Chapter 7 Together, Yet Apart #2
“A wise idea,” Lara replied with a nod. Their food supplies were dwindling, but they’d have to part with some of it. They still had a couple of Gregor’s pigeons. The birds would have to be offered up. “Ruari and Annis … can you see it done?”
Both druids nodded and started digging into their saddlebags.
Meanwhile, Roth and Cailean wore frowns.
Lara shared their worry. What was the point of avoiding the Fuath on the low road if they awoke to a devastating landslide on this hill?
She’d heard cnoc-banes—‘hill-destroyers’—were highly territorial.
They were ancient spirits that viewed settlements on their hill, even temporary ones, as a scar on their domain.
None of them wanted to be covered in rubble during the night or sucked into a sinkhole.
Bree threw herself backward, boots skidding on the wet grass. Lara’s blade whispered past her throat—close enough that her warder’s eyes snapped wide.
“Impressive.” Bree straightened, breathing hard. Rain plastered her oak-colored hair to her skull. “If a little too aggressive.”
Lara’s chest heaved. Sweat mixed with rain, running down her spine. She raised her knife then, fingers flexing on the grip. Aye, she’d almost taken their sparring too far. It was Alar’s fault. He’d preyed on her mind far too often over the past few days. “Once more.”
They circled. Their fire pit, protected by a hide awning, flickered behind them—torches guttering in the downpour, figures huddled under cloaks. The ground trembled. Just a shiver, as if the earth were shifting in its sleep. The cnoc-banes were making their presence known.
Lara lunged. Bree sidestepped, grabbed her wrist, twisted—
“Slower than I remember, Bree.”
A voice intruded, and the pair froze, their gazes cutting left to where Mor stood at the edge of their circle, water streaming off her black fur cloak. Eagal hunched on her shoulder, feathers slicked flat.
Bree went still. Her fingers tightened around Lara’s wrist, as if she was warning her not to say anything. She wouldn’t. In truth, she’d expected Mor to confront Bree sooner.
“You used to move like smoke.” Mor tilted her head as she studied her former assassin. “But now you move clumsily … like one of them.”
Lara bristled. Clumsily? She didn’t appreciate the slight.
The ground shuddered again. Longer this time. Lara felt it in her knees.
Bree released her wrist and turned to face Mor fully. They stood around five feet apart, rain falling between them in grey sheets.
“I chose this,” Bree said, her tone clipped. “And I have no regrets.”
Mor’s eyes widened slightly, disbelief flickering over her features. “So, Cailean mac Brochan was worth giving everything up for, was he?”
Bree’s lips lifted at the corners. “Aye.”
Rain pattered upon the hide while the fire smoked.
Shee and Marav alike huddled around its scant heat—on opposite sides, as usual.
Even with the shelter they’d erected over the fire pit, the flames guttered.
Across the hearth, Mor’s shoulders were rounded.
She’d pulled her black fur mantle close, although discomfort etched her face.
Likewise, the other Shee looked similarly affected.
Of course, they all hailed from Sheehallion, the land of eternal spring.
Dwelling in Albia came at a price, for this realm weathered bitter winters as well as harsh winds and biting rain at any time of year.
All the same, despite that she was Marav born and bred, Lara had to admit the night was a foul one. The damp made her joints ache, and after a day in the rain, her clothes clung clammily to her skin. How she wished she had a warm, dry tent and a pile of soft furs to crawl into.
Sleep didn’t come easily these days, but it would be even harder to rest in this weather.
A rogue gust whipped through the camp then, causing smoke to billow up from the fire pit.
Coughing followed.
“Grimlochs?” Roth wheezed. Those around the hearth tensed, their gazes narrowing as they tried to catch a glimpse of the mischief-making smoke spirits.
“No,” Mor replied between chattering teeth. “Just foul weather.” She caught Lara’s eye then through the haze of smoke. “You’re a fire-wielder. Can’t you do something?”
Lara frowned. She could. However, she’d gotten used to hiding her ability, not flaunting it. She needed to get over that. Her fire-wielding would be both a tool and a weapon on the journey ahead. She’d have to get comfortable using it without hiding behind a cloak and mask.
“Very well.” Shivering, she reached for the cairn stone she carried at her waist. She then wrapped her fingers around the lump of smoky quartz, its familiar rough edges digging into her skin.
As Ruari had taught her, she found the calm, still place within.
Fire magic was volatile. She needed to be in control of her emotions before wielding it—even for this simple task.
Then, she extended her left hand, fingers fluttering as she sought a connection with the smoking embers. “Come on,” she murmured. “Dance for me.”
Tender golden flames rose from the fire pit, swelling as she extended her fingers fully.
Fire roared to life before them.
Mor watched her work, her face rapt. Then, smiling, she extended her fingers over the flames, while on her shoulder, Eagal ruffled his feathers and preened.
Relief flickered across the faces of the Shee, except for Sablebane, who looked as aloof as ever.
Even Fern’s features relaxed a little, while Vyr smiled. “A useful skill.”
“That’s but a shadow of what she can do,” Bree answered, her tone cool. “You’ll see.”
Mor leaned forward then, her eyes bright. “How does your magic manifest?” she asked. “Can you speak to the flames?”
Lara shook her head. “It’s subtler than that. When I focus on them, I feel a connection form … a partnership. It started a few years ago, when I’d ask fire to dance for me.”
“Does it respond to emotion?”
“Aye … negatively,” Lara replied, aware of Mor’s fascination—an interest that immediately raised her hackles. “Ruari and I have worked together so that I only wield fire when I’m in a calm state. It’s dangerous otherwise.” She paused then. “Didn’t the records you found speak of this?”
Mor leaned back, shaking her head. “It was all about history … not the specifics of the magic.”
“Really?” A groove had etched itself between Bree’s eyebrows. “That seems odd.”
Mor flashed her an irritated look.
A deep rumble rolled over them then, and the ground they sat upon shuddered.
Lara’s breathing caught. The cnoc-banes were indeed restless. In response to her reaction, the flames guttered. But she flexed her fingers again, and the fire flared bright once more.
“We too left some food as offerings upon the summit of the hill,” Mor assured her then, even as her spine stiffened. “Hopefully, it’s enough to keep the ‘hill-breakers’ happy.”