Chapter Eleven #2
“I’LL TAKE FIRST WATCH. DOMHNALL, YOU’RE WITH ME. After that, Kían and Clía, then Niamh and I,” Ronan said, rolling out his pack in the large glade.
Clía couldn’t help but feel jealous of ó Dálaigh, who had the luxury of sleeping through the night since he was only here to supervise.
“Two watches?” She looked at Ronan. “You need rest too.”
“And I’ll get it. But I’m not leaving anyone to handle a watch on their own. We don’t know what’s in these woods.” He turned to the rest of the group. “No tents. If we need to move fast at any point, they’d only slow us down.”
His words brooked no argument.
Clía busied herself with setting up for the night. She wanted to enjoy every moment of rest she had. However, it felt like the moment her head finally fell against the stiff bedroll, she was shaken awake by a warm hand on her arm.
“It’s time for your watch.” Her bleary eyes could just make out Ronan’s form leaning over her.
His long hair, tousled by the wind, had fallen in front of his eyes.
She sighed, her hand reaching for her sword as she stood. “I need you to know that I’m holding back quite a few complaints.”
“You and me both,” Kían whispered from behind her, startling her. “Everyone knows the middle watch is the worst.”
Ronan narrowed his eyes. “Next time, you can come up with the order.”
“Gladly,” Kían replied.
Ronan didn’t argue further, and instead climbed into his bedroll. “Wake me if there’s any trouble,” he said, before turning to sleep and leaving her alone with Kían.
Kían looked to her. “So, you and the gods-blessed one are friends?”
“‘Gods-blessed’?” she whispered back, careful not to disturb their resting companions.
“Have you seen him fight? People say that Ríoghain themself blessed him when he was a child.”
Ronan didn’t exactly seem very gods-blessed when he was waking her up early in the morning, sleep still in his eyes. Sure, he was a good fighter, but Clía was more likely to attribute that to his training regimen than any deity.
“He’s definitely . . . skilled,” she said carefully, not wanting to insult Kían in case they truly believed what they were saying.
Kían raised a brow. “Oh, is he now? And what skills exactly are we talking about?”
Clía was proud that she managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Rather than dignifying them with a response, she began making her way to the edge of their little camp.
“I wonder what the prince thinks of your sudden closeness with the captain. Quite an interesting arrangement you have here.” Kían walked backward in front of her, blocking out the forest that surrounded them in exchange for keeping her in view.
She rewarded them with a look as sharp as her blade. “What are you talking about?”
They leaned back against a moss-covered tree with a subtle smile.
“I’m getting ahead of things. Tell me, have you won your prince’s heart back?
” She stiffened, and they must have noticed, because they were quick to clarify.
“I won’t criticize you for your goals. I can’t begin to tell you the things I’ve done for love; it has put me in more than my fair share of questionable predicaments.
There was once this girl . . . Well, perhaps I ought not to share those details. ”
They smiled over the memory. “I guess”—they leaned forward, looking directly at her—“what I want to ask is if you think all of this is worth it. Caisleán. The ominous forests.”
“Of course it is.” Clía’s reply was quick.
“All right. As long as you believe that.”
The moonlight caught in Kían’s curly hair, forming a halo above the warrior.
The scratches in their armor were barely visible in the night, but she could still make out a few.
Trophies from battles won. Clía had traveled to Oileánster only a couple of times in her life; the southernmost kingdom of Inismian, they honored Orlaith, Stormweaver, god of the sea, with their skilled sailors and myriad port cities.
A warrior’s life wasn’t a common one there.
Which begged the question, why would an Oileánstran lísoir willingly follow Ríoghain’s path?
She didn’t ask, instead saying, “If you know so much, what are your thoughts on the prince?”
“Not my type, I’m afraid.”
“Of course, because that’s what matters most in a future ruler. Whether or not you find them attractive.”
“Exactly.” Kían grinned. “I’m glad you understand.”
The rest of their watch was quiet. And when it was over, Clía was asleep almost before her head hit the bedroll.
***
THE NEXT DAY, THEY TRAVELED UNTIL THE FOREST brOKE away from them, revealing an expansive lake. Mist rolled off it in waves, but the dark waters remained still. The lake was framed by trees and stone, a cliff face lurking above it like the maw of a beast.
