Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
The Moth
By week’s end, the fever broke and the druid braced for Halla’s arrival.
He had considered relenting this silly notion of freedom. But each day the chambermaid looked at him in pity, each day his fate remained in that man’s hands, his agitation deepened.
As evening neared, he busied himself packing squirreled-away bits from his breakfasts. Just like the night he’d departed the Fáoth, he was running again. But this time, he was emptied of fear.
The latch jangled and the door creaked open, revealing the old chambermaid looking pale as powder. A wave of guilt washed over him.
“Halla—”
She hushed him, coming down into the room and presenting him with a plain grey cloak. “Isnae much, but it’ll keep ye warm.”
“I ought to remain,” the druid muttered. “This is foolish…”
“Aye,” said Halla, taking his hands. “Aye, maybe it is. But I cannae bear to see ye witherin’.”
The guilt bubbled up again. “Are you sure you want to help me?”
Halla smiled, though it was weaker than he remembered. “’Twas a druid who led my bairn to peace, ’n I owe the spirits for takin’ he. One good turn deserves another, they says. So, let me lead.”
Then the druid would follow. Even if it meant returning to the place he had long fled.
He was not naive enough to think a successful escape would be the end of it. The Vaich’s men had found him before, and they could find him again. There was only one way he might elude them.
The Arran Fáoth, the great forest, was the ancestral heart of all mankind. And the only place with enough power to conceal him.
“If yer ready?” Halla asked.
The druid nodded.
It was just as Halla had said. The castle was busy in preparation for the feast. Peculiarly, despite the influx of visitors, many of the usual posts were left unattended.
They slipped easily down the back staircase to the bustling kitchens.
But getting out was only half the trouble.
What the druid needed was a comfortable lead to get east before the bannerman caught his scent. He couldn’t get that on foot.
“There’s a market man who’s come with fixings from Hornheil out in the daire,” said Halla, shuffling him down the corridor.
They were bathed copper by torchlight; the flickering flames mirrored his waning faith.
“He’s got a wagon out in the yard, ’n he’ll be leaving at half past the hour.
Ye cannae miss it or there shan’t be another! ”
“And how shall I be sure this market man will agree?” asked the druid.
Halla gave him a bewildered look. “Agree? I never thought to ask!”
The druid frowned. “Surely he’s not willing to bear the consequence of spiriting me away.”
“Aye,” Halla said. “’N that is why he willnae ken!”
The druid liked the plan less the more he understood it.
“Shh!” Ahead, a group of maids rushed out of the scullery, their hands full of silver. The druid drew his hood and pressed tight to the wall as the maids hurried up the stairs in front of them. They hadn’t seen. A sigh seeped out of him, but the old woman grabbed his wrist, steering him along.
The iron braziers whistled around them. As they came to the kitchen door, Halla gestured for him to wait. The scent of spiced meat wafted through, along with the rhythmic crack! of knives on cutting boards. Over the din, the cook barked orders to his staff.
Halla poked her head around the archway and motioned for him to pass. He held his cowl tight as he darted across the open door.
Crash!
His breath tumbled along with him as he collided with another kitchen maid. Her silver tray clattered to the floor.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Miss—” The maid peered up at him, but he wrenched his hood down.
“I’ll clean it up,” the druid said and instantly regretted it. He dropped to his knees and started to gather the silver.
“Dinnae fuss!” Halla chided, coming to block him from view. Shoving the tray at the maid, she said, “Go on!”
“Oi!” the cook shouted from the spit, alerted by the commotion. “What ye doin’ skulkin’ about? We’ve a feast to prepare! Bring up those cabbages!”
The druid gripped the cloak—his only armor.
“Aye, we’re coming, calm yer head!” Halla called, nudging the young maid onward.
“Halla?” the druid whispered, unsure.
She nodded him down the corridor. “To the pantry! Quick! I’ll find ye there!”
He had no time to resist. He hurried down the corridor, his gaze flicking from one lintel to the next.
Where was the pantry?
Voices rose. Which direction? He couldn’t tell. Ahead of him was another open door. It smelled of barn. The yard was near.
His feet picked up, lurching for the doorway and—he bit back a gasp.
Through the arch was a hissing hearth, and around it sat six armored guards.
The barracks.
Stunned, the druid barely corrected his stumbling.
The men hollered and drank, unaware of his intrusion. He held his breath, dared one step back.
