Battle Hymn of the Republic

“Ew, sketch me in this stuffy training gambeson?” Mealla’s words sounded negative, but simply observation showed it was directed at herself as she looked down at herself and scowled. “If you’re looking to sketch the baddest lass around, I at least want to look the part. But still, I can’t stop you from drawing. I’m no despot.”

With a nimble hop Mealla gained enough height to sit half on one of the crenelated gaps. Even in the stuffy training gambeson, Mealla looked completely at ease. Off on the mountainside Ruarc and Roan had finished, and with a knuckle bump of comradery they began to descend once more. Mealla’s face, which had been her stiffest feature moments prior, had softened, but now appeared distant.

“You want to stay another night, Druid Maelgwyn?”

Skitch… The sound of a quill on paper scratched as soon as Maella's hard boiled demeanor broke. It was a sight that no one but Drysi could see, and she used it as the starting point of her sketch. Flowing hair followed, and almost as if the ink were running down the page, the chief's form was committed to paper.

The triclops was taken by a trance, a razor focus that only broke when Maella asked her question.

"Yes!"

Drysi cleared her throat, adjusting herself and returning to her sketch, trying to seem disinterested in the slightest.

"Yes, Chief."

Her drawing slowed down, but she was mostly gathering details and rounding out the shapes.

"It's what m'first day at Safeholme should have been like, bein' here, learnin'. Chief Mastrogiacomo put me to work right out the gate, I spent the night in the library, I've made more friends in the last twenty-four hours than I made back home in two months, and the food's painfully good. This place is what I dreamed of when I was yearnin' to become a proper mage."

With her free hand, Drysi willed the paper she was drawing on a bit higher, to hide her own face. Maella, if she was looking, could tell she was wiping her eyes.

"I don't want it to end."

“Yeah, sounds like Val, but if it helps, the fact that she assigned you something off the cuff means you left a good impression,” the tone in Mealla’s voice was relaxed, and gave the impression that the woman was talking about an old friend. Off to the side, Drysi heard skittering and scratching, and in the corner of her eyes a shadow of movement. A dormouse scampered along the stone walkway before hopping and climbing up Mealla’s clothing. Once the small rodent reached the Chief’s shoulder it crawled into the gap between her neck and her collar. Mealla scratched its head with a single finger. “Carneath has had a long time to practice welcoming new arrivals.”

The walls of our fair Carneath shall be sanctuary to any in need of rest. Her gates shall defend her charges from anyone that would do them harm. Her hearth shall soothe their bitter chill; her beds, their weary souls. May all who seek her succor be graced with knowledge to carry themselves stronger.

Mealla sounded as though she were reciting an old passage.

“And no worries, Maelgwyn. Once you’ve finished your Circle business, take the rest of the day to rest up, and properly appreciate our fair Carneath.”

The gasp that passed over Drysi's lips was barely audible, but the wonder in her eyes was evident. It took a moment of restraint to keep herself from reacting so strongly to the cute rodent. Instead she focused on her sketch, which thankfully had a spot on the other side to place the dormouse. Animals were not Drysi's strength, but she gave it a go.

"I wouldn't have thought Ms. Brennan such a poet," said Gideon, staring from the safety of Drysi's hood.

"It's probably from a book, Gid, not likely she made it up on the spot."

"But she remembered it."

"So?"

"She's telling you what her fair Carneath is, what she believes it is," Gideon slithered around to the other side, "That, and she sounds like a more intimate be friend to your new boss."

Drysi stiffened, realizing that this was almost the same thing as having a candid conversation with Mastrogiacomo. She had almost forgotten that Maella was sometimes the Archdruid herself, and not the tabloid kind that M4GE referred to Mr. Flynn as.

"I will, Ms. Brennan," said Drysi, staring up at Maella as less of a sketch model. Trying to reconcile the somewhat casual image familiarity had been bestowed on her, and the reality of this person's importance. Gideon's head pressed at her jaw, reminding her of the status of the latter. "Chief Brennan."

She could feel the anxiety of time starting to creep up on her. Picking up on this, Gideon slipped down into her bag to check her phone. "Could I ask you one more question?"

Drysi gripped the straps of the tote.

"Why do some of the people here seem to dislike Master Flynn?"

