Chapter LIV #2
MY HAND TREMBLES WITH PAIN AS PáDRAIG GRASPS IT with both of his own, examining the broken digit carefully.
“Not bad.” He moves it with what I am sure is more force than necessary, eliciting a strained grunt from me. “We will bind it. It will mend.”
“In time for me to fight?” It’s not the question I’m asking. I tend to heal fast. It will be strong enough, when the party returning to Caer áras arrive there.
“If that is your fate.” Pádraig continues to fasten the fingers together.
My heart drops. “You think Tara still won’t take me?”
He just continues wrapping. Silence between us and then I shift. “I listened to the spear. It told me what to do.”
He falters. Just for a second. “I know. You must speak to Lir.”
“I do not wish to go with him.”
“That is not necessarily what will happen.” Pádraig is gentle. “He has already seen, anyway, Leathf hear. You are nasceann. The Old Ways must be followed. If you are to be a warrior for King Rónán, then you must go to Fornax.”
I look up at him. “Fornax?”
Any hope he might have imparted some new scrap of information is dashed. “He will explain. In time.” He finishes the binding. “You were foolish, to push Tara so far as to injure you.”
“I had to show her how much it meant to me.”
“I know. And she was stupid not to see it long before today. You are both stupid.” He straightens. “And she would be even more so not to take you with her.”
He walks off without anything further, without acknowledgement. Just stating a fact. I grin after him, though no one can see it. Even now, I am unused to their strange, blunt honesty. So reminiscent of Eidhin that I feel my friend is here with me, sometimes.
I follow the burly master of the crannog and return to the group, where the last of the tests have just finished.
Conor, blond hair shining in the firelight, is standing out of breath and sweating but triumphant against Fearghus, who looks disgruntled, but not any more so than usual.
There’s a quiet murmur from the onlookers as they spot our return.
The others give me nods of approval, and Conor slaps me on the back when he joins us.
We wait as Pádraig says some words, and then Lir.
They flow over me; I barely hear them, let alone take them in.
The aching of my hand is a dull throb. I cannot help but steal glances in Tara’s direction. She never once looks in mine.
Then she is choosing. Iron torcs in her hand, signifying her choices. Enough for all of us, but she will not take all of us.
She chooses Conor, first. Then Seanna. Then Miach and Fearghus.
Of the older group, I am the only one remaining. My heart flutters. Sinks.
“Will you take Leathf hear?” The call comes from someone and is taken up by others, a brief clamouring for Tara to acknowledge me that I do not know whether to feel embarrassed or hopeful about. I watch her. She comes to stand in front of me. Examines me. Looks into my eyes for a long few seconds.
“No,” she says loudly.
My heart drops and I almost open my mouth to protest, but this is her decision. She is our leader and if I have still not convinced her, then I must accept it now. I keep holding her gaze.
“No,” she repeats. “But I will take Deaglán.”
She puts the iron torc around my neck to cheers.
OUR LAST MEAL AT THE CRANNOG IS A BOISTEROUS ONE.
Celebratory, roasted meat for everyone, music from talented young Bryn and songs raised in hearty, off-tune cheer.
The fires on the lake’s bank burn hot, easily stealing the chill from Loch Traenala’s night air.
The flames flicker orange on the still water.
I take a bite of haunch as Tara comes to sit next to me.
We haven’t spoken in these past few hours—not through any particular deliberate act, but she has been busy in conversation with Pádraig and Lir, and I have been saying my farewells to the other students.
“I almost beat you,” I observe around a mouthful.
She snorts at that. A true derisive snort, but with the tiniest hint of a smile at the end. “You were almost a challenge. When you finally came to fight, after the third or fourth injury I gave you.”
I grin. “I did not think you would actually break it,” I admit, holding up my hand.
“I did not think you were stupid enough to tell me to.”
I chuckle and Tara allows a rare smile as we settle back into a more relaxed position. Easy in our company again. Injuries are common enough here, even if they’re not usually quite as deliberately inflicted. There is no lingering antipathy over what happened, nor should there be.
My smile gradually dies as I consider the fight again. “It was like a voice in my head, after that.”
