As soon as I closed my eyes I was in a compound of bare dirt and worn grass atop Tara and a pilgrim asked if I was the Arch Druid. I said, “What if I am?”
He showed me a stone. It fit in his palm and was smooth, with incised grooves and spirals. “What is this?”
“That is full of energy,” I told him. “It is not yours. You were given it in a desperate moment. You feel you must complete another’s mission.”
“Do you know where I must take it?”
I said, “I know where it must be, yes. And now I must lead you.”
“Tell me and I will take it myself.”
“Simply by touching that stone, accepting it, you have mingled energies with it. Others now feel they must find you because of this.”
“But I do not want it.”
“Even if you threw it into the sea that surrounds us, your energy will forever draw them. You must carry it until you set it in its place. And I must lead you because you have brought it to me. My energy is now involved.”
“You say energy.”
“Yes. All things have energy, and once things touch, or exist in a single glance or thought, their energies mingle. They become connected. Do you see yon orchard?”
He glanced where I gestured. “Yes.”
“Were you to spot an apple and think to yourself it looked good, you would link to it. Were you to pluck the apple its energy would mingle with yours. Eat it, and the energies would merge.”
“But why this burden of chase and threat?”
“Do you not think the tree resents your plucking?”
“Then I would pick up a fallen apple.”
“Ah, but that fallen apple has mingled its energies with what ever it touched; the grass, the ground. Insects that wandered by or crawled on it. This is why we do not allow our cattle to graze in orchards; although they love to eat fallen apples, their shit would mingle its bad energy with the trees’ and fallen fruit’s energy.”
“And yet you revere your oaks, and they grow uncultivated, where wild things may touch them.”
I held up an acorn. “This becomes that.” I pointed to a huge oak. “That is how we grow in spirit, if we can understand. Oaks are the strongest wood. They live for hundreds of years. They absorb the energy around them and become wise and strong.” I pointed high on the tree. “Do you see the silver?”
“Yes. Mistletoe.”
“We harvest it to release some of the wisdom it has fed on, from the tree.”
“Does not your cutting it change the energy?”
“We harvest with golden blades, to keep the energy pure. The plant remains unchanged until fire releases its spirit.”
“Yet it eats those trees.”
“And if one is what one eats, then the mistletoe has absorbed the oak’s experience of all the energy it has taken into itself over its many centuries. It has partaken of the tree’s wisdom.”
He nodded, perhaps finally seeing my words clearly. “How does one become Arch Druid, to know all these things?”
“It requires a lifetime. And a willingness. And a propensity. It requires an openness to energy and spirit. It requires quick, deep thought and a strong body. It requires all one’s being.”
“Are you chosen?”
“Who would choose? We are called by spirit. When grown, we may volunteer, to be approved by others of our ilk. To be Arch Druid one must have ability, willingness, and approval.”
“And such as you would lead me with this stone to its place.”
“Those who seek you now seek me as well. All know to come here for the Arch Druid.”
“You would be protected here.”
“I need no protection.”
“Yet you flee, and hide, with me.”
“If I am not here, I may be anywhere. Is that fleeing, or hiding?”
“Yet you say you will lead me.”
“I lead you to that stone’s place, that you may put it back where it belongs, because the stone requires it of me.”
“Despite possible attack.”
“If we confront opponents on the way, I do so with no fear.”
“You have powers.”
“We all do. And powers flow through and around us.”
His gaze flicked past me.
I glanced back to find Deirdre had joined us. She stood in simple white, a necklace of silver disks on her breast, her hair shining golden red in the bright sunlight. I smiled and, turning back to the pilgrim, said, “That is my consort, a lady of brokenhearted sorrow.”
“Why does she sorrow?”
“She knows the world as it is yet sees it as it could be.”
“She is a scryer, then. Can she see my fate?”
“Perhaps it is better to ask her other things, or nothing at all.”
“When do we leave here?” he asked, shuffling his feet.
“Now.”
Again he glanced at Deirdre, squinting as if she shined. “And your consort?”
“She will do as she must.” I touched her shoulder, kissed her forehead, and turned to lead the pilgrim away from Tara and to his destiny as he carried the stone.
Here my dream became treeshadow, seaswell, and mist.
/// /// ///
