Besieged: Stories from the Iron Druid Chronicles(69)

“Maybe ye should all sit first while I do this.” Once they’re all seated and all bound, I switch to true vision meself and direct their attention up to the trees, where that squirrel is high up in the branches.

“Do ye see the life of the tree, kids, and the life of the squirrel? Colors around them both. And a connection, yes? Do ye see how the tree is aware of the squirrel, and the squirrel is aware of the tree? They know each other. The tree is not mere bark and wood, needles and pinecones. It has its own intelligence. Different from the squirrel, and different from us, but it’s there. It’s aware.”

“I see it!” Tuya says. “I like the tree.”

“Yeah!” Mehdi agrees. “There’s green between them. I mean connecting them. Like vines tied in knots.”

The others tell me they see it too. “Good. That green you see can mean many things, but it’s all positive. The tree is glad the squirrel lives in it and near it and will therefore be able to make new trees. The squirrel is glad the tree feeds it and gives it a safe place to run from scary creatures like us. Now let’s try something. I want you to very carefully, very slowly, get to your feet and walk to that tree. Hands out in front of you, and then put them on the tree. Watch how the colors and knots and everything you see changes once you put your hands on the trunk.”

They rise and stagger on uncertain feet toward it, arms outstretched, and once their wee hands plant themselves against the trunk, they see new patterns expand and flourish underneath their fingers.

“Whoa,” Thandi says. “What is that? What does it mean?”

“It means the tree knows you’re there. It can feel ye against its bark, sense the carbon dioxide you’re breathing out of your lungs. And o’ course ye can feel it underneath your fingers. You’re seeing the magic of our shared existence together and much of the science as well. Ye can tell the tree you love it and that you’re glad it’s growing here—just ask Colorado to relay the message. The tree won’t understand your words any more than Colorado does, but the emotion will get through just fine.”

They spend a few seconds doing this, and they get a response from the tree through the spheres at their neck—a combination hello and welcome—and they squeal their excitement. Tuya throws her wee arms as wide as she can and hugs the pine. “I love you, tree,” she says.

“Good. Now I need to turn off that true vision for a bit. I don’t want you to get headaches. We’re going to find some deer and see if ye can talk to them as well. Ye need to learn how to connect with animals first before ye can heal them. There’s a laying on of hands needed to heal, but ye can’t do that if the animals don’t trust ye first.”

They blink and rub at their eyes when the true vision leaves them, but there’s a new sense of wonder there, floating in the waters of their eyes. They’ve seen a glimpse of the hidden world, and they know that what they perceive is only a small fraction of what’s really going on all around them.

“We have some running to do. Quietly, now. We don’t want the deer to hear us coming.”

I set off at an easy jog, which is a fine clip for the kids, but I ask Colorado to provide them with some stamina, and they’re able to keep up easily over three miles uphill to a high mountain meadow ringed with aspens and pines. I hold up me hand and they stop, breathing heavily.

“Where are they?” Luiz whispers. I look down at him and his mouth is slightly open, showing off the gap between his front teeth. All me apprentices love animals, but I think Luiz loves them the way Tuya loves plants.

“They’re bedded down for the day on the other side of the meadow, hiding in the tall grasses. I’m going to have Colorado urge one to stand up, but be quiet now—we don’t want to scare them off.”

After a few moments, a big buck rises above the grasses, and the kids give tiny little gasps.

“Okay, I’m going to give ye true vision again. I want ye to watch and listen to how I reach out to the deer and form a basic mental bond that will let me tell him I won’t hurt him and he shouldn’t be afraid. Ye create this binding in Old Irish, not English or Latin, so listen carefully.”

I speak the words slowly, laying out the targeting, the effect desired, the draw of power, and the execution. The stag is startled when the binding’s made and jumps a bit, but I soothe him and ask him to cross the field to us. While he’s doing that, the kids are seeing the new binding in the air between us, and I point out features of the knotwork and what they mean. I review the language needed and have them repeat it back to me without actually drawing any power from Colorado to make it work—and it won’t work unless they say the words correctly, because that’s part of the craft, part of the binding itself.

Without prompting, a few of the other deer have risen to see where the buck has gone. He’s nearby and I ask him to stop, thanking him for his courtesy while I teach the young humans how to appreciate all creatures. He’s not especially impressed but gives me the equivalent of a friendly “okay” while he munches on a bit of grass. Might as well graze.

But now the kids can try to form their own bindings. Thandi seems to have the language down best, so I ask her to kindly go first, and I warn the others that if she makes mistakes, we can all learn from them.

She does make a couple of small errors on pronunciation in the drawing phase, but they are enough to make the entire binding fizzle. I coach her again on the troubling passage and she tries again, targeting a doe. This time it works, the binding executes, and everyone grins as the knotwork forms in the air between Thandi and the doe.