“No,” he replied, steeling himself. “I need you to answer me, Neodesha. I need you to tell me the truth. Do you know my uncle, Tyrus of Kenatos?”
“Yes and no.”
“What does that mean? I asked you to speak the truth!”
“I know Tyrus of Kenatos. I also know that he is not your uncle.”
The words struck him like another blow. He nearly opened his eyes in amazement. He struggled with the surging fury that awakened inside of him.
“I thought…”
He felt her finger on his lips. “You are so young, Annon. But I respect the strength that brought you here. You saved my tree. Not one man in a thousand who was not a Vaettir would have done that willingly. They would have fled from certain death. You faced my enemies and you destroyed them and saved me. Because you did that, I will trust you. I am going to kiss you, Annon. That is what men seek me for. The kiss of a Dryad brings wisdom. It will help you to remember that which you have forgotten. It will prevent me from stealing your memories when you look at me. I speak the truth, for you commanded it of me. I do not do this for most mortals. But I trust you, Annon. I trust you will not harm me with this knowledge.”
He started to breathe heavily. He felt her kneel in front of him. He began to panic.
“Will it harm me?” he asked.
“Yes. But not in the way that you think. Memories can be very painful. The pain lessens in time as we forget. Except for you. You will remember everything. Every word ever spoken to you. Every slight you have suffered. Every joy, every thrill. Your memory will be perfect. And thus you will gain great wisdom.”
He was about to tell her he wanted to think on it. He was opening his mouth to say the words when he felt her lips press against his. The sensation of her mouth, the smell of her skin lasted a moment, but he felt his mind awakening. It was as if he had been asleep his whole life. Scales began to fall from his thoughts, allowing in bursting rays of light. His entire life was before him.
“Look at me,” she said softly.
Annon opened his eyes.
“What’s the benefit of dragging up sufferings that are over, of being unhappy now just because you were then? There is good in doing this. We must not flinch when we look at the past. We must strive to learn from our mistakes. So we must learn to bear and endure. The sorrow will one day prove to be for your good.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The face that Annon saw was young—a girl not even his own age. Her hair was the color of wheat and her eyes such a pale blue-green that they were almost ivory. She smiled at him, almost timidly, and he noticed that she wore a rich green wool gown. There was an embroidered pattern on the thin wrist cuff that extended up the side of her arms. She could have been any damsel in Wayland by the look of her.
He was startled and supposed it showed on his face, for her expression turned impish seeing his reaction.
“And what were you expecting, Annon? A gown made of oak leaves or moss? Twigs in my hair? Claws instead of fingers?” Her smile was mischievous. “I am Aeduan, just as I told you. But I have lived for several thousand years.”
Annon stared at her in surprise. “How is that possible?”
She smiled demurely. “There is a tree in Mirrowen, Druidecht. One taste of its fruit grants eternal life. I have bitten its fruit as part of my binding. I was sixteen. That is the age one becomes a Dryad, you see. That is the age we are reborn.”
Her pale eyes were transfixing.
Annon cleared his throat. “So I am immune to your magic now?”
She nodded intently, pleased. “Rarely do I get to speak to another Aeduan. To learn about the world and how it has changed. Many have misperceptions about my kind. Everything I tell you, you will remember. You will come back here again, Annon. We are connected now, you and I. You will tell me about your world. I will tell you about mine.”
She knelt in front of him, so close he could feel the heat radiating from her. She looked eager to talk to him.
“The damage to your tree,” Annon said. “It did not harm you?”
She shook her head. “The tree is injured. But I am not. We are not connected that way. I do not feel her pain. She does not feel mine. What we share is much deeper.” Her voice fell lower. “We share memories. She is the receptacle. I am the engraver. You would not understand how it works, but I will try and explain it. I can take a man’s memories and implant them into the tree. What he no longer remembers, I hold safe. We are the guardians of great secrets, Annon. The past long forgotten. Yet the spirit magic that makes this work is very vulnerable. As you saw, I could not defend the tree from deliberate attack. I can only rely on others to protect me. Had you not come, I would not have died. I cannot die. But those memories would have been lost forever and I would have been trapped in Mirrowen with no way to return to the mortal world. This is my home, after all.”