“Where ye goin’, wee fine lass?”
He froze.
One man stood, silhouetted against the fire. “I said dinnae ye fucking move.”
The druid couldn’t. His fingers had gone bone white clenched in his cloak. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
The man staggered and bellowed, “And I had her right there behind the privy!” He performed a lewd gesture.
The others roared with laughter—all of them dreadfully drunk.
The man pranced about, carrying on with his promiscuous story, and the druid realized he hadn’t yet been caught. But it was all too precarious.
A turn of the head and they’d see him—a ghost against the stone.
He took another step back.
The guards started in on an odious song. The druid turned and ran.
The barn smell thickened, but the maze of Rhyd-hal worked against him. He searched door after door, finally stumbling into a rounded cellar.
He had found it. And for an instant, wished he hadn’t. A rabble in his mind was rioting—head back!
Panting, the druid glanced about. The castle’s storeroom was piled with thick barrels. Sagging shelves laden with dusty bottles lined the walls, and hay speckled the floor. It smelled of dirt, which should have calmed him, but his body refused.
Footsteps sounded behind him. He spun, coming face-to-face with Halla.
“Quickly! Just beyond there.” She motioned wildly to a door at the far end of the room.
“Halla, maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Quiet!” She eased it open and—after a brief survey—crept out into the yard.
It was serene outside, but the distant clatter of men on the pitch. They were boys playing out after dark and too invested in their quarrel to notice the unattended wagon.
“Where is the driver?” asked the druid.
“Not here, ’n thank the spirits! We’ve got to get ye up ’n settled before he sees!”
On the back of the wagon were wooden crates covered with a dirty sheet. Halla tugged and pulled at it, and the druid’s brows knit.
“This is your plan? Conceal me amongst boxes of vegetables?" He couldn’t fathom she would put herself at risk for such a ridiculous idea.
“Yer a wee thing, no one will notice ye,” she said. “Now, come along!”
Everything told him not to continue, yet a part of him wanted to believe.
Maybe it could work.
The cart creaked as he climbed into the back. He tucked himself between the heaps of crates. It was cramped—his limbs endlessly prodded by stray twigs. He had barely settled when more voices echoed inside the pantry.
“Hurry!” Halla yelped. “They’ll beat my back bare if they see what I’ve done!”
“At least let me say farewell—”
“No time for that!” She tugged the sheet over his head. “Goodbye ’n good luck!”
A man’s voice carried over. “Something the matter, Missus?”
“Aye no!” said Halla. “Was checkin’ that it’s all been carried in, ’n it has. Ye be good to go now, maister!”
The man cleared his throat. “Perhaps another look—”
“No!” the old maid bleated. “Away with ye! We’ve another shipment before end of night!”
“Very well, very well…”
A bead of sweat slipped down the druid’s back. Outwardly, he remained steady, but inside, he writhed. He longed for the open road. Yet he was stuck there, as if pressed within a bell jar, forced to batter the glass like a jilted moth.
The druid jostled about as the wagon started off, bumping and jerking over the path.
He counted his breaths. What would happen once the wagon stopped? Would it take him to Hornheil? The druid had never been there. Navigating eastward was of no concern to him, but there was nothing to say he would be welcomed at whatever roost they made rest at first.
“Whoa!” The cart shuddered to a stop. The druid could see little from his position—the planks of the wagonside afforded him no clear line of sight.
Night was thick around them, and from the sounds of it, they had reached the castle gate.
The smells of the city were just beyond.
He was nearly there, and it had almost been easy…
“Headed out?” said another man. A guard, the druid guessed.
“Aye,” said the driver, “I willnae hold ye up.”
“Onwards, then,” said the guard, and the grind of iron followed.
They were lifting the portcullis.
The druid’s heart beat harder. He could nearly taste the free air. The horse whinnied.
“Halt!”
A second guard approached. “All wagons have been ordered to wait at the gate for detailed inspection.”
“On whose orders?” asked the first.
“On mine.”
Cold washed the druid’s flesh.
The voice belonged to neither guards nor driver, but instead to one he knew far too well.
“I’m sorry for the trouble, but I’m afraid one is keen to make off with something precious.” Hirí’s seductive drawl was a blade at his neck.
“But my cart is barren,” said the driver. “They’ve emptied it into the stores.”
“Rest assured,” said the priestess, “no one shall blame you.”
