“My brothers and sisters, tonight we speak of the rule of law,” Gerin intoned.
Someone snorted loudly behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Most everyone had their hoods thrown back. The only people who pulled their hoods forward were either embarrassed by their position in the Grove or wished to remain solitary for the meeting. Or cold. After the warm season, Gerin usually charged the Grove’s warding with heat, but tonight he hadn’t bothered. Between the robe and my jacket, I was warm anyway. I finally decided the snorter was a short guy near the entrance with his hood pulled all the way down. Like all situations that lend themselves to pecking order, those in the back got away with commenting and laughing at the proceedings without fear of Gerin’s anger.
“Will you get on with this,” Gillen muttered loudly enough to hear.
“My brother, I am the voice of the Grove. Do you challenge it?” said Gerin.
Gillen made a disgusted face. “Let’s keep it moving. I’ve got work to do.”
Gerin didn’t react to him, but faced the crowd, or rather the men. He kept his back to the women. “My brothers and sisters, we are under siege. I have been attacked in my own city.” He waited while those few who hadn’t heard what happened could be properly aghast, as though someone’s attacking a druid never happened. It was rare for the High Druid to be attacked, but hardly shocking. “It pains me, brothers and sisters, that the respect for this Grove has fallen so low.”
He began to ramble in his arch manner. Sometimes I think he’s read too many ritual guides. I know he’s written too many. While I let my mind drift, a swift pain in my head brought back my attention. It was just a spasm, but it felt like my brain had cramped.
Gerin held his staff across his body as he talked. Most druids no longer used them. They’re big and bulky and have an aggravating tendency to get forgotten under restaurant tables. But then that’s Gerin.
“And so I propose an opposition to the Guild for their failure to protect.”
“What an odd thing to say, Gerin,” Nigel said in a dry tone.
“I am High Druid of the Bosnemeton Circle, Brother Martin, in case you have forgotten how to address me.”
Nigel placed his hand over his heart and gave a shallow bow from the waist. “My pardon, High Druid. But the fact remains, you are more representative of the Guild than anyone here.”
“Save you, Brother Martin.”
“Save me,” Nigel said.
“And you have failed this Grove, Brother Martin. When the opportunity arose to bring strength to the ruling council of the Guildhouse, you passed it by. I would not stand here with burns if you had stood by me when we had the chance.” From my angle, I couldn’t see any burns. I wasn’t going to be the one to ask him to lift his robe.
“Oh, please, Gerin—High Druid—it’s not a ruling council. It’s a board of directors. I’m not interested in Guild politics,” Gillen snapped.
Surprisingly, an annoyed murmur ran through the crowd. Granted, Gillen did not have many admirers, but everyone usually respected him. Not that he cared either way.
“That’s the point, Brother Yor. The Guild fails to rule where it must and fears to rule where it should. The Grove had an opportunity to change that, and we failed. You, Brother Martin, failed us, with the aid of Brother Grey.”
There are times when I love being the center of attention. This was not one of them. Having several hundred men in ceremonial robes glance in your direction when you’re blamed for something is not pleasant.
“Connor Grey merely sat in for Briallen, as you know. And if she were there, she would have pointed out the same flaw in your thinking as he did,” said Nigel.
“Irrelevant,” said Gerin. “The point is our unity. The Ward Guildhouse crumbles under years of Danann rule. It is the withered body of a dying man.”
Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the crowd. Gerin knows how to work a crowd. My head twinged at the shots of essence flowing around me as people conferred through sendings.
Gerin was going into full chant mode, raising his staff, turning on the solemn voice. “It is the duty of a Grove—to guide the guideless, to teach the ignorant, to…”
“To rule both Grove and Guild? Is that what you’re after, Gerin?” asked Gillen Yor.
“Why not? Why not the Grove?” he said.
“Gerin has led us well!” someone shouted. No doubt a plant. More murmurs went up from the gathering and more surges of essence. Using ability in the Grove was frowned on, but I doubted Gerin was going to complain tonight. The essence pulsed against my head, sharpening my senses painfully. I let my body shields come up, a fuzzy little barrier that brought some relief.
“The Grove should run the Guild!” Gerin shouted. More shouts went up.
“Emotion clouds your judgment, Brother Cuthbern,” Nigel said. Sweet little dig not using his full title, but not crossing the same line Gillen had. More boos than cheers.
“I could have been killed. We must stop them,” Gerin said. Nice of him not to mention I almost got killed, too. People were getting caught up in the idea. Essence swirled around me in cascading waves. My senses were kicking into overdrive. I wanted to shout myself, but from the sharp knives of pain digging into my skull. I couldn’t understand it. I had been bombarded by essence before, and it had made the black thing in my head recede. I had actually been able to use my abilities for a short time. But this was different. The thing in my head seemed to clamp down harder. Maybe it was because the source was druidic, too similar to my own. Whatever didn’t allow me to tap essence, didn’t like other druidic essence either. I decided Gerin’s blustering wasn’t worth the pain.
I pushed my way through the ring of men behind me, who were surging forward. They were all shouting Gerin’s name. I wasn’t the only one leaving. Just as I reached the entrance, Gillen Yor pushed past a knot of people and stomped through the druid hedge, grumbling under his breath. I stepped through the barrier and breathed a sigh of relief. The pressure abated immediately. Whatever games Gerin was playing, he played them inside the Bosnemeton.
I pulled my robe over my head as I walked down the stairs.
Joe popped in right in front of me. “What the hell is going on in there?”
“Gerin’s on one of his power trips again.” I rolled the robe up and tucked it under my arm.
Joe glanced back up the stairs. “He needs to relax more. Did you invite him to the club?”
I laughed. “Not likely. Have you seen Murdock?”
Joe cocked his head. He was doing whatever it is he does when he looks for someone before teleporting. “He should be here any minute.”
I was about to comment that Murdock’s the only person who shows up late more often than I do, when I noticed a druid come stumbling down the stairs and stagger away. It was the little guy who had snorted loudly. He still had his hood up, but moved as if in pain. He put a hand out to steady himself against the stone wall surrounding the park. I went over to him.
“Are you all right?” I asked. He nodded and waved me away. Then the shoes beneath the robe caught my eye. I’d know those Doc Martens anywhere.
“How did you get on the men’s side of the Grove?”
A hand went up to the hood and pulled it open slightly. Meryl glared at me. “Rat me out, and you die.”
“Are you all right? You’re pale as a ghost.”
She nodded again. “Yeah, it’s just my girl-nads. That time of the month’s coming sooner than usual.”
“You can feel those?” I asked.