Chapter 8 Taking the Heather Path
LARA WATCHED THE Shee lead the way onto the Slighe Fraoch. Mor went first upon her elk, dragging the shackled Dorka behind her.
A grey dawn greeted them, the sun a pale glow in the eastern sky.
A collective sigh of relief had rippled through their small camp with the rising of the sun though—for their precautions had worked.
Apart from the odd rumble during the night—warning tremors that shook the hillside—the cnoc-banes had left them alone.
Lara peered through the murk toward where the Shee headed north, disappearing into the mist. The rain had lessened to a drizzle for the moment, but the iron-colored clouds to the north warned that more bad weather would soon roll in.
Soon you’ll face him again.
Aye, there was no getting around this. She was going to have to work with the Half-blood.
Jaw set, Lara straightened her spine and urged Bracken on. Cailean and Roth led the way, with Bree and Lara following. Annis, Ren, and Ruari brought up the rear.
Lara didn’t look back at the three druids.
She hoped they were all ready for the Heather Path.
She'd heard of roads like this one, invisible to Marav but used by the Shee to travel unseen throughout Albia.
Bree had told her there weren't many of these ways, but that if a mortal trod the path, they had to keep their wits about them.
Indeed, Mor had given them a few ‘rules’ the night before.
Don’t leave the path.
Don’t touch anything.
Prepare to face yourself.
The mist swallowed them, as dense as porridge. Rain continued to fall in a soft veil for a short while longer, the caw of ravens echoing across the hillside, and then the air changed.
It grew lighter, scented with thyme, and the rain stopped.
The mist drew back then, revealing a swathe of blue sky arching overhead. And a path stretched before them. It was a greenway, a road of short grass fringed on either side by banks of heather.
Lara stared, entranced, while behind her, some of her companions murmured oaths under their breath.
She’d never seen heather in so many colors.
In Albia this time of year, the heather had faded, but here, it grew as it did in high summer, in profusions of creamy white, dusky-rose, custard-yellow, and even robin’s egg blue as well.
Bracken whickered as they started upon the path, her heavy hooves sinking into the soft carpet of grass.
The mare's head lowered slightly, her large muscular body relaxing. Of course, animals responded well to the Shee and their magic. Her horse felt at home here. Likewise, Skaal loped alongside Cailean’s stallion, her ears pricked.
The fae hound didn't have a problem with this place either.
Lara did though. Aye, the Slighe Fraoch was beautiful. However, from just a few yards in, her mood shifted. Heaviness descended upon her, as well as a nagging sense that something was wrong.
“Breathe slowly,” Bree said then, raising her voice to ensure everyone heard her. “And keep reminding yourself … no matter what you’re faced with on this path … you’re strong enough to stare it down. You are more than the darkest parts of yourself.”
Cailean twisted in the saddle, his gaze settling upon Bree’s face.
Husband and wife shared a long, intense look.
Of course, both her chief-enforcer and warder had bloody pasts.
They’d both done terrible things, followed orders without questioning them.
These days, they made different choices, but this place wouldn’t let them forget.
“The Heather Path will try to shame … and break you. It’s a distorted mirror of sorts that exposes and twists the things about us we’d rather not face … and if you let it, it’ll make you despise yourself.” Bree continued, her gaze never leaving her husband’s. “Don’t let it.”
“Any suggestions on how to protect ourselves?” Ren asked then, her tone subdued.
“It helps if you can imagine something guarding you,” Bree replied, glancing over at the bard. “A wall. A cocoon. Whatever works. Keep your shields up … it’ll help muffle the sensations.”
They rode on, traveling at a brisk canter along the path. The Shee drew slightly ahead, their cloaks fluttering. None of them looked back to see how their Marav companions were faring. Lara wondered if it was deliberate.
Meanwhile, the Slighe Fraoch stretched out before them, undulating over heather-clad hills, while a cloudless blue sky swept over them. The sun bathed their faces, a balm after so much rain and smothering cloud.
The loveliness of this place should have lightened Lara’s heart, but it didn’t. She found herself slumping in the saddle, clinging to the reins as if they were her anchor. The warmth of Bracken’s body against her legs was reassuring too, but the sense of ‘wrongness’ intensified with every furlong.
