Properly speaking, the Aiteann Court, as an organisation, was led by the nine druids who were presently gathered amongst the standing stones that formed the Aiteann Court, the place. There were several mages who were attached to the Court, working as research assistants or technicians or analysts, but it was the nine – Grand Mage Spindle, Elder Hawthorn, Mage Coll, and Saileach, Giúis, Silín, Aspen, Dair, and Juniper – who made the decisions, led the spellcasting, announced the results of the divinations.
Even so, some of the nine had more say than the others.
And the one who usually had the most say, the gloomy-looking man who clutched an antler-topped staff, was currently gaping speechlessly at the unexpected crowd that had gathered.
By contrast, Macnia was looking incredibly at ease, perhaps even malicious delight. Looking at his expression, Sou Yuet felt an odd twinge in their chest.
“Sunny,” they murmured, “go to Pang Yau.”
The si zi needed no further encouragement. She had been sitting anxiously by Lady Herela's horse, aloof from the other dogs, and at Sou Yuet's words she lunged forwards like an arrow from a bow and set her hefty bulk firmly beside the necromancer, glaring jealously at everyone nearby.
Sou Yuet's weary eyes ran over the gathering. Six of the druids seemed to orbit around Mage Spindle. Even when they stood apart from him, their eyes were always flickering towards him, as though looking for instruction, and when he moved, they moved subtly too, in ways that seemed random and unrelated, but in reality, they were like tiny spiders drifting on a breeze, pulled their way and that by the current that was Mage Spindle.
The gaggle of villagers grouped closer together, watching the unexpected situation with confused apprehension. A man with a silver band around his neck had approached Lady Goirmín Searraigh and was conversing respectfully with her, while she smoothed the fabric of her cloak repeatedly. Mage Spindle quickly made his way to her side, speaking rapidly in Adhmaid, placing a hand on her arm. Elder Hawthorn watched with narrowed eyes. The gazes of the other druids flickered towards Grand Mage Spindle and rapidly away again.
“You don't mind if I listen in?” Macnia asked, appearing behind him. He bowed courteously to the regional lord, who bowed jerkily in response. Mage Spindle retreated as though he had encountered a bear.
The villagers brought forth a thick cloth, draping it over one of the stones of the Aiteann Court, and Lady Goirmín Searraigh was invited to sit. Once she was seated, she looked at the pale Mage Spindle, and at the still-maliciously beaming Macnia, and nodded shakily. Her voice, however, was firm as she said, "Begin."
Mage Spindle instantly launched into a flurry of Adhmaid. Sou Yuet listened helplessly to the unintelligible words, light-headed.
When he eventually ran out of steam, Macnia responded with his own string of Adhmaid, the words lilting and flowing smoothly.
"What are they saying?" Sou Yuet murmured, fighting to stay awake. They felt something tickle their upper lip.
"Bhards and druids and aireachta always babble nonsense," Lady Herela grumbled. "Your nose is bleeding."
"I'm just tired."
"Go to sleep, child."
"I can't. Why did they bring... is that ivy?"
"As far as I can tell, that druid 'as argued that our cousin's crimes are of such a nature that they should be executed," the Ankou said, as the sad-eyed Bugul Noz hesitantly dabbed at Sou Yuet's bleeding nose with a cloth. It quailed when it realised the Ankou's glowing eyes were fixed on it, hastily handing over the bloody cloth that it had just been about to lick.
"And Cousin Macnia is... Well, I think he's mostly insulting the druid, but it's hard to tell. The speech of aireachta is dark."
"Dark. Nonsense. Same thing," Lady Herela said. “As for the ivy, it can bind us, in certain circumstances. The aes sidhe prefer to avoid it. I believe they have brought it in hopes that it will keep them safe from us if the matter at hand becomes... less pleasant.”
"What is an aireachta?"
"They're usually a bhard or druid, with knowledge of the law. Only certain people can take such a role. The words of the laws are difficult to understand." The Ankou swept his cloak over Sou Yuet. The seemed to be only dark space within. "You are strong, for a 'uman, but you are yet still 'uman. If you do not sleep, you will die. We will wake you."
Sou Yuet couldn't even protest. The darkness enfolded them, and they fell.
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"Druids of the Court, My Lord, and relatives of those who have passed, who seek vengeance.
"Murder is theft.
“
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
With the exception of Mage Coll, who was frowning, and Elder Hawthorn, whose eyes were so narrowed it was a wonder she could see out of them, the other druids began to nod.
"Have ye not got this arse-about, human druid?" Macnia interrupted. "Ye're supposed to discuss the crime first before talking about punishments."
"I was getting to that, l-learned colleague," Mage Spindle avoided looking at the handsome, grinning man. "I wished to impress upon everyone the seriousness of the crime based on the punishme-"
"Consider me impressed," Macnia said, sounding anything but. "Let's get back to the evidence."
Mage Spindle forced himself to stop grinding his teeth. “A score of years ago, another village once stood here. This village, the original Aiteann Village, was a peaceful place. A blessed place, some might say.” His words grew more and more fluent as he settled into his story.
