[ Watashi ]

[ Tomodachi ]

[ Saint Seiya ]

[ Clamp ]

[ Fanfiction ]

“Don’t tell me you’re actually considering this!” The willowy, red-haired girl exclaimed. Deirdre’s green eyes were blazing with righteous wrath as she glared in our mother’s general direction.

The Lady Muireann was sitting behind her desk in the sizeable office she used as a study room, next to the judgment hall of the ceremonial house. She was bent over a rather long piece of parchment set on the table before her, her elbows leaning upon the hard wood and her upturned palms cupping the lines of her jaw. Puzzlement was glowing in the dark gaze she had focused on the message. A clerk had brought it to our door shortly after dawn, coming straight from the Provincial governor’s office. The man had demanded someone official set the Carnutes’ seal on another bit of parchment, proof that the message had been delivered.

Deirdre had adamantly refused to comply, but the man had insisted, enduring no small amount of verbal abuse in the process. He had badgered the foul-tempered girl, refusing to even let her get a glimpse of the letter, until she was about ready to kill him with her bare hands. As Teutates would have it, Macha and I had stumbled upon the pair on our return from a nearby farm. It had taken Macha’s quiet authority and Deirdre’s hero-worship of her elder sister to settle the heated dispute. The young girl had mumbled a vague apology, and Macha had appended the Carnutes’ official seal on the man’s paper. Then he had scampered away before we had even had the time to open the folded parchment.

“Give it to me!” Deirdre pounded her hands flat on the table, but our lady mother didn’t even blink. “I’ll go and shove it into that roman prosecutor’s throat until he chokes with it!” she spat. Her lips pursed, the Carnutes high judge kept contemplating the document spread before her. Silent.

On my right, Macha laid a placating hand on Deirdre’s right shoulder. “It’s not so easy, little one,” she sighed.

“Of course it’s that easy!” the girl who wanted to much to already be a woman shot back. It seemed she was so angry that not even Macha would be spared by her outbursts.

Oblivious to the ruckus around her, the Lady Muireann had narrowed her eyes and she was scanning the message, again and again. Until at last she heaved out a small sigh of her own and stood up, reaching for the letter and neatly folding it. “All right.” Pivoting toward me, she held out the document. “Gale, go to the governor’s judicial offices, and check the last decrees that came from Rome. And while you’re at it, you’ll also check that there really is a record for all the facts and accusations laid here.”

Unmoving, I stared at the proffered piece of parchment. “Deirdre can do that,” I muttered under my breath. “She was so eager to go.”

“Gale!” our mother snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. “Neither Deirdre, nor Macha would be recognized as official envoys of the Carnutes and allowed in there, and you know that. Just as you know why I’m sending you.” Her gaze met mine and held it. “Your personal difficulties are your own, and they won’t interfere with carrying out your duty.”

A thin smile curled up the corners of my mouth. “Of course not, mother.” I sketched a bow, and took the wretched document. My situation wouldn’t hinder the realization of her demand. She expected it to make matters easier. She intended that I use whatever bond still existed between the governor’s third son and I in the Romans’ eyes. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to set foot anywhere near the governor’s house. I didn’t want to chance meeting with Flavius. She knew all that, or at the very least she suspected, but she didn’t care.

“Your secrets are your own, my son,” the Lady Muireann stated in a serene tone. “I won’t pry into them, but in return you did promise not to let them interfere with your duty to your people.” I didn’t laugh at that. With another, somewhat stiff bow, I spun on my heels and exited the study.

In brisk strides, I made for the stables, and wrinkled my nose at the black sea of clouds unfurling in the sky. Rain was thick in the air, cold rain which would weigh heavily on woolen cloaks and make people miserable. Still, we were fast nearing Samhain, and it was normal for the wind to blow from the Northwest, and to carry dark rain clouds over the land. Spotting a familiar face standing still in the middle of the courtyard, next to a cart in which only a few scattered wisps of straw remained, I froze in my steps. “A good day to you, Lir,” I smiled at the boy. He was also staring at the sky, the set of his shoulders rigid, and his face all but drained of color. “It’s all right,” I told him gently, and he shot me a dubious look. “I promise,” I added. “Samhain is coming, and Winter as well. That’s all they are.” I lifted my chin toward the rapidly graying skies.

“Are you sure, m’lord?” There was fear in the boy’s voice, anguish. He had almost lost his mother during the long bout of fey weather in Summer. The scars of that ordeal were obvious on him.

I nodded at him. “Yes, I’m sure. The sun came back, and unless I miss my guess, your father will manage to reap a harvest before it gets cold enough for water to turn into ice, right?”

The young farmer’s son smiled at that, and little flames lit his gaze. “Yes, m’lord, that’s true. And it’s all thanks to the seeds you brought us from Massilia. The Christians didn’t think to give us any, but thanks to you we were able to sow our fields and get a new crop.”

“Well then,” I patted his left shoulder, “it’s good. So don’t look up at the heavens with fear, and go on about your business, lest your dad has you work all night to catch up on what you didn’t do because you were too busy gaping at clouds,” I chuckled, then squeezed his shoulder. “Go, Lir, with the spirits’ blessing on you and all your kin.” The boy gave me a deep bow, and I released him to resume my course toward the stables.

Inside, I found Aedh willing and eager to go out. Her pricked ears and nostrils opened wide meant that she wanted a good gallop in the fields next to the sacred forest. They meant that she wanted to play, to kick and rear, and quite possibly throw me into the high grass as an added bonus. “Shh,” I murmured while scratching her forehead. “Not this time, girl. I’m sorry.” That sent her snorting, and I gave her velvety nose an apologetic kiss. I did a quick job of brushing her down, saddling and bridling her. Then we left the ceremonial house at a brisk canter.

Weeks had passed since our return from the Sanctuary, slow and mild, full of sunshine. It was as if the gods had wanted to heal the land’s wounds. People had rebuilt most of what they had lost, and most had even managed to re-grow new crops in their fields, ensuring they’d get at least one true harvest before Winter’s coming.

The Council of Faiths had lingered on for a few days after my almost fatal encounter with the eerie young woman who haunted the parvis of the statue of the goddess Athena, atop the Sanctuary’s great Stairs. Nobody had mentioned it again: neither the lady Rowan, nor Afraeil, high lord of the Sanctuary, nor I. Never once had Azzure inquired as to what had prompted me to request I spend a night in his garden, beaten black and blue as I had been. Thank to some kind god or goddess, both Macha and my mother had held their peace, and they hadn’t tried to get any information from me other than to inquire about my wounds. The lady Rowan had seen to those, as she had before, the strange magic of her soft golden light cloaking my arms and my back in a delicate mantle of soothing warmth that acted like a powerful balm on torn muscles and bruised flesh. I had thanked her, without asking how she could do such a thing, without asking her about this wondrous ability none of our healers could ever hope to match, no matter how talented they were. The power in the seemingly delicate, fragile threads of golden light she wove around wounds was as great as it was gentle--a gift of her goddess Athena, or of the bright, bright stars illuminating the Sanctuary’s night sky.

The Council of Faiths had ended its Summer session with the usual old quarrels unresolved, mutual enmities rekindled and no decision made. It was the way of things, or so my lady mother had explained. Why she and others allowed what had once been a gathering of the great powers in the world to diminish into pathetic meetings of cackling old hens and balding roosters was beyond me. It wasn’t fair. It was a grievous thing to watch, to witness without being able to intervene.

