35. Bared Beneath the Stars #2
“Your soul carries a spark of the divine—a connection to the old magic that has not existed in millennia. The Hill of Tara is not just a destination for you; it is a part of you, Triona. What lies within the mound has rested for all that time, but do not mistake its dormancy for weakness. The power within has never once faltered; no less powerful than the day it was hidden away. It is time for you to claim, shape, and wield it to protect others once more.”
Dana lifts her hand and gently touches the centre of my chest, just above my heart.
“I know, for you and so many others, you must see and feel for the truth to ring. The Stone will only awaken for one whose soul mirrors its origin,” she says gingerly.
“And when you step before it, it will know you, and you will feel its significance. That is how we prove it. No test, no trick—only truth. If you are who I believe you are, the Stone will answer.”
As I turn her words over in my mind, I turn my gaze to Finn, who is studying the map. He glances at me, then at Dana.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping closer.
He hesitates, then says slowly, “I can… read each of these words. ”
Dana looks at Finn with a gleam in her eye. “Of course you can,” she says softly. “It is written in the tongue of the old ones—Gaeilge in its purest form. Before men’s destruction ever touched it.”
Finn looks at the map again, his jaw tightening as he processes her words. “I’ve never spoken it a day in my life. How…?”
Dana’s smile is faint but knowing. “The same spark that calls Triona to the Stone of Fál burns within you. It connects you to the truths hidden in this language—truths older than words themselves.”
I look at the map, its symbols shimmering faintly, but nothing registers. “I cannot read it.”
Dana’s expression remains serene. “I cannot say what gifts will or will not awaken in you, Triona. Magic chooses its own time.”
I meet Finn’s eyes and smile tenderly. “See? I needed you all along. You were always meant to be here by my side.”
“Hard to argue with that,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a heat that feels poised to stoke my desire for him. “And yet, it’s me who’s grateful—you saved me from myself that day in my bedroom, when I thought I was beyond savin’.”
I reach out and place a hand on his upper arm, giving it a light squeeze, feeling the warmth and strength beneath my fingers. The sharp intensity of his gaze gives way to something tender.
From behind us, Callan clears his throat. “Suppose it’s a good thing I didnae impede savin’ the world,” he mutters, his eyes snapping briefly to mine.
Before I can respond, Finn—without even looking at him—says, “Our love isnae fragile. You never stood a chance. ’Sides, it was nothin’ a few good punches couldnae fix.”
I swat him lightly on the chest, and he huffs a quiet laugh, the sound curling low in his throat.
When I glance over at Callan, his arms are crossed, posture stiff as ever—but there’s a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
The apology is there, clear in his eyes, even if it never makes it to his lips.
With a deep breath, I turn back to Dana, ready to receive whatever comes next.
She steps closer, her violet cloak sweeping around her. She gestures for Finn to lay the map down on the table, and points toward a narrow path leading away from the tavern. “The way to Tara begins here,” she says, pointing to a road leading inland going northwest .
“Just beyond the last farms of County Dublin. You’ll follow the old way that winds toward Navan—keep to it past the rise at Skryne, and you’ll see Tara greet you from the land like a crown.”
Her finger drifts along the path, then pauses over a faint marking.
“The door to the mound answers only to the sun,” she continues. “It must be approached at the precise moment—no sooner, no later. When the sun strikes the threshold at its peak angle, it will reveal itself to those it deems worthy.”
Dana straightens, her dark eyes locking onto each of us.
“The journey will take ten to twelve hours… on foot ,” she says, her voice firm but warm.
“You’ll need to leave much behind to move as quickly—and as quietly—as possible.
There are paths that will help you avoid unnecessary attention, but time is not on your side.
Stay together, and remember—magic does not favour hesitation. ”
The thought of leaving our horses behind—entrusting them to practical strangers—twists in my chest. Shadow is more than just a horse—he’s mine. Stubborn, temperamental, half-wild… but mine.
“My—Shadow…” I murmur, voice low. “He’s not one to take kindly to strangers. He’ll hate being left behind.”
Dana’s lips curl into a faint, knowing smile. “I have dealt with my fair share of beasts, Triona. He will be well cared for. Focus on the path ahead—he will be waiting for you when the time comes.”
Something stirs in my gut—not dread, but instinct. A quiet knowing, like the world is whispering, they’re safe. They’ll be here when we all come back.
