threat, but he felt no animosity from the old man. As they walked, he tried to watch the old man without making it obvious. Despite his bowed legs, bent back and wizened appearance, the old man seemed quite spry, moving with little difficulty without his staff. The light of the moons shone upon his bald pate and the grey, straggly strands of hair seemed healthy, despite how messy it looked. The old man had no braids in his hair. He had never lost family. If he ever had any.

"Thank you for your help, by the way." He watched as the old man scooped up a stick that Mythrd had missed. He didn't seem to have any trouble bending down. "I don't believe you're the 'Father of the Green', you know. So, why not tell me your real name? I'm My ..."

"Mythrd. Yes, I know. The girl that doesn't like clothes is Gythryn. The Gaeradine is called Agarang. Names are the face we show others when we want them to see us." The old man lifted his head as he spoke, as though listening to something only he could hear. Mythrd didn't understand what he meant about names. It sounded like nonsense. "As for me? Well, you're right, I'm not the Father of the Green. Made you think, though, eh? I'm Kaninzir. You could say this is my home."

The old man, Kaninzir, spread out his arms, indicating the entire clearing within the forest. The stone circles, the sky, everything within sight. Mythrd didn't believe that, either. Apart from dark patches upon the soil, near the three monoliths, where travellers had set fires in the past, there were no signs of habitation within the stone circle. No hut. Not even a lean-to. Nothing but stones and soil, grass and trees.

"What is an 'aura'? You said I'm not 'attuned' to see it. Is it a magical shield? A barrier that creatures cannot cross?" They had reached the fire, now, where Mythrd could see Gythryn, laid on the ground near the Gaeradine. 'Agarang', if he were to believe Kaninzir. "Whatever it is, I'm glad of it. I doubt we would have survived the Traal."