Servant of the Bone Tree

Chapter 2: The Dark World

Emrys backed away slowly from the fairy, his fists raised in front of him. Fairies could be bad, or good. Only druids knew which to trust, and he was not going to risk it. He did not have his axe, but he still intended to fight.

“Would you calm down, newcomer,” the fairy said. “Why don’t we introduce ourselves to each other. My name is Dara, and I am steward here, in the palace of the Bone Tree. What is your name?”

“Stay away from me. I am no trespasser; I came here by accident. Do not curse me.”

The fairy took a step closer. Emrys swung a fist in warning, hitting air. He backed away again, and his back was pressed against something rough and nobbled. The trunk of the tree. He could feel it swelling and shrinking against his back.

Dara chuckled. “You’re an interesting one,” he said. “I wouldn’t keep your back against that tree for long, by the way. I haven’t fed it today, and it’s quite hungry.”

A branch swung into Emrys’s chest, pressing him against the trunk. Emrys screamed and unraveled himself from the branch, stepping forward. Dara laughed out loud this time, almost weeping, as though it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.

Emrys stared at the fairy as he laughed. His fear left him: this fairy was more like a child then a threat, amused by the slightest things.

But how had he come here? It seemed as though his necklace had brought him here. But why?

Eventually the fairy stopped laughed. He came right up to Emrys and inspected him, taking a long look at his hair, his legs and his arms.

“A human has been brought to me, here to the Bone Palace,” Dara said, as though musing on a mystery. “How very entertaining. But there must be a reason.”

“I was holding this when I arrived.”

He pointed out his necklace. Dara inspected it for just a moment, before smirking. “This necklace is from the bone tree. No wonder it called you back. Did you feed it, and make a wish?”

“I spoke no wish out loud.”

“But you had a wish in your head? A task that you need to complete?”

Emrys thought of his sister, trapped in that mausoleum. He thought of Morgan, sat on his father’s throne. And Gwern, slowly growing old enough to take it.

“I have an enemy that I must kill, for the good of my Kingdom. Though I do not have the strength to kill them.”

“That would be it. Who is this enemy?”

“I’m not sure how to answer without upsetting you.”

“Oh, dear boy, I am not easily upset.”

“You won’t curse me?”

The thought of a curse amused Dara greatly. A huge smirk broke out on his face. “I wouldn’t curse such an interesting arrival.”

“The enemy is my cousin, Gwern. He claims to be the Chosen One.”

“Does he now? Well, that is interesting.”

“The druids say that the fairies have talked to them.”

“I doubt that. Fairies do not spend much time talking to humans anymore. We are too busy with our duties. I highly suspect your druids were lying. Though its impossible to know for sure. We are few and far between now, and I never leave the Bone Palace if I can help it.” Dara seemed to puzzle on this for a moment, but then he shrugged. “Well, I don’t particularly care. Chosen one or not, you are an entertaining presence in these halls, human.”

“Emrys. My name is Emrys.”

“Daughter of Eimear?”

Emrys’s blood ran cold at the mention of his mother’s name. How did this fairy know it? “Yes,” he said, shakily.

“Then you are even more interesting than I first thought, boy. Come, follow me as I attend my duties. Perhaps we can discuss a little more about your wish for strength to defeat your enemies. There may be some way that I can help.”

#

Emrys could not have really guessed on the type of duties that filled a fairy’s days. He supposed he would have guessed that they would worship the moon, create spells, brew potions, and practice their dark, magical powers.

But as he followed Dara around the bone palace, he saw that his expectations of a fairy’s life were wrong. Dara really was a steward. He swept the ruined halls of the palace. He polished crumbling furniture, removed cobwebs, and changed the sheets of untouched, dusty beds. After that, they went out to the grounds. Dara pulled up weeds and trimmed bushes, all the while humming gently to himself. It was a sad sounding tune that Emrys could have sworn he recognized, though he could not say where from.

As he worked, Emrys told him everything of his story. Of how he had gone to war and come back after being wounded. He told Dara of the fight that he had planned with Gwern in a few moons time, and how he needed to prepare for it. By the time he had finished, Dara was done with his duties. They sat down cross legged in front of the courtyard around the Bone Tree, in the ruined tower. Dara poured Emrys a cup of water, which Emrys was afraid to drink.

“It’s quite safe,” said Dara. “In fact, I’m sure it’s a lot cleaner than the water you get in your lands.”

“We tend to drink ale. Or wine.”

“Oh! Don’t speak to me of wine, how I miss wine.” He looked down at his cup of water, miserably. “It is a hard life, being a steward. One forgets to have fun, after a time.”

“Can you help me, or not?”

“I believe its important we build a friendship, young heir. Friendships are the foundation of favors.”

“I am desperate. And I don’t have a lot of time. Can you help me to get stronger? Is there anyone in the Dark World that can help me?”

Dara smirked again. “The truth is, with your injury you are not going to overcome this other young man. He will be in his courtyard now, being trained by the best of your warriors. He will come out strong and swinging, and your reactions won’t be able to best him.”

“That is not exactly helpful.”

“You are very impatient, aren’t you? Drink your water and take a breath.”

Emrys did as he was told. The water tasted strange, almost metallic. It had an old taste, as though it had passed through the rocks and mountains of some spring that had been there for a thousand years.

“There are other ways to get strength, other than training,” Dara explained. “In fact, relying on the physical body is such a primitive way of doing things. There was a time when my people spent a lot of time in Cwm, sharing our magic in return for wine, and a good night with a maiden. Your first axe-bearers could only earn the title when they were able access a blood-rage. A magic inspired rampage that gave them superhuman strength and speed, though it clouded their senses for a while.”

