Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
The Heir
From the moment he was born, he knew he would be king.
It was a gilded life. One that came with many privileges. That Sólarch, in particular, would be one to remember.
“We ought to go down to the river and swim!”
The sun was bright that day, even in the thick of the grove. The sons of the Féin had come to train in the morning. They had done some exercises in the yard and now it was nearly noon.
“My hand is tired! I think I’ve got the wooden wrist,” moaned Greyv.
“Your hand’s not wooden, but your head is!” Skyre chortled. Greyv shoved him and they started to wrestle. Medhin observed as the children mucked about. Skyre, now eight summers old, was boisterous and very good at wrestling.
“Would you two cut it out,” said another.
“Who’dve thought,” said Skyre, his arms tight around Greyv’s shoulder. “Niall the straw-eater! You’re the most boring person I ken.”
The other boys giggled and Greyv flailed, squirming free of Skyre’s hold. “Niall is about as fun as a bucket of nails!”
Skyre frowned. “That’s wrong. The nails would tell better jokes.”
“Ha, ha,” said Niall with a scowl. “My father will hear about this.”
Skyre sat back, resting his weight on his palms. “It’s always my father this, my father that. Dinnae ye ken? Niall has the greatest papa in all of Cullach!”
Niall clenched his fists. “You’re just angry you haven’t got one!”
The younger boy smiled, but it was an odd, twisted thing. “Is that so?”
The children did not have time to argue further. Someone called, “Skyre! Come look! Is it for you?”
The boy rose, pulling leaves from the tangles of his raven hair as he looked out to see what was the commotion.
Sauntering back into camp was Rask, and not alone.
He gripped the leather reins of a shaggy filly, auburn as the trees of Baine.
The boys marveled at it, but none so much as Skyre, whose eyes were wide in excitement.
At once, he scrambled over the fence, leaving his shirt upon the post and rushed to his mentor’s side.
“What’s this, Rask? It’s mine, isn’t it?” he said, fingers itching.
“Dinnae ask fool questions or ye get fool answers. A king in training needs his steed,” said Rask.
Skyre beamed, running eager hands over the filly’s soft hide. “Such a gorgeous thing. Look! Come and look at my horse!” he called to the others. They came rushing—all except Niall, who lingered behind.
“That’s a beauty,” said Greyv in equal excitement.
Skyre raked the filly’s mane, smiling into its big brown eyes. “I’ll name her… Saorla.”
“A braw name for a strong girl. Dinnae take her lightly,” said Rask. “You care for her right, you do well by her, and she’ll serve you all her life.”
Skyre nodded, taking the reins. He gave the horse a walk about, proudly showing her off.
“Go on, Skyre! Take her for a ride!” the boys encouraged. The young heir was at first enthusiastic, but then very nervous, though he tried to hide it with a steady voice.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he said.
“Aw no, why? Come and get up!”
Skyre laughed. “I’ll make introductions first.”
“You’re just scared,” said Niall.
Skyre glared at him. “Am not.”
“Sure you are. You’ve never ridden before. Even though you’re nearly ten summers. Most of us have been riding for years already.”
Skyre ground his teeth. “Everything in due time.”
“You’ll probably fall off.”
His fingers dug into the leather. “Will not.”
“Sure.”
“If you’re so great, then show us how it’s done! Niall the Clever, greatest horsemaster in all of Righnach’Dúir!” Skyre thrust forth the reins. When Niall did not come, he said, “You’ll be first to ride the Vaich’s horse. Or will you go and tell your father you’ve refused my honor?”
Niall grumbled under his breath, coming and snatching the straps. “No.”
“Good,” said Skyre. “Have a prance about.” Skyre stood back, crossing his arms over his puffed chest.
Niall gave him a look—one of annoyance, but mostly resent. All the boys treated him nicely. But Niall. It left such a salty taste, that every time he was in camp, it made the day a little worse.
When the older boy finally crawled up onto Saorla, the young heir flashed him a smile. “Go on. Why dinnae you do a trick?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the older boy.
“I’m not. Give it a walk, or she’ll give you one. Go for it, Saorla!” He gave the filly’s hind a hard slap and it reared in response, causing Niall to jerk back on the reins. That frightened the animal further and it darted off at such a pace that the other boys howled.
“Look at it go!”
“Go on, Niall! Faster!”
They watched from the fence as the filly galloped about the camp, nearly knocking over the máraigh as it went. Skyre laughed, but the horse didn’t stop, even as Niall started to shout.
“Stop! Slow down, you terrible thing!”
Rask and Medhin rushed over, and the Aard called to the horse to get it to slow.
But it wouldn’t. With each passing second, Skyre’s smile faltered more.
