Fedelm stared down at the longship and sighed. The oarsmen and merchants had already pulled the Sea Wolf down the sands, and she was bobbing gently in the wash, visible in the light thrown by the watchfires along the beach. Owen never wasted a moment. Keeping to tides was the essence of his livelihood. He could ill afford to make those who gave him silver late.

A horse whinnied, and Fedelm turned to see the light of six torches winding down the road from the opposite rise. She guessed it was Kathvar arriving with his remaining guard. Bradán, grinning beside her, took a twig from his saddlebag and began to chew thoughtfully.

“What did Cú say?” she asked as Kathvar reined in.

“He said no, of course. He would never have agreed to it,” Kathvar replied with a shake of his head.

She heard the words and understood their meaning but could not drag her thoughts away from her evening in the hostel long enough to formulate an opinion. Instead, she continued to listen to Owen’s crew prepare, their banter hard to hear over the sound of the wash.

“You seem pensive,” Kathvar said.

“Do I? I was just thinking of the hard life Owen leads.”

It was only a half-truth. She was thinking of the captain’s woes superficially. Really, she was thinking about the conversation with Bradán. Thinking about Kathvar and Dornoll working together, something she would not have believed possible. Something that, when voiced, became so obvious. Real. A truth she should have recognized much sooner than she did.

Fedelm wondered if she dared ask the druid where he’d been. What was the other errand he needed to run? What are you scheming, old man? Instead, she listened to the half-heard words of the sailors and squinted at the lightening horizon.

When the sun finally broke the line and bathed the beach and the rise in orange light, she shook her doubts free and said, “We’d better get down to the beach. Owen is not likely to wait. Time and tide guide us being his family’s slogan.”

“I will race you, young sorceress,” Kathvar called, urging his gelding with a yelp and a laugh.

Fedelm shook her head again as his horse galloped down the rise. His grey hair was streaming out behind, and she could see his sword and sheath slapping his thigh with each stride of the gelding. She did not know how old the druid was. He had two grown sons and a grey beard, so he was certainly old enough to have outgrown the child he once was. And then his earlier words fully registered. He professed to support Cú as the next High King and yet was overly jubilant after failing to recruit the youth.

“Why do men never grow up?” she asked the wind as she dug her heels in and cantered down to the beach.

After handing her horse over to the crew, who were busy binding the mare’s eyes so they could hoist her into the ship’s belly, Fedelm smiled up at her favorite captain. She’d known Owen for many summers sailing between Ynys Môn and the Five Kingdoms.

“Up you come now, my featherlight seeress,” the captain laughed as he hauled her into the Sea Wolf. She returned his hug before looking for Kathvar. He was easing himself along the walkway, heading for a bench in the belly of the ship. Fedelm waited while the crew harnessed her mare in a sling so they could hoist her aboard. Others were stowing gear under the benches in preparation for the open sea. They would soon be setting sail.

Time to find a seat, she realized.

Turning back to the druid, Fedelm decided she would confront him. She would ask him why they thought it necessary to dupe the peoples of the Five Kingdoms. She would ask him where he’d been and what Dornoll spoke to him about.

As she began to make her way up the walkway, Kathvar settled in the belly. With his good humor, Fedelm knew she would not get a better chance. But Bradán’s words were niggling at her: He’s a druid, so what’s to think? She also remembered those of her mother: Only a fool professes to know the mind of a druid.

“Steady now,” Owen called.

She grabbed the shoulder of a seated sailor as the ship rocked in the burgeoning swell. The wind whipped around her shoulders, stinging her cheeks with salt. She drew a deep breath and let the freshness fill her lungs, the smell of the sea lifting her as it always had. She drew in another as the rhythm keeper started beating his drum, and the rowers took up their oars, driving the ship out to sea. Homeward bound, she thought, surprising herself before realizing it should not be a surprise. Born in Meath, she was sent to the island as an adolescent to learn her craft. Her family all died during the invasion of Ingcél, the British pirate, so now she knew nothing else. Biróg was her mother, and the people of Caer Leb were her family.