A coming together of wills and visions, once great, slowly drowning into shadow.

I wasn’t sure I was looking forward to future sessions, but I’d have little choice in the matter: the high lord Afraeil would want to keep an eye on me. He’d want to make certain the Sanctuary’s closely guarded secret was safe. A secret for which he’d kill and kill again, and all of his people as well. A secrete that made little sense in light of their absurd posture of neutrality where the rising power of Christianity was concerned. With a sigh, I discarded those thoughts, and brought Aedh back to a walk. We had reached or destination.

The Empire’s judicial offices building was made of dark grey stones patched with brown. Its façade was stern and unfriendly, as were most of the officials working inside it. When we neared the main entry gate, Aedh lowered her ears flat on her skull and balked. One of the two soldiers keeping watch on the porch had stepped forward, while the other one was holding his long spear in a horizontal line, barring the entry way. I pulled the chestnut mare to a halt and stared at them, uncomprehending. “What’s going on, soldier?” I asked in an even voice. The man’s face was familiar: he must have watched me come and go inside the building dozens of times. The old covenant between the Roman Empire and the Carnutes tribe allowed for a recognition of our ancient judicial system, and we had entertained official ties with the Roman judicial administration for generations. We were free to come here and check on documents, inquire about cases and ongoing investigations when lawsuits started by the Roman judges involved none outside of our people. Judgments were then often deferred to the Carnutes justice, to the high judge, Lady Muireann.

“I’m sorry, but no religious figure may be allowed inside,” the man replied in a brisk tone.

Of course. I blinked. Roman law was absolutely, fastidiously neutral in matters of religion, and it didn’t tolerate any kind of priestly influence. I knew that, just as the soldier standing before Aedh knew that I was the Carnutes high judge’s aide, as well as an apprentice druid. “I’m here at the request of the high judge,” I told him reasonably. “this is no religious visit.” The man didn’t react, and his partner’s spear remained in its horizontal position, barring my path. I waited for a while, until the chestnut mare started shifting left and right, bored. “Look,” I sighed at last, “this is nonsense.” A gust of cold wind, heavy with rain, flapped my cloak. “I’m sure there must be a mistake somewhere.”

“There isn’t,” the man cut in, his face set in a hostile mask. His eyes darted left, toward a clerk who was jogging past us to get inside, on the way back from some errand or other. “Demetrius!” he called out to the man. The other stopped, and reluctantly pivoted to face the soldier.

“What?” he snapped.

The sentry gestured toward me. “This visitor refuses to leave. He refuses to believe that he’s not allowed inside the building anymore.”

The clerk’s sullen face lifted up to look at me, and his muddy-brown eyes widened. “Well,” the left corner of his mouth curled up in a sneer,” he’s not. None of his lot can come inside and unbalance Roman justice any longer, and it was high time that arbitration was made.” With that, the clerk turned away and strode off toward the entry gate. The answer he had given had been in high Latin, probably to annoy the guard, and maybe in the hopes that I wouldn’t understand it.

“Well,” the soldier said, refocusing on me, “that’s how things are. So you’d best be on your way before your presence becomes a disturbance to the public order.”

I had to laugh. This was just too crazy for words. “I’m sorry,” I shook my head, “but I just can’t go back and tell the high judge of the Carnutes that she’s barred access on the word of a clerk. I need to speak to one of the judges--Lucius Publius. I’m sure he’ll agree to see me.”

“He won’t.” The soldier stepped even closer, and reached for Aedh’s reins. That would get the man a nasty bite at the very least, and it’d get me no end of trouble. I kneed the chestnut mare out of his reach, and of course his right hand went for his sword.

“What’s this all about?” My heart skipped a beat and I closed my eyes tightly shut when the sound of that familiar voice reached my ears. Of course, that didn’t make the newcomer go away. Bracing inwardly, I turned to the right, to see a tall, slim fair-haired figure stride toward us, coming from the neighboring house of the governor.

“M’lord,” the soldier gave a hasty bow. “It’s this visitor who insists to be let inside, and--”

With a dismissive gesture of the right hand, Flavius silenced the man and came to my side, less than a step away from the now fretful chestnut mare. “they won’t let you in,” he told me, his sky blue eyes lifting up to meet mine. “They’re bound by law, as I am. You must be the tenth one they’re sending away just this morning.”

Flavius’ gaze was clear, sincere. That rankled, for some reason. “What law?” I snorted. “I was here no later than five days ago.”

My childhood friend gave a shrug. “The one defining the neutrality of justice with regard to religious interventions. There was a ruling in Rome, which clarifies what is admissible or not, where officials who have several different statuses and roles are concerned.” He heaved out a sigh. “Anyone who holds a plurality of offices including one even remotely tied to a religion is excluded from access to the proceedings of Roman justice.”

Beneath me, Aedh pawed at the ground, even as drops of cold water splashed over my left hand holding the reins. “A ruling?” I shook my head. “Aren’t you in the know?” I didn’t bother to hide the irony in my voice. “I didn’t know you loved judicial and law matters that much.”

A shadow touched his eyes. “I don’t.” He rested a hand upon Aedh’s right shoulder, a few inches from my knee, and the mare didn’t shy away. “Come,” he said softly, “drink with me until this weather clears, and you can tell me what brought you here in the first place.” Around us, the rain had started coming down in a steady drizzle. Glancing up at the tide of rolling clouds, I blew air through my nostrils. Within moments, it would begin to really pour down. There was no chance I’d be back inside the ceremonial house in time. With a slow nod to Flavius, I turned Aedh away from the judicial offices building, and directed her toward his father’s house.

Fire was crackling in the sizeable hearth of stone carved into the far wall of Flavius’ spacious study room. The flames were sending out gentle waves of warmth, and their invitation to close my eyes and take a nap was hard to resist. Both Flavius’ cloak and mine were dripping from a peg next to the door, a reminder of the rain battering at the room’s high windows. There was a dull ache in my left thigh, most likely a cramp in the making. I should shift in my chair to release it, but it might be useful in helping me not to surrender to the glowing flames’ lazy dance and drowse off. A slight noise broke the trance I was slipping into despite my efforts, and I realized that Flavius was setting cups on the table before us.

“Wine,” he said. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any mead left at the moment. Beware,” he added when I reached for mine, “it might be rather hot. The wine’s been heated with cinnamon and bit of dried fruit from the orchard.” I gave him a silent nod, and closed my fingers around the earthen cup nonetheless.

It was hot, but not unpleasantly so. I took the goblet in both hands, pressing my palms against it, and closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in the spicy-sweet perfume swirling up from the drink. It would be good for Time to hold its breath just now, and allow this little bit of peace to last, but it didn’t heed my wish. With an almost inaudible sigh, I brought the cup to my lips and drank a sip. “Good.” In spite of myself, I smiled. “It’s very good, thanks.”

