“All those years of sparring… you’ve never minded my iron at your throat. Yet, more oft I feel yours cold against my flesh.” His words were blades of their own, the dark mark on his cheek a splintered shield.
“You don’t understand your mistake,” said the Vaich.
“Oh.” Greyv glanced at the druid, sending a shot of cold through his heart. “I ken it well.”
“Take your hands off him,” the Vaich growled at the youngest.
At once, Cían released him, and the druid gripped his throbbing side. The Vaich pushed Greyv away, coming over to ease him down. “Rest, druid. The blood’ll swell if we’re not careful.”
“H-he’s hurt?” Cían cried. “I-I didnae ken, my Vaich!”
The king said nothing, helping the druid to settle back. He searched the satchel, finding the last of the tincture, offering it up to him. Gingerly, the druid took it, raising the vial to his lips.
“If he’s unwell, there’s a villaigh to the south, but a two day’s ride from here,” said Alak. “The others have made rest there for the while.”
“We’ve spent all day on the road. He needs to sleep,” said the Vaich. “You’ll stay here the night. And burn those godsdamned masks.”
“It was just a bit of fun,” said Cían.
The king glanced up. “There’s always a consequence to fun. And those too young to ken it.”
The party settled. The boys from the Féin made camp nearby, and the Vaich stayed beside him. They spoke nothing of their earlier conversation, but in the quiet, nothing was resolved. The pain had worsened, and the druid could think of nothing beside it. The Vaich could only watch him tremble.
The fire crackled at their feet and in a whisper came the words, “I’m sorry. I let my guard down.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” said the druid.
“It was and it won’t happen again,” the king vowed through clenched teeth. “I promise.”
The night was short and the camp too quiet. The ache kept the druid awake into the wee hours of the morn, and within the hush, he heard their voices. Less like men and more like animals warring in the dark.
“I thought I could trust you not to humiliate me. Do you think we are still in that grove? That this is some game?” It was the Vaich’s voice, furious and sharp. The druid braced as if waiting for the strike.
“It is all yourgame, Skyre,” Greyv hissed back. “Do not forget who yearned for the hunt. Now you’re crawling on your knees before a woodsingr. I can’t recognize you from the top of your groveling head—”
A scuffle followed, and the druid gripped his gown tight.
“Do you not see what you have done? The Féin stands in shambles! Youleft, Skyre. This whole godsdamned procession in your honor and you sheared off for two weeks. By god’s flame, what did you think? He would sit idly in wait of your return? Lach’Dun’s little snake’s still seeding the grasses even as he turns on his pyre. You’ve allowed these weeds to take root.Crith na túr, yousowedthem!”
“You think I dinnae ken it?”
“All I see is a man in heat. This isn’t you, and best remember what youare, and soon.”
The sound of retreating footsteps echoed like a war drum. The druid pressed into the pelts beneath him, fresh terror curdling in his belly.
Had he become the crux of his own worst fear?
He had dreamt an impossible foe, and now, when they most need be united, little fractures spiderwebbed across the stone. The druid knew the danger of a thousand tiny splinters. If they could not suture these wounds, it would all come tumbling down.
The white tree loomed on the horizon of his mind, and in the dark, it withered.
It was a quiet ride through the craggy pass of Tuhr Mor where the lush, open expanse of the highlands narrowed between rocky hills. The peaks of the Fír glistened in the sun as they veered west to a small village gathered in the shadow of the mountains. It was cradled by meadow and tufts of forest; The stone cottages were spaced generously and between them wove burgeoning gardens. The air smelled of fresh tilled soil, and the earth was green and gold. It was drier and warmer there than in the moors, and the druid’s sore lungs pulled in sweet breaths.
Their horses gathered about the square, and the Vaich’s chamberlain came to greet them.
“Is there a healer about?” asked the king.
“I’m alright,” insisted the druid.