“Sit, Lady, if you will,” Owen called from the steering oar. “Winds up. Loosen the sail.”

“Do you mind?” she asked Kathvar. He shook his head and shuffled up the bench, making room. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“I am here to teach,” he said, smiling.

A seabird screamed. Fedelm followed it, gliding above the sail with its magnificent wingspan. Both its wings and its scream were easily read portents. She could have told Kathvar that times were at a crossroads and that change was in the air.

Instead, she turned and said, “Genonn keeps talking about Ráth Droma.”

“Ah, yes, Genonn’s fixation. What do you want to know?”

“What happened would be a start,” Fedelm replied, raising her eyebrows.

“Did he not tell you?”

“No. He refers to it only in hints and riddles,” Fedelm said, staring fixedly to the front but still feeling the druid’s eyes on her.

“I made a massive error of judgment,” he finally said. He was pulling on his beard, deep in thought, face turned up to the seabird still gliding above.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Admitting to fallibility is not something I would expect of the druid, she pondered.

“He did so well in his studies. All except his woodcraft. I thought he could handle a hard task. But I was wrong. Foolish pride, maybe. And he was very young.” Kathvar shook his head and sighed. “Parenting is not easy, Fedelm. You should remember that for when your time comes.”

“It won’t be any time soon,” she sighed.

“Anyway, we received a petition for counseling from Mathaman. He was having trouble with a retainer trying to usurp power. A rogue called Bricriu. I convinced the Council to test Genonn. We sent him as an adviser, which was a mistake.” He hesitated, still watching the seabird.

“Sending him as adviser was a mistake?” she asked, not sure what the druid was saying.

“Yes. But that wasn’t the biggest mistake. I sent him without warning. A trial of fire, if you will.”

He finally looked at her, a pleading in his eyes.

“Go on,” Fedelm encouraged with a nod.

“I wanted to see how he would manage the unexpected. Not well, as it happens.”

“He was young, you said.”

“Yes. It was not Genonn’s fault he failed. He was duped by the rebel’s son and his woman. Convinced him the chieftain was in the wrong. Trying to lift the skirts of the woodman’s girl was the ruse. They played on the boy’s desire to help the oppressed. Genonn took them at their word, interrupted an execution and locked himself and the woodsman in the blockhouse. Mathaman sent a messenger to the Council reporting another insurrection. Only this time, it was my son he was accusing.”

“What did you do?”

“I did the only thing possible. I hired a warband to convince Mathaman I was there to suppress the insurrection and then talked Genonn out of the blockhouse, using the threat of a hanging.”

“And he has hated you ever since.”

“Oh, I would not say he hates me. He has given up his life’s studies and dreams because he sees me as a corrupting influence on the Five Kingdoms. But he still loves me as a father.”

Fedelm stared at him, trying to see if he was jesting. She could see nothing. He was gazing at the seabird with longing as if he wished to take wing and fly, leaving the politics and the squabbles behind. She could sympathize with the sentiment. It was the same thing Cú wanted: to leave it all to those who cared and settle down with his wife, herding cattle and making babies.

She looked up at the seabird and thought he was right. He should make babies with Emer. Theirs had been a fleeting encounter born of a mutual need. It was gone. Time to move on with life, but with whom? she wondered for the first time since her dalliance with Cú had begun.

***

They spent the rest of the sea voyage in companionable silence. Although in a good mood, Fedelm could see the druid still had a lot on his mind and needed the peace to think. Bradán, too, was distracted, sitting with his hands on his knees, chewing a stick, and staring out to sea. The crew was so practiced that unloading the Sea Wolf took little time, and they were mounted and riding towards Caer Leb within an hour of beaching.

It felt like spring was finally gaining purchase: birds were singing; the forest scents intermingled with spring flowers; sap was rising. Fedelm listened to Kathvar whistling between his teeth. Frowning at his good mood, she could see he held the reins loosely, not his usual way. Since she’d known him, he never loosened his grip. In some ways, she supposed that was another reason she admired him.