The boys beside him were in fits of giggles, making fun of the awful way Niall screeched.
Saorla seemed panicked, and that panic dripped into his elders, and now… now into Skyre himself.
He hurried up beside the Sun Matron and said, “Máta, have them stop it. It’s getting too nervous now.” Medhin’s eyes darkened upon the scene, but she was quiet. “Máta?”
Rask became more desperate, trying to corner the filly out, but to no avail.
Its speed was commendable… if not for the precarious circumstance.
It barreled sharply towards the wood lot at the edge of the camp, and only there did it stop, coming to an abrupt halt.
The motion jerked the boy forwards, sending Niall tumbling over the front of its neck.
His grip on the reins held and both boy and horse fell amongst the piles.
A hush fell over the crowd.
Rask ran forwards, Medhin sharp at his heels.
But Skyre… Skyre remained.
The adults knelt around Niall’s crumpled form.
He could hear them muttering, but no cry came from Niall’s mouth.
The filly had risen and staggered off, trotting aimlessly about the lot.
Skyre wanted to go too, but his feet felt stuck to the ground.
Only when Medhin returned to him, ushering him towards their hut, did he move.
“That will be enough,” she muttered to the priestesses. “Send the boys back home.”
“But they just got here—” Skyre started but she steered him sharply inside. Once there, he spun to her. “Niall is always such a lump! Tell him to come over and stop messing things up!”
The Sun Matron knelt before him, cupping his face. “I’m afraid, Mirín, it won’t be so simple.”
“Just tell him to get up!”
She held him, and he didn’t know what that meant. His body shook, and he didn’t know why.
He shivered in her grasp, his eyes filled with tears, till the hide door pulled back and Rask entered. His face was grim, as it always was, but there was something there the boy hated to see. He gripped Skyre’s arm in a harsh hold.
“Aard—”
“Dinnae speak, woman, this isn’t your province. Go out and let me have him.”
The Sun Matron bristled, but relented, and silently went out.
The boy’s teeth chattered as Rask forced him to sit.
“Niall… he’ll get better, won’t he?” The words felt weak. Sounded afraid. He looked desperately up at his mentor. “Won’t he?”
Rask stared at him with those hard, stony eyes. “The boy has broken his neck.”
“But he’ll…”
“He is dead.”
Skyre shook his head. “No… he can’t be.” Tears welled, clogging his golden eyes, and he was up instantly, rushing for the door.
“That pony… the brute! I’ll have them kill it!
We’ll break its neck, too!” Rask grabbed him, dragging him backwards, and the boy collapsed at his feet, weeping.
“Put it down Rask… make them put it down…”
“You willnae sentence that creature for your crime,” the man growled.
“I didn’t… I never meant for—”
“It dinnae matter what you meant. I ought to make you set his pyre, but I’ve got to give him to his father and you cannae follow.”
The boy wept harder. “It was an accident.”
“And life’s full of them. But in the end, intention or not, it all comes back to you.” He pressed his finger to the boy’s chest. “You gave the order. Your blessing. And away he went. Now, he’s nae getting up again.”
Skyre rubbed his aching eyes.
“This is the day you learn. All you say and do has consequence. The gods might’ve chose you, but those boys did not. And one day, they’ll be men. You’ve got to be worth your word. You can order a life to end, Skyre. The sooner you understand what that means, the better off we’ll be.”
“I didn’t want him to get hurt,” he whispered. His face pulled taut, wet and sticky with tears.
“But he did,” said Rask. “Are you going to be a king who shirks blame? That’s a man I willnae follow.”
Skyre shook his head.
“Then what’re you gonna be?”
“I want to be… be a good king.” He sniffled. “I want them to choose me.”
“Then be it,” said Rask, pushing him towards the door. “Go and tell the boys goodbye, then you can say your prayers over him.”
Skyre nodded and went out. Medhin was waiting and embraced him close, but he shimmied out of her grasp. “I’ve got to go on,” he said quietly. “Go on and say goodbye.”
“Mirín…”
Skyre stopped some paces ahead, clenching his hands into fists. “I don’t want to be a king who says goodbye!” His words roused the camp. “I don’t want anyone else to die!”
“It will be a long life,” said Medhin. “You will have a great many challenges…”
“Then I will face them all and lose none! I’ll be a good king. A good king!” he cried. “And no one else will fall.”
***
The sun grew longer. Every day, new guests arrived at Rhyd-hal—lairds, envoys and wealthy men, all in anticipation of the Reaffirmation.
That morning came the men from Annath. They minded the river Fír on the eastern border, and were powerful and large in stature. Skyre rushed down to the bailey, eager to lay his eyes upon them.