[ Watashi ]

[ Tomodachi ]

[ Saint Seiya ]

[ Clamp ]

[ Fanfiction ]

The sullen chirp of a blackbird barely reached my ears before drowning in the damp atmosphere weighing over the sacred forest. Beneath me, a sickening suction noise clawed its way up when Aedh gathered her strength and freed a hoof from the thick layer of mud the ground had turned into. Wrinkling my nose, I sighed out a breath and leaned over the chestnut mare’s neck. “I’m sorry. We’ll leave soon but, before we do, I need us to get to higher ground.” A flick of the great mare’s ears was the only answer I got. With a nod, I gave her my heels, and at once I felt her powerful muscles twist and tense under me while she fought to free herself from the muck’s sticky embrace. The painfully slow canter which resulted from her efforts was a series of wobbly jumps, but eventually it got the job done.

“Thanks,” I murmured while patting her neck. Blowing air from her nostrils, she pawed at the ground with the right front hoof, and sent bits of sludge flying, diminutive missiles that hit the ground and splattered what little bit of grass had managed to survive the hellish weather this long. At least, on the small hilltop the soil hadn’t turned into a traitorous marsh. In a slow motion, I twisted on the saddle and scanned my surroundings. The green of the tree leaves was dark and lifeless, and the brown of the trunks seemed to be melting into nothingness. There were only scattered patches of grass covering the earth, mostly tainted by mud. No bluebell flower swayed with the breeze. There was no breeze, not even the tiniest gust of air. Nothing. All around us, the sacred forest was shrouded in mist.

In the months which had followed our return from the Sanctuary, we had all looked for signs that what I had Seen would take place. Except for the expected, growing influence and interference of the Christian priests in people’s everyday lives, nothing weird had happened. With dread clawing at my heart, I had waited for the celebrations of Beltane, and still there had been no hint that my vision had been anything other than a fretful apprentice’s nightmare. Neither Macha nor my lady mother had complained, however, and I knew that to this day they kept a close watch on all the events around the governor’s palace. And while they were doing that, I scouted the sacred forest, again and again, through mist and rain whose ghostly touch clang to me, dragged at me, so they could hold me back and sink me into the swamp this holy place was fast becoming.

Looking up beyond the shelter of oak leaves and branches, all I managed to glimpse was grayness. Without beginning. Without end. Three weeks before Beltane, clouds had come from the West and from the North. People had smiled at their arrival, at the relief from the Summer heat and at the bounty of water they’d likely deliver on thirsty crops. It was now seven weeks since that day, seven weeks since we had last seen the sun shine upon the land. Our universe had been reduced to constant fog, and to rain. No light seemed strong enough to prevail against the fey weather, not even that of Beltane’s bonfires. It was as if Time was holding its breath, as if some mischievous spirit had closed its hand around us and had taken us out of the world, away from the wind’s caress and from the touch of sunshine.

Beneath me, Aedh snorted. The chestnut mare craned her neck to shoot me a dark look, ears flat on her skull. She had folded her lips to reveal a threatening row of teeth, as if she was preparing to fight an enemy. For the time of a heartbeat, I stared back at her, unmoving, then I refocused on our environment. The ceaseless sounds of water dripping to the ground wasn’t rain, even though it was sure to start again soon. It was the green of the leaves that was oozing off to disperse into the earth. Shivering, I closed my travel cloak around me and nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go.” Before I could knee her away from the hilltop, Aedh whirled aside, turning her back on the forest’s heart, and started down the slope at a not so slow canter.

By the time we reached the woods’ edges, the great mare was panting, her chestnut coat lathered with sweat. She seemed to be wearing high boots of mud, and I wasn’t looking forward to caring for her once we’d be back in Cenabum. On our right, the usually gentle steam that left the forest to meander between farmers’ fields had become a river in spate, its waters swollen by the violent rainstorms. It carried branches and mud, and the carcasses of many animals, most of them small, which hadn’t managed to find a shelter in time when the rain had started causing more and more frequent landslides. The smell of its waters was heavy and dead. Spitting air out of my lungs, I made myself look away. The sooner I’d be back in the Carnutes’ ceremonial house in Cenabum, the better. Above us, the grey of the sky was deepening into charcoal, and that wasn’t solely because the day had started waning. “Rain,” I told Aedh, who flicked a tired ear my way. “Perhaps even hail.” It was cold, miserably so. In spite of the complete absence of wind, the weather was worsening again. With a low grunt, the mare won out of the mire, and at last we reached the solid, stable ground of the Roman stone-paved road. “Good girl,” I said softly. Now we’d soon be back home. Straightening on the saddle, I glanced right, then left.

A crossroads.

I blinked. Of course, a crossroads close to the sacred forest’s outermost edge. It led to what was registered as a ruined estate in Lucius Valero’s archives. There lived an arrogant demon straight from the spirit world, unaware of the danger he was in, so close to the swollen stream that flowed from the heart of the woods. I should be on my way home. I shouldn’t give a damn. In truth, it was likely any warning or help of mine would be neither wanted, nor needed. A shrill whinny echoed in the air, coming from Aedh, and all of a sudden I realized I had pulled on the rains to force her to a halt, and to turn her toward the left. So. My lips thinned into a smile, I gave a gentle kick on my steeds’ flanks, and started down the road leading to the abandoned farm.

It took us almost a full hour to get in sight of the fortress-like building. Above us, the sky was now almost uniformly black. Aedh shook her head in a wild motion, staring up at its obscurity, her ears flat on her skull once more. “Okay,” I told her. “I know. I see it too.” We’d never make it back to the city in time to avoid the heavens’ wrath. The old road had led us on the wrong side of the forest in the first place, and I had made it worse by coming all the way here. There was little choice for us. We’d use the cover of a roof there, and welcome be damned. Before us, the main entry gate was open. Good. “Come on, girl,” I urged Aedh, and she happily set out for our destination.

We entered the big farm’s courtyard with a clatter of hooves, but nobody came out of the main house to check what was going on, or to demand who the hell dared trespass on the property of the Carnutes high druids. I hadn’t expected anything else. Drawing in a breath, I slid down from the saddle, then stepped to Aedh’s neck and gave her a weary pat. Sweat was swirling up from her coat in the damp air, like steam from Roman thermae. Turning toward me, she rubbed her great head against my chest, the motion so powerful that I staggered backward. “Hey,” I whispered, chuckling. “Let’s get you inside before the rain starts.” Even as I moved to do so, I spotted a darker shape beneath the main barn’s outer roof. A cart, I realized when I stepped closer to it, a Roman cart not unlike the one which had brought the prideful son of a bitch named Azzure here during a Winter Solstice night. The why of its presence here didn’t tease my mind for more than a moment. Discarding it, I led Aedh into the barn.