A blood-rage.

The old axe-bearers were written about in legend as being near the gods in strength and power. Emrys, like everyone else who heard them, assumed that those stories were just legends. Even the druids did not place much stock in them, instead believing that fairy magic had once been a refined, tasteful way of drawing on the powers of nature.

“Could I access a blood rage?”

“Perhaps. Though it isn’t for the faint of heart, and it may be even more difficult with your weakened body. A blood-rage may enhance you for a while, but you will feel the strain on your body once the blood-rage is through. Some people lose themselves in the red mist that descends when they start using magic. They lose their minds, and never end their rampage, until their bodies simply cannot take it anymore. Only the strongest warriors could bear the strain for enough time to make it useful. And let’s face it, with your wounded body you are far from the strongest of warriors.”

Emrys bowed his head. Then it was hopeless? He cursed the Sax who had stabbed him, and all their evil, imperialistic ways of living. They had already taken half of the lands of Cwm, reducing them to a tiny corner of their once vast green land. Now the Sax had taken from him personally: taken his strength, and his ability to claim the title that he had a right to.

“There’s another problem as well,” Dara continued.

“I asked you for help, fairy. So far all you are offering me is warnings.”

“Warnings should always come before help. No favor is done for free.”

Next to them, the bone tree swelled so wide that the wood of its trunk began to groan. Emrys shivered. Ever since he had arrived in the Dark World, he had felt the strange sensation that he was being watched and listened to. Now he was beginning to realize that it was the Bone Tree’s presence that he felt. It was no normal tree. Even when he was far away from it, he was sure that he could sense its pattern of respiration.

Dara watched Emrys, as Emrys stared at the bone tree. “You’re right to be frightened,” he said. “The bone tree is the foundation of the Dark World. Its roots spread across this plain, and it sees and knows all. Fairies only exist to care for it. In return, it offers magic. But only to those who give it the honor of serving it. If you want to use magic, then you must commit to returning here to the Dark World. You will have to live your life in servitude to the bone tree, and you will never be allowed to leave.”

“That isn’t a fair trade. My life, for a little magic?”

“It might not be fair, but it is what the bone tree asks. You cannot negotiate with it. It listens, but it never responds. Not with words, anyway.”

“When will I have to return here and care for this…tree?”

The fairy shrugged. “Perhaps the bone tree will grant you a few years of freedom? It will simply summon you back when it requires you to serve. You won’t be able to resist, and you won’t be able to leave again. Haven’t you ever heard of people disappearing, after they go to search wild places for fairies? This is the reason. They come here, they live, they work, and then they die.”

Emrys shivered. Of course he had heard those stories. They were one of the reasons that he, and so many other axe-bearers, were terrified of the very idea of fairies. They were the reason that mothers barely wandered far from their home, unaccompanied. No one wanted to be claimed by the mists.

“This trade doesn’t seem worth it.”

“Ah, well a desperate man must make a desperate trade. Besides, there are levels to power you can access when you accept the bone tree’s contract. Your first level will be entering the blood rage. The finest warriors can access higher levels of magic, allowing them to shout with force, or to summon the branches of the bone tree itself to slaughter their enemies. There are three levels of mage that the bone tree grants. The first level is that of a berserker. The second is a spell-sword, and the greatest level is a warlock. There have only been a handful of warlocks in history. The bone tree grants them eternal life, along side the ability to banish others to the dark world, and to commune with spirits. But those warlocks must eventually spend their eternal life completely in servitude, without any rest being granted to their soul.”

“Then there are warlocks still living here, serving the bone tree?”

“There are. Though their bodies have long since withered. Their spirits serve the bone tree now, invisible and unseen. Though I feel their presence occasionally. It feels like an icy chill when they are close. Quite unpleasant, though cooling in summer.”

Emrys took in all this information with ever widening eyes. He had never guessed at the possibilities of magic. The thought of all that power thrilled him, just as much as it terrified him.

He took a moment to ruminate on everything that Dara had said to him. All the sacrifices he would have to make. The time he would have to give to the bone tree, the risk that he would put his body through. There wasn’t even a guarantee he would be able to bear a blood rage. There was a risk he could be killing himself.

But what choice did he have? If he left this place now (if he even could) he would be back in that dark mausoleum. He would watch his sister slowly to freeze to death, and he would only grow weaker locked in there. Gwern would kill him easily when they fought.

If he went back, he would be dead. At least here, using magic from the Dark World, he had a chance. His contract with the bone tree might mean that he was nor heir for long. Unless he could find some way to escape it.

“Very well,” he said. “Show me how to make this contract with the bone tree.”

“My dear boy, you really are the most interesting thing to happen to me in a millennium,” said Dara.

He stood and went over to the bone tree. He ripped off a branch, and the broken wood gave off a hissing noise, like a wounded snake. Then Dara returned and handed the branch to Emrys.

Emrys held it, a feeling of trepidation in his heart. Just like the tree had been, the branch in his hand was throbbing. It was about half his height, and thick as his arm. It was heavier than it should have been, and Emrys could sense a feeling emanating from him. A feeling of hunger, and rage. He felt as though he were holding a live animal, rather than a tree branch.

“What now?” he asked.

“The bone tree is always hungry,” said Dara. “You must feed it. The same way that you fed that necklace of yours.”

Emrys went pale, but he understood. Dara handed him a blade, and Emrys dragged it along the skin of his palm. The cut wept and bled, and the blood seeped into the wood he was holding. The branch drunk it hungrily, absorbing it like a leech.

At once Emrys fell to the ground, pain blinding him. Dark whispers plagued his thoughts.