In answer, Flavius lifted his own cup and took a long gulp from it. “Gale,” he began, and raised the right hand, forestalling my reaction. “I’m well aware that you’ve been avoiding me. To be honest,” his eyes slipped toward the hypnotizing sight of the fire in its hearth, “I’ve been avoiding you as well. While I gave you plenty of reason to steer well away from me, I find myself lacking excuses for sticking close to my father’s house all this time.” With a little sigh, he stared back at me, and drew on a crooked smile. “From the look of you, you have no wish to talk about what happened between us.” Unmoving, I watched him, while the cold snake writhing inside my gut bit and bit again, repeatedly. The sad, bitter smile was still frozen on Flavius’ lips. “I intend to respect that, but I want you to know I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, or to make any claims on you. I was wrong. I had no right.” He dragged in a breath. “There, I won’t say another word, I swear to you. Now,” he nodded, “tell me what brought you to the hall of justice. I can’t get you inside, but maybe I can help in another fashion.” His gaze hadn’t left mine during the second part of his speech, not for one moment. The light blue eyes were clear, there was no hint of darkness lurking in them.

I looked away from him, and observed the little clouds of steam rising from my cup. This heated wine was good, and it would get to my head quickly if I indulged myself and drank another once I was done with this one. So, Flavius was sorry. Flavius was wrong, had been wrong. Strangely enough, it didn’t matter so much. It wasn’t as awkward and uncomfortable as I had imagined. If anything, this whole scene, the two of us drinking in his study room felt like a strange kind of theater play, both real and then not. Truth and lies were playing hide and seek in the shadows painted by the flames of his fire. I couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing, or a bad one. Eventually, I looked up at him. “First, I’d like to know more about that ruling which blocks our access to the judicial administration of the Empire.”

He blinked, then shrugged one shoulder. “I can’t tell you much about that. A messenger came from Rome yesterday, and my father reviewed the documents he had brought until late at night. He reviewed the ruling and acknowledged its validity early this morning. The guards have been warned, and they’ve been doing their duty accordingly ever since.

It was hard not to scoff at the amusing coincidence between the announcement of that ruling, and the matter my lady mother had dumped into my hands. “And just what is it that prompted this sudden ruling?” I asked him, unable to completely keep incredulity from my voice. “What prompted this change in the order of things? It has suited everyone during centuries, so why now?”

He gave another shrug. “A dispute between the high priest of Jupiter and one of the prominent members of the Junii in Rome, from what I gathered.” The clear blue eyes stared at me steadily. “It was no scam organized by Christian hierarchs,” he finished in a quiet tone.

No. Unbidden, a smirk twisted my lips. Of course not. Going along with the flow, I nodded. “Well, I came here to check on laws newly passed in Rome, and on facts concerning stupid law infringements.” I gestured toward the leather bag I had hung from another chair, where my mother’s documents were stored. “It seems that any illegal action that can be tied to the practice of a religion is now considered the responsibility of that religion, and that its official representatives will from now on be considered accountable in terms of fines and penalties at least, if they plead their cause perfectly and without the slightest mistake--well, plead through someone duly mandated and accepted by the Roman judicial system, thanks to that nice ruling you told me about.”

“Ah, that.” The little, helpless smile on his lips wasn’t mirrored in his gaze. “that law came from Rome as well, something like a week or two ago. It took our own judicial office a while to decide whether or not it could be applied without being reviewed by the Carnutes’ council of elders. They only reached a conclusion three days ago.”

“Convenient,” I retorted flatly. And of course, the fact that Roman laws now enacted most of the Christian rules and dogma, thus outlawing a huge majority of practices familiar to most of the other, older religions had nothing to do with it at all. I spat out a breath, and clamped my jaws shut. Then, remembering the way Flavius had phrased his answer, I pushed anger aside and refocused on him. “Where was it passed?” When he didn’t say anything, I added, “You said it came from Rome, that law. Was it passed there?”

The sky blue eyes darkened. “No. the report accompanying it said it was passed in Byzantium, by the Emperor. There’s nothing unreasonable or weird in that, Gale,” he told me in a guarded voice.

“Oh, please!” I sniggered, unable to help myself. Byzantium was Christianity’s seat of power. The great Eastern city was where Christian hierarchs composed a growing number of the majorities in the inner circles advising the Emperor on every aspect of his rule.

Before me, Flavius took another, long swallow from his cup, then he looked straight at me. “I know.” He heaved out a weary sigh. “I know,” he repeated. “Gale, no matter what you think, I’m no brainless sheep led by the nose. I’m no wide-eyed kid who unquestioningly believes tales about a crucified man coming back to life three days after being pronounced dead.” A shiver ran up my spine. I stared into Flavius’ eyes, and saw a cold, cold light in them. On impulse, I squeezed the cup in my right hand, as if its fading warmth could banish the ice spreading in my veins.

“In the history of all our peoples,” Flavius was saying, his voice very, very soft, “power has been ever-shifting. There has never been a true, lasting balance. One day it would be in the hands of Rome’s patricians, the next it would slip into the hands of those senators representing the people--or so they claimed. Or it would be grasped by the priests of Jupiter. It would drift from chieftains in your tribes to the druids and back again. Power is a dance, Gale,” he smiled, “and it has chosen a new partner. Nobody can change that. Not me, not my father, not your mother. Not you. Not even the Emperor himself. Nobody can stop it, much less reverse the shift. There’s only one thing to do: ride this rising wind, adapt, adjust, and follow where it leads.”

Twisting in my chair, I watched the fire crackling in its hearth of stones. In the far corner of the room, the two cloaks were no longer dripping water, and the constant, droning echoes of the rain lashing out at the window had lessened somewhat. Flavius was busy telling me that during all these years I had fallen for a lie, a mask he had carefully wrought for himself. He didn’t believe in Christian myths anymore than I did. He didn’t. I bit my lower lip, and felt bile rise up my throat. I had distanced myself from him, and he had let me. He had never tried to prevent me, to talk to me. Until now.

In a slow motion, I faced him again, feeling sick and cold despite the blanket of warmth spread around the room. Why now? Why was he telling me the truth now? That question was clawing at my lips, demanding to be uttered, but I clamped my jaws shut and denied it. I could guess easily enough, and I didn’t want to envision the likely answer to it. I sucked in a breath, and said instead, “Change isn’t possible, Flavius. You know it as well as I. Not in the way that would satisfy this rising power you speak of. It wants absolute dominion. I wants complete assimilation, and we cannot give it that. If only it just wanted a place in the order of things, a spot in the sun....” I let my voice trail off into silence.

“That’s not the way it works.” Flavius smiled. There was something in his tone, like a hint of sadness. “Power is seized, not shared, Gale.”

“See,” I smiled back at him and refused both the lump in my throat and the deep pain in my chest, “that’s where you’re wrong. Power is shared between all the aspects of the world. It rests upon the balance between land, sea and sky, between people, animals, plants and the spirits which touch our fields and houses during the night of Samhain. Break that balance, and the whole tapestry unravels. Christianity,” I shook my head, “would unmake us. It would reduce us to folktales, to ghost stories told to frighten children into obedience.” I blinked back the wavering light in my eyes, and went on, “It would shift the balance of the world and center everything on humanity, forgetting all the rest. It would deny the magic of everything around us. It would shut people’s eyes to the wonders and treasures of our land. It would unmake the druids, for sure, but we could adapt to that. We could adjust, as you say. But it wouldn’t stop there. It would make us blind and deaf to the world. In the end, it would destroy it. It would destroy the essence of our lives.”

