The Steward and the Sorcerer James Peart (read my book .TXT) 📖

“Tell me later.  For now, go into the Cush and rest up.”  He studied Daaynan, as if committing his face to memory.  “So, it is true.  You have been made Druid.  The last one of your kind.”  He shook his head in wonder.

Mereka led them into a larger room filled with comfortable, yet, Simon thought, brashly coloured seats and soft, plump cushions, its walls adorned with colourful prints of varied design and subject matter.  “Sit down, gentlemen.  I’ll see about your meal.”  He vanished promptly, leaving the trio alone in each other’s company once again.

Daaynan seated himself, displacing a portion of his cloak to get comfortable, and looked at the Englishmen who were sitting opposite him.  He raised an eyebrow at them.  “The name?” he asked.

Simon and Christopher looked at each other again.  Christopher was smiling lop-sidedly.  “And the robe he’s wearing, not to mention the décor,” Simon waved his hand about the room.

Daaynan nodded.  “Mereka is a Shiftling, a distant cousin of the Shapeshifters that used to populate this region.  There are only a handful of them left and they are rumoured to inhabit lands far north of Brinemore.  They can change form into just about anything they see, including some objects.  Mereka is different in that he can only change from one gender into the other- male to female- and back.  Typically for his kind, one side is dominant, in his case the male side.  He is also rumoured to have the second sight- he senses things about people, sometimes things they don’t know about themselves.  It never occurred to me that you would find him unusual.”

“Why should it,” Christopher muttered.

“You are surprised by Mereka’s appearance, his being two genders?”

Simon shook his head.  “No, there are people like that in England.  It’s just that we’re not used to seeing them.  And, frankly, the idea of you being friendly with one...it’s caught us a little bit off-guard, to be honest.”  Christopher nodded his agreement.  “Your sort...” he began, but Daaynan cut him off.  Simon could see that his arms and shoulders were trembling slightly, though his voice remained neutral.  “My sort?  Let me tell you about my sort, Englishman.  We have been entrusted with the care of these lands since the beginning of recorded history, and that includes everyone living in them, even and perhaps especially Mereka and his sort.  So, before you make assumptions as to who I can consort with, I would ask you to bear mind that he is a friend of mine and may prove very useful in helping us to achieve our aims.”

“That’s what it’s all about with you, isn’t it?” Simon countered, his voice rising in anger.  “You use people, like you’re using us to help you stand against Longfellow, just as you used Iridis to further the same end.  Now you’re doing the same to this poor soul who’s probably hiding out here at the edge of some nowhere town in the hope of being safe.  But he’s not safe from you, is he?  We weren’t, and we lived in a world that’s light years from this one.  You abducted us and filled our heads with nonsense about saving the Northern Earth from evil.  I’ve met individuals like you, you see.  You’re filled with a missionary zeal- you call it a sense of purpose or being entrusted with the care of the people but you can call it what you like, it amounts to interference with another’s free will- and you won’t stop when this is over...your devotion to your cause will never end.”  Simon was close to tears.  Christopher reached out a hand to touch his shoulder but he stubbornly shrugged it away, getting himself under control once more.

Daaynan’s face softened and when he answered Simon his tone was gentle.  “Very well, Englishman. You have been treated badly, though you must understand that I had a very good reason for bringing you and your friend here, and that reason has not altered any.  Now we can sit here and argue the motion for and against continuing but it would be more productive to turn our focus on the task ahead of us, do you not agree?  I understand that this isn’t your world and you have every right not to get involved.  You’re probably right, when we are finished in our task there will be other dangers, ones of which I am currently not aware.  However, I promise you this: when I have confronted the Steward and the King Iridis and these lands are no longer living under the threat posed by their actions, then I shall do everything in my power to return you both to your England.”

“Why don’t you do it now?” Christopher said.  “Why don’t you send us back?”

Daaynan turned his gaze on him.  “I told you before.  My magic will not work.”

“But yesterday you lit that fire using your fingertips.  I saw you.”

The Druid’s voice was filled suddenly with bitter rancour. “And that is about all I can do.”

A voice behind them spoke.  “Is there something wrong?”  Mereka stood at the room’s threshold, carrying a tray on which rested plates of piping hot food and drink.

“It is nothing, old friend,” Daaynan said.  “My companions and I are tired from our journey and it has got the better of our tempers.”

“I have just the remedy for that,” Mereka said, placing the tray on the table between them.  He lifted plates of ham, potatoes and fresh fruit and handed them to each of the guests, portioning out knives and forks and gesturing them to eat.  Simon began to apologise but Mereka dismissed his words with an impatient wave as if to say his apology could wait until after the meal.  They needed no encouragement, the Englishmen in particular forgetting their manners as they wolfed down the fare, which was excellent.  Mereka lit a fire on a large hearth at one end of the room.

After the meal was finished, Mereka turned to Daaynan and spoke.  “Now, Druid,