Chapter 54
Chapter fifty-four
The Prophecy
Heavy lids lifted to reveal a crackling fire. It was a pale morning and the druid’s body was draped in a familiar mantle that smelled strongly of sage. He found it difficult to move, as if a hole had been cut at his feet and the strength bled out.
The druid searched for some explanation as to how he had gotten there and found him leaning against a tree, his raven head slumped to the side in sleep.
What had happened?
The druid wanted to speak, but his throat burned. Saorla was nearby with her pack still saddled. Weakly, he inched his body forwards.
He had not made it off his bedroll before a hand pinned his to the ground. His gaze swiveled to find the Vaich above him. And he was… The druid’s chest tightened. For maybe the first time, the Vaich was unreadable.
“Tell me what you wish and I’ll bring it to you,” he said.
The druid brought his fingers to his throat.
“Drink?” The Vaich reached for his waterskin. He helped the druid sit up, his touch like a velvet swaddle.
The druid drank deep, and a quiet strength returned to his bones. Slowly, he settled with the harrowing truth that he had survived.
But how?
A bone-piercing pain split his head as memory flooded in. He cried out.
“Druid!” The Vaich braced his shoulders.
Fragments of dreams danced through his thoughts—the stars in alignment, a woman’s face, the image of a white tree against the sky.
“I-I remember.”
The Vaich dabbed the sweat from his face with a strip of cloth. “Your eyes… They’re white as ghosts. You really are a seir.”
The word lashed at him, but its truth stung most. He could no longer refuse what he had seen, and now he was certain what was coming.
“It is as I feared. These… giants… They landed many ere ago. Before Cullach as we know it. Before the dawn of sun and the great migrations. I have seen their return.”
The Vaich went still. He did not strike out. He did not recoil in anger. He simply bowed his head and said, “When?”
The druid paused. “You believe me?”
“I willnae deny the powers beyond me. If something wishes to speak through you, then I’ll hear it.”
Panic strummed his aching tendons. The Vaich’s willingness filled him with a sense of relief, and at the same time, a cold, biting dread.
“In the Naém, I saw the alignment of the Thae and moon. It marks a celestial event that occurs once every thousand years.”
“The ísthmhach,” whispered the Vaich.
The druid nodded. “My people have recorded such phenomena over time, though nothing has ever come of the alignment but faerie stories and songs.”
“What makes this one different?”
“I do not know.” He frowned.
The Vaich sat back on his haunches, raking a hand through his hair. “And when this alignment happens, then what? Some great fell beasts will come for our land?”
“These creatures—the Muuirn, I suppose—they came before in hunger. What they wish is not to conquer. These are not men as we understand. What I feel in my blood when I see them I—” The druid trembled and at once the Vaich’s hands steadied him. They shared one timid look before the king pulled away.
“So, they dinnae mean to parley,” he muttered. “Then, did you succeed? Did you see how to defeat them?”
The vision of the silver woman filled his mind.
“Some spell… some magick.” He pressed his eyelids. “I have never seen such a thing. There was a woman… she…”
He had no words for what he had witnessed. A woman becoming a tree? It was absurd. Impossible. But he had seen it. He had felt it.
And it scared him.
“I am sorry.” He shuddered. “I don’t know.”
“Suppose it’ll be the old fashion way, then,” said the king, and his hopeful lilt was almost endearing. “Iron and blood.”
Images of that foul battlefield flashed in his mind. The Vaich stood amongst the carnage but the memory guttered. Could such a future be prevented? What were these dreams if not warnings? He had to believe there was some recourse, and yet the task seemed monumental.
“A force like that is beyond man’s skill,” he said. “It would take tens of thousands.”
“Then I will gather tens of thousands. Even if I’ve to crawl on my knees before every door in Cullach.”
The druid blinked at him, astonished. “Would you?”
“I am Vaich—it isnae just a title. What good is living forever, if all my country should perish? Nae, it is my duty to defend Cúil Cullach. And defend her I shall.”
“Then you shall not do it alone,” the druid said and the Vaich met his gaze.
“Aye?”
“The world will think it madness, and your men do not yet trust me, but the Oracle has seen my truth and they will listen to the Moon’s holy voice. So long as we can persuade it to work for us.”
“The Oracle is in no good way,” said the Vaich.
The druid nodded. “It is true. But suppose I could go to her?”
“Now?” The Vaich frowned. “You’ll not make the journey like this. And I cannae go as escort.”
“Then… when we meet with the others, would you… let me return? I could still save her, at least long enough for her to speak the prophecy.”
The Vaich considered it for a long while. “It may still be madness, but if you think it the best path, then aye. Once we reunite with my Féin, I will send you forth with accompaniment. But it will not be a swift journey. Tell me, how long do we have before…?”
The druid pictured the mosaic in the Augeri library and Hirí’s voice sang in his mind.
“The ísthmhach will occur in little more than a year, if two winters hence. Though, I cannot say precisely. The Fíor can read best the celestial maps.”
The Vaich darkened at the word. “I’m afraid we willnae be able to put in the request.”
“What do you mean?” The druid’s dread returned.
“We have been cast out.”
“Cast… out?”
“I profaned their magick tree. And so, they threw us to the wilds. If that causes you trouble… I’m sorry. But we shan’t turn back.”
“The womb tree…”
It was then the druid turned, his gaze falling on the torn carcass of the Urna’ha. It had been so quiet he had not realized they had not left the grove.
Its stone skin was lifeless and grey. Its whispers stifled.