The echoes of my soft, sorrowful words slowly faded in the low crackles of the flames. In spite of the fire, a shadow had settled over the study, eating at the light. Before me, Flavius was considering the hearth of stones, silent. His face was perfectly expressionless. At last, he bowed his head and said, “Maybe. If one lives by your faith, certainly.” He looked at me. “Still, there are good aspects to Christianity, you know.” He waved his words aside with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m not trying to convince you. The bottom line is this: none of us have a choice or a say in all this. Christianity’s rise will continue. It will accelerate, and it will crush all those who stand in its way. I tell you this so you can think it over. Consider. There may be a way to adapt, in spite of all you told me. You may have missed it. Find a solution. Bow, Gale. You all need to bow, or this wind will break you, and there will be nothing left.”

“And you?” I asked him in a toneless voice.

“I follow my own path,” he replied, his gaze level with mine. Unwavering. “It’s not the one I’d prefer, but it will hold me through storms, and I won’t step away from it.” The blue eyes were dark.

For a time, we stared at each other in silence. I had nothing to reply to him, nothing more to say. He had chosen a side, what was to him the winning side, not out of faith but because he had thought it over, and weighed all the possibilities. Coldly. Rationally. Somehow, that hurt even more. Lifting up my cup, I emptied the last of its contents and set it back on the table. The rain had stopped knocking at the window, and patches of blue sky were now visible again outside, their shapes shifting according to the whims of a powerful wind. “Looks like the weather has cleared,” I nodded at Flavius. “I’ll be on my way. Thanks for the shelter, and for your help.”

He stood up in the same time I did. For the time of a heartbeat, I thought he’d come to my side, but instead he said in a tight voice, “Think it over, Gale. Please. Consider.” My mouth drawn in a thin line, I watched him. I watched the distance separating us, less than three steps that he hadn’t tried to cross, and willed my lips to reshape a smile. The pressure on my ribcage kept hurting more with each heartbeat. With a short bow, I spun on my heels and hurried out of the study in brisk strides.

It didn’t take me long to get back to the ceremonial house, but when I entered the courtyard, Aedh’s legs were splattered with mud. Glancing at the puddles sparkling on the ground, I wondered at the amount of rain that had fallen from the sky in such a small time. When I stopped before the stables, one of the servants came out and I nodded at him, jumping down and giving him Aedh’s reins. I should take care of her myself. I should clean her legs with cold water, and then rub her down. Ah well. For once, I’d indulge myself and enjoy a tiny part of the privileges that came with being a druid, albeit still an apprentice. Just this once.

When I stepped inside the main building, I expected Deirdre to rush out of the shadows and demand to know the result of my visit to the Roman hall of justice--after having spent a good amount of time berating me for being a lazy, bad-mannered brother who didn’t even take care of his own steed. But my little sister was nowhere to be found. Surprised, I entered the library, but it was deserted as well. Retracing my steps, I went back to the great hall and called her name. “Deirdre!” My voice echoed between the walls. “Deirdre!” I called again when no answer came, louder.

At last, she appeared from the other end of the hall, where our mother stored most of her healing recipes. “Where is everyone?” I asked her and, noticing the flush in her cheeks, “What’s going on here?”

“People caught some sort of sickness, North of the sacred forest,” she rushed to say. “Whole farmer families came down with the fever. Something in what they ate, the boy who came said. Maybe in the bread, or in the milk, because even the young ones caught it. Mother and Macha have gone to see what we can do to help.”

Sickness. I let out a loud sigh. As if we needed that on top of

all the rest. As if people needed that, after having endured the floods and the storms in Summer. “Should I join them?” I asked my little sister.

“No. They said they’d be back before nightfall, or that they’d send word. In the meantime, you can tell me what those Roman bastards had to say for themselves.” I caught the fiery glint in Deirdre’s eyes, and suppressed another sigh.

It was going to be a long, long afternoon.

The woman’s eyes fluttered open as I wiped perspiration from her brow with a wet cloth. No sound passed through her lips rigidly closed. No recognition lit her unseeing gaze. Her chest kept rising and then falling with a weird, erratic rhythm while she struggled to take in shallow breaths of air. The linen set over my nose and mouth made the reek of sweat and waste just bearable. With a small sigh, I dipped my cloth in the bucket of cold water set on the floor next to the straw bed’s head, and bent over her to wash her face, then the sides of her neck, pressing a gentle hand on her right shoulder when a fit of shivers shook her. Her skin had a pallid color, and it was hot. It was the fever, the one which had broken out in the North of Cenabum on the day of my last encounter with Flavius, almost two weeks ago. The sickness had engulfed all the farms North of the sacred forest, and it was threatening to spread West.

It was bad. It took lives. First the weaker ones: too young or too old, and every time someone died, it tore a measure of strength and will to fight from the rest of the household. Every druid and apprentice in the ceremonial house had been sent out and dispatched to help the farmers in any way they could. The old herb lore seemed unable to point us toward a remedy. All the brews my mother and others had tried had failed to heal anyone. In some places, livestock was sick as well, and it died even faster than people did. Fear clawed at men’s and women’s hearts, relentless, feeding on grief and pain. Some had wanted to flee the disease, and preventing them to do so had sparked a festering anger against us. Just before it had started to get ugly, a troop of Roman soldiers had settled in a circle around the farms, forming a border that had stopped people from leaving and spreading the sickness further faster than a brushwood fire. Still, in spite of the late Roman involvement, people’s anger had remained focused on us. As days passed and the situation grew worse, rage had rotted into loathing--into mistrust, deep and black.

We came everyday, and yet we didn’t get sick. It made people mad. It made some believe we had a way to guard ourselves we refused to share. It made others claim we were the source of it all. It made a few think we were murderers. Evil. Nevertheless, we came to those farms which would accept our presences, and what small comfort we could give. It might be that what protected us were the strict orders of the Lady Muireann to bathe thoroughly after each time we left the infected area, to scrub our bodies until the skin was red. Perhaps it was the cloths she had ordered us to wear over our faces, to be burnt and replaced everyday, or the gloves she made us use. Perhaps it was a combination of all these things. Christian priests had started to come to the farms as well, some days ago. They had adopted the same safety measures as us, and it seemed to work for them too.

Taking a glance at the poor, dark little room’s walls around me, I heaved out a sigh, then closed my eyes for a moment. Most of the farmers simply couldn’t adopt those precautions. They didn’t dare trust the nearby river’s waters, no more than they dared trust that of their wells, and we could only bring them enough to drink from our own reserves in Cenabum. It seemed there was no way out of this situation. People huddled in badly-lit, badly-ventilated spaces like this one, and the disease swirled ghostly arms around them. It embraced them. Choked them. I wrinkled my nose and fought back a wave of nausea. The air around the middle-aged woman’s bed stank with corruption. Again, I looked into glazed over eyes, and saw no hint that she was even conscious of my presence.

My hand on her shoulder squeezed, gingerly so, and I bowed my head. “Why?” I murmured to the walls. “Why can’t I heal her?” I could feel her pulse under my thumb, weak and faltering. I could call out Lugh’s Chain and be answered. I could draw the Sword of Nuada and take the Spear of Lugh out of the flames of an hearth. Why couldn’t I heal people? Why couldn’t I help them?

“Gale!” I started when the urgent whisper reached my ears, dropping the cloth I had been using to clean the woman’s brow. With a muffled curse, I lifted it from her bony face. She hadn’t even twitched at the sudden contact. I craned my neck, and spotted Macha rushing inside the little room. “Come quickly, we must leave!”

