Dragon Stones

 

The druid Mecmac donned his best green cloak. Usually, he wore a white cloak for ceremonies, but this night was different.

Taking his ornate horn off a peg above the hearth, Mecmac slipped out of his small cottage and walked easily down the familiar path leading to the Dragon Stones. The moon was full, and the night was full of promise.

He was the curator, of sorts, for The Stones. A few times a year, some visitor would stop to ask about the long-lost builders and the magic they must have used to handle such huge stones.

Mecmac knew some of the story from the lore of his Order. He knew some from reading old scrolls that hinted at other scrolls he had never seen.

That was how he had restarted a new/old ceremony: he had read from a crumbling scroll that the Order of Green, possibly an ancient mystic order like his, once held ceremonies at The Stones during the change of each season.

Don thou the green of thy station
And seek the standing stones.
Do this under the Worm Moon in March.
Do this under the Strawberry Moon in June.
Do this under the Harvest Moon in September.
Do this under the Oak Moon in December.
One stone upon the south will bear the sign of the dragon,
And this will be thy sign as well.
Start thou sounding the horn once
Before the dragon stone.
Go thou west and sound thy horn again.
Go thou north and sound thy horn.
Go thou east and sound again.
Return south to thy start and listen
For an answer from the Others.
Be joyous if thou receive a reply
For you may wish for a boon.
If thou be worthy, mayhap the boon will come.
If thou be not worthy, mayhap the boon will not come.
Such is the way of the Others.

But three times he had tried the ritual, and nothing had happened. Now it was June, and the Strawberry Moon was blazing. The druid cleared his mind and set his intent to commune with the Others this night.

But his deepest desire went unspoken, indeed, even he did not know exactly how to describe it. He felt an emptiness, like he was drifting, without purpose for the first time in his life.

Mecmac followed the memorized directions, blowing the horn and traversing the circle. When he arrived at his starting point, he stood with arms open and head bowed.

He listened for a long while, hearing nothing but crickets, the breeze over the grass, and a few stirrings of night creatures. The stars wheeled above shreds of scudding clouds.

As his enthusiasm waned, Mecmac opened his eyes, and the stone with the dragon sign seemed to steam, and fog clung to its base. As the druid watched, the dragon rock melted into the shape of an old woman.

"Hello, grandmother," he said, his heart pounding with excitement. "I am Mecmac, a druid and supplicant to this circle."

"Hello, my child. I am Asvananda Tadura of the Order of Green. Do you have any meat?"

Part of him was alarmed at such an usual, abrupt request. Much lore involved sharing food with strangers, and the stories were evenly split as to the good and bad outcomes of these encounters.

Mecmac opened a small pouch and removed some dried venison. The old woman took it and threw it into the grass. Where it landed, a magnificent stag rose up and darted away.

"Your heart is open to me. From this time on, the stag will be your brother. Follow him for guidance. Understand his ways. If you are reverent, he may share his body with you so that you may have meat and leather and those things needful for living."

The druid nodded solemnly. His ears were buzzing with the magic drifting around them. How had Asvananda Tadura sensed his deepest intention?

"But if you disrespect your brother, you will reap great sadness. I have spoken."

With those last words, the fog engulfed Asvananda Tadura. It was so thick, Mecmac could not see for a moment. Then a breeze came and scattered the mist. The moon and Dragon Stones were just as he had remembered them. The full moon lit up the dewy grass, and Mecmac could easily see the stag's darker tracks through the glittering dew, but he saw no signs of the old woman.

The feeling of magic crackling around him was gone. The world seemed to return to its sleepy midnight self.

Smiling, he hung his horn over his shoulder and followed the stag's tracks east, toward the sunrise, his purpose restored.

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