He eyes me, but even at fourteen, seems to understand I’m not interested in expounding. Silence reigns again.
“Tara was very impressive today,” the redheaded boy remarks idly minutes later, about halfway around the lake. It’s properly dark now, and the torches lining the causeway across the water reflect orange in the water.
I glance at him, mildly surprised at the second attempt. Rian isn’t usually one for making conversation. “I told her the same thing. Didn’t even get a smile.”
He grunts, eyes searching the way ahead. “Tara does not smile. You are not exceptional in that regard.”
“I got that impression. She seems very … focused.” The others are driven as well, undoubtedly. But unlike Tara, they seem able to reconcile that with enjoying their lives.
“She has to be. She aims to be her father’s Champion, one day.”
“Her father?”
“King Rónán.”
I look at him in blank startlement. “She’s a …” I don’t know the word for princess or heir. “She will take over from him, when he is gone?”
“No. Not anymore.” He traces his right cheek with a finger, mimicking the scar on Tara’s. His tone says I’m an idiot for his having to explain it. “Or she would not be here.”
I’m stunned, about to ask more when something catches my attention in the trees to our right.
I stop, and after a step Rian does as well, looking at me inquisitively. I hold up a finger. Frown, raise my torch higher, and move slowly forward to peer into the gathering black of the thickets.
To my side, Rian wordlessly readies his spear. Eyes straining in the same direction as mine. There have been no enemies sighted anywhere near here, at least certainly not since I arrived, but he’s taking my concern seriously.
It’s gone again, but I’m certain I felt it. That same, strange pulsing sensation that warned me of Lir’s approach at the farm. Distant, but presumably far stronger at the source than the one that led to me picking up my spear at CaerÁras, that I still glimpse from the weapon occasionally. So quick and faint I’m not sure how close it really was.
“What is it?” Rian eventually murmurs it, unable to spot my concern.
“I’m not sure.”
Rian peers a moment longer, then sighs. Relaxes. “You are jumpy.”
“No. There was something.” I’m certain of it.
“Leathf hear.” He says the name into the silence. Half man, I have discovered it means. Not exactly a compliment, but I’d guessed that long before the knowledge. It still seems worse, coming from someone so young. “Do we need to find Pádraig?”
He’s watching me. Genuinely asking.
“No,” I say eventually. Whatever I felt, it’s gone now. “Probably just an animal.”
He frowns, but nods.
We press on into the gathering darkness.
A MAN WHO IS CHASED MAY BE FREE. A MAN WHO CHASESnever is.
Kadmos told me that, once. Quoting it from some obscure text, probably; the Dispensator of the Telimus family was voluminous in his knowledge and had no fear of showing it while I was under his tutelage. I didn’t really think much on it, at the time. Or, perhaps, simply didn’t think it was particularly true. I was chased, and had been for years, and the constant hovering hand of the Hierarchy made for what felt like an inescapable prison.
Here, though, it is different. Here, with the benefit of hindsight, it resonates.
For all their intent to kill me, the Hierarchy were never chasing me: They never even knew I was still alive. It was always me fighting them. Always me looking for a way out from beneath their thumb.
Ruarc, on the other hand, is out there and after the stir I caused at Caer Áras, may well know I’m still alive. We talk of him, sometimes, when Tara is not around. Him, and his influencing the Grove to support King Fiachra, and the impending death of High King Úrthuile. The three other regional kings would likely have supported King Rónán to succeed, according to the others, but areloathe to cross the druids. They won’t move against Rónán, but won’t support him against Fiachra, either.
The enmity between Rónán and Fiachra runs deep, too, apparently. Generations back. War seems an inevitability.
But despite that threat it all remains distant, and I am here among people I am rapidly coming to like. Pádraig trains us each day, and though I am careful not to show too much improvement, his techniques are genuinely useful, and I find myself practicing even outside of his lessons. I still fall and fail and am covered in bruises from my defeats more often than not. But it is within an environment of encouragement and exhortation. Everyone here strives for excellence but also thrills in seeing others achieve it. Despite our purpose there is an air of positivity, a pleasure in the joy of life, that I cannot help but drink in.
