Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
The Map
The castle had suddenly become larger to the druid, who was now expected to be about the Vaich’s apartments. There had been some talk of moving his room closer to the king’s, but this had been met with resistance on every side.
His presence seemed more to do with public perception—a charade the Thrys encouraged. The Vaich was married; the druid claimed, and all manner of uncertainty appeased.
So, their mornings became routine.
They took breakfast together. There would come the chamberlain who would bring the pups, and they’d run, clumsy and delighted, to the druid’s skirts. One, in particular, was persistent, and the druid would take him in his hands and admire his crinkled nose.
They were bonny, with their fur curled and their ears folded. They brimmed with energy and life. The Vaich had named them Inar, the elder and more docile, and Arken, the persistent one. Though the druid did not enjoy to call them thus. He said, “Creatures of the world are nameless.”
“That has not stopped them from seeking your affections,” the Vaich said bitterly, bribing them with sausage beneath the table, but they remained at the druid’s feet.
“I should not stand in the way of the beast. If he comes or he doesn’t.”
The Vaich flushed red. “He always comes.”
It was not uncomfortable there. At least, since the wedding, they had been left to dine alone.
That did not fare especially well with the Sun Matron, who made many unclever attempts to intrude.
The druid thought that if she wanted to eavesdrop, she might have waited till there was something important to hear.
That morning, the chamberlain had delivered the official registry of all landholders in Cullach.
The druid understood little about the Reaffirmation, but was told the ceremony would be perilous.
The Vaich would decide who would be laird and who’d be made Aard, and who would lose their titles entirely.
“The land belongs to no one,” the druid said.
To which the Vaich argued, “Tell it to the tax man.”
The druid only picked at his plate, preferring the porridge. Instead, gave his meat and cheese to the dogs. They growled and battled for the jerky while the king pored over the lists.
“I dinnae suppose your dreams tell me who I shall pick.”
“They are not so precise,” said the druid. The Vaich often referred to the dreams in a sardonic way, though not entirely dismissive. The druid could not discern whether the Vaich believed him or not. He was adamant about his desire for proof.
“Problems are brick and mortar,” he had said. “I cannae do battle with ghosts.”
A month ago, the druid could have appreciated the pragmatism, but felt each night like a nail hammered into his heart. Lady Merah had spoken of partnership, but as it stood, he and the Vaich were strangers.
He needed to win his trust.
The druid had devised a plan. The king’s Aardm?t was swiftly approaching. He had been told this was a pilgrimage assumed by every Vaich on the formation of his Aarden Féin. It would be the final mark of his coronation.
There would be a large entourage; all of the Vaich’s men would be required to ride with him, a selection of castle servants, as well as the royal consort and the overseeing máraigh.
It was a three-month-long ceremonial procession that would begin in Rhyd-hal and take them around all of Cúil Cullach.
If the druid could get into the Vaich’s good graces, he might convince him to venture into the Fáoth. The convoy would pass near the eastern forest, and a small detour would be insignificant.
At least, that is what the druid would say.
“Everyone wants something,” the Vaich muttered, scanning the messy record books.
“Might I see them?” asked the druid.
The king raised contemptuous eyes. “And what will you do? You ken nothing of the west.”
“So I don’t. Then, why should it matter?”
The Vaich considered that, though, not very long. He waved him over with an impatient hand. The druid came, the pups biting at his heels, and the Vaich pointed to the names. “Behold, our kingdom.”
The druid read the words on the page and asked, “Will you tell me of them?”
The Vaich fixed him with a suspicious look. “Why should I do that?”
“At the ceremony, I shan’t speak. So, it is you who must make the right decisions.”
“Is this a test of yours? I have spent a lifetime being tested.”
“And not proven.”
The Vaich clicked his tongue. “I preferred when you were mad.”
“I wasn’t mad. You just thought so.”
A low chuckle and the Vaich shook his head. “By the flame… very well. There is Clan Odhain from Slúin.”
“Slúin?”
“Near the central west. Here…” The Vaich went and pulled a scroll from the cabinet and brought it to spread across the table. The druid had never seen such a map before and his fingers moved delicately, tracing the shape of each region.
“And here,” pointed the Vaich, “is Dunwych. Here is Aonachmar… Sgeirnua…”
The druid listened, but his eyes and fingers trailed to the north and east. His skin brushed the ink…
Arran Fáoth.
The eastern green where the first men had woken.
Where was born the primal root and where the people of the wood still walked and wandered.
It was where he had come of being, come of age, and left behind, wishing to be free.
The bone of his nails grazed the parchment, till the Vaich placed a hand atop his.
The druid drew still.
“It’s your home,” muttered the king.
Home?
He had never known home. Not the way men did. He had thought, once, it was naught but a tether. Did he think that now? It was a place far away. A place that was familiar. A place where once he had belonged.
It was… sorrowful.
The Vaich laughed—an empty sound. “Suppose, at least, you might point to yours on a map.”
The words stirred him. His gaze crawled up, seeing the Vaich’s attention far away. “Is Rhyd-hal not your home?”
“Rhyd-hal is everyone’s home.” The Vaich shook his head. “And no one’s.”
“We all leave our wood,” the druid said quietly. “I left mine many years ago.”
The Vaich’s gilded gaze slid over him, but whatever conclusion he came to, he kept it, pulling his hand away. He pointed again at the ledger. “The riders from Annath.”
“Annath?”
“The river flows from the north sea here”—the Vaich showed him on the map—“all the way down to Dunn Kennigh. Those who mind the river do so in the shadow of the Border Clans—the Dúnan Toor—and the mountains of Fír. The final gate between us and Escgalia.”
Escgalia was a vast kingdom to the east. The druids had said that after the Awakening, some of the first men wandered through the mountains and laid claim to the tundra there. And those men became feral fighters who worshipped gods of iron and ice.
“Is it not possible to make alliances with the ones beyond the mountain?”
The Vaich laughed again. “An alliance with Escgalia? Such a thing has never been. It has not even been considered.”
“You could consider it.”
“This you don’t understand.”
“No,” he replied simply. “I don’t.”
“Even if I could bring every son of Cullach under my banner, the beasts beyond the border are at no one’s behest. The Strider himself could not bring them to heel.”
“Is it so impossible?”
“There are some things that cannae be done.”
“And there are some things far greater than one.”
Exasperated, the Vaich said, “I would let you cross the mountain, but you would not make it past the slope with your head upon your shoulders. We must be realistic. What matters now is securing the border and the south.”
The druid recalled the Dunns arrival at Rhyd-hal. He shuddered to think they might align themselves with such fiends. But he supposed if he were to be true to his words, then even the madmen of the south were worth courting.
“And how do you intend to do it?” asked the druid.
“Simply. If they will not bow, then I shall make them.”
“By force?”
“If need be. But it won’t come to that. The warriors from Annath are powerful. If they rode with me, no one would question my authority.”
“You think you would be strong because they are strong. But in fact, they will be strong and you will still be weak.”
The Vaich tensed, turning his burning orbs on him. “Politics and power are no place for your pretty tongue.”
“That may be, but I am not wrong.”
The king ground his teeth. “That is for me to decide.” He slammed the ledger closed. “Tomorrow is the ceremony. You will attend and behave. And you will come for supper.”
The druid said nothing, but needn’t have. Even in his silence, the Vaich bristled, and before he could speak again, he swept out of the room, summoning the druid’s lady-in-waiting. The druid lingered at the table, eyes drifting down to the map beneath the ledger.
All of Cullach beneath one banner… A dream, indeed.