Free Druid Knights 1.5: The Druid Knight Tales by Ruth A. Casie Page A

seethed, having to explain his actions to Doward. “You of all people should know there were more important things that needed to be done.”
    “But I don’t think—”
    “Yes, I know,” Max interrupted. “You don’t think the woman is someone I know or is even amongst the villagers.” He glanced at his teacher and softened his voice. “What was I to do? Go from village to village and give every available maiden the mistletoe and see if it thrived?”
    “And now? What now?” Doward asked in a gentle tone.
    Max turned from the door and sat next to the warm hearth. He rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands as if he sought to overcome a night of too much drink. “I don’t know,” he whispered. He did know that while he found some of the women beautiful and even enticing, none was his soul mate.
    “The ritual of Alban Arthan is tomorrow. You are the Grand Master.” Doward stood at Max’s shoulder. “It’s time for you to travel and meet with the Ancestors in the Otherworld. Only you can carry back their guidance and inspiration for the coming year. And you will have to tell them you haven’t found your mate.”
    “I’m aware,” he snapped and regretted his outburst. “Yes,” he softened his tone. “I know what I must do.” Of course he did. He’d been responsible for the annual ritual for the past five years—four years when he was a high druid and this past year as the Grand Master. Every year was the same. Except last year, they’d presented him with the sacred mistletoe and charged him with finding his soul mate.
    “I will go and gather what we need for our journey,” Doward offered. “We’ve delayed as long as we can. I’ve asked one of the families who set off yesterday to prepare our campsite. But we must leave today.”
    Max lifted his head and flashed the man a weak smile. “Aye, you go on. I have a few more things to gather. I’ll join you shortly.”
    Doward regarded him thoroughly. After a few seconds he squeezed Max’s shoulder. “We will get through this.” His mentor took his leave.
    He glanced again at the shriveled plant. It had the power to heal everything but itself, it seemed. Doward was right, of course. He would get through this. But would he still be the Grand Master, or reduced to a druid councilman, a priest, or, worse—exiled? He had delayed in order to search his vast library to prepare himself for the consequences and realized he would have the distinction of being the only Grand Master to fail when tasked by the Ancestors. He shuddered inwardly at the idea of failure. It was something he had no practice in.
    “Well.” He slapped his hands on his knees and rose. He must see this through. He doused the fire, grabbed his half-full pack, and filled it with provisions.
    He picked up his warding stones. Perhaps the Ancestors would allow him to train his successor. His chest tightened at the thought. He held the warding stones over the opening of the pouch. But what if the Ancestors had been wrong? He threw the small bundle into his kit and stared at the plant. Somewhere deep inside, a different answer sought light. He turned the problem over in his mind until the solution finally burst through the haze. He smiled at its simplicity and truth. He would go to the Otherworld. Give the Ancestors the withered mistletoe. And tell them he passed their test. There was no soul mate for him.
    He carefully wrapped the mistletoe in a clean cloth and put the package into his pouch. Feeling better than he had all morning, he drew on his long wool cloak and closed the cottage door behind him.
    “We better hurry along,” Doward said, seated on a gelding ready to leave. He searched the sky and rubbed his hands together. “The day grows long and we have a ways to go before we reach Avebury.”
    Max mounted his horse and together they left the yard. “When you returned from your summer trip to the north, you mentioned the Northern Clan would be joining us