I stared at her, the cloth I was holding in left my hand forgotten. “Leave?” I shook my head. “I can’t, Macha. This woman needs someone to stay by her side.”

“She’s dead, Gale.” I shuddered. My sister’s eyes flicked toward the listless shape on the bed. “She’s dead,” she repeated in a toneless voice, “and we’re leaving now, while we still can.” Letting go of the cloth, I reached out to the woman and grasped her left wrist. It was true. I could no longer feel her pulse. Life had deserted her just a moment ago, and I hadn’t even sensed it. I hadn’t even been able to hold it back. Unable to move or to react, I watched the body on the bed, reduced to being an empty, rapidly decaying husk of flesh. From very far away, I felt my eyes burn.

Hands seized my right arm, and pulled me up. “Enough, Gale! You can’t help her. Come!” With a strength much greater than I had thought she possessed, Macha dragged me out of the shabby farm and led me to the place where our horses were picketed, at safe distance. Then I saw them.

Freezing in my steps, I observed a crowd of people coming our way. They must be most the farmers living in the area, for they were many. Some were holding staffs, others were brandishing hayforks as if they were spears. Blinking, I vaulted up Aedh’s back, even as Macha mounted her grey stallion. The approaching mass was a dark one, the fury writhing around it frightening to behold. “They’re saying we’re the cause of it,” Macha hissed between clenched teeth, “either because we cast a curse upon their land, or because we gave them poisoned supplies during the Summer floods.”

“That’s insane!” I snarled.

Bitter laughter burst from my sister. “Yes. However, they believe it, and you won’t convince them otherwise. This crowd has already been to other infected farms. Bran and Etain were lucky to escape with their lives. Malve wasn’t so fortunate.”

Shards of ice tore at my insides, savagely as those names echoed in the air. Apprentices, younger than us, and these people had killed one of them. Our people had taken the life of one who would have been a druid. My whole body shook with something far worse than fever. I took a good, long look at the advancing mob. I stared at them, eyes very wide, and could find no brown robes or crosses dangling upon chests among them. I could only find hatred, fear and pain blazing in their gazes, grief, and the overwhelming need to kill. “Gale!” Macha shouted beside me, frantic. With a nod, I pulled at Aedh’s reins, and kicked the chestnut mare into a full gallop.

The trip back to Cenabum was a harsh, somber race run in heavy silence. As we entered the ceremonial house’s main courtyard, I jumped down from Aedh’s back, leaving her to find her own way to the stables, threw gloves and linen mask into the fire kept alive night and day under the porch of the main building, and strode toward the thermae. Once inside, I scrubbed myself, rubbed my body until the skin was raw, then I donned a new set of clothes and searched the whole place for the lady Muireann.

When I found her, Macha was already at her side, telling her what had happened. The Carnutes high druid was listening with close attention, her eyes dark pools of ashes. “Mother!” I shouted in the moment my sister finished her recounting of events. “You must call for a council of the whole tribe. You must call for the druids of all the Gallic tribes to be held in Cenabum, now!”

The lady Muireann’s steady gaze focused on me. “We’re not at war, young man. Sometimes grief just makes people insane, and there’s nothing to do but wait until the madness has spilled over. I know what you think,” she sighed, “but Macha tells me there were no Christian priests in that crowd, not even when it all started.”

“That proves nothing!” I snapped. “Mother, if this continues, we’ll be giving our enemy the perfect excuse to unmake us.”

Understanding flashed in the emerald gaze of my sister, and her eyes went wide. “The law regarding the keeping of public order!” She bit her lower lip.

If people’s murderous folly didn’t abate, the Romans would have to intervene. The governor would invoke the law, and take any measure he deemed necessary to restore peace and order. Given the nature of his closest advisors, there was little doubt as to what these measure would entail. “Yes,” the lady Muireann gave a reluctant nod. “It’s possible. But,” she smiled, “it’s also possible that by calling our brothers and sisters here, we’d trigger a chain of events that will bring about what you fear, much more certainly than this tragic riot will. It may not spread further than those farms. It may yet abate. Still”, she drew in a breath, “I’ll send word to Siena, to find what the bards can tell us about the state of our world.” She would do nothing more. Not yet. By the time she decided to act, it might be too late. Unable to just stand here and wait for news of more deaths, I stormed out of the room.

By the time I managed to regain a semblance of calm, I found myself walking Cenabum’s muddy streets. Today was market day, but the people filling the avenues were silent. Dismal. Everyone knew about the disease that had broken out in the North. People were scared. They were looking for explanations, for reasons, and most of all they wanted to hear news of a cure. I looked at the men and women streaming past me, and raised a hand to my mouth in a jerking motion to fight off an abrupt heaving of my stomach. Many were drawing the sign of the cross in the air while passing me by, in small gestures of their fingers half-hidden by cloaks and wide woolen sleeves. Even children. How much time until they could be turned against us. How much would it take to push our own people to hate us and strike us from their lives?

A muted curse resounded close to me when I bumped into a burly man, and I didn’t glance at him. Wading through the throng of people was like fighting my way through a black swamp. This little stroll inside the town would bring me nothing but an exhaustion both of the body and the spirit. There was nothing to gain here, nothing at all except maybe if I went to Flavius and told him he was right--if I asked for his help. That was as impossible now as it had been then. There was only one thing I could try, a very stupid, foolish thing that was doomed to fail. On impulse, I veered away from the crowd, and entered the temple of Epona.

When I peered over the top of the high wall that marked the limit of the mansion owned by the Sanctuary, I didn’t see anyone or anything in the garden. If I strained my ears, I could hear voices, rather distant and probably coming from the inside of the house by the sound of them. Could it be there were visitors? For a moment I hesitated, then I heaved my body atop the wall, and let myself slide down on the other side.

After landing upon the grass, I took a good look around, expecting to be met by one of the two apprentices of lady Rowan, but nobody popped out of thin air to demand to know the why of my presence here. With a muffled curse, I started toward the mansion’s main building, and halted before I had walked ten steps. A shadow was detaching itself from the grove of trees on the garden’s far side. Even though whoever was approaching was obviously enjoying a very leisurely stroll in the small park and would take a few moments before stepping into view, I wouldn’t have time to reach the house. Spotting thick bushes of dark green plants on my left, I dropped into a crouch and entered them, praying they wouldn’t have thorns.

“What are you doing here?” I almost jumped out of the shrub when the furious hiss reached my ears. Even as I clenched my hands over my knees, I drew in a breath, and craned my neck to catch sight of a young woman sitting on her heels next to me, close enough to touch. “This isn’t a good time, damn you!” Aurelia’s dark eyes were bristling with anger. In the same time, a faint sound of steps reached us, and she spat out another, vile curse. “Shitty priests, nosing around instead of staying put!” She gave a brisk shake of the head. “No help for it. Take my hand, I should be able to get the both of us to safety.” With a nod, I complied.

Stones beneath my feet and walls around me, painted a soft shade of blue. I blew air out of my nostrils. We must be inside the house. Aurelia had whisked us to this place in the blink of an eye, probably through the use of the same magic as the lady Rowan’s. “In there,” the young woman gestured toward a door on our right. “They won’t come to this floor, but better to err on the side of caution.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she was fighting to drag air inside her lungs, obviously short of breath.