“The onchú might be living there,” Kían said, pointing to the cliff. A small cave entrance could barely be seen behind a thick growth of vines.
Ronan nodded. “It’s worth exploring. Clía and Kían, take the left flank. Niamh, Domhnall, stay behind me. I’ll draw it out if it’s there. Keep your distance until you have no choice. Niamh, I want you to apply the ranged attack.”
Everyone began moving all at once. Clía fumbled to free her blade, following Kían as they led her to the edge of the trees and slowly approached the cliffside. Niamh readied her bow, and Domhnall stood with his sword as Ronan made a direct line toward the cave entrance.
He walked steadily. Sure. He gripped his blade, and with the other hand reached down to the shoreline and grabbed a stone. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, a look of concentration on his face—then he hurled it right into the mouth of the cave.
They waited. Clía’s breath caught in her chest.
A moment of silence. Then heavy thuds.
Paws on dirt.
Ronan launched another stone.
The beast emerged.
It stood as tall as Clía, a mountain of bold and vibrant green fur. With its sleek fox head, sharp eagle claws, and strong wolf hind legs and tail, it was no wonder so many people had fallen prey to it.
Its eyes found Ronan in seconds. With a roar, it lunged forward.
Niamh sent an arrow flying, but it was too late. A swipe of its claws sent Ronan crashing to the ground. Clía rushed to his side as Domhnall, Kían, and Niamh descended on the monster.
“Are you okay?” She scanned him for injuries. His silver breastplate was marred by deep cuts from the onchú’s talons.
“I’m fine,” he huffed, climbing back to his feet.
There was a shout. She turned to see Niamh stagger back holding her side, Domhnall coming to her aid. She must not have kept her distance.
Kían’s sword cut into the meat of the onchú’s leg. With a howl, the beast knocked them aside. They fell to the ground, losing hold of their sword, as the beast leaped toward them.
“Be careful, it’s poisonous!” Ronan shouted, dashing forward.
Kían pushed the beast’s head back, keeping its teeth from tearing into their neck. “I’m not planning on eating it!”
“Not. The. Time!” Ronan said, swiping at the onchú with his sword.
It roared in pain as Ronan’s blade pierced its thick neck. He yanked the blade back, and a gush of dark blood flowed from the wound.
Clía lunged at the beast with her sword, following Ronan’s blow with one of her own. Its roars turned into cries as her blade slid into its flesh. The sound was not unlike something Murphy might make, but full of desperation and pain.
It would have killed us, she reminded herself, even as she winced.
Abruptly, the cries stopped. An arrow had pierced the onchú’s eye. It slumped forward, crumpling to the ground. With a grunt, Kían pulled themself out from underneath the monster.
Niamh stood triumphantly, her wound forgotten as she lowered her bow, and then pulled out her sword.
“It’s dead,” Clía said, her voice faint.
Niamh moved to the beast. “Kordislaen wants its head.” Her blade cut through its thick neck. It wasn’t smooth or fast. Blood pooled as the blade caught on bone and sinew. But finally, with a sickening noise, the head rolled onto the ground.
Nausea roiled through Clía, but she bit it back.
“Watch the fangs,” Ronan reminded Niamh as she went to pick the head up. It was bigger than her own, but she carried it as if it were nothing. “They can still do damage with the venom.”
She nodded, placing the trophy in a thick sack and tossing it over her shoulder.
“Are we done here?” she asked. Her question was for ó Dálaigh, who stood at the forest’s edge watching them all. He took the sack from her. Dark blood stained the bottom.
“You are.”
The five of them looked at each other. Bloodied and bruised, but alive.
Kordislaen’s trial had almost ended them; it did end one life.
The onchú’s body lay discarded on the ground.
Clía knew they couldn’t bury it, but still, it seemed wrong.
They were told it had killed innocents, but then, it was a beast. It was only surviving.
Should it be punished for following its nature?
Maybe that was why Kordislaen had sent them here, to teach them about death. To show them how questions and morality can fail when it’s your life on the line.
Or maybe it was just to weed out the weak.
The presence of the Ghostwood surrounding them weighed on Clía as they turned for home.