Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
The Moon
The druid’s bedchamber was a silent vigil.
The candles burned cool. A chill wafted in, smelling of fragrant oils; it whispered against his skin.
It was the second time he had been given into the hands of the Nytherim. The second time his body was prepared, and perhaps this time, a little death awaited him, again.
The priestesses circled, painting his body.
It was dreamy and dizzying and he grew anxious as the hour drew near.
At Rhyd-hal, time was both fleeting and slow so that the druid had difficulties keeping track of it.
But it occurred to him with some quiet mourning that it had come the eve of Oestera, the celebration of spring and unity.
What had once been a lovely and delicate thing was now mired in bitter grief.
As the sun sunk low in the sky, the door creaked open, and the druid turned to see a familiar face.
“Hirí!” Seeing her, a rush of need washed over him. “You’re back.”
“Tis your wedding night,” she exclaimed, setting her coffret on the table. “I would not miss it for the world.”
She shooed the other Nytherí out; their protests went unspoken.
“How is the Oracle?” he asked once they were alone.
Despite his qualms with her, the Oracle was the druid’s only hope for legitimacy. If she could relay what they had seen in the water… if she, too, could speak the coming of the pale ships, then the Vaich—then everyone—would listen.
“Unwell, I’m afraid,” answered Hirí. “Some think she will not last the season.”
A shiver rattled his spine. “Surely she has spoken?”
The priestess shook her head. “Only mutterings, but it is delirium. A sorry state, indeed. Little can be done now.”
“If I could go to her—”
“Our place is here,” said Hirí. “Tonight is very important.”
But the wedding was the furthest thing from his mind. “And if she does not last?”
Hirí gestured dismissively. “If the Oracle dies, another shall take her place. The conclave will decide from amongst the Nytherí. But the process will be tedious; not all are fit to be prophetess.”
If their initiation rituals were any indication, whatever selection process they performed would be just as miserable.
His hope ebbed.
“How could this have happened?”
“I could not say. Though it is almost certainly connected to whatever visited you in the mere.” Her lips twisted into a dark smile.
“You think it was my fault?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Simply… peculiar.” She considered him. “I have seen many things in my dreams. Some have come to pass. Others… Well, not everything the Moon gives us is sure. But one thing is certain—I have never seen a thing so great as to bleed my eyes from their pits.”
He swallowed heavily. “In my dreams… I see a terrible war. Invaders from beyond the sea.”
“War?” She gave a thoughtful trill. “In my dreams, I see a sunless sky and a great victory.”
Victory? That could not be further from his vision. And he wondered… who was right?
“I always knew you were special,” she said, dipping a horsetail brush into an open bowl of paint.
“I do not wish to be special,” he said. “All I want is for the Vaich to listen. I believe my dreams are a warning. That they tell of what’s to come. And what has been before.”
“Before? How profound.” She lifted his chin with the crook of her finger and began to color the corner of his eye.
“Do you believe me?” he asked.
“I believe that you were called here for a reason. And that reason has yet to manifest.”
“Then help me convince the Vaich.”
“Should he listen, what would you tell him?”
“The truth.”
She hummed, admiring her work. “The An’Atherin do not enjoy to hear truths. Even less when they come from our mouths.”
“But I could help him to prepare.”
“Seems a mercy he does not deserve.”
“He?” The druid shook his head. “His fate will be all our fates, if nothing is done. Should I damn every man, woman, and child to death for one man’s pride?”
She smiled. “It would make a riveting story.”
“With no one left to tell it,” he said. “The druids of the past spoke of the coming of ships. If my musings are fact, then the Naém may tell us how to elude them as we once did.”
“It is curious, don’t you think? Your people can see across history, yet you have never heard of such creatures.”
It was true. But he supposed even the druids’ memories were subject to time.
Maybe his dreams weren’t certain. Yet, he could not ignore the piercing dread in his heart; the fear of a cycle repeating.
If he could only return to the trees… but without the Vaich’s permission, his paths to the Fáoth were few.
“I will find out, one way or another. I’ll convince him to let me go to them—”
“And what shall you do if he does not?”
