Chapter 44
XLIV
LOSS IS HARDEST, ULCISCOR ONCE TOLD ME, WHEN IT IS quiet.
I am on sentry duty tonight. A thick, damp chill lies over the land as if to underscore the end of summer, a blanket of fog that swirls and creeps over the hills and through the shadowy trees beyond the reach of the torchlight.
The inky waters below the crannog shift and slurp.
Starless black glowers above. All has been quiet for hours.
And for the first time in a while, as I lean on the railing and peer out into the swallowing darkness, I cannot help but think about the world I left behind.
My idle thoughts first turn to my family.
Not unwillingly, strangely enough. This sort of solitude reminds me most of Suus.
The weather is its counterpart, the circumstances different beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
But there is a peace in it. A sense of time simply passing, no panic to my thoughts, no furious planning for how I will survive the coming days.
And so instead I think of my parents and my sisters, and I wonder what they would think of where I am now.
And I know the answer. There is honour here that runs deeper than anything I ever saw in the Hierarchy. They would have loved this place. These people.
Gods, I miss them. Not just their help, or their advice, or their comfort in the way that I have these past few years. I miss them. I want them to be here. To be able to share this with me. To be living this life with me.
The minutes slide by, and inevitably I drift to my friends.
Callidus, Eidhin, Aequa. Emissa. They were my friends, despite everything.
A strange feeling, to know they must consider me dead.
To know they will have searched and grieved and are probably now moving on with their lives in Caten.
I imagine what they’re doing right now. I wish I could have been honest with them.
The gentlest of breezes stirs the murky darkness.
I peer into it absently, sweeping back brown hair that is longer than it has ever been.
Caten is still out there, somewhere, but it must be so far away as to not matter.
There are no maps here, no books, but no one I have talked to has heard even a hint of the Hierarchy.
The world, it seems, is a far bigger place than I ever realised.
Eventually I shift, switch my guarding to the opposite side of the crannog, though it matters little in the fog.
My arm is bare beneath my cloak and I rotate it absently, spinning my spear in an exercise I’ve found works the muscles there thoroughly.
I’ve started to adapt to the chill here, but I can’t rub my arms to warm myself the way I once would have.
Such a minor thing. Sometimes those manage to feel like the most frustrating lacks.
I’m still in motion when the pulse registers.
I stop working out my arm and slowly bring the butt of my spear back to the ground. It’s faint, but it’s there again. That sense. Not light or sound but something itching at my mind, out on the far shore, hidden by fog.
It’s been more than a month since I last felt it. Just enough time for me to begin wondering, once again, if it had been my imagination.
I focus for a minute, then pad across the bridges to the torchlit causeway and start along it, trying to appear casual, though I’m fairly certain the fog will hide me from all but the closest observers. The sensation in my head doesn’t move. Wood creaks underfoot. White shrouds everything.
I hit the shore. Still silence. I ghost to the tree line and then start edging along the shore, eyes straining ahead. It’s almost impossible to see, but I can’t risk light.
The pulse in my head is getting nearer when the tail end of a conversation, low and hurried and muffled by the encroaching haze, touches my ears.
“… cannot delay.” A male voice. Insistent.
“We do not even know how many they are.” Another man, growling a response. “We should watch a while longer.”
“It will not matter. Not to Gallchobhar.” A woman this time. She sounds exasperated. “What we have is enough. If we stay until it is clear enough to see more, we risk being discovered.”
A pause. I hold my breath.
“Fine.” The second man again, I think, though the fog warps everything in such a way that I can’t be sure. There’s the faint scuffing of footsteps. Quickly fading.
Vek. Gallchobhar. The man I was manipulated, I strongly suspect, into getting exiled.
And whoever’s reporting to him, they’re trying to stay hidden.
There was at least three of them, and no knowing if everyone present spoke.
Even with surprise on my side, I’m in no position to stop them from leaving.
The pulse is still there. Not that much farther around the lake. But this is the reason I was set to keep watch, and that comes before anything else.
I sprint back to the crannog. Before I reach it, the odd sensation in my head fades to nothing. I press on.
“Everyone up.” I hiss the words as I enter the older students’ sleeping quarters. Even with the fog, voices carry across the water. “Someone was here.”