“Are you all right?” I asked her.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Sure. I’m not used to keeping hold of someone other than me, is all. Get in there,” she gave my left shoulder an impatient push. “Hopefully Cein will manage to send those priests away quickly, and convince them it’s useless to wait for lord Azzure’s return.” So, Azzure wasn’t home. My heart sank. “Stupid Christians,” Aurelia was snorting beside me, “what folly possessed them to want to have dealings with us as a trading guild?”

“You pose as one,” I replied with a smile.

Aurelia glowered at me. “Right. And of course, our esteemed lord Azzure wouldn’t trouble himself with this disturbance. Instead, he dumped it into our hands,” she grumbled while striding into the room she had pointed me to.

“Hey!” The startled yelp escaped me when I bumped into her back. The young woman had frozen in her steps.

A long sigh rose in the air, then: “Ah, shit.” That whisper was almost inaudible. Overtaking Aurelia, I felt my eyes widen, and I suppressed a grin with difficulty.

Azzure was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bare room, his wrists resting upon his knees and his fingers set in a bizarre pattern. His eyes were closed. He must be in some kind of trance, or meditating perhaps. Relief washed over me as I walked toward him. “Apologies, my lord,” the young apprentice muttered from behind me. “Had I known you were here, I’d have kept my criticism to myself, and told Cein he should bring our visitors here.”

For a moment, I thought he hadn’t heard her, then at last he released his breath, and unfolded his long legs before standing up in a lithe, lazy movement. The storm blue gaze set on Aurelia. “Rowan has a knack for fishing out the worst of the Sanctuary’s apprentices,” he commented in a pleasant voice. Then, turning toward me, he asked, “Are you out of your mind, coming here at a time like this?” There wasn’t the slightest trace of amenity in his tone.

I sighed his expected display of hostility away. “I didn’t know you’d have guests, much less that they’d be Christians. I came because the situation is bad, and growing worse by the moment.”

His eyes met mine, unreadable. “I know.”

“You know,” I repeated. “How so?”

“Another of Afraeil’s sick jokes,” he smiled.

That was certainly supposed to mean something. I should pursue this further, but the memory of a middle-aged woman’s unseeing gaze, of her eyes glazed over and of the sweaty-hot touch of her pallid skin haunted me. This fleeting moment in which Death had reaped her life and in which her spirit had been snatched away--I hadn’t been able to grasp it. I hadn’t been able to protect her. I hadn’t been able to protect any of them, and they were dying lingering deaths because of our inadequacy. Dread had festered into despair, which was now giving birth to fury and hatred. Emotions which could be used, directed if one knew how. The crowd that had driven us off and killed one of our own was only the first. It would grow much, much worse if we couldn’t somehow quell this plague. “If you know,” I told Azzure in a very quiet voice, “then you know we need help.”

“The Sanctuary isn’t yours to command,” he replied. The same distant smile was still hovering on his lips. “Its help isn’t mine to grant. You were extremely lucky the last time. But this....” he let out a small sigh. “This is a human problem, no matter how dire. You won’t find any argument to convince Afraeil otherwise.”

“Why?!” I shot back, with anger tainting my voice. It took an effort of will to get a hold on my temper. Hands closed into fists at my sides, I went on, willing reason and calm to my words, “At least, let us try. If Aurelia or Cein are wiling, let us try to plead our cause. We’re standing on the brink, Azzure.” The young woman gawked at me when she heard me use his first name, but I was past caring for appearances. “The abyss is just one step away, and it’s not patient. This is beyond us.”

While the echoes of my plea sank into the walls, Azzure considered me. His smile was no longer mirrored in his eyes. “Beyond you as you are now. Yes. Not beyond what your people once were--or what you could have been. But, then,” something like irony was twisting his smile into a smirk, “you, we’d have stopped.” An ethereal blanket of north wind, his words enfolded me, calm, emotionless. Cold. I didn’t hug myself to fight off a shiver. I didn’t ask him what he meant. I didn’t say anything. My jaw set, I looked into the aquamarine gaze. At last, he waved his somber pronouncement aside and added, “If Cein or Aurelia are willing, I’ll let them go, but you don’t stand a chance.”

“I’ll go, my lord.” It was Aurelia. Her eyes met mine, and the sorrow and compassion in her gaze knifed through my heart. “We took a look at it, Cein and I. This sickness comes from the pestilence that poisoned the soil, even though you did your best to cleanse it. It passed into the grass your cows graze. And then it passed to people. Some wells might also still be contaminated, and there’s also the supplies which came from Massilia. Some of them seem to have been corrupted, maybe because they stayed in the rain too long and flour or grain rotted away. There isn’t much you can do, except help people be comfortable, and help them endure.”

“Thank you.” I gave her a deep bow. “I’ll leave you now, and go back before one of your guests spots me here.”

As I was making to turn my back on them, Azzure looked at me, and held my gaze with his. “Gale,” he said softly, “gather your people and leave. As you are, you cannot stop the wheel from turning. Even if you could, we’d prevent you from doing so, as I told you. Go. Leave. The hour grows late, and your time is almost past.” Unable to help myself, I shivered, as much as his use of my name as at the dark foreboding in his words. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible, what he suggested, no more than Flavius’ idea of adapting was. For a moment, I sustained Azzure’s steady, unreadable gaze in silence, then I gave them both another bow, and left the room.

Getting out of the mansion through the temple of Epona was easy with the help of Aurelia. The way back to the ceremonial house was quick. I didn’t look at people, I didn’t listen to the noises of the market or to the muffled curses directed my way whenever people stepped aside to avoid coming too close to me. When at last I reached the courtyard, I crossed the path of Lir, but the boy didn’t acknowledge my presence. Head bowed, he led his cart out of the ceremonial house’s grounds. I took a moment to watch his retreating back, then I started on my way again. A familiar silhouette was waiting on the porch, small and yet exuding incredible strength. Despite the sick feeling spreading in my gut, I hurried toward my mother.

“The Sanctuary won’t help us,” she told me by way of greeting, “but thank you for trying.”

I shook my head. “You can’t know that.” Flicking a thumb toward the courtyard’s entrance, I added, “What’s going on?”

The Lady Muireann’s lips thinned into an ugly parody of a smile. “Lir’s father has walked his fields today to check on the coming crop. There will be no harvest. All his grain and hay are tainted with a black mould. The sickness comes from the seeds, apparently, something to do with festering in the rain.”

I gaped at her. “But then, they’ll starve come Winter!”

“There is worse,” she told me, in deadly earnest. “I received word from Siena, even before I could send out a message. The bards report failed crops and bouts of sicknesses in all the Northern and Eastern regions of Gaul. In some cities, people have taken to the streets in riots, most of them aimed against all the faiths who keep auguries and soothsayers in their midst. They’re branding us as evil throughout the land. I’ve summoned an emergency meeting of all our kin. You were right, my son,” her voice faltered and she bit her lower lip, hard. Then she drew in a deep breath, and shook her head. “How I wish you had been wrong.”

Unable to sustain the lifeless light in her gaze, I bowed my head, and murmured a prayer.