At first, she took Bree’s advice, imagining a shimmering veil protecting her. It helped, for a while. But eventually, the thoughts broke through.
The first blow struck without warning—a sudden certainty that clawed its way up from her gut.
Her father’s rage lived in her bones. The same fists that had beaten men bloody, the same voice that held no mercy, the same savage pleasure in watching enemies suffer—in torture. She could feel it coiling in her chest, hot and familiar.
Her fingers tightened around the reins until her knuckles went white. Bracken’s mane blurred before her eyes.
Then came the names. One by one, they marched through her mind.
Alar and his wulvers. The Circines. The overkings.
The Raven Queen. Each name carried weight—stone after stone piling onto her chest until she could barely breathe.
The path knew. It showed her what she’d become: a woman who kept lists, who nursed grudges like bruises, who would spend a lifetime feeding her anger until nothing else remained.
And when it was done—when the last name was crossed off, the last throat slit, the last score settled—what then? The path pressed the knowledge into her: nothing. No peace. No satisfaction. Just the hollow echo of her own heartbeat in an empty alcove.
Sweat broke out along her spine despite the mild air.
Was she already too far gone? Sometimes, in the quiet times before dawn, she’d wondered if betrayal upon betrayal had left her beyond repair.
Not broken cleanly but shattered into so many pieces that no amount of vengeance would make her whole again.
The pressure built behind her eyes. Her throat tightened. Bracken’s steady gait became the only real thing in a world that was trying to unmake her.
Around her, the others had gone silent, presumably as they waged their own battles.
They stopped briefly at noon to rest their horses and eat the last of their bread and cheese. The Shee had halted around a dozen yards farther up the path, still keeping their distance.
Lara hardly paid them any attention though. She could barely force down a mouthful of food. Instead, she looked around at her escort.
They were indeed struggling too.
Roth stood by his horse, head bowed, one hand braced against the stallion’s flank as if the animal were the only thing holding him upright.
Cailean had moved apart from everyone, even his wife and fae hound, and now gazed sightlessly into the distance, his jaw working.
Bree had walked away from the others as well.
Her shoulders were rigid, her hands clenched at her sides.
Meanwhile, Ruari’s eyes were wet and bloodshot, his breathing coming in shallow gasps.
Ren and Annis clung together for support, their faces the color of milk.
“I’m a coward!” Ruari cried out then, his voice cracking. “I’ll only let you down, My Queen!”
To Lara’s horror, he now lurched toward the edge of the path, staggering as if drunk.
“Gods!” she cried out. “Stop him, Roth!”
Mor had made it clear what would happen if any of them strayed from the Slighe Fraoch. The beauty surrounding them was just an illusion. Once you stepped off the road, you entered a liminal space that burned you to ash within moments.
Her captain moved fast, grabbing Ruari by the arm and dragging the seer back to his horse.
Lara approached him. The young man trembled.
Sweat beaded upon his brow, and his eyes darted back and forth as though tracking things she couldn’t see.
“Hold fast, Ruari.” She reached out then and placed a hand on his thin shoulder.
“The arch-druid sent you to me for a reason … you’re the youngest to serve as chief-seer in a long while.
” She squeezed tightly then. “When I look into your eyes, I see strength, not cowardice. Don’t you dare stray from the path. ”
The young man stared back at her, a nerve flickering under one eye.
Lara held his gaze, and as she did, something inside her hardened.
Earlier, as she’d dismounted Bracken, she too wondered how she was going to make it through the day.
But the things she’d just said to Ruari helped her as well.
This road was cruel, and Gods knew it found the soft places in her armor with unerring accuracy, but it wouldn’t break her. It couldn’t. She wouldn’t let it.
Nonetheless, when they resumed their journey, the assault began anew.
The weight of ancestral guilt pressed down on her, as though generations of the dead now rode upon her shoulders.
She was the inheritor of their mistakes.
The rift in the veil—the spirits that clawed their way through to torment the living—all of it traced back to blood she carried.
Her ancestors had opened the door, and she was expected to close it, but the path whispered a darker truth: what if she only made things worse?
What if her meddling tore the veil wider still?