If the Keeper took any offense to the informal address, she hid it very well. Idly she stared off towards the mountainside where the runners had finished one last shuttle run. Visibly panting, Ruarc and Roan worked their ways back towards the Keep. When Drysi asked her question, Mealla’s face finally reacted as the older woman winced.

“That’s… sort of my fault,” Mealla sounded like she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. “As far as some of the Keepers are concerned, they feel I give Ruarc and some of the other Vanguards special treatment. Which is more or less correct. Sending Flynn to Japan was my first instance of sending a Keeper on a Special Mission, and as such personally saw to checking up on him. Marshall Wigmund for example. Wiggy’s always been a Garrison Keeper, and sees my treatment of the Vanguard Keepers as wanton neglect of Carneath. Although as far as Wigmund goes, part of his treatment of Flynn is because he doesn’t like me but can’t do anything about it. But for every Keeper that doesn’t like Flynn, there are a couple that see his exploits as inspirational; proof that the Keepers, and the Druids, aren’t obsolete.”

Waving her hands, Mealla vaguely motioned towards the Keep. Pushing off of the ledge, the Chief began to walk back along the wall; stalling long enough to impress upon Drysi that she should follow.

“Then stories of those exploits reach more conservative ears. Chief Bombellas, for example, dislikes Flynn because she feels he’s borderline Rogue. Insists I don’t give him enough oversight, and that all it would take is one soured mission to end up with another Alexei on our hands.”

Oddly, Drysi found herself fiercely defensive of her Master, even if he was a grown man able to care for himself. She knew he wasn't the type to challenge anyone, even if he was aware of their prejudice. Just like Johann, he'd let it go, maybe laugh it off, accept it as life. Where was anyone's indignation these days. She wanted to go down to that old tomato and tell him off.

But that would just make things worse.

As Drysi kept pace with the Chief of the Keepers, she thought of the fact that the only way she'd change their minds was being the good apprentice. Just being Drysi would get Mr. Flynn in trouble, and then she'd be in trouble with Mr. Flynn.

Her face had been scrunched up in thought until Maella dropped Alexei's name, and repeated the strange, insane notion that Mr. Flynn could ever be like him. Drysi stopped, as a question burned in her throat. Suddenly, memories of the Ard Rhys' visit to the cabin burned hot in her mind. There were things Maella knew that Drysi wanted to know.

"Drysi, breath."

Her sharp teeth bit into the shawl she used to cover her mouth.

"Drysi."

Is that what they did here? Ignore the prejudice of hard working druids? Ignore the crimes committed by the mad ones?

"Drysi... please."

Gideon was trying to work his way back up her arm, but her seething was so paralyzing, he sheltered himself back in the bag.

"The only reason we would go rogue," Drysi grit her teeth, trying not to give in to the pent up rage, saying the one thing her heart couldn't let go, "is to kill Alexei."

“Revenge is a confession of pain. An old Roman proverb,” Mealla quoted. Seeming to feel the tension radiating off of Drysi, the older woman adopted a neutral tone. The line providing a sweeping response to the triclops’ comment about Alexei, as well as her unspoken question of prejudice. “Not quite sure who said that one, but it was Marcus Aurelius who said that the best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.”

“Not wanting to sound preachy. I get it. I do. There are many people who feel the same way about Alexei as you do, but there were also many that tried to take justice into their own hands. A few of them even made it back so we could provide them with a proper funeral.”

Once near the tower door leading to the stairs back down, Mealla turned toward Drysi before taking a knee so that she wasn’t giving off the impression of looking down on the young girl.

“I have no right to tell you not to want revenge, and while I could technically order Flynn not to, I can already tell how that would go over. So instead I will make a simple request; if that is the road you want to walk down, then watch over Flynn for me. Alright? Who knows. Maybe the stars’ll align and I’ll be able to charge the field with you two as well, but if not, I’ll feel a lot better knowing he has a stalwart druid beside him.”

Below, the Keepers were wrapping up their morning drills, and Ruarc was passing through the gates back into the courtyard.

A stormy mix of emotions swirled in Drysi's chest as she came off the anger high. There was some embarrassment at losing her temper in front of the Chief. A tinge of frustration lingered under anxiousness, still not sure how to feel about the situation. When she looked up at Maella, she looked ready to fight her on the subject.