A groan escaped me when I lifted the saddle from Aedh’s back. The leather was heavy, as if gorged with water. I dumped it on the ground, and then proceeded to unbridle the chestnut mare, who snorted from head to tail in relief. On the far side of the barn, a dozen goats were peacefully chewing on hay, safely set in neatly cleaned pens. There were no cows left: those had been retrieved as soon as Winter had left the land and snow had stopped clogging the roads. For some reason, Azzure wouldn’t touch them, would neither drink their milk or eat their cheese--much less eat their meat. So we had taken them away, and left him with goats and a whole henhouse. From the looks of it, he did know how to care for them, and he did so everyday. In the few times I had stopped by the estate after our return from the Sanctuary, I had never checked the barn, and the cleanliness of it was an amusing surprise.

Turning away from the animals, I noticed some loose straw next to the reserves of hay. “Well, girl,” I smiled at Aedh, “looks like we’ve got all we need.” In quick strides, I stepped over to the piles of hay, the chestnut mare on my heels. Before I could reach out to gather some, Aedh stretched her neck and helped herself to a well deserved meal. “Glutton!” I scoffed, even as I grasped a handful of straw and proceeded to rub her down. The air in the barn was astonishingly dry, and it smelled nice. Once I was done, I’d go get a bucket of water from the well set next to the building. Aedh was bound to be thirsty as well as hungry.

“Who invited you over?” I froze in mid-motion, my right hand resting against the chestnut mare’s rump. Aedh hadn’t so much as lowered her ears or tensed to warn me of another presence in the barn. And even now, she was indulging herself in a feast of hay, a contented look in her eyes. Pushing back from her, I sucked in a breath and pivoted to confront the one who had come, dropping my handful of straw to the ground. “Of course, technically one might argue that you need no invitation, since this place remains the property of your kin,” tall, dark-skinned Azzure was saying in an even voice. The light smoldering in his tile blue gaze was neither warm, nor friendly.

So I wasn’t welcome, as expected. “One might.” Ignoring the dull, insignificant ache in my chest, I bowed. “And I invited myself. Have you taken a look at the sky outside?” I asked, irony plain in the tone of my question.

“It’s a full hour of walk to the main road,” Azzure retorted softly.

I gave myself the time of four heartbeats, watching the tall, lithe figure standing before me, arms crossed over his abdomen, than I dragged in a breath. “I know.” I nodded at him. “When I reached the outskirts of the forest, I saw the swollen waters of the stream that flows in the fields next to this farm. They’re dark, full of mud and tainted by death. They’re bound to win free of the riverbed soon. I just thought you should know.”

The light in the aquamarine eyes swirled, as unfriendly and remote as before. “Do I look like a blind, defenseless fool?” The question was a derisive snort.

This was futile. It would lead nowhere. I was wrong to have come, I had known it when I had turned Aedh from the main road. There was no help for it now, the mistake had been made. “No, you don’t,” I replied in a quiet voice. “Either you let me stay in this barn until this bout of rain is past, or you throw me out. Whichever it is, best you make up your mind before Aedh has had time to gobble up your reserves of hay.” With that, I turned my back on him and resumed rubbing down the chestnut mare. Silence was Azzure’s answer, disturbed only by the goats shifting in their pens, and by the hens scratching through layers of straw. “This weather is evil,” I said to nobody in particular, focusing on the sensation of Aedh’s wet and much ruffled coat. “Ever since it’s started, there’s been something foul in the air. Every time I cross through the sacred forest, it feels as though its heart was growing thin, thinner every time I touch the trees,” I finished with a sigh. Azzure didn’t grace my musing words with a comment, but he was still there. I could feel his presence like a flame licking at my shoulder blades, itching but not quite burning yet. “I’ve never--”

The deafening thunder of rain slamming into the barn’s roof cut me off. Pausing, I stared ceilingward. It was loud, so loud that it felt like the sky was furious, so loud that it seemed that the sky was lashing out at our little bit of land, striking at stubborn roof tiles which refused to give way. “Ah well.” The two words were a long suffering sigh. “It looks like there’s no help for it. Stay,” Azzure said, coming to my left, reaching out to Aedh and leaning the tip of his right forefinger against her velvety nose. “Lie down and rest until the rain is done punishing us. It shouldn’t last too long anyway.” The great mare’s ears were pricked forward, and she was looking at Azzure without even sketching a move to avoid his touch. There was no fear in her dark, deep eyes, no anger at being touched by a complete stranger. At last, she blew air through her nostrils. In slow, deliberate motions, she folded her legs under her to lie down in the loose straw as the earth-skinned man had bidden her do. “Good.” He smiled, and went to sit next to her head.

Uncomprehending, I watched the weird sight set before my eyes. Above us, the rain was still thundering down and slamming against the roof tiles. Azzure’s dark gaze was set on something in the direction of the barn’s entrance, that only he could see. Following suit, I stared at the curtain of solid grayness outside, at rain that was probably mixed with hail, and which would make travel impossible until it was over. There was nothing to see there, or if there was, I decided I didn’t feel like getting even a glimpse of it. So I went along with Azzure’s whim and went to sit down as well, less than a step away from him. “When you go to check on your forest, you’d do well to remember that the logical course is to retrace your steps in order to get back to your city, not coming out the far end, where this farm is set.”

I pivoted to confront him in a sharp, jarred movement. It was true, what he had just said. I knew it in the instant his mocking words registered in my brain, just as I knew that it was absurd for me to always end up on the far side of the woods--his side of the woods. Something like a smile was hovering on his lips. The heat that had rushed to my cheeks was retreating in slow, reluctant waves. “Your mother offered her help more than a week ago,” he turned to face me, “a help I respectfully declined.” The twist in the line of his mouth was indeed a smile, but it was colder and even more distant than the light in his gaze. “I’ve abused your hospitality for too long as it is. I’ll be moving into the city first thing tomorrow. Afraeil just sent word that the Sanctuary had bought a suitable place, and that servants should arrive before the day is out. Apprentices of Rowan as I understood it.” Laughter was riding his voice, joyless and somber.

“You’re moving?!” I exclaimed, leaning forward. “Moving out of here to take up residence inside Cenabum?!” That would bring him closer to the Roman governor, closer to the Christian priests--closer to the local seats of power. And it would place him outside of our influence, insofar as it could be said that we had any over the likes of him. But the Romans would view this move so, as would the Christians.

