The Druid's Lesson (first draft)

The ranger Berric watched the man traipsing around the tiny hut, sniffing at bundles of twigs and tossing them into the fire-pit. With each addition, the temperature rose and the cloying scents of the smoke grew thicker. More than this, he started to realise, the smells became more nuanced.

With a little concentration, he could pick out the more common ones. Under the scent of pine, he detected the growing notes of camphor and sandalwood, along with a spice he could not quite place. While the druid seemed to toss the bundles with little care or attention to his actions, Berric noted that each was strong enough to be recognised and yet never strong enough to overpower the aromas of the other woods and resins.

"But what should I do?" he asked, and not for the first time.

"Just sit... Breathe... More than this, stop talking and let me think..."

Reluctantly, the ranger sat and watched the man going about his business. For a wise old man, he looked suspiciously young, but his actions were sufficiently enigmatic to assure the young man of his wisdom; all wise hermits were eccentric, after all.

"Stop watching me," the druid snapped. "Stare at the fire if you need to look at something. Better yet, shut your eyes."

"And then what?"

"Sit, breathe, think of that young lady from the tavern. I don't really care..."

Berric was thrown by the latter suggestion, his vocation rarely bringing him into contact with either taverns or young ladies, but he recognised the tone of the man's voice; shut up and stop bothering me it said.

This is not prayer, he thought to himself. He had travelled for a while with a paladin. Each night, the man would kneel down with his holy symbol in hand and give thanks to... whichever god it was that he followed. It irritated Berric that the name had escaped him, some foreign god in any case. In any case, the paladin had knelt in prayer each knight, beseeching his deity for the power to smite evil-doers and to enact miracles in his name. That was how it worked; you pray to the gods, they let you use their powers to further their goals.

Even the wizard seemed to spend a little while each morning with his spell-book, memorising those strange syllables and ridiculously-theatrical gestures. Not that he ever expected to learn that kind of magic, which seemed to involve years of study and dusty books kept in crumbling towers.

In some ways, Berric was not even sure why he was here. One little spell, an accident at that, and he'd been banished to go study with a druid until he could control it.

"You still awake? Your mentor should have taught you this, you know," the Druid remarked.

"She... had other business to attend to."

"Yes, yes..." he said, nodding. "End of the world stuff, I'd expect."

Berric frowned, fairly certain that he was being mocked. It had not truly been 'end of the world' business, but tracking down the source of the undead who had overtaken their village had seemed quite important to those living there and unfortunately involved parting company.

"So now what?"

Berric was surprised to find that he had not been the one to speak. The druid looked at him expectantly, as though waiting for an answer.

"I... need to learn to control my magic."

"And?"

"And I was told to seek you out for help."

The situation was quickly getting out of hand, like a joke that Berric was not in on. The druid was starting to smile infuriatingly and Berric still had no idea quite what he was doing in this peculiar man's hut.

"You're a ranger," the druid said, as though it were a revelation.

"Yes."

"What does a ranger want with magic?"

"I don't know. I never chose this, it just happened..."

"I thought you wanted to learn how to use it," the druid remarked.

"No, I want to control it, like you do..."

The man laughed. "Control it? You think I control nature?"

"Your kind... I've seen you calling on nature to--"

"Oh, I've asked her for help from time to time, but control? Never..."

"Oh."

The druid's expression softened. "I think you have the wrong ideas, boy. Nature isn't like an axe or a sword, something to bludgeon your enemies with."

"No... I know that. It is something divine, something to be worshipped."

Now it was the druid's turn to frown. "Worship? Don't be daft. We might revere her, but no bugger's stupid enough to worship her."

Berric was confused. No child of theology, the words seemed no different to his mind. Worship or revere, what difference did it make?

"I see you're not following me," the druid said. "Let's look at it in a way you can understand. You've seen priests, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, they worship. Same with paladins. It's all about submission, surrender and 'I am thy humble servant' all the time. You with me so far?"

"I think so," Berric told him.

"Well, nature isn't like that. Nature is all fire and teeth and poisonous bitey things. What do you call it when you submit to fire?"

"Er... Worship?"

"No, you call it being burned alive. What about water?"

"Swimming?"

"Close, but the word's drowning. How about bears?"

"Bears?"

"What happens to people who submit to bears?"

"They... get eaten?"

"I think you're catching on. Surrender to poison? You die. Surrender to bees, you get stung to death. Lightning? You get burnt up like bacon. Basically, you surrender to nature and it usually kills you."

"How can you worship something like that?" Berric asked, thoughtfully.

"You can't. Reverence is about saying 'you are one scary b***h and I respect that' rather than getting down on one knee. I've got all the respect in the world for nature, but you'll notice that I still like to have a roof over my head and a nice fire-pit to cook my food on."

"And the magic?"

"Well, you just ask her for it."

"Ask her?"

"Sit down, stop talking and close your eyes."

Berric did as he was told. "What now?"

"Can you smell wood-smoke? Feel the fire on your face? That's nature. In your mind, that image you get when you think about why you became a ranger? That's her too. Go to that place in your head and it's all but done."

In his mind, Berric pushed away the thoughts of the hut, the druid, even himself. The fire on his face like sunlight, the smell of wood in his nostrils, this was all that mattered. He knew things he would never be able to put into words, could feel potential flowing through his mind. More than this, he knew that he could take a fraction of that power back with him.

The fire was burning lower as he opened his eyes. At the back of his mind, like an invisible limb, he could feel the gift he had been given, the knowledge of how to calm the minds of beasts.

"You'll never be a druid, boy," the druid remarked. "But I reckon you'll do well enough..."

© 2012 Anthony Hart-Jones

Author's Note

First draft, throwing words at the page to get an idea out of my head and into text.

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DarkCrono15

Wow this looks like it has potential! I'm curious if this was just a one shot, and it's complete, or if this was the start of a story? Its very well written and I could see it becoming more then just one shot. If that's your intent, I'd love to follow...if not, it still was good!