Then, smooth, cool scales brushed her hands, and the sensation worked up her arm. It made her breathe, which cleared her head. Gideon slowly emerged from her collar, and coiled over Drysi's shoulders.

"I will," answered Drysi, feeling as though she just took a cold shower, "I will. He'll not ever go this path alone as long as I'm…"

Cutting in, she muttered, "... or Ms. Smith is…"

"... alive."

Mealla held the stoic face of an instructor. As the Chief of the Circle that contained the largest concentration of hot-heads, loose cannons, and folk with axes to grind, she had experience spotting the inner turmoil that came from a superior giving less than desired advice. A soft smile grew on her lips as she recognized a familiar at work. The girl had bonded a good one it seemed. Artio and herself hadn’t seen eye to eye for the better part of a year, and even then it had been Mealla influencing Artio more than the other way around. Aside from cocking her head a bit at the mention of that American woman Ruarc had teamed up with, the Chief appeared to be overall pleased with what she heard and saw.

“That’s a good apprentice,” the Chief said as she placed a steady hand on the side of Drysi’s shoulder. “Now, you and Flynn have someplace to be before long, if I’m not mistaken.”

Stepping past Drysi towards the edge of the inner wall, she looked downward at Ruarc and the three other Druids that had run beside him; save for Roan who had simply returned to his cottage. They had stopped a short way inside the courtyard to look around. The Chief raised a single hand, and with a smooth series of crisp gestures cast a spell without any chanting. Above the group a large bubble manifested in the air, and when it popped a deluge of water poured over them. After the water stopped, the group stood in a large puddle as they registered what had just happened.

“Keepers! You forgot to expect an ambush!” Mealla called from where she stood triumphantly on the wall, her voice was filled with mirth and an almost exaggerated haughty tone. “Plus! You don’t need to hit the showers since the shower just hit you!”

Two of them, a burly looking Northwoman and a stout man of Hispanic descent, bellowed with laughter. The third druid, a South American woman, simply hung her arms and stared up at the sky with a bemused look. Ruarc on the other hand said a chant, and a spell Drysi had seen once before manifested. The spin on his Fire Dragon spell wreathed his body in low flames causing the water to begin begin drying quickly, as well as startling the other three who immediately began inspecting the spell. Looking back towards Drysi, Mealla wore a cocked smile.

The way Drysi had fawned over various new discoveries and novelties could be seen in the druids below as they began asking all sorts of questions about the spell.

“We bond in weird ways. Now, no dawdling,” Mealla returned a hand to Drysi’s shoulder. “Oh, and pro tip when you return to Mastrogiacomo: compliment her hair clip.”

The icy cold grip of that instant realization when one remembered they had put off something important snatched up Drysi’s chest. Mastrogiacomo. That meeting was now in minutes instead of hours, and suddenly the Keeper’s apprentice began to question her decision to come meet the Keeper’s Chief. Her hands rose up to her chin, curling inward, as if wilting under the lack of preparation. Watching the Carneath’s warrior’s practice and carry out their exercise had been educational, but now she had no time to think about her report.

“Compliment her hair clip,” mimicked Drysi, finding that there had been one nugget of gold in this mine of gems, “Yes, ma’am”

At that, Drysi went over to scoop up her stationery and supplies, papersophing the paper and quickly stowing anything else.

”Slow down, Drysi. You already lost a sketch off the side of the wall,” recommended Gideon.

”Oh Gid, it’s all to hell, I’m not ready.”

”Follow my direction.”

Drysi went still at that, a little surprised by Gideon’s assertion.

”Okay.”

”Pick up your things, one at a time. You’re more methodical than this.”

And so, Drysi did just that, putting away her things. Gideon then directed her to thank Maella for her time, and she did. The apprentice walked over to the Chief, with all her things.

“Thank you for your time, Chief Brennan,” the Triclops smiled up at her, the suspicion and seething about Alexei put away for now, “and thank you for coming to my ceremony.”

Their last words exchanged, Drysi went through the doorway from ramparts, and made her way down the stairs. Mr. Flynn would probably be occupied a bit longer by the other druids, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be late. So, she planted herself at the walkway from the courtyard to the main complex and pulled out her notebook, and began to furiously read, all the while trying to pass off that she had been preparing this whole time.