There’s a lot of the old man in Genonn, she thought. Stubborn but most often right with it. She frowned, wondering what prompted the thought. She decided it was nothing more than an interest in reuniting the men. Donn came too quickly for petty squabbling to sunder a family in such a way. And no less so when the son was gentle and broadminded despite professing to be a warrior.

“You really must talk to Genonn. Leaving him with the belief you betrayed him is not right,” she said. The druid laughed. “I fail to see the humor, Kathvar.”

“Careful, Fedelm. I am still your superior.”

His twinkling eyes belied the reprimand. Luckily, he was still not in the mood for anger. Fedelm knew she should try to curtail snapping at the old man. She had witnessed his temper after the funeral. Besides, after her discussion with Bradán, she suspected he was capable of violence.

“Besides, I have tried many times,” he continued, still smiling. “I even tried to tell him after the funeral, and you heard how successful that was. The boy will not listen. He believes he knows best.”

As does his father, she thought, eyes down, trying to conceal the way her mind was going.

“Why are you in such a good mood? Cú Chulainn refused your proposition. As I predicted.”

“He did, but he will come around. Shall we say the seed was sown.”

“I don’t think he will. I think he is sick of it all.”

“You might be right. Dornoll certainly thinks you are.”

“So, to your mind, she does not intend to support Cú Chulainn as High King?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Her play is obvious. She pretends to support Cú’s election knowing – or at least thinking she knows – my recommendation will fail. She will propose this Abradruad as the only worthy option when that happens. It is insulting in its simplicity.”

Fedelm was about to answer when the sound of a fast-approaching rider gave her pause. They looked back at the tree-arched road and pulled in to wait. As the rider galloped into view, Kathvar edged his horse to block the road.

“Are you a fool, man?” the rider screamed as he just managed to rein in.

“A fool? No, I am Kathvar of the Elder Council.”

“Sorry, Sire, no offense meant,” the rider said, bowing an apology.

“I am not a king,” Kathvar said with a sigh. “I am an Elder. But no matter. What has you galloping so madly down this otherwise quiet road as though síabraí are chasing you?”

“I’ve news for the Council, Sire.”

“I am a senior member of said council, so what news, man?”

“Aye, so y’are. Cú Chulainn is dead. Murdered in the Windy Gap. They took his head for a prize.”

Fedelm felt her heart drop to her saddle. She covered her mouth to stop the scream she felt building from where her heart had landed. It could not be true; she had been with him only a few days since. Kathvar’s forehead was creased by deep furrows, his eyes glaring death at the messenger. She almost saw steam rising as his good humor evaporated into the spring sunshine.

“Where did you come by this news?” the druid asked, a menace in his tone.

“I’m of Dún Dealgan, Sire. After my Lady prepared the body and it was preserved by some druid, no offense meant, she sent riders out. I was to report to the Council.”

The last vestiges of hope drained from Kathvar’s eyes as he realized his plans were now ash. Dornoll might be an unworthy opponent to his schemes, but she’d prevailed all the same. A red blush of anger crept up the druid’s face. Some might mistake it for embarrassment, but not her. Staring into his eyes, she knew her own reflected the death visible in their depths. She wanted to kill for the first time in her life.

She’d loved Cú like no other. She’d let him go. She let Emer have him because that is what he wanted, but she hadn’t let him go completely. Not yet. Knowing he was still there had been comforting, knowing someone else was being held in his strong arms.

But now, he was truly gone.

“May I go, Sire?”

Kathvar waved the messenger on without speaking. Fedelm gripped her reins so tight that the leather seemed to be cutting into her palms. She did not know what to say. She knew whatever she said would be inadequate. No one liked to see their efforts wasted, but the druid was on a completely different plane from all others she knew. She did not trust herself to speak, knowing that if she opened her mouth, the pain would flood from her like crows leaving a battlefield when the wolves first arrived.