Her chest constricted. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, rapid and unsteady.
Then came the fire. Not the physical flames she could summon, but the hunger for them.
The path showed her what she tried to hide even from herself—that every time she called upon her fire magic, it answered more eagerly.
That the rush of power through her veins was becoming sweeter, more necessary.
What if, one day, she reached for it, only to find she couldn’t let go?
The magic would consume her from the inside out, burning away everything until only the fire remained, wild and mindless. Ravenous.
Her breathing grew shallow, then shallower still. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision.
No.
The word came from somewhere deep, somewhere the path hadn’t reached yet. She dragged in a breath, then another, forcing air past the tightness in her throat. “Your words are venom,” she whispered aloud, her voice hoarse. “They have no sway over me.”
The path didn’t relent. But this time, Lara didn’t try to argue or deny its cruelty. Instead, she reached for Bree’s words like a lifeline thrown across dark water. “I’m strong enough to stare you down.” Her lips barely moved. “I’m more than the darkest parts of myself.”
The whispers continued, but she met them with the same words. Again. And again. A sain. A shield. A defiant snarl in the face of everything that wanted to drag her under.
And slowly—so slowly she almost didn’t notice at first—the crushing weight eased. Not gone, but bearable. There was space now between her and the poison the path poured into her mind. A sliver of distance that let her breathe.
She wouldn’t let self-loathing take her. Not today. Not on this cursed road.
The afternoon dragged on. The sun moved across that impossibly blue sky while Lara fought a war inside her own skull. Her jaw ached from clenching. Her shoulders burned with tension. Bracken’s steady rhythm beneath her became a prayer: One step. Another step. Keep moving. Don’t stop.
They made their way down a steep hill now, strewn with gold and pink heather, where bees buzzed and butterflies fluttered. A soft, scented breeze tickled Lara’s cheeks, yet she barely noticed. Every sense was turned inward, focused on the battle for her own mind.
She’d never thought beauty could be such a trial. She just wanted to be free of this place.
And then, moments later, she was.
As they neared the bottom of the hill, the sunshine faded, the breeze grew cool and damp, and mist rolled in. The multi-colored swathes of heather drew back, and familiar clumps of faded dark purple dotted the roadside. The soft grass beneath their horses’ hooves turned to rough pebbles.
The crushing pressure on Lara’s breastbone eased all at once, like shackles falling away. The vicious whispers cut off mid-word, leaving a ringing silence in their wake.
Her spine straightened. She threw her head back and sucked in a lungful of air—real air, clean and cold and blessedly free of magic. Tears stung her eyes. Relief. Bone-deep, overwhelming relief.
“Thank The Mother,” Ruari rasped from behind her.
Aye. They were through. The Slighe Fraoch hadn’t beaten them.
Ahead, the mist parted, and they rode into a stand of pines. The sharp scent of resin, reminiscent of earth magic, filled the air. Lara’s hands still clenched the reins, but the worst had passed. They were home.
She glanced over at Bree then, and they shared a long look. No words needed. Just the understanding of two people who’d walked through fire and emerged on the other side.
Twisting in the saddle, her gaze slid over the three druids riding behind them.
Annis, Ren, and Ruari were all pale and drained, their eyes hollow and haunted. But like her, they’d survived.
The Shee waited for them up ahead. Mor watched Lara intently as she approached. “All is well?”
Lara lifted her chin, eyeballing the Raven Queen. “We’re still here, aren’t we?” If she’d known just how hard this ‘shortcut’ would be, she’d have willingly faced the Fuath instead. Perhaps the Raven Queen had known that.
“You are,” Mor murmured.
The two of them locked gazes then, and Lara had the impression she’d just passed a test.
“Come on.” Mor jerked her chin east. “Our destination is close.”
The tall trees encircled them, their tips brushing the pale sky. The ground squelched underfoot, but the rain had ceased.
A short while later, the pines drew back, and they rode into a wide glen.
The Goatfells rose directly overhead now.
Huge jagged peaks of coarse dark rock with sheer sides.
And ahead, in their shadow, perched upon a high hill, was a fort—three tiers of wooden and stone palisades rising to a broch at its crown.
Lara’s heart kicked hard. The Brooch of Albia.