Chapter 16
A Storm is Coming
Leaving the tea shop and maneuvering through the crowd, Kyron slipped into the forest. Glancing over his shoulder, he scanned for any unwanted eyes.
Satisfied that he wasn’t being followed, he pressed on until he reached a familiar clearing by the stream.
The air was still and the soft murmur of water was the only sound.
He inhaled deeply, centering himself before lifting his hands in a series of intricate gestures.
Words slipped from his lips in hushed whispers, threading through the air like an unseen current.
Mist danced in, twirling through the trees and unfurling from the stream. It thickened, shifting and swirling faster. Growing taller and expanding outward until it consumed him entirely. The world around him blurred as the forest dissolved into shadow and light.
When he blinked, the Tuatha Court stood before him.
The massive golden arches gleamed in the soft glow of the ever burning lanterns.
Intricate designs woven into the towering gates that marked the entrance to his homeland.
Exhaling as he steadied himself before stepping forward.
The gates parted, allowing him passage, and the familiar faces of the Tuatha met his gaze.
Some greeted him with warm smiles while others with a mere nod or nothing at all.
He had grown used to fact that he was one of them, yet never fully belonged.
It no longer bothered him after all this time.
Forcing a smile, he made his way toward the Tuatha Council.
He had already begun to walk through what he would do as he approached. In his mind a checklist:
Hand over his report on Sorcha
Recount any developments
Be sent on his way
As Kyron was lost in thought, a thundering behind him echoed off the marble floor in full sprint.
He barely had time to turn before he spotted a large white wolf with sapphire eyes mid jump.
Bracing himself, he let out a shallow breath just as the wolf slammed into his chest, knocking him back against the wall.
Kyron gritted his teeth, annoyance flashing across his face, but there was also a playful glint in his eyes.
He shoved the wolf off shaking his head as a smile tugged at his lips.
“You know, Conall, this is getting old, don’t you think?”
The wolf snarled, flashing its teeth before its form twisted, muscles shifting beneath pale skin as it began to morph.
In seconds Conall stood before him. His silver hair tousled as few strays fell over his cobalt-blue eyes.
A long scar ran along his cheek. A stark contrast against his otherwise smooth features.
He laughed as he grabbed Kyron by the neck locking him into a tight choke hold.
Kyron let out a breathless chuckle, struggling to break free.
With a sharp elbow to Conall’s ribs, he twisted, slipping a hand between Conall’s arm and his own throat, prying himself loose.
Still laughing, Conall nudged him hard. “Where the hell have you been? The council’s been talking.”
Kyron ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “When doesn’t the council have something to say, Conall?”
Conall studied Kyron for a moment before his expression shifted. His voice lowered slightly. “This about the woman you’re scouting?”
Kyron didn’t respond right away. He held his ground, but the air between them had changed.
Conall’s gaze narrowed. “By the Morrigan, I knew it. Damn it.” He let out a rough exhale, rolling his shoulders. “Everyone’s been so uptight about watching over the gods’ messes.”
Kyron nodded. “Yeah, it isn’t the first time we’ve had to clean up after them, and it sure as Tech Duinn won’t be the last.”
Conall’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “So what’s yours like?
I’m watching some pompous ass in the middle of nowhere near Ironridge.
He seems to fight with godlike strength, especially with mead.
I catch him practicing in the early morning hours by the lake with a massive hammer.
” He waited a moment before smirking. “So, what’s Lugh’s daughter like? ”
Kyron began speaking when the Dagda entered.
He and Conall immediately stood at attention, their conversation forgotten. They nodded in silent acknowledgment as the Dagda passed his presence commanding yet fleeting.
As his footsteps faded, both let out a breath. Kyron turned to Conall. “Where’s everyone else?”
Conall glanced toward a towering domed building, its single spire piercing its center. He nodded toward it. “The council has been pushing the younger members hard in training, making sure we’re all battle ready.”
Kyron clasped Conall’s arm firmly. “Make sure the job gets done?”
An arrogant smirk crossed Conall’s face. “Of course I will,” he replied, his voice edged with sarcasm.
Kyron strode through the towering doors of the dome, his boots echoing across the polished marble floor.
The scent of damp stone and burning incense filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of voices.
Rows of young warriors moved in practiced formations, their blades slicing through the stillness with precision.
At the center of the hall, overseeing their training was General Aogan.
The Tuatha veteran was an imposing figure, broad shouldered, silver streaks threading through his raven black hair.
His presence alone commanded obedience. Even the youngest recruits seemed to stiffen as he passed.
When his eyes landed on Kyron, there was no warmth.
