8. The Court of Moon
Chapter eight
The Court of Moon
The druid was led unceremoniously from the chamber, as if all their propriety had been left on the floor.
There was some discussion about whose duty it was to shepherd him back to his room, to which Medhin summoned an escort.
These were nameless men who spoke nothing to him and looked no more interested in his existence than fish might have cared for land.
Still, his shoulders remained steady and his expression offered none of the fear their imposing stances sought to elicit.
He was ushered upstairs and resigned himself to another tedious day of captivity. He had only just crossed the threshold of his room when he heard it.
“Aren’t you even a little curious?”
The druid and his escorts stopped. His gaze shifted over his shoulder, finding Hirí watching him with that same queer look… the same interested smile. It made his body brace, but he remained silent.
“The apathy of druids is legendary, yet I find myself surprised at your commitment to caring so very little.” The priestess’ voice was like water, sifting between sand.
It moved and pressed into whatever shape required, dripping out into words.
“You see it, don’t you? The similarities between us.
As with most Nytherí, you carry the pale mark of the Moon. ”
In his mind, he saw her wading in black water, and his heart jostled. “I am not like you,” he said.
“No?” She glanced at the two men at his sides, urging them away with a simple look.
Reluctantly, the guards nodded their heads, leaving the druid in her custody.
Once alone, she made herself at home in his chamber, absently dragging her fingers along the mantle.
He wanted to ask her about what he had seen at the lake, to know if it was truth…
or hallucination. Yet to speak it aloud was to invite speculation.
Something told him to keep quiet and avoid whatever trap had been laid.
“What a strange thing,” she said. “The season is full of strangeness, but you, a druid of the wilds, come to Rhyd-hal to await your throne. Now, that is a story for the ages. I could arrange it, you know.”
The blood thrummed in his veins. “Arrange it?”
“You wish to meet the Oracle. To ask her why? I expect the Vaich is not keen to let you speak to her alone. But I can make it so. You need only say the word.”
Surely it was no secret the druid had questions for this supposed “prophetess,” but the way Hirí spoke, it was as if she knew something he had not yet admitted to himself. He had thought her odd from their first meeting, but every passing moment left him more suspicious.
“Forgive me if I am not so quick to trust,” he said. Hirí was more illusion than woman. A hundred dreams he’d dreamt, and never felt madder than when stood within her presence.
She gave him a knowing look. “So you don’t desire to speak with her?”
He bristled.
“As I thought. In two days, the Oracle is due to leave for the Augeri. I shall bring you to her before the convoy departs, and you may ask what you wish.”
“Why are you so eager to help me? Your fellows have shown me nothing but contempt since they learned of my name.”
“Fellows?” She paused, then laughed a high, tinkling sound. “Why, the An’Atherin and the Nytherim couldn’t be more different! In every way we are opposite. To keep balance, ken. You, above all, should know that best.”
Bitterness coated his tongue. He wanted nothing to do with either sect and was more annoyed to have learned anything about them.
Not three weeks before, he had wandered the east, impervious to their quarrels.
He had walked amongst people too poor and too hungry to turn their minds with royal scandals.
There were many good, wise people still left in the Everstretches, and many innocents who had met fell fates at the hands of these zealots.
The druid had no desire to die there.
“Druids are not peacekeepers. We simply mind the world the way it was intended to be minded. The way men have forgotten.”
“You are still men,” she said, “but there’s something to be said for your devotion. We are not so different.”
That was far from any truth of his.
“It must be perplexing, however. To be taken across the world, told of the Moon’s command… You are Chosen. Yet, you do not know why. You do not know for what.”
“And you have come to give me these answers?” he asked brusquely.
“Oh, that I could. The truth is, it is all quite puzzling.”
The woman folded her arms across her chest. Even in the light of day, she was dark as midnight. Her white skin and hair the pallor of ghosts, but her lips and eyes told stories of shadow.
“For a thousand years, the Oracle of Nythis has foreseen the coming of kings. No man has ruled Cúil Cullach whose name she did not speak. As her prophecy foretells—the man is born, and dies in her eyes. Until now.”
The druid’s mind worked, but he did not interrupt.
“Twenty years ago, she gave us the name of our new king. But unlike every son of Sun before him, his day of death was not dreamed.”
“Dreamed?” he whispered. She had spoken it so easily—almost as if it were normal. And he realized that to her, it might well have been. But the nature of dreaming was a rare, abnormal thing. Another oddity he wished not to share with these women.
Hirí continued, “They say this Vaich will live forever. That he will rule Cullach till the end of time.”
“What a sorry state of things, should he be a tyrant,” said the druid.
She laughed. “You are clever. There have been all manner of kings over the ere. Some were brave… and some were cowards. Some lived through great moments, while others suffered terrible burden. They have risen, and they have fallen, but one thing they have all shared—their reign was foretold by the Moon. Our voices are Hers, and through us she speaks the shape of the future. A future inherited by us all. My kin… your kin… all men and beasts of the wide green land. It is certain. It is promised.”
“It is wrong.”
Her smile did not shift. “The Moon does not speak without purpose. Thus, you must have one. It is why you still live, of course. The An’Atherin see it well as we. But they fear what we embrace. To them you are not opportunity… but challenge.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because…” She came before him like a spider in a killing dance. “I mean to warn you. They will do everything in their power to diminish you. To eradicate whatever risk you pose. They would subjugate you entirely rather than concede their control. Thus it has been for far too long.”
“So it was before me,” said the druid. “I care nothing for the ways of the west. Your politicking has gone on for centuries—”
“Yes, but we never had you,” she said, drawing nearer still. Unnerved, he willed himself to step back, but was stuck in place. “The Moon gives us the Sun’s king, but now she has given us a champion of our own. For purpose. A balance upon the scale.”
“Your ambition is misplaced. This war between your sects has nothing to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with you. And you are here, whether you wish it or not. But I would be your ally. I wouldnae see you caught in their web. Rather, I’d see you returned to your wilds, your world.
And all your freewill restored. Your forests await, still.
Would you not wish to walk there again?”
He eyed her, his thoughts distant.
“Yes,” she whispered, “it can all come true, exactly as you desire. Free from this ‘war’ as you claim. Free from man. And never to be caged, again. For that is the power of a king. And it could all be yours.”