It was a full week before the guests my mother had summoned rode under the ceremonial house’s porch. Seven long, long days during which the news of Lir’s father’s failed crops spread all over the city like wildfire. Seven interminable days during which the disease that struck people with a fever so high and painful it invariably killed one out of three of its victims gained ground. By the third day of waiting, it had started clawing at farms on the West of Cenabum. Grief and rage engulfed the city. The governor deployed some of the troops stationed in town, and sent most of them to take very ostensible positions around main temples of what the Christians referred to as “Pagan idols.” Thus, the temple of Jupiter, that of Mars, Isis, and even the small altar of Teutates folks had so loved to drop a coin into for luck were soon under the watchful protection of the Roman army. The temple of Epona was somehow spared, but the ceremonial house of the Carnutes was given the best troops the governor had to offer. For our safety, of course.

The Roman governor’s move had an effect contrary to the one that had supposedly been intended. The constant sight of the soldiers’ telltale red cloaks made people even more nervous and scared. It reminded them of the quarantine set around the farms struck by the plague. It reminded them of the sickness itself, and of the fact that, should it reach Cenabum, they’d be trapped in it, forbidden to flee the closing hand of Death. We stopped going out on market days, for fear of making matters worse, but perhaps our very absence made them worse. It seemed any decision we made was the wrong one.

While we waited with dread churning our stomachs, reports came by carrier pigeons, of riots in several towns: Vesontio, the capital city of the Sequani tribe, Aduatuca, capital city of the Eburones tribe, Durocortorum. Deirdre had fished a dusty old Roman map from the library, and the story it told confirmed what the white-haired bard had announced: everywhere East and North of us, chaos had gripped the land of Gaul. Of course, those had been the regions most badly hurt by the floods in Summer, but that didn’t explain everything. The advance of the disease seemed to stop on an invisible line drawn between Cenabum and Vesontio to the South, sparing Avaricum and Bibracte, and between Autricum and Aduatuca to the West, sparing most of Armorica and a bit less than a half of Belgium. The plague appeared to respect those insubstantial borders. In Vesontio, martial law had been decreed, and auguries of Jupiter had been placed under arrest, to face charges of witchcraft and murder. Every moment that passed brought us closer to the same fate. And still, we waited.

At last, they came through the entry gate, and the clatter of their horses’ hooves awakened the echoes of life in the courtyard, spooking despair away. Siena, white-haired lady of the bards, came first, with a dozen others. Then came the plump-looking druidess of Aventicum, and other, more familiar faces because they were our neighbors: Senones, Parisii, Esuvii, Auberci-Cenomani and Veneti. Try though I might, I couldn’t manage to catch sight of the sun-tanned man from Hispania.

The welcome we gave them all was a quiet, solemn one. Faces were drained, and gazes were dark. We all knew the danger looming over our heads. Once everyone had been given a room and some time to rest from the journey, a meeting was conveyed in the great hall. “Nice,” the lady Siena commented while her eyes went from dish to dish set on the table. It wasn’t so nice as it was simple: bread and cheese, venison and mead. “You still have the support of the people,” she added in a whisper, an ominous undertone in her voice.

“They’re divided,” my mother replied evenly, betrayed by the shadow that briefly veiled her gaze. “Their hearts are torn between a loyalty that brings them only pain and death, and surrendering to fear.” With a shake of the head, she went on, “It can’t last much longer.” All of a sudden, her gaze darted toward me. “Gale,” she nodded my way. “You’ll sit with us.”

I gave her a look. First Azzure’s somber hints, and now this. During the Summer floods, Macha and Dian had argued for this. It was as absurd this time as it had been the last. I didn’t belong at the high table. And yet, even though muttered protests and low exclamations drifted my way, none of our dignified guests stood up to challenge my lady mother’s words. Eventually I discarded the quiet commotion caused by her order and complied, and went to sit beside the lady Siena. “Welcome, child,” she flashed a smile my way, obviously unruffled by this unexpected development, “although I wish you’d have joined us on a more auspicious occasion.” I gave her a bow. The Lady Muireann wouldn’t explain the why of her ridiculous decision to include me into the circle of peers, or the why of the others’ acceptance of it. None of them would. I dragged in a breath, then released it in a sigh, and sat straight against the back of my chair.

“I fail to see lord Ailbhe, or any of our brothers from the South,” Macha remarked in a casual manner, her strong voice carrying from the secondary table.

On my right, the lady Siena scoffed. “That’s because the madness that has engulfed the North has spared the South to this day. They fear contamination or, most likely, they fear being spotted.” A thin smile twisted the corners of the white-haired bard’s lips. “It’s a very polite set of Roman guards you’ve gotten for yourself, Muireann,” she stole a glance toward my mother.

“They’re simply biding their time.” It was Dian, who had just stepped into the hall and was joining the high table. “No improvement on any front,” he spat even as he dropped in his chair. His hair was plastered to his neck, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His gaze was too bright, a sure sign of near exhaustion.

A hush came over the table, while people reached for drinks and took long swallows from them. When mead rolled down my throat, I grimaced. It was tasteless, and it failed to bring warmth to my cramped stomach. “So,” it was the lady Siena once again. “You’ve gathered us here, inside your hall, Muireann. Why is that?” Her words broke the spell of quiet dread that had held the gathering in thrall. It was because she was a bard, I realized, that she had known the silence needed to be broken--that she had been able to shoo the smothering blanket away through the magic of her bard’s voice.

“So we could share our views of the situation,” my mother bowed at her, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Put our minds together, and find a way out.”

“It won’t be easy, perhaps impossible,” the plump, blonde woman cut in. “Even if the plague were to be stopped, most of the crops will fail, and this Winter will see a famine such as we’ve never seen.”

“I got news from Avaricum,” another added. “The Romans there know the gravity of the situation. The help sent by our kin in Cisalpine Gaul after the Summer floods has dangerously diminished their own reserves of grain. They cannot help us this time. I heard it say that help might come from the far side of the Mare Internum, from the great plains beyond the Hellespont, beyond Byzantium and the sea on its North Eastern shore.”

In front of me, Dian drank from his cup, then he folded his lips into a thin line. “It’ll be weeks, maybe even months in coming. By the time it arrives, it’ll be too late.”

“What should we do, then?” It was the plump woman once again. “In every town North and East of here, local roman administrations are busy taking emergency measures to control the riots and, in order to achieve this goal, they give people scapegoats. They close down temples, they imprison seers and auguries. If we don’t react, we’ll suffer the same fate.”

A fingertip tapped on my right shoulder, and I started, twisting to the right in a jerking motion. Deirdre was standing next to my chair, a sullen pout on her lips. “Someone to see you,” she murmured.

“Send them back,” I sighed. “This isn’t the time, Deirdre.”

My little sister rolled her eyes ceilingward. “I know that. What do you think I am? A dolt?” she snorted, then she went on, “She said that it was matter of the utmost urgency, and that once you knew she was coming from the Greek trading guild, you’d want to see her at once.”

“Right.” Shoving my chair back, I sprang up and ran out of the hall, unheeding of the disturbance I caused in the great hall, Deirdre on my heels.

Aurelia was waiting on the threshold of the main building, almost completely hidden in the shadows. She mustn’t want to be spotted here, and she must have wanted a relatively safe place in which to appear. Dimly, I wondered how she had gained such knowledge of the inside of the ceremonial house. “I’m sorry to disturb you at such a time,” she gave me a bow.

I snorted. “You’re not disturbing me.” I looked at her, intent. “Do you have news from the Sanctuary?”

