Firebrand Read Free Page B

whispered gazing at the sky and pulling the baby closer to her. The Mage held his palm skyward. The darkness held a moment then seemed to lighten.
    Marcus pressed the heels of both hands to his eyes. “I must be dreaming.”
    “Not a dream. Your coming here has been foretold.”
    A thousand questions sprung into Marcus’ mind, but he asked none of them. “I don’t understand any of this,” Her said.
    “For over 6000 years, the Rowan has told of the coming.”
    Marcus’ head began to pound as he tried to make sense of what was happening to him. “Must be the whiskey, “ he muttered.
    The Mage continued. “The Rowan lives in the wood of an ancient tree whose roots are not in the ground, but in the branches of another tree. In exchange for use of some of the wood, the Druids gave Rowan the gift of long life and prophecy.” Tolhram reached into the pouch he had secured on his belt. He turned his hand palm up and blew across it toward Marcus. “Behold.”
    Marcus felt a stinging dust cover his face and closed his eyes against the burning. When he opened them, it was as though he saw the world in a glass orb. He could make out an old man with hooded eyes set close to a large nose. A generous mouth centered beneath. Lines of age and wisdom crossed his face in a grainy pattern. He seemed cloaked in the gnarled bark of a large tree with branches spread over a great distance. Around him tiny creatures danced. Looking more closely, Marcus could see they appeared human although they were neither male nor female. From time to time one or another would lean and speak to the old man, then unfurl wings of dancing starlight and fly away.
    “Incredible,” Marcus said in a voice shaded in awe. As he reached toward the apparition, it burst into a thousand points of light.
    “The Rowan is very wise and has told us often about the coming of the Killer of Everwood.” In reaction to the look on Marcus’ face, Tolhram spread his arms wide. “This place, any place where fairy folk dwell is Everwood, and you are the hunter who seeks to destroy it.”
    Marcus shook his head. “No, I am only a surveyor. This place is beautiful, and I admit, what is planned for here would change everything.” He looked around. “But I only see trees, moss, tall grass and fireflies and winged things.”
    “Is that all you see?” Tolhram asked.
    Marcus looked again and nodded.
    “Take my hand and step inside the ring.”
    “Ring?”
    “Look closer, Human. And when you step, be careful to keep one foot firmly outside.”
    Marcus looked down and could make out the sweep of a mushroom circle, cleared in the center but with mosses, grasses and tiny white flowers inside it. Carefully he took the hand that was offered and stepped forward.
    The moment his heel touched the ground, light exploded before him and he closed his eyes against it. Soon he could hear music and laughter and the sound of dancing. He cracked open his eyes and found himself among gaily-dressed people of doll-like size skipping and dancing, all spotlighted by flickering light. On a low bank near the revelers sat a group of men blowing on mouth organs, beating cymbals and tambourines, playing horns of flower bells and whistles made of reeds. Some of the merrymakers wore green coats or dresses with red caps, others clothes of moss or fallen leaves. All were small, but well-proportioned with a fair complexion and luxuriant hair falling over their shoulders.
    Beyond Marcus could see hills ablaze with a myriad of sparkling lights from homes made of bark, mushroom caps, and clay. The hills themselves seemed lit by thousands of jewels twinkling from every blade of grass. Flowers grew in abundance and there was fruit on the trees. Happiness, harmony and plenty seemed to reign.
    The tune of the fairy musicians was beautiful; plaintive, yet wild. Marcus became drawn into a melancholic forgetfulness, as the enchanting strains seemed to wrap around him. Sprites joined hands and circled him,