“The Sanctuary is no pawn, no lever for you to use in your petty human squabbles,” the dark judge sitting beside me replied. “We stand with none of your little clans. We’re neutral, we always have been, and we always will be. The Lady Muireann should know that we wouldn’t let ourselves be involved in insignificant skirmishes.” The harsh flames in his eyes were too hard to withstand, but fortunately he looked away. “But damn Afraeil, I wish he’d restore the balance without conducting his petty revenge on me. He’ll be lucky if I don’t do away with one or two Roman officials before this week is out. He knows how I like tranquility.” That last bit was uttered with what I’d have sworn to be childlike peevishness, had I been listening.

The Lady Muireann should know, he had said. Perhaps she did, and perhaps she hadn’t seen fit to let me know. Perhaps she had noticed how my visits to the sacred forest always ended on the wrong side of it, as Azzure had--as I hadn’t, stupid fool that I was. Perhaps my dear mother thought this would be a useful lesson. “Why comply, then?” The words rushed past my lips, unstoppable. “Why would you obey, when you obviously have no wish to?” The question was absurd, and then it wasn’t. Azzure was power, true power, and he could surely find a way around orders he didn’t like. He was no apprentice at the mercy of his master’s every whim.

Instead of the laughter I had expected, silence was once again my only answer for a while. Eventually the dark-skinned figure turned back toward me, reaching out to scratch at Aedh’s head, who was now lying sideways on a comfortable pillow of straw. “I’m no apprentice anymore.” The quiet words barely carried over the booming noise of the rain still lashing out at the roof. “I am Gold,” he added, as it that was supposed to mean anything, “and Afraeil is the Sanctuary’s high lord.” There was something strange in his expression, something gentle, human even, like wistfulness, and it didn’t belong with the cold, arrogant god-like figure that was Azzure. “His commands are the will of Athena.”

The will of Athena, hey? Almost I sniggered, but the eerie calm in my companion’s voice held my bitter laughter back. I was familiar with utterances of divine will: I heard my mother express those almost everyday, and I sometimes conveyed them myself to petitioners as well. But this was different. Azzure’s tile blue eyes were pools darker than the night as he held my gaze with his. Death was watching me through them, as it had once before. Death, in the stillness and dreadful sensation of power radiating from the man sitting next to me. The sole obstacle between us was a chestnut mare happily drowsing on a bed of straw. With difficulty, I sustained his steady gaze, and held my peace.

At last, the moment passed, and Azzure refocused on the barn’s entry before us. Unable to help myself, I stared at the proud, beautiful shadow that he was, at the perfectly straight line of his back, and I refused the searing sensation of embers smoldering in my lungs, and of glowing red ashes pressing against my heart. I refused those dull, meaningless pains, as well as the urge to reach out to him. “In the land of my birth,” he said all of a sudden, “rain like that happens every year in Summer. It’s called the monsoon, and it triggers floods, and devastation. Rivers leave their beds, crops are destroyed, people and animals drown. And once it’s over, once the land has been laid waste,” he went on, his voice barely above a whisper and thick with memories, “then it starts. The livestock starves because there’s nothing left to feed it. People start drinking rotten waters from contaminated wells, children the first among them. They get sick, and it spreads from village to village, until fate stays its hand, and the Wheel starts turning again.”

In the stillness that followed, I held out the right hand and my fingers clutched at rough fabric, their groping motions awkward and slow. “I’m sorry.” The empty words left my mouth of their own volition. The man I had come to warn of his danger was way more familiar with it than I was. That nightmare was a part of him, intimately woven with all that he had known as a child, and I--couldn’t have known. That understanding didn’t help any, no matter how true it was. Azzure would have wanted to confront this familiar bane alone, unburdened by strangers who had no idea what a real flood season implied. But I had intruded. I had forced his hand so he’d offer me the shelter of this barn. I could no more undo my mistake than I could prevent the rain from pouring down.

In a slow movement, he turned to face me. The aquamarine eyes looked down at my right hand clutching at his sleeve, then his gaze met mine. “You’re a fool,” he said evenly, “and I’m worse.” The scorn in his words was reflected in his smile, and it splashed over me like cold water. Sitting very still, I let it sink in to my bones. I didn’t recoil. He didn’t pull away. We stayed like this while Time trickled past, and while a cramp came to life in my outstretched arm. The silence around us was a deafening one.

“It’s over,” Azzure nodded at me, and abruptly I realized that the silence meant that the rain had stopped. It hadn’t lasted for long, as he had foretold. With a gentle pull, he freed himself from my grasp and gathered himself from the floor. He took a moment to wipe away the straw clinging to his trousers, then he stared down at me. “Get your lazy horse up, and then go on your way. You can make it to the city before dark, and you have no more need of a shelter.”

That was true enough, I found when I looked away from him to peer at the grayness outside. It had lost its charcoal hue to regain that of wool freshly shorn from sheep. “Aye,” I whispered, and I pivoted toward Aedh. “Up, girl,” I told the chestnut mare, who lowered her ears and bared her teeth at me in protest. “Up, you worthless nag,” I nudged her, unimpressed by her display of foul mood. Even as she complied, I stole a glance to my right, and saw nothing but trusses of straw and hay.

Azzure was gone.

The way back to the main road was a miserable one, for both Aedh and myself. The rain had poured down from the sky so violently that it had carried sludge all over the trail, making it slippery at best. More than once, the chestnut mare skidded to a halt, a heartbeat away from losing her balance. When at last we reached the paved stones, I considered our options for a while. The shortest way back was through the woods, but I didn’t feel like fighting my way through marshes and mud. The safest alternative was to go onward, but that would be long. Too long. The quickest would be to use the old, abandoned road that skirted along the forest. My mind empty, I balanced the three choices, then on impulse decided for the third one.

I should have taken the time to seek out Azzure and apologize. I should never have gone down the path leading to the farm. I should have realized where my traitorous mind kept leading me whenever I wandered into the sacred forest. I should have-- Hissing out a sigh, I turned Aedh back toward the woods, and only then did I spot the rider. He was standing still, half dissimulated by the first trees growing right next to the ancient road, and he was alone. Discarding the lurch in my heartbeats, I pushed Aedh forward, but the great mare had no need for such urging from me. She was more than eager to reach the lone rider waiting under the trees.

I thought he’d remain on his spot until we reached his side, but as we came near, he gave his horse his heels, and cantered out to meet us. “Flavius,” I greeted him with a small bow, even as he pushed back the hood of his very much drenched cape. His bay stallion looked soaked to the bone, but the travel cloak seemed to have protected the young man from the worst of the rain. “Looks like you got caught in the storm,” I told him, allowing curiosity to come to my voice.

His sky blue eyes met mine. “Looks like you managed to find a shelter from it,” he replied with a smile.