She bobbed down her head in confirmation. “Yes, I do.” She drew in a breath. “The high lord Afraeil has been told of the situation in Gaul. In detail. He has denied your request for help. Anyone who belongs to the Sacred Domain is expressly forbidden from helping you or yours in any way.” I staggered back under the assault of those words, and leaned a shaking hand on the cold stone of the nearest wall to regain a semblance of balance. “The high lord says this is a strictly human matter, nothing else. He said that, although the Lady Muireann’s hand is strong, certainly among the strongest in what’s left of the Council of Faiths, her trump card isn’t that strong. And so she should know better than to try and manipulate the Sanctuary like her own personal tool.”

“She didn’t.” I bit my lower lip, until blood filled my mouth, tasteless and devoid of warmth. “My mother didn’t do or ask anything. I did.” I shook my head.

“The high lord also said that you’d do well to remember his words, and that your life hangs by a thread,” Aurelia finished, her head bowed. “I’m sorry I had to be the bearer of such news.”

Laughter burst from me, black and dissonant. Unstoppable. “What do I care about my life?! Damn him!” there was more I’d have said, but Aurelia didn’t deserve it. She had tried to help me, and she had probably drawn the wrong kind of attention to herself while attempting to do so. “It’s all right,” I forced myself to say in a toneless voice. “Thank you, Aurelia, from the bottom of my heart.” With that, I bowed at her, and went back into the great hall.

I strode over to the table, and regained my seat without hearing a word of what was being said. Afraeil’s decision was a death sentence. He had severed the only lifeline we had. There were other paths we could take, but--they were all black ones. Belatedly I realized that my mother’s eyes were trying to meet mine. In silence, I shook my head, once.

When the lady Muireann’s shoulders sagged and she seemed to crumple in her chair, her head bowed into her hands, my heart wrenched. I had been right, but the high lord had been right also. Even though she hadn’t requested anything, she had hoped for the Sanctuary’s intervention, probably counting upon the strange, unspoken ties I had with some of its members. This hope had been our only one. “Ah well,” she let out a shuddering sigh and lifted up her head to confront the assembly once more. “Gods or goddesses may not destroy the world, but it seems that humanity has been given leave to.” Most of the people present gave my mother a blank look, but the lady Siena merely nodded, her charcoal eyes lifeless, as if all strength had been drained out of her.

Perhaps I should hate my mother for using me so, for using the tenuous, nameless bond there was between me, Azzure, and the two apprentices of the lady Rowan. She had let me act on my own, never telling me what her course of action was, where her hopes lied. Had she told me, we would have planned it better, and the outcome--would have remained the same. There had been a solemn finality in Azzure’s parting words, one which sent shivers coursing my spine every time I remembered them. Hate wouldn’t help matters. What was done was done, and what mattered.... “Then we no longer have any other choice than exile. We must leave. Save all that we can, and follow the path the children of the gods took so long ago: West, to Armorica and beyond the ocean of Brittany.”

I blinked. To leave. They were talking about exile, about fleeing the land of our origins. I shuddered, and clutched at the table’s edge for support. They were considering forsaking all that gave our lives meaning. “Who are you?!” a harsh voice demanded to know, bristling with a terrible mixture of rage and sorrow. When eyes darted toward me, I realized that I had voiced my thoughts aloud. No help for it now. In a heartbeat, the flames which had sparked inside me had risen and grown so high that I couldn’t hope to stifle them. My lips curled into a sneer, I faced the assembly. “Who are you,” I asked again, “you who talk so easily about exile? Are you truly druids and bards? Can you still feel the life pulsing in the land beneath your feet when you walk in farmers’ fields? Can you still feel the beautiful, frightening glow of the spirit world when you touch the heart of your sacred forests? Can you feel the gods light the world during Imbolg? Do you feel the gaping maw of darkness during the night of the Winter Solstice?!” I dragged in a breath. I was still clutching at the table’s edge, but it wasn’t for support. It was to prevent my hands from reaching toward the flames in the great hearth on the far side of the hall, from reaching toward the Spear of Lugh. The sacred weapon would demand its price once drawn, and I’d let it have it, have them if-- I hissed air out of my lungs and willed the madness at bay. “This is our land,” I told them between clenched teeth. “Our soul. Our heart. We live to serve it. We live to preserve the balance between the world and the people. If we leave, we die. The land dies. If you tear off your own roots, you’ll simply wither and rot away, slowly. Lingeringly. You’d choose exile?!” I laughed at them all. “You’d flee without even trying to fight? Without taking up arms and waging war against this absurd fate? If that’s so,” I snarled at them, fury spilling from me like a river in spate, “then do so! Flee! Run away! Leave this hall and never come back! Your names will be cursed, not by me or mine, but by the trees, by the forests, the rivers and the sky themselves!”

Shocked silence followed my brutal outburst. Heavy. The words I had uttered were swirling inside my mind, the raw pain and violence in them echoing inside me. They didn’t all make sense. I wasn’t making sense, but the questions and the harsh, implacable judgment were the smallest fraction of the fire blazing within. Of their won volition, they had spilled from my mouth. Beyond the tight knots twisting my gut, I could feel my body shake with a fury and a grief so immense my mind shied away from them. Inhuman. Next to me, the lady Siena gave me a deep, deep bow. “Thus spoke the gods when Caius Julius Caesar invaded Gaul and hunted down the priests of Lugh. We are but human, and our memories are small. We forget. We’re fortunate to have you at this table, young lord. You’re true to your name.” Somehow, the sound of her calm, gentle voice won through the emotions choking me. The strength of this old, white-haired woman hushed the flames within, and I released air from my lungs in a low hiss. Around us, the silence that had followed her short speech was even heavier. I stared at Siena, lady of the Bards. I stared at her bowed head, but she didn’t look up to meet my gaze. I didn’t ask her the meaning of her words, I didn’t ask her why she had given me the title of lord. All these stupid games and hints, all these little secrets around me had ceased to matter. Eventually, she lifted her head up to face her peers again, her eyes alight and brimming with unshed tears.

In front of us, my mother rose from her seat. “It’s too early to make final decisions,” she shook her head. There was the slightest trembling in her voice, and hesitation in the way she was looking at each person sitting at the high table in turn. Few would be those who’d see it, but beside me, the lady Siena didn’t miss the tiny signs as she gave my mother a little smile and a nod of her head. “To flee, or to take up arms. If we choose to fight, we must be aware that we’ll have to shed the blood of our own people, of our own kin. The Roman soldiers aren’t the true enemy. Our true enemy are despair and lust for absolute power. They’ll fling at us our own people.” Her gaze met mine, bright and unflinching. “If we got to war, it’ll be ugly, and it’ll taint our souls forever. Yet, if we must do so, we will. But not today. Not until we have no other choice. We’re alone in this. Our own tribes won’t support us. We’ll be lucky if the nobles of our clans remain neutral, and are content to watch.” She drew in a deep breath. “But, as I said, not today. We’ll wait, and see if we cannot weather this storm. Those among you who aren’t ready to envision all the possibilities can leave, as my son so eloquently told you.” I blushed when the words hit, but there was no smile in my mother’s eyes. There was darkness, and respect. “In the meantime, this house extends its hospitality to you all, for as long as need be. This meeting is ended, but we’ll reconvene tomorrow, with better news I hope.”

The Lady Muireann’s words seemed to fall upon people’s shoulders. They bowed their heads, all but Macha and Dian, and the lady Siena. At last, we all rose from our seats, and left the hall.

The wait had begun.

End of Chapter 6.

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