“Not to live eternally, but to be… reborn?”
“I ken not what you mean, druid. To die and live again… It would be something monstrous.”
He supposed it was where their faith aligned.
To die was to be returned to the earth that gave them life. To break that cycle… did it mean the earth had offered him back?
It would be two days more, in and out of loose consciousness. When he slept, the visions would come. Those new… and old. More and more he awoke in a warm sweat, and always the Vaich was beside him, mopping his skin with a damp cloth.
On the third day, the druid was well enough to stand and walk. The remedy had been fruitful, and no consequence had yet manifested. They decided they would head back.
They had breakfast—some nuts and berries from the brush—and the king packed camp. He looked at the druid’s unworn slippers and sighed. “Won’t you be good and put on your shoes?”
“It is summer now and I want to feel the earth,” said the druid.
“You willnae be tamed, I ken’ih.” The Vaich bent and took the shoes and packed them on the saddle. The druid watched him in quiet wonder.
What stood before him now was not the man he had met in winter. It was as if the Vaich had melted down in the great Unthawing, and bared all his skin for the druid to see.
He returned, holding out his hands, and the druid allowed him to hoist him up. He stumbled on his weakened feet, but the Vaich was quick to secure him with a strong arm about the waist.
“Aye now, slow and steady.”
An odd fluttering filled his chest and stomach. The druid did not know the name for such things and had no words as the Vaich’s gaze traced his mouth.
“Well, let’s get you up,” he whispered.
They came before the mount where the Vaich foisted him up. He seemed to be particularly careful not to jostle the druid too much, and followed after, fastening them together by the shawl.
“If it aches too much, then say so and we’ll stop and have a rest.”
The druid nodded his understanding, but he had no desire to delay. He had already taken too much time and he would be a fool not to know what it had cost. Every day their absence furthered, the men of the Féin would grow restless. What would they find when they returned?
The mare started forwards and they were off, back through the wood, out towards the great wide world again.
Chapter fifty-five
The Oracle
They made their way south.
On the fourth day, they reached the edge of the forest and returned to the open country. There, Saorla could stretch her swift legs. Though, even free from the tangle of the deep green, the Vaich did not push her hard, too fearful to jar the druid’s wounds.
They went on in the daytime and camped by night, and left again in the early morning. The druid slept frequently, despite wishing otherwise, and had taken to drifting even when they were mounted, lulled in the Vaich’s embrace. It was always warm against him, and the druid allowed his tired body to rest.
But his mind would not submit.
They made camp before evening, though there were few good places to choose. The highlands were wide and bare, and the peaks of Fír loomed. The Vaich chose a place near a stream and built a small fire between a ring of standing stones. The grass was damp from rainfall, and he laid out the pelts to keep them dry.
“I’ll bring Saorla to drink, don’t go wandering about.”
“Even if I do, you would see it quick enough,” said the druid.
The Vaich smiled. “Aye. But I cannae be chasing ye down and tossing ye over a hind in that state.”
The druid tutted in reply. The Vaich went off and the druid inched closer to the fire. His sides ached, no doubt aggravated from the ride. They would soon reach Tuhr Mor—the eastern pass—or so he expected. He had never been that far south.
The king returned up the bank and hitched Saorla to a small stone. He passed the waterskin. The druid muttered his thanks and had a drinkas the king sat opposite him. “Not much left of the feed, lest we get lucky here in the moor. But some jerky, if you like.”