I took in that smile, and blinked. It wasn’t quite a sneer, not quite. Shrugging it off was easy, easier than I had expected, and I flicked my right hand toward the now distant crossroads behind us. “We own a farm down that way. The roof of its barn is still good enough to protect people from the weather’s whims.”

“I know,” he nodded at me. The same smile was still frozen on his lips. For a moment, he stared at me, then he heaved out a sigh. “Are you going back to the city?” When I bobbed down my head in confirmation, he added, “Then I’ll accompany you if you don’t mind. This road is shortest, and about the only one which will get us there before nightfall, but I don’t know it well enough to be sure what to expect after such a brutal storm.”

“Sure.” Again I shrugged, and again I found it easy to accept Flavius’ company on the way back. Reason demanded that I question my lack of reaction, but reason was far from my weary mind. So I kicked Aedh into a small canter, and Flavius fell into step with us, his bay matching Aedh’s pace without difficulty.

The old road was in a better state than I had hoped, but the swollen river that flowed alongside it looked darker and more threatening than ever. Its waters rushed forward, wild and black, and it carried a strong, nauseating stench that had nothing to do with rotting leaves or even some dead fishes. Try though I might, I couldn’t take my eyes from it, until at last the trail veered North, and away from the trees. On my left, Flavius pulled his horse to a halt and I imitated him; puzzled. His gaze was set on the river now behind us, and on the forest beyond. “It won’t be long before it carries plague and death, if this crazy weather continues,” my companion muttered. “We’re going to have to take measures.”

For a moment, I sat very still in my saddle, remembering the image of Flavius standing in Cenabum’s central square and looking down the main avenue leading to the sacred forest. It hadn’t happened. It might never happen if we could find a way to thwart fate’s cruel quirks. It was the river he had been referring to, nothing else. “Yeah,” I nodded, “let’s hope those cursed clouds just go away and let the sun shine over the land.”

He gave me a look, then nodded back. “In any case, it’s good to be out of those forsaken woods,” he grimaced, then abruptly the twist of his lips turned into a grin. “What do you say I race you to the city’s entry gate?”

A snort was all that ridiculous suggestion deserved, but Flavius meant it. The low flame in the blue eyes was unmistakable. “No.” I shook my head. “I won’t risk Aedh breaking a leg in a race on slippery stones. Another time, perhaps.”

“Its always ‘another time’ with you,” he shot back, grasping his reins firmly. He was going to give the bay his heels, in the hopes of herding the chestnut mare along and drawing her into the race, whether I wanted to or not.

“No way!” I hissed, and jumped down from Aedh’s back in the same time, going for the mare’s head and pulling on the bridle, which she didn’t like at all. Eyes wide, Flavius watched me in silence for a while, then he spat out a loud sigh, and jumped down as well.

I started forward, dragging an angry steed behind me--too late. Already, Flavius had reached my side. “Spoilsport,” he told me, to which I didn’t reply. Racing would have been absurd and crazy, and he knew it. “Gale,” he called, and I looked back at him. The clear blue gaze was murky, unreadable. “You look and feel different,” he gave a shake of the head. “On edge, and yet stronger, as if you had found some kind of balance within, as if old wounds were healing at last,” he finished, his voice carefully devoid of emotion.

As the words reached me, I stopped in my steps, which sent Aedh grunting in protest. So, this was what he had been leading to. This was his reason for being caught by the rainstorm on the sacred forest’s outskirts. I stared at the governor’s third son while he halted as well and pivoted toward me. “It may be,” I told him softly, “even though I doubt it very much.” This was a very dangerous moment, and I had no idea how to get out of the trouble I was suddenly finding myself in.

“You’re right to have doubts,” Flavius countered, his voice as soft as mine had been. “That dark-skinned bastard is abandoning you. He’s leaving your mother’s hospitality for a luxury house set halfway between the Christian church and my father’s palace.” His lips curled up in a smile that uncovered his teeth. “But then, what can you expect from a guild of traders and merchants, no matter how powerful it is? They follow where the wind blows, and they’ll sell their souls to whomever they consider as more profitable for their business without the smallest qualm. There’s nothing personal in their constant, casual betrayals.” I shouldn’t heed Flavius. I shouldn’t listen. I should pretend I hadn’t heard anything, and I should walk on. Yet, I looked back at him, fighting words down my throat, and refusing the painful twisting of my insides. “Doubts,” my companion murmured, “maybe, but yours are thin ones at best. Trusting the likes of them is absurd, Gale. They know the balance of power is shifting. They know where it’s going, and they’re simply following it.” The gentleness in his tone was unbearable.

He was sure. He was so sure that he was holding the truth in his hands, when he knew nothing. Nothing at all! Spinning on my heels, I dragged in a shuddering breath and bit my lower lip. I wouldn’t respond, I wouldn’t take the bait and start an empty argument. We’d only end up hurting each other more. I scanned our environment, desperate for anything to take Flavius’ thoughts away from Azzure and the Sanctuary, and I froze when I spotted what looked like a column of soldiers in the distance. The red of their cloaks meant that they were the roman army, but their helmets and the emblems they were wearing didn’t belong. Snatching at the weird sight with all of my will, I denied the queasiness of my stomach and the anvil crushing my ribcage. “Flavius,” I called, “there! What are they?”

For a moment, there was silence, then Flavius stepped to my side. Narrowing his eyes to take a better look, he snorted. “Alamans!” he spat out the word. “The Roman army has started allowing them within its ranks, and it has given them the privilege to keep their own tribal crests and garb. A ludicrous decision,” he smirked,” one that confirms that the Empire is failing, slowly but certainly. On its own, it’ll simply wane, dwindle and sink into forgetfulness, but it no longer matters. It has served its purpose.” The calm with which that judgment was delivered was horrible.

From afar, we watched while the army of crimson ghosts walked past, dissolving into the ever-present mist, their weird, grotesquely shaped emblems standing high and dark against the thick blanket of grayness. Silent wraiths, they disappeared behind the insubstantial curtain without ever noticing our presences. “Has it come to this?” I asked in a whisper. For Flavius was right: the imperial army stood at the core of the Roman power, and it was the embodiment of the eternal city’s dominance over the world. As such, it could be allowed to worship only one master, one set of divinities. Its insignia were the eagle and the she-wolf feeding the twins who would had founded Rome. The sons of Mars, Roman god of war. For the military to adopt in their midst symbols belonging to alien, barbarian tribes, it meant that the vast tapestry woven by the Roman emperors over the centuries, and by the republic before them was unraveling. “Has Rome fallen so low?”