“What other option do I have?”
Hirí put down her brush. “The Vaich is young, and yet untested. He, like all men, clings to power. But if you insist, there are other ways to tame a beast.”
The druid bristled. “That is not to be considered.”
“No?” She chuckled. “I see. You find his manner abhorrent. Perhaps his bedside shall be otherwise?”
He scoffed. “I’m not interested in seduction. I would have him listen honestly.”
Her laughter sharpened. “My dear druid, so new are you to this world. The only honesty a man has is in his cock. Suppose you might consider that at midnight, when it is within your possession.”
“So you won’t help,” he said, frustrated.
“I am helping. If it wasn’t for me, you would be his captive, but tonight, you shall be his wife. Now, let’s get you dressed.”
His wedding gown hung by the fire. She inspected it with twinkling eyes. “Gossamer and silver. Opulence befitting Nythis, herself. Now you, too, shall be a bride of AEon’Righ.”
He did not wish to be a bride of anything.
The priestess helped him into the gown. It was as light as spidersilk and cool to the touch. The color of fog, it cloaked his body like a sheen of dew. The sleeves settled above his wrists and Hirí went still at the sight of them. The angry red marks had dimpled into bloody purple.
“Who did this to you?”
Nervously, he pulled back on his arm, but her grip did not loosen. “It matters not,” he murmured.
“It matters a great deal. Tell me.”
“It was…”
Her face filled with recognition. “Ah. Some things never change.”
“What—”
“All the better,” she said. “Let them see.”
“No!” He reached for her hand. “I will not go as some battered offering. Please. Help me cover them.”
For a split moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of fury in her eyes, but it dripped out like water through a crack, and she said, “Of course, my dear. If that is what you wish.”
They were wordless as she found some blue ribbon and fastened it around his wrists like silk shackles. They looked beautiful, but in his mind, he could only see the chains.
The hour neared.
His gaze fixed on the hearth, where the tallow lay warming.
Hirí cupped his face. “It will all go quickly, darkling. No fear,” she said, running her thumbs against his skin.
“I have never seen a wedding,” he muttered. “I do not know what to expect.”
“It is all rather simple. They shall read the rites. And fasten the hands. You’ll be kissed… And the seeding will begin.”
“Shall it be painful?” he asked quietly.
“It’s but a moment. A turn of the blade… a prick—”
He winced. A stinging pain cut across his cheek; on her fingertip was a drop of scarlet blood.
“How clumsy of me.” She licked it clean with the tip of her tongue. “You won’t feel a thing. Here…” She returned to her coffret, shifting aside bowls of pigment and withdrew a small jar of ivory beads. She shook one onto her palm and brought it to him. It was small and pale and strange.
“What is it?” he said, still rubbing his face.
She took it between her fingers and held it to his mouth. “It will make you feel nothing… or everything. Whichever you delight. Hold out your tongue.” He didn’t, but she took his chin and instructed him again. “Open.”
He had no choice.
She placed the bead upon it and grinned as she watched it melt.
“Good,” she whispered. “Now, shall I apply the tallow?”
“I will do it myself,” he said, firmly. But the room tilted and he braced against the bedpost. “W-what did you give me?”
“I told you, it will make it alright. Now, stand properly. You can’t embark your wedding march with soft legs. There,” she said, steadying him, “I will take you down to the door.”
“Will you come inside?” he muttered, trying to hold onto his muddling mind.
“Oh, but I could. Nytherí are forbidden from the Eternal Flame. They say we will shroud its light. You will have to tell me all that you see. Shall we go, my love?”
He looked up at Hirí, his breath ragged and wanting. “I feel…”
He swayed again, but she grasped his shoulders, keeping his body upright. His skin flushed beneath her touch and he pressed his thighs tight.
“It will pass in a moment. Until then, I am here.” Her thumb traced his bottom lip.
“We are the same, you and I. And we must rely on one another. It is all we can do to survive this world of reckless fire.” She leaned closer, and her cool breath tickled his mouth.
“The sun does not protect, but consumes. Remember what I have said.”
“Hirí…”
“It is time to claim your crown.”