Iseldir stayed for two days before he had to go home. He hugged Em, told him to behave, shook Ruadan's hand, and galloped off. Em watched him go with a sinking feeling in his chest. The boy realized he had never been anyway from his family before.
Ruadan set him to work quickly. He sent the others outside with books to study. He and Em remained inside. He began with having Em read out loud to him in both Common and Druidic to make sure the boy was sufficiently literate. He had a large number of books stored in three chests. Em had never seen so many before—he wanted to read all of them. When he told his new teacher this, Ruadan laughed. "Half of them are written in languages you don't understand."
"Then teach me."
"In due time, lad. For now, I want you to show me what you can do." Ruadan pointed to the hearth. "Adelina will have to start preparing lunch soon. Can you light the fire for me?"
Em looked at the hearth, eyes glowing, and the fire blazed to life.
"Very good. Now can you hang the pot on the spit?"
The pot, freshly scrubbed by Alvarr, levitated in the air and floated over to the hearth. It hung itself on the spit. Em's eyes glowed the whole time.
"And fill it with water?"
The pail of water floated in the air and dumped itself into the pot.
"Well done, lad." Ruadan looked at him. "Do you say any spells in your head?"
"No. I just think about it, and it happens," Em explained.
"So it's not even silent magic, just raw power?"
The boy nodded.
"You're a special one indeed, then."
"My little brothers and sister could make stuff float as babies, when they didn't know any spells. I'm not that special," Em pointed out.
"Young magic-borns can perform limited instinctual magic. That's why magic-born babies can make objects float or perform small feats of magic. They are incapable of reason or communication, so they have to have instinctual magic. However, once they get older, this fades as their intelligence grows and they learn more spells. Yours, however, never went away and is extremely powerful."
Em's blue eyes were wide, and Ruadan realized he might have dumped too much information on the poor boy at once. "Your uncle taught you your spells, didn't he?"
Em inclined his head. "All the ones he knew. My da and my móraí taught me some, too."
"You learned all you could from your teachers in Sábháilte, yes?"
"Yes."
"A Druid usually stops their lessons around age eighteen. That places you eight years ahead of most Druidic magicians."
"I know."
"That means I won't be teaching you much Druidic magic. Instead, we will be focusing on your ability to amplify the power of your spells and starting your Dragonlord training. You're older than when the average Initiate begins his training."
"How late am I?"
"About five years." At Em's distressed expression, Ruadan sought to soothe him. "You'll learn fast, lad, don't fret. It won't take you long to complete your Dragonlord training. Then you can go home to Sábháilte."
"How long do you think it will take?"
"Three years."
"That's a long time!"
Ruadan stared at him levelly. "It took your father fifteen years to complete his training, lad."
Em blinked. "Oh," he said.
"Yeah." Ruadan stood up and went over to the middle chest. "This is where I keep my Dragonlord materials. The other children do not study from these since they are Druids."
"I'm a Druid," Em pointed out.
"You're a Dragonlord Initiate first and foremost. We're a scattered order, but an ancient and powerful one."
"My da calls the Dragonlords a people, not an order."
"The Druids are truly the only magical people left, in the fact that they possess their own language and culture. The Dragonlords are a group of magic-born families with a special gift passed from the oldest male in the family to his closest male relative. These men make up the Dragonlords, not their families."
"I didn't know that. My da never told me much about the Dragonlords."
Ruadan sighed. "Balinor prefers the Druids' way of life. His father died when he was young, so he always felt closer to his mother's people." He reached into the chest and grabbed a red, leather-bound book. "The Dragonic alphabet is on the first page. There's a quill and ink on the table over there, along with some paper. Copy it three times and try to memorize the sound each letter makes. I'll be testing you on it at the end of the day."
Em clutched the book to his chest. "Can I join the others outside?" He didn't want to be stuck inside this stuffy hut on such a beautiful spring day.
Ruadan chuckled. "You may. Don't let Alvarr distract you, he's very chatty."
"I won't!" Em raced outside with his book, ink and quills, and paper in hand.
Iseldir, son of Enjorran and Emerald, had always taken after his father. The man had died when he was six, along with his infant sister. Still, Iseldir remembered a great deal about Enjorran. They had the same icy blue eyes, tousled brown hair, and face structure. Many women found Enjorran handsome.
His best trait had been his ability as a Seer. The best in one hundred years, many had said. He did not sleep without having at least one prophetic dream. From the time he was five, Enjorran had kept a journal with all the details of his visions. When the Seer died, he left behind nearly fifty. Iseldir kept them locked in a chest in his hut. In another chest he kept his own vision journals.