It was maybe a perilous question to ask in the presence of a provincial governor’s son, but Flavius wouldn’t be disturbed by the picture an answer would summon. Flavius didn’t give a damn about his ancestor’s empire, of that at least I was certain. “They’ll spend the night with the garrison in Cenabum,” he mused beside me. “My father can’t help but offer them his hospitality. However, tomorrow at first light he’s sure to send them on their way, and good riddance.” Taking his eyes off the spot the soldiers had occupied before vanishing into the fog, Flavius stared at me steadily. “and to answer your question: yes, Rome has fallen that low. Its laws, its whole structure, its foundation stones are coming undone. There’s only one emperor worth the name left, and power has completely shifted into his hands. In Byzantium.” I blinked. I knew that name: it was that of a great city on the Hellespont, beyond the Sanctuary. A city where the Christian hierarchs composed most of the emperor of the East’s inner circle. Their seat of power. “You’re not surprised,” my companion added, a hint of interest seeping into his question. “Neither by this, nor by the knowledge that your dark-skinned friend is betraying you.”

With an effort of will, I made myself sustain the sky blue gaze. “I’m not,” I confirmed. Lying would only make matters worse. “I’m no wide-eyed kid, Flavius, and that man is anything but a friend of mine,” I told him, the corner of my mouth twisted into what might pass for a smile.

“So you say.” He gave a curt nod of the head. The light in his eyes was a somber one.

“Yes, so I say. Flavius,” I heaved out a loud sigh, “ I know I haven’t been fair with you. I’ve never given you a chance to explain, but....” I folded my lips and flicked my eyes to the ground before meeting his once more. “I just can’t--” He didn’t let me continue. In a brusque, lightning-quick motion, he drew close enough to touch me. His right arm hooked around me and its hand grabbed the back of my neck in a fierce iron grip, even as he bent over me and as his mouth covered mine.

Pain, sharp and sudden flared up in my lips even as a warm, salty-sweet liquid coated both sides of my tongue. It was no kiss, this. It was a claim, savage and brutal, and as that realization hit, I punched his jaw as hard as I could with the left fist. I kneed him in the groin in the same time that I twisted in his faltering grip and elbowed him, pushing him back with the left shoulder, forcing him off-balance. Thank to some whim of Teutates, he slipped on a muddy stone, lost his footing and fell to the ground in a heap. Reflexively, I spat out the blood from my mouth. Then, unmoving, I stared down at Flavius, adrenalin poisoning my body. Blood was roaring in my ears and my heart was hammering in my chest. My vision was reduced to a tunnel. I could see only him. I could feel only him. I could hear only his own frantic heartbeats. My right hand was closed on the hilt of the Sword of Nuada, its knuckles white. It was all I could do not to lift it high and then skewer the man lying at my feet. During a long, awful moment I stared at him thus, trembling with the need to strike him down.

At last, I managed to unclench my fingers, and the Sword of Nuada faded into a sharp gust of wind. “I’m not yours,” I shaped the words with difficulty, unable to fully contain the snarl clawing at my throat. “I will never be. I belong to no one. I bow down to no one. I give to whom I choose, no more and no less. You’d do well to remember that. Anyone other than you would have joined his ancestors for this.”

“Gale!” He gave a wild shake of the head, while trying to gather himself from the ground and failing miserably. “Gale!” He repeated, the distress in his plea so profound that it won through the veil of black fury obscuring my mind. The snake coiled up to my spine released its cold, vicious hold somewhat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I--” his voice broke. A part of me wanted to keep watching him struggling his way through words, wanted to scorn him and strike at him, again and again. Instead, I bent down, took the hand he had held out and pulled him up.

“Be sorry,” I told him. “Go confess your sins to your priests if it’ll soothe your spirit. It’s fine by me. Just know that next time, I won’t stay my hand.” My toneless words echoed around us, and then dispersed into the damp air. With that, I turned my back on him and rejoined Aedh’s left side. Without waiting for a reaction on his part, I vaulted up the chestnut mare’s back, and kicked her into a quick canter. Behind me, Flavius didn’t call out, didn’t try to hold me back. Folding my lower lip, I sucked at the deep mark his teeth had left into the tender flesh, and felt the corners of my mouth curl up in a thing that wasn’t a smile. It was good that Flavius hadn’t called after me. It was very, very good.

My mind empty, I pushed Aedh into a full gallop, and engaged into a reckless race with a ghost until I reached the gates of Cenabum.

“Oh stop that,” Macha murmured beside me, even as her elbow hit my left side. Blinking, I held on to the expressionless mask I had drawn to my face, and sat down. Around us, nobody had noticed anything, I saw with relief, and I got back to watching a good score of dignified druids and druidesses take their own seats in a rustle of the costly fabrics used to make ceremonial dresses. Even the bards, always so observant and sharp-eyed, were engaged in a quiet chat with their neighbors, on the hunt for information even here and now, no doubt.

My sister and I had been assigned seats at a secondary table, along with younger druids and apprentices in the last stages of learning. It was a convenient spot from which to watch the proceedings of this gathering, distant from the center of things and yet close enough to allow for intervention if it was warranted. Before our mother could start the formal round of talks, I glowered at Macha. “What’s your problem?” I muttered under my breath.

She wrinkled her nose. “That somber look of yours, the constant gloomy expression on your face.” Shrugging off a sigh, she added in a quiet whisper, “Quit sulking like a kid, Gale. The Sanctuary’s move was a perfectly reasonable one, it’s not directed against us.” Beyond the chiding tone of her voice, worry was filling its undertone, plain as the sun in daylight--when clouds and fog deigned to stop clogging the sky. I heaved out a sigh of my own, not as discreet as hers had been.

“I know that,” I replied. “He told me so himself.”

“Then what is it?” she shot back in a hiss. “What’s with you? You’ve been a ghost since your return from the forest six days ago.”

A ghost, hey? Almost, I burst out laughing. It was none of my sister’s business, even though her concern was genuine and stemmed from the love she bore me. Fortunately I was saved from having to answer when the Lady Muireann stood from her central seat, and bowed to all present. “Companions,” she called, “friends and kin of our blood and spirit, the Carnutes tribe bids you welcome, and thanks you all for answering this unusual summons. Some of you have traveled far to get here, and it may be they wondered at the why of this sudden gathering when we held the previous one midway between Imbolg and Beltane. I’m sure that,” my mother’s mouth had thinned into a smile, “as you neared our city of Cenabum, you understood the need to summon all of you.” The solemn words rose in the great hall of the Carnutes ceremonial house, the echoes they raised against the high walls of stone cold and distant.

