I lead the way, renewed energy to my stride as we walk the familiar path. Lir trails. I glance back a few times. Once, the druid’s eyes are again entirely black; the other two times his expression is sober and as my initial flare of enthusiasm fades, his grimness stirs an unease in me that gradually weighs my steps.
We reach the edge of the forest and come within sight of Onchú’s hut, and I stumble.
The hut is gone. A charred wreck sits collapsed in its place, a mound of black and grey rubble even at this distance. I am sprinting before I know what I’m doing. Consumed by fear and horror and desperation, even as some partof me registers that there is no smoke and no movement. I pass slaughtered animals and trampled fields. The gate to the storage cave is shattered.
I skid to a stop in front of where the door would have been. No heat, not even when I crouch and grasp a blackened piece of wood. Days, maybe weeks old. Far too late.
My eyes scan unwillingly for any sign of bodies, but apart from raven-torn animal carcasses, I see nothing.
Then, a little way on, I spot the cairn.
I approach it slowly. Know what it is, what it signifies, even as I try to imagine different reasons. There’s just one. Simple, stones piled to waist height with care. Some turned earth beneath.
I stop in front of it. No writing. No decoration. I circle it three times in slow, dazed denial before I stop again and sit slowly. Bow my head.
I sense more than hear Lir approaching behind me. I look up again without turning. “Who?”
“I do not know.”
I can’t take my eyes from it. Is the grave particularly small? My heart wrenches and I want to grieve, but without knowing … “Where would the others be?”
“Caer Áras, I assume. They surely would have sought King Rónán’s protection.”
The answers come too quickly, too smoothly. He is gentle and sympathetic, but not surprised. “It is not a coincidence we’re here, is it.”
“A coincidence that it lay somewhat along our path. Or perhaps not. I believe Cian was taking you to Fornax when he was slain.”
“Why?” I hiss it. Fists clenching. “Why show me this?”
“Partly because I thought you would want to know. No matter if it hurt.” Lir crouches beside me and lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. “But also because motivation matters, Deaglán. Clarity of purpose is everything for anasceann. I showed you this for Fornax, and I showed you this for the fight beyond.” I meet his gaze and as he sees the grief and confusion in my eyes, he nods. “You are desperate to be there for your brothers and sisters from Loch Traenala, and that is admirable. But do not forget that there are more lives at stake than just theirs.”
We linger but there is little else to glean, and in the distance I can see the town is also in ruins. We skirt it and trudge on for the rest of the day, me lost in melancholy and anger, until finally as the golden sun sinks, we make camp.
“We will arrive tomorrow.” Lir makes the announcement casually as I’m breathing our fire to life. “You should ensure you are well rested.”
Another vague statement. I know by now not to bother asking, and just nod. Watch as the flames behind my cupped hand flicker and catch and start to lick at the kindling, enough for me to straighten and let it burn unattended. We usually sleep not long after our meal, beginning our travels again before dawn.
We eat, and Lir beds down immediately after. I sit by the fire awhile, absently holding my hand out to its warmth. Darkness comes. The grasslands around us ripple in a light breeze, causing me to draw my cloak tighter. No rain tonight, at least. Lir has started to snore. He hasn’t seen the need for us to keep watch, apparently confident that no one would dare attack a sleeping druid or his companion. I remember Cian’s similar assurance, but have said nothing. Besides, if the two of us are caught out here, a few seconds of warning will make little difference. Better to sleep.
I’m about to lie down when I feel the pulse.
It’s subtle. Distant, probably unnoticeable if I wasn’t so idle. It could even have been there for a while, and I simply didn’t notice until now. But as soon as I’m aware of its presence, I’m certain. That feeling in my head. Just like at the farm when Lir arrived, and then again three months ago, when the raiding party came to the crannog.
I don’t move for a few minutes, focusing on the strange sensation. Thinking. I could wake Lir and tell him, try and eke out some more information about how being anasceannworks. But the likelihood is that he won’t give anything away, and instead forbid me to go and see what’s causing it.
I stand with cautious silence but probably didn’t need to worry; Lir’s snores echo off the surrounding hills, thick and constant. Tempting for a moment to reclaim my spear from the ground next to him, rather than take the unadorned replacement I’ve been given, but I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardise his willingness to let me fight. I light a torch and steal away from the fire, heading down the gentle slope. The crescent moon is enough to paint the hilltops silver and black. I can see clear across the sweep of the valley ahead. There’s nothing out there. No movement for miles. Just the vast, quiet emptiness of the moors.
I angle toward the sensation, once again able to pinpoint it in physical space as easily as if it were light or sound. It grows stronger, minute by minute, as I walk. Clearer. It’s not moving.
Time passes, and finally, the source is just ahead as I crest the top of a hill. There is a small fire about halfway down the slope in front of me. A single figure sits at it atop a small boulder, warming his hands. His back is to me. He is dressed in white. Another druid.
I adjust my grip on my spear. Not because I perceive any threat, but because whatever this man is, it is not normal.
“Good greetings to you, Druid,” I call from a safe distance, finally slowing my walk to something more casual. “Would you allow me to share your fire?” I think I once would have done something different, here. Not attacked, necessarily, but observed for a while. Perhaps tried to gain some advantage in surprise. But for all I feel the people here revere thedraoitoo much, I am also finding it difficult to contemplate dishonouring one like that.
The figure stands. “Took you long enough,” he says in Common.
Before I can even process the incongruity, the impossibility of hearing that tongue again, he turns. Smiles at me.
