As they neared where they left Fedelm about to light a fire, Genonn could see something was wrong. There was no fire, no smoke. The seeress knelt beside the boy, who had his back against the same tree; only his chin was on his chest as if he were sleeping. Fedelm watched them arrive with a look that tore strips from his guts.
Reining in, Genonn felt his stomach make a dash for his gullet. “What happened? Fedelm, what’s wrong?” he called as he jumped from the saddle.
Unable to answer, Fedelm began to sob, desperately fighting for a breath. Bradán ran over and pulled her head into his midriff, stroking her hair, trying to soothe her, whispering into her ear as he had with the dying horse.
Genonn felt a sudden weariness descend over him. He had never felt his age before. To him, it had been nothing more than how many Beltaines he had witnessed. He began to understand Conall’s constant laments about getting old. When it struck, the feeling was relentless. He did not think he could cope with more battering at the gates of his sanity. And seeing Lee against the tree, he had never felt more of a failure.
I brought him to this end, he realized, gazing down. Kneeling, Genonn gently lifted the boy’s chin. Lee’s eyes were closed as if he were sleeping, but he knew it to be a trick of nature by the looseness of the neck muscles and the dribbles of clear liquid from his ears and nose. He gently probed the back of Lee’s head. Even though Lee was beyond pain, it did not feel right to treat him roughly. There was a damp patch, slightly soft and sticky to the touch. During his fall, it seemed the boy had fractured his skull.
Genonn looked up at Conall and shook his head.
Conall put his arms under his chest and walked a few paces away. He’d only known the boy for a few hours, but Lee’s enthusiasm and curiosity affected everyone. In contrast to his glee at killing the fénnid, the warrior was deeply moved by their loss.
Fedelm still had her face in Bradán’s midriff. Her sobs were easing, but he did not want to intrude upon her grief. Once again, he had been wrong when he thought his day could not get any worse. Finally, she wiped her sleeve across her face, and Bradán helped her to her feet.
“I’m sorry, Genonn. I’ve failed you,” she stuttered.
“You have not failed me, Fedelm. You could not fail me. Take a breath and tell us what happened.”
“I was gathering wood for the fire when he called to me. I could see he was in distress. His words were slurred, and he kept complaining of the cold. I went to finish gathering wood so I could light the fire and warm him. When I got back, he was gone. I didn’t see the liquid leaking out until it was too late,” Fedelm said with another sob as she scuffed the back of her hand across her eyes.
Genonn wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her but knew he could not. If he did, he would be in danger of breaking into sobs himself, and he needed to be strong—for his father and now for Lee. Besides, he did not think Bradán would stand by and allow his position to be usurped.
“You could do nothing. When the brain is mashed, there is no saving them. They can go then and there, or it might take days, but they never survive.” She sobbed again but with less force.
“Aye. I’ve seen it with hammer blows in battle. They can be fine for days and then just die. Did he say anything?” Conall asked.
She turned away before she said, “Not much. He was slurring and garbled for the most part. He thought I was his mother at one stage. Why would anyone do it? He only dreamed of being a king, so he did.”
“We’ve had a long day,” Conall said. “Let’s build the lad a cairn back in the forest and light that fire. Then, I think it’s time to talk about what we should do.”
***
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“You should give him his rites,” Fedelm said to Genonn as soon as she finished preparing Lee’s body.
“That is for a druid to do.”
“You are a druid,” she said, crossing her arms. “Besides, there is no one else.”
“I cannot–”
“What you can’t do is continue to hide behind your wounded pride.”
“You know it’s not like that. I–”
“All I know, Genonn, is that you are such a child.”
“How dare you…”
“How dare I? Someone has to put you to task for your infancy.”
“You should not even be here. You should be with Biróg learning how to be a seeress, which obviously requires further work, as you could not even see a crushed skull leaking in front of your eyes.”
“Enough, the pair of you,” Conall shouted, sick of listening to them fight. “We’re here to put the lad to rest, not argue about it. I’ll say a few words, Fedelm, if it will make you happier.”
“No. I will speak,” Fedelm snapped.
Conall said nothing while they built a cairn over the lad. They were all quiet, each angry in their own way. Bradán because he’d been unable to protect his woman from Genonn’s tongue; Genonn because he felt responsible for the death of the lad; Fedelm because she thought Genonn to be avoiding his responsibilities.
Even Conall was angry because he didn’t have more control. He never could prevent himself from reacting when his life was threatened. It was something Scáthach beat into them. Keep calm, but do not fail to act. Rid yourself of the threat before doing anything else. Words he took to heart and had followed since. Only this time, it had cost them any chance of success. Nechtan had been their last hope of proving whether Medb or Longas ordered the murders. Although it made little difference to Conall. For him, they should both be put to the sword. Genonn, though, preferred to do everything the right way. Or what he perceived as the right way. Ever since coming to the aid of the woodsman in Ráth Droma all those years before.
Conall looked from one to the other of them. The frostiness in the air was not being created by nature. He understood why Genonn was sticking to his oath. The others were too young; they didn’t understand honor and duty. The seeress didn’t even try to hide her disdain for the code. It seemed the druids no longer prioritized base values when teaching, allowing younger people more control over their thoughts. It did not matter that Genonn’s oaths were to himself. They were no less binding for that.
“Do we have any ideas?” he asked.
Bradán cleared his throat, a stick stuck in the corner of his mouth, a line of creases clouding his brow. Conall could almost feel the concentration from the lad as he considered what he wanted to say. Eventually, he spat the stick out and said, “I’ve seen him before.”
“Who’ve you seen before?” Conall asked.
“The fénnid, Nechtan.”
“Why didn’t you say, bundún?”
“I’ve been trying to remember where. I knew I’d seen him before. Sitting here now, it came to me.”
“Well?” Fedelm asked. Conall could see something was playing on her mind.
“Do you remember the hostel where we waited for Kathvar?” She nodded. “He was one of them. He was with Captain Bréannin in a hostel above Indber Colptha,” he explained to Genonn and Conall. “Where me and Fedelm stayed on the way back from Dún Ailinne. Waiting for your father,” he said with a sympathetic nod.
Conall turned to him, interest piqued, and asked, “Bréannin? As in captain of the Leinster company? Surly bundún from the same ráth?”
“The very same.”
“How d’you know Bréannin?” Conall asked.
“I was close to the Leinster company at Gáirech. He was behind us all morning, mounted on a black warhorse. When the shield wall broke, he was left like the first turd in a newly dug midden.”
“Nechtan was with Bréannin the evening before my father was murdered? That cannot be a coincidence.”
“I’ve heard Bréannin is partial to brokering the odd deal or two,” Conall said, smiling when Genonn’s face began to glow. “He’s one of those takes a bad day and turns it to profit.”
“So, we find out if he brokered a deal for Nechtan and who the patron was, we will have the proof we need to avenge my father.”
“Easy, so. All we need do is find Bréannin, and we can beat an answer out of him,” Conall said with a grin.
“Where will we find him?” Bradán interjected.
“Captain of the Leinster company? Reckon he’ll be in Dún Ailinne,” Conall said, slapping his thighs. “Where else? He’ll have gone home after realizing he was the only turd in the midden.”