“The floods,” a middle-aged man nodded, the deep tan of his weathered face weird and out of place. “Yes,” he went on, bowing his head in a brusque movement that sent his thick mane of jet black hair streaked with grey before the left side of his face, “we saw them. It’s a very sad thing, Lady Muireann, but these things happen--”

“As of tomorrow, it’ll be eight weeks since this land has last been touched by sunlight,” a strong, youthful voice interrupted the man. As one, the gazes of all the people seated at the high table darted to its other end, where Dian had straightened, and was regarding the assembly, a dark glint in his eyes and his mouth twisted in a crooked smile. Dian, the youngest, full-fledged druid my mother had released from his apprenticeship on the last day of the Beltane celebrations. “Eight weeks,” he repeated, “during which we have known nothing but rain, hail and a mist as thick as a funeral veil. This shroud blinding our eyes and smothering our land refuses to lift. It may be these things happen, as you say, my lord, but they’re no light matter to be dismissed so casually.”

“In the mountains bordering Helvetia, it’s the same.” A plump-looking woman was bobbing her head at Dian, her fair hair glowing with the ghostly light of the torches set against the hall’s high walls. “It’s only when we climb to the highest passes that we can win free of the clouds. Up there, the wind blows in powerful gusts, but in the valleys not even the smallest breeze can part the curtains of mist. The hand of Death has closed upon our lands.” The woman’s eyes were haunted.

In front of her, the sun-tanned man snorted, but before he could speak up, the Lady Muireann kicked back her chair in a most undignified fashion and stood up, resting the palms of her hands flat on the table and looking at each person present in turn. “Peace, kin of my heart and my blood,” she said softly. “Floods aren’t unknown to us, it’s true, Ailbhe,” she gave the man a short bow of the head. “However, the situation here has grown so bad that it needs addressing, that it needs our combined forces and power if we are to avoid the worst for the people under our guardianship and protection...not to mention other, troubling consequences and side-effects,” she finished with a grimace of disgust, as if she had tasted something bad or rotten.

In front of her, another woman straightened, laying her forearms on the table, hands clasped. “What do you propose, Lady Muireann, what piece of wisdom have the gods and goddesses shared with you?” She was old, this woman, older than all the others. Her long hair was a white as pure as snow, and her grey eyes were clear, the fire in them strong and bright. Old, oh yes, and striking. Dangerous. “What would you ask the Council of Druids and the guild of Bards?” The questions hung in the air, the sounds of them soft and gentle. Before her, my mother bowed her head, but not before I could catch sight of the look in her eyes.

“I would ask you all to put petty grievances, little power games, and the constant vying for influence and favor on hold, Siena,” she retorted. “I would humbly request the help you can give, what else?” bitterness had filled my mother’s voice, warring with something darker, that might be anger, or sorrow.

“We’ll need supplies,” Dian cut in. “Food for people and livestock. The water of our wells is all but tainted. Soon, we won’t be able to use it at all. We’ll need to devise a way for us to get clean water, and then we’ll need the manpower necessary to carry out the task of either purifying them, or digging new ones.” He didn’t blink when a door creaked open behind our secondary table. Focused on the men and women gathered in the hall, he went on, “We’re running out of tome. The rivers already carry far too many carcasses, and--”

“Well, that’s all nice and good of course.” Somehow, I managed not to jump up from my chair when the barely audible whisper reached my ears. Twisting so I could see who had stolen next to me without my noticing, I started when I saw Deirdre grinning at me, a flame of triumph in her eyes.

“What are you doing here, imp?!” I hissed back. Macha also had turned away from the main table to take an incredulous look at our unruly little sister.

Deirdre’s grin widened. “It’s unbelievable what you can learn when you’re nothing but a girl attending a boring Roman school,” she murmured. “When people think you’re little more than a breeding mare in the making, they don’t guard their tongues and spew out knowledge they should protect. The Romans are amazing in that regard, and the Christian priests are even better.” The storm blue eyes glinted while she said this, and the sight of her freckled face as she wrinkled her nose was almost comical. A nasty little sprite, that was Deirdre indeed. “While they discuss what to do,” she flicked her right thumb toward the central table, “and while they argue over who can afford to share what, the Christian priests are already on the move.”

“What?!” I exclaimed, unable to help myself.

“What’s the meaning of this interruption, Gale?” my lady mother snapped, and belatedly I realized that the echoes of my question still had to fade from the great hall.

Unable to prevent heat from coloring my cheeks, I gave her a deep bow, then I made myself confront her. “Lady Muireann,” I said in a voice as steady as I could muster, “I just received disturbing news from the Roman governor’s palace. I think you should hear them.”

A dubious light flickered in my lady mother’s gaze, and a frown creased her brow. For a moment she watched me in silence, but she could hardly deny me. I was as much a part of this gathering as the other, esteemed guests of the Carnutes tribe. “Very well,” she sighed at last.

“All right,” I stared at my little sister squarely, “here comes your instant of glory. Make the most of it.” The light humor I had willed to my tone wasn’t exactly convincing. With a sinking feeling to the pit of my stomach, I shifted to the left so as to allow Deirdre to come between Macha and I, and stand before the assembly.

As she lifted up her chin to confront all the men and women gathered in the hall, the mischievous flames left Deirdre’s eyes, and she swallowed hard. It had been the right decision, I understood when I took in the way her jaw was set. I had been right to allow the focus to come on what she’d say instead of covering up her presence here with the first lie I could fabricate. Beside me, the young, so very young woman drew in a deep breath, her hands closed into tight fists at her sides. “While the lot of you bicker and haggle so as to give up as little of your riches as possible,” her shrill, high-pitched voice rang clear and sharp as a blade in the hall, and I had to fight to suppress the laughter bubbling up my throat when I heard gasps rise from quite a few of the noble druids and bards at both tables, “the Christian priests are sending convoys of relief supplies on the road. They’re already en route from the rich plains of Cisalpine Gaul, from the fields around Massilia and from Hispania, where the harvest was so plentiful they don’t know how to store it all.” With a little snort at the sun-tanned man, she went on, “They’re coordinating their efforts from all the districts of the Empire of the West, with the help of Roman officials and even the army. While you all squabble, they’re moving, and their supplies will reach Cenabum before you’ve reached an agreement.” There was no mistaking the scorn in Deirdre’s voice as she finished her extremely undiplomatic report of events.

Stunned silence met the sharp, unforgiving words. Even the Lady Muireann bowed her head, speechless. Deirdre wasn’t truly a woman yet. She was still a child, she had friends she loved, some of whom had lost all they owned to the repeated storms of rain and hail. She didn’t feel the constraints set on the adults, and she spoke her mind freely, with no care at all about how mean or harsh her words could be. “And just how would you know of such important secrets, little girl?” It was the white-haired woman, Siena, and her voice was very, very soft. “How would you be privy to knowledge even the bards can’t reach?”

