The grove still smelled of burned trees. Byron stood at the edge and watched the Enos crouch over the land. They cleared the burnt earth, watered it and fertilized it, as if they expected it to grow again. He would miss the whistle-woods. They had touched his childhood.
The Enos came to him, her head bowed. She looked like Lord Demythos’ Enos, but he wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry about the whistle-woods,” he said.
She held out a hand to him. Burns scraped along the palm, removing skin, revealing a substance beneath that looked like wood. Come.
He took her hand and followed her to the mouth of the Cache. “I can’t,” he said when he realized that she wanted him to go in. “It’s forbidden.”
Things change. He thought he felt a touch of sadness and fear mingled with the words in his mind. The Enos led him inside the Cache.
The air was cold and damp. Glowing rocked led them to a cavern. The air inside was humid and the light intense. An indoor garden greeted him.
Come.
He followed the Enos up a footpath and saw before him a grove of thin saplings. Whistle-woods. She must have heard his thought.
Our future. And again he felt that rill of fear.
He nodded, pleased to see the trees. He wished he could show Alma, but knew that he would never be allowed inside the Cache again.
The Enos took his arm and led him to the center of the grove. He sat on a rock, smelling the tangy scent of the whistle-woods.
“No prophecy?” he asked the Enos before him.
She bowed her head, then reached and touched his temples. Slides moved in his mind, the barriers she had set up decades before. He felt her pull them from him.
The old ways are gone with the Old Ones. The future is dark, and we make our own choices now. Her fingers left his temples. Peace between us?
Byron nodded, wondering if there had ever been any strife. Yes, he thought, knowing that thoughts meant more to the Enos than spoken words. There will be peace between us always.
Peace. The word seemed to echo through his head, as if it were spoken by hundreds of different voices. He leaned back in the whistle-wood grove, felt the trees touch him.
Our future, he thought and smiled. He finally believed he had one.