Iseldir, as Enjorran's son, was expected to be a great Seer. And he was. His visions began at age five as well, and while his were not as frequent as his father's, he still had them quite often and they often came true. Iseldir constantly had to tell the camp's dream interpreter about what he dreamed, and she did her best to decipher them. Often, one Druid in each camp specialized in the art of dream interpretation. It was an ancient practice, and required extensive training and knowledge. If Iseldir dreams of five horses, it could mean five knights could try to attack the camp. If the sky was green and Iseldir saw five horses, a plague was about spread. Different numbers, colors, and situations symbolized different events and outcomes. Since Seers already had to deal with having the visions, dream interpreters were rarely Seers, just typical Druids.
By the time he was nine, they managed to prevent three attacks on Druid camps due to his visions. He was hailed as a hero, as all Vates—Druid Seers—were.
It was a lonely life, though. He could never keep any of his dreams secret, and his ability was uncommon enough that he had no teacher to guide him besides Enjorran. Iseldir had to navigate the art of Seeing by himself when Enjorran died. Iseldir grieved his father's death heavily, perhaps even more so than Emery and Maud. He lost a mentor, too, not just a father.
Visions mostly came in dreams. Sometimes, powerful ones suddenly took over when the Seer was awake.
As Iseldir headed home towards Sábháilte, a golden light suddenly appeared, and everything went black. He toppled off his horse.
His Sight was taking hold.
A giant golden throne dominated a large hall decorated with rich tapestries and beautiful stone work. The golden throne bore a red dragon seal on it. On it sat a King, but Iseldir could not seem to make out the details of his face. Behind the throne stood a hooded figure clad in green Druidic-style robes. One could not tell if the Druid was a man or woman. Iseldir just stared at the motionless King and Druid, mouth hanging open. Suddenly, the door to the throne room opened, and in poured dozens of knights. They bore the badges of many different kingdoms, fiefs, and estates. As one, they all bowed to the King and the Druid. Iseldir felt the need to bow, so he did as well. He did not know why, but he sensed deep within his bones that this pair deserved his respect and loyalty.
Iseldir returned to reality as swiftly as he had been pulled away from it. He was on the ground, on his back. He looked around frantically, and saw his faithful old white mare chewing dandelions about ten yards away. "Good girl, Snowflake," he managed to croak.
He sat up slowly, so that the blood wouldn't rush to his head. He put a hand to his forehead and felt a small gash running across it. He had also scraped his arms and hands when falling off his horse. Luckily, he did not break any bones.
What the hell just happened? Iseldir wondered. That vision was so vivid… It felt as if all the knights from all corners of Albion had been pledging fealty to the King and his Druid—what was the Druid to the King? The Druid wasn't a consort—there would be a throne for him or her too, then. It had to be a Druid advisor.
Th Druids were once sought by Albion's elite for their wisdom. To have a Druid's counsel was a great honor. Iseldir teared up at the thought of his people being restored to such a high place in society. He barely dared to entertain the notion. He wanted his niece and nephews to grow up in a world where their people were not hunted like animals. Gods, he wanted that.
Iseldir got to his feet when his head stop hurting. He needed to get back to Sábháilte as soon as possible, and sit down with the dream interpreter. This vision was important. He could feel it in his heart of hearts.
Aisling, the dream interpreter, sat down heavily after Iseldir told her about his vision. She was in her late forties, with graying brown hair and kind hazel eyes. Her triskel was the back on her hand. When she massaged her forehead and put her head on the table, it was all Iseldir could focus on.
"What does it mean, Aisling?" he asked quietly.
Aisling looked up at him with unshed tears in her eyes. "Iseldir, your vision is almost identical to one your father had nearly thirty years ago."
"That's impossible. I've read my father's journals dozens of times. I would have remembered it."
"Enjorran did not write this one down." Aisling's hands shook. "Get your mother, Iseldir."
"My father wrote everything down. It was the first lesson he taught me!" Iseldir practically shouted.
"Not this. Now will you go get Emery, or do I have to do it myself?" Aisling growled.
Iseldir stood up and stormed out of her hut. He slammed the door behind him, making the whole rickety structure quiver a bit. He had the decency to at least feel a little bit bad about that.
He stormed down the village center, swearing under his breath. Balinor was whittling a wood scrap into a rose carving in the late evening sun, sitting cross-legged directly in front of his front door. Daegel and Sefa played in the dirt, cackling to each other. Balinor's thick brows pulled together into a frown when he saw his brother.
What troubles you, Issy? he asked.
