Chapter Thirty-Six

"Cé hé tusa?," A deep voice called out behind Cierra. Spinning around she saw an old man, leaning on club shaped cane, long white beard stretching to his knees, reminding Cierra of the Spanish moss she had seen on a trip to Louisiana once, that hung down from trees twisted like lightning bolts. His eyes were grey blue, like a storm over a distant sea, and his hands and face were sharp and boney, as if he had lost all the extra fat that may have once softened his features.

"Um," Cierra wasn't sure what to say, "Goldie sent us? She said someone would be expecting us?" She motioned to Cid as she spoke, "She said," Cierra racked her brain to remember the word as the old man simply stared her down, "Dagda?"

"'Oldie?," The old man thought back for a moment and then cracked a smile, "Dat what dey callin' 'er dese days?"

His voice was lyrical, the up downs of his voice was borderline musical and the voice itself was deep; it was not what Cierra had expected the old man to sound like.

On a nearby tree a black bird gave a screeching 'caw' that caught both Cierra and Cid's attention.

Was that a raven? Cierra wondered to herself before putting a calming hand on the back of Cid's spine.

"Let's let that one go," She whispered quietly to him, remembering Goldie's warning. He swished his tail back and forth, never taking his eyes off the tree.

"I'm Cierra, and this is Cid," She said, holding out a hand to the old man, "It's nice to meet you, sir." If there was one thing she had learned from living in the south, it was that older generations loved a firm handshake and an honorific 'sir' or 'ma'am.'

The man stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment.

"Dey use to call me dat, Dagda, or Dáire," Cierra tried to keep up with his accent, "I was Eochaid Ollathair fer a good while der. Dose were good days." The old man seemed lost for a moment in his memories.

"Fer now call me Fer Benn," He said settling on a name, "Les get inside, id'll be lashin' rain later." Each time he made an 'r' sound it rolled oof his tongue in a way Cierra had only heard in Spanish class.

He pointed a boney finger up the hill behind him to a cabin that looked like its best days were behind it. Even from down the hill, Cierra could tell the cabin was dilapidated, with the wood in the side of the cabin she could see, missing, wood having rotted out over the years.

Cierra noticed now that everything around her seemed to be set to a higher contrast than she was used to. The grass was not just green, it was a perfect blend of yellow and green, making it brighter than any grass she had seen in person. The clouds overhead were thick, grey shades thick and layered over each other, even the mud between the grass that worked its way up from the banks was a richer brown than she had ever laid eyes on before.

As they went up the hill, Cierra noticed the old man was stronger than he looked, barely using his cane to help him walk and each stride was long and purposeful. Still, she was confused as to who this man was supposed to be and how someone so old was supposed to help her train for combat.

Never in her life had she heard the name Dagda or Fer Benn.

She wondered if the others were just as confused as she was, dealing with their own situations. She tried to recall the words the others had received; there had been Leechy or Leshy for Hans, an 'M' name for Nora, and Lonnie's was the easiest to remember as it was an animal, a coyote. What was he going to learn from a coyote? Cierra wondered.

She made a mental note to ask them tomorrow when she got online to find out what their trainers were like.

As they reached the cabin, Cierra realized it was in worse shape than she had first thought. The shutters on the windows were askew, threatening to fall off, and the wood itself looked soft, like she could tear chunks of wood off the structure if she wanted to.

She looked at the overcast sky, feeling the wind pushing at their backs, and wondered if they were going to be able to stay dry at all when the storm hit.

"'Oldie said ya needed trainin'," Fer Benn said as they reached the top of hill, "Wha' kinda trainin' ya be needin'?"

Cierra was taken aback for a moment, hadn't Goldie told him that she needed to learn how to fight?

"Well," She started, trying to find the right words to say, "I was hoping to learn how to fight and to get stronger."

"An if yer skill doesn't lie in fightin'?" He asked, looking her over.

"What do you mean?," Cierra tried to keep her tone even, "If I want to take down the nightmares and save Freya and the others, I have to fight." When she finished, she realized she had raised her voice at the old man.

"I'm sorry," She cast her eyes down, "I didn't mean to yell at you. I don't even know you."

Fer Benn stroked his beard one last time and walked over to the doorway of the decrepit cabin.

"Watch," He said, balancing his hands on the cane in front of him.

Where a moment before the structure had looked like it was falling apart, now stood a stone castle, easily three times as big.

"How…?," Cierra's voice trailed off.

Even the man in front of her had changed, his beard shorter and a reddish orange rather than white. His face had filled out, as had the rest of his body. Where there had been an old man before there was now a strong man of around thirty. Even the cane was gone, replaced with a club. The hair on his head was ginger, a bit light than his beard, and fell in soft, unkempt waves to his shoulders.

On his belt and carved into the stone of the castle was a tree, branches and roots entangling among each other as they met halfway up the trunk, creating a circle.

"Come inside," Fer Benn said, gesturing to the front archway as the giant wooden door creaked open.

"Right," Cierra put her hand on Cid's head, and walked forward through the doors just as the first drops of rain started to fall.

Once inside, she was greeted with a huge fireplace set into the stone wall, fire blazing, a large wooden table which could easily seat ten, and a long bench on either side for seating. Cierra made out various intricate carvings on the wooden table's side, working their way down the length of wood.

One either wall were entrance way to what Cierra assumed were halls and perhaps a kitchen. At the back of this main room was a stone staircase that worked its way up to what looked to be a loft area overseeing the dining room.

"How did you make all of this?" Cierra asked, dumbfounded, "Who exactly are you?"

"Are ya harda hearin'? I told ya, call me Fer Benn," He stepped inside, the door swinging closed behind him.

"Have a seat, lemme get ya a pint," Cierra was about to object and tell him she was too young to drink, but already on the table she found a tall glass full of frothy amber liquid waiting for her.

Fer Benn took a seat on the other side, looking at her expectantly.

"Now, you say you wanna fight?" He asked as she took a seat on the bench across from him.

Cierra nodded her head, "I want to be able fight, so others don't have to." She said it firmly, allowing no objections.

Fer Benn looked her over again, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"An ya can only do dat witha sword an steel?," He asked.

"I mean," She had thought it was obvious, "Yeah, that seems like the best way."

"'Oldie said you can do dings, healing a'sorts?," Fer Benn looked at her expectantly.

"As long as I know what the person or object looked like before they were injured, I can usually repair them," Cierra answered.

"Usually?," He asked, arching an eyebrow.

Cierra looked down at the untouched drink in front of her.

"I can't bring someone back from the dead, I can only heal the living," She hurried on, wanting to move on, I can also change environments that are decayed by nightmares back to their original state, but only the area around me and only for a short period of time. Oh! Recently I found out I can move back to a previous location I've been to, and I can hold an inventory on me, like this," She held out her right hand and summoned the Damascus sword.