40. Upon the Ivory Seat, She Reigns #2
As the sun dips low on the horizon, Uisneach Hill emerges—a faint shadow against the fiery sky. A breath stutters in my chest, and for a moment, something stirs deep inside me. Not hope. Not yet. But something close to it.
“Almost there?” Callan asks.
I glance at him, his face tired but resolute, and nod. “Almost.”
The final climb is brutal. The wind howls around us, tearing at my cloak and stinging my skin.
I can feel The Stone’s pulse quickening as we near the summit.
It feels alive, its energy humming in my chest, mingling with my grief in a way that makes me want to scream.
But I press on, one step at a time, until we reach the top.
The view alone is enough to quiet some of the unrest in me. It’s a wild, vast, and untamed sort of beauty .
Land stretches out in every direction, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The Stone is nearly blinding now. Even tucked away in Callan’s pack, its brilliance slices through the cold air like a blade of firelight, defiant against the dusk.
I stand there, staring out at the horizon. Callan steps beside me and gently takes my arm, turning me around with quiet purpose.
“There,” he murmurs, nodding toward a patch of grass just beyond the crest of the hill.
I follow his gaze—and see them.
Callan’s voice is barely more than a whisper. “The hill became a place of reverence,” he says, reciting the words as if they were etched into him, “where violets bloomed year-round as a reminder of her sacrifice and endurin’ protection.”
The line hits hard—one we heard our mother recite, over and over, until it was part of us.
I glance at Callan—and see his eyes shine with the same unshed tears burning in mine. “That story— all this time. She told it like a legend, like a bedtime tale, and we never realised…”
I stare fondly at the spot and grin for the first time in what feels like weeks. “If Ma were here… if she could see this… she’d be in absolute awe.” He just nods, jaw tight, tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes.
I take a step forward, the ground firm beneath my boots—but it feels like stepping into another world. The hum of The Stone grows louder, resonating through my chest.
Finn’s voice echoes in my mind, as clear as if he were standing beside me: “…keep it bundled until you get to Uisneach Hill… Standing precisely where it tells you.”
“This is it,” I murmur, mindlessly. My hands tremble at my sides, and my heart pounds so hard it feels as if it might tear free from my chest.
“Are ye sure?” Callan asks, his brow furrowing as his eyes flick to the horizon and back to me, voice barely more than a breath, strained with uncertainty.
I nod, though the certainty I feel isn’t entirely my own. It’s as if the hill itself is speaking to me, whispering truths buried so deeply I can’t yet grasp them.
“I’m sure,” I whisper, though my voice sounds distant to my own ears.
Callan kneels, setting the pack down on the grass with deliberate care. He pulls out The Stone, and its glow swells, golden and warm and impossibly bright. For a moment, he just stares at it, then looks at me.
“Here,” he says, holding it out, his hands steady .
With trembling hands, I take it. Heat blooms through my fingers, and a surge of power sends shivers cascading down my spine.
The linen wrapping is old and soft, but as I pull it away, a sudden surge of light bursts through the fabric.
I gasp, nearly dropping it as the power within it grows stronger, more insistent.
The moment the last fold of linen falls away, the world shifts.
The ground beneath my feet quakes. The Stone glows brighter than the sun, its light spreading out in waves that roll across the hilltop and beyond. I hear Callan shout my name, but a low, resonant hum that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once drowns his voice out.
And then it happens.
The light surges, shooting skyward like a pillar of fire. Somewhere on the edges of my awareness, I sense Callan being hurled away, but I can’t focus on him—not when the energy courses through me, crackling through every vein like a living storm.
I rise, weightless, lifted by the sheer force surrounding me. The light grows impossibly bright, as though I’ve become the sun itself—searing and freezing in the same breath, too vast to hold, too powerful to resist.
Memories that aren’t mine flood my mind—visions of a land steeped in golden light, where forests breathe magic, where rivers sing and mountains pulse like beating hearts. Faces I don’t know but somehow recognise come into focus—too many, too fast.
And then—one among them is vastly different. A presence. A love so deep it aches, its weight pressing into my chest. But the face remains shrouded, just beyond reach, slipping through my grasp like mist.
Voices rise all around me—pressed, layered, not from one place, but everywhere . They don’t call me Caitríona.
They call me something else—something older.
ériu .
The name booms through the air like thunder. It echoes through bone and blood, not spoken to me, but claimed by me .
