The druid scratched nervously at the slab.
The Líaig came forward, looking over the druid with a curious, if not hungry eye. “The Vaich’s betrothed, she says?”
“Aye,” said Halla from the side, twiddling her plump fingers. “Be tender with him now.”
“Yes,” said the Líaig, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.“I’ll be tender.”
The druid drew his shoulders together, but the man grabbed his arm, pulling down the sleeve. He pressed his thumb against his wrist, then, seemingly satisfied, moved on to inspect his nails. He retrieved some mechanism from his pocket, shaving off a clipping and stuffing it into a linen satchel.
“Your water… is it clear?”
“Yes…” said the druid, wincing as the man pressed on his stomach. He leaned his ear to his belly, listening.
“Mm,” said the Líaig, “And your sleep?”
“I sleep well,” he lied.
“Good.” The Líaig gripped his chin. “Open.” The druid did as instructed, and the man peered inside, sniffing once and nodding his head. He moved on, prodding at the druid’s sides and then, with a rough hand, pushed up his robes. The druid gasped at the man’s cold hands between his thighs. “It is certain you are not to give the Vaich any children… though, the loins are still soft to the touch,” the Líaig considered that a moment more. “Your eld, it is clean?”
“Yes,” the druid muttered, much less happily.
Again, the Líaig nodded. “I will take the blood now.”
He went and fetched a bottle, which looked to have seen great use already. Then, he brought a wooden chair and sat near the slab, withdrawing a knife from his sleeve. He took the druid’s hand in a tight hold, despite the smaller man’s resistance, and after a sharp prick of his finger, drew theblood against the glass. It was a stinging pain, made all the more fierce as the Líaig wrung his finger over the bottleneck.
“Smooth and clean,” he said, though the words wafted, and for a moment, the druid felt dizzy.
The chamber spun, torchlight streaking across his vision. All became black and shadow, and he was there again at the bottom of the mere.
He saw his fellow druid burning on the cross; he saw the farmer’s sickly cow. He saw the men of Cullach slaughtered on the fields, and the face of every woman and child he had ever known. He saw… he saw the trees. Their open bellies filled with blood. And a pair of familiar, verdant eyes before all went dark.
“Íridh!”
He gasped, pushing himself up and nearly tumbling from the slab. He might have retched if his stomach had an ounce to give. Instead, he panted heavily, only calming when the old maid rubbed his back.
“By the gods, is he unwell?” she questioned.
“I’m alright. I… get queasy at the sight of blood,” the druid lied.
The healer and the maid exchanged puzzled looks, but Halla conceded first. “Yer all through, íridh. We can go.”
The Líaig gave the blood bottle a shake before tucking it onto his shelf. “I will tell the Vaich you are in good and virgin condition. Come and see me again.”
The druid glowered.
Halla hurried him off the slab and back out into the corridor. The druid still felt dizzy, his head light and heavy all at once.
“Are ye really alright?” asked the chambermaid. “Is it the dreams again?”
“I…” He could not lie a second time. “I do not wish you to worry.”
“Oh, I’ll worry with or without yer command!”
“It was a difficult venture, the trial. In the lake I…” he swallowed it down. “Do you… do you think all dreams foretell the future?”
The old woman’s brow worked as she considered. “In every story I’ve heard it is so. What is the matter, íridh? What have ye seen?”
“I saw…”