Kyron approached, bowing his head slightly in greeting.
“Report.” Aogan’s voice was jagged, cutting through the murmurs of the trainees.
Kyron exhaled. “There’s a sickness spreading across the land. It’s affecting both animals and humans. I’ve seen it take hold in the villages. Crops are withering, creatures moving strangely, as if driven mad. And it’s worsening.”
Aogan’s expression remained unchanged. “Go on.”
Kyron shifted. “As for Sorcha; there have been moments when her magic has surfaced, but she doesn’t understand it. It manifests in flashes; it’s uncontrolled. She’s still struggling to accept that it’s part of her. And as of now, she has no idea how to use it.”
Aogan folded his arms. “Have you made direct contact with her?”
Kyron didn’t hesitate. “No.”
Aogan turned, fixing him with a hard stare. “It would be foolish and awfully bold of you to think you can lie to me, Kyron.”
Kyron’s teeth clenched and he went rigid. He considered doubling down but knew it was pointless. “Yes. I’ve run into her.”
Aogan studied him. “And?”
Kyron clenched his fists. “I’ve tried to keep her safe. I know what the council expects, but she’s vulnerable.”
“That is not your decision to make.”
“You wanted a report,” Kyron spat out. “I gave it to you.”
Aogan didn’t react. “Your orders have changed. You’re staying here for the next few weeks. The council will decide when you’re sent out again.”
Kyron’s anger flared. “You’re pulling me out?
When the sickness is spreading? When she—”
“This is not up for debate. You’ve been too close to this. You’re thinking like a mortal. And that is a weakness we can’t afford.”
Kyron’s whole body tensed, every fiber of him wanting to argue, but he knew it wouldn’t change anything.
With a slight bow, he turned on his heel and walked away.
The weight of his orders settled over him like the storm clouds above.
Flowers swayed along the stone walkway. As the scent of rain and cinnamon mingled in the air, wrapping around him.
The trees shimmered in hues of violet and deep blue, their leaves catching the light in a dance with the wind.
He continued to the edge of the Tuatha Court, sitting himself in a field of gold grass.
His hands sank in slightly as he faced the sky, watching as the clouds rolled by.
The puffs of gray and purple held shimmering veins of silver light, illuminating the sky.
The smell of rain grew stronger as the wind began to howl.
He sat there for a while, looking out onto the Tuatha Court, listening to the rumbling of the hungry storm ahead.
Kyron’s thoughts came crashing into a memory with his mother.
The memory was vivid, his mother sitting by the fireplace in a large ornate armchair.
He was playing with some books creating structures for his wooden animals when a loud crack filled the air.
The tree outside the library window were ablaze in the storm.
Watching as ash and smoke floated towards the skies, he dropped everything and ran into his mother’s arms as another crack shook the very ground.
His mother’s soft eyes met his. “Do you remember the stories of Balor?” Kyron shook his head no as he buried deeper into her arms.
“It is said that in the fury of a thunderstorm, Balor himself stirs awake. His stomach rumbles through the dark clouds, hungry for chaos and ruin. That his appetite is insatiable, but trapped beneath us all he can do is drown the earth in his tears. So when a thunderstorm comes, it reminds us he is far gone. Try as he might, the only destruction he can cause is that in which we survive every day.”
Kyron looked confused as his mother chuckled. “Think of him like a stinky old troll stuck under a bridge. “
Kyron chuckled to himself, looking up at the clouds, dread slowly filtering in.
Maybe something else stirred in those clouds after all as the rumbling grew louder, his thoughts shifted to Sorcha.
Her name brought distaste. He was just another watchmen and her the job.
Just another forgotten person caught in the game of the gods.
Yet Sorcha was different. She didn’t loathe herself or flaunt her power, nor did she act like a victim despite her circumstances.
Perhaps it was this quiet resilience that drew him closer.
She simply didn’t know how deeply the gods had meddled in her life, and Kyron knew she deserved the truth about her parents, even if sharing it meant facing dire consequences himself.
Then the sky wept, rain pouring suddenly and fast against Kyron’s skin.
He pushed himself off the ground and got to his feet, moving toward his home on the hill, his footsteps unhurried as he began his walk.
It took a while for Kyron to reach the hill, and by the time he stood at his door, he was soaked to the bone.
His clothes clung to him like weights, and his shoes squished with each step as his toes curled in the water filling them.
With an exhausted sigh, he pushed the doors open, warmth spilling out along with the familiar scents of summer.
The lanterns flickered faintly, and he could hear his mother and others speaking in the library.
Quietly, he crept up the stairs, hoping to slip past the multitude of questions he was sure to be asked.