man, Carrick found himself feeling sick to his stomach during those lessons. Mercury in the water, PAHs in the air.
North American pollution hindering crops in Europe. Even the simplest thing from the world from which he came could have horrid consequences. For example: a metal cleaning solution. Something that could be ordered online, used daily, mass produced. Probably dumped out from time to time by an old man outside his garage before he recycled the plastic container it came in, thinking he was doing the world a solid as he worked on his nineteen forties ford restoration job. Blissfully unaware that container had been filled with Trichloroethylene. A nasty chemical that when leached into the soil spread to the living things around it in a multitude of ways. A carcinogen that could also cause birth defects, heart disease...and that was just in humans. Turns out the chemical did a similar number animals. Changing their behavior patterns, growth, gifting them with cancer as well. Just one little chemical, one little container. How many wall paper removers, solvents, insulations, flame retardants, and preservatives fit that bill?
In contrast to the world he knew, agriculture was not prevalent in the forest. To till the land was to disrupt the land. Instead foods were grown in small non-disruptive gardens, the denizens scoured the forests for berry and animal rather than keeping stock.
It did not impact their food consumption. Now, as Carrick stood in the commons in the fading light, before him was an ample buffet of fresh fruits, cooked meats, cheeses and hand tossed breads. A feast fit for an ancient king, fitting with the lute music that echoed softly from the corner.
“We’re going to a festival tonight, in the commons.” Erik had told him first thing that morning over eggs.
“Oh?”
“Celebrating the successful return of a pair of Níomair.”
“A what?” It had sounded like another fancy shoe brand.
“A druidic agent in the world of men, an advisor of sorts. One planted to keep ignorant greedy humans from chaotic choices.” Erik had frowned. “I tell you, it was far easier in the time of Kings. Then there was only one ear you had to have. These days with bureaucracy, committee’s, boards, regulations, international treaties...I do not envy those who volunteer for assignment.”
“So they like, befriend high ranking government officials.” Spy movies had flashed through his mind as Carrick finished his milk.
“Or utilize that little skill I’ve taught you to intercept and persuade.”
Carrick had frowned. “If you can do that, why not just body double the president and change the world?”
“You assume a president has power.”
“Um...duh?”
“We seek not the puppets but the puppeteers. You know in your heart your world is governed by money not elections.”
“A magic wielding conspiracy theorist?”
“A realist.” Erik had smirked, causing his cheek to dimple. “Just behave, don’t be stupid or do anything to embarrass our family line.”
Now as he stood in front of the bustling crowd he worried he would do exactly that.
Carrick tugged at the hem of his white linen shirt while watching the throngs of people smile and dance, debate and feast. His uncle was by one of the mead kegs, his floor length robe glowing against the candle light as he spoke, gesturing lavishly with one hand while drinking politely with his other. In his company were several other important looking men whose hair had long grayed. One severely hunched over, his beard down to his knees, relying heavily on a gnarled walking stick for balance. Yet despite his decrepit form his tongue seemed to not have lost its wit, Carrick watched as a frail finger extended, the old man making some comment to his uncle that made the small crowd guffaw in unison.
Walking up to so many ancient druids to join a conversation was unnerving so his eyes kept moving over the
North American pollution hindering crops in Europe. Even the simplest thing from the world from which he came could have horrid consequences. For example: a metal cleaning solution. Something that could be ordered online, used daily, mass produced. Probably dumped out from time to time by an old man outside his garage before he recycled the plastic container it came in, thinking he was doing the world a solid as he worked on his nineteen forties ford restoration job. Blissfully unaware that container had been filled with Trichloroethylene. A nasty chemical that when leached into the soil spread to the living things around it in a multitude of ways. A carcinogen that could also cause birth defects, heart disease...and that was just in humans. Turns out the chemical did a similar number animals. Changing their behavior patterns, growth, gifting them with cancer as well. Just one little chemical, one little container. How many wall paper removers, solvents, insulations, flame retardants, and preservatives fit that bill?
In contrast to the world he knew, agriculture was not prevalent in the forest. To till the land was to disrupt the land. Instead foods were grown in small non-disruptive gardens, the denizens scoured the forests for berry and animal rather than keeping stock.
It did not impact their food consumption. Now, as Carrick stood in the commons in the fading light, before him was an ample buffet of fresh fruits, cooked meats, cheeses and hand tossed breads. A feast fit for an ancient king, fitting with the lute music that echoed softly from the corner.
“We’re going to a festival tonight, in the commons.” Erik had told him first thing that morning over eggs.
“Oh?”
“Celebrating the successful return of a pair of Níomair.”
“A what?” It had sounded like another fancy shoe brand.
“A druidic agent in the world of men, an advisor of sorts. One planted to keep ignorant greedy humans from chaotic choices.” Erik had frowned. “I tell you, it was far easier in the time of Kings. Then there was only one ear you had to have. These days with bureaucracy, committee’s, boards, regulations, international treaties...I do not envy those who volunteer for assignment.”
“So they like, befriend high ranking government officials.” Spy movies had flashed through his mind as Carrick finished his milk.
“Or utilize that little skill I’ve taught you to intercept and persuade.”
Carrick had frowned. “If you can do that, why not just body double the president and change the world?”
“You assume a president has power.”
“Um...duh?”
“We seek not the puppets but the puppeteers. You know in your heart your world is governed by money not elections.”
“A magic wielding conspiracy theorist?”
“A realist.” Erik had smirked, causing his cheek to dimple. “Just behave, don’t be stupid or do anything to embarrass our family line.”
Now as he stood in front of the bustling crowd he worried he would do exactly that.
Carrick tugged at the hem of his white linen shirt while watching the throngs of people smile and dance, debate and feast. His uncle was by one of the mead kegs, his floor length robe glowing against the candle light as he spoke, gesturing lavishly with one hand while drinking politely with his other. In his company were several other important looking men whose hair had long grayed. One severely hunched over, his beard down to his knees, relying heavily on a gnarled walking stick for balance. Yet despite his decrepit form his tongue seemed to not have lost its wit, Carrick watched as a frail finger extended, the old man making some comment to his uncle that made the small crowd guffaw in unison.
Walking up to so many ancient druids to join a conversation was unnerving so his eyes kept moving over the
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