“Your relatives lived here.” He nodded to the intently listening villagers, and they nodded. “Brothers, sisters, cousins, nephews and nieces. Men and women and children. And one day...”
The very fog in the air seemed to hang in the moment, waiting for his next words. “... they were gone.”
A few muffled sobs and grumbles emanated from the crowd of villagers. Lady Goirmín Searraigh tapped her knee pensively, her expression controlled. Arms crossed over his chest, Spideog was nodding encouragingly.
“Not simply gone. Dead. Murdered. The entire village destroyed with shadow and fire. I was one of the first to arrive after the incident,” Mage Spindle said grimly, tapping the base of his staff against the ground a few times. “Not a single living soul to be seen. The children who delighted in little tricks of magic... I found their bodies huddled in the arms of their parents. Sailchuach, seven months with child, crouched beneath her bed, protecting her belly. The old village chieftain, in the yard of his house with his wife and his dogs.
“There were only two people who I could not find. The witch who lived in a cottage at the edge of the forest, and her small child, a child with black hair and green eyes and clear pale skin like one of the aes sidhe."
He paused impressively to throw a look at the necromancer, but as the accused lay curled up and face down, and was half obscured by a giant, glaring lion-dog hybrid, the effect was somewhat ruined.
“I had only ever seen the witch at a distance, and never her child. She kept it hidden. Other villagers had described them to me, however. The witch herself was tall, with brown hair and stretchmarks across her upper thighs.”
This time, he looked to Rigani, who blinked back at him with her large, whiteless eyes. “That's a vague description. What about my lovely long nose? My thick eyelashes?”
The gathered aes sidhe sniggered.
Mage Spindle glared. His foot surreptitiously moved towards the scattered ivy leaves. “You... Ah... Lady, why... Indeed, that description is lacking.”
“I am glad ye're admitting to it,” Macnia drawled. “Makes my job easier. There's no certainty those description are of my cousin and her child.”
“Of course that thing there was that child!” Mage Spindle exploded. “That child, who is now that thing lying there, murdered every man, woman and child in the old village. Look at all those markings all over it! If that wasn't-”
The words crawled back down his throat as Macnia laughed suddenly. The laugh was soft, like the low growl of a hunting wolf. “Human mage... Let me just clarify. Ye say that ye never personally saw the child, and only Lady Rigani from a distance, no?”
Mage Spindle's face pinched with suspicion, but he could not refute this. “Aye.”
“Usually I'd be reminding ye here that
Macnia had long legs, and they covered the distance to Mage Spindle in an instant. His foot moved as though it were about to shift the ivy aside, making all the humans present flinch.
“Could I trouble ye to repeat yer little description of the child again?”
“The child was described to me as pale, with black hair and green eyes,” Mage Spindle said. “I'll admit that this is hearsay, but as no person who saw that child is alive today, we must rely on these words.”
His expression grew darker and darker as Macnia's smirk grew. Elder Hawthorn scoffed. Mage Coll stared at a patch of grass looking as though she were coming to some conclusion. At the leading edge of the villagers, Spideog's expression was slowly changing. Lady Goirmín Searraigh began to frown. All eyes were drawn to the figure of the necromancer and the pulsing tattoos that covered his entire body.
“So would ye mind telling us all again, friend,” Macnia drawled. “how it is that ye know that my cousin is the one who committed this crime?”
“And who else could it have been?” Mage Spindle demanded. “I know what that thing there can do. It could bring a destruction of curses and the hoards of the dead down upon us all if it so chose...”
The hoards of the dead in question stared at Mage Spindle until he stuttered to a halt and changed tack. “We live in fear, Lord. Ye wouldn't understand this fear that mortals hold for the uncanny. We just want to live.” He looked again at the prone form of the necromancer. “And this... A witch brings a half-fey child to a peaceful village, and before long, that village is destroyed, leaving families bereft. What else are we to do?”
Macnia nodded reasonably and rubbed his chin. “Indeed, mortals, what to do? What to do, except...” He looked over his hand at Mage Spindle. “... seek counsel from the Sluagh.”
Three heads whipped around to face Mage Spindle. Spideog, Elder Hawthorn and Mage Coll's faces bore mixed expressions of shock, horror and grim understanding.
Clutching his staff, the head druid felt his knees begin to shake.
They know. They know.
“Look at all those markings, ye say? And yet... Yer description of that child says nothing about markings.”
Mage Spindle was visibly shaking now, although by some supreme effort he held himself upright as the god stared mercilessly down at him.
“How do ye know that child was half-fey, human druid? How do know the extent of their powers, when by all accounts, the only actions anyone's ever seen them take was to raise a ghost or two here and there-”
“Everyone knows what it can do,” Mage Spindle fought back. “The stories-”
“But who has seen it, mortal? Beyond the tales that bhards pass round the fires on long nights,” Macnia said, softly, softly, his words a stalking wolf in the dark. “How do ye know that a previously unmarked child and this tattooed human are the same being?”
Macnia lowered his face towards the druid's until Mage Spindle stumbled backwards, almost falling. The god's teeth were white and sharp.
“What do ye have to say for yerself, Mage Spindle?”