Page 15 of The Pastel Prince

Beirach was stepping into tan breeches when Tezen untangled herself from Atreil’s mane to peek again. I got a look most foul from the pixie.

When the archdruid turned, a plain white shirt in his hand, his expression was firm. “I called to you both to halt. Several times. Why did you not heed my call?”

Tezen and I exchanged glances. “I cannot speak for anyone other than myself. I heard you but was so swept up in the happy memories of the glen and the pond that…I acted immaturely.”

“Yeah, same. My father always said I charged head first into things without thought, then wondered why I ended up covered in pig shit.”

“I am not scolding you, for that is not my place. I simply wished to hear why my calls went unheeded.” He walked over to me, his face showing the drain of that impromptu shift. Knowing what I did from seeing my father and siblings transform, he would require rest and soon, for his magicks would be severely depleted. He looked at me, sky blue eyes rife with concern. “I do not wish to be your parent, Kenton, for you are a man grown.”

I felt most unlike a man grown at the moment. “We should have listened,” I softly said and got a nod of chestnut head. “How did you know that there was danger in the pond?”

His sight left me to touch on the clearing. “There is always a residual signature that all mages leave behind. An identifying crackle in the air as the magicks lingers. I could sense the dark magicks. Taste it on the wind molecules. It was a scent of death that I, sadly, am familiar with…”

His explanation drifted off. I looked at Tezen, who shrugged. “So you felt the magicks. Your experience served us well. Thank you,” I said, yanking him from his fog.

“No thanks are necessary. I have grown fond of you both and would see no harm befall you. We shall ride in a moment. I need to finish dressing.”

When he was clothed and in his saddle, we sat staring out at the clearing. “Perhaps we should take measures to protect any other foolish chits from leaping into that water.”

“The water may not be tainted at all as the residual magicks feels less a poison of the earth and more a powerful curse that traveled a good distance. Still, it would be best to warn others, and your thoughtfulness shines through yet again. If you could ask the woods for aid? My mind is most willing, but my body is weak.”

Knowing the muscle that he carried, I could never think of him as weak. “Yes, I will gladly.”

I slid from my saddle and walked out into the clearing, small gnats and butterflies clouding around me as I neared the pond. Sadness overtook me as I kneeled on the soil, placed my hands on the dirt, and closed my eyes. My fingers dug into dry loam, curling into the soil, as my magicks flowed out of me into the earth. Calling upon the wild rose bushes and berry brambles that cluttered the clearing, their roots began to grow and spread. The sun was hot on my head as I channeled my power into the plants. Sweat ran down my neck, soaking my braids, as new shoots erupted from the ground. They tangled around each other, knitting into a thicket so dense that a hare would have trouble wiggling through. It was exhausting spellcasting.

When it was done, I lifted my hands, the soil sifting through my fingers, and sat on my heels feeling some pride but also great melancholy.

“You did well,” Beirach said from behind me. “Come, let us leave this place.”

He offered me his hand. I slid my gritty fingers over his. He pulled me gently to my boots, his gaze touching upon my damp cheeks. He seemed ready to speak but said nothing as he laced his fingers with mine. We walked to our horses. The pond where I had spent so many hours of playtime with loved ones now hidden behind a thicket of thorns.

Beirach helped me mount, and we rode to the north and to the great hill that looked down upon the grove of my mother’s people. Healers and earth druids, joyous elves all, who served the goddess in all ways. My prayers to that goddess floated skyward, heard or unheard, I had no way of knowing.

Seated on our horses at the top of the hill and looking down at the glen, I knew Danubia had not heard my pleas. The villagethat sat at the base of the hillock was deathly still. There was no sound of voices or the soft bleats from the goats that roamed about. Nothing could be heard but the sound of insects and the wuthering of a lonely wind through the trees.

“We will stake the horses here,” Beirach said, his voice low with concern. His sight moved from the lifeless community of healers to me. “This way they will not wander down and graze until we ascertain that the illness has not contaminated the soil. Kenton, can your magicks help in that regard?”

I nodded dully. My eyes locked on the small huts. No smoke rose from the chimneys. My skin erupted in cold shivers.

His warm hand came to rest atop mine where it lay on my thigh. My gaze moved to him.

“I know this is difficult. If you wish, I shall go myself to investigate and—”

“No, they are my family.” I swung my leg over and dropped to the ground.

“Then so it will be. Touch nothing, either of you,” Beirach stated as he glanced from me to Tezen. “We will enter and observe. Kenton, do you know where the home of the wilder warden of this valley is?”

“I do, yes, it is my aunt and uncle’s home.”

“Perhaps it looks worse than it is,” Tezen kindly offered.

After tethering the horses to a tree where they could nap and browse, we made our way down the hill, the tall summer grasses tickling my fingertips, sharing small sparks of earth energy with me that I sorely needed. My legs felt wobbly still, but I followed behind Beirach, who had donned his dark bark armor and carried his staff. We found several songbirds lying in the grass, encased in stone, beaks open as if struck down mid-song.

Tezen flew beside me, her picks out, her face sternly set. The stillness was unsettling. Our first discovery that the stoneillness had struck here was finding a young lad of perhaps six cuddled up with a small goat kid behind a rock. The same rock that my older brother Lyari had leaped off of during a moon festival and had broken his arm. I was just a toddler then, but I recalled seeing him land awkwardly and the howls of pain that followed. He’d quickly been tended to, his bone mended, and spent the rest of the night being fawned over by several village girls who fed him fruit tarts to allow his splinted arm to rest overnight.

I choked on the memory and the sight of the little boy, eyes wide, his faithful pet in his arms.

“Is he family?” Beirach enquired. I shook my head. “Perhaps you should wait with the horses.”

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