I nod slowly, though it costs me.
We pause at the edge of the tavern courtyard, where the three of them wait—Meara shifting her weight anxiously, Aisling flicking her tail, Shadow standing uncharacteristically still.
Without a word, Callan steps forward and presses his forehead to Meara’s, his hand brushing her mane. Finn runs a palm along Aisling’s neck, murmuring something low and private into her ear. She nudges him in response, her breath puffing warm and soft against his cheek.
I approach Shadow last. His ears flick toward me before I say a word, and when I reach out, he leans into my touch like he knows exactly what this is. I press my forehead gently to his, fingers curling into his thick mane.
“Be good,” I whisper. “Don’t scare the poor lad too badly.”
He huffs, almost like he understands, and my heart aches with the force of it.
We leave the tavern behind, taking only what we can carry on our person.
The street outside is near empty, the hush complete but for our footsteps tapping against worn cobblestones.
The silence feels foreboding, broken only by the faint rustle of Dana’s cloak as she leads the way forward, to the trail’s edge.
She turns to face us. “This is where I leave you,” she says, her voice low and sonorous.
“As you draw nearer to Tara, you’ll find the land grows quiet—no birdsong, no footsteps but your own.
No soul in sight. It is best if you part ways with them before that point and wait just beyond Tara’s reach.
When Triona has done what is necessary, and returned whole, you need to be there waiting for her. ”
She pauses, waiting for Callan’s silent agreement. He nods, and she continues.
“For millennia, many have been tempted to claim the power inside. None were worthy. Many become twisted by the magic’s wrath, their essence reshaped into what they fear most. Some become shadows of their former selves, cursed to guard the mound they sought to plunder.
Others…” Her voice lowers to a hush. “Others were claimed by the earth itself. Their torment endless. Their cries are now only wind among the stones.”
A beat of silence.
“You will hear their whispers and warnings… it is best that you ignore them. Trust in yourselves, and in each other. The path ahead is yours to walk, but know this: you are not alone. What you carry—who you are—will guide you to the answers you seek.”
The bustling chaos of the Dublin docks fades behind us as we leave the city, its shouts and clamour dissolving into the distant hum of trade and sea breeze.
Callan follows some distance back, his stance protective.
Though Dana said we’d walk alone soon enough, for now he shadows us in silence.
I’m grateful for his presence, brief though it may be.
The air feels fresh out here—cooler, sharper, laden with a heaviness that defies explanation. I glance back at the distant sprawl of Dublin, where trade and humanity thrive. It feels almost like a memory now, something too loud and bright to belong to this hushed, ancient road.
I turn to Finn, who has the map unfurled once again. He traces the symbols with a light fingertip, the arcane lines shimmering in the low light.
“It says we should keep northwest,” he mutters, half to himself, “and cross the river at the shallows.” He glances up, brow knitted in concentration. “We should stop near Dunshaughlin tonight. Then reach the Hill of Tara by early light tomorrow.” Our silence is the answer he seeks.
We fall into step beside one another, our strides matching as the world narrows to the path ahead.
We haven’t spoken in some time, but the silence is easy. Companionable. The kind that doesn’t press, doesn’t need to be filled.
The hush around us deepens, wrapping the world in stillness, and a warm glow stirs in my chest. It feels as if I am following a thread that’s always existed, one that now tugs me forward. I can finally fully feel the pull.
“I can feel it,” I murmur. “The pull. Faint at first… but it’s growing.”
Callan’s footsteps slow behind us. “So, it is real,” he says, voice low, cautious. “And we can confirm that now.”
I nod. “Aye. No question.”
He exhales through his nose, tension bristling in the sound. “Then the two of ye should go ahead.”
We pause, turning toward him. His eyes sweep the horizon, as if reading something in the air that the rest of us cannot see. A strange stillness settles around us—thick, expectant.
“I can feel the unrest settlin’ into me,” he mutters. “Like the ground’s turned restless beneath our feet. I think we’ve reached the point where I need to part—per Dana’s word.”
My heart twists at the thought of leaving him behind. But there’s no fear in his expression—only calm resolve. His jaw is set, his gaze unflinching. He’s already accepted what must be done.
“I’ll be fine,” he says, reading the worry on my face. “Keep yer heads on. I’ll be there to greet ye when ye’re done. Aye? ”