If the woman thought that she could cower Deirdre into some kind of apology or make her go back on what she had said, she was in for a very unpleasant surprise. Standing her ground, my younger sister confronted the white-haired bard. “I know precisely because I’m a little girl attending Roman classes with the other children of the governor’s house, and because quite a few of those classes are taught by Christian priests, whose duty is to show us the one true way, and to save our souls from barbaric paganism,” she countered with a sneer.

For a moment, the woman simply stared back at Deirdre in silence, then a smile touched her lips. “You’ve taught this one well, lady Muireann,” she gave my mother an almost imperceptible bow. “She’ll be a formidable voice in council when she comes of age, not to mention a formidable pain for all her opponents.” With a last bow toward Deirdre, she turned back toward the other guests sitting at the main table, clearly dismissing my little sister from her mind. “So,” she mused, “we’d better get to an agreement fast, it would seem.”

They were going to keep arguing.

They were going to go back to squabbling and haggling.

They were going to fall back into their old, stupid power games.

They--no. No way. “Have you heard nothing?” Even as my angry shout resounded in the hall, I slammed both hands on the table, and stood up, confronting them all. “Are you all so engrossed in your petty schemes and your own importance that you do not realize the danger we’re all in?!” I demanded to know, ignoring the look of alarm in the glance Macha shot at me. Do not intrude, do not interfere, do not draw attention, lest you upset the balance of things, it was what we had been taught: to keep to our proper place until we were at last free of our status of apprentices. Although technically we had the right to speak up, it was considered ill-mannered to do so. A bad mistake. I was past caring for ludicrous appearances. “The Christian priests’ influence grows with each day, as more laws are passed in Rome to uphold the dictates of their faith, and as the Roman army lends them the power to back up the demands they set on our people. They’re poison, their words are thorns which worm their way into our people’s hearts. The number of those who heed them is ever-growing, and the number of those who bow their heads in fear of reprisals if they fail to comply has exploded in the past months. So it is in Cenabum, so it is everywhere our roots used to dig deep into the land. I dare any of you to tell me things stand differently!”

I paused, just the time to draw in a breath. Some of the faces staring at me had paled, and their gazes had all the same, dark light smoldering in them. “If we let the Christian priests win this time, if we let them come to our people’s aid first, if relief comes from them while we have nothing to offer but empty promises and soothing words of reassurance, then we might as well do them the favor of forsaking our roots and telling them their faith is the one and only true faith! We’ll be sealing our own doom!” I spat out those words, and then fell silent before the rising wave of fury within could overwhelm me. Beside me, Macha had bowed her head, her face hidden in the palms of her hands. On my left, Deirdre was watching me, her mouth agape and her eyes very, very wide.

“Be that as it may,” the plump, blonde-haired woman from the Helvetian border sighed. Then she met my eyes and held them with her own. “This is no race, young man.” Her mouth drawn in a taut line, she gave a slow, weary shake of the head. “This is no race with a prize to conquer. This is--” All of a sudden, she pivoted toward my mother, and the Lady Muireann stood up, and faced me in the slow, careful motions of a very old woman she wasn’t.

“No,” she confirmed, her voice even, devoid of the smallest hint of emotion, “this is no race. Or, at east, it’s no competition between us and the Christians. They may consider it so, but we may not. We may not.” The shadow that had darkened her gaze was thick and heavy. “We have a place in the order of the world. We exist because we serve a function,” she added, detaching every syllable. “We watch over the balance between land, rivers and sky, we uphold that fragile line of equilibrium between our world and the realm of the spirits, of the dead. We exist to care for the land, for the people it nurtures. If we forget about this, then we’re nothing, and we deserve to be wiped from the face of the earth.” The words rang, solemn and absolutely toneless. Unblinking, I withstood their assault. I didn’t look away from the high druid, I didn’t shy away from the power that rose in the same time her voice did. She wouldn’t have let me do so if I had tried. In the deep silence that followed her response to my challenge, she released her breath in a sigh, then she went on, her voice barely above a whisper, “And if the Christian priests send help that can arrive in time to save herds, to insure that our people won’t fall prey to famine or plague come Winter, then I’ll rejoice at its coming, and I’ll use all my power to help it arrive as soon as possible. We need to come to an agreement to bring as much help as we can on our side, but we won’t throw away the smallest ounce of energy to thwart their initiative. On the contrary, we’ll do all that we can to facilitate matters for them.”

Laughter spilled from my lips, dissonant and unstoppable. My dear mother’s lectures were unnecessary, a stupid waste of this assembly’s time. “My son,” she said abruptly. Pain and something blacker than despair audible had tainted her voice, breaking the mask of neutrality she had worn until now. “If you of all people fall prey to hatred, to the need for confrontation--”

“Do you know me so little?” I cut her off. I had no time to wonder at her sudden lapse and at the emotions she had been unable to master. “Who do you think I am?” I asked her, and all of them who were keeping silent, all those dignified, important people who seemed to consider this private exchange as a normal part of this gathering’s discussions. “Every other day, I’ve been to the heart of the sacred forest. Every other day during the last eight weeks, I’ve been watching the essence of our beings fade into mist! I’ve followed the streams that are born in the woods, and which leave them to bring water to our fields and our people. I’ve watched their swollen waters, dark with muck, sweep away so many carcasses that they feel like a living tomb about to burst open. I’ve smelt the reek of rotting flesh, the stench of sickness and death the rivers now carry and dump on the land! I feel all that, I feel it in my soul and in my bones! Our people will die if we can’t help them, and they’ll die a second time if the Christians can draw them in their clutches because we can’t even bring ourselves to unite against the evil that has befallen the land we’re sworn to protect! Lord Ailbhe,” I rounded up on the sun-tanned man, “where is the grain from Hispania? Have you even thought to organize a convoy with instructions to follow you here? And you, lady,” I spun on my heels to face the plump woman, “have you established watches along the mountain passes to help the convoys that will come from Cisalpine Gaul?” Again, anger was threatening to win over me and worse, rage. With a desperate effort of will, I denied them and focused on the sounds my mouth had to shape. “This is a race. A race to save our people. And by the gods and goddesses that bless our land, you had better put your enmities and ambitions on hold and unite to carry out your sacred duty, or you’ll deserve the doom awaiting us all!”

Silence followed my vehement speech. The Lady Muireann was gawking at me, a wavering light warring with the shadow in her eyes. Dian’s head was bowed, as were many others’. Siena, the white-haired bard, was smiling, a sad, distant little smile. At last the lord Ailbhe lifted up his chin, and scoffed. “Powerful words, young man, but you’re not sitting at the high table!”

