Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
The Shadow
The druid waited long enough for the men to get drunk before slipping away from the party.
Swift and soundless, he crept down to the cloister. The crisp night air nipped at his skin. The moon waned above. For a moment, he breathed it in, relishing the quiet.
He missed it.
He missed the world beyond the walls. He missed the smell of the forest; the damp of the grass after rain, the sound of life awaking to spring.
The cloister was still. The druid listened for any movement. He had been hopeful… but then, it was late after all. And perhaps, too optimistic to trust in wild things. Just as he accepted defeat, there came the soft clap of fluttering wings.
He gasped as the familiar silken form landed beside him on the stone.
“Ainfír!”
The raven trilled in reply and the druid sighed with relief. He hadn’t seen the raven for a while, but had prepared for him anyway. He reached into his purse, retrieving the scraps he’d pilfered from supper. He set them upon the balustrade and the raven hopped near.
“Quite discerning you are,” said the druid as the raven plucked at bits of bread. Then, content or otherwise, it went off. When some time had passed, the druid began to think he was, indeed, too hopeful. But then it returned, feathers glistening with moonlight, and clamped in its beak…
The page he’d saved from the bookhold.
“You are too kind,” he whispered, giving the raven a gentle stroke. The druid took the parchment, gingerly unfolding it. He could see little in the dark, but the faded runes were a promise.
He had his proof, however fragile. Now the Vaich would have to accept that some part of what the druid spoke was truth. If he navigated carefully, he was sure he could make the Vaich see reason. If he could only force his hand about the Fáoth…
The raven cawed, dragging the druid’s attention upwards. As his eyes passed along the far side of the cloister, something shifted in the shadows. His skin prickled. He considered to call out; to ask the person to present themselves, but something warned him against it.
It could have been one of the priests on a late round, or one of the guests come down from the feast. Yet, the shadow stilled, as if it had caught sight of him, and now they watched each other in the dark.
Dread tiptoed through his mind. Instinctively, he stepped back. The shadow seemed to twist beyond the columns, as if deliberately avoiding each pool of fading moonlight.
The world slowed.
Ainfír squawked, chasing the rapid beats of his pulse as footsteps echoed in the corridor.
“Who comes there?” he called. The raven flew up towards the spandrels, and the druid took another step back, stuffing the parchment into his sleeve. This didn’t feel like a priest coming for a simple reprimand. It didn’t feel right. His breath stumbled, but his limbs were too heavy to move.
The footsteps hastened. His lips parted, but no sound released, until—
A heavy hand settled on his shoulder and the druid spun. The scream caught on his tongue as he looked up into a deep emerald eye.
It reminded him of…
“A-Aard Nacht?” The druid’s heart rapt against his chest, but he composed himself as best he could in front of the massive man.
“Your Majesty, are you alright?”
“I…” The druid glanced over his shoulder, training his ears through the eerie still.
The footsteps had gone quiet.
Had he imagined it?
He shook his head, mind spinning with a thousand thoughts. “I am well, thank you. What… what are you doing here?”
“The place was full of noise.” The holler looked briefly in the direction of the hall, far away in the belly of the castle. “It don’t suit me.”
The druid softened. “I often feel the same.”
“Thought a walk would do me good. But this whole place is a cage.”
“You would certainly find more joy beyond the city gates.”
“Suppose I shan’t find it now.”
The druid relaxed somewhat, but his body still shivered. Once more, he glanced over his shoulder, but the corridor was empty.
Nacht’s gaze followed. “There’s an off energy about. Shall I return His Majesty to his chamber?”
The druid thought to deny him, but that empty corridor was unsettling, and so he nodded.
Nacht gestured him ahead, and the two departed the cloister, heading for the south tower.
“I am sorry about the Vaich’s decision,” the druid said more gently.
“Nothing to be done,” Nacht said. “I expected little from this new Vaich, but you’re still his Queen, and you have his ear.”
That was a curious way to broach a conversation, and the druid gathered the holler was not a man of subtlety.
“I hardly think he respects me more than you,” he said.
Nacht glanced sideways at him. “Then we both have work to do. The east’s never been a simple thing, but this boy and his crown… he dinnae ken what he’s wandering about to. There’s a shifting. The eastlings grow bold.”
“It was my understanding the Dúnan Toor were to manage the mountains.”
“Aye,” said the holler. “But they are easily swayed. With a turn of the wind, they might change their loyalty. It is my men who mind the true border. For we are the last of honor before abyss.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
The two had reached the druid’s chamber and stopped in the empty hall.
“The Vaich isnae prepared for those he’ll come to greet,” said Nacht.
“When the Aardm?t gets east, the more dangerous things will be. Old Lach’Dun was a good king, and even he couldnae sew the deep wounds.
Bargains and sweet words, aye. But it’s an even head that could curry favor from fiends.
If I were a praying man, I would put my knee before one who could speak with gentler tongues. ”
“You ask me to parley with these men?”
The holler shook his shaggy head. “I ask you to temper a blade.”
“A difficult task.”
“If anyone could do it, it’s a woodsingr.” Nacht bowed again, this time bending at the waist. “G’night, Majesty.”
The druid lingered in the hall after he had gone, his mind working through the day.
The castle had become a crossroad where power met play. The druid, who had never mattered to anyone or meant much of anything, had become a riddle around which men orbited, and he was no closer to knowing why.
He slipped quietly into his room, retrieving the folded paper from his sleeve. It still smelled of dust.
For a moment, he held the life he had once lived within his hands. His world of ancient wisdom and quiet truth. He and that battered bit of paper were all that had survived the flame. He felt both pride… and shame.
Maybe if he had stayed all those years ago… maybe none of this would have happened. Instead, he spent a lifetime running, deluding himself into believing his ghosts would never find him. Now, he had no choice but to face them.
But to return…
The druid went to the chest at the foot of his bed, lifting the lid and gazing down at a bundle of linen. He laid the bookhold parchment inside, then carefully peeled back the fabric. There within lay the Vaich’s golden dagger, carved with the sigil of the sun.
To return, he would first need his cunning. And secondly, he would need to survive.