I'll explain later.
How was Em when you left? Hunith cried for two days straight, poor girl. Mordy's missing his big brother, too. All the children do
Happy, fine. He likes the other children and Ruadan well enough, Iseldir said shortly before rushing into his mother's place. He could practically feel Balinor's hurt feelings through the telepathic connection. Great—there was another thing he was going to have to fix.
His mother and Maud sat at the table. They appeared to be intensely studying some scrolls. Iseldir peered over their shoulders and saw that it was written in an ancient form of Druidic. He could barely understand it.
Emery set her bright green gaze on her eldest son. "What is it, Iseldir?"
"I need you to come with me to talk to Aisling," Iseldir said in a rush.
Maud looked annoyed. "We are in the middle of something, brother—"
"I can almost guarantee this matter is much more important, Maudie," Iseldir interrupted. He tried to sound as kind as possible. "Ma, can you please come with me?"
Sighing, Emery stood up and gestured to her son. "Lead the way, my boy, lead the way."
Maud stood up as Iseldir opened the door. "Issy, wait."
Trying to hide his impatience, Iseldir turned around. "Yes, sister?"
"How our Em doing?"
Iseldir's gaze softened a bit. "Emmy's good. He was already chummy with the other students when I left, and he follows Ruadan around like a hound follows its master. He will be extremely happy there."
"Does he miss us?"
"Of course. He's always been a bit of a homebody. It's Hunith's doing, she dotes on her children."
Maud smiled fondly. "That's good. Tell Aisling I say hello."
"I will," Iseldir promised. He ushered his mother out the door and shut it. He led her down the village green. Sefa squealed in delight when she saw her móraí, and ran out to meet her. Daegel immediately began to wail, as he could not yet walk and he wanted to go say hi to Emery as well.
Shaking his head, Balinor abandoned his whittling and picked up the muddy baby. "He's terribly spoiled, Ma," the father of six complained. "It's your doing."
"It's Issy's fault," Emery said, scooping up Sefa and pressing a kiss on her head. When Iseldir scowled, she patted his wrist. "Don't frown, Iseldir. One day it won't go away."
"It never does," Balinor muttered. Iseldir scowled.
Emery gave Sefa one last kiss and let Daegel grip her finger for a moment. "I must be off, my darlings. Iseldir has important business to attend to."
"Ah, so that's why you had a bee in your bonnet earlier," Iseldir's insufferable brother chuckled.
"Poor Uncle Issy, every'un's mean to 'im!" Sefa said. She patted Iseldir's knee. He looked down at his niece fondly. "Thank you, darling. Now, you must excuse Móraí Emery and me. I'll stop by before supper. Sound good?"
"Perfect!" the girl chirped.
Iseldir patted Daegel on the head, scowled at his brother, and continued leading the way to Aisling. Surprisingly, no one else stopped them. In small Druid communities, everybody knew everybody and one always got stopped for "a chat" at least twice in a stroll down the village green. Luckily for Iseldir, people had just left the fields and were beginning their evening chores. Children had lessons to go to, supper needed cooked, gardens weeded, animals fed, huts cleaned—the list went on and on. The village green was practically abandoned.
Iseldir walked into Aisling's without knocking. "I'm back," he said.
It's almost as if I don't have eyes or ears, Aisling remarked dryly. "Hello, Emery. How are you?"
Emery, with the aura of grace and power only she possessed, practically glided across the dirt floor and sat down next to the dream interpreter. "Hello, Aisling. My son tells me we are here on important business."
"He saw the Unwritten Vision on his way back from Ruadan's."
Emery gaped at her. "I… I thought it wouldn't come true for at least another century. Why is my son seeing it now?"
"It must mean the prophecy will come true in our lifetime. It has to be, being glimpsed by two Seers only decades apart from each other," Aisling whispered.
"What is the Unwritten Vision, Ma?" Iseldir asked his mother.
"It an ancient prophecy. The dream interpreters believe it foretells the unification of Albion under one King, with the help of a Druid advisor. A very powerful Druid advisor." Emery shook her head. "Enjorran saw it throughout his life. The elders advised him to burn all records of it the first time he glimpsed it. Only the most powerful of the Vates can see it, Iseldir. One Seer every one hundred years is able to glimpse it."
"Why burn it, Ma? A Seer's visions are to be shared and discussed."
"It's revolutionary, my dear son. The whole continent under one King? How can this possibly be achieved? If our people knew of this legend, every Druid sorcerer of great power would fancy himself the Druid in the prophecy. It is not to be shared until the time is right."
