Page 94
“Bronze, when cast thick and sealed well, resists damp and decay better than most metals of its age,” he says, turning one half of the casing in his fingers. “It corrodes slowly. Predictably. It protects what might rest inside.”
He lifts the stone slightly.
“And basalt is born of fire. Volcanic. Dense as bone. It doesn’t soften with time. You could bury it in the earth for millennia and it would endure.”
Something like reluctant admiration flickers across his features.
“It was clever of Amergin. Hide this in plain sight, encasing it as a Milesian relic. Bronze for preservation. Stone for permanence. Seal and hide it well enough that no curious hand would think to pry it open.”
His thumb brushes the fracture again.
“For four thousand years, his bloodline has guarded this. They did not know what it contained. Only that it must never fall into the wrong hands. Never be broken open.”
His eyes lift.
“Yesterday, the seal split of its own accord, as though something within pressed outward.”
I shift.
“And the grooves?” Ellen asks softly. “What are they? They look as if they form patterns. Not just random markings.”
Mannie turns the stone slightly so he can trace each mark.
“Ogham is a primitive tongue long fallen from common use,” Mannie says. “Older than most men would recognise. Simple to the eye, but it can be quite deceptive in meaning.”
His gaze lingers on the markings.
“It would seem Amergin was as clever as he was honourable. He was deliberate in this decision. Inscribing a message in Ogham further ensured that, even if the casing were breached, few would understand what they were reading.”
“But I can read it. I have rendered it into our tongue as faithfully as I am able.” A faint, almost reverent smile touches his mouth.
“I cannot fault Ériu for choosing him.”
Ellen swallows. “And what exactly did he carve?”
Mannie looks up at that.
This time the smile deepens—not amused, but significant.
“Amergin left a confession for those who would come after,” he says. “A quiet admission… a secret he took to his grave, tucked in amongst the rest of these markings.”
His fingertips continue feeling along the surface.
“He said the words were spoken to him in her final moments. That no ear but his was meant to hold them.”
Mannie’s gaze lifts.
“And I know they were hers. Her touch is in this.”
That lands heavier than any explanation could.
“Amergin carved it, aye, but the stone yielded for her. That is not a thing you can counterfeit. It has a… signature. I would know this imprint anywhere.”
He draws a breath.
“This is a prophecy she entrusted to him—what he appropriately named The Emerald Oath.”
The words cause my skin to prickle.
