THE FOREST LORD By Susan Krinard

“That will not be necessary. Now, go, and return swiftly.”

Unable to maintain any kind of solemnity for long, Tod whooped and flung himself into the air. His form contracted in upon itself, growing smaller and smaller until he was the size of a bumblebee. Three times he buzzed about Hartley’s head, and then he shot off through the trees to the west.

In the tranquillity of the wood, Hartley had never felt so alone. He closed his eyes and called out to the creatures that had once lived in this sacred place: the red deer, the squirrels, the field mice; stoat, weasel and marten; badgers still asleep in their setts; foxes busy with mating; and all the birds: thrush, tit, robin, sparrow, wren, and the great owls, hawks, and falcons. One and all he summoned them to return and accept his protection.

The answer came from a hundred minds, near and distant; those that were closest cried out in welcome. The birds and beasts did not reproach him for staying so long away. They poured all that they were into every moment of life, with no thought beyond the day itself.

Once Hartley had lived so, for time was nothing to him.

But now time hung like shackles on his body and mind, as it did on every mortal ever born.

In Tir-na-nog, every day was warm and pleasant, caressed by fragrant breezes, filled with amusements and glorious music and fantastical creatures to delight its Fane masters. There was no lasting sorrow, no hunger, or disease, or fear. Reality could be changed with the wave of a hand. Loneliness was impossible.

What Fane would wish to remain in this world of Iron when such awaited him? Was Tir-na-nog not what Hartley wanted above all else, why he endured this turmoil to acquire his son?

Wasn’t it?

The fluttering of wings sounded in the branches of Grandfather Oak. A lone wren, plain and brown, flew out of the tree to land on Hartley’s shoulder. It whispered to him of coming spring, of the seeds waking under the earth and sun that warmed the feathers and quickened the blood.

“So it will be, little sister,” Hartley said, stroking her breast with the tip of his finger. “I can hasten but not alter the march of the seasons. I have no power to do other than slow or speed what will be, or draw what is best or worst from the land. But I will do what I can. Go, and tell your brothers and sisters that I need them. We must make this land healthy again.” He launched the wren skyward, and she flew off as swiftly as Tod had done.

Then he was alone again. It would have been easy to sink back into bitterness and distrust, to believe the worst of Eden and of man’s world.

But he had seen the worst in himself. Spring was coming, and with it the promise of renewal.

And hope.

“So, you are returned at last.” Eden finished unbuttoning her pelisse and helped Donal off with his coat. Only then did she look to Aunt Claudia, who, in spite of recent disagreements, appeared well rested and fully restored to her usual equanimity.

“I am later than I expected to be,” Eden said, pulling off her bonnet, “but I wished to see something of the village and the state of the tenants right away. Donal came with me.”

“So I see.” She smiled at Donal with more warmth than she had shown thus far. “I trust he behaved himself?”

“Very well indeed.”

“Hartley took us,” Donal offered, meeting Claudia’s gaze with his distinctly unchildlike stare.

“Hartley?”

Eden blushed. She had no reason to do so; Claudia could neither read minds nor guess at her most secret longings.

“Mr. Shaw. A servant I hired as a man of all work.”

“Indeed? I had thought that you and I would discuss the needs of the estate before hiring servants.”

“I did not seek him, Aunt. He saved Donal from a dangerous horse, and as he was in need of work and showed considerable skill—” She broke off, determined not to justify herself. “He has proven quite able. He drove us in the dog cart to look over the dale and village. Conditions are far worse than I thought. I plan to start improvements at once.”

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