"One thing is new, Emery," Aisling said softly.
Emery cocked her head. "It hasn't changed in hundreds of years."
"The golden throne has the symbol of the Pendragons—a red dragon—on it, Emery, and the Druid wears emerald-colored robes."
Iseldir's eyes hardened at the mention of Pendragon. He despised the King of Camelot. "What does it mean?"
Aisling gripped the table with both hands and closed her eyes. "I believe it means a united Albion will occur under the rule of someone of the House of Pendragon."
"Uther will never unite Albion. He is a coward and a mass murderer," Iseldir spat. Emery put a hand on his shoulder.
Hush, my son, she said, and heed her words.
"What do the emerald-colored robes mean?" Emery asked.
Aisling looked her straight in the eye. "Your bloodline has produced some of the most powerful sorcerers amongst our people. Balinor, Iseldir, Maud, Emrys, Cedran—even young Mordred and Sefa show great promise in the healing arts. I believe the emerald robes signify that the Druid in the prophecy is one of your kin."
Iseldir stood there shocked for a minute.
Finally, he said, "There is no way in hell any of my kinsmen and –women would serve a Pendragon willingly."
They sat there in silence for a bit, pondering on the gravity of Iseldir's words. It seemed extremely unlikely that a Druid would choose to get close to a Pendragon, much less one of Emerald's progeny. Balinor had been forced to flee his home twice because of Uther's Purge, and his children had grown up in fear of being killed for their magic. Cedran's mother had raised him to fanatically despise King Uther Pendragon and Camelot. Iseldir knew for a fact that he could never help a Pendragon, even to fulfill a great prophecy.
"Who would be a powerful enough magician to fulfill the prophecy?" he wondered aloud.
Emery rolled her eyes. "Let's be logical about this, Iseldir. Who did you just drop off to be personally tutored by one of the finest sorcerers in the realm? He happens to be one of your kinsmen as well."
Iseldir's eyes widened. "Emrys? Our little Em, a great advisor to a King?"
"Iseldir, you know how deep and ancient his power is. It is unlike any we have ever seen."
Iseldir buried his head in his hands and groaned loudly. "Only time will tell, I suppose."
Aisling chuckled a bit. "Perhaps your visions will. You are a Seer, after all."
"I know, I know," the Vates grumbled. "Sometimes I wonder if you would make a better Seer, Aisling."
"Your gift of Sight was deemed by Fate, Iseldir." Emery now used her "leader voice". "It is your birthright and your destiny. Do not be ungrateful."
Iseldir felt his anger flare up as his mother scolded him. He wasn't a damn child, for Nature's sake! He was forty-seven. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and said, "I'm off to go have supper at Balinor's. Goodnight, Ma. Goodnight, Aisling."
The two women exchanged a look as he left. Emery sighed. "My boy has a lot on his shoulders, and I feel that he has no one to talk to about it. Sometime I wish he had taken a wife."
"Our people's Vates walk lonely paths," Aisling murmured. "Iseldir has a loving family, but some burdens must be carried alone."
"I wish Enjorran were here. He'd know what to do." Emery felt tears come to her eyes. "I'm so lost, Aisling. I try to lead, I try. But I do such an awful job. My son Sees the Unwritten Vision, and all I can do is stand there with my mouth hanging open in surprise. Then I'm told my grandson may be the sorcerer in the Vision, and I feel even more lost. My Enjorran would know what to do, he would."
"You would not have that grandson of yours if he were alive," Aisling said gently. "Balinor, Em, Mordred, Sefa, and Daegel would not exist, had he lived. You lost much, but you gained greatly."
Emery shook her head. "I wonder about her, you know. My little Emlyn. I don't even know what happened to her." Her voice shook. "It's been almost forty years, and it still hurts so much."
"To lose a child is sad indeed," Aisling murmured, holding Emery's hand.
Emery patted the dream interpreter's hand and stood up. "Self-pity isn't good for the soul," she said in a shaky voice. "I will join my sons, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren for dinner."
Aisling nodded in approval. "That's a good idea, Emery. It'll lift your spirits."
Once the older woman had left, Aisling pulled a leather-bound notebook from under her straw mattress. She dipped a quill in ink, and began to write…
I suddenly feel as if Fate is strangling us slowly. She started with King Uther banning magic in his kingdom, and forcing his allies to follow suit. My people were slaughtered by the dozens, burned at the stake and decapitated and run through with swords. We have spent the last dozen or so years in hiding, living no better than the poorest of peasants. Now, we have hope—a little boy named Emrys. Train him well, Ruadan, train him well…