She nods slowly. Unsurprised. Gaze lingering briefly on the spear at my side. We just sit for a moment, both of us watching the firelight, and then she sighs. “Lir wants to see you.”
I don’t want to let it go. “It’s him, isn’t it. Artán.”
“An echo, maybe.” Melancholy is a strange look on Tara, even if it’s fleeting. She firms. “And you need to talk to Lir.”
I don’t blame her, frustrating though her reticence is. She’s not meant to breathe a word of what the druids have revealed to her, what the nasceann really is. Even this was probably too much.
“And if he says I am to go with him?”
Her brow furrows as she stares into the flames. “He will. And you will. But he will bring you back to us, too. I have already insisted.” She turns to me. Lit by the fire. Ruddy-cheeked, her scar there but just a feature now, not the ugly mark I first saw it as. “We are stronger together, Deaglán.”
I return her gaze. An accident, I know, but that phrase. I have hated that phrase for so long.
From her, I believe it.
“Stronger together,” I repeat back at her, smiling.
LIR IS WAITING FOR ME ALONG THE SHORE, AWAY FROM the causeway and out of sight of the others. He studies me as I approach.
“Deaglán. An interesting contest, today.” He motions me to sit on a log, and I oblige. The switch from Leathfhear to my name being Deaglán seems not to have fazed anyone. “I have not seen one of its like in many years.”
“I am glad to have entertained, Druid.” I speak carefully. Respectful, but also making it clear that I do not wish to be here.
He chuckles. “That is one way to put it.” His smile fades. “You wish to fight.”
“I wish to support my friends. I will fight if I must.”
Lir nods approvingly. “It is a poor warrior who fights for the pleasure of it. But there are other things we must address. More important things even than your loyalty to your friends.”
“The nasceann.”
“Yes.” Lir’s gaze never leaves mine. He’s curious, but not concerned, though I’m armed and he isn’t.
Not that he has anything to fear, from me.
But I am reminded again about the strength that honour has among these people.
How firm its grip. “King Rónán’s decree in sending you here first had to be satisfied, but otherwise, this path has been set since the moment you denounced Gallchobhar.
It is not a power you should be able to access.
And not one you are allowed to have without training. ”
“I have had training.”
His eyebrows rise at that. “Where?”
“The Catenan Republic.” He shakes his head, no recognition, as with the last time I mentioned that name to him. “The power … I think it works differently, there. But I have been trained.”
Lir rubs his beard. “Can you do it now? Activate it on command?” I shake my head—I’ve tried briefly, a couple of times, since the fight with Tara—and he frowns. “I see. So you need more training.”
“No.” It comes out sharper than I mean it to, more frustrated, but I simply grimace an apology and plough on. “I have had enough of training. I trained most of my childhood. I have trained for months here.”
“And at what point will you no longer need to learn, Deaglán?”
I give a soft laugh. Recognising too much of my father in the question. “Never—but that is not the question, Lir, is it? The question is when will I no longer need to be taught.” I meet his gaze. “I will always accept guidance. Always seek to better myself. But I am able to learn for myself, now.”
Lir grunts. He likes the answer, I think, but not the situation it puts him in.
“I will allow you to join your friends at Caer áras. You will be able to stand against Fiachra,” he says eventually.
I open my mouth to effusively thank him and he holds up a hand, forestalling me.
“But. But. First, you must give up your spear until I tell you it is time, and not discuss your experience of the nasceann with anyone. Then you must also agree to accompany me when we reach the mainland. We will take a separate path to the Caer. A far more dangerous one, for you. You will arrive two, perhaps three days behind the others.”
My jubilation fades to something more uneasy. Just as Tara said. “Why?”
“Because these powers are dangerous and if you will not be trained, then you will be tested, Deaglán.” Lir is calm. “You are nasceann, and there are rules. This is the best I can do. I cannot tell you more.”
I scowl, but know there is no alternative. Tara and Pádraig would never let me be part of the warband without the druid’s approval.
I reluctantly pass my spear into his hands.
Lir just nods. “Then tomorrow, we sail for war.”