“She walked this land as real as we. And she—with blood warm in her womb—lay with man. It is no coincidence that dreamers are few. The power lives in the seed.”
“You are speaking nonsense—”
“I am speaking truth. I know what you are,dreamer.”
The druid swallowed. The icy waves crashed over him, breaking down his denial.
“Then… what will you do?” he asked. Would he be kept there in that deathful place? Would the Vaich be told of his oddity? Perhaps he would be deemed unworthy of marriage and instead be held to the coals.
Or worse—the reverence would grow tenfold.
He couldn’t breathe.
The priestess straightened, and all at once the maelstrom stopped. His mind went utterly silent.
“Nothing, of course,” she said. “We Nytherí must look out for one another. Your secret is safe with me.”
The druid blinked, baffled. “You… won’t speak of it?”
“Not even to the High Nytherí,” she whispered, holding a finger to her lips. Seeing his befuddled face, she smiled. “I told you. I am your ally. Rather, your most humble servant, my queen.”
She bowed with such zeal one would think her a mummer.
“Now, allow me to escort wee lamb to pasture. I have word from the Oracle—you will meet at dawn. But now, you should supper and rest.”
Nothing worth having in life came easy; thus, the druid was distrustful of simple things. Yet, there before the triptych, he felt a woeful joy, as if a weight had been lifted from him.
And that was most frightening of all.
Together they departed. The whispers did not come again, and he did not inquire further. As they passed the lattice windows, he thought he glimpsed a light in the dark and peered through the dimpled glass.
There, above the black water, was the shape of a ghostly woman cloaked in dustless white. The druid stumbled, sending the candelabra screeching across the floor. His eyes squeezed shut and opened again, but the mere was undisturbed. No light… no woman.
Only shadow.
Heart thumping, he swiveled to meet Hirí’s haunting grin.
Breathlessly, she murmured, “Welcome home.”
The priestesses rested in commune. The floor was draped in velvet and all their sleeping bodies breathed in tandem. But the druid did not dare to drift, lest the visions come again in the night. His thoughts paraded in endless circles.
It is certain you are her son.
He had never been anyone’s son, much less a false goddess.
False?
He pressed his eyes shut. What did it mean… to be Nytherí? If that is what he was… If the priestess’ words were true. Did that woman’s blood run through him?
He had never known another like him within the Fáoth, and none he had ever met had recognized him. He was an oddity; thus, he concluded he was the only one… until he travelled west. But he was a druid, through and through—a child of the Fáoth.
Wasn’t he?
His mind would not still. His steady life had been unmoored, and he could not bear to drift in uncertainty.
He had never believed in gods or prophets. He could not say that is what guided him now. But if thereweresuch things at work… then he was going to find out.
Before first light, Hirí stirred him. “Did you not sleep, my darkling?”