“He should be!” The indignant shout had come from Macha. “He should be,” she repeated, adamant, “and shame on you for resorting to such a despicable way out, lord Ailbhe!” Pivoting she glared at all the people present. “And shame on you all, for having to be reminded of your sacred duty by a mere apprentice!”

“Yes,” a depressing chuckle came from Dian, who had looked up to confront both Macha and I. “Shame on us,” he said softly. Then, he looked at his peers, and smiled. “Lord Ailbhe, I expect you’ll be sending messengers to Hispania immediately. Lady Siena, with your connections, I’m sure you can contact people in Cisalpine Gaul. And I’m certain we don’t need to discuss this issue further or to put it to a vote?”

“No”, the sun-tanned man growled, and he shot me a withering glance.

“No,” the white-haired bard smiled back at Dian, “but beyond those obvious measures, there’s a concern the bards wish to voice to the council, if the high druid of the Carnutes will allow.”

With a wave of the right hand and a small nod, my mother granted that request. “Good.” Siena bobbed her heads in thanks. “But first, Senchan," an older boy sitting on the far side of our table sprung to his feet, his brown eyes bright. “We’ve brought an extra couple of carrier pigeons on this run, haven’t we?”

“Yes, m’lady,” he replied.

“I thought as much. Go and send a message to gather supplies from the bounty of the latest harvest. Grain, hay, straw, everything that can be spared. The guild will compensate farmers with songs and tales come Winter. This is to go to all bards in the city of Taurini, and further down the Padus river all the way to Mediolanum. Go, Senchan, quickly lest the servants of Lord Ailbhe overtake you and are first to send messages out.” That last was said with a most friendly grin lady Siena flashed the now very surly man’s way.

“Sure,” the glowering lord Ailbhe grunted. “Jose, you heard. Go!” he snapped. At once, another boy stood up from our table, and both Siena’s apprentice and he darted out of the great hall.

“Well, that’s taken care of,” the white-haired bard nodded, apparently unruffled by the unexpected turn of events. “Now, the matter the guild of bards brings before this council echoes the argument developed by the high druid’s apprentice--Muireann,” she peered toward my mother, “you really need to seat that son of yours at the main table. It’s past time for him to come into his own.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” my mother retorted, a warning plain in the tone of her voice. “Cut to the chase, Siena.” What did that mean? It was years too early for me to earn a seat at the high table. Macha would have one way before I did. What was it that the lady Siena knew about me that upset my lady mother so?

“As you wish,” the bard bowed deep.

“Macha.” Discarding Siena and the high table, I leaned over to my sister, and murmured, “What’s this all about?” She gave me a bland look and a shrug, then she pointed toward the bard, who had started talking again. “Forget her,” I wiped that part of the hall from my mind with a sweeping gesture of the right hand. “This was all too easy,” I hissed softly. “Why did they yield so quickly? What made those arrogant, stubborn heads bow and follow the orders of an apprentice, just like that? It doesn’t make sense!”

For a while, my sister simply stared back at me, then she drew on a smile. “They heeded you because you spoke the truth and they recognized it. That’s all.”

“Macha,” I sighed, “I’m no naive boy anymore. Please.” I looked into her eyes. “Why did you say I should sit at the high table?” The dark green pools were so deep I couldn’t find my reflection in them, as was often the case when a serious matter was hanging between us. The smile she had summoned to her lips moments ago grew thin. Silent, she gave me a single shake of the head, then she made a show of focusing on whatever Siena was saying. She wouldn’t answer me, no matter how many times I asked. Spitting out another sigh, I followed suit and turned toward the high table.

“.... And I’m sure you’ll have all noticed it,” the oddly beautiful old woman was telling the assembly in a musical voice. Compelling. “Beyond their seizing on our great celebrations, they snatch at small, ordinary things. Bit by bit, they eat away at all that we are. They don’t erase anything, they adopt our ways in their midst, they draw up new shapes to cloak them inside the mantle of their faith. They amend their laws and make up new ones as they go. They change their own history and myths to adapt to ours, and make them their own. A very efficient, if peaceful, way to conquer and win people over, as long as their loyalty isn’t too strong--a fact which would force direct confrontation and war instead.” Siena folded her lips, revealing her teeth in what was definitely not a smile. “It’s all very cleverly done, very neat and well planned, but there’s one problem.” She sat up against her chair and stretched her arms before her, fingers intertwined. Her grey eyes had grown distant, set on things only she could see. “While I’ll readily agree that the Christian hierarchs in Byzantium must have advisors that can come up with good administration plans, none of those prideful bastards could have knowledge of all the little, everyday things that define us. The simple priests who plague our cities are too thick and set in their ways to open their eyes and analyze, understand what’s going on around them. As to the Romans, they don’t care enough, and their ancient records only tell of our most important ceremonies. No.” Siena bowed her head, all of a sudden, and said in a subdued voice that felt out of place in one who obviously ranked high in the guild of bards, “The way the Christian church thinks and moves to assimilate us and win us over instead of confronting us head-on and annihilating us...” she dragged in a breath, “it’s the way fully trained bards would use.”

Ice speared the pit of my stomach. Bards. Bards advising the Christians on how to conquer us--it just couldn’t be! “What are you saying, Siena?” My mother asked, unable to completely master the quaver in her voice. “Are there traitors in the guild?”

“I’m saying,” the white-haired woman replied slowly, quietly, “that they’re going at it the way I would, were I in their place. As far as I know, and as anyone can know these things, there are no traitors among my bards. I never sent any too close to those priests, and the ones who were set in Roman households have been warned not to take any chances, not even with those of their own kin sharing some part of Roman blood, however small.”

“This can be no coincidence,” Dian shook his head, his face drained of color. “If what you feel is correct--”

“It is, young man," Siena retorted in a tart voice.

“If the lore and knowledge of our ancestors have fallen into the hands of the Christian church....” Dian chewed at his lower lip, unable or unwilling to go on.

“We need to talk this over,” the Lady Muireann nodded, in control once more, “and that’ll take time. Apprentices!” she clapped her hands loudly, and all those seated at the secondary table jumped up. “Go get us food and drink, and hurry!”

While we all rushed to obey in loud creaks of chairs, druids and bards sat back and considered each other in heavy silence. I had no doubt that once we’d be outside of the hall, they’d start talking in earnest. “Bards,” I hissed under my breath.

“Hush. Let’s go.” Macha rested a hand on my right shoulder and pushed me forward. My mind a blank, I yielded and followed her out of the room.

End of Chapter 4.

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