“The gods’ peace to you, warriors,” he calls as he approaches. His smile is genial but with an edge to it that immediately stirs the nerves in my stomach, looking for it as I am.
“Spirits grant you protection, Lir. We are glad to see you arrive safe, and are eager for word of what transpires beyond the valley.” Pádraig speaks formally. My grasp of the language is fairly complete now, but I still occasionally encounter words or phrases I’m unfamiliar with. “Please, sit with us and drink, and tell us the news.”
We file after Lir and Pádraig; I can see questions on the lips of all the others—including Tara, despite her affectations—but we are all disciplined enough to keep them to ourselves, even the younger among us. The druid has travelled far, and showing him respect is far more important than the discomfort of a few more minutes in suspense.
Lir goes through the requisite blessing of the crannog; when he finishes, he exhales and turns to Pádraig. He can see our faces, recognises that we’ve been waiting anxiously.
He’s kept everything carefully formal up until this point, but now his expression is his answer. Full of grim apology as he nods around to us.
“It is war.”
MORNING MEALS AT THE CRANNOG ARE USUALLY BOISterous affairs, one of the few points in the day when we are allowed to relax and talk without care or discipline. There is always someone boasting, or telling jokes, or eliciting shouts and laughter from raucous teasing at some recent embarrassment or another.
Today, as the smell of roasting boar wafts in preparation for the night’s festivities, we are silent.
Lir is telling Pádraig the news but he knows that it affects everyone here, and so he says it comfortably loud enough for us all to hear. High King Úrthuile passed from his long illness almost six weeks ago. Rónán, long assumed to be his successor, announced his claim—as did Fiachra. But before the regional kings could meet to vote, the Grove contacted Donnán, the seniordruid in Caer Áras, to demand—against all precedent—the location of Loch Traenala.
The announcement sends a wave of unease through the listeners, and not least me.
When we’ve quieted, Lir continues grimly. He, as the only one entrusted with its whereabouts, refused to reveal it to Donnán, and instead went to King Rónán with the Grove’s petition. A tense standoff ended in Donnán being expelled from the Caer. Without a representative in his kingdom, the Grove immediately declared Fiachra’s claim for High King to be the only true claim, and that by rejecting their presence, Rónán was rejecting the gods themselves.
“The other kings have elected not to get involved, for now, but last night I received word that Fiachra’s forces have already taken the eastern plains,” he finishes, to a low rumble of dissenting disbelief from around the room.
“That shouldn’t be possible.” It’s Fearghus, not backing down despite a reproving stare from Pádraig at his interruption. “Our warriors are the finest in—”
“From all reports, the Grove are actively participating.” Lir is clearly deeply uncomfortable at the admission, and from the horror etched on the faces around me, I can tell it’s not something anyone here expected.
“How?” It’s Pádraig. Looking, for the first time, genuinely concerned. He sees the struggle on Lir’s face and gives an apologetic grimace. “We must know, wise one.”
“They are giving many warriors access to thenasceann. Far more than should be allowed.” Lir hesitates. “And some say that packs of alupi have also fought for them.”
Another murmur, this one almost a moan. Lir’s presence here helps, but they will still worry the gods are against them, now. I feel the heat of their fear at the news, even if I do not have the same lifetime of superstition to fan those flames. As well as another, familiar wave of frustration at not understanding how Will is able to be used. Clearly it has different applications here to what’s known in the Hierarchy, but it’s more than that. To begin with, who is ceding? And the Grove are commandinganimals? Gods. At least I understood the Hierarchy’s capabilities. The madness of whatever the druids might be able to conjure on a battlefield is an unsettling unknown.
“Even so.” Lir’s gaze sweeps across us. “Your king has asked me to observe your students before we leave, to determine if any might be granted thenasceann. But all who are considered worthy are Called.”
Pádraig nods. “This evening as we mark Samhain, all who believe themselves ready will demonstrate their skill. Tara wears our torc; she will lead, and so she must choose those who will serve under her. We will honour our vows, Draoi Lir.” Expecting this. We all did. It doesn’t stop the sick feeling in my stomach.
I glance over at Tara, who is gazing at the druid with a calm, accepting determination. She won’t choose me to join her band, leaving me alone out of the older group here. Free to speak to Lir, to forge my own path. Even if I pleaded, I know my last two months have not erased my first, no matter my extra dedication. And she knows I’m not the fighter I once could have been. It’s the right move.
But I don’t want it.
It’s been nagging at me constantly. I have no loyalty to her father, none of the fierce pride or love the others feel for their people and homeland. But I do feel it forthem. For her, and Conor, and Miach and the rest of them. And the idea of watching them march off to battle without me, when maybe my being there could make a difference, makes my stomach twist into knots.
“Thank you, Druid. Please, eat. Rest while we prepare for Samhain. We all have questions, but they can wait.” He’s looking at us when he says the last, and we nod as one. With the Grove all but officially against him now, Lir has likely had to travel hard and at great risk to bring us this news.
“So old Úrthuile went six weeks ago,” says Conor once Lir and Pádraig have departed. “Maybe that’s why we haven’t had anyone come to find Fiachra’s missing raiders. He needs all the men he can get.” Pádraig has had us increase patrols and keep permanent watches from the surrounding hilltops, but no one has seen anything unusual since that night. I haven’t felt the pulse in my head again, either.
“Or he thinks whoever he’s after will be coming to him, now,” says Tara quietly, her gaze turning to me.
The others watch me expectantly. I take a breath. They all know my story, all know Ruarc and the Grove want me dead. Some part of me still recoils at the memory of revealing so much, but that reaction grows less every day; months on and the only consequence of that night is that they all trust me. Completely and absolutely, in a way I am not sure even Emissa, Callidus, or Eidhin were ever able to. I loved all three of them dearly. But they always knew, deep down, I was keeping something back.
“It could still be you they were after.”
“We’ve been through this. It’s not me. I’d be worth something to Fiachra as a hostage, but enough to send parties scouring the country to find me? No. It had to have been Ruarc.” Tara holds my gaze. “Just another reason you need to go with Lir, tomorrow. You need to find answers—and whatever is going on, it’s something to do with thedraoi, not with us.”
I don’t look away. Feel the gap between me and the others growing at the words. “I don’t care. Pick me, this evening. Let me fight with you.”
“No.”
