Aislin’s sore body pulsated with a dull ache and her calloused, bare feet stung as she tread down the labyrinth’s path. Its crumbling walls of ancient stone were even more imposing in the current state of decay. The young druid was in awe, marveling at the resilience of her kind. The twists and turns of her journey seemed endless, as though she had been traveling for thousands of years. A fear from within arose that her strength was wavering at last. Try as she might to endure, her limbs were on the verge of giving way. Wincing, she called out for her mentor’s wisdom.
“When you are most near surrender, victory awaits around the bend,” Senan’s voice rang in her mind like the whispering wind blowing through the oak trees of her once peaceful grove. Her legs trembled violently underneath, recalling the blades who had claimed her people. They were gone from this realm, without proper care and without guidance to see them through to the next. The Archdruid she heard had been utterly mutilated, his insightful countenance disfigured and disrespected beyond compare. Aislin lamented her powerlessness, tears threatening to flood her turbulent rivers.
Victory awaits around the bend…the young druid nearly fell onto the soil beneath her, but the final vestiges of her fortitude prevailed. I must reach the center, without fail. Her ancestors were looking over her, she knew, and were as lost as she was inside the labyrinth in the realm beyond. Aislin bowed her head in reverence, feeling the warmth of all her Mothers. Foremost she saw the one who had given her life on earth, but through her all maternal goddesses spoke as well.
Her form was graciously numbed, no longer feeling the mortal toil she was burdened with. Her thoughts drifted elsewhere and she was above herself, observing the frame she inhabited stumbling towards her destination. Aislin was again just a young girl, all admiration and full of wonder celebrating the Sun’s victory over darkness. She wondered if she might live to see another, her head beginning to feel light and hollow. In the course of the never-ending converging and diverging paths, she made a final turn in the direction of the rising sun.
Her eyes overflowed with tears upon seeing the sacred temple at the labyrinth’s center. How long had she been inside? She couldn’t say, though she felt aged beyond her years. Aislin limped to the altar, welcoming the moss underneath her poor feet. With as much poise as she could gather, she sat on the innermost stone. As the pain began to subside, she reached into her satchel to carefully pull out the Dream Caps she had covered in a cloth of green and gold.
Slowly, she unwrapped the cloth to observe the colorful caps she was to place onto her tongue. She closed her eyes and offered a prayer before consuming it. For a long while she only meditated, relishing the peace of her solitude and the comforting sound of rustling leaves from afar. Aislin felt herself easing away from the mortal realm and drifting into the other.
After what must have been another set of years, she awoke the sacred eye from its slumber. It came gradually at first, its eyelid heavy from much strain. Aislin was greeted by an expansive grove, vibrant fractals waving, breathing, and speaking all at once. She looked before her to see a great oak tree bearing Senan’s thoughtful visage. The bark on his trunk drooped down to form his thick, long beard. Her heart swelled to see him unmarred, as he truly was. He looked back at her with a gracious smile.
“You have made it, Aislin,” his voice seemed to blend harmoniously with all others she had known, both mortal and immortal. “I am afraid this is only the beginning, young druid. The burden lies with you to save our people and to walk with courage on your journey ahead.”
“But, how am I to go on without your guidance? Without your wisdom?”
Senan’s face morphed into that of her mother’s. Aislin felt herself a young babe again, seeking her warm teat for sustenance and crying for her care.
“My dear girl, I know you are in pain, but you must move forward and carry the strength of your people with you,” the tree’s maternal voices soothed her.
Another form appeared in the oak tree. Its face had been twisted with malice, blighted with fear of the unknown, and ravenous for glory. She had seen that face only once before, riding into her home with his glistening sword high above him and dirtied with their druid blood.
King Arthur…
“Forge ahead, Aislin,” the whispers of her people—past and present—spoke in perfect unity.
She bowed her head, accepting their call.
