“I thought your lot feared the fire,” said the Vaich, clearing his throat. “I never thought to see it honored here.”
“Fire is fire and nothing more,” muttered the druid. “Men knew that once.”
Another laugh, this one less warm. “Right. We are the villains in all your stories. Though you’re no less man than I.”
“Yet how different we are in everything we do. Or will you deny that your ilk have been our hunters? Have denied us the peace of silent dispute.”
The Vaich’s brow furrowed. “So it was, but it needn’t be. Yet even if I ordered the west to stand down. Your people would not come to me.”
“And why should they?” The druid bristled. “Our way of life came first. Why should they kneel to you?”
“You ken that’s not how this works. I came and showed my worth. Have I not given you my patience? Have I not listened to their words?”
“Do you think one night undoes a thousand years of torment?”
“I dinnae think it, druid. But I am asking for some grace.”
“Grace,” the druid said bitterly. “You may be Vaich, but you are still one man. Your people will never allow us to coexist.”
“If you could only accept—”
The druid’s head shot up. “Accept? Why should we accept domination?”
“That isnae what I—”
“It is weak men and arrogant gods that got us here in the first place.”
“My gods are strong,” the Vaich said, defensively. “They could be yours, too…”
Cold encased the druid’s skin. He didn’t hear the rest.
Memory dug at him. It was the slow pull of the mere; the salt of Othrik’s watery persecution. It was a stone slab and the sound of wheels over earth as he was carted from the moors to a cage upon the cliffs.
Long had the druid been quiet as snow, but there in the forest, with the stars burning hot above him, fire found its way into his veins.
“My gods are already strong!” he snapped. “In the way that the wind and tide are strong. In the way that earth can shift, and cold can bite. They are forgiving in the warm days, and sometimes they withhold. But it is neither punishment, nor mercy. Yet men like you could not fathom a strength that was not savage. You desired power, and so you usurped them.”
The king’s eyes flared. “Must you black us all with the same fell brush? You give me no chance to speak. Where isyourhumility? You ask me to repent, while you stand there as omnipotent judge, and cannae fathom that someone might see different.”
“All you see iswrong.”
“Just because you dinnae like it? I serve my gods as you serve yours.”
“The trees do not ask for temples.”
“And still, they demand their sacrifice.”
Shock ripped through him.
“You think your path is free of cruelty,” said the Vaich. “Yet I would see you walk yourself into your grave—and you would thank them!”
“At least their altars are real!”
His voice… he had never heard it so loud.
The Vaich looked baffled. “What?”
“You give offering to ideals—to falsity.”