The others are on their feet within seconds, throwing cloaks on, snatching up their spears. Alert. “How many?” asks Tara.
“At least three.”
“At least?”
“The fog was too thick. I couldn’t see them. But from what I heard, they know we are here and they are leaving to tell Gallchobhar.”
A heartbeat of deliberation at the name of King Rónán’s disgraced Champion. “Then we must catch them,” pronounces Conor grimly.
“Fearghus, rouse Pádraig and let him know, then catch up.” Tara’s already moving to the door, clearly in agreement with Conor. “Leathf hear, show us exactly where they were. It rained yesterday, and the ground is soft. It should be easy to find their tracks.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Pádraig?”
“Pádraig will stay back to ensure the safety of the younger ones, and send us to kill them.” Tara’s confidence is unshakeable.
“Kill?” I know this is what we’ve been training for, but still. “Shouldn’t we take prisoners? Find out what’s going on?”
“If we can.” She sees my hesitation. “If it is Gallchobhar and he has men, then he is undoubtedly working with Fiachra now. They will be skilled, perhaps outnumber us and will not surrender. And if any escape, they will return with reinforcements. Many more will die. Us, them. Both. This is the path to saving lives.”
I grimace, but there’s no arguing the point; I nod and follow her and the others without protest. We flit along the causeway, silent, rushlights in everyone’s off-hands except mine, as Fearghus splits off toward where Pádraig sleeps.
There’s excitement on the faces around me. Determination. But no fear.
We soon reach the spot where I heard the intruders, and it takes only thirty more seconds before Seanna is beckoning us over, pointing to indentations in the damp grass. “Three or four,” she agrees with my assessment quietly.
Tara’s gaze flicks from me to the crannog, which is little more than a lighter spot in the white draped across the lake. “What did they say? The exact words.”
“One wanted to keep watching, because they didn’t know how many of us there were. Another said it wouldn’t matter to Gallchobhar, and that they already knew enough. That their staying until the fog cleared would risk discovery.” I shrug. “Then they left.”
“Miach. Lead the way?” Tara has accepted what I told her and is moving on.
Miach, the best tracker of our group, nods. His loosely bound blond hair swings as he studies the ground in the flickering light. He sets off at a soundless run. We follow.
The night air is damp and cloying in my lungs as the five of us lope first along the lapping waters, then up the unwooded, gently sloping hillside. Miach leads us unfalteringly, bringing us to a brief halt only twice to crouch and check the ground.
“They joined up with more. At least a dozen of them now,” he says grimly after the second time.
We press on for ten minutes. Fearghus catches up to us. The others ignite new rushlights. Another ten after that. Up and down slopes, over gurgling brooks. Our pace is hard. Our quarry’s direction never changes.
The pulsing in my head returns. Faint at first, but growing stronger and very much in the direction we’re travelling.
I’m about to draw Tara’s attention when she holds up a hand, slowing us.
“Sound ahead,” she whispers between breaths that mist around her rushlight before she crouches, thrusting the burning tip into the damp ground.
My ears haven’t caught anything, but the others follow suit without hesitation, plunging us into near darkness.
We creep forward, crest a rise. The fog has thinned a little and there’s the tiniest halo of light, slightly down from us in a short valley.
Its bobbing shows it moving away from us, albeit slowly. The band we’re chasing is in no hurry.
The pulsing in my head isn’t coming from where the light is, though. It’s farther away.
“Fearghus and Conor. Seanna and Miach.” Tara points in a direction for each pair of names. They slip into the white.
Tara keeps her gaze fixed on the slow-moving glow ahead. “Will you fight?”
I’m the only one left, so no question who she’s asking. “Yes.” I’m annoyed by her doubt, but this isn’t the time.
She glances at me. My vision has adjusted enough to see that her eyes have turned completely black.
She nods, and jogs forward.
I follow.
The next minutes pass in tense silence as the light ahead grows stronger through the fog.
We slow. Skulk in the wake of the group, just beyond the reach of their torches.
They are talking among themselves. Their chatter is comfortable as they pick their way along the stony bed of a stream.
No sense that they’re in danger. The babbling water masks our approach.
The backs of our quarry resolve from the murk.
There’s no warning, no signal that I can see. Tara hefts her weapon. Darts forward.