Conn knew instantly that this was the Thagda, the Old Man of the Forest, and the most powerful Seidh of them all. He should have felt no fear, for had not the Thagda rescued him in the lands of the Perdii? Had he not given him his first knife? Yet Conn found his heart beating faster, and a growing urge to run filled his mind.
The tree quivered and bulged, as first a wooden arm, then a leg crafted from bark, pushed clear of the bole. With a grunt a figure emerged from the tree. His beard was lichen, his cloak broad-leafed ivy, his leggings and tunic a mix of bark and acorn. His features were seamed with the polished grain of old oak and his eyes were the green of a summer leaf. He stood back from the fire and stretched out his arms.
‘These were once Seidh woods,’ said the Thagda. ‘All the world was Seidh. We fed it, and we fed upon it. Then came Man. The magic is mostly gone from the woods now. Only the oaks remember. Long memories in oak, child. Where are you heading, Sword in the Storm?’
‘I am going home.’
‘Home,’ said the deep voice, rolling the word, extending it. ‘I have always relished the feel of that word upon my tongue. There is always magic in Home. You felt it yourself, when you stood upon the battlefield and thought of Caer Druagh. There is rest for the soul at Home.” The Tree man stood very still for a while, the wind rustling the leaves of his cloak. ‘Can you feel it upon the wind, Connavar?’
‘Can I feel what?’
‘Concentrate. Let your spirit taste the air.’
Conn breathed in deeply. He could smell the woods: wet bark, rotting leaves. Nothing more. And then, just as he was about to ask the Thagda what he was supposed to be tasting, he caught the scent of the salt sea, seaweed on the beach. He could almost hear the crying of the gulls, the creaking of timbers, and flapping of sails. It was a strange experience. ‘We are far from the sea,’ he said.
‘Man is never far from the sea,’ said the Thagda. ‘Where is your lady love?’
The question surprised him. ‘I have no lady love.’
‘Look into your heart. Love is one of the rare virtues of your bloodthirsty race, Connavar. It does not come and go in a few heartbeats. Love endures. So I ask again, where is your lady love?’
‘Back in Seven Willows,’ admitted Conn. ‘She did not even say goodbye.’
‘How strange that a man willing to fight a bear, and face an army, does not dare ask his love to walk around the tree.’
‘I would have asked – had I been given a sign by her that she wished me to do so.’
The Thagda gave a rumbling laugh. ‘How many signs did you need?’
Conn felt a flicker of anger. ‘Are you here to torment me?’
‘Not at all,’ answered the Thagda. ‘My days are busy enough without giving way to small pursuits. It is merely that I have observed you ever since you came to the woods as a child, calling my name. You wanted, I recall, a spell cast on your parents.’
‘Aye, but you did not cast it,’ Conn pointed out.
‘Who is to say I did not? Are they not together? And more in love than before? You humans are so impatient. This is, perhaps, natural for a race living lives that are measured in a few heartbeats.’ The wind whispered against his ivy cloak, rustling through the leaves.
‘Why have you come to me?’ asked Conn.
‘As I recall, you have come to me. You left your lady love back in Seven Willows and rode to this quiet place, and disturbed my fellowship with the oak. You chose this spot with your heart, Connavar. For your heart knew I was here. We have been linked in Spirit ever since you rescued the fawn. The question is, why did your heart bring you here? What is it that you seek?’
‘I am not aware that I seek anything.’
‘That is, perhaps, because you are still angry with Tae for not speaking with you. Anger can be useful, but, more often than not, it forms a mist that blinds us to truth. What is the question you have been struggling to answer these last few days?’