“See how your wife struggles. She feels the flame of his coming. I can calm her fire.”
The sun priestess went and said prayers over her body. It was rough work, but within the hour, a healthy baby boy was delivered. The priestess took him in her arms. His face was ruddy and wrinkled, his hair a mess of earthy black, and with his tiny fist, he held her finger. She smiled at his tight grip.
“Why?” cried the fisherman’s wife. “Why did it have to bemyson?”
The sun priestess turned to her and said, “He is not your son; he belongs to the flame. Take your blessings and good fortune. Take this mercy and live long. You may bear other children, yet. But this one was foretold. This one… this one is mine.”
And so the Thrys left the cottage by the sea, carrying the freshly born heir; the new beating heart of Cullach. He was fast asleep in the Sun Matron’s arms, unaware of the world that awaited him.
“We have come all this way to find you, and now you shall return with us home. Let us prepare for your golden throne… Skyre.”
***
There was nothing left of old Lach’Dun but the bones scattered on his pyre.
Skyre waited in the nave of Kaern’Og. The Temple of Eternal Flame sat at the castle’s southern corner. While its grand tower loomed over Rhyd-hal, its chapel was much more modest. Incense soaked into the wooden rafters, blackened with the scent of pine musk. A haze of smoke permeated the air, filling the parishioners’ lungs. Or it would have had any yet come.
That morning, Skyre arrived early. He’d missed the vigil for the old king’s honor. It wasn’t encouraged for a Vaich to attend the burning of his predecessor. Fire spreads—the adage went—and death’s flame was one they shouldn’t court. Yet, his exclusion came with remorse. He had known Lach’Dun. Not well—no Vaich knew another intimately. But in Skyre’s case, everything had been different.
He stood before the cold altar, gazing down into the ashes. He could hardly fathom that the bones there now had once made up that indomitable man. Lach’Dun had walked as tall as a bear, and had the strength of a wild auroch. When he’d first met him, his wee heart had trembled, but he could remember none of that fear now.
What remained was aching grief.
Jor was right to serve that lashing, both with words and his blade. Skyre should have been there to set the old king’s pyre. He should have said his prayers over him. To speak them to dust… it was far from enough.
Footsteps stirred him to a familiar presence, and the swish of her skirts eased his tender nerves.
“Mirín,” said Medhin, coming forwards, “what troubles my darling boy?”
He said nothing, but needn’t have. The Sun Matron always knew.
“He would not have wished you to mourn. You are Vaich now, it is time to be strong.”
Simply knowing the way things were meant to be never lessened the weight of their hurt. “He showed me kindness, even though he knew I was the harbinger of his demise,” said Skyre, his shoulders sagging beneath the words. “He was the one who should have mourned.”
“Yet, he also knew that soon would come greatness.”
“Is any of that true?” Skyre whispered. “Lach’Dun was a mighty king. His victories against Escgalia willnae soon be forgotten, and the order he kept… it was all undone the moment I took the crown. First Dunn Kennigh, now this singr…”
“Every Vaich has their challenges,” said Medhin. “And weshallsettle yours. Things are uncertain now, but trust in your faith. The Sun shines at your back. Remember that.” She shifted, pulling her silk shawl tight. “Morning prayer will soon begin. It may be wise to invite the druid.”
“I cannae see what is wisein that,” said Skyre, crinkling his nose.
“There is a great deal of merit in bringing a wayward soul to enlightenment.”
Skyre wondered if such a thing could be done.
“He’s a heretic, yes, but suppose he can be saved,” Medhin continued. “Regardless, he cannot remain in opposition. You mustn’t let him think he can do what he likes.”
Skyre’s skin wetted over boiling blood. No, hecertainlywouldn’t allow that. His predecessors had commanded armies, put down savages,and tethered wild unrest. Skyre couldn’t let one simple-minded druid go unchecked.
He set his jaw and said, “Very well. Send for him at once.”
Morning prayer was reserved for high nobility. Skyre came when he liked, though found Othrik’s sermons too bleak. As his court filed into the chapel, they appeared both surprised and eager to see him. He considered a show of faith might have furthered his image, but there were a hundred better things to do first thing in the morning.
“What a diligent king we have, attending his flock,” Greyv said, sauntering down the aisle. “Speak well of me after I die of boredom.”
Skyre laughed as his friend took the place at his side, but Medhin nodded him down the line.
