“The Oracle is in no good way,” said the Vaich.
The druid nodded. “It is true. But suppose I could go to her?”
“Now?” The Vaich frowned. “You’ll not make the journey like this. And I cannae go as escort.”
“Then… when we meet with the others, would you… let me return? I could still save her, at least long enough for her to speak the prophecy.”
The Vaich considered it for a long while. “It may still be madness, but if you think it the best path, then aye. Once we reunite with my Féin, I will send you forth with accompaniment. But it will not be a swift journey. Tell me, how long do we have before…?”
The druid pictured the mosaic in the Augeri library and Hirí’s voice sang in his mind.
“The Ísthmhach will occur in little more than a year, if two winters hence. Though, I cannot say precisely. The Fíor can read best the celestial maps.”
The Vaich darkened at the word. “I’m afraid we willnae be able to put in the request.”
“What do you mean?” The druid’s dread returned.
“We have been cast out.”
“Cast… out?”
“I profaned their magick tree. And so, they threw us to the wilds. If that causes you trouble… I’m sorry. But we shan’t turn back.”
“The womb tree…”
It was then the druid turned, his gaze falling on the torn carcass of the Urna’ha. It had been so quiet he had not realized they had not left the grove.
Its stone skin was lifeless and grey. Its whispers stifled.
“You… destroyed it.”
The Vaich sat, eyes downcast. His hands were covered in scratches, the flesh red and hard.
“You werenae going to come back.”
Then, it was true.
He had failed.
All that he had seen, all that he had learned… it would have been consumed. Just like Onath. He was another lamb to slaughter, and what he could not pay in blood, he would pay in silence. He had become sacrifice and villain all in the same night. And even his unimpeachable earth had judged him.
“I pulled you from its grasp. And now… now we are both punished.” The Vaich looked pained. A pain the druid felt in his own heart—but for entirely different reasons. “I couldnae leave you to die. Thatthingwould have devoured you.”
“And suppose you ought to have let it.”
“It wasnae worth your life!”
His life? A thing of woe and misfortune, once caged, now exiled. And he supposed he deserved it.
Thousands of years of history… butchered in his name.
“You are foolish,” the druid muttered.
“Yes,” the Vaich agreed. “And I’d tear down a hundred more.”
What is your violence for?
The druid lifted his hand—fingers brushing the king’s face.