Heavy footsteps joined the fray and a pained cry made his skin prickle. The druid peered through the wooden slats, seeing a third guard approaching.
“It was just as you said, Speaker. The druid’s chambers were empty.”
A desperate wail filled his ears, and he pinched his palm till he bled. He could just make out the quivering form of his chambermaid in the guard’s tight grasp.
“Where is he?” shouted the guard, dragging Halla before the priestess. “You helped him to escape!”
Halla squeaked. The man raised his hand, ready to strike the old woman. Yanking the sheet from over his head, the druid shot up between the crates.
“Release her,” he said. “It is I you want, not she.”
Halla’s watery eyes blinked up at him, but the druid could not bear to see. He looked at the moon priestess. The abandoned posts. The unmanned yard. “This was your snare,” he said, meeting her chilling gaze. “How could you have known?”
Hirí laughed, pale eyes flashing. “Oh my dear, you still don’t understand?”
Yes, how foolish he was to believe he could flee. They would always find him.
“Traitorous hag.” The guard spat. “The Vaich will have you flogged!” He held the maid’s wrist and twisted. Halla cried out, and the druid rushed down to place himself between them.
“I coerced her; thus, she is innocent. There is no need to cause her harm.”
“íridh—” she moaned.
“Hush,” he told her, more plea than command, but on his tongue he tasted shame. “Whatever punishment would be hers, I beg you, give it to me.”
The chambermaid wept. The guard looked unconvinced, but the priestess intervened. “Enough. Let the servant be.”
“But—” the guard began. Hirí silenced him with a look.
“The Vaich needn’t know of this troublesome business. He is occupied entertaining his guests.” She glanced sideways at the druid. “As should we. Isn’t that right?”
The druid felt himself more trapped than he had moments before, stowed away on a vegetable cart. He understood her design.
It was doomed before its start.
“Yes,” he answered quietly.
“Good,” said Hirí. “Do as you are told.”
“Aye, Speaker,” the guard grumbled, releasing the chambermaid’s hand.
The old woman rushed into the druid’s arms. “Forgive me!”
He had never been embraced and knew not what to do, but patted her awkwardly on the back.
“There is nothing to forgive.” Once more, he looked to the priestess. “Swear to me she will be well, and I will come as you wish.”
“Of course,” said Hirí. “You have my word.”
If only he could believe her.
The druid nodded the chambermaid off and she scurried back towards the castle. The acid guilt he had felt before now seeped into his heart. It was a fleeting hope and a foolish plan. He should have known both would end in fire.
Blood smeared his palms.
“Promise me,” he said. “Swear on your god.”
“Does she matter so much to you?” asked the priestess. His look left her sighing. “Yes, alright. I swear on our Mistress Moon.”
The promise made him more incensed as the plan’s futility came crashing down. “If you knew what would happen tonight, why let us pretend? You could have saved us all the trouble.”
“I simply wished to know what your heart truly wanted, and I must say, my darling, I find you conflicted.”
He would not dignify her taunts with response. Instead, he turned sharply and started back across the yard.
“Now, now, don’t be angry,” Hirí called, following. “You should be grateful, instead. After all, I could turn you in.”
He scoffed. “And tell the Vaich you nearly lost your pawn? I doubt that very much.”
“How spirited. To think, I had heard you’d taken terribly ill! But here I see such color in your cheeks. And what luck! You simply cannot miss the feast.”
The druid stopped, facing the priestess in the dark. “Then, you intend to be my gaoler all the same. And your dreams shall be my bars.”
The priestess smiled. “I wish to be your ally.”
He did not want allies. He did not want to have a side in a war that was not his. What he wanted was to return to a world where no one knew his name.
“Let us discuss further upstairs, shall we? You mustn’t attend the party looking so drab.”
Anger bubbled up like bile, and desperately he swallowed it down. “I will be attending no parties.”
“Now, druid. That wasn’t our agreement. Think of the poor old hen…”
He glared.
“You may wish to fight fate, but the fact is you are foretold. Even if I had let you go, do you think you would be free?”
“There are places even arrogant men dare not go.”
“Ah,” she said, understanding. “So you thought the Fáoth would save you? You underestimate their fear. The An’Atherin will burn a path across this world if it means putting down a challenger.
The Vaich sees you as a rival, and thus you will be treated so, whether you embody it or not.
” Her grin stretched wide. “I prefer the former.”