It’s not just a name.
It’s a memory. A legacy. A homecoming .
The name belongs to me.
My heart hammers. The world around me blurs as the memories surge deeper—rising, roaring—pulling me beneath like a tide too strong to resist.
And I don’t fight it because somewhere inside, I remember what it means to be her .
I see myself standing on this very hill, my hair flowing in the wind, my hands raised as the land itself responds to my command.
The sky darkens, and the earth splits beneath my feet, a fissure of light bursting forth.
I feel the power in my veins, ancient and endless, as I give myself to The Stone— my stone.
The Soul Stone of Fál .
My voice carries an incantation, the words that bind my soul to the earth, sealing it away to save the land from destruction.
And then, four thousand years later, here I am. A fragment of myself, broken and mortal, standing in the place where I once sacrificed everything.
The light fades, and I collapse forward onto my hands, breath ragged.
My body pulses with a strange power—both heavier and lighter, as if something inside me has been reforged.
When I lift my head, I find Callan staring, eyes wide with disbelief.
Blood streaks his face, his lower lip split.
A jolt runs through me. The blast must have thrown him.
“Triona,” he says, his voice frantic, “yer eyes… they were glowin’ a purple hue like nothin’ I’ve ever seen. And yer hair… it went silver.”
I blink at him, trying to process his words, but there’s no time.
Movement interrupts my thoughts in the distance. Three figures are approaching, their shapes growing clearer with every passing second.
I force myself to my feet, my legs trembling beneath me, and shake off Callan’s attempt to help with a sharp gesture.
“Ah, finally,” says the one in the middle, his voice a cryptic blend of weariness and amusement. “I wondered if you would ever touch Lia Fál. Millennia... Millennia spent waiting for this moment. Can you feel it yet? The echoes of an age long past, the weight of it pressing against your soul?”
I don’t think—I just run, a snarl rising in my throat as rage takes over.
The three figures falter, surprise flashing across their faces—but they brace for the blow. It doesn’t matter.
I lunge at the man in the centre, slamming him to the ground with every ounce of strength I have. Straddling him, I press my hand to his throat, power crackling through me—wild, untamed, and searing. He swallows hard beneath my grip, his wide eyes filled with fear… and recognition .
“Finn was right about you ,” I hiss, my voice shaking with fury as I lean in. “We trusted you. You led us to Tara… and I lost him.”
They walked here as if the world belongs to them. As if they didn’t help tear mine apart.
Mannie.
Dana.
…And the bloody maiden.
Mannie lets out a laugh, low and almost mocking, as he effortlessly pushes me off him. I stumble back on my hands, rage bubbling at the surface as he stands up, rubbing at his throat.
Callan is at my side before I’ve fully caught myself. He doesn’t ask—he checks . Quick once-over, then he turns on Mannie.
“Piss off,” he snaps, the words rough and thick with rage.
“I suppose I might have earned that, had I truly betrayed you,” he says, his tone calm but edged with something dangerous.
“Though I must admit, I am quite curious to see the extent of your power at its peak. You have only brushed the edge of your strength, Little One. At your height? I doubt I would still be on my feet.”
I stagger to my feet, my breathing ragged as anger courses through me. “Where are my brother and Bran?” The question bursts from me, sharp and demanding, overriding my fury for a moment. “What have you done with them?”
Mannie’s smirk falters, replaced by an expression of faint exasperation. “They are safe,” he says, his tone clipped. “I assure you, Little One, we have no intention of harming them. In fact, they had a far less... eventful journey than you.”
Callan steps closer to me, his body tense as he glares at Mannie. “Safe where? Ye better not be lyin’.”
Mannie sighs. “I swore when you asked, my dear Triona, that no harm would befall those you cherish.”
My voice breaks as I give way to my rising temper. “I trusted you! You lied —Finn was hurt!”
Power burns beneath my skin, curling through my limbs like fire seeking release.
His voice drops, calmer now. “I made a vow not to harm them. That vow was iron then, and it remains so now. Now, if you are finished baring your teeth at me, there are matters of far greater consequence to address. ”
The fury roils tighter in my chest, coiling hot and alive. His calm doesn’t soothe—it infuriates. My hands glow, faint at first, then brighter, pulsing with the same light that surged through me when the Stone’s power first awakened. I don’t hide it. Let him see what I’ve become.