“You… destroyed it.”
The Vaich sat, eyes downcast. His hands were covered in scratches, the flesh red and hard.
“You werenae going to come back.”
Then, it was true.
He had failed.
All that he had seen, all that he had learned… it would have been consumed. Just like Onath. He was another lamb to slaughter, and what he could not pay in blood, he would pay in silence. He had become sacrifice and villain all in the same night. And even his unimpeachable earth had judged him.
“I pulled you from its grasp. And now… now we are both punished.” The Vaich looked pained. A pain the druid felt in his own heart—but for entirely different reasons. “I couldnae leave you to die. That thing would have devoured you.”
“And suppose you ought to have let it.”
“It wasnae worth your life!”
His life? A thing of woe and misfortune, once caged, now exiled. And he supposed he deserved it.
Thousands of years of history… butchered in his name.
“You are foolish,” the druid muttered.
“Yes,” the Vaich agreed. “And I’d tear down a hundred more.”
What is your violence for?
The druid lifted his hand—fingers brushing the king’s face.
What makes ours more pure?
Those golden eyes widened in terror, in twisted desperation.
“I’m sorry.” He gripped the druid’s hand tightly, holding it against his cheek, and the druid saw him—that scared, petulant little child, buried beneath the desires of a man.
What have I done to you?
The Vaich turned his face against his palm, lips grazing the druid’s chilled skin. It tingled, warm and wanting.
What are you doing to me?
“It’s my fault,” the Vaich whispered. “It’s all my fault you can’t go home. Please… come back to mine.”
Before the druid could answer, pain ripped through him. He doubled over, gripping his side.
“Lie down!” the Vaich instructed. He guided him back, sweeping aside the mantle to reveal the druid’s ribs and abdomen wrapped with bandages. There was no blood there, and yet the skin was deeply tender.
“You should rest, dinnae push yourself a-nis. It’ll be a hard ride in good condition.
And that’s no condition of yours. This will help with the pain.
” The Vaich brought a vial to the druid’s lips and at once the latter recoiled.
He smelled meadowsweet and englebere. Neither of which he expected the king to know, let alone properly brew.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
The Vaich looked worried. “Is something the matter with it?”
The druid took the vial, smelling its aroma. “This…” he muttered. “Did the Fíor give it to you?”
“No, I… There came a traveler… He said he could help with your mend I—”
“And you trusted him?”
The Vaich reddened, glancing away. “I… no, I… see… well I fought him, ken. And after—”
“Fought him?”
“I thought he was come to hurt you, but he said he was skilled with herb. I… I didnae ken what else to do. You wouldnae wake. I couldnae move you, and even if I could, to who would I bring you? I’ve nothing to do here. I’ve nothing.”
The druid felt his heart churn with each word. Silently, he took up the vial and drank it down.
The Vaich tensed. “It’s alright, then?”
He supposed it might have been poisoned, but then, he’d likely already be dead.
An innocent traveler, perhaps.
“I should dictate my will, in case it be otherwise,” said the druid.
The Vaich growled. “Your humor is foul as a fewheling!”
The druid smiled. His skin was still saturated with the hint of a touch in which he had never known comfort. Now those hands brought him healing.
He wanted to hold the moment longer, yet it seeped away, and in its place was terror.
It wasn’t the creatures, these… Muuirn that frightened him so badly. But the haunting belief that he had met them before.
The druid gazed long into that broken womb.
“Do you believe someone can live two lives?” he whispered to the air.
“Two lives?” The Vaich said. “Suppose I might do if the prophecy holds true.”
“Not to live eternally, but to be… reborn?”
“I ken not what you mean, druid. To die and live again… It would be something monstrous.”
He supposed it was where their faith aligned.
To die was to be returned to the earth that gave them life. To break that cycle… did it mean the earth had offered him back?
It would be two days more, in and out of loose consciousness. When he slept, the visions would come. Those new… and old. More and more he awoke in a warm sweat, and always the Vaich was beside him, mopping his skin with a damp cloth.
On the third day, the druid was well enough to stand and walk. The remedy had been fruitful, and no consequence had yet manifested. They decided they would head back.
They had breakfast—some nuts and berries from the brush—and the king packed camp. He looked at the druid’s unworn slippers and sighed. “Won’t you be good and put on your shoes?”
“It is summer now and I want to feel the earth,” said the druid.
“You willnae be tamed, I ken’ih.” The Vaich bent and took the shoes and packed them on the saddle. The druid watched him in quiet wonder.
What stood before him now was not the man he had met in winter. It was as if the Vaich had melted down in the great Unthawing, and bared all his skin for the druid to see.
He returned, holding out his hands, and the druid allowed him to hoist him up. He stumbled on his weakened feet, but the Vaich was quick to secure him with a strong arm about the waist.
“Aye now, slow and steady.”
An odd fluttering filled his chest and stomach. The druid did not know the name for such things and had no words as the Vaich’s gaze traced his mouth.
“Well, let’s get you up,” he whispered.
They came before the mount where the Vaich foisted him up. He seemed to be particularly careful not to jostle the druid too much, and followed after, fastening them together by the shawl.
“If it aches too much, then say so and we’ll stop and have a rest.”
The druid nodded his understanding, but he had no desire to delay. He had already taken too much time and he would be a fool not to know what it had cost. Every day their absence furthered, the men of the Féin would grow restless. What would they find when they returned?
The mare started forwards and they were off, back through the wood, out towards the great wide world again.